A Dark and Dirty War, page 4
“Aye, aye, Commodore.”
She scowled at him. “Not even in jest, Gregor.”
“Sorry.” His tone and expression were anything but contrite.
“We don’t know how long this will take. So if there are any personal items you think you might need, you can take a few hours to visit the base’s stores and commissary — after we shift our dunnage back aboard Salamanca. And that will be the moment I’m done here. I’ve already spoken with Captain Rydzewski, and the cabins we used during the evaluation cruise are ready and waiting for us. Once we’ve digested the battle group SOIs, we can discuss crewing the flag CIC and distributing the watchkeeping duties. Finally, I’ll be hosting a command conference with the five captains at sixteen hundred hours in Salamanca’s flag conference room. Gregor, Chief, you’re both in on that.”
“Sir.”
“Any questions or comments?”
“Oo-rah, sir.” A broad grin split Chief Guthren’s square face. “Dona Quixote rides again, and not before time.”
Zakaria let out a burst of laughter.
“Oh my God, I’d forgotten about that nickname.” Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had come on. “Hearing it again after all this time makes me feel old.”
The others around the table nodded in sympathy. One of the chiefs said, “You and everyone else in this room, Commander.”
Dunmoore gave Guthren an exasperated look.
“I’d rather we didn’t get overly enthusiastic. If it hasn’t occurred to everyone yet, we weren’t just chosen because we’re available, have the requisite experience for this sort of mission, and are in the right spot. Can you guess what the fourth reason might be?”
“Should things go sideways, and we fail wholly or even in part, we’re completely expendable,” Pushkin said without hesitation.
“Correct. The political implications of anything other than complete success are such that we will be figuratively tossed out the airlock if our superiors deem it necessary.”
“On the other hand, those with nothing left to lose can take chances from which most of our colleagues would recoil, Skipper.”
“We in this room, certainly. But our five starship captains and their crews will not agree with the sentiment. They weren’t in decision-making positions during the war and won’t have developed our ability to evaluate and, more importantly, tolerate risks. However, dealing with them is my job, not yours. Anything else? No? I’ll see you aboard Salamanca in an hour or so. Dismissed.”
The ten snapped to attention before exiting the suite in silence while Dunmoore contemplated the twist of fate that gave her one last chance at command in space, and she wondered who revived the Task Force Luckner name. Though the orders weren’t signed by the original drafter, she couldn’t help but wonder whether an unexpected friend in high places arranged things in her favor.
**
Captain Rydzewski surprised Dunmoore by receiving her at the airlock with full honors due to a formation commander. Upon the words ‘Luckner arriving,’ the bosun piped her aboard in the time-honored fashion.
They exchanged salutes, then Rydzewski said, “Welcome back, sir. The ship is in the process of taking on stores and ammunition as ordered by the Flag Officer Commanding, Battle Group 30. I received the SOIs from Commander Pushkin and will ensure everyone understands them by the time we sail.”
“Excellent. Since you outrank Gregor, you’re my second-in-command, but he’ll handle the staff duties of a flag captain and run my CIC.”
“Understood, sir. That was what I expected.”
“I’m having personal stores sent to the ship later this afternoon since I didn’t bring enough for what could be a lengthy mission.”
“We’ll make sure the deliveries reach your quarters. I’ve assigned you the flag officer’s suite this time, incidentally, since you’ll need more space and privacy now that you command an entire task force.” He gestured at the passageway beyond the airlock. “Shall we?”
As Rydzewski led her back to the accommodations deck, he asked, “When will we find out what emergency precipitated the creation of an ad hoc task force with orders to sail as quickly as possible, sir?”
“Once we’re away from here. HQ classified this operation as top secret special access, meaning we cannot risk anyone speaking out of turn even if it’s a seemingly harmless comment made to another service member on the station. It’s the normal protocol for a mission of this type. Back when I had Iolanthe and then the original Task Force Luckner, only a few select people knew about an upcoming mission until we’d already sailed.”
“My curiosity has rarely been this intense, sir. But I’ll contain myself. I understand you called a command conference for sixteen hundred?”
“It will be more of a meet and greet than a discussion of the mission beyond what already came down from Admiral Harmel. Do you know any of the other captains?”
“Not personally, no. My space-going assignments since the war were in the 2nd Fleet, and they were no doubt a few years behind me at the Academy and the War College. Didn’t any of them pass through your class?”
“Not that I can recall. Keep in mind this is my fourth year as RED One team leader, so they probably attended the College after I left.”
A mischievous smile lit up Rydzewski’s narrow face. “But I’m sure they know about you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
They stopped at the door marked ‘Flag Officer Commanding’ on the upper accommodation deck, which opened when she touched the call screen embedded in the bulkhead beside it. Dunmoore took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. Though she’d visited the suite out of idle curiosity two weeks earlier, taking it as hers felt strange, but it also felt right.
“If you’ve no further need for me at the moment, sir...”
“Thank you, Piotr. You may return to your duties. I know how much work is involved when you take on a wartime load. I’ll see you at sixteen hundred, or I should say eight bells in the afternoon watch now that I’m no longer a landlubber.”
She gave him a tight smile.
“You’ll get back into the swing of things quickly enough.”
He briefly came to attention, nodded formally, then turned on his heels and vanished into the passageway. The door closed silently behind him.
Dunmoore carried her luggage into the sleeping cabin, where she found the emergency breathing gear she’d borrowed from the ship’s stores during the evaluation waiting on the bed. Her needs were simple, and therefore she carried little more than spare shipboard uniforms, exercise gear, a set of civilian clothes, along with underclothes and toiletries.
New battledress uniforms and boots, spare underclothes, and a pressure suit would arrive shortly from the station’s logistic section, where they were being fabricated based on the measurements in her file. She’d also ordered food, drink, and other items from the commissary because she planned on hosting her captains and staff as she did while commanding the wartime Task Force Luckner. There was nothing like a small gathering around the dining table, with a glass of wine in hand, to discover an officer’s true personality, the one they hid behind naval formality.
With her personal effects stowed away, she settled at the day cabin’s workstation and saw everything was set up for her and the command staff. Messages waited in her queue, including copies of the five captains’ service record summaries. She’d been right — the frigate commanders attended War College after her departure, while the lieutenant commander in the corvette hadn’t gone yet.
The oldest of the four, with the longest service, was still a relatively junior lieutenant at the end of the war. As a result, none of them had seen much action during the long stalemate when most of the Commonwealth and Shrehari navies played hide-and-seek.
All had exemplary records and could reasonably expect further promotions. But they seemed typical of the new breed of commanding officers — Academy graduates with suitable assignments at the proper times in their careers, no recorded missteps, and no experience in conducting operations like the one they now faced. What she wouldn’t give for a few Q ship rogues like the ones who’d run amok behind Shrehari lines a decade earlier and kept the Empire’s forces off balance.
She set the personnel files aside and began working through her orders and the intelligence reports that accompanied them so she could come up with the outline of a plan before they left Starbase 30. Dunmoore was so engrossed that the chime caught her by surprise.
“Enter.”
The door slid aside, admitting Chief Guthren followed by one of Salamanca’s ratings towing an antigrav sled loaded with boxes bearing both the commissary and the station’s logistics section markings.
“Your items are here, sir. Where would you like this?”
“The clothing store stuff in the sleeping cabin, the rest in the day cabin pantry over there.”
Dunmoore stood and stretched, figuring she might as well stop to unpack. The first Task Force Luckner Redux command conference would begin in just over fifteen minutes.
— Six —
“The task force commander.” Chief Guthren’s voice stilled the room as the assembled captains, and Commander Pushkin came to attention behind their chairs.
“At ease, everyone. Please sit.” Dunmoore dropped into the chair at the head of the table, one she’d used often during the readiness evaluation. “I’m Siobhan Dunmoore. You’ve already met the task force operations officer, Commander Gregor Pushkin, who will carry out a flag captain’s staff duties, and Chief Petty Officer Kurt Guthren, the task force command chief. As you’re probably aware, I just subjected Captain Rydzewski and his ship to one of the most strenuous readiness evaluations in recent memory, so I know him and his crew as well as he does. I never met the rest of you, but I perused your service records earlier today and am familiar with what you’ve accomplished. I realize curiosity about an unexpected mission and change of formation must be eating at you. But as I explained to Captain Rydzewski, this is one of those times when I can only reveal our orders after we set sail, so there is little or no chance of word getting out.”
As she spoke, the four newcomers studied her with wary eyes and expressionless faces.
“Normally, I’d host a meet and greet so we can get acquainted in a less formal setting. However, we must be away the moment our ships are ready, and since this is probably the first war load you and your people are taking on since the armistice, I’m sure everyone is busy as can be. So, what I’d like is for you to give me a thumbnail sketch of your ship’s status — stores, systems, crew, and anything else Commander Pushkin and I should know. We will, of course, read the reports I’ve requested. But since I’m already quite familiar with Salamanca’s status, Captain Rydzewski can put on his task force second-in-command hat and listen.”
Dunmoore turned to Commander Davina Kardas of Jan Sobieski and the most senior of the three frigate captains. A lean, sharp-faced, dark-complexioned woman in her late thirties, with short black hair and intelligent brown eyes, she’d graduated from both the Academy and the War College near the top of her class.
“Please go ahead, Commander Kardas.”
“Yes, sir. When I left to come here, we were almost done topping up food stocks and other consumables. Ammunition loading will be done by the end of the dog watch and missiles before the night watch starts. All but five of my crew billets are filled. Thankfully, none of the empty ones are vital. We completed our last readiness evaluation fourteen months ago, with RED Three giving us good marks. I still have mostly the same officers and crew who earned that pass. I’m sure Commander Pushkin will find her unchanged from his day, and that’s the only major issue.” Kardas allowed herself a quick grimace. “Jan Sobieski is the oldest of the Voivodes and overdue for a tour in dry dock. Everything works, but a lot of it is getting worn out. She saw hard service during the war and hasn’t been given much tender loving care since. Over a decade of continuous service in space will take its toll, sir.”
Kardas’ words didn’t surprise Dunmoore. A penny-pinching government was forcing the Fleet to reduce time in drydock for anything other than life extension refits. And the reason was simple. Fleet engineering facilities, not civilian shipyards whose corporate owners donated generously to political causes, did everything but life extension. More importantly, keeping the latter in contracts for new builds was a lucrative business, and to hell with the crews of worn out starships.
“Understood. Thank you.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me, sir. We will carry out the mission to the best of our abilities. I just want to make sure you understand she’s no longer the Jan Sobieski that served in the original Task Force Luckner.”
Dunmoore gave her a rueful smile.
“Age has a way of changing us all, Captain.” She gestured at Commander Shamir Bryce of the frigate Charles Martel, a stocky, broad-shouldered man of roughly Kardas’ age but with straw-blond hair and steely gray eyes. “Your turn.”
“Sir, Charles Martel will carry a full war load before the end of the evening watch as well, and like every other Series One Voivode, she’s overdue for a refit. We have no major issues other than running through spare parts at an ever greater rate. But I’m short fifteen crew, including a few vital ones like an assistant combat systems officer, an engineering chief, and two senior bosun’s mates. Nevertheless, we’re just as ready and able. We learned to work around the crew shortages. I can’t claim a recent readiness evaluation like Davina. However, you won’t find fault with us.”
There was no false bravado in Bryce’s words or tone, and she nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
Her gaze landed on Evanne Sani, Arthur Currie’s captain, a slender, auburn-haired, olive-skinned officer in her early thirties whose dark eyes were devoid of emotions.
“And you?”
“My ship is a Series Three build, sir, so we’re not yet due for a refit and have no issues beyond normal wear and tear, though I’m short six crew, all of them junior ranks billets. We will complete stores and ammunition loading by midnight, like everyone else. But we’ll need a top-up on our antimatter fuel reserves before leaving the system.”
“Every ship task force will refuel on the way out, so that’s baked into the deployment plan. Thank you.”
She turned to the most junior commissioned officer at the table, Lieutenant Commander Faraz Qiao, Sackville’s commanding officer. He’d graduated from the Academy at the top of his class in the final year of the war. Although based on his service record, Dunmoore suspected it wasn’t why he was given command of a corvette at such a young age. Compact, raven-haired, with eyes that seemed hewn from shards of basalt, he wore an expression half-detached, half attempting to hide bemusement at his change of circumstances.
“And last but not least, tell me about Sackville, Captain.”
“As you’re probably aware, she’s one of the last few pre-war Argo class corvettes left in active service. She received a life extension refit shortly after the war, along with the others of her class not immediately mothballed. Sackville is in decent shape for a ship her age, though I wouldn’t put her in the line of battle or make emergency jumps unless it’s essential. I’m four crew members short, and we’ll be fully provisioned by midnight tonight as well.”
“Excellent.” She looked around the table. “I’m not a complicated commanding officer, as Gregor Pushkin can tell you from personal experience — he served as both my first officer and one of my captains. This is why we will use the Battle Group 30 standard operating instructions rather than the ones I developed during my first tour as task force commander. But I tend heavily toward the unconventional, something both Gregor and Captain Rydzewski know only too well. The fact they chose me for this mission should tell you it will be far from ordinary and could conceivably present the sort of risk to ships and crews generally unheard of outside a full-blown war.
“If time permits, I will discuss my intentions at command conferences such as this one while we plan operations. I expect candor from my captains if they believe I’m on the wrong path, forgot a vital element, or missed something important. Finally, always remember Gregor Pushkin is my voice. When he makes a request or gives direction, you may be sure it comes from me. Feel free to ask him about how I operate. Are there any questions that don’t pertain to the specifics of our mission? Let’s do this in my preferred way — reverse order of rank and seniority. Chief Guthren?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Commander Qiao?”
“I’m good, Captain.”
“Commander Sani?”
“No questions, sir.”
“Commander Kardas?”
“Nothing from me as well, sir.”
“Commander Pushkin?”
“No questions, sir.”
“And finally, Captain Rydzewski?”
“Will you need people for the flag CIC beyond those who came with you from RED One, sir?”
Dunmoore shook her head.
“No, but thanks for reminding me to mention them. I drafted my ten evaluation team members as command staff. Along with Gregor Pushkin, normally RED One’s deputy team leader, and Chief Guthren, I also have four lieutenant commanders, highly experienced officers, and four equally experienced chief petty officers. Everyone of them saw plenty of wartime service. When we’re not at battle stations, one officer and one chief will stand watch in my CIC. I’ll make sure you receive a list of names after this meeting so you know who they are. It was a pleasure meeting you. Keep in mind this may well be the last time we meet in person for a while. I’m not a fan of captains shuttling over to the flagship when my business can be conducted via holo-link.” She stood, imitated by others, and walked through the door leading to the flag CIC, where Guthren joined her moments later.
“I’ll tell you what, Skipper. The way they listened, you might as well be wearing your old star. But I don’t sense that they’re overjoyed at an unexpected covert mission under the command of the infamous Siobhan Dunmoore, who tweaked the Empire’s nose and ended the war.”
