Setosha - the Beating Heart
Copyright© 2010 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 5
PSK Cruiser Pegasus
“Commodore on the Bridge!” Bosun Hillert’s voice rang out.
“As you were,” Captain Anthony Pagadan responded. He glanced automatically at his tactical repeater. “Status?”
“All ships at Condition Three,” Bosun Hillert reported. “We are in standard orbit at Fleet Base Three, and there are no hostiles on the Scan, sir!” He was a compact man of medium height, seemingly as broad as he was tall, with the scarred face and hands that spoke of many years on the docks in naval ports.
In the previous six months, Bosun Hillert had learned a grudging respect for Captain Pagadan’s ability to outthink and outmaneuver the clerks in the Navy’s dockyards. The Captain, in turn, had found that Bosun Hillert had a seemingly inexhaustible knowledge of ways to satisfy some of the Navy’s more arcane and antiquated procedures without actually following them. Between them, they had driven more than one dockyard hero to distraction and brought 2nd Cruiser Squadron through its combat trials to full operational readiness.
Captain Pagadan nodded. “Bosun Hillert. Signal to all ships, Captain’s Conference on board Pegasus in 45 minutes.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” Bosun Hillert turned to the rating on the Squadron Comm Board. “Signal the squadron, Mr. Maddok.”
Captain Pagadan put both hands on the back of his seat at the Command Station. It had been his for the last six months. Pegasus was his, Pegasus and the rest of 2nd Cruiser Squadron, but only for another few minutes. He could admit to being a better-than-average Intelligence spook, an excellent dockyard thief, and a capable administrator, but he knew he was not a combat commander. The 2nd Cruiser Squadron was now Combat Ready, and it no longer had a place for him.
The Navy had given him half a dozen ships, some damaged, some that should have been on their way to the breakers, and some that had actually been rescued from the breakers. He had filled those hulks with men fresh from the training schools, men culled from local commands, and men caught between assignments when their previous ships failed to return, and commanders as inexperienced as he was. It had taken him six months to patch this motley collection of wreckage and old ships into a fighting force.
He had fought many battles with the dockyard bureaucrats and managed, despite their corruption, endemic lethargy, and willful neglect, to ready his ships for combat. He had found replacement parts in old warehouses, weapons sitting idle on the docks, and life-support systems ‘lost’ in transit. Diverting those resources to 2nd Cruiser had required every bit of guile he had acquired in 12 years of intelligence work. His personal network of contacts and friends, carefully nurtured and grown over a decade of practicing administration the Navy Way, was taxed to the maximum, but he had seen every damaged ship repaired in record time. Every magazine, armory, and storeroom was stocked to full combat loading, and then some. He had found time on the training course schedules for every crewman and officer, and then made certain every ship in his squadron carried redundant training simulators.
He returned to his quarters to change into his best uniform. Facing the room’s tiny mirror, he carefully straightened the lapels on his dress whites, making sure that everything was exactly by the book. He knew his replacement was on the way. He wanted to look his best when they took 2nd Cruiser away from him. Like any proud parent, he felt mixed emotions. On one hand, he wanted to stay with his creation. But on the other, he knew it was time for a parting.
The work of these last few months had been invigorating. He had been an Intelligence officer and had developed far too many bad habits. There had been too many hours of sitting, too many receptions, too many lunch meetings, too much drinking, and far too much eating. Six months of demanding, responsible work had honed his mind and trimmed his body. He knew he would never be the ideal candidate for a recruiting poster; his balding head and chubby profile guaranteed that. But at least now he felt like an officer, not like some chair warmer well behind the front. He liked that feeling.
He touched the communicator button on his console. “Time until the Admiral’s pinnace arrives?” he asked the Bridge.
“Ten minutes, sir.” Bosun Hillert seemed rather formal today. He probably smelled the change in the air.
“And the others?”
“Twenty-five minutes, sir.”
“Very good, Bosun. I’m on my way to Docking Berth One.”
He gave his quarters one last inspection. Bags packed and tucked away out of sight, nothing personal left behind, save for the welcome note he had dashed off for his successor. His quarters. His domain for six months. He wondered where the Navy was going to send him next. He would learn that in just a few minutes.
The honor guard had already been assembled when he entered Docking Berth One. He returned their salutes and then faced the lock with confidence and ease.
He heard the muffled thump of the Admiral’s pinnace docking. With a sigh of venting atmosphere, the lock opened. He focused on the face of the first officer through the hatch. Pegasus’ honor guard came to attention, and Vice Admiral Sir Richart Gonsalvo stepped across the threshold, his hand raised in salute. Behind him came three PSK junior officers and two officers of the Ladies’ Navy, Captain Andersen and Captain Valentine of Voss. They stood to attention with their peers.
Captain Pagadan gave them his best salute. “Welcome aboard, Admiral,” he said. “Captain Andersen, Captain Valentine, welcome aboard.” His instincts, honed by too many years in the Navy’s bureaucracy, quivered. Why were there officers from the Ladies’ Navy present at a simple transfer of command?
“Captain Pagadan,” Admiral Gonsalvo acknowledged. “We’re on a tight timeline. Shall we begin?”
“2nd Cruiser’s other officers will be here within a few minutes, sir.”
“I know. What I have is for your ears first.” He nodded to the PSK officers who had accompanied him. “Go get set up in the Conference Room, Stephan. Captain Pagadan,” he said, turning back, “is there some place where we can be private for a few minutes?”
“Certainly, sir.” He motioned to Pegasus’ Captain, Commander Hoffner. “Paul, would you show everyone to the Conference Room? I’ll be along presently.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Hoffner replied. “Captains, if you would follow me?”
The Admiral headed for Captain Pagadan’s quarters. Once inside, with the hatch secured behind them, he relaxed, looking around, a smile creasing his wrinkled face. “The last time I was on board a Pegasus I was a junior lieutenant fresh out of the Academy,” he said. “The only time I was ever in the Captain’s cabin was to receive a dressing-down for some fool stunt I pulled while on liberty.” He chuckled at the memory. “We were as wild a bunch of cut-ups as ever escaped the Academy, and our Captain, old Warter Davs, had us firmly under his thumb. Ah, those were the days.”
He reached into his uniform and pulled out a letter. “Well, those days are past. Congratulations, Anthony. Bringing the 2nd Cruiser this far so quickly was quite an achievement. I can’t think of an officer who could have done as well.”
“Thank you, sir, but it was the men who came together to make this happen.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Anthony. A willingness to work only takes you so far. It needs sound leadership and good connections to make something like this happen. This was a miracle and you deserve most of the credit.” He glanced down at the letter in his hand. “I have your next assignment here, if you’re interested.”
“Yes, sir. Where does the Admiralty need me next?”
Admiral Gonsalvo opened the letter and began reading. “Upon receipt of these orders, you will take command of the 2nd Cruiser Squadron and operate as part of the Third Joint Task Force under the command of Captain Aimeé Valentine of the United Families Navy. The Third Joint Task Force will consist of the PSK 2nd Cruiser Squadron, the United Families Navy 6th Cruiser Squadron, the PSK 7th and 8th Light Cruiser Squadrons, and the United Families Navy 4th and 29th Escort Squadrons.” He looked over the top of the sheet to enjoy Captain Pagadan’s stunned expression. “You forged the blade, Anthony. It is only fair you get to wield it.”
“But sir, I’m no line officer.” He tried to hide his surprise. “I almost flunked Tactical back at the Academy. Except for some field work, I’ve commanded a desk for the last decade. I don’t know the proper Operating Procedures for combat. I only know the training regimen.”
“Oh, that,” Admiral Gonsalvo gestured dismissively. “Our standard tactical drills have proven thoroughly useless these last few years, or hadn’t you noticed? It leads me to wonder about why we started teaching those drills in the first place. Don’t worry, Anthony. I’ve found an excellent tactics officer for your squadron. She’ll help you sort things out.”
“She?” He made the connection at once. “Captain Andersen? That is ... novel, sir. You’re joking, right?”
“Officially, she’s along as an observer,” Admiral Gonsalvo said. “We aren’t legally allied with the Families, and, given the fuss the minor parties are putting up in Parliament, we aren’t likely to be any time soon. Nobody’s certain the votes are there to ratify any treaty, so, officially, Captain Andersen will be along to observe how we do things. You are not explicitly bound by her orders. There will be no mention of any such arrangement in your operational orders or in your reports.”
Right, Captain Pagadan thought, and I’d be four kinds of an idiot if I ignored any advice Captain Andersen just might happen to give when the missiles start flying.
“Kingdom Security will have a fit, sir.”
“Which is why you were selected,” the Admiral said. “Your previous assignments have made you uniquely suited for this mission. You won’t be able to give away any of our valuable tactical secrets because you don’t know them.” He chuckled and settled on the edge of the desk.
“Let me explain the reasoning behind this, Anthony. Admiral Broestler expects neither you nor the other commanders in your squadron will be hampered by any preconceived notions of the proper tactics for this assignment. He means that kindly, by the way. This mission will require tact and diplomacy. Your forte again, it appears, despite the howls we’ve heard from Dockyard Command. Unofficially, by the way, that was well done, especially the engine refits for the Constellations. Admiral Smaethe in Engineering is still laughing about the complaints that landed on his desk. I think he plans on framing them.
“But back to your concerns. Don’t worry about Kingdom Security. They’re pleased that you’re one of their own, even if you work for Naval Intelligence, and they expect you won’t let Captain Andersen disassemble and mail home a missile launcher or some other foolishness. In many ways, it almost seems as if this assignment were crafted just for you. It has all of those things you are good at, and if you let Captain Andersen run the squadron’s tactics, you’ll be even farther ahead. One thing you will need to do is give us an insight into the Ladies’ tactical approach to problems. If I were a few decades younger ... but no, I’ll have to be satisfied with reading your full and insightful report on the Ladies’ activities.”
“I ... she ... you can count on me, sir.” Captain Pagadan’s head whirled. Combat command? The idea staggered him.
“Excellent,” the Admiral said. “I was hoping you would say that.” He reached into his uniform and produced an empty envelope. He carefully placed the orders in it and sealed it. “Shall we go read these sealed orders to your officers?”
“She did what?” Bosun Hillert asked Lieutenant Trammer an hour later as they collected and shredded the leftover briefing material.
“His Majesty invited her to give a lecture to the Faculty at the Academy,” Lieutenant Trammer repeated patiently. He was Admiral Gonsalvo’s Flag Lieutenant and was being sent along on this cruise for ‘seasoning’. He didn’t tell anyone how exciting he found it. After four years at the Academy, after three more in support or staff positions, he was finally getting a chance to serve on a real warship that was heading into danger.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Bosun Hillert said. “But why would they listen to her?”
“It was right after she set up one of the battles her Navy fought against those pirates on the Fleet Tactical Simulator. That was a battle the Ladies’ Navy won. None of our Faculty could win it. Then she broke it down into segments and showed everyone exactly what happened, and why. She applied the same reasoning to show them how we won the Battle of Fordman III.”
“That was the one Admiral Fincher won, wasn’t it, sir?”