All Enemies Foreign and Domestic (Kelly Blake series) (16 page)

      “Let’s eat.
 
I missed breakfast this morning.”

      Tammy ate and spent the day getting settled in.
 
Unpacking took about fifteen minutes, as she only had her check bags.
 
Her hold baggage and household goods would not arrive for weeks, but she had lived on less.
 
She had Yeoman Howard take her to her soon to be headquarters and she looked around.
 
Even though she hasn’t assumed command, her executive officer, Commander Leroy James, met her at the door and escorted her into her office.

“Ma’am, do you have any specific information needs, because I can have any briefing for you in fifteen minutes or less.”

      
 
“No, Commander, I just want to look around a bit and see what I’m in for.
 
Show me around the headquarters and then let’s walk the flight line.”

      She spent the remainder of the day meeting her staff, visiting her commanders, and kicking the tires on her ships.
 
For a unit just formed up, it looked in pretty good shape.
 
The last thing she did was claim an A-100, block 4, for her own.
 
She sat in it for a good long while, familiarizing herself with the modifications made since the war ended and lessons-learned had been applied.

      After she was done ogling her new ship, she had Yeoman Howard return her to her quarters to change.
 
She asked Howard to go home and change and come back to join her for dinner.
 
She wanted to know what a real insider knew about her new unit.
 
At dinner, she got an earful.

* * * * *

      Angie flew on a commercial transport into the main spaceport on Glenn.
 
It was the only way to meet her reporting date.
 
A driver met her at baggage claim, took her bags to the groundcar, and drove her to the base headquarters, where a yeoman requested she change into her duty uniform and take the mini-gate up to the Bolivar.
 
There was a briefing and the admiral wished her to attend.

      After she changed into her flight suit, she stepped through the gate and onto the quarterdeck of the GRS Fleet Carrier, Simon Bolivar.
 
Angie felt like she was home again.
 
A marine corporal met her at the gate and asked her to follow him.
 
He led her to flag country and knocked on a door.

      Entering, Angie found herself in the tank.
 
This was the giant hologram room she and Kelly had been in years ago, when they were tasked with attempting to capture a K’Rang scout following the Bolivar.
 
Rear Admiral Leng Tsao saw her enter, walked over to greet her, and led her to her seat, introducing her to the other attendees as they walked.
 
The seat back was embroidered with the letters CFW, designating the chair as being for the commander of the Carrier Fighter Wing.
 
As she sat down, the holographic projector came on and she found herself staring into black space.

      The admiral stood in the star field.
 
“The Bolivar’s battle group, along with the DeGaulle, Xerxes, Garibaldi, and the Lincoln, will be part of the Battle Fleet.
 
Xerxes will be Vice Admiral Conover’s flagship.
 
Major General Shaw will be his senior Fighter Force commander.
 
This red box will be the Battle Fleet’s area of operations.
 
Our mission will be to ensure that no colony pods make it through the red field.”

      A red box formed in the star field, encompassing hundreds of cubic light years of space.
 
Murmurs arose from the assembled officers at the size of the box.

      “We have analyzed this box and input the worlds from which the bugs could launch their pods and habitable worlds on the K’Rang side of the box.
 
This allowed us to reduce the target area to this size, because if the pods go off into open space or hit uninhabitable worlds, good for them.”

      The box had broken down into seven smaller, but irregularly shaped areas, five large ones and two small ones.
 
Not all areas within the boxes were highlighted, giving them a Swiss cheese look.

      The admiral continued, “We will have the area marked in green.
 
The Battle Fleet’s scouts will form a screen out ahead of the box on a line shown here.
 
They will destroy any pods that come within their range and report rough speed and bearing on all others.”
 

      A line formed on the display forward of the green area of operation.
 
“Our early warning ships will fly along this line about a half light year out and provide intercept data on incoming pods.

      “Our new CFW’s first duty will be to establish a patrol plan so that we destroy all pods coming into our area of operations.
 
CFW, I know you just got here, but any thoughts?”

      Angie stood up, expanded the green box, and asked, “Does the plasma destroyer carry the SR-20, or has it received the new SR-30?
 
Are the pods armed?”

The admiral looked at his destroyer captain.
 
“Tom, have you got the SR-30s?
 
Angie, the K’Rang tell us the pods are unarmed.”

      “We have two SR-30s,” replied the destroyer captain.

      Angie looked at the display again.
 
“We keep four squadrons providing three F-53 four-ship sections on patrol just beyond the forward edge of the box.
 
We arm the A-76s with half and half anti-ship missiles and medium seekers and have them fly CAP.
 
We array the fleet in a rough octagon, providing an additional missile and gun kill zone within the box.
 
We fly two SR-30s with their improved radar and armed with mini-seekers within the formation so we don’t lose any in the clutter of our ships.
 
We keep one F-53 squadron with a four-ship section on launch alert, in case they swarm us or we let one get by.
 
They launch and reinforce the forward screen or tail chase it down, and kill it.
 
That’s my quick and dirty, assuming these things don’t carry weapons.”

      “The admiral’s Flag Staff Chief said, “Good seat of the pants plan, Angie.
 
Let’s get our staffs working on this, everyone.
 
The admiral’s plan will be out by 1200 tonight.
 
I want to see your supporting plans in 24 hours.”

      The meeting broke up and Angie went off to find her office and get her people working on a plan.
 
So much for pomp and circumstance.
 
Welcome to the Bolivar, Angie, now get to work.

* * * * *

      Corporal Solbrig couldn’t have been happier.
 
Twenty minutes ago her company commander, Captain Stanislav Kopinsky, had pulled her out of working on her tank and walked her down to Alpha Six, the commander’s assigned hover tank and called her to attention.
 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the first sergeant motion to the platoon sergeants to gather their people around.
 
The company clerk read out her promotion orders, followed by the first sergeant and commander pinning sergeant stripes on her epaulets.

      Captain Kopinsky and the first sergeant shook her hand and applause rang out from the assembled company.
 
It was finally here.
 
She was a real non-commissioned officer at last, but the commander wasn’t through with her.

      “Sergeant Solbrig, about face.”

      She turned around, facing the commander’s tank and wondered what was up.

      “Sergeant Solbrig, take charge of your tank.”

      She stood there, stunned, for a moment.
 
She had her own tank, at last.
 
It was doctrine that a commander was authorized a tank, but he hardly ever rode in it.
 
He normally rode in the armored hover transport with its better communications and computer suite.
 
So the gunner moved up and became the tank commander, aiming and firing the gun from the commander’s position.
 
If the commander chose to ride in the tank, the gunner just moved down into the gunner’s seat.
 
The dual-hatted position was normally given to a deserving sergeant.

      Ingrid crawled upslope and into the turret.
 
She adjusted the commander’s seat, fired up the main computer, and ran a diagnostic on every system on board.
 
She got a green light on all systems.

      Captain Kopinsky stuck his head in the hatch and motioned her up.
 
She popped up and sat with him on the turret roof.

      “Ingrid, you know the drill.
 
You are the tank commander until the tactical situation requires I fight from the tank.
 
Then you drop down to the gunner’s seat.
 
When we deploy, you provide security for the company headquarters and monitor alternate comms channels.
 
You will monitor brigade and division command channels and keep me informed of what’s going on.
 
It will be a little confusing and hectic at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

      “Thank you, sir, for giving me this opportunity…”

      He stopped her and said, “I haven’t given you anything, Sergeant.
 
You earned it.
 
You excelled at every position you’ve held.
 
You were best charger, expert with your personal weapon and the mini-turret automatic gun on the tank.
 
You won the best driver/mechanic competition last year, your first year in the position.
 
You would have won it this year, but for moving over to gunner and shooting a perfect score.
 
No, Sergeant, you earned it.
 
I know I can trust you to keep my tank combat ready at all times.
 
Carry on.”

      He hopped off the turret and dropped down off the tank.
 
He and First Sergeant Wilkins walked in the direction of the headquarters.
 
Sergeant First Class Findlay, her former platoon sergeant, came over and clambered up on the turret with a broad smile on his face.
 
“What time should we all be there?”

      Confused, she asked, “What are you talking about?
 
Where?
 
Who?”

      He laughed, “I’ll make it easy on you.
 
The battalion’s non-commissioned officers will meet you at the club at 1900 and you buy the first round to celebrate your new stripes.
 
Oh, by the way, we’re moving you out of the platoon area into one of the sergeant’s rooms, room 206, on the second floor.
 
We’ll take good care of your things.”

* * * * *

      Kelly awoke to the sound of Fred, the Physician’s Assistant, snoring. He looked at his watch and saw he was but a few minutes from the alarm, so he removed the K’Rang healing devices and sat up.
 
He tried his arm to see how much pain there might be and found it relatively pain-free.
 
His leg was still in the immobilizer so he couldn’t do much, but it somehow felt better. He hadn’t experienced the itching the K’Rang doctor described, just some tingling, but not enough to affect his sleep.

      Kelly looked at the doorway to his bedroom and his mother and mother-in-law were standing there.

      “Mom, Amy, I thought you weren’t coming through until later.”

      Amy whispered, trying not to wake up the sleeping PA.
 
“We were sitting around waiting for an open slot and a shipment got delayed, so the gate master asked if we were ready to go through and we did.
 
I don’t know what time it is here, but their star is pretty high in the sky.
 
You slept in, boy.”

      He dropped down into the grav chair and a surprised Fred woke up.

      “Hello, ladies, I’m Fred Portman, the embassy’s physician’s assistant.
 
How do you feel, sir?”

      “Not bad, Fred.”

      “Excuse me, ladies, but I have to take Captain Blake to the clinic for X-rays.
 
Let’s get you to X-Ray, sir.”

      “Mom, Amy, make yourselves at home.
 
The guest rooms are upstairs.
 
Guest bath is in the hall.
 
I’ll be right back.”

      They both kissed his cheek and he left the house for the van waiting to take him to the clinic.

      They weren’t really X-rays, but were called such out of medical tradition.
 
The scans showed significant healing and knitting of the bones.

      Dr. Stevenson was impressed.
 
“We need to teach the K’Rang about licensing, so we can manufacture these in the GR.
 
I know they said this was ours, but we shouldn’t take advantage of their lack of business sense.
 
Candy can work on that when she gets back.”