No Way to Start a War (TCOTU, Book 2) (This Corner of the Universe) (14 page)

Komandor
Podporucznik Lombardi’s face was contorted in rage.  Tears openly streamed down
her cheeks as she said, “You could not resist more massacre, could you?  The ‘Vics
are at their finest when killing the helpless.  Mark my words.  History will
remember each of you and what you have done today.  Now watch how real heroes protect—”
 She cut herself off as her eyes cast downward to stare at her chair arm
console.  She sat in a brief silence, seemingly lost in thought, but her
expression softened as she finally spoke while still looking down.  “
Scusami
,
Wiceadmiral.”

Heskan
heard a muted gasp from Selvaggio even as he watched the Hollaran officer
viciously wipe at her eyes while still focused on her console.  “What!” the
komandor exclaimed.  “No!  We cannot leave you.  I have to save you,
Zio
.” 
More silence followed as the officer began to nod sadly in resignation.  Her
voice assumed an almost child-like quality as anguish washed over her face.  “Okay.” 
She sniffed.  “Okay.  I will.  I promise,
Zio
.”  New, large tears began
to roll down her face as the communique cut out.

The
missiles were mere light-seconds from impact when seven Hollaran ships dove out
for Kale, leaving the carrier alone to face its fate.

Debris
expanded in all directions near the tunnel point.  All but two of the Hollaran
shuttles had been destroyed in the blast that had snuffed out the carrier’s
existence.  The hush on
Kite’s
bridge lasted far longer than was normal
as Heskan stared blankly at the optical of the Kale tunnel point. 
This was
wrong,
Heskan thought
.  Even Diane is hanging her head
.

“Diane,”
Vernay’s tender voice filled the silence.  “Why did she call the admiral ‘zio?’”

Lieutenant
Selvaggio turned slightly toward Vernay but her head remained down, eyes
hidden.  “It means ‘uncle.’”

Vernay
bit her lip while Heskan shook his head and uttered, “War…”

Vernay,
now also looking at the bridge floor, added, “…is littered with those we’ve
loved.”

Truesworth’s
console beeped, shattering the quiet.  “Uh, sir.  Incoming general message from
Admiral Hayes.”  He typed commands at his console to replace the optical of the
tunnel point with Hayes’ image.  The admiral was obviously pleased.

“My
congratulations to all Brevic defense forces in the Sponde system.  We have
acted in the highest practices and traditions of the Brevic Navy and all children
of Bree owe you a debt of gratitude.  Commanders, wait for further orders from
your chain of command.”  The image faded out.

“Jack,
give me One-MC, please,” Heskan ordered.  He paused briefly and then began. 
“Crew of Kite, each of you performed heroically in doing your duty.  Even
though we’ve lost half of our squadron, our friends and our respected
colleagues, including crewmembers from this very ship, their deaths ensured the
protection of our fleet carriers.  In giving their full measure of sacrifice,
our honored fallen protected the civilian lives on Pan and the lives of their
brothers- and sisters-in-arms.  We won’t forget their deeds and we will
remember the example of their dedication as we go forward.”  Heskan motioned to
Truesworth to end the ship-wide transmission and then nodded as he looked at
his first officer.

“They
should be proud of what Kite did today,” Heskan said adamantly.

“Captain,”
Selvaggio interjected, “we’re receiving maneuvering orders to make way to Pan.”

“Acknowledged, Diane. 
Chief, ask Lieutenant Spring to meet me down by AMS Thirty.  I want to look at
the damage after I swing through Medical.”  Heskan released his shockseat
restraints.  “Lieutenant Vernay, stand us down from battle stations and you
have the bridge.”

*  *  *

The
two crewmembers wounded in the battle returned to duty the next day once
cleared by
Kite’s
doctors.  Surprisingly, AMS-30 was not damaged as badly
as initially feared and was repaired in twelve hours.  RSL-7 had taken heavier
damage than estimated but was functional the following day; however, the Gibson
shield generator protecting both systems would need complete replacement.

Heskan
forwarded his after-action report to Lieutenant Commander Durmont but had yet
to receive confirmation of its receipt.  Considering the number of negatives in
his report, ranging from the scramble to bolster the formation’s center to the
overheating RSLs, Heskan was very surprised with the seeming indifference.  He
left out his opinion about their starting squadron formation and tried to put
the best light possible on Durmont’s slow reaction when formation changes were
necessary, but Heskan was still worried his commander would read the report as
a scathing indictment on Durmont’s personal abilities.  The lack of any
response, even a heated one, was unsettling.  Heskan told himself that Durmont
was undoubtedly busy compiling the CortRon’s after-action report and dealing
with the losses of
Coach, Chariot,
and
Sentinel
.

To
add to the perceived indifference, fleet leadership had displayed their
customary stoicism after the battle.  Besides the brief message from Admiral
Hayes immediately after the engagement, word from the top had been
nonexistent.  Sitting at his cabin desk, Heskan reviewed the fleet status as he
pondered what their next move might be.

Task
Group 3.1 was in relatively good shape.  The surviving escorts were
combat-capable and the CortRon could be ready for action as soon as
replacements filled the defense gaps of the lost ships.  Heskan was confident
they would receive replacements because Brevic Naval Command could not be so irresponsible
as to risk two precious carriers with less than a full complement of escorts. 
The carriers themselves were also fit. 
Avenger
had taken no damage and
Eagle’s
starboard maneuvering drives were getting the full attention of the repair yard
orbiting Pan.  Fortunately for
Eagle
, the damage to her propulsion was
to the smallest, most commonly used military drive in the republic, the Allison-Turner
Type-22 drive.  The ubiquitous drive was by far the easiest major component to
replace on the carrier.  Although
Eagle’s
starboard sensor wing would
remain a shambles, the repair yard could work around the clock to restore
Eagle
to full propulsion in three days. 

Replacements
for the fighter wing were already inbound from the auxiliaries in the supply
squadron that dove into Sponde from Metis.  A fresh crop of pilots from New
London accompanied their fighters.  The grim statistics of the fighter losses
bore out the notion that they were true attrition units.  Brevic fighter losses
were counted at one hundred forty-seven from of the original two hundred
forty.  Some squadrons had been nearly decimated, such as the two strafing
squadrons that had but ten survivors between them, while the most fortunate
lost only fifteen percent of their strength.  As CortRon 15’s vice commander, Heskan
had sat through the planning meetings and heard the admiral’s many references
to the fighters as “disposable.” 
With
s
o many dead pilots, morale
must be out the airlock in those squadrons
, Heskan thought as he analyzed
the status report further.

Unlike
Heskan’s task group, Task Group 2.2 had been all but gutted.  A paltry six of
eighteen ships had survived, and only two remained undamaged. 
Wherever we’re
headed, Two-Two won’t be going with us
, Heskan thought as he skimmed the
lengthy damage reports of the group.  His original hope that his own group
would be pulled from the line was dashed when word had come of the inbound
auxiliaries. 
They wouldn’t be rushing those fighters to us if they didn’t
have plans for the carriers.  Knowing Hurricane Hayes, he’ll want us pushing
hard against the Hollies now that we counterpunched them here
.  Heskan’s
computer console beeped and Sensorman First Class Johannson’s voice came over.  “Captain,
you have a comm request from Commander Durmont.”

Heskan
closed the fleet status report and opened
Kite’s
before saying, “Put him
through, please.”

Lieutenant
Commander Durmont’s eyes had dark circles under them.  “Hello, Lieutenant, I
received your report,” he said listlessly.

The
man looks too exhausted to yell at me,
Heskan observed.  “How is the CortRon report coming?” he asked in an attempt to
change the subject.

“I
just submitted it.  I sent you a copy.”  Durmont paused.  “It was hard to
write,” he sighed.  “All my life I’ve been good with reports.  Always finding the
precise words, phrasing things exactly right.  Now…”

“We
were dealt a pretty bad hand, Commander.  It’s not our fault Cerberus doesn’t
work and it certainly wasn’t our fault those Greyhound missiles came in faster
than we expected.”

Durmont
remained silent for several beats.  When he finally spoke, it appeared to take
great effort.  “If I had listened to some of your concerns a little sooner or
you had given me that squadron maneuver faster, maybe we wouldn’t have lost
Chariot and Coach, and if that hadn’t happened, Sentinel might still be here.” 
Durmont’s red-rimmed eyes looked anywhere but at Heskan. “I
knew
those
frigates would be worthless,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Your
squadron saved the carriers, sir.”

Durmont’s
emotionless response came after a brief silence.  “Yeah.  We win.”  He waved a
hand as if to say, “Who cares?”  More silence and then, “We have a group-wide leadership
meeting in three days at oh-eight hundred.  Admiral Hayes has ordered it to be
face-to-face, not virtual.  I need you to attend.”  Durmont’s face flashed from
the screen as he abruptly cut the conversation.

Heskan stared at the
blank screen in mute frustration. 
Is he testing me?  Seriously, isn’t it
enough to have to deal with equipment that doesn’t work? 
He thought back
to Durmont’s last sentence.  
Uh, he’s going too, right?
  Heskan quickly
paged his first officer.

*  *  *

Ensign
Gables knocked once on the door and entered the office of VF-25’s commander. 
She marched in a straight line to stand one meter from his desk and rendered a
precise salute.  “Ensign Denise Gables reports as ordered.”

The
commander returned the salute and growled, “Stand at ease, Gables.”

Gables
inwardly breathed a sigh of relief
.  At least I know I’m not in terrible
trouble.  I wouldn’t be at ease if I were.
  Outwardly, Gables stood
unreadable and in silence.

The
squadron commander finished signing a document on his datapad and then looked
up at her.  “I see your Pup was written off, Ensign.”

The
landing officer had told her that her F-3’s last landing was so hard the
fighter’s engine had rocked off its mount.  The landing struts had also broken
cleanly off but the G-resistant cockpit had saved her from more than aches and
pains.  The ruin that was Angel-29 had been pushed off the landing deck and
into space.

Am
I being grounded?
she
wondered.

“The
word is you shouldn’t have even taken Twenty-nine up the last time.  Why didn’t
your crew chief stop you?”

Gables
shuddered.  
I can’t sell out Rhodes
.  “He tried to, sir.  He advised
against an additional flight and warned me about the landing struts.”

“And
so your butter bar, with its vast month of experience, overruled a petty
officer with nine years of service and an exemplary record,” the senior officer
berated.

Hey
, Gables thought defensively,
my
record is pretty darn exemplary too
.

The
older officer continued, “Between all the damage you do to your bus and your
near collisions with squadron commanders, the CAG can’t decide whether to find
you another Pup or transfer you to the Hollarans.”

Gables
matched his stern gaze.  “I know I’m something of a hack pilot, sir, but we
were short buses for that last mission.  At least I went out.  My flight would
have sent up just two fighters if I had stayed grounded.  They scrubbed VF
Twenty-four completely.  I know I don’t have the skill that my squadron mates have
but I learned back when I was a spaceman that you simply can’t quit.”  She knew
her tone had taken on an air of indignation but thinking back to
Anelace
had aroused her stubbornness.  “I wasn’t about to just give up when there was
still a job to be done.”

The
squadron commander held up a hand to cut her off.  “That’s what I told the CAG:
‘We need this pilot.  She fights.’”  His expression softened as he said, “And Denise,
you may not be a dazzling technical pilot but you’re a damned lucky one.  You
get away with anything when you’re inside your Pup.”  He gestured to his
datapad.  “I just entered the order when you reported in.  Effectively
immediately, you will take the Angel Twenty-five spot in your squadron with one
of the inbound replacement Pups.  It’s a hell of a bump up in the flight but
the fresh lads coming in from New London will need experienced pilots ahead of
them.”  He pointed at Gables as he cautioned, “You might be immortal, Denise,
but the pilots under you will surely die if they try to follow your
devil-may-care attitude.  Don’t kill them.”

Gables’
heart soared with the news.  Struggling to keep her bearing, she braced back to
attention and saluted.  “I won’t, sir.  Will that be all, sir?”

The commander
snapped back a salute.  “That will be all, Ensign.”

Exiting
the commander’s office, Gables whooped down the hallway back to the squadron
lounge, drawing Lieutenant Walker’s attention.  Sliding next to him at the bar,
she motioned a spaceman to pull her mug off the wall and fill it.  Once she
received her drink, she clinked the mug against Walker’s, spilling most of its
contents.  “Say hello to Angel Twenty-five!” Gables said excitedly.

Walker
reached for the bar towel to wipe his drenched hand.  “You prior-enlisted have
no sense of decorum,” he replied in mock protest.

Gables
smiled widely and chided, “You’re just mad because you’re still stuck with that
clunker of a bus while I get a shiny new Pup.”

“Oh,
you’ll wreck that one too.”