First Command (11 page)

On board
RSNS Titan
DD-0023 Solaria System, Solarian Republic,

En route to the Kaplan Wormway

January 30
th
  841 AE  (2802 AD) 06:00hrs

Sandra Chan was on duty when Jonathan strode on the bridge at 06:00. Captains in the Solarian Navy were charged with regulating their ship time. Usually larger formations such as Task Force or Fleets were synchronized to a time chosen by the most senior officer. To keep things simple, Jonathan had the ship on Levelflats Standard Time, using Solaria’s 24hr and 45min day. When Jonathan entered the bridge, it was still half an hour to assembly, when the automated trumpet would broadcast the call to rise. Most of the crew and officers were fast asleep worn to the bone by the proceeding days work, and numbed by the extra alcohol ration the Captain had so graciously distributed. Solarian ships ran on skeleton crews at night. Men were on watch at vital systems, on the bridge, and in engineering. Sandra Chan and her skeletal bridge crew were looking a bit worn as Jonathan seated himself at his console.

“Ms. Chan,” Jonathan said in an authoritative tone. “ Please stand by to initiate, a drill.”

Sandra Chan saluted the Captain, “Aye sir standing by.”

“Chief of the Ship,” Jonathan intoned. “Transfer primary internal systems to my console.”

“Aye sir.” The Chief Petty Officer Linux Gunta who commanded the three-man section of the night watch, who actually helmed
Titan
and oversaw all her vital functions responded. A few minutes later Gunta looked up from his controls.

“Internal systems are now on the Captain’s console.”

“Excellent Chief, now go wake up the next shift and have them take control of the Con from the Auxiliary Control Room, and page me when it’s done.”

Gunta looked a little unnerved at that. Despite her four hundred and fifty man crew, it only took four men, a minimum two to actually steer
Titan
through the void of space. The ship could be controlled either from the primary control in the bridge, or from one of two auxiliary panels. One was in engineering, and the other in the auxiliary control room, the tiny heavily armored chamber in the very center of the ship where the XO would lock himself during battle then take control of the ship if the bridge was destroyed. Switching control off the bridge for any reason other than an emergency meant only one thing, a ship- wide drill. Sighing as he went to wake up his relief, Gunta resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be a very long day.  For his part, Jonathan shuffled through the scenarios he’d spent the last few hours writing up while whistling, a half remembered rendition of the
Minister and the Maid.
When Jonathan’s sleeve display gently buzzed alerting him that control of the ship was transferred to the auxiliary control, Jonathan looked up from his console.

“Ms. Chan, please sound General Quarters.”

“Sir?” Sandra Chan asked surprised.

“General Quarters, if you please Ms. Chan starting now.” Jonathan hit the chrono timer on his sleeve display.

“Aye, sir.” Sandra Chan responded hastily hitting the big red button on the Watch Officer’s console.

All throughout the ship, the previously gently sleeping crew were suddenly and harshly awakened by a blaring klaxon accompanied by a prerecorded voice stating repeatedly, ‘GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLESTATIONS.”  The computer did not state whether it was a drill or not. Most navies for safety reasons usually initiated drills after stating that it was in fact a drill. What made the Solarian Navy one of the most well respected military forces in all of settled space, was that Solarians were willing to endure injuries, a few deaths, and the occasional catastrophic accident with live ordinance if it meant getting crews to their stations faster.  The best way to do that was to let every man and women aboard a Solarian ship know when that klaxon rang they needed to move like their life depended on it which it frequently did. All across
Titan,
crewmen sprang from their bunks and rushed headlong to their stations under the brutal tongue lashing of their NCOs. Nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds after Jonathan had started the drill, all stations reported manned and ready. Looking up, the bridge was now fully manned. All officers were at their stations. Daimion Krishna in his rush to get to the bridge had forgotten to put on his pants, giving the whole bridge a view of Mr. Krishna’s puce underwear. Bringing up the holos of Qin Smith in Engineering, and William Trendale in Auxiliary control, Jonathan shook his head.

“Not good enough.” Switching on the ship PA. “Attention crew. In the event this ship enters hostile action, we will need to have stations manned in three minutes no more and preferably less. That is all.” Switching off the PA, Jonathan continued, “Mr. Trendale report to the bridge please, and Mr. Krishna go put your pants on.”

Ten minutes later, when a bashful but fully clothed Daimion Krishna was back at his station, and William Trendale was on the bridge, Jonathan announced in neutral tones that the crew could stand down from General Quarters.

“Mr. Trendale,” Jonathan said.

“Aye sir,”  Bleary-eyed, Trendale responded.

“I was hoping you’d join me for a game of chess tonight after dinner?”

Surprised, Trendale tried not to seem startled, “Um yes sir.”

“Good,” Jonathan responded. “Now if you’d be so kind, please take the con.”

“Aye sir,” Trendale said a bit too gleefully, but as he started to walk to the Captain’s console Jonathan made no sign of moving so instead, he just stood beside it and brought up the holo display of the ships primary systems.

Jonathan for his part stretched in his chair, and cracked his knuckles.

“Mr. Trendale,” Jonathan stated politely.

“Yes sir,” Trendale replied.

“There appears to be a fire in forward life support and it spreading into the forward rail gun batteries.”

On the readouts everywhere across the ship, except the auxiliary control where four lonely crewman were making sure
Titan
didn’t plow straight into a star, readout’s began to show the effects of the non- existent fire. Oxygen levels in the affected sections dropped on computer screens, while remaining at normal levels in actuality, bulkheads closed, and ‘on fire’ equipment shut down.

On the bridge Trendale put the ship on full alert, and initiated fire procedures sending crews from damage control to extinguish the blaze while sealing the affected sections. Over his shoulder, Jonathan alerted him to periodic failures that were displayed on the computer readouts, as Jonathan programmed them into the system. Bulkheads failed, extinguishers didn’t work. Halfway through the drill, a number of crewmen received messages on their sleeve displays alerting them they were causalities. Their still uninjured comrades had to carry them to sickbay where an overwhelmed Doctor Walder, his pharmacist mate, and two trauma medics had to triage their fictitious injuries, which Jonathan continuously tweaked from the bridge causing ‘stabilized patients to crash’ and serious cases to be revealed to be not so serious. One crewman fell and broke his arm when the gravity plating in the compartment he was in failed then re-engaged suddenly. Rather than letting him be treated right away or stopping the drill, Jonathan ordered the doctor to triage him with all the others. From the shade Walder turned, Jonathan guessed he wasn’t happy, but by then Jonathan was causing electrical to fail amid ship. Finally, four hours after the initial fictitious blaze started,
Titan
was gutted by fire, with half her crew dead or injured, and half her systems off line, but everything was under control. At that point, Jonathan informed the crew to assume General Quarters under the circumstances forced on them by the fictions fire. This time it took ten minutes to assume battle stations. Shaking his head, he ran the crew through a reactor malfunction drill then had them assume General Quarters again. This time under normal circumstances, and this time they managed it in seven minutes. Smiling, Jonathan rose from his chair, and asked Commander Trendale to take the con and alert all departments he would be conducting an inspection.

“Ask Lt. Smith and Master Chief Hartic to meet me in engineering in ten minutes,” Jonathan said to Commander Trendale who seemed to have deflated into Jonathan’s chair. 

Chapter
V

On board
RSNS Titan
DD-0023 Solaria System, Solarian Republic,

En route to the Kaplan Wormway

January 30
th
  841 AE  (2802 AD) 11:00hrs

Donny Hartic was having a bad day. After thirty-five years in space he’d met some real drill-happy Captains, but this Pavel took the cake. Less than a day out of dock with a greenhorn crew, and he was running ship-wide drills like a mad man. Hartic shook his head as he slid down the ladder to deck three. Another Overwatch brat who liked to play with his new shiny toy. Hartic hoped the Captain slowed down soon, otherwise it’d be mutiny. Hartic stopped chastising himself for even having such a thought. When it entered his mind it had been a passing rueful idea, but once he’d actually thought the dreaded word ‘mutiny’ he’d been shocked at himself. Inner-worlders, from the Earth Treaty Organization, the Iridium Federation, or the United Coalition of Worlds, often criticized Solaria for being an uncivilized nation.  Usually, Civilization ended at the border states - the collection of small star nations that surrounded the core world nations, and was the unofficial boundary between core and outer worlds. Solaria wasn’t uncivilized, but it could be a bit harsh by Core Worlders fair, after all those silly sods had all but abolished the death penalty, a ridiculous notion if Hartic had ever heard one. Solarian military discipline was harsh, fair usually, but unflinchingly, iron shod. The punishment for the crime of mutiny under the Uniform Code of Military Justice was decimation. Hartic paused again at the entrance of Engineering. Less than half a dozen times in Solaria’s history had such a punishment been carried out, but it had happened. Hartic, a Spacer born and bread, had grown up on the stories of the battleship
Virtue
the mutinous ship that a half-century ago had opposed the return of civilian rule.  As a result, one man in every ten, officer, and enlisted, Steader and Landed were vented into space. Shaking the ghostly images from his mind, Hartic stepped into engineering to be confronted by an odd sight. The entire on duty engineering crew save a few men monitoring the reactor were nervously standing at attention.  The Captain, dressed in utilities rather than undress, tapped one to the bulkheads with a screwjack. Hartic glanced over to Qin Smith who, ever so slightly shook his head. He had no idea what the Captain was up to either. Hartic waited to be recognized while he tried to figure out what the CO was up to. Suddenly, it dawned on Hartic, but no - Pavel wouldn’t know.

“Ah Ha!” Jonathan cried triumphantly as the screwjack sound rang out with a thud rather than a clang.

“Master Chief, Mr. Smith have two men remove this false panel please.” Hartic and Smith and the rest of engineering started sweating bullets as two of the Engineer’s mates slowly removed the carbon fiber panel which covered a small crawl space. Once open, the crawl space let off to a strong stench of fumes, revealing inside a well constructed, but obviously home made still.
Hartic was mentally reviewing the penalty for having such a contraption aboard ship. The navy issued a small alcohol ration, but not enough to get a man jacked or even a little tipsy. So as long as there had been a navy, crewmen set up clandestine stills. Good NCOs knew about them, but pretended not to unless they became a problem. Nevertheless, the punishment for the clandestine production of illicit substances aboard a navy ship was half a dozen stripes with a flog. This was a relatively light punishment as far as punishments went, but still unpleasant.  Everyone in engineering waited for the Captain to call the Marines, and have the entire section clapped in the brig. To scream or curse or to do something. Instead, Captain Pavel just smiled took one of the aluminum cups from next to the still, turned the handle and took a swig.

“Ahhh,” he said smacking his lips loudly before rubbing his teeth with his index finger. He then turned to the Engineering crew, Hartic and Smith.

“Low impurities, a clean carbon scrubber, and all copper tubing. A well constructed device. Of course you’d get more volume if you used protein powder instead of tubers.”

“But...” One of the Engineering crew, one of the more senior men not to jump ship, Engineer Mate 1
st
  Curtis Steins, a fifteen year veteran and a Spike among Spikes.

“Finish your thought Mr. Steins,” The Captain said.

“Respectfully sir,” Steins said sounding as if he just wanted to melt into the deck. “If we… If ‘I’…,”he I was deliberately emphasized. Steins was taking the fall for his shipmates. “Were we to use Protein powder, the risk could be to cause an adverse reaction to anyone with a powder allergy. Far better to sacrifice volume for safety sir. “

The Captain nodded, “Well stated. Now I trust I will not be seeing any alcohol related sick bay causalities, or men showing up drunk to duty.”

Steins stiffened, “Sir, I can not guarantee that, but I can guarantee you will see few repeat offenders.” 

“Excellent,” the Captain said pouring another swig. “Mr. Smith in the future see that this is hidden by an aluminum-carbon mixed panel. Pure carbon is a dead give away. Now, should we continue? I believe the aft batteries are next.”