First Command (9 page)

Turning back to his new first officer Jonathan grinned, “I must say Commander Trendale, I didn’t expect to be greeted in such fine fashion.”

Trendale was very stiff, “Apologies sir. I misremembered the regulations regarding welcoming a new CO aboard, no excuse sir.”

“None needed,” Jonathan replied. “I believe section five of the regulations regarding uniforms, and ceremony states that dress when welcoming a superior officer aboard is at the discretion of the current senior officer aboard ship, and as you were the senior officer aboard you were well within your rights to choose dress whites.”

Trendale seemed to relax momentarily, then remembering his role as XO snapped to attention again, “Sir may I present your officers?”

Jonathan nodded.

Turning to his right, Trendale introduced the short broad shouldered man as Lt. Commander Nathan Gopal the ship’s Third Officer and Tactical Officer. If William Trendale was a poster boy for the Landed class, Nathan Gopal was one for the Steaders. Dark skinned, dark eyed with jet black hair and a strong grip he stood about three inches taller than Jonathan, though Jonathan had accepted long ago he’d spend his life looking up at people not down. Gopal’s handshake was strong and rough. Next to Gopal, was Lt. Sandra Chan, Assistant Tactical officer. Jonathan wasn’t surprised to have a female officer. In fact, he didn’t think much of it at all. Solaria had full, legal equality between the sexes going back to the first landing, however culturally Solarians tended to have more strictly defined gender roles than places like Earth, or Irulium. This was a by-product of the conservative culture of many of the original colonists. As such, the number of women in the military amounted to less than twelve percent of the total force. Some of Solaria’s more conservative citizens audibly sniffed at that, and some of the more liberally inclined protested it as too few, but the Military had established its rules long ago. Anyone who could pass the strenuous training could join, no exceptions were to be made one way or another. Sandra Chan for her part was a petite woman, only an inch taller than Jonathan with soft blue eyes, unusual for Solaria, and close-cropped brown hair. Her build and olive skin tone also marked her as Steader. Doing his best to stand at attention next to Lt. Chan, was the small, jittery form of Lt. Qin Smith Chief Engineer. Lt. Smith was about Jonathan’s height, but much older approaching his early fifties. The stylized Bosun’s pipe medal he wore on his uniform next to his other commendations, marked him as a Mustang - an enlisted man risen to officer. Grey in the temples, small and thin, Smith seemed extremely on edge. His fruit salad, the array of medals on his chest, however spoke volumes about the man. Among his impressive array of ribbons, was the blood red combat ribbon with three thick hash marks. Each hash denoted twenty combat engagements giving Lt. Smith well over sixty combat engagements. He also had three wound badges- the Navy Cross, two Legions of Honor, a Medal of Merit, and a Silver Sunburst, a collection of medals worthy of respect, even if the man who wore them looked as jittery as a frightened hopper. The officer next to Lt. Smith was a young man, but immaculately groomed. His over bred features and sandy hair marked him as a Landed and when Commander Trendale introduced him as Lt. Marcus Halman Jonathan’s observations were confirmed. There was a Eugene Halman in the Senate, a senior member of the Conservative Party who prided himself on not having an original thought in decades. Even trying to respectfully salute and shake his new CO’s hand, Jonathan got the feeling that Lt. Halman was doing his best not to have the same expression he would get if he had stepped on something particularly unpleasant. The last two officers standing stiffly at attention were introduced as Daimion Krishna a Provo if Jonathan had ever seen one. He was a black skinned, curly haired thin man with sterling grey eyes. The final man in line wasn’t a naval officer at all but the commander of
Titan’s
marine contingent. Lt. Varden Baker, who with his thick muscles, and towering six foot frame looked to have just stepped off a recruiting poster. His tan physique and brown eyes marked him as a Steader also. Having been introduced to the officers, Jonathan shook hands with the thick grey haired Master Chief Petty Officer, the ships senior NCO who introduced himself as Master Chief Donny Hartic.

Nodding to the assembled formation, “Right then. There will be a lot to do in the coming days. Master Chief if you detail two men to stow my luggage, the rest of the formation is dismissed, and I want to see all officers in the wardroom in twenty minutes, Lt. Baker and Master Chief if you’d also be so good as to join us also.”

“Oh,” Jonathan continued casually as if forgetting one final thing. “Undress uniform if you please. We have a lot of work to do.”  

Twenty minutes later after Jonathan had stowed his luggage in his new quarters, a luxurious three hundred square foot cabin that included its own shower with actual water no less, the Navy felt the commander of its ships rated above ultrasonic showers an opulent luxury Jonathan didn’t dwell on much while looking at his assembled officers. They’d changed from their gaudy dress whites back into plain khaki undress, and were now looking at their new CO with an odd mix of curiosity, foreboding, and the slightest hints of hostility from Lt. Halman and Commander Trendale. That was going to be a problem Jonathan thought. A stuck up Lt. four years out of the academy Jonathan could handle, but if his XO didn’t respect him things could become very sticky very fast. Putting that problem aside, Jonathan rose and addressed his new officers.

“Well gentleman, and lady let’s clear the air first. Yes, I am the infamous Pavel the Pirate,” Jonathan's voice dripped sarcasm at the moniker. “Yes, I did accidently lead a mutiny, and yes I did lose a third of my crew. I’ve been fully cleared by an inquiry and some how won back the trust of the Admiralty enough to be given this ship.”

Jonathan paused, then continued in a more serious tone.

“This ship, a majestic craft if I’ve ever seen one, one that was ill served by the man trusted to lead her and her crew. I didn’t know Captain Green well, nor did I know Warrant Officer Olman” Jonathan said, naming the ships now incarcerated quartermaster. “Nor do I wish to revisit things that have since past. I know that only three of you four including you Master Chief were even onboard when this unpleasantness came to pass.” Jonathan meant Trendale, Gopal, and Smith, the three most senior officers. The rest had transferred on over the last two months while
Titan
sat in space dock.

“It doesn’t matter what happened or why. What matters now is moving forward. We have been given a chance to restore this ships good name, and I aim to make the most of that.” There was some nodding. His officers seemed to think he was saying the right thing even if they didn’t quite believe him.

“Now that we're done with that, to business,” Jonathan proceeded to brief them on their orders to proceed to New Helsinki. “Obviously,” he said, “This is not an unimportant detail, but it is in the back and beyond, and as such we will be on our own. TF-BBCVL010, the closest friendly formation is seventy-two hours away at speed. As such, we will be operating on a war footing, so Master Chief the state of the crew.”

Hartic jerked. He’d thought he’d been invited to this meeting as a courtesy. Thirty years in the navy and he’d never been asked to address an assembled staff meeting. Captains usually consulted their senior NCOs in private, which was what most regarded as the proper form.  Hartic suddenly found himself under the serious eyes of the young Captain who didn’t seem to care for proper form.

“Um..hmm well sir,” Hartic replied in a raspy voice that spoke of an overindulgence in recreational inhalants. “Office of Personnel has assigned us a full draft, but um.” Hartic didn’t know how to phrase his next thought.

“If I may chief,” The Captain said pulling up a file onto the screen from his wrist display. “I’ve reviewed our personnel files and 70 percent of the men are rated Able Spacer with most of our NCOs having attained their rank this year.”  The Captain shrugged.
Titan
carried a complement of four hundred and fifty people including officers and her Marine platoon. “In short, people we have a very green boat.”

Hartic nodded, “Aye sir, most of the old hands jumped ship when we got back, and most of the Able 1st don’t want to sign onto a ship whose future is, begging the Captains pardon, uncertain.”  Jonathan understood that. The Solarian navy didn’t provide a lot of rights for its enlisted personnel, but its policies were quite clear if a bit harsh. Unlike the Army, which had an annual draft of three-year conscripts under the National Service requirement, the Navy was an all-volunteer force. The minimum term of enlistment was eight years. Starting upon graduation of the three-month basic training, all those who graduated and didn’t have specialized skills were rated Able Spacer with a guaranteed promotion to Abled Spacer 1
st
in two years and a subsequent bump in pay. In peacetime, Spacers were suppose to spend a maximum of 13 months in space, and a minimum of four months off, but with the
Titan’s
last deployment cut short they were all now subject to the dreaded ‘needs of the service’ clause of their enlistment papers. This meant they could be redeployed for another full thirteen months away from their families and homes at a moment’s notice. Of course since it was peacetime there was an escape route. Every NCO and enlisted man ranked Specialist 3
rd
or above, alternatively any Able Spacer 1st with more than five years enlistment, could petition the Office of Personnel for a transfer. This was precisely what
Titan
’s previous crew had done. As a result, the new draft that the Office of Personnel had assigned to fill the roster were mostly inexperienced men fresh out of boot camp, or junior NCOs. Most of the remaining men with more experience were ‘stockade scrapings’ whose transfers had been denied due to discipline problems. Jonathan couldn't say he blamed them. Spacers were paid adequately, as far a Spacer pay went, but their real income was in the form of prize money from captured ships or seized contraband. The prize money seemed to be won by lucky Captains on lucky ships, and no one wanted to be on an unlucky ship. Especially since the service was so full of risk. Death and dismemberment seemed to multiply on unlucky vessels even in peacetime.

“In light of this lack of an experienced crew,” Jonathan said, “We will institute a rigorous training schedule in all departments. I’ll want each of you to have a schedule for your own departments by tomorrow and I’ll have a ship-wide schedule by then as well.”

“Is that really necessary sir?” Lt. Halman asked, “After all, the men have graduated basic training.”

Jonathan replied levelly. “It is extremely necessary Mr. Halman, because your life, my life, and the lives of 448 other people depend on this crew being able to perform their duties and the duties of the man next to them, blind, deaf, and drunk. Am I clear?”

“Aye sir.” Halman replied some how managing to sound smug through his respectful tones.

Keeping his temper in check, Jonathan moved on. “Next item. Have we been assigned a new Quarter Master yet? XO?” Jonathan directed the question to Trendale.

Commander Trendale shook his head, “No sir.”

“Very well, that will be your first assignment Mr. Trendale. I want you to beg, borrow, and bribe us a new Quarter Master.”

“Aye sir” Trendale answered levelly.

“Now that that’s taken care of, Chief Engineer what is the state of the ship?”

Smith jerked a bit before he answered, “Systems are nominal and priority maintenance completed. The Yard Dogs are handling secondary and tertiary repairs.”

Jonathan grinned, “Excellent. Inform the yard crews that we will no longer be requiring their services. Cancel all shore leaves immediately, and inform all absent crew, and officers they have forty-eight hours to report aboard ship. I intend to have us under way in three days.”

The room went dead quiet. Short noticed departure wasn’t unheard of even in peacetime, but that usually meant a week, or at least five days. The new Captain wanted to be underway in seventy-two hours. That would be doable if the ship wasn’t full of maintenance crews refurbishing a dozen systems, if the crew was fully mustered, and if the stores were fully loaded. All of these things though pushed meeting the departure schedule from the realm of probable to impossible.

Commander Trendale was the first to break the silence, “Captain isn’t that a bit sudden. I mean we have to requisition stores, muster the crew, and not to mention find a new Quarter Master.”

“And get the systems back to full functionality with her guts opened up all over the place,” Smith added quietly.

Jonathan for his part just grinned, “Oh, it will be tight and we will all be working quadruple shifts, but we will leave space dock in three days. We will make a hard burn to the Kalipan Wormway, and we will make a speed run to New Helsinki that if it doesn’t shatter the record will come very, very close. Lt. Halman I’ll need a fully plotted course from Solaria to New Helsinki that will get us there in two weeks, one and a half if possible. The color drained from Halman's face, normally long term courses were just a matter of picking where a ship was heading, and the navigator would handle the heavy work of steering a course through the various systems. Once the ship arrived in said systems then its computer could download the relevant navigational data from the other ships passing through the system in Solarian controlled space downloading data from the Nav buoys the CRS maintained.  To plot a speed run in the fashion the Captain was describing, meant looking at the most recent data on the position of relevant bodies in systems, planets, asteroids, comets, and gravity fluxes then extrapolating where those bodies would be when the ship entered the system. Even with the computer doing the heavy lifting, it was an extremely long and complex process.