The silver fleet the com.., p.12
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 12
“Almost. I’d like a pair of rail guns delivered to the Mantis in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Rail guns!” Paige snorted. “I’m not a magician, Faulkner. Where am I supposed to get something like that at such short notice?”
“The rail guns I was promised arrived on station eleven days ago but have since disappeared. I would like them to be located so that they can be installed as quickly as possible.”
Paige gave a curt nod.
“Very well, you’ve made your point. You shall have the things you ask for. Not that it will do you a damned bit of good.”
Admiral Paige walked over to the partition and had to wait for the door to activate. As he stepped through, he glared at Faulkner then disappeared.
*
Morton looked around the officers’ rec room. She was still getting used to the Mantis’ lay-out. Even with illuminated maps at every major junction, she struggled to find her way around. When it had been re-modelled, the designers had stuck with the original fixtures and fittings in the crew’s quarters and so everything had a slightly out-moded feel to it. The officer’s rec room looked like it belonged in a Victorian gentleman’s club, a style completely at odds with the utilitarian nature of most starships.
There were several young officers sitting around a table. She didn’t need to approach them to know that they wanted nothing to do with her. They saw her as part of the old guard whereas they were young and ambitious. Their current posting was merely a steppingstone on the way to their next promotion.
Her eyes shifted to a corner seat. The young woman sitting there looked as awkward as she felt. Morton decided to go and sit over there. She’d be fine as long as she didn’t sit too close. If the woman didn’t want to talk then she would sit and watch the holo-display on her own. There were up-dates on the battlefleet’s preparations and the station’s state of readiness coming through regularly.
“Anyone sitting here?”
“No, help yourself.”
“I’m Elsbeth Morton.”
The woman reached across to shake her hand. “Jane Deeley. I’m a science bod.”
“Any idea what we’re doing here?”
“I got the summons, same as everyone else.”
Three senior officers had just entered. One of them was the chief engineer, Palmer Davitz.
“I just do as I’m told,” Deeley said.
“Me too. I’m Medical.”
“Doctor Morton?” she registered a flash of understanding. “That’s right. You came on-board with the captain.”
Morton had forgotten how quickly news travelled on these things.
Deeley made to say something else but was distracted as a rowdy group of officers entered. They made to go and sit at one of the tables in the centre but changed their minds when they saw the chief engineer sitting there.
Deeley continued, “Okay. So how did you end up here? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”
Morton relaxed a little at that. Deeley had avoided the obvious: ‘So, what’s he really like, then?’ question. For that, at least, she deserved some credit.
“Do you want a well-considered answer or do you want the truth?”
“The truth works fine for me.”
“The captain took me on a shuttle tour round the ship which I did well to survive.”
“That was you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Anyway, while I was down in sickbay I got talking to one of the doctors down there and they told me how much difficulty they were having recruiting trained medical staff. Sort of pricked my conscience a little. You see, I did my first tour during the last war. Then, when news came that the fleet was mobilising…”
“You felt you had something to offer. I get it.”
There had been slightly more to it than that. Faulkner had more or less emotionally blackmailed her into volunteering for the role by telling that he didn’t feel that as captain, he’d be able to find the time to keep up his daily health regime. He had been working daily in the gym in an effort to re-build his fitness, while the physiotherapist alone to took up an hour of his time. Morton had instantly realised how disastrous that would be for all concerned. At least with her on board as his personal physician she could keep an eye on him. After the incident on-board the shuttle, she feared that he might be suffering from the effects of PTSD and that was a real concern. If she left him to his own devices, she worried that his health would actually begin to deteriorate. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to tackle him over his health issues.
Plus, if his health did become an issue she felt that she had the experience and the will to tackle him over it. And if that meant that she had to declare him unfit for command and have him relieved of his post, then so be it.
While she was thinking this, someone turned up the volume on the holo-screen and the voices in the rec room were silenced.
The camera showed a packed meeting hall somewhere on Lincoln. A series of close-ups picked out various captains and commanders, all looking immaculate in their dress whites.
“This looks serious,” Deeley said, edging forward.
A rear admiral was making the introductions. That was to be expected but what was unusual though was the fact that the top table appeared to be made up of the Head of the Army and the Navy. A shiver went down Morton’s spine. The last time she’d seen those two together in the same room they’d had been at the signing of the Treaty of Branislaw, bringing the hostilities of The Long War to a close.
Morton tried to gather her thoughts. There was a chance that this was all an elaborate charade, a sabre-rattling exercise designed to make the Yakutians consider their position. But then, what if they were serious? What if the entire Confederation was about to be launched into a major conflict? What then?
Looking around the room, she saw a lot of excited faces. This was, after all, what these people had been training for most of their adult lives. She just wondered whether they fully appreciated the enormity of what was being contemplated here and what the effect such a decision would have on the Confederation and its peoples. She’d lived through a large-scale conflict once in her life and had no desire to do so again.
The only positive thing she could glean from the sea of faces on the screen was that this appeared to be a wholly military gathering. There were no suggestions that politicians were involved at this early stage, no sign of the president or those in government who advised him. The hawks and the doves. And as far as she was concerned, that could only be a good thing.
If they were looking at a declaration of war then the president would be very much front and centre in any, and all, proceedings.
Not there yet. Not quite.
It was Admiral Paige who stepped up to the lectern. People said that he encapsulated everyone’s expectations of what a senior naval officer should be: tall and reasonably handsome with a commanding demeanour which immediately brought the room to order.
He began by introducing himself and then welcoming the groups from the various armed forces who were currently watching the broadcast. It was an impressive list.
“It’s true that of late we have had to deal with threats on several fronts but the Confederation has been faced with greater challenges in the past and we have always triumphed.”
At that point the picture shifted to a close-up of Captain Faulkner causing consternation all around the rec room. Everyone had assumed that their captain was still on-board the Mantis. Morton stared in disbelief, trying to work out what he was doing there. For his part, Faulkner stared straight ahead, his thoughts unreadable.
Then the camera cut back to Paige to make an interesting counterpoint: the old lion against the young pretender.
“As many of you already know, I will be the one leading the battlefleet into the Astares system in a few days’ time. Such a deadline has meant that every aspect of the service has had to step up their game and I thank everyone involved for their hard work and dedication to duty in what has been a particularly demanding few weeks. I am sure that there will be further tests of our resolve in the weeks and months to come and I know that I can rely on each and every one of you to give of your best.”
Morton could feel the atmosphere in the room beginning to change. Regardless of what she might think of Paige there was no denying his skills as a public speaker. The applause he received was loud and long enough that the Admiral was compelled to ask for silence in order that he might continue. “Building on the infringements we are already aware of, we heard, this week, of another incursion into our territory. A drone arrived a few days ago from Tigris, a scientific research facility of some two hundred souls out in the Allegra System. Details are sketchy at present but it seems that they were victims of an unprovoked aerial bombardment. As I said, this is a scientific settlement with very little in the way of defensive strategies and it seems from the information that we’ve received thus far that there was significant loss of life. All we can do is to pray for the families of those concerned.”
Deeley turned to Morton. “Have you heard about this?”
There was an accusatory tone to her voice which Morton didn’t much care for.
She shook her head. While she had been aware that Faulkner had been more than a little preoccupied this week – he’d cancelled two physiotherapy sessions and a psychological evaluation session she’d had planned – there’d been no suggestion that anything of this importance had been on the cards.
Morton said, “What I want to know is: who’s really behind all these attacks? Is someone going to come out and directly accuse the Yakutians or are we just meant to assume it’s them? Is this a straightforward colonial conflict, or something else entirely?”
Deeley pulled a face. “But it’s got to be the Yakutians, surely. I mean, who else could it be?”
“Well, there’s the Vardiaans for a start.”
“They wouldn’t have the capacity for something like this.”
“Not for a sustained conflict perhaps but it’s not beyond them to start something and then let the Yakutians take the blame. The Vardiaans would like nothing better than to see the pair of us locked in a long and costly war.”
“Perhaps,” Deeley conceded. “But there’s nothing to suggest they are involved.”
“But that goes for the Yakutians as well,” Morton turned back to the screen. “We’re not being told the whole story here. And what about this new attack? The science station.”
“The Tigris?”
“If they’ve been attacked then surely they’ve got some idea of who’s behind it.”
Deeley didn’t appear happy with Morton questioning what was going on.
She said, “It’s too early to know what’s happened. That’s what he said.”
“This is all feels as though it’s been carefully stage-managed. It’s as much about what Paige isn’t telling us as what he is. That’s why the president’s not been involved. They’re building up to some big revelation. They’re probably planning to let him release the final details. Just before he makes a formal declaration of war. This is just the warmup act.”
Morton had been at medical school when the Long War had started. She remembered feeling excited at the start when their troops had begun to engage the enemy. It had felt like a just war and everyone had assumed that a quick victory was assured. But then the Vardiaans had entered the fray on the Yakutian side and the balance of power had suddenly slipped away from them.
It had been a bitter blow and one, which the Confederation had done well to recover from.
“You think Paige will stop at Piatra?” Deeley said.
What she invariably wanted to know was whether that would be the end of hostilities. In which case, it would be unlikely that the Mantis would ever get involved.
“Difficult to say. If Paige is serious about attacking the Yakutian homeworlds Icaria would make an excellent staging post. In which case, he’s going to need reinforcements. And plenty of ‘em.”
One of the group of senior officers sitting in front turned around and scowled at them. Morton recognised him as Bud Seager, the ship’s CAG. “Would you two mind being quiet? We’re trying to hear what the man’s saying.”
The two women sat back, chastened.
Onscreen, Paige carried on.
“While the president is still focussed on our main mission to the Astares system, he feels that it is imperative that we send aid and support to the scientists and technicians on Tigris as soon as possible. Obviously, there is still the possibility that whoever attacked the base may still pose an on-going threat. And, with that in mind, it has been decided to send one of our warships to the Allegra system in order to ensure that Tigris base is properly fortified. To that end, it has been decided that the Mantis, captained by Robert Faulkner will be despatched to Tigris with immediate effect.”
The camera cut across to Faulkner, attempting to gauge his reaction. But there was only a look of grim determination sketched on his face.
CHAPTER TEN
Faulkner’s legs were screaming at him but the last thing he wanted to do was to sit down. Instead, he braced his hands against the back of the chair and pushed himself into an upright position. If the two senior officers across the table considered his actions strange, they went to great lengths not to show it.
His legs had been giving him hell since the shuttle crash but, with his health in such a fragile condition, he didn’t feel that he could mention it to anyone – least of all Morton. Really, he needed either a long session with his physiotherapist or a cortisone injection to kill the pain but, the way things were going, he was unlikely to get either. He’d been sitting in the drafty security bubble for the last three hours but it had felt like much, much longer. Pinned in by the officers around him he had struggled to find a comfortable position in which to sit. His right leg had proved particularly problematic. Despite spending an inordinate amount of time on those damned stretching exercises, the right leg still had a tendency to lock itself into position so that he was unable to straighten it. That made sitting down something of a trial but possible for short periods.
After half an hour of sitting, waiting for Paige to take the stage, his thigh had started to spasm. All his efforts to manage the discomfort had simply resulted in the pain spreading, first into his buttock and then across his whole lower back. These cramps had intensified to the point where he was in a state of near constant pain. This at a time when his image was being beamed to every military base in the seven systems. When every facial tic and grimace was being analysed for the slightest --- of a reaction. Luckily, he had brought some pain killers along with him though, without any water to hand, he had ended up grinding them down between his teeth.
Paige’s declaration about the Mantis was being sent off into the depths of space might have come as a surprise to many but Faulkner had been expecting it. Ever since their fateful meeting on-board the president’s ship, he’d known that Paige would find a way of getting back at him. Which was fine. Faulkner may have been punished but it had been worth it. His stores had been fully replenished, his logistical concerns had been taken care of and he had sufficient crew for an extended deployment. If that meant that they were to be excluded from Paige’s initial plans then he could live with that. If war was coming, then they’d get their taste of the action soon enough.
Once the briefing was concluded and Faulkner was able to get up, he had wasted no time getting clear of the building. He’d been standing against one of the walls, trying to work some life back into his foot when the adjutant had approached him.
The man handed him the note without a word.
Faulkner read it through once and then thanked him. The man saluted and left.
A car stood at the kerb, waiting to transport him back to the Admiralty but Faulkner waved it away. If he wanted to avoid the indignity of rolling on the floor, clutching his hamstring while his superiors watched, he was going to have to get some blood flowing again. It took him nearly an hour to walk there, the pain flaring with every step, but eventually the feeling began to return to his leg. There was a long snaking queue outside the Admiralty building and Faulkner had to wait in line before finally being admitted.
An anxious looking lieutenant collected him from the foyer and took him straight to the third floor.
There were two senior officers sitting in the room and Faulkner was grimly aware of how clumsy he must look as he entered: hobbling about on his bandy legs, his face slick with sweat. There was Major General Maria Estevez and Rear Admiral Andrew Davies both from the Joint Chiefs of Staff Office.
He’d met Estevez at the medal ceremony. She was a no-nonsense type, who wore minimal make-up. She had served for many years under Admiral Nichols, which suggested that she was very likely operating near the top of her game. Nichols had a reputation for exacting high standards from his staff and for her to have served under him for so long, she had to be good.
Davies was more of an unknown quantity. A navy pilot in his youth, he had a reputation for making efficiency savings. He was widely reviled as the man who had overseen the closure of the Birzhi shipyards. Faulkner wondered whether there wasn’t a group of admirals, off in the halls of power, who might have cause to regret that decision.
But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was what the people in front of him had planned for the Mantis.
Estevez invited him to sit but Faulkner indicated that he would rather stand, resting his hands on the back of the chair.
“I take it that you know why you’re here?” Davies inquired.
Faulkner nodded, deciding not to ask why he was receiving his orders now, after his mission had already been made public.
Instead, he said, “I hear that you want the Mantis to take part in some kind of Search and Rescue operation?”
Davies called up some detail on his tablet. “That’s the story we’re giving the newsfeeds. Your orders are a little more complex.”
“I see.”
He had no idea where this was headed.
It was Estevez who spoke next. “Things are moving quickly here. As you know, we’re mobilising to set up a blockade around the disputed colony of Piatra. This is an extremely sensitive subject - we have no idea how the Yakutians might react. The information we’re receiving suggests that they’re pulling out but we very much doubt that. We think this is a ruse. We’re pretty sure that they intend to leave behind several detachments of ground forces who’ll be tasked with targeting our troops if we should decide to make landfall. That way, if we choose to engage with them we can do so without it escalating into a full-blown conflict.”
