Convoy (The Shelby Logan Chronicles Book 1) Page 7

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  Cynthia nodded politely to a few of the people she passed as she made her way through the docks to her ship. She was too busy to stop and acknowledge the personnel she passed, and they didn't need the distraction anyway. She was an engineer; she didn't go for all the bowing and scraping that some officers insisted on. They all had a damn job to do, get on it. There would be time to play mind games later she mentally grumped as she returned to Prometheus's berth.

  It had practically taken a miracle to arrange some leave time with Commander Vlad Contenov; he had his own ship to contend with. She was fervently glad they'd gotten a part of her leave together, it meant a lot. It also told her their relationship was deepening to degrees she wasn't sure she was prepared to yet. A full commitment … she shook herself, putting the thought aside.

  She appreciated his time even more since they'd finagled the time off to coincide with her free trip to the Oasis of Space. Much to the casino ship owner's dismay, they'd spent a lot more time in their room having fun than at the slot machines or at the tables though. They'd made up for it with the occasional trip to the dance floor and buffet, but she knew their inclusion had been something of a loss in potential revenue for the casino.

  “My heart bleeds,” she murmured.

  “Ma'am?” a voice asked from off to her left. She slowed. “Nothing. Carry on,” she said without looking. She did blush slightly at getting caught woolgathering out loud.

  She knew that Vlad would still tease her about her dancing his feet off in the clubs for weeks, but it had been worth it. Dirty dancing with him under the lights had really gotten her randy, and he'd appreciated that later she knew. There was a reason he was nicknamed “Vlad the Impaler.” She blushed slightly as she shouldered her duffel and made her way to the ship's lock. She was already looking forward to their next leave time together she knew. If Prometheus was going to be in dock for a while, she'd be available … but she wasn't so certain about him. Getting the free time … She scowled when she noted there was no port side watch or side party, just a cleaning robot. “What the devil?” She instantly put a call in to the officer of the deck.

  “Ah, XO, it is good to see you,” Ensign Prometheus answered.

  “Where is the watch? Where is the side party?” the commander growled as she stopped at a station and signed in. It wasn't just a matter of protocol; it was a security issue. Not that anyone could get far with a ship's A.I. watching them. “What the devil is going on?”

  “You caught us unaware, ma'am. We're a bit shorthanded at the moment. The power plants are off-line. Most of the ship is …”

  “I don't care ensign! Where are my people?” Cynthia fumed, looking around. The section of the dock was more or less deserted. There was a bunch of robots cleaning the walls and a janitor overseeing them, but no one else around.

  “Most of them were reassigned. The rest are on liberty or as I said, a skeleton watch in the primary departments. I received special dispensation from BUPERS not to man a watch for the moment.”

  “You?”

  “At the moment, the captain and I are the only officers on board. Well, now there are three of us,” the A.I. replied.

  “Damn it … what the devil is going on with the ship?”

  “Poaching,” the ensign replied.

  “Okay but … the bosun?”

  “Gone. Reassigned. I have a list. It is unfortunately a short list of who is left.”

  “Frack,” Cynthia muttered as she made her way past the robots moving gear around the ship. Lights came on ahead of her to light her way. “Damn I hate this. It's like living in a tomb it's so depressing. It isn't right. What about the yard dogs? Is anything getting done?”

  “Not much, ma'am. We are a very low priority for them,” the A.I. replied as she made her way to her stateroom. She tossed her duffel onto the bed and then stormed off to the bridge. She wasn't sure what she was going to find but knew she wasn't going to like it in the slightest.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  The captain and XO held a meeting over breakfast the following morning. Cynthia was clearly unhappy with the situation. Shelby had become more or less resigned to it.

  “It is what it is. We'll deal with it XO,” Shelby replied.

  “It still isn't right. They robbed us blind while we weren't home. I'm surprised the silverware is still here,” Cynthia grumbled, indicating her fork and the captain's spoon.

  “Count your blessings it was BUPERS and not Logistics,” Shelby said. “Otherwise you'd have to eat with your fingers,” Shelby said dryly, indicating the meal the XO had replicated and then her grapefruit. “Messy.”

  Cynthia grinned. “Not a problem for me,” she said with a shrug.

  Shelby shook her head mournfully. “Barbarian,” she muttered as she picked up her coffee mug and took a sip. Cynthia snorted. Shelby cradled the cup in front of her for a long moment before she got something off her chest. “I wanted to thank you for staying on. I know you were offered bigger and better things. I hope it won't affect your career.”

  Cynthia snorted. “Like I had a choice? I got that email offering me a fortress chief engineer slot. Pass. I'm not interested in going backwards career wise. And I don't like being in a fort twiddling my thumbs. Give me a ship any day,” she said with feeling.

  “That's the spirit,” Shelby said with a nod. “At least you checked your mail. But why you didn't know about the midnight personnel requisitions …”

  Cynthia waved a hand. “I did to some degree but didn't read them. The one directed to me about my career was at the top of my filter. I guess I didn't keep track of the sheer number of people they were poaching. If I'd been a little less distracted …,” she frowned.

  “Well, it happened. I'm just as guilty, though,” Shelby grinned. “I didn't have as good as an excuse as you did,” she said devilishly.

  Cynthia gurgled as she blushed. “Yeah, time sort of flew in some ways,” she said.

  “And slowed in other ways no doubt,” Shelby said maliciously. Cynthia's cheeks burned as did her ear tips. She shook a finger at her captain and tried to glower but couldn't keep the smirk off her face.

  “Get the canary feathers out of your mouth, lady. We've got work to do,” Shelby mock growled.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cynthia replied, schooling her face into more appropriate lines. “Better?” she asked, pointing her finger to her mock scowl.

  “Only if you want your shin kicked,” Shelby threatened with a shake of her head.

  “Bully,” Cynthia accused.

  “You're damn tootin' as you like to say,” Shelby replied with a brief smile. “I looked at the status board. We're somewhere in the middle for priorities. Right now, the biggest is getting Second Fleet back on its feet and back on the offense obviously.”

  “Yeah, I heard Second Fleet got its head handed to them,” Cynthia said with a shake of her head.

  “Something like that. They definitely got tore up. Which is why ships have been rushed in to reinforce them. It's thrown a monkey wrench into all the long-term plans, of which our mission is one among many,” Shelby replied. “Which is why our mission orders are a tad on the vague side,” she said with a grimace.

  “Making it up as we go along, Skipper?” Cynthia asked as she sat back and picked up her orange juice for a sip.

  “Something like that it seems. The actual planning may be completely up to us as well as the execution,” Shelby replied.

  “Well, if it goes that way we'll only have ourselves to blame if it goes south. How is that supposed to work?” Cynthia complained.

  Shelby paused, thought about that, and then snorted softly. “For the moment, we're in competition for the various missions for personnel, materials, and hulls.”

  “Not to mention personnel for our own ship,” Cynthia said with a shake of her head.

  “Exactly. Our biggest competition is TF3.2, the Eastern Front, and the plan to attack the Horathian Empire along that axis. Secondary missions
in importance was support of the Marine invasion of Destria and the planned invasion of other worlds,” Shelby explained.

  “Lovely.”

  “That's long-term plans. The Ptah mission is only a gleam in someone's eye right now,” Shelby said with a shake of her head. “I know the brass also wants cruiser squadrons to start raiding Sigma as well.”

  “What about Pi and Tau?”

  “Pi is not our problem. Tau … I'm going to ask that the first cruiser squadron be assigned to us,” Shelby said slowly, fingertip tracing the lip of her mug. “I think we can use them as escorts and security as well as scouts. That will keep them from kicking over a bigger hornets' nest than we'd like.”

  “You know they'll do it anyway with the anti-piracy patrols,” Cynthia warned.

  “I know. They'll have to set up a patrol route once we've got the sector mapped again,” Shelby said, making a note of that plan.

  “Keeping to the patrol route … they'll have to be careful; the pirates can eventually track them and learn their timing. Ambush them or just avoid them and hit where they aren't,” Cynthia warned.

  “You are just full of nasty thoughts this morning. Quit with the OJ, it's making you sour,” Shelby said as she made note of what her XO had just pointed out.

  Cynthia snorted as she downed the juice and then set the cup down.

  Shelby frowned as she finished the note to herself and then sat back to think of things. They had no idea what sort of opposition was in the sector. ONI had a list of some enemy ships in the sector, but it was out-of-date and she had yet to actually see the thing. “This is going to be a pain in the ass. We're supposed to cut the pirates down, set up a base, render aide to the natives, and secure certain star systems … I don't see how we can do it. Not with a small number of ships.”

  “I was wondering that myself actually,” Cynthia said. “Even if you poach the squadron of cruisers and their supports … and by the way, will we get the supports or will we be considered their supports instead?” she asked in a warning tone of voice.

  “Damn it,” Shelby muttered as she wrote that down too. “I know we're going to get a hospital ship. Right now, the powers that be have earmarked a Liberty class ship, the Good Hope.”

  “A fully dedicated hospital ship, not just our infirmary? Will wonders never cease,” Cynthia murmured thoughtfully. “Though the ship will need an escort,” she said looking up to the ceiling.

  “You …,” Shelby sighed as she wrote that note too. “Seriously, next time I'm bringing you along for the meetings with the brass. You keep pulling this stuff out of thin air …”

  “You need more coffee, Skipper,” Cynthia said as she rose and policed her dishes. She put them in the pantry dishwasher, then turned and brought the coffee pot to her boss. She topped the woman's coffee off then set the carafe back where it belonged. She grimaced when she noted there were no donuts. The skipper getting a grapefruit was shocking. “We need to put an order in for more fresh food. If we're in port, we damn well should get it.”

  “You'll get fat,” Shelby teased as she sipped her coffee.

  “Not with all the running around and jobs you plan to sick on me,” Cynthia retorted.

  “Well, that's certainly true,” Shelby said with a brief smile as she cradled her cup again with both hands. “They still don't know if we're going to be a new stand-up command or under Third Fleet,” she said.

  “Oh, lovely,” the XO said as she looked through the cupboards until she found something to assuage her sweet tooth. She looked at the plastic wrapped pastry, then pulled it out and opened it. She sniffed it, then took a tentative bite. “Works,” she said with a shrug as she snagged a napkin and then resumed her seat. “So, TF3.2 is going to be another front. Carriers I heard.”

  “When they get it going. It'll suck up a lot of the resources of Pyrax just to keep it moving forward,” Shelby said.

  “That's true. So, we need to be out of here before it happens,” Cynthia said as she took a bite of her pastry.

  “True,” Shelby said as she thought about the supply problem for the new fleet. Heck, just building the new fleet was an ongoing problem she knew; like her own mission most of it was on paper at the moment.

  Then there was the mess with the primary front and Second Fleet. Forces had been rushed to buttress the defenses in Protodon and stop the impending invasion. Not just stop, Shelby knew, but break it and return the offense back to the hands of the Federation. Ships were en route from both Pyrax and Antigua. They were playing merry hell with the mission plans of G-1 Ops, and some things were still being covered or shifted about she knew.

  She liked the wolf pack idea in theory; they had a lot of heavy cruisers sitting in First and Third Fleet. Sending them in to raid the enemy's commerce behind the lines made a lot of sense; it would force the enemy to divide its resources to cover the new threat. But that plan also took up resources.

  She had heard that Commodore Xx'll'rr was behind the suggestion, and she'd pitched it to the brass shortly before her recent promotion. The star she had meant the idea had additional weight behind it. She had heard that several senior officers were behind it, and it was creating another competition for personnel as well as resources.

  Once the wolf pack idea hit the military grapevine, officers jockeying to get in on the Eastern Command or Second Fleet suddenly wanted to be in a wolf pack. It was the perfect independent command. They would have the ability to hunt the enemy ships while also showing their initiative since they would be far from contact with the fleet. They would have to interact with planets and space colonies though. She'd heard there was a run on college courses in diplomacy and business transactions. That was amusing.

  The proponents wanted to have wolf packs in each of the neighboring sectors but mainly Sigma since something big was there. Which was why she wanted the Tau wolf pack tied to her mission if possible and not an independent command.

  It was fine for line officers to be bloodthirsty, to want to get in there and mix it up. Aggressive was what they were trained for. Being on the offense made sense, but they were still coming to grips with things she'd already realized, that such offenses required proper supports if they were going to be effective.

  Each wolf pack would need supplies of fuel, munitions, spare parts, and personnel. They'd need some sort of additional hospital function unless they stuck their wounded in stasis. They'd need a means to deal with prize ships. And the support ships would need their own escorts so they wouldn't fall prey to the enemy ships.

  It was a nice idea, but she felt it was too soon. The Admiralty was being pulled in too many directions at once. If she didn't act, her mission would just be paper study for years. That might be fine with some of the politicians; they wanted all the money generated in Rho to remain in Rho. They didn't seem to realize that it took an investment in credits, personnel, and hulls to expand. A few of the merchants did; they wanted to expand their markets. But they weren't enough … yet.

  It was best to get ahead of the problem before it became a bigger one she knew. And the whole reasoning of cutting a swath in Tau to secure Rho's rear was also a valid point. It was one reason Airea 3 was lobbying for the Tau mission.

  “Skipper?” Cynthia asked.

  “Um, sorry,” Shelby blinked. “Woolgathering. I'm getting a bit overwhelmed by how big the scope of the mission is,” she said.

  “Do what any good engineer does. Break it down into component boxes, then nail them down one by one.”

  “Smart,” Shelby said with a smile. “I remember. We've both had a lot of time and experience dealing with big pictures lately. What with all the work we did on the southern loop.”

  “Yeah, that was a pain in the ass,” Cynthia murmured. “I think, now that we've got some time, we need to go over this plan again. Sit down with the staff and break it down. Break down each section and write up what we'll need to achieve them. Obviously, timing will be open-ended; we don't know how long things will take.”

  “
True,” Shelby said. “How goes the repairs?”

  “Slow. We're going to be here a long time, at least a month or so,” Cynthia said. “I'm tempted to dig Oz out of whatever he's doing, fire up our reactors and replicators, and do the damn work myself. But even I know I can't do it all.”

  “You shouldn't have to, and you don't want to do that. BuShips will dump more on us or want you to play superwoman for them,” Shelby warned with a smile.

  “Perish the thought,” Cynthia said with a roll of her eyes.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  Shelby found out the following day that politics were at play both in the fleet and in the government as she tried to get replacement personnel for her ship.

  Along the way, she found out some of the reasons why someone like Lieutenant Strongbirth was in charge of a star system department. Most of the officers of lieutenant commander or commander rank were needed in the ship, base, or shipyard postings.

  That was understandable; many had dreamed of rising through the ranks. Tactical track was still the odds on favorite for early and frequent promotions. It was proving true too. Tactical officers received more logged bridge time than any other officer.

  But that left a gaping hole in staff positions. There were some who were professional at it. They had that mindset but not as many as the staffs apparently needed. She honestly didn't think they needed that much; it might be a case of fief building. Hopefully not, she groused privately.

  But, it explained why BUPERS was light on officers, and her requests were handled by the automated system, an A.I., or eventually by a harried Lieutenant Strongbirth herself. She hoped for the elf's sake the woman got her promotion to lieutenant commander soon; she'd more than earned it with the role she was playing.

  Through the occasional discussion with the lieutenant, she also picked up that BUPERS had been considering rotating personnel between staff and ship or fortress assignments to keep their skills up. She wasn't certain what to make of that idea. It had been tabled for the time being.

  To her thinking it might work for those who had families to consider. No sailor worth his salt wanted to be stuck groundside if that was his or her true calling she knew. Manning a desk was dull and boring. But, if it meant a steady paycheck and coming home to the spouse and kiddies each night? She smiled wistfully, then shook herself and changed mental tracks.