First Command (24 page)

“Good morning Mr. Trendale,” Jonathan said turning around.

“Good morning sir,” William replied in an overly formal tone.

Jonathan walked over and leaned against the boxing ring’s ropes. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Trendale stiffened but didn't say anything, although his eyes showed he clearly wanted to.

Jonathan grinned his best disarming boyish grin, and said,

“If I’m not mistaken you practice Krav Maga correct?”

“Yes sir, I was on the team at the academy,” Trendale replied his tone noticeably less full of disrespect and mingled with legitimate confusion.

“Would you care for a little sparing?” Jonathan continued, hopping backwards into fighter’s stance. “I was never much for the mixed stuff, mostly old fashion boxing.”

“Um… sir?” Now he was really confused. Clearly he was expecting another tongue-lashing, not an invitation to spar.

“If you need to warm up I’m in no rush.”

“No sir, just let me change,” Trendale replied.

Ten minutes later, wearing his Overwatch class of 828 sparing shirt and shorts, Trendale climbed into the ring. He watched the Captain warily as he balanced on the balls of his feet.

Jonathan began to jab here and there, which Trendale blocked easily enough. “Class of 828, Mr. Trendale. I had wondered if you were part of the Golden Boys?”

For the first time since Jonathan had known him, Trendale blushed slightly. The Golden Boys was the nickname of the Overwatch Martial Arts Team, who had for the first time in thirty years beat out the Army, Marines, and National Police Officer academies to win a full sweep of 1st place, in all martial art forms. “No wonder you're not fond of playing second fiddle,” Jonathan said as he expertly feinted. Trendale then caught him in the gut with a lightly pulled blow.

“I ughh,” Trendale was clearly agitated, but what self-control he had kept him from lashing out.

Jonathan continued, “William,” Jonathan used his given name to illustrate the seriousness of the conversation.

“I know you’re less than happy with my getting Command of
Titan
as is your right, but it is NOT your right to let your personal feelings affect your work.”

Trendale had clearly had enough. He pushed, or rather attempted to push, Jonathan away.
“FUCK YOU!!! YOU PROVO FUCK!!!” Trendale bellowed, “I’m the one who ought to be running this ship, and everyone knows it, I practically carried that bastard Greene for two FUCKING years, but now I’M FUCKED. I’ll never get a command because I’m the moron who let his CO get caught up in
the
scandal of the century, and wasn't even clever enough to profit from it. THEN THEY SEND FUCKING YOU! YOU JUMPED UP LITTLE PROVO SHIT! YOU GODDAMN LEAD! The first mutiny in a century and a half, and they gave you MY SHIP.”

Trendale stopped himself. He was panting heavily. The rage he’d held inside himself billowing out. His face was clouded with horror as he realized he’d almost certainly ruined what was left of his career.

Then, to Trendale’s surprise, Jonathan who had remained stone faced throughout his entire rant, smiled a cheeky smile and said,  “Mr. Trendale are you familiar with the practice of Tiao Zhan Chuan?”

Trendale started to shake his head in confussion. He’d just cussed out his senior officer, and the man’s only response was to ask if he’d heard of an obscure spacer practice. Then Jonathan cold cocked him with a jab to the solar plexus, and he doubled over in pain.

“It means ‘challenge for the ship’ In Old Mandarin, you spineless bastard. You want this command then kill me.”

Trendale straightened “I...”

Jonathan hit him again, in the face this time, knocking him to the ground.

Trendale looked up at him, his mind swirling.

Jonathan bounced on the balls of his feet, “Come on you blue blooded prick, you can tell them it was an accident. That short Provo bastard fell and hit his head. Then you can be Captain.”
Trendale tried to get up, but Jonathan kicked him “Either come up and fight or stay down.”

Trendale’s confusion became anger, and that fed his frustration. Suddenly, before he knew what he was doing, he leaped to his feet swinging. Jonathan retreated back into defensive stance. He ducked, he bobbed, he weaved, he blocked, but he didn’t strike Trendale, who for his part completely lost himself in the flurry of kicks, jabs, and punches. It went on for about thirty minutes. Both of them were bruised and battered, until finally, sweating profusely, Jonathan hit him again in the jaw, and Trendale went down. Too tired to get back up.

“Feel better Commander?” Jonathan said dropping down next to Trendale.

The exhausted Trendale could only wheeze. He’d always maintained near peak physical fitness, but now he felt as though he hadn’t worked out in years.

Jonathan continued, “I know you're not fond of me William, and I don't particularly care. You are a damn good officer, and could be a great one. Most Captains would have had you thrown in the brig on water and bread long ago, but I make a point of never taking anything personally, especially aboard ship. Tempers flare, people say things, but when it comes down to it - the man next to you could be all that's separating you from floating in the eternal dark. Now here's what's going to happen, I’m going to shower and change because we have to brief the rest of the officers on Operation CORNET in a hour. If you're able to pull your head out of your ass, and be the officer we all know you're capable of being, then my report on you will reflect your strong qualifications and contain a strong recommendation. You   will receive a command of your own at the earliest opportunity.” Jonathan rose and looked down at his still panting XO. “This is your first and last warning Mr. Trendale. Get your shit together or it’s bread and water for the next six months, and court martial as soon as we dock at
Macran.”
Jonathan strode out, hoping he’d gotten his point across, especially considering how much pain these bruises were going to cause him over the next few days.

Trendale remained on the floor for a while thinking about his CO’s words, and then when he heard the unmistakable sound of Marines tramping in he rose and slunk off to the showers. The hot water soothed his sore body, but did nothing for his shame. William Trendale, for the first time in weeks, could think clearly again. The jealousy and misdirected rage he’d felt toward his CO evaporated. He very nearly finished himself, proven his damned family of his they were right, that he couldn't hack it. But lo and behold the one man who could have finished him once and for all, hadn't just given him another chance, but told him straight out he was a good officer. Trendale feeling the warm water wash over him hung his head and cried.

Chapter XII

On board
RSNS Titan
DD-0023 New Helsinki System, Solarian Republic,

In Low Orbit New Helsinki, Conference Room

February 21st 841 AE  (2802 AD) 08:00hrs Local Time

Jonathan winced as he slid into his chair. One of Trendale’s jabs had bruised a rib, and Jonathan was going to be feeling it the next few days.
Titan’s
officers and senior NCO had gathered in the conference room for Jonathan to deliver the briefing on Operation CORNET and what role
Titan
would play in it. Everyone had assembled except Commander Trendale. Jonathan was just starting to worry he’d pushed his XO too hard, when the door slid open and Trendale strode in, looking every inch a naval officer. His undress uniform was clean and pressed, and he was grinning from ear to ear and humming a tune to himself. He was also sporting a massive bruise on his right cheek where Jonathan had clocked him.

As he sat down he said, “Apologies if I kept you waiting.”

“No bother XO,” Jonathan replied nonchalantly.

Warrant Officer Rodriguez lacking his customary tack chimed in “
Santa Domina
what happened to you sir?”

“I beg your pardon?” Trendale said
his feigned confusion well hidden, but obvious to Jonathan.

“Your new shiner sir?” Rodriguez said.

“Oh this,” Trendale said absent mindedly touching his cheek “Afraid I slipped in the shower earlier. I have already had one of the pharmacist mates take a look at it.  Nothing is broken so I am fit for duty.”

“I believe you are XO,” Jonathan said.

Everyone in the room noticed the subtle by play, but as rank hath its privileges no one questioned it.

“Now to the matter at hand. Lt. Chan why don't you take us through CORNET,” Jonathan said.

“ME Sir?” Chan said in surprise her voice almost reaching a high-pitched squeak.

“Yes. You did spend the better part of two days assisting in its planning. I’m sure you're more familiar with the details than I am,” Jonathan said reclining in his chair.

It was an unspoken rule in the Navy that the Tactical track was the express route for command rank. This was why most ships had assistant Tactical officers, so that young lieutenants could learn the trade of dealing death and destruction from a more senior officer without endangering the ship. Assistant Tactical Officers were frequently regarded as an annoyance, if not an outright nuisance. On destroyers however, they were vital since the Assistant Tactical Officer was tasked with managing the ship's defensive system during combat. However Jonathan, mindful that Lt. Chan would someday be sitting where he was, wanted her to get a feel for the less technical side of command. Namely, presenting a plan of action you had very little input in making.

“Ve..ve..ve..very good sir,” Chan said. She stuttered slightly, but Sandra Chan the only daughter of Lt. Colonel Alfred Chan Solarian Marine Corps (retired) held her nerve.

“Governor Curtis, Commander and Chief of the system at the suggestion of Brigadier Treos have adopted a modified version of the CASE BLUE response plan code name CORNET.”

Solarian war plans and scenarios were dreamed up in various departments at various levels. Jonathan's old job had dealt with planning on a Republic wide scale, across multiple branches of the service.

Each command within the Solarian military, had its own staff of eager beaver, junior officers dreaming up its own response plans. Once a plan was adopted, it was given a code name picked from a list of randomly generated words. In this case, CORNET.

Lt. Chan continued, “CORNET will commence at 08:00 Haggerdam time tomorrow. At that moment, the New Helsinki Auxiliary police will launch coordinated strikes against all known and suspected insurgent supporters and sympathizers across all municipalities. The Interior Forces who will be relocated to urban areas for this purpose will assist them. Interior Troops and Auxiliaries will cease offensive operations in rural areas, and go on the defensive. This is where
Titan
comes in. Currently, there are twenty-seven know insurgent camps. At 08:01 Haggerdam time,
Titan
will launch twenty-seven tactical missile strikes against these targets. Following the strikes, New Helsinki Auxiliaries supported by Interiors will move to secure these sites and assess the damage. The goal of CORNET is to cripple the urban and rural logistical support for the insurgence, and degrade their command and control. This will allow OMI and the CRS more time to locate both the main enemy off world supply pipeline, and senior enemy commanders,” Lt. Chan sat down and only then remembered to breathe again.

“Thank you Lt. Chan,” Jonathan said. “One other point though. The First and Second Squads of our Marine contingent along with one of our Testudo fire teams will be remaining in Haggerdam to support the operations there. They’ll be under the command of Gunnery Sergeant Grasman. Third and Fourth Squad and our other Testudo unit will remain on
Titan,
and be ready to deploy via drop at a moment's notice. Lt. Baker will command all units that remain aboard ship.”

Baker had not been happy about this at first, but Jonathan had explained that he wanted the senior Marine aboard ship ready to lead his men at a moment's notice into a potentially hot drop zone. Baker had continued to grumble, but a grumbling Marine generally indicated he was a content Marine.

“Any questions on the action plan?” Jonathan asked. There were two intelligent questions from Lt. Commander Gopal about warhead load out and targeting variations, and one incredibly stupid one from Halman.

“Sir,” Halman said his upper class accent like nails on a chalkboard to Jonathan's ears.