Kris Longknife: Defender (21 page)

“Commodore, I’ve fought under your command and I know you want every ship to maneuver on its own. We all studied up on your battles, all but Sampson, and we wanted to do it your way. We thought we were.”

Here Kitano chuckled. “We thought we were doing pretty good until a couple of hours ago. That, and none of us much cared for the hard-assed Mickey Mouse Sampson was pushing. We kind of used the confusion to ignore her. She tried calling in her contacts with Battle Force, but that only got Scout Force coming at us harder.”

Kris tried to place herself in Sampson’s shoes. She’d been a lieutenant when Kris was a boot ensign. Her dad had died under a cloud that was never proven. Clearly, Sampson had something to prove . . . and was working way too hard to prove it.

Kris shook her head. “A bad situation,” she said, then quickly appended, “Most of you did very well,” when Kitano looked taken back.

“We did as best we could, ma’am.”

Kris nodded, then remembered an extraneous question she couldn’t ignore. “Did the king really get you underway in a week?”

“Even a Longknife couldn’t do that, ma’am. Getting the civilian ships out of the builders yard and fit to sail took a month.”

“And you continued to work up on your own?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kris tried not to frown. Grampa Ray should have put someone in command when he knew they were headed for a potential fight. Had he been too busy, or was he so intent on dropping this hot potato of an honor in her lap? Kris had no answer for that.

“Thank you,” Kris said, and they returned to the bridge.

There were no surprises there. Nelly did suggest that they lower the fleet speed to 1.75 gees. The
Connie
’s reactors were getting more into the red, but no request or report came from her skipper. Kris slowed the fleet.

If Nelly hadn’t kept an eye on the
Connie
’s engineering state, the captain might have very well let her blow herself out of space before she admitted she had a problem. Kris could only imagine the language being used by the snipes as they went about their work, one eye on the dials as they edged more into the red.

Kris didn’t issue another order until they approached Canopus Station.

“Send from flag to squadron. We will dock in order, flag to aft-most ship. There will be an immediate meeting of captains in the commodore’s day quarters upon docking. XOs, chief engineers, chief scientists, skippers of Marine detachments and command senior chiefs report to the wardroom of the
Princess Royal
for a later briefing.”

The
Princess Royal
caught the first tie-down and was towed into its pier on the spinning Canopus Station. Each of the next two frigates smartly performed the landing.

The
Connie
botched her approach and had to back out, wait for its dock to come around again, and make another pass at the initial tie-down. She missed the hook again and only docked on the third try.

Nelly reported all of this as Kris got out of her egg and pulled on her undress whites with hardly a thought to what she was doing. Nelly fed Kris reports on what the Marine detachments had or had not accomplished. She heard them and stored the information away for later use. However, her mind was already lost to a series of meetings she did not want to have. She’d been preparing herself for two of them since last night.

Now she had to add a third.

Abby made sure Kris’s uniform passed inspection, then grinned, and added, “Good luck, baby duck. Ain’t being a grown-up the pits?”

Kris found she had to chuckle at that. “If we told kids what waited for them at the end of high school and college, do you think we’d ever get them out of the house?”

“My house, yes. Your house, never,” Abby said, reminding Kris that a lot of folks had it a whole lot worse than her.

“Kris,” Nelly said, “all the captains have arrived. Oh, Mr. Benson just walked in. I need to extend the table.”

“Do it, Nelly. Don’t wait up for me, Abby,” Kris said, and turned to do what Longknifes did best: what had to be done.

“Atten-hut,”
someone called, and the officers got to their feet. Even the retired admiral who supervised the station stood.

“As you were,” Kris said. At least at this meeting she didn’t have to fight for her seat. The four captains were down the sides of the table, Sampson as far from her on her right as possible. The station-master took the foot.

Captain Drago, whether because his ship was in the yard or because he was not Navy but contractor, sat against the wall next to the door.

Kris sat.

“That didn’t go as well as I would have liked . . . or as bad as it could have.” She gave Sampson a quick glance. She was sullen and not looking at her.

“You’ll have the rest of today to mend and fix, make your ships ready for four-gee maneuvering, and we’ll do it again day after tomorrow, 0900. I expect we
will
get away from the pier smartly this time. Captain Drago has his
Wasp
in the yard, but I’m sure he can spare you some specialists for improving the maneuvering jets on your ships.”

Three captains looked Captain Drago’s way. He gave a resigned sigh and nodded that he’d help them. Again, Sampson stayed in her funk.

“I’m afraid that what you’ve just heard is the good news. I have a lot worse news for you and the fleet.”

Quickly, she filled them in on the food status for the planet below them. Three sets of eyes widened as the full extent of the situation dawned on them. Sampson’s eyes narrowed.

“So you see, we not only need to get ready to fight, but also attend to our logistics. The Marines have landed this morning to help fishermen kill predators that regularly steal their catch. I’m told that they killed two. Sadly, one led to a feeding frenzy and drove off all the fish at that beach. The other kill went smoother. The predator washed ashore and they’ve cut it up. We may be finding some interesting meat in Kiet’s Thai stir-fries. The fishermen on that beach said it was the best catch in memory.”

Kris shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some. Another team of Marines, two platoons of Imperial Marines with Colonel Montoya, are trying to tie in to a group of Alwans who have managed to survive in the deep woods. I understand from their latest report that they’ve killed two huge predators, something between a kangaroo and a saber-toothed tiger, and are planning on barbecuing it for themselves. The aroma might draw in some of the Alwans. So far, they’re hiding. However, they are surviving on small game, roots, nuts, and berries. Once we get the local predators under control, we may be adding some of that to our larder.”

Kris leaned forward. “Mr. Benson is working with his crew to create a lot of necessary gear from Smart Metal. Fishing boats, both harpoon rigged to take on the big ‘eats everythings,’ and trawlers to bring in fish for dinner and to fertilize the colonial fields. We need airplanes to help the scientists quickly finish their planetary resource survey and ships to move things like bird guano, rich in nitrates for ammunition, from where it is to the colonies.”

“He needs Smart Metal?” Kitano said.

“Yes, and the frigates are the only source of it we have. The plan is to pull fifteen to twenty thousand tons from each ship as you give up your Hellburners. That will let us get started as quickly as we can on logistic issues. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the industrial and mining interests just as soon as I talk to your subordinates in the wardroom. As the mines and plants produce steel and other essentials that can take the place of the Smart Metal, it comes back to your ships.”

Kris drew a deep breath. “If our early-warning system reports imminent attack, the Smart Metal comes back to your ships immediately.”

“If you have enough warning,” Sampson tossed in, half hand grenade, half sarcasm.

“We will have enough warning. We have buoys to cover six or more jumps out from here. We will know what the bastards are doing in our space.”

“This is all stupid,” Sampson snapped. “We’re risking our ships to feed ourselves because the people we came here to save can’t feed us, much less defend themselves. We shouldn’t be sending Smart Metal down where we may never get it back. We should be packing up and getting out of here.”

Kris leaned back in her chair and took the measure of her three other captains. Sampson had not impressed them before. She was not impressing them now.

“Thank you for your opinion, Lieutenant Commander Sampson.” Kris knew that was a double slap. She had not recognized her as the captain of a ship. She had not even given her the honor normally afforded a lieutenant commander of being addressed as commander.

Sampson’s face reddened, but she said nothing.

“I knew the situation was bad when I took this command. That it’s worse than even the king realized when he appointed me does not persuade me that it is hopeless. Other ships are coming out to reinforce us. They will need to eat. Logistics, as I have often been told, is what separates the professional warrior from the dilettante and amateur. The time may come when running is our only choice. From where I sit right now, that time is not now. We
will
stay and we
will
prepare to fight.”

Now Kris did fix her eyes on Sampson. “Last night, I ordered you to transfer a chief to Mr. Benson. He was, until recently, the skipper of a fishing boat. We need him to command a fishing boat again, harpooning the big ones. You asked for an explanation for me ordering his transfer last night. You have it now.”

“Will I get a replacement for him?” Sampson shot back.

“No,” Kris said bluntly. “Other Sailors will be drafted off the frigates to help with the food issue. There are no replacements. I know this will be a leadership challenge. I expect all of you to meet it.

“Any questions?” Kris said, with finality.

There were none.

“Then all of you except Lieutenant Commander Sampson are dismissed to join your staffs in the wardroom. I’ll be with you as soon as possible. Feel free to discuss our food problem with them. If anyone has any ideas, I’m hungry for them.”

That drew a chuckle as the officers filed out of the room.

Former Admiral Benson eyed Sampson, then glanced at Kris. His eyes held a “good luck” in them, but he said nothing.

S
HOULD
I
SHORTEN THE TABLE,
K
RIS?

N
O,
N
ELLY.
I
LIKE HER JUST WHERE SHE IS.

The scion of wealth and power faced the scion of a family whose Navy blood went back to when ships sailed the seas, not space. They locked eyes. Kris began yet another battle for her command.

As
soon as the door closed, Sampson filled the silence. “Yes, my ship has problems. All new ships do, and this is a new class and a new design that not even headquarters can figure out what to do with. Besides, my crew is sloven and needed additional training before we sailed. What happened today was not my fault.”

“Wrong answer,” Kris said. “General Trouble taught me from the start that when the question is raised about a command’s failures, the only answer for the CO is ‘Mine, sir.’”

Sampson’s eyes fell to the table. “We can’t all be legends.”

Kris pulled the flimsies that Nelly had printed out and tossed them across the table to Sampson.

“Are these the availability reports from the USS
Constellation
for the last week?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” came in full evasion.

“Is that your signature at the bottom of each of them?”

“It might be. I’ve got a cute ship’s lieutenant who can sign my name better than I can.”

Kris liked this woman less and less.

“In the exercise today, your ship was able to operate just forty percent of your main battery, and your reloads were few to nonexistent.”

“I told you. My crew needs more training. They’re the dregs of the brigs. You think the best would come out here, face a helpless fight with one of them damn Longknifes who never knows when to call it off but can run away herself just fine?”

Kris knew the tactic. Sampson couldn’t face her on the facts, so she was changing the subject. Throwing all kinds of dirt and mud Kris’s way.

Kris stayed on subject and bored in. “Your reactors spent most of the exercise redlined. One went off-line entirely. You were at risk of a major engineering casualty, one that threatened your entire ship, yet you did not inform me of your problems or ask to drop out of formation.”

“There’s no way you can know that,” Sampson snapped, then switched gears in mid defense. “And whoever told you that is lying through their teeth. I have the reports that show my engineering was performing at 4.0.”

“Lieutenant Commander, I was personally monitoring the
Connie
’s engineering performance. It was because of my own assessment of the risks you were taking to cover up your failed performance that I gave the
Connie
specific and separate acceleration orders from the rest of the squadron.”

Kris had had enough of this.

“Lieutenant Commander, your squadron commander has lost confidence in you and your ability to perform your duties as captain of the USS
Constellation
. You are relieved of your command and will be reassigned to the shipyard. Clearly, Mr. Benson has more than enough work to keep all his personnel busy.”

Sampson shot to her feet. She glowered down at Kris. “You can’t relieve me of my command. The Navy gave me that ship, and only the Navy can take it away from me.”

“The Navy also gave me command of this squadron,” Kris snapped. “You stand relieved.”

“You’re no squadron commander. Just because your grandfather lets you hold down a desk doesn’t make you anything.”

“That great-grandfather is your king,” Kris pointed out through clenched teeth.

“Who as soon as he got wind of the rumor that his old lady was alive yelled for us to drop everything and parade across the galaxy so he could sniff at her skirts.”

Kris was appalled. “That woman you’re talking about is the former commander of BatCruRon 16 and the retired leader of this colony. Since when does the Navy leave anyone behind? You know they’re alive, you get them. Even if you have to cross a galaxy,” Kris said, thinking of her own debt to Phil Taussig and the
Hornet
.

The woman towering over Kris paused for a moment. Was she finally hearing her own words? If she did, it didn’t seem to matter. She shook her head.

“You’re not relieving me of command for any of that. You’re relieving me because a lot of my crew came whining to you that I won’t let them sleep around like the rest of the skippers do. I know. Officers, enlisted, they’re all merging their single rooms and fornicating. I won’t let that happen on my ship. I keep my crew in proper bunkrooms so we can keep our armor up. The rest of them may think they’ll have time to armor up when the enemy shows up. I keep my ship combat ready at Condition Baker all the time. No love boat mine.”

Kris refused to be led down that rabbit hole. Doggedly she went back to the facts. “I am relieving you strictly for your lack of performance today, Lieutenant Commander.”

For a moment Sampson continued to scowl down at Kris. Then she spat. “You arrogant, self-serving bastard. You don’t know what a Navy tradition is. How dare you lecture me on respect for them, you upstart! You’re the one who’s going to turn
my
Navy’s ships into whorehouses and your officers into whores and pimps.”

Here was a blatant challenge to Kris. To Kris, her entire command, and, very likely, the king whose orders she obeyed.

With slow, cold deliberation, Kris rose to her feet. For the first time in her life, she found her full six feet coming to good use. Now she stared down at Sampson.

Sampson looked up at Kris and seemed to shrink even before Kris said, “You will brace yourself, miss, and you will keep your mouth shut except to answer ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘no, ma’am.’ Do you understand?”

Rage flamed in Sampson’s eyes. She wanted to do anything but follow Kris’s orders. Still, Sampson had worn the uniform so long that she could not but come slowly to attention.

“If you say anything again like what you just did, I will forget my intentions of relieving you for loss of confidence. I will have you up on charges for actions unbecoming an officer and actions prejudicial to the service, if not worse. We will let a court-martial get to the bottom of exactly how reports with your signatures claiming full battle readiness left your ship, it being in a battle zone and on standby for battle at any time. I will see you cashiered from this Navy.”

That was too much for Sampson. “You may think you can prance around in this little fiefdom of yours, Longknife, doing anything a spoiled rich brat may want. But no
real
Navy court of officers will find me guilty of anything but doing the best anyone could at an impossible job. I told everyone we needed three more months to get the
Connie
ready for space, but that king of yours gets word his old lady is here, and we’re ordered to space in a week. I’ll get my command back the second we get back in human space,” she said, glaring at Kris.

“That was not a ‘yes, ma’am’ or a ‘no, ma’am.’ But I’ll answer it. There
are
no ships headed back for human space. All of us had better start planning on being here for the next five, ten years. Assuming we don’t lose the next battle with these bastards and just die.

“Maybe you weren’t listening or failed to get the message. We are all
here
for the duration. And
here
, if you don’t work, you don’t eat. As of right this second, you are out of a job. You can apply your competency with ships and their gear—your fitness reports say you have some—or you can resign your commission and drop down to the planet and look for a job. Have you cut and gutted fish? Spread manure over fields? Those jobs have openings.”

Kris let that sink in. It looked like Sampson might have actually heard some of it. “Now, get out of my sight.”

The Navy officer did a perfect about-face, but halfway to the door, she stumbled and had to make a grab for a chair. With each step she took toward the door, she seemed to deflate like a balloon.

Once the door closed behind her, Kris settled down into her chair. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. She felt like she’d spent an hour with puggle sticks in OCS.

Abby knocked on the door from Kris’s night cabin, entered before Kris replied, and offered her a glass of water.

“I’d make it stronger, but we aren’t on the
Wasp
.”

“Water’s just fine,” Kris said. She drank it down and handed the glass back to her maid. She found herself rubbing at the tension in her scalp.

“Why was that meeting just about the hardest I’ve ever had?”

“’Cause you can’t kill the SOB,” Abby said. “Seeing them that deserves it dead at your feet kind of feels good. This civilization thing is overrated.”

“And you are way too bloodthirsty for a maid.”

“And you’re alive because of it two or three times.”

“All too true. You hear anything about someplace we might wrestle up some chow?”

“Sorry, baby ducks, but all my back channels are with the colonials, and they’re at the end of their rope. I hear whispers that Ada was kind of worried that next year they might have to start doing that egg-examination thing.”

“Ouch,” said Kris. “I guess we got here just in time.”

“Sounds like it.”

Kris stood. “Two meetings down, two more to go. Check with Amanda and Penny. Tell them I’d like to have them at the meeting with the business folks. Penny can bring Masao if she wants.”

“You’re meeting with them is in forty-five minutes.”

“So I better get this next one over fast,” Kris said, and headed for the wardroom.