Chain of Command Read online

  He turned on his stateroom lights and checked the time: 0030 hours, literally Oh-Dark-Thirty. He felt on the edge of panic, needed help. Then he had an idea where he might find it. Over a decade ago he had taken several courses on leadership. Everyone made light of “the book,” acted as if true enlightenment could only come once you had gone far past its simplistic lessons and formulas. Sam didn’t care. At that particular moment he was willing to take any help he could get.

  He put on viewer glasses and scanned several manuals, but of course there was no single guide explaining how to be a crackerjack boat captain. Finally he came across something, something he had once known by heart. Every officer candidate learned it: the eleven principles of naval leadership. Even as he read them, they came back. They didn’t answer any specific question he had, but the first one got his attention right away.

  First Principle of Naval Leadership: Know yourself and seek self-improvement.

  Well, that wasn’t a bad place to start.

  Six hours later Chief Constancia Navarro, one foot hooked through a handhold, floated before Sam’s desk in the captain’s office, her face a blank mask.

  “Chief, I sent for you because I need your help,” Sam said. “I need it bad. I’m only captain for five or six days, but I can’t afford to screw this up.”

  Sam gestured in invitation to the drink dispenser on his desk but Navarro shook her head.

  “No thanks, sir. You move your gear into the captain’s main cabin yet?”

  “I figured Lieutenant Commander Huhn can stay there until Commander Barger shows up. No point in moving twice in one week. Chief, my problem is I’m having a hard time getting a handle on commanding the boat. I sort of know the administrative end of things, but that’s not what I mean. I’m having trouble getting some of the officers on board. I could come down harder on them but I don’t want to rock the boat too much before the new C.O. gets here. What do you think?”

  She squinted at him for a moment before answering. “It’s your boat, sir. I’d say rock it as much as you want.”

  She continued looking at him and showed no more inclination to volunteer additional advice. Sam sipped his coffee, unsure if he’d done something to offend her. A captain maybe shouldn’t worry about that—it wasn’t a popularity contest—but he needed Navarro’s help. He needed somebody’s help, that was for sure,

  Navarro shifted and looked away.

  “Chiefs,” she said.

  “How’s that?”

  “Chiefs,” she repeated and turned to face him. “All due respect, sir, but you spend too much time thinking about the commissioned officers. They’re fine when somebody’s shooting at us, but the chief petty officers run the boat, day-in, day-out. You don’t need the officers to run a tight boat if you’ve got the chiefs.”

  “Go on,” Sam said.

  “Well, the problem is, chiefs aren’t going to piss off their department officers to please a captain who’s only going to be around to cover for them for five or six days.”

  “Meaning I can’t really count on them,” Sam said.

  “No, sir. Meaning you can’t count on them to walk the plank for you if you’re not even willing to move into the goddamned captain’s cabin.”

  Sam straightened a bit, surprised at the animosity Navarro’s words revealed. “You really want me to move into that cabin?”

  “No, sir. What I really want is for you to decide what you want from this crew. Now, if that’s all. I got a pile of work I need to get back to.”

  He nodded. Navarro started to leave but she paused by the hatch, her back to him.

  “So far the crew’s running on inertia and rage, and that’s okay for now. But pretty soon that’ll run out and they’re going to figure out what a really tight spot they’re in. You want to do something for them? Something that’ll make a difference? Tell them why they’re here. Tell them what they’re fighting for. Tell them why someone killed their shipmates and is trying to kill them, and why maybe it’s worth their lives”

  “I’m not sure I know,” Sam said. “It’s something about K’tok’s biochemistry.”

  Navarro left without looking back and Sam stared at the closed office door for a long time, thinking about how empty his words had sounded even to him.

  That hadn’t gone very well. She’d told him what she thought he was doing wrong, she’d said it in plain standard English, but he had no idea what it meant. What was he supposed to do? Sure, he was the captain, but only for less than a week and with his relief already appointed. And how the hell was he supposed to know what the war was about? He just followed orders, like everyone else.

  He saw a shadow in the corner of his eye and he looked away. He didn’t want her or anyone else to see him like this: confused, indecisive, a powerless captain because he didn’t know how captains exerted authority except by brute force of law and navy regulations—and he knew that was the worst possible course he could take.

  Maybe the only way to handle this was to just go on acting as the executive officer for an imaginary, invisible captain. He knew how to do that much. But something nagged at him, something Navarro had told him in their first conversation after the war started: for the crew the captain was the Navy. And didn’t they deserve to hear from the Navy why they were going into harms way? He’d even read it the previous night.

  Fourth Principle of Naval Leadership: Keep your subordinates informed.

  Sam pinged the duty communications technician.

  This is Signaler First Class Kramer, sir. How can I help you?

  “Kramer, get me a tight beam to the flagship. I want to talk to someone on Captain Kleindienst’s staff, whoever you can raise.”

  This is Lieutenant Alice Fong, Captain Kleindienst’s aide, Sam heard in his head once the tight-beam connection went active. What do you need, Lieutenant Bitka?

  “Well, you can start by calling me Captain Bitka.”

  Um . . . I understood your appointment was only temporary.

  “Correct, which is why you’ll only have to call me captain temporarily too.”

  Sam waited.

  Of course. Captain Bitka. What do you need?

  “What I need is to know why we’re fighting this war.”

  We’re very busy here, Captain Bitka. Do you have a request affecting the combat efficiency of your ship?

  “First off, Puebla isn’t a ship. Destroyer riders don’t have jump drives, so they’re boats, which I assume you just forgot. Second, I’m not screwing around, Lieutenant Fong. I’ve got senior chiefs asking me what the hell’s going on and I don’t know what to tell them. Why are my people supposed to go into battle and risk their lives?”

  Because they are under orders to do so.

  “Not good enough. These are American mariners. They aren’t robots and they aren’t galley slaves. If you think this is the only place crews are asking questions like this, you’re kidding yourself. If you want these people to fight hard, you better figure out what it is they’re fighting for, and let them know. Or let me know and I’ll pass it on. You might want to let the West European, Indian, and Nigerian crews in on it, too.”

  I’ll . . . have to get back to you, Captain Bitka.

  “Fine. Just see that you do. Oh, and Ms. Fong? We lost people in that first attack, friends and shipmates, gone forever. The reason better be pretty good.”

  Twenty minutes later Sam was finishing up the new incoming parts inventory when his embedded commlink vibrated.

  Captain, this is Signaler First Kramer on the bridge. I have an incoming audio tight beam from the flagship for your ears only.

  “Okay, Kramer, patch it through.”

  Sam expected to hear the voice of Lieutenant Fong, or perhaps someone with more rank. He suspected that the more rank behind the incoming comm, the angrier it was likely to be. Instead the voice in his head vibrated with barely contained mirth.

  Captain Bitka, are you there?

  “Commander Atwater-Jones? I was expecting someone else.
”

  I daresay, and I won’t keep you long. Just thought I would congratulate you on making the most of what will undoubtedly be the shortest command tour in the history of your navy. Good heavens, you’ve got a knack for asking the most awkward sorts of questions! Next you’ll be demanding to see the emperor’s new clothes.

  “Well, I think it’s a pretty reasonable question.”

  Of course it is! That’s what makes it so bloody awkward. Well, buck up. Dame Marietta will probably try to frighten you to death, but I felt obliged to ruin her fun. They—which is to say the admiral’s senior staff—have already decided your question does require an answer, and one spread throughout the task force, so you are not to be drawn and quartered—at least not yet. Not that you’ve gained an ounce of their respect or gratitude, you understand.

  “Commander, I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but you being part of the admiral’s senior staff, I’m having a hard time figuring out where you stand in all this.”

  I wouldn’t worry about it, Bitka, as long as you know where you stand. Toodles.

  Sam received the predicted comm from Captain Marietta Kleindienst within another half hour and, as anticipated, it alternated between anger and expressions of disappointment, as well as containing a veiled threat to sent Commander Barger over sooner than originally planned. Sam responded respectfully but managed not to buckle under the assault. Perhaps he’d have held up anyway, but Atwater-Jones having tipped him to the bluff certainly helped. As it was, Kleindienst left him with an admonishment to “shape up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he had said as she cut the connection.

  Dame Marietta. That’s what Atwater-Jones had called her and Sam chuckled. He respected the chief of staff, both personally and the authority of her office, but it was going to be hard to find her frightening from now on. There were just too many more-dangerous things in the universe for him to take her cross words very seriously. Besides, what could they do to him? Send him to K’tok?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  22 December 2133

  (two day later) (first day in K’tok orbit)

  The task force reached orbit and conducted its bombardment and assault as planned. To much relief and some surprise, everything went off without a hitch. Ground resistance was sporadic and unorganized, surprise apparently complete, casualties minimal, success absolute.

  That evening Vice-Admiral Leman Kechik Kayumati went live via holovid to the entire task force. Sam watched and listened in his cabin, through his helmet optics. He had never seen Kayumati before and the admiral was older than he expected, well into his sixties, and slight of stature, but with rigid posture. He had a steady, confident manner and intelligent eyes in the broad, brown, high-cheekboned face that showed his Malay ancestry. With his thinning gray hair and bushy white eyebrows, he looked a bit like the tough old patriarch of the family in so many adventure holovids—strong, seasoned, and wise. Sam didn’t know much about how good an admiral Kayumati was, but he had to admit the guy looked the part.

  “As you know, this morning we entered orbit above the planet K’tok,” Kayumati began. “We have been at war for twenty days, although the only hostile activity to date has been a single cowardly sneak attack, launched by the enemy before a formal state of war existed. That attack cost us a lot of good men and women, but since then the uBakai haven’t shown much stomach for a fight. They ran away from us at Mogo and it looks like their fleet’s run away from us here at K’tok as well.”

  Pretty good start, Sam thought. Can’t have an interesting story without a good villain. From there Kayumati went on to caution everyone that, although the uBakai had run, they’d be back, because K’tok was too important to them to let it go without a fight. Then he told them about the protein chain differences, why they made K’tok the only place anyone had found other than Earth where Humans could eat the food grown in the ground, instead of in a hydroponic tank.

  Humans had started settling the Utaan Archiapelago in the western hemisphere of K’tok. The uBakai claimed all of it, even though no Varoki had ever settled anywhere but the two continents in the eastern hemisphere. There had been clashes, both sides had sent military forces as observers, but the coalition of Human states that backed the colonists had agreed to arbitration by the Cottohazz Wat.

  “That’s when those cowards hit us,” Kayumati said, his voice rising in anger. “Why? Because they knew the arbitration would go our way, leave our colonists in their homes on K’tok. Most of the Cottohazz is with us on this, is tired of the Varoki having everything their own way. Well, we deserve our chance at the stars too, by God! We shouldn’t have to fight for it. We didn’t want this fight. They started it, but so help me we’re going to finish it!

  “And we got a good start on that today. Every objective secured with no naval casualties and very light casualties among our Marine and allied ground forces. That’s because every man and woman in the task force carried out their duty with courage and professionalism.”

  He had them. Sam could sense it, could almost hear men and women cheering that line. This was good, simple, and to the point. He’d shown them an injury to avenge, a prize worth fighting for, and bad guys to smack down. All he had to do was end on a high note and the task force would follow him to hell.

  “You know,” Kayumati continued, “those Varoki think they’re entitled to everything, just because they developed the interstellar jump drive first. And then they fooled us and everyone else in the Cottohazz into signing on to their intellectual property covenants. Maybe you don’t understand the importance of that, but let me explain.”

  Sam stared at the hologram in front of him. What was Kayumati doing? He had them. Make the sale, close the deal, and say goodnight. But he kept on talking.

  First he gave a long explanation of how Cottohazz intellectual property law screwed everyone but the Varoki. Then he started in on how Humans were training fewer and fewer scientists every year. He had a lot of statistics to back that up and some colorful three-dimensional graphics. When he started in on the history of the settlement of K’tok and the Varoki ecoform project, Sam took his helmet off and cut the feed.

  “Shut up!” he yelled at the silent walls of his cabin. “What are you thinking? Just shut up, you doddering old fool!”

  Sam knew the feed was still coming in and though he didn’t watch it, he watched the incoming feed light on his data pad. Kayumati talked for another twenty minutes. Sam did a quick keyword search of the speech recording by topics and came up with:

  The First K’tok Campaign of 2130

  Spacecraft design

  Destroyer Riders

  Fire Lance Missiles

  Contemporary Music

  Adventure Holo-Vids

  There were more entries but he stopped the scan, closed his eyes, and simply floated in the center of his cabin for a while.

  Sam had worked his way up the ladder of lower management at Dynamic Paradigms, onto the rungs of middle management, and although he’d found customer fulfillment most to his liking, he had done his share of sales as well, and he wasn’t bad at it. One thing he knew was when to shut up. Over and over again he’d seen inexperienced sales people get the sale and then keep talking—and talk the customer right out of it. Sam understood why.

  One thing people are very good at: they know, without even having to think it through, that if a salesman keeps talking after the customer is convinced, it’s because he’s still trying to convince himself.

  Vice-Captain Takaar Nuvaash, Speaker for the Enemy, covered his face with his hands to hide his shame and anger.

  “Nuvaash, what are you doing here?”

  He looked up and saw Admiral e-Lapeela. He had not heard him enter the briefing room. Now he rose to the position of attentive respect.

  “I am composing my resignation, Admiral.”

  A flicker of irritation passed across the admiral’s face. “Resignation? You would flee from your duty at the first sign of adversity?”

>   “Admiral, I will serve in whatever position the fleet demands of me.”

  The admiral said nothing and soon Nuvaash realized the silence was his to fill.

  “I believed I anticipated every enemy approach to this problem. Our heavy ground elements were well-dispersed to avoid destruction by orbital bombardment, our mobile troops placed to contain and isolate enemy landings, our aerial defense systems optimized to prevent reinforcement of their colony enclaves.”

  He paused and shook his head.

  “Never did I imagine they would undertake an operation so . . . audacious. To seize the needle itself? By meteoric assault from orbit? Capture the administrative capital of the planet, and do so with only three cohorts of troops? This will be my legacy—I will be forever remembered as the Speaker for the Enemy who allowed the only capture of a needle in history. I have shamed you as well, Admiral. All I have left to offer is my resignation, insignificant as that is.”

  e-Lapeela stood silently for what seemed an endless interval, but which may have been no more than a minute. When he spoke, his voice was level and backed with authority but no contempt, so far as Nuvaash could detect.

  “Sit, Nuvaash,” he said, and he sat down as well, across the conference table.

  “You are humiliated, and you think you understand why, but you do not. I will explain your humiliation to you, as one who has faced that same hopeless black night of the spirit.

  “You have known Humans, interacted with them, and I imagine liked some of them. You respected many of their achievements, and in your interactions with them undoubtedly earned their respect as well. This lulled you into the illusion of equality. Today shattered that illusion, and that is the true basis for your humiliation. You finally, at long last, understand that we are not their equals. They are monsters, Nuvaash—but diabolically clever monsters. There can never be any question of a fair fight with them. You understand that now, don’t you? We cannot allow them a fair fight, because they will best us!