The aged commercial transport carrying Ensign Kelly Blake landed roughly on the planet Armstrong in the Antares system, the home of Fleet Base 17, otherwise known as Antares Base. Kelly wondered if the pilot had forgotten how to land during the tediously long voyage. The transport had certainly taken its time getting here, and the spaceport controllers took their time assigning it to a gate. Things happened at a relaxed pace out here in the new worlds. The flight's pace seemed to presage how the rest of his career would go. Eventually, the steward tapped on his door to tell him he could move to the disembarkation deck.
Kelly checked himself in the sparse cabin’s mirror. He felt out of place in his new, standard-issue, blue-black Fleet uniform. He automatically picked at the odd bit of thread that always appears on new uniforms. It was a simpler one than the Fighter Force’s forest green uniform he had previously worn. He would miss his leather flight jacket and the rank epaulettes on his shoulders. The single braid stripe on his sleeve seemed…inadequate. The shoes Fleet personnel wore were flimsy compared to his sturdy calf-length fighter boots, but those were in his past now. The only reminder of his past life would be the gold fighter wings glistening on his chest. General Bugarov could drum him out of the Fighter Force, but he had earned his wings. She couldn’t take them away. He instinctively wiped them with a cloth, although they already shone immaculately.
Kelly had run afoul of one of the senior officers of the Fighter Force: General Irina Bugarov, not so affectionately known as Old Bugger Off. She had come up through the Pollux Planetary Defense Forces, and had held every position from flight officer to Planetary Sector Defense Commander. With no prospects for further advancement in the planetary chain of command, she applied for a lateral Fleet commission, was accepted, and rose in the ranks to be the senior fighter force officer in the 15th Battle Fleet. As the Battle Fleet Fighter Commander, she had responsibility for five carrier fighter wings and overall command of the fleet fighter defense.
Kelly had the bad luck to expose a boneheaded tactical decision on her part, by inadvertently being in the right place at the right time to save the Fleet Carrier Bolivar from a K’Rang sneak attack. She considered Kelly’s actions to have been insubordinate, bordering on direct disobedience of her orders. It was only the intervention of Admiral Haddock-Halloway that kept Kelly from standing before a court-martial. The admiral’s power was limited, though, and he couldn’t stop her from using her authority as the senior fighter force commander to do an end run and eject Kelly from Fighter Force.
Kelly’s new Fleet uniform was adequate, but would need to be replaced with one better tailored. Kelly was sure General Bugarov had instructed the Bolivar's Fleet Supply Officer not to spend too much time fitting his new uniform. The blouse was a bit loose across the shoulders and the pants bagged some under the seat. Still, he looked presentable enough for Fleet Base 17.
Kelly was about 5’ 11” in his stocking feet. His hair was black and close cropped. His physique and looks were about average. He didn’t consider himself to be anything that would make women swoon. He gave himself a final look in the mirror, adjusted his hat, and proceeded to whatever this new life in the Fleet had to offer.
He grabbed his carry-on bags and proceeded to offload with the rest of the passengers. The SS Constellation Draca was an older commercial interstellar cargo and passenger transport, not a military flight, so he had to wait his turn in line with the rest. A Fleet Captain tried to push his way through the crowd, but was abruptly brought to a halt by two offloading contract laborers, who were unimpressed by his rank and sense of entitlement. A ship’s steward fortuitously wandered by and stopped them from stuffing the captain into a storage locker just as Kelly moved to intercede.
The captain straightened his uniform, glared at the two workers, and stomped off. No one further interfered with his bucking the line, although many a pair of eyes glared at his back.
A Tri-Vid terminal in the embarkation lounge was tuned to the Tri-Vid News Channel. He looked up just as a breaking news feature started.
“This is Braxton Finnery with Tri-Vid News. We have just learned that a week ago K’Rang forces attempted an unprovoked attack on the 15th Battle Fleet Flagship, the Fleet Carrier Bolivar, during routine maneuvers along the Galactic Republic border. While details on the attack are sketchy, Fleet Spokesperson General Irina Bugarov made the following statement.”
General Bugarov marched into the press room on board the Bolivar in her forest-green flight suit, boots, and carrying her helmet under her right arm. Those who did not know her would think she was the epitome of a confident and competent leader. She strode to the podium and said, “I’m just back from inspecting the remains of the three K’Rang corvettes that penetrated our border in an attempt to strike the Bolivar. Let me state up front there was never any danger to the Fleet and the Fleet was well within Galactic Republic territory. Even though we were engaged in our training exercise at the time, our forces were alert to all possibilities. The K’Rang ships were monitored shadowing the Fleet on the other side of the border. They were observed moving toward the border and intercepted immediately upon crossing into Galactic Republic space. The three missile corvettes were destroyed well out of range of the Bolivar.”
“This was a deliberate and unprovoked attack on the Fleet. At no time did the Fleet approach any closer than 500,000 kilometers of our side of the border.”
A smallish woman in her early forties raised her hand and General Bugarov called on her.
“General Bugarov, I am Mona Freelander of the Centauri News Affiliates. Can you tell us why it’s been over a week since this incident happened and we are just finding out about it now? We have also heard some rumors the attack was a bit more of a surprise than your comments would suggest.”
General Bugarov’s eyes flashed white hot for just a split second. The casual observer probably would have missed it. Kelly had felt its searing flames before and recognized it instantly. The general paused, peered down at her pocket terminal, and replied, “We had to make sure this wasn’t more than an isolated incident. We had to move the Fleet capital ships away from the border into a more defensive posture. We took appropriate precautions to move the Fleet out of any possible danger of attack. We conducted our investigations, determined there was no further danger, and then called this news conference. Any rumors we were caught unprepared are simply fabrications. The 15th Battle Fleet was and is in a state of constant vigilance. Thank you.”
With that, she quickly departed the newsroom to the shouts of further questions from the assembled reporters. The Tri-Vid News Channel news anchor reappeared.
“Nagging rumors of the Fleet being caught off guard persist. While we have no further response from the Fleet, we do have a comment from the Colonial Party Senate Whip, Senator Colleen Santari.”
An attractive, but severe woman in her thirties or forties stood before a podium bearing the seal of the Galactic Assembly upper house. Flashes went off as the woman shuffled through her pocket terminal and prepared to speak.
“As the head of the Senate Galactic Defense Committee, I am calling hearings into this matter. As you know, my party has been opposed to these provocative exercises so close to our border with the K’Rang. If there are any indications of unpreparedness on the part of the 15th Battle Fleet, I will get to the bottom of them. Thank you.”
Kelly turned away from the screen as one of the transport’s officers called for the assembled passenger’s attention. The purser indicated all port clearances had been completed and the passengers could disembark. Kelly picked up his bags and strode into the spaceport.
The Armstrong Spaceport was typical of developing planets. Small as far as spaceports went, it lacked many of the features found on some of the more prosperous planets closer to the Galactic Republic core around the Sol System. What it lacked in features, it more than made up in drabness. The color scheme was bland with the predominant color being concrete grey. It smelled faintly of curing concrete, further testifying to its newness.
The terminal was roughly shaped like the letter E, with the upper and lower legs pushed out at a slight angle. Kelly’s transport was at the farthest gate at the end of the top leg, the interplanetary gates. He passed businessmen shopping for souvenirs in kitschy shops and families waiting in line to enter carbon copy chain restaurants, as he made his way down the long corridor.
The terminal’s construction was adequate, but the fit and finish were not quite up to first world standards. The locals had made an effort to apply the latest styles, but they just didn’t quite get there. Everything seemed just a little off, like a picture frame slightly askew. The size and condition of the spaceport also reflected the smaller volume of passenger traffic this relatively new world generated. Kelly imagined that, as the planet continued to progress, the traffic would increase and services would follow.
Kelly made his way through medical screening. His Fleet medical records showed him to be in excellent health and with all his vaccinations up to date. The bored medtech barely looked up from his screen at him, before he thumbed his approval for planet entry into Kelly’s pocket terminal.
Customs screening was also perfunctory. When the customs official saw all Kelly had was his carry-on baggage, he looked at his uniform and thumbed him through. Passport control took a little longer because the agent found Kelly interesting and took some time to flirt with him before he passed him through. His uniform gave him no special privileges here on the civilian side of Armstrong.
His baggage from the Bolivar would not arrive for at least a week, so he passed by baggage pickup and the large crowd of people expectantly hoping for their bag to be the next one to appear on the carousel. He went out into the bustling main terminal to find transport to the base. There was supposed to be a regular fleet shuttle to the northern continent and Antares Base. All he had to do was find the right gate and get manifested. He consulted his pocket terminal and asked for directions. While he stood aside waiting for the response to come up, the slightly rumpled captain who’d had the run in with the laborers went by. Taking a chance the captain knew the way, Kelly followed him.
The captain headed for a moving sidewalk. Kelly tagged along at a discrete distance. His pocket terminal chimed to show his response had arrived and a quick glance confirmed he was headed in the right direction. At the end of the moving sidewalk, a lit sign with an arrow pointed the way to the waiting area for the fleet shuttle. Kelly lined up behind the captain to be added to the manifest for the next available shuttle.
The captain was quickly taken care of and Kelly moved up to the counter. A sharp looking female ensign with sparkling eyes looked up at him and said, “Pocket terminal with orders posted, please.”
Kelly handed over his pocket terminal with the orders already keyed up and waited.
“Ensign Blake,” she said, “I can get you on the next shuttle with your carry-on, but the rest of your baggage will have to wait for the next flight.
“That will be alright. This is all I have with me anyway.”
“Traveling light, are we?”
“Yes, my hold baggage won’t be here for at least a couple of weeks.”
She had a pleasant smile. Her uniform was a custom fit and the tailor did an expert job at setting off her impressive figure. Her name badge said Nielsen. When she stepped from behind her terminal to hand him back his pocket terminal, he noticed that she was wearing Fleet transport pilot’s wings.
“Do they have the pilots checking folks in here? That seems a little odd to me.”
“When you run a passenger shuttle for a Fleet Base and a bug hits your crew, you get to do a little bit of everything. What do you fly?”
“A desk probably, unless something else comes up.”
“We could always use another pilot in our detachment, if you don’t mind being a “Trash Hauler.” We’re always undermanned.”
Kelly cringed a little. Trash Hauler is what fighter pilots called the transport pilots that fly people and supplies around the fleet.
“I’d prefer to do my flying outside of the atmosphere, but if that opportunity doesn’t present itself I will consider it. Thank you. You know my name but all I know is your last name.”
“My contact info is in your terminal already.” A smile further lit up her eyes as she said that.
“My name is Tammy. Call me no matter how you decide. We can have a drink and talk about flying. If you go to gate three and wait, they will call your flight shortly. Have a nice flight.”
Her smile at the last exchange was almost blinding. Kelly smiled back and proceeded to gate three to wait. It was jammed with various Fleet personnel and their families heading to Antares Base. Kelly looked unsuccessfully for a place to sit, couldn’t find one, so leaned against a wall to wait. As Tammy promised, the flight was called almost before he had a chance to check for messages on his pocket terminal.
He lined up in rank order in front of the captain and a Lieutenant Junior Grade. The enlisted and their families lined up in front of them. It was an old Fleet tradition left over from the days of three-masted frigates and longboats. Senior personnel always boarded last and disembarked first. He moved onboard the shuttle, stowed his bags and took a seat next to the LTJG. The captain had taken the two seats across the aisle for himself.
The LTJG introduced himself as Roger Dahlens and said he was assigned to the Refit and Repair Directorate of the Fleet Yards at the Base.
“Where you coming in from?” He asked.
“I’m coming from Combat Fleet. I’m a transfer from Fleet Fighter Force.”
“I noticed the fighter wings on your chest. Aren’t you in the wrong color uniform?”
“Well I had a difference of opinion with my general and here I am.”
“Don’t tell me. You ran afoul of Old Bugger Off.” He said a little too loud.
The captain across the aisle looked up with a disapproving frown on his face, then went back to his reading.
“Man, if you had a run-in with Old Bugger Off, you are in fine company here. This place is where she dumps people who prove she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. Did you see how she was sandbagging on the tri-vid this morning? Fleet Base 17 is where she sends all those that displease her. It’s legend in the Fleet. Let me shake your hand.”
Kelly shook hands. He didn’t quite know how to take this. He had assumed being transferred out of Fighter Force would be a black mark, but here he found it made him part of a fraternity.
LTJG Dahlens chatted on for a bit more about his job in refit and repair, but as the light faded outside he turned to the window, threw a pillow behind his head, and dropped off to sleep.
Kelly looked past him out the window, watching the southern continent pass below them as the shuttle turned. He could make out the suburbs of Tranquility, the capital city. On the horizon, he could see the lights of two or three of the other few cities and towns on this sparsely populated planet.
Armstrong was one of the newer settled planets in the Galactic Republic. Fleet originally settled it. The civilians in the southern continent came later. Fleet Base 17 was built as the sole tenant of the northern continent to house a major overhaul base for ships capable of landing on planets’ surfaces. Antares Station serviced larger space-going ships in orbit above the planet. Antares Base and Station could service all but the large Fleet Carriers. Kelly had read plans were in motion to expand the station to be able to handle the carriers. Once the shuttle headed out over the middle ocean, Kelly could see nothing but the deep blue sea. He turned away from the window and read the local news off his pocket terminal until he looked over to the captain across the aisle.
His eyes met Kelly’s. “Why don’t you sit over here with me for a while, Ensign.”
An officer’s wish or desire is the same as a command, so Kelly got up and moved over next to the captain.
The captain’s uniform was still a little rumpled from his run in with the laborers earlier. His hair was dark with fine silver threads woven through. His uniform, though rumpled, hinted at a fit body underneath. He had the look of someone used to giving orders and having them instantly obeyed.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Captain John Hasselrode. I heard the Lieutenant’s outburst that you had troubles with General Bugarov. Did he tell you that it doesn’t make you unique here on Fleet Base 17?”
“I’m glad to meet you, sir. I’m Ensign Kelly Blake. Yes, sir, he did mention it.”
“Well, Ensign Blake, tell me your sad story.”
Kelly tactfully recounted General Bugarov’s apparent lack of understanding of space physics, her unwillingness to consider alternative tactics, her lack of thought for fleet security, and her embarrassment at being proved wrong by a 2LT. At the end, the captain had a smile on his face.
“Ensign, I don’t know where you might like to be assigned, but you should talk to my boss. You might have the qualities he looks for in an officer. I am the Executive Officer for Admiral Craddock, Commanding Officer of the Scout Force. You might fit in pretty well. The boss is always looking for good officers who can think on their feet. Let me see your terminal and I’ll flash in my contact info.”
The captain pulled out his own terminal, aimed it at Kelly’s, and said he hoped he would take him up on his offer.
Kelly moved back over to his seat and pondered his options. He was certain General Bugarov intended to put him into the most miserable job she could find. Kelly didn’t like that option. Ensign Nielsen offered pleasant possibilities. Captain Hasselrode and his admiral offered other possibilities. Of course, the military is one profession where one walks up to a gift horse, pries its mouth open and checks it closely. It is always nicer, however, to have multiple options from which to choose. Kelly pulled out a pillow, wedged it into the space between the seats and caught some sleep before the shuttle landed. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he noted to himself how abysmally slow the shuttle was compared to his fighter.
Ensign Blake awoke shortly before landing and spent the last minutes on the flight to Fleet Base 17 researching assignment options. The base was home to LTJG Dahlen’s refit and repair directorate, a supply directorate, a base services directorate, base headquarters, and the flight detachment to which Ensign Nielsen belonged. It also included the headquarters and three squadrons of the Scout Force. Kelly decided he would check out Admiral Craddock’s history.
Admiral Craddock’s resume looked a little spotty. It suggested that in addition to the Scout Force work, he also had a few tours in Fleet Intelligence. His assignments within the Scout Force were impressive. One of his assignments, as Commander of the Scout Ship Resolute, struck a familiar note.
Further research revealed that then Lieutenant Commander Thomas Craddock was on patrol in the Perseus sector during the Algol Revolt. His mission was to provide early warning to the 17th Battle Fleet of any Algolian Fleet movements out of their planetary system. The Algolians had a long time conflict with the Aldebarans over asteroid mineral rights along the edges of the Pleiades Star field. It had led to interplanetary war a decade prior. The resulting Perseus Act limited the number of major combatants each planet’s Fleet could have off planet at any one time.
Fleet forces were stretched thin, handling several crises in the region. The 17th Battle Fleet would need time to gather forces and bring them to bear against any Algolian incursion. LCDR Craddock was on patrol to sunward of the Algolian main fleet base when their entire fleet lifted off and proceeded to the Aldebaran system. His calls to the 17th Fleet were answered with, “Handle it as best you can, we’re up to our butts in alligators,” or words to that effect.
The Resolute was a long range Scout class ship, designed to provide early warning to a Combat Fleet. It was loaded with long-range sensors, long-range communications, and short-range weaponry. The 40-person crew was enough to maintain 24-hour watches, but not enough for boarding anything more dangerous than an interplanetary cargo shuttle. The Resolute’s shields and armor were effective against a single energy blast, but a concentrated barrage would reduce her to space dust. Its weapons, while effective for allowing the ship to fight its way out of a jam, were not offensive weapons by any measure. Its main advantage was that, at that time, it was the smallest class of ship in the universe capable of mounting a three-power light speed engine.
Left in a situation that was totally impossible and lacking clear guidance, he did what no sane officer would do. LCDR Craddock singlehandedly attacked the entire Algolian Fleet-and won.
The Algolian Fleet was composed of over 300 ships. It had 20 battlecruisers, 40 light cruisers, 45 heavy and medium destroyers, 50 or so lesser combatants, and 100 assault landing ships. The remainders were support ships of various types. What the Algolians had in numbers, they lacked in weapons control, sensor resolution, and speed. They also suffered from poor intelligence on GR Fleet capabilities and lack of recent experience fighting fleet-on-fleet engagements. All of their training had been conducted against their own forces. LCDR Craddock realized this and proceeded to confound the Algolians.
He started by getting just outside of their sensor range and communicating a warning to the Algolian Fleet Commander that his actions were in violation of the Perseus Act and if he did not return to Algol, cloaked fighters within his formation would destroy his Fleet. The Algolian Fleet Commander ignored the warning and kept on.
Sitting at the edge of Algolian sensor range, the Resolute used its superior sensors to develop a precise plot of every Algolian ship in the formation. By watching them for several days, it was able to predict where every Algolian ship would be at any point.
LCDR Craddock executed a carefully orchestrated sequence of precise FTL jumps into the middle of the Algolian Fleet. Each time he dropped out of FTL, his position was to the rear of one of the Algolian major combatants. His energy weapons at close range made short work of the warship’s engines and then he conducted an FTL jump back out of the formation. After twenty jump sequences, all Algolian battlecruisers were adrift in space, venting gases, with not a scratch on the Resolute. Of course, half the Resolute’s crew was puking their guts out from FTL sickness, but the effect had been made. The Algolian Fleet limped back to Algol with the prides of their Fleet in tow, convinced the 17th Battle Fleet had cloaked ships in their midst.
When the 17th Battle Fleet finally called the Resolute to inform them they would be proceeding to her assistance, LCDR Craddock told them their assistance was not needed, as he was escorting the Algolian Fleet back to their home base and the decommissioning of their 20 battle cruisers.
The tactic of sequential FTL hops had been taught at the Star Academy ever since. LCDR Craddock was promoted to Commander Craddock and took over command of a Scout Squadron. As Kelly continued his research, he found other accounts of Admiral Craddock’s brilliance and panache in unusual combat situations. This was a man he could work for.
Two days later, after placing a call to Captain Hasselrode using the contact info the captain had beamed into his terminal, Kelly scheduled an interview with Admiral Craddock. Kelly had been ducking the base assignments officer while considering his alternatives. He’d already found out from a helpful yeoman they planned to assign him to the Base Services Directorate. He had no intention of tracking building repair orders for the next three years. He was going to get himself back into space.
The following morning, he arrived at Admiral Craddock’s office, where Captain Hasselrode introduced him to his boss.
Admiral Craddock was about six feet tall, wearing a regulation duty uniform and not the stylized uniforms some flag officers preferred. He was obviously fit and his posture was erect. Kelly knew from his resume that Craddock was in his late fifties, but he looked ten years younger. There was an earnestness and wisdom in his face and a look of integrity. In addition, he saw what Kelly thought might be a wry sense of humor behind his eyes.
Admiral Craddock came out from behind his desk after they exchanged salutes and gave Kelly a firm handshake.
“Please take a seat, Ensign. Captain Hasselrode pulled your record for me. You were quite impressive until about two weeks ago. Top of your class in all your academic, flight, and combat training, excellent initial rating, and then you had the temerity to prove General Bugarov wrong in a tactical decision. I read her comments in your last rating where she drummed you out of the Fighter Corps. I checked with some buddies of mine in the 15th Fleet. I know what really happened. You showed good tactical sense. Irina embarrassed herself and used you to deflect the heat from that potential fiasco away from her.”
He moved back behind his desk and picked up a pocket terminal.
“She did you a favor, by the way. If she had kept you in the Fighter Force, you never would have been promoted to First Lieutenant. In three months you would have been notified you were not being promoted, given severance pay, and shipped home. By transferring you to the Fleet, she gave you a chance to continue in the service. I’m sure it didn’t feel like she was being your benefactor and I’m sure she didn’t intend to be. That’s just how it is.”
“Ensign, if you come to work for me, I can get you promoted to LTJG in three months. I have a little influence in personnel channels. I might be able to get General Bugarov’s rating misplaced from your file. You can have as long a career in the service as your drive and talents will take you. I think you have qualities that will fit well in the Scout Force. I can get you back out in space. What do you say?”
Kelly stood, came to attention, faced the admiral, and said, “Sir, I would consider it an honor to serve under you in the Scout Force.”
“Fine. Captain Hasselrode, see to it that Ensign Blake’s orders are amended assigning him to Scout Force. I think we can make better use of him than Base Services. Your specific assignment orders will be cut today. Check your terminal for where to report. That will be all, Ensign. Welcome to Scout Force.”
Kelly shook the admiral’s hand, saluted, turned, and left the office, resisting the urge to jump for joy as he exited. He also reflected on how much the admiral knew about him. He didn’t think it would be wise to underestimate RADM Craddock’s knowledge on any subject.
RADM Craddock went back behind his desk and asked, “John, where do you think he would be best used?”
“Sir, I think he would make a good second officer on the Vigilant. It’s coming out of refit at the end of the month. LCDR Timmons and Ensign Blake would make a good team. The Vigilant has a good Chief, and Blake seems intelligent enough to learn the insides and out of the ship from a seasoned senior chief.”
“Good, see to it. It’s a pity he had to run afoul of Old Bugger Off. He would have made a damned fine Fighter Force commander. I really should do something about her. She has ruined more than her fair share of good officers. I think I may make some calls.”