Dreadnought Project Conference Room,
Comdur Fleet Base
Vice Admiral Jaruzelska called the weekly project meeting to order.
“Morning, everyone. Michael?”
“Sir?”
“You look like a sack of shit, but since you’ve managed to turn up for work, may I assume you’re okay?”
“Gee, thanks, sir,” Michael said over the laughter. “But yes. Bit battered, bit bruised, but I’ll be fine, which is more than I can say for the opposition.”
“Quite,” Jaruzelska said drily as laughter turned to cheers. “More to the point, how’s Anna?”
“Recovering well, sir, thank you. She’ll be fine.”
“Glad to hear it. Bad business,” Jaruzelska said, her face grim. “Police making any progress?”
Michael shook his head. “No, sir. Dead end. All they know is that the attackers were a bunch of lowlifes recruited from the gutters of Torrance City. Someone they had never seen before threw them a load of money and told them to get on with it. The operation was thrown together in a rush, which was why we escaped. With more time to prepare …”
“Know what? I’d still bet good money you’d get out alive, Michael,” Jaruzelska said with a broad smile. “You have a knack in that regard, I have to say.”
Michael squirmed in embarrassment. Jaruzelska stopped to let a good-natured mix of cheers, boos, and clapping fade away.
“Okay, okay. Before I hand over to the chief of staff to cover the routine items on the agenda, I want to brief you on the results of our meeting with the brass back at Fleet.” Jaruzelska paused for a moment. “I’m sure you know that Captain Tuukkanen and I met with the chief of the defense force and the commander in chief. You also know that this was an important meeting, one we asked for to get rid of the roadblocks in our way. Right up front, you need to know that while we had some wins, we also had some losses.”
Jaruzelska paused again while a soft murmur of concern washed across the room. Her hand went up. “Nothing to get too oxygenated about, folks. Project’s on track, and the time line for Dreadnought Squadron One to go operational still stands. But our plans for the follow-on squadrons have changed. Captain Tuukkanen will be distributing a detailed report of what those changes are, together with the things we need to do in response. But in essence, the changes are these. First, there won’t be the six dreadnought squadrons I recommended, but three.”
A soft groan filled the room. Like everyone else present, Michael knew of Jaruzelska’s firm view that sixty dreadnoughts was the minimum number needed to take the fight back to the Hammers and, more important, to defeat them and their antimatter weapons.
Jaruzelska ignored the disquiet. “Second, Fleet has downgraded the specifications for the ships of the follow-on squadrons. These will be designated Block 2 dreadnoughts. They will be heavier and slower, but at least they will be dreadnoughts. Obviously, only the ships of the First Squadron will have the full Block 1 dreadnought conversion.”
This time there was not a sound. “Oh, shit,” Michael murmured. That was two losses for Jaruzelska.
“Third, I have agreed with Fleet that our crew numbers for the Block 1 dreadnoughts are too low. So rather than the crew of ten we suggested, we’ll be going with a crew of fifteen. That’s the largest crew we can accommodate without compromising the Block 1 design specifications. Crew levels for the Block 2 dreadnoughts are still under review, but I anticipate a final complement of around thirty or so. Michael?”
Taken by surprise, Michael snapped upright in his seat. “Sir?”
“Given we’re commissioning the Tufayl on Thursday, this is something we need to get on to right away. Drafting the right people will be difficult …”
In his head, Michael finished the sentence for her: “… which is why I proposed a crew of ten in the first place, you idiots.” Sometimes he wondered whether the people who ran Fleet had any brains at all.
“… so I want you along with the systems engineering and tactics people to get together when we’re finished here to work out where real, live human beings can be most useful. We all know that Fleet is desperately short of spacers after Comdur, and especially those with navigation and warfare qualifications. There is no point asking for people they don’t have, so don’t. Okay?”
“Sir.”
“Good. Next, command and control. Today Fleet will be announcing the formal establishment of Dreadnought Force effective this Thursday. It will also announce my appointment as commander. That means-”
Jaruzelska stopped when the room erupted, all of them coming to their feet, clapping and cheering. This was good news. Fleet canceled projects all the time. Forces in being could not be canceled-not easily, anyway-and that meant, for all the hostility they aroused, dreadnoughts were here to stay.
Slowly, the noise died down, and Jaruzelska was able to continue. “I was about to say,” she said, “that means the future of dreadnoughts is assured, but I guess I don’t have to. I think you just worked that out for yourselves.”
Jaruzelska joined in the laughter sweeping the room, but the good humor did not last long. “Fleet will also be announcing the appointment of Rear Admiral Van Perkins as Deputy Commander, Dreadnought Forces. He will join us in October.”
In a flash, the mood in the room changed. Michael swore silently. The political fix was in. Perkins was no friend of dreadnoughts, though to say that was a more than charitable view of his unforgiving opposition. Just how in the hell having someone like Perkins-combat-proven commander though he was-around would make anyone’s life better, how it would make dreadnoughts work, he could not begin to imagine.
“Now,” Jaruzelska continued, “those are the key points from my meeting. Before I hand over to Captain Tuukkanen, let me make one thing crystal clear. I will expect everyone posted to Dreadnought Force to be committed-nothing less than body and soul-to making dreadnoughts work. No, not expect … I demand that everyone posted to Dreadnought Force be committed to making dreadnoughts work, and I can assure you there will be no exceptions. None.”
Sullen silence turned to stunned amazement. Michael whistled softly; Jaruzelska was being dangerously frank in response to the question everyone wanted an answer to: How committed would Perkins be? Afterward, Michael would swear that a surge of fierce loyalty to Jaruzelska had nearly overwhelmed him, and, not for the first time, he marveled at her ability to get the best out of her people.
“Okay, folks. That’s it from me. Captain Tuukkanen?”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Jaruzelska’s chief of staff said, striding to the podium. “Turning to less exciting matters. First up …”