He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (56 page)

“Where shall I put them, XO?”

“There’s an empty cabin on ‘C’ deck.”

“Right, sir, the one by the freight elevator.”  He chuckled.

“Yes, correct.”

“Yes, sir, a Marine is on his way, sir.”

“Thanks, XO out.”

“After you’ve unpacked and reported to the Captain, report to Chief of the Boat, Mr. Conner Blake for general ship's orientation.  Pete point to Conner.  “You’ll find him either in the officer Wardroom or on the Bridge.”  Even without scowling, Conner look intimidating enough to scare the pants off grown men.  The two Ensigns positively went pale.

“Aye-aye, sir.”  They answered together.

“Dismiss.”  He watched them turn and run for the truck to help unload their baggage and trunks.

The two large ones containing their battle armor were equipped with Ag plates and it was more a question of guiding them where you wanted them to go.  Pete watched for a moment, then walked over to Mike.

“God, they don’t look old enough to be Ensigns.”

“I was saying the same thing, Pete.”

“I have them reporting to you first at eleven hundred, then to Conner for orientation.” Mike looked at his crono.

“Sounds about right.”  With the countless duties on his list, Mike didn’t make it back to his ready room until 11:05 hours, finding only one of them, the young man, waiting outside for him.

“Come in Ensign,”  he ordered, “where’s the other one?”

“I’m not sure where Ensign Cooper is, sir.”

“And you are?”

“Ensign Wheeler, sir.”  He answered, coming to attention and saluting.  Mike returned the salute and sat down, removing his cap.  It didn’t take long before the young midshipman’s eye slid down to the twin VC ribbons on Mike chest, and his eyes widened slightly.

“At ease, Ensign.”  While he waited, he read their orders.

Both were impressive, finishing at the top of their class.  Both had degrees in electronic and weapons, so they could help fill those spots once they’d settled in.  Wheeler had asked for an assignment with one of the heavy elements of the fleet, in communications and sensors, while Cooper had asked for an assignment in weapons, also with a heavy unit.

“This posting must be somewhat of a disappointment to you both.”

“No, sir, I’m pleased to be here.”

“In a pig’s eye you are.  Tell me the truth, Ensign!”  Mike barked.

“Yes, sir, it is a bit of a disappointment, sir.  I wanted something larger.”  Just then there was a knock at the door.

“Come!”

“Ensign Cooper reporting, Captain, sorry I’m late but...”

“I’m not interested in excuses, Cooper, when you are told to be somewhere at a given time, you be there from now on, clear?”  Cooper blanched, then flubbed it by coming to attention and saluting.  Mike just closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Yes, sir, I was ordered to give you this upon our arrival.”  She held out an envelope with a shaking hand.  Mike took the offered letter and placed it on his desk.

“Good, now then, this is a new warship, and we’ve just completed our first cruise.”  He sat back for a moment and looked at them, wondering what to say.  Words of inspiration didn’t come easy to him.  “You will find that we are a tight knit crew, much of it female.”

“Yes, sir, we noticed that.”

“We are also shorthanded in all departments, and the Petty Officers are acting in place of commissioned officers.”  That brought a startled look. “That means, that until you have proved yourself, you will be taking orders from a Petty Officer, or even a leading technician, do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.”  They chorused together.

“I hope not.  You will find that many of the normal naval protocols are missing here, and we are on a more informal basis, but don’t abuse the privilege of using first names.  Wait until you are given permission, even from the other ranks.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”  They didn’t sound too sure about that.

“When anyone, including a leading seaman gives you an order, you will obey it immediately, as if it came from me, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”  The both replied.  He wasn’t sure they did.

“It will be hard for you for a while to get use to the way we do things on this ship, but in the end you will see it works, and that's the point.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to rotate you through as many departments as I can in the next few months, or use you wherever you are needed the most.”

“We’ll do our best where ever you put us, sir.”

“I know you will.  The XO will take care of that and you will report to him mainly, or your division Chief, whoever he or she might be.”  He didn’t mean to sound so hard.

“We’ll see where your strengths and weaknesses are and assign you accordingly later.”  He then gave them the standard lecture about a mixed crew and sexual harassment, as per Navy regulations, then tried to lighten the mood a little. 

“She might not be the Battleship you wanted, but I think you’ll find that we get a little more action than they do.  Welcome aboard and good luck to you both.  After you’ve had a chat with Chief of the Boat and your orientation tour, you will report to the XO for assignment once you have unpacked.  Dismiss.”

“Aye-aye, Sir.”  They both saluted and took a step back before leaving.  After the door closed, Mike opened the letter, immediately looking at the signature on the bottom.  It was from Admiral Rawlings.

Mike contemplated the letter for a moment.  It wasn’t like Admiral Rawlings to ask a personal favor, he could have just posted them here and said nothing.  That meant he thought these two would add to his command in some way as he doubted it was just nepotism.  Mike put the letter in his safe, making a note to talk to Pete and Conner about their assignment.  Between the two of them, they should be able to find out very quickly if they would fit in or not.  After that, he went back to his list of things to do.  He sighed, it was a long list, and he was still at the top.

In all, Cynthia’s upgrades almost doubled the firepower of the main weapons from 500gw to 950gw, and added five extra launch racks for missiles.  Mike’s Corvette now had the firepower of a medium Cruiser, and at least twice the speed.  The crew began arrived back from leave, some a little worse for wear, but all standing reasonably upright.  CPO Conner had a few words to say about that, but he didn’t come down too hard on them.  They’d been recalled two days earlier than expected, so he let them off easy.  A Navy supply trucks arrived later that day with hard mail, mostly packages and special items ordered for the mess.  A few of the less sober members of the crew were ordered to their bunks, much to the displeasure of the remainder who had to unloaded and bring the supplies aboard in the pouring rain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

Late one night, almost a week later, their exit from the yard wasn’t in so much of a rush, and then proceeded out to the main channel at a normal pace.  It was with some concern that they set down on the dock at the Royal Clarence Victualling Yard at Portsmouth.  Thankfully a different officer was on duty, and his only comment was the color of the ship and odd shape, jet back from stem to stern, not that he could see much in his video pickup.

“Good heavens!  What an ugly color!”

“Yes,”  Pete looked over his shoulder, “we’re testing a new coating for the Admiralty.”

“You Corvette chaps do get some odd duty assignments, don’t you.”

“You could say that.”

Their next stop was Gosport to empty their magazines of torpedoes and external missile launchers, which the Duty Officer thought a bit unusual.  Normally ships arrived to take on ordinance, not give it back.  Rather than take a chance on someone recognizing Pete, Mike sent Janice down to the Duty Officer, and after a suspicious look at the orders, he signaled to begin unloading, grumbling about all the additional paperwork he’d have to deal with.   There was a definite sense of relief when they at last lifted from the dock and headed out into the Solent. 

The moment they achieved orbit they headed for Dark Side, where autoloaders quickly replenished their torpedoes and reloaded their missile racks.  The torpedoes looked exactly the same as the ones they’d just unloaded, twenty foot long by three foot across, with nothing to distinguish them for the standard Mark 42 torpedo the Navy currently used.  A tech did hand deliver a data pad which the Marine passed up to Pete Standish.  The reloading operation went smoothly, and they were soon on their way, whereupon Mike sent a message to the Admiral that they were operational again.  They soon received a flash message from Admiral Rawlings in return with orders to a rendezvous with him at their, by now, designated waypoint. Janice loaded the coordinates into the Nav-Comp for the helmsman and logged an acknowledgment.  Much to everyone's surprise, they found the Admiral waiting for them in his private shuttle, and it was with some difficulty the CPO Conner managed to pipe him aboard, never having had the chance to practice with sidebouy’s before.

“Welcome aboard H.M.S. Nemesis, Admiral.”  Mike saluted as the Admiral stepped from his shuttle.  Conner finished the last note on his boatswains whistle and called the ‘at ease’.

“Thank you Captain, though I come and have a look at this ship of yours.  Nice turn out, Chief, thank you.”  He said, returning the salute.  Mike introduced his senior staff, and they went through the usual routine of salutes and handshakes.

“If you would follow me, sir, and I’ll give to the penny tour.”  If he thought the Admiral would just take a quick look he was mistaken.  The Admiral took his time, wanting to look at everything, and talk to the crew.

He did dispense with the traditional ‘Admiral on deck’, and quietly went from station to station.  Sometimes he sat and chatted with members of the crew, much to their surprise, asking pointed questions about this and that, or what they thought of the ship.  At last they made it to the cramped Wardroom, and he met the senior officers again on a more informal basis.  They toasted the King with the traditional sit down salute and everyone relaxed, as the Admiral ordered the Wardroom door closed.  The Admiral sipped his brandy again and raised one bushy eyebrow.  Reaching over he turned the bottle so he could read the label, then looked at Mike.

“Dare I ask how a lowly, underpaid Naval Leftenant can afford a better grade of Torgon Brandy than the Admiral of the Fleet?”  His remark brought a lot of foot shuffling and throat clearing around the mess table, some looking at the deckhead for inspiration.  “Better than a hundred year old at that.” He added.

“Well, sir, um, that is... we...”  Mike began.

“Spoils of war, Admiral?”  Pete stepped into the breach with a grin.

“Hmm, I think I’d better not delve into the why and wherefore of that.”

“Might be best, sir.”  That brought a chuckle around the table, and relaxed the tense atmosphere.  Having a Fleet Admiral suddenly descend on you out of the blue tended to make people nervous.