Solfleet: The Call of Duty (78 page)

Dylan stopped
and wondered for a moment how many of her officers and crew hadn’t been as
fortunate.

To the
Victory
’s
right and almost directly in front of Dylan, large quantities of cargo and
equipment were being offloaded from the somewhat weathered yet surprisingly
unscathed
U.E.F.S. Bokken
, an older vessel very much like his father’s
Excalibur
—a
battleship of the same class, in fact—her service to Solfleet, Dylan had heard
earlier on the station’s news network, having just come to its unremarkable,
prescheduled conclusion. Once ‘sterilized’ the
Bokken
was to be turned
into an orbiting museum, according to the news story. Considering the Coalition’s
desperate situation, she must truly have been useless at every level for her to
be retired from active service at such a critical time.

And to Dylan’s
far right, farthest from him but somehow still dominating the bay, the vessel
that would replace both of the other two floated in silent slumber, illuminated
from all sides by several dozen high-intensity floodlights, awaiting its turn
to serve the cause. The United Earth Federation’s newest battlecarrier—the
U.E.F.B.C.
Excalibur
, Solfleet registration number SBC-1000.

The namesake
of his father’s ship, she was the very first of the massive new battlecarriers
to be built, and she was an imposing sight to say the least. Obviously larger
and reportedly much more powerful than any other Solfleet vessel ever constructed,
larger even than anything else in the entire Coalition, her incredible mass had
necessitated the addition of a third pair of jump nacelles, split directly to port
and starboard of her main hull, extending beyond and between her other two
pairs. At least a dozen additional weapons batteries had been added along her
length, presumably on both the port and starboard sides, and some kind of huge
new mega-weapon had been mounted beneath her wedge-shaped bow. And for the
first time in Solfleet history, an insignia flash unique to the individual ship
had been painted on her hull. Just forward of her starboard-side registration,
emblazoned directly over her standard green Coalition markings, an armored hand
held aloft the sword ‘Excalibur’, its point tilted at 45 degrees toward the
bow, with the Solfleet banner flying proudly from its silver blade.

According to
news reports the new generation battlecarriers had been designed to replace the
core vessels of a standard battle group. They were battleships, heavily armed
and even more heavily armored. That much was obvious just looking at this one. They
were strike cruisers, surprisingly agile for their size, at least in theory,
and outfitted with the latest, fasted, and most powerful propulsion systems
available. And they were carriers, housing four entire starfighter wings as
well as a wide assortment of operational support craft. They were the three
most important elements of any Solfleet battle group, all rolled into one
behemoth package.

In addition
to the
Excalibur
, eight more of the titanic vessels had been
commissioned so far, and word had it that at least twenty-seven more were
either under construction, undergoing static testing, or on final shakedown
cruises at various secret locations throughout Coalition space. Despite the
enormous cost of the project, which had necessitated a worldwide increase in
nearly every type of tax that existed, news of the battlecarrier project had done
a lot to lift the spirit of patriotism and increase morale among the war-weary public,
and fleet enlistments had been on the rise ever since the new
Excalibur
had
been publicly unveiled. Looking at it, Dylan understood why. What chance would
the Veshtonn possibly have of making a stand against even one of those giants,
let alone thirty-six of them? Moreover, how could anyone in Solfleet Central
Command believe that the Coalition was doomed when vessels like that one were
being prepared for service?

Yes. She was
indeed an awesome vessel. But Dylan hadn’t come to the hanger deck to admire
the mighty ships of the fleet. He’d come to meet the man who’d been assigned to
pilot him to an as yet unknown destination—unknown to him at least—so he could
begin his mission. A mission that, after seeing this new
Excalibur
, he
was beginning to think shouldn’t even be necessary.

He turned
his back to the transparent wall to gaze out across the stadium-sized hanger
deck just as a middle-aged woman in naval tan and black approached him, limping
along with the help of an antique looking gnarled wooden cane, one leg
partially immobilized by a soft cast that ran from her hip to her ankle. She
was a fairly attractive woman for her age, Northern Indian or Pakistani in
appearance, with olive-tan skin and long jet-black hair streaked with gray, and
was wearing the single starburst of a commodore on her collar.

“She’s a
real beauty, isn’t she?” the woman asked, gazing out at the
Excalibur
as
she stopped beside him.

“Yes, ma’am,”
Dylan answered, turning back to gaze at the mighty vessel again. What choice
did he have? He couldn’t just walk away, now that she’d spoken to him. That
would be rude, commodore or not. “That she is.”

“What I
wouldn’t give to command a vessel like that.”

“Probably
get lost trying to find the bridge.”

The woman
laughed, then said, “No doubt, considering there isn’t one.”

Dylan looked
at the woman. He’d never claimed to be an expert on the ships of the fleet, but
he’d thought he knew enough to know that they had to have a bridge. “No bridge?”

“No,” she
answered, shaking her head slightly. “At least not in the classic sense. It’s
been replaced by a much larger facility called the Combat Information Center.”
She looked at him and extended her hand. “Commodore Suja Bhatnagar.”

“Sergeant
Dylan Graves, ma’am,” he replied, keeping in mind what he was wearing as he
shook her hand. It came naturally enough. He wasn’t used to thinking of himself
as a lieutenant yet. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And I you,
Sergeant. I’m always honored to make the acquaintance of a non-comm. I’ve been
fortunate enough to serve with a lot of good ones in my time.” She released his
hand, stared at him a moment, then asked, “Graves, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Any
relation to Captain Richard Graves of the previous
Excalibur
?”

Was there
anyone in the fleet who
hadn’t
heard of his father? “Yes, ma’am,” he
answered after almost giving in to the temptation to lie. “He was my father.”

“Your
father!” she exclaimed as if thrilled by the news.

“Yes, ma’am,”
he confirmed, forcing himself to smile.

“Then I
truly am honored to meet you, Sergeant. I have admired your father since my
earliest days at the academy.”

“Thank you,
Commodore. I appreciate that.” Why the hell had he said that, he wondered as he
looked back out at the ships again.

“Yes indeed,”
Bhatnagar said as she, too, looked back out at the ships. “She is a beauty.”

Dylan looked
right back at her again—at the way she looked at the new battlecarrier with a
sort of glint in her eye. Like a proud mother, almost as though the mighty
vessel were her very own. Then again, maybe it was.

“Are you the
Excalibur
’s C-O, Commodore?” he asked.

“Who me?”
Bhatnagar asked, looking at him as though it were a completely ridiculous idea.
“No. No, I don’t have a ship of my own anymore. I used to.” She looked to their
left and pointed. “That’s her, right there. The
Victory
.”

“Oh.” Open
mouth. Insert foot. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, there’s
no reason to be sorry, Sergeant. She was badly wounded and nearly crippled,
sort of like I am now, but she still brought us all home. I expected her to be
decommissioned and scrapped when we got here of course, given her condition, but
I’ve just been told she’s to be refit and redeployed.”

“Oh. Well
then...congratulations for that much at least, Commodore.”

“Thanks. I’ll
pass that on to my former X-O. He’s her captain now. As for me?” She shook her
head. “I’ve just been promoted to flying a desk.”

What could
he say to that? He certainly knew what it was like to be ‘promoted’ out of a
job. Probably better to say nothing at all and just take his leave of her.

“Well, if
you’ll excuse me, Commodore, I’ve got work to do.” He offered his hand. “Nice
meeting you.”

Bhatnagar
took his hand and said, “It was nice to meet you, too, Sergeant. Take care of
yourself.”

“And you, ma’am,”
Dylan returned, glancing down at her leg. Then he let go of her hand and left
her gazing quietly out at her old command.

He meandered
along among the dozens of assorted shuttles and other small crafts of various
shapes, sizes, and origins that were parked around him. The one he’d been
instructed to look for was supposedly nestled somewhere among them. His
instructions had included a general description of it, but damned if he could
see anything that even remotely resembled what he’d read. He was almost two
thirds of the way across the deck when he finally spotted a craft off to his
right that he thought might be the one he was looking for. What he could see of
it seemed to fit the general description, so he headed toward it.

Yeah, that
was it, parked in a maintenance slot just beyond a heavily damaged Veshtonn
atmosphere-capable fighter. The space yacht
Selena
, a relatively small
but gracefully designed craft with an immaculately clean finish. As he
approached it an elderly, slightly overweight gray-haired gentleman with
leathery skin and a thick but neatly trimmed beard and moustache emerged from
its open rear hatch, wiping his beefy hands on a threadbare blue rag that looked
heavily stained with oils, greases, and God only knew what else.

As soon as the
man saw Dylan he threw him a friendly wave and stepped down to the deck. “Sergeant
Dylan Graves, I presume,” he bellowed with a toothy smile as he extended his
right hand, his slightly accented voice so deep that it might have rattled the windows
had he yelled out.

“Yes, sir,”
Dylan answered, shaking the old man’s grungy hand without hesitation. His palm felt
rough and dry like coarse sandpaper, his grip almost painfully firm. This was
obviously a man who worked with his hands...a lot.

“Captain
Benjamin Andreievich Sedelnikov, semi-retired, at your service,” he introduced
himself while he pumped Dylan’s arm a bit more vigorously than was necessary.

Now there
was a mouthful to say the least. But he had to try. “Nice to meet you, Captain
Andrei...”

“It’s
Captain Sedelnikov,” the man corrected him. “Andreievich is my middle name. But
my friends have always called me Benny, so why don’t you do the same. If we’re going
to be cooped up together on this little trip, we might as well be friendly.”

“All right.
Benny it is,” Dylan said as the semi-retired captain finally released his hand.
He stole a quick glance down at it and was pleasantly surprised to see that it still
looked clean. “Please, call me Dylan.”

“All right,
I will.” He turned and headed back to his ship. “Come on aboard, Dylan.”

Dylan looked
the older man over as he followed him, paying particular attention to his
clothing, noting the brown tee shirt, the light tan tunic minus its sleeves,
which had been cut off to form a vest, and the matching trousers with the brown
belt and double brown stripes down the outsides of the legs. All remnants of an
older Solfleet naval uniform that had been out of use for several decades.

“Pardon my
asking, Benny, but...you mentioned you were semi-retired. Just how long ago
were you on active duty?”

“Ah. You
recognize the uniform?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, I do.”

“
Da
,
I thought you might. Your Admiral Hansen mentioned you were a military history
buff. Let’s just say for now that I’ve been off active duty for a very long
time, but I’ve always been comfortable in the uniform. What’s left of it, that
is. Besides, as you’ve probably already figured out, I haven’t completely left
the service yet.”

“That was my
next question,” Dylan said as they ascended the ramp. “I was wondering how even
a
semi
-retired officer could be assigned a classified mission.”

As they
stepped into the
Selena
’s aft compartment, Benny closed and secured the
small access panel he’d apparently been working in, then said, “The service was
very good to me in my day, Dylan, so I’m always happy to serve however I can one
more time.”

Dylan looked
around, realizing for the first time just how small the
Selena
really
was. “So, is this the ship we’re going in?” he asked, hoping that it wasn’t.

“The
Selena
?”
Benny asked, seemingly surprised by the question. “
Nyet
,” he said
shaking his head. “Absolutely not. She’s far too delicate a lady for this one.
Don’t get me wrong now. She’s a fine craft, but she’s not built for such a long
voyage. No, we’ll be taking a starskiff. Your Admiral Hansen has promised to
take good care of my
Selena
while we’re gone.” As he looked around at
the ship’s interior with love in his eyes he added, “No, I wouldn’t subject
this little lady to what we’re going into even if she
could
get us
there.”

At that,
Dylan threw Benny a puzzled look and asked, “Just what are we going into?”

Benny smiled
once more. “There will be plenty of time for questions on our way, Dylan. Let’s
go find our starskiff.”

Commander
Royer’s office door slid open. Irritated, she looked up with the intention of educating
whoever had walked in on her unannounced as to the error of their ways, but she
found Admiral Hansen looking right back at her, so she held her tongue. She set
her handcomp aside and started to stand up instead, but he quickly gestured for
her to keep her seat so she relaxed, glad that she’d taken the time to clean
herself up and change into a fresh uniform after their early morning meeting.