“Yes, sir.” Kabadda opened his mouth as if to reply and then shut it.
“What?”
“Admiral Draskovich felt that knowing what information was flowing was important, sir,” the general replied, uneasily.
“The term is ‘delegation,’ Kabadda,” Edmund replied. “My job is to make sure that everyone knows theirs and does it to the best of their ability. It is not to do their job for them. Mine is going to take up enough of my time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The same goes for you,” Edmund added. “Your job is to ensure that the weapon is prepared. But you cannot do that if you’re running over every single materials or personnel list. That is what the G-1 and G-4 are for. And their job is to make sure that their people are trained, and doing their jobs, to the best of their ability. Not doing their job for them. Not nitpicking every detailÑtheir people are the ones that are supposed to nitpickÑand, most especially, not constantly micromanaging their people’s actions. If somebody screws up, you show them the error of their ways. If they can’t get their head around doing it right, after adequate retraining, you find somebody who can.”
“Yes, sir,” Kabadda said, nodding.
“Was that an automatic response?” Edmund asked. “Or did you listen?”
“I was listening, Admiral,” the chief of staff said, indignantly.
“Great. Who is going to guide me around the base?”
“I wi…” the chief of staff started to say and then smiled ruefully. “I was about to say ‘I will.’ That was the wrong answer, wasn’t it?”
“Bingo,” Edmund chuckled. “You’ve got more important things to do.”
“I’ll assign one of my aides,” Kabadda replied.
“Fine,” Edmund said, draining his coffee. “I’m going to have another cup and then talk to some of the headquarters people. I’ll probably be at this for about an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Edmund walked over to where a chief petty officer was hovering over a group of seamen, male and female, who were laboriously copying from a manual.
“Hey Chief,” the admiral said.
“Admiral,” the CPO replied, bracing to attention.
“Can it, we’ve got real work to do,” Talbot replied. “What’s your name, Chief?”
“Senior Chief Naoko Greter, sir,” the chief replied. “NCOIC of the signals group.”
“Well, Chief Greter, I’d kill for another cup of coffee. Where’s the urn?”
“Why don’t I get someone to get it for you, sir?” The chief chuckled. “Besom! Coffee for the admiral. That’s what runners are for, sir.”
“Delegation works.” Edmund nodded, handing the mug to a very young female seaman. “So what are you guys doing?”
“The fire destroyed most of our signals books, sir,” the chief said with a grimace. “And the press we used to run them off. Until we get a press up and running again we’re having to hand copy.”
“Is everything being done that is possible to get the press up and running again, Chief Greter?” Edmund asked.
Herzer wondered at the formality of the question until he realized Edmund was repeating the name to get it memorized.
“As far as I can tell, sir,” the CPO replied. “I checked with the machine shop and their guys had it as one of their top priorities. They already had the frame done but the letters had to be ordered.”
“Anything you need you think it’s reasonable to ask for?”
“I’ve got all the people I could find who can read and write with a fair hand organized on it, sir,” the chief shrugged. “Not that I can think of.”
“Good,” Edmund nodded. “Who do you think I should go cheer up next?”
Chapter Nine
The duke worked his way around the room, informally chatting with at least the senior officer and senior NCO of each of the teams that directly supported him. As he did Herzer came to realize that he was subtly drawing them out. Not only learning their names but getting a feel for their capabilities. All of them were, naturally, nervous, facing the boss who had so abruptly replaced Admiral Draskovich. With the destruction of the headquarters all of them were facing problems and Herzer realized that the duke, while appearing on the surface to simply be chatting, was learning who in the headquarters could face a challenge and who couldn’t. Some people could take a break in routine and others could not. Both types were useful to the military, which had more than its share of boring jobs. But the most useful, by and large, were those who could respond to chaos and bring order from it. Unfortunately, the headquarters seemed to be severely lacking in the latter.
Operations, especially, seemed to be running around like headless chickens. They had multiple messages piling up giving locations of ships and in many cases requests for reinforcement. Edmund leafed through the messages, passing them on to Herzer as he was done.
Herzer, in turn, was surprised at the… tone of many of the messages. Most of the remaining carrier captains, as well as the captains of the ballista frigates that were attached to them, were simply asking what they should do. Not where they should go or where they should rendezvous, but what they should do about the battle damage on their ships. There were also requests for resupply, naturally, but Herzer had to wonder what they were doing sitting on the desk of the operations section. They should have been sent directly to G-4, the department in charge of logistics. There the requests would be assembled and collated so that if a resupply force could be put to sea, it would be loaded for what they needed.
After reading the messages and shaking hands with the harried captain who was trying to get some order in his section, Edmund strolled over to the logistics section where a very young female lieutenant was copying items off of one list and filling in another.
“How’s it going, Lieutenant?” the admiral said.
The young woman had been so absorbed in her task that she hadn’t even noticed the approach of the new boss.
“Not very damned good.” She sighed, not looking up. “Whatever it is, I don’t have it.”
“What a perfect answer from a supply person,” Edmund chuckled.
She looked up then and leapt to her feet, ashen.
“Sorry, sir,” she stammered, “it’s just that…”
“I understand,” Edmund replied. “Everyone wants something and they want it right now. The question is, are we going to be able to get it?”
“So far, so good, sir,” she replied. “What I was doing was taking the requests from the fleet and compiling ship packets, sir.” She glanced down at the lists and seemed to drift off for a moment.
“Betraying my total ignorance,” Edmund said after a moment. “What is a ship packet?”
“Sorry, sir,” the lieutenant said, shaking her head. “When we send resupply ships out, some of the stuff that’s requested is in bulk. Beans and ketchup for the wyverns, salt beef and pork. But some of the stuff is specific. For example the Henry Tachos needs a new set of steering rigging; the fire they had burned up most of the rear of the ship. We try, where possible, to assemble the specific needs for the ships in one place on the resupply ships and then load it according to the order in which the ships are going to be supplied.”
“And you are…?”
“Lieutenant Dierdre Miuki, sir,” the young woman replied.
“Does that need to be done in the headquarters, Lieutenant Miuki?” Edmund asked. “I’d think that would be passed on to a lower section to be assembled?”
“We sort of triage it here, sir,” the lieutenant said. “Then it gets gone over again by the G-4 staff.”