“Welcome aboard, sir!”
“Well damn me if it isn’t Sparks.”
The crew chief was looking down at him and grinning broadly.
“So they got you on this bucket too,” Jason said, glad to see the familiar and attractive face of the finest crew chief he had ever worked with.
“You’ll find quite a few of the old crowd here,” Sparks said, “we’re the only experienced hands on this ship. The admiral scrapped up a couple of dozen of us to help this ship along. The rest are all new, straight out of the training schools.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“I wonder whose nest we took a dump on to get this assignment,” he sighed.
“Oh, she doesn’t seem to be that bad a ship,” Sparks replied, and Jason could detect the false sincerity in her voice.
“I wish I could believe you, Sparks.”
“The Captain’s waiting for you, sir, so I guess you should get moving.”
“How is he?”
“I’ll leave that for you to decide, sir,” she replied, showing the age old diplomacy of a non-commissioned officer who didn’t want to tell an upper rank just how she really felt.
Jason unsnapped his harness and stood up to look around. He could sense that all eyes on the deck were focused on him. After all, he was the new commander of all the ships flying off the Tarawa. He ignored their stares, his attention for the moment focused solely on the gleaming row of fighter craft under his command. They all looked new at least; that was an advantage, and a curse, since there were always some bugs to be worked out in the first couple of hundred hours of flying. The squadron of Ferret scout and recon ships were crammed in behind the Sabres. That would have to be changed at once. Moving the heavier craft could waste several precious minutes if the crunch was on and they needed a quick recon launch.
He was tempted to pass a comment on to Sparks but let it pass. He’d find out who the launch deck officer was later on and get it taken care of.
Sparks scrambled down the ladder and he followed. As he hit the deck a shrill piping cut the air that sent a corkscrew shiver down his back. Damn, with the new promotion he now rated the ritual of a formal greeting for his first reporting aboard.
He turned away from his Ferret and saw half a dozen deck crew lined up in shining dress blues, all at attention. Coming to attention himself, he saluted the Confederation flag which hung from the bulkhead wall and then saluted the young ensign commanding the detail.
“Permission to come aboard,” Jason snapped, trying not to sound too peeved by the pomp and circumstance.
“Permission granted, sir,” and her voice cracked, coming out like a high-pitched squeak.
He stood for several seconds, not sure what to do next and then he saw a towering dark form lumbering through the main doorway onto the hangar deck.
The fighter pilot approaching him came to attention and then with his usual, almost languid air, that seemed to drip with depression and futility, Doomsday saluted.
“The captain’s waiting to see you, sir.”
Jason grinned as he returned the salute and quickly fell in beside his old comrade. The two left the deck, heading down a narrow corridor.
“So my request came through,” Jason said, barely able to keep from smiling.
“What request?”
“When Admiral Tolwyn laid the promotion of lieutenant commander on me and then sent me off to this bucket he said I could pick my squadron commanders.”
“So you’re the damn jerk who got me pulled from R&R and sent back out here?” Doomsday groaned, looking over at Jason.
“I needed somebody I could count on, and I wanted you to handle the fighter bomber squadron.”
“Something in my bones told me I’d wind up dying soon, and you’re making sure it comes true.”
“Hey, I got you the extra stripe, what more do you want?”
Doomsday allowed the slightest flicker of a smile.
“Thanks, at least it’ll mean a bigger pension for my family after you’re done killing me.”
“How’s the captain?”
“I’ll let you decide,” Doomsday said, and pointed towards the wardroom door. “He’s waiting in there for you, Jason.”
Without offering to come along Doomsday turned and disappeared back down the corridor.
Jason went up to the door and knocked.
There was a long pause and he was tempted to knock again when he heard a soft, almost distant voice.
“Come.”
He opened the door and stepped into the room.
The captain of the ship was standing with his back to the door, his attention focused on a 3-D holo map of the sector. The captain stood, shoulders slightly hunched, as if deeply absorbed in thought, all his attention concentrated on the map, as if attempting to divinate out some hidden meaning.
Jason felt uncomfortable with the pose, his discomfort magnified when he noticed that the leather of the captain’s empty chair was gradually shifting outward, a sign that the commanding officer had been sitting, and then got up and turned to the map before calling for Jason to come in.
The captain studied the map for a long moment as if Jason were not even in the room. Finally he turned around, moving slowly, first looking at Jason over his shoulder. The man’s face was lined with deep set wrinkles as if the skin was gradually losing its hold on his skull. His eyes were dark, intense. He was balding on top, his hair combed over from one side as if to cover up the loss. His nose was bulbous, heavily veined and dark red. A drinker’s nose, Jason realized.
“Lieutenant Commander Jason Bondarevsky?”
Jason saluted.
The captain studied him for a long moment before finally saluting in return.
“I watched your landing on the screen, seemed a bit shaky, yes indeed, a bit shaky it was.”
Jason said nothing. Not a great landing, he had to agree, but it had nothing to do with shakiness. However he was not going to blurt out a defensive response.
The captain looked at him, his features set, and then finally the corners of the mouth creased upward.
“How is my good friend Admiral Tolwyn?”
“In fine health when I left him, sir.”
The captain nodded gravely, as if this was the most important news in the universe.
“I’ve looked at your file, Bondarevsky. You were part of that Gettysburg mutiny affair a year or so back.”
“I was, sir.” Jason replied quietly, not wanting; to sound defensive.
“Dirty business that, a nasty dirty business.”
“How so?” Jason asked cautiously.
The official court of inquiry had fully cleared him of the situation, acknowledging the criminal actions of his old captain, and agreeing with the crew’s decision to remove him from command. Jason had come out of it not only with a full exoneration but a decoration and the confidence of Admiral Tolwyn.
“Just that, Bonevsky, a dirty business.”
“It’s Bondarevsky,” Jason said.
“Yes, of course.”
He walked back to the map and turned his back on Jason for a moment, posing as if caught up in some deep and profound decision. He finally turned, a smile creasing his features.
“I’m Commodore Thaddeus O’Brian, welcome aboard.”
Jason took his hand, noticing that the grip was weak, the palms clammy. He found he was forming an instant dislike and he fought it down. He knew too many people who made snap decisions about what they thought of others, a trait that he didn’t quite approve of. Also, this was his first real command, and it just wouldn’t work to have yet another conflict with a superior officer.