They tended to split into two groups, the Goliath team and the senior officers of the battle eroup. Though Admiral Camparelli presided, it was clear that it was Captain Galbraith most of them looked to for direction, and that young CO was wrapped in an air of almost palpable superiority. From hints the man had let fall in conversation already it was plain that he considered this mission a milk run, a minor chore far beneath the dignity of the flagship of the Landreich fleet. Perhaps he was also conscious of the fact that Tarawa-no, damn it, Independence, Bondarevsky reminded himself bitterly-stood to lose that flagship status if the salvage mission was successful, and with Tolwyn destined for her command seat he might be feeling a little disappointed that his father’s political machinations had secured him the escort carrier when this new vessel was waiting in the wings.
The other three skippers of the battle group’s fighting ships sat between Galbraith and Camparelli. So far they were little more than names and faces to Bondarevsky. Forbes of the light cruiser Xenophon was a blonde giant with a faint accent that reminded Bondarevsky of one of his old comrades, Paladin. Miruts Bikina of the destroyer Durendal was his complete opposite, a wiry black soldier of fortune from the colonial world of Azania who had joined Kruger’s navy only a few years back, but quickly established an impressive combat record that had earned him rapid advancement. His reputation for competency boded well, but Bondarevsky wondered if a mercenary could ever be trusted as much as someone actually defending his home and hearth.
On the other hand, that was essentially what he and Tolwyn were, mercenaries for hire. Perhaps he’d have to adjust his way of thinking now that he wore the uniform of a captain of the FRLN.
The third captain commanded the destroyer Caliburn, a stunning red-headed woman named Pamela Collins. Bondarevsky had noticed that most of the male officers of the battle group were so busy noticing her good looks that they didn’t realize she had a string of single-ship kills on her service record that would have put most Confederation skippers to shame. He didn’t have any worries as to how Caliburn would perform, at least.
Two more around the table weren’t ship captains, but they were an integral part of the power projection abilities of the battle group. Colonel Bhaktadil Rai was commander of the Independence’s contingent of Republic Marines, a slight but sturdy man with light skin, fierce black eyebrows, and a prominent nose between dark Asiatic eyes. He was a descendent of the proud Gurkha warriors of old Terra, and took his heritage seriously. Even on duty he wore a turban instead of more usual military headgear-what he did when he had to wear full space armor was something Bondarevsky hoped to discover some day-and he carried a wicked-looking curved combat knife, a kukri, at his side. Beside him, Kevin Tolwyn looked uncomfortable wearing khakis instead of his flight suit, but like the marine he stayed quiet and let the others do most of the talking. The young commander had come a long way since Bondarevsky had first taken him under his wing right here aboard the old Tarawa.
There were also four non-combatant ships in the squadron, assigned specifically to assist in the Goliath Project. The transport City of Cashel was commanded by a dour reservist named Steiger. She had been designed to carry a full division of troops between worlds, but today was carrying nearly six thousand men and women who would serve aboard the supercarrier, together with the two hundred specialists from Kruger’s prized salvage team who were represented by Armando Diaz, who had a brevet rank of major in the Landreich’s army for the duration of the crisis. Diaz was dark, thin, and radiated enough nervous energy to run a medium-sized combat ship for a year or two, but he plainly knew his business. Whether or not he could surmount the extra obstacles of putting a Kilrathi ship into service again remained to be seen.
Diaz would be working closely with the captains of the tender Sindri and the huge factory ship Andrew Carnegie, a Mutt-and-Jeff pair whose names were Dickerson and Lake-Bondarevsky still wasn’t entirely sure which one was which. Their commands, though non-combatants, would have the pivotal part in the Goliath Project, the tender serving as a deep-space repair platform for the supercarrier while the mammoth Andrew Carnegie, designed for semi-automated minerals extraction and fabrication work on unsettled frontier worlds, had been pressed into service to manufacture whatever the Kilrathi derelict might be lacking right on the spot.
The last member of the assembly was an olive-skinned, attractive woman, Wenona Springweather, from the planet of New Plains poised on the boundary between the Landreich and the Confederation. Settled mostly by a mixture of Native American tribes, the planet had tried to stay out of the political rivalry between Kruger’s government and Terra, and Captain Springweather was typical of the frontier scouts who operated out of the free port at New Plains. Her scout ship, Vision Quest, was the only civilian vessel in the fleet. She was along to help the Goliath team locate and investigate the hulk she’d stumbled across…and, to hear her talk, to make sure that she wasn’t swindled out of her finder’s fee by the sharpies working for Max Kruger.
Springweather and the salvage specialists gravitated into orbit with Admiral Richards and Geoff Tolwyn, seemingly at odds with the voices of authority represented by the purely military members of the operation. As for Bondarevsky himself, he was torn in his loyalties. He sympathized thoroughly with the battle group officers who had to plan for God alone knew what contingencies out there in the Vaku system, but at the same time he considered the supercilious Galbraith and his immediate juniors a poor substitute for the combat veterans he’d served with in the war. The worst of it, he thought, was the fact that they reflected their maverick Commander-in-Chief, Max Kruger. Bondarevsky was used to the common bond between the officers in the Confederation, products of a uniform academy training system and a rigid code of conduct. Out here in the Landreich individual eccentricities seemed to be the norm rather than the exception, whether it was Galbraith’s ultra-fashionable uniforms, Bikina’s unsavory mercenary past, or Bhaktadil amp;rsuo;s old-fashioned adherence to the ways of his Gurkha ancestors. It emphasized the almost amateur nature of war out here on the frontier, and Bondarevsky had never regarded warfare as a fit subject for amateurs.
But these were the men and women he’d have to learn to work with, not just on the Goliath Project but afterwards as well, whether the mission succeeded or failed. The combat ships of the battle group, minus Independence, were slated to become the supercarrier’s fighting force if the derelict could be recommissioned.
Bondarevsky hoped they’d all grow to understand one another well before the time came when they had to rely on each other in a combat situation.
He forced himself to focus back on the conversation around the table. Camparelli had finished his opening comments and slumped back into his chair, letting Galbraith take over the operational briefing with the assistance of the carrier’s XO, Mary Roth, and Camparelli’s Flag Lieutenant, Commander O’Leary, who manipulated the controls of the holo-projector while Galbraith spoke.
“The deployment for the first stage of the operation is relatively simple,” the carriers skipper said languidly. According to Miss Springweather’s reports-“