Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, strode into the briefing room. He reached the podium, lowered his head for a second and then raised it again to look out at the men and women in the room. He felt a tug at his heart at the sight of them.
"Never, for God sake never, let your people get inside your heart, for your job is to use them, and if need be kill them," a voice whispered to him. It was his old mentor Banbridge's classic piece of advice.
I guess that's what separates me from him, Geoff thought. With Clara and the boys gone this is my family. It was something he never let show, no matter what. He knew that behind his back he was "the old man," which was the gentlest of epithets; usually it was far worse and ofttimes even angry. They never really knew how he felt, especially when he looked into their eyes just before a strike went out, knowing that he was ordering some of them to their deaths. Well, at least that's finished for the moment.
He clicked a comm button which opened the public address channel for the entire ship.
"All hands, all hands, this is Admiral Tolwyn," his deep baritone voice, clipped with the refined touch of an Oxford education, echoing through the ship.
"I have just received the following communication from C-in-C ConFleet, it reads, 'To Tolwyn, commanding, Task Force 45. Armistice agreement and cease fire has been reached with Kilrathi Empire, to be effective upon reception of this signal. All offensive operations to cease immediately and to withdraw to navigation point detailed below Repeat, all offensive operations to cease at once. Fire only if fired upon. Signed Noragami, commanding, Confederation Navy.'"
He hesitated as if wanting to say something and then lowered his head
"That is all," and clicked off the comm channel.
He looked back up at his officers who stood incredulous. In the corridors outside the conference room distant cheering could be heard.
"I'm only going to say this once," Tolwyn said quietly. "I'm proud of all of you for the job you've done. In the seven years I've been in command of Concordia we've taken out eight carriers, a score of capital ships, countless fighters and bombers, and fought in nine major fleet actions. Concordia is not just steel, guns and planes, in fact it is you, it is your flesh and blood and the spirits of all those who've served on her, living and dead."
He hesitated for a moment.
"When it comes time for her to fight again, I hope and pray that I'll be able to count on you all in our hour of need."
"Dismissed."
He started for the door, the room silent.
"Damn, we're going home!" somebody shouted and the room erupted in cheers. Tolwyn stiffened his shoulders and walked out.
He passed down the corridor, ignoring the cheers and the momentary lack of discipline, retreated to his office, closed the door, and for the first time in months poured a good stiff drink of single malt Scotch. Settling back in his chair he started to review the first holo tapes of the strike mission.
The timing was masterful, the strike crews the finest professionals he had ever served with, nearly every Broadsword gaining lock and launching simultaneously. A successful strike like that was even more intricate than the most finely crafted ballet, and in his eyes even more beautiful.
Damn it.
A knock on the door disturbed him and he set his drink down on the table behind his desk.
"Come."
The door slid open and he could not help but allow a slight flicker of a smile to light his features at the sight of Captain Jason "Bear" Bondarevsky standing at attention in the corridor.
"Come on in, Bear. What brings you over here anyhow."
Jason came into the room and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
"We'll wave regs and at least let you have a sip," and he poured out a thin splash of Scotch in a tumbler and passed it over.
"Thank you, sir."
"Have a seat."
Jason went over to the proffered chair by the admiral's desk and settled in . He sniffed his glass and tasted the Scotch.
"Not bad, sir."
"The best, saved for special occasions."
"Like this one?"
"No, not really, I just felt a need for it."
Jason looked down at the floor and Tolwyn could feel the tension.
"Come on, son, out with it."
"Sir, something's troubling me, I thought I better come over and discuss it with you privately."
"You mean this little thing called an armistice."
"In part," Jason said quietly.
"Well, what is it then?"
"Sir, that communication from ConFleet announcing the armistice came through close to fifty minutes before our strike hit the carrier."
Tolwyn exhaled noisily and leaned back in his chair.
"How the hell do you know that, Bondarevsky?" he asked quietly, a threatening chill in his voice. "That message was directed solely to me."
"Sir, Tarawa was the back up carrier for this operation. If something should have happened to Concordia it would have been my job to assume control of the air strikes. In that situation, I took it upon myself to monitor all ConFleet channels and that included yours. Suppose you were hit, sir? It would have then been my job to know the entire picture. I didn't notice it immediately since it was simply decoded and stored in my personal data system. But after the action I was going through the signals to dump them off my system and I saw it."
What Jason was confessing was somewhat outside the regulations but it showed careful planning and foresight on his part. If something had indeed happened to Concordia the young officer before him might very well have to take full responsibility for everything that transpired.
There was an ancient cautionary tale told in the service academies, the incident dating back to a war once fought between England and America. In an encounter between an American and British ship the commanding officer of the American vessel was mortally wounded, and the junior officer took him down below deck to the surgeon. In the short interval that followed all the other officers were hit and, without his even being aware of it, the junior officer was now in command. By the time he returned to the deck his ship had already been battered into submission and forced to surrender after barely putting up a fight. The junior officer was held responsible, court-martialed, and found guilty of dereliction of duty, a duty he was not even aware had suddenly come to rest upon his shoulders. The lesson was part of the tradition and backbone of the fleet — there is no excuse for defeat
Geoff looked at Jason and realized as well that he had made a crucial mistake in not assuming that Jason might very well be listening in.
"And what do you think?" he finally said quietly.
"I lost two crews in that attack, two pilots and a gunner. I'm wondering how their families would feel if they knew their kids got killed after a war was officially over."
Tolwyn nodded and said nothing.
"I don't give a good damn about the furballs," Jason continued, "but five hundred or more of them died when that carrier got cooked. I don't feel too good about that either, sir."
"Neither do I."
"Then why did you do it, sir?"
"I'd rather not say, Jason, but let me ask you a question."
"Sure."
"If this was just another day in the war, how would you feel about taking out that carrier."
"I hate losing people, but trading a Rapier, a Sabre and two of your Broadswords for a light carrier is a damn fine piece of work in my book. I wish it had always been that easy."
Tolwyn nodded.
"That's how I still feel about it, Jason."
"But the war's over. We were hearing the rumors even before this attack started out. Something about a peace party coming into power in the Empire, Prince Thrakhath falling into disgrace, and Foreign Minister Jamison pushing for an armistice. Damn it, sir, they're saying it's finally over and we can go home."