Jessica had been trying to fall asleep at a reasonable hour, a rare enough occurrence these days considering all the work she had to do. There were never enough hours, and rarely a day off, but all of this work would bear fruit soon.
Out there, docked a long ways away from her across the station, the first ship had been born, of what would become a completely rebuilt First Expeditionary Fleet. Her fleet.
Her sword, as Yan Bedrov had promised an emperor.
CE-401. The first of a new generation of Corvette/Escort vessels that could serve on any frontier, with any fleet, but which would first be traveling to face Buran. At least until Jessica was able to work with David and order a few to go to Corynthe. As Yan had said, you have to think like a pirate to fight Buran. And he did. And they would fight pirates just as effectively. Probably more so.
The Senate had moved quickly, once they decided to go. Models approved and orders placed. A quiescent Fourth Lord accepting the designs rather than tinkering endlessly. The wheels of government could spin, when the occasion demanded it. On distant Anameleck Prime, three much-bigger hulls were also taking shape. Shipyards everywhere, convinced a year ago that they might have to turn to civilian construction, had ramped up to three shifts instead. Third Lord Philips had begun a massive effort to rearrange crews, as absolutely everyone wanted to transfer to First Expeditionary, the new warfleet, rather than just chase pirates and rescue lost sailors for a career.
A chime caused Jessica to open her eyes. Sleep wasn’t coming anyway.
She keyed the door open and admitted Marcelle, sitting up and pulling the pillow up behind her back. If it was important, Marcelle would have just opened the door and entered. If it was an emergency, sirens would be waking the dead.
“Good news,” Marcelle said as she caught Jessica’s eye. “The Gray Lady just arrived in system and transmitted. They’re about ten hours out from docking.”
The Gray Lady. Marcelle’s pet name for SC-006, the Star Controller Auberon. Jessica’s ship. Her friends.
Her home.
It had been sixteen months since she had seen them, one last look back from Kali-ma’s observation deck as they climbed out of orbit to make the long run to St. Legier. For them, a year of serving under Arott Whughy as Fleet Lord in an independent command, far from home.
Hopefully, the crew had stayed sharp. Had infected Whughy with the concept of coloring outside the lines, rather than learning to stay inside them from him. Reports had looked promising, but there was only so much you could read.
Jessica needed to see them in the flesh. She needed to know that the sword was still sharp.
She would be using it soon.
Activity at the big hatch triggered the alert siren, letting everyone in range know that the primary airlock was about to open. Jessica waited with a small mob of people, most notably Nils and three of the other six Lords of the Fleet. She had been on the other side of that door often enough, but standing here was weird.
Still, she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Especially not today.
Jessica wore her Fleet Centurion uniform, rather than the dress whites of a Fleet Lord. As a nod for the event’s importance, she wore all of her important awards, including the special, custom ribbon that Karl VII had commanded, for the crews of the Blackbird and Kali-ma, veterans of the Battle of St. Legier. Jessica normally would have said First St. Legier, following Aquitaine naming conventions, but she really didn’t want to tempt the fates that there might ever be a second.
Beside her, Nils Kasum was dressed to the nines in his best uniform, including the longcoat he wore for special occasions. The other Lords wore their normal day uniforms, except Third Lord. Glenfeld Philips was in as full a dress uniform as regulations covered, and he had a smile like a cat with a mouthful of canary.
Jessica really didn’t know the man all that well. He controlled all Personnel decisions for the Navy, just as Fourth Lord was responsible for naval construction and Seventh Lord handled logistics.
As a person, he was barely taller than Jessica, and squishy around the middle, but there was a delightful fire in his eyes today.
The hatch cleared.
Normally, people would be cheering, but everyone had been instructed to remain quiet for the surprise ceremony that was about to occur. And they were all Fleet here. They would obey.
Jessica craned her head for a better look, around taller men and women blocking her view from the side of the main corridor.
There. Arott Whughy. Good.
The man was dressed in whites, but he was wearing his Fleet Centurion uniform, and not dress. It was a hopeful sign. On the first row, next to Whughy, Denis Jež, also in day uniform.
Because there wasn’t space for everyone to dock at the same time, First Lord had ordered the other Command Centurions and senior officers from the rest of the squadron to assemble aboard Auberon, and then debark with her crew. They probably guessed that something was up, but they had no clue how big.
Next to Denis was Robbie Aeliaes, his dark skin and curly hair contrasting with Denis’s lightness. Alber’ d’Maine was next, his dark hair buzzcut short and showing off all the gray that was starting to appear. He’d never cared what he looked like, as long as he could fight.
Thomas Kigali, tall and blond and gorgeous. Just as much a warrior as Alber’, just in a different direction.
Doriane Matveev, off Ishfahan. Jessica would miss the woman, but there was no place in the upcoming campaign for a missile cruiser, when Buran could short jump away from any strike Doriane could launch.
Kanda Cosmina Lungu. GSC Ballard.
Command Centurions Teuta Uzodimma, Yezekael Jarogniew, and Siran Akpabio. RAN Brightoak, Rubicon, and Vigilant. Jessica’s old squadron command, nearly a decade ago.
Tonći Östberg, Calista Katsaros, and Ionuț Yannic. The escort carriers, Andover, Albena, and Advocate.
How many of them would stay with their current commands and be promoted later into larger vessels? How many of them would rather stay with the war?
Time would tell.
Command Centurion Waldemar Ihejirika. The Fleet Replenishment Freighter RAN Mendocino. The Milkman, as far as Auberon’s crew was concerned. A friend that had been there with them at the very worst of First Ballard.
Command Centurion Illiam Kovack, off Mendocino’s counterpart Duncan. Food, fuel, and spare parts.
And, yes, best of all, one extra smiling face on the first row.
When First Expeditionary had ambushed and captured a small pirate force, most of the vessels involved had been so badly damaged that they were stripped for parts and destroyed. One, however, had been taken intact by Auberon’s marines.
Given the nature of Auberon’s deployment, as a friendly patrol but not technically under David’s control as regent, the various lawyers involved had gotten together and hammered out an agreement that resulted in the vessel being impressed into Aquitaine service as the Republic Support Vessel Bulldog, commonly referred to as the Junkyard Chihuahua from her tiny size, smaller than even Mendocino.
Still, the vessel was a fully capable Salvage Transport, what folks in Corynthe frequently called strippers when they served the pirates to dismantle a captured ship as quickly as possible for cargo and spare parts. In Whughy’s hands, she had been turned into a mobile drydock and front-line repair facility for a task force so far from home.
And had been put under the command of a prize crew led by Auberon’s First Officer, Tamara Strnad, another one of those who had been with her from the beginning. Only Robbie Aeliaes had known Jessica longer.
Those years had forged Tamara from the Strike Carrier’s awkward Second Officer into Denis’s right hand. She was much taller than average, at 1.9 meters, and perfectly proportioned. That intimidated most men. Tamara had finally learned to use that as a weapon, rather than an excuse.
Her raven black hair was long and braided and her eyes were bright green emeralds today, walking with the other commanders for what she expected would be the last time.
Tomorrow, she would have to go back to being Auberon’s First Officer, as far as she knew. Taking off the third stripe she was technically only entitled to for now as a Brevet Command Centurion with an independent command.
Jessica smiled as the front line marched forward and came to a fairly professional-looking stop in front of the assembled Lords.
Behind them came the First Officers and senior crew from all vessels, plus a mob off of Auberon, everyone trying to whisper quietly about the strangeness of the situation.
Only Arott and Denis knew what was coming.
“Assembled crew, come to attention,” Arott barked, barely suppressing his grin. You had to know it was there to see it in his eyes.
Surprise lost out to training. Heels snapped together, shoulders came back, heads came up.
Utter silence.
Nils and Third Lord both stepped out of group as if a sudden, snap inspection had been called. Nils looked from right to left, Whughy to Strnad, with a proud smile, extending it to the rows of First Officers and senior staff standing just behind the command centurions.
He let the moment stretch just long enough that people were starting to get nervous over there, before he pulled a folded paper from an inner pocket of his jacket and opened it.
“By order of the Senate of Aquitaine,” he began in a voice Jessica could only classify as proud, “on this day signed by Senator Judit Chavarría, Premier, and Nils Kasum, First Lord of the Fleet, we declare to all that Tamara Vanesa Strnad of the planet Ereshkigal is hereby promoted to the rank of Command Centurion. May she exercise this responsibility with authority, intellect, and care, for she is our representative in all things.”
Tamara had turned white. Her eyes looked like fried, green eggs. Her mouth even fell open, just the slightest bit, before she slammed it shut again.
Behind and around her, cheers erupted. Jessica smiled, but remained still. Things weren’t done yet, even if they were operating well outside normal methods.
Before things could get out of hand, Nils raised his left hand overhead in a very obvious STOP motion. Such was the man’s authority that things settled as quickly as they had started.
Again, Nils studied everyone in the front row, a hawk sizing up chickens. He had not moved to congratulate Tamara, which caught her and everyone else off guard.
Again, silence engulfed the scene.
Finally satisfied, Nils turned to his compatriot.
“Third Lord Philips,” Nils preened. “She’s all yours.”
Like Nils, the Third Lord pulled out a parchment, but he was grinning ear to ear. Glenfeld Philips had a voice like a mountain moving, a bass so profound that Jessica sometimes wondered if he and Vo Arlo could talk to whales. He could still bounce it off bulkheads when he wanted.
“By will of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy and First Lord Nils Kasum, the undersigned, Command Centurion Tamara Strnad, is hereby ordered to report aboard the RAN II Augusta at the earliest opportunity and take command, subject to the normal rules and regulations. She will exercise excellence and demand the same of her crew, that the whole reflect the greatest acclaim in serving the needs of the Republic and the will of the Senate.
Signed on the Date of The Republic October 29, 399 by Third Lord Glenfeld Marlborough Philips.”
He stepped close enough to place the document into Tamara’s suddenly-shaky hands. Jessica would have guessed the woman was utterly numb, but she deserved everything. She should have been given her own command long ago, but Jessica and Nils had worked to keep as much of the old crews of Auberon, Brightoak, Rajput, and CR-264 together as wanted to remain, bending all the normal rules of promotions to keep the core of warriors together. And people had asked to stay.
Plus, Tamara wasn’t going far. The Senate had decided to build an Expeditionary Carrier, something Yan had included in his catalog, based on the Expeditionary Cruiser design, for First Expeditionary. They needed an expert in strike carrier operations to command her. At the same time, RAN Audacity, a strike carrier that was one of the old Auberon’s sister ships, had reached her effective end-of-service. Audacity’s final command centurion, Vendula Van Bueren, was retiring, and her first officer was being promoted to Fleet Operations and a position on Nils Kasum’s staff.
Tamara would inherit much of Audacity’s crew, on a brand-spanking-new vessel. Jessica would gain another command centurion, one she already knew and trusted. Much of the rest of her task force would be strangers, but Jessica would have Denis, Robbie, Alber’, and Tomas when she needed them. And, now, Tamara as well.
People had remained silent this time, unsure what other shoe was going to drop, since the two Lords of the Fleet still hadn’t dismissed everyone.
Nils turned to Jessica and smiled.
She stepped up to Fleet Centurion Arott Whughy, that movie-star handsome, tall, blond man who had been commanding her fleet for the last year. Again, everything had been quietly worked out ahead of time, but this was for the benefit of all the assembled crews and officers.
Arott’s chance to shine, to be in command of all this, rather than only getting to watch from the sidelines, as Jessica had just done.
He smiled down at her from that great height.
“Fleet Centurion Whughy,” Jessica began in a firm voice. “You are relieved.”
“Fleet Centurion Keller,” he replied evenly, a voice filled with smiles. “I stand relieved.”
She took his hand and shook it. Nils had plans for this man, as well. Nobody had told Whughy what they were, yet, but Jessica smiled as she traded places with him, standing at the right end of the line facing out as he took his spot next to First Lord.
“First Expeditionary Fleet,” Jessica called out. “Dismissed.”
Rather than fight the mob embracing Tamara, Jessica let it pool around her.
There would be time tomorrow. She was only getting started.