05-31-2019, 05:33 AM
MURRAY
28th May, 826 AS
Virginia System
Virginia System
"You and I both know that isn't going to happen, Admiral." Murray watched the man across from him twitch almost imperceptibly, his gaunt expression dropping into a low frown as Murray drew a breath. Admiral Nathaniel Davies, architect of the Navy's raid on Leeds. The man that had consigned two full battlegroups to their deaths in aid of a dying planet, and had done so with all the traditional pomp and circumstance that came with such a callous miscalculation. For all their effort, the Navy had received little more than a ceremonial kick out the door as Gallia re-took their cordon with ease. He had figured the man retired for good, taking that War College job just after handling Gallia victory on a silver platter.
And yet here he was, soliciting at the door of the Security Force.
He let the breath out, a drawn-out sigh as he tried to carefully explain the obvious to the Navy's second-highest ranked officer. Their face-to-face meeting, facilitated by a direct infrared link between Chesapeake and Cheyenne surface-side, was the last thing that Murray wanted to deal with right about now. "We don't have anything to spare. Anywhere. We've detached sixty-percent of the LSF's heavy assets, excluding the mobile operations center, to the Leeds front. Any more and we may as well toss the Bering operation in the bin. If anything, we should be asking for help from you. The Mississippi-"
Davies suddenly rocked forward and let out a grumbling interruption. "The Mississippi and her attendant craft are all that stands between Texas and anarchy. Moving them anywhere is out of the question. And, before you suggest it," the Admiral cautioned, raising a single, calloused finger, "We cannot move anything else, either. The Alma was our backup for LIBCOMEAST, but now she stands as our only rear-guard left on the west. Rio Grande heads up what remains of NORTH, and the Missouri is stretched thin trying to keep CENTCOM intact. You should know as well as anyone that the threats of Liberty aren't just coming from one side."
Murray pinched the bridge of his nose. The man was as Navy as they came, which meant that if the books told you that it had to be done that way, then that was the way. He couldn't - or wouldn't - realize that whatever temporary damage might be caused by increased unlawful activity could be offset drastically by a victory in the east. "Holding those sectors means nothing if the incidents in Bering continue. If, heaven forbid, a Unioner-Separatist push actually materializes into Texas, then forget New London, and forget Leeds!" Murray nearly slammed the table with his fist, stopping just short of a violent outburst of frustration with the man. "If we only move your precious battlegroups when the Mississippi is under fire, it'll be Too. Damn. Late!"
Davies growled out in reply. "And if Bretonia falls, there'll be nothing left to save. If a combined effort couldn't hold back the Gallic invasion, what makes you so sure that we could do it on our own? As it stands, we're looking at Gallic troops planet-side on New London in weeks if we don't reinforce our line." The Admiral's expression had morphed from its usual cold to downright frigid, as he seemed to launch utter contempt up through the infrared beam to Murray's office. "I'm not asking for miracles here, Director. I'm asking for a few more ships, for long enough to push the Gallic forces back into Leeds."
The man's ignorance was astounding. "Because you ran out of miracles with the Whitefield and Fairmont. Your missteps are not a blank check to pilfer our operations for replacements." He watched as the words rung home, but not in the way Murray was necessarily expecting. Davies' face contorted at once into outright fury, and were it not for the hundreds of thousands of kilometers separating them, he'd expect the next move to be the launching off point into a no-holds-barred brawl on the command deck. "That is an absolutely childish assessment of our operations, Director. To even speak of the men and women aboard those vessels in such a way is tantamount to an insult upon their service to the Republic." Murray raised his eyebrows in response. He'd finally gotten a reaction out of the man besides general contempt.
"I didn't mean to suggest anything about those lost, Admiral. I have the highest respect for their service. Rather, I believe that their fates are much the same as the Third and Seventh four years ago. Lost in service to a Navy that hedges its bets on Hail Mary operations that inevitably go awry at the first sign of contact. What does that make it now, Admiral? Four battlegroups? Shall we append that to your service record?" Murray could've had R&A weaponize the daggers Davies stared back at him. "Tread lightly, Director. I had hoped you would be a temperate and . . . loyal replacement for Eva Adenauer, although it appears I may now be mistaken on both counts."
The two of them kept up a metaphorical standoff, as if locked in a war where the only method of surrender was intimidation via expression. After a short eternity, Davies grumbled off another response. "Director, you speak so terribly of these 'hail mary' maneuvers, as you call them, and yet it seems quite clear to me that your operation in Bering is more of the same. The Alster Union and the Separatists, if they present a united front against you, could sweep you off the map without so much as a second thought. Tell me this isn't your own Royal Flush in the making."
Murray furrowed his brow. The circumstances were different. The reasons, the equipment, the planning. "The difference, Admiral, is that we're not doing this for the nightly news. We're doing this because we have to. If we don't strike here and now, we're talking about the Legion all over again. We're talking about organized Xenos with military tech. There is no war effort if the home fires are snuffed out. You should know this, Admiral." Davies just sighed and shook his head. He looked as frustrated as Murray felt. "The Whitefield, the Fairmont, and Royal Flush. We were forced into all of it. Your arguments for Bering are the same ones I made to SECDEF and Bretonia's Admiralty Board. At the time it was sound. Given the same opportunity, I'd do it again. Rolling with the punches is leadership, Director. Operating with the resources you have is leadership. Fighting like this and arguing for resources to pull off miracles? This will get us nowhere."
They both paused for what felt like an hour. Chesapeake shuddered lightly as the Rickenbacker, a newly refit LSF siege cruiser, discharged from the docking bay and headed out to join the Bering offensive. Davies and Murray stared into each others' souls, realizing somewhat at once that they had spent precious time on nothing. "I think that will be all, Admiral. I wish you the best of luck in New London." He waited long enough for the Admiral to give his half-baked response and closed the connection, leaning back in his chair as he felt the weight of the Republic closing down on him. Murray brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing out the wrinkles on his brow as he struggled to find a solution to all this, a way out of the darkness.
A buzz from the door broke the silent turmoil of the Director. "Visitor request. Identity verified: CALLAGHAN, BRIAN. Department of Research and Analysis." Murray grumbled and tapped the controls on his desk, sending the door open. Perhaps someone would have good news for him today.
And yet here he was, soliciting at the door of the Security Force.
He let the breath out, a drawn-out sigh as he tried to carefully explain the obvious to the Navy's second-highest ranked officer. Their face-to-face meeting, facilitated by a direct infrared link between Chesapeake and Cheyenne surface-side, was the last thing that Murray wanted to deal with right about now. "We don't have anything to spare. Anywhere. We've detached sixty-percent of the LSF's heavy assets, excluding the mobile operations center, to the Leeds front. Any more and we may as well toss the Bering operation in the bin. If anything, we should be asking for help from you. The Mississippi-"
Davies suddenly rocked forward and let out a grumbling interruption. "The Mississippi and her attendant craft are all that stands between Texas and anarchy. Moving them anywhere is out of the question. And, before you suggest it," the Admiral cautioned, raising a single, calloused finger, "We cannot move anything else, either. The Alma was our backup for LIBCOMEAST, but now she stands as our only rear-guard left on the west. Rio Grande heads up what remains of NORTH, and the Missouri is stretched thin trying to keep CENTCOM intact. You should know as well as anyone that the threats of Liberty aren't just coming from one side."
Murray pinched the bridge of his nose. The man was as Navy as they came, which meant that if the books told you that it had to be done that way, then that was the way. He couldn't - or wouldn't - realize that whatever temporary damage might be caused by increased unlawful activity could be offset drastically by a victory in the east. "Holding those sectors means nothing if the incidents in Bering continue. If, heaven forbid, a Unioner-Separatist push actually materializes into Texas, then forget New London, and forget Leeds!" Murray nearly slammed the table with his fist, stopping just short of a violent outburst of frustration with the man. "If we only move your precious battlegroups when the Mississippi is under fire, it'll be Too. Damn. Late!"
Davies growled out in reply. "And if Bretonia falls, there'll be nothing left to save. If a combined effort couldn't hold back the Gallic invasion, what makes you so sure that we could do it on our own? As it stands, we're looking at Gallic troops planet-side on New London in weeks if we don't reinforce our line." The Admiral's expression had morphed from its usual cold to downright frigid, as he seemed to launch utter contempt up through the infrared beam to Murray's office. "I'm not asking for miracles here, Director. I'm asking for a few more ships, for long enough to push the Gallic forces back into Leeds."
The man's ignorance was astounding. "Because you ran out of miracles with the Whitefield and Fairmont. Your missteps are not a blank check to pilfer our operations for replacements." He watched as the words rung home, but not in the way Murray was necessarily expecting. Davies' face contorted at once into outright fury, and were it not for the hundreds of thousands of kilometers separating them, he'd expect the next move to be the launching off point into a no-holds-barred brawl on the command deck. "That is an absolutely childish assessment of our operations, Director. To even speak of the men and women aboard those vessels in such a way is tantamount to an insult upon their service to the Republic." Murray raised his eyebrows in response. He'd finally gotten a reaction out of the man besides general contempt.
"I didn't mean to suggest anything about those lost, Admiral. I have the highest respect for their service. Rather, I believe that their fates are much the same as the Third and Seventh four years ago. Lost in service to a Navy that hedges its bets on Hail Mary operations that inevitably go awry at the first sign of contact. What does that make it now, Admiral? Four battlegroups? Shall we append that to your service record?" Murray could've had R&A weaponize the daggers Davies stared back at him. "Tread lightly, Director. I had hoped you would be a temperate and . . . loyal replacement for Eva Adenauer, although it appears I may now be mistaken on both counts."
The two of them kept up a metaphorical standoff, as if locked in a war where the only method of surrender was intimidation via expression. After a short eternity, Davies grumbled off another response. "Director, you speak so terribly of these 'hail mary' maneuvers, as you call them, and yet it seems quite clear to me that your operation in Bering is more of the same. The Alster Union and the Separatists, if they present a united front against you, could sweep you off the map without so much as a second thought. Tell me this isn't your own Royal Flush in the making."
Murray furrowed his brow. The circumstances were different. The reasons, the equipment, the planning. "The difference, Admiral, is that we're not doing this for the nightly news. We're doing this because we have to. If we don't strike here and now, we're talking about the Legion all over again. We're talking about organized Xenos with military tech. There is no war effort if the home fires are snuffed out. You should know this, Admiral." Davies just sighed and shook his head. He looked as frustrated as Murray felt. "The Whitefield, the Fairmont, and Royal Flush. We were forced into all of it. Your arguments for Bering are the same ones I made to SECDEF and Bretonia's Admiralty Board. At the time it was sound. Given the same opportunity, I'd do it again. Rolling with the punches is leadership, Director. Operating with the resources you have is leadership. Fighting like this and arguing for resources to pull off miracles? This will get us nowhere."
They both paused for what felt like an hour. Chesapeake shuddered lightly as the Rickenbacker, a newly refit LSF siege cruiser, discharged from the docking bay and headed out to join the Bering offensive. Davies and Murray stared into each others' souls, realizing somewhat at once that they had spent precious time on nothing. "I think that will be all, Admiral. I wish you the best of luck in New London." He waited long enough for the Admiral to give his half-baked response and closed the connection, leaning back in his chair as he felt the weight of the Republic closing down on him. Murray brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing out the wrinkles on his brow as he struggled to find a solution to all this, a way out of the darkness.
A buzz from the door broke the silent turmoil of the Director. "Visitor request. Identity verified: CALLAGHAN, BRIAN. Department of Research and Analysis." Murray grumbled and tapped the controls on his desk, sending the door open. Perhaps someone would have good news for him today.