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"Deaths...ye-yes.", he whispered faintly.
The expression on the Admiral changed significantly. He looked down at the floor, and his face was taking on a sadder tone. It was obvious to Graham he had brought up some less than favorite memories.
"Is something wrong, sir...?"
Just as he finished that statement, a woman he'd not met before began to walk toward them. Naval uniform. Standard issue, if a bit old. Four gold bars. Captain. He rose to salute the officer as she came over. After a few moments, he brought the hand back down, as it appeared she was not interested in him.
There is -definitely- something wrong..., He tried to forget, but not even the strongest liquor could make him. He tried to forget, but not even all the amount of paperwork could make him. This left him with a heavy burden on his chest. Should he spill it?... But then who would he confess to? Certainly not to this Lieutenant whom he'd just met.
Remus was about to change the subject when he heard a overly familiar voice.
“Captain Remus Sius, I'll be damned. Thought you'd gone and died. You look like you've been sleeping under a chemical dump. Capital fleet been giving you problems?”
He had not expected this person nor was it a good time to see her again. The truth is... Remus hadn't informed Hartman of the Douglas' incident. Some of Hartman's ship mates were still stationed on board the ship when she exploded on that ill-fated day. With Hartman being a former subordinate and a friend to him, he couldn't bear with the idea of keeping the truth from her. But to tell this dastardly tale in front of Lieutenant Graham would undermine his position within the Navy.
He tried to play the introduction card to avoid being the center of attention for the moment.
"Ah!... Jane. How n-nice to see y-you again! Th-This is L-Lieutenant John Gra-ham.", Remus tried to say with a slight bit of nervousness.
”Lieutenant Graham.” She extended a hand to the younger officer. Sius' new aide, perhaps? At least he knows his courtesies, even if he's a touch overenthusiastic in applying them. It never ceased to amaze Hartman how many officers remembered to salute in bars and than completely forgot the gesture where it actually mattered. She had, over the years, developed the theory that it was almost wholly an attention-seeking exercise. Look at me, I'm a big, tough military officer. And don't you all know it? Still, if Graham's intention was to impress, he'd chosen the wrong bar to do it in. There wasn't a soul in sight that wasn't either in uniform or had one folded away neatly in a cupboard somewhere – or, more likely, tossed in a corner. War played havoc with uniform maintenance. That was the excuse she got, at any rate. Somehow it failed to carry the same weight coming from a clerk. “Captain Hartman, attached to 21CSG. Served with Sius in the Hellfire Campaign, and a damn few after. He's hauled me out of more than my fair share of wrecks in his time.”
Clearwater was likely little more than dust and memories now, picked clean by the Junkers and battered by the debris fields. Hartman was perfectly happy to have the damn thing gone, and the Order's hocus-pocus with it. Still, Sius had earned the right to call her Jane that day and on many occasions since. That didn't mean that she enjoyed that, though. Jane was a soft name, a civilian name. After over a decade of being defined by a rank and surname, it always felt like it belonged to someone else, a little girl that she'd long since left behind. Jane wasn't her name, not really. Never had been. Hartman was many things, but one thing she sure as hell wasn't was a damned civilian. She glanced from one man to another, uneasy silence drifting between the trio, dim light flickering off the scar tissue zig-zagging down her face. “You're Sius' aide than, Lieutenant? Last I heard he had a man named Barnes doing the heavy lifting.”
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”Lieutenant Graham.”
The officer extended a hand out to Graham, and he shook it firmly. As Graham looked at the Captain it seemed as though she was amused by the fact he had just saluted her whilst off duty. But, Graham never thought of there being a distinction between on duty and off duty. In fact, he didn't even think about the fact that he was in a bar right now.
“Captain Hartman, attached to 21CSG. Served with Sius in the Hellfire Campaign, and a damn few after. He's hauled me out of more than my fair share of wrecks in his time.”
Captain Hartman. He'd heard that name before, not that he would remember where, but it had that ring of familiarity. And 21st CSG? Navy reserve unit, most likely. Hartman seemed to stare past Graham for a moment, and then shook her head slightly before returning to stare at Graham.
“You're Sius' aide than, Lieutenant? Last I heard he had a man named Barnes doing the heavy lifting.”
"No, ma'am. When I'm not patrolling as a fighter pilot I'm assigned to the Liberty Logistics Corps, commanding the LLS Lakewood, and reporting to Captain Marshall of the Quartermaster's Department."
'Phew... They're getting along well... but how do I tell Jane...', Remus thought. He decided to wait it out a bit, probably the Lieutenant would be called on assignment.
The Logistic Department is usually busy ever since the war with Gallia started. With the number of engagements happening recently, there have been triple the need for the usual necessities. Replacement parts, ammunition, food, water All these cargo deemed important for the war effort.
"Captain Marshall and Lakewood, is it?"Quite the meteoritic rise for our young Captain. Hartman remembered Marshall as an ensign, all enthusiasm and innocence. Casualties at the front must have been heavy indeed for her to rise so high so quickly. Then again, the fleet had always been one for rewarding aptitude over experience, a relic of the command system. Age hardly carried the same constraints when orders were beamed from ship to ship, instead of screamed over a hail of shells. On a warship it didn't matter what you looked like, as long as you sounded confident. Then again, wasn't that leadership in a nutshell? Sound confident. Sound confident, and hope like hell that folk didn't see your hands shaking. Perhaps she was merely old-fashioned. Damned if she'd accept that meant she was wrong, though.
”That old tub's still flying? Number of times its been shot up, I'm surprised command ain't taken to using it as a strainer.” Logistics craft had a right remarkable ability to draw fire. There was something about that Liberty Logistics Ship identifier that set every neighbourhood thug with a Stunpulse chomping at the bit. Something about having a navy ship, any navy ship, that they stood a chance of putting a hole in. Never mind that the Logistics Service wasn't intended for combat, some local tough got to crawl back to the sewers and tell the other cockroaches how he'd crippled a warship. Poor fools never quite seemed to realise the truth of the matter until the real warships turned up and started vaporising living quarters and roaches alike. “And they say there ain't such a thing as miracles. Knew the pair of them when they weren't more than lines on a datapad. Seems a right while back now.
Captain -” Storms, but it felt odd to call her that. ”Marshall's taking care of the Corps, I trust?”She damn well better be. Hartman had put too much of her own blood into the Corps for anything less. ”It's a tough job. Something some folk don't appreciate.” She flicked a glance over to the bathroom door with the remark. Still no sign of Kent. ”Answer a question for me, Lieutenant. Say you're aboard the Lakewood, bound for Severn. Crew of, oh, call it five or six. Let's say you come across a Universal transport. Commercial supertanker. Two rogues, bombers, tearing chunks out of it. Shields down, one or two breaches in the bay. Atmo's holding though, don't look like it'll hold much longer. You can cruise on by, or open up on those two bombers yourself. Ain't saying those're the only options, but look to be the main two. How're you going to deal with it, Lieutenant?”
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”Answer a question for me, Lieutenant. Say you're aboard the Lakewood, bound for Severn. Crew of, oh, call it five or six. Let's say you come across a Universal transport. Commercial supertanker. Two rogues, bombers, tearing chunks out of it. Shields down, one or two breaches in the bay. Atmo's holding though, don't look like it'll hold much longer. You can cruise on by, or open up on those two bombers yourself. Ain't saying those're the only options, but look to be the main two. How're you going to deal with it, Lieutenant?”
Graham stopped and stared at the floor. He brought his hand through his hair whilst pondering what to do.
I've got a few more options than that. Let me think. I can fly off. I can try to alert nearby Navy and Police vessels. I can begin engaging the vessels. Or...
He brought his head back up and looked at the Captain.
"Begin to fly past the tanker. As I get parallel with it, send out a general alert to all friendlies in the area and make a wide turn and bear down on the tanker. Start to take chunks out of the bombers as they fly past, and lower the shield and prep for hard dock. Shouldn't take less than 30 seconds - if they're notified - for the crew of the tanker to get aboard. Means that the bombers can't get more than maybe two shots off, and the armor of the Lakewood is stronger than that. Combat undock from the transport, throw the shields back up, and drop countermeasures in groups of five whilst charging the cruise engines. Make way for the nearest friendly station and dock."
Take chunks out of the bombers? What does he thing he's flying, a Defiant? Hartman's mouth dropped into a thin, hard line, her earlier good humour draining faster then Kent's squad had drained glasses.
”And afterwards I imagine you'll report to Bragg for your medal, Lieutenant.” Didn't he see it? The risks, the chances? Hartman's tone was conversational but her grey eyes never left the junior officer's, watching with all the cold, narrow focus of a hunter that found a wounded antelope on the end of her spear. ”It'd be a right courageous action, Graham. Might even be enough to net your frozen corpse a Medal of Honor.
Think, Lieutenant.”I know it hurts, but give it a try. Hartman's voice cut through the air with all the quiet intensity of a plasma bolt through vacuum. ”You've got a supertanker out there-” She jabbed a finger at the window, at some phantom ship suspended between the stars, ugly holes dotting the cargo compartments amidships. ”Shield down. Non-critical compartments breached. Some nice corporate job on the armour that's so damn economic that you'll be right lucky if it keeps the rain off. Crew. Those things run on what, three or four?” Navy ships typically carried a far heavier crew load than their corporate cousins. Battle damage and rotating shifts would wear a civilian skeleton crew down to the bone after a day or two.”Maybe ex-military, maybe not. Experience don't matter when it's drifting. All up, maybe a quarter foot of a armour at vacuum, a shiny paint job and a whole lot of prayer to keep the novas off.
I'm a generous woman. Let's say the supertanker survives long enough for you to bring Lakewood about. Hell, let's say the bombers are too focused on what they're doing to see you until you start throwin' plasma at their backsides.” She prowled forward a pace, close enough to make out the stitches on Graham's shirt. ”Let's even assume that, by some miracle of piloting, you avoid taking a nova to the face as you come alongside.
I reckon that's about as far as I'm willing to assume.”About as far as the luckiest moron might get.”Here's the bit I've got a problem with, Lieutenant. The bit where you drop shields right next to a ship that's got every chance of blowing up in your face. Could be carrying antimatter for all you know and hell, even if it ain't, you're going to sit there for thirty seconds while bombers pump novas into your unshielded hull. Bisons are tough, I'll give you that, but there's gunships that ain't that tough. Even if you make it through that with thrusters intact, I know I don't like your chances of pulling your shields back up. Not with two ships dropping torpedoes down your tailpipe while you sit there pumping power in to those engines.
I think you're smart enough to guess how that ends.”Another six swollen corpses kissing hard vacuum. Hartman took a pace back, a breath, that familiar ball of anger knotting in her gut. Even after all these years, she still wasn't sure how much of it was for show. ”Two bombers, shields down, no escorts? Supertanker was dead before you showed up. Just happened to still be breathing. That's the problem with you fighter jocks. You're smart, but you don't think. Always looking for a way to lead the charge, a way to be the hero.
Let me tell you now so you don't have to learn it later, Lieutenant. You can't save everyone. That plan of yours? Might work with a fast cruiser. Might even work with a Defiant. Not a Bison. Not even if you're Edison-bloody-Trent. Bisons ain't warships. They're transports that pretend to have teeth. Kittens with dentures, for all the good they'll do you against someone that knows their business. By all means, flag it. Maybe the fighters show up later, maybe you get lucky and they find a pod or two. Maybe someone gets to live, maybe someone dies. Out of your hands. What you can do, is make sure your crew don't end up sucking space trying to salvage a lost cause. As to heroes-
I tried being a hero once.” The corners of her mouth curled up a little at that, haphazard bands of scar tissue tightening across her face. ”I wouldn't recommend it.”
Hartman tossed a glance back at the uncharacteristically silent Sius. ”The Captain'll tell you the same. The only heroes you'll find on the field are dead men, and some comfort it is to them. Let them keep it.” She spared the restrooms another blink, thought she saw a flicker of movement at the door. Bored already, Kent? I expected more than that.”You want to serve your country, Lieutenant Graham? You can go and drag my navigator out of the men's room. One serviceman Ian Kent. Tall man, scraggly beard. Can't miss him.” She nodded towards the door in question.
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As Captain Hartman laid into Graham with every sentence, he returned to an almost primal stage of obedience, harkening to the days of boot camp and OCS. He answered her last order with a "Yes ma'am!", a salute, and a march off to the men's room.
She's right. I'd have gotten everyone killed there if I did that. What was I thinking? Was I even thinking?
He shook his head as he pushed open the doors to the bathroom and called out for Serviceman Kent.
This is it..., Remus thought, as if fate had handed him what he wanted... With a heavy heart, he pulled out a datapad and gently placed it in front Jane.
"Jane... I didn't expect to see you... but it couldn't have been a better time."
He performed a maneuver with his finger that showed a file to Jane.
"We were conducting a standard patrol mission in the system of Bering when suddenly my subordinate, James, detected a signature spike from the "Room".
I sent two of my best men to investigate...
They... didn't return.
After a few minutes, the signature spike increased up to a degree. A familiar alarm blared across the bridge.... Radiation. It was rising fast... across the ship.
We then lost communication to the lower levels...
Radiation levels at the bridge were minimal at best... thanks to the protective layering... I knew the Douglas was already lost...
I gave the order to abandon ship afterwards...
At this point... I stayed behind to monitor the radiation leaks... while James directed the personnel to the "unaffected" areas...
I didn't expect the experimental TMS to be so volatile...
James' efforts were for nothing as the device emitted the radiation at alarming rates.
Unknown to me, James installed a personal evacuation pod above the bridge... it was accessible through a hidden ladder that slid down when activated...
James urged me to escape.... but I suddenly blacked out.
I don't remember what happened next....
I found myself in the sick bay of a friendly ship moments after the incident....
A medic told me that the Douglas exploded in a ray of blue light.
They didn't find any pods except mine..."
---------------------------------------------
End of file.
"I... I'm sorry, Jane. I lost her... the Douglas... All the crew... they're dead... I -should- have died with them!...", he nearly smashed the bar, but instead fell into grief. He could only wait for what Jane would feel.
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