II
“Hyper footprint,” Captain Ngo announced. “From insertion vector, probably Hosney.”
Llyn nodded, peering at the display. About time. The bulk of the Volsung task force had been sitting in this uninhabited red-dwarf star system for the past two weeks, with only one of the battlecruisers still absent, and Gensonne was starting to get twitchy. The fresh data McConnovitch was bringing in from Manticore should allay the admiral's lingering concerns about the particulars of the force he would be facing. “Any transmissions yet?”
“No, sir,” Ngo said, an edge of strained patience in his tone. “It is still a light minute away.”
“I wasn't asking about him,” Llyn countered. “Gensonne's bi-hourly nagging call is almost due, and he'll have picked up Hosney's footprint, too.”
“No, sir, no transmissions from anywhere.”
That silence wouldn't last long, Llyn knew. McConnovitch was a good man, and one of the best data scavengers in the business. But Gensonne didn't care about such things. He had his own ideas of how the universe was supposed to operate, and McConnovitch hadn't kept to that schedule, and the admiral hadn't been shy about sharing his view of such sloppiness with Llyn on a regular basis.
But all that was finally about to come to an end. Once McConnovitch confirmed the RMN's weakness, Llyn could turn the Volsungs loose and then head over to where his Axelrod superiors were waiting to hear that the operation was finally underway. By the time Gensonne had Landing and the Manticoran government under control, Axelrod's people would be on their way to take over.
“Transmission,” Ngo called. “Incoming data packet from Hosney.”
Llyn felt a prickling on the back of his neck. No greeting, no identification, just the data packet? That didn't sound like McConnovitch.
The report came up on his display. Frowning, Lynn began to read.
And as he did so, the prickling on his neck turned into a shiver.
Green Force One, scout unit: four ships.
Green Force Two, main Manticore/Sphinx defense unit: nine ships, including two battlecruisers. Not one, but two.
Red Force, Gryphon defense unit: four ships, including another battlecruiser.
The ten-ship, one-battlecruiser enemy that Gensonne was expecting to meet was in fact seventeen ships and no fewer than three battlecruisers. And that didn't even count the three battlecruisers and six other warships that were currently in refit.
Gensonne wasn't going to be happy about this. Not at all. In fact, he might be unhappy enough to take his ball and go home.
And given the unanticipated uptick in the RMN's numbers, the contract Llyn and Gensonne had signed not only allowed the Volsungs to bail, but also required Axelrod to pay them a hefty cancellation fee.
There was no way Llyn was going to let that happen. Not after coming this far. Taking a cleansing breath, he began combing methodically through the numbers.
It wasn't that bad. Not really. Green Forces One and Two were a formidable array, but the fact that they were split into two groups meant that Gensonne should be able to take them on one at a time. Even if he couldn't, it was still two RMN battlecruisers against the Volsungs' three. Even better, Red Force was way the hell over at Manticore-B and should be out of the picture until long after the battle was over. And of course, all the ships in dock for refit might as well not even be there.
No, Gensonne wasn't going up against anything he couldn't handle. Not with his three battlecruisers, his fourteen other ships, and his massive confidence.
There was certainly no reason to bother the admiral's little head with silly numbers and needless concerns.
He had finished editing McConnovitch's report when Gensonne finally called in. “Yes, Admiral, I've just decoded it,” Llyn told him calmly. “I'm sending it to you now.”
“Thank you,” Gensonne said. “I trust nothing has changed since your last report?”
“Nothing of significance,” Llyn assured him. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Commodore Rudolph Heissman, commander of the light cruiser HMS Casey and the other three ships of Green Two, the task force callsigned Janus, was undoubtedly a very busy man. Nevertheless, from Travis's point of view at the far side of Heissman's desk, it looked like he was taking an extraordinarily long time to read through Travis's transfer orders. Seated beside him, Commander Celia Belokas, Heissman's exec, didn't look to be in any more of a hurry than her boss.
Finally, after a mid-size eternity, Heissman looked up. “Lieutenant Long,” he said, his flat tone not giving anything away. “According to this, you have great potential.”
He paused, as if expecting some kind of response. “Thank you, Sir,” was all Travis could think to say. The words, which had sounded tolerably reasonable in his head, sounded excruciatingly stupid when he heard them out in the open air.
Heissman apparently thought so, too. “You know what I hear when someone uses the phrase great potential, Mr. Long?” he asked, his expression not changing in the slightest. “I hear someone making excuses. I hear someone who hasn't worked to reach the level of his or her ability. I hear someone who doesn't belong in the Royal Manticoran Navy. I hear someone who absolutely doesn't belong aboard HMS Casey.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. That response didn't sound any better than the previous one had.
“I don't want to see potential,” Heissman continued. “I want to see results.” He cocked his head. “Do you know what a tac officer's job is, Mr. Long?”
“Yes, Sir.” The words sounded marginally better this time. “To assist the captain in combat maneuvers and—”
“That's the job description,” Heissman interrupted. “What a tac officer does is find patterns and weaknesses in the enemy, and avoid them in his own ship.”
He gazed into Travis's eyes, his expression hardening. “Captain Castillo talks a lot about luck. I don't ever want to hear you use that word aboard my ship. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said.
“Good,” Heissman said. “As I said, part of your job is to know the weaknesses of your own ship and find ways to minimize them. Step one in that procedure is obviously to know your ship.” He nodded to his side. “In light of that, Commander Belokas has graciously agreed to give you a tour. Pay attention and listen to everything she has to say. Afterward, you're going to need a lot of hours with the spec manual before you're anywhere near up to speed.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. He shifted his eyes to Belokas. “Ma'am.”
Heissman's eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter. “Unless, of course, you've already spent some time in the manual,” the commodore continued, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “Have you?”
“As a matter of fact, Sir, yes, I have,” Travis confirmed, trying not to grimace. He'd only spent eighty percent of his waking hours during his two weeks of groundside time poring through everything he could find on Casey and her equipment. Which, considering all the bureaucratic hoops he'd had to jump through to even get the manuals, Heissman almost certainly already knew. “Just the surface information, of course—”
“In that case, you can give the tour,” Heissman said. “You'll tell Commander Belokas everything you know, and she'll start on her list of everything you don't know. That sound fair to you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said.
“Good,” Heissman said. “You have two hours before you're to report to Lieutenant Commander Woodburn, so you'd better get to it.” He nodded briskly and lowered his eyes to the report. “Dismissed.”