John Ringo: Against the Tide

Edmund was sitting with his feet up on the desk of one of the officers in the war-room, a mug of coffee in his hand. He waved the mug in the direction of the Fleet commander.

“Drask,” Edmund said, getting to his feet. “Very well-trained crew you have here. I’d kill for your communications.”

“Thank you, General,” the admiral said, shaking Talbot’s hand. “This is my chief of staff, Brigadier General Kabadda.” The indicated officer was medium height with blond hair. He shook the general’s hand in turn, smiling slightly. “And my aide, Commander Edrogan.” Edrogan was a tall, elegant young man, not much more than Herzer’s age. His eyes were crinkled as if he had stared at a lot of light in his time and he was heavily tanned.

“Commander,” the general said with a nod. “And this is my aide, Captain Herzer.”

The trio stared at Herzer for a moment, and at the medals, and then the admiral nodded.

“Captain, your reputation precedes you,” the admiral said, somewhat stuffily.

Herzer almost asked “which one” but managed to quell it.

“Thank you, sir,” Herzer said. “So does yours.”

“Yes,” the admiral said, digesting the ambiguity of the reply. “Is everything in order?”

“Oh, just fine,” Edmund replied. “There was a little issue about letting me in the war-room but that was easily taken care of.” A commander entered the room with a set expression on his face and whispered in the ear of the admiral’s aide. The aide looked startled and then whispered in the admiral’s ear, glancing at the general as he did so.

“And one of my ensigns with too much time on her hands is busy bothering your records people,” Talbot added with a closed-mouth grin. “Nothing of consequence.”

“I’m sure,” the admiral said, tightly. “The message that you were coming didn’t specify your precise purpose, General.”

“Oh, well,” Edmund said, gesturing with the cup of coffee. “I’m the fella that has to deal with any of the New Destiny folks that slip through your efficient sieve, Drask. It only seemed fitting to Sheida that I be around when you go out to handle them.”

The admiral did not miss the reference to the queen’s first name. So he smiled thinly and nodded.

“Perhaps you’d like to attend the morning briefing, then?” the admiral said. “We generally hold it in the secure conference room in about an hour.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for worlds,” Edmund replied.

Tao walked through the stables inhaling gratefully the heady aroma of horse dander, manure and leather. He found it humorous that he’d had to go to a Navy base to go play with horses. Since joining the legions the only time he had been around them was the week of half-day classes in Officer Basic course.

The stable was large with ranks of stalls and he walked down the aisles, dodging grooms and occasional piles of manure, looking into the stalls and getting a feel for the beasts within. He noticed immediately that the vast majority were heavy horses, designed for drawing small wagons or carriages. There were relatively few that were riding breeds. And of them, most were pretty low quality. He stopped by the stall of one that was not, a pretty mixed mare with a white face. Her colors were awful, the blotch of white on her face was matched on her rump and on two feet, meaning she’d be subject to dew rot. The rest of her was a patchwork of ugly brown and chestnut. She wasn’t in very good condition, either; she clearly hadn’t been worked in a long time. But she had a good set of withers, better than most of the riding horses in the stable.

“Can I help you, Ensign.” a voice said coldly from behind him.

The young officer turned around and stared into the face of a clearly furious commander.

“I hope so, sir,” Tao said, trying not to swallow nervously. “I was sent here by General Talbot to pick some riding horses for messengers. Six, sir, with tack.”

“Let me see your orders,” the commander said, holding out his hand.

“I don’t have orders, sir, except verbal,” the ensign replied. “I’m one of his messengers, sir. I’m not going to run off with the horses. Besides, we’re not going to need all six at a time, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“Well, Ensign, there are procedures,” the commander said. “Without written orders, no horses go out of these stables. And you don’t pick the horses, you are assigned them in rota.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that’s not what the general told me to do,” the ensign said, mulishly.

“I don’t work for the general,” the commander said. “I work for Admiral Draskovich. If the admiral chooses to waive those regulations, then the admiral can do so. Your general cannot. Am I making that clear enough or do I have to write it down for you?”

“No,” the ensign said, pulling a pad out of his pocket. He licked the tip of his pen and wrote for a moment. “If you’d just sign here, sir?”

“What is this?”

“A paraphrase of what you just said, sir,” the ensign replied, reading from the tablet. “Horses cannot be released without written authority…”

“And a priority which is assigned by Fleet headquarters,” the commander added.

Tao pulled off the top sheet and started writing again.

“Horses cannot be released without written authority - and a priority, issued by Fleet headquarters and the commander at the stables would not release horses on my verbal statement that I was under orders from the Eastern Forces Commander.”

“Who did you say your general was?” the commander said, pausing as he reached for the tablet.

“General the Duke Edmund Talbot,” Tao said. “Eastern Forces Commander.”

“Oh.” The commander paused and then made a moue. “Why don’t you look around for a minute while I get some clarification on this.”

“Yes, sir,” Tao replied, saluting. He waited until the commander had left and then snorted, pulling out the pad and tearing off the sheet. Then he thought about it, pocketed the note and continued to write. A bit slowly, but he was going to get there sooner or later.

The conference room was elegantly appointed with a long mahogany table and ceiling-hung lamps that cast their light carefully to make it easy to see both the table and those around it. At each place was a notepad, a pencil and a glass of water. On a side table was a silver urn and coffee mugs. At one end was a single door, guarded on the outside by more marines in armor, and at the other end was an oilcloth-covered easel. A commander in dress uniform was standing at attention by the easel as the admirals and generals filed in, followed by their aides.

The UFS had a uniform rank structure for officers. The bottom three ranks were ensign, lieutenant and captain. These were referred to as “company” grade officers. Their rank insignia were circular pips, one for ensign, two for lieutenant and three for captain. The second three ranks were major, commander and colonel, “command” grade, each marked by a vertical silver bar. The next three were brigadier general, major general and lieutenant general, “flag” grade, marked by silver stars. The highest rank was general, four stars.

Admirals were, by definition, generals that were in command of task forces or fleets just as the term for the commander of a ship was “skipper.” Brigadier generals in command of small task forces were called commodore. Full generals in command -positions were supposed to be called “Marshals.” Edmund refused, point blank, to use the term. And since, so far, he was the only one, it was likely the term was going to fade into history.