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Synopsis
All good things must end, and a reluctant Siobhan Dunmoore trades command of her battle group for a staff job ashore.
Yet her appointment to the headquarters of the 3rd Fleet, responsible for humanity's most restive frontier, is no accident. Things aren't quite right in what was once the most ferocious and effective formation in the Navy, and its control over the Rim Sector's outer edges is failing.
When Dunmoore investigates, she finds herself adrift on stormy seas with few allies and all too many foes, facing treachery, backstabbing, and corruption instead of guns and missiles. Will the Commonwealth's once victorious Navy revert to what it was before the Shrehari invasion, a politicized, ineffective force commanded by venal admirals? Or will Dunmoore and her friends arrest the decline as they fight for the honor of the Fleet and a future without war?
Release date: September 13, 2022
Publisher: Sanddiver Books Inc.
Print pages: 360
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On Stormy Seas
Eric Thomson
— One —
“It seems Dunmoore almost started another war with the Shrehari a few days ago, sir.” Leila Gherson, the Special Security Bureau’s Chief of Staff, said after Blayne Hersom accepted her call. “I’d say the disinformation and deception plan is going perhaps a little too well.”
Hersom, the SSB’s director general — tall, lean, in his early seventies with an aging aristocrat’s tight features and thick gray hair — allowed himself a smile as cold as the South Pole in a blizzard.
“Where Dunmoore is concerned, anything we do can never go too well, Leila. She has the devil’s own luck. By all rights, she should have retired from the Navy as a captain after being passed over for promotion one final time and be working on tramp freighters. Instead, she’s riding roughshod through the Zone at the head of her own battle group, unconstrained by the rules that govern every other naval formation.” Hersom tapped the polished desktop with his fingertips, eyes narrowed as they speared Gherson. “What happened?”
“If you’ll recall, our sources fed false information to Naval Intelligence concerning a putative human trafficking operation in the Erlach system, just outside the Shrehari Empire’s sphere of control. Another bit to keep Dunmoore’s battle group hopping around the Zone chasing mirages so our assets could work undisturbed. It worked twice before, so a third time wasn’t out of the question.”
“Yes.” Hersom nodded irritably. Like all good chiefs of staff, Gherson was detail oriented and couldn’t help restating things. “I do recall.”
Even though the Special Security Bureau had wide-ranging responsibilities, of which covert operations in the Protectorate Zone were only a small part, Rear Admiral Siobhan Dunmoore had been a thorn in Hersom’s side since before the end of the last war. As a result, he tracked anything that might involve her.
“Either it was bad luck, or someone told Shrehari intelligence of illegal goings-on in Erlach, and they decided it worthy of investigation. When Dunmoore arrived, she came across five Tai Zohl ships masquerading as corsairs and running silent at one of the planet’s Lagrangians. In her after-action report to SOCOM — which landed on the desk of our source, by the way — Dunmoore states the Shrehari went up systems and attempted to arraign the three ships she took with her on the raid, calling them pirates. They lit her with targeting sensors when she tried talking her way through it.”
Hersom let out a derisive chuckle. “Let me guess. She unmasked, proving her ships to be naval units in disguise, and identified herself as Rear Admiral Dunmoore, the flame-haired she-wolf admired by their Kho’sahra.”
Gherson nodded. “Got it in one, sir. That made the Shrehari stand down just as they were powering weapons.”
“And ended the Q ships' usefulness until they’re modified by a yard to no longer resemble the ones now in the Shrehari Deep Space Fleet database.” Hersom shook his head. “Ah, the joys of two great powers operating undercover in a part of space where neither should deploy naval units as per the binding peace treaty that demilitarized it. At least it means three of Dunmoore’s ships, Iolanthe included, lost some effectiveness since someone now has visuals of them unmasking. Not that the Tai Zohl would share with our assets. But the Shrehari now have undeniable proof of the Navy’s activities in the Protectorate Zone and will act in some fashion, if only to increase their presence rather than lodge a diplomatic protest. I’m sure the Fleet’s top leadership aren’t overly pleased with Dunmoore at the moment.”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Our source doesn’t have that sort of access. Besides, I’m sure Grand Admiral Sampaio and Admirals Lowell and Doxiadis will excoriate Dunmoore behind closed doors if they do so. She’s been remarkably successful until we found a way of tripping up her last three missions. And they can’t make a big stir without admitting they’ve given orders that deliberately violate the Treaty of Ulufan. No one will accept the excuse Dunmoore entered the Zone under the hot pursuit provisions allowing naval units to chase fleeing pirates who’ve just committed a crime in Commonwealth space.”
Hersom tapped his fingertips on the desktop one last time.
“Well, let’s not miss our chance to recover some of the ground our assets lost because of Dunmoore’s depredations if Lowell shortens her leash. I’d still prefer her battle group under 3rd Fleet command instead of Armed Forces HQ. She’d be a lot more constrained and controllable.”
“I’ll send you the copy of Dunmoore’s after-action report, sir. That was all I had.”
“Thank you, Leila.”
***
“You saw Siobhan’s latest?” Rear Admiral Ezekiel Holt, who headed the counterintelligence branch, dropped into the chair facing Vice Admiral Kathryn Kowalski, one of the newly appointed deputy chiefs of operations, and placed his coffee cup on the table.
They were in the Fleet HQ cafeteria in one of the isolated booths reserved for flag officers on temporary release from their offices and overburdened schedules. Kowalski, a tall, slender blond in her mid-forties with intense blue eyes and shoulder-length hair, nodded.
“Yes. And if you plan on telling me we still have traitors in our midst, I figured that out myself. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence…”
“And three times is enemy action. Since she’s pulling out of the Zone with the ships she had at Erlach, I’m sure that thought also occurred to her. I’m going ahead under the assumption our SSB friends across town have a copy of her after-action report by now. They’ll use the reprieve to regroup, perhaps even resume their attempts to get the 101st under 3rd Fleet control and treated like any other naval formation. But the damage she’s done to SSB assets, allies, and operations, let alone organized groups like the Confederacy of the Howling Stars, won’t be repaired soon, if ever. So, in that respect, Siobhan has done what we needed to pacify the Rim Sector and a good chunk of the Protectorate Zone without our government getting notes of protest from the Shrehari ambassador.”
“True.” Holt, who now sported more silver in his hair than Kowalski, took a sip of coffee. “And she’s had her three years in command. Are the seniors miffed at her blowing the 101st’s cover? I tried sounding out my boss, but he’s not commented yet.”
“They’re aware she had no alternative under the circumstances. Besides, it was bound to happen one day, and we’re lucky she was the one who dealt with the Shrehari commander. That defused the situation more quickly and easily than if it had been any other rear admiral.” Kowalski raised her coffee cup and took a gulp. “As you said, she’s done three years, so her tour is up whether or not the CNO is mad at her.”
“What job did you finagle for her?”
A sly smile lit up Kowalski’s face.
“Oh, you’ll love this, Zeke. Remember telling me you suspect there are people in 3rd Fleet HQ who might be bent? Senior folks?”
He nodded.
“It would explain several operational failures, along with suspected peculation and other forms of corruption.” Another sip. “We really need to start planning for a dedicated internal affairs organization completely outside the chain of command that can swoop in and investigate senior officers who might otherwise escape justice.”
“No arguments here. Creating a federal police force with a professional standards branch whose mandate covers all parts of the Commonwealth government, Armed Forces included, is well overdue. But back to your question. I’d planned on bringing her here where she could learn the ins and outs of surviving the demented bureaucracy while paving the way for her third star. But that’s no longer the best option.”
Holt cocked an amused eyebrow at Kowalski.
“I’m sure Siobhan would agree wholeheartedly. She’s the only flag officer who made it a mission in life to never set foot in the puzzle palace. So, where will she go?”
“To 3rd Fleet HQ. The chief of staff for operations billet will be vacant shortly when the current incumbent steps down. Were your lot involved in him putting in for early retirement? I didn’t think he was the sort who’d do questionable things.”
Holt searched his memory for a name to go with the position, then shook his head.
“Not that I know. But, I understand working for Admiral Keo, the 3rd Fleet’s deputy commander, can make or break an officer’s career. Maybe he drove Berg into considering a less demanding and stressful career subsidized by a healthy military pension.”
Kowalski’s smile widened. “Maybe Siobhan can drive Hogue into retirement. She’s not one of Lowell’s favorite people.”
“Meaning she’s politically connected since Lowell would have signed off on her appointment.”
“Let’s call it one of those compromises our seniors must often make. Hogue didn’t distinguish herself during the war, nor since, but she can whisper good words for the Fleet in certain senatorial ears and has done so at Lowell’s request. Strictly back-channel stuff, you understand.”
Holt shook his head. “So, a throwback to the prewar way of doing things? Siobhan’s going to love that.”
“3rd Fleet has been less than impressive in the last few years, Zeke. Considering it’s responsible for the Rim Sector, our most turbulent frontier? Subtract the successes of Siobhan’s 101st Battle Group and 3rd Fleet’s ability to keep its area of operations safe for civilian shipping becomes the worst of all border formations in the entire Navy. The only reason Sampaio hasn’t relieved Hogue yet is because Siobhan’s been covering for her lack of aggressiveness. Even politically connected admirals can face consequences when they can’t fulfill their responsibilities.”
“I see.” Holt drained his coffee cup. “You’re sending Siobhan as chief of staff for operations to shake up 3rd Fleet.”
“And dispose of anything that needs flushing down the vacuum ejection tubes. 3rd Fleet isn’t what it was in Admiral Nagira’s day, Zeke. Not even close. There’s rot at the top, and I just can’t figure out where. Knowing Siobhan, she’ll throw the place into turmoil within forty-eight hours of arriving and harpoon the guilty parties.”
“Then the next and equally important question is who gets the 101st, presuming it stays on the order of battle. I can name at least half a dozen admirals who have their own views on the subject, none of which agree with yours, let alone our aims. Worse yet, most of them want it out from under SOCOM and answering to one of the fleet commanders.”
— Two —
“Did the message packet include a missive from HQ concerning our latest misfire?” Gregor Pushkin, the 101st Battle Group’s flag captain, asked as he helped himself to a cup of coffee from Rear Admiral Dunmoore’s day cabin urn. “Since it was your eyes only, I figured it might have included a dressing-down from someone with four stars on the collar.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Dunmoore replied in a sardonic tone.
As was her routine once Iolanthe had picked up messages from the nearest subspace array after returning from a raid in the Zone, she’d closeted herself in her private office adjoining the flag combat information center. And as was Pushkin’s regular routine, he’d joined her a few minutes later to read those messages before the relevant ones were disseminated to the captains. In this case, Devall of Iolanthe, Leung of Gondolier, and Navarra of Mikado. One of the battle group’s other ships, Thespis under Commander Thorin Sirico, had been on a solitary cruise and would be heading home as well while the remainder were in port for crew rest and ship repairs.
Once Iolanthe and her companions docked at Starbase 30, Dunmoore’s entire command would be in port for the first time in over six months, and after the latest operational failure, she figured the 101st needed to regroup and reassess tactics. But without her.
“Why would HQ be cross with me when what the history books will surely call the Incident at Erlach stemmed from an intelligence failure? That Shrehari spy ships were there in great number when we showed up was bad luck — the explanation I favor — or because of the aforementioned intelligence failure. I did the only thing I could to avoid fresh hostilities.”
“True.” Pushkin dropped into the chair across from her. “So what was flag officer commanding eyes only in the message packet?”
Dunmoore sighed softly as a sad smile lit up her narrow face. “Orders proclaiming the end of an era.”
Pushkin’s hooded eyes narrowed. “They’re relieving you of command again?”
She raised a restraining hand. “Peace, Gregor. I had my three-year run as commander of the 101st. That’s pretty much what any flag officer gets nowadays. Too many ambitious admirals and not enough command billets. But this time, I’ll walk off Iolanthe with my stars on my collar. Have no fear. Unless a court martial relieves me of them, they’re mine until I retire, unlike the temporary wartime commodore star I gave up after the armistice.”
His air of suspicion hardened.
“And what’s your next assignment? Some obscure job where they’ll let you rot for ten years?”
Dunmoore chuckled.
“Not even close. I’m the 3rd Fleet’s next chief of staff for operations, a clear step up and certainly not obscure. I’ll be moving the naval pieces around in the entire Rim Sector, and as a bonus, I don’t have to pack up and move. My little house in Marseilles is only a quick hop from HQ.”
“You seem rather unfazed by the orders if you don’t mind my saying so.”
She shrugged.
“I knew my time was ending, Gregor. It’s the way of things. As staff assignments for a rear admiral go, this one is decent. I feared I’d find myself riding a desk on Earth, constantly fending off the Good Idea Fairy. And we can share a cup of coffee whenever you’re in port.”
“Meaning?”
Dunmoore’s radiant smile lit up her features. “Congratulations, Commodore Pushkin. You get the 101st.”
“What?” The word came out in a strangled voice as he sat back with an air of astonishment. “I didn’t even know I’d made the cut-off line.”
“Well, you did. But I see the hidden hand of friends on Earth behind our respective appointments. You and I know things aren’t well at 3rd Fleet HQ. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dysfunction we’ve noted in the last year is at least in part responsible for our operational failures. Admiral Hogue certainly is unhappy she doesn’t have the 101st under her command, and Oliver Harmel’s replacement on Starbase 30 hasn’t been particularly friendly with us.”
“Yes.” Pushkin scowled. “He does make it seem like we’re a nuisance, not a friendly lodger formation sharing the base’s support and facilities with his battle group.”
“That’ll change once I take up my new appointment. Count on it. And I won’t even have to put a flea in Quintin Anand’s ear. He’ll change his tune without prompting once I’m the one riding herd on him at Hogue’s behest.”
A broad grin split Pushkin’s face. “Oh, glorious day. I’ll finally have a friend in high places.”
“Don’t get too excited. I’d be shocked if I was Admiral Hogue’s pick to replace Hanno Berg. He’s retiring. Early from what I understand, so there might have been issues between him and either Hogue or Keo.”
Pushkin made a face.
“Or both. The esteemed Deputy Flag Officer Commanding 3rd Fleet has a reputation as a harsher taskmaster than Hogue, with only a fraction of the charm. And he’s looking for his fourth star, like all vice admirals. But,” Pushkin’s smile returned, this time with a hard edge, “Horace Keo might regret pushing you around.”
A snort. “Well, I’m certainly not his pick.”
She’d had several run-ins with Keo over the eighteen months since he’d taken over as deputy commander. He was another like Hogue who resented having a SOCOM battle group operating in what they considered their area of responsibility, with no say in the 101st’s employment or about the logistical support Earth demanded they give Dunmoore. But even though she’d been unfailingly polite, Keo, unlike Hogue, never tried hiding his dislike of her.
“With either of them, I’m betting on you, Admiral. Just remember your friends from SOCOM.”
Dunmoore smirked at him. “With you as flag officer commanding the 101st, no danger of my forgetting.”
“When are the new appointments effective?”
“Your promotion is already posted, so I just need to present your star in front of Iolanthe’s company on the hangar deck to make it official. I kept a set from my time running Luckner. If you’d like, I could pin one of them on you.”
Pushkin’s smile more than made up for his earlier frown. “That would be one hell of an honor, Admiral.”
“Then they’re yours, with my best wishes and my gratitude. When we’re done here, I’ll brief the captains. We can link Gondolier and Mikado and make you a commodore before going FTL on our final leg to the Dordogne system.”
“And the change of command?”
“Impatient?” Dunmoore gave him a mischievous grin. “My orders are handing over the 101st and reporting to Admiral Hogue as soon as we reach port. Therefore, we’ll do it on Starbase 30, with every ship’s company represented on parade. Chief Guthren will take care of everything, so don’t get involved with the planning other than rehearsing your part, okay?”
He inclined his head. “Understood. Do we get a reviewing officer?”
“If someone from SOCOM or Fleet HQ was coming, they’d have said so. This leaves Hogue as the most senior Navy flag officer on Dordogne, and it would be bad politics to give her the idea she might have authority over the 101st. So, no. We’ll do it without a reviewing officer, though we’ll invite all commanders and up from 3rd Fleet, 30th Battle Group, and Starbase 30, along with the senior chief petty officers.”
“Why do I think your new boss won’t be pleased?”
“She’ll be sitting in the front row of spectators if she accepts my invitation. Other than that, she can be as miffed as she wants. If I invite her as the reviewing officer, I know people on Earth who won’t be pleased, and their opinion matters more in the long term.”
Pushkin burst into laughter. “That’s the Siobhan Dunmoore we all love — ready to give the brass heartburn in the name of a good cause.”
“My current boss reports to Grand Admiral Sampaio. So does hers,” she replied in a prim tone. “I’ll report to Admiral Hogue after the change of command ceremony. I’ll pay for it, but as they say back home, them’s the breaks.”
“After this momentous news, I hesitate to ask about anything else in the message packet.”
“There’s nothing else. Let me get the chief in here, and then we’ll link up with the captains.”
When Guthren heard the news, he pumped Pushkin’s hand with such enthusiasm that Dunmoore thought his entire arm would come off.
“We’ll see that you two get a change of command ceremony fit for the finest flag officers in the known galaxy,” he said, a satisfied smile on his square face as he looked at each of them in turn. “I trust I’ll stay with Commodore Pushkin as command chief?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Suits me just fine, Admiral.” Guthren turned to Pushkin. “The commodore and I had our differences during the early days, but if I can’t work for you, then I’m glad to work for him.”
Pushkin grinned at Guthren. “Likewise, Chief.”
“Okay. Now, to get things organized. While you speak with the captains, I’ll rouse the cox’n and get all crew that isn’t in their racks or at critical posts on the hangar deck in thirty minutes. We can discuss change of command during the rest of our trip home, and I’ll round up the battle group’s cox’ns as soon as we dock. Leave it to me. The Starbase 30 chief owes me a few favors I’ll collect in a worthy cause.” Guthren stomped to attention, saluted, and marched out of Dunmoore’s office.
“Now, there’s a man who saw more of our trials and tribulations than anyone else, Admiral. I’m glad he’s staying on with me. But I'll let him go if you ever usurp Hogue and need a command cox’n.”
***
“Dunmoore? They’re appointing her as our new chief of operations? Unbelievable.” Vice Admiral Horace Keo, Deputy Commander, 3rd Fleet, turned an exasperated gaze at the ceiling as if summoning the Almighty’s help. Sixty, with silver-shot black hair, an angular, craggy face, and watchful dark eyes, Keo came across as a consummate, professional flag officer whose appearance and deportment was always beyond reproach. “Were you even consulted?”
“No.” Admiral Eva Hogue, a few years older than Keo, thin, with a sallow complexion, shoulder-length brown hair parted slightly to the left, and a gaze that rarely, if ever, held a hint of warmth, shook her head. “The CNO’s office told me of her assignment, which will be effective once she hands the 101st Battle Group to her successor. Apparently, she’s inbound with her remaining ships.”
“Why would the CNO not even consult you?” Keo asked in his resonant baritone. “What about the custom of allowing fleet commanders to choose their own senior staff officers?”
Hogue let out a humorless laugh. “That custom has been honored more in the breach than not since the war, Horace. I think they’re afraid nepotism might return. No. We’re stuck with Dunmoore.”
“I don’t like it, sir. Dunmoore is a loose cannon who could cause untold harm to the efficient functioning of your command.”
“Then it’s your job to make sure that loose cannon is tied down,” she replied with a hint of petulance. “We can’t refuse her appointment, nor can we simply place her on a shelf and let one of the senior staff officers run operations. From what I hear, she’s considered a superb battle group commander by the CNO, someone who still has career potential at the highest levels.”
Keo scoffed.
“If she doesn’t buckle down and adapt, that potential will evaporate quickly. I didn’t tolerate her predecessor’s attempts to undermine me, and I won’t tolerate hers.” He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed. “Who gets the 101st now? Please tell me it’s not another SOCOM hotshot who’ll ignore us and run amok, breaking the treaty provisions on every patrol. Better yet, tell me we’re taking the 101st under command, so all nonsense stops once and forever. Eventually, someone will trigger a crisis with the Shrehari, and then where will we be?”
Hogue grimaced. “Sorry. Dunmoore’s flag captain is promoted to commodore and will take over from her directly.”
“Gregor Pushkin? Why? He’s about as stubborn, disrespectful, and rules-be-damned as Dunmoore, but with a fraction of the personality.”
“HQ doesn’t want a newcomer upsetting SOCOM’s neat little undercover operation specialized in evading the Treaty of Ulufan’s provisions concerning the Protectorate Zone. That, and other things which best qualify as blacker than black and therefore questionable under the Code of Service Discipline.”
Keo shook his head. “Lord, grant me strength. These wartime yahoos should have been put out to pasture years ago.”
“I won’t argue the point. It would have been better for the Navy if Dunmoore and her coterie of unconventional warfare officers weren’t promoted out of sequence and had been forced into retirement. But she’ll be your responsibility by the end of the month, and I have no doubt someone in the CNO’s office will watch us. Her last-minute reprieve and two-step promotion three years ago prove she’s finally found a new protector, which is one reason I haven’t protested her appointment. Please keep that in mind, Horace.”
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