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Grass Eaters | 44 | Celestria II
🕑 Added 2024-04-12 16:47:00 +0000 UTCMNS Trassau
“We don’t have a problem, right, Loenda?” Speinfoent asked the senior officer nervously.
“It’s Squadron Leader Loenda or Battlegroup Commander Loenda to you. And why would we have a problem, Gamma Leader?” she replied, her tone sharp.
“I don’t want you to think I’m replacing you and stealing your ship from under you—”
Loenda didn’t even bother to glance at him. “No, because you will do nothing of the sort. The High Fleet Commander named you the captain of the Trassau, but I shall define the extent of your responsibilities and duties as your squadron leader and your battlegroup commander. So here is what will happen: You will show up to all staff level meetings, which I shall provide you with a schedule of. You will defer all questions by anyone on the ship to me. You will be present on the bridge during all transits, exercises, and battles. And you will make no attempt to give out any orders without my express command. Is that clear?”
Speinfoent started to protest. “But the Fleet Commander said you should not be distracted—”
“I know what she said. I was there. But even in the Terran manuals you seem to be so fond of, assigning a new ‘commanding officer’ to a ship has an adjustment period, does it not? ‘Transfer of command is a challenging time for the ship and her crew; managing it requires an extraordinary amount of experience and tact that must be carefully developed in the junior officer corps’, as I recall it said,” she quoted.
The High Fleet Commander had made those manuals required reading for every officer in the Sixth Fleet, even those who were not privy to their source. Speinfoent was intimately familiar with her words.
“That’s what it says,” he said carefully, putting as much tact into his words as he could. “I will try my best to accommodate—”
“Do you know how long I’ve been in the Navy?” she cut him off loudly.
Cowed by her rising volume, he did not answer.
“Forty-one years. Gamma Leader, I have been in the service for forty-one years. That is longer than you have been alive, cub. Do you know how long it took them to give me a ship?” She continued without giving him a chance to answer the rhetorical question, “Twenty-one years. The Trassau is not my first command, but I have never lost a ship, and I do not intend to start now. So this is how this is going to go: I will give you orders, orders backed by my decades of experience. You will follow them to the letter without causing me any trouble. At the end of this rotation, or whenever the fleet commander changes her mind about you being on this ship, I will report that you were an exceptional captain and recommend you for a promotion. Maybe to command one of the Navy’s shiny new Beta-class. I have personal contacts in every fleet in the Navy and every squadron in our fleet… wherever you’d want to go or whatever ship you want to command except the one I am on. Is what I am saying to you clear?”
Speinfoent squirmed. “Yes, but I’m not really after a promotion to—”
“That,” Loenda cut him off, “is the best and only deal you are getting. You may be a genuine talent, a real gift for the Malgeir species, or you may be a grifter who has temporarily fooled the high fleet commander. Either way, I don’t know you, but I have my guesses. And until I do know you, you will do what I say. When you have earned my trust, we can talk about giving you a few more responsibilities. But above all, do not screw with me, Gamma Leader, or I swear to you I will screw right back. So now, I’m going to ask again. Do you have a problem with that?”
Taking the hint, Speinfoent shook his head vigorously. “No, Squadron Leader.”
“Good. Now,” she smiled thinly, sniffing at his two-day-old uniform. “Go make yourself presentable. The exercise begins in two hours, and I do not tolerate tardiness or poor hygiene on my bridge.”
---
“Did Missile Bay 4 figure out the issue?” Loenda asked.
Speinfoent operated his newly acquainted captain’s console for a couple seconds to bring up the status display. Before he could come up with a report, the Trassau’s tactical officer, with a nonchalant wave of his paw, interrupted him. “They have found the malfunctioning servo motors and are repairing them. It might take a few more hours.”
“Good,” Loenda nodded. “Tell them to take their time. There’s no need to hurry just for this exercise; we can always tell the simulation computers we’ve fired anyway. And give me a direct status update when they are complete.” She spun around, her gaze landing on Speinfoent. “If our gamma leader doesn’t mind, of course.”
Speinfoent offered a small, somewhat resigned smile. “Of course not, Squadron Leader,” he said, his eyes not meeting his subordinates’. They knew his new official role, but his first few attempts to do his job had fallen flat in the face of Loenda’s bulldozing and determination to micromanage the Trassau, and he’d decided to just keep his head down. For now. “Anything you need.”
“Good. Maybe we’ll make a real captain out of you after all—”
A warning klaxon blared on the bridge, indicating the arrival of the simulated enemy fleet they were supposed to ambush.
“Right on time,” Loenda continued without missing a beat. “Deploy the sensor buoys, cut reactors to a quarter power, and reserve the radio to emergency communications only. If anyone on the crew so much as breathes too loudly, they will be spending their weekend in the Trassau brig.”
---
“They are coming in at full speed,” Speinfoent reported in as low a voice he could without whispering.
“Good,” Loenda replied casually. “Maybe we’ll wrap up this exercise early for dinner. I hear our guests are serving something new. Really, if you asked me, they should stick with the one thing they know…”
Speinfoent bit his snout. He didn’t want to tick off the battlegroup commander on his first exercise, and she’d made it clear that she was not in the “taking suggestions” mood earlier.
But… he couldn’t hold back. “Loen— Squadron Leader, the enemy convoy was supposed to come in for a refueling.”
“So?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Is there a problem?”
He elaborated. “They’re burning way too fast for that. They aren’t even going to be able to stop in time even if they started slowing down. I think they might know we’re here. Should we begin warming up our engines so we can—”
“Gamma Leader, hallway, now,” she snapped frostily, pointing at the bridge exit.
Once the bridge door closed, Loenda let him have it. “You rebellious troublemaker! What did I say about trying to subvert my authority?”
“I’m not! I’m just trying to help!” he protested. “I was just pointing out—”
“Pointing out what? Our marching orders were clear. You did pay attention in the pre-exercise briefing, right? We are here to ambush the stupid Celestrian convoy, not boost out into the open to engage them in honorable combat!”
“Yes, but what if it’s a trick?” he countered, keeping his voice low so the officers on the bridge wouldn’t hear the argument.
She threw up her paws angrily. “A trick? Our orders were a trick? Did they stick me with a moron? If we start burning now, you’ll screw up the whole exercise!”
“But this is a Terran exercise,” Speinfoent tried to explain. “I’ve seen them do it. It’s one of the problem scenarios for their training that Grionc and I looked at when we were in their home system. The exercise says we are hidden, but the intelligence is wrong. The enemy already knows we are here, and the point of the exercise is to test if we can spot the ruse and modify our plans with the changing circumstances.”
Loenda rolled her eyes but said nothing in response.
Speinfoent took that as a sign he should continue. “Look, as an independent battlegroup, we could at least ask for new orders given the changed circumstance. What if we radio the fleet commander to see if she approves—”
“Break radio discipline for a wild suggestion?” Loenda asked incredulously. “Were you dropped as a cub? This is an ambush! We are ambushing them! Maybe… maybe that is the real test, to see if anyone would be stupid enough to break discipline and reveal their positions in the face of an enemy that seems slightly more unsettling than usual.”
“That’s— there’s— why would that be a test—” Speinfoent stuttered.
“Enough, Gamma Leader, you’ve said your piece, and I’ve heard you out. We are going to continue with our orders as per the exercise. If you have a problem with that, you may file a formal objection. Would you like to do that now?”
“No, Loe— Squadron Leader.”
“Good… And when we get back onto the bridge, order the navigation station to start the procedures for engine lighting.”
“Start the procedures for engine lighting, ma’am?” he asked puzzled.
“Yes, in case we need to go into a combat burn. Gamma Leader, naval officers don’t get as old as I am without being careful. We will prepare for all possibilities… even the stupid ones.”
But… by the time they get close and open fire, we won’t have time to warm up and get into a combat burn, he thought.
Instead, he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
---
With the mock enemy fleet coming in so quickly, it took them no time to get close at all. The officers on the Trassau bridge went through the motions, preparing to fire on the incoming enemies when—
A loud klaxon sounded on the bridge. The crew looked up in shock. Well, some of them…
The Trassau’s tactical officer wasted no time making a report. “Active radar locks on us! Missiles incoming! All enemies are firing. It’s a trap!”
Loenda snapped at the navigation officer, “Full combat burn, get us up to full acceleration as fast as possible!”
The officer did as ordered, immediately pushing the ship’s throttle to full and risking engine burnout as the other ships in the formation followed its example, attempting to do the same. He muttered under his breath, “It’s too late. We’re starting from zero cold startup—”
Unfortunately for him, Loenda’s hearing had not diminished despite her advanced age. “Save your irrelevant commentaries for yourself. The next officer displaying defeatism in the face of the fake enemy will go out the real airlock. Tactical, return fire at will. And deploy all our countermeasures, maybe we can—”
There was a loud crashing sound from the speakers, and the lights on the bridge turned back on to full brightness.
The simulation computer coldly displayed the results of the exercise.
You died.
All ships in battlegroup lost.
One enemy combat ship damaged.
Primary objective failed.
Secondary objectives failed.
Detailed briefing with the simulation commander in 15 minutes.
---
MNS Oengro
“That was a dirty trick,” Grionc said, pointing an accusatory paw at Mark. “You aren’t supposed to feed us false information like that.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The enemy can fool us too. It would be reckless of us to not prepare you for that possibility. Besides, this wasn’t the first time our intelligence was faulty. You dealt with that in the last exercise it happened in. Working out the contingencies in your plan is your responsibility.”
“What are we doing wrong?” she asked, slightly dejected. “At the start, the exercises were fairly easy, but in the last few ones, we’re getting thrashed in them even when we are following your plan to the letter.”
“The first exercises were to improve proficiency in the new equipment. Now, we are getting you ready for command—”
“So, it is me!” Grionc exclaimed. “Please, tell me. How am I supposed to improve?”
“No, not just you,” Mark shook his head. “It’s actually the whole way your Navy operates.”
“Don’t spare my feelings. You’re more experienced in war than we are. If there’s any area of the fleet that’s not smoothly running, you need to let me know,” she asked earnestly.
Mark started to explain. “In some ways, your fleet is too structured. As a fleet commander, you could do better if you sought advice from your subordinates more. For example, I’ve watched one of your briefings. You should ask them more questions. Get their advice. You know… see if there’s any misunderstanding of the plan.”
“Too structured?” she echoed in surprise. “I should seek advice from my subordinates? Do Terran commanders do this?”
“Precisely so. In a briefing, they are more concerned with aligning their subordinates with their intent than the strict letter of their orders. And they should come up with contingencies themselves, so they are familiar with them.”
“But that would be madness,” she blurted out. “Chaos. How would my commanders and their subordinates know whose orders to follow in battle? How would they know when to follow orders and when to go off script?!”
“Practice, Fleet Commander. That’s why we are holding these exercises. War is chaotic by nature. Out of that chaos, there is opportunity. Your commanders are used to trying to keep their heads above water in the chaos. What we intend to teach you is to take advantage of it, to swim in the chaos.”
Observing her continued confusion, Mark tried another track. “Our enemy— the Znosians are control freaks; their Prophecy, their combat computers: they love a good, predictable plan, and they’ll do anything they can to make sure things stay within that little box they’ve constructed for us. If we fight like that, they’ll drag us down to their level and beat us with experience and numbers. So, unless you have a secret plan to get your species to breed a lot more of you in the next four to six months, the way we win is not by coming up with a more perfect plan, but by becoming so accustomed to chaos and raising so much of it that they can’t keep up with the hell we will raise.”
“I still don’t get it. How do we turn intentional madness in our ranks into an advantage?”
Mark smiled. “Don’t worry, Fleet Commander. It takes time to understand, even for our people. And your willingness to learn is a good start. For now, we have a few general practices that you can adopt…”
