|
Home of Author Gene Frechin
Category:
Science Fiction
Type: Fiction
Pages: 300
A tale of adventure when one ship must travel back in time to catch another time-traveler who made it possible to assassinate Hitler. Germany now rules the world and it's up to a small team of men from the future to go back to Nazi Germany and put things back in order.
The United States Federation of Services Battle Cruiser Tonkin floated majestically in space dock. Attached by only two cables providing power until she was fired up, the U.S.F.S. Tonkin gleamed under the lights while last minute supplies were brought aboard for her maiden voyage. The lone catwalk still remaining was full of personnel on the way to their new duty stations, or those who finalized last minute modifications and were on their way off. Within minutes, all that was left to do was await the mission team’s arrival.
In many ways, the Tonkin was a throwback to an earlier era in space flight. The space shuttle of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century was the basis for the design of the Tonkin and her sister ship the Remington. The body was expanded and widened, allowing the wings to be brought forward and attached directly into the body. This was where crew quarters and all sections involved with living were placed. Instead of the pointed, narrow nose of the shuttle, the Tonkin’s nose was almost a perfect half-circle where the bridge was situated. Navigation, communications, and all stations associated with the piloting of the Tonkin were in the forward section, off of the bridge. In the rear of the craft was the Engineering section where the large engines were housed. In a pinch, the Tonkin could be piloted from Engineering.
“Captain, all sections report ready.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Mallory. Alert EarthStation One we’re ready to receive mission personnel.”
“Aye, sir.”
Captain Michael P. Jamison sat on the bridge watching his crew ready it to get under way. He viewed the bridge, noting the symmetrical design of an almost perfect circle and the glint of all the new equipment. The chair he sat in was near the rear of the bridge, surrounded by four other seats, two on each side in a semi-arc. In front of him was a large viewing screen that for the moment was off. Around the perimeter were stations for the different functions of the ship and at each position a small console faced the swivel seat attached to its base. In front of the captain the space was empty, a wide-open area that seemed to defy the need for more equipment.
“Lieutenant DeLouise, course plotted to Altair Four?”
“Yes, sir. Drive is fully charged.”
“Commander Dunkin, did they work out the bugs in the long-range scanners?”
Raising his head from the very equipment the captain asked about, Dunkin faced the captain. “Yes they did, Captain. One of the sensor chips wasn’t properly seated.”
“Very good. Thank you, Commander.”
Commander Dunkin turned back to his console. All consoles on the ship were tan with matte black tops inlaid with touch computer functions. Everything was controlled by the push of a finger and could put on a dazzling display of colors when fully operational. As they now sat, waiting to get under way a few red and blue lights pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat. The large screen, when not on was black, a void sucking in the darkness countered by the ring of lights shining down around the outside edge of the bridge. In the center of the ceiling a bank of lights added their strength to the illumination of this part of the ship.
“Captain.”
Captain Jamison hit his comlink, “Go ahead, Commander Townsend.”
“Sir, I’ve a crewmember who reported to SickBay with an injury.”
“How bad, Commander?” asked the Captain with a concerned look.
“She received a deep laceration when a food module fell while trying to store it.”
“Does she require a medical transfer?”
“I don’t think so, sir. She’ll be back to duty in five days.”
“Very good. Who was it, Commander?”
“Ensign Theresa Canton, Food Specialist. This is her first assignment.”
“Thank you, Commander. I’ll be down to see her as soon as we’re off,” replied Captain Jamison as he looked at the banks of equipment covering most of the walls of the bridge.
The walls were a slightly darker shade of tan and the floors were covered with sound deadening static-free carpet in yet a darker tan. In the center of the carpet was the acronym U.S.F.S. in big, bold blue letters. All the seats on the bridge were form fitting bio-activated chairs. On the captain’s were override controls for every station and the ability to lock the person sitting on it into a life saving cocoon should the need arise. The seats to either side were similarly designed but without all the various override functions. Captain Jamison had lived for this day, but he was edgy.
“Captain, call from EarthStation One.”
“Put it on, Ensign.”
“Captain, this is Lieutenant Williams. Mission crew is airborne. ETA, ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Jamison out.”
Activity on the bridge increased as the crew put on the final touches. The sergeant leading this mission was a real stickler for protocol and a real ball-buster when it came to spit and polish, a legend in his own right, and he was going to be the one to tell this sergeant his days with the fleet were over. The dread gripping his heart made an otherwise exciting maiden launch secondary in his thoughts. What he had to do negated any emotional uplift at the thought of his mission, and his place in history. In all his years in the service this was going to be his toughest mission yet and he feared the confrontation.
Ensign Clover started docking procedures and with his usual aplomb the shuttle landed with hardly a nudge. The captain could see in his minds eye the procedures unfolding down below in the shuttle hanger. The sergeant would be the first one out and ask permission to come aboard. Permission would be granted, room assignments would be given, and after seeing to his men he would make his way to the bridge. Captain Jamison grimaced inside when he heard the elevator stop on the bridge.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Chester L. O'Brien was from the old school, thirty-six years in the Marines and he took crap from nobody, not even a ship's captain. He was tagging along on this mission with a platoon of highly trained men to try and extricate some fool who had insulted the locals and ended up tanked on some little out-of-the-way orb in a little unsophisticated solar system in the Orion Galaxy. A milk and honey run, as far as the captain was concerned, but the brass were bent out of shape and insisted it be handled at Level 4, hence MGYSgt. O'Brien and his crew.
The captain heard him before seeing him and that brought a quick surge to his heart as it did every time he was around, only this time it was painful. He entered the bridge; actually swept in, and did a brief and thorough inspection, seeming to find everything in order. As he was checking out the bridge, Captain Jamison gave him the once over; short and stocky, no taller than 5’7”, but looked as big as any big man, grizzled gray hair that might have made a quarter of an inch if you were generous, a five o'clock shadow no matter how many times he shaved and dark blue piercing eyes. His uniform was immaculate, the creases looked capable of cutting bread and his array of medals was definitely impressive. Captain Jamison looked back up at his finely chiseled face and waited for his opening.
“Sir! Sergeant O’Brien reporting as ordered, sir!”
“At ease, Sergeant. Welcome aboard. How’ve you been, O’Brien?”
“Fine, Captain. Nice flying tub you got here,” he baited the captain with slightly raised eyebrows.
The captain didn’t respond to the dig and Sergeant O’Brien had a momentary sense of discomfort wondering why the captain was so reticent.
Captain Jamison rose from his seat and grabbed O'Brien’s hand, giving it a limp, emotionless pump. Releasing the hand, the moment the captain had dreaded was here. As required by command he was to present Sergeant O’Brien with his retirement orders the moment he was onboard, which the captain thought was asinine. ‘Why the hell couldn’t he do this in private?’
“Master Gunnery Sergeant Chester O’Brien, I have been directed to give to you, at the earliest possible moment, these orders requiring you to turn in your stripes at the end of this mission.” Captain Jamison handed Sergeant O’Brien the orders and continued, “It is with great honor I was chosen to present to you your walking papers and congratulate you on your forthcoming retirement. You have served your country with exemplary conduct, distinguishing yourself as a credit to your service, and a credit to your country. You will be missed.”
Captain Jamison looked at Sergeant O’Brien and saw the anger smoldering in his eyes. He felt about two foot tall passing on this information in so informal a manner when the man who stood in front of him deserved every accolade the service could give him. The hurt and confused look on the man’s face was hard to ignore as he dimly noted the clapping of his bridge crew. What he saw in the man’s eyes would haunt him for years to come.
O’Brien didn’t move even when the crew came by to congratulate him, slapping him on the back, or shaking his hand. All he could do was look at the man who did this. It didn’t matter that it came from above; he would never forgive the captain for allowing himself to be used this way. The anger building inside needed to vent and although never in his career had he so willingly cared less about the repercussions, this time it had reached its limits. He could no more stop the upwelling of emotions then he could stop in the middle of a sneeze.
Captain Jamison watched the wide range of emotions passing over O’Brien’s face and wanted to hide. To be anywhere but here, facing the man he so ignobly treated, knowing this man deserved so much more. He cursed the service for its inhumanity at times and wondered if this was a rift that could ever be repaired. He thought not, but wanted to believe it could so he put on his best face and reached out to shake Sergeant O’Brien’s hand.
O’Brien looked at the offered hand and then up at the face behind it, “I didn’t put in for retirement…sir.”
The captain noticed the slow, angry voice, “I am aware of that, Sergeant, but we all have our orders. I would like to congratulate you,” he added, but when the sergeant didn’t extend his hand, the captain dropped his.
The crew on the bridge was silent; they all noticed the breach of etiquette when Sergeant O’Brien didn’t shake the captain’s hand. They waited uncomfortably while the enveloping saga continued on the bridge.
“Why am I being forcibly retired? And why you?”
Again spoken in that slow, angry voice as if it was taking an immeasurable amount of force to keep it under control. Captain Jamison was well aware of the crew around him and knew he had to diffuse this quickly.
“Sergeant O’Brien, this is not the time or place to ask these questions.”
“The hell it isn’t! You saw fit to announce it here, now, in front of your crew. You damn well better answer!”
Captain Jamison felt control of the situation slipping. Being who this man was, he was stunned into silence and before he could react, Sergeant O’Brien threw down his copies of the orders and stormed off the bridge.
“This is bullshit and you know it, Captain!”
The captain turned and watched the receding back of the sergeant as he exited the bridge. He looked around helplessly and noted the wide-eyed looks of his crew. As he met each set of eyes, they looked down in embarrassment. Very shakily, Captain Jamison sat back down on his chair.
“Captain?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Should I…send for security?”
“No, Commander. Let him go. Who knows how any of us would have reacted under similar circumstances?”
Not one person on the bridge bought it, but none either were in much of a mindset to say anything different. They found work to do and studiously went about looking as busy as they could. The captain sat, oblivious to what was going on around him. He realized he’d lost face in front of his crew but didn’t know right now if he cared or not. He looked over at his friend, Commander Dunkin, and saw the look of concern in his eyes. He got up and headed to the Assessment Room, nodding for Commander Dunkin to follow.
Commander Dunkin turned to Lieutenant DeLouise, “Lieutenant, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, Commander.”
When Dunkin entered the Assessment Room he saw the captain sitting with his head in his hands, leaning on the table. He took a chair across from him and sat, waiting.
“That went well, don’t you think, Glenn?”
“Captain, I…”
“It’s okay, Glenn. I should have known.”
“How could you have known?”
The captain looked over at Glenn, “I should have, that’s all.”
“Do I need to remind you what the crew will think if you don’t take care of…?”
“I am well aware, Commander. I will handle it,” Mike snapped back, interrupting his friend.
Glenn studied his captain for a minute. “What happened, Mike? Seems there was a lot more going on than what that called for.”
The captain leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and said, “He didn’t deserve this, and me of all people. Why couldn’t they have done this when we got back? How the hell am I ever going to look him in the eyes again?”
“Mike, what’s going on? I would guess you know this sergeant personally?”
Jamison smiled, “Know him personally? I’d say.” He stood up. “C’mon.”
Stopping on the bridge next to his chair, Captain Jamison looked at his crew knowing he needed to give them some sort of explanation. He was tempted to just keep on going save for the professionalism that chose now to crop up and dispel his indecision.
He faced his crew and said, “What happened here on the bridge stays here. I will explain later what it all meant. In the meantime, make sure everything is ready for take-off.”
“Captain?”
“Yes, Ensign.”
“Why did…”
“Ensign, I told you I would explain it later. No more questions.”
“Aye, sir.”
When he first walked in he punched his console and when finished talking to the ensign, Captain Jamison looked at room assignments and found where Sergeant O’Neil was quartered. He headed off the bridge.
“What’s the matter with the Captain? I’ve never seen…”
“Ensign, leave it! He’ll explain later. Right now, get ready. Christina, you still have the bridge.”
“Aye, Commander.”
After the commander left the bridge, Ensign Clover said to no one in particular, “That was strange. A little touchy, weren’t they?”
“Let it go, Ensign. Let it go,” responded Lieutenant DeLouise.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Captain Jamison waited for Commander Dunkin in the elevator. When he entered, the captain turned and put in the code for their destination. The ride down was silent, neither man knowing just quite what to say.
“Where are we going, Mike?”
“To take care of that problem.”
The two men walked down the corridor until the captain stopped in front of one of the doors in the enlisted men’s quarters’ section of the ship. He rang the door chime and waited.
“Who is it?”
“Captain Jamison.”
“Go away!”
Commander Dunkin looked at the captain and saw his jaw clench. The underlying currents between these two men screamed for attention and impressed some unspoken knowledge between the two and puzzled him. He waited patiently while the captain rang the chime again.
This time there was no response. The captain turned his head away and looked down at the floor.
“Sergeant O’Neil. Open…”
“Glenn, don’t,” the captain said as he grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”
“Please, open the door.”
“Go away, son.”
Commander Dunkin did a double take and turned to look at the captain with a question forming on his lips. The captain held his hand up signaling him to wait.
“Dad, open the door, please.”
“No.”
Commander Dunkin muttered under his breath, “Holy shit!”
The captain looked at Dunkin with the look of utter frustration and failure, and as soon as he moved his eyes away from his friend’s face, he said, “What have I done?”
The commander lost no time trying to figure out what was going on between these two. He wanted this moved inside as quickly as possible. Using command override, he punched in the code to open the sergeant’s door. When the door slid open he looked into a room where uniforms were strewn all over, and the sergeant no longer in his. The glare coming from that man’s face was fierce.
“I don’t recall saying you could come in. Now get the fuck out!”
“Dad…”
“No, son. I don’t want your silly ass excuses. Just get out of my face.”
The captain stood up tall and took a step into the room. “I won’t. You will listen and I will have my say!”
“Goddammit, son! I won’t listen, and I won’t stay around for this circus. I quit!”
“Dad, you can’t…”
“The hell I can’t, boy. I can and I will. I’ll be off this bird in five minutes; you can find someone else to lead this mission. I’m done.”
The captain grabbed a chair and motioned Commander Dunkin to come in and close the door. He entered and stood uncomfortably behind the captain, at an oblique angle to the sergeant.
“Sit down, Dad.”
About to argue, Sergeant O’Brien sat on the edge of the table, a concession.
The captain turned to Commander Dunkin and with a wry smile, said, “Let me introduce you to one of the orneriest turds to ever walk a ship and one of the best to have at your back in case things get exciting...my father.”
|
