The route to ready room two took Captain Hunter through the lair of the Red Buccaneers, Argent’s upstart squadron of Yellowjacket pilots. Their home was reminiscent of the places a young Lieutenant Commander Hunter lived when he was assembling the team that would set the standard for strike fighter combat for years to come. It wasn’t lost on the captain that most believed the eagles on his uniform didn’t belong there. More than a few senior officers were of a mind to re-assign the current senior staff of his battleship to commands like the 994th Yellowjackets.
But the reality of the trade-offs facing Skywatch Command was as brutal as it was unavoidable. Putting Jason Hunter back in a Jack fighter would leave an empty chair on the bridge of a Citadel-class strike battleship. While it was true Hunter and his former squadron could engineer one hell of a lot of victories at the controls of their formidable little ships, wars like the ones the Alliance was now facing didn’t favor hot shots, and they certainly didn’t end well at the hands of short-sighted officers and their belief in the needs of the few.
The truth was Argent had performed well in fits and starts. The battleship Saint Lucia and a three-star admiral were still alive as a result of her impeccably timed attack against Kraken forces near the Omicron supermassive singularity. Vice Admiral Charles Hughes had likewise been rescued by Argent’s forward-thinking chief medical officer, and her engineering staff had provided Skywatch with a glimpse into the future of interstellar warfare not once, but twice.
Nevertheless, the shadow of Bayone still loomed. The cries of Dunkerque’s dead still echoed in the nightmares of more than a few Perseus officers and crew. The ‘Victory Engagement,’ as it had ironically come to be known, had cost Jason’s sister her mentor and one of her most promising fellow officers. Acting Commander Sabrina Mallory had exorcised what demons she could with her daring and altogether illegal commandeering of Hunter’s ship and the defeat of the hidden enemies lurking aboard her, but it wasn’t enough to reassure the young officer in the face of so many dishonored memories.
Skywatch seemed hell-bent on forcing the young woman to face commander-grade blame despite the fact she was at best properly qualified to be a senior lieutenant. Mallory had neither asked for nor pursued her own command. She was a brilliant weapons officer, and would have served magnificently in that role had the reckless mismanagement of the fleet’s command structure been defeated before it cost the Alliance most of its captains’ corps. The stories of officers like Sabrina Mallory had been written by corrupt and self-serving bureaucrats, politicians and disgraceful flag officers long before they even started their recruit training.
It didn’t take much imagination to recognize the same kinds of mistakes could be inflicted on the careers of officers like Jason Hunter and his twin sister, Jayce. While it was true Jayce had made her mark at the Academy in cybernetics, she was the daughter of a military family. Leadership coursed through her veins as readily as the blood she was prepared to spill to defend human star systems. It was this, among other things, that drove brother and sister to keep a sharp eye out for threats to their own careers while they were busy protecting the less-than-honorable men and women who represented those threats.
Unlike his sister, Jason was as likely to wave off hostility with a well-timed rhetorical riposte as he was to take such things seriously. His skill at entertaining others while navigating the perilous reality of career politics made him popular with those he needed to persuade. The result was considerable pull in the halls of power. Hunter was one of the few captains with not only a four-star flag officer in his corner, but a banner CINC as well. Like all advantages, Hunter’s prominence in the mind of Admiral Powers was both a blessing and a curse. The admiral knew exactly where to find the young captain when it was time to raise hell. But such was not Hunter’s fate in the aftermath of Bayone. Powers knew well the realities of war. There was nothing to be gained by blaming them on a promising officer. On the other hand, Powers was quite busy resisting the idea there was nothing to be gained by fitting silver eagles to the uniform of a man who had not yet reached his 24th year of life.
Despite all the doubts, those eagles were the first thing everyone noticed when the captain entered ready room two.
“Attention on deck!”
Hunter strode to the podium, allowing his pilots and flight leaders to remain at attention. He stopped and faced the room before giving the order to be seated. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, so he approached it in true Hunter fashion. The nearly two dozen officers waiting for his briefing weren’t all that different from their captain. They were keenly engaged, eager to succeed and trained to efficiently and capably eradicate enemy personnel and weapons with extreme prejudice.
The couches they used as chairs were reminiscent of the shock chairs on every combat deck aboard Argent and in the cockpits of every one of her fighters and gunships. They were arranged in rows of three on each side of the center aisle. Since this particular chamber was Red Buccaneer country, emblazoned on the head cushions were the stylized faces of the pirate mascots of the 994th, each with a dagger in his teeth and a fanciful skull-decorated corsair’s hat. The assembled pilots represented six Argent strike fighter squadrons, including Wildcat 16, Wildcat 85, Wildcat 262, Yellowjacket Four and the feared “doncellas” of Superjack 118 led by Erin McGrath, callsign “Lilith.” All of the pilots were dressed in their ‘C’ class blue on gray fleet battle dress uniforms.
Visible outside the bay window on one side of the chamber was the enormous shape of a second-generation Yellowjacket fighter belonging to the Tigersharks squadron. It was parked with its nose pointed at an angle towards the huge window, as if attentive to the captain’s briefing along with the pilots. Several members of the Flight Two deck crew were busy repairing its port-side counter-grav housing.
“I have been ordered to re-evaluate the command structure of this ship. I initially opposed the changes that were recommended to me by Skywatch Command, but I have since been persuaded these orders contain wisdom I had not fully considered.”
The pilots waited patiently.
“As commanding officer, I have also been authorized by Skywatch Command to, on my own authority, award battlefield commissions to certain personnel for purposes of establishing new embarked commands aboard Argent, and to authorize those commands to conduct combat operations in such manner as they deem fit according to regulations.”
Hunter closed the folio that contained the letter he had received from Southern Banner.
“What that means in non-admiralty language is we need to start doing things the way our sister ships do. Up to now we have operated in an ad hoc fashion with our force command officer fulfilling both the operations and the strategic roles for Argent’s star wing. Those days are now behind us. Lieutenant Roscoe.”
Zack Roscoe straightened and stood at attention.
“You are hereby promoted to the rank of commander. As a consequence of your new rank, I’m appointing you Commander Argent Star Wing. Congratulations.”
The assembled pilots sent up a cheer that was likely heard three decks above and below the ready room. Several of Zack’s fellow pilots and closest friends patted his back and shook his hand.
“Argent’s Star Wing will now subsume the strategic responsibilities of my senior officers. Combat orders and fighter deployment will be issued to the SCOM and delegated accordingly. Argent’s Star Wing has been designated one of several new embarked commands aboard this ship. Commander Roscoe, your immediate report is Commander O’Malley, who is relinquishing the Force Commander chair in favor of serving as direct report for all embarked commands. Lieutenant Commander McGrath.”
Erin stood at attention.
“You are hereby appointed Deputy Commander Argent Star Wing. Zack will be your direct report. The 118th has been permanently assigned to this vessel. You are Zack’s number two strike fighter pilot. Commander Shaw.”
Desiree stood at attention.
“We’re making your acting rank of Lieutenant Commander permanent. You are appointed Senior Flight Leader. You are the number three strike fighter pilot aboard this vessel. I realize you have been aboard Argent longer than Commander McGrath, but in light of the permanent assignment of her squadron she holds the senior rank. You will be the direct report for the flight leaders and strike leaders of all five Wildcat and Yellowjacket squadrons. Commander McGrath will be your direct report. You may all be seated.”
The pilots once again took their seats and waited attentively.
“As the new flag for Capital Fleet Hera, Admiral Reed has ordered 16th Wildcats permanently assigned to Argent. This vessel is now home to six full squadrons of pilots and crews and 128 strike fighters. Only the fleet carriers have more. Admiral Powers has placed a great deal of faith in us and our abilities, and I expect Commander Roscoe and his senior staff will acquit us well in our next engagements.”
Hunter took the folio and dropped it on one of the nearby tables, indicating the conclusion of the formal portion of the briefing.
“I’m not going to sugar-coat our sitrep for you. We’re facing a nearly four to one disadvantage in tonnage and hulls. The Imperial Fleet has utilized their own fighter spacecraft in no fewer than three recent engagements, one of which was scarcely five light years from our present position. So far, it seems they are keeping most of their new toys to themselves, but things don’t get any easier up against the Yersians or the Kraken. It’s only a matter of time before the empire decides to launch a full scale fighter strike, and there is every reason to believe it might be pointed at us.”
The room lights dimmed and an SRS image of an unidentified ink black vessel appeared on the display behind the podium.
“This bundle of joy is the ship that apparently disabled the starship Curacao near Proximan space some months ago. It belongs to a faction we are referring to as the ‘Heretics.’ Based on scientific analysis performed by a team aboard the Black Prince, it is believed their weapons can alter the structure of matter in ways we don’t fully understand yet. Their boarding parties also carry some kind of device that either dissolves or transmutes water molecules even if they are inside the human body or the surrounding atmosphere. Their boarding parties are the ones likeliest to have killed the crew of the Sussex.”
There was no question the captain had the room’s attention now. The lights returned to their normal levels.
“The headline in this newspaper isn’t hard to figure out. We’ve been kicked out of four star systems in as many months. We lost three battle groups including San Cristobal, Task Force 92 and the Conquistador. If we’re not careful, we’re going to lose Concordant, Signals Company Eleven and a ground base in Rho Theta we’ve held for almost sixty years. Our job is to score some points for the home team, and the success of our next series of missions comes down to our star wing. Every operation we launch will require fighter escort or strike operations of one kind or another.”
“Which missions are we going to tackle first, sir?” Roscoe asked.
“We’re going back to El Rey. We’re going back to Core Seven and we’re going to take the fight to Rho Theta to relieve the Reflector Base. That’s three little wars we’re going to have to fight and win in order to get the initiative back. It’s going to be bloody and costly, but the alternative is what Skywatch Intelligence refers to as ‘the reckoning.’ That’s their term for a combined enemy fleet moving on Core Three and Proxima. They estimate we could be looking at such a scenario within fifteen days.”
Every pilot in the room felt Hunter’s last remark shoot through their midsections like a bolt of ice.
“Sir? Won’t we have to slip through Manassas in order to get a task force into the El Rey system?” Lieutenant Calloway asked.
“We will have to do precisely that, Chuck. Mine and the XO’s job will be to make sure each formation has enough rifles to get in, get the job done and get out safely. Colonel Moody has offered to dispatch paladins for fire support and Lieutenant Abee’s gunships will also be available if we need them. But these operations are going to live or die by the skill and courage of our fighter pilots. I’m certain I don’t have to explain what Jacks and Cats can bring to the fight other platforms can’t. The brilliant minds at Gale River gave us what no other ship has had before: The ability to throw a punch and the ability to hit targets an entire solar system away. Now we’re going to put those innovations to the test.”
Hunter stopped for a moment to take a deep breath.
“Skywatch is on its heels. After all the bold pronouncements it turned out our senior political leaders weren’t prepared for this at all. To be fair, Skywatch wasn’t either. It’s going to cost a lot of lives to get back in this war. Argent and her task force are going to lead the charge. We’re not going back to El Rey or Rho Theta with sternly worded letters either, ladies and gentlemen.”
“What are our orders, sir?”
“Until further notice where we go, hell follows.”