Kris nodded as she thought through her presents . . . and the challenges inherent in her good fortune. She turned to Captain Drago. “I think we’ll be using your Forward Lounge for another meeting. Have Mother MacCreedy lay in a goodly supply of that hooch the Alwans drink.”
Captain Drago made a face. “That stuff is almost undrinkable. Its only virtue is the alcoholic content is so high that after a few sips, you don’t care.”
“That’s all she’ll serve for our extended staff meeting. Let’s introduce our new arrivals to the vagaries of Far Station duty sooner rather than later.”
“You’re a hard taskmaster, Viceroy,” Captain Drago said, “but very likely a smart one.”
“Also, Drago, please send this message to the arriving fleet. ‘Thank you for coming. You’re more than welcome. We won a fleet action three weeks ago, but, no doubt, there is another one coming. If any of your merchant ships are carrying mining supplies, please divert them to one of the mining stations along your route for unloading. Detach a warship to escort them there and down here immediately after. Commander, Alwa Defense Sector sends.’”
“I’ll have it dispatched immediately,” Captain Drago said, then he paused. “Why have the merchants escorted? There are no hostiles anywhere near us.”
“No, but if the merchants get to talking with the locals, they may find out that those that come here stay here and decide to make a run for it. The escort is to shoot their engines out if they try to run, but we won’t tell them that unless we have to, now will we?”
“No, ma’am, we won’t. There are times I forget I’m serving with one of those damn Longknifes. Then you remind me.”
“Yeah, ain’t it the pits,” Kris said, and turned back to her desk. Damn Longknife or nice one, she had three hats to wear and a lot of work that needed redoing in view of the new arrivals.
“Commodore Kitano. We need to reorganize the fleet again. Pull enough ships out of the other squadrons to form five divisions.”
“If we spread the fifteen ships into five divisions of three, we won’t have any combat-ready squadrons.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Each veteran division will be assigned to one incoming squadron. The Helveticans get the Esperanto and Hispania contingent. Nelly, contact Commodore Miyoshi and see if his division would like to work up with the Yamato squadron. I don’t know who to team together on the others. Maybe during our first meeting in the Forward Lounge, we can find some folks who know each other.”
Kris paused to pull her thoughts back to what her mouth was saying.
“The point is that we have to retrain and restructure these new ships to fight the way we fight. You remember the first drill when you tried to follow one of Nelly’s jinking patterns without enough steering jets, and your ships weren’t battened down for the hard lateral gees.”
“I remember it all too well,” the commodore agreed.
“You can pull ships’ maintainers out of our plucked chickens to help them make the necessary mods before you run them out for a drill.”
“You’re being nice to them.”
“If I’d known it, I’d have been nice to you. I was learning how to maneuver large ships in formations the same time you were learning how to drive them.”
“We all learned a lot.”
“And these new folks have to learn it, too, but fast. Match battle-experienced ships with newcomers. Have them compete to get ready. Have the ships that make the grade drink the beer of those that don’t.”
“That assumes we have beer.”
“How much you want to bet me those newly arrived supply ships have some good drinking whiskey, beer, saki, you name it. When they discover there won’t be any more of that until the next crop comes in, a bet backed up with that will be a whole lot better training aid than their getting knocked around a bit.”
The commodore chuckled. “I’m starting to see why you Longknifes are legendary.”
“You’re starting to see why we’re still alive. And some of those who follow us as well.”
Kris finished a few minutes later with Commodore Kitano and sent her on her way. Admirals Benson and Hiroshi were next on her meeting list. They’d already established contact with Portsmouth and Sasebo. Yes, they were yards and both admirals present agreed they should hook into Canopus Station.
“There’s some risk putting all our eggs in one basket,” Admiral Benson said, “but there are advantages to keeping the fleet together. If we grow much more, we’ll need a second base to avoid congestion, but we’re not there yet.”
“Can you make sure they match the station without denting anything?” Kris asked.
“I did it fine,” Admiral Hiroshi said. “They can, too. Besides, we’ll put the pilots that docked me aboard them. First, I’ll hitch Tomiyama’s Sasebo yards to me, then Benson can hitch the Portsmouth yards to him. Two days after they arrive, we will be in fine shape.”
Kris liked to hear that.
Which left her with the business side.
Pipra had enough on her plate to keep Kris busy until the cows came home, as the young woman put it, or, at least, until the fleet arrived. There were supplies to distribute among the mining concerns, plans to convert the new arrivals into system freighters, and production schedules at the fabricators and mills to balance.
Putting agriculture, fisheries, and the basic industries that supported them as first priority was nice, but it left raw materials and production facilities underutilized. A bit of juggling and you got a bit less food produced, but reactors moved along the production line with more Smart MetalTM and electronic goodies that tied the colonials and the Alwans tighter into a seamless net for survival.
Pipra showed up with a list of what manufacturing plants they had and what had just arrived. She took Kris through several iterations of resource allocation before they settled on the best use of everything.
“You know,” Kris admitted when they were done. “If we keep this up, I’m going to develop a serious respect for what you do.”
Pipra only smiled softly at Kris’s half compliment. “Well, I’ve already developed a serious respect for what you Navy types do. It would be nice if I got as much respect back from you and yours.”
That put Kris back in her chair. She kept saying that they were all in this together. She said it, but she didn’t really mean it. The Navy was always first in her mind’s eye. But the Navy would be fighting bare ass in space if it wasn’t for what these industrial workers and managers were producing to arm them and feed them. From her father’s knee, she’d learned to mouth the platitudes of all for one and one for all, but she’d never really believed it.
There always seemed to be someone who was more equal than others.
Now, with enough hats on her own head to give anyone a migraine, Kris was having her nose rubbed in the truth of what she’d said.
“Thank you, Pipra. I think I needed that bucket of cold water in my face.”
“I didn’t mean to give offense,” Pipra said, then changed her direction. “You’re one of the best bosses I’ve ever worked for. I don’t want you taking me wrong.”
“I’m not,” Kris said, trying to take the pressure off the woman across the table from her. “I really mean what I said. Working with you is making me see things I thought I saw but was blind to. I know this is tough on you. Tough on all the folks you’ve got working for you. I can’t promise anyone a bed of roses, but I can say that I see how all of us—Navy, miners, production workers, and management—are making this happen. And that we’d all be dead without each and every one of us.”
With that, Pipra packed up her briefcase. She left just as Jack was coming back from his long day’s work. Kris and he went out for a quick bite, then shared a shower and a very warm bed.
Tomorrow would come all too quickly. Jack made it easy to fall asleep.