“Am I wrong in assuming that the Marines have orders not to punch buttons unless they know what they’re doing?” Geary demanded.
Desjani shrugged. “Of course they have orders not to punch strange buttons, sir. But they are Marines.”
That was a point, Geary had to admit. Thousands of years of human technological advancement had yet to produce a single piece of equipment that was Marine-proof, or sailor-proof, for that matter. That was one of the main reasons why chief petty officers in the fleet and sergeants in the Marines had no fear of being rendered obsolete, since one of their primary functions remained to yell, “Don’t Touch Anything Unless I Tell You To,” at the more-junior enlisted whenever necessary. But because the Marines did have sergeants, Geary didn’t see what purpose was served by having fleet officers tag along with the Marines via the command and control system. “What level of officers are we talking about? The ones assigned to this oversight of Marines?”
“Ships’ commanding officers,” Desjani replied in the same monotone.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, sir.”
“Who’s supposed to be commanding their ships while they’re supervising junior Marine officers?”
Desjani’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I asked that same question of Admiral Bloch the last time I was assigned to stay on the shoulder of a Marine second lieutenant as he led a platoon aboard a Syndic warship. Admiral Bloch informed me that he had every confidence that an officer of my skills and experience could easily do both things at once.”
Not for the first time, Geary felt a guilty sense of relief that Admiral Bloch had died before Geary had been required actually to serve as Bloch’s subordinate. “I think I can already tell the answer to this, but do you personally see any good reason for doing that?”
Another shrug. “It’s possible to find reasons, but there’s plenty of reasons not to do it, too. I wouldn’t ever do it by choice, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. I wouldn’t, either.” Turning back to front, Geary unmuted his circuit and gave Casia a serious but noncommittal look. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll ensure the Marines are aware of the need to consult fleet officers before taking any actions that might impact on the safety or security of the ship they’re boarding.”
Another twenty seconds or so, and Casia’s frown was just as deep, but now accompanied by a slightly flushed face. “There are good reasons for current policies, Captain Geary. Failure to abide by experience gained in wartime could have deadly results for those prisoners we hope to liberate.”
That was as pointed a barb as had been shot his way in a while, Geary reflected. It was true in a way, because he did lack the length of wartime experience of the other officers in the fleet. But also untrue, because he hadn’t learned any wrong lessons. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that senior officers had no business riding on the backs of junior officers trying to do their jobs. He’d had entirely too much experience dealing with that as a junior officer himself. “Thank you for your input, Captain Casia,” Geary stated in a level voice. “It will be given full consideration, and any actions deemed appropriate will be taken.” Maybe peacetime experience wasn’t the same as wartime experience, but it had taught Geary how to say “get off my back” in totally professional and polite language.
From the look on Casia’s face less than half a minute later, that officer hadn’t had any trouble deciphering the meaning behind Geary’s words. “After the disaster this fleet experienced during our last period in Lakota-”
Geary used his authority as fleet commander and activated his override. If he listened, he’d get mad, and he didn’t want anger clouding his judgment. Wishing for a moment that Captain Casia had his own “disregard option” button, Geary spoke in a hard voice. “If you want to be relieved of command prior to combat, Captain Casia, you can retransmit your last message. Or you can stop beating a dead horse and get on with your job. If you wish to have a personal meeting after this engagement to discuss the command structure of this fleet and your place in it, I will be happy to oblige. Rest assured that the Marines are being competently supervised and that your concerns have been noted for the record. End of transmission,” he added unnecessarily before breaking contact with Conqueror.
Captain Desjani was doing a very good imitation of someone totally unaware that her superior officer was unhappy. Around the bridge of Dauntless, the watch-standers were doing the same imitation with varying degrees of success. They couldn’t have heard anything Geary had said within the sound-deadening field that gave privacy to his conversations with other ships, but any junior officer soon learned the essential art of reading a superior’s mood by unspoken clues like body language.
Geary fumed a moment longer, then took a deep breath and called Colonel Carabali, who eyed him warily. “Colonel, I’m assuming that having fleet commanding officers directly supervising your people going aboard Audacious would be an unwelcome distraction.”
“That’s a safe assumption, Captain Geary,” the Marine colonel agreed.
“I’m also assuming that your senior enlisted and junior officers are capable of preventing any Marines from pushing buttons at random or accidentally overloading Audacious’s power core.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’m assuming that if any Marine needs guidance or instructions from fleet personnel on how to deal with anything aboard Audacious they will have both the knowledge and ability to ask for those things.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In short, Colonel, I am assuming that your Marines have the experience, training, and intelligence to carry out their tasks without direct supervision from senior fleet officers. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Geary felt himself relaxing, while Carabali watched him as if she were trying to spot an ambush. “I’d appreciate it if you were to help me demonstrate the truth of my assumptions. If your Marines can take Audacious without blowing up anything or venting the ship’s atmosphere into space, I will be able to provide a solid example of their ability to function effectively without fleet officers breathing down their necks.”
Colonel Carabali nodded. “Of course, sir. There won’t be any screwups.”
“Hell, Colonel, there are always screwups in any operation. Let’s just keep them within reason.”
Carabali finally grinned, then saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ll let my people know of your confidence in them and reemphasize that they should ask for guidance if in doubt.”
“And avoid pushing strange buttons,” Geary couldn’t help adding.
“Absolutely, sir. Because we’ll be assaulting a ship that likely holds many Alliance prisoners of war, I’ve had my platoon and squad leaders instruct their Marines to exercise the highest level of fire discipline. They won’t shoot at anyone or anything unless they know it’s enemy.”
“Good idea.”
“They’re all volunteers as well,” the colonel added. “Since there’s a chance the Syndics might have rigged the ship’s power core to blow once our assault force is aboard.”
Geary felt his teeth clench at the thought. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate their willingness to participate in the operation despite that chance, Colonel. I’ve warned the Syndics not to try anything like that, and warned what will happen to them if they do. Their escape pods can’t outrun our ships.”
The Marine colonel bared her teeth. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Colonel. Let me know if anything significant about the plan changes.” Carabali’s image vanished, and Geary leaned back with a sigh.
“Another crisis averted?” Rione asked.