He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (12 page)

“Aye, sir.”

“We need the rest of the crew down here, Conner.”  He said at last.

“That might be a problem, sir, all the transfer requests we put into the Admiralty have been canceled.”

“Damn!  That means Brue personnel has caught on, and no more crew.”

“Right, sir.”

“I talked with the XO about that earlier, and he agrees that we can put the senior Petty Officers in charge of each division, but that still leaves us way under manned.”  Conner paused for a moment.  “I have one suggestion, sir.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s the one person any ships the Captain is more than willing to transfer or get rid of?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Having the horrible feeling, he did.

“The screw up and deadbeats, sir, that’s what.”  Conner grinned.

“Right, but that will mean we then have their problems.”

“That’s true, sir.”

“And your solution?”

“Well, me and Corporal Rice got things sorted out in the end, sir, and he turned out fine.”  Mike looked at him for a moment.

“That will mean breaking a few naval regs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I agree, but this time, try not to walk into too many ‘doors’, Chief.”

“Aye-aye, sir, we just do it the old fashioned way.”  That meant that the ‘Politically Correct’ language and protocols would be trash canned for the duration.

“I’ll leave it to your discretion, Conner.”  Conner nodded and went off to make the arrangements.  Mike muttered a silent prayer, wondering if he’d open Pandora’s Box by giving Conner that permission.   Only time would answer that question.  Mike went in search of a quiet corner of the enviro shelter and pulled his comm unit out, and dialed a number.

“Yes?”  A distinguished voice on the other end asked.  There was no visual, but Mike positions his so his face was visible.

“Sorry to call you on Christmas Eva, but you said I should call if I ran into a difficult problem.”

“Yes?”

“Someone managed to get a virus into our mainframe, and we have to pull the memory crystals, hard drive and the CPU.  Until we can get new operating systems we are crippled.”

“I see, that is a problem.”

“We also need a completely new operating program, as even our archive copy is infected.”  For a moment, there was complete silence, and Mike thought the man had hung up.

“I’ll take care of that, and have the items you mentioned as quickly as I can.  How soon do you think you will be ready to lift?”

“At the rate we are going, two months minimum, but she won’t be operational, but we will be able to get into space.”

“Good.”  Then the line did go dead.

Mike looked at the comm unit and sighed.  He had no choice but to leave it in the man’s hands, but so far, he'd been as good as his word.  Just in case, Mike had everyone moved their personal items aboard ship, and arranged with Conner to move his things aboard as well.  Later that day, when he finally got to his cabin, he found his luggage piled in a corner, with the rest of his belongings scattered about.  At the moment, all he had for a cabin was four blank steel walls, no lights, and electrical wires dangling from open conduits.  Conner brought a camp bed in, and he used the ‘Porta-Potty’ along with the rest of the men.  Makeshift and make-do were the order of the day until liftoff.

CHAPTER SIX:

Conner stood looking over the group standing before him in the launch bay. They shuffled their feet, or blew smoky breath into their hands to warm them.  The group was mostly the Petty Officers and eight Leading Seamen under his direct command, and forming the ship's core command structure after the officers.

“Listen up people,” he called, bringing them to some form of attention, “the Captain has a small problem we are going to help him solve.”  He gave them all one of his steely eyed looks.

“I hope its somewhere warmer than this, Chief.”  One of the Petty Officers called.

“Oh, it is, and I suspect it's going to get hotter than hell.”

“Uh-huh, I hear bad news coming.”  Someone muttered.

“As of now, the Petty Officers will be in sole charge of each division.  That means, you will be the acting officer in charge, and make all necessary decisions for your department.”  That got everyone’s attention.

“What!”

“How come?”

“Do we get extra pay?”

“Shut up and listen!”  Conner raised his voice slightly to bring order to the chatter.

“We are the low man on the pole as far as more personnel are concerned, which mean, no more officer that I know of will be joining the ship.  As of now, the Petty Officer will assume the responsibility of each division.”

“Don’t want much, do you Conner?”  CPO Tyson chuckled.

“Each division chief will report directly to either the XO, the Chief Engineer, or the Operations officer.”

“That’s a bit of a big step, Chief!”  One of the leading Ratings called out.

“I know, but it’s either that, or we don’t sail, which do you want?”  He looked over the group, seeing them all nod.  “That also means, the leading rating in each group will step up and take on more responsibility.”

“There’s no way we can run the ship with the twelve of us, Chief!”  There was a definite note of contempt in the man’s voice when he said it.  It echoed the feeling of many of them that officers were useless, and Conner Blake would have agreed a year ago.  That was before he met Mike Gray.

“I realize that, Leading Seaman Tailor, but I strongly suggest that you take that attitude and space it, or put in for a transfer.  I’m sure the Skipper would be glad to bounce you back to the shithole you came from.”  Conner had learned long ago not to tiptoe around the bush.

“Yes, Chief Petty Officer.”  He’d heard how Conner Blake solved discipline problems.

“For the record, you will obey any and all orders given by the officers of this vessel, immediately and to the letter!”  He paused a moment.  “Off the record, I will tell that I served with Captain Gray,” he paused a moment.  “He and the others are nothing like any office you’ve ever served under before, especially those Gentlemen upstairs, clear?”  He pointed up with his thumb to indicate the rest of the fleet in orbit.

“Aye-aye, sir.”  They answered in chorus.

“As for the rest of the crew, the Captain is working on that now, and they should be here in a few days, but!”

“Here is comes.”  Petty Officer Gill said, grinning.

“They might not be the best, which means, Gentlemen, you will have to whip them into shape as quickly as possible or dump them, is that clear?” Conner’s grin filled in the blanks for them, but even so, it meant they’d be skirting Naval Regulation in their methods.  He saw the nods from the group, and smiled.  Some would say that was scarier than his frown, not that they’d say it to his face.”

“Good.  Dismiss.  I’ll get with each of you later with your division and duty station.”

The group came to attention, did a right turn, and took three steps before falling out.  The moment they did, the chatter started, but Conner let them talk.  It was a way for them to let off steam and work things out, and griping about everything was part of it.  By shuffling them around, he found he could cover all of the critical position, but it left many the watches shorthanded.  The only way around the impasse was promotion, bump people up a notch, and put them in charge.  It still wouldn’t solve the manpower shortage on watches, even with a reduced crew on each.  That wouldn’t do.  It would put a strain on all of them, as some of the positions were just too critical to leave shorthanded.  If they went into combat, the Skipper would need every hand available.  As it was, any injury would cripple them.  Using Mike authority, he sent a message off to H.M.S. Victoria with a requisition of additional crew, not sure how they’d respond.  His suggested they’d accept any personnel a ship’s Captain didn’t want, in other words, their dead beats.

“Reply from the Admiral, Skipper.”  He reported to Mike, two days later, with the result of the signals, his face a picture of gloom.

“From the look on your face, it's not what you expected.”

“No, sir, not exactly."  Mike took the offered electronic message pad and scanned down the list.

“Damn, that’s not good, Conner.”

“No, sir, instead of a complement of 153, including officers, we will only have 100, with you, the XO, Mr. Adam’s, and Mr. Bushman, that’s going to leave us very short handed.”

“What if we use the 36 Marines.”

“As what, sir?”  Conner asked, looking puzzled.  To a sailor, Marines weren’t good for much besides cleaning the ships, and then only under strict supervision.  A Marine was someone you could put in a locker with a stainless steel bowling ball, and come back an hour later; he’d either broken it, lost it, or eaten it.

“Gunnery and torpedoes, Chief, that the most critical in combat.”

“It's an idea, sir.”  He answered, sounding doubtful.

“With the crew we have, they can handle the normal everyday running of the ship.”

“True, sir, it will mean that we won’t have so many people on each watch.”