The Lost Fleet – Dauntless

A lot of amateurs and a few survivors. No, they were all survivors, of a war that’d kept going for a long, long time, with occasional cease-fires that had apparently only been agreed to so that both sides could rearm after particularly heavy losses.

I need to talk to these people. Geary stared at the door to his stateroom, grateful for the protection it offered but also knowing he couldn’t keep hiding here. I have to get to know them, see how well they can still hold up under pressure. Based on the people I’ve met so far, they’ll keep trying for a while because of their irrational faith in me, but what happens after I’ve made enough mistakes, after I’ve made it clear that I’m not the mythical Black Jack Geary but really just Commander John Geary, promoted to Captain after his “death” and not sure what the hell to do or how to get them home safe? What then?

The only way to learn the answer to that question was to get out past that stateroom door.

For the next several days, Geary devoted perhaps half his time to studying and the other half to walking through the Dauntless. He’d set an informal goal of trying to walk to every compartment in the ship, if for no other reason than he knew letting the crew see him would be important for their morale. He also desperately wanted them to see him as human, before he proved his fallibility again, but he wasn’t sure he was making much progress on that account.

On one such walk, he stopped by the compartment containing Dauntless’s null-field projector. The null-field’s crew stood around, smiling, as Geary stared at the massive, squat device. Something about the size and shape of the weapon made him think of a mythical giant troll, resting on its haunches as it waited patiently for a victim to come close enough. Geary did his best to hide his misgivings and smiled back at the crew. “The weapon’s ready to employ?”

“Yes, sir!” The crew chief, who looked so young Geary wondered if he’d been shaving for very long, laid a possessive hand on the monster. “It’s in perfect condition. We run checks every day, just like the manuals say, and if anything looks even a little off, we make sure it’s fixed.”

Another of the null-field’s crew spoke up, her proud tone matching that of the crew chief. “We’ll be ready, Captain. Any Syndic warship that gets within range is gonna get fogged real good.”

It took Geary a moment to realize that “fogged” must refer to what would be left after a null-field shot reduced anything, and anyone, within its target area into subatomic particles. Somehow, he nodded and smiled in response to the boast. Gunners loved their guns. They always had and probably always would. That’s why they were gunners. And his ancestors knew the fleet needed good gunners. “The next time we get up close with the Syndics, we’ll see if we can give you that shot.” The crew grinned and pumped their fists into the air. I don’t have the heart to tell them that Dauntless can’t be risked if I can help it. But there’s all too great a chance we might end up getting close to Syndic warships whether I like it or not before this is all over.

The hell-lance battery crews weren’t quite as enthusiastic, but then unlike the null-fields, their personal toys weren’t brand-new weapons that they’d gotten to be the first to play with. Geary easily recognized the hell-lance projectors, even though these bulked three times the size of the ones he’d known.

A veteran Chief Petty Officer at a hell-lance battery patted one of the weapons. “I bet you wish you’d had one of these girls along on your last battle, eh, Captain?”

Geary managed that polite smile again. “It would’ve come in very handy.”

“Not that you needed one, sir,” the chief added hastily. “That battle of yours…everyone knows about it. This stuff today is great, but they don’t make ships or sailors like that anymore.”

Geary knew the truth of the statement, but he knew another truth as well. He looked at the dull surface of the hell-lance for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re wrong, Chief.” Then he cocked one eyebrow at the others present. “One of the advantages of being fleet commander is that I get to tell a chief he’s wrong.” They all laughed, then stopped when Geary spoke again, his voice measured. “They still make great ships and great sailors. You all saw Repulse.” His voice caught on the last word, but that was okay because he saw the sailors’ reactions and knew they understood and felt the same way. “We’ll get the damage to our ships repaired, we’ll restock our expendable weapons, and the next time we meet the Syndic fleet, we’ll make them pay a hundred times over for Repulse.”

They cheered. He felt like a fraud, mouthing words he didn’t really believe. But they had to believe in themselves, and mistaken or not, they believed in him.

As he turned to go, the chief yelled over the cheers. “We’ll make you proud you commanded us, Black Jack!”