The Gallantry - A Gallant Ship
“I think you’ll find this quite inspiring. It got Kid Morning’s approval.” Colonel Dagun tossed a weather-beaten, leather-bound volume of considerable thickness onto the desk. At least, so he hoped. It would take a pretty impressive piece of literature to inspire someone as practical and down-to-earth as the tough old admiral.
Admiral Marsel lifted the heavy cover slowly and took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows with mock drama. Dagun had grown accustomed to the older man’s cynical sense of humor, and allowed himself a small, diplomatic smile in response.
"A refined taste in literature, I see.” Marsel’s eyebrows lowered, and his voice softened ever so slightly. “I wish my son had taken a liking to literature. That boy missed so damn much growing up. Damn shame."
“Yes, sir.” Sympathetic indifference. There was a pause. “Admiral, recently it’s come to my attention that the Tarkenped navy has attracted a lot of public concern. Our officers have been taking a lot of heat from civilian critics.”
Marsel sighed, and turned away to stare out of the office’s tall windows. Distant stars twinkled harmoniously against the panes of armored glass. The admiral’s rough, hard-worked hands tightened involuntarily into a fist, then relaxed. Dagun waited for some sign to continue, but the old man’s eyes were as far away as the spots of light gleaming through the windows. For the first time, Dagun saw a tired, aging man beneath the spotless uniform and shining rows of medals.
“Sir?” he asked, more gently. Marsel quickly turned to face the younger man, his eyebrows drawing together, his posture suddenly brisk and businesslike.
“Yes, yes, Colonel, I heard ya. These damn bureaucrats don’t know how to run the military. It just burns me to see them pretending like they know they what they’re doing. The military can’t be run like a democracy. It’s a different kind of animal. When I was your age, the people followed the two great generals of the Tark and the Ped forces. And they didn’t complain as much as they do today.”
He could see that the Colonel had tensed, his jaws set, his hands tightly pressed against his uniform pants. The young man didn’t agree with him. Marsel swore inwardly. The last thing he wanted was to get Dagun all worked up. He gave Dagun a wink and reached under his desk, pulling out two wineglasses and a half-empty bottle that glittered with a translucent liquid. After all, the kid was young. When he got older, he’d see. With that reassuring thought in mind, Marsel uncorked the bottle, drew in the aroma of the alcohol, and poured Dagun a glass of the whiskey.
Marsel poured himself a glass, and raised it. “The civil war,” he intoned simply. Dagun raised his glass, and accepted the admiral’s toast. The soft clink of glass on glass rang succinctly in the still, quiet room.
"During the war, people didn't whine about a 'lack of air support' or complain that not enough people were enlisting. We knew our job, and the people supported us in every way from here to Sunday. Then peace comes, bureaucracy gets established, and things are never the same." Marsel finished his whiskey and set the glass down on his desk.
Dagun had stiffened. “Sir, are you saying you’d rather have us still fighting the war?” Marsel shook his head firmly.
"Oh, Colonel, you know that's not what I was getting at, son. The fleet is just getting dated. We've had the same battlecruiser design for about a decade. The same laser technology. Rules of engagement manuals haven't been updated in years. No technological advancements..." He sighed heavily.
“Exactly, sir,” said Dagun quickly. “That’s why I think it’s a good time to approve my latest project proposal.” There was no hint of recognition in the admiral’s face. “Codenamed Phoenix, sir?” added Dagun helpfully.
There was a flicker of annoyed recognition. Dagun plunged quickly forward before Marsel could say anything.
“We’ve got everything laid out, blueprints, equipment manifests, you name it. There’s just the matter of cost.”
Marsel shook his head slowly. He brought his hands together across the elegant white marble surface of his desk. "Look, Colonel, I know you spent like years researching the dynamics of this thing, but facts are facts, and there ain't no way in hell that I'm gonna approve ninety thousand kilos of raw material into making one ship. With that much material, we can build a whole fleet! We've already invested so much into rebuilding that damn Genid Platform from scratch that we just don't got the resources for this thing. Now, as I've said before, if you scale it back to a tenth of what you propose, I'll approve it."
“I’ve got that figured out, Admiral. There’s a volcanic range on the planet Char that is home to a very remarkable geological phenomenon. Our research boys have been calling it spontaneous crystalline regrowth. It’s a naturally occurring anomaly in which raw crystals reform almost instantaneously after being subjected to fusion processing. It effectively creates an inexhaustible, massive field of harvestable resources, ripe for the taking. I’ve ordered it classified under the provisions of General Order Three. But we’ve got to act quickly. According to the research people, it will be unrecoverably lost to Char’s tectonic shifts within the month. Give me a couple of weeks, sir, and a battlecruiser fleet, and we’ll have enough to fund the Phoenix Project.”
Marsel shook his head, surprised and impressed. “I do buy that. But if we lose those ships—“
“We won’t lose the ships, sir.” Dagun held his breath, since he knew Marsel didn’t like being interrupted. The admiral gave him a scowl.
“If we lose those ships, there’s gonna be hell to pay what with the government being uppity as it is about military expenditure. Now I admire your tenacity, but determination alone isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“If you’re worried about exposure, Admiral, aside from us only the Dominion knows about this thing.” Dagun allowed himself a pleased smile. “I’ve been in touch with our man Kline, and it seems he’s more than willing to keep the Dominion’s top brass busy while we quietly mine for what we need.
The admiral stroked his chin, chuckling softly. “You’re a hell of a negotiator, Dagun. The Diplomatic Corps could use a man like you. I promise you I’ll review it seriously. I’ll have an answer for you—“ He was interrupted abruptly by a soft beep from the operations console inset in the marble of his desk. The calm quiet of the admiral’s ready room was rudely shattered by a loud hiss of noise from the console.
“Admiral! This is a priority red emergency transmission from Genid Space Station!” the harried corporal on the console screen glanced over his shoulder as a panel behind him exploded in a shower of arcing sparks. “We’re under heavy attack from Zerg forces! Recon didn’t see it coming, communications has been shot to hell, and we’ve lost contact with the resupply fleet scheduled to dock at 0900!”
The lines in Marsel’s ancient face were suddenly ablaze with fiery energy. “Get me Colonel Marsel!” he roared.
“Sir? I can’t quite make out—“ the corporal’s response was lost in a flurry of dull explosions on his side of the transmission.
“Goddammit, I said get my son on screen!” shouted the admiral, shaking his fist at the hapless visage of the corporal. The image on the screen disappeared in a wave of prolonged static, and when it returned the face that appeared belonged to Kar Marsel.
“Admiral! We’ve lost our communications tower, so no one knows exactly what the hell’s going on. We’ve got incoming Terran forces as well, they’ve got—“ There was louder, resounding explosion and the younger Marsel’s face was lost in a blur of static. The transmission went dead a moment later, leaving the room as quiet as it had been earlier. It was a deadly silence, broken a second afterward by the admiral leaping out of his chair, grabbing his uniform jacket off his coat hanger, and making for the door out of the ready room is broad strides.
“Sir? What about the project?” Dagun called out after him, stumbling over a chair leg to catch up. As they left the room, Marsel didn’t slacken his pace or even turn around, but answered after a moment of consideration.
“Go see my secretary for the paperwork. You’ll get your ship.” Dagun smiled in spite of himself.
"And sir?” This time Marsel turned. “I think you forgot your book.” The older man gave him a quick smile.
“I read that before. Very gallant heroes, were those knights of Camot.”
Dagun’s smile widened. “Camelot, sir. And yes, sir. Gallantry. They showed great gallantry.” He shook his head as the door closed behind the old man.