2953-06-11 – Tales from the Service: The Frayed Lifeline
The operations of Force 73 were supposed to be free of any logistics tail. Obviously, this was optimistic. Even as the force was en route to its theater of operations, Fleet headquarters was planning how to best send critical supplies and reinforcements to Captain Bosch that Kyaroh systems are unable to provide.
I have little information about how many times Force 73 has been resupplied in the months it has been on station, but apparently at least one convoy successfully made the trip and returned safely, and at least one attempt was made which failed, though without loss of the convoy.
Convoy 7380, the most recent sent in that direction, just returned to Sagittarius Gate after a journey of nearly two months. Apparently, there was significant tension in its command structure. This account presents one side of that conflict, though I am sure the other side would present these events quite differently.
Captain Conrad Molnar struggled to restrain the helpless anger burning in his breast. Rear Admiral Markward was still droning on about insurmountable difficulties, but Conrad heard none of it after the announcement in passing that Convoy 7380 was going to abandon its mission and turn back toward Sagittarius Gate.
Conrad and some of the other captains had privately discussed their concerns early in the voyage. Markward, an old hand at Navy logistics operations with little frontline experience, had proven himself rather mismatched to the task he’d been assigned. Incarnation forces had so far failed to intercept his command, but that hadn’t stopped the admiral from sending the whole force on a random-walk escape pattern the moment forward scouts reported enemy signal traffic in the next system ahead.
That had been nearly a week ago. Now, 7380 was behind schedule and off course, far from the planned route between Sagittarious Gate and Kyaroh space. There had never been any sign of pursuers, of course, but Markward remained convinced that he’d narrowly avoided a trap and that a fleet of enemy cruisers was hot on their heels. Conrad and the other escort captains had been trying to nudge their commander back toward the mission objective for most of that time, without success.
Markward’s concerns were unfortunately not entirely unreasonable. Seventh Fleet headquarters had sent down intelligence reports just before their departure that suggested the enemy was aware of the best convoy routes which could be used to supply and reinforce Force 73 in Kyaroh space. Apparently, the admiral had spun these reports into dread certainty that he was leading a force into a trap long before the forward scouting element picked up enemy signals, and there was some possibility he was right about that. Clipping Force 73’s lifeline, tenuous as it was, would go a long way to shoring up the Incarnation’s failing prospects in this war.
Dinah Weir, skipper of one of the new destroyers assigned to the convoy, evidently could hold her frustration no longer. She cleared her throat and raised one bronze-skinned hand. “Excuse me, Admiral. Did I hear correctly a moment ago that we are scrubbing the mission? Without a council of war?”
Weir had a point; though it was not required by regulation, momentous command decisions made with little time pressure were traditionally discussed at a council of war attended by ship captains. Conrad, as skipper of the light cruiser Bonaven Kovo, would never have been omitted from such a council, as his ship was second only to the flagship in capability and had not been separated from the main body for the whole of the misbegotten escape run.
Markward, knocked off his usual rambling procedural tone by the interruption, looked up from his slate, his thick eyebrows diving together into a momentary scowl. “We are too far behind schedule to make the first rendezvous window, Commander Weir.” He tapped the conference table. “If we loiter until the second, we risk being discovered and destroyed.”
Conrad opened his mouth to observe that in all wartime operations, a convoy risked being discovered and destroyed, but shut it again. Rank insubordination would do no-one any good.
Weir, though, was undeterred. “Which is why a council of war is warranted, Admiral, to be sure we do not have any safe means of making the second rendezvous.”
They had those means, of course; the convoy could spend a few extra days zig-zagging unpredictably across the intervening space to avoid loitering too long in any one place, as was common practice for any force that had just broken off contact with the enemy and did not wish to re-engage. Everyone in the room knew that would be suggested at any council, Markward included.
“Your concern is noted, Commander.” Markward gestured to his adjutant. “It will be duly recorded in the minutes and included in my report.”
Conrad sighed and squared his shoulders; he’d seen one too many of Markward’s lengthy, unreadable reports to trust that higher command would understand this decision to be Markward’s alone. “Admiral, could we hold that council now? If only as a formality. All the necessary commanders are present.”
Heads nodded all around the table. For once, Conrad was glad of Markward’s insistence on having every commander shuttle over to the flagship for the daily briefing. The objection would be so much easier to shrug off on a vid-call.
The admiral glanced around, eyes narrowing. He was cornered for the moment, but Conrad knew he and Weir would suffer later for their objections. "If there are no objections, we will table the usual agenda and proceed as suggested by Captain Molnar.”
