The Crisis Read Online Free

USS
Tornado
. Larger and more heavily armored than a World War II PT boat, but shallower-draft and more maneuverable than frigates.
    But Mullaly didn’t say anything, just waited for Contardi to go on. After a moment he did. “I know Commander Lenson’s work aboard
Horn
. He took a challenging concept, integrating females, and made it work. No ordinary crew could have saved that ship, with the damage you suffered.”
    â€œThank you, Admiral.”
    â€œWish we could have recognized you for it. But word gets around. And I know about your accomplishment with Team Charlie, securing the ShkvalK. You have credibility in the Fleet. Engineering experience. You’re the most decorated officer we have. I want you to manage the migration, then sum up your lessons learned in a report we can use to expand the crew-swap concept to the rest of the Fleet.”
    Mullaly raised his eyebrows, watching the ball pass to Dan. Who bought a few seconds by crossing to the coffee urn. The joe smelled burnt, but he’d had worse, in the shaft alleys and chief’s messes and engine rooms of a score of ships, here and there across and beneath the watery face of the planet.
    â€œTo be honest, Admiral—”
    â€œI want you to be.”
    â€œâ€”I’m not entirely certain crew swap’s a great idea. What we might get is a fleet that’s smaller but costs more. I get that the forward units spend more time on station. But fewer ships and crews at home
reduces
the surge capacity for a major contingency.”
    â€œDon’t start with a closed mind, Dan,” Mullaly put in. “Dr. Fauss asked for the best I had. This issue’s right in TAG’s strike zone.”
    â€œMy mind’s not closed, sir. I’m just not certain I’d come back with the positive evaluation the admiral might expect.”
    Contardi’s lips thinned. Not exactly a smile, but it might not have been intended as one. “There’ll be no command influence on your conclusions. Tell me what’s wrong, what needs to be fixed if it’s to work on a larger scale. Report directly to me. Your recommendations will be acted on.”
    Dan looked again at Mullaly, who had laced his fingers over his stomach. Benign but poker-faced.
    Contardi pushed a button, snapped the notebook closed. He handed it to the aide, who’d come in so noiselessly Dan hadn’t noticed him, and stood. Mullaly rose too. Contardi turned the handle of the teacup in a quarter circle. Then patted Dan’s arm, stepping in close. Dan smelled after-shave and fresh cotton and a disconcerting whiff of sweat.
    â€œI want you with me on this, Lenson,” he murmured. “There are those who are with me, and those who are against. The same way, they tell me, it is with you. More may depend on it than we know.”
    Dan had a sinking feeling. He wasn’t sure he believed in what this man and his staffers and consultants were selling. Sometimes it sounded like snake oil. At other times, like Billy Mitchell or Heinz Guderian: other military geniuses who’d had to battle naysayers to change the world. But certainly the way to test it was with a squadron of small boys, before the whole Fleet got reformed willy-nilly from above. Every time that happened, it shot retention and combat effectiveness to hell.
    Mullaly was frowning, and Dan remembered: his was not to reason why. He was no longer in awe of admirals. The gloss of unreasoning obedience inculcated at Annapolis had long ago worn off. But he was still in the Navy. Until he wasn’t, if a three-star wanted him to stress-test a new organizational concept, his duty was perfectly clear.
    â€œYes sir,” he told Contardi. “If those are my orders, I’ll do my best.”
Ghedi
    T HE pickups career across the desert, throwing up a dusty smoke that smells of death and terror. It catches in Ghedi’s teeth, scratches under his eyelids. He coughs and coughs as he and