SKIPPER BLUE
Posted: Thu Aug 01, 2024 12:26 am
SKIPPER BLUE
Heavy Cruiser Type Commander's Desk
Fleet Personnel Center
Millington, Tennessee State
United States of North America
Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Harold Hutchison walked into his outer office to see Senior Chief Yeoman Diane Charest giving him The Look even as she said, "Good morning, sir."
The Look indicated that something had gone quite thoroughly wrong somewhere in Starfleet's heavy cruiser force.
"Good morning, Chief. What's happening?"
"It's at the top of the queue, sir."
Hutchison nodded and went into his inner office and logged in to the data network.
Starfleet communications were a miracle of high technology and even higher science. Maintaining communications with fleet units deployed across a radius of 4,750 parsecs required keen understanding of the physics of subspace and information transfer. Within the UFP proper--a mere 50 parsecs across, centered on Sol--one could enjoy realtime trideoconferencing with Earth, with only slightly awkward pauses if one was transmitting "wall to wall," from one side of the sphere to the other.
Across the distances involved crossing the Treaty Exploration Territory, you could have real time communications--as long as you restricted yourself to upper-case Anglic, Arabic numerals, and some punctuation, thank you kindly. For some odd reason, this method was known as "record traffic," which made no sense to Hutchison, who knew that all Starfleet communications were recorded and archived in real time.
The message was terse and to the point:
FM CTF 64
TO SFHQ//S1/TYCOM//
INFO 6TH FLEET//S1/S3//
STARBASE 10//S1/JAG//
USS AMAGI
SSIC//S01621//
SUBJ//SKIPPER BLUE USS AMAGI NCC-1879//
RMKS//1. CAPT DESALLE RELIEVED FOR CAUSE DUE TO LOSS OF CONFIDENCE IN HIS ABILITY TO LEAD. REASSIGNED TO STARBASE 10.
2. USS AMAGI CURRENTLY UNDER TEMPORARY COMMAND OF CDR VOROSHILOV PENDING NEW CO ASSIGNMENT. CHENG CDR COLTON DUAL-HATTED AS XO/CHENG.
3. REQUEST TIMELY REPLACEMENT OF CAPT DESALLE TO INSURE USS AMAGI ABLE TO WORK UP FOR FLEETEX GALLANT EAGLE AND RESUME PATROL SCHEDULE WITH MINIMUM IMPACT.
4. COMMODORE ROCKWELL SENDS.//
Hutchison considered the content of the message carefully. SKIPPER BLUE was bad news, certainly, but at least it wasn't SKIPPER RED (also known as "Captain terminally inconvenienced"), and it wasn't an absolute catastrophe such as SPINNAKER GOLD (major damage to a starship, requiring an extended yard period) or SPINNAKER BLACK (starship destroyed in action, likely with all hands lost as well).
That was about the extent of the good news. The bad news was that the JAG at Starbase 10 was getting copied on the traffic, and DeSalle's new assignment didn't provide any actual duties, which indicated that he was in pretrial confinement.
Commodore Orrin Porter Rockwell, Commander, Task Force 64--Sixth Fleet's heavy cruiser force--was focused solely on getting Amagi back to fleet readiness. Standing watch on the Romulan Neutral Zone, he couldn't afford to lose the services of a Block IV Enterprise-class heavy cruiser for very long; Hutchison appreciated that focus, and merely wished that Rockwell would learn to modulate his tone in record traffic--which was, Hutchison knew, an arcane art form in itself.
Hutchison sighed. Well, Harold, me lad, this is why they pay you the big credits. He hit the intercom button. "Chief, hold my calls, please, until I give you a name. Once you have the name, you're going to be cutting orders on the triple-quick."
"Aye, sir."
Hutchison called up the Starbase 10 Sector Book--a database of all command-screened officers in base area of responsibility, and began methodically working his way through setting the screenouts for an ideal candidate.
And promptly came up with zero candidates.
He sighed. Never that easy.
So Hutchison pulled all of the screenouts--and came up with 287 officers in the grade of O-6.
He tapped his fingers on the desk, then pulled Amagi's mission orders.
"Money talks and bullshit walks." That bit of Terran folk wisdom had become one of the buzz phrases of the original conference that had established the Coalition of Planets, the precursor to the Federation. Vulcans still quoted it, although they wished the humans had used a more elegant metaphor . . .
The mission orders were funded by the Galaxy Exploration Command--no real surprise, as the Enterprise CHs were intended to be "all singing, all dancing." Yes, you could use one in TacFleet, absolutely, but it was akin to using a S'Harien for slicing grapefruit.
With that, he screened out those with TacFleet qualifications only.
132 O-6s.
He then considered platform expertise. There were twelve Block IV ships built, and three of them were still on builders' or Fleet trials, with another four building and four more planned. Block IV was a pretty significant upgrade from the Block III, and both the Block III and IV blew the doors off of the Tikopai and Constitution (II) classes.
Hutchison chuckled as he remembered explaining the concept of "blowing the doors off" to Sedok, his plebe year roommate.
Harold, blowing the doors off of a starship is singularly illogical, and breathing vacuum is also unaesthetic . . .
With that fond memory, he selected CH-1701-A quals . . .
And sighed as the database said zero candidates.
He backed out the hull number and selected CH only.
36 candidates.
Hutchison began a minimalist review of the personnel files. If someone had asked what he was looking for, he wouldn't be able to give a precise answer at this particular juncture. He might describe it over light refreshments as "the right stuff," which included, among other things, the ability to handle the unusual, the unexpected--and not just unexpected troubles, but unexpected windfalls. He remembered his department head tour on the Alnilam; a routine trade negotiation agreement ended up with the Federation missing out on a tremendous opportunity to improve its position in the Seltarii Cluster because Captain Layton declined the opportunity to meet with representatives from the H'sanni Worlds, who happened to be renewing their own agreement with the host government at the time.
He rejected some names because they were already on vital assignments of their own; he rejected some more because they were too fresh to the sector, or they'd been away too long.
After about an hour, he had three names. He considered them in turn.
Captain Thelnar, running the Fleet Yard at New Columbia. Recently turned over command of the El Dorado . . .
. . . and a new father. Andorian customs regarding fatherhood were cheerfully inflexible; he was going to be out of pocket for at least four years, possibly longer if he had any more children, and might even pin on flag rank in the meantime.
Wouldn't be fair to ask him. A solid officer, but failure in the home is failure in life--especially for Andorians. Oh, well.
Captain Segak, Starbase 10 Adjutant . . . another solid officer. Command tour on the Tikopai, another command tour on the Intrepid . . . and not medically cleared for starship duty.
Damn it.
Hutchison looked at the last name. Donna Taggart, currently on 6th Fleet staff. Command tours in USS Kitty Hawk in 6th Fleet and USS Hornet in 3rd Fleet, the latter considered "modestly successful."
"Modestly successful," my ass. 17 successful first contacts, she's negotiated multiple treaties and lesser agreements, turned off at least two small scale interstellar wars with "mere" persuasion . . .
Hutchison looked at various minor reprimands signed by Commodore Robert Paulson, CTF 34.
Most of them revolved around the antics of Federation Ambassador Christine Mock, the POLAD (Political Advisor) for Third Fleet, and he'd heard the corridor gossip that Paulson had been trying to impress some civilian at Fleet HQ.
Paulson, you sonofabitch. You never sent a SKIPPER BLUE, you just gave a good officer a velvet stiletto.
* * *
Nogura's face appeared on Hutchison's screen.
Nogura smiled. "Let me guess: Captain Donna Taggart?"
Hutchison said, "Sir, you have the spooks bugging my terminal?"
Nogura smiled serenely. "Harold, half of my problem in leading Starfleet is that it's too damn big for one person, and the other half is that there are too many cliques. I'm surprised that you haven't figured out yet why I put you at that desk."
Hutchison coughed politely, and Nogura raised an eyebrow in an elegant manner.
"Perhaps I am mistaken."
"Sir, you're right. Starfleet's too big for anyone being, short of a deity, to run it. You put me here because you trust me to do the right thing, and you trust that I understand that doing the right thing is more than not doing the wrong thing. One of the perks of this job is that I can give the best job in Starfleet to those who show that they have the right stuff for it. Another is to break up those cliques when I get a chance. Captain Taggart has the right stuff, and I have an opportunity to put her back where she belongs: in the center seat."
"Outstanding. Send the orders."
Hutchison's grin threatened to break his face.
Nogura put on a stern expression. "You've sent them already?"
"Yes, sir. You've told me several times that SKIPPER BLUE and SKIPPER RED were fully within my authority, I just finally figured out that I believe you, sir."
Nogura's smile came back, even more beatific than before. "Young man, you're moving forward on your journey to becoming a proper flag officer. Take charge and carry out the plan of the day."
"Aye aye, sir!"
* * *
Captain Donna Taggart sent the report on fleet readiness to the S-3 for approval and began digging into a draft report on logistics support for GALLANT EAGLE.
A message popped up on her screen: "PLS SEE ME ASAP -- GP."
Taggart stood up and left her office for Rear Admiral George Parnell's suite.
His flag secretary stood too and gave her a sweeping gesture that said, "Get in there now-now-now."
Hoo boy.
She stepped up to Parnell's desk. "Captain Taggart reporting as ordered, sir."
Parnell stood up and grinned. "Vice Admiral Watanabe just got a message from the Heavy Cruiser Type Commander's Desk at Millington. Very hot, handed it to me for action, he wants to send an answer back immediately, if not sooner. Would you possibly be interested in a command tour on Amagi?"
Taggart blinked, then said, "Yes, sir."
"Good answer, because that's what he told Admiral Hutchison." He motioned toward his conference room and said, "After you, Captain."
Taggart stepped into the conference room and saw Vice Admiral Watanabe cutting a cake, and then the entire flag staff was cheering--even Commander T'Sora's serenely impassive expression somehow conveyed joy at Taggart's good fortune.
Watanabe set aside the cake slice, picked up a padd, and said, "Attention to orders!"
Everyone snapped to attention.
Watanabe put on his best ceremonial voice.
"From: Starfleet Headquarters. To: Captain Donna Taggart, Serial Number SD-451-6046. Info: Commander Sixth Fleet, Commander Task Force 64, and USS Amagi. Subject: Assumption of command. To all who shall see these presents, greetings. For Captain Taggart: You are hereby directed and required to proceed aboard United Starship Amagi, NCC-1879, presently docked at Starbase 10, there to take upon yourself the duties and responsibilities of commanding officer in the service of the United Federation of Planets. Fail not in this charge at your peril. By order of Admiral Heihachiro Nogura, Chief of Starfleet Operations."
Watanabe faced Taggart squarely for the final step in Starfleet's protocol for issuing orders to assume command. "Captain Taggart, do you accept these orders?"
"Sir, I accept these orders."
Watanabe handed them to her and said, "Very well. Make us proud out there."
"Aye aye, sir."
* * *
After the ceremony, Taggart rode the turbolift down to the quarterdeck. Four enlisted persons, known for this purpose as "side boys" (even though two were female) were lined up.
Watanabe was there, and she saluted him. "Permission to go ashore, sir?"
"Permission granted, Captain Taggart."
Master Chief M'ran sounded four gongs on the quarterdeck bell.
"USS AMAGI, DEPARTING!"
Taggart felt the surge of pride and worked to control it. The hasty brief she'd gotten indicated that she had a lot of work to do.
Just give them the leadership they have a right to expect, Donna. Set the expectation and the example, and they'll rise to the standard you set. You've got this.
The side boys saluted, and Taggart marched off, saluting as she reached the side boys.
As was tradition, once she left the quarterdeck, she didn't look back.
Heavy Cruiser Type Commander's Desk
Fleet Personnel Center
Millington, Tennessee State
United States of North America
Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Harold Hutchison walked into his outer office to see Senior Chief Yeoman Diane Charest giving him The Look even as she said, "Good morning, sir."
The Look indicated that something had gone quite thoroughly wrong somewhere in Starfleet's heavy cruiser force.
"Good morning, Chief. What's happening?"
"It's at the top of the queue, sir."
Hutchison nodded and went into his inner office and logged in to the data network.
Starfleet communications were a miracle of high technology and even higher science. Maintaining communications with fleet units deployed across a radius of 4,750 parsecs required keen understanding of the physics of subspace and information transfer. Within the UFP proper--a mere 50 parsecs across, centered on Sol--one could enjoy realtime trideoconferencing with Earth, with only slightly awkward pauses if one was transmitting "wall to wall," from one side of the sphere to the other.
Across the distances involved crossing the Treaty Exploration Territory, you could have real time communications--as long as you restricted yourself to upper-case Anglic, Arabic numerals, and some punctuation, thank you kindly. For some odd reason, this method was known as "record traffic," which made no sense to Hutchison, who knew that all Starfleet communications were recorded and archived in real time.
The message was terse and to the point:
FM CTF 64
TO SFHQ//S1/TYCOM//
INFO 6TH FLEET//S1/S3//
STARBASE 10//S1/JAG//
USS AMAGI
SSIC//S01621//
SUBJ//SKIPPER BLUE USS AMAGI NCC-1879//
RMKS//1. CAPT DESALLE RELIEVED FOR CAUSE DUE TO LOSS OF CONFIDENCE IN HIS ABILITY TO LEAD. REASSIGNED TO STARBASE 10.
2. USS AMAGI CURRENTLY UNDER TEMPORARY COMMAND OF CDR VOROSHILOV PENDING NEW CO ASSIGNMENT. CHENG CDR COLTON DUAL-HATTED AS XO/CHENG.
3. REQUEST TIMELY REPLACEMENT OF CAPT DESALLE TO INSURE USS AMAGI ABLE TO WORK UP FOR FLEETEX GALLANT EAGLE AND RESUME PATROL SCHEDULE WITH MINIMUM IMPACT.
4. COMMODORE ROCKWELL SENDS.//
Hutchison considered the content of the message carefully. SKIPPER BLUE was bad news, certainly, but at least it wasn't SKIPPER RED (also known as "Captain terminally inconvenienced"), and it wasn't an absolute catastrophe such as SPINNAKER GOLD (major damage to a starship, requiring an extended yard period) or SPINNAKER BLACK (starship destroyed in action, likely with all hands lost as well).
That was about the extent of the good news. The bad news was that the JAG at Starbase 10 was getting copied on the traffic, and DeSalle's new assignment didn't provide any actual duties, which indicated that he was in pretrial confinement.
Commodore Orrin Porter Rockwell, Commander, Task Force 64--Sixth Fleet's heavy cruiser force--was focused solely on getting Amagi back to fleet readiness. Standing watch on the Romulan Neutral Zone, he couldn't afford to lose the services of a Block IV Enterprise-class heavy cruiser for very long; Hutchison appreciated that focus, and merely wished that Rockwell would learn to modulate his tone in record traffic--which was, Hutchison knew, an arcane art form in itself.
Hutchison sighed. Well, Harold, me lad, this is why they pay you the big credits. He hit the intercom button. "Chief, hold my calls, please, until I give you a name. Once you have the name, you're going to be cutting orders on the triple-quick."
"Aye, sir."
Hutchison called up the Starbase 10 Sector Book--a database of all command-screened officers in base area of responsibility, and began methodically working his way through setting the screenouts for an ideal candidate.
And promptly came up with zero candidates.
He sighed. Never that easy.
So Hutchison pulled all of the screenouts--and came up with 287 officers in the grade of O-6.
He tapped his fingers on the desk, then pulled Amagi's mission orders.
"Money talks and bullshit walks." That bit of Terran folk wisdom had become one of the buzz phrases of the original conference that had established the Coalition of Planets, the precursor to the Federation. Vulcans still quoted it, although they wished the humans had used a more elegant metaphor . . .
The mission orders were funded by the Galaxy Exploration Command--no real surprise, as the Enterprise CHs were intended to be "all singing, all dancing." Yes, you could use one in TacFleet, absolutely, but it was akin to using a S'Harien for slicing grapefruit.
With that, he screened out those with TacFleet qualifications only.
132 O-6s.
He then considered platform expertise. There were twelve Block IV ships built, and three of them were still on builders' or Fleet trials, with another four building and four more planned. Block IV was a pretty significant upgrade from the Block III, and both the Block III and IV blew the doors off of the Tikopai and Constitution (II) classes.
Hutchison chuckled as he remembered explaining the concept of "blowing the doors off" to Sedok, his plebe year roommate.
Harold, blowing the doors off of a starship is singularly illogical, and breathing vacuum is also unaesthetic . . .
With that fond memory, he selected CH-1701-A quals . . .
And sighed as the database said zero candidates.
He backed out the hull number and selected CH only.
36 candidates.
Hutchison began a minimalist review of the personnel files. If someone had asked what he was looking for, he wouldn't be able to give a precise answer at this particular juncture. He might describe it over light refreshments as "the right stuff," which included, among other things, the ability to handle the unusual, the unexpected--and not just unexpected troubles, but unexpected windfalls. He remembered his department head tour on the Alnilam; a routine trade negotiation agreement ended up with the Federation missing out on a tremendous opportunity to improve its position in the Seltarii Cluster because Captain Layton declined the opportunity to meet with representatives from the H'sanni Worlds, who happened to be renewing their own agreement with the host government at the time.
He rejected some names because they were already on vital assignments of their own; he rejected some more because they were too fresh to the sector, or they'd been away too long.
After about an hour, he had three names. He considered them in turn.
Captain Thelnar, running the Fleet Yard at New Columbia. Recently turned over command of the El Dorado . . .
. . . and a new father. Andorian customs regarding fatherhood were cheerfully inflexible; he was going to be out of pocket for at least four years, possibly longer if he had any more children, and might even pin on flag rank in the meantime.
Wouldn't be fair to ask him. A solid officer, but failure in the home is failure in life--especially for Andorians. Oh, well.
Captain Segak, Starbase 10 Adjutant . . . another solid officer. Command tour on the Tikopai, another command tour on the Intrepid . . . and not medically cleared for starship duty.
Damn it.
Hutchison looked at the last name. Donna Taggart, currently on 6th Fleet staff. Command tours in USS Kitty Hawk in 6th Fleet and USS Hornet in 3rd Fleet, the latter considered "modestly successful."
"Modestly successful," my ass. 17 successful first contacts, she's negotiated multiple treaties and lesser agreements, turned off at least two small scale interstellar wars with "mere" persuasion . . .
Hutchison looked at various minor reprimands signed by Commodore Robert Paulson, CTF 34.
Most of them revolved around the antics of Federation Ambassador Christine Mock, the POLAD (Political Advisor) for Third Fleet, and he'd heard the corridor gossip that Paulson had been trying to impress some civilian at Fleet HQ.
Paulson, you sonofabitch. You never sent a SKIPPER BLUE, you just gave a good officer a velvet stiletto.
* * *
Nogura's face appeared on Hutchison's screen.
Nogura smiled. "Let me guess: Captain Donna Taggart?"
Hutchison said, "Sir, you have the spooks bugging my terminal?"
Nogura smiled serenely. "Harold, half of my problem in leading Starfleet is that it's too damn big for one person, and the other half is that there are too many cliques. I'm surprised that you haven't figured out yet why I put you at that desk."
Hutchison coughed politely, and Nogura raised an eyebrow in an elegant manner.
"Perhaps I am mistaken."
"Sir, you're right. Starfleet's too big for anyone being, short of a deity, to run it. You put me here because you trust me to do the right thing, and you trust that I understand that doing the right thing is more than not doing the wrong thing. One of the perks of this job is that I can give the best job in Starfleet to those who show that they have the right stuff for it. Another is to break up those cliques when I get a chance. Captain Taggart has the right stuff, and I have an opportunity to put her back where she belongs: in the center seat."
"Outstanding. Send the orders."
Hutchison's grin threatened to break his face.
Nogura put on a stern expression. "You've sent them already?"
"Yes, sir. You've told me several times that SKIPPER BLUE and SKIPPER RED were fully within my authority, I just finally figured out that I believe you, sir."
Nogura's smile came back, even more beatific than before. "Young man, you're moving forward on your journey to becoming a proper flag officer. Take charge and carry out the plan of the day."
"Aye aye, sir!"
* * *
Captain Donna Taggart sent the report on fleet readiness to the S-3 for approval and began digging into a draft report on logistics support for GALLANT EAGLE.
A message popped up on her screen: "PLS SEE ME ASAP -- GP."
Taggart stood up and left her office for Rear Admiral George Parnell's suite.
His flag secretary stood too and gave her a sweeping gesture that said, "Get in there now-now-now."
Hoo boy.
She stepped up to Parnell's desk. "Captain Taggart reporting as ordered, sir."
Parnell stood up and grinned. "Vice Admiral Watanabe just got a message from the Heavy Cruiser Type Commander's Desk at Millington. Very hot, handed it to me for action, he wants to send an answer back immediately, if not sooner. Would you possibly be interested in a command tour on Amagi?"
Taggart blinked, then said, "Yes, sir."
"Good answer, because that's what he told Admiral Hutchison." He motioned toward his conference room and said, "After you, Captain."
Taggart stepped into the conference room and saw Vice Admiral Watanabe cutting a cake, and then the entire flag staff was cheering--even Commander T'Sora's serenely impassive expression somehow conveyed joy at Taggart's good fortune.
Watanabe set aside the cake slice, picked up a padd, and said, "Attention to orders!"
Everyone snapped to attention.
Watanabe put on his best ceremonial voice.
"From: Starfleet Headquarters. To: Captain Donna Taggart, Serial Number SD-451-6046. Info: Commander Sixth Fleet, Commander Task Force 64, and USS Amagi. Subject: Assumption of command. To all who shall see these presents, greetings. For Captain Taggart: You are hereby directed and required to proceed aboard United Starship Amagi, NCC-1879, presently docked at Starbase 10, there to take upon yourself the duties and responsibilities of commanding officer in the service of the United Federation of Planets. Fail not in this charge at your peril. By order of Admiral Heihachiro Nogura, Chief of Starfleet Operations."
Watanabe faced Taggart squarely for the final step in Starfleet's protocol for issuing orders to assume command. "Captain Taggart, do you accept these orders?"
"Sir, I accept these orders."
Watanabe handed them to her and said, "Very well. Make us proud out there."
"Aye aye, sir."
* * *
After the ceremony, Taggart rode the turbolift down to the quarterdeck. Four enlisted persons, known for this purpose as "side boys" (even though two were female) were lined up.
Watanabe was there, and she saluted him. "Permission to go ashore, sir?"
"Permission granted, Captain Taggart."
Master Chief M'ran sounded four gongs on the quarterdeck bell.
"USS AMAGI, DEPARTING!"
Taggart felt the surge of pride and worked to control it. The hasty brief she'd gotten indicated that she had a lot of work to do.
Just give them the leadership they have a right to expect, Donna. Set the expectation and the example, and they'll rise to the standard you set. You've got this.
The side boys saluted, and Taggart marched off, saluting as she reached the side boys.
As was tradition, once she left the quarterdeck, she didn't look back.
