was staring at the line in confusion, wondering how in the world a second missile had sneaked past the sensors, when the com display opened up and Admiral Locatelli himself appeared. “Well, Captain,” Locatelli's voice boomed from the speaker, “I believe that gives me the kill.”
“Very nearly, Admiral,” Castillo said calmly. “But I think you'll find your missile didn't quite make it into full kill range.”
The admiral frowned, his eyes shifting off camera. His smile soured a little, and he gave a small grunt. “Clever,” he said reluctantly. “You're still blind, though—your whole tracking radar system would have been destroyed. Telemetry system, too.”
“I can still launch missiles,” Castillo pointed out.
“Only if there was another ship nearby you could hand them off to,” Locatelli countered. “In this case, there isn't.” He shook his head. “All in all, Captain, your response was a bit on the sloppy side. I suggest you consider upgrading your tactical officer's training and drill schedule.”
“This wasn't my usual tac team, Sir,” Castillo said. “One of my other officers was handling the action.”
Locatelli sniffed audibly. “Your other officer has a lot to learn.”
“Yes, Sir.” Deliberately, it seemed to Travis, Castillo turned a studiously neutral look in his direction. “I believe he knows that.”
Travis felt a swirl of disbelief corkscrew through his gut. He'd been prepared—almost—to believe that an admiral of the RMN might actually go out of his way to slap down a junior officer who had crossed him.
But for Travis's own captain to join in on the humiliation was beyond even Travis's usual level of reflexive paranoia. For Castillo to single him out this way, in front of the entire Phoenix bridge . . .
Travis swallowed, forcing back the stinging sense of betrayal. Castillo was still his commanding officer, and the captain was clearly expecting a response. “Yes, Sir,” he managed.
“Perfection is a noble goal,” Castillo continued, his eyes still on Travis. “We sometimes forget it's a journey, not a destination.”
I never claimed to be perfect. Travis left the automatic protest unsaid. Clearly, this was his payback for insisting that Ensign Locatelli do his job, and neither Castillo or the admiral would be interested in hearing logical arguments.
Or pathetic excuses, which was what any comment would be taken as anyway. “I understand, Sir,” he said instead. “I'll make it a point to remember today's lessons.”
“I'm certain you will.” Castillo turned back to the com display. “Any farther orders, Admiral?”
“Not at this time,” Locatelli said, a quiet but definite note of satisfaction in his voice. Whether this had been his idea or Castillo's, the admiral was obviously aware of the currents running quietly beneath the surface. “Resume your course for Manticore. I'll want a full analysis of your crew's response to this unscheduled exercise a.s.a.p.”
“It'll be ready by the time you return from your training run, Sir,” Castillo promised.
“Good,” Locatelli said briskly. “Carry on.” He reached somewhere off-camera, and his image vanished.
“Secure from Readiness One,” Castillo ordered. “Resume course to Manticore, and get the spin section back up to speed.”
He turned back to Travis. “First lesson of combat, Mr. Long: always be ready for the unexpected. In this case, because we weren't accelerating and were on a fairly predictable course, Invincible was able to slip a second missile into the wedge shadow of the first. If the attacker is very clever with his timing, he can arrange it so that the rear missile burns out its wedge at the same time the forward one impacts the target's wedge. With nothing showing, a pitched target will have just enough time to resume attitude as the second missile enters kill range.”
“Sometimes the tell is a bit of the second wedge peeking through during the drive,” Commander Sladek added. “Or it can show up as a sluggishness in the first missile's maneuvering as its telemetry control is eclipsed by the one behind it.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. And if the missile was kicked out with a fusion booster there would also be a telltale flare when it was launched, as well as a slight decrease in the attacking ship's acceleration to give the missile time to get a safe distance before lighting up its wedge. All of that had been in his tactics classes back at Officer Candidate School, he belatedly remembered. In the heat of the moment, and with the role of command unexpectedly thrust upon him—
He cut off the train of thought. Rather, the train of excuses. He'd been given a job, and he'd failed. Pure and simple.