Shrimp in a Whale Fight (2)
The beer glasses had been refilled and drained several times over. By the time the simple fruit appetizers had nearly vanished, Freesia finally slipped into the after-party.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
The senior officers had gathered long ago. Realizing she—the youngest by far—was the last to arrive, Freesia’s cheeks flushed as she bowed repeatedly. The three already seated studied her with a mixture of surprise and open curiosity.
They had called her young many times and seen her face on video calls, yet seeing her in person only reinforced how strikingly youthful she looked. Childlike, even. The other three were all at ages that suited their lieutenant colonel ranks, with only minor differences between them. Meirin was forty-five, Ilene forty-three, and Bastien fifty-four. Dropping a thirty-four-year-old into a gathering of people well past forty created a visible mismatch.
Ordinary human Ilene was one thing, but even the elf Meirin had begun to notice her skin losing its firmness. Next to her, Freesia’s complexion was so plump and luminous it almost hurt to look at. This is the youth we’ve lost, their eyes seemed to say.
“It’s fine. You arrived at the perfect moment,” Meirin assured her.
Now that every battalion commander who had promised to attend was present, they could begin in earnest. After ordering fresh snacks and drinks, Meirin checked the time and tilted her head.
Freesia had arrived sooner than expected. While it was welcome, their earlier call had carried the distinct impression that she would be tied up until late at night.
“W-well, you see…” Freesia stammered, cold sweat beading on her forehead.
The others’ eyes sparkled with interest. This was a private gathering meant for people who had suffered together to unwind. What such occasions truly needed was not shop talk or stiff pleasantries, but exactly the kind of story that made people lean forward like this.
The three subtly pressed her to continue, their silent urging clear: Come on, spill it.
Honestly, they were dying to know. Having been tormented by the chief of staff many times before Freesia’s arrival, they understood far better than she did just how vicious the man could be. Yet he had backed down so easily? The seniors—each of them far older than her—kept coaxing gently until Freesia finally began recounting the events of the evening.
“This should be enough, right?”
Freesia read through the documents filling the screen again and again. The report was so flawless she could hardly believe she had written it herself. Yet…
They keep rejecting it anyway.
This was already the fourth revision. Pretending to review the document, she stole a glance down at the control deck. Her subordinates were passing the time in their stations—chatting about trivial things, nibbling on snacks, relaxing as best they could.
She felt genuinely sorry. They had long since finished their own duties. The only reason they remained stuck here was because she kept receiving rejections on the final report. Still, she submitted this version with a flicker of hope that it might finally pass. Twenty minutes later, the fifth rejection arrived, accompanied by a stern rebuke to do it properly.
Freesia buried her face in the open manual on her desk. At first she had genuinely believed she was writing the reports incorrectly. It made sense—she had never received proper training in administrative work. By career standards she was barely equivalent to a captain, so to a chief of staff with nearly thirty years of service, she must have looked utterly pathetic.
She had reread the report countless times, checked the manual, dug through old records on the military network, and rewritten everything from scratch. Yet the rejections continued. After the fourth version was sent back—written with both Fredrick Martinez’s and Dmitry’s assistance—she finally understood the truth. Even a report polished by sixty years of experience and the vice commander’s meticulous eye had been rejected. The chief of staff was simply being petty.
The real question was why a man in his position would stoop to this against her.
What in the world did I do wrong?
She had only learned the chief of staff’s name that day. A check of his public profile confirmed he was a complete stranger. Why would someone she had never met in her life harass her like this? It never occurred to her that a chief of staff might throw tantrums in his captain’s seat simply because he had failed to promote to admiral. Freesia floundered in utter confusion.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
What was the point of writing another report when it would obviously be rejected again? When Daisy, who had been watching anxiously from below, brought up a cool drink, Freesia practically snatched it from her hands and drained the glass in one go. Then she buried her face in the manual once more. If not for the occasional twitch of her ears, she might have been mistaken for a corpse.
Watching her completely lose motivation, Fredrick Martinez shook his head and rose from his seat. He had intended to remain quiet out of respect for the chief of staff’s authority, but this had gone too far. What possible reason could there be to torment such a young battalion commander?
“All right, let’s take a break here. Everyone go eat. You stay behind for a moment.”
Since there was nothing left for the others to do anyway, Freesia nodded. The crew left the bridge in small groups. In the end, only three people remained: Freesia, Fredrick, and Daisy.
“Battalion Commander. The odds that the report will be approved today are extremely low.”
The truth she had suspected but desperately hoped to avoid was now spoken aloud. Freesia’s face went blank. What have I even been writing all this time for?
“Why is the chief of staff acting like this?” Her voice was thick with resentment.
Fredrick could only offer a bitter smile. No matter what, he could not tell her that a colonel who had failed his admiral promotion was throwing a tantrum at a mere captain.
“Everyone’s waiting for you.”
She had warned them she might be late, but at this rate it seemed she would miss the gathering entirely. Should she contact them now and say she probably could not make it?
“Actually… there is a way.”
At those words, Freesia’s drooping ears shot straight up. As expected of the Space Fleet’s greatest veteran master chief! No matter how difficult the situation, the search battalion’s grand elder always produced a solution. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Fredrick chuckled softly and called out to Daisy, who had been trying to stay invisible in the corner.
“Connect us to the flotilla headquarters via video comm.”
Who would dare refuse an order from him? Daisy promptly requested the connection. When the reply demanded proper identification, Fredrick spoke before she could answer.
Malek’s attitude could not have been more respectful. Though his current post was that of a battalion master chief, Fredrick’s former role had been fleet master chief. In actual protocol, he ranked directly behind the flotilla commander and was treated with nearly the courtesy of a brigadier general.
“Is the chief of staff present?” Fredrick asked immediately.
Malek swallowed hard. He had been watching with growing anxiety as the chief of staff continued to harass the commander of the 2nd Search Battalion.
Damn it, I knew this would happen.
The officers had not stayed silent because they were fools. They simply could not protest too strongly against such a vicious superior. Still, both the operations and personnel staff officers had subtly hinted that with Master Chief Fredrick present in the 2nd Search Battalion, the behavior had gone too far. The chief of staff’s response had been unchanging: the matter would be resolved the moment the 2nd Search Battalion commander submitted a proper report. He was merely following regulations. No one believed a word of it. Everyone knew he simply could not stand the sight of the captain.
The man fought with the captain of the space carrier on a daily basis, after all. Moreover, the operations staff officer had personally reviewed the reports. The first version had been understandable—well-written for her experience level, yet still lacking by absolute standards. The later version, however, had been of excellent quality. One could easily believe it had been written by an active-duty lieutenant colonel.
But what could be done? Final approval authority rested with the chief of staff, and he had no intention of granting it. The only person who could restrain him—Flotilla Commander Lavail—was currently off meeting his family after a long period of restricted movement. At least for today, there was no chance the 2nd Search Battalion commander’s report would be approved.
“The chief of staff has stepped away.”
“Patch me through to him.”
Without the variable known as the Space Fleet’s greatest veteran, such a request might have been ignored. Even the chief of staff could not simply disregard a call from Fredrick Martinez. Relaxing in his private quarters, the chief of staff inwardly cursed his bad luck and accepted the transmission.
Fredrick’s persuasion carried an unmistakable tone of this is going too far. The chief of staff responded by pointing out several issues and insisting, “There were problems with the report, so I had no choice but to reject it. I followed procedure exactly.”
“I see,” Fredrick replied. “Then I have one request. We have just completed a long-term operation, have we not? The report will definitely be submitted tomorrow. For today, I ask that we be granted maintenance time.”
It had been a fifty-day search operation. The crew had remained confined aboard ship with no family visits or overnight leave, maintaining twenty-four-hour readiness the entire time. The accumulated fatigue was immense. Regular enlisted personnel had already gone out to rest, but the bridge officers had been watching Freesia’s mood and could neither leave nor relax.
The chief of staff refused without the slightest hesitation. Fredrick’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
The intent was now laid completely bare. Fredrick’s eyes narrowed. While friction between captain and staff positions was public knowledge, the kind of blatant hostility common in the past had largely disappeared. In the early days of the mana engine era, staff officers who felt their authority stolen had indeed been hostile toward captains. But decades had passed. Staff officers now accepted that admiral positions belonged to captains, and most conflicts arose from the natural gap between theory and practice during operations.
Yet this level of naked malice… Had the man wanted the admiral rank that badly?
The captain who had suffered the most was still struggling to finish her work. How could the officers beneath her possibly rest? Fredrick smiled kindly and attempted further persuasion, but the chief of staff refused to budge. At the man’s continued misconduct, even Fredrick’s legendary patience finally ran out.
Of course the chief of staff possessed both ability and connections—he was being discussed for brigadier general at only fifty-five. But a mere colonel?
A man who had served less than half as long as he had, who had not even been born when Fredrick was wielding a laser rifle and fighting boarding actions aboard Zirconia-class cruisers now found only in museums, dared to talk back to him like this.
“You. Do you find me amusing?”