A Simple Mission

by Daniel Gibbs

  "They were heroes," Henry said.

  "They were, all eighteen thousand two hundred and fifteen of them." Erhart met Henry's eyes, and his expression was cold. "One of them was my son Karl."

  Henry swallowed. He'd heard Erhart lost a son in the war, but not the circumstances.

  "I sacrificed my son to win this war, Colonel." Erhart's gaze never wavered. "What in the hell makes you think I won't hesitate to sacrifice you?"

  Henry took a moment to react to that statement. When he did, he kept the emotion from his voice. "So that's what this is? I'm being declared a murderer to win the war?"

  "It's necessary," Erhart said. "The defeatists already have a whiff of what happened. If the full account comes out, they'll use it to create a crisis of confidence in the population. Kalling will face ruin, and given their role in the war effort, that can't be allowed."

  "So that's how you're justifying it to yourself." Henry shook his head. "Not a thought about how much Faulkner will owe you? The money you could make?"

  "I don't care about money. I'm not bought, if that's what you're thinking. Oh, Faulkner thinks I am." Erhart smiled thinly. "And I let him think it because, otherwise, he wouldn't cooperate with me. That's how his greedy little mind works."

  "You'll pardon me if I'm skeptical, General."

  "I suppose I would be too," Erhart answered. "Anyway, it's time for us to get to business." He indicated the digital pads before picking them up. He glanced at them and then set them side by side, facing Henry. "Here is the outcome of your current path, Colonel. The future you're facing." He indicated the pad to Henry's right.

  Henry picked it up and read it quietly. It was a daily schedule for the CDF labor stockade on Lambert's Lament, a prison planetoid in the Tyrrhenia system's mineral-rich inner asteroid belt. A thirty-hour day, with oh-zero hundred hours being morning reveille and twenty-two hundred hours being "Lights Out" to begin the sleep period. Of the remaining twenty-two hours, twenty were devoted to "labor periods," with meals in between them.

  "That’ll be the rest of your life," Erhart said plainly. "And the foreseeable future for Major Hale and Lieutenants Xu, Mueller, and Renner. Quite possibly Major Snow as well."

  Henry looked back up at Erhart, who retained a detached expression. "What the hell are you saying?"

  "You're forcing our hand with this civilian attorney move, Colonel," Erhart said. "I'm not omnipotent, after all. JAG can't block you using one, and CIB can't reject every candidate you find. So we have to approach this case differently. If you go through with this, you're going to be tried as a traitor and a saboteur. Our prosecutor will argue you deliberately engineered the explosion, and your command officers were complicit. They'll be facing general court-martials too."

  "That's preposterous," Henry said, his tone incredulous.

  "We already have the logs to say you ran at full power when ordered not to, and since your bridge crew persists in defending your claim to being ordered to, well… that indicates a conspiracy. An investigation will likely bear that out." Erhart put his hands together. "Soto's going to get hit too. Instead of a posthumous Naval Cross, it'll be a posthumous dishonorable dismissal. No pension for her family. No military honors. And as for Snow…" He grinned slightly. "She's a fighter. You have her convinced. She was putting out contacts to Congress, the Joint Committee for Defense, everywhere. CIB was more than ready to see her relieved of duty to institute a full investigation into how much she leaked, with charges pending. It won't be hard to have her drawn in."

  "And you think people will believe this?"

  "Enough will. Sure, some of the Peace Union radicals won't, but we're not out to convince them," replied Erhart. "We're out to convince people like your family. Ordinary, good-intentioned Coalition citizens who are committed to beating back the League and have faith in the integrity and honor of the Coalition Defense Force. To them, a group of officers being political anti-war radicals and becoming saboteurs; that's far easier for them than the truth. If a bunch of pacifists and defeatists believe your lies, well, what would they care?" As he spoke, Erhart's tone remained reserved, even. He'd prepared this argument for some time. "Regardless, whatever attorney you get, they'll be barred from full use of the logs under wartime security regulations. There will be no independent examination. Maybe the logs will be questioned by your attorney, but the jury will be men like Serrano. The very idea of a conspiracy will be unthinkable." He leaned forward. "Just as it was for you, I'm guessing."

  Henry nodded slowly. "I still can't believe you'd stoop to this. That you would shirk responsibility."

  "I have a higher responsibility to the CDF, and the Coalition, to see the League defeated," Erhart said. "The truth would only get in the way of it."

  "And if Kalling's drives start blowing up more of our ships? How's that going to help?"

  "Faulkner's teams are already hard at work correcting their errors," Erhart said. "I made it perfectly clear I'd clean up his mess only if he came through on his end and stopped cutting corners. You might say I've made a believer out of him. We'll be ready for a new round of testing in half a year, maybe less. Far quicker than if we had the Peace Union dragging an investigation through Congress, forcing us all to Lawrence City to constantly give testimony to the committees, and Kalling's investors selling in a panic."

  Henry said nothing. Erhart was, perhaps, right about that. The rolling out of the drives would take longer if the truth came out. "What about Captain Soto and my dead crew? Doctor Larkin and his team?"

  "Casualties of war," Erhart said. "The same as my son and the people I left behind at Tau Baker." He reached forward and tapped the digital pad to Henry's left. "Now that you've read the stick, here's the carrot, Colonel."

  Henry picked it up and read. It was a plea deal for him to plead guilty to the charges, and the sentence that the court-martial would hand out. "Dishonorable dismissal," he noted.

  "That ship jumped a while back," said Erhart. "Serrano is a good man, but he hates even a whiff of falsehood. Since he doesn't know the truth, he thinks you're a disgrace to the service for trying to lie for so long."

  Henry checked the rest of the sentence offered. "Suspended thirty-year sentence?" He blinked, surprised at that. A non-life sentence was one thing he'd expected as a carrot, but a suspended sentence meant he’d stay out of the stockade, provided he did nothing to make the military courts remove the suspension. "You'd let me go free? With no charges against the others?"

  "Under conditions," Erhart said.

  Henry found them. Complete oath of silence on what happened. He would not attempt to contact anyone from the Laffey crew, the press, or political organizations. He’d be eligible for an immediate cashing out of his pension at the rank of major and would have no claim to further support. And, finally, any failure to obey the terms would not only result in his sentence's suspension being removed, the protection from prosecution for the others on the Laffey would also be lost, and Captain Soto's family would lose the pension her death had earned them and her "complicity" in the "sabotage" on the Laffey would be publicly revealed.

  Henry found the terms generous. Suspiciously so. He looked to Erhart with that suspicion in his eyes.

  Erhart chuckled. "Yes, it is a little too generous, isn't it?"

  "You don't want a trial at all.”

  "No. Too much risk your attorney will ask the wrong questions, say the wrong things, and the wrong people will start poking around," said Erhart. "Faulkner is beside himself with worry that you'll force a trial. If he were here, he'd already be offering you money to sign the deal. I won’t insult you with a bribe, because I know you’re a better man than that."

  "You're demanding I let you and Faulkner get away with murder," Henry said. "And using my subordinates' lives and careers as hostages to force my surrender."

  "One way of putting it. The other is that I'm trying to keep you from making a foolish mistake. Colonel, the toughest thing any commander has to do is to know when it's time to give u
p and retreat. And right now, that's your only hope of getting your people out of this situation." He stood without collecting the pads. "Go ahead, consider your choices. We're arriving at Halsey Station tomorrow at 1900. I'll be by at 1800 to see if you've signed the plea deal." He walked past Henry and to the hatch. He stopped just before opening it and turned back. "You're a good officer, Colonel, and I'm sorry it came to this. But it has. Do the right thing for yourself, for your crew, and the Coalition. Don't fight a battle you can’t win."

  With that parting remark, he departed, leaving Henry alone with his thoughts.

  Shadow Wolf

  Open Space

  16 April 2559

  * * *

  The anniversary of the Laffey incident came on the day before the Shadow Wolf would arrive at Yan'katar. Henry felt the quiet tension and anticipation in his crew. None had ever been out in this region of space before. The systems here were mostly uninhabited, and the majority of ships were blocky, vicious-looking Jalm'tar warships on frontier patrol. On the positive side, they wouldn't have pirates to worry about.

  After his watch on the bridge, he went to his office to check the day's logs. Felix had the remaining stores listed, and it contained good news. They had enough food and potable water to get back to Galt without requiring significant replenishment on Yan'katar. Given the operational accounts were pretty shallow now from their refit, it was welcome. Yan'katar had a reputation for being pricey.

  With everything checked, he turned to a cabinet. Inside was a bottle of New Virginia bourbon, a bottle gifted to him by his family and still half-filled. He took a glass and considered it quietly. His eyes briefly glanced up toward the pulse rifle mounted on the office wall. The old family rifle predated the war with the League. His grandfather Lewis brought it back from the Second Saurian War, and it'd been in the family ever since.

  Given the day, the rifle had other connotations for him, but he chose not to dwell on them. He returned his focus to the drink in hand and filled the glass halfway with bourbon. He was putting the stopper on the bottle when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said as he sat the bourbon to the side.

  Vidiadhar "Vidia" Andrews walked in. A New Antillean, with ancestors from Jamaica,Trinidad and, further back, from Africa and India, Vidia was a free hand on the ship, skilled with medic work and some mechanical skill, with a little training for the helm. His main occupation, as Henry saw it, was of his own choosing: the unofficial chaplain of the Shadow Wolf crew, even if he was the only adherent to the Ba'hai religion. And he'd been on the Shadow Wolf long enough to know what this day meant. "Commemoratin' the day, I see?" he asked, his New Antillean accent as rich as ever. Thicker than Dr. Larkin's had been, Henry remembered.

  In reply, he nodded to Vidia. "Yep." He indicated a second glass. "Want some?"

  "Ordinarily, I would prefer rum." Vidia nodded and took a seat. "But for ya, Jim, I accept."

  "Mighty fine of you," Henry teased, retrieving a second glass tumbler from its protective case. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured some of the amber-toned drink into the glass before replacing the stopper and sliding the glass to Vidia. He took his glass with his right hand, Vidia doing the same. "Thirteen years," Henry said softly.

  "Yes." Vidia nodded once, acknowledging the period since the disaster on the Laffey. "Is this all ya drink to?"

  After a moment, Henry gave a gentle answer of "No." He lifted the glass a little more. "To Captain Maria Soto," he said. "She sacrificed her life to save her ship and crew."

  "To Captain Soto," Vidia said.

  It was in a hollow, quiet tone that Henry added, "And may she forgive me," before he downed the bourbon. It blazed a fiery trail down his throat and into his belly.

  Having heard what Henry last said, Vidia decided on another approach to the issue. "Captain Soto has a family, I hear?"

  "She did." Henry considered his empty glass.

  "Do ya stay in contact…?"

  "Tried. But they don't want to hear from the man convicted of causing her death." Henry reached for the bottle and considered it. The way he was feeling now, another drink might not be so bad. "I've tried to send them a little something from time to time, but it always gets rejected. They won't take 'blood money'." Henry shook his head. "I can't blame them either, Vidia. I pled guilty. I told the Coalition and everyone in it that I caused Captain Soto's death, and the others too. Even if I didn't cause her death, well..."

  Vidia gave him a patient look. "Ya still feel a responsibility?"

  Henry was silent for several moments, working through the emotions the memory brought up from within him. Finally, he nodded. "I do."

  "Of course ya do," Vidia said. "An' it does explain the spiritual wound ya carry around."

  "I wouldn't call it a wound," Henry said. "Just a realization."

  "Ah? An' that would be?"

  "That God, if He's out there, isn't listening when we pray," Henry replied. "I think He stopped paying attention to Humanity a long, long time ago."

  Vidia gave no appearance of distress at this remark. "I see," he said. "I think I can understand why ya feel that way."

  "No, Vidia," said Henry. "You don't."

  CSV Clemenceau

  Open Space, Terran Coalition

  17 May 2546

  * * *

  The night before the arrival at Halsey was the longest in James Henry's life. His mind and heart waged relentless struggle over the choices presented to him, denying him sleep as he tossed and turned in the bed.

  It was true that Erhart's plea offer was a life preserver for his freedom. He knew full well he was facing a life term, and his defense would never be accepted by the court-martial. Any civilian lawyer he had could demand or plead all they wanted to. The logs would never be subjected to independent testing, not with the classification coming during wartime. The proof this was a setup wouldn’t come out. It would boil down to the testimony against and for him, and his foes included Erhart himself. No military jury would believe a general forged the logs.. If he fought, they would crush him, and he would spend the rest of his life in hard labor on Lambert's Lament. It was a prospect he understandably dreaded. The thought he’d be dragging the other Laffey officers and Major Snow with him made it even worse.

  That part of Erhart's blackmail felt a stretch, but if he was willing to alter logs, forging treasonous correspondence was hardly too far for him. It would give the court-martial incentive to keep things hushed up, "for the honor of the service," and provide ready ammunition to attack and undermine anyone looking to exonerate the Laffey officers.

  But what about justice? In his heart, Henry felt sick at the idea of just letting Faulkner and Erhart get away with what happened. Faulkner's greed and Erhart's callous attitude, and their haste, killed good people. If he forced a trial, maybe he could get his civilian attorney to ensure an independent investigation was pushed by the government and the public. Even if he and the others were condemned by the military courts, if the truth came out, they'd be exonerated. The CDF would have to annul the court-martial outcome.

  But how likely would that happen? How easily could someone like Erhart quietly politicize the investigation? Make it into a matter of patriotism and pride. The CDF under attack by defeatist radicals to save saboteurs! They could refuse to cooperate to resounding cheers from the hawk parties.

  If he fought, the truth might never get out. And if he fought, Erhart would make the Coalition think he was a traitor. A saboteur. What would that do to his family? To his friends and old comrades? How much would it disgrace them, hurt them?

  As the sleepless night continued, Henry felt despair fill him. All of his years of service were for nothing. His life, no matter what he chose, was a ruin. Everything he'd been building toward was gone. He wouldn't get to assume a command, wouldn't get to rise through the ranks, and wouldn't play a role in victory over the League. He was going to be disgraced and dishonored. If he kept up the fight, he would only hurt those he loved and those he was
responsible for. And if he signed that plea, he’d be letting the people who caused all of the deaths on the Laffey effectively get away with it.

  They're already going to get away with it, a treacherous little voice said in his head. Nothing you do can stop that. Nothing. You've lost this. All you can do is save what you can.

  "No," he said to himself, twisting in the sheets again. "No."

  He should have faith. That was what Jules would say if he were here. Have faith it would turn out right, that justice would be done.

  Except that's not how the world works, and you know it. You've seen it on the front, you've seen it everywhere. If a higher power were going to act here, this wouldn't have happened. Henry fluffed his pillow to make it more comfortable.

  "Why?" he asked aloud to the darkness in his empty quarters. "God, why is this happening to me?"

  The answer was silence.

  Henry sat up in the bed and looked into the darkness. "Show me something, please," he continued. "Give me a sign to fight this. Tell me how I can win this and get justice. Tell me I wouldn't be ruining the lives of my officers." He swallowed. "Tell me I won't be throwing away what little I’ve got left."

  Seconds stretched into minutes, then hours, as he waited for an answer in the dark. He didn’t expect a voice. He would have settled for the tiniest flicker in his being, the most gentle whisper in his head, telling him to stand against the betrayal General Erhart had subjected him to. He wanted only a small sign he would’t be lost if he stood for what was right.