Not With A Whimper: Destroyers

by D. A. Boulter

  FIVE

  AZORES

  Wednesday, June 2nd

  Karl Müller sat in his shuttle-fighter and waited for each crewmember to report ready. Another drill – he hoped. Anton Flight would be the fourth flight launched, and that meant that if their base’s defences couldn’t ward off inbound cruise missiles, he and his would die on the launch pad.

  He thumbed the comm to green. “Flight Anton, Shuttle One ready for ignition sequence.”

  “Activate Simulation Twenty-four.”

  “Activate Simulation Twenty-four, roger.”

  So. Another drill. Yet they had allowed all shuttle-fighter crews to actually man their fighters this time instead of intercepting 2nd through 5th flights and directing them to the simulation rooms. What did that portend?

  “Commander, my target shows as North American station Topside One. Surely, they are not a threat?”

  Müller spared a glare for his weapons officer, and shook his head in warning. He could see that Kelner had obviously not taken Weber’s lesson to heart. And the oberleutnant had not taken his little talk with the man to heart, either. Perhaps he would have to rid himself of Kelner, though that would not look good on his record.

  Müller shook his head minutely to warn the oberleutnant. After all, who knew what recorders they had put into the shuttle, unknown to their crews?

  “Oberleutnant Kelner, we must prepare for any eventuality, and surely you know that relations between the ETO and North America have deteriorated, especially over the last six months.”

  “Of course, sir, but the Americans?”

  “Oberleutnant, were we to use only the same few simulations, how would we prepare for the unexpected?” The man would have to go, no matter how it looked. Kelner threatened Müller’s career as well as his own. Kelner nodded, satisfied for the moment.

  However, the thought of attacking the undefended Topside One had Müller’s own guts in a knot. And the Americans? The mere thought sent a shock through him – a shock that he didn’t allow to get to his face.

  “Launch!”

  And the simulation took them up, headed for the civilian Topside One.

  “Missiles away,” reported Kelner. “Shield killers, then penetrators.”

  Müller watched the detectors as the simulated missiles killed the station’s meteor screens and then the penetrators killed the station proper.

  “Sehr gut.”

  But the Americans? Kelner had voiced what he dared not: what madness was this? Topside One? An unarmed civilian station? Unbidden, the thought of Old Paulo’s “regrets enough to last a lifetime” came to him.

  “Enemy fighters!”

  And not shuttle-fighter hybrids, either, but the real thing – the thing that Command had promised them, but not yet provided. Müller prepared for manoeuvre.

  * * *

  One hour and forty minutes later, Müller sat in the canteen sipping coffee. Madness, going against the Americans. What might send the Council in that direction? Had the Americans done something to warrant it, something that Council had failed to warn Command about? Had they warned Command, and Command had kept silent? Or, much more unsettling, did those in power think they could achieve something by starting a war? That couldn’t be. No one won a war. Everyone knew that. And the ETO had morals.

  A war with the Americans meant a death sentence for every man on this base. They had the power to wipe it out in a first attack. They had many submarines capable of launching cruise missiles. Those missiles would overwhelm the base’s defences. In space, they possessed fighters better than the shuttle-fighters his squadron operated. His squadron, he knew, would die in space if they went against the powerful North Americans. He could only hope that the promised new single-purpose replacements would arrive before any such war began.

  “Join you, Herr Major?”

  “Of course, Frau Major,” he replied, settling back in his chair as the leader of Cäsar Flight sat down across from him.

  She glanced about the emptying room. Her clever brown eyes regarded him a moment. “I feel that your thinking parallels my own, Karl.”

  He smiled. “I had no idea my thoughts spoke so loudly.”

  “Your face does the speaking. They would not give us this simulation, at this time, without reason.”

  “No, they would not.” He liked the slightly squared shape of her face, the dark brown hair that would reach past her shoulders were it not caught up in a regulation-style bun. He had given her a hint, once, but she had ignored it, and he knew better than to press the point. Erika Baumeister had her own reputation – as well as connections.

  “The news tells of rising tensions in Pakistan. Another water-war comes soon. And the Chinese and Japanese are not happy with each other. The Japanese Alliance seeks to increase their share of trade.”

  Karl Müller frowned. The whole world, it seemed, stood on the brink of war.

  “I’ve put in for a transfer to the colony world,” Erika told him. “You should do the same. Better up there than down here.”

  He looked at her without comment. Yes, were survival important, much more important than career, he should do the very same. Then he recalled that Baumeister’s father held the rank of General in ETO Command. Had he passed something on to her?

  Major Baumeister rose, smiled at him, and then left him wondering what had just happened. The major had not initiated this contact without reason. And she had called him by his given name, not ‘Herr Major Müller’, like she usually did when she found occasion to speak with him – which, to his regret, hadn’t occurred often.

  He rose from his seat after she had left the room, and went to contemplate what it might mean. He doubted very much that she yearned for his body, as nice a thought as that might be. No, she had turned that down before; so, she must have something entirely other in mind. He hoped he would not have to report her for disciplinary action. Surely someone like Baumeister wouldn’t have turned. Her family had gone military for generations. A traitorous act seemed out of the question. Then again, who would have suspected that Hauptmann Weber might turn pacifist and try to encourage others to move in that direction?

  He could, of course, report this contact, though she had said nothing in the least against regulations (written or unwritten), and thus cover his back. But that would put Baumeister in a bad position – even if her words carried nothing more than their open meaning. He shook his head. He had never before lowered himself that far; he would not do it now. He took a deep breath, and then stood.

  Müller walked back to his quarters via the outside path, enjoying the breeze off the ocean. He almost missed a step when another thought came to him. Did she check his own loyalty to the ETO? Had Command suspicions about him? He recalled the watcher in the plaza, and upped the probability. That unsettling thought remained with him long after he lay down on his bed. What problems did Baumeister bring? Could he stop it with a report of his own? He could do without trouble.

  SIX

  AZORES

  Friday, June 4th

  Oberst Dreschler gazed at him across the expanse of his intimidatingly large desk. Though that gaze seemed mild, Müller felt anything but calm.

  Dreschler picked up a form, one that Müller recognized as his request for transfer.

  “I see you wish to go to Neu Deutschland, Herr Major.”

  “Yes, sir.” He’d thought about it for a long time after Baumeister had suggested it, and it seemed a good move all around. “I’ve done almost two years here – a full tour of duty.” He forced a smile to his face. “And, sir, I’d like to occupy just such a desk as you do. A tour at Neu Deutschland would give me added experience – something that Command would look upon as an asset.”

  Dreschler matched his smile. “You wish to sit on this side of my desk?”

  The man smiled, but no smile lurked behind his eyes. Müller took a breath. “Or one like it. You won’t be here that long, I think. Promotion will make a vacancy that I might fill – but only if I gain othe
r experience first.”

  Did Dreschler believe the flattery? No, not flattery, truth. Dreschler had promotion in his future, his near future. Anyone could see that. He had political connections as well as ones in the military.

  The oberst considered him a long minute. “I had not thought you willing to give up flying a shuttle for flying a desk, Herr Major.”

  “Eventually, we all must, Herr Oberst. If I wait for age to deprive me of my shuttle-fighter, I will likely have to give up my career.”

  And Dreschler would understand that. He had done the same – or so rumour went.

  Dreschler nodded, looked down at the transfer form, and then up again. “Very well, Herr Major, I’ll put you in for transfer. However, I must warn you that you picked an unfortunate time. We need skilled flight leaders here.”

  Müller stood, and saluted. “Thank you, Herr Oberst.”

  * * *

  Karl Müller stood at the railing of his balcony, and looked west to the last traces of the setting sun. Soon darkness would swallow up the world as he knew it. He looked north and up, to find Polaris. Amazing how the ancient navigators could have guided their flimsy ships by that star and an accurate clock. Polaris had shone down upon this world since time had begun. He shrugged, turned, and reentered his small room, drawing the curtain closed behind him.

  He took off his robe, lay down on his bed, and turned off the light. He looked up, seeing nothing, only blackness. He closed his eyes.

  The quiet knock at his door caught him by surprise. No one disturbed a sleeper, and when he had extinguished his light he’d turned off the small indicator above his door that proclaimed him available. Only something important would induce a visitor to ignore that. Yet the visitor had barely tapped on the door. Curious, he reactivated the light, stood, and put on his robe.

  “Frau Major?”

  Erika Baumeister stood there, though not in uniform, with hair cascading around her shoulders. She pushed forward, and he backed up, allowing her ingress. She pressed up against him, turning his surprise to astonishment, and hugged him, which placed her mouth next to his ear.

  He felt her breath and his excitement, but her whispered words killed the latter.

  “Push me away, Karl. Send me off. But we must meet to talk – somewhere safe.”

  So, she believed, as did he, that monitors watched their moves, bugged their quarters.

  “Frau Major,” he said, rather brusquely, “I believe you have me mistaken. I had turned my light off; I wish only to sleep.”

  “Apologies, Herr Major,” she replied, looking chagrined as she stepped back from him. “I’ll not trouble you again.”

  It took a long time for him to achieve the status of sleep, and he awoke feeling anything but rested.

  In the officers’ mess, he saw Baumeister, and deliberately took a seat as far from her as he could. She looked at him once, then looked away.

  See what you wish to see, oh you men behind the hidden cameras. Müller ate his breakfast in silence, appearing to not notice when Major Baumeister left the mess. But what does she want? He grinned to himself. He hadn’t had to exercise his mind like this in years. With a new, brighter look on life, he left the mess, and walked to the ready room. His flight had duty this shift. It would give him a chance to contemplate.

  The six-hour shift passed quietly, the men and women studying, reading, or lightly snoozing. Müller stepped out onto the balcony to enjoy the sun, and the breeze off the ocean. He heard the sliding door open behind him, but did nothing to acknowledge Hauptmann Erich Schmidt, who took a place beside him at the railing. Schmidt allowed him this silence for some minutes, then spoke.

  “Karl, I’ve noticed that you’ve become very serious these past few weeks.”

  So. ‘Karl’. A chat between friends, not an officer checking the mental health of his superior.

  “True, Erich. The simulations against the North American stations have me thinking. That and the news. Who can watch the news, and not feel a sense of threat? One day soon we may have to ride our chariots into the skies, and do what our country has spent so much money training and equipping us to do.”

  Erich leaned on the railing, elbows making contact, fingers interlaced in front of him. He pondered the scenery for a long minute.

  “And you do not wish to do this?”

  “Erich, no sane man wants war. We will rise and destroy their stations, or whatever Command desires of us. They will do the same to ours. And while we do this, what happens down here? What will we come back to? Whether tensions slowly increase to the point that Command relocates us to Station Alpha, and we then fight from there, or whether it comes as a surprise attack by them – or by us – and we one day hear the words, ‘This is not a drill,’ no side can count on getting away with no, or even just slight, damage. The rebuilding, even in a minor exchange, even if restricted to Earth’s orbit, will take years.” He paused for a moment. “And a vast fortune.”

  Erich considered that for a time. “So, what do you suggest, Herr Major?”

  A warning? Did Erich and Major Baumeister both have duty to investigate him? Had his request for transfer triggered this? Müller smiled. “I suggest that we get up there as fast as we can on that day, do the maximum damage to whatever enemy or enemies we may face, while ensuring they do little in return. I suggest we do our duty to the best of our ability.”

  Müller gave his subordinate a light clap on the shoulder, and took another deep breath of the sea air. He grinned suddenly. “But, before that, I suggest that I might go to the lavatory, that if the call does come, I can ride my chariot with an empty bladder.”

  Schmidt joined him in a laugh, but remained on the balcony as Müller went inside to operate on the very good suggestion he had just made. In the privacy of the lavatory, he considered the situation. Could the two officers be in league with each other to check him out? If so, had Command ordered that? If not, did Erich have ambitions, and did he find Müller in his path? That would mean that both the hauptmann and the major had taken a perilous path for themselves, and had decided to drag him along. Not all would survive that. But the watcher’s attention in the plaza argued that it came from Command.

  The shift ended without incident, and Anton Flight became fourth in line for the rise – should the word come. Tomorrow, ah tomorrow, Emil flight took their place, and they had the day off. He would go into town, get away from the base and the thoughts of war as well as the thoughts of betrayal. Pity, were that so. He liked Baumeister, and he had much enjoyed the feeling of her body pushing up against his.

  He just finished packing up his laundry when the sirens began to scream. Another drill? He dropped the laundry, and jogged for the launch room. His heart beat rapidly. Fourth flight up. Maybe two hours to wait before launch. If enemy submarines or surface ships had launched cruise missiles….

  As Müller jogged, he realized he did not want to die uselessly. He hoped his transfer would come through.

  SEVEN

  DENVER

  Monday, June 7th

  Dr Christine Burnett presented her ID to the guard at the gate. She smiled at him, feeling less like smiling than she ever had at this point. Every step towards the gate from the bus stop had driven her deeper into a funk that she could barely fight. But she knew she must destroy her program – one way or another.

  Private William Walker glanced at the chrono on his tablet. He smiled widely at her as he marked her in. His partner inspected her carry case.

  “Exactly five minutes early, Dr Burnett. Excellent. We’ll make a soldier of you yet.”

  She gave him a wink and a smile in return. “Then you’ll have to try a lot harder, William. You’ll also have to up the pay scales considerably.”

  He handed her back her ID. “Hadn’t thought of that. We could make you an officer – right off the bat. Would that do it?”

  “Make me a General, and I might consider it.”

  They laughed together. After enquiring after his wife, and handing over t
he card she had promised, she took her leave of him, and joined the other civilian contractors waiting for the ride up to their quarters. She spoke to no one. Deeper and deeper into the lair of the beast, as she now thought of the base.

  Safe in her rooms, she breathed out a sigh of relief. She unpacked the comestibles she’d bought in town to supplement the rations the base provided, washed her face, and then prepared for the most frightening day of her life. Tying her blonde hair back in the traditional army-style bun, she squared her shoulders, and marched out the door.

  In her office, she turned on her computer, opened her private files, and made a notation in her personal journal: 60% compliance possible? Check data again. Reread study. Perhaps Gerry had insight.

  If, as she suspected, Colonel Westorn had tapped into her computer and its files, he’d jump at the bait she had just offered. But she had to back it up with actions that would ensnare him. She opened her data files and spent a minimum of five minutes on each page, scrolling up and down through the data – occasionally making jumps forward or backward.

  Two hours later, she called in her assistant.

  “Arch, see if any of our intakes are still on base or nearby. I’d like to re-interview a sampling.”

  Arch raised an eyebrow. “Did we miss something?”

  “Possibly, Arch, possibly. But I don’t want to take this higher until I have more data. It’s hell when you can’t make good on your hunches – engenders all sorts of black looks from the brass.”

  He grinned at her in-joke. They’d both learned the hard way to never make a promise or even the hint of a promise that they couldn’t absolutely guarantee. At least, not here.

  “I’m on it,” he said. “And how about you?”