It was about then that all hell broke loose.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a new group of people started chanting, “What do we want? CDF disbanded!” as they waved homemade signs with the emblem of the Peace Union. Groups of protesters erupted from the crowd, screaming at the service members scattered about the area and their families.
“Babykillers!” a shrieking woman shouted as she threw a flask of red liquid in the face of someone—David couldn’t make out who—in uniform twenty feet away.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Calvin grumbled as the scene unfolded.
David stood stunned, even mesmerized, in shock. Have we lost the hearts and minds of our own people?
The confrontation continued to devolve as hundreds of additional protesters surged toward the throng of soldiers. Screaming matches were breaking out everywhere, as the people who’d been there to welcome the crew home got in the face of those who attacked them.
It's only a matter of time before this turns into a brawl. David turned to find Calvin, but he’d already moved off—to help a group of Marines beset by a dozen men and women with Peace Union flags.
“It’s him! It’s Cohen! The butcher!” a man to David’s left shouted.
In the span of thirty seconds, the protesters moved through the crowd and got in David’s face as they screamed and taunted him.
“Babykiller!”
“Butcher!”
“Traitor!”
The cries ran together, almost overwhelming in their sheer volume and screeching manner.
David froze up, trying to process what was going on. How could they believe the League? He knew there were faked videos from the League state news agency—the Information News Agency of the League of Sol—but who in their right mind would accept them?
Security officers from the spaceport finally responded, decked out in riot control gear. They started spraying protesters with pepper spray and used energy weapons to stun those completely out of hand. Men and women alike were wrestled to the ground as handcuffs were applied. The agitators began a new chant. “Death to the pigs! Down with the CDF!”
Out of the corner of David’s eyes, he saw a man approach Calvin and spit on his uniform. Uh oh.
Calvin took a step forward and grabbed the man by his shirt and lifted him into the air. “How dare you spit on this uniform! You sorry son of a bitch, this uniform and the Marines who wear it are the only thing standing between you and slavery to the League!”
The man spit in Calvin’s face while shouting, “Murderer! All you care about is keeping the war going so you can kill people!”
David took a step forward, knowing what would happen next. He didn’t make it in time.
With a small movement of his hands, Calvin dropped the man to his knees and immediately punched him in the face. Blood sprayed out of the unlucky protester's mouth as he was hit again and again. Calvin screamed obscenities as he continued his assault.
“Colonel, enough!” David barked, wrapping his arms around Calvin’s midsection and jerking him backward.
“Screw that guy! Nobody spits on this uniform or the memory of my Marines!”
David kept the pressure up and pinned Calvin’s arms to his side. It took a few seconds, but eventually, the thrashing stopped. “Can I let go now?”
“Yes,” Calvin ground out.
“Okay.” David let go and glanced at the man, now fallen on the ground. Blood poured out of his nose and down his purple-colored shirt.
“Police! I need help!” the man, who appeared to be around thirty years of age and spoke with a British accent. “This maniac’s trying to kill me!”
Two riot control officers appeared, even as the chaos around them spread. “And what’s going on here, mates?” a female officer asked in a slight Australian accent, her tone perfectly reasonable—almost comical considering the goings-on around them.
“This,” Calvin began, nearly biting off his tongue to avoid more foul language, “individual spit on my uniform and cursed me.”
“Yeah, and he beat me to a pulp! I want him charged!”
The female officer, who appeared to be in charge between the two, glanced between Calvin and the man before she smirked. “It looks to me like you slipped and fell, mate. Get him out of here, Gerald. Orders are to arrest them all for disorderly conduct.”
As they trundled the bloodied protester off, he continued to scream and fight with riot police, as did the mass of humanity around them.
“He had it coming,” Calvin stated.
David stared at him, shocked more than anything that, for a moment, he agreed with the assessment. As more police and security officers poured into the terminal, order was restored. It took a while to clear out all the rabble-rousers and the die-hard radicals who appeared to enjoy fighting, but eventually, they were removed. As he made his way out of the terminal—flanked by Calvin and a small army of protectors, David couldn’t help but ponder what had happened to the Terran Coalition. Are we even worth fighting for anymore?
* * *
Following the fiasco at the Lawrence City space terminal, David didn’t expect to make his appointment with President Spencer. He’d assumed everything was canceled as rioting had spread out into the surrounding areas, with pitched street fights between Peace Union supporters, and it seemed, everyone else. No such luck. The helicar he was in glided into the inspection bay directly outside of the White House gate, cleared by an automated scanner before coming to a stop in the vehicle park. He got out and passed through more checkpoints that included wand scanners and a patdown. Yeah, they’re taking things pretty seriously, he pondered, as every crevice of his uniform was searched.
A few minutes later, David found himself whisked into the residential side of the White House—the so-called East Wing—away from prying eyes as well as the hustle and bustle of the government in action. The guard who escorted him opened the door to reveal a small study, with President Spencer and his ever-present protector inside.
“Please, come in, General,” Spencer said, his voice subdued more than David had ever heard.
David stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. He came to attention. “General David Cohen reports as ordered, sir.”
“At ease. Have a seat.” Spencer gestured toward a comfortable chair on the other side of the room. Once David had sat, he continued. “I want to apologize to you, and those under your command. I had no idea the Peace Union would be there.”
“Why were we paraded around like that, sir?” David’s voice had an edge to it. It was something he’d been pondering the entire helicar ride.
“Soon after your success in taking down the shipyards, the League deployed a propaganda line that tens of thousands of civilians were killed by reckless CDF actions. They accused us of a war crime.”
“Are you seriously telling me those protesters today believed that line of crap, sir?”
“Yes.”
David closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “You know from my report to General MacIntosh the sequence of events. I’m sure a few dockworkers were killed in the attack. I also know we gave every opportunity to escape the stations before they were destroyed. That part of it, my conscience is clear on.”
“Is there something it’s not clear on?”
“The Lion of Judah and the fleet lost over a thousand men and women dead, sir. On my watch. I fear I pushed the fleet too hard. I shouldn’t have been as reckless as I was. It took Major Mancini’s eleventh-hour heroics to allow me enough time to save the pilots stuck in space.”
Spencer stared at him intently. “From where I sit, all of you did one heck of a job, General.”
“Thank you, sir.” He, in turn, made eye contact with Spencer. “I sense there’s a but in there.”
“Yes, there is.” Spencer snorted. “I’ve been informed that President-Elect Fuentes is being pressured by his vice president to open a criminal investigation into our shipyard raid, with an eye towards prosecution of war crimes
. According to the information I received, the prosecutors will be heavily biased against you and the rest of the officers in the fleet.”
Revulsion hit David like a tidal wave. Never in a million years did I think I’d be attacked by my own. The concept of fighting the League was something he was at peace with. Fighting his own people was a foreign concept. Is it, though? I fought Erhart. He and the traitors who supported him wore the same uniform I do. The idea that the Coalition Defense Force was honorable, a group of people dedicated to doing what was right with the help of God, was something that had always given him strength. To even for a moment consider the possibility that they might not be what they claimed to be—cut David to the core.
“As to why I set up the space terminal rally… I was trying to bring up morale and change the narrative.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “You used the military as a prop?” Sudden anger sprang up inside of him.
Spencer grimaced. “I suppose I deserved that. I never think of the CDF as a prop, General,” he replied stiffly. “But I did think some good PR was needed. I underestimated our opponents, and for that, I’m sorry. I’d never knowingly put anyone through the wringer like that.”
“What now, sir? You’re out of office in two days.”
“I know. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I’m going to pardon everyone in advance. I’d like you to confirm a list of all personnel involved and in the fleet. From the highest-ranking officers to the lowest enlisted, and all civilians.”
“Sir,” David began. Then he blinked. If he pardons everyone, then we’ll go down in history as being guilty. “The people who made these accusations will see it as an admission of guilt.”
“What other choice do we have, son? Let you be thrown to the wolves, along with tens of thousands of other fine young men and women, so Fuentes and his ilk can get their pound of flesh? I don’t think so. Not on my watch.”
“With respect, sir, while I welcome the action for those who served under me, I cannot accept a pardon.” The words fell out of David’s mouth without even thinking them through.
“Are you serious?” Spencer’s eyes opened wide. “They’ll crucify you.”
David shrugged. “Better men than Fuentes and the Peace Union have tried. I’m still here. If they do, I want the right to demand a court-martial and defend myself in open court.”
Spencer let out a loud laugh. “Oh, General Cohen. MacIntosh was right about you. A brass set, and morals to match. Careful you don’t choke on that morality one of these days, though. Fine, we’ll do it your way. Just understand, I won’t be able to help you when I’m no longer in charge.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Well, then. I suppose there’s nothing else. Dismissed, General.”
David sprang up and braced to attention. “Good night, Mister President.” He turned and walked out of the room, to find the previous escort standing outside. What now? It was a question he had no answer to.
30
League Navy Headquarters
Switzerland, Earth
January 18th, 2463
Pierre Seville was a happy man. In fact, one could say it was among the best days of his life. The triumphant smile he wore—coming from a man who rarely moved his facial muscles—had alternately unnerved and spread across his entire staff since he’d arrived at his office a few hours earlier. The never-ending loop of the Terrans fighting each other on what should be the moment of their crowning achievement was a thing of beauty.
The intercom on his desk buzzed. “Admiral, I have Colonel Strappi for you, sir.”
“Oh, send my good friend in!”
The door to his inner sanctum swung open, its rich mahogany a relic of Earth’s past. The shorter than average figure of his political officer strode in. He came to attention in front of the desk and slammed his hand into his chest. “To the glory of the League!”
Seville returned the salute with a bemused smirk. “Oh, do sit, Colonel. How have you been?”
“Conducting my duties as best as I can with External Security looking over my shoulder, Admiral.” Strappi slid into the nearest chair.
“Have you seen the news out of the Terran Coalition this morning?”
It was Strappi’s turn to grin. “It would appear the machinations of our resident spymasters paid off.”
“Oh, it gets better. The doddering old men of our government have finally woken up to how much of a threat the Terran Coalition is. They’re finally talking about using the home defense fleet.”
“By Lenin, that is… very positive, Admiral.” Strappi leaned forward. “All four thousand ships?”
“More than half.”
Strappi’s eyes went wide. “When?”
“We shall see. The Terrans want a peace treaty, which we’ll be happy to oblige them with. The question then is how long we wait to lull them into a false sense of security. Who knows? With the supposed guilt of their “war crimes,” perhaps we can extract even better terms from them.” Seville laughed. “I never thought the great League of Sol would be reduced to using trickery to beat a group of unsocialized religious nuts, but if that’s what it takes, then fine by me.”
“Do you anticipate retaking command of the fleet, Admiral?”
“I’ll accept nothing less. I will be there to see to it the Terran Coalition is wiped off the face of the galaxy… and the Lion of Judah is rendered a monument to anyone who would dare oppose the face of human progress.”
“Still, the loss of our shipyard facilities…” Strappi’s voice trailed off, and a frown appeared on his face. “It will have implications.”
“Of course it will,” Seville snapped. “But we will rebuild. If the Terrans hadn’t elected the government they did, it would be far worse for us. Defeat might even be probable.” His face took on a wolf-like grin. “But they managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”
“It is interesting, how things work together.”
“Random chance.” Seville shrugged his shoulders. “If we keep trying long enough, we’ll eventually prevail.”
“Perhaps, Admiral. I do wonder at times if perhaps the universe bends toward socialism and justice for humanity.”
“Nonsense. There is nothing more than what we can see, Colonel. Now, I must attend to the morning paperwork.”
Strappi rose. “Admiral, do not allow yourself to fall into a false sense of security. External Security still wants to remove you. I fear plots are in motion even as we speak.”
The statement took Seville by surprise. Not because of its truth, or lack thereof, but because of the spark of loyalty. From a political officer, no less. Maybe we’re all getting soft, allowing this sentimentality to influence our decisions and actions. “I appreciate your concern.” His face softened. “Take care of yourself, old friend. Don’t allow them to find out about our relationship. It could be viewed as against our societal duties.”
“Of course, Admiral.” Strappi touched his closed right fist to his chest. “For the League!”
* * *
Ruth slipped through the door to the “Ready Room” bar. It was an old stand-by of the Lion of Judah’s crew and many other warships based at Canaan. She briefly recalled gathering there to celebrate Sheila’s passing. Tonight, though, there was only one person she wanted to see—Robert Taylor. Not in uniform for once in her life, she had a feminine—especially for her—blouse on, coupled with a knee-length skirt. Her long brown hair was out of its usual bun, and it cascaded down her shoulders. She saw him almost immediately, sitting at a table off by himself.
Taylor glanced up, saw her at the same time, and waved.
It only took twenty steps to reach him, and they embraced. “Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey yourself.”
With a slight giggle, Ruth sat down at the high-top table. “Can you believe today?”
“Not really. I’m still shell shocked.”
“You and me both. I thought we’d be welcomed back as heroes.”
&
nbsp; Taylor snorted. “Since when do you want a hero’s welcome?”
“Okay, fair point. Still. Being spit on isn’t at the top of my list,” Ruth replied darkly. “I’m surprised Demood didn’t kill that guy. I could see it in his eyes, the rage. It scared me.”
“You and me both. Worse, I wanted to break the arm of the one that got into my face.” Taylor stared out at the rest of the bar, filled with CDF and TCMC personnel. “Am I missing something? Inside our…cocoon, I guess you could say, there’s near-universal support for the war. When did we lose the hearts and minds of the people we swore to protect?”
Ruth grimaced and narrowed her eyes. “I think they’re all traitors.” She leaned forward and put her hands over his, on top of the table. “Forget about it for now. Let’s talk about us.”
“I, uh… I’ve been thinking about what to do next.”
“Yes?”
Taylor’s face turned beet red. “Well, maybe it’s time to get out of the CDF. My stint is coming up for expiration, so I can leave in three months.”
“And do what?” Ruth grinned broadly.
“I could work for a civilian contractor. Maybe we could settle down on Canaan or one of the worlds with a large industrial or military presence like Churchill.”
Ruth burst out laughing. “You want to become a slimy contractor? What, been talking to Lowe too much?” At Taylor’s hesitation, she realized he was serious, and her words had hurt. “I’m sorry…”
“No, you’re right. Me working for SSI or any of those guys probably wouldn’t work out.”
“Robert, I get it. You want to advance our relationship. I’m not quite there, okay? That’s not because of you; it's just that I’m still a work in progress.”
Taylor squeezed her hands. “We’re not getting any younger, you know? I could get a good job and be able to provide for you, and our kids.”
Run the Gauntlet: Echoes of War Book Six Page 29
