“In a word, sir, the same way mine will: badly.”
“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “I spent hours and hours trying to get my last vidmail right, trying to make sure they understood what I was trying to do and why.” He paused to shake his head. “Pretty sure I did not succeed,” he added, his face glum.
“Me neither,” Ferreira said. “But it’s too late to worry about them now. They’re going to be pissed no matter what any of us say.”
“Yes.” Michael sighed. “So be it. I just hope they’ll eventually understand why we’ve done what we’ve done.”
Clear of Nyleth nearspace and in pinchspace on vector direct for Commitment, home planet of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds, Michael watched the first phase of Operation Gladiator kick off. Kallewi’s marines, the largest and therefore potentially the most dangerous group onboard, would be the first to go through what some wiseass had called “the mutiny mill.” Needless to say, Michael had not seen the joke. The process was long and drawn out, the marines summoned in batches by Kallewi, briefed in detail, and asked the hard question: Are you in or out?
For Michael, it seemed to take forever, so he was a much-relieved man when it was finished. As Kallewi predicted, some of the marines had declined the invitation to participate in the crime of the century. The only surprise had been two marines from Z Section, making a total of seven with the common sense to stay well away from the insanity that was Operation Gladiator. They had refused to say why they wanted no part of it, lapsing into sullen silence, refusing to talk. Kallewi had not wasted any time on them. Plasticuffed, they were escorted to the holding pen to join their fellow abstainers.
With the marines done, Michael dealt with the rest of Redwood’s crew en bloc. Not that there were many of them; Redwood’s complement included only six junior spacers, all waiting patiently, flanked—not that any of them knew it—by Michael’s co-conspirators, stun guns close to hand if needed. Before he started to speak, Michael had looked at them, wondering if he had any right to ask them to be part of what was beyond doubt the most crazy scheme of all time.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll play you a holovid before I tell you what I’m going to do about it. Please, don’t say or ask anything until it’s finished.”
By the time Colonel Hartspring’s vidmail was finished, the silence was absolute, the shock on every face plain to see.
“Right,” Michael said. “That’s the problem. Here’s what we plan to do about it and why.”
As Michael laid out Operation Gladiator, suspicion replaced shock. One of Sedova’s crew, her sensors man, Leading Spacer Jackson, made no secret of his disapproval. Head down, he refused to look Michael in the eye; the moment Michael finished, he climbed to his feet.
“I want no part of this, this, this … this madness,” Jackson said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It is mutiny, and I won’t go along with it. I can’t believe you’d do this, sir. After all we’ve been through. You’ve betrayed everything Fleet stands for. You’re a disgrace. You’re not fit—”
Bienefelt was on Jackson in a flash, one giant hand at his throat, the other grabbing his shipsuit and lifting him bodily into the air. “Watch your mouth, spacer; watch your damn mouth,” she growled, her anger obvious.
“No, no, Chief. Let him be,” Michael said. “Anyone else?” he said while Bienefelt pushed Jackson back down into his seat more firmly than was necessary.
To Michael’s surprise, Faris stayed seated. After an uncomfortable pause, Lomidze stood up.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, his voice breaking, wringing his hands in an agony of embarrassment. “I’d like to go along, but I can’t. I have too much to lose. I’m sorry, I …” His voice faded into silence. Recovering his composure, he continued. “Jacko’s wrong.” Jackson shot a look of pure hatred at Lomidze. “Sorry, Jacko, but you are. It’s not madness. Fact is, it’s the sanest thing I’ve heard in a long time. No disrespect, sir, but I can’t leave my family. It’s too much to ask. Sorry.”
“I understand,” Michael said softly. “I’m sorry, too. I’ll miss you all.” He looked right into Jackson’s face. “I know you think I’m wrong doing this, but I have my reasons. We all do. I hope you can at least understand that. I wish there’d been another way, but there isn’t. Chief Bienefelt?”
“Sir?”
“Take them away.”
“Sir.”
When the spacers were gone, Michael looked at those left. “Now, the rest of you,” he said. “You need to be sure about this. This is a one-way ticket. There’s no going back. It will be dangerous. It will be hard. I don’t know if any of us will ever see home again.”
“May I speak, sir?” Leading Spacer Paarl said, coming to his feet.
“Of course.”
“I think I’m right in saying that your mother and sister were onboard the Mumtaz when the Hammers hijacked it.”
“Yes, they were.”
“The man in charge of the hijack operation, Andrew Comonec. He shot a woman in cold blood soon after his men took the ship. You remember that?”
“How can I forget? My sister still has nightmares.”
“That woman, the woman he shot, she was my grandmother, sir,” Paarl said, the pain of memory all too evident on his face. “Agnetha Jasmina Paarl was her name, and I loved her like she was my own mother. She was ninety-seven years old, going to see her sister for the first time in fifty years. She was a good woman. She never harmed a soul, and the Hammers shot her out of hand. For me,” he continued, “this is a no-brainer. Just thought you should know where I’m coming from, sir,” he finished, voice cracking, overwhelmed by emotion.
“You’re not alone, spacer. Welcome aboard. Now, Leading Spacer Faris.”
“Yes, sir?”
“We didn’t think you’d want any part of this. You sure?”
“Yes, sir. I am,” Faris said, his voice rock-steady. “Absolutely sure.”
“What about the wife and kid? I can’t think of a better reason to say no.”
“Ah, yes. The family.” Faris’s eyes flicked from side to side. “Ah, yes, sir. Umm, well … I meant to tell the coxswain, sir, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Received a vidmail from Lori a few days ago. Things haven’t been too good between us for a while, and Lori wants a divorce. So I figured … well, I figured, what the hell. Anyway, turns out the kid’s not even mine, so a few years’ absence won’t be that big a burden. I’m in, sir. No problems.”
“Fine. If you’re sure,” Michael said, amazed yet again by the things he discovered about the spacers under his command. “Right. We’ve a lot to get through, so that will do. We’ll be dropping into normal space in … let me see … yes, about three hours from now to drop off those who don’t want any part of this, and then we’ll be on our way. There’ll be a more detailed briefing after we’ve jumped back in pinchspace. The XOs set up the AIs with a detailed sim of the operation. We’ll do a first run-through when the briefing’s over. Unless there are any questions … No? Good. I’ll see you all later. Carry on, please.” He turned to Ferreira and Sedova. “Let’s do the last of them.”
“Not looking forward to this, sir,” Ferreira said.
“Nor me,” Michael said, grim-faced. The command pilot and loadmaster of Redwood’s new heavy lander, Hell Bent, were unknown quantities. He had no feel for how they might respond. One thing was for sure, though: They were in for the biggest surprise of their short careers.
Junior Lieutenant Acharya and Petty Officer Krilic waited in Conference-6, a small, bleak compartment boasting a table, chairs, and a single bulkhead-mounted holovid. They came to their feet and snapped to attention when Michael entered.
“Sit, please,” Michael said, taking a seat opposite the pair. He waited until Ferreira and Sedova sat down on either side of him. “I have something to ask both of you, but first I want you to watch a holovid. Then the XO will tell you what comes next. So sit back and pay attention. Okay?”
“Sir,” the pair replied, their faces turn
ing to utter bafflement when the menacing figure of Colonel Erwin Hartspring appeared on the holovid and started to speak, the flattened vowels, chopped syllables, and staccato delivery stamping him indelibly as a Hammer.
“Hello, Lieutenant Helfort, or may I call you Michael?” the man said. “Do you remember me? Yes, I’m sure you do, but just in case …”
When Ferreira finished summarizing Operation Gladiator, Acharya and Krilic sat unmoving, their mouths hanging open, faces drawn tight in shocked disbelief.
Acharya spoke first. “Sir, you cannot be serious,” Hell Bent’s command pilot croaked. “I understand the problem, I sympathize, but … but this is mutiny, sir, not to mention about a hundred other crimes. Surely there must be a better way. A legal way. Surely?”
“I wish there was, Lieutenant, but trust me, there isn’t,” Michael said. “I would not be sitting here doing this if there was a better way. I hate doing this to you, putting you on the spot. I know it’s not fair, but that’s just the way it is. I know you don’t know me well enough to trust me, but sometimes in life that’s just the way things turn out. That’s the real question here: Are you prepared to trust me or not? There’s nothing more I can tell you. You know everything we know. Now it’s for you to decide.”
“Do I have to decide this instant?” Acharya said, anguished.
“I’m afraid so. Anyone who cannot go along with this will be off-loaded when we drop in a couple of hours. You have to decide now.”
“Shit,” Acharya muttered. “Sorry, sir, but that’s one hell of an ask.” His head went down and stayed there.
“I know,” Michael said. “You think about it for a moment. Petty Officer Krilic?”
“Sir?”
“You’re a bit quiet.”
Krilic sighed. “I am, sir, but only because I’ve decided.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. Part of me … no, that’s not right. Most of me wants to agree with you. Like most spacers, I’m not happy with the way Fleet’s handling things, not happy at all, but I can’t go along with you. I’m sorry. Do I need to say more than that?”
“No, no, you don’t,” Michael said. “It’s your call. If you’re sure”—Krilic nodded—“that’s quite okay. Jayla?”
“Sir. Come with me, Petty Officer Krilic.”
The silence continued long after the pair had left. Michael, conscious of all the things he needed to finish before Redwood dropped into normalspace, forced himself to wait. Operation Gladiator needed Acharya. At last, his head lifted. He looked Michael right in the eye.
“You have no right to ask me to be part of Gladiator, sir … none at all, and I will resent what you’ve done to me here for as long as I live. It’s wrong, so wrong I even don’t know where to start. So I won’t waste your time trying. Suffice it to say”—Michael held his breath—“that you can count me in, sir.”
Michael breathed out slowly. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Please, sir, don’t thank me.” Acharya’s tone turned abrupt, sharp. “Let’s be very clear. I’m not doing it for you.”
Michael blinked. Acharya might have volunteered, but that did not mean he should be part of Gladiator. Was he agreeing to go along just to be the hero, the spacer who saved the Federation from the worst mutiny in Fleet history? Acharya was a smart man, but even smart people were stupid sometimes. Michael knew he had been.
“I understand that,” Michael said. “So tell me why you are doing it. I need to know. If I’m to trust you,” he added under his breath.
“Well, sir. Petty Officer Krilic’s partly right, but there’s more to it. Twenty months ago, I was part of MARFOR 3. We’d embarked in Tourville and were training flat out for the invasion of Commitment. Then the Hammers kicked our ass at Comdur. Since then, all I’ve done is training, training, and more training, and for what? I’ll be dead before we ever invade the Hammers. I’ve not seen action once, which was why I was more than happy when posted to Redwood. With your reputation, sir, I was damn sure I wouldn’t be sitting around scratching my ass waiting to do my next training sim, even though I didn’t grind my way through combat flight school to go through this war picking off Hammer signal intelligence stations one by one. Sorry, sir, don’t mean to … you know …”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I know I’m only a no-account junior officer,” Acharya continued, “but like Krilic, I’m not happy with the way things have been going, and I’m willing to try another way. I have nothing personal against the Hammers. They haven’t killed anyone who matters to me and I haven’t lost anyone I’d call a friend, but this war cannot go on. So if you’ll have me, I’d like to be in. It might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done, and my dad will kill me when he sees me again, but so be it.”
Michael looked keenly at Acharya, acutely aware that for all the passion he showed, he was an unknown quantity. After a moment’s consideration and encouraged by Acharya’s directness, he made his decision.
“Good,” he said. “Welcome to the team. When we’re back in pinchspace, there’ll be a detailed briefing, followed by our first sim. I’ll comm you the full operations plan the moment we’re done here. Any more questions?”
“No, sir,” Acharya said, his voice betraying not a hint of uncertainty or doubt. “None.”
“Good. You carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Acharya had left, Michael turned to Sedova. “Have I made the right call?”
“Yes, sir, you have,” Sedova said; she looked relieved. “He’s an unknown quantity, I agree, but what I’ve seen of him so far is good, and we need another assault lander pilot. Lot of anger and frustration after sitting on the bench for so many months, too much maybe, but that’s a good thing for us, I think.”
* * *
“Captain, sir.”
“Yes, Jayla?”
“We’ll be dropping in thirty minutes, sir. If you’ve got any last vidmails to go, you need to get them finished.”
“Just doing that, Jayla, thanks. Our abstainers ready to go?”
“They are, sir. The marines will be loading them into the lifepods any minute now.”
“Okay. If you need me, I’ll be in the CIC once I’ve been down to wish them luck.”
“Sir.”
Michael scanned the last of the personal vidmails he had spent so much time and effort finishing. The one to his parents had been easy: a copy of Hartspring’s message, a short summary of what he planned to do and why, and a plea for patience and understanding.
The vidmails to Vice Admiral Jaruzelska and President Diouf had been far from easy. Second only to his parents and Anna, Jaruzelska and Diouf had faith in him when he most needed it; they would be deeply wounded by what to them would appear, quite justifiably, to be an act of unbelievable treachery. He had labored for hours trying to explain himself to them, but the words never came out right no matter how hard he tried. Resigned, he gave up trying and sent the messages on their way. Jaruzelska and Diouf would receive them when the lifepods holding the abstainers were rescued; he was glad he would not be around to see their reactions.
There was one last message to go, to Nyleth’s operations officer. It was easy, and then it was on its way. One thing was certain: The woman was in for the shock of her life when she opened her mail in ten days’ time. Michael hated leaving any of his people drifting in deepspace for that long before they were recovered, but there was no way he would rely on the Fed government to do the right thing. He would wager good money the first thing the morons would have done—apart from panicking—was to warn the Hammers that the dreadnoughts were on their way. So they could be allowed to find out only after it was all over.
Moving aft and up from his cabin, Michael made his way to the lobby accessing lifepods 7- and 9-Golf. There he found a disconsolate line of abstainers waiting to leave under the watchful gaze of Lieutenant Kallewi, Sergeant Tchiang, and four armed marines. Michael nodded his approval. He knew the abstainers would not make any tro
uble; they would be bored but safe, and they knew it. If there was one thing Fleet was good at, it was recovering wayward lifepods, and Michael had left their exact position and vector; still, it was good to see Kallewi taking nothing for granted.
When he approached, Leading Spacer Jackson spotted him. Turning, he started toward Michael, two marines moving to hold him back.
“Let me go!” Jackson said. “I just want to say goodbye.”
“It’s okay, guys,” Michael said to the marines. He looked at Jackson for a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry to lose you, Jackson. I hoped you’d be coming along.”
“I’m sorry, too, sir. I know Lieutenant Sedova thinks I’m too rule-bound, too rigid, and maybe I am, but whatever the reason, Gladiator’s just not something I can be part of. Wish it was but”—Jackson shrugged his shoulders—“it’s not. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Michael said. “You’re doing your duty the best way you know how. Nobody can criticize you for that, ever.” Michael grasped Jackson’s hand and shook it. “Good luck, and don’t think too badly of us. Whether we like it or not, fate sometimes gives us hard choices, and this has been one of those times.”
Jackson was overwhelmed by the moment, and his eyes filled with tears. “You take care, sir. I’ll be thinking of you. Good luck. I hope things work out.” With a final squeeze of the hand, he turned and ducked into the lifepod.
Michael shook hands with Lomidze and Krilic in turn. Neither spoke; they turned away and climbed into the lifepod.
“That’s it, sir,” Kallewi said when the lifepod hatches swung shut. “All loaded.”
“Good. Close the access doors. I’ll be in the CIC for the launch.”
“Sir.”
Michael sat back in his seat while the navigation AI recomputed Redwood’s position. He was prepared to do many things; dropping the lifepods into the wrong patch of deepspace was not one of them.
“Lifepod drop position and vector confirmed nominal, sir,” the AI said at last.
Helfort’s War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet Page 10
