by Rick Shelley
‘ ‘Find out how many and who, and get those officers up here doublequick. I need to get this briefing out of the way today. We’re going to war, not to a tea party.”
A moment later, only Truscott and Shrikes were left on the flag bridge. “Get our people in here, Ian,”
Truscott said. “I might as well get them straightened away while we’re waiting for the other lot.”
“Yes, sir.”
There had been considerable reorganization. As senior officer, Admiral Truscott got the prime flag territory on the battlecruiser. Admiral Greene and his staff had been bumped, and were in the process of transferring to Victoria.
The rest of Truscott’s staff had gathered in the flag wardroom. Ian went in and exchanged greetings.
Most of the team had been together for nearly two years.
“Pep talk time,” Ian told the others. “On the flag bridge.”
• • •
It was after 1700 hours before Paul Greene could report that all of the officers Truscott wanted present for the briefing had arrived. “They’re waiting your pleasure in the main wardroom, Stasys.”
“Thanks, Paul.” Truscott clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘ ‘You know, we may really earn our pensions on this voyage.”
Paul Greene’s answering smile was thin. “It all seems a bit foggy to me, Stasys. Unless you’ve been keeping secrets.”
“Not intentionally, at least. I’ve routed everything to you since this flap came up.” Truscott shrugged.
“There may be the odd bit and piece missing. Hell, man, I’m not sure / know all of what’s going on.”
Ian opened the door for the admirals, then followed them along the corridors and down the lift tube.
When he opened the door to the main wardroom, he heard the call to attention as someone inside spotted the admirals. A lectern had been set up at the head of the room. Truscott homed in on that and told everyone to be seated.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” Truscott didn’t waste time when he reached the lectern. A quick glance around showed faces that were attentive, curious, a bit apprehensive.
“We will depart Buckingham in less than twentyfour hours. Our destination is a world known as Buchanan. If you’ve never heard of it, don’t feel bad. I hadn’t heard of it myself two weeks ago.” There were complink controls on the lectern. Truscott punched in a code and a chart of the Buchanan system appeared on the wall behind him. Next to the chart, a list of vital statistics for the system wrote itself on the wall screen.
“Nothing remarkable,” Truscott said. “Seven planets, two of them gas giants with extensive satellite systems. Two welldefined asteroid belts. Only the one habitable world. Buchanan was settled about a hundred and fifty years ago. We have no population figures, no recent data of any sort. All we do know is that Buchanan has apparently been invaded by forces of the Federation.”
A hand rose in the audience. Truscott nodded at the officer and she stood.
“Lieutenant Commander Olive Bosworth, fourth squadron of the air wing.”
“Yes, Commander?”
” Apparently, sir?” She put a lot of emphasis on the first word.
“Apparently, Commander,” Truscott affirmed. “A message rocket was intercepted coming insystem.
The cylinder itself was badly scorched. The early analysis was that the MR transited to Qspace deep in a planetary atmosphere. Yes. I know that the book says that can’t be done. At least, Mere are strong recommendations against it. But the message in the rocket was that Federation troops had landed ind were taking members of the governing planetary commission prisoner. The Admiralty takes the message seriously.”
Paul Greene cleared his throat and Truscott looked to him.
“Someone has to ask this, so it might as well be me,” Greene said. “What’s so important about Buchanan, other than the fact that Federation troops may have landed there?”
‘“Buchanan is on the fringe between the core regions of Commonwealth and Federation,” Truscott said.
“It has been independent, not a member of the Commonwealth, but I at accepting the claimed sovereignty of the Federation either. It is apparently only lightly settled. Buchanan could give the Federation a toehold close to worlds that are vital : I the Commonwealth. It could also give them a base close to an area that a lot of our ships use for making midcourse Qspace insertions. If they set up shop there, they could be a real thorn in our sides, even perhaps threaten Buckingham. Other than location, the important thing is that they’ve requested our assistance in defending themselves. His Majesty’s government have decided that we should grant that assistance.
“We’ll have to gather our own intelligence going in. The scout ship Khyber has already been dispatched.
We will rendezvous with Khyber before we make our final jump to Buchanan. Our preliminary analysis is that the Federation probably hasn’t committed major assets. But the basis of that estimate is nothing more than the fact that, as far as we know, there’s nothing to justify a major commitment. You can understand that, since Buchanan’s location is strategically important, I don’t place an excessive amount of faith in that assessment, which is one reason why Khyber is off doing a recce.
“Our mission is to engage Federation forces and liberate Buchanan. I will keep you apprised of developments as necessary. Once we have firm intelligence on the current status of enemy forces, we’ll move toward tactical planning. In the meantime, I want every ship, every section, ready for combat.
That’s all for now.”
After the briefing, Ian followed the two admirals back to the flag bridge.
“Just how strong do you think the Federation force on Buchanan is, Stasys?” Greene asked.
“There’s really no way to know,” Truscott grumbled, “but I’m hoping they’ve not assigned more than a single troop ship. Their Cutter class, if we’re lucky.”
“A single battalion?” Green asked, clearly skeptical.
“The colony on Buchanan can’t number more than forty or fifty thousand people. They have no significant exports, almost no contact with other worlds. You know what it’s like with a small colony. All they have is their location, their homes. Even if they plan to build it up afterward, there’s no call for a major commitment of Federation troops at the start. Especially if they don’t know that someone managed to get out a call for help. We have a chance to score a quick victory. We need something like that to drive home the point that this war is for real. A lot of civilians don’t seem to recognize the peril yet.”
Ian felt a sudden chill at an uninvited thought: A quick defeat might drive home the point even better.
6
Turn and about— hell of a way to run things, David Spencer thought as he packed his bag at the Royal Albert Hotel in downtown Westminster. Been gone twentyfour months and only get twentyfour hours ashore.
It had been a spectacularly unsatisfactory shore leave, even though he had splurged on a room in the poshest hotel on Buckingham. Drinking alone had been no fun. Nothing tasted right. It was all flat, like the talk of the civilians around him. Finally, he had bought a bottle and gone back to his room. After scanning the day’s headlines on the complink, David searched for news of the CSF and the war, linking back through all of the months he had been gone. He found the entries about the ships that were presumed lost: Northumbria, Suffolk, Hebrides. Each had carried a Marine detachment. David had done a tour aboard Suffolk. He knew men who were serving on Hebrides, perhaps also on Northumbria.
Turn and about. In some ways, David was almost glad to see this liberty end. There were no taxis handy when he left the hotel, so he started walking. It was a bright spring day in Westminster. The breeze was mild, coming from the ocean. Nothing that David saw showed any sign that there was a war on. He stopped on a corner and turned through a complete circle. People walked and rode past, caught up in their normal affairs, oblivious to anything else. Business as usual. David suddenly felt like screaming in frustration. Don’t you bloody so
ds know what’s going on?
For a moment, he trembled with something like rage. It wasn’t until he was in the taxi heading out toward the CSF base in Cheapside that he managed to think his way through his reaction. What do you think a war’s supposed to be like at home? It’s up to blokes like me to keep them feeling safe and normal.
Finally, his tension eased enough for a wry question. And where’s the fine text that says folks have to panic ‘cause there’s a war somewhere ?
David looked around, settled himself more comfortably in the backseat, and cleared his throat. ‘ ‘Driver, drop me at Northbridge and Woolsey, instead of going to the port.” There was still time for a pint or two before he had to report back for the shuttle.
Buses ran along Northbridge every twenty minutes. David took a post near the front of the Tattooed Lady, put his bag on the floor between his feet, and set himself a time limit. This pub felt more comfortable than the fancy bar at the Royal Albert.
Almost like home, David thought. He drank down his first two pints of bitter quickly, then decided he had time for a third. When the third pint had gone the way of the first two, there were still four minutes left until the next bus was due, so David ordered a final half pint and tossed that off in one long swallow.
“There, lad, you’ve had your proper taste.” He set the glass on the bar with exaggerated care. “No telling how long that has to hold you.” He flipped a sloppy salute at the barman, picked up his bag, and headed for the door. His steps weren’t nearly as crisp and military as when he came in. But he felt worlds better.
David whistled his way to the bus stop. He wasn’t drunk—a slight buzz, nothing more. By the time he reported back aboard Victoria, he would be ready for duty. He probably wouldn’t even need a killjoy patch to cleanse the alcohol from his system.
No one paid much attention to a slightly intoxicated Marine in Cheapside, not even in the afternoon.
Drunken Marines were a daily, and nightly, sight there. The bus conductor, a former Marine himself, took note of where David sat in order to make sure the sergeant got off at the port. The conductor always did what he could for the Marines and sailors who came under his charge on their way back to base from a sortie into Cheapside. He knew what it was like.
David sat and stared out the window. He continued to whistle, but softly, absentmindedly. Behind him, the conductor smiled when he found himself whistling the same tune, just as softly. He nodded, thinking that very little had changed in the twenty years since he had mustered out.
The bus ride took less than ten minutes. David got up from his seat a half block before the familiar stop at the main gate and worked his way to the door at the rear of the bus.
“Good luck, Marine,” the conductor said as David weaved by him.
David stopped and looked at him. “Thanks. And good luck to you.” The conductor saluted with a grin and David returned both. He stepped down from the bus feeling better than he had in weeks.
A dozen people got off with David, all of them heading back to base. Others were converging on the gate, getting out of taxis or walking down the street. Down the block, David saw three of his people.
Alfie and Roger were more than half carrying Jacky White. Jacky seemed scarcely conscious.
“No damn wonder,” David mumbled.
“Hey, Sergeant!” Alfie shouted, still fifty yards away.
“We brought him back in one piece, sort of.”
Jacky lifted his head and managed to open his eyes, but only briefly.
“Why didn’t you slap a killjoy on him?” David asked when the men reached him. “We can’t get him on the shuttle like that.”
“Ain’t right,” Jacky mumbled. “They got no bloody right.” Then he sagged toward the street, completely unconscious. Alfie and Roger were hard put to keep him from falling.
“We was afraid we couldn’t get him back at all if he sobered up,” Roger said. “Takin’ a chance on company punishment seemed better’n him endin’ up in the brig.”
“Slap a patch on him now,” David said. “Better make it two. I’ve never seen him so far in the bag.”
Alfie supported Jacky’s weight while Roger applied the medical patches to his neck. After a moment, Jacky groaned, but killjoy patches didn’t work that quickly. He was still unconscious.
“We don’t have time to wait for it out here,” David said. “Keep a firm grip on him, lads, and let’s get him inside. Maybe he’ll wake up by the time we get to the shuttle.”
David stayed close to his men as they went past the sentries at the gate. There was a detailed ID check before anyone was allowed through. The guards gave Jacky a close look, but after they had confirmed all of the group’s identities, they waved David and his men through.
“Get him on a cart,” David said after they were clear of the gate. “If he was awake, I’d make him walk all the way to the shuttle, all the way to Victoria if we could manage it.”
There were open buses for transport on the base—flatbed trucks with simple benches, no doors or aisles. David and his men piled aboard one heading toward the shuttle terminal. Halfway there, Jacky groaned and started to sit up, one hand held up to his head. Even after he got upright, he held his head, putting the second hand up to help. His eyes were open, but his gaze seemed fixed on his toes.
“Where the hell are we?” Jacky asked.
” You’re on the tightrope between the brig and company punishment,” David said. It was enough to make Jacky look up.
“I’m a civilian, damn it,” Jacky said. “My hitch was up seven weeks ago. They’ve got no bloody right to keep me in.”
“They’ve got every right in the galaxy, lad,” David told him. “There’s a war on.”
“I don’t see any war,” Jacky retorted. “I don’t much care either. It’s not my war. Let somebody else fight it. I’ve done my time.”
“And you’ll do a little more, White,” David said. “The only question is where you’ll do it, and that’s entirely up to you. You can return to duty like a man, or you can spend your time in the brig.” David wouldn’t beg anyone to do his duty.
“He’ll be all right, Sarge,” Roger said. “We’ll keep him straight.”
“Anyone seen Tory?” David asked. It was time to start worrying about the last of his squad.
“He went straight home yesterday,” Roger said. “Told us he’d see us back aboard ship.”
“Then he’ll be here. He knows his duty.” David looked at Jacky. White was still leaning forward, holding his head. The killjoy patches would sober him in a hurry, but—especially with two patches on at once—they would give him a giantkiller of a headache.
Serve him right, David thought. He was upset at Jacky’s condition and complaints, but not nearly as upset as he would have been if Jacky had missed ship. That would have been a certain courtmartial offense, and in time of war, the sentence would be heavy. We’ll whip you back in shape, lad, David promised silently. It was a rotten break for Jacky—and all the other marines, soldiers, and sailors whose enlistments had been extended indefinitely—but there was no help for it.
“They got Suffolk, Sarge,” Roger said as the cart slowed for its halt at the shuttle terminal. ‘ ‘Three of the lads I went through training with were on Suffolk.”
” Northumbria and Hebrides as well,” David said. “We’ve probably all lost mates. But we’ll get our innings.”
“Jacky’ll see it clear soon enough,”’ Roger said.
David nodded. “Let’s get inside and check in for the shuttle.”
Tory Kepner ran into the terminal at the last possible moment. He checked in just as the shuttle to Victoria was being announced. “That was close,” he said when he joined the others from his squad.
“You made it. That’s the important bit,” David said. “How’s the wife and son?”
“Fantastic. I hated to leave.”
“We get this next job of work done, maybe they’ll give us a proper breather.” David herded his charg
es toward the gate.
“I’ve got hundreds of holos of Francie and Geoff,” Tory warned. Francie was his wife, Geoff the eighteenmonthold son.
Alfie groaned. “An’ I suppose we’ll have to look at every bleedin’ one of them.”
“Haifa dozen times.” Tory grinned. “And that’s before I parcel out the cake that Francie baked for you lot.”
“Aw, c’mon, lad,” Alfie said. “Can’t let your missus’s cake go stale waitin’ for that. It’d be an insult to her.”
“How would you know the difference between stale and fresh?” Tory challenged. “You think the RM serve us gourmet meals.”
Everyone but Jacky laughed. Jacky was conscious now, but he hadn’t said a word in quite some time.
ID chips were checked at the entrance to the shuttle. Besides the naval rating comparing the chips to a roster, there were two Marines in battledress, carrying loaded weapons. That was new. In all his years in the Royal Marines, David couldn’t remember security ever being so tight.
“There’s a war on, right enough,” David whispered to himself as he took his seat in the shuttle.
7
Three days after his meeting with Gil Howard, Doug Weintraub left his cave just before sunset. He walked a mile west before turning north. The past days had left Doug feeling more nervous than he had been since the first hours of his flight. Sleep had become almost impossible. His nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point.
He reached a location that overlooked the rendezvous point an hour early. It was an area of tall grasses and scrub trees, with a fair amount of cover—for foe as well as friend. Doug settled himself in a prone position on the low rise and gnawed at a strip of hippobary jerky while he waited— more to ease his nerves than his hunger. He was delighted to see his recruits move into the area with some sense of precaution, spread out, rifles at the ready.
Almost military, Doug thought, though he had never seen a true soldier and suspected that professionals might not look so awkward. They certainly wouldn’t be carrying such an assortment of hunting weapons.
