Indomitable

by W. C. Bauers

  “Good morning, Lieutenant. I don’t expect to keep you long. I hope you’ll be forthright and as direct as possible in answering my questions. Do that and you and I will get along famously.

  “Sergeant Morris’s death is a loss to us all. But his death was unnecessary and completely avoidable, Lieutenant Paen, and that is the basis for my questions today. I’m most interested in your exchange with Lieutenant General Granby earlier that morning. Please relay the contents of your conversation with her to your best recollection.”

  Promise had carefully prepared for just such a question. She consulted her minicomp and read from her notes, even though she could have projected them onto the holoscreen before her.

  “Lieutenant, I know what was said between you and the general. I’ve seen the data feed from your mechsuit too. I’m far more interested in why it was said in the first place. Would you care to read between the lines?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand the senator’s question.”

  Oman sighed over the pickup. “Of course you don’t. Why don’t we start with the facts and work toward the truth, okay?

  “Lieutenant, is it true you petitioned General Granby to continue the Mount Bane operation, even though your company had suffered almost ninety-percent simulated casualties?”

  “Yes, Senator, that is correct.”

  “Hm … that’s telling. And is it true the general granted your request?”

  “Yes, Senator, that is also correct.”

  “I see. And is it true the stand-down codes for the Mount Bane installation magically appeared on your, ah, your mechsuit’s heads-up display. Your HUD as you call it?”

  “I suppose you could say the stand-down codes appeared unexpectedly, Senator.”

  “Indeed. And did you know the general had sent them to you?”

  “As I’ve already said, I had no specific knowledge of the sender’s identity, Senator.”

  “But you had a hunch, didn’t you? Were you aware of the general’s antipathy for the entire Mount Bane program?”

  “Not specifically, no.”

  “How about generally, Lieutenant?” The senator’s eyebrows rose together.

  “I believe the general has spoken freely on the matter, Senator.” And General Granby had, on more than one occasion. Her distaste for the games was no great secret.

  “Do you agree with the general?”

  Promise’s mouth opened reflexively. She forced it closed as her mind raced for a suitable answer.

  “Ah-ha, now we come to the truth. You utilized codes you should not have possessed because you wanted to win the game, at all cost. You and the general are both decorated, skilled warriors, and a credit to our Fleet Forces. Each of you seems to have a history of rushing into overwhelming odds and bending the rules to suit your own purposes. Did you actually believe you could take the installation with, how do you say it, a reinforced toon?”

  Promise hesitated. “I believed I had to try. War isn’t fair, Senator. I simply utilized every advantage at my disposal.”

  “That may be true, depending upon your point of view, of course. But we are not at war, Lieutenant, a fact I must constantly remind some of my fellow senators of.”

  “We are not yet at war, Senator,” Promise said, and she might as well have tossed a flash-bang into the room. A collective gasp rose from behind her. “Whether war comes will ultimately be a political decision, not a military one. My job is to prepare for war should it ever come. That’s why we have the games.”

  The blood drained from Senator Oman’s face. “Yes, and that’s why we have this committee, to make sure leveler heads prevail. Tell me, Lieutenant, do you believe in an unwinnable scenario?”

  “Are you referring to the overarching philosophy of the Mount Bane war games?”

  Oman hesitated a moment. “I am, yes. Why?”

  “Then, with respect to you and my superiors in the audience, no, I do not. There must always be a way out. There must always be a path to victory. There must always be hope, even in the face of overwhelming odds. Training Marines to lose is a mistake.”

  “So you do agree with the lieutenant general.”

  “I sympathize with her position, yes, but arrived at my own opinion independently.”

  “And her methods. Do the ends justify her means?”

  “She changed the game’s parameters. In war, our enemy will do nothing less than that if it means achieving victory.”

  “And here we are again, back to war. Lieutenant, need I remind you we are enjoying an unprecedented time of peace across our core member worlds.”

  “And how about our protectorates, ma’am?”

  “You’re referring to your birth world, Montana.” Oman’s words carried a dangerous edge to them. “You have a bit of history with unwinnable odds, don’t you, Lieutenant. How many Marines did you lose on Montana?”

  “Senator Oman!” Senator Jang was standing now. “With all due respect, you are out of line.” A swell of outrage rose from the Senate floor, though Promise couldn’t be sure how much of it was for or against her.

  “Sometimes, Lieutenant, battles are manufactured, not simply fought.” Oman was almost shouting. “War is the most costly game and it rarely solves anything. One should not court it.”

  Two more senators stood in protest, the voices carried by the pickups across the chamber. The chairman banged his gavel to no avail.

  “Mr. Chairman.” Senator Terra Jang was leaning into the pickup. “We did not call Lieutenant Paen to testify in today’s hearings just to second-guess her past command decisions or question her patriotism to the Republic.” Jang’s voice shook with anger. “The lieutenant is a highly decorated Marine Corps officer and a national hero. She deserves to be treated as such.” Jang had a roll of carbonscreen in her hand and was waving it menacingly at Senator Oman.

  “I remind the honorable senator from Glasgow that she yielded her time to me,” Senator Oman said. “You are free to request supplementary minutes from the chair after I and the rest of our colleagues have each had a turn to question the lieutenant. Thank you, Lieutenant Paen, for your service to our star nation. Mr. Chairman, may I suggest a short recess before we continue?”

  Twenty-one

  MAY 6TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0923 HOURS

  REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

  RAW SENATE BUILDING

  Promise found her seat in the upper gallery of the Republic of Aligned Worlds Senate chambers, two rows from the front. She sat on the cushion’s edge to get the best possible view. Politicians, reporters, government workers, and military brass flooded the main level of the RAW’s upper house of government. The Senate was circular in shape, with an outer and an inner ring comprised of delegation boxes and virtual pickups. Plebiscite worlds—mostly from the verge—sat farthest away from the center platform, where the Senate president and the committee chairs presided over half the daily affairs of the Republic’s governance. Core worlds comprised the inner ring of the chamber. The outer ring funded eighty percent of the government and wielded twenty percent of the power, while the inner ring generated twenty percent of the Republic’s tax base and got to spend the other eighty percent too. You could have cut the enmity between the two with a knife.

  Myriad delegation flags hung from the overhead, casting intermittent shadows across the Senate floor. Clusters of Marine Corps noncoms and officers ferried about in regular-dress uniforms, their white berets tucked beneath their arms. A sizable delegation from the Navy had turned out in its telltale regular-dress greens.

  All at once a flight of hovercams converged on the north entrance.

  “What’s going on?” Kathy popped a handful of dried fruit into her mouth and leaned forward.

  “There—the screen on the wall is zeroing in.” Promise inhaled sharply. “That’s Fleet Admiral Ben-Ziser, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” The admiral took the aisle at a determined pace, followed by two of his senior staffers. Several dozen politicia
ns stood and pointed at the admiral.

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Kathy turned to Promise for an explanation.

  “The admiral just entered from the north, Kathy. You understand the significance of that, right?”

  Kathy shrugged and popped a hard candy into her mouth.

  “Don’t you know anything about Republican politics? The uniformed services—we—are supposed to be apolitical. I know. Not in this ’verse. Tradition says we always enter from the west side of the Senate building. We do not take sides in political turf wars.” They exchanged telling looks. “It’s against Republican law.”

  Admiral Miles Ben-Ziser was almost to the military’s box, situated next to the interplanetary high court’s.

  Promise continued. “The west entrance is largely symbolic. But time has set this custom in ferrocrete. The New ’Verse Democratic and Labor Party and the Conservative Socialists always enter from the south. Centrists, the military, and the high court enter from the west, where leveler heads are said to prevail.” Promise rolled her eyes. “The minor parties—some would say the fringe parties—enter from the east.” The eastern parties included the War Hawks, the One ’Verse Alliance, and the Universal Catholic League, among others. “The Conservative Coalition and all of the hard-line, pro-military, pro-defense senators enter from the north. The admiral just made a political statement, and it won’t sit well with the Congress.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Kathy said. “Sounds minor if you ask me. What’s the big deal?”

  “Who sets the Fleet Forces’ annual budget, Kathy?”

  “Oh.”

  “Right.”

  The gallery noise died to a low-level murmur as the main screen switched to the west entrance. Heads turned like a wave across the Senate floor as Lieutenant General Felicia Granby entered the spheroid chamber, and walked down the politically correct radius, from the west. All cameras and pickups on her.

  “She got her directions right,” Kathy said.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Promise shook her head. “Whatever happens won’t change her fate. It’s just a show. I was merely the opening act.”

  Scuttlebutt said Granby’s fate was already sealed. The general was being benched.

  * * *

  “… you advocate war when we’re at peace.” Senator Oman was visibly angry. “You’d spill our star nation’s precious blood to sate your need for conquest. Well, let me tell you something, General, our republic does not deserve your wrath. And whatever their faults may be, neither do the Lusitanians. What’s needed now is time, diplomacy, calmer heads, willing hearts. You have faith to move mountains, I give you that much. But, you’ve forgotten a more excellent way. A warrior like you probably wouldn’t understand that.”

  General Granby stayed in her seat. Hands folded, she spoke evenly into the pickup.

  “‘… if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.’”

  “I believe the senator is quoting from the Good Book. I tend to agree. However, the senator has forgotten one important fact. Love does not exist in a vacuum. It has obligations to fulfill.”

  * * *

  Granby closed her eyes and spoke.

  “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, always protects.

  “We must protect ourselves, Senator. Our citizens deserve nothing less from us, and if we fail in this regard, what does that say about us as a star nation? As a people?

  “Diplomacy has failed us, Senator. We have given our trust, spent our hope, and persevered through gross injustice. We have been patient. Releasing our territorial rights to plebiscite systems has failed us, Senator. We continue to give and the Lusitanians keep taking. We have been kind. Considering our star neighbor before ourselves has failed us, Senator. We have not boasted. We have refused to malign the Lusitanian Empire in the nets even when harsher words were deserved. We have not dishonored them, Senator. We have gone to extraordinary lengths to avoid war and bloodshed. We have not been self-seeking. We have not been easily angered. We have overlooked a long list of wrongs. And now we come to the naked truth. We must protect ourselves.

  “The Lusitanian Empire does not respect our territorial boundaries or our sovereign laws. She has repeatedly tossed aside our overtures of peace. She has maligned us in the nets and boasted of her superiority instead. She is dishonorable, self-seeking, easily angered. Have we so soon forgotten the gross treaty violations—dare I say blatant acts of war—that occurred in the Montana system and on the planet itself, a Republican plebiscite world, just this past year, or the—how did you put it, Senator—ah yes, the ‘regrettable incidents’ upon half a dozen of our worlds before that? Have you forgotten the precious Republican blood they spilled? Have you forgotten their queen’s indifference to our diplomatic overtures?”

  The general stood and looked to her right and left before turning around to appeal to the entire assembly. “Every time we back down they grow emboldened. And our diplomats offer them another olive branch and another system and another living world and more innocents instead of the guilt they deserve.” The general clenched her fists, and then to everyone’s surprise she slammed the witness table. “We are negotiating from a position of weakness. Weakness, I say! Please, Senators, all I’m advocating is we reinforce our flanks, enlarge our ranks, and redeploy our assets to make the Lusies think twice before violating our borders again.”

  “You—you’re a warmonger, General.” Senator Oman’s voice shook. “We need cooler heads in the military, not bullish, careerist, myopic generals preoccupied with their own greatness.”

  Granby straightened her uniform. “You, Senator, are a feckless coward, a simpleton, and a pacifying fool.” A number of Marines and Sailors were on their feet and they looked ready to mutiny. “You advocate we wait and talk. Talk has soundly failed us, Senator. And wait? What are we waiting for? Another attack? More of our own dead and wounded? I say the time for a war footing is now. Now, Senator. Now! Before it’s too late.”

  Senator Oman’s words drowned in a sea of murmurs as General Granby turned toward the exit to leave. “You have not been dismissed, General! General, do you hear me?”

  Twenty-two

  MAY 10TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1902 HOURS

  REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

  MARINE CORPS CENTRAL MOBILIZATION COMMAND

  Lieutenant General Felicia Granby spent the last day as the commander of CENT-MOBCOM hiding her true feelings. Changes were coming, at jump speed, changes far beyond her control. There were units to equip, ready, and deploy, and emerging threats to consider in multiple sectors. Notes to leave for her successor. Gear to procure, receive, and inventory. Classes to steer toward graduation. And last orders to give before the change of command, which she wouldn’t be present for. “The task is taller than ever,” she’d said to her staff earlier in the day. Her final stand-up meeting. “You’re prepared to handle them. I have complete faith in you. The Corps needs you now more than ever to help it prepare for what’s coming.” Even as my career ends. She’d seen the recognition in their eyes. Several had wanted to say more. She’d held up a hand to avoid their questions. It was enough for them to know she was taking the fall for Sergeant Morris’s death. And, she supposed, she was at fault for that. Still …

  The truth came down to guns and butter. General Granby was a war general. She’d been doing what she could to prepare the Corps for the inevitable. The Lusitanian Empire had its eyes on Republican-controlled space, particularly the metal-heavy worlds in the verge. The Republican Press Corps and a glut of politicians warned that a war between the LE and the RAW would be the war to end all wars, that conceding a few systems here and there was far preferable to an interstellar conflagration, th
at peace was possible in our time. It was all utter foolishness. Did they not know history? It was long past time for the president, the Congress, and the Joint Chiefs of the Fleet Forces to wake up to the dangers pressing upon the Republic, and adopt a war footing.

  The RAW-MC’s commandant belonged to the prepare-and-wait camp. Granby had butted heads with him on several occasions. Her fight with Senator Oman before the Senate had finally done her in.

  Be honest, Felicia. Your mouth got you cashiered. Doesn’t matter if you were right. You can be dead right and still wrong.

  The general sank into her office chair. She hadn’t picked a fight with just any senator, either. Senator Oman was a senior member on the HWAC, and a minority leader in the Senate. Head of the New ’Verse Democratic and Labor Party. Watching Oman stand in protest and turn red with anger had been immensely satisfying, at least in the moment, even as a claxon had sounded in the back of her mind.

  Be honest, Felicia. It wasn’t worth it.

  Oman’s party had a standing arrangement with the Conservative Coalition, which was a motley alliance held together by two imperatives: securing interstellar trade routes and preserving the upward curve of the gross systems product. Oman’s ilk had voted to give the defense department enough money to build a strong deterrent—at least on screen—and that had kept the pro-military parties in check. The balance of power was shifting. Scuttlebutt said Oman had threatened to pull her votes from several pieces of legislation, including a defense reauthorization bill that the Corps desperately needed, unless she got her way, and Oman’s way had included the head of a three-star general.

  There was a knock at her door.

  “Mm?”

  “Ma’am, the commandant just commed. He’s fifteen mikes out.”

  “That was nice of him.” Granby tapped her fingers on her glass-like workstation in time to the ticking metronome mounted on the wall. For the first time in a long time, perhaps for as long as she could remember life in the Corps, she had nothing pressing to do and all the time in the ’verse to do it in.