by W. C. Bauers
“If you say so, ma’am.” Sergeant Major Shaun Lake stood at ease, one foot inside the office of the commanding general, Republic of Aligned Worlds Marine Corps Central Mobilization Command. Lake’s hands were tucked into the small of her back. Like the general, she was dressed in her navy-blue regular-dress uniform and white blouse. Seven gold stripes rode each shoulder, three up top and four below; the gold star cluster nestled between the chevrons and the rockers. Her short-waist jacket hung open at her sides. Four hash marks cut across both sleeves, one for every five years of service. Lake was well on her way to a fifth. Minimum glittery and ribbons covered her heart. The sergeant major looked hard at the personal case on the floor beside the general’s desk, and the full crate of personal effects next to it. Lake took her time scanning the empty walls and shelves of an office she’d spent more time in during the past three years than with her husband and children in their base housing. When she finally looked back at the general what she saw gave her pause. Granby’s eyes were as black as her obsidian dress shoes, and they looked pissed off.
The general clasped her hands together on her desktop, forcing a tight smile. “Please come in, Sergeant Major.” Granby dipped her head and smiled. “This is still my office and you’re still my senior noncommissioned advisor … and friend.”
“To the end, ma’am,” the sergeant major said.
“Appropriate words, Shaun. To the end … and right off the galactic cliff. Never thought I’d see the day. Figured a beam would get me before that happened.” Granby gave Lake an apologetic look. “That was an awful thing to say at a time like this.” The general held up a hand in apology. “We must have some compassion for the commandant. After all, he had a warhead named Oman pointed at his budget, all because of me. He needs well-equipped boots and retrofitted mechsuits and the lift capability to ferry them around the ’verse, all the AIs and drones he can talk the Congress out of, and the flexibility to build the Corps of the future. He’s not asking for much, is he?” Granby inhaled. “What he does not need is an uppity three-star who can’t keep her mouth shut. He didn’t have a choice.”
“If you say so, ma’am,” Lake said after a long moment. “It’s still wrong benching you like this.”
Granby waved her hand dismissively. “Never believe your own press, Sergeant Major. You might start thinking you’re indispensable.”
“General, I—I know you don’t.…”
“Thank you, Shaun. I do know and I am grateful, truly. Now, you have a career to tend to, which no longer involves me. I will not see yours plummet into oblivion because of my mistakes. I’ve already spoken with the commandant about it. You will not be put out to rust in some backwater, godforsaken command. As long as you don’t create a fuss. Let me go quietly, let this go, here, now. Please.”
Lake nodded while making it clear she wasn’t happy. “I won’t forget. I don’t believe I can.”
“Believe me,” Granby said, “I certainly won’t.”
The sergeant major actually laughed. “I don’t doubt it, Great-Grans.” Lake bent down to grab the general’s things.
“Leave them for now. There’s plenty of time.”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll see to them.”
Granby reopened a file on her workstation and swayed in her chair, grasping at stray thoughts. The vid to Sergeant Morris’s next of kin had taken her far too long to record. She hadn’t needed to make the vid or send it at all. That was Lieutenant Paen’s job.
So why did you, Felicia? And why go back to it now? It won’t change anything.
Her hand brushed her mop of cropped snow-white hair. It contrasted sharply with the dark-navy hue of her regular-dress uniform. She tried to rub the tiredness from her eyes. Her jacket and pants were badly crumpled by the lateness of the hour, and fresh worry circled her eyes. A half-drunk cup of caf sat beside her workstation, long since cooled. She’d picked at her cuticle until it was a raw mess.
Because he was my last and he didn’t have to be. The admission was so painful she couldn’t voice it, not even to the sergeant major. Morris was the last casualty of her command, the last boot to fall under her direct orders. She didn’t want Morris’s service record tarnished by politics. Or by my foolhardy choices. She sat up straight, hit REPLAY. “I regret to inform you that…” Her voice had caught in her throat and she’d almost edited that part out of the vid. The emotion had been so genuine it had caught her by surprise. She could at least give Morris’s family as much. The vid continued. “Your son was a credit to the Republic and the Marine Corps. He was…” She’d gone on to praise the sergeant’s life and accomplishments without overdoing it, a skill mastered with far too much practice over decades of death notifications. The wall of multicolored ribbons over her breast reminded her of the whens and wheres and hows.
She skipped to the end of the vid and hit PLAY.. “Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I wish I were there with you now, to thank you for your sacrifice and your son’s. His presence will be missed. He was a fine Marine and a credit to you, his platoon, and his star nation.”
Her words had no doubt hit the Morris family like a twin blow to the jaw. The realities of interstellar travel made personal notifications simply impossible. The words would never be enough. They never were.
She brushed the stars on her collar points and felt herself drifting off to a dark place. Perhaps the Morrises lived out in the country on their world, with plenty of open space. Their home took shape in her mind. An old-fashioned brick walkway greeted them each morning, and a screen door let in the cool morning air. She imagined taking the steps, slowly, testing each one for weakness. The creak of the porch as it bowed beneath her. Three swift knocks. The door opens and the father looks out. He knows, and nods to himself, steels himself for the worst.
“Hello, sir. Are you home alone?”
The mother tries to come around him. “Honey, what is it?”
He turns to block her view. She pushes past him and stops abruptly, hands rushing to her mouth.
And the pain lasts a lifetime. I’m so sorry.
At the end of the vid she’d inserted a final message. “Mrs. and Mrs. Morris, I’m reminded of an ancient saying engraved at both ends of the All Souls monument, just outside of National Cemetery here on Hold.” The monument curled more than one hundred meters across a manicured lawn, flanked by a small lake on either side, and ringed with sitting benches and shade. The monument was made of smart plexi and looked like reflective black stone. Visitors were encouraged to bring personal vids, stills, and holographic mementos to pin to the wall. Pots and loose earth were available for planting flowers. The unclassified portions of a Marine’s jackets were available for the public to scroll through and remember, unless sealed by the family or for another reason. “I can think of no more fitting words to honor your son with,” the general said before she recited the inscription from memory.
Our fallen paid the highest price, displayed the greatest love, by laying down their lives for their friends.
Her recording to the Morris family had traveled by jumpship, arriving in the Kelbakk system two days after she’d recorded it, to Aael’s World, and with it the sergeant’s flag. A Republican Marine, probably from the planet’s central recruiting office, had delivered the news and presented the flag with her deepest sympathies. An identical standard had covered the sergeant’s casket at his military funeral at National Cemetery. There was a time when the ceremonial flag was precisely folded into a triangle, and handed to the next of kin. The Diasporas had erased that tradition.
On any given day, there was always a Marine flag traveling by jumpship across the known ’verse with the news no loved one wanted to hear. Sergeant Morris hadn’t left a spouse or children behind. Small consolation, that. How many others would never be born because of her foolish actions? Granby knew the question would haunt her. Her stubborn pride. Her determination to prove the futility of a no-win scenario, her desire to silence a mountain, and her willingness to toss
the Regs aside to suit her own agenda. One of her Marines was down because of an accident between a man and a machine, caused by human error, and the error had been hers.
Stop digging your grave, Felicia. Don’t dishonor the sergeant’s memory that way. He deserves better. Shoulder back. Head held high … until the end. Now, you have one last vid to record. There are a few things Lieutenant Paen needs to understand about politics and war. Whether she knows it or not, she’s painted a target on her back. I helped her do it, and now she’s in Oman’s sights. The least I can do is give her fair warning before she gets herself shot.
Twenty-three
MAY 10TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1922 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
MARINE CORPS CENTRAL MOBILIZATION COMMAND
“He’s here, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Shaun. Please send him in.”
General Granby took a deep breath, got to her feet, and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her short-waist jacket. She looked around her office one last time, and told herself she’d done all she could with the years she’d had. She could let go now. Someone else would fill her boots. The Corps would survive without her, and General Bao was a good man. CENT-MOBCOM would be in good hands, just not in her hands. Her office was packed. Faint outlines on the walls were all that was left of her career. Fifty-four years in uniform and it had finally come to this. She traced the edge of the workstation as she walked around her desk, and then she walked out the door of her office. Bao’s office now.
Commandant Habakkuk Raghavan stood just outside with his arms at his back. He wore a gunmetal-gray buzz that showed off his scars. He was conversing with the sergeant major. When he caught sight of Granby, he did his best to smile.
“General.”
“Commandant. What brings you to my neck of the ’verse?”
“One irritating senator who shall remain nameless. I warned you, Felicia. Didn’t I warn her, Sergeant Major?”
“Yes, sir. I believe you did, on multiple occasions. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll see to the general’s things.”
Raghavan turned toward the woman who might have become the commandant of the RAW-MC, had things turned out differently. “It seems like only yesterday we were at the academy together, squaring away our racks just so, slogging through mud and live fire drills. How did it ever come to this? I swear I never saw this coming, Felicia. Not the bench. An official reprimand in your jacket? Yes. I’d have gladly given it to you myself, even taken a star, but not this.”
“Me either, sir. Well, that’s not entirely true. My words were brash. I gave Oman the reason she was looking for. You saw the look on her face when I turned around and walked out of the Senate chamber.”
“Walked? More like stormed through. It was hard to miss.” Raghavan smiled.
“It was almost worth it.”
Raghavan nodded toward the exit. “I’m afraid it’s that time. I’ll walk you out.”
General Granby fell in beside the commandant, matching his much longer stride. They passed a row of workstations, now sparsely manned considering the hour. The occupied chairs swiveled as the two passed by. Several sergeants and a handful of corporals watched in disbelief as their CO was escorted out of the building by the highest-ranking officer in the RAW-MC.
“It’s been an honor, ma’am.” A lance corporal was standing at attention by his workstation, arm canted at his brow.
The general stopped and returned the honor. “No, the honor was mine. Carry on.”
“What they’re doing to you is … it’s total…,” said a burly staff sergeant who couldn’t think of anything professional to say. He clicked his heels together, and puffed out his chest.
The general couldn’t help noticing the moisture in his eyes, and put a hand on the staff sergeant’s shoulder. “Yup, I’m afraid that it is, Staff Sergeant … all of those things and more. But, you have an amazing opportunity to set a positive example in the midst of this. Don’t let it change you. Let it go.” The general looked over his shoulder. “They … are watching.”
After a few more good-byes and best wishes the general reached the main lift. Once inside, she clasped her hands behind her and closed her eyes as they descended to the ground floor.
“I’m sorry about this, Felicia. If there was any other way, I would have found it. Those bastards insisted I escort you off the premises personally, before the change-of-command. You run a round-the-watch operation.” Raghavan scoffed. “They didn’t specify the exact time. I did my best.”
The lift doors opened at the ground level.
“We go back a long time, you and me. If I weren’t the commandant, you probably would be. And if it had been up to me, your little stunt on Mount Bane probably would have gone unnoticed. Sergeant Morris’s death was tragic. It was an accident and it was not your fault. I shouldn’t need to tell you that.”
“We both know my actions played a part.” Granby sagged against the wall. “This time I pushed too far.”
“Yes, you did … and how I wish you hadn’t. I need you at CENT-MOBCOM scanning readiness reports and fighting for every kiloton of gear we can get our hands on. Not sipping tea at that pile of fortified rock you call a country home. There’s always a chain of command. I suppose you could link any decision one of my officers makes back to me because I’m the head of the Corps. But, that’s ridiculous and you know it.”
To her relief, the corridor was clear. It led to the back entrance of the building. “An aircar is waiting outside.” The commandant paused at the I-dent, and turned to face her. “You read Lieutenant Cahill’s report.”
Granby’s face hardened.
“The little prick went around proper channels when he submitted it. He’s already been reprimanded. I know. It’s not much. Imagine my surprise when the HWAC released the report to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and then Admiral Ben-Ziser personally commed my office and demanded an explanation from me.”
Raghavan got a funny expression on his face. “This stays between you and me. BUPERS is going to misplace Cahill’s file while he does a double tour in the verge.”
“Rank has its privileges.” Granby didn’t smile. “He deserves a lot worse.”
“I know. Cahill’s report set you up.”
“He had help,” Granby said.
“No doubt. Oman and her cronies have been after you for years.”
“Habakkuk, take the stars off for a moment, okay?” Granby opened her collar to massage her neck. “Do you believe I screwed up? I’m not asking the commandant of the Marine Corps. I’m asking you. You. Hab, we run war games on the island three hundred sixty days a year. I simply threw an unknown into the mix.”
“I was afraid you’d ask me that.” Raghavan took a deep breath and looked away. “Yes. Yes I do. You violated the parameters of the games and in doing so you risked the welfare of the Marines involved. I might have given you a commendation for original thinking after ripping you a new one behind closed doors.” The commandant’s smile was strained. “I’m sure you see that giving Lieutenant Paen the stand-down codes for the ANDES and the mountain’s defensive grid crossed the line.” Raghavan held up his hand to stall Granby’s retort. “Whether it needed to be crossed or not is another matter, and beside the point. Suppose one or more Marines thought they were dealing with a massive intelligence breach and a real attack, not just a mock battle. Suppose lethal force had been used by one of our own instead of one of the ANDES. What then?”
“We can’t hand-hold our boots. Isn’t part of our job to train them to cope with the unexpected?”
Raghavan shook his head. “Yes. But, it’s also your job to keep them safe.”
“Given a long enough time line, the survival odds always drop to zero.”
The commandant sighed. “Felicia, it doesn’t matter.”
“You know what?” Granby said, dabbing under her eyes. “I wouldn’t change what I did, even if I could.” The RAW-MC’s flag waved in the back
ground next to that of the Republic of Aligned Worlds. A company of Marines jogged by in the distance, singing cadence. “You need to take a hard look at the games, Hab. Lieutenant Paen was right. Training Marines for failure is a mistake.”
“Well, it’s not supposed to be your problem anymore. I’m retiring you. Except I refused.”
Granby’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m placing you on reserve status, quarter pay, until I can get you back in uniform. It’s the best I could do.”
“How?”
“A lot of favors. I called in every favor I had. Now I’ve got red on my ledger. Don’t make me regret it. Keep your head down. Keep your mouth shut. Take up gardening. Work with indigents. Go see your grandkids. Cook dinner for your husband for once in your life. I don’t care. Just don’t raise any Cain, at least not until after I call you up. Might take me a while to get you back on active duty. Senators have long memories.”
Raghavan scanned his I-dent, then swung the door outward and walked Granby to the waiting aerodyne. The sergeant major was standing beside the aircar with a gravsled laden with the general’s things.
“Hab, do me a favor?”
“Seriously?”
“Keep an eye on Lieutenant Paen. She’s a good Marine. We need more officers like her. Would you see to that for me?”
“One day I’m going to look back and regret this. Sure, Felicia. Anything for you.”
Twenty-four
MAY 12TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0918 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
JOINT SPACEPORT MO CAVINAUGH
Promise stood inside the transport’s open-air cargo bay, feet perched two shoulder widths apart at the edge of the bay, one hand gripping the overhead rail and the other on her hip. As the transport floated to a stop, she picked up her seabag and tossed it overboard. Then she jumped to the deck to retrieve it. She was headed to Guinevere for a vacation. The colonel had dropped that on her like a bomb the afternoon before.
