by C H Gideon
“And isolate the second-most populous star system in the Republic…before eradicating every human in it.” Jenkins grimaced. New America was his home star system, and it lay just one jump gate beyond Durgan’s Folly. Each of the Seven Colonies was located two gates distant from the central League Nexus System, which was the beating heart of the Illumination League. Hundreds of star systems directly linked through individual, two-way gates, and it was this network through which the League controlled the local galactic region.
“They knew where to hit us,” Villa agreed. “Take out New America and there’s only one star system in the Republic capable of mounting a protracted defense against the rock-biters.”
“Terra Han.” Jenkins nodded, shuddering at the thought of the most-populous star system in the Republic. The similarities between Terra Han and Sol, in terms of mindset and method, were too striking to ignore. But despite those similarities, Terra Han had been a crucial part of the Terran Republic—without their unflinching support, the Arh’Kel would have overwhelmed the Republic decades ago. “Why didn’t the League stop them at the Nexus?”
“The League?” Villa snorted. “The only thing the Illumination League is good for is issuing binding resolutions that do fuck-all to stop Arh’Kel ‘unlawful encroachments’ into our territory. Those ‘illuminated’ aliens care more about staying on Sol’s good side than they do about anything resembling justice or the rule of law out here. The League’s official statement went something like, ‘due to the human colonies’ unwillingness to acknowledge and accept a formal relationship to Sol, the IL, having accepted and recognized Sol as a member state, cannot legally intervene on the human colonies’ behalf until such a relationship can be ratified between Sol and its colonies.’”
Jenkins snorted. “Even after two centuries of standing on our own two feet, they insist on calling us ‘human colonies’ rather than the Terran Republic.”
“They don’t recognize our sovereignty out here.” Villa nodded in agreement. “And since our wormhole gates are self-policed on our side of the Nexus, the League turns a blind eye to Arh’Kel offensives so long as they don’t fire a single shot on the Nexus-side of the gates. It’s a clusterfuck, Lee, and has been since the moment we stepped off Earth,” Villa growled. “The rock-biters are just doing their best to take advantage of the situation.”
“You sound like you admire their efforts,” Jenkins commented.
“Hard not to admire an enemy as committed and efficient as them.” Villa shrugged. “Besides, they’re basically all we’ve ever fought out here. Aside from a few brush-ups against Vorr and Jemmin forces in what is nominally human territory, the only non-humans the Republic has ever engaged are the Arh’Kel. After a while, you get so used to fighting them that you can’t imagine not doing it. And until the politicians back home see fit to iron something out with Sol and the League, I expect nothing much will change on the Arh’Kel front.”
Jenkins sighed. “Politicians…the peak form of human bureaucracy.”
“May they forever rot in hell.” Villa grinned.
“Hear, hear.”
“But you, my friend—” Villa suddenly turned serious. “—are going to have some serious explaining to do once you go wheels-up and leave Durgan’s Folly behind. If my read on the brass is right, some are going to want to pin medals to your chest while others are going to want to stuff you into a faulty airlock. Are you ready for that?”
Jenkins was nowhere near ‘ready’ for any such thing, but he had spent the last few days drumming up a few lines of action which he hoped to soon put in motion. “I’ve got a few tropes and gambits set up,” he replied stoically.
“Good,” Villa said solemnly, “because, with our depleted strength, the Marines don’t have as much pull at the big table as we once did. Fleet was glad to have you and your people pull some wrecks out of mothballs, spend some centuries-old-ordnance, and get your crew of convicts and castoffs wiped off the books the old-fashioned way, but I don’t think any of them were prepared for what ended up happening down here. You need to find some cover—fast—or the gears of the Terran war machine will chew this unit of yours up and relegate it to the round-file of history. And from one warrior to another, it’d be a shame if this little experiment of yours didn’t continue for at least a little while longer.”
Jenkins flashed a lopsided grin. “You mean you’d like me and my people to keep doing the heavy lifting.”
“Fuck you, Leeroy,” Villa laughed. “Marines don’t need help from anyone. That’s the official line, and I’m toeing it like the good little party member that I am. You’d do well to follow my lead, at least until you’ve got your feet back under you.”
“I appreciate the candid advice, Johnny. It won’t go to waste.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Villa said pointedly before standing and gesturing to the unopened bottle. “If you didn’t crack that thing open down here, after the shit you went through, I’d bet everything I own that you never will.” He offered a salute, which Jenkins returned as his longtime friend nodded approvingly. “Hell of a job down here, Commander.”
The Marine colonel stepped off Roy on his way to inspect the plateau.
“She sounds like quite a woman,” Xi said after hearing Trapper spend a half-hour speaking of his long-dead sister. “And you sound like you have the worst daddy issues I’ve ever heard about for a fifty-year-old man,” she added with a smirk before taking a long draw from the water bottle.
Trapper smirked. “Have to agree on both counts.” His wrist-link chimed, and he abruptly stood from the chair. “I need to go. Your commander needs my help, and the Geralt will be back soon.”
She cocked her head dubiously. “He needs your help…with what?”
“The commander thinks things are about to get all kinds of dicey for your battalion,” he explained. “Leeroy is hoping I can help him outflank trouble before it knocks y’all out of the saddle.”
Her brow lowered resentfully. “I have to admit, the politics of surviving an overwhelming victory are beyond me at present. I thought surviving was good enough.”
“Sometimes the most dangerous enemies aren’t the ones on the other side of the field,” Trapper observed grimly. “That’s why I need to get out of here on the next flight, which should be leaving in about eight minutes.”
She stood from her pilot’s chair. “Will you be returning? Between you and me, I’d much rather have your Pounders assigned to the battalion than Piper’s people.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” he assured her, “but my coming here wasn’t exactly sanctioned by the chain of command. Your commander isn’t the only one whose ass is on a collision course with a sling, which is partly why I’ve got to get out of here before I find myself in the brig.” He proffered his hand, fixing her with a look that conveyed sincere respect. “Whatever happens, I’m glad I came down here. I’d fight alongside you any day, Lieutenant.”
Xi reached out and grasped his hand. “Likewise, Sergeant Major. It was an honor taking the field with you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” he assured her before hesitating. “And…thanks for letting an old man unburden himself.”
“Thanks for the water,” she replied with a lopsided grin.
“Any time, Elvira.” He returned the expression before donning his helmet and leaving Elvira’s cabin.
A few minutes later, he was aboard the Geralt as it made its second trip to the orbiting Terran Fleet Carrier, Paul Revere.
20
Debriefing & Death’s Door
“This is Rear Admiral Corbyn,” the officer at the head of the table announced, turning slightly toward the recording pickup as he spoke, “presiding over this informal inquiry into the events which transpired at the dates listed on planet EO-1162, also known as Durgan’s Folly. Captain Chen, Commanding Officer of the Paul Revere, and Colonel Farbright, Commander of the 243rd FGF, in attendance. Commander Lee Jenkins providing testimony to supplement official logs and recor
ds to be cataloged in full at a later date. Good morning, Commander,” Admiral Corbyn greeted with all the warmth of an icicle.
“Good morning, Admiral,” Jenkins acknowledged the assemblage in turn. “Captain. Colonel.”
“Now, you understand,” Corbyn continued in his droll accent, “that this is a purely informal inquiry, correct?”
“I do so understand, Admiral.” Jenkins nodded, gesturing to Chief Styles at his side. “As you can see, I’ve brought my secretary, Chief Warrant Officer Third Class Jamie Styles, but have not secured legal counsel at this time.”
“The goal of this proceeding,” the rear admiral droned on in his bizarre accent, “is to clarify certain elements of your preliminary after-action report, which this board has already reviewed in detail. Again, you are under no legal obligation to answer any of these questions as this is an informal inquiry. I feel it is important to make this point absolutely clear, Commander Jenkins.”
The temptation to reply as his people did, with the quip ‘clear as a Solarian’s conscience,’ was stronger than he expected it to be. But Jenkins refrained and acknowledged, “Crystal clear, Admiral.”
“Very good.” Corbyn nodded, his jowls shaking as he shuffled a stack of polymer sheets containing what Jenkins assumed were pertinent details of his operation. “Now, on the twenty-fourth day of your deployment on Durgan’s Folly, you encountered a significant concentration of Arh’Kel infantry and heavy weapons platforms. Is that correct?”
“That is correct, Admiral.” Jenkins nodded. “Upon arrival, we immediately began executing a grid patrol of the area surrounding our field HQ, during which we encountered only light resistance until day twenty-four.”
“At which time,” Corbyn continued, “one of the vehicles in your battalion, hereafter referred to as Elvira I, fell into a subterranean transit junction filled with Arh’Kel troops and weaponry. Is that right?”
“It is.”
“Now Elvira I’s crew was isolated after authorizing her detachment of FGF infantry, under the command of Major Pete Piper, to rendezvous with Captain Terrence Murdoch. Is that correct?” Corbyn asked, and here they came to the first of what Jenkins assumed would be many points of possible contention.
Murdoch had survived his injuries, and clearly done his level best to submit an account of events which looked favorably on him at the expense of the rest of the battalion. Normally, Jenkins would have objected to the board’s mischaracterization of how those troops came to be with Murdoch instead of Elvira, where they belonged, but Jenkins knew this was going to be a hard-enough slog without getting bogged down in nonessential details.
“Elvira’s infantry were duly-transferred to support Captain Murdoch’s position,” Jenkins agreed, though the words tasted like ash as he spoke them. He felt dirty for hanging Xi in the wind, after all she’d done.
“At that time,” Corbyn said after the briefest of delays, suggesting he had expected resistance on the previous point, “Elvira I’s crew authorized the deployment of a strategic-grade weapon, specifically a P-92-Z pulse missile. Did you authorize the deployment of that system, Commander Jenkins?”
“I authorized Lieutenant Junior Grade Xi Bao to deploy her arsenal in accordance with protocol, Admiral,” Jenkins replied firmly.
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear.” Corbyn peered over the old-style spectacles which were perched so far down his nose it was a miracle they didn’t fall off. “Did you specifically authorize the launch of that particular P-92-Z pulse missile?”
“The admiral is no doubt aware,” Jenkins said, unwilling to throw Xi any further under the bus, “that operational authority in a combat zone often requires some command decisions be made in the field and without prior consultation. I had previously authorized Lieutenant Xi to deploy her arsenal, which I was aware included a P-92-Z pulse missile, as she saw fit, so long as that deployment was consistent with the rules of engagement as put forth by the Terran Republic Military Code initially ratified in 2072 and amended on the subject of Arh’Kel engagement in 2235.”
Corbyn made a point of removing his spectacles. “As Commander Jenkins is no doubt aware, I was a contributing member of the board which ratified those rules of engagement in 2235. As such, I do not require any clever reminders as to why those rules were modified to permit the field deployment of strategic weapons against Arh’Kel targets.”
Jenkins had gotten under the admiral’s skin, just as he had hoped. But as those eyes peered across the table at him, he couldn’t help but feel the gravity of the situation he was about to plunge head-long into.
“Of course, Admiral.” Jenkins nodded, careful to keep his features neutral.
Corbyn replaced his spectacles and resumed. “How did your battalion come to possess a P-92-Z pulse missile, Commander Jenkins?”
“We horse-traded for it, Admiral,” Jenkins replied unashamedly.
“Come again, Commander?”
“Like much of the equipment in the battalion, that particular P-92-Z pulse missile was donated by a private security force, which did so on condition of anonymity,” Jenkins explained. “The pulse missile was acquired for other, similarly donated materials in a manner consistent with my program’s charter. The paperwork was filed at Terran Armor Corps HQ on New Britannia, in accordance with my program’s trial charter. If I’m not mistaken, Admiral Corbyn was part of the admiralty board overseeing my program’s inception.”
“You’re getting on my nerves, Commander Jenkins,” Admiral Corbyn said in a casual but dangerous tone.
“That was not my intention, Admiral,” Jenkins lied. He absolutely needed to get that piece of information on the transcript of this meeting.
“We’ll table the matter of the pulse missile,” Corbyn grunted, “and proceed to the issue of your assault on the underground facility hereafter referred to as Junction One, located several hundred meters below the surface of Durgan’s Folly. Vehicle recorders show that you split your two companies, commanded by yourself and Captain Terrence Murdoch, respectively, and engaged the enemy with just half of your mechs while the other half was still more than a kilometer from the engagement zone. You even, if the records are to be relied upon,” he added off-handedly, though Jenkins knew this was merely the first of what would be many attempts to discredit the myriad logs his people had gathered during the operation, “pulled 2nd Company’s CO, Captain Murdoch, from his post to have him support 1st Company’s attack. Not only did this result in 1st and 2nd Companies being cut off after a cave-in, but that separation put the lives of your entire battalion at risk. A lot of good men and women died in Junction One, possibly as a result of questionable command decisions made by you, Commander Jenkins. At this time, we will examine those decisions in detail in order to better determine your project’s viability and, to be blunt, its commander’s fitness to oversee it. Again…” He smirked over his spectacles at Jenkins as he reiterated, “I feel obliged to remind you that you need not answer any of this board’s questions, as this is a purely informal inquiry.”
Jenkins swallowed the hard knot in his throat. Admiral Corbyn was clearly looking to ruin his career, discredit his people, and probably cover up—or steal credit for—the tremendous victory he had scored on Durgan’s Folly.
It was tempting to refuse to answer the questions, and he could all but hear Captain Chen and Colonel Farbright pleading with him to do that very thing. They knew what he had done down there, and under other circumstances would have done everything they could to see him receive the recognition he—and, more importantly, his people—deserved. The safe play would be to fall back, regroup, and wait for reinforcements to arrive.
But Lee Jenkins hadn’t gotten his callsign by playing it safe, so without breaking eye contact with Admiral Corbyn, he said, “I’m prepared to continue, Admiral Corbyn.” He felt his spine stiffen at that moment as he added, “In my opinion, we’ve demonstrated what armor can do in the ongoing Arh’Kel Conflict, and this trial program’s time’s up.” He allowed himsel
f a shark-like smile as he finished with gusto, “We are ready to take the war to the enemy.”
“Lieutenant Xi?” asked a woman with a beautifully-accented, staccato voice. Xi stirred from her short-lived nap, and before looking at the woman who had roused her, she checked the medical bed beside her.
Podsednik was still there, his body mostly wrapped in regenerative foam while a handful of pipes, hoses, and tubes stuck out of various parts of his battered body. In spite of the macabre imagery, his vital signs looked all right, so she gave the woman her full attention.
She was stunningly beautiful, with black hair, light brown skin, and eyes that almost looked feline. She wore a lab-coat, and a quick glance at the embroidery revealed her to be Dr. Turney, the ship’s Chief Medical Officer.
“I’m sorry,” Xi apologized, standing from the bedside chair in the cramped sickbay.
“It’s quite all right,” Turney assured her. “I’m making my rounds but thought you might have a few questions I could answer while I did?”
“Please.” Xi nodded, having waited two full days since arriving on the Paul Revere to speak with its CMO.
“I understand you and he are teammates,” the doctor said as she led Xi away from Podsy’s bed.
“Since we transferred into the battalion,” Xi confirmed. “How is he?”
Turney gave her a patient, sympathetic look that sent chills down Xi’s spine. She’d seen that look before—it never heralded good news.
“Mr. Podsednik suffered extreme damage to his legs, Lieutenant,” the doctor replied. “In fact, and I know this is not what you want to hear right now, I’m going to have to amputate them if we want to save his life.”
