Sister Time lota-9

by John Ringo

  The bitch of it was that the favor would have been easy if that asshole, Pennington, would only play ball. Unfortunately, the commanding officer of DAG was a starchy bastard who had chosen to get sticky about deploying troops under his command to the strictly temporary, necessary effort of providing supplemental security to an important Epetar Group project. Okay, so they had reason to be miffed at Epetar right now, maybe, but that shouldn’t matter because the facility didn’t have any open links to the Epetar Group. None of the men would know of any connection, anyway. And it wasn’t as if DAG wasn’t pulling the cherries of one Darhel group or another out of the fire every other mission, whenever the perpetual rivalries or petty piracy resulted in one kind of violence or another against the aliens’ legitimate business interests.

  Pennington had a real corncob up his ass about this one, though. Foxglove had had to pull in an important, and rare, favor from one of the Joint Chiefs to get the original orders to come down through the appropriate chain of command and force the uncooperative bastard’s hand. Even then, he had only gotten the most grudging, limited assistance available for his clandestine masters — a paltry two squads. His Darhel associates — as he thought of them, though they would have said masters — hadn’t been happy. He thought the other general might be having a fit of idealistic pique over that Epetar-Gistar mess at that mine in Africa. Dammit, the modern world couldn’t afford those kinds of juvenile temper tantrums over necessary expedients.

  Anyway, his present problem was that Pennington had extended his complete unreason to a flat refusal to order reinforcement of the security detachment in question without direct orders from above. It wasn’t as if the other general couldn’t have done it, entirely legitimately and within his orders, on his own initiative. It wasn’t as if Foxglove himself didn’t have a firm reputation for returning favors, and for having the ability to do so. No, the man just had to be an asshole about it.

  Which put Foxglove between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He couldn’t go back to the well with the Joint Chiefs. His capital was burned up there, as had been made painfully clear when he’d called in the initial favor. He had to get those troops. Epetar had him by the short hairs, dammit, and the Darhel didn’t react well to failure.

  The best way to handle it, he had decided, was to follow the old adage about it being easier to get forgiveness than permission. He couldn’t get Epetar’s active assistance before the fact, damn Pardal’s power games in refusing to take calls. However, he was too damned convenient to them for them to leave his ass swinging in the wind. His only choice was to take a few risks now and rely on them to cover for him after. At least the mentat’s AID had been willing and able to help. Using its master’s authority, it had convinced Pennington’s AID to conveniently ignore incoming calls, and experience “technical difficulties” with outgoing calls for the next eight hours. He hoped it would be enough.

  “Daisy, get me Colonel Jacob Mosovich on the horn,” he told his AID.

  “Yes, Bob,” it husked.

  Jake’s first thought when his AID informed him that one General Foxglove was calling was, “What the hell does this dick want?” It was at best bad form to speak ill of a superior officer. Unofficially, there were some assholes it was damned hard to speak well of.

  Mosovich’s long military experience had taught him that there were officers you could count on to take care of both the officers under their command, and their men. Then there were officers who fit the military profile of “active stupid” — which generally meant that their officers and men were left to make the CO’s hare-brained orders work however they could, or catch nine kinds of hell for his incompetence. The colonel knew from both reputation and personal experience that Bob Foxglove was one of the latter, and was in his current staff position not for the sake of career development, but as an expedient for getting a politically connected, dumbass weasel into the spot where he could do the least harm.

  “Good afternoon, General. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Colonel, I’ve been unable to reach General Pennington, and apparently I’m not the only one. My call is regarding your security mission with the Humanity Project. Their CEO, the mentat Erick Winchon, has informed SOCOM that an associated facility was attacked this morning. He declined to provide details, but said he believes an attack on their facility may be imminent,” the general said, as if expecting Mosovich to be impressed with his important connections to this Winchon individual.

  When Mosovich didn’t reply, Foxglove continued, “This is a strong indication of an imminent terrorist attack that requires DAG reinforcing its… ahem… unusually small detachment on site. I have done everything I can to contact Pennington, with no luck. I was hoping that his standing orders to you would allow you to begin deploying while we continue our efforts to reach him.”

  Jake was silent for a few moments, but for once, Foxglove didn’t seem to be in a hurry for an answer. “Let’s try him once more. Maybe he’s back in touch. AID, conference in General Pennington, please,” the colonel instructed. He had noticed that Bob didn’t say who at SOCOM had been informed.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I can’t reach him,” his AID said.

  Damn. The commanding officer of DAG avoided letting his mental grimace show on his face and made a decision. He could begin movement while his AID continued to try his CO. The general would probably be more effective getting additional information on the threat than a colonel would, and he might even sabotage his boss’s efforts by pushing too hard with this particular asshole right now.

  “Yes, General, my orders do allow for further deployment on my own initiative. Please forward me all the intelligence information SOCOM has, and any more that comes in, of course. Meanwhile, we will begin moving out as soon as possible. Thank you for the information, sir,” he said. Then, to his AID, deliberately within hearing of Foxglove, whom he didn’t trust farther than he could spit, “AID, please keep trying General Pennington until you do reach him. Keep me informed of your progress.”

  “Of course, Jake,” it said.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Colonel,” the one-star cut the connection, leaving the lieutenant colonel staring at the empty space and silently cursing all politicians, civilian and military.

  “Get me Mueller and Kelly.”

  “Right away, sir,” the AID sounded almost relieved, which was odd. Maybe he’d imagined it.

  Major Kelly stood in front of his CO and only had two words in his head: “oh shit.” Colonel Mosovich was a hell of an officer and one hell of an operator in his own right. Kelly had hated to have to deceive him by holding back the fundamental nature of DAG’s dual loyalties. It smacked of dishonor and had been the hardest thing about his job since the day he first reported to boot camp. Now, he was finally going to have to come clean, and couldn’t help being ashamed even though there were vital reasons for the dual loyalties and the deception, and a perfect opening for confessions to the colonel. Not to mention how Mueller was going to react.

  “Sir, we need to discuss a great deal without interruption,” the XO said.

  The old man nodded and walked Mueller and him outside, away from the AIDs, who would punish them later, in small ways, for the exclusion.

  “That bit about not knowing what you might be getting into brings up something, actually a lot of big things, that you now have a need to know, sir.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” Jake asked his XO.

  “Because you absolutely are not. First, I and most of DAG already know exactly what we are going into, and you now need to know how.”

  “This is more than just feedback from our men on temporary duty up there.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, sir, it is. The answers go way back. First, Michael O’Neal, Senior, who you worked with in Vietnam, did not die in the nuclear explosion at Rabun Gap but is very much alive, rejuved, and working for a covert organization with a very, very similar mission to DAG’s.” He waited to
see what the old man would say.

  “You sound like you have direct personal knowledge of this. I am not happy to just be hearing about whatever this is, and I will be even less happy if I have to drag it out of you in bits and drabs.”

  Mueller was glowering silently, since this mess was the colonel’s situation to deal with.

  “Yes, sir. Other veterans of special units, listed as dead, are clandestinely alive and part of this organization, primarily because the civilian authorities have been compromised.” Kelly suppressed a sigh. The colonel’s scowl was expected, but not encouraging. Of course.

  “Sir, you and the rest of the services — the uncompromised rest of the services — know this full well,” he said to his impassive superior.

  “Sounds like you’re telling me they’ve been compromised in two directions, Major,” Mosovich said expressionlessly.

  “That’s certainly one interpretation, sir. Those of us, and I do mean us, who are members of this other organization think that the fundamental nature of the mission matters. Our mission is congruent with DAG’s stated mission, with what the mission is openly presented as supposed to be, and the Darhel’s mission is not. To be complete, we were not recruited, unless you count recruiting from the cradle. We joined DAG second, for the training,” he admitted to his rightly furious CO, “and not one of us has ever acted counter to DAG’s orders and missions while serving.”

  “While serving,” the colonel repeated grimly.

  “Sir, respectfully, we never act counter to the interests of humanity. Yes, that’s as we perceive them, but as a resistance to the pernicious actions and aims of the Darhel, which you know damned well they have by now, we have ethics. If one of us reaches a situation where he can’t obey orders here, he leaves. Sometimes it’s officially feet first, but he leaves. To the extent DAG’s actions are genuinely counterterror or neutral to humanity’s welfare, or not pernicious in a way contrary to humanity’s vital interests, we serve honorably.”

  “Your definition of honor leaves something to be desired, Major.”

  “Perhaps, sir. Unless honor is cooperating with the forces that have compromised national command authority with extremely negative intentions towards humanity as a whole, and the United States as a part of humanity.”

  “I’ll be goddammed!” Mueller exclaimed. The outburst, given the situation, and the dumbfounded enlightenment on the man’s face, warranted explanation.

  “Sir, what do you remember Iron Mike’s dad looking like?” the sergeant major asked. “I knew I knew you fuckers from somewhere!”

  “Fuck,” Mosovich said, the light finally dawning. “How many of you are his damn kids? That fucking asshole. When I get hold of him, I’m going to kill him. Or kick his ass. I haven’t decided which yet. Well?”

  “Kids, grandkids.” Kelly shrugged and grinned. “Very close friends’ kids and grandkids, other lifetime members — a bit more than half the company, sir.”

  “You know, Major, I have never thought of myself as an incompetent officer — not once — until this very moment. More than half my fucking command, right under my nose.” He rubbed his face in both hands, absorbing the truth, clearly furious.

  “Sir, think back about how these men have served you, and how Papa O’Neal served with you. Then think about just why we had to leave those AIDs back there in the office. If you don’t think there’s a right and a wrong here, there’s definitely a better and a worse.”

  “You’ll pardon me, son, if that’s not a lot of comfort right now.” Jake’s scowl had returned. “Leaving off that, for awhile, suppose you tell me exactly what we’re facing up the road, since I don’t doubt that what I thought were my two squads are actually your two squads, Kelly.”

  “Sir, you’re a damned good officer. Don’t take that away from yourself. After a few thousand years of covert operation, an organization gets pretty good.” He shrugged at his CO’s expression. “Yes, sir, it’s been a very long war, and it ain’t half over yet.”

  “You were going to tell me about the mission, not flatter me, son.”

  “Yes, sir. The facility we’re being sent in to guard is an Epetar-owned facility. It is a facility in which atrocities of the very, very worst kind take place every day, against innocent men, women, and children, sir.”

  “Go on.” The colonel was giving nothing away. Kelly didn’t suppose he would have been, either.

  “The ‘attack’ the Epetar Group is expecting is real, is more serious than they expect, and is designed to remove the equipment they are using to commit those atrocities. The atrocities are involved with testing a particular alien technology for widespread application against humans.”

  “More.”

  “Mind control, sir. The other officers and men don’t have that specific information, sir.”

  “Well, finally I know something that everybody else in my command didn’t know first. Not that it doesn’t sound like fucking science fiction. Thank you so much, Kelly.”

  At least he had said “Kelly” and not just the more impersonal “Major.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, in your place I would be just as pissed, but knowing you, and Sergeant Major Mueller, I strongly believe that you will, upon reflection, realize the nature of the mission as in the vital interests of everything you hold sacred and the failure to tell you as necessary OpSec, no matter how unpleasant. And personally distasteful, I might add, sir. Sir, until this moment, you did not have a need to know.”

  “I’m still making up my mind about that.”

  “Sir, I might also point out that our organization is far more closely aligned with the interests and intent of the honestly elected, un-bribed, and un-blackmailed components of the legitimate civilian authority than those we oppose. Far, far more.”

  “It’s that ‘far more’ part that still concerns me, son.”

  “Where possible, where the public has not been deceived in a way that is overwhelmingly adverse to their interests, identical. In the case of nonvital deception of the body politic by the enemy, we make every effort to stay aligned with the uncompromised, legitimate civilian authority.”

  “I notice a lot of wiggle room in that description, son.”

  “All I can tell you, sir, is that you should consider it highly unlikely that some of the best of the best of the veterans of the war would sign on with anything less, sir. Or would permit anything less on their watch, sir. Then consider the exigencies of the circumstances. It’s not an easy call to make, sir.”

  “Except that by your own admission you and half my men have never known anything else.”

  “No, sir. All I can say is that the father or grandfather of a number of the rest of your troopers is an honorably discharged veteran of both the Ten Thousand and the ACS. You’ve got to make up your own mind, sir, but you don’t have much time to do it in.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Mosovich said sourly.

  “Sorry, sir. No excuse, sir.”

  “Oh, shut up, Kelly. Get the men moving and I’ll decide whether or not I’m going to shoot you later.” He did not add: as I expect you’ll decide whether or not you’re going to shoot me. He didn’t have to.

  “Yes, sir.” Kelly answered. The old man was not joking, and he knew it. Then again, considering how he would have felt if it had been him, he had expected nothing else.

  * * *

  Mosovich pulled his XO aside before addressing the men.

  “Kelly. I am buying your story, but God help you if I find you have lied to me,” he didn’t say again, “in any particular of this, because I will shoot you and every single member of your little cabal. Do you read me?” The old veteran added to himself, Unless you shoot me first, which you will if I’m wrong about you. God help us all, anyway.

  He couldn’t have known that one third of the Bane Sidhe operatives in the briefing room heard him, quite clearly, with their enhanced hearing. Their faces gave no sign as they sat at the desks used, between missions, for training classes.

 
“All right, men. We have been ordered to the Institute for the Advancement of Human Welfare on the basis of receiving intelligence that there may be an attack there by forces hostile to them. You will notice that I did not describe the attackers as ‘terrorist forces.’ We have intelligence of an impending attack. We also have internal intelligence that this facility is a front for the Epetar Group and that said facility is engaged in activities that would, themselves, fall within our organizational definitions of terrorism. According to our information, the attackers are members of an organized vigilante group.”

  It could not have been his imagination that some of his men looked at him a little sharper, while one or two might have looked the slightest bit shamefaced. The holo of the building he told his PDA to display took up a third of the empty space in the front of the room, before the ranks of desks. His XO had ensured that there were no AIDs in the room, to the reported chagrin of one FNG who had not yet learned to remain emotionally detached from the treacherous little machine.

  “DAG’s mission is to stop a terrorist act in case of an attack,” he stated deliberately. “To that end, the Epetar Group are known associates of and supporters of terrorists, as each of you knows from recent personal experience. Our intelligence indicates that the Epetar people are holding civilian captives in the basement areas of the building. Note that our mission is not to initiate attack, but to respond against terrorism if one occurs. In the event of an attack on the facility, which we confidently expect to occur, our counterterror mission dictates that we liberate those captives.” He scanned the room, making eye contact with individual officers and men. “To that end, you are to consider the vigilantes friendlies with objectives of their own separate from ours.