But now, with force shields and ground-based plasma cannons, the face of war had changed again. Anyone who wanted to take Avalon would have to land troops and defeat the defenders on the ground, unless they wanted to render the planet completely lifeless. And even that would be difficult, now. Corinthian had had one city covered by one force shield and the would-be attackers had lost thousands of soldiers in an ultimately futile attempt to take the city. He dreaded to think just how many people would be killed if the Wolves attempted to take Avalon.
But then, they'd also devastate the planet, he thought. It will be years before Corinthian recovers from the war.
“I will certainly make anyone pay for daring to set foot on our soil,” Grosskopf said. Like Ed, he was an exile. But he’d come to see Avalon as home. “And we’ll be proceeding with training and suchlike, too.”
“And preparing the New Slaughterhouse,” Ed said. They’d have to come up with a better name, once the training ground was ready. There would never be anything quite like the original Slaughterhouse. “I hope it will live up to the old.”
“It will be as good as possible,” Grosskopf said. “But you won’t have complete control, sir.”
Ed nodded. He’d considered trying to claim the unsettled continent for the marines, but the council would probably have vetoed the idea. Hell, the Marine Corps probably wouldn't have been able to claim the Slaughterhouse if the planet’s terraforming hadn't failed so spectacularly. There were a couple of worlds along the Rim that were barely rated habitable - their populations had actually begged to be evacuated, when the Commonwealth had made contact with them - and they could be converted into a new training centre, but it would cost far too much. The Commonwealth couldn't afford it.
Not yet, he told himself. And what we have is more than enough.
“I look forward to seeing it,” he said. It wasn't entirely true. Deciding to build a new Slaughterhouse - or whatever they decided to call it - felt like giving up. The Empire he’d served for all of his adult life was gone. “And I’m sure the new recruits will live up to the old.”
“They’ll be better,” Grosskopf assured him. “They’ll learn from the past.”
Ed shrugged. The Marine Corps had evolved with the times, yet the essence of the corps hadn't changed. The timeless truths of military life - of a tough, professional force that punched well above its weight - hadn't changed since Alexander the Great had built an empire that had vanished in less than a generation. Evil had to be fought, enemies had to be cowed, bullies had to be given bloody noses ... those who wanted peace had to prepare for war. If the Empire had remembered that, he considered, it might never have fallen.
“We shall see,” he said.
It was an intimidating thought. The Slaughterhouse had been thousands of years old. Its staff had been heir to a tradition that stretched back even longer. But the new Slaughterhouse would be new. He didn't even know if he had enough marines to keep the ethos of the corps intact when the new recruits arrived. It wasn't going to be easy.
He pushed the thought aside. “You’ll take command from this evening,” he said. It would have been awkward, on Earth, but the Avalon Knights had discarded a great deal of pointless formality. “I’ll be here until the fleet leaves, allowing us to smooth out any problems.”
“Yes, sir,” Grosskopf said.
Ed nodded. He doubted there would be any real problems. Grosskopf had been in command while Ed had been on Corinthian and, while Ed had been formally in command of the system as soon as he returned, Grosskopf had carried on with his duties. It was well to be careful, to make sure that nothing went wrong, but he didn't anticipate trouble.
And this would have been impossible on Earth, he thought. Grosskopf had a point. They had learned from the past. Here, we know better.
“Good,” he said. He took one last look out of the window, then smiled. “And now, let us turn our attention to other matters.”
***
Mandy had never imagined, not when she’d been a teenager on Earth, that she would ever wind up in command of a starship. She’d certainly never aspired to the military life ... hell, she hadn't really had any aspirations at all. She hadn't given any thought to her future until her father had managed to get himself into trouble and by then it had been far too late to separate herself from her parents. She’d only started to take control of her life after she’d arrived on Avalon.
It still terrified her, as she looked around her bridge, that she was one of the most experienced naval officers in the Commonwealth. She’d only been a spacer for six years, a mere drop in the bucket compared to some of the Empire’s naval heroes. But then, the Commonwealth had practically had to build a navy from scratch. She’d joined almost as soon as she’d escaped from the pirates, then climbed rapidly up the ranks. And yet, she still felt as though she was faking it ... sometimes. It was hard, too hard, to convince herself that she actually deserved it.
“Captain,” Midshipwoman Tracy Lloyd said. “I have the latest update from the logistics officers.”
Mandy took the datapad and scanned the report, trying to conceal her annoyance. The logistics officers weren't quite as bad as the beancounters on Earth - if the old sweats were telling the truth - but they were still asking irritating questions. The missile loads she’d requested for the coming engagement, it seemed, were just a little bit too large for immediate approval. She ground her teeth, reminded herself that the logistics officers didn't know where the squadron was actually going, and tapped out a short note, telling them to check with Colonel Stalker. He’d approve everything she’d requested without a second thought.
Because the colonel actually knows what he’s doing, she thought, coldly.
“Make sure they deal with it promptly,” she ordered, returning the datapad. “And don't hesitate to use my name if they try to procrastinate any longer.”
Tracy saluted, then hurried off. Mandy watched her go, feeling curiously discomforted. Tracy was sixteen, too young to be given any real responsibility on Earth. Mandy hadn't been taken seriously when she was that age, although she did have to admit that she’d been a little brat at the time. No one on Earth would have put Tracy to work, not in anything legal. Children - and teenagers - weren't expected to earn money. But here ...
She was probably working from the day she was old enough to walk, Mandy thought, unsure if she should envy or pity the younger girl. And she never had to worry about her safety.
Mandy shook her head. Tracy would have learned how to handle responsibility from a very young age ... hell, the girl was strikingly responsible. She’d even admitted that she wanted to be the youngest naval captain in history and she might just make it, if she didn't screw up too badly. The Commonwealth Navy was still expanding rapidly. New ships were coming out of the shipyards at an ever-increasing rate.
Her XO cleared his throat. “Determined has reported that she’s fixed the problem with her drive modulator,” Commander Darren Cobb said. “She’s ready to depart with the rest of the squadron.”
“Once we have the troopships loaded,” Mandy said. She glanced at the display, watching the constant flow of shuttles running between the surface and the nine immense troopships. The Commonwealth might have had to improvise its troopships, she knew from grim experience, but the engineers had done a very good job. “How is that going?”
“There’s been a slight delay, but the loadmaster believes that loading will be complete within the next twenty-four hours,” the XO reported. “There’ll be a handful of senior officers who have to board after that, of course.”
“Of course,” Mandy agreed. They were still on schedule, at least. The squadron should be able to set off as planned. “And our crews?”
“Reasonably happy,” the XO said. His face twisted into a grim smile. “The thought of going back to Thule pleases them.”
Mandy nodded shortly, keeping her face expressionless. The crew believed the deception, then. That was good, she knew, yet it didn't sit well with h
er. She’d never liked or trusted people who lied to her, even if it was in a good cause. She couldn't help wondering just what the long-term consequences of the lie would be. If her crews stopped trusting her, would they be so quick to obey orders? Or would they understand why she and the others in-the-know had lied to them?
But we can't let Admiral Singh get a hint of where we’re actually going, she thought. The bitch cannot be allowed a chance to reinforce her defences before we arrive.
“We owe Admiral Singh a damn good ass-kicking,” she said, pushing her doubts aside. She still had nightmares about having to withdraw from Thule, leaving Jasmine and the remains of the CEF to surrender. Jasmine didn't blame her - Jasmine had issued the orders - but Mandy blamed herself. She should have been able to find a way to win a victory against overwhelming force. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it as much as we enjoyed the one she gave us.”
“Yes, Captain,” Cobb agreed. He looked at the display. “The fleet should be ready to depart as planned.”
Unless something goes wrong, Mandy thought. She’d run a dozen private simulations, altering the parameters at will. Some of them had been less encouraging than others. It still could.
She pushed that aside, too. “Then I’ll be in my office,” she said. She had paperwork to do, lots of paperwork. Bureaucracy grew, it seemed. It was like weeds, growing back no matter how thoroughly the gardener weeded the garden. Given time, it would entangle the Commonwealth Navy and cripple it. “Inform me if there are any changes.”
“Aye, Captain,” Cobb said.
Chapter Twelve
“Heaven,” Ed said.
Gaby laughed. “Parenthood does change you, doesn't it?”
Ed nodded in rueful agreement. Douglas was in his crib, sleeping soundly. That wouldn't last, of course, but he’d take what he could get. The baby would awaken soon enough, demanding food and attention. Douglas was tiny, his head smaller than Ed’s hand, yet he ruled the apartment with a rod of iron. His parents - and their maid - had to scramble to take care of him.
But we’re not handing him over to a government-run crèche, he thought, coldly. Or feeding him bottled shit from an overpaid corporation.
“It does,” he conceded. He seemed to have lost the ability to sleep through anything that wasn't directly threatening. Perhaps infant cries had some sort of penetrative capability his mind just couldn't screen out. “You will be fine with him, won’t you?”
Gaby elbowed him. “I’ll have some help,” she said, nodding towards the door. She looked downcast, just for a second. “It won’t make me look good, but I’ll get by until the end of my term.”
“I know,” Ed said.
He sighed, wishing - again - that he could stay with her. On Avalon, having a nursemaid was considered a sign of shame. He didn't pretend to understand why. A mother might want to raise her baby personally, to breastfeed the child and put him to bed, but there was nothing wrong with asking for help when she needed it. Gaby would probably be called a bad mother if the population at large realised she’d hired a nursemaid. But what choice did she have?
“Men,” Gaby said. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I won’t be the first new mother to remain behind while my partner and the father of my child goes to war.”
“Yeah,” Ed said.
He turned to look down at the sleeping child. The thought of leaving Gaby and Douglas for a few months was horrific. He didn't want to go. Douglas was his child. On Earth, the father was often a question mark; on Avalon, the father was intimately involved with raising his children from birth to adulthood. Ed had no idea if he’d fathered any children on Earth - his adventures and misadventures with girls had never lasted very long - but there was no doubt about Douglas’s parentage. He didn't want to leave Gaby alone with the baby. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool ...
... And she’d go ballistic if I tried, he thought, wryly. She'd hate it.
“I will be fine,” Gaby said. Ed turned to look at her. “And if you get back in time, you can even help me move to the farm.”
“Of course,” Ed said.
He leaned forward and kissed her. “I wish ...”
Gaby gave him a sharp look. “You’re not allowed to indulge in wishful thinking,” she said, dryly. “Leave that to the opposition politicians.”
Ed nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He wanted to make love to her, to say goodbye in a manner that would leave them both with a nice warm glow, but he knew that was impossible. Gaby’s doctor had warned her to avoid intercourse for a few weeks, just to give her body time to heal from giving birth. Ed thought the doctor was exaggerating - the birth had apparently been trouble-free - but he wasn't about to put her life at risk just to satisfy himself.
Douglas twitched, then started to cry. Ed hesitated, waiting to see if the baby would go back to sleep, then sighed and reached into the crib. Douglas looked up at him, his dark blue eyes trusting, as Ed picked him up and cradled him against his chest. The baby was so tiny, yet perfect. It was still impossible to believe that Douglas would grow into a toddler, a boy, a teenager, a man ...
“You’re good with children,” Gaby said. She gave him a tired smile as she opened her blouse, revealing her breast. “And Douglas likes you.”
“I’m his father,” Ed said. It wouldn't have meant much, on Earth. His stepfathers - not that they’d ever been married to his mother - had largely ignored him. He supposed he should be grateful. He’d heard more than enough horror stories about abusive parents and stepparents as he’d grown older. “But right now, he doesn't know me from Adam.”
“He’ll know you when he’s nine months old,” Gaby said. She took Douglas and pressed him to her breast. “My cousin’s little boy loved everyone until he was seven months old or thereabouts. All of a sudden, he wouldn't trust anyone apart from his parents ... it lasted for about six months until he got over it.”
Ed frowned. “What happened?”
“It’s normal,” Gaby said. “Babies suddenly realise that the world is divided into their parents and everyone else. And then they cling to their parents until they grow more comfortable with other people.”
“Oh,” Ed said.
He sat down next to her, feeling torn. He didn't have to go, did he? Mathis could command the troops; Joe Buckley could command the marines. He could stay behind, with his partner and his child, while his men went off to fight and die. But he couldn't do that, not without hating himself for the rest of his life. He couldn't ask them to go into danger while he stayed safe at home.
“I have to go,” he said, quietly.
He took a breath. “When I get back,” he said, “we’ll move out to the farm.”
Gaby nodded. “I’ll see you soon,” she promised. “And good luck.”
Ed reached out and kissed her, wishing he could do more. Gaby kissed him back, then looked down at the child. Their child. Ed promised himself, silently, that he’d ask her to marry him when he returned home. Marriage wasn't something he’d ever considered on Earth - getting a marriage licence alone was a nightmare - but here ... it was a sign of commitment, a sign that two people were serious.
We had a child, he thought, as he walked backwards. We cannot be any more serious.
He took one last look at her and his son, then turned and walked out of the door. The building felt cold and empty, even though he knew it was an illusion. The lower floors were crammed with offices, occupied by the men and women who made the government work. And yet ... it was all he could do to keep going. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave, he didn't want to be away for months ...
It was never so hard to leave before, he thought. Was it?
He shook his head as he reached the private stairwell and headed up. He’d had nothing left on Earth, nothing keeping him tied to his home. And then he’d been a marine, moving with other marines ... he’d never felt as though he was leaving someone behind, when they’d moved from world to world. He’d never really been tied down for
more than a few months at most, even on Han. The handful of lovers he’d taken had never been more than brief flings ...
But now ... now, he felt as though he was abandoning Gaby.
An aircar was waiting on the roof, its door already open. Ed climbed inside, closing the door behind him. The automated system bleeped, displaying a flight plan, but Ed deactivated it and took the controls for himself. Earth’s automated ATC system had caused more than its fair share of crashes - some deliberately orchestrated to get rid of people the government found inconvenient - and he didn't really trust the system. The WebHeads might claim the system was secure, but Ed wasn't so sure. Anything could be hacked, given enough time.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 12
