Michael had no idea what to think anymore. Part of him wanted to accept defeat, to confess all to Commodore Anjula, to abandon Anna, to let her die. Another part of him wanted desperately to hear what the people he most trusted, the people who made Redwood the ship she was, said. They might see a way to save the woman he loved more than his own life, but how?
Unless… Hope flared. Maybe there was a way; maybe he was arrogant and stupid to think he was the only person able to solve the problem. These were smart people, so why not hear what they had to say?
"Okay," he said at last, brushing away the tendrils of doubt. "I'll listen, but if I say stop, we stop. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Ferreira said. "Before we start, I'd like confirmation that your neuronics are not recording."
Michael did not even bother arguing. He had decided to trust Ferreira, so he would, even if people blocked recording only when they wanted to push the boundaries.
"Thank you, sir. Now," she continued, her voice brisk, "everyone here has seen the Hammer holovid with the threat to Lieutenant Cheung. Following our conversation yesterday, sir, I spoke to everybody one on one to see how we might go about dealing with that threat, and that's what we're here to talk about. I was a bit surprised to discover that everyone agrees there is only one way to solve this problem."
Ferreira checked herself; Michael's shock must have been obvious, the idea that his people had contrived a way to save Anna too much to bear. "Go on," he croaked.
"Well, sir, we see it like this. To start with, we…"
Michael struggled to come to terms with Ferreira's proposal late into the night. Restless, unable to settle, he paced the length of his cabin, stomach knotted into a tight ball by the appalling dilemma Colonel Hartspring and the Hammers had thrust into his life.
What Ferreira wanted to do was extraordinary… and outrageous. No, that did not even come close to describing what his executive officer was suggesting. If he went along with her, he would be party to the biggest single crime in the history of the Federated Worlds, an honor he did not relish.
The problem was that even though some of what she had said was good, too much of it was bad. The basic outline was fine… in principle. True, it needed a ton of detailed work to turn it into a workable plan, a plan that had a reasonable chance of getting the desired result without killing everyone in the process, but Michael was more than confident that was doable.
Sadly, feasibility was never the issue. Criminality, criminality of unprecedented magnitude and compass, was.
Ferreira's plan was simple: mutiny on a scale not seen in the Federated Worlds Fleet, a mutiny that would take three frontline dreadnoughts out of the order of battle. It was insane, it was risky, it was wrong. He cursed softly, regretting the moment of weakness that had prompted him to unburden himself to her. If he had kept his mouth shut, she would not be contemplating something no commissioned officer should ever contemplate, let alone talk about. Worse, she was bringing along every other commissioned and noncommissioned officer onboard with her; how she had managed to persuade nine hard-headed spacers and marines to agree with her was a complete mystery. Not that it mattered now; the proverbial cat was well and truly out of the bag, and there was nothing he could do to change the situation. What was done, was done.
Oh shit, he said to himself, what a bloody mess.
Strictly speaking, the mere fact that his people had discussed mutiny was enough to see them condemned; the Federated Worlds Code of Military Justice was unambiguous on that score. So far as the law was concerned, a mutiny took place the instant two or more spacers talked about doing something illegal together. Even if that was all they did, even if they only talked about what they might do, it made no difference.
They were guilty of mutiny.
That was just the start. If he ordered the base provost marshal onboard to arrest Ferreira, Sedova, Kallewi, and all the rest-six senior spacers and one marine NCO-when Redwood dropped into orbit around Nyleth, he would be arrested, too. By agreeing to talk with them, he was guilty along with Ferreira and all the rest of them.
He shook his head, appalled at the risks Ferreira and the rest of them were prepared to take to help him out and angry with himself at how neatly Ferreira had trapped him.
One thing was clear. If he agreed with Ferreira, he would be branded a renegade for all time. If he did not, he would be damned anyway, the captain whose crew mutinied. Either way, he was well and truly screwed. Of course, he had the option to ignore the whole business. That might save the sorry asses of his people, but the Hammers would still stand Anna up against a wall and blow her brains out.
One more thing was clear: Ferreira had snared him in a web from which there was no escape. She was smart, smarter than he had ever given her credit for. She would have worked out the options early in the piece, that was for sure.
Mind churning, he stood there, staring into the darkness at nothing. What the hell was he…
It was all too much; he could not handle it anymore. Comming drugbots into his bloodstream, he threw himself into his bunk and was asleep a few minutes later. Tuesday, August 7, 2401, UD FWSS Redwood, in pinchspace en route to Nyleth-B
"Okay, everyone," Michael said. "We drop into Nyleth nearspace in six hours. So we need to finish this business. It cannot drag on. Agreed?"
A chorus of "agreeds" followed.
"Good. Okay, first things first. What happened yesterday was conspiracy to mutiny. You know it, I know it. I cannot begin to describe how proud that makes me, that you are prepared to lay your careers on the line for me like that, but that's only me being emotional… and this is not the time for emotion. This is the time for cold, hard logic. This is the time to do the right thing for the right reasons. So let me be very, very clear… I will not allow any of you to do the right thing for the wrong reasons."
Michael paused. Shock flickered across the faces of all present. He knew his opening remarks were not what they expected. "Enough talk," he said. "We have a decision to make. I can ignore what happened yesterday, I can pretend it didn't happen, I can hope it all gets forgotten. I must say, that's a good option, the best option for you guys. Not so good for me," he said with a lopsided smile, "but without any doubt at all best for you.
"Second option: Go along with what the XO has proposed. Lot of work to do, lots of problems to sort out, but nothing this team can't resolve.
"Third, comm into the provost marshal the instant we drop into Nyleth nearspace and have you all arrested and charged with mutiny. That's my duty; it's what I should do. I think you all know that.
"So those are the options, but before I tell you what I want to do, I have one question. I know what you think, but why? Why have you decided to risk it all? I need to understand that before I make my decision."
Faces stared back at Michael, silent, unmoving. Chief Fodor cast a glance at Ferreira. "May I, sir?"
"Be my guest," she said.
Fodor dragged in a deep breath before speaking. "I see things this way, sir," he said, turning to Michael. "If this was just a hypothetical discussion, I would never have agreed with anything so crazy and screwed up. And if it was just about you and Lieutenant Cheung, I would not have agreed. Never. But reality has a way of making you see things as they are, not how you'd like them to be. For the first time, I've had to look long and hard at the war and where it's going, and let me tell you, I did not like what I saw. Not at all. All my life, I've been content to go wherever Fleet wanted me to go, to trust the brass and the politicians to lead us through, but not anymore.
"We talked about this a lot before we met with you yesterday, so I think I speak for us all"-again heads nodded in unison-"and it's quite simple. We all read the strategic assessments Fleet pushes out. I know I'm only an engineer, but I read them carefully, if only because I want to know that there's a good reason why I risk my life every time we go into action. Problem is, I don't see it now. I'd been kidding myself. We started fighting those Hammer bastards way more than a centur
y ago. My grandfather wasn't even born, for chrissakes! And here we are, more than a century later, still at each other's throats, only this time the scumbags might actually win this damn war. Fleet says we're in for at least another four years, maybe five…"
Fodor's voice cracked, forcing him to stop; he paused for a moment to recover.
"We're in for years of stalemate," he continued. "Years and years! And even then we may not be able to destroy the Hammers. If they build a new antimatter production plant to replace the one we blew to hell at Devastation Reef, we're screwed 'cause one thing's for sure: It'll be that and more before we get our own antimatter missiles operational. So what's it all mean? Five more years, chipping away at the Hammers, not making a difference, more deaths of good ships, good spacers, good marines, that's what it means, and for what?
"I'll tell you what for, sir," Fodor said fiercely. "To postpone the inevitable. That's all." He took another deep breath to steady a voice trembling with emotion. "Let me go through the price my family has paid. I lost my father back in '80, killed at the Battle of Mendes Reef when Kercheval and Kronos were ambushed. I lost a nephew and a cousin at the Battle of Comdur. The Hammers have torn my family apart, and they'll go on doing it. That's what five more years means. And it's not only me. There's not a spacer or marine here who hasn't suffered at their hands."
Fodor stopped to look around the table.
"Aunt, cousin, cousin, sister, brother, uncle, sister, father, cousin," he said, finger stabbing in turn across the faces of everyone present, "and that does not begin to account for all the people we counted as good friends."
Fodor looked right at Michael. "Let's take you, sir," he said. "Mother and sister captured by the Hammers when they hijacked the Mumtaz; you're lucky they came home. Damn lucky. Most people taken by the Hammers never come home. You were lucky, too; 387 nearly didn't make it back. How many of her crew died? Then you had the Ishaq blown out from under you. You were fortunate-you escaped-but hundreds of Ishaqs didn't, including people I joined Fleet with, good friends of mine. How many friends did you lose, sir?"
"Too many, Chief, too many," Michael said.
"Aye, sir. That's right. Too many, and there'll be thousands more before this stops. Now we have that evil bastard, what was his name, Hart something?"
"Hartspring, Colonel Erwin Hartspring."
"Yes, him. He has the crap beaten out of you, and now he wants to have your woman shot because she's the one you love. It's total bullshit, sir, the sort of blackmail only the truly wicked could dream up. So here's the deal. I understand rescuing Lieutenant Cheung is a one-way mission. I know we won't be coming back any time soon. I realize we'll be stuck dirtside on Commitment until this damn war ends, and that means joining the Nationalists, doing what we can to help that raggedy-assed army of theirs, the NRA. I know we'll be putting our lives on the line. If we can make a difference by teaming up with them after we've rescued Lieutenant Cheung, I'll do that… and be happy to do it. Trust me, sir. I'll gladly spend the rest of this damn war killing Hammers," he said, his face twisted into a bitter scowl. "At least it'll be face to face. At least I'll be doing something that might make a difference. At least I won't be sitting back waiting for a Hammer antimatter warhead to blow me to hell. And let's not forget there's a bunch of Fed spacers in that camp with her who'll be more than pleased to see us. I'm sure they have a few scores to settle after what happened at Salvation."
Overwhelmed by the raw emotion that infused every word Fodor had said, Michael sat, stunned. He'd had no idea Fodor held such strong views. He always assumed he was the only one who carried a burning, corrosive hate of the scum who ran the Hammer Worlds. He struggled to control a growing feeling that things were spiraling out of his control, to push away the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to save Anna.
Recovering his composure with an effort, Michael looked at each person in turn. "You all agree? The way Chief Fodor puts it, you all see it the same way? I need to be sure, because if I agree with what the exec has proposed, there's no turning back."
"Chief Fodor is right, sir," Bienefelt said, "though it's not only about the deaths of friends and family, though that's a huge part of it." Her voice was soft, subdued. "I've lost family, too… nobody close but still family… and some good friends, but there's more to it, for me, anyway."
"More to it, Chief?"
Bienefelt nodded. "Yes, sir. For me there is," she said, looking right at him. "We've been through a lot, you and me, and you've never once let me down. If I'm sent into combat, I want you to be the spacer in charge, and you know why? Because I know you'll never throw my life away on a whim just to make yourself look good, because you can't be bothered to find another way. The spacers and marines you command matter. You and I both know that loyalty cuts both ways. You've been loyal to me. I figure it's time for me to be loyal to you. I know rescuing Lieutenant Cheung is a personal matter, but I don't care. I owe you. As for joining the New Revolutionary Army, it's a bonus. That's about fighting the scum-sucking parasites that keep the Hammer of Kraa Worlds going, something I'm always happy to do. I don't care," she said, shrugging her enormous shoulders. "Assault rifle or dreadnought, it doesn't matter to me what I kill Hammers with. I'm happy either way."
Embarrassed by the raw emotion in Chief Bienefelt's voice, Michael struggled to respond. "What can I say?" he asked finally. "Anyone else?"
"Yes, sir." It was Sedova.
"Yes, Kat."
"Like Chief Bienefelt, there's more to it for me. I want to do this because I think we can make a difference. Sounds arrogant, I know, and it is, but I've read the intelligence summaries. Those poor NRA bastards are doing the job all on their own, and their political wing is struggling to get traction. What they achieve, they achieve without any outside help. Our own government has done nothing to lend a hand, and all because of some misplaced desire not to interfere even though a blind man can see the Hammers will destroy us all. So if we play our cards right, I'm sure we can make a difference, but I need to hear you say it… that chucking it all in to join the NRA is the right thing, the best thing not only for you but for us, all of us… and the rest of the Federation, too. Because much as I respect you, sir, I'm not Chief Bienefelt. I won't do this simply to rescue Lieutenant Cheung. That's not reason enough. So tell me. Can we make a difference?"
Michael sat back in his seat. Sedova had taken the heart of the problem and skewered it to the bulkhead. He would not, could not ask these people to risk their lives and careers just to help him rescue Anna, no matter what Bienefelt said. They might like the idea of taking the fight back to the Hammers, but that was not reason enough. It needed to be the right thing to do. It needed to be something that helped end the war.
He shook his head in despair at the arrogance of it all. Only one word described it: hubris. Hubris on a breathtaking scale.
"That is the million-FedMark question," Michael said, measuring his every word. "So let's be clear. Nothing we do can end the war, and I know none of us are so stupid as to think that. So what we are talking about is helping shorten it, and none of you should have anything to do with this business unless it helps do that. If you don't believe what we do will shorten the war-and believe it body, brain, heart, and soul-you should, you must, walk away. Kat is right: Helping me is not reason enough. My problems are my problems; they are not your concern."
"Yes, sir. We know that," Kallewi said, a finger stabbing out to reinforce the point. "So what's the answer? Can we help shorten this war or not?"
Michael had to smile; the big marine was not known for his finesse.
"Okay, here's my view," he said, picking his words carefully. He knew this was not the time to oversell; if Ferreira's plan ever went ahead, that would come back to haunt him when the going got hard, and it would. "I believe we can help. I've met Mutti Vaas, the man in charge of the NRA. I've met their people. I've seen the NRA in action. I know what they're fighting for, and it's the same thing we're fighting for: an end to th
e Hammer of Kraa. I also know that the Hammer government is not the solid, monolithic structure it presents itself to be. Infighting, backstabbing, deceit, lies, treachery, betrayal, kidnapping, murder, torture… that's what makes the Hammer's wheels go around. Put another way, the whole edifice is rotten to the core, and the more people try to push it over…"
Michael needed a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. "I think we have it all wrong. We've tried to win this war the old-fashioned way. Our ships fighting their ships using missiles, rail guns, lasers, all the things we're good at, relying on technology and good people to get the result we want. Problem is, it isn't working… it won't work. It's the wrong strategy. This war can only be won from the inside, and that means backing the NRA and the Nationalists. I think history will show that our politicians screwed it up when they refused to provide direct assistance to the NRA back in '93, and even now they won't in case they are accused of being regime changers. Who knows why? But I can tell you something: This war only ends when the regime changes. So the war drags on, we kill their spacers and marines in the thousands while they kill ours, and all the time we don't even know if we can beat them. Truth is, if they get a second antimatter plant up and running, there's a damn good chance they might beat us. Of course I can't be sure, but I think there's a good chance we can make a difference. I think it's worth the terrible risks we will have to take. So, Kat, does that answer your question?"
"Yes, it does," Sedova said. "I understand there are no guarantees. I understand it's the riskiest thing I've ever done, but I think it's the right thing. More to the point, it's better than taking Redwood into combat while the Hammers grind the rest of the fleet into the dirt before blowing us and our home planets to dust with their damn antimatter missiles."
Heads nodded, the response unanimous, underscored by a soft chorus of agreement.
The battle for Commitment planet hw-4 Page 5
