by P. A. Piatt
* * *
Fortis met with his attorney, a Fleet major named Wallace Grant, in a tiny conference room down the passageway from the court room. Grant tried to convince him to accept a plea deal.
“I can work it to where you get a couple years of supervised probation in exchange for a guilty plea and you walk out of the ISMC without serving a day behind bars,” Grant told him with a satisfied smile on his face. “You won’t get a better deal from anyone else.”
“You want me to plead guilty to something I didn’t do?”
“Hey, Abner. I’m on your side, but you need to wise up. This isn’t about a skirmish between Space Marines and some Conglomerate army. There’s a much bigger game afoot here. There are people I don’t recognize working behind the scenes. I don’t understand exactly what’s going on, but I have the sense that you’re not the main event. The JAG threw the book at you because he wants something to stick to someone. Whether you did it or not doesn’t matter. Take the damn deal, man.”
“And then what? I get a bad conduct discharge and spend the rest of my life telling the story of how I fucked up my entire life during my first two weeks as an ISMC officer. Is that it?”
The lawyer gave Fortis a sheepish grin. “When you put it that way, it does sound pretty bad. Look at it this way, you’ve got a degree in what, terraforming? There’s a lot of work for guys like you out there. This won’t ever have to come up again.”
“Plenty of work in government contracts, you mean. Which a guy with a bad conduct discharge can’t get.”
The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
“If you don’t want to handle my defense the way I want you to, I’ll request another lawyer.”
Major Grant shook his head. “Can’t. I already tried. I have a couple demons of my own to exorcise and my boss seems to think your case will be good for me.”
Fortis snorted. “So, where does that leave me? The ISMC is lined up against me, and my defense lawyer doesn’t want to fight. I guess I’m fucked.”
Grant shrugged. “Tell me how you want to me to present your defense. You want to plead temporary insanity?”
The two men laughed, and then laughed some more. Grant’s remark was pure gallows humor, but it was the funniest thing Fortis had heard in a long time, and he felt the stress and worry of the last two weeks drain from his body as his stomach spasmed and his cheeks ached from smiling.
Finally, the two men regained their composure.
“In all seriousness, how do you want me to proceed?”
“I don’t want to plead temporary insanity. I want to use something a lot more dangerous.”
“What’s that?”
“The truth.”
* * *
It had been six weeks since that first meeting. In the meantime, Fleet Command had ordered Atlas to remain in orbit around Pada-Pada, ostensibly until the court martial was concluded and certain GRC claims against the UNT government were discharged. The division deployment schedule was shot all to hell, for which Fortis drew the ire of headquarters, the Space Marines, and Fleet personnel alike.
The court martial finally convened, and for ten days Fortis found himself defending every single decision he’d made on Pada-Pada while simultaneously debunking charges made by Beck, who quickly became the star witness for the prosecution.
The GRC executive portrayed the recon of Mine Shafts Two and Four as trespassing onto private GRC property. Hawkins’ patrol and penetration of the colony was painted as breaking and entering with the intent to steal proprietary Conglomerate intellectual property. But the most preposterous claim was when Beck insisted that Pell’s ill-fated patrol to get help for Kilfoy was an attempt to assassinate Beck himself.
Beck further asserted that the miners confined in the colony were there for their own safety, and any grumbling from them was normal labor unrest. The prosecution put three miners on the stand, and all three claimed that they were satisfied with their working conditions, which were exactly as contracted with the GRC.
Over the two days of Beck’s testimony, Grant sat quietly and did little to challenge his story, except for the occasional objection when the prosecution got carried away. When Fortis fumed about it during a recess, Grant explained that although Beck’s claims were outlandish, he didn’t want to challenge the GRC executive.
“Let him talk. We don’t want to look like we’re scared of what he has to say. I could try and tear his testimony apart, but I’d have to use the evidence we need for your testimony to do it. If we do that, it will lose its punch. Just be patient.”
Finally, the prosecution called Fortis to take the stand.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Five
“Lieutenant Fortis, are you a graduate of the Fleet Academy?”
The prosecutor, a narrow-faced Fleet commander with sloping shoulders and a flair for the dramatic, by the name of Johanson, raised his eyebrows in exaggerated curiosity. He knew Fortis wasn’t a Fleet Academy graduate, but he belabored the point to emphasize Fortis’ lack of formal military training and experience.
“No, sir. I was recruited into the ISMC straight from university.”
Johanson feigned surprise. “If you didn’t graduate from the Academy, what military training do you have?”
“I am a graduate from ISMC Officer Basic School and the Advanced Infantry Officer course.”
The prosecutor nodded as if he were impressed. “And how long ago did you complete your training, Lieutenant Fortis?”
“Three months ago.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you clearly. Could you speak up for the court?”
Fortis cleared his throat. “Three months ago.”
Johanson finally got to his point. “If you graduated three months ago, that means you were a commissioned ISMC officer for less than a week when you dropped onto Pada-Pada. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
Johanson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think you were ready to take command of two platoons of Space Marines and a mech element after less than a week as an officer?”
“Well, no, sir, but I wasn’t in command. First Lieutenant Baker was in command. Technically, I was second in command.”
“Technically? What exactly does that mean, Lieutenant?”
“Ah, on paper, my name would have appeared directly under Lieutenant Baker because I was the second-ranking officer. In reality, the company gunnery sergeant acted as second in command. It’s a matter of experience, and it’s common practice in the Corps.”
“So you, a young, uneducated, and inexperienced officer, found yourself ‘technically’—” Johanson made air quotes for emphasis, “—in command of the Pada-Pada detachment after the untimely death of Lieutenant Baker, but the real commander was Gunnery Sergeant Hawkins?”
“In simple terms, that’s correct, but it’s more complicated than that. Gunny Hawkins—”
“Gunnery Sergeant Hawkins made the decisions and let you take the responsibility?”
“No. That’s not accurate. We—”
“That will do, Lieutenant Fortis, thank you.”
Fortis looked to Grant who was sitting at the defense table, but his attorney didn’t look up as he scribbled furiously on a legal pad.
* * *
“Thanks for the help in there, counselor.”
Fortis and Grant were seated across from each other in the conference room during a court recess.
“What did you want me to do, Abner? I told you, experience and education were going to be important elements of the prosecution. Johanson did exactly what we thought he would.”
“Yeah, but he made it seem like I was just some guy off the street making things up as I went along.”
“Weren’t you?”
Fortis stared at Grant.
“Look. The prosecution wants to make you look like a wide-eyed cherry, bumbling from mistake to mistake, led around by the nose by a gunnery sergeant who cannot refute a
ny of this because he’s dead. Don’t let it get to you. Not being an Academy grad isn’t a crime, and you completed the same training as every other second lieutenant in the ISMC. Besides, you’ve got a great defense attorney. Don’t worry, we’ll get our chance.”
* * *
When the defense finally got their chance, Grant made the most of it.
“Lieutenant Fortis, you testified that your training consisted of ISMC Officer Basic School and the Advanced Infantry Officer course. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is the same training every ISMC infantry officer undergoes? Even the Fleet Academy graduates?”
“I don’t know, sir. I assume so.”
“It is. Did you know that there is no advanced training available to Space Marine infantry officers until they’ve completed a tour as a company commander at the rank of captain?”
“Objection, your honor.” The prosecutor stood up and pointed indignantly at Grant. “This case isn’t about what Lieutenant Fortis knows about the ISMC infantry officer career path.”
“Your honor, Lieutenant Fortis’ training and experience were brought into question by the prosecution. I am merely illustrating that the training he has received thus far in his career is standard for someone of his rank.”
“Overruled. Lieutenant Fortis, answer the question.”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’re probably unaware that almost sixty percent of ISMC officers above the rank of major haven’t completed any training beyond the Advanced Infantry Officer course, including almost twenty percent of general officers?”
“I was unaware of that, sir.”
A couple of the court martial board officers shifted in their seats, and Fortis wondered if they had completed any training beyond the Advanced Infantry Officer course.
Grant strode to the defense table and retrieved a dog-eared copy of the ISMC Platoon Leader Manual. Across the cover, in large block letters, was Fortis’ name.
“Lieutenant Fortis, do you recognize this?”
“That’s my Platoon Leader Manual, sir.”
Grant handed the book to Fortis. “Is there a section in there about commanding an infantry company on a bug-infested planet?”
“No, sir.”
“How about a section on how to deal with an AWOL who’s supposed to be dead. Is that in there?”
“No, sir.”
“A test tube surprise attack? A million-bug swarm?”
“No, sir. Nothing like that.”
“Did you have any written guidance available about the situation you found yourself in on Pada-Pada?”
“No, sir.”
“Surely you could have called your superiors and get guidance?”
“No, sir. Captain Reese and Atlas were too far away to call.”
“Let me make sure I understand what you’re saying. For two weeks, you dealt with situations that aren’t covered by your Platoon Leader Manual, weren’t covered in any of your prior training, and your chain of command was too far away to consult for guidance?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Thank you. Let’s move on.”
Grant spent an entire day walking Fortis through the timeline of events on Pada-Pada detailed in Fortis’ report. The video footage and imagery collected by the drones was powerful evidence to support his story, and Grant knew the visuals would make a strong impression on the court martial board.
“Can you identify this image, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. That’s Mine Shaft Number Four. We discovered it on our return patrol from the GRC base.”
“What was your first impression when you saw it?”
“It looked like a nuke crater in the middle of the jungle.”
“And later?”
“Sergeant Lily told us it was a mine shaft the GRC had nuked.”
“Why do you suppose someone would nuke a mine shaft in the middle of the jungle?”
“To cover up a criminal act?”
“Objection!” roared the prosecutor, and he punctuated his outrage by slapping his table. “The GRC is not on trial, and there has been no criminal conduct alleged at that location.”
“Sustained.”
Finally, Grant and Fortis arrived at the end of the imagery.
“Lieutenant Fortis, can you tell the court what that image is?”
“That’s the GRC headquarters. Seven klicks from our camp.”
“It doesn’t appear to be heavily defended.”
“No, sir.”
“And yet you decided to strike that location. Can you explain that decision?”
“Yes, sir. We were under heavy attack by the GRC test tubes. The drones were up to provide aerial surveillance of the battlespace. They were armed with gravity bombs, but we couldn’t use them for fear of further provoking the bugs. Decapitating the enemy command and control seemed like a good idea.”
“By decapitate, you mean kill?”
“Not necessarily. Cutting off communications between the troops and their commander would have had the same effect, as would destroying the headquarters. If I’d had an anti-satellite weapon or an EMP, I would have used them.”
“But all you had was gravity bombs.”
“Correct.”
“You lost two drones in that attack, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. One was shot down by Mr. Beck and the other crashed after releasing its payload.”
“Do you know why it crashed?”
“No, sir. I was pretty busy with the test tube attack at the time, and to the best of my knowledge no drone wreckage recovered from the GRC headquarters has been analyzed.”
“So, you made the sensible decision to interrupt the enemy command and control in an effort to blunt their attack on your troops?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many mechs accompanied your infantry to Pada-Pada, Lieutenant Fortis?”
“Four, sir.”
“And how many were recovered?”
“Seven, sir. The four we took, plus three mechs left behind by Bravo Company.”
“Were any of the four that deployed with you damaged?”
“When I last saw them they were all mission capable, aside from a few bullet holes.”
“Great.” Grant referred to a notepad on the defense table. “Let’s shift gears here, shall we? Lieutenant Fortis, at any time during your deployment to Pada-Pada, did you curse anyone out?”
Fortis was confused by the question.
“No, sir.”
“Did you strike any of the other Space Marines?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you get drunk, or make advances on anyone, or behave in a discreditable manner?”
“No, sir.” Fortis thought for a second. “I did permit the brewing of DINLI.”
“Hmm.” Grant put on his best look of grave concern. “That’s a violation of regulations, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.
“And yet, you authorized it.”
“Well, sir, it’s traditional in the ISMC to brew DINLI wherever we deploy. It’s a symbolic link to our history and a way of saluting fallen comrades.” Fortis chuckled nervously. “It’s actually pretty awful, to tell you the truth.”
A wave of laughter rippled through the court, and Fortis could see the prosecutor struggling to find a reason to object.
Grant returned to the defense table. “Your honor, I have no further questions for the defendant.”
On cross examination, the prosecutor attacked Fortis’ testimony from every possible angle, but he was unable to shake the young officer from his story. As predicted, the visual evidence was impossible to refute, and he soon gave up. When he was finished, the defense rested.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Six
“What do you think?”
Fortis and Grant were waiting on the verdict in the small conference room down the hall. For the first time since he was arrested on Pada-Pada, Fortis was nervous. It was hard for h
im to comprehend that his ISMC career, and perhaps his life, was being weighed by a group of strangers.
“I think we did as well as anyone could have to refute each charge. It all hinges on how the board members interpret your testimony against Beck’s. The cross examination fizzled, which was a good way to end things.”
“Yeah, but was it enough?”
Grant leaned forward and locked eyes with Fortis.
“Abner, we did as well as anyone could have, but you need to understand something. Somebody somewhere exerted a lot of pressure to get those charges filed against you. They’re ridiculous and should never have been filed, but the GRC is a major player—one of the biggest—and they have a lot of strings available to pull. I’m not questioning the integrity of the court, but they’re only human.”
Fortis groaned and let his head sink to the table.
“Hey, cheer up buddy.” Grant slapped him on the shoulder. “You can always appeal on the grounds of grossly inadequate representation. That alone should get a death sentence commuted to life without parole.”
* * *
Fortis stared out the viewport at the green orb of Pada-Pada crawling by as Atlas orbited high over the jungle planet. The first time he’d seen it, he thought it was a beautiful speck of life in the otherwise cold and unforgiving darkness of deep space. Now, the sight was almost as oppressive as the gunmetal gray of the waiting room he was sitting in.
A sharp rap at the door instantly dried his mouth and caused his heart to pound in his chest. A gunnery sergeant, the courtroom sentry who was posted by the door to ensure no one entered or exited while court was in session, stepped into the conference room.
“Lieutenant Fortis, it’s time.”
