March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “Yeah, I was a troop commander in the Dog Watch, and I did a bit of time in Special Forces.”

  “Really? Can I ask what you did in the ASF?”

  “You can ask…” Korolev’s grim smile said the rest.

  “I get it,” Jack said, leaning in. “Not so much the details, but can I ask you another question about it?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How did you deal with it? I realize that it’s our job to go into harm’s way, and I guess I’m okay with that. But the shit we do sometimes… And lots of people die.”

  Jack already guessed that he wasn’t going to get the standard hoo-rah speech from this Corps officer, but even so the response surprised.

  “It sucks, Jack. It really sucks.”

  A cloud drifted over the bridge towers, and the wind suddenly carried a chill.

  “But how do you deal with it? You’ve been in for what, thirty years?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “How have you not taken your assault rifle and put it in your own mouth at some point?”

  Korolev pulled his jacket closed, nodding thoughtfully.

  “I’ve had enough troopers do that, Jack, and it makes me want to do it myself every time, but I never have.” His eyes rose to hold Jack’s with their quiet intensity. “Because I’ve always had other troopers who are still alive and relying on me. I could never turn my back on those people who are relying on me to get them home.”

  Images of the wild descent to the shattered base on Thor flooded Jack’s memory. Of taking out the ground batteries, of dodging fire, of landing on the roof and getting the troopers on board. He hadn’t known it at the time, but Thomas had been one of those troopers he’d saved. Thomas Kane had been relying on him—Jack Mallory—to get him home.

  Yet so had Daisy Singh.

  “I guess what really gets me,” he said suddenly, “is just how much we rely on luck. We get all this training, and all this equipment, but even if we do everything right, sooner or later some lucky shot snuffs us out.”

  “When I was a young officer I heard my troops call that ‘Athena’s Whim’—named for the bitchy Greek war goddess.”

  “We pilots just call it bullshit bad luck.”

  “Well, I guess you don’t get the same training in classical literature as the Corps.”

  Laughter burst forth from his throat. It must have been audio books, since it was widely assumed most troopers couldn’t read. Although, he considered, his old friend Katja had been an opera singer before joining the Corps.

  “All that good training, gone with a single bullet.” Korolev sat back. “The war is such a huge thing—it’s hard to think that any one of us can actually make a difference.”

  Jack couldn’t believe how similar his own thoughts were to this senior officer’s. Maybe he wasn’t crazy… or traitorous… after all.

  “But rising to a senior rank must help,” he said. “Now your decisions can affect much bigger things than just a lone grunt in a trench—or a pilot in a Hawk.”

  “In one sense, yes, but in another, I’m powerless because I’m not the one who actually takes action—I just direct others to do so. I might set events in motion, but I can’t control how they turn out.”

  “Great, so if I survive my time in the cockpit, then I have years of second-hand guilt to look forward to.”

  Korolev sighed, but his expression was sympathetic.

  Jack looked out at the bridge again. It was a monument he’d seen since childhood, but now he looked at it with new understanding.

  “I wonder if they knew just what they were doing when they blew up the bridge.”

  “You mean, did they know they were saving the entire human race?”

  “Yeah. I wonder how those people felt when they actively killed their fellow citizens and doomed millions more to death.”

  “I think they knew that they weren’t dooming anyone, Jack. The mainland was contaminated, and the virus was spreading fast. Cutting off the islands was the only way to ensure that anybody survived at all.”

  “I know, but I wonder if they knew.”

  Korolev glanced up at the bridge, then back to Jack.

  “They were probably scared to death and hating themselves, but it was an act of tremendous courage that they knew was the right decision, no matter how hard.”

  Jack had always been proud to live near the site of the event where humanity’s battle against the MAS outbreak had finally turned. Blowing up the bridge had isolated Victoria and the essential bio-research centers, and allowed work on the vaccine to continue. The act had shocked an already panicked world, but it had given others the courage to do the same. The guns of Kristiansand in Norway had stopped the thousands of boats fleeing continental Europe, and the pilots of Hokkaido had cleared their skies of refugees. Because those sacrifices had been made, the vaccine had been developed in time to deploy and save the lives of billions.

  “At least,” Jack said thoughtfully, “the bridge sappers knew why they were doing what they did. It isn’t always the same for soldiers like us.”

  “That was definitely the best part of being Special Forces,” Korolev replied. “We knew we were making a difference, and why. Even if the mission was simple and isolated, we knew why it would make a difference. That helped a lot.”

  “If only I knew how to apply for Special Forces,” Jack scoffed. Nobody knew where these elite, secret soldiers with their amazing powers came from. Jack had only ever met one—that he knew of—and Suleiman Chang had been one scary individual. He wondered idly if he could find Chang in the network.

  “No one applies,” Korolev said. “They’re selected.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll just wait then.” It was a joke, but Korolev didn’t laugh, or look away. He continued to regard Jack with that same steady, kind expression. A dawning suspicion swept over Jack.

  “So… does anyone ever leave Special Forces?”

  “Not really. Sometimes we go back to the regular Fleet or Corps for career postings, but it depends.”

  “You were a colonel the last time we met. Has that changed?”

  “My rank changes weekly, Jack, depending on what I’m doing, but my real rank is brigadier.”

  “What rank is the highest member of the ASF?”

  “Brigadier.”

  Jack wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered, suspicious, or afraid.

  “What was your meeting here in Vancouver?”

  “To talk to you, Jack.”

  “Why?”

  “Special Forces has kept a file on you ever since your little science experiment in Centauria. Your ability to think laterally is remarkable—you have a knack for making connections between things that no one else can see. And, let’s not kid ourselves, you’re just about the most unorthodox pilot in the Fleet.”

  Jack stared at the man sitting next to him. Dressed in regular civilian clothes, graying brown hair over nondescript features, with the gentle expression of a professor or a favorite uncle, he was the head of Astral Special Forces—perhaps the most powerful individual alive. And he had come looking for Jack. The surreal nature of this conversation sent a chill through Jack’s body.

  “Am I in trouble, sir?”

  “Not at all. I just wanted to meet you in person. I wanted to get a sense of who you are.”

  “Sorry I’ve been such a downer. This last patrol was tough.”

  “I know.”

  Of course he did—he was the head of Special fucking Forces. Anger suddenly burned through Jack.

  “What do you know?”

  “I know that your ship discovered the Toronto derelict. I know that you personally saw some close-in combat with rebel ships. And I know that you lost your crewman.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Yes. Do you want to talk about her?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “It’s not like she was my sister, or my friend, or my lover or anything. But she was my responsibility!”

  “And bullshit bad luck
took her.”

  “How the fuck do I deal with that?” Jack suddenly realized that he was shouting, and he noticed the glares of nearby parents. His hand gripped the wooden back of the bench. He felt like screaming at those self-righteous civilians. What the fuck did they know? About anything.

  “I was tortured nearly to death,” he whispered, “and all the worlds saw it in their living rooms. I’ve killed hundreds of rebel sailors in their stealth ships, and I created the Dark Bomb—and somehow, sir, I can live with that. But I’ve lost too many people who put their trust in me, because they thought I was capable of keeping them safe. Singh wasn’t the first, but I hope to God she’s the last because if she isn’t, I might be the next one putting an assault rifle in his mouth.”

  Silence fell over the bench as Jack stared down at his hands. He could see Korolev’s knee where the brigadier sat facing him.

  “I don’t think,” Jack said finally, “I’d be a very good Special Forces person.”

  “On the contrary,” came the soft reply, “I think you’re exactly what we need.”

  Jack blinked tears from his eyes as he looked up.

  “Special Forces,” Korolev continued, “isn’t necessarily what you think. You wouldn’t have to storm enemy positions, set bombs, or assassinate people—leave that for the movies. I need people who have the ability to do remarkable things, and the convictions to make the right decisions for Terra.” He gestured over his shoulder at the bridge monument. “I wish I could have had some of the folks who blew this up.”

  “But instead, you got me.”

  “I have the entire Terran population to choose from, Jack, and I chose to speak to you.”

  “Why would I want to listen to you?”

  “Because I’m offering you the chance to make a difference. As just one man, to really make a difference. This war is out of control and too many people—across all human systems—are dying for no reason. I have a plan to end the war, and to help me you won’t need to kill anyone. I need someone with your unique abilities, and you’d be part of an elite team who are as talented and dedicated as you are.”

  Jack brushed the moisture from his eyes.

  “Are you interested, Jack?”

  16

  Despite the State’s best efforts, it was impossible not to notice the anger among the crowds lining the streets. Breeze stared through the window of the limo at the faces beyond, as the car trundled far too slowly along the narrow secure lane. Glancing the other way, she noted that Vijay wasn’t even looking out, focused instead on his tablet. She placed her hand against the soft material of his trousers.

  “Why did this event have to be in the outer city?”

  “Because that’s where the factory is,” he replied without glancing up.

  “But look at this place.”

  He did, lowering his tablet and gazing out both windows, and then up through the transparent, tinted roof. The dark gray apartment towers stretched high, leaving only a thin strip of pale sky at the very top. The facades were grim and showing their age, nets protruding every ten stories to catch stray garbage or brickwork. Many of the lower floors were dedicated to commercial ventures, signs in windows advertising various inexpensive services, while at street level reinforced doors were rolled back to reveal stands of goods for sale.

  In front of those, pressed behind barriers manned by armored police, were the local citizens of Terra. They dutifully lined the streets, watching with grim stoicism as the long parade of cars slowly passed.

  At no time did Vijay’s expression change from one of casual interest.

  “It’s a typical city on Earth,” he said finally. “Could be Miami, could be Baghdad, could be Longreach, but it happens to be Munich. They all kind of look the same.”

  “Wretched is what it looks like,” she replied, frowning. “I’m sure even Munich has a gated section.”

  “Yes,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately, “but the gated section doesn’t have any factories in it. And that’s what we’re here to celebrate—the revitalization of Terra’s industrial might. Hopefully the new factory will bring some life back to this ward.”

  Breeze couldn’t see how a scattering of new jobs made a difference to this monolithic slum, but she knew that it was the hope. And hope was what politicians had to sell.

  Central Europe as a whole had been particularly hard-hit by the rebel disruptions to trade, and ever since the Civil Defense Headquarters had been destroyed by a Centauri surface sneak attack, there had been little law and order to protect what businesses still survived. The result had been a year of rapid decline for the whole region and a swelling of Munich’s population as the destitute trundled into the city looking for work.

  Looking at the heavy police presence outside, Breeze wasn’t worried about civil strife. What frightened her most were the rumors of new cases of the Gray Death. Another outbreak might deal with the overcrowding, but she wasn’t going to be part of the cull. She’d been sure to visit the booster clinic before making this trip.

  “So who do you need to speak to today?” she asked, “and when do you want me at your side?”

  “I always want you at my side,” he said with a smile. “But today I need to try to talk to Sheridan alone, and I’m sure a few of the Triton-based miners will want to corner me to discuss import channels.”

  “Why do you need to talk to Sheridan? He’s not even in government.”

  “He has a lot of influence, both in Parliament and with the general population. He’s been making concerted efforts to raise his profile here on Earth, and it’s working. If he can influence both Earth and Mars, he’s a man I want on my side.”

  “I thought you two were political enemies.”

  “In Parliament, yes.” Vijay shrugged. “But in the real world we have to get the job done.”

  Breeze sat back against the leather seat, admiring her husband anew as he returned his attention to his tablet. Brilliant, hardworking, and above all practical. He lacked charisma, but she was happy to provide that at his side. As a team, they were unstoppable.

  The car finally pulled up to the main gate of the new factory. The grim crowds were noticeably further away, barricaded on the far side of the square, and security was overt. Armored police thumped between fixed gun positions, and patrol cruisers traced slow orbits overhead. A red carpet had been laid out through the factory gates to the road, and on either side, behind velvet ropes, crowds of cheering citizens waved Terran flags. Through the car windows Breeze spotted the locations of the news teams and considered where to position herself when walking alongside Vijay. Huge screens had been placed on the factory walls to project the arrivals to the public, a live feed that was visible clear across the square.

  The door opened and a wave of hot, stinky air washed into the cabin. Breeze was thankful that the tinted windows hid her face and she busied herself with sliding across the rear seat as gracefully as possible while Vijay stepped out into the lights. She gave him a moment to be imaged on his own, then reached out to take the hand he extended back to her.

  Getting out of a limousine in a form-fitting dress was an art she’d been practicing, and with relief she planted her feet on the carpet without incident, then stood up at her husband’s left side. There was a roar of approval from the cheering crowds, which she answered with her most winning smile. It seemed as if the PR machine was still working hard to cultivate the idea of Minister Shah and his wife as the new power couple in Terran society.

  A shy little girl was led forward to present Breeze with a bouquet of flowers. Breeze bent down to accept them, smiling radiantly at the child’s nervous features.

  “Thank you so much,” she gushed, although her words were muted by the roar of a police cruiser ascending overhead. “They’re beautiful.”

  The girl managed a smile in return, bravely standing her ground and accepting Breeze’s fingers against her cheek. The moment lasted long enough for the media to grab their images, then the gir
l was led away. Breeze straightened with the bouquet and took Vijay’s arm to stroll past the cheering crowds.

  There was a schedule to keep, and even higher-ranking politicians still to come, so the moment on the red carpet was short-lived. Within moments Breeze found herself through the factory gates and into the relative quiet of the main manufacturing floor.

  A large central space had been cleared, many of the production machines jammed against the outer walls of the vast room. Breeze scanned for security points and any possible hiding places where assassins might lurk. Too many public figures had been killed in the past few months, and today’s gathering would be a prime target. There was no pattern to the assassinations, though, and Breeze wondered if the killings were secretly ordered by the State, and not the rebels.

  On an impulse she gripped Vijay’s arm tighter.

  One of Vijay’s staffers relieved her of the bouquet and offered a drink. Another staffer stepped up to Vijay’s other side, her tablet discreetly in hand to support him in his upcoming discussions. Most of the guests had already arrived, so it wasn’t long before Vijay was introduced to the CEO of a local mining corporation. Breeze smiled along at the standard chit-chat about government support for the protection of local exploitation, and listened to Vijay’s smooth reassurances which ultimately lacked any solid commitment. An agreement was made for the CEO to meet with a senior official in the Ministry, and the interview concluded.

  “Ah,” Vijay said, leaning in, “there’s one of the Tritonian magnates I need to talk to. Would you excuse me, dear?”

  Breeze noted the dour, pale little man whose entire appearance screamed that he was from Triton, and was suddenly glad to be freed from the next conversation. She glanced around the room.

  “Of course. Is there anyone you think I should talk to?”

  Vijay scanned the room. “Wes Taal has just arrived. This event has nothing to do with Defense, and I know he’s irritated to be here. Maybe you could brighten his day?”

  “Thanks.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and strode off, staffer in his wake. She slinked over to her new target.