Stark's War

by John G. Hemry

  A thin Sergeant nodded rapidly. "Right. Damn right. Good thinking."

  Grace, far down the table, raised a fist. "Okay, we can do that with the rest. But I want to personally kill Meecham for wasting the lives of my brother and thousands of others."

  Stark stood slowly. "I've lost plenty of friends, Grace, but I've been lucky enough not to lose a brother, so I can't preach to you as an equal on that. But killing Meecham would be doing him a favor." A murmur of comment arose. "I mean it. Right now, he's lost his battle, lost the troops the United States has depended on for decades to defend its own territory, lost control of the rest of us up here, and lost the lunar colony, if we hold it. He's toast. We send him back and they'll eat him alive, the brass in the Pentagon and the civs and the politicians and all the corporations whose assets are now ours if we need them."

  Yurivan grinned with delight. "Generals always get high-ranking jobs at corporations when they retire. I don't think Meecham's gonna get one."

  Stark nodded. "Hell, there's even a chance the authorities back on Earth will shoot him instead of locking him in a small, cold cell in Leavenworth for life. Either way he's gotten a payback, and our hands are clean."

  "Let's do it," Tanaka declared. "Vote. Anybody object?"

  Grace scowled but remained silent. No one else spoke. "Then that's what we'll do. Hold the whole bunch for bargaining chips. So, what's your second big issue, Reynolds?"

  "Who's in charge?" Vic asked.

  "We are."

  "What?" Reynolds questioned. "We are? So this army's going to be a democracy now? We vote on everything? Which units go on the line? What punishment a junior enlisted gets for a court-martial offense? What soldier goes out on patrol? Whether we provide fire support to a sector, and how much? Anybody think that'll work?"

  Silence greeted her words, along with a lot more scowls. "So what do we do?" a linked Sergeant demanded.

  "We choose a boss."

  Stark stood again, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "That's not enough, Vic. We don't need a boss. We need a commander. We need someone who's in charge. Without question. Without that, we're not mil."

  "I've had enough commanders," someone groused.

  "No," Yurivan agreed with visible reluctance. "Stark's right. We lose discipline, and we're damn close to that in the ranks, and there'll be hell to pay."

  "I'll concede that, too," the thin Sergeant added, "but if that commander is going to function, he or she will have to have real authority, as Stark said. Who do we appoint to that job?"

  "Somebody with good tactical smarts," Stark suggested. "Like Vic, here."

  The thin Sergeant shook his head. "Even if Reynolds wasn't your friend, I'd still disagree. Commanders can get tactical smarts from their subordinates, if they listen. No, what we need in a commander is somebody who realizes those stars on their shoulders are a reminder of their responsibilities, and not just a symbol of all their privileges. Somebody who isn't going to stab us in the back as soon as they get the power. Somebody who's a good leader, and who won't forget us and the rest of the troops."

  "Somebody we can trust, you mean?" Yurivan questioned. "Somebody we know isn't out for themselves?" She swung an arm to point toward Stark, grinning wickedly. "There's your commander, then."

  "The hell!" Stark denied furiously. "That's not why I talked about this! I don't want the job!"

  "That makes you qualified," somebody noted.

  "I'm not qualified. I'm just a squad leader. I can't command a division or more worth of soldiers."

  "I think you could," Sergeant Manley noted. "With the help of specialists like me. That's why commanders have staffs."

  "Thanks a lot." Stark glared around the table. "I'm not asking for the job, I don't want the job, and I can't do the job."

  "Vote," Tanaka announced implacably. "We can work out the details later. I want a commander to hold things together starting now, before our Corporals and Privates decide they can run amok without anybody officially in charge."

  "Absolutely," Manley stated. "We've got Stark nominated."

  "I do not agree to that!" Stark insisted.

  "Are you saying you won't take the job if we appoint you to it? You'll reject the responsibility?"

  "I.. ." Stark bit his lip. "I can't say that. You know that. I don't reject responsibility."

  "Fine. Any other nominees? Come on, people."

  "What about Maria Vasquez in Third Battalion, Second Brigade?"

  "I don't want it, either," Vasquez hurried to announce.

  "There's Smith in Second Battalion, First Brigade."

  "Which Smith?"

  "Richard. Richard T. Smith."

  "No way," Smith chimed in. "Leave me out of this. Most people don't know who I am."

  "Same here," Vasquez added. "The new commander has to have a Name with a capital N so people will believe in him or her, right?"

  "Right," Manley agreed. "That brings us back to Stark."

  "Do you people think I'm the Second Coming of Christ or something?" Stark demanded.

  "Hell, no," Yurivan observed. "But you'll do until He shows up."

  "Let's vote," Manley stated. "Motion is to appoint Ethan Stark commander of the entire force up here, with all the authority normally vested in a commanding officer."

  "With the understanding," the thin Sergeant added, "that he will continue to consult with us whenever appropriate. You agree to that, Stark?"

  "If I'm gonna be in charge, I'm damn well gonna be in charge," Stark declared. "But talking to you guys and listening to what you have to say? I'd want you to take me down if I stopped doing that."

  "Fine. Anybody object to the motion?" A long period of silence stretched. "Guess you're our new commander, Stark. What do you want to be called?"

  "Sergeant."

  A chuckle ran around the room. "That can stay your honorary title," Manley noted. "For now, let's call him Commander. Better get used to the idea of General, though, Ethan."

  "That's going to take one hell of a lot of getting used to," Stark grumped.

  "Congratulations, Ethan." Vic offered her hand with a broad smile.

  "Thanks so very much," Stark smiled back. "Hey, you know what I'm gonna need now? I'm gonna need a chief of staff."

  Vic's smile shaded to alarm. "Now, Ethan, there's a lot of other—"

  "One with good sources and tactical smarts," Stark continued. "Congratulations to you. And you, Manley. You said I needed somebody like you for the administrative junk."

  Yurivan stood dramatically. "I'm getting out of here before Stark taps me for a job, too."

  "Like there's a chance of that, Stace," someone joked.

  "Hey, how about Security Officer?"

  The laughter came louder this time, with a sharp edge. Stark took a good look around the table, trying to assess the mood. Tired. Scared, more than a little, but then we all should be. "People, I recommend you get back to your units and reestablish routine. They need it, and you need it. We've thrown out a lot of what we've always taken for granted, and we've got to take some comfort in how much of what we've got is still there, just like always."

  "Good idea." An awkward moment followed; then Yurivan walked up to Stark with another mischievous grin before bringing her arm up in a precise salute.

  Stark returned the courtesy, shaking his head in exasperation. "Get the hell out of here, Stace."

  "Yes, sir, Commander." The others followed, many repeating Yurivan's salute, so that Stark had to hold his own salute in acknowledgment.

  As the door whisked shut behind the last of the other Sergeants, Stark noticed an outside monitor on the opposite wall of the conference room. He strode over to it, then stopped, gazing at the rocks and the dust, the night black as only emptiness can be, the light and shadows unnaturally sharp. The vicious bedlam of battle had died down, leaving the false impression of peace where exhausted combatants rested before renewing their struggles. Nothing moved in the barren landscape now, nothing except the slow whe
el of stars overhead and the even slower progress of the shadows across the lifeless surface. Somehow it seemed different now. "I could live with it, I guess," he noted to himself.

  "What's that, Ethan?" Vic asked.

  Stark turned to see her still standing nearby, a questioning look bent his way. "Ah, nothing. Battle fatigue, maybe." He returned to his chair, sitting carefully. Somehow, the weak gravity of the Moon seemed to have suddenly multiplied, so that it bore down on him with a weight greater than that of Earth-normal. "I never expected this. Never thought any of it would happen."

  She came to sit beside him. "I warned you about that demon, Ethan. Warned you to be ready to live with whatever it made you do."

  "I can live with it. I guess. I couldn't let lives be wasted anymore, not when I could save them. But I really didn't want this, Vic."

  "What do you want, Ethan Stark?"

  "What do I want?" Stark looked down at his hands, thinking, then back up at Vic. "I want to wake up in the morning knowing what to do, who to take care of, and who to report to. I want officers who care about me and my troops more than they do about their own promotions. I want everything to happen by regulations, unless the regulations are screwed up, and then I want the senior enlisted to handle it right. I want to know what little box everything belongs in and what big box the little boxes all go into."

  Stark paused, noting Vic's unwavering attention. "I want to know I did the right thing, when everything I was ever told about honor and loyalty says maybe I betrayed the stuff I'm supposed to believe in. But none of that can happen. Not anymore. Now I've got to make decisions for others, and make sure I look out for them, and sometimes that's going to mean sending them into situations where they might be killed. I want someone else to be responsible for all this, but I also want to justify the trust my fellow soldiers placed in me, so I'm going to do my damnedest to get it right."

  Vic smiled sadly. "Ethan, I can't help you with everything, but I'll try. As for honor and loyalty, nobody anywhere can tell you a thing about those qualities."

  "Hell, Vic, we've got to worry about the enemy, about the civs in the colony, about how to get basic supplies, and about our own government and our own military."

  "That's right. The corporations are going to be foaming at the mouth at the thought of losing everything up here. They'll tell the government to get it all back, and the government's going to do just what they say, just like always."

  "So," Stark concluded, "I won this battle. Saved some people. Now I've got to win a lot more battles."

  She nodded back. "Tough jobs only get tougher, Ethan. Think of it as an opportunity to excel."

  He laughed at the old joke, then rose from the chair. "A million things to worry about. So what do I do first, Vic?"

  "Set priorities."

  "Fine. What's first?"

  "It's been a long day. How about a beer?"

  "Make it two."

  "Deal."

  THE END

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