Stark’s Crusade

by John G. Hemry

  Stark glowered at her. “No, Stace. Hopefully we won’t have to do it.”

  “Well, foreign militaries have staged a few exercises and provocations in the last couple of days, but they’re being real careful. No one wants to be the first to find out if the American eagle has really had its wings clipped.” Yurivan gazed upward as if contemplating the stars beyond the metal ceiling over them. “I do have some contacts in the strategic defense forces, Stark. They’ve let me know that if we do send people in to defend the country, the strategic defenses are likely to suffer some critical system failures if they’re ordered to fire on us.”

  “Do tell. We’d still have to get through the blockade near the Moon, though, and survive the trip back to the World.” Stark shifted his glower to the table surface, unable to sort through conflicting emotions. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think there’s anything else we can do right now. Nothing but wait on events. It’s out of our hands.”

  “Whose hands is it in, then?”

  “The ones who should’ve been deciding things all along.” Stark pointed to the vid, where masses of demonstrators clogged the streets of a city. “Those people. They didn’t vote better or often enough in the past, because they figured it didn’t matter what they did. Now they want to vote, and I don’t think they’re gonna let anyone prevent them from doin’ it.”

  Several hours later, Stark was roused from another quick nap by his comm unit. He’d been unable to sleep through the night the last few days and had to grab snatches of sleep whenever possible. “Stark here.”

  “Ethan, this is Vic. I need you in the command center. Immediately.”

  “On my way.” It took only seconds to straighten his appearance, then Stark was out of his room. Vic stood waiting for him in the command center, her entire attitude uncertain. “What is it? An attack or something?”

  “No.” She turned to face the secure communications module, a small room off one side of the command center whose walls were lined with devices designed to ensure no human eavesdropper could hear conversations inside it, no matter how sophisticated the technology that eavesdropper might employ. For reasons lost in the mists of history, soldiers normally referred to it facetiously as the Cone of Silence. Reynolds nodded toward the module. “You have a call waiting in there.”

  “A call? The only people who have access to the gear needed to call into that room are official U.S. forces. It’s for tight-beam, sealed communications, right? Are you saying the Pentagon’s calling me?”

  “No.” Vic shook her head, then pointed to Sergeant Manley standing nearby. “You tell him, Bev.”

  Manley cleared her throat, then also indicated the module. “It’s a Marine.”

  “A what?”

  “A Marine,” Manley repeated. “A United States Marine. You’ve heard of them, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” Many a late night vid had featured Marines. Stark had never forgotten one in particular, with an old star named John Wayne charging across beaches. “But I thought they were gone. Downsized out of existence a long time ago.”

  “Almost. The Marines are Naval infantry, and the Army brass never liked the idea of the Navy having infantry. So, when push came to shove at some point, it came down to the Navy choosing between paying for a space fleet or paying for the Marines. Guess what the Navy chose? The National Defense Reform and Readjustment Act basically put them out of business.”

  “If they were all that great, how come they got downsized so much?”

  Manley shrugged. “From what I heard, the Marines were too focused on mission accomplishment. Getting the job done, you know? So while they were busy putting out little wars all over the place the leaders of the other armed services outmaneuvered them in the budget battles. The politicians only kept one company active. They’re stationed in downtown Washington.”

  “D.C.? Why there?”

  “Protection. Marine guards are special, so the Congress and the brass in the Pentagon kept a few to guard their precious little behinds. That’s all there’s been for some time, but they’re still Marines. The one waiting to talk to you is a Sergeant Major Morrison.”

  “Sergeant Major?” Stark questioned. “The enlisted ranks were ‘rationalized’ a long time ago. All the different grades of sergeants were consolidated. How can this Marine be a Sergeant Major?”

  Bev smiled. “Marines do things their own way, Ethan. It’s one of the things that makes them Marines.”

  “What else makes them Marines?”

  Manley took a moment to answer this time. “They’re different. They look like grunts, but they’re different. Don’t forget that when you’re talking to this guy. Marines aren’t like soldiers. They’re more like some sort of cult.”

  “So what’s this cult been doing for the last few decades? Besides ignoring the rules about enlisted ranks, that is.”

  “Guarding D.C., like I said. Putting on ceremonies for the tourists and the Very Self-important Persons. You know the drill.”

  “Yeah. So these Marines are just show troops? Guys who know how to look pretty but can’t fight?”

  Manley shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve met a few. They’d been kept in Washington, they’d never seen combat as a result of that, but they weren’t show troops.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the info and the assessment. Guess I better see what this guy wants.” Stark strode into the secure communications module, seating himself gingerly in a seat that would have been well-padded on Earth but was ridiculously overstuffed for lunar gravity. After studying the panel for a moment, Stark hit the control accepting the transmission.

  A hard face stared back at him from the vid screen. Well-groomed, in an immaculate uniform, but something about him didn’t strike Stark as being typical of show troops. Manley’s right. Whatever the politicians have tried to do to these Marines, they’ve stayed professionals. At least the one I’m looking at has stayed a professional. “This is Sergeant Stark. I understand you want to talk with me.”

  A few seconds elapsed as the light-speed transmission made its way across the distance separating the Earth from the Moon. Then the hard-faced Marine shifted slightly, his eyes looking directly at where Stark’s eyes had been a few seconds previous. “That’s right. I’m a Marine, Stark. You probably never met one of us, so I’m going to tell you what that means. Our motto is Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful, it means. We’ve fought everywhere on Earth, and we’ve kicked butt in all those places. We’re Marines. You can kill us, but you can’t defeat us. Understand?”

  “Yeah. I understand. That sounded like a threat.”

  A few more seconds. “What if it is?”

  It felt odd, exchanging macho threat talk with someone who took seconds to reply. Maybe it’s not that odd, after all, Stark reflected. There’s been many a time in bars that both me and the guy I’m talking to have been so drunk we took a while to think up responses. He looked over the Marine’s image again, taking in every aspect of Morrison’s bearing. Yeah. He’s real. So I’ll treat him like a fellow soldier. “I’d take it seriously. The only place I want to fight Marines is in a bar.”

  “If you get into a bar brawl with us you better have the odds on your side, soldier. Heavily on your side. But you might end up fighting us for real, Stark, depending on what you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The word is your troops are planning to come down here. That right?”

  Stark pondered his reply for a moment, trying to guess at the Marine’s motivations. “What if it is?”

  “We’re here to defend the country, Stark. The Constitution. We won’t sit back and let anyone take over. Anyone.”

  “I won’t discuss operational plans, but I will tell you there’s only two reasons I’d send troops down there. The first is to help defend the borders of the U.S. If anybody tries to come over those borders, we’ll help hold ‘em.”

  Morrison nodded. “Fine. What’s the other reason?”

  “The Constitu
tion. That’s what you said. We took the oath to protect it, too. You know what’s going on. The national state of emergency crap. The big demonstrations. If a bunch of civs decide to march on the Capitol and toss out some politicians who are trying to tear up the Constitution, then my soldiers will defend those civs from anyone trying to stop ‘em.”

  Morrison’s eyes narrowed, his face hard as granite now. “Spell it out. What exactly are you saying?”

  “I’m saying if any military force tries to shoot at those civs then they’re gonna find themselves facing my troops. Understand, Sherman? Any military force. We’ll take you down if you start shooting the civs.” It was mostly a bluff, Stark knew. He had no idea if his soldiers would fire on other Americans, even Americans defending the corrupt politicians trying to secure themselves in power. But he meant every word of it.

  Instead of glaring, Morrison grinned. “You could try, Stark. What you just said, it’s on the level?”

  “You have my word on it. Soldier to soldier.”

  “Soldier to Marine, you mean. Listen, if you send a single soldier or a whole division down here to take over, to set yourself up in charge, we’ll stop you or die trying. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “But if you come down to help the civs, to protect them in the exercise of their Constitutional rights, then you won’t run into opposition from the Marines. Marines don’t shoot civs.”

  Stark paused, taken aback by the unexpected declaration. “I didn’t ask that of you.”

  “You don’t have to. We took the same oath you did. ‘To protect the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic’ And we’ll be faithful to that oath. To the death, if need be.” Morrison hesitated. “There has to be a reason we take an oath to the Constitution instead of to the government. Somebody must have figured something like this might happen someday.”

  “Yeah. There’s a real good reason. Thanks, Morrison. If I ever run into you, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “As long as you’re buying, I’ll be drinking. Headquarters, United States Marine Corps, out.” The image broke into a million fragments of jiggling colors as the secure link dissolved.

  Stark walked slowly out of the communications module, only gradually becoming aware of Reynolds and Manley staring at him. Manley spoke first, indicated the module. “What’d the jarhead say?”

  “Jarhead?”

  “Yeah. That’s slang for a Marine.”

  “Why? What the hell does ‘jarhead’ mean?”

  “Hell if I know. Sounds like an insult, though, doesn’t it? So, what’d he say?”

  Stark looked around to ensure none of the watchstanders was listening. “He told me the Marines wouldn’t fire on the civ demonstrators and wouldn’t try to stop us if we came down to defend the civs.”

  Reynolds’s eyebrows shot up. “The Marines are ready to take down their officers?”

  “He didn’t say that. No, he just said the Marines wouldn’t do it. Like he was speaking for all of them.”

  “The highest ranking Marine is only a major,” Manley noted. “We’ve heard a lot about junior officers being fed up with the system. Maybe…”

  “Maybe,” Stark agreed. “I’ve got a feeling things are gonna be happenin’ soon back home. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  When the news arrived, it still came as a shock. Campbell appeared stunned, as if unable to accept the information he was passing to Stark. “It’s over.”

  “What’s over? What happened?”

  “The government has, for want of a better word, fallen. A mass demonstration simply occupied the Capital and the White House, demanding elections be held as scheduled next week.”

  “And nobody stopped ‘em?”

  “No.” Campbell shook his head as if dazed. “Apparently, there was an attempt to call some local military force in to turn the demonstrators back.”

  “The Marines.”

  “Yes. That’s right. But they stayed in their, uh, barracks. So, it appears we will have elections after all.”

  “Who’s running the country until then?”

  “Some senior statesmen have been given the job. Men and women who are long retired and still well respected.” Campbell smiled. “None of them wanted the job, Sergeant.”

  “Good. I’ll have to send them a sympathy card.”

  Stark rubbed his face with both hands, trying to order his thoughts while his staff waited. “Okay. The elections have come and gone. The new government promises to make things right. Everybody’s happy, except the people who’ve been running things for the past few decades. According to Campbell, there’s a lot of folks heading for the hills. He says foreign countries will soon have a larger number of recently retired American politicians living in them than the U.S. will.”

  “That’s their problem,” Bev Manley noted. “What’s happening with the mil?”

  “Every officer above the rank of O5 has been retired. Effective immediately. Officers below that rank will be reviewed for competence. The government claims no political litmus tests will be used.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “Yeah. But, maybe… Campbell said the same thing happened once before, sort of. Back when Jefferson was president and there were a lot of excess officers. Anyhow, here and now, everybody above O5 is gone.” He looked over at Chief Melendez. “Man, that’s hard to imagine. Navy captains are O6s, right? So there’s no captains in the Navy now. Weird.”

  “Of course there’s captains in the Navy,” Chief Melendez insisted. “Commanding the ships. They just ain’t captains.”

  “Huh?”

  “Someone commanding a ship is the captain,” Melendez explained. “But that don’t make ‘em a captain.”

  “They’re captains but they’re not captains?”

  “Right. They’re, like, commanders.”

  “Navy commanders are captains?” Vic questioned. “Then why are they called commanders?”

  “Because they ain’t captains! They’re commanders who are also captains.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Melendez frowned. “Look, it’s like you ground apes. You got captains, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But they ain’t captains.”

  “Sure they’re captains. That’s why we call them captains.”

  “But they ain’t captain captains!”

  The soldiers exchanged glances. “Okay,” Stark noted. “I guess that point’s settled, then.” Squids. “Here’s the other news. Campbell says the new government wants to negotiate with everybody up here. I mean really negotiate. They’re talking about adding another star to the flag.”

  “A new state?” Gordasa perked up. “They want to make the Colony a state?”

  “That’s what they’re talking about.”

  “What about us?” Vic wondered.

  “Campbell said he’d look out for us.” Faces hardened with instinctive skepticism. “He promised. The negotiating team from the new government will be here in a week. We’ll know for sure soon.”

  Manley reached backward, as if searching for something between her shoulder blades. “Hmmm. Looks like I forgot to wear my armor. I better get it, just in case somebody tries to stick a knife back there.”

  Stark didn’t laugh even though the others did. “We stuck by the civs when they needed us. Now they’re promising to stick by us. I’ve got a meeting with Campbell this afternoon. We’ll see what he’s got, then.”

  Campbell seemed subdued when Stark entered his office. “Please sit down, Sergeant.”

  “Thanks. Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

  “Something certainly is.” Campbell shifted as if his chair was uncomfortable. “I’ve been talking to the negotiating team from the new government, as you know. They’ve been asking some questions which only you can answer.”

  “It doesn’t sound like they’re great questions.”

  “They’re not.” Campbell tapped his display, br
inging up some notes that Stark could only make out as blurred lines from his angle. “There’s no way to ask this but bluntly, Sergeant. Crimes were committed up here, by you and by me. Depending on how our actions are interpreted, we could both be charged with rebellion.”

  “I’ve known that from the beginning, sir.”

  “Then how will you react if the government insists on trying you for your crimes?”

  “You roll the dice, you pay the price, sir.” Stark saw Campbell’s surprise. “I know. We’ve fought real hard to defend ourselves up here, and I guess that sort of sounds like I’m surrendering. But it’s all about fighting for an objective. Mine was to fix things and to save my people. As near as I can tell, things are fixed as well as they’ll ever be, and as long as I know my people will be taken care of, I’m willing to accept responsibility.”

  “You don’t need to think about this?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” Stark sat back, spreading his hands. “Sir, it’s… oh, hell, the fact is I don’t have any real choice. You understand that, don’t you? If the government needs a fall guy, somebody to hang so everybody else gets off okay, I’ll be that guy.”

  “Sergeant, you realize the word ‘hang’ may be literally true.”

  “Yeah. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that. But all those grunts trusted me. I’ve gotta live up to that.”

  “I see.” Campbell pondered Stark’s words for a moment. “What if the new government wants more, Sergeant Stark? What if they also want your staff? And anyone who took command positions?”

  Stark stared back silently. What if they do? Hey, Vic, want to come along to my firing squad? She trusted me, too. All those guys who took command positions trusted me. A vision came to him, of sergeants like Reynolds, Manley, Milheim, and Lamont, walking with him up a long empty slope toward waiting machine guns. That’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it? Are we all willing to die for the troops? It’s usually the other way around. The troops are supposed to be willing to die for you. But are we willing to die for them? “Yes.”