“Yes, Mister Pantini,” Michael said, “of course I agree. How could I not? It is a matter of record.”
“So how can you live with yourself knowing that that one act of willful insubordination condemned hundreds, maybe even thousands, of good spacers and marines to death?”
In a flash, anger replaced Michael’s anxiety; he struggled to keep control. The problem was that Pantini was not all wrong. By ignoring Perkins, by leaving Assault Group to take its chances, by focusing on the antimatter plant, he had condemned good spacers and marines. But if he admitted that to a scum sucker like Pantini, he would be forever damned in the eyes of the Fed public. Clinging to the last shreds of his self-control, he stared confidently right into the holocam’s lens. “Well, Mister Pantini,” he said, “I don’t see it that way. Operation Opera had a single objective, the destruction of the Hammer antimatter plant. I did what any Fleet officer-”
“Any officer? So you’re saying that Fleet officers make a habit of disobeying orders, of needlessly sacrificing the lives of their spacers?”
Michael shook his head. “What I am saying is that I did what any Fleet officer would-”
“So you admit it? You admit sending good spacers to their deaths unnecessarily?”
A hairbreadth away from leaping out of his seat and beating Pantini to death with his own holocam, Michael kept his cool. How he did not know, but he did. He stared Pantini right in the eye. “I think, Mister Pantini, that this would be a much better interview if you actually let me finish. If you don’t want me to answer your questions, if you’d prefer to do all the talking, that’s fine. I’ll save us all a lot of time, and I’ll sit here saying nothing while you tell me-and the rest of the world-what you think.”
“Please continue,” Pantini said tetchily.
“Thank you,” Michael said, all sweetness and light. “Here’s the point. Destroying the Hammer plant was the reason-the only reason-the ships of Battle Fleet Lima were in Hammer space, and I’m sure I don’t have to remind you why doing that was so important. Or weren’t you here when the Hammers fired antimatter missiles at the home planets? I’d-”
“I thought you wanted to answer the question, Lieutenant.”
Furious with himself for trying to score points off Pantini-he sensed Mitesh wagging his finger at him, a look of profound disappointment on his face-Michael forced himself to concentrate. “I am answering your question, Mister Pantini, if you’d let me,” he said, recovering his equilibrium. “I followed my orders, and those orders were to destroy the Hammer plant. If I hadn’t, that plant would still be operational, still be producing antimatter, and your home planet and mine would still be living under the threat of imminent destruction.”
“Rear Admiral Perkins does not share that view with you. What will you say when the board of inquiry agrees with him?”
“We don’t know that it will, Mister Pantini. I’ve not seen their report yet, and neither have you, so I think we should wait to see what they actually say.”
And so on and on it went, around and around in circles, frustrating in all its pointless futility. By the time Michael finally rid himself of Pantini-nobody from Fleet PR bothered to turn up to help him out-it was too late to step out to grab lunch; ignoring an outraged stomach, he sat and waited for the board to reconvene.
At 13:00 promptly, Captain Shavetz brought the conference to order. When silence fell, he peered around the packed room. “Welcome back. This is what is going to happen. I will present a short summary of the board’s key conclusions, absent those that are classified for the reasons I have already outlined. Then I will present our recommendations. After that, the unclassified version of our report will be available from the Fleet public relations office in the normal way. Together with the chief of the defense force and the commander in chief, I will be available for questions at a press conference at 17:00. Right, let’s get on. The conclusions of the board of inquiry are these …”
Michael’s heart started to thump when Shavetz recited the first of what would inevitably be a long list of conclusions, a process made even longer by the man’s florid turn of phrase. Come on, come on, he urged Shavetz silently.
Finally Michael’s moment of truth arrived.
“Conclusion 31. That Rear Admiral Perkins’s order that Dreadnought Group, commanded by Lieutenant Helfort in FWSS Reckless, come to the assistance of Assault Group was a legal order as defined by the Federated Worlds Code of Military Justice.
“Conclusion 32. That Rear Admiral Perkins believed his order to be consistent with the mission’s prime objective, which was, to quote verbatim from the operation order, ‘the total destruction of Hammer Support Facility 27.’
“Conclusion 33. That Rear Admiral Perkins issued the order to Dreadnought Group because he believed the ships of Assault Group under his command to be the only force capable of destroying Hammer Support Facility 27.
“Conclusion 34. That the Board has been unable to determine why Rear Admiral Perkins held this conviction, a conviction held despite advice given to him by all senior members of his own staff.”
The conference room was silent, the attention of everyone present locked on Captain Shavetz. Hands clenched, Michael allowed a tiny flame of hope to flicker into life.
Shavetz continued. “Conclusion 35. That the evidence presented to this board of inquiry demonstrates beyond any doubt”-Shavetz stopped to look up as if to make sure everybody paid attention-“that compliance with Rear Admiral Perkins’s order would have resulted in the neutralization of Dreadnought Group.
“Conclusion 36. That the evidence presented to this board of inquiry demonstrates that even with the assistance of Dreadnought Group, Assault Group’s losses would have rendered it incapable of completing its assigned task, namely, the destruction of Hammer Support Facility 27.
“Conclusion 37. Noting the precedent set by Federated Worlds v. Captain J. D. Kingsway FWSF (2315), that the decision of Lieutenant Michael Helfort, commander Dreadnought Squadron One, of Junior Lieutenant Kelli Anushri Rao, commander Dreadnought Squadron Two, and of Junior Lieutenant Nathan Panyar Machar, commander Dreadnought Squadron Three, to disobey the order of Rear Admiral Perkins to come to the assistance of Assault Group was wholly justified.”
The only sound was a gentle murmur washing across the room. Michael breathed out a long slow sigh of relief.
“Conclusion 38. That there are no grounds for disciplinary or administrative action against Lieutenant Michael Helfort or any other officer of Dreadnought Group as a consequence of their refusal to obey the order of Rear Admiral Perkins to come to the assistance of Assault Group.
“Conclusion 39. That Lieutenant Michael Helfort, Captain in Command, Federated Worlds Warship Reckless, and Commander, Dreadnought Group, discharged his duties during Operation Opera in a manner entirely consistent with the finest traditions of the Federated Worlds Space Fleet.”
Michael slumped back in his seat, drained of all emotion. It was over.
Thursday, May 31, 2401, UD
Transit officers’ quarters, Space Fleet headquarters,
Foundation, Terranova
After another mostly pointless day at his desk buried in the bowels of the Warfare Division, Michael fled to the safety of his cabin, unwilling to risk being hounded by supporters and enemies alike. Slamming the door behind him, he threw himself onto his bunk, mind racing.
Fool that he was, he had assumed that being cleared by the board of inquiry would allow him to move on, to leave Opera behind him, to convince the world that he had made the right decision.
No such luck.
The attitudes of many in Fleet were utterly impervious to the board’s logic. If anything, the board’s scathing criticism of Rear Admiral Perkins shocked the antidreadnought lobby into action. The response of the trashpress-never interested in either facts or logic-was no better.
Michael asked Fleet PR for a summary of the press coverage of the board’s findings. When he read it, he wished he had not. True, the
serious news channels had been fine, but the trashpress had not, putting a saddle on the cover-up idea floated by Giorgio Pantini and riding it for all it was worth. The headlines were terrible: “Fleet Conspiracy to Cover up Hero’s Role?” “Hero’s Complicity in Fleet Deaths Not Explained,” “Fallen Hero-Betrayal at Devastation Reef,” “Fleet Inquiry-Whitewash Alleged,” “Rear Admiral Perkins-A Man Betrayed?” and so on ad nauseam. One thing was for sure: The trashpress was extracting its money’s worth from Lieutenant Michael W. Helfort, Federated Worlds Space Fleet.
Michael refused any more interviews after a particularly bruising encounter with Pantini; he had come within a hairbreadth of ripping the dishonest little jerk’s head off. Talking to people like Pantini was pointless. No matter what Michael said, no matter what an increasingly frustrated Fleet said, the trashpress trotted out its own warped view of the matter to the public: all selective quotations, lies, distortion, spin. Nothing was beyond them in their relentless efforts to paint Perkins as the real victim and Michael as the bad guy. His agent, the tireless Mitesh, had already launched legal action against Pantini and World News; sadly, the only result had been to goad Pantini into even more outrageous attacks.
Screw them all, Michael decided in a sudden burst of defiant energy. He’d be damned if he’d spend the rest of his life hiding out in his cabin. He would try to track down Kallewi. He might be able to persuade the big marine to spend a couple of hours in the gym; Kallewi always enjoyed showing him how little he knew about unarmed combat. Michael still had the aches and bruises from their last session to prove his ignorance, and he had a feeling that improving his unarmed combat skills might come in handy one day.
Reenergized, he started to get out of his bunk when a soft chime announced the arrival of a priority com. What now? he wondered when he accepted the call.
It was Jaruzelska. “Oh, hello, sir,” Michael said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well actually, Michael, it’s what I can do for you in my capacity as the ex-commander of Battle Fleet Lima,” Jaruzelska said, smiling broadly. “I’m going to com you two documents. Read them carefully and com me straight back.”
“Will do, sir,” Michael said, mystified.
The first document popped into his neuronics. Michael read it and read it again. “Yes,” he said out loud, punching his fist into the air, “thank you, Vice Admiral Jaruzelska, thank you, thank you.” He sat down on his bunk, overwhelmed by the admiral’s faith in him. Without any of the arguments he’d expected, she had approved every single one of his medal recommendations. Quite right; it was nothing less than the marines and spacers of Dreadnought Group deserved. He opened the second document.
His spirits sank as he read it through. He had said to Jaruzelska, as firmly as any junior officer could to one of Fleet’s most distinguished flag officers, that he wanted no public recognition for Operation Opera. Jaruzelska had not tried to argue the issue with him. Stupidly, he had taken her silence for acquiescence. He shook his head. Medals might be important to some people, but he did not care about or for them. Just three things mattered to him: getting Anna back, seeing the Hammers defeated, and destroying Doc-Sec. That was it. Fleet could throw all the tin at him they liked, and none of it would count for anything. Sadly, Jaruzelska did not agree. She attached a short covering note in which she made it abundantly clear that she would be mightily pissed if Michael declined the honors he had been awarded.
Unwilling to betray Jaruzelska’s unstinting faith in him, Michael resigned himself to the fact that he would have to accept the medals. If it added more fuel to the fires raging around him, so be it. He commed Jaruzelska.
“Happy?” she said.
“Yes, sir. My guys deserve the recognition. So thanks for that.”
Jaruzelska nodded. “My pleasure. They earned those medals five times over. But I notice you’re not saying much about yours. Should I read anything into that, Lieutenant Helfort?”
“Er, no, sir,” Michael sputtered. “No, you shouldn’t. Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”
“Yes, you are honored, you ungrateful tyke,” Jaruzelska said. “I listened to what you said, Michael. I heard and understood every word. I know how you feel about these things, but I just cannot agree with you. You need to understand two things. First, a medal is not a piece of cheap pressed metal. It’s a public statement. It shows that what you do matters enough for the Federation to take the trouble to say so, out loud, in public, for all to hear. Believe me, that’s important when you’re facedown in the muck and blood of combat. Second, if I don’t recognize the commander of my three dreadnought squadrons, what would that tell the world?”
“That you think I was wrong to disobey Perkins’s order?” Michael hazarded.
“That’s right. Let me tell you, Michael, that would have been ten times worse than all the debate these medals are going to generate. Shit storm does not even begin to describe it. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
“Good. You know something, Michael?”
“What, sir?”
“You are a good combat commander. You’ve proved that over and over again. But you’re not a great commander … yet. You can be one of the greats, one of the people Fleet officers talk about in a hundred years, but only if you get your head up out of the dirt. I know it’s a tired old cliche, Michael, but a great commander really does start with the big picture and work back to the details. How else can you get the small things right? Michael”-Jaruzelska’s voice softened-“I know the things that matter to you, I know what you want to achieve, but don’t let them make your decisions for you. Put them into context first before working out how to get them done. All right?”
“Sir,” Michael said, trying not to sound mulish but not quite succeeding.
Jaruzelska sighed. “You are one stubborn son of a bitch, Michael, and that’s a God-given fact,” she said. “Anyway, enough of the career guidance. Fleet will be in touch about the awards ceremony. The commander in chief has agreed that all the dreadnoughts’ medals be awarded at one time. Okay, that’s it. Once again, well done.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Jaruzelska’s avatar vanished, leaving Michael wondering when he would ever get one over on the admiral. Probably never, he decided as he returned to the task of locating Kallewi, as he seemed to know him better than he knew himself.
Friday, June 1, 2401, UD
Personnel Division, Space Fleet headquarters
Foundation, Terranova
“Take a seat, Helfort.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Captain Selvaraj, Assistant Director, Fleet Personnel (Command Postings), studied Michael for a while before speaking. When he did speak, his voice was cold.
“Since the board of inquiry has in effect exonerated you”-Selvaraj made a point of stressing the words in effect, his tone leaving no doubt that there had been a serious miscarriage of justice-“we need to decide where you go next.”
“Yes, sir, though if I may, sir?”
“What?”
“Well, sir. I think I should point out that the board of inquiry did not ‘in effect’ exonerate me, it-”
“Enough,” Selvaraj snapped, eyes narrowing in anger. “How dare you …” He stopped, fighting to recover his composure. “I am not interested in semantics, Lieutenant. And watch your mouth. I’ll not tolerate insubordination. Is that understood?”
Michael stared coolly at the man long enough to call his bluff. “Yes,” he said. “Understood … sir.”
Selvaraj’s face darkened. “I’ve reviewed your file in detail,” he said at last, “and I think what should happen next is pretty obvious. Given what you’ve been through, I believe you should consider resigning your commission.”
Michael was not sure he had heard the man right. “Sorry, sir?” he said, confused. “What? Resign?” It was the last thing he had expected to hear.
“Yes. Resign, Helfort. I think that would be the best thing for you, for your fellow spacers,
for Fleet. We think you should resign.”
Anger flared inside Michael, white-hot, nearly uncontrollable. He forced himself to sit absolutely still, not trusting himself to speak. Goddamn pencil pusher, he raged. How dare he?
Selvaraj drummed his fingers on the desk. “Helfort, I don’t have all day. If you’ve been struck dumb for some reason, if you’d like some time to think about what I’ve just said, we’ll reschedule.”
“No, sir,” Michael said. “I think this needs to be resolved. Here, now. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
“Do not be insubordinate, Helfort,” Selvaraj snapped, “even though it’s the one thing you seem to be good at.”
“I’ll forget you said that, sir,” Michael said, “even though I’d be well within my rights to lodge a formal complaint against you for saying it.”
“Enough! Answer my damn question, Helfort. Resignation, yes or no?”
“Before I answer, sir, tell me something. You said ‘we think’ just a minute ago. Does that mean you have the director’s approval for suggesting I resign?”
“Ah.” Selvaraj shifted in his seat. “Yes, I think I can confirm that he has accepted my recommendation.”
“Fine, sir,” Michael said. “So you won’t mind if I ask to see the admiral’s formal endorsement of that recommendation. It would be a first, sir, I have to say. I’m a combat-proven captain, I have more medals and unit citations to my name than most officers three times my age”-including you, Captain Selvaraj, you deskbound asshole, he thought-“with more to come following Operation Opera, and yet you want me to resign just when Fleet’s screaming for all the command-qualified warfare spacers it can get its hands on. Sorry, sir, that does not make any sense. And if it doesn’t make sense to me, I wonder how … well, let’s just say I need to know that your offer has Admiral Karpovski’s formal approval … sir.”
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