“You’re welcome to do so.” Osterman had grinned, still pale from the pain of his re-aggravated wounds. “I’ll stay in a nice bed indoors for a while, with a real toilet.”
“Let’s do what we’re here to do and cut out the chatter.” Wilcox’s quiet voice had silenced the room.
For a while, Kim had started to believe the rumors herself, that the Verdun would be trapped forever. But now, with the help of Kensington’s facilities and liberated personnel, who had cut their recuperation short to join in the repair efforts, Geonor and his people were almost finished patching the ship’s Keahey drives back together. A day or two more, and they’d be underway.
“She’ll still need an overhaul at a shipyard,” Geonor had said, handing Kim the day’s progress reports. “But we’ll be able to get her there so long as we don’t try to break any speed records.”
Soon, Kensington would be far behind the Verdun. None too soon for Kim’s tastes. Yet she didn’t want to leave without taking a moment to enjoy some real, non-recycled air, no matter how hot it may be. Kim squinted at the shoreline, at the buzzing activity of cargo tenders moving between the Verdun and the docks. She glanced over at the rocket-scarred hull of the Barracuda, baking in the sun a few hundred yards to the Verdun’s port side. She didn’t expect she’d be doing much besides moving between her quarters and her office for a long time.
Her work wasn’t close to being done.
Casualty reports, after-action reports, promotion requests, citations for valor… All of it came through her. She was the paperwork funnel. It wasn’t that she minded the task. She’d always been the type to enjoy organization, the finality of submitting a finished piece of work. It was soothing, something regular to hold on to.
No, the paperwork would be fine, with one, painful exception. She hadn’t even begun to write the condolence letters. Sure, she could spread some out to direct supervisors and other officers who’d known the deceased better, but there were plenty waiting for her attention.
Of the three hundred men and women in the ranger company, eighty-two had given their lives, most in the attack on the fort. The three platoons of marines that had been stranded on the planet alongside the rangers had lost a quarter of their ranks, thirty-one people in all. Some seventy-eight members of the Verdun’s crew had joined their marine comrades. Among all the Alliance forces, more than two hundred had been wounded, some severely. How many of those people could have been saved agony and death agony if she’d made a different choice here or there?
The fact that more than two thousand of the enemy had been killed and more than four hundred captured — the numbers increased daily as bodies kept turning up — didn’t make Kim feel any better. These people, fellow servicemen and women, were gone forever, and it fell to Kim to inform their families of this fact.
But not right now. Right now, there was time, time to look at something besides a computer screen, to stand instead of sit at her desk, to let the blast furnace air chase away the grief that had struck so many around her. There was time to look anywhere but at the decisions she’d made, the consequences of her command. Kim heard the whistle of the freight train announcing its departure from the dockyards to the warehouse complex. She couldn’t see the train through the buildings and equipment of the docks, but she looked toward the dense forests hugging the sides of the hills and gullies that marched in rugged succession toward the fort and the high mountains beyond, a landscape that didn’t give a damn about the Alliance forces here, or Kim’s condolence letters.
The man-made components of Kensington had changed so much since the Verdun had first arrived. Once the Leclerc had restored communications to the system, it hadn’t taken long for the general staff to react to the news. Two more cruisers and three destroyers had arrived in orbit, ready to repel any further attacks on the planet. A huge troopship had arrived, bringing with it two full infantry regiments, a company of Seabees, additional personnel for the fort, and enough machine guns, cannons, and equipment to restore and rearm every bunker and battery on Kensington. The bustle of activity — rebuilding roads and narrow-gauge rail between the various emplacements, repairing the damage to the fort, re-stocking the missile silos — was in stark contrast to the middle-of-nowhere calm that had surrounded the nearly abandoned station beforehand. But nature — the forest, the water, the broken terrain — hadn’t changed at all. Kim wasn’t sure if that indifference scared her or comforted her.
What did comfort her was the quick response her superiors had made to address the problem of Colonel Neville. A new officer for the fort, a Colonel Sally Weir, had arrived to replace Neville, who’d been relieved of command and sent away once he’d been cleared by Cadogan’s medical staff, along with all of the enemy prisoners. Kim had appreciated the justice of pairing the colonel with the enemy. She doubted Neville would be in command of anything once the board of inquiry read the reports she had prepared with the help of Wilcox and Captain Squires. Had it not been for Neville’s incompetence, the fort likely never would have fallen, and the Battle of Kensington would have been over much more quickly and with fewer losses.
Weir seemed to be a solid officer and a good leader.
“I’d like to prioritize getting the Verdun in space again, Captain,” Weir had said when she’d first come aboard to take operational command of Kensington from Kim. “Your engineering staff will continue to have whatever support they need from my work crews. Headquarters is eager to have you back home.”
Kim didn’t doubt that. Having been at the front lines during the battle, the Verdun would no doubt face endless debriefings to learn about the Legion. Then Kim would sit before an inquiry to examine her role in Derek’s Triangle and on Kensington in detail. The upside of the days that would be spent in meetings would be gaining more information about what was happening elsewhere in the Alliance. Had the UWL struck anywhere else? Where exactly had it come from? The rumor mill on board had been busy non-stop, predicting massive rebellions, huge civil wars, and, as always, Milipa plots, but there had been very little in the way of concrete information. It seemed for the moment that Kensington had been the Legion’s first and only target. Kim hoped it stayed that way.
She looked down the length of the Verdun’s hull, at the work crews dotting it here and there. They were packing up equipment, walking toward access hatches in small groups. That could only mean—
“The Barracuda will be lifting off in fifteen minutes.” Commander Holsey’s voice interrupted Kim’s thoughts, made her jump. She hadn’t expected anyone would think to look for her here.
“We’ll need everyone inside while their lift thrusters are running,” Holsey finished.
Kim glanced sideways at her, saw her step to the railing and lean forward against it. Holsey closed her eyes, then knotted her brow.
“Does it always have to be so damn hot?” Holsey took in a long, slow breath.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Kim looked down at where the water met the Verdun’s hull, making little white waves as it lapped against the ship’s blue-grey skin.
“The worst.” Holsey took another deep breath.
Kim did the same, filled her nose with the smell of salt water, of hot metal under sun. For a moment, neither of them said anything, but stood side by side in silence. They’d have enough time for the Verdun’s perfectly regulated temperatures and scentless, sterilized air later.
“Command asked again if you’re ready to send the death notices out.” Holsey drummed her fingers on the metal railing.
Kim shifted. “Ah. I expect they did.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you that delaying these letters will only make things harder on the families of the deceased.”
Kim shook her head, annoyance flashing through her. “Sending them now or later won’t change a thing, Commander. It won’t bring them back. I…” Kim hesitated, wondering how much of her real feelings she could share. “I need time.”
“Respectfully, ma’am, that’s the most selfish
thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Kim spun around, found Holsey’s blue eyes fixed on her.
“You’re out of line.” Kim stood up straight, squared herself to Holsey, who remained leaning against the rail.
Holsey shrugged. “That’s my prerogative at times, remember?”
“There’s been a lot of work to do.” Kim crossed her arms over her chest. “I have not been stalling, if that’s what you think.”
“Bull.” Holsey pursed her lips, looked back out at the water. “You could have delegated your other jobs. Writing these letters should have been your first task as soon as the planet was secure.”
“There we go again.” Kim hated the rising edge of emotion in her voice. “You critiquing my choices. I suppose you’re here to tell me about the list of ways I screwed up this time around—”
“Captain, I—”
Kim ignored Holsey’s attempt to interrupt her, paced back and forth along the railing. “You want to tell me when we should have retreated, stood and fought, made a different call?”
“Ma’am, you—”
“That’s not worth a damn now. It won’t change anything. I did—”
“Everything I would have done.”
Kim stopped cold, gaped at Holsey, who was looking toward the shoreline now.
“Well,” Holsey said, turning to face Kim. “Almost everything. No one’s perfect. But I’d have told you if I thought you were screwing up.”
“Oh.” Kim had nothing better to say.
That was not what she’d expected from Holsey.
“Ultimately, this all falls on you.” Holsey stood, faced Kim. “You’re in charge. You make the calls. Sometimes, they’re bad ones. Okay. But you live with them. One way or another, you find a way to live with them.”
Kim laughed, a harsh, sarcastic sound even to her own ears. “Okay, sure. Easier said than done. When you have to tell people their loved one died because of your choices—”
“That has nothing to do with it.” Holsey shook her head, crossing her arms to match Kim’s posture.
“Oh really? Then what’s the problem?”
“You are.”
Kim glared at Holsey for a second, looked for something to shoot back at the commander’s impassive face, found nothing.
“Look at what happened in the Triangle. Look at this mess. It’s not like these losses will be the last. You need to learn to let it go. For the crew’s sake — and for your own.”
“For me?” Was that concern in Holsey’s eyes?
Holsey ignored the question. “The crew needs you to be decisive, whole. You can’t do that by beating yourself up each time we fill up some body bags.”
Kim’s throat tightened. “It’s not that easy.”
“Tough. It has to be. Putting off your responsibilities to the families of the dead isn’t going to solve your problems. To be honest, that’s the kind of self-centered shit I’d expect from you.”
Kim leaned back against the railing, looked over at the Barracuda. The ship’s lift thrusters had started to hum, the noise building with each second.
“I’m so happy to hear I meet your expectations. If you have so little faith in me, why’d you come down here? The view?” She and Holsey had gotten along so well in the past few months. Clearly, she’d been mistaken to think the woman’s attitude toward her had truly changed.
Kim met Holsey’s gaze, and for a moment, they did nothing but stare at each other.
Holsey uncrossed her arms, took a couple steps toward the door, then stopped and looked back at Kim over her shoulder.
“If all I’d wanted was the view, I’d have gone to the starboard side. The Barracuda isn’t that pretty.” Holsey stepped through the hatch and out of sight into the comparative darkness of the launch control room.
Kim looked after Holsey for a minute. The din of the Barracuda’s thrusters was overpowering now, pushing aside the noise of the waves and the whistle of the breeze. Kim turned to look one more time at the shoreline and the vast cloak of forest beyond. Then she walked inside, and sealed the hatch behind her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Get that last crate in there. Keep it tight.”
Jack watched as Chief Petty Officer Austin, one of the Verdun’s logistics specialists, shouted commands to the group of sweat-stained crewmembers scrambling about the dock. They were attempting to fit one final crate into a steel cargo container, the last container. The last of hundreds, thousands of containers the Verdun had taken on in the past few days. Spare parts. Medical supplies. Food. Fresh uniforms. Toiletries. Candy bars for the commissary. Once this last load was aboard, the Verdun would be clear to take off and head toward a full repair and refit. More engineers fussing and working on the ship while the rest of them sat on their thumbs and did paperwork and PT. Certainly, he’d have enough to keep him occupied, but not doing what he wanted to do. No one had any answers about the Legion, how widespread it was, where it had started. Jack wanted those answers. He wanted that, and he wanted to take the fight to them. No sitting around and waiting while others did that job. If it meant asking for a transfer, Jack would find a way to stay engaged against the enemy.
Jack glanced over at the tender, bobbing slightly in the water as it lowered its crane arm toward the pier. Two of the crewmen were leaning on the container, talking and laughing. They didn’t see that the arm was moving toward them. Jack was about to yell something when the tender emitted a light toot from its horn. The men jumped out of the way and waved at the tender’s cockpit.
“Chief Austin, keep your crew’s heads out of their asses.” Jack fixed Austin with his gaze, massaging his temple with one hand, trying to push down his flaring nerves.
“Aye, sir.” Austin turned to his crew. “Look alive there. No getting out of work now with a trip to Commander Cadogan.”
The crewmembers laughed, then began securing the crane’s spreader to the container’s locking points. Some of them cast glances in Jack’s direction.
Let them look. They weren’t responsible for keeping this crew from killing themselves in stupid accidents. There’d be enough death when they went into action again. Until then, Jack would be damned if he’d let the crew get lazy and land themselves in the infirmary because they weren’t paying attention.
Jack’s temper rose in his chest, and he turned away, struggling to regain composure. He looked out, past another tender that was floating toward the pier, past the Verdun, its grey-blue hull washed red-gold from the late afternoon sun, and to the ocean, rolling gently toward the shore, reflecting the turquoise of the sky. He focused on the soft, in-and-out sound of the waves, so much like slow breathing. Jack fought an absurd impulse to jump in the water, to let it wash his emotions and this blasted heat away.
“Sir, last patrol reporting in.” Lieutenant Arnot’s voice broke Jack’s train of thought.
He turned, saw Arnot standing a few feet behind him. Arnot’s platoon was filing down onto the pier, mingled with some of the rangers. The Verdun’s marines had continued to supplement the rangers on their foot patrols until replacements could arrive. Given everything those troops had been through together, and considering the experience the marines had already gained in woodland fighting, Captain Morden and Colonel Weir had figured it would be better to keep them together than try to familiarize the newly arrived infantry regiments with the rangers’ operating procedures.
“Very good, Lieutenant. Get your squads loaded up as soon as that second tender is here.”
Arnot nodded, wiped sweat off his forehead, and then gathered up his troops against the edge of the pier.
The container was up in the air now, swinging out and over toward the tender, which leaned slightly to one side with the weight of the load. The rangers were milling about next to the marines, shaking hands, exchanging contact information. One of them broke from the group and walked toward Jack.
“Captain Squires.” Jack grinned, his dark mood scattering for a moment. “Fancy seeing you down
here. Big responsibilities and all.”
Squires stopped in front of Jack, slung his carbine on his back, and felt the new, matte-black coronet rank pins on his collar, less of a liability to camouflaged troops than the normal gold. “We higher-ups still have to get out sometimes.”
“Congratulations.” Jack held out his hand. “I’m sorry I missed the promotion.”
As the senior remaining officer among the rangers, Squires had been the natural choice to help lead the company until the new command platoon arrived.
Squires took Jack’s hand and gave it a light shake. “Not a lot of time to sit around and celebrate, sir.” Squires tipped his helmet back slightly and adjusted the weight of the weapon on his shoulder.
“Regardless, you deserved it.” Jack smiled.
“Yeah.” Squires looked at the ground, and Jack could see some emotion soften his expression. “It… It should be hers, you know?”
Jack nodded. “You’re right, it should be.”
Squires looked up, met Jack’s gaze.
“But it’s not,” Jack continued, hearing a slight quaver in his voice. “And you’ve got to do the best with it you can. She’d have been proud it was you.”
Squires nodded, and, for a while, neither of them spoke.
“Our new command platoon arrives tomorrow,” Squires said at last. “We’ll have our own major and command staff.”
Jack knew this would be big news for the rangers. From what he’d gathered, the company had been without its own command staff or support elements since around the time Neville had been given command of the fort. Now that Kensington Station was no longer a forgotten dump, the brass had finally decided to give the rangers the personnel they needed.
Too little, too late.
“Good,” Jack said, grinning again. “Then you can be done with all the paperwork and get the hell back to your platoon.”
Squires smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, sir.”
Another silence passed between them. The first tender was folding away its crane now, and the second had arrived at the pier. Arnot was herding his troops onto the craft, waving them aboard with obvious impatience.
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