Weapons of Choice

by John Birmingham

  “On the contrary, that’s exactly what you were doing out here, Admiral. You came here to kill men and sink ships. But it was ideas that sent you and the Japanese to war. And it’s ideas about how men and women should live that have sent England to war with Germany. I know that all sounds far too abstract, what with so much blood being spilled. But even after Pearl Harbor, you don’t understand the nature of the thing you’re fighting.”

  Karen watched as Spruance folded his arms in the dark space of the bridge.

  “You sound like you’re running for Congress—sorry, Parliament.”

  “It’s just my MA showing. Conflict studies at Cambridge. You’ll have to excuse my academic interest in your war. It happened a long time before I was born. But we studied it closely. Because of the immense scale of violence and cruelty this conflict unleashed, there persists in our culture a horror of war, a belief that it is an unmitigated evil, even though this is also recognized as a just war. One that could not be morally avoided.”

  “Because of Pearl Harbor,” said Spruance.

  “No. Because of Auschwitz.”

  Spruance shook his head. “Sounds like a Kraut name, but I’ve never heard of it.”

  “You will.”

  USS HILLARY CLINTON, 0409 HOURS, 3 JUNE 1942

  One large wall-mounted flatscreen in Media Center displayed a stored high-res satellite image of the southern reaches of the Indonesian Archipelago. Dan Black knew that because Lieutenant Thieu had explained it when they arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what the hell that all meant, though.

  Lieutenant Thieu looked a lot like a Jap to Lieutenant Commander Black’s way of thinking. But he sounded as though he’d spent his whole life on the beaches of California.

  “Santa Monica,” Thieu said, when Black asked. “My parents were deep green Earth First types. I surfed a lot to get out of the house. Then when they tried to get me to paddle my board out to hassle some longline tuna boats, I ran away and joined the navy. I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.”

  Black had no idea what he was talking about, but the mystery of Thieu was nothing compared to the two civilian women who were straining at the leash just behind him. Black figured them for civvies because of the complete lack of respect they brought to their dealings with the lieutenant.

  “And what’s your job, Lieutenant?” asked Black.

  “Right now, I’m just looking after you until you can get back to the Enterprise. But officially, media relations.”

  “And we’re the media he’s trying to have a relationship with,” said one of the women.

  Thieu exhaled slowly. “Lieutenant Commander Black, Ensign Curtis, this is Julia Duffy, a feature writer for the New York Times, and Rosanna Natoli, a reporter for CNN. You don’t have it yet. It’s a bit like the Movietone newsreels, I guess.”

  “So, what, we’re supposed to talk to the press now?” asked Black, who was openly confused.

  He’d felt about as useful as tits on a bull up on the flag bridge, and had been happy enough to get out from under Kolhammer’s feet as the search and rescue effort accelerated. With Curtis eager to try out a “computer,” they’d been escorted down to this “Media Center”—although it looked like an aid station to Black, with maybe two dozen civilians laid out on cots.

  Thieu explained that they were reporters who’d been “embedded” with various elements of the Multinational Force, but that didn’t make Black feel any more comfortable.

  “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to,” Thieu added quickly.

  “Oh, come now,” said Natoli. “I’m sure these boys wouldn’t be scared of talking to a couple of lady reporters. They were on their way to kick Yamamoto’s butt. They’ll be safe with us, Edgar.”

  “And who are you going to file for?” asked Thieu. “Ms. Duffy still might be able to score a gig with the Times, but I don’t know if Ted Turner’s even been born yet. And if he has, he ain’t hiring.”

  “Well, first off,” Natoli argued, “you don’t know for sure that we’re stuck here. We could all be back home selling our stories by this time tomorrow. None of us knows anything yet. Meanwhile, you have your job. We have ours.”

  Black watched the exchange with growing curiosity. These women didn’t defer to the officer at all. Their demeanor was challenging, bordering on ill mannered. He dismissed the idea that it was a function of Thieu’s race. It was possible, he realized, that they just didn’t like each other. If so, it might be useful to get to know them. They might have a different angle on what was happening. He wasn’t sure he trusted Kolhammer’s people yet.

  Behind the women, a whole wall was taken up with what Black thought of as movie screens, displaying scenes from all over both fleets. He could even see his own ship, the Enterprise, with two helicopters just setting down on her deck.

  The view seemed to be coming from on high, directly above the flight deck, and the commander assumed another helicopter was taking the photos. When he asked, though, Thieu explained that the feed was actually coming from a small, saucer-shaped “drone-cam” keeping station about three thousand five hundred meters—that meant twelve thousand feet, apparently—above the deck of the carrier. That almost made sense. Other panels on the big wall screen showed vision of a few surviving destroyers from his own group alongside sleek, flowing ships from the future, with a constant transfer of men between both.

  Men and women, he corrected himself.

  Nodding slowly to the Italian doll, he said, “I can’t speak for Ensign Curtis, but I don’t mind chatting with you while things get cleared up outside, miss. I can’t do any interviews, though. You can’t put me in your story, right?”

  Lieutenant Thieu closed his eyes and muttered something beneath his breath. But the two reporters smiled radiantly.

  “Fabbo,” said Duffy.

  “What about you, Ensign Curtis?” Natoli asked. “You up for a little deep background?”

  Curtis blushed down to roots of his hair.

  Captain Jurgen Müller arrived directly from a SAR mission and was still wearing his flight suit. Commander Enrico Prodi made his way up from the Clinton’s hangar deck. And Major Pavel Ivanov of the Russian army had crossed from the Kandahar, where he had been taking part in the SEALs’ tutorial on the G4 assault rifle when Pope’s wormhole had swallowed them all.

  The men picked at a tray of sandwiches in Kolhammer’s private quarters while the admiral handed out mugs of coffee.

  “Where is Colonel Gogol?” asked Ivanov.

  “I’m afraid he didn’t make it,” said Mike Judge.

  The Spetsnaz officer took in the answer, processed it, and grunted.

  “Too bad.”

  Ivanov didn’t look like he needed much commiserating. Judge restricted himself to replying, “Yeah, too bad.”

  A knock sounded at the door and Kolhammer called out, “Enter.”

  The three visitors all turned to see Sub-Lieutenant Maseo Miyazaki, acting commander of the Siranui. One arm was encased in a bright green gel tube, and he stood with the aid of a stick.

  Despite his injuries, Miyazaki bowed deeply, every line in his body rigid. It was as if he had fiber-steel cable instead of muscle and bone. Kolhammer took his cue from the young officer and, rather than staring directly into his eyes, he averted his gaze, just slightly. He discreetly studied the stoic mask Miyazaki had drawn across his feelings. Grief and pain were obvious, but survivor guilt was there, as well, a gnawing sense of shame and remorse that one should live when better men had died.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he said, bowing his head. “I served with Captain Okada on a number of occasions. He was a fine warrior. A man of giri. I would appreciate it if you let your men know how deeply we feel his loss and the death of his comrades.”

  The young officer carefully straightened his back.

  “Thank you, sir. I understand two of Admiral Spruance’s ships were destroyed by the Siranui,” he said. “As the officer responsible, I now forward our mos
t abject apologies to the admiral and place myself under arrest pending court-martial for the unauthorized killing of Allied naval personnel.”

  Kolhammer was stunned. Nobody moved. The other three foreigners were obviously as taken aback as he was. They looked like props placed by a director. His stateroom, paneled in oak and furnished with a leather lounge and deep blue carpets, suddenly seemed strangely artificial to him, like a stage setting. As he recovered his wits, he put down his empty coffee mug and searched for a reassuring, but authoritative tone.

  “Please stand at ease, Lieutenant. In fact, sit down and take the weight off. Please, I mean it. The release of your combat mace was not unauthorized. I sanctioned an overriding autonomy for the fleet CIs, and the consequences of that decision are mine to bear, not yours. I’ll be certain to forward your apologies to Admiral Spruance but I won’t allow you to take the blame.

  “Unfortunately, I fear that won’t satisfy the demands of the situation.”

  Miyazaki entered the room with a small degree of difficulty. But he carefully lowered himself into a chair next to Ivanov and gratefully accepted a cup of green tea from Commander Judge.

  “Domo arrigato.”

  “You’re welcome,” smiled Judge.

  Ivanov gave the young Japanese sailor a slap on the knee.

  “Good shooting,” he deadpanned.

  Kolhammer grimaced inwardly. He had served with a lot of Russians. He was used to their gallows humor. “Gentlemen, I won’t bullshit you. We have a problem,” he said. “I doubt we’re going home anytime soon. Maybe never. That leaves you men up fecal creek. We have twenty-one German, eighteen Italian, and fifteen Russian personnel serving on attachment throughout the task force. And, of course, we have the Siranui. You’re the senior surviving officers of your national contingents. If we are indeed trapped here, your homelands are dictatorships, and in the case of Germany, Italy, and Japan, they’re enemy states.”

  Ivanov let out a short, humorless laugh. “I suspect that for me and my comrades, Admiral, the Soviet Union is an enemy state.”

  “That’s why you’re here as well, Major.”

  “And us?” bristled Müller. “Are we to provide you with some sort of loyalty pledge?”

  The Italian, Prodi, threw up his hands. “Alora! You have no reason to be concerned with my feelings, Admiral. Have you visited Rome and seen the fascist architecture? It’s an abomination! Profoundly antihuman and a total misreading of imperial design. That pig Mussolini deserved to hang by his heels!”

  Two seconds of confused and utter silence greeted the Italian’s outburst.

  “Right, then,” Kolhammer said when he recovered. “Thank you, Commander Prodi. To answer your question, Captain Müller, no, I’m not looking for loyalty pledges. But there are people here who will. And even if they get them, they’ll still want to lock you up.”

  “I expect Stalin shall try to put an icepick in my brain,” said Ivanov without much emotion. “But we shall see how that works for him, da?”

  “Stalin isn’t my concern,” said Kolhammer. “J. Edgar Hoover might be.”

  The blank looks he received told him they hadn’t boned up on their American history before accepting their postings.

  “Look, I harbor no doubts about your dependability, but you can expect a lot of shit from the locals. Not so much you and your guys, Ivanov. But then, like you say, you’ll have your own problems. We can sort this out properly when we have more time, but I want you to personally get around to your people and tell them to keep their heads down. Especially when we get to Pearl Harbor, or Brisbane, or the West Coast.”

  “We don’t know where we’re going yet?” asked Ivanov.

  “We don’t know much about anything,” Kolhammer conceded. “Commander Judge has pulled together a list of the personnel you’ll need to contact. Forget about your other duties until you’ve done this.”

  Sub-Lieutenant Miyazaki coughed, and spoke in a halting voice. “And what am I to do, Admiral? How do we hide a Nemesis cruiser?”

  Kolhammer propped himself against his desk. The Europeans seemed almost as interested in his answer as the Japanese officer. He worked a kink out of his neck and sighed.

  “The next few days won’t be easy, but as long as my command remains intact I am responsible for your welfare and security. I won’t allow it to be compromised. Is there anything you need, by the way?’ asked Kolhammer. “Medical supplies or personnel?”

  “I’m afraid our casualties were mostly killed in action,” said Miyazaki. “Indeed, I have organized for our surplus medical supplies to be taken off for distribution to those vessels more in need. I understand the Kandahar is running low on burn gel and vat skin.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s much appreciated. I’ll see to it that your generosity is acknowledged.”

  Miyazaki seemed truly affronted by the proposition, becoming animated for the first time in their encounter.

  “That will not be necessary,” he insisted. “It is not a gesture!”

  “I understand that, Maseo,” said Kolhammer, gently and deliberately choosing the informal, intimate form of address. “I also asked you about personnel. Being blunt about it, I had a reason. You’ve lost all of your senior officers. I’ve had significant casualties on the Leyte Gulf. We’re going to lose that ship in the next few hours. It would help smooth things over with the locals if you accepted Captain Anderson and a small cadre of American officers as replacements for your casualties.”

  Miyazaki was silent. Kolhammer could see the effort play out on the young man’s face, as he wrestled with conflicting demands and desires.

  “I don’t mean to be insulting, Lieutenant. But we don’t have a lot of time. On the other hand we do have a shitload of resentment and fear and outright loathing to contend with. I’m going to have my hands full keeping your crew out of a prison camp.”

  He could see that Miyazaki was about to leap to the defense of his men. Holding up one hand, he plowed on. “I know. It’s not fair. But that’s just tough shit. I know that you’ve slaved your CI to the Clinton. I’ve told Spruance that, but it means nothing to him. He won’t rest easy until he sees an American in charge of that ship.”

  “A black woman?” scoffed Miyazaki. “You think that will please him?”

  Kolhammer smiled weakly. “Well, he can’t have everything his own way, can he.”

  He felt real sympathy for the youngster. His behavior during the battle had been entirely proper and courageous. Under different circumstances it would have earned him a medal. Instead, he stood implicitly accused of being untrustworthy and dishonorable. Of lacking giri. There weren’t many worse insults you could hand a Japanese fighting man, but Kolhammer had no choice. He remained motionless, perched on the arm of the couch, frantically searching for a way that Miyazaki might save face. He was thus a little startled that it was Captain Müller who was provoked into an outburst.

  The German, who looked like he was chewing on something sour, barked out, “This is a lot of bullshit for nothing, Herr Admiral.”

  Miyazaki looked as if he was grateful for the distraction. Kolhammer chose to ignore the lack of deference.

  “No, it is not bullshit, Captain. We’ve killed a lot of men tonight. Widowed thousands of women. Taken fathers and sons and brothers from Christ only knows how many people. And we’ve done Yamamoto’s work for him, destroying the American Pacific Fleet. We arrived in company with a Japanese warship, and we have dozens of enemy aliens serving on our own ships. It won’t matter a damn that we lost a lot of good men and women, too. There’s going to be some very powerful people demanding that we all be locked up. And you men are the first ones they’ll come for.”

  Ivanov smiled frostily. “And what will you do about this Hoover, some kind of secret policeman, yes? Will you turn him away when he comes?”

  Kolhammer put down his coffee and regarded all three of them with a level gaze.

  “You’re part of my command and I won’t have you treated
with anything but respect. I do need to know, however, what sort of role you’ll be comfortable with, should we have to stay here and fight.”

  Captain Müller’s lips were compressed into a thin white line. When he spoke, it was to spit each word like a bullet.

  “Admiral Kolhammer, my great-grandfather commanded a company in the Gross Deutschland Division. He was killed in Russia—but not by the Red Army or partisans,” he said, nodding toward Ivanov. “He died after holding a river crossing for three days against waves of tanks and infantry. He held fast with the remnants of his company, about seventy men, while two thousand comrades escaped across the water. When he reached the other side, the last German to do so, he was arrested and shot for desertion in the face of the enemy.

  “His wife, my great-grandmother, was interned in a camp with her children, six of them. Only one survived, my grandfather. He carried the scars of the beatings by the camp guards all his life. He told me many times of his brothers and sisters. He retained a perfect memory of each and he wanted me to remember them to my children. His oldest brother Hans was beaten to death while protecting his younger brother Erwin from a homosexual rapist. Erwin was later shot for no apparent reason by a visiting SS officer. Their sister Lotti froze to death. Sister Ingrid, twelve years old, died of syphilis. And baby sister Greta was murdered by a guard, who crushed her head with the heel of his boot, when she refused to suck his penis.

  “You ask me how I feel, Admiral?” he said softly. “I feel sick with the possibilities.”

  Nobody spoke when Müller had finished. Kolhammer himself felt ill. Miyazaki, he noted, was nodding quietly. The restrained violence of the German’s delivery had done more to shake his incredulity in the face of the impossible than had the battle on arrival, or the visit to Spruance. He was about to reply when Judge’s flexipad beeped. The Clinton’s XO checked the message he’d just received.

  “Admiral,” he said, with surprise in his voice. “Something’s happened.”

  Kolhammer was annoyed at himself. He should have been concentrating on the main screen in the CIC, but he couldn’t shake his dissatisfaction at the way his meeting with Miyazaki and the others had gone. He didn’t really feel as if they had resolved anything.