by CH Gideon
There it was—a ten-megaton bomb that left Jenkins reeling. General Kavanaugh was going to reorganize the Metal Legion under Fleet, just as Admiral Corbyn had hinted might occur during Jenkins’ “informal inquiry” and precisely as General Akinouye had steadfastly rejected. Corbyn had spoken of that project’s timetable in terms of years, perhaps even a full decade, before such a restructuring could take place, though.
The casual way Major General Kavanaugh flipped the reorganization matter out there, like she was laying down a full house while a flush was still on the board, suggested she was uncertain if he would be sympathetic to her plan.
He had to think fast, or his entire brigade would be in jeopardy.
“Fleet oversight, ma’am?” he reiterated warily. “I thought you were in agreement with General Akinouye that the Legion should retain its independence?”
“In point of fact, I did agree with him about that,” Kavanaugh replied, projecting an air of somberness that seemed wholly artificial to Jenkins. “But variables have changed, Colonel, as they so often do. And now we must also change if we are to avoid the loss of this precious momentum that you and Dragon Brigade have generated. The Terran Armor Corps has a real future now, Colonel Jenkins, and that future was only made possible by your exemplary contributions. Contributions which were enabled by the valor and ingenuity of the men and women under your command. As Armor Corps’ most senior officer, it is my duty to ensure that their talents, and yours, are deployed to maximum effect in furtherance of Terran humanity.”
Jenkins could feel the proverbial noose tightening around his neck. General Kavanaugh was more ambitious than he had ever suspected, and she was now making a move which must have been decades in the offing. Even General Akinouye had never confided in Jenkins any real concerns about Kavanaugh’s loyalty to the Legion. He had sometimes referred to her as more ambitious than passionate, but her work at his side had been vital in their efforts to keep the Legion’s doors open.
And here she was, with the embers of General Akinouye’s funeral pyre still warm, moving to tear down everything the man had spent his entire life to build.
The bitch of it was, Lee Jenkins knew the only way through this minefield was straight up the middle—which meant betraying the man whose beloved Corps had become Jenkins’ last, best hope for salvation.
“In truth, General Kavanaugh,” Jenkins said hesitantly, “I couldn’t agree more. We need to adapt to the times and maximize our assets’ effectiveness, which is why, before I went on my fundraising tour, I urged General Akinouye to move toward consolidating the Legion under Fleet’s banner.”
“Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise unreadable. “And how did he receive your suggestion?”
Jenkins forced a grimace. “Not well, ma’am. He suggested I was anatomically challenged, specifically pertaining to my cranio-caudal relationship, and went on to detail how an…inventively deployed fifteen-kilo shell would clarify my thinking.”
Kavanaugh’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he thought she had seen through him. Then she threw her head back and laughed. “That does sound like Ben,” she said agreeably. “His Metal Legion was the only thing he ever truly loved. He probably took your suggestion as a personal threat rather than a tactical appraisal.”
“Respectfully, ma’am,” Jenkins continued, absolutely hating himself as he did, “his pride got in his way, but worse still, it got in the Legion’s way. When I first approached him about my trial program, it was with the declared intention of incorporating armor elements into Fleet operations. I only transferred over to the Legion when it seemed like the program…my program,” he reiterated with genuine passion, “would get shelved by Fleet brass. I think they saw my proposal as a competing alternative to the Marines, but I never envisioned it that way,” he continued, speaking with absolute honesty on this particular point. “I always thought that technologically-updated mechs and power-armored Marines could be deployed in mutually-supportive configurations in a variety of mission profiles, but every time I’d bring it up, either to the Admiralty or to General Akinouye, they reduced it to a conflict over which would be given priority. And Fleet does love their Marines,” he added sourly.
She gave a knowing nod. “To be frank, Colonel, I’ve already encountered precisely the same thing in my preliminary discussions of the matter with Admirals Zhao and Corbyn.”
“Rear Admiral Corbyn seemed receptive to the project,” Jenkins said with a nod, taking careful aim with another sliver of truth in his high-wire deception, “but he expressed serious concerns about the political landscape and the bureaucratic obstacles to forming a consolidated Combined Arms sub-branch of Fleet. Admiral Zhao, on the other hand…” His words trailed off pointedly.
“Go on, Colonel,” Kavanaugh urged. “You can speak frankly. These walls have no ears but our own.”
Jenkins believed that. If the Jemmin or their cohorts and sympathizers had gained access to the Armor Corps briefings on either Shiva’s Wrath or Operation Brick Top, they would have moved to prevent Jenkins’ people from achieving their objectives on those worlds.
So he exhaled shortly before answering with a half-lie. “Admiral Zhao seemed intent not only on uncovering certain classified details discovered on Shiva’s Wrath, but during the inquiry, his posture was openly hostile to Armor Corps, ma’am. I think we can work with Rear Admiral Corbyn to mutual gain, but I would advise caution when it comes to Admiral Zhao.”
She nodded thoughtfully while tapping her chin with a long, slender finger. “I agree, Colonel,” she finally declared, her face twisting into a moue of distaste. “Admiral Zhao has no real love for the Armor Corps, owing in some small part to that business with his son, which between you and me is partly why I was forced to accept him on the temporary advisory board. I must say that I’m impressed with your strategic perspective on these matters. It’s clear to me now that I will have to rely on your input in the coming weeks as we lay the groundwork for Armor Corps to merge with Fleet.”
“Merge” in this instance was a fluffy word for “bend the knee.” For the time being, the Terran Armor Corps retained the privilege of operational security, which extended to blackout classification of certain mission-critical details. General Akinouye’s authority had permitted him to conduct off-the-books, covert operations under the auspices of preserving ongoing operational security.
But now, with Admirals Corbyn and Zhao coming into the fold, the books were going to be opened up and information security would be compromised.
If Jenkins was right, the Jemmin would make a serious move against the Terran Republic, and possibly even all of humanity, shortly after the details of Akinouye’s operations were revealed.
Jenkins straightened his shoulders, mustering an air of pride as he said, “I’ll do my utmost to support your efforts, General. In the interests of Terran security, this merger needs to happen sooner rather than later.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” Kavanaugh nodded approvingly, and as far as Jenkins could tell, he had at least convinced her that he was not actively antagonistic to her designs for the Metal Legion. “But we should table the matter of TAC’s future. There are several discrepancies in your after-action reports,” Kavanaugh explained, producing a data slate and deftly swiping through a number of screens, “which we need to go over.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he acknowledged, knowing that he was about to betray even more of the people who had put their trust in him.
But he had thought long and hard about this, and despite his moral objections, he had no choice but to play every last card in his hand. The stakes were just too high.
If he was wrong about the Jemmin conspiracy, and Director Durgan had manipulated General Akinouye for some as-yet-unknown reason, careers would end because of the details he let slip. Lives would be ruined, and an interstellar corporation would experience shockwaves that might raze it to the ground. And it would all be because of Lee Jenkins’ soon-to-be-made report to Majo
r General Kavanaugh.
But if he and Director Durgan and General Akinouye and the Vorr and the Zeen and even the bizarre entity known as ‘Jem’ were right about the Jemmin…
Then there was only one possible path to victory, and Jenkins needed to do whatever it took to reach it with enough firepower in hand to do the job.
“Let’s start at the beginning, Colonel,” Kavanaugh began, and for the next six hours, he gave as many classified details as he thought he could survive, with a single thought ringing in his head as each word passed his lips.
God help me if I’m wrong.
“Let’s go back to the Han-built Razorback Mk 2-Vs,” Kavanaugh circled back to the issue of the Terra Han mechs for the fourth time. “Were there any technical dissimilarities between them and our Razorbacks?”
“As Mk 2s they had lighter frames than our Mk 1s,” Jenkins explained, “owing to the redesigned chassis, which allowed them to shore up the joint armor with ablative mimetics without sacrificing acceleration or top speed. Those modifications, along with the pop-up railguns, were the only notable differences I observed, ma’am.”
She flipped through a few pages of information before stopping on another point of obvious interest. “You say here that Lieutenant Podsednik and Chief Styles did not secure the archeological site prior to returning to the surface, is that right?”
“Correct, ma’am,” he agreed. “Our orders from General Akinouye were to preserve the integrity of the site. After the team arrived and found nothing but the attached recording that detailed the lives and deaths of almost five hundred Jemmin from fifteen thousand years ago, they withdrew and we ceded the site to the Finjou in the interests of diplomacy.”
“I’ve had my people thoroughly examine that recording,” she said irritably. “So far we haven’t found anything actionable. Certainly nothing worth the cost to Armor Corps during Operation Brick Top. There are some interesting technological details in there, but nothing of interest pertaining to the Vorr or Zeen.”
“We found nothing useful either, ma’am,” Jenkins lied. Kavanaugh knew most of the details from Shiva’s Wrath, but Akinouye had not yet let her in on the success of Xi’s “diplomatic efforts.” At the time, Jenkins had believed the late general had merely been holding his cards close to the chest for reasons pertaining to office politics, but now, standing before Akinouye’s usurper, Jenkins knew that Akinouye had never fully trusted the woman. “At this point,” Jenkins continued, “my people are inclined to conclude it was a wild goose chase.”
“I disagree,” Kavanaugh mused, causing a knot to form in Jenkins’ throat. A potential moment of truth had just arrived.
“Ma’am?” he asked, careful not to betray his anxiety as he waited for her to arrive at the conclusion that he, Styles, Xi, and Colonel Li had painstakingly crafted during the two weeks as they limped back home from Finjou space.
“I think,” she leaned forward, her cold, blue eyes pinning him to the deck, “that the Vorr were trying to stir up animosity between the Finjou and us. I also think that the Vorr were the ones who sold the Solar tech to those rebel colonists using a Finjou intermediary because they have designs on Terran space and want to see us weakened by enemies on multiple fronts. We’ve pushed back the latest Arh’Kel offensive, in no small part thanks to your work on Durgan’s Folly. I think the Vorr were behind the rock-biters as well.”
Jenkins had to force himself to take slow, measured breaths; his heart felt ready to beat all the way through his ribcage and hurl itself onto the deck. She had gone precisely where they wanted her to go, and it was all he could do to keep from breathing the most epic sigh of relief in his entire life.
“With the Arh’Kel threat contained,” she continued, apparently more concerned with giving voice to her deftly-manipulated conclusion than with reading Jenkins’ anxious body language, “I think they needed to find another way to keep us on our heels. But you, Colonel Jenkins, seem to have thwarted their devious plan not once but thrice in as many engagements.” She smirked. “I hope for all our sakes that you never find yourself in a dark room with a Vorr.”
Jenkins’ eyes wanted to bulge out of their sockets at hearing that. He knew it might have been a subtle hint that she had seen through his lie about the meeting with Director Durgan, which in this fable had not included a Vorr. That particular omission had been key to crafting the narrative that had led her to her current position.
He forced himself to project calm as he nodded gravely. “You and me both, General.”
“All right,” she said, switching the data slate off and setting it aside. “I think that’s enough for today. Once again, you’ve done the Terran Armor Corps proud, Colonel Jenkins. On behalf of its members past and present, I would like to offer my congratulations on a job well done. You and your people have earned a little downtime, so I’m ordering you to return to the Bonhoeffer and immediately begin disembarking your crew for some much-needed R&R,” she said, standing from the desk.
General Akinouye’s desk.
“They’ll be glad to hear it, General,” Jenkins said graciously as she came to stand before him. She was short of stature, but one look at her made clear that she had earned the rank of major general.
“Good work down there.” She extended a hand, which Jenkins accepted. “Ben would be proud.”
“Thank you, General,” he said as she released his grip.
He snapped a salute, which she returned before declaring, “You’re dismissed.”
He released the salute, turned, and made his way from Armor Corps HQ to the first shuttle he could find back to the New America 2 star system.
He needed to get back to the Bonhoeffer while there was still time.
22
Solidarity
“I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this,” Podsednik muttered.
“You can back out if you want, Lieutenant,” Jenkins said sympathetically. He knew this was a lot for anyone to process, but they were out of time. Nobody got to have their hand held here. “No one here will look sideways at you if you step out that door. What we’re discussing is nothing less than high treason.”
“And mutiny,” Colonel Li grumped. “Both of which justify summary execution.”
“That, too,” Jenkins agreed.
“Fuck that.” Xi leaned forward intently. “None of us will ever have a chance to make this big of an impact again. So what if we’re wrong?” She looked around challengingly, fixing Podsy with a fiercely determined look. “I’m not going to begrudge my death if it turns out we had our heads up our asses. But what if we’re right?” she pressed. “What if the fate of humanity really does rest in our hands? Could you live with yourself if you let the chance to make a difference like that slip through your fingers?” She shook her head adamantly. “I know I couldn’t. I’m in.”
“Me, too,” Styles agreed. “I thought I was doing God’s work breaking down censor firewalls, but this is the real deal. We’re in a position to make a permanent, positive impact on the history of our entire species. I’m not just in, I’m balls-deep.”
Xi groaned in derision but gave a grudging low-five to Styles after one was offered.
Podsy shook his head skeptically. “Is this possible? I know I’m later to the party on this than the rest of you, but… I mean, come on! Can we really be that important?” he asked, fixing each of them with a searching look. “There are over two hundred warships in the Terran Fleet. One point six billion humans call the Terran Republic home, forgetting the hundred billion Solarians,” he argued to no one in particular. “How can it be possible that the six of us are all that stands between life and death for the human race?”
“I appreciate the skepticism, Lieutenant,” Jenkins said agreeably. “And I share it, but Xi’s right: even if there’s only a one percent chance that we’re right about this, it would be criminal… No, that’s not right,” he amended. “It would be evil of us to stand down after learning what we know.”
“Hear,
hear,” Colonel Li agreed with conviction
Xi turned to face Podsy, her eyes blazing passionately as she spoke. “We all know this ship was named after a man who protested another holocaust-in-the-making, Podsy. He said, ‘Silence in the face of evil is evil itself. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.’ Those were the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was imprisoned and executed in a Nazi camp for publicly objecting to their evil designs for segments of humanity they deemed inferior. If we don’t act in defense of our species, knowing what we know, then we are acting in support of agents who have already demonstrated their callous disregard for all of humanity!”
Podsy seemed to have been swayed by Xi’s impassioned speech, and the as-yet silent sixth of their group chose that moment to speak as the ruby-red shaft in Podsy’s hands pulsed with a faint inner light.
“The 492 Jem’un who created me,” Jem said solemnly, “were unified by nothing so much as their desire to prevent such atrocities. It is that motive which, in a very real sense, drives my existence. The Jem’un were numbered in the trillions prior to the Jemmin holocaust, and the vast majority were eradicated in a span of time no longer than two of your weeks as Jemmin achieved complete control over everything the Jem’un had built. The Jem’un have long since turned to ash, erased from the cosmos by the fires of hatred, but humanity is still alive…although it might not remain so if you hesitate.”
“Jem’s getting spooky good at English,” Styles observed.
“It is a simple language,” Jem said dismissively.
Podsy sighed. “Let me be clear: of course, I’m in. I just… I don’t know, I needed to talk through it a little bit. I’m ready, Colonel,” he said decisively. “Let’s do this.”
