Fleet Action (5 page)

"So whatya think of the war ending? It's Bondevsky, isn't it?" one of them shouted, aiming his holo recorder at Jason's face.

"That's Bondarevsky," Jason said quietly, remembering how his old captain O'Brian had always mispronounced the name.

"Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?"

"First of all, negotiations for an armistice do not mean that the war has ended. There's a big difference between an armistice and formal peace, he tried to explain patiently. "Other than that, no comment," and he tried to shoulder his way through the crush.

"Still hate the Kilrathi, is that it? Seems like you fleet officers don't want peace," a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.

Jason looked back at the fat-faced reporter.

"I'm a captain in the fleet. I'm a professional, I try to do my job and leave the hating to others."

"Even though they killed your lover, that Marine, Susan wasn't it?"

He hesitated, wanting to turn and belt the reporter in the face, or better yet strap him into a tail gunner's seat and take him out for a mission to see what it was really like. Though he hated to do so, he turned away and continued down the corridor, shouldering his way through the crush.

"Military's gonna be out of work, that's what's got them pissed off," he heard a reporter sneering.

He turned, knowing he shouldn't, but he simply couldn't take it any longer. He put a finger into the man's face.

"What have you been doing the last couple of years?"

The man looked at him defiantly.

"Working for the holos."

"Where?"

"On Earth. United Broadcasting."

"While you've been sitting on your fat butt and grinning at the camera I've watched hundreds of thousands die. I've seen entire continents on fire from a thousand warhead bombardment, I've watched carriers bursting silently in space, a thousand men and women spilling out, their blood boiling in the vacuum. I've heard the screams of my comrades as their fighters burned, and they were trapped, unable to eject. I've lost more friends than you'll ever have, you belly crawling excuse for a worm. So don't you ever dare say to me, or anyone else, that we want a war. We know what the hell the price is while all you know is how to stuff your face and bloat your pride."

He turned and stalked off, hearing more than one reporter chuckle and give a word of support, but most of them looked at him with a superior disdain, as if he was an arrogant ignorant child who had just thrown a tantrum.

A Fleet public relations officer slipped in beside Jason, grabbed him by the arm and hustled him along.

"That wasn't very smart, sir," she whispered in his ear, while at the same time smiling to the press, and quickly moved him back down the corridor.

"Go to hell. I'm here as an aide to Admiral Tolwyn, but I'm not going to be insulted."

"Then stick to your job as an aide, things are bad enough as is with the damned press without you making it worse," she hissed in his ear.

Jason forced back an angry retort while the other officer seemed to instantly shift gears, smiling, holding up her hand to the press, repeating that they'd have a story soon enough and finally hustled Jason through a door.

"Next time you need to find a bathroom, sir," the officer said quietly, "for heavens sake, don't wander into the press area. Those bastards are like sharks looking for blood."

"Well, where the hell is the bathroom?"

The officer shook her head.

"No time. The meetings about to start up again and it wouldn't look good for you, a mere captain, to come wandering in late."

Jason sighed and the officer pointed him to an airlock door.

He suddenly felt self conscious.

"Do I look all right?"

She smiled, reaching up to adjust the Medal of Honor which hung from a blue sash around his throat.

"Fine, sir, and paused for an instant. "And by the way I'm behind you one hundred per cent with what you said back there, sir."

He forced a smile and went through the airlock and back into the conference room.

For a frontier orbital base the room was richly appointed, with dark wood paneled walls, soft indirect lighting, and even a real oak table taking up most of the center of the room. The chairs around the conference table were all high backed, heavily cushioned and covered in the dark navy blue of the fleet. In front of each desk was a small ensign denoting the rank of the military officers present, and most of them were three and four stars.

The short recess was nearly over and Jason moved to his position sitting directly behind Admiral Tolwyn. He looked over at Hunter, who Tolwyn had picked as his second aide for this meeting, and Ian winked.

"Make it?"

"No and I'm ready to burst," Jason groaned and Hunter smiled.

Why Tolwyn had picked the two of them to serve as his aides at this meeting was beyond Jason. He knew the admiral's regular staff officers were seething over being cut out of this armistice meeting and Jason could only surmise that in part it was an act of friendship, to let him in at an historic moment, but also as a sort of window dressing for Tolwyn to have two of his most decorated and famous officers sitting directly behind him.

He looked around the circular table and saw that nearly everyone was back from the short recess, aides sitting erect behind their superiors who were talking softly to each other, some serious, others chuckling over a shared witticism. Most of the laughter came from the civilian side of the room. A door at the far side of the room opened and everyone rose, the military personnel coming to stiff attention as the President of the Confederation, Harold Rodham, stepped into the room. Jason had first met him at the Medal of Honor presentation and was surprised with how short he really was, something the holo films never seemed to pick up on.

"Be seated, please," Rodham said quietly.

Jason could feel the electric tension rippling through the room.

"I'm prepared to hear any last minute presentations, but I want it done in a calm and logical fashion."

Jason knew that it was futile. In any other setting, without a sea of admiral, commandant and generals' stars around the table he might even have been tempted to speak up but Admiral Tolwyn relieved him of that by coming to his feet.

"Admiral Tolwyn," Rodham said nodding his head.

Tolwyn looked around the room and then focused his attention on the civilians sitting around Rodham.

"You are all well aware that I am the most junior officer sitting at this table; perhaps for that reason it might be best for me, as a front line officer, to review one more time our objections to this armistice which you seem so intent on formalizing."

Jason could see Rodham bristle slightly.

"What you are agreeing to is a freezing in place of all forces until such time as a peace commission can be established, agreeable to both sides, who will then negotiate a permanent cease fire between the Terran Confederation and the Kilrathi Empire. At the same time you are agreeing to a freezing of all construction of military ships, the refitting of vessels currently in dry dock, and the enlistment of new personnel."

Rodham gave a curt nod of reply.

"I find it difficult at best to accept this."

"You're in the military and don't you forget that you are under civilian control, so you d better accept it," Rhonda Jamison, the foreign minister who had been the key negotiator for the armistice announced coldly. Rodham extended his hand towards Jamison as if to calm her.

"Go on, Admiral."

"I am not a politician, I am a warrior, following in the thousand year tradition of my family who served in the ancient navy, army, and air force of Britain and the space forces of the Confederation . My family has seen the best of those moments, proud of the memory of six Victoria Crosses in our past. Tolwyns served at Waterloo, on the Somme, in the Battle of Britain, at Minsk and the siege of London and shed their blood heavily in this latest war. We have seen the best and we have endured the worst, and sir, I fear that this decision might very well produce the most disastrous defeat in the history of the human race, and perhaps even spell its eventual annihilation."

Jamison sniffed and then shook her head angrily.

"Admiral, we are not discussing genealogy or ancient history, a passion I find many military men are fond of indulging in. We are discussing real politics, the here and now."

"And so am I," Tolwyn replied. "Eighteen months ago I feared that at best the war would simply drag on forever and more likely would eventually lead to our defeat. And then, with new tactical innovations and the latest improvements in technology we appear to have not only reached a balance but in fact, for the first time in thirty years of fighting, appear to have at least gained an edge. We found two weak spots: their logistical support, and their construction. We found the ways to hit at them, to slip past their main battle fleet and we are hurting them. Our intelligence net has detected that some ships are forced to go into action with less than seventy percent of their standard armaments. We've noticed dozens of small signs. The crucial, the absolutely crucial element in this is to keep the pressure on them, not to let it up."

Jason could see the clear division in the room, the military personnel, especially the front line fleet commanders, nodding in agreement, the civilian personnel sitting quietly.

"Don't let the pressure off now, I'm begging you, reminding you that we've lost millions upon millions of our finest to get to this point. Now is when we should be tightening the screws, hitting them all out with everything we have. Until you stopped us ten days ago. Operation Red Three held the promise of inflicting serious losses on the Empire — it might have permanently put them off balance.

"Might have," Jamison replied. "That is always part of your military jargon, might have. There was no guarantee. In earlier testimony today you heard Admiral Banbridge state that Kilrathi front line carriers still outnumbered ours by nearly two to one. Simulation studies of Red Three demonstrated that the probability for full success was less than twenty percent, and there was a twenty-five percent chance of a reversal and a loss of most of our escort carriers with little if anything gained. You might take such things lightly, Admiral, after all you would be secure in your heavy carrier, but I lost a son on one of those suicide missions you and your people so blithely send out."

Tolwyn glared at Jamison.

Her loss was well known and she made a point of attacking the fleet whenever possible as a result. He could feel some sympathy for her, but on the other side of the coin was the fact that there was hardly anyone in the room who had not lost loved ones in this war and to accuse him of not feeling that pain was enraging.

He focused his thoughts and pushed on.

"With support it would have worked. But you obviously don't want to give that support now."

"The question is moot," Admiral Banbridge interjected, looking over at Tolwyn, extending his hand in a calming gesture. "Red Three was scrubbed ten days ago and is impossible now to restart. Kilrathi intelligence definitely has the plans by now."

"You just don't get the whole picture, do you, Admiral?" Jamison snapped. "Do you know just how much it costs to build and launch one fleet carrier?

"Seventy three billion and some change," Jamison continued, not giving Tolwyn a chance to interject. "A full compliment of fighters another ten billion. In the last three years we've lost over one and a half trillion dollars worth of carriers and fighters."

"I rather think of it as some fine young men and women that we lost, such as your son," Tolwyn bristled.

Jamison stared at Tolwyn with hate filled eyes.

"You can think of it that way," Jamison replied, "but I and the rest of the government also have to look at the war from a financial light. It cost nearly eight trillion a year to run the war and we have a deficit of over forty trillion. It'll take generations just to pay that off. Shortages are wide spread, in a fair part of the Confederation rationing of everything from fuel to nylon to eggs is in place. You say we shouldn't give the Kilrathi a breather? I think rather it is we who are lucky to have a breather. The civilian population is war weary, Tolwyn and after thirty-two years of fighting I think we have had enough and for that matter the Kilrathi have had enough as well. I'm sick to death of the old military logic of having to waste more blood to somehow uphold the honor of those who are already dead. It's time to let the dead rest, Admiral. Let's finish it now and get on with the peace."

"I find it difficult to accept that a full accounting of the Kilrathi armed forces has actually been reached," Tolwyn replied, falling back on the second position of his argument. "I find it difficult to accept that we are actually allowing Kilrathi personnel into Confederation space as observers and in general I find it difficult to accept that our leaders would be so foolish as to actually believe this entire affair."

The civilians in the room bristled, but Rodham held up his hand and nodded for Tolwyn to continue.

"In the two years prior to your agreement to this armistice we dealt a series of bitter reversals to the Kilrathi. It must have had an impact on their morale. As you know, the young captain behind me," and he paused to nod back towards Jason, "took part in the destruction of six carriers right on the doorstep of the Imperial home planet.

"Now is not the time to call an armistice; now, if anything, is the time to jack the pressure up to the breaking point. I've heard some of you say that we don't really understand the Kilrathi, that down deep they are just like us. I don't think so. Maybe there'll come a day when we can live peacefully with them, but unfortunately it is not now. We must deal with them through strength. All our psy-ops studies have shown that if the Kilrathi have contempt for anything it is for one who displays hesitation or weakness. Even their word for such a person, tuka, is spoken with a sneering contempt, a word so insulting that a Kilrathi challenged with such a smear will fight to the death. And I tell you now that we are tuka in their eyes if we fall for this subterfuge."