Helfort's War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet (13 page)

“Ah, yes. The family.” Faris’s eyes flicked from side to side. “Ah, yes, sir. Umm, well … I meant to tell the coxswain, sir, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Received a vidmail from Lori a few days ago. Things haven’t been too good between us for a while, and Lori wants a divorce. So I figured … well, I figured, what the hell. Anyway, turns out the kid’s not even mine, so a few years’ absence won’t be that big a burden. I’m in, sir. No problems.”

“Fine. If you’re sure,” Michael said, amazed yet again by the things he discovered about the spacers under his command. “Right. We’ve a lot to get through, so that will do. We’ll be dropping into normal space in … let me see … yes, about three hours from now to drop off those who don’t want any part of this, and then we’ll be on our way. There’ll be a more detailed briefing after we’ve jumped back in pinchspace. The XOs set up the AIs with a detailed sim of the operation. We’ll do a first run-through when the briefing’s over. Unless there are any questions … No? Good. I’ll see you all later. Carry on, please.” He turned to Ferreira and Sedova. “Let’s do the last of them.”

“Not looking forward to this, sir,” Ferreira said.

“Nor me,” Michael said, grim-faced. The command pilot and loadmaster of
Redwood
’s new heavy lander,
Hell Bent
, were unknown quantities. He had no feel for how they might respond. One thing was for sure, though: They were in for the biggest surprise of their short careers.

Junior Lieutenant Acharya and Petty Officer Krilic waited in Conference-6, a small, bleak compartment boasting a table, chairs, and a single bulkhead-mounted holovid. They came to their feet and snapped to attention when Michael entered.

“Sit, please,” Michael said, taking a seat opposite the pair. He waited until Ferreira and Sedova sat down on either side of him. “I have something to ask both of you, but first I want you to watch a holovid. Then the XO will tell you what comes next. So sit back and pay attention. Okay?”

“Sir,” the pair replied, their faces turning to utter bafflement when the menacing figure of Colonel Erwin Hartspring appeared on the holovid and started to speak, the flattened vowels, chopped syllables, and staccato delivery stamping him indelibly as a Hammer.

“Hello, Lieutenant Helfort, or may I call you Michael?” the man said. “Do you remember me? Yes, I’m sure you do, but just in case …”

   When Ferreira finished summarizing Operation Gladiator, Acharya and Krilic sat unmoving, their mouths hanging open, faces drawn tight in shocked disbelief.

Acharya spoke first. “Sir, you cannot be serious,”
Hell Bent
’s command pilot croaked. “I understand the problem, I sympathize, but … but this is mutiny, sir, not to mention about a hundred other crimes. Surely there must be a better way. A legal way. Surely?”

“I wish there was, Lieutenant, but trust me, there isn’t,” Michael said. “I would not be sitting here doing this if there was a better way. I hate doing this to you, putting you on the spot. I know it’s not fair, but that’s just the way it is. I know you don’t know me well enough to trust me, but sometimes in life that’s just the way things turn out. That’s the real question here: Are you prepared to trust me or not? There’s nothing more I can tell you. You know everything we know. Now it’s for you to decide.”

“Do I have to decide this instant?” Acharya said, anguished.

“I’m afraid so. Anyone who cannot go along with this will be off-loaded when we drop in a couple of hours. You have to decide now.”

“Shit,” Acharya muttered. “Sorry, sir, but that’s one hell of an ask.” His head went down and stayed there.

“I know,” Michael said. “You think about it for a moment. Petty Officer Krilic?”

“Sir?”

“You’re a bit quiet.”

Krilic sighed. “I am, sir, but only because I’ve decided.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. Part of me … no, that’s not right. Most of me wants to agree with you. Like most spacers, I’m not happy with the way Fleet’s handling things, not happy at all, but I can’t go along with you. I’m sorry. Do I need to say more than that?”

“No, no, you don’t,” Michael said. “It’s your call. If you’re sure”—Krilic nodded—“that’s quite okay. Jayla?”

“Sir. Come with me, Petty Officer Krilic.”

The silence continued long after the pair had left. Michael, conscious of all the things he needed to finish before
Redwood
dropped into normalspace, forced himself to wait. Operation Gladiator needed Acharya. At last, his head lifted. He looked Michael right in the eye.

“You have no right to ask me to be part of Gladiator, sir … none at all, and I will resent what you’ve done to me here for as long as I live. It’s wrong, so wrong I even don’t know where to start. So I won’t waste your time trying. Suffice it to say”—Michael held his breath—“that you can count me in, sir.”

Michael breathed out slowly. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Please, sir, don’t thank me.” Acharya’s tone turned abrupt, sharp. “Let’s be very clear. I’m not doing it for you.”

Michael blinked. Acharya might have volunteered, but that did not mean he should be part of Gladiator. Was he agreeing to go along just to be the hero, the spacer who saved the Federation from the worst mutiny in Fleet history? Acharya was a smart man, but even smart people were stupid sometimes. Michael knew he had been.

“I understand that,” Michael said. “So tell me why you are doing it. I need to know. If I’m to trust you,” he added under his breath.

“Well, sir. Petty Officer Krilic’s partly right, but there’s more to it. Twenty months ago, I was part of MARFOR 3. We’d
embarked in
Tourville
and were training flat out for the invasion of Commitment. Then the Hammers kicked our ass at Comdur. Since then, all I’ve done is training, training, and more training, and for what? I’ll be dead before we ever invade the Hammers. I’ve not seen action once, which was why I was more than happy when posted to
Redwood
. With your reputation, sir, I was damn sure I wouldn’t be sitting around scratching my ass waiting to do my next training sim, even though I didn’t grind my way through combat flight school to go through this war picking off Hammer signal intelligence stations one by one. Sorry, sir, don’t mean to … you know …”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I know I’m only a no-account junior officer,” Acharya continued, “but like Krilic, I’m not happy with the way things have been going, and I’m willing to try another way. I have nothing personal against the Hammers. They haven’t killed anyone who matters to me and I haven’t lost anyone I’d call a friend, but this war cannot go on. So if you’ll have me, I’d like to be in. It might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done, and my dad will kill me when he sees me again, but so be it.”

Michael looked keenly at Acharya, acutely aware that for all the passion he showed, he was an unknown quantity. After a moment’s consideration and encouraged by Acharya’s directness, he made his decision.

“Good,” he said. “Welcome to the team. When we’re back in pinchspace, there’ll be a detailed briefing, followed by our first sim. I’ll comm you the full operations plan the moment we’re done here. Any more questions?”

“No, sir,” Acharya said, his voice betraying not a hint of uncertainty or doubt. “None.”

“Good. You carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Acharya had left, Michael turned to Sedova. “Have I made the right call?”

“Yes, sir, you have,” Sedova said; she looked relieved. “He’s an unknown quantity, I agree, but what I’ve seen of him so far is good, and we need another assault lander pilot. Lot of anger and frustration after sitting on the bench for so many months, too much maybe, but that’s a good thing for us, I think.”

* * *

“Captain, sir.”

“Yes, Jayla?”

“We’ll be dropping in thirty minutes, sir. If you’ve got any last vidmails to go, you need to get them finished.”

“Just doing that, Jayla, thanks. Our abstainers ready to go?”

“They are, sir. The marines will be loading them into the lifepods any minute now.”

“Okay. If you need me, I’ll be in the CIC once I’ve been down to wish them luck.”

“Sir.”

Michael scanned the last of the personal vidmails he had spent so much time and effort finishing. The one to his parents had been easy: a copy of Hartspring’s message, a short summary of what he planned to do and why, and a plea for patience and understanding.

The vidmails to Vice Admiral Jaruzelska and President Diouf had been far from easy. Second only to his parents and Anna, Jaruzelska and Diouf had faith in him when he most needed it; they would be deeply wounded by what to them would appear, quite justifiably, to be an act of unbelievable treachery. He had labored for hours trying to explain himself to them, but the words never came out right no matter how hard he tried. Resigned, he gave up trying and sent the messages on their way. Jaruzelska and Diouf would receive them when the lifepods holding the abstainers were rescued; he was glad he would not be around to see their reactions.

There was one last message to go, to Nyleth’s operations officer. It was easy, and then it was on its way. One thing was certain: The woman was in for the shock of her life when she opened her mail in ten days’ time. Michael hated leaving any of his people drifting in deepspace for that long before they were recovered, but there was no way he would rely on the Fed government to do the right thing. He would wager good money the first thing the morons would have done—apart from panicking—was to warn the Hammers that the dreadnoughts were on their way. So they could be allowed to find out only after it was all over.

Moving aft and up from his cabin, Michael made his way to the lobby accessing lifepods 7- and 9-Golf. There he found a
disconsolate line of abstainers waiting to leave under the watchful gaze of Lieutenant Kallewi, Sergeant Tchiang, and four armed marines. Michael nodded his approval. He knew the abstainers would not make any trouble; they would be bored but safe, and they knew it. If there was one thing Fleet was good at, it was recovering wayward lifepods, and Michael had left their exact position and vector; still, it was good to see Kallewi taking nothing for granted.

When he approached, Leading Spacer Jackson spotted him. Turning, he started toward Michael, two marines moving to hold him back.

“Let me go!” Jackson said. “I just want to say goodbye.”

“It’s okay, guys,” Michael said to the marines. He looked at Jackson for a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry to lose you, Jackson. I hoped you’d be coming along.”

“I’m sorry, too, sir. I know Lieutenant Sedova thinks I’m too rule-bound, too rigid, and maybe I am, but whatever the reason, Gladiator’s just not something I can be part of. Wish it was but”—Jackson shrugged his shoulders—“it’s not. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Michael said. “You’re doing your duty the best way you know how. Nobody can criticize you for that, ever.” Michael grasped Jackson’s hand and shook it. “Good luck, and don’t think too badly of us. Whether we like it or not, fate sometimes gives us hard choices, and this has been one of those times.”

Jackson was overwhelmed by the moment, and his eyes filled with tears. “You take care, sir. I’ll be thinking of you. Good luck. I hope things work out.” With a final squeeze of the hand, he turned and ducked into the lifepod.

Michael shook hands with Lomidze and Krilic in turn. Neither spoke; they turned away and climbed into the lifepod.

“That’s it, sir,” Kallewi said when the lifepod hatches swung shut. “All loaded.”

“Good. Close the access doors. I’ll be in the CIC for the launch.”

“Sir.”

   Michael sat back in his seat while the navigation AI recomputed
Redwood
’s position. He was prepared to do many
things; dropping the lifepods into the wrong patch of deepspace was not one of them.

“Lifepod drop position and vector confirmed nominal, sir,” the AI said at last.

“Roger.” Michael checked that the AI had gotten it right before he patched his neuronics through to the lifepod holding the spacers. “Command, 7-Golf.”

“7-Golf.” Petty Officer Krilic accepted the comm.

“We’ll be launching you shortly. You guys all set?”

“Yes, we are, sir,” Krilic replied. “Both lifepods are nominal, and we have everyone’s mail. We’re ready.”

“Good. We’ve confirmed your position and vector; they are so close to what I’ve advised Nyleth that it makes no difference. It’ll take them a while to get to you, but they will make it, so hang in there.”

“Will do, sir. Thanks and good luck. 7-Golf, out.”

Two minutes later, two faint thuds announced the launch of the lifepods. Phase 2 of Operation Gladiator was over. He commed Sedova.

“
Alley Kat
, this is command.”

“Command,
Alley Kat
. Go ahead.”

“You all set?”

“In two, sir. The marines and their repairbots are loaded. Acharya and his team are just securing the demolition charges.”

“Roger that. You are approved to launch when ready. Advise when locked in to
Red River
.”

“Command,
Alley Kat
, roger. Approved to launch, advise when locked in.
Alley Kat
, out.”

Michael commed Ferreira. “How are things?” he asked.

“Bienefelt and her team have locked out and have started work. She estimates she’ll have all excess antennas and equipment cut away and jettisoned inside three hours.”

“Roger.”

Michael sat back and commed Mother.

Her avatar popped into his neuronics. “Yes, Michael?” she said.

“The missile off-load. How’s progress?”

“Just about to get the first batch outboard. I hope Fleet appreciates the effort we’re making.”

Michael chuckled; the chances of Fleet appreciating anything he did were zero. “How long?”

“At least twelve hours. We have, let me see … yes, we have 4,212 missiles to off-load, and it’s a slow process.”

“I know. Keep me posted.”

“Roger.”

Michael hated the idea of cutting his missile load down to only three salvos of Merlins fitted with reentry-hardened warheads, but there would be no time for the dreadnoughts to fire any more. The additional missiles had to go; they only added unnecessary mass. He started to think of what problems not having enough missiles might create when Sedova brought his review to a halt.