Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (18 page)

He stood outside the cabin for a beat while he finished his last bite. Litovio then wiped his mouth to ensure there were no crumbs, then straightened his uniform. Satisfied, he knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Litovio entered, turning to the door as he closed it back. He turned around. As soon as he saw Ravindra, he froze.

“Good morning, Litovio.” Ravindra said.

“Uh, good morning to you, Sir. Admiral.”
Why hadn't I anticipated that he would be here?
Going to meet a superior officer without intermediates knowing was a serious affront to authority. Now Ravindra knew Litovio was going behind his back. Litovio glanced at each senior officer in turn, noticing that Bence appeared more relieved with Litovio's entrance.

“I'm pleased you could join us, Litovio.” Bence said. “We were just discussing next steps. It seems we in the IPS
Imperial Postal Service
lacks any doctrine in fleet maneuvers. That means we have less than three weeks to come up with one, then persuade the ships meeting at
Moyaba
to follow that doctrine. Have you any ideas?”

Litovio swallowed hard at the request, and wished he had stopped to drink something before he entered. His mouth was already dry from the hurried meal. He looked at the deck, glancing over at Ravindra, who was clearly not pleased by Litovio's breach of protocol.
Fine. Serendipity.

“I believe I still have most of the Navy's manuals on my slate, Sir. I think I can pick out the salient portions.”

“And what would those be?” Ravindra said.

Litovio chose his words carefully. “The first would be command and control, Sir. Admiral Bence would direct the fleet's actions, which the various commanders would have to obey. Though, as admiral, he would not command a ship himself when there are multiple ships. Day-to-day operations would remain with the ship's commander.”

Ravindra nodded. “Precisely. Command and control is absolutely essential for success in any service.”

The reprimand was clear. Litovio knew he would pay for being there, even though he was not an official member of the
Spaka
crew. He needed to dig himself out.

“That also means this is the flagship, Sir. A position of prestige. There are also key maneuvers which would be central to any combat fleet. Targeting protocols, need to ensure the flagship is protected, at the center of the fleet.”

“Do you think you have time to put that together?” Bence looked more worried than Litovio thought he did before.

What is it about the Admiral that is putting me off?
“It shouldn't take too long to find the material and get it compiled. I should have something before we jump to the next system. Commander, how long would I have?”

“We have about two cycles before we get to the libration point we need, then it depends on how well the AI can come up with a three-9s solution that the fleet could use.”

Litovio had not thought of fleet jumps. When AI calculated a jump, it needed to take into account all manner of known gravimetric disturbance. Libration points were parts of a solar system where the combined gravitational force of all celestial bodies canceled one another out, a place where the fabric of realspace was susceptible of being breached. Then calculating the jump to the other system required levels of compute power barely within the scope of the ships themselves. Military ships carried powerful enough AI to do the work. Civilian ships relied on the system's primary AI to do most of the computations, with the civilian AI tweaking the final setting before departure.

The problem was constancy. Leaving realspace required you have everything lined up just right to return on the other side. Wrong velocity and you might miss your landing zone, or pass beyond the ability to return to realspace. Travel time was another factor. The one that worried travelers more was emergence. The wrong combination of gravimetric forces could cause the ship to have a grossly delayed emergence—from hours to years. Failed emergence became horrific during the Decline. Ships thought delayed due to the Decline would appear decades later as ghost ships. Some are seen perpetually half-emerged. Three-9s meant the highest likelihood of time, location and emergence. Eights were good enough for most travel, but a fleet operation needed the precision of nines.

“I don't want the material to look like it came from the Navy. That would send the wrong message,” Commander Ravindra said.

What message would it send? That we have no clue what we're doing? I'm pretty sure those waiting for us at Moyaba know that, too.
Years of listening to his father's lectures taught Litovio that a rich imagination helped him keep his thoughts to himself. “That might take a bit longer. I should be able to strip out references to the Navy. But, if you want me to do a complete rewrite, that could easily take months. Besides, there's normally a review and comment period.”

“I don't think a complete rewrite is required. But, let's see if we can't ensure it looks vetted.” Bence let his rank settle the debate.

Litovio glanced over at Ravindra soon enough to catch the flash of shock on the Commander's face.

“Does that even matter, Sir?” Ravindra said. “It's not like anybody will challenge your authority or your doctrines.”

Bence shook his head. “That's not the point. It can be safe to assume the fleet will obey me. After all, I have the authority of the Auspicious Emperor. Have you given consideration to the consequences of what we're doing?”

“That we're running headlong into certain death?” Ravindra scoffed.

“That's short-term thinking. Litovio, what are the long-term consequences of our endeavor?”

Another fast glance at Ravindra, who looked less pleased than before. Litovio said, “one likely consequence is a shortened career as Commander Ravindra said. However, if we manage to pull off a victory, then the Postal Marines will have to start operating like a fleet more frequently. We can't assume the Navy would let the Marines thrash one of their fleets, even if it is rogue.”

“When we defeat the Navy, the doctrine you're putting together will become standard fare, right. There will likely not be time for a committee of esteemed postmasters to deliberate over the document after. It has to look considered and everlasting. Understood?”

The dryness in Litovio's mouth again caught up to him. “Understood. But there's a strong chance the Navy might harbor resentment if we win. Is there anything else you need?”

“That should be enough. You should probably start writing as soon as you finish lunch.”

Litovio took a moment to smile. “I think I can start without lunch.” He saluted Admiral Bence and nodded to Ravindra. He then briskly exited the stateroom. His fear caught up to him, but he managed to keep his lunch down. Without looking back, he headed down the passage.

Bophendze's fear was as tangible as it was imaginary. He walked cautiously down the passage from his berthing area heading toward the aft gun. The fear grew with each step.
Makaan
is going to kill me. He is waiting for me at the aft gun.

“But he can't be at the aft gun. He is still in sick bay. That's not an area of the ship marines frequent. Why would he go there. Wait. Why am I going to the aft gun?”

Bophendze searched his memory.
Wasn't it the dog watch? Why would I be going to the aft gun during the dog watch? Nobody actually mans that gun during the dog watch unless the ship is on alert. We're not on alert, so why am I going there?

No, it wasn't the dog shift. It was first shift. That was it.
He felt more assured. He knew it could not be dog watch. He was confident now. He should be going to the aft gun.
Why did I ever doubt myself? I want to get to the aft gun.

He hurried down the passage. As he did, his fear continued to build.
Makaan
will be at the aft gun and it is dog watch. He is going to try to kill me, and there is nobody there to witness it. He is going to launch me out of an air lock and I'll be missing.

I'm being silly.
Makaan
is still in sick bay. The aft gun is a safe place. Relax.

No.
Makaan
should still be in sick bay, but he won't be. He will be waiting for me at the aft gun. But why will he be waiting for me? Why do I know this?

This is only a dream. Go back to sleep.
The thought was confident and direct, cutting through his doubt and fear.
Yes, this is dog shift, but you are in your rack sleeping. This is just a bad dream. In this dream it is first shift and you are heading to the aft gun. Relax.

Bophendze tried to relax. The thought was so convincing, but his fear refused to ebb. The dream felt too real for him to relax. Something about the dream did not feel right.
Did I dream that I dropped by sick bay and challenged
Makaan
earlier?

I certainly did not. Where did that thought come from? Even in a dream that would be ludicrous.
Makaan
would have my guts for garters. Who would want to dream that? You're just dreaming of going to the aft gun during the first shift to do your normal duty.

Would
Makaan
really have my guts for garters?
The thought seemed alien as it echoed in his mind. Bophendze felt something was wrong, but he could not tell what. He continued to head toward the aft gun, settling into the dream. The fear continued, but he finally accepted the dream's reality.

Smee? What is going on?

Smee was silent, again. Whenever Bophendze felt panicked and sought Smee's advice, he was notably absent. That concerned Bophendze. Smee always choose to be silent when Bophendze needed him most. He conveniently chose to abandon him, like he did after the fight planetside. A fight he instigated and single-handedly won.
Why would Smee show up in my dream?

The dream Bophendze arrived at the aft gun. It was not first watch, though. It was dog watch. He was not alone, either.
Makaan
stood waiting. He wore his duty uniform, with its mottled blotches of gray, white and black. Bile rose to Bophendze's mouth and he swallowed it back down.

“When you came by the sick bay and threatened me,”
Makaan
said, “I thought you were joking. You would be a fool to do so. I came down here to prove to myself that you were as spineless now as when I met you. And here you are, ready to fight to the death.”

What? I didn't challenge him. Smee, you did this?
“There must be some mistake. We can work this out.” The words leaked out of Bophendze's mouth.

“We will, but not like you hoped. I promised you that I would kill you. I can't let what you do go unpunished. That would make me appear too weak. That you so easily gave me my chance just proves how stupid you are.”
Makaan
drew his combat knife. “Are you going to run or put up a fight?”

Words taken out of my mind.
Bophendze thought.
Run!

Bophendze's body failed to respond to his simple direction, just like any dream. Instead of running back down the passage, he squared off against
Makaan
. Bophendze's thumb produced a creaking noise by rubbing it against his forefinger audibly. He took a boxing stance.

Makaan
laughed. “This isn't a boxing match, boy. You're making this too easy.”

Easy? I'm trying to run. My body's just not letting me.
Bophendze tried to open his mouth to protest.

“Your mother's easy.” Bophendze heard himself say.

Makaan
squinted his eyes. As if in slow motion, he began to lunge at Bophendze.

What is going on here? Oh, no! Smee!

Don't worry, Puppet. He's nothing but meat.

Smee, using Bophendze's body, closed faster than
Makaan
. He blocked
Makaan
's knife in passing, directing it harmlessly away from Bophendze. He threw an upper cut with his right hand while driving up with his legs, catching
Makaan
squarely under the jaw.
Makaan
's head rocked back, seemingly unprepared.
Makaan
's eyes flashed momentary surprise.

Smee rotated his torso, loading up his left fist. He kept eye contact with
Makaan
.
Makaan
prepared for another blow to the face, lifting his arm to block.

Instead, Smee stabbed his fist in a shovel hook just under
Makaan
's floating ribs.
Makaan
buckled under the perfect liver shot.

Dropping to one knee, Smee threw a palm heel upward, into
Makaan
's scrotum. The force of the blow lifted
Makaan
slightly into the air.
Makaan
reflexively bent over and staggered backward.

Smee stood back up and grabbed
Makaan
's bowed head. He then slammed his knee into
Makaan
's face, crushing his nose.
Makaan
fell face first to the deck unconscious. Smee stood squarely with a perfectly balanced stance. He was ready for another round.

Puppet, that is how you deal with a threat. You don't hope he goes away. You make him go away.

Is he dead?

Smee bent over and checked
Makaan
's pulse at his neck.
Makaan
's breathing was shallow, and Bophendze could feel
Makaan
's steady pulse tapping against his fingers.

He's still breathing, but he's dead.

He's not dead. He still has a pulse. I felt it.

Smee kicked
Makaan
's knife away from where it lay near Makaan. He stood over Makaan and tried to lift him off the ground. Bophendze struggled to regain control of his body, but it was a futile effort. Several times Smee struggled to pick Makaan up before he settled on just lifting Makaan by the shoulders and dragging him.

You need to lift more weights,
Makaan
's not that heavy.

Smee dragged
Makaan
's body toward the aft gun turret's munition airlock.