Triumphant

by Jack Campbell

  “Commodore Geary told me he can’t stop them,” Mele said as she studied the schematics. “Not unless they do something really stupid that he can exploit. We have to assume one of those warships will try to park itself near this facility to provide fire support to their soldiers.”

  Sergeant Moon frowned. “Permission to speak freely?”

  “Granted. And don’t ask me that again. I want your candid opinions.”

  “Yes, Captain. How much can we count on the destroyer? Saber, I mean. How hard will they push to support us against the odds they’re facing?”

  Mele gave Moon a sidelong look. “You’re asking if we can count on the fleet? Gunny, that’s Rob Geary commanding Saber. If there’s any way to do it, he will. Even if the risks are awful.”

  “Captain, I heard at Kosatka you were pretty much on your own.”

  “Saber was dealing with the invasion fleet,” Mele said, “and still managed to take out some of the shuttles sending troops against us at Kosatka, and kept their warships busy. I knew going in that we’d be on our own most of the time, but I also knew that if I’d yelled for him, the Commodore would’ve pushed space and time itself to get there for me. We can count on him to do everything possible, and maybe a few things that anyone else would know was impossible.”

  “That’s good to know.” Moon pointed out places on the schematics. “Barricades are going in here, here, and here. We’ve got people cutting new accesses and installing new hatches where they weren’t before, putting armored partitions in place where open passages are supposed to be, and other modifications to the station so when those attackers come in using schematics based on the original plans they’ll get real lost real fast. These other passages and access tubes are going to be completely plugged.”

  “We’re booby-trapping the plugs?”

  “Yes, Captain. Anyone trying to blast or cut through them fast is going to get some nasty surprises.”

  “Good.” Mele indicated an access tube that wasn’t marked for barricading. “How about the modifications here?”

  Sergeant Moon grinned. “I’m overseeing those myself. The modifications to these paths are designed so that anyone who finds them and tries to head inward will get easily confused and think they’re running into multiple dead ends, while also running into a lot of traps oriented toward anyone coming from that direction. You need to know the specific tricks to get through all that on each path. But any counterattacks we send heading outward through those paths won’t have any trouble moving fast.”

  “What did you say they call them?”

  “Diode routes,” Moon explained. “Because a diode only allows a circuit to flow in one direction. I personally think it’s a misleading name. The paths are more like transistors, which are optimized for current to travel in one direction but can allow current through the other way, though not nearly as—”

  “Got it,” Mele said. “You know what one of the hardest parts of an officer’s job is, Gunny?”

  “Figuring out what to do with all of your free time?”

  “That’s not the part I was thinking about.” Senior enlisted had always insisted that officers didn’t actually do anything, leaving the real work to the senior enlisted. “No. Figuring out how much I need to know about something to make decisions, and then moving on to the next thing instead of focusing on details my people should be handling.”

  Sergeant Moon nodded. “I’d noticed that you seem to have a handle on that, Captain. With all due respect, not all officers figure that out.”

  “Yeah. Grant Duncan helped me understand that kind of thing when we were throwing together troops to take down Scatha’s illegal settlement on Glenlyon.”

  Moon nodded again, this time respectfully. “From all I hear, Grant Duncan was a great soldier.”

  “He was. I wish you’d had a chance to meet him.” Mele gazed at the schematics of the facility, her thoughts going to places she usually tried to avoid visiting. “But even being the greatest won’t save you if you happen to be in the wrong place when a chunk of metal goes through it really fast.” She paused, trying to rally her mood.

  “Are you okay, Captain?” Moon asked.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. Absent friends, you know.” The ping of another incoming message provided a welcome distraction for Mele. She read it, feeling her spirits lift. “We’re getting reinforcements. Colonel Menziwa is, um, lending us her reconnaissance company and a heavy weapons platoon.”

  “The recon company?” Moon asked, surprised. “That’s her best. How’d you convince the colonel to send them up here?”

  Mele shrugged. “I might’ve mentioned to someone who could mention to someone who could give orders to Menziwa about how much I could use those particular soldiers.”

  “Oh, man. Colonel Menziwa must be . . . very unhappy.”

  She responded with only a slight nod this time, feeling a grim satisfaction for not just the physical reinforcements but for what those reinforcements represented in a broader sense. The government wouldn’t have decided to send those soldiers up to the facility unless it really intended to try to successfully defend it. Mele wouldn’t have to worry about her Marines being sacrificed in a symbolic and hopeless last stand. They’d be fighting a battle that Glenlyon was determined to win.

  When he arrived at the orbital facility the next day, the commander of the recon company, Captain Batra, seemed as unhappy as Colonel Menziwa must be. He rendered Mele a salute as stiff and formal as his posture and tone of voice. “I understand we need to work out coordination procedures, Captain Darcy.”

  “Coordination procedures?” Mele asked, her own voice calm but unyielding.

  “Since our units will be operating in the same area,” Captain Batra added. About ten years older than Mele and physically a bit larger, Batra leaned in slightly, trying to get her to back off.

  Mele didn’t budge. She’d played that sort of game before. “You’ve seen your orders, Captain Batra. Your unit won’t be simply operating in the same area as my Marines. Your orders place your unit, and you, under my command.”

  Batra barely hesitated. “Colonel Menziwa informed me that she was seeking to have that corrected.”

  “Colonel Menziwa can seek all she wants,” Mele said, not giving a millimeter in the argument. “As of now, you’re under my command. Will you follow your orders?”

  Captain Batra eyed her, his mouth a thin, hard line, before finally nodding. “Yes, Captain Darcy. I will follow my orders.”

  “Good. You know what we’re facing.”

  “I have one question,” Batra said, anger still dancing in his eyes. “Is this a forlorn hope? Or do we have any chance? I ask not for myself, but for the men and women in my company.”

  Mele gave him a brief nod in return. “We have a chance. I’m not eager to see my Marines sacrificed, either. If we can hold out long enough, those enemy warships will have to withdraw to resupply themselves.”

  “What if the enemy sends new supplies?” Batra pressed.

  “Commodore Geary believes he can frustrate any attempt at resupply.”

  Captain Batra paused, thinking, then nodded. “I understand. Our goal is to prevent the enemy from winning before they run low on supplies and are forced to withdraw. A classic siege defense situation. What is your plan?”

  Mele nodded toward a display with a schematic of the facility on it. “To hide our strike groups in the core of this place, where the weapons on those enemy warships can’t target us, while launching frequent and unpredictable counterattacks against areas of the facility the enemy has occupied.”

  “I see.” Batra studied the layout. “You think the initial attack will come in that area?”

  “Commodore Geary thinks they’ll be worried that we might have antiorbital weapons mounted on the surface of the planet, so they’ll come in from an angle that puts the facility between their ships
and the surface of Glenlyon. I had the facility tilted in orbit so the enemy will come in at the best place for us and the hardest places for them.”

  “I see. I wouldn’t have thought of adjusting the battlefield that way,” Batra admitted.

  “It’s a Marine thing,” Mele said. “We’re trained to think that way.”

  “I see,” Batra said again. “Why don’t we have any antiorbital weapons?”

  “Limited resources,” Mele said. “Didn’t Colonel Menziwa brief you on that? The government had to decide where to allocate limited amounts of construction capacity and raw materials. Up-to-date battle armor and hand weapons got priority.”

  Batra had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Equipment that went to expanding the ground forces.”

  “And my Marines,” Mele conceded. “It wasn’t necessarily a bad decision, even now. A single antiorbital weapon would have eaten up a lot of resources, and would have been in danger of being itself destroyed by something like a light cruiser. Now, get your people settled and your equipment off-loaded. We’ll work out the best combat positions for your company and my Marines to greet the enemy. I welcome your input on the best placement for your heavy weapons platoon. We’ll need to run a lot of training in the days left to us so your people can get accustomed to the facility and learn the ways around it.”

  “I concur,” Batra said, which sounded far too much like the words of an equal rather than a subordinate.

  Mele knew why he was doing that. She also knew she couldn’t permit it.

  “One other thing, Captain Batra.” Mele paused a moment, fixing Batra with a look as cold as she could make it. “You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to like the orders I give or the situation we’re in. But if you fail to obey my orders, fail to properly understand my orders, or fail to carry out your duties to the utmost, I will relieve you of your command and personally rip a hole in you big enough for your entire company to march through line abreast. Is that clear?”

  Batra nodded, his expression as impassive as if carved from stone. “Yes, Captain Darcy.”

  “If you have anything you need to get off your chest, say it now.”

  “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have . . . Captain. I know how recently you were promoted from enlisted to officer ranks.” Batra took a deep breath before continuing. “There’s a lot you don’t know yet.”

  Mele smiled at Batra in a way that made the other hesitate as if he’d been threatened. “Do you think that you’re telling me something that I don’t know?”

  “If you’re aware—”

  “I’m not finished. Captain Batra, how much of your time in the ground forces includes combat experience?”

  Batra didn’t answer for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the wall behind Mele. “As I am sure you are already aware, I did not experience combat while in the Old Colonies, and have not yet done so here.”

  “Count your blessings, Captain Batra,” Mele said, her voice hard. “It’s ugly. You’ve spent your life training to do it. That’s important. I’m not fool enough to think I know everything. But I’ve trained and led forces in combat engagements. I’ve won every one of those engagements. When you can say the same we can discuss my experience. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Batra replied in a voice that carried a wealth of suppressed emotion.

  “Then that’s all for now. After all of your people are settled, you should personally familiarize yourself with the layout of this facility. That layout is changing as we speak, so don’t depend on any schematics you brought with you.”

  Batra saluted once more, the gesture rigid, then pivoted and walked out.

  Mele studied the schematics again, but her thoughts were focused on Batra. His attitude would very likely be repeated among his junior officers and senior enlisted.

  She needed those ground forces soldiers if this facility was going to be successfully defended. But their leaders were likely to be a real pain the butt.

  What was it that Clausewitz had called stuff like this in that old book on military strategy? Friction. The junk that made everything really complicated even though it ought to be easy.

  Not that winning the fight for this orbital facility would be easy by any definition of the word. If she had to fight the ground forces leaders as well as the enemy, it’d be even harder.

  But no matter what, the outcome would be her responsibility, any failures her fault. Because she was in command here. “When troops flee, are insubordinate, distressed, collapse in disorder or are routed, it is the fault of the general.”

  Sometimes the words of Sun Tzu, another writer of ancient military advice, were no comfort at all.

  CHAPTER 4

  “You’re wrong.”

  Once more in the city of Ani at Kosatka, Carmen Ochoa bit back her first response, trying to come up with a more diplomatic one. “My assessment is based on—”

  “Your assessment is wrong,” Jayne Redman said as if correcting a child.

  Carmen counted to ten inside before saying anything else. “I’m on the scene. I’m collecting the intelligence.”

  “You’re too close to it all,” Redman said. “My office is far enough back to have the necessary perspective. And, if you’ll pardon my being blunt, we have actual trained intelligence analysts here to evaluate the available information. Analysts such as myself. Your experience is . . . self-taught. Amateur.”

  Feeling heat in her face and the muscles in her jaw tightening, Carmen sat silent. She’d learned long ago that tactic could throw off people like Redman.

  Outside, the morning was far enough along that sunbeams were surely spearing through the open sky between the empty buildings of Ani. But the dim illumination here in a bare inner room was mainly provided by the light from the screen of Carmen’s comm pad. Most of the soldiers in the unit she was with were sleeping in other rooms, so she’d chosen a separate place where any conversation wouldn’t bother them. Carmen wasn’t sure whether this room had been intended as a small office or a large closet, but it answered her need for privacy.

  After a long pause, Redman frowned at her. “We’re in the process of professionalizing this office so we can ensure the best possible support for decision makers by maximizing group dynamics, effective interaction, and synergy in analysis. If you want to be part of that process, you need to integrate yourself into the team mind-set, embrace positive priorities, and adopt positions that resonate with those reached by your colleagues.”

  Carmen shook her head. “Have you forgotten that I worked in Earth gov? I know exactly what all of those words mean. Or rather, what they don’t mean. Please don’t waste my time with meaningless phrases that sound important.” She saw that jab go home in a way that telegraphed that Jayne Redman hadn’t bothered learning much about Carmen’s past before trying to browbeat her. “My job is to give the military commander in Ani the best information I can, and the best assessment I can of what it means.”

  “Your job is what I say it is.”

  “Perhaps you should inform General Edelman of that,” Carmen said. “He thinks I’m working for him.”

  “He’s wrong, and we’re going to correct that. You’re to return to Lodz immediately for reassignment.”

  Carmen shook her head again. “Only General Edelman can give me that order.”

  “I won’t tolerate loose cannons,” Redman insisted. “Analysis will be centralized in Lodz, and individual assessments in the field will conform to central office guidance. Do you understand?”

  “I understand what you said,” Carmen replied, deliberately not adding whether or not she’d comply with the order.

  Redman glared at her wordlessly before abruptly ending the call.

  As her screen blanked, Carmen sighed and covered her face with one hand, wondering why she didn’t simply quit and go back to Domi.

  Someo
ne cleared their throat softly. Carmen looked toward the darkened doorway, hardly lit by the low lights set up in the inner hallways, and saw Captain Devish. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” Devish said.

  “Really?” Carmen said, hearing weariness in her voice instead of annoyance. “You mean you couldn’t help overhearing because you stood by that doorway while I talked?”

  “Exactly.” Devish walked into the room a couple of steps, lowering himself to sit against the wall opposite Carmen. “What’s going on?”

  She thought about how much to tell him, deciding that political games didn’t deserve any protection from her. “That was the head of Kosatka’s new Integrated Intelligence Service. Her name’s Jayne Redman. She got the ear of some people high in the government and got herself appointed to the job.”

  “Does she know what she’s doing?”

  “Supposedly.” Carmen leaned her head back against the wall behind her, feeling the cold, rough, unfinished neocrete through her hair. “She worked in an office for some big intelligence outfit on Old Earth. Exactly which one I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know the outfit or the office she worked in?”

  “Neither one. I’m not sure anyone does since when asked Redman always asserts secrecy and nondisclosure agreements that supposedly keep her from providing any details. She claims to be a skilled intelligence operative, but as far as I can tell, her main talent is empire building.”

  Captain Devish nodded. “I know the type. She wants to control the whole ship, but you’re rocking the boat.”

  “I’m not sure whether you’re mixing metaphors there or not,” Carmen said. “Yeah. Basically. You know what I’ve been telling General Edelman. The enemy forces left in Ani are on their last legs. They’re running low on every kind of supply, they know they’re trapped, and a lot of them are just soldiers for hire, not dedicated fanatics. They’re going to crack soon.”

  “I agree with you. But the new central office in Lodz disagrees?”

  Carmen shrugged to pretend the dispute didn’t anger her as much as it did. “They think the enemy will keep digging in, improving their hold on the parts of Ani they still occupy, and that the enemy retains the resolve and the means for offensive operations.”