“Lieutenant, it goes without saying that you must forget everything that you’ve seen and heard today. I trust you are clear on that point?”
The Lieutenant was. He’d spent the first two years of his war on a fleet carrier, and as interesting as it had been, he’d felt ready for a new challenge. Obligingly, his CO had asked him if he might be interested in a temporary attachment to fleet intel. The lieutenant applied, was accepted, and found his new duties within the intelligence sector as challenging as they’d been exhilarating. The only downside was that he wasn’t allowed to talk about any of them, which was a pity as they would have made for some great stories over a few beers at the Officers’ Club.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I can barely remember what it was that I’m supposed to forget.”
“Good for you,” said Faulkner.
Chapter 21: Serving the Alliance
Fleet Intelligence HQ, Trinity Base
“Is it done?” said Torrance.
“Yes, sir,” said Brigadier Faulkner. “I have to report that Admiral Stewart’s shuttle went out of control on its final approach into Trinity this morning, crashing just inside the perimeter fence. There were no survivors. At least, that is the story which will be released to the press.”
“When?”
“In a day or two… once the debris has been cleared away.”
“Who else knows about it?”
“In all, less than a dozen people,” said Faulkner. “The agent that identified Stewart when he made the pass to Franklin, the operatives who arranged the shuttle accident and the people now involved in Stewart’s interrogation. All trusted men and women.”
“The shuttle was unmanned, I take it?”
“Not exactly, sir, The impact was severe enough to make identification impossible but it was necessary to give the investigators something to find…”
“Who, exactly?”
“Three war casualties. It was all done above board, sir. The three in question had all bequeathed their remains to the state.”
“Probably not the end they had in mind…”
“Perhaps not, but in sense, just as worthwhile.”
“And the shuttle?”
“A remote drone, controlled from within the Fleet Intelligence building.”
“So where is Stewart now?”
“He’s off-world, in a very secure location. One where he will remain until…” He let his voice trail off.
Torrance was under no illusions as to what lay in store for his former friend and ally. Stewart would be interrogated in exactly the same manner as Franklin. He would be broken – taken apart piece by piece until everything about the former admiral of the carrier fleet was laid bare. But unlike Franklin, Stewart would be neither reassembled nor offered remission in return for his co-operation. Once the interrogation was complete he would be charged with treason and tried by secret military tribunal. The tribunal could return only one possible verdict – guilty as charged. And for such crimes there was but one punishment. Stewart would pay the ultimate price for his transgressions. His only concession would be the choice between firing squad and lethal injection. Now there’s a hell of a decision to have to make.
“I suppose it’s better this way,” said Torrance. “A public trial would have been… messy.”
“To say the least,” said Faulkner. “Aside from the morale issue, it would have alerted the Combine that we had broken part of their spy ring.”
“So we give him a ‘posthumous’ medal and bury him with full military honors?”
“Something like that, yes. Make a few stirring speeches and tell the troops that Stewart died on active duty, doing what he loved best – serving the Alliance.”
“Did he say why..? Why he betrayed everything he was supposed to stand for?”
“Yes, sir, he did,” said Faulkner. “He claimed that it was for moral considerations rather than personal or financial gain. He honestly believed that it was the humanitarian thing to do. To use his own words, he was as disgusted as he was appalled with the incessant slaughter and waste of resources. He saw the war as an obscenity and believed that aiding the Combine was the speediest way of bringing the conflict to an end.”
“How long had it been going on?”
“Since before he was appointed to the Joint Chiefs.”
Torrance shook his head. “Then it’s surprising that we’re still in this war at all. God only knows how much information he’s had access to. He could have given them anything.”
“He said he was surprised that he hadn’t been caught sooner, especially after the Operation Zealous debacle. Certainly, he’d left all his affairs in order. I rather suspect he knew that contacting Franklin would be fatal.”
“To just himself, or to countless others?” snorted Torrance.
“In both respects, he seemed fully aware of the consequences of his actions.”
“That may be,” said Torrance, “but it fails to make the pill any less bitter, or easier to swallow. I for one will be grateful to put this sorry business behind us.”
“As will I,” said Faulkner. “However, it occurs to me that we now have an opportunity to turn it to our advantage.”
“In what way?"
“I propose,” Faulkner said carefully, “that we allow Franklin to pass on Stewart’s knowledge of Operations Blowpipe and Divisive to his handlers – at least, in some limited form.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, sir. You heard me correctly. I believe we should consider allowing Franklin to pass on Stewart’s knowledge of Operations Blowpipe and Divisive to his handlers,” repeated Faulkner.
“What on earth would we have to gain by doing that?”
“Something occurred to me, General. Would I be correct in saying that Blowpipe and Divisive are strategies that the Combine would very likely predict in any event, given the present circumstances?”
“There are other possible scenarios,” said Torrance, “but yes, the Combine will certainly be expecting something along those lines.”
“Then in a sense, we have little to lose by fuelling their suspicions. And what if we were to present the Combine with both Blowpipe and Divisive, and then convince them that one particular option – the wrong one, of course – was in fact our chosen strategy?”
“I see where you are going,” said Torrance. “Certainly, if such a deception could be achieved, the gains could be immense. Can it be done?”
“Yes, sir, I believe it can. The essential part will be to present the information in such a way that the Combine will believe they’ve discovered it for themselves. I have some suggestions as to how this might be achieved.”
“You have the floor, Brigadier.”
“As we are all well aware, the Combine have managed to disrupt communications between ourselves and the Northern Territories. I imagine considerable resources are being channeled into reopening lines of communication?”
“They are, but as yet with little success.”
“Nevertheless, the Combine will be expecting us try to make contact in some way or other. It’s vital to both us and the NT, and just as vital to the Combine that we fail. The outcome of the whole war may very well depend upon it.”
“I have no argument there,” said Torrance.
So, what I propose is this…”
Torrance listened in silence as Faulkner outlined his scheme. It was simple, it was bold. But as with so many such plans, there were also inherent risks. Success would only come at a price.
“I should warn the general that in order to ensure plausibility, we will have to place one or more of our assets in very grave danger. There will likely be a human cost…”
“Isn’t there always?” said Torrance.
“Yes, sir, there is,” said Faulkner with honesty. “But as the general stated, the gains could be enormous. In the long run, it could save tens of thousands of lives – on both sides.”
If there was one part of the job that Torran
ce hated, this was it. He was wholly prepared to make the decisions necessary to ensure a successful prosecution of the war; it went with the territory. It was his job – his and his alone. He knew that each and every day, the decisions he made would likely result in the violent death of some of his troops. All he could do was offer them such protection as he could; provide them with the best training, the finest equipment and the ablest leaders. All else was in the lap of the gods.
This, however, was not quite the same. By authorizing the mission, he could well be signing someone’s death warrant. True, it would be for the greater good but at times like this he almost felt as if he was being asked to play God himself. Do it too often and it would be all too easy to convince yourself that your powers really were godlike. It had happened to leaders before; men with absolute power who forgot what it was that made them human – an oversight ultimately harmful to themselves, but even more so to many of those who served beneath them. Luckily for Torrance, there were two forces holding him to the path of the righteous. First, there was the First Minister and the War Council; not always constant and not always dependable, but they were the source of his authority and short of a coup they had the power to remove him. Second was a far more redoubtable ally – it was his own conscience.
Torrance weighed his obligations to his troops against his responsibilities to the Alliance and knew there was only one decision he could make. At some later date it might be one he’d struggle to come to terms with, but that also came with the territory. “How soon could you put this into operation?” he asked.
“It will require a certain amount of preparation, though fortunately many of the pieces are already in place,” said Faulkner. “Perhaps three or four weeks.”
“Very well,” said Torrance. “It’s within the necessary timescale. I want a detailed proposal on my desk at your earliest convenience, Brigadier. Make it your top priority.”
Chapter 22: The Volunteer
Joint Chiefs, Trinity Base
“I’ve just returned from a meeting with Colonel Sholto and the Operational Planning Staff,” said Torrance. “They agree with our assessment that the attack on the Combine should proceed as planned. Apart from the fact that we may never again have such a favorable opportunity, they raise the valid point that over the past few months, the fleet has been steadily working up to a state of maximum readiness. That point has now been reached. Our formations are at full strength and morale is excellent – personnel are both eager and confident. Calling off the attack now would undo much of the hard work that has been put in over the past weeks and months.”
“I agree,” said Vandenberg. “The fleet is primed and ready for the offensive. We need to turn them loose or risk losing the impetus we have worked so hard to build.”
“The planning staff does, however, have some serious concerns,” continued Torrance.
“Regarding what?”
“They fear that the NT may fail to attack on schedule.”
“With respect, General, we’ve already been over this,” said Leyland. “Has something come to light that suggests the NT will fail honor their part of the agreement?”
“Not as such,” said Torrance. “But you will recall that we were unable to transmit the offensive confirmation codes to the NT.”
“And the planning staff sees this as a problem?”
“The concern is that it could introduce an element of uncertainty, the consequences of which would be difficult to predict. I see their logic – we have no way of knowing what effect the loss of communications has had on our allies. The worst case scenario would be doubt, followed by indecision and vacillation.”
“The NT have been resolute enough to date.”
“That they have,” conceded Torrance. “Our allies have fought with both skill and tenacity. We assume they will continue do so, but the Operational Planning Staff does not believe that we should rely on assumption alone. The risks are very real.”
“So where do we go from here?” said Monk.
“There seem to be very few choices available to us,” said Torrance. “Since we can’t send a message through normal channels, we must deliver one in person.”
“And how do we go about that?” said Leyland.
“The old fashioned way – with a fast ship and a brave man.”
* * *
Alliance assault carrier Rampart, Falkrys space dock
Pausing to give his uniform a quick check, Major Redmayne set his cap straight on his head and then knocked smartly on the door of the Rampart’s commanding officer.
“Come,” said the voice from within. As Redmayne entered, Captain Mackem looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk
“Requesting permission to disembark, sir,” said Redmayne.
“Ah, come on in, Bill,” he said. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Redmayne.
“Paperwork,” said the captain in mock despair. “If the Combine doesn’t get me, this lot surely will. And they say the pen is mightier than the sword… I don’t know who thought that one up but the bastard deserves hanging up by the thumbs.”
That at least raised a half smile, thought Mackem, studying Redmayne’s face carefully. He paused momentarily before continuing. “As I’m sure you already know, the chief will be interred in the military cemetery planet side – he’s to be buried with full honors. I gather the ceremony begins at noon tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” said Redmayne.
“I’ll be there,” said Mackem. “So will the XO.”
“That’s good of you, sir. The XO too.”
“The chief was one of the good guys, Bill. It’s the least he deserves. I suppose the only good news – if you can call it that – is that he was the only aircrew casualty.”
“And the marines?”
“Twenty six dead, forty three wounded and another dozen missing. Out of six hundred deployed.”
“Was it worth the price?”
“So they tell me. The Combine base on Indigo will be out of commission for weeks, if not months, and I understand the liberated tech wizards have brought back some high value data regarding Combine weapons research. Whether that’s good news or bad depends on your point of view. Good, because we now know what they’re up to, and bad, because if the rumors are true, they’re developing some pretty potent weaponry. But… as is usually the way with these things, by the time they get their new weapons into service I imagine we’ll have upgraded our armor and shields to counter.”
“And the game will begin afresh.”
“Yes,” said Mackem with gravity. If only it were just a game… “And as for you, have you received your orders?”
“Not yet,” said Redmayne. “I’ve been granted extended leave. Six weeks.”
“Any plans?”
“No, not really. I don’t have anywhere particular to go – no family to speak of. I’m not sure what I’ll do with the time, to be honest. Just take it easy, I guess. After that, I imagine I’ll be posted to an Operational Training Unit. That’s generally how it plays out.”
“You don’t sound thrilled at the prospect.”
“You’d think I would be, wouldn’t you?”
“Not necessarily,” said Mackem. “I’ve seen it happen before, especially after a difficult tour of duty. You count off the days until the end of the deployment and then at the end of it all, you find that you don’t want to leave. It’s an emotional tug of war with you stuck right in middle. I know – I’ve been there myself.”
“Well, you know what they say… it is what it is.”
“Bill, I don’t suggest this lightly, but if you feel like deferring your leave…” Mackem let the suggestion hang in the air.
“Is there anything on offer?”
“Yeah, a couple of things. There’s a berth going at sector HQ – Assistant Flight Ops Coordinator. It would make a change from front line service. I could put your name forward if you like.”
“Sector HQ? Not sure if I’m ready
to start flying a desk at the present time. I don’t think my piloting skills are up to the job.”
“I shouldn’t worry about that,” said Mackem, gesturing the papers in front of him. “Neither are mine.”
“You said there was another option?”
“Perhaps… if you’re interested…”
“Sir?”
“Fleet is looking for volunteers.”
“For what?”
“I’ve no idea. Whatever it is, it’s highly classified. All I can tell you is that it comes from the very top, and that they are looking for people of the highest caliber.”
“What kind of highest caliber?”
“The usual lengthy list… intelligent, capable, committed, independent… resolute under fire is in there too.”
“And you think I fit the bill?”
“Only if it’s what you want. That’s a prerequisite too.”
“I see,” said Redmayne. It wasn’t unusual for the fleet or the carrier wing to ask for volunteers, though in fairness, they usually told you in advance what you were being asked to volunteer for. Not only was this particular mission classified, it was from the top. And that made him curious. More than that, he found it intriguing; exciting, even.
Redmayne was ready to leave the Rampart but the last thing he wanted was to sit around twiddling his thumbs for six weeks until his next posting. Almost as bad was the thought of being stuck in an office at HQ for eight hours a day, the starched collar of his No2 dress shirt chaffing his neck as rode his keyboard into battle.
He wanted another spell of active duty. It was that simple. He wondered if it was guilt at leaving the front lines so soon after the death of the chief. In part, it almost certainly was, but this wasn’t a debt he owed to the chief. This was something he owed to himself; he had unfinished business.
“Tell fleet they’ve got themselves a volunteer,” he said.
Chapter 23: The Raven
Trinity base
Across Enemy Space Page 24