A Vow to Sophia

by John Bowers

  Fifteen fighters. Little more than half a squadron. Landon knew in his heart the Sirians would arrive before another day had passed. They would certainly bring more than fifteen fighters; perhaps a destroyer, and probably a troop carrier. Ice chilled his heart at the thought of what would happen then. A single company of Star Marines couldn't hope to fight them off, though they would try. It would be a massacre; most of the base personnel were noncombatants, but the Sirians would bring shock troops, their own version of the marines. Lots of them.

  The worst would be those who were captured. Half the base personnel were female. Sirians were notorious for their handling of female captives.

  Fifteen fighters. He thought of Wake Island again, and knew he had only one choice. It would be controversial — hell, it would be scandalous! But it was the right thing to do.

  With a heavy heart, he left the lounge and headed for the ready room.

  * * *

  Designed to accommodate members of a single squadron, the ready room was jammed, people standing along three walls. Hawkins and Crawford were seated in the front row, Hinds stood near the door. Also present were the girls from the gunnery pool.

  Landon surveyed the assembly for a moment in silence, his face feeling numb. Most of them were under twenty-five, many still in their teens. Just damned kids. When he spoke, his voice was more hushed than usual.

  "Captain, seal that door, please."

  Hinds slapped the door control. Pilots and gunners shifted in anticipation, sensing that something momentous was coming.

  "You're all aware of the situation we face," Landon said by way of preamble. "This base is finished. The enemy knows we're here, and they know where here is. Sometime tomorrow, if not sooner, a taskforce will show up and AB-131 will fade into the history chips."

  He watched their eyes as that sank in, seeing despair, regret, and angry resentment.

  "I won't sugar-coat this for you: we have two choices. The first and most obvious is to ring this rock with fighters and exact as much blood as we can before we're overwhelmed. We only have fifteen ships, and you can bet your ass they'll bring a hundred, so we wouldn't last long. But we'd go out in a blaze of glory, like the defenders of the Alamo.

  "The other choice is to let them have it. Slip quietly away and make a run for safety. If we rip the electronics out of the gun turrets we can squeeze two extra people into each fighter. That means sixty of you can get back to civilization and fight another day. We also have one ResQMed, which can carry another forty."

  Hawkins was scowling, but Landon ignored him.

  He took a slow breath and scanned the faces again.

  "As acting wing commander," he said slowly, "I've elected not to try and defend the asteroid. Any losses we inflict on the enemy will not justify the loss to the Federation of all of you. Only thirty of you would be able to fight, but when the battle is over you would all be lost, because we simply cannot stop them."

  Hawkins was on his feet, his face purple.

  "I have to go on record, Major!" he sputtered. "I am categorically opposed to this decision!"

  "I concur with that, Major," Crawford added.

  Landon eyed them coolly. "Duly noted."

  The pilots and gunners stared at him in disbelief, too stunned to respond.

  "Evacuation begins in thirty minutes," Landon said. "I've already ordered the gun turrets gutted. The ResQMed, too. Food stocks have been loaded into all sixteen ships. Mars is out of position at this time of the year, so you will make straight for Luna. I estimate that, once you clear the Belt, you should arrive in nine or ten days. It'll be a difficult trip, but better than being killed or captured."

  He paused, scanning the faces once more. In the corner, Onja stared at him with shining eyes.

  "Unfortunately," Landon said heavily, "there isn't room to accommodate everyone. Six or seven of you will have to stay behind. I will not make that decision for you, but I will accept volunteers.

  "Now …" He glared at Hawkins and Crawford. "… none of you has to like this decision. But the decision has been made, and you will, by god, obey orders! Is that clear?"

  No one spoke, no one moved. The other squadron commanders just glared their outrage back at him.

  "Captain Hinds will lead the evacuation." He glanced toward the door. "Jack, with all these people as witnesses, I'm promoting you to acting Major for the duration of this mission. You have your orders. Under no circumstances will you return to this asteroid. If anyone tries to persuade you to the contrary, you will, upon arrival at Luna 1, file charges of mutiny against him. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Landon looked at the fighter crews again.

  "I expect all of you to do your duty. When you get the chance, give 'em hell! And next time you go into battle, remember 131."

  He gave them the ghost of a smile, one he didn't feel.

  "It's been my privilege to serve with you. Good luck, and god speed."

  * * *

  Onja Kvoorik sat frozen as Landon left the ready room, her hands covering her mouth. What had started out as an announcement that gave her hope suddenly turned into a crushing heartbreak. What did he mean Hinds would lead the evacuation?

  As the crews began to file out, Onja stood slowly, trembling as with a chill.

  She found Landon in their quarters, staring at the bulkhead. He turned as soon as she entered.

  "You'd better hurry, Onja," he said hoarsely, his eyes devouring her. "You only have twenty minutes."

  "Major? What the hell do you think you're doing?" Onja's voice was wretched with despair.

  "Onja, I can't evacuate and leave people behind. The captain always goes down with the ship."

  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about! What do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm sacrificing three thousand people to the Sirians," he said. "You think I could live with that if I didn't stay here? You think the Space Force will forgive me for that? They'll crucify me!"

  "What about me, Major? What about me!"

  "You're going to live," he told her, his eyes brimming with emotion. "You're going to keep killing Sirians. It's what you were born to do."

  She stepped forward and threw her arms around him, sobbing like a child.

  "Jesus, Onja! Don't make this any harder than …"

  "Shut up, Major! Just shut up!"

  He squeezed her tightly against him, his face buried in her stiff, spiky hair. Then their lips met in the most passionate kiss of their short life together, the desperate last kiss of lovers in distress.

  After several moments he gently pushed her back.

  "You've got to go. I already packed your bag." He took her by the shoulders, lowered his head, and pinned her blue eyes with his own. "This is an order. When you get back to Luna, get yourself another pilot, the best one you can find. Devote yourself to him the way you did to me. Make me proud."

  She stared at him, her gorgeous blue eyes streaming tears.

  "I can't leave you, Major! I won't."

  Her nose was running and he gently pinched it for her.

  "You have to. I can't evacuate the other crews and keep the fleet's best gunner behind. I love you, Onja. You have to survive."

  "No, Major!"

  "Onja …"

  "No!"

  He shook her roughly, his face contorting.

  "Goddamn it, Onja! For once in your life, just obey your fucking orders! Get out of my sight!"

  She stared at him in horror, as if he'd slapped her. Then, without a word, she grabbed her space bag and stumbled out of the suite, blinded by her own tears.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, at the airlock, Landon shook hands with Hinds and gave him his final order.

  "Get this crowd out of here, Jack. Try to get them all back alive."

  "We'll make it, sir."

  "Take Onja in your ship, will you? Make sure she gets back safely. Use whatever influence you can to get her a good assignment."

  Hinds nodded.
"Will do. It was a pleasure serving with you, sir."

  "Same here, Jack. Good luck."

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, the last of the fighters cleared the damaged hangar bay and mingled with the asteroids, drifting toward the solar orbit to begin their long, tedious voyage back to Luna. Landon watched them go from the observation lounge overlooking the hangar bay. Once they were away, he returned to his office and sat down, feeling drained, lonely, and lost. Now that they were gone, and couldn't be recalled, he gave in to the stress he'd carried for many months, which had intensified these last few hours. He lowered his head into his hands and cried like a baby.

  The date was 9 August — the war was one year old.

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, 26 August, 0221 (PCC) — Lunar Base 1, Luna

  The music was painfully loud, its thunder vibrating the tables in the dark lounge as dancers bobbed at high speed in rhythm to the beat. On a stage along one wall, several very unmilitary girls with dark bodies and long hair set the pace, writhing and swaying madly. One sang into a throat mike with a hoarse, haunting voice to the roll of electric drums; two other girls crooned backup. Fighter personnel clustered about the tables, drinking and smoking.

  The place was called the Fighter Club.

  Onja's table was in near total darkness. She nursed her third Martian brandy, letting the heavy alcohol spread into her blood and dull her senses. She never drank for escape, but tonight was in a black mood and wanted only oblivion. The inquest had lasted four days. She was the last to testify, and it had clearly been a witch hunt.

  She might never know the results, but she hadn't liked the panel's attitude. They seemed to need a scapegoat; another asteroid base had been lost, and they could hardly take the blame themselves. Bastards! she thought darkly. Put them out there on a desolate frozen rock and see how brave they were!

  The music hammered at her as she drained her glass; she punched another order into the RoBarTender at the end of the table. Moments later another glass appeared in the chute; she lifted it out, and took a sip. She would have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but right now she didn't care. It seemed fitting, somehow, that she should suffer pain, if nothing more severe than a headache. Major Landon had no doubt suffered after she left him.…

  She tried not to think about that, but couldn't help wondering what had happened to him when the Sirians took the base. Had he been killed? Captured? Had he been wounded and died an agonizing death? Was the enemy torturing him even now, while she sat here in a pleasure lounge and drank Martian brandy?

  The ache in her head tomorrow would be no worse than the ache in her heart tonight. She'd been unable to get such thoughts out of her head for very long since leaving AB-131.

  "Lieutenant?"

  Onja looked up, narrowed her eyes to focus them, and recognized Capt. Washington, a flight leader from the Triple One. He was a tall, rangy black man with a friendly face and a deceptively graceful body. At the moment his face was a mask of concern as he leaned over the table so she could hear him above the throbbing music.

  "Mind if I sit down?" he asked.

  She waved to a chair and he settled into it, his eyes never leaving her face.

  "How you doing?"

  "How did you find me? I thought I could hide here and not be seen."

  He grinned crookedly.

  "I just asked the bartender where was the most beautiful woman in the room. He pointed over here."

  Onja didn't smile. She wasn't in the mood, and was too drunk to care if Washington liked it or not.

  "So, are you okay?" he repeated.

  "No. Should I be?"

  "Maybe you oughta lay off the booze for a while."

  "Maybe you should mind your own goddamned business." She held his gaze as she took another sip. "Where's your gunner?"

  "She turned in early. Long day."

  "So why aren't you with her?"

  "I wanted to talk to you."

  "About what?"

  "I haven't seen much of you since we got here, but I wanted to tell you — I'm damned sorry about the major. He was a good man."

  "I know."

  "I've served in four squadrons and he was the best CO I ever had."

  "Did you tell the inquest that?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "They believe you?"

  "Who knows? They got their faces shoved so deep in it …"

  He punched in a drink order, and a moment later retrieved a Jovian gasball. He blew away the vapor and sipped it.

  "How did they treat you today?"

  She shrugged, staring at the dancing singers — or were they singing dancers?

  "They tried to get me to say he was a coward. I held my own pretty good."

  "I'll bet you did. With your combat record, maybe they were listening."

  "I don't think so. Anyway, fuck 'em!" Her eyes blazed with anger for a moment, then faded slightly. She shifted her gaze to study Washington's broad face.

  "Any idea what happens to us now? They've kept us on ice until the inquest was over, but we can't stay here forever."

  He shook his head.

  "Rumors, but nothing definite. I think it's a safe bet they'll disband us, mix us in with other squadrons. I'm hoping they'll grant us Terraside liberty; I haven't been home in four years. Be nice to visit once while we're this close."

  He drained his glass and set it down.

  "Well, I just wanted to say hello, see if you were okay. If we don't get assigned together, it's been a pleasure serving with you. If you ever need anything …"

  He got up to leave. Onja raised her eyes and they softened just a bit.

  "Thank you. I'm okay. Sorry I'm such lousy company."

  "Forget it. You're entitled."

  "Good hunting, Captain."

  "You, too, Onja." He grinned again, touched his forehead in an informal salute, and walked away.

  Damn! she thought. Washington was a nice guy. She should have tried a little harder. No point screwing over everyone else just because she was feeling like shit. She looked toward the exit and tried to pick him out of the crowd, but he was already lost in the dimness and the smoky haze. She looked back at her drink, debated whether to finish it or just head on back to the pool and hit the rack. She'd probably be puking her guts out in a couple of hours anyway, considering what she'd consumed.

  Jack Hinds didn't ask permission — he just sat down. Onja looked up in surprise and stared at his hard features. His green eyes stared back.

  "I didn't see you coming," she said. "Hell of a note for a combat gunner, isn't it?"

  He didn't answer right away, but continued to stare at her. She couldn't tell if he was angry, since he looked pissed off most of the time.

  "What's on your mind, Captain?" she asked finally.

  "You can call me 'Major'," he said. "Luna Command made the battlefield commission permanent this morning."

  She nodded expressionlessly. "Congratulations. Another step up the ladder for an officer with ambition." Her voice wasn't openly sarcastic, but he couldn't miss the cynicism.

  "That's right," he said. "It also looks like I'm going to get a squadron."

  "Are you ready for that?"

  "I think so. I was exec for two years, and I have combat experience. I can handle it."

  "Since you're here, you want a drink?"

  He nodded, punched in an order, and retrieved his glass.

  "Want a refill?" he offered.

  "No. So why are you here? To talk about the inquest? Or offer me a job?"

  "Both," he admitted. "I was there today when you were testifying."

  "Really. I trust you were impressed?"

  He shrugged. "You handled yourself well enough."

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you hear all the testimony?"

  "Yep. All four days."

  "What was the consensus?"

  "Most people were in no position to testify to anything specific, since no one knew about the evacuation until just before we
left. But most of them spoke well of Landon."

  "Most of them?"

  "Hawkins and Crawford had a different opinion."

  "I knew that. Just how critical were they?"

  Hinds looked down at his glass, turning it between his fingers.

  "I probably shouldn't tell you that. You've got enough on your mind already."

  "So they crucified him." She made it a statement, her bitterness evident. "He saved both of their lives and they called him names."

  "Well … I think they had a different set of priorities than Landon did. If either one of them had been in charge, we would've stayed and fought."

  "And died."

  He shrugged.

  She took a deep breath, swallowed some more liquor, and pinned him with her slightly drunken gaze.

  "How did you testify, Captain?"

  "Major," he corrected her.

  "Whatever."

  He scowled.

  "I told them what I knew for sure and what I believed to be true."

  "And what was that?"

  "I think Landon was right about the outcome of the battle. We would've been wiped out, and the base would've fallen anyway."

  "Is that all you told them?"

  "I also told them that I would've stayed and fought."

  "So you kissed their collective brass ass."

  "I did not. I never criticized Landon at all. I told them he did what he thought was right. I just happen to have a different opinion about that."

  She stared at him for a long time, angry deep down but not sure whether to hold it against him.

  "He liked you, Hinds."

  "And I liked him. He was a good man."

  "He trusted you."

  "I know he did. Enough to put you in my ship on the way back."

  Her eyes narrowed. "I never told him that you tried to rape me."

  "I didn't try to rape you. I tried to seduce you. There's a difference."

  "What was it you called me? A 'two-bit pussy gunner'?"

  He waved his hand. "Look, it was just seduction. You're the one who went over the edge."

  "And like the gentleman you are, you backed away and let me leave quietly. Is that how you remember it?"