Stark's Command

by John G. Hemry

  "The lifeboats will get clear," Vic stated firmly. "I can read a tactical plot, and that one says they've got enough time to get under our defenses."

  "Yeah," Stark agreed, "but those shuttles are behind the lifeboats, protecting them, and they're gonna have big ships right on their tails when they get near us. I've got to worry about them."

  "You've got the entire Colony to worry about."

  "I know that! What if I tell the shuttles not to land and they try anyway? I can't shoot my own people!"

  "Sometimes you have to. To save the rest."

  Stark froze at the cold words, his eyes involuntarily shifting to stare at the Silver Star ribbon on Vic's left breast. She knows. She shot a Lieutenant to save the rest of her platoon. No other way. Is this the same thing? "Vic, we owe these guys."

  "I know they've kept the route to the Colony open—"

  "That's not what I mean. Remember when the enemy counter invaded? Way back at the beginning of this mess?" New stars blossoming in the endless black above the still-unfamiliar lunar terrain. Fearful soldiers staring upward, knowing the Navy was buying them all the time it could. "They held off the invasion force long enough for us to set up defenses. If those sailors hadn't stood and fought and died, we'd have been creamed down here. We owe them, Vic."

  Momentary silence, then a single nod. "We do. How do we pay a past debt without endangering present responsibilities?"

  Stark glowered at the display, thoughts running through his mind. Let 'em come down and the hell with risks? Or leave 'em out there to die? No! That's not gonna happen. Not as long as I'm in charge. Why don't I have another option?

  "Commander?" Sergeant Tanaka asked urgently.

  "Yeah, Jill."

  "I've got the head civ on the line. Campbell. He says it's real urgent and sounds real unhappy."

  "Welcome to the party. Put 'im on."

  Campbell stared out of the vid display, face almost frantic. "Sergeant Stark, my people at the spaceport say there's a space battle going on near the Colony."

  "I know that." Stark spoke evenly, trying to calm the civilian as he would a panicky Private. "There's some kind of trouble on a couple of Navy ships. Their crews are heading for the spaceport."

  "Trouble?" Campbell didn't seem the least bit reassured by Stark's demeanor. "You mean mutiny? Dear God. And they're coming here?"

  "That's right." Stark glanced at the display to one side of Campbell's image. "Mostly in lifeboats."

  "Sergeant, this is a very serious escalation of events. If the authorities think we are actively trying to export some sort of revolution they'll—"

  "I can't help what anybody thinks. I'm just dealing with this situation."

  "Letting those lifeboats land here could have serious implications for the agreements on exchange of your families for the officers. And a Naval battle involving our own ships right over the Colony will greatly increase the threat to everyone here. You can't permit it."

  Stark kept his face rigid, though he felt his jaw tightening in anger. "Don't tell me I can't help people who need help."

  "The Colony—"

  Can go to hell. "Don't push me, Campbell! I'm dealing with a big problem here, but I'm not leaving anyone outside the perimeter just to make my life easier."

  Campbell stopped speaking, his face that of a man who'd run into a brick wall that had come out of nowhere, then tried again, voice pleading. "Sergeant Stark, please—"

  On the display, weapons flew, symbols tracking out from the pursuing Navy ships toward the shuttles and their herd of lifeboats. Counterfire flared in return as the shuttles spat out their own barrage of defensive munitions aimed at the other weapons. "I don't have time for this," Stark interrupted bluntly. "I'll notify you when the crisis is over." He broke the connection, glaring toward Reynolds. "Just what I needed right now."

  "Don't expect me to comment on the civs. But we've only got about five minutes left before those shuttles get close enough to threaten us."

  "Damn." This wouldn't be a problem if those blasted shuttles weren't armed. Wish I could frag their . . . "Hey, Tanaka."

  "Yessir."

  "Those Navy ships opened their systems to you. Could you disable their weapons when they do that?"

  "Uh, yes, Commander," she affirmed after a hasty glance toward another watch-stander, who was nodding repeatedly. "We're set up to remotely control any weapon system in any unit from here."

  "Get ahold of those shuttles. Tell 'em we're taking control of their weapon systems and shutting them down before they enter our defensive umbrella."

  "What if they don't agree?"

  "Then they don't get in. No negotiating."

  It was quiet for a while then, as they watched the symbols arc gracefully through space. The bright swarm of lifeboats was herded by four bulkier symbols representing the shuttles, their offensive and defensive weapons clashing in an insect ballet of multicolored symbology. Tanaka's voice in the background spoke urgently. "Commander?"

  "Yeah."

  "Wiseman doesn't want to do it. She says those hostile ships are too close, and they might nail her if her weapons aren't working."

  "Hand me the circuit. Chief Wiseman?"

  "Give us a break, Stark! We're fighting a damn battle up here, and you want to take away our weapons!"

  "I'm giving you a break. I'm letting you inside our defenses. But I'm not letting you inside unless your weapons are disabled from here."

  "What if we get blown away because of that? Huh? I'm telling you, we may well get killed if you insist on this."

  Stark's eyes shifted away from the symbology, staring into a dark corner of the Command Center, remembering black shadows on the lunar surface and the brilliant white light around them. Black and white. Like life and death. Separate. Somehow intertwined. There's a gun pit you've got to take out. Who do you send to die so the other members of the squad don't? Simple math. One is less than three or four. But the math never made the decisions easy, and they never got any easier. "Chief Wiseman. I've got thousands of people depending on me. That's my first priority. Right now, you're second. I can't change that."

  A moment's silence, then Wiseman came back, voice deflated. "Yeah. You got your wish, ground ape. Take over our weapons when you think you need to. Just leave them to us as long as possible, okay?"

  "We'll do our best."

  "If I make it down, you owe me a beer."

  "I'll be happy to pay off that bet." Stark felt Vic's hand on his shoulder, a firm squeeze that transmitted reassurance and approval before dropping away. He fought down a shudder, maintaining an impassive stance as the fleeing vessels drew closer to the Colony's surface defenses, and the pursuing ships closed on the mutineers. "Have the anti-orbital defenses been told what's going on?"

  "Yes, sir," Tanaka confirmed. "They don't want to shoot, though."

  "I don't blame 'em. But I bet some warning shots will do the job. Tell them to let loose before the Navy ships really get within range. If we're lucky, that'll scare 'em off before things get any worse."

  "Got it. Systems are estimating we're getting within range of the shuttle weapons about now."

  "Take 'em over. Shut 'em down."

  "Yes, sir. Shutting down now."

  He'd never had to do that before. Take weapons away from someone being shot at. There'd always been a way to work the system, avoid leaving someone with their butts hanging out. I gotta plan better. I need to look ahead so I know how to handle this stuff without getting my options blocked. "You still got vid from Wiseman's shuttle?"

  "Uh, negative. The Navy ships are close enough to jam comms now."

  "Use the command overpower, then."

  Tanaka shook her head. "Those ships are big enough to carry real powerful electronic warfare gear. When they're jamming at that close a range, we can't punch through it."

  "Do we still have control of the shuttle weapons?" Vic snapped.

  "It doesn't matter," Tanaka insisted. "We finished shutting them down before we
lost contact. They can't reactivate without overriding the command system watchdogs."

  "Which we know how to do on our systems," Vic reminded her. "Ethan, those shuttle weapons might be hot again."

  "Yeah." Watching the lifeboats falling toward the spaceport. Watching threat symbology climbing past them as the Colony surface defenses slammed warning shots at the big Navy ships. Watching the shuttles desperately evading fire from the big ships.

  "Ethan?"

  "Let 'em land." Closer now, everything closer. The big ships snapping at the heels of the shuttles. Another volley from the Colony batteries. A shuttle symbol flickered amid the swarm of threat symbology, hazing out. "Did we lose one?"

  "We can't tell," Tanaka reported. "Too much jamming, too much junk from all the weaponry. We might have just lost track of it."

  The three remaining shuttles seemed to halt their downward path, as if preparing to go to the defense of their fellow shuttle. We're gonna lose them all. Damn. I blew it. Sorry, Chief Wiseman.

  "The fourth shuttle's still there!" a watch-stander sang out. The symbol reappeared, flashing damage status. The other shuttles rallied around it, then dropped toward the lunar surface. Above, the big ships fell back, maneuvering drives pushing them onto new courses, curving out, back into empty space where the Colony defenses couldn't reach. It took a moment for it all to sink in, the sudden lack of threat warnings, the strangely peaceful trajectories of the shuttles falling toward the lunar surface.

  "It's over?" Vic questioned, incredulous. "The battle's over?"

  "Looks like it." Stark exhaled, suddenly aware he hadn't been breathing. He scanned the display again, searching for the scattered exchanges of fire that would have been part of the slow wind down of a land battle. "I guess Navy battles are neater than ground fighting."

  "They look neater, anyway."

  "Stark?" Wiseman's voice was ragged with audible relief. "You owe me more than a damn beer."

  Stark glanced at Tanaka. "We got comms again. Their weapon systems still cold?"

  She consulted her display, then looked up in surprise. "Yessir. It doesn't look like they even tried to reactivate them."

  Stark took a moment to flash a told-you-so look at Vic, who nodded back in exaggerated agreement. "Welcome to the Moon, Chief Wiseman. Park your shuttles where the spaceport authorities direct." A sudden focus on damage markers near the shuttle symbology. "Do you have any wounded?"

  "A few. We're mostly just banged up from being tossed around, but some took heavier hits."

  "We'll have medics on the way." Stark looked toward Tanaka, who nodded and turned to her console to pass on the orders. "Are you in charge, Chief Wiseman? Of all the sailors comin' down?"

  "Uh, I guess so."

  "I need that for sure. I also need to be sure you can maintain discipline."

  "If any sailors get out of line, one of the Chiefs will bounce them off a bulkhead."

  "Good. I'll be at the spaceport soon to meet you. Keep your people there until then. We'll work out barracks assignments as quick as we can."

  "Okay. See you in a while. Wiseman, out."

  Stark hung his head a moment, leaning on his console with both arms rigid, letting the tension drain from him. "Vic, make sure we have enough troops on hand at the spaceport to handle anything."

  "You mean combat troops?"

  "Yeah. There might still be trouble. Maybe these sailors won't want to accept my authority. Maybe they'll be ready to riot. Whatever it is, I want people there to keep a lid on things."

  "You got it." Reynolds laughed suddenly. "Well, Ethan Stark, congratulations. You had an Army, and now you have a Navy."

  "A Navy. Great. Want to be an admiral?"

  "No, thanks. I don't look good in blue." She saluted briskly. "I'll take charge at the spaceport. The ready reserve company in that sector ought to be enough to handle anything the sailors might try."

  "I said I'd be there."

  Vic pointed an unyielding finger at Stark's chest. "You are too damn important to be on-scene when some crazy sailor might decide to blow his shuttle to hell and take half the spaceport with it."

  He stared back stubbornly. "I oughta be there."

  "So you don't trust me?"

  "Of course I do." And trusting subordinates to do their jobs is part of leading them right, isn't it? I can't be everywhere. I shouldn't have to be. "You're right. I'll try to make Campbell feel better while you deal with the sailors."

  She grinned. "I think I've got the easier job."

  "You do." Stark grimaced. "I handled that wrong."

  "What do you mean? He was a civ sticking his nose into mil business. You told him to butt out. What's the problem?"

  He brooded over the question a moment, oblivious to the multicolored displays and the chatter of relieved watch-standers around him. "It's not right. Don't ask me why right now. I gotta think. But it wasn't right. You get going while I apologize."

  "Apologize?" Vic looked disbelieving, then shrugged. "Ethan Stark apologizing? Hell must have just frozen over again. Have fun."

  "Yeah." Stark punched in a code as Reynolds hurried out, waiting just a moment until the reply came. "Mr. Campbell? I'm sorry. It was a very tense situation with a lot going on, but I shouldn't have blown you off."

  "Sergeant?" The shift in Stark's tone had obviously confused the Colony Manager.

  "I'm sorry I didn't acknowledge your concerns," Stark stated in formal tones. "The space battle is over. We've got a bunch of lifeboats and four shuttles, all full of sailors, coming in to land at the spaceport. I'll have troops on hand to keep things under control."

  "What happened to their ships?"

  "Blown up. By the sailors and by the other ships out there."

  Campbell rubbed his forehead with both hands, looking weary. "The government is going to be very unhappy. Warships are extremely expensive, and the implication that your revolt may be spreading to the fleet—"

  "I didn't have anything to do with it. They didn't even know who I was until they talked to me."

  "You'll never convince the authorities of that, Sergeant Stark." Campbell shook his head slowly. "You're sure it's over?"

  "There's no shooting going on, and the big Navy ships have pulled back to their long-range blockade positions again. As far as I can tell, it's over."

  "I'll have Ms. Sarafina contact the government negotiators. She's the one you ought to apologize to, Sergeant Stark. She's going to catch hell, and it's going to take everything she's got to get the next personnel exchange to take place as scheduled. Don't be surprised if the government says no way."

  "I'll be surprised," Stark stated calmly. "Mr. Campbell, there's a whole lot I don't know about things back home right now, but one thing I do know; the government needs those Third Division soldiers back and they need them back bad. They're trigger-pullers. Frontline combat troops. And right now there's an awful shortage of those in the U.S. military. I guarantee it."

  Campbell's eyes narrowed, then he nodded. "I see. I'll make sure Ms. Sarafina is aware of that. Thank you, Sergeant. We'll have to work out better procedures for future crises."

  "No argument here." Stark glanced over at the display again. "The shuttles and lifeboats are coming in. I've got to monitor that."

  "I understand. We'll talk later."

  Stark broke the connection to Campbell, watching impatiently as the refugee spacecraft dropped toward the Colony spaceport, the lifeboats falling long and fast before their braking drives jerked them into rapid deceleration and abrupt landings. The shuttles followed at a more sedate pace, using their greater fuel reserves to brake in a relatively gentle fashion as they fell toward the Moon. Stark triggered remote vid feed from Vic's battle armor, scanning past her HUD symbology to the visual picture of the spaceport. The blunt shapes of lifeboats lay scattered around, their simple shells unadorned by weapons or sophisticated sensors. Just big trash cans, I guess, good for getting sailors back on a planet in one piece and not much else. As Stark watched, the
shuttles came down, spaced to avoid the lifeboats, their landing drives kicking up thin clouds of the fine dust, which could never be kept completely off the landing field.

  Stark checked the symbology on his headquarters display, matching it to the visual picture from Vic's battle armor. She had dispersed the available company of infantry into three platoon-size blocks around the edge of the area where the lifeboats and shuttles had come to rest. "Vic, you coulda covered more area if you'd broken those guys into squads."