by Jay Allan
“Admiral, there were two of these monsters there.” He waved his hands, indicating he was referring to the Bunker Hill. “Plus a huge supporting fleet. That was no patrol force.”
Compton was silent for a moment, his face becoming even more troubled. “I cannot account for that, general. I have a basic awareness were all active duty naval forces are deployed, and I cannot explain what you saw.”
Holm slowly let out a deep breath. “Why don’t you continue on the overall situation, Terrance, and get everyone up to speed.” He glanced at Erik then back to Compton. “We can revisit this later.”
“Very well, Elias.” Compton leaned back in his chair. “Let me review some backstory on how this fleet came to be stationed here.” He hesitated again, looking at Vance, then Holm, then the others. “I just want to say first, though, that I intend to speak very freely.” He glanced again at Holm, seeing the general nodding for him to continue. “Some of what is discussed here today may put each of you in a…ah…an uncomfortable position with regard to your duty and obligation to the service.” He paused again. This was difficult, unlike anything he had faced in his career. “I’m afraid we all may have some complex choices ahead of us.”
“It’s OK, Terrance.” Holm spoke softly, his voice somber. “I trust these three with my life. You can tell them anything.”
Compton nodded and, after a brief pause, continued. “For a considerable amount of time – perhaps a year now – I have been receiving directives and orders from the Naval Director that seemed…odd…unexpected.” He could see them all considering what he was saying. Augustus Garret was the Naval Director, and no one could imagine him doing anything that would concern Compton.
“It was limited to relatively unimportant things at first, like personnel reassignments. I noticed several that I couldn’t imagine had been Augustus’ idea, but I just wrote them off, figured he was playing the Washbalt game a little. Garret put a lot of effort into making sure the naval veterans were mustered out the right way and not cheated like they were after the Second Frontier War. I just figured he’d made some petty political deals, agreed to promote a few cronies in return for the support he needed.” He paused, stifling a sarcastic chuckle. “I didn’t like it, but I figured no one hates this crap more than Garret, so if he went along with it, there had to be a reason.”
He reached out, grabbing his cup. “But it got worse. There were new suspect orders, and they were even more worrisome. Personnel assignments that really mattered, ones that affected operational efficiency. Changes in regulations, including covert surveillance of crew members. Crazy stuff, and completely unlike the Garret I know.”
“That sounds like the kind of nonsense they inflicted on us with the political officers.” Cain’s voice was derisive, bitter. He’d done very poorly managing his political officer, and that was at least partly to blame for the trajectory of his career since. “Sounds like they’re looking to do the same thing to the navy.”
“I think you are correct, general. The intent is clearly to assert greater control over the navy.” He took a sip from the cup. “Still, that does not explain Garret’s role. He would be as hostile to such an encroachment as you.” He was shaking his head as he spoke.
“Then I was ordered here.” He panned his head around the table. Every eye was focused on him. “Worse, I am under orders to provide any support the Planetary Governor requests.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Any support…without limitation.”
No one interrupted, but a murmur of surprise rippled around the room. “We don’t have a Marine strikeforce attached, so there are only two reasons for a battlefleet to be sent here. One, to intimidate the population, to terrorize the rebels and sap their will to fight.” He took another drink and set down the cup. “Or two, even worse, to actually bombard planetary targets.” His voice was soft and grim, and he let his words sink in before continuing.
Jax and Sarah had sad, surprised looks on their faces, but Erik’s showed only tightly controlled rage. He’d dreaded this moment for years, even as he’d been certain it would one day come.
“I have known Augustus Garret for forty years.” Compton’s voice was scratchy and hoarse; his fatigue was showing. “He would never place a major fleet under the control of anyone outside the chain of command.” He looked up, his eyes defiant. “And he would never allow the fleet to attack Alliance civilians.”
“Is it possible he is acting under some sort of duress?” Jax had been silent since entering the room, but now he chimed in.
“That is what I thought as well.” Compton glanced over at Roderick Vance. “At least until Mr. Vance here brought me some information.” He turned back to Jax. “I’m afraid the truth is worse. Much worse.”
“Mr. Vance, would you be kind enough to repeat for my people what you told me an hour ago?” Holm looked at the Martian envoy as he spoke.
Vance pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He was more comfortable standing when he addressed a group. “I was sent here to discuss a matter with Admiral Compton. In addition to my many business activities, I occasionally do some freelance work for the Martian Security Department.” He didn’t feel it was necessary to explain that by “occasional freelance work,” what he really meant was he ran the place.
He paused to let the others digest what he had said. He’d read the MSD dossiers on the officers in attendance. None of them was a fan of intelligence services, Cain of course being the most hostile. Vance didn’t take offense – if he had to contend with Gavin Stark and Alliance Intelligence using him as a pawn on a daily basis, he’d be pretty angry about it too. “I can assure you all that I am here to help. The Alliance and its colonies are on the verge of a catastrophe, one that can only serve to destabilize the balance of power in addition to causing enormous human suffering. This is no more in the interest of the Confederation than of your people.” He took a deep breath. “We would like to help by sharing information with you.”
Vance looked around the room. Cain’s expression was skeptical, but they were all silent, waiting for him to continue. “I am sure it will not be surprising to any of you that MSD has various conduits within Alliance Intelligence for obtaining information.” Jax nodded slightly, but the others sat perfectly still, watching and listening. “The Augustus Garret who was been acting as Naval Director for the past eight months in an imposter.”
Every eye in the room was riveted to Vance. “I can see how shocking this news is to you all, and I completely understand. Nevertheless, as unlikely a scenario as this seems, I can assure you it is factual.”
“What happened to Admiral Garret?” Sarah beat the others to the question. “The real one.”
Vance’s voice softened a bit. Garret was important to the people in this room – leader, hero, friend - and he needed to be more sensitive and less businesslike. He was here to build trust…or at least that was part of why he was here. “We believe he is being held at Alliance Intelligence headquarters in Washbalt.” There were a few hushed gasps in the room; Alliance Intelligence was widely feared, and few people ever returned from those detention cells.
“Although I cannot confirm this, we strongly believe Garret is still alive.” He looked over at Compton. “Indeed, the admiral here received a Priority One order issued after the imposter took Garret’s place. I believe this would have been impossible to do without a fresh blood sample from the actual Garret.”
Cain glanced across the table at Holm. They were both thinking the same thing – how does this Martian know how Alliance Priority One protocols work? His logic, however, was sound. There was a good chance Garret was still alive; it was even likely. But what was their next step?
Compton stood up, gesturing for Vance to have a seat. “With Mr. Vance’s indulgence, I will take it from here.” Vance nodded with a smile and lowered himself into the metal chair. “I agree that Admiral Garret is likely still alive, and in that context, we must determine how to proceed.”
He motioned to the screens
along the wall, still displaying scenes from the planet. “As you can see from some of these images we have captured through orbital reconnaissance, the fighting on Columbia has become quite severe. Mr. Cooper, the Planetary Governor, is somewhat of a sociopath, and he has pursued extremely aggressive strategies to crush the rebels, including summary executions and, I am afraid, torture.”
He pointed toward the screens, now displaying several different fenced-in areas. “He has established camps where he is confining anyone suspected of separatist sympathies, as well as the families of those serving in the rebel armies.” His voice cracked slightly with emotion. “I’m afraid the conditions in the camps are quite bad, with no shelter provided and inadequate food and sanitation. From the accounts we have been able to assemble, there is a steady death toll in each camp.”
He could see the anger on all of their faces, and most of all Erik Cain, whose expression projected death itself. “The rebel forces attempted to liberate the main camp at Weston approximately six months ago, just after we arrived. While they were able to free a small number of captives, they suffered crippling losses from the defenders and the subsequent counter-attack.” He hesitated, but decided to add, “I’m afraid there were significant punitive activities against the detainees in response.”
He could see their faces sink. Clearly, sympathies in the room were with the rebels. That was good – it would serve his purpose. “The rebels did, however, succeed in destroying the primary federal supply dump, and they blew up the main headquarters in Weston as well. I suspect they were trying to kill Cooper, but he was out in the field when the building was blown.” He forced himself to pause. By nature, he spoke quickly and tended to move rapidly from one subject to another. But this was a lot of information about important topics – he had to give them a chance to absorb it all.
“Subsequent to these events, both sides found themselves incapable of launching any significant operations. The two sides on Columbia have essentially been stalemated for the past six months. The federals have possession of the cities, which they have fortified. The rebels more or less control everything outside the urban areas, though they would be hard-pressed to counter a major federal push in any specific location. The primary rebel base is Carlisle Island, roughly twenty kilometers north of Weston. It is extremely well-defended, and the federals have lacked sufficient strength to take it by assault. If they were able to do so, the rebellion on Columbia would likely collapse.
“The federal forces, however, have just been reinforced with two Alliance army divisions shipped from Earth. Cooper now enjoys a considerable superiority in both numbers and supply, and he has begun to pacify areas outside the urban zones. The only thing preventing him from quickly snuffing out the rebellion is the strength of the Carlisle Island position. As long as the rebels maintain an army in being there, they can continue the fight.”
Compton leaned back in his chair and sighed. “This has led to a problem that is about to escalate beyond my control.” They could hear the tension building in his voice. “Governor Cooper has requested several times that the fleet launch a nuclear bombardment of Carlisle Island. To date, I have been able to dissuade him without an outright refusal, however I believe I have exhausted that option. His most recent request was quite insistent, and I am afraid my only choices are to comply or to refuse outright, in direct violation of my orders from Admiral Garret’s office.” He deliberately referred to the admiral’s office and not Garret himself. “I trust you are all aware of the implications of this.”
No one answered, but their facial expressions were sufficiently communicative – they all understood. “I think perhaps General Holm would like to add a few thoughts at this point.” Compton looked at the general as he spoke. “I believe his insights would be helpful.”
Holm moved in his chair, trying to get comfortable. He was tense, like everyone else present, and his back was killing him. The old wound was acting up, as it often did when he was overly stressed. The Battle of Persis was a lifetime ago, two wars past, but he still carried the scars. “You will note that Admiral Compton advised us that Alliance army units have been dispatched to Columbia…indeed, I can confirm that they have been sent to other worlds as well, including Arcadia.”
Holm’s voice sounded normal to everyone present, everyone save Cain. Erik could hear the tension, the strain lying below the surface. It was just a feeling, an impression, but Cain was worried about the general…even more than he was worried about the rest of them.
“This is arguably a breach of the Marine Charter.” Holm was speaking to everyone, but his gaze shifted between Cain and Jax. “Alliance Gov claims these assignments are for policing and training purposes only and, as such, are not covered under the Charter. This is obviously nonsense, but it at least gives a pretext of legitimacy to the actions…one that General Samuels has been perfectly happy to accept without complaint.”
Holm was relieved to have Jax and Cain with him again. The last three years had been difficult, with Holm losing a series of struggles regarding demobilization and reassignments. The wartime Corps, which he had worked so hard to help build, had been largely disbanded, its veterans forcibly retired or dispatched to small, scattered garrisons on fringe worlds. Seasoned troops were replaced by new recruits coming from Camp Puller, and Holm wasn’t happy with what he saw in these new Marines. He hadn’t been to Puller in years, but he was starting to wonder what was going on there.
He’d been drinking more than he should recently, he knew that. Holm had always been a bit of a drinker; it’s how he dealt with the voices from the past, the memories he wished he didn’t have. He had the same type of ghosts that kept Erik Cain up nights, but he had more of them. Now things were worse, more difficult to comprehend, and he felt lost and uncertain. Rafael Samuels was the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and he had repeatedly accepted developments and changes that any of his predecessors would have considered unthinkable. He’d failed to fight against the assignment of political officers late in the war, and now he executed a demobilization plan that gutted the Corps’ combat effectiveness.
Holm was suspicious of Alliance Gov, as were many Marines, especially those pulled from the underside of society on Earth. But it wasn’t in his makeup to suspect someone in the Corps, certainly not the supreme general, a veteran of almost fifty years’ service. Elias Holm was a man who could summon the strength to face any challenge, pay any cost to prevail. But for the first time in his life he simply didn’t know what to do, and the helplessness was easier to handle if he had an extra drink or two. He wasn’t proud of it, but that hadn’t stopped him either.
“There are two matters I feel need to be discussed. First, the massive deployment of Alliance army units to the colony worlds - do we sit by idly and allow this to happen? Without intervention of some sort, it is doubtful the colonial forces can hold out for long against such forces.” He paused, realizing as he spoke the implications of what he was saying – or at least indirectly suggesting.
“The second issue is perhaps even more complex and troublesome.” He’d been thinking about this meeting for days, but he still wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to say this. “It appears to my judgment that Alliance Gov is making a major push to assume total control over the Corps, in directly violation of the Charter.” Jax’s expression showed some surprise, if not at the overall developments themselves, at Holm’s willingness to state it so bluntly. Cain’s was matter-of-fact; this was no shock to him…none whatsoever. Had he not been among his most trusted friends and allies, he might have worn an “I told you so” look on his face.
“I think we have to consider the possibility that General Samuels is operating under some form of duress or outside influence…” He paused, glancing briefly at Compton. “…or even that he has been abducted like Admiral Garret and replaced with an imposter.”
Vance leaned forward in his chair. “I do not think it is likely he has been replaced.” He looked over at Holm. “The events you describe
have occurred over the last 3-4 years. I don’t believe that a replacement could remain undetected for such a long period of time. It is much more likely that he is experiencing some sort of external pressure, though I am sorry to say I have no idea what form that may take.”
Even Roderick Vance was completely unaware that General Samuels was actually a member of the Alliance Intelligence Directorate, having been suborned six years before by Gavin Stark. The actions so inexplicable to Holm and his allies were part of an overall plan to eliminate the Corps and replace it with a Directorate-controlled force. Rafael Samuels had been a hero of the Corps but, unknown to any of those present, he was now the greatest traitor in its century-long history.
The room was strangely quiet for a few minutes, everyone deep in thought until Cain finally broke the silence. “Obviously, the entire situation is enormously complex. But is appears to me that there are several pressing matters that require immediate attention.”
He looked over at Compton. “First, Admiral Compton must deal with the demand that he bombard the rebel-occupied sectors of the planet. May I venture a guess, admiral, that you have no intention of launching a nuclear attack on the colonists?”
Compton looked grimly at Cain, then at each of the others. “No, I will not give that order.” He exhaled sharply. “But I cannot predict the results of my refusal, especially since it will appear to everyone outside this room that I am directly disobeying Admiral Garret’s orders.”
Cain nodded. They would deal with that fallout when they had to. “Second, if Admiral Garret is indeed being held hostage, we must figure a way to rescue him.”
Everyone started speaking at once, except Vance, who sat silently and watched. Compton’s voice rose above the others. “Is it even possible to break someone out of Alliance Intelligence headquarters? There is nothing I would like better than to free Augustus, but I don’t see how it can be done.”