Starfist:Flashfire

by David Sherman; Dan Cragg

  “How long, do you estimate, between the time your forces assemble on Arsenault and your arrival in orbit around Ravenette?”

  “Madam, transit time will be two weeks, that’s a given. The troops are already on their way to Arsenault and I shall depart for there tomorrow and be on the ground in five days, so a week to assemble the forces and then a week to ten days to do the shakedown. Since Arsenault is also a military stores depot, we can make up any shortages while there. So I estimate one month from now we’ll be ready to go into battle.”

  “One month,” Chang-Sturdevant echoed. “Well, if your estimate of General Lyons’s plan is correct, our garrison at Fort Seymour should still be intact,” she sighed. “And frankly,” she added, “I don’t see a better plan than the one you have, General Billie.”

  “What is your estimate of casualties?” Marcus Berentus asked.

  This was the one question Billie dreaded but he decided to be frank. “A minimum of ten percent in maneuver elements, sir, quite possibly higher than that in individual units engaged. When we succeed in breaking out of the defenses General Cazombi has established we will be attacking a well-fortified enemy and should anticipate a high rate of attrition. I apologize, ma’am,” he nodded to Chang-Sturdevant, “for the necessity of speaking about casualties in such a callous manner and I assure you, the lives of my soldiers are as precious to me as they are to their own mothers.”

  “I appreciate that, but as a predecessor of yours said famously, any general who can’t look dry-eyed upon a battlefield will wind up causing more casualties. Isn’t that right?” Chang-Sturdevant asked.

  Billie did not show his surprise. He was very familiar with Napoleon’s axiom, which he never expected to hear from a person like Chang-Sturdevant. The old broad was sharper than he’d realized.

  “I don’t see any plans for including our Marines in your army, General.”

  The question caught Billie off guard. “Well, ma’am, they will be employed as available.”

  “And how will you employ them, General?” she asked.

  “As fire brigades and as battering rams, Madam President, which is their traditional role in military operations of this size. When we mount the breakout Marines will be used to lead the effort. I leave it to Admiral Porter and the Commandant to arrange for follow-on forces, which no doubt will consist of Marine units.”

  “And their casualties, General?”

  “Very high, ma’am.”

  Chang-Sturdevant was silent for a long moment. “Gentlemen,” she addressed them all, “General Billie’s plan is sound and I concur that he is the man to command this army,” she nodded at Billie. “I commend you, General Billie, on your excellent work. Now as commander in chief of all our forces, I charge you with putting this army together and executing your mission with all deliberate speed.” She stood up and the others immediately got to their feet too. “Keep me informed. Good day, gentlemen, and good luck.”

  “One thing, Madam President?” Billie asked. Chang-Sturdevant nodded. “On the ground with General Cazombi is a Brigadier General Sorca. He commanded the infantry division originally deployed to Fort Seymour. May I ask Your Excellency to recommend him for promotion to Major General? I know him and he will be a valuable assistant to me.”

  Chang-Sturdevant glanced at Marcus Berentus who shrugged. “General,” she said after a brief pause, “if promoting your dog to major general will help win this war, I’d do it. Sure, you give me this officer’s particulars and I’ll add his name to yours and send them both up for confirmation. I guarantee you’ll have your stars before you leave Arsenault. Marcus, stay with me for a while, would you?”

  After Porter and Billie had left Chang-Sturdevant turned to Berentus and said, “Marcus, I like that guy. I think he’s just the man to win this war for us.”

  “They call him ‘Jason the Janus,’ ” Berentus said, shrugging. “I think we’re in for a long war.”

  It took Chang-Sturdevant a moment to connect the nickname with the Roman solar deity, heaven’s doorkeeper with two faces, one for the morning and one for the evening, and the patron of the beginning and end of things. His temple had always been open during war but closed during peacetime. She looked up sharply at her Minister of War, shaking her head to ward off the cold knot of doubt that had begun to form in the pit of her stomach.

  In over thirty years as an army officer, General Jason Billie had never made a combat assault landing in an Essay. There is a first time for everything and that time was now, from Billie’s flagship, the CNSS Mindanao. Granted, ground fire from the Coalition forces besieging General Cazombi’s position was sporadic, but the admiral commanding the fleet was taking no chances with his starry passenger. The coxswain of Billie’s Essay had warned him and his staff that the landing would be rough.

  As soon as they were safely on the ground the Essay’s coxswain surveyed the passenger compartment and cursed, “Goddamned army lubbers.” He would have to clean up the mess they had left behind. Those worthies, on legs like rubber, staggered out of the machine into the sally port. General Billie emerged wearing his breakfast all down the front of his immaculate battle dress uniform.

  Major General Alistair Cazombi and his aide, accompanied by Brigadier General Sorca, came to rigid attention and saluted as their new commander stumbled toward where they were standing. “My God, Cazombi, you’ve lost weight!” Billie exclaimed.

  “Yessir, about fifteen kilos. It’s Cazombi’s New Rapid Weight Loss Program. Absolutely Guaranteed to Work or All Your Fat Will be Refunded: No sleep, lots of worry, and a strict diet of reduced field rations. Welcome to Bataan, sir.”

  Billie’s eyebrows shot up at the associations the nickname brought to mind, but he shook hands with the three officers and rapidly introduced his staff. “What in the world is that smell, Alistair?” he exclaimed. “Is there an open latrine nearby?”

  “We hardly notice it anymore, sir. It’s ten thousand plus men with no water for washing and a sewage system that’s overloaded. It’ll be years before they can swim in Pohick Bay again. But I have to admit, sir, there is a certain, uh, ‘freshness’ to that smell I didn’t notice before—” he tactfully left the sentence unfinished.

  “Before we got here?” Billie looked around at his aide, Captain Chester Woo, who was standing there red-faced, a sickly grin on his face. “My Gawd, boy, change your drawers!” Billie exclaimed, self-consciously daubing at the puke on his own uniform. “Disgusting,” he muttered.

  “Well,” he brightened, “gentlemen,” he nodded at both Cazombi and Sorca, “I have good news for both of you!” He fumbled inside a pocket and fished out two small packages. “I have something here for you two that will add a few grams to your weight,” he chuckled, “but they’ll boost your morale considerably.” He unwrapped the first package and handed Cazombi two sets of lieutenant general’s stars. “The President got these approved for you before I left Earth. Congratulations.” They shook hands. Then he handed Sorca a set of major general’s stars. “Old friend, wear these with pride!”

  “Gentlemen,” Billie continued, “let us proceed to your command post.” He draped his arms around the shoulders of his newly promoted officers. “In your new ranks I want you, Alistair, to be my deputy commander and you, Balca, to be my chief of staff! I need to keep you two close by, so I’ve got the best brains in this army accessible to me at all times!”

  Cazombi said nothing, but the fact that Billie wanted him, a three-star general, to be his deputy and not to command troops spoke volumes. He’d be as useless as a vice president in that role. He was being put out to pasture. Sorca, as chief of staff, would have the real power at headquarters. Well, he promised himself, we’ll just see about that.

  “This way, sir,” Cazombi gestured toward a tunnel. His words were punctuated by several heavy explosions that shook the ground. The arrivals glanced around apprehensively. “Oh, don’t let that worry you, gentlemen,” he told them, “it’s just General Lyons’s way of sending you gree
tings. No doubt he already knows the names of your company commanders.”

  So, Cazombi thought, Sorca and Billie are old friends? Lieutenant General Alistair Cazombi would never think of abandoning the soldiers who had fought for him here, no matter what, but the thought did occur to him now that he couldn’t blame anybody else for resigning his commission immediately and getting the hell out of Bataan.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  The CNSS Lance Corporal Keith Lopez broke orbit hours after the last Marines of 34th FIST boarded and entered Beamspace two days later. After six days, with only one navigation-adjustment jump, she reentered Space-3, three days from Ravenette. Captain Bhofi called Brigadier Sturgeon to the comm shack as soon as communications were established with the headquarters of the besieged garrison at Pohick Bay.

  “I believe you’ve had dealings with some of my Marines in the past, General,” Brigadier Sturgeon said when he realized to whom he was talking planetside.

  “On a mission I believe you aren’t supposed to know much about, Brigadier,” Major General Cazombi said in response. It wasn’t possible to tell for sure through the attempted jamming by the Coalition forces, but his laconic tone sounded like he didn’t necessarily agree with the decision to keep the commander of 34th FIST in ignorance of exactly what it was Company L had done on Avionia, a mission on which he was the commander and his only ground combat forces consisted of one Marine infantry company.

  Then Cazombi turned all business and, once he determined exactly how much power was on its way to his aid, gave Sturgeon a thorough briefing on the current tactical situation.

  “I’ll work up plans, General,” Sturgeon said when the briefing was finished. “We’ll be prepared to come in hot.”

  “If your entire FIST is the same quality as Company L, I believe the forces opposing us are in for a very unpleasant surprise when you make planetfall. Cazombi out.”

  Sturgeon spent a few seconds staring at the tight-beam radio he’d been talking on as though it might shed light on what he should do, then handed the headset to the chief petty officer who ran the comm suite and thanked him for keeping the channel open despite the best efforts of the rebels to jam it.

  “No problem, sir,” the chief said. “I’ve a good crew. We pride ourselves on defeating all attempts to interfere with our beaming.” He said it calmly, but his pride still showed through.

  Sturgeon palmed the crystal on which he’d recorded the briefing, and headed for his shipboard operations center to brief his staff and begin making plans for the landing.

  An hour before 34th FIST began to disembark from the Lance Corporal Keith Lopez, Brigadier Sturgeon called his top people together for a final briefing on the situation planetside and what they could expect when they landed.

  He concluded with, “Gentlemen, you know your Marine Corps history as well as I do. Whenever the Marines work with the army, it’s either to kick a door open for them to advance through or to rescue their sorry asses from whatever mess they’ve gotten themselves into. The army has gotten itself into a real mess this time, and we’re the only thing between them and utter destruction. So we are making planetfall in the highest tradition of the Confederation Marine Corps and its predecessors. Marines have never lost a battle. Thirty-fourth FIST will not be the first Marine unit to do otherwise.

  “Dismissed.”

  The Marines of Company L filed into the troop mess and, squad by squad, took seats at the tables. They weren’t there for a meal, so the squad and fire team leaders sat with their men instead of segregating themselves at the NCO tables. Gunny Thatcher and the platoon sergeants came in after the junior NCOs and junior men and took station behind the tables near the entrance to the mess. The muted clangs, bangs, and shouts of cooks and messmen could be heard through the drawn shutters behind the serving counters; the voices of the seated Marines were even subdued.

  After a couple of minutes, First Sergeant Myer entered from a side entrance and marched to the center of the serving counters. He faced the company, standing at attention, and slowly looked them over. Without visibly taking in a breath, he bellowed, “COMP-ney, a-ten-HUT!”

  Throughout the mess, the Marines lurched to their feet and stood at attention. Top Myer looked back at the entrance through which he’d come. Captain Conorado marched in, followed by the company’s other officers.

  Conorado strode to Myer, who announced, “Sir, Company L all present and accounted for!”

  “Thank you, First Sergeant,” Conorado said formally.

  Myer backed off and stood with the officers, midway between the entrance and the company commander, facing the men.

  Conorado stood at ease, looking at his Marines. “Seats!” he ordered, and gave them a moment to get settled. “I don’t have to tell you about war,” he began. “Most of you remember Diamunde, which was the fiercest war I’ve served in. Most of you who weren’t on Diamunde were on Kingdom, and the only difference between that campaign and a real war was the scale.

  “On Kingdom, we were two FISTs against a division-size force of Skinks. Diamunde was bigger, there six FISTs kicked open the door for an army corps, and then fought alongside that corps against a planetary force armed with tanks—those of you who joined us after Diamunde and don’t know what a tank is, ask your squadmates after you’re dismissed.

  “In a couple of days we will make planetfall on Ravenette, where we will join two badly mauled Confederation Army divisions in a holding action against the combined ground forces of a dozen worlds.” He paused to let that sink in. “Those two army divisions have one major thing going for them, probably the only thing that’s kept them fighting for as long as they have—their commander. Most of us have served under him before, and know how good he is. Major General Alistair Cazombi.”

  Conorado was interrupted by expressions of recognition and surprise among his Marines. He patted the air to quiet them down. “That’s right, the same ‘Cazombi the Zombie’ who was in command on Avionia, a man many of you think is good enough that he should be a Marine. Thirty-fourth FIST will be under his command. Make that, Thirty-fourth FIST will be a component unit under his overall command.

  “Other Confederation forces, including a couple more FISTs, are on their way to help with the holding action. Our first job will be to help those two divisions hold until those reinforcements arrive. Then we will all hold on until a field army that is being organized arrives. Don’t ask how long that will take, Confederation forces have been widely dispersed and divisions and brigades have to be drawn from widely separated locations to form the field army.”

  While Conorado was speaking, a navy yeoman slipped into the mess and handed a flimsy to the nearest officer, who happened to be Lieutenant Humphrey, the company executive officer. Humphrey signed for the flimsy and glanced at it while the yeoman slipped out as silently as he’d slipped in. Humphrey had no expression as he quietly slipped behind the other officers to hand the flimsy to Captain Conorado.

  Conorado glanced at the message while he continued to deliver his briefing. “I said a moment ago that the two divisions already on Ravenette have an advantage. We have an advantage as well. Marines have a long history of going into situations where larger army units are pressed to the point of defeat, and rescuing them.

  “I have just been handed an update on the planetside situation. During the short time since the Lance Corporal Keith Lopez returned to Space-3, there has been a change of command in the Confederation forces on Ravenette. Major General Cazombi isn’t going to be in command much longer. An army general by the name of Jason Billie is en route and will take over on his arrival. Major General Cazombi will be the deputy commander of Confederation Forces, Ravenette.”

  He smiled grimly. “It doesn’t matter who’s in command in the theater of operations. We are Marines, and we’re going to save the army’s asses again. Expect to go in hot. That is all.” Conorado abruptly turned and exited the mess, with the other officers tailing him.

  “A
-ten-HUT!” Top Myer roared. The footfalls of the officers were drowned out by the scraping of chairs as the Marines snapped to their feet. Myer watched until the door closed behind the officers, then turned and nodded at Gunny Thatcher, who marched to that side entrance and dogged it down. Staff Sergeant DaCosta, first platoon sergeant, dogged the main entrance and stood in front of it, mirroring Thatcher with arms folded across his chest.

  Myer stood front and center, arms akimbo, glowering at the Marines for a long moment before snarling, “Siddown and listen up.” He began pacing, looking into a distance somewhere beyond the surrounding walls, uncertain what to say in his unofficial briefing. He stopped when growing rustles of restlessness broke into his reverie and slowly turned to face the Marines again. The rustling stopped.

  “You heard the Skipper: we’re going to war,” he began. “But this isn’t just a war, it’s a civil war. I’m sure all of you know enough history to know that civil wars are more vicious than any other kind of war. No matter what rationale they cloak themselves in—freedom, equality, religion, ideology, what have you—civil wars are almost always two or more factions fighting over who gets the biggest chunk of the pie, who gets the wealth and privilege.

  “This isn’t that kind of civil war, it’s a war of secession.”

  Myer’s brow furrowed. What could he say about wars of secession to tune his Marines up, to make them more alert and likely to survive the abattoir they were about to plunge into? Maybe if he came at it from the side—

  “Civil wars are so bloody because each side is afraid of reprisals if they lose; it gives a different twist on ‘fighting to the death.’ And the fear of reprisals is realistic; history is filled with examples of the victorious side in a civil war slaughtering the losers. Few have ended without reprisals, whether death, imprisonment, or ‘reeducation’ of the losers—‘reeducation’ is a euphemism for imprisonment and forced indoctrination. In a war of secession, if the rebels win their independence from the larger body politic, reprisals are commonly carried out on those in the newly independent territory who opposed the rebellion, or merely didn’t even participate. If they lose, they are subject to the most horrendous penalties, including penalties that go beyond the law. So the rebels fight fiercely, not only because they are convinced of the righteousness of their cause, but from fear of the consequences of failure.”