by John Ringo
“We’ll deal with this, CM,” Persing said. “In the meantime, keep your ass out of sight until we’ve got this situation you created under control.”
* * *
Dana flopped back down on the rack and shook her head.
“What the hell?”
She wasn’t used to this. She’d dealt with some jack-asses that took her at face value, blonde Barbie one each, a couple of times. But not this bad. And the BM1 seemed on their side. Which wasn’t just an EEOC problem, it went right to the core of military discipline. At the 142nd she’d been treated as a FUN, a fracking useless noob, until she proved herself but it was just proving she was beyond noob. Not...this. She’d been aggressively disrespected by a junior spaceman, a guy who made sure the decks were properly washed. What the hell?
She hated to do it but she only knew one person to consult.
She sent a hypercom ping wondering if the Chief was available.
“Yo, Comet, what’s up?”
“Got a few minutes?” Dana asked. “I think I already stepped in it.”
“It’s the 143rd,” Barnett commed back. “They should be used to cluster gropes by now.”
“Sending a recording,” Dana said.
“Oh, holy fracking hell,” Barnett commed back a moment later. “Does that idiot Persing even know what military regulation means?”
“I probably shouldn’t have continued into the counseling session but I was so mad I didn’t turn off. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
“This is a problem,” Barnett said. “Among other things, if this is the standard of discipline I can see why they’re so jugged. But dipping into another person’s well is a no-no of the highest order. I’m going to do some discrete pushing on the Chief network but you’re mostly going to have to fly this one alone. As soon as you get the in-brief and you get a few seconds, call me back. I’d like to see what part of the brief covers a clear Article 91 violation not to mention 117. In fact, I’d love to see what part of the brief covers that since it would, in turn, be an 81 and 92 violation.”
“So I’m not just being a gurrl about this?” Dana asked. “I was wondering.”
“I would have hit the roof and screamed to high heaven,” Barnett said. “There’s playing the boy’s game and being disrespected. The first and second are two different things. So is playing girl games just to play games. There ought to be an article just for passive aggressive bullshit. This was straight forward disrespect to an NCO, Article 91 and provoking speech or gestures, 117. They don’t get that under control and you might as well give away the whole shooting match. Doesn’t matter if it’s a newly transferred female CM or the fracking President. You don’t violate the articles. Call me back after the brief. But, again, I can’t get directly involved. Time to girl up, girl.”
“Will do, Chief,” Dana said. “Thanks for the counsel.”
* * *
“Good morning and welcome to the Thermopylae and the 143rd boat wing. I am Bosun’s Mate First Class Steve Persing, personnel NCOIC for the 143rd.”
When Persing said “he’d see her at the briefing” she’d assumed he was just going to be one of the people at the brief. Not the briefer.
“Technically, all of the space forces currently in operation in the Sol Defense Zone are now Alliance forces,” Persing continued. “However, as you are well aware, up until recently the 142nd has been a purely North American unit. The 143rd, on the other hand, is made up of a mixture of various countries from South America. The majority of the Coxswains are from Argentina and Chile, which are traditional enemies. The Engineer’s mates are from both countries as well as Peru, El Salvador and two from Colombia. Simply integrating persons from multiple countries, many of which are as I’ve noted traditional enemies, has been a challenging task. Now we are also dealing with the cultural differences with American personnel.
“Latin Americans have a long history of antagonism towards the United States and, arguably, vice versa. The United States, under the Monroe Doctrine, considered the entire Western Hemisphere its zone of influence and has repeatedly tinkered with the governments of many of these countries as well as often using them as a source of raw materials and labor. There is, therefore, a certain amount of entirely justifiable friction that is our job, as the senior partners in this Alliance, to assuage as far as possible. These are rich cultures as well advanced as our own but they are different cultures. That has to be remembered at all times. On top of that there is the fact that all the senior officer and NCO slots are held by Americans. There are Coxswains who were fighter pilots, officers, in the Argentinean Air Force which in the Falklands war went toe-to-toe with the British. This simply exacerbates that friction. It is our job, at all times, to keep the cultural differences in mind and work with them not against them. Are there any questions?”
Dana looked around at the rest of the personnel sent from the 142nd and hoped that somebody would say something. Finally an Engineer’s Mate from Bravo flight raised his hand.
“BM, I was under the impression we’d more or less pulled the UCMJ right over to the Alliance,” the EM said. “Are you saying that we’re not working under UCMJ?”
The Uniform Code of Military Justice was the rules and regulations under which US forces operated. Dana was under the same impression that the UCMJ hadn’t changed.
“No, the UCMJ, with very little modification, was transferred to the Alliance,” Persing said, carefully. “However, if you simply bark an order at one of your engineers, you may get the job done. More likely, though, you’ll find that simple barked orders are counter-productive. Latins are automatically respectful of certain types of authority but tend to be less so when the authority figure is not of their own culture. And certainly when the authority figure is counter to their culture,” Persing finished, looking squarely at Dana. She didn’t flicker so much as an eyebrow.
“What gets the job done?” the EM asked. “Begging? Because as far as the rest of us are concerned, BM, the reason that we’re here is because the job hasn’t been getting done.”
“That attitude you had better lock up, Engineer’s Mate,” Persing snapped. “We’re dealing with culture clashes and the fact that the boats are simply screwed up coming from the yards. We don’t need the ‘they brought in the Americans cause the Suds couldn’t get the job done’ attitude. That is exactly what is going to cause issues. Already is causing issues.”
“I don’t know what a Sud is, Bosun’s Mate,” the EM said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “But if you’re saying I got to plead and beg to get an engineer to do his job, I think it’s pretty clear what the issue is and it’s not my attitude.”
“Bosun’s Mate?” Dana said, raising her hand. “Dialing the atmosphere down a little bit, what do you find does get the job done?”
“Generally I’ve found that it’s best to be less the grand poobah than create a team spirit,” Persing said. “Smile instead of frown. Work with them rather than creating a hierarchical approach. Honey gets more flies than vinegar.”
“Thank you, Bosun’s Mate,” Dana said trying not to scream.
“The other thing to keep in mind is that it’s important to integrate into this team,” Persing said. “We don’t need a ‘North American’ clique to form. That’s the greatest reason that you need to keep cultural differences in mind. Different culture, different methods of obtaining team bonding. So, as to assignments...”
* * *
“Parker. As noted many of these Latins have more experience as pilots than our most experienced coxswains. The critical need is for experienced engineers. So you’re being reverted to your engineering specialty. You’ll be taking over Engineering NCOIC for Division Two, Troop B which puts you in Twenty-Three. Your cox is Coxswain First Class Angelito Mendoza.”
“Bosun’s Mate?” Dana said, wincing. She liked engineering well enough but she knew she knew piloting. “I haven’t turned a wrench since my initial trial period. I’ve been a coxswain for three years and have over te
n thousand hours in the Black. I would, respectfully, recommend a reconsideration of that change.”
“Duly noted,” Persing said, dryly. “It didn’t come from my office, it came from higher. Some of the transfer personnel had to shift to engineering. You drew the short straw.”
Parker had to wonder if she’d drawn the short straw before or after the incident in the gym.
“Aye, aye, Bosun’s Mate,” Dana said, trying not to curse.
SIX
To’Jopeviq tried not to curse. He hated this assignment more passionately every day. Almost as much as he was starting to hate Terrans. Or possibly, and this caused him just a shiver of fear at simply the thought, the High Command.
“There has to be a way!”
Gate assaults were very simple things. There was a small zone to enter through and if you knew your opponent’s capabilities, and at this point they were becoming aware the Terrans were practically flaunting their abilities, it all came down to math. How much fire you could throw, how much fire your opponent could throw.
There was no way to work around the math. To’Jopeviq was well aware that they were not getting all the information available about fleet units. But by even throwing the entire remaining Rangora fleet at Terra, the math simply did not work out.
“The math is straightforward,” Toer replied. The analyst had clearly gotten some conflicted amount of satisfaction out of the fact that every time High Command ignored his analysis a Rangora fleet got shredded. The “conflicted” was due to the fact that he really cared about the success of the Rangora Empire and being right about that sort of thing too many times eventually was going to get him shredded.
“We’ve looked at the missile assault. The logistics are impossible given the numbers we’ve received on remaining Glatun fabricators and ships. The Glatun took a scorched earth approach after Joshshav. Four remaining ship fabricators. A total of one hundred and twenty other fabbers of various sizes, most of them maxed out on other defensive projects. And the fabbers would either have to be moved to Galkod, keeping them out of production during the move, or the missiles would have to be shipped to Galkod. Shipping is already at a premium. And all of that ignores the developing Glatun resistance campaign.”
“Who would have thought they had the quills for it,” To’Jopeviq said. “Again, there has to be a plan that will work. Something to at least get them to come down in negotiations. They are no longer demanding full withdrawal but they want multiple systems as a buffer zone. Systems that would be turned over to the Glatun and given full autonomy.”
“I have come to the conclusion that my initial analysis of the Terrans is not so much wrong as incomplete,” Dr. Avama said, uneasily.
“Good Tol, he said the R word,” Toer said, sarcastically.
“As I said, incomplete,” Avama repeated. “And importantly incomplete. Rangora are not monolithic,” he continued, glancing furtively at Beor.
“The Kazi are fully aware of that, Doctor,” the Secret Police lieutenant said. “As we’re aware of your ties to the peace movement. That is one of the reasons you are in this group. Because you represent alternate thinking. It is always dangerous but so is a laser emitter. In this place, it is what we and the High Command wish to hear. Alternate thinking.”
“The humans I had dealt with before were diplomats,” Avama said, more firmly. “They were very interested in peace. To the point of seeming, even to me, weak. Infirm of purpose. Peace by any means.”
“Insanity,” To’Jopeviq said, shaking his head. “Every race seeks territory, power, control.”
“The point of diplomacy is to prevent the more aggressive versions of that,” Avama said. “War for example. Thus they were very much against war and in favor of peace. Despite my intellectual knowledge that humans had waged war against each other aggressively, their various...controls and my experience of those diplomats colored my thinking.”
“In what way and does it help?” To’Jopeviq asked.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Avama said. “But just as Rangora are not monolithic, nor are humans. And even their warriors make at least pro forma expressions of a desire for peace. But they are clearly very good at war. Yet even that is but part of the puzzle.”
“Is this going anywhere?” Toer asked.
“Let him talk,” To’Jopeviq said. “Can you explain?”
“I’ve been looking at their hypernet,” Avama said. “Trying to understand them. Trying to understand where I was right and where I was wrong. Each of their major tribes, in truth independent polities which are in turn made up of still smaller tribes, has a varying approach to power. Most are, in fact, very close to the Rangora. By numeric of those polities, more than half, whatever their outward expression of governmental type, are governments based upon pure power of individuals and tribes.”
“And that is like the Rangora?” To’Jopeviq asked then thought about it. “Uh...”
“It is a valid analysis,” Beor said. “Continue.”
“However, with a few exceptions, China is one, the most powerful polities are based upon a much greater degree of power sharing,” Avama said. “This is a very difficult thing for Rangora to grasp. Take the United States as an example. It continues to be, despite the fact that both ourselves and the Horvath have given it special attention, the most powerful polity on Terra. Given the current military situation, the United States can be viewed as the second most powerful polity in the entire Western Arm.”
“The Ogut?” To’Jopeviq said. “I would tend to disagree.”
“Based upon our experiences in fighting Terra,” Avama said, “which to this point has been an almost entirely American defense, would you like to revisit that thought?
“There are many special interests and functional tribes within the polity. They fight constantly. To the outside observer this appears to be weakness. What makes the situation worse is that almost all of their diplomats come from a single social tribe. So what outsiders see is news stories that indicate continuous in-fighting of a level that would approach civil war among the Rangora...”
“The Kazi has wondered that they haven’t had one, yet,” Beor said. “The Maple Syrup War is the closest you could get to one and it was a minor insurgency.”
“And very poorly understood,” Avama said, excitedly. “That is part of my point. But that is what it looks like to an outsider. But it’s not the reality. To’Jopeviq, you don’t talk much about your family but I suspect it is much like many...”
“Lower class?” To’Jopeviq asked, his crest riffling.
“Sorry,” Avama said. “Yes. I suspect it is much like most lower class families. Large?”
“I have six brothers and four sisters,” To’Jopeviq said.
“Arguments?”
“Tremendous ones,” he said, hissing. “Especially at the holidays.”
“There!” Avama said. “Your family is the Americans! What happens when another family attacks yours?”
“We band together and break them in half,” To’Jopeviq said, thoughtfully.
“Yes!” Avama said. “What would happen, God forbid, if your father were to die?”
“He is dead,” To’Jopeviq said. “Mining accident. My oldest brother took over the family business. If you’re correct... There is no point to attacking their leadership.”
“Zero,” Avama said. “Every missile spent on taking out American leadership is wasted. Here is the last thought. Say that your family was large enough to sustain fifty percent casualties in one attack from another family and continue fighting. What would the survivors do?”
“Anything it took to destroy the other family,” To’Jopeviq said. “And, in fact... That happened not too long ago. You do not attack the To’Jopeviq clan. That is known on Lhoffid.”
“You’re from Lhoffid?” Toer said, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” To’Jopeviq said, hissing again. “Problem with that, Analyst?”
“No, sir,” Toer replied, slumping in his seat. “How close woul
d you say...”
“The Americans, at this point, have lost mostly their tribe that is not warlike,” Avama said. “Vast portions of their most pacific groups were wiped out by either ourselves or the Horvath. The survivors are a bit like if...are their members of your family who were...less aggressive?”
“Yes,” To’Jopeviq said.
“If your family was attacked and only those were killed?”
“Given my sister Faiz...” To’Jopeviq said then flattened his crest. “No, I know exactly what we would do. There are times... And I feel less Rangora when I say this. There are times when we feel that they are the best of us. Especially when they are the only ones that can stop us from killing each other. I hadn’t thought of my family for a long time, Avama. For obvious reasons,” he added, looking at Toer.
“Sorry, Egilldu,” the analyst said. “I was surprised, that’s all.”
“What we would do is destroy the family that hurt ours,” To’Jopeviq said. “Or be destroyed trying. Especially if the targeting was that precise.”
“There is more...distance involved with the Americans,” Avama said. “But my analysis is that that is exactly how they are reacting. The main tribe that drives their wars is the Jacksonians. There is an excellent essay on that tribe available on our servers. They generally do not concern themselves with foreign affairs. But when they do, they want to proceed with the war and win. Not a negotiated surrender. Not drawn out. Get it over with and then go back to their lives. They believe in crushing their enemies and putting a boot on their neck. And then, and this is where it very much deviates from Rangora, since the Jacksonians lose interest when the enemy is destroyed, the other tribes that are more pacific or mercantile become involves. Thus the Americans then spend vast sums assisting their former enemies. The Jacksonians grumble but don’t really care enough to prevent it.
“Our targeting has tended to destroy the tribes that are more palatable to negotiation. We have, from our perspective, very carefully and specifically taken the impurities from the metal. We haven’t weakened them, we’ve made them stronger. And very very angry. A human philosopher reminds me of Ashoje, another similarity. The Terran, Machiavelli, once said ‘Never do an enemy a small injury.’ We have spent this entire war doing the Americans small injuries.”