The Tetra War_The Katash Enigma

by Michael Ryan

  “I know,” I replied, “but–”

  “There is no ‘but,’ Avery,” Pow interjected. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if you’d killed my entire family tree and all my friends. Even if you believed in your cause.”

  I grunted and looked down at my plate. “I saved lives.”

  “Every government that has ever dropped an atomic weapon or firebombed civilian populations or starved children with blockades has claimed the same thing,” Balestain said. “You have studied history?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “America was the first Earth country to drop an atomic bomb,” he said. “Do you think the Japanese survivors praised the Americans?”

  “No, but they became allies shortly afterward,” I protested.

  “What choice did they have?”

  “Well, Japan attacked first,” I argued. “Pearl Harbor, in the twentieth century. They dropped bombs first.”

  “Japan’s aggression was a response to the world’s aggression. Germany’s violence in the second of Earth’s major world wars sprang from the injuries, real or perceived, from the first of Earth’s worldwide conflicts. It’s no longer about right or wrong when your entire family is dead.” Major Balestain paused. “Did you study the American Wars?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “It was required reading.”

  “I read a lot of the history myself,” the major said, “when I was a boy. The Central American Powers had legitimate complaints about the American use of rain-cloud seeding, river control, and petrol extraction using slant drilling. It was an old earth custom that mineral rights went down. It almost has a perverse logic to it, but what happens when a pool of oil is so massive it crosses two territories many miles below the surface?”

  “War,” I admitted. I knew the stories. “How do you justify what you did on Earth, Major?” I looked him squarely in the eye. “No offense.”

  “How was it different than your actions, Sergeant?”

  “I…” I wanted to say it was very different, but I had trouble expressing how it was. “I was a soldier following orders, sir.”

  “As was I.” He smiled at me.

  “Yes, but…you…” I struggled to come up with an argument. “Didn’t you plan and contrive the methods?”

  “Didn’t you have the opportunity to destroy the virus in the lab and lie to your Command?”

  “I suppose,” I admitted. The fact was that Callie had asked me to destroy the virus, and I’d lied to her. Maybe I’d been wrong, but for years I was convinced that I’d ultimately saved lives. Millions of them.

  “My actions on Earth were also to save lives. It’s true I killed a lot of people. But do you know how many children, innocent children, were killed in blockades, wars, and embargoes by the major powers on Earth during the years before the American Wars?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Millions by the United States and Great Britain alone. These were countries that propagandized for years how they were pillars of liberty and light.”

  “And they starved children?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “By the millions.”

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Avery, I have something terrible to tell you,” Major Balestain said.

  “I’m not sure I need any more examples,” I said. “You’ve made your point.”

  “You need to hear this,” he said.

  “Okay.” I looked up and prepared for more of the same. What he told me ripped out what was left of my humanity and stomped it to dust.

  “Guritain Command was responsible for many false-flag attacks. They were the ones who issued orders to–”

  “No!” I yelled. I stood and pounded the table. I knew he was right without having to hear the rest of his sentence. It all fit. It all made sense. What had happened after the attacks in Mexico City, after my children were killed, only benefited Guritain interests.

  The Pros weren’t helped. In fact, the Gurt response nearly exterminated them.

  The Teds weren’t helped, for much the same reason: they were too damaged and weak for the counterattack any sane enemy would have known was coming.

  Who benefited directly from the death of my children?

  Who benefited from the public’s response to the violent and unexplainable terrorism?

  My government.

  And those who did business with them.

  After the revelations I’d come to accept as truth from Major Balestain, I’d agreed to work with the Teds and the Meckos to prepare for the coming fight against the unknown enemy called the Dreki-Nakahi. Convincing Callie, Abrel, and Mallsin was simple enough; they’d all been declared traitors and rebels. Arrest warrants had been issued for all of us, a minor inconvenience that was rectified by the top leadership in the Chemecko government.

  I’ve since come to realize that any crime can be erased.

  With the right friends, any wrongdoing can be made to have never existed in the first place.

  When the Joint Forces Unified Army was formed, part of the negotiations included the erasure of our violations.

  Our citizenships were placed in Rhanskad. We’d been assured that our retirement and benefits would carry on as if nothing had happened. We were then warned off the record that going to Earth or Purvas would be a bad idea. “A short-lived bad idea,” a senior official had said to us while we’d signed the final papers guaranteeing our transfers. “I can assure you,” he said, “that if you return to Rhanskad after the conflicts are settled, you’ll be provided every opportunity to start a new life. Our culture is peaceful when left alone. The food is amazing, and if you like the countryside, our scenery is breathtaking.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be happy,” Callie said.

  “Abrel had already been talking about retiring here,” Mallsin said. “So we’ll be happy.”

  I considered the idea of happiness.

  I thought I’d had it once.

  On Garden.

  I was happy with our new agreement, but I hadn’t forgotten my vow. If I lived long enough, those who killed my children would pay with their lives. Fantasies and daydreams about retribution and justice had propelled me through the retraining and refitting process.

  We eventually left Talamz for another war, and I killed lizards because it was expedient.

  But I had no illusions about my actual goals.

  I didn’t care about the lizards; I wanted to see the genuinely monstrous pay with their lives for the destruction of mine.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  What has ended war? Education? Religion? Benevolent government? Strong armies? Genocides? Holocausts? Weapons of mass destruction? No. Nothing can end war except extinction.

  ~ General Sond Holljore

  I reached set-point Bravo-One a day early and spent the extra time scouting the area.

  Nothing triggered my sense of danger. Other than the flying insect attack, I’d had an uneventful journey.

  An almost enjoyable one.

  Major Zalator and his group arrived on schedule.

  “Sir,” he said, “how did your mission turn out?”

  “Satisfactory,” I answered. “I have five new companies, over eight hundred new soldiers, and a prisoner.”

  “A Dreki?”

  Maaly was close behind the major and couldn’t help herself from interrupting the formalities. “Jecob?” She stood with her hands on her hips and stared at me expectantly.

  “He’s fine,” I answered. “I promoted him. He’s a new CO. Golvin Company.”

  “You said a prisoner?” Zalator repeated.

  “Yes, Major. I have good news. Gather the company commanders and platoon leaders.”

  Once we’d assembled the group, I explained what we’d accomplished and the importance of our prisoner. As I subtly implied the muldvarp’s value, I realized I sounded a bit like Command. The creature’s interpreting skills made it more valuable to our cause than any of our lives.

  While we waited for Veetea’s group to arrive
, I explained what I knew of the petaízmaj – the Dreki name for what I’d called a pekasmok – and other potential threats such as the swarming wasp-like creatures. We remained vigilant for signs of the Drekis, but none appeared. No pekasmoks or heli-jets flew above us in the clouds, and nothing in the upper atmosphere alerted my scanners to the presence of high-altitude bombers or starships.

  Fourteen days later, the other companies arrived.

  Veetea reported several difficulties on their travels. They’d lost two troopers to animal attacks, and one to a nasty fall off a cliff. Abrel and Mallsin had managed not to kill the muldvarp. Callie reported that once the interpreting alien accepted that we weren’t planning on executing it, it became quite talkative. Its information on the area’s plants and animals proved extensive and helpful.

  With the latest casualties, our eleven companies numbered precisely fifteen hundred, not counting Golonist. I didn’t trust perfect numbers, but I also had no illusions that any symmetry would last. I ordered the company commanders to ensure the platoons were roughly even and that any specialties among the troops were distributed across the ranks.

  Once we’d achieved a sense of unity and order, it was time to settle on a strategy.

  Constant movement might have kept us from being discovered by Dreki recon patrols, but because the pekasmoks were used as tracking animals, I didn’t believe it likely. It’s nearly impossible for that many troops to move without leaving tracks like a child coming in from the rain. Remaining in one location had its dangers as well. We didn’t have the resources to defend against even one heli-jet bombing run. If an entire squadron of Dreki military craft arrived, we’d be slaughtered like spring pecorazes.

  And Callie, Mallsin, and I had forty-five to sixty days of power left.

  The prospect of being forced to de-suit in a strange environment became increasingly more likely as time passed, but as we entered the third month on Drekiland, our starship Kuznetsov eclipsed the horizon. Command sent a sat-burst.

  <<<>

  To: Second Lieutenant Ford, Avery

  UNSN: AF-98o8-9oo876.rkl

  CIRO: Joint Forces Command Section Velmonsitder

  Lieutenant Ford:

  Updated mission:

  Send reports to the following: <>

  Proceed to the following retrieval point: <>

  We’d initially been scheduled for retrieval in five days, but that moved up to under twelve hours once the right person in Command read my reports.

  It didn’t take a military genius to realize the importance of our prisoner.

  They sent a Golsion-class troop transport.

  “Shit, Avery,” Veetea said. “I’m not sure I like this plan.”

  A Golsion only had room for fifty unarmored troops.

  “I don’t see that we have much choice,” I said. “I’m sure Command plans to send another transport.”

  “But they didn’t schedule one,” he said. “That’s my problem.”

  I’d asked Veetea and Maaly to board the first craft, along with Abrel, the prisoner, and forty-six other soldiers. I must admit my personal feelings had interfered with my decision making. Had I been in Veetea’s place, I’d have objected for the same reasons.

  “Understood,” I said. “Jecob, you stay with your company and coordinate with Zalator. Maaly, I’m ordering you to get in that transport.”

  “I don’t–”

  “No argument. You’re not in a command position, and I’m not giving you an option.”

  She reluctantly agreed, along with forty-five others.

  “I’m not abandoning anyone here,” I announced. “But transports don’t come cheap, and shit happens. Keep it together down here and you’ll be picked up. Every one of you.” I knew my words were potentially complete bullshit, but it was senseless to allow the boat to leave the planet empty.

  Once all fifty cells were filled with gel, Callie, Mallsin, and I locked ourselves into TCI-Armor SDI slots. My suit connected with the boat’s system and I pinged the pilot.

  “Go,” he said.

  “We’re green back here,” I announced.

  “Roger that. Engineers say lift-off in minus seven minutes.”

  “Any sign of trouble?”

  “Negative, Lieutenant,” he said. “Dreki forces have their hands full. The Sergeev and the Chernavin arrived with fresh meat. Everything of significance is on the other side of this godforsaken globe.”

  Joint Forces had favored using the names of ancient Russian admirals when naming the coalition starships. The Sergeev and the Chernavin were the largest galaxy-traversing vessels ever constructed, at least among the tri-planets. Besides over a thousand support crew, the starships carried an entire legion. A legion was comprised of three regiments and totaled approximately fifteen thousand troops.

  We’d brought a massive army to Drekiland, and I wondered why.

  As with most “big-picture” views of the military’s plans, I didn’t expect to be informed any time soon.

  Probably never.

  Such is the nature of being a tiny, insignificant part of a massive machine. Perhaps a better analogy would be a biological cell because an organism can lose lots of them and function just the same. A mechanism is often useless with even one small broken part, so I preferred this comparison in spite of the fact it was a false one. The Kuznetsov, the starship that had brought us to Drekiland, was a smaller vessel, but still carried an entire regiment and nearly the same complement of support crew as its larger cousins did.

  The trip off the planet surface was a welcome relief. By the next day, I’d showered, sexed, and eaten artificial chocolate pudding.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  I learned that there’d been several recon patrols sent out to search for slave camps.

  I don’t know why I was surprised.

  When you’re focused on your mission, you could forget the army you’re part of is a leviathan. Like the population of a metropolis, thousands and thousands of people live and die, make babies, marry, divorce, and grow old in a city. In an army, we do much of the same, sans the babies and, more often than not, the becoming elderly part…

  The existence of multiple groups of rescued slaves meant that retrieval boats were working in cycles. After twenty-four hours, only a third of my battalion had been brought up to the starship.

  I was getting anxious.

  “Sir,” I asked my new company commander, “updates?”

  “Ah, Lieutenant Ford. Not any different than an hour ago.”

  I frowned. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Understandable, Lieutenant. But you can’t forget I’m just a captain.”

  “I liked being a lieutenant colonel,” I said. “Not that I did much commanding.”

  “You’re going to be promoted to a first lieutenant. You’ll undoubtedly receive a medal of honor.”

  “To be honest, I’m not impressed, sir,” I said.

  “Word to the wise,” he said. “Keep your honesty to yourself. This isn’t a democracy.”

  “Roger that.” I experienced uncomfortable feelings when I was waiting for things beyond my control that directly affected my commitments. “I’m just uneasy knowing I have men on the ground that I’m responsible for.”

  “Technically, Lieutenant, they’re out of your hands,” he said.

  “Understood, but I made promises. One of the men is an old squad leader of mine. My first Purvas drop, in fact. I vowed not to leave him behind.”

  “We don’t leave people behind.”

  “Technically, no,” I said with dripping sarcasm.

  “Technically and officially, Avery,” he said.

  “Legalistic nonsense,” I declared. My pronouncement was a slight form of “conduct unbecoming an officer,” but Captain Hollingver was a good sport, and he ignored my flagrancy. “Sir, do we have any clue about our next mission?”

  “Negative. We’ve been orde
red to burn up some ‘on-ship’ leave time, in fact. Once the retrievals are completed.”

  Being ordered to take leave “on-ship” meant we weren’t jumping back to Talamz anytime soon. The good thing about leave on a starship was that you received two-for-one credit. The bad thing about taking leave on a starship was you were taking leave on a fucking starship.

  Recreational actives outside of bunking up were limited.

  Civilians often assumed that the massive size of an intergalactic vessel meant there was plenty of room, like one of those intercontinental cruise ships with the all-you-can-eat buffets and stand-up comedians who couldn’t cut it in New Vegas. A much better analogy was a submarine, where the only unused empty space was in the heads of cherries on their first tours and the handful of senior officers who’d become living examples of the Peter principle: promoted until they’d risen to their level of incompetence.

  It took a week to get everyone off-planet.

  I suspected Command was trying to untangle the dual mess of figuring out back pay – everyone had rightfully been accruing a paycheck – with the fact that many of the missing soldiers’ families had received settlement payouts. The former Guritain military members had been part of a system that required lifetime commitments. However, the Joint Forces Unified Army operated a bit more like a glorified mercenary force.

  Years later, lawyers and interplanetary commissions would still be arguing in front of the Primary Court overseen by the Confederated Interplanetary Republics Organization. I realized on more than one occasion that I probably should have gone to law school. I could have been a warrior in far less bloody campaigns, with words, precedents, laws, books, and rhetoric as the weapons instead of Gauss and coil-guns.

  But then I’d never have met Callie.

  And I truly loved her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The peoples of the tri-planets have always been tribal. “Us versus them” mentality has a hundred thousand years of evolutionary thrust behind it.