To Honor You Call Us (Man of War)

by Honsinger, H. Paul

  “So they gave him one of the best designs to come out of that period, a Rubicon class destroyer, the USS Seine, whose skipper was—you guessed it—a young lieutenant commander named Allen K. Oscar. As you can imagine, with an IG on board, the Seine wasn’t a fighting ship. She was more of an admiral’s yacht. Oscar and his crew learned, probably under Borman’s direction, to make their ship an example of perfect cleanliness, polish, and obsessive physical perfection. And because Oscar probably suffered from some minor form of mental disorder, these tendencies became more exaggerated every year. And why not? The Seine never saw combat and was too busy playing taxi to Captain Borman to participate in exercises, so her deficiencies were well concealed. No one knew that her missiles gleamed but couldn’t hit a target.

  “Then, when Borman retired and the now obsolete Seine was converted into a training vessel, Oscar and his crew—who had gotten stratospherically high fitness reports from Borman—were reassigned en masse to a new destroyer, the Cumberland.

  “Obviously, if BuPers had possessed the merest whiff of a glimmer of a hint of a clue as to how FUBAR this ship was, Oscar would have been given a desk job or been sent to one of those hospitals with lots of grass and trees and birds, where they don’t let the patients have any sharp objects. They would have broken up the crew, retrained the men, and scattered them all over the fleet. But no, that’s not what happened because, based on the sacred and holy fitness reports done by Inspector General Borman himself, this was an exemplary crew who should be kept together in a new command to preserve their fighting efficiency.

  “As if that wasn’t enough of a prescription for disaster, I will also tell you that Captain Oscar and his XO Pang were both exceptionally abusive. Both had a habit of berating the men for as long as an hour and a half, singly and in groups, in the most insulting terms. When you add to that Oscar’s habit of throwing men in the brig for arbitrary reasons, you have a crew that has been greatly traumatized and has been put under enormous stress. It is so bad that, even though this vessel has not seen action in eight months, the men all have scores on the Reed-Brannon Psycho-Physiological Stress Test that make it look like they’ve been in continuous combat for months. Now, bearing that in mind, what should we do with them?”

  There was a long silence, lasting the better part of a minute, as the officers pondered what they had just heard. Garcia spoke first.

  “I sympathize with them. I’ve seen a lot of what you’re talking about. The rot on this ship runs deep, and this crew should have been broken up and reassigned. But I don’t trust these three. Not for a minute. So what if they’ve got squirrels in their attic? It just means that they’re more likely to do some other crazy thing some other time, like when we’re even farther from home or just as we enter combat. Given our destination and our mission, it’s just too dangerous to give them the run of the ship.

  “Our objective comes first, the safety of this crew and this ship second, and what we feel for these men—men who, I admit, have had a very difficult time—comes a very, very poor third. My loyalty is with the men who did their duty, not with the ones who—whatever their intentions—were giving aid and comfort to the Krag. Remember that we have aboard 212 men who have been through everything these three men have been through, but who did not betray their shipmates by trying to sabotage the life support systems in their own vessel.

  “I say leave them in the brig for the duration, and then present them for court martial when we get back to the task force. They can be Admiral Hornmeyer’s problem, or the judge advocate’s, or the fleet headshrinker’s. This is one time we should pass the buck—somebody else made the problem, so let somebody else solve it. We have enough problems of our own.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel for them at all,” Major Kraft said. “The enemy is supposed to be out there,” he jabbed his finger at the stars showing through the viewport, “not in here. Traitors are traitors. Reasons don’t matter. Let them be an example—you can’t betray your ship and your shipmates, no matter what the reason, no matter what was done to you. You always have a choice. Loyalty to the Union. Loyalty to your shipmates. Or treason. In the final analysis, it really is that simple. We should carry out the law and execute them. Today. Before another hour passes. Swift and certain execution will leave no doubt for others about what choices they should make.”

  Sahin shook his head. “Yes, they committed treason. Of that there is no doubt. But did they have a choice? Did they truly have a choice? Or did Captain Oscar and the inspector general twist these men’s minds and souls into such knots that they couldn’t think for themselves any more? Maybe they were so traumatized and mentally beaten and threatened and manipulated that, in certain situations, they were deprived of their power to choose what to do and could act only under the constraint of internal compulsion.

  “We must remember, gentlemen, that this is a ship that fled the enemy twice and that when it fought simulated battles against other ships, it lost and was ruled to be destroyed. Every time. These men were operating under the certainty that if this ship with this crew faced the enemy, they would all certainly die. Under those circumstances, were they capable of doing anything other than what they did? If not, then they did not choose to be traitors and we cannot in good conscience punish them.

  “Punishment should follow as a consequence for a wrongful choice—for a malicious and evil exercise of the will. If you take away a man’s choice and deprive him of his will, then punishment is unjust, and executing him would be a travesty of justice. These men were not fully responsible for their actions. We cannot simply toss them out an airlock or shoot them.”

  “All of you are forgetting something,” Brown said. “These men all stand the same station. They are the number one missile fire control technicians for the Blue, Gold, and White watches. They are each other’s reliefs and replacements. The only way they were all able to be away from that station at the same time was that Larch-Thau had a utility man standing in for him. Now, every man with a Comet is certified as being able to operate missile fire control systems, but these men are the experts on the nuts and bolts, the subassemblies and the workarounds. They are best qualified to maintain, calibrate, troubleshoot, and repair those systems if damaged.

  “If we take a hit to that part of the ship and have to rebuild fire control from spares, those are the men I would assign to do it. There are others who could probably work it out from the schematics in the database, but it would take them ten times as long as our traitors. My department cannot spare—this ship cannot spare—these men.

  “Captain, you should know that if you execute all three, it will be my duty under naval regulations to request formally that we return to the Task Force and obtain replacement personnel, because loss of them will impair our combat readiness. And I will do the same if you leave them locked in the brig for the duration. I need them on duty.”

  “But, Lieutenant,” Major Kraft said, “this becomes an issue only if fire control takes severe damage. When was the last time you were on a ship that had to rebuild fire control from spares? I’ve never heard of anyone doing it. I can’t see twisting the arms of justice to preserve our ability to deal with a very remote contingency. If you’re worried about it, take a few of your best men from the most similar system—pulse cannon fire control, for example—and give them a crash training course in what these fellows did. That will replace much of what you will be losing. Enough, at least, to cover this remote eventuality.”

  The captain raised a silencing hand. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your views. They have clarified my thinking on this issue. My strong personal inclination is in line with Major Kraft. I cannot abide treason and feel that the wages of treason are death. But my personal wishes can’t be decisive here. These men are valuable to this ship, and they’re valuable to the Navy. I believe that there’s a lot to what the Doctor said here as well—that these men have been damaged in such a way that their choices weren’t their own in many ways.” He turned to Dr. Sahi
n meaningfully, “Not in all ways, mind you. But I don’t want to be the final judge of that.

  “The needs of the ship come first. I aim to return them to duty.” Kraft started to say something. Max stopped him with a warning index finger. “I aim to return them to duty under strict guard. They are confined to quarters when off duty. When on duty, they will remain under observation by an armed Marine, and they will be kept away from any systems other than the one to which they are assigned. We will turn them over to the authorities when we return to the fleet. Admiral Hornmeyer and the Judge Advocate will decide these men’s ultimate fate. Until then, I want you to examine them, Doctor, and to give me a sense of the state of their mental health. I also want to meet with them and impress upon them the seriousness of their position, that if they go astray again, they will be shown the airlock, but that they also are being given a chance for forgiveness and redemption.

  “Men, many of our ancestors believed that lost souls could be reclaimed and find redemption through the power of mercy, love, and understanding. That’s one of the central teachings of my faith, as well. I’m a warrior, and my areas of expertise are conflict and death. But I’m willing to try my hand at something different for the sake of these men. They are our shipmates. They deserve the best we can give them. I will not cast them into the darkness unless I have no other choice. Dismissed.”

  Dr. Sahin remained seated as the rest of the men filed out of the compartment. “Captain, may I have a word with you?”

  “Sure, Doctor, what’s on your mind?”

  “You issued a set of separate written orders to each senior officer, including me.”

  “Yes. I wrote them before I assumed command. Is there a problem with any of those orders?”

  “Not at all. I find them very sensible indeed. They were things that I would have done in any case, but your order makes it easier to get them done—they are now captain’s orders. It makes them a priority.”

  “What of my orders, Doctor?”

  “As you recall, one of the things I was ordered to do was to review the medical records of the ship’s complement to determine whether anyone had any special medical needs that were not being adequately addressed. I am constrained to point out to you that there is one such person on board who has a severe and unmet medical need that may adversely affect his ability to carry out his duties. I believe that he requires treatment immediately or his performance is likely to begin to deteriorate rapidly to such a degree that within a very short time he may become unfit for duty.”

  “Can the treatment he needs be provided on the Cumberland?”

  “Yes. He can receive all the treatment he needs on board.”

  “Then he must begin to receive the proper treatment at once.”

  “I suspect that he may be resistant to this course of action.”

  “Then he must be ordered to submit to treatment. As I said just a minute ago, the needs of the ship come first. Who is this person?”

  “His name is Robichaux. Maxime Tindall Robichaux.”

  “Doctor,” Max sputtered. “There must be some kind of error. I was slightly—very slightly—wounded during my last deployment and received treatment from one of your colleagues on board the Halsey. I was thoroughly examined and found to be in perfect health back in mid-November and again just a few days ago. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me.”

  “Really? Are you sure about that? Captain, as you may recall, I saw your reaction when a comm panel alert signal interrupted you. I recognized that response immediately and did some extensive research into your medical records, service records, and other pieces of the digital puzzle we all leave behind as we live our lives in the service. I have also watched you very carefully since then. The pattern is undeniable. If you are to sit there and tell me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, then you must be telling me that you are not experiencing nightmares, disturbed sleep, exaggerated startle responses, emotional volatility, pain in the extremities, an irrational need to avoid sitting with your back to any room with people in it, difficulty trusting others, and profound feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Do I understand that to be your contention?”

  Max felt an internal lurch, followed by a sense of vertigo, as though he were riding in an elevator that suddenly dropped three stories. He could literally feel the blood draining from his face. He said softly, “I’ve never reported any of those symptoms, Doctor.”

  “But you are experiencing them nonetheless, aren’t you?” Realizing that he had sounded as though he were cross-examining the captain, he adopted a more sympathetic tone. “Please, sir, I am not asking for the benefit of any report, but because as a physician I have sworn an oath to alleviate human suffering, and I have every reason to believe that you are suffering. Further, as you said yourself, the needs of the ship come first. In the coming days, this ship and this crew are going to need a commanding officer who is not coping with the additional burdens imposed by serious emotional impairment. Captain… Max, you have done me more than one kindness in these past few days. Let me do you a kindness. I know what you are experiencing. I am an extremely acute observer. I miss very little.”

  Max sat silently, of two minds. He had survived and functioned all these years by keeping these problems sealed off behind a heavy pressure bulkhead. But as a perceptive leader, Max knew enough about how the human mind worked to know that under the added stresses of command, that bulkhead might be starting to crack. Perhaps this brilliant physician was already starting to see the signs. This wasn’t just about him any more. Max realized that his mind, his intellect, his judgment, were the most critical systems on board.

  “Doctor, I will not lie to you. The things you describe are a part of my life. But I’ve lived with them ever since I can remember. They’re a part of me. I don’t know what they are or how they might be connected, and I don’t know what you or anyone else can do about them.”

  “Captain, these things are not disconnected from one another. Together, they are all symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. I believe they stem from two events in your childhood that I know of, and perhaps other events of which I do not know.”

  “Absurd. You can’t mean to tell me that I’m today, at age twenty-eight, having trouble sleeping and jump at sudden noises because of something that happened when I was thirteen or fourteen.”

  “No, I do not mean to tell you that. I do mean to tell you that you are today having trouble sleeping and are jumping at sudden noises because of events that transpired when you were eight, and when you were ten.”

  The emotional elevator dropped another three floors. “Oh, you mean…”

  “Exactly, Captain. I have pieced it together from hints in your jacket, peculiar turns of phrase you have used in your After Action Statements, reports, orders, and memoranda, from things I have seen you do or heard you say, and from news items. It is all very subtle, but the conclusions are plain for anyone with eyes to see them.

  “At age eight, you were not merely orphaned by the Gynophage. You were horrifically, searingly scarred by it.” Sahin did not relish what he was about to say, but he knew that this man’s defenses would shrug off anything less than a brutally vivid explanation. “If I am not mistaken, on the first day of the attack, you were at home with your mother and your sisters when the weapon struck. You, an eight-year-old boy who had never seen physical disease or severe pain in your life, helpless, unable to summon assistance over the jammed communication systems, watched as your mother died in screaming, writhing agony before your very eyes. Unless I miss my guess, she pleaded with you to help her, and all you were able to do was to stand by and watch her die. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” A whisper.

  “Then, before you could find another adult to help you and before your father got home—was it only an hour or two later?—you watched the same thing happen to your twin sisters, infants less than a year old. You were just as helpless, equally alone. Your father came home six hours later and found
you with only corpses for company. From what I can tell, he was shattered emotionally. So he sent you into space a scant two weeks later. The chief medical officer of the San Jacinto noted in his log that you were dehydrated and malnourished from having hardly eaten or drunk for what he guessed to be about two weeks. Captain Lo noted that you hardly spoke a word to anyone for nearly a month after you came on board.

  “Then, sixteen months later, your world came apart around you again when your new home, the cruiser San Jacinto, was boarded and your new family, its crew, killed by the Krag. All but a few of its crew of more than four hundred perished. According to the citation that Commodore Middleton wrote when he awarded you the Navy and Marine Achievement Medal, you hid in the air ducts and access crawlways and eluded them for twenty-six days, stealing food from the cargo holds and drinking from the water reclamation units.

  “I suspect very strongly that you watched with your own eyes—through the vent gratings perhaps?—as the Krag tortured your shipmates for information or merely tortured and killed them because we all know that is what the Krag do. And they hunted you, day and night, did they not? Relentlessly. Day after day; exhausting, sleepless night after night. Is it any wonder that you continually wake in the middle of the night, screaming, drenched in sweat, dreaming of being pursued?

  “Finally, by a miracle, the ship was retaken by Union forces, and you were found. According to what you said during your lengthy debriefing, when you heard human voices in the corridor, you sprang out of an air duct and hacked off the arms of two Krag from behind with a boarding cutlass you grabbed from an arms locker when the Krag boarded the ship. You carry that same boarding cutlass to this day. My guess is that you sleep with it near your bed, and you like to have it within reach whenever you are under stress. I ask you, sir, with every kindness, am I incorrect as to any material fact?”