Brothers in Valor (Man of War Book 3)

by H. Paul Honsinger

  “Translations between species are prone to error. My neurology is not evolved to distinguish one human from another. It is possible that I am mistaken. I do not wish to provoke an incident over a mistake. So, I must know that what I believe is true. Please answer these questions.” He looked pointedly at Max. “Are you Robichaux?”

  “Yes, I am,” Max answered blandly.

  The Pfelung looked directly at Hajjam. “Are you Hajjam?”

  “I am,” Hajjam said.

  “Do you now claim—”

  The cycling of the hatch cut off Shamp-Sungnah and the translator. Hajjam glared at the door. Clearly he had left instructions that no one was to enter. A man wearing Rashidian civilian dress came in, breezily, as though he were walking into his favorite restaurant. He wore a brown-and-tan flowing robe much like those worn by most men on Rashid, save that his garment was trimmed with gold braid. Over the wearer’s left breast, Max could see the calligraphic representation of an Arabic letter woven into the fabric with gold thread. Although Max was accustomed to seeing him in substantially different attire, there was no mistaking the gentleman’s identity.

  “Commander,” Max said to Hajjam in a severe voice, “do you allow just anyone to wander into critical strategic meetings whenever they please? I’m shocked that you allow this two-bit art dealer on your ship, much less into this meeting.”

  The other man ignored Max and spoke directly to Hajjam. “Commander, are you aware how dangerous—what a menace to the safety of everyone in this battle group—this man is?” He waved his hand in a vague but elegant gesture in Max’s general direction. “He has destroyed a Royal Air Force STOL trainer and laid waste to the garden at the Ministry of Trade building in the capital. Rumor has it that he has even smuggled explosives on board another vessel hidden inside ham sandwiches. I warn you, he is well-known for guile, deception, and trickery.”

  Just as Hajjam was about to interpose himself between the two men to keep them from coming to blows, the man in the robes stepped up to Max and embraced him warmly. “Max, my brother,” he said with genuine emotion, “it brings joy to my heart to see you.”

  “You too, Prince. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

  “Indeed. One would not expect to find me away from the capital in these turbulent times, much less on a warship behind enemy lines. There has, however, been a highly unusual development requiring my personal attention. On some later date, this matter may even involve you, but it is not something that I feel at liberty to discuss at present.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Max replied.

  “Your Majesty, you know this man?” Commander Hajjam interjected.

  “Indeed, I do. In fact, he knew me as Ellington Wortham-Biggs, dealer in fine-art glass sculpture, before he had an inkling that I was Prince Khalid, King Khalil’s older and far less martial brother, as well as holder of the high offices of Deputy Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, Minister of Intelligence, Minister of Defense, Master of the Rolls, Groom of the Second Floor Front, et cetera,” answered the prince.

  Max smiled at the Gilbert and Sullivan reference. He did not know that the prince was a fan, but apparently, the brilliant and always incredibly well-informed gentleman knew that Max was. Khalid continued, “But, please, Max, Commander, gentlemen, and guests, it was not my intention to interrupt these proceedings. I am not attending this meeting in any official capacity whatsoever. Rather, I ask that you consider me merely as an interested bystander. All I require is that a steward bring me some coffee, and I will be quite content.”

  Before anyone had the opportunity to call for coffee, a steward appeared with the referenced beverage and poured a cup. Prince Khalid seated himself in a chair that was one of a row set against the back wall of the Wardroom, removed from beside the table to make room for the Pfelung. He sat, calmly drinking his coffee, inscrutable.

  Shamp-Sungnah had remained perfectly silent and perfectly still during this discussion. As soon as things settled down, he resumed speaking. “Commander Hajjam, I must be certain that I understand you correctly. Do you claim to be the commander of this task force?”

  “Yes, I do,” he answered.

  The Pfelung made a sound like the rumble of thunder, which Max knew to be a vibration of his air bladder, an involuntary reflex used to frighten away predators. “You exceed your authority. Robichaux holds an intermediate certification in multiple-vessel command. You hold a basic certification. Under the terms of the Four Power Joint Forces Agreement, Robichaux is the proper commander. Further, Hornmeyer commands this theater under the agreement. His orders place Robichaux in command. Conclusions: you are not the commander. The reasoning is inescapable. The logic is watertight.”

  “Ridiculous,” Hajjam responded. “I’m Robichaux’s superior officer by a full rank. I also have greatly more experience than he. I have commanded warships for more than ten years, while Robichaux has had his own command for less than half a year. I am an experienced captain, and he is not. This is no place for our actions to be governed by a scrap of paper negotiated hundreds of light-years away by staff officers and bureaucrats who know nothing of real warfare and who are completely ignorant of conditions here and now. And with all respect to Admiral Hornmeyer, he is also a great distance from here and does not know our current situation. I am the senior officer in place, and I am intimately familiar with every detail.

  “Further, Lieutenant Commander Robichaux, who is a very, very young man, has a reputation for implementing wild, rash, and reckless tactics, heedless of the risks. I am a sober, experienced, mature leader. So it is clear that I am entitled to make this decision and, accordingly, am claiming preference in command over this,” he gestured toward Max, “this . . . this reckless adolescent. He would lead us to disaster. I will lead us to victory.” He turned to the other Rashidian skipper, who took a long, slow breath and began speaking.

  “The Boutouba is an important element of this group, and its participation is essential to the success of our mission,” Lieutenant Commander Shaath said. “Be assured that we will not follow so young and inexperienced a commander into a major engagement. I have my ship and men to think about, and I will not sacrifice them based on an obscure clause of a mere working agreement negotiated by military commanders in the field. I was a diplomat before the deteriorating political situation in the galaxy induced me to join the navy, and I know that the legal status of the Joint Forces Agreement is questionable at best. The Kingdom and the Union are not allies, but are merely Associated Powers. This agreement is not a formal interpower convention. It is not a treaty. It has not been ratified by the Royal Counsel. No, we will not be bound by it. We will follow Commander Hajjam, or we will follow no one. It is only reasonable that our Union associates submit to the realities of this situation and consent to be commanded by Commander Hajjam, who is the better commander in any event.”

  Shaath turned to Anderssen. “Surely, you, Captain Anderssen, with your decades of service and history of many battles, understand the value of maturity and experience over youth and recklessness.”

  Anderssen nodded and took a sip of his coffee, letting the tension hang in the air, like smoke. He met the eyes of each being at the table in turn, as though he were measuring them. At length, he spoke. His voice was gentle, as though he were a wise old uncle serving as the voice of experience at a rancorous family meeting. “You are correct, Lieutenant Commander Shaath, that I know very well and profoundly appreciate the value of service and experience, perhaps more than anyone else at this table.” He turned to the other Rashidian skipper. “Please make no mistake, Commander Hajjam, I respect greatly your experience and abilities and know very well what an asset you are to any fighting force fortunate enough to have you with them.” Hajjam nodded his thanks.

  “But,” Anderssen continued, speaking more forcefully as he went, “this I know equally well. The experience that matters in a real battle is measured not in years on the command roster but in minutes of commanding a ship in actua
l combat. Further, in war, nothing speaks more loudly than victory. Lieutenant Commander Robichaux has a record of victories that . . .”

  “I know something of these victories,” Hajjam spat, earning looks of rapidly concealed anger from the other Rashidian officers for the rudeness of interrupting a respected senior officer. “Mere flukes, wild strokes of good fortune resulting from insane gambles that inexplicably paid off. Robichaux took insane chances, for which the consequences have not yet come due. I grant you that in the past, fate has tilted the scales to Robichaux’s advantage. But, gentlemen, remember that while fate is a powerful ally, she is also a fickle one. She will withdraw her favor, the scales will balance, and the cosmos will inevitably collect its due from our reckless young officer. I will not let it take my ship in payment of this man’s debt.”

  The Pfelung commander moved his forefins up and down slowly to indicate that he wished to have everyone’s attention. “I have not served under Robichaux. But most of the fighters under my command have. They have complete confidence in him.” He seemed about to say something more when the hologram of Brakmor-Ent interrupted.

  “Human! Life in the dry air has dehydrated your brain if you believe we will follow you instead of Robichaux.” The Rashidians recoiled in anger at the young Pfelung’s provocative statement. Hajjam reflexively reached for his sword before willing his hands to rest on the table. Oblivious to this reaction, Brakmor-Ent continued. “My fighters and I swim the dark waters of space for one reason: to serve the Krag as a meal to the bottom-feeding worms. With Robichaux we have sent many Krag to be devoured by slithering creatures that feast on rotting flesh, and with him we know we can send many more to the same place. As for you, Hajjam, we have never fought beside you, but we know that you have little battle experience and even less in combat with the Krag. The worms that wait for what you send are few, lean, and hungry. We will not follow you. We will follow Robichaux. We have heard all we have to hear and said all we have to say about who shall be leader. We are now bored with the subject. Until we are ready to speak of how Robichaux will lead us in the fun of killing Krag with nuclear weapons, I am terminating the audio channel.”

  The transducers fell silent as the dolphinlike adolescent’s hologram turned its tail to Hajjam and defecated.

  “We Pfelung are a direct race. Tact is not one of our strengths. Our adolescents are even less tactful than our adults,” the older Pfelung added. “For my young comrade’s lack of tact, I apologize. But he also speaks truth, and for that I have no apology. The truth here is simple. Robichaux is the rightful commander. He is the proper commander. Therefore, we will follow no one else. When we discuss how Robichaux will lead us, I will listen. Until then, listening is pointless. I withdraw my organs of hearing.”

  He squinted for a moment, pulling his eardrums—pink disks in the middle of his gills, about the diameter of a hamburger, two on each side—completely inside his head and sealing the opening into which they vanished with a bony flap. Max suspected that the Pfelung were able to do this to protect their eardrums from being damaged in a fight or from loud sounds underwater.

  Hajjam came to his feet. “This is outrageous. As the senior officer present, I’m giving you a direct order, Robichaux. Acknowledge my authority or face consequences that I do not believe you are prepared even to contemplate, much less experience. I have no compunction about placing you under arrest and confining you in the brig until you submit to my authority.”

  Max didn’t budge. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even blink.

  “Then on your head be it, Robichaux.” Hajjam keyed open an intercom circuit. “Marine detachment, send a four-man detail to the Wardroom.”

  “Belay that order!” Heads snapped around to face the source of those words at the back of the compartment where Prince Khalid had sat, sipping his coffee, almost forgotten.

  “This absurd dispute has gone on quite long enough,” the prince said quietly but in a manner that brooked no discussion. He was looking squarely at Hajjam. “Until now I have refrained from interposing myself into this discussion—to use the term charitably—because I had an apparently misplaced faith that the supposedly mature officers assembled here would find a way to resolve the matter at hand in an amicable and effective manner. It appears, however, that my faith was misplaced. Accordingly, it is my duty to settle the issue.

  “I made something of a joke a few minutes ago when listing some of my offices in our government by also listing some of the positions held by Gilbert and Sullivan’s fictitious Pooh-Bah character in the government of the town of Titipu. The offices of Master of the Rolls and Groom of the Second Floor Front were Pooh-Bah’s.” He paused. “Minister of Defense, however, was mine. Because I detest the kind of meddling that is sometimes known as micromanagement, our field commanders almost never receive orders from me. Nevertheless, my authority over our armed forces is second only to that of the king, and I retain the authority to give orders on even the most inconsequential of subjects to even the lowest-ranking man in our service. I certainly have the authority to order you, Commander Hajjam, to take whatever action relative to this issue that I see fit.

  “And because of the larger policy implications of this matter, particularly for our diplomatic relations with the Union, a matter that falls within my purview as Foreign Minister as well, I would have ample justification for exercising that authority in a definitive manner today,” the prince said evenly. “You gentlemen certainly provided me with an excellent factual and logical basis for making such a decision. I listened with interest to your words, Commander Hajjam, and found myself in agreement with much of what you had to say. You are an experienced warship commander with a sterling record—of that there is no doubt. This fact stands in stark contrast with Lieutenant Commander Robichaux’s dossier, which reveals him as comparatively inexperienced, very young, and possessing a record that is troubling in many respects. Of course, you hold the higher rank. Further, your command record is uniformly reflective of sobriety and responsibility, while Robichaux’s is full of extreme risks and long shots.

  “Undoubtedly, the string of victories enjoyed by Robichaux owes at least some of its existence to luck, good fortune, or whatever one chooses to call the reckoning of the pips when the cosmos casts its dice.” The prince paused, took a sip from his coffee cup, and continued solemnly, “I have little doubt that you are correct: someday the cosmos will come calling and collect its due. Seemingly, only a man who is similarly disposed to take enormous risks and to bet on long shots would place young Robichaux in command of the coming operation.

  “And while I am most assuredly not such a man,” the prince said, “the same cannot be said of Vice Admiral Louis G. Hornmeyer, the Supreme Commander of the Associated Power forces in this theater of operations. He bets on long shots with great frequency, and he usually wins. His record of success, in fact, is unequaled in this war. The admiral is generally accounted as an operational genius and is regarded by many as one of the greatest commanders in the history of interstellar warfare. One cannot attribute such a record merely to luck or to superiority in training and matériel.

  “Our staff analysis of Admiral Hornmeyer’s command technique suggests that part of his success lies in an almost uncanny genius for matching the right commander to the right assignment—for placing leaders in situations that harmonize with their unique set of strengths and weaknesses. In this case the admiral made a considered decision to place Robichaux in command in preference to Commander Hajjam. Admiral Hornmeyer is very well acquainted with Lieutenant Commander Robichaux’s unusual tactics and methodologies and may have well counted on them in order to make this mission successful. These are, therefore, circumstances that weigh with particular gravity in favor of deferring to the admiral’s judgment regarding who should command here.

  “Further, and I do not wish to make too much a matter of this, even though I regard it as an issue of preeminent importance, there is the issue of the honor of the king. The king has on at
least two separate occasions transmitted diplomatic communiqués to the appropriate Union representatives stating that the Kingdom will abide by the Four Power Joint Forces Agreement and pledging his best efforts to ensure that our commanders will abide by its terms, particularly those provisions relating to command and control of joint forces. Therefore, as a representative of the king and, indeed, as one empowered to speak for the king in these matters, I could never stand by and allow the king’s honor to be sullied by violation of his solemn word.

  “So, I could easily give the appropriate order and place Lieutenant Commander Robichaux at the head of this task force and would never be gainsaid by anyone whose opinion in the matter carries any weight. But the avoidance of criticism has never been the star by which I navigate, and such an act would be decidedly unsubtle. Indeed, as with most unsubtle acts, it would bring about a host of undesirable consequences. The commander’s log of today’s events would reflect that he assumed command of the task force only to be relieved on my order. My report to the king would have to reflect that the commander exceeded his authority and that I had to relieve him. There would, at the very least, be a formal inquiry into these events, which would very likely have the most regrettable effects upon the commander’s career. Given that Commander Hajjam is, by all accounts, a highly capable and exceptionally promising officer—one almost certainly destined for higher commands—such an outcome would be most unfortunate.”

  He sighed with exaggerated regret. “And in the interest of brevity, I will eschew a lengthy description of the distinctly untoward diplomatic consequences for the relationship between the Kingdom and the Union should it become widely known that a Rashidian officer assumed command of joint forces in violation of the terms of a solemnly entered cooperation-of-forces agreement.” His head shook, giving every impression of great sadness. One could almost hear him “tsk”ing. “’Tis a consummation greatly to be avoided.”