Last Man Out (Poor Man's Fight Book 5)

by Elliott Kay

  “Yes,” Yeoh acknowledged, and said nothing more.

  “This naturally makes others in the Union nervous. Including many in the Assembly.”

  “Perhaps you could share your consulate’s report on reconstruction with them.”

  “I certainly will. The report will not change the math. Archangel was invaded, Admiral, and had to defend itself alone. No one denies that. The fight is over now, yet Archangel is still armed for war. As I say, this makes some people nervous.”

  “Are they afraid we will become expansionist?” Yeoh asked, smiling at the absurdity of it. “We have no assault carriers, nor the capacity to build them at any speed. Our Navy and Civil Defense forces aren’t built for any serious occupation.”

  “Indeed. Nor does anyone stand to threaten you. Do you still intend to keep your Navy at its current strength?”

  “That’s a matter for the civilian government to decide, of course,” said Yeoh.

  “And if I were to ask President Santiago to relinquish your extraordinary fleet strength and return to the limits of Union arms treaties, would you advise him to do so?”

  “No.”

  Ohango smiled, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you for your honesty. As a formality, I must of course take this message to your president. The treaties are as they are. Realistically, however, I understand Archangel is not inclined to a rapid drawdown. This still leaves me with a nervous Assembly and a violation of treaties. To leave the matter unresolved will only encourage an arms race and increased tensions across the Union—and we already have enough of those.”

  “I take it you see an alternative?” asked Yeoh.

  “Of sorts. Again, the overall security of the Union has worsened. In contrast, Archangel is stronger than ever. I propose Archangel lend that strength to the Union Fleet in an extended joint patrol force along the armistice borders. One battleship, along with escorts. The Union Fleet will match that. We hope to include a few other system militias as well.”

  Yeoh’s eyebrow rose. “That would make for more than a patrol.”

  “Indeed. It would make for a display of unity and cooperation.”

  “Is this purely a public relations exercise?”

  “No,” said Ohango. His smile faded once more under deeper concerns. “I expect this patrol will find legitimate work. While Archangel ended several pirate outfits before the war, certain other events only encouraged piracy elsewhere in the Union. The successes of at least one pirate you’re likely familiar with played a key role in that.”

  His gentle tone expressed no desire to rub it in. Yeoh acknowledged his point with a nod.

  “There is another concern, one to be kept confidential per Union Fleet Intelligence protocols,” said Ohango. By bringing it up, Ohango was asking if the room was secure and Yeoh’s aides had clearance. She nodded her assurance.

  “We have seen increased activity along the Krokinthian border over the last three years. Their ships have not violated any of the red lines, but they have come closer than normal. We can only guess they are watching and listening intently to what has transpired in Union space.

  “Nyuyinaro sightings have also increased, and these are within Union space. It seems to be more than the usual wanderings we’ve always had. Normally they are only seen alone or in pairs. We have confirmed a few bonded pods. I can share a chart of the sightings if you wish.”

  “Please,” said Yeoh. “Have you seen patterns?”

  “A few, mostly locational. We haven’t seen any violence, or really any significant interaction with human vessels or settlements. But we can chart out a specific start to the increase.”

  Her eyebrow rose again. “When?”

  “Two months after Archangel was invaded. Shortly before the precipitous downfall of CDC.” He leaned back in his seat as if finished with the matter, then perked up with a new line of thought. “I’ve become something of a student of the entire conflict, as you might imagine. Tell me, how are Gunnery Sergeant Janeka and Corporal Alicia Wong? Oh, and one other…Corporal Martin Ravenell?”

  Though he disguised the message with a pleasant tone, Yeoh understood perfectly. Her placid expression held. “It’s Sergeant Ravenell and Midshipman Wong now,” she answered. “The gunny is as she always has been, but I cannot say I’ve spoken with her in some time. I’m afraid I’ve only met Wong and Ravenell in passing.”

  “Ah. An idle curiosity. I’m sure they’re doing well. I see our time is about up, and I know you are only at the beginning of a challenging day. I appreciate the accommodation you made to see me this morning. It is a courtesy I will not forget.”

  “Of course.” She rose from her seat with him. Everyone else in the room stood as well, but only Yeoh walked with Ohango and his aides to the door. “I’ll pass your offer to the president. Along with all the details.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. It is always a pleasure.” He shook her hand before he stepped through the door out into a hallway thronged with journalists. Loud questions poured through the doorway until the door closed.

  Yeoh turned back to her aides, still standing in wait. The simple rise of her brow gave all the invitation they needed to speak.

  “That’s a small carrot with a hell of a stick,” said Commander Beacham, her chief of staff and closest aide.

  “Is it?” asked Major Li. The lone marine was new to her staff, but he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. “Ohango has a point. The longer we go without disasters or blow-ups, the more people cool off and lose interest. I’d rather argue with the Assembly about our force strength in a year or two than in the next month. If a joint patrol gets us a little farther out of the doghouse with the rest of the Union, let’s do it.”

  “Agreed,” said Yeoh. “I am less concerned with the benefits than the negative incentives. The carrot and stick approach isn’t a surprise, but he threw in a note of guilt with the reference to piracy. What was that? An appeal to Catholic sensibilities? Because this is Archangel?” Yeoh chuckled. “I’m almost offended.”

  “I thought that was the stick before he brought up the other thing,” said Beacham.

  “So did I,” Yeoh agreed.

  “He wanted us to know he knows what happened,” said Li. “The Union’s Secretary of Defense doesn’t drop the names of enlisted militia members out of casual interest.”

  “Wars turn on the actions of lowly enlisted personnel,” Yeoh noted. “Ours surely did.”

  “You don’t think that comment was about them, though, do you?” Beacham asked.

  “No. Of course not. The names are only a show of detail. Perhaps it came from a leak on our end, but Union Fleet Intelligence has had three years to investigate the incident. Let’s give them a little credit.”

  “So if we play along with Ohango’s patrol idea, he keeps it all quiet?” asked Li. “It can’t be that simple.”

  “Nothing ever is, but it’s a step,” said Beacham.

  “Agreed,” said Yeoh. “Guilt and sticks aside, I have no problem with his proposal. It offers a number of benefits. We need to repair our relations with the rest of the Union at large. I doubt the president will even think twice about it.” Her holocom buzzed. She tapped it without looking. “I suppose that’s us.”

  “We haven’t had any time to get focused,” said Beacham. “Are you sure you’re ready? If you ask for a delay, they’ll probably allow it.”

  “We’ve had plenty of time before today. Let’s go,” Yeoh decided.

  Li opened a door opposite from the exit Ohango had used. The hallway outside was quieter and shorter. Yeoh stepped out, followed by her two aides. A security officer waited at the door on the other end of the hall. “They’re ready for you, ma’am,” he said.

  She walked into the chamber of marble walls and bright lights, taking her seat at the center of the witness table. Conversations quickly drew to a close. Men and women seated on the dais turned their attention toward Yeoh as her aides took their seats.

  “Admiral Yeoh, thank you for appearing here t
his morning,” began the panel’s chairwoman. “We appreciate the impact of all of this on your schedule.”

  “No problem at all, Senator,” Yeoh replied.

  “Then let’s begin.” The chairwoman tapped her gavel. “This is hearing number twenty-seven of the Senate War Crimes Tribunal investigating matters of the recent war with NorthStar, Lai Wa, CDC, and allied entities, and of matters relating to the lead-up to that war. Admiral Yeoh is here as a witness. She is not charged.”

  The preamble continued. Yeoh checked to make sure her microphone was off. She leaned back to catch Li’s attention, keeping her voice low. “Before I forget, could you look into Midshipman Wong’s orders for her fleet cruise this summer?”

  Li blinked. “Ma’am?”

  She smiled. Li was new to her staff. He wasn’t used to her attention to personnel details. “I suspect the academy plans to send her someplace more sedate than what I have in mind.”

  Chapter Seven:

  Tough Crowds

  “Fiduciary duties come first. Remember that? Remember our shareholders? Tell your friends at human resources we don’t need any more quality of life proposals for the masses and we damn sure don’t need another list of ‘shortfalls’ in worker benefits.

  “The colonists knew what they signed up for. If second-gen kids don’t like it, they can take it up with their parents.”

  --Minos Enterprises Executive Committee Internal Correspondence, June 2280

  She would have preferred foot patrol in the middle of the desert. All-night watch in a stinking swamp would’ve be better. Hell, actual combat would have been better, too, but that wasn’t a shock. She liked combat—as long as her side had its shit together, of course. Why else choose this career?

  Every job had its downsides. For Major Sheila Dylan, briefing her civilian clients was the worst, especially when she had to sit through business updates first. Crystal mining for the computer chip plants was always steady. Profits on chip sales were always strong. Metallurgical studies to industrialize the local stone were forever two weeks away from a breakthrough. And reports on morale among the citizenry always included new and appealing euphemisms for “the masses are poor, miserable, and hate it here.”

  She always came prepared for her own part of it. The intelligence and logistics guys gave her the latest data, maps, and figures. The round, glossy black table dominating the room offered first-rate holo projection. Dylan could put up colorful charts and animated simulations to get her points across. She had no doubts about her speaking skills or her mastery of the facts. Despite all that, she continued to see the same reactions from her audience.

  Chief Financial Officer Miranda Duke frowned through the whole thing. Her every question would be about money. The Chief Administrative Officer Sam Franklin slouched sideways in his chair, only occasionally looking up from whatever holo screens sat at his spot under the cover of the tilted glare-guards built into the table. He’s gotta be looking at porn.

  Most of the other executive types were similarly preoccupied and frustrated about even being here. The rest kept quiet and ducked any attention or responsibility. Dylan could relate to the former. The latter turned her stomach.

  Her biggest concern and her primary audience, of course, was the man with the most authority and responsibility. Tom Geisler had to be sixty or seventy by now, but longevity treatments kept his face and body in his mid-twenties. His behavior sometimes made him seem even younger. Short, slightly curly brown hair and a clean shave made for an unobstructed view of his dimples and baby blue eyes. He would have been almost adorable were it not for his aloof arrogance and his frequent irritation.

  These meetings were recorded and transmitted to major shareholders off-planet, including people who had the ear of her employers. Dylan tried to remember that audience when she spoke here. She refused to give anyone cause to complain about Precision Solutions.

  This moment seemed like a perfect picture of the whole dynamic. Duke barely glanced at Dylan’s figures. Franklin pondered, seemingly with a question on the tip of his tongue, but it never came. The rest of the gaggle looked uncomfortable.

  Geisler stared.

  “As an update from the May raid here in Anchorside, all injured are fully recovered but none of the missing personnel have been found.” Dylan brought up holo images of the aftermath: the destroyed replenishment dock at the spaceport, damaged buildings and vehicles along the insurgents’ escape route, and the body of a lone infantryman right where he was first found in the desert. The dark grey ashes of the dunes soaked up enough of his blood to keep the picture from being too gruesome for her audience. A screen beside the images brought up a bullet point list of property losses. Another listed the missing personnel.

  Franklin looked up in time to catch the images. Subtly, Dylan slid her finger across her controls, changing the images to video of her people chasing the insurgents out of the city, complete with gunfire and explosions. If the hook worked, perhaps she could reel in the rest of his interest.

  Nothing. His eyes turned down again. No questions, no interest.

  “Are those missing personnel presumed dead at this point?” asked another voice. She wasn’t used to hearing questions from Geisler.

  “We’ll keep looking, but yes, sir,” answered Dylan. She brought up the next image, showing search efforts after the storm. Drones flitted over the dunes while infantry probed the sands. “Given the fatal injuries inflicted on Private Murray and what little chatter his comms unit recorded, we know they came into contact with insurgents. However, we haven’t had any luck in picking up a trail. My people dug three meters deep into the sands all around and picked up bits of equipment and debris, but nothing more. This suggests the insurgents have an extraction method more sophisticated than anything we’ve suspected so far.”

  “Uh-huh. Insurance payouts for missing personnel are between Precision Solutions and their own insurers, correct? Same as fatalities?” Geisler asked, turning his eyes to Miranda Duke.

  “Correct,” said the CFO. “Costs like that are folded into our original contract.”

  “Okay. Please continue,” said Geisler, returning his attention to the major.

  Insurance, Dylan thought. That’s your concern. She bit down on it and continued. “We have two capture-and-search raids ready to go for tonight. Teams will move out from Forward Point Bravo and FP Delta after nightfall has settled in. Both targets are in residential neighborhoods. We’ll move in, grab our wanted men, and search their locations before heading back to the FP. Minimal fuss unless the insurgents put up a fight. If they do, we’ll be ready.”

  “You mean that will lead to street fighting?” spoke up another voice at the table.

  “We’ll do all we can to prevent it,” said Dylan. She didn’t recognize the name or the face. “Escalation is a fundamental risk. We can’t control the decisions of the other side.”

  “And if there are more insurgents or if they put up stiffer resistance than you expect, will you also escalate?” Dylan couldn’t place any particular accent to peg his planet of origin. These meetings sometimes had guests, be they executives or shareholder reps, but they didn’t normally speak up.

  “We’ll do what we must to win the fight, sir.”

  “A more detailed briefing on Major Dylan’s tactics can be arranged later, if necessary,” said Geisler. “Unfortunately, I believe we’re out of time. Major, thank you for the update.” He stood from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting.

  Lights rose. Attendees shuffled out. Dylan canceled her holo projections and closed out of her briefing notes. As soon as she looked up, she found Geisler by her side. The rest of the audience was far enough away to allow for a private word.

  “These raids tonight,” he began, his voice low. “Are there any concerns about them you didn’t want to share with the whole audience? Anything unusual or complicated?”

  “Not particularly. We’ve done them before. I can lay out the details if you’d like. What’s on your mind
?”

  “It’s not about my curiosity.” Geisler’s eyes turned from hers to the men and women drifting toward the exit. The stranger with all the questions looked back at the pair before he turned a corner out into the hall. “Our visitor seemed to have pointed concerns. I wondered if he might know something I don’t.”

  “He’d have to know something I don’t, too. Who is he?”

  “A proxy for a shareholder group.” Geisler shook his head as if to dismiss the topic. “You don’t expect this to get noisy, then?”

  “I don’t expect it, no, but the insurgents know how to make their own noise. We know they have at least a few heavy weapons. Again, we’re not exactly going after a known stronghold. These are ordinary apartments.”

  He nodded. “As long as the only explosions are coming from the insurgents tonight. Or in the foreseeable future. Particularly in the cities.”

  “Sir?” Dylan blinked.

  “Noisy tactics and demonstrations of power make for terrible public relations,” he explained. “I understand you can’t dictate tactics to the insurgents. But as for what aspects of all this we can control, we need to lower the profile. No heavy weapons, no air support aside from transport. I can’t have bullets or missiles raining down from above for everyone to see.”

  “Nothing like that has happened,” said Dylan.

  “But you have kept those options at the ready.”

  “If there’s a fight, we need to be ready to win it. I don’t call in heavier firepower unless it’s necessary.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m telling you not to call it in at all.” His eyes lingered on hers. “Not without explicit authorization from me. Understood?”

  Dylan held her reactions in check. She wondered how bad his shareholder situation could be. “If we need those options, it means things have already gotten bad. Do you want me to call you in the middle of a firefight?”

  “I want your company to live up to its name. You’re supposed to deliver solutions. I’m asking for precision. Not artillery.” With nothing more than a curt nod as a farewell, Geisler strode out of the conference room.