by John Bowers
Sunday, 10 May, 0229 (PCC) - Wallace Plantation, Texiana, Sirius 1
Vaughn came the next Sunday, and several Sundays after that. Davenport was still there, a silent watchdog, smiling and enjoying himself. Scarlett wondered when he would ever leave, though after their one heated verbal exchange she'd forgiven him and their relationship had returned to normal.
But General Vaughn clearly had an agenda, and as they strolled in the garden after a Sunday dinner in May, he got right to the point. As they gazed at the multi-hued flowers, Vaughn dared to take her hand.
"Miss Scarlett, I am in somethin' of a dilemma."
"Why, whatever do you mean, Martin?"
"You will recall that I told you on my first visit that your daddy and I had discussed a union?"
"I do."
"Miss Scarlett, your daddy is no longer here. Normally I would approach him again, but I can no longer do that. Therefore, I'm afraid I must approach you directly."
"I see." She tried to look puzzled and concerned at the same time.
"Miss Scarlett, I know you must have a hundred young men scamperin' about to try to win your hand. And I know that I am not as young as I once was."
She watched his face. He was either agonizing over this, or doing a good job of pretending. He frowned as if in pain, then squeezed her hand and gazed into her clear green eyes.
"Miss Scarlett, I would be most honored if you would consent to become my wife. Mrs. Martin Vaughn. I do hope that is not too presumptuous of me, to propose to you in such a manner."
Scarlett felt a flush creep into her cheeks. She batted her eyes, her breath came in shallow gasps.
"My stars! Mrs. Martin Vaughn! I cain't hardly believe it!"
"If you would desire time," he said quickly, "to consider your reply, I would certainly be inclined to grant as much as you need. You have no obligation to answer me at this moment."
"I see." She fanned herself, looking at the flowers around her, overcome with perplexity. "Well, then. Yes. I think I would perhaps need a few days. This is so sudden!"
"I apologize profusely. I did not intend to rush things, but the war occupies my attention most of the time. Since your return, I have been unable to concentrate properly on my duties. And I lie awake at night, fearful that you might somehow slip away, and I would never see you again. I simply could not wait another day to bring this matter to your attention."
Scarlett laughed breathlessly.
"Yes. I mean, I understand completely. Very well, then. Next Sunday? I am certain I shall give you my answer at that time."
"Next Sunday, most definitely."
He kissed her hand, and a few minutes later bade her good night. She returned to the house and climbed the stairs, her head spinning. Davenport was seated on a sofa in the upstairs hallway. He grinned at her.
"Proposed to you, did he?"
She stopped, staring at him intently.
"How did you know?"
"Saw it coming. He's like a lovesick puppy. The first time he showed up I knew he was up to something, and there wasn't anything else it could have been."
Scarlett flushed again, resentment sparkling in her eyes.
"Sometimes, Captain Davenport, you are simply too big for your britches!"
"You gonna do it?"
"Do what?"
"Are you gonna marry him?"
"I would say that is none of your business!" she snapped.
"He's rich."
"So am I."
"Yeah, but he's a war hero, too. Won the Binary Star on Vega."
"I am aware of that." But her curiosity won out. She turned back. "How did he do that?"
Davenport laughed. "You mean you don't know?"
"Of course I don't know. All my life I knew he won the Star, but it never occurred to me to ask how he won it."
"My, you have certainly led a sheltered life. Your General Vaughn pulled off the impossible. He was eighteen years old, had been fighting on Vega less than a month, and he took a prisoner."
Scarlett waited, but he had finished.
"What do you mean, he took a prisoner? Is that all he did?"
"That's all he needed to do. He took one prisoner, and won the Binary Star."
Scarlett shook her head, confused.
"Well, that is simply scandalous! Other men must have taken prisoners, too."
Davenport nodded, enjoying himself.
"Yes, but Vaughn took the most important prisoner of all."
"And who was that?"
"Queen Ursula."
Scarlett's eyes widened.
"You mean the Vegans had a queen?"
"You didn't know that?"
"I never paid much attention to Vega."
"Well, the answer is, yes, they did have a queen; and yes, Vaughn was the man who captured her. Everyone wanted her taken alive, and he did it. Ambushed the military escort that was trying to get her to safety, killed her guards, and took her alive."
"Goodness!"
"Yep. He's quite a man. Any girl would be lucky to have him."
Scarlett stared into space for a long moment.
"So, you gonna marry him?"
She snapped out of it, looked at him as if just remembering he was there, and spun on her heel.
"Good night, Captain Davenport!"
Wednesday, 20 May, 0229 (PCC) - Polygon, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
General John Willard stood at the head of the table in the Strategy Room and smiled as he surveyed his senior planners. They stared expectantly back, their aides beside them, waiting for him to open the meeting. He held the drama another few seconds.
"We have several options for our next move," he said finally, his gravel voice filling the room. "But they boil down to two choices, and today is the day we talk about them. Our only truly viable alternatives are Altair and Alpha Centauri. So, people, which will it be?"
He started with the general at his elbow and went around the room. Each senior planner spoke a single word or phrase, indicating his or her choice for the next operation. When it came Rear Admiral Boucher's turn, he said simply, "Altair." When the vote was done, it was clearly one-sided, with Altair leading by sixteen to nine.
Willard stood there a moment, then reached for his control panel and punched a button. The room lights dimmed and the holomap appeared. It was a split video, with the Altair and Centauri systems displayed side by side.
"Ladies and gentlemen," John Willard announced dramatically, "you are looking at both of our proposed objectives. Sixteen of you think we should concentrate on Altair, and nine have opted for Alpha Centauri." He turned to face them again, his grin looking mischievous. "I thank you all for your recommendations. I have reviewed the proposals you submitted earlier in the week and have reached a determination on exactly what we're going to do."
Wade Palmer sat at Kamada's elbow and stared intently at the general. Without realizing it, he was holding his breath.
"In the interest of keeping the Sirians off balance," Willard was saying, "as well as shortening the war by perhaps as much as three years … "
The room was still as death as Willard's eyes roved the table again.
" … we're going to invade both systems at once!"
"That's insane!"
An audible gasp swept the room, and all eyes snapped toward the offender who'd dared utter the words. Kamada was looking at him in horror, and Boucher had turned ashen. General Willard's eyes blazed like lasers as he glared across the room. Boucher was the first to recover.
"I 'umbly apologize, mon general!" he gasped, rising. "I will immediately —"
But Willard ignored him. He was still glaring straight at Ensign Wade Palmer.
"What's your name, son? Stand up! Tell us who you are, and how it is that you think I'm insane!"
Wade couldn't believe he'd said it, either. His face felt numb, his heart stood still in his chest. Woodenly, he got to his feet, painfully aware of the stricken eyes of more than a hundred people on him.
"General Willard," he managed, "I apologize. I didn't mean — it was just a shock. I-I'm sorry."
"State your name, son."
"Palmer, sir. Ensign Wade Palmer."
"Ensign, eh?" The craggy forehead had lowered dramatically, the eyebrows shaggy and forbidding. "Fine, then, Ensign. Tell us why you disagree with my decision."
Wade wanted to run, but was pinned like a bug in a science lab. He licked his lips unconsciously.
"General — I defer to your experience and judgment, sir. Once again, I apologize." Let me out of here!
"Bullshit! You made your bed, let's see if you can sleep in it. Why do you oppose the operation?"
Wade glanced at Kamada, but found no help; at Boucher, who wouldn't even look at him. He was on his own, totally naked before the Polygon planning staff. He returned his gaze to General Willard.
"With all respect, General —"
"Why, Ensign?"
Wade took a deep breath and plunged. His career was over, so he might as well say it all.
"Sir, in my opinion, the armed forces of the Federation are not strong enough to sustain parallel operations of this magnitude."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. Shall I go on, sir?"
Willard's eyebrows lifted, he cast an ironic look about the room, and extended a magnanimous hand. "By all means."
"Sir, we have five spacecraft carriers. Against Alpha Centauri alone that might not be enough. If we lose even one of them, which is a very real possibility, we could be fatally exposed. We can't approach Altair with fewer than two carriers, and three or four would be advisable."
"Are you forgetting that we have nine squadrons operating off the moons of Altair?"
"No, sir, I'm not. But those squadrons are inferior, sir. They've been beleaguered since the beginning of the war, shortchanged on replacements, spare parts, and supplies in general. They get most of their foodstuffs from the planet itself, and they've suffered almost forty percent losses since the war began. We've been completely unable to resupply them, and their fighters are fifteen year-old Boeing-Nukes. In my opinion, they are demoralized and presently more concerned with defense than offense. They won't be much help in a fight."
Willard stood still, and when Wade paused, nodded.
"Go on."
"Yes, sir. Sir, even if we successfully penetrate the space power defending Alpha Centauri, we have to keep the supply line open once we have troops on the ground. My best estimate for the conquest of Alpha Centauri is four years of concentrated warfare on the planet's surface, and that can be accomplished only if we keep the space lanes open. Control of Centauri space has to remain in our hands, and the Sirians will oppose us with everything they have. Beta Centauri is nearby and it's a Sirian colony. They have the hardware, sir, and they know how to use it.
"Therefore, assuming we did invade Alpha, it would be a difficult battle under the best of circumstances. But if we split our forces and take on Altair at the same time, I believe it would be suicidal."
"You don't think we can do it?"
"We might, sir, but at what cost? I believe lives must be considered here. Any sustained operation is going to be costly, but we have a responsibility to the people we put on the ground, to give them every possible advantage. If we do this, one or the other of these operations is going to take a major hit in terms of lost lives. Possibly both."
Willard was losing patience. He scowled.
"Is that all, Mr. Palmer?"
Wade gulped.
"No, sir, there's more. But I think I've said enough."
"Yes, I think you have. Sit down, Ensign, and don't speak in here again unless you are spoken to. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
Wade sat down quickly, his face flaming scarlet. He wished he could go to the bathroom.
Willard was in control of the meeting once more.
"Our young, inexperienced Ensign," he said acidly, "has voiced some legitimate concerns. What he probably hasn't realized is that I've already considered those concerns in my evaluation of this proposition."
He touched a button and a yellow marker appeared on the holomap near Alpha Centauri.
"It's true that we'll be stretched if we attack both systems at once. Our merchant fleet will be strained to keep up with the load, but I've always believed that, when the going gets tough, the tough get going … "
Oh, please!
"Nobody knows what can be accomplished until the necessity arises to accomplish it. We saw evidence of that during the space defense of Mars a few years back. The Sirians were on the verge of invading that planet, but our fighter forces repeatedly turned them back, even located their carrier task force and routed it. That, ladies and gentlemen, was the result of Federation ingenuity. Necessity is the mother of invention.
"Will we lose additional lives in a two-pronged operation? I don't believe so. The numbers may look higher than expected, but what would happen if we ran these operations consecutively, one after the other? The body counts might appear to be lower, but cumulative. In other words, when they were all done and the casualties totaled, the result would be about the same.
"Unfortunately, in the prosecution of a war, as abhorrent as it may be, we're going to lose lives. But we have a real opportunity here. Yes, we're comparatively weak, compared to Confederate forces. They've had decades to train and prepare, while we've thrown our defenses together rather quickly. But in my estimation, that fact leaves them overconfident. They are smug in their experience and superior numbers. Their morale is high because they know they're good. Just because we flushed them out of the Solar System, they haven't lost any confidence at all."
He stopped, reading the faces around him, then continued more slowly, measuring his words.
"This operation will shake that confidence," he said. "They'll be astonished that we even tried it, because they think they know how weak we are. They're right, but we're going to tell them that, in effect, they don't know anything about us at all. We're going to put a million men on Altair and three million on Alpha Centauri, and we're going to keep the supply lanes open, and we're going to kick their ass! They won't know whether to shit or go fishing, because we can pull this off, and we're by god going to!"
He stopped again, his face flushed. No one dared speak, as all eyes were riveted to his with shock.
"Not only will this throw the Sirians for a loss, it will be a tremendous boost to morale here at home. We take out two worlds at once, and that leaves only the Sirians and their allied worlds to invade."
He turned to glare at Wade Palmer.
"Not only that, but Altair will roll over fairly quickly. With the resident forces we already have there, along with our Muslim allies, we can knock down Altair in a year, year and a half. That will free additional forces to throw at Centauri, not to mention the recruits we can get from Altair.
"It's a masterpiece, folks. It's going to work, and we're going to do it. I've entertained all the arguments I care to. This plan is a go."
Two-dozen senior planners, their aides, and their assistants exchanged disbelieving glances. No discussion? It was unprecedented!
Willard shut off the overhead holo and glared around at them again.
"Now that you know, I want each of you to submit an operation plan that will accomplish this two-pronged assault. The operation code name will be 'Gang-Bang'. 'Gang' is Altair, 'Bang' is Alpha Centauri."
He picked up his papers and turned to leave.
"This meeting is adjourned. Ensign Palmer, in my office, right now!"
* * *
General Willard's office was as plush and decorated as Wade had expected. His ego wall was covered with plaques and holos representing more than three decades in uniform. It was an impressive display; many of the faces in the holos with Willard were famous. The only problem, as Wade saw it, was that Willard had never fought a war, and all the memorabilia in the universe didn't prove that he knew what he was doing.
Willard's ego was the least
of Wade's worries, however, as he stood at attention in front of the general's desk. Willard let him stand there while he rummaged around for a cup of coffee, then settled heavily into his chair to glare at the junior officer before him.
"So, Mr. Palmer. You think I'm insane, do you?"
"No, sir!"
Willard smiled grimly, blew the steam off his coffee, and sipped it. He burned his lip and swore, which did nothing to improve his disposition.
"You think the plan is insane, then."
"'Insane' is overstating it a bit, sir. It was a reflex remark."
"Um, so it was. Let me see — Ensign Wade Palmer, enlisted last year, went straight to OCS to get your tail shaved. Came straight to the Polygon and started planning how to fight the war." He glanced up. "Must be quite a hard-on for you, son. Going straight to the planning staff like that? How'd you get this assignment?"
"I was recruited, sir."
"Oh, were you? Someone somewhere must have thought you quite brilliant."
"My university degree is in statistical analysis, sir."
Willard nodded a minute, eyeing him ruefully.
"Well, analyze this, Mr. Palmer — you are a junior officer in this building, and junior officers are as plentiful as the ticks on a dog's ass. One more reflex remark out of you and you could find yourself participating in one of these operations instead of planning it. Do I need to repeat any of this?"
"No, sir!" Wade concentrated on a spot on the wall, remaining at rigid attention.
Willard nodded, looking more bemused than angry. He sipped his coffee, letting Wade stand there while he did.
"I was impressed with your asteroid plan," he said then, catching Wade completely off guard. "It was a good plan. Solid, top to bottom. That's why I used it, and it worked."
"Thank you, sir."
"I admire you, son. It took balls to stand in there and tell me why my plan won't work with over a hundred people staring at you like you were a virus. You have a good head, a strong mind. But don't let your head get the better of you. Overconfidence is the quickest ticket out of here, or anywhere in the service. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Go back to work, Palmer. And don't repeat your mistakes."