"No," Sanchez replied calmly.
"You think it's going to work?"
"No."
"So what do you think will happen to this grand offensive of General Meecham's?"
For the first time in Stark's memory, Sergeant Sanchez's imperturbable expression cracked slightly, eyes haunted by foreboding. "What do I think? I think we're going to get our butts kicked. I think we're going to lose a lot of soldiers. I think the angels are going to cry when they watch it happen." His face closed down once more, emotionless.
"I've got a real nasty feeling that you're right, Sanch," Stark noted after a long moment of silence. "Anybody else feel like getting drunk?" His comm unit buzzed before either Reynolds or Sanchez could reply. "Stark here."
"Sergeant, you have been ordered to report to Major Fernandez at Division Headquarters as soon as possible."
"Major Fernandez? Who's he? What's this about?"
"I don't know the answer to either question, Sergeant."
"Great. Thanks." Stark raised his hands, palms up, in a rueful gesture. "Guess my afternoon schedule just got filled. See you guys back at the barracks."
Vic nodded. "Have fun, Ethan. And try to stay out of trouble."
"Trust me." Stark walked toward the headquarters complex while Reynolds and Sanchez headed for the relative sanctuary of the barracks.
Headquarters. Big corridors with walls carefully smoothed so they felt like something back on the World. Lots of officers, most looking like they were doing The Most Important Thing Ever, but still with enough free time to shoot long, questioning glances at a lowly Sergeant cluttering up their halls. One Major speared Stark with a rigid finger as he walked past her. "Get those ribbons replaced," she ordered, indicating the row of decorations on the Sergeant's left chest. "They're frayed."
"Yessir." No sense in arguing. Stark knew, and the Major knew, that replacement ribbons couldn't be had on the Moon for love or money, but the order wasn't really about ribbons. The order was about him being a Sergeant and her being a Major and rubbing it in.
He walked on, past a Colonel who issued another variation on the "new ribbons" order, until he reached a door with "Fernandez" on it in gilt lettering. Stark hesitated before knocking, remembering how often officers changed assignments and therefore offices, which meant those letters represented no end of labor and expense. His knuckles landed directly on the lettering, unfortunately inflicting no damage that Stark could see.
"Come in." Stark entered, seeing a more spacious version of the glorified closets that passed for private offices in the underground warrens of Luna. Major Fernandez smiled in welcome, waving the Sergeant to the office's single chair, then leaned back, eyeing Stark appraisingly. "I suppose you're wondering why you are here, Sergeant."
Stark twitched his brow in a fraction of a frown. "Frankly, yes, sir. I am."
"You've been involved in combat on the Moon for quite a while, haven't you, Sergeant?" Fernandez didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "That's very strenuous, very hard on a soldier."
"I haven't done anything a lot of other soldiers haven't done, sir."
"But how do you feel about it, Sergeant?"
"I beg the Major's pardon?"
Fernandez smiled gently. "Just between you and me, Sergeant. Do you hate your officers?"
You've got to be kidding. Just between him and me ? "No," Stark stated flatly. Hate's a useless emotion.
The Major glanced toward his desk surface, then lost his smile in favor of a slight frown. "You don't? No hatred? No desire for revenge?"
"Revenge for what, sir?"
"Your friends. You have had friends die in combat, haven't you, Sergeant?"
Stark nodded. "Everybody has."
"Don't you want to avenge them?"
"With all due respect, sir, I don't know what you're driving at."
Major Fernandez waved a hand in the air. "How about killing the officers who order you into battle? Don't you ever want to do that?"
"No. Sir."
Fernandez's gaze flicked to his desktop once more, and his frown deepened. "Deep down inside, don't you want to call the shots, Sergeant? Be in charge?"
"No, sir, I do not."
This time the Major's gaze lingered on his desk for a moment, then he jerked a thumb toward the door, all pretense of friendliness vanished. "Very well. You may leave."
"Thank you, sir." Stark walked back down the big corridors, trying to reach the limits of the headquarters complex as soon as possible.
"Stark?"
The voice wasn't familiar, but Ethan turned at the sound of his name, hoping it wasn't another Major or Colonel. "That's me."
The Sergeant who'd spoken smiled hugely. "Don't know me?"
"Afraid not." Stark's brow furrowed in thought. "You used to be with First Battalion, didn't you?"
"That's right." She nodded in evident pleasure. "I'm stuck here at headquarters doing penance for my sins, while guys like you earn their pay. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I haven't figured that out yet," Stark admitted. "Major Fernandez called me in for a meeting."
The headquarters Sergeant's eyebrows rose. "Major Fernandez? He wanted to meet you?"
"Yeah, but he didn't really say anything. Just asked me some dumb questions, got mad, and then told me to leave."
"At least you're not under arrest." She shook her head, looking around. "There're too many ears in headquarters, Stark. Can't talk much, but Fernandez is our security mole."
"Are you saying I just got a security screen?" Stark demanded, feeling his face flush with heat.
"You sit in his chair?"
"Yeah."
"It's rigged with a remote polygraph. Any answer you gave he was screening for truthfulness."
"Damn." Stark shook his head angrily. "So that's why he kept looking at his desk. Am I going to be locked up now?"
"You said he got mad?" the other Sergeant pressed. "He didn't like your answers?"
"No, he kept asking me if I'd like to kill officers or something and I kept saying 'no.' I don't like killing anyone. Just because it's part of my job doesn't mean I enjoy it."
"Hah." She chuckled softly. "Congratulations. You passed. By dumb luck, maybe, if he asked you the wrong questions. If you'd failed, Fernandez would have had you arrested right outside his office."
"Thanks. Any idea why I was called in?"
She shrugged. "They're doing random pulls. Allegedly random, anyway. Always have, but there's a lot more showing up lately. Guess they're worried about something."
"They oughta be worried about the enemy, not their own troops."
"You're right." The Sergeant waved farewell. "Hell of a note, ain't it?"
Stark thought about it, all the way back to the barracks. Thought about trying to figure out who the real enemy was, about civs who didn't act like civs always did, about a lot of soldiers who were going to be thrown into a major assault with little chance of success, about senior officers who didn't think it strange to send grunts out to die so the vid ratings would stay high, about corporations that could never be satisfied no matter how much they acquired, and about officers who were maneuvering against their own enlisted personnel on the eve of a major battle. He thought about it until he didn't want to think anymore.
Several of his Squad members were lounging about the barracks, making disparaging cracks about the attempts of the Third Division soldiers to walk without bumping into walls or each other. "Hey, Gomez," Stark called with a beckoning gesture. "Gotta talk."
She rose and came over quickly, not trying to hide her concern. "Something wrong, Sarge?"
"No. I want to ask you to get something for me."
"No problem, Sarge. Whatdaya need?"
"This isn't an order," Stark cautioned. "It's personal. You don't have to do it."
"Okay," Gomez agreed just as rapidly, though puzzlement entered her eyes. "What is it?"
"Anita, I need a special system file." Stark outlined his requirements as Gomez
listened, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Can you get me that?" he finished.
"Sure. You think you're gonna need that, Sarge?"
"I dunno. Maybe. Never thought I'd say that, but maybe. I just want to be prepared."
"You will be," Gomez promised. "I'll have it for you by this evening."
"You don't have to," Stark advised again. "You don't need to be involved in this at all."
"Sargento, you think maybe you might need this file, so I think maybe I ought to get it for you."
"Thanks. Oh, I need to make sure the system watchdogs can't spot it."
Gomez looked indignant. "I know that, Sarge. Trust me. The watchdogs'll never know it's there." She moved away with the speed and assurance of a soldier carrying out an easily executed and important task.
Stark watched her go, trying to fight down his misgivings. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I might need it. I wish to hell I knew where right and wrong lay in this mess.
Two more briefings. Three more days. Six morning and evening roll calls. Nine scheduled meal periods in the mess hall. The Third Division soldiers slowly began to learn to move without falling all over each other and any nearby furnishings. Simultaneously, their confident expressions grew haggard as simulator runs followed weapons practice followed familiarization drills followed exercise periods followed briefings followed more simulator runs.
Stark and the other Sergeants of First Division kept their troops away from the Third Division personnel. "How come, Sarge?" Chen complained. "I want to get out of these damn barracks and do something, but we're stuck in our crowded quarters or this rinky-dink lounge. We might as well be on the line."
"Yeah," Murphy chimed in, "we can't even get sim time because all the training stuff is full of Third Division guys."
"You volunteering for extra training, Murph?" Stark demanded.
"Well, no, but. . ."
"That's what I thought. Look, you apes, there's nothing I can do about this, but it won't last much longer. Just hang in there. I'm going to need you guys sharp."
"Okay, Sarge. You saying there'll be more room in the barracks soon, too?"
"Yeah." Stark turned away, his expression grim. "I'm afraid there's gonna be a lot more room in the barracks soon."
Everywhere he walked, Stark encountered signs of Third Division troops and their ongoing training. He prowled the corridors for a while, hoping for another glimpse of Rash Puratnam, but saw only unfamiliar faces. His own cubicle felt too tight this evening, a claustrophobic cabinet in which sleep refused to pay a visit, so Stark finally headed for the lounge in vague hopes of finding company.
Even before he reached the darkened room Stark saw the flickering lights that meant the vid was on, even though no sound could be heard. He peered in, seeing one figure slouched in a chair facing the vid screen. "Vic?"
Reynolds responded with a halfhearted wave. "Hey, Ethan. What are you still doing up?"
"I can't sleep." Stark slumped into the seat next to her, staring moodily at the silent images leaping across the vid screen. "Why are you awake?"
"Same reason. Feels like a storm's about to hit."
"Yeah. Big storm."
"Ethan, promise me something."
"Sure. What?"
"Just—"
A harsh buzzing interrupted Reynolds. Both Sergeants froze, then tabbed their individual comm units to hear the same message announced in a professional monotone. "Prepare your units for action. Assembly areas are specified in battle armor Tactical Displays. All personnel are to be ready for combat by 0200."
"Looks like the storm just broke," Stark observed. "What were you saying, Vic?"
"Nothing. Let's go. It's going to be a long day, Ethan."
Stark's Squad rested in two adjacent, crowded cubes. He hit the access pads for both, then slapped the lighting controls on. "All right, ladies and gents. Everybody up and into their armor. We got orders."
"Ah, hell, Sarge," Billings complained, "I only got two hours' sleep."
"Then you're two hours ahead of me. Move it, you apes!"
The assembly area for Stark's Platoon lay out on the lunar plain, behind the front but within easy marching distance for veteran troops. APCs shuttled the squads out, then left to ferry more units into position. Stark scanned his Squad restlessly, checking every soldier repeatedly for any problems. Damn. I'm scared. Is it because I got hurt so bad on my last op? No, I don't think so. Something else. He glanced toward the front, and beyond it to the too-near-horizon line where enemy fortifications lay hidden. No, I'm not afraid of them. Not any more than usual, anyway. With sudden determination he strode over to First Squad, aiming for Vic Reynolds' position.
"Vic. I got a real bad feeling. Anything special bothering you?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, Ethan." Her face shield turned toward him, blank, the nonreflective surface revealing nothing, not the brilliant pinpoints of countless stars in the blackness overhead, not the barren lunar landscape around them, not even Stark's own image.
"Vic, dammit, we're going into action. If there's anything else you know that I ought to know, too, then tell me."
"The enemy's expecting us."
Her words came so quickly, and so lacking in apparent emotion, that Stark had to think a moment to absorb the meaning. "How do you know that?"
"A friend in Intelligence. I checked with him after what you told me about the civs seeing our General on vid. The enemy's been watching Meecham and a lot of other big shots, political and military, shoot their mouths off on vid newscasts. They know a big offensive is coming soon, they know Meecham is going to base it on his theories, and they've been digging in deeper and reinforcing their lines."
"If Intelligence knows this, why haven't our plans changed?"
"Because the officers in Intelligence won't tell the General anything he doesn't want to hear. Everything has either been ignored or explained away."
"I see. Thanks. Good luck."
Another suited figure approached, moving with such care that Stark wondered if a Third Division soldier hadn't wandered into their area. He checked his scan for the figure's identity. Captain Noble. Now my cup runneth over, indeed.
"Bravo Company," Noble announced. "You are to, um, advance in accordance with your Tactical Displays and carry out the ordered actions. I will. .. occupy a position where I can provide oversight of the Company's movements."
"A rousing speech," Sanchez observed over the Sergeants' circuit. "Our new Captain has a flair for inspiring the troops."
"Just as long as he stays out of the way," Stark grumbled.
"Since this Platoon lacks a commanding officer," Noble continued in tones that betrayed no enthusiasm, "I will, ah, exercise personal control."
"Don't say it, Ethan," Vic warned.
"I'll try." Tactical displays suddenly glowed with orders. Stark trotted back to his Squad, making sure they all hit their start markers. "Everybody stay sharp," he cautioned.
"What's going down, Sarge?" Gomez asked.
"Probably the big offensive. I don't know what our role will be. Just follow your Tacs."
"Okay, Sarge."
Timelines ran down, triggering a new set of commands. "Let's go, Third Squad." The path laid out on the Tacs led fairly straight-line toward the enemy. Stark checked his back door to the command-level scan, seeing similar advances all around the American perimeter. I don't know if they're confusing the enemy or not, but right now I sure as hell don't know what's going on.
The Squad passed through the front line, muscles tensing as they advanced into the kill zone between the opposing forces. No enemy fire responded however. The high ground to the Squad's front was brooding and silent, as if the terrain held no more life than most piles of rock on the lunar surface. Stark and his soldiers halted on their new markers, taking cover, weapons canted toward the silent ridge ahead.
"You there. Get your people on their markers."
Stark checked the ID on the transmission to confirm that it had been sent to
him from someone in headquarters. "Sir, my people are all within a meter of their markers. They have only adjusted position as necessary to protect themselves from enemy fire."
"No adjustments are authorized! Get those soldiers on their markers!"
Stark counted to ten slowly. Might as well save my fights for anything more serious down the line, and I'm sure there'll be something worse coming later. "Okay, everybody. On your markers. Exact position."
Stark's War Page 24