“Tell me what happened after I launched with the Councilor?” I asked, “One aviator to another, Eaglet.”
“After you launched, Tuulia suggested we turn so you had a straight course,” he said almost as if he were recalling actions from a long time ago, “At first, I discounted the idea. I didn’t want to weaken the steel curtain. But Tuulia was insistent, pointing out our goal was to save Councilor Peng.”
“The Councilor is safe and should be at Navy Command Station by now,” I assured him.
“That’s good,” he replied flatly. He paused for a few beats before continuing, “We didn’t know the enemy ships would react so quickly to the change in our curtain. When our ships changed formation to allow you to pass, they attacked the new pattern. Almost as if they knew where you were exiting the screen.”
“I believe they swarmed the hole because they were trying to take advantage of an opening,” I assured him and he glanced up at me, “The reason it appeared as if they had fore knowledge was they’re an Alpha culture. When one leader saw the change, the others attacked it. They were trying to outdo one another.”
“It’s as good an explanation as any,” he said as he shifted his eyes back to studying the fascinating carpet. “By the time we corrected course, the steel curtain had reformed and we were right back to fighting a war of attrition. Our formations were tight but we were losing more ships. If it continued, we’d be whittled down and eventually they’d reach the Ander El Aitor.”
He stood slowly as if his knees were too weak to unfold. I waited as he poured another drink, took a long pull of it, and returned to the sofa and the story.
“It was Jaya Perwira who suggested the idea,” he began again, “Open another hole in our screen and see how the enemy reacted. Her theory was a test to see if we had traitors in communications. We had nothing to lose, so I approved it.”
“She’s a bright young lady,” he stated and a little spark shot from his eyes, “The enemy did swarm the new opening. And their overreaction gave me an idea. I ordered a hole in the curtain towards the aft of the ship. Sure enough, it attracted the enemy in droves. I took advantage of their overreaction and I turned the BattleShip. This put us broadside to the Constabulary Fighters. They were Constabulary, weren’t they?”
There was the root of the problem. No one, even an officer who’d fought them, could believe the Empress had returned and was invading with her Constabulary. First Councilor Peng and now Read Admiral Haitham, people who should be leading the fight against the enemy, were questioning their beliefs.
It’s called the Belief-Bias Effect. Peng and Haitham’s individual values, their beliefs, and knowledge, were being discounted by those around them. The counter argument that the Empress and Constabulary were a myth had distorted their beliefs. This constant yet invalid argument corrupted their reasoning processes. In the end, it meant the Galactic Council Realm had no voice of authority preparing a defense against a real threat.
“They are the Empress’ Constabulary,” I assured him.
“When our ship crossed the tee with the fleet of Constabulary Fighters, I had Wind Chime fire everything we had,” he said, “Guns, missiles and torpedoes opened up on them while our Fighters kept them pinned in the kill zone. But their Carrier launched more Fighters and fed them into the battle. I’ve never experienced a BattleShip in free fire. It was thrilling. The deck shook and the air handling system became over whelmed with the residue. Even on the Bridge, I could smell the expended TNC. But my exhilaration was short lived. The Ander El Aitor was taking damage. Reports came in, one weapon emplacement after another was going off line. Marines and Sailors were dying while I stood on the Bridge feeling completely separated from their pain and suffering.”
Maybe it wasn’t the charges brought against him. Maybe it was guilt. Hundreds of men and woman had been killed or maimed as a result of his orders. Maybe it was the horror of command that had taken the fight out of him.
“J-Pop, we were losing,” he said sadly, “As a last effort, I ordered Wind Chime to pull all of our BattlePlatforms out of the steel curtain. The result was devastating to our GunShips. Without the back up from the Bricks, they had to handle flights of Constabulary Fighters. It was sickening. Our GunShips were out gunned and out maneuvered. So many of them died bravely, so much loss.”
He paused to wipe tears from his eyes.
“I ordered the Bricks to leave the battle and attack the Carrier,” he stated dryly, all emotion drained from his voice, “They bullied their way through the Constabulary’s screen and began circling the Carrier. I didn’t think it would work. I just wanted their main ship to bleed a little in pay back for my crew.”
“But, the Bricks did make a difference,” he said after a few moments of reflection, “The Carrier ran. She broke out of the circling BattlePlatforms and began recovering her Fighters. I called the Bricks home and we began recovering our own ships.”
“You won, Eaglet,” I exclaimed trying to bring some life to the disheartened man.
“No, we survived. But the cost, J-Pop, at what cost?” he asked and I let the question hang in the air.
There was no correct response.
“We limped away doing what repairs we could,” he said, “I toured the ship giving encouragement where I could and helping to move beams and put out fires where they still smoldered. By the time we reached the Dos Sector, the ship although still smelling of TNC, was space worthy.”
“What happened when you reached the Orbital Station,” I asked.
“Rear Admiral Remigio brought a Captain Zikri on board to relieve me,” he said with just a hint of resentment. “I was alright with the idea at first. The Navy can replace a Captain for any number of reasons. I was on the flight deck where my Medics had set up a field hospital. The Admiral, four aids and a squad of Marines stepped out of his Yacht and he began to yell. He actually wanted everyone to stand a parade inspection. He wanted Medics, the walking wounded, men and woman who were working on critical repairs to drop everything and line up so he could make a speech.”
“I asked that he and I retire to the Captain’s quarters so we could discuss the change of command,” he said, “Instead of talking, Remigio ordered his Marines to take me into custody. That’s the first time I heard the charges. He screamed at his Marines and they stepped towards me. But the Marines from the Ander El Aitor, some still covered in sweat and blood from recovering bodies from gun turrets, stepped in front of me.”
“I couldn’t be responsible for more injuries,” he admitted. “I ordered my Marines to stand down. They put me in handcuffs and, to make matters worse, they paraded Tuulia across the flight deck in cuffs as well. We were loaded into Remigio’s Yacht and brought to Orbital Station. And here I sit waiting for the hearing. One thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that, Sir?” I asked.
“When one group of Marines was cuffing me, they growled at the other group. And before I was led to the Yacht, my Marines, growled back,” he explained then noted, “It was an animal sound.”
“They were communicating their displeasure with an officer’s order,” I explained, “And your Marines agreed. Neither group was happy with seeing you handcuffed and taken off your ship.”
“Even after so many of them died under my command?” he asked.
“It wasn’t during the battle where you won their affection,” I stated, “Any butcher can get Marines and Sailors killed. It was your caring and actions afterward where you showed your worthiness. Now, to present issues. Who’s your lawyer?”
“Lawyer? It’s just a hearing to see if I’m to be transported to Command Station,” he said naively, “to stand a Courts Martial or to be reassigned. Why would I need a lawyer?”
As with any righteous citizen, he assumed the system was fair. The hearing would show his heart was in the right place, his duty completed to the best of his ability, and surely the Judge would see the truth, and set him free. I’d been a Sergeant of Maines and I’ve seen hearings
and Courts Martials roll over people with lesser changes than Haitham faced. He needed legal counsel.
The guards looked at the open door and peered in to see Rear Admiral Haitham slouching on the sofa. I was around the corner when they shut the door. The Admiral’s attitude was no better when I left than went I arrived. Although, he did consent to having me find him legal counsel. My issue was, I didn’t know any defense attorneys. I didn’t know anyone on Orbital Station except one.
Once I’d stripped off the Knight of the Clan gear, I sent him a message.
‘Staff Sergeant Cináed, I need a lawyer,’ I sent.
‘Watch Officer finally find you?’ he sent back.
‘Captain of the Ander El Aitor is in deep trouble,’ I replied.
‘Contact Commander Renan,’ the retired Marine sent, ‘Don’t let his size fool you.’
‘Thank you,’ I sent back.
‘Heard Haitham’s a good officer,’ he sent, ‘Least I can do.’
While I waked to a lift, I sent Stone Angel a message.
‘Mr. Steyn. Concerned about your research,’ I sent, ‘Seems interested parties are in urgent need of your findings.’
‘Working on it,’ came back his reply, ‘Analysis going well. Harder with the specimen.’
I assumed he meant the data from the hard drive had downloaded and he was translating it. His mention of a specimen stumped me for a minute. As I stepped off the lift on the retail level, it came to me. He meant the autopsy of Cionaodh 5th Daire.
Chapter 39
The coffee was dark and hot. I sipped at it while sitting at a small corner table. Commander Renan hadn’t shown yet. I relaxed and enjoyed the fresh brew. In our short conversation, he’s agreed to meet with me. But, he was non-committal as to representing Rear Admiral Haitham.
I saw him as he walked through the door. He was short and so lean it looked as if the air handling system could suck him into the nearest vent.
“Lieutenant Piran?” he asked holding out a skeletal like hand.
I shook it gently so as not to damage the delicate bones. He responded by almost crushing my hand. So much for appearances. He had the grip of a man three times his size.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he said with a malicious grin, “Let me explain a few things.”
Obviously, Mister Renan was often underestimated. The show of strength must be a game he played during first meetings. He sat, waved off my offer of a beverage, and pulled out a tablet.
“Captain Haitham is charged with Piracy, as well as,” he began.
“Just a second, it’s Rear Admiral Haitham,” I corrected him.
“Lieutenant Piran, Navy records show Haitham as being a Captain so he is a Captain,” he replied, “This hearing is about the facts. There is nothing I can do unless Mister Haitham can supply additional facts. It’s why I won’t be representing him. It’s a hearing and the facts are, on the surface, indisputable. Plus, there’s a lot of political pressure to get the hearing over with. The Navy wants to ship him back to Command Station for a Courts Marshal as soon as possible.”
“So it’s already decided that Mister Haitham will go to trial?” I asked.
“It’s why I agreed to meet,” he said closing his tablet, “I thought you might have something to add. Some facts I could use to defend your Captain.”
“I do but, it’ll be a little while before I can deliver the facts,” I said, “Please reconsider. Captain Haitham needs representation.”
He didn’t respond. He simply opened his tablet and scrolled through a few screens. Finally, he shifted his focus and studied me from across the small table for a full minute.
“Lieutenant Piran, are you really in possession of new evidence?” he asked, “Or are you just seeking a way to make Haitham and me look bad.”
I realized he was accusing me of being a political operative. A plant to get Captain, no, Rear Admiral Haitham a lawyer so the hearing would seem more than a formality before the trial found him guilty.
“Commander Renan, I don’t know how to convince you,” I began to plead than stopped.
I pulled out my Knight of the Clan pin and placed it on the table. Then, I unstrapped the GCMC bracelet and placed it beside the pin.
“The pin identifies me as a Knight Protector of the Clan. Druids are required to render me help when I ask. If this hearing was being conducted by a Druid Judge, I’d have all the time I need,” I stated, “The bracelet signifies my association with the Galactic Council Marine Corps’ Sergeant Association. I can press one of the letters and a Marine NCO will come to my aid. Or I can push another and a fully armed squad of Marines will be here in minutes. These are not gifts, they are heavy responsibilities and burdens. If I say, I will have facts to help Rear Admiral Haitham, I will have facts. Should I demonstrate?”
“You forgot to mention you’re with Striker command,” he said letting a smile creep across his face, “I just looked that up. The other things simply cemented my resolve. The hearing starts one hour into first shift. I can’t delay long but I’ll try.”
“Thank you Commander,” I said.
“Oh this is going to be fun. Don’t look so serious,” he replied while closing the tablet, “You’ve a shift and an hour. Don’t be late with my evidence, Lieutenant.”
As he was strutting out of the coffee shop’s door, I was sending a message to Mister Steyn, aka Stone Angel.
‘One shift and an hour,’ I typed, ‘Require synopsis and supporting data.’
‘Tight schedule as items can’t be sent through net,’ he replied, ‘Have to hand deliver. Will be there.’
‘Thank you,” I sent back.
‘You carried Arna Thorsten out,’ he replied, ‘No thanks required.’
I had set in motion everything possible. Now it was time to check in on Warlock and Heavy Rain. The lift traveled through the Navy deck, the Orbital Station’s administration level and a few more. It stopped on the Medical level and I walked to the reception desk.
“I’d like to see Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich and Corporal Shigeko Amaya,” I announced to the nurse.
She scrolled through her screen before looking at me.
“Your Master Sergeant is in intensive care,” she stated, “Shigeko is usually there or in the cafeteria. He likes the peach cobbler.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied walking in the direction she indicated.
I did wonder why she was on a first name bases with the Striker or how she knew his tastes in desserts.
Warlock was almost mummified. Except for an open circle around her face, the Master Sergeant was completely covered in bandages. I slipped silently into the room and watched her breathe. It was even and the slight rise and fall of her chest seemed easy and pain free. I stepped from the room after a few minutes.
I hadn’t eaten since we’d landed on Orbital Station so, I decided to start with the cafeteria. If Heavy Rain wasn’t there, I’d continue the search after breakfast.
There was one piece of biscuit and a small amount of egg yolk left on the plate. I’d saved them for last. The coffee was a little weak but palatable. The bacon was crispy and delicious. Overall, I was comfortably full but, I had left room for the last bite.
“It’s a shame to waste food,” Heavy Rain said rolling his wheelchair to the table.
He reached out before I could stop him. The last piece of biscuit was swiped through the last stain of yolk and popped into the smiling face.
“Chow’s good here,” he said as he swallowed my tiny treasure, “Seen Warlock?”
“I was just there,” I informed him, “I was going to eat that.”
“I know,” he admitted.
We sat and glared at each other. Finally, it got to be too much and we both broke out laughing.
“Welcome back, Sir,” he said, “you looked like you were going to start chewing on the metal utensils next. Way too serious. Didn’t anyone ever tell you, stress kills.”
“Thank you, I was getting knot
ted up,” I said and explained about Rear Admiral Haitham’s situation.
“Stone Angel will be there,” the Striker confirmed, “The fat slob can’t shoot worth a Peseta but his word is good.”
“How’s the leg?” I asked pointing to the cast that reached from the top of his foot to his hip.
“Doctor Uxue. Immobile, keep the leg immobile until it heals,” he complained, “I’m a little sick of the quack’s opinion. I think he read the word in a book and can’t stop immobilizing everything.”
“So, you’re feeling better?” I asked, “or do I need to speak with the cute nurse at the reception station.”
“Oh, don’t tell her anything,” the big Striker pleaded in horror, “She thinks I’m with the Galactic Council Ballet Company.”
“And what role do you dance?” I asked wondering if he’d though that far ahead in his improbable tale.
“Von Rothbart of course. Because he’s evil,” the Striker replied without hesitation.
“Von Rothbart?” I asked.
“Sure the second male lead in Swan Lake,” he replied.
“Of course it is,” I said standing, “I’ve got to get dressed for a hearing.”
“Alert,” Heavy Rain said.
When I got back to my penthouse accommodations, I was greeted by a slightly confusing sight. Fire Dove as Doctor Iñaki was sipping my champagne, in a hotel robe and watching a medical show on the viewer. His stethoscope was still hanging around his neck.
“CME, J-Pop,” he said looking up at me, “champagne?”
“CME?” I asked.
“Continuing medical education,” he responded, “I must stay up with my contemporaries.”
On the viewer, the handsome doctor was lip locked with a hot nurse.
“I can see that,” I said before filling him in on Haitham’s situation.
“Want me there?’ Fire Dove asked.
“Only if you want to be there,” I replied, “We’ll still have a day or so before we decide when to head back to Striker Command.”
Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Page 30