Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Gopal said.

  “I’m not going to keep you long—and I figure Lahko’s already too drunk to remember anything important—but I’m going to be in planning meetings tomorrow, so I won’t have time to brief you then. Here’s the situation.

  “The cease-fire on Cerberus is holding, but Intelligence reports a lot of unrest, particularly in the Lhasan region. It seems, Emmes, that your little raid drew more attention than we expected—it’s probably a good thing that you got out as fast as you did. Fleet’s going to try and soothe everybody by delivering humanitarian supplies to Free Lhasa in a few days. Our regiment has had no official change of orders, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we pay the Cerberans a visit within the next month. So schedule some heavy-grav training over the next couple of weeks.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gopal said, speaking for them all.

  “The official Laikan government has been making some friendly overtures to Terra recently, and the Expeditionary Force is scheduled to conduct some military operations in Laika’s vicinity as a gesture of goodwill—and to put on a show for the insurgents. My understanding is that the entire EF will rendezvous in the Anubian system, do some exercises near Laika, and then split off again. This shouldn’t affect us.

  “Otherwise, Centauri military presence is light, and reported piracy incidents are down. We’re coming up on the mid-deployment leave period, so have your plans for personnel rotation on my screen by the end of the week. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Then have a good evening.”

  The six junior officers instinctively straightened to attention and waited as Vici departed. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, they all relaxed and took long pulls of their drinks.

  Gopal wrapped a strong arm around Katja’s shoulders.

  “Good to see you, Big K,” he said. “It’s nice to feel tall for once.”

  Katja’s eyes were nearly level to those of the first lieutenant, and she met his gaze while trying to suppress a smirk.

  “If you keep touching me, I guarantee you’ll feel weak and broken pretty soon.”

  He backed away with a great show of trepidation.

  “How was your mission?” Wicki asked. “Sounds like you’re just making more work for us.”

  Katja shrugged, and quickly described the events of the strike. The other platoon leaders listened with interest, asking pointed questions when relevant. None of them seemed to think that the incident in building seven was anything noteworthy, and while they all agreed with Katja that a continuation of the search would have been best, no one questioned the outcome of the mission.

  “Sounds like the Cerberans were on to you,” Gopal concluded. “Not much you can do at that point but bug out.”

  Katja sighed, feeling better for having discussed the mission with her colleagues.

  “It’s frustrating, though,” she said. “And it means we have to go back again when there’s new intelligence.”

  “I’d rather that, than for us have to mount a rescue mission to bust your ass out of there.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Yeah, forget about it.” Lahko stepped into the middle of the circle. “Everybody made it back, and we’ll sort it out later. Tonight we drink, because it’s jihad.” He hefted his beer and shouted in his full combat voice. “Jihad!”

  Echoes of “jihad” were cried out from the Corps crowd across the star lounge, as well as the inevitable ululations. Katja always wondered if any Muslims in the regiment were offended by this, and she cast her eye over the crowd to watch for reactions. She saw a mix of disinterest and disbelief, but no apparent outrage.

  She also saw the familiar form of Charity Brisebois, all smiles as she sat down at a table with that young pilot of hers. Katja took another gulp of beer and wondered when Breeze had found the time to troll the Astral College for a boyfriend. Katja was almost thirty, and Breeze was at least a few years older—what in the world was she doing with that kid?

  And then she saw Thomas wandering in from the passageway. Without thinking she waved her arm. He spotted the motion and smiled as he waved back. She weaved her way through the tables to greet him.

  They met about halfway. He looked fresher, and more relaxed. The deep fatigue was still haunting his eyes, but he was doing his best to hide it behind a friendly smile.

  “Hi, Katja.”

  “Hi, Thomas.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then cast his gaze around the room.

  “Pretty good crowd tonight. Troopers were always better at partying, as I recall.”

  “And getting into trouble,” she replied, “if my sources are correct.”

  “Oh, really? What do you hear?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  Katja felt herself going red, and quickly relayed the tale Scott had been telling earlier. At first Thomas looked puzzled, and Katja wondered if Scott hadn’t invented the whole thing. But then the slow dawn of realization broke across his features.

  “Ahh, that time.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I thought he was going to get busted down to trooper again. Lucky for him, Headquarters was hit by a suicide bomber that same morning and we had to scramble. Lahko earned a medal of bravery that day, so his little indiscretion was forgotten.” Thomas smiled and shook his head. “Quite a guy.” He looked around. “Where is he, anyway?”

  Katja quickly looked over her shoulder to where the Saracen officers were still standing by the windows, all watching her with interest. Again she felt her cheeks burning, but she ignored the feeling and motioned for Scott to join her. He made some parting comment to the other officers and worked his way over, grinning broadly.

  “Lieutenant Kane,” he said enthusiastically. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you here.”

  Thomas stepped beside Katja, his arm brushing against hers.

  “Lieutenant Lahko, I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

  Scott bellowed his laughter and shook Thomas’s hand. “Me, too—and still so pretty!”

  “That was going to be the next thing out of my mouth.”

  “Never out of mine,” Katja interjected.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous,” Scott said without missing a beat. “Hey, you guys grab a table. Thomas, you eaten?”

  He shook his head. “I’m starving.”

  “Great, I’ll get drinks. You guys look at menus.”

  Scott pushed away between the seated patrons, leaving Katja and Thomas alone again. There were several tables on the edge of the dining section, next to the open dance floor. She quickly noticed that the only ones available were right next to Breeze and her boy. Thomas had already spotted the opening and he motioned her forward.

  “I see Breeze and her date,” Katja said as they moved through the tables. “Maybe we should give them some space.”

  Thomas nodded. “Makes sense.”

  Breeze spotted them as they approached, and greeted them with a friendly wave. Katja hoped that would be it, but Thomas steered over to her table.

  “Hi, NavO,” he said. “Good to get some R&R after a long mission.”

  She leaned back in her chair and offered a warm smile. Under the relaxed charm, there was something in her look as she glanced between Katja and Thomas.

  “Absolutely. You two should have told me you were coming down—we could have made it a Rapier night out.”

  “Oh, we didn’t plan this,” Katja said quickly. “I just came down for the Levantine Jihad.”

  “Yeah,” Thomas added more leisurely. “Turns out one of OpsO’s fellow troopers is a guy I used to serve with. They invited me down to talk about old times in the mud.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Breeze said. “The intelligence folk sit around and spin tales about the reports we wrote. And sometimes, when we get really crazy, we relive the best briefings we ever gave. Good times.”

  The pilot laughed appreciatively.

  Breeze gestured at him. “This is my friend Jack—he’s a pilot. And I’m discoveri
ng that he knows a hell of a lot about multidimensional physics, too.”

  Jack grinned and extended his hand to Thomas.

  “Hi, how you doing?” he said enthusiastically. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Thomas Kane. You fly strike fighters?”

  Jack’s enthusiasm dimmed for a second, Katja thought, but he rebounded quickly.

  “No, I’m a Hawk pilot. I’m with Kristiansand. I was just telling Breeze how I spotted that mystery ship.”

  “Oh, you’re the one.” Thomas nodded. “Sharp eyes.”

  “Thanks. The real trick is—”

  “Jack,” Thomas interrupted, laying a hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “The existence of that ship is top secret. Now, Breeze is cleared to that level, and as it turns out so are Ms. Emmes and I. But I’m pretty damn sure that doesn’t apply to everybody in here. So stop talking now.”

  Jack looked surprised by the rebuke.

  Breeze leaned in to coax Thomas’s hand off him.

  “Don’t worry—Jack wasn’t discussing any details. He was just talking about how hard it is to spot something like that in space.”

  Katja’s attention was suddenly drawn by the looming form of Scott Lahko, balancing his own full mug in one hand and a full pitcher of beer in the other. With surprising skill, he set everything down on the table next to Breeze and Jack.

  “Hey, you guys talking or drinking?”

  “I’m drinking.” Katja sat down across from him. As he topped up her glass, she appreciated once again the simple pleasures of being in the Corps. Good friends, no games. The way military life was supposed to be.

  13

  Thomas had never really suffered from space sickness, but he still appreciated artificial gravity when it was on offer. He enjoyed the feeling of power as he strode down one of Normandy’s wide passageways, pushing himself along with a firm, heel-to-toe action. To most people, it was walking. To a veteran of zero-g, it was freedom.

  Lieutenant Sean Duncan didn’t seem so enamored with the whole walking thing. He was almost as tall as Thomas, but he was struggling to keep pace.

  “Thomas, we’re not late,” he said. “And if anything, I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.”

  Thomas slowed, smiling. “Just stretching the legs. Sorry.”

  There was no hurry, but both officers had long ago developed the very useful habit of getting to briefings well in advance. They had each suffered their share of embarrassments at the Astral College, either by giving poorly prepared presentations or by conducting oh-so-stealthy sneaking into the back of a room when the briefing had already begun.

  Today in particular there was reason to be early. Sean was scheduled to present to Normandy’s command team the analysis of the mystery ship. There was nothing like a room full of line officers to strike fear into the heart of a presenter, but as the second-in-command of a destroyer, Sean spoke with an authority unusual for his rank.

  Thomas had often wondered why executive officers didn’t get the appointment to lieutenant commander. He privately considered Sean’s role to be more worthy of appointment than his own, even if he would never admit it. The Fleet, though, had a romantic attachment to the position of ship captain, no matter how small the vessel might be, and as a captain Thomas was automatically honored above his peers.

  So, for now, Thomas was winning the race with his old friend. But both FAC captain and destroyer XO were stepping-stones to promotion, so there was no telling who would climb the next rung first.

  “That was a pretty wild party in the end,” Sean said. “Those troopers are crazy.”

  Thomas nodded, remembering the later hours of the Jihad. “Ten years ago I could have kept up.”

  “Ten years ago, Thomas, you’d have been leading the charge. You remember that little incident of the ‘Moon Over Busan’?”

  “I don’t know if my thirty-eight-year-old moon would be as welcome on display as it was back then.”

  “Well, what about that friend of yours? The big guy—what was his name? He seemed pretty eager to show some skin.”

  “Scott Lahko? Yeah, he’s commissioned from the ranks, so he parties on a whole different level. He’s our age, but you’d never believe it.”

  “He did in our young Jack Mallory pretty good.”

  Thomas laughed. “That kid isn’t even old enough to drink, let alone make an ass out of himself.”

  “Well, they both made asses of themselves—and left me free to chat up Breeze.”

  “Ever the predator, Sean.” He shot his friend a look. “I thought you’d slowed down, skin hound.”

  “You gotta admit, Breeze is hot. I’m surprised you haven’t taken a shot at her.”

  “She’s one of my officers. I don’t fish off the company pier.”

  Sean scoffed loudly. “Since when? Are you telling me it’s St. Thomas, now?”

  “That, and the fact that I’m engaged.”

  “Oh, right. I keep forgetting.” He paused, then added, “When do I get an invite to the wedding?”

  “As soon as I’m given the clearance from the boss. You don’t actually think I have any say in the matter, do you?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I only met Soma that one time, but I can tell she’s the type who knows what she wants. And with all that money to spend, I’m sure it’ll be the wedding of the century. Will it be on Earth or Ganymede?”

  “Earth, for sure—somewhere by the sea. Jovians love open skies and pounding surf.”

  “Maybe I’ll bring Breeze as my date.”

  “Be my guest. But I think Jack might have beaten you to it.”

  “Not a chance. He was passed out by midnight.”

  Thomas laughed. “If not Breeze, you could always take Katja.”

  “Who?”

  “The little blonde one. My OpsO.”

  Sean frowned. “What fun would that be?”

  “Seemed to me she’s kinda cute.”

  “Yeah, but Breeze said she was gay.”

  “Who, Katja?”

  “Yeah.”

  This came as news to Thomas. He’d thought she was giving him a bit more than just professional attention at the star lounge—although it had been a little awkward. Maybe she was just sucking up to her boss.

  Normandy’s main briefing room was aft of the bridge and forward of the Intelligence cell. As they entered the dimly lit space, Thomas guessed that the compartment probably displaced the same volume as Rapier’s entire interior. Three giant screens commanded the forward bulkhead, looming over a semicircular briefing platform that faced a theater of comfortable chairs. Each chair in turn had a console that could be fed detailed information.

  They were alone in the room, but Sean wasted no time. As Thomas found the appropriate lights to switch on, Sean started uploading his information on the mystery merchant. Normandy’s intelligence gurus had been examining the data continuously, but Kristiansand had sent a burst transmission with updates.

  “It was pretty slick of the captain,” Sean said as he brought up the information he wanted. “As soon as she read my message, saying we’d be delayed to give this brief, she radioed the Hawk and changed its patrol pattern, just to get these shots. It approached on low power, so the target probably thought it was just space clutter.”

  Two of the screens lit up behind him, each showing a different visual of the mystery ship. One was a microwave representation, and the other was dark and unclear—taken with visible light.

  “These are about three hours old.”

  Thomas whistled in appreciation.

  The grainy image of the long, gray ship didn’t reveal fine details, but the telltale bulges of snap-on cargo bays spoke volumes. This was a large, deep-space carrier—not at all the sort of ship usually used for clandestine activities. Someone with very deep pockets—someone like the Centauri government—had to be bankrolling this operation. The third screen then lit up with a projected path of the ship, based on the recorded course and speed, and the details revealed there only ad
ded to the mystery.

  Sean switched the screens to standby and forwarded data to the audience consoles.

  Thomas took a seat on the far side of the theater, far enough away from the center to ensure that he didn’t ruffle any feathers. Although he didn’t know the Normandy staff, he guessed there would be egos involved.

  In fact, Thomas only knew one member of Normandy’s senior staff—the commanding officer himself. Captain Eric Chandler had been Victoria’s XO when Thomas and Sean had joined their first ship, just in time for what had been scheduled as a routine deployment to Sirius. What followed was a full-blown civil war that had exploded across this, the third most populated of all human colonies, and the history books had many names for it. The End of the Laikan Hegemony. The War of Religious Freedom. The Splintering of Sirius.

  In the Astral Force, those nasty years were known as the Dog Watch, and Thomas had grown up very quickly as a junior subbie in an old destroyer on the front lines. Eric Chandler, as XO, had taken it upon himself to get young Sublieutenants Kane and Duncan up to scratch.

  Chandler was the ideal after whom Thomas had always wanted to model himself. He would never have his old XO’s raw charisma, but if he could even come close to emulating him, that would be better than most.

  Sean occupied the exact position Chandler had filled so well. Watching him prepare his notes for the brief, Thomas suddenly worried that he wasn’t going to win the promotion race.

  In the long term, however, he had a subtle advantage. Sean was smart, and bold, but not very polished when away from the bridge. His drunken antics during the Jihad had been pretty typical—and contrary to their earlier conversation, Thomas doubted that Sean had scored any points with Breeze.

  Maybe it was Sean’s upbringing on Mercury. Even though his accent had faded, his rough-and-tumble approach to life gave strong evidence of his heritage. Thomas hardly came from a privileged background, but being from Earth conveyed an automatic advantage.

  Soma came from a good family and had an excellent education. The fact that she was Captain Chandler’s goddaughter didn’t hurt either. It had been Chandler himself who had made certain Thomas and Soma would meet, and with this new connection, Thomas found himself once again under the watchful eye of his old mentor.