Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Chandler motioned him closer. “Yeah, Thomas, come on in.”

  The commodore spent another moment reading the report, nodding to himself as he did. Thomas pushed closer until he floated at a polite distance for conversation, and waited. Finally the commodore looked up again.

  “Thomas, with all the survivors we picked up from the destroyed ships after Abeona, I’m going to be making a few staff changes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miami’s captain is a seasoned AVW controller, and she brings a wealth of experience to my staff. I also think it’s important to keep her fully occupied so that she doesn’t obsess over the loss of her ship.”

  Although he should have expected it, Thomas still felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He was losing his position on the command staff.

  “She fought Miami well, sir,” he said evenly. “She has nothing to be ashamed of. I certainly appreciate you giving me the opportunity when Rapier was put out of service.”

  Chandler nodded, but there was something in his eyes Thomas didn’t like. There was a strained moment of silence.

  “Sir, where am I being posted?”

  “Well, this is the thing…” Chandler’s tone was hardening. “I need every asset I have in action, and that includes Rapier. She still can’t do atmo, but she can fly in space and she can carry weapons. That makes her at least as useful as a Hawk or a star fighter.”

  So he was returning to his command—that wasn’t a bad thing.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll ensure she’s up to the task.”

  “This is where my doubt begins, Thomas.”

  “Sir?”

  “Frankly, I’m very disappointed with your performance at Abeona. Those orbital platforms were clearly the biggest threat, and you, as AVW controller, pretty much ignored them until they were on top of us. Even then, you couldn’t think of a way to fight them. As EF commander, Thomas, I really shouldn’t be the one who has to think of tactical solutions.”

  Thomas felt a cold pit forming in his stomach.

  “Sir, I’m sorry if—”

  “I’ve made some time these past few days to take a hard look at your record as Rapier’s commander. This is what I see.” He counted off the points on his fingers. “You pulled out of your Cerberan farm strike too early. The warlord troops in Free Lhasa wouldn’t have responded to that distress call inside of thirty minutes—plenty of time for you to get your strike team back down to search for their target.

  “You pulled out of the boarding of Astrid too early. That Centauri stealth ship would never have got off a killing shot without your destroyer escort seeing and attacking it.

  “You didn’t provide proper cover to your strike team in Free Lhasa. If Kristiansand hadn’t given orbital bombardment, you would have lost half your team on the ground.

  “And now, you’ve dogged it on the repairs to your ship, to the point where she was out of action for the most important battle of this war.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “Honestly, the only thing keeping you in command right now is your heroism at the Battle of Laika. You deserve the medal you got for that, but otherwise you deserve a desk job. For now, though, I don’t have any other fast-attack-qualified skippers, so I need to stick you back in command. I think the only reason Rapier had any success is due to your officers. That trooper Emmes has the biggest gonads I’ve ever seen, and Breeze is as sharp as a whip. I’m putting them both back in to support you.”

  Thomas dropped his eyes and stared unseeing at his feet floating over the deck. Just like that, his career was crumbling before him. Eric Chandler, his mentor and patron, had judged him a failure. Choking under pressure as a ship commander and coming up blank as a staff officer.

  He’d been given two chances to shine and apparently he’d blown both of them. Chalk up FAC command and AVW control as two more things Thomas Kane had dabbled in, but really had no fucking idea what he was doing.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”

  “That’s all, Thomas.”

  He retreated without another word. Normandy’s wide flats were quiet, but he avoided the gazes of those few he passed. He headed automatically for his cabin, not really knowing what he would do once he reached it. He thought idly that he should probably head up to Rapier, go scream at the mechanics to fix her faster, but he just couldn’t muster the effort.

  Habit moved him to his desk and a quick scan of his messages. Most were routine, but one from a Master Rating Shin in sickbay caught his eye. He scanned the one-liner quickly, and bolted for the door.

  Katja wanted to see him.

  * * *

  Sickbay was crowded. Every bed was occupied and gurneys filled every nook and cranny. Thomas was surprised as his feet touched down on the deck under sudden gravity, then recalled that medical spaces often had localized AG for the sake of the medical staff. They moved quietly and efficiently among their patients, individual voices lost in the general din.

  He scanned beds and peered past curtains, trying to stay out of the way. Finally he glanced through the crack of one curtain, and felt his heart lift.

  Katja was sitting on her bed, cross-legged in pale blue, standard issue pajamas, intently reading a hand-held electronic display. An IV was plugged into her wrist, bandages hid her chin and she had a gel-collar around her neck, but otherwise she appeared in one piece.

  He blinked away sudden moisture in his eyes and felt a smile split his lips as he stepped through the curtain. So his career was dead. At least Katja wasn’t.

  She looked up quickly, then dropped her display on the bed and uncrossed her legs with great effort. She slid bare feet down to the deck and pushed herself up to stand before him. She looked so tiny and delicate, so fragile. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but he forced himself to hold back.

  To his surprise, she took a shaky step forward, reached out with both arms and wrapped herself around him, pressing her cheek tightly against his chest. New warmth welled up within him and he carefully put his arms around her. She held him for a long, long moment, taking deep, sighing breaths. He blinked away tears again and hugged her tighter.

  She gasped. “Broken ribs!”

  He released her. “Sorry.”

  She stepped back, steadying herself on the bed and carefully climbing back on. He watched her fight through the pain, finally seating herself comfortably against the raised mattress.

  “Hi, Thomas. Good to see you still alive.”

  “Likewise.” He tried to think of something witty to say, but her dark, steady gaze kept him earnest. She’d looked at him in many ways in the past, but never quite like this. There was no admiration in her eyes.

  “Thanks for sending that message, Katja. I’m really happy that you wanted to see me.”

  “Well, when they finally untied me, I figured I should practice being nice again. Even to you.”

  His good mood dimmed. It seemed everybody in his life was determined to have a go at him. In this case, though, he deserved it.

  She motioned for him to sit on the end of the bed, then leaned forward to wrap her arms around her knees. When she spoke again her voice was quiet enough that only he could hear.

  “I guess I really shouldn’t care that you’re fucking Breeze, but I do. Even though I don’t have any ‘claim’ to you, it hurts a lot. I really thought that there was something between us, but I’ve figured out now that I was wrong.”

  Conflicting emotions battled in his heart as her eyes bore into him. His first impulse was to say something sweet and reassuring, to avoid hurting her any more. But a growing realization finally took hold within him. This woman was a blooded warrior and a brave, natural leader. She didn’t look delicate or fragile.

  She didn’t need his protection.

  “That night in my cabin was motivated by lust,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your feelings, especially since I wasn’t ready to return them. I’m
sorry.”

  “It’s not like I tried to stop it. But I guess at the time it meant more to me than it did to you.”

  He looked down at the hands in his lap. His emotions were still churning.

  “If it matters, it only happened with Breeze once. We’re not an item.”

  “When we first met,” she replied, “I thought you were larger than life. Commanding a ship, confident, strong, handsome. I really thought that you were the military ideal. But now I see that you’re just a self-serving asshole like everybody else.”

  He sighed. “Thanks.”

  She poked his shoulder. He looked up to see her smiling.

  “But I’ve met assholes on every world, and on average you rate pretty well.”

  He nodded. “But I took something special from you. I regret that.”

  Genuine good humor welled up from the depths of her eyes.

  “Do you think I was a virgin that night?”

  Her question stopped him dead. He’d never consciously considered it, but he suddenly realized that yes, he’d thought exactly that.

  She lifted one foot and gently kicked him.

  “Grow up, Kane. I’m a woman in the Astral Corps. And I’m twenty-nine, not nineteen.”

  He stared at her, hardly recognizing this vivacious, confident adult sitting before him. Then he burst out laughing, all the tension of the day releasing. On an impulse, he took her cheek and kissed her lips.

  She responded for a second, then pushed him back with considerable strength. But the humor hadn’t left her eyes.

  “That’s the last time you ever get to do that,” she said. “Save it for Breeze.”

  He shook his head. “No thanks. She’s slobbery.”

  Katja’s laugh echoed through sickbay.

  He stood up and stretched. “How are you feeling, by the way? When are you returning to duty?”

  She leaned back against the raised mattress and extended her legs out straight. The movement caused her to wince.

  “I have nine broken ribs, a few busted organs and a spine they want to keep a close eye on.” She sniffed thoughtfully. “I figure I’ll be good by this evening.”

  He smiled again. “Well, as soon as you’re ready, I have a seat for you on Rapier’s bridge. We’re pulling the crew back together and we’re going to be assigned to space patrols.”

  “I have a platoon to command.”

  “The orders don’t come from me. But… I’d rather you come willingly than not. If you want to stay with your troops, tell me and I’ll see what I can do.”

  She thought for a moment, almost as if she was sizing him up. “Well, I’ve been running a lot lately, carrying heavy equipment and all, and I’m getting kinda tired of it. Maybe growing my ass in a Fleet chair is just the thing.”

  He felt a new kind of warmth grow inside him. He extended his hand.

  “Welcome aboard, OpsO.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  54

  “Sir, please stop screwing with the door.”

  Jack grinned at the medical attendant and pulled himself through one last time. The zero-g of the passageway carried him forward until sickbay’s AG grabbed a hold of him and he fell like a stone. His boots thumped down on the deck.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s kinda cool.”

  The attendant sighed and crossed her arms. “Can I help you, sir?”

  He nodded, offering up his hand-held display with the medical appointment opened on the screen. “I’ve just been posted in from Kristiansand and I have a flight medical. I’m a pilot.”

  She ignored his offering and checked her own list. With another glance at him she indicated for him to follow. He enjoyed putting a bounce in his step under the refreshing pull of gravity. His smile faded, though, as he passed bed after bed of mangled troopers, feeling their hard eyes on him. He adopted a suitably serious look as he took the indicated seat next to a bank of steel cabinets.

  Normandy’s sickbay was as big as a hospital, compared to the closet in Kristiansand, but even so it felt cramped in here. Every possible space was occupied by either a patient or equipment, and the general noise was almost as loud as the wardroom during a mess meeting. Nobody paid him much attention, and he spent several minutes simply watching the people around him.

  Most of the patients wore pale blue pajamas. Those who weren’t had too many things stuck into them or wrapped around them to allow for normal clothes. There was certainly enough chatter, and even a few laughs, but many of the patients sat or lay in silence, gazing intently at personal screens or just staring into space.

  “Sublieutenant Mallory?” A doctor approached him.

  Jack stood. “That’s me.”

  The doctor quickly examined his file and chatted absently while he conducted a few routine physical tests that Jack knew well. It was nothing too demeaning, and he cooperated without hesitation.

  Finally, the doctor reached up and pressed two fingers against Jack’s face, repeating the action in several places. He nodded thoughtfully.

  “The bone’s knit fairly well. It’s starting to fuse permanently into place.” Jack automatically ran his hand over the unnatural bumps on his face. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Yes and no. You’re healing, and that’s good. But the longer it goes, the harder it’ll be for a plastic surgeon to put it back the way it was.”

  Jack had almost forgotten that there even was a chance to fix his face. The sudden reminder—combined with the doubt that it would ever happen—hurt more than his twisted features ever did. He nodded, sighing.

  The doctor patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Otherwise, son, you’re fit and ready for duty. What kind of plane do you fly?”

  “A Hawk.”

  “Hm. I didn’t think Normandy had Hawks.”

  “You don’t. Apparently I’m gonna be learning how to fly a fast-attack craft.”

  “Well, typical wartime training should give you at least ten minutes of practice time before you go out on your first mission.”

  Jack forced a smile. “Let’s hope so.”

  The doctor made a few notes on the file and told Jack he was free to go. Jack looked around the busy sickbay. Free to go where? The hangar, he supposed. His pilot instincts always drew him back to the hangar. So he gathered up his hand-held and started for the door.

  A firm grip on his sleeve halted him. He turned and came face to face with Katja Emmes. She was dressed in the blue pajamas, one hand on his sleeve and the other hanging onto her rolling IV stand.

  “Hey, you’re Jack,” she said. “You’re a pilot.”

  A real smile split his features. “Why, yes… yes I am. And you look very pretty in pale blue, ma’am.”

  She scoffed and tugged him to follow her back toward her nearby bed. “Bring your chair, Subbie.”

  Jack had never considered himself to be a big man, but with him in boots and her barefoot, he felt like he towered over her. Not that he had any illusions about who could kick whose ass, even with an IV in her wrist. He grabbed the chair and followed her across to the tiny, curtained space.

  She settled herself, propped up in the bed. “I’ve been here long enough to be totally bored. But apparently my bones haven’t knit yet, so they make me stay longer.”

  Jack pushed down any thought of knitting bones and resisted the impulse to touch his face. Instead, he placed his chair next to the bed and sat down.

  “Well, I’m apparently quite healthy. But for you, ma’am, I got time. Don’t they give you reading material or something here?”

  She indicated her own hand-held. “I’ve spent the better part of a day reading the reports from the battle. I’ve read enough.”

  Jack hadn’t seen any reports, but he wanted to say something intelligent.

  “At least we’re calling it a victory. We bashed up the homeworld of our enemies and…” He searched for the phrase Avernell had used. “…seized the initiative away from them.”

  Katja eyed him curiously. “Did you think o
f that by yourself?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “No. I’m just a pilot. I drive the bus.”

  “Speaking of which, why are you here? In Normandy, I mean.”

  “Well, a pilot’s gotta have something to fly, and Kristiansand’s all out.” He briefly relayed his little adventure to get more torpedoes and its rather sudden and hard conclusion. She looked impressed. He had to admit that he was feeling pretty proud about it, but he didn’t want to brag in front of this combat veteran.

  “But that’s two Hawks I’ve bashed up on this deployment. My paycheck is going to be small when we get home.”

  “Two Hawks?”

  “Free Lhasa?”

  “Oh… right. That one wasn’t really your fault, though.”

  “Tell that to Astral Logistics.”

  She smiled. He liked her a lot more when she was in pajamas, he decided. Way more relaxed—almost human.

  “So are you flying a strike fighter, or one of our adopted star fighters?”

  He suppressed the frown that threatened to well up. “Neither. It seems I’m destined to never sit in a fighter cockpit, no matter how much I beg.”

  “Well, they are pretty expensive to replace…” she said.

  He tried to laugh, although he knew her words were truer than she thought. He had flown Hawks like fighters, playing star jock in his head while real stuff was happening around him.

  “Hey,” she said suddenly, “nice job on finding the secret Centauri jump gate. Did my info help you out at all?”

  In all the action over the past week or so, he’d totally forgotten about that. Hunting stealths in Sirius seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Oh, yeah!” he said, grinning. “Holy crap was that ever useful. I told my captain where I got the info from—I hope you get some credit.”

  “Hey, you’re the extra-dimensional whiz kid,” she countered. “I’m just a jar-head who passed on what I knew.”

  He’d hardly call himself a whiz kid, but…

  “Thanks. It’s actually pretty interesting stuff. Like just these past few days, I’ve been thinking about how we use torpedoes in general. Right now doctrine says we can’t detonate one deeper than sixteen peets, but I think that if we changed the way the gravitons were released, we might be able to control it better. You see—”