“Governor Brown was a rational man,” Haverford said. “You could talk to him, negotiate with him. I believe he would have accepted a limited victory in the war or pulled back and come to terms if it became clear he was losing. Admiral Singh wants it all for herself. She will happily let Wolfbane burn if it boosts her personal power. When she gets home ...”
He took a breath. “When she gets home, Colonel, she is likely to purge her enemies and start a civil war.”
“That isn't exactly a problem for me,” Ed pointed out. “Why should we care?”
“A civil war on Wolfbane will give the Commonwealth a very definite advantage,” Haverford agreed. “But it will also destroy much of the system’s industrial base, making it harder to rebuild the Empire. You’d be throwing thousands upon thousands of trained workers into the fire.”
Ed scowled. He hated to admit it, but Haverford had a point. Wolfbane represented a sizable percentage of the known surviving industrial base. Given time, the Commonwealth could replace it with more advanced systems ... yet he didn't know if he had the time. Wolfbane was large, but there had been systems towards the Core that had had more firepower at their disposal. Who knew what had happened to them? His worst nightmare was discovering that one of the Core Worlds had survived and had now gone on a conquest spree.
“I can help you break down Wolfbane,” Haverford said. “You need information I have locked up in my head.”
“We do,” Ed conceded. “What do you want in exchange?”
“I want to feel as though I’m on the right side,” Haverford said. “Does that make sense?”
Ed scowled. No one reached high rank without being ambitious. Haverford wanted something for himself, even if it was just a command of his own. He’d be in a good position to replace Admiral Singh after she died, if the Commonwealth backed him. And yet, he understood Haverford’s point. The Imperial Army had rarely been on the right side during the final years of the Empire.
“You will be shipped back to Avalon,” he said, choosing not to answer the question. “Once you are there, you will be debriefed extensively. We will discuss future options after your debriefing is completed. I need not add, I hope, that we will take it amiss if you lie to us.”
Haverford nodded. He knew as well as Ed that a defector who was caught lying would be killed out of hand. Ed wouldn't make him any promises, not yet, but he’d keep Haverford in mind when he considered the next step in the war. They’d knocked Admiral Singh back on her heels, but now they needed to follow up before she recovered herself and did something drastic. An all-out attack on Avalon could still win her the war.
“Thank you,” Haverford said. “That’s all I can ask.”
“Indeed,” Ed agreed.
***
Her bodyguards had objected, citing the danger of isolated enemy holdouts or angry civilians, but Danielle had insisted on leaving the bunker and walking through the city. It was a chilling sight, even though she’d done her best to steel herself; large parts of the city were empty, completely deserted, while other parts were in ruins. The military was doing what it could to clear the way, to allow the repair crews to start work, but she knew it would be years before the city returned to normal. It would probably be decades before the entire planet recovered from the brief savage war.
She ran her hand through her hair as she strode down towards the defence lines, where white-coated men were pulling out bodies, bagging them up and preparing them for transport to the nearest mass grave. They’d be taking fingerprints and DNA patterns, she knew from one of the innumerable briefings, but some of the dead would never be identified. There would be hundreds of families who would never have closure, who would wonder if their loved ones were still alive, even though the odds were against it. The repair crews would be finding bodies for years to come. She caught sight of a dead woman, wearing the grey urban combat uniform of the planetary militia and shuddered. The poor girl had died to defend a planet that couldn't even be bothered to give her a proper burial.
I’m sorry, she thought, grimly. There just isn't time.
She found Colonel Stalker standing outside one of the command posts, issuing orders to his frightening Command Sergeant. Danielle had honestly wondered if Gwendolyn Patterson was even female, despite the name; her voice and mannerisms were distinctly masculine. If she hadn't seen the woman in the showers, one day in the bunker, she would still have been a little confused. There was something about Gwendolyn that marked her out as different.
“Colonel,” she said, as Stalker turned to face her. “Can we have a word?”
Stalker nodded, then dismissed Gwendolyn and led Danielle into the command post. Inside, it was cool and dry; a large map hung on the walls, showing the remainder of the defence lines. No doubt they’d be dismantled soon enough, once the booby traps were carefully removed or detonated under controlled circumstances. Danielle knew she should be worried, but right now she found it hard to care. The city she loved, the city she’d built, had been devastated. And the remainder of the planet wasn't much better off.
“Madam President,” Stalker said. “What can I do for you?”
Danielle looked him in the eye. “Was it worth it?”
She’d expected a snappy reply, but Stalker did her the honour of giving the question careful consideration. “I don’t think we had a choice,” he said, finally. “Admiral Singh could not be allowed to take this planet.”
“Tens of thousands of their soldiers are dead, tens of thousands of ours ... God alone knows how many people are going to starve in the coming weeks and months,” Danielle snapped. “I know, we can feed them ... if we can get the food to them. Taking care of the POWs alone is going to be a major headache, even if you do ship most of them back to Avalon. Was it worth it?”
“We defeated her,” Stalker said. “We knew it would come at a cost.”
Danielle nodded, slowly. “Why?”
She waved a hand towards the devastated city. “Why all of ... this?”
Stalker frowned. “There’s a theory - I heard it at the Slaughterhouse - that states that humanity can be divided up into three categories: sheep, wolves and sheepdogs. The sheep cannot fight; the wolves prey on the sheep; the sheepdogs defend the sheep.”
“Hum,” Danielle said. It sounded absurd to her. Humans were humans. And yet it was an insight into Stalker’s character. “You see yourself as a sheepdog?”
“Most marines do,” Stalker admitted. He shrugged. “The thing is, my tutors didn't consider the theory to be very valid. Humans are thinking and emoting beings. Someone can switch from being a sheep to being a wolf at any moment, given the right incentive. The mindset that makes someone a wolf can turn them into a sheep, if they meet someone bigger and nastier than themselves. A sheepdog ... can turn into a wolf, if the sheep remain constantly unappreciative of what the sheepdog does for them.”
Danielle scowled. “And your point?”
“The Empire collapsed,” Stalker said. “It unleashed all sorts of forces when it fell. Admiral Singh, who would never have been anything other than a footnote a century ago, saw a chance to become a wolf and take power for herself. Other would-be wolves took their own chances. And sheep who thought themselves secure, protected by the Empire, were suddenly forced to take up arms and become sheepdogs. Or get killed by the wolves.”
He sighed. “The wolf cannot be stopped without force,” he warned. “And that always comes with a price.”
“A price paid by the people of my world,” Danielle said. “Did they deserve it?”
“The universe isn’t fair,” Stalker said. “What someone deserves rarely has anything to do with what happens to them. All we can do now is make sure they didn't die in vain.”
Chapter Forty
Or, as the old rhyme has it, ‘for want of a nail, a kingdom was lost.’
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
“He wanted to be buried here, sir” Jasmine said. They stood together, near the unmarked
grave that held Rifleman Gavin Jalil. “His will specifically stated that he wanted to be buried on the world that finally killed him.”
“And so he will be,” Colonel Stalker said. His voice was very calm, something that worried her more than she cared to admit. “The President was quite happy to leave him in his grave, if we wanted to leave him here, or move him to somewhere else.”
“I think he’d prefer to remain undisturbed,” Jasmine said, after a moment. “He died to make this planet free.”
The Colonel nodded. “It will be years - decades, perhaps - before this part of the planet is turned into towns and cities,” he said. “His body will have plenty of time to decompose in peace.”
He glanced at her. “Did you handle the rest of the ceremony?”
“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said. “His Rifleman’s Tab will be returned to Castle Rock and his handful of possessions have been shared amongst the platoon. A handful of letters he wrote to his girlfriend have been saved; we’ll see to it that she gets them when we return home.”
And we’ll hold a wake for him too, she thought. See how many of the remaining marines can make it.
“Very good,” Colonel Stalker said. He looked past her, down towards where Emmanuel was interviewing a pair of local soldiers. “Are you going to offer me your resignation again?”
Jasmine blinked in surprise, then understood. She’d tried to resign twice now, only to have her resignation rejected. And, deep inside, she was relieved. The Marine Corps was the only home she had, now the Empire was gone. Getting home would be tricky as hell. She'd heard of plans to send starships back towards the Core Worlds, just to see what was going on, but nothing had come of it. The demands of the war consumed everything else.
“No, sir,” she said. “I didn't fuck up so badly this time, even if I still stink.”
The Colonel smiled. “Your young man doesn't seem to care.”
“He has no sense of smell,” Jasmine said. She’d showered as soon as she decently could, scrubbing her body so hard that her skin was raw, but she could still smell herself. None of the other marines were any better off, either. They’d be getting into fights all over Castle Rock if they stunk when they returned home. “We’ll get better, even if we have to drown ourselves in perfume.”
She shrugged, dismissing the thought. “When are we heading home?”
“General Mathis and two-thirds of the CEF will be remaining here to provide assistance and look after the prisoners,” Colonel Stalker said. “The remainder of us will depart in a week from now, barring accidents. That should give us plenty of time to find a way to take the war to Admiral Singh.”
“Unless some kindly soul assassinates her for us, sir,” Jasmine said. “If half of what we got from the defectors is true, Admiral Singh was balanced on top of a very unstable structure.”
“If,” Colonel Stalker said.
Jasmine nodded. She’d brought General James Stubbins back to Avalon from Meridian, where he’d been a prisoner after Governor Brown had taken control, but everything he’d been able to tell the debriefing officers had been at least two years out of date. Jasmine didn't fault him for that - it wasn't as if he was trying to lie - yet she knew she couldn't take anything he said for granted. The new crop of defectors were far more up to date.
“I hope there’ll be a role for us, sir,” she said. “1st Platoon performed very well.”
“So it did,” Colonel Stalker agreed. “Do you want to be reassigned to the CEF ...?”
“No, sir,” Jasmine said. “I think I’m much better off as a small-unit officer.”
“Understood,” Colonel Stalker said.
He shrugged. “There’s no immediate call for your services, so feel free to take the next couple of days off,” he added. “We’re trying to rotate everyone through some leave, now the fighting is over, but it isn't easy.”
“Good for morale, though,” Jasmine said. In the last two weeks, hundreds of soldiers had been flown to other cities, just to be reminded that there was more to Corinthian than a badly-damaged capital city. “They’ll need more leave on Avalon.”
“We’ll see to it when we get them home,” Colonel Stalker said. He smiled at her, rather tiredly. “And there will be much more for us to do.”
Jasmine nodded. Shore leave suddenly seemed a very good idea. She had no interest in visiting a brothel or watching flicks that were already several years out of date, but stealing a tent and going hiking with Emmanuel sounded like fun. It would be relaxing, insofar as she could relax. She had no idea how Mandy could endure going to the spa to be pampered for a couple of hours. It was absurd.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, as Emmanuel turned and walked towards them. “I’ll see you in two days.”
“Take care of yourself,” Stalker agreed. “Have fun.”
He turned and strode off, heading down the hill towards the road. “Jasmine,” Emmanuel said. He glanced around to make sure they weren't in earshot, then kissed her hard. “What was that?”
“Shore leave,” Jasmine said. She smiled at him, warmly. “You want to grab a tent and go wandering?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Why not?”
***
“Welcome back,” Sergeant Rackham said. “Did you enjoy your leave?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Mindy said. “I had a very good leave.”
It was hard not to smile at the question. She’d spent the first day with Mandy - her sister had shuttled down to the enemy FOB to meet her - and then spent the second and third day in Chimayo City, where she’d met a militiaman who’d been very impressed with her. They’d spent so much time in bed together that she’d almost missed her flight back to Freedom City, which would have ended very badly for her.
“Good, good, glad to hear it,” Sergeant Rackham said, exhausting his grasp of the social niceties. “Do you remember our last conversation?”
Mindy took a moment to remember what he’d said to her, on the eve of the final battle. “You asked if I wanted to be an officer or an NCO,” she said.
“Close enough,” Sergeant Rackham agreed. “And have you made up your mind?”
“Not yet,” Mindy said. “Is now the time?”
Sergeant Rackham shrugged. “You’re career,” he said. “I don’t think you’d be happy, getting out of the military when your first enlistment expires, marrying some farm boy and having a dozen kids. The military is your life. You need to think about your career, soldier; you need to think about where you want to be in ten years.”
Mindy nodded, slowly. “And if I stay an enlisted soldier,” she said, “I might not be able to leave when the enlistment officially ends.”
“This war may go on for years,” Sergeant Rackham said. “And you are enlisted for five years - or for the duration. If you plan on the assumption you will be able to leave in five years, you may find yourself trapped - unable to leave and unable to advance. But you don’t want to leave, do you?”
“No, Sergeant,” Mindy said.
“There’s also the simple fact that you are now an experienced soldier,” Sergeant Rackham added. “What you learned here” - he waved a hand towards the battleground in the distance - “is knowledge the military must not lose. The battle here may only be the first of many, once the Wolves duplicate the force shields. We may find ourselves fighting to liberate a dozen worlds, rather than simply driving away the fleets and taking the high orbitals.”
Mindy shuddered. They'd seen just how many enemy soldiers had died - or had been savagely maimed. She wouldn't forget the castrated soldier in a hurry.
Sergeant Rackham cleared his throat. “You’ll be shipping back to Avalon with the Colonel,” he said. “When you arrive, you will have an opportunity to go to NCO School. You may not pass, but you can give it your best shot. Or you can go to OCS and try to get high rank. The choice you have to make, now, is which one you want.”
Mindy hesitated. She admired Sergeant Rackham - and Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson. The idea of becoming like them wa
s both tempting and terrifying. And yet, she was tempted by the thought of becoming an officer too. It would mean more responsibility, but also more independence. And the Stormtroopers were new enough that she could make her mark on them.
She looked down at her hands. Officers led men in combat, but they sometimes sent men to their deaths to accomplish the tactical objective. She wasn't sure she could do that, even if the alternative was losing everything. Sergeants, on the other hand, took care of their men; she’d see men she knew, men she liked, die in front of her time and time again. It was a heavy burden - Sergeant Rackham wouldn't have suggested NCO School if he thought she couldn't cope - but she wasn't sure she wanted it.
But if you don’t become an officer, she thought numbly, you’ll have to watch someone else take command of your men.
She looked up. “NCO School.”
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 40