by C H Gideon
“Did you forget to mention Major General Kavanaugh, Colonel Jenkins?” Zhao arched a brow challengingly.
“No, sir.” Jenkins shook his head firmly. “Major General Kavanaugh was not apprised of every operational detail, Admiral.”
“Why not?” Zhao demanded coolly.
Jenkins hesitated. “I cannot comment on why General Akinouye chose not to include her in the entirety of the operation’s planning phases.”
“Do I have the wrong man sitting in front of me, Colonel Jenkins?” Zhao smirked. “Or are you tongue-tied from of a sense of misguided intra-branch loyalty?”
“General Akinouye made the decision who to include and who to exclude, Admiral Zhao,” Jenkins explained, feeling his ears begin to burn as the admiral’s confrontational style breached the thin veneer of his polished surface. “He never apprised me why he didn’t include Major General Kavanaugh.”
“Do you consider it possible that you, Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins, were also kept in the dark as to certain operational details regarding Antivenom’s true purpose?” Zhao asked with icy disdain.
“I do, Admiral,” Jenkins agreed.
“Do you also consider it possible, Colonel Jenkins,” Zhao continued fiercely, “that General Akinouye’s true purpose might not have been the same one he stated to you?”
“I do, Admiral.” Jenkins nodded firmly.
“Do you therefore consider it possible, Colonel Jenkins, that Operation Antivenom’s ultimate goal might have aligned with what some might call a ‘vast Jemmin conspiracy,’” Zhao sneered contemptuously, “with the true aim of not helping humanity but of harming it?”
“I do, sir.”
“Was there anything irrefutable in the collection of evidence you gathered prior to completing Operation Antivenom,” Zhao pressed, “that demonstrated to your satisfaction that this was an operation that featured no tactically-significant outcome sets that might cause more harm to the Terran Republic—or, indeed, to the entire human race—than good?”
“No, sir.” Jenkins shook his head, successfully fighting the urge to wince under the full fury of Zhao’s inquiry.
Admiral Zhao leaned back triumphantly in his chair. “You have previously acknowledged the substantive validity of the charges brought against you—charges that carry the most severe penalties in the Terran Republic’s legal codices—and now you admit that you weren’t even sure that what you were doing would do more good than harm. Is that a fair characterization of your replies thus far, Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins?”
Jenkins almost felt Xi stiffen at his side, causing him to flick a sidelong glance in her direction in the hope that he could calm her down. The last thing he needed was for his hot-tempered XO to mouth off in front of the court.
Fortunately, she relaxed, and he returned his attention to Admiral Zhao. “Yes, Admiral, that would be a fair characterization of my verbal remarks in these proceedings.”
“Then what in the name of God Almighty,” Zhao thundered, filling the room with his roaring voice, “were you people doing making secret deals with these aliens?” He flicked a hand in the direction of the Vorr trio. “Fighting obviously unnecessary wars with those aliens.” He gestured to the lone Finjou in the courtroom. “And then stealing Terran military assets under Candlelight conditions, which you used to besiege the most heavily-fortified military installation in human territory before attacking what is easily the most important virtual network in the history of our species!”
This was the moment. Jenkins had the chance to speak in his own defense, to plead his case to the court and the Terran people. An ambitious officer in Jenkins’ position would have used the moment to grandstand, to make a passionate plea that might one day be featured in schoolbooks as an inspirational patriotic touchstone.
But Jenkins was not ambitious. Not anymore. Frankly, he was tired.
“The simplest answer I can provide, Admiral Zhao,” Jenkins said, knowing that his next words might well damn him while possibly sparing those under his command, “is that I was following orders.”
Xi recoiled in shock at his side, and a murmur filled the courtroom. Zhao’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Say that again, Colonel.” Zhao’s voice was low and menacing.
“I was following orders, sir,” Jenkins reiterated unrepentantly. “As were the men and women who carried out Operation Antivenom.”
“I sincerely hope you don’t intend to leave it at that, Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins,” Zhao growled.
Xi shot Jenkins a furious look, and before he could try to calm her down, she turned in her chair to address the court. “Operation Antivenom was one hundred percent voluntary, Admiral Zhao. None of us were following orders.” She glared at Jenkins. “To suggest we were is not only inaccurate, but it’s also insulting.”
“Captain Xi,” Zhao sliced a penetrating look in the young woman’s direction, “perhaps you’re unfamiliar with the decorum I referenced earlier. Put simply, and in a manner you’re more likely to understand, you will not speak unless spoken to.”
“Admiral.” Xi jutted her chin defiantly. “Not one of the men and women we recruited for Operation Antivenom turned down the chance to contribute to the mission, sir. We did the right thing, Admiral Zhao,” she declared with conviction, “and I defy anyone on this court, in this room, or watching a ‘cast to honestly claim they would have done differently under the circumstances.”
Zhao leaned forward, his eyes blazing furiously. “If you sincerely thought that, Captain Xi, then why didn’t you request assistance for this vital mission? Are you truly that arrogant, or are you just stupid enough to think it was appropriate to pin humanity’s future on one battered warship and two mixed companies of armor? Which are you, Captain? Arrogant or stupid?”
Jenkins knew that Xi’s tongue could dig not only her but the entire Legion a hole so deep they’d never escape it. He was ready, willing, and eager to take the heat for Antivenom if it meant the Legion could carry on its work after he was gone, but Xi was a vital part of the Legion’s future, so despite his personal preferences, he jumped in to give her some cover.
“When I said I was following orders, Admiral Zhao,” Jenkins cut in, placing his hand on Xi’s arm and gripping it to keep her from shrugging him off, “and that the people who followed me on Antivenom were also following orders, I meant it. But what I didn’t say, which I think might have caused some confusion,” he sent a hard look in Xi’s direction, causing the fiery woman to lean fractionally back in her seat in deference, “is that I believed in the validity of those orders. It is my opinion that Captain Xi and the rest of Antivenom’s personnel also believed in the importance of the mission.” Xi nodded sharply, mercifully keeping her mouth shut as he continued, “In many respects, General Akinouye was the Terran Armor Corps. His peerless lifetime of service had seen him achieve victory in dozens of major engagements, some on the battlefield and some in courtrooms like this one.” Jenkins gestured to the warm, wooden panels surrounding them.
“I’m not his equal, sir, and I never will be,” Jenkins said, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that those words were true. “His death during Operation Brick Top created not only a void in Armor Corps’ leadership but also uncertainty among the personnel charged with carrying out the general’s secret mission. Ultimately, I decided that second-guessing one of the most decorated and valiant warriors in the Terran Armed Forces, one who served with the Joint Chiefs for longer than any officer in human history, was… Well,” he quirked a lopsided grin, “it was above my paygrade, and unlikely to result in a net gain for Armor Corps specifically or humanity in general.”
Zhao’s piercing gaze snapped between Jenkins and Xi for several seconds before the admiral sat back in his chair. “You sound as though you disapprove of Major General Kavanaugh’s decision to break the veil of compartmentalization for General Akinouye’s clandestine operations.”
Jenkins shook his head, deciding to skirt the fine line between half-truth and lie. “I was
unaware of Major General Kavanaugh’s decision to—”
“Stop right there, Colonel,” Zhao interrupted. “Do you dispute that you sent Captain Chao Yun, who was assigned to the same Terra Han Colonial Guard unit that supported Operation Brick Top, to convey a clandestine message to one of the members of this court shortly before the Republic fell under Candlelight conditions?”
Jenkins hesitated. “No, Admiral, I do not dispute that.”
“Who was that message’s intended recipient?” Zhao asked coldly.
“You were, Admiral Zhao.”
The hiss of whispers once again filled the courtroom, but Zhao ignored them as he continued. “Have you and I had any contact, direct or otherwise, since your return to Terran space, including in the lead-up to these proceedings?” the admiral pressed as the eyes of his fellow court members turned in his direction with muted surprise.
“No, Admiral, we have not.” Jenkins shook his head adamantly.
“What was the substance of the message you conveyed to me via Captain Chao?” the admiral asked.
“I suggested to Captain Chao that my hand-picked Antivenom team was about to undertake a mission of vital importance to both Terran and Solar humanity,” Jenkins explained, surprised at this latest turn in the inquest. “I also suggested that, as your son, he was uniquely positioned to deliver a message to you that would not be intercepted en route. That message regarded operational security concerns for Antivenom, specifically concerns related to Major General Kavanaugh’s possible declassification of Antivenom’s details in an effort to increase inter-branch cooperation between Armor Corps and Fleet.”
“You put it more diplomatically than I would have.” Zhao snorted. “She was looking to roll Armor Corps into Fleet, just as you suggested over two years ago when you proposed the formation of a Combined Arms sub-branch of the Terran Fleet, and she thought she could curry favor with Fleet brass by opening Armor Corps’ books to outside review. Does my version conflict with your understanding of the situation, Colonel?”
Jenkins winced. “No, sir. There are no contradictions.”
“By doing so,” Admiral Zhao continued, “she violated not just operational security, but also the chain of command by, in your words, ‘second-guessing’ General Akinouye while his funeral pyre’s coals were still warm.”
“It is not my opinion, Admiral Zhao,” Jenkins objected, “that Major General Kavanaugh was knowingly violating operational integrity, nor do I think her vision for Armor Corps’ induction into Fleet was sub-optimal. As you said, I pitched my experimental program to the Admiralty with precisely such an outcome in mind. I’ll admit that my perspective has evolved since transferring out of Fleet and into Armor Corps, but I still firmly believe that providing tactical support in joint operations with Fleet elements, and even with other TAF branches, is the future of the Terran Armor Corps.”
“Your loyalty to both General Akinouye and Major General Kavanaugh is noted, Colonel Jenkins,” Zhao said smugly. “But, to be frank, the issues surrounding Major General Kavanaugh’s case are…” his lips twisted into a smirk, “well above your paygrade. Still, since my current duties include serving in an advisory capacity to the Terran Armor Corps during this period of unprecedented transition, I can assure you that your remarks here will be given consideration during the formal review of Major General Kavanaugh’s case.”
“Thank you, Admiral Zhao,” Jenkins said, surprised to hear those four words pass his lips.
“This court has reviewed the evidence,” Zhao gestured to a stack of papers, flimsies, and data slates neatly arranged before the panel, “and has heard your testimonies here today. Do you have anything to add before we adjourn for final deliberation?”
“No, sir,” Jenkins said, looking pointedly at Captain Xi, who shook her head in agreement.
“No, Admiral,” Xi belatedly replied.
“Then the court is adjourned,” Zhao declared, standing from his chair before sweeping the chamber with his iron-hard eyes and confidently adding, “This won’t take long.”
The court’s members filed out of the room, causing a cacophony of commentary to erupt behind them. Jenkins turned in his chair to see hundreds of eyes looking at him, but Xi kept her back to the seated audience behind them.
“I’m sorry, Colonel—” she began to apologize.
“You did fine, Xi,” he interrupted. “Zhao’s an asshole, but he’s also the most principled officer in the Fleet.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You sound like you admire him.”
“I do,” Jenkins replied solemnly. “There was a time when I looked up to that man like no other and modeled as much of my life after his as possible.” He chuckled before adding, “Then I met General Akinouye.”
“I don’t think the feeling’s mutual, sir,” Xi muttered, sparing a glance over her shoulder and immediately turning back to face the empty bench. “If I had to bet the reactor, I’d say he’s convincing the court to send us to the chopping block.”
“You’re probably right,” Jenkins agreed. “What we did can’t be forgiven. Even if the Solarians agree almost to the last man, woman, and child that Antivenom was warranted, we broke too many Terran laws…not to mention taking the Bonhoeffer and all of its attached assets.” He shook his head gravely. “No military structure can persist without discipline, and we broke just about every rule in the book to carry out Antivenom. If they don’t cut our heads off for this, they’re inviting chaos into the ranks. Every jackass who thinks he knows best will hare off for some stupid reason or another… The Terran Armed Forces are too important. Too vital to the Republic’s security. We have to go to the chopping block, but it’s no worse than what ninety-four of our Metalheads suffered on Luna.”
“Metal never dies,” Xi intoned reverently.
Knowing he could not top that, Jenkins sat in silence at Xi’s side. Ambivalent waves of pride and regret warred within him. Pride at what they had accomplished. Pride at seeing Xi Bao rise to the challenges put before her, just as the rest of the Metal Legion’s people had done alongside Jenkins. Regret that they might not have done enough to safeguard the lives of their fellow Metalheads. Regret that he might have been too reckless, too aggressive, and that his recklessness might have cost unnecessary lives.
He could think of a dozen different choices he had made on Luna that had cost good men and women their lives. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was directly responsible for their deaths.
And the worst part was that he would do it all again.
He couldn’t even have the common human decency to condemn himself in the silent space between his ears. And in a very meaningful, albeit narrow way, he almost hoped Admiral Zhao would order justice delivered via a firing squad.
Almost.
Eight minutes after they had closed, the doors to the deliberation chamber reopened, prompting everyone in the room to stand as the members of the court wordlessly returned to their seats. A pin drop would have been deafening in those seconds as the assemblage collectively leaned forward in anticipation. After the court’s members were seated, Jenkins’ eyes snagged once again on the lone empty chair on the bench.
General Akinouye’s chair.
“Let’s cut straight to it.” Admiral Zhao declared as Jenkins and Xi stood at rigid attention. “Colonel Jenkins, Captain Xi, the evidence is overwhelmingly against you, and you may be dismayed to learn that this court is in unanimous agreement on all charges brought against you. You appropriated Terran military assets without authorization, including a Behemoth-class assault carrier, twenty void fighters, and two full companies of mechanized armor. You did, in fact, conduct secret negotiations with not just one but three nonhuman species with the intention of gaining their overt or tacit support for a mission so far-reaching and potentially self-destructive that all of humanity would be affected by its outcome. You disobeyed direct orders from a flag officer under Candlelight conditions and even ignored the chain of command within your own branch. Yo
u attacked and killed, without provocation and without a single attempt to reach a peaceful resolution, hundreds of Solar Marines and spacers. You violated the integrity of the One Mind network using a method whose reliability you admit you weren’t convinced of. Do either of you dispute any of this?”
“No, Admiral,” they replied in perfect unison.
“Then, before I deliver this court’s judgment,” Zhao said smugly, “I’d like to make a few comments. The first is of a personal nature, which I hope this court will indulge me in making.” He looked up and down the bench, receiving muted nods of approval from his fellows.
“It may not be abundantly clear, but I’m not the easiest man to get along with,” Zhao began, drawing soft snickers from the rear of the courtroom. “In fact, I’ve only ever called three people ‘friend’ in my entire life. First among these was my late wife, Melissa, who somehow managed to survive forty-two years of marriage to me before her beautiful heart gave out. Next is my son, who I still consider a friend even though we have more than the usual quotient of father-son disagreements, one of which saw him formally change his name.” He snorted, drawing another round of snickers from the back of the room. “The third,” Zhao finished, to the apparent surprise of everyone in the courtroom, most notably Colonel Jenkins and Captain Xi, “was Ben Akinouye.”
Whispers hissed through the softly-lit chamber, and Jenkins and Xi exchanged looks of surprise. Zhao graciously allowed the chatter to persist for a few seconds before leaning forward in his chair and continuing.
“I’ve been told that I have a certain…effect on a room whenever I enter it,” Admiral Zhao said with a bemused smirk. “And I won’t argue with that observation, but I do understand the nature of that effect. The rank insignia is responsible for most of it, the uniform it’s pinned to accounts for a little more, and the person wearing the uniform sometimes, although rarely, manages to do more than just fill that uniform out—and I’m not talking about a bulging midsection.”