by Daniel Gibbs
David believed that every life was precious, and that every life lost must be remembered, celebrated, and mourned. During his reflection, the communication tab on his tablet began to blink with a video conference request. He tapped on the request to see who it was from, and “Colonel Meier, CSV Cicero” popped onto the screen as the requestor. Pressing the accept button with his index finger, he brought up the video link. “Colonel, what can I do for you, sir?”
“I’ll cut straight to the chase, Major. I want you to know that I believe the actions of you and your crew during yesterday’s battle were among the bravest I have ever seen. You took on a heavy cruiser with a destroyer and somehow managed to win. Then you rammed a frigate and prevented it from destroying a transport craft with over thirty thousand civilians onboard. I don’t know if you got lucky, if you’re just that damned good, or maybe God’s looking out for you, but whatever it is, it ought to be celebrated. Everyone on your ship deserves a medal in my eyes.”
David’s head raced, wondering where Meier was going with this.
“I regret to inform you that you will not be getting such recognition,” Colonel Meier said with disapproval evident in his voice and a frown on his face. “I’ve been ordered to relieve you of your command and confine you to quarters for the trip back to Canaan. I’m going to spare you that indignity, but I must inform you that when we reach Canaan, you will be brought up before a review board to determine if you should be court-martialed. You have my word; I will do whatever I can to present evidence at the hearing in your favor. We need more officers like you out here in the fight, Cohen. Whatever happens, I want you to know it was an honor to meet you and your crew, and to serve with you. Godspeed.” Meier’s face blinked off the video link as it went dark.
David leaned back in his chair, angry, despondent, and ashamed all at the same time. But I won, he thought. A counter voice within him replied, And you got twenty percent of your crew killed doing it, just like you got Beckett killed sixteen years ago. He was already in a bad place trying to deal with the loss of so many. To now have the CDF say that he screwed up made it all the worse. The fear that he wasn’t cut out to do this and that he was endangering the lives of those under his command roared to the surface.
Sitting quietly in his quarters, David pondered that for a long time.
After the Rabin had docked at Canaan’s main space station two days later, it was time for the solemn ceremony to remove the dead from the Rabin and entrust them to the mortuary team for proper burial. David stood at the base of Cargo Bay Three, looking up at the large doors as they slid open to reveal the fallen, ready to be offloaded. It had taken several hours to transfer the remains into caskets, drape each one with the flag of the Terran Coalition, and line them up in neat rows inside of the cargo bay for unloading. Numerous service members from the station stood by to help with the transfer. An honor guard, in full dress uniform, stood at attention to the right of the cargo bay doors while the colors were displayed. Another two rows of soldiers stood outside of the doors at rigid attention. The caskets, as they were removed from the ship, would be walked down the aisle created by the formation.
Sheila, Ruth, and Hanson all stood behind David in full dress uniforms as uniformed pallbearers brought the first casket down the steps. David’s right hand snapped up to his brow, along with rest of the assembled company. One by one, the caskets were brought down from the ship and taken to waiting anti-grav units to be moved inside of the station. There was a sad and somber mood that was so real, it could be felt. The soldiers looked at their feet; no one made eye contact with each other. David fought the urge inside him to show emotion, not allowing tears to well up in his eyes. At the halfway point of thirty-nine caskets, he could contain himself no longer. A single tear rolled down his face, followed by another, then another.
Sheila glanced over at him, noticing the tears. She whispered, “David, it’s not your fault.”
Not moving his head or his hand, he whispered back, “I gave the order. It was on my watch. It is my fault.”
By the end of seventy-eight caskets—some that didn’t even contain remains due to the fact that the bodies had been lost in space—David’s mind was in a very bad place. Going between blaming himself and wanting to kill every last member of the League’s military, he snapped his hand down as the final casket was loaded into an anti-grav unit. A bagpiper with the color guard began to play “Amazing Grace.” He watched as the anti-grav units faded from view into the space station.
David looked to the three senior officers. “Was their sacrifice worth it?” he asked to no one in particular. Of course it was, and even questioning that dishonors their memory.
“Yes, it was, sir,” Sheila said in a somber but direct tone. “Thirty thousand innocent people went home. I believe if you asked each and every one of those who died on our ship, they’d gladly do it again.”
David looked back to the ship, unable to control his emotions as tears streamed down his face.
“It was worth it, sir. And it is an honor to serve with you,” Ruth said, her voice breaking too. The three of them looked at one another, and Sheila stood at attention. Ruth and Hanson followed as Sheila brought her hand up to her brow.
“Sir,” she said softly.
David turned around to see all three of them standing at attention, sharp salutes held. He slowly brought his hand to his brow before snapping it down in a crisp, practiced motion. They, in turn, did as well.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice devoid of life and energy.
“Come on, sir. Let’s go raise a glass to the fallen and get ready for the hearing,” Sheila said, gesturing to the gangway.
9
Standing outside of what amounted to a courtroom onboard the main CDF military station orbiting Canaan, David watched the waiting room silently with several of the Rabin’s officers, including Ruth and Sheila. In the few days that it took to get back to Canaan, he’d mostly stayed within his stateroom. He was frustrated and angry at his situation, replaying the events of the battle over and over, looking for where he went wrong. He hadn’t asked any of his senior officers to come with him to the hearing. In fact, he was almost too ashamed to tell them what had happened, but the Rabin was a small ship and word quickly got around. While he would never admit it out loud, knowing that those he led had his back meant the world to him.
Sheila broke the silence by stating what David felt but was unwilling to say. “This is crap, sir. They weren’t there.”
A voice not belonging to the assembled officers spoke up. “I’m not sure I’d say it quite that directly, Captain.” A portly man, wearing a CDF dress uniform that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks complete with the eagle insignia of the Judge Advocate General Corps, walked up.
“Major Richard Gray, JAG Corps, at your service, Major Cohen.”
David regarded the man and his rumpled appearance. “Thank you, Major. I thought we would have had some time to discuss the case before going before the review board.”
Gray raised an eyebrow. “Yes, this case is moving a bit faster than most. But I think you’ll come out on top.”
David couldn’t help but let out a snort. “And why would you say that?”
Gray gestured to the officers gathered around. “Because you seem to have quite the loyal following. I also understand that Colonel Meier, CO of the Cicero, gave evidence on your behalf.”
David glanced toward the door. “What am I facing in there, Major?”
Gray looked David square in the eye. “A three-star general, Daniel Barton, that also commands the Canaan Home Defense Fleet. Bastard Barton, as we call him, seems to love to make examples out of young officers, and you’re square in his sights. The man is a defeatist in my view, but who am I to judge?”
David shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure someone has decided I was a defeatist at some point in my life, but I simply abhor the needless loss of life,” David said with conviction. “So how is this going to work, Major?” I
just want this over with, regardless of how it turns out.
“We’ll be called into the chamber, General Barton will present evidence against you, and I will present evidence for you. The board will decide if it will clear you or recommend you for a general court-martial.”
At that moment, a young corporal opened the door. “Major Cohen, Major Gray, they’re ready for you.”
Gray shifted his head back at the assembled officers. “You will have to wait here. Major Cohen, come with me, please.”
With that, they walked into the room, the large wooden doors closing behind them. The review board room, despite containing five flag-ranked officers, wasn’t an ostentatious place. It was functional, resembling a small courtroom. There was a table for the prosecutor and another for the defendant. Gray gestured toward the defense table; as he and David took their places, a door to the side of the judge’s bench opened, and five generals walked out in file. The corporal who had escorted them in quickly announced, “All rise! Canaan general review board is now in session regarding the actions of Major David Cohen in the battle of Sector 17A.” David and Richard came to attention as the five officers took their seats. General Barton, a tall, well-built man in an immaculate CDF dress uniform, took a seat at the prosecutor’s table, while the other four generals sat behind the judge’s bench. After the generals sat down, David and Richard followed suit and took their seats behind the defendant’s table.
“General Barton, please begin your presentation on the actions of 16 August, 2460, in Sector 17A, that we are convened here to evaluate,” announced a late middle-aged woman. A nameplate before her read “General Andrews.”
Barton pushed back from his table and stood, setting his tablet down as he prepared to speak. “Rather than step through all the written testimony, I’d like to start by showing the board a simulation of the ramming.”
A holoprojector snapped on, and a thirty-second simulation of the Rabin ramming the Lancer class frigate played on it, freezing at the point where the two ships began to drift away.
“Now, Major Cohen, I don’t think we need to continue the simulation,” Barton said, looking toward David and his counsel. “What we just saw here cost seventy-eight lives, not to mention causing extensive structural damage to your ship, rendering it un-space-worthy for a period of not less than twelve months.”
Barton paused for a moment before continuing his verbal assault. “During the action of 16 August, 2460, Sector 17A, your ship received heavy damage in combat with a League escort unit conveying transports back to League territory. In that combat, your division commander was unable to communicate directly due to battle damage, making him unable to relay orders to you or your ship. You immediately began a ramming maneuver that, in my personal judgment, did nothing of sufficient merit in the battle or the war as a whole. You wasted those lives, Major, like pouring water into sand.” Barton looked down on the two men, a sneer plastered across his face.
Major Gray stood and waved a personal tablet in the air as a theatrical device; his response had already been sent electronically to the review board. “According to the after-action reports filed by Colonel Meier, the aforementioned action of the 16th of August was a victory that netted the capture of a League convoy that was later discovered to have carried roughly thirty thousand Coalition civilians from the occupied worlds in that sector to League labor gulags in their home space. Colonel Meier further stated, and I quote, ‘Major Cohen and the crew of the Yitzhak Rabin performed one of the bravest and most selfless acts I’ve seen throughout my twenty-four-year career. Furthermore, the major’s conduct was consistent with the finest traditions of the Coalition Defense Force and the high standards to which we hold our officers and enlisted soldiers.’”
Another general, who looked bored with the back and forth, interrupted Gray. “We don’t need you to explain this to us, Major. It’s all here in your brief. Major Cohen, your advocate has presented what looks to be a very effective defense should we proceed to court-martial, but do you have a statement for us now?”
Gray looked at David, who lowered his head for a moment, then stood up beside his counsel. He had rehearsed in his mind repeatedly what he was about to say, but nerves still ran away on him. “Thank you, sir, I do,” he said toward the general that asked him to speak. “The initial portion of the engagement in Sector 17A was a complete success for the Coalition Defense Force ships on site. When the League’s reinforcements—a Rand class heavy cruiser—jumped in, the direction of the battle quickly tilted against us. There were no good options. We could have fled and left the damaged ships and the transports to their fate. I could have continued to engage the Rand with conventional tactics, which at the time, and standing here today with the benefit of hindsight, I believe would have resulted in the destruction of our entire force. I elected to do something different and unorthodox When faced with a decision between allowing thousands of civilians to die, or to take out the final enemy ship, I chose the innocent lives we’re all sworn to protect. I consider what I did to have been the right decision. I fulfilled my duty. If I were in a similar situation again one day, I’d do the same thing.”
A third general spoke with a noticeable Scottish brogue; Andrew MacIntosh, whom David recognized from news reports as the leader of the Victory Project. He was surprised to see him here. “Even if it means we proceed to court-martial, young man?”
David set his gaze on MacIntosh and made eye contact. “Even then, sir.”
Barton stepped forward, practically shouting at David. “What about the dead crew? What do you have to say about getting seventy-eight of your subordinates killed when you were replaying your father’s last run? Seventy-eight of them, Major! At least your father had the good sense to order his crew to safety! There are seventy-eight people who will never see their families again so you could hot rod into the side of a League frigate and have a good drinking story!”
Barton’s words stung David deeply. It was as if he had been punched in the gut with every reiteration of the number of fatalities. This man has no idea who I am, what I believe in, or why I fight. Screw him. David turned toward him, his face red with anger.
“With all due respect, sir, I am not my father and what I did was in an entirely different situation. I am sorry that so many of my crew died. I am sorry that so many of our people are dying every day. I am sorry that we are at war, and that I was placed in this position. I am sorry that every day we fight, I am forced to kill people, and that people under my command die in practically every battle. Each decision I make, I weigh against the risk and the cost, but I am not sorry for what I did.”
David’s eyes flashed as he took in a breath. “Had I retreated, had I stood down or attempted to engage Master Eight with my remaining weapons, thirty thousand innocent people would have died in addition to the numerous military casualties. I took an oath. Every single member of my crew took an oath. You took an oath, sir, to defend our countries, to defend the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That oath includes protecting our civilians with our own lives. That’s what we did. We did our job. I did my job.”
MacIntosh raised an eyebrow at the forcefulness of David’s statements while Barton looked ready to start a fistfight. “Well then,” the general in the center chair said as she picked up her personal tablet. “We’ve heard your statement, Major, and we’ll consider it while we deliberate the statements and evidence presented to us today. You are dismissed. Remain in the waiting room.”
Major Gray pointed to the door with a pained expression, indicating for David to go first. As they walked out of the room, Gray whispered in his ear, “You’ve got more guts than brains, Major.”
The door closing the behind them, the two men joined Ruth and Sheila on a bench in the hallway while Hanson remained standing.
“How’s it look?” Ruth asked with a worried look on her face.
“It could go either way,” David said.
Gray looked at David. “Tell me something�
��what’s it really like out there? I only served for a year on a ship and we never saw combat. I’ve been a lawyer pretty much my entire time in the service.”
David glanced at Gray, then back at his crew. “Major, if you want to know what the battle was like, I can put it this way. Living out there on the border leads to these things: boredom and anxiety broken up by moments of terror. And that’s what battle is. Terror. You can try to ignore it or overcome it, but you’ll never escape it. It’s bad enough for ordinary crewmen who are powerless to do anything but follow orders and hope to come out alive. Being a commanding officer is worse. It means you actually have some power to try to avoid dying with the responsibility to do what has to be done to win the battle, no matter whose life is lost.”
Ruth gave David a sympathetic look.
Gray was speechless for a moment. “If that’s what it’s like,” he said finally, “why do you keep doing this?”
“Because someone’s got to do it, and for whatever reason, we’re good at it. I wish to God we weren’t. Killing shouldn’t be this easy, but our job is to keep everyone else behind the lines safe. We’ll do it with every last ounce of devotion we have, Major.”
MacIntosh guided the controls to the holo-simulation and paused on the frame that showed the Rand class heavy cruiser exploding. Looking directly at Barton, he said, “If you look at the battle as a whole, it is clear to me that this officer is a fine young commander. He’s resourceful, he applies the things he’s learned in his career, and with that resourcefulness and ingenuity, he did something I thought I’d never see; a tin can destroying a heavy cruiser and living to tell the tale.”
“He got seventy-eight members of his crew killed,” Barton said. “And he tried to get every single one of them killed.”
MacIntosh immediately replied, “What was he supposed to do? Just sit and let the League ships present finish him and his division off?” MacIntosh picked up his personal computing device and waved it at Barton. “Colonel Meier believes the ramming maneuver won the battle and saved thirty thousand civilian lives.”