by Daniel Gibbs
“Always.”
“I wanted to discuss GNN’s coverage of the Lion of Judah and the events of the last twenty-four hours.”
“I see. I’m the programming director…not our news and editorial director, Andrew.”
“I realize that, but I also know you have a great deal of influence.”
“Are you here to complain about the perceived bias in our news coverage?”
MacIntosh snorted. “Perceived?”
“Okay, fine. As someone who voted for President Spencer, though don’t ever let that get out or I’m done here…I concede our news has a certain editorial viewpoint baked in, if you will.”
“That ambush interview with Colonel Cohen being an excellent example.”
“Oh please…he destroyed Leslie Sharp. I haven’t seen her beaten that bad on a live broadcast in years. Once he’s done blasting the League from our skies, you ought to get him to run for office. He’d be a natural.”
MacIntosh laughed out loud. “Somehow, I don’t ever see David Cohen as a politician.”
“So what’s the ask, Andrew?”
Brass tacks it is. “We just had a major win. The people have to hear it. Morale’s been crap and you know it. The story has to be told in an unvarnished, pro-CDF manner.”
“I don’t discount that destroying Seville’s flagship is a win, but there’s a lot of war left to fight.”
MacIntosh leaned forward in his seat. “The destruction of the Destruction,” he smirked at his bad pun, “isn’t what we need to play up. It’s the joining of the Saurians to our cause. That’s the game changer.”
“We’ve gotten reports that perhaps the chief minister’s comments were more symbolic.”
MacIntosh shook his head violently. “They’ve already sent dozens of warships to join us, and something to the effect of eighty percent of their fleet is slated to be here in two weeks.”
McNamara raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of ships.” He sighed. “Look, I want to help you. But this is a really big ask.”
“You owe me,” MacIntosh said pointedly. “I’ve never called in that favor.”
McNamara let his head sag. “You know, I’ve wondered why over the years you’ve never called it in.”
“Because I’ve never had something worth using it on before. This is it, Richard. We’re going to win, and we’ve got to have everyone onboard.”
“You’ve got to give me something to take to the news division.”
“I figured you’d say that. I know how this game works. So how about this… I’ll give GNN, and not Canaan News Network, the embedded reporter slot on the Lion.”
“Seriously?” McNamara asked.
“As long as it’s not Leslie Sharp. For God’s sake, at least get someone who acts fair and somewhat pro-CDF.”
There was silence in the room for more than a couple of seconds before McNamara finally spoke. “I can sell this.” He looked MacIntosh directly in the eyes. “But only if you’re absolutely sure it’s for real.”
“I’d stake my life on it.”
“Okay. I’m in. I’ll even give you veto power on the embed. Behind the scenes, of course.”
MacIntosh sat back in his chair; this was the last portion of his plan to turn morale around. He’d called in every favor he had throughout the media, cultivated throughout a career that started four years before the initial Battle of Canaan. It would all be worth it if the people of the Terran Coalition could believe in victory again. “You have a deal, Richard.” He leaned forward and extended his hand; McNamara took it and they shook warmly.
40
David had decided to stay in his quarters rather than his on-planet apartment after leaving the pub that night. He figured that there would be media types waiting to try to get a picture of him, thanks to the enormous amount of publicity that the Lion and her maiden voyage had generated. That, and he just wanted to be alone. He couldn’t shake the feeling of depression and sadness that washed over him every time he thought of Sheila’s death, even after the amazing declaration from the Saurian president. Any channel he turned on and every news post had her likeness and the story running over and over that she had saved them all. And in doing so, she had also saved the Terran Coalition from destruction.
David really didn’t care for the fact that his best friend’s memory was being used for war propaganda, but at least they told the truth. He took his uniform sweater off, unbuttoned his collar, and sat down at the desk. He decided to turn on his tablet and noticed that he had a video message. Clicking on it, the message opened and asked him to verify his identity. Pressing his finger on the screen, the application began to play the message.
Sheila’s face appeared. “David,” she began. “If you are receiving this message, well, I’m not here anymore. Oh, I know that’s melodramatic, but I had to leave you something.”
As she talked, David noticed that the timestamp on the message was from over six months ago, right before they had begun serving on the Rabin together.
“You see, you asked me something, and I couldn’t be fully honest with you. You asked me why I wanted to come serve with you again. The truth is, I missed you. I missed you for so long. I remember the sadness in your eyes when I told you I was getting married to James. I had always thought you cared for me in a way that was more than friendship. I tried to encourage you to open up about it. It was only later that I realized you had closed yourself off to meaningful relationships because of how hurt you were.”
Watching the video, David could barely process his emotions. He had cared for Sheila, and he had feelings for her that went beyond mere friendship. Having her likeness call him on it brought it all to the forefront. It became crystal clear to him why her death affected him so badly. He had hoped that one day the war would be over, and he’d be able to try to act on those feelings. Now that hope was gone.
“I love you,” she said, beginning to cry a little in the video. “You have always inspired the best in me and in those around you. You helped me get past James’ death. You also helped me believe that one day we could actually win. And I know that right now you are torn up inside. You hide it, you bury it, but I know it’s there. You have to find a way to let it out, David. Your feelings will destroy you from the inside if you don’t. Keep fighting for what you believe in, for what I believed in. Don’t let the good that’s in you be destroyed by hatred. Don’t ever let it consume you. And someday, I hope that we’ll see each other again on the other side. I can’t comprehend what that would be like…but I hope we do. So stop blaming yourself for my death. I know you will, but it’s not your fault. Let yourself find happiness and for God’s sake stop shutting yourself off to everyone around you. You can’t carry the burden of the world on your shoulders.” She paused for a moment. “Please try to talk to my mother. She’ll be mad, but talk to her. Make her understand that I did this of my own accord, and that I stayed in the military because I felt I had to stand up and be counted.” There was another pause. “I wish you and I could have grown old together. I wish we could have had a large family like you Orthodox Jews pump out,” she said with a sad laugh. “Remember me, but don’t dwell on the past. Wherever you are now, whatever you’re doing, the Terran Coalition needs you. Keep fighting. Stay true to what you believe and those ideals you insisted the rest of us follow. Some things are just worth fighting for…and sometimes they’re worth dying for.” By now, tears streamed down her face. “Good bye, David. I’ll always love you.”
In stunned silence, David struggled to react to her words. David watched the video twice more that night before sitting back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. Finally, when he had thought he could cry no more, the realization of Sheila’s message to him, with all of its accuracy, made him cry again.
As the tears ran down David’s face that evening, his mind ran back through her words while his heart ran through his emotions. First an overwhelming feeling of sadness, coupled with the bittersweet realization that they had deeply cared f
or one another for years rippled through him. I’ve been denying it for a long time. No wonder I was so jealous when she got married. I should’ve said something to her, but now I’ll never get the chance. What have I done? How do I ever make peace with the fact that she wanted to stand down, but I insisted on chasing down Seville?
The next morning, there was a grand ceremony to welcome home the prisoners of war rescued from the captured League freighter. The League had selected the first five thousand Coalition Defense Force and various Terran Coalition nation-state military POWs for the trip; in accordance with the POW code observed by nearly every CDF and Terran Coalition POW, they were to be repatriated only in order of capture. To avoid an unneeded riot, the League handlers had done just that, taking the first five thousand captured. Those selected had no idea it was a farce; they’d actually believed they were coming home. Reflecting on that reality, Colonel Clint Waterman, the highest-ranking POW and de facto leader of the group, adjusted his uniform while looking in a mirror. Such a simple thing, that mirror, he thought to himself. But I haven’t seen one in over twenty years.
The last forty-eight hours had been extreme culture shock for all of them; first thinking they were going to die at the hands of the League guards and saved at the last moment by the Marines. Now they prepared to disembark from shuttles and be repatriated. Clint had been able to speak with his wife and children for a few minutes the night before, letting them know he was alive. While they were excited to see him, he realized that he must be a distant memory to them. In time, Clint hoped that he and the rest of his comrades in arms could reintegrate into society. He also knew that many of them had wounds that would take years to heal, both physical and mental… if they ever did.
Making his way to the front of the transport, he stood near the departure door and waited. None of the other CDF soldiers seemed to know what to say; some attempted small talk, but how do you make small talk with a man who had been imprisoned and tortured for twenty years? Sensing their unease, he had tried to make light of the situation himself by addressing the young corporal in charge of the ramp crew. “Waiting for them to give the okay to open up the ramp, Corporal?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the young man said hesitantly.
“I remember those days. Nothing ever seemed to happen on time. I’m just glad to be home and getting some decent grub for a change. Leaguer food tastes about as drab as you’d think it would in a communist country. Bland and slimy.”
The corporal laughed, lightening up some. “I can’t imagine, sir, but I don’t even like eating MREs,” referring to meals ready to eat, the combat rations of the CDF. “I’m just happy to get three hots and a cot when I’m deployed.”
“I know what you mean, Corporal. I know what you mean.”
Finally, the door to the transport opened and the ramp descended. This particular transport only had three hundred POWs on it. As thousands of family members had thronged the base, they had to manage how many people were on the flight line to avoid injuries. As the highest-ranking POW, it was Clint’s duty to walk down the ramp first. With difficulty due to old wounds, including having both of his legs broken during interrogation sessions, he slowly made his way down the ramp on his own power. As he reached the bottom, General Andrew MacIntosh, the Secretary of Defense, and President Spencer were there to greet him. Exchanging salutes with all three, he realized that the flag of Terran Coalition was not only flying high on a nearby flagpole, but that the crowds waved both CDF and Terran Coalition flags proudly while they cheered. Clint noticed that Colonel Demood stood with another group of officers; he assumed they were his crewmates from the Lion of Judah.
Clint turned toward the flag, waving in the wind on the nearest flagpole he could see and raised his hand to his brow, snapping off a crisp salute. He then turned to face a single camera and a microphone that had been placed at the bottom of the ramp, where he read a short statement.
“On behalf of my fellow prisoners of war and on behalf of those who paid the ultimate price, I would like to thank all the members of the Coalition Defense Force responsible for us being here today, and specifically Colonel Demood and Terran Coalition Marine Corps. Without their heroic efforts, none of us would have survived. It has been an honor, both for myself and those who have been held captive with me, to serve our country, even after what we endured. We will now devote ourselves to helping in any way that we can to defeat the League of Sol once and for all. God Bless the Terran Coalition!”
As he finished speaking, his voice cracked with emotion as he repeated the often-invoked phrase “God Bless the Terran Coalition.” President Spencer embraced him, and then shook his hand warmly before Clint took his position to the side of General MacIntosh as the next POW in line walked down the ramp. For the next two hours, men and women walked down the ramp, exchanging salutes, most barely able to walk. As the final POW—a lady Clint had gotten to know briefly who had been captured eighteen years prior—walked away, President Spencer spoke. “Colonel, let’s get you to the nearest rehab hospital. I’m sure you will want to be able to enjoy retirement at one hundred percent,” he said with a smile.
Clint turned to look at Spencer straight in the eye. “Sir, I have no plans to retire. As soon as I am medically cleared, I intend to rejoin the fight.”
Spencer looked shocked. “Are you certain, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir. I do want to spend some time with my family, but this is my fight too. I’m not walking away from it, not while I still have something to offer.”
Spencer nodded and extended his hand, which Clint took and shook. “Good luck, Colonel. Godspeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Client responded and walked away.
As he did, he overheard Spencer comment to General MacIntosh behind him, “Andrew, as long as men and women like that fight for our cause, there will always be hope.”
David strode into a small interview room within the Terran Coalition’s Intelligence center a day after the ceremony to repatriate the POWs rescued from the League freighter. He was now simply an automated being; he went from point A to point B on autopilot, keeping a flat expression on his face, his mind focused on his work as to not allow the emotional turmoil deep inside from boiling to the surface. He’d come to the intelligence center to speak to Carl Jenner, the League’s diplomatic minister.
CDF Intelligence had tried to debrief him for several days, but he had refused to speak to anyone except David about more than his name, position, and identification number. General MacIntosh had ordered him to make himself available to the spooks, so here he was, walking into the interview room like it was another day at the office.
It took some time to bring Minister Jenner to the interview room, time which David took to think about why the man would want to talk to him. I wonder why he wants to talk to me. Was it the civil conversation we had over dinner? Maybe he was being honest when he said he wanted peace. Was it possible that the man had been hoodwinked? David at least considered that possibility; after all, who in their right mind would consent to be the patsy for a scheme such as the one the League tried to pull.
The door opening interrupted David’s thoughts. The security detail of two military policemen led Carl in, who, once he was seated, left the room to stand guard just outside the door. David stood on instinct. “Minister Jenner.”
“Colonel.”
David extended his hand to Jenner, who looked at it for a moment before shaking. Taking a seat, he stared at the League official. “I’m not sure why you asked me here, Minister.”
“I thought you might understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I had no idea what Seville and those damn warmongers planned.”
David sat back in his chair, pondering the man’s comments and expression. “Minister, I don’t think it matters what I believe.”
“I’m no longer a minister, not that I would want that title back again. Please, call me Carl.”
David’s brow furrowed as he thought. “Ver
y well. I still don’t understand what you hope I can accomplish.”
“You have to convince them I was sincere, and that the faction I represented in the State Security Committee was sincere as well, Colonel.”
“Why? So we won’t execute you for a war crime?” David shot back, the cynicism that had settled into his soul breaking through.
Jenner’s face turned to a grimace. “Do you truly think that little of me, Colonel? I remind you that while you may have lost your father to this war, I lost both of my sons. I must live with that until I die. Parents shouldn’t outlive their children.” His voice rose to nearly a shout.
David considered for a moment. Perhaps that was a low blow. All evidence indicated that Jenner was simply used by the League military to get what they wanted; a knockout blow on Canaan. “I’m sorry, Carl,” he said, using Jenner’s first name for the first time. “I don’t believe you knew what was going on. I’m not myself. This latest battle claimed the life of someone very near and dear to me.”
“I would assume that is Major Thompson?”
David nodded sadly. “Yes. I think I’m pretty lost without her.”
“That’s how I felt after my second boy was killed. Empty. Lost. I decided that this madness had to end, so I started trying to find others that felt as I did.”
“I’ll concede that is a noble endeavor, Carl, but you can’t be naive enough to believe everything that the League puts out. Sure, Earth is a utopia, but it’s a utopia because it strips resources, food, and supplies from the outer ring planets in the League.”
To David’s great surprise, Jenner nodded. “You are mostly correct, Colonel. The oligarchs have over time replaced our socialism with their control. We need serious reforms to get back to our ideals that all are equal and that we ensure, as a society, that all are treated equally.”
“So you are running into the problem that some pigs are more equal than others?” David asked.