First Casualty (33 page)

Still, with Dumont in the admiral's pocket, could she stop him? Did Mattim really mean he wanted this thing ended with nobody dead? She had to talk to that guy. Maybe, just maybe, together they could figure out what was right and how to do it.

Fourteen

Impeccably uniformed, Major Longknife, his bride, and his aide ate breakfast in the formal dinning room of the only grand hotel on Rostock. In the background, a live string quartet played softly. Despite the waiter's encouragement to try every pastry on the menu, they ordered plain food in small portions. As their meals arrived, a cheer went up from across the foyer.

“What is that?” Ray asked.

“I do not know, sir. There is a television in the coffee shop. I imagine further success on the war front has been announced. Should I find out?”

Captain Santiago lifted the briefcase from its place beside him, flipped it open, and called up the stored news feed. “I'll search on 'Wardhaven' first, sir.” It was not a long search.

The President, in the red dress uniform of a field marshal, smiled confidently as he announced that Earth stooges were attempting to land on Wardhaven. “Our armies stand ready to show these cowards how real men fight. We will never surrender. We will crush their landings. We will collect the pathetic survivors and ship them to the outermost colonies where they can find out what real life is like. We will fight on to victory for us and our children. We fight for all humanity. We will be triumphant.”

The watching crowd went wild cheering. Ray reached for the case and punched up the Oasis.

“Have you heard the news, Major?” her captain asked.

“One could not help but hear it. Captain, have the Earthie stooges formally asked for our surrender?” Ray used patriotic drivel to cover treason.

The captain coughed softly. “No, sir.”

“Are their troopships moving into position to assault?”

The captain looked uncomfortable. “Our information is that they have no transports with them.” Ray waited, calm as an officer must be when a subordinate is slow giving him the rest of an unpleasant message. “One ship, apparently the flag, has begun a dive toward the sun. It is picking up speed, sir. We do not know what course it will follow, or how long it will take it to acquire whatever energy it considers desirable.”

Rita had been sipping from her water glass. It fell from her hands—shattering on the marble floor. “Thank you. I or my aide will talk with you after we brief the President.”

“If you can possibly,” the captain began slowly, “explain to the President the full military implications of the course of action the enemy is pursuing, sir.”

“If the President affords me the opportunity”—Ray cut the naval officer off before one or both of them committed high treason for the records—”I will surely brief him to the fullest extent of my knowledge. Thank you, Captain. Out.”

Ray sampled his oatmeal. At his leading, the others also nibbled at their meals while their waiter cleaned up the glass. Once alone, there was still nothing to say, nothing they could allow the inevitable mikes to hear. Meals were only half eaten when, by unspoken consent, they placed napkins on the table.

“The President awaits us,” Ray said.

“Yes,” both his wife and his aide agreed.

“Let's see what he takes from a tired old warrior's words,” Ray added as the two helped him from his chair. The hug Rita gave him as she settled him on his feet held love and loss, dedication and resolve in equal parts. He gave her a quick kiss; then, as he slowly marched to the elevator, he began the familiar process of turning flesh into cold, hard steel. He had done this many times before battle. The only difference today was the poor likelihood of the return to flesh and blood tomorrow.

* * * *

Showered, shaved, and dressed, Mattim did a quick check of the bridge on his way to breakfast. The night had produced no more surprises. They would round the sun in another eighteen hours. If he didn't come up with something before three gees put everyone at high-gee stations and only able to talk on battle net, one billion women, children, and men would die.

As usual, Mattim took one meal a day with the crew. He chose breakfast today. The marines occupied a table in one corner of the mess. Ship's company were leaving it a wide berth. Mattim considered joining the marines, trying to build some sort of bridge. Sergeant Dumont, who'd pulled the trigger on Guns, sat at the head of the marine table.

Mattim headed for a table full of chiefs. They started to rise; he waved them down. “Relax, it's chow time.”

“Kind of hard relaxing, sir,” Chief Aso muttered as he sat. Mattim raised a questioning eyebrow to the chief who'd served for years on the
Maggie D
and now was a turret captain. “Don't like losing a good officer, Captain.” Aso glanced around the table; all eyes were on Mattim, nodding agreement. “What we gonna do?”

Mattim's empty stomach lurched.
Why didn't I eat in the wardroom? No, in my cabin
. He took a deep breath. “Chief, you'll do what you've always done. Follow my orders.”

For a long moment, Aso and the other chiefs, most of them regular Navy, stared back. Several of them sucked on their lips as if searching for words. Aso finally spoke.

“Yes, sir, I reckon we will. And you never gave us a bad one, not even when you was just a kid officer. I'll trust you, sir. Just don't forget to trust us.” Mattim glanced at the camera in the corner of the mess deck; Aso did too. Take care, sir. And put some chow in ya. You're getting puny.”

That seemed to lighten things up. Mattim took a forkful of pancakes. As usual, they were great. Before he could say anything, laughter came from the marines' table. The sergeant Mattim had come to hate glanced around, measuring the eating sailors like a farmer might vats of growing protein. Their eyes locked. As the stare lengthened, a grin slowly spread across the marine's face.
I’m a killer. You want to be next?
it said.

I command, you obey
was Mattim's response. But that bastard wasn't in his command. He did not have to obey the captain of the ship he rode. Mattim looked away, his appetite gone. He stood, mad at himself for flinching, unwilling to give the sergeant the pleasure of a second glance.

“Captain, I'll take care of your chow,” Aso offered. With no backward glance, Mattim marched out of his own ship's mess. Inside anger raged. At the sergeant, and at himself for letting the anger loose again. Where was that damn Mary the miner who's really an iron-assed marine officer?

* * * *

Mary slept straight through her alarm; it had been a long while since that happened. She quickly dressed and rushed for the wardroom. With luck, she'd find the captain at breakfast. There had to be somewhere the two of them could talk. Was he out to save his crew or get around their orders? She was none too sure how she'd handle the latter, but until she talked with him, there was no way of knowing. The captain was not in the wardroom, and the XO was just leaving. Mary stepped aside as the two passed. “Have you seen the captain?” she asked softly.

No,” the woman answered, “but he often does a morning walk-around when we're not actually being shot at. He could be anywhere. Shall I mention you'd like to see him when I do?”

“No,” Mary lied. “There's just something in the books about paying your respects when you report on board. I thought maybe I should, but this cruise doesn't look like it's normal.”

“Yes,” the exec agreed softly. “He's a good man; I hope you two meet.” Which told Mary something—and nothing—all at the same time. Mary wolfed down breakfast and went hunting for Lek. Just how much privacy could she get in this fishbowl?

* * * *

The hotel phone was blinking when Ray returned to their rooms. Rita quickly activated it. “I regret that the President's schedule has to be adjusted,” a fresh-faced young colonel told them from a recorded message. “Your briefing has been delayed until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Call him back,” Ray ordered.

Rita messed with the comm unit. “It's not a flash message, and he left no return number.”

“So we cool our heels,” Santiago growled.

“Another day for us.” His wife smiled at Ray.

“But how many days for. . . ?” Ray left the sentence hanging. In tears, Rita ran for the bathroom.

* * * *

Mattim prowled his ship. His crew went about their duties, heads down, hands busy. No one looked up as he passed, no chief invited him over to share a word with his work party. Mattim could hardly believe this was the same bunch that had managed a smile and a laugh when home was on the other side of the galaxy. But then they'd known the mess they were in and had been pulling together to fix it. Now, he wasn't telling them anything and they all knew the mess. None of them knew how to get out.

But a few had to try. Returning to the bridge before noon to relieve the exec for lunch, Mattim had to stand aside as the chief master-at-arms led four away in handcuffs, including the black belt Zappa who'd been critical to their jumping back home.

She looked him straight in the eye. “Well, somebody had to do something,” she snapped.

“Move along, miss.” The chief gently urged her.

“What happened?” Mattim asked.

“Best talk to the exec, sir,” suggested the second-class coming up the rear. No marines were in sight.

“Captain on the bridge,” the JOOD announced as Mattim crossed the coaming.

“Commander, I'll take the conn and relieve you for lunch.”

“I stand relieved, Captain,” Ding said, standing and heading for him.

He waited until she was close. “What was that all about?”

She shrugged. “A couple of the crew decided they could talk the admiral into revising his strategy. They didn't get much past the hatch, and our guards were able to take care of them.”

“Even the little middie, black belt and all?”

Ding shrugged. “She hadn't thought it through. They couldn't go around me, and they”—a quick nod toward the marines—”would have had to shoot me in the back. Brilliant scientist, but I don't know what she was thinking with today.”

Mattim considered the fiasco. “Have the chief post security in the passageway so we can stop our problems before they get here. Can't always trust the assault rifles to think twice. Now go get some chow. Have a plate sent up here for me.”

The exec hesitated. “Ran into the commander of the marine detachment at breakfast. She wanted to know where you were so she could pay her official visit. Told her to look for you in your walk-around. Did you see her?”

“No.”

Ding gnawed her lower lip for a second. “She seems like good people to me.”

What did Ding mean by that? With all the surveillance, and nobody free to say what they meant, communications was going to hell. Working together, they'd beaten the odds and brought themselves back from nowhere. Now, locked in their own skulls, smart people like the middie were making stupid mistakes. Damn!

He checked to see that the four made it to the brig safely. Though a plate soon arrived from the wardroom, it was cold by the time he got to it. The admiral had found out. He wanted all four shot on live vid with all hands watching. Again, Mattim went through the cajoling and pleading, promising and bowing. If four lives hadn't depended on it, he would have told the admiral to go stuff himself. Mattim had the feeling the four didn't matter to the admiral. He just wanted to rub Mattim's face in how powerless he was. Mattim would have gladly stipulated to all of the above and got on with his day. Instead he turned in another stellar performance ... and ate a cold lunch.

There was little to report to Ding after lunch. Course was steady for the sun. “You want to keep up your walks, sir?”

“I think better on my feet.”
It hurts less on the prowl.

“Had lunch with the commander of the marine detachment,” the exec said casually.

Mattim stiffened in his chair, but tried to change nothing in his appearance.
Missed her again!
“Oh.”

“Quite a woman. We swapped war stories. The last three months have been hell for them. It's a different kind of war on the ground. She seemed interested in that side trip we took. Kind of surprised she knew about it. Once things calm down, she wants to see my logs.” Ding's voice was low, no inflections ... and Mattim hardly breathed.

So Mary the miner hadn't forgotten.
If we just had ten minutes
. “What's she doing?”

“Making the rounds of her guard posts. Stopped by the bridge twice this morning,” Ding said helpfully.

“And I'd better drop down to engineering, see how Ivan's taking things.”

“I'll hold the fort. It's not as if we're going anyplace.”

Mattim snorted. Life had reached a new low when diving into a sun at two gees was going no place. Since a billion deaths waited at the other end, maybe they weren't.

He wanted to check the brig and engineering. He headed for Ivan first. Ivan could be depressing on his best days. It took Sandy's bubble to keep him smiling. There was no Sandy and no smile today. Mattim did his best to keep him at his job and out of mischief. Ivan took almost as much cajoling as the admiral. Mattim was an hour later getting to the brig.

* * * *

“I guess we kind of blew it, sir.” The young middie talked to her hands.

“You did that.”