Valour's Choice (39 page)

But they needed her.

Because General Morris believed a mere second lieutenant wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done and she would.

What had they planned on doing to him had he not been injured? At least she knew why the doctor looked so guilty. Didn’t they take oaths about that sort of thing?

Cri Srah was waiting for her reaction.

As Torin understood the Silsviss, it was unimportant that the general did not, could not, have made the original decision to sacrifice the platoon, that it had to have been made at the parliamentary level. For the Silsviss, it was enough that he had been responsible for giving the order to those actually doing the fighting and, as essential as the order may have been to keep the Others out of this sector, he had dishonored the platoon by doing so.

She had a skull in her quarters that defined the Silsviss’ response to dishonor.

It was vitally important that the Silsviss sign the treaty.

This time, when Torin looked to the general, he met her eyes. What she saw there didn’t surprise her. She’d begun to suspect that she was forever beyond surprise.

General Morris was prepared to die. He expected to die. She’d seen the same dark expression too many times over the years to mistake it now.

Whoever had decided that Lieutenant Jarret would be incapable of the necessary ending had been right. Could she end it? Yes. Would she?

She could see Cri Srah’s tail beginning to lash back and forth, but all she could think of was an old joke.

Back before the Confederation combined their three newest members into one military organization, three officers, a Human, a di’Taykan, and a Krai, are standing in a shuttle bay, at the edge of a stasis field discussing the courage of their troops. To prove the courage of their race, the Krai officer calls over a Krai
samal
and gives the order to jump through the stasis field. The
samal
snaps off a salute and leaps into space, decompressing messily.

The di’Taykan sneers, and to prove the courage of the di’Taykan, calls over a di’Taykan
fe’harr
and gives the same order. The
fe’harr
snaps off a salute and leaps into space, also decompressing messily.

The Human raises a brow and calls over a Human private, giving the same order.

The private snaps off a salute and says, “Fuk you, sir.”

“Now
that,”
says the Human officer, turning to the others, “is courage.”

Torin had no trouble following orders, but she really hated being manipulated.

General Morris’ lip curled and she could hear him say,
Would you get on with it!
just as clearly as if he’d spoken out loud. He’d screwed his courage to the sticking point, and he clearly didn’t know how much longer it would stick.

It was by no means a truism that insight into a species could be gained by wholesale slaughter, but Torin was willing to bet that, right at this particular point in time, no one in the Confederation knew the Silsviss as well as she did.

Her right foot caught Cri Srah solidly in the stomach. As he folded forward, gasping for breath, she dove onto his shoulders, slamming him down to the floor.

“Have you gone crazy?”

General Morris sounded a little shrill, but, preoccupied with maintaining her hold on a remarkably flexible lizard without being either brained by the tail or shredded by the claws, Torin ignored him.

Cri Srah got one arm around at an impossible angle and raked his claws across her back.

The combat vest took most of the damage. If she survived the fight, Torin figured there was more than enough room in med-op to take care of the rest.

“Staff Sergeant Kerr! Stop it immediately! That’s an order, Staff Sergeant!”

The shouted, almost hysterical orders weren’t a problem, but when the general grabbed her uninjured arm and tried to yank her away from Cri Srah’s throat, she moved her leg just enough to release the tail on a narrow trajectory. She didn’t see it hit, but the general grunted and staggered back, not so much releasing her arm as no longer being able to control his hand.
If he was ready to die,
Torin reasoned, struggling to trap the tail again before it broke bones,
he shouldn’t complain about a slight concussion.

She could feel Cri Srah struggling to inflate his throat pouch and she tightened her hold.

Fortunately, when he began to claw at her arm, fighting for air, he didn’t have strength enough to do much more than shred skin.

“How dare you imply that we were dishonored,” she shrieked, pain lending volume. “We were vastly outnumbered! We were under fire from our own weapons! And we fukking won!” If this worked, history could edit out the profanity. If not, it didn’t much matter.

Gasping, Cri Srah clutched her arm and tried impotently to pull it away.

She eased up slightly—if he passed out, they’d have to do it all again. “You know the importance of this treaty! By sending us unknowing into battle, our general tells us that we’re expected to win whatever the odds! That he believes us to be the best warriors of the Confederation!” Using her knee, with all her weight behind it, Torin threw the Silsviss away from her and then loomed over his prone body, dripping blood onto the floor. “You dishonor my general by suggesting he dishonors us! I demand that you yield!”

One hand clutching his bruised throat, Cri Srah began to yield.

Torin kicked him in the thigh. “Not to me! To my general!”

Cri Srah rose as the general staggered out from behind his desk, nose bleeding and no longer exactly straight. Still holding his throat, he bowed. “General Morris, I yield.” Then turning to Torin, he bowed again, whistling his approval. “We insssisssted on the ambush and that you be ssso dramatically outnumbered. The packsss demanded accesss to at leassst a few of your weaponsss before they’d cooperate.”

“You could have judged our skill from our history.”

“Yesss,” he admitted. “But it wasss more important we judge thossse usssing the ssskilllsss.”

“Did Cri Sawyes know?”

“No. He doesss now.” His tongue flicked out. “Hisss reaction wasss sssimilar to yoursss, although he actually killed the government member who informed him. He’ll be promoted.”

Good for him,
Torin thought.

“Now, General...” As he turned, Cri Srah smacked his tail against the floor. “I believe I have a treaty to sign.”

Torin decided to take that as her dismissal.

* * *

“So we were judged worthy, and they’re going to sign.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, Torin hadn’t asked to see the lieutenant. She’d used the code Ressk had given her to his room and walked right in. The doctor had taken his masker in order to keep him isolated, so she sucked air through her teeth and tried not to bleed on the bed.

“And the Others?”

“Not even in the neighborhood, sir.”

Lieutenant Jarret’s eyes were as dark as she’d ever seen them and his hair stood out like a lilac fringe around his head. “I don’t like being used, Staff. And I don’t like the Marines under my command being used to make a point.”

And the politicians will note your protest, and it won’t make a damned bit of difference.

He must have read the thought off her face; his hair suddenly flattened. “Was it worth it, Staff?”

Was it ever? Was it worth the loss of Haysole and Mike and all the dead Marines in all the different battles on all the different worlds? She had to believe that it was, or what was the point in continuing? She had to believe. “We needed the Silsviss to sign, sir.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Staff.”

“Best I can do, sir.”

After a long moment, he nodded. “Go get yourself patched up, Staff Sergeant. I’d hate for you to bleed to death now that it’s all over.”

She looked down at the thick crimson stains that all but glued her left hand to her right arm and frowned. “Actually, sir, I’d hate to bleed to death at any point in the proceedings.”

* * *

The doctor had just finished sealing her arm when General Morris walked into Med-op. The two black eyes and the broken nose attracted the attention of everyone in the room, but he waved them all away.

“I need to speak with Staff Sergeant Kerr. Alone.”

The room emptied. The general waited until both hatches had swung shut; then he walked over to stand by Torin’s examining table. She sat up. She should have stood and come to attention, but she didn’t much feel like it.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I was supposed to die. I was never actually in combat, you know, but I
was
willing to die. My not very notable career had come to a full stop, but this, this would have ensured I was remembered. It would have given me a place in Confederation history.”

“A noble sacrifice for the good of the many, sir?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“And the Marines who died on Silsvah?”

He tried to frown, but the swelling had gotten too bad. “They were Marines, Staff Sergeant, and they died in battle like hundreds of Marines before them.”

Torin weighed her options and decided it wasn’t worth it. “Yes, sir.”

The general visibly relaxed. “How did you know?”

“Sir?”

“How did you know I wasn’t supposed to die? Why did you choose to attack Cri Srah?”

“The Silsviss have a pack mentality, sir. Each Silsviss knows where he fits into the pack, and the strong fight to rise. They’ve just joined our pack, and they wanted to see how much they could push us around. If we’d fulfilled their expecutions, they’d be running the Confederation by the end of the century.”

His expression almost made the whole thing worthwhile. “They’re not going to be an easy species to coexist with,” he said after a long moment, trying to sound as though she didn’t know he’d agreed to die for nothing.

“Yes, sir.” Torin slid to the edge of the table and stood. “But that’s not my problem.”

“No,” the general agreed stepping back, “I don’t suppose it is. Still,” he added calculatingly, “it could be. If you wanted to apply for officer’s training, I’d support your application.” He chuckled encouragingly. “After what you did today, half of Parliament would support your application.”

“Officer’s training?” Torin lifted her combat vest off the chair where the medic had placed it.

“That’s right.”

“Thank you, sir, but no.” One by one, she slid the cylinders out of her vest and indicated that the general should hold out his hands. “There’s two very good reasons that I’d make a lousy officer.” She dropped the thirteen Marines who’d paid for his place in history into his cupped palms. “First of all, I work for a living.”

Stepping back, she gestured at his face. “You should have a doctor see to that, sir.” The gesture snapped into a perfect salute that he was unable to return; there were too many cylinders for him to hold them with only one hand. Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the hatch.

“Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

One hand on the hatch release, she paused.

“You said there were two reasons. What was the second?”

“The second reason, sir?”

“Yes.”

“My parents were married.”

H
ands up everyone who recognized that battle.

Yes, it
was
loosely based on the battle of Rorke’s Drift, one of the early battles of the Zulu War (January 22nd and 23rd, 1879). In this battle, a hundred and thirty-nine men and officers of the British Army, thirty-five of whom were sick or injured, held off what was later estimated to be a force of 4,000 Zulus. The movie
Zulu,
starring Michael Caine, was a fairly accurate dramatization of the battle, although none of the many historical records mention competitive singing.

For their efforts in saving the Rorke’s Drift post, a total of eleven men were awarded with the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery, making this the highest number ever awarded for a single engagement in British military history.

Color-Sergeant F. Bourne, the senior NCO, was not among those eleven. He received instead a Distinguished Conduct Medal.

Why, although his bravery and courage under fire were unquestioned and he was instrumental in turning a number of the Zulu attacks, didn’t Color-Sergeant Bourne receive the Victoria Cross?

Because he was only doing his job.

T
ANYA SUE HUFF
is a prolific Canadian fantasy author of over 25 novels, including
The Silvered, The Enchantment Emporium
series and the
Confederation
series, also published by Titan Books. Her stories have been published since the late 1980s, including five fantasy series and one science fiction series. One of her best known series, the
Blood Books
, featuring detective Vicki Nelson, was adapted for television under the title
Blood Ties.
Follow Tanya on Twitter
@TanyaHuff
.

“W
e still have one hell of a lot of colonists to get off this rock before we can leave.” Captain Rose frowned out at Sh’quo Company’s three surviving 2nd Lieutenants and the senior NCOs. “And every ship going up is going to need an escort to keep it from being blown to hell by the Others so we’re on Captain Allon’s timetable. Given the amount of action up there...” He paused to allow the distant crack of a vacuum jockey dipping into atmosphere to carry the point. “...we may be down here for a while. Bottom line, we have to hold Simunthitir because we have to hold the port.”

“The Others have secured the mines,” 2nd Lieutenant di’Pin Arver muttered, her pale orange hair flipping back and forth in agitation, “you’d think they’d be happy to be rid of us.”

“I’d
think so. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to.” The captain thumbed the display on his slate and a three-dimensional map of Simunthitir rose up out of the holo-pad on the table. “Good news is, we’re up against a mountain so, as long as our air support keeps kicking the ass of their air support, they can only come at us from one side. Bad news is, we have absolutely no maneuvering room and we’re significantly outnumbered even if they only attack with half of what they’ve got on the ground.”