“Hi, sir,” Kallewi said, setting his assault rifle aside and getting to his feet.
“No need to ask the Federated Worlds Marine Corps if things are under control.”
“Sir!” Kallewi protested. “The green machine never sleeps; you should know that.”
“Bloody marines!” Michael snorted. “Full of it.”
“Come on, sir. You need us, and you know it.”
Michael shook his head in mock despair. “Sad but true. Back to business. Jayla tells me that Marine Mehraz should be okay.”
“We think so, sir. The AI says she’s stable.” Kallewi paused for a second. “You know what, sir?” he continued, voice soft.
“Tell me.”
“We were screwed, totally screwed. All our egress routes were blocked. The Hammers had finally gotten their shit together, and there were heavy weapons squads on their way. Another ten minutes and the bastards would have overrun us. We had no chance. So thanks for sending in the cavalry. Wasn’t in the plan, you didn’t need to, and you probably shouldn’t have. But you did. Without them we were dead meat”-Kallewi shook his head-“so tell your exec that she’s welcome in any marine mess, anywhere, anytime. She did well.”
“She sure did.” There was a pause, and Michael reflected on the appalling risks they had all taken that day. “Okay,” he said at last, “need anything?”
“This ship repressurized so we can get out of these space suits, then a hot shower, a clean shipsuit, something to eat, and some serious sack time.”
“You and everyone else,” Michael said, laughing, “and don’t worry. You’ll be sick of your rack by the time we get to Serhati.”
“Sick of my rack? Never happen!”
Michael laughed, not least because he knew what Kallewi had said was true. Making his way back to the flight deck, he was relieved to see that the red icons that had infested the threat plot had been downgraded to a reassuring orange: hostile but no threat. There was no doubting it. Obviously, the Hammers had more on their plate to worry about than a fleeing lander, so he commed Sedova to repressurize the lander.
“Captain, sir, pilot.”
“Yeah, go ahead, Kat.”
“Cleft Stick is on final approach.”
“Roger.”
Comming Ferreira and Bienefelt to join him, Michael stood patiently at the Ghost’s starboard personnel air lock. After an age, a gentle bump ran through the lander, followed by a metallic thunk when the docking interlocks slammed home. Cleft Stick had berthed. Green lights came on over the air lock door, the Ghost’s loadmaster slapped the handle, and the door swung open and up. A short pause followed to allow the outer hatch to open with a tiny swirl of air when the two landers equalized, and there she was, Vice Admiral Jaruzelska in person.
“Attention on deck! Commander, Battle Fleet Lima,” Chief Bienefelt bellowed in her best parade ground fashion.
“Thank you, Captain,” Jaruzelska said, acknowledging Michael’s salute. “Chief Bienefelt, good to know that you’re not allowing standards to slip even though we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bienefelt said.
“Lieutenant Ferreira.”
“Welcome aboard Caesar’s Ghost, sir.”
“Glad you stayed to give us a lift. What’s with the arm?” Jaruzelska said.
“Flesh wound, sir,” Ferreira replied, lifting a heavily bandaged arm. “I’ll live, which is more than I can say for the Hammer sonofabitch who shot me.”
Jaruzelska laughed. She took Michael by the arm and pulled him clear of the procession of survivors that followed her across from Cleft Stick, their faces tight with fatigue and delayed shock. Michael had never seen such a sorry bunch, the strain of what they had been through etched deep.
“I know I’ve already said this, Michael,” Jaruzelska said, “but I’ll say it again, anyway. I always had faith in dreadnoughts. More to the point, I always had faith in you. You did well. About time we stuck it to those damn Hammers. Something tells me that they are going to miss that antimatter plant of theirs.”
“Thank you, sir,” Michael said. “They sure will. Hammer scum. But, um … there are a few things you need to know. We had a few, er … a few issues along the way.”
Jaruzelska rolled her eyes. “Why is nothing ever easy with you, Lieutenant Helfort? Okay, when you’ve gotten rid of that ludicrously named lander of yours and we’re on our way, I’ll want a full brief. And when I say full,” she said sternly, “I mean every last detail.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” Jaruzelska said, “Captain Tuukkanen and I have been through your report in detail, along with the records downloaded from your AIs. Way we see it, this is pretty much open and shut. So, speaking as your commanding officer, my formal response is this.”
She paused, weighing her words with obvious care. “Rear Admiral Perkins will take disciplinary action against you. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that. However, that action will be stayed until the board of inquiry into Operation Opera finishes its work. The board will review your report of proceedings along with those of all the other commanders, along with statements from everyone else who thinks they have something worthwhile to say, not to mention every datalog they can get their hands on. Given that dreadnoughts were involved”-a hint of bitterness crept into her voice-“and, more significantly, given that you disobeyed a direct order from none other than the flag officer in charge of Opera, I think there will be plenty of people wanting to be heard. Until the board reports its findings, it would be premature to speculate any further. Suffice to say, what happens after that will depend upon the board of inquiry’s findings of fact, as well as its conclusions and recommendations.”
“I imagined that’s how it would go,” Michael replied, his stomach tightening as he sensed the nightmare that lay ahead.
“So,” Jaruzelska said, her voice firm, “that’s my formal response. Let me give you the informal one. Put simply, you were 100 percent right and Rear Admiral Perkins was 100 percent wrong. If you’d complied with his order, Operation Opera would have failed. It’s that simple, and I intend to say so.”
Relief flooded Michael’s body: Even after hours of agonizing self-analysis, he still believed he had been right, but it was good to have a combat-proven vice admiral come out and say she saw things the same way. “Thanks for that, sir.”
Jaruzelska shook her head. “Don’t thank me. That’s the only conclusion to draw from the evidence. But”-why is there always a caveat? Michael wondered-“disobeying a direct order in battle is a serious matter.” She looked Michael right in the eye. “Let me tell you this, Michael. If you failed, if you’d not destroyed SuppFac27, a court-martial stacked with your best friends would have found you guilty of disobeying the admiral’s order. Nobody would have asked whether or not the order was right or wrong. Failure has no friends, none at all.”
“I knew that, sir,” Michael said. “The moment I ignored Perkins’s order, I knew I was laying my life on the line.”
“And yet you still did it?”
“Well, to quote you verbatim, Admiral, if I may: ‘It will be up to one of you to do whatever it takes to reduce that damned place to a ball of molten slag.’ I had not forgotten. So, yes. I still did it. Anything else would have been dereliction of duty.”
“It was still one hell of a big call, but one I’m glad you made. So don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’ll be a bloody business, but we’ll get you through it. So,” Jaruzelska said briskly, “let’s have a look at Serhati, a real shithole if ever there was one. Took the old Dependent there back in ‘85; the place was the pits then, and I’d be surprised if it’s improved any. We’re going to need a damn good plan if we’re to stop those scum-sucking Serhati vermin from handing us all over to the Hammers.”