Stark's Crusade (21 page)

"Of course, sir." Corporal Desoto had died early on in the lunar war, hit dead-on by a heavy artillery shell. There'd been no body left for his friends to grieve over. "Then you understand? Your early experience with making many such decisions meant you could finally act when you thought it necessary, where those of us indoctrinated in obedience from youth could not. Unlike those of us who grew up within the military, you lack an automatic deference to and respect for authority."

"I'm an American. If I wanted to respect authority, I'd be something else." It made sense to Stark in that way something does when it both fits events and feels right.
I'm nothing special, but I did grow up different. Is this one of the things we lost when the mil became so professional people literally grew up into it? The ability to say "no" when you really have to? Is that what all that 'citizen-soldier' crap really comes down to? Having people in the mil who can tell their superiors to go to hell when it really matters? Or just having the superiors know their people could do that if they push too far or too hard?
"Let's leave that for now. You said two things. One was me. What was the other?"

"Technology. The command and control systems which allowed everyone to know of your actions." Mendoza leaned forward, one extended forefinger tracing patterns in the air as if an HUD combat display hung there. "At Syracuse, a single, low-level leader in the Athenian army could have made no difference. His unit would have followed him, a few soldiers in the whole army, but no one else would have known of his actions and orders. That one small unit could not have survived. But, here, your assumption of command could occur almost instantaneously thanks to the manner in which every soldier is knitted into the command and control system."

"Sure. Our command and control systems were designed to allow senior commanders to dictate every action of their subordinates, and that's exactly how they've been used by senior officers who wanted to tell everybody exactly how to do everything. But we've been figuring out to use the systems our own way for a long time." Stark didn't know which unknown sergeants had first arranged for covert comm circuits to be laced into the command and control systems so the senior enlisted could talk among themselves without the officers being aware of it, but tricks like that and unauthorized back doors into the command scan levels had been available as long as Stark had been using the systems.

"Just so. It enabled you to bypass the top-down chain of command, to instantly coordinate your actions with other small unit commanders all around the perimeter. Those command and control systems can be used by any junior personnel, allowing them to know things only the highest levels of the chain of command could once know. It allows them to act with tremendous speed and flexibility while easily coordinating their actions. This is how you could successfully assert command in a matter of minutes without significant disruption of our forces."

Stark nodded. "You know that's how we've been using the command and control gear in operations. Trying out just that sort of thing."

"Yes, sir." Mendoza grew so excited his hands began sketching pictures in the air again. "I have been following the tactical and operational innovations you have been using in combat. It is almost like the Roman Legions at the height of their capabilities. Their tactical deployments emphasized an open, flexible formation, able to adapt to whatever enemy formation opposed them. Rome's enemies were locked into rigid formations, which worked only against similarly rigid foes." He grew calmer. "You remember, soon after you took command, when the enemy attack threatened to break our line? You could use the same systems to rally our troops at every location at once. You see, Commander? This could not have happened before. The fact that it could happen here is all that saved the Colony."

Stark stared into an empty corner of the room. "I think you're right. We were brittle enough as it was. First Division had been fighting too long up here. Watching Third Division get sent into a meat grinder for nothing had us all ready to quit, didn't it? We wouldn't have held if the enemy had hit us hard, because we wouldn't have been able to care anymore." He remembered the enemy push soon after he took command that had nearly ruptured the front line irreparably. Rallying the troops had been critical, and had nearly been beyond him. "And if America had lost Third Division and First Division, that would've been almost two-thirds of its existing ground forces. Not to mention all the ships that might've been lost trying to evacuate personnel or in a last-ditch attempt to save the Colony. And with the Colony gone for sure all at once, the economy would have tanked just as fast, not sorta slow like it has been. It would've been like those guys from Athens, wouldn't it? Pushing too far, committing too much, and finally getting their butts kicked so hard the rest of the world could take them out."

"I believe so, Commander. As long as the status of American forces on the Moon remained uncertain, as long as the loyalty of the Colony remained undecided, the rest of world would not perceive enough weakness to unite in a full push to dethrone the last superpower. In summary, my father believed your actions saved the United States from its own overextension, but those actions alone could not have made a difference without modern command and control systems."

Like so much advice from Lieutenant Mendoza, and from his son, it made sense. The only major problem Stark had with the explanation was the role he played in it.
So I'm this big special guy, huh? Saved the Colony, and the country, and all my pals.
He had felt it, sometimes, after a successful action, the sense that he could always do it again, that victory was sweet and defeat unthinkable.
I don't need anybody encouraging me to think that way. But I can't be the first or only guy to have thoughts like that.
."Mendo, you know a lot of history besides this Greek stuff. There's been a lot of generals that won pretty much all their battles, right? What happened to them?"

"I'm not sure I understand your question, sir."

"I mean in the end," Stark explained. "These generals were good. Good enough they won battles, anyway. What happened in the last chapters, though?"

"Ah. I see." Mendoza thought, frowning as he focused on the question. "There are basically two categories of such generals, Commander Stark. Some generals take their victories, but stop. Something prevents them from overreaching. General George Washington was one such. He was not the most brilliant commander of all time, yet he knew his limits and won his war. Then he refused many chances to become dictator or king of the United States."

"No wonder we put him on our money. What's the other category?"

"Generals such as Napoleon, or Alexander, or Julius Caesar. They won battles, then kept reaching for more. More conquests, more titles. Eventually, they reached too far. Napoleon made himself an emperor, then lost a huge army in Russia, and never recovered. Alexander pushed his soldiers to the ends of the known world, and eventually they mutinied. They wanted to go home. Alexander's empire was so big it could not be sustained, and it fell apart as soon as he died. And, of course, Caesar was set to declare himself dictator when assassinated by those who feared his ambition."

"Huh." Stark sat, lost in thought for a moment, remembering fragments of nameless battles on nameless fields. "That's the choice, ain't it? You either get so full of yourself you push too far and get cut off at the knees, or you take a reality check and hold yourself back from what you figure you could do. There's always one more mountain, right? Sooner or later, you either stop trying to climb them or you fall off one." He thought a moment longer. "Like those guys from Athens."

"Yes, Commander. Exactly like the Athenians."

"You'd think war would be like any other job, the more you do it the better you get at it. But it doesn't work that way, does it?"

Private Mendoza nodded. "Clausewitz stated that this was because of friction."

"Friction?"

"Yes. This was the term Clausewitz used to describe the many problems which bedevil any commander. All of the difficulties, the missteps and misunderstood orders, the equipment failures, the unforeseen events, the unpredictable actions of the enemy or of the weather. In short, everything which separates the theory of war from the actual experience of fighting."

"Sort of like that mutiny we had in Fifth Batt? Nobody expected that."

"Yes. Just that sort of thing."

Stark nodded, letting out a long breath. "Yeah. That stuff never lets up. And sooner or later, some of it's bound to trip you up."
I just gotta have enough guts to walk away from some of the mountains in front of me, that's all. Sounds easy. But I'm sure better commanders than I am have decided to climb just one more mountain.
"You still talk to your dad, Mendo?"

Private Mendoza ducked his head to hide his expression at the reference to his father, Lieutenant Mendoza, who had died helping defend this same headquarters complex. "I pray every night."

"Good. You tell your dad from me that you're doing one helluva good job of keeping your commander's head screwed on straight."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'm sorry. Thank you, Commander."

"You call me whatever you want. And I happen to like being called Sergeant."

Whatever else he may have said was interrupted by a voice from his comm unit. "Commander Stark? This is the command center. There's a situation developing upstairs that you might want to watch."

"A situation?"

"Upstairs" meant something going on far above the Moon's surface, at orbital heights or beyond. "Tell me more."

"It looks like there's some civ shuttles trying to sneak in past the blockade." Stark nodded to himself. There were a number of things that brought premium prices if smuggled into the Colony, and a number of items whose value far exceeded their weight in gold if smuggled out. Not to mention the orders for essential spares that had been carefully floated in places where black marketers could be found. "But they might not make it. The Navy's spotted them and is moving in."

That could create a lot of problems, including the possibility that the Navy warships might try to pursue their prey inside the Colony's anti-orbital defenses. "Got it," Stark acknowledged. "I'll be right there." He turned to Private Mendoza. "Mendo, I'm afraid I'll have to cut this short. Looks like some more friction just hit the fan. Thanks for coming by, and thanks for all that stuff you figured out. It'll give me a lot to think about." He hesitated for a moment after Mendoza left, habit urging him to don battle armor, then shook his head.
I won't need that for something going on upstairs, and those situations tend to develop awful fast. I'd better get to the command center quick.

The huge main display in the command center was focused on the "situation" in space. Stark pulled back the perspective on the view so he could see the huge arc of the Moon's surface in relation to the spacecraft symbology crawling through the emptiness above it, then focused back in on the shuttles again. Sergeant Tran came up, nodding in greeting. "Commander Stark, those shuttles are going to have problems getting down here. See those warships?" Large symbology tagged with warship identifiers displayed huge acceleration vectors, their projected tracks running into those of the shuttles.

"Yeah," Stark agreed. "Looks to me like those warships are gonna get to the shuttles before the shuttles get inside our orbital defenses." He studied the tracks of the shuttles for a moment.
Something's missing. What? Oh, yeah.
'Tran, those shuttles must know the Navy's seen 'em, right?"

"Sure. There's no way they could avoid spotting those warships with the Navy piling on that kind of speed."

"So, if they've figured out the Navy's seen 'em, there's no sense trying to hide. Why aren't they running? Trying to get inside our defenses before the Navy can get to them?"

Tran frowned. "That's a good question."

"We have any idea what they're carrying?"

"No, sir. We checked the command system as soon as we spotted those shuttles. There's nothing in there on them."

Something about the reply seemed ominous to Stark. It shouldn't have. Shuttles trying to run the blockade didn't tell anyone they were coming and didn't broadcast their cargo manifests.
But this worries me. Those shuttles aren't acting like blockade runners. Maybe they're Trojan horses? Putting on an act so they can get inside our defenses while the Navy pretends to chase them? But then why aren't they doing a better job of acting like blockade runners?
"Tran, notify Vic Reynolds of what's going on and ask Chief Wiseman to get her armed shuttles hot."

Sergeant Tran looked back at Stark, clearly surprised. "Sir?

This happens every now and then. This particular situation's not routine, but—"

"I know. Call it a gut feeling. Somethin's really wrong here. I want us ready to react if we have to." Tran nodded and hurried off to make the calls.
Now I'll owe Wiseman another beer for making her crew up those shuttles of hers.

The Navy warships had piled on even more acceleration, pushing the intercept a little farther outside the Colony's defenses. For whatever reason, the shuttles still hadn't reacted. Stark was studying the display so intently he wasn't aware Vic had entered the command center until she spoke beside him. "What's up?"

"What you see." Stark waved toward the display. "Blockade-running shuttles, apparently, getting chased by the Navy."

"I see that. Nothing unusual. I'm wondering why you put the armed shuttles on alert. That's unusual."

"Yeah." Stark rubbed his chin. "I dunno. Those shuttles ain't running, and they ought to be. Right?"

"I would if I was them."

"Maybe their cargo is really fragile? Something that can't handle a sudden acceleration? I wish I knew what was in those shuttles."

"Whatever it is can be replaced," Vic noted with a shrug.

"Commander?" one of the watchstanders signaled. "The Colony manager is calling. He says it's real urgent."

"Great," Stark grumbled, keying in the connection. "Another complication. Stark here."