Stark's Crusade (25 page)

"He can apologize all he wants. I've told him the only thing that counts is knowing we'll be kept informed in the future about that sort of thing. I'd also like to get my hands on those shuttle pilots, but Campbell says he has to handle it in civ courts."

"You could lean on him, Ethan. He'd give them up if you made it clear he had to."

"Oh, sure. I'll use my military power to force the civ authorities to do what I want. Just this once, because it's really important. No way. I figured out some time back that the road to hell is paved with stones saying 'just this once because it's important.'"

"Don't get testy. I happen to agree with that sentiment."

"Then why did you suggest I do it in the first place?" Stark asked.

"I'm just keeping you honest. Especially just before you go talk to a civ by yourself. But it's probably nothing big. Maybe Campbell wants to talk philosophy with you."

"Oh, that'd be great, wouldn't it? I think I've had enough philosophical discussions for a while."

Vic took a chair near Stark, leaning back and putting her feet up with a sigh. "Funny how your feet hurt from running around up here just like they do back on Earth. So how many philosophical discussions have you had recently?"

"A couple." Vic raised an eyebrow at him, so Stark relented. "Okay, there's been one with you. You know, after we lost Chief Wiseman. Just before that, I had a long talk with Private Mendoza."

"Ah, yes. You referenced that once during our talk. What'd Mendo have to say, anyway?"

Stark studied the emptiness displayed on the outside view even as he summarized the historical background of the Athenian expedition to Syracuse. "The bottom line was Lieutenant Mendoza thought we almost lost everything up here after Meecham's offensive. Mendo thinks, or his dad did anyway, that this time was different because of our command and control gear. It let us take over when our leaders lost the bubble."

"I guess it did." Vic peered into the darkness as if seeking the object of Stark's attention. "You started the ball rolling, everybody else figured it out pretty quick, and we all acted to take charge, and then everybody could turn to you for orders right away. No delays, no confusion."

"Right. Which couldn't have happened a short while ago. Anything I'd have done would've been, uh, isolated. Nobody would've heard until way later."

"That makes sense, but you and Mendo are missing something. The command and control gear helped set up the situation, too, Ethan. Why were people willing to follow your lead? Because you had a reputation, based on what you'd done." She waved a hand to forestall Stark's objection. "It doesn't matter what you said, it doesn't matter what the brass said, people could check it out for themselves on the system records. They'd all
seen
you in action. They knew what you'd done. All of which meant they figured they could trust you."

"And stick me with this lousy job."

"Which you've been pretty darn good at." Vic canted her head thoughtfully to one side. "The bosses built all this command and control gear so they could tell us what to do and know everything we were doing. But when they did that, they gave all of
us
the means to know what kind of job our
bosses
were doing, as well as the means to know everything they knew, and then we used the same gear to get rid of them when they screwed up. Talk about poetic justice."

"Whatever that is."

She smiled. "The same thing that got you elected to be commander after you'd spent a career giving your commanders trouble."

"Then I don't like it much." Stark stared into the black again.

Vic followed his gaze once more, her grin fading into exasperation. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"I'm not looking at anything. I'm looking for something."

"Fine. What?"

"I don't know."

When he reached Campbell's office, Stark saw the display on the wall there also carried an outside view of the surface. Campbell followed Stark's gaze. "You know, Sergeant Stark, when people first got here those displays almost always defaulted to recorded views of things like rivers, lakes, and forests. Nowadays, though, it seems every time I walk into a room the views show the lunar surface. Why do you suppose that is?"

Stark shrugged. "I'd guess it means we're starting to think of the Moon as our home."

"That's what I was thinking. If so, it would certainly be a monument to the ability of humans to bond with any environment."

"Sir, I was in Minnesota once during the winter. If people can be happy living there, then I figure the Moon's not that far different."

"Not much colder, that's for sure. And no wind chill to worry about." Campbell laughed, then sobered. "Would you like some coffee?" He waved toward two cups sitting on the table. "I'm sure it's better than what you get in the military complex."

"I'm sure it is." Stark took a cautious sip. "Not bad."

"Thank you. The coffee grown up here is regarded as an ultra-expensive luxury on Earth, you know. Not because it's better tasting, but just because it's from here." Campbell took a drink himself, then put his cup down. "I suppose I should tell you why I needed to see you. Briefly, I've been able to maintain some political contacts back home. Not everyone there is happy with the way things are developing. They've given me some important information."

Stark, measuring Campbell's mood, braced himself for the worst. "What's that?"

"There was quite a furor over the performance of the Navy's new weapons against those blockade runners. Fulminations in the Senate, investigative panel in the House, all the usual nonsense. But this time people were truly concerned, not just posturing." Campbell referred to his notepad, shaking his head. "After all, these . . . uh . . . autonomous robotic combatants attacked civilians. We transmitted our records of the incident down to numerous sources on Earth, so there couldn't be any doubt that the uncrewed devices had gone after shuttles full of family members and failed to respond to an attempt at a recall." Campbell closed his eyes. "Once more, let me express my deep and abiding appreciation for Chief Wiseman's sacrifice. The fact that my own failure to inform you in advance of the attempt to smuggle in children contributed to her death is inexcusable. I
will
keep you informed in the future, just as I've asked you to keep me informed."

Stark sat silent for a moment before nodding. "I can't ask for more than that. Chief Wiseman chose to do what she did, but maybe she wouldn't have had to if we'd been able to plan things in advance."

"We're still working on trusting each other, aren't we, Sergeant? Do you still want the shuttle pilots turned over to you for legal action?"

"Huh? Are you serious?"

"If that's the only way to make amends, yes."

Stark hesitated.
I could do it perfectly legal A trial and all But, it'd mean soldiers with weapons hauling off civs in handcuffs. And civs sitting in a military stockade. I was a civ when I was a kid. How would I have felt about that back then?
"No."

"No?"

"No. You just talked about trust. I'm not going to make civilians trust me by hauling some of them off at gunpoint and throwing them in a military stockade. No matter how I justify it legally. You keep those pilots."

"Very well, Sergeant. I just wish there was some way to commemorate Chief Wiseman's sacrifice. She is by far the most highly regarded person on the Moon at this time "

"Yeah. Soldiers and sailors tend to be highly regarded once they're dead, don't they? But if you really want to do something else, I've got something I've been thinking about."

"What would that be?" Campbell asked.

"I want to name something after Chief Wiseman. And another shuttle jockey named Gutierrez. They both died saving people. I want them, and their crews, to be remembered special. Is there anything on the Colony . . . ?"

Campbell thought a moment. "There's the spaceport."

"I thought that had a name."

"It does. Nobody uses it. They named the thing after a very powerful and very corrupt politician who happened to control a lot of purse strings when it was being built. I think it would be not only appropriate but also just to rename it the Wiseman-Gutierrez Spaceport."

"You can do that?"

"I could try doing it by dictate, but that might arouse some principled opposition. We don't need anyone acting dictatorially up here. Instead, I'll put it out for a referendum. I think I can safely guarantee its overwhelming passage."

Stark grinned. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. Of course, that'll be one more thing the bosses back home won't like."

Campbell returned the grin. "To hell with 'em. You see, Sergeant, I'm picking up a few phrases from you."

"Your Mom should've warned you about hangin' out with people like me."

"She did. She also told me not to besmirch the family name by going into politics." Campbell's smile faded. "But I need to finish what I was telling you about the fallout from the engagement between the blockade runners and the Navy's robotic combatants. The Navy's version of the robots have, with great publicity, been pulled out of action for retesting and rework. Word of the existence of an Army ground combat counterpart to the Navy's robots was also leaked somehow. The Pentagon and a very large and influential group of defense contractors assured all and sundry that the Army's robotic combatants do not suffer from the same problems and will work perfectly in combat."

Stark shook his head. "They never change. I just wonder how they'll blame operator error for whatever goes wrong with these Jabberwocks when there ain't any operator?"

"Jabberwocks?"

"That's our nickname for the ground robots, sir."

"Oh, I understand. I suppose we might as well christen the Navy robots Bandersnatchi, then."

"Uh, yeah."
I must be the only guy on the Moon who doesn't get that joke.
"It sounds like we're still gonna face the Jabberwocks, then, and they'll be just as deadly and just as nasty as the ones the Navy used."

"Yes, Sergeant. My information indicates the, uh, Jabberwocks are already being prepared for shipment to the Moon."

"They are?" Stark didn't try to hide his surprise. "Where are they shipping 'em? Any idea?"

Campbell walked to his display, bringing up a map of the lunar surface centered on the Colony. "Over here. You see? There's sort of a large valley whose broad end faces our Colony. I suppose it's actually a crater of some sort, but it looks like a valley to me."

"I know it. There were some attacks in that area early on during the war." Stark's finger moved over the map, reliving troop movements seared into memory. "It looked like an easy approach because there wasn't any terrain on the front line to aid the defenders. It looked that way to people reading maps in the rear, anyway. Once we got troops into there we found out any soldiers trapped in that valley got chewed to pieces from defenses on the rims to either side. We call it the Mixing Bowl."

"The Mixing Bowl. Do soldiers nickname everything, Sergeant?"

"I'm sure there's something we don't, but I can't think of it just now." Stark leaned closer, studying the map. "Yeah. That's what I remembered. The Mixing Bowl is a natural dividing line. It's on the boundary between sectors occupied by the forces of two members of the enemy alliance. Two of the biggest and toughest ones, to boot."

"Well, Sergeant, those two big enemies of ours have apparently cut a deal with Washington. My political sources inform me that substantial numbers of U.S. military forces will soon be occupying that position. The enemy forces will pull back to allow the U.S. forces to occupy the area and then attack us from there."

"You're kidding." Stark mentally ran through his defenses facing that sector. "What does substantial numbers mean? Do you have any specifics?"

"I'm sorry. I don't."

Stark rubbed the back of his neck, contemplating what he knew of the remaining strength of the U.S. military.
Third Division got gutted First Division is up here answering to me, not the Pentagon. Second Division is under strength and committed all over the world trying to protect corporate investments and, oh-by-the-way, the U.S. of A. itself. That doesn't leave anything. More mercs? Would even the Pentagon be stupid enough to entrust killer robots to soldiers for hire?
"I'll get my people onto this. Maybe we can find out something."

Campbell studied Stark. "You're thinking of something now. Can you share it?"

"I'm thinking about Athens and Sparta, sir."

"Athens and Sparta? I remember your reference to Thermopylae, but what about this brings those Greek city-states to mind again?"

"I'm thinking about Syracuse, Mr. Campbell. I'm wondering what would have happened to the Athenians if, after they'd been beat bad there, they tried attacking it again." Campbell listened, his eyes questioning. "I mean, it still took a while for Sparta to beat Athens even after Syracuse, right? But what if Athens had gone back again, committed what was left of its forces, and lost those, too?"

Campbell pondered the question for a long time while Stark gazed at the map. "Athens would have been defeated much sooner, and much more completely, I think. The Spartans and their allies, who were exhausted from the war, would have retained considerable strength. Later, when Alexander the Great tried to conquer Greece, perhaps the Spartans could have stopped him. Or at least delayed him a great deal. And that would have meant the Persian Empire would have lasted longer, or perhaps not fallen to Alexander at all. In the long run. . ." Campbell looked dazed. "I can't think through everything that might have resulted." His eyes suddenly grew alarmed. "You're saying you think that's what the United States is doing? Falling off the cliff that even Athens at the height of its pride avoided?"

"Yes, sir. That's what I'm saying. Maybe we've been big too long, been able to do what we wanted when we wanted. The idea that we can't lose just isn't there. Or maybe it's just that our leaders are so obsessed with staying in power that they'll let the country go down the tubes rather than admit defeat. Instead, the leadership is betting the mortgage in the hope that they'll draw an inside straight this time."