Stark's Crusade (8 page)

"Had one. She died during the action that put Murphy in here."

"Tough break. She in the same outfit?"

"Nah. She wasn't mil. She was civ. A colonist."

"Civilian?" The medic's eyes widened in amazement, then focused back on Murphy. "Well, that's a new one on me. Your boy looks mil all the way. That always scares off civs."

"These civs are different. They care about us. We ain't just an exciting vid show for them."

"Yeah. I've seen some of that. Like the way the civ doctors have helped out with our casualties. But, still. . ." The medic's voice trailed off. "Tough break. Real tough." She stepped backward. "I'll leave you alone for a few minutes."

"Thanks." Stark hesitated, then looked directly at the medic. "That girl you just mentioned. The one who knew her boyfriend had stopped by. She ever wake up?"

"No. But she knew she hadn't been forgotten."

Stark walked gingerly toward the hospital bed, then sat carefully, staring for a moment at Murphy's face, the slack expression and closed eyes so similar to those of an exhausted soldier enjoying a deep sleep. "Hey, Murph." He reached into a pocket, extracting a small figurine with a goofy smile. "I dunno if you ever saw this, but it was Robin's. It's called a paca. Just some dumb mascot thing that all the civ women bought years ago. She got it from her mother. My mom has one, too. Small world, huh? Anyway, it meant somethin' to Robin, so I figure it'll mean somethin' to you." He balanced the paca carefully on the nearest table, the figurine's idiot grin focused on Murphy's face.

Stark licked his lips, composing his thoughts before speaking again. "Look, I know I've always told you what to do and usually how to do it, right, Murph? But I can't do that now. I've got no right to. You gotta decide this, if you still can. You're a good kid, led a good life, stuck up for your friends. If you figure you've served a full tour here and it's time to head for a new assignment, well, that's your right. I know you got a lot of friends waiting. Hope so, anyway."

"But if you want to fight a little longer, if you wanta come back, I'll be here. I'll help any way I can. I wish I could do more. I wish I knew for sure what you wanted." Murphy's face didn't alter, except for the slow, even movements caused by his breathing. "Just like everything else in life, I guess. Just gotta do whatever we think is best and hope it's right." He touched one arm gently, as if afraid the limb would break under a firmer pressure. "Get your rest, soldier."

Stark stood as quietly as he could, as if Murphy were merely sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed, then walked carefully to where the medic had waited at a respectful distance.

"Any luck?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"No. You didn't expect me to have any, did you?"

"No. But miracles happen sometimes. If I didn't believe in the occasional miracle, there's a lot of times I'd just throw up my hands and give up. Instead, I keep trying, even when common sense says there's no hope."

Stark fashioned a crooked half-smile. "That's people, ain't it? We just keep trying. Maybe we're just stubborn. Doc?"

"Yes?"

"You think there's someplace else? You know, Heaven or whatever? A better place?"

"I sure hope so. The only ones who know for sure can't talk about it to us."

"Yeah." Stark brooded, his eyes still fixed on Murphy. "I wonder, though. If we think there's a great place waiting for us, and all those people who're gone now are waiting there, too, how come we fight so hard to stay alive? How come we don't give up? How come we fix up sick and injured people instead of lettin' 'em die and go there?"

"Maybe because we don't know, and can't know, for sure. Maybe because people always hate change, even good change. Maybe just because we don't want to leave behind the people and places in this world. Or maybe whoever's running things designed humans to want to stay here as long as possible."

"That'd fit, wouldn't it? But why would anyone make humans want to stay here where it's so easy to make bad choices, where people can get hurt and can hurt other people? That seems kinda cruel. Why do that? What's the point in making us stay here as long as we can?"

"Maybe we're supposed to be learning something while we're here."

Stark stood silent for a moment, then nodded. "Huh. Makes sense. It sounds like you've thought about it."

"You watch enough people die and it sort of comes naturally."

"Let me know if anything changes, okay?"

"Sure. I'll keep an eye on him."

Stark walked slowly away, glancing back just before the curtain fell to block his view. The medic stood beside Murphy's bed, hands resting on the grab rail, her shoulders bent as if under a burden, her head lowered. Somehow Stark knew her eyes would be even wearier than usual.

Artillery dropped shells all around as small arms fire raked the exposed position occupied by the dwindling force of American troops. Private Ethan Stark, clinging to the dirt as if he could somehow will himself beneath it for protection, shuddered in time to the almost constant vibrations of explosions. Before his eyes, battered stalks of grass trembled, their torn stems spotted with blood.

The soldier to Stark's right turned her head, looking straight at him. Corporal Stein, Stark's mentor and the closest he'd ever had to a big sister. But she was glaring in anger now, not at the enemy, but at him. "You really screwed up this time, didn't you, Stark?" Somehow the words came to him clearly despite the thunder of battle.

"Kate? Whadayya mean? How'd I screw up?"

"You led us here, didn't you? Trapped us here." Stark, already severely stressed by combat, wanted to scream in frustration at the unfairness of the accusation. "I'm not in charge, damnit! This isn't my fault!" Something was wrong. Stark gazed outward, where the tree line from which the enemy had been firing had somehow vanished, been replaced by barren ridges. The grass before him was gone, too, replaced by jagged rocks bearing the same blood. "Kate? What the hell. . . ?" He looked back at her, unable to finish his question.

"We trusted you, Stark. And you led us here. And now we can't even try to run." Stein gestured, indicating her lower body.

Stark stared, sickened, as he suddenly saw her legs were gone, blasted away by one of the incoming shells. He jerked his head, looking away, and found himself facing another soldier to his left. This one lay facedown, within easy reach, but unmoving. As if of its own will, Stark's hand moved to shake the soldier. The body lolled, limp, but the soldier's head flopped to the side. Private Murphy. Still alive. Stark could feel his breath against his hand. But his eyes, his face, were vacant and empty. "You're not dead!" Stark shouted. "You're not—."

He came awake, pulse pounding, his body still shaking from the memory of battle.
Patterson's Knoll. I've refought that damned battle damn near every night since it ended. It was bad enough all those times, but now it's getting worse.
He sat up, rubbing his face, calming his breathing. Major Patterson had led two companies of soldiers too far ahead of everyone else and learned too late that the enemy had more troops and more equipment than expected. Instead of retreating, he led his soldiers to an exposed hill and dithered there, until they were surrounded and slowly pounded to pieces. Stark had been one of three soldiers to survive, by escaping through the enemy lines that night. He'd left behind a lot of dead friends, including Kate Stein.

So now I get to dream of it being my fault. Of being responsible for it all. It's all getting jumbled up. Patterson's Knoll and here. The dead there. The people counting on me here. What the hell am I gonna do?

He thought about Kate Stein briefly, about the lessons in survival she'd taught new soldier Ethan Stark, about what she might advise now. But that led to thoughts of her brother, Grant. The soldier who'd come up here pretending to idolize Stark and had ended up betraying Stark and his troops in a misguided act of revenge. The soldier who'd been court-martialed for that at Stark's orders and executed by a firing squad after Stark had confirmed the court-martial's sentence.
Wherever you are, Kate, I can understand if you hate me now. But I didn't have any real choice. Maybe if you'd still been around when that idiot Grant was growing up, he'd have learned something good from you like I did.

Stark stood, trying to shove all memory of the old battle and the Steins from his mind. He knew sleep wouldn't come again this night and didn't like the idea of sitting alone in his quarters staring into the darkness. After a long moment, Stark opened the door and headed for the nearest recreation room.

At this hour the small room was empty, of course, the utilitarian metal chairs all vacant. It always took awhile for someone new to the Moon to accept the apparently spindly construction of those chairs. In a typical, but in this case justified, act of economy, the chairs had been built with just enough metal to support a human's weight in gravity one-sixth that of Earth.

Stark grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at one of the small tables. Before him, the built-in display showed a screen saver that painted blackness with splotches of color, like the lights that showed behind closed eyes. Stark gazed morosely at the light display, imagining shapes in the glowing blotches.

Trapped. Yeah, we're trapped. I mean, pity the fools who try to take us, but we can't run. Sooner or later, if they keep hitting us, we'll lose. I've never been that good at math, but I know how battles add up. It doesn't matter how many you've won. As soon as you add in the battle you just lost, it all comes to zero. The victories don't count, then. Just like killing enemies. Kill the first hundred, great. But if the next one kills you, what was the point?

Stark's meandering thoughts settled on that last question,
Reminds me of something. Some guys who stood and died.
Who? Where? A face came to mind.
Rash Paratnam? He's still alive, thank God. But he told me once about some guys. What was the name? Something like Sports. Spartans. Yeah. Some battle where they stood and fought to the last. Why the hell'd they do that, anyway?

The answer might not matter at all, but at least finding it would be a diversion from bad dreams and other questions whose answers couldn't be looked up. Rousing himself, Stark activated the display, searching for the battle his friend had once described.
This must be it. Thermopylae.
He read the description, grew intrigued enough to call up the background, then the longer-term results. An hour passed.

Stark had been given the Colony manager's private number, and he used it now. After several rings, Campbell answered, gazing bleary-eyed and disheveled into the screen. "Sergeant Stark? Is there an emergency?"

"No. Not an emergency. There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Campbell squinted toward the corner of his own screen where the time would be displayed. "Sergeant, you're not much for following normal sleep patterns, are you?"

"Uh, I guess not, sir. Too many nights on duty, I guess. Listen, you ever hear of some guys named Spartans?"

"Spartans? Of course. Ancient Greece, correct?"

"That's right. Well, they fought a battle once at some place I can't pronounce. Thermo something. There were only a hundred of them, sent to stop an invading army."

Campbell shook his head as if trying to shake his thoughts into order. "That would have been the Persians, if I recall right."

"Yeah. Anyway, these Spartans held for a while. Those were their orders. Hold the position. But the Persians had a huge army. So eventually they surrounded the Spartans and killed them all." Stark moved his finger as if pointing to text no longer displayed. "They could've run, but they didn't. They'd been ordered to hold. They stayed and died."

"It was certainly a noble sacrifice, Sergeant Stark, but what—?"

Stark looked upward, seeking the right words. "But it was more than that. All the different Greeks fought a lot with each other. Cities, I guess. So even though this big Persian army was coming, the Greeks weren't cooperating well. But those hundred Spartans changed that. They didn't just buy a little time. What they did was give all the Greeks a symbol. See, they didn't die for themselves. They knew even if the Persians got beat that they'd still be dead. And they could've hung back in their part of Greece and just tried to protect their own territory. But they died protecting everybody. They became a symbol. Something for all the Greeks to rally around."

Campbell nodded, clearly puzzled. "Yes, that would have been important. But why is this old battle important now?"

"Because it tells us something, Mr. Campbell." Stark leaned toward the screen to emphasize his next words. "Something about making good things happen. I'm going to ask you a favor, sir."

"What's that?"

"This vote on declaring independence. I want you to postpone it."

"What?" Campbell shook his head again, as if testing his hearing this time. "Postpone the referendum on independence? Why?"

Stark hesitated, once again searching for the words he needed. "Because we can leave the U.S. and get away with it for at least a while. I mean, the Colony is pretty well off, now that it's not being sucked dry by the corporations back home and by the extra taxes you civs had to pay because you weren't allowed to elect your own representatives to help protect you from that kind of nonsense. Hell, you're rich in resources and specialized manufacturing plants, right? And my troops can protect this Colony for a while. Maybe forever. But we'd be cutting and running, wouldn't we? Taking what we could get and leaving all the ordinary civs back home stuck with the same corrupt politicians and corrupted system."

"You're saying we should stick with a country which is doing everything it can to intimidate, coerce, and oppress us? Why?" Campbell repeated, this time more forcefully.

"There's two things you can do when something's broke, sir. You can throw it away, or you can try to fix it. I know, it seems like the attitude has always been to throw it away. But it couldn't have always been like that." Stark paused, remembering another point. "I've got parents back home still. Civs, like you. I still remember being a know-it-all teenager, being embarrassed by them. But, you know, they were, they are, decent people who want to do the right thing. Most civs are, I guess. Like most mil, too. They've just been convinced that nothing they do can change things. Maybe if they have an example of people who keep trying to change things for the better even when those people could just cut and run and be pretty well set, maybe they'd try, too. And if enough of them decide to try, what happens to the system?"