Issue In Doubt (24 page)

“Its command structure is in place, and most of its component elements have been identified. The Navy is still working on finding enough shipping to transport that large a force.”

“How long will it be before Second Army will be ready to go?”

Hobson stifled a sigh. As knowledgeable as Mills was in political matters, he was quite ignorant about the military.

“That’s not the question,” he said with more patience than he felt. “The right question is, what are we up against on Troy. Until we hear from General Bauer, or whoever is the ranking remaining Marine on the ground, we simply don’t know enough to even make a guess.”

Mills took a deep breath. “All right, what are you going to do?”

“As I said, I’m meeting with the Joint Chiefs this afternoon. Then we will begin deciding what to do.”

Mills took another deep breath. “Keep me appraised,” he said.

“I will do that, Mr. President. I most assuredly will.”
And if things go to hell in a handbasket, I’ll assuredly find a way to lay the blame on you.

Chapter Seventeen

The War Room, Supreme Military Headquarters, Bellevue, Sarpy County, Federal Zone, NAU

Ignatz Gresser was already waiting in the War Room when the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s Director of Intelligence, Major General Joseph de Castro, arrived.

“Mr. Gresser,” de Castro greeted the President’s special assistant.

“General,” Gresser said with a nod. He rose from the seat he was occupying at the foot of the long table and extended his hand to de Castro. It was the kind of handshake exchanged between men who know each other mostly by reputation rather than men who know and respect each other personally.

“You’re the intelligence guy, right?” Gresser asked once they were both seated. De Castro, the lowest ranking military man who would attend the meeting was also at the lower end of the table.

“They’ve been calling me that for most of my career,” de Castro said with a chuckle, “but you’re the first civilian to use that term on me.”

“I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Not at, not at all. Intelligence is my game. To demonstrate, I sensed another question behind that one.”

Gresser nodded. “Intelligence on more than one sense, eh? You’re right, President Mills got the distinct impression from SecWar that the Marines were just about wiped out on Troy. Is that really the situation?”

De Castro held a steady look on Gresser for several seconds, betraying nothing, before saying, “That’s about the situation as I first heard it.”

Gresser raised an eyebrow. “As you
first
heard it?”

“As you first heard what?” said another voice.

The two turned toward the door and saw Army Chief of Staff General John C. Robinson entering the War Room.

“Mr. Gresser was just trying to get a step up on everybody, that’s all,” de Castro said blandly. “Don’t worry, he probably doesn’t know anything that you don’t. At least if he does he didn’t get it from me.”

Gresser blushed.

Robinson moved to the top of the table and took the seat at the left hand of the head chair, opposite where the Chairman would sit. “I hope somebody has a step up. All I’ve heard is we ran into a shitstorm on Troy, and are in danger of becoming one of those ruins-planets like we’ve found a few times.”

De Castro shook his head. “My analysis suggests it’s not that bad. Not quite.”

“Your analysis is why you’re here, of course,” said Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Ralph Talbot as he stepped into the room. He looked grim.

“Keep your seats,” Hobson said, striding in directly behind Talbot. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Fleet Admiral Ira Welborn, came in with the Secretary of War.

Hobson glanced around and snarled, “Where the hell’s Madison?”

“I’m here, sir,” Madison said, sounding out of breath. His face was flushed; he must have run to get to the meeting.

“Secure the door behind yourself,” Hobson ordered. He took his seat at the head of the table while the CNO closed the door, completing the seal that blocked all signals, audible or electronic, from leaving the room.

“You’ve all read Avery’s messages.” It wasn’t a question; he’d immediately have the resignation of any member of the Joint Chiefs who hadn’t read it. “Comments.”

“I’m still absorbing the loss of VII Corps,” Robinson said. “Admiral Avery wasn’t very clear on which ships were killed. We need to find out what elements are still combat capable.” He shook his head sadly. “Lyman is a major loss to the Army.”

Hobson grunted. “Next.”

“I’m embarrassed,” Madison said. “I had no idea Callighan was that incompetant.”

“Explain yourself,” Welborn snapped.

Madison started at being spoken to so sharply. “Why. . . why, what other excuse could there be for losing an entire ARG?” he sputtered.

“The ships of the ARG were unarmed, and Rear Admiral Callighan had no reason to believe his group would be attacked, much less the way it was.”

“But—.”

“Next,” Hobson cut him off. Not for the first time, he thought he needed a new CNO.

Next was Talbot. “Lieutenant General Bauer is one of the best officers I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Regardless of what Admiral Avery’s message says, it stretches my credulity beyond the willing suspension of disbelief to think that his entire MCF could have been destroyed, or that it could be forced to evacuate the planet after only one action.”

“Of course a Marine would think like that,” Madison said, having regained his composure. He didn’t notice the hard look Hobson directed at him.

“General de Castro, what is your analysis?” Hobson asked.

De Castro held up a finger. “We don’t know how much of ARG 17 survived the attack.” He raised a second finger. “Therefore, we do not know how much of VII Corps is still combat capable.” A third finger went up. “Fully aside from the Marines’ well-known propensity for self-aggrandizement, I agree with Commandant Talbot, the First MCF has not been defeated.” He glanced at Talbot. “Which isn’t to say they won’t be. We need more intelligence. The question at this point is, how do we get it?” He looked at Madison. “My analysis suggests that the Navy send a surveillance ship to scan the system from the mouth of a wormhole.”

“Sir,” Gresser raised his hand. “Before we get to that, please excuse my ignorance, but just what does ‘issue in doubt’ mean?”

Hobson scowled. “It’s a very polite way of saying that the most probable outcome of the situation in question is total failure.”

Gresser nodded and looked at his hands folded on the tabletop in front of him. That was what he thought, he’d just wanted confirmation. It was evident to him that President Mills thought so, too.

“If I may, sir?” Talbot said to SecWar. When Hobson signaled his consent, the Commandant said to the President’s assistant, “A Navy officer sent that message early in a twentieth century war. The Marines believed they could have held out until a relief force arrived. But the message convinced higher command not to send relief. So the Marines and others—the ones who weren’t killed when they surrendered—spent four years in prisoner of war camps.”

“You sound like you think we should send more troops,” Gresser said.

“I think the battle’s not lost until the last infantryman is rooted out.”

“Enough of the sidetalk,” Hobson snapped. “Madison, I asked you a question. Can you send a stealth starship to gather intelligence from near the mouth of a wormhole in the Troy system?”

The CNO made a moue. “Yes we can,” he said grudgingly. “But it will be risky. We don’t know what kind of security the aliens have out there. They might have warships stationed at every possible wormhole entry point and ready to fire as soon as one opens.”

“That’s why it’s called, ‘going in harm’s way,’ Madison.” Hobson shook his head disgustedly.

“Robinson, how is Second Army coming along?”

“The major command elements are in place and most of the component elements have been identified,” the Army Chief of Staff said. “I’m not sure about the Marines.” He looked a question at Talbot.

“Second and Third MCFs are on 96 hour standby for the personnel. Their major equipment can start moving to the elevators as soon as transportation is provided. Does that answer your question about Marine readiness, General?”

Robinson smiled faintly as he nodded at the Marine.

Hobson nodded, satisfied by Talbot’s response. “Robinson, start putting the component elements of Second Army on standby. Madison, begin assembling naval transportation. Welborn, I’ll leave arranging the civilian auxillary to you. De Castro, coordinate with Madison on your intelligence needs. Unless somebody else has something important, that’s it for this meeting.”

Nobody else had anything, so they all stood to leave. Hobson was the last out. He turned toward his office, and looked curiously at a man running toward him.

“Sir,” Joseph Gion, Hobson’s Chief of Staff called out as he hustled along the corridor, “I think you’ll want to call everybody back.”

“What? Why?” Hobson asked, startled. “All of you,” he called to the Chiefs of Staff, “wait one!” He looked at Gion. “What do you have?” he asked and snatched the flimsy Gion held out to him. He quickly scanned it, asked, “When did this come in?” and ordered the Joint Chiefs back into the War Room when told the message had arrived only ten minutes earlier.

Closed back in the War Room, Hobson held the flimsy out. “The Commandant was right. The Marines have not been defeated on Troy. I’ll get you all copies of this later, but right now I’ll read the most germane sentences. ‘Elements of First MCF have twice encountered the alien invaders and decisively defeated them on each occasion.’

“That’s one item, the other is a request; he wants 30,000 shotguns and a month’s combat load of ammunition for them, and canister for his artillery. He also requests two thousand additional Marines, including a Whiskey Company for each of the regiments in the MCF along with enough additional officers of appropriate ranks to staff a battalion.”

“What’s a Whiskey Company?” Madison asked.

Hobson nodded at Talbot to answer.

“It’s a company-size unit outside the normal compliment of a battalion or regiment, used specifically as either a reserve or be doled out piecemeal to companies as replacements for casualties.”

The Round Room, the Prairie Palace, Omaha, Douglas County, Federal Zone, NAU

“What the hell’s the matter with those people?” President Mills roared. “Don’t they talk to each other?” He had just read Bauer’s message, which thoroughly contradicted the message from Avery, which he’d read scant hours earlier.

“Evidently not in this instance,” Hobson said calmly.

“What next?” Mills demanded. “Is someone else going to send a message saying that A R—, A R. . ., whatever the hell it was called, is fine and landed that Army force?”

“No, sir, I don’t believe we will get any such message. I believe Admiral Avery was right when he said ARG 17 was severely injured. Possibly even as nearly destroyed as he said. What’s next, sir, is the Joint Chiefs have begun mounting a larger force to retake Troy. The Navy is shortly going to request permission to commandeer a large segment of civilian interstellar shipping to augment its own fleet.”

“The Navy doesn’t have enough shipping of its own?” Mills asked, astounded.

“We’ve never had this large a force to send at one time.”

Mills rapidly looked side to side, twisting from his shoulders, as though seeking something he knew wasn’t there. “All right,” he finally said, “what do you suggest?”

“Let me give the Chiefs the go-ahead.”

“What about Congress?”

Hobson shrugged. “What about Congress? How did the honorables react when you told them about Troy and our response in the first place?”

“They’d already voted me war powers,” Mills said softly, almost a murmur.

“There you are. Congress abdicated its war waging responsibility. They gave it to you, Mr. President. Congress can’t do anything, not without revoking the war powers. I imagine that would be a lengthy process.”

Mills studied Hobson from under lowered brows. “Do you think we’ll succeed if we take the next step?”

“Bauer seems confident. And Talbot has the highest confidence in him. The rest of the Chiefs also have confidence in the Marines, at least in their ability to hold out until Second Army reaches them.”

Someone had once told Mills that a mark of a great leader was to make snap decisions based on incomplete information. He had tried to follow that dictum during a long and successful political career. So far it had worked well for him.

“Do it,” he said. “Send that army to relieve the Marines.”

A Wormhole, Troy Space

A non-human fleet began disgorging.

About the Author

David Sherman began writing in 1983. His first novel was published in 1987, and he now has almost three dozen books to his credit. Most of his writing has been military science fiction or fantasy, and most of what wasn't is either about US Marines in the Vietnam War, or other military SF. His books include the six book VN series The Night Fighters, three other VN novels, the DemonTech series, a vampire novel, and a mystery novel. With Dan Cragg, he's the author of the Starfist series, the Starfist: Force Recon series, and a Star Wars thingie. His books have been translated into Czech, Polish, German, and Japanese. He lives in South Florida. Please visit his website; novelier.com.