Oberheim (Voices) Part 19

"Battle cruiser B: I want a full spread of anti-matter torpedoes, then move in and finish him off. All remaining fighters back to Scypion Base; those that can't make it, to Mongoose emergency docks. Destroyer group A, prepare to clean up enemy stragglers."

"And the torpedo s.h.i.+ps, Colonel?"

"Keep firing at the carrier until there is no carrier to fire AT."

"But without escort---"

Dubcek's eyes flashed. Masaryk relayed the orders.

R x Q

The battle between the two vessels must have ensued---after several minutes the enemy carrier disappeared from the projection globe---but Brunner saw and heard none of it. He remained silent with his head down, palms leaning heavily on the console. Crying. The next thing he was aware of was Dubcek's steadied voice, once more amplified, once more, he a.s.sumed, on an open channel to all s.h.i.+ps. He looked out of the portal, but there was no afterglow. Nothing. Dubcek's voice.

"All s.h.i.+ps' personnel not engaged or on standby readiness, this is your commanding officer. The carrier J.S. Bach and all its crew have been lost." Pause. "There is nothing that can bring them back, or justify their death. They will be sorely missed.

"But know this: that they died not in any act of aggression, but defending their homes, and the ones they loved. It may be small consolation, but we have hurt our enemy badly. They no longer have the position or the firepower to seriously threaten us. I won't lie to you. More men and women will die before our reinforcements arrive.

And there is no more fairness to who dies in battle than there is to who is struck down by fatal illness, and who is left to die of age.....

We can only continue, and hope that our acts will one day be remembered, and our sorrows vindicated.

"My strategy from this point forward will be to engage the enemy as little as possible, which is only now a viable option. Take heart in the fact that this is now a fight he cannot win, unless he holds some card that is hidden from me. The colonies, the people you guard, are safe. And if we keep our courage and our wits about us, we will see him beaten before the day is pa.s.sed."

Dubcek signaled the communications officer to shut him off, said to Masaryk, "I'll be in my quarters. I don't think he'll try to attack again soon, but call me if he does." And left the battle room.

Brunner gathered himself, sat down before the console and tried to think.

After perhaps fifteen minutes he got up and asked Commander Masaryk to be relieved, saying that he felt ill. The executive officer, who knew a thing or two, looked hard at him and said, "If you've got any sense, you'll be careful what you say to him."

Brunner nodded, and walked slowly out into the main corridor, then through several pa.s.sages before reaching the short hallway that ran before his Commanding Officer's chamber.

Remaining a short distance from the doorway, he hesitated. He gathered his courage, turned the corner and entered the room.

"Sir, may I speak---" He stopped, seeing the older man sitting quietly at a wooden table, a bottle and gla.s.s in front of him. "I'm sorry, sir..... Excuse me." So far as he (or anyone) knew, the Colonel never drank.

"No, no. Come in. You have not discovered a terrible secret. I have an artificial liver; didn't you know? I can turn it higher whenever I wish---the first sign of combat---and be sober in two minutes time. A waste of good liquor, really. Please. Sit down." Brunner approached hesitantly, sat in the wooden chair opposite.

"Besides," the man continued. "Didn't you know that all good field commanders were drunks? Take the famous Ulysses S. Grant. They say that on the day of a battle he was rarely sober by mid afternoon.

Probably why he was so successful: he could send his men off to the slaughter without a second thought. Some even go so far as to say he tried to end all his battles in a single day, so that the next morning, when he was apt to be sick, he could sleep and give no orders. But you look surprised. Is all of this new to you?"

"I was never much on the American Civil War," said the young man evasively, not liking (or understanding) the tone of sarcasm in the older man's voice.

"Oh, really? That's too bad. It is filled with such irony. For example, the saying, 'War is h.e.l.l.' Very true, but do you know who said it? The equally famous General Sherman. And he should know, since he did everything in his power to make it so---burned and pillaged like a regular barbarian. A nation of 'heroes'." He cleared his throat, continued.

"And these same, gentlemen soldiers---Grant (then President, no less), Sherman, Sheridan and Custer, next turned their expertise upon the pesky Native Americans, who had the gall to defend their land, their women and their children. Wasn't it Sheridan who said, 'The only good Indian is a dead Indian?' Ma.s.sacred and starved an entire population into submission, innocents slaughtered without a second thought."

"Colonel....."

"But here, I'm boring you. What did you want to discuss---literature, fine art?" He took another drink from the gla.s.s, hurting his throat with too large a gulp, showing that he really was not a drinker, or not a practiced one.

"Two things," said Brunner stiffly. "First as an officer of the bridge. Then as a man."

"It sounds serious. Well. What is your report as my a.n.a.lysis officer?"

"Yes. I only wanted to reinforce what I said earlier: that the enemy's strategy, ever since the main engagement began, makes no sense.

He had attained a strong attacking position; his weaponry is at least the equal of our own; and yet he attacks without design, and trades forces with no apparent gain. I know, from my studies (this last he added almost as an apology), that battles are often chaotic.

Commanders become confused, lines of communication break down, soldiers and officers panic. But none of this, so far as I can see, has been the case here. For example, why accept the sacrifice of our carrier?"

He reddened, forced himself to continue. "Just because we brought it forward, hardly forced him to attack. I wish I could believe that the enemy is really that foolish. But I can't. They have spent years of preparation, and nearly all their resources. . .for what? Only to let some impatient general throw it all away? The only explanation I can find is that they are trying to lull our sense of caution and weaken our defense, for another fleet that is yet to come. I know that by all current technology this is impossible. Yet I feel that it could happen."

At the words 'current technology' Dubcek stirred uncomfortably. The young man had sensed his darkest fear. He remained quiet for a moment, mulling this over.

"You have done what I asked," he said finally, "and done it well. Now.

What do you have to say to me as a man?"

Now it was Brunner who could find no comfort in his chair.

"I wish to resign my commission," he said with an effort. "I do not think I was made to give orders."

"Do you hate me so much?"

Brunner winced. "No, Colonel. It is true, I hated you at first---"

He looked up, horrified at his own words.

"Come on. Out with it. It won't matter much if you resign." Dubcek's manner was unruffled, but the lieutenant thought he caught a gleam of pain, or something, in his dark eyes.

"There was a moment when I hated you---when I first realized you had sacrificed our carrier for theirs. But I don't feel that way now."

"Then why?"

"I just can't do it. I tried to put myself in your place. . .and I can't. This way of life, of thinking..... I can't."

"You think I send men to their death without feeling." It was not a question.

"No." But Brunner would say no more.

"No, but that was cruel of me. Young men are so much more, SENSITIVE.

You think you could never send men to theirs, that you are not the right kind of man---cold, calculating. You think too much, feel too much, is that it?"

"No..... I don't know."

"Save war for lonely old men?"

Brunner looked hard at him, defiant. This time he was sure. There was something quietly desperate in his commander's eyes. It was fear. Not the fear of age or death, but that of a far greater hurt: the pain of life's final reckoning, of uselessness and barren seed. "Can I tell you something, 'as a man?'" Dubcek turned his eyes away, poured the bottle into the gla.s.s.

"Yes." Brunner too looked away.

"I wasn't always old, or alone, with no other calling." He breathed heavily through his nose. "But my wife died some years back, and we had no children. Some men can go on from such a thing: find another wife, start again. But I am not one of them. I had never loved before..... But that is beside the point." He drank the gla.s.s again.