Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

The man knew a lost cause when he saw one. "SAR-65, this is 22. Anything?"

"22, 65," the second lifter replied. "Nothing, and I don't think there will be."

"22, roger. I'll call it in. SAR control, this is SAR-22," he radioed. "Search complete. No trace of enemy landers, no emergency beacons, no survivors. They must have gone in hard. 22 and 65 returning to base. Over."

"SAR control, 22 and 65 returning to base. Understood. Out."

"65, 22. You copy?"

"65, copy," the command pilot of the second heavy lifter replied.

"22, roger. Let's go."

Michael and Anna sat with their backs against the rock wall, rushing water from the rain-swollen creek that cut across the floor of the ravine the only sound. The hours since landing had been busy, and Michael was exhausted, the extent of what he and the rest of the Redwoods had done, the appalling risks they had taken, weighing heavily on his mind. He hated to think how much three perfectly serviceable dreadnoughts were worth to an asset-strapped Fleet even if the dumb fucks had no idea how to use them effectively. Still, he consoled himself, here they were, safe. Apart from some air activity-all passing overhead and showing not the slightest interest in one unremarkable ravine out of the thousands incised into the Branxton Ranges-there had been no sign of the Hammers. The pickets Kallewi had thrown out in a protective ring around the lay-up point were troubled only by the driving rain.

In truth, Michael had only one problem that worried him: the woman sitting alongside him. Throughout his account of what he had done and why, Anna sat without saying a word until-unnerved-Michael ground to a halt. Still she said nothing, forcing him to sit and wait for her response.

"Well," Anna said, breaking the long silence at last, her face a gray blur in the predawn gloom, "what can I say? I still can't believe what's just happened any more than I can understand why. The whole business is nuts. I know why you did what you did. I just can't get my head around the fact that you managed to persuade so many sane people to go along with you."

"Anna!" Michael said, trying not to let his frustration show. "It wasn't like that. They all had their own reasons; they all made up their own minds. Yes, the message from Hartspring was the trigger, the catalyst, but after that… well, the whole business assumed a life of its own; it became something much bigger. It stopped being just about me trying to save you."

"You can say that again," Anna said with a shake of her head. "Honestly, Michael, never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine something like this. Never! Shit… why is nothing ever straightforward with you? Here we are"-Anna waved a hand at the three landers tucked out of sight underneath gray micromesh chromaflage netting-"in the middle of nowhere, stuck on this dump of a Hammer planet with no way home, and what's the plan?" She shook her head again. "The plan," she said with a sharp, mocking laugh. "What plan? Oh, yes, that plan. The 'join the NRA and spend the rest of our lives fighting the Hammers until we all get killed' plan!" She shook her head despairingly. "What a prospect. At least we were warm and safe in 5209… well, apart from me, that is."

"Anna, look, it's not that ba-"

"Not that bad? Is that what you're telling me? It's not that bad? Well," Anna said fiercely, "it is that bad. The bloody NRA are what? Just second-rate guerrillas fighting a government that's a thousand times stronger than they are in a tiny, pointless war that'll never end. Doesn't matter what we do. Their war will never end, and we'll never get home… never. Even if there's ever a prisoner exchange, guess what? The Hammers would prefer to die than let us be part of that. I know how the fuckers think. They'll never stop hunting us, and when they get us, they'll kill us all. We're screwed," she said, scrambling to her feet, "thanks to you and your team of crazies. We're screwed. So bloody well don't expect gratitude from me… or anyone else you took out of 5209."

"Anna," Michael protested, "you've got it wrong."

"Have I?" she snapped. "Have I got it wrong? No, I don't think so. You're the one who's got it wrong. How could you do this? Where's your sense of duty? What happened to the oath you took when you were commissioned? Your sense of honor?"

"There're more important things," he muttered, all too aware of how lame he must sound.

Anna snorted, a snort dripping with contempt and derision. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, there are."

"Well, not for me there aren't. I don't believe it, Michael. I don't believe that you would do all this just to save me. And to drag the rest of your crew along with you? That's absolutely unforgivable."

"They had their reasons, Anna, and those had nothing to do with you."

"Maybe so, but you started this and they followed. You're responsible, and stop trying to pretend otherwise."

"Hey," Michael protested, "that's not fair."

"I don't care. No matter how much you love me, no matter what that psychopath Hartspring planned to do, it's just plain wrong to risk so many lives to save me. That's what's wrong, Michael. And Jesus! I almost forgot," she added, her voice dripping sarcasm. "You destroyed three fully operational dreadnoughts to do it. Unbelievable.

"Don't say another word. Just piss off. Whatever your reasons, whatever your screwed-up mind tells you, whatever you think makes all this right, I don't want to hear it." With that, Anna walked away.

Michael sat, crushed into immobility. Anna's reaction was a million light-years from the response he'd expected. Suddenly, doubt swamped him. What if Anna was right? What if the rest of the Feds saw things the same way? The last thing he needed was open conflict between the rescuers and the rescued.

Goddamn her, he thought as a rush of anger swept away all the doubt; goddamn her to hell. Why could she not see what he and the rest of the Redwoods had risked to get her and the rest of the POWs out of J-5209? That Hartspring's threat was only the catalyst for what happened? That the Redwoods had their own reasons? Why could she not see all of that? Damn, damn, damn, he said to himself. Damn Hartspring, damn the Hammers, damn Anna Cheung, damn everything. If they did not like what he had done, tough. It was done, and they could all go fuck themselves if it did not sit well with their precious views of what constituted duty, honor, and the rest of that Fleet bullshit. They all might be happy to sit while Rome burned, but he was not.

Still seething with anger, he spotted Chief Bienefelt making her way over to him.

"Matti."

"Lieutenant Cheung doesn't look too happy. And you don't, either."

"I'm bloody well not," he snapped.

"Hey! Don't take it out on me."

"Sorry, Matti. Anna thinks what I've done is so wrong she's never going to speak to me again." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Don't tell me the rest of them think we're a bunch of crazies."

"Well," Bienefelt said, "it's fair to say most do"-Michael's heart sank, the last of his anger fading away as he contemplated the prospect of having to face over four hundred angry Fed spacers hell-bent on hanging him from the nearest tree-"but that's not the whole story, not by a long shot."

"It's not?"

"No," Bienefelt said, shaking her head. "There are some exceptions, of course, there always are, but most of the spacers… no, no, make that almost all the spacers I've spoken to are happy to be out of 5209. Their guards didn't treat them that badly, but not well enough to make them want to stay. The way this damn war's been going, they thought they'd be there for years. They're not fools, but-"

"There always has to be a 'but,' " Michael said, dejected.

"Yes, there does, and it's this. Everything depends on how the NRA reacts. If it's positive, if the NRA can convince our people that its war is worth fighting, they'll be there."