Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

"I guess that answers the question," Ferreira said quietly. "So why haven't you told the brass? If you came clean, maybe they'd let you turn yourself over… if that's what you want."

"Hell, yes. It's exactly what I want, but there's no point even asking. My security clearance is way too high. I know too much. I'd never get approval."

"Thought so," Ferreira said with a frown. "What about neurowiping?"

"Not an option. Apart from my neuronics, everything of value to the Hammers is in long-term memory, so I'd need a full neurowipe, which nobody in the Federated Worlds will give me. The law's clear: Without a court order following a conviction for a criminal offense, full neurowiping is illegal."

Michael paused to rub eyes gritty with accumulated stress. "Chicken and egg. I need to get off the Worlds to find someone to neurowipe me so I'm no longer a security risk, but I can't get off the Worlds because I'm a security risk." He laughed, a short, bitter sound devoid of any humor. "Anyway, turning yourself over to the enemy in time of war is desertion. I don't think the admirals will be too keen to agree with that. No, I'm screwed, Jayla, and because of me, Anna's dead. The only woman I've ever loved, and she's going to die because of me."

"Not sure that's true, sir," Ferreira said. "There may be another way."

"Another way?" Hope flared in Michael's eyes for an instant, and just as quickly it died. "No, Jayla, there's no other way. If I'm not at the Hammer embassy on Scobie's by October 1, Anna's dead. The problem is I cannot see how, and believe me when I say that not a minute goes by without me trying to find a way."

"Rescue?"

"Fleet will never go for it even though we know where the Hammers are keeping Anna."

"You know that?"

Michael nodded. "I do. Anna's one smart woman. She encoded the information in her monthly vidmail. The survivors from Damishqui are in Camp J-5209, southeast of the Hammer capital, McNair, along with the crews of the rest of the task group destroyed in the Salvation operation. What's left of them, that is. Know how many made it to the lifepods, Jayla?"

"No, sir."

"Bit over four hundred spacers and marines. That's all that's left from eleven front-line ships thrown away in a pointless operation."

"That was a bad business," Ferreira said. "My sister's husband lost a cousin. He was an engineer on Unukalhai. Poor bastards never had a chance."

"No, they didn't, Jayla, but that's the price we pay for not standing up to our politicians. Anyway, we digress. Knowing where Anna is doesn't help us much. Breaking her out of the camp is feasible, but getting her and the rescue force off-planet is not. It's impossible. Anyway, it's all academic. Fleet will never buy it, not with the pressure on them at the moment. They don't have the ships to spare. Even if they had, why would they? In the end, Anna's only another spacer. They wouldn't care what happened to her. To be fair, they can't."

"Umm," Ferreira said, eyes half-closed, finger to lips tapping out her concentration. "Umm… let me see… yes, based on what you've told me, the only option is a one-way rescue mission."

"One-way?" Michael demanded. "What do you mean, one-way?"

"The rescuers don't try to get off-planet. You are dead right. A rescue operation might be able to get past the Hammers' orbital defenses; it would never get back into space. Never. So they break Anna and everyone else out of J-5209 and head for the hills. The latest intelligence summaries say the Hammers' disloyal opposition-the New Revolutionary Army and their political wing, the Nationalist Party-is beginning to have some success. I'm sure they'd be happy to look after the rescue force."

"I'm sure they would, Jayla," Michael said. "They looked after me when I was on the run after Ishaq was destroyed. The NRA's not the problem. The problem is how long the rescue force has to stay dirtside. Who knows how long this damn war will drag on? We're stalemated, and that looks like how it's going to stay. Fleet's saying what, five more years? So who'd want to be trapped on Commitment with a bunch of raggedy-assed guerrillas for that long? Maybe even longer-who would know? I've been there once, and that was enough, I can tell you. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone."

"Tell you what, sir. Leave it to me. There are things I need to do. Can we pick this up later?"

"We can, Jayla, we can. Anything I need to do?" Michael asked, all too aware that he had in effect dumped command of Redwood and the rest of the Nyleth squadron onto Ferreira's shoulders for the moment.

"No, sir," she said with a broad grin. "All under control. Redwood's sweet, the troops aren't bitching any more than usual, the Hammer guests are quiet, and the marines are happy doing whatever the hell it is marines do when there's bugger all to do."

Michael laughed. Ferreira's smile was infectious; knowing he was able to rely on her lifted his spirits. Sharing the burden of Colonel Hartspring's horrific message lifted them even further even if, deep down inside, a tiny, stubborn kernel of despair reminded him that there was nothing Ferreira could do to help him out of the Hammers' trap.

"I'm pleased to hear it," Michael said. "Now, enough of this lying around stuff. I'm declaring myself fit-no, don't argue with me-so once I'm showered and changed, I'll walk through the ship and then I'll be in the CIC if you need me."

"Sir."

Watching her leave, Michael realized he had gotten something wrong. Even if there was something Ferreira could do to help him out of the Hammers' trap, he could not allow it. The problem was his and his alone, and that was the way it had to stay. He either found a way to turn himself into Colonel Hartspring or he didn't.

But even though deep down he knew it would make no difference in the end, it still felt good to know that there was at least one person who understood the pain he was going through; the relief he had felt unburdening himself had been powerful and immediate.

With the gnawing fear of what might happen to Anna buried for the moment, Michael felt better than he had for long time despite the fact that telling Ferreira about Anna had changed nothing. He set off to walk through Redwood even though his left leg had been painful all day. Walk! He smiled in spite of himself. The best he could manage was the awkward, stiff-legged limp he so hated, worried that people might think he was making more of the injury than it deserved.

He did not have to do the walk-around. Mother-the ship's primary AI, the AI that kept Redwood's legion of AIs in line-kept him abreast of everything, but if he had learned anything during his time in the fleet, it was that a briefing from an AI was no substitute for seeing at first hand what was going on. He needed to; he had let his crew down badly. He-and they-had been lucky the Balawal-34 operation had not gone wrong.

Stepping into a drop tube, Michael made his way down to Redwood's main hangar, a huge compartment once home to the cruiser's air group. The cavernous space held the ship's two landers: the massive bulk of Alley Kat and its much smaller cousin, a light ground-attack lander nicknamed Widowmaker. Michael approved of the name; he hoped that one day the lander would send its fair share of Hammers to meet their precious god, Kraa. Beyond them sat the temporary accommodation modules housing Redwood's marine detachment. Michael smiled when he saw what Kallewi and his marines were up to.

Crash mats had been spread across the hangar deck. On them Redwood's entire complement of marines, an overstrength platoon totaling fifty, was involved in what looked like a minor riot, bodies diving and tumbling every which way while Kallewi and his platoon NCO, Sergeant Tchiang, barked orders and insults in equal mea sure. Spotting Michael, Kallewi called a halt, marines collapsing exhausted to the deck. Michael made his way over.