Jay Allan - The Cost of Victory

The fleet had been decelerating, but the Leyte and some of the other heavily damaged ships had lost significant thrust capability. That left Garret two choices - reduce the deceleration rate to keep the fleet together or maintain the thrust levels, allowing the damaged ships to move out of the formation. Since they were decelerating as they approached the enemy, this would be a death sentence for the damaged ships, which would remain at higher velocities and enter weapons range ahead of the fleet. They'd be easy targets, and the enemy would pick them off one by one.

"Synchronize deceleration rate. Maximum thrust that allows the fleet to maintain formation." You're being weak, he thought. Jeopardizing the battle plan to save a few crews. He let the order stand, though.

Commander Jonelle was Garret's fleet operations officer. "Implementing now, admiral." A few seconds later. "Adjusted thrust deceleration level in ten seconds."

Garret lurched back into his chair as the ship reduced its thrust from 4.5g to 1.75g. The reduced deceleration made the crew substantially more comfortable, but it played havoc with his battle plan. "Nelson, prepare a thrust plot for maximum deceleration to implement once the enemy has passed out of energy weapon range."

Garret reviewed the damage reports and checked and rechecked his calculations. "Admiral, energy weapon range in 30 minutes." He had ordered the AI to warn him at the 30 minute mark.

"Begin charging procedure for all weapons systems. All crew are to take a stimulant injection 10 minutes before range." He paused. "Give me mine now, Nelson." He put his arm on the chair edge, wincing slightly as the needle pricked him then inhaling deeply as the fatigue drained away.

His plan was simple. First, a heavy weapons exchange as the two fleets passed each other, inflicting the maximum possible damage to the enemy battleships already damaged by the bombing run. The enemy fleet would continue decelerating as they approached the station, but they expected their first wave to have gutted it. Instead, they would run into a full missile broadside, followed by Garret's returning fleet, ready for another close-range knife fight with energy weapons. It would be a battle of annihilation.

His orders were simple. Hold the system at all costs. Garret stared grimly at the viewscreen. He intended to do just that. Gliese would remain his…or the Alliance navy would die right here.

"Good afternoon, Colonel Cain. I am Captain Peter Warren, your new political officer." The visitor was tall and thin, but there was something unsettling about him. Cain decided it was his eyes. They were small and beady, and oddly far apart from each other. His uniform was spotless and neatly-pressed, but it was a design Cain had never seen.

Erik wore gray fatigues, and they were anything but spotless or neatly-pressed. He was young to be wearing colonel's eagles, and he looked even more youthful than his 35 years. Almost two meters tall, with close-cropped brown hair and blue eyes, Cain looked busy, too busy to be concerned with perfect uniforms or to waste time with officious-looking types sent out from Earth.

"What kind of horseshit joke is this? I don't know what the hell a political officer is, but I know I don't need one." Cain's voice was derisive, and it was clear from his body language he considered the newcomer dismissed. He turned and opened his mouth to talk to his orderly, but Warren spoke before he got any words out.

"I'm afraid, Colonel, that you do need a political officer. New directive from central command. All unit commanders from battalion level up have been assigned liaison staff. Alliance Gov has issued a series of new directives designed to improve conditions and efficiency for our troops. My job is to assist you with implementation."

Cain turned and looked at Warren with eyes of icy death. "Captain, I'm going to say this one more time. I do not need any help seeing to the needs of my men, certainly not from some bureaucrat they shove into a uniform and send out here to harass me. You can tell Alliance Gov to sti…"

"Erik! The general wants to see you. Now." Major Darius Jax ran up behind Cain. Jax was at least ten centimeters taller than Erik, and his dark skin contrasted sharply with Cain's pale tone. Jax was being technically insubordinate in not addressing his superior as "colonel," but he thought it was more important to intervene quickly. Besides, the two had fought together for years and were close friends.

Cain spun around on his heels and followed Jax without even a word to the stunned officer who stood where he was, staring in disbelief. It was just as well, because if he'd gotten any more words out of Cain, they probably wouldn't have been to his liking. Erik Cain had grown up a gang member in a hellish slum after his family had run afoul of government regulations and been cast out of Manhattan and subsequently murdered. He despised everything to do with the authorities back on Earth, and he was not likely to be patient with a glorified government snitch in a uniform.

"What the hell was that all about?" Erik didn't think it was just coincidence that Jax had been looking for him at this particular moment. Before Jax could answer, Cain turned and shouted back to his orderly, who had been standing next to him when the newcomer appeared. "Anne, tell Major Cantor I'll be with him as soon as I can."

"A new directive from Earth." Jax's voice wasn't quite as corrosive as Cain's, but it was clear he didn't like it much either. "Mine looks like some sort of jacked up cop. Thinks he's hard. Probably piss his armor the first time somebody shoots in his direction." He had a sour look on his face. "We didn't get any warning about this. Not even the general. The first thing he did was send me to find you." He snorted a short laugh. "Guess he figured you were the one to most likely to do something…ah…unfortunate."

Cain laughed, but only for a second. There was nothing funny about this to him. He'd come from Earth's gutter and found a new home for himself in the Corps and on the frontier, and he wasn't about to sit idly by and watch it turn into a copy of that clusterfuck he'd left. "Would it be so unfortunate if there was one less - what the hell did he call himself - political officer running around here?"

Jax laughed. "You see, that's the thing. Everybody would think you were kidding. Except me. And the general. He figured you might just be tempted to use the guy for a live fire exercise."

"We've got a lot of new recruits. They could use the practice. You know what they say…two birds, one stone."

They walked up to a large modular building with two guards flanking the only door. The sentries snapped to attention when the two officers approached. Jax looked up at the facial recognition scanner. "Open."

"Access granted, Major Jax." The security AI's voice was male, not exactly hostile, but definitely businesslike. The plasti-steel door slid open, and Jax and Cain walked into a large room with at least ten workstations, all occupied. There was a large main screen, which currently displayed some sort of numerical statistics on one side and a map of a solar system on the other.

"Major, Colonel. The general is waiting. Please follow me." The general's orderly was an earnest young lieutenant, very low in rank to be an aide to a full general. Lieutenant Raynor had the job because his father had been Holm's friend who had been killed during the disastrous Operation Achilles. The general had been mentoring the son's career ever since.

A second generation Marine was originally a rarity, but it was becoming more common. The Corps did most of its recruiting in the slums of Earth, offering a home to a certain breed of promising misfit. But as more Marines retired and settled on the frontier worlds, the Corps started seeing sons and daughters who wanted to follow in parental footsteps and serve. This was starting to create a subtle shift in loyalties. The oddballs normally inducted into the ranks had no love for Earth, or usually for anything else, and their loyalty tended to focus on the Corps itself. But with second, and even third, generation recruits joining in increasing numbers, there were more Marines thinking of themselves as the military force of the colony worlds. It was a subtle change, but real nonetheless.