John Ringo - Cally's War

“General, you’ve been ordered here in connection with a highly sensitive counterintelligence assignment. Before I go any further, let’s get this out of the way. The information I am about to relate to you is Top Secret Codename Hartford. You will not discuss any of this information with anyone not specifically on the list of persons cleared for Hartford; you are not authorized to add persons to the list of persons cleared for Hartford. The codename ‘Hartford’ is itself classified and you are not authorized to mention Hartford to anyone not on the list cleared for this operation. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir,” he said gravely, straightening his already perfect posture.

“We have recently become aware, and acquired conclusive proof, that an organization hostile to both the Federation and Fleet Strike exists that has demonstrated both the will and ability to place agents within Fleet Strike at a fairly high level and have those agents operate undetected for extended periods of time. That is practically the sum total of the information we have about that organization, and we wouldn’t have that without a combination of a security failure on their part and a piece of good luck and good thinking on the spot.”

“Sir, that sounds…”

“Preposterous, impossible, outrageous — yes, I know. All of those. We’ve hesitated to speculate, out of concern for getting locked into preconceptions, but we’ve prepared a list of known groups or ideologies with hostility towards the Galactic Federation, or the nonhuman races, or Fleet Strike itself. They range from elements of the government of the United States to the humanist movement to Families for Christ.”

“Families for Christ?” Beed asked disbelievingly.

“They apparently strongly disapprove of the number of marriages that have broken up after only the husband was rejuvenated. They allege a successful Satanic conspiracy to destroy the American family. And, of course, there is some cross pollination between their group and the humanists.”

“With the U.S. government I presume you’re thinking of the Constitutionalist Caucus of the Republican Party?”

“Every group has its lunatic fringe. They’re still very unhappy that the original contracts with the Galactics for construction of the Sub-Urbs forbid any change to internal rules that make them weapons free zones for civilian personnel.” Vanderberg shrugged, “As I said, this part is only speculation. Our actual knowledge is appallingly scant. Your mission relates to an operational plan we have developed for remedying this problem.”

Vanderberg stood and began to pace.

“You will shortly be assuming command of the Third MP Brigade, headquartered on Titan Base. Most of the brigade is forward deployed, under able subordinates. Your XO, Colonel Tartaglia, is competent enough that, absent the rejuv bottleneck created by us oldsters, he’d have been promoted long ago. Your headquarters office is in close proximity to CID, which will give you a conceptually familiar environment and ample time and energy to devote to this mission. Because you’re going to need one person you can absolutely trust, I’m going to be sending my own aide with you as your new aide de camp. He’s fully cleared for Hartford material, and I’m sure you’ll find his services as helpful as I have.”

“Forgive me a minute, General, but did you say Titan Base? While it’s a prime command, I’m rather bewildered about why we’d select it for a counterintelligence operation.”

“Physical security is significantly greater on Titan. For various reasons we don’t believe the enemy organization, whatever it is, will be as strong there. After the first phase succeeds, we don’t want to take any chances on an extraction. But let’s go ahead and get your new aide in here.” He scratched his chin briefly.

“Jenny,” he addressed his AID, “send in Lieutenant Pryce.”

“Certainly, Peter,” the cool soprano voice answered.

While he did not like having his aide de camp chosen for him without any input on his part, his first impression of the slight, dark haired young man was favorable. Understandably nervous in the presence of highly ranked superiors, the lieutenant was obviously uncomfortable that the tray of coffee he was carrying prevented him from rendering the requisite salute. The general had just had time to reflect that the young man’s gray silks were, appropriately, immaculate, when the first impression took an abrupt turn for the worse as that idiot Pryce tripped over his own feet and dumped the entire tray of hot coffee and accessories thereto into his lap.

“Holy fuck!” Beed jumped to his feet, face beet red in pain, rage, and shock as the hapless junior officer brushed ineffectually at Beed’s now soaked and stained silks with the small paper napkins that had been on the tray with the coffee. It probably would have been better had the napkins not already been soaked with the spilled coffee, themselves. As it was, he restrained himself from giving this utter moron the dressing down he deserved, barely, with the knowledge that such a display would not look good in front of the more highly ranked general, and worse, his infernal AID. Damned things recorded everything, including understandable but embarrassing moments best forgotten. While embarrassing, the present situation was definitely not understandable, but the junior officer’s dressing down would properly be done privately by his own current CO.

“Jenny, could you send Corporal Johnston in with some paper towels?” The major general did not appear fazed by his aide’s social faux pas. “Pryce, why don’t you get the general a fresh cup of coffee.”

“Uh, no! I mean, that’s quite all right. I’m fine.”

“Actually, we’re about done with the face-to-face material here, anyway. I’m sure you want to change into a fresh uniform as soon as possible, so why don’t I just send Pryce here around with a printout of the background and briefing materials on your new command. I know you prefer hardcopy.” Vanderberg stood and offered his hand and there wasn’t much Beed could do other than shake it, even though he was less than thrilled with his new CO. “Welcome aboard.”

“Glad to be here, sir. Appreciate the opportunity.”

After the still dripping brigadier general had gone, Vanderberg turned to the hapless lieutenant and broke into a grin, “Lieutenant’s bars become you, General Stewart. Especially with that peach fuzz face of yours.”

“Hey, can I help it if I’m still a fairly fresh juv? So why were you so insistent that I drop hot coffee on the prat?” General James Stewart poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the tray Corporal Johnston had brought in immediately after Beed left.

“I didn’t tell you why I hate his guts?” He pulled open his side desk drawer and removed an unlabeled metal flask, unscrewing the cap and pouring a generous dollop into his own mug, raising an eyebrow at the younger man.

“No, General, I took it on faith that you had a very good reason.” He extended his cup and stirred in what smelled like, and was, very decent scotch.

“You met Benson. She used to work for me in logistics before she took leave to raise a family.” Vanderberg leaned back against the edge of his desk, taking an appreciative sip from his mug.

“Brunette, about up to here?” Stewart’s hand indicated a point roughly even with his chin.

“That’s the one. She used to work for Beed. Had one of the worst OER’s from him I’ve ever seen. Derailed a promising career. Benson was, by the way, excellent in logistics, and a fine young officer, in my estimation.”

“You’re saying she didn’t earn the lousy OER.”

“I’m saying the son of a bitch fucked her because she wouldn’t fuck him. But she couldn’t prove it. No wonder the bastard won’t have an AID anywhere in his vicinity. Not to mention that there have been several incidents where his fellows from the Hudson School for Boys have just barely saved his ass.”