John Ringo - Hell's Faire

Mike leaned against the rock looking out at the valley that had once been his home. He had seen the refugees and recon troopers extracted from the hole they had been huddling in and then turned his back and left. That hole had been designed for the express purpose of keeping his daughter alive. And when she needed it, she hadn’t been there.

“Colonel O’Neal,” the general said, touching his arm. “We’re about to lift. We’re needed in Europe.”

“Yes, sir,” Mike replied, turning and holding out his hand. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

“You had the situation well in hand, as always.” The suit turned and looked down across the valley and hills. In every direction there was nothing but an orange nothingness; the very soil had been stripped from the rocks. “I… heard about your choice.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice was cold and distant.

“It was… the right choice, Colonel. I… don’t know that I could have made it, but it was the right choice.”

“It would have been the right choice. But the timing… the Posleen couldn’t have forced their way through to the Cumberland.” Mike stopped. “They couldn’t have from the beginning . Not with you on the way. You would have arrived before then.”

“But to Asheville?” the general asked quietly. “Four million civilians, Colonel. To overrun the SheVa? To wipe out another division of troops? Or two or four or five? And you could not know. It was clear that everything that was known to the Earth forces was known to the Posleen. I don’t know what they would have done if they had known. Perhaps there was nothing they could do. But this one, Tulo’stenaloor, he was too smart. Who knows what he might have done?”

“True,” Mike sighed. “But… oh, God…” He slumped down to the ground and curled into a ball. “My daughter !”

The general looked at him for a moment and then sighed. “I think… Europe will wait. At least for me.”

He reached down and lifted the suit to its feet, taking the colonel by his shoulder and turning him towards the waiting shuttle. “I think, you and I, we will go get very drunk. And cry for the death of a world.”

“This is absolutely unacceptable!” the Tir shouted then stopped, panting.

I wonder if I could drive him into lintatai? Monsignor O’Reilly thought. No, no reason to change the plan.

“How is it unacceptable, my good Tir?” the Jesuit said aloud. “Surely this is a day of rejoicing.” In fact, through the doors to the conference room much rejoicing could clearly be heard; O’Reilly thought he was probably the only person in the entire complex who was actually working. On the other hand, while getting the Posleen off their backs was a good thing, to the Bane Sidhe it was just one step in a more complex war.

“Those forces were not to leave Irmansul uncovered!” the Tir said, firmly but back in control. “There will be… consequences.”

“A Fleet issue, I would think,” O’Reilly said. “As has been reiterated many times before, the Fleet does not belong to the United States, or even Earth, but to the Federation. Any… irregularities in unit dispositions is surely a Federation… irregularity.” The monsignor smiled thinly then made a complicated hand gesture. “I would consider taking it up with your pet admirals, Tir. The United States government has all it can do to handle the sudden cessation of hostilities.”

“So you say,” the Tir hissed. “A Fleet matter. Obviously the Fleet needs to be brought to heel.”

O’Reilly smiled darkly and shook his head. These Darhel were so easy. What the hell had taken the Bane Sidhe this long to trip them up? “That is, surely, your prerogative, Tir. But for now, there’s a victory celebration and I’m missing it.”

With that the Jesuit rapped on the table with his knuckles, stood up and went out to find a bottle of Bushmills. Surely the Father Church would permit him one night of celebration.

And tomorrow it would be back to the wars.

Of course, some people hadn’t stopped.

Tulo’stenaloor blazed a trail through deep woods, showing his oolt’os how to hack open a path. He didn’t know why he bothered; the humans had taken control of the orbitals. Any ship that attempted to lift out was being destroyed. All that he could do was run and hide like an abat. It was humiliating.

He snarled as the oolt’os in the lead stopped, then reached for his rifle. Ahead in a clearing there was a single Indowy standing alone.

“Stop,” Tulo’stenaloor said, waving at the oolt’os to lower their weapons. The green ones were never a threat. But what one was doing here, at this time, was an interesting question.

He stepped forward and gestured at the little being, but the Indowy just waved.

“You are Tulo’stenaloor First order Battle Master of the Sten Po’oslena’ar?” the Indowy asked in Posleen.

“I am,” Tulo’stenaloor replied, looking around. Suddenly the bushes in every direction spouted armed humans. They did nothing, though, just waited, their weapons bracketing his bodyguards. He waved at the oolt’os to lower their weapons. “Who are you?”

“I am the Indowy Aelool,” the little one said with a broad and toothy, and very feral, smile. “And I would like to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“So what do we do now?” Elgars asked the placement officer.

The officer was short, overweight, balding and apparently harassed. And clearly in no mood for handling troops that had misplaced their units.

“For right now I’ll assign you a BOQ room,” the officer said. “And I’ll put the two NCOs in the NCO’s quarters. Then I’ll send a memo up to DA asking them what in the hell to do with you. Until we find out, just stick around the area.” He handed each of them a slip of paper and waved at the door.

“This seems… I dunno,” Elgars said as they walked down the corridor. The Asheville Corps headquarters seemed to have completely lost its head. With the return of the Fleet, half the soldiers expected to be out-processed immediately and all the little routines were gone. Suddenly, no one knew what the future would hold. In a way, it was better facing the Posleen.

“Abrupt,” Mosovich said, holding the door open for her in a gesture that was chivalrous rather than rank based. “When you work odd jobs you get used to it. Every now and again you get a heap of thanks; usually you just get ignored. The difficulty of the mission or how well you did it rarely seems to have anything to do with the outcome.”

“What now, boss?” Mueller said.

“Well, if the captain can be seen slumming with a couple of enlisted pukes, I suggest we find a bar and get really drunk,” the sergeant major replied.

“Good idea,” Elgars said, looking towards the gates of the compound. “Follow me!”

Mueller chuckled as they headed out, the two males having to work to match her stride. “You seem to be… more whole these days.”

“I feel whole,” Elgars replied with a smile. “I haven’t had a personality pop up in a few days, everything feels… integrated. As if, for the first time since I awoke, I’m myself .”

“And do you know who you are?” Mosovich asked carefully.

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Anne Elgars,” she said in a definite tone. “Just Anne.”

“Must come as a surprise in the morning, huh?” Mueller said with a laugh.

Mosovich shook his head and looked at the woman for a moment. Then sighed as if for the death of a friend.

“Yep, time for us to get stinkin’ drunk, ma’am.”