6
Arguably, the food was no better in the senior officers’ mess at Corps Headquarters than at any other mess on base, but it was served on fine china, with fancier flatware and crystal glasses. The tables had real linen tablecloths. The salt and pepper shakers were crystal. Soft music played in the background. Waiters provided table service.
“Well, what’s your opinion?” Colonel Ruiz asked Lon after they had ordered lunch and the waiter had left.
Lon shrugged. “From the material I had to inspect, sir, I see no substantial distinction in the merits of the claims by the two colonies on Aldrin. They arrived separately from Earth, both with valid charters. They have remained separate throughout the intervening five centuries. There is nothing to suggest that either is morally preferable to the other. Now they have both begun to expand their numbers to the point where they are competing for the same new territories. I see no reason why the Corps should not feel free to accept a contract from either side, if one is offered, but—you do want my personal opinion, Colonel?” When Ruiz nodded, Lon said, “I think we might best serve Aldrin by offering mediation service between the two colonies, if necessary backed up by peacekeeping troops to provide a buffer until political agreement is reached.”
“You think that mediation and peacekeeping would be the Corps’ best proposal?” Ruiz asked.
“Based on the material available to me, yes, sir.” “And if one or both sides declined that proposal?”
“Well, sir, if both sides declined, then I don’t see that the equation has changed. There is still no real difference between the two. However, if one accepted—honestly and not as some sort of transparent ploy—while the other declined, then I would suggest that we might favor the side that had accepted the offer, if they proffered a contract.”
Their lunch arrived, and the conversation was tabled until the waiter was gone and they had tasted the food.
“One more question, Nolan,” Ruiz said after dabbing at his lips with a linen napkin. “Hypothetical. Supposing that the Corps offered mediation and peacekeeping, one side accepted and the other declined, but it was the side that declined our offer that was willing and able to contract for military services?”
This time Lon hesitated before he ventured his reply. “I wouldn’t presume to offer an opinion based solely on the information I read this morning, Colonel. I think it would depend on the reasons this side advanced for declining the offer of mediation and peacekeeping, and what our own investigations of those reasons turned up.”
Colonel Ruiz was silent for a time, not paying attention to his food or really looking at Lon.
“I do know one thing, Colonel,” Lon said. “Going in on a contract. The men like to think that they’re on the side of the good guys. If they thought otherwise, I’m not certain that their performance would be quite up to the same standard.”
“I know that, Nolan. I haven’t been a desk soldier all the time. The question only arises in a case like this.”
“This is an actual situation, sir? Something pending?”
“It’s for real, Nolan.” Ruiz sounded tired. “One we’ve been butting our heads against for months. Your analysis, by the way, was excellent. The questions you raised are among the very ones that the Council of Regiments has been debating. We’ve had a team of observers there for quite some time, trying to get agreement to mediation and peacekeeping.”
“We just wait for something they see or hear to tip the balance one way or the other?” Lon asked.
Ruiz made a gesture of helplessness with his hands, then shook his head. “Let’s say that a decision would be a lot simpler if there were a lot of other contracts being offered.”
Lon had not been sworn to any special secrecy over the job Colonel Ruiz had asked him to do, nothing beyond the routine confidentiality he had been warned about his first day in Contracts. After work that Monday, Lon sought out Captain Orlis.
“That information I didn’t hear from you?” Lon said in a hushed voice. “I wouldn’t bank on it—not soon, anyway. It all looks rather iffy.”
Matt Orlis nodded. “I know. But I suspect that the Council will eventually choose to put men to work.”
“But maybe it will take long enough for Sara and me to get married first,” Lon suggested.
“Patience. It’s in the works. Just keep your pants on.”
“Well, Captain, I’m here and she’s there, so I don’t have much choice about that.”
There was an interview with Lieutenant Colonel Black over the request for permission to marry. Another interview with the Corps Personal Welfare office—that one included a questionnaire that was part psychological profile and part analysis of his ability and willingness to support a wife and family. “We need to know everything possible in order to help in the most efficient manner,” Lon was told.
Two weeks after Lon’s return from Nassau Proving Range, there still was no word on his request, or on the possible contract on Aldrin. Lon’s Monday duties were switched. He remained with his platoons, while Carl Hoper went off on some other variety of detached duties.
Each evening during the week, and several times on Saturdays and Sundays, Lon spent time on the complink with Sara. After two weeks, both were showing impatience, especially when they talked. “Daddy says there’s no way to rush the Corps,” she said several times. “That we just have to wait as best we can.”
“My captain tells me pretty much the same thing,” Lon admitted. “I think he’s tired of me nagging him about it.”
“Lon, I’ve been thinking. I could move to Dirigent City. I’ve got a bit of money saved up from my tips. Get a small apartment close to you. That would be better than going crazy waiting so far apart.”
Lon’s heart started thumping harder. “I’d love that, Sara, but—really—I think you’d better stay with your folks until we can get married. I’d worry too much about you alone here. Let’s do it right, the way we planned. Maybe it won’t be so much longer after all.”
Three days later, word finally came.
The contract, not the request for permission to marry. Twenty-four hours after that, Lon and his men were aboard the battalion transport Long Snake, heading out-system with the rest of 7th Regiment, en route to Aldrin.
“Two colonies have coexisted peacefully for centuries,” Lon told his platoons during the first briefing aboard ship. “Aldrin East and Aldrin West are among the oldest settlements planted directly from Earth that are not in either the Confederation of Human Worlds or the Second Commonwealth. They have shared the only continent that has what they consider to be acceptable climate and conditions. Apart from their reluctance to deal with each other, they have been physically separated by a mountain chain that runs from northeast to southwest.” Lon had charts of the world projected on a wall monitor so the men could see what he was talking about. “Both colonies have grown considerably and are feeling population pressures that have forced them to expand into areas they consider less than ideal. The area where the conflict between them came to a head is here, south of this peninsula.” He pointed to an area that lay nearly on the planet’s equator. “Another tropical paradise?” Phip Steesen asked.
“I don’t know where we’re going in,” Lon said. “There has been, according to the last reports, some minor skirmishing there, but our client, Aldrin West, is far more concerned over what they see as an attempt to invade their core regions to the north, well into the temperate zone.”
He paused. “We’ve had people on Aldrin for nearly a year, trying to get the two sides to agree to employ the DMC for mediation and peacekeeping. As long as there was no fighting, the Council of Regiments declined to accept a contract to help impose the will of one colony on the other. It was only when Aldrin East sent settlers and troops across the continental divide into this large tropical plain on what traditionally had been Aldrin West’s side of the continent that we started to gear up for this contract. When word came that Aldrin East was also sending troops across the mountains here”—he pointed out the area on the map—“we got our orders. We know a lot about the top people in each colony, and have better than average data on the size of the armies each side can field. Not perfect, but better than we have most times.
“Both colonies have long maintained standing armies. Both have increased the size of those armies over the past several years to meet the threat each saw from the other. Each has its own munitions industry and a well-developed economy. East can field credible opposition, and that includes a sizable air fleet, which is why we’re taking a full fighter squadron to support our effort. We’re talking about national armies here, but the level of professionalism appears to be high on both sides.
“The mission we have contracted for is to repulse the invasion of West’s heartland, and to evict the soldiers East has sent into the area under dispute in the south. We will not attempt to force relocation of civilians there but will prevent any new Easterners from moving in. We are to do what we can to minimize antagonizing the civilian Easterners. The Council of Regiments still hopes to turn this contract into one of mediation and peacekeeping once we’re on the ground.”
“I know one way we could make peace between them,” Platoon Sergeant Jorgen said when Lon asked for comments and questions. “But I sure hope that’s not what the Council has in mind.”
“What’s that?” Lon asked.
“Make both sides so mad at us that they’ll kiss and make up and all turn against us.” That brought uneasy laughs from some of the men, openly worried looks from others.
“They won’t do that unless they get full payment for the contract in advance,” Phip said, but his quip sounded nervous.
“Nothing has been said about anything like that,” Lon said. “We go in and do our job. The contract team will continue to try to persuade both sides to agree to mediation, with 7th Regiment available to make certain there are no additional incidents. And 12th Regiment has been alerted to possibly reinforce us, in either role. If conditions deteriorate before we arrive, 12th might already be on the way when we land. The contract officers have authority to request that on their own.”
“How long a contract is this?” Tebba Girana asked.
“The maximum duration under the initial contract is six months,” Lon said. “If necessary, under conditions spelled out in detail in the contract. That means that if we get the war won faster, we get paid off and head for home sooner. If we do turn this into a peacekeeping effort, the time could be longer. But, as I understand the way the Corps works these things, we’re not likely to stay longer than six months. If it goes beyond that, 7th would probably be rotated back to Dirigent and another regiment brought in to replace us.” I sure hope it doesn’t run that long, he thought. This is one time I’d like to be in and out as fast as possible. I wouldn’t even complain if we got there and turned right around to go home without even landing.
The voyage to Aldrin seemed interminable to Lon, as if there were weeks between Q-space transits instead of three days. Lon studied the database on Aldrin until he had large sections of it virtually memorized. He scanned the maps, concentrating on the area where the invading army was supposed to be headed, and on the area in dispute to the south. He studied photographs and video, and read Aldrinian news accounts that the contract officers had relayed to Dirigent. He played the game of planning the campaign for himself, decided how he would use the regiment to fulfill the contract in the fastest, most economical manner. And, every day, he wrote long letters to Sara, knowing it might be weeks before he would get a chance to send any of them. When he could think of nothing else to write, he added long accounts of his memories of Earth—knowing they would interest Sara. He spent an hour or two working out in the gym every day, pushing himself, as always.
Most nights he slept only with the aid of a sleep patch. He took that step on his own, knowing that Captain Orlis would order it if he saw any sign that Lon was not getting a decent amount of sleep. I’ve learned some of my lessons, Lon told himself one night just after he put the patch on his neck. No one has to tell me to keep myself in order now. I can do what I have to do. He was asleep almost before he finished the thought.
“We won’t be going in hot,” Lieutenant Colonel Black told his officers. The staff meeting had been called six hours after the Dirigenter fleet came out of its final Q-space transit in Aldrin’s system. The ships were on course, two and a half days out. “That’s the word as of this minute, subject, of course, to change, but the intelligence looks good. The invading army is still in the mountains, moving rather slowly on the ground. They’ve been forced to leave behind most of their ground transport and move on foot. Apparently Aldrin East didn’t feel confident enough of air superiority to try to move its troops across the mountains by air, even though they have the shuttles to do it, and fighter aircraft to cover them.” He shrugged. “We are not privy to the reasoning behind the decision. Our representatives are no longer welcome in East, nor have they been able to continue talking with East’s leaders even by complink.” He coughed lightly, an affected gesture. “That might have something to do with the fact that we’re on our way in. It seems that West broadcast the news, with a ‘get out while you can’ type of, ah, suggestion. There is no indication that news of our approach has scared East into abandoning their efforts.” He paused. “I guess it was worth a try, but it does mean that we have no element of surprise going for us, which makes it that much better that we’re going into a safe zone, to be moved into position later, if our mere presence on the ground doesn’t scare East into turning around.” He smiled. “That does appear unlikely. It would be nice, though. Remember, until we’re told different, we would prefer to avoid a major fight. We hope to make both sides see that it would be far better to find a peaceful solution to their differences.” That was being emphasized, on every level, at every possibility. “That means that, subject to the requirements of security, we treat the civilians of East with kid gloves and do not go, ah, overboard even against armed combatants. We protect ourselves. We do the job, but with such restraint as is militarily feasible.”
Several rows back, Lon frowned, his head bent forward. He had studied military history during his time at The Springs, the North American Military Academy on Earth. The idea of limiting efforts against an armed enemy brought images of disaster to mind.
“Nolan?”
Lon was surprised to hear Colonel Black call his name. He looked up. “Sir?”
“You look as if you’ve just bitten into a rotten gavvie.”
“Sorry, sir. What you said brought something back to me. Military history, sir. Iraq. Vietnam. Korea. Restrained warfare.”
Black nodded. “I know the references, Nolan.” He looked around the room. “For any of you who might not know what Lieutenant Nolan is talking about, I suggest you log on to the database and check them out. He is referring to three wars that took place on Earth in”—he looked at Lon as if for some confirmation—“the twentieth or early twenty-first century.”
“Second half of the twentieth, sir,” Lon said.
“Yes,” Black said, nodding. “The point I want to make here is that the limitations on one side in each of those wars were imposed by civilian political leaders, not by military commanders on the scene. In this case, any limitations will be designed and overseen by Colonel Flowers on the advice of his CIC”—Combat Intelligence Center—“and the battalion commanders. We are not going to allow our men to be placed in unnecessary jeopardy to satisfy the whims of civilian politicians. We will use such restraint as possible without those complications. We place the safety of our people first.” He focused on Lon then. “I trust that satisfies your concerns, Nolan?”
“Completely, sir,” Lon said—not too much of an exaggeration. Nothing, short of leaving Aldrin to its own devices could do it completely.
Intelligence on conditions on Aldrin came in almost hourly as the DMC fleet approached. Some came from the government of Aldrin West. More (and more reliable) information came from the Dirigenters who had been on the world to secure the contract. Lon logged on several times each day to keep track of the latest changes, and passed on some of that information to his platoon sergeants and squad leaders.
“We get down there, I want to make sure we’re as prepared as we can be,” he told Girana and Jorgen. “This could be a touchy contract. We don’t want mistakes that might complicate matters.”
“I’ve got no argument with that, Lieutenant,” Girana said. “I looked up those wars on Earth you told us about.” Lon had mentioned them to his platoon sergeants after bringing them up at the officers’ briefing. “Scary, the things that happened because the civilians were tying the army’s hands.”
“Well, Colonel Black promised that we won’t have anything like that, Tebba. But we don’t want to screw things up on our own, either.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Lon nodded. “We all will.” And hope it’s enough.