I was deep in the well again, and it was dark, and I was afraid. They reached down into it after me, trying to pull me up, and I wanted to come. I knew I'd been in there a long time, and I wanted out, because I could hear Kathryn calling for me. I reached for her hand, but I couldn't find it. I remember shouting, but I don't know what I said. The nightmare went on for a long time.
Then it was daytime. The light was orange-red, very bright, and the walls were splashed with the orange light. I tried to move my head.
"Doc!" someone shouted. His voice was very loud.
"Hal?"
"I can't see you," I said. "Where are you, Kathryn? Where are you?"
"I'm here, Hal. I'll always be here."
And then it was dark again, but it wasn't so lonely in there.
I woke up several times after that. I couldn't talk much, and when I did I don't suppose I made much sense, but finally things were clear. I was in the hospital in Garrison, and I'd been there for weeks. I wasn't sure just how long. Nobody would tell me anything, and they talked in hushed tones so that I was sure I was dying, but I didn't.
"What the hell's wrong with me?" I demanded.
"Just take it easy, young fellow." He had a white coat, thick glasses, and a brown beard with white hairs in it.
"Who the hell are you?"
"That's Dr. Cechi," Kathryn told me.
"Well, why won't he tell me what's wrong with me?"
"He doesn't want to worry you."
"Worry me? Do you think not knowing gives peace of mind? Tell me."
"All right," Cechi said. "Nothing permanent. Understand that first. Nothing permanent, although it's going to take a while to fix you up. We almost lost you a couple of times, you know. Multiple perforations of the gut, two broken vertebrae, compound fracture of the left femur, and assorted scrapes, punctures, bruises, abrasions, and contusions. Not to mention almost complete exsanguination when they brought you in. It's nothing we can't fix, but you're going to be here a while, Captain." He was holding my arm, and I felt pressure there, a hypo-spray. "You just go to sleep and we'll tell you the rest tomorrow."
"But—" Whatever I was going to say never got out. I sank back, but it wasn't into the well. It was just sleep, and I could tell the difference.
The next time I awoke, Falkenberg was there. He grinned at me.
I grinned back. "Hi, Captain."
"Major. You're the captain."
"Uh? Run that past—"
"Just brevet promotions, but Harrington thinks they'll stick."
"We must have won."
"Oh, yeah." He sat where I could see him. His eyes looked pale blue in that light. "Lieutenant Ardwain took the Rockpile, but he said it was all your doing."
"Lieutenant Ardwain. Lot of promotions out of this," I said.
"Some. The Association no longer exists as an organized military force. Your girl's friends are in control. Wan Loo is the acting president, or supervisor, or whatever they call him. Governor Swale's not too happy about it, but officially he has to be. He didn't like endorsing Harrington's report, either, but he had no choice."
"But he's a lousy traitor. Why's he still governor?"
"Act your age, Captain." There wasn't any humor in Falkenberg's voice now. "We have no proof. I know the story, if you'd like to hear it. In fact, you'd better. You're popular enough with the Fleet, but there'll be elements of the Grand Senate that'll hate your guts."
"Tell me."
"Swale has always been part of the Bronson faction," Falkenberg said. "The Bronson family is big in Dover Mineral Development Inc. Seems there's more to this place than either American Express or Kennicott ever knew. Dover found out and tried to buy mineral rights. The holy Joes wouldn't sell—especially the farmers like Wan Loo and Seeton. They don't want industrial development here, and it was obvious to Swale that they wouldn't sell any mining rights to Dover. Swale's policy has been to help groups like the Association in return for their signatures on mining rights contracts. If enough of those outfits are recognized as legitimate local governments, there won't be any trouble over the contracts. You can probably figure out the rest."
"Maybe it's my head," I told him, "but I can't. What the devil did he let us into the valley for, then? Why did he go down there at all?"
"Just because they signed over some mining rights didn't make them his slaves. They were trying to jack up the grain prices. If the Harmony merchants complained loud enough, Swale wouldn't be governor here, and what use would he be to Dover then? He had to put some pressure on them—enough to make them sell, not so much that they'd be thrown out."
"Only we threw them out," I said.
"Only we threw them out. This time. Don't imagine that it's over."
"It has to be over," I said. "He couldn't pull that again."
"Probably he won't. Bronson hasn't much use for failures. I expect Governor Swale will shortly be on his way to a post as First Secretary on a mining asteroid. There'll be another governor, and if he's not a Bronson client, he'll be someone else's. I'm not supposed to depress you. You've got a decision to make. I've been assigned to a regular Line Regiment as adjutant. The 42nd. It's on Kennicott. Tough duty. Probably a lot of fighting, good opportunities, regular troops. I've got room on the staff. Want to come along? They tell me you'll be fit to move by the time the next ship gets here."
"I'll think about it."
"Do that. You've got a good career ahead of you. Now you're the youngest captain in the Fleet. Couldn't swing the Military Star, but you'll get another medal."
"I'll think about it. I have to talk with Kathryn—"
He shrugged. "Certainly, Captain." He grinned and went out.
Captain. Captains may marry, Majors should marry, Colonels must marry—
But that was soldier talk, and I wasn't sure I was a soldier. Strange, I thought. Everyone says I am. I've done well, and I have a great career, and it all seems like a fit of madness. Corporal Brady won't be playing his trumpet any longer because of me. Dangier, wounded but alive, until he volunteered to be an artillery spotter. And all the others, Levine and Lieberman and recruit—no, Private—Dietz, and the rest, dead and blended together in my memory until I can't remember where they died or what for, only that I killed them.
But we won. It was a glorious victory. That was enough for Falkenberg. He had done his job and done it well. Was it enough for me? Would it be in the future?
When I was up and around, I couldn't avoid meeting Governor Swale. Irina was nursing Louis Bonneyman. Louis was worse off than I was. Sometimes they can grow you a new leg, but it takes time, and it's painful. Irina saw him every day, and when I could leave the hospital she insisted that I come to the palace. It was inevitable that I would meet the Governor.
"I hope you're proud of yourself," Swale said. "Everyone else is."
"Hugo, that's not fair," Irina protested.
"Not fair?" Swale said. "How isn't it fair?"
"I did the job I was paid to do, sir," I said.
"Yes. You did, indeed—and thereby made it impossible for me to do mine. Sit down, Captain Slater. Your Major Falkenberg has told you plenty of stories about me. Now let me tell you my side of it."
"There's no need, Governor," I said.
"No, there isn't. Are you afraid to find out just what you've done?"
"No. I've helped throw out a gang of convicts who pretended to be a government. And I'm proud enough of that."
"Are you? Have you been to the Allan Valley lately, Captain? Of course you haven't. And I doubt Kathryn Malcolm has told you what's happening there—how Wan Loo and Harry Seeton and a religious fanatic named Brother Dornan have established commissions of deacons to inquire into the morals and loyalties of everyone in the valley; how anyone they find deficient is turned off the land to make room for their own people. No, I don't suppose she told you any of that."
"I don't believe you."
"Don't you? Ask Miss Malcolm. Or would you believe Irina? She knows it's true."
I looked to Irina. The pain in her eyes was enough. She didn't have to speak.
"I was governor of the whole planet, Slater. Not just Harmony, not just the Jordan and Allan valleys, but all of the planet. Only they gave me responsibilities and no authority, and no means to govern. What am I supposed to do with the convicts, Slater? They ship them here by the thousands, but they give me nothing to feed them with. You've seen them. How are they supposed to live?"
"They can work—"
"At what? As farmhands on ranches of five hundred hectares? The best land on the planet, doled out as huge ranches with half the land not worked because there's no fertilizer, no irrigation, not even decent drainage systems. They sure as hell can't work in our nonexistent industries. Don't you see that Arrarat must industrialize? It doesn't matter what Allan Valley farmers want, or what the other holy Joes want. It's industrialize or face famine, and, by God, there'll be no famines while I can do something about them."
"So you were willing to sell out the 501st. Help the Association defeat us. An honorable way to achieve an honorable end."
"As honorable as yours. Yours is to kill and destroy. War is honorable, but deceit isn't. I prefer my way, Captain."
"I expect you do."
Swale nodded vigorously, to himself, not to me. "Smug. Proud and smug. Tell me, Captain, just how are you better than the Protective Association? They fought. Not for the honor of the corps, but for their land, their families, for friends. They lost. You had better men, better officers, better training. A lot better equipment. If you'd lost, you'd have been returned to Garrison under terms. The Association troops were shot out of hand. All of them. Be proud, Slater. But you make me sick. I'll leave you now. I don't care to argue with my daughter's guests."
"That's true also, isn't it?" I asked Irina. "They shot all the Association troops?"
"Not all," Irina said. "The ones that surrendered to Captain Falkenberg are still alive. He even recruited some of them."
He would. The battalion would need men after those battles. "What's happened to the rest?"
"They're under guard at Beersheba. It was after your Marines left the valley that the real slaughter began."
"Sure. People who wouldn't turn out to fight for their homes when we needed their help got real patriotic after it was over," I said. "I'm going back to my quarters, Irina. Thank you for having me over."
"But Kathryn is coming. She'll be here—"
"I don't want to see anyone just now. Excuse me." I left quickly and wandered through the streets of Harmony. People nodded and smiled as I passed. The Marines were still popular. Of course. We'd opened the trade route up the Jordan, and we'd cleared out the Allan Valley. Grain was cheap, and we'd held the convicts at bay. Why shouldn't the people love us?
Tattoo sounded as I entered the fort. The trumpets and drums sounded through the night, martial and complex and the notes were sweet. Sentries saluted as I passed. Life here was orderly and there was no need to think.
Hartz had left a full bottle of brandy where I could find it. It was his theory that the reason I wasn't healing fast was that I didn't drink enough. The surgeons didn't share his opinion. They were chopping away at me, then using the regeneration stimulators to make me grow better parts. It was a painful process, and they didn't think liquor helped it much.
To hell with them, I thought, and poured a double. I hadn't finished it when Kathryn came in.
"Irina said—Hal, you shouldn't be drinking."
"I doubt that Irina said that."
"You know—what's the matter with you, Hal?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
"I was going to. Later. But there never was a right time."
"And it's all true? Your friends are driving the families of everyone who cooperated with the Association out into the hills? And they've shot all the prisoners?"
"It's—yes. It's true."
"Why didn't you stop them?"
"Should I have wanted to?" She looked at the scars on her hands. "Should I?"
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," I said.
It was Falkenberg. "Thought you were alone," he said.
"Come in. I'm confused."
"I expect you are. Got any more of that brandy?"
"Sure. What did you mean by that?"
"I understand you've just learned what's happening out in the Allan Valley."
"Crapdoodle! Has Irina been talking to everyone in Garrison? I don't need a convention of people to cheer me up."
"You don't eh?" He made no move to leave. "Spit it out, Mister."
"You don't call Captains 'Mister.'"
He grinned. "No. Sorry. What's the problem, Hal? Finding out that things aren't as simple as you'd like them to be?"
"John, what the hell were we fighting for out there? What good do we do?"
He stretched a long arm toward the brandy bottle and poured for both of us. "We threw a gang of criminals out. Do you doubt that's what they were? Do you insist that the people we helped be saints?"
"But the women. And children. What will happen to them? And the Governor's right—something's got to be done for the convicts. Poor bastards are sent here, and we can't just drown them."
"There's land to the west," Kathryn said. "They can have that. My grandfather had to start from the beginning. Why can't the new arrivals?"
"The Governor's right about a lot of things," Falkenberg said. "Industry's got to come to Arrarat someday. Should it come just to make the Bronson family rich? At the expense of a bunch of farmers who bought their land with one hell of a lot of hard work and blood? Hal, if you're having second thoughts about the action here on Arrarat, what'll you do when the Fleet's ordered to do something completely raw?"
"I don't know. That's what bothers me."
"You asked what good we do," Falkenberg said. "We buy time. Back on Earth they're ready to start a war that won't end until billions are dead. The Fleet's the only thing preventing that. The only thing, Hal. Be as cynical about the CoDominium as you like. Be contemptuous of Grand Senator Bronson and his friends—yes, and most of his enemies, too, damn it. But remember that the Fleet keeps the peace, and as long as we do, Earth still lives. If the price of that is getting our hands dirty out here on the frontiers, then it's a price we have to pay. And while we're paying it, just once in a while we do something right. I think we did that here. For all that they've been vicious enough now that the battle's over, Wan Loo and his people aren't evil. I'd rather trust the future to them than to people who'd do . . . that." He took Kathryn's hand and turned it over in his. "We can't make things perfect, Hal. But we can damned sure end some of the worst things people do to each other. If that's not enough, we have our own honor, even if our masters have none. The Fleet is our country, Hal, and it's an honorable fatherland." Then he laughed and drained his glass. "Talking's dry work. Pipe Major's learned three new tunes. Come and hear them. You deserve a night in the club, and the drinks are on the battalion. You've friends here, and you've not seen much of them."
He stood, the half smile still on his lips. "Good evening, Hal. Kathryn."
"You're going with him, aren't you?" Kathryn said when he'd closed the door.
"You know I don't care all that much for bagpipes—"
"Don't be flippant with me. He's offered you a place with his new regiment, and you're going to take it."
"I don't know. I've been thinking about it—"
"I know. I didn't before, but I do now. I watched you while he was talking. You're going."
"I guess I am. Will you come with me?"
"If you'll have me, yes. I can't go back to the ranch. I'll have to sell it. I couldn't ever live there now. I'm not the same girl I was when this started."
"I'll always have doubts," I said. "I'll need—" I couldn't finish the thought, but I didn't have to. She came to me, and she wasn't trembling at all, not the way she'd been before, anyway. I held her for a long time.
"We should go now," she said finally. "They'll be expecting you."
"But—"
"We've plenty of time, Hal. A long time."
As we left the room, Last Post sounded across the fort.
Command is the comprehensive responsibility of a soldier assigned a military mission by the sovereign authority and given the human and material means he needs to accomplish it. It is also the sole instrument of his authority to use and expend at his own discretion any or all elements of the means at his disposal
Command must wield authority to an absolute degree within the scope of its charge. It brings into being a complex of forces emanating from a focal point that keeps a number of complexes of force integrated and the manifold power of the whole directed to the desired end. It is both the binding and the driving force of every military endeavor. It has no substitute. It is not divisible in parts. No possible arrangement of organized effort that lacks it can be called military nor be of any martial value.
Every soul in his earliest stages of untutored awareness feels that the center of the universe resides within himself. To learn that we exist and move for the most part in orbits, rather than preside at the focal point of even a minor cosmic system is a painful and difficult process for most of us . . .
Joseph Maxwell Cameron
The Anatomy of Military Merit
"Shuttle landing in twenty-six minutes, sir." Centurion Calvin's tone was flat and unemotional, but he couldn't keep a questioning edge from his voice. "Pilot says a Rear Admiral is aboard."
Acting Colonel John Christian Falkenberg nodded. "Turn out a guard to render proper honors. I'll meet him myself."
"Sir." It was clear that Calvin wanted to know more, and that he might have asked if there hadn't been others in the Colonel's office. Instead he stiffened to attention and saluted, got a return, and turned on his heel to stride from the office.
"A Rear Admiral," Captain Harlan Slater said. "You didn't seem surprised, sir."
"It's Lermontov and I've been expecting him, Hal," Falkenberg said.
"The devil you have." Captain Jeremy Savage was incredulous. Despite years in the Line Marines he still spoke with the crisp accents of his native Churchill. "How long has he been in this sector?" Savage looked thoughtful, and said aloud but mostly to himself, "Long enough." He gave Falkenberg a knowing look. "I take it he's sector commander, then?"
Falkenberg nodded. "As you surmise."
Slater looked puzzled. "All right, I give up, what's the big secret here?"
Jeremy Savage smiled thinly. "A newly commissioned major arrives on Kennicott. A bit more than a year later, after a spectacularly successful campaign in which the regimental colonel is killed, that major is now acting colonel of the regiment. Not major in command waiting for a new colonel, Hal, but Acting Colonel, entitled to the rank and pay unless it's rescinded. That kind of appointment can only come from the sector commander, and since that kind of patronage isn't accidental, I have already asked myself who might bestow such an appointment to John Christian Falkenberg." He shrugged. "Now a name comes to mind, and I hear that he's on his way down to this planet . . ."
Falkenberg cut the conversation short by standing. "And he'll be here shortly. We don't want to be late meeting him. Gentlemen?"
Rear Admiral Sergei Lermontov looked around the opulent facilities and nodded. "I need not ask if this office is secure," he said.
"To the best Centurion Calvin can manage, and I checked myself as well, sir," Falkenberg said. He shrugged. "Admiral, is anything secure in these times?"
"You ask correct question," Lermontov said. "And answer is no, despite all we can do." He looked significantly at the golden pips on Falkenberg's epaulettes. "At least we are gathering tools. There is much can be done with a regiment under proper command. Yours."
"You're saying I can keep the 42nd?"
"Unlikely as this seems. We have unusual situation in Grand Senate, coalition in our favor together with urgent need for regiment commanded by one of us. You become colonel and keep regiment. I become Vice Admiral." He nodded. "And perhaps more, if you are successful. But we must act quickly."
"Act quickly? Sir?"
"Yes. Transport brings battalion of Fleet Marines to take up duties here. That will be sufficient, now, I believe? Your report indicates there is no opposition remaining that would strain such resources."
"That's true enough, sir. Provided that the local militia stays loyal."
"This is problem?"
Falkenberg shook his head slowly. "Not a big problem. The local militia leader is my wife's father, which is to say, my wife, given Tobias's failing health. As long as Grace is here, the situation is stable, sir." Falkenberg's face held no expression. "Of course that may present a problem for me. You haven't said where you intend sending the 42nd."
"Far, and probably for long time," Lermontov said. "Two years at least. This will be permanent change, there is transportation for all dependents." He paused. "I must be honest. You will not come back to Kennicott in any case. There is other work for 42nd Line Marines under your command."
"The situation here won't change, Admiral," Falkenberg said. "The miners trust Tobias and Grace. So do the owners. Without them the peace here falls apart."
"I know."
"You ask a lot. Sir." Falkenberg said.
"I offer much," Lermontov said. "Regiment to officer who was captain before Ararat campaign."
Falkenberg shook his head. "Colonel of 42nd, against commander of planetary militia. My wife's family is rich, Admiral. Why would a colonel's pay be tempting? We both know I'll never be anything more than a Line Marine colonel no matter what your influence."
"True enough. There is no question that if you choose to leave service, I cannot prevent, and you will certainly have more pleasant life."
Falkenberg nodded. "So."
"So I need you," Lermontov said. "Shall I be dramatic? Human race needs you."
"That's dramatic enough. Unlikely to be true, but dramatic enough."
"Is quite true," Lermontov said. "Shall I explain?"