Shavetz continued. “Conclusion 35. That the evidence presented to this board of inquiry demonstrates beyond any doubt”-Shavetz stopped to look up as if to make sure everybody paid attention-“that compliance with Rear Admiral Perkins’s order would have resulted in the neutralization of Dreadnought Group.
“Conclusion 36. That the evidence presented to this board of inquiry demonstrates that even with the assistance of Dreadnought Group, Assault Group’s losses would have rendered it incapable of completing its assigned task, namely, the destruction of Hammer Support Facility 27.
“Conclusion 37. Noting the precedent set by
The only sound was a gentle murmur washing across the room. Michael breathed out a long slow sigh of relief.
“Conclusion 38. That there are no grounds for disciplinary or administrative action against Lieutenant Michael Helfort or any other officer of Dreadnought Group as a consequence of their refusal to obey the order of Rear Admiral Perkins to come to the assistance of Assault Group.
“Conclusion 39. That Lieutenant Michael Helfort, Captain in Command, Federated Worlds Warship
Michael slumped back in his seat, drained of all emotion. It was over.
Thursday, May 31, 2401, UD
After another mostly pointless day at his desk buried in the bowels of the Warfare Division, Michael fled to the safety of his cabin, unwilling to risk being hounded by supporters and enemies alike. Slamming the door behind him, he threw himself onto his bunk, mind racing.
Fool that he was, he had assumed that being cleared by the board of inquiry would allow him to move on, to leave Opera behind him, to convince the world that he had made the right decision.
No such luck.
The attitudes of many in Fleet were utterly impervious to the board’s logic. If anything, the board’s scathing criticism of Rear Admiral Perkins shocked the antidreadnought lobby into action. The response of the trashpress- never interested in either facts or logic-was no better.
Michael asked Fleet PR for a summary of the press coverage of the board’s findings. When he read it, he wished he had not. True, the serious news channels had been fine, but the trashpress had not, putting a saddle on the cover-up idea floated by Giorgio Pantini and riding it for all it was worth. The headlines were terrible: “Fleet Conspiracy to Cover up Hero’s Role?” “Hero’s Complicity in Fleet Deaths Not Explained,” “Fallen Hero-Betrayal at Devastation Reef,” “Fleet Inquiry-Whitewash Alleged,” “Rear Admiral Perkins-A Man Betrayed?” and so on ad nauseam. One thing was for sure: The trashpress was extracting its money’s worth from Lieutenant Michael W. Helfort, Federated Worlds Space Fleet.
Michael refused any more interviews after a particularly bruising encounter with Pantini; he had come within a hairbreadth of ripping the dishonest little jerk’s head off. Talking to people like Pantini was pointless. No matter what Michael said, no matter what an increasingly frustrated Fleet said, the trashpress trotted out its own warped view of the matter to the public: all selective quotations, lies, distortion, spin. Nothing was beyond them in their relentless efforts to paint Perkins as the real victim and Michael as the bad guy. His agent, the tireless Mitesh, had already launched legal action against Pantini and World News; sadly, the only result had been to goad Pantini into even more outrageous attacks.
Screw them all, Michael decided in a sudden burst of defiant energy. He’d be damned if he’d spend the rest of his life hiding out in his cabin. He would try to track down Kallewi. He might be able to persuade the big marine to spend a couple of hours in the gym; Kallewi always enjoyed showing him how little he knew about unarmed combat. Michael still had the aches and bruises from their last session to prove his ignorance, and he had a feeling that improving his unarmed combat skills might come in handy one day.
Reenergized, he started to get out of his bunk when a soft chime announced the arrival of a priority com. What now? he wondered when he accepted the call.
It was Jaruzelska. “Oh, hello, sir,” Michael said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well actually, Michael, it’s what I can do for you in my capacity as the ex-commander of Battle Fleet Lima,” Jaruzelska said, smiling broadly. “I’m going to com you two documents. Read them carefully and com me straight back.”
“Will do, sir,” Michael said, mystified.
The first document popped into his neuronics. Michael read it and read it again. “Yes,” he said out loud, punching his fist into the air, “thank you, Vice Admiral Jaruzelska, thank you, thank you.” He sat down on his bunk, overwhelmed by the admiral’s faith in him. Without any of the arguments he’d expected, she had approved every single one of his medal recommendations. Quite right; it was nothing less than the marines and spacers of Dreadnought Group deserved. He opened the second document.
His spirits sank as he read it through. He had said to Jaruzelska, as firmly as any junior officer could to one of Fleet’s most distinguished flag officers, that he wanted no public recognition for Operation Opera. Jaruzelska had not tried to argue the issue with him. Stupidly, he had taken her silence for acquiescence. He shook his head. Medals might be important to some people, but he did not care about or for them. Just three things mattered to him: getting Anna back, seeing the Hammers defeated, and destroying Doc-Sec. That was it. Fleet could throw all the tin at him they liked, and none of it would count for anything. Sadly, Jaruzelska did not agree. She attached a short covering note in which she made it abundantly clear that she would be mightily pissed if Michael declined the honors he had been awarded.
Unwilling to betray Jaruzelska’s unstinting faith in him, Michael resigned himself to the fact that he would have to accept the medals. If it added more fuel to the fires raging around him, so be it. He commed Jaruzelska.
“Happy?” she said.
“Yes, sir. My guys deserve the recognition. So thanks for that.”
Jaruzelska nodded. “My pleasure. They earned those medals five times over. But I notice you’re not saying much about yours. Should I read anything into that, Lieutenant Helfort?”
“Er, no, sir,” Michael sputtered. “No, you shouldn’t. Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”
“Yes, you are honored, you ungrateful tyke,” Jaruzelska said. “I listened to what you said, Michael. I heard and understood every word. I know how you feel about these things, but I just cannot agree with you. You need to understand two things. First, a medal is not a piece of cheap pressed metal. It’s a public statement. It shows that what you do matters enough for the Federation to take the trouble to say so, out loud, in public, for all to hear. Believe me, that’s important when you’re facedown in the muck and blood of combat. Second, if I don’t recognize the commander of my three dreadnought squadrons, what would that tell the world?”
“That you think I was wrong to disobey Perkins’s order?” Michael hazarded.
“That’s right. Let me tell you, Michael, that would have been ten times worse than all the debate these medals are going to generate. Shit storm does not even begin to describe it. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
“Good. You know something, Michael?”
“What, sir?”
“You are a good combat commander. You’ve proved that over and over again. But you’re not a great commander … yet. You can be one of the greats, one of the people Fleet officers talk about in a hundred years, but only if you get your head up out of the dirt. I know it’s a tired old cliche, Michael, but a great commander really does start with the big picture and work back to the details. How else can you get the small things right? Michael”-
