“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Geary tapped his screen for Colonel Carabali. “Colonel, this is looking like a trap.”
Carabali nodded, looking harassed. “Yes, sir. It bears all the signs of that. My assault forces have been ordered to search for any and every thing that might blow up in our faces. There should be lots of small-scale demolitions on hand, but my experts say a mining facility like this shouldn’t have the means to generate a huge explosion, especially not in the limited warning time they had to work with.”
“That doesn’t seem to be reassuring you, Colonel.”
She gave Geary a quick, humorless smile. “No, sir. By your leave, sir, I’d like to get back to overseeing the assault.”
“By all means, Colonel. My apologies.” Geary tried to relax, annoyed with himself for violating one of his own rules by bothering an officer who was trying to carry out the orders that Geary had given her.
“Admiral Bloch always kept the Marine commander on his screen,” Desjani noted in a low voice. “The admiral liked to offer comments and suggestions, and of course wanted any questions answered right away.”
“You’re kidding.”
Desjani shook her head.
Geary laughed shortly. “At least I’m not that bad.”
“I just thought you should know that Colonel Carabali probably isn’t all that upset with the way you deal with command, sir.”
Of course, as far as Captain Desjani was concerned, Geary could do no wrong. But he still shuddered at the idea of working for a commander who kept him on-screen during an operation, demanding attention that was needed for the battle.
Speaking of which, the shuttles were sliding into landings, bay doors opening and Marines in battle armor tumbling out as the shuttles kept moving so that the ground troops were spread out instead of being clumped together into a mass target. Twelve shuttles deposited twelve lines of Marines, then accelerated upward again. “Nice job on the delivery,” Geary observed. “Were the flight paths automated?”
Desjani frowned, gestured to a watch-stander, then waited for the reply. “No, sir. The shuttle pilots prefer to use personal control. The Marines have a deal with them. As long as the shuttle pilots do a good job, the Marines let them fly their birds.”
“That’s a reasonable arrangement. And if any pilot screws up, then the Marines require them to use automated controls on the next drop?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the watch-stander confirmed. “After any Marines who survived the failed drop catch the pilot and beat the hell out of him or her. Not that they’ve ever been caught doing that, sir.”
“Of course not,” Geary agreed, suppressing a smile. The lines of Marines were moving into the mining facility, dodging from cover to cover, moving in sections to provide covering fire for each other.
Not that the precautions seemed needed. Geary watched the display with growing uneasiness as clusters of enemy symbols fell back faster than the Marines were advancing. Leading elements of the defenders were already vanishing into some of the mine shafts littering the surface of the moon. “What the hell?”
A moment later, Colonel Carabali called him. “Captain Geary, the defenders aren’t really trying to hold. They’re falling back fast into some of the mine shafts.”
“I just noticed that. Any guesses as to why they’re not fighting?”
“Sir, I’d guess they want to evacuate the installation before something happens. We’d already speculated that this looked like a trap.”
The defenders are getting out of a blast zone? “What do you recommend, Colonel?”
“Sir, as much as I hate to do so, I think we need to pull back until we scan this rock atom by atom and find out what the Syndics have planted.”
Geary hesitated. How could they delay as long as that would require? And it would mean slowing down the main fleet even more, costing more fuel reserves. But he couldn’t send Marines farther into what was increasingly looking like a death trap. “Colonel-”
A sharp voice sounded behind Geary. “It’s a bluff.” He turned to see Co-President Rione leaning forward in her observer’s seat, her expression demanding. “Don’t any of you gamble? The Syndics have created a situation that looks like a trap. Yet they haven’t actually demonstrated any ability to blow up the entire facility, and in fact have left it intact behind them. If we run, they’ve saved their mining facility and we haven’t gotten whatever we wanted. If we slow down and take our time, it causes further delay in this star system. Either way, the Syndics come out ahead.”
Colonel Carabali appeared uncertain. “Co-President Rione’s assessment does sound logical, but-”
“Colonel,” Rione demanded, “do the Syndics routinely display high regard for the well-being of low-level personnel such as these miners?”
“No, Madam Co-President. They don’t.”
“Then why were the mine workers not ordered to die delaying your actual occupation of the facility, thereby also drawing more Marines into the supposed trap? Why were they withdrawn into the mine shafts where they cannot hinder us and in fact are now sitting ducks if we choose to fire weapons down into the shafts?”
Captain Desjani spoke in carefully controlled tones. “With all due respect, you’re not down there with the Marines, Madam Co-President.”
Rione’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at Desjani. “Lest you think I’m making this call lightly, I’ll point out that some of the Marines participating in this assault are from the Callas Republic. I would not place them in extra peril if I believed it existed.”
Carabali frowned. So did Desjani. Both looked at Geary. Yeah, okay, Rione believes in what she’s saying, but can I go with her belief? She’s not military, after all. She’s also not in command, which is why everybody is looking at me. It’s my call. I want to believe that Rione is right because if she is, it will make things happen the way I want them to. Am I too eager to believe she’s right because of that? What if she’s wrong? What if this isn’t a bluff?
We lose a bunch of Marines and everything we came to this facility for.
But why would the Syndics suddenly display such high regard for the welfare of low-level workers and then order them into a hopeless position?
I have to make this decision. If I’m wrong, I could see a lot of Marines die. Or if I’m wrong the other way, I could see this fleet needlessly delayed even further while the Syndics gather forces in surrounding star systems.
Ancestors, please give me a sign.
If they did, Geary couldn’t see or feel it. He glanced at Desjani and saw her utter confidence that he would reach the right decision. Whatever that was. Rione was eyeing Geary, her expression stern, almost challenging him to believe her. Colonel Carabali simply waited, her feelings unreadable behind a professionally emotionless mask. The longer Geary waited, the more likely the decision would be taken out of his hands by developing events. He had a duty to those Marines, a responsibility to make a call, to make it clear who was accountable if the worst happened. Odd, it was usually Rione warning him about the worst that could happen…
That was usually the case. Rione the politician never liked having any part of the fleet running risks. Yet here she was urging a course of action that had his Marine commander and one of Geary’s hardest-charging ship captains recommending caution. Either Rione had gone crazy, or his ancestors had sent a sign. Through her.
Geary breathed a quick prayer. “I think Co-President Rione is right. Keep the Marines in there and occupy the entire facility.”
Carabali, her face rigid, saluted. “Yes, sir.” Her screen blanked as she passed on the orders.
Geary looked down, hoping he hadn’t let a sense of urgency override his own common sense. When he looked up, the tactical display showed Marines swarming deeper into the installation, segment after segment of the Syndic facility glowing green to show it had been cleared and occupied.
Nothing had blown up yet.
He gave in to temptation and called up a view from one of the Marine junior officers. Now he had a window floating before him showing the view from that officer’s helmet. This part of the facility was open to the surface, so the Marines were moving through an area with no atmosphere. An occasional light illuminated part of the equipment the Marines were moving past, the sharp-edged beams centered on whatever needed to be lit, since the light didn’t spread at all without any air to do the job. The shadows were just as sharp-edged and as black as the lit areas were bright.
