"No idea, Ethan. But they apparently not only figured out how to 'manage' a battle, they figured out how to do it 'effectively,' too."
"Uh-huh. If our officers were so good at managing battles, how come our battle plans were usually screwed up, and we had to fight like hell to win?"
"You can't have everything, Ethan. Do you want your battles well-managed or do you want them well-planned?"
"You're right. What was I thinking? What other kind of courses have they got in there?"
"Let's see." Vic paged rapidly through menus. "Here's a whole bunch of courses on leadership."
"Leadership? Officers were supposed to learn leadership from education courses?"
"Guess so. We got
Leadership Fundamentals, Leadership for Commanders—
"
"Who else leads? They got a 'Leadership for Followers' course?"
"Haven't seen one yet, but it might be there. Then there's
Advanced Leadership, Basic Leadership,
which must differ somehow from fundamental leadership,
Leadership for Field Grade Officers, Crisis Leadership, Effective Leadership—
"
"All the other kinds of leadership aren't effective?"
"Based on our experience with officers, I'd say no. Hmmm. Here's
Total Quality Leadership."
"Which is also different from effective leadership, I guess. Do they have to call it 'total quality' so nobody will think it's half-ass quality?"
"Midcareer Leadership!"
Vic continued, ignoring Stark's latest jibe, "for those officers who haven't learned any leadership during the first half of their career, I suppose.
Leadership Case Studies—
"
"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Stark complained. "These guys were supposed to be leading us. Who the hell thought they'd learn more from 'case studies' on their computers than they would from actually spending time with their troops?"
Vic made another face. "I guess it was one of those 'sounded good when it started' things that got out of hand, like they usually do. Oh, I don't believe it."
"Now what? More how-to-be-a-leader-on-your-computer junk?"
"No." Vic leaned back so Stark could see the screen. "New course series, I guess.
Combat Management"
Stark found himself laughing. "Sure. When it comes to actual combat, all that leadership garbage just doesn't apply. For combat, you gotta be a manager. Or if you want to run an effective battle. Why in God's name would anyone waste time on this stuff?"
"I don't know. Maybe one of these codes along the top . . . ah, here you go. 'Course completion mandatory for promotion eligibility to O4.' "
O4 was the rank code for an Army Major or Navy Lieutenant Commander. "So an officer couldn't make Major unless they took all these courses?"
"A lot of them, anyway. Now we know some of what our officers were doing when they were supposed to be leading us."
Stark pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to push away an incipient headache. "Okay, then. These courses are mostly crap. The sims are self-justifying junk. And we already know that officers were taught that command and control somehow meant the same thing as micromanagement. So, basically, we gotta throw out just about everything that's already there and build our own training system."
"Ummm, yeah," Vic agreed reluctantly.
"I guess we do all that in our copious free time?"
"Ethan, it's not like we have a choice."
"Yeah, we do. I could just shoot myself. Or surrender and let our former officers shoot me. But I ain't gonna do either one."
"You're not alone in this," Vic pointed out.
"Which is probably the only thing keeping me sane." Stark reached out to grab her wrist, giving it that brief squeeze that signified friendship. "Okay. We'll get it done. Somehow. Right now, you need a workout, and I need a shower."
"I wasn't going to call attention to either fact." She stood, smiling wryly. "Guess we're both going to be doing a lot of things that are unpleasant, but good for us."
"Guess so. See ya later." Stark slumped in his chair after Vic left, wondering why lunar gravity sometimes seemed so heavy. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out memories of battle, but seeing them replayed in the dancing lights behind his eyelids, explosions and swarming symbology mingling in a never-ending dance. Opening his eyes revealed the unfamiliar surroundings of the headquarters rec room, an unmistakable reminder of endless current problems. The buzz of his comm unit came as a welcome distraction and relief. "Stark?"
"Yeah. What's up, Bev?"
Sergeant Manley sounded apologetic. "I know you're real busy, Ethan, but the civs are calling again."
"The civs." Civilians. Inhabitants of the Colony. The people Stark and his soldiers fought to protect, but met only rarely.
"Yeah. They want to talk to somebody in charge. That's you."
"That's me," Stark agreed wearily.
Guess I can't put the civs off any longer. One more thing I gotta deal with.
"Any administrative issues need addressing right now?"
"Sorry. My office is humming with its customary awesome efficiency, so I can't give you any excuses for not calling the civs."
"Okay, okay. Give me their number, and I'll call them." The vid screens here in headquarters were bigger and fancier than Stark was accustomed to, so that he needed a few frustrating seconds to figure out the extra controls. Eventually, the screen cleared, showing two civs seated at a metal conference table. One of the civs, a man, had a harried but determined look that somehow matched his graying hair. The other civ Stark recognized immediately. He'd met her once, an eternity of a few days before. "Ms. Sarafina. Long time no see."
Sarafina stared back in obvious surprise, then whispered quickly into the man's ear. He nodded, then looked straight at Stark. "My name is Campbell. James Campbell. I'm the Colony Manager."
"Pleased to meet you. Ms. Sarafina told me a little about you."
"Are you an authorized speaker for the lunar military forces?"
Stark mustered a half-smile. "I suppose you could say that. Sorry I've been too busy to talk before this. We've had a few problems."
"So we've guessed." Campbell visibly hesitated. "There's been a very large amount of military activity in the last few days. Our sensors have picked up a tremendous level of surface explosive activity."
"We've been fighting like hell, if that's what you're trying to say."
"Is the Colony . . . that is, how secure—"
"We're holding, Mr. Campbell. The Colony's safe."
"Thank you. Now . . . your proper title is Sergeant?"
"It is if you want to get on my good side."
Campbell looked briefly puzzled. "Sergeant Stark, exactly what has happened to your leaders?"
"You mean our officers?" Stark found himself reluctant to speak or even look directly at the civilians.
First time I'm talking to somebody who wasn't in on it all and shares the guilt. God, what have we done?
"They're safe."
"I don't understand. We haven't seen or been able to communicate with any officers for days. Our only contacts have been with enlisted personnel such as yourself, and they've refused any information. Normal communications with Earth have been cut off without explanation. Shuttles have been blocked from departing and no new shuttles are arriving. What is going on, Sergeant Stark?"
Stark lowered his gaze, concentrating on the lower frame of the comm terminal. "Mr. Campbell, I regret to inform you that our officers have been disarmed and imprisoned. We are no longer following their orders."
The statement seemed to confuse both Campbell and Sarafina, who looked at each other for possible enlightenment before focusing back on Stark. "Whose orders are you following?" Sarafina finally asked.
"Our own."
"Your own." Comprehension suddenly entered Campbell's eyes as he held up a hand to forestall any further questions from his aide. "Sergeant Stark, are you telling us you are no longer acting under lawful authority? That your forces are in a state of mutiny?"
Stark closed his eyes momentarily, then nodded. "Yeah. Yes, sir. It's a long story," he added as Campbell's and Sarafina's faces paled with shock. "Let's just say things got too bad. Way too bad. It came down to taking over in order to survive."
"I don't . . . but all those new soldiers we've seen arrive recently—"
"Are mostly dead," Stark stated bluntly.
Campbell looked down at his hands for a moment, plainly gathering both his thoughts and his composure. "But if you are no longer obeying your officers, who is in charge?"
"Me." This time Sarafina looked ready to pass out. "It wasn't my idea," Stark added rapidly. "Well, maybe a lot of it's my fault. I don't know. But afterward, everybody wanted me in charge. So I'm the commander."
Another pause, then Campbell fixed Stark with a demanding but anxious stare. "Then I must ask you what your intentions are regarding this Colony."
"Our job is to keep the Colony safe. We're going to keep doing that."
"But if you're no longer American soldiers—"
"We're still American soldiers!" Both civilians jerked away involuntarily, hitting the backs of their chairs as they tried to distance themselves from Stark's outburst. "Sorry," he apologized gruffly. "There's a lot of things we haven't worked out. But that hasn't changed. We'll defend the Colony. We already have. We just won't die senselessly anymore just because some idiots with stars on their shoulders want to make names for themselves and won't listen to common sense."
"I apologize. I didn't mean to imply . . ." Campbell took a deep breath. "This is totally unexpected news. We weren't prepared for it."
"Neither was anyone else."
"You will not surrender the Colony to any foreign powers?"
"No."
"You will continue to defend us as vigorously as ever?"
"Yes."
"You still consider yourselves Americans?"
"Absolutely."
"But you are not accepting orders from the authorities on Earth or their representatives on the Moon?"
"No."
"And your long-term objectives are . . . ?"
"Undetermined."
"Sergeant Stark, I understand if you are unwilling to share that information with me, but it is of critical importance." Campbell shook his head, lips a thin line. "Let me explain. We're under martial law, Sergeant. It's been that way as long as the Colony has been here. We've been allowed a very small degree of local independence as long as it didn't affect whatever got labeled a 'security issue,' but we don't rule ourselves. We also have no means of effectively resisting your forces no matter what actions you decide to take. To put it bluntly, it appears you are our new master, and I need to know what you intend to do."
"I've told you all I can tell you right now."
Campbell glanced despairingly at Sarafina, then back at Stark. "I have responsibility for every civilian on this Colony. I cannot protect them if you will not provide me with basic information."
Stark kept his face impassive.
Responsibility talk. From a civ. And a politician. Does he mean it? Everything I've learned in life says no, don't trust him.
As he sat silent, Sarafina leaned forward, her own expression pleading. "Sergeant Stark, please. Our people are depending on us."
Two civs, both of whom seem a whole lot more concerned about "their people" than they do about themselves. And Sarafina, near as I can tell, kept her promise to me not to tell any of our officers what I'd said to her. If I can't respect that, what can I respect?
Stark rubbed his chin, pondering his response. "You want to know our long-term objectives? I don't know," he finally admitted. "That's the truth. Nobody's had time to think about that yet, or about what we'll do regarding you civs. Civilians. We don't want you stabbing us in the back. But I don't think any of us want to tell you what to do, otherwise."
"Sergeant Stark, there are any number of things I cannot do without approval of the designated military authorities."
"I can patch you through to the stockade if you want to talk to any of them, but it doesn't much matter right now whether they approve what you want or not."
Campbell maintained a poker face now, sitting silently, then glanced over as Cheryl Sarafina began speaking again. "Sergeant Stark, are we to understand you have no interest in exercising control over the civilian portion of the Colony?"
"I told you, I can't have you people doing stuff that would cause problems for my people. But I've got a full plate just trying to run the mil side of things. And the military isn't supposed to give orders to civilians. Things are supposed to be the other way around, right? So, I've got no interest in telling you what to do, and to be perfectly frank, I don't think any of the other mil want anything to do with you."
Sarafina railed at the words, her expression angry. "We've done nothing to the military personnel up here. We've provided a tremendous amount of support to you. We appreciate your sacrifices. Just because we haven't been allowed—"
"Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound like your fault." Stark forced another smile. "Not you specifically. My people, the military, don't know civilians. They grew up separate, they work separate, and they die separate. Mostly, they get treated real bad when they meet civilians. Back on Earth. So they don't like you. I think, maybe, you guys are different. But it'll take time to convince my people of that."
Campbell nodded. "I believe I understand. You're a separate subculture. Perhaps we'd appreciate this better if we'd been allowed to view the military vid shows—"
"No. We hate the mil vid. It's a vid show put together from our command and control systems during combat. We're dying, the civs are watching and having a good time, and the government rakes in revenue from the ads it sells. Understand?"
Sarafina looked horrified now. "Gladiators. You've been treated like gladiators."
"Hey, it made money for the government and kept the civs entertained. Who cared how we felt about it?"
"I begin to understand," Campbell stated slowly. "You've been used."
"That's one way of putting it."
"But what are your goals, Sergeant Stark? What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"