Stark's Crusade (20 page)

"Sure," Stark repeated.
And someday you'll have a squad, Murph, and after that maybe a platoon. And you'll
never sleep peaceful again, worrying about every soldier in them.
"I'll talk to Gomez. She's platoon leader, now."

"Huh? Wow. That's kinda amazing. I bet you're proud of her."

"I'm proud of all of you, Murph. When you getting discharged from here? They tell you?"

"Not yet, Sarge. I gotta do a lot of physical therapy to get my muscles back and all, and they wanta check me over careful." Murphy grinned with a flash of his old mischief. "They wanta check my head, too, I bet."

"I don't think you have to worry about that, Murph." Stark noticed Murphy sagging backward. "You're still pretty worn out, huh? I'm not gonna stress you any further. You get some rest, get those workouts going, and get back to your squad. I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Thanks, Sarge." Murphy relaxed, lying flat but watching Stark as he walked out.

Stark pulled out his comm unit as he headed back toward the command center. "Corporal Gomez. You busy?"

"No,
Sargento
. What's up?"

"Murphy's awake." Stark paused to let her absorb the news. "He's okay."

"Gracias, Dios.
I'm gonna tell the squad,
Sargento
."

"Wait. Before you go, I got a request to make."

"A request? Anything you want."

"Murph wants to try out as corporal in the old squad." Silence. "Hello? Anita?"

"Uh,
Sí, Sargento
. Uh, Private Murphy, you know, he's not the, uh, most professional and dedicated guy in the world. I mean, corporal? Murphy?"

Stark suppressed a smile. "I know exactly what you're thinking. But I've talked to Murphy since he woke up. He's changed. Grown a lot. And he wants to work for the job."

"If he wants to work, he sure as hell has changed. He volunteered to be corporal?
Verdad?"

"Yeah. I'm asking you, as a personal favor, to consider it. Take a look at him when he gets out. See how he does."

"Uh, okay,
Sargento
. For you. You judge people pretty good, so if you think he can handle it. . ."

"I think he might be able to handle it, yeah. Like I said, Anita, he's changed."

It took a moment for her reply. "
Sargento
, that almost sounded like you weren't too happy Murph has changed."

"I'm happy he's back, and I'm happy he wants more responsibility. But I think I'm gonna miss the old Murph every now and then. Who'd have thunk?"

"You miss the old Murph too much, and I'll come over and screw a few things up for you. Then you'll feel like he's back. Okay,
Sargento
, you got a deal. I'll take a look at him. Right now, I wanna tell the rest he's okay."

"Sure thing, Anita. Say hi to them all for me."

Stark paused in his progress, then altered his path, ending up at Sergeant Reynolds's room. "Vic? You got a moment?"

She rubbed her eyes. "It's late. I hope you're not calling a staff meeting."

"Not that. I need to tell you, Murphy's awake."

Vic brightened. "That's great." Then her face slid into skepticism. "So how come you're so subdued? What's up? He okay in the head?"

"Yeah. But." Stark explained his conversation with Murphy. "You see. He's gonna have a tough road."

"Right now, he sounds a lot like someone else I know."

"Guilty as charged."

She grinned. "After all this time you've got yourself a son, Ethan. In the spiritual sense, anyway. You ever think it'd be Murphy?"

"No. The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, don't it? Anyway, Vic, I got a special favor to ask. A big one. If anything happens to me . . ."

"Don't worry, Ethan. I'll look out for Murphy if anything happens to you. Promise."

"Thanks. Means a lot."

"Nyet problema.
It's been a while, but I reckon I remember how to handle a kid."

Stark glanced at her, unable to hide his surprise. "You got a kid, Vic?"

Instead of answering him, Reynolds yawned, then looked at her watch. "Man, it's late, and I've still got some stuff to do before I hit the sack. See you tomorrow, Ethan."

"Sure." Stark watched her with curious eyes for a moment, Vic outwardly cool as she worked, then waved farewell and left. He wandered through the headquarters complex for a while, checking on things, speaking to soldiers standing watch in different areas. Finally entering his own room, Stark sat heavily for a moment at the desk where his monitor displayed work still awaiting his attention.
Hey. I just realized. This system gives me access to the personnel records, and I have the command clearance to look at personal histories on anyone. I could find out anything I wanted about Vic's past. No more mysteries.
His hand reached, one finger tapping the key that sent the machine into hibernation.
But I ain't gonna. Maybe I ain't learned near enough in this job, but I have learned that one of the most important things about being in charge is not doing some of the stuff you could do if you wanted to. If Vic ever wants to tell me, she will.
Stark took advantage of the low gravity to launch himself into a roll/push that deposited him in the bunk, coming to rest on his back, staring upward at the metal sheet that covered lunar rock, which was covered in turn by a thin layer of dust. Above that, endless emptiness opened into forever. Stark gazed at the imagined vista of eternal darkness and smiled.
Screw you. I'm still here, and my rules matter.

It was easy for the days to run together, for time to pass almost unnoticed in the grind of everyday events, especially in a place where the very idea of a "day" had been imported by humans from somewhere else where the sun actually rose and set once every twenty-four hours. Stark came back to his room after watching a company run through some tactics Vic had been working out to deal with Jabberwocks. He removed his battle armor wearily.
It looked good. It oughta handle those monsters. We think. How are we gonna know before they get here and start shooting at us ?

His door enunciator chimed. Stark, still standing, took one long step to open it. "Mendo? What's up?"

"Commander Stark." Private Mendoza hesitated, glanced down at the old-fashioned paper-printed book he held in one hand, then looked back at Stark with renewed determination. "There is something I should discuss with you. If you have the time."

"Sure."
Mendo volunteering information. That's new. But then, his dad told me Mendo would rise to the occasion if I gave him a chance.
"Come in. Sit down."

"Thank you, sir." Mendoza waited until Stark sat down in front of his desk, then took the room's other chair. He held out the book so Stark could see the title, handling the book as if it were a precious, fragile item. "This is an ancient history text."

"I can see it's pretty old."

"No, sir. I mean it was written millennia ago. One of the first histories in human record. It is about a series of wars."

"The first history we've got and it's about wars? That figures."

Mendoza smiled, relaxing in response to Stark's humor. "Yes, Commander. The book's title is
The Peloponnesian War.
It was written by a man named Thucydides."

"Sorry. Never heard of it."

"The war was very important at the time," Mendoza insisted. "It was fought between alliances led by the city-states of Athens and Sparta."

"Sparta? I know about them. Thermo . . . ?"

"Thermopylae?"

"Yeah. That battle where just a few of those Spartans held their line until they died. It inspired all the other Greeks to fight together. They the guys you're talking about?"

Mendoza nodded, though he had trouble hiding his surprise that Stark had known even that much about ancient Greece. "Yes. Exactly them. That battle at Thermopylae took place long before the Peloponnesian War."

"Okay. I guess that makes sense, if the Spartans and the guys from Athens were fighting each other in this war you're talking about. So why do I need to know about this book?"

Mendoza paused for so long Stark felt a stab of impatience, but he waited until the private started speaking once more. "This was my father's book, Commander. He had made many notes in the margins. They are fragmentary, but I have been reading them, and I believe I should tell you of the conclusions my father had reached."

"Lieutenant Mendoza, your dad, he knew what he was talkin' about. Anything he came up with I'd like to know."

"You understand the notes are not complete," Mendoza cautioned, "but the main arguments are fairly clear." He pointed to the book. "Briefly, long ago the city of Athens had become extremely powerful. So powerful it did whatever it wanted, and no one could stop it. Finally, Sparta and most of the other cities in Greece went to war with Athens, but they could not defeat it."

"Hmmm." Stark rubbed his chin. "Sounds familiar. Like here, right? The U.S. of A. is big dog on the World and pretty much does anything it wants. Everybody else just had to put up with it, until we tried to grab the whole Moon, too, and then they all combined to try to stop us up here. Is that what you, your dad, that is, was driving at?"

"Yes, Commander." Mendoza's face glowed like that of a teacher with an apt pupil. "But the Athenians finally went too far. As part of their aim to become all-powerful, Athens attacked the mighty city of Syracuse."

"Ain't that in New York state? It's not that old."

"No, Commander. The original city of Syracuse, in Sicily. It is in the Mediterranean." Mendoza gathered his thoughts, then plunged ahead. "Syracuse, powerful though it was, could not defeat the Athenian attack alone. It called for help from the Spartans. The Athenians in turn sent more reinforcements. But the Athenian commanders were chosen for their political loyalty and skills, not their military prowess. After a long campaign, the Athenians were defeated. The entire army and fleet they had sent to attack Syracuse were themselves destroyed or captured. Athens never recovered from the loss of so much. A few years later, it was decisively defeated, and it never regained the power it had once held."

Stark stared at Mendoza after the narrative halted, eyes narrowing in thought. "That sounds familiar, too. A bit, anyway. So your dad thought the American attempt to seize the Moon was like these guys from Athens trying to take out Syracuse?"

"Yes, Commander. Overreaching at the height of power. Here, too, strong reinforcements were sent to try to win the war. They failed."

"Yeah, but there's no chance we're gonna fail, Mendo. Nobody's gonna take this Colony. We'll hold it 'til hell freezes over."

"But that is the point, Commander." Mendoza indicated the book again, excitement animating his features. "You will hold. You are in command. My father believed in the wake of General Meecham's failed offensive we would have lost the Colony, and every soldier up here, exactly as the Athenian expeditionary force was destroyed at Syracuse. That is, we would have but for two things."

"Two things? What's that?"

Mendoza hesitated again, then pointed toward Stark. "You are one, sir."

"The hell. What's that supposed to mean?"

"My father's notes indicate he believes our former senior officers were as incompetent as those of the Athenians at Syracuse. He had reached the conclusion that Meecham's offensive might have led to the loss of the entire Colony due to our lack of faith in our commanders, the hesitation and confusion among those same commanders, and our heavy losses. All these combined to create conditions under which an enemy counteroffensive might have prevailed, or at least seized such territory as would have left our position here untenable."

Stark frowned, remembering moments of fear and uncertainty. "Like it was right after we took over? We almost lost then, when the enemy hit us hard and the line crumbled. But I thought that was 'cause we didn't know for sure what we were fighting for right then."

"That was part of it, certainly," Mendoza agreed. "But had Meecham and the other officers remained in command, would our forces have had any stronger motivation?"

"Hell, no. You know that. We wouldn't have had any motivation at all. Not after watching what they did to Third Division. Somebody like Meecham wouldn't have had a snowball's chance in hell of rallying the troops."

"Just so, Commander. The only thing that could have prevented disaster here, as at Syracuse, would have been a dynamic commander, one trusted by the army and able to rally them after a series of serious setbacks."

"That didn't have to be me," Stark demurred. "Any good leader could have done it."

"No, sir," Mendoza objected, his normal reticence lost in the cut and thrust of the argument. "It had to be someone able to overcome the habit of obedience, able to act when action was required. Only you could do that."

"I don't. . ." Stark's words trailed off as he stared into space, remembering the day Third Division had been effectively destroyed during General Meecham's ill-conceived and ill-executed offensive. Thousands of soldiers dying in increasingly futile assaults on the enemy defenses surrounding the Colony, while the aghast lunar veterans of First Division looked on from their positions on the American perimeter.
Everybody else seemed to be looking to me to do something, and nobody else acted until I did. Why was that? I never wondered before.
"Why'd your dad think that about me?"

"Because you did not join the military until you were a young adult." Mendoza gestured toward one wall of Stark's room. "Just about everyone else in the military, such as I, grew up in military families, on forts or bases. Obedience, following the rules, were inculcated in us from our earliest childhoods. It was part of life. For you, such rules were far looser. Just for example, as a child, you were not required to stand to attention when the national anthem was played. You made choices about many things, for better or worse."

Stark felt a sense of dislocation as the conversation brought him back to another talk years before, on a troop transport on the way to the Moon. "Pablo Desoto and I talked about that once. How different growing up was for me compared to him. You remember Pablo, don't you, Mendo?"