Senator—ah yes, the ‘regrettable incidents’ upon half a dozen of our worlds before that? Have you forgotten the precious Republican blood they spilled? Have you forgotten their queen’s indifference to our diplomatic overtures?”
The general stood and looked to her right and left before turning around to appeal to the entire assembly. “Every time we back down they grow emboldened. And our diplomats offer them another olive branch and another system and another living world and more innocents instead of the guilt they deserve.” The general clenched her fists, and then to everyone’s surprise she slammed the witness table. “We are negotiating from a position of weakness. Weakness, I say! Please, Senators, all I’m advocating is we reinforce our flanks, enlarge our ranks, and redeploy our assets to make the Lusies think twice before violating our borders again.”
“You—you’re a warmonger, General.” Senator Oman’s voice shook. “We need cooler heads in the military, not bullish, careerist, myopic generals preoccupied with their own greatness.”
Granby straightened her uniform. “You, Senator, are a feckless coward, a simpleton, and a pacifying fool.” A number of Marines and Sailors were on their feet and they looked ready to mutiny. “You advocate we wait and talk. Talk has soundly failed us, Senator. And wait? What are we waiting for? Another attack? More of our own dead and wounded? I say the time for a war footing is now. Now, Senator. Now! Before it’s too late.”
Senator Oman’s words drowned in a sea of murmurs as General Granby turned toward the exit to leave. “You have not been dismissed, General! General, do you hear me?”
Twenty-two
MAY 10TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1902 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
MARINE CORPS CENTRAL MOBILIZATION COMMAND
Lieutenant General Felicia Granby spent the last day as the commander of CENT-MOBCOM hiding her true feelings. Changes were coming, at jump speed, changes far beyond her control. There were units to equip, ready, and deploy, and emerging threats to consider in multiple sectors. Notes to leave for her successor. Gear to procure, receive, and inventory. Classes to steer toward graduation. And last orders to give before the change of command, which she wouldn’t be present for. “The task is taller than ever,” she’d said to her staff earlier in the day. Her final stand-up meeting. “You’re prepared to handle them. I have complete faith in you. The Corps needs you now more than ever to help it prepare for what’s coming.” Even as my career ends. She’d seen the recognition in their eyes. Several had wanted to say more. She’d held up a hand to avoid their questions. It was enough for them to know she was taking the fall for Sergeant Morris’s death. And, she supposed, she was at fault for that. Still …
The truth came down to guns and butter. General Granby was a war general. She’d been doing what she could to prepare the Corps for the inevitable. The Lusitanian Empire had its eyes on Republican-controlled space, particularly the metal-heavy worlds in the verge. The Republican Press Corps and a glut of politicians warned that a war between the LE and the RAW would be the war to end all wars, that conceding a few systems here and there was far preferable to an interstellar conflagration, that peace was possible in our time. It was all utter foolishness. Did they not know history? It was long past time for the president, the Congress, and the Joint Chiefs of the Fleet Forces to wake up to the dangers pressing upon the Republic, and adopt a war footing.
The RAW-MC’s commandant belonged to the prepare-and-wait camp. Granby had butted heads with him on several occasions. Her fight with Senator Oman before the Senate had finally done her in.
Be honest, Felicia. Your mouth got you cashiered. Doesn’t matter if you were right. You can be dead right and still wrong.
The general sank into her office chair. She hadn’t picked a fight with just any senator, either. Senator Oman was a senior member on the HWAC, and a minority leader in the Senate. Head of the New ’Verse Democratic and Labor Party. Watching Oman stand in protest and turn red with anger had been immensely satisfying, at least in the moment, even as a claxon had sounded in the back of her mind.
Be honest, Felicia. It wasn’t worth it.
Oman’s party had a standing arrangement with the Conservative Coalition, which was a motley alliance held together by two imperatives: securing interstellar trade routes and preserving the upward curve of the gross systems