Confrontation

'Energy bends the bow, timing releases the Arrow

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

From the Super-Dreadnought Pinotubo, he could see the other 29 ships. Like leashed hounds, the ships of Battlegroup 7 waited beyond the Armorplast of the ports for Runningfox's orders. Super-Dreadnoughts, battlecruisers, cruisers and destroyers, More powerful than any fleet sent to smash the Rigellians during ISW3.

Gathered together here, to smash humans.

Rear Admiral Martin Runningfox read the orders from Fleet Central again, then leaned back in his chair. While almost 100 years old, the anti-gerone treatments available to the fleet caused him to look like a man in his late thirties. His high cheekbones, slightly slanted eyes, and long raven black hair shouted his Native American genes. The tooled leather band around his head holding his shoulder length hair, and shoulder flash told of the planet of his birth, Dineh.

And where, he mused, would Dineh stand in this? He read again the blunt précis sent by ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence, along with the orders he now agonized over. Impeaching Ladislaus Skorning had been bad enough. But the diatribe the Corporate Worlders had added to it had been nothing less than explosive. It was almost, he froze at the thought, almost as if they wanted the Fringe to rebel.

When that message arrived, the people of Dineh would be again reminded of almost 400 years of promises made then broken by the old United States of North America. Of treaties that gave the enemy everything, and gave them nothing, rammed down their throats by superior military force, or manipulated laws.

Of even more centuries of having been scattered among the stars. Of trying to fit in on Heart Worlds where old national and racial ties were until recently considered 'quaint' and old fashioned. On Corporate Worlds where God is the time-clock.

It had been only 100 years ago that they had finally been able to settle on Dineh. Fifty tribes from all of the Americas, now tribes in more than name once again. Free to run the deserts, mountains, forests and jungles. Free to live in the old ways, to hunt without permits. Free to dance the old dances, sing the old songs, speak the old speech without ridicule or censure. To throw away the trappings of a society that had tried to stifle and absorb them.

Or as he had, to accept those strictures only because doing so allowed him to protect the lands he loved. When a Dineh survey ship had discovered massive amounts of almost every strategic ore in their three asteroid belts, they had dealt again with the Corporate worlds. No threats, no blandishment had swayed the tribal council. Dineh was probably the only planet with Skywatch set in the asteroid belts themselves to stop 'entrepreneurs' from doing a little freelance mining without permission. It was probably the only Skywatch manned entirely by their own people too.

And with orders such as this, what did the Corporate worlds intend to do to Dineh? Force them to allow the mining after 'pacifying' them?

Dineh would rebel if it came to that. They would rebel if they knew these orders had been given. As surely as their ancestors had fought on. As those ancestors did, they would lose, but they would not surrender. And if he were there, there would be no questions. He would ride his lights into the battle, and die in it.

But the thought was acid.

If he was willing to do so for his own home, how was Durendal, five transits distant, a primary choke point that lead eventually to Dineh itself, any different?

He pressed the call button.

"Sir?" Commander Voorhees, his Chief of Staff, entered.

"All captains meeting in one hour. See to it."

The captains of his Battlegroup were seated when he entered. When most Admirals enter a room, there is a great deal of snapping to. But not here. No one shouted, no one snapped to attention when he came in, and regardless of what Fleet protocol said, that was as he wished. He'd talked with each Captain when they had joined his Battlegroup. His comments had been that if they paid more attention to details that assured their ship's efficiency, and less to his presence, he'd be satisfied.

He sat, keying in the data pad in front of him. "Gentlemen and ladies, we have received orders. Captain Raspegie brought a sealed binder from Cimmaron." The Captain of the battlecruiser Rapier nodded. "I assume you have all read them?" They looked back at him, grim.

'TO; OFFICER COMMANDING BG7, GLASGOW SYSTEM

FROM; CINC TFN WITCINSKI

YOU ARE TO PROCEED AT BEST SPEED TO THE DURENDAL SYSTEM. THERE YOU WILL ACT TO SUPPRESS POSSIBLE REBELLION AMONG THE FRINGE SYSTEMS. ONCE YOU HAVE ASSURED THE LOYALTY OF DURENDAL SKYWATCH/ FRONTIER BASE DURENDAL, YOU WILL PROCEED ALONG WARPLINE LANCELOT, BEDEVERE, SANDHURST, DANZIG, SANDHURST, ALFRED, JF-12, GRIFFIN, MANTICORE, NEY, BONAPARTE.

ANY REBEL FACTIONS ENCOUNTERED ARE TO BE PUT DOWN WITH ALL DISPATCH.

SINCE THIS MAY MEAN COMBAT, ALL WEAPONS ARE FREE. ROE ARE RED 1, I REPEAT RED 1.

WHILE A PEACEFUL SOLUTION IS ACCEPTABLE AND DESIRED, ALL REBEL FORCES MUST BE DISARMED OR DESTROYED. ANY FORCE DEEMED NECESSARY BY YOU TO CARRY OUT THIS DIRECTIVE IS ACCEPTABLE TO THIS COMMAND.

MARINE LANDING FORCE 8, ABOARD COMBAT TRANSPORTS BLACK KETTLE AND VICTORIO WITH ESCORTS ARE TO RENDEZVOUS WITH YOU ON 18 MARCH IN DURENDAL, ENTRY THROUGH WARPLINE FROM CIMMARON. THE MARINES ABOARD ARE KNOWN TO BE LOYAL, AND WILL SUPPLY MARTIAL LAW GARRISONS.

SIGNED WITCINSKI, CINCTF

BY DIRECTION JOACHIM BELARIUS, MINISTER OF DEFENSE

Runningfox set the pad down, looking at them. Good men and women. He would have to thrust them into this fire. It is an ill known dichotomy to the people of any society that maintains a military that the officers, men and women in direct physical control of the actual implements of governmental violence, are almost always the last to suggest a military solution. They know all too well the cost of even a successful surgical strike far better than their political masters. Unlike those masters, who saw only what they wanted, and unlike the public, with their ritualized and glorified versions of what happened, they would have to get down in the blood. "I made available to all of you copies of the ONI estimates. Has anyone not read them?"

There was silence. The estimate had been marked 'Flag Eyes Only. Not to be disseminated to other ranks'. He'd broken a dozen regulations by handing them that.

"Now, in light of the estimate, and our orders, are there any comments?"

"Orders are orders, sir." Captain Kalenski, of the Super Dreadnought Eiger replied. A citizen of New Detroit.

"Christ on a crutch, Ski, that's just like a good Nazi." Snapped Captain Shanna Bar Joni of Zion, Captain of the Super-Dreadnought Minya Konku. "What kind of insane orders send us into one of our own systems with wartime ROEs? "

"She's right, Serge." Captain Lillienthal of the Planet Donegal, Commander of the Destroyer Jaguar cut off the SD Captain's retort. "These orders are a disaster waiting to happen. Tell me true, Sergei, have ye thought about what they say? Are ye going to butcher a bunch of civilians because of those orders? Are ye going to put your boot on their necks and make them bow to the Sassenachs because of orders?" His fingers brushed his sleeve. "Are ye gonna kill a ship manned with people in the same uniform because their captain refuses to submit to these same orders?"

Kalenski bit his lip, silent. The argument was inescapable. ROEs, Rules of Engagement, were broken into three colors. green, amber, and red, and broken into four divisions. Four, the lowest in any series, with least allowance for firing, with one the highest. Green was standard peacetime, with little or no threat, or when the Fleet wished to appear as unthreatening as possible. Amber was more serious, where the chances of combat were greater, but the fleet still held the leash.

Red, was war or just short of it. Red one, usually used only during war, or when war was imminent put every weapon on alert, and had fingers on the trigger, with the slack taken out of it. All you would need is a single targeting system going up on an enemy vessel, hell, just the suspicion, and missiles would fly. The peace, always fragile in the best of times, had just been put in the hands of the least stable captain out there with these orders.

"Our resident leprechaun has hit the nail firmly on the head, people." Runningfox looked them over. Heart Worlder, Corporate Worlder, Fringer. There was supposed to be no politics in the fleet, 'the fleet is our home' was a catch-phrase bandied about by the upper echelons, and perhaps that is what had caused this madness. The fleet was an instrument of policy, and titles meant nothing.

Unfortunately, titles mattered a great deal, since Fringer and Corporate Worlder were enemies on the economic and political front as surely as the Arachnids had been. Maybe soon to be enemies in war as well. "These orders are an open invitation to the worst any of us can imagine doing. David said it well. Ever since the last 'reapportionment', the Fringe has been out for what they deserve. Amalgamation means it's going to happen again people. Who here is willing to force humans to obey a government that won't even guarantee their rights?"

"The Assembly-" Kalenski began.

"Is dead man!" Lillienthal snapped. "It was madness when they tried to ram the Amalgamation down the Fringe's throat! As if the Fringe couldn't see it coming again! It took us almost one hundred and fifty years to break the stranglehold of the fifty Corporate Worlds." Everyone flinched at the term 'us'.

"But they wouldn't back down, not if it meant giving up their deathgrip. Well that grip was what did the Assembly in. It died when those Corporate World bastards and their synchophants killed Moira McTaggart, to gut the opposition. It was murdered as sure as she was."

"But David, we have our orders." Commodore Eric Von Wirth said softly. A New Zuricher, commanding BG 7s' Super-Dreadnoughts. "We cannot in good conscience disobey them."

"Is that so?" Lillienthal stood. Short, barely 1.4 meters tall, he towered over them. "I hate to use the word, but I must. How many of you others might consider mutiny if these orders are followed to the letter?" He raised his own hand defiantly. The officers looked around, then slowly Shanna Bar Joni's hand joined his. Only five other hands joined his. Surprisingly, one of them was Commodore Blandsley, Commander of the Battlecruiser screen. He was from Kennedy. A Heartworlder.

Lillienthal glared at the ones that had not raised their hands. "Now, you all know the compositions of your own bloody crews. How many of you think that just possibly there are junior officers aboard your own ships that just might mutiny if we try to force the issue?" More hands, more than half of the Battlegroup this time. Ominously, five of the Battlecruisers, and three of the Super-Dreadnoughts were represented. Enough to assure a choice slice of hell for everyone in the room.

Lillienthal sighed. "And," he said softly, "How many of you think it would be easier to kill your own crewmen, friends and associates on your own or the other ships? Are ye willing to kill me if it comes to that Eric? Sergei? Or Shanna, or the Commodore? Every squadron in the fleet is just like this one, most over half Fringer. A lot of them are completely Fringer. Worse yet, how many of you think the Corporate Worlders on your own ships will stand by and let you refuse orders if you decide not to obey them? How many of us will die in either case?

"This Battlegroup and the fleet itself will be gutted by a mutiny, and if there is a rebellion, what makes you think the rebels won't fight? Because these orders don't leave them much of a choice. All they're missing is Judge Lynch and the drumhead court martial. If there isn't a real rebellion out there when we get there, there will be one as sure as Ireland is green if we do.

"Because the only option they will see that they have left with this situation is rebellion, and that, sure as hell is going to be called treason."

Runningfox sighed, tapping the table as he spoke. "Do any of you think for a moment that the rebels this report anticipates haven't figured this out?" He held up the orders. "Or that other fleet warships out there haven't already made their choice? With a lag time of five months, only a fool would have ignored the possibility. How many of those ships will be prepared to fire simply because they think we will?"

He stood, a bear in human clothing. "Whatever else the Assembly might accuse them of, these are humans we're facing. Not Tabbies, not Rigelians, not Arachnids. Humans."

He looked from face to face. His voice was placid. "How far are you willing to go to maintain the peace? Are you willing to nuke them?" The faces around the table blanched. Almost 200 years before, the entire Rigelian race had been destroyed because of their inability to even consider surrender. Seven of their claimed star systems had settlements, planets capable of supporting life, bases, etc. 14 life centers expunged with nuclear fire from orbit, rather than fight through them house to house, street to street.

Estimates had placed human casualties if they had tried at eight or nine million. Too many to accept. So the fleet, Orion and Human together, had dropped enough ordinance on each to slaughter a dozen planets. Overkill with a vengeance. The Gorm and Ophiuchi had refused to assist, something Humans had first considered moral cowardice. But they had finally understood only after Kaliswah itself was glowing with nuclear fires. An estimated 19 billion Rigelians. All dead now. Their planets would be safe to settle on sometime in the next century for humanity.

The Vestrii, that odd masked alien race, unaffected by anything as minor as gamma radiation, had already begun settlements as allowed for by treaty. Recently, mankind had gotten a reprieve from their purported damnation. Two pre-industrial colony worlds of the Rigelians still lived.

Unfortunately, their racial madness was still unabated.

Less than 80 years ago, the Arachnids had proven just as dangerous and recalcitrant. Worse yet, communications had proven impossible, more from completely different ways of thinking than lack of trying. Another dozen planets, an estimated 30 or 40 trillion beings this time. These planets died as gigatonnes of anti-matter warheads struck at them. None of those would be safe for a millennium, if then.

And humanity had yet another race on its conscience.

"Tell me," Runningfox asked conversationally. "If I have to blast a dozen ships out of orbit at Durendal, is that covered by these orders?

"If I order the destruction of Durendal Skywatch, is that covered?" The men and women were silent, but he wasn't through yet.

"If I have to drop a demonstration nuke in the desert north of Roncesvalles, is that valid? If I have to then drop one on the city itself to 'subdue' them, is that acceptable?"

Suddenly his voice went from calm to fury. "And if I have to do the same in each of the nine systems listed, kill seven or eight million humans, is that covered?" He snatched up the pad, slamming it against bulkhead with enough force to shatter the casing.

"And when I die, and stand before the Great Spirit with those millions of dead on my conscience, who among you thinks he will say, 'You followed your orders, you did what was right'!"

Runningfox turned toward the bulkhead, the muscles in his back clenched in fury. Finally he turned back, calm once more. "We have our orders. All well and good. My orders are as follows. First, call together all of of your officers, and tell them what these orders say. If they don't already know, I don't want rumors to blow them out of proportions. I want any chance of mutiny nipped in the bud. Have them pass on what I'm telling you now to their subordinates.

"When you do, tell them that my orders are as follows. We are going to proceed into Durendal as ordered. Once there, we will try to convince any rebellious units to surrender without violence.

"My ROEs are Green 4. We will not fire unless actively threatened, and that will be my decision, not yours. I don't care who fires first, us, them, whoever. If a ship fires, that ship dies, those are my orders. If it comes down to more than a show of force, if it is a choice between firing on other humans, or retreat, we will retreat.

"In the event that we retreat, we will proceed immediately to Cimmaron, where I will take complete responsibility for these actions.

"Dismissed."