COUNTERPOINT
CHAPTER 1: THE SOLDIER
PART 10
By Mya Thevendra
Harold paused, and waited for a response. Ian knew that this was no joke; there were things that should never be said in humour, and announcing that you were being relieved of command was one of them. After staring through Harold with cold, probing eyes, Ian glanced around the table in front, as if physically searching for the words to say. After a moment, he looked back up.
"Very well. I hereby relinquish to you tactical command of Fort Sunderland, and all of the responsibilities conferred by this post."
Harold shook his head.
"Jesus, Ian, you don't have to be so formal. We're frien-"
"Permission to speak candidly." interrupted Ian.
Harold sighed, and braced himself, aware of what was heading his way.
"Granted."
"What…the bloody hell is going on!"
Ian leant forward, nearly toppling his glass, his eyes smouldering.
"Damn it, Ian. You could've just come out and asked."
"Not unless it's off the record, Harry. You know how I feel about that."
"Yeah," nodded Harold, "I know how you feel."
"Harry," began Ian, his voice now somewhat more tempered, "for nearly two weeks, I've been the Tactical Commander of this god forsaken place. You wouldn't believe the kind of mess that I've had to attempt to clean up, and now all of a sudden, you turn up out of the blue and tell me that you're taking over. Now I might just be going out of my mind but something tells me that that mess with the supplies was something to do with you. Now start talking, I want to know exactly what the hell is going on."
Harold pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. After stepping away from the table, he turned back around to face Ian.
"Have you heard of Sol Copianna? It's a confederate planet close to here, less than a light year."
Ian stared up at Harold, his eyes fixed, his lips pursed.
"No."
"It's an agricultural world…it was. Since the war started, the confederacy's been using it to stockpile supplies and equipment, for rapid transit to nearby hotspots. Three months ago, the enemy speared through our border defences, and landed on half a dozen worlds in the Cerepes system, Sol Copianna was one of them. The other worlds were low priority; Command dispatched enough platoons and armour to hold them off, but the immediate concern was Sol Copianna. Losing that planet and the supplies we'd built up would've set us back a long way. Those bastards killed more than twelve thousand civilians before a response was mounted, and even then, there weren't enough experienced commanders to get the job done properly. I was called in to take over."
"And save the day, no doubt." said Ian, his voice tight with sarcasm.
"Ian, will you shut up for a second and listen to me?" Ian glared up at Harold as he continued.
"We pushed them back, out of the fields and cities, and into the mountains. We brought explorers into close orbit to scan for their survivors, and when we found them, we wiped them out. After that, the orbital perimeter was re-established, and the remaining platoons were coordinated to take out the enemy presence on the other planets in the system. But that's where I've been. For the past three months, I've been on Sol Copianna."
Ian stared at Harold with narrowed eyes, and slowly shook his head.
"I still don't understand what that has to do with me."
Harold took a step forward and placed his hands on the back of the chair he had been sitting in.
"Ian, Fort Sunderland was meant to be my command. Five months ago when the geo survey first spotted those resources underground, and the Confederacy first decided to construct a base here, I was the one who they picked to take command."
Ian sagged back in his chair and folded his arms, listening attentively as Harold continued.
"Things didn't work out as well as they could have. By the time they'd gotten round to allocating units, the enemy had stepped up their attacks, the most accomplished divisions were transferred to the front line, and Command had to pick from what was left; the Jackknifes, not exactly the most expert unit in the Corps, or the most effective. The Tommy's Curse are the wrong sort of unit altogether for this assignment; they're infiltrators and shock troops, they don't have the experience to be deployed as watchdogs or first strike units, which was what this place was suppose to have. We find the resources, start manufacturing in the field, and by the time our incursion fleet gets here, we're equipped and ready to launch an attack across the border. You've been briefed on this, you know the drill; the planet held by the enemy on the other side of the border, Gychos II, a nice easy, valuable target. Taking Gychos II, that was the plan."
Ian continued to watch and listen.
"But like I said, things didn't turn out as well as expected. When Sol Copianna was attacked, and I was drafted in, it left just over two weeks until construction was due to start here, and since Command knew that driving those bastards out of the Cerepes system was going to take longer than two weeks, a lot longer, they knew there would be no one to command this place when it was built. In the end, I think they got an administrator to assume control of the T.C.U."
Ian nodded slowly.
"Kirkland."
"Yeah, well, Command chose an administrator because they knew it'd be someone who'd just follow the adjutant's directions, and wouldn't take the initiative. They didn't want anyone messing up the state of things before I arrived."
"What about me and my unit? Where do we come into this?" asked Ian.
Harold stepped back and leant against the wall behind.
"You and your unit were a lucky break. Command didn't expect there to be any highly skilled units left available in this sector, but when they found you on escort duty on Choman V, they decided to pull you out and put you to better use."
Ian scowled.
"Choman V was supposed to be our recovery tour." said Ian, "We'd been stuck on the front line for months, and were finally given two weeks to step back; our feet had barely touched the bloody ground before we were transferred back into action."
"I'm sorry Ian, but timing was critical, and there were no other options. The Spider Monkeys are going to be the primary strike unit when we attack, but don't worry about recovering; there's time left before we head out. Those damn caverns are making sure of that."
"What about the equipment, the cataloguing error; two months with no military re-supply?"
"That was also unavoidable." Said Harold, lowering his head. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ian, the war's not exactly going our way out there. We're being run down, and equipment's in short supply. Fact of the matter is that at the time the units had been transferred here, there just weren't enough weapons and armour to properly equip them. It seems like it's bullshit, but it's the truth. Saying that it was a cataloguing error made it sound like the equipment was there, and ready, but it just hadn't arrived yet."
"But the equipment you brought with you now," began Ian, "you're telling me that in two months, that equipment has only just become available?"
Harold shook his head with an almost weary motion.
"No, it was cleared for transit three weeks ago."
Ian shook his head as he tried to piece together the pieces of the puzzle.
"Then why is it arriving only now?"
Harold looked up to face Ian.
"Command wanted the equipment and me to arrive at the same time. They didn't want any of it to get here before me; the weapons had to be in optimal condition, and the armour completely undamaged. They didn't want to risk that when I arrived, there'd be substandard or damaged equipment waiting for me."
Ian stared up at him in disbelief. Harold looked back and gave a slight shrug.
"I guess they have a little more confidence in my abilities than they do in most others, and wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to make this work."
Ian shook his head, his mouth ajar.
"What if we'd been attacked?" he asked.
"By who? There's zero hostile activity. I'm not normally one to wholeheartedly abide by Confederate intelligence reports, but I think the tek boys've got it right on this one. Records show that there hasn't been any evidence or indication of enemy activity within half a light year of this planet since the start of the war. Come on, be realistic; do you really think that Confederate Command would have delayed those supplies if there were any real threat to this place? The closest enemy presence is across the border, and none of it's spilled over into the Widow system, that's been confirmed. And, as according to plan, all indications are that they have no idea that we're over here."
Ian shook his head once again.
"But I do take your point," sighed Harold, "about the delay. It's a little…overzealous on their part, but it's the way they like to play things. They like to show favouritism, even if they don't admit it."
Ian's head was spinning. Too much had been revealed for Ian to remain dead calm. All of the thoughts he'd had, all of the crackpot theories his imagination had conjured as to why the supplies had been delayed; not even in Ian's wildest imaginings could he have predicted it was simply because the Confederacy felt like pampering one of their all-star commanders. Ian gathered his thoughts together enough to ask one more question, the most important one.
"Harry…why was I given command of this base, if it was intended for you?"
Harold brushed a broad thumb across his chin.
"Basically, to put up a front. That administrator, Kirkland, had been in supervised control of the TacCon for five weeks; people had to have been wondering where the official commander was. Murello wasn't qualified to take full control of the TacCon, and Command's got some kind of problem with Deist, so he was out. So they decided that when you arrived with the Spider Monkeys you should take over as Tactical Commander; make everyone think that everything was going smoothly, until I arrived to relieve you."
Ian was stunned into stone-faced silence, and sat motionless in his chair, while Harold continued.
"Six days ago, we finished clearing out the last of the enemy on Sol Copianna, and everything was set for me to resume my post here; the weapons and armour that had been requisitioned for this place had already been cleared, like I said, and tactical officers had been picked and sent on their way over here. By then, there was only one problem left; there were still no more marine units available for transfer to this base. That's not going to be the case for much longer; Command anticipates at least three more platoons'll be available within the next week and a half or so, but the sooner I personally acquired command over a unit, and start to work with it, to form a link of authority with it, the better."
Ian was staring into the middle distance, when these last words caught his attention. He looked up, and his mind reeled at the direction in which he suspected Harold was taking.
"Therefore, Ian, I've been authorised to not only take control of this installation, but to also assume command of your unit, the Spider Monkeys, for the duration of this campaign."
In an unhurried, almost tranquil manner, Ian pushed his chair back, and slowly rose to his feet, leaning on the table in front. His hands were clenched fists, and his knuckles were the colour of bleached bone.
"Say that again, Harry."
Harold stepped forward.
"Ian, I'm sorry. I really am sorry, but it's not like any of us have a choice in this."
Ian lowered his gaze to the table. His voice was as hard and cold as tempered steel.
"How…horrifically inconvenient for you."
"Ian," said Harold, "this is one of those times when you're going to have to stand down. Despite appearances, the Confederacy's spent a lot of time and effort planning this out. Damn it, I've told you what's at stake here."
Ian leant further forward and glowered up at Harold.
"You've got all of the answers, haven't you? What the Confederacy thinks, what they did, why they did it. How is it you know so much?"
Harold leaned over to face Ian.
"Let's just say that me and Command are pretty close these days."
Ian's face was drawn, his eyes little more than slits.
"Yes, I'll bet you are."
Ian's venomous tone was jarring, but not surprising. Harold stared unflinchingly back as Ian let loose.
"You know, I've kept tabs on you too, Harry. I've watched how you've turned into one of the Confederacy's poster boys, riding into conflicts on your silver chariot and claiming the glory, not forgetting to stop and smile for the cameras, the bloody paragon of the Confederate military, and then leaving it to others to sort out what's left behind. The way that you're just…given units that serve your purpose, and then you cast them aside the moment you've won the credit, just like you're doing right now. You've had absolutely bugger all to do with Fort Sunderland, and now you waltz in and then they give you my unit. My unit! Let me tell you something about command, Harry, it's not something you can just pick up and drop as the whim takes you; it's built on trust. Trust and loyalty."
"Is that right?" sneered Harry, "Trust and loyalty? Let me ask you something, do you think that you inspire trust and loyalty in your men?"
"What?" snorted Ian.
"Come on, Ian, I know you. I know what sort of a person you are; if you stood next to a statue, people'd have trouble telling you apart. Do you really expect me to believe that your men follow you out of trust? Don't kid yourself; they do it because they're bound to follow orders, nothing more." said Harry, scornfully.
Ian slowly straightened himself, his burning gaze fixed on his old comrade.
"You're right about one thing, though" said Harry, "I don't command,you're right, I don't. I lead; there's a difference. I lead, and I get the job done. I get results and that's all that matters. Individual people don't matter in this war, Ian; we're fighting for our God damn survival! All that matters is that we win; civilians, grunts, pilots, XO's, commanders…they don't matter. You have to look at the big picture."
"What about respect, Harry? Does that matter?" asked Ian.
"Respect for who?"
"Respect for me!" hollered Ian, "Jesus Christ, what the hell am I supposed to think? Transferred out mid-assignment, dumped on this dust ball planet, and then two weeks later I'm told not only am I to give up command of my post, but my unit as well! What the hell was I supposed to be doing here? What do you need me for? All this time, all I've done is act as a, a babysitter! For my own bloody unit!"
As he met the stony gaze of his comrade and friend with his own chilling stare, Ian tried to deliberate the situation within his own thoughts. Harry had never seen
Ian this upset before, and realised that nothing would be resolved by arguing further. He could have simply pulled rank, and used the authority that Confederate Command had given him to press Ian into submission, as he had done to so many other officers, but he couldn't. Even after all of these years, and even after everything that had been said, there was enough left between them for him to at least try to talk Ian around. Harry paused for a few moments, and then carried on.
"Ian, look, I am sorry, believe me. But like I said, there's simply no choice in the matter. You have to believe me. I know it's hard, I know you don't think much of me right now, and in a way…in a way you're right. I guess Command have turned me into an icon of sorts. To tell you the truth, it's worse than you think, they even want to get footage of this campaign to broadcast on the civilian channels."
"Jesus Christ, Harry."
"Now wait, wait." said Harold, "I know what you're thinking, but it's not propaganda or anything two-faced, you've got to believe me. There are thousands of folks back home; wives, parents, husbands, kids, all hoping that their loved ones are going to get back safely, you know that. And I know that you and me, we don't have anyone back home waiting for us, but there are plenty of others that do. And filming stuff like this; brave boys and girls, stationed on the front line, getting ready to carve a chunk out of the enemy, it does a lot of good for civilian morale. It lets them know that we're still fighting."
"I thought you said that people don't matter," said Ian, his tone a little more controlled.
"It's not my idea. Things like this come down from the Public Relation Division."
"I see. Well, you sell it well for someone who doesn't believe in it."
"I didn't say I didn't believe in it, it's just that you have to have priorities. Something like this wouldn't come too high up in mine, but Command sees it differently. Fort Sunderland's got a big role to play; this is where we strike back, where we start taking the fight to them. They figure the more people that see that, the better. I suppose, in some way, in some small way, I might agree."
Ian put his hands in his pockets and stepping away from the table, began to pace slowly about the side of the room.
"I guess I am a poster boy," said Harold with a despondent smile, "but I'm a soldier first of all, I always have been. Working like this, it isn't always the way I'd like it to be, but it gets results. It makes a difference. I guess in the beginning, I did it for glory; maybe that's not the case anymore. I just want this to work, like I know it can. Ian, we can hurt those fuckers. We can land right in their back yard and start carving them up, and once we start, then this war's going to turn, I know it, but you have to help me. You've got to stand down."
Ian turned around to face Harold, and looked him in the eyes. There was sincerity in his voice; the tension between them had lifted a little, and Ian found himself with a moment to think clearly. He couldn't, in all his years, ever remember feeling like this. He was angry, certainly, that was unmistakable, but more than that, he felt used. He felt that even his long career of loyal service to the Confederacy had given them few qualms about treating him as though he were a puppet, or some miserable stray to be led about in the dark, and cast away without a care.
But when Ian pushed through the feelings that clouded his thoughts, he realised that at least some of Harold's words rang true. They were fighting for their survival, and as Ian had always known, the Confederacy, despite all of its failings, all of its shortcomings, had never had any other goal than to ensure that the Terran civilisation survived. He was reminded of Bethany Rigg's words, as the two of them had spoken twelve days before: 'They may get it wrong, every now and then, we both know that, but they always come through in the end.'
Ian still didn't believe that. He knew that the Confederacy seldom had solely noble intentions at heart, but once again, he was forced to realise that they were the best chance, the only chance. What few feelings, and what little ego Ian had were certainly bruised, but he knew that he couldn't protest on this. The responsibility and the consequences of this base and its command were far more important than any one individual, or their emotions; that was one thing that Ian couldn't argue with.
Harry met Ian's gaze. Tempers had receded, but both suspected that too much had been said, and too much damage had been done.
"Ian, please. Please, stand down."
Ian lowered his eyes to the floor, and nodded.
"All right. All right, Harry…I'll do what you want."
Harold looked at him, and tried to think of something to say, something supportive and understanding that one friend might say to another, but he could find no words. He wasn't proud of the way this had turned out, by any means, but he suspected that perhaps there could never have been any other way.
"Good. That's good," said Harold, "Look, I'm going to shake up your duty rotor a little, I want to get started on this right away. Commander Murello's on tonight; the Spider Monkeys will replace Commander Deist's team tomorrow morning. Don't worry, we'll start off a couple of hours later, just to make sure they're rested."
"Very well." Said Ian, quietly.
"One of the tactical officers who came with me, Lieutenant Commander Verassin, I've worked with him before; I want him to double up as my XO."
Ian looked up at Harold.
"What? Why?"
"I've never worked with your unit, or your XO. I need a second in command who knows me, and who I'm familiar with. Someone who knows how I think. Otherwise they'll just be one more problem to handle, and we've got enough right now."
"Harry, don't split my unit up from its XO as well as its commander," said Ian, "Sergeant Sheppard's a good officer, the men work well under her. They trust her."
Ian stared into Harold's deep, hazel eyes.
"Maybe more than they trust me."
Harold looked back and sighed softly.
"Okay, look, I'll tell you what. I'll take both of them. I'll keep Verassin as my XO, and I'll make Sheppard the acting unit leader. She'll still have authority over the unit, but she'll be subordinate to Verassin and myself. Good enough?"
"Yes, good enough."
Harold smiled faintly, and then stepped over to the table to finish his water.
"There's one more thing I want to ask of you," said Ian.
"Sure."
"I know you've got two qualified tactical officers now, aside from Verassin."
"That's right." Said Harold, taking another sip from his glass.
"One of the Jackknifes, Corporal O'Hanlan, has been acting as squad co-ordinator these past two weeks. I'd like you to leave him on duty. He's been alternating with one of the tactical staff. I know you'd probably rather replace him with another member of the staff, or one of your officers, but he's done well. He's a bright lad, very capable, and he's learning lot from this. Of course, it's up to you."
"No, it's okay, I'll leave him on. My officers'll be supervising; if he gets into any trouble, they'll step in." said Harold.
"Fine." replied Ian.
"What are you going to do? I mean, the TacCon's still open to you, if you wanted, you…"
"Yes. Yes, I think I might," said Ian, scratching his chin, "If it's all right, I thought I'd just observe."
"Sure," replied Harry, "I'd be glad to have you there."
Harold emptied his glass, and then set it back down on the table, while Ian made towards the door.
"Ian look," began Harold. "I'm..."
"You're sorry, I know Harry," said Ian, "It's all right, I'm sorry too. I suppose I never really sympathised with your position; you're probably subject to orders more than the rest of us, being who you are. I suppose it's not easy, having your entire life run by Confederate Command. The rest of us do it, but we get a break from time to time."
Ian reached out and opened the door, and then stood, glancing around once again as he searched for words.
"I suppose they do take a lot of liberties; deciding whose units would best serve you, and then handing them over the way that they do. I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised that they did it here. I mean it's not as if you specifically asked for my…"
Ian stopped. Instinct and reason combined to pose an unnerving thought. For all of this time, Ian had assumed that Confederate Command had made the decision to transfer command of the Spider Monkeys over to Harold, in the manner that they would normally do when assigning him to a post. What if they hadn't? Ian considered the situation: Command had decided that there was no immediate threat, and Harold himself had said that they had predicted an influx of new units within the next week and a half. Under these circumstances, it seemed suddenly very unlikely that they would transfer an entire brigade over to his authority when there was little need to. What if Harry had asked for the Spider Monkeys? He'd said that he wanted to start working with a unit as soon as he could, so it was simply a matter of personal preference; Command probably didn't see the need for him to be in actual control of a unit until the resources had been found, and by then, the reinforcements would most likely have arrived, and they would have a wider choice of units to pick from. Harry, on the other hand, wanted a brigade as soon as possible, and according to his own words, the Spider Monkeys were the obvious choice. And so, he would have had to ask for them. He would have had to specifically ask for the 141st Spider Monkeys, knowing full well that they were Ian's own unit, and that he would be pushed out. One of the most degrading things that could happen to a Confederate Marine Commander, to be forced to relinquish command of their unit, and Harry could have asked for it to happen. Ian felt sick. He simply couldn't believe that Harry might have done it, to him of all people, his old friend and squad mate, and yet his suspicions were too strong and too well founded to ignore.
Harold stood still and silent and stared at Ian as though he knew what sudden thought had struck him. Ian could have settled the matter right then and there, all he needed to do was turn round and ask. But he didn't. Between any two friends there exists a line, a boundary that, if the friendship is to stand, must never be crossed. At this moment, the two of them were stood squarely on top of it. For Ian to ask would surely mean for them to topple uncontrollably over. Ian paused, and looked back over his shoulder, and looked Harold straight in the eyes, but he didn't ask.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry." Said Ian, and with that, he turned back around and walked out.