The Tide of War, page 28
“Bullshit it’s utter nonsense.” Kyle stepped closer to him, fury radiating from every inch of his tense posture and tightly clenched jaw. “The apartment complex in that image is the one I lived in. The Menarian image is the one Dezhnyov used to carry out his orders. The timing was—”
“They’re weeks apart!” Bodner waved a hand at them. “Look at the date stamps! Look at them!”
Everyone in the room turned.
Andrei folded his arms. “So you’re saying I destroyed a building identical to the one West’s family lived in, only millions of miles apart and weeks after his building was bombed.” He inclined his head. “But if we assume that all of our conclusions are correct, and we’re orbiting Earth and not Menar, then there’s no need to actually spend any time in stasis, is there?”
Bodner gulped. And paled.
“He’s right,” Kyle said. “If we’re really orbiting Earth, then the ‘weeks’ we spend in stasis are quite possibly just a few hours.” He glared at Bodner. “Just enough to disorient us and make us think we’ve traveled halfway across the galaxy, right?”
“Holy shit,” someone murmured.
“Is that . . . That can’t be right.”
“It makes perfect sense.” Andrei tapped the projector. “If we adjust all the dates and times with the assumption that West’s stasis period was only a matter of hours or perhaps days rather than weeks, then”—Andrei nodded emphatically toward the images—“I bombed the apartment building. Isn’t that right, Admiral?”
Bodner threw his head back and laughed, likely ready to unleash a condescending tirade about the mental gymnastics it took for them to work out those time frames, but Kyle stepped up so the two of them were face-to-face.
“Watch how you fucking answer that question, Admiral.” Kyle pointed at the twin satellite images. “My family—my son, you fucking asshole—was in that apartment complex. My bird was sabotaged that day so I couldn’t do a goddamned thing to stop the attack. You want to tell me it’s a coincidence that happened after my CO had been on my ass to join the Elite Squadron? You want to tell me that Dezhnyov and I are wrong about the fucking timing?” He inched closer, and Bodner shrank back a little as Kyle snarled, “You’d better start talking, and you’d better make some goddamned sense.”
Bodner swallowed hard.
“Come on, Admiral,” Kyle said. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell everyone why I really lost my rank.”
“You disobeyed an—”
“Why was the order issued forbidding surface rescues?” Kyle demanded. “Go on, Admiral. Look any one of us in the eye and tell us the truth. Why are we ordered to bomb the crash sites when our own guys go down?”
“Do you want the Menarians getting their claws on—”
“You mean, do you want someone on Earth getting their hands on one of our crashed aircraft?” Kyle asked. “Because they might see that the pilot and gunner aren’t what they thought they were and blow this whole fucking charade out of the water?”
A few people cursed under their breath. As Andrei looked over the crowd, he saw faces pale, and at least ten guys’ eyes lost focus as they, he guessed, mentally replayed every time they’d dutifully bombed a comrade’s crash site. Every one of them had had to do it at some point. Andrei couldn’t even remember how many times he’d done it. In the history of Epsilon, out of the countless crews who’d come here to fight with the Elite Squadron, hundreds—possibly thousands by now—had crashed. He was the only survivor.
His gaze shifted back to Bodner, who was still glaring at Kyle, his jaw tight. As the stunned silence around them went on, though, something changed in the admiral’s posture. He drew back slightly, but he wasn’t cowering. Giving himself some space, winding himself up for an attack—a caged animal searching for a way out no matter what it took.
Bodner looked around. His eyes darted toward the exit, and Andrei noticed that a couple of pilots had casually moved in front of the door, blocking any escape attempt.
“Tell us the truth, Admiral,” Andrei said. “We’ve got the evidence.” He made a sweeping gesture around the gathered squadron. “Before these men go back down to Menar, you might want to give them a reason to believe they’re still fighting the good fight.”
The caged animal teetered between fight and flight, glancing back and forth between the barricaded door—and the men who could easily stop him if he tried to make a run for it—and the angry lieutenant right in front of him.
And then something in him changed again. He set his jaw. He pushed his shoulders back. He stared Kyle down just as Kyle stared him down.
“And what if it is all true, Lieutenant?” He smirked a little, as if relishing Kyle’s demotion. “What if these outlandish theories and fabricated evidence do add up to some truth? Then what?”
“Then I will personally make sure that every man responsible is tried for war crimes and fucking burns in Hell.”
Bodner jumped, subtly but unmistakably.
“Wait,” Rayburn said. “Is this why we’ve never been able to use nukes?”
Andrei’s eyebrows jumped. He hadn’t even considered that angle.
Rayburn went on. “No one’s ever been able to explain why hyperspace travel destabilizes nukes. Is that just some bullshit explanation the Fleet cooked up because you didn’t want us nuking . . .” He paused, gulping as his face lost some color. “You didn’t want us nuking Earth cities?”
Maxwell nodded. “Which would also explain why you only let us destroy one Menarian city before we suddenly didn’t have enough ordnance.”
Andrei’s stomach flipped. He’d feel that guilt until the day he died, knowing he’d conceived of and executed the plan to raze an entire city. Thank God it had only been one.
“Why would the Council of Nations do this, gentlemen?” Bodner asked. “Think about this.”
Kyle didn’t flinch. “You tell us, Admiral. We’ve found the evidence, and neither of us have a damned clue why. We only know what we’ve seen. We have the pieces. You tell us how they go together.”
The way Bodner’s eyes darted from Kyle to Andrei to the other men did nothing to convince Andrei he wasn’t part of all this. That he had no knowledge, that he was as deceived as they were. He drew away from Kyle, away from everyone, as if he could clutch the information to his chest and keep it from coming out.
“What the hell is going on, Admiral?” Maxwell asked.
Rayburn nodded. “I want to know too. I’m not firing another goddamned missile until I know who I’m shooting at.”
“What is this?” Bodner asked with a dry laugh. “Mutiny?”
“It will be,” Kyle said. “But if you can give us a reason to believe—”
“You are part of the Unified Fleet, Lieutenant,” Bodner shouted in Kyle’s face. “You will follow orders, and you will protect your planet from the enemy. That is all you need to—”
“I need to know who my motherfucking enemy is,” Kyle threw back. “And if you won’t tell me who—”
“Stop. Stop.” Andrei put his hands up. Everyone in the room stared, and no one moved or made a sound. “Admiral Bodner, you have two choices: you tell us what’s really going on or you go down to the planet’s surface with West and me.”
Bodner snorted. “And you think you have the authority to force me onto—”
“Would anyone in this room object to us forcing him into a fighter?” Kyle looked around. “Anyone?”
No response.
“Anyone willing to give us a hand if he puts up a fight?”
Bodner swallowed hard, eyeing the gathered men as every hand in the room went up.
“There.” Andrei gestured at Bodner. “Either tell us the truth now or come down with us and—”
“This is all far above your heads,” Bodner said, voice wavering. “There are things at work here none of you can possibly—”
“So it is true.” Kyle arched an eyebrow.
“None of you can possibly understand what is going into—”
“We really are attacking Earth,” Andrei said.
“Things are far more complex than—”
Kyle bristled. “We’re murdering our own people.”
“You’re ensuring there is peace between nations on Earth!” the admiral bellowed.
Andrei’s heart skipped. Kyle’s eyes widened. Every jaw in the room dropped.
“It’s not that simple,” Bodner sputtered.
“It’s not that simple?” Kyle’s hand moved so quickly, Andrei didn’t even realize what was happening until the sidearm was out and pointed straight at Bodner’s face. “Then might I suggest you think of a way to simplify it?”
Eyes wide, Bodner lifted his hands and showed his palms, staring at the pistol. “Lieutenant, you’re not going to use that in—”
“Watch me.” Venom dripped from every word.
“The airlocks will—”
“This is an interior chamber with reinforced walls,” Kyle said impatiently. “Stop changing the subject. How the hell are we ‘ensuring there is peace between nations on Earth’?”
Bodner swallowed. “Put the weapon down.”
“Answer the question.”
“You first.”
Kyle’s finger twitched on the trigger.
“All right, all right.” Bodner averted his eyes from the pistol’s muzzle. “The whole thing is a charade. Fake.”
Gasps. Furious murmurs. Curses. Someone whispered a strangled “oh God” and sounded like he barely kept from retching.
“Why?” Andrei asked, eyeing the gun.
Bodner shifted his weight. “Because there was . . . there . . .”
“Kyle,” Andrei said softly. “The gun. Let him talk.”
Kyle glanced at him but then lowered the gun and holstered it, much to the audible relief of everyone present. “Talk, Admiral.”
Bodner released a breath, then slowly drew another as he lowered his hands. “The wars on Earth were getting out of control. Every time we turned around, someone was bombing someone else over some petty disagreement.” He gulped. “The idea was that if the nations were united against a common enemy, then we’d stop killing each other.”
“So in the name of keeping countries from invading each other, we’re just bombing and shooting the shit out of each other ourselves?” Kyle threw up his hand. “To what end?”
“To what end?” Bodner sighed with exasperation. “Think about it, gentlemen. How many people die in international conflicts? Hundreds of thousands. Millions when there are nukes involved. And that’s to say nothing about the countless people displaced and the infrastructures destroyed. People starving in war-torn countries.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And how many casualties are there each year because of the Menarian invasion?”
Andrei and Kyle glanced at each other.
“Less than fifty thousand casualties annually,” Bodner growled.
“Was that before or after we destroyed entire cities?” Andrei asked, almost choking on the words.
“Before.” Bodner glared at him. “Why do you think we didn’t let those attacks go on? And do you know what happened after those attacks?”
Swallowing hard, Andrei shook his head.
“A massive conflict brewing in the Middle East and a nuclear standoff in southeast Asia both quieted. Why? Because they knew damn well their petty disagreements could wait. Yes, casualties will be higher this year, but they’re still lower than an all-out nuclear holocaust.”
Kyle exhaled, some color leaving his face.
Bodner went on. “Every single nation on Earth has signed the Unified Assault treaty.” He stabbed his finger at Kyle. “Every one of them. The amount of food, medical supplies, technology, and building equipment being traded between those nations is unprecedented. And why? So that preparation for and recovery from Menarian attacks can be expedited in every. Single. Nation.” He folded his arms and sneered. “You can take your righteous indignation and shove it, gentlemen. Instead of letting famine and war destroy the lives of billions of people, we created a controlled, calculated conflict. One which we could dial back or intensify as needed to distract from internal strife.”
“So in the name of . . . of peace . . .” Andrei struggled to speak. “You let us—ordered us—to murder thousands of people? Maybe millions of them?”
“And you think this is for the greater good?” Kyle asked, a look of disgust contorting his face. “Making the entire planet live in fear so they won’t fight amongst themselves?”
Smiling, Bodner lifted both his hands. “Billions living in fear trumps millions dying in senseless famine and violence, yes?”
“And this isn’t senseless violence?” Andrei spat. “How long is this going to go on?”
“Look, it wasn’t supposed to go on this long,” Bodner said. “But then once it started, it couldn’t stop. It . . .” He shook his head. “You’ve seen it yourselves. Things die down with the Menarians for a few months, even a few weeks, and the next thing we know, we’ve got countries squabbling over land and resources and whatever other bullshit they can argue about. And think about it. What happens if we try to break up the Fleet? Who gains control of the weapons? Of all the technology we’ve developed for the sole purpose of being able to obliterate entire cities.”
“If you were going to fake a war, why didn’t you just fake the whole thing?” Kyle snarled. “Propaganda films? Fake news? Why all this?”
Bodner sniffed with dry amusement. “Don’t you think the council tried that? The thing is, people don’t take a threat seriously unless it directly threatens them. They don’t realize how bad a tornado is until one touches down in their backyard. But when that tornado does touch down, they stop complaining about how long the neighbor’s grass has gotten.” He sighed, a hint of defeat materializing in his drooped shoulders and exhausted expression. “It was never supposed to get this out of hand. But in order to keep the charade alive, we had to make it real. We had to give people something to believe.”
“So you just made the fucking lies real?” Kyle hissed. “Instead of maybe figuring out the whole thing was a really horrible, evil idea?”
“Horrible and evil?” Bodner scoffed. “Please, Lieutenant. Are the melodramatics really necessary?”
“Melodramatics?” Kyle asked in a low, unsettling growl. “My wife committed suicide because you—”
“She never would have known if you three had just followed fucking orders,” the admiral snapped.
“And what?” Kyle gestured at Andrei. “Let him die? He never should have crashed in the first place. His wife never should have died. And you want me to apologize for disobeying orders and pulling him out of there? Fuck you, Admiral. Fuck. You.”
“You’re out of line, West,” Bodner snapped. “You don’t have to like it, but you are under my command.”
Kyle laughed sarcastically. “You don’t deserve to be in command. You’re a power-hungry son of a—”
“Power?” Bodner’s laugh was even more sarcastic. “Do you really think I came up to this godforsaken station, knowing damn well Earth is right below me and I can’t go back to it ever again because I was gaining some sort of power?”
“Oh, I’m sure it was all noble and unselfish,” Andrei snarled. “You don’t get the slightest charge over the idea of people erecting statues of you, do you?”
“You can act as noble as you want to,” Kyle snarled, “but the fact remains: you ordered my family murdered so that I would join your Elite Squadron.”
Bodner’s lips twitched. “A few die so many will live, West.”
Kyle held the admiral’s gaze. His expression changed, hardened. Andrei swallowed; he’d never seen so much ice in Kyle’s eyes.
Kyle hadn’t moved for so long, the simple shift of his weight made both Bodner and Andrei jump as if he’d thrown a punch. Voice as cold as his eyes, he said, “You know what, Admiral? You’re right.”
Andrei’s heart stopped. “Kyle . . .”
“It is better for a few to die so many can live.” Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “That does make a lot of sense.”
Bodner didn’t relax. “Exactly. It does.” His eyes flicked toward Andrei. “Doesn’t it?”
Andrei didn’t speak. Or move. Or breathe.
“Of course it does,” Kyle said. “So in light of that, I think you’ll understand why this is in humanity’s best interest.”
In the space of a heartbeat, the gun was out again and blood exploded across the wall behind Bodner’s head.
“Shit!” Andrei jumped backward, eyes wide and jaw slack.
Bodner’s body wavered for a second, then crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud.
Everyone in the room was still, staring silently at what was left of the admiral. No one breathed.
Kyle’s hand hovered in the air, gripping the gun and trembling. Slowly, he knelt and set the gun on the floor. Once it was out of his hand, everyone released a breath.
“If anyone wants to call security,” Kyle said coolly, “do it now.”
A few glances shifted back and forth, but otherwise, no one moved.
He cast a slow, sweeping look around the room. “Commander Dezhnyov and I are going down to the planet’s surface. It’s going to be incredibly dangerous and we could use backup, but we won’t hold it against anyone who backs out of this.”
Glances were passed around again, and then Maxwell stood up and locked eyes with Kyle. “We’re with you, Lieutenant Commander.”
A relieved smile formed on Kyle’s lips. “Anyone else?”
One by one, the pilots and gunners stood. Andrei and Kyle glanced at each other, the relief in Kyle’s expression as palpable as what Andrei felt.
“Welcome aboard,” Andrei said to the gathered crews. “Now let’s get off this fucking station.”
Kyle had never killed anyone in cold blood before. Even though Admiral Bodner was responsible for an untold number of deaths, including Kyle’s own family, the lingering tingle of the weapon’s recoil in Kyle’s hand made him sick.
Andrei touched his arm. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Kyle swallowed. “Let’s just get out of here before that”—he gestured at Bodner—“sinks in.”
