Stark's Command

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Authors: John G. Hemry
Tags: Science-Fiction
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that." Stark shook his head, slowly smiling. "Okay. I did okay. Could have been better. There's a whole lot of stuff we gotta work out before another battle like this happens. Coordination. Getting a lot of the detail off those damned headquarters displays. Setting up people to support you and me when too much is happening at once." His smile faded into a frown as he caught sight of one soldier slumped against a corridor wall, face reflecting some internal wound. Stark veered to come face-to-face with the man. "What's up, soldier?"
    "Huh?" The question had obviously shocked the soldier out of an internal reverie, and now his expression screwed up in total misery. "Stark. Sir. Damn it all. I let you down."
    "You let me down? Just how did that happen?"
    "I ran." The two words seem to choke in the soldier's throat. "I ran away. My unit broke, maybe because I ran."
    Vic moved forward, face concerned, but Stark waved her back. "How far? How far did you run?"
    "I . . . I dunno. As far as that ridge."
    "The ridge. The one where I was? The one we held, and then hit back on?"
    A flash of pride broke through the pain. "Yessir. That one."
    "Let me tell you something, soldier." The man braced himself in obvious expectation of a severe tongue lashing at best and arrest at worst. "If I'd seen you running on the field I might have shot you to stop you, because I have to worry about a lot of people and sometimes that's the only way to get their attention. Yeah, it's bad you ran. Real bad. But you stopped. That counts, too. You stopped, you fought. That means you've still got the makings of a good soldier."
    "It's okay?" The man obviously didn't believe it.
    "No, it's not okay," Stark snapped. "You let me down, you let down all the other soldiers in this unit, and most importantly you let down the soldiers on either side of you who depended on you to guard their flanks. Don't do it again. Ever. Or I'll make you regret the day you put on a uniform."
    "I won't. I swear."
    "Good, because the enemy gives me enough to worry about. You apes are too damn good to let me down. You're too damn good to let your friends down."
    "Yessir. You don't have to worry about me." Still unhappy, but determined as well, now.
    "Good. I won't forget you. Carry on." The soldier saluted stiffly, standing rigid as Stark and Reynolds walked on.
    "You're mellowing," Vic remarked.
    "Am not." Stark glared at her. "Didn't I sound mad enough? 'Cause I sure as hell was mad."
    "Right now, that soldier's a lot more afraid of you than he'll ever be of the enemy," Vic assured him. "But he confessed to running, Ethan. That's a court-martial offense."
    "I know that." He scowled down the corridor. "A lot of people ran. I can't court-martial them all. Don't want to. That'd do more damage than their running did. Rip outfits apart. No. The shame, knowing they let everybody down, that'll make 'em fight better next time. They'll want to prove themselves."
    She nodded judiciously. "The Uniform Code of Military Justice doesn't leave a lot of room for discretion, but you were never big on the letter of the law, were you?"
    "Vic, the letter of the law is for people who don't have enough sense to know what's right unless it's spelled out for them. I am not going to lead these people at the point of a bayonet. They'll follow me because they want to, or I'm doing something wrong."
    "Not a bad philosophy." She chewed her lower lip, gazing upward at the rough steel-and-rock ceiling over the corridor. "So, you told me during the battle you had some idea why they started running in the first place."
    "I think so, yeah."
    "Care to enlighten poor ignorant me?"
    "Let's get a beer, first." Stark veered again, heading into one of the literally hole-in-the-wall establishments to grab two beers. Waving off a small group of soldiers who tried to surrender their seats at the only table in the tiny bar, he led Vic outside again, leaning against the rough rock wall, oblivious to the cold, which somehow

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