gravelly voice came from the far end of the table. Sam Thomas stared right at Gilson as he spoke. “It’s what we do. We don’t count the cost, we don’t worry about shit we can’t change. Liberating Columbia is important enough, but by God, there are Marines down there under fire.” His volume had risen steadily, and now his roar practically shook the table. “That’s all we need to know. That’s all that’s ever mattered.” His eyes remained locked on Gilson’s. “That’s all Elias would have needed to know.” Thomas knew he wasn’t being fair using Holm’s memory to manipulate Gilson, but he didn’t care. He was too old for bullshit games, and he’d be damned if they were going to leave those Marines down there to be overwhelmed and destroyed.
“Sam, you know I would never abandon our people down there.” Gilson knew he was working her, but that didn’t stop his words from having exactly the effect he’d intended. “But how can we drop more troops into a pinpoint zone like that with the enemy on all sides?” She was staring at the map projected onto the table. “We’ll have to set up a new LZ.”
“For that to do any good, we’d have to set up the new zone at least 200 klicks from the first. Otherwise, we’ll still be coming down right on top of the heavy enemy concentration.” Mantooth was staring at the map as he spoke. “We’ll just end up with two groups surrounded.”
“There’s no choice.” Sam Thomas flashed his eyes toward Mantooth then back to Gilson. He slapped his hand down hard on the table. “We have to reinforce the original LZ.” Thomas was well into his 80s, but years of rejuv treatments had taken at least 20 of those off his effective age. Still, he had every one of those years’ worth of ornery stubbornness. “This is like Persis all over again.”
Everyone present knew the history of the battle that ended the Second Frontier War, but Sam Thomas had actually been there. “It was Elias Holm and his battalion trapped down on the planet then, and by God, Viper Worthington wasn’t about to leave any of his Marines behind, and damned the cost.” He didn’t add that Worthington had been killed in the final stages of his rescue mission, but everyone knew that already. Worthington’s story was woven deeply into Corps legend, and first year boots knew the story of Persis.
Gilson sat quietly for a few seconds. “If only we had some atmospheric fighters,” she said quietly. “A few squadrons could lay down a bombardment to provide close cover to the transports.” She shook her head. It was pointless to wish for something she knew they didn’t have. All their fighter wings were gone, destroyed in the endless series of battles they had fought.
“I can give you close support.” Elizabeth Arlington had been sitting quietly in the corner while the Marines debated their next move, but now she spoke up.
Gilson turned to face her longtime friend. “How, Lizzie? There’s not an atmospheric fighter in the fleet.”
“No, but we’ve got plenty of fast attack ships, especially the Lightning-class birds.”
Gilson looked confused. “Those ships aren’t streamlined for atmospheric flight, Lizzie.”
Arlington just stared back at her friend. “Not officially, no. But they’re pretty sleek craft, and they have a tougher frame than most ships their size. With a good enough pilot…”
“You can’t be serious. The risk would be…”
“No more than your Marines are taking, Cate.” Arlington looked around the table. “I came up through the suicide boats, and my piloting stats were the best in the wing.”
“You want to go yourself?” Gilson’s tone was one of shock. “You’ve got a whole task force to command, and you’re talking about taking a suicidal run in a fast attack ship?”
“I’m the least essential officer in the fleet. I’ve got Admiral Garret on my
“Sam, you know I would never abandon our people down there.” Gilson knew he was working her, but that didn’t stop his words from having exactly the effect he’d intended. “But how can we drop more troops into a pinpoint zone like that with the enemy on all sides?” She was staring at the map projected onto the table. “We’ll have to set up a new LZ.”
“For that to do any good, we’d have to set up the new zone at least 200 klicks from the first. Otherwise, we’ll still be coming down right on top of the heavy enemy concentration.” Mantooth was staring at the map as he spoke. “We’ll just end up with two groups surrounded.”
“There’s no choice.” Sam Thomas flashed his eyes toward Mantooth then back to Gilson. He slapped his hand down hard on the table. “We have to reinforce the original LZ.” Thomas was well into his 80s, but years of rejuv treatments had taken at least 20 of those off his effective age. Still, he had every one of those years’ worth of ornery stubbornness. “This is like Persis all over again.”
Everyone present knew the history of the battle that ended the Second Frontier War, but Sam Thomas had actually been there. “It was Elias Holm and his battalion trapped down on the planet then, and by God, Viper Worthington wasn’t about to leave any of his Marines behind, and damned the cost.” He didn’t add that Worthington had been killed in the final stages of his rescue mission, but everyone knew that already. Worthington’s story was woven deeply into Corps legend, and first year boots knew the story of Persis.
Gilson sat quietly for a few seconds. “If only we had some atmospheric fighters,” she said quietly. “A few squadrons could lay down a bombardment to provide close cover to the transports.” She shook her head. It was pointless to wish for something she knew they didn’t have. All their fighter wings were gone, destroyed in the endless series of battles they had fought.
“I can give you close support.” Elizabeth Arlington had been sitting quietly in the corner while the Marines debated their next move, but now she spoke up.
Gilson turned to face her longtime friend. “How, Lizzie? There’s not an atmospheric fighter in the fleet.”
“No, but we’ve got plenty of fast attack ships, especially the Lightning-class birds.”
Gilson looked confused. “Those ships aren’t streamlined for atmospheric flight, Lizzie.”
Arlington just stared back at her friend. “Not officially, no. But they’re pretty sleek craft, and they have a tougher frame than most ships their size. With a good enough pilot…”
“You can’t be serious. The risk would be…”
“No more than your Marines are taking, Cate.” Arlington looked around the table. “I came up through the suicide boats, and my piloting stats were the best in the wing.”
“You want to go yourself?” Gilson’s tone was one of shock. “You’ve got a whole task force to command, and you’re talking about taking a suicidal run in a fast attack ship?”
“I’m the least essential officer in the fleet. I’ve got Admiral Garret on my
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