Rogue Clone: The Clone Betrayal Part 24

"You rescued a planet with a handful of Marines; congratulations are in order," Warshaw said. He was all muscles and smiles, a man trying too hard to be my friend. "I haven't seen the official report, but I understand the fighting was fierce."

There was no official report; I had not written it yet. I did not point this out, though. If Warshaw wanted to be my buddy, I would go along for the ride. Maybe he would reveal a few of his cards.

He didn't. He chatted me up as we walked most of the length of the ship, finally ending up in a conference room near the bridge. Thorne had already arrived. The normally pa.s.sive admiral sat at the table looking irritable, his thin lips pursed and his eyes not quite meeting ours as we entered the room.

As a man holding the rank of master chief petty officer, Warshaw did not have the authority to call commissioned officers to meetings. He did not seem to care. Paying no attention to the look on Admiral Thorne's face, he slid into the conference room and took a seat.

"What is this about?" Thorne asked as I sat down. Apparently he thought this meeting was my idea.

I shrugged.

"Actually, Admiral, I called this meeting, sir," Warshaw said. "Well, maybe not me. I suppose you would say that Admiral Brocius is calling the shots."

"Admiral Brocius?" Thorne repeated. "He's back in Washington."

"Yes, sir," Warshaw said.

An embarra.s.sed smile wormed its way across Warshaw's mouth, and he said, "I took the liberty of traveling to Earth."

"You what?" asked Admiral Thorne, his voice hard but low.

"I caught a ride back to Earth on the last transfer ship," Warshaw said.

"Unless one of my senior officers approved that trip, you were absent without leave, Master Chief," Thorne said.

"You'll need to take that up with Admiral Brocius, Admiral. He approved my leave . . . retroactively." Warshaw placed the folder with the Office of the Navy seal on the table and pulled two envelopes from it.

He slid Admiral Thorne an envelope with his name on it, then he handed me one with my name as well. A small triangle of foil sealed the back of the envelope-an automated security seal. When I pressed my thumb against the foil, it read my thumbprint and curled open.

As I removed the sheet of paper inside, Warshaw said, "Sorry, Harris, it's nothing personal."

I pretended not to hear him. My combat reflex was full-bore at that moment. In another minute, I might not be able to stop myself.

Beside me, Admiral Thorne silently read the contents of Admiral Brocius's memo, his face an impa.s.sive mask. I did the same. I read and realized that Warshaw had not the slightest clue of what was written in these orders, the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

When I looked up, I met Warshaw's gaze. He had the petulant expression of a little boy caught breaking rules he does not like.

Thorne reread his letter, then folded it and slipped it back into its envelope. I placed mine face down on the table.

"So it's official, Harris, once Admiral Thorne is gone, I will a.s.sume command of the fleet."

"I see," I said. The orders I had just read mentioned more than a change in command.

"You will retain the rank of general and a.s.sume command of the Marines," Warshaw said.

Thorne started to say something, but Warshaw interrupted him. "I'm sorry to have gone around you, Admiral, but it had to be done. I could not allow them to leave the Scutum-Crux Fleet in the hands of a Marine."

"I understand," said Thorne.

"Do you have any questions, Captain Harris?" Warshaw asked. He sounded as if he were already a commanding officer, not a noncom speaking to an officer.

I shook my head.

"Admiral Thorne?"

"You took this directly to Admiral Brocius?"

"I served under him for twelve years in the Sagittarius Central Fleet," Warshaw said. "Any other questions?" He paused, then said, "If neither of you have anything else to discuss, I think I'll get back to work." With that, he left the room.

"I never did care for that son of a b.i.t.c.h," Thorne said, as soon as the door closed behind Warshaw.

"Which son of a b.i.t.c.h?" I asked. "Brocius or Warshaw?"

"Either of them. Both of them," Thorne said.

I pa.s.sed Thorne my orders.

Wayson Harris,

Captain,

UAMC, Scutum-Crux Fleet

Captain Harris, it has been brought to my attention that there are questions about the transfer of power in the Scutum-Crux Fleet. Master Chief Petty Officer Gary Warshaw has lodged a formal complaint about a Marine taking control of the fleet.

As the ranking Naval NCO, the master chief believes he should a.s.sume command of the fleet. I have considered his pet.i.tion and agree.

You shall remain Commandant of the Marines.

Further, per Master Chief Warshaw's suggestion, we shall rely upon the survivors of Terraneau to elect their own planet administrator.

Harris, it is vital that this transfer of command be carried out without incident. Once Admiral Thorne and his officers have transferred out, you are authorized to deal with Warshaw as you see fit.

Admiral Alden Brocius,

Office of the Navy

" 'Deal with Warshaw as you see fit'?" Thorne said as he finished reading. "Am I misreading this, or did Admiral Brocius just authorize you to kill that poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"Let's just say he is not going to limit my options," I said.

"Can you make heads or tails of this?" Thorne asked as he slid the envelope to me. I pulled out the orders. The page was blank except for three names: Grayson, Moffat, Ravenwood.

"Does that mean anything to you?" Thorne asked. "I a.s.sume this message was meant for you as well."

"Yes, sir."

"What's Grayson?"

"Not 'what.' 'Who.' Colonel Aldus Grayson. He was my commanding officer for a short while."

"What happened to him?" Thorne asked.

"Somebody shot him."

"People get shot all the time during war," Thorne pointed out.

"There were no enemies in the vicinity," I said. "A lot of people think I shot him."

"Did you?"

"That's the rumor," I said.

"And Moffat?"

"Another CO."

"Did you kill him, too?"

"Yeah. There were witnesses that time."

"Was he the guy on New Copenhagen? I heard about him."

"There were two inquests, I was cleared of all charges both times," I said.

"What about Ravenwood? Another dead officer?"

"It's a planet."

"You killed a planet?" Thorne asked.

"The Marines had an outpost on Ravenwood."

"Ravenwood Outpost . . . s.h.i.t, I know about that," Thorne said, recognizing the name. Ravenwood was the Scutum-Crux Arm's answer to Roanoke. Every platoon the Marines sent to Ravenwood Outpost vanished. According to the official report, no one ever made it off the planet alive. That was a whitewash. In truth, no one ever lasted his first night on that planet.

"Do you know what happened on Ravenwood?" Thorne asked.

"I know exactly what happened," I said. "Admiral Huang used it as a training ground for a new breed of SEAL clones. He used the Marines as live bait. They came, they tried to defend themselves, and they died. Huang's killer SEALs polished them off quick."

"But what does that have to do with you and Warshaw?" Thorne was no fool. Watching his face, I could tell that he had the riddle partially solved.

"If I had to guess, I'd say he brought up Grayson and Moffat to let me know that a little friendly fire might be in order."

"Yeah, I figured that out. What about Ravenwood?"

"War games," I said.

"They're not just sending you away; they're going to use you for target practice," Thorne said in astonishment.

"That's my guess," I said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

The military philosopher Michael Khumalo said, "Your most dangerous enemy is the one you mistake for a friend." Advice to live by.

Besides Thomer and Hollingsworth, I shared my plans with no one. Admiral Thorne had his suspicions; but he was a bright guy and knew better than to ask.

My plans fell into place in the weeks after we liberated Terraneau. Convinced that everyone was playing according to Hoyle, the bra.s.s began using battleships to ferry clones to our fleet. They started with one; but after another week, they upped the ante by sending three. With three big ships, they could ship six thousand clones at a time. Given another week, they might well have completed the transfers.

I played possum as the first big shipment arrived. When I heard that the battleships were coming again, I opened the books to an ally I was not sure I could trust. I found Warshaw's billet and tapped the CALL b.u.t.ton on the intercom.

"Yeah?" the voice barked.

"It's Harris," I said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I'm about to declare a war. Since you command the fleet, I thought I'd let you in on my plans," I said.

"I don't have time for jokes, Captain," Warshaw said.

"I'm not joking."