In the Rouge

6 - Garza

The conference table extended as Garza sat down. He took a moment to look at each of the seven admirals before he spoke. “Now that you have all read the preliminary operation outline, are there any questions or concerns about the scope of this plan?”

     None of the admirals responded.

     Garza looked around the table again. “Admirals, this”—he tapped the AUD resting in front of him—“is a plan centered on directly assaulting Capitol. We’re talking about invading Earth, here. Some of you better have a problem with this.” He scanned their faces. There were some dark-rimmed eyes, but none of them looked concerned. “Now is the time to speak up, Admirals.”

     Admiral Schroeder finally did. “There isn’t much to say; it’s a good plan, Manny. Blockade the planet, and if they don’t surrender, assault the palace. With Haslie’s Fifth stationed as Home Fleet right now, there won’t be any defenders in space—well, as long as we don’t tip our hand early. If they surrender, great; we win. If not, we only have to assault the palace, not the entire planet. If I had any better ideas, I’d let you know.”

     “Anyone else?” said Garza.

     “I have a concern,” said Admiral Brenner, glancing sideways at Admiral Haslie. “Apparently no one else wants to bring it up, but what about the Titan?”

     “What about her?” said Haslie defensively.

     “You know damn well what,” said Brenner. “The Titan is part of Fifth Fleet. James Whorley will end up right in the middle of this, and you all know it. And you all know who else is on that ship.” A few of the others nodded agreement. Haslie’s face tightened, her lips a thin line of warning to which Brenner seemed oblivious. “So how are you going to deal with the Titan?”

     Haslie glared daggers at him. “Captain Whorley and his ship are being handled, I assure you,” she said as only a woman could: every word polite but coated with ice, jagged and razor sharp.

     “Handled?” said Brenner with incredulity. “The man has been awarded fifteen Grand Commendations, and he has a very annoying habit of being in the right place at the right time, so you’ll forgive me if I want some specifics, Theora.”

     “It’s none of your business! You—”

     “Theora!” Garza cut her off. He put on a friendly smile to soften the outburst. “We do need to know. It may only be one ship, but John”—he nodded toward Admiral Brenner—“is right, Whorley is a problem for all of us. I trust you to deal with it, but please put all our minds at ease and tell us how.”

     Haslie glared at Brenner a few seconds longer before turning her attention on Garza. “They will be out of the way,” she said primly. “I sent them off chasing some ridiculous rumor: a pirate ghost or some such nonsense. It should keep them occupied for at least another three weeks before they give up the chase or kill enough pirates to satisfy themselves.” She looked around the table. “Well?”

     “That’s good enough for me,” said Garza. He looked expectantly at Admiral Brenner, who nodded after a momentary hesitation. Garza smiled. “Good. Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, casting his smile around the table, “please try to remember that during these meetings, our only enemies are our egos, so please remain civil. We don’t want this operation to fail at the planning table.” Everyone seemed to relax slightly at this, even Admiral Haslie. Things were starting to get on track, and Garza felt a little pride in the Plan. He made another mental note to commend his staff lieutenant, then leaned forward and steepled his hands. “Now, on to logistics.”

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