I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about The General’s Lady in the last few months, in part about how I’m going to rework the beginning even as I continue to plow through the second half (middle third?) of the draft. There are quite a few initial chapters that are going to be cut, but I have a feeling this one will remain in some form or another, along with a lot of the Michael and Arlan chapters.
Enjoy.
Eight
better unknown
“That’s three,” Graden rumbled. “Your father should be more than a little pleased, I hope.”
The promenade of Argossa II’s capital, Triskelle, was littered with the remnants of battle, haunted by its ghosts. It stank of death and fear. He was accustomed to both but enjoyed neither.
“In record time, too,” Arlan murmured, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The city had surrendered and been reported secure by the second infantry division, but one could never be too careful, as they’d both learned the hard way time and again. “More costly than anticipated, though.”
Graden shook his head. “Your father wanted haste and damn the consequences. He got what he wanted.” At the cost of a ship and seven hundred dead or wounded on our side alone. Three additional ships damaged. Bastard doesn’t think of the human cost of war sometimes. Star-Lord Camden hadn’t been on the battlefield for two generations, though. He’d forgotten what war was like. “At least he has so far. We’ll need to resupply and lick our wounds before we can hit Talrena.”
Arlan shook his head. “He won’t be happy to hear that, but I’ll make him understand.” He rubbed his temple. “Of course, it’s going to mean another twelve rounds over when I’m going to give up soldiering.”
“Fine, I’ll tell him, then. We’ll have a shouting match and he’ll try to demote me, then I’ll remind him that he can’t because our men won’t follow anyone else.” Graden smiled wryly. “Except for maybe you, but that would just end with a few more rounds, wouldn’t it?”
Two soldiers snapped to attention as they passed through the gates to the governor’s mansion, set on a hill above the sprawling city. The place was silent as a tomb. Graden waved the men back to their duties as he and Arlan continued on.
“Has he bothered to name succession?” Graden asked suddenly. “Your father. He’s getting on, isn’t he?”
“He’d like to,” Arlan said, brow creasing and lips thinning. “But he said that he won’t do it until he knows he won’t have to meddle with it again. ‘Once and never again,’ he told me when we discussed it last.” Arlan blew out a breath between his teeth and shook his head. “He won’t name succession until I’ve given up soldiering and I won’t give up service until there’s peace enough in the galaxy that we’re not fighting new battles every day. Once our borders are secure, I think maybe I could give it up. Of course, we’ll have to convince him that the borders are secure at some point. Hell, I’ll have to convince myself.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle, Mike. He wants me to give up the fight but at the same time he keeps throwing us back into the fray.”
“It’s not as if House Harper can do the fighting for us out here,” Graden said. “Though I think we may have to ask for their assistance if Star-Lord Camden wants us to move immediately on our next target.”
“Johnathan Harper won’t agree to it.”
“Your father will just have to put his diplomatic skills to good use and damned fast, then, because I don’t know that we can take Talrena with our division in the shape it’s in.” We might pull it off, but not without getting thoroughly bloodied in the doing. It won’t be pretty, for us or the people of Talrena. “We’ll have to see. Maybe if I lay things out using small words and a lot of pictures, Star-Lord Camden will understand what I’m trying to tell him about the disposition of our troops.” Graden pushed open the doors to the grand entry hall to the governor’s palace and paused for a moment on the threshold. Banners hung tattered from the rafters and blood smeared the floor in some places.
“Damn,” Graden muttered. “I didn’t realize there was fighting in here, too.”
“It was everywhere,” Arlan said quietly, gaze scything across the scraped marble floors and ripped tapestries, toppled statuary. “There wasn’t a safe place to be found, not even here.”
Graden felt a brief tightness in his chest. “The governor here, did he have a wife? Children?”
“He surrendered before any harm came to them,” Arlan said quietly. “I’m sure Star-Lord Camden will allow them to retire somewhere sufficiently out of the way.”gossa II’han a little pleased, I hope.”
One can only hope. Graden nodded slowly.
Arlan clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not all bad news, Mike. Some good came of all this death and destruction.”
“You mean beyond your father gaining three more worlds?” Graden asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Our borders may be vaguely more secure with the taking of the trio, but can we maintain our grip in the long run? I’m not so sure. “Tell me what it is, Ar, because I sure as hell don’t see it.”
Arlan reached into a pocket and passed him a data stick. “Remember that derelict courier we came across on the edge of the system? I cracked the encryptions.”
Graden shook his head, taking the stick. “And you thought you’d never use that training ever again. What’d you find out?”
“Well, she was coming back from the Arm when she got chewed up, for one thing. Data’s about two years out of date.”
He stopped in mid-stride. “We don’t have anything from the Scandian Arm dating back to that period of the war.”
“No sir, not until we found that courier.”
That was a military courier. It would have been carrying information back to Command—and failing Command, it would have brought that information to the highest-ranking survivor of the Star Corps. Troop disposition, status reports, requests for aid, classified information—a goddamned treasure-trove for anyone that came across it. We’re lucky that the crew didn’t have time to wipe their drives before they died. Graden found himself short of breath, light-headed. His voice came as a hoarse whisper. “Did it…did it have anything about…?”
“I didn’t read much of anything, just enough to know what we were looking at.” Arlan gave him a long, hard look, then continued. “But I ran it through some search algorithms and flagged everything I could find about the Eagles, Mike. It was the least I could do. Other than, you know, finish up all the formalities so you can take a few hours to have a look at what’s on there.”
Graden had to take a few breaths before he could answer. “Thanks, Ar.”
“Anytime.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I hope it’s good news.”
So do I. Graden nodded, staring at the stick, then turned and walked away.
• • •
Fifty-second Battalion, designated Eagles, attacked on Talrena…estimate only ten to thirty survived assault…no word on disposition of those who escaped…list of dead appended…
Graden closed his eyes as tears blurred his vision. He felt a momentary flash of gratitude to Arlan for taking over today but at the same time felt anger begin to bubble up. It was irrational. His XO didn’t know exactly what was on the stick, just that there was information on the Eagles—on Laney.
He couldn’t have known. Graden pressed his fist to his brow, teeth grinding. “Damn. Damn!”
He suppressed the urge to fling the tablet across the room, though barely. Instead he pounded a fist against the edge of the table, splitting a knuckle. He growled quietly and slumped back in his chair, staring out the window. This room overlooked the gardens in the governor’s palace, brown and dead at the trailing edge of winter.
“I always thought she was probably dead,” he muttered to nobody. “But there was always just this little part of me that dared to hope that she wasn’t.” He pounded his fist against the table again.
Maybe there’s something about them escaping in a later report. That wasn’t the last file flagged, was it? He forced his attention back to the tablet. His hands felt like leaden weights as he scrolled through the files. It felt like an eternity before he found the next file Arlan had flagged for him.
Graden closed his eyes as he tapped the file open, heart feeling like a ball of ice in his chest. The Arm was supposed to be a fucking safe assignment. All the fighting was going on elsewhere. I got her that assignment. I should have taken it myself.
Why? So she could stay at Mialos and die with everyone else?
He barely stopped himself from punching the table again.
Words glowed at him on the tablet’s screen as he opened his eyes. His hands squeezed into fists, blood flowing freely from his split knuckle. He ignored it.
–have not located the bodies of twenty-three members of the fifty-second Eagles, including commanding officer Maj. E. E. Harris. Unconfirmed reports have at least twelve, including Harris, were captured by rogue officer Maj. Travis Delmarco and transported elsewhere in the Arm. We are working to confirm these reports and will advise ASAP.
“Bastards.” The word hissed out before he was conscious of saying it. Damn them all. Damn them.
He started searching for the next file. The news didn’t get any better from there.
Command, be advised we have confirmed that the following eighteen members of the fifty-second Eagles have been captured by the rebellious House Delmarco and are presumed deceased en route to Corvaris.
Her name was at the top of the list.
This time, he did throw the tablet against the wall.
He left it in shards on the floor as he stormed out of the room, down the corridor and the stairs, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Commander Byers!”
Three shouts later, Arlan materialized, looking slightly overwrought himself. “General?”
“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden demanded.
Arlan rocked back against his heels, blinking rapidly. “I—what?”
“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden asked again, the words grating through a set jaw and gritted teeth. “When can we ship out for Talrena?”
“I was just explaining to Star-Lord Camden tha—”
“Forget it,” Graden snapped. “We leave as soon as we’re fueled. Recall everyone. Leave the wounded and a skeleton garrison here. They can catch up with us once the Star-Lord’s occupation forces arrive.” He started walking, heading toward the doors out of the godforsaken manse and into the weak winter sunshine. Arlan had to scramble to keep up.
“Mike, what’s wrong?”
“They killed her, Ar. That’s what’s wrong. Now they have to pay.”
