Geary somehow kept his voice level. “Your ship avoided combat. You had orders to protect this fleet’s auxiliaries, and instead you remained too far from them to defend those ships, engaging only those enemy warships that came close enough to you to constitute a threat to your ship. You refused to engage enemy ships when both duty and honor required it.”
“Are you accusing me of cowardice?” Casia almost shouted.
“Yes.”
The single word rang through the room. In a fleet so obsessed with honor, to state such a charge openly was almost unthinkable.
Captain Tulev spoke into the silence that followed Geary’s answer. “I am unhappy to be forced to agree that the records of the engagement fully support Captain Geary’s charge.”
“If so,” Captain Armus noted, leaning forward, his face and voice hard, “and I agree with Captain Tulev that it is so, then simply relieving Captain Casia and Commander Yin of command falls far short of the punishment expected for such acts.”
“Shoot the cowards,” someone muttered.
Noise erupted as everyone began shouting, many seconding the suggestion, others protesting. Geary tapped the control that let him silence everyone, one of the best features of the conferencing software in his opinion, then waited a few moments for attention to return to him. “I am aware that fleet regulations permit me to order death by firing squad on the battlefield for any officer who clearly displays cowardice before the enemy.” He looked to Casia again and was surprised that Casia met his eyes even though fear was apparent on the other officer’s face. He felt a grudging measure of respect for Casia that the man hadn’t collapsed.
“Fleet regulations require a firing squad,” said Captain Kila, the commanding officer of Inspire. Why had she chosen now finally to speak up at a fleet conference?
Whatever the reason, she had challenged him, trying to force Geary to take an action he didn’t want to take. So he shook his head. “That’s incorrect.”
Kila seemed not hostile but puzzled. “The regulation in question is clear and does not allow exception.” Heads nodded around the table. Commander Yin appeared ready to pass out.
Geary shook his head again. “Surely every fleet officer is still familiar with standing fleet regulation thirty-two? ‘In any situation, a fleet commander is expected to exercise independent judgment and take necessary and appropriate action regardless of the letter of preceding regulations, as long as such action does not violate Alliance law or the fleet commander’s oath to defend the Alliance against all enemies foreign and internal.’ ”
“But was that intended to apply in cases like this?” Captain Armus asked.
“I assure you it was.” Geary looked around the table again. “That fleet regulation was adopted about one hundred and ten years ago. I was a lieutenant, and required to attend briefings by the officers who had drawn up the new regulations.”
Captain Kila had been about to speak again but hastily subsided.
To Geary’s surprise, Cresida spoke up. “Sir, I accept that you have the right to deviate from regulations in this case, but I don’t understand why. Why show mercy to officers whose failures contributed to the loss of other ships? If they’d supported Warrior and Majestic, both of those ships might have survived this battle, to say nothing of the cruisers and destroyers lost defending the auxiliaries.”
It was a fair enough question. “To put it bluntly, Captain Cresida, I chose not to order a field execution of those two officers because I wasn’t feeling merciful.”
That brought looks of surprise and bafflement, including from Cresida. “You were not feeling merciful?”
“No.” Geary looked toward Casia and Yin. “Sending these two officers to the arms of their ancestors would end their suffering in this world. As long as they live, they’ll have to face some of the officers and sailors they failed. Officers and sailors who know what they did. Every living moment they’ll have to face those who know they chose cowardice.”
A long silence followed before Tulev spoke again. “Are you certain, Captain Geary, that these two officers will feel that scorn and contempt as harshly as you and I? Will they not simply be grateful that their lives have not been given either in the line of duty or as punishment for their failures? ”
Another fair question. Geary looked again to where Casia was glaring at him, his eyes haunted, and Yin was almost shaking as she avoided everyone else’s eyes. “Do they look grateful, Captain Tulev?”
Armus frowned at the two. “I suggest they be given the right to appeal, Captain Geary. I’d like to hear what they want.”
“That’s a reasonable request, Captain Armus, and in light of your service, I have no trouble granting it.” Armus had been a pain in the butt for Geary more than once, but in battle he’d fought well and with honor. Now Armus responded to Geary’s words with ill-concealed satisfaction as Geary turned to Casia. “Well?” he asked. “What do you feel is an appropriate punishment?”
Casia looked around the table, straightening himself, then back at Geary. “I demand a fleet officer’s death. You call me coward. I see agreement in many of my comrades’ eyes. I’ll prove you all wrong when I face the firing squad.”
Another surprise. Geary examined the other officers, seeing approval on their faces. They wanted this.
He looked down for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to make a decision that regulations, honor, and the fleet’s officers all agreed was right. He had ordered this fleet into action numerous times, sending ships into combat where death was a constant possibility. Twelve sailors had died aboard Dauntless alone in the last battle. By his orders. Yet that was a far different thing than this, deliberately to order an officer to die.
Geary looked up again. Casia was waiting, his eyes pleading now. Let me die with honor.
“Very well.” Geary nodded slowly. “Your request is granted, Captain Casia. I will approve execution by firing squad.”
Casia’s mouth twitched into a ghastly smile. “In Lakota. I want it done before the fleet leaves Lakota.”
“Very well,” Geary repeated. “Colonel Carabali, please canvass your Marines for volunteers for the firing squad.” He took a deep breath, then fixed his gaze on Commander Yin. “Commander, do you also wish to appeal?”
He thought she might break down completely, but Yin suddenly leaped to her feet. “I was following orders!” she shouted.
A moment of baffled silence followed. “Not my orders,” Geary finally stated.
“You are not competent to command this fleet!” Yin answered, her eyes wide. “You’re only a figurehead for those using you against the Alliance! They want to bring you home with all of these victories to your ‘credit’ and install you as a dictator! You and your … your female companion! ”
It had been a little while since the last attack on Co-President Rione, so Geary wasn’t surprised that Yin was dragging her into this. But then he realized that everyone in the conference was either looking at or obviously not looking at Captain Desjani. In turn, Desjani had her eyes fixed on Yin. If Desjani’s eyes had been hell-lance batteries, there would have been nothing left of Commander Yin but drifting ash.
The rumors of his being involved with Desjani clearly hadn’t died. There wasn’t any good way to address those now, however. Geary focused instead on the rest of Yin’s accusation. He’d been assuming that those opposed to his command of the fleet had been motivated primarily by personal ambition or personal dislike or distrust. Instead, if Yin’s words were to be trusted, at least some of them were motivated by fear that Geary or those backing him intended to overthrow the government of the Alliance. Those enemies might be working against him for reasons he could respect.