Epilogue
“I wanted you to know,” Heissman said, gazing up from his desk with an unreadable expression on his face, “that I put in for a Conspicuous Gallantry Medal for you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Travis said, feeling an odd warming inside him.
Though like every other emotion that he'd felt over the two weeks since the battle, the warmth was stained with darkness.
He was relieved he'd survived, of course, and equally relieved that so many others in Green One and Two had done likewise.
But too many hadn't. Far too many. The RMN had been gutted, ships and people lost in wholesale lots, and there had been times when it had looked like all was lost. It had only been through the grace of God, the fact that Tamerlane had clearly expected less resistance, and a level of courage and skill Travis would never have guessed the Navy even possessed that they'd pulled it off.
He'd assumed, reasonably enough, that with Casey's escape from Tamerlane's force her part in the battle was essentially over. Once Locatelli arrived, there should have been nothing for the Manticorans to do except use their newly-superior numbers to mop up the remnants of Tamerlane's force.
Only Tamerlane had been smarter than anyone had thought. It was only as Locatelli's ships approached the field of battle and prepared to engage that the other half of the invasion force, a group no one aboard Casey had even suspected was there, lit off their wedges and closed in.
Leaving Casey caught squarely between two enemy fleets.
That had nearly been the end right there. It had required luck and skill and some very fancy flying for Heissman to pull them out of harm's way.
It was only then that the Battle of Manticore really began.
And it was only afterward, when the last missile and laser had been fired and it was finally over, that the true and horrible cost of defending the realm became clear.
Given all that, even talking about awards felt painfully premature, if not flat-out obscenely morbid. But Admiral Locatelli was already jockeying to grab the lion's share of the credit for the victory, both in Parliament and with the media. It was only right that the rest of the heroes—the true heroes, in Travis's opinion—got some of the recognition before Locatelli made off with all of it.
“Don't get too excited,” Heissman said sourly. “The request was denied.”
The warm feeling vanished. “Sir?” Travis asked in confusion.
“Certain persons in authority,” Heissman said, pushing through the words as if he were trudging through a set of snow banks, “are of the opinion that your ideas were mostly luck, and that their success relied on both that luck and on the overall competency of Casey's officers and crew.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. “I mean . . . well, of course it was a ship-wide effort. Ideas aren't worth anything without teamwork and—”
“And teamwork alone isn't enough when you're facing impossible odds,” Heissman cut him off brusquely. “Which I attempted to make clear. You'll still get the same Royal Unit Citation medal as everyone else aboard—they can't deny you that—but career-wise, I'm afraid you're going to be lost in the general shuffle.” He stared hard at Travis's face. “I get the feeling you have an enemy or two in high places, Lieutenant.”
Travis winced. What was he supposed to say to that? “I haven't deliberately invited any animosity, Sir,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
“Deliberately or not, you've apparently succeeded,” Heissman said. “I'm guessing the latest batch is coming from your time aboard Phoenix.”
Travis felt his lip twitch. Yes; the late Ensign Fenton Locatelli, nephew of the now famous and highly acclaimed hero of Manticore. Even before the battle Admiral Locatelli probably had enough clout to deny Travis a minor award. Now, it was practically a foregone conclusion.
But there was nothing Travis could do about it. And even if there was, he wouldn't have bothered to try. Compared to the sacrifice so many men and women had made to protect their worlds, his own modest contributions seemed pretty small. “I do appreciate your efforts, though, Sir,” he said. “If that's all—”
“Not quite,” Heissman rumbled. “Let me start with the obvious. I know this sort of thing is a kick in the shin, but I wouldn't spend too much time worrying about it. There are plenty of political animals in the Fleet. But kilo for kilo, there are a lot more of the rest of us.”
The rest of us meaning those who wanted to do their jobs to the best of their ability? Or was Heissman also including the drifters who really didn't care where they were as long as they pulled a steady pay voucher? Because there were certainly enough of those, too. “Yes, Sir,” he said aloud.
“And I'm not including the loafers you're always writing up,” Heissman continued. “That really bothers you, doesn't it? People who don't follow proper procedure?”
“Procedures are there for a purpose, Sir.”
“Even when you can't see that purpose?”
“There's always a purpose, Sir,” Travis said, a little stiffly. “Even if it isn't obvious.”
“I appreciate your optimism in such things,” Heissman said. “But I have to say it makes you something of an anomaly. Typically, someone as solid as you are on following procedure is mentally rigid in all other aspects of life. You, in contrast, not only can think outside the lines, but you sometimes go ahead and draw your own lines.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Travis said, wondering if that boiled down to a compliment or an indictment. “But I really didn't do anything all that extraordinary.”
“People with a talent for something never think it's a big deal,” Heissman said dryly. “The point I was going to make was that both of those characteristics are going to make you unpopular in certain circles. But you will be noticed, and appreciated, by the people who matter. For whatever that's worth.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Travis said. “Please understand in turn that I didn't join the RMN for glory or recognition. I joined to help protect the Star Kingdom.” He hesitated. “And if necessary, to die for it.”
“I know,” Heissman said, his voice going a little darker. “Unfortunately, that's going to make you unpopular in certain quarters, too. Genuine, unashamed patriots are an embarrassment to the cynical and manipulative.”
Some of the lines in his face smoothed out. “Which leads me to my final question. This whole ‘travesty of this, travesty of that' sarcastic catchphrase that seems to follow you around. What's all that about, anyway?”
Travis sighed. “It started back in high school,” he said reluctantly. “One of the teachers fancied himself a scholar and a wit, and liked to give his students nicknames. I was Travis Uriah Long, or Travis U. Long, which he thought sounded like Travis Oolong, which was a type of Old Earth tea. Hence, Travis Tea.”
“Travesty,” Heissman said with a nod, a small smile playing across his face. “And with your penchant for enforcing even minor regulations, the sarcastic direction was probably inevitable.”
“Yes, Sir.” Travis braced himself. “I'd appreciate it, Sir, if you didn't . . .pass it around too much.”
“Not a problem,” Heissman said. “Well. I've just been informed that Casey's going to be another month in dock, so everyone's leave's been extended. But you may be called up for more testimony at any time, so don't stray too far from Landing City.”
And then, to Travis's surprise, he rose to his feet. “Well done, Travis,” the commodore said as they exchanged salutes. “I look forward to returning to Casey with you. And as soon as possible.”
His eyes went a little distant. “Because I have a feeling Manticore's about to lose the nice, peaceful backwater status we've enjoyed for so long. I don't know how or why. I don't think anyone does. But I can guarantee this much: as of two weeks ago the RMN is no longer a joke and a political football. Someone out there has us in their sights . . .and we are going to figure out who.”
His expression tightened. “You said you were willing to die for the Star Kingdom. You may very well get that chance.”
The End