1
The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia
The gray-eyed officer in khakis and leather jacket lifted his boot off the accelerator, slowing the car as it approached the first ring of security. AI-manned booths marked an outer perimeter of cameras, radioactivity monitors, razor wire, and concrete barriers. That cordon had grown outward like a coral accretion during the yearslong war that had just ended.
And there were no shouting, marching demonstrators. Anyone who opposed the government had been sentenced to the Zones long before.
A digital intelligence matched his features through a lens. A green light glowed, and a steel gate unlocked with a subdued clank.
Daniel V. Lenson steered cautiously through the zigzagged approach, then decelerated again as troops in black tactical gear, slung carbines, and the silver Liberty-head-in-a-wreath badges of Homeland Security waved him to a halt. The Blackies flashed lasers on his ID, scanned his face again, and gestured him out of the vehicle. As they wanded him a low-slung robot rolled beneath his car, searching the undercarriage with a subdued whine.
At last they saluted him—or more accurately, saluted the silver eagles of a captain on his collar. Two stars had glittered there before. But with the armistice, he’d reverted from admiral to his peacetime rank. “Forward as one, patriot,” one guard muttered, waving him on.
As he drove the last few hundred yards the building coalesced out of the morning mists off the Potomac. Huge. Steel-patina’d. A limestone fortress.
In peacetime its sprawling lots had been filled with glittering chrome and glass, thousands of the latest sedans and pickups and SUVs. Today those acres of cracked asphalt stretched nearly tenantless, save for a few hundred rusty prewar vehicles near the entrances. Scraps of paper trash tumbled in a chilly autumn wind.
Despite himself, his gaze pulled north. Decades before, he’d been in the Navy Command Center when an airliner had plowed into it. He and Barry “Nick” Niles had crawled out together through burning fuel and collapsing ceilings.
And over torn-apart bodies …
He closed his eyes, unwilling to revisit that horror. Just as he wished he could forget many scenes of the war just past.
Peace. The very word sounded like paradise. But if it really was peace, it wouldn’t be like anything America had known by that name before.
* * *
It was late fall, after a four-year conflict that had wrecked two continents. Both China and the United States had lost major cities—Honolulu, Seattle, Denver, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Ningbo, Haikou—and huge stretches of cropland, contaminated in the massive nuclear strikes that had ended the war. Both now struggled with riots, looting, disease, famine, and the revolt of whole states and provinces.
The Allies had declared victory. But neither side had truly won.
Like titanic, reeling boxers, they’d simply retired to their corners to pant and sprawl, trying to recover.
While new contestants took the ring for the next bout of the evening.
* * *
Dan mounted the steps slowly, pacing himself. He was still exhausted from five years of nearly continuous sea duty, first as commanding officer of USS Savo Island, then directing larger task forces as America rebuilt its fleet and smashed a Chinese submarine offensive. And at last, pushed forward again, island-hopping across the Pacific and China Seas until the final campaigns in North Korea, Taiwan, Hainan, and Hong Kong.
He was fighting radiation exposure, too, from a cross-country hunt for his daughter. Thank God, she’d surfaced again. Ill, nearly starved, but still among the living.
Though ten million other Americans weren’t …
He flourished his ID one last time at the marines who flanked the massive doors, then trudged in.
The familiar corridors weren’t exactly deserted, but they lacked the bustle he remembered from when he’d worked for the Joint Chiefs. He ambled up a ramp. Once these tiled decks had been lovingly waxed to a gleaming sheen. Now they were dirty and scuffed. Half the overhead lamps were burned out, and shadows gloomed the narrow side corridors.
“Admiral,” said Donnie Wenck as Dan let himself into his closet of an office. The master chief stood by the coffee urn, holding a tablet computer. They’d been together since before the war. Wenck’s blond hair was graying now, like Dan’s, but his fierce blue eyes were as mad-looking as ever. “You’re looking … better, I think.”
Dan nodded. “The docs say the white count’s trending up. And it’s Captain again now, Master Chief. Not Admiral.”
Wenck shrugged. “Whatever. That’s good, right? New treatment’s working?”
“Seems to be. What’ve we got today?”
Dan didn’t expect much. He was on temporary limited duty with the staff of the chief of naval operations, assigned to help write a study on postwar force structure. The Joint Staff and Army Futures Command were planning war games, to revise contingency plans and redesign the force. Regenerate the infrastructure was the buzz phrase. His staff consisted of Wenck and two junior enlisted, but most of the actual research was being done by a think tank.
Also, as a self-assigned task, he’d advocated for the establishment of a small covert unit tasked to defuse emergent naval threats. Rather like the old Tactical Analysis Group, on which he’d served before the war. It was being stood up on the West Coast.
Wenck held up his tablet. “Just came in. You’re needed on the E ring.”
Dan examined the message. “The CNO.”
“Maybe Nick’s got something for you.”
“Maybe. And you mean ‘Admiral Niles,’ not ‘Nick,’” he muttered. Dan doubted there’d be anything important. He’d put in for his twilight tour, a favor retiring officers and senior enlisted were sometimes granted, but doubted he’d get it. With the signing of the Singapore Treaty, senior officers were in excess. The services were shedding anyone they didn’t need to fight the rebellions.
Which meant next year’s budget would prioritize the Army, Guard, and the new Homeland Security battalions. He’d probably end his career here in the Puzzle Palace, with a sheet cake from the cafeteria and a lunch-hour party before turning in his badge and walking out the door to retirement.
He read the rest of the email. 0800? He’d barely make it. Wenck handed him a paper cup so hot it scorched his fingers. He passed it from hand to hand and headed on out.
* * *
Dan had first worked for Niles at the Cruise Missiles Project Office in Crystal City. He’d disappointed his senior then, but as Niles had risen he’d given Dan another chance. Shuttled him to a stash billet after the assassination attempt in the West Wing. After becoming CNO a year into the war, Dan’s reluctant rabbi had tasked him with Operation Recoil, a spoiling attack on north China. Hardly anyone had expected his force to survive. But against all expectations, Dan had managed to extract most of his ships safely after the raid.
Then, commanding a hunter-killer group, Dan had taken on a wolf pack in the Central Pacific. He hadn’t exactly shone there, as he saw it, but had still been given bigger responsibilities.
Dan finished the coffee and flipped the cup into a recycle bin. He didn’t miss his stars. Hell, he probably didn’t even deserve being an O-6. It was time to hand things over to a new generation. To relax, get his sailboat back in the water, and spend some time at home with Blair and his library.
He hesitated at an imposing doorway. He hadn’t been here in a while. Since before the war, actually, other than one brief meeting.
One that had left a bad taste in his mouth.
* * *
The CNO’s flag secretary folded her hands behind her, glancing at the door to the inner office but not moving toward it. “He’ll be with you shortly, Captain. You’re looking so much better these days!”
“Thanks. How’s he doing? Is the—” he didn’t like to say cancer. Finished, awkwardly, “How’s he holding up?”
Some unseen signal distracted her from answering. He got an impersonal smile instead. “He’ll see you now, sir.”
The office looked the same: expansive, light-filled, the windows giving a view out over Arlington National Cemetery. The only change was the GSA packing boxes stacked in a corner.
His old enemy, then reluctant sponsor again, had gone from robust to cadaverous. Niles half rose to acknowledge Dan’s Medal of Honor, then sank back behind his desk. His skin looked like crumpled gray paper. Light gleamed from a bare scalp. His voice, too, was a memory of the old roar. “Lenson. A seat,” he muttered, still keyboarding on a pad.
He finished, sighed, and swiveled toward Dan. Raised eyebrows that weren’t there anymore. “You’re looking better.”
“Everybody says that, sir. So it must be true.”
“Ha ha. Still riding that motorcycle?”
“No, sir. That was just a … convenience.” Though it was still parked behind the house.
“Good job with Operation Rupture, Dan. If you hadn’t stopped the clock, forced us to augment your ammo and fuel reserves … then kept shoving when things got gnarly … we’d have gotten our asses kicked back into the China Sea.”
Dan debated how to answer. Nearly word for word, this was what Niles had told him when he’d first returned. He cleared his throat, trying to recall how he’d responded before. “The Chinese fought harder than we expected.”
“Than Sea Eagle figured they would, anyway.”
Sea Eagle was the expert-systems AI that had advised the commanders in the field. It took its direction from the overall artificial intelligence directing Allied strategy, Battle Eagle. “That took guts, to keep mushing when you were taking twenty, thirty percent losses,” Niles added.
Dan nodded. After a moment the admiral said, “Of course, if that’d been the wrong call, we would’ve hung you by the balls … Blair all right? How’s your daughter … Nancy?”
“Blair’s working on the political side. Nan’s fine too. Took radiation, but they think she’ll make a full recovery.”
“She’s a … medical doctor?”
“Biochemist, with Archipelago during the war. She’s with CDC now. What about your nephews, sir? Out west? Have you heard from them?”
“Heard from Dorus, but not Mack.” A shade crossed Niles’s face, but he just waved a big hand, signaling, apparently, that the courtesies were over. “And you’re on that force structure assessment now. That keeping you busy?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a full-time job, but—”
Niles rumbled, “As you’ve heard, I’m leaving the building. At last.”
“Yes, sir.”
The admiral glanced at the wall clock. “They kept me on because of the war. Horses in midstream. Anyway, you’re still on the Senate list for confirmation of your wartime stars. I’ll recommend you to my relief. No guarantees, but you understand that already.”
“Appreciate it, sir.”
“Anyway, we’re coming up on Hlavna’s hearing. Want to join us?”
This was unexpected, but Niles didn’t make casual invitations. “Yes, sir. Certainly.”
The CNO raised his voice. “Commander, let’s adjourn to the VTC.” Dan realized their conversation was being monitored, perhaps recorded.
Which led to another question. The last time he’d been here, Niles had emphasized how secure the Pentagon was, how they’d stonewalled Homeland Security’s eavesdropping. He’d warned about one-party rule, and that the Joint Chiefs were determined to resist.
Had that changed? Had those intentions leaked? “Are the other chiefs being replaced too, Admiral?”
For answer he got only a hooded glance. Niles heaved to his feet. “Let’s go next door,” he said, his expression rough-cast of colorless concrete.
* * *
Seated with the rest of the CNO’s staff, and some other invitees Dan sort of recognized from J3 and the SecNav’s office, they watched the confirmation hearing on C-SPAN. Apparently all five of the chiefs were being replaced. A preemptive strike by the administration? Dan cut a look sidewise at Niles, whose compressed lips gave no clues.
The Navy nominee was Shaynelle Hlavna. A pale, stocky, blond-graying submariner, with five rows of ribbons on her service dress blues. A close-up showed the Navy Cross at the top of her ribbon rack, and the gold Combat Patrol insignia with four stars. So she’d fought the shadowy undersea war that had preceded the showier surface battles and amphibious landings the public heard about. Dan had listened to her present at a Naval Institute teleconference, but they’d never formally met.
The senators began by asking her what she thought the size and makeup of the postwar Navy ought to be. She responded animatedly, yet seemed to be speaking in code. “The force needs to road-map into a symbiotic fusion of autonomous technology and expert humans. Committed to equity and sustainability, we’ll cooperate in real time to accelerate the flow of value in a high-velocity, high-tech ecosystem.” She said investments were needed in the robotics and deep quantum AI both sides had relied on during the war, with limited but still sometimes impressive success.
“Sometimes it’s the underdogs who’ve pushed the envelope the furthest, technologically, in wartime,” she said at one point, which Dan found insightful. Could she have a background in history, wadded inside the MBA-speak? But each time she mentioned investments the senators leaned away in their leather chairs. Pretty obvious why. Half the states weren’t paying federal taxes. Those that had stayed loyal were broke. In a reversal of World War II financing, the US had borrowed from Canada, Mexico, the UK, the Saudis, and the EU. Those debts had to be repaid.
Not only that, the Singapore Treaty—Blair had told him this—contained a secret codicil guaranteeing the Chinese war debt of nearly three trillion dollars.
War was expensive. But this peace would be nearly as costly.
When the hearing ended, the senators rising, shuffling papers, Niles stood too. His angry gaze passed over Dan, then snapped back to him. “Let’s go offline,” he muttered.
* * *
Back in the CNO’s office a three-stripe commander in a medium blue, single-breasted dress uniform turned from the window as they came in. Dan noted her sleeve. Not the Navy star, the Coast Guard shield. “Dan, this is Sarabeth Blanco,” Niles said.
Blanco extended a slim hand for a grip stronger than he’d expected.
She was nearly as tall as he, but shockingly young. Damn, he thought. Just looking at her made him feel grandfatherly. A glance at her hands revealed a heavy silver-toned ring. New London? He checked her ribbons, but except for a couple of Meritorious Services, they didn’t track with DoD decorations. He lifted his gaze from her chest to see her checking him out as well. She narrowed her eyes as their gazes crossed. A glint of humor?
“Good to meet you, sir,” Blanco said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the admiral here. The two of you seem to go back a ways.”
“Uh, you could say that,” Dan muttered. Not liking the implication both he and Niles were getting long in the tooth.
The admiral glanced at the walls and lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s take a walk.”
In the corridors, the lunchtime crowd provided background noise. They turned several corners before the outgoing CNO cleared his throat. “Remember what we talked about before, Dan? About your twilight tour.”
Copyright © 2021 by David Poyer
