This short story originally appeared in Strangeweirdandwonderful in 2008.
—
Field Marshall Tyner pulled his gloves snug onto his hands, the foreign snow crunching under his boots in a different way, somehow, than snow in his home in Montana. At the age of fifty-three he had not seen Montana in seventeen years. But he could still hear the distinct sound of snow as he walked there, the odd non-silence of heavy snow back on Earth.
His mind reeling with numbers and news about the supply and relief lines-none of it good-he paused in the sub-zero night and peered upward into the opaque, unbroken black sky. He could not see the Fusion Bombers, but he could hear them. Only when he thought to; their constant roar had become something of a silence, in a way. White noise.
“Are you well, sir?”
Tyner closed his eyes, and for a moment allowed visceral weariness to rush through him. He had not slept in four days, since the Metro-234 Offensive had begun. Mired in swamp-like snow, and meeting stiff, fanatical resistance around the alien city, he expected to go several more sleepless nights.
He turned to the young officer who had spoken, one of a dozen who followed him everywhere: His staff. He pushed weariness from his mind and concentrated on the suddenly embarrassed officer. Tyner was a Field Marshall, one of twelve on the planet, and he oversaw three armies, a total of four million men. He put them all into his eyes and stared at the man until he looked away, quickly, and then back up at the ranking officer.
Field Marshall Tyner was not a physically imposing man. He was of average height and build, and aside from the five gold bars on his overcoat, his uniform was identical to the ones worn by the dozen men grouped around him. He was a pale man, blond and gray-eyed. He conveyed no emotion, no warmth. His stare was disconcerting.
“Captain Bishop,” he said in a careful Midwestern drawl, “When I am indisposed, I will alert Command.”
The captain swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Without further comment, Tyner turned and continued on to his briefing room. Since establishing a beachhead, so to speak, on the planet six years before, the forces of humanity had advanced to within three miles of the capital city of Metro-234. At that distance they had been stopped, and there they had remained for months. Tyner was charged with breaking the impasse with a sudden thrust: One million men, forty armored divisions, full air support. Insufficient resupply and no relief for troops who had been on-planet for almost three years, in some cases.
The Field Marshall ordered his staff to return to their quarters and entered the briefing room-a canvas tent, reinforced by an aluminum framework-alone. He threw himself into a folding chair and pulled a screen tablet towards him, dialing up what had become obsessive reading for him-and many other humans, both home and on-planet-the Chen Report. First contact with the Ranni, whose capital city Field Marshall Tyner new stood a few miles from.
It had begun well, and ended very, very badly.
Dr. Chen had been the least brilliant, and certainly the least important, of the 54 people sent by the United Nations to Ranni, 76 years before. He was also the sole survivor, a 34-year-old junior biologist, returned, white-haired and frail, from a 20 year round-trip journey, the minimum travel time for the distance at the time of the embassy’s launch. His report was a brief, 250-word statement that, unfortunately, told everything.
Chen’s report was simple: After nine plus years, the crew arrived in orbit around the planet Ranni and were almost immediately intercepted by what were obviously military ships of some sort. They were boarded and searched, and when it was obvious to their lizard-like captors that there were no weapons on board, the mood lightened.
For the next few weeks, rudimentary communications were set up, and the humans were brought to the capital city of Metro-234, where they began to laboriously learn the Ranni language, and to compile data on the planet and the species. They were presented to a Ranni called Uk Mikret par Octep, which they assumed to be some sort of governor.
For several more weeks, the humans were guests of Uk Mikret, and compiled huge amounts of data, which they transmitted back to Earth. They did not realize that they were prisoners until they attempted to leave. They were held under guard for the next two days.
And then, they were eaten.
With the exception of Dr. Chen. He witnessed the feast from preparation of the corpses to consumption. He was then transported back to his ship, where he knew enough to engage the autopilot and return home.
“Joseph, you look terrible.”
Field Marshall Tyner leaned back into his chair. “I haven’t been warm in five years, Yuri. I’d challenge anyone to look good.”
“Be careful, Joseph. I’m your subordinate. Don’t let anyone see you treating me as an equal.”
Tyner smiled and produced a silver flask from within his overcoat. “Have a drink with me, Yuri. Before we must act the part. Before you say anything.”
“Agreed.” Yuri was a compact man of short stature. He removed his own gloves and sat down across from Tyner, accepting the flask with a nod. “To being alive, against all the odds.”
Tyner nodded. Yuri drank, and handed the flask to Tyner, who sipped shallowly, replacing the flask within his coat. “What news?”
Yuri became businesslike, an immediate shift of his facial expression and posture. “The line east and south of here, along that pitiful brownish stream we’re calling River 185-A, is collapsing. Battalion leaders are disobeying standing directives and falling back. That’s top-level, so keep it to yourself.”
“They’re trying to save Metro-234,” Tyner said musingly.
“Yes. You are encouraged to see that they fail.” Yuri glanced away. “I am instructed to tell you that you are forbidden to fall back, and must take Metro-234, whatever the cost.”
Tyner blinked. “If the 185-A line collapses, I will be encircled.”
Yuri nodded curtly. “I am also instructed to remind you that when you do take Metro-234, you are to immediately enact General Directive One.”
Tyner pounded the flimsy portable table with the flat of his hand, making everything rattle. “They will throw away this war in exchange for their revenge!” he shouted. Then he looked away and settled in his seat, bunching and then relaxing his jaw muscles. “How long do I have?”
“Perhaps three days. Colonel Yashimo is holding firm, with the armor at the 185-A3 bend, despite withering losses. His armor divisions are the key to the line. You have until Yashimo breaks.”
Yuri stood and turned. Tyner glanced up.
“Yuri.”
The shorter officer paused, but did not turn.
“This is madness. Everything. We went mad fifty years ago, and here we are.”
Yuri did not reply. After a moment, he continued back out into the freezing night.
“The men are cold, sir. Many lack boots. I’m sorry but I must report that morale is quite low.”
Tyner snorted derisively, snapping his video tablet shut. “Don’t talk to me about morale, Captain Ellis. We’re half a mile outside the city and the fucking lizards are selling every inch dear.” He looked around the ready-room, maps and computer screens vibrating from not-too-distant explosions. Men and women in uniform manned communications banks and ran to and fro, shouting codes. The canvas walls of the portable room rippled under the strain of holding back the harsh Ranni winter. “Tell me that Harris can get his batteries into position. I need that southern wall taken on. I need Harris to divert those defenders and pound that goddamn wall while I’ve got A and D companies free to move up. Tell me he can move his unit, cold feet or not.”
Captain Ellis was a stocky black woman, damp and smudged, panting from the cold and weight of her equipment. “Sir, Major Harris has instructed me to tell you that he will be in position, but that he doubts his battalion will still exist very long afterwards.”
“It won’t need to. Dismissed.”
Tyner didn’t pay her any attention as she saluted and exited the ready-room. He bent his attention on a computer representation of the battle, flickering with rapid updates. The humans were suffering horrendous losses, but they had almost encircled the city, and were almost in range to bombard its walls. Carpet-bombing continued within the city airspace. With the extended front collapsing around them, the fifth, sixth, and ninth armies of the UN forces were bringing unbearable pressure onto the alien capital. Tyner knew it was a tactical error, and he knew he would gain a permanent reputation as a butcher once the dead were counted. But he had been given orders, and although in his head he disagreed with them, in his heart he was happy to carry them out. Just as most humans would be, he thought.
He watched the situation change fluidly, but didn’t take direct part unless he noted something out of the ordinary, against plan. Men were dying, but their units were advancing. Tyner stared down at the screen impassively, rubbing his upper lip with his forefinger.
“They will call you the Butcher of Metro-234, Joseph.”
Tyner swallowed anger, for the Sub-Director of Army Internal Affairs could say what he liked. “Yuri,” Tyner said. “The city will fall. Is anyone going to save us?”
“No,” Yuri responded immediately. “I have been sent to make sure you are not losing heart, with the city in your grasp.”
Tyner had always appreciated Yuri’s strange honesties, though he did not understand them, always. “I am not losing heart. I am killing hundreds of thousands of good soldiers. Yuri, I am losing faith.”
Yuri laughed. “Thank goodness then that faith is not what I was sent to ascertain!” Shaking his head, he sobered. “You are doing a fine job, Joseph. This assault is a work of genius.”
Tyner nodded. “The city will fall.”
“Sooner than you think.” Yuri pointed at the display. “The Ranni know where you plan to go for the walls. They have stripped the other defenses to hold back Harris’ assault. Strike somewhere else, Joseph, and you will have Metro-234 tomorrow.”
Tyner felt a thrill go through him, and struggled for control. “I will adjust accordingly.”
Yuri smiled. “Joseph, it is okay to be glad that so many people will be spared due to this intelligence.” He put a hand on Tyner’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be relieved.”
Tyner’s control slipped. “You be relieved, Yuri,” he said icily, signaling a runner. “I have killed too many men today.”
A stray shell chipped the ruined wall a few feet away, but Field Marshall Tyner continued to storm back and forth with his radio handset. His face was red, flushed with agitation. His staff kept clear of him, striving to appear absorbed in their tasks while striving to keep some form of cover between them and the random weapon fire.
“Of course they are sniping at you, Captain. This is close city fighting, block by block. You will lose men. You are ordered to secure that building-those fucking lizards on the top floor have a wide view of the city for miles and they are slaughtering us, do you understand? I’ve got companies pinned down everywhere and you’re unlucky enough to be in the best position. Now move your men out and secure that building.”
The Field Marshall listened for a moment, standing in agitated silence.
“Captain, I have men dying by the dozen each second you hide behind that wall. You are worried about one hundred and thirty men-I am worried about one million. Now get your men moving or hand this radio to your second and go somewhere to shoot yourself.”
He smacked the handset into the cradle. For a moment there was only the sound of small arms fire in the air. The humans were advancing through Metro-234 block by block, and Tyner had set up his headquarters in the first square mile secured by the invading armies, within a bombed-out but stable stone structure.
One of his staff approached gingerly. “Sir?”
Tyner did not look away from the radio, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Yes, Major Mehta?”
“There is a division of Ranni armor in sector eight of the city, relatively intact.”
Tyner turned his head slightly. “They have a wall to their flank there, yes?”
“Yes sir. And limited access.”
Tyner turned and shrugged his overcoat onto his shoulders. “Who is in the area?”
“Major Wheeling’s Fifth Armor is nearby, but pinned down by heavy guns at elevated positions. They would suffer heavy losses if they attempted to break through.”
Tyner crossed over to a huge map grid of the city pinned up on one wall. He put a finger on one section and stared at it. “Up here, the guns?”
“Yes sir.”
“Get air command on the channel and have them take the guns down. Tell Wheeling to move the moment they hear engines, not to wait for it to be secured.”
Mehta turned and strode off, and was replaced almost immediately by another officer. “Field Marshall Tyner, sir.”
Tyner kept studying the map. “Captain Bishop, has my condition not improved?”
“Sir,” Bishop began, then paused nervously to look around.
Tyner turned halfway. “Captain Bishop?”
Bishop snapped back to attention. “Sir, Captain Harrows reports from near the line…he reports that…that they have the Uk Mikret in custody.”
Everything went still.
“Please get me Captain Harrows on the channel.”
The makeshift prison cell was six planes of transparent alloy, each two inches thick, fitted together into a 12×12 cell. Six guards stood watch around it.
Within it was a Ranni: Uk Mikret par Octep. The Ranni were lizardlike in that they had a moist, greenish scaled skin. They had no eyes, but what appeared to be residual eye sockets, and no ears. They were upright and bipedal. Uk Mikret par Octep wore what looked to Tyner like a bright red toga with a complex symbol embroidered on his chest.
There was no furniture within the cell. Uk Mikret par Octep sat on the cold, transparent floor, silent and composed. The green creature appeared to be wounded.
Field Marshall Tyner, trailed by his staff, entered the open courtyard in which the Ranni was held. He stepped up to the cell and paused, his breath steaming, his hands, inside black gloves, clenched. The other officers stood in silence. The peculiar, burning snow of Ranni fell steadily.
“You speak a human language?” Tyner said, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
A few moments stretched by, the Ranni sitting motionless. Then it shifted, slightly.
“So many languages you speak,” Uk Mikret par Octep rumbled in low, slurred English. “Too many, where one is enough. Your Doctor Millain taught me this one.”
Tyner nodded. “Before you murdered him, he taught you.”
“He did not teach me the word-murdered.”
Tyner nodded again. “I assume it had not come up yet.”
“Who do I speak with now?”
Coming to attention, Tyner saluted with a sarcastic flip of his hand. “I am Field Marshall Tyner of the United Nations Invasion Force.”
The Ranni immediately responded. “Fieldmarshalltyner, why do you make war on us?”
Tyner stared. After a moment he turned away and began to pace. “Your name is Uk Mikret par Octep?”
“I am Uk Mikret, but that is not my name.”
Tyner paused. “Are there any others who would answer to Uk Mikret par Octep?”
“No. I am Uk Mikret par Octep.”
“Very well. By the authority granted me in Directive One for the Conduct of the War, I hereby place you under arrest for the crime of murdering and subsequently consuming 53 citizens of the planet Earth, without cause, provocation, or a state of war existing between our races.” Tyner paused and turned to face the cell. “Do you understand me?”
The Ranni’s facial expressions were opaque to the humans. “You have taken me prisoner for treating your gift with honor?”
“Honor?” Tyner appeared momentarily confused, but then firmed. “Prisoner! We have come here, we have sent fifty-seven million humans here, we have suffered and died and brought as much ruin to your people as possible solely to capture you.”
There was a moment of quiet. In the distance, huge guns pounded, rhythmic and ignored. Then the Ranni shifted again. “I do not understand.”
Tyner signaled a young officer, who immediately approached and unfolded an ingenious chair of fabric and metal. When Tyner was seated, the younger man handed the Field Marshall a thick sealed folder and retreated. Tyner took some time producing a pair of fragile wire glasses, placing them on his nose, and then unsealing the folder. He looked up at Uk Mikret.
“Tell me if you do not understand.”
The Field Marshall kept his gaze on the Ranni until the lizard flared its nostrils, the only facial movement it had thus far made.
“You know who I refer to when I speak of Dr. Millain?”
“Yes.”
“You met him and fifty-two other humans at the same time?”
“I am not. . .if I understand. . .yes.”
“They lived under your care then for some time?”
“Yes.”
“And then, with one exception, you prepared them like common livestock and consumed them at a ritual feast.” Tyner glanced down at his folder. “Sparing only Doctor Chun Chen, who was then released back to the ship and allowed to return to Earth.”
“I am sorry; what is the word livestock?”
Tyner shifted slightly in his seat. “Prey. Food. A food-source. A food-source kept and cared for expressly to be consumed.”
“Yes. In that case, yes, what you say is true.”
“Why was Dr. Chen spared?”
“It is traditional to return a portion of a gift to the giver. I would hope you would understand, even if your traditions differ.”
“You deny nothing.”
For the first time the Ranni seemed agitated, shifting about. “Why would I deny any of it? You then have come here, and invaded us, and killed many in my care, because we have somehow offended your sensibilities? We treated your gift with incorrect honor? We enjoyed your Dr. Millain immensely.”
Tyner shut the folder and stood. The young officer scurried in behind him to collect it. The Field Marshall stood studying the Ranni for a moment.
“Very well,” he repeated loudly, startling the humans. He glanced around and then nodded to himself. “By the authority vested in me by Directive One for the Conduct of the War, Uk Mikret par Octep, I hereby find you guilty of war crimes, of the mass murder of fifty-two human souls, without cause or justification. I sentence you, accordingly, to death. Execution at 0600 hours tomorrow.”
Tyner wheeled around and stalked off, followed closely by his staff. From within the cell, Uk Mikret shifted his weight again and said “I do not understand this word murder.”
Tyner heard the soft sound of the blanket hung in the doorway being pushed aside, but chose to not turn around. The ruined suite of rooms was freezing and damp, but it kept the acidic snow out and cut the wind. The Field Marshall closed his eyes and sipped the harsh black-market vodka.
“You’ve caught me drinking on duty, Yuri,” he said into the cup. “Under the law you should arrest me.”
“Like Caesar, I pardon you,” Yuri chuckled from behind. “Pour me a cup.”
Tyner did so. Yuri stood near him and sipped the liquor experimentally. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, scowling.
“It’s everywhere. You ought to form a IA task force to track it down and confiscate the supply.”
“I would if I wanted any.” The Internal Affairs Officer tossed the contents of his cup onto the floor. “You can’t just shoot the creature tomorrow, Joseph. That won’t accomplish anything.”
Tyner refilled his own cup. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? That’s why I have almost two million men and women dead, and more to come when the line collapses, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but-”
“And I am not only granted the authority to do so, I am actually generally ordered to, am I not?”
“Yes, goddammit-”
“Do you know what I have been here thinking about, when I should be thinking about the defense of this city and the possibility of guerrilla units in hiding?”
Yuri bit back a response.
“I have been thinking of my own war crimes. My own tribunal.”
“Joseph,” Yuri said patiently. “I am instructed to tell you-”
“What? That I should wait for the cameras to show up? It dies tomorrow, Yuri. It dies.”
Yuri’s face grew red. “You-”
Tyner stood and turned, and Yuri cut off.
“I am the commanding officer of almost three million men in the area, Yuri. Your authority is secret. It dies tomorrow. Save your threats until you have me in your power.”
Yuri waited before answering. “I do not relish it, Joseph.”
“I know.”
Yuri began walking around the dank room. “It will not end the war, you know, killing it.”
“Perhaps it will speed it along. At least for me.”
Yuri sighed. “As you pointed out, I cannot stop you-only punish you, and even that, I say in the strictest confidence, may prove difficult, since you are likely to be a hero back home.” He smiled. “May it bring you peace to send a bullet into its brain, my friend. But I doubt it will.”
Tyner heard the officer leave, but did not turn around.
By the next Ranni morning the chemical snow had ceased, and the distant guns had quieted. Tyner read reports that the human front had somehow miraculously stabilized about a mile from the city, holding off a huge Ranni army which, while numerically overpowering, was not as well-equipped as the human intelligence had predicted. The UN air force had managed to hold the Ranni advance down with incessant carpet bombing, and after two days of struggle things had suddenly gone quiet as the Ranni admitted frustration and regrouped.
It meant his position in Metro-234 was not completely untenable, for the time being, if he worked quickly to secure the city and lent the bulk of his forces to the line. Swallowing coffee as he marched through ruined streets with his staff, he was quiet and reflective, feeling superstitious. Perhaps, it seemed suddenly possible, the eerie quiet was a sign.
Buttoning his overcoat, now sullied with dirt and dust, he reflected on the human invasion of Ranni-after years, a stunning success in many ways. A huge amount of territory conquered, and the first Directive of the war satisfied. He knew, however, that it was all an untenable situation. Surrounded on all sides, faced with an entire planet of resistance, and supplied only from above-and soon to lose its moral imperative-the human force would eventually be pushed back, and out. He knew this, and thus assumed his superiors knew it as well.
He had been sent, really, to execute Uk Mikret. He wasn’t sure what would happen when it was done.
Everything was ready as Tyner entered the courtyard. The Ranni remained passively within its transparent cell, apparently unmoved since the day before. Tyner could see that the guard had rotated. He paused before the lizard-like Uk Mikret and stood quietly for a moment.
“Uk Mikret, you have been condemned to death. I have ordered you shot here this morning. If you wish to speak any last words, I will have them recorded and preserved.”
Uk Mikret shifted on his haunches. “I have nothing to say. You are criminals. This is unjust. I do not understand.”
Tyner nodded and signaled his men. “I am happy to inform you, in light of your constant appeals that you do not understand, that we have come to make you understand.”
Soldiers stepped forward and led the Ranni prisoner from the cell. They placed the alien against a nearby wall and took up a classic firing-squad position across from it.
Tyner raised his hand.
“For the murder of fifty-two humans, without cause or excuse, the United Nations War Crimes Tribunal found you guilty in absentia, Uk Mikret par Octep. You were then sentenced to death by that same body. Directive One for the Conduct of the War instructed all officers to arrest and execute you upon capture. In accordance with that instruction, I have ordered my men here under my command to shoot you until dead. Does any man here wish to raise an objection for the record?”
Tyner waited in silence, the cold wind pushing through lapels first one way then another. No one spoke. No one moved.
“Very well,” he added, and brought his arm down sharply.
He listened. The shots, fired simultaneously, were one deep concussion. The Ranni, balanced naturally on its haunches, jerked slightly, then was still. Steaming blue blood pooled and melted snow around it. As the guns’ report faded, Tyner could hear the distant booming of heavy guns.
“Captain Bishop.”
“Sir!” the younger officer shouted, running to join the Field Marshall.
“Pack the carcass for shipment to HQ. Include a full transcript of the proceedings and statements.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyner whirled and marched off, his staff scrambling to follow.
“You should be coordinating the defense of the city, Joseph.”
Tyner stopped just inside his makeshift quarters. “Did you have a good angle, Yuri?”
“A fine angle, but bad light. You had it standing in the shadows!”
“Not on purpose, I assure you.”
“I believe you. And, you see, both of our duties were satisfied. I am a genius.”
“But a scoundrel.”
Yuri shrugged. “The front has collapsed, Joseph. You have been ordered to hold the city.”
Tyner shrugged. “I expected it. The city cannot be held.”
Yuri grinned. “And I expected that. Nevertheless, it must be held.”
Tyner nodded and gave a salute, smiling hollowly. “The Butcher of Metro-234 I shall be.”
A silence fell between them, standing in their uniforms, emblems of rank gleaming in the grey light. Yuri turned to leave, then paused and turned back.
“Has it eased you? To have it over with?”
“We will lose this war. We have nothing to fight for.”
Tyner knew it was a dangerous statement; the Subdirector could have had him arrested for such talk. But Yuri merely chuckled and turned away.
“Soon enough, Joseph,” he said, “we will: Survival. And then, as you said, perhaps our own tribunals.”
Tyner did not turn to watch Yuri leave. He stood, staring at the far wall, listening to the distant guns, getting nearer.