Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [130]
A tall, distinguished-looking black couple wore EDF uniforms, which provided just the flavor Maureen had hoped for. She shook the man’s large hand as he introduced himself. “I am Conrad Brindle, and this is my wife Natalie. I hope this little”—he gestured his hand around the gathering—“party is important. We used up two days’ leave to come here.”
Maureen wondered if this couple was involved in General Lanyan’s silly red-herring operation against a few showy Roamer targets. If so, maybe she would convince them of other priorities...
“Oh, I think you’ll agree it’s important.” She smiled pleasantly at Natalie Brindle, then stepped back to gain everyone’s attention, raising her voice.
“In case you haven’t figured it out, all of you are family members of brave soldiers who were lost during the battle of Osquivel.” She looked around, seeing expressions fall, sorrow reappearing on numerous faces. “Our family members fought bravely, but the hydrogues were simply too overwhelming. Those vessels that fled barely managed to escape with their lives.” Her face became a stony mask. “They had no choice but to leave the wounded and the dead behind.”
She paused, then continued. “Now, none of us can speak for tactical decisions made during the heat of a battle, especially a rout like the one at Osquivel. But for me at least, it does not sit well to know that the Earth Defense Forces simply abandoned their dead and never bothered to go back for them.”
Her guests muttered uneasily. Natalie Brindle spoke up. “What is your interest in this, Ms. Fitzpatrick?”
Maureen’s voice quivered a little, which was perfect. “My grandson, Patrick Fitzpatrick III, commanded a Manta cruiser, which was lost with all hands. He would have been my heir.” She took a sip of cognac to fortify herself, realizing that she needed it after all. Her emotion was not entirely feigned.
“Most of you know who I am and my history. I don’t like to give up on all those fine young soldiers who fell during the debacle at Osquivel. I therefore propose that we, the families of the fallen, mount our own expedition to the battlefield in the rings and see if we can recover the bodies of our lost heroes. I would like to create a memorial to all those who died.”
“Back to Osquivel?” one of the parents cried. “How do we know it’s safe? The hydrogues are there—”
Maureen tried to sound reassuring. “The battle has been over for months. Since the EDF is still stinging from how badly they were beaten, I intend to go there myself. If I felt it was too hazardous, I would simply send a designated representative.” She had meant the comment to be funny, but no one chuckled.
“Who’ll pay for it?” Conrad Brindle said. “The EDF isn’t generous in providing death benefits, and neither my wife nor I can afford any extravagant expenses.”
“I will bankroll the entire operation. You need not worry about anything. And the current Hansa Chairman assures me that we will proceed with the full blessing of King Peter. Now”—she glanced at each of them in turn—“are you interested in joining me? All of our families together will make a significant statement. We can be there in four days for an initial reconnaissance, perhaps a symbolic wreath-laying.”
Natalie Brindle clasped her husband’s hand, and she spoke for both of them. “We’re going. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Most of the attendees agreed quickly. Maureen didn’t press or question those few who declined.
“Very well, then,” she said in the tone she often used to signal that a meeting had reached its end. “I have already made the proper overtures and located an available Manta cruiser. As soon as an appropriate security escort can be put together, we will head off to Osquivel.