Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(42)
“Well, I’m sure you know best,” Bradford said primly.
Matt set his cup down and rubbed his forehead again. “No,” he said regretfully. “I’m not sure of that at all—regarding Fiedler or anything else.”
Bradford looked taken aback by the sudden confession. Then he leaned back as well and cleared his throat. “So, you want my honest opinion?” he asked, and Matt glared at the Australian. “Very well,” Courtney continued. “In that case, I disagree about the Fiedler issue. I think you should’ve squeezed him, as Mr. Silva so eloquently phrased it, for every drop of useful information, leaving him a dry, dead husk, if necessary.” He nodded at Matt’s surprised expression. “Indeed, I had a bit of an epiphany on my last adventure. The Shee-Ree have a simple philosophy: those who can’t be trusted to live peacefully with others must go away. One way or another. And such are not considered people.” He chuckled darkly. “It was somewhat disconcerting to find myself defending Mr. Silva—and Chack—from suspicions they weren’t people, simply because they’re so dangerous! I was distressed by that, at first. And though Chack, at least, is certainly a person by anyone’s definition, the suspicion wasn’t unfounded from the perspective of the Shee-Ree, and the wisdom of the concern converted me to their philosophy to a degree. I’m no longer quite the fuzzy, wobbly being I’ve been so long, and recognize things are now past the point that mere sentiment may be indulged.” He sniffed. “That said, though I disagree about the Nazi, I’ll support your decision in front of others, as always.”
Courtney frowned. “Not what you wanted to hear, I know, but there it is.” He paused while Matt absorbed that. “I also know that’s not what’s troubling you,” he added. “Your greatest fear, and why we’re having this private chat, is that Lady Sandra’s peril—yes, and all the others; you’d never allow yourself to worry so selectively—has influenced your planning for the upcoming operations.” Matt stared at him, wondering where this . . . different Bradford was heading. “Well, I’m quite sure it has,” Courtney stated. “The thing is, though I’ve never pretended to have a military mind, I was once quite the chess player. So I do have a minimal understanding of strategic”—he smiled—“principles. And having studied the plan alongside you, listened to all the arguments from those we trust, and based on what I know of Kurokawa and General Esshk, I believe your overall strategy and the plans you and your staff have prepared represent the only possible avenue to success. We’re against the wall, so to speak, and can’t simply wait for the enemy to come to us as before. Esshk’s numbers are too great, if consolidated, and Kurokawa’s potential combat power—most specifically Savoie, if he’s allowed to bring it to bear at a time and place of his choosing—is too overwhelming. We must prevent them from doing those two things, and even more, we can’t allow them to combine under any circumstances. It’s as simple as that.” He took a long sip from his own cup.
“Therefore, as I see it, the only option truly is to break the oldest rule in the book: to divide our forces in the face of the enemy, even though his dispositions remain mysterious. Often a recipe for disaster, to be sure, but it’s succeeded rather spectacularly from time to time.” He waved his hand. “So, your chief concern, that you’re subordinating what you should do to what you want to do, is groundless. In this instance, what you want—to rescue your wife and destroy the maniacal Hisashi Kurokawa once and for all, while the rest of the entire Allied Expeditionary Force stands ready, waiting for the proper moment to assault Sofesshk unaware and unprepared—is not only the best option; it’s the only one we have. So. Rest easy, Captain Reddy, and do get some sleep. Just because you want to do it doesn’t make it wrong.”
“Why am I not overly reassured?” Matt asked, but his voice was dry, with a trace of humor.
“Because you’re a man of principle,” Courtney replied cheerfully, “who’ll always question his decisions regarding life and death, at least when you’re at leisure. I’ve never seen you display such uncertainty when fighting your ship. But that’s immediate, instinctive. Planning ahead for operations that’ll cost many lives touches your soul with its premeditation.” Courtney grinned. “And also because we disagreed before. About Fiedler. You wonder why you should listen to me now. Well, the answer is that in both cases I gave you my honest opinion. I may be wrong about Fiedler,” he confessed, “and it’s quite difficult for me to be objective about Nazis, you know. I also admit I can’t be entirely objective about you because you’re my friend. But as your friend, I counsel you most urgently to lay your concerns about yourself aside because they can only benefit our enemies.”
Matt stared back at his cup. “And if it all goes in the crapper?”
Courtney actually laughed. “It always goes in the crapper, doesn’t it? Your greatest strength, Captain Reddy, and our most significant advantage over all our enemies in this war, above and beyond ships, guns, planes, and bullets, is how you always seem to wrench it back out again when it does. So rest easy. Be confident. I am, in you.”
Courtney emptied his cup and poured more coffee for them both. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “You know, despite my unwavering, reasoned Darwinism—and Sister Audry’s resultant incredulity—I’m a religious man. All conscientious architects perpetually strive to refine their creations or adapt them to diverse applications, and the Supreme Architect of the Universe can be no exception. So I pray to Him each day for Lady Sandra, Adar, and all the rest. I pray for the success of our cause and all those we’ve lost. I hope you don’t mind that I pray for you as well, because I know those losses weigh heavily upon you . . . some—quite naturally—more than others.”