The governor of MegaPrimus was in fine form tonight. His speeches had the power to move and inspire in a way few politicians could match. Montgomery had always admired the man, but tonight he found a particular fondness, because instead of the weekly holo address focusing on the city as a whole, tonight it focused on a single organization. The organization Montgomery lead, the organization known as X-Com.
The weekly address never lasted more than fifteen minutes; long enough to make a damn good point, but not so long that the unwashed masses went off in search of something shiny. It always followed the same general pattern too; get the bad stuff out of the way in the first third. Show appropriate respect to the murdered policemen or to the family that died from tainted food. Then take some time to talk about how tomorrow will be better, how we will make the changes that will prevent this from ever happening again in the second third.
But the final third, the last five or three minutes was Montgomery’s favorite part and, even though he knew the formula, it always made him excited to face the week ahead. Every Sunday night Montgomery marveled at the man’s ability to say the same exact thing in a new way. And every Sunday night Montgomery took what he said to heart. “Forget the bad things, forget that it may be better tomorrow, and remember that we have it pretty fucking good today. We have full bellies, we have roofs over our head, we have cars in the driveway. Don’t stress, relax. Don’t criticize, praise. Don’t despair, trust. Even if tomorrow is the same as today, never forget that you live in the best damn place in the known galaxy.”
Tonight the entire speech was focused on X-Com. The first third showed appropriate respect to the fallen trooper, the destroyed hoverbike, and the damaged buildings. The second third was all about the future, how X-Com is responding to a changing threat and how we are going to do even more to prevent those catastrophes (and what his administration was going to do to help).
But that final third of the speech, by god, was amazing. It was all about how X-Com had come out of reserve, how we had bloodied the noise of the alien menace from the shambles of our head quarters, how we had expertly protected every building the aliens tried to attack.
“Tomorrow” he boomed “When you wake up, when you eat your breakfast, when you see the people who mean the most to you in this world; know, that there will be food on the table; know, that you will see them again, and know; that the hard work of those that put their lives on the line to keep the alien oppressors at bay will keep MegaPrimus the very best place to live in god’s broad galaxy!”
Even through the holo-viewer the applause was deafening, and Montgomery had to fight the urge to join in. Instead he stood up and started to pace, thinking about the things that had to be done to keep the governor’s favor.
There were budget concerns and a lack of ammunition. There were dead and wounded troopers. There was research. But what did the governor value the most? He hadn’t even brought up the fact that so many UFO’s had slipped through the defensive network. He had to take time to honor the fallen soldiers. He spent quite a bit of time praising our ground combat abilities.
Perhaps the governor didn’t care if there were UFOs over the city for 10 minutes every few days or that for a few hours a week aliens ran free through the infrastructure of MegaPrimus. Perhaps the only important fact was that on Sunday night there were no UFOs and no aliens anywhere in MegaPrimus. Slow and steady wins the race?
On the other hand…
But in the middle of his thoughts he was interrupted. Montgomery found himself looking out the window, over the crime infested slums of MeagPrimus. The door chime had sounded; someone wanted a piece of his time.
“Come in,” Montgomery stated, half-heartedly, still looking out his window , grasping for the thought that was, a moment ago, crystal clear.
In the reflection of the bullet proof glass, Montgomery saw his fighter ace enter. He turned expecting a high-five, or a hand shake, or some form of acknowledgment of the recently heaped praise but to his chagrin, he found only the stern salute of Nathan Davis.
Instinctively Montgomery returned the salute and asked, “What can I do for you, Captain Davis?”
While externally Montgomery was solid as stone, the situation put him on edge. Nathan was only “formal military” when the matter was of great importance; basic military matters were generally discussed over a beer or interspersed with talk about favorite Gravball teams. Either something had gone terribly wrong, or Davis had taken exception to his leadership. Either option was disturbing.
“Sir, I wanted to ask you about our air combat policy.” Davis said flatly. Montgomery nodded for him to continue.
“Sir,” Montgomery was surprised to see Davis pause in an effort to get his emotions under control.
“Sir,” Davis tried again, this time getting past the block, “why do we have combat ready craft sitting in the fucking hanger while ground forces are dying in combat!”
Both men stood there for a moment in a rift of silent surprise. Davis had uncharacteristically failed to control his emotions.
After a while Montgomery, amused with Davis’s outburst, snorted, turned, and reached for a bottle of whiskey.
“For god’s sake Nathan, sit down and drop the formalities.” He stated, in a dismissive manner.
Montgomery admired Nathan. Flying was not easy. Long ago, when the idea of flight was young, people adopted the saying “Aviate, navigate, communicate.” The basic idea was that your number one goal, above all else, was to keep the damn piece of metal in the air. It did not matter where you were headed or what you said if you weren’t able to keep the basic goal in mind.
Montgomery could never figure that out. He liked to talk things over, find an agreement, think and re-think his decisions, look at every angle. Montgomery was a damn fine manager, but would have made a terrible pilot.
Nathan, on the other hand, picked a course of action and followed it to the end. Most of the time he didn’t even let you know where he was headed and you had to trust the fact that, where ever it was, it was a good place to be. Nathan would have made a terrible leader, but he made a shit hot pilot.
And that is why Montgomery took this position on the condition that they could skype Nathan from Transtellar. Offers were made, contracts were signed, and here they are; an old team with a bigger mission than either of them have ever faced.
Nathan sipped his whiskey nervously, unsure where to start. He knew he was a special addition to the team, something the senate and governor hadn’t expected, but something Montgomery had insisted on. He wanted to prove his old supervisor right, to show that he was a good investment. Questioning Monty’s leadership was nothing short of counterproductive.
This time it was Montgomery who interrupted Nathan’s thoughts. “When I was young I had this goal, or maybe it was a strategy… either way. The idea was that some day, I would have the opportunity to put someone in command of something and when I did, it would be someone I trusted. I would let them succeed or fail. I would only give input as requested and regardless of the outcome, I would stand behind them. Do you know when I finally got the opportunity?”
Nathan nodded. Montgomery had tasked him with infiltrating a pirate ring harassing Elerium-115 shipments out of Mars and he had failed. No one had died but it seemed to set the program back months. Transtellar executives were furious, they threatened to replace Montgomery with someone who was a “better judge of character” but Monty stood his ground and stood behind Nathan. Within a month, the ring was busted, and the shipments safe.
“Nathan,” Montgomery continued after a brief pause, “I trusted you and I trust you now. Tell me what is on your mind.”
Nathan’s gaze took on an intensity that surprised Montgomery. “Let me win the air war,” he stated flatly.
“How are you going to win the air war with a single interceptor and 2/3rs of the hoverbikes we started with?”
Montgomery’s comment cut a little deeper than he intended.
“That loss was no one’s fault but mine!” Nathan snapped. “Next time will be different; we can take them all out with no losses.” His tone changed subtly from snappy to pleading. “Give me the tools and we won’t put any infantry lives on the line again. We can shoot down every UFO that comes into our airspace.”
Montgomery considered this during the silence that followed. After a while he finally said, “Nathan I trust your flying ability and I trust the ability of those in your wing, but it is foolish to send you after every enemy craft. There is too much risk. I need you to focus on one goal; shoot down one of every UFO you come across and no more. We cannot risk good pilots. History states that the aliens will only send more powerful craft and we cannot risk winning battles today only to lose them tomorrow.”
“You can’t afford to risk pilots but you can afford to risk entire squads of infantry?” Nathan asked in a last effort to convince his superior.
Montgomery finished his whiskey, sighed and stood. “Don’t think I like it any more than you, old friend.” He said, and saluted.
The discussion was over; Captain Davis had loss. Without responding he stood, returned the salute and exited the commander’s office, leaving behind a barely touched whiskey.
Once again Montgomery found himself alone and deep in thought. He turned and began again to look out the bullet proof glass. His thoughts returned to pleasing those who matted to him the most, but this time it was split between and old friend and a new benefactor.