Shadows, стр. 2
“Could the weapon have penetrated at forty yards?”
“Maybe. Panthers had pretty thick front armor, so it’s hard to say. But once you fired a panzerschreck, everybody knew where you were because of all the smoke. We’d killed plenty of Germans because of it, so I knew we’d only get one shot and wanted to be sure of a kill.”
“That’s a good tactical decision, Tyree.”
Cutter shifted in his seat at hearing his first name. “Thanks for saying it, sir, even if neither one of us believes it.”
“When we’re alone, please call me Rodger, or even Rog.”
“Uh, sure, sir…I mean, Rodger. And most people called me TD, but not because I played football; my middle name’s Denning.”
“TD it is.”
“So, anyway, on that morning, while the boys were waiting on the Panther to get close enough, panzergrenadiers slipped across the field on our left and got behind us. By the time we took out the Panther, we were cut off. I ordered the men to make a break for our lines and stayed behind to cover them, but I waited too long. I heard MG 42s and watched my men get chopped to pieces, and then the world went black.”
“And you woke up here.” Murphy’s left hand twitched. He lifted it and rubbed his wrist. “Would it change your mood to know that seven of your men survived?”
Cutter’s eyes narrowed. “How could you know that?”
Without turning his head, Murphy’s eyes roamed over the interior of the rotating space habitat that was home to their hosts, a branch of humanity (mostly) that referred to itself as the SpinDogs. “In light of your present environment, does it really seem so far-fetched? Eleven of the thirty-seven men you led into France wound up killed in action, three were taken prisoner, and sixteen more were wounded. That’s thirty casualties out of thirty-seven men: by no means an unusual casualty percentage in the ETO. It wasn’t even the worst in your regiment. By the time the war ended, the 30th Infantry Division, your division, suffered 18,446 casualties, more than three thousand of whom died. That’s close to one hundred percent casualties, TD—worse than your platoon—but the division CO, Major General Leland Hobbs, is considered one of America’s finest division commanders who served during World War Two.”
Cutter digested the information for a few seconds before responding. “Thank you, Rodger, I guess that’s something.”
Something changed in Murphy’s expression and tone, something that tipped Cutter off that the hard sell was coming. “Tell me, if it was 1942, but you had your memories, if you knew what was going to happen to your men, would you do it all over again? Fight against America’s enemies, I mean.”
“Sure I would.”
“Why?”
Blood flushed Cutter’s face, and he tensed. “I’m sorry, Colonel,” he said, dropping the first name familiarity, “but that’s kind of an offensive question.”
“Answer it anyway.”
“Because the Japanese and the Nazis were evil.”
“And all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing, eh?”
“Something like that,” Cutter said. Sensing he was being set up, Cutter tried to outmaneuver Murphy. “But fighting and leading aren’t the same thing…sir.”
Murphy matched Cutter’s indignation, although Cutter couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. “You must really have been a terrible platoon leader, Lieutenant Cutter, so maybe it is better that you just carry a rifle and do what you’re told. That way, even if your replacement is incompetent and gets everybody killed, you can die with a clear conscience. The platoon will be just as dead, but it won’t be your fault.”
Damn! “That’s…not what I’m saying, Colonel.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying, Lieutenant. It’s not death you fear; it’s obvious that you’re no physical coward. What scares you is making decisions that lead to the deaths of others. Correct?”
Cutter stared at him without responding. Murphy took that as a tacit “yes” and kept going.
“What you don’t understand is that by declining to accept a command, you are still making a decision that will lead to men dying. Somebody has to take them into battle, and what you’re saying is that you’d rather let someone less qualified do it, even if more men die, because that way their deaths won’t be on your conscience. That makes you a moral coward.”
“If you think insulting me will change my mind, Colonel—”
“I don’t have the time or energy for insults; that’s just the plain truth. And here’s another truth for you: if men die because you didn’t have the balls to lead them, then their blood is on your hands far more than if you did.”
Cutter opened his mouth to speak, but Murphy held up a hand.
“Lastly,” the colonel said, “I can’t just hand you a weapon and point you at the enemy. My officers aren’t expendable, and having them taking orders from non-coms doesn’t work, so if you’re only willing to carry a rifle, I’ll need those bars.”
Reaching up, Cutter’s long fingers, which his grammar school music teacher said were perfect for playing the piano, traced the surface of the cool, silver metal on his left shoulder. Now that it came to it, he couldn’t imagine giving them up.
“What about me being their training officer?” he said, trying one final gambit.
“Lieutenant Cutter…TD…” Murphy glanced around, maybe a little too theatrically for Cutter’s taste, but he understood. Even if the SpinDogs were their allies, that didn’t make all or even most of them friends. And it certainly wouldn’t stop any of them from bugging the room. “I don’t have the luxury of putting you in a training slot. The people down on the local planet—R’Bak—are fighting the same war