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Medal Of Honor
by
The Commodore chuckled. “Don’t blame you,” he said.
“It was quite a bust,” Don said.
“Well,” the Commodore chuckled again, “I don’t suppose we can throw you in the guardhouse for being A.W.O.L. Not in view of your recent decoration.”
There was nothing to say to that.
“By the way,” the Commodore said, “I haven’t had the opportunity to congratulate you on your Kraden. That was quite a feat, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir,” Don added, modestly, “rather foolish of me, I suppose.”
“Very much so. On such foolishness are heroic deeds based, Captain.” The Commodore looked at him questioningly. “You must have had incredible luck. The only way we’ve been able to figure it was that his detectors were on the blink. That may be what happened.”
“Yes, sir,” Don nodded quickly. “That’s the way I figure it. And my first blast must have disrupted his fire control or something.”
The Commodore said, “He didn’t get in any return fire at all?”
“A few blasts. But by that time I was in too close and moving too fast. Fact of the matter is, sir, I don’t think they ever recovered from my first beaming of them.”
“No, I suppose not,” the Commodore said musingly. “It’s a shame you had to burn them so badly. We’ve never recovered a Kraden ship in good enough shape to give our techs something to work on. It might make a basic difference in the war, particularly if there was something aboard that’d give us some indication of where they were coming from. We’ve been fighting this war in our backyard for a full century. It would help if we could get into their backyard for a change. It’s problematical how long we’ll be able to hold them off, at this rate.”
Don Mathers said uncomfortably, “Well, it’s not as bad as all that, sir. We’ve held them this far.”
His superior grunted. “We’ve held them this far because we’ve been able to keep out enough patrol ships to give us ample warning when one of their task forces come in. Do you know how much fuel that consumes, Captain?”
“Well, I know it’s a lot.”
“So much so that Earth’s industry is switching back to petroleum and coal. Every ounce of radioactives is needed by the Fleet. Even so, it’s just a matter of time.”
Don Mathers pursed his lips. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
The Commodore smiled sourly at him. “I’m afraid I’m being a wet blanket thrown over your big bust of a celebration, Captain. Tell me, how does it feel to hold the system’s highest award?”
* * * * *
Don shook his head, marveling. “Fantastic, sir. Of course, like any member of the services I’ve always known of the Medal of Honor, but … well, nobody ever expects to get it.” He added wryly, “Certainly not while he’s still alive and in health. Why, sir, do you realize that I haven’t been able to spend one unit of money since?” There was an element of awe in his voice. “Sir, do you realize that not even a beggar will take currency from me?”
The Commodore nodded in appreciation. “You must understand the position you occupy, Captain. Your feat was inspiring enough, but that’s not all of it. In a way you combine a popular hero with an Unknown Soldier element. Awarding you the Galactic Medal of Honor makes a symbol of you. A symbol representing all the millions of unsung heroes and heroines who have died fighting for the human species. It’s not a light burden to carry on your shoulders, Captain Mathers. I would imagine it a very humbling honor.”
“Well, yes, sir,” Don said.
The Commodore switched his tone of voice. “That brings us to the present, and what your next assignment is to be. Obviously, it wouldn’t do for you to continue in a Scout. Big brass seems to be in favor of using you for morale and …”