The Math Isn't Good

“Moss, are these numbers right?”
Lt. Moss was a dutiful adjutant. Short in stature, and had a dark complexion. Both his face and head were shaved.
“Yes, Admiral. These are up-to-date strengths of the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Fleets orbiting Mu now.”
“None of them are over 50% strength. UNSC Władyław Sikorski is the only Marathon-class cruiser remaining. Weren’t each of these fleets supposed to have two Marathons each?”
“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, the war’s taken a toll on the fleets.”
“Hmm. True. Every space battle with the Covenant is almost guaranteed to be one-sided. If only every ship had at least one MAC on them, then the fight would be a little more evenly matched. But still. Out of six Marathons, only one is left? Have the rear admirals reported in yet?”
“Yes, sir. They should have sent in their final reports to you a few hours ago.”
“I want to see them in person, call for them.” As Moss did so, I began to read the casualty reports. One name came up that slugged me right in the gut.
“Captain Nestorenko is on-world and coming onto the base. The other two admirals should be touching down within the hour.”
“…Thank you, Moss. That will be all.”
“Of course, sir.”
A notification popped up on my desk. It was a receptionist. “Admiral Ybarra, there’s a Captain Nestorenko here to see you.”
“Send him in, please.”
Here entered a Caucasian man, tall, muscular, piercing blue eyes and a blonde, twirled moustache. His short flowing hair was slicked back. On his naval uniform were the distinct four gold bars of a captain. He stood at attention.
“Captain Maksim Volodymyrovych Nestorenko, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Captain, at ease. Please, sit. So Captain, I read your report. Your commanding officer, Rear Admiral Rohan Singh, confirmed KIA.”
“Yes, sir. He went down with his ship.”
“The UNSC Singapore. One of the finest commanders of our navy going down with one of our finest ships. A Marathon, no less.”
“Rear Admiral Singh spoke fondly of you, sir.”
“Yeah. Rohan and I were in the same graduating class. We were friends, but then, due to time and distance, we drifted apart. I tried keeping tabs on him, but the powers that be kept me here and kept him out there.”
“Rear Admiral Singh came into hostile contact in command of eleven ships. Four remain. Mine, the Sikorski, plus one Halberd-class destroyer, the UNSC Kamehameha I, and two Charon-class frigates, the UNSC Come and See and the UNSC Thimpu.”
“On just the Singapore alone were over one thousand men and women.”
“Yes, sir.” Captain Nestorenko looked puzzled. “Sir, permission to speak freely?”
“Granted.”
“Sir, I don’t really understand your point. I thought you already knew the losses of my fleet, as well as the other two. Why do you need to speak with me?”
“Captain, the math isn’t looking good.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“No, Captain, I don’t think you do. Your fleet lost seven ships and over six thousand people. The Seventh and Eighth Fleets don’t even have their Marathons anymore. Do you even know the gravity of the war situation at this moment in time?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s grave, Captain. Very grave.”
I stood up and closed the door, and locked it. Then, I returned to my seat.
“What I say to you doesn’t leave this room. That is an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Covenant forces have beaten us back decisively at every turn. Every time their fleets show up in one of our systems, the civilians get thrown into a panic. They know what’s about to happen. Almost all of the nuclear warheads in the Outer Colonies have been expended. Half of the fleet of Marathons is gone. I’ve taken the liberty of estimating how many total people have died so far in this conflict, using information taken from reports coming in from across UEG space. You wanna know the number?”
Nestorenko was drained of color. He nodded silently.
“11 billion. 11 billion men, women, children, old people, disabled people, sick people, healthy people. All of them. Gone. Turned into glass. Ten years of war and 11 billion combined civilian and military casualties directly caused by the Covenant. That doesn’t even factor in attacks mounted by Insurrectionists, disease, famine, or accidents. A vast swathe of space is just empty now. We’ve lost contact with dozens of systems. Our civilization – no, our species – is on the brink of collapse. What do you think will happen if the Covenant comes across Mu? What if they manage to capture one of the Marathons and hack into the ship’s on-board AI? All that knowledge, all our planets, a whole map of UEG space: theirs. If that happens, we might as well dig our own graves.”
“The Covenant haven’t touched our Inner Colonies, Sir. They haven’t gone anywhere near the Sol System, for that matter.”
“Yet.”
“Sir, this sounds like defeatism. Now, I don’t know about you, but what I really care about is fighting the Covenant for as long as they keep coming after us, after our worlds. I will never stop fighting them until they are gone. They are monsters, and you need to face down monsters, stare them in the face, and beat them back with overwhelming force in order to stop them for good. Sir, for the sake of everyone under your command, I urge you to find the fire in your belly to keep fighting these monsters.”
I smiled. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear from you, Captain. If it was in my power, I’d promote you to admiral right now, but we’ll have to wait from the powers that be to give you that honor. For now, you may return to your ship. I’ll see what I can do about scraping together some ships to try and rebuild your fleet. Dismissed.”
Before Nestorenko left, he turned to me again.
“Sir, are the numbers right? Is the math that bad?”
“Yes. But I’m a soldier, not a mathematician.”
Category:The Weekly