by Daniel Gibbs
“Hey,” Mateus whispered, “that thing’s got the presidential seal on it.”
Her words were like a key clicking into a lock inside Justin’s mind. Whoa. Nolan, here?
Moments later, Jason Nolan emerged from the shuttle and walked down the ramp. The honor guard came to attention along with everyone else. He quickly crossed the carpet and strode up to Tehrani. Though Justin was too far to hear the words spoken, he observed the two of them shaking hands warmly before Tehrani stepped behind the lectern. Justin wasn’t sure what he thought of the commander in chief lately. He’d voted against him in the last election, but the war had changed everything. Perhaps it had changed Nolan for the better.
“Mr. President, please allow me to apologize for not having a larger reception prepared for you,” Tehrani said into the mic. “It is an honor to host the president of the Terran Coalition on our humble vessel. Welcome, and thank you for coming.”
Nolan again shook her hand and took his place behind the stand. “At ease.” He waited for a moment as everyone relaxed into a parade rest posture. “Did I get that right?”
A wave of laughter swept through the bay.
“Most of you are wondering what I’m doing here, especially on such short notice. First, I want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart. The fighting spirit of this ship is worth ten more Thane-class carriers. Know that our nation values your service and the sacrifices collectively made. Second, I’ve come in person today because there is a special, dangerous mission on which I’m going to send the Zvika Greengold.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “The Terran Coalition cannot stay on the defensive.”
“Oh boy,” Feldstein whispered.
“Shhh!” someone hissed.
“Along those lines, I’ve decided to order an attack on the Sol System. This mission is dangerous. It’s risky, and you may not return. But I believe we must show the League it cannot strike us with impunity and that we can hit them anytime, anywhere, any place, including Earth itself. I would prefer not to order you to take this assignment.”
Shocked silence greeted him for several seconds. Then someone shouted at the top of their lungs, “Fight the good fight!” The sound carried across the hangar, echoing off the walls.
A moment later, the entire assembled company responded, “No matter the odds!” The tumult from their voices shook the deck plating.
While the wild cheering continued, Feldstein leaned in and whispered into Justin’s ear, “I’m surprised none of the pilots talked. Most of the ship is acting like this is news.”
Justin nodded and whispered into her ear, “Maybe they’re good at faking it.”
She shook her head and flashed a smile as everyone continued to chant, “No matter the odds!”
Nolan held up his hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd. “I guess that answers that.” He grinned as another wave of applause swept the hangar. “Then all I have to say, warriors of the Coalition Defense Force, is this: show the League they’re at our mercy. Good hunting, good luck, and Godspeed!”
Cheers, hollering, and clapping continued to echo off the deck. Justin felt the energy of released emotion all around him, and a part of him looked forward to the payback for the assault on Canaan. Now everyone knows why they got to say goodbye to their families. He suspected when the glow of knowing they were going to hit the League home world faded, many would ponder whether they were coming home. I certainly am.
Rustling came from behind him, and a hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Spencer, get over here,” Whatley said. “President Nolan wants to meet the squadron commanders.”
“Yes, sir.” Justin cast a glance toward Feldstein. “Go find Adeoye and Mateus. They need to meet the president too.” He grinned.
“Now, Captain,” Whatley grumbled and tugged at Justin’s shoulder.
It took a few minutes to get through the throng of enlisted personnel and junior officers. Nolan, surrounded by his security detail, was engaged in an animated conversation with Tehrani and Wright, the tail end of which Justin caught as he walked up with Whatley.
“I had no idea your husband was an economics professor, Colonel,” Nolan said. “Too bad we can’t drop him behind enemy lines to deliver some lectures on the evils of communism.”
Wright, Tehrani, and a few others laughed politely at the joke.
“I’d rather him keep teaching his students,” Tehrani replied. “Knowing my family is safe allows me to keep my head completely focused on combat.”
“I can understand your feelings there.” Nolan paused and pursed his lips. “Though I will confess my lack of military service keeps me from knowing precisely how it feels to have a loved one in harm’s way. If there’s one major regret in my life now, it’s that I didn’t serve.”
Justin felt surprised. The comment was oddly candid and even vulnerable from a politician. Maybe he’s not as bad as the rest of the political class. He stood politely behind Whatley, waiting quietly for the CAG’s introduction.
“Mr. President, I’ve got the pilots you asked for here. Captain Spencer, Red Tails, and Lieutenant Green, Black Hogs. We’ll get Lieutenant Martin over in a few,” Whatley interjected.
“Thank you, Major.” Nolan took a step forward and extended his hand toward Justin. “A pleasure to meet you, son.”
“Likewise, sir.” Justin shook the outstretched hand warmly.
“Quite a reputation you’ve built in the last few months,” Nolan replied. “I had a look at the service jackets of each member of the Zvika Greengold’s senior staff before authorizing this mission. General Saurez tells me you’ll all need every ounce of skill and luck possible to pull this off. So we’re counting on you.”
“No one on this ship will let you down, sir,” Justin said with a glance at Green. “All our squadrons are ready to fight.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Nolan extended his arm to Green. “Lieutenant, a pleasure to meet you as well. From after-action reports, I understand your refitted Boar fighters have performed superbly.” He flashed a one-hundred-watt smile.
Green relaxed from attention to shake hands. “Thank you, sir. I, too, look forward to blowing apart as much League hardware at Earth as possible.”
One of the protective-detail agents leaned in and whispered into Nolan’s ear while gesturing toward the shuttle.
“I’m sorry, folks. They need to get me back to Terran Coalition One.” Nolan brought his hand up in salute. “We’ll be throwing you a parade on Canaan when the Zvika Greengold returns. Again, good luck and Godspeed.” He turned and walked away, flanked on all sides by agents in business suits.
With mixed feelings, Justin watched the entourage walk down the red carpet as the senior officers cleared out of the way. The president seemed honest enough, but Justin had trouble believing anyone who hadn’t served knew what it was like on the sharp tip of the spear. I have to give him credit for seemingly trying to understand us, though.
Feldstein’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “What was he like?” she asked excitedly, bordering on giddy.
“Uh—” Justin turned to see her, Mateus, and Adeoye standing behind him.
“That’s it?” Feldstein stared. “You shook the hand of the most powerful human being in the galaxy, our commander in chief, and ‘Uh’ is the best you can do?”
“Well, he puts his pants on the same way I do. One leg at a time.” Justin quirked his nose. “I thought you said you didn’t even vote for him, so why the fuss?”
Feldstein tried to keep an expression of annoyance on her face, but it dissolved into a grin followed by laughter. “Okay. We’re having a card game tonight to discuss this planned attack. Mateus, get the good stuff too.”
“Done,” Justin replied.
“Now that’s done,” Whatley interjected, appearing at their sides again. “You can get back to simulator training. I want four hours a day.” He crossed his arms. “And one of these days, you’d better invite me to this mythical card game down in Lieutenant Mateu
s’s quarters I keep hearing about.”
“Yes, sir,” Mateus said. “I’ll be happy to clean you out any day, sir.”
Whatley rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stalked off while the rest of them shared a laugh.
As they walked together, Justin felt like Alpha element could conquer the universe. If we can successfully strike Earth, anything’s possible.
7
CSV Zvika Greengold
Deep Space
24 April 2434
Days turned into weeks, and weeks became a month on the Zvika Greengold. Boredom set in amongst the crew, especially with the Marines. While the pilots had their simulators, and the soldiers manning the ship were kept busy with watch standing and their various onboard jobs, the Marines found other ways to deal with their newfound time.
On three separate occasions, Major Kosuke Nishimura was called to a private meeting with Colonel Tehrani. The prank wars instigated by the Marines—despite direct orders to the contrary—had grown to the point that the senior officers couldn’t ignore them. It might’ve had something to do with the chief’s mess ketchup bottles being replaced with ghost pepper sauce. Suppressing a laugh from the memory, Nishimura stared at the cargo bay, which had been set up with an extensive “kill house” among other tactical training tools. It was his solution to the problem after the colonel had threatened to start confining anyone who got out of line to quarters.
“Team one is about to enter, sir,” Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Conner said from Nishimura’s side. A twenty-five-year veteran of the Terran Coalition Marine Corps, O’Conner hailed from Eire, as denoted by the Irish flag on his shoulder. A unique religious patch with a pair of dice sat under it. “How did you get this signed off on, by the way, sir?”
Nishimura grinned and stared at the bank of monitors. Holocameras captured practically every angle within the training structure , while integrated helmet optics showed them what the assault force saw in real-time. “Because the brig isn’t big enough for five hundred Marines.”
“Touché, sir.” O’Conner snickered. “Between us, I was quite amused that the engineering crew had to build this for us.”
“It was Colonel Tehrani’s way of forcing everyone to make up.” Nishimura crossed his arms. “You know, I’d much prefer we had a tier-one team attached to us.” The Terran Coalition’s Space Special Warfare unit was regarded as the best special operators of any alien or human government. Known as the Space Walkers, they could accomplish seemingly impossible tasks and were the greatest warriors humanity had to offer.
“Lots of things we ought to have, sir. The way this entire mission is going down makes me think we’re expendable.”
“Ultimately, everyone is expendable,” Nishimura replied. It wasn’t meant as a philosophical observation, only a statement of fact. Almost every individual in the CDF or TCMC was replaceable, and on the battlefield, people died.
“I suppose.” O’Conner sighed. “Though I will admit I am not interested in being expendable.”
“None of us are.” Nishimura glanced at the monitors showing the inside of the kill house, which was designed to mimic a starship’s interior. Perfect training for a Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure team. “You changed up the OPFOR locations for this pass, right?”
O’Conner narrowed his eyes. “Of course, sir. Wouldn’t want to make it easy on them.”
Nishimura grinned. “Good.” His expression sobered. “God forbid we have reason to storm an enemy ship or prevent the League from taking ours.”
“Team leader signals ready.”
“Do it.” Nishimura shifted his gaze to the monitors showing the Marines’ first-person viewpoints.
“Beta Team, begin exercise in five… four… three… two… one… go!” O’Connor thundered.
Through the screens, Nishimura watched as the group split into two elements of three. Each stacked up to the left and right side of a simulated airlock. With neatly timed precision, they tossed pulse grenades in both directions away from the entry point. Then, amid a flurry of stun rounds fired from their battle rifles, both elements charged, pushing out from the airlock.
“Better technique this time,” O’Conner remarked.
“Send the first wave of OPFOR security response then the second wave forty-five seconds behind,” Nishimura replied. He had a stopwatch going on his tablet and marked down each waypoint the team met in real time. “Last time, it was a full three minutes.” He grinned. “Keep ’em guessing.”
On the monitors showing the holocameras built into the kill house structure itself, the OPFOR security teams—mostly masters-at-arms from the Zvika Greengold—sprang preplanned traps and pinned down both elements simultaneously. Internal security soldiers on a vessel would be unlikely to respond so effectively in a real battle. Still, Nishimura believed in preparing for the absolute worst—over and over until the lessons sank in.
“Point man for element two is down,” O’Conner said as he pointed at the screen assigned to that Marine. “First OPFOR units are down. Second team entering the engagement in ten seconds.”
In combat, the enemy you didn’t see was who got you. The exercise was no different. Two Marines from the first element collapsed from barrages of stun rounds. Three friendlies remained when the firing ceased, and again the OPFOR team was left writhing on the deck.
“Too few left to finish the mission.”
“Nah, Master Guns. My money says they pull it off.”
“We shall see.”
The objective of the exercise was the engineering area of the spaceship. The Marines were to overload the reactor and escape as part of a battery of tests Nishimura and O’Conner had developed, including prisoner rescue, sabotage, infiltration, and intelligence gathering. The first element entered the engine room on the monitors and quickly set about interacting with a crate marked Control Console. The training sim was decidedly low-tech compared with the advanced ones back at home.
O’Conner wasn’t out of tricks. A third security detail entered the area, engaged the two Marines, and successfully stunned one. The remaining member of the second friendly element's arrival helped tip the tide, and several OPFOR defenders fell.
“Major, reactor set to overload. Beta attempting to egress.”
Nishimura and O’Conner exchanged glances.
“Not bad, Master Guns. They still completed the task under fire. High casualty rate, though...”
“They haven’t gotten out yet.”
O’Connor’s words might have been prophetic. The seconds ticked down toward a detonation of the reactor. With thirty seconds remaining, the two Marines abandoned the measured approach they’d taken to the firefight and instead broke cover and charged, battle rifles spraying stun rounds on full auto.
More OPFOR members dropped from the fusillade, but those who weren’t stunned maintained fire discipline. One of the Marines dropped, and finally, the second ran out of ammunition on his battle rifle. Hand-to-hand combat erupted between the last two combatants, then the OPFOR soldier finally put down the Marine with a flurry of stun bolts.
“Hmmm. You were right,” Nishimura said. “They’d gotten used to the opposition’s placement.”
O’Connor cued his commlink. “Reset! Reset! Good job, everyone. Marines, unfreeze your armor and return to the briefing room for discussion.” After he’d turned the device off, he turned to Nishimura. “It’s how the iron dice roll at times.”
The comment caused a lingering question to pop up again in Nishimura’s mind. “Say, Master Guns, that’s a phrase I’ve heard you use several times.” He quirked his nose. “Got anything to do with the design on your religion flag?”
“Is that your polite way of asking what my beliefs are, sir?” O’Connor replied.
“Well, uh…” Nishimura wasn’t sure whether he’d offended him or not.
O’Connor held up his hand. “I’m kidding. It’s a question I get a lot when I first arrive at a duty station. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t ask soon
er.”
Nishimura allowed a grin to crease his face. “Well, it's unique.”
“Yeah, I know most of the Coalition’s citizens are some form of Christian, Jew, or Muslim, but lots of other religions are out there too.” O’Connor paused. “You’ve heard of the Jalm’tar, right?”
“Aliens beyond our frontier, down by the Jewel Box nebula, and they don’t care for outsiders,” Nishimura replied. “Right?”
“More or less.” O’Conner touched the patch with the stylized dice. “They have a belief system that’s based on the randomness of the universe. They see chance as having a guiding force of its own in the cosmos.”
The idea hit Nishimura as kind of odd but also interesting. “So, they worship chance?” It dawned on him that the Master Guns was saying he’d converted to an alien faith. First time for everything.
“Not quite.” O’Conner shook his head. “I suppose I should backtrack and explain I was an agnostic before I adopted the Jalm’tar beliefs.”
Ah, so he did convert to an alien faith. Nishimura stared with rapt attention.
“I know what you’re thinking—who converts to some hokey religion from an alien species that wants nothing to do with us?” O’Conner grinned and shrugged. “All I can say is it fit for me. I don’t quite buy everything being pure randomness, but at the same time, there’s so much pain and heartache in this universe. I don’t think someone created it and sits around overseeing it.”
“What’s with the dice, then?” Nishimura asked. His curiosity was genuinely piqued.
“If one accepts the idea of the universe being an inherently chaotic place, it brings about a question. The lucky breaks—you know, a guy walks into a casino and hits the jackpot five times in a row, or a Marine ducks a split second before a bullet that would end his life is fired. To explain that, the Jalm’tar see a force behind the chaos.”
“That sounds a whole lot like God,” Nishimura interjected.
