by Daniel Gibbs
“Giving me orders now, son?”
“Just this once, sir.” Justin grinned. He was in awe of how Whatley had single-handedly blunted the League attack.
“Way ahead of you—we’re headed back. Those piece-of-shit commie fighters can’t match our speed on afterburners. Get Alpha landed, and I’ll see you on the deck.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Justin used the tactical network link to send an urgent “dock now” warning to the other Alpha pilots and lined up on the strobe beacon. It flashed yellow then green. He slowed to ensure Feldstein, Adeoye, and Mateus got in first. “Hurry up, people. High-speed landing protocol. Trust the arrestor fields. Our lives depend on it.”
“This is the boss. Confirm all craft have positive control over engine and maneuvering systems.”
“Confirmed, boss,” Justin replied.
“Cleared to land on any available pad, Alpha.”
The moment Mateus put down, Justin kicked up his speed and glided into the hangar bay. The tractor fields caught his craft and swung it onto the deck. The moment the Ghost touched down, he popped the canopy and climbed out. Not bothering to wait for the portable ladder to be brought over by the crew chiefs, Justin swung over the side and dropped to the deck with a bone-jarring thud.
The rest of the friendly Sabres in space—Whatley and the other seven—thundered into the carrier two at a time. The second the last ones were aboard, the lights dimmed, a telltale sign of an impending Lawrence jump. All the while, incoming energy-weapon fire splattered against the Greengold’s shields, clearly visible through the force fields protecting the hangar.
Justin held his breath as the volume of fire increased dramatically, then it was gone, replaced by the multicolored walls of the artificial wormhole. He let out the breath, stunned to be alive. At first, joy and elation swept over him. They’d pulled off the impossible: attacking Sol and living to tell the story—as long as they could make good on their escape.
At the far end of the bay, a chant started. “What-ley! What-ley! What-ley!” Several pilots and aviation crew had hoisted the CAG onto their shoulders and were parading him forward. Applause, cheers, and whistles ran through the air as the throng of humanity pressed forward.
Adeoye appeared next to Justin, grinning, but his face also held a tinge of regret. “That was some incredible flying, sir.”
“From everyone out there,” Justin agreed.
Feldstein and Mateus jogged up, flight helmets still on. They exchanged hand slaps with Justin and Adeoye before everyone embraced.
“I told you God would bless us,” Adeoye said. He beamed. “He flew with us today.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the convoy of pilots, still carrying Whatley as they chanted his name.
Justin brought himself to attention. “Thank you, sir. We’re all in your debt.”
Whatley rolled out of the hands of those holding him and landed feet first on the deck. He returned the salute. “No thanks needed, Spencer. You should know that by now.” Whatley glanced between the pilots and back to where the Ghosts sat. All of them were scorched, with varying levels of damage. “No matter the odds!” he thundered.
“No matter the odds!” The deck plates rattled as hundreds of men and women echoed the shout.
“Okay, get these birds refueled, rearmed, and ready to fight, just in case the Leaguers show up again. Not that I expect they will after the pasting we just delivered.” Whatley’s tone was as stern as ever. He turned back to Justin. “Get some food, get cleaned up, and start resting our squadrons.”
Then he leaned in and whispered into Justin’s ear, “Consider yourself promoted to air wing XO, Captain.”
Justin beamed, standing straighter. “Yes, sir. You heard the CAG. Fall in, ladies and gentlemen.” The joy he felt continued until he turned around to walk out. Then Justin realized how many landing pads were empty. We lost almost half of our pilots. On my watch. And Martin. But he had a job to do, and it would be done—feelings be damned.
21
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence jump completed. Within one thousand kilometers of expected target, ma’am,” Mitzner announced.
Tehrani opened her eyes, surprised they were still alive. She’d spent the trip through the wormhole praying. The lack of sound on the bridge seemed to indicate that most of the Greengold’s crew shared her opinion. She stared at the tactical plot as the sensors came back online.
“Conn, TAO. One contact, designated Sierra One, CSV Salinan, ma’am. Wait… aspect change, incoming wormholes. One, two—no, three wormholes.”
They all waited for classification of the newcomers.
“CDF signature, ma’am. Our stealth raiders.”
Thank you, Allah. Tehrani blinked, trying to clear her mind. “Damage report, XO.”
“Uh… hull damage fore and port quarter. Armor integrity is shot, venting atmosphere on decks five, eight, and eleven, port sections.” Wright paled. “The last volley missed our Lawrence drive manifolds by ten meters. Engines fully functional. Point defense online in manual mode only.”
It could be far worse. We could be dead. “How many Ghosts made it back?”
“Sixteen, ma’am. Major Whatley and the other three Sabres all returned as well.”
Fifty percent losses of our small craft. By itself, that would force the Greengold out of service for a few weeks until replacement pilots could be found once they got home.
“Casualties, XO?” Tehrani asked.
Wright avoided eye contact. “Still counting, ma’am, but over a hundred. A lot of crewmen are trapped in sections cut off thanks to the hull damage. Damage control is prioritizing hull repairs and erecting temporary force fields.”
“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. “I’ve got Colonel Fielding for you.”
“Put him on my viewer, Lieutenant.”
The screen came alive with an image of the CSV Astute’s CO. “That was the most impressive display I’ve ever seen from a carrier, Colonel. I’m in your debt.”
“Team effort, Colonel.” Tehrani didn’t feel like a hero and certainly didn’t want to be called one. “Were you able to get any escape pods from the Leviathan?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We didn’t detect any launched, nor did we pick up distress beacons.” Fielding pursed his lips. “Hopefully, they’re in a better place and not held as POWs by the League. The Damyat took heavy damage. Do you have enough room in your hangar to park her? Her skipper informs me they can’t sustain more than one or two more Lawrence jumps.”
Wright shook his head.
“I’m afraid we sustained heavy damage as well. It’ll take some time to repair,” she replied.
“Then with your permission, we’ll shuttle the crew over and scuttle the Damyat. I can’t take the risk of the Leaguers getting any technology off that ship. It’s bad enough we lost the Leviathan, but at least the ship was entirely gutted. Our sensors showed fine powder for debris.”
“Granted. Major Wright, my XO, will handle billeting.” Tehrani forced herself to keep going. One word at a time, one thought after another—anything but focusing on how close she’d come to dying a few minutes before. Something as mundane as where a hundred new people would sleep was a welcome diversion.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Have them off within the next thirty minutes. I want to be underway for Canaan no later than forty-five minutes from now.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll get started now. Fielding out.”
The screen blinked off, and Tehrani let out a sigh. “Navigation, plot a course for home. And ensure it’s an entirely different route from the one we took to get here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tehrani turned to Wright. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll feel a lot better with five jumps between us and Sol.”
“Makes two of us, skipper.” Beeping from Wright’s chair-integrated tablet attracted his attention. “Salinan reports they’re ready to jump and standin
g by for coordinates, ma’am.”
“Good.” Tehrani let her head fall back against the headrest. Once more, they’d tempted fate and survived. She wondered when the good fortune the ship had would run out.
Whatever they had going for them, it held long enough for the crew of the Damyat to transfer to the Greengold and the fleet to get underway. After a few jumps toward the void between the galactic arms, she finally allowed herself to feel relief.
A week later, the Zvika Greengold and the other four ships raced through the void, headed for home. Teams of engineering personnel supplemented by crewmen from all departments were still working on the battle scars visible throughout the vessel. Justin tried taking a day off from his duties, but with nothing to do on the carrier, what was designed to help him ended up forcing him to spend time thinking about their losses and what had gone wrong.
It wasn’t my fault. The losses among the pilots shook him to the core, and worse, replaying Martin’s final seconds as he crashed into the League frigate brought emotions Justin didn’t want to deal with to the surface. Dejected, he ended up deciding to head back to his cabin and try to sleep after having a small meal in an officers’ mess far away from the hangar.
The memorial set up for those lost during the Battle of Canaan had never gone away. Instead, it had been formalized in one of the ship’s long main passageways on deck seven. Walking down the corridor toward the gravlift, Justin pondered their efforts in the Sol system. In some ways, it felt good to deliver a small measure of payback. Yet the cost was so high—hundreds dead and friends gone, never to return. Alone in his mind, Justin wondered what the point was.
He came to a stop and pressed the button to call the gravlift. Its doors opened, and Justin stepped inside. The other occupant was a private he found vaguely familiar.
“Good evening, sir.” The young man came to attention.
“As you were, Private.” Justin looked at his name tag. “Waters. Wait, I know you.” He grinned sheepishly. “The last time we ran into each other, you were in the gravlift too.”
Waters smiled. “I spend a lot of my day in these things, moving equipment from place to place.” He gestured to the badge for logistics on his uniform.
“Geesh, shouldn’t you have a promotion to corporal by now? Everyone’s getting a free step up, it seems, with all the new recruits coming in.”
“I decided I didn’t want it, actually,” Waters replied. “I like what I do. It’s simple, and I enjoy it.”
“I can respect that,” Justin said as he touched the button for the deck his quarters were on.
“Some of my friends down in aviation said you and the pilots pulled off another holovid-hero moment out there.”
“Yeah… no. We just tried to come home alive.”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Of course.” Justin grinned and shrugged. “I don’t care much for customs and courtesies, anyway. Fighter pilot, through and through. What’s on your mind?”
“You seem like a man who feels alone, sir. I can’t fathom why, with all these people around here that care about you.” Waters stared intently at him.
For a moment, Justin felt as if the young man were somehow peering into his soul. “I, uh… Yeah, I guess I do feel alone, Private. My friends keep dying.” He chuckled bitterly. “I try to be the best I can. Push my skills to the limit and push my people to be better than the sum of their parts. But I can’t seem to get us all home.”
“It’s war, sir. From where I sit, you do an admirable job.”
Justin shook his head. “It’s not enough.”
“Sounds like something you should pray about.”
“To whom?” Justin turned angry in an instant. “There is no God. And if there were, He doesn’t deserve to be worshipped. What kind of entity that supposedly has complete control of the universe allows this to happen?”
“Well, if He controlled what everyone did, what would be the point of that, sir?” Waters pursed his lips. “I’m sure He wants to stop evil, though. Don’t forget—people report miracles all the time. Maybe He acts through smaller interactions.”
It took most of Justin’s remaining self-control not to bite the private’s head off. “I suppose anything is possible, but I don’t find the supernatural to be plausible.”
“Any less plausible than random chance accounting for the universe at large? If a single constant of our physical reality were off by the smallest fraction, none of this would exist.”
Well, when you put it like that. “I’m not equipped for a debate on the subject.” This lift is way too slow today.
“I’m sorry if I offended you, sir. I… let me leave you with this. You’ve probably noticed the chapel has a lot more people in it lately, right?”
“Yeah.” Justin forced the pique out of his voice.
“Hardship has a way of driving us toward God. Maybe if you tried to open your heart just a tad, there might be something better. And if not, well, at least you gave it a shot, right?”
Justin turned and stared at him. Earnestness seemed to radiate from Waters. “Why is this so important to you?”
“Hmmm.” Waters tilted his head. “Because I don’t think anyone should go through life alone, sir. There’s this God-sized hole, you know?” He rubbed his belly. “We’ve all got it, and maybe you should take a chance on filling it in with the right thing.”
“I suppose I’ll think about it.” Justin wanted off the gravlift more than he wanted to be back at Canaan—anything to make the uncomfortable conversation end.
“If I remember right, the last time we ran into each other, you mentioned you prayed for help when you ended up on that League cruiser, right?”
Justin nodded.
“Sir, I’m just a lowly private, moving boxes. But if I’d prayed something like that and lived to tell the tale, it might make me do some thinking, you know?”
The lift slid to a stop, and the doors opened. Justin stared out into the corridor like a man who was finally getting out of prison. He scooted into the passageway as fast as his legs would carry him. I shouldn’t be rude. I’m sure he means well. Justin glanced over his shoulder. “Good point, Private. I’ll give it some thought.”
“Of course, sir. Have a good night,” Waters replied as the doors swished shut once more.
Strolling toward his quarters, Justin thought back to the combat with the cruiser. The improbable nature of the victory was something he couldn’t ignore. Maybe praying gave me some sort of subconscious leg up. He forced the thought down and decided the best thing for him was to get some sleep.
22
Deep Space
CSV Zvika Greengold
3 July 2434
Five weeks into the trip back, the Zvika Greengold reentered extreme communications range with Coalition Defense Force command. At first, all Tehrani could do was pass a text message back, saying they’d completed their mission, along with a casualty report. A few days later, throughput increased enough to allow voice communication as the carrier continued to make its way toward Terran Coalition space.
As a result, she’d prescheduled a commlink discussion with General Saurez, as previously instructed. He was the overall CO for all CDF spaceborne assists, with the title of COMSPACEFLT or commander, space fleet. It felt odd to report outside of her defined chain of command, but nothing about the mission they’d just been on was ordinary.
Taking the vidlink in her day cabin, Tehrani sipped her tea before engaging the app. A few moments later, a grainy image of Saurez’s face appeared on her tablet.
“Colonel, can you hear me?”
“I read you, General.” Tehrani noted some static in the video. “We’re still pretty far out.”
Saurez wore a frown, and his eyes narrowed. “I’ve reviewed your after-action reports in detail. Impressive, capturing a fuel tanker with an impromptu VBSS team while executing the strike on Sol. I’ll overlook you disobeying orders and jumping the Zvika Greengold into Sol to pick up your pi
lots.” A small smile creased his face. “How’s your crew holding up?”
“As well as can be expected, sir. We took more losses than I’d hoped.” Tehrani pursed her lips. “Such is the cost of war. I hope our actions were worth it.”
“You have no idea.” He let out a sigh. “I should probably wait until you get back to tell you, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned knowing. The League captured Eire two weeks ago.”
Tehrani’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Eire was the capital of the Irish Republic and one of the Terran Coalition’s core planets. “Captured, as in landed ground troops?”
“That would be the definition of the word, Colonel. Planetary militias didn’t surrender until the Leaguer bastards started orbital bombardments of civilian population centers. Our fleet didn’t arrive in time, and now they’ve fortified the solar system. It’ll take a major fleet action followed by a massive ground invasion to root the commies out.” Saurez made a face. “I’m under orders to instruct you not to reveal this information to your crew or the fleet.”
His last sentence knocked around in her mind. An odd way to say that. Saurez obviously disagreed with his orders. “I see, sir. I don’t believe keeping bad news secret serves the interest of the Coalition Defense Force, sir. My soldiers will see it as a betrayal.”
“Well, who’s to say you heard me correctly when we spoke. After all, there’s a great deal of background interference. Something to do with hyperactive pulsars in the Jewel Box.” Saurez flashed a grin. “There will be a large celebration, a press event, and a lot of grandstanding when you return. The population needs to see a victory, and the Greengold delivered.”
On one hand, Tehrani heard the logic in that. On the other, it galled her to the core to have the men and women under her command used as stage props in a grand production. Oh, put a sock in it. If the Terran Coalition needs a win and a set of heroes to go along with the victory, then that’s what we’ll be. “We’ll be ready, sir.”
