by Daniel Gibbs
And why would they? It wasn’t too long ago we occupied their home planet and forced radical changes to how their empire functioned. Of course, being occupied by the Terran Coalition was possibly the best thing to ever happen to the Saurian Empire. The extreme industrial pollution on Sauria was being cleaned up, thanks to credits and technology supplied by the Coalition. The two powers had become friendly, if not friends, as a new crop of Saurian leaders pushed the empire firmly into being a republic rather than an imperial monarchy. “Did anything come out of it?”
“Ambassador Lee offered to be a broker between us and the League for a peace treaty, though she advised winning several major battles first.” Karimi smirked and shook his head. “I think they’ve been paying attention to how humans behave. There was one thing, sir. She indicated the Saurian Royal Navy has some older destroyers in its inventory. They’re willing to sell them to us.”
“For a reasonable amount?”
“Twice what they cost to build, adjusted for inflation.”
Nolan came close to uttering a curse word in the Oval Office, even though defaming the people’s house with his words was something he never allowed. He let out a breath. “I see. Do the deal.”
“Mr. President?”
“We’ve got to have them. You saw the same projections on ship losses I did.”
Karimi nodded. “I’ll take care of it, sir.” He pointed at his wrist handcomm. “It’s past time to get moving.”
“I know. Give me five more minutes then bring the team in. I need to clear my mind and pray.”
“Of course.” Karimi stood and walked out briskly.
Left to the quiet of the room, Nolan closed the Bible and placed his hands on top of it. He thought of how close they’d already come to destruction and those who’d paid the ultimate price. With a bowed head, he prayed, “Lord, please bless the efforts of our men and women in battle. And help us to be worthy of the sacrifices they make. Grant me the wisdom to lead this nation so that it may not perish from the galaxy. In Jesus’s name, I pray. Amen.”
With the prayer concluded, he set his mind back to matters of state. Another long day awaited.
24
The simple pleasure of a hot meal, eaten without the risk of combat, was a luxury to Tehrani and one she immensely enjoyed. The chef had prepared what a few weeks ago would’ve been considered a feast—steaks, potatoes, grilled mushrooms, and onions along with freshly baked bread. The meat was also halal, as part of her Muslim dietary requirements. Tehrani had recently decided to ensure she kept halal as much as possible.
Seated alone at the table reserved for her in the CO’s mess, she stared out into the void.
“Got room for another, skipper?” Wright asked as he strode up next to her. “As long as I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all.” Tehrani smiled at him. “Company would be nice.”
“Can you believe the rations we got? I don’t eat this well at home.” Wright slid into the seat across from her and propped his elbows on the table. “Don’t tell my wife that.”
Tehrani laughed. It felt so good, after all the trial and tribulation they’d been through. “Never fear, XO. Your secret is safe with me. Did you get the steak?”
“Is the pope Catholic?” Wright deadpanned. “Medium rare. Salt and pepper, with a hint of garlic. I’m hoping the chef gets it right.”
“Another successful mission.”
“Quite. I inspected the engineering spaces this afternoon and reviewed the refit plans with Captain MacIntosh before he shipped out back to special projects. We’re gonna miss him. You should’ve heard what the enlisted personnel think about you, skipper.”
“Good or bad?”
“Oh, excellent. They all seem to think you’re a lucky commander. Whatever happens, Colonel Tehrani will bail us out. The stunt you pulled, saving the pilots with the double jump, cemented an already-deserved impression that you never leave a man or woman behind.”
“Except when I must, to save us all.”
“It’s always the last option.”
Two stewards walked up carrying trays of food, which they expertly set down in front of Tehrani and Wright.
“Thank you, Corporal,” Tehrani said to the lead steward.
“Of course, ma’am. Let us know if you need anything else.” He turned and hurried away to get the next table’s plates.
“You want to say grace, skipper?”
“Of course.” Tehrani bowed her head and spoke in Arabic. “In the name of God and with God’s blessing.” She switched to English for Wright’s benefit. “Thank you, Allah, for this food and the hands that prepared it. Allow it to strengthen us and our cause. Praise be to God.”
“Amen.” Wright cut a piece of his steak off immediately and put it into his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Chef outdid himself.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Tehrani dug into her mushrooms.
“It’s okay to enjoy some things in life. Even with all this going on around us.”
While meant as an encouragement, Wright's words brought up a deep-seated belief that as long as those under her command were suffering, she ought to as well. “I find that difficult under the circumstances.”
“Do you remember War Patrol?”
“The old holoshow from the Saurian War?”
“That one. It’s back on the air with new episodes. The master chief is setting up a viewing in the hangar tonight. You should come.”
Tehrani shook her head and laughed. “I hate War Patrol.”
“Why?” Wright exclaimed. “It’s got everything you could want in entertainment… drama, bad guys blowing up real good, and the CDF always wins.”
If only it were like that in the real world. “It’s too escapist for me. Besides, they get the little things wrong. Soldiers saluting without cover, enlisted personnel giving orders to officers, and don’t even get me started on the storylines of people in the same chain of command falling in love.” Tehrani made a face. “I just sounded like a real snob, didn’t I?”
“Yup, skipper.” Wright winked and chuckled. “Like I said, it’s plain fun. I think we could all use a break, and seeing some League ships blow up might be nice.”
“Is this your way of telling me I should come for the general morale and well-being of the crew?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
While he was right, something about war movies and shows had always bothered her. They tended to glorify fighting and the thrill of hunting down and killing the enemy. While there was something to the intensity of combat, most of the time, popular culture didn’t show what came next. Human beings weren’t designed to be okay with killing others, especially not in large numbers. It is said that God wrote his law on our hearts. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why killing was so difficult. “I’ll consider it,” she finally replied. “I wish the entertainment producers would show the cost of war.”
“Probably doesn’t drive ratings.”
Continuing thoughts of the commercialization of their shared suffering drove Tehrani’s mind in a negative direction. She decided it was best to move on, as nothing she could do would change what the Terran Coalition’s various holonetworks aired on their stations. “How is the refit progressing?”
“Good. We’ve got a bunch of civilian contractors crawling all over the engineering spaces and our hull, fixing stuff along with our snipes. She’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks.”
Tehrani snorted. “Observe the civilians. Those money-grubbing contractors always figure out how to get the job extended or break things that aren’t broken to generate more repair tickets.”
“Cynical much, Colonel?” Wright replied.
“I’ve had my share of contractors after twenty years in the CDF.” She took another bite of steak. It was amazingly flavorful and tasted like a dream. “This is hitting the spot.”
“Did you hear the draft passed? Nearly unanimously in both chambers of Congress,” Wright said after he swallowed a helping of pota
to. “How about that? We’ll have millions of recruits in six months to fill up all these new ships they’ve been building.”
Between bites of steak, Tehrani ruminated on the effect those recruits would have. “Which we’ll have to train, and as soon as they start getting good at their jobs, poof, they leave.” She shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep the military as a professional, all-volunteer unit, myself.”
“You’re not the only person I’ve heard say that, skipper. I suppose the devil is in the details, right? The news article I read said it would be a four-year enlistment period. So not as bad as the old two-year draft from the Saurian Wars, eh?”
Tehrani snorted. “Have you ever noticed how each war we fight is the one that will end all future conflict?” She sighed and put her fork down. “Yet there’s always another. And another.”
“What’s bugging you, skipper?”
What, indeed. Tehrani thought through her general low mood. “Aside from short combat refits, all leave and shore duty rotations have been canceled. The general order will be issued tomorrow, but O-6 and higher got a head’s-up this afternoon.” She closed her eyes. “I was so looking forward to a three-month rotation off with Ibrahim to recharge my batteries and recover a bit.”
“But with the fall of Eire…”
“All hands on deck.” Tehrani picked her fork up again and took another bite. “Ultimately, we must carry on. I tell myself I should be thankful I’m still alive and my husband isn’t being shot at.”
Wright leaned forward. “Skipper, it’s okay to feel and to let your guard down every once in a while. We’re all here for you. I’m here for you too,” he said quietly.
“I know, Benjamin. But you’ll understand someday when you sit in the big chair. The commanding officer is the rock that anchors the ship and her crew. I can never afford to look or act weak in any way.”
“Showing emotion isn’t a weakness. Though I realize that might be odd to hear coming from a guy.”
Tehrani snorted. “Yes, I suppose.” She turned somber again. “We’re going to keep on fighting until we can’t fight anymore.”
“Then we’ll get some sleep and give ’em hell.”
“Quite.” Tehrani ate another mouthful. Wright’s positive spirit seemed to rub off on her after a while, making the future seem less bleak. She determined to seize that spirit for her own. “I think I will come down to the hangar bay to watch War Patrol with you. How much of the crew do you think will be there?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure half of us will be there. What else is there to do on this tub, anyway?” Wright grinned. “Try to remember you’re not alone.”
“I know.” Tehrani dug into her baked potato. “Let’s eat up so that we can have dessert.”
Wright’s eyes lit up at the mention of sweets. “What’s on the menu?”
“Chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting and cream.”
“Yeah, I’m going to need two servings of that.” Wright took a big scoop of onions and shoveled it into his mouth. “Maybe three. One for a snack during the show.”
Feeling somewhat better, Tehrani continued to eat and pondered a better day when they no longer had to fight the League of Sol. Not being able to see Ibrahim again for what was probably the better part of a year bothered her, as did the constant churn of battle. But it came with the territory. She’d served faithfully for twenty years, and with Allah as her witness, Tehrani would continue to serve until the CDF didn’t need her anymore. And on that day, I will retire and enjoy life with my husband as God intended.
After eating dinner, which had been hearty, thanks to their resupply, Justin wandered through the passageways of the Zvika Greengold. In the week since they’d gotten back to Canaan, he’d mostly avoided being alone with Feldstein, engaging only during official activities and with others. Their relationship was still weird, but part of him supposed it was to be expected. Meanwhile, he’d made little progress in digging himself out of the funk he seemed to be stuck in.
Perhaps it was random, or maybe it was his subconscious, but he ended up on the same deck as the various chapels on the Greengold. Standing in front of the door to the Christian worship area, which was directly across from the Jewish shul, he stared at the door. What do you have to lose? Have a conversation with the chaplain. Maybe he can help.
Summoning more courage than it took him to roar into space to fight the League, Justin pushed the hatch open and walked through. Well, I didn’t burst into flames as I crossed the threshold. I guess that’s something. He smiled and strolled down the aisle.
At such a late hour, the chapel was empty. At least, it seemed that way to Justin. He ended up outside the door to the chaplain’s office. He’s probably not even in there. Part of him wanted to turn and walk out as fast as he could, but another force inside his mind refused. Justin rapped on the hatch a few times.
“Come in! Come in!” someone called from the other side of the door.
Justin pushed the hatch open to find a man sitting behind the desk. He wore a CDF khaki service uniform and a clerical collar. The room was small and cramped but maintained in a tidy manner.
“Uh, hi. Chaplain?”
“The one and only Father George Elliott, at your service.” He smiled brightly then narrowed his eyes. “Wait, I recognize you. Captain Spencer. An honor.” The man stood and towered over his desk—he was at least two meters tall. Elliott extended his hand.
For a moment, Justin stared at the hand like it was an alien appendage. Finally, he shook it. “I, uh, well… I’m honestly not sure why I’m here.”
“Son, regardless of your faith, I’m here to minister to you.”
Justin peered at him. “What about people who don’t have faith?”
“Same. If you’re an atheist or agnostic, my job is to counsel you as best as possible, just like I would any other soldier, regardless of belief system. You look troubled. Why not have a seat?” Elliott gestured to the closest chair. “Would you like some water?”
It took Justin a few seconds to process the chaplain’s words before he nodded and sat down. “No, I’m good.” He furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“The beginning?” Elliott’s eyes twinkled. “Or perhaps the middle or end? It doesn’t matter to me. Wherever you feel comfortable.”
It seemed as if warmth radiated from the priest. Justin wasn’t prepared for it. He’d thought he would receive immediate condemnation for his lack of belief and instead found a jovial man that kept asking to help. “Well, uh, Father—”
Elliott held up a hand. “George, if you would, please. I don’t stand on formality in here.”
“Sure.” Using someone’s first name was so out of character for him, as the military engrained use of last names at all times. “I’m having some problems, George. I, uh, have nightmares. Bad ones.” He looked away. “I see myself or one of my friends dying in the cockpit. There’s nothing I can do as the flames consume us.” Once Justin started to explain, the story flowed out of him like a river. “Lately, it’s a nightly thing. Ever since we jumped out of the Sol system, it’s gotten worse.”
“I’ve heard similar things from many of the Zvika Greengold’s crew. You’re not alone, Justin. May I call you Justin?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Is it just the nightmares and PTSD that bring you here tonight or something more?”
Isn’t that enough? But he pushed the thought down. “I feel completely alone.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Like I’m trapped in a maze with no way out.” A tear fell down his cheek. “Last week, I, uh… I almost cheated on my wife. I’m not proud of it, but at that moment, I thought maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.”
A frown formed on Elliott’s face. “I feel for you, Justin. Truly, as a Christian and a fellow soldier, I know how life has been this past year. Whatever you need, I’m here to help in any way I can.”
“Can you make the pain stop? The war end? Every time I get into that cockpit, I know the
re’s a decent chance I’m not coming back. But I do, anyway, because I’m good at it, and I think the Terran Coalition is worth defending.” Tears streamed down Justin’s face. “What the hell is wrong with me? The Leaguers deserve what they get. It shouldn’t bother me. None of it should matter except when one of ours dies.”
“Justin, listen. There’s nothing wrong with you. We all cope differently with violence and death. Let me assure you that almost every one of your fellows has the same fears—the same pain. It’s perfectly okay, and you’re no less of a soldier or a man for these feelings.”
“Well, then why do some of us seem to handle it better?”
“Because some of us have stronger support systems.”
“I’ve got a loving wife and daughter that I adore waiting for me at home.” Justin tried to dry his tears on his uniform sleeve. He felt like something less than a human after the emotional display. “They should be enough.”
“Nothing is ever enough. We all suffer setbacks and breakdowns. Is there something specific that brought you here tonight?”
“Fath—George, I’ve never really believed in God.”
“May I ask why? Were your parents atheists?”
“No, they went to church every week,” Justin replied. “And dragged me along.” He shrugged. “I figured out when I was four that Santa Claus didn’t exist by faking being asleep until my father started dragging the presents in. I’ve never had much room for things I couldn’t put my fingers on and know it was real.”
“Which you can’t do with faith. Its very nature is abstract.”
Justin nodded. “Exactly. If I can’t put my hands on it, I don’t tend to believe it.” He paused. “This is going to sound insane.”
“Try me.” Elliott shifted his position and continued to stare.
“Things have happened to me that I can’t explain as purely random chance. I made it onto a League heavy cruiser, stole a fighter, and somehow disabled the thing from the inside before making it back to the Greengold.” Justin locked eyes with him. “I’m good, but my combat successes have been beyond good. They were lucky and great, over and over.”
