by Daniel Gibbs
“So, you think God’s helping you out there?”
“No, I…”
“Do you want my help as a therapist, Justin? Or as a pastor?” Elliott spread his hands out on the desk. “I ask that specifically because I don’t want to offend you in any way. My job is to minister to all in a way that helps them. I come to you, in other words, wherever you are.”
“When I was headed toward the League ship, I prayed.” Justin nearly whispered the words. “I asked God to help me get home to my wife and daughter and hold them one more time.” Clashing emotions and thoughts filled his mind. Part of him wanted to believe in something bigger than himself. The rest of his brain held on to the idea that anything beyond their plane of existence was hogwash, almost to the level of irrational fear.
“It would seem your prayer was answered,” Elliott replied.
“Or low-probability events do occur.”
“Yes, that’s certainly a possibility.” Elliott raised an eyebrow. “I won’t get into a debate with you about the existence of God. You’ll have to do that with someone else. While there are certainly some facts and science I could point you to, I ultimately believe faith is a thing we must take on faith.”
“I see how my friends who are religious handle this war. Maybe it’s not easier on them, but they have some kind of X factor.” Justin didn’t understand it, but he’d made the observation consistently for months. All of them, even Mateus, seemed to have more peace than he did when strapping into the cockpit. Repeatedly, he’d wondered why.
“And you want that for yourself?”
Justin nodded. “Of course.”
“Having an easier time blowing up enemies isn’t a reason to believe in God.” He chuckled. “This feeling of helplessness, being alone, wanting something more… Most if not every human experiences it at some point in their life. It’s okay. I’d say it means you’re normal. The question is what do you do about it? If I were speaking to you as a Christian minister, I’d say what you’re going through is the exploration of the God-sized hole we all have. On the other hand, if I were speaking to you as a counselor, I would urge you to do an inventory of your inner thoughts and process the specific trauma you’ve been through.”
“Trauma?” Justin bristled at the word.
“Yes. You’ve seen people die, up close and personal. Would I be right in assuming you had direct contact with the enemy on that ship you stole a fighter from?”
“Yeah.” Justin looked away. “I shot two men. Pretty sure I killed one of them.” He closed his eyes. “I can still see the blood running out of his wounds and onto the black alloy of the deck.”
“That memory is mental trauma. It affects you, even if you won’t acknowledge it. To move past it, you’ve got to recognize and deal with the pain.” Elliott smiled sadly. “On second thought, I should be clear that I think you need counseling to deal with such things, regardless of religious belief.”
Justin stared at the chaplain. “I don’t want to be weak. My fellow pilots don’t need or deserve it.” Psychiatric speak had always hit him as mumbo-jumbo he wanted nothing to do with. A man should be able to deal with anything thrown at him. Justin’s father had drilled it into him since he was five.
“Admitting pain and working past it is the very definition of strength.”
“So, what do I do, then?”
“Why don’t you schedule an appointment with me for tomorrow, and we could begin by talking about specifics.” Elliott pulled out a tablet. “I’ve got an opening at sixteen hundred thirty.”
“Okay.” Justin nodded slowly. “What if I, uh…” The words didn’t want to come out of his mouth, as if by saying them, he would be openly admitting something he feared to utter. “I… wanted to talk to you about faith?”
“You seem conflicted.”
“Very.” Justin furrowed his brow. “It’s like something inside of me won’t let go of the experiences I’ve had. I keep trying to forget about it, but I can’t make it go away.”
Elliott nodded. “I know what you mean. But that’s a story for another day. Have you ever read the Bible?”
“Not really, beyond what I was forced to in Sunday school as a kid.” Justin cracked a grin. “I’ll admit to going out of my way to forget it too.”
“I’ll send a few verses over to your fleetlink profile. They’re all psalms in which the author was lamenting hardships. I’ve found them to be comforting these last few months. Have a look if you get a chance. Again, I want to stress that I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
“Thank you, George.” Justin briefly pondered the idea of what he was coming to, going to the chaplain and asking for spiritual help. “Oh four thirty comes early.” He stood. “And thanks for your kind words. They helped.”
“I’m glad. Tomorrow, sixteen thirty hours?”
Justin smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here with five minutes to spare.”
“Good. Godspeed, Justin.”
“You too,” Justin replied and turned to walk out.
As he made his way back to his cabin, he pondered the conversation but also, more importantly, where Justin Spencer was going as a husband, father, and human being. Setting everything else aside, Justin felt like he was at a crossroads in life, with two paths before him. Which one is the right one to take? If only he had a way to prognosticate an answer to the age-old question.
Few crewmembers were out and about that time of night, and it didn’t take Justin long to reach his stateroom. He shut the hatch behind him and stripped off his duty uniform. A mental tug-of-war broke out between going straight to bed and looking through the link the chaplain had given him. In the end, he sat on his couch and begrudgingly turned on his tablet.
A few moments later, the passages Elliot had sent him loaded on the screen. Justin read one aloud. “Be strong and courageous. Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” He traced down the list with his finger. “Under His wings, you will find refuge.” Emotion bubbled to the surface as he continued. “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the tablet. Something about the words gave him comfort.
“Fear thou not, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold thee with my right hand.” Justin set the tablet down as the tears continued to fall. He looked deep within himself as the pain and anguish came to the surface. There has to be something more. Justin stared at the overhead. “I, uh… well, I suck at this. So, God, if You’re up there, I’ve tried it my way for my entire life.” He sniffed and sucked in a breath. “Maybe it’s time I do it Your way. I prayed to You before, and it seemed like You were there.” As Justin prayed, part of him felt silly, but he pushed it down. “I don’t know where this leads, and I don’t know what to do, but I’m going to try. Please help me. Amen.”
Nothing immediately changed. No pillar of fire magically appeared in his quarters, but somehow, Justin felt better. Some of the weight he’d carried seemed to lift away, and for the first time in many months, Justin Spencer had a measure of peace. As he drifted off to sleep, nightmares gave way to dreams about his family and happier times.
Epilogue
Three thousand light-years away from the front lines of the war, Admiral Chang Yuen admired the scene below him. Thousands of dutiful sailors of the League Navy moved war matériel and supplies around a cavernous hangar, which was one of eight on Unity Station, the ultimate statement of the power of the State and a testament to the great socialism of the League. Anything can be accomplished by sheer force of human willpower. He took a sip of brandy and turned to find Admiral Yegor Voronin, the station commander, standing directly behind him.
“Ah. I see you like to observe our progress, too, comrade,” Voronin said.
Yuen appraised the Russian. While many who obtained the rank of admiral knew little of war and mostly had the proper Communist Party connections, he’d
grown to respect Voronin. The man had repeatedly proved, at the least, that he understood how to handle logistics and supply the fleet. “Yes, comrade. The handiwork of your sailors is impressive. I doubt our offensive would be as successful as it’s been without your ability to get damaged vessels back into the fight.”
“All for the glory of the League.” Voronin touched his fist to his chest, the proper response to invoking the phrase. “What will you do now? One of their vaunted core worlds has fallen before us.” He smiled thinly. “After all the prattling by the Coalition Defense Force that we’d never succeed against a hardened target.”
The question brought anger up within Yuen. He’d spent the afternoon outlining the next steps of his planet-capturing campaign with the Social and Public Safety Committee, only to be overruled at the last moment. “I am unsure,” he admitted. “We were close to convincing the chairman of the need to send a significant portion of the home-defense fleet.” Yuen snarled and turned his head. “But that damn Terran attack on Sol.” His eyes blazed with fury. “The doddering old men back home can’t see it was only one ship. At best, a gimmick. I doubt they could do it again.”
Voronin frowned. “We’re not getting reinforcements? The Eire campaign cost the fleet twenty-five percent of its ships, and it will be some time before my crews can get the rest repaired. A few battleships will be out of commission for months.”
“Some but not enough.” Yuen calmed himself with a deep breath. “The committee believes the bulk of the fleet is needed to protect Earth, all because an escort carrier with three squadrons of fighters blew up a fuel depot and a few ships!” Again, anger raced through the calm he always projected.
“I suppose some allowance must be made to reassure our citizens that the capitalist dogs of the Terran Coalition can’t strike whenever and wherever they want,” Voronin replied cautiously. “Besides, if the workers aren’t safe, we won’t get the ships needed to fight the war.”
“This observation lounge is swept for listening devices daily by my most trusted staff,” Yuen snapped. “You need not worry about political commissars questioning us later.”
With a frown, Voronin nodded. “Still, be careful what you say. Any whiff of defeat or individualism… You know what the punishment is.”
Yuen sincerely believed in the cause of the League. Deep within his soul, he knew humanity’s solidarity was the only way to ensure everyone was properly looked after. The wars brought by reactionary elements such as the capitalists and those who clung to their outdated superstitions could never happen again. Only united as one League of Sol could humans gain their rightful place in the galaxy. Still, he also believed the model could be improved upon. But he couldn’t voice that opinion. “I would rather focus on fighting the Terrans than dealing with internal politics,” Yuen snarled.
“Comrade, I fear for our efforts. Without overwhelming firepower, our campaign will turn into a war of attrition.” Voronin pursed his lips. “I don’t want to see a generation of brave sailors die in the meat grinder of a great patriotic war.”
“Nor do I,” Yuen replied. “Our duty is to win this war as quickly as possible, with as little loss of life as possible. On both sides.” He stared out the window again, watching the legions of people hurrying to and fro across the deck below. “The Terrans deserve to know what it means to be free of their bad thoughts and how great humanity can be.”
“We need a new strategy, then. Something to affect their hearts and minds.”
Yuen turned and narrowed his eyes at Voronin. “Yes. Like they did to us with that ridiculous attack on Sol.” Wheels churned inside Yuen’s head as he pondered what they could do, then he smiled “Thank you, comrade.”
“For what?” Voronin asked, puzzled.
“Look how a simple act caused so much fear even in the League. Now the men and women who did it are venerated as heroes in the Terran Coalition. These individualists focus on having heroes to look up to rather than worship the real power of the state and its citizens. I think it’s time we lay a trap for the CSV Zvika Greengold. Let the Terrans understand what it means to lose a hero.”
Voronin nodded. “The idea being it will shake their morale and perhaps give us political capital back home with the Social and Public Safety Committee?”
“Exactly, Admiral. Until then, we’ll keep doing what works. Strip their border planets from them, especially those with useful minerals, and grind down the capitalists. They don’t have the stomach for a long war like us. Oh, give it a couple of years, and they’ll be crying about the human cost, the lost mothers and fathers and sons and daughters.” He turned back to the scene below. “But we can keep going for three generations if that’s what it takes. Though we value the lives of those lost, the League cannot—ever—be defeated. The revolution must continue, no matter the cost.”
“To the revolution,” Voronin replied.
“Always.”
Battlegroup Z: Book 4 – Bandits Engaged: Justin Spencer and the crew of Zvika Greengold face the bitter cost of war as they go up against a ruthless enemy destroying freighters in neutral space. Get Book 4 today!
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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs
Battlegroup Z
Book 1 - Weapons Free
Book 2 - Hostile Spike
Book 3 - Sol Strike
Book 4 - Bandits Engaged
Echoes of War
Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight
Book 2 - Strong and Courageous
Book 3 - So Fight I
Book 4 - Gates of Hell
Book 5 - Keep the Faith
Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet
Book 7 - Finish the Fight
Breach of Faith
(With Gary T. Stevens)
Book 1 - Breach of Peace
Book 2 - Breach of Faith
Book 3 - Breach of Duty
Book 4 - Breach of Trust
