“Survivors?” I said blankly.
“Every one of us has seen someone die,” said a DC3.
“And we didn’t,” said the lieutenant.
“And we all have wondered why,” Meyers said.
There were murmurs of assent, and Rod said, “Yep. So we get together once a week to see how everyone is doing, and help each other.” He looked around. “Anyone want to share their story with Pete?”
They all looked down, or at the overhead, or at each other, but none at me. Finally the lieutenant said, “I’ll do it.”
He stood up. “My name is Robert, and I was stationed on Port Madison a couple of years ago. I was an ensign, put in charge of the engineering division, and there was an accident. One of the guys thought a steam valve had been secured, hell it was tagged out, but so were a dozen others, and it got missed. It was just routine maintenance, pulling a flow valve for inspection, but the thing just popped off, filled the compartment with superheated steam from the open valve… I made it because the work center supe pushed me out of the space and the guys behind me set zebra before we fried. But not Jeffries. He got boiled alive, along with three other guys. After saving me and the others of us just outside.” He sat down and hung his head. “I still don’t know how he did it. Or why he didn’t come out with me.”
The guy next to him patted his shoulder, then looked at me. “I’m Gary,” he said. “Survived a ship to ship collision.”
Another said, “Juan. I made it through a missile attack.”
And like a dam busting, they all wanted to share.
“John. It was a doped up sailor with a gun, and he got two others. I was the petty officer on watch. I had to shoot him.”
“Hi, I’m Mike, and I lived through an engine malfunction. Explosion really.”
“Ali. It was a terrorist attack, Tejas City, Mars.”
“I’m Leroy. Mine was a maintenance mishap, like Robert.”
The chief said, “And I survived a docking accident.”
Next to me, Meyers said, “In here, I’m Ed. And I made it through a terrorist attack on Eros, and the shipmates I was with didn’t.”
Rod looked at me. “So what’s your story Pete?”
“Um…” I said. “I, ah, I am the only survivor of the Battle of Juno.”
They nodded and made sympathetic noises. “Have any of the families contacted you?” Juan asked.
“Yeah. Lots.”
“Let me guess: it was one of the kids that got you to you,” Ali said.
“A little girl wanted to know if I knew her daddy.”
“Little girls are the worst,” Duane said.
“I have to lie and say yes,” Mike said. “Otherwise, I’d go insane.”
Leroy shook his head. “Not me. I tell ‘em the truth. They’re less likely to come back that way.”
And the hour ended so fast that I thought they were joking until I checked my tablet. We had actually gone over by a half hour. But hearing that I wasn’t the only one, that others had gone through it… yeah, it helped, more than I realized at first. But those guys got me through some tough times, and we still support each other, and others like us. There’s a comradery that all military people have, and all vets, but there are some bonds that are stronger than others.
And sometimes they aren’t strong enough. Out of that original group, we’ve lost three, all from suicide. Hell knows most of us have entertained the notion, and too many of us have gone to the edge. Sometimes I’m surprised it’s only three.
But I was able to start the interviews again, and Galloway never mentioned anything, even though I’m sure he knew. And I never called Meyers “Ed” outside of the meetings, even though I really wanted to tease him about it sometimes. But he always called me Pete whenever he wanted to get my attention.
It took the Lincoln five weeks to reach Gaspra, and we had shore leave. Amazingly enough, I wasn’t recognized much, and I only got off the boat to have some decent food and a beer. Meyers came along as my buddy, though we had a few of the others in the group show up sometimes.
I also had a couple of live interviews, including one with Alabaster. I got to tell you, he may be the biggest vlogger out there, but he’s a little weird. Not to me, not exactly, but he treated the other sailors like staff, which got under my skin. And in general, he didn’t seem very interested when we were setting things up, but once we started recording, the public persona came out, and he became warm, witty, and completely invested in every word that fell from my lips. And then the camera stopped, and he had his tablet out within thirty seconds, completely ignoring me. I’m not sure I could trust someone like that.
But I also got to talk to Pinguina, who is as nice in person as she is on screen. I hope she gets a lot bigger, and doesn’t end up like Alabaster.
We stayed in port for a week, and I went to both a cotillion and a social. It wasn’t the same without Katy, and I spent the money for a good connection at the Comm center to talk to her. Worth every dime.
And then we were underway again, for another five weeks. Lots more interviews, but it went from a dozen a day down to eight or nine. It might not seem like that much, but the change for me meant more time to get to know the Lincoln. It’s the largest space warship ever built by the navy, and it has tons of stuff going on anytime day or night. It had everything the Rosy Roads did, but larger, better, and safer. It also had things you’d never find on a cruiser, like a pool (more like a scuba tank in zero g’s), a small religion center, and an observation deck. Hardly anyone ever went down there except me, so it became a place of refuge. Meyers would use those times to do, well, whatever Meyers did when he wasn’t with me. I didn’t ask. I just enjoyed my time looking at the vast panorama of space.
It takes a long time to get anywhere in the Navy, and we had several more port calls before we finally got Mars, some five months after leaving Port Farragut. We entered orbit, and the announcement for docking preparations came over the intercom. I had just come up from berthing, and asked Galloway, “Which port are we going to?”
He gave me a funny look. “Port Rickover. Home port to half of the ships in the Juno battle fleet, including the Roosevelt Roads.”
“This would have been my home port?”
“Affirmative.”
I pulled up the forward camera on my tablet, and watched as we pulled in. Port Rickover has the old spiked configuration, with arms radiating out from the central hub. I could see a couple of dozen ships, but there were a lot of empty berths. Ships took time to build, and even more than that, crews took time to train. I dreaded going ashore.
My tablet beeped. “I have a meeting with Admiral Duffy?”
Galloway shrugged. “He wants to talk to you before we dock. Meyers will meet you up there.”
I followed the directions on my tablet, and managed to make it to the wardroom five minutes early, despite all the sailors running around getting things in order and squared away. Meyers opened the door when I knocked, and it made me nervous that it was only him and Admiral Duffy. The Admiral was watching the approach on the large screen on the far wall, but I still saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“At ease,” he said, not turning around.
I dropped the salute, but I still felt pretty nervous. The size of the Lincoln made it difficult to pull into any but the end berths, and we had a great view of the whole station, with the red planet below.
“I love this process,” he said. “Docking, getting underway, it's fun for me. I'm usually on the bridge, hand on the wheel if possible. I'm damn good at it, too. Done it probably a thousand times, never had an accident.”
I didn't know what to say, so I just waited. He turned around and looked at me long enough that I began to get nervous.
“I'm not up there now because I have a more important, and infinitely more difficult task to prepare for. And I'd like your assistance.”
“Sir?” I said.
He sat down, and indicated for me to do the same. When I was perch
ed on a seat, he leaned forward, his hands folded in in front of him. “We have the remains of your shipmates with us. They will be off loaded before anything else, and I would like you to be there.”
I looked at my own hands, folded in my lap. “Will the families be there?”
“Some.”
I didn't know what to expect, but I knew what my duty was, to the Navy, to my shipmates, and to their families. For the first and only time outside our meetings, I turned to Meyers and said, “Ed...”
He nodded. “I've got your back.”
It meant more than any other life support system on board.
Chapter 6
We stood on a balcony overlooking the cargo bay that the Lincoln was off-loading into. It was me, Admiral Duffy, a bunch of brass I didn't know, and Meyers. He stood well behind all the officers, but I got to be out in front. Correction: I had to be out front.
We stood at attention and watched as all three hundred and forty six flag covered coffins floated down the ramp and filled up the floor. The families stood off to the side, but I could see them, and all the tears being shed, and I wanted to be in one of those boxes so badly right then. But I just stood there instead and let the tears stream down my face. I couldn't do anything else.
After all of them had been lined up in neat rows we were released, and Meyers led me downstairs. “I don't have to meet them, do I?” I asked.
“Only the ones that asked.”
I stopped. “How many?”
“Just one family.” When I still didn't move, he said, “It's the Otewas.”
I let my breath out in a rush. “Okay.”
We didn't meet out next to the caskets, fortunately, but in a small conference room. I got just inside the door when I got tackled in a hug. “Jacob, let the man breathe.”
The hug eased somewhat, and I looked at the child clinging to me. Even just looking at the top of his head, I could see the resemblance with his father, with the same dark skin and stocky build. I looked at the rest of the family: his wife, slender and sad, his daughter, a slightly darker, slightly shorter version of her mother, and the other boy, who had the best traits of both his parents. “Um, hi?” I said awkwardly.
“I'm Theresa, Mike's wife.” She came closer and gave me a gentle hug. “We just wanted to say thank you.”
And I just lost it. I started crying, couldn't stop, just kept saying “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” because I couldn't think of anything else. All three kids were bawling, his wife was too, and Meyers turned away, but not before I saw his tears, too. It seemed to last forever, and then all at once, it was over, except for the sniffling. Meyers handed tissues to everyone, and we started making small talk.
It helped, more than I thought it would. Theresa was very kind, and their daughter, Melody, very shy at sixteen, said little. Jacob, a big kid at nine, never let go of me, and James had that smile in his eyes that was so much like Big Mike. He had just turned twelve. I told him about my time with their dad, and how he sang all the time. I didn't even mention what he sang, but they started singing “We Are All Enlisted” because of course they knew it was his favorite. It made me cry again, and Meyers handed me more tissue. I learned more about them, about how Theresa grew up on Mars, met Mike at a church social, and how the kids were doing in school (very well, of course). I heard about Melody's musical talent, and James' geeky programming, and Jacob's ability to make friends everywhere. We spent an hour together, and though I didn't really want it to end, we kind of ran out of things to say. Except for Jacob. That kid talked non-stop.
We said our farewells, and Jacob gave me another bear hug. “If there's anything I can do...” I said.
Theresa took my hand and squeezed it. “You have done so much,” she said. “We would like you to come to the funeral, though, if you could.” Seeing the panic in my eyes, she added, “We won't make you talk or anything. We'd just like you there.”
I glanced at Meyers, and he said, “I'll make sure he gets there, Mrs. Otewa.”
“Thank you.”
It happened the next day, in a chapel on base. I sat on the back row with Meyers, and a surprising number of officers. The rest of the pews were filled with family and friends, and more stood along the walls.
It felt like going to church, with a few speakers, including Mike's father, and a musical number that included all three kids, lots of nieces and nephews, and quite a few cousins as well. They played a medley of his favorites, and if “We Are Enlisted” got to me, the last verse almost killed me, the same thing I had heard Mike singing so many ages ago:
“And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day, all is well.
Then we’ll be free from toil and sorrow too,
With the Saints we shall dwell.”
Meyers, sitting next to me, put his arm around me as I tried my best to cry quietly. And I wasn't the only one. All through the chapel people comforted each other as best they could, and I couldn't even imagine how many times it would be carried out in the coming days. All I wanted to do was crawl in my bunk and stay there until I could think again.
But after the music, an older gentleman went to the podium. “For those who don't know me,” he began, “my name is George Albert, and I had the honor of serving Mike as his bishop.”
I wasn't really interested in another sermon, so I mostly tuned him out and focused on my own misery, but something at the end of his talk caught my attention.
“The sorrow we all feel is for ourselves. We miss our loved one, our friend, our companion in this world. But we have the sure knowledge that we will meet again, and for them, it will be just a moment from now until then. Even for us, the seconds continue to click past, and we cannot stop our time here, or even pause it for this time of grief and consolation. And we shouldn't try. Be of good cheer! The atonement of Christ covers all, and we will meet again. So as sad as this parting may be, have hope for that day when we will greet Mike, and he'll give us that big smile of his, and knowing him, will start singing at the top of his voice. Have hope, dear ones. And I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Everyone murmured amen in return, and then there was another prayer and a closing hymn. And as we sang “We Are All Enlisted” (of course), I thought about the chorus:
“We are all enlisted till the conflict is o'er,
Happy are we! Happy are we!”
And it dawned on me that Mike lived his life by that principle. And whatever rest he was experiencing, well, he deserved it. But in the meantime, the rest of us had work to do. I'm know I'm not saying it very elegantly, but it helped with the rest of the morning as we visited with Mike's friends and family, and I felt more... not happy, exactly, but hopeful. Definitely hopeful. It was a wonderful blessing on what I expected to be an utterly miserable day.
***
Ten days later, we were underway again, for a visit to Eros, and then back to Mars, and Port Nimitz, our homeport. I didn't think much about it when I first heard, because I didn't think it would have much to do with me. But as we got closer (it took us nearly a month) I began getting nervous.
We had been to several ports since I had been on board, but Eros was something else entirely. I remembered it from just after the big bombing, the one the Meyers had survived. And they had been targeted several times since then, though nothing quite as bad. Still enough that it was considered a hot spot in the war, even though everything had been quiet for over a year at that point.
I barely knew what to expect. The rest of the crew seemed pretty excited when the announcement was made, but I didn’t feel like the rest of the crew. Hell, I barely felt like a crew member at all. I spent my days, and a good portion of my nights, giving interviews, and I saw Galloway and Meyers, and a half dozen other admin types (IS are admin, no matter what they say), and not many others except at chow. And even there, I kept to myself, and the Lincoln is so big that nobody really noticed, or cared.
And as we approached Eros, Meyers got even more withdrawn
than normal. It might not have been obvious to others, but it was to me. We both went to the survivor group meetings, but even there we didn't talk about it much. I figured we would just stay on board for the week of our port call and do something, anything, other than admit what we were avoiding.
Except that someone did notice, and he happened to have five gold stars on his collar. And that's why on the second night in port we got an invitation join Admiral Duffy for dinner, and it wasn't on board.
When I got my invite, I went straight to Meyers. “Is this an order we have to follow?”
He sighed. “Technically, no. But if we refuse, it's likely to become one, complete with escort. Might as well just go.”
We left the ship in steel suits, but without any insignia or other identifying marks. And we did get an escort, of sorts. Meyers pointed them out as we walked. “There's Mickles, over there, looking at that menu board. And over there, that's Hernan. He's only pretending to drink that beer, you know.”
“And this is important because...?” I asked.
“Security. They're making sure we're not followed, and would step in if someone harassed us for any reason.”
“Seriously?”
“You know it.” He looked at me sideways. “The miners still want you dead, you know.”
I shrugged. “It doesn't seem real.”
“If it did, your life would be much different.” He gave a short laugh. “Do you know how many Peter Wrights are currently in the Navy?”
“It's not that uncommon of a name,” I said.
“It used to be a lot less common,” Meyers said. “While we were at Port Farragut, a dozen Peter Wrights were assigned to stations from Mars to Venus. Since we left, even more have gotten orders.”
“All to protect me?”
“Affirmative.”
“Damn. And all these guys are doing the same thing?”
“You know it.”
That made me more nervous than the death threat.
But we got to the restaurant without a problem, even though we went through some crowded areas. Meyers looked even more anxious than me when we did, but we were shown to a private dining room, which helped both of us feel more secure.
Till the Conflict Is Over Page 5
