by Daniel Gibbs
The tablet on her desk buzzed.
A welcome distraction. Tehrani put down the specialized device for form editing and picked up her tablet. The vidlink tab was up, showing Major General Shingo Yukimura, the commanding officer for their carrier division, which included several Thane-class vessels. She sat up straight and touched the accept button.
Yukimura appeared on the screen. “Colonel Tehrani. I hope I didn’t wake you.” He wore the standard khaki duty uniform and had the Japanese nation-state’s flag on his right shoulder—a red circle against a white background.
“No, sir. I keep the Greengold on Coalition Mean Time.” She grinned. “And I’ve been crunching paperwork for hours.”
“I’ll cut right to the chase, Colonel.” Yukimura had overall control over most convoy assignments in their sector. She’d gotten to know him as he took over the role after the attack on Canaan. By all appearances, Yukimura was a highly competent and outstanding leader. “The Conqueror and her battlegroup won’t be joining you at New Washington. They’re needed to deal with a League attack on one of our border planets.”
Tehrani leaned back in amazement. Her jaw dropped. “Sir, that leaves us with three warships to escort a couple dozen civilian freighters.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane, sir.” Her shock was rapidly replaced by anger. “I read the reports from previous convoys along this route. Multiple probing attacks by frigates and destroyers. Waves of capital ships. The last one lost fifty percent of its merchantmen.”
“I agree with you, Colonel. But orders are orders. Carry them out to the best of your ability and accept that some of the civilian ships probably won’t make it.”
Tehrani’s stomach twisted into a knot. The idea of sending untrained civilians into a war zone to die didn’t sit well with her. “Can’t you shake some more ships loose, sir?”
“No.” Yukimura shook his head. “It’s terrible out there, Colonel. That’s all I can say. I trust your pilots will do the best they can. If it comes down to it, you are ordered to protect your command and the battlegroup over the civilian freighters. It’s a lot easier to replace a bulk cargo hauler than a carrier.”
The harsh calculation of war made Tehrani’s heart sink. She forced the emotion back. “I understand, sir.”
“I’ll try to have some additional escorts added to your battlegroup for the return trip.” Yukimura paused. “Oh, and one last thing. I decided to assign the designation of Battlegroup Z to your force.” His mouth curled into a small grin.
Tehrani rolled the name around in her mind. It did have a certain ring to it. “May I ask why, sir?”
“Oh, just a bit of historical play on words. Look it up if you have the time.” Yukimura turned serious once more. “Good luck, Colonel, and Godspeed.”
“Thank you, sir. Godspeed to you too.”
The tablet went dark, leaving Tehrani to her thoughts. She sat back and stared at the overhead. The brutal reality of the conflict had been laid bare. For the entirety of her service in the Coalition Defense Force, she’d always thought the CDF worked for good in the galaxy. The orders to leave the civilians behind if the need arose didn’t shake her belief, but it was a far cry from what she’d always been taught. Leave no one. Risk everything to save just one. Such was rooted in the Terran Coalition’s collective religions—all espoused putting oneself in harm’s way to save the least among them. I’ll do my best to see us through.
The chime to the day cabin’s hatch interrupted Tehrani’s ponderings. “Come.”
“Skipper,” Wright began as he pushed the alloy door in. “Sorry to barge in on you during paperwork hour.” He gestured behind him. “I wanted to introduce you to Captain Shikoba.”
A petite woman of no more than thirty strode through the opening and came to attention. “Captain Isabella Shikoba reports as ordered, ma’am.” She stood ramrod straight.
The effect reminded Tehrani of a cadet review, and she raised an eyebrow. “At ease, Captain.”
“She’s our convoy liaison officer,” Wright explained. “And will be helping us corral the freighter commanders.”
“Ah.” Of course he’d want me to meet her. “Please, sit down, both of you.” Once they did, Tehrani pressed on. “We trained for this sort of thing, of course, but with TC Merchant Marine spacers. They’re practically an arm of the CDF.”
Shikoba smiled. “Not flesh-and-blood independent ship drivers convinced that the military is out to control them.”
Tehrani laughed, as did Wright.
“I’d say that sums it up,” she said. “How are you doing so far? Getting buy-in?”
“Lots of jostling for position. The captains with bigger ships want special privileges. It’s like herding cats.” Shikoba wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather be over here, fighting the League.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Tehrani replied. She stared at the younger woman. “Is this your first assignment on convoy duty?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shikoba glanced away. “The last liaison officer for this route was killed in action a week ago.”
Silence descended over the small room.
Wright pursed his lips. “Well, that was before the Zvika Greengold arrived.” Though his voice was full of bravado, it sounded forced. “You ask those Leaguers at Canaan what happened when our pilots got them in their sights.” He glanced at Tehrani. “We’ll be jumping to New Washington shortly, ma’am. Picking up the convoy there on the outskirts of the Lawrence limit.”
Tehrani nodded. “Very well. Captain, have you decided what ship you’ll be making your home on in the fleet?”
“One of the bulk-cargo freighters, ma’am. It has an upgraded tactical network interlink,” Shikoba replied. She shifted. “Of course, half the other ships claim we’re showing favoritism to the company that owns that particular freighter.”
“You’ll never make everyone happy. Until we pull their collective posteriors out of the fire, the civilians will whine and complain every chance they get.”
Shikoba laughed politely. “As you say, ma’am.”
“I don’t recognize the symbol on your country flag, Captain. What’s it from?” Tehrani asked.
“Oh.” She touched the patch. It consisted of two bears with an eagle superimposed on them. “It’s the Inuit flag, ma’am. We have a small planet toward the border. Not much compared to Churchill or New Washington. But it’s ours.” Shikoba flashed a grin. “Aleut is a borderline ice world—which suits us just fine.”
“You’re going to have to tell me more about that one of these days. But now, I’m afraid I have to get back to clearing my backlog of clerical work.” Tehrani stood.
Both Wright and Shikoba immediately got up. “Thanks for taking a few moments, ma’am,” Wright stated. “I’ll show Captain Shikoba back to the hangar deck. She’ll be transferring ships between jumps.”
“Thank you, XO. I plan to be on the bridge when we jump out of New Washington.”
“Excellent, ma’am.” Wright gestured to the door. “After you, Captain.”
Justin was in something of a foul mood. He’d hoped their trip through New Washington’s solar system would give him enough time to at least take twelve hours of shore leave and see his family. No such luck—they would barely be in the system for six hours and never close enough to the inner planets to make a trip by shuttle possible. Instead, he got to sit through Major Whatley’s combat space patrol briefing. So he sat in one of the leather chairs in the Red Tails’s ready room along with a few dozen other pilots. The difference was that his chair had CO stenciled into the back of it. I’d much rather be seeing Michelle and Maggie.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Whatley began as he touched the controls on the podium. The lights dimmed, and the holoprojector came alive with a 3-D image of the Greengold. “I’m going to spend the next thirty minutes educating you all on how we protect a convoy with one escort carrier, one destroyer, and a frigate since the rest of the battlegroup was assigned elsewh
ere.”
Somewhere in the back of the room, someone with a voice Justin didn’t recognize yelled, “With the Boars! Brrrrrrt!”
Would someone burst those guys' bubble already? Justin kept silent, waiting for Whatley to do just that.
He didn’t disappoint. Whatley raised the lights, staring directly toward where the Black Hogs pilots sat together. “Who the hell said that?”
Silence was the only reply.
“Who’s the red-bellied coward that won’t own up to what you said?” Whatley thundered. He waited a few seconds. “Either stand up and say it to my face, or I’ll PT your entire squadron until you’ve got blisters on your hands and feet from running and doing pushups.” His tone of voice left no room for interpretation of whether he was serious.
One of the Boar pilots got to his feet. “Uh, I did, sir.”
“That’s the last time I hear your ridiculous sound effects in my briefing, Lieutenant. Do you get me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t hear you!” Whatley shouted.
“Sir, yes, sir,” the unlucky pilot yelled.
“Sit down.” Whatley took a moment then dimmed the lights. “What I was about to explain to you is that we’re going into a convoy escort mission with limited resources. We will only have one element of each type of small craft in our inventory in space at any given time. Being overwhelmed could happen quickly, and if it does, civilians die. Our objective is to keep that from happening.” He turned back toward the pilots. “Above all, you have to work as a team. Watch each other’s sixes, and remember that together, we’re more than the sum of our parts. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” Justin shouted, joined by dozens of the others.
“Good. Now, pay attention.” The holoprojection shifted to a map of local space. A series of dotted lines between solar systems appeared. “This is our route. Eight jumps from New Washington to the border zone staging area. Each end is considered a safe zone, as New Washington has its own significant defense fleet, and the staging area has a fleet carrier battle group on station.”
“Are there any systems along the way seeing more attacks than others?” Martin asked. He was on the other side of the ready room.
“Good question, Lieutenant,” Whatley replied. “It would be nice if there were an obvious pattern, but no such luck. The League seemingly engages at will, anywhere along our path. Previous convoys have tried changing it up, and they still get hit.”
Justin cleared his throat. “What about jumping into deep space as opposed to solar systems?”
“As I’m sure you know, Spencer, most freighters lack the power in their Lawrence drives to jump into deep space safely.”
While the in-depth science behind Lawrence drives—which were artificial wormhole generators—was beyond Justin’s knowledge, he’d read material saying what Whatley had just repeated. It still baffled him that the companies who made the freighters wouldn’t spring for better equipment to avoid pirate attacks, or in this case, hostile military forces. Then again, they probably never expected such a thing in our lifetimes. Again and again, the complacency that had set in over the last few decades throughout the Terran Coalition proved to be a significant hindrance.
“Anything else from the peanut gallery?” Whatley asked acerbically. “Good. Moving on. Halfway through the chain of jumps, we’ll stop at a forward CDF refueling station with its own defense unit. Consider it a safe haven.” He gestured at one of the icons representing a solar system, which blinked green. “We may be attacked at any time by an overwhelming enemy force. That’s something I want to stick in your mind. Be mentally prepared. While only one element will be in space, I’ll keep an additional element on ready five.”
Groans rippled through the room. Though Justin didn’t join the chorus, he understood the frustration. Hour after hour of sitting in a cockpit, unable to use the bathroom, eat, or do anything got old—especially with no end in sight.
“My recommendation is to ensure you don’t eat anything except c-rations within three hours of going on duty. We all know how long it takes the body to process them,” Whatley said with a grin. “Gamma element will provide combat space patrol for our first jump, followed by Beta and Alpha for the second and third jumps respectively. Boar and Mauler elements will stay on ready five but not launch unless the Leaguers attack. Any questions?”
No one had any. Whatley’s plan of engagement was thorough, as usual.
“Very good. Rest up and get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow starts hell week. Dismissed!”
Amid the mad dash for the doors, Justin didn’t move as fast as the rest.
Feldstein fell in next to him as he cleared the hatch. “Three ships guarding an entire convoy?” she asked in a tone of disbelief.
“What does Mateus like to say? Target-rich environment?”
“Sir, that’s nuts. More like a suicide-rich environment.”
Justin stopped in the corridor and stared at her. “It’s what we signed up for, right?” At her nod, he continued. “We do the best we can and hope it’s enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they resumed walking, Justin felt unsettled. Maybe it was fear of the unknown. Whatever it was, he felt sure they would be happy to see the end of the convoy run. Then turn around and do it again. An old saying about the definition of insanity crept into his mind. I wish I could’ve said goodbye to my wife properly while we were here.
4
The next day, Tehrani could feel the tension on the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. They’d completed one jump successfully but had seven more to go. The sense of dread wasn’t something she was used to, since it was her first time on convoy duty. In the series of combats they’d fought against the League a month ago, the nonstop nature of the action kept her adrenaline pumping. In turn, it had afforded her the luxury of endless hours of contemplation. She felt comforted that midday prayers had concluded an hour before. Ever since the war started, Tehrani had gone to the mosque more often and actually cracked open her Koran. Confronting death had its way of affecting everyone.
Seated in the XO’s chair, Wright said to her, “All ships under escort report Lawrence drive cool-down complete. We’re ready to jump, ma’am.”
“Too bad we’re escorting merchant freighters with piss-poor Lawrence drive models. We could’ve jumped two hours ago,” Tehrani replied. It wasn’t their fault that the cargo ships weren’t designed for combat, but it did complicate the run—and endanger her crew.
“I think we’re seeing the effect of thirty-five years of peace. I read something about merchant vessels previously being required to be able to keep up with a warship… but those were phased out because of deregulation.”
Tehrani snorted and let out a sigh. “As long as we make the run with a minimum of combat, I don’t care.”
First Lieutenant Zachary Bryan, the tactical action officer, turned around. “I’m hoping to light up some more Leaguers and get another battle star.”
“And that’s why I’m in charge,” Tehrani replied. “As you were, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan said. He faced his console once more.
“Navigation, verify Lawrence drive coordinates for next convoy jump.”
“Coordinates verified, ma’am. We’re ready to engage,” Mitzner replied.
“Communications, alert the convoy to stand by for jump two.”
The Greengold’s Communications officer, First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh, spoke. “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He was tall for a human male and had a commanding presence on the bridge. His bright-purple turban, a symbol of his Sikh religious beliefs, enhanced his height by several centimeters. “Captain Shikoba reports all merchant vessels ready.”
“Navigation, execute Lawrence drive jump.”
As soon as the words left Tehrani’s mouth, the lights on the bridge dimmed. She could feel the hum through the deck plates, up into her black combat boots. Directly ahead of them, a bright multicolored artificial wormhole sprang into e
xistence. Its maw opened, and the Zvika Greengold blazed through at maximum sublight speed. Dozens of other pinpricks of light engaged simultaneously, generated by the other ships in their convoy.
Suddenly, as quickly as it had started, they were on the other side.
“Conn, TAO. Sensors coming back online. We’re within ten thousand kilometers of our jump coordinates. No contacts. All merchant vessels confirmed on my board. CSV Marcus Luttrell and CSV Glasgow designated as Sierra One and Two respectively.”
So far, so good. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Communications, order all vessels to follow our lead.” Tehrani paused. “Navigation, bring us to heading zero-eight-zero and maintain z-axis at present elevation. Ahead half.”
Wright leaned in. “We could just sit at the jump-in point. Rather than taxing the freighter’s engines.”
“And if the Leaguers have somehow pinpointed our location?” Tehrani asked with a grin. “Always keep them guessing.”
“Valid point, Colonel.”
Hurry up and wait. That seemed to be how life worked since they’d left space dock, but Tehrani had a hard time relaxing in any way, shape, or form. Every sense she had felt heightened, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up and wouldn’t go down. I’m being irrational. There’s no evidence that the League has intelligence on our convoy routes.
After a few minutes passed without incident, her level of unease eventually settled.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change… LIDAR effects, bearing two-seven-eight, mark positive fifteen. Range fifty-thousand kilometers. Multiple inbound wormholes.”
Tehrani sucked in a breath. Damn it. Why’d I ignore that sixth sense? I’ve brought us all into peril. “Classification of contacts, TAO?”
Bryan didn’t respond for a moment. He tapped something on his console before turning toward the CO's chair. “League-of-Sol-signature confirmed, ma’am. Two Lancer-class frigates designated Master One and Two.”
Tehrani punched the button for 1MC on her chair. While civilian and even some alien militaries preferred fancy touch screens and neural-integrated computers, the CDF had stuck to the tried and true: buttons and knobs. They didn’t fail in combat. The shipwide intercom came on with an audible click. “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill.” Almost immediately, the lights on the bridge dimmed and turned a deep blue. “Set condition one throughout the ship and raise our shields.”
