by Daniel Gibbs
He snickered. “I think that applies to all of us.”
Feldstein put her fork down again. “You know, the aw-shucks routine is nice and all, but you should know I and the rest of the squadron respect the hell out of you, sir. Going back again today to make sure the SAR bird got out along with Hastings… you’re on the way to becoming a legend.”
“If it was me out there, tumbling through space in one of those pods, or worse, in the vacuum, I hope someone would do the same for me. That’s why I did it.” He sucked in a breath. “Speaking of the rest of our merry little band, where are Mateus and Adeoye?”
“The last I saw of Mateus, she was headed to the simulators, ranting about wanting to improve her neutron-cannon accuracy percentages. Adeoye is…” Feldstein turned away. “He’s really bothered by the ship losses. I think he blames himself.”
“We all do.”
“It’s not our fault, sir.”
“Really? Because we’re the sharp tip of the spear. You heard the major. Every time we miss, we help the enemy.”
Feldstein scrunched her face, and her cheeks turned red. “That’s a slogan, not a solution. You know as well as I do that there was no way to win.”
“So? We go on our merry way, eating and drinking as if nothing happened?” Justin put his fork down. “Look, I know your heart’s in a good place. But right now, I don’t want a pep talk. All I need is a conversation with my family before I go back out there at a moment’s notice and probably buy the farm.”
For a moment, he thought Feldstein was going to go off on him in the middle of the mess. Instead, she chuckled. “Do you know where the expression ‘buy the farm’ comes from?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Hundreds of years ago, if a pilot crashed in a farmer’s field, the government had to pay for the lost crops. The farmers got quite good at marking up the cost of their crops. Hence the expression ‘bought the farm.’” Feldstein smirked. “Funny how that’s survived all this time.”
The factoid made Justin smile. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” He stood. “I’m going to go see if I can get those communications credits I’m due. See you in six hours? Alpha has the 0400-to-1000 CMT scramble watch.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Not like there’s anything else to do on this ship, anyway.” She grinned. “I hope you get through.”
“Me too.” Justin turned and walked out of the room. The mood was still as dour as when he’d entered half an hour ago. It seemed to permeate the entire vessel as he walked the passageways, snaked his way through the bowels of officers’ country and finally ended up in the section of staterooms reserved for the pilots and other space-aviation officers. He pushed the hatch to his quarters open and let it close with a thud behind him.
The room was dim, but the lights came on automatically, a motion sensor triggered by Justin’s entry. It felt so lifeless and empty. As he’d only been assigned to the Zvika Greengold for two weeks, he’d packed no real personal items in his space duffel. He didn’t even have family pictures. As a result, the area was untouched and sterile, an ever-present reminder of how suddenly the war had broken out, leaving shattered dreams and plans washed away.
Justin spotted his tablet sitting on the small desk in the corner of the stateroom. He glanced at his commlink, chronometer, and health tracker attached to his wrist like a watch of old. The time was almost 2000 hours CMT. Roughly when I should be able to reach home.
He sat down and pulled up the vidlink application. Michelle’s profile was the first contact. The screen stayed dark for a good forty-five seconds, leading him to believe it wasn’t going to connect.
Then Michelle’s smiling face appeared.
Right next to her was his four-year-old daughter, Maggie. “Daddy!” she exclaimed. “Mommy wasn’t sure you could talk tonight.”
Justin’s lips curled into a wide grin. “Nothing was going to keep me from my girls.” He gulped. “I miss you both so much.”
“We miss you too,” Michelle replied.
Beneath her smile, Justin recognized the unmistakable signs of sadness, not the least of which was puffiness around her eyes. After several years of marriage, he knew what crying looked like on her.
“How was your day? It’s what? Six p.m. ship time?”
“Not quite. More like eight. But who’s counting? I’ve got a watch shift from 0400 to 1000 hours tomorrow morning, so I’ll get a few hours of sleep.”
“Daddy, did you fight the Leaguers again? Everyone at school is talking about how the Coalition won’t let them take our planets.”
The innocent way in which Maggie asked the question, coupled with the thought that a four-year-old girl shouldn’t be thinking about war, cut Justin to his core. “Honey, don’t worry about all that. I’m going to keep you and Mommy safe.”
“Are you going to die, Daddy?”
Michelle let out something that sounded like a cross between a choke and a cry. “Maggie, don’t say things like that.”
Justin’s heart nearly broke. She’s only four. She shouldn’t have to think about life and death. “I’m going to do everything I can to come home, baby girl.” Justin couldn’t find it within himself to make a promise he might not be able to keep.
“You can’t promise?”
Justin shook his head. “All I can promise you and your mother is that every time I get into my cockpit and ride into the stars, I’ll do everything in my power to come home to you both.”
Maggie began to cry, tears streaming down her face. Michelle wrapped her arms around the little girl, trying to comfort her. “Daddy’s going to come home.” She directed a dirty look toward the camera. “Isn’t he?”
“I won’t lie to her, Chelle. She deserves to know her father’s fighting a war. If we don’t tell her, the kids at school will.”
“Have you killed people, Daddy?” Maggie broke free of her mother’s embrace. “One of my friends said that all murderers go to hell. I don’t want you to go to hell!” she practically shrieked.
Justin touched the screen, wishing he could will himself to move through the camera and hold them both. “Honey, listen to me. You’re very young, and so are your friends. They just parrot stuff they hear at home. I can’t tell you whether people go to hell or not. But I promise you what I’m doing isn’t murder. These League of Sol people, they attacked us. We’re just defending ourselves. Okay?”
“Okay.” Maggie’s lip quivered. “Does that mean God is okay with it?”
Answering questions about faith was difficult for Justin. He’d agreed long ago with Michelle not to promote his lack of belief but found it difficult not to share his viewpoint. “Baby girl, I don’t think He’s okay with war, but it’s a necessary evil. Hey, enough of this talk. How are you doing in school?”
“I got an A for my English studies,” Maggie replied, beaming. “And a B plus for math.”
“Not bad for a kindergartener.” Justin forced a smile and winked. “You’ll be acing first grade in no time.”
“I don’t want her growing up any faster than she already is,” Michelle interjected. She ran her hands through Maggie’s brown hair. “Okay, munchkin, time for you to go to bed.”
“But, Mom—”
“No buts, little lady. Go lie down, and I’ll come read a story to you in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
Justin put his hand on the screen again. “Good night, Maggie. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
Watching his daughter disappear from the vidlink frame, Justin wondered if he’d ever see her again or hear her voice. Tears fell out of his eyes as the thought overwhelmed him.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” Justin said. “I miss you guys so much, and I… I don’t know if I’ll return to the ship. Each time I launch into space, it’s a gamble.”
“You know, maybe it would help if you pray and ask God to watch over you.”
Justin
sighed. “You know my stance on religion, dear. It hasn’t changed.”
“If you’re telling me that you question whether you’ll survive every mission, what do you have to lose, Justin?” Her voice rose in pitch.
“Look. We agreed when we got married—no conversion attempts. I get it. You’ve got faith. I’m glad you do, because I don’t. I think we only get this one life. So I try to live it to the absolute fullest.”
Michelle smiled ruefully. “I’m still going to pray for you.”
Justin allowed himself to grin. “I won’t turn it down. If, by chance, there’s something up there that cares about us… I’m sure your intercessions will help.”
An awkward silence followed before Michelle shifted. “I’m terrified, baby. I know you don’t need that weight on you right now, but it’s hard. I keep seeing the chaplain with a senior officer. Another four families got notifications this week.” Tears filled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be at the front?”
Millions of families across the Terran Coalition were undoubtedly asking that question. If you boiled it all down, regardless of the rightness of the fight or that they were locked in a war for survival, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, wives, and husbands across the land went to sleep each night wondering if they would ever see their loved ones again.
Justin bit his lip hard enough to hurt. “They’re saying nine- to twelve-month deployments, hon.” He paused. “I’m hoping that if we put into space dock at New Washington, I can get liberty to see you and Maggie.”
“What’re the odds of that?” Michelle asked. She dabbed at her eyes, drying her tears.
The posters lining the hallways of the Zvika Greengold reminding everyone to keep their mouths shut about deployment information flew into his mind. “Loose lips sink ships and all that, dear.” He offered a lame smile. “You’ll know when I get there.”
Michelle chuckled. “You only had a few weeks left.”
“I know.”
“The news says no one is being allowed to leave the CDF or the Marines right now.”
“It’s called a stop-loss order,” Justin replied. Officers and enlisted personnel alike detested them. “And yes, it’s servicewide.”
“Part of me is so proud of you,” Michelle said, her eyes again brimming with tears. “I know you’re out there, defending us. It means so much to me. And another part of me is equally furious and scared that it had to be you. Why you? Someone else could be out there fighting instead.”
“Dear—”
She held up her hand. “Let me finish. Once I process all that, then all I feel is shame that I’d be willing for our family to do nothing while this war is fought.”
“Honey, I understand how you feel. Part of me didn’t want to be here either.” He thought back to his decision to turn and engage the entire League force when it looked like the Greengold would be overwhelmed back at Canaan. “I had a change of heart. For whatever it’s worth, my place is here. I know it. It’s where I’m supposed to be.”
“Maybe it’s where God wants you to be.”
Justin chuckled. “I suppose I deserve that for getting all metaphysical on you.”
“Promise me you’re going to come home. I don’t know if I can raise our daughter alone, but more importantly, I don’t want to do this without you. I love you, Justin Spencer. Now and forever.”
“I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to come home.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It’s the best I can do without lying. And I won’t lie to you, Michelle. I love you and Maggie too much for that.”
She nodded and sat back on the couch. “Can you do something for me?”
“Maybe,” Justin said with a crooked smile. “Depends on what it is.”
“Please don’t bring up the war if you can with Maggie. She’s too young to understand all this.”
Justin raised an eyebrow. “She seemed like she understood it to me.”
“Justin!”
“Honey, if we don’t talk to her about it, her friends and the holoprojector will. I’m sure it’s nothing but around-the-clock coverage of this battle and that. From what we’ve seen out in the fleet, those news types talk nonstop about the war.”
Michelle crossed her arms. He knew the look well. She was mad. “That doesn’t mean we need to encourage it. Please, Justin. You don’t see her crying at midnight because she’s terrified you’re going to die.”
Justin closed his eyes and hung his head. He would’ve cried, but most of his tears had already flowed out for the evening. Instead, he felt shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“It’s okay. I know you meant well, but please, try to hold back her enthusiasm to talk about the war.” She brushed her hair out of her face.
Okay, we need to change the subject before I think about jumping out of an airlock. The thought was only half in jest. “I really hope I can visit in the next few weeks.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“Yes,” Justin said with a grin. “Beyond that, I can’t say much.”
“The news keeps trumpeting how well we’re doing,” Michelle tilted her head. “But something about it doesn’t hit me as accurate. Not with the rationing going on. There’s a drive going to get people to donate extra electronics and even things like pots! Why would we be doing that if we’re winning?”
“Because the government needs raw materials to build more warships, and rare earth elements are always in short supply.” Justin quirked his nose. “That’s why they’re called rare.”
“Oh, look at you, Mr. Smarty Britches.”
Justin grinned. If I were at home, this line of banter would lead to something else entirely. “Better than calling me dumb.”
She laughed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“It’s going fine. We’re holding our own.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Michelle crossed her arms. “How bad is it?”
More than anything, he wanted to tell her the war would be won within the year. I wish I thought it would be. Everything they’d seen and heard so far indicated sustained offensive action by the League. The waves of ships were relentless. CDF battle groups would eliminate an enemy unit, and before they even got back to spacedock to crack open a drink, two more would take its place.
“Justin, I know that look.”
“I forget how well you know me sometimes. It’s going to be a fight. I don’t know how long, but it seems like… something on the same level we faced during the Saurian Wars. Beyond that, I can’t say, and please try to remember our comms are being monitored.”
“Monitored?” Michelle’s face contorted.
“Baby, we’re at war. I have no doubt a shackled AI is listening to every commlink going out of every military vessel, checking for breaches of secrecy.”
Michelle touched her fingers to her lips then to the screen. “I love you.” She smiled. “I want you to know that I pray every hour for the safety of you and everyone else on the Zvika Greengold.”
Part of Justin wanted to lash out and tell her there was no such thing as God, only what they saw around them. For a reason he couldn’t readily explain, every time God or religious belief came up lately, he got defensive. Instead, he smiled. “Can’t hurt.” Justin paused. “I’m out of comm credits, hon. Next week?”
She nodded ruefully. “I’ll be here. You’d better be too.”
“Count on it.”
The screen went blank, leaving Justin to a darkened room.
7
The insistent buzzing of the intercom woke Tehrani from her slumber. She opened her eyes with an annoyed groan to see the large digital alarm clock displaying 0300 CMT. It took a moment for her to clear the grogginess and pull herself entirely out of sleep mode.
“Go ahead,” she mumbled, realizing the call had come from the bridge.
“Sorry to wake you, Colonel,” Bryan said. He was standing the midnight watch as command duty officer. “But w
e’re showing some sensor anomalies that I think you might want to take a look at.”
“League vessels?”
“Possibly, ma’am.”
“I’ll be right there. Call the XO down too.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The day cabin was only a few steps from the bridge, and Tehrani cursed her earlier decision not to bring up a new uniform. She made herself as presentable as possible in sixty seconds, pulled on her shoes, and strode the few meters down the passageway.
“Colonel on the bridge!” an eagle-eyed senior chief barked.
All personnel not strapped into their seats came to attention and saluted.
“As you were,” Tehrani replied, quickly returning their salutes.
Bryan stood from the CO’s chair. “Ma’am, we keep seeing a sensor ghost at about three hundred thousand kilometers off the port bow.”
“Space is full of them,” Tehrani said with something of a smirk. She crossed her arms. “What necessitated waking me?”
“This one matches our movements.”
A-ha. Tehrani grimaced. “I’ll take the conn now, Lieutenant.”
“Colonel Tehrani has the conn. Aye, aye,” Bryan replied. He made his way to the tactical console and took over for the young second lieutenant learning the ropes during the third watch. She moved off to a subconsole in the back of the bridge.
“This is Colonel Tehrani. I have the conn,” she stated formally. As she sat down, Tehrani punched the intercom button and routed her communication to Major Whatley’s quarters.
“Whatley here.” He sounded exhausted.
“Major, we have a situation in progress. I suspect the convoy is about to be hit again. Get the next shift of pilots ready for combat immediately.”
It seemed as if his brain hadn’t quite engaged yet. “Uh… that’s first watch, ma’am. We can have two elements each of fighters and bombers plus an element of Boars ready in thirty minutes.”
“Do it, Major.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The line clicked off, and Tehrani turned her attention to the tactical plot. She superimposed the last thirty minutes’ worth of sensor data with tracking lines and, most importantly, the “ghost” LIDAR returns. Her concentration was interrupted by the familiar voice of her XO.
