by Daniel Gibbs
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Whatley replied crisply as he jumped out of his chair.
Wright was right behind him.
“Dismissed, gentlemen.” Tehrani turned on her heel and strode out of the conference room.
The trip through the ship took some time and gave her the mental space to think. While she had a vague sense of misgiving about the ad-hoc nature of the upcoming mission, she felt more focused on the chance to strike back. We’re on constant defense. This is one opportunity to strike a blow against the League on our terms. The prospect brought a smile to her face.
When the call came in for a briefing for the entire air wing, Justin almost missed it. He had busied himself with additional simulator training, practicing advanced space-combat maneuvers based on the behavior observed so far from the Leaguer pilots. His handcomm buzzed enough that he eventually paid attention and received the message. As a result, Justin walked into the ready room with only a few minutes to spare.
“Ah, good of you to join us, Lieutenant,” Whatley called as he cleared the hatch.
Almost all the pilots were already assembled, and Justin felt his cheeks warm ever so slightly. Rookie mistake. I’d better turn up the volume on my shipnet alerts. Chastened and mildly annoyed by the rebuke, he nodded at the CAG and took one of the remaining open seats.
“Now that we’re all here, I can get down to business,” Whatley said. “Thanks to some fancy flying and more holovid heroics from Spencer here—”
Hoots, hollers, and cheers cut in. A few pilots—all from the Black Hogs squadron, as they were the closest—slapped Justin on the back.
“You guys want to hear what’s coming?” Whatley interjected. “Or we can go back to boosting Lieutenant Spencer’s ego to unsafe levels.” The barb was delivered with a smile, and it hit Justin as being good-natured.
Once they’d all settled down, he continued, “As I was saying, since Wonder Boy here brought home a League fighter, the eggheads took it apart and discovered something.” He touched a button on the holovid control built into the briefing lectern. “The enemy has set up shop inside our borders.”
The projection came alive with a 3-D-rendered view of a small space installation with numerous deep-space cargo pods and defense platforms around it. Helpful tags labeled each structure, while patrol routes and projections of enemy fighter locations were overlaid on the display.
“As you can see, we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Whatley scanned the room. “The plan is to capture the central structure intact.”
“Why, Major? Better to blow it apart,” a Boar pilot interjected. He followed up with the brrrrrrt. “Give us the go. We’ll send every Leaguer in there to hell.”
Whatley turned his head toward the man. “Is that your answer to everything?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Would you like to stop fighting on the defensive and start hitting the damn Leaguers before they hit us?”
“Uh, of course, sir.”
“Then. Pay. Attention.” Whatley cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we’re going to capture the central structure. Intelligence analysis suggests their central computer should have detailed information on deployments throughout the sector.”
Feldstein raised her hand.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, wouldn’t they destroy the data or self-destruct the station the moment we jumped in, if they thought we could pull off capturing the thing?”
“Well, would ya look at that? A fighter pilot with a brain beyond blasting targets.” Whatley turned toward the group from the Black Hogs squadron. “Take notes. She’s way ahead of you.”
Assorted snickers broke out, while the Boar pilots looked sheepish. A few rolled their eyes, and one again made the brrrrrrt sound that had become famous throughout the Greengold.
“The key is our captured League fighter. I’m going to fly it out of the shuttle bay of a stealth raider and drop an EMP warhead on them that’ll scramble their electronics for hours. As soon as I’ve accomplished that portion of the mission, the Greengold will drop in and blow everything else apart while ensuring the Marines make it safe and sound.”
Whatley’s announcement that he would fly the captured enemy craft took Justin by surprise. Why’s the CAG doing that? I’m the one with the most seat time in it.
“Any questions?”
“What if there’s an overwhelming enemy force or you can’t detonate the EMP?” Justin asked.
“Well, then someone else in this room will have to step up and lead,” Whatley replied. His eyes seemed to bore into Justin’s soul. “Colonel Tehrani has taken steps to ensure we can perform back-to-back Lawrence jumps if required. So regardless, the ship will be safe.”
Easy to say that. I know there’s a four- to six-second period after a jump when any vessel using a Lawrence drive has almost no power. Still, that the CO was taking such planning into account assuaged some of Justin’s fears.
“Anyone else?” After several seconds without reply, Whatley continued, “Good. You’ll receive detailed mission-briefing packages by the end of the day. Study them. Practice in the simulators. We jump out first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, and one other thing. The ship is, as of now, on a complete EMCON Alpha communications blackout. No transmission off the Greengold. Period. All leave on the station is canceled.”
Groans echoed across the ready room.
“Loose lips sink ships and get fighters blown up,” Whatley growled in return. “And you knuckleheads, with a few glasses of beer in you, will spill everything to the first attractive woman or handsome guy that walks up.”
A few of the pilots at least had the good sense to look sheepish. Justin felt a momentary emotional tug. He’d hoped to talk to his wife and daughter that night for his turn on the comm rotation.
“Okay. That’s all I’ve got. Study, practice, and get some rest, and we’re going to do what we do best tomorrow—blow those Leaguer sons of bitches out of space. Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”
Justin and everyone else belted the familiar refrain, “No matter the odds!” Cheers and applause swept across the room.
“Dismissed!”
Hanging back as the rest of the pilots streamed out the hatch, Justin waved at Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye. Mateus motioned as if to ask if he was leaving, to which he waved. They continued, and the hatch closed behind the last person, leaving Justin and Whatley alone.
“What’s on your mind, son?”
“I think I should be the one flying the League fighter, sir.” The words rushed out of Justin’s mouth like a flood.
Whatley raised an eyebrow. “This hero stuff going to your head?”
Justin swallowed. “No, sir. I’m the only one who’s flown it, though.” He paused. What the heck has gotten into me? “And the rest of the air wing will need your guidance if it all hits the fan when the Greengold jumps in.”
“You know, you keep surprising me, Spencer.” Whatley smirked then laughed. “You keep this up, and you’ll win the Medal of Honor.” He turned serious. “Just remember something—it’s generally awarded posthumously.”
“I’m not looking to die in a blaze of glory, sir,” Justin replied. Whatley’s got a point, though. He kept taking extreme risks in the cockpit. Those risks had paid off, but at some point, his luck had to run out. Doesn’t it? Or perhaps Colonel Tehrani was right. Maybe there isn’t any luck, and it’s all training along with some sort of divine intervention. That he’d even had the thought bothered him. Justin didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t put his hands on, and any daylight in that belief was significant.
Whatley nodded. “I doubt you are, but that’s precisely what’ll happen if you volunteer for every half-baked mission that comes up.” He pursed his lips. “Are you confident you can fly the thing?”
“I got an assist in it, sir.” Justin flashed a grin.
“So you did. Okay. I’ll sell the colonel on this, but hear me loud and clear. You’d better not pull any John Wayne
shit out there. You get me, Spencer?”
Justin didn’t quite understand the fascination some of the older officers had with an actor from old Earth videos. They weren’t even holographic but projected on a screen or a wall, requiring technology so old that the GalNet had instructions on how to create players for the videos out of children’s supplies. “Got it, sir.”
Whatley sighed. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Justin replied with a grin and took off for the hatch before anything else could be said. I hope my ego didn’t just write a credit slip it can’t cash. Beneath the bravado, his mind churned, questioning why he kept volunteering again and again. Maybe subconsciously, I do want to go out in a blaze of glory. One of these days, I need to see a shrink.
14
Tehrani felt pressed to the limit, between catching up on the Greengold’s after-action reports, battle planning for the next day, and writing condolence letters to families of lost crewmembers and pilots. She hadn’t bothered with going to the mess or wardroom for dinner. Instead, her steward had dropped off a plate of food. It sat cold on her desk as she nibbled on a piece of bread between tasks.
The vessel's battle rhythm—or really the entire CDF’s—was functioning at a level that brought sheer mental and physical exhaustion to the forefront. Tehrani recalled days in her youth, longing for combat against a pirate group or one of the more hostile aliens, such as the Jalm’tar Confederation. Probably because we all knew we’d wipe the floor with those enemies. A fight against a peer opponent or possibly a superior opponent was a terrifying prospect that she along with every other member of the military was living.
She set her tablet down and took another bite of the cold food—a piece of rubbery chicken. When she was halfway through chewing it, the hatch buzzer sounded.
Tehrani quickly swallowed. “Come in.”
The alloy door swung open, revealing Whatley and Justin. The major came to attention before the desk. “Do you have a moment, ma’am? The lieutenant and I have a proposal for you.”
Tehrani gestured to the chairs. “By all means, gentlemen. What’d you have in mind?”
Spencer glanced at Whatley and, receiving a small nod, turned toward her. “Colonel, I’d like to be the one flying the captured League fighter tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Tehrani stared at him. I wasn’t expecting that. In truth, she saw the flight as a suicide mission and figured Whatley had volunteered to spare his pilots. “Are you aware of the risks, Lieutenant Spencer?”
“I am, ma’am. As I’ve told the CAG, I have the most hands-on flight time with the craft. I should be the one going.”
She sat back and studied the young officer. “Do you have a hero complex, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t think so, ma’am,” Justin replied with a grimace. “I just want to do my part to help.”
“You ejected from your Sabre, somehow got into the hangar bay of a League cruiser, stole another fighter, and helped blow up the enemy ship on your way out.” Tehrani smiled dryly. “You’ve done your part.”
“I can do more.”
The confident yet somewhat humble way Justin pronounced the words almost led Tehrani to do a double-take. He matured fast. They all did. “Major, do you concur?”
“Against my better judgment, I do, ma’am. I think Spencer’s the right man for the job.”
“Then it’s an aviation-division decision. You’re free to proceed.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “Permission to depart?”
“Of course.”
Whatley sprang from the chair, as did Justin.
Before they could leave, Tehrani felt a thought tugging at her mind. “Lieutenant, I wish you Godspeed. May Allah walk with you in the dark place you must go tomorrow.” She offered a rueful smile. “I only wish we could go with you.”
Justin nodded and pursed his lips. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do my best.” He grinned. “I’ll put my skills up against the Leaguers any day.”
As they walked out, Tehrani pondered Spencer’s statement. She would never look down on another for lack of faith and was herself an individual who, only a few weeks before, wouldn’t be counted among the devout. But recently, the belief in something beyond this life was one of the few things that sustained her. If I didn’t have faith, I don’t think I could do this job. Whatever Justin’s motivations and beliefs, she truly hoped God would favor him.
Tehrani peered at the tablet on her desk. Paperwork calls again.
A few hours later, after a hearty dinner consisting of fresh chicken and vegetables, bread, and dessert, Justin walked down the passageway leading to Mateus’s quarters. He pressed the buzzer on the keypad next to the hatch. A moment later, the hatch swung open. Justin stuck his head in to see Feldstein and Adeoye already present, in addition to Mateus. “Hey guys,” he called.
“Come on in, Spencer!” Mateus replied. “What are you drinking? The bar is open.” She pointed at a small assortment of alcohol on the table next to her couch. The quarters were laid out almost exactly like Justin’s but seemed less sterile and more lived-in than his.
Justin took a bottle of beer—a Canaan-brewed brand that had a good reputation—and popped the top. “I’ll keep it simple.” He peered at a bowl with strips of something that appeared to be fried next to the drinks. “What’s that?”
“Fried plantains. A delicacy from Brazil.” Mateus winked. “They’re sweeter than bananas. Try one. You’ll like it.”
“We’ve got a chair for you, all set up,” Feldstein said. She patted the seat next to her. “The Brazilian Bomber here already halfway cleaned me out.”
Mateus snickered. “I’ll clean all of you before the night’s done.”
Why haven’t I been coming to these again? Justin felt less stressed almost immediately as he sat down and took a swig from the bottle. “I’ve never played a hand of poker in my life.”
“What’s your game, then?” Mateus asked, eyeing him.
“I’m not exactly a card-game guy, but I’ve played some blackjack in my time.”
An exaggerated evil grin came to Mateus’s face. “In that case, any objections to us switching to blackjack for a while?” She glanced between Feldstein and Adeoye.
Both shook their heads.
“Excellent. I’ll deal.” With expert precision, she cleared the existing cards off the table and shuffled the deck repeatedly. “Dealer stays at seventeen. Splits allowed.” She flipped two cards faceup to each of them and two to herself, one facedown and one right side up.
She’s got a queen showing. Justin looked at his cards: a ten and an eight. Oh, what the heck. “Hit me.”
“I’ll stay,” Feldstein said after she’d turned over her cards. She had a queen and a seven.
“What about you, Adeoye?”
“I’ll hit as well.”
Mateus set another card down on Justin’s and Adeoye’s blocks. “Twenty-one for Spencer, and you’re busted, Adeoye.” She swept up the cards and set them in a separate pile while scooping up most of the money chits except Justin’s. His bank doubled instantly. “I thought you said you’d only played a few hands.”
“I said some, not a few,” Justin replied, grinning.
“You sly dog,” Feldstein said as she elbowed him in the ribs.
The rest of them laughed.
Justin sat back with a smug smile and took a sip of the ice-cold beer. “Deal the cards.”
They played several more hands, and Justin won most of them, as his old strategies came back to him.
After her third bust in a row, Mateus rolled her eyes. “I think we need to take him to a casino. Maybe the ones on Gilead. They allow high-credit betting. With his luck, we could all retire.”
“I hope it holds for tomorrow,” Justin said, absentmindedly.
Feldstein cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I volunteered to fly the League fighter. In place of the CAG.”
“What?” Feldstein
practically screamed. “Are you insane? That’s the highest-risk op in the history of high-risk ops. You’ve got a family at home, Justin!”
Justin’s jaw dropped. “I’m the logical choice. I flew the thing back to the Greengold.”
“You barely made it back. You ought to find an altar to thank God in front of, and now you want to tempt fate again?”
“Hey, Spencer’s high-speed, low drag. If he’s got the stones to fly that League piece of crap into a stealth raider, I say we let him.” Mateus shrugged. “If anyone can pull it off, he can.”
“Don’t feed the hero complex,” Feldstein shot back. “He gets enough of it from everyone else on this ship.”
“Guys, come on. I’m the best man for the job. How many times do I have to say I’m not a hero, and all I’m doing here is my duty?” Justin crossed his arms and sighed. “Why don’t we focus on having some fun instead?”
Silence followed for a few moments.
Feldstein finally spoke. “Look, you have nothing to prove.” She made eye contact with him. “Not to this squadron, not to Whatley, or to anyone else. Don’t waste your life out there.”
“I won’t.” Justin took another sip from the beer bottle. “Mateus, deal the cards.”
After another couple of hands in which Justin ran the table, Adeoye got hot. His cards came up with a blackjack—an ace and a face card—twice in a row. The pile of credit chips in front of him grew considerably, while Justin’s diminished. Even though it wasn’t really a player-against-player game, Justin’s competitive spirit still made him want to come out on top.
The next hand had two tens for him. “I’ll split,” he announced while placing sizable bets against each. If I’ve got the count right, I ought to see some face cards come up soon.
Mateus deftly dealt two more cards to him. One was an ace, the other a nine. “Blackjack,” she announced. “Dealer hits.” She flipped up her facedown card, revealing a queen, and tossed another card right side up next to it. The new card was a nine. Combined with the queen and the three of hearts she’d already revealed, that brought her total to twenty-two.
