by Daniel Gibbs
“Oooh. So close.” Justin grinned.
“You’re counting cards,” Mateus said, her eyes boring into him.
“Only mentally.”
“I don’t understand,” Adeoye interjected. “How does counting the number of cards help Spencer?”
Justin grinned. “I keep track of how many face cards and tens have been played. If the count is above plus five, I start making bigger bets. It just so happened that the split came at a perfect time. I don’t believe in luck either. I make my own.”
“Some people consider that cheating,” Feldstein said darkly.
“Only if you use an electronic or neural device. I can only do it on single or double decks. Anything else is too much for me.”
“You can’t cheat against the League.”
“Au contraire, Dvora.” Justin leaned back. “I’m cheating right out of the gate by flying a ship they’ll think is theirs. Those commies won’t know what hit them.”
Despite his bluster, Justin had severe misgivings about the battle plan. For one, it was rushed, and for another, it seemed a bit half-baked. Still, something in the back of his head insisted it was his job to fly the fighter and not Whatley’s.
“I’ve never flown escort for Marines before,” Mateus interjected. “Did any of you train for such an evolution?”
Blank stares met her statement.
“No. That was never on the simulated mission list or in actual combat exercises,” Adeoye replied.
“We should get up early then and run some sims. I can program in a basic shuttle-escort mission with opposing force provided by a few elements of those League Shrike fighters,” Justin said while trying to suppress a yawn. “Whatcha think?”
“Sounds good, boss,” Feldstein replied. “Getting tired?”
“Honestly, yeah. Maybe we should get some rack time.”
The rest of them nodded.
“Okay. This was fun.” Justin grinned. “How often do you put this on, Mateus?”
“Every other night.” She smirked at him. “But next time, we’re playing poker. And I’m going to kick your butt from here to Earth.”
“Challenge accepted.” Kicking back and relaxing with the rest of Alpha brought out a type of camaraderie he hadn’t had since his time as an active-duty pilot right out of college. “One hand for the road?”
Mateus shuffled the deck. “Why not?”
Laughter echoed in the small cabin as they continued to play.
Halfway across the ship, in the senior officer’s mess, Tehrani wrapped her fingers around a mug of hot tea. Steam curled off the top, and she took a sip after blowing on it. The liquid felt good going down her throat as she stared through the window. With a sigh, Tehrani set the mug down and picked up a small qottab pastry. Filled with almonds and walnuts, they had been a staple in her youth and something that always helped her sleep.
“Couldn’t sleep, skipper?”
Tehrani whirled around, startled that someone besides her steward was in the mess at such a late hour. Wright stood there with a mug, wearing workout clothes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” She gestured to the empty seat on the other side of the table. “Would you care to join me?”
“Don’t mind if I do, ma’am.” Wright flashed a grin and dropped into the unoccupied chair. “You’re up late.”
“So are you.”
Wright chuckled. “I thought some of that good ol’ decaf CDF battery acid they call coffee might help me nod off.” He winked. “The thought of adding something a touch stronger to it came to mind.”
“A couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about having a glass of wine to help me go to sleep.” Tehrani took another sip of tea.
“I take it that’s changed?”
“Yes.” She set the mug down. “I think I’d be tempting God to ask for His help in our fight while ignoring His word.” At his expression of bafflement, she continued, “Alcohol is haram in Islam. Forbidden.”
“Ah, I see. Not so much for us Christians.” Wright grinned. “Well, at least not my denomination.” He took a sip of coffee and made a face. “Ick. I don’t know why ever I expect it to taste better.” Setting the mug down, he continued, “I think I get what you’re saying, though, skipper. The League attack was a massive shock to my system. It’s made me reevaluate a lot of things in my life—my behavior and my relationships, and one of those is my relationship with God.”
“I struggle with feeling like a hypocrite,” Tehrani replied. She’d been wrestling with her feelings more and more. Being a Muslim was a cultural identity for her people—ninety percent of the Persian Republic shared the same religion—yet she’d never been devout.
“Would you mind sharing how?” Wright asked. “That is, as long as we’re talking as friends. Because if this is an official conversation, I don’t even know where to begin.”
Tehrani failed to stifle a laugh. It’s nice to have friends to rely on out here. I take Benjamin for granted sometimes. “Oh, no. This is so not official.” The mirth faded from her face. “I suppose the best way to explain it is I’ve felt like I have gone through life with a set of beliefs that were never tested. Allah was always an abstract concept. Like, yeah, the universe didn’t make itself. Serving out here in space has reinforced my belief that something made all of this…”
“But unlike those folks that say they have a two-way conversation with the Almighty, you feel as if you’re going through life alone, with only your brain and wits to aid you?”
She locked eyes with him. “Yes, exactly. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“I get you, skipper. Because that’s how I always felt too.”
“And now?”
Wright swallowed. “Now I cling to the hope that God is involved in our daily lives, because after watching our pilots and soldiers be here one second and gone the next, I don’t think I’ll see my family again without His help. Not to mention the Terran Coalition surviving and all that. You’ve seen the same briefings I have. Hell, I bet yours have even more dire predictions.”
Her XO wasn’t wrong. The fleet commanding officer’s briefing Tehrani had attended a week after the initial attack on Canaan projected a minimum of five years on the defensive before an attack across the galactic arm into League space could be mounted. She had also been sworn to secrecy on the matter, as it had been revealed during a Top Secret/Special Compartmentalized Information codeword briefing.
“We’ve stood strong against aggressive enemies before,” Tehrani replied, choosing her words carefully. “And the CDF will do so again.” She paused. “You know it’ll get worse, right? There’s no sugarcoating that. At least I hope it gets worse. I fear the day I feel no emotion when I write a condolence letter to a soldier’s family. Even now, some seem almost generic.” Tears pricked her eyes.
“You must remember it’s not your fault,” Wright said, almost whispering. “I do too. We didn’t ask for this war, but we’ll fight it.” A fierce grin came to his face. “And those commies won’t know what hit ’em when we do get back to Earth. What I’m trying to say, skipper, is I think most of the people on this ship now cling to the things that matter. Family, friends, and for a lot of us, God. That doesn’t make you a hypocrite. I read the history books on the Saurian Wars. That’s how it was back then too.”
“I’m worried about tomorrow.”
“Me too.” Wright shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of Spencer volunteering to fly what’s probably a suicide mission.”
Why indeed? Several hours after Whatley had gotten her buy-in on the move, Tehrani still didn’t understand. “Hopefully, he’s not a glory hound.”
“Nah. I don’t see any hint of that in the man.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” Tehrani took another sip from her mug. “Hmmm. I’ve about exhausted my tea.”
“Yeah, probably about time to hit our racks.” Wright grinned and finished his coffee in one last gulp. “Get some rest, skipper. W
e’re all going to need you at the top of your game tomorrow.”
“The same can be said for you.” Tehrani narrowed her eyes. “So go back to your stateroom and go to bed too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wright stood and turned to go. “Good night, ma’am,” he called over his shoulder. “Godspeed.”
“Godspeed to you, too, XO. Sleep well.” Tehrani watched him leave before standing. She put the empty container in the secured bin for eating utensils and plates.
The walk back to her stateroom wasn’t that far, but it felt like a kilometer. Around and around, her mind went, as she wondered if she’d make the right choice in accepting the intelligence agent’s plan. Who am I kidding? Orders are orders. Try as she might, she couldn’t set aside the realization that without something big, the Terran Coalition might not survive. If it takes the ultimate sacrifice from my soldiers and me, then that’s what we’ll do. The thought was sobering, but in some way, it also set her mind at ease. The next day, the die would be cast, one way or another.
The Terran Coalition Marine Corps unit embarked on the Zvika Greengold wasn’t primarily set up for Visit, Board, Search and Seizure operations. They’d been a last-minute addition to beef up the carrier’s ability to defend the merchant marine vessels in case of enemy boarding actions. Major Kosuke Nishimura sorely wished he had a tier-one special operations team or even a few platoons of Force Recon Marines. But he didn’t, and in true TCMC fashion, they would pull out the mission by any means necessary.
All one has to do is assign a squad of Marines to a problem, and they’ll sort it out. The thing was, you wouldn’t know until it was done how they’d sort it out. Nishimura grinned as he checked the seals on the power armor suit he’d just donned.
“I had an opportunity to take advanced zero-G combat training last year. Idiot me didn’t take it,” Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Connor groused. He snorted. “I ended up taking a wimpy electronics tech course instead.” O’Connor had a slight Irish brogue. Since he hailed from Eire, a green, white, and orange flag adorned his sleeve, and an emblem with an abstract design of two dice rested underneath it.
“A year ago, no one expected a war,” Nishimura replied. Satisfied that his armor was fully operational, he began a series of katas. A practitioner of Wadō-ryū karate, he always sought to balance himself before knowingly entering combat.
“I never understood your fascination with martial arts, sir. The objective is to shoot the enemy, not make them fly around like loose paint.”
Nishimura chuckled. “As I have told you every time you’ve brought it up the last year, Master Guns, I enjoy balance in every facet of my life. Karate helps me achieve it.” He executed another series of moves in a different kata. “And if the enemy disarms me, I should have superior fighting abilities compared to them.”
“I’ll stick with good ol’ Marine Fu.”
“And I think we need to stage a pugil stick match with the men after this is over.” Nishimura grinned. “It’ll help morale and teach you the importance of superior martial arts training.”
“Aye, I’d enjoy kicking your rear—respectfully, of course, sir.” O’Connor winked. “Ready to inspect the boarding teams?”
“I am.” Nishimura pulled his helmet down and disengaged the faceplate. “Let’s do this.”
The Marine preparation area was only a few steps away. To his surprise, almost everyone was in their full power armor and appeared to be locked and loaded with battle rifles. Nishimura suppressed a smile as the one hundred sixty Marines he’d selected for the operation came to attention. “As you were.”
“Prepare ranks for inspection,” O’Connor barked. The neat rows expanded, allowing him to stroll between them. “Hawkings! This power armor isn’t properly fitted. Check it now and reengage the leg seals.” A few more paces down the row, he stopped again. “Private, where are your stun grenades?”
“Uh, I couldn’t find them, sir.”
“You couldn’t find them?” O’Connor thundered. He got an inch away from the youngster’s face. “What are you planning to do? Ask the Leaguers to wait while you look? Get your kit squared away, or I’ll PT your ass until your feet bleed!”
And he continued, chewing out anyone who wasn’t in compliance with regulations.
The dressing down was all part of the mental training that went into being a Marine. Nishimura firmly believed that if one had the fortitude to survive TCMC boot camp and allowed what was taught to become second nature, they could overcome any enemy. Of course, individual Marines perished in combat. But the unit, unless massively outnumbered and outgunned, would fight on. And we’ll still win. He waited until the master gunnery sergeant was finished then cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, we’re about to do something no other Marine or soldier in the Terran Coalition has yet to have the honor of doing. We’re going to put boots on the ground and invade a hostile enemy space station inside our territory. Make no mistake—the Leaguers are going down hard. Now, you’ve all been briefed, and you have your orders. But this, I want you to hear from me. It’s vital we gather intelligence. So place your shots carefully. Preserve electronics and computer systems as much as possible, especially when we finally take their control areas. Stand firm, stand together, and give these communist sons of bitches a warm welcome they’ll never forget!” By the end of the impromptu speech, Nishimura’s volume rose to a shout. “Now move out, Marines!”
With a roar that shook the deck plates, they rushed toward the waiting transport shuttles.
15
While preparations continued throughout the ship, Tehrani had already stood watch on the bridge for the last three hours. She was on her second mug of CDF coffee—the fully caffeinated version. They would rendezvous with the CSV Astute in deep space, beyond the boundary of any solar system. Agent Grant had insisted on it to avoid prying eyes. While his reasoning was sound, the idea that the League of Sol had signals intelligence-gathering equipment hidden among their planets and installations was sobering.
“Skipper,” Wright began, cutting into her thoughts, “the CAG reports Spencer and his League fighter are stationed inside the shuttle bay on the Astute. We’re clear to begin on your orders.”
As a full-bird colonel, Tehrani outranked the stealth raider’s commanding officer and had full operational and tactical command. “All systems go?”
“Everything’s good, ma’am.” Wright grinned. “We even got the scorch marks repainted. Something about a senior chief down on the flight deck making some ratings take care of it in space suits as an initiation to the Order of Jupiter.”
“I don’t want to know,” Tehrani replied with a chuckle. Of course, she was well acquainted with the traditions of breaking in new spacers who hadn’t jumped out of a solar system before, but it wasn’t a topic for the bridge. “Navigation, status of our Lawrence drive?”
“Course computed and locked in, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.
Tehrani glanced at the mission clock. Forty-five seconds were remaining before showtime—enough time for prayer. She closed her eyes and whispered in Arabic, “Allah, Revealer of the Book, swift to account for transgressions, help us to defeat the League of Sol. O Allah, defeat them and shake them so they flee our lands.”
“I don’t know exactly what you said just now, but I think I got the gist. Allow me to add an amen,” Wright interjected softly. “Now, let’s give ’em hell.”
“That’s something I can wholeheartedly say amen to myself,” Tehrani replied. She let out a breath as time ran out on the clock. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The lights dimmed as the massive Lawrence drive generators sucked in every available scrap of power. Visible through the windows on the bridge, a vortex formed off the bow. It contained a rich kaleidoscope of colors ranging from red to purple to blue to orange.
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive wormhole stable.”
“Navigation, all ahead flank. Take us in,�
�� Tehrani said as she leaned forward.
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The Zvika Greengold shuddered and lurched forward under the thrust of its sublight ion engines. The maw of the vortex beckoned them closer, and suddenly, they were inside. Moments later, the stars twinkling in the void returned front and center as they exited the wormhole.
“Conn, Navigation. Transmit complete, ma’am. We’re within five thousand kilometers of our intended destination.”
After a few seconds, Bryan offered his report. “Conn, TAO. LIDAR shows no contacts.”
“So far, so good,” Wright interjected.
“Don’t jinx us now, XO.” Tehrani grinned. “Reset the mission timer for two hours, and ensure engineering is ready for a double jump. We’ll go to battle stations at H minus thirty minutes. Oh, and, Major, remind all crew chiefs we remain at EMCON Alpha.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
As Wright busied himself carrying out her orders, Tehrani gazed out the bridge window. She could do nothing except wait for the Astute to signal a successful detonation of the EMP weapon Spencer’s fighter carried. And hope we don’t get jumped by a League battlegroup.
The shuttle bay of the Astute was so small that Justin couldn’t risk opening the canopy of the captured League craft. So he sat in the cramped cockpit, his knees in an unnatural position. The intelligence analysts had taped translations of the French and Russian letterings under each of the major controls. Some weren’t marked, and Justin wondered what those knobs and dials did. Well, at least I know where the throttle, missile launch, whatever passes for chaff and flares on this thing, and flight controls are. He glanced down at a lever under the pilot’s seat. Don’t forget the ejection release. Not that I’m interested in ever ejecting into the void again.
After an hour and forty-five minutes of staring at the space doors leading to the void, Justin was ready to get on with it. While he was on edge, over the months, he’d learned how to focus his anxiety into something positive by preparing for the mission. To that end, Justin spent the time studying an ever-expanding sensor image of the League deep space installation. Slowly but surely, the Astute stealthily probed its outer edges and ascertained the locations of most defensive weaponry. The enemy had multiple defense satellites and two fighter patrols. Most of the time had been spent tracking the routes of those patrols. The more detail we get, the higher the odds I come home.
