by Daniel Gibbs
Tehrani touched her finger to the tablet’s screen. “And that, my dear husband, is one of the reasons I married you.”
He beamed. “Any word on some downtime? Shore leave? Maybe a planet-based duty station?”
“I’m hopeful we’ll rotate home in a month or two, if nothing else, for an extended combat refit.” How do I tell him that our life will consist of battle after battle for the foreseeable future?
Ibrahim shook his head. “Oh, dearest, I know what that means. Don’t get my hopes up.”
“I’m sorry.” The two little words didn’t seem enough.
“Nonsense. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m angry that some communist thugs decided to invade our little slice of space. I wish they’d just tried to debate me. As economics is my area of expertise, I could’ve explained to them why communism is a dead-end system.” He smiled. “Just… if you get a few days’ downtime, let me know? I’ll take a transport liner.”
“Ibrahim, we don’t have that kind of money,” Tehrani exclaimed.
“Again, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.” He sighed. “The most annoying ‘You are out of commlink credits’ notice just appeared on my end. I suppose we’ll have to cut this short.”
“I love you,” Tehrani blurted out. She blushed. “And when we see each other again, I promise you I’ll make whatever trip you had to take worth your while.”
“Oh really?” Ibrahim winked. “I’ll hold you to that. I love you too. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try. Walk with Allah, husband.”
The screen went blank, leaving Tehrani alone in the quiet of her stateroom. She set the tablet down and put her legs back up on the couch then sipped her still-warm tea with a smile and thought of better days with her family. If God wills it, I will see them again.
Presidential Center
Lawrence City—Canaan
5 December 2433
The doors to the White House situation room swung open, and Jason Nolan entered behind his protective detail. Various military officers and civilians lined the conference table and the chairs abutting the wall behind it. Many, he recognized on a first-name basis, a side effect of more than two months of daily military briefings. As he strode in, everyone stood.
“As you were,” Nolan said, simultaneously taking his seat at the head of the table. He made eye contact with General Antonio Saurez, Commander, Space Fleet—the overall commander for all CDF spaceborne assets. “How’s it look today, General?”
For once, Saurez smiled. Over the last month, there hadn’t been many calls for a smile or happiness period, for that matter. “I’m happy to report that CDF intelligence analysts, working hand in hand with our civilian brethren at CIS, have decrypted a large data cache captured recently from a League deep-space outpost inside Terran Coalition space.”
“Did I hear you right? That you captured a League space installation erected inside our space?” Abdul Karimi interjected. He was Nolan’s chief of staff and long-time aide.
“That’s correct, sir.”
Nolan considered the implication of the statement for a few moments. His mind spun. How long has the League been planning this? It seemed the Terran Coalition was the subject of a multiyear, perhaps decades-long war effort designed to wipe them out. He let out a breath. “Okay. Continue.”
“Based on the intelligence recovered, we’ve destroyed half a dozen similar installations and are taking steps to up our scanning activity to find any others that might’ve been missed,” Saurez replied. “We’ve enlisted several scientific vessels to assist us. But, sir, the best news is that since we carried out the operation to remove the League stations, attacks on our civilian convoys are down by almost seventy percent.”
Nolan grinned. I don’t need to be a career military officer to understand those implications. “That, General, is the best news I’ve heard since we won the Battle of Canaan.” He turned somber again. “And what of the front?”
“We’re holding our own, sir. But as you well know, we’re playing defense.”
“Any progress on a plan to attack the League of Sol?” Nolan swept the room with his eyes and focused on Saurez. “You’ve had more than a month, General.”
“We do, sir.” Saurez leaned back and motioned to an officer on the back row. “Lieutenant MacIntosh has a proposal for you, Mr. President.”
The carpet rustled as MacIntosh pushed off his chair and stood next to the conference table. “Um, yes, sir.” He looked anything but relaxed. “We examined the possibility of using SFS-4 Ghost stealth recon fighters, and—” MacIntosh glanced at Saurez before he resumed. “I believe we can refit them to carry missile armament in addition to beefier energy weapons.”
“In English, Lieutenant,” Nolan said with a smile. “I’m afraid I have little understanding of military terminology, so you’ll have to dumb it down for me.” Maybe that’ll put the kid a bit more at ease.
MacIntosh cleared his throat and took the lifeline thrown at him. “Of course, Mr. President. The overall problem with attacking the League directly is, first, we don’t know what’s waiting for us. Second, we don’t have enough ships to send a battleship force. That leaves our carriers, which present the same problem. To have an effect, the fleet would need to number in the hundreds of vessels.”
Nolan let out a sigh. “Yes, I’ve seen those reports, Lieutenant.”
“Well, sir, one of our stealth raider commanders had an idea. We have limited numbers of stealth recon fighters, the one I referenced a few minutes ago. It’s fast and has a Lawrence drive. A small group of ships outfitted with this craft could get close, staying outside of solar systems to remain undetected, and use stealth to stage a raid on Earth.”
The idea of hitting Earth itself immediately captured Nolan’s attention. He sat straighter and narrowed his eyes. “Can we pull it off? Also, why don’t all of our fighters have Lawrence drives, if these do? I would assume that the strategic advance would be massive.”
Saurez leaned forward. “Sir, I want to stress the limited nature of this sort of strike. We’ve got less than one hundred Ghosts in our inventory. They’re incredibly expensive, and it costs as much money for one squadron of them as two destroyers. Perhaps someday in the future, when technology advances to make it feasible, we’ll have a space aviation corps outfitted with FTL capabilities, but for now, it’s limited to recon. What Lieutenant MacIntosh is proposing is taking a few squadrons and equipping those fighters for combat. They’ll be less effective because they’re not designed for a direct-engagement role.”
“I fail to see how a few squadrons of these things can do much damage, then.” Nolan closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them to find MacIntosh smiling broadly.
“Sir, if we send a couple of stealth raiders out with them, we should be able to find ample targets of opportunity. It stands to reason the League would never expect us to show up on their side of the arm. The element of surprise would be a formidable advantage. At any rate, we’d make sure to take out a few installations, cargo ships… stuff that makes a splash. You want a morale win, and you’ll get it.”
Nolan turned toward Saurez. “Are the Joint Chiefs on board?”
“Sir, I will again state that I believe any offensive action at this juncture is foolhardy. However, the plan Lieutenant MacIntosh outlined is the least risky. The worst thing that happens is we lose an escort carrier and a few stealth raiders. Since you’ve made it clear to me you’re dead set on striking at the League, it’s my duty to obey the commander-in-chief.”
“Ah, so it does register sometimes,” Nolan replied. “A question. Why an escort carrier and not a fleet carrier—one of the Saratoga-class ships?”
Saurez pursed his lips. “Simple, sir. We can’t afford to lose a fleet carrier.”
The cold reality of war and the calculation before Nolan made him flinch. Still, it didn’t alter his belief. “Have you selected the vessels to send on this mission yet?”
“I have some in mind,
sir. The Zvika Greengold has distinguished herself repeatedly. I think there’s some heroes on that ship—and if anyone can pull this op off, it’s probably Colonel Tehrani and her merry band of pilots.”
“They have to understand the risks, General,” Nolan replied forcefully. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Saurez. “Do you hear me?”
Saurez met his gaze. “Sir, with respect, I give orders, not options, in the Coalition Defense Force.”
“You just got through telling me we can only send a force that’s… what’s the military term? Expendable?” Nolan snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then they get to know the odds and what they’re up against. Do I make myself clear?”
Saurez pulled himself up ramrod straight. “Sir, yes, sir.” He ground the words out.
“Anything else today, ladies and gentlemen?”
Silence was the only response.
Nolan stood. “Thank you, all. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” The moment he cleared the chair, everyone else leaped from their seats. Nolan smiled, nodded toward his chief of staff, and walked out of the situation room. I’m going to have to look those brave soldiers on the Zvika Greengold in the eye and ask them to do this. Anything else would be wrong.
19
CSV Zvika Greengold
Low Orbit—Canaan—Terran Coalition
6 December 2433
A promotion ceremony was usually something with a great deal of pomp and circumstance, especially for an officer. By comparison, the day’s festivities were decidedly low-key. Justin felt perfectly fine with how it was going so far, though he wished Michelle and Maggie could’ve been there to see him. A secondary cargo bay had been cleared for the occasion, filled with rows of chairs and a small lectern. From his position just outside the giant double doors leading inside, Justin could make out Colonel Tehrani and Major Whatley standing next to each other at the front along with the ship’s chaplain, as denoted by the cross on his uniform.
After checking his dress uniform one last time and tugging on his cover, Justin strode into the bay and made his way down the walkway between the rows of chairs. He absentmindedly wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked, then came to a stop before the lectern. “First Lieutenant Justin Spencer reports as ordered.” As he spoke, he saluted. While technically inside, the cargo bay was considered outdoors for formal activities—and required cover along with salutes.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied as she returned the salute. She smiled at him and took a few steps toward the stand. “Thank you for joining us today, officers and crewmembers of the CSV Zvika Greengold. We’re gathered to recognize one of our own, First Lieutenant Justin Spencer, on the occasion of his promotion to captain. Major Whatley, Commander, Air Group, CSV Zvika Greengold, will officiate today’s ceremony. Ladies and gentlemen, Major Whatley.”
Tehrani immediately stepped back, and Whatley took her place.
“Spencer, get up here,” he said in his ordinarily gruff voice.
A wave of laughter swept through the cargo bay, and Justin grinned as he took a few steps onto the raised stage. He stood to the rear and left of the major, as he’d been instructed the night before.
“I wasn’t sure about this guy when he first joined our aviation wing,” Whatley began. “But I’ve found Justin Spencer to be the kind of officer we need. A brave man who will fight like hell for victory and, most importantly, a warrior his brothers and sisters in arms can depend on in battle. As such, I was pleased to recommend promotion for Lieutenant Spencer, and I welcome his continued service on the Zvika Greengold.” He stepped back from the lectern and nodded toward the chaplain. “Father, would you please lead us in an invocation.”
With his white hair seemingly befitting his position as a Roman Catholic priest and chaplain, the older man spoke into the microphone. “Eternal Father, strong to save, bless our proceedings today. Bless the men and women who serve on this ship. Bless their purpose and our struggle against the evil of the League of Sol. Help our soldiers and the rest of us be more committed to the cause of freedom in the Terran Coalition and throughout the galaxy. Thank you, Father, for all you have done for us in harm’s way. Keep each of these soldiers safe and allow us to keep rejoicing in the freedom that is your gift to us. In your precious name, we pray, Amen.”
During the prayer, Justin had bowed his head respectfully along with everyone else in the cargo bay. Even if I don’t believe, most do, and I owe them some respect. He opened his eyes to see Whatley standing back at the lectern.
“Attention to orders. The president of the Terran Coalition, acting upon the recommendation of the secretary of the Coalition Defense Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the integrity, patriotism, and abilities of First Lieutenant Justin Spencer. Given his special qualities and demonstrated potential to serve his country, First Lieutenant Justin Spencer is hereby promoted to the grade of captain in the Coalition Defense Force, effective the sixth day of December, 2433, by order of the secretary of the Coalition Defense Force.” Whatley cleared his throat.
Justin turned smartly and faced the major.
“Raise your right hand, Captain.” Whatley waited for Justin’s hand to go up. “Please repeat after me.”
Justin grinned and recited the oath. “I, Justin Spencer, having been appointed a captain in the Coalition Defense Force, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
Whatley turned back to the lectern and spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Captain Justin Spencer.” He clapped vigorously, as did everyone else. As the applause died down, he took a step back and retrieved a small velvet-covered case from behind the lectern. He snapped it open, revealing a medal consisting of a silver star and matching ribbon. “One last thing, Captain Spencer.” Whatley handed the case to Tehrani.
She smiled and stepped forward. “We were going to do a separate ceremony, but headquarters pushed through the paperwork in record time for this award.”
Justin stared. He recognized it as the Silver Star, one of the highest medals for combat heroism. He gulped. I only did my duty. Trying to wipe the expression of shock off his face, he returned her grin. “I had no idea, ma’am.” All the while, a feeling he was somehow benefiting from those who’d died plagued him. They should be honored, not me.
Tehrani turned toward the crowd of assembled soldiers on the hangar deck. “I will now read the citation for Captain Spencer’s Silver Star.” She cleared her throat. “For conspicuous gallantry and heroism while serving as the temporary commander of the Red Tails space-superiority squadron, in action against enemy League of Sol forces at the Battle of Canaan on Twenty-Two September, 2433. When numerous enemy fighters, bombers, and warships attacked the carrier CSV Zvika Greengold, First Lieutenant Justin Spencer courageously turned his craft toward the enemy and single-handedly engaged six hostiles at once. He destroyed three enemy fighters as well as two bombers and shot down close to a dozen anti-ship missiles intended to destroy the Zvika Greengold. By his quick and heroic actions, Spencer saved countless lives aboard his ship and ensured her continued presence on the battlefield. His initiative and aggressive fighting spirit were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Coalition Defense Force and reflect great credit upon him, his squadron, and the entire aviation wing of the CSV Zvika Greengold.” She stepped back and raised her hand in salute. “Congratulations, Captain.”
For a moment, Justin stood there, transfixed. Then he returned the salute. “Thank you, ma’am.” Struggling with his emotions, he turned away from her and stared at the sea of faces. “Remember the fallen and the pilots who didn’t make it back.” At the end of the statement, Justin’s voic
e broke.
Sustained applause again broke out, sweeping through the hangar like a rumble of mighty thunder.
Whatley appeared at Justin’s side and squeezed his shoulder. “Good job, son,” he whispered.
Justin nodded and stood to the side while Tehrani dismissed the crew. As everyone filed out, Mateus, Feldstein, and Adeoye joined Justin.
“We’re taking over the pilot’s mess to wet down your new stripe,” Mateus announced. “I convinced one of the senior chiefs to send the good stuff over too.”
“How’d you manage that?” Justin asked.
“Feminine charm.”
“What feminine charm?” Feldstein replied deadpan. “More like you threatened to shoot down their next supply shuttle.”
Mateus shrugged. “Who cares, as long as it works?”
The four of them laughed and slowly walked out of the cargo bay.
Justin felt conflicted. He was enormously grateful for and proud of his promotion, not to mention the award for heroism. At the same time, grief was mixed in. Two more comrades had been lost to the Leaguers in the last week. At the rate they were going, the Zvika Greengold’s space-combat wing was looking at fifty percent losses within a month. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep fighting the good fight. No matter the odds. The thought brought a smile to his face, and he resolved to enjoy the rest of the evening with his friends and comrades in arms.
Unity Station
Deep Space—Between the Orion and Sagittarius Arms
10 December 2433
The past month hadn’t gone quite as Fleet Admiral Chang Yuen had expected or hoped. First, the Terrans reacted faster than the League of Sol External Security directorate had projected in unifying their various nation-state fleets under the banner of the Coalition Defense Force. They’d assumed the individualists would have trouble working together, but so far, that didn’t appear to be the case. Yuen nursed a small glass of brandy from a private reserve his political officer, Colonel Baptiste Dumont, had placed aboard.
