by David Adams
Mace, one of the gunners from the Piggyback now serving as the communications and flight control officer, seemed to anticipate this request. “Dove, Iron and Vindicator are pulling back and preparing for combat landings.”
“Jump drive should be powered up momentarily,” said Ginger, tapping away at his console. “We can get the hell out of dodge the moment our birds are back on board.”
I tapped the railing in the commander’s dais, dragging my fingernail across the metal. Every second we spent here we were exposed. The Toralii had to be mad by now. That was yet another ship we’d annihilated, and I knew that they would be coming down on us like a tonne of bricks at any moment. We’d kept stinging them and stinging them, and every time we engaged I worried if this time would be the time they spring their trap and exterminate those pesky pirates once and for all.
So far so good. For now. But I was getting more cautious; I hadn’t quite had my fill of mayhem yet, and besides. I’d promised Penny I’d be okay.
A promise that had gone out with the latest Broadsword messenger nearly two months ago. We could only communicate with Fleet Command infrequently at best; we couldn’t afford to give away our position, and we knew the Toralii were hunting us. Every time we got mail from home we risked being caught and destroyed.
But it was worth it. I hadn’t seen Penny in long enough that missing her was beginning to get painful. I still had an engagement ring stashed in my breast pocket, over a year old by now. That was too long to hold on to such an important object.
Silver and rubies. Beautiful. Just like her. I could feel the metal pressing against my chest.
“Dove has docked,” said Mace. “Vindicator’s on final and Iron’s right behind him.”
Good. The three ships were practically crashing in their haste to land; they knew just as well as I did that that every second was precious. “As soon as they’re on-board, cut transponder and ILS data, turn off all our systems and go dark. When we’re cold, move into the Lagrange point and jump the ship.”
The three blue dots that represented our fighters merged with the big blue sphere that was us. I waited for Mace to confirm the docking. And waited.
“All craft retrieved.”
Shaba touched a purple button on her console. Toralii blood was purple, so every important thing—weapons, fire suppression, jump drive—was purple.
The ship’s systems whined as they powered down, and then there was a faint hum of energy. The radar screen shimmered as it tried to make sense of its surroundings post-transition and then resettled. Our passive sensors drank in emissions from nearby space, but for at least a light-second there was nothing at all near us.
“Jump successful,” said Shaba. “Radar is clean, radiation and thermal profile normal. Based on the system’s telemetry we’re right where we want to be; system 204, planet J’s L1 Lagrange point.”
In the beginning, every time we jumped to a previously unmapped location we gave it and every planet, moon and comet within a name. We’d name them after a close friend, a dead pet, girlfriends and boyfriends or whatever. Eventually, though, the creative well ran dry. There was a Penny system, a Penny planet, and several Penny moons. My parents had a few things named after them too. The dog I’d grown up with had a star. My neighbours dog had a star.
Finally we gave up and just used numbers for star systems and the letters A-Z for every planet, starting at A for the closest and working out. Early land explorers found the same problem. That’s why, all over Australia, there were dozens of places named things like 5 Mile Creek. After months of new systems, making two or three jumps a day, we just didn’t give a fuck about naming things anymore. That was a problem for future-us.
“Launch the CAP,” I said. “Get our birds back out there and make sure there’s no surprises waiting for us. Keep them close, visual range only. Ten minutes, that’s all, then back on-board. With our transponders out we don’t want them to lose us.” Space was very, very big and very empty. If the fighters strayed too far away they wouldn’t be able to find us again as they relied on radar to guide them past visual range, and radar was like shining a flashlight in the dark. You could find things but people could find you too. We couldn’t risk alerting anyone who would be watching.
I was being paranoid and I knew that. There was no way the Toralii could have known we’d come here, but I wanted to make sure. There could be a Forerunner in the system, one of their automated probes. The Toralii left a probe in every system they had mapped. They were jump capable and would scurry away to report anything suspicious to their masters who would respond accordingly. The arrival of a Toralii battlefleet was not something I wanted to catch us unawares.
Data we had from the Rubens’s computers suggested that this system’s forerunner would be far enough away that, with our transponders switched off, it was unlikely to detect our approach for months. By that time we would be long gone.
“CAP is away,” said Mace. “They are maintaining radio silence. No sign of anything at all in the system.”
I smiled and, relaxing for the first time since the mission had started, turned to face the rest of the Operations crew. “Mission successful. That’s kill number 29 for us. Shaba, estimates on tonnage?”
“Probably 10,000 tonnes. Just a small fish.”
“Well, I’ll stick it in the ship’s log anyway.” I whistled. “29 kills. Well done, everyone. Well done.”
There were nods of approval around the room. I bent down, rubbing my aching thighs. Why did the Toralii think it was a good idea for everyone to stand up all the time? “Okay, I’m going to switch out. Shaba you have Operations, I’ll go debrief Iron.”
“You got it,” she said, taking my position. I left, walking back to the stern of the ship and the hanger bay.
It felt good to have my own ship. I was Air Force, we weren’t supposed to own ships, but we were a special operations unit. The rules were a bit… bendy. As I passed marines in the corridor they parted to let me through.
The hanger bay was a brisk walk from Operations. The whole ship was the size of a guided missile frigate, but fatter. When I arrived, the bay was already pressurised and Iron—my former CAG and flight leader—was waiting for me.
“Morning, sir.” He saluted crisply, just because he knew it would piss me off. I swatted his hand away.
“Cut that shit right out. You know I hate it.”
He laughed. “Oh Captain, my Captain, sir.”
I ran a loose command. I didn’t feel like a CO; these weren’t my friends and allies, not my subordinates. Major Scott, my chief of marines and a stickler for the rules, hated it. More than once she’d threatened to transfer off the ship and had written long, clearly worded letters to anyone who would listen about my various misdeeds. But she stayed.
“How’d it go out there, Iron?”
“Yeah, we fucked ‘em good. Barely worth the ammunition we used to suppress their turrets.” Iron smiled. “You just don’t want to give us a fair fight, do you?”
I smiled right back. “If we ever find ourselves in a fair fight, then I haven’t done my job properly. My task as CO of this ship is to make sure that our battles are as grossly unfair towards our enemies as humanly possible. The best outcome I can hope for is for the Toralii to go, ‘hey, what’s that light?’ right before they explode.”
“Works for me. I might bitch about it, but I’m cool with doing the space equivalent of taking out the trash every couple of days.”
It was more like weeks, but I know Iron had been itching for more targets. “You’ll get your chance,” I said, caution in my tone. “We can’t risk an ambush. The Rubens is powerful by our standards but she’s just an armed freighter to them. If we get caught with our pants down, we’ll get proper fucked.”
“They don’t seem to be following us.” Iron’s tone grew serious. “That freighter we just wasted barely saw us coming, as though they were snoozing at their radar. They weren’t expecting any trouble.” He paused. “Can we at least go
for something with a bit more tonnage to it?”
“It’s not really about the tonnage. It’s about hitting them, getting out, and keeping them guessing. Make them up the guard on their trade routes. Increase security everywhere. That’s how you bankrupt an empire—make them try to win every battle, defend every spot. If they defend to the east, we attack the west. If they defend the west, we hit them in the east. If they defend everywhere, then we nip at them until they go broke.”
“I read Sun Tzu too, you know,” said Iron.
“Well, it’s a good plan.” I changed tracks. “Who’s flying the CAP?”
“Dove and Vindicator. After we refuel our birds and I get some rack time, Warbird and I were going to fly the dawn patrol.”
The Rubens was going to be here a while and I didn’t need to be in Operations. I don’t even know why I did it, but a wild impulse came over me. “Can we change that up a bit? Swap someone else in for Warbird?”
“Sure. You’re the CO.” Iron’s grin was a mile wide. “Sir.”
“I told you, don’t do that.” I pulled a disgusted face. “It just seems so wrong coming from you.”
Iron seemed to take a perverse pleasure in tormenting me. “Well, get used to it, because I’m staying. I’m here to take care of your sorry arse; you know that if you didn’t get this ship, one day you would have been the Sydney’s CAG. Now, I’ve seen how you keep your bunk, I’m not trusting you with my ship’s pilots. Not yet anyway.”
“I’m doing okay with the Rubens.”
“So far,” said Iron, although I could tell he was genuine in his approval. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. There’s more to why I’m here. Being the CAG on a big ship means constant paperwork; little boat like this, I get to fly. And honestly that’s what I’d rather do, you know?”
I knew exactly how he felt. I felt a longing for space again; and not in a big ship standing up all the time. Nestled into a pilot’s seat. “Yeah, I know. Hey, look, I was thinking: let’s pull Warbird from the CAP. Let the poor guy sleep in. I want to be your wingman for the CAP. Just this once.”
Iron looked sceptical. “You don’t think Warbird’s got the chops for a CAP? I know he’s inexperienced, but he’s a great stick.”
“No, nothing like that. Warbird’s fine. I just miss flying.”
He relaxed and, with a nod, seemed to understand. “Yeah. Well, you got it, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss.”
“Sure thing, skipper. I’ll tell Warbird he gets a few hours more rack time today, that’ll make him happy.”
I accepted that Iron was just going to come up with euphemisms for CO until I accepted one of them. Skipper was as good as any. “Doesn’t he know that the early bird gets the worm?”
“Apparently not. Skids up in four hours. Don’t be late.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “You do remember how to take off, right?”
I let Iron go sleep. Flying a CAP was an exhausting process; four hours out in the black at constant alertness, staring at your radar screen and out at the field of stars. It was pretty but it got old pretty quick. Plus the seats were uncomfortable, the cockpits cramped, and any attack that would seriously threaten the Rubens would overwhelm strike craft in moments. Crap conditions, worse job, lousy pay.
Flying, itself, was the reward. I pitied the dead who can no longer know such joys.
That wasn’t much of a justification. I could have flown on Earth, or back on the Sydney. Or in innumerable ways.
Why was I doing this again?
Fortunately, I was fairly rested so didn’t have much to do for four hours. I was making my way back to Operations when Shaba came to meet me.
“Morning, Cap’.”
Gah. “Morning, Shaba. What’s the news?”
“Nommuch. The shift change went ahead, no worries. So we’re all going down for a drink.”
Made sense. I could use a drink too—but I’d be space-borne later today. No booze for me. “Right. Sounds good. Have fun.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not coming?”
“Nah. I’m helping fly the CAP when Dove’s wing gets back.”
Shaba scrunched up her face. “What? Why?”
“I just wanted to, is all. I’m the Captain, after all, as everyone seems to be going to great pains to point out. That means I get to make decisions. Some of those I get to like.”
“How about you make smart decisions. There’s nothing smart about you flying the CAP.”
Maybe she had a good point, but I stuck to my guns. “It’ll be fine. Even if there’s a Forerunner in the system, there’s really minimal chance of us encountering anything.”
“Still,” said Shaba, “we’re out here on our own. If anything goes wrong…”
“I know. In a way, I wish we had more support—and not just so I can go joyriding. It’d be nice if we took another Toralii ship instead of just blowing them up. One ship is powerful, but two… could be bigger than the sum of their parts. With enough ships we could ambush a cruiser.”
“I’m sure Fleet Command has had the same idea. We got lucky with the Rubens, because we knew their flight plan and knew they were undefended. If we bite off more than we can chew, we’ll lose this ship and right now it’s too valuable to risk on something like that. The Rubens is earning her keep. Let’s not get too greedy.”
Shaba had a good point. “Still, there’s safety in numbers.”
She snorted. “Tell that to six million Jews.”
Another Holocaust joke. Shaba and the other Israeli’s dropped them all the time. It made me vaguely uncomfortable every time she did. Over time I’d become more used to them, but sometimes I felt like an outsider. It was something I wanted to broach with them since we took the ship, but I hadn’t found the right time. Now seemed as good as any.
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep things light and jovial. “Cut down on the genocide jokes, okay? We have German marines on-board.”
“Well they can fucking deal with it.”
I’d hoped that she might understand. “C’mon. We’re an international community here. We all have to get along.”
“No. The jokes stay.” Shaba crossed her arms and all the levity vanished from her voice. “Do you know why we do it?”
“Huh?”
“Why we joke about ethnic cleansing. Everyone’s always ‘oven’ this, ‘gas chamber’ that. Do you know why?”
I had a fairly good idea. “Humour’s a good way to deal with pain.”
“Humour’s a good way to remember pain. Laugh, and what you were thinking about sticks in your mind, except it hurts a bit less. Six million Jews is a lot, but it becomes a bit more sobering when you think about it in terms of percentages.” Shaba poked at the air to accent her point. “Two thirds. Two thirds of the Jewish community of Europe, over half of planet Earth, was wiped out. We have to remember that somehow.”
I nodded emphatically. “Agreed.”
“This is my way. It’s a lot of people’s ways, but there are others. Wanna know something that blew my mind when I was about 8 years old? When we were in school, there was this Chinese kid in most of my classes. The only Asian in the whole school. Of course, going to school in Israel you’re going to learn about the Holocaust; on you’re going to get it shoved down your throat fairly regularly, for better or for worse. On Holocaust Remembrance Day the whole fucking country stops. Just stops dead. Highways become parking lots. Busses, trains, everything stands totally still. People get out of their cars and stand silent. It’s full-on.
“But this one time, at school, we had a huge World War II feature; we talked about a lot of things. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the concentration camps, D-Day, and all that. The Asian guy from my class? He wasn’t impressed. He just looked grumpy the whole day.
“So I asked him what was up, and he said that nobody mentioned what the Japanese did to the Chinese. I said, sure, that was true; but there were so many atrocities across the world during that time, we couldn’t focus on all of them. He just look
ed at me with this hard expression on his face and he said, ‘What, you couldn’t even mention the second biggest?’.
“I didn’t believe him, so I looked it up. I thought it had to be Soviet civilians who had lost the most, but there were only 13.7 million Soviet civilian losses during the war. That’s a lot of people, sure. But Imperial Japan was responsible for the deaths of about 30 million people, of which an estimated 23 million were ethnic Chinese. The rest were mostly other Asians. Filipinos, Malays, Javanese, Vietnamese, Cambodians, Indonesians and Burmese. You’re Australian, right?”
I nodded.
“The current population of Australia is 23 million. They murdered the equivalent of the entire population of Australia. Most people know about the Rape of Nanjing, but that was just the most brutal of the massacres and the most public. And by public I mean: there are newspaper clippings of Japanese officers having competitions to see who could kill the first hundred civilians just using their swords. In the fucking newspaper. Imperial Japanese soldiers actively desecrated the bodies of the dead and left them to rot, or used them for bayonet practice. I mean, 96% of Japanese POW’s survived capture, including those captured by the Chinese, but only 70% of Allied POW’s survived; and if you were ethnic Chinese, well, fucking forget about it. After the Japanese surrender, a grand total of 56 Chinese POW’s were released. 56. They killed 400,000 Chinese through medical experimentation alone.
“Then there’s the Javanese. Between 4-10 million Javanese were relocated as forced labour. 52,000 got released. That’s an 80% attrition rate. There’s probably more, if we start counting all the other Asian countries they occupied, but honestly, nobody can give a fuck to do that. And you wanna know why nobody cares?”
I ventured a guess as to what her point was. “Because there’s no jokes made about it?”
Shaba’s voice was deadly serious. “Yep. Because there’s no jokes made about it. The events don’t stick in your consciousness. They’re just some horrible thing that everyone wants to forget, so they forget. Well fuck that. I won’t let them. I won’t let the Holocaust be forgotten. And if that means I have to make people laugh to make them think, then I’m comfortable with that.”
