“How about that—we’re all aces!” Mateus called from across the hangar. She was still wearing her full flight suit, minus the helmet, and the flag of the Republic of Brasilia was displayed on the left shoulder of her uniform. She strode over quickly. “I can’t believe it, Spencer. We’re all alive too.”
“Not all of us,” Justin replied. “Al-Mufti didn’t make it back.”
“It was still a good day.” Mateus stretched her neck. “Feldstein and Adeoye are waiting in the ready room. Debriefing starts in thirty minutes, Major Whatley’s orders.”
Justin nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m waiting for shock to set in.” He furrowed his brow. “It’s weird to describe, but in the moment, flying that fighter through space, pulling thirteen Gs, and fighting for my life…”
“Exhilarating?” Mateus rocked from foot to foot. “I’ve felt nothing like it before.”
“Not quite the word I’d use.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s the Portuguese half of me.” Mateus winked. “I’ll see you around.”
“In thirty minutes,” Justin replied and watched her walk away.
He mentally steeled himself for the debriefing while pondering what was going to happen next. All around him, the deck crew busied themselves with preparing the two squadrons of fighters and bombers for space combat once more. The Thane-class escort carriers only had three squadrons—thirty-six small craft in total—embarked. To see everything the ship carried being readied for action was a jarring sight in what had been, until an hour ago, peacetime.
Maybe I have enough time to get a message to my wife. He set off for his cabin to try. All the while, he ran the question of who they were fighting through his head. While it made little sense, Justin had the feeling the designs he’d seen were human built. But what humans would attack the Terran Coalition?
* * *
“Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from CDF command, ma’am.”
Singh’s voice interrupted Tehrani’s mental considerations as she stared at a list of stores—munitions, food, and consumables such as oxygen and water—and found it woefully inadequate for combat. She glanced up at him. “Route to my viewer, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Several seconds later, a security challenge appeared on her chair-mounted screen, to which she pressed her finger into a biometric scanner. After it had confirmed her identity, a message—text only—appeared on the panel. Reading halfway through it, Tehrani sucked in a breath. “This communique is six hours old. Why did we just receive it?”
“Jamming, ma’am. There’s still long-range communication issues, but taking out those enemy ships”—he shrugged—“seemed to reduce the amount of interference.”
“Colonel?” Wright asked. His eyes narrowed, and his face was taut. Stress leaked from behind his facade of professionalism. “What’s it say?”
“We are at war.” The words fell out of Tehrani’s mouth like a hammer.
Enlisted ratings stole glances at each other, while the officers openly stared at their commanding officer.
She forced down the bile rising from her stomach. “An unknown enemy has appeared within the Terran Coalition’s borders and is pushing steadily toward Canaan.” Our home world. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing.
“We should address the crew,” Wright whispered as he leaned in. “Let them know what’s going on.”
Tehrani nodded and punched a button to enable the ship-wide intercom, also known as 1MC. Fear crept into her heart. Whatever I feel, I must project strength. With a set jaw, she began to speak. “Attention all hands, this is your commanding officer.” She glanced at Wright. “I would first like to thank the entire crew of the Zvika Greengold for their professionalism, adherence to duty, and incredible performance during the combat engagement we just won. No one expected a pitched battle with enemy capital-class vessels to happen today, but this crew rose to the occasion. It is an honor to command you, and you bring great credit to the Coalition Defense Force with your service. Today, we lived up to the CDF motto of Semper paratus—always ready.” She took a deep breath.
Around the bridge, every eye was on her. Even the enlisted ratings, who should’ve been paying attention to the myriad of displays, gazed intently.
“CDF Command has set Defense Condition One. The Terran Coalition is now at war with an unidentified enemy, who has a fleet of over one thousand warships. And they’re headed to our homes. All CDF vessels are ordered to return at best speed to Canaan to assist in its defense. All I expect from each one of you is that you do your duty.” Tehrani clicked off the 1MC.
“A thousand ships?” Bryan asked. “Colonel, with respect, the CDF doesn’t have but… what? Two hundred?”
Fear is a powerful opponent. Tehrani could feel it coursing through the bridge. “Lieutenant,” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “The planetary nation-states have hundreds more ships at their disposal. I might add, our warships appear to be technologically superior to theirs. Whoever they are. We will prevail.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“XO, I want a complete readiness report. Stand down from condition one. Make sure our people get some rest, because I expect the next twenty-four hours will be among the worst of our lives.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Tehrani’s gaze swept the bridge once more. Everyone still stared, and fear was evident in most of their faces.
“Navigation,” she said as she set her jaw. “Plot a course back to Canaan and relay it to our escorts. I want to be underway in fifteen minutes.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Plotting jump waypoints.”
* * *
Tehrani and Wright left the bridge together, leaving Lieutenant Bryan on the conn. It had been several hours since the Zvika Greengold started her journey back to the heart of the Terran Coalition. Tehrani kept thinking she was caught in a vivid and detailed nightmare, and at any moment, her alarm would go off. Too bad that’s not reality. Their destination was the briefing room on deck one, directly aft of the bridge. Common to all CDF warships, it was considered the CO’s domain and used for command-level meetings.
“I asked Major Whatley to meet with us,” Tehrani explained as she pushed the hatch open to the conference room and strode in. “Frankly, I’m concerned about having a ship full of reservist pilots getting their flight time in as our front-line combatants.”
“You’re not the only one, Colonel.” Gabriel Whatley had already arrived. He sat at the end of the table, in a fresh khaki service uniform. An American flag patch rested on his left shoulder, and nothing was under it. After Tehrani cleared the threshold, he rose respectfully to attention.
“As you were, Major.”
Tehrani took a seat at the other end of the table, while Wright dropped into the next chair.
“Gentlemen, thank you for joining me.” She rested her hands on the hard surface. “Well, you know why I asked you here, Major. While acknowledging that the pilots we had in space today fought superbly, I want your opinion on whether we can handle sustained fighting. CDF combat doctrine calls for four sorties a day.”
Whatley scrunched his brow. “As long as I’m the CAG, Colonel, we’ll be ready for whatever the enemy throws at us. That said, I have concerns about the training of our current pilots, and I’d like to request we get our regular squadrons back as soon as possible.”
“Agreed, ma’am. I’ve already put in the request to command,” Wright added.
“With that out of the way,” Tehrani said as she steepled her hands together, “what do you propose for an on-deck combat space patrol and squadron readiness as we approach Canaan?”
“All pilots on ready thirty starting four hours out, with the Red Tails squadron on ready five,” Whatley began. “We don’t have enough anti-ship missiles to outfit all of our bombers, but I’ve ordered them distributed equally. So, we must make every shot count.” His mouth remained cur
led in a frown.
“I see.”
“One other thing, Colonel. I intend to suit up. If needed, I’ll launch with the combat wing. This is too important for me to sit on the sidelines.”
Tehrani stared intently at him. “Aren’t you afraid of losing operational control of the wing during combat?”
“I have to trust the squadron commanders to do their jobs. Yes, they’re reservists, but it has to be enough.”
“Your call, Major.” Tehrani shifted her gaze to Wright. “Damage control status?”
“Everything we can repair in space is done, ma’am. We recovered the bodies of both soldiers who were sucked out during the decompression event and our lost pilot. They’re all in the ship’s morgue.” Wright bit his lip. “Some of the crew are talking about a memorial. Lots of shocked soldiers.”
“It’ll have to wait until whatever is waiting for us at Canaan is dealt with,” Tehrani replied. “Allah help us, but I suspect those three aren’t the last.”
“Probably a given in war, Colonel,” Whatley interjected.
The hatch swung open. “Sorry ta interrupt, Colonel,” Major Carlyle Hodges said in his Cockney accent. “But do you have a moment?”
Tehrani glanced backward and nodded. “Of course. Have a seat.”
“Thank ya,” he replied as he pulled a chair out and sat in it. The chief engineer of the Greengold, Hodges wore a navy-blue jumpsuit that was covered in grease stains. His left shoulder was adorned with the flag of Great Britain. “I need to discuss these back-to-back Lawrence drive jumps, ma’am. The engines aren’t made for it.” His eyes bored into her. “And we’re risking exotic-particle release.”
“Our home is under attack.” Tehrani held up her right hand. “Nothing else matters.”
“Ma’am—”
“I served a duty rotation as an engineering specialist,” Tehrani interjected. “It’s eight jumps back. As long as we observe the cooldown period—”
“With respect, ma’am,” Hodges interrupted, his eyes flashing with anger, “this ship is thirty years old. Our drives haven’t been through a full refit cycle in eight years, thanks to military budget cuts. You’re risking the lives of everyone aboard.” He crossed his arms.
The outright hostility from her chief engineer shocked Tehrani. He’d always been a bit arrogant, but his current attitude was new. “Major, your objections are noted.” For a moment, she considered dismissing him, but given the forcefulness of his protest, he apparently had a genuine concern. “What would you have us do? Canaan is under attack. We need to get there and join the fight.”
“My sister lives there, Colonel. I know the stakes as well as you. It doesn’t matter if we smear our atoms across two light-years when the ship explodes coming out of a wormhole. I tried to give my recommendation to the XO earlier.” He cast a dirty look in Wright’s direction. “But he rebuffed me.”
Tehrani forced herself not to sigh. “Gentlemen, I don’t have time for your petty bickering. You’ve both demonstrated a lack of respect for the other during the last six months. I’ve tried managing it softly, but guess what. The rules just changed. Either solve this, or I’ll tell you how to work with each other until I can get replacement officers.” Her voice took on the quality of ice. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wright replied crisply.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hodges echoed a moment later.
“With that out of the way… what is your recommendation, Major?”
“Only one jump per ninety minutes. It’ll delay our arrival at Canaan by four hours, but it’s the best we can do, and it still give us the ability to double jump at a critical juncture.”
“Very well. That’s what we’ll do.” Tehrani had learned a long time ago never to second-guess the chief engineer. Push them, yes, but once the ruling came down, accept it as gospel. He or she was almost always correct. “Anything else, gentlemen?”
Silence met her question.
“Very well. You’re dismissed.”
* * *
While the senior staff met and the aviation crew worked on rearming the fighters in the hangar, the Alpha-shift enlisted personnel and pilots enjoyed some off time. Justin was among them—after he’d attempted to use the ship’s communication system to call his wife, Michelle, who lived with their children back on New Washington. After the third attempt, Lieutenant Singh politely reminded him that EMCON Alpha was engaged, and violating it was a felony offense under the Universal Code of Military Justice.
Justin brought a meal back to his quarters and consumed it quietly. As he did, he tried to make sense of the day, processing the images of actual combat again and again. Fighters and bombers exploded in front of his eyes, destroyed by his hand. The Spencers weren’t particularly a military family. His father hadn’t served, but his grandfather joined in the opening years of the Saurian Wars, starting in 2376. He recalled the stories of flying unshielded fighters into the teeth of Saurian defenses and the heroic deeds of his grandfather’s squadron.
All of it had led to Justin deciding to join the CDF when he was eighteen. It had seemed like a great way to pay for his college education, see the galaxy, different planets, and areas of space, and enjoy his early twenties. I should’ve realized that signing up for the military meant I might have to fight. Justin’s mind drifted away to the day before he’d deployed for the two-week tour they were on—what was supposed to be his last duty assignment.
* * *
New Washington—Spencer Residence
Terran Coalition
12 September 2433
Justin opened his eyes to find his four-year-old daughter, Margaret—whom he called Maggie—standing next to the bed, nearly at eye level. As the mental grogginess cleared, he mumbled, “Good morning.” The bedroom door was ajar, and he vaguely remembered that they had plans to go to the park after breakfast.
She jumped on him. “Good morning, Daddy!” Maggie bounced up and down between Justin and Michelle.
“Munchkin, it’s six in the morning,” Michelle said wearily. “Do you think you could go brush your teeth and let Mommy and Daddy wake up?”
“Are we going to the park?” Maggie asked brightly, as if it were the only thing that mattered.
“Of course we are. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Justin replied. He grabbed her and pulled her to him in a giant hug. “Now, do what Mommy said, and we’ll make breakfast in a few minutes.”
“Okay!” Maggie shouted then bounced out of the king-size bed and into the hallway, singing as she went.
“Oh, she is so your daughter.” Michelle laid her head on Justin’s chest. “Are you looking forward to your two-week vacation tomorrow?”
“Vacation? Really?” he replied playfully.
“Oh, come on. You’re going to zoom around the galaxy, going crazy fast in a small fighter, and probably get to shoot up some asteroids or a comet. Yeah, that’s a vacation. Meanwhile, I’ll be getting her to school every morning and staying home by myself, while working full time.”
Justin raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a vacation,” he replied. “But I’ll enjoy parts of it.”
“Uh-huh. Like all of it.”
“Do you know what I’ll enjoy the most?”
“What?”
“Coming home to you and Maggie.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
She giggled in reply. “You are so sweet and romantic. Almost cloyingly so.”
“It’s why you married me, right?”
“That, and who can resist a man in uniform.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “And on that note, I’m getting a shower.” He moved out of bed and stood. “Are you coming with us to the park?”
“Yeah. They just opened up that new bike path. You can take her to the fountains while I get some exercise.”
“Deal.”
Twenty minutes later, Justin was shaved, showered, and dressed. He selected a pair of shorts that came to his knees and a purple T-shirt to go with his sanda
ls. With one last check of his appearance, which included having to duck slightly because his two-meter height cut off the top of his hair in the mirror, Justin was ready to face the day.
He walked through their modest two-story house on the outskirts of suburbia. Justin had rented it for them the year before after they outgrew his small one-bedroom apartment. Abstract artwork lined the walls along with family photos, including pictures of Maggie as a baby. Ending up in the kitchen, he found both of them seated at the table, waiting on him.
“Sorry. Took me a few extra minutes to get my beard back in regulation,” he said with a chuckle as he slid into the empty seat with a plate of hot food in front of it.
“Don’t forget the mustache,” Michelle replied in reference to a private joke from when Justin was still on active duty. “It’s never in regulation.”
Justin laughed loudly, thinking of how many times he’d gotten ribbed for showing up at basic training with a mustache. “Touché.” He dug into his food.
Michelle cleared her throat. “You forgot to say grace.”
He glanced up with a sheepish expression on his face. “Uh, grace?”
“I’ll do it, Mommy,” Maggie interjected. She bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for the food we’re about to receive. Keep Daddy safe in space, and help me be a good girl for Mommy. Amen.”
“Amen!” Michelle chorused before taking a bite of her eggs.
Each plate had bacon, eggs, and toast on it. Justin’s had more than the rest of them, and he attacked it with gusto. “Thank you, ladies. I love a full breakfast.”
“I wonder what you’ll get for breakfast on… what’s the ship you’re on again?”
“CSV Zvika Greengold. It’s a thirty-year-old escort carrier from the end of the Saurian Wars. Too bad we can’t train on the new ships like a Saratoga-class carrier,” Justin groused. “That’d be so much fun.”
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 4
