“There’s no point in assigning blame now. What matters is how we move forward. The entire Terran Coalition has enjoyed the spoils of peace. We thought we were invincible.” Anand snorted. “Well, that was a crock, and now our teenagers will get to pay the price for our arrogance and stupidity. I was reviewing the CDF war plans in case of invasion by an outside power of significant strength. We’re far enough behind the curve that it warrants a draft.”
Nolan shook his head. “I’d rather wait and see how many people volunteer. I think the lines will snake around every recruiting station in the Coalition come tomorrow morning. Perhaps we won’t need one.”
“With respect, Mr. President, that’s a dream. If for one reason and one reason only. This is a war for survival, and everyone in our nation needs skin in the game. If there’s no draft, we could eventually end up in a situation where the affluent and wealthy don’t volunteer. Such a thing would breed resentment and hurt morale.”
Nolan laughed, despite everything going on. “Pradeep, if I didn’t know better, I’d say one of my bright young left-wing speechwriters had fed you talking points.”
Anand rolled his eyes. “I think not.”
They laughed before Nolan continued. “I’m speaking off the cuff here, but what we really need is a unity government.”
Anand locked eyes with him. “It’s been a long time since we had one of those.”
“The Second Saurian War.”
“Yeah, fifty-five years ago, and it fell apart during the conflict.”
“So, it’ll be up to us to ensure it succeeds.” Nolan spread his hands out on the desk. “I’m going to ask my vice president to resign. For the good of the nation. In her place, I’ll nominate someone from a center-right party.”
Anand gaped at him. “Seriously? You expect her to resign? Just like that?”
“For the good of the nation,” Nolan repeated. “And a promise that when my second term is up, I’ll endorse her candidacy for president. That’s her end goal, of course.”
“Remind me not to play poker with you,” Anand replied. “I’ll put some feelers out and see if I can help you find someone that understands the concept of unity.” He paused. “Tell me—have you thought about a strategy for how to fight this war?”
“Beyond surviving whatever they throw at us next?”
Anand nodded.
“I have,” Nolan said as he steepled his fingers. “Earth. If we want to defeat this League of Sol, it must be done by taking Earth.”
“Crossing the galactic arm… I can’t even think about the logistics of such an endeavor.”
“That’s up to the military,” Nolan replied. He’d already ordered the chairman of the Joint Chiefs to begin planning. It would take at least five years to build up their fleet properly, and it would also take that long to beat the plowshares of the Terran Coalition back into swords and truly go on the offensive—maybe less, if the entire population mobilized. “Our job will be to galvanize the people.”
“On that, we agree, my friend.” Anand sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you? Anything?”
“Well, you are the de facto leader of your party, as I am of mine,” Nolan said. “I want a message to go out from both of us to every operative, talking head, and political commentator we have, respectively. Unity, not attacks, and no cheap political points.”
“Conservatives aren’t monolithic, you know.”
“Nor are Liberal-Democrats. We’ll have some stragglers, I’m sure.”
Anand smiled in return. “Done.”
Nolan inclined his head. “One other thing.”
“Name it.”
“Pray for me. Pray to God that I will have wisdom and that He will guide me to make the right decisions.”
Anand furrowed his brow. “I will spend a lot of time in the temple, praying to Waheguru, asking for His guidance. I would only ask that you do the same for me when you pray.”
Nolan stood and extended his arm. “I promise I will. Daily.”
Anand shook his hand warmly. “May you walk in the path.”
“God bless and…” Nolan thought of an old phrase. “Godspeed.”
“Godspeed, indeed.”
* * *
Following the somber ceremony to remove the honored dead from the hangar bay, Justin wandered the ship. Many of his fellow pilots had gone to a multifaith service organized by the chaplains, but he didn’t see the point of going. He’d never been much on religion and typically only went on Easter and Christmas with his family. To him, it was more of a cultural celebration than anything to do with faith. To join in on the service seemed like hypocrisy. He walked for a good hour, down a corridor filled with printed images of those lost. They’d been hung up as a memorial to the fallen. In the quiet of his mind, even as soldiers milled about him, Justin pondered how he’d survived the last forty-eight hours but found no easy answers.
Justin ended up on hangar deck B. Hundreds of enlisted personnel in brightly colored jackets delineating their different departments of the space aviation force worked feverishly. The deck plating was scarred with black carbon scoring from energy-weapon hits, while holes were visible in the superstructure. He found it something of a miracle that the ship had survived in the first place.
After strolling around for a bit and taking in the scene, he arrived at his Sabre. Though battered and scarred, the fighter was still space worthy and looked like it was already under repair. Justin glanced for a moment at the distinctive red stripe painted onto the vertical stabilizer on the back of his craft. It reminded him of the long and storied history of the Red Tails squadron. The unit's lineage traced back to 1940s Earth—during a time when humans still sorted superiority by skin coloration and creed—an idea that was ludicrous on its face, now. I hope to do their memory justice.
A technician rolled out from under the craft and sprang to his feet. “Sorry, Lieutenant! Didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, I got lost on my way to the mess deck. I found myself here and thought I’d look around. Don’t mind me,” Justin replied as the technician interrupted his thoughts.
“We’ll have your bird back in the fight inside of two days. We already did most of the work, but I need a couple of spare engine parts the Greengold is out of. Thankfully, we’re about to resupply.”
The man’s chipper attitude shocked Justin. They’d been fighting for their lives—no quarter asked or given—and the letdown from the rush of combat was intense. He stared at the fighter. “Not bad, Chief. Thanks for getting her back into fighting shape.”
“Have you given some thought to how we’re going to mark your kills?”
Justin hadn’t considered the custom. Typically, when a pilot notched the solo kill of an enemy craft or ship, he was entitled to a decoration under the cockpit canopy. He had seen pictures of dozens of markings from the fighters of the so-called “mega-aces” that had fifty-plus confirmed victories each in the Saurian Wars. Something about it bothered him suddenly, as if a voice in his soul said he shouldn’t celebrate the killing of others. He furrowed his brow. “I hadn’t thought of that yet.”
The technician shrugged. “I’ve got lots of designs to choose from. Let me know what you want. We’ll get it painted. How many did you notch? Sixteen?”
“So I was told. Roughly split between fighters and bombers.”
“That’s incredible—from a reservist, no less!” The man slapped Justin on the shoulder. “You’ll win this war for us single-handedly.”
Justin frowned and bit his lip. “I was just doing my job.” He glanced to his right to see several empty pads where Sabres usually sat. They’d been destroyed in the fight. “We lost eleven pilots.” Losing three pilots out of thirty-six was awful, but a third of all forces engaged was devastating. Justin turned back around and faced the technician. “On second thought, no, don’t paint my kills. I want you to put a marker down for every one we lost.”
After a few moments of silence, the technician nodded. “Outside of cust
om, but I like it, Lieutenant. We should remember.”
“Yes, we should.” The sentiment flowed into Justin like a wave. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt good, like his fellow warriors would live on, memorialized on the side of his Sabre. It seemed fitting to honor them this way, especially since the Red Tails had been the first fully religiously integrated squadron in the CDF. Justin recalled reading the squadron’s history when he’d been posted to it, including how the original Red Tails were the first group of African-American aviators in the American Army Air Force, with some of the highest kill to loss ratios in the conflict they fought in. They still stood as a beacon of how far humanity had come. Given the League’s assault on us, I suppose we still have a long way to go as a species.
“What symbol would you like me to use?” the technician asked.
Justin paused and tilted his head to the side in thought. “Hm.” A sudden inspiration came to him. “Use the symbol of each pilot’s faith. The Cross, the Star of David, the Crescent and Star, the Khanda…”
“And if they didn’t have a religion?”
“CDF service emblem.”
The technician nodded. “You got it, sir.”
“I suppose I’d better let you get back to fixing up my ride,” Justin said. “Thanks for keeping us in the fight the last few days.”
“My pleasure, sir. You keep blowing up those Leaguers, and we’ll keep you in the fight.”
With a grin, Justin turned on his heel and walked away. While he still felt heavy and struggled to process everything that had happened, the resolve to remember those lost somehow made him feel better. He decided that was the best he could hope for. At least until I finally get through to Michelle on the vidlink.
* * *
Later that evening, Tehrani was hard at work in her day cabin. She’d spent several hours writing letters to the families of those lost, stopping every so often as tears clouded her eyes. She didn’t sob, but an ache had settled in her heart as she struggled to remember each man and woman, some of whom she’d only met a handful of times. After twelve of the letters, she stopped and focused on the other priority: getting the Zvika Greengold ready to get back to the fight.
Major Hodges had already submitted a complete drydock workup, even attaching a notional schedule for repairs. I’ve never seen him quite so motivated before. Upon further rumination, Tehrani realized she’d never been so driven herself. The entire crew came across as focused, like someone had thrown a switch inside of them. A core of steel within her had been unearthed by the recent combat, but she resolved to retain the nurturing part of her command style.
The commlink on her desk came to life with the voice of Lieutenant Singh. “Colonel, I have a flash vidlink for you from General Saurez.”
Tehrani’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Saurez was the overall commander of the space fleet and one of the highest-ranking members of the CDF. Why is COMSPACEFLT contacting me? She touched the commlink’s reply button. “Put him through, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. One moment.”
An older human male appeared on Tehrani’s tablet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Good evening, Colonel.”
“And to you, General Saurez.”
He grinned. “I know. What’s a four-star doing contacting you directly, outside of your chain of command?”
“Well, the thought crossed my mind, sir,” Tehrani replied. She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I suppose nothing should surprise me after the last two days.”
“There’s an old Chinese curse… may you live in interesting times.” Saurez grimaced. “Unfortunately, we’re living through them. I’ve spent the last few hours sifting through after-action reports and kept seeing your ship come up. You’ve been all over the place, Colonel. Fighting like mad at the forefront of a pitched space battle, and your pilots—well, there’s a lot of heroes on the Zvika Greengold’s flight deck.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tehrani’s mind raced with speculation about why the general had contacted her. None of it was good.
“We’re putting the Greengold in for two battle stars to honor its contribution to both saving the Conqueror and the battle of Canaan. I could probably make a case for four, but let’s not get greedy. I reached out tonight because I want to know if you and your crew are ready to get back into the fight.”
“It’ll take a couple of weeks of space-dock time, sir, but the moment that’s done, we’re ready.”
“Your pilots and crew—they’re capable of sustained front-line action? Even though a few weeks ago, your vessel was primarily a training ship?”
Tehrani set her jaw. A bit of annoyance crept into her voice. “Yes, sir. They’re battle-tested and, after the last forty-eight hours, hardened veterans.”
“Ah, I can see that fire in your eyes at the slightest questioning of your crew,” Saurez replied. “Good. You’re going to need that fire, Colonel. I’m sure you remember that they designed the Thane-class escort carriers for convoy duty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I’m putting them back into. We’re not sure where the League will strike next, but we’re confident they’re not going away. That means the CDF has to cover a lot of space.”
An impossibly enormous amount of space. Tehrani frowned. “Will our battle group receive reinforcements? We only have one destroyer and one frigate.” She bit her lip. “And we’re short eleven pilots.”
“Replacement fighters, bombers, and pilots are on the way. Warships, we’re short on. You’ll have to make do until we finish integrating the nation-state military assets.”
“Understood, sir.” While it made sense that manufacturing new small craft was far easier and quicker than building additional escort ships, it still bothered Tehrani deeply. The League seemed to have near-limitless quantities of warships—and the Zvika Greengold wasn’t made for a straight-out slugging match. “Sir, I have to point out that given what we’ve seen of the enemy so far, our strike groups will need significant upgrades in ship-based firepower.”
“I’m well aware of that, Colonel,” Saurez replied, his tone going from friendly to sharp in a moment. “But I can’t give you ships I don’t have. As General Irvine put it… I expect all officers and enlisted personnel of the Coalition Defense Force to do their duty.”
“Yes, sir,” Tehrani replied, forcing her voice to remain completely neutral.
His expression relaxed. “The next few months will not be a walk in the park. I suspect we’ll be tested as we’ve never been tested before, going up against an enemy we know little about. And my suspicion is they’ve been watching us for years—maybe even decades. We’ll be fighting their war. Reacting to their tactics.” Saurez crossed his arms. “It’ll be up to every ship commander to find a way to win, even when the odds are stacked against us.”
“Semper tempus, sir.”
Saurez grinned. “Always in time. I’m certain you and your crew will continue to rise to the occasion.” He paused. “Good luck out there, Colonel.”
“You, too, sir.”
“Godspeed.”
The tablet’s screen blinked off, leaving Tehrani alone once more. She still wondered why the four-star had contacted her. Perhaps he was truly taking my measure. The bottom line was that the Zvika Greengold, and more importantly the soldiers under her command, were going to be at the sharp tip of the spear and by extension always in harm’s way. I’m going to have to force myself to get used to this. She found it difficult not to see herself as the head of their large extended family. She’d led her service to the CDF that way, and it had always worked. But not in a time of war.
Tehrani put her head down and opened another letter draft. She still had twenty-eight names to go.
* * *
After finishing with the crew chief, Justin had ended up back in the Red Tails ready room, even though they were off duty with the Zvika Greengold in space dock and stood down. As he mindlessly worked through after-action
reports on his tablets, the hatch slamming shut startled him. He looked up to see Whatley, in his full dress uniform, drop into the front row of chairs a few seats down from him.
Justin sprang to his feet and came to attention. “Sir.”
“At ease, Lieutenant.” When Justin didn’t move, Whatley pointed at the chair behind him. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir.” Justin sat down gingerly.
“I looked over your gun-camera footage from the last battle,” Whatley said. He spread his hands out in front of him. “Four confirmed kills and who knows how many assists. Damn impressive flying, son.”
Justin stared straight ahead. “We still lost eleven good men and women the last two days.”
“It bothers you?”
“Of course it does, sir,” Justin replied, scrunching his face. He gritted his teeth. “There were so many of them. I swear it felt like I blew one Leaguer up and two more took his place.”
Whatley nodded. “That’s combat for you.”
“I’m glad you came by, sir. I want to put my name in to stay in the fight.” Justin swallowed. “I need to see this through.”
“You don’t get a say in it. CDF Command called the entire squadron to active duty an hour ago.” Whatley’s lips curled into a grin. “But I respect that you would’ve volunteered.” He reached out and put his hand on Justin’s arm. “You’re going to have to learn how to handle losing people, including your friends, on a nearly constant basis.”
“How, sir?” Justin didn’t want to think about the feeling he’d had seeing someone he knew die in a split-second explosion of orange flame, with not a damn thing he could do about it.
“Depends on the person. Some of us get hard, some turn to a bottle, and some find God. Others build a network of friends.” Whatley shrugged. “How you do it is up to you, but make no mistake, son. You have to sort that out. Trust me.”
“How do you deal with it, sir?”
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 19
