by Daniel Gibbs
“Acknowledged, Alpha One. I show you at three-quarters of a kilometer. Call the ball.”
“Alpha One, ball, one point five.” Justin’s reply indicated he could see the optical landing system lights and was nearly aligned for a landing in the forward portion of the bay. Gravimetric arrestor control would snag the Sabre as he flew it in, but with his controls so sluggish, it would be nearly impossible to course correct.
“Roger, Alpha One. Ball at five hundred meters per second. Adjust axial course as necessary.”
Justin tried to control his breathing, heart rate, and stress level. He would have to adjust course to avoid slamming into the bulkhead. Usually, it would have been child’s play. “Confirmed. I see the lights.”
At the last second, the carrier pitched up slightly. “Oh shit,” Justin said as he tried to match the movement. His hard maneuver on the flight stick generated an overcorrection.
“Abort! Abort!” the landing officer screamed. “Full-power abort!”
“Negative,” Justin replied as he forced the fighter down centimeter by centimeter. “I can’t turn fast enough to abort. Deploy emergency arrestor barrier.” He flipped the commlink to the private channel with Feldstein. “Lieutenant, if it looks like I’m going into another craft or something flammable, shoot me down.”
“Sir?”
“That was a direct order, Lieutenant. I will not cause the deaths of everyone on this ship. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Every ounce of concentration Justin had went into trying to effect slight changes in his course to line up with the gravfield that would catch his fighter and stop its forward momentum. Every attempt resulted in immediate overcorrection. He couldn’t slow down because the Greengold was moving too fast. He suddenly wondered if he was going to die.
“Alpha One, adjust five degrees to your left.”
Justin grunted. “Acknowledged.” Yeah, file that under ‘No shit, Sherlock.’
The last seconds ticked down, and not a moment too soon, he reduced thrust to three meters per second as his Sabre entered the flight deck. He was too high and fast. Red lights flashed, showing he was off target, before the gravfield tried to grab his craft. It shot through the first and second arrestor fields, leading Justin to determine he was probably about to buy the farm.
Suddenly, Justin’s entire body pitched forward, and his helmet collided with the lip of the cockpit HUD screen. As his vision blurred, he saw stars. I’m not dead. A glance out of the canopy confirmed that the last and strongest emergency arrestor field had grabbed his fighter. It gently lowered the Sabre to the deck. He popped the canopy-release button and turned to see a ladder pushed up against the side.
“LT, you okay in there?” a crew chief called up. “Let us know if you need a medic.”
“No, no. I can climb down,” Justin replied. He felt determined to exit the fighter the same way he’d entered it—on his own two feet. One rung at a time, he made it down to the deck. As soon as Justin did, his knees gave out, and he grabbed the ladder to steady himself.
A small crowd had already gathered around and gave a cheer.
He held up a hand. “Thanks, guys. Nothing to be excited about… I was just doing my job.”
Mateus pushed out in front of the group of pilots and flight crew. “You were like a hero from the holovids, shooting down enemies left and right and evading fire.” Her eyes held admiration. “I wish I could fly that well.”
“Did she just admit someone else is a better pilot?” a Turkish bomber pilot by the name of Orhan Yavuz asked. “Someone get a recording!”
Laughter coursed through them all, and the sound echoed throughout the expansive flight deck. Feldstein appeared at Justin’s side, holding her helmet and wearing a broad grin. “Nice to see you in one piece, sir.”
“It’s nice to be in one piece,” he replied.
The crew chief that had provided the ladder climbed out from underneath the Sabre. “Well, I’ve got some good news, Lieutenant.”
“What’s that?”
“Everything’s repairable, and we’ve got the parts. You’ll be ready to fight in six hours.”
“Really?” Justin felt surprised at the pronouncement, considering how the onboard repair system couldn’t restore full flight control.
“Yeah, these birds have a flaw in the internal hydraulic system. If they get hit just right, well, the entire system craps out. You got unlucky enough to suffer the flaw.”
“That’s what we get for always going with the lowest bidder,” Feldstein replied. “Damn politicians. Always shorting the military.”
“So, let's go wet down our newest quadruple ace,” Mateus interjected, earning a rousing cheer.
“Spen-cer! Spen-cer! Spen-cer!” the group chanted.
Justin’s face turned bloodred, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He only knew he wasn’t interested in being celebrated—not with the loss of another pilot and the ship heavily damaged.
“Attention!”
Justin didn’t recognize the voice, but everyone immediately went rigid, with their arms at their sides.
“Clear the flight deck, pilots!” Whatley screamed, his voice raspy and hoarse. He came to a halt directly in front of Justin and stared him down. “Soaking up the glory, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir.”
“Uh-huh. I heard the reference about wetting down your kills,” Whatley said as he turned and swept the flight bay with his piercing gaze. “There will be no consumption of alcohol by any pilot at any point today. If you violate my order, I’ll have you thrown into the brig. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Justin shouted along with everyone else.
“Good. Glad to hear you’re capable of following an order, Spencer.” Whatley got two inches from Justin’s face. “If you ever violate another direct order from Colonel Tehrani, me, or any other officer appointed over you, I will bust you back to private and put you on latrine-cleaning duty for the rest of your CDF career. Dismissed!”
Fury shot through Justin at the speed of light. For a moment, he balled his fists and thought about punching Whatley in the nose. But he forced it down, turned on his heel, and stalked off with the rest of the pilots.
Feldstein caught up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look… don’t listen to him. You’re a damn hero for what you did out there.”
Justin wrenched away and kept walking. “Whatever. I’ll be in my cabin.”
11
While the crew had worked feverishly to repair battle damage, Tehrani had camped out in her day cabin, going through paperwork and writing condolence letters to the families of those killed in action. She’d never had to do that before. In fact, she’d lost no one under her at any posting until the previous day. Such is the reality of war. Tears fell down her face as she wrote a letter to the mother of a young soldier lost in the engineering spaces. Once she had finished, she sat quietly until the next meeting was scheduled to begin, trying to clear her mind and soul.
Tehrani felt trapped in a nightmare that wouldn’t end. Only I know it’s not. This is my reality now. She thought back to her husband and family, wondering if she’d ever see them again. Will he get a note from the fleet commander, thanking him for my sacrifice?
A few hours later, the senior staff gathered in the conference room on deck one. Tehrani strode through the hatch to find Wright, Whatley, Hodges, and Bryan already present.
They sprang up from the table as she entered.
“As you were,” she said, gesturing at the chairs. “Please take a seat.” I wonder if my nose is still red and my cheeks puffy. It wouldn’t do for those under her command to see her emotions. She steeled herself against any display as she sat. “Where are we at, gentlemen?”
Hodges went first. “Colonel, we have partial power restored to our engines and can maneuver at twenty-five percent of maximum thrust. Both reactors are back online, and hull patches are proceeding.”
Tehrani glanced between the m
en. “When can we be ready to fight?”
“Technically, we could fight now,” Wright began. “If we had to. But our survival chances will go up a lot once they repair the shields. Call it six hours.” He spread his hands out on the table and bit his lip. “Colonel, I think we have to consider the possibility that the Zvika Greengold is out of the fight, unless there’s literally nothing else left in the cupboard. We’re in terrible shape. Major Hodges gave me a schedule that has repairs ongoing for a week to regain full power to all systems.”
“The pilots are ready to fly on thirty minutes’ notice,” Whatley stated. He crossed his arms. “All you have to do is get us there, and we’ll take out as many of the bastards as we can.”
“You’re talking about a last stand,” Wright interjected.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, XO.”
“Gentlemen, I’m not ready to order such an undertaking and will not unless the fleet needs us. Our orders are to repair and rearm,” Tehrani said, leaning forward to retake control of the discussion. “That said, we must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”
“While we could fight now, Colonel, my pilots need rest.” Whatley leaned back. “I can have stims prescribed for them, but I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms—hopped-up pilots are dead pilots. Give us a few hours of sleep, a good meal, and a shower. After that, I’ll have them back in top shape for you.”
“I should put out there that half our point-defense emplacements are nonfunctional. If we have to engage, our port side will be susceptible to enemy missiles,” Bryan said. “We’re probably a day away from fixing the damage. I’ve got armory crews working nonstop.”
It added up to a picture that Tehrani didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone accept. Yet her duty still called. The desire to reenter the fight, help defeat the League, and save the billions of civilians on Canaan raged just under the surface of her soul. It competed with another desire—to inflict pain on the enemy and make them pay for the death and destruction they’d spread. Her mouth curled into a snarl as she thought of the judgment that awaited the so-called League of Sol.
Wright’s voice brought Tehrani out of her thoughts. “Colonel, we need to stay on stand-down.”
“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Focus your efforts on propulsion and the hangar. Shields are secondary, while the weapons are a tertiary concern.”
They stared at her quizzically.
“Getting to the battle and launching our fighters is the primary objective if the fleet needs us. In that situation, nothing else matters.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wright replied.
Some of the others appeared as if they wanted to argue, but the XO’s words carried finality.
“Thank you all,” Tehrani said. “You’re dismissed.”
As the group filed out, silence descended over the conference room. She stared at the ship’s seal on the wall along with the flag of the Terran Coalition. The Latin words of their motto Semper tempus meant “Always in Time.” I hope if the call comes, we’re able to answer.
The mess hall was busy with dozens of officers, many of them pilots. Justin just wanted to be alone. He waved at a few friendly faces, including Martin. The big Australian had a group of bomber drivers at his table, all bragging loudly about the capital ships they’d polished off.
Justin felt deep within himself that the battles weren’t over. Officially, the ship was on a damage-control hold, with repair crews laboring to repair holes in the outer hull and patch critical systems. Something in his soul kept repeating, “This isn’t over.”
So he ordered dinner and waited for the call to return to his Sabre. He replayed the previous engagements repeatedly, including Feldstein’s expert save. Without her, I’d be dead now. Still, he pondered what had caused him to go all holovid hero. The action was completely outside of his normal personality.
Whatley appeared at the side of Justin’s table. He seemed to have a stealth mode, able to mask his approach at will. “I’ve reviewed the sensor records of the battle, Lieutenant Spencer,” he began without preamble.
“Uh, yes, sir,” Justin replied. He didn’t spring to attention or rise from his seat, remembering that customs and courtesies didn’t apply in the mess. If he was being honest with himself, not showing Whatley that respect made Justin feel good. Why is he questioning me again? I got his point last time, loud and clear.
“You disobeyed a direct order and engaged multiple hostiles,” Whatley said. “While apparently ordering your wingmen and other friendly forces to bug out to home plate. Is that accurate?”
Justin set his jaw. “Yes, sir. I wanted to ensure the safety of my people as much as possible.”
“And you did that by ignoring orders?”
“Because otherwise, one of those League bombers might’ve gotten through and blown up the Greengold, sir.” Justin folded his arms. “It was the right call.”
Silence followed for a few seconds. Whatley stared at Justin, as if he’d discovered something unique about him. “I see.” He raised an eyebrow as if in deep thought. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
As Whatley turned on his heel and strode off, Justin felt troubled by the interaction. Is the Major upset about my actions, or does he approve? It was another stress factor in an already-untenable situation. He sighed and went back to waiting for his food to arrive.
“So this is where you snuck off to,” Feldstein called.
He whirled around to see her, Mateus, and Adeoye standing a few feet behind the table. “Uh, hey, guys. Come on over. Have a seat.” He forced a smile.
“Whatley come over to rip you a new one?” Mateus asked. “He’s just mad we have more kills than he does.”
“It doesn’t all come down to kill ratios and counts,” Adeoye interjected. “There is more to flying than such metrics.” He took a seat across from Justin. “Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Yes. It’s not about individual performance. It’s more to do with how we function as a team.”
Feldstein pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Wow, look who’s getting gray hair,” she joked. “Whatley must be getting into your head, Spencer.”
Justin chuckled. “No.”
As they sat and bantered, some of his stress released. That he’d come face-to-face with certain death only a couple of hours before remained a strange dichotomy. He questioned repeatedly why he’d chosen to turn around and stage a last stand. The best he could come up with was a desire to see his friends survive.
“You seem like you’re pretty far away, sir,” Feldstein said, turning the conversation from jovial to somber.
“Just thinking,” Justin replied.
Mateus slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to have to step up my game,” she said. Her accented English seemed to get more of a lilt as she got progressively more exhausted by combat. “I can’t have our flight leader running up the score on me.”
The peals of laughter that erupted from the table were interrupted by the mess stewards’ bringing out the meals all four had ordered. Once each plate had been set down along with drinks, they left them to their food.
Justin picked up his fork and ate with gusto but stopped when he realized that both Feldstein and Adeoye had bowed their heads. He paused out of respect for his friends. I’ve never known either of them to pray before eating.
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean for you guys to stop,” Feldstein said as she glanced up. “Just giving thanks.”
“To whom?” Mateus snorted.
“God.”
Before a debate could break out, Justin interjected, “Personally, I’m hopeful we’ll have the block on communications lifted soon.”
“I’d love to talk to Robert,” Feldstein said. “This might sound crazy, but I miss him more after every combat sortie.”
Mateus took a bite of chicken. “I can’t wait to get back out there. I am alive in the cockpit.” She bared her teeth. “It’s the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever had.”
; A smart-aleck remark came to Justin’s mind, but he decided against using it. “I got my Sabre up to fourteen Gs today.”
Adeoye’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Seriously? Fourteen?” He stared. “That is incredible. Did you have any blackout symptoms?”
Justin shook his head. “None at all. I was pulling back hard, coming out of a turn and accelerating toward a bomber. It just… happened.”
“I must try that myself.”
“You never talk about having someone back on Lagos, Adeoye,” Mateus said. “Got a lucky lady?”
“I do not.” He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy with school and my CDF duties to engage in courtship.”
Mateus grinned. “If you play your cards right…”
“Okay. You two can take that conversation somewhere else.” He harrumphed.
All four of them laughed loudly, and Justin continued to find his cares and concerns fading away. It felt good to be among friends.
Nightfall came and went in Lawrence City. Each hour seemed like an eternity to Jason Nolan as he waited for word of the outcome of the battles in Canaan’s skies. He’d taken a small dinner directly in the Oval Office and was sitting quietly, staring out the window into the beautiful night sky. The skyscrapers of the metropolis stretched into the heavens. One of the primary space elevators was visible from the White House until its lights disappeared into the darkness.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Come in,” Nolan called.
The door swung open, and Abdul Karimi entered alone. His face was ashen. “Sir, we need to talk.”
