by Daniel Gibbs
Grant snorted. “Honor among thieves. Now there’s a ludicrous concept. Again, it all points to something more than simple piracy.” A wicked grin spread across his lips. “I intend to ferret out what when I question the prisoner.”
“I’ve been giving that some thought, Agent. We need to get a JAG representative out here to handle his interrogation.”
“With respect, ma’am, we don’t have time for JAG to get someone on a transport and jump them five hundred light-years.” Grant set his jaw. “Besides, our guest isn’t a prisoner of war, nor is he a common criminal. I’m classifying him as a saboteur and subject to the War Powers Act.”
Tehrani vaguely recalled the law being passed during the Saurian Wars; it allowed military tribunals to decide the guilt or innocence. They could also rule on sentences for those found guilty, including alien saboteurs and other irregular forces operating without the benefit of a uniform. The thought immediately made her uncomfortable. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Once I inform the prisoner of his status, I will commence an enhanced interrogation.”
“Is that a euphemism for torture?” Wright blurted out. “Because I’m pretty sure any use of torture in the questioning of a captured POW is against the Universal Code of Military Justice.”
“He’s not a POW. Saboteurs have no rights,” Grant shot back. “I’m not in the mood for a high-and-mighty morality speech, Major.”
“I took an oath to defend the constitution of the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” Wright leaned forward and gritted his teeth. “That includes spooks who would stoop to the lows of our enemy.”
Grant tilted his head back and laughed. “Is the air thinner on your high horse, Major?” His face morphed in an instant to a snarl. “Colonel, heel your dog. I don’t have time for this.”
If looks could’ve killed, Wright’s facial expression would’ve melted Grant into a puddle of constituent fluids on the deck plating.
“You will not address my executive officer or anyone else on my ship in that manner, Agent Grant.” Tehrani’s voice and her eyes were steely as she stared the CIS operative down. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Apparently there’s some intelligence in there somewhere. Tehrani cleared her throat. “Do we know what killed the crew members of that ship, besides our Marines?”
“As much as I’d like to take credit, Colonel,” Nishimura began as he shrugged, “it wasn’t us. Oh, we bagged our fair share, but a nerve agent got the rest. The eggheads will need to sort out exactly what type of compound, but given the foaming at the mouth coupled with violent spasms, I think that sounds like an airborne toxin.”
“Undoubtedly it will be something able to be made with over-the-counter products in neutral space,” Grant mused.
Tehrani detested the tension in the room. Wright still seethed, his face bloodred, while everyone else’s frowns and crossed arms screamed “Go away.”
“What enhanced interrogation techniques would you consider using, Mr. Grant?” she asked.
“You’re not seriously considering—”
“I haven’t agreed, Major,” Tehrani replied, raising her hand. “But I want to know what he has in mind.”
Grant cast a glance at Wright, coming close to sneering at him. “You probably don’t want to know.”
“If you expect to get within twenty meters of the subject, you’ll tell me. Now.”
“Fine. I’m authorized under the War Powers Act to use stress positions, sensory deprivation, mock executions, and psychological stressors.” Grant made them sound as dull as a grocery shopping list.
“What sort of psychological stressors?” Wright asked pointedly.
“Classified intelligence protocols, Major. You have no need to know.”
“Are we really going to let him do this on our ship, Colonel? If we adopt the tactics of our enemy, we become our enemy.”
Tehrani narrowed her eyes. “No, XO, I will not.” She turned to Grant. “You will not conduct mock executions, nor will you use any methods not expressly allowed by the Canaan Convention on Human and Alien Rights. Do I make myself clear?”
Before Grant could speak, Whatley leaned forward. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we stick this piece-of-shit pirate in an airlock and purge the oxygen?”
Everyone turned to face the CAG.
Tehrani’s jaw dropped. I thought I knew him better than that. “I don’t think I heard you right, Major.”
“Well, nice to know someone in here is willing to do the hard stuff,” Grant replied, his voice dripping acid. “Can we get on with this?”
“I will not allow torture on this ship. Period.” Tehrani pursed her lips and felt anger erupt inside. “Now, move on.”
A pregnant pause followed as Wright and Whatley traded glares.
Grant sucked in a breath. “When may I question the prisoner?”
“Once he’s been processed and cleared by medical personnel, and I will personally observe,” Tehrani replied. As Grant opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand. “Take it or leave it, Agent.”
“Fine,” Grant ground out.
“Good. I think we’re about done here. Once there’s actionable intelligence, we can reconvene and discuss our next steps.”
Tehrani was about to dismiss them when Wright spoke, waving his finger in Whatley’s face. “I want to get this straight, CAG. You’re willing to put somebody in an airlock and half kill them to get info?”
“What percentage of the Zvika Greengold’s personnel has been lost in the last year?” Whatley asked quietly yet with his voice full of steel.
“That doesn’t—”
“What percentage?”
“We’ve lost almost five hundred soldiers, so twenty percent. Do you have a point, Major? Everyone on this ship has felt the loss.”
“Two hundred percent. That’s what my wing’s losses amount to, XO.” Whatley’s eyes glinted. “And I’m damn sick of writing the spouses and parents of my pilots, telling them how brave their loved ones are. So if it takes a little torture of some Godforsaken pirate who’s going around blowing up civilians, fine by me.”
Wright sprang from his seat and seemed ready to start something more.
“Enough!” Tehrani slapped her hand on the table.
Everyone froze.
“Major Whatley, Major Wright, you will cease this immediately, or I will relieve both of you and confine you to your quarters.”
Deathly still silence descended over the conference room.
“Are we clear, gentlemen?”
“Crystal, ma’am,” Wright replied quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear, ma’am,” Whatley echoed.
“Dismissed. All of you.”
Wright and Whatley were the first two out the hatch, followed closely by Grant and Nishimura. Justin was last in line.
“Captain Spencer, a word in private, please.”
Justin glanced at her then back at the hatch before closing it. He turned, and his arms went rigid at his sides. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Sit.” Young officers—how long it takes them to loosen up. Tehrani thought back to when she was a youngster, learning her way as a newly minted second lieutenant. Better days. Life was simpler then. Once Justin had dropped into a chair, she continued. “Do you feel capable of handling wing commander duties if I require it?”
“Uh, ma’am, I have the utmost confidence in Major Whatley’s abilities. We need him, ma’am.” Justin’s eyes were as wide as saucers.
“I respect your loyalty to your commanding officer, Captain Spencer. And I’m glad you have it, but that wasn’t my question.”
“Whatever is required, I will do my duty, ma’am.”
Tehrani tilted her head. “Do you think I was too hard on them?”
He paused. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”
“Granted.”
“Why are we losing sleep over a pirate who’s
responsible for dozens of deaths? I read an intel report saying these guys shot down escape pods. Even Leaguers are better than that.”
“Because the rules exist for a reason, Spencer.” Tehrani furrowed her brow. “Not just to be followed, but they give us guidelines and guardrails to live within. In the Terran Coalition, we derive most of our rules from the commonality of our various religions.”
“I know, ma’am, but how can we fight a war with one arm tied behind our backs? It’s not something I am likely to encounter as a fighter pilot. But if I were in combat and I had a captured enemy, I could see putting my pistol to his head and demanding information if it would save the lives of my fellow soldiers.”
Tehrani sucked in a breath. Justin’s earnestness was evident. She felt the need to try to impart some wisdom to the young man. “I hope I am never confronted by the specific situation you outlined, because it would test my ethics and beliefs to the limit. For your consideration, however, I would submit to you that a battlefield event like that and questioning someone after combat are two very different things.” She focused her laser-like gaze on him. “All it takes to start a pattern of bad behavior is a single compromise. Once the first line is crossed, it becomes progressively easier to justify each further action.”
“I know.” Justin bit his lip. “Honestly, ma’am, I just avoided a situation like that myself, so I know what you mean.”
“Then you understand why I reacted so strongly just now, even though I have complete confidence and respect for the CAG. He’s a hero. You all are. But even heroes need to have their premises checked now and then. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. You’re dismissed. And keep up the good work down there.”
Justin sprang up and came to attention. “Yes, ma’am.” He then turned on his heel and marched out the hatch.
Tehrani was left alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes and let her head tilt back. I have to keep a war from breaking out within the confines of my ship. If not, forget the war outside. We’ll lose before we go into battle again. She resolved to go to the mosque to answer the next call to prayer before returning to her duties. Allah help us all.
It seemed as if Alpha hadn’t had one of its trademark card games in forever, Justin reflected as he rang the buzzer next to Mateus’s hatch. But it had been less than a week since the last one. Time flies when you're having fun, apparently. They were back in combat and on the sharp tip of the spear, but it didn’t quite feel the same to him. After all, pirates weren’t Leaguers, nor were they an existential threat to the Terran Coalition. But they’re a threat nonetheless.
“If that’s anyone but Spencer, go jump out an airlock,” Mateus called.
With a chuckle, Justin pushed the hatch open and stuck his head in. “Lots of wannabe company tonight?”
“Some crew chief told the nuggets the best way to get on the good side of the senior pilots is to show up unannounced at our poker night with cheap booze.” Mateus narrowed her eyes. “When I find out which crew chief, we’re owning him. I’m talking such an epic prank the ship will talk about it for years.”
Chuckles swept through the small room.
“My credits are on Chief Garcia. He got a bunch of nuggets a few months ago with the hydraulic-blinker-fluid snipe hunt.”
Adeoye laughed. “I remember being told to retrieve a bucket of shuttle wash when I first came aboard.”
“Cable stretcher,” Justin interjected while rolling his eyes.
“Didn’t you get taken in by that one, sir?” Feldstein asked as she batted her eyelashes at him.
“Don’t rub it in,” Justin replied as he sat down with the rest of them. “I still wonder how I fell for that. Such a device clearly doesn’t exist, if you think about it for a minute.”
“Oh, Captain Spencer, the great and wonderful fighter pilot who never fails, falling for a prank?” Mateus exaggeratedly dropped her jaw. “Be still my beating Brazilian heart.”
“Shut up and deal the cards,” Justin said with a grin. “We’ll settle this like civilized people.”
“By me cleaning you out.” Mateus took a swig of beer from her mug. “Seems like an eternity since we did this.”
“Funny, I thought that as I came in.” Justin closed his eyes for a moment. “Anyone else feel slighted by fighting these pirates?”
Feldstein snorted. “Targets are targets. They blow up just as good as Leaguers.”
“Yeah, but…” Justin struggled to find the words he wanted to use. “I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s like they’re the JV team or something. For crying out loud, why would anyone start blowing up freighters to make a few credits during an all-out war?”
“Could be aliens.” Adeoye shifted in his seat. “Who knows what’s out there. Harm both sides in a conflict like this then clean up all the humans afterward.”
The concept didn’t resonate with Justin, mostly because of his understanding of geo-galactic politics. If they weren’t friends, the Saurian Empire was at least friendly with the Terran Coalition. Most of the other races around them had no interest in expansion and coexisted peacefully. The human worlds not in the Terran Coalition were fifty to a hundred years behind the Coalition in terms of technology and couldn’t project military power in any meaningful sense. “Okay, my brain hurts. Deal the cards, Mateus.”
She grinned and fanned the deck of cards out in front of her. “I thought you’d never ask, Flyboy.”
After an hour of play, Adeoye was still in the game, while Mateus had gone on a roll. She’d won almost every credit—all five of them—that Justin had brought with him. Feldstein suffered a similar fate.
“I’m going to grab some crackers,” Justin announced and stood. “Anyone want anything?”
“Another beer for me, please,” Adeoye replied.
“Coming right up.” Justin returned momentarily with the crackers and a beer. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Feldstein quirked her nose. “I’ve found fighting these pirates to be a welcome challenge.”
Justin stared at her. “How so?”
“Haven’t you noticed how a lot of the League pilots we face use the same maneuvers over and over? Little creativity.”
“Yeah.” Justin shrugged. “I assumed it’s because they’re novices and the League has few aces.”
“Perhaps. Or they could rotate their combat aces back to teach.”
She had a point. During the Saurian Wars, there were few CDF super aces because after twenty confirmed kills, a pilot was typically pulled off the front line and sent to train rookies. In the current conflict, they didn’t have the luxury of doing so yet. “Maybe.” Justin shrugged. “As long as we keep eliminating them at favorable rates of exchange, who cares?”
“I don’t,” Mateus replied with a wicked grin. “Leaguers. Pirates… whoever. Bring ’em on.” Her accent grew thicker. “The Red Tails will triumph over all enemies.”
“Amen.” Adeoye raised his glass. “Though I encourage us all to remember we should take no joy from the killing of another human or alien, for that matter.”
Justin had struggled with that, because he felt an adrenaline charge from each enemy fighter he blew apart. And a part of me is proud of it. He’d made peace with the feeling of a job well done after each combat sortie. “I’m not sure if joy is the right word, but I don’t lose sleep over sending these guys off to hell or wherever they end up.”
“You believe in hell, now?” Mateus asked.
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know.” He grinned. “I know, nonanswer. I’ve gone to the chapel a few times. It’s personal.”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of in exploring faith,” Adeoye said as he spread his hands on the card table. “I have deepened mine over the last year. It affects each of us differently.”
“I’ve sorta reached the conclusion that something had to have made the universe, and if I could figure out what the something was, maybe I should belie
ve in it. I know you three are all believers, so don’t try to convert me all at once.” Justin gave a short laugh.
Feldstein tilted her head. “Jews don’t try to convert anyone. We make it exceptionally hard to become one of us, actually. But I’m glad you’ve reconsidered. We all need something to hold on to out there, and I don’t think I could do this job without my belief in Hashem.”
“Hear! Hear!” Mateus crossed herself. “I like to believe that God is on our side, helping us to fight the League.”
Justin had heard that sentiment often. A phrase from history, uttered by a wartime president of the United States, raced to the front of his mind. “Shouldn’t we want to be on God’s side?”
The comment got him abject stares.
“I didn’t realize you were an armchair philosopher.” Feldstein raised an eyebrow. “That sounded positively intelligent.”
Justin chuckled along with the rest of them. “Not my words. I forget who said it, but the saying stuck with me.” Me, a philosopher? Hah.
“Enough talk. Time for another hand,” Mateus interjected, spreading the cards expertly in front of her. “Let’s enjoy our downtime, because RUMINT is the moment our guests spill the beans, we’ll be jumping out to fight the pirates again.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Justin raised his beer mug. As they each took a hearty chug, he pondered the words Feldstein had uttered a week prior. I pray I don’t have to see any of these people die. God, please don’t let that happen. Keep them safe and help me lead them with wisdom. With a start, he realized he’d offered up a prayer that didn’t involve imminent death. There was a first time for everything.
13
Tehrani stared through a one-way force field barrier into a small interrogation room in the Zvika Greengold’s brig. While she’d allowed Grant to proceed with his interrogation of the prisoner, nothing was left to chance. Two TCMC sentries were stationed outside, and she watched to ensure the Canaan Convention rules in respect to the treatment of detainees were applied.
