by Daniel Gibbs
“Ooh. Big money.” Justin snickered. “Watch out, Major. She won one of Feldstein’s shirts a few weeks ago after she lost everything.”
Nishimura slid his entire stack of coins forward. “Care to match me, Lieutenant?”
“I’d be glad to,” Mateus replied as she batted her eyelashes.
“Show ’em.”
Mateus slowly turned each card in her hand over. She had a seven, an eight, a nine, a ten, and a jack of hearts. “Straight flush.” Her hands went for the pile of chips.
“That’s a lovely hand,” Nishimura replied with a grin. Slowly and deliberately, he turned over his cards. “But I’ve got five of a kind.”
Mateus cursed in Portuguese before slamming her fist on the table. “Spencer did the same thing when he played me. You both cheated!” Her accent was deep enough that understanding all the words coming out of her mouth was difficult.
“Nah. I don’t need to cheat, Lieutenant. All Marines are gifted at cards.” Nishimura scooped up all the chips. “I’ll make sure the guys know you chipped in to get them steak dinners when I do my side supply purchase.”
Before anyone could respond, a knock came at the hatch.
“You invited more Marines?” Mateus asked darkly but with a touch of amusement.
“Not me,” Justin replied.
“Come in!” Mateus shouted.
The hatch swung open, and Whatley stood there with a bottle of alcohol in one hand. “I’ve meant to crash this card game for a while now.” He strode in and did a double-take at Nishimura. “What the… What’s he doing here?”
Nishimura sprang from his chair and gestured at the pile of credits. “Soliciting donations to the TCMC steak fund. Your pilots were in quite the giving mood.”
As Justin and Feldstein doubled over laughing, Whatley’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh hell no,” the CAG replied. “Sit your ass down, Marine. You and I are going to settle this man-to-man.”
“Ooh, this is gonna be good,” Mateus said to peals of laughter.
“I’ll go get some popcorn from the mess,” Adeoye interjected. “We’ll need it.”
The laughter continued, and as they got back to playing, Justin felt good. Even amid all the pain and strife around them, they could still feel and enjoy one another’s company. It made all the difference in the universe.
25
Jason Nolan’s days seemed to grow longer and longer. Maybe it’s just my getting older. He’d already flipped through the daily presidential intelligence brief on his tablet while brushing his teeth and shaving for the day. It brought another list of trouble spots, problems, and League attacks.
At 0655 sharp, Abdul Karimi, his chief of staff, stuck his head through one of the Oval Office doors. “Mr. President, are you ready?”
Nolan snapped his Bible shut. Until a year ago, he’d cracked it open maybe once or twice a year. Now, he sought solace and wisdom within its pages daily. Anything to give him strength to make difficult decisions that sent millions of men and women into harm's way. “I am.” He stood.
They walked down the hall to the briefing theater. A small army of military officers and civilian advisors clustered around a thirty-person conference table and lined dozens of chairs along each side of the room.
General Antonio Saurez leaped to his feet along with everyone else the moment Nolan crossed the threshold. “Commander in chief on deck.” He and the other CDF officers braced to attention.
“As you were, ladies and gentlemen. Please be seated.” Nolan sat at the head of the table and turned to Saurez. “Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, Mr. President. Where would you like to begin?”
Nolan smiled. “Eire.”
“Of course, sir.” Saurez nodded to a younger officer, who touched a control on the central holoprojector. The lights dimmed, and a 3D representation of low Eire orbit appeared. A string of red icons encircled the planet. “If you direct your attention to the simulation, the Leaguers have installed a planetary defense system. It's specifically designed to supply long-range missile support, and they built it off our space elevators.”
Silence invaded the room as those assembled took in the display.
“Aside from it being an obvious impediment to retaking the planet, General, what’s the point?”
“There’re enough missiles on those installations to give even our toughest, largest vessels a run for their money, sir. As I’ve observed to you on countless occasions, the enemy can’t match us on equal numbers, but they can overwhelm us with their quantitative advantage.” Suarez cleared his throat. “I believe we have a solution.” He touched a button, and several icons flashed. “Instead of trying to slug this out with battleships, we instead will send in enough carriers to overwhelm them with small craft.”
“Fighters? Bombers?”
“Exactly, Mr. President. Simultaneously, Space Special Warfare operators will infiltrate all three space elevator orbital complexes. Their primary objective will be to shut down the planetary-defense network. If that cannot be accomplished, they will transit to the surface and cause as much mayhem as possible.”
Nolan furrowed his brow. “It sounds risky, General.”
“Sir, this plan is exceptionally risky. However, it balances out the risk by not committing our battlewagons and other heavy assets.” Saurez set his jaw. “It will also demonstrate whether our fourth-generation space-superiority fighters and bombers can tangle with a hardened target and prevail.”
The results would be vital against the backdrop of an ongoing debate within the highest levels of the Terran Coalition government on what type of ships, how many of them, and what strategy doctrine to adopt. “When do you project being able to execute?”
“That answer hasn’t changed, sir. I think we’re probably six months away. Right now, we’re focused on bottling up the Leaguers and extracting as high a price as possible for them to keep supplying their prize.” Saurez adopted a nasty smirk. “It’s all well and good to capture territory, but holding it is the problem.”
A white-haired woman, Rachel Ziv, director of interstellar intelligence from CIS, leaned forward. “I am happy to report a robust resistance network has sprouted up throughout Eire.”
Nolan turned to her. “Undoubtably encouraged by CIS assets?”
“Of course, Mr. President. As of last report, close to a thousand cells are active, and attacks on League logistics are carried out nearly daily.”
While tying up enemy troops was a positive thing, Nolan wondered what the cost in civilian lives was. “How are the Leaguers responding to those attacks?”
“With collective punishment and reprisals, sir.”
“Give it to me straight, Director.” Nolan narrowed his eyes.
“They kill ten civilians for every League soldier killed.”
Gasps went up around the room.
Nolan set his jaw, wanting to throw up. “Perhaps we should consider waving the resistance folks off. Wait until we’re ready to attack.”
Ziv exchanged glances with Karimi and Saurez.
Saurez cleared his throat. “Mr. President, as deplorable as the loss of life is, this is war. Our people are fighting for their freedom. They’re raising hell behind the lines and confusing the battlespace. To call them off now would be a betrayal of everything they’ve fought for.”
“I might add that every time the League carries out another reprisal, it drives more citizens into the ranks of the resistance,” Ziv said. “And they grow ever stronger. CIS believes by the time we’re ready to launch the campaign, there will be upward of five million partisans.”
Somehow that was cold comfort to Nolan. Something else to pray for absolution on. He forced himself to move on. “I noticed a reference to pirate activity along with it being squashed by the Zvika Greengold in my daily intelligence brief.”
“Yes, sir.” Saurez shook his head. “I think General Yukimura wanted to give Colonel Tehrani and her crew some rest. Instead, they stumbled into
a hornet’s nest.”
Laughter scattered through the room.
“Do we believe the problem is resolved?”
Ziv leaned forward. “CIS is still investigating, Mr. President. Right now, we think so, but we’re not sure. Our asset on scene is concerned about how quickly these pirates deployed advanced weaponry. He’s convinced there’s more to it than simple criminal mischief.”
“I take what your asset says with a grain of salt after reading the report given on his conduct by CDF personnel on scene.” Saurez narrowed his eyes. “Especially after he advocated torture.”
“Enhanced interrogation isn’t torture, General,” Ziv replied curtly. “Especially not of irregular combatants.”
As Saurez started to respond, Nolan stepped in, unwilling to allow a fight to break out during the morning briefing. He brought his hand up. “Read my lips: no torture. Period. Not on my watch.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t test me on this, Director Ziv,” Nolan replied. “You serve at my pleasure. Don’t forget it.”
“Yes, sir.” Ziv sat back, anger flashing in her eyes.
“Neutral shipping guilds, including the Interstellar Spacers Union, are howling about the attacks, sir,” Karimi interjected. “We’re getting diplomatic complaints from all major human worlds in the border area. Lusitania, New Cornish, and Gilead, to name a few.”
If it wasn’t one thing, it was ten others. Nolan suppressed the desire to put his head in his hand. At a time when civilians are in peril from a communist empire hell-bent on dominating all of humanity, we have to deal with this? “Let me guess, General. The CDF doesn’t have any available assets for pirate interdiction.”
“You’ve got that right, sir. It’s a stretch to keep the Greengold’s battlegroup on station. Frankly, we want her back at the front. Terran Coalition Frontier Enforcement and in-system patrol vessels are going to have to pick up the slack.”
“What about the Organization of Non-Aligned Planets? They encompass most non-Coalition worlds. Perhaps they’d be willing to work with us to defeat these pirates.”
“Well, sir…” Karimi smiled. “It's funny you should mention that. A few large corporations with an interstellar presence have reached out—"
“Absolutely not. The Terran Coalition does not work with megacorps.” Nolan’s face grew warm. A bedrock of Coalition policy was that they did not allow the so-called megacorps to do business with any portion of the government, military, or civil authorities. If it were up to Nolan, they’d be driven out of business. “Not now. Not ever.”
“But, sir, since the Greengold saved a group of their mining vessels—”
“We have principles, do we not?” Nolan asked as he scanned the room. “I’ve been reading my Bible quite a bit these days, ladies and gentlemen. It’s got a lot in it about doing what’s right, even when that’s not convenient. Megacorps exploit most of their employees, turning them into little more than slaves. Look at what happened to Hestia. The native population starves most of the time as punishment from their overlords. It's barbaric.”
“Mr. President, we need all the help we can get,” Karimi replied softly. “We both know that. I’m of the opinion that if Satan were willing to fight the League, I could probably come up with something nice to say about him.”
Nolan shook his head. “No. We do it the right way, or we don’t do it at all. What’s the point otherwise? It’s not enough to survive, folks. We have to keep our ideals and beliefs intact without becoming the very thing we profess to hate. For over a century, it has been the policy of all major political parties that megacorporations go against the core values of our republic. I won’t tear that up for the sake of expediency.”
Saurez set his jaw. “For what it's worth, Mr. President, I greatly admire you for saying that. I’ve seen what the Hestian Business Council and its ilk do regularly to the poor humans subjected to them. To say nothing of aliens.” The general’s face clouded over. “That said, we do need some help on the border.”
“Then we approach the neutral worlds. No megas. End of story.” Nolan crossed his arms. “Anything else for today?”
“The human-controlled planets beyond our frontier continue to distrust us, Mr. President,” Karimi said. “Finding common ground with them or organizing them to fight anything will be difficult.”
Nolan stood. “If it were easy, anyone could do the job, Abdul. For the last time. No deals with megacorps. If one of our ships comes across civilians under attack, they’ll always be empowered to help, but beyond that, we don’t do business with them. Clear?”
Karimi nodded and sucked in a breath sharply. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Thank you for the updates, folks.” Nolan turned on his heel and marched out back toward the Oval Office. We’re only a year into this, and already some want to abandon our principles in the name of political expediency? As the thought roared through his mind, it was met with a rebuttal. Principles are well and good, but what do they matter if the Terran Coalition ceases to exist? The exchange continued to bother Nolan as he went through the day, but he sensed it was only one of many dilemmas he would be forced to face. He hoped in the end, God would give him wisdom to make the right decisions.
26
Freiderwelt Orbit
CSV Zvika Greengold
6 September 2434
With repairs completed, the Greengold was about ready to get underway. Earlier that day, the pirates overloading their brig had been transferred off the ship to a prisoner transport. Tehrani took great pains to ensure they were put into civilian custody with the Coalition Bureau of Investigation, as she didn’t want Grant or CIS ending up with them. While she wished to see every last one of the pirates end up in Lambert’s Lament, she was determined there would be no torture on her watch.
Sitting down on the small couch in her stateroom, Tehrani stretched her neck from one side to the other. We must do things the right way. In all actions we take, before Allah. General Yukimura had sent his congratulations on another successful patrol and a job well done. The Greengold was well on her way to another battle star. That’ll make nine. Yet in the quiet of her cabin, Tehrani’s soul was troubled.
Losses among the embarked air wing continued to exceed twenty percent after every patrol. They had a seemingly a never-ending supply of new pilots, enlisted personnel, and officers to replace the carrier’s losses. And they were all so young. With the war having gone on a year, the draft was finally having an effect. The downside was the legions of new soldiers had little experience. In three months, they’ll be veterans or dead. The cavalier nature of the thought immediately registered. What is happening to me? War, Banu. This is what war does to all of us.
She touched her tablet and noticed it was nearly her allotted timeslot to vidlink her husband, Ibrahim.
A few virtual button presses later, his smiling face filled the device. “Banu! You’re early.”
“By a few minutes,” Tehrani replied, mustering as big a smile as she could. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Oh, you know me. Grading papers and trying to mold young minds.” He chuckled. “Even though I’m convinced the latest generation isn’t interested in being molded. Bah! All this talk of how socialism can be used as a force for good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even if we could somehow overcome the inherent problem with people who obtain power always wanting more until they’re completely corrupted…”
Tehrani sat mute, her lips pursed.
“You are clearly not in the mood to hear me bloviate tonight, my dear.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. We only get a few minutes a week, so I try to keep from letting…”
“You don’t have to protect me, dear. I may not be that dashing military officer you might’ve been hoping for twenty years ago, but I think you know I’ve got a strong constitution.”
Tehrani chuckled. “I told you back then I didn’t want a dashing military officer.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “And I thank Allah for brin
ging you into my life.”
“I can’t begin to understand what it’s like out there, except that I know there must be a deep sense of foreboding. Perhaps similar to the one I have when I hear about your ship in the news.”
Of course he’s worried too. Being at war hadn’t been in her plan or anyone else's, for that matter. At times, Tehrani struggled with the load. “I wonder if I’m not becoming indifferent to what’s happening around me. As I continue to live out the reality of this conflict, I feel as if I’m being hollowed out by it inside.”
Ibrahim's eyes grew wide. “Wife, our minds help shield us by lessening the pain.” He sighed. “Have you talked to anyone?”
Tehrani harumphed. “You mean did I see a shrink? No, and I’m not going to.” The suggestion immediately brought hostile thoughts to the forefront of her mind. She forced them down. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe the imam?”
“I should.” Tehrani tilted her head. “Pray for me.”
“Every day.” He smiled. “Several times a day.”
She snorted in return. “And to think a year ago, we only visited the mosque on major holidays.”
“And not even all of those,” Ibrahim added.
“Am I a hypocrite? I’ve said more prayers and been to services more times in the last year than I have in the last twenty years.”
Ibrahim’s eyes twinkled. “I think not. Perhaps the real test is what happens after the war. If we quit going and abandon Allah, then I’d say we are. I also do not believe we will do that.”
His words made sense, as they usually did. “No. My faith has become a source of strength. If nothing else, the promise of a better life after all this is said and done.”
“All this introspection, dear… What’s bothering you?”
She leaned back and frowned. “I used to think everything was a shade of gray and most things were so tangled up that we couldn’t get to the bottom of their morality. Then this war started.” Tehrani tilted her head again, and her neck gave an audible crack. “Now, after twelve months of combat, I believe everything is black and white. I fear for any slide into doing wrong, because I see what happens to those who do.”
