by Daniel Gibbs
“Exactly, sir. But still, it’s an incredible feat of engineering. You know engineers… always trying to build a better mouse trap.”
“The good news is they built one. Now we need a commanding officer for her that can make use of this hodgepodge of a ship design and take the fight to the League. Have you decided if you’re going to accept?”
“I signed, sir, but I’m concerned I will be in over my head.”
“Wrong answer, son. I’ve known from the moment I met you that you would go on to do some great things. This is your time; this is your calling. Take command of this ship, make it into the weapon it can be, and use it to help defeat the League. Anything else is not acceptable.”
David sat back in his chair; General Pipes’ words were said with kindness, but they were direct. “I’m not sure if I’m ready, sir. That ship is…it’s all the marbles.”
“If we wait until we’re ready for something… we’ll never do it. You may not be completely ready for this kind of command. But you’ll figure it out. I’ve seen you do it time and again.”
David nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Give my regards to your mother. Godspeed, David.”
“Godspeed.”
The link cut out, leaving David alone in his thoughts for the final few minutes of his flight.
David’s helicar set down in the driveway of a small suburban home just outside the capital at his mother’s residence. It was the same small house he had grown up in. He’d offered to help his mother move many times, but she clung to their residence and to the memories of Levi contained within it. The driver’s side door opened automatically, and he got out. Visits to his mother’s home were usually bittersweet, her concern about his wellbeing always foremost on her mind, followed by the inquiries about him settling down and having a family. David knew his mother wanted grandchildren, but he had no interest in marrying and starting a family while the war was on. It wasn’t to say he’d never been in love, but a lifetime of wondering if the person he loved was going to come back from a patrol alive or wondering if he would return to find that they had left him caused him to table the matter until he found himself at peace with the universe and no longer having to go off to fight a war.
He walked up to the front door, and the automated security cameras notified his mother of his arrival. Flinging the door open and overjoyed to see him again, she said, “David! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” They embraced and she stepped back, wearing a smile. “Video chats are great, but nothing is quite the same as seeing you in person.”
David winced at his mother’s choice of words. “You know how it is, Mom…we’re on patrol for two straight years. I’m only home because of…” He trailed off for a moment, not wanting to tell his mother how close he came to death. “…of that battle.”
“Come sit down,” she said he followed her into the living room. It hadn’t changed much from the last time he had visited. A picture of the three of them was displayed on the mantel, along with a few pictures from his childhood. His mother had not changed the décor in her home in more than thirty years. While he was not quite sure why she didn’t update the house, she seemed quite happy and that was what mattered. David went to great lengths to make sure that his mother did not need for anything, sending her a good bit of his salary since he only maintained a temporary apartment planet-side when he came home from deployment.
“They talked about you on the news.”
“Ah, I wasn’t aware I’d made it to the news,” he said, trying to get her smile to return.
“David, they said you won the battle by ramming another ship.” She looked straight at him with a clear look of concern.
“It was the only way left to defeat the enemy, Mom.”
Sarah nodded. “I worry about you so much.”
David fought back emotions. “I know, Mom...but I survived. Too many of those who served under me didn’t…but I did.”
She stared at him for a moment. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself when people die under your command,” she said, a rehash of conversations they’d had many times after each battle David returned from, minus some of his crew.
“Are you sure you’re not a CDF counselor, Mom? Because they tell me the same stuff every time,” he said with a small laugh, trying to brush it off.
“You know everyone in the neighborhood is talking about it. Frances Weiss said you reminded her of your father.”
That struck a nerve with David. He sat back a little more heavily in his chair. He glanced up at the picture the three of them had taken on that fateful night twenty-seven years ago. “But I came back, Mom; he didn’t.”
She looked down for a moment and changed the subject. “How did your hearing go?”
David perked up at mention of the hearing. “I was cleared. General MacIntosh is offering me a new posting with his command.”
His mother’s expression lightened a bit.
The Victory Project, or “VP” as it was called, had been leaked to the news media several years before. Occasionally, something else would leak about it, detailing how the CDF was working on some new weapon or technology. The point had been to keep morale up, but some were not sure if it had succeeded. Every few years, the League started a new “Spring Offensive,” and would try to drive further into Terran Coalition space. Most of the time, the CDF would beat them back, but they would take losses in every battle. The entire war had turned into a vast battle of attrition.
“The Victory Project? Oh, that sounds wonderful. If you’re getting a posting there, will you be getting more time away from the front?” his mother asked, hope lacing her voice. He knew that she wanted him off the firing line.
“I don’t think so,” David said. Immediately, he saw her eyes drop and a frown form before she quickly covered it up. It made him feel guilty for continuing in his career. “You know how things are. I won’t even know what I’m doing for them for a few weeks.” Not exactly the truth, but better than her worrying herself to death.
“Oh, of course,” Sarah said, still clearly worried. “Well, can you stay for dinner?”
David smiled. “I’d love to,” he said, looking forward to his mother’s cooking.
The next morning, David waited outside of MacIntosh’s office fifteen minutes before he was due for his appointment. As the minutes ticked down, he rehashed the thoughts that had been running through his head for nearly the last eighteen hours. On one hand, he had confidence in his abilities; they were tried and tested. On the other hand, he was continually haunted by the losses of his crewmates. In the days after ramming the frigate, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing their faces flash in front of him. They invaded his dreams, turning them into nightmares each night as he tried to rest. In a mandatory follow-up with a CDF psychologist, he had refrained from saying anything about the images, but he knew he suffered from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder, though he was far too stubborn to ever admit it.
Major Roberts walked out of MacIntosh’s office, interrupting David’s thoughts.
“Major, the general will see you now,” she announced formally. As David nodded to her and began to walk by, she added, “Good luck. He’s been looking for the right person for this job for many months. I hope for all our sakes that you are up to the task.”
David stopped and looked at her for a moment. “Thank you, Major. I do too,” he said, still not quite sure that he was the right man for the task. He went through the open doors and into the office that lay beyond.
“Major, come in!” the large Scotsman said. “Or, should I say, Colonel?” His face broke into smile. “We’ll have a formal promotion ceremony later, as well as a christening of the Lion of Judah once we’re sure she’s ready for primetime.”
David’s mouth curled into a grin as MacIntosh handed him a small case with rank insignia. David snapped it open and saw two gold birds—the rank insignia for a colonel. How about that, full bird. I’ve got to be the first Cohen in a few generations to g
et a set of those.
MacIntosh strode from behind his desk. “Allow me.” With a minimum of fuss, he removed David’s existing insignia and attached the new ones to his uniform. “Congratulations, Colonel. I’m certain you will justify my faith in your ability to command this ship.” With that, he walked back to his chair and sat down.
David took his place in one of the seats before the desk.
“I expect to have clearance for your department heading officers in the next day or two. For now, I want you to meet me onboard this afternoon at 1400 hours. I’m going to introduce you to Dr. Hayworth and break down the schedule for a space trial. I’m hoping to have her under way for the trial within the next two weeks.”
David nodded toward MacIntosh. “Aye aye, sir. The Dr. Hayworth?”
MacIntosh nodded with a smirk. “Yes, the Dr. Hayworth.”
David raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about the guy that gets on the holonets and debates people, calling them silly if they express a belief in God? About the only thing I’ve got in common with him is my disgust for the League.”
“Yes, I realize putting the good doctor under the command of an Orthodox Jew might be interesting, but he’s the best we’ve got. His ego and condescension notwithstanding, I expect you to work with him. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”
David set his jaw. “Crystal, sir.”
MacIntosh looked down at his schedule. “Very good, Colonel. I’m moving on to my next meeting. You are dismissed.”
David quickly stood, bracing to attention for a moment before turning to leave the room.
12
Sheila stood over a small, squat gravestone in a military cemetery on Canaan, the grave of her ex-husband, Curtis. Thinking over the days that she spent with him, she reflected on how her life had changed over the years. Hearing a rustling behind her, she turned to look behind her and saw David approaching with a smile.
“I pinged your comm. It said you were here,” David said.
“I feel like I owe it to him visit at least once a year.”
“I understand.” Is that regret in your voice, David? All you would’ve had to do is ask me to go on a date.
“Even though it didn’t work out between us, I still loved him. God, it hurt when his sister told me he’d died in action.”
David nodded, looking down. “So many we’ve laid into the ground.”
“Too many.”
“MacIntosh offered me a new command.”
“Oh? Do we get another destroyer?” she asked, a smile breaking onto her face.
David smiled and shook his head. “No.” He paused for a moment. “A battleship. Something new. Big.”
Sheila’s jaw dropped as she shook her head. “So you ram a League ship and you get command of a battleship? Maybe if you ram that into something, then they’ll give you a carrier!” At the sight of the dark look that crossed David’s face, she apologized. “Too soon?”
“Far too soon.”
Sheila put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. You know how I deal with pain.”
David squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to consider if I’m the right man for the job.”
Sheila’s eyes bored into David’s. “Why wouldn’t you be?” You’re the finest commander I’ve ever seen.
“I’ve never held more than the XO position on a capital ship—”
“Oh no, Major Cohen. Don’t you start that with me. You know how to lead. You can lead anyone, anything, and cause the group to be far more capable than the sum of its parts. Whatever this new ship is, it might be a challenge, but it is nothing you can’t handle.”
David smiled. “I’m going to have to find a way to keep you around. Talking to you is far better than talking to a counselor.”
Sheila laughed. “Well, if you need an XO…”
David pursued his lips together in a frown. “General MacIntosh refused to allow me to have you as the XO, but he did allow me to bring you on, if you want to, that is, as a senior watch officer and the ship’s navigator.”
Sheila nodded thoughtfully and paused for a moment before answering. “Well, if that’s all he’ll allow, that’s what I’ll do. I do love flying ships, you know.” She knew in her heart that she would do almost any job requested of her to serve on the same ship as David.
His smile brightened. “Well, great. I’ll let the general know.”
“Got any plans for tonight?” she asked.
“None. I had dinner with my mother last night, and most of my friends are off-world on patrol.”
“Care to join me, then? There’s a new restaurant I want to try that’s serving Turkish kabobs. I’ve been wanting to try it since our last patrol.”
David smiled. “Of course. What time?”
“Seven PM works for me.”
“I’ll see you then,” David said and he walked away.
Watching him go, Sheila shook her head and wondered what she was going to have to do to get him to realize her feelings toward him. Men, she snorted to herself. I’ll just have to draw him a picture one of these days. A grin settled on her face as she walked back to her helicar.
Hanson sat in a small bar —a dive really— outside of the base gates called “The Ready Room,” which was clearly some attempt to be cute and attract pilots. Hanson didn’t care; he just wanted a place to have a drink and try to forget about the events of the last week. Sitting at a table in the back of the bar, he slowly nursed a small glass of A.E. Dor, his favorite brandy. The barkeeper walked up and Hanson held out his money chit and, without saying a word, the barkeeper slipped it under the bar and into a scanner to initiate payment.
“The same?” the barkeeper asked.
Hanson nodded.
As the barkeeper prepared his next drink, he kept asking questions. “So why so glum? They turn you down for a promotion?”
Hanson looked up. “Lost my ship.”
“Ah, well... at least you survived, right?” the barkeeper said.
Hanson had nothing to say, simply responding to the barkeeper with a blank stare and sad eyes, which prompted him to walk off after setting the new drink in front of Hanson.
Hanson looked down as a tone came from his personal communicator, seeing David’s name when he brought up the screen. Shaking his head, knowing he was slightly buzzed and hoping he didn’t regret it, Hanson sat down his drink and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hanson here, sir.”
“We got another ship.”
Hanson blinked for a moment. “Really? Cool.” Hope and excitement filled his voice.
“How about another posting as my chief engineer?” David asked.
Hanson’s eyes widened. He had thought they’d all be busted back to Second Lieutenant over the Rabin. “That’d be awesome, sir.”
“Great, I’ll get you cleared for the program. We’ll talk soon.”
“Yes, sir, let me know.”
Hanson hung up the communicator and returned to his drink, but now, a small smile crept across his lips.
13
Onboard the CSV Pat Tillman, Major Hassan Amir glanced at yet another systems report in the cockpit of his space superiority fighter. His HUD showed there was another nineteen minutes to noon prayers. Amusing that I’m so bored I’m counting down the minutes to pray. He was the Carrier Air Wing Commander, also known as the Carrier Air Group (CAG) hundreds of years ago in the wet navies of the United States and Great Britain. The title was an example of something that, despite many years, hadn’t changed in the military along with such things as doing paperwork in triplicate or hazing of the newbies. Amir’s squadron, the 85th Space Fighter Squadron of CDF Space Combat Command, was known as the “The Grim Reapers,” or the Reapers for short.
Currently, the entire air wing of the Tillman was at Ready Five status; they were strapped into their fighters and ready to launch as soon as the Tillman entered the engagement area. Amir had been strapped in for the better part of two hours, and the sheer boredom killed him. “Reaper One to Tiger One,
” he said into his comm unit.
The clipped British accent of his deputy air wing commander, Captain Rebecca Tulleny, answered him. “Tiger One here.”
Amir keyed his mic again. “I’m bored to tears, and in need of a bio break,” he said with a snort of derision.
“We’re in fully enclosed suits for a reason, Major. Just let it out,” Tulleny said back with a played up cheery air.
In the middle of their exchange, the commanding officer of the Tillman, Colonel Patrick Forrester, cut in. “Attention Air Wing, we have arrived within the battle zone and have confirmed over one hundred bandits. I say again, over one hundred bandits. All fighters launch! Launch! Launch!”
Amir keyed his mic and turned the channel to the “Air Boss,” the officer responsible for overall flight operations once the commanding officer gave the order to launch. “Boss, request permission to launch!”
After a brief pause, he heard her response broadcast to all channels. “This is the boss. Fighters, launch by squadron. Reapers first.”
As he was the first in line to launch, Amir turned up his throttle and punched maximum thrust. He felt the G-forces through his harness, even though his entire flight suit and cockpit was designed to minimize all G-force discomfort. The thrusters on CDF fighters could push 15-Gs or fifteen times the force of one earth gravity, which without the specialized flight suit and harness, would kill a normal human almost instantly. The fighter raced out of the side of the carrier, followed by dozens of others—six squadrons in all, consisting of space superiority fighters, a squadron of bombers, as well as interceptors designed specifically to engage enemy fighters and bombers.
Amir waited for his squadron to get into space and ticked down the seconds as the flight of CDF fighters they piloted, known as the SF-106 Phantoms, ran through all safety checks for vacuum operation. As soon as his onboard computer system showed green for his squadron, he keyed his mic. “This is the CAG, Reapers, form up in echelon formation. We’re going to perform close escort for our heavies. Fighter squadrons, engage the bandits.”
