by Daniel Gibbs
“Carry on, Andrew, and keep those technological marvels coming.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Spencer walked out of the room, followed by his two protectors, leaving MacIntosh to exit the residence. During his trip out, he couldn’t help but think about the conversation. I know where Justin’s heart is, but we can’t be the galaxy’s policeman right now. Even once we beat the League, we need to step back, take care of our own, rebuild our civil infrastructure, and for the first time in a generation, not be at war. At least, that’s how I see it. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what I believe because the politicians make policy, not the military. I hope whoever our next president is, has the same kind of abilities and coolness under fire that Justin does. Otherwise, we could find ourselves in many small wars… and that’s not something I look forward to.
41
The day after returning to Canaan, David rose at his usual time of 0430 CMT. Maybe there’s a bit more spring in my step today, he reflected after exiting the officer’s gym after his workout. There’s got to be. I can’t be getting old before I even turn forty. He made his way back to his quarters, showered, and dressed in the uniform of the day. Deciding to eat before his morning prayers, David arrived at his favorite officers’ mess at 0530. For reasons he couldn’t readily explain, the one closest to the bridge had become the one he preferred, even though there were three others on the massive ship available for officers at all hours, in addition to six messes for enlisted personnel. Walking in the door, he strolled into the ordering area.
“Chief,” David said, addressing the lead cook. “Give me three eggs over medium with a side of hash browns and toast. Oh, and get me a piece of salmon too, if you have one that’s kosher still in stock?”
“Yes, sir, Colonel! You’re in luck; we resupplied last night. I’ve even got some eggs that are marked kosher, though… well, sir, we do cook meat on this grill too.”
David grinned in return. “I know, Chief. Hard to get an actual kosher meal except when it’s brought up pre-cooked. We’re out of the vacuum-sealed religious meals anyway.”
“I heard the chiefs’ mess still has some of those, sir.”
“I guess I’d better see if I can get the Master Chief to invite me sometime,” David replied. “You guys always get the best food.”
“Been that way for hundreds of years too, sir,” the head chef, who wore the stripes of a chief petty officer, replied.
“I’ll have to settle for things marked ‘kosher’ this time around, Chief. Serve it up!”
“Oh great, here we go with that again. Kosher this, kosher that. Next, you’re going to tell me I can’t have my bacon cheeseburgers,” boomed Calvin’s voice from behind both of them. David turned around and made a big show of rolling his eyes.
“Colonel Demood… I’m tempted to make you run laps in here,” David replied good-naturedly.
“I’m game. Like to see you CDF boys keep up with my laps any day of the week. Chief, let me have my usual. Two eggs, bacon and sausage, peanut butter on the toast.”
“You got it, Colonel,” the chef replied.
“Chief, please use a separate pan for the bacon,” David said with a grin.
“Already planned on it, sir.”
Turning to Calvin, David continued, “Care to join for me for breakfast?”
“Sure. You get a good night’s sleep?”
“Yeah, about as good as any lately,” David replied as he walked over to the coffee dispenser and poured himself a mug. “Mmmmm. CDF coffee. Nothing else like it. I’ll take this stuff over the lattes or whatever is in vogue with the more refined set these days.”
“Hah, it’s battery acid, but it does get us moving.”
“Amen,” David said, taking a seat at a table near the transparent metal “windows” that allowed a view of Canaan and her orbiting defenses, space stations, and dozens of ships. “That is a sight that just never gets old to me,” he said while glancing out into space. “The fact that we’re out here and able to see the handiwork of the Creator. It’s a gift.”
Calvin took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “I’m kind of amazed we survived long enough as a species to get out in the stars.”
“You and me both.”
Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Ruth and Hanson come in about roughly the same time, place their orders, and get coffee. He waved at them, and both walked over.
“Mind if we join you, sir?” Ruth asked.
“Feel free.”
Ruth slid into the open seat next to David while Hanson occupied the one across from her. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, sir… but it feels like months,” Hanson commented. “Are you glad to be back?”
“You have no idea, Major. I’m very thankful to be back home, where I thankfully still belong.”
“Thank you for sticking up for us yesterday, sir,” Ruth said. “I think I can speak for the entire senior staff by saying that meant a lot.”
“Just something a good leader taught me, that I try imperfectly to emulate.”
“You emulate it well, then,” Ruth replied.
“Oh, look here. Colonel Cohen has a fan club. Where can I sign up? Does it come with autographs?” Calvin interjected sarcastically, causing laughter from everyone at the table.
“We’ve got another set of software upgrades for the reactor controls, courtesy of Dr. Hayworth,” Hanson said excitedly.
“How much of an improvement in power output?” David asked.
“Don’t feed the nerd, Colonel,” Calvin joked. “He’s bad enough without being encouraged.”
Hanson looked uncomfortable but pressed on. “Well, sir, at least five percent. Maybe eight if we keep pushing. It’d help keep our shields up longer or provide a bit more into the energy weapons capacitor.”
“That sounds good to me. More protection or more lethality... I’ll take both,” David replied.
Engrossed in the conversation, David didn’t see Amir walk up to the table. “Is there room for another?” he asked, holding a cup of hot tea.
“Of course, take a seat,” David said, gesturing to the open seat next to Calvin.
Amir set his tea down first, then pulled the chair out and sat down. “Thank you, sir.”
David leaned back in his seat, looking at his friends. “One more successful mission in the books, lady, and gents.”
“And a stark reminder of how far we’ve yet to go,” Amir replied. “I never thought I’d see human beings—outside of the League—do the kinds of things we saw on Monrovia.”
“Most of us are bad,” Calvin observed. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that when push comes to shove, most will try to save their skins by any means necessary.”
Ruth shook her head. “I can’t agree with that. I believe, at our core, most people want to do good. Sometimes we need a push.”
“A still, small voice?” David asked with a smile.
“Something like that.”
“This coming from the one person at this table I would expect to think like me,” Calvin replied.
“Just because I like blasting Leaguers out of space doesn’t mean I think most humans are evil,” Ruth retorted.
“Speaking of blasting the League… when are we getting back in action, Colonel?” Calvin said.
“I expect us to get orders soon back to the front. Reloading munitions, stores, and supplies right now. Then we get back to it.”
Several mess stewards made a beeline for the table, carrying the food they’d ordered. “Thank you,” David said as his plate was placed in front of him. The rest of them politely thanked the men for bringing their food as well.
“Shall we pray?” David asked.
They all nodded and held out hands. David took Ruth’s and Calvin’s hands before bowing his head. “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth. Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, through Whose word everything comes into being. Amen.”
“Amen a
nd pass the salt,” Calvin said.
“Amin,” Amir replied, putting stress on the I; it was the traditional Islamic version of amen used by Christians and Jews.
David took his fork and dug into the hash browns, taking a large bite. “Mmmmm,” he said between chews. After swallowing, he continued, “When you’re reduced to combat rations for a few days, real food just tastes incredible.”
“Especially combat rations prepared by nuns. They’re even more bland and tasteless than normal. I can’t explain it,” Calvin said with a laugh.
Ruth snickered as she took a bite of her eggs. “Getting soft, Colonel?”
“Marines don’t get soft. Ever. We’re called leathernecks for a reason.”
“Really, because I heard that a certain communications officer put you on the ground in a sparring match,” Ruth said while batting her eyelashes and making a comically innocent face.
“I put him on the ground with pugil sticks!” Calvin shot back.
“Oooo, bad look, Colonel. Don’t make a big deal out of it; that only confirms the joke got under your skin,” David replied.
“That’s not how I heard it,” Ruth continued. “Then again, maybe the well-dressed guards for the ship are getting soft across the board.”
“Just ask the League if we’re getting soft,” Calvin groused.
“Now, now,” David interjected. “We’re all friends here.”
“Marines, soldiers, and pilots have been jaw-jacking on each other since the beginning of the military,” Amir said, entering the fray. “I think most of you owe your continued success to pilots. We screen the capital ships and make sure the Marines get to where they're going while providing fire support.”
“One team, one mission, one fight?” Hanson said hopefully.
“Exactly, Major,” David said pointedly.
“Agreed,” Calvin said, downing a swig of coffee. “It’s time for us to keep striking back. Where’s our resident Saurian anyway? I needed to congratulate him on how our new allies are kicking butt and taking names.”
“Colonel Aibek is standing watch currently,” Hanson said. “I just finished giving him my engineering readiness report before hitting the breakfast tour.”
“The tour?” David asked.
“Yeah, you get breakfast in this mess, and the one close to engineering has delicious pastries,” Hanson explained. “I grabbed one on my way back to the reactor chamber.”
Calvin stared at Hanson, his jaw dropping open. “That’s why we’ve got Marines onboard. Without them, the ship would be defended by soldiers who have breakfast and then an extra pastry. Keep exercising!”
“You guys keep this up, I’m going to hold a ship-wide PT contest between the different departments, pilots, and Marines. Whoever loses will get to swab the deck,” David replied in a tone of voice that indicated he was joking.
“Swab the deck, sir?” Amir asked with a look of bewilderment on his face.
“Back in the ancient days, when ships were made from wood, and men from iron… sailors had to swab down the deck every morning to clean it and keep the salt and seaweed down,” David explained. “It wasn’t fun duty and could be used as a punishment.” An evil little grin popped onto his face. “Whoever loses could get out on the hull and clean it. Take us, what, two days?”
“On second thought, I love the Marines,” Ruth quipped.
“Pilots are just awesome,” Calvin piped up.
“Excellent,” David said, still wearing the grin. He set his coffee mug down and made eye contact with Hanson. “I want you all to know that it’s an honor to be able to serve with you. I couldn’t ask for anything more out of this team,” he said while making eye contact with each person at the table as he spoke.
“Thank you, sir. Glad to be onboard,” Calvin replied.
“Same here, sir,” Ruth said.
“I am thankful that the will of Allah brought us all together,” Amir observed.
“Slight topic change. I’ve decided on a motto for the ship,” David said. “Semper Anticus.”
“Always forward?” Hanson said with a bit of hesitation in his voice.
“Almost. The direct translation is ‘always at the front,’” David answered. “I found it to be fitting, especially in this season of actual advance. Ball caps will also be ordered and should be here in a few weeks.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “No matter what cover we have to wear on the bridge, they all look awful.”
“The point is, you all look the same,” Calvin said. “Misery loves company.”
“Will we be painting the motto of the ship down the main gangway on deck five?” Hanson asked, steering the subject elsewhere.
“That’s the plan,” David said. “It’ll look sharp when we’re done with it.” Looking down at his finished plate, David knew it was time to get to prayers. “Okay, folks, time for me to roll out. See you all on the bridge at 0730?” He stood as they all acknowledged his statement and flashed a final smile. “Carry on!”
David turned and walked smartly out of the mess, glancing down at the commlink on his wrist to see he had just enough time to get to the shul. As he stepped into the gravlift to get down three decks, Angie ducked in before the doors could close. “Have a moment, Colonel?”
“Of course,” David replied as he held the door. “I’ve meant to thank you for the reporting on Monrovia.”
“It’s caused quite a stir, hasn’t it?”
“To put it mildly. I have you to thank for the stationing of CDF forces there and bringing some amount of normalcy and hope for the future to those people.”
Angie grinned. “Don’t get used to it, Colonel.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you’ll continue to hold our feet to the fire, as you’ve put it before.”
“That’s my job. Hold the powerful to account.”
David laughed. “You think I’m powerful?”
“You command the most destructive warship in the CDF arsenal. Pretty powerful if you ask me.”
“I carry out my orders just like every other officer and enlisted soldier.”
“Except when you don’t,” Angie said sharply.
“I don’t think I’ll get that opportunity too many more times,” David observed. “This one almost cost me my command.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Not in the slightest. I’d regret it if I didn't stand up.” Like I do for all the things I haven’t stood up for and for all the sins I’ve committed.
“Well, thank you for taking me along. I’m glad I was able to bring that story to the galaxy at large. It needed to be told.”
The gravlift doors opened as it came to a stop. “No problem, Ms. Dinman,” David said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for the shul.”
“Of course, Colonel. It’s Angie, by the way.”
“We’re back to first names?”
“Yes,” Angie replied coolly.
“In that case, good day then… Angie,” David said, flashing a smile and walking out of the lift.
“Good day, David!” Angie called after him.
“This brandy is incredible,” Colonel Strappi, political commissar and morale for the LSS Annihilator said in a smug tone. “Thank you for allowing me to share in it, Admiral,” he said to Admiral Pierre Seville, her commanding officer and overall commander for the League forces operating in Canaan. They were seated in the drawing room of Seville’s expansive quarters onboard the ship. The quarters were like a small house with every possible luxury.
“Isn’t it?” Seville said. “I do appreciate the finer things at times. I suppose some nice liquor stocks are to be expected with us in orbit of Earth, our crown jewel.”
“Thank you for inviting me to enjoy it with you, Admiral.”
Always the sniveling little man. “Have you seen the latest intelligence report on Monrovia?”
“Yes, Admiral. Such a waste. We almost had a friendly planet to stage covert and overt actions against the Terran Coalition from a mere stone’s throw fr
om their border.”
“It’s proof that the state cannot let any citizen in it have any duty, responsibility, or belief in a power higher than the state. The state is… everything,” Seville declared.
“I could not agree more, Admiral.”
“Unfortunately, the Monrovians were unable to fully grasp that and implement it before the Terran Coalition found out.”
“They will all feel the embrace of the League, Admiral. We must have faith and keep pushing forward.”
“Are you reading the same battle reports I am, Colonel Strappi?”
“We have had…setbacks.”
Seville laughed. “I see you’re back into your groove as our morale officer. A setback would be losing two battlegroups in a year. A setback would be one fleet carrier heavily damaged. In the last four weeks, we’ve lost two fleet carriers, four battlegroups, and enough ships to create an entirely new fleet. That’s not a setback; it’s an outright disaster!”
Strappi looked to Seville. He was like a man cornered; not willing to voice an opinion either way, he merely sat mute. “I know, we can’t say such things. It doesn’t matter, Colonel; it’s still true.”
“And? Do you have a plan to stop it?”
“Bleed the Terrans and the Saurians dry, trade space for time, and counterpunch once we’ve hurt them enough to make it count.”
“Will we get enough ships?” Strappi asked.
“Eventually. Chairman Palis keeps promising more. I’ve got another surprise coming. The key will be deploying all of it at the right time.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
“Oh, keep up the morale, Colonel,” Seville retorted, taking another sip of his brandy. “We look bad to people who don’t understand what the state embodies on the galactic stage right now. In the end, it simply doesn’t matter. Let the neutral planets flock to the Terran Coalition. We’ll grind them all under our feet. And someday… you and I will show them what it looks like to successfully reeducate a population. The Monrovians used half measures and tried to build in—how did they put it—safeguards? The League knows that to make an omelet, you have to break some eggs. All for the glory of the state!”