by Daniel Gibbs
“Very good.” Tehrani stood. “Let’s get to it. XO, have Captain MacIntosh assigned some quarters in officer country.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Dismissed, gentlemen.”
Once Justin cleared the hatch, Whatley slid next to him. “I don’t recall giving you permission to address the colonel.”
“We need to see our families, sir,” Justin replied. “It would do us all good.”
“Yeah.” The door to the gravlift slid shut behind them. “Looking forward to flying a Ghost?” Whatley asked.
“You bet. Followed closely by blowing a League freighter to bits.” Justin forced enthusiasm into his voice. Fake it till you make it. For the rest of the ride, he tried to shake the melancholy feeling he’d acquired during the briefing.
2
White House—Government Complex
Lawrence City—Canaan
7 February 2434
The daily presidential war intelligence briefing was what President Jason Nolan seemingly built his life around. For thirty minutes, he received a condensed version of the “status of the war.” It had a dual effect: creating both dread and hope that the news would be good. For while the president set overall strategic objectives—protect a planet, liberate a colony, defend a set of border worlds, et cetera—the nuts and bolts of fighting the war against the League of Sol were left up to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and various combatant commands that made up the Coalition Defense Force.
Bright and early at 0730, Nolan strode into the White House’s situation room, the seat of executive power in the Terran Coalition. General Antonio Saurez, as always, was already in attendance along with Nolan’s chief of staff, Abdul Karimi, and a host of other civilians and military officers. They all stood as he entered.
“As you were, folks.”
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Saurez said.
“Same to you, Antonio.” Nolan gestured to the chairs. “Please, be seated.” Taking his own advice, he sat at the head of the table. “Now, how are we doing?”
“There was a major engagement during the night, sir,” Saurez began. His eyes had bags under them along with dark circles. It appeared as if he’d slept little. “It was touch and go for a bit, but the Saratoga, Abraham Lincoln, and their respective battlegroups held their own against a powerful League invasion force consisting of four battleships and a carrier plus escorts.” A fierce warrior’s grin spread across his face. “With the fast movers from our fleet carriers pinning them down, another battlegroup with the CSV Lion moved in. We bagged one of the battleships, and the rest fled. They lost several frigates and destroyers too. CDF losses were paltry, only two frigates.”
Nolan nodded thoughtfully, and a smile spread across his face. “I’ll take that any day, General.” It registered at the back of his mind that each frigate had two hundred soldiers. I’ve officially reached the stage in which deaths are counted as statistics. “Any other major battles?”
“A few skirmishes, sir. If we’re looking solely at tonnages destroyed, the CDF continues to perform in an exemplary manner. On any given day, we knock out four to five times what we lose.”
What Saurez had left off was the projections showing they needed to increase that metric by at least another factor. But I get him not wanting to dampen the mood. Nolan let the point go. “And our Sol operation?”
“Captain MacIntosh has briefed the senior officers on the Zvika Greengold, sir. They’ll begin testing modifications to the SFS-4 Ghost recon fighters soon.”
“When can we expect them to get underway?”
“As soon as the modifications check out.”
“Good.” Nolan glanced around the room. He was sure most professional military officers and the cabinet secretaries read into his plan to assault Earth thought it foolhardy. This is a case in which I overrule all. Nolan was careful not to bring out that attitude often, but he was convinced to the depths of his soul they had to roll the dice. “Preparations for me to visit the Greengold, once they’re ready to go?”
“Still in the planning stages, sir. I would again respectfully ask you to reconsider.”
“My answer remains the same,” Nolan replied. “Other topics?”
“The Saurians have agreed to meet with our ambassador to discuss the war,” Karimi announced. “I wouldn’t expect to see them do much, but just sitting down with us is huge.”
Nods came from all around the table.
Saurez leaned forward. “If it comes up, they have a bunch of surplus from the last war, just like we do. We could use some additional escorts.”
“You want us to buy alien military hardware that’s forty-five years old?” Karimi asked with scorn.
“The problem isn’t a lack of manpower—it’s a lack of space-worthy military vessels. It would take less time to slap some upgraded weapons and shields on alien ships, as you put it, than wait a year for the yards to start pumping out destroyers, frigates, and cruisers again,” Saurez replied.
“Abdul, take a note for the ambassador. No reasonable offer will be refused if they’re willing to sell. And make the same inquiries through our embassies in other major powers.” Nolan sat back. I couldn’t care less who makes the equipment, as long as we’re using it on Leaguers. Though as he turned the thought over in his mind, the idea of Saurian ships with human crews was a bit laughable.
“Yes, sir.” Karimi assumed a neutral expression. Nolan recognized it well—it was the look of a man who knew something he disagreed with was going forward.
“What else?” Nolan asked the room at large.
“I won’t bore you with the details, sir,” Saurez replied, “but we’re making progress on designing a series of modular warships that can be produced in bulk. The idea being different shipyards can specialize in the production of a specific section and crank through it. Our top people from the Special Projects Division are on it.”
“How long until we see the fruits in terms of faster ship production, General?” Nolan asked.
“Still a couple of years away, sir. I know you want results yesterday, but the life-cycle timeline of military procurement is what it is.”
Nolan made a fist under the table and pumped it several times. “Gentlemen, perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. Remove roadblocks. Improve timetables. Whatever it takes.” He grimaced. “We’re at war.”
“Well, sir, there’s checks and balances—”
“General, can I waive these procurement roadblocks via executive order?”
Saurez narrowed his eyes. “Sir, you can, but I warn you that when we cut corners on competitive bidding, the military ends up paying far more than it needs to.”
“But it’s done faster, correct?”
“Well, typically, but—”
“Then do it, General. That is a direct order from your commander in chief.”
“Yes, sir.” Saurez’s posture changed ever so slightly—he sat even more ramrod straight.
Tension settled into the room. The daily briefings were always charged, but lately, more give and take centered around Nolan’s desire to speed things up.
“Whatever it takes, ladies and gentlemen.”
Some cabinet members favored trying to win the war on the cheap, but he was convinced the only way to win was total and complete refocusing of everything in the Terran Coalition toward the war effort. If he had his way, the manufacturing base would only make war matériel for the foreseeable future. “
“That’s all we have for you today, sir,” Karimi interjected. “And your next meeting is in ten minutes—Oval Office, commerce secretary, and representatives from the trade guilds.”
“In other words, quit pontificating and get a move on?” Nolan asked, grateful for an opening to inject some humor.
Karimi grinned sheepishly. “Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s go. Thank you, everyone. See you tomorrow morning, and Godspeed.”
Nolan stood, and the rest of those assembled rose instinctively. As he walked out, two prote
ctive service agents fell in behind him. Above all, he hoped the raid on Earth would succeed. Deep within his soul, something told him it was one of the few paths they had to victory.
New Washington
Spencer Residence
8 February 2434
Since the beginning of the war, life had changed markedly—and quickly—on the home front throughout the Terran Coalition. Michelle Spencer sat on the couch of their living room, flipping through a digital ration book on her tablet device. A few months ago, the idea of not buying anything she wanted on nearly a moment’s notice had been a foreign, even ludicrous concept. On the hyperindustrialized core planets of the Terran Coalition, convenience was a fact of life. With five minutes of shopping on her tablet, thirty minutes later, a drone would deliver her fresh vegetables and meat for dinner to the specially designed cooler on their porch.
Not so much anymore. Even when she had the digital ration coupons allowing her to buy steak, it was often out of stock. Or it cost so much Michelle wouldn’t dare to spend the credits. Worse, Maggie would ask for things that a short while ago were everyday staples but couldn’t be had thanks to the rationing system. Michelle sighed and set the tablet down.
“Mom?” Maggie called as she entered the living room. “You in here?”
“Yeah, munchkin.”
Maggie dropped onto the couch next to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Michelle forced a smile. “Did you finish your homework?”
“Most of it.” Maggie paused, staring at the tablet. It still showed the digital ration readout. “Why are you so sad all the time?” she blurted.
Michelle’s heart fell. “Oh, munchkin, I’m not sad.” She gathered her daughter in her arms. “Everything’s okay. I just miss Daddy. That’s all.”
“I miss him too.” Maggie looked at her with tears falling down her face. “When is he coming home?”
Oh, Justin, we need you here so badly. “I don’t know yet, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.” Michelle went for a subject change before she started bawling. “Did you check on little Howard for me?” To make extra credits while she worked on her degree, Michelle ran a small daycare out of their home. Business had dried up since the beginning of the war, but she still had a couple of infants enrolled.
“Still sleeping, Mom.” Maggie touched her mother’s face. “I miss the other kids too.”
Michelle embraced her tightly. “They’ll come back soon. I promise.”
“Did they stop coming because of me?”
“No, of course not,” Michelle replied as she patted the top of Maggie’s head. “Honey, why would you say something like that?”
“Well, why else would they?”
Searching for the words to explain to a four-year-old how the universe had gone mad, Michelle cupped her daughter’s face. “Munchkin, things are messed up right now. The war, all of it. That’s why so many of the children are home with their parents. It costs less money. They want to be here, though.” She again forced a smile to her lips. “Promise.” She shouldn’t have to go through this.
Maggie seemed to accept the words and nodded. “Okay, Mom.” She sniffed a few times. “Daddy is fighting the war, isn’t he?”
Michelle smiled. “Yes, he’s a hero.” Determined to put on a brave face, she pressed on. “And we help him be one by staying strong. Okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Now, could you finish your homework? I’ve got to try to figure out how to make some bread for dinner since the store was out.” Michelle kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “After we eat, I say we have a girls’ night and do our nails.”
“Deal,” Maggie replied, a smile immediately springing to her face.
After watching as Maggie skipped out of the room, Michelle went back to the digital ration application. Justin, wherever you are, I pray God is watching out for you, but I wish you knew how badly I needed you here.
The smell of loose-leaf black tea filled Banu Tehrani’s day cabin. The space where she spent a great deal of time on the Zvika Greengold was small and cramped. Lately, one of her few luxuries was the unique blend of tea, a staple from the Persian Republic. She blew across the top of the cup and took a sip. “Mmm.” Tehrani set the mug back on the desk with a smile and focused on a personnel-transfer request.
While they’d remained on convoy-escort duty—what the Thane-class escort carrier was designed for—since rolling up the covert network of League stations, losses had been mercifully light. The last few runs to the border hadn’t seen a League attack, leaving Tehrani waiting for the other shoe to drop. I suppose being sent to attack Earth fits the bill. Looking over the incoming-personnel roster, she reflected on how many new soldiers the Greengold had seen over the past six months.
She struggled not to become numb to the losses. Five hundred sixty-four people had perished on her ship. Even though it might be more comfortable in the short term to let the numbness take her, Tehrani remained convinced that holding on to her humanity required mourning every one of them. So she set aside the transfer report and brought up another application, where a half-finished condolence letter sat. Since the war began, she’d written close to five hundred of them. Something about the round number was foreboding.
Tehrani continued to write each one, at times struggling to find something unique to say about the individual. It bothered her that something with real emotional weight—telling a grieving family about the circumstances of a loved one’s death—had become a rote exercise. It was dehumanizing. But isn’t that what war is? Dehumanizing our enemies and ourselves so we can kill without remorse?
Tehrani’s tablet beeped, indicating an incoming vidlink. She picked it up and glanced at the sender. General Antonio Saurez—most interesting. He was the overall commanding officer for the CDF’s space fleet, formally known as COMSPACEFLT. A button press later, Saurez’s smiling face appeared on the screen.
“Good morning, Colonel. Good night’s sleep?”
“As best as I can muster these days, sir.” Tehrani forced a neutral expression onto her face. “What about you?”
“Who has time to sleep anymore?” He cracked a smile. “Have you gotten acquainted with Captain MacIntosh yet?”
“I have. And his plan.”
Saurez’s mouth curled into a grin. “It’s something, isn’t it? Well, he and the president are right about one thing… we need a morale boost and fast. The constant defensive struggle of this war is producing a gloomy forecast for the civilians back home. We can’t let defeatism take hold.”
“With respect, sir, I don’t care if defeat is inevitable. I’ll still fight to the bitter end. I would suggest to you that virtually everyone in the Persian Republic would agree. The citizens of the Terran Coalition must know this is a fight to the death for both sides.”
“You’d get along well with Nolan,” Saurez replied. “Some people respond differently in situations like these. It’s all well and good to proclaim a fight without surrender, but I’d say collectively, our population lacks the stomach for dying to the last man and woman.” He shrugged. “What I’m trying to say is the general population, especially the core worlds used to a life of plenty and luxury, aren’t as mentally tough as you or I.”
Tehrani grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know, sir.”
“Ha.” Saurez turned serious. “Have you made any judgments on the likelihood of success?”
“I’ll be reserving making one until my pilots put the upgrades to the Ghost platform through their paces.”
Saurez inclined his head. “After the briefings lately, with one group of officers thinking we’re weeks from doom and others thinking we’re weeks from victory, I appreciate the pragmatism and restraint, Colonel.” He paused and pursed his lips. “I want nothing more than this somewhat-harebrained scheme to work. But I, too, must be pragmatic.”
Tehrani’s stomach churned. He’s about to drop something. “Of course, sir.”
“The battlegroup going with yo
u will include four stealth raiders and one deep-space supply and support ship.” Saurez sucked in a breath. “What you won’t find in your orders is that the other vessels are the oldest ships we could find in active service. To be blunt, Colonel, I can’t risk losing vessels with long life spans ahead of them.”
“Yes, sir.” Part of Tehrani’s mind was on fire with anger. How dare they send us out to attack Earth, of all places, with old, worn-out ships? At the same time, she got it. The war wasn’t going well, and every vessel they lost put the Terran Coalition one step closer to final defeat.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
Tehrani shrugged. “Sir, orders are orders. I don’t get to pick and choose. What’s the old poem say? Theirs not to reason why but to do and die.”
“Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell.” Saurez frowned. “I know that one, too, Colonel. For what it’s worth, if any Thane-class carrier in our fleet can pull this off, it’s the Zvika Greengold. You’ve got more battle stars than the fleet carriers do, and I think your pilots have kill counts to rival entire squadrons.”
“We’ll do our best. That much, I can promise you, General. Perhaps with Allah’s help, victory will be granted.”
“It’s funny you put it that way.” Saurez steepled his fingers. “I was never much on religion. With a name like Saurez, though, one’s mother tends to drag you to Catholic Mass, whether you want to go or not.” His face broke into a grin. “I’ve been to Mass more times in the last six months than I have in the past thirty years.”
“Much the same with me. Both my husband and I were what you would call, ah, cultural Muslims. I don’t think I even own a headscarf. Allah was a nebulous concept to me. I assumed He created the universe and stopped bothering with the rest of us. Now, I can’t get through the day without going to prayer. If I didn’t have my faith to fall back on, I couldn’t soldier on in the face of all this death and destruction.”