by Daniel Gibbs
“Godspeed, Jackson,” Feldstein replied. “I’ll see you bright and early in the gym.”
“Godspeed to you too, Dvora.”
The lift doors slid shut, and it began to move again. “It was great to do this tonight. I’m glad Mateus puts it on.” Justin let out a yawn.
“To think, we used to have to drag you out of your shell too.” Her expression shifted, and she pursed her lips. “I was a different person six months ago.”
“Me too.” Justin tilted his head. “Sometimes, it all feels like a dream, you know?”
“I think the word you were looking for is ‘nightmare.’” Feldstein took a step backward, closer to him. “But it’s not all bad. Without this war, I wouldn’t have you as such a good friend.”
Justin turned and stared at her. “I’ve heard some old-timers say as a war goes on, we’re able to keep on because of our fellow brothers and sisters in arms.”
“Makes sense to me.” Feldstein took Justin’s hand in hers. “Just promise me you won’t take too many risks.”
A bolt of electricity shot through Justin. He jerked his hand back and was saved from further discussion by the lift chime going off and the doors opening to reveal two enlisted soldiers waiting to board.
“Uh, good night, Lieutenant.” He trotted out the door and briskly walked down the corridor. Weird. We must’ve had too much to drink or something.
After a few minutes more, Justin entered his cabin. He was so tired that he collapsed onto his bed before he could take his uniform off. Sleep came immediately.
11
Deep Space
CSV Zvika Greengold
26 May 2434
H-hour fast approached on the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. Tehrani had spent her morning doing the usual military routine, gone to the onboard mosque for prayer, then settled into standing the early watch. The day would be one of those when she was on the bridge for twelve hours or more. More importantly, by the end of it, they would all know what their fate was to be—and if the Greengold would make it out of League space.
Even with the possible dire outcome, infectious energy flowed through the bridge, and Tehrani had felt it everywhere she’d gone. It brought a smile to her face. I could not ask for a better crew or for a group of people more devoted to their duties.
The entire first-shift bridge team was present along with Wright. He sat to her left in the XO’s chair.
“Ten minutes to execution point, ma’am.” His voice was calm and professional, but Tehrani knew he was anything but tranquil, and neither was anyone else beneath the surface.
“Squadron status?” she asked.
“Everyone’s on ready five. All four stealth raiders report ready, and the Marines are loaded up.” Wright shivered. “I’m going to buy them all a drink when they get back. The idea of bracing myself into a weapons pod underneath a fighter is so far outside of what I’d consider in the realm of the possible that it’s not funny. You’d have to shoot me up with a tranquilizer to get me in there.”
Tehrani laughed. “Preaching to the choir, XO.” She stared out the windows at the front of the bridge. The other vessels in their small battlegroup were tightly clustered around the carrier and visible against the stars’ outline. How insignificant we are in the universe. “Communications, get me 1MC and pipe it through to the entire fleet.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied immediately. “You’re on for 1MC fleetwide, ma’am.”
“Officers and crew of Battlegroup Z, this is your commanding officer, Colonel Banu Tehrani. In a few minutes, we will embark on the beginning of the final leg of our journey. While a small team of Marines storm a League fuel transport, the rest of our forces will attack Sol.” She paused and took a breath. “When I was a little girl, my mother told me stories of life on Earth, passed down from her grandmother, who heard those same stories from her grandmother. Each generation bred in the next a sense of wonder about the cradle of humanity. I had hoped that someday, humans from the Terran Coalition might yet again walk on the soil of our home. Instead, thanks to the League of Sol’s cowardly attack on us, we’re forced to fight at the very place from which we were birthed.”
The bridge became whisper quiet. Breathing was the only sound besides the odd chirp of a computer console.
“I know firsthand how horrible the war has been—the pain of losing our friends, seeing Canaan itself assaulted, and the narrow victories we’ve won. The Terran Coalition remains steadfast because of you, the men and women of the Coalition Defense Force.” She set her jaw. “The road here has been difficult, and the challenge of our reactor failure to the mission is critical. But as long as each of us does our duty… and God looks on us kindly, we will prevail. I wish the warriors going into battle Godspeed and good luck. To the rest of us, work hard, work diligently, and prepare to head home the moment our pilots—and the fuel supply—return. Tehrani out.”
A wave of applause broke out on the bridge, from senior officers and enlisted personnel alike. Wright gave her the thumbs-up sign and smiled. Even the console jockeys clapped.
Tehrani held up a hand, grateful for the show of support and trust. The tumult ceased. “Thank you. Now let’s get to work.”
“You heard the colonel. Stations, ladies and gentlemen,” Wright barked.
As the team members got back to their assigned duty positions, Tehrani glanced at the mission clock. Time to launch our birds. “XO, signal the air boss to get everything into space.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright tapped at the interactive console built into his chair. “All squadrons launching.”
On Tehrani’s tactical plot, blue icon after blue icon appeared on the screen. Automated IFF beacons picked each up as a different craft from the three squadrons on board. Four split off, led by Whatley, while the rest formed up a few kilometers away from the Greengold, with Spencer in the lead.
The pieces are in place. “Communications, confirm stealth raiders are jump ready.”
Wright leaned in. “You know we’ve only got four Sabres on ready, five if the Leaguers find us.”
“With backup pilots who’ve never flown a combat sortie. If they find us before our team can recover the fuel, it’s all over, anyway.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, skipper.”
They both laughed.
Tehrani shook her head. “We’re all in on this one.”
“Yeah. Between us, if they do find the ship, I’m not letting them take me alive.”
Wright’s tone had a hard edge that Tehrani recognized as a made-up mind. Rather than focus on the negative possibility, she chose to believe they would be successful, even with the odds stacked against them.
“All stealth raiders report ready to jump, ma’am,” Singh interjected.
Tehrani sucked in a breath. “Communications, transmit the following: all ships and fighters engage Lawrence drives and begin the mission.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Through the windows at the front of the bridge, muted flashes of light appeared as each stealth raider opened an artificial wormhole and flew through. While the Zvika Greengold’s Lawrence drive created a far brighter and more robust display of color, the raiders used a unique configuration of the drive designed to make the transit as stealthy as possible. A few moments after that, Tehrani’s tactical plot only had two contacts—the Greengold and the Salinan.
“Well, they’re off.” Wright crossed his arms. “Now, all we have to do is wait.”
“The worst part.”
Wright nodded. “Can’t disagree with you there, ma’am.” He put his head back on the headrest. “It’ll be at least twelve hours before they get back. I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t envy those pilots. Bio breaks are nonexistent.”
Tehrani chuckled at the joke and narrowed her eyes. “Until they return, we will continue with the reactor repairs and preparing for departure.”
“And some prayers.”
“Yes.” Tehrani smiled at him. “Allah’s favor wo
uld be much appreciated today.”
“Amen.”
Marines were used to difficult situations, cramped quarters, and generally getting the short end of the stick. Kosuke Nishimura certainly was, and the weapons bay he currently occupied along with five other power-armored Marines was possibly the worst situation he’d ever been in, outside of combat. No one to blame but me, either. He chuckled, remembering the NAVY principle—never again volunteer yourself. But Nishimura felt being in command required him to volunteer without question for anything he ordered the men and women under him to do.
“Jump transit complete,” Whatley said through the commlink. “How are you squids doing down there?”
“Pissed off enough to kill an entire freighter full of Leaguers,” Nishimura replied. “Remind me why we signed up for this again?”
“There’s that whole going home thing, Major,” one of the enlisted Marines in the weapons bay interjected.
“Noted, Private.” Nishimura tried to adjust his leg but found it impossible. Six suits of power armor barely fit into the available space, but he’d prioritized maximum numbers over all other concerns, including comfort and safety. “CAG, mind linking my suit into your sensor board? I hate being blind down here.”
“Yeah, I can do that, but no comments from the peanut gallery. Clear?”
Nishimura snickered. “Got it, Major. I wouldn’t expect a critique from you on how we kick doors and shoot Leaguers either.”
“Good. We understand each other.”
A few seconds later, the Ghost’s tactical network synched up with the combat computer in Nishimura’s suit. The system they’d jumped into was empty except for the refueling station. Quiet, as advertised. Not surprisingly, time passed slowly as the element of four fighters lay in wait for the first available target.
“Is this the craziest op you’ve been on, Major?” one of the younger enlisted Marines asked.
Grateful for a momentary distraction, Nishimura answered. “Yeah, probably. Though hot inserting onto a League space station is a close second. This will be the first time I’ve ridden cargo class, though.”
A wave of snickers went through the weapons bay.
“When we’re done with these assholes, they’ll be flying coffin class,” the younger Marine added.
“Just remember, boys and girls: keep your focus, check your right and left, and don’t pull any John Wayne stunts. Clear?”
“Crystal, sir!” they chorused back.
Nishimura thought about how few times he’d been in combat. Most of these kids had never fired a shot in anger before we stormed the Leaguer station a few months ago. While the realization was sobering, they’d trained for years for all kinds of operations. A Marine was drilled from boot camp to act with muscle memory. Control of their power armor suits, weapons, and everything else was engrained to the point they could do it in their sleep. We’re always crowing about how awesome our training is compared to near-peer competitors like the Saurian Empire or the Matrinids. About time we find out how real it is.
An hour passed then two. Few things changed outside in the void. The Ghosts sat there unmoving while presenting as small a LIDAR and thermal signature as possible to avoid detection. While League sensor technology hadn’t proven up to the task of pinpointing the best Terran Coalition stealth systems, being prudent still made sense.
Nishimura started to wonder if the next freighter was coming. He cued his commlink to Whatley’s channel. “Major, I know I’m a Marine and bad at math, but aren’t they a bit late?”
“By a good forty-five minutes.”
“What’s the plan?”
Whatley grumbled, “Wait until they show up, land you squids on the hull, and proceed with the mission.”
“So, no plan B.”
A pregnant pause came over the commlink. “We’re so far past plan B that it’s a joke, and you know it, Major.” Whatley coughed. “This is a Hail Mary. If we’re lucky, only half of us die.”
“Nice positive thinking there.”
“The CDF didn’t promise us a rose garden.”
The invocation of an old TCMC recruiting slogan made Nishimura burst out laughing. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Look, I ran the options. We don’t have the ground troops to capture the station. Even if we did, then there’d be no way to get the fuel to the Greengold. The only thing that makes sense is to wait.”
Nishimura shook his head, even though Whatley couldn’t see him. “If you knew anything about Marines, CAG, you’d know that we hate to wait.”
“Get used to it,” he retorted though with a good-natured tone. “It’s all pilots do—until the shooting starts.”
“Amen to that.”
“Now sit tight and try not to fill up your suit’s relief bladder.”
After trying again to shift himself, Nishimura went silent. He didn’t feel like bantering with Whatley and instead focused on the fight he hoped was to come. If they didn’t win, they would never see the Terran Coalition again.
Justin stifled a yawn as his joints cried out in pain. Trying to twist his body into a different position was nearly impossible in the cramped cockpit and just led to cramps in other areas. Four hours down, eight to go. They’d made it two jumps toward Earth, and in keeping with the mission parameters, the fighter force held its position in deep space. Fifteen minutes were left before the Lawrence drive completed its cooldown.
“Justin, you there?” Feldstein asked on a private channel.
“Yeah.” I wonder why she’s using my first name. Even friends in the military almost always used the last name to talk to someone, a system ingrained from day one of boot camp.
“You don’t have to go alone.”
Justin sighed. “Dvora, it’s my duty. I’m not going to take extreme risks. Once I stick my nose in and get a few scans, I’ll send a burst transmission back, and you all join me. No heroics. I promise I won’t take on the entire League of Sol by myself.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I have no plans to die today.” Justin felt perplexed by her behavior recently. It almost seemed like she had deeper feelings than simple friendship. I’m going to have to address it if we get out of here alive. But for the moment, the only thing he had headspace for was the mission. “I promise.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“Always.” Justin cued the commlink to synch with the all-friendlies channel. “This is Alpha One. I’m going to spin up my Lawrence drive in a moment, but before I do, I wanted to tell you all that there’s no group of men and women I’d rather be flying and fighting with. Hopefully, I will find the way clear, and we’ll collectively put the hurt on the Leaguers. If I don’t return or reply within fifteen minutes, head back to the Zvika Greengold.” It felt strange to give an order assuming his death or capture, but duty required it. He wished he could’ve recorded a final message for his wife and daughter, but they were so far from the Terran Coalition that the range wasn’t there, even with FTL communication, for it to get back to the fleet’s listening posts.
“Mate, nothing is stopping me from putting the hurt on those commie bastards,” Martin replied. “So if you make it or not, I’m coming in and getting mine. You can drink a cold one to that.”
Peals of laughter spread across the commlink, and Justin joined in. “You’re on when we get back to home plate.”
“Good luck, mate. We’re all pulling for ya.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.” Justin flipped the safety cover off the jump button and confirmed one last time that the proper coordinates were loaded. Then he pressed the button, engaging the Lawrence drive. A blue-and-orange artificial wormhole roared into being directly in front of his fighter, and he increased forward speed to enter it. As Justin closed his eyes for the transit, he hoped it wasn’t for the last time.
12
Justin kept his eyes shut as tightly as he could during the wormhole transit, as he’d learned his lesson during the first series of jumps they’d taken w
hile scouting for fuel. The last thing I need now is to start vomiting in my flight suit. He briefly thought of a particular combat ration, nicknamed the vomelet. Though it was supposed to be an omelet, it tasted nothing like the famous egg dish in practice. Most who ingested the vomelet experienced it coming out explosively a few minutes later. Setting the memories out of his mind, Justin opened his eyes to see his Ghost had successfully emerged from its tunnel through the void of space.
The sensors came back online and confirmed he was within ten million kilometers of Pluto with no sign of enemy combat craft. So far, so good. Justin tried not to think ahead or jinx the mission. No victory laps or cheers until we get home. He cued his commlink to the squadron command channel. “This is Alpha One. No hostile contacts. Jump when ready. We’re on the clock.”
Moments later, thirty-one more Ghosts appeared on his HUD, tightly clustered around Justin’s craft. The execution was textbook perfect. They quickly grouped into elements and squadrons, with the Red Tails congregating around his fighter. The HUD showed all friendlies reporting readiness, full stores, and more-than-adequate fuel reserves.
“Alpha One to all fighters. Good job. Execute thirty-minute cooldown of Lawrence drives.”
Feldstein’s voice filled his commlink on a private channel. “Are you okay?”
“Dvora, we’re in the middle of a combat sortie. We don’t have time for this.” Justin’s laser focus on the mission prevailed over everything else.
“You haven’t been yourself lately,” she replied. “I want you coming home alive.”
While touching, her concern for his mental state or personal feelings wasn’t a luxury Justin could afford. “Look, I appreciate it. I promise you, the same way I promise my family every time I talk to them, I’ll do everything in my power to get back to the Greengold in one piece.”