“Uh, yes, sir,” Justin replied. He didn’t spring to attention or rise from his seat, remembering that customs and courtesies didn’t apply in the mess. If he was being honest with himself, not showing Whatley that respect made Justin feel good. Why is he questioning me again? I got his point last time, loud and clear.
“You disobeyed a direct order and engaged multiple hostiles,” Whatley said. “While apparently ordering your wingmen and other friendly forces to bug out to home plate. Is that accurate?”
Justin set his jaw. “Yes, sir. I wanted to ensure the safety of my people as much as possible.”
“And you did that by ignoring orders?”
“Because otherwise, one of those League bombers might’ve gotten through and blown up the Greengold, sir.” Justin folded his arms. “It was the right call.”
Silence followed for a few seconds. Whatley stared at Justin, as if he’d discovered something unique about him. “I see.” He raised an eyebrow as if in deep thought. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
As Whatley turned on his heel and strode off, Justin felt troubled by the interaction. Is the Major upset about my actions, or does he approve? It was another stress factor in an already-untenable situation. He sighed and went back to waiting for his food to arrive.
“So this is where you snuck off to,” Feldstein called.
He whirled around to see her, Mateus, and Adeoye standing a few feet behind the table. “Uh, hey, guys. Come on over. Have a seat.” He forced a smile.
“Whatley come over to rip you a new one?” Mateus asked. “He’s just mad we have more kills than he does.”
“It doesn’t all come down to kill ratios and counts,” Adeoye interjected. “There is more to flying than such metrics.” He took a seat across from Justin. “Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Yes. It’s not about individual performance. It’s more to do with how we function as a team.”
Feldstein pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Wow, look who’s getting gray hair,” she joked. “Whatley must be getting into your head, Spencer.”
Justin chuckled. “No.”
As they sat and bantered, some of his stress released. That he’d come face-to-face with certain death only a couple of hours before remained a strange dichotomy. He questioned repeatedly why he’d chosen to turn around and stage a last stand. The best he could come up with was a desire to see his friends survive.
“You seem like you’re pretty far away, sir,” Feldstein said, turning the conversation from jovial to somber.
“Just thinking,” Justin replied.
Mateus slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to have to step up my game,” she said. Her accented English seemed to get more of a lilt as she got progressively more exhausted by combat. “I can’t have our flight leader running up the score on me.”
The peals of laughter that erupted from the table were interrupted by the mess stewards’ bringing out the meals all four had ordered. Once each plate had been set down along with drinks, they left them to their food.
Justin picked up his fork and ate with gusto but stopped when he realized that both Feldstein and Adeoye had bowed their heads. He paused out of respect for his friends. I’ve never known either of them to pray before eating.
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean for you guys to stop,” Feldstein said as she glanced up. “Just giving thanks.”
“To whom?” Mateus snorted.
“God.”
Before a debate could break out, Justin interjected, “Personally, I’m hopeful we’ll have the block on communications lifted soon.”
“I’d love to talk to Robert,” Feldstein said. “This might sound crazy, but I miss him more after every combat sortie.”
Mateus took a bite of chicken. “I can’t wait to get back out there. I am alive in the cockpit.” She bared her teeth. “It’s the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever had.”
A smart-aleck remark came to Justin’s mind, but he decided against using it. “I got my Sabre up to fourteen Gs today.”
Adeoye’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Seriously? Fourteen?” He stared. “That is incredible. Did you have any blackout symptoms?”
Justin shook his head. “None at all. I was pulling back hard, coming out of a turn and accelerating toward a bomber. It just… happened.”
“I must try that myself.”
“You never talk about having someone back on Lagos, Adeoye,” Mateus said. “Got a lucky lady?”
“I do not.” He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy with school and my CDF duties to engage in courtship.”
Mateus grinned. “If you play your cards right…”
“Okay. You two can take that conversation somewhere else.” He harrumphed.
All four of them laughed loudly, and Justin continued to find his cares and concerns fading away. It felt good to be among friends.
* * *
Nightfall came and went in Lawrence City. Each hour seemed like an eternity to Jason Nolan as he waited for word of the outcome of the battles in Canaan’s skies. He’d taken a small dinner directly in the Oval Office and was sitting quietly, staring out the window into the beautiful night sky. The skyscrapers of the metropolis stretched into the heavens. One of the primary space elevators was visible from the White House until its lights disappeared into the darkness.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Come in,” Nolan called.
The door swung open, and Abdul Karimi entered alone. His face was ashen. “Sir, we need to talk.”
Nolan gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “How bad?”
“I spoke privately with General Irvine a few minutes ago,” Karimi said as he gracefully lowered himself into the seat offered. “In short, it’s not looking positive, sir. The fleet has begun a general engagement with the League forces, but while she’s publicly predicting victory to keep morale up…”
“Our chances aren’t that great?” Nolan sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Part of him wondered why he’d ever run for the presidency.
“Sir, we’re convinced it’s only a matter of time now. You should reconsider evacuation along with the entire government. The Terran Coalition has a protocol for this type of event.”
“The Exodus fleet?” Nolan had received a briefing on it during his first week in office. Conceived of as a way to ensure the continuity of government and the Terran Coalition’s way of life, it consisted of enormous people-mover starships along with long-range military escorts. “Abdul, didn’t you tell me forcefully and repeatedly how underfunded and unprepared it is?”
“Desperate times, desperate measures.” Karimi put his hands on the desk. “Thirty-five years of peace has dulled our edge.” He shrugged. “It’s on all of us, sir. From the civilians to the service chiefs to the politicians over the last twenty years that constantly raided the defense budget to pay for domestic spending. I can’t help it now, but if we somehow survive, then I’ll pour my life into rebuilding the CDF into a war footing. None of that changes reality, sir. It’s time for you and the rest of the government to go. Let me stay and handle this for us all.”
Nolan sprang from his chair and walked to the windows behind it that overlooked the rest of Lawrence City. “Come here.” He pulled back the curtains and gestured. While it was dark enough that one couldn’t see the people, hundreds of thousands of tiny pinpricks of light from a candlelight vigil were visible. “We’re not leaving because they can’t.”
“Yes, sir.” Karimi pursed his lips. “And if the League defeats our fleet?”
“Then we’ll deploy the orbital defenses and launch every stratofighter Canaan has at its disposal. We will not surrender… and at some point, the nation-state ships will arrive.”
“Understood, sir,” Karimi replied. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t point out our planetary-based defenses—”
“Are out of date, weak, and poorly maintained. Yes. I know. And I’ll carry the guilt with me to my grave if I have
to order those brave men and women into combat.” Nolan turned his gaze back out to the vigil. “We have to carry the day. Period. You tell Irvine to do whatever it takes.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Do you need anything from me?”
“No, sir. We should have a rolling battle report ready in fifteen minutes in the bunker. If you’d like to join us.”
Nolan nodded. “Of course. But on your way out, would you ask them to send the White House chaplain up?”
“Sir?”
“I know… I’m not much of a religious man. But I feel the need to pray with someone.”
Karimi put his hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “I got down on my knees, too, and begged for Allah’s intercession.” He squeezed it. “We’ll get through this, sir.”
“I pray to God you’re right.”
12
One of the newer features of the Zvika Greengold, owing to its status as the de facto training carrier for the CDF, was a complete battle-simulation area with integrated holoprojectors. Capable of displaying any portion of a battle built from the information recorded from all friendly assets, it allowed an observer to see precisely what had happened—which was what Major Gabriel Whatley was doing at 2200 hours.
He’d been sure that Lieutenant Spencer was nothing more than a blowhard faker, skating by with only a passing interest in doing his duty. His assessments of people were rarely wrong, and Spencer’s service jacket screamed, “Here for the free school.” Still, a man such as that didn’t risk his life for others. So there Whatley was, going over and over Spencer’s actions. They painted a picture in stark relief to Whatley’s opinion. Not only was the man brave, he was also good.
A new voice jolted Whatley out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Tehrani standing in the open hatch. Jumping to his feet, he came to attention. “Apologies, ma’am. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Tehrani stepped into the room. “As you were, Major. I heard you were down here and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“Just peachy, ma’am.”
She took a seat on one of the observer chairs and stared at him. “Oh? Then why aren’t you in bed, where you ordered our pilots to be? Because we all need our rest.”
“Ah. You know me too well after eighteen months.” Whatley leaned his head back. “I was second-guessing myself. I’ve been coming down hard on Lieutenant Spencer. Frankly, I don’t think he’s CDF front-line material.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. I saw the transfer request you put in my queue. It’s brutal.” Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “Yet he’s got what? Twenty-three combat victories and assists? That doesn’t sound like a poor pilot to me.”
“Ma’am, I bleed CDF. Cut me open, and you’ll find a Terran Coalition flag holding me together.” He snickered. “I have little room for people who aren’t here for the right reasons.”
“And until two days ago, who exactly did we have for enemies? We’re the de facto regional superpower. No alien empire or human megacorp would dare fight the Terran Coalition.” Tehrani held his gaze. It wasn’t quite a stare-down, but her expression was fierce. “I’d submit for your consideration that you’re too hard on the kid.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was in here pondering.” He gestured to the simulator system. “Typically, people who only care about themselves won’t go the extra mile in combat. It takes a special person to lay down their life for another.”
“I thought Christ’s gospel was mostly about that concept.”
“Right, and most of us Christians are good at it?” Whatley snorted. “The Terran Coalition’s become lax, ma’am. We’re drifting away from our ideals and ethics. The new generation is soft. I’d even say weak.” He thought of the endless holovid-reality programs that were consumed in ever greater quantities and the difficulties the CDF had in even hitting its recruiting targets—so much so that they’d started lowering the requirements to get in. Or the often-quoted statistics that religious belief was on the decline, and every year, fewer people attended church, their mosque, or synagogue.
“We’re going to have to get better at it, Major.” Tehrani shook her head. “I’ve seen the news trying to spin this as a flash in the pan, and that once… if we defeat this enemy fleet, this League of Sol will want to talk peace.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t buy a word of it. We’re going to find ourselves in a war for survival.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Whatley had already considered what was coming next. He figured they had a Saurian War–type situation in store, if not worse. The Saurians at least had honor. They told you they were coming, declared war, then fought it out. An enemy that skulked about in the night, hidden, to stab you in the back had no honor and could never be trusted. The only way they could safely end the war was with Earth’s unconditional surrender. Hopefully, our piece-of-crap politicians know that.
“Now, back to the young lieutenant. I heard you tore a bloody strip out of him after he landed.” While Tehrani’s facial expression was perfectly neutral, even friendly, Whatley knew her well. Her tone was one of mild reproach, but her leadership style was for you to see the error of your ways before she had to spell it out.
And Gabriel Whatley, above all things, hated admitting he was wrong. That made his next words especially difficult. “You’re right, Colonel. Whatever he may have had in his head when he joined, it’s clear the man is a superb pilot.” He sighed. “And we’re lucky to have him right now.”
“So you’re going to apologize, yes?”
Whatley’s face heated. “Ma’am…”
“Contriteness is good for the soul, Gabriel.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He figured she’d used his first name for emphasis.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it. But Spencer needs to know you’ve got his back. Especially when we go into this next battle.”
“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.” Whatley searched for the hidden meaning behind her facial expression. “I thought Irvine’s orders were that we stay in the emergency reserve.”
“Call it a woman’s intuition,” Tehrani replied with a shrug. “I don’t see any way we’re not needed. And I want this ship and our pilots ready when it happens.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, pack this in, go back to your stateroom, and get some shut-eye. At least four hours.”
“Well—”
“That is a direct order, Major.” Tehrani tilted her head as she spoke. “The last time I checked, the CAG reports to me, and I outrank you. So… carry out my orders.”
Whatley offered a sheepish grin. “Yes, ma’am.” He powered off the simulator and stood. “Ladies first.”
“Oh, no. I’m watching you leave. I know you flyboys far too well.”
“Touché.”
As they walked through the hatch, Tehrani pivoted and stared directly into his eyes. “Major, promise me one thing. When this next battle finally occurs, you bring as many of our pilots home as possible. We’ve already lost too many.”
“On that, you have my solemn word, ma’am.” Whatley meant it with every fiber of his being.
* * *
For the first time in nearly forty-eight hours, Tehrani crossed the threshold of her spacious stateroom below decks. Situated deep within the Greengold, the officers’ quarters were placed in a location unlikely to be hit by a surprise volley of weapons fire—a nod to the CDF’s concerns over losing too many leaders on a vessel in one strike.
Her quarters were more like an apartment than a cabin, with separate living and dining spaces and a bedroom. Once the hatch closed, she stretched, letting out a yawn, and took off her khaki service uniform, which had the green, white, and red bars of the Persian Republic above the Islamic Crescent and Star.
Ten minutes later, Tehrani had showered and changed into a pair of pajamas. She curled up in her bed and pulled a personal tablet out of the nightstand. Her finger hovered over the button to call up the vidlink app. The ship is on comms blackout. She went back and f
orth several times before pushing the icon and placing a call to her husband. If I die in the next few hours, I want him to know I love him. The rest be damned.
An icon appeared on the screen, showing the vidlink in progress. It changed color to a black background and finally to the face of Ibrahim, her husband. His brown beard and hair looked almost faded, as if he’d aged since Tehrani had last seen him. “Dearest,” he began as he fumbled with his tablet. “I’ve been so worried. Thank Allah, you are alive and presumably well.”
Seeing and hearing him made so many things better for Tehrani. She felt as if her spirit had taken off for the stars. She laughed. “I’m alive. We’re stood down between operations,” she said, carefully avoiding the use of words like combat, not wanting to alarm him further. “What about you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I shouldn’t be now, but… I miss you so much.”
He harrumphed. “What did you do, Banu?”
“I’m the commander of the ship. I overrode the comms lockout.” Tehrani cocked her head to one side. “Rank has its privileges.”
“The university is in an uproar,” Ibrahim stated. He was a professor of economics at the Arabian Institute on Canaan. “There’s little in the way of accurate reporting.”
He’s asking me what’s really going on. Tehrani touched her fingers to the screen, trying to feel him through the distance between them. “Husband, I can’t tell you anything, except we’re holding our own. Pray for us.”
“I didn’t think we were much the praying type.”
Neither of them was especially devout, and while Tehrani prayed a few times a day—never the five required—it was more of a cultural ritual than devotion to God. “Flying into…” She didn’t want to mention the word battle. “Danger demands additional faith.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll debate that with you when you return, and your reasoning.”
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 13