by Daniel Gibbs
Wild cheers broke out along with sustained applause.
“Shut up! He’s still talking,” Justin yelled, as did others.
The tumult died down quickly.
“Life will change within the Terran Coalition. Those of you old enough to remember the height of the Saurian wars will no doubt recognize some of the measures we’re considering—things like nationalizing manufacturing to prioritize weapons, armor, starships, and other needed war material. Though millions of our citizens are lining up to volunteer to fight, a draft must remain on the table. Let there be no doubt… this will be a long war. It’s a war worth fighting and the challenge of our generation. I plan to speak to you often over these next months, and I ask everyone to set aside our political differences to work together as citizens of the Terran Coalition. We will form a unity government by the end of the week that includes all major parties. I have asked the leaders of our major religions to come together and plan a week-long prayer-and-fasting event.” Nolan bit his lip. “To have any hope of victory, Almighty God must be in our hearts and minds. We formed this nation hundreds of years ago after escaping oppression at the hands of the World Society. Today, we will not surrender in the face of their descendants. What was worth fighting for then is still worth the cost. So, my fellow citizens, stand firm. Work hard. Be prepared to sacrifice. We’re in this together.”
Nolan paused. “During our last conflict, the CDF went into combat with the battle cry of ‘Fight the good fight, no matter the odds.’ Let that be our battle cry now. No matter the odds! May God bless you, and may God continue to bless the Terran Coalition.”
Silence followed in the mess hall for a few seconds. Then someone with a voice that Justin didn’t recognize cried, “Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”
“No matter the odds!” Justin and dozens more screamed. As he did, he realized that he was part of something greater than himself. He was simultaneously shaken to the core and prouder than he’d ever felt in his life.
Clapping rang out for what seemed like several minutes until it finally died down and allowed those seated at Justin’s table to resume their conversation.
“I’m ready to go cap some Leaguers,” Mateus said between bites. “Just point to their nearest carrier.”
“Going to single-handedly eradicate the League of Sol?” Feldstein asked with a smirk.
“I’ll leave a few for you. Just so you can feel good about yourselves.”
They all laughed.
Adeoye took a sip of his drink. “Let us see who has more victories in a month, Ms. Mateus. I suspect it will be me.”
“Oh, really?” Mateus deadpanned.
“He’s a quiet one,” Justin said. “You always have to be careful of the quiet ones.”
Feldstein took her last bite of potatoes. “And on that note, I’m going to the shul.”
“What’s a shul?” Mateus asked.
“Church for Jews,” Feldstein replied hastily.
“What’s that? Like two, three times in twenty-four hours?” Justin grinned. “Might need to get a cot set up for you.”
“Oh, lookee here, a regular funny man,” Feldstein said as she stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to pray after spending a day trying to kill people while they’re trying to kill me.”
“All I need is a stiff drink and a deck of cards so I can clean you all out.” Mateus took a swig from her glass. “Who’s with me?”
Adeoye leaned forward and grinned. “Count me in.”
“I’m heading for my cabin,” Justin announced. “Rack time, and if I’m lucky, talking to my family awaits.” He stood.
“Take care, Lieutenant. That was some great flying today,” Feldstein said. “See you around, guys.”
As Justin walked away, he heard Mateus and Adeoye ribbing each other about who was going to win the card game, and the banter brought a smile to his face. One thing was certain—they’d gelled as a team. Where the sands of fortune would take him, he didn’t know. But at least the president seemed to know what needed to be done, and Justin was ready to get on with it.
By 2000 hours Coalition Mean Time, Justin had returned to his cabin. While much of the crew headed down to the surface to take shore leave while the Zvika Greengold underwent repairs, he wasn’t interested. Above all, Justin wanted to see and talk to his wife. Lieutenant Singh had announced over the PA system as he walked down the corridor that the communications blackout was over.
The moment Justin crossed the threshold into his small cabin, he grabbed his tablet and engaged the vidlink application. A few moments later, Michelle’s face, framed by a dark room that he recognized as their bedroom, came into focus.
“Baby, oh my God, you’re okay!” The words flooded out of her mouth. “I was so worried.”
Justin sat on the couch, cradling the tablet like it was the most sacred object in the universe. “I’m sorry. I tried to call, but there’s been a system-wide communication blackout.”
Tears poured down her cheeks as she pushed her long brown hair out of the way. “Are you safe?”
“Yeah. The news is reporting it, right? No enemy ships left in Canaan system,” Justin replied in a monotone. “I was so scared I wouldn’t see you again.”
“Did you fight?”
He bit his lip. “I flew four combat missions in twenty-four hours.” The enormity of what he’d been through, as he uttered the words, finally caught up with him. “We all did.”
“When are you coming home?” Michelle asked through her tears. “Maggie is worried sick, but I’ve been telling her we couldn’t talk right now, and everything was okay, but she needs to hear it from you.” She shook. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, hon.” Justin touched the screen. “My unit’s been called to active duty.”
“Then you’re not coming home,” she replied quietly.
“No. There’s some talk about shore leave in a few months, if it goes well. But all indications are this war is just beginning.”
Michelle sucked in a breath and tried to dry her tears. “I understand, baby. Do you think we can talk while you’re out there?”
“No force in this universe will prevent me from vidlinking my wife and daughter,” Justin said. He forced a smile to his lips. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She started to cry again. “Three families got notifications today,” she said between sobs. “On our block. I stayed by the door, on my knees, begging God not to let it be you.”
Tears formed in Justin’s eyes, and he let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He answered my prayers, because you’re still here.” She pursed her lips. “Maggie’s asleep… it’s two a.m. here, but next time?”
“Yes. I’ll plan a little better.” Michelle had long ago accepted that any faith he had wasn’t shown outwardly. Even if I know she wishes that were different. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll come home, Justin.”
“I promise you that with every fiber of my being, I will do everything in my power to come home.” He glanced down. “But as I’ve learned the last two days, combat is unforgiving. Tomorrow might be my day. I don’t know. What I know is I’ve got some great reasons to fight hard, stay alive, and hold both of you in my arms again.”
Michelle, despite her tears, grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, Justin Spencer.”
“You do that. I’d better get off of this before I spend my comm rations.”
“Rations?”
“Wartime… everything’s going to be rationed, from what I heard. We’ve never known anything like this in our lifetimes.”
“I suppose I might have to learn how to sew. Maggie goes through clothes every two weeks.”
Justin laughed. “Hopefully it won’t get that bad.” He paused and touched the screen again. “I love you.”
“I love you too. God bless.”
The screen went dark, and Justin set the tablet back on his desk. He
thought of Michelle and playing with Maggie in their backyard. Determined to make it through another day, he took off his duty uniform and prepared for bed. Memories of happier days sustained him, and he eventually fell into sleep—with the belief that the next day, the CDF would take the fight to the enemy.
Epilogue
Unity Station
Deep Space—Between the Orion and the
Sagittarius Arms
25 October 2433
Unity Station was the largest space-borne construction ever undertaken by the League of Sol. For fifty years, they had slowly built it into a mammoth facility capable of supporting twenty thousand crew and hundreds of ships, and it had enough storage space to supply fleets of vessels a thousand strong. The station was the pinnacle of socialist engineering and a representation of how far they would go to ensure the whole of humanity existed solely under the banner of the League.
Fleet Admiral Chang Yuen stepped off the VIP shuttle that had carried him from the LX Vasily Kanin to Unity Station. The moment he did, a massive honor guard of hundreds of League Navy sailors came to attention. Their arms snapped to their chests in the salute of the League. He returned the gesture as the familiar tune of their anthem blared from an unseen speaker somewhere on the hangar deck. At the end of the rows of sharply dressed men and women, another admiral in a black dress uniform stood. Yuen made his way slowly through the lines.
“Admiral Yuen, I welcome you to Unity Station,” the other man stated. His name tag read Admiral Yegor Voronin.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve had quarters prepared for you, and crews are standing by to resupply your flagship.”
Yuen smiled thinly. “I suggest we dispense with the pleasantries and make our way to your office to discuss the war effort.”
The Russian stared at him with cold, hard eyes. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers, and a young lieutenant appeared at Voronin’s side. “Please escort Admiral Yuen to the observation deck. I will join him shortly.”
Both men touched their closed right fists to their chests. Yuen stalked off, following the lieutenant. Instead of making small talk, he spent the time observing the surrounding sailors. To his disgust, most had numerous uniform violations, and discipline appeared lax, as small groups congregated around others performing their duties. Individualism is never a moment away from threatening our society. To Yuen, individualism was the worst enemy a human could face. The League had spent centuries eradicating it from all aspects of their system, replacing it with a spirit of shared sacrifice and glory. Anyone who displayed the slightest hint of thought against the principles of the state was corrected.
A ten-minute walk later, Yuen and the lieutenant arrived at a well-appointed conference room adorned with the flag of the League of Sol and various posters, some urging citizens to report antisocial behavior and others showing victory over the capitalists of the Terran Coalition. The lieutenant departed, leaving Yuen alone.
By Yuen’s count, Admiral Voronin arrived twenty minutes later. Yuen spent the time analyzing personnel files and ship readiness reports from the roughly seventy vessels that had escaped the disaster at Canaan.
Voronin cleared his throat as he walked through the hatch. “My apologies. I had a few issues to deal with.”
Yuen held up his hand. “Seville will arrive back at Earth shortly. I am his replacement.” He grinned coldly. “This post should’ve been mine and would have, if it weren’t for the interference of Admiral Lambert. Now that it is… we’re going to do things my way.”
“The political officers seem to insist on us doing it their way.” The large Russian cleared his throat. “I don’t want things to get off on the wrong foot here. We have equal rank. My duty is to command this station and see that you have the resources and logistical support to win the war. Forget everything else. I want our sailors’ sacrifice to mean something. We lost a hundred thousand men and women in that stupid cluster of a battle with the Terrans.” His gaze drilled into Yuen. “Don’t make the same mistakes.”
“A political officer made the mistakes—one with little tactical training. Mine will realize the gravity of the situation and not interfere.”
Voronin stared. “You have control over your political officer?” He glanced around the room as if he was afraid of being overheard. “That’s not possible.”
“It is when you catch the aforementioned political officer engaging in individualist behavior.” Yuen licked his lips. “He won’t trouble us. Now, the next wave of ships will be here in two weeks.”
“How many?”
“Three hundred. Not enough for a straight-up slugfest with the Coalition Defense Force, but the CDF has to spread out, covering dozens of planets. We, on the other hand, will consolidate our strength and attack at their weakest points, landing our troops and taking over their outermost worlds.”
“That’s what Seville wanted to do,” Voronin replied. “But they wouldn’t let him.”
“His loss, our good fortune. I’ve never much trusted the French element of the League, anyway.” The animosity between the French, the Russians, and the Chinese was legendary, as they represented three distinct wings of ideology. As a student of The Art of War, Yuen was always playing the long game. He thought not in days, weeks, or months but years and decades. The Terran Coalition might have superior technology and an element of esprit de corps, but the League would eventually win out. In the end, capitalist democracies defeated themselves. That they’d had to flee Earth in the first place was proof positive. “Work with me. Together, we will crush the enemy.”
“For the glory of the League,” Voronin replied. He slapped his hand to his chest.
Yuen mimicked the gesture. “For the glory of the League.”
THE END
Battlegroup Z: Book 2 – Hostile Spike: Fresh off their last minute victory, Justin Spencer and the Zvika Greengold are forced into battle against overwhelming force - can they hold the line once more? Find out in book 2!
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Book 2 - Strong and Courageous
Book 3 - So Fight I
Book 4 - Gates of Hell
Book 5 - Keep the Faith
Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet
Book 7 - Finish the Fight
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Book 1 - Breach of Peace
Book 2 - Breach of Faith
Book 3 - Breach of Duty
Book 4 - Breach of Trust
Acknowledgments and Afterword
Before I share my acknowledgments, I want to include as a bit of an Authors Afterword some notes on the namesakes of the CSV Zvika Greengold and the Red Tails squadron. Those of you who’ve read a Daniel Gibbs novel or two know I like to weave in references to people from history. Some are self-explanatory, such as Marcus Luttrell or Yitzhak Rabin.
Others are not, as I found out during the ARC process.
First, the Red Tails squadron; it’s named in tribute to the 332d Fighter Group. A unit of the famed Tuksegee Airmen, the 332d was the first African-American fighter unit to serve in combat with the US Army Air Force. They derived their nickname from the distinctive red vertical stabilizer fins on their aircraft, and had a near-perfect bomber escort record against th
e Luftwaffe. There’s some great Wikipedia entries on the subject, as well as a terrific movie entitled “Red Tails” that tells their story.
Second, Zvika Greengold. After WWII military history, modern-day Israeli military history is my next most read subject. During the Yom Kippur War in 1973, then Lieutenant Greengold commanded a small group of two damaged tanks. With them, he faced down multiple Syrian army divisions. Estimates place the number of enemy armor units destroyed by his hand at between twenty and sixty. Even when burned over twenty percent of his body, Lt. Greengold fought on against incredible odds. For his actions, he was awarded the Israeli Medal of Valor. It is the highest award for Valor in the Israeli Defense Force — analogous to the US Medal of Honor.
With that, I’ll begin my acknowledgments.
I’d like to start by again thanking my father for the many hours of amazing sea stories from his thirty years of service to the US Navy. A few worked their way into my stories, and gave me a window into the life of a sailor far from home.
To all those who have helped me over the last three years in making this crazy dream of a sci-fi universe where Christians, Jews, and Muslims work together for the betterment of all – thank you. The list is too numerous to count, but you know who you are.
To my editor, Susie – Thanks for helping me polish this book to the point it's something to be proud of – and for not rolling your eyes too much at my constant questions.
To those who have sent me emails over the last few years saying that the Echoes of War series rekindled your faith – thank you. I can think of no greater honor.