Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; War; Fiction
Description: The tide of galactic war turns – but in whose favor? The Coalition Defense Force is putting the hurt on the League of Sol. Despite the League’s superior numbers, Captain Justin Spencer and his fighter squadron return victorious after each enemy engagement. But it’s only the calm before the storm. The Eire system’s loss in the early days of war was a bitter pill for the Terran Coalition. Now the Coalition is pulling out all the stops to rescue her citizens from the hands of a repressive regime bent on domination at any cost. But the enemy is cunning. When the CDF presses what they think is an a
Publisher: Independently published

Final Flight

Battlegroup Z Book Six

Daniel Gibbs

Contents

CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints

SF-86 Sabre Blueprints

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Sample Chapter - Fight the Good Fight

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Acknowledgements

Final Flight by Daniel Gibbs

Copyright © 2021-2022 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibb’s website at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact info@eotp.net.

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FREE BOOK: Read the story of Levi Cohen and his heroic fight at the first battle of Canaan in Echoes of War: Stand Firm.

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Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Book 6 - Final Flight

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

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

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Book 4 - Liberty’s Price

Book 5 - Ecliptic Flight

1

Eire System—Near Eire XIII

Terran Coalition Core Worlds

3 April 2435

“Alpha One, guns, guns, guns,” Justin called into his commlink as he squeezed the integrated trigger for his Sabre’s neutron cannons. A moment later, the League fighter in front of him blew apart in a bright-orange burst of flame. “Splash one.”

“Don’t rub it in,” First Lieutenant Elisabete Mateus replied. “We know you’re up to nearly a hundred confirmed kills.”

Justin smiled at the reminder. He didn’t keep up with his kill count. “You’re up there yourself. Okay, people, let’s take another pass at this convoy. Javelins ready. The third freighter, Master Four, is heavily damaged on its starboard quarter. I want it erased.”

“Wilco, sir,” Second Lieutenant Christopher Lowell interjected eagerly. The youngest member of Alpha element, the nugget still had a lot to learn, but he was one downed League craft away from being an ace.

Engaging a League supply convoy on its way farther into the Eire star system, the Red Tails squadron and their brethren on the Zvika Greengold were finally on the offensive for the first time since the war had started.

And hitting the League on our terms feels good.

Justin rotated his craft and pointed it at the freighter. A type-C cargo hauler, the enemy vessel had limited defensive capabilities. Most of its escorts had been destroyed.

In the thirty seconds Alpha element took to get lined up, Justin toggled through his missile selector and switched to the remaining Javelin mounted to a hardpoint on his wing. The majority of his pilots were running out of munitions, but the lack of enemy targets remaining balanced it out.

“That’s one big target,” Feldstein said. “Got her aft engines in my sights.”

“Stand by for max range,” Justin replied. His lock-on tone sounded. “Alpha One, fox four.”

“Alpha Three, fox four.”

As the others called out missile launches, four anti-ship warheads zoomed away from the flight of Sabres. Since the vessel had little point-defense capability left, all four slammed into its starboard quarter. Chunks of the weakened hull blasted apart, vapor escaping into the void. The last Javelin to hit took out an engine, and a chain reaction began. The explosion grew larger until the entire vessel erupted in a violent display of pyrotechnics.

“Splash one. Splash one freighter.” Justin whooped. “I think you got the kill shot, Alpha Two.”

“I’ll take it,” Feldstein replied.

“Inbound bandits bearing zero-six-zero. Six Shrike fighters,” Mateus interjected.

“They’re headed toward Beta element,” Justin replied. Beta was a flight of four Mauler bombers. “Alpha, break and engage bandits.”

The space-superiority fighters reversed course and pawed the vacuum toward the enemy. With afterburners engaged, they closed the distance before the Leaguers caught up to the slow-moving heavy bombers flown by First Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye and his pilots.

Justin marked the closest enemy as his on his HUD. The moment his lock-on tone sounded, he pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

“Alpha Four, fox two,” Lowell called.

Missile icons appeared on Justin’s HUD as Alpha lit up the void. Blue energy streaked toward the enemy, and the League craft scattered. The unlucky fighter Justin had targeted took the heat-seeking warhead hit on its aft shield, then a barrage of neutron cannon bolts followed, making the fighter explode.

In the time it had taken Justin to dispatch one enemy craft, the rest of Alpha had taken out two more. Lowell was doggedly pursuing a fourth enemy, firing on it with energy weapons as the Leaguer used a guns-D flight maneuver to throw him off.

“Lead him, Alpha Four. A few degrees to your right.”

“Wilco,” Lowell replied, sounding stressed.

As he struggled to obtain a guns solution, the two remaining League craft whipped behind him. Within moments, bright-red balls of superheated plasma flew through the void, followed by heat-seeking missiles, all splattering against Lowell’s shields.

As cool as a cucumber, Justin engaged his afterburner and accelerated toward the enemy. “Alpha Four, break hard. Deploy flares.”

“Wilco.” A burst of static came through the commlink. “They’re all over me, sir. Can’t shake ’em.”

“Guns-D, Lieutenant. Keep them guessing.” Justin bit his lip. “I’m on the way.”

“Yes, sir.” For the first time, fear crept into Lowell’s voice.

A pilot’s losing situational awareness was never good, but at least the rookie had done it when only a few enemy craft were left on the board. Feldstein, Mateus, and Justin all angled toward the two hostiles and sent LIDAR-tracking missiles at them.

“Alpha One, guns, guns, guns,” Justin called as he sent a flurry of neutron-cannon bolts into the void.

Luckily for Alpha element, the League pilots were greener than Lowell. They tracked him movement for movement and didn’t realize they’d been targeted until far too late.

Hit by two Vultures and neutron bolts from three directions simultaneously, one Leaguer blew apart. The second rolled away, only to be caught by the third warhead and more energy-weapons fire. Its pilot managed to eject before the reactor went critical.

With his tail clear of the hostiles, Lowell regained target lock on the Leaguer he’d been chasing and fired his neutron cannons repeatedly until it, too, was erased from the universe.

“Alpha Four, splash one.” Lowell switched to a private channel. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me, Lieutenant. I’m going to tear a bloody strip out of you when we get back to the Greengold. But at least you’re still alive to have that strip torn out. Let this be a lesson. When you lose situational awareness, you lose your life.”

Lowell gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Justin flipped the channel back to the Red Tails squadron. “Back in formation, ladies and gents. We’ve got some Leaguers to finish off.”

* * *

Blue light bathed the bridge of the CSV Greengold, casting shadows across the consoles and computer stations. In the center of the barely controlled chaos, Colonel Banu Tehrani sat in the CO’s chair, overseeing everything. She stared at her tactical plot, which showed a shrinking number of red icons representing League of Sol forces while her battlegroup and small craft pressed the attack.

“Conn, TAO. Master Six disabled,” First Lieutenant Zachary Bryan said over the din of battle. “Escape pods launching.”

That leaves two frigates and one destroyer guarding four remaining freighters. “Navigation, intercept course…” Tehrani glanced at her screen. “Master Four.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Four. Designate Master Four as the fleet's primary target.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan replied. “Firing solution set.”

The last few weeks had involved multiple engagements with League supply convoys, all with similar results—lots of destroyed enemy ships but precious few losses on the CDF side. Tehrani felt like she should be on top of the universe. Finally, they were hitting back. Part of her enjoyed paying the Leaguers in spades for what they’d done to the Terran Coalition, but the ugly incident from two months ago when she’d tried to destroy escape pods launched by pirate vessels wouldn’t leave her mind.

No one had mentioned it or treated her differently. Not even her executive officer, Major Benjamin Wright, had acted with reproach—after he’d relieved her of command. Still, she kept going back to that day and hour, which was a stain on her honor. One that she had no idea how to remove. For the moment, wiping out the enemy was a fair substitute.

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams. Signal all friendly vessels to coordinate their shots.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Twin spears of tightly focused neutron energy erupted from the bow of the Greengold. Moving at the speed of light, they slammed into and bored through the weakened shields of the League destroyer. Magnetic-cannon shells and missiles from the Greengold’s escorts showered the enemy ship. Explosions dotted the surface, blowing chunks of hull into the void. After a few seconds, a chain reaction started and reduced the destroyer to a cloud of finely ground debris.

“Conn, TAO. Master Four destroyed, ma’am,” Bryan interjected. “Master Seven disabled by Theta element.”

That left one frigate plus the freighters. While Alpha had destroyed one in the opening minutes of the engagement, they’d left most for after the escort was dealt with. Tehrani settled back in her seat. “I think it’s time we offer them a chance to surrender. Don’t you XO?”

“Read my mind, skipper.”

“Communications, get a general broadcast on vidlink.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. You’re on,” First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh replied.

“Attention, League vessels. This is Colonel Tehrani, commanding officer, CSV Zvika Greengold, Coalition Defense Force. You’re outnumbered and outgunned. No further loss of life is needed today. Surrender now, and I promise you will be treated according to the Canaan Convention on Human and Alien Rights. Continue to resist, and we will destroy your vessels.”

After fifteen seconds, Sing said, “No response, ma’am.”

Continued energy-weapons and missile fire from the League vessels showed on Tehrani’s tactical monitor. “Well, with that out of the way, let’s finish them off. Navigation, intercept course, Master Two. TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams.”

Wright crossed his arms. “I’d wager the ship drivers want to give up, but their political commissars won’t allow it. Or worse, they’ve already shot the COs and are commanding the vessels themselves.”

“And our destroyed tonnage keeps going up.”

“That, too, skipper.” Wright barely suppressed a grin. “Not that we compete with the other hunter-killer battlegroups, but last I saw, we were comfortably ahead.”

“Let’s keep it that way, XO.” As she stared straight ahead, a fire burned in Tehrani’s soul. The League would feel the force of that fire again in a few moments, the second Master Two was in range.

2

“That’s the last one, Theta One.” Justin scanned his HUD. “Remaining fighters are out of range. Recommend you reengage.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha One,” First Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye replied. “Theta element engaging Master Eight.” Before taking over the Zvika Greengold’s bomber unit, the Winged Lightnings, he had been Alpha Three. His level-headed leadership had kept the squadron together in the face of horrendous losses.

Calculating how long it would take for the next group of six League space-superiority fighters to reach them, Justin shook his head. Not soon enough, Leaguers.

The four Maulers advanced toward the type-C freighter, one of three remaining in the formation.

“Theta One, fox four.”

Other bomber pilots called out Javelin launches, and four warheads streaked toward the League cargo hauler. Lacking deflector shields, point-defense emplacements, and maneuvering power, the freighters were easy pickings for superior CDF technology.

Another icon disappeared from Justin’s HUD—a League Lancer-class frigate destroyed by magnetic-cannon and neutron-beam strikes from the CSV Marcus Luttrell and the CSV Ernest Evans.

We’re bringing superior firepower, numbers, and technology to bear. This ought to be a cakewalk.

Master Eight attempted to accelerate and turn away from the inbound Javelins, but all four warheads slammed into the freighter’s starboard amidships section, and bright flashes of light momentarily blinded Justin as he stared, transfixed. When the glare faded, the vessel had split in two, then both halves blew apart in another wild display of pyrotechnics.

“Scratch one League freighter,” Adeoye called. “Redirecting to Master One.”

“Acknowledge, Theta One,” Justin replied. “Alpha, four bandits inbound bearing zero-six-one, range two thousand kilometers. Break and attack, weapons free.”

“Wilco,” Feldstein said as her fighter peeled out of formation.

Justin rotated his craft and pushed the throttle to maximum, matching the rest of Alpha element. Not bothering with obtaining a guns solution on the inbound enemies, he toggled his missile-launch selector to double rather than the typical single fire.

The lock-on tone sounded as Justin’s Sabre entered max range. “Alpha One, fox three.” He pressed the launch button, and two Vultures dropped from his internal stores bay. Both streaked toward the enemy, their gel-fuel-propellent engines making the warheads accelerate rapidly.

Less than a minute later, both hit their intended target and erased it from the universe. “Alpha One, splash one hostile.”

The other three went down quickly, with only Lowell closing to finish off his quarry with his Sabre's energy weapons.

“Alpha Four, splash one. That puts me at three today.”

“Oh, quit bragging,” Mateus replied.

“Hey, I’m looking forward to ace-in-a-day.”

“It’s not going to get you any action with the ladies,” she deadpanned.

“Who said anything about the ladies? I just want to get one up on you for once, Lieutenant.”

Mateus’s accent grew more pronounced. “Oh, and you think getting five kills in a day gets you there, nugget? Get twenty, and I’ll be impressed. Maybe enough to let you have the honor of buying me dinner.”

“How about we focus on taking out the Leaguers now and roasting one another later?” Justin snapped. Amazing how quickly he forgot his near-death experience.

As he spoke, a series of explosions rocked Master One. Multiple neutron beams, mag-cannon rounds, and Javelin missiles smacked its weakened deflectors, raining fire onto the destroyer’s hull.

“She’s gonna break apart after another round of that kind of punishment,” Feldstein interjected. “No complaints here.”

“We’re running out of Leaguers to shoot,” Mateus said with a snort.

“Got some fighters trying to form up about three hundred kilometers out.” Justin double-checked his HUD’s sensor display. “That’s it for hostile small craft.”

“Can we splash them, sir?” Lowell asked.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Feldstein replied. “Proper grammar is ‘May I,’ nugget.”

“Thanks, Mom. Can I go outside and play now?”

Raucous laughter filled the commlink.

Even Justin joined in before he cleared his throat. “Okay, now that we’ve had our daily dose of the Lowell and Mateus Show, would anyone care to join me in sending off our remaining League friends?”

“Thought you’d never ask, sir,” Lowell replied.

“Just wait till we get back to the Greengold,” Mateus interjected. “You’d better make yourself scarce, nugget!”

“You two need to get a room.” Justin did everything to keep from snickering. “And if there’s one more piece of non-mission-related comms traffic out of Alpha element before we clean up out here, I will personally PT everyone around the flight deck. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Lowell replied.

The others echoed him.

“Okay. Form on my wing, and let’s get this done.” Justin goosed his throttle up and headed toward the remaining enemies.

Despite his crackdown on bantering, he was glad to see how well they’d jelled as a unit. Even Lowell had finally been accepted, even if he did get cracked on from time to time. Kid brings it on himself. No wonder the CAG used to bust my chops. The more Justin became like Whatley, the more he was amazed. Probably some deep meaning there, but I can sort it out later.

His Sabre accelerated into the void.

* * *

“Conn, Master One neutralized. Escape pods launching. One enemy vessel remaining,” Bryan said, more relaxed than twenty minutes ago.

Peering at the tactical plot, Tehrani picked out the locations of remaining enemy fighters. Fewer than half a dozen were left. “Navigation, intercept course—”

“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. “Master One just sent a surrender message, ma’am. They’re asking for terms.”

Wright replied, “Same terms we always have. Unconditional surrender and any resistance to the Marines met with lethal force. Right, skipper?”

“What the XO said,” Tehrani said with a grin. “Let Major Nishimura know we’ll be needing his services after all.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright busied himself with his computer overlay.

“Communications, signal Master One to cease maneuvering and prepare to be boarded.”

Singh nodded. “Message sent and acknowledged, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Master One has ceased firing and dropped her shields. She’s slowing rapidly.”

Tehrani sucked in a breath. Another successful engagement. “Very good. Commence boarding operation, and deploy search and rescue.”

“Some League pods are out there, Colonel,” Wright observed, pointing at their distress beacons.

"Have them grabbed after our ejected pilots are recovered. An extra hour in the void, contemplating poor life choices, won’t hurt our Leaguer friends.” Tehrani sat back, letting her head rest against the chair.

“Excellent, ma’am,” Wright replied with a chuckle.

Several other officers in earshot laughed, too, as the mood on the bridge brightened considerably.

“Not bad for a week’s work, eh?” he continued.

“How many freighter kills are we up to, anyway?”

Wright checked his tablet. “Third convoy hit this week. Seventeen total ships destroyed, nine freighters, three destroyers, five frigates, and one-hundred-plus small craft. There’s no way the League can sustain this. It’s a shooting gallery out here.”

“That’s what worries me,” Tehrani replied quietly so that only he could hear her above the noise of the bridge. “This is almost too easy.”

“You know, my mother used to say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, ma’am.” Wright snorted. “I’m glad we’re finally putting the hurt on.”

“I am, too, but we must remain vigilant.”

“Maybe the Leaguers had a change in leadership. A political officer took over or something.”

“If only Allah would smile on us in that way.”

Tehrani became lost in her thoughts. Again, the feeling of condemnation returned, and the events of the past played out in her mind for the thousandth time. Mentally staring into the abyss, Tehrani wished she could go back and change her actions. Don’t we all? Wouldn’t it be the dream of sinners everywhere to rewrite the past? The uncomfortable silence returned, and she longed for the combat evolution to be over. When I can return to my day cabin, where there is some modicum of peace.

“Everything okay, skipper?” Wright asked.

“Just peachy.”

“Looking forward to phase two here. Though it’d help if the skinflints in command would spill some details.”

“Loose lips sink ships, XO.” Tehrani forced herself to smile. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yeah, right when we’re ordered to attack our next target.”

“CDF command playing it close to the vest is one of the few constants left in this universe.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, ma’am.”

Tehrani’s thoughts tugged her back to the dark place her mind had been for the past two months. She hoped in time it would pass. Until it did, she would channel her efforts into defeating the League as soundly as possible in every engagement.

3

White House—Classified Briefing Theater

Canaan—Terran Coalition

26 April 2434

Jason Nolan had a spring in his step he hadn’t felt in many months, since the attack on the Sol system. After he’d powered through his early-morning activities—which included reading the daily presidential intelligence brief, something that almost always sobered him—Nolan’s next task was the weekly war update. He’d been promised a full account of the Eire operation so far from General Saurez and eagerly awaited it.

Rounding the corner, Nolan’s chief of staff, Abdul Karimi, waved. “Sorry, sir. I got caught up with the trade representative from Galt.” He rolled his eyes. “I swear, the Galters can drive me insane.”

Nolan smiled. “Oh? What now?”

“They’re upset that we added an excise tax to rare-earth-mineral shipments out of the Terran Coalition. I don’t understand how else to get through to him that we’re not interested in any of our lithium leaving for parts unknown when we’re still short by hundreds of thousands of kilograms.”

“Let me guess,” Nolan replied, slipping into a Galt accent. “We object to your socialist taxation scheme and demand a return to complete free trade as soon as possible.”

Karimi raised an eyebrow. “That was quite good, sir.”

“Yeah. I was roommates with a Galter during my college years. Delightful fellow, except when we talked politics.”

They chuckled, then Karimi gestured to the briefing theater door, which was flanked by two protective service officers in dark-gray suits. “I think they’re waiting for us, Mr. President.”

Nolan stepped through the door to find dozens of military officers and civilian advisors. Everyone stood as he entered.

He gestured to the chairs. “Please, be seated.” After taking his place at the head of the extended table, he turned to General Antonio Saurez—Commander, Space Fleet, or COMSPACEFLT. “This is one briefing I’ve been looking forward to.”

“After all the planning leading up to our offensive, Mr. President, I can safely say I share your exuberance, sir.”

“Then by all means, General, take it away.”

Over the last few months, Saurez had presented as a man with the weight of the galaxy on him. The war wasn’t going well, neither from an attrition standpoint nor from the overall strategic perspective. But the retaking of Eire had rejuvenated his physique. He exuded confidence and military bearing as he stood.

“Combat evolutions are continuing, sir. We’re currently executing phase one of Operation Watchtower.” Saurez nodded toward a young officer in the back of the room.

The holoprojector kicked in, showing a 3-D image of the Eire system. While the star and the moon where the majority of the population lived held the same name, the view depicted the solar system as a whole. Blue and red icons appeared, showing the locations of CDF forces and sustained enemy concentrations.

Saurez pointed at several clusters of purple dots. “These represent destroyed League supply convoys. Right now, we’re returning the favor for all the shipping losses we’ve taken.” His mouth curled into a toothy grin. “They’ve given up on trying to get smaller convoys or single ships through. Now, the League is only sending fleets. Of course, that makes our job a lot simpler.”

“If I may?” Nolan asked.

“Of course, sir.”

“Why aren’t they jumping these convoys directly into orbit again?”

“Given that Eire is a blue type-O supergiant, its gravity well is so immense that it hampers the use of Lawrence drives up to the system’s periphery. Main sequence stars—specifically those where we found most of our habitable planets—don’t have that issue. I suspect this is the prime reason the League choose Eire to capture. But a properly executed attack such as ours turns this advantage into a significant weakness.”

“My understanding is military vessels can jump in closer,” Nolan interjected. “So why the methodical approach?”

“The Leaguers have less advanced drives, sir, and Eire orbits the gas giant Eire IV, so jumping in closer would lead to a greater likelihood of exotic-particle release. CDF Special Projects division projects a ten to twenty percent loss rate of vessels that attempt to jump straight into orbit.”

Nolan sucked in a breath. He’d read some of that in a briefing but wanted to hear it directly from Saurez. It also says my advisors aren’t being overly cautious. “I see. Continue, please.”

“We’re about to launch phase two. That…” The holoprojector zoomed in closer. “Will consist of orbital drops of Marines on six military installations and early-warning stations the Leaguers have set up in orbit of moons around Eire VII. These are lethal environments with little to no atmosphere and heavy radiation.”

“Fewer enemy troops, then?”

“Exactly, sir. Once we’ve secured those locations, we’ll proceed to phase three and cleanse the asteroid belt separating Eire IV from Eire V.”

“And from there, on to liberating our people.”

Saurez nodded. “Yes, sir. The same thing we’ve briefed a dozen times before. It’s just now we’re accomplishing the objective.”

“Casualties?”

“Far less than expected so far, Mr. President. Roughly five percent losses for small craft. We budgeted for fifteen to twenty for phase one.”

Nolan narrowed his eyes. “That seems like a pretty big miss. Thoughts as to why, General?”

“Well—”

“The League is holding back,” Rachel Ziv, director, Interstellar Intelligence, interjected. “I’ve personally reviewed two findings from our top analysts. You’re fighting rookies.”

“Why would the League send waves of inexperienced pilots and ships at us, Director?” Saurez replied, exasperated. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you step back and consider the broader implications, General.”

Before Saurez could clap back, Nolan cleared his throat. “You two have clearly had this argument before. How about we dispense with the histrionics and focus on the task at hand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ziv replied.

Saurez sat up even straighter. “Yes, sir,” he ground out. “The director believes the League is luring us into a trap. Is that a proper summation?”

“I don’t think I’d use the word ‘trap,’ General. I believe they’re trying to sucker us into an extended campaign that will cause severe casualties. The enemy commander understands our weakness, and we’re not giving him enough credit for lining up the pins.”

Saurez gave her a look that could melt neutronium. “Or perhaps our pilots and starship crews are so experienced after almost eighteen months of nonstop action that they’re beyond veterans. How about that possibility, Madam Director?”

“Possibly.” Ziv’s expression never wavered.

I bet she’s fantastic at poker. “At this point, even if the League does have a trap laid for us, are there any changes to be made to the plan?”

“My recommendation is to be prepared for a sudden attack by a locally superior League force during the campaign,” Ziv said, her gaze focused on Saurez.

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

Nolan nodded. “Then all we can do is plan for the worst and hope for the best.” He turned to Ziv. “What of resistance preparations?”

“All cells are ready. At last count, five hundred thousand citizens had joined the movement in some way.” Ziv smiled coldly. “The League won’t know what hit them. They’re expecting something, of course, but I doubt they have any idea how many there are.”

“A shame half of them will die,” Saurez interjected.

It took everything Nolan had not to slam his hand on the table and yell at both of them. Why are we acting like children fighting over our sandbox or the latest hologame? “Back on task,” he said icily. “Do you have a projection for the start of phase three, General?”

“Within two weeks. General Hadaway believes we’ll be mopping up the last of the Leaguers on Eire within sixty days.” Saurez glanced between Nolan and Ziv. “Assuming there are no surprises, I agree with him. After all, most League troops are conscripts. History shows us conscripts have little interest in fighting, especially when compared to volunteer professionals.”

“Don’t we have bourgeoning numbers of draftees in our ranks, General?” Ziv asked.

The effect was as if she’d stuck a knife between Saurez’s ribs. His face twisted at the reversal of logic. “Our conscripts are fighting for their homes. Big difference, Director.”

“Perhaps.”

Nolan saw little reason to continue the briefing. He had all the information he needed to proceed, and large-scale movements wouldn’t begin for another week. “Well, I think that about covers it, if you’re finished, General.”

Saurez nodded respectfully, seemingly happy for the exit. “No, sir. Those were the broad strokes. Do you have any further questions?”

“No.” Nolan shook his head. “Your prebrief was quite informative. I must say, so far, I’m impressed with how the use of single-seat fighters is evening out our losses.”

“That’s what we get paid for, sir,” Saurez replied with a thin smile.

Nolan glanced at Karimi. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Then let’s get back to our schedules, ladies and gentlemen.” Nolan stood and headed for the exit, followed closely by his chief of staff.

He let out a sigh as they cleared the room.

“We’re going to have to do something about those two,” Karimi said quietly.

“After this operation. Any changes at the top right now could cause chaos.”

“Having Ziv and Saurez in the same room without adult supervision would cause a brawl.”

Nolan closed his eyes for a moment as he walked and shook his head. “Remember when this was easy?”

“No, sir.”

“Touché.” Nolan chuckled. “What’s next?”

4

CSV Zvika Greengold

Eire System Rally Point Alpha

5 May 2434

Justin curled up on his sofa, which was so small it barely accommodated his legs when he stretched out. Another day was in the books, and he’d even finished his paperwork early. The card game between the Alpha element pilots had ended early, driven primarily by Justin’s insistence on getting back to his cabin in time to vidlink his wife, Michelle. He sucked in a breath and tapped the icon on his tablet to connect to her.

Michelle’s smiling face appeared a few moments later. “Hi, baby. I’ve been waiting all night.”

“Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly. “The card game went a little long because Mateus was cleaning everyone out. I eventually went all in on a bad hand to get out.”

“Oh, be still my beating heart. You threw a poker game to talk to your wife? I’m so honored.”

Justin snickered. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

“I’m sure it did. You seem upbeat.”

“Yeah. Easy to be when we’re putting the hurt on the Leaguers.”

Michelle shifted, and the camera view swung around until she steadied her tablet. “The news is saying more League supply ships have been destroyed in the last month than since the war started.”

“No comment. Loose lips sink ships and all that.” Propaganda posters with that slogan were everywhere on the Greengold, displayed on every digital monitor. They reminded Justin of art deco paintings from two hundred years ago.

“Nothing at all?”

“Only that we’re winning… and somehow, someway, I’ll be home for Christmas this year.”

For a moment, Justin thought the vidlink had a technical glitch, as Michelle had stopped moving—then she started crying. A few tears fell at first, then she rapidly escalated to full-on weeping, accompanied by loud sobs. He felt horrible and longed to be able to reach through the screen and hold her.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to get out.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I know this is hard.”

Michelle used the sleeve of her shirt to dab her eyes. “I’ve got to be strong for you.”

“I…” Justin’s train of thought left him, and he stared at the screen. I’m the one who’s left her alone with two kids, and she’s talking about being strong for me? Condemnation swept through him. “Baby, I want to be strong for you too. That’s why I’m thinking about the training position on Canaan. I can do my part with the kids, and we can be together again.”

“You wouldn’t be happy with that, Justin. I know you, and I’m not convinced you’re not exactly where God wants you to be right now.”

He shook his head. “This whole idea of what God wants and how I’m supposed to comport myself is daunting. It doesn’t compute, you know?”

“Give it time,” Michelle said as she touched the camera with her finger. “Wait a minute, baby. This is when you usually tell me not to bring up the God stuff.”

“Some things have changed with me.” Justin set his jaw. “I’ve been looking for the right way or time to tell you, because I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it.”

“Out of what?”

“I accepted Jesus as my savior a few weeks ago.” The words tumbled out of Justin’s mouth. “I was at a service in the chapel. Father Elliott gave an altar call, and it just… it seemed right.”

Michelle stared in shock. “I… baby, I don’t have the words. I never thought—”

“That I’d see the light and come around?”

“No,” she said with a sad smile. “That you’d allow anyone in or admit you needed help.”

“Combat changes you, baby. In ways I can’t describe to someone who hasn’t been there. After all I’ve been through, I couldn’t justify my lack of belief any further. The truth is I shouldn’t be alive, nor should most of my pilots. Yet we are, and we’ve won over and over in situations we had no right to win.”

“Is that all?”

“No. I can’t explain it to you, really, beyond that one day I believed. I gaze at the void, and instead of seeing the blackness of space, I see the incredible beauty of our Creator. It’s all around us, if we’ll stop to take it in. From the birth of new stars to every new life birthed into this galaxy, regardless of species.”

“Who are you, and what did you do with my husband?” Michelle replied as more tears slid down her cheeks. “I mean that seriously, baby.”

“I don’t know.” Justin chuckled. “Call it a sea change in how I look at things. Seeing Owen helped cement it.”

“He’s crawling. I can’t believe how fast it happened. Maggie seems to love being the big sister. She’s always trying to take care of him. I almost think he’s replaced her dolls.”

“You passed the mothering gene on, I see.”

Michelle laughed. “Yes.”

“I wish I were there.” Justin closed his eyes. “I should be there for you all.”

“You are. You’re keeping us safe, and if I haven’t told you before, I am so proud of you that I could burst.”

Justin teared up. “Thank you, baby.” I’d do anything to hold them all. Even if it was only for a few minutes. “How’s Maggie doing in school?”

“Straight As.”

“That’s my girl.”

“As I recall, you skated through college on a barely passing average,” Michelle replied playfully.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that information.”

“Uh-huh. You flying for CIS now?”

Justin threw his head back and cackled. “Oh, I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.” Michelle leaned close to the camera and made a kissing sound. “My screen says we only have a few seconds.”

“Mine too. I love you. Talk soon, baby.”

“I love you too. Godspeed.”

The screen went black as the vidlink disengaged.

There’s never enough time. The tug of war within his soul continued. Taking a training spot should be a no-brainer. After all, it’s the model of the CDF. We don’t have pilots with hundreds of victories to their credit because teaching the newest pilots how to fight effectively was always the objective. Justin suspected part of the reason he was still on the front was the media story of the hero reservist. Not that it mattered to him—defeating the League was still the only consideration.

Rack time. Tomorrow will be another day and, I hope, a good one.

* * *

The operation tempo had declined since the League began bunching up its supply convoys and ceasing most attempts to get vessels through to Eire, so the Greengold had received a brief resupply from a spaceborne drydock and resupply vessel. The downtime allowed for small luxuries, like the quiet dinner Tehrani afforded herself in the senior officers’ mess. Eating alone, she enjoyed a steak as she stared into the inky black of the void.

“Ma’am?” Wright asked from behind her.

Startled, Tehrani whirled around, but she recovered quickly. “Major?”

“Another late night?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I join you?”

She wanted anything but his company. I know where this will end up. “Surely you have something better to—”

“Actually, skipper, I don’t. When a friend of mine is hurting, I’m there for them.” Wright swung a leg over the chair next to her and sat. “And I’m here for you right now.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine.” Please, just go away.

Wright narrowed his eyes. “Skipper, what’s the job of the executive officer?”

“To ensure the crew is performing at an optimal level and handle the internal workings of the ship.” She stared at him. “Why?”

“Because the inner workings of the Greengold have a problem.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“That you haven’t eaten with the department heads in three months. Unless you’re standing watch or fighting the ship in active combat, we don’t see you. You hide in your day cabin or stateroom belowdecks.”

“No, I—”

“Yes, you do. I’ve kept a spreadsheet on my tablet for the last month.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Tehrani felt like a cornered animal, unable to escape. “It’s… better this way.”

“Skipper, I forgave you. So has everyone else. You’ve led this ship to more combat victories against the League than most fleet carriers. The entire crew would lay down their lives for you in an instant if you asked.” Wright’s gaze bored into her.

Breaking eye contact, Tehrani turned back to the void. “I haven’t forgiven myself. Every time I walk on the bridge, I feel like they’re all looking at me with disgust. You too. I became something less than human.”

He touched her arm. “Skipper, we never did. Even that day, I knew my friend was making a horrible mistake, but it didn’t define who she was. None of us will judge your life by one of its worst days.”

“I’m not worthy of your forgiveness, Benjamin. I was ready to murder dozens of people in cold blood and sentence my soul to damnation.” Tears flowed.

Wright paused before speaking. He was crying too. “If I ever get a command of my own, I will live every day hoping to equal your example.”

She locked eyes with him. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“But I do. You’ve got to forgive yourself, Banu. Don’t let this thing eat you up inside. The Leaguers have already taken so much from us. They don’t deserve the chance to take our souls.”

Sucking in a breath, Tehrani wiped her eyes. “You sound like the imam.”

“Hey, I’ll take that.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“You start doing stuff with your senior officers again. We have dinner together. We celebrate victories and mourn our losses. Start existing outside that damn cabin, ma’am.”

“It’s hard—”

“Yeah, and hard is what we do. So you're having dinner tomorrow with the entire bridge team. I’ll send the master chief to escort you if I have to, skipper.”

Tehrani suppressed a grin, as she could tell Wright was serious. “You’ve planned this, haven’t you?”

“Of course. Would you expect anything less?”

“No.” She snorted. “Not from you.”

“Oh, and one last thing. We’re doing a big marathon of War Patrol on Friday to catch up on the season. You’re coming.”

“Benjamin, I hate that—”

He held up his hand. “I don’t care. You’re coming. And you can join us in making fun of the stupid details they get wrong.”

Tehrani closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“Skipper, I know we’ve got different religions, but doesn’t the Quran talk about forgiveness too?”

“Yes.” If you pardon and overlook and forgive, then indeed Allah is forgiving and merciful. “Quite a bit, in fact.”

“So did Jesus. One last time, I want you to hear this. I forgive you.”

Tehrani always strived to hide her emotions. She felt showing them was unbecoming of a military officer in a time of war, and in her family, strength was preferable to feelings. Hearing his words almost broke her heart. It took every fiber of self-control not to break down sobbing. “Thank you.”

“Forgive yourself, Banu. Please.”

Once again, she closed her eyes. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that.” Wright stood. “You probably want to get to bed soon.”

“Yes.” Tehrani nodded, grateful he was going to give her some space after the difficult conversation. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Godspeed, skipper.”

As she watched Wright leave, Tehrani settled back, welcoming the peace and quiet once more. Part of her thought her mental state would improve after his talk. Who am I kidding? I’ve tried everything the last three months, and all I want to do is sit in the dark. Still, something felt different. Even if I can’t pull out of this, retirement isn’t that far away. One way or another, the private torture would end.

5

Major Kosuke Nishimura hadn’t seen so many Marines in one place in years, since his last deployment to Terran Coalition Marine Corps Camp Argyll. He grinned as he checked his tactical network link for probably the twentieth time. The Leaguers had set up forward listening stations along with rudimentary defensive positions on several moons in orbit of Eire VII, a massive gas giant that had barely missed becoming a star. Dozens of moons orbited it, and it seemed the League had picked the ones with the most inhospitable environments to set up shop.

“Surprised we’re getting the nod here, aren’t you, Major?” Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Connor asked. He was strapped into a seat next to Nishimura on the command shuttle.

“I guess it makes sense. The brass doesn’t want to waste time bringing in assault vessels when the carriers have enough of us to take these rocks.”

“Well, regardless, I’m looking forward to putting the hurt on these jokers.”

Nishimura snickered. “What do the iron dice have to say about it?”

The question was a nod to O’Connor’s Jalm’tar religious beliefs. Aliens farther down the galactic arm, the Jalm’tar believed everything was attributable to random chance.

“I suppose we’ll find out when they get rolled here in a few minutes, sir.” O’Connor shook his head. “Though they’ve been coming up on our number a lot lately.”

“Yeah.” Nishimura stretched his neck, a difficult task inside his power armor. “By my reckoning, we shouldn’t have made it back from either the Sol attack or the debacle on that asteroid.”

“Maybe the Greengold and, by extension, her crew are touched by fortune.”

“Master Guns, I’d buy that we have a legion of angels going into battle with us.”

O’Connor snorted. “Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. But it does feel like the universe wants us to win.”

“I wonder if they’re going to let us drop on Eire. I’d like to be in the first wave.”

“How come, sir?”

“Because it’s high time we show those Leaguer bastards what happens when a few million of the Coalition’s finest arrive on the scene. They think the CDF is a lot to handle? Wait until the Terran Coalition’s Misguided Children show up.”

“Hoo-rah!” a young enlisted Marine shouted from across the shuttle.

He was quickly joined by cheers from the rest of them.

O’Connor pumped his armored gauntlet in the air. “You’re right, but I’m still worried about how many of these kids won’t make it. They’re so young.”

Every human eventually realized that time had passed and the vigor of youth wasn’t quite there anymore. Nishimura paused, glancing from face to face. Master Guns is spot on. We’re geezers compared to them. “So it’s our job to get them home. Or at the very least, to spill a lot more League blood than ours.”

“May fortune smile on us, sir.”

“We’ve got incoming,” the pilot announced over the intercom. “Prepare for high-speed maneuvering.”

“Shuttles? High-speed? What’s that guy smoking?” a Marine joked to raucous laughter.

“If the warrant says to prepare, we prepare,” O’Connor barked. “Secure your fellows. Ensure all harnesses are strapped in. Wouldn’t do for you ladies to get hurt before we make contact with the enemy.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“What?” O'Connor roared. “Do I look like a stinking officer to you? I work for a living, Private! When we get back to our ride, I will personally PT you around the hangar until your feet bleed!”

Nishimura chuckled. I hope the kid makes it back to get PTed. His mood sobered as he prepared for the crucible of combat. God, help me to bring them home, defeat the enemy, and bring honor to the Corps.

* * *

The Red Tails pawed the vacuum, all thirty-six combat spacecraft from the Zvika Greengold forming a sphere around the combat shuttles carrying the Marines. A dozen other squadrons of CDF fighters supported them.

Justin had never seen so many small craft deployed simultaneously. An infectious atmosphere that Justin couldn’t quite put his finger on filled the air. Perhaps it has something to do with this being the first significant Marine drop of the war and another step toward liberating Eire.

“Beautiful sight, eh?” Feldstein’s voice crackled with static across the commlink.

“Nah. The beautiful sight I’m hoping for is Leaguers dropping like flies,” Mateus replied.

“Step one, get the Marines down safely.” Justin toggled his HUD’s LIDAR display, which was interlinked with dozens of recon assets, including stealth raiders, for complete coverage of the target area. “Surprised we haven’t seen a more energetic response from the enemy yet.”

“I was hoping to make ace in a day again,” Lowell interjected.

A loud groan filled the commlink. “If you say something like that again, nugget, I will shoot you down myself,” Mateus barked.

“Now, now.” Justin cleared his throat. “The young lieutenant is an ace of aces, just like the rest of us. That affords him some respect, though, Lowell, I counsel you to take what the enemy gives you, do your job, and never focus on the number of victories.”

“I’d listen to him, if I were you,” Feldstein said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A mass of red dots at the edge of Justin’s LIDAR overlay caught his attention. “Alpha One to Zvika Greengold wing. Bogies at ten thousand kilometers. Number unknown. Look sharp, people.”

The commlink quieted as the pilots went into business mode.

As the range closed with the presumed-hostile contacts, a new voice came over the line. “Attention, all friendlies. This is Colonel Rahim, CSV Theodore Roosevelt CAG. Incoming is confirmed as bandits. Squadron leaders, maintain escort patterns in your assigned area of operations.”

Justin cued the command channel. “Colonel, request permission to break formation and engage. We’re more effective on free-ranging intercept rather than tied to the shuttles.”

“Negative, Captain. Stay in your AO. Rahim out.”

Pleasant fellow.

Justin flipped the channel back to the Red Tails’. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, now’s the time we get to earn our pay. Command won’t let us surge ahead to attack the bandits, so our job will be to ensure nothing gets by. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Lowell replied.

The others parroted him along with a wave of “Yes, sir.”

Even at the Sabres’s speed, it took time for the two masses of fighters to close the distance. A bead of sweat fell from Justin’s forehead, but he had no way to wipe the annoyance away.

He glanced at the small analog picture of his family, which was taped to his flight panel. I’m coming home, baby. I promise.

The LIDAR lock-on tone buzzed, breaking Justin out of his thoughts. “Alpha One to all elements. Stand by for max range, and engage when you have a hard lock.” He lined up with an onrushing League Shrike space-superiority fighter.

“They’re lighting us up like Christmas trees,” Feldstein said.

“Focus,” Justin snapped.

His LIDAR locked on to the hostile, so he mashed the missile-launch button, which rewarded him with a satisfying click. “Alpha One, fox three.” The Vulture dropped from the internal stores bay and rocketed into the void.

Joined by hundreds of other warheads, the missile raced into the teeth of the League’s electronic and physical countermeasures. Dozens of flashes appeared as they exploded. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemy fired its own wave of anti-fighter missiles.

Justin’s HUD had so many dots and icons on it that the device was practically worthless. He wasn’t even sure how many enemies had targeted him.

“Alpha One to all Zvika Greengold fighters. Break and engage. They’re trying to blow past us to hit the shuttles. I say again, break and engage. Use missiles if you can, but don’t be afraid to dogfight.”

“What about Colonel Rahim?” Lowell asked.

“Forget him.”

Justin whipped his craft around and lined up on a group of Leaguers trying to slide by the escorts. He sent two more Vultures after them. “Alpha One, fox three.”

The void became a jumbled mess of explosions and debris as destroyed fighters—both Coalition and League—littered the area. Between active and passive countermeasures, the effective range of LIDAR dropped dramatically. Anything above a hundred kilometers was mostly noise.

Alpha scored victory after victory, successfully knocking down more than a dozen hostiles. Lowell got particularly hot, scoring four kills in rapid succession when he fell in behind and ambushed a group of League fighters that seemed to have a single-minded determination to destroy shuttles, regardless of what was happening around them.

“Hey, this is almost easy,” Lowell said as the commlink crackled. “More so than usual.”

“Don’t get cocky, Lieutenant,” Justin replied. “That gets you killed.”

But the kid has a point. This is too easy. Almost like the Leaguers are sending green pilots on a suicide run. But why?

“Shuttles entering the LZ,” Feldstein commented. “Looks like our jobs are about done. That, and there aren’t many hostiles left.”

“I noticed.” Justin looped around, searching for a new target. “Fall back into formation, Alpha. We’ll maintain cover and wait for the Marines to do their thing.”

“Yes, sir,” Lowell replied.

It’s almost like I can hear him saluting. Justin grinned. I was that wet behind the ears once too.

As the remaining League craft pulled back, the battlespace grew quiet.

One of the benefits of Justin’s status as XO of the Greengold’s embarked air wing was getting a blow-by-blow of the ground battle. It seemed to be over before it had started, with the Marines overrunning most enemy positions within minutes. A few resolute defenders held on for some time, but all resistance had collapsed within an hour. Another step to retake Eire was complete, and Justin looked forward to the next.

6

LX Vasily Kanin

Eire Outer System

18 May 2434

Aboard Admiral Chang Yuen’s flagship, he felt alive and energetic. Unlike the past few months, he was finally at the sharp tip of the spear, leading his sailors from the front. What was already in progress and to follow would be his crowning achievement as a League of Sol naval officer. Month after month of careful planning, marshaling what forces he could get from the Orion Arm, and systematically building up static defenses within the Eire system had finally come together.

As Yuen was finishing his meal, the chime to his stateroom buzzed.

“Come in,” he said, annoyed by having his last few bites interrupted.

The hatch opened to reveal Colonel Baptiste Dumont, the political commissar for the invasion fleet. “Ah, I apologize, Admiral. I didn’t realize you were still eating.”

Yuen shrugged. “By the time I finished reviewing reports from the front lines, the mess had closed. It’s fine. Sit. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

While Dumont appeared respectful, the political commissar openly disdained the ranking fleet commanders and vice versa. Yuen was sure the man had a file on him that took up petaquads of space.

“I was reviewing those reports you mentioned.”

“And?” Yuen stared the Frenchman down. He’s here because Lambert wants to keep an eye on me.

“I have concerns.”

“Colonel, do not make me drag it out of you.”

“I apologize, sir. These are difficult times, and I do not wish to… add to your plate. With the loss of so many of our supply vessels, I question how we will support our troops on Eire. It has caused numerous morale issues.”

Yuen chuckled. Political commissars were often referred to as morale officers. “Has it?”

“Admiral—”

“We have stockpiled enough food and supplies for a year,” Yuen interjected. “If you’d bothered to read my detailed strategic plans, you would’ve noticed that detail.”

“But the losses we’ve seen in ships and fighters—”

“The weakest among us. Green pilots. Reserve ships whose crews lack basic combat experience.”

Dumont narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because it’s the only strategy I could devise with any hope of success.” And Lenin help me for the sacrifices made. “The Terrans will no doubt think they’ve won a great victory. They will press onward into this system, with its unique gravitational forces.”

“I realize you intend to force the enemy into committing its fleet and obtain battle on favorable terms.”

Yuen fought down the desire to backhand the commissar, a willingness that had come up often lately. Sprouting planning jargon to try to sound intelligent. They’re all fools. “My strategy is far more complex than that. The Terrans’ technology is superior to ours.”

“No technology is superior to the state—”

“Spare me.” Yuen held up his hand. “No committee members are around, so no need to demonstrate loyalty. Let us be frank. The Terran Coalition is ahead of us in power generation, shields, weapons, and sensors. Our strength is numbers. We must lure them into situations in which our strength can be utilized and theirs are diminished. All the better if the battlefield has conditions that preclude some of their technology from working.”

“I, uh, don’t follow, Admiral.”

Of course you don’t. If we didn’t have to deal with morale officers, the war would’ve been won long ago by that idiot Seville.

Yuen gave a thin smile. “What is the next obstacle the CDF must cross?”

“The asteroid belt?”

“Exactly, Colonel. It’s especially dense and filled with ring matter. The end result is a perfect place to ambush the Terrans.”

“Still, Admiral Yuen, I have grave concerns about our morale. I’ve heard sailors openly questioning the League’s ability to win.” Dumont shook his head. “This kind of talk is dangerous to our social duty. It invites individualism. You must address it, or I shall be forced to with harsh measures.”

“There will be no summary executions or ration reductions,” Yuen snapped. “That will only serve to collapse morale further, as you put it.”

“Then what shall we do?”

“Defeat the Terran Coalition.”

“Even if you do bleed them dry, everything I’ve read suggests they have the numbers required to punch through to Eire.”

“I plan on it.”

“What?”

“You don’t think I’ve come all this way, with my flagship, without a wide-ranging strategic and tactical plan, do you, Colonel?”

“This has not been registered with the Social and Public Safety Committee—”

“Because I don’t run back to Earth for permission for every little item.”

I’m beginning to feel some sympathy for Seville. Having to deal with these imbeciles for months on end is enough to drive anyone insane.

“Does this mean you won’t perform your social duty and inform me of the navy’s plans?”

“Stop throwing propaganda buzzwords around, Colonel. We’re a very long way from Earth. If you keep this up, I might grow tired of you. And who knows what accidents could befall a man with limited experience on a warship of this size.”

Dumont blinked as he ran the words through his mind. Yuen could almost see the gears turning.

“I meant no… disrespect.”

“Good.” Yuen pursed his lips. “Excellent, Colonel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to finish my now-cold dinner and do some reading before bed. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Of course, sir.” Dumont stood, tapped his fist to his chest, and strode out.

Sitting back on the couch, Yuen thrust a bit of his chicken into his mouth. The meat tasted bland and was chewy. He almost spat it out. Slimy, like our political commissars. The longer the war went on, the more disillusioned he became with how it was being fought. Piecemeal reinforcements, poorly trained conscripts, and limited technology left Yuen convinced his sailors were being sacrificed to whip the League into the frenzy of a great patriotic war.

Now I’m being individualistic. Or am I? Is it not the duty of a commander to see to his troop's safety and not waste their lives? Shouldn’t the great League want as many of its brave citizens to come home as possible—to raise more citizens and grow the state's power?

Yuen stood and walked to a small table with a decanter containing a brown liquor of a type he’d never sampled. It was solely for looks. He briefly considered pouring a glass.

No. I’ve made it this far without giving in to the call of alcohol, and I need a clear head because the Terrans, with their infernally good intelligence, could fall on us at any point.

With a last glance at the decanter, Yuen strode to his bedroom.

7

Eire Asteroid Belt

Terran Coalition Core Space

9 June 2434

Any hope Justin had felt of winning the Eire campaign quickly had evaporated a few weeks ago as they pushed farther into the system. While the League’s military outposts on the moons orbiting the outer gas giants had fallen rapidly, the enemy had prepared formidable static defenses throughout the dense asteroid fields where at least one and possibly two planets and assorted moons had once existed.

For once, the League commander seemed to be outthinking them at every turn. Hundreds if not thousands of asteroids had been turned into anti-ship missile platforms, and dozens more sported hangars for space-superiority fighters, new high-speed interceptors, and heavy bombers. Command decided that until they could neutralize the defensive emplacements, the offensive would hold.

Already on his third sortie of the week, Justin blinked to clear his eyes. Constant staring at the holoprojected HUD left them dry and scratchy.

“Alpha, tight formations as we enter the field. These Leaguers could be anywhere.”

“A pity they quit coming out to fight us in neat rows. That was simpler to deal with,” Mateus replied.

She had a point. The quality of their opponents’ combat skills had increased dramatically. No longer was anything easy. Every victory was earned in blood.

“Primary target at zero-two-six, range two thousand kilometers.”

“Nice of the stealth raiders to pinpoint the asteroids with weapons emplacements on them,” Feldstein replied. “But a shame they couldn’t take them out with Starbolts.”

“Ships can’t maneuver properly in this dense of a field. The ring material gives off too many sensor ghosts,” Lowell interjected. His voice held confidence he’d gained only recently.

“We don’t need a lecture from you, nugget,” Mateus shot back.

“Focus,” Justin snapped. “Switch missile selectors to heat seekers, and stay frosty.”

The missile-lock-on warning blared, causing Justin’s eyes to flick back the HUD’s sensor display. Multiple inbound warheads lit up the screen, headed for his flight element. Dammit. Jumped again.

“Bandits. Bandits inbound. Break to heading two-seven-five, positive declination twenty-five. Engage afterburners and push it up.” With a firm grip on his flight stick, Justin angled his craft upward and dropped superheated plasma flares and prayed the incoming took them.

Most of the incoming missed. Alpha didn’t take any hits, but the trailing bomber formation with First Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye in its lead wasn’t so lucky. Three Leaguer warheads slammed into one of the Maulers and blew it apart.

“Alpha, we need covering fire.”

“On it, Gamma One. Alpha, break and engage.” Justin whipped his craft around.

While the League interceptors had superior speed and maneuverability, they still suffered from the same problems at CDF pilots, including tunnel vision. They’d clearly been briefed to splash the bombers first, and it was going to cost them.

“Alpha One, fox two,” Justin called and gave a wolf-like grin.

A heat-seeking Eagle missile ejected from the underbelly of Justin’s Sabre and raced into the void, followed moments later by a barrage of neutron-cannon bolts. They slammed into the League interceptor’s shields, then the Eagle caught up with them, blowing the craft to bits.

“Alpha One, splash one. Gamma, vector zero-two-zero, toward enemy asteroid-based installation at range fifteen hundred kilometers. We’ve got these guys.”

“Wilco,” Adeoye replied.

As the three Maulers accelerated, Justin tried to maneuver toward the next hostile. The League interceptors, code named Fresco, had presented a unique challenge to the Coalition pilots. They were more maneuverable than any CDF craft. Their only disadvantage was a reduced weapons loadout. Given that most engagements in the asteroid belt turned into tail-chasing dogfights at point blank range, it wasn’t much of a weakness.

“Watch out, sir. You’ve got a bandit on your tail,” Lowell called.

Justin glanced at his sensor screen to see a Leaguer trying to obtain a guns solution on him. Dammit. I’m getting complacent.

He wrenched his flight stick to the side, throwing off his pursuer but losing situational awareness on the enemy to the front.

His HUD showed a lot more red dots than a few minutes prior. “Feldstein, are you tracking more incoming?”

“Yes, sir. It looks like they launched from a couple other asteroids in the area.”

Suppressing a groan, Justin bit his lip. “We’re going to get overwhelmed here. These interceptors are just too fast. Gamma, break off your attack and bug out, bearing one-seven-eight. We’ll cover you.”

“But, sir—”

“That’s a direct order, Lieutenant. I’m not losing more pilots today.” Justin calculated the range from the bomber element to the newcomers. Too close. I need to get their attention. He toggled his heat-seeking missiles to dual fire and pointed his Sabre toward the enemy.

“What are you doing, sir?” Feldstein asked.

“Watch and learn, Lieutenant.” He flipped the comms channel to the guard frequency. “Hey, Leaguers. What’s wrong? You guys can’t mix it up with the Coalition’s finest? Gotta attack low-speed bombers instead?”

The response was quick. Four of the interceptors turned toward Justin and the rest of Alpha, and a League pilot answered. “We’re faster than anything you have in space, capitalist dog, and we’ll sweep you all away from this world. Eire belongs to the Society now.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Justin forced a chuckle. “We’re here all day if you want a real fight to brag about.”

“I’ll kill you the same as your friends, Coalition.”

“Best of luck to you.” Justin switched the commlink back to the element frequency and engaged his afterburner. “Alpha, no matter what, these guys don’t get through.”

“Wilco, sir,” Mateus replied.

Justin lined up on the first League interceptor and pressed the missile-launch button. Eagles were highly intelligent weapons that he hoped would pick up the heat signature of the enemy craft as they passed. He and his team needed to keep the Leaguers guessing long enough to extract the bombers and get back to the Greengold.

* * *

Jackson Adeoye briefly considered why he’d given up flying Sabres to take on the task of commanding the Winged Lightning squadron and its ponderous, lumbering heavy bombers. Maulers were nicknamed the BUFFs—Big Ugly Fat Fellas—and with a chuckle, he thought of the more vulgar version the crew chiefs used. As slow as the craft were, they were sturdy and able to withstand far more punishment than a Sabre could dream of absorbing. Which was why Adeoye wasn’t too concerned when several Leaguer space-superiority fighters and interceptors broke through Alpha and headed in their direction.

“Gamma One to all units. Maintain formation, and continue bugout on previous heading. Maximum speed.”

“Sir, they’re gaining on us.”

“I see that, Lieutenant.”

“Tally ho! Bandits. Bandits bearing zero-zero-zero,” one of the bomber pilots called out. “They’ve got us boxed in, sir.”

“Steady,” Adeoye barked. “We’re going through.”

Masses of red icons appeared on Adeoye’s HUD. My God. They’re firing everything they’ve got. How would the CAG put it? We’re going to get our asses handed to us.

He togged his missile-selector switch. Not on my watch. One of the unique features of a Mauler was the integrated missile pods that slid out of the central payload bay. It enabled the aviation crew to quickly rearm them for another sortie. Adeoye had realized some time ago that while they were set up to receive Javelin missiles, the standard anti-fighter models—Eagles and Vultures—also fit in the contraption, thanks to the CDF’s relentless focus on standardization.

A bomber didn’t launch a big flight of anti-fighter missiles every day. In fact, Adeoye couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a Mauler carrying Eagles or Vultures. Which ought to make it a big surprise.

He pressed the button to mass launch the entire pod, which ejected and spun into the void as sixteen Vulture LIDAR-tracking missiles rocketed toward the League formation. While the initial LIDAR locks were tenuous at best, they came equipped with active scanners to home in on the enemy. Network connections back to Gamma’s tactical network helped the process as well.

“Gamma element, scatter. Redirect all power to engines, and deploy countermeasures.” Adeoye fought to keep his voice calm and project confidence. He wondered how Justin was able to do it in the face of certain death. The new position had forced Adeoye to mature quickly.

The intelligent targeting system built into the Vultures quickly sortied four apiece to the four enemy interceptors rushing toward Gamma element. As the warheads relentlessly tracked their targets, Adeoye reallocated his power reserves, pushing the engines dangerously above their redline capabilities in an effort to avoid the enemy craft charging them from the rear. Explosions dotted the void as the friendly missiles hit home. Three interceptors were erased from the universe, while a fourth took heavy damage and spun away.

Adeoye glanced at the sensor readout in his HUD, which showed a mass of approaching fighters coming from behind them. One of his two remaining wingmen, Gamma Two, was moving slower than the rest of them. “Two, you’ve got to speed up.”

“Negative, sir. Redline on my reactor.”

“Lieutenant Godfrey—”

Static came over the line as six League missiles along with large amounts of plasma cannon fire converged on Gamma Two. The Mauler ceased to exist.

Not another one. For a moment, Adeoye closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for his lost comrade.

With the duty completed, he searched for a way to escape, but the Leaguers had them dead to rights.

Then out of the blue, an enemy interceptor exploded, followed quickly by two more.

“Cavalry’s finally here, Lieutenant. Got held up by our commie friends back there. Keep bugging out. We’ll give them something else to worry about for another couple of minutes before making ourselves scarce,” Justin said, his voice crackling over the commlink.

Knowing he’d been mere seconds from death, only to be saved once again by the ever-present protectors from the Red Tails, Adeoye smiled. Justin is always looking out for us. The realization almost had a religious significance to it.

“Acknowledged, sir. Gamma element heading back to home plate.”

“Godspeed, Adeoye.”

“You, too, sir.”

As the Sabres of Alpha element continued to engage, Adeoye and Gamma Three raced away to live to fight another day.

This battle of attrition is eating us alive. He lamented having to write two more letters to families, the worst part of the job.

8

The moment Justin’s Sabre touched down on the Greengold, an urgent message hit his HUD: Report to deck one conference room for debriefing immediately—Major Whatley. After pausing only to remove his flight suit and freshen up the jumpsuit underneath, he rushed through the ship.

Whatley is probably going to yell at me again. Justin didn’t mind the CAG’s tactics but loathed his inability to solve the tactical problem. There has to be a better way.

Sweating profusely from his jog through the carrier’s hallways, Justin cleared the hatch to the conference room and came to attention. “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered.”

Colonel Tehrani sat at the head of the table, with Whatley and Wright on her left. She gestured to the empty chairs on the right. “Please be seated, Captain. I have some serious concerns about the losses on this mission.”

Even though Tehrani’s words were evenly delivered, Justin felt defensive. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Is there ever a time you don’t?” Whatley rasped.

“Proceed, Spencer,” Tehrani said with a sidelong glance at the CAG.

“Thank you, ma’am. The problem here is that we’re fighting in a nonpermissive environment against a superior opponent. We can’t see their hiding spots, and those Leaguer interceptors are faster than anything we can put on a field. Only losing two Maulers this last time was a small miracle.”

Whatley’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare shift blame, son. Your one job is to escort those bombers and get them home after blowing the League installations to hell. We’re having to abort seventy percent of our sorties.”

“That’s across the fleet, sir.”

“We’re better than the rest of the fleet.”

“Gentlemen—”

“When our orders are coming from three levels up out of the head shed at CDF command, what the heck do you think’s going to happen, sir?” Justin’s face heated. “We fly the same routes on easily predictable intervals. With respect, that’s bullshit.”

“Enough from both of you,” Tehrani snapped. “And not another curse word in my presence today.”

“Apologies, ma’am,” Whatley grumbled.

“I’m sorry, Colonel.”

“Does anyone have a better idea?” Tehrani asked. “I’ve heard lots of complaints the last few days, especially out of you, Major, but what I haven’t heard is a solution.”

Justin had put significant brainpower into her question and much time staring at the holorecordings from previous engagements but hadn’t come up with too much.

“Change our attack plans, Colonel. Different routes in and out. Vary the types of fighters used. In short, become less predictable,” Wright answered.

“Maybe…”

All eyes turned to Justin.

“Yes, Captain?” Tehrani prodded.

“What if we could turn our predictability into an advantage?” Justin gestured to the holoprojector controls. “May I, ma’am? Sir?”

“Let’s hear it, Spencer,” Whatley replied.

It took a couple of minutes of fiddling to pull out a 3-D map of the asteroid belt overlaid with the known League strong points and attack routes of fighters and bombers coming in from the various carrier battlegroups. The lines were a massive jumble but clearly showed the rote nature of the CDF engagement plan. “So, what we have is a situation in which the enemy knows what we’re going to do and when we’ll do it.”

“Tell me something we don’t know, Spencer.” Whatley crossed his arms.

“We can use it to our advantage by making Sabres and Boars appear to be Mauler bombers on their LIDAR cross section and slowing our speed to match what would be expected out of them.”

“What? Why?” Whatley asked.

“Something I read the other week just registered with me. One of the old Red Tails pilots back on Earth helped plan a similar type of engagement.” Justin grinned. “We fake the Leaguers out. They think they’ll be attacking outmatched and poorly maneuvering bombers. Instead, we’ll hit them with Sabres and Boars. If we coordinate among the various CVBGs currently engaged, we can have different elements of Sabres from multiple squadrons hit them in five-minute intervals.”

Whatley leaned back, stroking his chin. “That’s balls right there, Spencer.”

“I like it,” Wright said. “He’s right. We have a golden opportunity to use Command’s weakness in planning a mission from five hundred light-years away against the Leaguers.”

Tehrani grinned. “You’ll need to flesh this out a lot further, Captain. But I’m in general agreement with the CAG and the XO. If you bring me a detailed mission plan, I’ll get General Yoshimura to approve it. He’s been asking for ideas lately. We’re all tired of the central mission planning out of General Saurez’s office.”

“Does aviation need anything to make this happen?” Wright asked as he leaned forward. “Central computer time or simulation expertise, specifically?”

“Couldn’t hurt to have the AIs wargame it, sir,” Justin replied.

Whatley scowled.

CAG probably doesn’t want anyone else involved. He sucked in a breath. “We’re going to need replacement pilots and craft for the Winged Lightning squadron, ma’am.”

“I’ll see what Command can send us.” Tehrani turned to Whatley. “Anything else, CAG?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. You’re all dismissed, in that case.”

Whatley sprang out of his seat as Tehrani stood. “May I use the room for a few minutes, ma’am? Need to have a talk with the young captain here.”

“Make sure not to scuff the paint too badly, Major,” Tehrani replied with a grin.

She and Wright exited.

Justin gulped. “I apologize, sir. It wasn’t my intention to overstep.”

“You think that’s what I want to talk about?” Whatley glowered at him. “I learned a long time ago you don’t stand on customs and courtesies—which is a good thing, in my book. Probably means you won’t make full bird, though.”

“What is it, then?”

Whatley pursed his lips. “You’ve got the outline of a good idea here, son. But I don’t think you realize just how well this is going to have to be executed to sell it to the Leaguers. They’re not stupid.”

Justin nodded. “I know, sir.”

“Want some advice?”

“Always, sir.”

“You’ve got a bomber pilot who flew Sabres. Get him to run sims with everyone in the Red Tails and the Wild Hogs. Hell, do one better. Have him do a virtual sim, and we’ll send it to every fighter pilot participating in this little adventure.”

“But why, sir?”

“Because bomber pilots think differently from how you fast-mover hotshots do.” Whatley grinned. “They can’t turn and burn. They’re flying large, slow targets. You and, by extension, everyone participating in this have to act like bomber jockeys. No easy feat.”

“You act like it's already been approved.”

“Yeah, because it’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

Justin locked eyes with Whatley. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Don’t get all soft on me,” he grumbled.

“Of course not, sir.”

“When you get this plan done, send it to me. I want to make sure it's bulletproof before the up-chain gets it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Whatley gestured to the hatch. “What are you waiting for, son?”

“On it.” Justin stood, nodded respectfully, and swung the hatch open.

As he entered the gravlift and the doors closed behind him, he let out a breath. Okay, Justin, what’d you get yourself into now?

9

Since the beginning of the Eire campaign, the high-tempo battle rhythm had deprived Alpha of much of their free time. The card games in Mateus’s quarters once happened three times a week but were down to twice in the last month. It had the effect of making each one a well-earned treat and a respite from the war. Justin felt thankful to have it after a long week of planning what he’d taken to calling Operation Fake Out.

He pushed the hatch open to find Mateus and Feldstein already there, with a couple of bottles of beer sitting on the community alcohol table.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Feldstein said. She was out of uniform, wearing athletic shorts and a shirt, and had dark circles under her eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got the toll right here.” Justin hefted a bottle of rum. “It sure feels nice to be down here tonight rather than running another sim or pushing paper.”

Mateus snorted. “After that last ambush, I’m happy to be alive.”

A loud rapping came at the hatch, then it swung open. Lowell’s smiling, almost childlike face appeared. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”

“Put the alcohol down, and sit,” Mateus replied.

I wonder what has her in such a bad mood. Justin gestured to the seat next him. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“No ranks,” Justin replied. “Remember? We’re all equals here.” He slapped Lowell on the shoulder as he slid into the chair.

In the months since the rookie had come on board, Lowell had stopped the hero worship of Justin, though he obviously remained in awe of the rest of Alpha element. Still, as his skills developed, he was settling into the confident, almost cocky demeanor of an ace fighter pilot.

“Speak for yourself, but Mauler jockeys aren’t on our level,” Feldstein said with a snicker. “And of course you invited Jackson.”

“He’ll always be one of us,” Justin replied. “Right?”

A dreamy expression came across Mateus’s face. “If only I could bring myself to be with a bomber pilot.”

Everyone laughed, and almost on cue, the hatch swung open again.

Adeoye strode in with a small bag. “I brought sweet rolls from the chief’s mess,” he said with a grin. “Those special ones they bake in small batches once a week.”

“How in the heck did you get cinnamon rolls?” Feldstein asked, her eyes wide. “I tried for weeks to get my crew chief to get me one.”

Adeoye shrugged. “I have… connections. What was so funny when I walked in?”

“Oh, Elisabete still pines for you,” Justin replied. “You two really should go out.”

Mateus and Feldstein both glared daggers at him.

“Fast movers and slow targets can’t date. That’s absurd,” Feldstein interjected after her initial shock wore off.

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourselves that.”

“I’m the only bomber pilot who has destroyed six League fighters in craft-to-craft combat.” Adeoye’s Nigerian accent became more prominent with his mirth.

“You cheated,” Mateus shot back. “You fired like twenty heat seekers at them and got lucky.”

“That’s not cheating. That’s brilliant,” Lowell interjected.

“The nugget has a point,” Justin said. “Now, let’s stop jaw jacking and play some cards.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mateus replied. “I need to win back some of those credits you guys got from me last time.”

“All five of them?” Justin laughed.

They never played for anything more than a few cents or a single credit per hand. The CDF prohibited gambling, but enforcement was concentrated on high-stakes games, not a few credits over four hours among friends.

“Hey, credits are credits. Every one is precious and goes toward my shoe collection.”

The game began, and an hour later, after ten hands of seven-card stud, they took a break to refresh their drink glasses—except for Justin, who got water.

“Well, I’m about out of money.”

Lowell held up his winnings. “I can stake you, sir.”

Feldstein giggled but stopped herself halfway through. “Oh, isn’t that sweet. So… I heard some interesting scuttlebutt.”

“Oh?”

She stared at Justin. “RUMINT says you and the CAG are working on some kind of super-secret plan to hit the Leaguers.”

What the…? Seriously? How’d that leak? Justin swallowed and licked his lips. “Yeah, I’m working on something. Putting together a plan for the colonel to run up the flag pole.”

“Spill it.” Mateus crossed her arms. “Because I’m really tired of getting jumped by those commie assholes every day on these stupid asteroid-destruction missions.”

“Well, I was reading the history of the Red Tails and Colonel Daniel James Jr. in the old United States Air Force who flew with them. He helped plan a mission against a foe using similar tactics to our Leaguer friends.” Justin shrugged. “I took some inspiration from it and thought we could apply their lessons to our situation.”

“What? You’re a military historian now?” Feldstein asked. “Oh, you heard it here first, ladies… Professor Justin Spencer, teaching Earth Military History 401 at Canaan University.” She exaggerated her accent, trying to sound like a posh talking head from the holonets.

“I like to read.” Justin rolled his eyes. “All I’ll say is you guys are going to enjoy the execution.”

Feldstein cleared her throat. “I heard some of the Marines talking about how much they were looking forward to liberating Eire.”

“That sentiment runs deep,” Adeoye said. “We all feel it. Perhaps it will bring an end to the war, by proving to the League we’re stronger than them.”

“Don’t count on it,” Mateus replied. “This war won’t end until we plant the Terran Coalition flag on Earth or obliterate it from orbit with fusion warheads.”

Justin considered the two options. Minus the comments on dropping fusion bombs on civilian-inhabited planets, he agreed with Mateus’s assessment. “The only way we defeat the League is by eliminating their ability to project power. Grind them down and occupy their core worlds. Then hopefully their citizens will welcome us as liberators, if all the stories we’ve heard are true.”

Mateus snorted. “It’ll take fifty years to do all that. I doubt our civilian population has the courage to wage war for that long.”

“I think our citizens know what’s at stake.” Justin stared at her. “They’ll stay in the fight and keep us in it.”

“Enough politics.” Feldstein waved the deck of cards. “Back to playing. Tomorrow we can worry about getting blown apart again.”

“Hear! Hear!” Justin replied then took a sip of water. “Deal ’em, Mateus.”

She grinned and tossed cards at each of them. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The game continued into the wee hours of the morning. Afterward, as Justin went back to his quarters, he felt refreshed, even though it was almost 0200. Spending time with friends and not considering the war, combat tactics, and who would die next every waking moment was a needed respite.

Laying his head down on his pillow, Justin prayed quietly, asking God to give him the wisdom needed to defeat the League and bring his fellow pilots home safely.

* * *

An insistent buzzing from Tehrani’s tablet, which she’d left on her nightstand, jerked her awake. She sat up quickly and grabbed the device, stabbing a finger at the screen to silence the noise. What time is it? She grumbled upon seeing 0328 displayed. I could’ve used the extra hour.

As Tehrani’s grogginess cleared and her eyes adjusted to the tablet’s brightness, she checked to see what had caused the thing to go off in the first place. Major General Shingo Yukimura had replied to the detailed message she’d sent the day before to request approval for Justin’s attack plan, which was supported by the entire division of escort carriers. She grinned as she read the single word: Yes.

Far less annoyed at being awakened in the middle of the night, Tehrani began her morning routine with vigor. Once she’d finished exercise and grooming, she camped out in her stateroom, working through paperwork until the officers’ mess opened at 0600, when she marched through the Greengold to the mess nearest her quarters and the bridge.

To Tehrani’s surprise, Wright was already there, eating his breakfast. She smiled at him as she walked in.

“Skipper. Come on over.” Wright waved her toward him. “Major Hodges should be here shortly.”

Tehrani slid into the seat across from him at the four-person table. “And how would you know that, XO?”

“Oh, we meet for breakfast once a week now.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard that right. Unless I’ve slipped through a crack in space-time, you and Hodges don’t exactly care for each other.”

Wright licked his lips and set his fork down. “That’s a fair observation, skipper. But I’ve been taking inventory of my life and how I do things. It led to my extending an olive branch to our chief engineer. Instead of talking about being a better man, sometimes you have to be one.”

Tehrani agreed with the sentiment and was glad to see it happening around her, though she still felt a daily struggle to move beyond her actions in the closing minutes of the fight against Richard Logan’s pirates. But Wright’s encouragement had done much to help that process.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, skipper.” He pursed his lips. “You’re not usually here this early.”

“Yukimura approved the plan.”

Wright’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? I figured some Command weenie would shut us down.”

Tehrani shook her head. “Nope. Not this time. The entire division is in too.”

“Gonna be some pissed-off Leaguers when they realize they got duped.”

“What’s that phrase you like to use about chickens and eggs?”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“That one.” Tehrani chuckled. “Our foes aren’t stupid.”

“No.” Wright’s expression sobered as he took another bite of food. “They’re not. But I believe with all my heart we’re the better combatants, and we’ve got more to fight for. It’ll be enough to see the Leaguers off.”

The conversation was interrupted by a mess steward bringing Tehrani’s usual order out along with a cup of coffee with steam still rising from it. He deposited the food before nodding politely and leaving as quickly as he’d arrived.

She whispered a prayer in Arabic before beginning the meal.

“That’s pretty bad—they bring you the same breakfast without asking,” Wright said with a chuckle.

“I’m set in my ways when it comes to food.” She took a bite of yogurt with nuts. “You seem to have eggs and bacon almost every morning.”

Wright smirked. “Touché.”

A rustling behind Tehrani made her turn. Hodges was standing there in his engineering jumpsuit. Designed to keep those who worked in the heavy-machinery spaces comfortable during long shifts, it was a rarity in the senior officers’ mess.

“Ah, I didn’t realize you were meeting with the XO this morning, ma’am,” Hodges said as he turned away.

“It isn’t a problem, Major. I was just filled in on your weekly breakfasts. Don’t break that tradition on my account.” Tehrani gestured to one of the empty seats.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Hodges slid into the chair and folded his hands on the table. “And how are you both this morning?” His cockney accent came through strong.

“I’m alive,” Tehrani deadpanned. “These days, that’s about all we can ask for.”

“Still studying for that engineering certification?” Wright asked.

“Aye, Benjamin. I spent half the night on it.”

Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “Which rating are you going for?”

“Advanced fusion-reactor control,” Hodges replied with pride. “Honestly, ma’am, I’m hoping to pin on lieutenant colonel and make chief engineer on a heavy cruiser or fleet carrier.”

“Nothing wrong with climbing the ranks.” Tehrani was amazed the engineer had used Wright’s first name in casual conversation. I should be paying attention to these little changes around me. “You’d make a fine addition to any vessel in the CDF.”

“Thank you for saying that, ma’am.” Hodges took a sip of coffee. “The thing is I’m the first officer in my family. Something my old man won’t let me forget.”

Tehrani tilted her head. “For some reason, I thought you’d come from a line of officers.”

Hodges nearly sprayed coffee out of his nose. “Oh, no, ma’am. Mine is a working-class family from Churchill. As I say, I was the first. My mum brags until I blush, and my father thinks real men enlist.”

“Your dad and mine would get along just fine,” Wright said as he gave a belly laugh. “He still gives me grief for not joining the TCMC. Well, not since the war started.” His expression sobered.

“I find it odd how reverently the civilians stare at us when we’re on leave or on a Coalition planet.” Tehrani took a bite of her yogurt. “And the constant ‘Thank you for your service.’”

“We’re the only thing standing between them and the League.” Wright licked his lips. “So I get it. At least with a draft, there’s no shortage of soldiers.”

Finishing her yogurt, Tehrani glanced up to see a massive plate of food arriving. All manner of breakfast items sat on it along with an odd side of beans. “What is that?”

“Full English breakfast, ma’am,” Hodges replied with a grin. “Got to keep my calorie intake up, monkeying around inside reactor housings all day.”

Tehrani pursed her lips. “I suppose so. Well, setting up a tactical net with the rest of our escort-carrier division and helping to brief four other commanding officers won’t happen by itself.” She stood. “I’ll be in my day cabin until the paperwork’s complete, gentlemen. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed, ma’am,” they echoed.

As she walked away, Tehrani brushed an errant strand of hair away from her eyes and considered the task before them. Spencer’s plan has merit, but he’ll need help from God Himself to pull it off. Her job would be to make sure the intervessel cooperation went as smoothly as possible. She hoped they were all up to the challenge.

10

Justin had been in the Red Tails ready room when word of the approval to execute his battle plan came in from the CAG. He’d rarely seen Whatley so happy. The major had smiled three times in five minutes. This from a guy who never shows emotion besides chewing people out. It had taken a few more days to get everything lined up, though Justin felt they needed more simulator time to be able to pull off the ruse. Interlocking groups of Sabres from different carriers stood ready to engage the moment the League committed.

Justin’s Sabre hurtled deeper into the Eire asteroid belt. Every so often, ring material pinged off the shields. Alpha element moved at less than forty percent of maximum thrust, simulating bombers with a full war load of anti-ship missiles.

“Anyone else feel like they’re naked out here?” Lowell asked.

“Now there’s a visual I never want to have again,” Mateus replied. “But the nugget has a point. I drive my helicar faster than we’re going.”

“Which is why you have enough speeding tickets to lose your license several times over.” Justin laughed. “I pray to God this works.” He still struggled with admitting his newly found faith after so many years of being a nonbeliever. But slowly, it had begun to creep out from behind his carefully controlled mask.

“Alpha Two to Alpha One,” Feldstein interjected. “Sir, I’m reading multiple contacts dead ahead.”

Justin flipped his sensor view to the linked mode. Looks like Leaguers to me. “Confirmed, Alpha Two. Look alive, folks. I think we’re about to have company. Remember, maintain course and speed.”

A reduced Beta element flew escort, giving them a total of six Sabres to engage the enemy—if the Leaguers took the bait.

Eight red dots appeared on the sensor view, with the tactical computer designating them as the interceptor variant of League small craft. Justin mentally cursed, as above all the League designs, they were the worst to fight. They were unusually nimble and could out-turn even a Sabre.

“Stay in formation. Don’t move a millimeter.” Justin tightened his grip on the flight stick as the missile-lock-on tone buzzed. “Activate ECM.” In their attempt to mimic the Maulers, the same ECM pods the bombers carried had been installed under each wing.

“ECM online,” Lowell replied as the rest of the element signaled their response.

Anti-fighter missiles streaked in from the Leaguers as new red dots appeared on the HUD. Everything in Justin’s headspace said to drop flares and chaff then kick up the afterburners. If I do, we’re done. “Alpha One to Alpha element. Stand by to deploy countermeasures. Do not throttle up.” He counted off five seconds, remembering Adeoye’s recommendations. “Deploy chaff.”

LIDAR-spoofing material dropped from the rear of every Sabre, while Alpha element held steady on their course. A few warheads missed, exploding as they mistook the countermeasures for real fighters. But without active maneuvering, most hit their targets, and Alpha’s shields took a beating.

“Steady. Just a few more seconds.”

“We’re sitting ducks out here.” Mateus, for all her usual bluster, sounded worried.

I can’t blame her. My forward deflectors are under forty percent strength.

Taking out one group of Leaguer interceptors wasn’t enough. Justin wanted, at a minimum, squadron strength committed by the enemy before he would break formation and engage. His patience was rewarded when another group of red dots appeared on the sensor readout. A moment later, Justin’s tactical computer confirmed them as League space-superiority fighters.

The prospect of bagging a flight of CDF bombers must’ve been too much to pass up. “Alpha, they’ve taken the bait. Stand by for combat maneuvering.”

The new flight of enemies launched a wave of missiles, as did the previous group, so more than a dozen warheads were inbound. Justin counted another five seconds and decided the new group was close enough that they wouldn’t escape from the trap.

“Execute, execute, execute. Alpha, break and attack.”

As soon as the words left Justin’s mouth, he pulled back on his flight stick and thrust the throttle to maximum while squeezing the button on the side to engage his Sabre’s afterburner. His ship rocketed forward, making him slam back in his seat. A burst of chaff later, both missiles headed his way had lost lock, and Justin turned his attention to lining up the nearest enemy fighter. The hunted had become the hunters.

“Alpha Two, fox three.”

The lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the missile-launch button. A LIDAR-tracking Vulture dropped from the internal stores bay and accelerated toward the enemy. All six Sabres comprising Alpha and Beta elements loosed their warheads, while a few pilots closed to energy-weapons range. “Alpha One to Command. We’ve engaged the enemy. Send in the next wave.”

Several League craft disappeared from sensors as they exploded. Justin grinned fiercely. The Leaguers aren’t going to know what hit them. He rolled his fighter, searching for another target.

* * *

“Conn, TAO,” Bryan called out. “Epsilon element reports five League Shrikes destroyed. Numerous inbound enemy fighters on their position.”

The bridge was a beehive of activity, as the Greengold coordinated the entire division's efforts against the asteroid-belt-based forces.

Tehrani leaned forward. “Send reserve Sabre element Iota immediately.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Wright stroked his chin. “Gotta say, skipper, I’m surprised this is working so well. Our total kill count is approaching one hundred.”

“The single best day we’ve had in months, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not, ma’am.”

Their success wasn’t limited to the Greengold. The CSV Gambier Bay, CSV Audacity and CSV St. Louis were all seeing absurd rates of exchange as the pilots’ ruse snookered the League pilots. For every twenty enemy fighters destroyed, the friendlies lost one.

This ought to break their backs. Tehrani stared at the plot, searching for areas to send additional forces or react to a hostile movement. So far, the Sabres and Boars had everything well in hand.

“Conn, TAO. I think we might have League vessels coming into sensor range, ma’am.”

“You think, Lieutenant?”

Bryan turned. “The asteroid field and its ring material play havoc with our systems, ma’am. However, I’ve seen patterns like this in sensor echoes before. Looks like the Leaguers to me.”

“I wouldn’t bet against him,” Wright interjected. “The question is ‘What are we going to do about it?’”

Tehrani tilted her head. “I’d rather avoid having our destroyers and frigates mix it up with League cruisers or, God forbid, battleships.” She grinned. “We have bombers for a reason, XO. TAO, designate the area around those ghosts as a possible capital-ship formation.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Communications, get me Lieutenant Adeoye.”

A few moments passed before Singh spoke. “Audio-only connection established, ma’am.”

“Theta One, do you read me? This is Zvika Greengold actual.”

“Loud and clear, Colonel,” Adeoye replied. Static crackled over the line.

“We believe we’ve sighted League warships, Lieutenant. Are you ready to go hunting?”

“Music to my ears, Colonel. We’re eager to get some licks in today.”

Tehrani felt as if she could feel his warrior spirit through the commlink. “The tactical network should have the coordinates displayed now. Vector all available bomber squadrons in, and put enough Javelins on target to destroy whatever you find.”

“Wilco, ma’am.”

“Zvika Greengold actual out.” She leaned back. “This is turning into one fine day, XO.”

“Amen, skipper.”

11

Along with the Winged Lightning squadron, Adeoye guided his Mauler bomber into the asteroid belt. Unlike the Sabres or the Boars, the tough heavy bombers didn’t dodge the tiny rocks—they plowed through. The LIDAR display built into his HUD was alive with hundreds of icons as CDF fighters shot down the hostiles left and right. It is a testament to Justin’s creativity that the Leaguers were caught unaware.

With the enemy having scrambled what appeared to be most of their combat force, the reinforcements from other carriers had arrived at precisely the right time. Each wave of Sabres roared into the fray, loosing missiles, and made life hell for the Leaguers. As a result, Adeoye and his fellow bomber pilots had little to worry about as they pressed on toward the target—a trio of League vessels attempting to provide cover for a group of fighters around one of the larger asteroids. It appeared that their goal was to establish a relatively safe area to regroup. Which we will deny.

Point-defense fire streaked through the muck, melting ring material. The enemy frigates weren’t having much success hitting the Coalition fighters, but they had a nice light show going.

Adeoye toggled his targeting computer to one of the turrets on the closest frigate. “Theta One to all bombers. Target Master Three’s PD. We’ll pull their fangs and circle around for another pass.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” one of the pilots replied.

Adeoye’s comm board lit up with green acknowledgement symbols.

He waited for a solid lock-on plus another hundred or so kilometers to close. No use giving them more time to pick our Javelins off. “Theta One, fox four.”

The anti-ship Javelin missile blasted out of the pod built into the Mauler and accelerated into the void. Eleven others joined it, the warheads quickly burning up the majority of the gel fuel stored within and reaching maximum velocity. It took them a few minutes to get to the target, but the League vessel was distracted enough by the battle raging all around that two-thirds hit, inflicting significant damage on several port-side point-defense turrets.

That should make the enemies’ destruction simple. Adeoye grinned as he flipped his bomber away from the frigate to gain additional range.

“Thirty-degree gap in PD coverage,” one of the bomber pilots commented. “Amidships on Master Three.”

“Commence attack run, Master Three,” Adeoye replied.

An alarm blared within his cockpit. Checking the HUD, Adeoye realized a group of League interceptors had slid around to attack them. “Theta One to all friendlies. We are under attack. Request immediate assistance.”

Justin’s voice came through the commlink a few moments later. “Hang tight, Lieutenant. Help’s on the way. Alpha will handle this.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

Adeoye sent a few balls of chaff into the void as the Leaguers launched a cluster of missiles. The Mauler bombers were sluggish, making it challenging to enter guns-D or maneuver aggressively. Still, he shunted all available power into his craft’s engines and initiated a series of hard turns.

The most persistent enemy fighter matched Adeoye move for move. It obtained a guns solution on his bomber and sent a stream of plasma balls at him. As his shields dropped like a rock, two Vulture missiles slammed into the Leaguer, leaving nothing but a short-lived fireball.

“Still with us, Lieutenant?” Justin asked.

“Yes, sir. Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime. I think you’ve got a frigate to erase.”

“That, we do, sir. Theta One to all bombers. Break and reengage Master Three.”

Adeoye turned his Mauler toward the frigate and accelerated as he evened out his power distribution. He quickly obtained a hard lock on the enemy vessel and double-checked to make sure his target was a point toward the middle of the ship. “Theta One, fox four.”

Much like their first attack, a swarm of twelve Javelin missiles raced away from the bombers. The frigate reacted to the danger by firing its ion engines and accelerating toward a large asteroid fragment that, based on Adeoye’s sensor data, it could easily hide behind. He quickly ran through the math. They’re not going to make it.

The anti-ship missiles began their terminal approach, evading everything the Leaguers threw at them. Adeoye added to the maelstrom with a flurry of neutron-cannon bolts as the first few warheads took out the frigate’s remaining deflector strength.

* * *

As Javelin after Javelin slammed into the enemy frigate, Justin put a burst of neutron-cannon fire into the aft hull plating of a League interceptor. Its already-weakened deflectors collapsed, and the craft exploded in orange flame. “Alpha One, splash one.”

His kill was immediately overshadowed by a series of blasts from Master Three. Debris rocketed away from the stricken vessel before it split in two in a final explosion. Justin’s flight helmet reduced the amount of filtered light it allowed through the reflective surface, but the flash was still quite intense.

“Theta One, target destroyed. Scratch one League vessel.”

The bomber pilots cheered as the aft portion of the frigate collided with the asteroid it had sought refuge behind. The resulting fireball was intense. It appeared every warhead remaining on the ship went up at once.

The primary missile magazine must’ve gone up.

Once the flash cleared, Justin realized with a start that the once-solid space rock had become a cloud of debris. He pulled back hard on his flight stick to execute a snap turn and avoid the hazard. As he did, Master One plunged bow first into the field. The effect was akin to a shotgun blast as chunks of iron, nickel, and other elements blew through the destroyer's hull just as effectively as an armor-piercing shell. Vapor escaped through multiple breaches, and the vessel rolled to one side. It's not firing its point-defense weapons anymore.

“Theta, close to finish off Master Two,” Adeoye called. “Javelin missiles, full spread.”

Explosions soon broke out across the superstructure of the doomed Cobra-class destroyer. A few escape pods launched before the vessel blew apart into several-meter chunks.

“Scratch another League vessel!” Adeoye yelled.

“Nice shooting, Theta One. We’ve still got hostile fighters out here, so watch your six.” Justin grinned, though no one could see him.

“Wilco, sir.”

Searching for another hostile craft to engage, Justin cycled through several views on his HUD. League contacts were few and far between. He pulled up the command channel and toggled it to Whatley. “CAG, can you hear me, sir?”

“Loud and clear, Spencer.”

“We’re running out of targets out here, sir.”

“I was just noticing the same thing. The total kill count is close to two hundred hostiles between all four air wings. Not bad, son.”

Pride filled Justin. “Should we continue pursuit farther into the asteroid belt?”

Sounds of rustling came across the commlink. “I’m going to put that one back to you. We just scored more combat victories in an hour than we have in three weeks, and your first reaction is to press your luck?”

When the more experienced pilot put it like that, Justin felt sheepish. “Point taken, sir.”

“Quit while you’re ahead on this one, son. They could be hiding heavy capital ships in there, and that damn ring material makes it hard to detect until we’re on top of them.”

“Roger, sir. I’ll order everyone back to the barn.”

“Spencer, good show. I won’t say this often, but I’m proud of your performance.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Justin clicked off the line and was briefly overcome by emotion. Praise from the CAG was hard to come by, making it all the more impactful. It’s almost like my dad saying he’s proud of me. Which doesn’t happen too often.

He cued the commlink to the all-friendlies channel. “Attention, all pilots. This is Captain Spencer. The enemy has disengaged. We will return to home plate, rearm, and monitor the situation. Bravo Zulu, ladies and gentlemen. That was inspired flying.” Bravo Zulu referenced old-time signal flags and stood for “well done.” After many centuries, the phrase was still a tradition.

“Wilco, sir,” Feldstein replied. “Wouldn’t mind going after the Leaguers, though.”

“Enough risks for one day, as the CAG put it, Lieutenant. I suspect we’re going to have an epic celebration tonight. Alpha element is, at least.”

Snickers filled the channel.

It took some time for the eight-squadron-strong space-superiority fighter force to exfil the asteroid belt, escorting the Mauler bombers. The Leaguers seemed content not to challenge the withdrawal, as they disappeared from the LIDAR scopes. Another hour later, the Zvika Greengold was in range.

Justin circled the carrier as his pilots landed one by one. As always, he was the last to touch down, and the moment he popped the canopy, the roar of cheers and applause hit his ears. Aviation ratings had thronged the flight deck, cheering on the pilots. He climbed out of his cockpit and down the ladder then joined the festivities.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place rocking so hard,” Lowell said as he appeared at Justin’s side. “Great plan, sir.”

“No, Lieutenant. Great team and execution by my team.” Justin flashed a smile. “When you get to squadron command, remember that. It’s all about the team.”

“Yes, sir.”

He slapped him on the shoulder. “Now get out there and have fun. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Lowell replied with a grin. He waded into the sea of enlisted soldiers, shaking hands, high-fiving everyone, and celebrating like a football team that had just won the Coalition Cup.

Justin clapped and pumped his fist into the air before moving through the crowd. Though proud of the Red Tails and all the Greengold’s pilots, Justin didn’t feel up to a huge celebration. More than anything, he wanted to vidlink Michelle and see Owen and Maggie for a few minutes.

“The man of the hour!” Feldstein yelled from a few meters away. “And just where do you think you’re going, our fearless leader?”

“Oh, back to my cabin. I’ve got some comm credits to burn.”

Feldstein nodded and put her hands on her hips. “Hey, I get the need to talk to the family, but we’re your family too.”

“I know. I’ve only got a small window this afternoon, so once that’s done, I’ll find all of you in the mess, where I expect the party to have only just begun.”

“Mateus already bribed the chief’s mess staff to send down several cases of beer and other alcohol from their private stash.”

Justin snickered. “I wish I knew what she had on them.”

“Or how they always manage to get the good stuff. We’re officers and pilots, for crying out loud.”

“Ah, the ways of the Coalition Defense Force. Okay, catch you in a bit, Dvora.”

“Enjoy the family time,” she replied before turning away to rejoin the celebration.

As Justin strode through the passageways, his mind wandered. Thoughts of returning home to his family and taking a training position on Canaan were never far from the forefront. Odd that even after a great victory, I still long for home. Perhaps he should take it as a sign that his time was coming to an end. Only the future would tell.

12

“And with that, Mr. President, the pathway is clear.” General Saurez’s voice echoed over the commlink in the White House briefing theater.

Nolan leaned back and nodded. “Very positive, General. Who did you say was responsible for our change in tactics?”

“Captain Justin Spencer, sir. He led the combined squadrons of the Zvika Greengold in the attack on Sol, if you recall.”

“How could I forget either of those names?” Nolan replied, bristling. “Thankfully he had some additional inspired tactics to get through this League logjam.”

He stared at the holoprojector, as if he could look into the general’s soul. Saurez had decided to join the fleet and was on the CSV Theodore Roosevelt, a Saratoga-class fleet carrier.

“Our supply convoys seem to be getting through without further attacks, and we’re massing for the invasion.” Saurez gestured to a map next to his face. “Two thousand space-superiority fighters and heavy bombers will engage the enemy in six days, sir. D-Day is now set for 6 July 2434. Simultaneously, every resistance cell on Eire will activate, with objectives passed by CIS. It should make for one hell of a surprise to the Leaguers.”

Chuckles filled the room.

After a year and a half of being on the defensive, Nolan looked forward to tossing the enemy off Eire and, from there, out of Coalition space. “Amen to that, General.”

“And the location of the majority of the League’s capital ships?” Director Rachel Ziv interjected, eyes narrowed. “I’ve yet to see any accounting of them.”

“As I told you an hour ago, Rachel, all indications are the enemy has written off the defense of Eire. We have more than enough firepower to deal with any attacks on the invasion fleet.”

Ziv snarled back at him. “My title is director, interstellar intelligence, General. Use it.” She seemed to count off three seconds before continuing. “As to your belief in the League’s main fleet, my analysts say that’s wishful thinking. There’s been no mass exodus of vessels from Eire’s system that we could detect and no appearance of a few hundred League ships elsewhere in Coalition space.”

“If they attack us, we’ll defeat them, Director,” Saurez replied, annoyed. “I hope you’re right. Nothing would make me happier than to wipe the floor with the Leaguers in one fell swoop.”

Nolan was rapidly losing control of the briefing, with Saurez and Ziv sniping at each other. “General… Director, please. We have our respective lanes. Let’s stick to them.” He made a mental note to have his chief of staff follow up with Ziv afterward. She thinks she’s right. That much is certain.

“We don’t give enough credence to the League commander, Admiral Chang Yuen.” Ziv crossed her arms. “He’s got a good mind for strategy.”

“So do we,” Saurez snapped. “And we have the tactical edge here. More ships, highly concentrated, with superior technology. I might add our forces are extremely motivated to retake Eire.”

Ziv held up her hands. “It’s your call, sirs. I urge caution.”

All heads turned to Nolan, as the next move was his to make.

“General Saurez, what steps have been taken to minimize the risk from sudden appearances of League reinforcements?”

“There are no specific steps, Mr. President. We’re at war. You could say risk is part of the job. I can assure you that no matter what happens, our soldiers are ready. And in the event of overwhelming numbers of Leaguers showing up, we have a strategic reserve force. More than that, I will not discuss on a semisecure line.”

Nolan sucked in a breath. He felt the weight of billions of souls on his shoulders, as his choice would determine the fate of Eire and perhaps the entire Terran Coalition. “I see no reason not to, so General Saurez, you’re authorized to proceed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Godspeed to you and everyone else in the fleet. I’ll let you go, General, and expect further updates before the invasion.”

“Of course, Mr. President. Godspeed.”

The image on the holoprojector blinked off, leaving the room in silence.

Nolan furrowed his brow. “Anything else, ladies and gentlemen?”

No one spoke.

After a few seconds, Abdul Karimi, Nolan’s chief of staff, interjected. “I think we’re done, sir.”

“Okay, then.”

Nolan stood, and everyone else followed.

“Good day.”

He walked out of the briefing theater with Karimi close behind him. Once they were out of earshot and moving through the hallway toward the Oval Office, Nolan asked, “Do you think Ziv had a point?”

“Beyond her enjoyment of tweaking the good general’s tail in public?”

“Yes.”

Karimi shrugged as they passed a gaggle of staffers. “I don’t know, sir. I doubt it matters now. We’re all in on this attack. Either we win, or we lose, and whatever happens next has a profound impact on the next phase of this conflict.”

Nolan held out hope that a decisive victory would cause the League to withdraw, and perhaps a negotiated peace could be had. The more he thought about the cost in human lives, not to mention the economic and moral cost of having to invade a hostile empire on a different galactic arm, the less it seemed doable. And even if we could, how much will we alter the Coalition into something we’re not—an empire? “That much is certain.”

“Indeed.” Karimi shook his head. “Very full afternoon, sir. We’ll be in with the Saurian ambassador in five minutes.” He gestured to the door leading to the Oval Office.

“Thanks. I’ll get my head in the game.” Nolan flashed a grin. “Why’d I take this job again?”

* * *

CSV Zvika Greengold

Eire System—Rally Point Charlie

3 July 2434

Since the combined might of the four Thane-class escort carriers had swept the asteroid belt free of most League fighters, it had been relatively smooth sailing for the CDF. Combat, while infrequent, did occur, but the enemy seemed content to lick its wounds. The fleet pushed onward, tightening the noose around Eire and cutting off resupply. That left Justin and the rest of the pilots with little to do besides fly convoy-escort missions.

Staring into the void, Justin nursed a cup of tea. Part of him was glad for the change of pace, while another portion wanted to be on the first flight of ground-support missions with the Marines when they stormed the planet. Then he started thinking of home, Michelle, Maggie, and Owen. I should go ahead and take the training position. I’m being selfish by staying out here.

“Hey.”

Justin jerked back, startled by the sound of Feldstein’s voice. “Uh, sorry. Kinda lost in my thoughts.”

“I see that. Mind if I join you? I got warm milk.”

“Sure.” Justin took a sip of tea. “Can’t say I’ve ever developed a taste for heated milk. Tend to prefer mine cold.”

“It’s something my mother used to do. She’d give me a glass when I was having trouble sleeping. It stuck, but more than that… it reminds me of my childhood and home.” Feldstein pursed her lips. “How’s you?”

“Tired. Lots of paperwork to keep us busy, even when there’s no combat ops.”

Feldstein tilted her head. “That sounded like disappointment.”

“Maybe.” Justin laughed. “At least combat has some excitement and keeps my mind off the other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like my son is going to learn to walk and speak his first words, and I won’t be around for any of it.” Justin set his mug down. “You know, though, it felt good to even up the score the other week.”

“Yeah, it did. More than it should’ve.”

He shook his head. “This war… it changes all of us. Well, except the CAG.”

Feldstein laughed loudly. “Valid point, Flyboy.” She narrowed her eyes. “Have you made a decision on the training command position yet?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Justin sighed. “I don’t know. It’s a difficult choice.”

“What, pray tell, is so difficult about rotating off the front and teaching the nuggets how to do this right? For the last time—you have nothing left to prove. Even Whatley respects you, and almost everyone else around here thinks you’re touched by God to deliver us from the Leaguers.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Justin, you’ve got a wife, two kids, and a life waiting. What’s stopping you?”

He leaned back. “It’s not that simple, Dvora. Alpha’s my family too. If I just bail out and go back to Canaan to teach advanced tactics, who’s going to watch over you all? What if I need to be here to help win?”

Feldstein crossed her arms. “I know you're coming from a place of thinking you have to keep doing the work, but stop and think about it from another perspective. We’re all ace of aces… are you saying that between Mateus and me, we couldn’t keep Alpha flying?”

Justin moved his lips, but no words came out. “Uh, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” She’s got a point. The team is outstanding, and it would continue without me.

“Remember what I told you about having a hero complex?”

“To whom much is given, much is required.”

“Quoting the Bible now, eh? That’s new.”

Justin took another sip of tea. “Yeah. It’s stuck.”

“We all need something, so I’m glad it did.”

“Yeah. How’s married life?”

“Hmm. It’s okay. We’re trying. I, uh, came clean to him about us. Don’t worry. I didn’t use any names.”

“Ah.” Justin’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t thought of their indiscretion in months. “How’d he take it?”

“Some anger at first, but we worked through it.” She sipped her milk. “Sometimes I miss how close our friendship was.”

“Me, too, but we both know it's too big a temptation to go back.”

She smiled ruefully. “I wonder what might have been if things had been different.”

Careful, Justin. “Maybe in another life.”

“Yeah.” Feldstein set her mug down. “You should take the training post. I’m not saying that because I want squadron command, either. You’ve fought the good fight, and perhaps you could train these youngsters better so that they don’t end up dead in two weeks.”

“Perhaps.” Justin flashed a grin then drank the last of his tea. “I’d better go finish my paperwork for the day and sack out.”

“You do that.”

Justin stood. “Don’t stay up too late. We’ve got patrol at oh seven hundred.”

“I’ll be there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

With a chuckle, Justin turned and strode out of the mess.

He was still a mass of conflicted emotions and desires, feeling unable to determine what his duty was. Perhaps he should try praying about his problems. Father Elliott says to give these things to God. The concept struck Justin as foreign, even with his newfound faith.

13

CSV Zvika Greengold

Eire System—Rally Point Charlie

17 July 2434—Two weeks later

Tehrani’s workload had only increased since the success of their asteroid-belt sweep. Paperwork requirements for a ship’s commander were already outrageous. But with success comes additional responsibilities. General Yukimura had tasked her with being a sounding board and tactical liaison for the fleet.

The additional duties left Tehrani with even less time to clear her mind. She had always found it vital to recharge her brain by not pondering combat for at least a few hours each day—typically in the evenings.

Her tablet buzzed with an incoming vidlink from her husband, Ibrahim.

Did I forget? A glance at her wristcomm confirmed she’d missed their scheduled virtual visit. Tehrani pressed the accept call button, and a few moments later, Ibrahim’s smiling face appeared.

“There you are,” he said with playful reproach.

“I am so sorry, husband,” Tehrani replied. “I have additional duties, and I let the time get away from me.”

“Don’t worry about it, my love. I know you’re so very busy. Sometimes I feel bad about intruding.”

Tehrani closed her eyes and suddenly felt horrible guilt. He is so kind—more than I deserve. “Never, husband. I couldn’t keep going without our talks and the promise of our life going back to something that approaches normal.”

“How normal can it be with this war going, my dear?” Ibrahim shook his head. “I still cannot process how you are being forced to retire. Your expertise and experience are invaluable to the war effort. They’re insane to lose you.”

Even after seven months since the escape pod incident, Tehrani still hadn’t told her husband what she’d done.

“And every time I bring it up, you go quiet on me, Banu.”

Tehrani licked her lips before biting her tongue.

“I did something I’m not proud of,” she blurted out, surprising herself. “I almost committed a war crime. Had it not been for my crew, I’d be sitting in a stockade awaiting trial, husband. So yes, they’re retiring me for the good of the service.” Tears welled up and slid down her cheeks.

Ibrahim furrowed his brow. “I wish I could be there for you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want you to think I’m a monster,” she replied, choking back sobs. “I tried to destroy a group of escape pods. The thing is I still don’t care about that as much as I care that I brought shame to my crew and the CDF.”

He snorted. “Those disgusting pirates, yes?”

Tehrani nodded.

“Sometimes I think the word of Allah that says to purge the evildoers should be taken literally. I suspect I would’ve wanted to destroy them too.”

“Perhaps. But we have laws for a reason, and I broke my oath to uphold those laws. So now you know.” She stared at the floor.

“Banu, more than ever, I’m proud of you. Never forget that.”

“Thank you.” Tehrani used her uniform sleeve to wipe her eyes. “At least… I can salvage some of my honor by doing well in these last months.”

“Funny you should mention that. The holonews talking heads say we’re driving the League back on all fronts and have plenty of footage showing enemy ships blowing apart.” He raised an eyebrow. “I find it difficult to believe it’s quite that simple, though.”

Tehrani chuckled. “You know I cannot speak of such things, husband. All I will say is that my crew has performed superbly, and I have immense pride in the entirety of Battlegroup Z. Now, what have you been up to?”

“That sounded like a subject change.”

“It was. Consider it an order.” She giggled. “I still know how to give those.”

Ibrahim grinned. “We might have to discuss that further because I have a few I’d like to give you.”

Tehrani almost yelped. “Censors are watching our conversations! Watch yourself.”

“Mm-hmm. I’m still working on our economic problems, but suffice it to say I believe the government is ready to implement strategies that will relieve most of our issues.”

“What about this scrap-drive business? I keep seeing propaganda posters for them and exhortations to buy war bonds.”

Ibrahim shrugged. “Mostly window dressing, in my opinion. We’ve made the collective decision not to engage in an ‘all-out war,’ where we redirect all production into military means.”

“You mean like the Saurian Wars?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “But I suppose if we can get people to helicarpool to work rather than buying lots of new ones, it might help, and the war bond initiatives help avoid crippling tax increases.”

The idea of half measures bothered Tehrani deeply, but she could do nothing about it. When combined with the rumors going through the fleet that the top brass wanted a lighter, carrier-centric fleet above all else, it helped convince her the politicians wanted to win on the cheap. “I think I might get into ship repair when I retire.”

“What?” Ibrahim’s eyes widened.

“I need to do something to contribute to the war, husband. And such a job would let me still get home in time for dinner.”

He chuckled. “I suppose. I can’t see you crawling around the insides of an engineering tube and pointing out repairs.”

“It could happen. As I said, husband, I need to feel worthwhile. I can’t do that in the CDF anymore after I retire and the war continues.”

“I know you well enough to understand,” Ibrahim replied softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Tehrani smiled. “Yes.” Her eyes drifted to the timer on their vidlink. “About to use up our ration for this week.”

“So soon too.”

“I’ll be counting the hours.”

“Me too.” Ibrahim pursed his lips. “Walk with Allah, my wife.”

“You as well, husband.” She mimed a kiss before turning off the tablet.

As the screen faded and the darkness of her cabin encroached, Tehrani’s mind drifted to better times. I hope at the end of this deployment, I’ll have found some peace. If nothing else, Ibrahim deserves for me not to bring my baggage home. He’s waited so long for me.

She changed and climbed into bed then quickly descended into slumber. But real rest refused to come. Nightmares of exploding escape pods and memories of soldiers lost refused to go away, just as they had for months.

* * *

The energy on the Zvika Greengold was infectious. Justin could sense it pulsing through everyone aboard, including himself. In the days leading up to the initial Marine drop, he’d bounced off the walls with the rest of them, hoping the carrier’s pilots would get in on the action. Instead, the Greengold and most of the other escort carriers were assigned to cover the supply lines—which was what they’d been designed to do.

Reporting to the aviation briefing theater after his morning routine, Justin found a seat next to Feldstein and Lowell.

“You? Early to a briefing?” Feldstein asked. “What’s next? Pinning on Major?”

Justin grinned. “Stranger things have happened,” he whispered back. Not being made fun of by the CAG for once is a good way to start the day.

A few pilots from the Wild Hogs were the last in, and Whatley zeroed in on them. “Nice of you ladies to join us.”

One of them had the good sense to look sheepish. The others did not, which seemed to encourage the CAG.

“I realize those of you graced with flying the mighty Boar don’t feel the need to prepare or, hell, even salute your superiors, but I would appreciate it if you at least showed up to hear where the Leaguers are and how many of them you’ll have to fight. So kindly sit your asses down.”

Peals of laughter erupted, including from some of their squadron mates.

One of them yelled back at the CAG, “Major, we don’t care how many Leaguers there are. Just tell us where they are so that we can deal with the problem! Brrrrrrt!”

Justin mentally counted to three as a wave of the ridiculous brrrrrrt sounds swept the room.

“Make that noise in here again, and I’ll have anyone who does swabbing down the hangar deck,” Whatley growled. “Do I make myself clear, ladies?”

“Crystal, sir!” one of the offending pilots yelled.

“Good. Now, pay attention.” Whatley dimmed the lights with the remote control built into the lectern at the front of the room and powered up the holoprojector to show the Eire system. “So far, so good on the invasion front. We have well over three million Marines planet side, and from what little I’ve heard, our boys are giving those Leaguers all they can handle.”

“When are we getting our piece, Major?”

Whatley turned to face the pilot. “Depends. We don’t get to go in with the royalty on the fleet carriers. But if our League friends want to take a shot at the supply convoys and troop transports we’re assigned to escort, then we’ll get some action.”

Groans rolled through the room. Even Justin joined in.

“Well, I guess you all got trained right by somebody, because I could’ve sworn I heard complaints about not getting enough combat.”

“Yeah, I want more Leaguers to feel my wrath!” Lowell shouted.

“Shut up, nugget,” Whatley replied with a roll of his eyes. “As I was saying, those three million Marines on Eire need supplies. Hundreds of thousands of kilograms of them. Bullets, food, medical equipment—you name it. The Greengold and the other Thane-class escort carriers assigned to this operation will be ferrying in approximately sixty merchant vessels at a time.”

The holoprojector shifted its display to show groupings of green icons and areas of support from different carrier battlegroups. Justin had never seen so many ships together, except during the Battle of Canaan. He raised his hand.

“What, Captain?”

“I don’t see enemy-force projections here, sir. What will we be facing, do you think?”

Whatley shrugged. “Do I look like I have a crystal ball to you, son?”

“Well, actually, sir—”

“We prepare like the entire damn League armada is going to show up at any moment, okay? That means multiple elements on ready five at all times. Everyone else on ready thirty. Don’t think for a minute after we meet this convoy tomorrow, you’ll be getting more than twenty-minute naps for the next thirty-six hours. It will be unpleasant and the sort of thing I won’t ask you to do often.” Whatley set his jaw. “But make no mistake. We get those supplies and Marine reinforcements through.”

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied.

Many other pilots mimicked him.

“One last thing. I don’t want anyone pulling simulator time tonight. Get some sleep instead. You’re going to need it, and start avoiding real food now. Stick to combat rations.” Whatley smirked. “We all know why.”

Oh Lord, those things make you not have to go for days.

Well, after this is done, I’ll finally get some R & R with Michelle, Maggie, and Owen. That’s enough for me.

“Any saved rounds from the floor?”

Silence was the only reply.

“Very well. You’re dismissed. Godspeed.”

During the rush for the exits, Justin waved Feldstein and Lowell over. “I’m going to hit the CAG up for a minute. I’ll see you two at chow.”

“Yes, sir,” Lowell replied before Feldstein steered him toward the exit.

Justin waited until the hatch closed behind the last pilot before approaching Whatley. “Got a moment, sir?”

“For my XO? Of course.”

“You seem like you might know something more than you’re letting on, sir.”

Whatley shook his head as he secured the lectern controls and powered down the holoprojector. “Nothing concrete, Spencer. Call it an old pilot’s intuition. Notice we’re not hearing about any big fleet engagements through RUMINT?”

“Valid point, sir. Aside from smashing a bunch of planetary-defense-grid emplacements, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Exactly.” Whatley sucked in a breath. “The Leaguers aren’t just going to go home without a fight. So we’ll be ready. Say, how’s the family?”

“Good, sir. Owen’s eight months old. Can’t believe it.”

“You can’t believe you have another kid? Pretty sure you contributed to it, Captain,” Whatley said with a snicker. “Maybe we’re giving you too much liberty.”

Justin’s cheeks heated. “Uh, no, sir.”

“Damn, Spencer, after all this time, I can still get your goat in ten seconds flat. Okay, get out of here. Get some grub and rack time, and be ready to kill Leaguers tomorrow morning. Clear?”

“Crystal. Godspeed, sir.”

“You, too, Spencer.”

As Justin strode away, he thought about the future. I wonder what the war will look like after this. The thought came to him yet again that if the League were forced back, perhaps he would have time to do a tour of duty at a training command. At least I could see Owen grow up for a few years before going back to the front. The idea brought a smile to his lips as he walked through the passageways toward the pilots’ mess hall.

14

LX Vasily Kanin

Eire System

19 July 2434

For days, Admiral Chang Yuen had been watching over the Terran Coalition’s invasion of Eire. Carefully biding his time, he kept the main vanguard of his fleet out of sight, hidden in the asteroid belt, with its rather useful ring material permeating the entirety. His initial battle plan was to wait for the Terran Marines to get bogged down with garrison troops on the planet then swarm the carriers in detail as they were deployed on different sides of the globe.

In combat, few things survived first contact with the enemy. Yuen’s battle plan hadn’t, but he felt as if the circumstances were even better than what he’d hoped for. As such, he was on the bridge and ready to fight.

“We should’ve contacted the Social and Public Safety Committee before embarking on this mission, Admiral,” Colonel Baptiste Dumont, the fleet’s political officer, commented. His voice was just high enough to carry a few meters.

“And give away our position to the capitalists?” Yuen scoffed. “No. I am the senior officer on site, and this is my war to fight, Commissar.” Whenever possible, he avoided use of the man’s rank. It offended him that he had to put up with the meddlesome man and his lack of military knowledge. It’s as if the commissars go out of their way to avoid acquiring any knowledge that might help them beyond ensuring we use the proper buzzwords.

“As you say, Admiral. Then when will we attack?”

Yuen gestured to the expansive holoprojection tank. “Sometimes it helps to have an enemy who is overconfident. The Terrans’ resistance movement has hurt us far more than it should’ve, tying up hundreds of thousands of our ground troops. The Coalition commander, eager to exploit his success, is bringing up reinforcements and logistical support to keep his entire army in the fight.”

Dumont stared at the image and nodded. “I see.”

Yuen fought not to insult the man in front of the rest of the bridge crew. Such would be unbecoming of my rank and station. Still, he wondered how the commissar had gotten to his position. “Then my strategy should be clear, Colonel.”

Dumont’s eyes shifted. “I would not begin to upstage you, Admiral. By all means, share your plan.”

Because you have no clue at all as to what I’m talking about. “Of course, Colonel.” Yuen gestured to the map. “Do you see the large formations of freighters and bulk hauler class vessels?”

“Yes.”

“They’re protected by a few dozen light units. Escort carriers, destroyers, and frigates.” Yuen’s lips curled into a nasty smile. “How do you think the Terrans’ vaunted free press will cover hundreds of thousands of dead Marines floating in the void while their forces on Eire are ground into the dust and forced to surrender or be slaughtered?”

“It will spread fear and destroy their morale.”

“An ironic choice of words coming from you, Commissar,” Yuen replied. I wonder if he’s trying to be clever. It would be a change of pace for him.

Dumont chuckled. “Only a turn of phrase, Admiral.” His face darkened. “But I believe I see your point now. Do you have the forces to pull it off?”

“The pride of the fleet is here, Colonel. I see no outcome other than complete victory.” Part of Yuen hoped the CDF vessels would surrender rather than fight. Such a lopsided battle would only cause needless death.

“Then you have my approval, Admiral. When do we begin?”

As if I needed it, fool. “Soon, Commissar. Soon.”

Yuen laid his head back and stared into the inky black of the void. The die had been cast, and before the day was done, the Terran Coalition would be handed its worst defeat in history. We’ll see what the politicians back in Geneva have to say about that.

15

Tehrani took a sip of tea from her special mug that had CO in bold black lettering on the side. Sporting a tightly fitted rubberized top, it worked much like a child’s sippy cup and was useful when the ship jolted or moved suddenly.

So far, so good. The journey from the system’s outer edge had been uneventful, which was exactly what she’d hoped for. The massive convoy of merchant vessels was broken into multiple segments, with the Zvika Greengold and the CSV Gambier Bay being responsible for the Beta formation.

Another five hours till Eire. She took another sip before returning the mug to its holder then stretched her neck. “Convoy status, XO?”

“Everything’s good, skipper,” Wright replied. “No engine or reactor issues. For once, our civilian friends are even managing to stay in formation.”

Tehrani snorted. “Miracles never cease.”

“Something like that, ma’am.”

“But?”

Wright turned. “Skipper?”

“I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re bothered. What’s going on?”

“Well…” Wright shrugged. “I don’t like how few ships we’ve got out here. No cruisers, battleships, or even a light carrier with eighty birds on it instead of forty. If the Leaguers do show up, I mean, what are we gonna do? Shoot at them with spitballs?”

“Oh, we’ll manage. Any attack would probably be remnants of the asteroid-based forces we’ve cleared for the last month.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Though it would be nice to have a fleet carrier here.”

“Yeah, hobnobbing with royalty.” Wright snickered. “They probably wouldn’t want us around, since we’d sully their gleaming decks.”

Both of them laughed, as did several others within earshot.

“Even then, it would be nice to have them off the port bow.” Tehrani turned her gaze back to the tactical plot. With nothing better to do, she busied herself with searching for any holes in the convoy structure that enemy small craft could exploit but found none. She and the other senior officers in the convoy had done everything possible. All that remained was to traverse the void for a few more hours.

Time seemed to tick by at an increasingly slow rate. Every time Tehrani checked the chronometer above the windows, she expected it to have moved at least five or ten minutes. Rarely had more than a minute or two passed. Sometimes only a few seconds had lapsed.

“Conn, TAO. Ma’am, I’ve got some anomalies on the lateral sensor array.”

Bryan’s voice focused her mind on the present. “What sort of anomalies, Lieutenant?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am. The computer is giving me some wild readings. We won’t know unless they get closer or we turn toward the asteroid belt.”

Wright turned his head. “That’s too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

“Yes.” Tehrani quickly ran the options through her head. “Get another element of fighters up on ready five. We’ll go to condition two.”

“Sounds good, skipper.”

“TAO, any clarification on the size of these anomalies?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. All I can tell is that something is out there. I mean, heck, one of them is showing up as a comet.”

Tehrani furrowed her brow. “That’s mighty peculiar.” She sucked in a breath. “Communications, have the Ernest Evans use her enhanced scanners on the area where the anomalies are.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

I pray this is nothing. Tehrani’s heart beat faster. In her soul, she knew something was waiting for them. Oh God, let us be up to the task and succeed in our mission.

* * *

CSV Ernest Evans

Eire System—in formation with Battlegroup Z

21 July 2434

The professionalism that permeated the bridge of the CSV Zvika Greengold was present on every other ship in her task force. Only two months before, Major Abdul Fazal had taken command of the Evans. He’d been promoted to his first command following a successful posting as XO on a Gladius-class destroyer. When the CO was killed in action, Fazal stepped in and ran the vessel until relief arrived—several weeks later. His actions were enough to convince CDF command to assign him to lead another ship into battle. A fairly short man, he had sandy-colored hair that complemented his hazel eyes.

“Fusion reactor is still running a bit hot,” Captain Eva Tedesco, the XO of the Evans, said.

Her voice pulled Fazal out of his thoughts. “We’d better put it on our engineering support request for the next time there’s some drydock time available.”

“Already done, sir.” Tedesco was a new transfer to the ship too. Fazal appreciated her efficient nature in triaging issues and handling personnel problems before they got to his attention.

“Good.” Fazal stretched his neck, trying to work out the painful stiffness that came whenever he turned to his right. Probably slept on it wrong. He’d thought about going down to the doc shack a few times, but the bridge was the only place for a commanding officer when the enemy was so near.

“Only four more hours to Eire,” Tedesco murmured. “Then we get to see the Leaguers off.”

Fazal grinned fiercely. The home world of the Irish Republic was one of the core Coalition worlds, settled soon after the initial diaspora from Canaan in 2142. The moon his family called home—Khost—had only become inhabited within the last century, following a large-scale terraforming effort. Fazal reflected on how hard he would fight to keep the enemy off it, as it was also the home world of the Republic of Afghanistan. “I can’t wait.”

“Conn, TAO. Sir, those anomalies Sierra One picked up, they’re getting closer. I think we could get a good scan now.”

Fazal furrowed his brow. “Up our sensor resolution on the forward quarter. Narrow the scan area, and see if you can clean up the interference, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

One of the distinct features of the formerly Saurian vessels, besides the smell of raw meat that never seemed to dissipate, was their enhanced sensor loadout. When augmented with the latest Coalition technology, the frigates were the most advanced scout ships in the fleet, aside from stealth raiders.

After a few minutes, the tactical officer turned back to the CO’s chair, his face ashen. “Uh, sir. You’d better come look at this.”

With a glance at Tedesco, Fazal stood and took the few steps to the tactical station. Peering over the TAO’s shoulder, he stared at the display. It took him a moment to realize numerous League ship signatures were showing. “Run that through the processing computer, Lieutenant. Could still be sensor ghosts.”

“No, sir. See those specific EM emission patterns from one of the large contacts? My library shows it as the LX Vasily Kanin’s signature.”

Fazal’s eyes grew wide. The League flagship here? My God. Help us. “How many more?” he whispered.

“Three battleships, eight heavy cruisers, and more escorts than I can count, sir.”

A hush descended over the bridge. Fazal turned and headed back to his chair, feeling the eyes of every soldier on him. Fear was etched on their faces. He felt it tug on his heart as it skipped a few beats. When he’d taken command of the Evans, Fazal had made clear to everyone that he intended for the frigate to be a fighting ship in the thick of the battle. By God, I won’t abandon that now.

Even Tedesco appeared rattled. “That’s a lot of hostiles, sir.”

“Target-rich environment,” Fazal replied as he sat. He cued the 1MC on his chair’s control panel. “Attention, all hands. This is Major Fazal. General quarters. General quarters. Set material condition one throughout the ship. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill.”

The bridge lights dimmed and turned blue as the tactical officer interjected, “Conn, TAO. Material condition one set throughout the ship. Battle stations reporting in across the vessel along with damage-control teams.”

“TAO, raise shields. Charge all weapons.” Fazal set his jaw. “Navigation, intercept course on the enemy formation, flank speed.”

“Sir?” Tedesco blurted out.

“We won’t hesitate, Captain.” It wouldn’t do to dishonor the namesake of our vessel. He glanced at the ship’s dedication plaque, which was emblazoned with the motto of the Ernest Evans: We will do what damage we can.

“But a direct assault?”

“This old Saurian frigate still has a few tricks.”

Fazal tried to project calm. It’s just another day at the office. He hoped his people would feed off his confidence turned on the 1MC once again.

Words spoken by brave men five centuries before came to his mind. “Attention, all hands. This is Major Fazal. As most of you are well aware, we are protecting the TCMC’s reinforcements and supplies as they fight for our brothers and sisters on Eire. Our sensors have detected a large League of Sol fleet. So far, four battleships, eight heavy cruisers, and numerous escorts have been confirmed. This is a battle against overwhelming force, from which survival is unlikely. We will do what damage we can. Godspeed to us all.”

16

A dozen decks below the bridge of the Zvika Greengold, Justin and the other members of Alpha sat around the Red Tails ready room. Justin had his feet propped up on a chair, flight boots off, while he munched on a combat ration—braised beef and pasta. The food tasted okay, and it was better than most of the precooked meals available. But like most combat rations, something was off. Like I’m eating polymer.

“Ugh, Spencer,” Feldstein said as she looked up from her pouch of food, “why are we eating this crap?”

“Because it makes us not have to… you know.”

“How about a shower?” Mateus interjected. “I smell like an outhouse crossed with a dead body.”

“No showers. CAG’s orders.” Justin took another bite of pasta. “We have four hours of downtime once we run the next patrol. You can get one then.”

Feldstein laughed. “You sound just like Whatley.”

“Ugh, guys, I don’t want breakfast.” Lowell held up his ration bag. “This thing says Omelet on it. Where’re the dinners?”

Justin snorted. “Okay, who gave the nugget a vomlet?”

“A wah, sir?”

“Vomlet. Those things make you throw up violently.” Justin shifted his gaze to Mateus. “Was it you?”

She grinned. “Perhaps.”

“I had that pulled on me. I ended up hurling into my flight helmet during training. We do not need that kind of crap right now.” He tossed Lowell a bag marked Meatloaf.

“Thanks, sir.”

Lowell opened it, and as he took his first bite, a loud, piercing klaxon filled the room.

Scramble. So much for not running into the enemy. Justin stood so suddenly that his food went flying. He grabbed his helmet and started to run before realizing his boots were still off. It took a few seconds to get them on, while the other three pilots did the same.

“Go, go, go!” Justin yelled as he took off toward the flight deck.

Halfway through the cavernous hangar that housed a dozen Sabres and Boars, he got his helmet on and secured.

“Spencer, answer me, dammit!” Whatley roared through the comm system.

“Trying to get to my Sabre, sir.”

“Put everything we’ve got into space. Get some Javelins strapped to your hardpoints. We’ve got the entire damn League fleet coming down on us.”

“What?”

“Engage your remote sensor link, dammit.”

The way the CAG was spewing insults and curse words made Justin realize he was rattled. When the display in his helmet snapped on, showing a view of local space, Justin understood why. My God, there’s enough there to destroy all of us. “You want us to fight that with three squadrons?”

“Help’s on the way, but we have to hold, son.” Whatley let out a sigh. “I’m strapping in too. You’ll need all the fighters you can get.”

Justin slowed as he reached his Sabre. A gaggle of aviation ratings were pushing Javelin missiles into the hardpoints mounted on each wing.

“Any sage advice, sir?”

“Kill the Leaguers before they kill us. Now, get everyone into the void, and start blowing these guys apart. CAG out.”

As the ratings pushed the munitions sled away and moved toward the next Sabre, Justin climbed up the small ladder leading to the cockpit. He waved at them. “I’ll make sure to put these to good use.”

One of the enlisted soldiers flashed a thumbs-up then hurriedly got back to work.

Justin swung his leg into the cockpit and slid down with practiced ease. The scramble klaxon continued to wail, bringing clarity to his mind, though the noise threatened to blow Justin’s eardrums apart. He flicked the master power switch to the on position and began going through an abbreviated preflight checklist. Ever since he’d accepted Jesus as his savior a few months prior, something had changed within him and on the exterior. One of the things he’d done was to incorporate the armor of God into his preflight activities. It had become a ritual in short order.

“Reactor online, nominal output.” Therefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day and, having done all, stand.

“Flare and chaff dispensers online.” Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth.

“Thrusters active.” Take the breastplate of righteousness.

He toggled several switches, and a new bank of lights came to life. “Electronic countermeasure systems energized.” And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace.

Above all, take the shield of faith, that you will be able to quench the fiery darts of the wicked. “Shields charged. Green lights on all generators.”

“Neutron cannons and missile systems in standby mode.” Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God. “Alpha One, ready to launch.”

“Alpha One, this is the air boss. Launch when ready. All small craft to launch immediately. Hostile contacts inbound bearing zero-one-zero.”

“Acknowledged, boss.” Justin toggled his commlink to the Red Tails squadron. “Okay, people. Time to earn our pay. Form into elements once we launch, and we’ll escort the bombers in.”

“There’re a lot of them.”

Fear came through Lowell’s voice. He’s probably staring at the sensor screen. Justin remembered how it felt the first few times going into combat. The near-death experiences had racked up quickly, leading to an almost effortless ability to shrug off the fear. Therein lies the margin in my confidence level. “Lieutenant, we’re the guys who attacked Sol, blew up stuff all over the system, and lived to tell the tale. We’ve got this.”

“Target-rich environment!” Mateus yelled and gave a series of whoops. “Maybe I can finally even up my kill score with yours, Spencer.”

Though Justin wasn’t feeling great about their chances, he recognized how important it was to keep morale up. “Perhaps pigs will finally fly.” A few chuckles echoed as he tightened his grip on his flight stick. “Alpha One to all friendlies. Launch immediately.”

Sabre after Sabre rocketed out of the Greengold’s flight bay along with Boars and Maulers. In the space of a few minutes, thirty-one out of thirty-six craft were in the vacuum, circling the carrier.

Whatley cut in via a private commlink. “Spencer, get what’s out headed toward the enemy. Try to sync up with the Gambier Bay’s wing. I’ll follow with the stragglers.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Justin replied. He toggled back to the Red Tails frequency. “Okay, orders from the CAG. We’re going to engage the enemy, and he’ll catch up with the rest of the wing. On me, pilots.”

As he accelerated toward the enemy, the mass of red dots on the sensor screen seemed to get bigger. Justin glanced at the small picture of Michelle, Maggie, and Owen taped to his instrument panel. God, please help me get home to them. One more time.

* * *

Blue light from the overhead bathed the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. Tehrani sucked in a breath as fighters launched from the enemy fleet. We’re going to have our rear ends handed to us. She could see no way, beyond a desperate defense, to defeat the enemy.

“Communications, has General Yukimura answered?”

“Not yet, ma’am.”

Wright crackled his knuckles. “Well, we’ve been in worse spots.”

“Oh?” Tehrani turned to see an attempted grin on his face. “Really? Because I can’t think of one.”

Silence followed before Wright shook his head. “Nah, I can’t either. But hey, we’ve been in some jams, skipper. Let’s see what big CDF can send our way.”

She appreciated her XO’s manner, because as things stood, Ibrahim was probably going to get a visit from the chaplain. “Communications—”

“I’ve got him, ma’am,” Singh cut in. “And General Saurez too.”

Tehrani’s eyebrows shot up. Saurez? Chairman of the Joint Chiefs? Talking to us? That’s mighty peculiar. “My viewer, Lieutenant.”

The monitor above her head snapped on with an image of both Saurez and Shingo Yukimura.

The normally jovial major general, who commanded the Greengold’s carrier division, wore a frown. “Colonel, can you hear me?”

“I can, sir. General Saurez, do you read us?”

“Loud and clear to both of you. So, Colonel Tehrani, you’ve got a bit of a situation here. Lots of hostiles inbound?”

“Yes, sir. Four battleships plus numerous cruisers and escorts. We’re seeing fighter launches now. I cannot stress to you enough that we’re facing overwhelming firepower, sir.”

Saurez bit his lip. “Can you take them, Colonel?”

How could he ask me that seriously? “With respect, sir, we will do everything we can. As I said in my message, we need immediate reinforcements.”

“I’m going to detach two carrier battlegroups—both Saratoga class—to your location. It’s imperative that the convoy reach its destination. While the battle is going well on Eire, it’s still in doubt. We’ve got to have those supplies and Marines, Colonel. Do you understand me?”

“Completely, sir.”

Yukimura cleared his throat. “I’m assigning you as the temporary fleet commander for the other escort carriers in range, Colonel.”

“Tehrani hasn’t trained—”

“She has more combat experience than everyone else out there put together,” Yukimura replied. “Colonel, if you concentrate the entire division, perhaps there will be a way.”

At least he knows what is being asked. “If there is, we’ll find it, sir. Otherwise, it was an honor to serve with you.” Tehrani felt emotion creeping into her voice.

“Hold the line, Colonel. Help’s on the way. Godspeed to you all,” Saurez ended.

In the back of Tehrani’s mind, she wondered why the closest ships were at Eire and four to five hours away. Don’t they have a strategic reserve? She would have.

“We will, General. Godspeed to you as well. Zvika Greengold out.”

The screen blinked off, leaving her staring at it for what seemed like an eternity. Work the problem, Banu. Every one has a solution.

She toggled the tactical plot online and played with the controls, zooming out the resolution. They had a decent number of warships, but most were out of position to intercept the League attack.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. “The CSV Gambier Bay and her battlegroup formally acknowledge you as fleet commander. The CSV St. Louis and the CSV Audacity battlegroups as well. The entire division, ma’am.”

Tehrani had more souls in her care than ever before. And I pray never to have this burden again. “Lieutenant, transmit orders for all battlegroups to rally around the Greengold. TAO, configure a wall formation, and send it to the tactical uplink.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh and Bryan echoed.

“Conn, TAO. Sierra Four reports they are engaging the enemy, ma’am. Sierra Two and Three are breaking away from the formation and moving to follow.”

Wright stood. “My God, they can’t fight the entire League fleet by themselves.”

It took a second for what Bryan had said to sink in. A frigate turning straight for the enemy? Along with two destroyers. The odds are impossible. She opened her mouth to tell Singh to order them back, then it dawned on her that without something changing the ranges and time to target, the League fleet would engage them before the rest of the escort carrier battlegroups caught up. “Communications, order the Marcus Luttrell, the Frederic John Walker, and the Ernest Evans to harass the enemy and slow them down if possible.”

“It’s suicide.” Wright stared at her.

“Not if they drop some missiles, fire off a mag-cannon salvo, and beat a hasty retreat. It’s the only way,” she added in a whisper.

“I know,” Wright replied with an expression of anguish.

“Communications, order the freighters to move away from the League fleet at flank speed. Put as much distance between them as possible. It’ll give us more room to maneuver.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Wright sat once more. “What now, skipper?”

“We wait. And pray. Get every fighter in this fleet into space, regardless of loadout. They have one objective: stop the Leaguers.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

17

CSV Theodore Roosevelt

Eire System

A Saratoga-class fleet carrier, the Theodore Roosevelt, was one of twelve formerly American carriers reflagged as CDF at the beginning of the war. General Antonio Saurez found them a marvel of engineering. Each one was capable of fielding more than two hundred combat spacecraft, and a single Saratoga had more firepower than any five Thane-class escort carriers. He and his command staff had taken over one of the VIP reception areas, setting up communications equipment and work spaces for well over a dozen senior officers.

Saurez leaned back, pondering the situation. The sudden appearance of a League fleet, led by their flagship, no less, was quite the shock. He had to tip his hat to the enemy commander. “Colonel Erhart, detach two Saratogas and their respective battlegroups and send them at best possible speed to reinforce the Zvika Greengold.”

“Sir, they’re at least four hours away,” Erhart replied, his voice gruff. “The Greengold’s last transmission seemed to indicate—”

“I’m well aware of what it indicated. Now, get the reinforcements moving,” Saurez snapped.

“We could have our operational reserves there within two hours, sir. The battleships have powerful-enough Lawrence drives to jump in a hell of a lot closer than the smaller vessels.”

“That isn’t an option.” Saurez narrowed his eyes. “If we have to resort to using battleships to bail out a group of escort carriers, it’ll invalidate everything done so far to promote a carrier-centric fleet.”

Erhart’s face blanched. “But, sir…” He hardened his expression. “You’re playing politics with their lives.”

“I suppose I deserve that, Colonel.” Saurez pointed at the rank insignia on his left shoulder. “Those stars come with a cost. Make no mistake. If you ever pin one on, you’ll find the more there are, the fewer things become about right and wrong for individuals. Our politicians don’t have the stomach for mass casualties from the front daily. I’ll give them a strategy that means they don’t have to deal with it.”

As he spoke, Saurez knew how hollow the words sounded. Part of him still felt he was betraying his brothers and sisters in arms, but given the howls from the media whenever they absorbed thousands of deaths from a significant fleet engagement, it was the only way. The only way for us to wear the League down enough that perhaps they’ll eventually go away.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Erhart asked.

“Go ahead.”

“That’s political bullshit, and you know it. Tehrani and her people will be lucky to survive the day. What if the Leaguers get to our transports? A million Marines are counting on us. If our civilian leadership is that bad, you have a duty to resign then speak publicly.”

Saurez laughed. “You know why you’re on my command staff, Colonel? Because I think you might be general material. Again, get to this chair. You’ll see how it really works, and you will buckle down to survive.” He shrugged. “Politicians have been throwing soldiers' lives away for thousands of years. Don’t expect it to change now.”

Erhart narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t possibly be so cold as to let those Marines die.”

“No, of course not.” Saurez’s cheeks heated. “If it looks like a disaster, we’ll send in the reserve flotilla. That is my option of absolute last resort, Colonel. Don’t even think about countermanding me on this.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Colonel.”

Erhart braced to attention before turning and striding out of the room toward the Roosevelt’s CIC. The few other officers in the vicinity did their best to act invisible.

I wonder how history will judge me.

Saurez returned his gaze to the tactical plot and holoprojection of the battlespace. Thanks in no small part to the vast resistance network on Eire, most Marine landings had gone off without a hitch. League garrison troops were slow to respond, and when they did, they were pushed back in almost all cases. But that didn’t mean the Marines were out of the woods. He still felt they had a fifty-fifty chance. Who knows how many more League capital ships are lurking in the asteroid belts.

Saurez grabbed his tablet and drafted an order to get stealth recon boats combing the area again. How did we miss this? I shouldn’t have let my personal animosity toward Director Ziv get in the way of listening to CIS intelligence. Sometimes the spooks are correct, and I dropped the ball. He hoped the situation wouldn’t lead to disaster.

18

Justin felt like he was in a flashback to the Battle of Canaan. Dozens of fighters battled one another on either side. While the total number of hostile craft was lower than the massive fight over the Terran Coalition’s capital, he couldn’t recall a time when so many of the enemies were focused on killing him.

All around his Sabre, weapons flashed in the darkness of the void. Neutron beams and plasma balls crisscrossed as far as the eye could see, while impacts lit up the shields on ships from both sides. The scene was almost beautiful, in a strange way.

A warning buzzer indicating an incoming enemy missile jerked Justin out of his thoughts. Damn, another one.

He pulled back on his flight stick, pitching the fighter up while dropping several chaff pods to confuse the LIDAR-tracking warhead. It took the bait, exploding harmlessly more than a kilometer away. Justin’s HUD identified the craft that had launched the missile, making it his primary target.

Justin turned and burned toward the Leaguer, noting that instead of a Shrike space-superiority fighter, he was up against another one of their infernally fast interceptors. I’d rather face three Shrikes than deal with one of these Fresco things. They were capable of out-turning a Sabre, to say nothing of being faster without afterburners, presenting a severe tactical challenge.

He whipped by the hostile and executed a picture-perfect Immelmann turn. Luck was on Justin’s side as the Fresco flew straight and level, apparently unaware of his maneuver as the Sabre accelerated with full afterburners.

Justin selected a heat-seeking missile and pressed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox two.”

A few moments later, the Eagle slammed into the rear of the League craft and blew it apart. Justin let out a sigh of relief. At least these things have weak hulls. Grateful that no one was trying to kill him for a few seconds, he cycled through the squadron-readiness display on his HUD. The picture wasn’t good. Of the Red Tails, four fighters were down, and only one pilot showed an active rescue beacon. At least one of Adeoye’s bombers were destroyed, and two Boars from the Wild Hogs showed loss of craft, with the pilots ejected. And we’ve only been fighting for twenty minutes.

The glare from an exploding vessel attracted his attention. It belonged to one of the League escorts—a Lancer-class frigate. The Marcus Luttrell emerged from the fireball, its weapons suite flashing defiance as it rained hell itself on the Leaguers. Never out of the fight indeed.

“You got any bright ideas, sir? Because we’re getting picked apart,” Feldstein asked on a private channel.

“The only thing I’ve got right now is to try to escort the bombers in. I think if enough of these Leaguer capital ships get blown apart, whoever’s in charge over there will pull back.”

“It’s worth a shot, though, heh, have you ever seen Leaguers show concern for their losses?”

“Not in small craft, but those battleships have thousands of crewmen on them.”

“I hope to hell you’re right, sir.”

Justin sent orders electronically for the Red Tails to form up as he rotated his Sabre around. “Me, too, Dvora. Regardless, Colonel Tehrani said we fight to the last, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Fight the good fight…”

“No matter the cost.”

He pushed up his throttle and grimly set himself to the task of carving a hole for the bombers to get through. All around his fighter, neutron beams and plasma balls flew through the void, punctuated by distant explosions. With a glance at the picture of his family, Justin hoped he would survive the battle.

* * *

Major Abdul Fazal stared intently at his tactical plot as the League fleet loomed in front of them. Well within visual range as the massive warships exited the Eire asteroid belt, the hulking black-and-red vessels appeared in his mind as death itself. The Ernest Evans raced ahead of the rest of Battlegroup Z as the Marcus Luttrell and the Frederic John Walker maneuvered into a battle line. Fazal was counting on the frigate’s speed to help them even the odds, and he had an idea on how to do it.

“Conn, TAO. Enemy escorts in weapons range, sir.”

All at once, the void came alive. Red balls of plasma raced away from the enemy ships along with missiles and neutron beams. The only saving grace at that range was they had time to evade the incoming. Still, the glow in the inky blackness of space was a sight to behold.

Fazal punched a button on his chair. “Engineering, come in.”

“Conn, Engineering. Go ahead, sir.”

“Push the reactor to one hundred thirty percent of normal.”

A pregnant pause followed.

“Um, sir, I can’t guarantee we won’t suffer a catastrophic reactor failure at those levels. She’s not designed for it. Recommend maximum is one hundred ten percent.”

“Negative. I want one hundred thirty, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And prepare your team for relativistic speeds.”

Tedesco snapped her head around. “Did you say relativistic speeds, sir?”

“Quite.” Fazal tugged on his safety harness. “All bridge personnel, secure your harnesses immediately. Master Chief, sound collision alarm. I want every soldier on this tub in a harness within sixty seconds.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Fazal counted sixty seconds in his head as the unique collision klaxon blared.

“Navigation, disengage inertial dampers. Max thrust with excess reactor output. We’ll be going so fast that they can’t see us, let alone hit us.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The moment the inertial dampers disengaged, Fazal’s body pressed into the seat. G-forces on the bridge of a starship were unheard of except in the case of catastrophic battle damage, but he was counting on the unorthodox maneuver to get them in range. “TAO, do you concur that Master Six is slightly ahead of the rest of its escorts?” The Rand-class heavy cruiser would make an excellent target for what Fazal had in mind.

“Aye, aye, sir. It’s roughly three hundred kilometers out of position.”

As fast as the Evans was going, in a perpendicular line that cut the League formation’s T, incoming weapons fire found her. Roughly ten percent of the plasma charges aimed at them impacted the starboard shield, driving it under forty percent cohesion.

Taking the new development in stride, Fazal worked the problem. We need more speed. That’s the only solution.

“Engineering, increase reactor output to one hundred thirty-five percent.”

“Sir, she’ll blow apart!”

“Then blow her apart!” Fazal thundered.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Navigation, redirect all possible power to the engines. Use the thrusters. Anything we’ve got.”

Tedesco leaned in. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“If we can go fast enough to screw with their targeting systems, I think we can get a missile shot off,” Fazal replied.

The g-force was high enough to make breathing more deliberate. Unsustainable beyond another few minutes. But they had to hold on long enough to make it work.

“Then what?”

“I’m making it up as I go along.” Fazal set his jaw. “If we can bloody their noses enough, Command will get reinforcements in. Colonel Tehrani knows what she’s doing. Beyond that, we hold the line or die trying.”

With each second, the incoming fire slackened. More accurately, it fell behind as the frigate accelerated to speeds the targeting systems couldn’t compensate for. A few of the League Cobra-class destroyers tried manual shots, but at the ranges and speeds involved, none came close to hitting.

Fazal sucked in a breath with great difficulty. Okay, that’ll have to do. He cued up the 1MC. “CO to all hands. Prepare for zero-G conditions in fifteen seconds.” He counted them off mentally. “Navigation, cease forward thrust. Keep the inertial dampers offline.”

“You know, Major, I knew you were different when I figured out you were a Christian, but this takes the cake,” Tedesco interjected.

“Desperate times and all that.” Fazal chuckled at her joke. A small flag depicting a cross sat under the flag of the Terran Coalition on his uniform. What Tedesco said was true—less than five percent of the Republic of Afghanistan’s inhabitants were Christians, but all lived in harmony. At least we did until the League showed up.

As the engines shut down, anything not attached to a surface began to float. That included crewmen, as the harnesses had a little bit of play in the straps.

Fazal’s stomach churned. Memories of zero-G training in the aptly named “vomit comet” shuttles came to his mind.

“Deep breaths, everyone,” he called out. “Focus on controlling the gag reflex.”

“Anyone who dares to throw up on my consoles will be on exterior-hull-cleaning duty for a week,” the master chief barked, drawing a few nervous snickers.

“TAO, firing point procedures, Starbolt missiles rack one and two, Master Six.”

“Firing solution set, sir. How many missiles?”

Fazal’s mouth twisted into a grin. “All of them, Lieutenant.”

Tedesco began, “But—”

“We only get one shot at this,” Fazal replied quietly.

“Aye, aye, sir. I’ll have to do some fancy rigging, but we’ll drop all ten into the void on your command,” the tactical officer interjected. He sounded as jumpy as the rest of them.

“Good.” Fazal’s stomach heaved again.

“Conn, TAO. Starbolt racks one and two ready in all respects.”

The Evans, tiny in comparison to the League behemoths it faced, rushed through the void. All around the frigate, red plasma balls and neutron beams hammered away futilely, overshooting to the fore and aft. Return fire from several CDF destroyers peppered the enemy escorts, scoring numerous shield impacts.

They were only a few seconds out from optimum Starbolt range, and thanks to the Evans’s inertia, Fazal was confident the missiles would evade most enemy point defense through superior speed. He counted down mentally. “TAO, shoot, missile racks one and two. All available units.”

Shudders reverberated through the hull as all ten Starbolts rocketed into the inky blackness of the deep. Recognized immediately by the advanced sensor network, they populated as clusters of blue icons on the tactical plot.

“Navigation, bank us away from the League formation. We’ll arc back around and try to rejoin the Marcus Luttrell and the Frederic John Walker.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the navigator replied. Her face was as white as a sheet.

“Conn, TAO. All units running hot, straight, and normal in terminal approach to Master Six.”

Moving at speeds unheard of without the relative motion assist from the Evans, the warheads banked and weaved through the void. The enemy got lucky and splashed two of them. However, the remaining eight plowed into the side of the Rand-class heavy cruiser. One after the other, miniature suns erupted against the enemy’s shields, collapsing them after four detonations. The rest of the missiles slammed into roughly the same area, turning the vessel’s armor and hull molten. A few moments later, secondary explosions broke out, and within seconds, the once-mighty ship was reduced to a cloud of fine debris.

Cheers broke out behind Fazal’s chair, and he pumped his fist in the air. “Scratch one Leaguer heavy cruiser.”

Tedesco’s eyes grew wide. “Did we just do that?”

Fazal grinned. “Yes, we did, Captain.”

“Maybe there is a God.”

“I’m quite sure of it,” Fazal replied. “Now we get to see if we can stay alive. Navigation—”

“Conn, TAO. Inbound anti-ship missiles, sir. A lot of them.”

The League escort commanders had wised up to the fact that they weren’t going to be able to hit the Evans with conventional energy weapons. Instead, they’d put a few dozen warheads into the void for the express purpose of erasing the frigate from existence.

For the first time, Fazal felt fear gnaw at his heart. The incoming bracketed his ship from several angles, cutting off maneuvering vectors. He forced the fear down.

“Navigation, max thrust, heading zero-three-five. Redline us as far as she’ll go without burning out the interjectors.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Gravity returned when the Evans’s engines kicked back in at full speed. Fazal gripped the hand rests of his chair involuntarily as he was pressed backward. “TAO, take point defense out of automatic mode. You’ll have to manually aim. Try to lead them as best as you can.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The calm professionalism of the tactical officer had slipped.

Can’t blame him. I’m only a few steps removed from abject terror.

At first, much of the outgoing PD fire overshot the dozens of League missiles heading their way. The Evans adapted on the fly. One after the other, the inbound hostiles were shot out of the void, brief explosions marking where they’d once existed. But it wasn’t enough. Multiple warheads hit the already-weakened starboard shield quadrant, causing an overload and cascade failure.

The bridge rocked in the zero-G environment, with anything that wasn’t nailed down flying forward as the Evans shuddered from repeated hits. Sparks showered from a piece of overhead as a pipe and several light-fixtures fell, hitting a console and causing it to short out. A moment later, after another explosion rocked the frigate, several crewmen’s harnesses broke away from their safety restraints, and they careened in front of Fazal, narrowly missing slamming into the tactical and navigation officers.

As the cries of pain echoed in his ears, Fazal stared at the plot. “Navigation, put everything we’ve got into the engines. Dump all energy from the weapons and shields into our ion drives now.”

The bet was highly risky. Such an action would probably blow a Terran-made vessel up. He decided to gamble on the Saurians building more redundancies into their hardy little frigates.

The Evans rocketed forward with everything it had. The last few missiles were unable to catch up and fell hopelessly behind.

But just when the bridge crew was breathing a sigh of relief, the master chief’s voice rang out. “Overload! Overload in the primary neutron beam coupling, forward!”

“TAO, shut it down!” Fazal barked.

Another explosion rocked the vessel, that one very near the bridge. In an instant, half the overhead collapsed, burying two enlisted ratings behind the CO’s chair in debris. A piercing pain shot through Fazal’s hand. It took him a second to realize one of his fingers was missing and several others were mangled from the twisted alloy that had come within a foot of dropping on his head. God, please help me. Fazal ripped a piece of his uniform sleeve off and wrapped it around the wound as it bled profusely.

“Get a litter! Major Fazal to the infirmary immediately!” Tedesco yelled.

“No,” he replied weakly. “Have the corpsman come up here. I’m not leaving this bridge until I’m dead or unconscious.” Everything around Fazal swam, but he refused to give in.

19

Few things left Banu Tehrani speechless anymore. A forty-year-old frigate destroying a League heavy cruiser was one of them. She stared at the tactical plot, mouth hanging open as the icon for the Rand remained gone. Half of her expected it to flash back into being, nothing more than a sensor glitch.

Raucous cheers rocked the bridge.

“As you were! Maintain proper bridge protocol!” the master chief yelled above the din.

The tumult died down, leaving an atmosphere unlike anything Tehrani had ever felt. If the Ernest Evans can fight that well, by Allah, so can we. “TAO, status of Sierra Four?”

Bryan turned his head around. “Unknown, ma’am. She was taking a great deal of fire, but the last I saw of her trail was into the asteroid belt. It’s got enough ring material in there to make it nearly impossible to track a smaller vessel like that.”

Tehrani nodded. “I don’t think that’s the last we’ll be seeing of the Evans.”

“Leaguers have paused to dress their battle line.” Wright pointed at the plot. “Not that it does us much good.”

“Every minute counts, XO.” Tehrani tried to force a smile but wasn’t sure if she’d succeeded. “Saurez said help’s on the way. I’m going to hold him to that.”

The troop transports moved away from the battle, and each kilometer made them that much harder to destroy.

“Yeah, if we’re still in after three hours,” Wright muttered.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, enemy escorts. They’re moving again, ma’am. Directly at us. Best range, ten thousand kilometers.”

“What about Master One?”

“Holding position, ma’am.”

“Maybe the Evans rattled their cages a bit,” Wright said. “Who knows. I’ll take it.”

“They’ll close in soon enough.”

Tehrani’s gaze went back to the plot. The other escort carriers and their respective battlegroups were charging as hard as possible into position, but even they were twenty minutes away, except for the CSV Gambier Bay, which was even closer than the Greengold to the League flotilla.

“XO, see if you can get a tactical net established between our escorts and the Bay’s battlegroup. We’ll do better to coordinate our firepower here.”

“On it, skipper.”

Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as the League formation, with its overwhelming advantage in firepower and numbers, closed in. Tehrani ran different scenarios through her head, looking for anything she could use to their advantage. “That maneuvering trick the Evans used was inspired.”

Wright snapped his head around. “Skipper, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about trying it with us.”

Her XO had a point. The Greengold was a far larger vessel and would most likely shear apart if she went to relativistic speeds. “I was briefly. Got any ideas?”

“If we could take out enough of their escorts, a hole should open for our bombers to take a run at the Leaguer’s battleships. Remember, they don’t have anywhere near the point defense we do.”

“How could I forget?” Tehrani replied dryly. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Twenty-Two. Designate it as the primary target for our battlegroup.” The Cobra-class destroyer was the closest contact and would be within maximum range within a minute or two as the League vessels angled toward the Gambier Bay’s battlegroup.

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

Tehrani gritted her teeth as the weapons-status light turned green on her plot. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Twin spears of directed energy erupted from the bow of the Greengold then crossed the void at the speed of light and slammed into the League vessel’s deflector. As the display lit up the blackness, the Marcus Luttrell and the Frederic John Walker joined the fray, adding magnetic cannon salvos and their neutron beams. The barrage was too great—the Cobra’s stern and engine mounts blew off, and what was left tumbled away.

One down, seventy more to go. Tehrani set her jaw and picked the next target. So it went for the next ten minutes, the destroyers darting into firing range, inflicting as much pain as they could, and pulling back to recharge their weapons. But the Leaguers methodically pressed on. Hits piled up on one of the Gambier Bay’s escorts, and when its shields failed, the enemy poured everything it had into the vessel. Even then, the smaller ship fought on gallantly until its hull melted and life pods launched. All the while, Tehrani stared at the plot, singularly focused on finding a way to eliminate the League capital ships.

“They’re getting slaughtered.” Wright leaned in. “Order them to pull back, and we can try this again with more ships lined up on our side.”

“And if the League commander, who is clearly a competent combatant, pushes through the gap in our formation, forgets about hitting us in detail, and takes the transports out instead?” Tehrani felt nauseated.

“Then a few hundred thousand Marines die.” Wright’s eyes blazed. “What idiot didn’t assign heavy units to escort duty in an active warzone again?”

“That would be the generals in charge.”

Wright snorted. “Oughtta make them go out and fight.”

“I can get behind that sentiment,” Tehrani replied. “Communications, signal the Gambier Bay to slow their approach toward the enemy.” I hope it’ll give us a precious few minutes to help.

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

While the League grouping was uneven, two Rand-class heavy cruisers and an Alexander-class battleship were coming up behind the force of escorts attacking them. Plasma balls, neutron beams, and magnetic-cannon rounds crisscrossed the void, leaving haunting trails of brightly colored shapes in their wake. Two enemy frigates were destroyed by concentrated fire from the CDF destroyers at the fore, and another destroyer was left drifting, crippled, and trailing vapor from a multitude of hull breaches.

Tehrani thought they just might pull it off until the Rands finally closed the gap, about ten minutes before the Greengold and her escorts would enter maximum weapons range. The battle went downhill from there. What seemed like thousands of plasma charges lashed out from the League heavy cruisers, hammering the shields of the two destroyers in the Bay’s escort. One, the CSV Campbeltown, was able to accelerate and escape. Her consort, the CSV Yonatan Netanyahu, wasn’t so lucky. An anti-ship missile hit her primary ion engine housing and destroyed the port thrusters. With her top speed slowed to barely half of full combat thrust, she was an easy target for the Leaguers. As the life pods launched, an explosion ripped through the Netanyahu’s superstructure, and the destroyer blew apart.

“My God.” Wright murmured a prayer under his breath.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Sierra Eleven. She’s accelerating toward Master Four, ma’am.”

Tehrani’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “Confirm that, Lieutenant. The Gambier Bay is headed toward the nearest battleship?”

“Yes, ma’am. No doubt about it.”

“Communications, order them back now!”

“Escape pods launching. A lot of them,” Wright interjected. “Looks like they’re trying to get the crew off.”

They didn’t have enough time for a mass evacuation of the carrier, and a lot of soldiers were about to die. She gripped the armrests of her chair so fiercely that her knuckles turned white. “Communications?”

“No response, ma’am.”

“Dammit,” she muttered. Tehrani’s gaze went to the tactical plot. The Gambier Bay shrugged off everything the League threw at it and pressed on. Campbeltown provided as much supportive fire as it could, flinging magnetic-cannon shells and anti-ship missiles at the enemy escorts and disrupting their formation until the bitter end. At the last minute, one of the Rands attempted to accelerate, perhaps hoping to ram the Bay before it could collide with the battleship at the core of their formation.

Maneuvering with more grace than Tehrani would’ve expected a Thane-class escort carrier to possess, the Bay deftly adjusted its heading to make the Rand miss by no more than a few kilometers. Armor plating melted under the battleship’s barrage, and pieces of hull blew off from explosions as the Leaguers rained fire down. However, because of the approach vector taken, most of the enemy's shots hit the bow and avoided areas where secondary explosions could erupt.

Tehrani stared stoically as the Gambier Bay plowed into the side of the League battleship. Shards of alloy ripped away from each vessel as the carrier’s bow crumpled and shattered. The deflectors on the battleship held for a few seconds then failed under the immense pressure. Explosions dotted the area where the two ships met before the Bay’s main reactor went critical. When the glare faded, nothing was left.

Silence descended on the bridge as crewmen stared at one another and mostly at Tehrani. She could feel their fear just as she felt it weigh on her soul. What do we do now?

“Conn, Communications. We received a text-only message from Sierra Eleven right before impact, ma’am.”

“What was it?” Tehrani’s voice caught in her throat.

“It’s been an honor. Fight the good fight, no matter the odds.”

Tehrani stood and turned around to face the majority of the bridge team. “Take careful notice of what happened here, ladies and gentlemen. Hundreds if not thousands of brave soldiers just paid the ultimate price to stop the enemy. We’re going to finish what they started. No matter the odds.”

“No matter the odds!” The deck plates seemed to shake as they screamed.

“Leaguers have stopped for the moment,” Wright interjected. “They’ve ceased forward thrust.”

“Every minute counts,” Tehrani replied as she turned back to the tactical plot.

“Touché, skipper.”

As she examined the plot, Tehrani grinned. “XO, do you see what I do?”

Wright leaned over and stared. “The League escorts are in disarray. We have a clear shot at those two Rands there.”

“For the time being, anyway.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Get the fast movers in there. Everything we’ve got. Eliminating those ships will give the League commander pause.”

“On it, ma’am.”

* * *

While the capital ships seemed content to pause the combat, at least momentarily, Justin and the Red Tails were all the more eager to press the enemy. Adeoye’s bomber squadron, the Winged Lightnings, along with stragglers from the Gambier Bay’s wing, formed up into a nearly twenty-bomber-strong force. With the Red Tails’ Sabres riding shotgun, they hurtled toward the nearest large League vessel—a Rand-class heavy cruiser designated Master Eight.

“Alpha One to Theta One. How are you holding up over there, Jackson?”

Adeoye cleared his throat. “Losses are relatively light so far, sir. Hoping we can get a few more blows in.” His tone sounded fatalistic, as if he’d already accepted death as the likely outcome.

Maybe I have too. “Roger. We’ll keep these League interceptors off you as best as possible. I’d advise a max speed egress once the target is down.”

“I planned on it,” Adeoye replied with a chuckle.

A group of red dots on the HUD’s sensor display got Justin’s attention. “Bandits. Bandits bearing zero-one-zero. Four League interceptors coming in hot. Alpha, Beta, break and engage.”

“Oh goody, some targets,” Lowell interjected.

“You know, Lieutenant, if you can bag another nine Leaguers, I’ll go on a date with you. How about that?” Mateus asked.

“Best reason I’ve had to hit fifteen victories in a day yet. Catch me if you can.”

Justin chuckled. “Focus, people.” He adjusted his Sabre’s heading and kicked up the throttle.

As he did, the two elements of the Red Tails he’d ordered to engage peeled away from the bomber formation and accelerated toward the incoming hostiles.

Missiles launched from both sides along with a flurry of energy-weapons fire as they closed in. Through the first pass, three of the four Leaguers blew up from warhead explosions coupled with neutron cannon blasts. The remaining hostile was quickly eliminated without loss to the friendly fighters.

“Alpha One to Red Tails. Not bad. Give the bombers some room to work, and stay alert for more Leaguers.”

Justin used his sensor display to take in the battle. Remarkably, the CDF force was holding its own. Frigates and destroyers versus heavy cruisers and battleships. This is the stuff of legends. If one survives long enough to become one, that is.

The Maulers broke into four groups and lined up along the deflector generator arc that was weakest on the enemy capital ship. Each one loosed two Javelin anti-ship missiles, which moved away from each other as the network-centric-warfare aspect of CDF tactical networking technology took over. Coming in from different vectors, the warheads attempted to evade as much point-defense fire as possible.

Twenty-eight of the thirty-six Javelins hit their intended target—the starboard side of Master Eight. Their fusion warheads hammered the heavy cruiser's protective screens, and explosions flashed across the outer hull. One after the other, they blasted off the armor plating and melted the alloys behind it.

A few moments later, a series of secondary explosions spread out from the center of the ill-fated Rand. In seconds, the entire ship went up like a Roman candle, leaving nothing but fine debris.

“Scratch one League cruiser,” Adeoye crowed as other bomber pilots whooped and cheered. “That’ll show those commie bastards.”

Justin cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s re-form then try it again before the next wave of—”

“Bandits! Bandits!” a bomber pilot called out. “They’re behind—” A burst of static cut off the transmission.

What the…? Justin refocused his HUD sensor screen, only to see a gaggle of new red dots. Where the hell did they come from? “Red Tails, break and attack, all elements. Cover the bombers as they fall back. Adeoye, organize your formation and break off, maximum speed.”

“Wilco,” Adeoye replied.

Justin banked around, headed toward the nearest Leaguer, as two more Maulers disappeared from his squadron-readiness display. Dammit, come on. He only had one heat-seeking missile left, and most of the other Red Tails were already Winchester. The only thing we can do is mix it up close range. Any elation over the heavy cruiser’s destruction was gone as Justin confronted the harsh reality of the situation. We’ll be lucky if any of us survive.

Adjusting the aim of his neutron cannons and readying to fire, he was still determined to take out as many enemies as possible.

20

In quick succession, Justin dropped several flares from his Sabre, trying to spoof a group of heat-seeking missiles headed his way. One of the League interceptors had gained his six and was doing its best to erase him from existence. He kicked up his afterburner and attempted to loop around as the incoming warheads took the bait and blew up the brightly burning plasma decoys.

The enemy pilot matched Justin move for move, and he resorted to using the scissors maneuver while considerably slowing his forward momentum. When the Leaguer overshot, Justin lined him up in his HUD and squeezed the trigger on his flight stick the moment the targeting reticle lit up. Neutron-cannon bolts converged on the offending fighter and blew it out of the void.

Justin let out a breath and took a moment to pick his next target. All around him, small craft engaged in tight turning dogfights, while anti-ship weaponry flashed in the void. The battle was almost enough to overload his senses, as blue neutron beams, red plasma balls, magnetic cannons, and missiles whizzed through the darkness. Almost beautiful. He pondered the beauty of creation being besmirched by the ongoing war.

Right as Justin was about to lock on to his next target, the commlink squawked. “Alpha Four to any friendly. Mayday! Mayday! I’ve got four hostiles on my tail. They almost have a guns solution. Shields failing!”

“Alpha One to Alpha Four,” Justin called as he adjusted his HUD sensor display to zoom in on Lowell’s fighter. “See if you can bug out bearing one-nine-five. I’m headed your way.”

“They’re all over me, sir!”

“Lieutenant, take a deep breath. Work the problem with me. That’s an order, son.”

“Yeees, sir.”

“Alpha Three engaging bandits,” Mateus barked. “Try not to wander into the path of one of my missiles, nugget.”

Lowell didn’t respond as he continued to maneuver violently in guns-D. Plasma balls from four different enemy interceptors flashed around his Sabre, and while most missed, enough hit his shields that they dropped like a rock.

Taking it all in on his squadron-readiness overlay, Justin kicked his afterburners to maximum and coaxed every scrap of power he could get out of his reactor into the engines. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox two.” The last Eagle heat-seeking missile dropped out of his central stores bay and accelerated toward the enemy.

The Vulture fired by Mateus, and Justin’s warhead tracked their prey relentlessly while she sent dozens of neutron bolts into the void. The convergence of shots managed to destroy one of the four League interceptors while damaging a second. The vessel veered off, slowing dramatically before its pilot ejected and the craft exploded violently.

“I think that got their attention,” Mateus commented as she shifted position and fired on the next hostile.

“Alpha Four, how are you holding up?”

“Critical hull damage, sir, but she’s holding together. Aw shit…”

Point-defense fire from a nearby League Lancer-class frigate found the area around Lowell’s Sabre. He juked wildly, as did Mateus.

Justin was far enough away that the frigate didn’t seem to take notice of him. “Alpha Four, come to heading zero-two-seven. Get as much distance from that vessel as possible.”

“Uh, trying, sir, but these guys are still shooting at me.”

Tell me something I don’t know. Outside neutron-cannon range, Justin could do little more than watch. “Afterburners. Push it up, Lieutenant!”

“Wilco. I’m gonna try something, sir.”

“Negative. Break off,” Justin barked. “That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

Lowell’s Sabre suddenly pitched up and turned into the point-defense fire. At first, the maneuver was successful. He avoided several bursts of red plasma energy and caught his pursuers by surprise. Then a lucky shot from the frigate hammered down Lowell’s defensive screens and hit his left wing. “Damnit, I’m hi—”

The fighter exploded in a bright ball of orange flame and quickly extinguished as the onboard oxygen supply was burned up. Justin stared in shock.

Mateus let out an anguished cry followed by a string of oaths in Portuguese. “I will kill you all!” she finally shouted in English.

“Get back in formation, Alpha Three. I’m not losing you too.”

“Orders, sir?” she replied with an edge.

“Keep killing Leaguers. We’ll have our chance to mourn later. Now, we hold the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Justin felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart. Lowell’s cheerful antics and attitude had won over the entire element. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. He could do nothing about it, had no rabbit to pull out of his hat. Though he knew that Lowell’s death was but one more statistic in a war that was claiming hundreds of thousands of lives, it was the first loss from Alpha. The image of invincibility was gone.

After a couple of seconds, Justin forced himself to place his focus back on the battlespace. Just like I told Mateus, there’s no time now to mourn. As one of the League interceptors rolled away, Justin decided his first act would be to erase it from the universe. He tightened his hand around the flight stick and got to it.

* * *

On the Zvika Greengold’s bridge, Tehrani stared at the tactical plot, planning her next move. As she took in the position of both fleets, several more blue dots disappeared—Sabres and Maulers. Each one is another life lost. Chaos reigned all around them as dozens of pilots fought for their lives alongside the remaining carriers and escorts.

We’re only fighting for time now. Winning was impossible with three League battleships fully functional. Yet they had nothing else to do. They couldn’t jump out, nor could the freighters, and reinforcements were still hours away.

“Got anything left in that bag of tricks, skipper?” Wright asked.

She turned toward him. “It’s getting a bit bare, XO.”

The cluster of red dots representing the League fleet pressed ever closer.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Thirty-Eight. She’s about to enter firing range.”

With the Marcus Luttrell and the Frederic John Walker barely hanging together, the enemies’ escorts were getting bolder in their direct attacks. The Cobra-class destroyer Bryan had called out was closing fast.

“TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Thirty-Eight.”

“Firing solution set, ma’am.”

Tehrani ticked off the seconds until the League vessel closed sufficiently. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Overpowered blue beams of energy erupted from the bow of the Thane-class escort carrier, crossed the void at the speed of light, and smacked the deflector screens of the enemy. The League destroyer’s shields held for a few seconds before failing in the forward quadrant. The concentrated neutrons punched through its hull and drilled a hole through the other side. A few seconds later, the bow of the ship exploded, neatly severing from the rest of the ship. The stern portion, still intact, began to drift.

“Conn, TAO. Master Thirty-Eight neutralized, ma’am. Six more contacts entering weapons range in thirty seconds. Make that seven… no, nine contacts.”

Wright sucked in a breath. “To belabor the obvious… we’re about to get our rear ends handed to us.”

“I’d appreciate some useful commentary.”

“Another distress signal?”

Tehrani debated it. She’d sent increasingly dire predictions of defeat to General Saurez, and the reply was only “Help is on the way.”

Her gaze went to the tactical plot. “Communications, let’s see if the remaining escorts from the Gambier Bay and Audacity’s battlegroups can vector in to catch the Leaguers shooting up the middle. Tell them it’s fleet priority.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

Long-range plasma-cannon fire rocked the ship, causing the bridge deck to pitch up as the inertial dampers adjusted for the strain. Tehrani braced herself, thankful for the safety restraints.

“TAO, reinforce forward shields!” she yelled above the din. The carrier was many things, but nimble wasn’t one of them.

All at once, the incoming ceased. Puzzled, Tehrani glanced at the plot, which showed the Leaguers pulling out of weapons range.

“What the hell just happened?” Wright asked.

“Conn, TAO. New contact acquired, coming out of the asteroid belt.”

“More Leaguers?” Wright sounded defeated.

“Negative, sir. Not a League drive signature,” Bryan replied, grinning. “It’s the Ernest Evans. Contact designated as Sierra Four.”

Tehrani could barely believe her eyes. How’d they survive? Even more impressive was how quickly the enemy had reacted. “Communications, send my compliments to Major Fazal. Then I’d like to know what his plan is.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Every minute counts in our favor. Tehrani prayed the Saratoga-class carriers would make it in time to save at least some of them. Until then, she would keep up the fight.

21

Abdul Fazal glanced at his bandaged right hand. It seemed like a metaphor for how the ship had fared so far, along with the battlegroup at large. Wounded but not out of the fight. The missing finger had been found and sat in statis belowdecks in the medical bay. It’s so mangled that if we survive this, I’ll probably need a flash-cloned replacement. The tips of two other fingers had been severed as well. Oddly, Fazal could barely feel anything, though that probably had something to do with the pain-relief compound injected into the wounds.

“We’re out of the field, sir,” the navigator reported.

“Conn, TAO. Enemy and friendly forces on sensors, right where we thought they’d be. Populating the board.”

Fazal took in the situation on his monitor. We’re out of Starbolts. It would’ve been nice to try my trick again. Two fast-moving red icons got his attention. “TAO, what are the closest contacts?”

“Two Lancer-class frigates, sir, designated Master Twenty and Twenty-Six. They’re in a prime position to intercept.”

Just our luck. “Navigation, come to heading zero-two-five. Increase speed to flank.”

Tedesco touched his arm. “Looks like most of their escorts are headed straight for us, sir. Fleet tactical link reports we’ve lost the Gambier Bay and several escorts.”

The losses stunned Fazal and substantiated his resolve. “TAO, firing point procedures, neutron beams and magnetic cannons, Master Twenty-Six.”

“You’re still going to engage?” Tedesco whispered.

“We have to.” Fazal shook his head. “Even now, I can see the enemy is diverting its forces to attack us. That’ll take pressure off the main fleet. Our mission is to hold out as long as possible. We will do what damage we can.”

For a moment, it seemed like there might be a tear in Tedesco’s eyes. “Very well, sir. I’ll see to damage control.”

“Firing solutions set, sir,” the tactical officer replied.

Fazal set his jaw. “Match bearings, shoot, neutron beams and magnetic cannons.”

Blue beams of energy coupled with high-explosive shells from the mag-cannons raced away from the Evans. The neutron beams sliced into the deflectors presented by the enemy, which collapsed under sustained bombardment. As the frigate was rocketed by the League vessel, its weapons fired again, scoring multiple hits on the enemy's thin armor and hull. Explosions spread throughout the fore of the ship.

“Conn, TAO. Master Twenty-Six slowing. Master Twenty matching speed.”

As Tedesco spoke, the Evans rocked from a sustained bombardment of League plasma balls.

Fazal started to grab the armrest of his chair with his right hand, forgetting his missing and mangled fingers. Pain shot up his arm, so white hot that he almost let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Biting his lip until it bled instead, Fazal forced his mind back to the battle. “Navigation, stand by to disengage inertial dampers. Master Chief, sound collision alarm.”

“I don’t know if our hull can handle the stress,” Tedesco interjected. “Fore hull integrity is at the red line, sir.”

Fazal shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the only play we have. TAO, firing point procedures, neutron beams and magnetic cannons, Master Twenty. Prepare for broadside engagement. Navigation, disengage inertial dampers. Ten-second burn on our port thrusters.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” they called out simultaneously.

The sudden drop of their inertial dampers caused the thrusters to rotate the ship while its forward momentum carried on. That crossed the League frigate’s T, allowing the Evans to target its full armament suite.

“Match bearings, shoot, all weapons,” Fazal said as he held himself steady. God, let this work.

Outgoing fire from the Evans raked the enemy, hammering their shields as bursts of flame erupted from the League vessel. One of the mag-cannon shells got a lucky hit on something flammable, and in short order, the ship went up like a Roman candle. After a few seconds, nothing was left except small bits of debris.

“Conn, TAO. Master Twenty destroyed. Master Twenty-Six is launching escape pods, sir.”

Momentary elation gave way to dread as Fazal took in the battle space. The entire damn League fleet is on the way. A knot formed in his stomach. We could duck back into the asteroid belt. Fazal kicked that course of action around in his mind, but he knew it wouldn’t work, at least not to win the battle. The data in the tactical network showed the escort carriers and their battlegroups were badly damaged and hanging on by a thread. One of the League battleships was closer than the oncoming escorts.

“Captain Tedesco, you’re going to abandon ship along with the rest of the crew.”

“Sir?” she replied.

“I plan to remain on board and ram Master Four.”

Tedesco’s eyes widened. “Sir—”

“I’m half-dead anyway, Captain. If we turn aside and hide among the rocks, the Leaguers are going to finish off the convoy and kill a few hundred thousand Marines. No. Not on my watch.”

“Sir—”

Fazal engaged the 1MC. “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. The Ernest Evans has lived up to her name today. You have all performed in an exemplary manner, and I couldn’t be prouder. But our fight is over now. It’s time to get to the escape pods and head away from the battle, back into the asteroid field. I will remain behind and fight until the end. Abandon ship. I say again, abandon ship. All hands proceed to the nearest escape pods. Godspeed to you all.”

“Sir, you need someone to stay behind with you,” Tedesco interjected. “You’re already seriously injured. I will volunteer.”

“No, XO. Your job is to see to the crew. Mine is killing Leaguers.” Fazal cracked a grin. “Now, get the bridge cleared out. Navigation, intercept course on Master Four before you vacate your station.”

“But, sir—”

“No buts, Lieutenant. Master Chief, see that all bridge personnel vacate with you.” Fazal locked his eyes forward. “I know what the score is, people. Someday, we’ll meet again.”

The tactical officer turned around. “Sir, you must have a second-in-command. As the XO said, you’re injured. I’ll stay behind and get a few more hits in on those Leaguer bastards.” He held up his hand. “Before you say anything, I don’t have a wife or a family at home. My old man served in the Second Saurian War, so at least he’ll be proud. This is my job, sir. Let me do it.”

For a moment, Fazal was about to order the younger man removed. But he’s right. I’m hurt pretty badly, and if they get another lucky hit in, I’m not sure I could complete the mission.

Finally, Fazal nodded. “Okay, Lieutenant. Man your post, and we’ll fly her in together. The rest of you, get out of here. That’s an order.”

Tedesco pivoted toward the rear hatch before turning back to face Fazal. She brought her hand up in salute. “It’s been an honor, sir. Godspeed.”

Fazal saluted back. “Likewise, Captain. Godspeed to you too.”

As the rest of the personnel departed, he reconfigured his display so that navigation routed directly through the commanding officer's console. “Lieutenant, let’s get to work.”

* * *

The butcher's bill continued to grow among the Sabre, Boar, and Mauler pilots. Justin had lost count of how many had ejected or perished. Roughly half the small craft they had scrambled with were intact and capable of fighting. He’d long since lost situational awareness of the battle at large. Most of the remaining members of the Red Tails were engaged in nonstop dogfights.

As the missile-lock-on tone buzzed, Justin wrenched his flight stick to the right, trying to outmaneuver two League interceptors that had acquired his six. G-force tugged at him, even through the inertial damping system, as Justin entered guns-D—a last-ditch effort to prevent the enemy from gaining an energy-weapons solution on his fighter. “Alpha One to any available friendlies. I’ve got two bandits on my tail. Unable to disengage.”

“CAG to Alpha One. What’s the matter, Spencer? Can’t handle two little ol’ Leaguers?”

Justin flipped his craft around and kicked up his engines to maximum, draining power from his weapons system. “I don’t know if you noticed, sir, but we’re not fighting the idiots from a few months ago who didn’t understand how to deploy chaff.”

Static crackled across the commlink. “Trust me. I noticed. Stay in guns-D. I’m almost there.”

“Understood, sir.” I wasn’t planning on flying straight and level so that our communist friends could finish me off, CAG.

Seconds seemed like minutes as red plasma balls streaked past Justin’s cockpit canopy. Bathed in an eerie glow, he realized one of the bandits was about to overshoot him. With a fierce warrior's grin, Justin whipped his Sabre into the enemy's curve, hoping to line up a guns solution.

“Spencer, break off. He’s deliberately luring you into a scissors maneuver.”

“I can get him—”

“Break off now!”

As if to underscore Whatley’s point, several plasma balls slammed into Justin’s aft shields, dropping their cohesiveness like a stone. Oh shit. Immediately falling back to guns-D, he struggled to avoid the barrage. The hull-damage indicator for his aft quarter flashed red.

“Make your heading zero-six-five,” Whatley barked.

“Wilco.” Justin adjusted his flight stick and leveled out. Fear gnawed at him. If the maneuver wasn’t timed perfectly, he was toast. Trust the CAG.

The pursuing Leaguer scored a couple of additional hits before blowing apart in a bright explosion that lasted for only a moment.

Justin took the opportunity to line up the enemy he’d been chasing a few seconds prior. He squeezed the integrated firing trigger and sent dozens of neutron-cannon blasts into the void, destroying the hostile. “Alpha One, splash one.”

“I’m up to double ace for the day, Spencer. One kill doesn’t impress me.”

“Touché, sir. Back to the grind, eh?”

“Keep killing the bastards. Eventually, they’ll run out of pilots to throw at us.” Through the commlink, an alarm sounded in Whatley’s cockpit. “Dammit, these Leaguers are smarter than I give them credit for. Think you can return the favor, Spencer? I’ve got two of ’em on my tail now.”

“On it, sir.” Justin zoomed in his HUD’s sensor image to get a clear picture of the craft chasing the CAG. More of those interceptors. Damn, those things are fast. He adjusted his flight path, aiming to slide behind the closest enemy. Justin held his fire until the last possible second, hoping they would have tunnel vision and not realize he was coming up behind them.

“Anytime, Spencer.”

The targeting reticle turned green, and Justin squeezed the trigger. Neutron bolts stabbed into the void and connected with the hapless League interceptor. It only took a few hits to collapse its shields and destroy the craft. That speed comes with trade-offs. He shifted his Sabre to the left and engaged the remaining interceptor. “Sir, break right. I’ve almost got the second one.”

Whatley’s master alarm buzzed again. “Trying to. Controls are sluggish. I think my aft thrusters are out.”

Come on. Come on. Justin willed his fire to connect as he tried to match the interceptor’s turn away. Throwing shield energy into his engines, he was able to keep up. A few seconds later, the Leaguer exploded. “You’re clear, sir.”

“Not bad for a reservist,” Whatley replied with a chuckle. “I’ve got some damage here.”

“Still flyable, sir?” Justin pulled up his squadron-readiness screen to find the CAG’s fighter flashing red.

“Master alarm lit. Reactor overload.” Whatley muttered a string of oaths. “Think I’d better punch out. You keep up the fight, son.”

“We’ll get search and rescue out ASAP, sir.”

After a moment’s pause, Whatley replied, “My explosive bolts won’t fire. Computer says it’s a fault in the detonator mechanism. Of all the damn things…”

No way the CAG goes out like this. “Work the problem, sir. Manual trigger?”

Whatley grunted. “No joy.” He let out a sigh. “It’s okay. I’ve had a good run. Better than I suspect I deserved. Listen to me, Spencer. You hold the line, no matter what. Understand? This is exactly like the Battle of Canaan. We can’t fail.”

Justin’s mouth went dry. “I understand, sir.”

“It’s been an honor to serve with you, son. Take care of my pilots, and one last thing—if you make it through this, take the training spot.”

“Sir—”

“Shut up and listen, dammit. You’ve got a wife and two kids back home. Beyond anyone here, you’ve done your duty, and the war can stand to have you off the firing line for a while. Don’t make the same mistakes I have. No one will give a damn when I’m gone. They would if you were.”

“We will, sir. All of us.”

Whatley paused again. “Thanks. All I hope is I trained you well enough. Godspeed, Spenc—”

A small explosion dotted Justin’s HUD as the icon for Whatley’s Sabre disappeared. After staring in shock for a bit, he forced himself not to dwell on the loss, just as he had with Lowell. We’ll have time to grieve after the battle. If we survive. As he picked another target, Justin had but one objective: kill Leaguers.

22

“Conn, TAO. Master Twenty-Eight destroyed,” Bryan called out.

Jostled by nearly constant energy-weapon impacts, Tehrani gripped the armrests of her chair as she stared at the tactical plot. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Forty-Six. Coordinate with Sierra Two and Four.” She hoped to bring the Marcus Luttrell and the Frederic John Walker to bear against the League destroyer.

“Skipper, the battleships are moving forward again.” Wright touched her shoulder. “The CAG’s gone, ma’am.”

Tehrani whipped her head around, eyes wide. “What?”

“Whatley’s Sabre suffered a reactor explosion. No ejection. I confirmed it with Spencer, ma’am. There’s no way he could’ve survived.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. While many pilots had been killed, losing the CAG was beyond comprehension. “Are you certain?”

Wright nodded. “I’m afraid so. Still, that’s not our biggest problem. Two of those League battlewagons are headed our way. We’re doing okay against escorts and cruisers…”

“That won’t hold up against the massed firepower of an Alexander-class battleship.” Not without radical action. The sacrifice of the Gambier Bay came to mind. “Maybe if every ship in range concentrates on one of them—”

“It won’t be enough. Skipper—”

“We can get the crew off,” she replied softly.

Wright’s face went ashen, and he opened his mouth right as Singh interrupted.

“Conn, Communications. Incoming flash traffic from the CSV Ernest Evans.”

Tehrani and Wright exchanged glances.

“Put it on my monitor, Lieutenant,” she ordered.

A moment later, the monitor above her head came to life with an image of Major Fazal. His face was gaunt and gray. Blood streaked his uniform, and the bridge of the Ernest Evans appeared wrecked. “Can you hear me, Colonel?”

“Major, I didn’t think your ship was still combat capable.”

“It’s not, mostly. The crew has abandoned ship. Only the TAO and I are left. We’re going to even up the odds for you in a few minutes.”

It took Tehrani a few seconds to process what he was saying. “You’re going to ram them.”

Fazal nodded. “We’re sneaking in behind the Marcus Luttrell and will accelerate into the side of the closest Leaguer battleship.”

“That’s a suicide run.”

“It is our duty, Colonel.” Fazal held up a mangled hand. “I have internal injuries too.” He sucked in a breath. “Probably wouldn’t make it out of here to a medical ward, so I’ll use what time God has left me to inflict the maximum amount of damage.”

“We will do what damage we can,” Tehrani replied, reciting the motto of the Evans. “I salute you, Major. You are a credit to this uniform, and without you and your crew's bravery, I don’t think we’d be here right now.”

“It is nothing.” Fazal inclined his head. “It’s been an honor serving with you, Colonel. Godspeed, and may you make it through this battle to continue the fight.”

Tehrani stood and brought her hand up to her brow. Wright and the master chief followed suit.

“Godspeed to you as well, Major. May Allah take you into paradise.”

He pursed his lips. “Thank you.” The screen went blank.

It took Tehrani a moment to sit down. Emotion surged through her, even though she knew it was not the time.

“TAO, status of the energy-weapon capacitor?”

“Seventy-five percent, ma’am.”

“Brave man there,” Wright said softly. “Reminds me of what went down at the Battle of Canaan.”

“There’s one significant difference. I’m the one his death falls on.”

“Fight the good fight, no matter the odds,” Wright replied. “That’s our battle cry. The major knows what he’s doing.” He let out a sigh. “Too many dead heroes.”

“Yes. TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Forty-Two.”

“Firing solution set, ma’am. We’re still outside maximum effective range.”

“Navigation, intercept course, Master Forty-Two, flank speed.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“We’re accelerating?” Wright asked.

“Covering fire for the Evans.”

“I gathered.” Wright leaned in. “Skipper, what’s the plan here? We’re just going to let ourselves be ground down?”

“If you have a better idea, now’s the time.”

Wright was silent for a few moments. “No. Can’t say that I do, but I hate this ridiculous attrition.”

The warships continued their deadly dance as neutron beams, plasma balls, magnetic-cannon rounds, and anti-ship missiles from both sides filled the void. A League Lancer-class frigate exploded in a burst of orange and blue, caught in a crossfire between multiple CDF vessels. One of the enemy heavy cruisers ranged on a remaining Meade-class frigate from the CSV Gambier Bay’s battlegroup. After a sustained barrage of plasma fire coupled with a spread of anti-ship warheads, the frigate blew apart, its bow destroyed, while the stern drifted in space.

As the Ernest Evans rushed onward, Tehrani stared at the tactical plot. She wondered how General Irvine had felt before her death at the Battle of Canaan, knowing that brave souls had decided to give their lives for the cause. To die in battle was one thing, but to choose death was something else entirely.

The Greengold rumbled as weapons fire from the Leaguers found it.

“TAO, my screen shows we’re in range of Master Forty-Two. Confirm.”

“Yes, ma’am. In range and ready to shoot.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Twin beams of death shot out of the Greengold’s bow and slammed into the targeted escort’s shields, piercing them within moments. As the neutron beams ripped through the thin armor and hull of the frigate, a series of secondary explosions caused the ship to be reduced to one-meter chunks.

While the other CDF warships continued their desperate assault, the Ernest Evans plowed forward. It dodged numerous anti-ship missiles and took advantage of the Marcus Luttrell’s attack posture to shield itself from energy-weapons fire until the last few moments.

Eventually, the League vessels realized what the tiny ship was attempting. Both battleships and their escorts flung everything they had at the Evans. Once more, its overengineered Saurian design paid off. Armor turned molten and melted off before flash-freezing in the vacuum, but she continued undaunted. Finally, the Evans adjusted her course at the last moment and rammed the closest League battleship amidships. The frigate disappeared almost instantly as bright-red-and-blue explosions filled the void. Once the pyrotechnics ended, a fine debris field was all that was left of either vessel.

“Conn, TAO!” Bryan shouted. “Master Two is reversing course!”

Wright set his jaw. “They’ll at least dress their formation before trying again.”

“Let’s hope it's enough time,” Tehrani replied. Deep inside, she knew it wouldn’t be.

* * *

“Mayday! Mayday! Master alarm lit—” a pilot from Beta element called, followed by a loud burst of static.

A moment later, the icon for Beta Three disappeared from Justin’s HUD. He was down to fewer than ten combat effectives for the Greengold’s air wing. We started with thirty-seven, including the CAG. The loss of Major Whatley still weighed heavily, as muted as it was by the deaths of so many others.

Justin sat in awe of the bravery and dedication displayed by every pilot under his command and the other embarked air wings from across the entire division of escort carriers. No quarter was asked, and none was given. The Gambier Bay’s contingent had perished, almost to a pilot. But for every life lost, they’d extracted far more out of the Leaguers than they had any right to expect. Frigates, destroyers, heavy cruisers and even two battleships had been destroyed by the persistent efforts of the entire task force. Someday, history will remember these sacrifices.

But the League had the numbers, and they were willing to pay the cost. Major Whatley’s last words, enjoining Justin to fight the good fight, no matter the cost, rang in his ears.

“Alpha One to Alpha Element. Stores check.”

“Winchester,” Feldstein replied.

“Winchester, and I have significant hull damage,” Mateus said amid a burst of static. “Autorepair got my controls working enough for combat maneuvering.”

“Alpha Three, head back to the barn.”

“Negative. I’m remaining in the fight.”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m not leaving the battlefield, sir.”

Justin could hear the pain in her voice beneath her tough exterior. She wants to even the score. Who am I to tell her no?

“Okay. I’m dry too. We need to re-form and try to fight as a group. Energy weapons are all we have left, and there’s no time to attempt a rearm.”

“Wilco, sir,” Feldstein replied.

He cued his commlink to the Winged Lightning channel. “Alpha One to Theta One. Sitrep.”

Silence met his call.

“Still with me, Theta One?”

Again, silence followed, until another bomber pilot spoke up. “Sir, Lieutenant Adeoye’s Mauler exploded as we pulled away from an attack on Master Nine.”

The ship was the last League Rand-class heavy cruiser they’d engaged. Justin closed his eyes for a moment. “Did he eject?”

“I don’t think so, sir. No beacon.”

First Lowell then Whatley and now Adeoye. Even amid the life-or-death fight, Justin felt the pain of their losses pierce his heart like a spear. And he could do nothing except push it out of the way, focus on the task at hand, and do his utmost to keep defeating the enemy.

He stared at the picture of his wife and children. I’m coming home. I promise.

Justin checked his HUD’s sensor display. “New formation of League bombers inbound. Red Tails, form on me. We’re going on. Theta element, who’s your ranking officer?”

“Uh, this is Second Lieutenant Perry, sir. Theta Three.”

“Lieutenant, I need you to stay focused, organize what’s left of the squadron, and stand ready to attack the next League capital ship in line. Can you do that, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We live up to the example set by our fallen friends, people. Now, kill some damn Leaguers,” Justin growled.

“No matter the odds!” Mateus shouted.

“Amen,” Feldstein added.

Justin twisted his flight stick around and aimed for the enemy bomber formation. For the moment, it was the only thing that mattered. Everything else was numb.

23

Repeated blasts of plasma slammed into the Zvika Greengold’s outer hull and armor. Tehrani could feel her ship soaking up the damage, though they struggled to stay in the fight. Sparks showered from the overhead as another power relay overloaded. “Port-shield recharge status!” she barked.

“Five seconds, ma’am,” Bryan yelled back over the din of weapons impacts.

“Skipper, we’re showing red on hull integrity after section C,” Wright said, drawing her attention to his monitor. “If this keeps up, we’ll lose half the ship.”

“TAO, where’s my neutron-beam shot?”

Wright had a point, but she was determined to fight to the bitter end. I should probably give the order to abandon ship.

“Ready, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

“Firing point procedures, Master Thirty-Six, forward neutron beams.”

“Firing solution set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Overcharged twin spears of blue shot out of the Greengold’s bow and crossed the void at the speed of light. They collapsed the Rand-class heavy cruiser's weakened deflector grid and punched a hole through the ship. Secondary explosions erupted from the areas around where the beams had hit and spread out quickly. Within seconds, the vessel blew apart as something flammable—likely a missile warhead magazine—went up.

Tehrani allowed her head to relax for a moment before returning her gaze to the tactical plot. More League ships were closing in. They came from all sides like a tightening noose, pressing the small CDF force tighter and tighter. “TAO, raise port deflector. Cycle fore and ventral shields.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Oh, and Lieutenant? Nice shooting.”

Bryan nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He seemed surprised they were still alive.

“Skipper, we’ve only got a few minutes until two more Rands get in range.” The sharp undertone to Wright’s voice was back.

“We keep fighting, XO.”

“I know. But maybe we don’t need the whole crew complement.”

She closed her eyes. God, I didn’t want it to end like this. My crew deserves better.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, new contacts bearing two-one-eight. Extreme range.” Bryan’s voice went up an octave.

By Allah, if that’s more Leaguers, we’re dead. “Tight-band long-range LIDAR, Lieutenant. I need a drive signature.”

After fifteen seconds, which seemed to stretch for an eternity, Bryan let out an audible sigh. “CDF signature, ma’am. It’s the CSV Yorktown and the CSV Valley Forge with their battlegroups.”

“That is the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Polite chuckles echoed through the bridge, and even Wright seemed amused. “They’re still thirty minutes out at maximum thrust. That’s a long time, skipper.”

“Whoever’s in command over there is going to see our reinforcements any moment now, XO. They don’t have enough firepower to take all of us, and if they don’t withdraw shortly, the carriers will catch up.”

Wright furrowed his brow. “From your lips to God’s ears, Colonel.”

“If they don’t, we’ll order the crew off and keep fighting. I’ll ram one of those battleships if I have to, Benjamin. The League cannot be allowed to win.”

“I know.” Wright set his jaw. “Whatever it takes, ma’am. And don’t even think about trying to kick me off this bridge.”

* * *

Victory was within the League’s grasp. Yuen could feel it all the way down to his bones. As he took in the battle from his perch on the bridge of his flagship—the Vasily Kanin—the command center pulsed with excitement. But they’d taken far more losses than the Coalition force arrayed against them had any right to extract, and he felt a measure of respect for his foe.

“I must admit, Admiral, I had my doubts about your tactics.” The voice of his political officer, Baptiste Dumont, drifted through the background noise.

“Strategy, Colonel. Not tactics. Strategy is the overall plan in which we engage the enemy at theater level. Tactics are more limited in nature.” Yuen smiled coldly. “But I wouldn’t expect a political commissar to fully grasp the difference.”

Dumont took the slap in stride, though his face contorted. “Perhaps this victory will cause the Terrans to surrender.”

“Surrender?” Yuen stared at him. “Two enemy vessels rammed our battleships rather than surrender. They’ll fight to the last man. Do not delude yourself, Colonel. This war is far from over.” He let out a breath. “But perhaps this will be the end of the beginning.”

“Admiral, you’d better see this, sir,” the tactical officer called out.

A series of icons appeared in the holotank at the center of the bridge.

Yuen sprang out of his seat and took a few strides toward the tank, peering at the new contacts. “This cannot be.” He whirled around. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, sir.”

Blood drained from Yuen’s face as he stared at the display. “By Lenin.” He shut his eyes, running through his options. While he had other groups of capital ships, none could reach them before the newcomers did.

“I don’t understand,” Dumont said as he appeared at Yuen’s side. “What are these, Admiral?”

“Two Terran Coalition fleet carrier formations,” Yuen spat. “Four hundred of their infernal fighters and bombers… and a few dozen escorts.”

The bridge became nearly silent.

Dumont licked his lips. “Do we have the force to take them?”

“No.” Every scrap of energy drained from Yuen’s body, like someone had opened a spigot. He turned and collapsed back into his seat. “We could grind down the Terran forces still arrayed in front of us and maybe get a few transports, but in the end, they would destroy us.”

“If there is any chance to strike a blow against the capitalist dogs—”

“Shut up,” Yuen replied, his voice surprisingly level. “This isn’t a party meeting.”

Sailors around the CIC stopped what they were doing to stare in wonder. No one ever crossed a political officer. To see a fleet admiral go at a commissar in public was unheard of.

“If there is even a hope of spoiling the invasion and killing these Terran Marines, then I order you in the name of society to take it.”

“Then what?” Yuen crossed his arms. “When the CDF finishes off our fleet, what then, oh great strategic mind?”

Dumont stared blankly at him. “Then we die for the highest calling of society.”

Yuen laughed in the Frenchman’s face. “You idiot. Think. If they take us out, they’ll probably finish off the rest of our fleet here. That’s another hundred thousand sailors and a couple hundred ships. They might even get information on where to find Unity Station and go attack it.” He stood and closed within a few centimeters of the political officer. “I will not waste the blood of our sailors on such a stupid endeavor! We retreat.”

“If you do not engage, I will order you to be removed and take command of the fleet myself!”

“Do you think these men and women would follow you?” Yuen gestured around the CIC. “Even if they did, don’t think I believe for a moment that you would dare to accept the responsibility giving orders entails. I’ve seen your kind for decades, Colonel. You skulk about, claiming great power and threatening productive and honest members of Society. But when the time comes to actually do something, you hide. So go. Hide.”

As Dumont’s face turned several shades of red, his lips twisted into a snarl and he almost hyperventilated. “I will prepare a report that costs you everything. Everything, Admiral!”

“That’s what I thought, Colonel. Now get the hell off my bridge before I have you hauled off and thrown out the nearest airlock.”

“Chairman Morozov himself will hear of this!”

“Now.”

What little resolve remained in Dumont faded away. He turned and strode off the bridge as quickly as his legs would carry him.

The moment the hatch closed behind the commissar, the enlisted ratings broke into applause, while a number of the senior officers saluted Yuen by slapping their fists to their chests.

Yuen held up a hand. “Do not celebrate yet. We must still escape from the Terrans and marshal our fleet to fight another day. These damned capitalists are a dangerous adversary. Communications officer, alert the fleet that we are pulling back. All forces in this system are to disengage immediately and rendezvous at rally point omega.”

As the bridge officers moved to carry out his orders, Yuen considered that for all intents and purposes, his career was over. My life, too, most likely. Still, it did not matter. The safety of his fleet and the sailors under his command along with the League’s continued existence were the only concerns.

He stood in awe of the bravery and courage shown by the Terrans. Before, he wouldn’t have thought it possible for a selfish, self-absorbed capitalist to perform without regard for their own life. But the actions of the battlefield had proved him wrong. I wonder what else we’re wrong about with these foes. Yuen suspected he would have a great deal of time to ponder that question and the others that vexed him.

* * *

Justin’s master alarm blared as the hull integrity of his Sabre dropped below twenty percent. He’d taken damage to his aft shield generator, and a rather persistent Leaguer was sending potshots into the tail of his craft. Attempts at forcing an overshoot with the scissors move had failed twice. No reason to think it would work a third time. The only air combat maneuver that came to mind was Pugachev’s Cobra. I’ve done it before but not with my fighter falling apart around me.

Since no other Red Tails pilot was in any shape to help, the flash of red plasma balls decided for him. With a glance at the small picture of Michelle, Maggie, and Owen, he pointed the nose of his Sabre into a ninety-degree up position and reversed thrust. Thanks to the inertial damper, his fighter stopped in space. As the Leaguer overshot, Justin leveled out and ended up on his enemy’s six o’clock position. Quickly taking advantage, he put a few dozen neutron-cannon bolts into the interceptor and blew it apart.

“Alpha One to all friendlies. Who’s left?”

“Still kicking, sir,” Feldstein replied. “I haven’t heard from Mateus in a few minutes. She had a few hostiles on her tail.”

“Anyone else?” Justin checked his squadron-readiness report. That can’t be right. Only six total showed as active across the entire Zvika Greengold air wing. With the momentary lull in Leaguers trying to kill him, he zoomed his sensor view out to take in the whole battlespace. Something was wrong, though Justin couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Anyone?”

“Gamma One here,” Lieutenant Adrianne Green interjected. “I’ve got two other Black Hogs with me. Everyone else is ejected or dead.”

The matter-of-fact way she said it chilled Justin to his core. “Roger.”

Justin suddenly realized the red dots on his display were all moving away—toward their respective motherships. “Guys, you seeing this? Am I losing it? Leaguers are bugging out.”

“Confirmed. They’ve disengaged over here,” Feldstein replied.

“Same.” Green’s voice held an edge. “A pity. I wasn’t through with killing them.”

The adrenaline that had been coursing through his body during the fight began to subside as the threat receded. Then the truth started to sink in—how many had been lost. Adeoye… Lowell… Mateus… Whatley. Four in one battle?

As harsh a reality as it was to accept, thousands of soldiers had been lost on the ships destroyed. At least seven were gone from his status display. My God, ten thousand plus. His hands shook, and he tried to steady them by gripping the flight stick and throttle tightly. “Fall back to home plate. We’ll escort the search and rescue birds. Try to find as many of our pilots as we can. Start pinging the beacons.”

“Wilco,” Feldstein replied.

Green echoed her.

“Alpha One to Zvika Greengold actual,” Justin said after he cued his commlink to the command channel.

“This is Zvika Greengold actual. Go ahead.”

“Ma’am, we need every S and R bird in the fleet out here. I’ve got a bunch of beacons and…” Justin’s voice broke. “A lot of destroyed fighters without them. Still a chance of finding some pilots alive.”

“The XO is coordinating all resources, Captain. I’ll see to it the pilots are prioritized by oxygen status.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll fly overwatch. Any idea why the Leaguers bugged out? They had us dead to rights.”

“Reinforcements, Spencer. Two Saratogas are less than thirty minutes out.”

Justin felt the weight of the universe lift off him. “Understood, ma’am.”

“Tehrani out.”

The shaking in Justin’s hands returned as he contemplated what they’d been through over the last couple of hours. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before flipping the commlink back to the fighter channel. “Search and rescue is en route. Split up and search for beacons that might be damaged or poorly transmitting. Stay close if you find one.”

“Wilco,” Green replied.

He prayed they would find his friends and the others lost to the void. Somewhere deep inside, however, Justin knew they were gone.

24

As Eire grew closer and closer, Tehrani allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. It had taken another six hours, but the remainder of her battlegroup, the rest of the escort carriers, and their precious cargo—the TCMC reinforcements and supplies—were finally where they needed to be. God be praised.

She stared out the bridge window at the blue-and-green orb, the world that so many had given their lives to defend. While it was worth the cost, the pain of so many losses would be difficult to bear.

Tehrani had hoped that what was probably her last battle as the commanding officer of the Zvika Greengold would be a crowning victory that made up for her grievous error a few months prior. Oh, how human desires rarely come to pass. Regardless of everything else, nothing but pride burst from within, as her soldiers had risen to the occasion in a way that would go down in the history books. Never have I seen such selfless bravery out of so many at the same time.

She forced her mind back to the mundane tasks of command. “Damage report, XO?”

“Still working the hull breaches fore and port, ma’am. Half our point-defense turrets are out, and most of the automatic elevators for reloading the strike craft too. The same as it was thirty minutes ago.” Wright cracked a grin. “You know what they say about watched ship repairs.”

His easy way of communicating things was a welcome salve. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“Anytime, skipper.” Wright went back to fiddling with the tablet input system built into the XO’s chair.

Time passed, every minute seemingly slower than the last. Once they made orbit, the Marines performed combat insertions at the appropriate points on Eire, while fleets of shuttles ferried supplies down. Lost in thought, Tehrani worked on various reports while parking herself in the CO’s chair for hours on end in case something went askew.

“Skipper.” Wright’s voice sounded odd. “I need to see you in your day cabin.”

“Is anything that classified these days?” Tehrani quipped.

“It’s best we discuss it in private, ma’am.”

Tehrani stood. “Lieutenant Bryan, you have the conn. Call us if there’re any major developments.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. This is Lieutenant Bryan. I have the conn.” He stood from the tactical console and moved to the CO’s chair.

Forty steps later, Tehrani and Wright were sitting in her office, right off the bridge corridor on deck one.

She let out a sigh. “What’s on your mind, Benjamin?”

Wright handed her a tablet. “This.”

She took the offered device and scanned the document, her mouth falling open. The tablet fell out of her hands and clattered against the desk, a deafening sound in the otherwise-silent room. “This can’t be. CDF had battleships, heavy cruisers, and supporting warships that could’ve been at our position within two hours but didn’t send them so that they could get a PR win?”

“I’ve known this guy forever. The CSV Theodore Roosevelt’s intelligence officer over the entire G2 shop over there.” Wright pursed his lips. “He’s got no reason to lie.”

Tehrani picked up the tablet and shifted it between her hands before giving in to her emotions and throwing the device against the wall. Several pieces broke off, and it fell to the deck. “We have to expose this.”

“How?” Wright let out a defeated snicker. “We can’t fight the Joint Chiefs. The political types want their carrier-centric fleet, probably because the war is easier to sell to the civilians if we’re not losing battleships with ten thousand people on them. We all know what the rationale is.”

“That doesn’t excuse letting ten thousand soldiers and pilots die.” Tehrani set her jaw. “I’m going to expose this.”

“How, Banu? You’re a full bird, but you’re about to retire. You don’t have any political capital.”

“I led the attack on Sol. That counts for something.”

“They could destroy you.”

Tehrani leaned forward, her cheeks heating. “I don’t care. I swore an oath to defend the Terran Coalition against all enemies, including domestic ones. Leaders who trade lives in this callous of a way have no business being leaders.”

“I’ve got your back.” Wright sucked in a breath. “But if you go against Saurez, he’ll crush you. Don’t forget—he’s got a blackjack.”

The memory of her actions during the final battle with the pirates flooded back into Tehrani’s mind. “I know,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. I will take a stand here. Because it’s the right thing to do and what Allah would want from me.”

“Okay.” Wright stood. “I’ll pray for you, skipper. Because you’re gonna need it.”

Tehrani laughed. “Thanks. Get back out there, and take the conn. I’ve got some work to do.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

* * *

Over the next twenty-four hours, Justin felt like a condemned man going through the motions. Even the victory tasted like ashes because of the extreme losses. More than once, he’d broken down in tears walking past Adeoye’s, Mateus’s, and Lowell’s lockers. Search and rescue had recovered Lowell’s body along with the Whatley’s, but Adeoye and Mateus remained unaccounted for. He’d given up hope of finding anyone else alive, as their flight suits’ O2 supplies would’ve been exhausted hours ago. As the acting CAG, he could show no weakness, which was the worst part. He could turn to no one for support. I have to provide support and stability for those who remain. He repeated it until it felt like a mantra.

The senior officers had organized a memorial dinner in the colonel’s mess to mourn those who had been lost and celebrate their achievement in defeating the Leaguers. Out of obligation, Justin forced himself to attend. Striding through the hatch in his dress black uniform, he felt out of place but determined to honor the memory of his friends.

As he entered the mess, Tehrani saw him and gestured.

Guess I have to sit with the brass now. Justin returned the wave and made his way over to her table, where Wright, Hodges, and others from the senior staff sat. “Good evening, Colonel.”

Tehrani pointed to an empty chair next to Feldstein. “Please, take a seat. As you’re the senior pilot, I wanted you to have a place of honor.”

Justin forced his emotions down. “Thank you, ma’am.” After he’d sat, he took a sip of water.

“How are you holding up?” Wright asked.

“One hour at a time, sir,” Justin replied. “I, uh, got our squadron-readiness reports put together this afternoon. That was hard.”

Wright nodded. “I can imagine. CDFPER has promised additional pilots within the week and a combat standdown for the Zvika Greengold for a few months. We should get ample time to put things back together. Maybe get our wits about us.”

“Yeah.” Justin tried to think ahead to the next mission. Who am I kidding? I’m not invincible. They’ll eventually finish me off. Even that thought wasn’t enough to break the numbness in his soul.

Beyond “Hello,” Feldstein said little. She appeared as shell-shocked as Justin felt.

A light dinner was served, during which the conversation remained muted. Afterward, a brief prayer session was held with each chaplain, beginning with Imam Zaman. As the rabbi then Father Elliott spoke, Justin tried to absorb what they were saying but found it difficult. More than anything, he wanted one last card game with his friends.

Once the religious portion of the memorial was done, Tehrani turned to him. “Captain, as the highest-ranking pilot, would you care to offer some words?”

Though he knew the request would be coming, Justin had struggled all day to figure out what to say. He nodded at her and stood.

His mouth failed him for a few seconds before he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “When this war started, none of us had seen combat. Well, except for the CAG, maybe. Major Whatley came out of the womb knowing how to fight.” Memories flooded his mind. “I’ll never forget his saving my life multiple times or how Alpha element grew to be more than just pilots in a unit but true friends.”

Justin tried to keep his emotions at bay and stay strong, but he failed. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his voice cracked. “I will never forget the nuggets who threw themselves into the fight, with no experience, half of them dying a few missions in. Or my friends. Jackson Adeoye, a man so dedicated to the cause that he took over flying bombers in the hope of bringing more pilots home alive. Elizabete Mateus, who fought to the final moments and never gave up. Christopher Lowell, gone far too young. So many gone. May you never be forgotten.”

“To our fallen,” Wright echoed, raising his glass. “The best of the fleet!”

After their glasses had been drained in the toast, Justin glanced between the ends of the table. “Colonel, why didn’t we have any support out there?” The shot must have loosened his tongue.

“Command didn’t feel there was any possibility of the League staging the sort of attack they did,” she replied.

Justin heard the lack of conviction in her voice. She knows it was screwed up, just as much as the rest of us. “We should’ve had half a dozen battleships, cruiser formations, and interlocking escorts to protect those Marines, ma’am.”

“It isn’t our place to second-guess orders.”

Stop while you’re ahead, Justin. “With all due respect, that’s bullshit, ma’am. We have twenty-eight pilots KIA because command wanted a flashy headline. Everyone here knows the Joint Chiefs are pushing the carrier fleet as the way forward to defeat the League. Those of us out fighting know that the big ships have their places and always will. We need them all to win!”

An uncomfortable silence descended.

“The brass and our politicians seem to feel otherwise,” Tehrani replied, again in a monotone.

“Then maybe we should get some politicians who’ve served and understand the cost of war. Because I can’t think of a single one right now who’s been in harm's way, with somebody trying to kill them!” Justin thundered. “Perhaps if they had, they wouldn’t be so keen on throwing our lives away!”

“If you ever ran on that platform, I’d vote for you,” Wright remarked. “However, this conversation is getting uncomfortably close to breaking the regs, Captain. Why don’t you sit down, okay? It’s been a long day.”

Aware he’d crossed several professional lines, Justin shook his head. “I think I’ll take my leave.”

“Do you need some company?” Feldstein asked somberly.

“No.” Justin sucked in a breath. “Thanks for doing this, Colonel. The guys would’ve appreciated it.”

“It’s the least we can do, to honor the sacrifice of so many,” Tehrani replied.

“By your leave, ma’am.”

Tehrani nodded. “Dismissed.”

Justin turned on his heel and marched out of the mess as fast as possible without embarrassing himself further. Few crewmen were out in the passageways, and he made good time to the nearest gravlift. Back to my cabin, where I belong. After he’d waited for the lift for a good five minutes, the doors slid open to reveal a soldier with an antigrav sled.

“There’s enough room, sir. Come on in.”

I should take the next one, but with my luck, it might be another ten minutes. Justin squeezed in on one side. “Thanks, Private. Deck seven, please.”

“Sure thing, sir. How are you doing tonight?”

With a glance at the young man’s uniform, Justin realized he recognized the name tag. Waters. I haven’t seen him in a year. “Another day, another battle.”

“Not just any battle, sir. We’ve heard about the exploits of the fighter wing.”

“I’m probably not the best person to be talking about that with, Private.”

“You know, sir, what you said about the politicians not understanding the cost of war resonated.”

Justin snapped his head around. “I said that fifteen minutes ago, tops. It’s already all over the ship?” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, sir. You know how those things are. The Greengold’s a small ship.”

“I was… I am angry.” He shrugged. “Tomorrow, another day. And I’ll go back to figuring out how to get us ready to fight again.”

“Well, far be it from me to give you advice, sir, but it sure would be nice if someone who thought as you did would run for office.”

“You think so?” Me, a politician? Seriously?

“Absolutely. Of course, that person would have to guard themselves carefully and not let the power go to their heads. It happens so much, you know?”

“Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Justin replied.

“Exactly, sir. But you’ve been tested a lot there. Like when you refused to carry out illegal orders. There’s more to being a hero than just defeating the external enemy—you must also fight the internal one.”

Justin closed his eyes. I swear this ship is more like a tug than a carrier. Everyone knows everything.

“Hey, it’s been months since I saw you last. No promotion yet?”

“I think CDFPER got the paperwork lost somewhere,” Waters replied as he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, sir. I’m doing my job, and I like it.”

Waters’s aw-shucks style was endearing to Justin. He cracked a grin. “Sometimes I wish I were just another aviation rating, pushing missiles onto hardpoints.”

“No, you don’t, sir. You’re one of the doers. Never satisfied with what you’ve done and always looking for something else to conquer and improve on. It’s a good trait.”

“Uh, are you, like, secretly a shrink or something?” Justin snickered. He was astounded at the on-point observation.

Waters shook his head. “Nope. I spend a lot of time riding gravlifts and shoving material around. Lets me watch people. Like I said, I enjoy the job.”

The lift slid to a halt and dinged as the doors opened to deck seven.

“I think this is my stop.” Justin took a couple of steps forward before turning back. “Waters, you really think the people of the Terran Coalition would respond to what I’ve got to say about fighting the war?”

The man nodded. “I do, sir. We could use someone like you out there, fighting the good fight in our halls of government. Remember, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Justin turned and walked to his cabin, thinking about the conversation. Part of him wanted to rest, gather his strength, and repay the League in kind for friends he’d lost. But the more Justin thought about it, the more he wondered where the Coalition would end up if the war became a political football match. Without a total effort to win, we won’t succeed. Am I the man to stand up and say it? The question brought much pondering as the night went on.

25

The mood in Lawrence City among those in the government complex was near jubilation. Following the liberation of Eire and the retreat of League forces from the inner core, Jason Nolan felt vindication for his decision, though he took in their cost. With polling showing support for the CDF at an all-time high and the public digesting images from the League gulags on Eire, he hoped they’d taken the first step in defeating the League once and for all.

“Sir?” Abdul Karimi, Nolan’s chief of staff, asked.

“Yes?”

“Somewhere else, sir? You seemed far away.”

Nolan nodded. “Thinking about the future.” He glanced around the Oval Office. “While our victory here is sizable, I still worry we’ll be fighting this war twenty years from now.”

“You can only do what you can do, sir.”

“Uh-huh. Tell Saurez and Ziv to come in. I want to get this over with.”

Karimi grinned. “Yes, Mr. President.” He stood and walked to the door, opened it, and motioned for them to enter.

General Saurez and Director Rachel Ziv strode in.

Saurez brought himself to attention. “Mr. President.”

“Please, everyone, sit down. I wanted to have an informal follow-up before we do our next series of war-planning meetings.” Nolan stood from behind the Resolute desk and took a seat on one of the two couches that faced each other in the center of the room.

The rest followed.

“Any late-breaking details on the Eire operation, General?”

“Only that we’ve cleared out almost all the League-army holdouts. There might be somebody hiding in a cave somewhere on Eire, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent of them are rounded up and in custody.”

“Excellent.” Nolan turned to Ziv. “And on your side of the house, Madame Director?”

Ziv crossed her legs. “From an intelligence perspective, we have SIGINT suggesting the League has recalled their overall commander for the invasion. That’s a devil-you-know-versus-one-you-don’t situation. Yuen’s smart, but after a year fighting him, I felt we understood how he operated. Whoever is next will be an enigma.”

Saurez snorted. “Leaguers don’t have that big a playbook.”

“Underestimating them is the worst mistake we can make,” Ziv replied sharply. “It almost cost us the battle at Eire, may I remind you, General.”

He took the barb in stride. “It might’ve been nice if CIS had, say, seen the League coming so that we could’ve better prepared.”

Nolan held up a hand. “Okay. Enough of that. You two don’t like each other. Fine. Everyone in the government knows it. Let me give you an ultimatum: find a way to work together, or I’ll tell you how, and neither one of you will like it.”

“Yes, sir,” Saurez snapped, drawing himself into a ramrod straight posture.

“I understand, Mr. President,” Ziv replied with a sidelong glance at Saurez. “The intelligence community has always had an uneasy working relationship with the military, but both sides can do better at improving it.”

Saurez offered a tight nod. “Fine. I’ll stay out of your backyard. You stay out of mine.”

“My duty includes pointing out poor policies, General, such as this foolhardy decision to stop building battleships. If you’d had a battleship force of even two or three of our top vessels along with their escorts, the battle at Eire would’ve turned out far differently. We might’ve even destroyed Yuen’s flagship and him along with it.”

Before Saurez could respond, his face still turning red, Nolan held up his hand once more. “What part of enough do you two not understand? We’re moving to the carrier-centric fleet. That is final. After what those soldiers and pilots on the Zvika Greengold and our escort carriers pulled off, it’s obvious it’s the right way to go. Casualties will be lighter, and the public won’t have to process five thousand people dying in five minutes on one ship.”

Ziv’s jaw dropped. “Did either of you read the after-action reports? We came within a millimeter of losing hundreds of thousands of our soldiers and Marines. To say nothing of the merchant spacers hauling them!”

Hearing her condemnation, Nolan reconsidered his decision. On some level, she’s right. But at the same time, I’ve seen the internal polling, and I’ve heard the rumblings from these lawmakers calling themselves pro-peace. We have to reduce the number of people dying. At some point, it would all come to a head, but he hoped either not on his watch or that they would wear the League out first. “We’re moving ahead, Director.”

“We’ll plan on converting the battleships in production now to fleet carriers,” Saurez added. “It shouldn’t be too much additional cost, since we won’t need to replace the internal infrastructure.”

“Gentlemen, this is going to come back to bite us in the rear end someday,” Ziv replied, her face red. “Forget even the near-term—what about when we go to attack the League in their space? Carriers can’t provide the kind of on-point fire support a battleship in orbit is capable of.”

“The reward and increase in force lethality outweigh any downsides, Director,” Saurez said, his lips tight. “There is no other solution.”

“Go to a complete war footing on our economy—”

Nolan cleared his throat. “The decision is made. Get with it, or find another job.”

Beads of sweat had appeared on Ziv’s forehead, and she clenched her fists. “Yes, sir.”

“I believe that will be all from you two.” Nolan gestured to a wall clock. “Abdul and I need to prepare for the next briefing.”

Saurez sprang up. “Of course, sir. Have a good day, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Ziv replied, seeming unwilling to engage further.

After both of them had exited, Karimi leaned forward. “If the director’s comments are remotely accurate, we’re screwed in the long run. You realize that, right?”

“I do.” Nolan laid his head back. “I’m also smart enough to realize that our society won’t go to the kinds of lengths the League will. There will be no twenty-four-hour-a-day shifts to produce weapons and ships. Our citizens wouldn’t accept not being able to buy the latest model of helicar because all the factories making them were repurposed to build fighters instead.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then why do we already have grumblings coming out that the opposition doesn’t want to even entertain a tax increase to pay for additional military spending? No, we’ll add more to our mounting debt load. But who cares? The Galters will keep buying it to make interest off us. Don’t even get me started on my side of the aisle… and this absurd notion we should sue for peace.”

Karimi frowned. “I’ve gone back and forth on this, sir. Allow me to tell you that Eire changed my mind. I think the push to sideline our heaviest space-fighting units is a mistake.”

“Well, Abdul, you’re not the only one who’s gone back and forth. Ultimately, though, I think it’s the right call.”

“And if you’re wrong, Mr. President?”

“Then God help us all.” Nolan suddenly felt like he was a hundred thirty years old. “What’s next on our agenda?”

“CBI director. They want to discuss those peace groups you just mentioned.”

Nolan groaned. “Why’d I campaign for this job?”

“Because it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

I thought I could help the Terran Coalition. Make it into a better place. What hubris. “Yeah.” Nolan stood. “Let’s get on with it. And the next time I come up with a bright idea like this one, feel free to check me into a mental hospital.”

“Agreed, sir,” Karimi replied with a grin.

26

After the surrender of the League forces on Eire, the holonets were filled with twenty-four, seven coverage of hundreds of thousands of POWs being loaded onto transports and moved to camps throughout the Terran Coalition. Great care was taken to show the prisoners of war in their confinement, which, while spartan, was humane and in line with the Canaan Convention on Human and Alien Rights.

Tehrani had taken in one such broadcast in her office as the Zvika Greengold orbited Canaan. Part of her was filled with pride for her crew's performance, but another part still seethed at the Joint Chiefs for the debacle of an operation. Progressing through performance reviews and a stack of promotions she wanted to submit before retirement, she labored away, even though most of the crew was on shore leave.

The hatch to her day cabin swung open, and Tehrani’s first instinct was to deliver a tongue-lashing to whoever had interrupted her without even the courtesy of knocking. As she opened her mouth to do so, General Saurez strode in.

Tehrani jumped up and brought herself to attention. “General, sir, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was in the neighborhood. Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.” Anger coursed through her.

“Then have a seat.” Saurez slid into one of the chairs in front of her desk. Before she’d even sat down, he continued, “I understand you’ve had some contacts recently with reporters.”

“Yes.” Tehrani’s heart skipped a few beats. How does he know that? I sent two encrypted messages from my private account last night.

“There’s a war on, Colonel,” Saurez said as if reading her mind. “We keep tabs on what our senior officers are doing.”

“I’m retiring, General. Who knows? Maybe I’ll write a book.” Tehrani forced a nervous smile to her face. Being confronted by the chairman of the Joint Chiefs wasn’t something she’d planned on.

“Let’s cut the crap. You know I had reserves that weren’t used at Eire.” Saurez pursed his lips. “You’re mad you lost so many soldiers and pilots, so you were playing the field to see if any of the major news outlets would like to interview you. Sound about right?”

Tehrani’s fight-or-flight instinct waged battle within her. She stared at him, anger building up. In the end, fight won. “You’re damned right I’m mad, General. The ten thousand men and women KIA deserved better. You should’ve sent the battleships because, with them, we would’ve wiped the floor with the League force.”

To her surprise, Saurez nodded. “Yes, we would’ve. We might’ve even bagged Admiral Yuen himself. And proven the worth of the old battlewagons in the eyes of the politicians and the public. But we can’t afford to field a battleship-centric force, Colonel. The only way forward is with carriers. I made the hardest choice of my life, but I did it for the good of the Terran Coalition.”

An image of slamming his face into her desk until his nose was broken flooded her mind. “That is bullshit, sir. You are a coward of the worst kind—a political general who puts his good above that of the country and the service.”

Saurez sprang up, throwing the chair back into the wall. “Everything I’ve done, I do for the Terran Coalition and to keep it alive, intact, and not enslaved by the League. How dare you accuse me of being a coward, Colonel?”

All self-control seemed to leave Tehrani’s mind and body as she stood. “I’m going to expose you and everyone who knew. I’ve never been much for the limelight or hero worship, but by Allah, I will use my status as the woman who attacked Sol to bring you down.”

For a few seconds, the silence in the day cabin was deafening.

Then Saurez laughed bitterly. “No, you won’t, Colonel. Because all I have to do is let the reports about the little escape-pod incident get into the public domain, and all those adoring civilians will turn on you in an instant. Why? Because they don’t understand what combat is really like. They get to sit in their nice houses, watch War Patrol each week, and buy a war bond if they can spare a few credits while insisting ten-credit lattes every morning are a necessity. Everyone will think you’re a butcher. When I’m done, you’ll be stripped of rank, lose your pension, and be forced to retire in disgrace.”

Tehrani took in his snarling appearance. He looks like an enraged animal. “I don’t care.” She sucked in a breath, crossing a mental Rubicon. “Rank, credits… they don’t matter. Right and wrong matter, General. You forgot that somewhere along the way. I haven’t, even though I did something I still haven’t forgiven myself for. If pilots continue to die because of poor decisions, that’s just one more thing on my conscience.”

“I suppose I underestimated you.” Saurez stared at her, a cold glint in his eyes. “Okay, if you don’t care about yourself, maybe you care about the rest of your family. Take that lovely economics professor you're married to… Ibrahim, is it?”

It felt as if a sword as cold as ice had pierced her chest. Tehrani balled her hands into fists. “He’s not a part of this.”

“Oh, but he is, Colonel. If you go to war against me, he’s going to be collateral damage. If I remember right, he’s working on a government program to determine how we can avoid destroying our economy and still win the war. Is he not?”

“Yes,” Tehrani replied, barely above a whisper. A knot seemed to tighten around her throat.

“Perhaps it would pain you to see him fired, stripped of his security clearance, and investigated for antigovernment activity. Or maybe not. That’s what the cost of going at me and the Joint Chiefs on this one will be, Colonel. You need to decide if it's worth the fight.”

“You’re not that cold, General.” Everything Tehrani believed in floundered in front of her. We’re the good guys. The CDF doesn’t do things like this, and our leaders don’t either. “I cannot believe you’d abuse your position to destroy an innocent man.”

“I don’t want to, but I’ll do anything required of me to ensure the Terran Coalition survives this war.” Saurez paced around the room. “The public will not back a war in which we lose fifty thousand soldiers in a battle. Our culture wants instant gratification, and when we don’t get it, we lose interest and move on. The enemy, on the other hand, has a command economy with complete authoritarian control. They will keep coming. Our only hope is to grind them down for a decade or two until the cost is too high to bear. Moving to a carrier-based fleet will let us do that without bankrupting the Coalition or losing the civilians.”

“We’re stronger than you think. Our citizens will fight on, no matter the cost. They value the freedoms and quality of life we all enjoy here. Look at Eire and how many partisans rose up to fight the League.”

“I’ve seen the polling, Colonel. Already, support for the war is waning. Privately, a few politicians who call themselves the Peace Union are informally suggesting talks around an armistice.” Saurez let out a sigh. “No. We’re doing this my way. The die is cast, and you need to decide what your next course of action is. For your sake, I hope you make the right call.”

Tehrani stared into his eyes and found them lifeless. Like his soul is gone. She ran through the possibilities. Destroying her life didn’t matter anymore. But Ibrahim… he’s done nothing except support me all these years. And he’d gladly sacrifice himself for me if I told him I was fighting for justice. The realization broke her heart. Slowly, she sank back into her chair. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

“Good.” Saurez stopped moving. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed that series of events. You will, of course, be retiring next month?”

“Yes. I’ve put in the paperwork already.”

“Then we have nothing else to discuss here, Colonel Tehrani. I wish you and your husband a long life and a happy retirement.” Saurez pushed the hatch open. “Don’t think for a minute if you ever break your word, I won’t hear about it and be ready to squash you in an instant.”

“I understand,” she grated out.

“Excellent. Good day to you.”

As Saurez disappeared through the hatch and it slid shut, Tehrani leaned back. Her mind swam as she wondered what had just happened. I surrendered. Suddenly, her mouth seemed to be filled with ashes. What do I do now? She had no answer.

27

CSV Zvika Greengold

High Loop Eight—Canaan

2 August 2434

Justin had pondered for days what he was going to do next. The obvious choice was to rebuild the Greengold’s air wing, and to that end, Colonel Tehrani had offered him the position along with a promise to push through his promotion to major. He also had the option of taking the CDF Space Combat Command training position at the flight academy on Canaan. As it had become clear higher-quality pilots were needed, expanded combat school had come into focus.

Then he faced the oddball option. Quit the military, become a politician, and try to fix how things worked from within. The idea was so bizarre that Justin almost dismissed it out of hand. But as he replayed the conversations he’d had over and over, especially the one with Private Waters, Justin became convinced it was the right choice.

That led him to be standing outside Tehrani’s day-cabin hatch, sweating so profusely that a passerby would think he’d run the length of the ship twice in ten minutes. Justin stared at the simple button on the passageway for what seemed like an eternity. Don’t chicken out now. He slapped it harder than he’d intended.

“Come in” came Tehrani’s muffled voice.

Justin pushed the hatch open, strode into her office, and came to rigid attention. “Captain Spencer reports as ordered, ma’am.”

“You asked for a meeting.” She gestured to the chairs in front of her desk.

With an audible gulp, Justin slid into one of the seats and sat ramrod straight. “Ah, thank you for taking the time, Colonel.”

“I know what a man who has something difficult to say looks like, Captain. Out with it—and know that I will in no way look down on you or think less of you for taking a training command position.”

Justin blinked. She thinks I’m bailing out. “No, ma’am. I’m not going to take the flight-school post.”

Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “Staying with us, then. I see.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then… what are you doing, Captain? I have a busy day.”

“I’ve decided to leave the service, ma’am.” Justin sucked in a breath. “For the purpose of running for political office. I hope to secure a seat in the Assembly next year.”

Tehrani’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, Captain Spencer, I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Did you say you were leaving the military to become a politician?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She blinked several times. “What in the universe would possess you to do such a thing?”

“Simple, ma’am. I don’t like it when the brass and our leaders play games with the lives of the men and women who serve. We sign on the dotted line, raise our hands, and swear to defend the Terran Coalition against all enemies. And the people making the decisions should never throw our lives away to score political points.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Ma’am, you saw the same crap go down that I did. Why did we have no heavy units backing us up? Where were all the battleships and cruisers? Did they disappear for this battle? The only things active at Eire were carrier battlegroups. I guess it took all of them to support the invasion, so we got shafted.”

“That’s conjecture, Captain. We’re to follow orders.”

“With respect, that’s BS, ma’am. They left those Marines unprotected, and it’s only through a miracle from God Himself along with the sacrifice of ten thousand soldiers that the entire thing wasn’t more of a disaster than it was.”

Silence broke out in the cramped space as Tehrani stared him down.

Justin felt as if he was being sized up.

“Suppose, for a moment, I agree with you. What can you possibly hope to accomplish?”

“One voice of a veteran in the Assembly would have outsized influence, ma’am. Because I’d be the only one there with combat experience.”

Tehrani sat back. “You realize that I can’t approve this, right? General Yukimura would have to sign off on it.”

“I do, ma’am. But I also know if you endorse it, it’s likely to go through. And if you didn’t, it would never leave your desk.”

She grinned. “An astute statement, Captain Spencer. Why now?”

Justin froze. “This will probably come across as strange, Colonel… but after the idea came to me, I prayed about it. And I think it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Tehrani pursed her lips. “Sometimes the will of Allah is mysterious. I don’t understand it, nor do I feel like I have any connection to the Almighty.” She shrugged. “But I won’t second-guess someone who believes they do. Especially not when I agree with what they’re proposing.”

“I can’t say this idea came from God, ma’am.” Justin let out a sigh. “The truth is I’m only newly a believer. I’m still wrestling with things. Some concepts I don’t fully understand, et cetera.”

“Would you believe that when the war started, I barely prayed?”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

Justin frowned. “When the war started, I was an agnostic and probably more of an atheist. I didn’t believe the idea that a higher power existed, and I felt everything around us was random chance.”

She nodded. “I went through the motions. Today, if I didn’t think there was something else and that those who died under my command went to paradise…” Tehrani seemed to fight down emotion. “Doing this job would be out of the question.”

“Same.”

“Wouldn’t you become different if you got into the Assembly? It always seems like decent people go there to do good and become a corrupt part of the system. Though I do have a dim view of politicians.”

“Most of them, I think, are decent people. Though I am wary of how power gets to one’s head.” Justin set his jaw. “I have some ideas. The first is avoiding lobbyists like the plague. The second is not letting the trappings of power get to me. I’ve already decided if I win, I’ll run with the smallest staff possible, sleep in my office so that I don’t have to get an apartment on the Coalition’s dime, and treat every penny of the people’s money like my own.”

“A good start.” She tilted her head. “Promise me this. No matter how far you advance in the government, you will never forget the costs borne by those who serve.”

“No matter what, ma’am, I’ll never forget that.” Deep within him, Justin knew he would keep that promise, regardless of what it cost him. It was the only reason he wanted to run for office, and with God as his witness, he would see to it.

“I believe you.” Tehrani glanced at her tablet. “Have you sent me the demobilization request yet?”

“No, ma’am. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Send it this afternoon. I’ll sign off and get General Yukimura to as well. Once he understands what you plan to do, I’m confident he’ll feel as I do.”

Justin’s mouth seemed unable to work for a moment. He felt as if another tumbler in the lock to his purpose in life had clicked into place. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Do you have any recommendations for our remaining pilots?”

“I do, ma’am. I’ve prepared a written list and will send it over with my packet this afternoon.”

Tehrani nodded. “Excellent.”

“One thing, if I may, ma’am. You’ve got a really dedicated soldier in the logistical support division working for you—Private Waters. He hasn’t gotten a promotion in the eighteen months he’s been assigned to the Zvika Greengold. I was hoping you might push one through for him.”

“That sounds like a problem I can solve, Captain.” Tehrani picked up her tablet and tapped a few buttons. “Waters, you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No one by that name is assigned to the Greengold. Are you sure you got the name right?”

Justin frowned. “I thought so, ma’am. Maybe I misread it. We’ve only talked a few times.” He decided not to mention that Waters had been the inspiration for his desire to get into politics. A dozen other things ran through his mind, and he felt troubled by the thought he’d somehow imagined the logistics crewman. “I’m sure you have many tasks that require attention, ma’am.”

“As always. The CDF doesn’t think we have enough paperwork to accomplish in a given day, so they add more,” Tehrani replied with a wry grin. “Anything else, Captain?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Very well. Dismissed. And good luck to you, soon-to-be Assemblyman Spencer.”

Justin sprang up from the chair. “Thank you, ma’am. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed to you as well.”

On the way out, Justin closed the hatch behind him. That went more easily than I expected. Justin had assumed that convincing Tehrani would be the hard part. No, that’ll be winning a campaign and learning how to work in Congress.

As he waited for the gravlift to arrive, he decided he would spend the rest of his day finalizing personnel actions and letting Feldstein know what was happening. She deserves to hear it from me first.

28

Using the CAG’s old office seemed wrong to Justin. The door was still marked with Major Gabriel Whatley, Air Wing Commander—CSV Zvika Greengold. But since it was one of the two places on the ship he could have a private conversation without someone walking in, and the other was his quarters, the office would have to do.

Even though Whatley was gone, his essence seemed to permeate the space. Various knickknacks and digital pictures were left, as Justin hadn’t had the heart to box them up yet. Something I’ll need to do later today.

The entry buzzer went off, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Feldstein said as she shoved the hatch open. “I got your message. Is there no other place we can talk?” She glanced around the room. “This place gives me the creeps right now.”

“Tell me about it.” Justin shook his head. “No, I need to talk to you about something, and it has to stay private until I announce it to the rest of the squadron. Please, sit down.”

“You’re leaving, right?”

Justin bit his lip. “Let’s start with some good news, eh? Your promotion to captain came through this morning. We’ll have a formal ceremony later, of course, but I wanted you to know.”

Feldstein stared at him. “That’s good news? The only reason I’m being promoted out of sequence is because most of our friends are dead. Pardon me for not being in the mood to go wet down another stripe.” Her voice cracked, and she turned her head.

“Dvora, I—”

“I know. I’m not being fair. Emotions are still raw, Justin. Or don’t you remember going off at the memorial service?”

“Yes,” he replied softly. “We’re all trying to keep going.”

Feldstein nodded. “I know. One foot in front of the other, stiff upper lip, and all that. Good slogans.” She sucked in a breath. “Taking the training command position?”

“No.”

“You’re staying? After all this? You came within seconds of dying four or five different times.” Feldstein’s voice rose. “Those kids at home deserve a father.”

“I’m leaving the service.”

“What?” Feldstein’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“You put it rather astutely when you said our friends are dead. But they’re dead not only because of the League. Our politicians have something to do with it. This focus on a carrier-centric space force cost a lot of pilots their lives. I’m going to change it.”

“Oh, and how do you plan to do that? Become the president of the Terran Coalition?”

“First things first… planetary assemblyman from my suburb in New Washington.”

Feldstein sat back, her jaw nearly rebounding off the deck. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

She snorted. “I’m serious. Can’t see you as a politician.”

“Neither the Assembly nor the Senate has many veterans. Maybe that’s part of the problem. It’s challenging to order soldiers into combat when you have no idea what facing down another person and having to kill them or be killed is like.”

Feldstein cracked a smile for the first time since she had walked in. “That’s a surprisingly reasoned take from a fighter jock and all-around macho male.”

“Maybe.” Justin chuckled. “I don’t know where it's going to go, but it’s something I feel I need to do. That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, but promise me something. If you make it into the Assembly, try not to lose sight of what matters. I can’t think of a single politician I respect. They all take bribes, engage in rank hypocrisy, and act like idiots.”

“Hey, it’s been better since the start of the war. We’ve shown unity.”

“Yeah, for how long? Check back in a few years.” Feldstein furrowed her brow. “It’s probably temporary, but who knows for sure.”

“I put you in for squadron commander of the Red Tails. Colonel Tehrani agreed. That comes with the acting CAG tag too.”

Feldstein’s jaw dropped again. “I, uh… I’m not sure I’m the right person to lead the team.”

“Yes, you are.” Justin smiled. “As the XO of the squadron, you’ve had one foot in the job for months. I have confidence in you, Dvora.” I hope she knows I genuinely mean that.

Silence followed for a few moments. In the gnawing quiet, Feldstein sniffed, and a tear slid down her cheek before she began to cry in earnest, first quietly then in gut-wrenching sobs.

Justin sprang up and rushed around his desk then knelt and put his arms around her. No words that wouldn’t sound hollow came to mind. Instead, Justin held her for several minutes until Feldstein calmed and gently pushed him away.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry. It hits me in waves.” She closed her eyes. “I miss them so much. Mateus and her wisecracks. Adeoye’s even-keeled take on life. Even Lowell and his stupid hero worship. I’d do anything to get them back.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Justin dropped into the chair next to her.

“There’s no shame in wanting to get out of this before your number is up, you know.”

Justin shook his head. “No. I’m not running from combat.” He’d wrestled with that idea for days before asking Tehrani for her signature on his discharge papers. “My path has combat of a different kind in its future.”

“Okay. Setting you aside, I’m supposed to what? Carry on as if nothing happened?”

“No. I’ve learned we have to acknowledge the bad and how it affects us. We lost eighty percent of the Greengold’s air group. That’ll stick for a long time.” Justin bit his lip. “You’ll have a lot of nuggets to train, but Lieutenant Green survived, and I’m sure she’s up to the task of rebuilding the Wild Hogs. I expect the two of you to be unstoppable. Ultimately, Dvora, you’ll have to decide whether you want to keep doing this or take a training position. I remind you that you earned one of those spots ten times over.”

“Not before I put some Leaguers in the ground for our friends.”

“Revenge isn’t the best—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Feldstein snapped. “I’m glad you got religion, Justin, but I want some payback on those bastards, okay?”

He nodded. “Trust me. I understand.”

“Then why don’t you stick around and help me do it?”

“Because, well…” Justin licked his lips. “This is going to sound weird, but I feel like this politics thing is something I need to do.”

“What? Like God told you to do it?”

Justin laughed, uncomfortable. “No, not like that, but it’s a feeling I have in my heart. I’m positive it’s the right move.”

Feldstein touched his arm. “Whatley would be proud of you.”

“You think? I feel like he’d PT me from one end of the ship to the other.”

“Only if he thought you had dishonorable reasons. I know you well enough to realize you don’t.” She stood. “I’d better go find Green and talk to her. If I’m the acting CAG, I’ll need a second-in-command, and she fits the bill. Without the ridiculous sound effects.”

Justin cracked a grin. “Tell me you’ll make calling that out a feature of your briefings.”

“Absolutely.”

He stood as well, and they embraced.

“Promise me you’re going to be there for Michelle and the kids, okay?”

“I will.” Justin stepped back. “And you keep working on your marriage.”

Feldstein turned to go before casting a final glance over her shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

He nodded. “You too.”

She paused for a moment before striding out of the office and closing the hatch behind her.

Justin realized that old but familiar feelings had welled up in him after hugging her. Probably for the best I’m moving on. That is not a temptation I want to subject myself to for another three years.

For all Justin’s high-mindedness, he had the same failings and sins as many others. He’d learned that long ago, but now it was even more important to keep at the forefront of his mind. To avoid falling into the trap of hypocrisy.

Justin sat back at the desk and started powering through personnel forms along with personal letters to the families of each Red Tails pilot lost. They would be his final task as a pilot and a member of the Coalition Defense Force.

* * *

Kosuke Nishimura had only been waiting for about half an hour at the airlock leading to Canaan’s primary military space station when around the corner came Justin Spencer. Alone, the pilot was wearing a battle dress uniform consisting of black-and-blue camouflage.

“You didn’t think you could sneak off this ship without saying goodbye to me, did you?” Nishimura asked with an edge to his voice.

“Uh, no, Major,” Justin replied. “I didn’t, ah… well, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of any of this.”

Nishimura slapped him on the shoulder. “We’re friends. And friends don’t let one another disembark without saying goodbye. Besides, if all this scuttlebutt I’m hearing is right, the famed hero Captain Spencer is leaving the service, off to ride into politics.”

Justin’s face turned bloodred. “It’s not like that, sir—”

“Stow that ‘sir’ crap,” Nishimura retorted. “Look, you’ve got a good heart. I knew that the moment I met you, Spencer. And I’ll never forget how you’ve saved so many of my Marines in the last sixteen months. But I’m still worried about you.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Will you?” Nishimura rocked on the balls of his feet. “You lost some close friends. That isn’t something one overcomes easily.”

“It sounds like something you know from experience.”

Nishimura nodded. “Seeing someone die in front of you, as you’re holding their hand, is very hard. We all like to talk about how men are made in the crucible of combat.” He narrowed his eyes. “There’s truth to that sentiment, but the same crucible shapes and affects you for decades. What I’m getting at is there’s no shame in asking for help. Especially if this shift into the civilian sector is primarily to get away from the pain of those losses.”

“It’s not like that, sir. I think I can make a difference there. More so than in the cockpit of my Sabre.”

Nishimura stared at him. Justin’s voice held a quiet confidence. The confidence of a decision Spencer’s mind and heart are at peace with.

“Why don’t you start, then, by making those rat-bastard politicians send us to Sol, where we can land on Earth and put an end to this war?”

Justin grinned. “That’s the idea. To Earth and victory.” He paused. “What are you doing next?”

“Well, I’m deep selected for Lieutenant Colonel, and my detailer says the next stop for me is a battalion command. I’m hopeful I’ll get off ship duty and get some real, honest-to-God action against the Leaguers.” Nishimura gave a fierce warrior’s grin. “Not that hanging out with you squids is bad duty, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Careful what you wish for there, Major. Sometimes that action comes with a price.”

“And here I thought that fighter pilots were the ultimate jocks of the universe. Where’s the bravado?”

“It was sitting in three flag-draped caskets I helped remove from the ship when we docked.”

The simple yet powerful way he visualized the loss hit Nishimura deeply. The Alpha pilots were tight, and that the losses had hurt the unit didn’t surprise Nishimura. “You sure you’re not checking out because of that?”

“No. I’m convinced it’s what I’m supposed to do. Call it a God thing.”

Nishimura laughed. “I remember when you were a regular agnostic, telling everyone there was no God.”

“Crazy how things change, isn’t it? There has to be something more. I don’t think I could get through life without my faith now.”

“Yeah.” Nishimura extended his hand. “It’s been an honor.”

Justin shook it firmly. “Same.”

“Don’t be a stranger, eh?”

“Never.” Justin started to go before turning back around. “There’s going to be a ceremony for Adeoye, Lowell, and Mateus. I figured you might want to come.”

Nishimura bit his lip. “Yeah, I would. They saved me and my Marines more times than I can count. Least I can do is show up.”

“Thank you.” A sheen came to Justin’s eyes as he turned once more to go. “I’ll see you around, sir.”

A man doesn’t make another man show emotion. I’d best let him go. “You know it, Spencer. Good luck and Godspeed.”

“Godspeed to you, too, sir.”

Watching him leave, Nishimura reflected on how he would take it if O’Connor bit the dust on the same day that seventy percent of his detachment did too. I’d be a mess. Gotta give the kid some credit. He walked out of here with his head held high. He wasn’t sure if Justin would be able to accomplish what he claimed he could, but the idea of a few people who’d served in the military being in the government suited Nishimura just fine. Until then, I’ve got a job—killing Leaguers. And I’m damn good at my job.

29

League of Sol Navy Headquarters

Geneva, Switzerland—Earth

11 November 2434

Defeat was not something Chang Yuen had experienced often. That it had come at the hands of the Terran Coalition and its individualists made it that much harder to swallow. The three-month journey home had been trying, mainly because it gave Yuen time to reflect. Removed at the express direction of Chairman Morozov, he had some idea what was to come.

In submitting his final after-action report on the disaster at Eire, Yuen had been careful to avoid blame falling on the best tactical minds the League had at its disposal in the Sagittarius arm. They will be needed in the future, and sacrificing them to save me would be individualist. It would also be wrong.

A few days later, he strode through the halls of the League Navy’s headquarters. The ornate walls were festooned with banners from wars throughout its history along with small exhibits dedicated to brave men and women who had given their all for the cause of the League’s socialism. As he walked, Yuen’s head remained high. I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing defeat on my face.

His destination was the office of Admiral Sebastien Lambert, commander of all League naval operations. The admiral’s wing didn’t disappoint. More than an office, it held a small army of support staff and administrative personnel.

After a brief wait, Yuen was ushered into the inner sanctum. He’d been there before, yet the ostentatious displays of the League’s wealth still offended him.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.” He clicked his heels together and came to attention.

Lambert remained in his seat and gestured to a chair in front of his thousand-year-old desk. “Thank you for joining me, Admiral,” he said with mock politeness.

Speaking Chinese, Yuen replied, “I wasn’t aware I had a choice, sir.” He slid into the indicated seat.

“Being cheeky doesn’t look good on you,” Lambert replied. “Your French is better than my Chinese. Speak that.”

Yuen struggled not to roll his eyes. The pretentious French, always wanting us to speak their language. “Of course.” He was fully proficient in all three primary League tongues.

“What do you have to say for this debacle?”

Yuen laughed. “In what universe does it matter? My fate is already decided. Don’t play coy with me, Lambert. Is it to the retirement world to tend crops the rest of my days or execution?”

For a moment, silence followed as Lambert’s lips curled into a frown and his forehead creased. “Did the Terrans rub off on you over there? Because that sounded decidedly individualistic.”

“No. I’m sick of doddering old men throwing my sailors’ lives away,” Yuen spat. “We were asked to do the impossible and in spite of that almost succeeded. A few hours’ difference in the arrival of CDF reinforcements, and we would’ve been the victor at Eire.”

“Every commander must overcome all obstacles that face our society. If one cannot handle the duty, they shouldn’t accept the rank,” Lambert replied icily. “But let us explore your charge for a moment. What could the Social and Public Safety Committee have done differently?”

“Send enough ships to win. The concept of limited war has never worked in the annals of human history.”

“We sent thousands.”

“To win, we’d have to have at least three times the number we have now.”

Lambert stared at him, mouth open. “What?”

“It would be a big-enough fleet to strike their capital world and all major core planets simultaneously. If you want to bring the Terran Coalition to its knees, that’s what it will take. Otherwise, we can continue this charade of sending our ships and troops piecemeal into the meat grinder of the Coalition Defense Force.”

“The Terrans are weak. All it would take is capturing a couple of their core worlds, like your admittedly solid strike at Eire. If that could’ve been replicated, they would’ve collapsed,” Lambert replied.

A voice in Yuen’s mind told him he was quite close to crossing, if he hadn’t already, a line that would end with his execution. But he paid it no heed. “Did you read my reports? The reports from our commanders on the ground—”

“Oversimplifications and lies to cover incompetence—”

“No, they weren’t!” Yuen roared. “I saw it with my own eyes. There were hundreds of thousands of partisans fighting us on Eire. From the major cities to the small towns and everything in between. No one in the Terran Coalition welcomes us as liberators from oppression, and they believe their system is the best. They have ideals they believe in, and they’re more than happy to die for the cause.”

Lambert’s eyes widened. “Then what do you suggest?”

Those words were the commander’s first honest ones since Yuen had walked in.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.” Lambert licked his lips. “Whatever you believe that to be.”

Ignoring the barb, Yuen pressed on. “We cannot defeat the Terran Coalition.”

“What? They’re unsocialized capitalists who care only for themselves. All we must do is show them a better way.”

“General Renard tried everything on Eire. First we tried to win their hearts and minds. When it quickly became apparent that wasn’t working, he turned to force. By the time we got to randomly executing ten Terrans for every League casualty incurred on world, the only thing we had accomplished was driving hundreds of thousands more civilians into snatching up weapons to fight us.”

“That doesn’t mean we cannot defeat the Terran Coalition, only that it will take some time to pacify them.”

“There is no pacifying people who hate us and what we represent. We can kill them. In fact, we could kill all of them. Destroy their warships and bombard their planets with fusion bombs, and eventually there will be no more Terrans or this wrecked ideology of freedom they worship as much as they do the imaginary man in the sky.”

“The chairman doesn’t wish to resort to extremes.”

“And invading them from across the Orion arm isn’t an extreme?” Yuen chuckled. “What you really mean is we want to use them as labor and get access to their better technology.”

Lambert shrugged. “All that matters is in the end, we’ll win by outlasting them.”

“How many sailors and soldiers have to die for that? How many of our border worlds continue to live in poverty, with our citizens toiling under conditions little better than that of prisoners to mine ores for our war effort?”

“It is their societal duty.”

A mental image of slamming Lambert’s face into his desk until it was bloody and broken flooded Yuen’s mind. He suppressed it, partially by hitting his hand on the wood. “As it is our societal duty and the duty of the Social and Public Safety Committee to ensure our lives aren’t spent on foolhardy actions.”

“That’s not your place to judge.” Lambert frowned. “You will be spending your retirement on an agricultural world, Admiral Yuen. Who knows? You might get to see your predecessor.”

The thought of being on the same planet as the insufferable Pierre Seville made Yuen long to be executed instead. “I see. And the war?”

“It will continue with a new commander and more ships. We will grind the Terrans down. The chairman has declared a people’s war.” Lambert shrugged. “None of it is your concern any longer.”

“And what of Admiral Voronin?”

Lambert chuckled. “Your faithful little lapdog? He’s being retired too. Though his accommodations won’t be as nice as yours.”

“I’m curious. What would you have done differently?”

“Exactly what the Chairman asked for—sustained offensive operations into the teeth of the Terran Coalition’s defenses.”

Many thoughts ran through Yuen’s mind, mostly centered on asking what kind of monster Lambert was. “That would’ve been suicide for our sailors and soldiers. It was bad enough fighting the Terrans in equal numbers with their enhanced technology.”

“As Comrade Stalin put it, a million deaths are a statistic. That is all the chairman sees. The statistics mean nothing if the goal is accomplished.”

Little was left to say, and every second Yuen stayed in the room, the closer he came to assaulting Lambert. “There is one thing you got wrong. Even though the Terrans cling to notions of individualism, they have a capability for self-sacrifice that would make any commissar proud. I watched from my flagship as frigates, destroyers, and escort carriers with barely forty fighters each engaged the pride of the League fleet.” Yuen affixed a withering stare at him. “And won.”

“Because of poor leadership.”

“I had my fleet exactly where it needed to be at the right time,” Yuen said, seething. “A highly motivated enemy outfought us at every turn.” The image of a Terran frigate flying into the side of the LX Yang Jingyu flashed in his mind.

“Perhaps.” Lambert shrugged. “It no longer matters for you, comrade. Your shuttle is waiting.”

And there’s my cue. Yuen stood. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Be careful how you conduct yourself, Admiral. A person in your circumstance would not want to attract the wrong type of attention from the political commissars.”

Yuen glanced over his shoulder. “And you should hope you don’t outlive your usefulness, lest you be forced to join me and your understudy, Seville.”

Lambert gave no reply.

On his way out of the labyrinth of offices, hallways, and conference rooms that made up League Navy HQ, Yuen considered what was next for him. The austere simplicity of tending crops and no longer having to get up every morning and order young sailors into battle seemed appealing. Perhaps in time, there will be a place for me to serve again. He longed for a day when corrupt officials didn’t rule the League and its promise of socialist harmony could be spread throughout the population.

30

In the commanding officer’s cabin, Benjamin Wright stared at his appearance in the mirror, straightened his rank insignia, and made sure his command-in-space pin was affixed in the proper spot. It wouldn’t do to have the master chief giving me demerits in her mind for bad personal grooming on my first full day in the big chair.

Colonel Tehrani’s retirement ceremony had been two weeks ago, and a whirlwind of events had followed. General Yukimura had informed Benjamin of his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel and that, at least for the time being, he would serve as the acting CO of the Zvika Greengold.

They’ll probably keep me around until they find someone else to run the ship. Benjamin was a bit dumbfounded by the turn of events, but at Tehrani’s insistence, he was determined to make the most of it. A day ago, he’d gotten the official orders to take command of the escort carrier and attended a simple ceremony with the senior officers.

Time to get to work.

Before heading to the bridge, he toured the engineering spaces and inspected the reactor and shield upgrades installed while they had been at Canaan space dock.

Striding onto the bridge for the first time as the commander of the ship sent a shock through Benjamin. As the crew sprang to attention and those not actively standing watch saluted, the weight of his responsibility came into focus. Banu, I didn’t realize what you had to shoulder.

“Colonel on deck!” the master chief called out.

Benjamin flashed a grin. “As you were.”

The enlisted personnel went back to their duties, and he approached the CO’s chair. It seemed different somehow—bigger, heavier, and more substantial than he remembered from the day before. “Lieutenant, I have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Bryan replied as he stood and moved toward Tactical. “Colonel Wright has the conn.”

The chair felt different. Benjamin chalked it up to the mental difference between moving from the executive officer position to Command.

He laid his hands on the armrests. “Ship’s status, TAO?”

“All systems nominal, sir. We’re ready to depart on your order.”

“Excellent. Navigation, disengage all umbilicals and moorings.”

“Umbilicals and moorings disengaged, sir,” Metzner replied.

“All ahead, dead slow.”

Almost imperceptibly, the drydock superstructure moved. Faster and faster, it disappeared through the bridge window as the Greengold left her berth. A few minutes later, nothing but open space lay ahead.

“Conn, Communications. Canaan flight control has released us for maneuvering out of the system,” Singh announced. “They wish us good luck and Godspeed.”

“Return that sentiment, Communications,” Benjamin replied. He glanced at the empty XO’s chair. General Yukimura had informed him a replacement executive officer would arrive before they joined up with convoy 613 for transit to the outer mining colonies.

The rear hatch slid open, and Feldstein strode in. “Permission to enter the bridge?”

Benjamin turned to face her. “Granted, Captain. And congratulations on your promotion.”

“Same to you, sir.”

“XO’s chair is empty, if you’d like.”

Feldstein nodded and slid into it. “Thank you, sir. I wanted to let you know we got the last shipment of nuggets an hour ago. We’re ready to go on paper, but don’t expect miracles just yet.”

“There are some big shoes to fill on this ship,” Benjamin replied. “But you’re going to do fine.”

“Of course, sir.” She flashed a small grin that seemed forced. “I wish we still had the CAG and Spencer around, though.”

“A sentiment shared by all.” Benjamin directed his gaze forward. “Navigation, all ahead full. Lay in a course for the Lawrence limit.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Staring out the window, Benjamin became acutely aware of how tense everyone was. They’re just as nervous as I am. In times like this, the skipper always calmed us down. What would Tehrani do? Oh, Father Elliott will tongue-lash me for that one. “Lieutenant Singh, tie me in to the 1MC.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Tied in.”

Benjamin pressed a small button on his chair to engage the microphone. “Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Wright. We’re getting underway for our next assignment with heavy hearts. Friends, comrades in arms, were lost to the enemy in higher numbers than we’d ever expected to see, and I know the losses affect each of you, as they have me. But as Colonel Tehrani would remind us if she were here today, we have a higher duty. For the last eighteen months, the Zvika Greengold has led the way. Today is no different. So man your posts, give everything you’ve got, and look out for those to your right and your left. Fight the good fight, no matter the odds.”

“No matter the odds!” several on the bridge yelled.

“The League isn’t going to know what hit them when Battlegroup Z shows up to the fight. Next stop, convoy six-one-three. Godspeed to us all.” Benjamin clicked off the mic.

“I suppose I’d better get down to the flight deck.” Feldstein stood. “Don’t want those nuggets to think we’ll be soft on them.” Her eyes glinted. “I’m planning on multiple drills and simulator runs per day.”

“But will you PT them around the hangar?” Benjamin asked.

Feldstein tilted her head. “We’ll see, sir.”

“Dismissed, Captain.”

As she walked off the bridge, Benjamin stared out the window into the inky blackness of the void. I hope the colonel is enjoying her retirement. God knows she earned it. He grinned. And one of these days, I’ll let her know we kept on going, which will make her prouder than anything.

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence limit reached, sir.”

“Activate Lawrence drive, Lieutenant.” Benjamin leaned forward. “Let’s go kick some Leaguer ass.”

Cheers filled the bridge as the Zvika Greengold forged ahead, into the unknown, and at that moment, Benjamin knew he was precisely where he needed to be.

* * *

Tehrani Home

Izmir – Home World of the Turkish Republic

14 November 2434

The table had been set with an impressive array of breakfast food, including traditional nan-e Sangak, a whole-wheat-four flatbread, cheese bites, freshly sliced fruits and vegetables, and eggs. Tehrani wanted to eat it all as quickly as she could. CDF breakfast tended to be focused on what most soldiers ate—usually the American or British versions.

Ibrahim poured a small glass of tea, a unique blend from a grocer down the street. “This looks lovely.”

“It does.” She smiled. “A rare treat over the last twenty years.”

“But no longer. There’s no reason we can’t eat like this every morning.”

“Except one.” Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “We’d both get fat. Quickly.”

He harrumphed. “Exercise exists for a reason.”

“You… exercise?”

“Three times a week, weights and cardio.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’ve never known you to do such things.”

Ibrahim shrugged. “Call it a new hobby.”

“I suppose I should join you. I’ll no longer have access to the shipboard gym.” She flashed a smile.

It had been several weeks since her muster out and retirement. It still hurts. Every morning felt empty, as though Tehrani’s sole purpose for living had been removed.

“Well, I welcome your company. It has been so nice, the last two weeks. I’d forgotten what it was like to have a wife.” Ibrahim’s eyes twinkled.

“Is that a nice way of saying you appreciate having someone to fix your breakfast again?” Tehrani tried to sound stern, but it didn’t work. She ended up laughing.

“Oh, maybe.” He laughed, too, before turning somber. “Are you okay?”

Ibrahim had asked her that every day. Tehrani knew why—she was anything but okay, and it showed. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’ll just take time, husband.”

“I wish you would tell me what happened.”

Tehrani licked her lips. “You know I can’t discuss things that remain classified.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m working on it,” she interjected. “Someday everything will be okay again, and until then, I value everything you do for me. Please never forget that.”

Ibrahim reached across the table and put his hand on hers. “I don’t, and I love you with all my heart.”

A tear slid down Tehrani’s face. “I know. I don’t think I deserve it, but I know you do.”

“Oh, that’s rich. If anything, I don’t know why the great hero would want to be with me, the nerdish economics professor, complete with a rumpled coat.” Ibrahim snorted.

“Because you were cute in that rumpled coat nineteen years ago, and you’re still cute in it today.” She giggled. “Oh, can you believe how much time has passed?”

“No.” He shook his head. “The passage of time is truly terrifying.”

“Yes, it is.” She reached for a piece of the flatbread, scooped some eggs into it, and took a quick bite. “So good. I needed a hearty meal to prepare for my first day as a program manager.”

Ibrahim laughed then took a sip of tea. “My wife, the grimy, money-grubbing defense contractor.”

“Oh, don’t even start. I only want to contribute to the war effort. This is my way of doing it now.”

He grinned. “Yes, but do you know how many times over the years you’ve trashed the defense industry? I could write a book on the subject.”

“SSI is different. They’re focused on the work, not profits.”

Ibrahim nearly sprayed tea out of his nose. “Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”

“I am focused on the work.”

“Now, that, I can believe.” He took a bite of eggs.

Tehrani closed her eyes for a moment. Becoming a contractor wasn’t her first choice nor her second nor anywhere in the top ten. But it remained the only way she felt she could do her duty—and help the Terran Coalition win the war. It also held the promise of allowing her to have a family. “I, ah, had a conversation with my ob/gyn yesterday.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “Oh?”

“You should try not to be so transparent,” she replied playfully.

“Forgive me. You know my stance on the subject,” Ibrahim said, his tone filled with hope.

“All’s good with my eggs. And… I asked her to schedule me for treatment in six months.”

“What?” Ibrahim stood quickly.

“Yes.”

He dropped to one knee beside her chair and hugged her tightly. “Oh, I am so happy. I can barely put it into words.”

The decision had been the ultimate leap of faith for Tehrani. She still wasn’t sure about being a mother, especially after her combat experiences. But she’d promised Ibrahim, and while her mind threw up objections, her heart yearned to have children. Perhaps in time, we will have the idyllic life I think my husband envisions.

For the moment, though, getting to work on time for her first day would have to be enough.

“We’d better get to eating, husband. Otherwise, we’ll both be late. One helicar and all.”

Ibrahim snorted and kissed her. “I’m sure we’ll have two before too long.”

She rolled her eyes and took another bite of food. He could never find out how close they’d come to losing everything and being destroyed by General Saurez. The burden was hers to carry. Tehrani was determined that whatever lay ahead, she and Ibrahim would get through it together and with some help from Allah. He’s gotten me this far. He will help the rest of the way.

* * *

Spencer Residence

Lawrence City—Canaan

14 November 2434

Justin hovered his finger over the biometric lock for the small condo his family had been assigned in military housing. Part of him was overjoyed to be home, while another part felt fear of the unknown. He pressed the button, and the door swung open after identifying him.

“Hey, everyone!” he yelled into the foyer.

“Justin?” Michelle called and appeared from one of the rooms off the hallway. “What… how… what are you doing here?”

He ran forward and embraced her tightly. “I’m home.”

Michelle squeezed back and kissed him. “Two weeks? Please say more than three days.”

“How about forever?” Justin replied and tucked her head under his chin.

She pulled back. “Don’t joke about that, baby. It’s been a long couple of months.”

“No, I’m not joking. I, ah, I’m on terminal leave. Thirty days, and Justin Spencer will no longer be an active-duty member of the Coalition Defense Force. Well, aside from attending a memorial service for my teammates back on New Washington. That’s really important to me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “Okay, let’s go sit down, and you can tell me what’s going on here. I got lost somewhere.”

“Where’s the living room?”

“Oh, yeah. This is your first time coming here.” Michelle gestured to a room down the hallway, to the left.

They walked into it together, and Justin took note of some family knickknacks from New Washington that had made the trip, along with new decorating choices. He sat down on the couch, and Michelle joined him.

“So… I’ve decided to get into politics.”

“What?”

“It was that or a training command position.”

“But…” Michelle sputtered, let out a sigh, and stared at him. “I’m sorry. My brain is having trouble processing this. A few weeks ago, you were one of the heroes of Eire. Now you’re out and going into politics? What am I missing?”

Justin pursed his lips. “A lot of good men and women who shouldn’t have died in that battle did. I fear many more will die needlessly because of political decisions.”

“So you’re going to do something about it?”

“Yeah.”

Michelle shook her head, grinning. “Serves me right for marrying a hero.”

“We’re going to have to move back to New Washington.”

“Good. I don’t like it here anyway. There are more people in Lawrence City than most border planets put together.”

He took her hand. “I’m going to run for the Coalition Assembly under a center-right party. I’m not sure which one yet. I already have a bunch of meetings scheduled to interview me.”

She stared at him, mute.

“I know I’m throwing a lot on you.”

“Justin… a lot would be that you were getting promoted, or we were moving somewhere new. You’re talking about single-handedly upending everything in our lives. Shock is a better word. What is going on? I didn’t even know you had an interest in politics. We barely discuss it outside who to vote for every four years.”

He let out a sigh. The same thing I’ve been telling myself. “This is going to sound weird.”

“Try me.”

“We lost a lot of good people.” Justin gulped as emotion welled up. “I’ve had pilots killed throughout the war but never two from my element in one day. And Adeoye… three of my best friends gone.” His voice broke, and tears flowed. “God, I miss ’em.”

Michelle wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more than just say those words.”

“They help.” Justin dabbed his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “It’s not the losses that got me. It was the reason for them. Because it was as plain as day to us that Command dropped the ball. All they used at Eire were carriers, and I’m not going to go into a ton of specifics, because your eyes will glaze over. But the bottom line is when politics influences military tactics, soldiers die. I can do something to stop that if I’m in the government.”

“Why do you think politics played a part?”

Justin shrugged. “Because the politicians think our population won’t stand for extreme combat losses. Maybe they’re right, but I don’t think they are. I believe the citizens of the Terran Coalition will do anything to safeguard their freedoms, including fight a war with the League for however many years or decades it takes to win.”

Michelle grinned. “Your voice became… nobler than it already is as you said that.” She licked her lips. “Okay. So you’re going to run for the Assembly and what? Change it from within?”

“Yeah. I did some research. There’s not a single combat veteran in either house of congress. If more of us were politicians, perhaps this war would be fought properly.” Justin set his jaw. “I can make a difference here because I know what it’s like to fight, win, lose, and deal with losing those under me, including my friends.”

She tilted her head. “Did you pray about it?”

“Yeah.” Justin chuckled. “It still sounds so strange to me to say I prayed about something. But yes, I prayed all night about it. You know, it’s funny. A private from the logistics corps gave me the idea.”

Michelle stared at him. “What?”

“Yeah. Private Waters. I’ve run into him a few times on the Greengold. A kid who just moves boxes from point A to point B. He had some deep wisdom for me.” Yet the colonel said he didn’t exist. Maybe I did get the name wrong. The other consideration, that his mind was playing tricks on him, wasn’t one he cared to explore.

“Okay. This is hard to take in, but if you’re sure, I am always behind you one hundred fifty percent.” She took his hand. “Are you sure, Justin?”

“Surer than I have been of anything I’ve ever done, except when I asked you to marry me.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Michelle replied with a giggle.

“Hey, where are the kids? I should’ve heard them by now.”

“Well, I was planning to have a quiet night. They’re both at sleepovers because Mommy has been running nonstop for weeks.”

“It should go without saying I’ll be here now to help with them. And I very much look forward to that time.”

She grinned. “I’ll be taking you up on that, Captain Spencer. Or should I say, Assemblyman Spencer.”

“How about a nice, quiet dinner together tonight, then?”

Michelle leaned in and kissed him. “Sounds perfect to me.”

Justin’s cheeks heated. “I’ll order something.”

Staring into her eyes, he felt warmth and love radiate from them. Everything is going to be okay. Deep inside, a still, small voice told him he was on the right path—and that was all he needed to face the future, even as the loss of his friends made him feel as if his heart had been cut out and thrown onto the ground. He knew it was going to take a long time to be fully right again, but if nothing else, Michelle was like a lifeline to something better. Eventually, I will recover.

Epilogue

The White House

Lawrence City—Canaan

20 January 2455

Justin Spencer’s mind wandered throughout the armored helicar ride from the plaza in Lawrence City, where he’d delivered his inaugural address as the president of the Terran Coalition. It had been twenty years since he entered politics, first as an assemblyman from New Washington. From there, he spent six years in Congress before taking a run at the governorship of New Washington—and winning. It seemed as if his political career careened from one high to the next, though Justin always tried to keep sight of why he’d taken up the cause in the first place: winning the war by defeating the League.

As the skyline of the capitol flashed by at dizzying speeds, a new weight fell on Justin’s shoulders—the burden of the entire Terran Coalition. The responsibility that comes with the power is terrifying.

Once off the transport and surrounded by his protective detail, family, and aides, Justin strode through the doors into the White House. As he did, an electrical charge filled the air. Justin stopped for a moment to savor the experience.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Michelle whispered into his ear.

Justin turned to her and shook his head. “A few times in the last couple of months, I’ve pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.” He turned to his chief of staff, Richard Rollins. “Did General MacIntosh get my request?”

Rollins nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. He’s waiting outside the Oval Office for you. Along with General Barton.”

Justin struggled not to make a face. Barton was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and, in Justin’s opinion, a defeatist who dishonored his uniform. Never serving on the front, Barton had ridden to the top as an administrator and advocated a “just peace” with the League of Sol. Except that the man’s concept of a just peace was giving up most of the outer-rim planets the League had captured.

“I see.”

“General Barton insisted that any conversations with CDF special projects involve top leadership,” Rollins explained.

In the years since Andrew MacIntosh and Justin had served together, MacIntosh had been shunted into weapons and technology research and, to Justin’s surprise, excelled at it. A year ago, he’d gained his third star and an appointment as the director of the special-projects division. A few weeks after the election, Andrew had reached out to him with a proposal for a new piece of technology designed to win the war. It was just the sort of thing Justin wanted to see.

“It’s okay,” Michelle said. “You go to work. I’ll see you tonight in the residence. I’m going to try to figure out my way around.”

Justin cracked a grin. “I’m sure you’ll have it down in no time, my dear.” After all the years that had gone by, he was amazed by how beautiful she remained and how her smile could light up the room. Face it, Justin. You probably won because your wife campaigned tirelessly for you. He chuckled. “I’ll see you tonight.”

A few minutes later, Justin and Rollins approached the Oval Office for the first time in Justin’s life. While he’d seen it numerous times in pictures, holovids, and immersive virtual-reality experiences, the aura around the room was like nothing else he’d experienced. If the walls of this office could talk, I suspect they would have much wisdom to offer. “Pass the word that I expect all staffers to wear dress shirts, slacks, ties, and jackets at all times in the White House.”

“Yes, sir.” Rollins peered at him. “May I ask why, sir?”

“Because I want to treat the people’s house with the respect it deserves in every possible way.” Justin grinned. “This is surreal.”

Rollins patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it in a few days.”

“No. I hope I don’t. We shouldn’t get used to it, because this is where great men and women have walked for hundreds of years.” Justin pulled himself up to his full height. “And it is where we will try to equal their example.”

As they rounded a curve in the hallway, the protective detail behind them, Barton and MacIntosh came into view. Both brought themselves to attention.

“Mr. President,” Barton said. “Congratulations on your victory. It’s been a while since we’ve had a leader with combat experience.”

Justin inclined his head. Too bad my top general doesn’t have combat experience. “Thank you, General. I hope to be equal to the task.” He glanced between both of them. “Of defeating the League of Sol once and for all. Shall we proceed into the Oval?”

Rollins led the way and held the door open then closed it behind MacIntosh. All four sat, Justin and Rollins on one couch, the officers on another across from a small table. In front of the small sitting area was the Resolute desk, saved from Earth during the Exodus. The president conducted most of his or her business there.

“I hope you understand, Mr. President, how important I consider the chain of command,” Barton began. “While I realize you and Scotch have worked together, these proposals need to come through the Joint Chiefs, as they affect our entire war effort.”

So the turf wars begin. “Andrew saved my life and the lives of everyone on the CSV Zvika Greengold when our reactor failed deep in League space. My understanding is that some of our best technology, including the new Hunter missiles, come directly from his teams.”

Barton spread his hands out on his lap. While his khaki uniform was perfect—boots spit-shined and hair trimmed precisely to CDF regulation, something about him was off. His expression resembled that of a trapped animal. “I think we need to be realistic, Mr. President. Scientists have been working on advancing power technology for close to a hundred years. Perhaps someday antimatter will be viable—”

“It works,” MacIntosh interjected. “I’ve seen the tests myself, as demonstrated by Dr. Hayworth.”

“How Benjamin Hayworth got a security clearance is beyond me,” Barton mumbled.

The comment drew a sharp stare from Justin. “So he’s opinionated.”

Barton raised an eyebrow. “He challenges every respected scientist he can goad into debating him about the existence of a higher power. I would think you of all people—”

“Let’s get something straight. First, I don’t judge people by what religion they profess. I judge them by their actions. Second, it doesn’t matter to me how rude Dr. Hayworth is, only that he’s intelligent and supports our cause. I listened to him to get a better feel for the man. Whatever bone he’s got to pick with theists, he detests the League of Sol a heck of a lot more.” Justin crossed his arms. “Are we clear on this?”

“Yes, sir.” Barton pursed his lips. “Setting aside the subject of Hayworth’s… bombast, his tests are purely lab based. Nothing suggests this tech works in the real world. We’re better off spending our credits on more ships of current technology.”

Justin sprang up and paced the room. “Gentlemen, there are singular minds in each generation. Thomas Edison, Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, Elon Musk, and James Lawrence.” He turned to stare at Barton. “Hayworth is one of those minds. I’m sure of it. We’re funding his research. End of story.”

“I see I won’t be changing your mind on this, sir,” Barton replied.

“No.” Justin flashed a thin smile.

“At the very least, I must ask you to reconsider the use of a decommissioned battleship as the test bed for the reactor, should it get that far. We have a carrier-centric space force that’s nimble. Battleships are last century’s technology.”

Justin narrowed his eyes. “General, while I respect your time in uniform and service to the Terran Coalition, in this matter, I am unmovable.” It took every ounce of self-control not to verbally rip the man limb from limb. “I ran on a platform of winning the war. I do not make promises lightly, and I certainly don’t make them lightly to the hundred billion citizens of the Terran Coalition.”

“Sir…” Barton licked his lips. “I was under the impression that most of that was gusto for the cameras. Don’t get me wrong. The idea of funneling as much money as possible into the military and building additional carrier battlegroups is a step in the right direction. But I beg of you to consider that for all our population and prowess, CIS believes the League has three times the number of planets under its control and four times the population. We cannot win in a straight-up slugging match, sir. It can’t be done.”

“We win,” MacIntosh interjected in his thick Scottish brogue, “with superior technology.”

“Three to four generations better than the League would be required,” Barton shot back. “We’re at best one generation ahead now.”

MacIntosh pursed his lips. “With respect, sir, we both know there are classified breakthroughs in shields, propulsion, and even Lawrence drives. Not to mention particle-based energy weapons. The only thing holding us back is power. We can’t fit ten fusion reactors in a battleship. We tried that, and it was too cumbersome. Antimatter is the solution. All we have to do is get one ship built with this new technology, prove it works, and start mass-producing fleet cruisers that can take the fight to the League. It’ll work.” He let out a breath. “It has to work.”

“We could try peace talks—”

“The guy who wanted peace with the League left the building a few hours ago,” Justin said as he turned back to face them. “I’m not him. Don’t suggest that course of action again, unless it’s tied to something incredible like the return of our POWs in exchange for talks or an offer to pull out of the Sagittarius arm. As for what can and can’t be done, I remind you, General, that I led the pilots who attacked Sol. Anything is possible if you go about it the right way.”

“Yes, sir,” Barton replied, seeming to realize he’d lost the battle. “Do you have any further orders, sir?”

“Only this. Effective immediately, I am detaching General MacIntosh and his Special Projects Division to a command that includes me in its reporting structure. Andrew, I want weekly updates and in-person briefings. What are you calling this?”

“The Victory Project, sir.”

Justin grinned. “I expect to be kept in the loop on everything to do with the Victory Project. I want to know details, down to how many grams of antimatter you produced this week. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea—”

“Chain of command goes both ways,” Justin replied as he stared Barton down. “General.”

“Point taken, sir.” Barton’s face twisted into an expression that seemed like it could set the room on fire.

Justin let the moment linger for a few seconds. “I think that’ll be enough for today, gentlemen. My chief of staff has me booked in fifteen-minute increments for the entire afternoon. Well, nothing new there.”

Barton and MacIntosh both sprang to their feet.

“Andrew, would you stay behind?”

“With respect, sir, anything regarding military affairs can be said in front of me,” Barton interjected.

With exaggerated politeness, as if he was speaking to a small child, Justin smiled. “General, Andrew and I have known each other for over twenty years. We can catch up on our families without needing you to chaperone.”

As his face turned bloodred, Barton turned to go. “Apologies, sir.” He walked out the door, leaving MacIntosh and Justin alone.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen someone get his goat in a while,” MacIntosh said after a few moments. “I know officers aren’t supposed to have an opinion on politics, but sir, it is damn good to see you in charge.”

“No cursing in the White House,” Justin replied. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

MacIntosh peered at him. “No cursing. You’ve changed.”

“More or less. Call it a couple of decades of trying to walk the straight and narrow.” Justin went back to the couch and sat. “It’s been too long.”

“It has.” MacIntosh shook his head. “I’m amazed any of us survived.”

“Too many didn’t.”

The reminder of the losses that both the Greengold and the Terran Coalition had endured produced a sobering sentiment that seemed to permeate the office.

“We have to find a way to win,” Justin said, locking his gaze onto MacIntosh’s. “So that all our friends didn’t die in vain.”

“I think this is it, sir. If we field antimatter warships, we’ll be a hundred years ahead of the Leaguers. There’s new technology of all sorts we can’t use currently that will tip the balance of power. Once we have a working prototype reactor, I want to refit a mothballed battleship. I’ve got my eyes on the old British one… the Lion.”

“You’ll need someone unique to command a ship like that. Someone… unorthodox.”

“Indeed, we will.” MacIntosh grinned. “Once the time is right, I’m sure that person will be found.”

Justin stood. “I wasn’t kidding about having meetings every fifteen minutes.”

“Of course, sir.” MacIntosh stuck out his hand. “It’s an honor to serve with you again.”

“Likewise.” Justin grasped and shook it firmly. “Godspeed, General.”

“Godspeed, Mr. President.”

Watching him depart, Justin took a few moments to absorb the enormity of the task in front of him. Winning the presidency and convincing the citizens of the Terran Coalition there was a military solution to the war had been the easy part. Next came the difficult task: pulling it off. He walked behind the Resolute desk and sat in the oversized leather executive chair. An envelope was laid on it, addressed to him. In a six-hundred-year-old tradition, each president wrote a short note to be read solely by the next one. He set it aside and instead pulled out an old, printed copy of the Bible in the top desk drawer.

After flipping through it until he found the right passage, Justin bowed his head and read. “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from Heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.”

A few tears dripped down Justin’s face as he felt overcome by emotion. “Lord, please give me the wisdom, courage, and ability to lead my people. Let me do what is right in all things, heal our land, and grant us victory. Amen.”

As Justin wiped his tears, he realized someone on his staff had already placed a small analog picture frame on the desk. It was one of his most prized possessions: an image of him, Feldstein, Adeoye, Mateus, and Lowell posing in front of a Sabre. Even after so many years, seeing his friends cut him to the bone. Justin kept the photo on every desk he’d ever worked behind, as an ever-present reminder of why he was doing the job. He stood and, with a final glance at the image, sucked in a breath. Okay. Showtime.

As he walked out the door to find Rollins waiting in the hallway, he recalled his conversation many years ago with Private Waters. Never let power go to my head.

“Ready?”

“This way, sir. The speaker of the Assembly is waiting. You’ve got fifteen minutes with her, then we need to review defense secretary nominees.”

“Let’s get to it.”

THE END

Echoes of War: The struggle for freedom continues. President Spencer turns to a new generation of heroes to fight the League of Sol, as the Victory Project reaches fruition.

Colonel David Cohen must square the tenets of his faith against his responsibility to crew and country. If he fails in his command, billions face enslavement by a ruthless regime. Now it’s an all-out fight for the galaxy’s freedom.

Fight the Good Fight - Tap HERE to read NOW!

Sample Chapter - Fight the Good Fight

Space tore itself open in Sector 17A, and a wormhole appeared—a swirling mass of color and energy. The CSV Yitzhak Rabin emerged, and its artificial tunnel through the stars closed within seconds.

On the bridge, Sheila was the first to speak. “Conn, Navigation. Transit complete. Emerging from wormhole within five thousand kilometers of target.”

David took in the situation, looking above his chair at the CO’s display. Noting that all systems were normal, he turned his attention to Ruth. “TAO, report.”

Ruth peered at her monitors. “LIDAR sensors coming online, sir.” The first seconds after emergence from FTL were the most nerve-racking as the detection systems reset. Blips appeared on the screens in front of her. “Six Lancer-class frigates designated Master One through Six, Four Cobra-class destroyers designated Master Seven through Ten. Multiple transports designated Sierra One through Seven, sir. They’re not moving.” She didn’t bother reading out the Coalition ships, led by Dyson’s vessel, the CSV Dutiful.

David nodded. Four Cobra-class destroyers and six Lancer-class frigates from the League weren’t bad odds for the Coalition force assembled. The Cobra was an older destroyer that the League deployed en masse. Two of them alone were no match for the newest Ajax-class destroyers, and Lancer-class frigates were even less capable against superior Coalition technology. “TAO, range of closest enemy vessel?”

Ruth’s eyes never left her displays. “Master One and Two, sir. Range six thousand kilometers.” In CDF nomenclature, Master denoted a hostile contact—a target.

“Navigation, plot intercept course.”

“Intercept course, aye, aye, sir.”

“TAO, firing point procedures, neutron beams and magnetic cannons, Master One and Master Two.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

David sat back slightly. Fighting to keep his adrenaline in check, he viewed his plot one more time. “TAO, shoot, neutron beams and magnetic cannons.”

The Rabin’s engines fired brightly, accelerating toward her targets. The two League Lancer-class frigates turned to face their new foe. A full salvo of magnetic-cannon projectiles erupted from the Rabin’s forward dorsal and ventral mag-cannon turrets and raced toward her opponents, followed by a burst from her neutron-beam emitters. Hits sent ripples across the shielding of both targets. A bright flare came from the second Lancer when the barrage successfully battered down its protective screens.

“Conn, TAO. Master One shields are now at thirty percent,” Ruth said. “Master Two shields have failed.”

David acknowledged her statement with a nod. “Navigation, come about and present our forward arc to Master Two. TAO, firing point procedures, forward missile cells and magnetic cannons, Master Two.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

“TAO, shoot, forward missile cells and magnetic cannons.”

The Rabin turned sharply and brought her turreted mag cannons to bear on the enemy vessel. Missiles erupted from her forward missile cells mounted both to port and starboard along the ship’s bow and accelerated toward the League frigate. Another salvo from her forward dorsal-mounted mag-cannons quickly followed. Explosions ripped across the surface of the Lancer, blowing away the small vessel’s stern. On his tactical viewer, David watched as the enemy ship’s speed decreased rapidly until it was drifting in space.

Ruth’s reaction was measured and professional. “Conn, TAO. Master Two disabled, sir.” Then she seemed to notice something on her screen. “Master One coming about, sir. She’s firing.”

The other Lancer, seeing her sister’s destruction, came from above and let loose with her own weapons complement—primarily missiles and plasma cannons—on the Rabin. The ship shook from the strain on her deflectors.

“Conn, TAO. Aft shields at sixty percent. Aft point defense has lost one turret. Master One is taking up a position directly behind us.”

David gave no outward reaction. The enemy had taken a risk with that maneuver, but trying to hide from the Rabin’s bow weaponry by moving along her stern would backfire for them. “TAO, firing point procedures, ready four fusion mines.”

Ruth immediately armed the mines and prepared to launch. “Launch solution set, sir.”

David peered intently at his plot to be sure it was the right time to deploy. “TAO, shoot, fusion mines.”

From the rear of the Rabin, the disc-shaped mines dropped like depth charges of an Old Earth wet navy. The helmsman on the doomed Lancer had apparently been following too closely, as the ship’s last-second course change was too slow to avoid explosive devices.

The first struck the Lancer’s forward shield, and the resulting explosion caused the shield to fail for several seconds, letting the other three mines pass through unharmed to smack against the vessel’s thinly armored hull. The fusion warheads detonated, and in a blinding flash, they produced a massive burst of energy that ripped into and melted through the frigate.

Each mine in succession produced an enormous explosion until the third’s self-immolation claimed the Lancer’s primary missile magazine, detonating its volatile projectiles. A process feared by all crews began as the ship blew itself apart from the inside out. The resulting debris was no larger than half-meter chunks.

“Conn, TAO. Master One destroyed, sir. No escape pods detected.”

The shocking loss of life caused by David’s orders washed over him. He hated that about war. No matter how often they tried to take prisoners over outright destruction of League ships, sometimes the ships simply blew up. He set that aside quickly and asked calmly, “TAO, target report?”

“Conn, TAO. Master One, Two, Four, and Seven neutralized. Remaining enemy ships are grouping together around Sierra contacts.” She moved closer, apparently alarmed by a ghostly sensor reading. “Aspect change, sir. I’m showing another wormhole transit, League signature. Unknown contact inbound.”

A short distance away from the fight, a new wormhole ripped through space and time. The ship that emerged was larger than any other nearby, prominently displaying the foreboding insignia of the League of Sol.

David gulped. He didn’t need to hear Ruth’s report to know what it was.

“Conn, TAO. New contact designated Master Eleven, classified as a Rand-class cruiser.”

The monstrous Rand raced toward the battle like a one-hundred-fifty-kilo linebacker rushing the pint-sized chess club’s brawl. Clearly a superior combatant, it tilted the battle heavily in the League’s favor.

David restrained the fear twisting his stomach. Not a single ship present was a match for a Rand. Even if they fought together, it might be impossible. “Comms, signal the Dutiful. Request immediate instructions.”

Before the answer came, the Rand’s heavy weaponry thundered in the darkness and ripped apart a small Meade-class frigate—the CSV Fredericksham. The vessel and its crew were brushed aside like an annoying insect.

The cruiser turned to bring some of its weapons to bear upon the Dutiful. Dyson’s ship took the hit on its dorsal side. Explosions tore through the destroyer’s hull, and the ship’s engines died, leaving it crippled for the Rand to dispatch at her convenience.

Fear covered Ruth’s face as she turned toward David. “Conn, TAO. Dutiful disabled, and Fredericksham has been destroyed.”

David forced himself to stop and think, despite the urgency of the situation, and not allow the enemy to compromise his OODA—observe, orient, decide, act—loop. While two Ajax-class destroyers and three Meade-class frigates might take on a Rand-class cruiser and win, with one destroyer out of the fight and a frigate destroyed, the battle was shaping up to be hopeless. Were it not for the transports, he would’ve ordered a general retreat, but he couldn’t bear to leave the thousands of civilians in them to be sent back to League space as slaves. We swore an oath to protect those people at any cost—including our lives—if necessary.

“TAO, status of Sierra contacts?”

“They’re still immobile, sir.”

“XO, intercept course on the Rand!” David barked, his mind made up. “Take us directly over Master Eleven and stand by to execute a ninety-degree ventral turn on my mark.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“TAO, firing point procedures. Load all remaining fusion mines into the aft dispenser. Set time delay to four seconds.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

David punched the button on his chair for the intercom to Engineering. “Hanson, reroute all available power to the shields and evacuate all personnel from the outer decks.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hanson said, his voice crackling through the speaker.

If Sheila were in her usual seat, she would lean in and ask him precisely what the plan was. Sorry, old friend. Can’t explain it to you. You’ll just have to trust me.

The Rabin accelerated toward the Rand, and the League cruiser swatted at the Rabin with its high-energy directed-particle cannons, striking them head-on. The ship rumbled, and energy feedback from the shield system caused the sensor station to blow its fuse.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields near collapse, sir,”

“TAO, firing point procedures, target neutron beams, magnetic cannons, and forward missile cells on Master Eleven.”

“Firing solutions set, sir.”

David had no illusions about the effectiveness of his ship’s weapons against the Rand. Maybe we can just keep them guessing a few seconds longer. That’s all I need.

“TAO, shoot, all weapons. XO, execute immediate evasive action without compromising our time to target.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sheila replied.

She began an evasive pattern immediately. The Rabin’s slight zigzag caused a missile barrage to miss. The enemy weapons were unable to track effectively at close range. Then the cruiser’s particle cannons hit home once more, despite her maneuvering. The first strike caused a brief flare along the Rabin’s forward shields, successfully overloading them, while the second cut right through the armor, piercing the vessel’s bow. Debris and bodies erupted from the holes cut into the ship. Meanwhile, the Rabin lashed back at the Rand with its weapons suite, obtaining multiple hits against its deflectors but not causing any real damage.

The feedback from the shield system being overloaded was even nastier than before. One of the secondary consoles caught fire before the bridge’s attentive damage-control team extinguished the blaze.

Over the clamor, Ruth bellowed, “Conn, TAO! Forward shields failed, sir. Forward hull and systems severely damaged.”

“Conn, Navigation. We’re ten seconds from executing the turn, sir.”

“Navigation, steady as she goes. TAO, firing point procedures, aft mine dispenser. Stand by to release on my mark,” David said. I’m in the zone.

The destroyer continued forward. On his tactical plot, David watched as the icons for the two ships merged. Apparently, the Rand’s bridge crew assumed the worst—that the Rabin would ram them. Real-time sensor information showed the heavy cruiser’s shields diverting to a different arc—where perhaps they thought the Rabin would hit.

Gotcha. “Navigation, now. TAO, shoot, aft mine dispenser.”

As soon as “now” left David’s mouth, Sheila banked the ship upward, pulling away from the Rand. As the maneuver was completed, eight mines popped out of the aft dispenser, thrown directly onto the Rand’s tough hull. As the four critical seconds counted down, the Rabin’s engines accelerated once more, thrusting the small destroyer away from her massive foe.

At the fourth second, the mines detonated successfully. The explosion they produced was colossal, tearing away armored hull and internal structure alike and engulfing the upper hull of the Rand in energy. Secondary explosions from lost magazines and a fuel bunker for the cruiser’s shuttles tore up the top quarter of the ship’s structure, doing massive internal damage.

“Conn, TAO. All mines impacted, sir.” Ruth’s voice had dropped to normal volume. “Master Eleven is attempting to jump out.”

Sheila shook her head. “They’ll never make it,” she said in a brief departure from standard bridge protocol.

Unexpectedly wounded by a foe inferior to her strength, the dying Rand turned away from the battle, and her wormhole drive began to power up. As it reached its full charge, the stress on the ship’s damaged systems became too great. Plasma tanks ruptured from structural damage, the overloaded power systems failed, and a catastrophic series of explosions gutted the hapless monster. The ship’s massive left engine wrenched free from the ship in an explosion that tore apart the Rand from the inside out, turning the deadly beast into an expanding cloud of debris.

The Rabin’s bridge crew didn’t stop to enjoy their great kill.

David was all business as he asked Ruth, “TAO, status on the remaining hostile contacts?”

“Sir, Master Eight remains operational. It’s heading straight for the transports and is firing on Sierra Four.”

David swore under his breath, disgusted with the League’s actions. Not content to simply take a loss and retreat, they had to spoil the well by killing thousands of civilians. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Eight. Anything we’ve got left.”

The speaker on David’s chair crackled. “Conn, Engineering. This is Hanson. We’ve got casualties down here, and I’m unable to route power to any forward weapons systems except the magnetic-cannon turrets.”

David digested that and turned to Ruth. “TAO, can we disable Master Eight with only our magnetic cannons in time to prevent them from taking out those transports?”

“Unlikely, sir. Master Eight has taken limited fire in the engagement so far. Its shields are at nearly one hundred percent effectiveness.”

David peered at his command plot. With the other CDF ships out of the fight, his options were limited. I could engage with conventional weapons. Maybe Hanson will pull a rabbit out of his hat and get us something else. With full shields, though… that frigate could take out at least one transport before we could neutralize her. With tens of thousands of lives hanging in the balance, he felt his mind freeze, a tug of war breaking out between protocol and emotion.

Controlled ramming. That’s the only option left. “Navigation, plot intercept course with Master Eight. All ahead flank. I want you to ram the contact.”

Sheila whirled around. “Say again, sir?”

“I said ram Master Eight, XO. Try to glance the belly of our ship off their dorsal midsection.”

Sheila continued to stare at him. “With all due respect, sir, our bow is severely damaged, and we may not survive the impact.”

“And if we don’t neutralize that ship, it will kill all the civilians aboard those transports. We knew what the score was when we signed up for this job. They didn’t. We’ll do anything we can, including giving our lives to save them,” David said calmly, despite the chaos around him. I know that’s the right call. It’s right there in article one of the CDF code of conduct. I will give my life if necessary to defend the Terran Coalition and the civilians I protect.

Sheila turned back around. “Aye, aye, sir.” Her tone held concern.

David punched a button on his console, pulling up the 1MC. “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. Prepare for in-space collision. Evacuate the outer hull immediately and erect localized emergency force fields.”

David glanced back at a tall, older enlisted man. “Master Chief, sound collision alarm.”

“Sound collision alarm. Aye, sir,” he replied, and immediately, a klaxon wailed.

The Rabin closed in quickly on the Lancer. Its crew rather ineffectively attempted to evade. The two ships traded weapons fire at the last moment, but the Rabin’s weaponry wasn’t able to penetrate the shields of the smaller League ship. As the Rabin entered its terminal course, Sheila angled the Rabin’s bow in such a way that the less damaged section would impact the frigate’s command deck.

The Rabin’s bow plowed into the command-deck of the smaller frigate, crumpling the underbelly of the ship and venting atmosphere into space. Small explosions occurred up and down the dorsal section of the Lancer and ventral section of the Rabin. Pieces of debris and super structure expanded from both ships, small fires erupting as blisters on the hull before extinguishing from lack of oxygen in the vacuum. As the Rabin veered away, the Lancer’s running lights flickered, and it began to drift.

The Rabin’s bridge crew had survived, but the ship had suffered considerable damage. Another small fire broke out in the back but was quickly extinguished by the assigned bridge damage-control team.

David pressed the communication button on his command chair for the engineering spaces. “Engineering, status?” he asked, hoping the ship was still combat capable.

Hanson’s voice came through the speaker. “Sir, I’ve had to SCRAM our main reactor. We’re running on battery power. I hope to be able to restore our reactor once we can repair the damaged coolant lines.”

David laid his head back on the headrest. “Understood. Keep me apprised.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes.”

David leaned forward. Dear God, we can’t take any more. “TAO, whose are they?” he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Ruth’s expression changed into a smile of relief. “Sir, inbound wormholes have a CDF signature.”

In front of the Rabin, three wormholes opened, and out of each emerged a large CDF warship and its consorts. Small craft quickly released from the ships, heading toward the transports.

Ruth looked back at David. “I’m reading the CSV Cicero and its battle group, sir.”

David finally allowed himself to relax just a hair. “Acknowledged, TAO. Communications, please send the commanding officer of the Cicero my compliments and request that they send additional damage-control and medical teams to all stricken vessels.”

Echoes of War: The struggle for freedom continues. President Spencer turns to a new generation of heroes to fight the League of Sol, as the Victory Project reaches fruition.

Colonel David Cohen must square the tenets of his faith against his responsibility to crew and country. If he fails in his command, billions face enslavement by a ruthless regime. Now it’s an all-out fight for the galaxy’s freedom.

Fight the Good Fight - Tap HERE to read NOW!

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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Book 6 - Final Flight

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

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

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Book 4 - Liberty’s Price

Book 5 - Ecliptic Flight

Acknowledgements

As I complete the Battlegroup Z series, there is always a period of introspection after “finishing” something one starts. Looking back over the last few years, I am in awe of the idea that over 1.2 million words have been written by me, and 2.3 million words, when co-authored works in the universe are counted.

It’s something I cannot take credit for, because I believe that every word I’ve put down had its genesis in a gift given from God.

Even more humbling is the outpouring of reviews, emails, Facebook posts and other interactions I’ve had with you – my readers – along the way. To know that something I wrote made a difference in someone’s life is again, awe inspiring, and deeply humbling. Thank you.

An extra special thanks to my editor, Susie, for teaching me so much about the English language this last year – and to all those who’ve helped along the way. You know who you are.

Dad – as always, your encouragement means so much.

To the future: I’ve begun work on the next series in the Terran Diaspora universe; details will flow throughout 2022 via my Facebook Fan Group and Newsletter. David Cohen, and the Lion of Judah, are set to return.

Stay tuned – there’s far more to come, and miles to go.

Godspeed!

- Daniel Gibbs