Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; War; Fiction
Description: War’s cost is a bitter pill. Eleven months of non-stop combat have transformed Captain Justin Spencer from a cocky reservist into a battle-hardened veteran. While new recruits rotate in to replace once familiar faces, nothing mitigates the sting that haunts Justin with each loss. Or silences the doubts that keep him from taking a complete leap of faith. News from the battlefront remains grim even after the CSV Zvika Greengold’s daring strike against the League of Sol’s home turf. Despite technological superiority, overwhelming numbers of League battleships continue to outgun the Coalition Defe

Bandits Engaged

Battlegroup Z Book Four

Daniel Gibbs

Contents

CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints

SF-86 Sabre Blueprints

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

Free Daniel Gibbs Books

Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Free Daniel Gibbs Books

Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Bandits Engaged by Daniel Gibbs

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Daniel Gibbs

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

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 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.

Get Two free & Exclusive Daniel Gibbs Books

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

FREE BOOK: Join Captain James Henry as he tries to survive in the independent worlds after being cashiered out of the Coalition Defense Force. Can a broken man rebuild his life? Find out in A Simple Mission.

Both available FREE, only at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com/standfirm.

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

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

Prologue

System XB-361-A

Terran Coalition Border Zone

26 July 2434

While the war between the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol raged, life in the neutral planets and outlying human colonies went on. Throughout the border zone, worlds with humans—some who left the Terran Coalition and other colony ships from Earth sent after the initial Exodus—tried to survive.

The lifeblood of survival was trade. Alejandro Metztli and his crew supplied it like a beating heart. From the bridge of the ISV Juan de Fuca, he commanded an aged Victory ship that was a relic from the second Saurian War. Rapidly constructed, the old freighter was coming up on the end of its projected lifespan, but Metztli’s bank account didn’t allow for the purchase of a new vessel. The ship was one of thousands just like it plying trade across the stars.

“Lawrence drives about spun up?” Metztli asked.

The navigator turned her head and nodded. “Yes, Captain. We’re almost ready to jump. Another twenty minutes or so.”

Metztli would’ve done anything for a new commercial-grade FTL drive. But we’re stuck with forty-year-old technology. Since they were in the middle of a war zone, the fact was sobering. But League military forces hadn’t been spotted close to the Jewel Box, where Metztli and his crew primarily ran cargo.

“Good,” Metztli replied. He briefly considered getting a snack.

“Neutrino spike off the port quarter,” Carlos Cabrillo, his first mate and de facto tactical officer, announced. “Looks like an incoming wormhole.”

“How close?”

“A thousand kilometers, give or take.”

Warning bells rang in Metztli’s head. Too close for comfort. “Angle us away and increase thrust. Power our deflectors.” Probably a false alarm.

“Aye, sir,” the navigator replied. “Thrust increased to maximum output.”

“It’s a bulk hauler. Maybe an ore freighter,” Cabrillo said. “Heading straight toward us too.”

The large vessel accelerated faster than it ought to have been able to and gained rapidly on the Juan de Fuca as its ore storage pods opened.

“Fighters are launching from the contact.” Cabrillo swore under his breath. “Mother of God, there’s dozens of them.”

“What?” Metztli felt his face warm. “Freighters aren’t carriers—” His breath caught. “Pirates. It must be.”

“Makes sense, Captain,” Cabrillo replied. “But all the way out here? We could jump ahead of schedule to escape.”

Metztli turned his attention to the status display built into the CO’s chair and pulled up their jump readiness. “No, too dangerous. Thirty percent chance of exotic-particle release if we go now.” Besides, pirates want cargo. It’s a safer play to give it to them and live to haul another day. “Open a channel.”

“You’re live, sir,” the third mate, who manned the communications station, replied.

“Attention, unidentified vessel. This is the ISV Juan de Fuca, a duly registered freighter with the Interplanetary Spacers Union. Please state your intentions and terms. We would be glad to negotiate with you for safe passage.”

Seconds ticked by without a response. All the while, the incoming ship gained on them. The fighters accelerated, flanking the Juan de Fuca on both sides. In short order, they were boxed in with little room to maneuver.

“Send my message again via text transmission,” Metztli said quietly. He stared at the sensor plot as the seriousness and hopeless nature of the situation settled in. “We could try to fight our way out. What do you think, Carlos?”

“Too many of them, Captain,” Cabrillo replied as he gripped the sides of the tactical console tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Send a general distress call while we still have time. Request Terran Coalition Frontier Enforcement assistance.” Metztli forced confidence into his voice. “Charge our forward xasers and the point-defense guns.” The Juan de Fuca mounted three xaser-beam emitters and several turreted PD emplacements. Like most cargo vessels, she was capable of limited self-defense.

On the plot, the fighters suddenly broke and headed straight for them. Additional icons appeared—missiles. They raced through the void, shooting purple and red plasma fire and striking the Fuca’s shields.

If it weren’t for the bridge crew’s harnesses, they would’ve been thrown about like rag dolls as the ship bucked and pitched wildly. “Port and starboard deflectors losing cohesion, Captain,” Cabrillo yelled above the din. “Starboard point-defense emplacement two is destroyed.”

They had no way out. Pirates don’t act like this. Metztli couldn’t get the stubborn thought out of his mind as he tried to figure out what to do next. A merchant above all else, he had no military training and could count on one hand the number of times the Juan de Fuca had charged its weapons. Caught between fight and flight, he had only one option. Metztli punched the ship-wide intercom. “This is the captain speaking. All hands, abandon ship. All hands, abandon ship. Get to the escape pods.”

“Port shield collapsed, sir!”

Metztli threw off his harness and stood. “With me, everyone.”

The small group proceeded to the two escape pods directly aft of the bridge and separated into them. Ungodly metallic groaning punctuated the air while the Fuca was tossed from side to side.

“We’ve got to go, sir!” Cabrillo shouted as he slid into the pilot’s seat on the cramped life pod. “Seal the hatch.”

After checking both directions down the passageway for additional personnel, Metztli put his hand on the control to shut the space door. He was torn between waiting longer for more crew members to make their way forward and the hardwired human desire to survive. There are six other pods. I’m sure everyone’s gotten to them. The thought immediately collided with the duty of the captain to remain aboard until all were safely off. In the end, survival won. Metztli triggered the shut-and-release mechanism, and the little pod rocketed forward.

“Five hundred meters from the Fuca,” Cabrillo called. “One thousand meters.”

Metztli hung on for dear life as g-forces weighed him down and the craft raced away from the doomed freighter.

“Reactor is critical on the Fuca. She’s going up,” Cabrillo said somberly.

Metztli crawled up to the cockpit and struggled to hoist himself into a chair. Once strapped in, he forced himself to stare at the stricken freighter—his ship. He pursed his lips as a bright-white flash erupted. Nothing was left except a debris field when the glare faded—with only a few chunks visible to the naked eye.

“We’re clear, Captain.” Cabrillo sounded like an automaton.

He’s probably in shock. Allowing himself to believe they’d survived, Metztli fought to control his breathing and lower his pulse.

A bright explosion visible through the transparent alloy lining the cockpit brought him back to reality. “What was—”

“Jesucristo, save us,” Cabrillo whispered. “They’re shooting down the pods.” His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his jaw dropped.

The few remaining escape pods tried in vain to maneuver away from the attacking fighters, but it was an impossible task. One by one, they blew apart in brief smears of orange flame.

Metztli and the rest of his crew were moments from death. A life dedicated to the spacer’s way flashed in front of his eyes along with regret for roads not taken and things Metztli wished he could’ve changed. He decided to take his precious last seconds to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” As Metztli crossed himself afterward, he closed his eyes.

A single anti-fighter missile exploded in close proximity to the life pod’s hull, which shredded instantly, cutting those inside to pieces. Then the fuel cells overloaded, and the entire pod blew up.

As his consciousness faded amidst the unbearable agony of heat followed by the extreme cold of the void, Metztli hoped his faith in God and an afterlife would bear fruit, and he would awake in a better place.

1

CSV Zvika Greengold

Canaan Orbit—High Loop Five

5 August 2434

Captain Justin Spencer, commander of the Red Tails space-superiority fighter squadron and executive officer of the Zvika Greengold’s flight wing, paused for a moment in the gravlift to deck fifteen. A year ago, he’d been finishing up a work project—trying to tidy up some code he’d written before his two-week annual tour with the Coalition Defense Force. It seemed like it a lifetime ago.

Nearly nonstop combat for eleven months had taken him from a cocky reservist to a hardened veteran along with the rest of his squadron and the carrier’s entire crew complement.

The gravlift doors opened, and he strode down the passageway to a hatch marked CAG—Major Gabriel Whatley. Justin pressed the buzzer.

“Come!” Whatley called loudly from the other side of the hatch.

Justin pushed it open and walked in. “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered, sir.”

Whatley gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. The office was small and cramped, overflowing with knickknacks and records. “Sit.”

He’s grumpy, as always. Justin dropped into the indicated seat and waited for Whatley to say whatever he’d called him down there for.

“We have some housekeeping to do, Spencer. You’ve been avoiding the question for weeks now, and I’ve let it slide because of our refit. I might add not being in the vacuum, fighting Leaguers, is making my skin crawl. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

The quip let Justin focus on the second half of Whatley’s statement as he tried to push the first out of his mind. I have to face it sooner rather than later. Francis Martin’s not coming back. He died at Sol, saving our lives. My life. Justin set his jaw. “I know, sir. The Winged Lightning needs a new CO. I—”

“You haven’t made a recommendation to me because it’ll make the loss real and validate the pain of losing another friend.” Whatley’s voice, while ever gruff, held genuine compassion. “I’ve been there, too, son.”

If Justin were anywhere else, tears would’ve flowed. Martin’s constant bantering in the cockpit and his ribald insults directed at the League of Sol pilots they’d engaged so many times together were beacons of strength. But they were gone, as was he. But in front of Whatley, Justin only displayed iron resolve. “Yes, sir. Exactly that.” He sucked in a breath. “I’ll review the top candidates and make a recommendation to you.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Martin’s XO and also Lieutenant Feldstein.”

Whatley raised an eyebrow. “Feldstein’s your XO. Damn good Sabre pilot too. Why transfer her?”

“Because she’s due for a promotion, sir, and I don’t want to hold her back.” It also might help make things a bit less awkward. Ever since the incident a few months prior when they’d almost kissed each other in a moment of weakness, Justin had felt a gulf between them. Probably because I put it there.

“Well, I think she’d be great in the position, but you need to ask rather than assign. Flying a Sabre is a hell of a lot more fun than flying a Mauler.” Whatley snorted. “Damn things turn like a pig.”

Justin snickered. “Yes, sir.”

“What’s the readiness level for our refitted Sabres and Boars?”

Much like the Greengold, upgrade packages had come through for both fighters she carried. Crew chiefs, aviation division personnel, and defense contractors had strived tirelessly to ensure everything worked as advertised. “On schedule, sir. The last of our checkout flights should happen tomorrow.”

“Make sure it happens. We will not be what holds Colonel Tehrani back from getting underway.” Whatley smirked. “I’d never hear the end of that either.”

“Can’t let the squids hold one over on us, sir.”

“Damn straight, Spencer.” Whatley leaned back in his chair. “Anything else going on?”

“Wrestling with the idea of being at war for almost a year, sir.” Justin paused. “Part of me relishes the combat.” He narrowed his eyes. “That seems wrong.”

Whatley shrugged. “Not to me. Out there is the only time in my life I feel alive. So trust me. I get it.” He scrunched his nose. “I wouldn’t go around telling civilians that, though, because they won’t get it.”

“The other side of me wants to go back to my family and the boring job I had writing software.”

“Now we’re getting to the point I throw you out of my office,” Whatley replied. “If you need counseling, go see Chaplain Elliott.”

“I, uh, have been.”

Whatley’s jaw seemed to bounce off his desk. “You’ve been to the chapel?”

“Several times.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Spencer, but I thought you never darkened its door.”

“I didn’t.” Justin narrowed his eyes. “But some things changed over the last year.”

Whatley tilted his head to one side. “I see. Personally, my relationship with God and the comforting thought that someday I might go to a better place is the one thing keeping me on an even keel.”

“I thought it was raining death from the void on our Leaguer friends, sir.” Justin smiled.

“Ha. I’ve told you before—leave sarcasm to the professionals.”

Justin leaned back. “For what it’s worth, I don’t know what I believe yet. Only that I’ve come around to the idea of there being more to the universe than what I can touch.”

“Have anything to do with your experience on that League cruiser?” Whatley asked with a piercing stare.

Memories of landing inside the Rand-class cruiser’s hangar bay, stealing a fighter, and disabling the ship on the way out flooded into Justin’s mind. “Yeah. Something like that, sir.”

“Well, sounds like something to ponder… when you’re off duty.” His normal gruff tone returned. “Now, get back to work,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied and sprang from his seat. “Godspeed, sir.”

“Godspeed to you, too, Spencer.”

As Justin walked down the passageway toward the hangar deck and his cramped cubbyhole of an office, he pondered where his mind was. The idea of becoming a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew, or a Sikh or accepting any other religion seemed so foreign. Yet he was inexplicably drawn to the Bible that Father Elliott had given him. Perhaps returning to the front will make things easier to process. Something about combat seemed to do that.

* * *

After six weeks of space dock time, Colonel Banu Tehrani was ready to get back into the void and fight the League of Sol. An operational pause was nice, but the constant drumbeat of headlines regarding the enemy’s capture of Eire gave her motivation to finish as fast as possible. Annoyed by a pattern of delays from the Lawrence drive and fusion reactor refits, she’d insisted on a tour of the work in progress. Major Benjamin Wright, her executive officer, and Major Carlyle Hodges, the Zvika Greengold’s chief engineer, led the walkthrough.

“As you can see, ma’am, we’ve replaced the entire inner shell of the torus,” Hodges explained, gesturing to a control panel showing an interior view of the reactor chamber. The vessel was consuming power from the shipyard they were docked in rather than generating its own.

Tehrani crossed her arms. “Major, I see a bunch of shiny toys and many status reports promising my ship will be ready to return to the fight. Yet our reactor isn’t producing plasma, and the Lawrence drive remains inoperable.”

Hodges frowned. “The engineering team is going as quickly as possible.” Fire crept into his eyes. “These things cannot be rushed.” The man’s Cockney accent grew stronger the more upset he got.

“How soon?”

“Ma’am, if I may,” Wright interjected. “Our esteemed chief engineer is having some issues with personnel. We’re getting replacements, but it’s the same problem we had after the battle of Canaan. These kids CDFPER is sending us… they suck, ma’am.”

“Is that your professional opinion, XO?” Tehrani snorted.

“Well, I mean to say, they’re green—”

“Of course they’re green,” she snapped. “There’s a war for survival on, and our ranks are filling with conscripts.”

Wright bit his lip. “Ma’am, it’s more than the typical green privates. These kids are getting six weeks of basic training followed by another eight weeks of advanced MOS education.”

“Eight weeks?” Tehrani asked, shocked. Typically, CDF enlistees received a ten-week basic training course followed by twenty to sixty weeks’ worth of military occupational-specialty education. “That’s not enough to know a wrench from a multi-tool.”

“And you see my problem, ma’am. They’re eager, but our newly minted privates aren’t adequately trained. My understanding is it's like this across the fleet.” Hodges pursed his lips.

“We must rise to the occasion,” Tehrani replied. “How about chief petty officers and senior chiefs?”

“Full complement, ma’am.”

Tehrani glanced at Wright. “Set up follow-on training with the help of our best NCOs. Make it well known that whoever distinguishes themselves will be at the top of my promotion list.”

“Good idea, Colonel,” Hodges replied begrudgingly.

“Now, I want to be underway in a week.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Are we clear, Major?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” Wright said before the engineer could speak. “We’ll be ready.”

Hodges shot him a dirty look and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Yes, sir, ma’am.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to read his displeasure.

“Good. XO, with me, please. Carry on, Major.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

It took a few minutes to exit the vast reactor housing area with Wright following close behind. As the hatch—guarded by several masters-at-arms—closed behind them, she turned toward him.

“I’ll get to the point. Is Hodges slow boating the repairs?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, ma’am.” Wright furrowed his brow. “Whatever my differences with him, I’ve never detected cowardice.”

“Would it really be cowardice to want a few weeks when we’re not killing people daily?” Tehrani twisted her neck and stretched it then closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m caught between thanking Allah for a break from writing condolence letters and wanting to get back out there and kill every Leaguer that’s invaded our homes.”

Wright put his hand on her shoulder. “For what it's worth, Skipper, a break is doing us good. We’ll all be in a better mindset to get back into the fight.”

They walked side by side down the passageway toward a gravlift. Enlisted ratings squeezed to the sides, coming to attention briefly.

“General Yukimura sent me a notification yesterday. It appears the Zvika Greengold is being awarded a Presidential Unit Citation.”

“God knows our crew deserves it,” Wright replied. “Along with half a dozen Medals of Honor.”

Tehrani turned her head. “I put Whatley and Spencer both in for a Distinguished Flying Cross with the V device along with many posthumous awards.”

The mention of their casualties dampened the mood.

Wright frowned. “Skipper, we’re gonna have losses. No matter how good your leadership, Whatley’s flying, and my comedy routines.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Benjamin. I’ll be fine. When we get back into the void and we’re sending Leaguers on to meet their judgment, all will be right again.” Until it's not, and I have to count the costs. The gravlift loomed ahead of them. “Now, what do you say we go review our personnel transfer list? I have some questions about how you allocated some of the NCOs and junior officers.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

As Tehrani hit the button to call the lift, she sucked in a breath. It wouldn’t do for Wright to know how much she longed for a break and how the longing made her feel like a coward. No. Once we’re back in the fight, everything will be fine.

* * *

Terran Coalition Government Complex

Lawrence City—Canaan

8 August 2434

President Jason Nolan stared out the window behind his desk in the Oval Office, gazing at the sweeping skyline of Lawrence City with its enormous skyscrapers and office buildings. Though the war had raged for almost a year, the bright lights hadn’t faded. Life had continued, leading to questions about whether the cost of the war was being shouldered equally. The draft will ensure it does.

The door swung open, and two men he knew well walked in—General Antonio Saurez and Abdul Karimi.

Saurez was the overall commanding officer for the CDF’s space-going fleet, while Karimi had been Nolan’s chief of staff and most trusted confidant for decades.

Karimi closed the door behind them, leaving the three men alone—except the protective service officer stationed in the room at all times. “You wanted to see us, sir?”

Nolan gestured to the small couches in front of his desk. “Have a seat, gentlemen.” He sat on the sofa across from them, staring intently at Saurez. “General, I asked you here privately because I don’t want to undermine confidence in your leadership.”

“Sir?” Saurez asked. Almost imperceptibly, he gritted his teeth for a second. “I don’t understand. Are you displeased with something?”

“I’m as mad as hell that the League captured one of our core worlds, General.” Nolan furrowed his brow. “Does that sum it up for you?”

“We all are, sir.”

“Then why don’t I have a plan on my desk to retake it?” Nolan crossed his arms. “Every time I want to attack, the Joint Chiefs of Staff have an excuse—”

“With respect, sir,” Saurez interjected, “there is no lack of desire to defeat the enemy. May I remind you we’re up against an opponent with a vastly numerically superior force?”

Saurez was obviously struggling to keep his emotions in check, but his frustration was past the point Nolan would let it go.

“Oh, I’m reminded of that fact every day, General. We also say—every day—the CDF is technologically superior, and we’re winning. Which is it?”

Saurez turned his head away. “Both.” He sucked in a breath and made eye contact with Nolan. “Sir, if we get favorable odds, we wipe the floor with the Leaguers, but if they catch us out of position by so much as a millimeter… well, disaster strikes. Like Eire. I need you to understand that if we send a fleet to retake it, we’ll win, but the cost could be so great as to lose the war for us in one fell swoop.”

“Even with the successful strike on Sol, morale is close to collapse. The signs abound in opinion polling by every major news outlet.” Nolan put his hands out, palms up. “What would you have me do? Our citizens need to see we’re winning.”

“I have a different solution, sir.” Saurez set his jaw. “Why don’t you tell them the truth—we’re losing the war. And it’s worth it to keep fighting because death is preferable to being marched to reeducation camps and having everything our society stands for destroyed. I used to think we should keep morale up at all costs. Now, I’m convinced the strategy was wrong.”

The general’s words reverberated throughout the room and into Nolan’s soul. “I haven’t given up on victory yet.”

Saurez pressed his lips together. “I’m not saying you or anyone else should accept defeat. I’m saying a dose of realism coupled with a call to fight the good fight, no matter whether we win or lose, might rally the people.”

“Are you suggesting I’m too rosy in my predictions to the populace?” Nolan frowned and briefly considered the general’s suggestion. Have I been too focused on keeping spirits up and somehow led us all down the wrong path?

“Sir, my job isn’t to create policy. It’s to execute policy. More specifically, your policies and directives. But you asked, so yes—by celebrating our wins with outsized focus and not fully acknowledging defeat, it’s my belief the population at large is confused by mixed messages.”

Nolan took the stinging rebuke in stride. “Okay, General Saurez. Message received. I’ll review what the government and I have said regarding the war so far and consider your suggestion. This doesn’t change the demand of your commander-in-chief to liberate Eire.” He crossed his arms. “Where are we in planning?”

“At least six months away, sir.” Saurez focused his piercing gaze on Nolan. “Right now, we’re pinpointing the location on all significant League military encampments and military assets. The Coalition Intelligence Service is helping resistance cells gather across the planet. I might add they didn’t need much encouragement. From there, we will create an order of battle and task carrier battlegroups along with space action groups and enough Marines to win. League activity across the rest of our space must be at low-enough levels to allow us numerical superiority.”

“If our ships are so much better—”

“Lancaster’s Law, Mr. President. It holds, and we’ve proven it repeatedly: the more of an edge the attacker holds, the lower the casualties. We cannot absorb losses of our fleet carriers and battleships, sir.” Saurez gritted his teeth. “If you order me to proceed before we’re ready, I’ll be forced to resign.”

Nolan blinked. Saurez, while direct, had never made a threat like that before. “That won’t be necessary, General.”

Tension descended over the room like a suffocating fog. Karimi leaned forward. “Sir, I think what the general is trying to relay is we’re in a tight spot right now. Caution is advised.”

Hearing his chief of staff support the military’s position made Nolan quickly check his conscience. I can’t afford to drive away our best leaders. He held up his hand. “I hear both of you. Okay, no rash decisions. It doesn’t change my desire to retake Eire and liberate our citizens as fast as humanly possible.”

“I assure you, Mr. President, it’s my highest goal as well,” Saurez replied.

“When can I see your preliminary invasion plan?”

“Two weeks, sir.” Saurez pursed his lips. “Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.” Nolan nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your time for today.”

Saurez stood. “Always glad to be of assistance, sir.” As he turned on his heel and exited through one of three doors to the office, the atmosphere seemed to get warmer.

“You were a bit harsh,” Karimi said when they were alone. “He’s just doing his job. You realize?”

“Perhaps.” Nolan leaned his head back. “Abdul, is Saurez right? Am I overly optimistic?”

Karimi chuckled and stretched his neck. “I don’t think so, but perhaps we could message the situation a bit closer to reality—dire.” He cleared his throat. “There’s something we should discuss.”

“The way you said that tells me I’m not going to like it.”

“Well, there’s considerable debate on what capital ships we should be building. Battleships or carriers. Each overarching class has its proponents and unique advantages.”

“And what aren’t I going to like about this?”

“Support is consolidating around shifting the fleet to be carrier centric. Our losses are such that the Joint Chiefs believe it would be far easier to replace pilots and small craft than entire ships. Especially large ones, like battleships.”

“What’s the average loss rate for fighter pilots?” The blood drained from Nolan’s face.

“For what period, sir?”

“One deployment. Three months.”

“Thirty to fifty percent, sir.”

“So we sacrifice a few to save the many?”

Karimi averted his gaze and stared out the window. “Sometimes that’s war, sir.”

“Not a decision I’m making today. Let me get back to work, Abdul. I need to review some briefs before we meet with the Matrinid ambassador in twenty minutes.”

“Of course, sir.” Karimi stood and exited quickly.

Nolan didn’t budge from the sofa, lost in thought over the last piece of information given to him. The previous year had brought compromises of his ideals in ways he would never have considered. This was one more. He believed all life was sacred and that he had a duty to protect everyone in the Terran Coalition. Here I sit, seriously contemplating offering up thousands of young men and women in the hope we won’t lose tens of thousands more. In times like these, Nolan felt most like a hypocritical politician.

2

CSV Zvika Greengold

High Loop Parking Orbit—Canaan

12 August 2434

A week had passed since Tehrani laid down the law to Major Hodges and his engineering teams. While sometimes it seemed he was dragging his feet, the reactor and most of their refit items were complete. The few outstanding issues left could be addressed as they flew back to the front—in wartime, Tehrani felt they didn’t have the luxury of waiting until every I was dotted and T crossed.

She’d spent her morning approving final transfer requests and fighting with CDFPER to ensure they had replacement enlisted personnel and officers. Never a fun task, it got harder after every engagement.

Her tablet buzzed. “Colonel, I’ve got a flash communication request from General Yukimura for you,” First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh said through it. He was the Zvika Greengold’s communications officer.

“Put him through immediately, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied.

Major General Shingo Yukimura commanded the overall carrier division the Greengold was attached to. He was not a man one kept waiting.

An image of Yukimura’s face appeared on her tablet. His brow was furrowed and his lips flat. “Good morning, Colonel.”

“Good morning, sir.” Tehrani kept her expression neutral.

“I received your engineering status report this morning. Do I understand correctly that your command is fully ready for combat?”

Direct and to the point. I wonder what’s wrong now. “Yes, sir. I would expect we could be underway no later than oh eight hundred tomorrow morning.”

Yukimura pursed his lips. “Good. I’m re-forming your battle group, with the CSV Marcus Luttrell as primary escort. Two of the Saurian frigates we recently purchased are in the process of final checkout cruises and will join you en route along with a stealth raider. I believe you're familiar with Colonel Fielding and the CSV Astute?”

The mention of the Templar-class vessel made Tehrani smile. She’d been continually impressed by Fielding and his crew in their last deployment. “I am, sir. Happy to rate one of our golden nebula friends.”

For the first time in the conversation, Yukimura’s face showed a trace of a grin. “Force multipliers, Colonel.” It quickly disappeared. “I’m sending you to section nine alpha of the border zone.”

Tehrani quickly recalled the particular location. It was near the Trifid nebula and was neutral space—primarily human-settled planets from colony ships launched after the initial Exodus. She nodded.

“You’re probably wondering why, since the League isn’t attacking us from that area.”

“Yes, sir. The Greengold would rather be where the action is.”

Yukimura chuckled. “Don’t worry, Tehrani. You’re getting some action, and so will your entire battlegroup. There have been an increasing number of pirate attacks down there. Neutral and allied shipping is taking a beating, and we don’t have enough border patrol vessels to monitor the sector. Most of them have been impressed into point-defense duty in our depleted carrier battlegroups.”

“Pirates?” Tehrani’s jaw dropped. “They’ve only been a problem farther down the arm toward the Jewel Box.”

“They’re parasites who feed on us while our attention is directed elsewhere thanks to the League of Sol.” Yukimura tilted his head to one side while grimacing. “I can respect an enemy combatant, but striking civilians in the dead of space… it’s dishonorable and makes me wish I were yet again a line officer so that I could dispatch them with haste.”

From a flag officer who rarely showed emotion, his words moved Tehrani with their earnestness. She set her jaw. “We’ll dispatch them, sir. Though I must ask. How do you know it's not the League? Attacking neutral shipping to deny us raw materials would make sense. They’ve already announced that any ship traversing our border is fair game.”

“Unrestricted space warfare. Yes, you are most astute, Colonel.” Yukimura shrugged. “I, too, thought what you suggest made sense, but the Coalition Intelligence Service has investigated the attacks, and there appears to be no League involvement. Sensor logs from surviving ships show an amalgamation of commonly available civilian vessels, up gunned and heavily armored. Most of the information is garbled—but what we can tell is the ships carrying out the attacks aren’t Leaguers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I see. Do we have any intelligence on where they’re based out of?”

“Not as of yet. The pattern CIS noticed, however, is they’re picking off cargos of rare earth minerals.”

Tehrani licked her lips. “Easy to sell off to the highest bidder on the black market.” By Allah, the criminal underworld disgusts me. We’re in a fight for survival, and they’re killing innocent spacers to make a few credits.

“Exactly. Battlegroup Z will patrol the border, and I’ll make sure you have a complete list of all freighters carrying the targeted cargos. Be ready to swoop in and save the day. Have your Marines ready to board disabled craft. I want you to root out the base of operations these vermin are using, destroy it, and shut down their pirating for good.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll get the job done.” Then we can go back to fighting the war, where we belong.

“By the time you get back to resupply, we’ll have the Greengold’s Presidential Unit Citation ready. Oh, and before you leave, inform your master chief that another battle star has been authorized. Brings you up to what? Five?”

“Who’s counting, sir. I’m more interested in transmitting the broom.”

“Me, too, Colonel.” Yukimura sucked in a breath. “Good luck out there. Good hunting, and Godspeed.”

“Godspeed to you, too, sir.”

The screen blinked off, leaving Tehrani alone once more. Well, a mission is a mission. Even if it wasn’t more battling against the Leaguers, they were getting back into the fight—not a moment too soon for her tastes.

* * *

After kicking off his combat boots and getting a glass of water, Justin curled up on the couch in his stateroom. While providing a break from combat, time off the front lines greatly enhanced the amount of paperwork he had to do. His recent promotion to XO of the Greengold’s flight wing only added to the overhead. If people had any idea how much other work pilots do, they’d probably never sign up for the job. He chuckled and glanced at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last few minutes. It read 2000 CMT.

Eagerly, he reached for his tablet and quickly pulled up the vidlink application. Michelle’s profile was the first one listed, and he tapped the button to engage video communications. It flashed Connecting for a moment.

Michelle’s smiling face filled the screen. “There you are! Were you counting the seconds?”

“Guilty as charged. I live for our calls, you know.”

“I know, baby. I miss you so much.”

He touched the screen. “I miss you too. Where’s Maggie?”

“Asleep. She’s been sick for a couple of days. There’s a cold going around.”

Justin quirked his nose. “I’m sure her pediatrician could fix that with a shot.”

“It’s good for little ones to develop an immune system capable of fighting off viruses.” Michelle stuck her tongue out. “Please tell me you didn’t call across billions of kilometers to rehash that debate.”

Long ago, Justin had learned to accept his wife’s oddities when it came to distrust of technology. She wasn’t a Luddite but sometimes came close. “No, dear. I’ll save that for the next time I see you in the flesh.”

She giggled. “We’ll see about that. I’ve been thinking about taking a passenger liner to visit you on Canaan.”

“Well…” He bit his lip. “I know we don’t have the money.”

“Some of the passenger transport companies are offering discounts to families of service members,” Michelle replied. She furrowed her brow. “You don’t want me to visit?”

Justin opened his mouth and sucked in a breath. “Of course I do. I just… Well, I worry about one of those transports getting jumped by the Leaguers.” He frowned. “Sorry, I’m still having some bad nightmares.”

“Oh, baby.” She touched the camera. “I wish I could comfort you somehow.”

“Hey, knowing you and Maggie are safe is all the comfort I need.” Justin took great pains never to show his wife how hard the war was. When he spoke with her, if at all possible, everything was peachy.

“You forget I know you well. Beneath the tough exterior is a nice, sensitive guy.” Michelle grinned again. “I’d wanted to save this and do it in person, but I suppose time is running out.”

For a split second, Justin’s mind went to the worst possible place, thinking that perhaps his wife was about to leave him. What else would she want to do in person?

“I’m pregnant.”

Justin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Whaaat? But we… It was just one night.”

“Yeah, and remember your birds and the bees?”

He laughed loudly. “You're going on six months along.”

“Not very observant, are you? I’m always sitting down for a reason.”

After reflecting for a moment, Justin realized he’d noticed she was putting on weight but hadn’t said anything because even he was smart enough to know the last thing a man should say to his wife was comment on her size—especially with a war on. Wow. I’m an idiot. “I’m sorry I’m not there,” he finally began. “I wasn’t there as much as I should’ve been for Maggie, and I vowed the next time—”

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m thankful we’re having another child and that I’m married to a wonderful man.”

He beamed. “I can’t tell you how happy I am. Do you know the gender yet?”

“We’re having a son.”

Tears streamed down his face. While Justin wasn’t as gung-ho on having six kids as his wife—her dream was to have a huge family—he’d always wanted a son. “Maybe I should go to Colonel Tehrani and put in for leave or a deferment. I can’t leave you to deal with all this.”

“No, Justin. No.” Michelle bit her lip. “As much as I’d love to have you at home and as hard as it is to know you’re going into harm’s way, I know you’re where God wants you. I’m not going to be the military wife nagging her husband about combat. This is your job. You’re good at it, and even though I hate having to share you, what the Greengold did two months ago gave everyone in the Terran Coalition hope.”

Usually, when she invoked God or a connection to a higher power, Justin bristled. Not tonight. He glanced at the printed Bible sitting on his coffee table. Telling Michelle about my trips to the chapel will have to wait until I sort out what exactly I believe. “You’re sure?”

“Beyond sure.”

“I don’t want to miss the birth of another child with you, baby.” When Michelle was born, Justin had been assigned to flight school and couldn’t get leave. He’d missed almost all of it, only arriving a couple of hours after she’d delivered.

“Justin, you have to stay in the fight. The Terran Coalition's needs outweigh my wanting my husband to be in my baby-bump pictures or even hold my hand in the hospital. Okay?”

Justin wasn’t used to seeing this side of his wife. Not that she wasn’t patriotic, but Michelle hadn’t been a huge fan of the CDF before the outbreak of the war with the League of Sol. “Okay. Maybe the next time the ship has a layup, we can figure out your coming here for a bit. O-3 salary with hazard pay is almost as good as what the tech company paid me to write software.”

“Deal,” Michelle replied. “Then you can help me change diapers, tuck children in, and prepare bottles.”

Changing his son’s diaper or drawing a bath seemed a galaxy away. Justin could think of nothing that he’d rather do more. Yet in a few days, I’m going to put these feelings away, get myself into battle mode, and kill the enemy. The dichotomy was striking and not lost on him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. We’re fine. I promise. You keep doing what you do out there.”

“Almost out of comm credits again.” Justin frowned. “I’ll be glad when they build some more relays or something.”

“Next week, same time?”

Justin nodded. “Same time, same vidlink channel.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Justin touched the camera with his finger as the screen blinked off.

He set the tablet down and lay back on the couch. I should’ve told her what happened with Feldstein. He’d gone back and forth on the topic for two months. Nothing happened. But it almost did. Things had mostly returned to normal, except Justin was careful to avoid being alone with her while ensuring his outward behavior didn’t change. He walked the tightrope daily. With a glance toward his bed, he got up and stripped off his clothes. A smile spread across Justin’s face as he considered the news Michelle had delivered. We’re having a son. That night, for the first time in months, he had no nightmares.

* * *

Unity Station

Deep Space—between the Sagittarius and Orion Arms

13 August 2434

A burst of red attracted the attention of Admiral Chang Yuen. The overall fleet commander for the League of Sol’s invasion of the Terran Coalition, he stared out into the void from the observation deck of their main logistical hub, Unity Station. The flashes of color were the telltale signature of League FTL wormhole generators. More ships for the struggle. They were never enough. For every battlegroup in reinforcements he received, the Terran Coalition and its vaunted Coalition Defense Force destroyed an existing one. Even holding on to Eire was proving to be more difficult than he’d imagined.

“That makes thirty more vessels this week, comrade Admiral,” Yegor Voronin observed. He was the commander of Unity Station and also an admiral in the League Navy. “We’re up eight total.”

“If the fools back home would send half of our Orion Arm–based assets, this war would be over in three months,” Yuen fumed.

Voronin gave him a sidelong glance. “Have you not considered whether perhaps the Social and Public Safety Committee is drawing out the conflict?”

While the idea had long ago crossed Yuen’s mind, it wasn’t the sort of thing one said aloud. Still, Voronin had the areas of the station they used scanned on a daily basis for listening devices and trackers. The only people more paranoid than the Internal Security Division were the people they spied on—namely everyone else. “It has been some time since we had a great patriotic war.”

“The last of the battleship refits will be completed this week.”

Yuen turned his head. “Good. I’ll send them to reinforce our position at Eire and guard supply convoys.”

Whatever their beliefs, the individualists in the Terran Coalition made good soldiers. After nearly a year of combat, many a League commander had paid the ultimate price for overconfidence. Cracks were starting to show in morale as the rank and file realized the quick victory promised by the political commissars wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ve heard whispers of a near mutiny on the LX Panfilov,” Voronin remarked casually.

“Yes.” Yuen barely suppressed an eruption of white-hot anger. The vessel’s crew had had enough of poor leadership from both its commanding officer and political commissar, and a young lieutenant tried to take command. The captain barely stopped the insurrection by shooting his underling dead on the bridge.

“We must take care such things do not spread.” Voronin tilted his head. “Many of the rank-and-file crewmen are getting the idea that we’re not fighting to win. The months without major fleet actions or invasions give those ideas merit.”

Yuen shook his head in disgust. “Are you suggesting I should stage an assault on a CDF asset I know will fail, costing ships and lives, to help morale?”

“Perhaps that is a course of action, comrade. I am only suggesting that you need to do something.” Voronin wrinkled his nose. “I meant to ask… did you see the requisition orders for spare parts, fighter equipment, food, and weapons?”

“To where?” Yuen narrowed his eyes. “Individual supply requests are a bit below my pay grade.”

A cloud passed over Voronin’s eyes. “I’m not sure to where. Only that one of my supply officers flagged the request, and it eventually made it to me. The equipment was routed to a freighter headed for Lusitania.”

“A neutral planet controlled by humans near the Terran Coalition border, yes?”

Voronin nodded. “Correct. The entire matter is highly irregular. When I started investigating where it was going, I received a call from a political officer who identified himself as working for External Security Services.”

Few things in the universe could make Yuen’s blood run cold. ESS was one of them. “And?”

“I was told to drop my inquiries or be branded as an individualist.”

“Then I strongly suggest you comply, comrade.” Yuen raised an eyebrow. “We both know the penalty for such a charge.” In League parlance, calling someone an individualist was among the worst things a human could say about another. Just the mere hint of it was enough to derail the career of even the most senior officer. If it got to a courtroom, the trial almost always resulted in conviction and reeducation. Or death—individualism carried the risk of capital punishment.

“But we need every bit of our supplies to fight the Terrans. Why would anyone in the League of Sol divert war materiel—”

Yuen held up his hand. “Yegor, drop it now. Someone somewhere thinks they know better than the navy, and if it involves External Security, I want nothing to do with it. Neither should you. Run away as fast as you can, and tell everyone in your chain of command to forget they ever saw the requisition.”

For a moment, Voronin appeared as if he would argue, but then his head dropped ever so slightly. “Da, comrade.”

As they continued their discussion of fleet readiness and war strategy, Yuen wondered what the spies were up to with their cloak-and-dagger antics. Perhaps a black market was forming, or they were arming revolutionaries in the neutral systems to encourage resistance to the capitalists. Whatever it is, I’d better push it out of my mind and never let the urge to dig in further win out. Or I’ll be tilling crops by hand for food, just like Seville.

3

Preparations to get underway were ongoing throughout the Zvika Greengold. For the embarked air wing, those preparations manifested as methodically reviewing the maintenance logs of every fighter and bomber parked on the hangar deck. Along with such lovely tasks were ensuring enough consumable stores were stocked, spare parts were stowed, and the most challenging task of all: making sure the rookie pilots, or “nuggets,” as they were called, were settled in.

Justin detested the task, not because getting new pilots was a bad thing but because each one represented a lost friend.

That’s not true anymore. He’d stopped getting close to the newbies because they weren’t as likely to last. Justin picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee. He’d taken over a few chairs in the Red Tails ready room, since his office was so small. Several tablets were strewn about.

“Hey.” Feldstein interrupted the paperwork session.

Justin jerked his head up to see her standing a few chairs away. The hatch leading to the hangar was open. “Hey yourself,” he answered uneasily.

“I get the distinct impression you’ve been avoiding me,” she replied, arms crossed. “We’re going back into combat soon. It’s got to end.”

Justin had been girding himself for the conversation while dreading it in the same manner one dreaded a root canal. He pursed his lips. “I thought some time apart would help heal things.”

Feldstein tilted her head. “Perhaps, though I’ll admit not seeing you except in groups of other people made me feel like I’d lost my best friend.”

He could feel the pain and hurt in her voice anew. “I’m sorry. Look, I—”

“Justin, it’s okay,” Feldstein interjected. “I’m okay now. It just took some getting used to.” She sucked in a breath. “Robert put in for compassionate liberty to be taken the next time I get some. We’re going to try to meet up and see if we can salvage something of our relationship.”

“That’s good.” I didn’t realize they were that far on the rocks. Then again, what almost happened wouldn’t have if… If what? I was—am—happy with Michelle, and I almost did something horrible.

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, staying busy.” Justin flashed a grin. “Michelle’s expecting. A boy.”

For a moment, Feldstein was silent. She smiled. “Yours?”

Justin sputtered then burst out laughing. “Very funny.”

“I try.”

“She’s due in a few months.”

Feldstein looked away, staring into the back of the room. “I’m glad for you two.” She bit her lip. “I’ll probably be too messed up by the end of this to be a mother anyway.”

“Dvora, what’s wrong?”

“It’s been a year, Justin.” Her eyes locked with his, though she stood two meters away. “We’ve lost almost forty pilots in that year. It’s a miracle the butcher’s bill hasn’t included you or me, Adeoye, or Mateus. Sooner or later, our names will be up.”

“We don’t know that. The war could end tomorrow, if the League gets tired of its losses and pulls out. Or we’ll reach the end of our tours of duty and rotate to a training command. There’s no dishonor in that.”

Tears shone in Feldstein’s eyes, and she began to weep bitterly, sobs wrenching through her body.

Justin sprang up, crossed the distance between them in two steps, and embraced her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Part of me wishes it’ll be me,” she whispered, voice cracking. “At least I wouldn’t have to see another friend die.” Feldstein stepped back and dried her tears with the cuff of her uniform sleeve. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“The war,” Justin replied. “It gets the better of everyone eventually.” He sucked in a breath. Time to change the subject before we get too close again. Justin found his heart going out to her.

“You’re different lately.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“There’s something about you. I can’t quite put my finger on it, though I did see you go into the chapel a few times.” She pursed her lips as she stared at him. “At the risk of sounding coy, did you find God?”

After a long pause, Justin shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe He found me. I haven’t decided what I believe yet except that… well, reading the Bible brings me some comfort, and I think I’ve opened my mind to the possibility of something more beyond this life.”

“I’m so glad for you.” Feldstein sucked in a breath. “I’d better get out of here. Time for a shower and some comfort food.”

“Hey, wait up. CAG told me I have to address the…” Justin searched for words that didn’t highlight the death of his friend Lieutenant Martin. “Opening in the Winged Lightning squadron. I noticed you qualified in Maulers a few years ago but transferred to a space-superiority squadron.”

Feldstein’s face contorted, and it appeared for a moment as if she would burst into tears again. “Justin, do you want me off the Red Tails?”

Justin’s jaw dropped, and he blinked. “Of course not.”

“Then why even bring it up?”

“Because the CAG wants me to fill it, and you’re one of two candidates.” Good grief, I stepped in it this time.

She took a step closer. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. And I’ve done the same for you. So with respect, sir, unless you don’t want me as your wingman anymore, I want to stay with the Red Tails.”

Justin could feel the intensity of her words as they almost seemed to flow through him. “If you want to stay, then I’ll assign Martin’s XO to take his place.”

“Good.” Feldstein gave a curt nod. “Look, quit beating yourself up about that night. We didn’t do anything. You’re a good man, Justin. I know that, and letting guilt get in the way will only get you killed when we start flying combat sorties again. I’m not losing you too.”

“Okay. I’d better get back to this mountain of paperwork.” Justin forced a grin.

“You do that.” As she walked toward the hatch, Feldstein turned back. “Take care of yourself, Justin.”

After she was gone, Justin picked up the tablet he’d been working on and stared at it for some time, taking no action to turn the device on. I have to figure out how to move on without hurting Dvora’s feelings, keep the unit intact, and do my job. It bothered him to no end that a single moment of weakness could cause so much fallout months later. If Michelle finds out, she’ll kill me.

* * *

CSV Zvika Greengold

High Loop Parking Orbit—Canaan

14 August 2434

All replacement pilots were aboard along with provisions, supplies, and munitions. The Greengold was as ready to fight as she ever had been. Tehrani spent her morning preparing for departure and ensured she was present at the Salat al-fajr prayer service held at dawn. To keep things simple on the ship, the imam issued the call to prayer at 0600. With the last engineering checks completed, they were finally ready to depart a few minutes before 0800.

“Hangar deck reports all craft secured by grav-arrestor fields. All systems nominal,” Wright said from his seat directly beside her. “All other departments confirm readiness, ma’am.”

Once more unto the breach, we go. Tehrani tilted her head slightly. “Excellent, XO. Navigation, secure all umbilicals.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Second Lieutenant Leah Mitzner, the first watch navigation officer, replied. “All umbilicals retracted.”

“Operating fully under our own power now, ma’am,” Wright interjected. “Reactor at one hundred percent of potential output.”

“Navigation, release all moorings.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Mitzner paused for a moment. “Moorings released.”

Tehrani leaned forward. “All ahead, dead slow. Maneuvering thrusters only.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The sides of the shipyard berth started moving almost imperceptibly at first, though each passing second brought increased speed. The blackness of the void, broken up solely by the Milky Way's stars, lay beyond, beckoning them forward.

“Conn, Navigation. We are clear and free to navigate, ma’am.”

“Navigation, come to course…” Tehrani glanced at her plot. “Two-three-five, declination ten degrees.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

As the Greengold headed toward the Canaan Lawrence limit, Tehrani sat back. “It feels good to be back in the vacuum.” She turned her eyes to Wright. “What about you?”

“The first week or so off the line, I had some relief, you know?” Wright replied. “I could sleep through the night without the general quarters klaxon sending me into the top of my bunk.”

“I sense a but in there.”

Wright nodded. “Once I was fully rested, I started feeling like I was shirking my duties somehow, not being out in the fight.”

His comment resonated with Tehrani, as she’d had the same thoughts. I suspect any circumspect soldier feels the same way. “Now you understand why I was abrupt with our engineer last week.”

“Touché, Skipper.” Wright furrowed his brow. “While we’re on the subject, I’d rather be out fighting Leaguers than some wannabe pirate with a few surplus fighters.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this enemy, XO.” Life had taught Tehrani never to underestimate an opponent. “We don’t know what we’re facing except that it’s a non-nation-state actor.”

“Well, at least we won’t be running through the Leaguer heavy-cruiser buzzsaw. Convoy duty got brutal there for a bit.”

“Thank Allah for that.” Tehrani shook her head. “Of course, if the neutrals would simply accept there’s a war on, form their ships into convoys, and mark the trade lanes they’re using, this would be a far easier task.”

Wright snorted. “Nothing’s simple in interstellar politics, ma’am.”

“Quite.”

“Conn, Navigation. We’re clearing the Lawrence limit in sixty seconds, ma’am.”

The “High Loop” orbit shipyard they had been in was significantly farther away from Canaan than most stations around the planet. As a result, it was far faster to the limit than a normal departure from CDF headquarters.

“Navigation, plot a Lawrence drive jump to the first set of coordinates on our route to the border.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Jump coordinates are plotted and ready to engage on your command.”

She must’ve preplanned our route. Good—shows initiative. Tehrani counted down the seconds until they were past the limit, which was overlaid clearly on her plot as a bright dotted line. “Navigation, execute Lawrence jump.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The bridge lights dimmed immediately as the mighty Lawrence drive—the Terran Coalition’s only method of FTL travel—came to life. Directly ahead of the ship, a small vortex began to form. Over several seconds, it grew to a massive spatial feature with a kaleidoscope of color—blue, green, red, and orange. The artificial wormhole allowed nearly instantaneous travel to anywhere with its range, which for the Greengold was roughly seventy-five light-years.

“Conn, Navigation. Wormhole stable, ma’am.”

“Take us in.”

It only took a few moments for the carrier to slip through the maw of the brightly colored wormhole and pop out the other side—with an entirely different set of stars.

“Conn, Navigation. Transit complete, ma’am. Within five thousand kilometers of our target.”

“XO, have engineering begin cool-down activities.” Tehrani sucked in a breath. “I want our next jump to proceed in two hours.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

From there, they had two more jumps to reach the Marcus Luttrell, while the Astute along with the two converted Saurian frigates would join further into their patrol. The tactical plans Tehrani had already put together showed it was doubtful she would be able to keep Battlegroup Z together as one concentrated force. Spreading her ships out to cover a larger area of space was the only way they would be able to catch the pirates—as long as she balanced the danger posed by being too far apart to support one another. The next few weeks looked to be long indeed.

4

CSV Zvika Greengold

Deep Space—Terran Coalition Border Zone

21 August 2434

With a full week of patrol activities under her belt, the Greengold and her crew received a few credible activity reports but had yet to encounter pirate forces. Two months of refits had added just enough cobwebs to their readiness that Tehrani ordered random battle drills to get the enlisted ratings back into shape. So far, they’d greatly improved their reaction times, and she was pleased with the progress.

August 21 began like every other day in the void—with rote routines and sheer boredom. Tehrani was tempted to skip the morning watch and instead focus on paperwork but in the end decided if she could put off readiness reports for six hours, she would.

“You okay, Skipper?” Wright asked.

His voice brought Tehrani out of her thoughts. “Oh, yes.” She turned toward him. “I was thinking about the mound of paperwork I have to do when the morning is over.”

“The only constant in the universe.”

Tehrani leaned back. “Battlegroup status?”

“Astute is poking around in deep space, watching a system with a lot of freighter traffic. The Marcus Luttrell is a few kilometers off our port side, and our two frigates are escorting a small group of vessels with cargoes of lithium.”

She’d left detailing of the other ships’ assignments to Wright, mostly because he needed some joint command experience on his personnel review. It’s time for Benjamin to get his own command, and I’ll do my part later this year. A grin came to Tehrani’s face—her XO had no idea what she had planned.

“Conn, Communications. I’m receiving a distress signal, ma’am.”

“Put it on my viewer,” Tehrani replied.

An image of a battle-scarred bridge appeared on the monitor directly above her head. Through waves of static and lines in the picture, a woman was visible. “This is the ISV Hadley to anyone in range. We’re under attack by unidentified vessels. Please, help us!” A burst of flame shot through the frame, and the screen went dark.

Tehrani immediately went into battle mode as all other considerations drained from her mind. “Communications, get me 1MC.”

“You’re on, ma’am.”

“Attention, all hands. This is your commanding officer. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill.”

As Tehrani spoke, the bridge lights dimmed and turned a deep blue while the alert klaxon blared.

Bryan called out from his station, “Conn, TAO. Material condition one set throughout the ship. Battle stations manned and ready.”

“Navigation, plot a Lawrence drive jump to the coordinates of the distress signal.” Tehrani glanced at Wright. “What’s on ready five?”

“Four Sabres from the Red Tails and four Boars, ma’am.” Wright tapped at the controls built into the XO’s chair. “I’m ordering up additional elements from the air boss.”

“Good.” Tehrani stared straight ahead. “TAO, raise shields and arm all point-defense weapons.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Shields up. Point-defense online.”

Tehrani avoided charging the energy capacitor, as she had no idea how far the jump would be. While Mitzner worked the Lawrence drive calculations, Tehrani took a moment. Allah, hear my prayer. Bless our efforts this day, and help us to rescue those who need our assistance while we destroy the evildoers.

“Conn, Navigation. Coordinates plotted. Ready to jump on your command.”

The report helped to focus all of Tehrani’s mental energy following the short prayer. “Communications, signal the Marcus Luttrell to follow us in and request support from all Battlegroup Z assets.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied quickly.

“Navigation, activate the Lawrence drive.”

Directly in front of the Zvika Greengold and visible through the transparent alloy windows on the bridge, a spatial vortex began to form. As the lights dimmed, the rift grew, and an artificial wormhole burst into being. A kaleidoscope of blue, red, purple, and orange radiated out from it, and the ship accelerated into its maw. Seconds later, they emerged on the other side.

“Conn, TAO. Sensors coming online,” Bryan called a few moments after their arrival. “Hadley detected at eighteen hundred kilometers, ma’am. Designated as Sierra One. She’s venting atmosphere.” He paused, rechecking the board. “Two unknown vessels roughly the size of a corvette, designated Master One and Two, are engaging Sierra One. Numerous hostile small craft, ma’am.”

Tehrani’s eyes went to her tactical plot. A swarm of red dots surrounded the single blue icon. She zoomed in on Master One and Two, trying to determine from their silhouettes what they were. I’ve never seen anything like that before. They were similar in size and design to each other but different. It’s like someone took a small cargo hauler and tried to make a gunboat out of it. “TAO, charge the energy weapons capacitor. Navigation, intercept course, Sierra One. All ahead flank.”

“Whatcha thinking, Skipper?” Wright asked.

“Extend our shields around the freighter and engage the hostiles, and hopefully they’ll fall back.”

“And if not?”

“I detest bullies, Major. Get our fighters into space.” Tehrani grinned.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Communications…” Tehrani began as she turned to Singh. “Open a wide-spectrum channel. I want to talk to whoever’s flying those ships.”

“One moment, ma’am. You’re live.”

Tehrani set her jaw and stared directly at the camera for the bridge vidlink. “Attention, hostile vessels. I am Colonel Banu Tehrani of the Coalition Defense Force. You are in violation of Terran Coalition space. Cease fire and power down your weapons immediately, or we will destroy you. This is your final warning.”

“Conn, TAO. Master One and Two have locked weapons, ma’am. Multiple anti-ship missile launches detected.”

“So much for a peaceful resolution,” Tehrani replied. Part of her was glad for the opportunity to show the criminals they faced what happened when the forces of justice caught up with them. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master One.” As the closest enemy, they drew the short straw.

“Firing solutions set, ma’am. Thirty seconds to weapons range.”

Orders and counterorders were volleyed across the bridge. Tehrani maintained her singular focus on engaging the pirate ships as she stared at the tactical plot and willed the Greengold to move faster. They won’t escape.

* * *

“Launch, launch, launch!”

Justin didn’t need to be told twice. He punched the throttle of his SF-86 Sabre forward, and the fighter roared out of the hangar bay. The blackness of the void lay beyond, a momentarily beautiful sight before his HUD populated with enemy targets and the stricken freighter they hoped to save. The other three craft in his flight element registered right behind him. “Alpha, break to heading zero-six-two, max speed, and engage afterburners.”

“Wilco, sir,” Feldstein replied.

The kilometers rushed by as the four of them raced toward the enemy. Justin felt a gnawing in his stomach. Simple math suggested there was no way they’d make it in time.

Suddenly, twin blue spears of concentrated neutron beams reached out from the Zvika Greengold, smacking one of the hostile ships. Way to go, Colonel. The enemy's reaction was instantaneous—they broke off and headed toward the CDF forces at a high rate of speed.

“I don’t recognize this model of interceptor,” Adeoye said. “Do any of you?”

“Human built for sure,” Mateus replied. “Notice on the close-up scan image how it has a bubble canopy. I’d wager these are designs from Lusitania or one of the other prosperous non-Coalition colonies.”

Justin was impressed by the impromptu intelligence analysis. “Didn’t realize you’d transferred over to CIS, Lieutenant.” He let out a chuckle then directed his attention back to the sensor readout. Ten enemy fighters were on a direct intercept course. Against Leaguers, those weren’t horrible odds, but the incoming bandits' combat specifications were unknown. “Alpha flight, spike the closest bandits and stand by to release missiles. Once we put a volley into space, we’ll close rapidly to guns range and mix it up.” When overwhelmed, getting inside the enemy's missile-launch envelope tended to even the odds, depending on a pilot's training level.

“Wilco, sir,” Feldstein replied.

The missile-lock-on buzzer blared. Justin shifted his thumb and gently squeezed the launch button integrated into his flight stick. “Alpha One, fox three.” An active-LIDAR-tracking Vulture missile dropped from the internal stores in the fuselage of his Sabre and zoomed into the void. It was quickly joined by warheads from the other three craft in Alpha’s formation.

As Justin careened toward the enemy with his wingmen, the ten bandits heading toward them loosed their own anti-fighter missiles. Alpha added another salvo into the mix, and electronic countermeasure systems from both sides went to work. As the Boars in Gamma element were a couple of minutes behind, they hadn’t ranged on the hostiles quite yet.

Two inbound warheads headed straight toward Justin’s Sabre, apparently unaffected by the ECM pod each fighter carried. That’s different. He rolled away, engaging his afterburner while dropping several pods of chaff. Around him, the other members of Alpha did as well. It registered with him that the incoming was far more accurate than League tech. While one missile took the chaff and exploded harmlessly, the other tracked him relentlessly before slamming into the aft shields of his craft.

“Whoever these guys are, they know what they’re doing,” Feldstein said, her voice cracking from interference on the commlink.

Justin gritted his teeth. “As Mateus puts it, a target-rich environment.”

“I like a challenge,” Mateus replied. “Leaguers get boring after a while.”

“Stay focused.” Justin picked one of the fighters out and goosed his Sabre toward an intercept vector. Not bothering with another Vulture, he switched to Eagle heat-seeking missiles instead. As Justin swung in behind the bandit, he sent a wave of miniature-neutron-cannon bolts into its aft shield.

The hostile’s shields collapsed from the fusillade, and flecks of armor melted off around engine exhausts—the result of Justin’s continued bombardment. As he was about to send an Eagle into the maelstrom, four missiles erupted from the bandit. Justin watched in shock as they all reversed course and headed straight toward him. Oh shit.

Justin pulled back hard on his flight stick with lightning-fast reflexes while simultaneously triggering the chaff dispenser and dropping six pods into the void. LIDAR trackers with cone lock-on reversal tech? The CDF had such technology, and it was in wide use across their space-superiority fighter forces, but to his knowledge, it was tightly restricted. How’d pirates get their hands on gear this good? They’re always two generations behind, using common civilian models.

Two of the inbound warheads took the bait and exploded among the chaff pods, while the others pressed on. Justin kicked up his afterburner and got every ounce of speed the Sabre had in it, dodging and juking to throw off the missiles. One ran out of fuel and blew up, but the last tracked him move for move and smacked his aft shield, knocking the single-seat fighter into a spin.

G-forces bit at Justin as the Sabre spun around and around before he was able to force his hand to the throttle and hit the afterburner activator, which required affirmative control. The spin evened out, and the craft rocketed away.

That was too damn close. Justin scanned his HUD, trying to locate the enemy he’d been so close to destroying.

“Alpha Three to any friendlies. I’ve got a bandit on my tail.” Adeoye’s voice crackled through the commlink.

Justin quickly located him, and the heavy fighter doggedly matched each move of Adeoye’s Sabre. “Alpha Three, break left and accelerate. I’m coming in hot.”

“Wilco, sir.”

It took a moment for Justin to line up the hostile craft in his forward cone and shift his finger to the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox two,” he called the second the lock-on tone buzzed.

Two Vultures dropped from the internal stores bay on Justin’s Sabre and raced away into the void. “Alpha One to Alpha Three. Adjust heading ten degrees left relative and increase declination by twenty-five degrees.”

“Wilco, sir,” Adeoye replied.

The movement of Adeoye’s Sabre led him downward and cleared a path for Justin. He squeezed the trigger on his miniature neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of blue death toward the enemy as the HUD-mounted targeting reticle turned green. Both of his missiles hit the bandit in quick succession while the enemy was too focused on his tail-chase with Adeoye to avoid the stream of neutrons. After a cascade of hits, the fighter exploded in a bright-orange ball of flame that extinguished itself as it consumed the available oxygen of the craft’s life-support system. “Alpha One, splash one.”

“Thank you, sir,” Adeoye said as he uttered a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” Mateus interjected. “Got hung up on a bandit. Thanks for taking care of him for me.”

“Don’t go getting soft on us now, Lieutenant,” Justin replied as he felt a lump in his throat. The knowledge that they were all a moment from death loomed large. He searched for another target in the HUD. “Look alive, people. There’s still a lot of bandits left out here.” Too many.

Purple and red streaks rushed by Justin’s cockpit canopy as the two corvettes switched targets from the freighter to the Greengold. He marveled at the energy readings being put off by the two vessels. I’d expect to see that kind of firepower on a destroyer, not some pirate ship. A blinking warning indicated a new wormhole opening within the battle space. Justin held his breath as the onboard sensors took a few moments to ID the new contact. A blue icon appeared a few thousand kilometers away. Thank God, it’s the Marcus Luttrell. He continued to focus on eliminating the bandits swarming around them.

* * *

Tehrani held on to the sides of her chair as the Greengold rocked from enemy fire. At least the two converted corvettes, as she’d taken to calling them, had switched targets. Unfortunately, their target is now us. Blue light bathed the bridge, supposedly calming nerves and helping the crew work their consoles.

“Those little ships pack quite a punch,” Wright said as he glanced at her. “I’m detecting xasers and meson-based weaponry.”

“Matrinid tech?” Directed muons were a hallmark of directed-energy weapons used by their former allies. “They wouldn’t even sell that technology to us.” Tehrani furrowed her brow. “What’s going on here?”

“There’s a black market for everything, I guess, Skipper.”

The two vessels took another firing pass at the carrier, purple beams lashing their shields along with oblong directed-energy charges.

Tehrani waited for Master One to get closer. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master One.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

Closer. Closer. That’s it. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

The neutron emitters on the bow of the Greengold glowed, and two lances of blue erupted from them. Moving at the speed of light, they connected with the enemy vessel's shields, which held and shimmered, radiating energy into the void.

“Conn, TAO. Master One deflector cohesion weakening on fore and starboard quarters.”

A full-power blast should’ve pierced their shields and blown half that ship’s hull off. Tehrani frowned. “TAO, conduct a deep scan of Master One. I specifically want to know how strong their power source is.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The incoming corvettes, which had reversed their course, were in the process of another high-speed firing pass. As the enemy ships reentered weapons range, the Marcus Luttrell came alongside the Greengold. She’d finally caught up to the carrier and fully charged her weapons.

“Communications, direct Sierra Two to join us in an alpha strike on Master One,” Tehrani said as she took note of the escorting destroyer’s position. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master One.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Acknowledgment received from the Marcus Luttrell, ma’am,” Singh replied.

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

As Tehrani uttered the words, another wave of formed mesons slammed into the Greengold’s weakened shields. On the tactical display she was monitoring, their forward deflector strength dropped under five percent. Simultaneously, the Marcus Luttrell opened up with everything it had—neutron beams, magnetic-cannon rounds, and Starbolt anti-ship missiles. The carrier added its energy weapons to the fray, and between the two vessels, they battered the enemy corvette.

“Conn, TAO. Master One deflectors have failed. She’s taking armor hits, ma’am,” Bryan said with a glance backward.

The corvette maintained course and speed, barreling toward the Zvika Greengold. Tehrani started to question whether its crew was planning to ram them before a bright spear of blue energy erupted from the enemy vessel’s bow and punched through the Greengold’s nonexistent energy barrier. The impact was enough to throw everyone on the bridge around in their harnesses, and a few unlucky enlisted personnel not strapped into their seats went flying to the deck.

“Damage report, XO,” Tehrani barked.

“Localized armor failure on the bow. Neutron beam emitters offline.” Wright turned to her. “That was a destroyer-strength neutron beam, ma’am.”

Another volley of mag-cannon fire and more anti-ship missiles lashed out from the Marcus Luttrell, and finally, the enemy corvette broke off. Tehrani felt her face grow warm as she mentally worked the problem. Something felt very wrong about what they were up against.

“Four Maulers just hit the flight line, ma’am. They’re ready to launch on your order,” Wright interjected. “A few Javelins might even up the odds out there.”

“Do it,” Tehrani replied.

“Conn, TAO. We’re close enough to extend our shields around Sierra One, ma’am.”

“Navigation, present our starboard quarter to the enemy. TAO, lower the forward shield and conduct an emergency recharge.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied. As she spoke, the carrier began to shift position, and changing star positions were visible through the windows at the front of the bridge.

“XO, get me an estimate immediately of how long it will take to get the civilian vessel ready to jump.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Even though they were up against pirates who, by their very nature, lacked logistical support and fought solely for easy cargo to sell to the highest bidder, Tehrani couldn’t help but feel outmatched. They outgun us, and the esprit de corps displayed rivals the CDF’s. She hoped the bombers would tilt the scale of combat in their direction for good.

5

Heat-seeking missiles of an unknown model flashed by Justin’s fighter, narrowly taking the flares he’d deployed that burned brighter than the surface of a star. Too close. The battle was chaotic, with the surprisingly nimble pirate fighters—closer to heavy fighters because of their size—buzzing around the battle space.

“I’m not getting recognition in my tactical computer for any of the enemy craft,” Feldstein said, her voice crackling over the commlink. “But specific subsystems are human-built.”

“We’ll have time for intelligence analysis later,” Justin said through gritted teeth as the g-forces got to him in a high-speed, high-energy turn. “Now let’s focus on survival.”

All around him, Alpha element traded fire with hostile fighters and attempted to cover the Boars of Beta element as they made an attack run on Master One.

One of the enemy craft swung through Justin’s forward arc, and he picked it out as his next target. He flipped the stores selector to a LIDAR-tracking Vulture missile and enabled linked launch. The moment the lock-on tone sounded, he squeezed the button for launch. “Alpha One, fox three.”

The warheads dropped from the Sabre’s weapons bay and raced toward the enemy, a plume of fire from its engines visible for several seconds. Justin’s target made no attempt to evade. The LIDAR tracker smacked into the hostile craft’s shields, exploding in a bright-orange ball of flame.

To Justin’s surprise, the shield power indicator only dropped twenty percent. Some of them have upgraded deflectors too. “Alpha One to Alpha element. A few of these bandits have super-juiced shields. Be careful.”

“Alpha Three to Alpha One. File that under no shit, Sherlock, sir,” Mateus replied. She sounded harried rather than her usual calm, cool, and collected self.

Enough of this. Justin whipped his Sabre back toward the bandit he’d been pursuing and toggled his missile selector to Eagle heat seekers while simultaneously changing it to launch two warheads. Blessed with a favorable intercept vector, he squeezed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox two.”

The enemy deployed a few dozen flares before it kicked on its afterburner. Intense glare from the brightly burning decoys momentarily caused Justin to become disoriented before his helmet automatically adjusted its light filter. Unexpectedly, the hostile contact reversed course and accelerated sharply. What the hell? Purple energy weapons flashed by his cockpit canopy as the bandit settled behind him. Every attempt to evade was matched move for move.

Work the problem. Determined to avoid compromising his OODA—observe, orient, decide, act—loop, Justin pushed to the back of his head the questions about how a small craft twice the size of his Sabre could have nearly equal delta-V. “Alpha One to any friendlies. Bandit on my six almost has a guns solution. Request immediate assistance.” More purple pulses zipped by as he spoke. A scan of his HUD showed Feldstein tangled in her own dogfight.

“Alpha Three to Alpha One. Hang on, sir. I’m thirty seconds out, bearing zero-eight-five.”

Justin located the icon representing Mateus’s fighter as his aft shields took repeated hits from the bandit chasing him. Time for guns-D. He began a series of wildly varied maneuvers in an attempt to shake the enemy and disrupt its aim. After waiting until the last possible moment, Justin toggled off the safeties for the inertial dampening system and pulled up hard relative to Mateus’s position at maximum speed with his afterburners engaged.

Blackness crept in around the corners of his eyes as the g-forces skyrocketed. Even with the robust inertial-dampening equipment, he was pulling fifteen Gs. The advanced technology of his pilot’s chair and suit kept the force from killing him. Multiple missile icons detached from the nearest blue dot to Justin’s Sabre on the sensor readout. This is gonna be close. In quick succession, he killed the afterburner then desynched his fighter’s inertial-damping field and flipped the craft one hundred eighty degrees. That left his nose cone pointing backward toward the enemy as his forward motion continued unabated.

Blue neutron-cannon bolts along with LIDAR-tracking missiles streaked across the void from Alpha Three. The pirate fighter sent purple xaser energy back at both Justin and Mateus, lighting up their shields. Justin held down the firing trigger on his flight stick, sending his own fire into the fray. The concentrated barrage battered down the bandit's deflectors before the Vultures connected and blew it apart.

As the glow from the explosion faded, Justin exhaled for what felt like the first time in a while. “Alpha One to Alpha Three. Thanks for the assist.”

“Any time, sir. Nice trick there, by the way.”

“Something I picked up from the CAG.” He quickly scanned the HUD-based sensor readout. “Bandits bearing two-six-eight, range fifty kilometers. Break left and push it up to max thrust.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The course Justin had called out would put them in range of the two fighters Feldstein and Adeoye were tangling with. Then the HUD flashed red, indicating a new wormhole forming. Good grief. When it rains, it pours.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole.”

Tehrani waited for his report with a gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

“Reads as Lusitanian signature, ma’am,” Bryan continued. “Contact designated as Sierra Three. Freighter, bulk hauler classification.”

Lusitanians out here? While the area was technically close to their border, the neutral planet had a reputation of keeping to itself and out of interstellar affairs. Tehrani narrowed her eyes. “Communications, send my compliments to the commander of Sierra Three and request they stay clear of the battle.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

“This is mighty odd,” Wright said as he stared at his chair-integrated display. “That freighter is moving faster than I’ve ever seen an ore hauler go.”

Over the last year, Tehrani’s combat senses had become attuned to changes in the battlefield. They were now almost a sixth sense, and as she stared at the onrushing freighter, they cried out in alarm. She couldn’t avoid heeding the warning. “TAO, reclassify Sierra Three as hostile.”

Bryan apparently couldn’t believe his ears. “Say again, ma’am?”

“Reclassify Sierra Three as hostile now, Lieutenant,” Tehrani snapped.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Communications, warn Master Three to move away now, or they will be engaged.” Tehrani turned to Wright. “XO, ETA for our forward neutron beams being back online?”

“At least fifteen minutes, ma’am.”

The Marcus Luttrell kept up the pressure on the most damaged pirate corvette—Master One. While the enemy ship was nimble, it couldn’t dodge neutron beams moving at the speed of light. Repeated hits on its aft quarter eventually resulted in engine damage, and the vessel began to slow.

Tehrani, above all, wanted prisoners to interrogate. The pirates had to operate out of somewhere, and if she knew where, Battlegroup Z would be paying them a visit. There was still the matter of the bulk hauler, however. Its presence disrupted the entire battle space. “Communications, any response from Master Three?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Three. She’s launching small craft, ma’am.” Bryan’s voice went up an octave. “Ten… twenty… thirty… I count thirty-six. Mixture of fighters and larger single-seaters, probably bombers, ma’am.”

Pirates with a carrier? The sheer brazenness of it shocked Tehrani, but she quickly set it aside and focused on working the problem. “XO, how soon till the rest of our battlegroup arrives?”

Wright glanced at the digital clock showing ship’s time against other standard time zones. “Twenty minutes on our frigates, an hour for the Astute, ma’am.” He bit his lip. “Not fast enough.”

The XO’s commentary was on point, but Tehrani didn’t want to hear that kind of talk on the bridge. She shot him a dirty look and focused on her tactical plot. Only one course of action remained. “Communications, order the Hadley’s crew to abandon ship immediately and land their escape pods on our flight deck.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“TAO, designate Master One as the primary target for the Marcus Luttrell. Take the gloves off. We’ll cause as much damage as we can and get out.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani felt as if her heart were going to pound out of her chest. “XO, what’s on the flight line?”

“Four more Sabres, ma’am. Shall I order a general scramble?”

“Get the Sabres into the vacuum. Order every fighter we’ve got left into ready five. We’ll wait a minute to see how things develop. I don’t want to overplay our hand.” And if I underplay it, we’re going to lose far too many people.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright tapped a button on his display. “They’re launching now.”

“Conn, Communications. The Hadley acknowledges our instructions. Escape pods launching momentarily.

A new cluster of blue icons appeared directly next to the Greengold before accelerating away. Anxiety made Tehrani’s heart beat faster with the realization that the next few minutes would be decisive.

* * *

Five minutes earlier, Justin had been about to declare victory. While the hostile craft were formidable opponents, Alpha and Beta had worn them down, and Lanchester’s Law had been in effect. Then the carrier appeared, disgorging more than two dozen new enemy fighters. Charlie element had launched, joining Alpha to provide eight Sabres on the battle space. Three Boars from Beta element were left along with a group of Mauler bombers.

Justin fought to keep situational awareness and control of the battle as he pawed the vacuum, looking for his next target.

A new voice broke into his commlink. “CSV Zvika Greengold actual to Alpha leader.”

“This is Captain Spencer, ma’am.”

“The Hadley is launching escape pods. Covering them is your top priority. Once they’re safely aboard the Greengold, we’re pulling out.”

“Wilco, ma’am.”

“Greengold actual out.”

Justin toggled his commlink to the all-fighters channel. “New orders, people. We’ll provide close escort for civilians escaping the freighter. Gamma element, switch your target to Master One. Beta, provide overwatch for Gamma. Charlie, you’re with the rest of Alpha and me. This is a target-rich environment, folks. Watch your backs, don’t take unnecessary risks, and use the Greengold to your advantage. Her point-defense emplacements are accurate and deadly.”

“I live for a target-rich environment,” Mateus replied to scattered chuckles.

“Maintain focus,” Justin snapped.

“Wilco, CAG.”

Justin snickered involuntarily. Yeah, I guess I did sound like Whatley just now. He checked his Sabre’s stores as the craft rocketed toward the escape pods. A group of pirates had broken off and headed straight for them.

He switched his commlink to the guard frequency. “Escape pods, this is Captain Justin Spencer, Coalition Defense Force. Adjust your heading five degrees to port and increase speed to maximum.”

“We’re going as fast as we can, CDF.”

Damn. Even with afterburners on, Alpha and Charlie elements were at least three minutes away. Justin flipped back to all-fighters. “Alpha, Charlie, stand by for max range. These guys are tough. Switch missiles to dual-launch mode, and make sure you don’t spike the same bandit.”

Green acknowledgment lights lit up across the squadron-readiness screen.

On the HUD-based sensor display, one of the pod icons disappeared. Justin double-checked and confirmed its destruction. Bile rose in his throat. Bastards.

He toggled the commlink over to guard frequency. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Leaguers are better than shooting down helpless spacers.”

A rough voice answered him. “Maybe God will judge me for it, Terran.”

Justin wrapped his hand tightly around his flight stick. “I think I’ll send you on to say hi to Him for me. How about that?”

“Take your best shot.”

The missile-lock-on tone filled the cockpit. Justin had picked the nearest bandit as his first target, assuming it would be either the most aggressive pirate or their commander. Either way, the fighter was going down hard. He squeezed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.” Two Vulture LIDAR-tracking warheads dropped from the Sabre’s internal stores bay and raced into the void.

“Charlie Two, fox three.”

“Alpha Four, fox three.”

Other pilots called out their launches, and the battle space filled with dozens of missiles. Robust electronic countermeasures on both sides and chaff deployments in the hundreds spoofed most, but a few got through, causing light shield damage.

Justin’s forward shield indicator dropped after a few hits from energy-weapons fire before he rolled out of it. Quickly scanning the HUD’s sensor display, he saw one fighter curving back toward the pods. Not so fast, you son of a bitch. Justin kicked his afterburner to maximum and accelerated. “This is Captain Spencer. Hadley pods, are you still with me?”

“We’re here, CDF.”

“Break left relative to us and bug out toward the carrier. We’ll cover you.”

“Acknowledged, CDF.” The voice had an odd quality to it, as if the person speaking had accepted death.

Purple pulses ripped through one of the pods. The following explosion turned it into a cloud of dust. Rage built within Justin. He wasn’t used to feeling that emotion in the cockpit, but seeing civilians murdered for no reason brought it out in a way he’d never experienced. Whoever the pirates were, they didn’t deserve to live. The missile-lock-on tone sounded again, and Justin pressed the launch button.

Twin warheads accelerated away from Justin’s Sabre along with Vultures from Feldstein and Adeoye. Six in all, they tracked the single bandit relentlessly. Half were spoofed by either ECM or chaff, but the others pushed forward, bracketing the enemy craft. It had nowhere to go. One after the other, small explosions dotted across its shields.

“Alpha Three, guns guns guns.” Adeoye’s voice sounded garbled across the commlink. His Sabre slid behind the pirate, and bolt after bolt of blue neutron-cannon energy zipped through the void. The enemy rolled away, attempting a scissors maneuver to get behind Adeoye.

Unfortunately for the pirate, Justin had already anticipated such a move. With the bandit’s aft shields below twenty percent, he made every shot from his neutron cannons count. A dozen bolts later, the enemy exploded in a mass of orange-and-blue fury. “Alpha One, splash one.”

Justin toggled the channel to guard. “Hadley pods, you’re clear. We’ll fly close escort back to the carrier. If you’ve got any more juice in your engines, now’s the time.”

“Acknowledged, CDF.”

The voice of another pilot filled the commlink. “Rot in hell, whoever you were.”

I can’t disagree with them. Justin took the momentary lull in combat to check on Beta and Gamma’s progress. Master One, the up-gunned corvette, was still very much in the fight. The Maulers were lining up another attack run while a horde of fighters from the pirate carrier bore down on them. If I leave them out there, they’ll get cut to shreds.

He toggled the commlink to a private channel with Green. “Alpha One to Beta One. Come in.”

“Beta One reads you loud and clear,” Green replied.

“There’re too many of ’em out there. I want you to pack it in along with Gamma. Abandon the attack and get back to the barn.”

“Respectfully, sir—”

“That’s a direct order, Lieutenant.” Steel crept into Justin’s voice. “All of you. Now.” Yeah, I do sound like Whatley. Wow.

“Acknowledged, sir.”

A few seconds later, the Boars and Maulers reversed heading and turned toward the Greengold. Thankful that while Green seemed angry, at least she was following orders, Justin turned his attention back to the mass of pirate fighters. He did some quick mental arithmetic and didn’t like the outcome. They’re going to overtake the bombers before they get to the carrier. Justin narrowed his eyes. Not if I can help it.

“Alpha One to Alpha and Charlie elements. There’s no intercept vector left to the pods, but our bombers are about to get it.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t look good,” Feldstein replied. “They’ll get eaten alive by these heavy fighters.”

“Eight against twenty-plus isn’t good odds.” Justin let out a breath. “But if we loose most of our Vultures at max range, I think we can mix it up long enough for Beta and Gamma to get back to home plate along with the pods. I don’t want to order you all to do this.”

“We’re with you, sir,” Feldstein replied immediately.

“Charlie element isn’t pulling out without a fight,” First Lieutenant Hawkins interjected. He led the second group of Sabres.

“Okay, people, let’s do this.” Justin tightened his grip on the flight stick. “Break left, afterburners to maximum.”

The flight of eight fighters broke toward the enemy force like a wave. Their maneuvers compared favorably with the highest trained exhibition squadrons in the CDF, and they were honed by thousands of flight hours working together as a team.

Justin toggled his commlink to guard. “Hadley pods, we’re moving off to engage the rest of the pirates.” Hopefully, they don’t freak out. “Get yourselves landed on the Zvika Greengold. Stay on this frequency and ask the air boss for landing instructions.”

“I understand, CDF.”

Whoever’s flying over there is in shock. Justin could hear it in his voice. He briefly reflected on the fateful day almost a year ago when the war broke out. The day I had to grow up. The knots in his stomach that used to be present before every engagement were gone, replaced by the steel constitution of a battle-hardened veteran.

The range closed rapidly between Alpha element and the enemy. Justin felt eager to just get on with it already. He intended to use similar tactics to those employed by the CAG at the Battle of Sol. “Alpha One to all fighters. I want you to rapidly launch all Vultures the moment we get into range. We’ll see how it develops from there.”

“Wilco, Alpha One,” Feldstein replied.

“Alpha One, fox three,” Justin called out as he pressed the missile-launch button a split second after the lock-on buzzer sounded. It took the flight computer a moment to regain positive lock. “Alpha One, fox three,” Justin said into the commlink again.

In quick succession, four Vultures dropped from his Sabre’s internal stores bay two at a time. All around him, the other friendly fighters launched their own munitions. The battle space came alive with dozens of LIDAR-tracking missiles. Faced with an overwhelming volume of inbound fire, the pirate craft broke off their pursuit of the bombers and focused instead on avoiding the warheads headed straight at them.

While the smaller craft fought it out, Master One had moved away. Justin noted its shields were down, and it appeared to be losing atmosphere or fuel. A pity Gamma didn’t have time to finish the job. Still, the large group of red dots representing almost three dozen enemy fighters and bombers would be more than enough to put the hurt on the Zvika Greengold. Running the math in his head of distance to the hangar bay, the time needed to land, and the bandits' relative speed profiles against Maulers, Justin determined they needed another five minutes. Longest five minutes of our lives.

He cued the commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha and Charlie elements. Form on my starboard wing, line abreast. Follow me in. Do not break off for individual dogfights.”

Acknowledgment lights lit up across Justin’s HUD from each fighter in the Red Tails. He adjusted his heading to put the Sabre on a course cutting through the enemy formation at an angle and redirected aft shield strength forward. “Alpha One to Alpha and Charlie elements. Break now.”

Rolling to his starboard relative position, Justin accelerated to max thrust and engaged his Sabre’s afterburners. Missile alarms sounded, and he triggered the chaff dispenser. Clouds of spoofing material spread out behind the friendly craft, and the formation they maintained maximized the effectiveness of their ECM pods. There were few hits on either side from the LIDAR-trackers.

The group of eight fighters streaked through the void as they entered energy-weapons range, which had been Justin's plan all along. Purple and blue streaks zipped outward from both groups, though the Sabres had more accurate gunnery. Two of the pirate craft didn’t survive the pass, while all of the friendlies did.

“Nice shooting,” Mateus said. “A few more passes like that, and we’ll thin out the herd.”

Left unsaid was that most of Alpha and Charlie elements had shields below thirty-percent strength, and recharging them before another firing pass was impossible. Justin searched his mind, thinking as outside the box as he could. “Okay, next plan.”

“What’s the matter with the old plan?” Adeoye asked.

“Nothing, if we had all day.” Justin adjusted his course back toward the enemy. “Form up, line abreast. This time, we’ll drop our entire complement of heat-seeking missiles, hit the afterburners, and run like hell.”

“That’s nuts, sir,” Feldstein replied.

“You got a better idea? Now’s the time.”

Silence was her reply. Justin squinted at his HUD scanner. The red dots had scattered to some extent, but groups still held unit cohesion. Now would be a good time for our superior training to help out. “Come to heading zero-one-eight, full afterburner.”

The Sabres quickly assumed the directed formation and accelerated through the void. Justin switched his focus to fire control, toggling his stores selector to the Eagle heat-seeking missiles. His strategy involved some risk, as with full afterburners going, Alpha and Charlie flights would be the hottest things in the local area—and with the enemy coming straight at them, it was unlikely the warheads would lock on. The CDF technology had failsafes built in to prevent an Eagle from coming after a friendly craft, but Justin felt he was in uncharted territory.

“Alpha One, fox two.” Two warheads dropped out of his internal stores bay and rocketed away. The rest of Alpha and Charlie followed suit, and quickly, over two dozen missiles were headed toward the hostiles. The moment Justin confirmed he’d loosed four Eagles at the enemy, he cranked his flight stick upward. “Alpha, Charlie, break and disengage. Max thrust.”

Afterburner plumes lit up the void as all eight Sabres rocketed through the enemy formation. Energy-weapons fire was ineffective thanks to poor interception angles and the relative speed of the friendly craft. Justin didn’t even bother with aiming, and he doubted the others did either. He was firing more for effect.

The enemy wasn’t out of the fight, however. Numerous LIDAR-tracking warheads separated from the pirate formation and raced toward the Sabres. Justin’s missile alarm sounded, and he stared at the HUD-integrated scanner, trying to determine how many were aimed at him. “Alpha One to Alpha and Charlie elements. Maintain formation. Deploy chaff. Redirect power to aft shields and engines.”

A dangerous dance broke out as the Sabre group sent dozens of LIDAR balls confusing chaff into the void while juking to confuse the incoming warheads. Many took the bait, but enough slammed into Alpha and Charlie to cause significant damage. Several friendly craft took hull damage, and Justin’s bird lost its aft shield generator. Just when he thought they were home free, one of the Charlie-element fighters flashed red on his HUD.

“Charlie One declaring an emergency. Master alarm lit. Losing thrust.”

Justin pulled up the diagnostic screen for Hawkins’s craft. “Alpha One to Charlie One. Disengage inertial damper. You’ll continue forward at present speed.”

“Wilco, Alpha One,” Hawkins replied.

Seconds seemed to last hours. “No good, sir. Inertial dampers won’t disengage.”

“Can you manually reignite your afterburner?”

The pirate craft relentlessly pressed forward on the sensor readout, gaining on the sole straggler—Charlie One.

“No joy, sir.” Hawkins’s voice held an element of fear. “Attempting manual engine restart.”

A pregnant pause came over the commlink. Justin held his breath.

“Negative on manual restart. Shit, bandits are in energy-weapons—” A sudden burst of static was followed by nothingness.

“Charlie One, come in.” Justin let out a guttural roar as the blue icon disappeared from his HUD. That the rest of them were beyond the pirates’ reach should’ve been cause for celebration, but it felt like every emotion he had turned to ashes. Dammit.

“CSV Zvika Greengold actual to Captain Spencer. Come in.” Tehrani’s voice cut through Justin’s thoughts like a knife.

“This is Spencer, ma’am.”

“Execute emergency combat landing. All craft.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Justin set his jaw. He still had a job to do.

“Greengold actual out.”

Justin scanned his HUD and saw the green icons associated with the Hadley escape pods disappeared one by one near the Greengold. Good. One less problem for us to worry about. The next few minutes of flight time were about as uneventful as they could be with nineteen hostile fighters and a group of bombers chasing them. In the interim, Gamma and Beta elements landed on the flight deck.

At fifty kilometers out, the commlink came alive with the voice of the air boss, who had full control of launches and landings on the carrier. “Alpha One, this is the boss. How copy?”

“Alpha One to the boss. Read you loud and clear.”

“All remaining craft are cleared to land in Hangar A. Any available space.”

“Understood. Alpha One out.”

Justin toggled his commlink to the all-fighters channel while he scanned his HUD’s sensor readout. “Alpha One to all friendlies. You heard the boss. Set down on any available pad. I’ll stay outside and follow you in.”

“Don’t be a hero,” Feldstein interjected on a private channel. “Please. We’ve already lost enough today.”

As she spoke, Justin could’ve sworn he heard Hawkins’s voice calmly declaring an emergency again in his mind on a loop. He pushed it down. “Don’t worry. I’m landing the moment the rest of you have, so hurry it up.”

Sabre after Sabre entered the hangar as the pirates pressed onward. Two of the enemy heavy fighters, either feeling lucky or not well trained enough to understand the danger, approached the Greengold from the port side on a trajectory for an anti-ship missile launch. Unfortunately for them, the broad side arcs had the most point-defense capability on the vessel. Thousands of rapid-fire bolts of energy shot out from the carrier at the speed of light. While each bolt by itself was inconsequential and not incredibly accurate, the volume of fire more than made up for it.

Both pirate craft took numerous hits on their forward shields and tried to veer off. They were too far into the Greengold’s kill zone and blew apart one after the other. The result was enough to put some fear into the ones that remained. For the moment, they stayed out of range.

Determined to be the last one to land, Justin circled the Greengold. Her point-defense emplacements continued to blaze away into the void, keeping the pirate fighters at bay. The most critical threat to the carrier was the bombers, safely ensconced behind the fighter screen. Justin briefly considered trying to interdict them but saw no way that wasn’t suicide—well before reaching the target.

“Alpha Two to Alpha One. I’m down, sir.”

Justin checked his HUD, noting that he was finally the last craft in space. “Roger that, Alpha Two. I’m looping around for a combat landing.” He toggled his commlink channel to flight operations. “Alpha One to the boss. Request emergency docking clearance in hangar A.”

“Clearance granted, Alpha One. Emergency arrestor field two is charged.”

Justin had no time for the standard landing procedure. Instead, he flew toward the arrestor field at seventy percent of top speed. Five seconds before coming into contact with the arrestor field, he reversed thrust, slowing his Sabre dramatically. The invisible energy beams caught his craft and swung it around before depositing it safely on the deck. “Alpha One to the boss. I’m down.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha One. Nice flying out there.”

Justin popped his cockpit canopy open and swung his legs over the side as a portable ladder appeared, provided by a helpful crew chief. A moment later, his feet hit the deck plates, and he had to grab the nose landing gear strut to avoid falling over as the Greengold shook. He stared out of the giant transparent forcefield-protected area into the void.

The battle continued as a wave of pirate fighters sent bolt after bolt of purple xaser fire into the carrier's shields. Streams of blue energy erupted from the CIWS emplacements, shooting down several incoming missiles that exploded in quick flashes of light.

Then they were suddenly in a wormhole.

Justin turned away to avoid being sick from staring at the sides of the artificial construct. He let out a breath and took his flight helmet off. My God, that was too close.

“Are you okay, sir?” Feldstein asked as she appeared at his side.

“Yeah. Did we lose anyone else besides Hawkins?”

“Two KIA, including him. Several injuries, one serious.” Feldstein narrowed her eyes. “It could’ve been a lot worse, though. Green and her friends owe us big time.”

Justin shook his head. “They’d do the same for us. Okay, maybe we can get them to stop the ridiculous sound effects for a few days.”

“We live in hope,” she replied as she rolled her eyes.

“Get everyone together for debriefing. I’d like to understand what we can do better next time.” He glanced at a mass of civilians huddled together. Bile rose again.

“Yes, sir.”

Justin Spencer rarely felt outmatched by an opponent, but he couldn’t help feeling they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth. Not all of us. Remembering Hawkins, he realized he hadn’t made friends with or engaged much with the young pilot outside of training, briefings, and combat. I stick with Alpha because Alpha’s been lucky enough to come home. A thought that perhaps avoiding interpersonal relationships because of fear of hurt was a cop-out came to Justin, but he pushed it down. He would have time for introspection later.

First, he had a job: defeat the pirates and ensure the lives lost weren’t in vain.

6

A few hours later, the thunder of combat had barely faded from Tehrani’s mind. She sat at the front of the table in the deck one conference room, directly aft of the bridge. Wright and Whatley sat on one side, while Justin sat on the other. A million thoughts ran through her mind, all focused on the obvious—How did a Coalition Defense Force carrier battlegroup almost have its rear end handed to it by pirates?

“Before our guest arrives, XO, give me a damage report update,” Tehrani said. Her head throbbed. I should visit the medical bay and get something for it.

“Neutron beams back online, Skipper. The rest is going to be a few hours. Probably need a visit to space dock to repair our forward and port armor fully.” Wright smirked. “You know, Canaan’s shipyard complex is eventually going to get tired of patching up our ship, especially if we keep getting the same areas shot up.”

Tehrani wasn’t in the mood for jokes and didn’t crack a smile. “Instruct Hodges to use whatever manpower he needs to get us back to fully battle-ready condition.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Major,” Tehrani continued, casting her gaze toward Whatley. “Status of our fighters?”

“Two pilots lost,” Whatley replied. “A few Sabres damaged and out of circulation.” He narrowed his eyes. “I had replacements pulled out of storage. We’re ninety-five percent combat effective, once refueling and rearming operations are complete.”

“Captain Spencer, what’s your assessment of the enemy?”

Justin’s face clouded over. “In what way, ma’am?”

“Combat tactics, training, technical capabilities,” Tehrani replied. “The basics. What are we facing here?”

“I didn’t recognize the model of fighters they were flying, ma’am, but the pilots we face were well trained, used advanced maneuvering tactics, and seemed to have capabilities near ours. I believe point-defense support from the Greengold and the Marcus Luttrell kept Alpha and Beta from being annihilated.”

“Those are strong words—”

“Ma’am, our adversaries have craft with better performance than League of Sol military equipment.”

Tehrani stared at him for a moment before flicking her eyes to Whatley. “Do you concur, Major?”

“I see no reason to doubt Spencer’s assertion, ma’am.”

“Options, then, gentlemen?” Tehrani bit her lip.

“Consolidate our forces and get these pirates or whoever they are to do battle on our terms.” Wright quirked his nose. “Even better, get them in range of the Astute and her Starbolt missile tubes.”

The hatch swung open unexpectedly, and a private—a master-at-arms—strode in and came to attention. “Ma’am, I have the civilian you requested.”

“Thank you, Private.” Tehrani looked past the young man into the passageway beyond. A middle-aged woman stood, and though she’d clearly tried to clean herself up since coming aboard, her hair was still streaked with blood, and black marks stained her face. Someone had issued her a pair of CDF battle dress uniform fatigues. “Come on in, Miss…”

“Lorea Salazar.” She spoke in a monotone, almost like a robot, as she walked into the conference room.

“Please, join us. I’m the commanding officer of the Zvika Greengold, Colonel Tehrani. These are my senior officers, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened.” I know shock syndrome when I see it. She gestured to an empty chair. “Have you been to the medical bay?”

Salazar nodded. “They patched my wounds.” She nearly collapsed into a seat and briefly put her hands on the table until they shook so hard as to make noise. “I’m sorry. We are not used to fighting—not like this.” Salazar placed her hands in her lap.

Tehrani turned back to the master-at-arms. “Stand watch outside, Private. I’ll let you know when you can escort our guest back to her quarters.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” The youngster came to attention briefly then stepped out and shut the hatch.

Silence came over the room.

“Miss Salazar, what was your position on the Hadley?” Wright asked in a soothing tone.

The civilian glanced up. “Third mate. Captain Gebara…” Salazar sucked in a breath. “He perished in the first few minutes along with the first mate.” She closed her eyes. “I apologize. I’m not myself.”

Tehrani set her hands on the table. This woman needs a therapist, not a grilling about the most traumatic event in her life. Allah help us. We have to know what’s going on. “We understand. Combat is something the officers and crew of the Zvika Greengold encounter almost daily, but it’s not something most merchant spacers ever see.” She tried to curl her lips into the warmest smile she could muster. “Whatever you can tell us, Lorea, will be helpful.”

“We were performing our Lawrence drive cooldown.” The monotone continued. “Two ships jumped in and attacked us without warning.” Salazar lifted her eyes and squinted. “We begged them to let us jettison our cargo, but they kept shooting. Captain Gebara tried to fight back.” A single tear fell down her face. “Pirates aren’t unfamiliar out here on the frontier, Colonel Tehrani.”

Wright leaned forward. “Are you saying these pirates didn’t act like normal ones?”

Don’t lead the witness. Tehrani shot him a look, hoping she wouldn’t have to say something.

“Cargo is valuable, especially luxury goods. That’s one of the reasons the Hadley stuck with ore. It's difficult to move unless you have a larger ship.” Salazar shrugged. “I don’t think they wanted what was in our holds. They were going for the destruction of our vessel. We weren’t even offered terms. Pirates always offer terms.”

Wright sat back, his brow furrowed. “I see. Anything else of note?”

“We lost half the crew.” Salazar pursed her lips. “What will you do with us, Colonel?”

“Right now, you’ll be treated by our medical staff, and we’ll put you off the ship at the nearest port of your choosing. This is a military vessel, however. It could be a few days,” Tehrani replied. She decided it was best to avoid clueing the woman in to the fact they could be fighting the pirates again at any moment. Or the League, for that matter.

Salazar sat mutely and nodded. She still presented the appearance of someone in a trance.

“Did you take a copy of your ship’s sensor and log data?” Whatley asked. His voice was gruff, as usual, but he seemed to try to inject some warmth into his words.

“Corporate policy is to collect our black boxes in case of loss of vessel.” Salazar turned to him. “I followed policy.”

“We’ll need to see them as soon as possible,” Tehrani interjected. She tried to smile. “Your forethought could be what we need to get justice for your crew.” The gesture seemed hollow.

Salazar narrowed her eyes and took on a hard expression. “When you find them, promise me something, Colonel.”

“If it is within my power.”

“Kill them. Every last one of them.” More tears came to Salazar’s eyes. “They butchered defenseless spacers who did nothing to deserve that fate. Many were lost to the void, without suits.” Her eyes glinted with anger. “Anyone capable of such a crime deserves no mercy.”

Tehrani inclined her head. “I give you my word as a CDF officer. When I find those who perpetrated this attack, they’ll be dealt with harshly.” She carefully worded her reply to avoid a promise she couldn’t and wouldn’t keep.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“I think we’re done for now.” Tehrani gestured at the door. “If you’ll step outside, the master-at-arms will take you back to your quarters and see to any needs, including food.”

Salazar stood. “Thank you for coming to our rescue. I only wish you’d arrived a few minutes earlier.” She appeared only moments from complete mental collapse and turned on her heel to leave.

When the hatch shut a few seconds later, Whatley was the first to speak. “Soldiers, even enemy soldiers, I can respect in combat.” He gritted his teeth. “Thugs and criminals? Kill ’em all and let God sort it out.”

“I can almost get behind that,” Wright replied. “But, no.”

“We’re not the judge, jury, and executioner, gentlemen,” Tehrani said. Who am I kidding? If it were my crew, I’d move hell itself to get justice. No, revenge. “Regardless, we need some of them alive to figure out the broader picture here. Because some random pirates flying military hardware doesn’t add up.”

“Could be the megacorps.” Wright put his hands on the table. “They hate the Terran Coalition because we don’t allow them to do business in our space, for the most part. The Hestian Business Council comes to mind.”

Tehrani raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It’s a conglomeration of megacorps headquartered on Hestia—human-settled neutral planet a few hundred light-years beyond our border. Real tough customers. Treat the underclasses like indentured servants at best, slaves at worst.”

“Why do you know so much about neutral human-world politics?”

“I’ve told you before, Skipper. I planned to buy a freighter and go into business for myself in a few years. Knowing the lay of the land is only intelligent.”

It was the kind of logical sentiment she’d come to expect from her XO. Tehrani pressed her lips together. “Okay. We’d better get back to repairs. When the comms geeks get done with the black box from the Hadley, perhaps it will shed some light on where these pirates are based. Anyone have anything else?”

Whatley shook his head, as did Justin.

“I’d like a word privately, ma’am,” Wright said. “But I’m good for this meeting.”

“Very well. Dismissed. XO, I have a few minutes now if you want to talk.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Whatley stood, followed quickly by Justin. They walked through the hatch, and Justin closed it behind him.

As it clicked shut, Tehrani turned to Wright. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve got a suggestion.” Wright smirked. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh no.” She grinned in return. “Out with it, Major.”

“Well, we’ve got a friend over at the Coalition Intelligence Service that owes us a favor, right? Agent Grant.”

Tehrani’s face blanched at the mention of the CIS external activities division operative. He’d left a bad taste in her mouth the last time they’d worked together to deal with the covert League space installations hidden deep in Terran Coalition space. “I don’t want to work with that man again. Ever.”

“Skipper—”

“He admitted to me that he’s a high-functioning sociopath. I got the distinct impression he enjoys playing with others’ lives. All part of some big game.”

Wright harrumphed and leaned back in his chair. “Ugh.” He leaned forward. “Okay, as distasteful as it may be, Grant still owes us. Either that or go back to General Yukimura and ask for some G2 support.”

“To what end, Benjamin?”

“Waiting for whoever these guys are to hit another freighter and hope we get there in time isn’t a viable strategy, ma’am.” Wright softened his expression. “Banu, you and I both know something else is going on here. Whatever it is—a larger criminal syndicate, megacorps, one of the alien empires taking advantage of the war, or the League—I promise you CIS has an entire team of people on it. We both know CIS and CDF don’t exactly play well together.”

“Well put.” I vowed never to speak to the odious Agent Grant again. “Okay, I’ll swallow my pride and send him a TS/SCI info dump on our situation.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Wright closed his eyes for a minute. “Gah. I want some food and shuteye.”

“That sounds like a plan for me too. Join me in my mess? I’m sure the chef can whip something up. Sandwiches, at least.”

“Well, whatcha waiting for? Let’s get some grub.” Wright sprang from his chair.

Tehrani did as well and walked out the hatch first. She tried to clear her mind, but her headache didn’t seem to be going away. After we eat, I’m getting something from the doc shack.

* * *

Sokratis Papoutsis slowly sat down at his desk, which wasn’t just any desk. It was a trophy from an exceptionally well-off Galter whose ship he’d captured a few years earlier. The good old days, back when I did what I wanted when I wanted and hit the rich where they deserved it—in the keister. He stared at the tablet in front of him. It contained a list of their losses in the last twenty-four hours, all from combat against the Coalition Defense Force.

The hatch to his office swung open. “Boss, got a minute?”

“Come in, Parish,” Papoutsis growled. Ronald Parish was, in effect, his right hand man.

“The gunboat was a write-off, boss. Should probably scrap it and use what’s left for spare parts in the others.”

Papoutsis closed his eyes. “Our benefactor made clear continued support would only come from our successes.” Since debuting their new fleet, Papoutsis had been knocking off several freighters a week.

“There’s a difference between fighting cargo vessels with next to no weapons and military warships.” Parish’s voice sounded like a whine.

“I realize that, but our benefactor doesn’t. Our latest orders are to carry on our campaign as quickly as possible. The rare earth mineral–bearing ships must be eliminated.” Papoutsis had his suspicions about why—clearly, whoever was paying them wanted to hurt the Terran Coalition. The individual or, more likely, individuals behind the payments had taken extreme care to avoid leaving fingerprints. All contacts were done with cut-outs, with payments made via direct credit chip and completely untraceable.

Parish paused. “Normal payouts to the families of those killed?”

“Yeah.” Papoutsis narrowed his eyes. “What did you find out about the CDF vessel?”

“It’s a small escort carrier. No more fighters on it than we carry and less anti-ship weaponry. We could probably take her if we got them in the right place at the right time.”

“An ambush. It would have to be an ambush. If we were lucky, without the rest of their battlegroup.” They’d spotted several frigates operating around the region and engaged a destroyer. CDF vessels were tougher than anything they had, one on one.

“If you’d like, Boss, I can start working something up.”

Papoutsis nodded. “Yes. It's probably time to send an unmistakable message that we won’t be trifled with.” Even if it causes the accursed CDF to send more and larger vessels. He left off the overall plan to move out of the Jewel Box nebula area the moment they’d fulfilled the terms of their agreement to the mysterious benefactor who supplied them with credits, ships, and weapons. Papoutsis didn’t trust anyone with that knowledge.

“Got it, Boss. Anything else?”

“Did we recover any cargo pods off the Hadley?”

“Enough to make good on our losses but not much more.” Parish shrugged. “Don’t we get a bounty for sinking her, though?”

That was part of the agreement with their associates—bonus schedules for destroying ships based on tonnage along with extra payments for blowing up escape pods. Completely wiping out a vessel paid quite handsomely. Most of the time, Papoutsis tried to make a little bit more by scooping up some cargo pods. “Yes,” he replied icily. “Replace our losses, bring in some new blood, and get ready to hit another ship. We might try our hand at two at a time… see how the Terrans like that.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Get out,” Papoutsis snarled and put his eyes back on the tablet. The hatch clanged shut, leaving him alone. There was a time when I held to the code. For as long as Papoutsis could remember, he’d dreamed of real success: being known as a privateer without peer. More than a few “freeports” in human neutral space were without large military fleets and, more importantly, free from interference from the major empires.

Something was missing, though, as he considered how far he’d come from humble beginnings on Aphendrika. Everyone is a hero in their own story. In Papoutsis’s own way, he’d wanted to be a hero that took from the rich and gave to the poor and downtrodden. When he got started, he’d sought out a ship from Cyrilgrad because it had a reputation for not harming spacers and even giving ten percent of the haul to charity. For a time, much profit had been made off megacorp freighters.

Eventually, the megacorps wised up, expanded their security divisions, and worked with the military forces from neutral worlds and the empires that would do business with them to crack down on pirates. It drove them to attack smaller freighters, and before too long, they were robbing hand-to-mouth independent spacer captains to feed themselves.

That a hardened criminal would commit murder on a large scale just to get a payday wasn’t such a stretch, but Papoutsis had always thought himself better than that. Now he knew he wasn’t. The idea of death terrified him, because he had a sneaking suspicion that when he finally passed on from this universe, he would face judgment at the hands of a higher power for all the sins he and those under him had committed. Papoutsis sucked in a breath and resolved to delay that day for as long as possible. Perhaps in time, I can atone for my misdeeds in some way. For the moment, the only way forward was with more innocent blood on his hands.

7

For Tehrani, the adrenaline rush of fighting for her life had given way to the boredom of deep-space anti-piracy patrol. Jump after jump, solar system after solar system, the Zvika Greengold and Battlegroup Z had a lot of ground to cover. The prospect of combat against the pirates was as much a chess match as it was a brawl against an asymmetrical opponent. After standing watch during the first shift, she went to her day cabin and started the usual grind of paperwork. With some level of amusement, Tehrani glanced at a message proclaiming a new initiative to reduce the complexity of personnel transfer forms. Yet it had three new forms attached to it. She chuckled.

The intercom on her desk buzzed. “Colonel, I’ve got flash traffic for you from CIS. Agent Grant is requesting a vidlink, ma’am,” Lieutenant Singh informed her.

Tehrani sucked in a breath. “Put him through.” I’ll probably need a shower after this.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

A moment later, her tablet came alive with Grant’s smiling face. “Colonel Tehrani! So good to see you again.” His voice oozed fake charm, not unlike a proverbial used-helicar salesman.

Forcing the most pleasant tone she could muster, Tehrani spoke. “I take it you got my message, Agent Grant?”

“Yes, I did. Very, very interesting, I might add.”

“Do I have to pry it out of you?” Tehrani’s patience ran thin with most spooks but was nonexistent with Grant.

“You don’t like me very much, do you, Colonel?” Grant smiled ever wider.

Tehrani fought to keep herself from rolling her eyes. “No, Mr. Grant, I don’t. Not after our last encounter.”

“I told you. My unique skills are useful. ” The smile disappeared in an instant. “And whatever else you may think about it, know this: I detest the League of Sol, and I’ll do whatever it takes to purge that monstrosity of an ideology from the universe.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re telling the absolute gospel truth.” Tehrani’s eyes narrowed. “Which is why I distrust you.”

“You need me about right now, Colonel.” Grant’s smug smile returned. “I have something you’re in desperate need of.”

Again, the bile rose in her throat. Oh, how I would enjoy ripping that expression off his face. “A fleet of escorts and a few more escort carriers?”

Grant chuckled. “No. A Q-ship.”

“A what ship?”

“Converted freighter… the CSV Farnborough. It presents as a regular old Aaron-Elesinberg MkII freighter but has stronger weapons than a frigate. Moreover, I’m assured we can fit some of your space-superiority fighters into the cargo bays.” Another smirk flickered onto his face. “I should mention those holds open up to the void.”

The tactical possibilities swam through Tehrani’s mind. We could catch an enemy by surprise. Especially pirates, even if their modus operandi is different than the norm. “That sounds like an interesting vessel—but how do you know it's not compromised? A ship such as what you describe must have been spotted at some point.”

“You never miss a beat, Colonel.” Grant licked his lips. “CIS goes to great lengths to keep the actual ownership and purpose of the Farnborough a secret. She’s designated as the ISV Dumaran and registered with the Interstellar Spacers Union. The entire crew has deep-cover legends. It speaks to the extraordinary nature of the threat I believe we face that CIS would sanction an operation involving her.”

“Pirates?”

“Colonel, you’re far too smart to play dumb with me,” Grant scoffed. “These are no ordinary pirates, if that’s even what they are.”

While Tehrani had her doubts after facing the enemy in battle, she was intrigued by Grant’s statement. “What do you think we’re facing?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps a significant escalation from drug- and human-trafficking cartels or an unholy alliance of megacorps. Nation-state involvement can’t be ruled out, including the League of Sol. Unfortunately, my colleagues believe we’re just dealing with up-gunned pirates.”

“Are you saying you don’t have sanction for whatever you’re proposing, Agent?” Tehrani groaned inwardly. She immediately sensed, from a strategic and tactical perspective, the odds of successfully completing her mission went up dramatically with this Q-ship. I’m also uninterested in a court-martial. A smile briefly creased her face. We hit Earth and survived. These pirates have nothing on the Zvika Greengold.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Colonel.” The used-helicar-salesman smirk returned. “Look, the piece of information that blew this situation wide open for me is your confirmation on Matrinid-tech weapons. I cannot stress to you how closely they guard technology. Anything can be bought for the right price, but we’ve been trying for decades to access meson-based energy weapons—without success.”

“In other words, whoever’s behind these attacks has serious juice?”

Grant nodded. “Got it in one, Colonel. I’ll send you a set of coordinates in deep space for a rendezvous. While I’m good at the cloak-and-dagger stuff, space combat isn’t my thing. By the time we meet, have some fantastic CDF battle planning completed. Remember—I need to get the Farnborough home in one piece.”

To her incredible surprise, Tehrani’s mind was already churning with possibilities. It shocked her how easy it was to accept the possibly illegal appropriation of the CIS vessel. “And I need to avoid a court-martial, Agent.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll… secure the appropriate paperwork.”

“Good.” Tehrani forced a smile to her face. “Anything else, Agent?”

“No, I’m good. Have a great day, Colonel. We’ll be seeing each other.”

The vidlink screen went black, leaving Tehrani alone with her thoughts. It dawned on her that she would’ve been better off not accepting his call.

* * *

It took Justin two hours to write up the entirety of the Red Tails after-action report from their first engagement with the pirates. He’d spent more time studying gun-holocamera footage and working it all together into a usable demonstration of the enemy's capabilities and tactics. Individually, each craft was almost superior to a Terran Coalition SF-86 Sabre. The CDF fighters retained superior training. Each pirate pilot seemed to view combat as a one-on-one activity, not a team sport. Feeling thankful that Whatley had drilled the need to work together into them religiously, Justin paused outside the hatch to the CAG’s office.

“Come in!”

Justin blinked. I haven’t hit the buzzer yet. He pushed the hatch open. “How’d you know I was there, sir?”

“I’m psychic.” Whatley smirked. “Get your ass in here, Captain.”

As he slid into one of the side chairs, Justin raised an eyebrow. “I somehow doubt that, sir.”

“Your feet make a distinctive sound on the deck plates.” Whatley narrowed his eyes. “Pay attention to everything, even the smallest detail.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin shifted his feet. “I completed a review of the prior engagement. I’d like to get additional Sabres, Boars, and Maulers on deck. Go back to having twelve craft on ready five and another twelve on ready thirty.”

Whatley shook his head. “That schedule kills the crew chiefs, Captain. Even though I love to chew them out, I have to accept the reality of human limits at some point.”

“I also want to install rocket pods on the Red Tails’ Sabres. They would make sense for everyone to carry.”

“Why?” Whatley stared at him. “Those pods are for ground attack.”

“Yes, sir. However, we used them to significant effect against League bombers. I think we could inflict some damage on those corvettes and the pirates' heavy fighters with them.”

“I recall your unorthodox strategies,” Whatley replied. “Okay, fine by me, but remember—while there’s no drag in the void, additional mass lowers your delta-V.”

Justin had already considered that point and dismissed it. “Yes, sir.” We’re going to need every advantage we can get.

“Any other suggestions?”

“Besides get another carrier in here?”

Whatley snickered. “Try something that’s not a miracle from God Himself.”

Justin set his jaw. “We could try having two elements of Boars engage the bandits. They appear especially suited for dogfighting heavier craft and can carry additional Vultures and Eagles if we swapped out the anti-ship missiles.”

“Let me test my understanding here. Justin Spencer, ace of aces, wants to sit out a dogfight in favor of a different squadron because they might have better luck against the enemy because of some observation he made?” Whatley quirked his nose. “Did I hear that right?”

Justin felt his cheeks warm. I suppose I deserved that. “Uh… well, uh… yes, sir.”

“Good. There’s hope for you growing up into a seasoned officer after all.” Whatley winked. “Don’t let it go to your head.” Silence broke out as Whatley seemed to appraise him. “Did you decide on Winged Lightning’s new CO?”

“Yes, sir. Going to go with the squadron XO, First Lieutenant Kaczka.”

“Feldstein didn’t want it?”

“No, sir.” Justin shook his head. “She’d prefer to fly Sabres, per our conversation.”

“So,” Whatley said as he sucked in a breath. “You going to tell me what was going on there, or do I have to drag it out of you with laps around the hangar deck?”

Oh shit. Justin figured he probably resembled a deer caught in headlights as he stared mutely at Whatley. His jaw flapped a few times as his cheeks grew hot.

Whatley laughed loudly and slapped his desk. “Oh, Spencer, you’ve got to work on that poker face. What happened? You guys have a falling out? Disagreement over how to run the squadron? Maybe one of you got a little too friendly.”

“Uhhh—”

“Ah, so you did get too friendly. No fraternization on the Zvika Greengold. It’s not allowed, per the UCMJ, but I especially won’t have it here. Leads to distractions. Distractions get my pilots killed.”

“We—I had a moment of weakness, sir. It’s resolved, we’re good, and it won’t happen again.” No, it won’t. That much, I know. Intense shame coursed through every fiber of Justin’s being. What happened was bad enough, but that the CAG knew about it was almost worse.

“Do you remember me telling you that all of us have to find a way to keep going in war?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whatley leaned back in his chair. “Well, you discovered one of the ways to do it. I did, too, once.”

“Sir?”

“You don’t think I was always a gruff old man barking orders at youngsters, do you?” Whatley grinned. “I was going to marry a fellow pilot once.” His face clouded over. “Trust me. You don’t want to make that mistake. Besides, pretty sure you’ve got a wife waiting at home.”

“And another baby on the way.”

“Ah. Another reason to keep your head screwed on straight.”

Justin felt as if Whatley’s eyes were boring into his soul. “I make no excuses, sir.”

“There’s a reason why I’m rough on you, son.” Whatley’s expression softened into what passed for concern, coming from him. “You’ve got a lot of potential. Not just to be a great pilot—lots of people can do that. I see leadership qualities in you. If I keep tuning you and ensure you stay on the straight and narrow path, I think you’ll go far. Part of it is good character.”

“My dad used to say character is what you do when no one else is watching.”

“Someone’s always watching.” Whatley pointed his index finger upward. “If nothing else, He is.”

The usual annoyance or condescension Justin used to feel when someone brought up God wasn’t there. In its place was a level of shame, knowing that a higher power looking down on him would see Justin’s many sins. “Funny you put it that way. I’ve grown to believe the same.”

Whatley raised an eyebrow. “I saw you at the chapel once. Didn’t realize it stuck.”

“I don’t know if it did.” Justin shrugged. “But I had to face some hard truths, and one of them is I can’t control everything around me, nor do I believe everything is purely random chance.”

Silence again broke out in the office. It quickly became oppressive, though Justin wasn’t sure what to say. The entire set of subjects was wildly uncomfortable to him.

“Is your head in the game?”

Justin narrowed his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he replied without even thinking. Of course it is.

“Okay. I’m going to hold you to that, because if it’s not, you’ll make mistakes. And when you make mistakes—”

“Pilots die.” Justin set his jaw. “It’s bad enough, the losses we’ve taken. I won’t be the cause of more.”

“Good. That’s the right attitude, son.” Whatley stretched, tilting his head back. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get back to your duties. I’ll consider the Boar request. Dismissed.”

Justin sprang out of the chair. “Yes, sir. Good day, sir.”

“Godspeed, Captain.”

* * *

After the discussion with Major Whatley, Justin ended up spending a few more hours on squadron-readiness reviews, inspecting several damaged Sabres, and writing a condolence message to Lieutenant Hawkins's wife. He detested how easy it had become to write them. The first time he wrote one, it had cut him to the core, but now it was something he did at times without emotion. It shouldn’t be this easy to lose our friends. But I’m not, am I? I’ve got a few people I’ve stayed close to but not the new pilots. Not the replacements that aren’t likely to survive.

Justin continued to ruminate on the topic over a quick dinner, which he consumed alone in the mess closest to the hangar deck. Then he made his way to the chapel for the first time in a couple of weeks. Since meeting with Father Elliott after returning from the Sol mission, Justin had gone to services a few times. He’d even gotten through a few of the Bible verses the chaplain gave him.

At 1945 CMT, most of the first- and second-watch personnel were off duty. Many of them were asleep, and that was reflected in how empty the chapel was. Justin pushed the hatch open and made his way to a pew. Each one had an actual paper printed Bible in it along with various hymn books and religious materials, since several denominations of Christians used the same space. Jews and Muslims had their spiritual areas elsewhere on the deck.

One of the passages Elliott had given Justin to review was in Deuteronomy. He flipped open the Bible in front of him and leafed to the page the verse appeared on. “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you.”

“Words to live by,” Father Elliott said.

Startled, Justin whirled around to see the priest standing a pew over. “Uh, sorry, Father. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Justin shook his head. “You didn’t.” He swallowed. “It’s been a long day.”

“In combat?”

“Yes. We sortied out against those…” Justin narrowed his eyes. “Pirates. Lost another pilot.”

“You feel responsible?”

“Why do you say that?” Justin asked.

“Because I’m a soldier too. And if someone under my command had died in combat, I’d feel as if I failed them.”

“I struggle with it, Father. We’re supposedly the best of the best, yet far too many of us don’t go home. It’s bad enough when the enemy is the League of Sol. But… pirates? Seriously?”

“You mean criminals aren’t good enough to die in combat against?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Justin chuckled. “Probably a silly sentiment.”

“Not at all. At least the Leaguers, as bad as they are, fight for something they presumably believe in. These pirates want a payday and are willing to kill innocents to get it.” Elliott narrowed his eyes. “They’re scum. But remember, they’re still God’s children.”

Justin snorted. “I’m having a hard time getting my head wrapped around the idea of God—if He exists—caring about people who do so much wrong.”

Elliott sat down on the pew next to Justin. “And what, pray tell, would you be doing if you had the misfortune of being born to a citizen of the League?”

The priest’s question caught Justin off guard. He pondered for a few moments before realizing the point the man was trying to make. “I might be doing some pretty distasteful things in the name of my country.”

“Yes. Worse, you wouldn’t have the benefit of learning a better way, as we do.” Elliott smiled. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“No.” Justin shook his head and sighed. “Father, I’m still struggling. Frankly, I don’t know what I believe. The door’s been opened to something larger than us in control, but I want to grab it. If God’s really in control, I’d love to lift Him by the lapels of His shirt and give Him a good shake.”

“I see.” Elliott started laughing. “Well, if I see Him, I’ll let Him know what you have in mind.” He sucked in a breath. “Not that I expect either one of us would ever get that chance.”

Justin turned his head and stared at the cross that stood at the front of the chapel. “My wife is expecting. We’re going to have a baby boy.” He fought to keep from showing emotion, but a tear fell down his cheek.

“Congratulations! That will give your daughter someone to play with,” Elliott replied. “And double the amount of mischief occurring in your home. But there’s something else there, isn’t there?” The priest stared at him. “It's bothering you somehow.”

“What’s bothering me is that my wife has no idea how…” Justin stared at the cross.

“How close you came to cheating on her?”

The way the priest summed things up was both direct and comforting. Justin could tell by his tone of voice there was no condemnation in his words—only a desire to make him face his emotions. “Yeah. That.”

Elliott smiled warmly. “Tell me something. Michelle, she’s a nagging woman that never lets you forget about anything, recounts your faults every time you speak with her, and makes you feel like the lowest of the low?”

For a moment, Justin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His jaw dropped. “Uh, no. Anything but. Why would you even say that?”

“Because you’ve repeatedly told me how afraid you are of being vulnerable and discussing your feelings with her. There’s got to be a reason you feel like that.” Elliott stared at him with a piercing gaze.

“Michelle is the kindest person I’ve ever met. She never meets a stranger, and if I let her, she’d give every cent we ever made away to help others. She’s far better than I deserve.”

“Then why don’t you try telling her what you just told me, in those exact words, Justin? You’re letting guilt eat you up.” Elliott folded his arms. “This is somewhat more difficult than I’m used to, because I can’t quite give you purely secular advice or go all-in on the religious instruction.” He made a show of rolling his eyes.

Justin chuckled. “I’m sorry, Father. Us flyboys do tend to make things difficult.” He licked his lips. “So, just tell her the truth?”

“Best idea I’ve heard out of you all night. From what you’ve told me about Michelle, I suspect you’ll find she’s far more inclined to forgive you than you’ve been to forgive yourself.” Elliott pointed at one of the Bibles in the pew in front of them. “If you forgive others their sins, your heavenly Father will forgive you. If you don’t, neither will He. Start by forgiving yourself, Justin.”

If only it were that easy. Images flashed through Justin’s mind—of exploding fighters, lost comrades and friends, and things he knew he’d done wrong. He stared at his feet. “Whenever I stop to let myself think, Father, I feel this overwhelming condemnation for my many failures… and sins.” Adding the religious label to his actions felt strange.

“Haven’t read much of those verses I gave you, have you?”

“I suppose not.”

“‘All things work together for good to them that love God, and are called according to His purpose.’ That’s in Romans. Read it. It’s not just words, Justin. It’s something to live by. Even when we can’t see it, we have to hold on to the idea there’s a plan bigger than us.”

“Then why have so many of my pilots died, Father?” His eyes grew wide and filled with tears. “If God really exists, then why doesn’t He do something about the League of Sol?”

Elliott was quiet for some time. He stared intently at Justin and put his hand on his shoulder. “Maybe He did. Perhaps He put a group of warriors on a ship together so that they would fight against all odds—against everything the League threw at us. Led by a young man with a decent heart, who cares about those under his command and doesn’t waste their lives. Would you consider that?”

Justin kicked the priest’s words around in his mind. I suppose if I were to accept the concept of a higher being, it makes sense. He nodded and chose his words carefully. “I’ll try. Consider me a work in progress.”

“Ha. So am I, young whippersnapper.” Elliott laughed.

“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here at this hour.”

Both of them turned to the newcomer and found Major Kosuke Nishimura, the Greengold’s Marine commander, standing there. He was out of uniform and wearing athletic clothes.

Elliott spoke. “It seems there’s always someone here, these days.”

“I can believe that.” He took a few steps toward a pew. “Fancy seeing you here, Spencer.”

Justin chuckled. “Yeah. I’m not quite here regularly yet.”

“Nothing wrong with sporadic appearances, Captain.” Nishimura sat. “Don’t mind me.”

“I guess I’d better get going,” Justin said as he stood. “Oh-dark-thirty comes early.”

“Come over to Marine country, and we’ll get you some real PT,” Nishimura replied good-naturedly. “None of that sissy officer-country stuff.”

“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that sometime, Major.” Justin chuckled. “Thank you, Father. I’ll, uh, see you soon.”

“I hope so, my son,” Elliott replied.

Justin turned and strode out of the chapel. The hatch shut behind him. He walked through the ship's passageways and back to the officers’ quarters deck where his cabin was located. All the while, his mind churned. Justin was unsettled, and it was starting to show. I’ve got to hold it together. My pilots depend on me, and the war’s not going to stop for one man to consider his beliefs. Resolving to soldier on, he entered his stateroom, stripped off his uniform, and climbed into bed.

The nightmares returned.

8

CSV Zvika Greengold

Deep Space—Terran Coalition Border Zone 12

25 August 2434

A few hours earlier, a string of cryptic messages came in via the flash traffic system. After decryption, Tehrani had pieced together that they were supposed to meet Grant and his Q-ship in an out-of-the-way area of space, far beyond the reaches of any solar system. So there they sat. The Greengold, sans her battlegroup, was parked and running on EMCON Alpha to reduce the already-minimal chances of being found by League sensors.

“I’d rather do something besides work with this CIS spook,” Wright grumbled as he adjusted his cover. On the bridge, everyone wore Zvika Greengold ball caps. It was an old wet navy tradition that the control center was treated as if it were outside, and therefore a cover was worn.

“Such as?”

“Root canal, visit my in-laws, listen to a League of Sol propaganda video, clean out a dumpster. Literally anything.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, but we need him.”

Wright closed his eyes briefly. “I know. The Q-ship is inspired, and hey, it’ll probably work. A shame the CDF doesn’t have more combat vessels out here, though. I’d rather take my chances with a heavy cruiser or two backing us up.”

“I suspect in this activity, stealth and guile will go further than brute force.”

“As you say, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole,” Bryan announced. “Five thousand kilometers off our bow.”

Tehrani sucked in a breath. “That’ll be Grant or the Leaguers.”

“Not sure who I’d rather face,” Wright replied darkly.

“Careful what you wish for,” Tehrani murmured.

“Conn, TAO. Lawrence drive signature shows as a freighter registered out of Lusitania, ma’am,” Bryan said in amazement. “Contact designated as Sierra One. IFF is showing ISV Dumaran.”

On the tactical plot, Tehrani zoomed in to get a bird’s-eye view of the newcomer. As her tactical officer had noted, the ship appeared every bit the independent cargo freighter. Right down to the wear and tear on the hull from micrometeorites. Military vessels and ships owned by large import-export firms had extensive maintenance schedules performed regularly. Independent bulk haulers generally had more worn appearances because they couldn’t afford the same level of support. The unofficial motto of CIS sprang into her mind. By way of deception, thou shalt do war.

“Conn, Communications. Incoming vidlink request from Agent Grant, ma’am.”

“Put it on my monitor,” Tehrani replied and cast her eyes upward.

Grant’s smiling face appeared on the screen. “Greetings, Colonel. Beware of CIS officers bearing gifts.”

Tehrani forced a neutral expression to her face. This guy gives me the creeps. From the moment she’d met him, something in the back of her mind screamed, “Run—don’t walk—away as fast as you can.” Each encounter only furthered the feeling. “I take it this is the Q-ship you mentioned.”

“Got it in one. CSV Farnborough at your service… as I explained, she has several legends. We’re using one out of Lusitania for the time being because they’re shipping a lot of lithium to our shipyard complexes. With your permission, I’ll shuttle over, and we can hold a council of war.”

Isn’t that cute… the civilian playing war. “Granted. We’ll see you in the conference room in thirty minutes.”

“Grant out,” he replied.

The screen cut out, and Tehrani could’ve sworn she felt a chill go through her.

“That guy creeps me out,” Wright said. “Something about him.”

Tehrani glanced at her XO out of the corner of her eye. “Truth.” She turned to the bridge chronometer. “I have just enough time to jog down to my mess, get a sandwich, and be back in time for our resident spy. You have the conn, Major.”

“This is Major Wright. I have the conn. Aye, aye, ma’am.” He grinned at her. “Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied before springing up from the CO’s chair and heading out the hatch in the aft of the expansive combat information center.

Much as she’d predicted, it took about twenty-five minutes to get a bite to eat, consume it, and head back to the conference room. Tehrani allowed herself the time it took her to scarf down the sandwich to stare out the windows in the officers’ mess, into the void. Something about the stars and visible nebulas helped soothe her soul. The beauty of the universe was something that had always spoken to her.

It’s as if Allah drew a giant painting in the sky. She lamented that instead of exploring the wonder and beauty of the universe, her section of humanity was fighting for its existence. Will we ever learn? After a sip of water, Tehrani stood, smoothed her uniform, and headed back to deck one.

An uneventful gravlift ride later, she emerged into the passageway that led to the bridge along with her conference room and day cabin. With a curt nod toward the Marine sentries standing guard at the hatch to the bridge-slash-CIC, Tehrani entered the conference room to find everyone present and accounted for. Even Grant was early.

“Colonel on deck,” Wright called out as they all stood and came to attention.

“As you were,” Tehrani replied. She sat at the head of the table, while Wright, Whatley, and Justin took the right side. Nishimura and Grant were seated opposite them.

“First off, Colonel, I want to assure you I have full sign-off from CIS on using the Farnborough.” Grant’s one-hundred-watt smile never faded. “Your direct observations have piqued my superiors’ interest, up the chain to the director of interstellar intelligence.”

“A pity we can’t get more ships,” Tehrani replied.

“Well, I did shake loose a few toys for you.”

Wright leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“Oh, another EMP device like the one we used the last time we worked together.”

“I take it you have everything figured out already?” Wright replied.

Grant leaned back. “As a matter of fact, I do. We’ve filed false cargo manifests with the interstellar spacers union and made sure they were leaked on social media by a fake account associated with one of the known crew members of the Dumaran. When the pirates take the bait, because it's too good to pass up, we’ll be ready.” He glanced at Whatley. “One of your fancy pilots can drop the EMP on the first ship they send in. We’ll mix it up with their small craft and wait for the Greengold to ride to our rescue.”

“Wait a minute,” Wright interjected. “If we drop off a flight of Sabres, the pirates will know something’s up the moment they jump in. If I were them, I’d hightail it outta there with a double jump.”

“Oh, I suppose I forgot to mention we can store and launch eight small craft in two of our cargo holds. There’s also a set of breaching pods, and I believe you have Marines aboard for a VBSS team.”

Nishimura turned to Tehrani. “Pods would be a lot better than our assault shuttles, ma’am.”

Having a spook come in and tell them how to do things troubled Tehrani, but she had to admit the spy seemed to have thought of everything. “And what’s the plan if the pirate carrier returns and catches you without us or the battlegroup?”

“Then we will be a living personification of the adage that discretion is the better part of valor.” Grant crossed his arms. “I’m not dying at the hands of a bunch of pirates.”

Justin snickered, as did several others.

“I’ll be sure to write that on your tombstone,” Wright replied darkly.

“Since it will take a few hours to transfer the small craft, Marines, and everything else over to the Farnborough, I suggest we get started, Colonel. Time is of the essence to avoid raising any suspicions among our criminal friends.”

Justin stuck his head forward in front of Whatley. “I volunteer to lead the flight element. In the last engagement, I picked up some insights into how they fight and the technical specifications of the enemy craft.”

“Shush,” Whatley said with a nasty look toward him. “We’ll send four Sabres and four Boars. I expect both to be effective.”

“Major Nishimura, gather a VBSS team.” Tehrani set her jaw. “I’d like you to personally lead the assault.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, ma’am,” Nishimura replied.

“Good. You have your orders, gentlemen. Dismissed.” A nagging thought at the back of her mind was that if the Q-ship was close to being overwhelmed, she had no doubt Grant would abandon her people without a moment’s hesitation.

* * *

Accommodations on the CSV Farnborough were nothing to write home about. On the outside, the ship was an old tramp freighter. On the inside, it was packed to the gills with shields, armor, and weapons. Several of the former cargo holds were cleverly designed to absorb incoming rounds, with mixtures of alloy-based and liquid armor. After taking the nickel tour, Justin and the other pilots huddled in what had once been another one of the eight cargo holds the vessel once sported.

Four Sabres and four Boars sat on their landing gear, side by side. A few crew chiefs huddled together, talking, while the pilots kept to themselves.

“This waiting is worse than on the Greengold,” Mateus groused. “My butt is sore.”

She’s got a point. “It’s the chairs,” Justin replied. “There’s a reason we get nice leather easy chairs in our ready room.” He took a sip of water. “Don’t give the crew of this tub a reason to dislike us more. They already think we’re pampered flyboys who can’t rough it to save our lives.”

Feldstein made a show of rolling her eyes. “I’d love to see any of these CIS pukes get into the cockpit and battle it out.”

“Yet we needed to turn to them for help in dealing with common pirates,” Adeoye said. “Perhaps we should show them the respect we expect ourselves.”

“Do unto others before they do unto you,” Mateus interjected.

“I don’t think it goes like that.”

The rest of them turned to face Justin, making him somewhat uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “Was it something I said?”

“Not your speed, Spencer,” Lieutenant Green, the squadron leader for the Black Hogs, replied. “Maybe you should go down to the doc shack and get checked out.”

Justin chuckled. “So you can close in on my kill count when we get this party started? I think not.”

“Good. There is a true-blue CDF pilot in there.” Green gave a wicked smile. “I still think this op is half-assed.”

“Enlighten us, oh fearless brrrrrrt one.” Feldstein made the trademark Boar pilot noise with a straight face.

“Come on. Eight fighters in here? We’re a one-shot deal, if we make it out of the hold without hitting the sides. The Greengold’s off patrolling, and if that damn pirate carrier shows up again, we’ll be overwhelmed.”

“I thought Boar pilots were under the impression they could take out anything,” Justin replied.

“Within reason.” Green narrowed her eyes. “You’re telling me you can’t see the fifty different ways this can go sideways?”

Justin shrugged. “I can, but I choose not to dwell on them. We’re about to engage the enemy, and this is an enemy that particularly disgusts me. Criminals.” He set his jaw. “Look at it this way. The sooner we dispatch these idiots, the sooner we can be fighting the real enemy—the Leaguers.”

“Valid point, Captain.” Green took a swig of coffee. It had to be cold, but no one wanted to venture up to the galley and risk being caught in case of a scramble.

Feldstein tilted her head. “I’m amazed we have this thing. It’s so cloak-and-dagger. The CDF typically operates in the open.”

“Not CDF, though,” Adeoye interjected. “CIS. They stick to the shadows.”

Justin felt uneasy. Waiting was always the most challenging part of the job, but something about the ship was oppressive, and the sooner they were off it and in the void, the better. “Anyone bring a deck of cards?”

Green leaned forward and grinned mischievously. “I’m sure we can rustle something up. Red Tails up for some friendly intrasquadron action?”

“I’ll see your action and raise you,” Mateus said with a flourish. “Seven-card stud is the game.”

“Done.”

Like two sharks circling each other, Green and Mateus swapped card decks and shuffled them. Justin sat back in his chair, wincing as he felt his leg go numb from sitting on a nerve. He tried to shift in such a way that it would relieve the pressure and pain. Well, at least I get a ringside seat to see if Mateus has finally met her match.

* * *

The bridge of the Farnborough, at first glance, appeared to be the type of ordinary control center one would find on a civilian freighter. The consoles were by no means high-tech, the sensor tank lacked the polish and resolution of a military model, and there was far fewer crew present than would be on a warship. Looks were deceiving, however.

Thomas Grant had planned the operation himself meticulously—dotted every I and crossed every T. The Farnborough carried an actual load of lithium ore, and they’d been careful to ensure traces leaked from the holds, just enough not to arouse suspicion but enough to bait the pirates. Their flight plan mimicked the hundreds of independent haulers making the runs in and out of Coalition space, down to jumping into Lagoon nebula, as so many others did to throw off would-be trackers. It all has to be perfect, and it is. Confidence wasn’t something he lacked.

Playing the part of a bulk ore carrier to the hilt, the freighter had jumped in at the edge of a system and was slowly traversing the outer bands of its planets. Minutes stretched into hours, and Grant started to doze off.

“Captain, I’ve got a wormhole opening within twenty thousand kilometers,” the tactical officer announced. She was officially the ship's third mate, and the Farnborough specifically used standard spacer terminology rather than follow CDF procedures. It helped to sell the cover and avoid slipups if noncleared personnel were aboard.

Grant leaned forward. “Signature?”

“Lawrence drive comparison shows as Lusitanian, sir.”

Anticipation crept into Grant’s mind. Most of the drive scans the Greengold took had a Lusitanian signature.

“Small freighter on sensors, Captain. Hole has closed, and she’s moving off to the helium-3 mining orbital around the third gas giant.”

Not our target. Grant stretched his neck to the left. “Could be a scout,” he mused. “Maintain present heading and speed. No need to put on a show.”

The commanding officer of the Farnborough was nowhere to be found, as Grant had had the man removed from the ship before they got underway. He didn’t want anything going wrong and, above all, couldn’t afford to have someone in the way of what it took to accomplish the mission. No matter what happens, we will capture these pirates and obtain the information needed.

Another thirty minutes passed. The tactical officer kept a close watch on the lone contact on their scopes as it made its way farther in-system. The freighter never deviated from its course or speed. In another two hours, they would be ready to jump to the next solar system, Grant calculated. The farther away from the border we go, the less chance of being intercepted.

His thoughts were interrupted by the tactical officer. “Another wormhole, Captain. Five thousand kilometers, bearing zero-five-one.” She glanced at him. “Lusitanian signature as well.”

“Care to take bets on the type of ship to emerge from that wormhole?”

“Not in the slightest, sir.”

He chuckled. “I probably wouldn’t either.”

“New arrival matches the description of the pirate corvettes to a T, sir.”

Grant sat up ramrod straight. “All hands to battle stations. Raise the deflectors and charge our plasma weapons. Notify the Greengold of our situation.”

“Corvette is on a direct intercept course, sir. Sixty seconds to weapons range.”

At the call of battle stations, everything on the bridge shifted. In seconds, displays changed their configuration while auxiliary consoles slid out of the walls. Two fire-control technicians appeared, taking substations to relieve some of the workload of the third mate. The one concession to CDF operational doctrine was the blue lighting throughout the room. Supposedly it helped calm the nerves and encourage focus, but Grant had little patience for such things. “Keep the energy-weapons capacitor at half charge.”

“Sir?”

“We don’t want to show off yet. These pirates need to be slowly pulled into our web.” Grant offered a small smile. “Before we squish them.”

If the tactical officer was disturbed by his obvious relish for what was to come, she didn’t show it. “I’ll keep the neutron beam on standby along with our magnetic cannons.”

“Yes,” Grant replied. “Comms, get me the fighter element. Spencer.”

“One moment, sir.” One of the ratings, who occupied the communications station, turned toward him. “I’ve got him for you, sir.”

“Spencer, this is Agent Grant. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you, sir. Getting bumpy down here, and the alarms going off are hard to miss.”

“Our friends have arrived. Are you clear on your mission?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Grant smirked. “We’ll see how good you CDF flyboys really are. Bay doors are opening in ten seconds. Good hunting out there, and remember—nothing matters if we don’t disable and capture a pirate vessel. Do whatever it takes.”

“Understood, sir. Alpha One out.”

“Captain, fighters are launching from the corvette, consistent with previous models observed.”

The bridge rocked as xaser and plasma-cannon fire from the pirate ship raked their port shields. Grant scanned the tactical summary to see their deflectors were holding but taxed. Civvies would be taking hull damage on the next pass. They’ll soon figure out we’re not easy prey.

Return fire composed of plasma charges from the Farnborough raced through the void and caught the pirate vessel as it circled around for another strafing run. The effect was mostly for show. Grant gripped the sides of his chair. What a rush. He looked forward to what came next.

9

Launching from the cargo hold of a converted freighter was among the scariest things Justin Spencer had done in his life. He came within five centimeters of hitting the hull on his way out—which would probably have resulted in instant death. Clearing the hold and accelerating into the void, Justin glanced at his HUD sensor overlay. Eight heavy fighters, one corvette designated Master One. The odds weren’t awful, but he had to believe the enemy would try to escape once they realized the ship they’d attacked was no ordinary civilian ore hauler. With one last glance at the small printed picture of his wife and daughter, Justin cleared his mind for the fight to come.

A stream of orange plasma bolts from the Farnborough crossed the battle space and smacked the pirate vessel. Its shields held and crackled with energy while the corvette gamely returned fire with its plasma cannons, muon turrets, and xaser emitters.

Justin cued his commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha and Beta. Assume finger-four formation and stack at three thousand meters apart.”

The idea was to blow by the pirate craft and let everyone else engage the enemy in dogfights. At the same time, Justin would accomplish the primary mission, then they would eliminate anything left so that the Marine transports would have no issues getting on target. No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

The range between Alpha, Beta, and the pirates rapidly decreased. Justin’s missile-lock-on alarm sounded. “Bandits, bandits bearing three-one-one, range two hundred kilometers. Everyone, spike a bandit and launch at max range.” He settled on a vector that put him on a direct course for the closest enemy.

Seconds ticked by, and Justin’s targeting reticle turned green. He’d preconfigured his missile-launch system to send two warheads at the enemy. “Alpha One, fox three.” The Vultures dropped from his Sabre’s internal stores bay, as they had so many times before, their motors flaring blue in the void.

All combatants expelled chaff as they sought to avoid the incoming missiles, while Justin focused on flying his way through. He added a few perfunctory bursts of neutron-cannon blasts but quickly rolled away from a pirate craft that attempted to obtain a guns solution on his Sabre.

While Alpha and Beta tangled with the bandits, Justin rushed toward the corvette as fast as his fighter would go. He seemingly escaped the enemy's attention and had clear space ahead. Better not jinx myself. He scanned the HUD, an almost religious action ingrained into him during flight school and later in advanced flight-combat-tactics training. Every couple of seconds, he checked the scanner to see if an enemy had taken notice.

So far, so good. Missiles from both sides crisscrossed the battle space, hitting a bit more often than would be expected. Some of the pirate craft didn’t seem to bother with avoiding incoming, instead relying on their superior shields and armor to shrug off the blows. That won’t pay off for them in the long term. Justin thoroughly planned to exploit the seemingly novice flight skills once he was done with the primary mission.

Directly ahead, the corvette filled the cockpit canopy. Justin toggled his stores selector to the anti-ship EMP warhead attached to a pylon under his right wing. One hundred kilometers out, the missile-lock-on tone sounded, filling his ears with a loud buzz. Determined to get to point-blank range, he pressed onward as point-defense fire from the pirate vessel found his Sabre.

Amid multiple hits on the fore shields of Justin’s fighter, he rolled away before adjusting his course. Maybe it’s less effective on the ventral arc.

“Captain, can you hear me?” Grant’s voice filled the commlink.

“Go ahead, Agent. I read you loud and clear.”

“The pirate ship is charging its Lawrence drive. It's imperative you get in there now and disable them.”

“Understood.” Justin clicked the commlink off and locked his eyes on the HUD scanner. Fifty kilometers. He engaged the afterburner and began a roll maneuver that made him dizzy. Each lateral spin brought him closer to the enemy.

“Alpha Two to Alpha One. Watch out, sir. You’ve got two bandits incoming. I think the secret’s out.”

It struck Justin as odd that the enemy wasn’t trying to retreat to the corvette and get back aboard before it jumped out. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on the ever-closing distance. With sudden breaks and course reversals, the continued spinning motion was effective at making the point-defense fire miss. It was also about to make him throw up. At five kilometers, he’d had enough. “Alpha One, fox four.” The moment his finger squeezed the launch button, Justin pulled away.

At full afterburners, the Sabre zoomed into the void with a barrage of plasma in its wake. Justin counted down the seconds to impact as he watched the progress the EMP warhead made on his scanner. The close range he’d released it at made counterfire virtually impossible, especially since the pirates kept trying to blow him out of space.

The blue icon representing the missile merged with the corvette’s red icon, and a few seconds later, the blast wave hit Justin’s fighter. It felt like the hand of God reaching out and tossing the Sabre to and fro. As the craft tumbled end over end, his head collided with the headrest of his pilot’s chair with a jarring thud. As he teetered on the verge of a blackout, Justin triggered his thrusters to slow the tumble and pull out of the uncontrolled maneuvering. Pull out, dammit. Pull out! As his actions started to succeed, he willed himself to stay conscious and get back into the fight.

* * *

“Captain, pirate corvette’s Lawrence drive is showing as disabled. She’s down to fifty percent thrust.”

Grant scanned the tactical plot. The EMP device had done significant damage but hadn’t scored a knock-out blow on the enemy. The Farnborough rocked from repeated plasma-ball impacts as if to underscore that point.

“Missiles inbound… two, four, six anti-ship missiles inbound,” the tactical officer called out. “Sensors detect high-yield fusion warheads.”

“Point-defense to automatic.” Grant had served for years as a clandestine case officer and noncovered operative. Along the way, he’d picked up many valuable skills.

The pirate missiles were of a type not recognized by the Farnborough’s database, which probably meant they were altered civilian models or something from a neutral system. The salvo spread out in the void and appeared aimed for the weakest portion of their deflector grid. Projectile-based autocannons on the Q-ship came to life, flinging thousands of slugs into the projected path of the incoming warheads. Three were destroyed in quick succession.

“Astrogation, all ahead full. Channel the auxiliary reactor power to the thrusters.” Grant held on tightly as the freighter bucked. “I think we’ve let them shoot at us long enough without the use of our complete weapons complement. Pull back the covers, Ms. Douglas.”

The third mate, Aleshia Douglas, nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

Covers on several of the cargo pods lining the sides of the freighter slowly retracted. Four held twin-barrel magnetic-cannon turrets. Others contained high-yield neutron beams, the type mounted on a light cruiser. All were cleverly concealed by trapdoors and false hull plating.

“Ready, Captain.”

“Lock on to their engines with our neutron beams and mag-cannons.”

“Locked and ready to fire, sir.”

“Aim to disable.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Fire.”

Neutron beams in all their bright-blue glory coupled with a burst of mag-cannon shells lashed out from the Farnborough. The pirate vessel dodged most of the shells, its high-speed engines accelerating just enough to juke out of the way. Directed-energy weapons were another story. Since neutron beams moved at the speed of light, there was no getting away from them. They smacked the already-weakened shields of the enemy ship before slicing through the corvette’s hull.

A small explosion dotted out of the starboard-side thruster assembly on the corvette, and the ship began to drift.

“Target disabled, Captain,” Martin said with a tone of triumph. “No incoming weapons fire.”

“What about their fighter screen?”

“Six units combat effective. All ours are alive and well.”

It was only a matter of time. The moment the Greengold arrived, they would deploy the Marines and capture the ship. If Grant was fortunate, they might even be able to tow the corvette into the carrier’s hangar. Probably too much to hope for. As a spy, he’d learned to take what he was given and always try for a little more but never get greedy. Greed got good spooks killed.

“Wormhole opening, five hundred kilometers to starboard,” Douglas said suddenly. “Same signature. Exact same silhouette as the pirate corvette.”

A stream of plasma fire and a neutron beam from the newcomer removed any doubt about their intentions.

Grant barely kept from being thrown into the overhead as the Farnborough rocked. He grabbed the sides of his chair. “Shield status?” he barked.

“Port deflectors close to failure, Captain. Aft is showing stress.”

While the Farnborough had overpowered protective energy screens, it lacked a reinforced and armored hull. As a result, it couldn’t handle a straight-up slugging match. The Q-ship was designed to hit hard, hit fast, and win quickly.

“Comms, where the hell is the Zvika Greengold?” Grant’s calm, unflappable exterior began to unravel. He could see the writing on the wall.

“The last message I received, sir, was they were one jump away.”

Grant studied the plot. It showed the icon for the pirate vessel looping around, presumably for another attack run. “Redirect all weapons to the new hostile.”

“I’ve got a firing solution, sir. Neutron beams and plasma cannons. The mag-cannons will take a few minutes to reload.”

“Fire.”

Plasma bolts raced away from the Farnborough’s nose and two turrets mounted amidships. They tracked the corvette. Some hit its deflectors, while others harmlessly overshot. Much as with the attack on its stricken consort, the Q-ship’s neutron beams struck fast and true. Their energy lashed against the pirate vessel’s shields, creating a bright-green skid effect. Simultaneously, the deceptively small ship matched everything the Farnborough threw at it and then some. Plasma bolts peppered the freighter’s weakened port shield quarter, followed by the coup-de-grace: a full-power blast of a cruiser-sized neutron cannon.

“Captain, we’ve got hull ruptures in holds two, four, and six. Atmosphere is venting,” Douglas said, alarmed.

“Seal it off with emergency bulkheads,” Grant replied. “Maintain fire on the enemy.”

“Sir, we’re not built for this,” Douglas said as she tapped at her console. “The Farnborough can’t take sustained hull damage. We’ll blow apart in the middle.”

Grant was in no mood to hear any opposition. He would defeat the pirates—period. “Maintain fire on the enemy. Or I’ll have you escorted off the bridge and do it myself.”

“Yes, sir.” Douglas stole a glance at the communications officer.

They probably wish the old captain were here. I judged him too weak to accomplish the task. Grant stared at the sensor display as the pirate vessel turned on a dime and headed straight for them. I’ll give the bastards this… they don’t give up either. “Why aren’t we firing, tactical?”

“The last hits damaged our power relays. It's taking longer to charge the weapons enough to fire,” Douglas replied, exasperated. “Minimum charge achieved.”

“Fire,” Grant growled.

Again, the Q-ship lashed away at the enemy with her entire weapons suite. A well-coordinated salvo from her magnetic cannons and the port neutron-beam emitter inflicted severe damage to the corvette’s shields. During the final moment the beam was activated, it bored into the hull of the pirate craft, turning the armor plating molten.

Douglas sucked in a breath, and her eyes got a bit wider. “Inbound wormhole.”

If that’s our friend’s bulk hauler carrier… well, I might be leaving this plane of existence sooner than I’d expected. Grant stared straight ahead. Nothing he could do would change the outcome.

“CDF signature. It’s the Zvika Greengold.” Douglas exhaled loudly enough it that carried a meter to the captain's chair.

“Excellent.” Grant grinned. “Always in time, indeed.”

The artificial wormhole grew larger until it reached critical mass and burst open in a kaleidoscope of color. From it came the bow of the Greengold, followed quickly by the rest of the carrier. While it was still emerging, the newcomer turned toward the enemy. Her point-defense weaponry lashed out at the nearest pirate fighters, and two blue beams of death erupted from her bow, smacking the corvette’s shields. But they caught the undamaged side of the ship instead of the one the Farnborough had wounded.

“Send my compliments to Colonel Tehrani,” Grant said. “And tell her to get the Marines moving. We’ve got a ship to capture.”

* * *

Major Kosuke Nishimura, Terran Coalition Marine Corps, climbed through the hatch into one of three stealth breaching pods lined up neatly in the Zvika Greengold’s main hangar. Each held twenty Marines in full power armor along with their weapons. He’d handpicked each person on the craft, defaulting first to those who’d completed VBSS training on the way to Sol and participated in capturing the League freighter. The remaining few were those whom his senior enlisted man, Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Connor, had picked out and vouched for. Between him and the platoon sergeants, they’d planned to assault the pirate corvette with two pods, leaving one in reserve in case resistance was unusually high. Nishimura felt the craft couldn’t have more than fifty crew members, and none of them could hold a candle to the training and weaponry of a TC Marine.

The interior was cramped even without nineteen other power-armored Marines. One by one, the rest of the team slid in and locked themselves into the anti-grav harnesses. Designed to support the extreme g-forces the pod could subject its occupants to, they also gimbaled around as necessary.

Nishimura toggled his commlink to the command channel, where the pilots of the pods and his platoon leaders congregated virtually. “Warrant, can you hear me?”

“Lima Charlie, Major.”

“Preflight complete?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tehrani spoke on the active channel. “This is Zvika Greengold actual to Major Nishimura.”

“Go ahead, ma’am,” he replied.

“Battle space is clear enough for you to launch. Your target is Master One. Capture her and as many of the crew as possible. Take no undue risks to your Marines. Do I make myself clear, Major?”

“Crystal, ma’am.” Nishimura already didn’t like using stun rounds on clearly hostile military-aged personnel engaging in active combat. That they were criminals added insult to injury. Some people just needed to be put down. The pirates fit the description, as far as he was concerned.

“Allow me to second that, Major.” A new voice cut into the discussion.

Tehrani began, “Agent Grant—”

“I felt the need to underline the capture portion of this mission. If you’re anything like me, Major, you will want to kill every last one of them. Please, don’t succumb to the impulse.”

Nishimura had heard Tehrani and Wright discussing the CIS spook. They had low opinions of him and even lower thoughts on the man’s morality in war. It offended Nishimura to be compared in such a manner. “We’re all clear on our orders, Agent.” He nearly bit his tongue off to avoid a string of oaths. I do not take orders from a civilian. “Permission to get underway, ma’am?”

“Granted, Major. Good hunting and Godspeed.”

“Godspeed to you, too, ma’am.”

The commlink clicked off. Nishimura turned to O’Connor as he strapped in next to him. “Squared away, Master Guns?”

“You know it, sir. Did you see that plasma cannon? Those CIS spooks had a few lying around.”

Nishimura’s eyes widened. Plasma cannons were Saurian weapons—overpowered and deadly weapons, at that. “I wonder where they got them from.”

“Beats me, sir. But they’re good at melting bulkheads quickly, which is why we’ve got them.” O’Connor displayed a toothy grin. “I was very specific with the kids I issued them to… not to use them on people.”

“Launching in thirty seconds,” the pilot cut in through the intercom. “Ensure your tray tables are in the upright and locked position, and please keep all appendages inside the ride until we come to a complete and total stop. Thank you for flying Marine Transport, provided by the Coalition Defense Force.”

The Marines flung out groans, boos, hisses, and a few curse words in response.

Damn CDFers, always thinking they’re our taxi service. Nishimura grumbled good-naturedly. Marines and squids had had the same litany of insults for hundreds, probably thousands of years. “Okay, boys, let’s go get ourselves some pirates!”

10

No sooner had Justin finally accelerated out of his Sabre’s uncontrolled tumble than the inbound-missile warning buzzer blared. Dammit. His eyes flicked to the HUD scanner. Heat seekers. Great. Justin sent half a dozen plasma flares into the void then reversed his course in a classic Immelmann maneuver.

“Alpha One to any friendlies. Multiple bandits on my six.”

The newly arrived pirate corvette had launched more small craft into the fray, though they were still a few minutes out.

“I’m on the way, sir,” Feldstein replied. “Any damage from the EMP? We saw you spin out of control.”

“Singed electronics. Nothing major.” A small miracle, really.

Justin tracked the two hostile fighters on his sensor screen. They’d adjusted to his course and pursued at max thrust. He applied reverse thrusters and slowed his Sabre dramatically, causing both enemies to overshoot suddenly. Without missing a beat, Justin pulled up on his flight stick and accelerated rapidly. He maneuvered up and rolled behind one of the pirate craft as it looped around to attempt a reengage.

Alpha, Mike, Foxtrot. Justin squeezed the trigger for his miniature neutron cannons, sending dozens of blue energy bolts into the void. Enough connected to weaken the aft shields of the pirate craft before it rolled away. Damn, they’re tough. Thinking on his feet, Justin toggled the stores selector to heat-seeking missiles. “Alpha One, fox two.” Two Eagles dropped into the void and accelerated as he poured on the neutron-cannon fire.

A few moments later, Justin was rewarded with a large explosion as the hostile craft blew apart. “Alpha One, splash one.” Now, where’d the other one go?

The missile-lock-on alarm buzzed insistently. Justin’s scanner showed the enemy directly behind him. Well, at least I don’t have to go too far to reengage.

“Alpha Two to Alpha One. Break left relative, sir, and slow down. I’m lining up a guns solution.”

“Acknowledged, Alpha Two,” Justin replied. I hope to heck Feldstein has this timed right. His craft rolled away as he adjusted the heading and used the inertial damping system to kill his forward speed.

Multiple plasma balls slammed into Justin’s aft shielding before the pirate craft overshot, only to run straight into a buzzsaw of neutron-cannon fire from Feldstein’s Sabre. Added to the mix were multiple LIDAR-tracking missiles. The heavy fighter took extreme damage before its pilot ejected, and it exploded a few moments later.

“Alpha Two, splash one.”

Justin let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Feldstein.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“Beta Three declaring an emergency! Master alarm lit, ejec—”

The mayday call from the Boar pilot caused Justin to check his squadron-readiness readout. The icon representing Beta Three turned red, and the life-signs detector on its pilot flatlined. He bit his lip, knowing he had no time to grieve or even think about the loss beyond thinking it could’ve been him.

Justin gritted his teeth and cued the commlink. “Alpha, Beta, form up. We’re too spread out. Marine stealth pods are launching, and another wave of bandits is incoming. We’re going to make them pay.”

“Music to my ears, Alpha One,” Green replied. “You heard the man. Form up on Alpha One.”

Justin accelerated toward the Boars and the rest of his flight element. It was time to finish the job.

* * *

While the stealth breaching pod was not the most comfortable ride, Nishimura felt thankful to be in it. With the enhanced point-defense capabilities of the pirate corvette, the coating on the pod—the same material as on SFS-4 Ghost recon fighters—rendered them almost invisible to sensors. Perhaps if all the tactical officer had to focus on was searching for enemies, they’d be noticed amid the clutter of background radiation, but in the heat of battle, they would likely escape detection.

“One kilometer. Brace!” the warrant officer piloting the craft shouted.

“You heard him!” Nishimura thundered. “Confirm your harnesses are locked. Look alive, Marines.” He glanced to his left, where Master Gunnery Sergeant O’Conner was strapped in. “Got any words, Master Guns?”

“Only that I hope fortune smiles on us,” O’Conner replied, his slight brogue evident. It matched the flag of the Irish Republic on his left shoulder in the country position.

“Yeah, I said some prayers before getting in this tub.” Nishimura shook his head. “ I think this is the most half-assed op I’ve been on. And that’s saying something because of—”

“Stealing a fuel transport fifty light-years from Earth?” O’Conner chuckled. “Everything’s half-assed these days, Major.”

Nishimura sucked in a breath. “Another nonlethal op.” He let out a growl. “As a Marine, I find that distasteful.”

“You ever wonder what happened to that woman who helped us?”

The question was simple, but it touched on something Nishimura had been pondering of late. He bit his lip. “Yeah, Master Guns. All the time. Her name was Flores, you know.” He shook his head. “Wish we could’ve brought her back with us.”

“She made the call.”

“For us.” Nishimura narrowed his eyes. “For total strangers, because it was the right thing to do. I guess you could say I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching.”

“From a Marine? Wow.” O’Conner chuckled. “She must’ve had an effect.”

“More than anything’s ever affected me in terms of my faith, Master Guns.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the pilot. “Fifteen seconds!”

Steely resolve infected every pore of Nishimura’s body and every other Marine in the pod, he suspected. We live for this. Nishimura was actively annoyed with having to collect prisoners, as criminals who preyed on the defenseless were the lowest of the low to him. A man or woman fighting for what they believed—even if it was the antithesis of his beliefs—deserved a level of respect for having the gumption to pick up a weapon and fight. Thugs and criminals… oughta be lined up and shot.

The pod shook violently as it first slammed into then locked on to the hull of the pirate corvette. A piece of equipment that wasn’t secured correctly went flying around the interior, narrowly missing one of the Marines' armor, before it tumbled to a stop.

“Hard seal! Activating cutting beams.”

The pinnacle of Terran Coalition boarding equipment, twin short-range neutron beams were built into the breaching section. Once triggered, they sliced through any known armor and hull alloy, creating entry points wherever the Marines desired.

Nishimura ticked off eight seconds, more than enough for the weapons to do their job. “Warrant, stand by to open the hatch.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Look alive, Marines!” Nishimura pressed the quick-release button on his harness. It came off with a fluid motion, and he reached over to retrieve his battle rifle. “Okay, listen up. Our orders are to capture prisoners to determine the what, who, and why behind these pirate attacks. If your life or the life of a fellow Marine is in danger at any time, the use of lethal force is authorized. Do you get me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the answer from the other twenty Marines crowded around him.

“Warrant, drop the hatch!”

A moment later, the opening to the front of the pod dropped inward, allowing access.

“Execute, execute, execute,” O’Connor called out as he charged forward.

The first Marine on the pirate vessel, he had his battle rifle at the ready. Everyone else fanned out behind him, their movements as smooth as water.

Nishimura was impressed. The lessons they’d learned on the way to and from Sol had stuck. What’s O’Connor like to say? Time to roll the iron dice. He edged into the passageway beyond. “Execute boarding plan Charlie Echo. Split into three elements,” he ordered as his HUD filled with sensor data from within the ship. “First platoon, with me.”

Over the next few minutes, they pushed farther into the vessel, finding few signs of life beyond blinking flat-panel screens and the hiss of air recyclers. Nishimura stayed a few Marines back from the front, his weapon up and his finger on the trigger guard.

A trio of enemy combatants rounded the curved corridor and immediately opened fire. One had a xaser pistol that fired a purple beam, another was armed with a simple slug-throwing rifle, and the third sported a plasma pistol. They looked every bit the definition of swashbuckling pirates, with dingy jackets, long beards, and generally unkempt appearances.

The pirates were no match at all for power-armored Marines. In a matter of seconds, all three were down, stunned on the deck plates, with no losses taken by the friendlies. Nishimura hadn’t even had time to get a shot in.

“Nice shooting, gents.” He scanned his HUD. “Twenty meters farther down this passageway then one over to the left, and we’re at the bridge.”

“Hoorah!” one of the Marines in the back yelled before the rest took up the cry.

Again and again, small groups of enemies attempted to engage haphazardly, only to be quickly cut down by TCMC firepower. As the Marines closed on a four-way junction, Nishimura held up a fist. “Send out the drone.”

A small drone, barely the size of a bumblebee, went zipping down the corridor. The platoon sergeant controlled it, and the footage it captured was shared across their tactical network.

Well, they’re not completely stupid. Nishimura’s eyes twitched as he watched the feed. Over a dozen hostiles lay in wait, some bearing heavy weapons. Screw trying to take these idiots alive. “Cover, Marines. Switch to lethal, AP rounds.” His voice was quiet, just loud enough to carry into the mic while minimizing the odds of the enemy overhearing.

Green lights lit up next to each platoon member in Nishimura’s HUD as the youngsters complied. The Marines’ training meant they kept a smattering of suppressive fire going as each reloaded. Such things were like muscle memory.

The moment everyone reported lethal AP loaded, a nasty grin formed on Nishimura’s face. I’m done screwing around with these bastards. “Full auto, Marines. Waste ’em all!”

As one, the platoon opened up. The roar of a dozen battle rifles spewing bullets at the rate of six hundred per second filled the air. Even through the built-in atmospheric filters of the power armor, the unmistakable smell of propellent was almost overpowering. Return fire was nonexistent, and several defenders collapsed into the passageway. The spreading pools of blood around their bodies left no doubt as to whether they were alive or dead.

Nishimura took in the scene and noted the dozens of little holes in the walls of the passageway where the AP rounds had penetrated. I guess they don’t armor the insides of their ships like the exterior. He smirked. Too bad for them.

“Bulkhead’s sealed beyond this junction, sir,” a private called through the commlink. “Should we blow it?”

“Negative. We’ll use the new toy we got from CIS. The plasma cannon. Heat it up and burn through.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hide all you want. We’re coming for you. Nishimura stared at the obstacle. I should probably switch back to stun rounds. He pondered the thought for a moment. Nah. We’ll wait till we’re outside their control center. I’m not taking any more chances with my Marines’ lives.

* * *

On the bridge of the Greengold, Tehrani surveyed the situation. So far, the CDF forces had acquitted themselves well against the pirates. It helped to be prepared and have the element of surprise on their side for once. Blue light bathed the faces of the crew, making it difficult to make out who was who.

“Conn, TAO. Master Two coming about, ma’am. She’s on a direct intercept course with Sierra One.”

“Farnborough has taken significant shield damage,” Wright interjected. He gestured to a sensor readout on his screen. “Master Two is concentrating its attack on her weakened port quarter.”

While the Q-ship had outstanding deflectors for its size, there simply wasn’t the same armor on her as a military vessel would have.

“We need to end this,” Tehrani replied. Fear of the converted carrier making an appearance at any moment nagged at the back of her mind.

“I can’t believe how much punishment these little gunboats are taking. They’ve got to have destroyer-strength shield generators on them.”

Tehrani glanced at her XO. “Let’s see how they respond to our primary armament.” She set her jaw and turned toward the front of the bridge. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Two. Remember, aim to disable.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

Once again, the blue spears of energy erupted from the bow of the Greengold and crossed the distance between them and the pirate corvette at the speed of light. The concentrated energy of the beams lashed at the protective screens of the enemy, weakening them with every nanosecond. Return fire from the pirate vessel was aimed at the Farnborough as they continued to hammer away at the weakened shields on the Q-ship.

“Conn, TAO. Shield failure imminent on Master Two.”

“Remember, Lieutenant, disa—”

Bright-white light flashed. Even with the filters built into the bridge’s windows, it momentarily blinded most of the present crew.

After a few seconds, Bryan turned in his seat. “Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed, ma’am.” His lips held the outline of a sheepish grin. “I think we got their reactor by accident.”

Tehrani closed her eyes briefly. By Allah, we needed those prisoners. Destroyed ships get us no closer to unraveling this mystery. The one disabled corvette will have to be enough. She forced a neutral expression to her face. “As you were, Lieutenant. Navigation, bring us alongside Master One.”

Wright leaned closer. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Skipper?”

“Any moment, we’re going to be jumped by their converted freighter and have our hands full and more.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I have no intention of tangling with that thing with just our two vessels.” A pity we had to keep up our spread-out deployment to sell this ruse.

“Major Nishimura needs to hurry it up, in that case.”

“Agreed.” Tehrani directed her gaze toward the tactical plot and willed the tough Marine forward, as if that would do anything to help their situation.

11

Yiorgos Samaras sat in nearly total darkness broken only by a few dim lights from a couple of consoles that still functioned. His ship, the Panthir, was disabled and beyond any chance of quick repair. He’d held out hope the engineering teams could restore the jump drives for a retreat, but that would clearly take hours. Assigned the command only a few weeks prior, Samaras found it especially biting that he’d been taken in by a Coalition Defense Force vessel of some sort.

I have to give it to them. Up-gunning a freighter and outfitting it as a lure isn’t something I would’ve thought of. With the Delfin destroyed and their fighters being steadily ground down by the Terrans, he had little left to do except carry out his final orders from Sokratis Papoutsis. The benefactors who’d gifted their merry little band so many ships and weapons had only one overriding rule: no one was to be taken alive.

If the ship weren’t riddled with holes and the power barely functional, Samaras had a button built into his chair that could be used to trigger a reactor overload on short notice. However, it wasn’t working—he’d already tried. He could always abandon his promise and surrender to the CDF. Even if I turned on my brothers and sisters, they’d still put me in prison for life. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my days in a two-meter-by-three-meter cell, never seeing the sun. The Terrans had a reputation for dealing harshly with murderers. What do they call it? Lambert’s Lament. The asteroid prison was supposed to be worse than death. Samaras refused to end up there.

Besides that, he had a family—no wife or children but a mother and two siblings. Their benefactors had clearly stated that anyone who didn’t adhere to the rules would have to live with their families being executed. Samaras sucked in a breath. “Any luck with the lights?”

“No,” the second mate replied, exasperated, as she bent over a control console with its top off. “And I don’t think we will. The problem isn’t here. It’s back in engineering.”

Samaras stood. “I’ll go see what’s taking so long. If we don’t have primary systems back in ten minutes, head for the escape pods. We’ll take our chances farther into the solar system, if we can elude the CDF.”

“Okay,” she replied. “We’ll try not to leave without you.”

As he turned to go, Samaras took in the bridge and his crew one last time in the dim light. Pangs of remorse and guilt flowed through him as he fought over what he must do. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Each step down the passageway as Samaras left the bridge was more difficult than the last. He felt caught between his duty to Papoutsis, whom he owed his life for plucking him out of the slums of Lusitania a decade prior, and his crew, which were also his friends. In the end, duty won, because duty had a ticking clock next to it for his family.

Sounds of weapons fire, both energy and ballistic, echoed down the vessel from side passageways leading toward engineering. Damn CDF must have its Marines aboard already. He quickened his steps toward the objective: a nondescript environment-system-control locker.

Samaras popped the access panel off and climbed in. If he’d been taller than one point seven meters, he wouldn’t have fit. The one time being short comes in handy. Something about the irony made him laugh. A bank of metallic cylinders with reserve oxygen lined the back of the compartment. The one on the very end was special, however. Unbeknownst to the rest of the crew, it contained a nerve agent and was manually disconnected from the rest of the system.

With the finality of a condemned man, Samaras reached back and toggled the release switch to the on position. All that was left to do was wait for the gas to fill the ship. Death would follow—not the painless passing of a reactor overload, but duty would be fulfilled. He sat down and waited for it while pondering the choices he’d made that led to this moment. The self-reflection produced little except empty wishes of choosing a different path.

* * *

Nishimura squeezed the trigger on his battle rifle, putting a three-round burst into a pirate that had broken cover, dropping him in his tracks. The twenty meters from the junction to the bridge was one short firefight after another, and resistance stiffened the closer they got to the nerve center of the corvette. He’d kept his Marines on lethal ammo, mostly to defeat ambushes carried out behind impromptu barricades. The enemy learned quickly that hiding behind a simple alloy desk wasn’t going to save them from counterfire.

“Pulse, over!” one of the Marines shouted before hurling a deceptively small grenade toward a cluster of remaining pirates. The power armor protected the friendly forces from the effects of the pulse weapon but not the enemy.

While they were groping around, unable to see from the bright explosion of light, Nishimura and his platoon cut them down. “Only a few meters more, gents. I can see the promised land from here.”

As a fireteam of four Marines advanced, a woman without armor fell out of a nearby hatch and collapsed onto the deck. She clutched madly at her throat as foam frothed out of her mouth. A moment later, another pirate crawled out of a different hatch farther up the corridor, exhibiting the same symptoms.

“Corpsman! Get the corpsman over here,” Nishimura barked. He knelt next to the woman. “Hey, can you hear me?”

The platoon medic shoved Nishimura aside and ran a scanner over her. “Pulse thready and falling. She’s in shock.” He glanced up. “Major, I’m detecting an acetylcholinesterase inhibitor in her body.”

“In English,” Nishimura replied. Doctors and their long words.

“Nerve agent, sir. Massive dose of it, from what I can tell.” He paused. “It's an aerosol, sir. I’m detecting high concentrations in the air around us.”

Before Nishimura could respond, his commlink chirped.

“Major, this is O’Connor. Do you read me?”

“Go ahead, Master Guns.”

“We were in the middle of a pitched firefight for engineering when the hostiles collapsed, sir. Half of them are already dead, and the rest are on the way. My medic says it’s a nerve agent.”

“That tracks, Master Guns. Same thing up here.” Why would they commit mass suicide? Nishimura’s mind swam. Something didn’t add up. That was for sure. Oh shit. The pilot doesn’t have power armor on. “Nishimura to boarding pods. Seal the hatch immediately. We’ve got toxic gas loose on this ship. Then get your soft suits on.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” the warrant officer flying the pod replied. “Sealed and running tests on the air just to be sure.”

Meanwhile, the medic pulled a vial along with an autoinjector from his bag and applied it to the woman’s neck. He then pulled out a small O2 mask and pressed it against her face. “This thing only has ten minutes of pure oxygen in it. We need to get her out of this environment. I don’t exactly carry a bunch of antidote for nerve gas, Major.”

“In other words, we can’t save that many?” Nishimura asked.

The man shook his head. “No.”

Dammit. We need high-ranking combatants too. Not the deck force. The sudden realization of having to play God bothered Nishimura, even though he’d been playing God for the last ten minutes as they shot their way through a hostile vessel, leaving stunned and dead bodies in their wake. “Where’s this stuff coming from?”

“Probably the environmental control system, sir. Logical conclusion, since it's an aerosol.” The medic shrugged. “I’m not your man for this. Nobody uses chemical weapons, that we know of, but it's still a class in med training.”

“Okay. The corpsman’s going with me. Everybody else, secure the bridge then fan out and find air-filtration-system interfaces. Look for any signs of a delivery system, and for God’s sake, don’t take your helmets off.” Nishimura pointed at two privates. “Get this woman back to the pod.”

“Major,” O’Connor broke in on the commlink. “We’ve got a live one down here. He’s dressed better than the others and was in the air recycler. I think he set the gas loose.”

Why would the commanding officer of a ship kill his crew? “How’s he still alive?”

“Maybe the backflow wasn’t great. Who knows? Not his time, though. We’ve got him on O2 and are carrying him back to the pod. Request permission to return to the Q-ship or Greengold. Whichever can get us in fast enough. This guy won’t survive without sustained medical treatment.”

“Granted,” Nishimura replied. One problem at a time. Get the HVT out and scour the rest of the ship for survivors. “Can you get the gas out of the air?”

“Maybe. Got a couple of guys working on it.”

“Work faster, or we’ll lose them all.” Nishimura switched his commlink to the all-platoons channel. “Listen up, Marines. Search every millimeter of this ship. Corpsmen will treat the survivors if we find any, and we’ll carry them back to one of the pods for exfil.”

One by one, the platoon sergeants signaled their understanding of his orders, and Nishimura took a moment to run what had happened through his brain. Okay, I’ve done a lot of VBSS in my time. I’ve never seen a group of pirates offed by their erstwhile commander. Maybe that spook can sort it out. As the two privates hauling the female combatant turned a corner and disappeared, Nishimura tightened his grip on his battle rifle. “Corporal Lewis! Bring your new toy up here and melt the bridge hatch.”

* * *

“Alpha Two to Alpha One. You’ve got a bandit on your six.”

Justin gritted his teeth as purple xaser beams ripped by the canopy on his Sabre. “I noticed,” he replied with a grunt. “Do you have a lock?

“Negative. He’s still whipping around pretty good,” Feldstein said.

“Forget the Vultures. Switch to heat seekers and send one at him. I’ll break right, positive declination, and lead him into your sights.”

“Wilco, sir.”

The red dot representing the hostile heavy fighter weaved back and forth behind the icon for the Sabre in Justin’s HUD. He’d almost resorted to guns-D to keep the enemy pilot from obtaining a guns solution on him, but Feldstein’s attention changed the nature of the fight. The moment the Eagle heat-seeking missile erupted from her fighter, he pulled hard right on his flight stick, kicked in the afterburner, and ran for his life.

Justin prayed the heat seeker wouldn’t flag the exhaust, which burned at thousands of degrees Celsius as it flew out of the engine manifold at the back of his Sabre, as hostile. Luck was with him as the missile ran straight into the tail end of the pursuing fighter, followed by a barrage of neutron-cannon bolts from Feldstein’s craft. Justin let out a sigh of relief as it exploded, and the red dot disappeared from his HUD.

“Alpha Two, splash one.” Feldstein grunted. “These guys are hard to kill.”

“Better shields than I’ve seen on anything except a Boar.” Justin scanned his HUD, searching for the next target.

Tehrani’s voice on the guard frequency was a surprise. “Attention, hostile fighters. This is Colonel Banu Tehrani of the Coalition Defense Force. We have boarded and captured your remaining corvette. There is no avenue of escape. Surrender now, and we will spare your lives. Continue to resist, and my pilots will run you down.”

Silence came over the commlink. Justin ran through the possibilities as another wave of fighters launched from the Greengold. We might lose another bird or two, but the enemy is now outnumbered.

“What guarantees do we have you won’t kill us on sight?” someone with a rough voice asked.

Justin didn’t recognize it and assumed the speaker was one of the pirates.

“The Terran Coalition honors the Canaan Convention on Human and Alien rights. You will be treated per its stipulations until tried for your crimes.”

Justin recalled the Coalition’s supermax prison—Lambert’s Lament. Housed on an asteroid, it was where the worst of the worst were sent to live out their days or await capital punishment. I wonder if these idiots will get the firing squad.

The rough voice came again. “No summary executions?”

“No,” Tehrani replied quickly.

On Justin’s HUD, the remaining enemies had grouped, and both sides seemed to have paused hostilities as the impromptu surrender discussions continued.

“How do you want to do this, then?”

“Do your craft have ejection systems?”

“They do.”

“Each pilot will eject from their fighter, and our search-and-rescue craft will pick them up. Any attempt at subterfuge or resistance will be met with overwhelming force.” Tehrani’s voice had a hard edge to it—harder than Justin had ever heard from her.

“Agreed,” the pirate replied after another long pause.

One by one, each hostile craft went dead in space, and the pilots ejected as Justin watched on his sensor readout. I suppose they had no other choice. Both search-and-rescue birds launched from the Greengold and made a beeline for the pirates floating in the void along with the two CDF pilots who’d ejected. In what was probably the fastest recovery operation he’d ever seen, they completed their mission and headed back to the carrier with the rest of the fighters flying point. The entire time, Justin sat on pins and needles, waiting for the enemy to arrive with more reinforcements.

They didn’t come. In the end, the recovery was uneventful, and Justin counted himself lucky that for once, no one on the Greengold’s wing had died.

12

The time-honored tradition of an after-action report was one the Coalition Defense Force held up in spades. It took Tehrani the better part of two hours to write hers, taking Wright’s input and ensuring the two agreed with each other, before the formal submission to CDF Command. Then it was time to sit down and discuss what had happened. And prepare for the next phase of our operation, whatever that is. She was a soldier—not a spy and not used to skulking about in the shadows. Give me a target, and I’ll erase it. Leave the spy craft to the spooks at CIS.

Tehrani exited her day cabin and walked the few steps to the hatch for her conference room on deck one, which was assigned exclusively for the commanding officer’s use. She pushed the hatch open and strode in.

“Colonel on deck,” Wright called out as he stood and braced to attention. Everyone else in attendance—Nishimura, Whatley, Justin, and Grant—did the same.

“As you were and take a seat, gentlemen.”

As they sat back down, Tehrani slid into the chair at the head of the table.

“Damage report, XO?”

“Minor hull damage. Still troubleshooting some issues with our port-side point-defense emplacements. Nothing major. The Greengold didn’t lose any crewmen, but two pilots were KIA.”

“Search-and-rescue got the rest?” Tehrani asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

While the loss of two lives meant something, especially to their families, Tehrani felt relieved at the low casualty rate. “Major Nishimura, what of your Marines?”

“Eleven KIA, another dozen or so wounded. Those bastards fought hard—harder than I’ve ever seen criminals fight in my life,” Nishimura replied with a grimace. “I spent three years on a VBSS team, hitting suspected pirates and smugglers weekly. They always gave up after firing off a few rounds to preserve their honor.”

Grant snorted. “Honor among thieves. Now there’s a ludicrous concept. Again, it all points to something more than simple piracy.” A wicked grin spread across his lips. “I intend to ferret out what when I question the prisoner.”

“I’ve been giving that some thought, Agent. We need to get a JAG representative out here to handle his interrogation.”

“With respect, ma’am, we don’t have time for JAG to get someone on a transport and jump them five hundred light-years.” Grant set his jaw. “Besides, our guest isn’t a prisoner of war, nor is he a common criminal. I’m classifying him as a saboteur and subject to the War Powers Act.”

Tehrani vaguely recalled the law being passed during the Saurian Wars; it allowed military tribunals to decide the guilt or innocence. They could also rule on sentences for those found guilty, including alien saboteurs and other irregular forces operating without the benefit of a uniform. The thought immediately made her uncomfortable. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Once I inform the prisoner of his status, I will commence an enhanced interrogation.”

“Is that a euphemism for torture?” Wright blurted out. “Because I’m pretty sure any use of torture in the questioning of a captured POW is against the Universal Code of Military Justice.”

“He’s not a POW. Saboteurs have no rights,” Grant shot back. “I’m not in the mood for a high-and-mighty morality speech, Major.”

“I took an oath to defend the constitution of the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” Wright leaned forward and gritted his teeth. “That includes spooks who would stoop to the lows of our enemy.”

Grant tilted his head back and laughed. “Is the air thinner on your high horse, Major?” His face morphed in an instant to a snarl. “Colonel, heel your dog. I don’t have time for this.”

If looks could’ve killed, Wright’s facial expression would’ve melted Grant into a puddle of constituent fluids on the deck plating.

“You will not address my executive officer or anyone else on my ship in that manner, Agent Grant.” Tehrani’s voice and her eyes were steely as she stared the CIS operative down. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Apparently there’s some intelligence in there somewhere. Tehrani cleared her throat. “Do we know what killed the crew members of that ship, besides our Marines?”

“As much as I’d like to take credit, Colonel,” Nishimura began as he shrugged, “it wasn’t us. Oh, we bagged our fair share, but a nerve agent got the rest. The eggheads will need to sort out exactly what type of compound, but given the foaming at the mouth coupled with violent spasms, I think that sounds like an airborne toxin.”

“Undoubtedly it will be something able to be made with over-the-counter products in neutral space,” Grant mused.

Tehrani detested the tension in the room. Wright still seethed, his face bloodred, while everyone else’s frowns and crossed arms screamed “Go away.”

“What enhanced interrogation techniques would you consider using, Mr. Grant?” she asked.

“You’re not seriously considering—”

“I haven’t agreed, Major,” Tehrani replied, raising her hand. “But I want to know what he has in mind.”

Grant cast a glance at Wright, coming close to sneering at him. “You probably don’t want to know.”

“If you expect to get within twenty meters of the subject, you’ll tell me. Now.”

“Fine. I’m authorized under the War Powers Act to use stress positions, sensory deprivation, mock executions, and psychological stressors.” Grant made them sound as dull as a grocery shopping list.

“What sort of psychological stressors?” Wright asked pointedly.

“Classified intelligence protocols, Major. You have no need to know.”

“Are we really going to let him do this on our ship, Colonel? If we adopt the tactics of our enemy, we become our enemy.”

Tehrani narrowed her eyes. “No, XO, I will not.” She turned to Grant. “You will not conduct mock executions, nor will you use any methods not expressly allowed by the Canaan Convention on Human and Alien Rights. Do I make myself clear?”

Before Grant could speak, Whatley leaned forward. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we stick this piece-of-shit pirate in an airlock and purge the oxygen?”

Everyone turned to face the CAG.

Tehrani’s jaw dropped. I thought I knew him better than that. “I don’t think I heard you right, Major.”

“Well, nice to know someone in here is willing to do the hard stuff,” Grant replied, his voice dripping acid. “Can we get on with this?”

“I will not allow torture on this ship. Period.” Tehrani pursed her lips and felt anger erupt inside. “Now, move on.”

A pregnant pause followed as Wright and Whatley traded glares.

Grant sucked in a breath. “When may I question the prisoner?”

“Once he’s been processed and cleared by medical personnel, and I will personally observe,” Tehrani replied. As Grant opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand. “Take it or leave it, Agent.”

“Fine,” Grant ground out.

“Good. I think we’re about done here. Once there’s actionable intelligence, we can reconvene and discuss our next steps.”

Tehrani was about to dismiss them when Wright spoke, waving his finger in Whatley’s face. “I want to get this straight, CAG. You’re willing to put somebody in an airlock and half kill them to get info?”

“What percentage of the Zvika Greengold’s personnel has been lost in the last year?” Whatley asked quietly yet with his voice full of steel.

“That doesn’t—”

“What percentage?”

“We’ve lost almost five hundred soldiers, so twenty percent. Do you have a point, Major? Everyone on this ship has felt the loss.”

“Two hundred percent. That’s what my wing’s losses amount to, XO.” Whatley’s eyes glinted. “And I’m damn sick of writing the spouses and parents of my pilots, telling them how brave their loved ones are. So if it takes a little torture of some Godforsaken pirate who’s going around blowing up civilians, fine by me.”

Wright sprang from his seat and seemed ready to start something more.

“Enough!” Tehrani slapped her hand on the table.

Everyone froze.

“Major Whatley, Major Wright, you will cease this immediately, or I will relieve both of you and confine you to your quarters.”

Deathly still silence descended over the conference room.

“Are we clear, gentlemen?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” Wright replied quickly.

“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear, ma’am,” Whatley echoed.

“Dismissed. All of you.”

Wright and Whatley were the first two out the hatch, followed closely by Grant and Nishimura. Justin was last in line.

“Captain Spencer, a word in private, please.”

Justin glanced at her then back at the hatch before closing it. He turned, and his arms went rigid at his sides. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Sit.” Young officers—how long it takes them to loosen up. Tehrani thought back to when she was a youngster, learning her way as a newly minted second lieutenant. Better days. Life was simpler then. Once Justin had dropped into a chair, she continued. “Do you feel capable of handling wing commander duties if I require it?”

“Uh, ma’am, I have the utmost confidence in Major Whatley’s abilities. We need him, ma’am.” Justin’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“I respect your loyalty to your commanding officer, Captain Spencer. And I’m glad you have it, but that wasn’t my question.”

“Whatever is required, I will do my duty, ma’am.”

Tehrani tilted her head. “Do you think I was too hard on them?”

He paused. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Granted.”

“Why are we losing sleep over a pirate who’s responsible for dozens of deaths? I read an intel report saying these guys shot down escape pods. Even Leaguers are better than that.”

“Because the rules exist for a reason, Spencer.” Tehrani furrowed her brow. “Not just to be followed, but they give us guidelines and guardrails to live within. In the Terran Coalition, we derive most of our rules from the commonality of our various religions.”

“I know, ma’am, but how can we fight a war with one arm tied behind our backs? It’s not something I am likely to encounter as a fighter pilot. But if I were in combat and I had a captured enemy, I could see putting my pistol to his head and demanding information if it would save the lives of my fellow soldiers.”

Tehrani sucked in a breath. Justin’s earnestness was evident. She felt the need to try to impart some wisdom to the young man. “I hope I am never confronted by the specific situation you outlined, because it would test my ethics and beliefs to the limit. For your consideration, however, I would submit to you that a battlefield event like that and questioning someone after combat are two very different things.” She focused her laser-like gaze on him. “All it takes to start a pattern of bad behavior is a single compromise. Once the first line is crossed, it becomes progressively easier to justify each further action.”

“I know.” Justin bit his lip. “Honestly, ma’am, I just avoided a situation like that myself, so I know what you mean.”

“Then you understand why I reacted so strongly just now, even though I have complete confidence and respect for the CAG. He’s a hero. You all are. But even heroes need to have their premises checked now and then. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’re dismissed. And keep up the good work down there.”

Justin sprang up and came to attention. “Yes, ma’am.” He then turned on his heel and marched out the hatch.

Tehrani was left alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes and let her head tilt back. I have to keep a war from breaking out within the confines of my ship. If not, forget the war outside. We’ll lose before we go into battle again. She resolved to go to the mosque to answer the next call to prayer before returning to her duties. Allah help us all.

* * *

It seemed as if Alpha hadn’t had one of its trademark card games in forever, Justin reflected as he rang the buzzer next to Mateus’s hatch. But it had been less than a week since the last one. Time flies when you're having fun, apparently. They were back in combat and on the sharp tip of the spear, but it didn’t quite feel the same to him. After all, pirates weren’t Leaguers, nor were they an existential threat to the Terran Coalition. But they’re a threat nonetheless.

“If that’s anyone but Spencer, go jump out an airlock,” Mateus called.

With a chuckle, Justin pushed the hatch open and stuck his head in. “Lots of wannabe company tonight?”

“Some crew chief told the nuggets the best way to get on the good side of the senior pilots is to show up unannounced at our poker night with cheap booze.” Mateus narrowed her eyes. “When I find out which crew chief, we’re owning him. I’m talking such an epic prank the ship will talk about it for years.”

Chuckles swept through the small room.

“My credits are on Chief Garcia. He got a bunch of nuggets a few months ago with the hydraulic-blinker-fluid snipe hunt.”

Adeoye laughed. “I remember being told to retrieve a bucket of shuttle wash when I first came aboard.”

“Cable stretcher,” Justin interjected while rolling his eyes.

“Didn’t you get taken in by that one, sir?” Feldstein asked as she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Don’t rub it in,” Justin replied as he sat down with the rest of them. “I still wonder how I fell for that. Such a device clearly doesn’t exist, if you think about it for a minute.”

“Oh, Captain Spencer, the great and wonderful fighter pilot who never fails, falling for a prank?” Mateus exaggeratedly dropped her jaw. “Be still my beating Brazilian heart.”

“Shut up and deal the cards,” Justin said with a grin. “We’ll settle this like civilized people.”

“By me cleaning you out.” Mateus took a swig of beer from her mug. “Seems like an eternity since we did this.”

“Funny, I thought that as I came in.” Justin closed his eyes for a moment. “Anyone else feel slighted by fighting these pirates?”

Feldstein snorted. “Targets are targets. They blow up just as good as Leaguers.”

“Yeah, but…” Justin struggled to find the words he wanted to use. “I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s like they’re the JV team or something. For crying out loud, why would anyone start blowing up freighters to make a few credits during an all-out war?”

“Could be aliens.” Adeoye shifted in his seat. “Who knows what’s out there. Harm both sides in a conflict like this then clean up all the humans afterward.”

The concept didn’t resonate with Justin, mostly because of his understanding of geo-galactic politics. If they weren’t friends, the Saurian Empire was at least friendly with the Terran Coalition. Most of the other races around them had no interest in expansion and coexisted peacefully. The human worlds not in the Terran Coalition were fifty to a hundred years behind the Coalition in terms of technology and couldn’t project military power in any meaningful sense. “Okay, my brain hurts. Deal the cards, Mateus.”

She grinned and fanned the deck of cards out in front of her. “I thought you’d never ask, Flyboy.”

After an hour of play, Adeoye was still in the game, while Mateus had gone on a roll. She’d won almost every credit—all five of them—that Justin had brought with him. Feldstein suffered a similar fate.

“I’m going to grab some crackers,” Justin announced and stood. “Anyone want anything?”

“Another beer for me, please,” Adeoye replied.

“Coming right up.” Justin returned momentarily with the crackers and a beer. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Feldstein quirked her nose. “I’ve found fighting these pirates to be a welcome challenge.”

Justin stared at her. “How so?”

“Haven’t you noticed how a lot of the League pilots we face use the same maneuvers over and over? Little creativity.”

“Yeah.” Justin shrugged. “I assumed it’s because they’re novices and the League has few aces.”

“Perhaps. Or they could rotate their combat aces back to teach.”

She had a point. During the Saurian Wars, there were few CDF super aces because after twenty confirmed kills, a pilot was typically pulled off the front line and sent to train rookies. In the current conflict, they didn’t have the luxury of doing so yet. “Maybe.” Justin shrugged. “As long as we keep eliminating them at favorable rates of exchange, who cares?”

“I don’t,” Mateus replied with a wicked grin. “Leaguers. Pirates… whoever. Bring ’em on.” Her accent grew thicker. “The Red Tails will triumph over all enemies.”

“Amen.” Adeoye raised his glass. “Though I encourage us all to remember we should take no joy from the killing of another human or alien, for that matter.”

Justin had struggled with that, because he felt an adrenaline charge from each enemy fighter he blew apart. And a part of me is proud of it. He’d made peace with the feeling of a job well done after each combat sortie. “I’m not sure if joy is the right word, but I don’t lose sleep over sending these guys off to hell or wherever they end up.”

“You believe in hell, now?” Mateus asked.

Justin shrugged. “I don’t know.” He grinned. “I know, nonanswer. I’ve gone to the chapel a few times. It’s personal.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of in exploring faith,” Adeoye said as he spread his hands on the card table. “I have deepened mine over the last year. It affects each of us differently.”

“I’ve sorta reached the conclusion that something had to have made the universe, and if I could figure out what the something was, maybe I should believe in it. I know you three are all believers, so don’t try to convert me all at once.” Justin gave a short laugh.

Feldstein tilted her head. “Jews don’t try to convert anyone. We make it exceptionally hard to become one of us, actually. But I’m glad you’ve reconsidered. We all need something to hold on to out there, and I don’t think I could do this job without my belief in Hashem.”

“Hear! Hear!” Mateus crossed herself. “I like to believe that God is on our side, helping us to fight the League.”

Justin had heard that sentiment often. A phrase from history, uttered by a wartime president of the United States, raced to the front of his mind. “Shouldn’t we want to be on God’s side?”

The comment got him abject stares.

“I didn’t realize you were an armchair philosopher.” Feldstein raised an eyebrow. “That sounded positively intelligent.”

Justin chuckled along with the rest of them. “Not my words. I forget who said it, but the saying stuck with me.” Me, a philosopher? Hah.

“Enough talk. Time for another hand,” Mateus interjected, spreading the cards expertly in front of her. “Let’s enjoy our downtime, because RUMINT is the moment our guests spill the beans, we’ll be jumping out to fight the pirates again.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Justin raised his beer mug. As they each took a hearty chug, he pondered the words Feldstein had uttered a week prior. I pray I don’t have to see any of these people die. God, please don’t let that happen. Keep them safe and help me lead them with wisdom. With a start, he realized he’d offered up a prayer that didn’t involve imminent death. There was a first time for everything.

13

Tehrani stared through a one-way force field barrier into a small interrogation room in the Zvika Greengold’s brig. While she’d allowed Grant to proceed with his interrogation of the prisoner, nothing was left to chance. Two TCMC sentries were stationed outside, and she watched to ensure the Canaan Convention rules in respect to the treatment of detainees were applied.

The bearded prisoner—a rough-looking bear of a man—was hauled in by two masters-at-arms and deposited at the table. With shackles on his feet and his hands mag-cuffed behind his back, the prisoner presented virtually no risk. His head never wavered, however. It was held high, and his jaw stuck out.

Grant had been in the room by himself for fifteen minutes, preparing. “Yiorgos Samaras, welcome. I am Special Agent Grant, Coalition Bureau of Investigation.”

Grant changes identities as effortlessly as I change my uniform.

The man didn’t reply except to stare with hatred in his eyes.

“Under the War Powers Act, enemy saboteurs are subject to summary trial and execution.” Grant spread his hands out on the table. “If you’d like to avoid that fate, I suggest you start talking.”

“I have nothing to say,” Samaras replied. “Except I want my lawyer.” His English was accented, but Tehrani couldn’t quite place it.

Grant leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I don’t think you understand your situation, Mr. Samaras,” he said with mock politeness. “You and your fellows have participated in piracy and sabotage of the Terran Coalition war effort. One doesn’t just request a lawyer after that.” The smile disappeared. “I want answers. For starters, I can’t find a record of Yiorgos Samaras anywhere in our databases. Or I should say a Yiorgos Samaras with your biometric signature.”

“I value my privacy.”

Whoever this guy is, he’s got spunk. I’ll give him that. Tehrani shifted on her feet.

“A real funny man, I see.” Grant put his hands in his lap. “Are you familiar with enhanced interrogation techniques, Mr. Samaras?”

Samaras maintained eye contact and stayed mute.

“There was a time when the phrase meant things such as, oh, pulling off your fingernails one by one. Staging a mock drowning or extracting a tooth with a pair of pliers.” Grant leaned forward. “You need to come to an understanding that I will do whatever it takes to get the information I need out of you. The sooner you comply, the sooner we can ship you off to prison to serve out your debt to the Terran Coalition.”

“Lawyer.”

Grant reached across the table and slapped Samaras. “Not until I get what I want. Who are you? Who do you work for? Where do these so-called pirates come from, and most importantly, who’s backing you?”

Samaras’s face turned bloodred from the slap. “What happened to the great Terran Coalition’s laws on the humane treatment of prisoners, Agent?” A thin smile came to his lips. “More propaganda from the great religious saviors of the universe?”

“Inter arma enim silent leges. In times of war, the law falls silent.” Grant’s one-hundred-watt grin returned. “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, Mr. Samaras. You see, I’m not with the CBI. I’m actually with the Coalition Intelligence Service, and I’m authorized to use whatever means are required to obtain your cooperation.”

“I will not speak with you. Torture me. Do whatever you like.” Samaras crossed his arms. “I’m done talking.” He glanced behind him. “Guard!”

Grant sprang from his seat and, in an instant, had the prisoner in a choke hold. “I decide when you’re done talking,” he grated out. “Do you understand?” After a few moments, he let his arm go limp.

“I’ll never help you.”

Tehrani stared at the interaction with rapt attention. Something about Samaras was off—most criminals, when confronted by a live, in-the-flesh CIS operative, would lose their lunch. He, on the other hand, acted like it was just another day at the office. I’m sure Grant’s picked up on it.

“You might not want to.” Grant pulled a small case out of his pants pocket and placed it on the table. “But you won’t have a choice. See, the techniques I described earlier are much more fun than technological solutions to making prisoners talk. This”—he gestured to the case—“on the other hand, is the first step in a multistep process to remove the inhibition in your brain that prevents you from answering my questions. By the time we’re done, you’ll have spilled everything.”

What is he doing?

“There’s just one problem. Well, for you. Not for me. The protocol isn’t perfected. So far, it’s left everyone we’ve used it on in a persistent vegetative state.”

For the first time, Samaras’s face blanched as his nose and lips twitched. “You can’t do that to me. It's against your laws.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t care about the law, Mr. Samaras.” Grant opened the case and retrieved a syringe. “For the last time, would you care to answer my questions? If not, we’ll just get on with this. Look on the bright side. If you’re lucky, you might survive with basic brain function and still be able to feed yourself.”

Tehrani had thought Grant’s threats so far were just that—threats. But as he raised the syringe and prepared to inject the hapless prisoner, she knew it was more than a mere bluff. Without thinking beyond the next five seconds, Tehrani dashed out of the observation room.

“Open the hatch!” she bellowed at the two masters-at-arms standing guard outside the interrogation area.

The two young men quickly complied, and the door swung open.

“Stop!” Tehrani shouted as she crossed the threshold to find Grant holding the syringe a few inches from Samaras’s arm. “Corporal, secure Mr. Grant and protect the prisoner.” She turned to the intelligence agent.

“Precisely what do you think you’re doing, Colonel?” Grant asked tightly. “This is a sanctioned CIS action. Please return to your duties.”

If Tehrani had had a sidearm, it would’ve been in her hand after his last comment. Barely controlled fury channeled toward Grant. “You forget something, Agent. The Zvika Greengold is my ship. As her commanding officer, I and I alone decide what happens. If you think you’re going to torture someone on my ship, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“Oh, don’t be daft. You have to break some eggs to make an omelet.” Grant gestured toward Samaras. “He has information we both need to stop these destabilizing attacks on our rare-earth-metal imports. Get out of here and let me do my job.”

“The ends don’t justify the means.”

“Says the loser of every conflict and victors that want to feel good about themselves. The ends do justify the means, Colonel.” Grant’s voice rose. “People like you and the rest of the Coalition Defense Force get to sit high on your moral high horses because of people like me.” Grant sneered at her. “I do the difficult things that must be done—the things no one else wants to do—because it makes them feel bad. Now, get the hell out of here.”

“You will not torture this man. I’ll shoot you myself if I have to.”

Grant laughed. “This is rich. These assholes killed your pilots and crew, and you won’t let me get the information out of him so we can finish the job.” He threw his hands in the air. “Fine, have it your way. I’ll have orders here within the hour to transfer Mr. Samaras to a CIS-controlled vessel.” Grant turned to the prisoner. “Remember what I was telling you about some of those more fun ways of getting info? We’ll be using that first before the techno-toys.”

“Get out.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Now. Until you have orders from my superior to the contrary.”

Samaras stared at her. “Wait. You’re letting him take me?”

“If he has lawfully executed orders to transfer you, I must comply.”

“What if I give you something?” Samaras suddenly appeared like a cornered animal, with sweat pouring off his forehead and his face beet red.

“Go on. If you gave us information willingly, it would help me to say you cooperated with questioning.” What’s going on here?

“I…” Samaras began then bit his lip. He twisted his neck. “Damn you all. You’ve already figured out we’re getting support from an outside source. I’ll tell you this: our objective is freighters carrying lithium, neodymium, and praseodymium.”

“That’s not news,” Grant replied. “We already know that. Try harder.”

“We have a source that provides shipping manifests from the Interstellar Spacers Union. We tag the freighters in the Lagoon Nebula using micro-QETs.”

Tehrani glanced at Grant. “What’s a micro-QET?”

“Quantum entanglement tracker. Very small, expensive, and rare.” Grant’s face relaxed. “You will provide the access frequency and codes to receive the transmission.”

“Fine. That’s all you get.” Samaras shifted in his seat and snarled. “I won’t tell you where the main base is, nor will I give you any further information.”

“Take him back to the brig,” Tehrani said to the two masters-at-arms still in the interrogation room.

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” one of the privates replied.

With firm hands, they hauled Samaras out of his seat and trundled him off.

Left alone, Tehrani faced off with Grant. Anger still pulsed through her veins. She tried to dial it down and regain control. “I will be submitting a full report to my superiors and filing a formal complaint with CIS.”

“For what?” Grant replied.

Tehrani stared at him in amazement. How does this man sleep at night?

Grant tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, Colonel. You played your part so wonderfully.” He smiled at her. “That was all theater for Mr. Samaras’s benefit. CIS doesn’t have the technology I described. A few scientists have tested such a device on mice, but they haven’t made it work yet. Ethics concerns and all. We have our limits, as do I.”

The mental image of backhanding the spy played out several times in Tehrani’s mind. She suppressed it and forced her lips to a neutral expression. “You played me.”

“Too harsh. I played Mr. Samaras. You did your duty. Colonel, the CDF are known as the proverbial white knights. Always eager and ready to do your part for God and country. I don’t have that luxury.” He paused. “Someone once said that nice people get to sleep safely in their beds because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. This is no different.”

“If we can’t uphold the laws of the Terran Coalition, we’re a nation of hypocrites. There’s one thing I detest more than anything in life, Agent Grant—hypocrites.”

“Which I am not. I’m open and honest about what I am, Colonel. But I’ll do whatever it takes to defend my country.”

Anger built in Tehrani. Does he dare suggest I wouldn’t pay the ultimate price? “I would die for the Terran Coalition, Agent. My crew and I have come far too close too many times.”

Grant glanced away for a moment. “In a way, I envy you, Colonel.”

“What?”

“All you have to do is die for your country. I must have a soul as dark as death and do things ninety-nine percent of my fellow citizens would condemn, without medals, recognition, or even acknowledgment. If I died in the course of my duties, the only marker would be a single gold star with no name.” Grant narrowed his eyes. “And it is a price I will gladly pay. Even if my actions condemn my soul to hell, if such a place exists.”

The enormity of what he’d said took a few moments to register with Tehrani as she played the words over in her mind. “You would spend the rest of eternity in punishment for a finite construct in the here and now?”

“Well, if we’re getting metaphysical, I’d flip that around and tell you I was preserving the ability of several hundred billion people to live their faith freely.” He shrugged. “I don’t put too much stock in the afterlife, honestly. Or God, for that matter.”

“Such is your choice,” Tehrani replied neutrally.

“Is this when you tell me to get off your ship and don’t let the hatch hit me in the hindquarters on the way out?”

Tehrani gestured to the opening. “I hope never to lay eyes on you again as long as I draw breath.”

“You know, if you weren’t married, I’d ask you out,” Grant replied cheekily. He seemingly got the message as her face contorted. Her last sight of the intelligence officer was his scurrying into the security area beyond.

The interrogation room was utterly silent after the hatch clanged shut behind him. Tehrani stared at the chair Samaras had sat in for what seemed like an hour, pondering the events she’d just been through. While she was convinced Grant had a dark soul, as he’d put it, the earnestness of his beliefs bothered her. Are we all susceptible to sliding into a pattern of behavior in which the ends justify the means?

Some time later, she left the area, and as she pushed the hatch shut, she hoped that the action was as symbolic as it was real. I hope I never see such behavior again from a Terran. Something told her that hope was in vain.

14

The next morning, Justin received a summons to the deck one conference room during his daily workout. A part of him wondered if senior officers waited until the exact inopportune moment to send such demands. He quickly completed an abbreviated exercise session and hit the shower. Fifteen minutes later, he strode through the hatch into Colonel Tehrani’s meeting space. Emblazoned with the logo of the Zvika Greengold on one end and the flags of the Terran Coalition on the other, the room had become a familiar sight.

Tehrani, Wright, and Whatley were already there, leading him to glance at his wrist comm and realize he was walking in three minutes late. “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered, ma’am.” He braced to attention.

“At ease,” Tehrani replied. “Sit down.”

Justin dropped into the empty chair next to Whatley.

“Nice of you to join us, Spencer. Did we interrupt your beauty sleep? Or maybe those long Hollywood showers you like to take.”

He took the barb from Whatley in stride. “No, sir. I was representing aviation down in the Marines’ gym. You know, the one you’re too afraid to enter because the workouts might give an old man like you a heart attack.”

“Watch it,” Whatley growled. “I’ll school you in the simulator again if you keep that crap up.” His eyes flicked to Tehrani. “Apologies for the language, ma’am.”

Tehrani chuckled. “I expect it out of you flyboys.” Her face changed to a neutral expression. “On to business. Now that we understand where the pirates are tagging their targets for destruction later on, I believe we have an opening to plan a counterstrike.”

“Fighting in a nebula is iffy, ma’am.” Whatley crossed his arms. “Not saying we’re not up to the task, but it's virtually impossible to track ships in a high-energy ultraviolet photon environment, which Lagoon has in spades.”

“I suppose that explains why merchant freighters use it as a waypoint,” Wright remarked. He leaned forward. “We’ve eliminated several of their heavy fighters and two of those up-gunned corvettes. Attacks are down.”

“Yes, but not stopped,” Tehrani replied. “Any loss in rare earth minerals causes delays in munitions and ship construction. Bottom line up front… we must eliminate these pirates by any means necessary.”

Except torture. Justin ran the possibilities through his head as the others discussed the tactical advantages and disadvantages of trying to engage a small fleet in the nebula. Perhaps there was a simple solution. “What if we fight them elsewhere?”

“We would if we could, Spencer,” Wright said. “But unless you’ve got a magic prediction machine, I don’t see how our hit rate will improve. The entire battlegroup is needed to counter that converted bulk hauler they’ve got.”

“All we need to know is where they’re going,” Justin replied. “Doesn’t CIS have tracking devices we could plant on one of their ships, allowing us to find them once the ship leaves the Lagoon Nebula and goes back to its base of operations?”

Whatley glared at him. “How do you propose to place such a device on the hull of a ship, in a nebula, without drawing attention to yourself?”

“Using one of the two SFS-4 Ghost stealth fighters on board.” Justin grinned and put his hands on the table. “And a crackerjack pilot who can fly through anything.”

Tehrani and Wright chuckled, while Whatley snorted.

“Let me find a pin to deflate that ego, Spencer. Okay, let’s suppose for a second you could fly in that muck and find the enemy. How are we going to tag them?”

Tehrani cleared her throat. “I can fill that in, gentlemen. Agent Grant sent over a micro-QET launcher. I believe it’s designed much like an ECM pod and will fit on any standard CDF external wing pylon.”

“We just went from science fiction to mildly plausible, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “But there’s no way to know where the pirates will be.”

“They’ll be where the freighters are. We don’t have to find them. All Spencer has to do is wait by a freighter with rare earths on it. They’ll find him.” Tehrani’s eyes glinted. “Then you follow the fighter back to its carrier, tag it, and get out. Does that about sum up the mission, gentlemen?”

Justin was impressed with Tehrani’s tactical-planning abilities—especially since she was a ship driver, and they rarely grasped the ins and outs of small-craft strategy. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It might help if the pirates’ attention was diverted elsewhere,” Whatley said. “We’ve got a good bit of firepower here. Could rattle their cages a bit, and maybe these guys get sloppy.”

The thought was intriguing. Justin kicked around in his mind how the Greengold could stir the pot. He visualized the galactic map, specifically around the Lagoon Nebula region. “Isn’t there a series of systems used mostly for raw-material extraction one or two jumps from our primary objective? If I remember right, a helium-3 refinery too.”

“The kid might be onto something,” Wright replied. “And yeah, there’s a lot of commercial activity in that area. It’s close to the border, and between Terran Coalition assets, the neutral planets, and megacorps, anything not nailed down is being exploited.”

Tehrani nodded. “XO, put together an operational plan, but I want to be within one jump of Spencer. If the pirates show up in force, we need to be there with equal force. The entire battlegroup, including our stealth-raider friend.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it in your tablet by eighteen hundred hours.”

“Very good. CAG, I expect to have your mission briefing by then as well.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “Meanwhile, Spencer here will be brushing up on his Ghost-piloting skills.”

“I’m sure aviation will be up to the task. Dismissed, gentlemen. XO, stay behind for a few. I want to run something by you.”

Justin sprang from his chair and headed out the hatch with Whatley right behind him. It clanged shut behind them.

“Be nice to be on the offensive for a change,” Justin remarked.

“Don’t kid yourself, Spencer,” Whatley ground out as they walked toward the gravlift. “You might be hunting their carrier in that nebula, but make no mistake. They find you, you’re probably dead.” He wagged his finger. “Do not be a dead hero. I don’t have any use for those in my wing.”

“Not dead yet, sir.” Justin flashed a one-hundred-watt grin. “Not for lack of Leaguers—or pirates, for that matter—trying their best.”

Whatley snorted. “I seem to remember bailing your ass out a few times. I won’t be there to do it on this mission.” His expression softened. “Look, be careful, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the gravlift doors slid open and they walked in, Justin thought about the interminable series of combat missions they flew. When will this ever end? What must we do to finally defeat our enemies? He had no answer.

* * *

Endless amounts of paperwork, training sessions, and evaluations filled the day. Justin sometimes wished for the simplicity of being a crew chief. Yeah, they’re enlisted, but at least they get to do one job to perfection—keep our spacecraft flying. It was nearly 2115 hours before he darkened the door of the pilots’ mess. Dinner service had long since ceased, and Justin got a sandwich and some freeze-dried fruit pieces. He sat at a table near the windows and stared into the void.

Several bites into his sandwich, Justin realized he should’ve pulled away from the busywork a few hours before. This thing tastes like dried crap. The sandwich was almost bad enough to throw away, but he knew he needed nourishment. So he forced each bite. Usually, freeze-dried fruit would be even worse, but he considered it a reward for getting through the rest of the meal.

Just as Justin was about to pull the package open, the sound of a throat clearing behind him got his attention.

“Hey, didn’t want to startle you,” Feldstein said as she got a glass of water and some freeze-dried fruit of her own.

“Am I that jumpy?”

“We’re all jumpy these days,” she replied. “I’m hoping a snack will help me get some rest.”

“In my case, I hope a late dinner does.” Justin shook his head as he opened the dried fruit and popped one of the tiny strawberries into his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good. “I’ve never flown in a nebula before.”

Feldstein made her way over to his table. “Look, I’m not going to sit down, because we’re doing that whole not-eating-together-alone thing, and I respect your boundary. But I’m worried about you, Justin.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Do you realize you volunteer for every dangerous assignment?”

“How’d you know?” he asked, confused. Must be RUMINT.

“Because I know you, and the entire ship’s talking about how Justin Spencer is the hero sent by God to help us win.”

Justin let out a sigh. “I’m not a hero, and I’m sure as heck not sent by God.”

“It’s the ones who deny they are that are usually the real heroes.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Please, stop throwing yourself into harm's way on every last mission. Let the CAG fly something, for crying out loud.”

“His place is operations.” Justin pursed his lips. “I volunteer because I can’t ask others to do something if I won’t do it myself.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“When haven’t you been?” He popped another few strawberries into his mouth. “Fire away.”

She folded her arms. “I’m worried you have a hero complex. Yeah, you continually deny that you’re even one, but I hope you’ll at least consider it. If not for your sake, then because one of these days, it’ll get others killed.”

“I have no desire for glory,” Justin retorted. “Do you see me out there soaking up the limelight? No. I’ve got a job. I do it, and I try to bring everyone home safe. Don’t you trust me?”

Feldstein stared at him silently for a few moments. “I do. But I also think you should examine yourself and try to put some reason behind why the first guy in line for every suicide mission cooked up by Colonel Tehrani and the CAG is named Justin Spencer.”

The anger that welled up within Justin dissipated as he realized she had a point. He sucked in a breath. “You’re right. I sign up for a lot. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I ask.”

Justin tossed the rest of the freeze-dried fruit into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I think I’m going to head back to my cabin.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Good luck out there tomorrow.” Feldstein cracked a smile. “I won’t be there to bail you out.”

“I’ll be okay.” He winked. “Besides, who knows—maybe you’ll need me to save your bacon.”

Feldstein rolled her eyes. “I don’t eat bacon, remember?”

“Yup.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Justin laughed and tossed his plate in the receptacle for dirty dishes. “Guilty as charged. See ya tomorrow, Dvora.”

“Good night.”

A dozen steps, and Justin was back in the passageway, headed to his stateroom. The entire walk back, he pondered what she’d said. Am I turning into a glory hound? I don’t think so. Perhaps guilt played into his actions. I don’t want anyone else to die because I didn’t step up. Justin briefly considered going to talk to Father Elliott about the epiphany but decided against it. The morning came early, and he still had one last thing to do before he went to sleep. More accurately, try to sleep.

Justin touched his finger to the security panel next to his cabin’s hatch and went through as it popped open. He set his tablet catty-corner on the table without bothering to change and engaged the camera function. After confirming the device was recording, he began. “Hey, baby. I’ve gotten into this habit of recording a video for you and Margaret before I go into a particularly risky mission.” He bit his lip. “Not sure how I got it started, but it's something I’ve done for several months now. If you get this, I perished in the line of duty.” How antiseptic the words sounded when put like that.

“Know that I volunteered for the assignment because I thought I could make a difference. Because the Terran Coalition must win. If we don’t, a darkness unlike any the human race has faced will swallow us. It’s my duty to act as if I’m the only thing standing between us and them.” Justin forced a smile to his face. “I love you. I love Margaret. I love our son, who, if you get this, I will never know.”

Tears began to stream from his eyes. “This holo is different, though. You see, I’ve made a change recently. I did something stupid, Michelle. I… Well, what I did doesn’t matter now. This war, it’s eating me alive. My friends keep dying, and any day, my number could be up. We go into space knowing there’s a decent chance today’s our day.” He sniffed and wiped his face. “After what I did, I ended up going someplace I never thought I would. The chapel. Yes, that’s right. Your husband talked to a pastor.

“There’s gotta be something more, Chelle. I’ve reached that conclusion. It gives me some kind of solace. And the idea that if I die, maybe I’ll see you and the kids again sustains me in this fight. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t yet accepted Jesus as my savior. I’m still pondering that and everything it entails. But if you get this, please, pray for my soul.” Justin gulped. “Okay. I’ve got to get some rest and get up bright and early tomorrow for this mission. I love you. Give my best to Margaret, and tell her I fought for something worth dying for and that I regret I couldn’t do more. Godspeed.”

Justin touched the tablet and turned off the recording before wiping away the tears on his uniform sleeve. A few moments later, he’d stripped off his uniform and climbed into bed. Staring at the overhead in his bunk, he dreaded the next day and more than that, the torment of sleep. The faces and memories of friends lost never gave him a moment’s rest. Justin thought about praying, but his heart wasn’t in it, and so he turned onto his side and closed his eyes.

15

Justin woke forty-five minutes before his alarm after barely getting four hours of sleep. He’d tossed and turned all night, thanks to the nightmares that still plagued him. As he stared at the overhead, he pondered the hours to come. Deciding there was no point in attempting to force more sleep, especially when the day was soon to start, Justin climbed out of bed.

The morning passed in a blur as Justin went through his usual workout, showered, and ate a light breakfast. Once he’d completed the mundane tasks, he reported to the Red Tails ready room in his flight suit, to find it empty except for one man—Major Whatley. As Justin pushed the hatch open, he came to attention upon seeing the CAG.

“At ease, Spencer.” Whatley pointed at one of the leather chairs. “I assume you were coming by to check your flight plan one last time.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin pursed his lips as he walked across the room and sat down. “I double-checked the micro-QET launcher already. Amazing what the spooks have at their disposal.”

“Quite.” Whatley took a seat next to him. “I wish I were going with you on this one, son.”

Justin felt touched by the hint of concern the CAG’s words held. “Thank you, sir. You’ve trained us well.”

“Have you ever flown in a nebula before?”

“Only in sims.”

Whatley snorted. “Listen, it’s beyond anything else you’ve done. Sensors won’t work right. Shields will be disrupted by the high-energy photons present and won’t protect you as well. This is not an environment ships or people are designed to thrive in. Do you get me?”

“I do, sir. Get in, tag the pirates, get out. Contact the Greengold.”

“Exactly.” Whatley nodded. “Meanwhile, we’ll be patrolling the systems in range and hoping to get lucky. You could be out there a while. Ghosts are rated for forty-eight hours’ endurance.”

Justin grimaced. “I know. There’s plenty of water and k-rats in there. Those so-called nutrition bars are disgusting.”

“So is getting blown apart by a freaking pirate. Remember to hook up your waste tube into the bladder and jettison it if you’re in there a while.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin chuckled. “Well, I guess I’d better strap in, sir. Launch in thirty minutes.” He stood.

Whatley rose as well. “Take care of yourself out there. I’ll have the other Ghost ready to support you, just in case.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed, Captain.”

Justin turned to go and took a few steps toward the hangar before Whatley’s voice rang out.

“One last thing, Spencer.” Whatley stood at crisp attention.

“Sir?”

“Godspeed, son.”

“Godspeed to you, too, sir.” Justin straightened as tight as a board before turning on his heel and crossing the distance to the flight deck in record time. He didn’t want Whatley to see the emotion on his face. Once outside the ready room and striding through the busy hangar, Justin paused to retrieve his flight helmet from the numbered Red Tails lockers. From there, it was a short distance to the SFS-4 Ghost.

I never thought I’d fly another one of these things. Justin stared at it. He’d flown the same craft in the attack on Sol. CDF Command had been nice enough to let the Zvika Greengold keep two of them.

“She’s all fueled up, ready to go, and ground preflight complete, sir,” a crew chief called as she jogged up and snapped off a salute. “Anything I can get you?”

Justin returned her salute before replying, “No, Chief. If it’s all the same, I’ll climb in, do my preflight, and stand by to get underway. Colonel Tehrani wants me in space by oh seven hundred, and it's already oh six thirty.”

“Roger that, sir. Godspeed out there.”

“You too.” As Justin put one leg on the first rung of the ladder leading up to the fighter’s cockpit, he realized that the old animosity he’d felt whenever someone mentioned God was gone. I am changing. That’s for sure.

It took a few minutes to settle into the pilot’s chair and configure everything precisely to his liking. Justin toggled a few of the displays to secondary modes, as he preferred how they displayed information. He sealed his flight helmet and performed a pressure check. All was a go. “Alpha One to flight.”

“This is the boss. Negative on Alpha One call sign, Captain. We’re going with Epsilon One for this mission.” The air boss was the senior officer in charge of all flight operations within a fifty-kilometer radius of the carrier.

“Understood, ma’am. Epsilon One has completed preflight, and I’m ready to depart on your order.”

“Stand by, Epsilon One. Colonel Tehrani would like a word.”

Tehrani’s voice filled the commlink. “Can you hear me, Captain Spencer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wish you good luck out there and pray that Allah may bless your mission and return you safely to us. As I’m sure the CAG has already said, don’t take too many crazy chances.”

“In triplicate, ma’am.”

“May we meet again, insha Allah.”

Justin wasn’t sure what the Arabic saying meant, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. “Thank you, ma’am. Godspeed.”

“Tehrani out.”

A few moments later, the air boss cut back in. “You’re cleared to depart, Epsilon One.”

“Acknowledged.” Justin toggled his engines from idle to full power and accelerated out of the hangar bay, directly into the void. The Ghost raced away from the Greengold, each second putting more distance between him and the carrier. At five hundred kilometers, he pulled up the navigation computer and double-checked the coordinates for the Lagoon Nebula. They were supposed to drop him near a freighter carrying large quantities of rare earth minerals.

“Justin, can you hear me?” Feldstein’s voice cut into the commlink on a private channel.

What? He toggled his mic. “Yeah. Where are you?”

“I’m bouncing a signal off my Sabre’s comms system. Look, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I was out of line, and I don’t want to take a chance on those being our last words.”

Justin closed his eyes for a moment. “They won’t be, and neither will these. Why’s everybody acting so weird?”

“Because you’re flying into a nebula, Justin.”

“I guess there is that,” he replied with a chuckle. “All I’m doing is tagging a bad guy. That’s it. No heroics.” We cannot be having this conversation. Everything in Justin’s mind screamed they were getting too close to each other again, and he wouldn’t take the chance.

“Okay. I’m praying for you.”

Again, Justin marveled at how even a month earlier, he would’ve bristled at an offhand comment about prayer. Today, he welcomed it. “Thanks. I gotta get the Lawrence drive calibrated and engaged. See you on the flip side, Dvora.”

“You too.”

The private channel disappeared, leaving Justin in silence. Nothing was left to do except finishing plotting the jump. Using the Ghost’s navigation system, he entered the XYZ coordinates provided by Lieutenant Mitzner. Once validated, the navcomp’s Lawrence drive activation button turned green. Here goes nothing. Justin pressed his thumb on it, resulting in a satisfying click. “Epsilon One engaging FTL.”

Similar to the effect on a ship, the screens dimmed throughout the cockpit. Justin could’ve sworn the life-support heating system blinked for a moment, causing the craft to grow momentarily colder. A spacial vortex formed in front of the fighter and grew larger by the second until it encompassed the Ghost.

Justin scanned the wormhole and confirmed it was stable. He increased his throttle, sending his fighter into its beckoning maw. Immediately, Justin closed his eyes for the transit. He’d learned the hard way during the attack on Sol that watching the interior as his craft flew through was a recipe for coming close to vomiting.

A few seconds later, the Ghost popped out the other side, and Justin opened his eyes. The first thing he realized was how different the void of open space was compared to the interior of a nebula. Brightly colored clouds of ionized gas were laid out in front of him. They ranged from orange to red to blue. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. Awestruck, he took a minute to quit staring at the beauty of the stellar nursery and focus on his task.

A streak of energy Justin could only describe as akin to lightning erupted from one cloud to another, barely missing his craft. That was enough to bring him out of his rumination. He tightened his grip on the flight stick and kicked up the throttle to half of maximum speed. Okay, time to start looking for this freighter.

Sensor returns were short-range at best. Justin scanned his HUD and saw flickering contacts at three hundred kilometers, but there wasn’t enough resolution to determine what they were. If they’re anything. They could be energy discharges, for all I know. He decided to implement a grid search for the freighter and used the navigation computer to plot a series of waypoints. A button press later, the autopilot was engaged.

Justin sat back, brought up the expanded sensor screen, and stared at it, looking for contacts. Time passed slowly, and after fifteen minutes that felt like three hours, he realized he was no closer to finding the freighter than when he’d started. I’ve got to trust the process. Run the grid search, ID groups of possible contacts, then run them down.

In the face of fear and doubt, Justin had a sudden inspiration. I say I believe in something. Might as well try to place my trust in it. “Hey, uh, God,” he began, feeling silly and strange. “I’m still learning how to do this. Please help me out here. I need to find these pirates, avoid being blown apart by gas clouds, and make it back to the Zvika Greengold.”

He glanced at the small picture of Michelle and Maggie stuck to an out-of-the-way portion of the flight control panel. “Just if You’re up there, help me get back to my family.” Justin closed his eyes. “In Jesus’s name, amen.”

Well, either I’m losing it, or maybe God heard me. Hey, it can’t hurt. The search continued as Justin stared at the sensor screen, marking down possible targets.

* * *

System XB-0813-C

Neutral Space

28 August 2434

Tehrani smoothed her black space sweater down as the Zvika Greengold emerged from its artificial wormhole through the void into the first waypoint on their patrol. She ticked off the five seconds it took for their sensors to come back online.

“Conn, TAO. Reading multiple contacts clustered around the in-system Helium-3 refinery. Freighters, mining vessels, personnel shuttles.”

“Populate the board with Sierra contacts, TAO.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The tactical plot on Tehrani’s monitor sprang to life with dozens of green icons, denoting the vessels as nonhostile but not friendly Terran Coalition units. Exactly where they should be.

“We could do a high-speed pass and really freak them out,” Wright said and chuckled. “Thirty-minute cool down on our Lawrence drives has commenced, ma’am. No ill effects detected from the in-nebula jump.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes.” Bryan held his breath. “CDF signature, ma’am. Marcus Luttrell, Astute, Earnest Evans, and Vasco da Gama classified as Sierra Twenty-Six through Thirty-One.”

Tehrani’s mind went back to Justin Spencer, who was alone and trying to find a needle in the middle of a cosmic haystack of gargantuan proportions. Any rumination on the mission plan left her feeling guilty for leaving one of their best pilots behind. She assuaged it by reminding herself how important it was they dealt with the pirates.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh said, cutting into her thoughts. “I have a request for vidlink from the Raifuku Maru’s skipper. He identifies himself as the ranking captain on scene for the Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies corporation.”

Megacorps. The Terran Coalition detested few things more than corporations so large they aspired to be nation-states—aside from the League of Sol. A century ago, antitrust laws had forced most megacorps beyond the Coalition’s borders and into neutral space. Some neutral systems welcomed them with open arms, such as Hestia. Others fought tooth and nail to keep the corporations out.

Tehrani set her jaw. “Put him on.”

A few moments later, a man with a peculiar presentation appeared on the screen mounted above her head. “Hello, Terran Coalition vessel. Can you hear me?” While his hair and facial appearance were normal for a human, the man was dressed in what could almost be described as livery. It held lively colors of purple and teal, making for one of the oddest uniforms Tehrani had ever seen.

“This is Colonel Banu Tehrani, commanding the CSV Zvika Greengold and her battlegroup, Mister…”

“Sabastian Isais Nilo Ramires. Shipmaster Ramires of the Raifuku Maru. You’re in violation of our asteroid-mining and helium-refining operations. Leave at once.”

“Under the treaties negotiated between the Terran Coalition and the Organization of Non-Aligned Planets, Coalition Defense Force vessels have full right of passage throughout any nonsettled system in this region.” Tehrani crossed her arms. “We’re conducting freedom-of-navigation exercises and have no interest in your operations.”

Ramires paused, narrowed his eyes, and tried to puff out his chest. “I see. In that case, we have no objection to your being here. Do not come within one hundred thousand kilometers of our property.”

Or what? You’ll throw rocks at us? Based on the long-range scans the Greengold had already conducted, it didn’t appear most of the civilian ships could fight off a small band of determined pirates, much less a carrier battlegroup. “We’ll be jumping out in twenty-eight minutes, Mr. Ramires.”

“Raifuku Maru out.”

The screen went black.

“Pleasant fellow,” Wright remarked. “Surprising, since he looked like what I’d imagine a court jester did a thousand years ago.”

Tehrani snorted out a laugh. “His getup was quite interesting.”

“So, what’s the plan, Skipper?”

“Cool off our drive, jump to the next system, and hopefully rattle our pirate friends enough to make a mistake Spencer can exploit.” She turned toward him. “The same plan we had half an hour ago.”

“Touché. Just checking.”

As the minutes ticked away, Tehrani worried about Spencer’s safety. One thing was for sure: she doubted she would’ve volunteered for a solo mission in the middle of a star-birthing nebula. May Allah watch over him.

* * *

Sokratis Papoutsis strode onto the bridge of his command ship, the Argos. His first mate had requested his presence only a few moments before. The bridge had been reworked to rival a military vessel’s combat information center, and dozens of crew members lined consoles dedicated to sensors, fleet control, and weapons.

“Report,” he barked.

“Boss, we’ve got a CDF stealth recon fighter at extreme range. The thing’s going in and out,” Parish replied, pointing to the holographic projection of the nebula around them. “But it's conducting a grid-pattern search.”

A conclusion was easy to draw: either someone from the Panthir had talked, or the Coalition’s vaunted signals intelligence arm had come through again for them. Neither was positive. Papoutsis set his jaw. “How close to us?”

The hologram shifted to show a projected grid pattern based on the CDF craft’s position tracking. The craft’s path brought it steadily closer to the small fleet.

“I see.” Papoutsis clenched his fist. “Where’s the rest of their force? Specifically, the escort carrier?”

Parish touched the screen, and the holographic display shifted. “They’re making a lot of noise, jumping from system to system in the buffer region between Terran Coalition and human-occupied neutral space. Seem to be sticking to systems with no military or habitation presence.”

“They’re showing the flag,” Papoutsis said with a snort. “How many corvettes do we have ready to jump?”

“Eleven, boss. Everything else is ready. Hey, you’re not thinking of—”

Papoutsis glowered at him. “Why not? They’ve got an escort carrier with fewer weapons than we have and three escorts. Two of them are Saurian frigates over thirty years old, and the other’s a destroyer named after a guy who barely survived combat.” He snorted. “I’m sick and tired of running from the Terran Coalition and their goody-two-shoes CDF thugs. They’re no better than the Galters—or the League, for that matter. All are the same… impose their will on the rest of us.”

By that point, the entire bridge crew had stopped what they were doing and paid close attention to the conversation between Papoutsis and Parish.

“Order all units to form up. Plot a fleet jump for the Zvika Greengold, and we’re going to kill all those bastards until they quit sending them!” By the end, Papoutsis’s voice had risen to a roar. Part of the bravado was for show, to keep their morale up. Some of it was real.

“Yes, boss!” one of the navigators yelled.

The entire company began to cheer wildly.

Papoutsis smiled. It would feel good to eliminate the carrier and the ships supporting it. Then they would go back to getting rich. He glanced at his underling. “Oh, and send one of our better pilots to deal with the interloper here. I don’t want him making it back. Clear?”

“On it, boss.”

16

“Lawrence drive cooldown complete,” Wright said from his perch in the XO’s chair. “Ready to jump at your discretion, ma’am.”

Tehrani glanced around the Zvika Greengold’s bridge, taking a quick read of her crew. Nervous. They’re all nervous. Not that she could blame them—any moment could bring word from Spencer or a hostile threat from the pirates. At least Battlegroup Z was concentrated, for once. “Thank you, XO.” Her eyes flicked toward Mitzner. “Navigation, plot Lawrence jump for the next system on our patrol list.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Less than a minute elapsed before Mitzner’s voice rang out again. “Jump plotted and inputted into the nav computer, ma’am.”

As Tehrani sent the mental command to her mouth to order a jump, Bryan interrupted. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes.”

“More freighters, maybe?” Wright asked rhetorically.

“Maybe it’s a rival megacorp,” Tehrani replied.

“Conn, TAO. Lusitanian signature confirmed,” Bryan said, his volume rising. “Ten—no, eleven corvettes, same design as the pirate vessels we’ve faced so far.” He bent over the tactical console, double-checking something. “One bulk hauler jumping in now. Same drive signature as the pirate carrier.”

Tehrani’s eyes grew wide, and she checked her own tactical plot just to be sure. The pirates are hitting mining operations now? It didn’t make sense on the face of it. Their MO was to attack freighters heading to Coalition space. Unless they’re here for us. The thought made her blood run cold, as it suggested other, more ominous possibilities. “TAO, designate all new contacts as hostile. Do you have a projected course?”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Designating the carrier as Master One and the corvettes as Master Two through Twelve. They’re loitering around the jump-in point. Range from Master One is roughly three hundred thousand kilometers. The rest of the hostile contacts are tightly clustered around it.”

So far away was the enemy that Tehrani hadn’t called for general quarters yet. This is neutral space—it’s not our responsibility to defend. She set her jaw. “I don’t like our odds against this fleet, even with our entire battlegroup.”

“Concur, Skipper,” Wright replied. “Might be time to punch out. We don’t get paid to defend megacorps.” He quirked his nose. “But it strikes me as mighty odd for them to show up here just as we do.”

“You’re not the only one.” Tehrani directed her attention to the tactical plot. “Navigation, lay in a parabolic course away from the enemy. Prepare for Lawrence drive jump.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The stars shifted outside the windows directly to the fore of the bridge as the Greengold rotated in the void. Some of her escorts were briefly visible maneuvering around them and taking up flanking positions, per standard CDF combat doctrine.

“Conn, Communications.” Singh stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Ma’am, I’m getting a lot of traffic between Master One and the megacorp shipmaster. They’re transmitting in the clear.” He paused. “The pirates are demanding to know why they’re working with us. There’s something in here about protecting money too.”

Wright put a hand to his forehead. “Great.”

“Shipmaster Ramires is attempting to explain that we announced we’re on a freedom-of-navigation exercise. Pirates aren’t buying it,” Singh continued. He glanced up. “They just shut off communications, ma’am.”

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, all hostile contacts. They’ve gone to max sub-light and are headed directly for Sierra Eight.”

The Raifuku Maru.

“Dammit.” Wright exhaled loudly. “Those freighters are too far inside the gas giant’s gravity well to jump out before the pirates get there if my admittedly poor math is right.”

Tehrani double-checked her screen. “Mine’s not much better, but I concur.” She closed her eyes for a split second. “We can’t leave them to face the pirates alone, especially if we’re the cause of the attack. It would go against everything the CDF stands for.”

“How do you propose an escort carrier, a destroyer, two frigates, and a stealth raider take on a converted carrier and eleven overpowered corvettes plus God only knows how many fighters and bombers?” Wright stared at her with his mouth agape.

“The same way we’ve done it every other time we were outnumbered ten to one. Superior skill, training, and perhaps some help from Allah.”

Wright leaned in. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?”

“No.” Tehrani smiled slightly. “You’re not.”

“Okay. Then let’s kill these guys and go pick up our wayward pilot. By the time we’re done here, he’ll probably have single-handedly waxed every pirate in the Lagoon Nebula.”

Tehrani suppressed a smirk at her XO’s smug prediction of victory, which she knew was a front. He gets worried every time I take us into direct ship-to-ship combat—as he should. The Greengold was up to six battle stars on her hull. Typically, those honors were reserved for escorts and capital ships. It wasn’t lost on her that someday, their number would be up. “Communications, patch me into 1MC.”

“1MC tied in, ma’am.”

“Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill.”

The overhead lights immediately dimmed and switched to a deep blue.

“Conn, TAO. Material condition one set throughout the ship, ma’am.”

“TAO, raise shields. Charge the energy weapons capacitor. Bring our point-defense systems online in automatic mode.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Navigation, intercept course, Master One.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Communications, direct the Astute to move off and seek targets of opportunity while staying within fire support range.” Her Starbolt missiles may yet prove useful if deployed at the proper time.

“Whatcha thinking, Skipper? I doubt a straight-up slugging match is going to work here,” Wright said as he bent over his screen, staring at the clusters of blue and red dots.

“Pick off some of their escorts, hope they make a mistake or two that’ll help us, and finish the carrier off once the herd is thinned.”

“Conn, Communications. Inbound vidlink request from Ramires, ma’am.”

Tehrani let out a deep sigh. “Oh, I suppose he’s going to yell at us for helping.” She rolled her eyes. “Put him on, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Can you hear me?” Ramires shrieked as the screen above her head came alive.

“Yes, we read you.”

“Well, what are you going to do? The pirates said they’re going to destroy our operation. This is all your fault. They said we were working with you!” Ramires seemed to teeter on going into hysterics.

“Shipmaster, calm yourself,” Tehrani replied in a formal tone. “The Terran Coalition will not tolerate piracy near its borders. We’re moving to intercept.”

“Do you have enough ships? Your force looks… small.”

Only a megacorp shipmaster would be stuck-up enough first to insult us then to ask for our help and complain about the number of men and women putting themselves in harm's way to defend his sorry ass. Tehrani flexed her hand into a fist a few times, out of view of the camera that pointed down from the overhead. “I have every confidence in Battlegroup Z’s ability to engage the enemy, Shipmaster. However, if any of your vessels have military capabilities and are willing to fight, we’ll take all comers.”

Ramires’s face twisted and blanched. “Uh, well, the Raifuku Maru is a freighter and not capable of fighting. I don’t think any of our other commanders would feel like they could contribute in a meaningful way without getting their ships shot out from under them, but I will ask.”

Above all, Tehrani detested cowards. Since the Maru was the largest ship in the Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies formation, sporting multiple neutron beams, Ramires’s words were hollow and reeked of his being perfectly willing to allow others to die in his place. She kept the disgust off her face and smiled thinly. “Thank you, Shipmaster. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a battle to fight.”

“Of course. Raifuku Maru out.”

“Why don’t we send a bill to HQ after we’re done for expenses rendered?” Wright asked. “Charge enough to retire.”

Waves of laughter rippled from those within earshot.

Even Tehrani was amused, not that anything was funny twenty minutes from combat. “Splendid idea, XO.” She tilted her head. “We’re going to need everything we’ve got from the hangar. Get twenty combat spacecraft ready for launch—eight Sabres, eight Boars, and four Maulers.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied. “Four Sabres and four Boars are on ready five now. It’ll take twenty to thirty minutes to get the rest lined up for launch.”

“Tell them to hurry, as if their lives depended on it, then get everything else in our hangar ready to go right behind them.”

“Aye, aye.”

Time seemed to crawl as the Greengold and her battlegroup raced toward the enemy formation at seven percent of light speed. A sudden inspiration hit her. “Communications, get me an open commlink with Master One.”

Wright’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “What, Skipper?”

“Maybe they’ll leave if we ask nicely.”

“Well, it’ll be good in-flight entertainment if nothing else,” Wright replied with a smirk.

“You’re on, ma’am,” Singh interjected. “I’ll route any response to your monitor.”

“This is Colonel Banu Tehrani, commanding the CSV Zvika Greengold, to commander hostile formation.”

Several seconds passed before an image of a human male appeared above her. He wore a brown spacer uniform, and his face was twisted into a sneer. “Do you wish to surrender, Terran?”

Tehrani smiled. “No, but I see no reason for our conflict to affect neutral parties.”

“Any human—or alien, for that matter—consorting with the Terran Coalition is a valid target for us. Surrender now, and we might spare your lives as we liberate your equipment to fund our cause.” His voice held a definite Greek accent.

Sounds like a true believer to me. “I will not allow you to harm these merchants and miners.”

The man shrugged. “You can try, but your weak force will be overwhelmed by the strong.”

“I think not.”

”We’ll see if you change your tune after the battle, because when we’re done with you, there won’t be anything left to bury.”

The vidlink went black as the connection cut.

“I think they hung up on us, Skipper.” Wright snorted.

“Worth a shot. I’d rather not fight with Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies vessels here. It’d be an awful black eye if a bunch of civilians were killed—even megacorp civilians.”

“Conn, TAO. Fifteen minutes to weapons range, ma’am.”

The imminent onset of hostilities served to focus Tehrani’s mind. She closed her eyes and whispered in Arabic, “Allah, protect us as we do battle with the enemy. Grant us victory over this foe who blasphemes Your name. Strike the evildoers so that Your name may be known throughout the heavens.”

“Amen,” Wright said.

Tehrani turned her head and grinned. “Amen, indeed.”

Time marched on as the red and blue dots rushed at one another.

17

Even beauty can be tedious. After two hours of staring at gas clouds, that was the only conclusion Justin could reach. Gone was his endless fascination with the stellar nursery in its raw state. He just wanted to find the freighters, tag the enemy, and get back to the Greengold, hopefully without being fried by the energy discharges randomly erupting from the energy fields around him.

Justin had carefully plotted several groups of possible contacts during his grid search. However, the first two contained nothing but highly charged plasma pockets. Ships had possibly been there, but there was no way for him to tell.

He was on the way to the third set of coordinates. It feels odd to be out here alone. Justin missed the camaraderie and banter of the rest of Alpha element. A few pangs of fear worked their way into his brain as he dodged discharges of ionized gas. If I take one of those head-on, I’m dead. Alone. No one would ever find me. The consideration was sobering.

Scanning the sensor display in his HUD, Justin perked up a bit at the tightening resolution of a contact. By the looks of it, something big too. The range between him and the target vessel dropped quickly. With the extremely low visibility of the nebula, Justin couldn’t make anything out until he closed within five kilometers.

The hull of a freighter loomed out of a cloud of bright-green gas, energy discharges crackling around it and off the vessel’s shields. To avoid ramming the ship, Justin wrenched his flight stick to the side, barreling away from the oncoming hazard. Too close. Between deep breaths, he began to reconfigure his sensor system.

With the cargo ship located, Justin’s focus shifted to finding the enemy. The entire operation was predicated around the idea of the pirates tagging vessels in the nebula, where they couldn’t be seen. Once he figured out the course and speed of the freighter, Justin began a slow and steady loop around it.

A few times, a whisper of a contact appeared on his HUD, necessitating a quick change in direction to intercept. None panned out, however, so Justin persisted, circling the vessel again and again.

After twenty minutes, a kernel of doubt appeared in his mind. Maybe I’m at the wrong ship. They could’ve already tagged this one. Justin pulled up the expanded sensor screen in his HUD and superimposed the possible contacts he’d plotted during the grid search. Two remained, though they were much farther away. At least an hour of flight time at max speed, assuming a direct course. Which was unlikely, thanks to the gas clouds and energy discharges. The pirates might not even be here.

Following a few minutes more of circling, Justin decided to try his luck at the next possible freighter location. He rotated his craft away, pushed the throttle up to maximum, and settled in for another long trip through the nebula.

Even though as a trained, battle-tested fighter pilot, Justin knew to keep constant watch of his visual situational awareness, inside the never-ending nebula, he relaxed. The first indication that was a severe mistake was his Ghost rocking to the side and the aft-shield strength indicator dropping like a stone.

What the hell? Justin’s first instinct was he’d taken a glancing blow from one of the energy ribbon discharges, but as his deflectors continued to collapse, it was clear that wasn’t the case. He wrenched the fighter to the right, and the hits abated for a moment. Shit. Someone’s out here shooting at me.

As Justin’s heart skipped a few beats, energy-weapons fire flashed by his cockpit canopy. He began a series of wild maneuvers, hoping to throw off his pursuer and turn the tables. A pang of fear built in his soul, as there was no one else out in the muck to help him. If I’m going to die, it will be alone.

* * *

“Conn, TAO. Thirty thousand kilometers to maximum weapons range, ma’am,” Bryan called out.

The words roused Tehrani from her pondering of the tactical plot. With numerical if not quality superiority as well, the pirates had spread out into a double-wing formation. They seem to want to envelop us. There was no indication they’d detected the Astute, which was looping around to catch the hostiles in the flank. “Flight status?” she asked Wright.

“Eighteen craft in the void, ma’am. CAG’s leading the charge. We should have the rest of our birds out within five minutes.”

“Good. Send the Boars and the bombers at the corvettes. We need to knock down as many of those things as possible, quickly—before we’re overwhelmed.”

“Concur, ma’am,” Wright replied as he sucked in a breath. Blue light played over his face, making his nose seem more prominent than usual.

“Navigation, adjust our heading to zero-four-eight, declination six degrees. Communication, signal the battlegroup to match.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

“Conn, Communications. All vessels acknowledge your orders, ma’am.”

The icons representing the CDF ships shifted on Tehrani’s monitor, heading toward the formation of hostiles off the carrier's starboard bow. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Six.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

Tehrani counted down the seconds as they traversed the distance remaining to the enemy fleet. The moment the red line representing the Greengold’s weapons range crossed the first red icon, she spoke. “TAO, set primary fleet target as Master Six.” She counted out three seconds. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

The blackness of the void came alive with bursts of color. Blue neutron beams reached out from the Coalition vessels, crisscrossing the darkness and smacking the shields of the pirate corvette. The Marcus Luttrell let loose with a withering barrage of magnetic-cannon shells backed with anti-ship missiles, while the Earnest Evans and the Vasco da Gama added their own weaponry into the mix.

The pirate ship’s shields buckled under the onslaught, flaring brightly before blinking out. Multiple Starbolt warheads, magnetic-cannon shells, and neutron beams laid into its armored hull. The corvette returned fire with its plasma-cannon emplacements and meson emitters while taking more punishment than a vessel its size had any right to endure. After a good ten seconds of pounding, one of the Coalition neutron beams connected with something vital, and the ship blew apart from what appeared to be a reactor explosion.

“Conn, TAO. Master Six destroyed, ma’am.”

Watching the carnage and picking a new target, Tehrani knew they were in for the enemy’s counter-attack. Her chair seemed to pitch up as she gripped the sides. “TAO, set primary fleet target as Master Seven.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

The remaining four corvettes swept through the small battlegroup. Rather than split their fire, they concentrated everything they had on the Vasco da Gama. The Saurian-turned-CDF frigate initially bore the attack well, rotating to present its ventral shield to the enemy. Between a stream of bright-red plasma balls and a missile that made it through the vessel’s point defense, the ventral shields failed, and small explosions from the plasma balls dotted the hull.

Wright tapped Tehrani’s arm. “Skipper, Sierra Three’s taking damage to her engines.”

His voice held concern. She shared it, as speed was a fast space-warfare vessel’s true advantage.

As she watched, the da Gama slowed further. “We’d better order her out.”

“Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from Major Whatley, ma’am. He’s engaging the pirate’s fighter cover and requests we avoid neutron-beam fire as his wing approaches.”

“TAO, warn the fleet to avoid firing in the direction of the CAG’s formation.” While a space-superiority fighter easily avoided most weapons in a CDF warship’s arsenal, neutron beams moved at the speed of light and could destroy small craft with even a glancing blow. Better not to take the risk.

“Ma’am, we can’t afford to reduce our firepower,” Wright said as he leaned in. “Everything counts right now.”

“And if a power conduit blows from the engine to the reactor on the da Gama?” Tehrani shook her head. “I won’t be responsible for the needless deaths of two hundred soldiers.”

Wright pursed his lips and finally nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Communications, signal Sierra Three to jump out to deep-space rally point Charlie.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

On the tactical plot, Whatley and a mass of small craft engulfed the nearest pirate corvette. Tehrani prayed he would be successful before having to break off to engage the inbound enemy fighters. Two down would even the odds, if only for a few minutes. Allah help us.

18

Rolling away from another burst of energy-weapons fire, which was barely discernable against the backdrop of the nebula, Justin got dizzy. He blinked a few times as the world spun from multiple barrel rolls. Keep it together. Affixing his gaze on a gas cloud and steadying his right hand on the flight stick, Justin tried to regain the initiative. First, I’ve gotta find this guy.

The scanner was next to useless. Sensor echoes, false readings, and energy signatures littered the display, but when Justin zoomed in, a persistent blip seemed to be following him. Maybe that’s the enemy fighter or drone or whatever the hell they’re using. He pulled back hard and sent his Ghost into a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn.

Immediately met with more red bolts of incoming fire, Justin squeezed the trigger on his neutron cannons. He fired blindly in the general direction the bolts originated from, with no illusions of hitting the target. His sole hope was to give the hostile something else to think about besides him.

The commlink beeped with an incoming message. Justin glanced at it for a split second and realized it was on the guard frequency. Who’d be transmitting on that out here? Hopeful that perhaps one of the freighters had seen him or could help somehow, he toggled the channel. “This is Captain Justin Spencer, Coalition Defense Force. Go ahead.”

A bitter laugh hit his ears. “Did you think someone was here to help you, Terran?”

Shivers shot down Justin’s spine as he realized the voice belonged to the person trying to kill him. “Well, color me surprised. I wouldn’t expect a pirate to up and surrender.”

“I’m not surrendering, Terran. Why are you here in our nebula?”

Justin scanned his HUD. No contacts beyond the flickers. “I wasn’t aware you’d formed a nation-state and laid claim to it. My bad. Did I miss the border inspection station?”

More laughter issued from the commlink. “You’ve got some spunk, Terran. That’s better than most of you God botherers. Always blabbering on about how everyone else isn’t as good, and the Terran Coalition is the ultimate arbiter of justice.”

Mildly confused, Justin hoped the conversation was distracting the other pilot. Because it's sure as hell distracting me. He looped around, avoiding gas clouds and searching for the hostile craft. “We’re here to protect innocent freighter crews from being blown out of space by the likes of you.”

“Not so innocent, though, are they? Carrying materials for your war machine.”

“What’s it to you?”

The other man snickered. “So, tell me this, Terran. Why do people who cling to faith in some fairy-tale man in the sky go around killing people? Your ship has murdered dozens of my friends in the last few days. I thought killing was against your supposed Godly laws.”

“We kill in self-defense against enemies that attack us. That’s not murder.” With a start, Justin realized he’d not even thought to challenge the pirate’s assumption he was a believer. Wow. I have changed.

“Allow me to share some wisdom with you, Terran. The fairy-tale man doesn’t exist. All that’s out there is what we can hold with our hands and see with our eyes. Nothing else matters.”

“I used to think that,” Justin replied. He whipped around an energy discharge and reversed direction yet again. Wait. Triangulate the comms signal! Suddenly it made sense why the other pilot was engaged in the conversation. “But I’ve changed my mind.” Justin quickly configured his sensor array to lock on to the other signal.

“A Terran that doesn’t believe?” The pirate’s voice shot up an octave. “Surprising. Not surprising that you were forced to change.”

“No one forced me. I… I realized there’s proof of a higher power in the beauty of the universe. In how everything fits together and how it’s finely tuned for life. I’m still not sure what God is, but I know He’s there, and I’m searching for Him.”

“In that case, Terran, I guess I’ll be doing you a favor.” The harsh chuckle returned. “After all, you God botherers seem to think there’s life after death. You’ll find out shortly.”

Justin’s sensor screen blinked with a new contact. Gotcha. He flipped his Ghost around and accelerated to maximum thrust. “Maybe.” LIDAR tracking missiles were out of the question, but Justin decided to try a heat seeker. Toggling the selector switch to launch two warheads at a time, he calculated the speed of the enemy craft. It’s got to be running on afterburners, because it's moving too fast to be solely ion engines. “Maybe not.”

“Oh, God going to intervene on your behalf, Terran?”

The enemy craft blew by, less than five kilometers away on the Z-axis from Justin’s fighter. “God helps those who help themselves.” He pulled back hard on the flight stick, pushing himself and the Ghost to its limit. The moment the heat-seeker lock-on cone was achieved—thirty degrees from aft—he pressed the launch button. Two Eagles dropped from the internal weapons stores and zoomed away. Justin watched them on his sensor screen. God, if You’re watching out for me, now would be a good time.

* * *

One of the downsides to being the CAG of any embarked air wing in the CDF was lack of flying time. For Gabriel Whatley, it had almost led him to reject the post in favor of continuing as a squadron commander three years ago. Now, he only launched in emergencies, which was a blessing and a curse. It guaranteed a target-rich environment where he could take out his frustrations on the enemy, but if he was fighting, the odds weren’t looking good for them to win.

Strapped into a Sabre and rocketing toward the enemy was where he wanted to be, however. Spencer’s not having all the fun for once. He keyed his commlink to the all-pilots channel. “Alpha One to all pilots. Bandits steady at bearing zero-zero-zero, range one thousand kilometers.”

While the Greengold, her battlegroup, and the pirate corvettes slugged it out, the enemy carrier stayed to the rear of the formation. As a result, it had disgorged its craft farther away from the battle than perhaps it could’ve, which was fine by Whatley. All it means to us is we get to fight it out without point defense from either side getting in the way.

The distance steadily closed between the two formations, and Whatley took the time to examine the enemy. There appeared to be twenty-eight of the heavy fighters previously observed along with six to eight bombers. Clustered tightly together, the small pirate craft were so close that sensors had a hard time determining exact numbers.

“Sir, I can tell you from experience we’re outgunned here.”

Whatley recognized the voice of Feldstein, who was using a private commlink channel. He cued his mic. “Do you have an operational suggestion based on previous engagements, Lieutenant?”

“It would be better to engage them within range of the Greengold’s point-defense emplacements, sir.”

“Should we ask them nicely to follow us back, Lieutenant?” Whatley’s voice dripped acid as he spoke.

“Sir—”

“Lieutenant, we’ve got one mission here. Kill these bastards before they get into range of our battlegroup. Period. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That means we’re going to kill them and keep killing them, and when we’ve killed the last one, we’ll blow up their carrier and send them all to hell. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“Good. Now, get off this channel and do your damn job.” Whatley clicked the commlink off without waiting for a reply and pulled up his internal-stores display.

After quickly confirming Vulture LIDAR-tracking missiles were selected, he switched to dual-launch mode. “Alpha One to all pilots. Stand by for maximum range. Dual-launch mode. Put as many Vultures as you can into the void.” Having read over the after-action reports, he’d already determined the best way to fight that particular enemy was to flood the battlespace with warheads then close in and mix it up.

The tactical network computing system that linked all CDF craft assisted in massed targeting of missiles, ensuring even distribution. Whatley settled into a vector toward one of the closer enemies at the front of the formation, and his LIDAR lock-on tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called as he mashed the launch button.

“Alpha Two, fox three.”

“Beta Four, fox three.”

Other pilots across the wing called out their launches. The void came alive with streaks of ion-engine exhaust as both sides flung dozens of warheads at each other. On Whatley’s HUD, the scanner was so full of red and blue dots that he lost situational awareness.

The missiles passed each other in the inky blackness of space while the ECM systems went to work. Roughly half the warheads were spoofed by advanced electronic countermeasures used by both groups of fighters. Many of the others fell prey to chaff, but more than a few struck home. Two CDF Sabres disappeared, blown apart by concentrated fusion explosions, while three pirate fighters exploded from multiple warhead strikes.

“Alpha One to all pilots. Break, break, break,” Whatley said, his voice tight. “Close in and engage. Weapons free.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Whatley noticed that Adeoye was heading directly for the nearest craft to him. Neutron-cannon bolts and unguided rockets blasted away from his Sabre. For a moment, Whatley thought he was seeing things. Ground-attack rockets? What the hell is he doing? As the warheads struck home, the pirate craft’s deflectors dropped like a stone. In short order, the fighter was a burning wreck that exploded in a bright ball of flame before flickering out as the onboard oxygen supply quickly exhausted itself.

“Alpha Three, splash one.”

“Lieutenant, were you using ground-attack rockets?”

“Yes, sir,” Adeoye replied. “They worked well against League bombers. I thought they’d do the same here.”

“Brilliant.” Whatley was rarely left speechless, but this was one of those times. Spencer’s got some sharp cookies over here. I should quit discounting him and his pilots.

His eyes flicked back to the HUD’s sensor screen. He wasn’t kidding when he said these guys are high-quality combatants. The pirate corvettes were in the process of making another attack run on the Ernest Evans and the Vasco da Gama, though the da Gama was trying to retreat.

“CAG, those frigates are getting shot to hell. Request permission to break off and engage the attacking corvettes,” the voice of Lieutenant Green came in on a private channel.

For a moment, Whatley considered rebuking her, but he knew it was unlikely the da Gama would make it out without help. “Granted, Lieutenant. We’ll keep the enemy off you for a bit. Take an element of Maulers too.”

“Yes, sir. We’re on it.”

As Green and her Boars roared off toward the ongoing battle between the corvettes and the Greengold’s battlegroup, Whatley did the math. With the continued loss of hull stability in the da Gama, there was no way they’d make it in time. The stricken frigate tried to open a Lawrence drive portal. Bright crackles of energy radiated out from the artificial wormhole before it collapsed on itself and spread out. One of the arcs intersected with the da Gama’s forward hull and blew the bow off. A chain reaction began, and explosions dotted the length of the vessel before it blew apart in uneven chunks no more than a meter wide.

Stunned, Whatley could only stare and wonder at the horrific loss of life. No escape pods were launched. God help us all.

A new pirate fighter to attack in the target-rich environment was only a few seconds from his grasp. He determined to even the odds as much as he could. These bastards are gonna pay with their lives.

19

The glare from the reactor explosion that had just claimed the Vasco da Gama still cast a shadow over the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. Tehrani’s mouth went dry as she contemplated the loss of yet another vessel and the more than two hundred soldiers manning it. Her gaze went back to the tactical plot. The pirate corvettes were massing for another attack run, but the other wing was sweeping up behind the Greengold’s battlegroup.

“Sierra One is reporting full alpha strike ready, ma’am,” Wright said as he stared at the fleet tactical network link. “Only seeing a couple of life pods off Sierra Three.”

Tehrani felt the Marcus Luttrell, combined with their forward beams, ought to inflict some damage. There’ll be time for grief later. “Navigation, shift us ten degrees to starboard. Signal all escorts to follow. TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Eight.” She sucked in a breath. “Set primary fleet target as Master Eight.”

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

The closest enemy ship made a decent target, as it had the tightest turn and most predictable path.

On Tehrani’s monitor, the enemy forces edged closer to weapons range before accelerating. The moment they crossed the line, she spoke. “TAO, signal Sierra One to engage.”

Despite its deceptively small size, the Gladius-class destroyer packed a punch. A volley of magnetic-cannon shells raced away from the Marcus Luttrell’s turrets, packing EMP warheads to drain shields, followed by neutron beams and a brace of anti-ship missiles. The weapons fire crisscrossed with a stream of plasma balls and meson energy from the enemy. Shields on both sides lit up like Christmas trees.

“TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.” Tehrani held on for dear life as repeated impacts from the hostile barrage hammered the Greengold’s defensive screens.

The four pirate corvettes to the front of them filled the void with a variety of energy weaponry, most of it directed at the Greengold’s forward shield. Amid the maelstrom, the carrier’s bow came alive with two beams of blue light that connected immediately with the enemy ship receiving the most attention from the CDF vessels. Its shields flickered then blinked out, and the neutron beams sliced through the armor, turning it molten. A few moments later, the corvette blew apart in a powerful explosion.

“Conn, TAO. Master Eight destroyed, ma’am.”

My tactical officer’s calm demeanor in the face of overwhelming odds says a lot about what we’ve been through the past year. Tehrani leaned forward. “Navigation, come to heading zero-eight-five, all ahead flank. Signal the fleet to join our maneuver.”

“Trying to recharge our fore and port shields, Skipper?” Wright asked.

Tehrani nodded. “Exactly. Drop them, cycle the generators, and get back into the fight. Hopefully before the hammer drops.” She was cutting it far closer than was prudent, but it was still their best chance to eliminate the pirate threat once and for all. Allah help us, because these scum need to be wiped off the face of His universe.

A group of new icons suddenly appeared on the tactical plot, clustered together and roughly two thousand kilometers away from the group of corvettes that had just attacked them.

“Conn, TAO. Starbolt missiles in the void… headed for Master Ten.” Bryan turned his head around. “Running hot, straight, and normal.”

“And that would be the Astute,” Wright murmured. “Right on time.”

“It’s becoming a thing,” Tehrani replied dryly. “They might lay claim to our motto.”

Wright snickered. “Nah, Skipper. We’ve got that down to a science.”

Tehrani’s gaze remained glued to the plot as the eight anti-ship missile icons raced toward Master Ten. Point-defense fire felled three of them, but the rest pressed onward and merged with the dot representing the hostile vessel.

“Conn, TAO. Master Ten disabled. Make that destroyed, ma’am.”

Four down, seven to go. Battlegroup Z had eliminated three of the pirate corvettes outright and disabled a fourth. The enemy seemed to have no desire to break off the engagement. Rather, they were pressing forward. They can absorb the losses. We can’t.

A group of Mauler bombers rushed forward. While the enemy's point defense was ineffective against the advanced technology of the Starbolt missiles, it seemed to be more than up to the challenge of defending against small craft.

First one Mauler then a second and a third exploded in quick succession from massed PD fire. “XO, warn the CAG off,” Tehrani said through gritted teeth. “Direct him to use the Boars to take out those turrets first.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied somberly.

Tehrani felt despair rear its head. Think, Banu. Work the problem. What else can we do? She stared at the monitor, searching for a solution.

* * *

Justin supposed it was too much of a stretch to think the Eagle missiles he’d launched would find and disable the enemy, but almost any outcome would’ve been better than the one he got: both were actively tracking his fighter. He deployed several rounds of flares and maneuvered wildly.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Trying to flush me out, Terran?” The enemy pilot sounded amused.

“More like blow you up,” Justin replied as he whipped the Ghost around and narrowly missed one of the warheads. It exploded a hundred meters behind him, sending his craft into a wild spin.

“That’s a real religious sentiment right there. I’m surprised you weren’t thinking about burning me at the stake instead.”

Justin regained control of his fighter and studied the HUD’s integrated scanner. He saw no sign of the pirate. “Again, you’re the one trying to kill me.” If I can keep him talking, maybe I can triangulate his position once more.

“I wonder if the League is any better than the Terran Coalition. I’ve seen the videos in which they promise universal income and a life geared toward the betterment of your mind.”

“You could always present yourself to a League cruiser and ask for asylum to find out,” Justin replied snarkily. “I figure it's all hogwash.” He recalled what Nishimura had said about what the League transport officer had told him. “And even if it’s not, it comes with an all-controlling government that dictates everything you do.”

The other man laughed. “If I didn’t know better, Terran, I’d wonder if I was fighting a politician out here. That was pretty good for a simple pilot.”

“Terran Coalition, you know—always the overachievers,” Justin replied.

Two possible contacts had materialized on his HUD. He wasn’t sure which one, if either, was the enemy. The closest dot was a few hundred kilometers in front of him. With all the twisting and turning to avoid his own missiles, Justin had no idea which way the pirate had gone. I suppose it comes down to a guess. Supposedly our sensors work better in the forward-facing arc. I hope I read that right.

A few minutes passed with no further communication between them. Justin kept glancing to his right, left, and above. It seemed that nothing quite beat the mark one human eyeball in the depths of the nebula.

“Still out there, Terran?”

“Oh, I love flying through plasma fields, getting shot at, and trying to kill the guy doing it before he kills me. But aside from that, just peachy, you know?”

Laughter echoed out of the commlink. “Under the right circumstances, Terran, I’d buy you a drink. But I’m afraid today isn’t the right circumstance.”

“I’m not sure I could say the same.”

“Why? Because I’m a nasty, murderous pirate, out killing innocent spacers?”

Justin scanned his HUD. “For starters, yeah.”

“Would it surprise you to know I was once a dashing officer in the CDF?” The man’s voice turned bitter. “I even believed in the fairy-tale man who supposedly controlled the universe, ensuring justice and right.”

“Then how’d you end up doing this?” Justin kept a careful watch on his HUD.

A long pause came over the commlink. “I made a mistake. And like the holier-than-thou hypocrites the rest of you are, instead of forgiving me, they tossed me out on my ass like a used piece of trash.” He laughed. “One thing led to another, and I needed to put food on the table. My marketable skills? Flying spacecraft, so here I am.”

“Even if I believed that, it's no excuse to kill innocent civilians.” Almost there to see you off. Justin squeezed his lips together as he closed within a few kilometers of the contact. The cloud ahead cleared momentarily, and there was nothing there. The specter of panic gripped Justin’s heart. Work the problem. He took a deep breath and scanned his HUD once more. If the bandit isn’t in front, he’s gotta be behind.

“Overconfidence, Terran. That’s your downfall.”

Justin killed the inertial dampers in his Ghost and reversed heading to fly forward while the nose of his craft pointed backward. The familiar shape of the pirate heavy fighter erupted from a gas cloud at nearly point-blank range. Justin held down the trigger for his neutron cannons.

Dozens of blue bolts stabbed into the void. Many connected with the enemy craft. Though it tried to maneuver away, the range was so close that Justin could easily track and maintain continuous fire. A few moments later, one of the fighter’s wings blew off and tumbled away.

“Well played, Terran. Not a trick I’ve seen bef—” A harsh screech of static followed.

As the fighter exploded brightly, Justin stared at the glow. Within a few seconds, no trace was left.

Surprised to be alive, Justin pondered the other pilot’s last words. Why didn’t he use the last breath he had to curse me? Something about it made him consider the hate he’d felt rising for the League over the previous year. Justin laid his head back and did a quick check. Moderate damage to his control surfaces, with at least one hit causing stealth reduction. All in all, not bad for nearly getting destroyed.

Time to go back to the Greengold, have my bird repaired, and get some grub. Justin keyed in a course away from the gas cloud and changed his commlink channel to the ship-command frequency. “Spencer to Zvika Greengold. Come in.”

A few seconds passed before Lieutenant Singh’s voice echoed in his ears. “Captain Spencer, we’re under attack by massed enemy forces.” A string of coordinates appeared in his navigation computer.

“Say again, Lieutenant?”

“The pirates sent everything they have at us. If you can return to assist, that would be most welcome.”

They knew I was here the entire time. The guy I just popped was just tying off a loose end. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

No reply came. Justin plugged the numbers into his Lawrence drive and hoped he wouldn’t be too late to affect the battle.

20

Punch and counter-punch continued between the Greengold, her battlegroup, and the pirate forces. While Tehrani had more skill in tactical combat and exploited the pirates' relative inexperience in fighting as a cohesive group against them, it seemed to be only a matter of time before the CDF ships would have to retreat. She studied the tactical plot, searching for anything to use against the enemy. They have too much volume of fire compared to our shield strength.

“Whatcha thinking, Skipper?” Wright asked quietly.

“It might be time to go. If we were defending Terran Coalition citizens…”

“It might be different, but I’m not interested in sacrificing everything for a megacorp.” Wright said the last word with borderline disgust.

“Exactly.”

“It’s still our best chance to stop these pirates, ma’am.”

I know. Tehrani closed her eyes for a moment.

“Conn, Communications. I’ve got an inbound transmission from one of the civilian ships, ma’am.”

“Put it on.”

The screen above Tehrani’s head came to life with an image of a man in uniform similar to that of the other megacorp vessel, though it was more utilitarian. The outline of a sidearm could be made out in the lower left quarter of the screen. “Colonel Tehrani?”

“With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” she replied with mock politeness.

“Sentinel Ohmedov, Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies, security division. I want to apologize on behalf of the corporation.” He set his jaw. “I’ve got a small force of four vessels here with upgraded shields and weapons. With your permission, we’d like to join the fight.”

Tehrani’s jaw dropped so far that it nearly rebounded off her legs. “That would’ve been nice thirty minutes ago.”

“I regret we were prevented from joining you.” Ohmedov pursed his lips. “I expect to be terminated by the company, actually. But my crews and I are united in a belief that others shouldn’t die in our name without us at least making ourselves useful. Please, let us help.”

His words resonated with Tehrani. She nodded. “Very well. My communications officer will link you into our tactical network. Follow my commands, Sentinel. That is the only requirement.”

“Aye, aye, Colonel Tehrani.” Ohmedov’s face disappeared from the monitor, leaving it blank.

“I guess pigs are flying today,” Wright said with a smirk.

Tehrani snickered. “Maybe they are, but I’ll take all the help I can get at the moment.”

“Conn, TAO. The Astute’s launched another wave of Starbolts, ma’am.”

Immediately, Tehrani’s gaze went to the tactical plot. A group of eight icons rapidly gained on one of the pirate corvettes. It twisted in the void, straining to avoid the kill shot, but failed. Caught out of position, its consorts couldn’t provide adequate fire support from their point-defense weaponry. Seven out of eight warheads slammed into the vessel’s shields, and when the glare faded, another enemy ship had vanished.

“Conn, TAO. Master Four destroyed, ma’am.”

That brought their total to five corvettes out of the fight. Six to go plus the carrier. On the small-craft front, Tehrani had concerns they were losing the battle. The pirate fighters were soaking up a lot of damage, and they’d destroyed two Maulers, a Boar, and a Sabre so far.

“Conn, TAO. They’re coming back around, ma’am, on a vector for our port quarter.” Bryan paused. “I’m having difficulty getting our deflector cohesion up. We need to drop them to recharge.”

These pirates know their business. Their tactics reminded Tehrani of a pack of wild animals hunting wounded prey. “We’ll take a shot at that after this next pass, Lieutenant.”

They were probably looking for a knockout blow before the civilian security vessels got in range. It’s what I would do.

Incoming plasma-cannon and meson fire raked the Marcus Luttrell’s shields, hammering them down. As she was ahead of the Greengold in formation, the destroyer took the brunt of the attack. Pieces of hull were blasted off along with at least one point-defense turret. Vaper trailed from multiple hits as the battered ship fought back with everything she had. Neutron beams and magnetic-cannon rounds raced away from the Marcus Luttrell and smacked the lead corvette.

“TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Eleven.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

The damaged pirate vessel took the twin blue beams in stride and rotated at the last moment to present an undamaged shield arc. Return fire in the form of plasma balls and anti-ship missiles lashed out at the Greengold. While the Luttrell had taken damage, the enemy had clearly saved most of their punishment for the escort carrier.

On Tehrani’s monitor, the deflector-strength indicator dropped like a stone for both their forward and port arcs. She stared in alarm as hits on their armor registered.

“Hull damage, deck seven, section A three-one-six,” Wright said. The bridge lights blinked. “We lost a power coupling amidships.”

“Navigation, roll the ship and present our ventral shield to the enemy,” Tehrani barked.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

In combat, much like life, timing was everything. Sentinel Ohmedov’s timing was impeccable. His four vessels, which were barely bigger than in-system patrol boats, raced into the fray. Plasma weaponry came alive and raked the already-damaged pirate corvette from bow to stern with energy bolts. While it tried to maneuver away, the volume of fire was too much to avoid.

“Conn, TAO. Master Eleven’s taken heavy damage, ma’am. She’s drifting.”

Tehrani let out a sigh of relief, and her eyes flicked to the next target.

Not to be outdone, the pirate corvettes immediately reprioritized their targeting. While military-grade deflectors could absorb incredible amounts of damage before failure, civilian models could not. Some megacorps took the extra step of procuring better equipment for their security forces, but apparently not this one. Under a barrage of plasma shots, one security vessel exploded outright, while two others took significant damage.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, remaining enemy contacts. They’re pulling back, ma’am. Master One is moving forward to meet them and charging its weapons.”

To finish us off. Tehrani stared at her tactical plot. “XO, signal the CAG. We may have to pull out quickly,” she said quietly. “Then plot how long for the civilian ships to reach the Lawrence limit and whether the pirates can intercept them before they get there.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

* * *

Aside from the Battle of Canaan, Gabriel Whatley had never seen so many enemy craft—and that suited him just fine. What didn’t suit him was how poorly the Greengold’s wing was performing. The pirates had an edge over them, thanks to fielding more heavy fighters than their wing carried. If Whatley could’ve put sixty seconds into observing the battlefield as a whole, he might’ve come up with something approaching a plan. But he was in an all-out furball, with nearly fifty small craft dueling it out in life-and-death struggles. The little situational awareness he had from the HUD told him the enemy was massing its corvettes along with their ace in the hole: the modified bulk hauler. Which means a knockout blow is incoming. Not if I can help it.

A blue icon disappeared from his HUD—another friendly fighter destroyed. Whatley checked his squadron-status view quickly to find it was a Sabre from the Red Tails. Lieutenant Decker. Deciding whoever had killed one of his pilots wasn’t getting away with it, Whatley spent a moment trying to determine which pirate craft had taken him out.

Incoming splatters of plasma fire streaked by Whatley’s cockpit and slammed into the thin shields of his Sabre while the single pirate fighter they’d come from rocketed past him. He rotated his craft to the left, turning into the six o’clock position of the enemy. All right, jackass. Let’s see how you like being on the receiving end. The moment he’d lined up the hostile, Whatley sent the welcoming committee: dozens of neutron-cannon bolts.

Tunnel vision affected the best pilots. In the heat of battle, Whatley only had one thing on his mind, and that was killing the enemy in front of him—a rookie mistake. He’d coached many a youngster on why it was so dangerous. But emotion was powerful, causing even the most rational of combatants to take irrational actions. Whatley overlooked the second pirate craft falling in behind him until the missile-lock-on warning buzzed.

Shit. The enemy in front of him had lost its aft shielding, and Whatley was locked into a nearly perfect guns solution. “Alpha Two, where the hell are you? I’ve got a bandit on my six, and he’s about to light me up.”

“A little busy over here, sir,” Feldstein replied. “Engaging a hostile.”

Whatley bit off a nasty response as he sent another wave of neutron bolts into the back of the enemy while maneuvering to avoid incoming fire from the hostile behind him. I don’t know what Spencer’s rules are, but I expect my wingman to stick to me like glue. “Get your ass over here, Lieutenant.”

Dozens of plasma balls flashed by the canopy as Whatley continued to doggedly engage the fighter to his front, and a final stream of neutron bolts hit one of its exhaust manifolds. A chain reaction ensued, blasting the craft into fine debris. But Whatley had no time to savor the victory, as his HUD flashed a red warning light that he had an inbound heat-seeking missile coming directly toward him.

Flares dropped out of the aft dispenser on Whatley’s fighter as he broke away and hit the afterburner. Come on. Come on, old girl. Don’t let me down now!

The bandit on his tail matched every movement, as did the heat-seeker. Resorting to increasingly wild course changes, Whatley did everything in his power to make the incoming miss, but it wasn’t enough. First the warhead exploded against the shields of his Sabre. The impact pitched his craft to the side, and he struggled to maintain control as energy weapons hit his aft. “Mayday. Mayday. Alpha One declaring an emergency.”

The master alarm sounded. Whatley glanced at the display to see a warning sign from his port engine. It showed two hundred degrees above normal and continued to rise. Is this how I go out? Well, it’s been a damn good run, and at least I got that last bastard. Wrenching the flight stick to the right and pulling up, Whatley went into guns-D, but whoever was flying the hostile craft was good. They kept pace and flung dozens of plasma balls at his Sabre.

The jig was up, and it was only a matter of time. After briefly considering his options, including ejecting, Whatley decided to try a high-risk maneuver of stopping on a dime and forcing the pirate behind him to overshoot. Which, if my engine weren’t heading toward a blowout, wouldn’t be a bad idea. He gave himself a one-in-ten chance of survival.

Whatley’s Sabre suddenly fishtailed wildly to the left side. The onboard computer classified it as a blast wave, and it took him a moment to realize the hostile on his six was gone, and its icon had disappeared. Somebody must’ve taken him out. Damn. That was too close. “Feldstein, nice shooting. I’m still gonna PT your ass when we get back to home plate.”

“Uh, wasn’t me, sir.”

Puzzled, Whatley adjusted his commlink channel to the entire Alpha element. “Whoever got that guy, thanks. I owe you one.”

“Wasn’t me, CAG,” Mateus replied.

“Nor I, sir,” Adeoye said. “Must’ve been someone else.”

Whatley’s hand shook ever so slightly as he gripped the flight stick. He sucked in a breath, knowing how close he’d come to death. Forcing himself to snap out of it, Whatley disengaged the damaged thruster and ensured the automated repair system was functioning.

“Epsilon One to Alpha One. Sorry I cut it so close there, sir.”

Justin Spencer’s voice was instantly recognizable, but Whatley felt dumbfounded to hear it. How’d he get here? Damn, Spencer really does have nine lives.

21

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?” Whatley’s voice was shakier than Justin had ever heard out of the bombastic CAG.

“Saving your ass, sir.”

Chuckles from various pilots filled the channel.

When they died out, Justin continued, “The nebula was a trap. I don’t know if they saw us coming or what, but I got jumped. After defeating the enemy, I spoke to Lieutenant Singh. It sounded like you guys needed my services.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, Captain. I can still make you run laps.” Whatley’s voice had little trace of the snark normally in it.

Justin scanned his HUD, looking for a new target, and found no shortage of them. Pirate small craft zoomed about the battlespace, and they held superiority in terms of numbers. Clusters of fighters from the Greengold were engaged in pitched dogfights, and it appeared the Mauler bombers had been decimated yet again. “If I make it back to the flight deck, I’d be delighted to get some exercise, sir. In the meanwhile, what’s the play?”

Whatley snickered. “Stay alive until the colonel figures out how to beat these bastards. Not sure if you noticed, but the nebula was probably safer.”

The CAG had a point, as always. Justin studied the sensor map on his HUD and was shocked to see at least six CDF pilot rescue beacons. One frigate was missing, and the second had a good bit of damage to its outer hull, as did the Marcus Luttrell. I had it easy. As he stared at the augmented-reality display, several icons belonging to the pirate corvettes started moving on a course for the remaining frigate, the CSV Ernest Evans.

“Black Hogs are going in,” Green announced. “We’ll try to even up the odds a bit.”

“That’s a negative, Lieutenant. Those corvettes have wickedly accurate point defense. I’m not throwing your lives away on a suicide run,” Whatley replied.

“With respect, sir, the Boars can handle it.” Green’s voice held a no-nonsense tone. “The Greengold’s escorts won’t survive another pass. All we have to do is take out a couple of turrets and scatter them.” She paused. “If our hotshot Sabre pilots can’t handle the heat, we’ll do it ourselves.”

Justin’s eyebrows rose. Nobody calls out the CAG like that. It might’ve been fun to listen to if they weren’t in a life-or-death situation.

Silence came over the commlink channel. Finally, Whatley spoke. “Okay. What the hell… going out in a blaze of glory has always been my preferred way to depart the universe. If we make it back, I’m assigning you to swab the hangar deck, Lieutenant.”

“You’re on, sir,” Green replied cockily.

“Count Alpha in,” Justin said on the open line. “We’ll fly overwatch.”

“Remember who gives the orders, Spencer,” Whatley replied. “Reconfigure yourself to Alpha One. I’ll slide into Epsilon One.”

“Wilco, sir.” Justin grinned as he rotated his Ghost toward the small group of Boars that barreled toward the first pirate vessel in the attack wave. The depleted fighters on both sides closed their formations, and Justin counted the cost yet again. Six Maulers, two Sabres, three Boars. My God. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for the majority of the fight, as if he’d let his brothers and sisters down. A quick check of his craft’s internal stores told him he had two heat seekers and four LIDAR trackers left. Not a whole heck of a lot.

Magnetic-cannon rounds, neutron beams, plasma charges, and muonic pulses lit up the void in a vivid blue, red, and purple display. As Justin weaved through the exchange of weaponry, he almost forgot they were in a pitched battle for their lives—until the missile-lock-on tone sounded again. The HUD-integrated scanner showed two LIDAR trackers coming at his Ghost from below him and to the left. He wrenched the flight stick to the right, and his Ghost rolled away as he sent multiple blasts of chaff into the void.

“Alpha Two, fox three,” Feldstein called out. “Three bandits engaged.”

Avoiding the incoming, Justin reversed his turn and found a pirate craft bearing straight down on him. Squeezing the integrated trigger for his Ghost’s neutron cannons, Justin blasted away at the enemy. Both his and the fighter’s forward shields took significant beatings, but he obtained a hard lock on the hostile at the last second. Another button press, and two LIDAR-tracking missiles zoomed into the void.

Several seconds later, both connected with the heavy pirate fighter and erased it from space. “Alpha One, splash one,” Justin said as he rotated back around, pawing the vacuum and searching for a new target.

Meanwhile, Green and the Black Hogs had engaged one of the corvettes. Not so much avoiding point defense as absorbing it, the squat fighters unloaded streams of neutron-cannon bolts, anti-ship missiles, and dumb-fire rockets into the hapless vessel. Two turrets exploded, reducing the outgoing volume of fire from the ship considerably.

Still, the CDF warships had taken a beating. Justin was in awe of how many holes the Marcus Luttrell had in it, yet she fought on. Atmosphere must be trailing out of ten separate hull breaches. Never out of the fight, indeed. But they held.

Aided by the two remaining security vessels, the corvettes broke off after shifting their attacks to the Greengold and pummeling her damaged port side once again. Tehrani’s acting like a smaller boxer going up against a heavyweight. The tactics would only work for so long, because something had to give sooner or later.

The Ernest Evans slowly dropped out of formation, turning away from the battle on a course that would take her to the Lawrence limit and away from the pirates. Justin despaired, for as they lost vessels, it meant the enemy could concentrate even more on the ones left.

As if reading Justin’s mind and everyone else’s, Whatley’s gruff voice came over the commlink. “Nice flying, people. Now recharge your shields, and we’ll take another run at these bastards. Remember—fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”

The invocation of their battle cry stirred Justin’s warrior spirit. “No matter the odds!” he thundered into the commlink. With a glance at the picture of his family, Justin marked his next target.

* * *

On the bridge of the Zvika Greengold, the lights suddenly dimmed and nearly blinked out. Tehrani glanced at Wright in alarm as she grabbed the sides of her chair to steady herself. “Damage report, XO.”

“Another power coupling amidships, ma’am. We’re still taking hull damage.” He pulled up a screen showing several areas blinking red and touched them. “These guys are good. They’re focusing on our weakest links.”

Tehrani set her jaw. “I’m not running from a pack of pirates.”

Wright smirked. “Won’t even bother to argue.”

“Good. You can learn new things.”

“I’ve got Hodges trying to reroute power into the port deflector generator. Even if he can do it, we’re running out of options.”

Her XO’s words registered, and he was right. She stared at the tactical plot. Two of the megacorp security vessels had been destroyed by the pirate corvettes and another disabled. The Marcus Luttrell was leaking atmosphere in a dozen places but living up to its motto—Never out of the fight. She was still flinging defiance into the void in the form of neutron beams and magnetic-cannon shells. The carrier is the key.

“TAO, what’s the location of the Astute?”

“Not sure, ma’am,” Bryan replied. “She’s engaged maximum stealth and EMCON.”

“Whatcha thinking?” Wright asked.

Tehrani smoothed her uniform, an unconscious tic she had when unsettled. “We need a knock-out blow on Master One. If it's off the board, the small craft and corvettes are suddenly outnumbered. They’d surrender or jump out. Either way, we win.”

“I’m not sure what we have left that can engage in a straight-up slugging match with the carrier and its remaining escorts,” Wright observed quietly. “Unless there’s something I’m not seeing, ma’am.”

“If the Astute could take out their shields, we might have a chance to send the remaining bombers at Master One.” Tehrani left off how it would likely be a one-way trip for many of the pilots.

Wright pursed his lips. “Worth a shot.”

“TAO, designate Master One as the battlegroup’s primary target. Tag that specifically for the Astute.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Before Tehrani could open her mouth to give further orders, Singh spoke. “Conn, Communications. Captain Spencer has jumped in, ma’am.”

“Well, perhaps he can put the fancy stealth fighter he’s flying to good use,” Tehrani said to Wright.

“Hey, it’s nice when things start coming together.” Wright gave a toothy grin. “I’ll let the CAG know what we’ve got in mind.”

The corvettes had apparently had enough punishment at the hands of Battlegroup Z. They’d retreated to the carrier and taken up flanking positions around the converted bulk hauler. As she studied the plot, Tehrani cursed whoever was in charge of the enemy. It would’ve been far simpler if the smaller ships had kept up their attacks.

Without warning, all hell broke loose. The Astute fired eight Starbolt missiles from its tubes at point-blank range. Plasma and muonic weapons crisscrossed the void as the stealth raider’s engine signature became visible. As it rocketed away from the carrier, the eight anti-ship warheads homed in on the massive vessel.

While the escorting corvettes were in position to intercept the inbound missiles, at the crucial moment, they split their attention between trying to destroy the Astute and shooting down the Starbolts. That critical error led to neither objective being accomplished. Two inbound missiles were shot down as the stealth raider limped away in the hail of energy-weapons fire. Another slammed into the damaged side of a corvette, causing more destruction. The rest found their target: the pirate carrier.

Bright-white flashes of light bathed the battlespace as five fusion warheads spent themselves against the enemy vessel's energy shields.

When the glow faded, Tehrani noted with satisfaction that the bulk hauler's port, ventral, and aft shielding had collapsed. “It’ll have to be enough,” she mused.

“Ma’am?”

“Task every remaining bomber to attack the port side of Master One, XO. The lives of everyone in this solar system depend on their success.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied.

Tehrani hoped they had a little more magic left in the tank between Whatley and Spencer. Barring that, she started plotting a retreat strategy to save what was left of their battlegroup. May Allah have mercy on us all. As if everything else weren’t enough, a group of bombers broke off from the main pirate attack force and barreled toward the Greengold’s damaged sections. “Navigation, rotate the ship. Do not let the incoming fast movers get hits on the unshielded sections.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

Please, let it be enough. Tehrani stared at the plot and prayed.

22

With no afterburner, Justin was at a disadvantage in his Ghost fighter. The stealth coating helped, but with the damage sustained from the nebula battle, he was sure to be visible to most modern sensor systems, which the pirates clearly had. As he fought with the rest of Alpha, they’d remained in a desperate furball. Dozens of craft from both sides continued to engage with energy weapons and missiles. No quarter was asked or given. They were all fighting a battle to the death. Each side had momentarily disengaged, seeking to consolidate their formations for another attack.

“Spencer, I’ve got orders from the quarterdeck,” Whatley said on a private commlink channel.

“We’re pulling out?”

Whatley snickered. “No, son. We’re attacking the enemy freighter. Trying to decapitate them.”

The strategy wasn’t a bad one. “Most of our bombers are out. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out.”

“There’s that, but if you take a look at your scanner, you’ll notice its shields are down.”

Justin rolled his eyes, even though no one could see him. “Yes, I get that, Major. It’s still a tough order.”

“Yeah, well, ours isn’t to question why. It’s to do or die. So let’s get on with it.”

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied with finality. He toggled his commlink to all fighters. “Alpha One to all pilots. We’re going in on Master One. Red Tails and Black Hogs will see the Maulers in. I sure hope you guys have a few Javelins left to shove up these pirates’ exhaust pipes.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to fly straight into the teeth of an enemy that’s holding its own? CAG, are you on board with this?” Green asked.

“Lieutenant, we get paid, so the carrier doesn’t go down. If anyone’s got a better idea, now’s the time, because they’re on the move,” Whatley rasped.

Adeoye’s deep voice broke through the crosstalk. “I may have a solution.”

“Let’s hear it, Lieutenant,” Justin said before anyone else could speak.

“Lieutenant Green,” Adeoye continued. “Are your Boars carrying ground-attack rocket pods?”

“All of us have a pod mounted. Yeah. It's built into the fuselage. Pardon me, but what the hell do ground-attack rockets have to do with attacking their carrier?”

Justin grinned. He knew what was coming next.

“During the Battle of Canaan, several of us discovered that they could be dumb fired in space to significant effect against larger bombers. If the Boars go in front, clearing a path with a sustained burst of neutron-cannon and rocket fire, it might allow us to sweep behind and get an attack run in on the enemy carrier.”

“Okay, Lieutenant. It’s your lucky day, because we’re collectively crazy enough to try. CAG, with your permission, Black Hogs will take point.”

“Granted,” Whatley replied. “Line it up by element and fall in. Let’s remind these bastards we’re the Coalition Defense Force.”

“Fight the good fight,” Feldstein said, beginning the war chant.

“No matter the odds!” the commlink echoed with the reply from every pilot.

Justin pulled up his detailed sensor screen and examined the opposing group. Roughly twenty enemy craft remained, mostly the heavy-fighter variant. The Black Hogs eased out in front of their formation, the Sabres took the right and left wings, and the Mauler bombers made up the protected center. They ended up with a roughly spherical shape that would allow for maximum firepower directed at the hostiles.

“CAG to all pilots. Max thrust. Push it up.”

Not needing to be told twice, Justin kicked his throttle up to the maximum level. While every other craft in the formation had some form of afterburners, he trimmed out power reserves from his shields and weapons to add extra speed. Justin let out a breath. One way or another, we win or die here.

The opposition had lined up in two neat rows, almost daring the friendly forces to engage. Justin used the interactive HUD to tag several primary targets for the Red Tails before he cued his commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha, Beta, and Charlie fighters. Double up on the Black Hogs’ targets. Do not break off to engage. Put everything you’ve got on target and blast through.”

“Wilco,” Feldstein replied, as did the remaining Red Tails.

In front of them, the Boars, led by Green, opened up with a murderous flood of neutron bolts and dumb-fire rockets. She’d carefully selected the weakest, damaged pirate fighters for their assault. The barrage of firepower was too much—several enemy craft blew apart, and the Boars roared through the holes in their line, followed closely by the Sabres and the slower Mauler bombers.

The remaining pirate corvettes were next in line, forming a protective screen around the carrier. Several Boars broke off and lit up one of the vessels with missiles, energy weapons, and the distinctive primary armament: the nose-mounted magnetic cannon. Their fire focused on the most damaged ship, and the mag cannons proved highly effective at knocking out turrets. Once the ship was defanged, the rest of the small craft swung around it and pressed on.

Come on. Come on. We don’t have all day. Any second, Justin expected to find a brace of anti-fighter warheads heading for their exposed six. The slow Maulers rolled into firing position while the Boars and Sabres moved out of the way.

“Gamma Two, fox four.”

The bombers launched five Javelins, and they accelerated quickly toward the target vessel: the pirate carrier. In the melee of combat, Justin was focused more on staying alive than tracking the exact trajectory of the warheads. However, it was readily apparent that most missed their target, destroyed by the enemy's point-defense system. Dammit. In desperation, he rolled away from the craft he was trying to obtain a guns solution on and aimed his Ghost for Master One.

As the converted bulk freighter filled the view at the front of Justin’s cockpit, he realized the fighter bays, built into the side of the vessel, seemed to lack protective force fields. At least they’re not glowing like the Greengold’s do—and every other carrier I’ve ever seen. Justin reached down to toggle his missile launcher to the LIDAR-tracking Vultures. “Alpha One to all friendlies. Keep these guys off me for fifteen more seconds.”

Point-defense fire zoomed toward Justin’s Ghost as half a dozen turrets lit up the area around his craft like the fireworks display on Coalition Landfall Day. He applied fine movements, avoiding as much of it as possible while keeping in arc toward his target. All the while, Justin tinkered with the fail-safes on his weapons. I wonder if it’s even designed to do this. Probably not.

Green’s Boar roared by his right side, its neutron cannons blazing away. The stream of blue bolts went straight for one of the point-defense emplacements engaging him. Her intersession worked: half the turrets switched their target to her fighter, and maneuvering became far easier.

It took a few more minutes to get to point-blank range. All the while, Justin juked and dodged fire from both the pirate fighters and their mothership. He completely lost track of the battle and focused solely on getting in range of the hangar. A few more Boars joined the fray and silenced one of the PD cannons, making Justin’s job even simpler at the last second.

As the giant hangar area loomed, he pressed the missile-launch button twice, sending four Vultures into it—with no target. Immediately, Justin pulled back on the flight stick and reversed course. He rocketed away from the carrier, redirecting his weapons power to the engine to get a few more KPH to avoid the corvette’s PD as he entered their range.

“Spencer, what the hell did you do?” Whatley rasped.

“Uh, tried something, sir.”

“We’ve got secondary explosions out of the flight deck on Master One.”

Son of a… It worked. Justin gave a knowing grin. “On my way out of that League cruiser earlier in the year, I accidently fired a missile that started a chain reaction. I decided to try it on purpose this time.”

Laughter filled the commlink. “More guts than brains, son,” Whatley said. “They’re not out of the fight yet. Gamma, time for another pass.”

The few remaining Maulers swung around, putting four more anti-ship Javelin missiles into the void. Unlike the last time, the enemy vessel’s defensive systems were clearly affected. They fired bursts that weren’t on target, and all four warheads slammed into the deflectorless ship. Bright explosions spread across its surface, and patches where they hit turned molten.

Justin finally allowed himself to relax.

* * *

A brief jet of flame shot out of a bank of electronics on the Argos’s bridge. The ship was taking a beating at the hands of the CDF forces. Multiple decks had depressurized, and dozens of crew were lost to the void. Amidst the maelstrom of chaos, Sokratis Papoutsis sat mute, almost in a daze. I was so close. I could taste victory. Another explosion rumbled across the control center as part of the overhead collapsed onto the third mate of the vessel. The man was crushed instantly.

“All deflectors offline!” someone shrieked. “Forward weapons offline!”

Papoutsis stared straight ahead. “Keep firing. Use the broadside and aft turrets,” he mumbled.

“No power, sir,” the tactical officer replied. He was one of the few uninjured crewmen left. “We should think about abandoning ship.”

The words went through those who could hear them like a bolt of electricity.

Papoutsis shook his head. “No, the CDF will capture us. We can still win.” He tried to force steel into his voice.

“I signed up to get rich, not die.” The tactical officer stood. “Whoever’s with me, we can still get to the escape pods.” He turned to go, and a couple of others joined him. They ran as weapons fire continued to pummel the bulk freighter.

Something prevented Papoutsis from leaving. Fear invaded his heart as everything crashed down around him. He climbed into the helm station’s chair, pushing debris out of the way, and tried to pull up the tactical control system.

After another brutal series of impacts, decompression alarms sounded. Papoutsis checked the hull integrity to find that deck one—the bridge—had multiple holes leaking atmosphere into the void. The realization that the fight was lost set in.

Papoutsis stood. “Abandon ship!” he shouted then ran for the passageway behind the control center.

The nearest pods were located in an escape trunk ten meters aft. Each section of the hauler had its own rescue compartment with EVA hard suits, an airlock, and two escape pods. Papoutsis slid into the chamber and noted only one pod was left. He made a split-second decision to climb in and seal the hatch behind him.

As it slid shut, the sounds of pounding against the alloy filled the tiny interior of the lifeboat. Papoutsis secured himself in the pilot’s harness and pushed the cries out of his mind. He was something of an automaton, operating solely on instinct.

The pod zoomed away from the stricken vessel as Papoutsis engaged the emergency release and activated the thrusters. Taking a deep breath, with his fight-or-flight instinct faded, he regained control of himself. Papoutsis felt regret for leaving his crew behind, but his survival instinct had taken over and pushed it away. No matter. They’ll get another pod, or they won’t. The cold, hard truth of the universe was that everyone was expendable and replaceable. He had enough money in his Galt-based accounts to buy another ship and recruit more wannabe pirates who thought they were striking a blow for the common man.

While incoming energy-weapons fire peppered the Argos, the CDF warships seemed to take care to avoid shooting the escape pods launching from her. Papoutsis chalked it up to the overhyped Terrans’ sense of morality. They always blather on about God this, God that. Behind every CDF officer, a hypocrite wanted to get out.

At four hundred meters from the bulk hauler, the sensors in the escape pod detected an energy buildup in the main reactor. Papoutsis immediately recognized it as a runaway fusion reaction. Moments later, the Argos exploded violently.

The shockwave was stronger than several two-hundred-megaton fusion warheads. Papoutsis fought with the controls to keep his pod trimmed out and flying away from the threat. The tiny craft shook and rattled like it was coming apart, but it held together.

Just when he started to breathe a sigh of relief and plan a course farther in-system to avoid the CDF vessels, the proximity alarm blared. In what seemed like slow motion, a several-meter-wide chunk of debris from the Argos slammed into the side of the pod. Though Papoutsis tried to avoid it, he didn’t have enough time.

Shrapnel ripped through the pilot's compartment, and in an instant, all breathable atmosphere escaped as the lifeboat disintegrated around him. No! So close. No! Papoutsis groped for anything to keep him alive as panic set in. Unimaginable pain came over him as his body flash froze in the void, and the last thing his mind processed was a vague sense of being dragged away by distorted figures. Before he had time to ponder the sheer insanity of what he thought he saw through frozen eyes, his brain finally died.

23

“Conn, TAO. Master One destroyed, ma’am.”

At Bryan’s report, the Zvika Greengold’s bridge erupted into cheers and clapping. Even Tehrani and Wright joined in, with the XO pumping his fist and shouting.

“As you were,” Tehrani said after counting off five seconds. “We’ve still got hostiles out there, ladies and gentlemen.” Her gaze went back to the tactical plot. Not only was the elimination of the pirates’ carrier a significant tactical victory, but she was sure it would tilt the battle in their favor from an emotional sense as well. All these fighters out there have no place to go. Time to exploit that. “Communications, put me on wideband vidlink.”

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

Tehrani pulled herself up as straight as she could in the chair and stared into the camera with eyes narrowed and a frown on her lips. “Attention, unlawful combatant vessels. This is Colonel Banu Tehrani of the Coalition Defense Force. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will result in your destruction. You have two minutes to comply.”

“Message sent, ma’am.”

Wright asked, “We taking bets on somebody trying to jump from inside the Lawrence limit rather than accept they're going to jail?”

“I see Hodges is rubbing off on you,” Tehrani replied archly. “Or do you not remember his little betting pool on whether or not the reactor would explode when we restarted it in League space?”

“Touché, ma’am.” Wright’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly, an effect made difficult to see thanks to his darker skin. “Please don’t compare me to the chief engineer again.”

“Don’t act like him, then.”

They both chuckled.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Twelve. She’s powering up her Lawrence drive, ma’am.”

Tehrani stared at the monitor above her head. Don’t do it. You’re throwing your lives away. Whatever she thought, whoever was in charge of the pirate vessel seemed to believe they could defy the laws of physics. Within the Lawrence limit, ships trying to open a stable artificial wormhole required massive amounts of power, which current-generation fusion reactors couldn’t provide. Barring that, there was a nearly ninety percent chance of failure.

“Conn, TAO. Master Twelve’s vortex disintegrated, ma’am. Sensors show the corvette destroyed.” Bryan turned to her. “No life pods.”

As the red dot disappeared, Tehrani felt a pang of regret. Not that the enemy deserved it, but she had remorse for any vessel lost to the void in that way. A person caught between reality and the mind-bending dimensional portal generated by the Lawrence drive could exist simultaneously across multiple dimensions, neither alive nor dead, or so it was speculated. To her, it was one of the worst fates imaginable. Grant them forgiveness, Allah. Increase their good deeds and overlook their evil deeds. May the mercy of Allah be upon them.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected, breaking her train of thought. “Remaining vessels and small craft are transmitting surrender notices.”

“Weapons power-down confirmed,” Bryan said. “Remaining enemy contacts have ceased maneuvering and lowered their shields.”

Allowing herself to relax a hair, Tehrani leaned back in her seat. “XO, get VBSS teams to each of those vessels. I want the prisoners brought back to the Greengold for processing and prize crews transferred over. We’ll fly them back to Coalition space.”

“Maybe the CDF will convert them into picket ships for the border,” Wright replied with a snicker. “What about search and rescue, ma’am? We’ve got a lot of pilots out there looking for a pickup.”

She nodded. “Scramble them as well. Save the ejected pirates from their fighters for last. They can wait.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Time seemed to speed up. It didn’t take long for Marine units to move out, with an assault shuttle headed toward each corvette. Tehrani watched Nishimura’s progress from her monitor, noting the professionalism of his teams. They’re almost as good as some tier-one operator units I’ve seen video of. She began to mentally compose her after-action report and dreaded the paperwork to come.

“Conn, Communications. Ramires would like to speak with you, ma’am,” Singh said with mirth in his voice. “He appears quite agitated.”

“Put him on,” Tehrani replied. She smirked as Ramires’s face appeared on the screen above her. I can’t take his garb seriously. Who dresses like that?

“This is Shipmaster Sabastian Isais Nilo Ramires. Is this Colonel Tehrani?”

She could only take so much before some sarcasm came out. “No, it’s her twin sister. I’ll be happy to take a message for you.” Tehrani presented what she hoped was a dazzling smile.

Ramires’s face turned bloodred. “Do not mock me, Terran!” His eyes glinted, and he gritted his teeth. “Your foolish actions cost the lives of many of my fellow employees, not to mention billions of credits in company resources in the two ships lost. Without your meddling, we could’ve kept the situation from going this far!”

Tehrani counted to three and let out a deep breath. “Without us, you’d all be dead. I might add your security forces showed extraordinary bravery and tipped the scale against the enemy. Now, if you wish to make a formal complaint, you may do so with Coalition Defense Force command. Good day, Shipmaster Ramires.”

The screen blinked off.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you hang up on somebody before, Skipper,” Wright said quietly.

She shook her head. “I don’t appreciate odious people with no concept of sacrifice.”

“That’d make two of us, Skipper.”

“Communications, get me Sentinel Ohmedov. If he's still alive.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

A few moments later, Ohmedov’s face appeared. The bridge of his ship was heavily damaged. Pieces of the overhead hung in the background, while smoke was visible along with damage-control teams. “Colonel, we meet in victory.” Even though his face was covered in soot mixed with blood, the man still wore a smile.

It brought one to Tehrani’s lips too. “There is no substitute for it, is there?” The grin faded. “I’m sorry for your losses.”

“And I, yours. One favor, if I might be so bold?”

Tehrani tilted her head. “Anything within my power.”

“We could use some medical assistance as well as search-and-rescue teams. My sensor officer tells me there’s survivors in a floating hulk that was once one of our ships, but I have no way to get at them.”

“I’ll send a shuttle with supplies and medics. If you have extensive injuries that your facilities can’t treat, the Greengold has a sizeable medical bay. As for S-and-R, send us the coordinates, and they’ll be added to our list.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for your assistance. I doubt we would’ve won without it.”

He touched his finger to his brow. “Good luck out there, Colonel. Ohmedov out.”

As the screen went black yet again, Wright cleared his throat. “Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ve got to give respect where it’s due. Those megacorp fellows saved our bacon.”

“As strange as it sounds, I agree.” Tehrani closed her eyes. “Too close today, XO.”

“Always.”

Tehrani stood. “I’m going to get started on our log and reports. You have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. XO has the conn.”

* * *

It took hours for Marines to secure the last prisoners from the four remaining corvettes and the search-and-rescue birds to finish their work. Through it all, Justin and the rest of the Greengold’s fighters—the remaining ones, anyway—stood the watch. He tried to insist on being the last craft to land, but the CAG overruled him, as usual.

Justin sucked in a breath as his Ghost came to rest on the flight deck. He popped the canopy and peered over the side in time to see a crew chief run up with a portable ladder.

“Locked on, sir! Ready when you are.”

“Thanks, Chief.” Justin flashed a thumbs-up and climbed over the side. A few steps later, he was back on firm ground—or as close to firm ground as one could find in the void of space.

Major Whatley came to a halt on the next pad over. Aviation ratings quickly secured a carbon-copy portable ladder to the craft, and the CAG dropped to the deck.

Justin waved at him as he unsealed his flight helmet. “Nice flying out there, sir.”

“You seem to have taken some of those tricks I taught you to heart,” Whatley replied loudly as he walked over. “Good show yourself, Spencer.”

“Thank you, sir,” Justin replied quietly. Even though they’d won, the appalling losses by the Winged Lightning squadron along with a couple of pilots from both the Red Tails and the Black Hogs were enough to dampen his spirits.

“Walk with me,” Whatley said. He gestured toward the exit that led to the ready rooms.

Justin fell in beside him, fiddling with his flight helmet.

“Look, thanks for saving my ass out there, Spencer.” Whatley narrowed his eyes. “I, uh, thought I was a goner. Never in my life have I been more surprised or relieved.”

“All part of the service, sir. I’d do the same for any of our pilots.”

“That may be so, but today it was me.” Whatley put his arm around Justin’s shoulders. “I’ll never forget it.”

They strode through a hatch into a passageway leading farther into the Greengold. While a sea of humanity was in the hangar, the corridor was empty. Justin stretched his neck. “I’m going to go get cleaned up, sir. A shower is in order.”

Whatley held up his hand. “Before you go, Spencer.” He extended his arm. “I haven’t said this enough, but you’re one hell of a pilot. I sorely misjudged you at first, and I’m honored to serve side by side with you.”

Justin stared at the offered hand for a moment before shaking it. While the CAG had apologized before, it felt nice to hear it so plainly laid out. He nodded.

“So what’s bothering you? Normally, you’re bouncing off the damn walls.”

“The losses. It’s starting to get easy to forget who they were. At some point, the names stop registering. I know it’s wrong, but it’s easier than remembering. Then I wonder when my luck’s going to run out. Someday it will.”

“Two things. One… we never forget those lost. Even if it’s hard. Read the names. Remember the fallen. Two, you can’t focus on things outside of your control. We go out there, do the best job we can, and pray we come home. Every other minute, value like it’s the last one we’ve got.”

The words, while simple, made sense to Justin. He nodded. “Don’t forget beating the Leaguers, sir.”

“Maybe with these Godforsaken pirates out of the way, we can go back to showing those communist bastards the door,” Whatley growled. “Now, let’s get cleaned up. And don’t forget, Spencer, you still owe me an invite to that card game. I want in before I get transferred off this tub and you become the new CAG.”

It took Justin a moment to process the second half of the CAG’s comment. “Me… take over the wing, sir?”

“If I have anything to do with it,” Whatley called over his shoulder as he kept walking.

Justin was left standing there, stunned at the major’s pronouncement. Once he picked his jaw off the deck, Justin set about changing from his flight suit back into BDUs to head back to his cabin. Me, command the wing? That’d be something. Then he realized he’d be responsible for the lives of every pilot on the ship and not just the Red Tails. That thought was sobering and forced deep introspection as he walked the passageways of the vessel. I’ll do my duty. Always, no matter what, do my duty.

24

Freiderwelt Orbit

CSV Zvika Greengold

4 September 2434

The week since they’d decisively beaten the pirates felt like a blur. Tehrani had spent her days overseeing engineering work, as being laid up at a CDF forward outpost in orbit of Freiderwelt only contributed to a feeling of being out of the fight against the League. Another casket ceremony only added to the malaise. She’d submitted the after-action reports up the chain of command along with requests for additional escorts. We’re still down a destroyer and three frigates from our on-paper wartime strength.

Returning to the desk in her day cabin just off the passageway on deck one, meters from the bridge, Tehrani allowed herself to mentally relax for the first time all day. A brief thought of vidlinking Ibrahim disappeared when the intercom buzzed.

“Colonel, I have flash traffic for you,” Singh said through the speaker. “General Yukimura.”

“Put him through to my tablet, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Major General Shingo Yukimura appeared on the screen, wearing a smile. “Colonel, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

Part of the flag officer’s charm was his disarming nature with subordinates. Tehrani found it endearing and off-putting at the same time. She’d come to expect a certain level of brusqueness from senior leadership, and Yukimura didn’t fit that mold. “Never, sir. Cleaning up my paperwork, thinking about another condolence letter, and preparing the Greengold to get back into the fight.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d been out of the fight.”

“Well, sir, I think I speak for nearly everyone in my battlegroup when I say we’d rather be fighting the League and reclaiming Eire.”

Yukimura chuckled. “I suppose I don’t blame you, Colonel. In that case, I’ve got some bad news. Battlegroup Z will be on station for a few more weeks. Command wants you flying the flag in case other upstart pirate groups decide to try to exploit the damage done by the bunch you just eliminated.” He cracked a grin. “Remember, convoy duty is what the Thanes are designed for.”

Inwardly, Tehrani groaned, but she kept a thin smile on her face. “Of course, sir.”

“I noticed you put in a few more medal citations.”

“Yes. Several of them posthumous, I’m afraid.”

“Major Whatley for a Bronze Star with the V device?”

Tehrani nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“The application I don’t see is for an award for Captain Spencer.”

“He specifically asked me not to put him in for anything, sir.” Tehrani kept a neutral expression. “Captain Spencer felt that he only did his duty, and others should be honored.”

“I see. I respect a soldier that’s not in it for glory. But the Terran Coalition needs heroes. Spencer is a true-blue CDF hero, and by God, the service will use him as it sees fit. Prepare a citation for him and send it to me. I believe the CDF Cross would be appropriate for his conduct in your last engagement.”

The CDF Cross was second only to the Medal of Honor in awards the CDF could bestow. “Yes, sir. You’ll have it by close of business CMT.”

“Good. Colonel, I want you to know that I pray for you daily. Your entire crew and the men and women on those escorts. God willing, I’ll see you in person in a few months.”

Tehrani bit her lip and nodded. “And if not, perhaps someday in paradise.”

“Amen.” Yukimura chuckled. “All right, I’ve got to get back to my day. Good luck out there, Colonel. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed to you, too, sir. Inshallah Allah.”

The screen blinked off, and Tehrani set the tablet down with a sigh. She tried to remember what everyday life was like. The way things were before every day was a life-or-death struggle. It seemed like a far-off, hazy dream. The realization shocked her because not too long ago, combat seemed like a nightmare in and of itself, but it had become the harsh reality they lived in.

The hatch chime buzzed.

“Come,” Tehrani said.

It swung open, revealing Wright in his battle dress uniform, complete with what appeared to be grease stains. He wiped sweat off his brow as he stepped through. “Apologies for the appearance, ma’am. I won’t sully the chairs.”

She laughed. “I couldn’t care less, XO. Sit.” When he didn’t move, she smirked. “That’s an order.”

Wright dropped into one of the chairs and let out a breath. “I just completed a tour of the engineering spaces and the hull repairs. Everything’s looking solid. We’ll be ready to get underway in less than forty-eight hours.”

“More convoy duty,” Tehrani deadpanned. “Our favorite.”

“As long as we’re done with these idiot pirates, I’m ready to go back to shooting Leaguers full of holes.”

Tehrani stared at him. “Did you ever think this was what our service would end up being?”

“No. Frankly, I thought I’d be the quintessential space warfare officer that warmed up his weapons once or twice, never got into combat, and joined the independent spacers guild.”

“Plans change.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, how they do. “Yet we must adapt.”

“It’s the oath we took,” Wright replied. “The idea we’re at the epicenter of a ‘conflict of civilizations’ is insane, though. We’re making history, Skipper.” He shook his head. “Ever stop to think about why these guys are doing it? I can’t believe the Orion arm of the galaxy doesn’t have habitable planets. There’s so much space out there for the taking. Why come here?”

“My husband believes it's because communists can’t abide any other system’s existence because of the inferior nature of their economic system.” Tehrani grinned. “I would relish seeing him debate one of these Leaguers.”

Wright put his head back and laughed loudly. “Touché, Skipper.”

“I haven’t heard you take a shot at Hodges in a while. Did you two finally bury the hatchet?” She made a face. The juvenile rivalry between the two men had become tedious as soon as it began, when the engineer was assigned to the Greengold eighteen months ago.

Wright paused as if carefully considering his words. “After our victory at the Sol system, I had some time on the way home to put things in perspective.” He spread his hands out on his knees. “And there’s no room for pettiness in my life anymore. Major Hodges agreed.”

She stared at him. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Just one of those personal inventory things. Well, Skipper, I’d better let you get back to it. I’m gonna grab a shower, hit the mess, then dig into my own paperwork.” Wright stood.

“Send your uniform down to be cleaned.” She wrinkled her nose. “It not only looks awful but smells too.”

Wright snickered. “I’ll do that, ma’am.”

As he left, Tehrani leaned back in her chair. How easy it is to banish the little insults of life in the face of a daily wrestling match with death. She glanced at her tablet. My work’s not going to do itself. With a tap of the screen, Tehrani got back to it.

* * *

With the carrier in port and tending her wounds, the pilots had plenty of downtime. Justin filled some of it with simulator sessions and extended maintenance on their fighters, but plenty of time was still left for other activities, such as the nightly card game Alpha played.

Mateus was having a grand time. She’d found an old-school triangle-shaped pirate hat somewhere and wore it at the poker table as she nursed a beer. “Yo ho ho, and another hand for me!”

Laughter drifted around the room, and Justin shook his head. “You gonna wear that thing in the cockpit the next time we fight criminals?”

She snorted. “Maybe I will, Flyboy.”

“To think I call all of you my friends,” Feldstein added.

“Not so fast.”

All eyes turned to Adeoye as he held up his cards. “I believe my straight flush beats yours.”

Justin blinked. Sure enough, they did. Heh. It’s always the quiet ones that get you in this game.

Adeoye collected the chips and stacked them neatly in front of him. “I was thinking, sir. I’d like to put in for the squadron-commander position in the Winged Lightnings.”

Silence descended over the room.

“Jackson, they lost half their bombers against that carrier,” Feldstein replied with emotion. “We’ve got a good thing going here. We should stick together.”

“I’m rated for both craft,” Adeoye said, the rich timbre of his voice filtering across the table. “And I believe I could make a difference. The remaining pilots are demoralized and shaken by the loss of two squadron commanders.

“You’re sure?” Justin asked.

“I am.”

Feldstein leaned forward. “Maulers have nothing in common with Sabres. They’re slow, the turn radius sucks—”

Justin held up a hand. “We’re not debating this here. I’ll make a recommendation to Major Whatley, and that’s the end of it. Now, let’s get back to the cards.”

“Yes, sir,” Feldstein ground out.

The hatch buzzer interrupted the conversation.

Mateus tilted her head. “Who could that be?”

Justin grinned. “I might’ve invited a new player.”

“Better not be one of those rubes from the Black Hogs,” Feldstein said archly.

“Nah, even better,” Justin replied. “It’s open. Come in!”

All four of them looked toward the opening hatch, which revealed the form of Major Nishimura. He had on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt that proclaimed No One Promised You a Rose Garden.

“You invited a Marine?” Mateus's accent became more pronounced.

Nishimura let out a belly laugh. “Nice reception there. I heard about this mythical card game between Alpha from your CO here. He said I could drop by. What? You hotshots are afraid of a single Marine?” He pulled a chair from the living room and set it at the table.

Everyone glanced at one another.

“I thought it would be nice to have some new competition,” Justin said.

“You mean someone else for me to clean out.” Mateus’s eyes glinted.

Nishimura met her stare with one of his own. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Laughter yet again broke out from everyone.

Justin tossed a chip into the center of the table. “Ante up.”

It felt good to see them relaxing. He was mildly annoyed at Adeoye for bringing up the bomber squadron’s losses and current lack of leadership in what amounted to a war-free zone but understood where he was coming from. Jackson wants to make a difference. Nothing wrong with that.

The game began in earnest, and several rounds were played as they felt out Nishimura.

As usual, it came down to Mateus, who’d become uncannily good at figuring out the hands of other players. “I’ll see your bet and raise five credits.”

“Ooh. Big money.” Justin snickered. “Watch out, Major. She won one of Feldstein’s shirts a few weeks ago after she lost everything.”

Nishimura slid his entire stack of coins forward. “Care to match me, Lieutenant?”

“I’d be glad to,” Mateus replied as she batted her eyelashes.

“Show ’em.”

Mateus slowly turned each card in her hand over. She had a seven, an eight, a nine, a ten, and a jack of hearts. “Straight flush.” Her hands went for the pile of chips.

“That’s a lovely hand,” Nishimura replied with a grin. Slowly and deliberately, he turned over his cards. “But I’ve got five of a kind.”

Mateus cursed in Portuguese before slamming her fist on the table. “Spencer did the same thing when he played me. You both cheated!” Her accent was deep enough that understanding all the words coming out of her mouth was difficult.

“Nah. I don’t need to cheat, Lieutenant. All Marines are gifted at cards.” Nishimura scooped up all the chips. “I’ll make sure the guys know you chipped in to get them steak dinners when I do my side supply purchase.”

Before anyone could respond, a knock came at the hatch.

“You invited more Marines?” Mateus asked darkly but with a touch of amusement.

“Not me,” Justin replied.

“Come in!” Mateus shouted.

The hatch swung open, and Whatley stood there with a bottle of alcohol in one hand. “I’ve meant to crash this card game for a while now.” He strode in and did a double-take at Nishimura. “What the… What’s he doing here?”

Nishimura sprang from his chair and gestured at the pile of credits. “Soliciting donations to the TCMC steak fund. Your pilots were in quite the giving mood.”

As Justin and Feldstein doubled over laughing, Whatley’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh hell no,” the CAG replied. “Sit your ass down, Marine. You and I are going to settle this man-to-man.”

“Ooh, this is gonna be good,” Mateus said to peals of laughter.

“I’ll go get some popcorn from the mess,” Adeoye interjected. “We’ll need it.”

The laughter continued, and as they got back to playing, Justin felt good. Even amid all the pain and strife around them, they could still feel and enjoy one another’s company. It made all the difference in the universe.

25

Jason Nolan’s days seemed to grow longer and longer. Maybe it’s just my getting older. He’d already flipped through the daily presidential intelligence brief on his tablet while brushing his teeth and shaving for the day. It brought another list of trouble spots, problems, and League attacks.

At 0655 sharp, Abdul Karimi, his chief of staff, stuck his head through one of the Oval Office doors. “Mr. President, are you ready?”

Nolan snapped his Bible shut. Until a year ago, he’d cracked it open maybe once or twice a year. Now, he sought solace and wisdom within its pages daily. Anything to give him strength to make difficult decisions that sent millions of men and women into harm's way. “I am.” He stood.

They walked down the hall to the briefing theater. A small army of military officers and civilian advisors clustered around a thirty-person conference table and lined dozens of chairs along each side of the room.

General Antonio Saurez leaped to his feet along with everyone else the moment Nolan crossed the threshold. “Commander in chief on deck.” He and the other CDF officers braced to attention.

“As you were, ladies and gentlemen. Please be seated.” Nolan sat at the head of the table and turned to Saurez. “Good morning, General.”

“Good morning, Mr. President. Where would you like to begin?”

Nolan smiled. “Eire.”

“Of course, sir.” Saurez nodded to a younger officer, who touched a control on the central holoprojector. The lights dimmed, and a 3D representation of low Eire orbit appeared. A string of red icons encircled the planet. “If you direct your attention to the simulation, the Leaguers have installed a planetary defense system. It's specifically designed to supply long-range missile support, and they built it off our space elevators.”

Silence invaded the room as those assembled took in the display.

“Aside from it being an obvious impediment to retaking the planet, General, what’s the point?”

“There’re enough missiles on those installations to give even our toughest, largest vessels a run for their money, sir. As I’ve observed to you on countless occasions, the enemy can’t match us on equal numbers, but they can overwhelm us with their quantitative advantage.” Suarez cleared his throat. “I believe we have a solution.” He touched a button, and several icons flashed. “Instead of trying to slug this out with battleships, we instead will send in enough carriers to overwhelm them with small craft.”

“Fighters? Bombers?”

“Exactly, Mr. President. Simultaneously, Space Special Warfare operators will infiltrate all three space elevator orbital complexes. Their primary objective will be to shut down the planetary-defense network. If that cannot be accomplished, they will transit to the surface and cause as much mayhem as possible.”

Nolan furrowed his brow. “It sounds risky, General.”

“Sir, this plan is exceptionally risky. However, it balances out the risk by not committing our battlewagons and other heavy assets.” Saurez set his jaw. “It will also demonstrate whether our fourth-generation space-superiority fighters and bombers can tangle with a hardened target and prevail.”

The results would be vital against the backdrop of an ongoing debate within the highest levels of the Terran Coalition government on what type of ships, how many of them, and what strategy doctrine to adopt. “When do you project being able to execute?”

“That answer hasn’t changed, sir. I think we’re probably six months away. Right now, we’re focused on bottling up the Leaguers and extracting as high a price as possible for them to keep supplying their prize.” Saurez adopted a nasty smirk. “It’s all well and good to capture territory, but holding it is the problem.”

A white-haired woman, Rachel Ziv, director of interstellar intelligence from CIS, leaned forward. “I am happy to report a robust resistance network has sprouted up throughout Eire.”

Nolan turned to her. “Undoubtably encouraged by CIS assets?”

“Of course, Mr. President. As of last report, close to a thousand cells are active, and attacks on League logistics are carried out nearly daily.”

While tying up enemy troops was a positive thing, Nolan wondered what the cost in civilian lives was. “How are the Leaguers responding to those attacks?”

“With collective punishment and reprisals, sir.”

“Give it to me straight, Director.” Nolan narrowed his eyes.

“They kill ten civilians for every League soldier killed.”

Gasps went up around the room.

Nolan set his jaw, wanting to throw up. “Perhaps we should consider waving the resistance folks off. Wait until we’re ready to attack.”

Ziv exchanged glances with Karimi and Saurez.

Saurez cleared his throat. “Mr. President, as deplorable as the loss of life is, this is war. Our people are fighting for their freedom. They’re raising hell behind the lines and confusing the battlespace. To call them off now would be a betrayal of everything they’ve fought for.”

“I might add that every time the League carries out another reprisal, it drives more citizens into the ranks of the resistance,” Ziv said. “And they grow ever stronger. CIS believes by the time we’re ready to launch the campaign, there will be upward of five million partisans.”

Somehow that was cold comfort to Nolan. Something else to pray for absolution on. He forced himself to move on. “I noticed a reference to pirate activity along with it being squashed by the Zvika Greengold in my daily intelligence brief.”

“Yes, sir.” Saurez shook his head. “I think General Yukimura wanted to give Colonel Tehrani and her crew some rest. Instead, they stumbled into a hornet’s nest.”

Laughter scattered through the room.

“Do we believe the problem is resolved?”

Ziv leaned forward. “CIS is still investigating, Mr. President. Right now, we think so, but we’re not sure. Our asset on scene is concerned about how quickly these pirates deployed advanced weaponry. He’s convinced there’s more to it than simple criminal mischief.”

“I take what your asset says with a grain of salt after reading the report given on his conduct by CDF personnel on scene.” Saurez narrowed his eyes. “Especially after he advocated torture.”

“Enhanced interrogation isn’t torture, General,” Ziv replied curtly. “Especially not of irregular combatants.”

As Saurez started to respond, Nolan stepped in, unwilling to allow a fight to break out during the morning briefing. He brought his hand up. “Read my lips: no torture. Period. Not on my watch.”

“Sir—”

“Don’t test me on this, Director Ziv,” Nolan replied. “You serve at my pleasure. Don’t forget it.”

“Yes, sir.” Ziv sat back, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Neutral shipping guilds, including the Interstellar Spacers Union, are howling about the attacks, sir,” Karimi interjected. “We’re getting diplomatic complaints from all major human worlds in the border area. Lusitania, New Cornish, and Gilead, to name a few.”

If it wasn’t one thing, it was ten others. Nolan suppressed the desire to put his head in his hand. At a time when civilians are in peril from a communist empire hell-bent on dominating all of humanity, we have to deal with this? “Let me guess, General. The CDF doesn’t have any available assets for pirate interdiction.”

“You’ve got that right, sir. It’s a stretch to keep the Greengold’s battlegroup on station. Frankly, we want her back at the front. Terran Coalition Frontier Enforcement and in-system patrol vessels are going to have to pick up the slack.”

“What about the Organization of Non-Aligned Planets? They encompass most non-Coalition worlds. Perhaps they’d be willing to work with us to defeat these pirates.”

“Well, sir…” Karimi smiled. “It's funny you should mention that. A few large corporations with an interstellar presence have reached out—"

“Absolutely not. The Terran Coalition does not work with megacorps.” Nolan’s face grew warm. A bedrock of Coalition policy was that they did not allow the so-called megacorps to do business with any portion of the government, military, or civil authorities. If it were up to Nolan, they’d be driven out of business. “Not now. Not ever.”

“But, sir, since the Greengold saved a group of their mining vessels—”

“We have principles, do we not?” Nolan asked as he scanned the room. “I’ve been reading my Bible quite a bit these days, ladies and gentlemen. It’s got a lot in it about doing what’s right, even when that’s not convenient. Megacorps exploit most of their employees, turning them into little more than slaves. Look at what happened to Hestia. The native population starves most of the time as punishment from their overlords. It's barbaric.”

“Mr. President, we need all the help we can get,” Karimi replied softly. “We both know that. I’m of the opinion that if Satan were willing to fight the League, I could probably come up with something nice to say about him.”

Nolan shook his head. “No. We do it the right way, or we don’t do it at all. What’s the point otherwise? It’s not enough to survive, folks. We have to keep our ideals and beliefs intact without becoming the very thing we profess to hate. For over a century, it has been the policy of all major political parties that megacorporations go against the core values of our republic. I won’t tear that up for the sake of expediency.”

Saurez set his jaw. “For what it's worth, Mr. President, I greatly admire you for saying that. I’ve seen what the Hestian Business Council and its ilk do regularly to the poor humans subjected to them. To say nothing of aliens.” The general’s face clouded over. “That said, we do need some help on the border.”

“Then we approach the neutral worlds. No megas. End of story.” Nolan crossed his arms. “Anything else for today?”

“The human-controlled planets beyond our frontier continue to distrust us, Mr. President,” Karimi said. “Finding common ground with them or organizing them to fight anything will be difficult.”

Nolan stood. “If it were easy, anyone could do the job, Abdul. For the last time. No deals with megacorps. If one of our ships comes across civilians under attack, they’ll always be empowered to help, but beyond that, we don’t do business with them. Clear?”

Karimi nodded and sucked in a breath sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Thank you for the updates, folks.” Nolan turned on his heel and marched out back toward the Oval Office. We’re only a year into this, and already some want to abandon our principles in the name of political expediency? As the thought roared through his mind, it was met with a rebuttal. Principles are well and good, but what do they matter if the Terran Coalition ceases to exist? The exchange continued to bother Nolan as he went through the day, but he sensed it was only one of many dilemmas he would be forced to face. He hoped in the end, God would give him wisdom to make the right decisions.

26

Freiderwelt Orbit

CSV Zvika Greengold

6 September 2434

With repairs completed, the Greengold was about ready to get underway. Earlier that day, the pirates overloading their brig had been transferred off the ship to a prisoner transport. Tehrani took great pains to ensure they were put into civilian custody with the Coalition Bureau of Investigation, as she didn’t want Grant or CIS ending up with them. While she wished to see every last one of the pirates end up in Lambert’s Lament, she was determined there would be no torture on her watch.

Sitting down on the small couch in her stateroom, Tehrani stretched her neck from one side to the other. We must do things the right way. In all actions we take, before Allah. General Yukimura had sent his congratulations on another successful patrol and a job well done. The Greengold was well on her way to another battle star. That’ll make nine. Yet in the quiet of her cabin, Tehrani’s soul was troubled.

Losses among the embarked air wing continued to exceed twenty percent after every patrol. They had a seemingly a never-ending supply of new pilots, enlisted personnel, and officers to replace the carrier’s losses. And they were all so young. With the war having gone on a year, the draft was finally having an effect. The downside was the legions of new soldiers had little experience. In three months, they’ll be veterans or dead. The cavalier nature of the thought immediately registered. What is happening to me? War, Banu. This is what war does to all of us.

She touched her tablet and noticed it was nearly her allotted timeslot to vidlink her husband, Ibrahim.

A few virtual button presses later, his smiling face filled the device. “Banu! You’re early.”

“By a few minutes,” Tehrani replied, mustering as big a smile as she could. “How are you doing, dear?”

“Oh, you know me. Grading papers and trying to mold young minds.” He chuckled. “Even though I’m convinced the latest generation isn’t interested in being molded. Bah! All this talk of how socialism can be used as a force for good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even if we could somehow overcome the inherent problem with people who obtain power always wanting more until they’re completely corrupted…”

Tehrani sat mute, her lips pursed.

“You are clearly not in the mood to hear me bloviate tonight, my dear.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. We only get a few minutes a week, so I try to keep from letting…”

“You don’t have to protect me, dear. I may not be that dashing military officer you might’ve been hoping for twenty years ago, but I think you know I’ve got a strong constitution.”

Tehrani chuckled. “I told you back then I didn’t want a dashing military officer.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “And I thank Allah for bringing you into my life.”

“I can’t begin to understand what it’s like out there, except that I know there must be a deep sense of foreboding. Perhaps similar to the one I have when I hear about your ship in the news.”

Of course he’s worried too. Being at war hadn’t been in her plan or anyone else's, for that matter. At times, Tehrani struggled with the load. “I wonder if I’m not becoming indifferent to what’s happening around me. As I continue to live out the reality of this conflict, I feel as if I’m being hollowed out by it inside.”

Ibrahim's eyes grew wide. “Wife, our minds help shield us by lessening the pain.” He sighed. “Have you talked to anyone?”

Tehrani harumphed. “You mean did I see a shrink? No, and I’m not going to.” The suggestion immediately brought hostile thoughts to the forefront of her mind. She forced them down. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe the imam?”

“I should.” Tehrani tilted her head. “Pray for me.”

“Every day.” He smiled. “Several times a day.”

She snorted in return. “And to think a year ago, we only visited the mosque on major holidays.”

“And not even all of those,” Ibrahim added.

“Am I a hypocrite? I’ve said more prayers and been to services more times in the last year than I have in the last twenty years.”

Ibrahim’s eyes twinkled. “I think not. Perhaps the real test is what happens after the war. If we quit going and abandon Allah, then I’d say we are. I also do not believe we will do that.”

His words made sense, as they usually did. “No. My faith has become a source of strength. If nothing else, the promise of a better life after all this is said and done.”

“All this introspection, dear… What’s bothering you?”

She leaned back and frowned. “I used to think everything was a shade of gray and most things were so tangled up that we couldn’t get to the bottom of their morality. Then this war started.” Tehrani tilted her head again, and her neck gave an audible crack. “Now, after twelve months of combat, I believe everything is black and white. I fear for any slide into doing wrong, because I see what happens to those who do.”

Agent Grant was front and center in her mind. He was convinced his actions were ultimately for the greater good and justified whatever means required to achieve the end goals of defeating the League or defending the Terran Coalition. Seeing the corrosive nature of that belief on display had been an eye-opening experience.

“I trust you’ll make the right decisions, Banu,” Ibrahim replied. “I miss you so much.”

Tehrani smiled. “I miss you, too, husband. Hopefully we will get some leave soon.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It would be nice to leave it all behind, if only for a few days.”

“Soon.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Our time is almost up,” Ibrahim said as he sighed. “One of these days, I’m going to figure out how to get the government to pay for more comm credits.”

She laughed. “When you do, figure out how to get more ships too.”

Ibrahim chuckled. “I’m only an economist, not a magician.” He touched his fingers to his lips then to the camera. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tehrani replied.

The screen went black a moment later as the connection cut out. While she was forever grateful for the convenience of talking to her husband each week, at times, it was like being snapped out of the battlefield for a moment then being tossed right back in. The whiplash is something else. Setting aside the tablet, she picked up her copy of the Koran and began to read in the hopes it would calm her soul. May I find the strength to carry on, no matter the cost, as Allah wills it.

* * *

After completing his after-action report and debriefing the Greengold’s squadron commanders, Justin Spencer felt pride at a job well done. The Red Tails had performed at incredible levels against the converted pirate carrier, and the use of rocket pods had given them an extra advantage. That Adeoye had come up with the innovation was the tipping point with Whatley to get him assigned as the Winged Lightning CO. Still, the most pressing thought in Justin’s mind was talking to Michelle and Maggie. His comm credits had reset, leaving him to ditch the Alpha element card game early and make his way back to his cabin.

Personal tablet in hand, he sat on the small couch in the living area of his stateroom, counting down the minutes. When the time read 1900 CMT, Justin touched the vidlink call button and waited.

A moment later, Michelle appeared in the living room of their modest home. Her lips curled up into a huge grin, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, baby, I have missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Justin touched the screen with two fingers. “Where’s Maggie?”

“Sleepover with a friend.” Michelle winked. “I thought it would give us some quiet time to talk. For all fifteen minutes we get a week. How are you? The news said the Greengold fought a group of pirates. I mean, pirates? Seriously? This is the twenty-fifth century.” She made a show of rolling her eyes.

Justin laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. “Thank you. I needed that. I kept picturing the guys I was fighting in old-timey pirate clothing from a thousand years ago.”

She laughed, too, her eyes twinkling. “Do you routinely imagine your opponents in bad clothing, kind of like if one’s giving a speech, the common advice is to think of the audience naked?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” Justin said with a snicker. “Nah, just these particular opponents. Enough of the war. How’re you… and our baby?”

“Both mother and child are doing well,” Michelle replied in an impression of a male doctor. She giggled. “Morning sickness isn’t as bad as with Margaret, though I have this odd craving for lemon yogurt.”

Justin stared. “Lemon yogurt?” He made a face. “That stuff is disgusting.”

“What can I say. It’s a shame I’m not craving something like steak.” She touched the screen. “I miss you so much.” Tears streamed down her face. “I keep up a good front, but this is hard, baby. I wish they’d give you some downtime.”

Another wave of guilt flowed through Justin. Hearing Michelle voice her love for him as he was off fighting a war, leaving her to handle everything on the home front, was almost too much. He closed his eyes. If I don’t tell her, it’s going to eat me alive. Worse, it’ll eat our relationship alive. She doesn’t deserve that. He opened them and stared into the camera. “Hon, I have something I have to tell you.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Justin gulped. Okay, this is hard. He wished he were back in the cockpit, fighting Leaguers or pirates. Anything else would’ve been preferable. “I did something I’m not proud of. I, uh…” He bit his lip. “I almost kissed a woman under my command. I’m sorry. I didn’t, and I’ve never been alone with her again. I won’t be. I promise.” The words flooded out of his mouth.

“Wait a minute.” Michelle held up her hand. “You almost kissed another woman, but you didn’t? What happened? Who is she?”

“On the trip back from Sol, one night when I couldn’t sleep, I went down to the mess hall, and Feldstein was there too. We talked about the horrible losses the Greengold had taken and all our friends who’d died. One thing led to another, and…”

“I assume you were emotional for once,” she replied dryly.

“Yeah. Sometimes it comes out, you know?”

Michelle’s voice grew soft. “I know, baby. I can’t imagine what you go through out there. You didn’t—”

“No. As God is my witness, no.”

She stared at the screen for several seconds. “Then I forgive you.” Michelle smiled then tilted her head. “Wait. You just invoked God. Who am I talking to again?”

The words of Father Elliott advising Justin to talk to his wife came back into his mind. I suppose he’ll owe me an “I told you so.” “Yeah… that’s another change. I’ve been visiting the chaplain the last few weeks, and I’ve been to a few services.” He swallowed. “I, uh, well… I’ve accepted the idea that the universe isn’t purely random chance.”

“Does that mean you’ve accepted Christ as your savior?”

“No. It’s a bit of a stretch for me to get there yet. But I’ve prayed a couple of times, and…” Justin licked his lips. This is going to sound insane. “I feel like they were answered.”

Michelle stared at him. “Would you tell me what they were?”

The last thing I need to do is scare her to death with combat stories. “Let’s just say that a few times, the chips were down, and I was in a situation I shouldn’t have made it out of. But I did.”

“I would do anything to hold you right now.”

Justin could almost smell his wife’s hair as she spoke. I long to see her and Maggie again. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I feel so guilty about what I almost did. It's been eating me up.”

“Listen to me,” Michelle said. She leaned forward toward the holocamera. “I love you, and more importantly, I trust you to always be honest with me. Will I ask you a few more questions about things for a while? Yes. Do I hold something that almost happened against you? No.”

“Father Elliott told me about the same thing,” Justin admitted sheepishly. “When I was wrestling with what to do.”

“Sounds like a smart guy,” Michelle replied dryly. “You should listen to him more often.”

The relief Justin felt was like a two-hundred-kilo weight being lifted off his back. He redoubled his pledge never to allow himself to ever to be in a similar situation. “How’s the baby?”

“He kicks me constantly, to the point it's hard to sleep.” Michelle again rolled her eyes. “Takes after his father in that regard.”

Justin laughed. “I’ll do everything in my power to be there for his birth.”

“Good. Because I need you here so that I can hold your hand and scream at you for doing this to me.” She giggled before turning serious. “Baby, I know it's going to be virtually impossible for you to take leave. I’ll never hold it against you either. All I ask is you promise me you’ll vidlink in as soon as possible.”

More guilt washed over him at the thought of missing the birth of his son. I should be there. Every father should be there for such a life-altering event. “I’ve already put in for compassionate leave, but Major Whatley told me I’d have a better chance of seeing pigs fly in the vacuum.”

“I figured that something like that would be the response you got.” Michelle tilted her head. “This war’s upended everything, baby. My biggest worries a year ago were where we’d take our next vacation and the schedule for paying off my student loans.” She bit her lip. “Now those things seem so trivial.”

“Most things I used to gripe about in life now seem like the stupidest crap in the universe. It’s certainly given me some perspective.”

“Me too.”

The buzzer indicating they had fifteen seconds left went off.

Justin grumbled. “Another week. Ugh.”

“I got the holoimaging of our son back.” She winked at him. “I’ll use our allotment to send it over tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Justin grinned. “I’ll put it next to the picture of you and Maggie in my cockpit.”

“I love you, baby. Godspeed.”

Justin touched his fingers to his lips then to the camera. “I love you too. And uh, Godspeed.”

The screen went dark, leaving Justin in silence. What did Father Elliott say? That God wasn’t in guilt, nor did he condemn us. Justin could’ve sworn he heard the chaplain’s voice. God reproves us and convicts us to change our behavior. He doesn’t condemn us. Neither does my wife, apparently. His gaze moved to the small plaque given to him as a gift by Elliott. “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.”

With a smile, Justin stood up and went about his routine of preparing for sleep and the day to come. God willing, he would still be there in the morning, and it would be a better day.

Epilogue

Unity Station

Deep Space—between the Sagittarius and Orion Arms

14 September 2434

After another successful patrol in the LX Vasily Kanin, Admiral Chang Yuen looked forward to a few days of rest and relaxation on Unity Station to clear his mind. He’d toured two captured space elevators over Eire, inspecting the League troops aboard and defensive preparations for the inevitable counterattack by the Coalition Defense Force.

Yuen arrived a few minutes ahead of time for his scheduled meeting with Admiral Voronin, the commander of Unity Station. The hatch to the observation deck overlooking the massive ship depot and repair yard was guarded by two men in sharp black business suits. He recognized it as the latest style from Earth before he’d shipped out the year before.

One of the men scanned him with a handheld device. “You may enter.”

“Do you know who I am?” Yuen asked, his voice dripping ice.

“Admiral Chang Yuen, League of Sol Naval Directorate,” the man replied. “We are with the External Security Service directorate. Please, enter through the hatch. You are expected.”

Few things affected Yuen, and even fewer remotely scared him. The mention of ESS made his blood run cold. He could almost feel his face turn pale as he reached for the hatch and pushed it open. “Thank you,” Yuen mumbled.

In the expansive observation area, two men stood. Voronin was one. The other was unfamiliar. He had vaguely Slavic features and a dense though well-trimmed beard. Much like Yuen felt, Voronin appeared gaunt, his eyes narrowed, and his face was deathly pale.

“Ah, Admiral Yuen,” the newcomer said with a Russian accent. “I had hoped to meet you during my time here at Unity Station.”

Who is this new interloper? Yuen forced his lips into a neutral position and walked up beside the two men. “How can the navy help the External Security Services directorate?”

“I’d read you were a man of few words and much action,” the Russian replied. “I am Dmitry Borisov, and yes, I’m with ESS. As to your question, I think a better one is how we can help you.”

“Oh?” Yuen fumed inwardly. The only thing ESS does is screw up military operations and get my sailors killed.

Borisov stroked his beard. “You have trouble beating the individualists on the battlefield, yes?”

“Not when I get the forces I need to win,” Yuen replied with a thin smile. “As of late, that is becoming increasingly difficult.”

“And if the Terrans couldn’t make their vaunted ships? If their supplies of rare ores were cut off?”

Yuen considered his words carefully. “Then it would be easier to complete the victory.”

“I’ve believed for some time the way to defeat the Terran Coalition is from within. These individualists are decadent. They lack focus and can’t work together. This gimmick they’re using of paying other individualists to bring in supplies because the CDF can’t be everywhere at once… It presents unique challenges.”

“The solution is simple,” Voronin interjected softly, as if he was afraid to speak. “Declare unrestricted space warfare and shoot down any freighter entering or leaving Coalition space. The individualists will refuse to transport anything in because they won’t want to risk their businesses.”

Like I’ve been asking the Social and Public Safety Committee for permission to do for six months. “I agree, comrade.”

“With such limited thinking, I find it surprising we ever beat the Terrans.” Borisov sneered. “If you attack neutral shipping, it will inflame the neutrals, who will, in turn, join the Terran Coalition.”

“And?” Yuen asked through gritted teeth. This spy dares to lecture me? “There isn’t a single neutral world in the border zone capable of fielding enough military power to defeat a single cruiser-led battlegroup of the League Navy.”

“What if you accidentally destroy a Saurian freighter? Or a freighter of human design, crewed by Saurians? Or the Matrinids, for that matter?”

“We have five thousand ships in the home-defense fleet. They’re more than enough to sweep this entire individualist-controlled arm of the galaxy and grind them to dust.” As he said the words, Yuen knew the ships would never be sent, especially after the CDF’s attack on Sol. It still felt good to point out the obvious.

“The politicians won’t allow the steamroller,” Borisov replied. “Though you know that. Trying to bait me into a poorly timed comment. Perhaps you’re smarter than I first thought.”

They all eyed one another.

Voronin took a step back and held up his hands. “Comrades, we’re all trying to do the same thing: defeat the individualists and keep them from harming our glorious League.”

Borisov held out a tablet toward Yuen. “This is a list of the materials I require from your vessels.”

Plasma weapons… energy shields… explosives… hand-held weapons. What the hell is this? “We need this equipment. You want us to strip the plasma cannons off a cruiser?” Yuen nearly erupted. Only that the Russian was a fully-fledged ESS operative kept his fury in check.

“I don’t care what vessel you take them from,” Borisov replied icily. “Take them from Vasily Kanin, for all I care. Just have them delivered within forty-eight hours.”

“This is outrageous—”

“Or I will have you investigated for individualism.”

There it is again. The ultimate slur in the League of Sol, the worst crime another human could commit: individualism—putting the needs of yourself above those of society. For any League citizen, it meant an extended stay in a reeducation camp. For a high-ranking admiral, it would probably mean execution. Of course, that’s the threat to keep me in line and not asking questions. Yuen shifted his feet and attempted to avoid any show of fear. “You will have your supplies, Agent Borisov.”

“Commissar of the Sagittarius Arm Division,” Borisov snapped.

Yuen could hardly keep from bursting out laughing. This fool doesn’t understand that real power comes not from a title but from how those you command respect you. “Of course, Commissar.”

“That will be all.” Borisov turned to go then made eye contact with Yuen. “If ESS had been allowed to proceed with our original plan, the Terran Coalition would’ve crumbled from within, and the military could’ve cleaned up the mess. A pity the Social and Public Safety Committee was swayed by the admiralty.”

As the hatch closed behind the spy, Yuen let out a breath. “How long was he here?”

“A few hours. I was on the receiving end of a rather unpleasant loyalty session,” Voronin replied.

Yuen shook his head. “We’ll have to be careful.” The thought of having to defend against an internal enemy while fighting the Terrans was unpleasant. Let the spymaster play his games while we defeat the CDF. “Get the items he wants. And ramp up production of point-defense emplacements. We need to reinforce the orbital assets at Eire. I’ll give our foe something. They had procedures to destroy anything military of value. We got nothing out of the various stations in orbit.”

“It will be done, Admiral.”

The morning would bring another day, and Chang Yuen would be ready. The Terran Coalition would fall. The tides of history demanded it.

Battlegroup Z: Book 4 – Iron Hand: As shadowy forces inflict pain on the neutral worlds, Justin Spencer and the CSV Zvika Greengold are the last line of defense. Will they be able to engineer one more miracle? Get Book 5 today!

Only $2.99 - Tap HERE to read NOW!

THE END

Get Two free & Exclusive Daniel Gibbs Books

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

FREE BOOK: Join Captain James Henry as he tries to survive in the independent worlds after being cashiered out of the Coalition Defense Force. Can a broken man rebuild his life? Find out in A Simple Mission.

Both available FREE, only at
www.danielgibbsauthor.com/standfirm.

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

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