As they all stood, the alarm klaxon sounded, and a voice boomed through the ship’s intercom. “Attention all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters! General quarters! Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill.”
“So much for the best-laid plans.” Mateus wiggled her eyebrows. “I suppose we’ll be heading down to the ready room now?”
Justin closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to focus. “Yup. Let’s go get suited up.”
“No rest for the weary,” Adeoye said.
The group walked out and made its way down the passageways of the Zvika Greengold. All the while, Justin thought about the last twenty-four hours, including the loss of three of their people and the enemy craft he’d destroyed. And those I’ve killed. There was no escaping it. He longed to hear his wife’s voice and see his daughter. He took solace in hoping that if he survived, he would see them after the battle.
8
Justin and his pilots donned their flight suits in record time—less than five minutes for the entire group to get their softsuits on and complete a pressure check with helmets attached. In the event of decompression, the suit kept its wearer alive until rescue and had a built-in homing beacon to aid recovery.
When they strode into the Red Tails squadron ready room, Major Whatley was waiting. The group stood at attention as one.
“As you were,” Whatley said in his gravelly voice. “I’ll make this brief.” He touched a button on the controller tablet, and the holoprojector morphed into an image of a large shipyard complex. “Our communist-bastard friends are attacking an installation that has twenty percent of our drydock space. We have one objective: stop them at any cost.”
“Sir, do we have projections for what we’ll be facing?” Justin asked.
Whatley turned and glowered at him. “Multiple destroyers with a space-superiority fighter escort. We should expect more. Capital ships, bombers… you name it. This is a priority target for them.”
“If it’s such a priority target, why not send a fleet?” Feldstein asked from one row behind Justin. “It seems silly to send in just a few destroyers.”
“Would you like me to contact the League fleet commander and ask him for you, Lieutenant?” Whatley asked mockingly. “Maybe I could get him on a vidlink so you could talk to him. How about that?”
Feldstein turned bright red. “I’m sorry sir. It just makes little sense—”
“Lieutenant, it doesn’t matter whether the enemy makes sense to us or not. They simply are. We don’t ask why. We show up and kill them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied crisply.
“Good. Moving on. A flight of four Mauler bombers will launch with you—Epsilon element. Alpha will engage targets of opportunity, provide close escort, and eradicate the enemy presence. Questions?”
“When do we launch?” Justin asked.
“The Greengold is spinning up her Lawrence drive now. You launch the moment we clear the wormhole. Man your craft!”
Pilots sprang up from their chairs and headed quickly toward the exit. Justin, however, stayed behind. He marched up to Whatley. “Major, permission to speak freely.”
“Oh, this oughta be good. Did I offend you, Spencer? Care for a hurt-feelings form to fill out?” Whatley’s lips curled into a smirk.
Justin’s heart beat faster, and his face grew warm. He’s just pushing my buttons. Determined not to give the man the pleasure of an emotional response, Justin set his jaw instead. “Major, with all due respect, I am the commanding officer of Alpha element and the Red Tails squadron. You will not discipline one of my pilots outside of the chain of command or shame them publicly. If you have an issue with one of my pilots, it goes through me.” He gulped. “Sir.”
Silence descended across the ready room. Whatley stared at him, his brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought or perhaps surprise. “That sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a backbone, Lieutenant.” He pursed his lips. “Okay. Done, dobber. I’ll just come down on you twice as hard.”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a war to fight.” Justin turned on his heel and marched off. That felt good. Really good.
Whatley gave no response, for once.
For the third time in a day, blue light bathed the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. A dozen additional enlisted personnel stood watch. Battle stations were manned and ready across the vessel.
Tehrani was adjusting to the new normal of combat every few hours. While she still felt a rush of adrenaline, it wasn’t the same as it had been the last time. Am I getting used to it? She briefly recalled taking part in the Valiant Shield exercises, but they didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
The other major difference was that simulated losses in a fleet exercise held no emotional weight. Everyone went home to their families, and the absence of friends and colleagues in the mess wasn’t an ever-present reminder of the cost of war. How does one get used to that?
“All systems ready, ma’am,” Wright said. “Damage-control parties standing by, and our fighters are ready to launch.”
“Good,” Tehrani replied as she nodded. “Give us another week. We’ll be veterans.”
Wright snorted. “If we’re still alive.”
“Touché.”
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called. “Ready to jump at your command.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “TAO, weapons and shields status?”
“Shields fully charged. Energy-weapons capacitor at one hundred percent, ma’am,” Bryan replied.
Once more unto the breach. “Communications, order the battle group to follow us in.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Tehrani stared at her tactical plot. It’s time to go. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive, all ahead full.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Space erupted in a spectacular display of colors as a vortex formed in front of the ship. The Greengold slid through. The view changed briefly to the inside of the wormhole, directly followed by the blackness of space—albeit with a
