Laughter coursed through them all, and the sound echoed throughout the expansive flight deck. Feldstein appeared at Justin’s side, holding her helmet and wearing a broad grin. “Nice to see you in one piece, sir.”
“It’s nice to be in one piece,” he replied.
The crew chief that had provided the ladder climbed out from underneath the Sabre. “Well, I’ve got some good news, Lieutenant.”
“What’s that?”
“Everything’s repairable, and we’ve got the parts. You’ll be ready to fight in six hours.”
“Really?” Justin felt surprised at the pronouncement, considering how the onboard repair system couldn’t restore full flight control.
“Yeah, these birds have a flaw in the internal hydraulic system. If they get hit just right, well, the entire system craps out. You got unlucky enough to suffer the flaw.”
“That’s what we get for always going with the lowest bidder,” Feldstein replied. “Damn politicians. Always shorting the military.”
“So, let's go wet down our newest quadruple ace,” Mateus interjected, earning a rousing cheer.
“Spen-cer! Spen-cer! Spen-cer!” the group chanted.
Justin’s face turned bloodred, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He only knew he wasn’t interested in being celebrated—not with the loss of another pilot and the ship heavily damaged.
“Attention!”
Justin didn’t recognize the voice, but everyone immediately went rigid, with their arms at their sides.
“Clear the flight deck, pilots!” Whatley screamed, his voice raspy and hoarse. He came to a halt directly in front of Justin and stared him down. “Soaking up the glory, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir.”
“Uh-huh. I heard the reference about wetting down your kills,” Whatley said as he turned and swept the flight bay with his piercing gaze. “There will be no consumption of alcohol by any pilot at any point today. If you violate my order, I’ll have you thrown into the brig. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Justin shouted along with everyone else.
“Good. Glad to hear you’re capable of following an order, Spencer.” Whatley got two inches from Justin’s face. “If you ever violate another direct order from Colonel Tehrani, me, or any other officer appointed over you, I will bust you back to private and put you on latrine-cleaning duty for the rest of your CDF career. Dismissed!”
Fury shot through Justin at the speed of light. For a moment, he balled his fists and thought about punching Whatley in the nose. But he forced it down, turned on his heel, and stalked off with the rest of the pilots.
Feldstein caught up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look… don’t listen to him. You’re a damn hero for what you did out there.”
Justin wrenched away and kept walking. “Whatever. I’ll be in my cabin.”
11
While the crew had worked feverishly to repair battle damage, Tehrani had camped out in her day cabin, going through paperwork and writing condolence letters to the families of those killed in action. She’d never had to do that before. In fact, she’d lost no one under her at any posting until the previous day. Such is the reality of war. Tears fell down her face as she wrote a letter to the mother of a young soldier lost in the engineering spaces. Once she had finished, she sat quietly until the next meeting was scheduled to begin, trying to clear her mind and soul.
Tehrani felt trapped in a nightmare that wouldn’t end. Only I know it’s not. This is my reality now. She thought back to her husband and family, wondering if she’d ever see them again. Will he get a note from the fleet commander, thanking him for my sacrifice?
A few hours later, the senior staff gathered in the conference room on deck one. Tehrani strode through the hatch to find Wright, Whatley, Hodges, and Bryan already present.
They sprang up from the table as she entered.
“As you were,” she said, gesturing at the chairs. “Please take a seat.” I wonder if my nose is still red and my cheeks puffy. It wouldn’t do for those under her command to see her emotions. She steeled herself against any display as she sat. “Where are we at, gentlemen?”
Hodges went first. “Colonel, we have partial power restored to our engines and can maneuver at twenty-five percent of maximum thrust. Both reactors are back online, and hull patches are proceeding.”
Tehrani glanced between the men. “When can we be ready to fight?”
“Technically, we could fight now,” Wright began. “If we had to. But our survival chances will go up a lot once they repair the shields. Call it six hours.” He spread his hands out on the table and bit his lip. “Colonel, I think we have to consider the possibility that the Zvika Greengold is out of the fight, unless there’s literally nothing else left in the cupboard. We’re in terrible shape. Major Hodges gave me a schedule that has repairs ongoing for a week to regain full power to all systems.”
“The pilots are ready to fly on thirty minutes’ notice,” Whatley stated. He crossed his arms. “All you have to do is get us there, and we’ll take out as many of the bastards as we can.”
“You’re talking about a last stand,” Wright interjected.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, XO.”
“Gentlemen, I’m not ready to order such an undertaking and will not unless the fleet needs us. Our orders are to repair and rearm,” Tehrani said, leaning forward to retake control of the discussion. “That said, we must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”
“While we could fight now, Colonel, my pilots need rest.” Whatley leaned back. “I can have stims prescribed for them, but I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms—hopped-up pilots are dead pilots. Give us a few hours of sleep, a good meal, and a shower. After that, I’ll have them back in top shape for you.”
“I should put out there that half our point-defense emplacements are nonfunctional. If we have to engage, our port side will be susceptible to enemy missiles,” Bryan said. “We’re probably a day
