An icon appeared on the screen, showing the vidlink in progress. It changed color to a black background and finally to the face of Ibrahim, her husband. His brown beard and hair looked almost faded, as if he’d aged since Tehrani had last seen him. “Dearest,” he began as he fumbled with his tablet. “I’ve been so worried. Thank Allah, you are alive and presumably well.”
Seeing and hearing him made so many things better for Tehrani. She felt as if her spirit had taken off for the stars. She laughed. “I’m alive. We’re stood down between operations,” she said, carefully avoiding the use of words like combat, not wanting to alarm him further. “What about you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I shouldn’t be now, but… I miss you so much.”
He harrumphed. “What did you do, Banu?”
“I’m the commander of the ship. I overrode the comms lockout.” Tehrani cocked her head to one side. “Rank has its privileges.”
“The university is in an uproar,” Ibrahim stated. He was a professor of economics at the Arabian Institute on Canaan. “There’s little in the way of accurate reporting.”
He’s asking me what’s really going on. Tehrani touched her fingers to the screen, trying to feel him through the distance between them. “Husband, I can’t tell you anything, except we’re holding our own. Pray for us.”
“I didn’t think we were much the praying type.”
Neither of them was especially devout, and while Tehrani prayed a few times a day—never the five required—it was more of a cultural ritual than devotion to God. “Flying into…” She didn’t want to mention the word battle. “Danger demands additional faith.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll debate that with you when you return, and your reasoning.”
“Can’t wait,” she replied sarcastically then smiled sadly. “I miss you.”
“We both miss you too.”
They had no children, only a dog. She’d decided long ago not to bring a child into the universe while serving as a CDF officer, especially as promotions came through. That would all change in six months, when her twenty years were up and a well-earned retirement was due. If I get to retire. In an all-out war, it probably won’t be in the cards.
Tears almost came as she remembered happier days. “I’d better disconnect this before someone realizes what I’m doing.”
“I love you, Banu.”
“I love you too.” Tehrani leaned in and made an air kiss at the tablet. Ibrahim did the same.
Then the screen went black.
Left with her thoughts, Tehrani lay back on the bed, trying to force herself to sleep. The idea of an occupied Terran Coalition, where the way of life they had and the freedoms and privileges held dear by every citizen suddenly ceased to exist overnight, was terrifying. She fought to turn her mind off so that she could rest. It took a while, but eventually, she fell into a deep slumber in which she was haunted by nightmares of the Zvika Greengold exploding from battle damage. After several hours of the recurring dream, she got up and returned to duty.
13
Tehrani lifted her mug of hot CDF coffee to her lips and took a sip. The coffee was bitter and intense, just the way she liked it. Around her, the bridge was a beehive of activity. The damaged consoles were mostly repaired, though a small crew of enlisted personnel continued to replace wiring in a secondary fire-control system that handled the starboard point-defense weapons. She’d been in her chair a good hour after touring the vessel, visiting the Imam in the chapel, and finally ending up on the bridge. It was almost 0500 Coalition Mean Time, which meant that most of the first-watch personnel would wake up shortly.
“Conn, Communications,” Singh called. He’d been standing watch all night. “I’m getting fleet-link requests from the Victory.”
General Irvine’s flagship. “Plug us in, Lieutenant. If nothing else, we’ll get to watch the battle unfold. Put the feed into our holotank.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The central holotank came to life with a view of the battlefield roughly one hundred million kilometers away. Blue and red icons, representing friendly and hostile forces respectively, sprang into being. Tehrani had never seen so many live contacts on a sensor readout. It was mind-boggling how many ships were out there, slugging it out with one another. She watched as groups of vessels charged forward on both sides then retreated only when many of them disappeared from the screen. The realization that each one of the blue dots represented hundreds or even thousands of lives shook her to the core. My fellow soldiers are dying by the thousands. More than anything, she wanted to do something.
The battle continued for almost two hours with nothing but volley and retreat, and through it all, Tehrani took cold comfort that far more red icons were disappearing than blue. Additional watchstanders arrived, as did Wright. Little was said. Each time the Leaguers destroyed a friendly vessel, she whispered a prayer in Arabic for their souls. Then all the dots moved. Nearly half an hour later, what was happening finally dawned on her. General Irvine had caught a flotilla of enemy ships out of place and mousetrapped them. The bold maneuver opened a hole in the League’s lines, and a squadron of destroyers and cruisers charged through.
After that, all hell broke loose. The enemy commander closed the hole, cut off the forward units, and shredded them. Not a single vessel made it back to CDF lines. Tehrani felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart as each blue icon disappeared. Worst of all, she could do nothing.
“Conn, Communications,” Singh said, interrupting her mental anguish. “General distress transmission from CSV Victory, ma’am.”
“Put it on.” Tehrani returned to the CO’s chair
