“Audio only, ma’am.”
A few moments later, the transmission began, filled with static. “This is General Irvine, to any CDF or friendly military vessels in range. The League of Sol has broken our battle line, and we’re falling back to Canaan. If you can help us, even if your ship is small or damaged, we’ll take anything we can get. Civilian ships with weapons who are willing to fight are welcome. We must hold the line by any means necessary. I call on all citizens of the Terran Coalition to do their part to ensure our nation survives. Irvine out.”
Tehrani turned to Wright. “Repair status, Major?”
“Ma’am, we’re still not combat capable.” The words fell out of Wright’s mouth like a hammer. “Half of our point-defense emplacements don’t work, shields are at half strength, and so are the engines.”
She set her jaw. “Does the Lawrence drive function?”
“Yes, ma’am, but—”
“Can we launch fighters?” Tehrani asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And they’re all on ready five, aren’t they?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then we’re going.” Tehrani smoothed her black command sweater. “Worst-case scenario, we can drop our fighters and bombers off then get out.”
“Banu,” Wright whispered, “I’ll follow you to the gates of hell. You know I respect you and your abilities. But this is a jump too far. We’ve got what? Thirty-one small craft left? Our pilots are reservists. We’ve done our job. Let the big boys fight it out. We can’t affect the outcome of this battle. We should make for Canaan orbit and contribute our fighters to the fray there, if the fleet falls.”
His motivation was pure, and the argument resonated. But it clashed with duty, and duty won. “No. Our pilots could turn the tide or hold the line until the reinforcements arrive. We’re going.”
“You’re the skipper,” Wright said, his mouth in a tight line. “Promise me you won’t sacrifice the crew in a needless gesture.”
“Never.”
“Thank you.”
Tehrani shifted her gaze back toward the front of the bridge and the darkness of space. Allah help us all. She cleared her throat. “Communications, get me 1MC.”
“Tied in, ma’am,” Singh reported.
She stared at the mic built into her chair. “Attention all hands, this is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters. General quarters. This is not a drill. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set condition one throughout the ship.” She paused. “The fleet has called for help, and the CSV Zvika Greengold will answer the call. I know the last twenty-four hours have been hell for all of us. I do not take this action lightly, but it’s what we all signed up for when we raised our hands and took the oath. Do your duty. Fight hard. Fight well. Make me proud. Tehrani out.”
The lights on the bridge turned blue and dimmed as the general-quarters klaxon tolled. A moment later, Bryan turned around. “Conn, TAO. Condition one set throughout the ship.”
Tehrani nodded. “Energize our shields. Charge the energy-weapons capacitor. Navigation, plot a Lawrence drive jump to the fleet’s projected location ten minutes from now.” She punched another button on the CO’s chair. “Major Whatley, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, ma’am. I’m on my way to the hangar deck now.”
“I want everything we’ve got ready to launch in ten minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tehrani out.”
All that remained was to wait. The next ten minutes were an eternity.
With the general-quarters klaxon still ringing in his ears, Justin rushed into the flight bay, helmet in hand. Pandemonium was all around him as crew chiefs, munitions techs, and maintenance team members rushed about, performing last checks on the thirty-one combat spacecraft left on the Zvika Greengold. Resolutely, he trudged toward his Sabre. Pockmarked and charred in several places but still operational, it sat like a chariot of old, waiting to carry him into battle. It looks about like I feel.
“Attention on deck!”
Justin turned to see Major Whatley standing at the front of the flight line, holding a portable public-address amplifier in his hand.
“Pilots, front and center!” Whatley’s voice reverberated off the alloy walls of the hangar and caused everyone to turn toward him.
The rest of the pilot cadre formed into neat rows. Justin joined them and came to attention.
“As you were,” Whatley began in his gruff tone. The major appeared worried, with dark rings under his eyes. “I’m not here to sugarcoat this, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve been called on because the fleet is close to being overwhelmed. We’re going up against extreme odds.” He paused. “I know most of you young’uns don’t remember, but I’ve been CDF for fifteen years. My father was CDF for thirty years. He fought the Saurians in both wars. He told me stories about going into battle, outnumbered three to one in fighters that didn’t even have shields. He and his pilots told each other they were going to fight the good fight, no matter the odds. They believed God was at their side and would guarantee victory.”
Justin glanced around to those on his right and left. Worried faces greeted him.
“That’s what we’re going to do today. In a few minutes, the Zvika Greengold will drop out of her Lawrence drive wormhole, and we’re all launching—including me. We’ll stand together, fight together, and prevail together. I know you’re reservists, and we weren’t prepared for this. But all of you”—Whatley made eye contact with Justin—“have performed superbly. In every engagement so far, our air wing has acquitted itself better than it had any right to. It’s an honor to fly alongside and lead you. So, men and women of the Greengold’s flight wing… man your craft! Fight like there’s no tomorrow, because there isn’t if we fail.” His voice rose. “Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”
Out of nowhere, the entire company shouted, “No matter the odds!” The tumult shook the deck plating.
“Now, get out there and kick those Leaguer bastards back to Earth, where they belong! Dismissed!” Whatley yelled, and they all took
