Justin dodged several crew chiefs then slid to a stop next to his Sabre.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he whirled around to see Whatley.
“Lieutenant, I want to shake the hand of a brave man.”
For a moment, Justin froze, then he took Whatley’s hand, gripping it firmly. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve been rough on you, perhaps undeservedly. You’ve done well and fought bravely. Good luck out there, and Godspeed.”
As Whatley turned to go, Justin said, “Sir, wait. You were right. I joined for the wrong reasons.” He bit his lip. “But I’m fighting for the right ones now.”
“I know.” He held up a finger. “Don’t think for a minute this means I’m easing up on you.”
“Of course not, sir,” Justin replied with a grin.
“Mount up, son. Give ’em hell.”
Justin slotted his helmet into the O-ring at the neck of his flight suit and climbed the small ladder leading to the cockpit. Once he’d slid down into the seat, he looked over the side and gave a thumbs-up.
The crew chief returned the gesture and triggered the sequence to seal the cockpit’s windows while Whatley watched.
Out of the corner of Justin’s eye, he caught Whatley saluting him. He quickly turned and snapped off a salute of his own. A wave of emotion washed over him as he realized how much the respect of the older officer meant. As the major stalked off, Justin started his preflight checklist. Halfway through, he stopped and pulled out the small paper photo of Michelle and his daughter he’d printed earlier in the day and affixed it to an uncovered portion of his flight controls, in a position that didn’t obstruct any instruments. This is what I’m fighting for.
While the pilots readied for battle, Tehrani sat in the CO’s chair, bathed in blue light from the overhead and counting down the minutes and seconds till they jumped. Additional damage-control teams along with additional watchstanders had reported to the bridge several minutes ago, answering the call for battle stations. They had little left to do but wait.
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called.
Tehrani sucked in a breath and turned to Wright. “Ready?”
“I think the proper answer is ‘Yeah, it’s what we trained for.’ But I’d be lying if I said I ever thought we’d be in another war within my lifetime.” Wright forced a smile. “Just our luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” Tehrani replied. Her eyes went back to the small monitor above her head. “Navigation, reconfirm jump coordinates.”
“Triple-checked, ma’am. We’re ready to go.”
“Navigation, engage Lawrence drive.”
The lights dimmed as the FTL system drew massive amounts of power from the Greengold’s energy-distribution system. Directly ahead of them, an artificial wormhole whirled into being. Its coloration changed by the second from green to blue to red and every color in between.
“Conn, Navigation. Wormhole stable, ma’am.”
“Take us in,” Tehrani replied as she exhaled. “Best speed.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The wormhole appeared to grow as they approached, an optical illusion of the swirling vortex. The Zvika Greengold crossed the event horizon and, not more than a second later, appeared on the other side. Disruption from the transit disabled sensors and shields, something that vexed all known users of the Lawrence drive, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Conn, TAO. Sensors online. Transit complete. Within five thousand kilometers of target,” Bryan said. “We’re slightly behind the CDF battle line and roughly a thousand kilometers from the flagship.”
“Navigation,” Tehrani said as she leaned forward, “intercept course, Sierra Seventy-Eight.” The icon indicated a battleship-class vessel, and it had a lot of League small craft around it. After a few seconds, the IFF transponder identified the ship as the CSV Conqueror. She grinned. It’s only right that we ride to their rescue once more after they saved us.
“Course set, ma’am.”
“Max thrust.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied. “Ion engines still answer at fifty percent of nominal output.” There was a great deal of fear in her voice.
“Keep trying for more, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “As the engineers make repairs, the thrust potential should go up. If not, we’ll make do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tehrani sat back in her seat, glancing between the tactical plot and the watchstanders around her. Some quick mental arithmetic told her it was time to get their fighters in space. She punched the intercom button on the CO’s chair, linking into Whatley’s Sabre. “Major, this is Colonel Tehrani.”
“Go ahead, ma’am.”
“Readiness status?”
“All my pilots are strapped in and awaiting launch orders.”
“You’re cleared to launch, Major. Godspeed and good hunting.” The use of the old terminology, for some reason, felt comforting to Tehrani.
“Acknowledged. Same to you, Colonel.”
14
With his preflight checks completed, Justin adjusted inside the Sabre’s cockpit. They were minutes or perhaps only seconds away from combat. He’d checked, rechecked, and triple-checked every aspect of his craft. All weapons hardpoints were full, and all systems were go. He had nothing left to do except wait.
“Anyone know who Zvika Greengold was, anyway?” Mateus asked.
Justin welcomed the distraction. “Didn’t you read the introduction email from the ship’s automated greeter when we reported aboard?” he replied.
“Nah, I was too busy getting ready to smoke all of you in our final flight tryouts.”
Snickers filled the commlink.
“Zvika Greengold was an Israeli tank commander during a war on Earth,” Feldstein interjected.
“More than that,” Justin replied. “What I read said he took on hundreds of enemy armored vehicles with one tank. He fought for days with little support and was burned over thirty percent of his body. Historians credit him with nearly single-handedly saving the Jewish state.”
“That fits somehow,” Adeoye said, “as we have repeatedly gone up against superior forces and won.”
Justin pondered Adeoye’s words. What’s in a name? Perhaps the knowledge they served on a ship named after a man who’d performed heroic deeds made them all want to live up to his example.
A quick burst of acceleration from the carrier cut the conversation short. This is it. The knowledge that they were riding into an emergency in which everything hung in the balance wasn’t lost on him. What’s that my dad
