“Conn, TAO. Aspect change… enemy contacts are charging Lawrence drives. Wormholes opening, ma’am. They’re jumping out.”
Waves of red dots disappeared from Tehrani’s tactical plot. A few, with serious battle damage and nonfunctional FTL drives, remained. “XO, I want a bow-to-stern damage report in fifteen minutes.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Conn, Communications. Remaining League ships are requesting surrender terms.”
Tehrani snorted. “Let the generals deal with that.”
“Three hots and a cot for them, while we have a war to fight,” Wright groused.
“According to the Canaan Alliance charter,” Tehrani replied. “We don’t have to like it.”
“Just enforce it.”
“Touché.”
Wright shook his head and buried himself in his console, while Tehrani felt shocked to be alive. A few stray red icons representing enemy fast movers remained on her screen, but they dwindled by the moment as the overwhelming superiority of the nation-state reinforcements saw them off. “Recover our pilots as soon as practical, XO. Launch search and rescue… and may Allah have mercy on our lost and wounded.”
“Amen,” Wright replied, looking up from his screen. “I’m still working on the damage report, ma’am, but it’s safe to say we won’t be moving for a few hours.”
“Thank you, XO.”
17
In nearly stunned amazement, Justin watched as hundreds of friendly fighters swept the skies clear of enemy vessels. Mostly American and British designs, they were all variations on the Sabre he flew. For a moment, it felt as if the hand of God had reached down and exacted a price from the League. I remember my mother saying a miss is as good as a mile. But as the feeling of amazement faded, Justin examined the cost. Four of his squadron’s pilots showed red on his overview display—ejected or dead. Of the three squadrons from the Zvika Greengold, they had at least a thirty percent rate of loss. The statistic was sobering in the extreme.
“CAG to all friendly craft,” Whatley said. “Return to home plate. We’re done here. The Americans can have their glory. I won’t risk any more of you in mop-up.”
“Acknowledged, sir. Alpha is RTB.”
Feldstein and Adeoye came up from behind him, falling into formation. Justin took notice and cued his commlink to the private Alpha channel. “Let’s do the missing man. To honor Mateus.”
“Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied quickly. She sounded pained. “I’m going to miss her.”
As the two other Sabres slid into a finger-four formation, the number-three position was empty. Honoring a comrade fallen in battle was a time-honored tradition, and the weight of losing Mateus hit Justin like a ton of bricks. I lost someone under my command. Combat produced a high unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But the certain knowledge that someone’s daughter wasn’t going home overwhelmed him.
“Lieutenant Mateus was a fine pilot and a good friend,” Adeoye said. “I suppose on the bright side, she’ll stop cleaning us out at cards.”
The joke, delivered in his rich timbre, was just enough to shake loose even more emotions.
Justin blinked as a tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t know where we’re going from here, but it’s been an honor to serve with you.”
“Same here, Spencer.” Feldstein’s voice almost broke. “Damn, what a day.”
“And here you all are, carrying on.”
For a moment, Justin’s heart felt like it had quit beating. “Mateus? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me,” she replied. “What? You think I’m coming to you live from the afterlife?”
Silence reigned for more than a few seconds before Feldstein finally spoke. “What happened? We thought you’d bought the farm.”
“Lowest-bidder tech again. Comms were down on my escape pod. I just rewired it myself.”
Relief washed over Justin, and for a second, he felt guilty in his happiness that his friend wasn’t dead and he didn’t have to face losing someone close to him—at least not yet. “Well, I think this calls for a celebration.”
“Drinks in the mess. Lots of drinks!” Mateus replied.
“Hear! Hear!” Feldstein said with a chuckle.
As the Zvika Greengold came into view, Justin felt stunned once more. The proud carrier had more holes in her than he could count. Vapor was escaping from several wounds, while half the ship’s point-defense turrets were simply gone, mangled metal in their places. He wondered how she was still in one piece after the visible beating taken. I guess they build those things to last.
Despite it all, he grinned. These Leaguers took their best shot… and we’re still here. Our homes are safe, and they lost. He stared at the picture of his wife and daughter. And we’ll keep fighting.
The maw of the flight bay beckoned.
It took several hours of frantic repairs to the ion engines to get the Zvika Greengold ready to move under her own power once more. Tehrani thought about allowing another vessel to tow the ship, but she decided they’d earned flying home.
Search-and-rescue operations continued throughout the battle zone. Many were confirmed dead. The battle had been the single most costly engagement the Coalition Defense Force had ever fought. The Greengold was lucky, Tehrani reflected. Only one hundred twenty-four were dead, eleven of those being Sabre and Mauler pilots. Still, for a woman who’d never lost a person under her command and never expected to, it was a rude awakening.
Still on the bridge, Tehrani looked up from a damage report to see Wright staring at her with a somber expression. “What is it, Major?”
“S and R just confirmed that General Irvine is dead.”
“And the Victory?”
“The hull’s intact, but she’s a complete wreck. Worse, the entire hulk is irradiated. The initial report here”—he waved his tablet—“says there’s virtually no way to decontaminate her.” He paused. “At least she lived to see the victory. The Victory’s bridge crew were insistent
