Whatley saw Justin almost immediately and motioned him over. “The pilots are last,” he said matter-of-factly. “The other squadron commanders should be here shortly.”
Some of the caskets toward the end of the line had small flight wings hammered into the sides of them. Justin bit his lip, realizing just how close he’d come to being in one of them. So did Mateus.
A minor commotion at the entrance drew his attention. Francis Martin eased through the double hatch, but something was wrong. It took Justin a moment to process that the Australian’s left leg was missing, and he was hobbling on crutches. Two nurses and a doctor chased him, which was mildly comical because it wasn’t as if he were moving that fast. A grimace crossed the pilot’s face with every step he took. At about halfway between the door and the rest of the pilots, the doctor finally got in front of him.
“Lieutenant Martin, please, you’re endangering your life. Return to the medical bay at once. That is a direct order.”
Martin dodged to one side and kept coming. “Get out of my way, mate.”
Before things could get out of hand, Whatley turned and strode over. “What’s going on here?”
“Lieutenant Martin suffered severe trauma when he ejected,” the doctor replied. Even though he attempted to keep his voice low, the hangar deck plates had a way of making sound reverberate. “We amputated his leg not more than two hours ago, and he needs to be in ICU. Period.”
“I’m fine,” Martin said through gritted teeth. “Nothing is stopping me from saying goodbye to my mates. Now, you can either move out of the bloody way or court-martial me, Doc. I don’t care.”
“As soon as the ceremony is complete, you will return to the medical ward,” Whatley said as he stared at Martin. “Are we clear, Lieutenant?”
“Crystal, sir.”
“Major, I must—”
Whatley cut the doctor off in midsentence. “You’re doing your job. I respect that, but you have to understand how raw the emotions are right now. We lost a third of our number. These men and women need to be here. This is our way to see them off and go right back to the front. It’s how we grieve. Do you understand?”
“Major, his leg was amputated. I don’t even know how the man is standing in front of us. If an artery goes, he could bleed to death.”
“Then leave a nurse to ensure he doesn’t.” Whatley’s tone left no room for disagreement.
Justin noted that neither Tehrani nor the rest of the Greengold’s officers got involved. They seemed to have a general understanding that it was an aviation matter and would be handled by the major. Finally, the doctor nodded begrudgingly and walked off, leaving Martin to walk the last few steps. He came to a halt next to Justin and was soon flanked by Whatley.
“Thank you, sir,” Martin ground out, every word filled with pain.
Whatley put his arm around the pilot’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it, Lieutenant. You just focus on getting better.”
“I’m going to kill them all, sir,” Martin replied. His voice was level and calm. “The moment I can fly, I will be back in my Mauler, and as the universe as my witness, when I’m done, there won’t be any of those commie bastards left in it.”
For once, Justin had nothing to say. He couldn’t deny the spirit, but something felt off in his fellow soldier’s words. A realization that if he allowed such thoughts to take root in himself, he might end up in a dangerous place washed over him.
But he had little time for further internal ruminations, as the voice of Lieutenant Singh issued from the intercom speakers in the hangar. “Now hear this. Now hear this. Casket ceremony to commence in three minutes.”
At that, everyone took their places, including those that filed in steadily. Tehrani and the senior officers stood at the front, while Whatley and the pilots were a couple of rows back. The honor guard, consisting of two squads of seven soldiers each, came to attention.
The chaplain for the vessel took a step forward and spoke in a loud voice. “Eternal Father, strong to save, we commend the souls of brothers and sisters departed from this universe. Watch over them as they take their last journey. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
The haunting sounds of “Amazing Grace,” played by the lone bagpiper, filled the hangar. One by one, the caskets moved forward on their antigrav sleds. As each person passed, led by Tehrani, they saluted the fallen. It took what seemed like hours to remove the deceased members of the Zvika Greengold’s company. While the proceeding was somber, Justin realized that aside from a single tear he saw fall down the colonel’s cheek, people had shown little outward display of emotion—until they carried the pilots out, that was.
As the fifth casket containing the body of a pilot moved out of the hangar bay, Martin wept openly, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry, mates. It should be me in there, not you.”
The man’s cry carried across the deck. Whatley and Justin both moved to put their arms around his shoulders from either side. Of all the people to expect a breakdown from, Justin didn’t think it would’ve been the larger-than-life Aussie, who was always ready with a quip or insult.
“Siebert took a missile meant for me,” Martin continued. “I should’ve died. Not him.”
Whatley’s voice took on a soothing and kind tone, one that Justin had never heard out of the man before. “Lieutenant, his bomber was
