“That’s incredible—from a reservist, no less!” The man slapped Justin on the shoulder. “You’ll win this war for us single-handedly.”
Justin frowned and bit his lip. “I was just doing my job.” He glanced to his right to see several empty pads where Sabres usually sat. They’d been destroyed in the fight. “We lost eleven pilots.” Losing three pilots out of thirty-six was awful, but a third of all forces engaged was devastating. Justin turned back around and faced the technician. “On second thought, no, don’t paint my kills. I want you to put a marker down for every one we lost.”
After a few moments of silence, the technician nodded. “Outside of custom, but I like it, Lieutenant. We should remember.”
“Yes, we should.” The sentiment flowed into Justin like a wave. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt good, like his fellow warriors would live on, memorialized on the side of his Sabre. It seemed fitting to honor them this way, especially since the Red Tails had been the first fully religiously integrated squadron in the CDF. Justin recalled reading the squadron’s history when he’d been posted to it, including how the original Red Tails were the first group of African-American aviators in the American Army Air Force, with some of the highest kill to loss ratios in the conflict they fought in. They still stood as a beacon of how far humanity had come. Given the League’s assault on us, I suppose we still have a long way to go as a species.
“What symbol would you like me to use?” the technician asked.
Justin paused and tilted his head to the side in thought. “Hm.” A sudden inspiration came to him. “Use the symbol of each pilot’s faith. The Cross, the Star of David, the Crescent and Star, the Khanda…”
“And if they didn’t have a religion?”
“CDF service emblem.”
The technician nodded. “You got it, sir.”
“I suppose I’d better let you get back to fixing up my ride,” Justin said. “Thanks for keeping us in the fight the last few days.”
“My pleasure, sir. You keep blowing up those Leaguers, and we’ll keep you in the fight.”
With a grin, Justin turned on his heel and walked away. While he still felt heavy and struggled to process everything that had happened, the resolve to remember those lost somehow made him feel better. He decided that was the best he could hope for. At least until I finally get through to Michelle on the vidlink.
Later that evening, Tehrani was hard at work in her day cabin. She’d spent several hours writing letters to the families of those lost, stopping every so often as tears clouded her eyes. She didn’t sob, but an ache had settled in her heart as she struggled to remember each man and woman, some of whom she’d only met a handful of times. After twelve of the letters, she stopped and focused on the other priority: getting the Zvika Greengold ready to get back to the fight.
Major Hodges had already submitted a complete drydock workup, even attaching a notional schedule for repairs. I’ve never seen him quite so motivated before. Upon further rumination, Tehrani realized she’d never been so driven herself. The entire crew came across as focused, like someone had thrown a switch inside of them. A core of steel within her had been unearthed by the recent combat, but she resolved to retain the nurturing part of her command style.
The commlink on her desk came to life with the voice of Lieutenant Singh. “Colonel, I have a flash vidlink for you from General Saurez.”
Tehrani’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Saurez was the overall commander of the space fleet and one of the highest-ranking members of the CDF. Why is COMSPACEFLT contacting me? She touched the commlink’s reply button. “Put him through, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. One moment.”
An older human male appeared on Tehrani’s tablet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Good evening, Colonel.”
“And to you, General Saurez.”
He grinned. “I know. What’s a four-star doing contacting you directly, outside of your chain of command?”
“Well, the thought crossed my mind, sir,” Tehrani replied. She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I suppose nothing should surprise me after the last two days.”
“There’s an old Chinese curse… may you live in interesting times.” Saurez grimaced. “Unfortunately, we’re living through them. I’ve spent the last few hours sifting through after-action reports and kept seeing your ship come up. You’ve been all over the place, Colonel. Fighting like mad at the forefront of a pitched space battle, and your pilots—well, there’s a lot of heroes on the Zvika Greengold’s flight deck.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tehrani’s mind raced with speculation about why the general had contacted her. None of it was good.
“We’re putting the Greengold in for two battle stars to honor its contribution to both saving the Conqueror and the battle of Canaan. I could probably make a case for four, but let’s not get greedy. I reached out tonight because I want to know if you and your crew are ready to get back into the fight.”
“It’ll take a couple of weeks of space-dock time, sir, but the moment that’s done, we’re ready.”
“Your pilots and crew—they’re capable of sustained front-line action? Even though a few weeks ago, your vessel was primarily a training ship?”
Tehrani set her jaw. A bit of annoyance crept into her voice. “Yes, sir. They’re battle-tested and, after the last forty-eight hours, hardened veterans.”
“Ah, I can see that fire in your eyes at the slightest questioning of your crew,” Saurez replied. “Good. You’re going to need that fire, Colonel. I’m sure you remember that they designed the Thane-class escort carriers for convoy duty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I’m putting them back into. We’re not sure where the League will strike next, but we’re confident they’re not going away. That means the CDF has to cover a lot of space.”
An impossibly enormous amount of space. Tehrani frowned. “Will our battle group
