Michelle, despite her tears, grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, Justin Spencer.”
“You do that. I’d better get off of this before I spend my comm rations.”
“Rations?”
“Wartime… everything’s going to be rationed, from what I heard. We’ve never known anything like this in our lifetimes.”
“I suppose I might have to learn how to sew. Maggie goes through clothes every two weeks.”
Justin laughed. “Hopefully it won’t get that bad.” He paused and touched the screen again. “I love you.”
“I love you too. God bless.”
The screen went dark, and Justin set the tablet back on his desk. He thought of Michelle and playing with Maggie in their backyard. Determined to make it through another day, he took off his duty uniform and prepared for bed. Memories of happier days sustained him, and he eventually fell into sleep—with the belief that the next day, the CDF would take the fight to the enemy.
Epilogue
Unity Station
Deep Space—Between the Orion and the
Sagittarius Arms
25 October 2433
Unity Station was the largest space-borne construction ever undertaken by the League of Sol. For fifty years, they had slowly built it into a mammoth facility capable of supporting twenty thousand crew and hundreds of ships, and it had enough storage space to supply fleets of vessels a thousand strong. The station was the pinnacle of socialist engineering and a representation of how far they would go to ensure the whole of humanity existed solely under the banner of the League.
Fleet Admiral Chang Yuen stepped off the VIP shuttle that had carried him from the LX Vasily Kanin to Unity Station. The moment he did, a massive honor guard of hundreds of League Navy sailors came to attention. Their arms snapped to their chests in the salute of the League. He returned the gesture as the familiar tune of their anthem blared from an unseen speaker somewhere on the hangar deck. At the end of the rows of sharply dressed men and women, another admiral in a black dress uniform stood. Yuen made his way slowly through the lines.
“Admiral Yuen, I welcome you to Unity Station,” the other man stated. His name tag read Admiral Yegor Voronin.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve had quarters prepared for you, and crews are standing by to resupply your flagship.”
Yuen smiled thinly. “I suggest we dispense with the pleasantries and make our way to your office to discuss the war effort.”
The Russian stared at him with cold, hard eyes. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers, and a young lieutenant appeared at Voronin’s side. “Please escort Admiral Yuen to the observation deck. I will join him shortly.”
Both men touched their closed right fists to their chests. Yuen stalked off, following the lieutenant. Instead of making small talk, he spent the time observing the surrounding sailors. To his disgust, most had numerous uniform violations, and discipline appeared lax, as small groups congregated around others performing their duties. Individualism is never a moment away from threatening our society. To Yuen, individualism was the worst enemy a human could face. The League had spent centuries eradicating it from all aspects of their system, replacing it with a spirit of shared sacrifice and glory. Anyone who displayed the slightest hint of thought against the principles of the state was corrected.
A ten-minute walk later, Yuen and the lieutenant arrived at a well-appointed conference room adorned with the flag of the League of Sol and various posters, some urging citizens to report antisocial behavior and others showing victory over the capitalists of the Terran Coalition. The lieutenant departed, leaving Yuen alone.
By Yuen’s count, Admiral Voronin arrived twenty minutes later. Yuen spent the time analyzing personnel files and ship readiness reports from the roughly seventy vessels that had escaped the disaster at Canaan.
Voronin cleared his throat as he walked through the hatch. “My apologies. I had a few issues to deal with.”
Yuen held up his hand. “Seville will arrive back at Earth shortly. I am his replacement.” He grinned coldly. “This post should’ve been mine and would have, if it weren’t for the interference of Admiral Lambert. Now that it is… we’re going to do things my way.”
“The political officers seem to insist on us doing it their way.” The large Russian cleared his throat. “I don’t want things to get off on the wrong foot here. We have equal rank. My duty is to command this station and see that you have the resources and logistical support to win the war. Forget everything else. I want our sailors’ sacrifice to mean something. We lost a hundred thousand men and women in that stupid cluster of a battle with the Terrans.” His gaze drilled into Yuen. “Don’t make the same mistakes.”
“A political officer made the mistakes—one with little tactical training. Mine will realize the gravity of the situation and not interfere.”
Voronin stared. “You have control over your political officer?” He glanced around the room as if he was afraid of being overheard. “That’s not possible.”
“It is when you catch the aforementioned political officer engaging in individualist behavior.” Yuen licked his lips. “He won’t trouble us. Now, the next wave of ships will be here in two weeks.”
“How many?”
“Three hundred. Not enough for a straight-up slugfest with the Coalition Defense Force, but the CDF has to spread out, covering dozens of planets. We, on the other hand, will consolidate our strength and attack at their weakest points, landing our troops and taking over their outermost worlds.”
“That’s what Seville wanted to do,” Voronin replied. “But they wouldn’t let him.”
“His loss, our good fortune. I’ve never much trusted the French element of the League, anyway.” The animosity between the French, the Russians, and the Chinese was legendary, as they represented three distinct wings of ideology. As a student of The Art of War, Yuen was always playing the long game. He thought not
