He snickered. “I think that applies to all of us.”
Feldstein put her fork down again. “You know, the aw-shucks routine is nice and all, but you should know I and the rest of the squadron respect the hell out of you, sir. Going back again today to make sure the SAR bird got out along with Hastings… you’re on the way to becoming a legend.”
“If it was me out there, tumbling through space in one of those pods, or worse, in the vacuum, I hope someone would do the same for me. That’s why I did it.” He sucked in a breath. “Speaking of the rest of our merry little band, where are Mateus and Adeoye?”
“The last I saw of Mateus, she was headed to the simulators, ranting about wanting to improve her neutron-cannon accuracy percentages. Adeoye is…” Feldstein turned away. “He’s really bothered by the ship losses. I think he blames himself.”
“We all do.”
“It’s not our fault, sir.”
“Really? Because we’re the sharp tip of the spear. You heard the major. Every time we miss, we help the enemy.”
Feldstein scrunched her face, and her cheeks turned red. “That’s a slogan, not a solution. You know as well as I do that there was no way to win.”
“So? We go on our merry way, eating and drinking as if nothing happened?” Justin put his fork down. “Look, I know your heart’s in a good place. But right now, I don’t want a pep talk. All I need is a conversation with my family before I go back out there at a moment’s notice and probably buy the farm.”
For a moment, he thought Feldstein was going to go off on him in the middle of the mess. Instead, she chuckled. “Do you know where the expression ‘buy the farm’ comes from?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Hundreds of years ago, if a pilot crashed in a farmer’s field, the government had to pay for the lost crops. The farmers got quite good at marking up the cost of their crops. Hence the expression ‘bought the farm.’” Feldstein smirked. “Funny how that’s survived all this time.”
The factoid made Justin smile. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” He stood. “I’m going to go see if I can get those communications credits I’m due. See you in six hours? Alpha has the 0400-to-1000 CMT scramble watch.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Not like there’s anything else to do on this ship, anyway.” She grinned. “I hope you get through.”
“Me too.” Justin turned and walked out of the room. The mood was still as dour as when he’d entered half an hour ago. It seemed to permeate the entire vessel as he walked the passageways, snaked his way through the bowels of officers’ country and finally ended up in the section of staterooms reserved for the pilots and other space-aviation officers. He pushed the hatch to his quarters open and let it close with a thud behind him.
The room was dim, but the lights came on automatically, a motion sensor triggered by Justin’s entry. It felt so lifeless and empty. As he’d only been assigned to the Zvika Greengold for two weeks, he’d packed no real personal items in his space duffel. He didn’t even have family pictures. As a result, the area was untouched and sterile, an ever-present reminder of how suddenly the war had broken out, leaving shattered dreams and plans washed away.
Justin spotted his tablet sitting on the small desk in the corner of the stateroom. He glanced at his commlink, chronometer, and health tracker attached to his wrist like a watch of old. The time was almost 2000 hours CMT. Roughly when I should be able to reach home.
He sat down and pulled up the vidlink application. Michelle’s profile was the first contact. The screen stayed dark for a good forty-five seconds, leading him to believe it wasn’t going to connect.
Then Michelle’s smiling face appeared.
Right next to her was his four-year-old daughter, Maggie. “Daddy!” she exclaimed. “Mommy wasn’t sure you could talk tonight.”
Justin’s lips curled into a wide grin. “Nothing was going to keep me from my girls.” He gulped. “I miss you both so much.”
“We miss you too,” Michelle replied.
Beneath her smile, Justin recognized the unmistakable signs of sadness, not the least of which was puffiness around her eyes. After several years of marriage, he knew what crying looked like on her.
“How was your day? It’s what? Six p.m. ship time?”
“Not quite. More like eight. But who’s counting? I’ve got a watch shift from 0400 to 1000 hours tomorrow morning, so I’ll get a few hours of sleep.”
“Daddy, did you fight the Leaguers again? Everyone at school is talking about how the Coalition won’t let them take our planets.”
The innocent way in which Maggie asked the question, coupled with the thought that a four-year-old girl shouldn’t be thinking about war, cut Justin to his core. “Honey, don’t worry about all that. I’m going to keep you and Mommy safe.”
“Are you going to die, Daddy?”
Michelle let out something that sounded like a cross between a choke and a cry. “Maggie, don’t say things like that.”
Justin’s heart nearly broke. She’s only four. She shouldn’t have to think about life and death. “I’m going to do everything I can to come home, baby girl.” Justin couldn’t find it within himself to make a promise he might not be able to keep.
“You can’t promise?”
Justin shook his head. “All I can promise you and your mother is that every time I get into my cockpit and ride into the stars, I’ll do everything in my power to come home to you both.”
Maggie began to cry, tears streaming down her face. Michelle wrapped her arms around the little girl, trying to comfort her. “Daddy’s going to come home.” She directed a dirty look toward the camera. “Isn’t he?”
“I won’t lie to her, Chelle. She deserves to know her father’s fighting a war.
