“You need it,” Tehrani replied with some mirth. “Check this out.” She turned her screen to face him.
Wright scanned over it. “Oh. Yeah. That doesn’t seem good. Not only does it look like someone’s tracking us, but whoever it is seems to have figured out where the most damaged freighters are.”
“Got it in one, XO.” Tehrani turned back toward the front of the bridge. “We’ll have more small craft on deck in…” She checked the ship’s time. “Twenty-three minutes.”
“The last report I saw from the Marcus Luttrell indicated main propulsion was fully operational, and they had all weapons back online.” Wright’s face betrayed worry. “That little ship seems to get shot to hell and back a bit too often for my taste.” He grumbled. “We oughta have at least a heavy cruiser, eight destroyers, and a small fleet of frigates out here, with another escort or light carrier.”
“What’s that expression you like to use? ‘When pigs fly’?”
Wright laughed loudly. “That’s it, ma’am.”
The bridge momentarily quieted, and Tehrani took a moment to ponder her XO’s words. As the commanding officer of an escort carrier, she’d been trained for convoy escort duty. Past wargames had shown just what he mentioned—strong carrier battlegroups backed up with capital-ship firepower watching over large formations of freighters. Key to their plans was an ample number of fast space-warfare vessels—destroyers and frigates—to prevent an enemy from nibbling at their flanks. Now they ask us to protect dozens of civilian ships with a force barely large enough for customs duty on a core world. An undercurrent of fear coupled with anger ran through Tehrani. She pushed it down and focused on her task.
In times past, CDF officers grumbled about command and the Joint Chiefs being too cautious, not committing enough warships, or one of any number of common complaints. But the problem wasn’t with headquarters. We lost so many ships at the Battle of Canaan that it’s a small miracle our tiny battlegroup is still functional.
A change on the tactical plot caught her eye. “TAO, confirm sensor ghost has closed to two hundred thousand kilometers.”
Bryan turned around. “It has, ma’am. I’m not getting strong enough echoes off its hull or propulsion to give you an estimate on what class of ship it is.”
“Too bad we don’t have a stealth raider with us,” Tehrani muttered. They were clearly about to get jumped. Allah help us if they bring another heavy cruiser. She reached down and punched the 1MC intercom. “Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters. General quarters. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill.”
The lights on the bridge immediately faded to blue, which had the effect of making the screens and consoles easier to see. A klaxon sounded once and cut out. Throughout the rest of the vessel, it would blare for five minutes. Anyone not awake after that was probably already dead.
Wright leaned in. “Going to GQ this early?”
“Best to be prepared.”
“You realize the uniform of the day is camo, right?” Wright asked.
Tehrani turned toward him, annoyed until she saw the wide grin plastered on his face. “Seriously, Major?”
Wright snickered. “Well, just saying. Your uniform is a bit… well, ripe.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is your command-in-space insignia out of place there? I think the ribbon bar’s off too.”
She shot back a withering look. “Don’t push a good joke too far.” Unable to keep a straight face, Tehrani smiled. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Don’t mention it, ma’am.” He sighed. “Captain Shikoba just reported a minimum of two hours before the freighters can jump.”
“All of them?”
“Merchant Marines are pretty gung-ho on sticking together. They all go, or none of them do.”
While Tehrani could respect the sentiment, if a few freighters had to be sacrificed to get the overall convoy through, that was what her duty demanded. And what’s a few more nightmares for a fleet officer to deal with? “Do we have the ability to override their navigation consoles remotely and trigger a jump?”
“Uh… er, um…” Wright’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I’ll dig into it.”
“While you’re at it, perhaps you should perform a uniform inspection for the rest of our bridge team.” Tehrani smiled wickedly. “Since you’re handing out demerits.”
“I think we can pass on that for now,” he shot back before directing his gaze to the screen attached to his chair.
Despite her attempt at a breezy attitude, mostly for her crew’s morale, Tehrani privately despaired. She couldn’t imagine a situation in which the Leaguers didn’t throw everything they had at the convoy. If they do, we probably won’t survive. The thought sobered her, though at the same time, it caused Tehrani to focus every bit of creativity and tactical prowess she possessed on finding an advantage. A prayer went through her mind. Allah, watch over Your warriors, and if it is Your will, grant us victory over this enemy.
An obnoxious klaxon woke Justin from his slumber. It felt like only moments before, he’d finally fallen into sleep. He wiped his eyes, carefully removing the hard crust that had built up around their edges, and blinked a few times.
That’s the scramble alarm. Like a bullet, he shot out of bed and raced to the bathroom, where he relieved himself quickly. No time for a shower. I guess I’ll smell up my flight suit. He rapidly pulled the one-piece jumpsuit that went under his space-rated flight suit, then he took the journey from his quarters to the flight deck at an all-out run.
“I don’t think that mustache is in regulation, sir,” Feldstein called as Justin entered the Red Tails locker room to put on his space-rated flight suit.
“Yeah, probably not. Don’t forget to tell the major.”
Feldstein snickered as she locked the seals on her boots in place. “How’d
