“Better than last night. I don’t remember anything after zonking out,” he replied. As he spoke, he stepped into his suit and went through the same protocol as she was, checking all joints and seals. In the event of ejection, their lives depended on it.
“Same nightmare?”
Justin pursed his lips. “Yeah.”
“You can’t single-handedly destroy every League fighter, bomber, and capital ship in the galaxy.” Feldstein’s voice grew soft. “Don’t take that burden on yourself.”
“I close my eyes, and I see that freighter blowing apart.” Justin peered at her. “Those men and women depended on us. We failed them.”
“No, we didn’t. It’s war, sir.”
“A jaded vet already?”
“We do the best we can, and that’s all God or our fellow men can ask of us.” She touched his arm. “There’s a Hebrew proverb from the Talmud: whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.”
Justin stared at her. “What’s a Talmud?”
“It’s a holy book… writings of our most respected rabbis. The point is, how many people have you saved, Justin? I’ve lost count of the number of times you bailed me out. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up.”
“I should probably see one of the fleet shrinks.” Counseling was already being offered to the entire ship’s company. Centuries of research on post-traumatic stress disorder showed that it was best treated by talking with fellow soldiers as soon as possible after the battle that triggered the reaction.
“Not a bad idea, sir.” She took a step back. “My suit’s good. What about you?”
Justin snapped the gauntlets into place and sealed them. “Yeah, me too.” He grabbed his helmet from the locker. “Ready room? I’m hoping there’s some coffee.”
Feldstein grinned. “I impressed some young private into making us a fresh pot and bringing down biscuits from the mess.”
“Why not some scones?” Justin asked with a smirk.
“Scones? Seriously?” Feldstein cracked up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t hit me as a scone kind of guy.”
“What’s wrong with eating a scone?”
“If you have to ask…” A stern expression came over her face. “I guess we’d better get in there.”
“Yeah.” Justin began going into combat mode, in which he shed all other concerns and focused on one task: defeating the enemy. He squared his shoulders, gripped his helmet tightly, and strode through the hatch into the ready room.
“Nice of you to join us, Lieutenant Spencer,” Major Whatley rasped.
Justin immediately felt on the spot. He looked around to see most of the Red Tails pilots already there along with a few bomber crews. The ever-present Boar-squadron pilots sat together on the left side. One of them made a brrrrrrt. It seemed to be their unofficial motto or something.
“I was making sure my suit was ready to face the vacuum.”
“Probably a good thing, Sabre boy,” one of the Boar drivers shouted. “Those short little ugly fighters of yours have poor armor.”
For a moment, Justin allowed his ego to take over. He turned and smirked at the man. “And just how many kills do you have?”
“Uh—”
“When you’re over thirty, let me know, and we can talk.”
Multiple cheers broke out, and Mateus let loose with a catcall. “Listen to our man here. Sabres rule. Boars eat our dust.”
“Attention!” Whatley shouted.
Those standing turned toward the major and froze into place, while those sitting leaped up and did the same.
“Now that you’re done peacocking, let’s consider the task at hand, which isn’t insulting one another. Focus, ladies and gentlemen, on going into the void and erasing our Leaguer friends from existence.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Justin shouted along with the rest of them.
“At ease and sit down.”
As the pilots complied with his order, Whatley continued, “The skipper thinks we’re about to have company.” He pulled up the current formation of the fleet on the holoprojector. It showed the Zvika Greengold in the center of the convoy, with a sphere of freighters around her. Icons representing fighter elements populated and spread out from the carrier. “Last time, they had a heavy cruiser. There’s no reason to believe they’ll come with anything less than all-out force.”
“What options do we have for getting through a cruiser’s shields, Major?” Mateus asked.
“Put enough anti-ship missiles on target, and even a battleship will fall, Lieutenant.” Whatley turned toward the Boar pilots. “You guys are always razzing the rest of us about how awesome your decades-old fighters are.” His mouth curled into a grin. “It’s time to put up or shut up. Clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Now, all of you get to your fighters. I want everyone in this room ready to launch in ten minutes. Move out, pilots!”
Justin jumped out of his seat along with everyone else and headed for the door.
Whatley’s voice carried over the tumult. “And when you all get back, I’ll be conducting a series of scramble drills. Twenty minutes is unacceptable. Now go kill some Leaguers!”
With his blood pumping, Justin realized the vacuum had one benefit: he wouldn’t have to listen to Whatley tune him and the rest of the pilots up. He grinned. The major means well, but damn, his delivery model could use some work.
8
The soothing blue hue emanating from the overhead, bathing the bridge in dim light, did little to assuage Tehrani’s fear of what was coming next. She stared at the tactical plot, thinking that at any moment, the enemy would jump them. The question of how the League was tracking them so well also worried her, though she had no time to ponder it.
“Conn, TAO. Ghost sensor image is less than one hundred thousand kilometers away.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Tehrani turned to Wright. “Convoy-jump status?”
“Still an hour and twenty minutes out, minimum, ma’am.”
Every minute more was a gift, and Tehrani viewed it as such. Her eyes went back to the plot. Think. There’s got to be something you missed. A light bulb turned on in her mind. “XO, what convoy members have the best weapons and shields?”
Wright leaned over and pointed at a tight cluster of four icons. “Those. The company that runs them kept getting hit
