“Speak for yourself. I never pay for drinks or food,” Mateus retorted.
Second Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye interrupted their conversation. Hailing from Lagos, one of several worlds that made up the African Union, he’d served with them for several training tours. “Friends!” he roared. “The last night before our merry band returns to the stars, where victory and glory await.” The rich timbre of his voice and his distinct Nigerian accent made the words come to life.
“Our foursome is complete!” Feldstein said with a chuckle. “Mateus here was just regaling us with how she doesn’t have to pay for her meals.”
“There is no such thing as a free lunch,” Adeoye replied. He slid into the final open chair. “But I would buy the lieutenant lunch any day.”
“Get a room.” Spencer crossed his arms while rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.
As they all laughed, the waiter arrived with a tray of mugs filled with a dark golden-brown drink with a good three centimeters of froth on the top. “Your order, folks. The gentlemen at the table over there”—he pointed at a group of men with close-cropped hair that resembled a TCMC recruiting poster—“took care of your drinks. Enjoy.”
“See, I told you,” Mateus said to another round of loud snickers.
Spencer held up one of the mugs. “To our fallen comrades and friends. May they live on through our honor and deeds.”
“Hear! Hear!” Feldstein replied and lifted her mug with the rest of them.
The cold liquid felt good as it rushed down Justin’s throat. He set the glass down. “I expect these next months to be hard.”
“Anything worth doing will be.” Adeoye deposited his own mug onto the table. “But God willing, we’ll keep winning.”
“I don’t think God has anything to do with it,” Justin said darkly.
“Justin—”
He turned and stared at Feldstein. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it. It’s everywhere in the Terran Coalition right now. God’s on our side. God will help us win.” Justin bit his lip. “Tell that to the eleven pilots memorialized on the side of my Sabre.”
“Perhaps it would be best to choose a different topic,” Mateus interjected. She appeared uncomfortable and had a frown on her face. “We’re here to party, not debate.”
“Great idea,” Justin said and forced a smile. I’m in a bear of a mood. Probably the return to combat getting to me. He wanted, more than anything, to see his family. All they’d been able to do so far was vidlink a few times.
Feldstein picked up her mug and took a swig. “To Earth and victory!”
“To victory!” what seemed like the entire bar shouted at once.
Justin nursed his drink and laughed along with the rest of them, but his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t quite set aside the desperate combat situations he’d been in a month ago, and practically every night, he woke up in a cold sweat, thanks to recurring nightmares. They were always the same—a League fighter picking off his friends one by one then finally destroying his craft. He woke up as the cockpit filled with flames. Perhaps once they got back to the front, the dreams would fade, especially if they had some genuine success against the enemy rather than a desperate defense of their capital planet.
CSV Zvika Greengold
Low Orbit—Canaan—Terran Coalition
26 October 2433
The following morning, Justin questioned his sanity. Why did I stay up until 0200, getting so drunk that I could barely avoid the shore patrol? Judging from the pool of mostly dried vomit next to his bed, he knew the night hadn’t ended when he got back to his cabin. In his college days, being toasted was a fairly regular occurrence, but since he’d gotten married, the number of times Justin had over three drinks in an evening was countable on one hand. Grinning sheepishly, he chugged another half mug of coffee and tossed the empty container into the cleanup bin in the officer’s mess.
“You look like death warmed over, sir.”
Justin whirled around to see Feldstein behind him. “Seriously? Did you install stealth tech in your combat boots?”
She chuckled. “Nah. I’m naturally equipped with stealth mode.”
He laughed. “I’m not used to partying like that.”
“I can tell,” she commented dryly. “We’re going to be late.”
“Can’t have that. Whatley will never let us hear the end of it.” While Justin and the commander air group had initially clashed, they’d eventually developed a strong rapport with each other. Once the major finally got it through his skull that I wasn’t a coward. Another side of his brain told him he’d changed too. A few months ago, he would never have considered the possibility of sacrificing himself for another, much less acted on it. Circumstances sometimes forced rapid changes.
“So, let’s go,” Feldstein prompted. “And get out of whatever la-la land you’re in.”
Little else was said as the two of them tromped through the passageways of the carrier. Despite its relatively small size—the Zvika Greengold only carried thirty-six combat spacecraft—almost twenty five hundred personnel were assigned to the ship. They were split between the soldiers manning the vessel, the aviation crew, and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps contingent. The Greengold was like a small city in space.
When Justin rounded the corner, the double hatch for the hangar was open. A few steps later, they were walking on the deck plates. The ribbed alloy made for a different sensation through his combat boots. It almost felt as if the plating were trying to grab his feet and hold them.
The rest of the pilots were already present. Mateus and Adeoye stood with others from the Red Tails squadron, while the bomber pilots congregated around First Lieutenant Francis Martin.
“Now, mates, let’s make sure we give a proper welcome to our cobbers!” Martin yelled. His accent placed him as being from one of the British Commonwealth worlds—more specifically, a planet settled by Australians.
As Martin spoke, a squat fighter roared into the hangar bay. Justin had never seen anything like it before. Rectangular
