Unity Station
Deep Space—Between the Orion and Sagittarius Arms
10 December 2433
The past month hadn’t gone quite as Fleet Admiral Chang Yuen had expected or hoped. First, the Terrans reacted faster than the League of Sol External Security directorate had projected in unifying their various nation-state fleets under the banner of the Coalition Defense Force. They’d assumed the individualists would have trouble working together, but so far, that didn’t appear to be the case. Yuen nursed a small glass of brandy from a private reserve his political officer, Colonel Baptiste Dumont, had placed aboard.
The liquid burned as it went down his throat, much like the sting of defeat. Yuen’s frowned as he turned to Yegor Voronin, the league admiral in command of Unity Station. “This business of the Terrans locating our forward operations posts so early in the campaign unnerves me, comrade.”
“Lenin curse them all,” Voronin replied darkly. “I’ve heard ripples of an undercurrent from the sailors that our mission is doomed and we should get out of Sagittarius before the League suffers a great defeat.” He glared at Yuen. “Did you hear what happened to Seville?”
Yuen shook his head. “No. I don’t keep up with the fleet-wide RUMINT.”
“I suppose it is individualistic in some way to focus on what happened to our… competitor.” Voronin gave a thin smile. “Seville was moved to an agricultural world. Where apparently he’ll have to eke out an existence as a farmer.” He chuckled. “Serves the pompous bastard right.”
“He’ll be back, one of these days,” Yuen observed. “You forget the admiral in charge of military operations is French. Give it time—Seville will be rehabilitated.”
Silence followed for a good thirty seconds as they both pondered Yuen’s words.
Finally, Voronin cleared his throat. “Perhaps. I don’t want to join him. We need some success to point to, besides taking a couple of border planets. Do you have any plans?”
“Of course I have plans.” Yuen allowed himself to smile. “We were picking off their outlying resource colonies quite effectively until the Terrans created a mobile reserve behind the battle lines. It has made things considerably difficult. To combat this, I’ve requested more ships from the Orion arm.”
“A pity we couldn’t deploy the home-defense fleet.”
If only. Yuen had argued until he was blue in the face that sending the standing home-defense fleet—something of a misnomer since it wasn’t based at Earth—would end the war in a matter of weeks. The Social and Public Safety Committee, which was the League’s de facto leadership, refused on the grounds that it would leave them defenseless.
“We must stick to the realm of the possible. When the new ships arrive, I plan to invade and take over a core system. One of their highly industrialized, built-up planets with more than a billion inhabitants.” Yuen gave an evil grin. “In one stroke, the entire Terran Coalition will be convinced we can invade and conquer them, at any time, on any planet they hide on.”
Voronin raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Then we can go home.”
Yuen pondered the sentiment. I have no desire to go home. He would rather stay on the Sagittarius side of the Milky Way and build something in the new frontier. Let the old men of the Social and Public Safety Committee and its ilk rule Orion. Here, we could be something more. “We shall see, comrade. We shall see.”
Justin paused outside of Mateus’s quarters. He held a bottle of whiskey, a gift from one of the senior chiefs on the flight deck. Since I don’t drink the stuff, might as well contribute to the host’s liquor supply. A day after his promotion and impromptu award ceremony, life had mostly returned to normal. The Zvika Greengold was stood down for a week, awaiting new pilots and a shipment of replacement small craft. That left plenty of paperwork, after-action reports, and evaluations of the Red Tails squadron pilots. Justin wasn’t sure which was worse: CDF paperwork or being shot at in space.
The hatch swung open a moment after Justin hit the buzzer. Mateus, Feldstein, and Adeoye were already seated at the poker table.
“I brought some more to drink,” he said, holding up the bottle. “Same spot?”
“Sim!” Mateus replied. She pronounced the word as “seem.”
Justin dropped the bottle onto the table and grabbed a cold beer in exchange. “Saved me a spot, I see.”
“Oh, we’re looking for revenge.” Feldstein smiled and wrinkled her nose. “No blackjack tonight. The game is seven-card stud.”
“Huh?” Justin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”
“Poker,” Mateus replied as if the single word explained everything.
“Uh, right.”
Adeoye took a sip from a glass containing a dark-brown liquid. “Play the people, not the cards.” He stared at Mateus. “Specifically her.”
Mateus let out a laugh that bordered on a giggle. “Just wait until I convince you to play for real money,” she purred.
“Thankfully, that’s against regulations,” Feldstein replied. “If it weren’t, we’d all be broke and running around the ship in our underwear.”
The table rocked with laughter from all four of them.
“I don’t care how badly I lose tonight,” Justin said somberly. “I’m just thankful to be here and still alive.” He made eye contact with each person. “And thank you for having my back.”
Feldstein smiled. “Your example is inspiring.” She gestured to Mateus and Adeoye. “To all of us.”
“I don’t want to take the risk of getting a new squadron commander that might beat me at cards,” Mateus said, a lopsided grin on her face. “But seriously, quit running up the score on me.”
Again, Justin laughed. “Hey, it’s a target-rich environment out there.”
“I got to talk to Richard tonight,”
