Bandits Engaged (Battlegroup Z Book 4) by Daniel Gibbs (classic literature list .txt) 📗

“We must rise to the occasion,” Tehrani replied. “How about chief petty officers and senior chiefs?”

“Full complement, ma’am.”

Tehrani glanced at Wright. “Set up follow-on training with the help of our best NCOs. Make it well known that whoever distinguishes themselves will be at the top of my promotion list.”

“Good idea, Colonel,” Hodges replied begrudgingly.

“Now, I want to be underway in a week.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Are we clear, Major?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” Wright said before the engineer could speak. “We’ll be ready.”

Hodges shot him a dirty look and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Yes, sir, ma’am.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to read his displeasure.

“Good. XO, with me, please. Carry on, Major.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

It took a few minutes to exit the vast reactor housing area with Wright following close behind. As the hatch—guarded by several masters-at-arms—closed behind them, she turned toward him.

“I’ll get to the point. Is Hodges slow boating the repairs?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, ma’am.” Wright furrowed his brow. “Whatever my differences with him, I’ve never detected cowardice.”

“Would it really be cowardice to want a few weeks when we’re not killing people daily?” Tehrani twisted her neck and stretched it then closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m caught between thanking Allah for a break from writing condolence letters and wanting to get back out there and kill every Leaguer that’s invaded our homes.”

Wright put his hand on her shoulder. “For what it's worth, Skipper, a break is doing us good. We’ll all be in a better mindset to get back into the fight.”

They walked side by side down the passageway toward a gravlift. Enlisted ratings squeezed to the sides, coming to attention briefly.

“General Yukimura sent me a notification yesterday. It appears the Zvika Greengold is being awarded a Presidential Unit Citation.”

“God knows our crew deserves it,” Wright replied. “Along with half a dozen Medals of Honor.”

Tehrani turned her head. “I put Whatley and Spencer both in for a Distinguished Flying Cross with the V device along with many posthumous awards.”

The mention of their casualties dampened the mood.

Wright frowned. “Skipper, we’re gonna have losses. No matter how good your leadership, Whatley’s flying, and my comedy routines.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Benjamin. I’ll be fine. When we get back into the void and we’re sending Leaguers on to meet their judgment, all will be right again.” Until it's not, and I have to count the costs. The gravlift loomed ahead of them. “Now, what do you say we go review our personnel transfer list? I have some questions about how you allocated some of the NCOs and junior officers.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

As Tehrani hit the button to call the lift, she sucked in a breath. It wouldn’t do for Wright to know how much she longed for a break and how the longing made her feel like a coward. No. Once we’re back in the fight, everything will be fine.

Terran Coalition Government Complex

Lawrence City—Canaan

8 August 2434

President Jason Nolan stared out the window behind his desk in the Oval Office, gazing at the sweeping skyline of Lawrence City with its enormous skyscrapers and office buildings. Though the war had raged for almost a year, the bright lights hadn’t faded. Life had continued, leading to questions about whether the cost of the war was being shouldered equally. The draft will ensure it does.

The door swung open, and two men he knew well walked in—General Antonio Saurez and Abdul Karimi.

Saurez was the overall commanding officer for the CDF’s space-going fleet, while Karimi had been Nolan’s chief of staff and most trusted confidant for decades.

Karimi closed the door behind them, leaving the three men alone—except the protective service officer stationed in the room at all times. “You wanted to see us, sir?”

Nolan gestured to the small couches in front of his desk. “Have a seat, gentlemen.” He sat on the sofa across from them, staring intently at Saurez. “General, I asked you here privately because I don’t want to undermine confidence in your leadership.”

“Sir?” Saurez asked. Almost imperceptibly, he gritted his teeth for a second. “I don’t understand. Are you displeased with something?”

“I’m as mad as hell that the League captured one of our core worlds, General.” Nolan furrowed his brow. “Does that sum it up for you?”

“We all are, sir.”

“Then why don’t I have a plan on my desk to retake it?” Nolan crossed his arms. “Every time I want to attack, the Joint Chiefs of Staff have an excuse—”

“With respect, sir,” Saurez interjected, “there is no lack of desire to defeat the enemy. May I remind you we’re up against an opponent with a vastly numerically superior force?”

Saurez was obviously struggling to keep his emotions in check, but his frustration was past the point Nolan would let it go.

“Oh, I’m reminded of that fact every day, General. We also say—every day—the CDF is technologically superior, and we’re winning. Which is it?”

Saurez turned his head away. “Both.” He sucked in a breath and made eye contact with Nolan. “Sir, if we get favorable odds, we wipe the floor with the Leaguers, but if they catch us out of position by so much as a millimeter… well, disaster strikes. Like Eire. I need you to understand that if we send a fleet to retake it, we’ll win, but the cost could be so great as to lose the war for us in one fell swoop.”

“Even with the successful strike on Sol, morale is close to collapse. The signs abound in opinion polling by every major news outlet.” Nolan put his hands out, palms up. “What would you have me do? Our citizens need to see we’re winning.”

“I have a different solution, sir.” Saurez set his jaw. “Why don’t you tell them the truth—we’re losing the war. And it’s worth it to keep fighting because death is preferable to being marched to reeducation camps and having everything our society stands for destroyed. I used to think