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

and megacorps, anything not nailed down is being exploited.”

Tehrani nodded. “XO, put together an operational plan, but I want to be within one jump of Spencer. If the pirates show up in force, we need to be there with equal force. The entire battlegroup, including our stealth-raider friend.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it in your tablet by eighteen hundred hours.”

“Very good. CAG, I expect to have your mission briefing by then as well.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “Meanwhile, Spencer here will be brushing up on his Ghost-piloting skills.”

“I’m sure aviation will be up to the task. Dismissed, gentlemen. XO, stay behind for a few. I want to run something by you.”

Justin sprang from his chair and headed out the hatch with Whatley right behind him. It clanged shut behind them.

“Be nice to be on the offensive for a change,” Justin remarked.

“Don’t kid yourself, Spencer,” Whatley ground out as they walked toward the gravlift. “You might be hunting their carrier in that nebula, but make no mistake. They find you, you’re probably dead.” He wagged his finger. “Do not be a dead hero. I don’t have any use for those in my wing.”

“Not dead yet, sir.” Justin flashed a one-hundred-watt grin. “Not for lack of Leaguers—or pirates, for that matter—trying their best.”

Whatley snorted. “I seem to remember bailing your ass out a few times. I won’t be there to do it on this mission.” His expression softened. “Look, be careful, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the gravlift doors slid open and they walked in, Justin thought about the interminable series of combat missions they flew. When will this ever end? What must we do to finally defeat our enemies? He had no answer.

Endless amounts of paperwork, training sessions, and evaluations filled the day. Justin sometimes wished for the simplicity of being a crew chief. Yeah, they’re enlisted, but at least they get to do one job to perfection—keep our spacecraft flying. It was nearly 2115 hours before he darkened the door of the pilots’ mess. Dinner service had long since ceased, and Justin got a sandwich and some freeze-dried fruit pieces. He sat at a table near the windows and stared into the void.

Several bites into his sandwich, Justin realized he should’ve pulled away from the busywork a few hours before. This thing tastes like dried crap. The sandwich was almost bad enough to throw away, but he knew he needed nourishment. So he forced each bite. Usually, freeze-dried fruit would be even worse, but he considered it a reward for getting through the rest of the meal.

Just as Justin was about to pull the package open, the sound of a throat clearing behind him got his attention.

“Hey, didn’t want to startle you,” Feldstein said as she got a glass of water and some freeze-dried fruit of her own.

“Am I that jumpy?”

“We’re all jumpy these days,” she replied. “I’m hoping a snack will help me get some rest.”

“In my case, I hope a late dinner does.” Justin shook his head as he opened the dried fruit and popped one of the tiny strawberries into his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good. “I’ve never flown in a nebula before.”

Feldstein made her way over to his table. “Look, I’m not going to sit down, because we’re doing that whole not-eating-together-alone thing, and I respect your boundary. But I’m worried about you, Justin.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Do you realize you volunteer for every dangerous assignment?”

“How’d you know?” he asked, confused. Must be RUMINT.

“Because I know you, and the entire ship’s talking about how Justin Spencer is the hero sent by God to help us win.”

Justin let out a sigh. “I’m not a hero, and I’m sure as heck not sent by God.”

“It’s the ones who deny they are that are usually the real heroes.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Please, stop throwing yourself into harm's way on every last mission. Let the CAG fly something, for crying out loud.”

“His place is operations.” Justin pursed his lips. “I volunteer because I can’t ask others to do something if I won’t do it myself.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“When haven’t you been?” He popped another few strawberries into his mouth. “Fire away.”

She folded her arms. “I’m worried you have a hero complex. Yeah, you continually deny that you’re even one, but I hope you’ll at least consider it. If not for your sake, then because one of these days, it’ll get others killed.”

“I have no desire for glory,” Justin retorted. “Do you see me out there soaking up the limelight? No. I’ve got a job. I do it, and I try to bring everyone home safe. Don’t you trust me?”

Feldstein stared at him silently for a few moments. “I do. But I also think you should examine yourself and try to put some reason behind why the first guy in line for every suicide mission cooked up by Colonel Tehrani and the CAG is named Justin Spencer.”

The anger that welled up within Justin dissipated as he realized she had a point. He sucked in a breath. “You’re right. I sign up for a lot. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I ask.”

Justin tossed the rest of the freeze-dried fruit into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I think I’m going to head back to my cabin.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Good luck out there tomorrow.” Feldstein cracked a smile. “I won’t be there to bail you out.”

“I’ll be okay.” He winked. “Besides, who knows—maybe you’ll need me to save your bacon.”

Feldstein rolled her eyes. “I don’t eat bacon, remember?”

“Yup.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Justin laughed and tossed his plate in the receptacle for dirty dishes. “Guilty as charged. See ya tomorrow, Dvora.”

“Good night.”

A dozen steps, and Justin was back in the passageway, headed to his stateroom. The entire walk back, he pondered what she’d said. Am I turning into a glory hound? I don’t think so. Perhaps guilt played into his actions. I don’t want anyone else to die because I didn’t step up. Justin briefly considered going to talk to Father Elliott