Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (red novels .txt) 📗

drone would deliver her fresh vegetables and meat for dinner to the specially designed cooler on their porch.

Not so much anymore. Even when she had the digital ration coupons allowing her to buy steak, it was often out of stock. Or it cost so much Michelle wouldn’t dare to spend the credits. Worse, Maggie would ask for things that a short while ago were everyday staples but couldn’t be had thanks to the rationing system. Michelle sighed and set the tablet down.

“Mom?” Maggie called as she entered the living room. “You in here?”

“Yeah, munchkin.”

Maggie dropped onto the couch next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Michelle forced a smile. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Most of it.” Maggie paused, staring at the tablet. It still showed the digital ration readout. “Why are you so sad all the time?” she blurted.

Michelle’s heart fell. “Oh, munchkin, I’m not sad.” She gathered her daughter in her arms. “Everything’s okay. I just miss Daddy. That’s all.”

“I miss him too.” Maggie looked at her with tears falling down her face. “When is he coming home?”

Oh, Justin, we need you here so badly. “I don’t know yet, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.” Michelle went for a subject change before she started bawling. “Did you check on little Howard for me?” To make extra credits while she worked on her degree, Michelle ran a small daycare out of their home. Business had dried up since the beginning of the war, but she still had a couple of infants enrolled.

“Still sleeping, Mom.” Maggie touched her mother’s face. “I miss the other kids too.”

Michelle embraced her tightly. “They’ll come back soon. I promise.”

“Did they stop coming because of me?”

“No, of course not,” Michelle replied as she patted the top of Maggie’s head. “Honey, why would you say something like that?”

“Well, why else would they?”

Searching for the words to explain to a four-year-old how the universe had gone mad, Michelle cupped her daughter’s face. “Munchkin, things are messed up right now. The war, all of it. That’s why so many of the children are home with their parents. It costs less money. They want to be here, though.” She again forced a smile to her lips. “Promise.” She shouldn’t have to go through this.

Maggie seemed to accept the words and nodded. “Okay, Mom.” She sniffed a few times. “Daddy is fighting the war, isn’t he?”

Michelle smiled. “Yes, he’s a hero.” Determined to put on a brave face, she pressed on. “And we help him be one by staying strong. Okay?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Now, could you finish your homework? I’ve got to try to figure out how to make some bread for dinner since the store was out.” Michelle kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “After we eat, I say we have a girls’ night and do our nails.”

“Deal,” Maggie replied, a smile immediately springing to her face.

After watching as Maggie skipped out of the room, Michelle went back to the digital ration application. Justin, wherever you are, I pray God is watching out for you, but I wish you knew how badly I needed you here.

The smell of loose-leaf black tea filled Banu Tehrani’s day cabin. The space where she spent a great deal of time on the Zvika Greengold was small and cramped. Lately, one of her few luxuries was the unique blend of tea, a staple from the Persian Republic. She blew across the top of the cup and took a sip. “Mmm.” Tehrani set the mug back on the desk with a smile and focused on a personnel-transfer request.

While they’d remained on convoy-escort duty—what the Thane-class escort carrier was designed for—since rolling up the covert network of League stations, losses had been mercifully light. The last few runs to the border hadn’t seen a League attack, leaving Tehrani waiting for the other shoe to drop. I suppose being sent to attack Earth fits the bill. Looking over the incoming-personnel roster, she reflected on how many new soldiers the Greengold had seen over the past six months.

She struggled not to become numb to the losses. Five hundred sixty-four people had perished on her ship. Even though it might be more comfortable in the short term to let the numbness take her, Tehrani remained convinced that holding on to her humanity required mourning every one of them. So she set aside the transfer report and brought up another application, where a half-finished condolence letter sat. Since the war began, she’d written close to five hundred of them. Something about the round number was foreboding.

Tehrani continued to write each one, at times struggling to find something unique to say about the individual. It bothered her that something with real emotional weight—telling a grieving family about the circumstances of a loved one’s death—had become a rote exercise. It was dehumanizing. But isn’t that what war is? Dehumanizing our enemies and ourselves so we can kill without remorse?

Tehrani’s tablet beeped, indicating an incoming vidlink. She picked it up and glanced at the sender. General Antonio Saurez—most interesting. He was the overall commanding officer for the CDF’s space fleet, formally known as COMSPACEFLT. A button press later, Saurez’s smiling face appeared on the screen.

“Good morning, Colonel. Good night’s sleep?”

“As best as I can muster these days, sir.” Tehrani forced a neutral expression onto her face. “What about you?”

“Who has time to sleep anymore?” He cracked a smile. “Have you gotten acquainted with Captain MacIntosh yet?”

“I have. And his plan.”

Saurez’s mouth curled into a grin. “It’s something, isn’t it? Well, he and the president are right about one thing… we need a morale boost and fast. The constant defensive struggle of this war is producing a gloomy forecast for the civilians back home. We can’t let defeatism take hold.”

“With respect, sir, I don’t care if defeat is inevitable. I’ll still fight to the bitter end. I would suggest to you that virtually everyone in the Persian Republic would agree. The citizens of the Terran Coalition must know this is a fight to