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

visible throughout the vessel. Justin tried taking a day off from his duties, but with nothing to do on the carrier, what was designed to help him ended up forcing him to spend time thinking about their losses and what had gone wrong.

It wasn’t my fault. The losses among the pilots shook him to the core, and worse, replaying Martin’s final seconds as he crashed into the League frigate brought emotions Justin didn’t want to deal with to the surface. Dejected, he ended up deciding to head back to his cabin and try to sleep after having a small meal in an officers’ mess far away from the hangar.

The memorial set up for those lost during the Battle of Canaan had never gone away. Instead, it had been formalized in one of the ship’s long main passageways on deck seven. Walking down the corridor toward the gravlift, Justin pondered their efforts in the Sol system. In some ways, it felt good to deliver a small measure of payback. Yet the cost was so high—hundreds dead and friends gone, never to return. Alone in his mind, Justin wondered what the point was.

He came to a stop and pressed the button to call the gravlift. Its doors opened, and Justin stepped inside. The other occupant was a private he found vaguely familiar.

“Good evening, sir.” The young man came to attention.

“As you were, Private.” Justin looked at his name tag. “Waters. Wait, I know you.” He grinned sheepishly. “The last time we ran into each other, you were in the gravlift too.”

Waters smiled. “I spend a lot of my day in these things, moving equipment from place to place.” He gestured to the badge for logistics on his uniform.

“Geesh, shouldn’t you have a promotion to corporal by now? Everyone’s getting a free step up, it seems, with all the new recruits coming in.”

“I decided I didn’t want it, actually,” Waters replied. “I like what I do. It’s simple, and I enjoy it.”

“I can respect that,” Justin said as he touched the button for the deck his quarters were on.

“Some of my friends down in aviation said you and the pilots pulled off another holovid-hero moment out there.”

“Yeah… no. We just tried to come home alive.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Of course.” Justin grinned and shrugged. “I don’t care much for customs and courtesies, anyway. Fighter pilot, through and through. What’s on your mind?”

“You seem like a man who feels alone, sir. I can’t fathom why, with all these people around here that care about you.” Waters stared intently at him.

For a moment, Justin felt as if the young man were somehow peering into his soul. “I, uh… Yeah, I guess I do feel alone, Private. My friends keep dying.” He chuckled bitterly. “I try to be the best I can. Push my skills to the limit and push my people to be better than the sum of their parts. But I can’t seem to get us all home.”

“It’s war, sir. From where I sit, you do an admirable job.”

Justin shook his head. “It’s not enough.”

“Sounds like something you should pray about.”

“To whom?” Justin turned angry in an instant. “There is no God. And if there were, He doesn’t deserve to be worshipped. What kind of entity that supposedly has complete control of the universe allows this to happen?”

“Well, if He controlled what everyone did, what would be the point of that, sir?” Waters pursed his lips. “I’m sure He wants to stop evil, though. Don’t forget—people report miracles all the time. Maybe He acts through smaller interactions.”

It took most of Justin’s remaining self-control not to bite the private’s head off. “I suppose anything is possible, but I don’t find the supernatural to be plausible.”

“Any less plausible than random chance accounting for the universe at large? If a single constant of our physical reality were off by the smallest fraction, none of this would exist.”

Well, when you put it like that. “I’m not equipped for a debate on the subject.” This lift is way too slow today.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, sir. I… let me leave you with this. You’ve probably noticed the chapel has a lot more people in it lately, right?”

“Yeah.” Justin forced the pique out of his voice.

“Hardship has a way of driving us toward God. Maybe if you tried to open your heart just a tad, there might be something better. And if not, well, at least you gave it a shot, right?”

Justin turned and stared at him. Earnestness seemed to radiate from Waters. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Hmmm.” Waters tilted his head. “Because I don’t think anyone should go through life alone, sir. There’s this God-sized hole, you know?” He rubbed his belly. “We’ve all got it, and maybe you should take a chance on filling it in with the right thing.”

“I suppose I’ll think about it.” Justin wanted off the gravlift more than he wanted to be back at Canaan—anything to make the uncomfortable conversation end.

“If I remember right, the last time we ran into each other, you mentioned you prayed for help when you ended up on that League cruiser, right?”

Justin nodded.

“Sir, I’m just a lowly private, moving boxes. But if I’d prayed something like that and lived to tell the tale, it might make me do some thinking, you know?”

The lift slid to a stop, and the doors opened. Justin stared out into the corridor like a man who was finally getting out of prison. He scooted into the passageway as fast as his legs would carry him. I shouldn’t be rude. I’m sure he means well. Justin glanced over his shoulder. “Good point, Private. I’ll give it some thought.”

“Of course, sir. Have a good night,” Waters replied as the doors swished shut once more.

Strolling toward his quarters, Justin thought back to the combat with the cruiser. The improbable nature of the victory was something he couldn’t ignore. Maybe praying gave me some sort of subconscious leg up. He forced the thought down and