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

“Sure.” Using someone’s first name was so out of character for him, as the military engrained use of last names at all times. “I’m having some problems, George. I, uh, have nightmares. Bad ones.” He looked away. “I see myself or one of my friends dying in the cockpit. There’s nothing I can do as the flames consume us.” Once Justin started to explain, the story flowed out of him like a river. “Lately, it’s a nightly thing. Ever since we jumped out of the Sol system, it’s gotten worse.”

“I’ve heard similar things from many of the Zvika Greengold’s crew. You’re not alone, Justin. May I call you Justin?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Is it just the nightmares and PTSD that bring you here tonight or something more?”

Isn’t that enough? But he pushed the thought down. “I feel completely alone.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Like I’m trapped in a maze with no way out.” A tear fell down his cheek. “Last week, I, uh… I almost cheated on my wife. I’m not proud of it, but at that moment, I thought maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.”

A frown formed on Elliott’s face. “I feel for you, Justin. Truly, as a Christian and a fellow soldier, I know how life has been this past year. Whatever you need, I’m here to help in any way I can.”

“Can you make the pain stop? The war end? Every time I get into that cockpit, I know there’s a decent chance I’m not coming back. But I do, anyway, because I’m good at it, and I think the Terran Coalition is worth defending.” Tears streamed down Justin’s face. “What the hell is wrong with me? The Leaguers deserve what they get. It shouldn’t bother me. None of it should matter except when one of ours dies.”

“Justin, listen. There’s nothing wrong with you. We all cope differently with violence and death. Let me assure you that almost every one of your fellows has the same fears—the same pain. It’s perfectly okay, and you’re no less of a soldier or a man for these feelings.”

“Well, then why do some of us seem to handle it better?”

“Because some of us have stronger support systems.”

“I’ve got a loving wife and daughter that I adore waiting for me at home.” Justin tried to dry his tears on his uniform sleeve. He felt like something less than a human after the emotional display. “They should be enough.”

“Nothing is ever enough. We all suffer setbacks and breakdowns. Is there something specific that brought you here tonight?”

“Fath—George, I’ve never really believed in God.”

“May I ask why? Were your parents atheists?”

“No, they went to church every week,” Justin replied. “And dragged me along.” He shrugged. “I figured out when I was four that Santa Claus didn’t exist by faking being asleep until my father started dragging the presents in. I’ve never had much room for things I couldn’t put my fingers on and know it was real.”

“Which you can’t do with faith. Its very nature is abstract.”

Justin nodded. “Exactly. If I can’t put my hands on it, I don’t tend to believe it.” He paused. “This is going to sound insane.”

“Try me.” Elliott shifted his position and continued to stare.

“Things have happened to me that I can’t explain as purely random chance. I made it onto a League heavy cruiser, stole a fighter, and somehow disabled the thing from the inside before making it back to the Greengold.” Justin locked eyes with him. “I’m good, but my combat successes have been beyond good. They were lucky and great, over and over.”

“So, you think God’s helping you out there?”

“No, I…”

“Do you want my help as a therapist, Justin? Or as a pastor?” Elliott spread his hands out on the desk. “I ask that specifically because I don’t want to offend you in any way. My job is to minister to all in a way that helps them. I come to you, in other words, wherever you are.”

“When I was headed toward the League ship, I prayed.” Justin nearly whispered the words. “I asked God to help me get home to my wife and daughter and hold them one more time.” Clashing emotions and thoughts filled his mind. Part of him wanted to believe in something bigger than himself. The rest of his brain held on to the idea that anything beyond their plane of existence was hogwash, almost to the level of irrational fear.

“It would seem your prayer was answered,” Elliott replied.

“Or low-probability events do occur.”

“Yes, that’s certainly a possibility.” Elliott raised an eyebrow. “I won’t get into a debate with you about the existence of God. You’ll have to do that with someone else. While there are certainly some facts and science I could point you to, I ultimately believe faith is a thing we must take on faith.”

“I see how my friends who are religious handle this war. Maybe it’s not easier on them, but they have some kind of X factor.” Justin didn’t understand it, but he’d made the observation consistently for months. All of them, even Mateus, seemed to have more peace than he did when strapping into the cockpit. Repeatedly, he’d wondered why.

“And you want that for yourself?”

Justin nodded. “Of course.”

“Having an easier time blowing up enemies isn’t a reason to believe in God.” He chuckled. “This feeling of helplessness, being alone, wanting something more… Most if not every human experiences it at some point in their life. It’s okay. I’d say it means you’re normal. The question is what do you do about it? If I were speaking to you as a Christian minister, I’d say what you’re going through is the exploration of the God-sized hole we all have. On the other hand, if I were speaking to you as a counselor, I would urge you to do an inventory of your inner thoughts and process the specific trauma you’ve been through.”

“Trauma?” Justin bristled at the word.

“Yes. You’ve seen people die, up close and personal. Would I