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

be right in assuming you had direct contact with the enemy on that ship you stole a fighter from?”

“Yeah.” Justin looked away. “I shot two men. Pretty sure I killed one of them.” He closed his eyes. “I can still see the blood running out of his wounds and onto the black alloy of the deck.”

“That memory is mental trauma. It affects you, even if you won’t acknowledge it. To move past it, you’ve got to recognize and deal with the pain.” Elliott smiled sadly. “On second thought, I should be clear that I think you need counseling to deal with such things, regardless of religious belief.”

Justin stared at the chaplain. “I don’t want to be weak. My fellow pilots don’t need or deserve it.” Psychiatric speak had always hit him as mumbo-jumbo he wanted nothing to do with. A man should be able to deal with anything thrown at him. Justin’s father had drilled it into him since he was five.

“Admitting pain and working past it is the very definition of strength.”

“So, what do I do, then?”

“Why don’t you schedule an appointment with me for tomorrow, and we could begin by talking about specifics.” Elliott pulled out a tablet. “I’ve got an opening at sixteen hundred thirty.”

“Okay.” Justin nodded slowly. “What if I, uh…” The words didn’t want to come out of his mouth, as if by saying them, he would be openly admitting something he feared to utter. “I… wanted to talk to you about faith?”

“You seem conflicted.”

“Very.” Justin furrowed his brow. “It’s like something inside of me won’t let go of the experiences I’ve had. I keep trying to forget about it, but I can’t make it go away.”

Elliott nodded. “I know what you mean. But that’s a story for another day. Have you ever read the Bible?”

“Not really, beyond what I was forced to in Sunday school as a kid.” Justin cracked a grin. “I’ll admit to going out of my way to forget it too.”

“I’ll send a few verses over to your fleetlink profile. They’re all psalms in which the author was lamenting hardships. I’ve found them to be comforting these last few months. Have a look if you get a chance. Again, I want to stress that I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you, George.” Justin briefly pondered the idea of what he was coming to, going to the chaplain and asking for spiritual help. “Oh four thirty comes early.” He stood. “And thanks for your kind words. They helped.”

“I’m glad. Tomorrow, sixteen thirty hours?”

Justin smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here with five minutes to spare.”

“Good. Godspeed, Justin.”

“You too,” Justin replied and turned to walk out.

As he made his way back to his cabin, he pondered the conversation but also, more importantly, where Justin Spencer was going as a husband, father, and human being. Setting everything else aside, Justin felt like he was at a crossroads in life, with two paths before him. Which one is the right one to take? If only he had a way to prognosticate an answer to the age-old question.

Few crewmembers were out and about that time of night, and it didn’t take Justin long to reach his stateroom. He shut the hatch behind him and stripped off his duty uniform. A mental tug-of-war broke out between going straight to bed and looking through the link the chaplain had given him. In the end, he sat on his couch and begrudgingly turned on his tablet.

A few moments later, the passages Elliot had sent him loaded on the screen. Justin read one aloud. “Be strong and courageous. Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” He traced down the list with his finger. “Under His wings, you will find refuge.” Emotion bubbled to the surface as he continued. “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the tablet. Something about the words gave him comfort.

“Fear thou not, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold thee with my right hand.” Justin set the tablet down as the tears continued to fall. He looked deep within himself as the pain and anguish came to the surface. There has to be something more. Justin stared at the overhead. “I, uh… well, I suck at this. So, God, if You’re up there, I’ve tried it my way for my entire life.” He sniffed and sucked in a breath. “Maybe it’s time I do it Your way. I prayed to You before, and it seemed like You were there.” As Justin prayed, part of him felt silly, but he pushed it down. “I don’t know where this leads, and I don’t know what to do, but I’m going to try. Please help me. Amen.”

Nothing immediately changed. No pillar of fire magically appeared in his quarters, but somehow, Justin felt better. Some of the weight he’d carried seemed to lift away, and for the first time in many months, Justin Spencer had a measure of peace. As he drifted off to sleep, nightmares gave way to dreams about his family and happier times.

Epilogue

Three thousand light-years away from the front lines of the war, Admiral Chang Yuen admired the scene below him. Thousands of dutiful sailors of the League Navy moved war matériel and supplies around a cavernous hangar, which was one of eight on Unity Station, the ultimate statement of the power of the State and a testament to the great socialism of the League. Anything can be accomplished by sheer force of human willpower. He took a sip of brandy and turned to find Admiral Yegor Voronin, the station commander, standing directly behind him.

“Ah. I see you like to observe our progress, too, comrade,” Voronin said.

Yuen appraised the Russian. While many who obtained the rank of admiral knew little of