Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) Daniel Gibbs (classic book list txt) 📖

“Aye, aye, sir,” Justin replied with a grin and took off for the hatch before anything else could be said. I hope my ego didn’t just write a credit slip it can’t cash. Beneath the bravado, his mind churned, questioning why he kept volunteering again and again. Maybe subconsciously, I do want to go out in a blaze of glory. One of these days, I need to see a shrink.

14

Tehrani felt pressed to the limit, between catching up on the Greengold’s after-action reports, battle planning for the next day, and writing condolence letters to families of lost crewmembers and pilots. She hadn’t bothered with going to the mess or wardroom for dinner. Instead, her steward had dropped off a plate of food. It sat cold on her desk as she nibbled on a piece of bread between tasks.

The vessel's battle rhythm—or really the entire CDF’s—was functioning at a level that brought sheer mental and physical exhaustion to the forefront. Tehrani recalled days in her youth, longing for combat against a pirate group or one of the more hostile aliens, such as the Jalm’tar Confederation. Probably because we all knew we’d wipe the floor with those enemies. A fight against a peer opponent or possibly a superior opponent was a terrifying prospect that she along with every other member of the military was living.

She set her tablet down and took another bite of the cold food—a piece of rubbery chicken. When she was halfway through chewing it, the hatch buzzer sounded.

Tehrani quickly swallowed. “Come in.”

The alloy door swung open, revealing Whatley and Justin. The major came to attention before the desk. “Do you have a moment, ma’am? The lieutenant and I have a proposal for you.”

Tehrani gestured to the chairs. “By all means, gentlemen. What’d you have in mind?”

Spencer glanced at Whatley and, receiving a small nod, turned toward her. “Colonel, I’d like to be the one flying the captured League fighter tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Tehrani stared at him. I wasn’t expecting that. In truth, she saw the flight as a suicide mission and figured Whatley had volunteered to spare his pilots. “Are you aware of the risks, Lieutenant Spencer?”

“I am, ma’am. As I’ve told the CAG, I have the most hands-on flight time with the craft. I should be the one going.”

She sat back and studied the young officer. “Do you have a hero complex, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am,” Justin replied with a grimace. “I just want to do my part to help.”

“You ejected from your Sabre, somehow got into the hangar bay of a League cruiser, stole another fighter, and helped blow up the enemy ship on your way out.” Tehrani smiled dryly. “You’ve done your part.”

“I can do more.”

The confident yet somewhat humble way Justin pronounced the words almost led Tehrani to do a double-take. He matured fast. They all did. “Major, do you concur?”

“Against my better judgment, I do, ma’am. I think Spencer’s the right man for the job.”

“Then it’s an aviation-division decision. You’re free to proceed.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “Permission to depart?”

“Of course.”

Whatley sprang from the chair, as did Justin.

Before they could leave, Tehrani felt a thought tugging at her mind. “Lieutenant, I wish you Godspeed. May Allah walk with you in the dark place you must go tomorrow.” She offered a rueful smile. “I only wish we could go with you.”

Justin nodded and pursed his lips. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do my best.” He grinned. “I’ll put my skills up against the Leaguers any day.”

As they walked out, Tehrani pondered Spencer’s statement. She would never look down on another for lack of faith and was herself an individual who, only a few weeks before, wouldn’t be counted among the devout. But recently, the belief in something beyond this life was one of the few things that sustained her. If I didn’t have faith, I don’t think I could do this job. Whatever Justin’s motivations and beliefs, she truly hoped God would favor him.

Tehrani peered at the tablet on her desk. Paperwork calls again.

A few hours later, after a hearty dinner consisting of fresh chicken and vegetables, bread, and dessert, Justin walked down the passageway leading to Mateus’s quarters. He pressed the buzzer on the keypad next to the hatch. A moment later, the hatch swung open. Justin stuck his head in to see Feldstein and Adeoye already present, in addition to Mateus. “Hey guys,” he called.

“Come on in, Spencer!” Mateus replied. “What are you drinking? The bar is open.” She pointed at a small assortment of alcohol on the table next to her couch. The quarters were laid out almost exactly like Justin’s but seemed less sterile and more lived-in than his.

Justin took a bottle of beer—a Canaan-brewed brand that had a good reputation—and popped the top. “I’ll keep it simple.” He peered at a bowl with strips of something that appeared to be fried next to the drinks. “What’s that?”

“Fried plantains. A delicacy from Brazil.” Mateus winked. “They’re sweeter than bananas. Try one. You’ll like it.”

“We’ve got a chair for you, all set up,” Feldstein said. She patted the seat next to her. “The Brazilian Bomber here already halfway cleaned me out.”

Mateus snickered. “I’ll clean all of you before the night’s done.”

Why haven’t I been coming to these again? Justin felt less stressed almost immediately as he sat down and took a swig from the bottle. “I’ve never played a hand of poker in my life.”

“What’s your game, then?” Mateus asked, eyeing him.

“I’m not exactly a card-game guy, but I’ve played some blackjack in my time.”

An exaggerated evil grin came to Mateus’s face. “In that case, any objections to us switching to blackjack for a while?” She glanced between Feldstein and Adeoye.

Both shook their heads.

“Excellent. I’ll deal.” With expert precision, she cleared the existing cards off the table and shuffled the deck repeatedly. “Dealer stays at seventeen. Splits allowed.” She flipped two cards faceup to each of them and two to herself, one facedown