Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) by Daniel Gibbs (best pdf ebook reader TXT) 📕

“So, in other words, the problem was that the bad guys showed up with too many people on their team, Lieutenant?”

“Sir—”

“There are sixty-nine dead merchant spacers out there, Spencer. Because”—Whatley pointed at Justin—“you screwed up. Along with you.” He pointed at another pilot at random. “All of you did.”

Justin thought Whatley’s eyes were going to explode out of his head. His face had turned a bright shade of red. “Sir—”

“Stow it, Spencer. I do not want to hear excuses right now. You got your collective asses handed to you by the commies. If this keeps happening, there won’t be a convoy to defend.”

“Sir,” Justin barked, “get us more ships, or let the entire wing launch. You can’t expect us to do the impossible.”

“If we launch the entire wing, who’s going to defend against the attack that comes two hours later while you’re all refueling?”

Justin set his jaw. “With respect, sir, what would you have us do?”

“Get better at your jobs. Focus on teamwork.” Whatley’s eyes flicked to Mateus. “Lieutenant, you only had a twenty-three percent hit rate on your neutron cannons. I expect better.”

“I’m a triple ace,” Mateus shot back. “In six engagements.” Her eyes flashed anger. “There were too many for us to take on all at once.”

“There’s your problem right there. Get this through your thick skulls, ladies and gentlemen. This war is not about your personal kill score. It’s about protecting the men and women to your right and left. Period. I want simulator time dialed up until you’re all hitting the target forty percent of the time with the neutron cannons. You will practice working as a unit. You will watch each other’s backs. If you don’t, I’ll bust you all back to private and find some real pilots! Do you get me?” Whatley thundered, spit flying out of his mouth.

Even though every fiber in his being wanted to lash out at Whatley and tell him he was full of it, Justin bit his lip then replied, “Sir, yes, sir.”

The rest of them followed.

“Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

While the rest made their way to the exits as fast as their legs would carry them, Justin remained behind. He crossed his arms and waited for the clang of the hatch to signify that they were alone. “That was uncalled for, sir.”

“Was it?” Whatley stared at him.

“They did their best, sir. So did I.”

“And in this case, your best wasn’t good enough. So get better.” Whatley’s expression softened just a touch. “I’m going to be hard on everyone, especially you, Spencer. They’ve got to get out of this kill-count mentality and focus on the objectives. It doesn’t matter how many times you make ace if the civilian ships we’re escorting, our carrier, other capital ships, or the planet we defend go down. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir. But if I may, your delivery model sucks.”

Whatley snorted. “I don’t care about your perception of my delivery model, Lieutenant.”

“The pilots need to know you’ve got their backs.”

As Whatley stared at Justin, he seemed to flip a mental coin. “No, they need me to ride them as hard as I can. You, on the other hand… they do need to know you have their backs. Which your stunt with the Jolly Green showed in spades.” He smiled slightly. “Now get out of here. And reinforce that we have to work together.”

“Yes, sir.” Justin briefly came to attention then turned and walked out the hatch. Even after the small victories he and the rest of them had achieved, he found it almost impossible to be anything but depressed.

6

The mood of the pilots’ mess, which after the Battle of Canaan had been energetic and even jovial, now resembled a tomb. The losses hadn’t helped, but the final nail in the coffin had been Whatley’s debriefing session. Justin suspected that much like him, everyone else was replaying every action they’d taken. He’d searched for something he missed or a specific maneuver he could’ve used that might have changed the outcome. I don’t think there was a way to win with what we had to work with.

He set his tray on a table. While the mess stewards had piled his plate high with chicken and dumplings along with bread and a side of broccoli, the last thing Justin wanted to do was eat.

Feldstein sat down next to him. Her tray was filled with food as well. “You look like crap.”

Justin turned his head and snorted. “Thanks. You too.”

“Hasn’t your wife taught you never to tell a lady she looks bad?”

In his state, Justin wasn’t remotely interested in banter. He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Probably not good company right now.”

“We got our asses handed to us,” Feldstein said as she unrolled her silverware and put the napkin in her lap. “I hate to say it, sir, but it’s not going to be the last time.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m thinking more about those merchant spacers that aren’t going home.”

His comment cast a somber tone.

Feldstein said little then bowed her head and whispered a prayer in Hebrew that Justin couldn’t understand. She looked up and offered a small smile. “Hopefully, they’re in a better place.”

“Heaven?”

Feldstein took a bite. “Yes.”

“I’ll leave that to you and the others.” Justin pursed his lips. “All I know is we’ve got one life, and I’d hoped to make the most out of it.”

“Have you talked to Michelle and Maggie lately?”

Thankful for the subject change, Justin shook his head. “Not since we left. I’m supposed to get some comm credits tonight. What about Richard? How’s his ship doing?”

“Good. They’re on rotation to home defense for the next three months.” Feldstein put her fork down. “I’m not sure I could do this if he wasn’t.”

Justin blinked. I hadn’t thought of it like that. She has to worry about her husband too. I just have to worry about myself. “I suppose I’m lucky that way. My wife is nowhere near the combat zone.”

“Unless the damn Leaguers invade New Washington,” Feldstein