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Rak Chazak Amats! The ancient Hebrew war cry that led God’s warriors for centuries. The call to be strong, courageous and without hesitation to consider the impossibilities. It was a call to victory that led many God-inspired warriors into battle. And now it would lead him.
"Caleb!"
Laura had just come through the side door and was running towards him. Unsure of why she was present, and fearing the worst, he braced himself.
"Caleb," she repeated, arriving out of breath below him. "Our orders are in. We've got to report to the orientation room."
After hurriedly gathering up the paint and brushes, then stowing them and the ladder, he went back to Laura, who had been staring at his blue star. "Ready?" he said.
It took one moment for his question to register, then she nodded.
Sunrise over the base was nothing to be admired; it was just a clock marking the minutes until launch. They loped across the tarmac, headed for the main complex, and it dawned on Caleb that he'd forgotten something. He'd been so excited to get orders---any orders---that he'd never asked Laura about the details. Then again, he hoped they weren't going to repair another tracking drone. "Any idea where we're headed?"
"Cross heard we're going right to the line."
Sirens blared behind them and grew louder. Suddenly, a black van cut in front of them."
"Goddamn him! He missed me by a molecule," Laura screamed.
"Hey, you ass...." Caleb backed off his cussword as he noted the red cross painted over a white square on the back of the van. Another van, then another, roared past them, and both pulled up to the base hospital that adjoined the main complex.
They sprinted up to the vans and passed to see what was happening. The hospital's doors slid automatically open, and 8 or nine medics hastened to the now-open rear doors of each van. Wounded soldiers on stretchers were hauled out along with the dead, who were in black body bags.
Caleb recognized a uniform.
So did Laura. "The 238th," she uttered weakly.
The elite force, some bloodied, some burned, some comatose, some with shattered limbs, were carried into the hospital. Caleb counted more dead than living. He also noted the black-tuxedoed men entering the hospital behind the medics, men from Hevra Kadisha, here to prepare the slain for burial according to Jewish rites and dig their graves.
Out of breath, Laura placed her palm over the heart. "Oh, Jesus! This isn't happening! Tell me we're dreaming, Caleb! Tell me!!!"
The moment was like a crystal ball that conjured up too vivid a picture. Caleb found himself shooting a look to the sentry gate. How much would they question him if he were to attempt to leave? He shuttered the thought away. "Come on."
Laura grabbed his arm. A last pilot was being unloaded from one of the vans. She led Caleb closer. It was hard to believe that the man- on the stretcher had once been human. Though his ears were half-missing, his eyes remained focused and alert. What remained of his hair was coated with a mass of blood that originated from a severely broken nose. Yet the unfortunate man still lived, was still conscious. He was the Shark they had noticed their first day on the base, the one who had sat alone in the bar. They were near enough to see his patch: U.D. KRANTZ.
A shadow appeared next to Caleb's. Berkson now stood beside him. The tank's slicked-back hair and sweaty face could be attributed to the morning heat, but the feature that betrayed him was the pallid hue of his complexion. Then a look floated between Berkson and Krantz, a look that Caleb was unable to interpret. The Shark vanished into the hospital. The tank muttered something indistinct before he started off for the complex.
"Poor guy," Laura said.
Caleb's face tightened in puzzlement. "Are you referring to his injuries, or something else?"
"The expressions on their faces," Laura replied. "That's how Ao Primes greet each other. Krantz is an Ao Prime himself!"
Caleb looked to Berkson. "I guess you just saw your future, didn't you, Jon?"297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWVsbKSdVic
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They entered the orientation room to find the other 18 pilots of the sixty-ninth squadron already slouching in their seats and chatting nervously with one another. Laura steered them to the chairs beside Berkson. Why did she have to put them practically on top of the tank, Caleb wondered.
"Hey, Caleb," Cross called. "Are you ready for the line?"
He looked back to flash her a wink and a thumbs-up.
"I still won't be ready," Batra complained. "Even when we're in the middle of the furball."
"You'd better be ready if you're going to be my wingman," Abebaw threatened.
Lieutenant Colonel Ostrovsky appeared from a side door. He paused a moment to exchange a few words with Sergeant Steinberger, then crossed to front and center.
The sergeant cleared his throat. "TESHOMAT LAV!"
Caleb and the rest sprang to their feet.
The lieutenant colonel quickly waved them down. "Be seated."
Despite the big number of human beings in the room, human beings who breathed, blinked, scratched, swallowed, fidgeted, and occasionally coughed, the room was remarkably silent. Caleb sat attentively, ready to hang on the colonel's every word.
"The information you are about to receive is classified Red-3."
Laura drew back in her chair, and Caleb found his brow lifting in surprise as the others stirred, but for the most part, repressed their reactions.
The lieutenant colonel narrowed his gaze. "I needn't remind you of the consequences of divulging Red 3 information."
Caleb threw Berkson a sidelong stare that said: "You hear that? He's talking to you!" But before Berkson noticed the look, Laura gently touched Caleb's chin and directed his attention forward.
"69th, because of you we've caught a break. A major break. Within the wreckage of the alien recon vehicle during your H.I.S.T. was an encoded transmission detailing the enemy's projected battle plans."
"I thought the ship alone was a find," Laura whispered.
"Subsequently, all enemy movements have been anticipated. Fearing the captured information may be deceptive, we have not shown our hand. Until now."
Even though they'd found the ship by accident, and even though they weren't the ones to discover the transmission, Caleb now felt like he was an intimate and vital part of the war effort. He wasn't some nameless pilot about to blown away. He was Caleb Waxman, proud member of the group whose find might turn the war's tide. Everyone who'd been on Mars already deserved the Itur HaGvura, the Israeli medal of honor. His invigorated confidence made him want to immediately climb into his cockpit and, as Steinberger had said, go "tear-assing across the cosmos, huntin' for heaven."
He glanced at Laura, who was not focused on the Lieutenant Colonel. She furtively studied Berkson. What was that interesting about the tank? Caleb looked for himself. Berkson shook his head negatively, slapped his arms across his chest, then huffed.
"Something wrong?" Laura asked him.
"This isn't right," he curtly replied.
Cross stuck her head between Laura and Berkson to shush them.
Standing behind a little holo-projector, Ostrovsky threw a switch, bringing to life a 3D map of their sector of the Milky Way galaxy. Caleb had seen many holos as a colonist in training but none this detailed and elaborate. Instead of being tiny, nearly indistinguishable points of light, the planets in each system actually contained colored surface features, and, if one stared at them long enough, one could see that they spun on their axes and followed their orbits around the sun in real time.
The lieutenant colonel stepped to the right side of the map, then pointed to an object in the far, lower portion. Caleb already knew what that object was. "Here is Earth," Ostrovsky confirmed. He strode 22.7 light-years to the opposite end of the map. "In 72 hours, the enemy intends to attack with extreme intent, directing two-thirds of its forces to the Chorix zee-five-nine star system naval base." He pointed to Chorix zee-five-nine, a white star system with four planets ensnared in its powerful orbit., one of them a gas giant that seemed slightly larger than Jupiter. A data bar below the system supplied the absolute magnitude, distance, spectral type, and apparent visual magnitude for each star as seen from Earth. "This is point G." Ostrovsky shifted to the center of the holo. "Our forces will surprise attack from behind enemy positions at two points." He indicated a sector near the Evans Cluster. "Point F, here, and,"---he singled out another, this one near Abgatis 88---"point H, here. The army will participate with the 9th Air Wing. This will be possible due to a fortuitous projected wormhole opening in the Libra Regions."
Laura tilted her head towards Caleb and whispered, "That'll do it."
Indeed, Caleb had already bought 99% of the plan. Yet there was a hazardous 1% that kept him antsy, and the feeling was fueled by Berkson. Every word out of the lieutenant colonel's mouth was met by the tank's disapproving stare and occasional snorts. What did Berkson know that the top brass didn't?
"From captured information we've ascertained the following: their planes are faster, with a better rate of climb. But ours are more maneuverable and better armed. It evens out."
Laura proffered her palm with a smile. Amidst rumors of approval throughout the room, Caleb high-fived her. She tried the same with Berkson, who ignored her.
The energy in the room was contagious, finding its way into Ostrovsky's voice. "Surprise has been their weapon. Now...it is ours!"
"It's too easy," Berkson blurted out, then fidgeted and every gaze found him.
Caleb sighed. "Here we go...." But in truth he was anxious to hear why the tank had misgivings.
"Sir, if the plans were planted, then they'd at least assume we've got them. They'd alter their objectives."
"No doubt their intelligence reported that we would be unable to decipher the transmission, and, in fact, it's taken fifty Peregrine computers interlinked on four continents to decode the enemy's complex language. And, as mentioned, their movements have since been accord with the captured plans."
Berkson unfolded his arms and slid up his seat. "Suppose they assumed we would eventually be able to decipher the transmission? And what if they didn't change their plans in an attempt to lure us away, then surround and finish us off?"
"We can second-guess them and ourselves to death," Caleb told the tank. "What we've got to do is respond to the facts."
Ostrovsky nodded. "I can assure you, Lieutenant"----he squinted at the tank's name patch----"Berkson, that thousands of computer simulations have been run, every possible enemy move played out."
"I hope you're right," Berkson said gravely.
By now, Caleb's patience was threadbare and had him tapping his foot in anticipation of their orders. He decided he wasn't going to wait for Ostrovsky. "Sir, are we deploying to point F or H, sir?"
The lieutenant colonel hesitated, and suddenly he looked a lot like Mayor Briskin, the harbinger of doom.
No, his news can't be that bad. Can it?
"The 69th squadron will operate in a support capacity at point A."
"Point A," Cross repeated enthusiastically, believing that point A was a position of extreme importance.
Obviously, she hadn't heard the words support capacity.
Turning back to the map, Ostrovsky singled out point A. "Right here. Rear left flank."
Rear left flank! Give. Give. Give. Take. Take. Take. You're ready, son. Hell, you're combat ready. We've got a nice bunk for you to hide under right here in the rear left flank!
With his vision obscured by anger, Caleb failed to see a superior officer at the head of the room. Instead, he saw a mayor, an MP, and a pupped all rolled into one uniformed man. "Why bother telling us the plan if we weren't going to be part of it?"
Piqued by Caleb's tone, Ostrovsky's retort was delivered in a voice that was equally venomous. "You are part of it: rear left flank."
In the space of a heartbeat Caleb was on his feet. "Sir, request permission to transfer to 9th Air Wing."
From the corner of his eye, he could see Laura's expression of shock.
Then she rose and it was plain that she hadn't been shocked over his insubordination but over the fact that his request was a good idea. "Sir, request permission to transfer to 9th Air Wing."
"Requests denied."
Cornered, Caleb figured he'd better try the soft approach with Ostrovsky. Arguing----he should have known---would get him nowhere. "Sir, with all due respect, we've got a right to follow through...."
"Sit down, Lieutenants!"297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuKMlc38oc7
Caleb bowed his head and shrank back in inevitable defeat. He wanted to throttle Cross for her misinformation. Who'd told her they were going right to the line? Indeed, when he was done with Cross, he'd wring that bastard's neck.
After giving himself a moment to settle, Ostrovsky said, "The 69th squadron is to report to the naval space carrier Galaxi, across the Jupiter Line, by 0950 tomorrow. You'll meet Lieutenant General Lewitzky on board. Dismissed."
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