第32页
John stood rigidly at attention. The carrier’s missile launch bays—normally cramped, overcrowded, andbustling with activity—were unusually quiet. TheAtlas ’s firing deck had been cleared of munitions andcrew. Long, unadorned black banners now hung from the bay’s overhead gantries.
“Honors . . .ten hut !” Mendez barked.
John and the other surviving Spartans saluted in unison.
“Duty,” Mendez said. “Honor and self sacrifice. Death does not diminish these qualities in a soldier. Weshall remember.”
A series of thumps resounded through theAtlas ’s hull as the canisters were hurled into space.
The view screen flickered and displayed a field of stars. The canisters appeared one by one, quicklyfalling behind the carrier as it continued on its course.
John watched. With each of the stainless-steel cylinders that drifted by, he felt that he was losing a partof himself. It felt like leaving his people behind.
Mendez’s face might as well been chiseled from stone, for all the emotion it showed. He finished hisprotracted salute and then said, “Crewmen, dismissed.”
Not everything had been lost. John glanced around the launch chamber; Sam, Kelly, and thirty othersstill stood at attention in their black dress uniforms. They had made it unharmed through the last—mission wasn’t quite the right word. More or less.
There were a dozen others, though, who had lived . . . but were no longer soldiers. It hurt John to look at
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them. Fhajad sat in a wheelchair, shaking uncontrollably. Kirk and René were in neutral-buoyancy geltanks, breathing through respirators; their bones had been so twisted they no longer looked human.There were others, still alive, but with injuries so critical they could not be moved.
Orderlies pushed Fhajad and the other injured toward the elevator.
John strode toward them and stopped, blocking their path. “Stand fast, Crewman,” he demanded.“Where are you taking my men?”
The orderly halted and his eyes widened. He swallowed and then said, “I, sir . . . I have my orders, sir.”
“Squad Leader,” Mendez called out. “A moment.”
“Stay,” John told the orderly, and marched to face Chief Mendez. “Yes, sir.”
“Let them go,” Mendez said quietly. “They can’t fight anymore. They don’t belong here.”
John inadvertently glanced at the view screen and the long line of canisters as they shrank in thedistance. “What will happen to my men?”
“The Navy takes care of its own,” Mendez replied, and lifted his chin a little higher. “They may nolonger be the fastest or the strongest soldiers—but they still have sharp minds. They can still planmissions, analyze data, troubleshoot ops . . .”
John exhaled a sigh of relief. “That’s all any of us ask for, sir: a chance to serve.” He turned to faceFhajad and the others. He snapped to attention and saluted. Fhajad managed to raise one shaking armand return the salute.
The orderlies wheeled them away.
John looked at what remained of his squad. None of them had moved since the memorial ceremony.They were waiting for their next mission.