She takes a slow breath and looks over to the viewport, where Earth hangs low in the sky, blue and gray against the all-absorbing black of space.
“We match,” she continues. “We laugh about the same stuff, I don’t have to explain much to you, we have a good time when we’re on leave, and we’ve seen some pretty hair-raising shit together. You’re a good boyfriend, and you’d make a good husband. I’ve met enough guys in the fleet to know that I’d have to look long and hard for someone that fits me as well as you. We’ve been the closest thing to family for each other since we met. Let’s make that status official.”
She shrugs and gives me a lopsided little smile. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’s nervous.
“Might as well get the monetary benefits, too, you know?” she says.
I laugh, the tension in me releasing like a decompressing airlock.
“Holy shit,” I say. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I reach across the table and take her left hand in mine, touching my thumb to the area on her finger where an engagement ring would go.
“I do,” I say, and she laughs.
“Come on. Let’s see what it takes to get hitched in the fleet.”
We’re in the Armed Forces of the North American Commonwealth, and the NAC military doesn’t ever let you do anything in one step when they can make you do it in ten. We head over to the base’s personnel clerk to check on the procedure for a marriage between service members, and it’s like a cold shower after the rush of excitement from earlier.
“You file your intent today, and you get your marriage license in six months,” the clerk tells us.
“That’s one hell of a wait for two frontline troops,” I tell him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a war on.”
“I don’t make the regs,” he says. “Fleet rule. So people don’t get hitched just before a drop to make sure their folks get the bonus.”
“Wouldn’t want to fuck the government out of money by leaving a grieving spouse too soon,” Halley says. She chucks her military ID card onto the counter in front of the clerk. “Go ahead and file it, Corporal.”
I get out my own ID and put it next to Halley’s. Then she looks at me, and her expression softens a little.
“I’m not going to let it ruin my mood,” she says. “Let’s grab some more of that beer and head back to the berth. I want to fool around with my fiancé.”
The personnel clerk takes our IDs and scans them into the admin console in front of him. A few moments later, we are officially engaged in the eyes of the fleet.
“Clock’s ticking,” I say to Halley when we take our ID cards back from the clerk. “Now we just have to stay alive for another six months.”
“Easier for me than you,” Halley says. “But I want you back here in six months. Whatever you have to do.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
“Whatever you have to do,” she repeats.
“I promise I’ll be back in one hundred eighty days sharp.”
“Better,” Halley says.
CHAPTER 8
The leaves I spend with Halley are always too short, but this one’s even shorter than usual, and by the time she has to go back to teaching young pilots how to stay alive, I report to the Transient Personnel Unit with great reluctance to wait for the arrival of my new ship.
Once upon a time, when the fleet was water bound, a ship would return to its homeport after a deployment and stay in port for a while, to give the crews some downtime. The modern, spaceborne fleet doesn’t have enough hulls to allow such indulgences. Instead, every ship in the fleet has two full crews, called Gold and Blue, and switching them out is a swift and well-practiced process. The Manitoba is cleaned up, restocked, and ready for a new deployment only six days after I step aboard to report to my new command.
“Our target,” Major Gould announces, “is Sirius Ad.”
The briefing room erupts into a cacophony of murmurs as we process this information. The Sirius A system has been solidly Sino-Russian territory since shortly after the colonization waves started in earnest. It’s almost as much established enemy soil as St. Petersburg or Dalian.
“The name of this operation is Hammerfall. For the last few years, we’ve been defending our own turf against their raids. Command figured that the time has come to let them have a taste of their own medicine.”