Chapter 32

Once Thallin was out the door, I started piecing together what he had and hadn't told me. After a few moments, I decided I really shouldn't have let him go so easily. "Sure, he's your friend and all, but there's so much he hasn't told you." I told myself. Scowling, I turned to my terminal and set to putting the information I had into memory a little less volatile than my own. 

After I entered as much as I could, I was forced to save and close the file and turn to other, more pressing concerns. I had to debrief my crew, I had to start sending them out on patrols again, and I had to finish the casualty reports. Problem was, I couldn't debrief my crew until after I told them when to be available. And I couldn't reasonably expect them to be available for a couple of hours at least. Which meant I couldn't put off the casualty reports much longer. <I don't think I'm cut out for command responsablities, Kay. I guess I'll have to put up with them for now, though.> 

Then, after recording and sending off messages to my crew to meet in the squadron ready room at 1400 and staring at a blank form for several minutes, I started, once again, to count out the Nighthawks' casualties. 

Even as I slowly worked through page after page of verifications and signatures, I had to force myself to keep going. Images of these men and the times I had spent with them kept creeping into my mind. Thoughts of their families, both on the ship and back at home, cried out to me, asking me why I let them die. But I managed to force my way through them. 

Finally filing Christopher Underhill's papers away, I closed my eyes for a long time and thought about the darkness I felt myself both drawn to and recoiling from. I thought about the possibilities that laid both before and behind me. All the things that could be or could have been. Most of all, I thought about Karl. 

[Reality Check - Saturday, Feb 13 2010, 14:00, Nighthawks Ready Room] 

All of my pilots were there on time. Most of them looked about like I felt. <Oh well, it's got to be done.> I hobbled to the podium and looked everyone over. "Now that we're all here, let's get started." 

There was a murmur of confusion for a moment before I cut in. "We took a beating on Mars, fellows. I don't want to say it, but the Nighthawks that aren't in their seats yet aren't coming at all. We're flying with 13 now, at least until we get some replacements and, from what I hear, those are few and far between." 

I paused for a long moment to catch up with myself before continuing, "I just spent the last hour arguing with the brass, trying to get them to cut back on our patrol schedule. It worked, but we're going to have to restructure our wings to keep up the number of fighters on patrol. The new assignments are as follows:" 

Glancing down to my notes, I read, "First, Alpha Flight. Other than myself, the list inludes Izabelle Fate, Harry DeMuth, Augustine Rasimus, Tony Martuchi, Timothy Zance, and Gary LeMoire. Beta Flight, led by Luke Nielsen, includes Chris Rice, Montgomery Overhill, Joseph Montgomery, Bjorn O'Connell, and Jeff Walker. Everyone will retain their numbers, for now, and I'll have wingmate assignments for you by your first patrol. Alpha flight, our first slot is in two hours, Beta, yours is in four. Meet back here at sixteen and eighteen hundred hours for your assignments. And, no, I won't be flying with you tonight or for the next few days, so the medics tell me, but I will be here and on Comm 23. Are there any questions?" 

I waited for a few moments, and though I could see questions in their eyes, none were asked before I dismissed them. After they all filed out, I tried to figure out what the strange expression on Izi's face meant. She'd been giving me a look since the debriefing had begun, but I just couldn't fathom what was behind it. <Oh well, it'll sort itself out soon enough.> 

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