Left Behind

Left Behind, Part One

"You absolute piece of human garbage," Sonya said.

Colonel Rayden lifted his wintry eyes from the reader in his hands. "Shut the door," he said.

She reached behind her without breaking eye contact and slammed the flimsy door, cutting off the shocked stares from the handful of staffers on the other side.

"I'm going to give you that one," the Colonel continued, still skewering her with his frozen stare. "But no more."

She folded her arms, rejecting thoughts of physical violence for the seventh time since she got the news. "You're in for a bad day then, because you fucked up."

The reader clattered on the metal desktop. Rayden sat back in his chair and straightened his sweat-stained shirt. "Spit it out, then."

Nostrils flaring, she advance on him and slammed her hands down on the desk. "When I scrubbed that mission, I did it because we would have been butchered before we even got a shot. And for you to transfer me out, and then send them anyway?" Leaning over the desk, she growled, "Garbage is the nicest thing I could call you."

His eyes narrowed a twitch. "Sit down." When she didn't respond, he added, "If you want answers, Major, you're going to have to sit down."

With a glare, she took one of the rickety folding chairs behind her. She should give him a chance to explain himself before she beat him to death.

"You're not aware of the greater strategic picture. As I've told you many, many times before. But here's a glimpse: we have two divisions holding on Smoker Three. The Sadit have seven. If they push our lot out, they own that system. That means within a month or two, we'll have a major enemy fleet base less than a light year from our convoy routes. You think escort duty's hazardous now? Wait till the Sadit can put six squadrons on your haulers with two minutes' notice."

"So send the damn fleet!" she snapped. "Been saying that for a damn year!"

"We don't want the escalation. We send two cruisers, they'll send four. They've limited their fleet commitment, and we're fine with that."

She leaned in again. "Yeah, you would be. My Hellcats are dead! Eleven boys and girls shot to pieces! And you have me sitting at this shithole base, filing-combat reports-" She wiped at her eyes with an angry hand. That damn knot in her throat wouldn't let her speak.

He watched her with that bland excuse for a face, no doubt amused at seeing emotion in his hardass squadron leader. "You're a household name, now. Highest kill count in the Air Force. Word came down you're not to be risked."

She frowned. She'd been killing Sadits since the first day of the war. It's what she did best, so-

"You're being transferred to Training Command," he continued in an even voice. "Recruitment is down, and they want a face people will recognize. Somebody they can put on street displays."

No. They couldn't do that to her. She needed this. "Colonel-"

"Paperwork's already gone through, Sonya. You've flown your last combat."

She thought to argue, to fight, even throw a punch and see what happened. But somewhere in Rayden's stony mask, she saw a glimmer of sadness, of understanding. He was just the next rung on the ladder, and the people who had just wasted her life were far, far away.

She got up without another word and marched out. She kept her eyes locked forward as she passed between the folding desks and their occupants, lest some lowlife staffer catch a glimpse of her misery. Might as well save her reputation for the few days she had left at base.