The commodore laughed. “Now, how on earth did you manage that?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Weston said. “It made for pretty good PR, and it’s good training for the younger members of the group. Besides, since the war ended, the Angels have started to be a pain in the collective ass of the Public Relations Department. They aren’t exactly peacekeepers, you know.”

“Well, that’s a hard point to deny. Not that I regret it one little bit, Eric. Warriors are never appreciated in peacetime, except by those they saved during the war. Looks like we’ve both come a long way from Japan, my friend.” The commodore’s smile faded for an instant at the intrusion of old memories.

“We have at that, Jeff, and I can’t say that I’m sorry,” Weston responded. His eyes clouded as he thought back to the carnage over Japan when he’d first met Wolfe.

The commodore, then Captain Wolfe of the US Marine Corps, had been a flight leader in the Battle of Japan. The Chinese Advanced Mantis Fighters had poured over the beleaguered island state like locusts, faster and more lethal than the aging corps-issued joint strike fighter, short takeoff vertical landing (STVL) models that Wolfe had flown, taking the defense forces by surprise.

The first shots of World War III had been fired less than three miles from where the final moments of World War II had ended for the Pacific Theater.

The commodore grimaced for a moment. “I never had a chance to thank you for that, Eric. If you and the Archangels hadn’t shown up…”

Weston waved him off. “It’s history, Commodore. Japan was a whole different world and a completely different time. No need for thanks.”

The somber moment lasted only a few seconds. “Well, I’ll surely be expecting your thanks when you bring that shiny new toy of yours to my station for repairs.”

The quiet mood broken, Weston laughed out loud and concluded the conversation as the Odyssey began arcing away from the Mars orbit. “Looks like we’re starting to pull away from you, Commodore. Is that tanker waiting on us?”

“She’s all yours. Been on high-velocity orbit of Saturn for the past several hours. I would imagine her crew is getting impatient.”

“I won’t keep them waiting too much longer, Commodore. Odyssey out.” The commodore threw Weston a two-fingered salute before the screen flickered back to a forward view.

Weston looked back over his displays, watching the numbers flash by as the ship arced away from the Mars orbit and hit one-third light-speed, roughly half her maximum cruise speed. The big reactors grew quiet as the crew watched the Red Planet dwindle rapidly in the void. Weston glanced away from the screen, his attention turning toward his own terminal.

“Helm, what’s our fuel status?” Weston asked some time later.

“More than sufficient until we refuel, sir,” Daniels responded.

“That’s not what I asked, Lieutenant.” Weston’s voice grew sharper, his eyes boring into the back of the young man’s head.