Free Battle Station by Ben Bova Page A

Cardillo before there’s more bloodshed.”
    It took another six hours before it was all sorted out. A shuttle filled with armed troops and an entire replacement crew finally arrived at the battered hulk of Hunter . The relieving commander, a stubby, compactly built black from New Jersey who had been a U.S. Air Force fighter pilot, made a grim tour of inspection with Hazard.

    From inside his space suit he whistled in amazement at the battle damage. “Shee-it, you don’t need a new crew, you need a new station!”
    â€œIt’s still functional,” Hazard said quietly, then added proudly, “and so is my crew, or what’s left of them. They ran this station and kept control of the satellites.”
    â€œThe stuff legends are made of, my man,” said the new commander.
    Hazard and his crew filed tiredly into the waiting shuttle, thirteen grimy, exhausted men and women in the pale-blue fatigues of the IPF. Three of them were wrapped in mesh cocoons and attended by medical personnel. Two others were bandaged but ambulatory.
    He shook hands with each and every one of them as they stepped from the station’s only functional air lock into the shuttle’s passenger compartment. Hovering there weightlessly, his creased, craggy face unsmiling, to each of his crew members he said, “Thank you. We couldn’t have succeeded without your effort.”
    The last three through the hatch were Feeney, Stromsen, and Yang. The Irishman looked embarrassed as Hazard shook his hand.
    â€œI’m recommending you for promotion. You were damned cool under fire.”
    â€œFrozen stiff with fear, you mean.”
    To Stromsen, “You, too, Miss Stromsen. You’ve earned a promotion.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” was all she could say.
    â€œAnd you, little lady,” he said to Yang. “You were outstanding.”
    She started to say something, then flung her arms around Hazard’s neck and squeezed tight. “I was so frightened!” she whispered in his ear. “You kept me from cracking up.”

    Hazard held her around the waist for a moment. As they disengaged he felt his face turning flame red. He turned away from the hatch, not wanting to see the expressions on the rest of his crew members.
    Buckbee was coming through the air lock. Behind him were his five men. Including Jon Jr.
    They passed Hazard in absolute silence, Buckbee’s face as cold and angry as an antarctic storm.
    Jon Jr. was the last in line. None of the would-be boarders was in handcuffs, but they all had the hangdog look of prisoners. All except Hazard’s son.
    He stopped before his father and met the older man’s gaze. Jon Jr.’s gray eyes were level with his father’s, unswerving, unafraid.
    He made a bitter little smile. “I still don’t agree with you,” he said without preamble. “I don’t think the IPF is workable—and it’s certainly not in the best interests of the United States.”
    â€œBut you threw your lot in with us when it counted,” Hazard said.
    â€œThe hell I did!” Jon Jr. looked genuinely aggrieved. “I just didn’t see any sense in dying for a lost cause.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œCardillo and Buckbee and the rest of them were a bunch of idiots. If I had known how stupid they are I wouldn’t …” He stopped himself, grinned ruefully, and shrugged his shoulders. “This isn’t over, you know. You won the battle, but the war’s not ended yet.”
    â€œI’ll do what I can to get them to lighten your sentence,” Hazard said.
    â€œDon’t stick your neck out for me! I’m still dead set against you on this.”
    Hazard smiled wanly at the youngster. “And you’re still my son.”
    Jon Jr. blinked, looked away, then ducked through
the hatch and made for a seat in the shuttle.
    Hazard formally turned the station over to its new commander, saluted one last