To the launchpad?
Now?
After one day of flight training?
Cobb slammed a button on his desk, shutting down all of our holographic emitters. I couldn’t help wondering if this was some kind of test or a strange initiation—yet the pale look of Cobb’s face persuaded me otherwise. He didn’t like this.
What in the stars was the admiral thinking? Surely … surely she wouldn’t get my entire flight killed just as retribution for Cobb letting me into the DDF? Right?
We left the training room in a ragged jumble. “Rig,” I said, falling in beside my friend as we jogged down the hallway, alarms blaring in the distance. “Can you believe this? Any of this?”
“No. I still can’t believe I’m here, Spin. When they called me in and told me about my score, I thought they were going to accuse me of cheating! Then the admiral gave me an award and took some photos. It’s almost as incredible as the way Cobb let you in, after—”
“Never mind that,” I said quickly. I didn’t want anyone overhearing that my circumstances were unusual.
I glanced to the side and found Jerkface jogging a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes at me. Great.
We burst out of the training building and gathered on the steps outside right as a flight of Fresa-class starships launched into the sky. One of the on-duty flights; there were usually several of those, along with another flight or two that could be called up in an emergency.
So why did they need us? I didn’t get it.
Cobb emerged from the building and gestured to a line of ten Poco-class fighters on a nearby launchpad. Ground crew were positioning ladders by them.
“On the double!” Jerkface shouted. “To your ships! Everyone remember your number?”
Kimmalyn stopped in place.
“You’re six, Quirk,” Cobb said.
“Um, it was actually Quick—”
“Get going, you fools!” Cobb yelled. “You’re on orders!” He glanced at the sky. A set of sonic booms exploded from the ships that had taken off earlier. Even though they’d moved far out, the booms still rattled the windows.
I hurried to my ship, climbed the ladder to the open cockpit, then stopped. My ship.
A member of the ground crew climbed up the ladder after me. “You getting in?” he asked.
I blushed, then hopped into the cockpit.
He handed me a helmet, then leaned in. “This ship is straight out of repairs. You’ll use it when you’re on orders, though it’s not a hundred percent yours. You’ll be sharing it with a cadet in another flight until enough wash out.”
I pulled on my helmet and gave him a thumbs-up. He climbed down and pulled the ladder away. My cockpit’s canopy closed, then sealed. I sat there in silence, collecting my breath, then reached forward and tapped the button that engaged the acclivity ring. The dash lit up, and a hum vibrated through the ship. That hadn’t been in the simulation.
I glanced to the side—toward the mess hall I’d crashed into not four hours ago.
Don’t stress. You just did this a hundred times, Spensa.
But I couldn’t help thinking about what we’d discussed earlier. That cadets who crashed, or ejected, weren’t—by tradition—allowed to graduate …
I gripped the altitude control and waited for orders. Then I blushed again and pushed the blue button that turned on the radio.
“—anyone wave at her, maybe?” Arturo’s voice came through my helmet. “FM, can you see—”
“Spin checking in,” I said. “Sorry.”
“All right, flight,” Jerkface said. “Lift off, smooth and easy, like we practiced. Straight up fifteen hundred feet, then hover.”
I gripped the controls, and found my heart thundering inside my chest. First time into the sky.
Go. I lifted my Poco into a vertical ascent. And it was glorious. The sense of motion, the press of g-forces pulling me down, the view of the base shrinking beneath me … the open sky, welcoming me home …
I leveled off right when the altimeter read fifteen hundred. The others gathered in a line next to me, stark blue acclivity rings glowing underneath each ship. In the far distance, I saw flashes of light from the battle.
“Flight roll,” Jerkface said.
All nine of us confirmed back to him, then we fell silent. “Now what?” I asked.
“Trying to call in for orders,” Jerkface said. “I don’t know the band I’m supposed to—”
“I’m here,” Cobb’s voice said over the radio. “Looking good, cadets. That’s a damn near perfect line. Except for you, Quirk.”
“Quick, sir,” Kimmalyn said—indeed, her ship had gone up maybe fifty feet above the rest of us. “And … I’m just gonna sit tight here, snug and happy I didn’t crash into anyone. As the Saint said, ‘Ain’t nothing wrong with being a little wrong once in a while.’ ”
“Fair enough,” Cobb said. “But I have orders from Flight Command. Flightleader, lead your flight up to two thousand feet, then throttle to point-two Mag, and head—carefully—out past the city. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“Right,” Jerkface said. “Everyone, two thousand and hover, and I want you to stop sharp this time, Quirk.”
“Sure thing, Jerkface,” she replied.
He cursed softly as we went up higher—high enough that the city below looked almost like a toy. I could still see the flashes in the distance, though the falling debris was more dynamic. Streaks of red fire, trailing smoke, falling right through the battlefield.
Per Cobb’s instructions, we inched our throttles forward and engaged the boosters. And just like that, I was flying—really flying—for the first time. It wasn’t fast, and I spent most of it sweating and overly cautious about my every movement. A part of me was still in awe.
It was finally happening.
We flew out toward the battlefield, but before we’d gotten very far, Cobb called again.
“Halt it here, cadets,” he said, sounding more relaxed. “I’ve been given more information. You aren’t going to fight—a problem with the elevators caught us with our pants down. One of the flights that was supposed to be on reserve got stuck below.
“They’ll relieve you soon. Until then, the admiral wants to make it seem like we have more reinforcements than we actually do. She sent you and another flight of cadets to hover close outside the city. The Krell won’t fly in and risk engaging what they assume are fresh ships.”
I nodded slowly, remembering one of Gran-Gran’s lessons. All warfare is based on deception. Sun Tzu had said. When we are able to attack, we must seem unable. When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. It made sense to use a few dummy flights to worry the Krell.
“… Sir,” Jorgen said, “can you tell us what is happening on the battlefield? So we can be ready, just in case?”
Cobb grunted. “You all passed the test, so I assume that you can tell me basic Krell attack strategy.”
I started to answer, but Arturo beat me to it.
“When debris starts crashing down,” he said, speaking quickly, “the Krell often use the fall to mask their radar signatures. They fly low, underneath our larger AA guns, and try to approach Alta. If they arrive, they can drop a lifebuster bomb.”
I shivered. A lifebuster would not only vaporize everyone in Alta—shields or no shields—it would collapse the lower caverns, burying Igneous and destroying the apparatus.
“The Krell don’t always use a lifebuster though,” I said, jumping in. “Those take a special slow-moving bomber to carry them. They must be expensive or difficult to make or something—because the Krell often retreat the bomber if threatened. Most of the time the Krell and the DDF fight over the falling debris. It often contains salvageable acclivity stone, which we can use to make more starfighters.”
“I suppose you might be right,” Arturo said, sounding dissatisfied. “But he asked for their basic strategy. The basic strategy is to try to destroy Alta.”
“Three out of four skirmishes never involve a lifebuster!” I said. “We think they’re trying to wear us down, destroy as many ships as possible, since it’s harder for us to replace them than it is for the Krell.”
“All right,” Cobb said, cutting in. “You two can show off for each other later. You’re both very smart. Now shut up.”
I sat back in my cockpit, uncertain if I should feel complimented or insulted. That … seemed a common mix of emotions when dealing with Cobb.
“Nobody in today’s battle has seen a lifebuster bomber,” Cobb said. “That doesn’t mean one couldn’t approach, but today’s debris fall does contain a lot of machinery with old acclivity rings.”
Ha! I thought. I was right. I looked to see if I could spot Arturo, to gloat, but couldn’t make him out in the lineup of ships.
“Sir,” Jerkface said, “something has always bothered me about the way we fight. We respond to the Krell, right? When a debris fall comes, we fly out to check it. If we find Krell, we engage them.”
“Generally, yes,” Cobb said.
“So that means we always let them pick the battlefield,” Jerk-face said. “Yet the way to win in war is to surprise the enemy. To keep them off balance. To make them think we’re not going to attack when we will, and vice versa.”
“Someone’s been reading a little too much Sun Tzu,” Cobb said. “He fought in a different era, flightleader—and with very different tactics.”
“Shouldn’t we at least try to bring the fight up to the Krell?” Jerkface asked. “Attack their base beyond the debris field, wherever it is? Why does nobody talk about that?”
“There are reasons,” Cobb said. “And they’re not for cadets. Stay focused on your current orders.”
I frowned at that, acknowledging—grudgingly—that Jerkface had asked good questions. I looked over my shoulder at the green proliferation that was Alta. Another thing struck me as strange. Cobb was an expert pilot, and a First Citizen. He’d flown in the Battle of Alta. If reserves were needed, even the illusion of them, why hadn’t he come up here with us?
We sat quietly for several minutes.
“So …,” Bim said over the line. “Anyone want to help me pick a callsign?”
“Yeah,” Jerkface said. “I need one too.”
“I thought we already decided on yours, Jerkface,” Nedd said.
“You cannot call your flightleader something embarrassing,” Jerkface said.
“Why not?” Hurl asked. “What was that famous pilot, with the name about gas or—”
“Broken Wind,” I said. “One of the First Citizens. She only recently retired, and she was an amazing pilot. A hundred and thirty career kills. An average of twenty engagements a year.”
“I’m not going by Jerkface,” Jerkface said. “That’s an order.”
“Sure thing,” FM said. “Jerkface.”
I smiled, looking out of my cockpit toward FM’s ship right beside mine. Had she known him before? I thought I could pick out a hint of an accent to her voice. The same one that laced the voices of the three boys—rich people accents, from the lower caverns. What was her story?
Lights continued to flash in the distance, and I found myself itching to grab the throttle, engage overburn, and send my ship blasting toward it. Pilots were fighting, maybe dying, while I just sat here? What kind of warrior was I?
The kind that crashed into the mess hall the first time she turned on her engines. I thought. Still, I watched those lights, tried to imagine the battle, and squinted to try to catch a glimpse of a Krell ship.
I was still shocked when I saw one streaking toward us.
I’d seen hundreds of depictions of their ships in art. Small, bulbous, it had a strangely unfinished look—with wires trailing behind like tails. It had a small, opaque black cockpit. Most Krell ships exploded completely when damaged or when they crashed, but in some few, we’d recovered burned-out remnants of the wicked armor they wore. Never an actual Krell though.
“Jerkface!” I said.
“Don’t call me—”
“Jorgen! Flightleader! Whatever! Look at your eleven, down about two hundred feet. You see that?”
He cursed softly.
Hurl said, “All right! The game is on!”
“It’s not a game, Hurl,” Jerkface said. “Instructor Cobb?”
“Here. What is it?”
“Krell ship, sir. It looks like it flew low, under AA gun range, and is heading for Alta.”
Cobb didn’t respond immediately. I sat, sweating, hands on my controls, trailing that ship with my eyes.
“Flight Command knows about it,” Cobb reported back. “Your replacements are climbing into their ships now. They should get here soon.”
“And if they’re not fast enough?” I asked. “What if that ship has a lifebuster?”
“Flight Command has visual ID on it, Spin,” Cobb said. “The ship isn’t a bomber. A single ship can’t do that much damage.”
“Respectfully, sir, I disagree,” Jorgen said. “While the base is shielded, it could fire on the farmers with destructors, kill dozens before it’s—”
“I know the capabilities of the damn Krell, boy. Thank you.” Cobb took a deep breath. “It’s close?”
“Yes, sir. Getting closer.”
Silence over the line, then finally, “You may engage. But stay on the defensive. No grandstanding, cadet. I want you to distract it until the reinforcements get into the air.”
I nodded, nervous sweat slicking the sides of my head, inside my helmet. I got ready to fly.
“I’m on it, sir!” Jerkface said. “Nedder, you’re my wingmate!”
“Roger, Jorg,” Nedd said.
Two ships broke out of our line. And before I knew it, I had grabbed my throttle and zipped after them.
“Spin,” Jerkface said. “Back into line!”
“You need me,” I said. “The more of us there are, the more likely we’ll be to scare the thing off and back toward the real fighters!”
“And she’ll need a wingmate,” Hurl said, pushing out of line and tailing me.
“No, no!” Jerkface said. “Everyone else should stay in line!”
“Take her,” Cobb said. “Hurl and Spin, you’re with the flight-leader and his wingmate. But the rest of you hold position. I don’t want you slamming into each other up there.”
Jerkface fell silent. Together, the four of us flew in an intercept course, picking up speed, moving to cut in front of the enemy fighter before it could get too close to Alta. I was worried we wouldn’t reach it in time, that it would zip right past us. But I needn’t have been so worried.
Because the moment we drew close enough, it swooped around and came straight for us.
