I reached the DDF compound a sweaty, out-of-breath mess. Fortunately, my daily walks back and forth to my cave had been a good imitation of physical training, so I was in reasonable shape. The gate guards waved me through, and I forced myself into another jog. I stopped off at the changing rooms near the launchpad and threw on my flight suit.
I bolted out the door, running for my ship. My Poco sat alone. Nedd’s ship had long since been assigned to another flight, and everyone else would be in the air already. The faint sound of AA guns popped in the distance, and burning streaks of falling debris indicated that this battlefield was dangerously close to Alta’s defensive perimeter.
My fatigue was suddenly overpowered by a spike of concern. A pilot was climbing into the cockpit of my ship.
“Wait!” I shouted. “What are you doing? That’s my ship!”
The pilot hesitated, glancing down at the ground crew who had been prepping the ship. One of them nodded.
The pilot climbed slowly back down the ladder.
“You’re late,” Dorgo—a man from the ground crew—said to me. “The admiral ordered all unoccupied ships manned and sent in as reserves.”
My heart thundered inside my chest as the woman—reluctantly—hopped down and pulled off her helmet. She was in her early twenties, and bore a prominent scar across her forehead. She gave me a thumbs-up, but said nothing else as she trudged off toward the crew quarters.
“Who’s that?” I asked softly.
“Callsign: Vigor,” Dorgo said. “Former cadet who got shot down just before graduating. She was good enough that the admiral added her to the reserve roster.”
“She ejected?” I asked.
Dorgo nodded.
I climbed up the ladder, then took my helmet from Dorgo, who climbed up after me. “Head to 110-75-1800,” he said, pointing toward the battlefield. “Unless you hear otherwise. That’s where your flight was told to hold position. I’ll let Flight Command know you’re up and off.”
“Thanks,” I said, pulling on the helmet, then strapping in.
He gave me a thumbs-up, then climbed down and pulled back the ladder. Another ground crew member waved with a blue flag once everyone was safely away.
I turned on the acclivity ring, then raised my ship. Eighteen hundred was a low altitude for fighting—we usually trained somewhere around 30,000. I felt like I was skimming the ground as I darted in the indicated direction.
“Skyward Ten,” I said, pressing the button to call Jorgen, “reporting in. Callsign: Spin.”
“You made it?” Jorgen replied. “They said they were going to send us a reservist.”
“It was a tight call,” I said, “but I convinced them I was the only one capable of giving you enough crap. You fighting?”
“No,” he said. “The admiral has us holding position near one of the AA guns. 110-75-1800, Spin. Glad to have you, crap and all.”
It took me around ten minutes to reach the position, where I spotted the other five members of my flight hovering between two large hills. I decelerated with a reverse burn, then fell into wingmate position by Hurl. Behind us, an enormous AA gun—longer than the flight school building, and then some—scanned the air for incoming Krell. A series of smaller guns sprouted from the base, ready to fire on low-flying ships.
A round of greetings from the others welcomed me. I could barely make out some flashes in the sky to mark the battlefield. The AA gun, however, let out a roaring blast behind us, shaking my Poco. Far overhead, a larger chunk of debris exploded into a shower of sparks and dust.
“So,” Hurl said in my ear, “how many kills you going to get today, Spin?”
“Well … the record in a single battle is held by callsign: Dodger. Twelve direct kills, nine assists. I figure it would be arrogant to try to beat that. So I’ll go for the tie.”
I expected a chuckle, but Hurl seemed serious when she said, “Twelve/nine? That doesn’t sound like so many.”
“Considering that most Krell incursion forces are around thirty ships?”
“There are seventy-five today,” Hurl said. “Easy pickings, if the DDF would let us actually fight.” She inched her Poco forward with maneuvering thrusters, and I followed.
“Where do you two think you’re going?” Jorgen asked.
“Just trying to get a better view of the battlefield,” I said.
“Yeah, belay that. Back into formation. Our orders are to hold position.”
We obeyed, but I found myself itching to get on with the battle. Sitting and waiting there, my fatigue kept bringing itself to my attention.
“Let’s call Cobb,” I said. “See if maybe we should send a pair of fighters out to scout the area.”
“I’m sure they have scouts working the field,” Jorgen said. “Hold position, Spin.”
“Hey, Arturo,” FM said over the line. “How far away is the main battle, do you suppose?”
“You’re asking me?” he replied.
“You’re the smart one.”
There was silence on the line for a moment.
“Well?” FM asked.
“Oh,” Arturo said. “Sorry. I was just … well, waiting for Nedd to make a wisecrack. I guess that’s still my instinct. Here, I can calculate the distance for you exactly.” A light flashed on our comm console. “Hey, Cobb. How far away is that fight?”
“About fifty klicks,” Cobb said. “Stay put, cadets. Victory Flight is almost up from the caverns, and they’ll relieve you once they come in.” His light flipped off.
“Great calculations there, Amphi,” FM said to Arturo.
“I consider it a mark of true intelligence to realize when someone else has already done your work for you,” he said. “That would make a good saying, right, Quirk? Will you use that one sometime?”
“Uh … bless your stars.”
“This isn’t fair,” Hurl said. “We should be fighting. We’re hardly cadets anymore, and I’m tired of simulations. Right, Spin?”
Off in the distance, flashes of light marked where men and women were dying. Losing friends, like I had.
I hated that this creeping, insidious worry had somehow infiltrated my heart. This hesitance, this fear. It was stronger today, probably because I was tired. Maybe if I could get out into the fight, I could prove myself … to myself.
“Yeah, Hurl’s right,” I answered. “We should be killing Krell, not killing time.”
“We do as we’re ordered.” Jorgen said. “And we don’t debate with our commanders. I find it remarkable how you can claim to hardly be cadets anymore, when you have yet to grasp something so fundamental as command structure.”
I bit my lip, then felt my face go warm with embarrassment. He was right. Stupid Jerkface.
I forced myself to wait for our replacements. They’d be one of the reserve flights, hangared—starfighters and all—down in the deep caverns. It was a careful balance; we couldn’t risk a blast wiping out the entire DDF by destroying Alta. But any ships we didn’t keep on immediate call took time to retrieve via the vehicle elevators.
Eventually, Cobb’s line flashed back on. I stifled a sigh. Truth be told, we weren’t in any shape to fight today—not after that long spent training. I prepared myself to turn and go back.
“Krell squadron,” Cobb said. “Eight ships.”
What?
“At heading 125-111-1000,” Cobb continued. “One of our scouting pairs caught them sneaking in at low altitude. Flight-leader, your backup is still five to ten away. You’ll need to engage.”
Engage.
“Understood, Flight Command,” Jorgen said.
“These are standard Krell interceptors, best the scouts could tell,” Cobb said. “Admiral’s orders are for you to get close, visually confirm that there isn’t a bomber among them. Then destroy or drive back any fighters.
“AA guns will wait on standby; shooting into combat is a good way to get our own people killed. But if you can IMP any fighters that escape you, the small AA guns should be able to handle them. And if you can lure any enemy high enough, the large gun might be able to pick them off.” Cobb paused. “I’m patching your ships into the general battle chatter. Good luck, cadets. Listen to your flightleader; remember your training. This one is for real.”
The light clicked off.
“Finally!” Hurl said.
“I want a wide sweep formation,” Jorgen said to us. “You heard the heading. 125-111-1000. This is going to be close to the ground. Watch your relative elevation. Let’s move!”
We fell into a wide formation, in wingmate pairs. Me and Hurl, Jorgen and Arturo, FM and Kimmalyn. We sped through the gap between the two peaks, rounding to the east, along the indicated heading. We caught the visuals almost immediately—eight Krell ships flying in a U shape.
“We’re yours, flightleader,” a woman’s voice said on the general channel. “Val-class. Ranger Seven, callsign: Cloak.”
“Ranger Eight, callsign: Underscore,” a male voice added.
Val-class. Those would be the two scout ships; I couldn’t pick them out yet, but they’d join the fight with us.
My fatigue melted away in the face of my excitement. It was happening. A real fight. Not an accidental engagement, but actual orders to bring down an enemy squadron.
“Thanks for your help, scouts,” Jorgen said. “We’re ordered to get visual confirmation on the status of a bomber among these fellows. Ranger pair, I want you to coordinate that to Flight Command. My Pocos will run a scatter formation and try to break the enemy apart into individuals. Focus your attention on making sure we’ve identified each ship.”
“Confirmed,” Cloak said.
“All right, team,” Jorgen said. “Overburn to Mag-3, then once we engage, drop to dogfighting speeds. Free-for-all, take what you can, and watch your wingmate.” He breathed out. “Stars guard you.”
“And you, flightleader,” Arturo said.
They both sounded worried. My resolve wavered. Which I hated. I was not going to become a coward.
“Go!” Jorgen said.
“Yeah!” Hurl yelped, and hit her overburn.
I followed, tearing through the sky in a sudden acceleration toward the enemy. Exactly as in the simulations, the Krell scattered when directly engaged. They didn’t worry about covering their wingmates; they counted on their superior ships to compensate for our superior coordination.
I hugged Hurl’s left rear. We pulled out of overburn at high speed and banked right, picking a specific Krell ship to target. We’d moved into a debris fall, but it was mostly small chunks that were burning up high overhead. The occasional midsize piece dropped past us, trailing smoke, but none were big enough for light-lance maneuvers.
We fell to fighting speeds and stuck to our target. I held back just far enough to be outside range if Hurl fired her IMP. Two Val-class starfighters—designed for scanner avoidance and speed—swooped in overhead. They wouldn’t have much in the way of firepower.
“Cloak,” I said, flipping a button. “This is Skyward Ten, call-sign: Spin. The ship I’m chasing is a regular Krell interceptor.”
“Confirmed,” Cloak said. I didn’t hear the rest of the chatter; the others would be reporting individually. Hopefully, the two scouts could keep track enough to identify each ship.
Hurl and I swept along the ground, dodging right, then left as we passed into a large crater. Hurl hit overburn to try to get close enough to IMP, but overshot as the Krell turned upward.
I stayed on it, and Hurl cursed softly, falling in behind me. “We don’t have any tails, Spin. Let’s bring that bucket down before it gets help.”
“Confirmed.” I kept my attention on the enemy. Yes … single-minded focus. My helmet sensors—which I mostly ignored these days—grew warm. I felt like I could anticipate the Krell’s turns as it zipped out of the crater and banked right.
Focus. Nothing else mattered. No worries. No fear. Just me, my ship, and the target.
Closer.
Closer.
Almost.
“Guys! Help!”
Kimmalyn.
I cursed, my concentration breaking. There she was, being chased by three tails. Scud! FM curved around behind, trying to get into position to offer her support.
I broke off my chase, and Hurl followed as we rushed toward Kimmalyn. “Covering fire,” I said, and the two of us opened up with destructors, spraying enough fire that the three tails went into defensive maneuvers and let Kimmalyn escape.
“Thanks,” FM said, falling in beside Kimmalyn. I took the time to spot Arturo and Jorgen engaged in a dogfight with three Krell. With that much heat on them, they wouldn’t dare use an IMP and leave themselves exposed.
“We need to pick off some strays,” I said to Hurl, “and bring the odds in our favor.”
“Right,” she said. “At your three. Look good?”
“Go for it,” I said, following her as we swooped toward another Krell. It looked identical to the one we’d been chasing—that same shape with wires trailing at the rear. It didn’t appear that any of these were bombers.
I radioed in what we’d seen, and then we chased the ship out away from the main firefight. When it tried to cut left to circle around, I was able to overburn and drive it back. Isolated, it tried to simply outrun us on the straight, accelerating to Mag-3, then Mag-4.
“I’m going in!” Hurl said. Her booster flared into overburn, and she roared forward.
I was already anticipating her. We’d done this together so many times in the last week that I knew, by instinct, exactly how it would go. In a perfect maneuver, she got in just close enough and hit her IMP. With a flash of blue, her shield went down, and so did the Krell’s.
I weaved past as she slowed, then I unleashed my destructors. It was almost a surprise when the Krell ship exploded into molten bits. It had actually worked!
Hurl whooped as we both slowed down. I pivoted and came back to cover her while she reignited her shield. A piece of space debris careened past me, exploding with a soft blast when it impacted not far below.
“Is that first blood?” I said, hitting a button. “Jorgen, we got one!”
“Congrats,” he said, his voice tense.
I scanned the rest of the battle. He and Arturo were still dealing with three ships—and the scouts had managed to chase one off in the other direction, trying a maneuver similar to what Hurl and I had done. That meant …
Three ships, chasing Kimmalyn. Again.
“Scud,” I said. “Hurl?”
“Go. I’m almost reignited.”
I hit overburn, heading back toward the main battle.
“Guys?” Kimmalyn asked. “Guys?”
“I’m on you,” FM said. “I’m on you …”
FM managed to chase off the ships, but another looped around to get behind her. When she went into a dodge, one of the three original ships went back on Kimmalyn.
Kimmalyn dodged erratically, and I could imagine her panicking. She wasn’t picking a strategy and sticking to it; she basically just tried every dodging pattern, one after another.
I accelerated, but destructor fire flashed all around Kimmalyn, and her shield crackled, taking a hit. She went in and out of over-burn.
I’m not going to catch her. Not in time.
“Quirk, hang on!” I said over the general line. “I’m going to try something. FM, everyone, if you can disengage and follow me—try to do so. Make a regular V with me on point.”
I turned toward the ship chasing FM—which was much closer to me than the ones on Kimmalyn. I didn’t fire, but instead swept around it in a loop, coming centimeters from the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. I then bolted upward and used my light-lance to grab a small chunk of space debris. In a hard turn, I pivoted and launched it up toward Kimmalyn’s chaser. It passed impressively close to one of the Krell.
I pulled out of my loop, and FM fell in behind me. Jorgen and Arturo broke off their engagement for a moment and did likewise.
“What is this for?” Jorgen asked over the line. “What are we doing?”
“Saving Quirk,” I said. Hopefully.
It depended on whether my theory was right. Tense, I turned upward and hit my overburn. For a brief moment, we held the formation.
Above, the Krell chasing Kimmalyn broke off and turned downward—toward me.
“Cobb warned that the Krell try to destroy our command structure,” I said. “They take out flightleaders first, if they can identify them, and—”
Destructor fire sprayed around me.
Right.
I pulled into the most complex set of dodging loops I knew, the Barrett sequence. An impressive four Krell found their way to chasing me. That protected Kimmalyn—but four was more than I could handle. Each time I tried to pull upward or break away, a ship or two managed to cut me off. My Poco rattled as I spun and dodged, and destructors hit my shields.
Scud. Scud. Scud!
“I’m coming, Spin,” Hurl said. “Hang on.”
I kept dodging, destructors narrowly missing me. A part of my brain registered Arturo downing a Krell ship. How long had we been fighting? Had we really only shot down two? Where were those reinforcements?
“More ships,” Jorgen said.
“Finally,” I said with a grunt as I banked.
“Not ours. Theirs.”
My turn took me straight into them—another flight of six Krell interceptors. I spun through them, and somehow avoided colliding with any. In the chaos, I finally managed to get some altitude.
My little trick must have really convinced them I was important, because three stuck on me—firing full out—as I screamed into the air. My proximity sensors blared, and my shields—
A shot hit me, causing my shield to crackle, then go out. Warning lights lit up all over my control panel.
I continued straight up, rotating my acclivity ring so it pointed down behind my ship. I just had to gain enough height—
An explosion flashed behind me. The shock wave rocked my unshielded Poco. I breathed a quiet prayer to whichever gunner was manning those AA guns when—in another enormous blast—a second Krell ship vanished from my proximity sensors.
The last Krell ship broke off, diving out of range. I leaned back against my seat, sweating, head pounding, lights flashing on my console. Alive. I was alive.
“Hurl!” FM said over the line. “What are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Hurl said with a grunt. “I’m going to get this one. The shields are almost down.”
I quickly rotated my ship, tipping to see the battlefield alive with action beneath. Kimmalyn—I was pretty sure it was her—had flown upward after me, to get out of range. The rest of the battle was a mess of Krell ships and destructor fire.
There. I spotted Hurl chasing an enemy while being tailed by a swarm of three Krell. I’d been forced to leave her without a wingmate.
I ignored my blinking shield light—no time to reignite—and dove back down toward the battlefield. I unleashed destructor fire toward Hurl’s tails, but I was too far away and my shots were way off. The enemy didn’t break from their chase.
Hurl took a hit. And another.
“Hurl, pull up!” I said.
“I’ve almost got him. We’re never going to break any records by being cowards.” She fired, scoring the shields of the Krell in front of her.
I hit overburn, tearing after them. But dives were dangerous on the body, and as soon as my GravCaps cut, I felt the g-forces in my eyes, forcing the blood up into my head.
I gritted my teeth, vision going red as I reached the group of Krell. I hit my IMP by touch. It couldn’t take down my shield, after all. It was already gone.
I didn’t see how many of them I caught. I was too close to doing myself permanent harm. I leveled out, my head pounding, my eyes aching. As my vision returned, I started my shield reignition and craned my head, trying to search for Hurl. Was she safe?
“I’m taking heavy fire!” Arturo said. “I need help!”
“Reinforcements are here!” Jorgen said.
Everything was chaos. I could barely comprehend the mess, though for the moment—remarkably—nobody seemed to be targeting me.
An explosion flashed off to my right.
“Got him!” Hurl said.
There. Hurl had shot down her target—but two Krell ships were still tailing her.
“Pull up, Hurl!” I said. “You’ve still got tails. Get up into the range of the AA guns!”
She turned upward, listening—finally. Two ships chased her. I ignited my shield, then turned after her, trying to help, but I’d lost a lot of ground.
“Shields down,” Hurl said with a grunt.
“Quirk!” I said, desperate, flying—too far away—toward my friend. “Pick them off. I IMPed that group. Their shields are down too. Fire!”
“I …” Kimmalyn sounded rattled. “I …”
“You can do it, Quirk! Just like in the sims. Come on!”
A flash of light from a charged destructor sliced the air above us, firing toward the ships tailing Hurl.
And missed.
Hurl took a hit a second later, and her wing exploded, scattering pieces. The blue glow underneath her ship started to flash, the light flickering.
No …
Hurl’s ship plummeted. From a distance, she was like any other piece of debris.
“Hurl!” I screamed. “Eject! Get out!”
“I …” Her voice was soft; I could barely hear it through the warnings going off on her dash and mine. “I can control it … I can steer …”
“Your acclivity ring is damaged!” I said. “You’re losing altitude. Eject!”
“Not. A. Coward,” she said. “Brave to the—”
A flash of light.
A small explosion on the ground, insignificant in the storm of destruction that was the battlefield.
“Pull out!” Jorgen said. “Everyone, pull out now! Leave this fight to the full pilots. We have orders to retreat!”
Hurl …
I couldn’t move at first. I just stared at where she’d hit the ground.
“Spin,” Jorgen said. When had he flown in beside me? “We have to go. We’re too exhausted for this fight. Can you hear me?”
Blinking back tears, I whispered, “Yes.” I fell into position behind him as we dove and skimmed the surface to escape the battlefield.
We pulled up next to FM and Arturo, and I gasped. Arturo’s ship was blackened all along its left wing and side, its canopy cracked. His acclivity ring was still on, so he could stay in the air, but … scud. He’d survived a destructor hit after his shield had been knocked out.
When he called in, his voice was subdued, rattled. He seemed to know how lucky he was to have survived.
Hurl though …
Kimmalyn finally came sweeping down to join us.
“… Hurl?” FM asked.
“She went down,” Kimmalyn said. “I … I was watching. I tried, but …”
“She wouldn’t eject,” I said softly. “She refused.”
“Let’s get back,” Jorgen said. Another flight of reinforcements arrived at the battlefield. As I watched them, any confidence I’d had in my abilities evaporated. Those fighters worked far more efficiently than we had, banking and flying as teams, coordinating in sharp motions.
I suddenly felt I’d need hundreds more hours of practice before I was ready. If I would ever be ready. I wiped away tears as Jorgen’s voice, soft but firm, ordered us to accelerate to Mag-3.
As we flew, my hands shook—revealing me for the coward I was.
