Wings of Honor

by Craig Andrews

  “How will you see what I’m doing?” Coda asked. “It’s just a VR helmet, right?”

  Commander Coleman pulled his tablet from his pocket, and after a few short commands, the lights in the room dimmed and an entire wall of the room lit up. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the Coliseum at the academy, but the image on it was as clear as if Coda were floating through space himself.

  “We’ll see what you see, Coda. Ready?”

  “Let’s do it, sir.”

  “Strap in, then.”

  Coda pulled the shoulder straps down, snapping them into the buckle at his crotch, then buckled another set, completing the five-point harness.

  “Good. Put your helmet on and wait for my command.”

  With that, the commander stepped from the center of the gyroscope, falling in line with the rest of the pilots. Coda pulled on his VR helmet; the same star-speckled sky he’d seen on the imaging wall immediately replaced his view. Except now, when he turned his head left or right, the image rotated with him. Between the rumble of the cockpit and the gentle swaying motion of the gyroscope, he was beginning to grow disoriented.

  “Can you hear me, Coda?” Commander Coleman’s voice said through the helmet’s speakers.

  “Loud and clear, sir.” Coda heard his own voice echoing throughout the room. So they can hear me just like I can hear the commander.

  “Good,” Commander Coleman said. “This simulation is designed to give you a feel for the X-23, so we’re going to go through a small flight course. Your goal is to navigate the course and fly through a series of checkpoints. For this simulation, and this simulation alone, your speed will be computer regulated, so just focus on navigation, understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s see what you got.”

  The rumble of the thrusters intensified, and Coda’s HUD came alive with various pieces of navigational information indicating his speed, coordinates, and weapon counts. A small yellow arrow at the top of his vision pointed upward, and a series of numbers counted down faster than he could read them. He’d gone through similar training exercises when he’d learned to fly the Hornet, so he knew the arrow was pointing toward his first objective.

  Coda pulled back on the joystick, and several things happened at once. The display image shifted, mimicking the movement of a real X-23, and with it, the entire gyroscope rotated. Coda was thrust back into his seat then flipped upside down. When he finally got his bearings, he realized he was flying upside down and away from the checkpoint.

  “Holy shit,” Coda said breathlessly, his stomach in his throat.

  “Careful, Coda,” Commander Coleman said. “You do that in a real Nighthawk, and the chief will have to pull you out in a body bag.”

  “Yes, sir,” Coda said. “She’s just a little more sensitive than I’m used to.”

  “That she is. Be gentle with her.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  The yellow icon that pointed to his next objective was at the bottom of his imaging screen now, the numbers growing larger. Coda pushed upward on the stick, more gently than before, and made a series of small course adjustments, bringing the icon into the center of his vision. It grew steadily in size, and the numbers counted down until he was nearly upon it.

  The checkpoint was an octagon, and as soon as Coda’s fighter sped through it, his navigational information shifted, the yellow indicator pointing to the right side of his vision. Pitching the fighter perpendicular to the battle plane, Coda pulled back on the stick and brought his fighter around in a tight curve. Within moments, he’d sped through another checkpoint.

  He flew through two more without incident then brought up the fifth and final one on his battle map. But there was something odd about it. While the other four had been stationary, the last appeared to be moving. The yellow indicator rotated around the perimeter of his HUD, and every time he got it in his sights, it slipped away as if it were an enemy fighter evading his pursuit.

  Accepting the challenge, Coda kept on it, countering its movements. He began to gain on it. A few more seconds, and he was flying through its center. Coda hooted, taking his hands off the stick to celebrate. But as he did, the cockpit shook violently and was accompanied by a loud screech.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Before anyone could answer, his fighter was thrown off course with a sharp jolt, and blue fire shot past the cockpit.

  “What is that?”

  “You’re under attack, Coda. Evasive maneuvers!”

  Deep down Coda knew it was only a simulation, but the combination of the movement, the photo-real images, and Commander Coleman’s not-messing-around tone made Coda’s adrenaline spike. His drone flight training kicked into gear, and he stopped thinking.

  He flipped the nose of the fighter around so that he was flying backward but still facing the enemy spacecraft. He couldn’t see it with his naked eye, but the targeting system bracketed the ship as it had with the checkpoints before it.

  More blue fire erupted from the enemy ship, covering the distance between them in a blink. A last-second course correction was all that saved Coda from becoming simulated slag. Centering the target in his view again, he pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “You have to activate your weapons,” Commander Coleman said.

  Coda fumbled with the joystick, his thumb searching for the safety switch that would activate his weapons. Flicking it into place, he pulled the trigger again. The cockpit vibrated with a muffled rumble as simulated projectiles barreled out of the Nighthawk’s nose-mounted cannon.

  Two seconds went by. Then three. Nothing happened. He’d missed. But the enemy vessel had altered course, veering off at a ninety-degree angle.

  It’s fleeing.

  Since the computer was regulating his speed, Coda flipped his fighter back around, settling on a course that would bring him directly behind the enemy vessel. One eye on the yellow indicator highlighting the enemy craft, Coda kept the other on the distance between them. It wasn’t getting any smaller. He wasn’t gaining on it. He nearly squeezed the trigger again but flicked the weapons switch instead, toggling his missiles.

  Successfully engaged, the targeting system changed. A circle appeared, trailing the enemy fighter. Keeping the enemy in his sights, Coda allowed the targeting system to lock on. Then, when the circle completely surrounded the enemy fighter, it stopped flashing, going solid with the dull sound of missile lock.

  Coda squeezed the trigger, and a missile blasted forward. He quickly lost sight of it, but a new bracket appeared on his HUD, tracking it as it streaked toward the enemy fighter. A heartbeat later, and with a flash of light, the enemy ship was destroyed.

  “Splash one!” Coda shouted, keeping his hands on the joystick and his eyes on his surroundings. No other fighters came, and a few brief moments later, the simulation dissolved.

  “Good!” Commander Coleman said, bringing the ladder up to the edge of the simulator. “Very good. If that had been a real Baranyk fighter, you would have been shot to shit fifteen different ways to Sunday, but you weren’t a complete disaster out there, and for today’s purposes, that was good enough.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Coda climbed out of the cockpit onto the ladder.

  Commander Coleman laid a firm hand on his shoulder as his feet touched the deck. Having been spun every which way imaginable over the last several minutes, he was thankful for the added stability.

  “So how was it?”

  “Amazing, sir.” Coda grinned. “Absolutely amazing.”

  14

  Mess Hall, SAS Jamestown

  Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

  Uno didn’t come to lunch that day. Coda noted his absence, assuming it had to do with his throwing up in the Simulation Room earlier that morning. Uno was probably embarrassed, mopping the deck, or both, so Coda decided to give his friend some space. But when he didn’t show up for dinner either, Coda knew the issue was more serious.


  After shoveling in the last of his protein paste, Coda left Noodle and Squawks behind and sought out his friend. There weren’t many places a pilot could be—Commander Coleman hadn’t granted them access to the larger ship—so when Coda didn’t find Uno in his bunk, the gym, or the bathroom, there was only one other place he knew to look.

  The Simulation Room was dark when the doors slid open, and Coda almost left right then, but something drew him inside. It could have been his desire to find his friend or the allure of gazing upon the simulator again; he couldn’t be sure.

  The lights flickered on as Coda stepped inside, the room’s motion sensors detecting his movement. Uno sat at the base of the simulator, his arms hugging the knees. He made no motion to see who had walked into the room, just continued to sit there, staring upward at the machine.

  “We missed you at dinner,” Coda said, stopping to the side and slightly behind Uno.

  “Wasn’t hungry.” Uno still didn’t so much as look in Coda’s direction.

  “Yeah? Still not feeling good?”

  Uno took a deep breath but didn’t say anything more. He obviously didn’t want to talk about what had happened.

  “You know what’s crazy?” Coda said, deciding to take a different tack. “I grew up designing my own X-23s. Well, not the X-23. I’d call them the X-24 or X-25 or whatever, but I’d design them and print them out on our 3-D printer. They were just toys, of course, but I’d stage mock battles in my room, even run simulations, pitting them against the X-23 to see which was more powerful. The X-23 always won, of course. There was no way a twelve-year-old would design a better starfighter than the military’s top minds. But it was fun.”

  Coda’s words echoed off the walls, dissipating into silence. Uno made a face but didn’t appear any closer to talking. Coda walked up to the simulator, took hold of one of the arms as Commander Coleman had, and gave it a push. The mechanism went into motion, the various arms and cockpit spinning with it.

  “It’s crazy,” Coda continued, “because after they were decommissioned, I never thought I’d fly one. Hell, I never thought I’d see one again, but here we are.” Coda turned back to Uno and took an exaggerated breath. “Here we are… And holy shit, do the things scare the crap out of me.”

  Uno’s eyes found his, surprise plainly visible on his face. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “I thought I was the only one.”

  “No,” Coda laughed. “Definitely not. I bet half the people who failed FAM Phase did it on purpose.”

  “I wish I’d thought about that,” Uno said.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Coda said. “Viking Squadron was a pretty tight group, and I didn’t know if I’d ever find that again. But then I met you guys, and you’re all right. I mean you’re kind of a know-it-all, and I’ve never heard anyone complain about working out as much as Noodle. And Squawks… well, Squawks just never stops talking. But you’ve all been there for me. Without you, I wouldn’t still be here at all.”

  “Not sure I did you any favors,” Uno said, his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles.

  “I’m not sure you did either,” Coda said, matching his smile. “But whatever crap we go through, we go through it together, all right?”

  Uno nodded, his gaze taking on a distant quality.

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened?” Coda asked.

  “There’s not much to say. I got nervous, and I threw up.”

  “We both know there’s more to it than that.”

  “Maybe.” Uno shrugged.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “I’m not like you and Squawks. I don’t want the attention. I like to figure things out on my own. Not in front of a group.”

  Everything suddenly clicked. Coda had misunderstood. Uno wasn’t afraid of the simulator. He was afraid of learning in front of everyone, or more specifically, afraid of failing in front of everyone. His call sign suddenly took on a different meaning. Uno might have developed a reputation for shooting down fighters in a single shot, but what if he was a bit of a loner too? It made too much sense to be a coincidence.

  “That might have worked back at the academy, Uno, but that’s not going to fly here. There’s too much attention on our entire group. Too much pressure.”

  “I know.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t log extra time, though,” Coda said. “Try to figure things out on your own after hours. God knows I’m planning on it.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course,” Coda said. “I barely squeaked by FAM Phase, remember? I’ve got some ground to make up. We can do it together.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. As far as I’m concerned, I owe you one, and like I said, I was already planning on it anyway.”

  “You’re a good guy, Coda.”

  “Thank you, but don’t tell anyone, all right?”

  Uno laughed. It was a tentative thing, but it was a start. “All right.”

  “Here’s what I propose. Morning workout is at oh six hundred, so we meet here every day at oh five hundred and get in an extra hour. If we’re feeling up to it, we can log more time after hours too.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good,” Coda said. “Let’s get started then.”

  “Now? What happened to tomorrow?”

  “You were the only pilot who didn’t log simulator time today. I’d be willing to bet the commander has you go first again tomorrow. Let’s get you comfortable with it.”

  Uno looked as though he might be sick again, and shot a nervous glance at the simulator. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

  “I’m sure we can figure it out.” Coda slapped Uno on the back. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

  Uno took a deep breath and climbed to his feet, then together, they made for the simulator. Coda suspected it would be the first of many long nights.

  15

  Barracks, SAS Jamestown

  Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

  “Wake up! Wake up!” Commander Coleman shouted as he entered the barracks. “Rise and shine!”

  It took Coda two precious seconds to register what was going on. His first thought was that he had overslept their morning workout, but as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it. Across the room, Uno and Squawks were just as confused as he was. If he had overslept, then they had too, and that was unlikely.

  “Get your asses up!” Commander Coleman strode down the center of the barracks, already dressed in the blue of the Sol Fleet. “You can get your beauty sleep on your own time!”

  Coda kicked off his blanket and scrambled out of bed, snapping to attention. The metal decking was cold against the bottoms of his feet, and like most of the other pilots in the room, he was dressed in nothing but his underwear.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Squawks asked. “Workout’s not for another hour.”

  “That was yesterday’s schedule,” Commander Coleman said. “Today’s is different. You have two minutes to get dressed and meet me in the gym. Move!”

  Without another word, Commander Coleman left the room. Coda hastily pulled a navy-colored tank top and pair of gray sweatpants from the drawers below his bunk and threw them on. As soon as he had on his shoes and socks, he was hustling out the door.

  Uno caught up to him before he’d made it more than few steps. “What do you think’s going on? You think this is part of the training? Sleep deprivation and all that?”

  “I have no idea,” Coda said. “But I’m sure we’re about to find out.”

  Commander Coleman was waiting for them in the back of the gym, his arms folded across his chest. Another officer stood at his shoulder. With graying hair and a disapproving scowl creasing his tan face, he was at least as old as Commander Coleman and every bit as intimidating.

  Coda snapped to attention in front of them, waiting for the rest of the squadron to arrive. They made it seconds later, every one of them beating the commander�
��s time. As the last stragglers fell into formation, Coda realized that the squadron had been split in half. The pilots in the gym had come from two barracks. Unfortunately, the other barracks was Moscow’s. He apparently wasn’t getting away from his academy rival any time soon.

  “Someone tell me what time it is,” Commander Coleman said.

  “Oh four thirty, sir,” someone said from behind Coda.

  “That it is,” the commander said. “As you’ve no doubt figured out, our training resources are limited, but in their great resourcefulness, the fleet has mustered up and installed a second simulator. But we still have more pilots than we do equipment, so this group is being rewarded with the morning shift. For the next two weeks, I want your asses in here by oh four thirty, working up a lather. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Good,” the commander said. “Let me also introduce you to Commander Chavez, who will be aiding your instruction moving forward. For those that don’t already know, the commander and I have flown many missions together, and I consider him one of the finest pilots to have ever flown in the fleet. More than that, before transferring to my squadron, he was my NFO aboard the Pittsburgh, making him one of the foremost experts of the X-23’s systems and flight capabilities. I’m honored to have him as part of our squadron.”

  “The honor is all mine, sir,” Commander Chavez said.

  Commander Coleman nodded and returned his gaze to the squadron. “We’ll see you in the Simulation Room at oh six hundred. Get to it.”

  They got to it, and for once, Noodle wasn’t the person who complained the loudest.

  “This is horseshit,” Squawks wailed. “It’s too early for—”

  “Stow it,” Coda shouted between sets. “No one wants to hear it.”

  Squawks grumbled some more but largely kept it to himself. By the time their workout was over, Coda felt more awake than he’d ever expected to, and after he’d showered and thrown on a set of clean clothes, he made for the Simulation Room.