Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

When they did stop, they were standing just inside the Fidelity’s hangar. Orange jumpsuits surrounded him. The clanking of tools on metal, whirring of engines, and shouts of supervisors were almost deafening.

  The major was motioning to a Cobra twenty meters to the right as he spoke. Don looked over. There were five crewmembers waiting, one of them beckoning him to come. Don glanced at the major, who nodded. When he reached the fighter and looked back, the man was gone.

  “Son, you listening to me?” Don blinked and turned his dazed look toward Mullins. “You’re going to need your wits about you now, so pay attention. We,” the man said, pointing to the orange-clad people beside them, “are here to help you. You’re going to fly that.” He pointed at the Cobra. “We’ve got to get you suited up now.”

  Don stared at Mullins as his heart sunk so low that he wasn’t sure if it still resided in his chest. He felt nausea rise up in him, and it took all the control he had not to throw up. His knees shook, but Don locked them into place.

  “I need to sit down,” he whispered.

  Mullins shook his head. “There’s no time for that. Pull yourself together. Do you want to pass or not?”

  Don shook his head, but he limped over to one of the crew, who held a pilot’s jumpsuit out for him. The woman helped him get into it and made sure the seals were tight while another fastened on his boots and gloves. Don looked at them despairingly. With his luck, he would need them to work, and they probably wouldn’t.

  “Up you go,” one of the crewmembers said, and pulled him over to the ladder. Don climbed up and into the cockpit. His knee protested with each step.

  A greasy face popped up beside him when he had settled inside. The man handed Don a helmet and told him to put it on. He made sure it was attached correctly and airtight, then patted the helmet twice and gave Don a reassuring smile. The man then disappeared, and the cockpit hatch closed.

  Belatedly, Don buckled himself in, shaking his head one last time in a vain attempt to clear it. As the Cobra taxied toward the launch chute, Don struggled to suppress the panic he’d begun to feel.

  “Just take her out, circle the station twice, and bring her back in.” The major’s voice sounded clearly in Don’s ear. “I’ll be watching you from the control room.”

  Don nodded, forgetting the major couldn’t see him, and then added a quick “Yes, sir,” when he realized his mistake.

  “Then show me what you got.”

  Don didn’t move. His mouth was dry, and the helmet sat awkwardly on his head. It was a simple flight, and yet he felt totally inadequate for the task ahead.

  “Sir?” he finally croaked.

  “Yes?”

  Don licked his lips. “I’ve never done this before, sir.”

  “I know,” came the answer.

  Don wanted to say, “Oh,” but he didn’t. He still didn’t move, merely sat, heart fluttering in his chest.

  “It’s just like the simulator, airman.”

  “Yes, sir,” he whispered, and then repeated his answer louder. Don’s hands jerked forward of their own accord and his trembling fingers fumbled with different switches. He stared as he missed a switch for the third time. His breath quickened. The full impact of what he was trying to do hit him. Suddenly, he could hardly keep himself from ripping off the helmet and clawing his way out of the cockpit.

  He clenched his hands into fists and leaned his head back so he was looking at the top of the Cobra. “Sir,” he finally said, eyes closed in determined resignation, “I cannot fly this craft.”

  “Airman, please repeat your last.”

  Slowly, voice shaking, Don answered, “I am unable to fly this aircraft at this time. I would rather fail than unnecessarily endanger my own life and those on this flight deck.”

  He flipped off all the switches he had managed to turn on. Moments later, the hatch was opened, and he was on his way down the ladder. As hands whisked away helmet and suit, Don once more found himself standing before Mullins.

  Don grabbed the man’s arm. “Sir, I’m going to be sick.”

  Mullins took one look at Don’s green-tinged face and shoved the boy’s head into a spare plastic drum. “Not on my deck!”

  When Don returned to the dorm, Phillip was there. He looked drained and tense, his face as white as a sheet. A few boys sat around him anxiously. Don collapsed without a word on the floor at Phillip’s feet.

  Haley came next, followed by Eli, both as weary and rung-out as the other two. No one said anything. No one moved from where they let themselves fall. Eventually, they fell asleep, leaning against each other, waiting for Caleb.

  Caleb never returned.

  Chapter 15

  May 8, 626 T.A.

  After downing the first meal they’d had since the previous day’s dinner, the four airmen were shown once more to the flight deck. Once there, the major again asked them to perform the flight they had all refused the previous day. This time they fought down their nerves and accepted. Each of them perfectly performed all the flight maneuvers asked of them.

  The next day, they were presented their pilot’s status, albeit with little ceremony. The nightmare from two days before seemed unreal to them now, and, except for the lack of Caleb’s presence, they would have believed it had just been a bad dream.

  Much to Don’s surprise, they each received their orders immediately. He'd been certain they would remain on the Fidelity to continue their training, but it seemed they would have no such opportunity.

  They were given only a short time to say their goodbyes and gather their possessions before Don found himself ushered onto a Hopper, a small cargo shuttle, headed to his new home, the Morning Star. Eli was already aboard. So he wouldn’t be alone. That was comforting.

  Don stared at the floor of the Hopper as he thought about everything that had happened. The test, passing, becoming a Pilot First Class, receiving his first orders: it had happened so quickly. Sitting here now, as a pilot, he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

  “Pinch me,” he finally asked Eli.

  Eli gave him a querying look.

  “I want to make sure this,” he said with a gesture around them, “is all real.”

  Eli’s face broke into a wide smile. “It’s real, all right.”

  Don grinned and then began to laugh as joy bubbled up from somewhere in his chest. He’d really done it.

  It wasn’t until hours later, when they unloaded onto the long flight deck of the Morning Star, that the enormity of it all hit him. This hangar was just as busy as the Fidelity’s had been, although smaller. They stood next to the Hopper and observed the glances and even open stares of mechanics and pilots alike.

  “You, there,” a sharp voice called out and demanded their attention.

  A young woman walked toward them, her features arrogant and hard. Don and Eli waited in apprehension while her gaze raked them up and down, appraising them. Both had read the rank on the shoulder of her blue uniform: second lieutenant, the highest rank a Space Jumper could achieve.

  By the time she stopped before them, she seemed to find what she was looking at satisfactory, for she gave them a nod and held out her hand. “I am Kyomo Patricks. Welcome to the Morning Star. We are undergoing some repairs right now, so you will have to forgive her for not looking her best. All the same, it will give me some time to train you right. As I understand it, you are straight out of flight school?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eli answered.

  “You’ll have no bad habits, then,” she said briskly. “All the same, I had hoped to receive you in a better condition than this.” Her eyes examined them again, pausing on the cut above his eye. “I can’t do anything with a fatigued airman,” she continued, crossing her arms as if it was their fault. “I suppose it can’t be helped now.”

  Don watched a man walk up behind her while she spoke. He had the look of someone being forced to attend to something unpleasant.

  “Lieutenant,” the woman acknowledged when he stopped beside her.

  He
merely nodded at her and then surveyed Don and Eli scornfully.

  “They don’t look like much,” he stated at last.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Kyomo replied quietly.

  The man addressed Don. “When did you graduate?”

  “Yesterday, sir,” he answered and felt his heart sink.

  “Apparently not,” the lieutenant said to Kyomo, then turned to Don and Eli. “Let me make myself clear. Space Jumpers like you are a waste of the Council’s time and money. You’ll goon up and be dead before your first skirmish.”

  Kyomo’s eyes flashed, and Don’s skin prickled with the ferocity of it, though her face never showed anything beyond cool indifference. “I would thank you kindly, sir, to not insult the airmen I have chosen to serve under me.”

  The man sneered. “We don’t need midgets trying to do our jobs for us.”

  “If you did your jobs,” Kyomo answered lightly, “we wouldn’t have to.”

  The lieutenant stood for a moment, taking in the quiet hangar and all the crew who had stopped to listen to the exchange. Finally, he turned to Kyomo. “Fine,” he said. “Just keep them out of my boys’ way. Although I wouldn’t bother with them. They’re too green to do anyone any good.”

  Don watched him turn and go with a sense of relief and intense dislike.

  “That is First Lieutenant Kieth Lauden, our commanding pilot, or CP,” Kyomo informed them. “He is generally a grumpy man. Give him time, and he’ll come around. If he doesn’t… Well, you won’t see much of him outside the briefing room. Most of your dealings will be with me and with your fellow Space Jumpers. Let’s go, then,” she finished and led the way toward the hangar door.

  “These stairs,” she said, pointing to steps going up to a walkway that circled almost the entire hangar, “lead to decks A and B. The level we are on now is referred to as the flight deck or C deck.”

  Don and Eli hurried behind her, adjusting their grips on their duffle bags and memorizing snatches of what she said.

  “Although you are not barred from it, there should never come a time when you are needed on D deck. You will be expected, however, to memorize passages through each of the decks on this cruiser, should we ever find ourselves in a position where we must defend the Morning Star from the inside.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Don interjected, “but when you spoke to the CP, you said that you chose us?”

  Kyomo looked down her nose at him, as if noticing for the first time that he was there. “Yes, I believe I did.”

  “Then you already knew we just came from flight school. You didn’t have to ask.”

  “That is correct,” she answered and proceeded to climb the stairs at the front of the hangar. Don mulled over her earlier comment. You’ll have no bad habits, then. It was one of the few, but safe, compliments she could give them.

  “This room here to the left is the briefing room,” she continued. “I daresay you will be seeing a lot of it in the future, On the right is the pilot’s command center, or PCC, and down here are the pilots' quarters.” She motioned to two rooms sitting across the hall from each other.

  They entered the one of the large rooms and found it much like their quarters on the Fidelity. Bunks were stacked in the walls three high and four across.

  “These two are yours.”

  Don shoved his bag into the bottom bunk and turned as the muttering around them grew louder. One of the pilots jumped down and draped an arm across Kyomo’s shoulders.

  “No one is disputing your ability to fly, Yo-Yo, but don’t you think it’s time you stopped bringing these kids out here to die?”

  Don and Eli exchanged looks as Kyomo reached around and patted his cheek almost tenderly. “You should worry about yourself,” she said softly, “or you will die long before my kids do.”

  The man stood abruptly and spat on the floor at their feet.

  Kyomo shrugged and then led Don and Eli out of the room and up another ladder. “These here on either side are store rooms. The kitchen is up ahead, and finally the mess hall behind that.”

  Inside was a general tumult of noise. Kyomo didn’t wait, but led them straight to the end of a table where five other pilots sat. They were younger than anyone else Don had seen on the ship, but they exuded an air of confidence as they laughed and ate.

  “Boys,” Kyomo said upon reaching them. “Our two nuggets have just gotten in.”

  For a long moment, five pairs of eyes bored holes into the two comrades, then one of the pilots whistled and ran a hand through his short, spiky hair. “What hell-hole you pull these two out of, Yo-Yo?”

  The only other girl stood and walked around the table, her gaze never leaving their faces. She looked each one of them in the eye. Don fought the urge to blink or look away in the uncomfortable silence, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she switched her gaze to his comrade.

  Once she had finished with Eli, she nodded approvingly. “They’ll do,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m Lana Ki. That’s Steven Martin; we all call him Syke.”

  The light blond raised a hand to catch their attention. “I’m Specialist Chip Bauer. These are Moose and X-Ray. They’re on my crew.”

  Don shook the girl’s hand gratefully. “Don O’Hara, and this is my friend Eli Amal. We graduated sometime yesterday morning.”

  “We know,” Lana said off-handedly, “but I already told you, you’ll do.”

  Syke smirked. “That waits to be seen.”

  Chip stood and shrugged. “Lieutenant Patricks picked you. That’s all I need to know.”

  Moose and X-Ray simply nodded.

  “Are you all finished?” Kyomo asked, motioning toward the table. “I’d like to see how well you all work together.”

  The five pilots smiled. Syke rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Always ready for the games.”

  “Good.”

  Don and Eli were left wondering what Syke meant by games until they wound their way to the back of the ship.

  Kyomo held Don and Eli back as the five pilots stepped through a doorway. “I know you are worn out from the past few days, and I know they most likely messed with your heads yesterday. I am not looking for perfection. I am not testing you. I would not have you on this ship if I didn’t already know you are good enough. I want you to relax and just fly. Get used to your fellow pilots. Do you understand?”

  Don glanced at Eli, a little confused. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  Kyomo ushered them inside. It was a large, dimly lit room containing four FMT simulators and sixteen simple simulators. “This is the pilots' training room. You can brush up your flight skills here when you are not on duty. It is also used for learning new maneuvers before entering an actual craft, and for adjusting to new flight styles in the case of a change in personnel. Last, you will be expected to use these simulators to train on and qualify for other types of aircraft.”

  Don inserted himself into the simulator beside Lana and immediately felt less tense. He flicked some switches and the screen came to life.

  “You ready for this, nugget?” Lana asked and passed him a headset.

  Don put it on and adjusted the microphone. One would hope, he thought.

  “All right,” Kyomo’s voice spoke in his ear. “For starters, we’re going to warm up our heads and our hands just running through some basic maneuvers-”

  “Aww, c’mon!” whined Syke.

  “You can go first,” came the reply. “Barrel roll to the left and then half to the right, and bring her around however you like.”

  As the drills grew steadily more difficult, Don found himself relaxing and subsequently flying better. He and Eli were adept with the controls, and while they struggled toward the end, Don felt they both performed adequately overall. After they ran a few formations and maneuvers Don and Eli had never encountered before, Kyomo called it quits and told them all to head out to the hangar.

  “So,” Kyomo said as they stood, waiting for their turn to descend to B deck, “how would
you like to get a look at your birds?”

  Don and Eli grinned. “Definitely.”

  Syke ducked past them. “Check this out,” he said, then grabbed the metal railing and swung himself on the ladder. He slid down two decks, hands and feet gliding along the steel, until he landed with a thud on the flight deck.

  “Ignore him,” Lana advised. “His ego’s already too big. I’m surprised his head still fits through the doors.” She, too, hooked herself on the ladder and slid down.

  “Looks like fun,” Eli said a bit hesitantly.

  Don laughed. “After you, then!”

  The thrill from the drop sent adrenaline coursing through him. Don landed hard, and his bruised knee buckled beneath him. He only managed to keep his feet by gripping the railing.

  They were at the far end of the flight deck, near the immense flight deck door. It stood two stories high and almost the entire flight deck in width. His seven comrades were headed toward the other end of the hangar, leaving them no time to take it in. They jogged to catch up, passing by the numerous fighter planes that lined the hangar walls.

  “This deck is three hundred forty feet long.” Kyomo’s voice carried over the noise. “Our Cobras are located at the back of it.”

  “It’s a long haul from here, but pretty close to our quarters, so that’s nice,” Chip added.

  X-Ray hung back, waiting for Don and Eli to catch up. “What they don’t tell you,” he said quietly, “is that the CP keeps us up there so that we’re out of the way. The other pilots don’t like us Space Jumpers much.”

  “We noticed,” Don replied. “The CP doesn’t seem to, either.”

  “Already met him, have you?”

  Eli nodded, and Don told him about their encounter on the hangar deck.

  “Don’t worry,” X-Ray assured them. “He said pretty much the same thing to me when I first got here, too.”

  “When was that?”

  “Only about a month ago,” he told them. “I was one of the last from my graduating class to be assigned. Since then, the Morning Star has been in quite a few skirmishes, making repairs as she goes. This last one was bad, which is why we’re so close to the Fidelity. We needed to get more supplies to fix her up, and personnel to man her.” X-Ray nodded toward the five pilots ahead of them. “They’re missing three of their comrades. I was an alternate, along with my buddy. He’s gone, too. The CP is down seven pilots, and then there are the crew who need to be replaced, as well.”