by Linn Schwab
Robin turned and looked behind her. Virginia was standing alone by the wall, staring through a window that looked out into space. The expression on her face was hollow and empty. Somehow, she seemed to radiate sadness.
“Vir–gin–ia …” Nancy called.
Virginia flinched and turned around. Everyone in the room was looking at her. “Me?” she said, seeming surprised.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Nancy teased.
Virginia glanced with uncertainty at Jenny. “Come on, Virginia,” Jenny encouraged her. “It’s time to surrender some of the knowledge you’ve got squirreled away in that pretty little head of yours.”
Virginia walked to the front of the classroom. “What do you want me to talk about?” she asked the younger girls.
“Weapons!” Michelle insisted.
“Yeah,” Phoebe echoed, “no one’s said anything about weapons yet.” She leaned her head against Sheri’s shoulder and pretended to cower like a young child. “How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”
A few tentative seconds of silence followed as Virginia gazed helplessly at Michelle and Phoebe. “We’re supposed to be teaching you how to navigate,” she explained. “You won’t be in combat for another four years.”
“But you girls won’t be here then,” Michelle argued. “We want to learn how to fight from the best.”
“Yeah!” the other girls agreed in unison.
“Please?” Caroline begged.
Virginia looked at her captain, her eyes expressing distress and uncertainty. Jenny frowned and stood up, then joined Virginia at the front of the room. “Look,” she said, addressing the younger girls, “there are a lot of things we need to go over, and there’s only so much time to get you ready. If you want us to teach you about combat, you girls are really gonna have to work your butts off.”
Robin’s girls glanced at each other for consensus, then eagerly signaled their agreement to Jenny. “Okay,” she said to Virginia. “Make it snappy. Things are going to get serious now.”
Virginia took a deep breath and studied the destroyer schematic for a moment. “Alright,” she started with a brief hesitation, then quickly began to describe the ship’s weapons. “You’ve got six self–loading torpedo tubes laid out side by side across the front of the ship. Each tube starts out with one round in the chamber and has five reloads on its own dedicated rack in the magazine. That gives you a total of thirty–six torpedoes. Each time you fire off one of your torpedoes, it takes twenty–seven seconds for that tube to refresh. So if you fire all of them off too quickly, you could be left waiting for your tubes to reload.
“Along either side at the rear of the hull, you have a pair of rapid–launch rocket batteries. They’re effective against any light–armored ship, but they’re most often used as a defense against fighters.
“The targeting display is one of your most valuable tools. It’ll tell you if a torpedo shot is properly aligned. Ninety–seven percent is the magic number. Anything higher is a probable hit, resulting in significant damage to your target. Anything lower means you’re likely to miss, or hit with a glancing blow at best. Don’t try to judge a torpedo shot with your eyes. Let the targeting display do the work for you.”
Robin took a deep breath and looked around again. The atmosphere seemed to be different now. The tone of the discussion had become much more serious. There was an implied sense of urgency behind every spoken word — an understanding that this knowledge was of critical importance.
Jenny sat up straight in her chair and looked across the table at Robin. “So, how did we do?” she asked. The lecture was over now, and the two of them were sitting in the observation lounge, while the other girls mingled and chatted in the background.
“It was great,” Robin said. “I think we learned a lot. I just don’t understand why we’re learning about destroyers. I thought we were going to be fighter pilots.”
“Robin,” Jenny explained, “all fighter pilots start out on destroyers. Didn’t anyone explain that to you? It’s a crucial part of your training. When all of you have turned seventeen, you’ll spend two years on active destroyer duty. Then, assuming you’ve survived those two years, you’ll have six weeks of training in fighters before you’re each assigned to a combat squadron.”
Robin still appeared to be unsure, as if what Jenny was saying didn’t make sense to her.
“Believe me,” Jenny explained, “the minute you first engage in combat, you’ll appreciate the wisdom behind this arrangement. If one of your girls panics, or freezes, or forgets a procedure, she’s got six other girls to fall back on. Doesn’t that make sense to you?”
Robin gave her a nod of understanding. The concept made perfect sense to her now. It gave her girls a better chance of surviving until they were strong enough to fight on their own.
“Good,” Jenny said. “So, what else is on your mind?”
Robin tried to think of a question. There were so many things she had wanted to ask, but now she was having trouble remembering them. “Well,” she said, appearing reluctant to finish her thought, “…have you ever seen an Earthling?”
“Mm–hmm. They look just like us, of course. Except most of the ones that I’ve seen are men.”
As she contemplated Jenny’s response, Robin’s eyes seemed to express concern. “Do men make better pilots than women?” she asked.
Jenny struggled to come up with an answer. She searched through her memories of previous battles and decided she couldn’t give a simple yes or no. The reality was more complex than that. “All I know is,” she finally responded, “I’ve killed more of them than they’ve killed of me.”
The look of concern slowly left Robin’s face. Jenny felt a sudden overwhelming sense of satisfaction. She realized now that what Robin needed most was a little reassurance to boost her confidence.
“Next question!” she insisted, inviting Robin to challenge her again.
Robin frowned. There was something she’d been puzzling over, but she wasn’t quite sure how to phrase the question. She looked around at the other girls in the room, and watched them laughing and joking together. The way they talked, the way they walked, the way they responded to each others’ presence. The question was right on the tip of her tongue, but she found it difficult to put into words. “What makes a person a good fighter pilot?” she asked, hoping Jenny could decipher her thoughts.
Jenny sensed from Robin’s body language that the question she’d presented was a little misleading. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Robin fidgeted uncomfortably. “I mean, why did they pick us for this? Why do they want us to be fighter pilots? Why didn’t we get chosen for cruiser, or battleship, or missile ship duty? Is there something about us that makes us different from all those other girls at the academy?”
Jenny was stumped. Why indeed. Why were any of us chosen for this? She thought back to her early days in training. Her own squad had followed the same path as Robin’s, and her captain had puzzled over the very same question. But an answer had never presented itself. Could it be that it was just random selection, or was there some kind of qualification involved?
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “But it is an interesting question. Worthy of asking the best pilot in the fleet.” She leaned forward and looked Robin squarely in the eyes. “Tell me something. Who do you suppose is the best pilot in my squadron?” She pointed to some of the pilots in the room. “Nancy? … Zoe? … Kelli? … Me? Who would you say?”
Robin bit her lip as she considered her response. After spending four hours in the classroom with Jenny’s squadron, she was somewhat familiar with all of their personalities. If that was all she had to go on, though, it would be difficult to single one of them out. “Well,” she decided, citing the obvious, “you’re the captain.”
Jenny grinned and shook her head. “I’ll tell you who it is,” she said. She pointed over Robin’s shoulder to a figure standing all alone by a window.
; Robin turned and looked behind her. “Virginia?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Yup!” Jenny confirmed. “Shy, sweet, quiet Virginia. She was the youngest ace in Sentinel history.”
“Wow!” Robin quietly exclaimed, gazing at Virginia with a sense of wonder.
“If anyone knows what makes a good pilot, she’s the one who should be able to tell you. Anyone who’s ever flown with her knows she’s the best. I think she has more kills than any three of the rest of us combined.”
Robin’s thoughts quickly turned to something else. “How do you become an ace?” she asked.
“It just takes a certain number of kills.”
“Well, how many kills does it take?”
Jenny frowned. “You know what, Robin, I’m not even going to tell you that. It’s best if you just put it out of your mind. The heavens are probably filled with lifeless corpses who thought, ‘If I can just get one more kill…’ Don’t worry. Keep your mind focused on staying alive, and becoming an ace will take care of itself.”
Robin frowned in mild disappointment. “Alright,” she reluctantly agreed. “Then, will you tell me how to become a Hornet?”
Jenny leaned back in her seat and laughed. “I knew you were going to ask me that sooner or later.”
Robin gave her a mischievous grin. “So?” she pressed.
“It’s not as simple as that,” Jenny explained. “You can’t make Hornet the same way you make ace. There’s nothing you can do that’ll guarantee you a position.”
Robin appeared to be confused.
“You see,” Jenny continued, “the Hornets are pretty much autonomous squadrons. We have a tremendous amount of organizational freedom. Command informs us where they want us deployed, but everything else is decided by us. No one tells us who we have to accept. We select pilots based on our own observations.”
“Hmm,” Robin said, frowning. “Well, how many Hornets are there? Is it just your squadron and Charlie’s squadron?”
“Oh no,” Jenny said. “There are twelve squadrons of Hornets altogether, scattered around the fleet in various locations.”
“Twelve squadrons,” Robin wondered out loud. “Enough to fill an entire carrier.”
Jenny knew exactly what Robin was thinking. “This imaginary ship you’re thinking of is called the Vortex. But we like to call it the Hornets’ Nest.”
“You mean there really is such a ship?”
“Yep. There really is.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know. But it’s out there, somewhere, on Sentinel duty. Just like all the rest of us.”
“What does it look like?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it. But I imagine it looks just like all the other carriers.”
“Well, how long have you been a Hornet?”
“Seven years now.”
“Seven years and you’ve never even seen your own ship?”
“We go where we’re needed,” Jenny explained. “If the Vortex needs us, I’m sure they’ll send for us.”
“Still,” Robin mused in wonder, “I’d hate to be an Earthling pilot and see that ship anywhere near me!”
Jenny laughed. “Yeah,” she agreed. Hornets’ nest seemed like a perfect analogy.
“How often do you take in new pilots?”
“Only when we need to. If one of us receives a promotion, we have to go out and find a replacement. Or if one of us gets killed,” she added.
“Don’t tell that to Christy,” Robin said. “She thinks Hornets are invincible.”
Jenny shook her head and laughed. “When a sixteen–inch shell slams into your cockpit, no amount of skill is going to keep you alive.”
“But is it true that you can expect to live longer?”
“Well,” Jenny admitted, “there is some validity to that. When you’re flying with some of the best pilots around, and you’re all looking out for each other, then naturally your chances of surviving are going to improve. But that’s all there is to it, really. There’s no mystical power that keeps us alive. We’re just as fragile as anyone else.”
“Have you … ever lost any pilots?”
“Yeah,” Jenny said, expressing sadness. “I’ve lost a lot of good friends.”
Robin looked down and remained silent for a moment, trying to imagine what Jenny must be feeling. My friends are going to die too, she realized. And so will I. And so will Jenny, someday. The war is going to kill all of us eventually. But we have to keep fighting. For the future of our planet.
“Jenny?” she asked, very sincerely, “do you think we’re ever going to win this war?”
Jenny gave her a confident smile. “Positive!” she said. “I’m sure those Earthlings are absolutely quaking in their boots!”
Robin grinned. We’re so much alike, she thought. Someone must have brought us together for a reason.
“Listen,” Jenny said, checking the time, “I hate to end our little chat so soon, but I have to go have a talk with Commander Jeffries.”
Robin gave her a look of disappointment.
“Why don’t you go see what you can learn from Virginia? Maybe she’ll have some words of wisdom for you.”
Robin looked at Virginia again. She was still standing alone by the window, gazing somberly out into space. “Is there something wrong with Virginia?” she asked. “She always seems to be staring into space.”
Jenny lowered her voice and leaned closer to Robin. “I wish I knew,” she said, showing deep concern. “The first time I met Virginia, she was absolutely crying her eyes out. But ever since then she’s been like an emotional vacuum. No laughing, no crying. Just … nothing.”
“What happened to her?”
“I’m not exactly sure. I know she lost a lot of close friends, but I think there must be more to it than that. She won’t say anything about it to me, though. Maybe you can find something out.”
Robin shrugged. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good. Keep me posted. I have to go. Commander Jeffries is waiting for me. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”
Robin nodded and watched in silence as Jenny stood up and walked out of the room. I wish my hair looked as pretty as hers, she thought, admiring the way Jenny’s hair seemed to glisten.
“Captain McNeil,” Commander Jeffries said as she met up with Jenny in the corridor. “I’ve been looking forward to talking with you.”
“Commander,” Jenny responded. She reached out to shake the commander’s hand.
“How was your flight?”
“Long and painful,” Jenny said with a laugh, rubbing her behind with both of her hands.
Commander Jeffries laughed in empathy. “Yes,” she said, “I imagine it was.”
“Commander,” Jenny asked, “are your technicians capable of repairing fighter planes?”
The commander reacted with a mild look of concern. “Why do you ask? Are your planes in need of repair?”
“One of my pilots lost an engine during our last engagement. She had to fly all the way here with one of her flames out. Made me nervous as hell. Is there anything you can do for her?”
“Absolutely,” Commander Jeffries assured her. “We get supplies from Valhalla on a regular basis. I’ll have a new engine sent up on the next transport. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”
“Thank you, Commander. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. Listen, I want to thank you for participating in the sister squadron program. This is such an exciting opportunity for our girls. It’s so generous of you to volunteer your efforts.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Commander,” Jenny said with a laugh. “My girls were every bit as excited as Robin’s. You should have seen how they reacted when I agreed to this. They were like a squad of school girls again. I only wish we could do it more often.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you. This is the most difficult assignment you’ll ever face as a pilot. You’ve been fortunate to avoid it up until now.”
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The commander’s comment left Jenny puzzled. There was something troubling in the way she’d expressed it. Challenges were part of a fighter pilot’s life. Surely the commander must have known that by now. Yet there was clearly something bothering her. That much was obvious from the look in her eyes.
“Commander,” she asked, thinking back to the question Robin had posed to her earlier, “is there any particular method involved in selecting squads for fighter pilot training?”
The commander seemed surprised by her question. “Why do you ask? Is there some advantage you can see in acquiring this information?”
Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Does there have to be?”
Commander Jeffries pondered the question for a moment. “It’s possible,” she finally concluded, “that this is a question which is best left unanswered.”
“What do you mean?” Jenny asked, perplexed.
“Well, the lack of this knowledge doesn’t seem to have hindered your progress. Think about it. You’re the captain of an elite squadron. You’ve reached the pinnacle of fighter pilot achievement.”
“That’s not true,” Jenny countered. “There are two pilots in my squadron who can fly circles around me.”
Commander Jeffries frowned. “And do you suppose either one of them knows the answer to your question?”
Jenny sighed in resignation. “No,” she reluctantly admitted. “Probably not.”
The commander could see she still wasn’t satisfied. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Jenny. Try to understand, I’m just being cautious. Our system’s been very successful for us, don’t you think? This war has lasted for over a hundred years, and not a single Earthling has ever set foot on Valhalla.”
Jenny nodded. “I think I see your point.”
“Good. Look, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. I don’t know how the squads are selected. I’m not involved in that process at all. When I have room to take in new recruits, I inform the academies, and they send the girls up to me on a shuttle. I suppose you could choose to pursue this further, and you might eventually find an answer to your question. But, you’re not likely to find the answer here on Volaris. And besides, if fighter command considered this to be important information, do you really think they’d have neglected to tell you?”