by Linn Schwab
“Is this Suzanne Carillo’s plane?” she asked.
“Yes, Commander,” the mechanic answered.
“Why are you still working on this? This plane should have been fixed a week ago.”
“We’re having to replace all of her engine supports. They were all twisted and bent. This girl must be hell on her engines, Commander. This isn’t the first one she’s had to have replaced.”
“How much longer?” the commander asked, concerned it wouldn’t be ready in time. The Hornets were scheduled to leave in three days. A potential delay could cause serious problems.
“Another day at the most,” the mechanic assured her. “Don’t worry, she’ll be ready before they have to leave.”
“Very well,” the commander said. She stepped back a few paces to admire the fighter’s stripes. She’d been an accomplished pilot herself before being asked to take command of Volaris. If she would have forgone that promotion, then perhaps she might have become a Hornet as well. But that was all in the past for her now. The nature of her service to the fleet had changed. She’d been entrusted with the crucial responsibility of helping young Sentinels acquire the skills they would need. Skills meant to aid them in surviving fighter combat.
I may have missed a chance to become a Hornet, she reflected, but Volaris is where I really belong. This is where I’m needed most. This is where I can make the greatest difference.
Two hours into the mission, the Wallaby appeared to be right on schedule. The orders from Volaris were coming through less frequently now, giving the girls plenty of time to relax and enjoy the experience of their christening flight.
“Thirty degree turn to port,” Mindy said, repeating another transmission from Volaris, “at mission time two zero one plus five.” She entered the information in her log while Robin instructed Caroline to key in the changes.
“Ready … mark!”
The Wallaby turned thirty degrees to the left, just as Caroline instructed it to.
“Any deviation?” Robin asked.
Michelle verified the new heading on her console. “Zero deviation,” she reported. “Thirty degrees exact.”
“Good,” Robin said. “Two hours out, and we’re still perfect.”
“Two hours,” Jenny said, glancing at the clock in the observation lounge. “Their flight should be almost half over now.” She looked around the table at the rest of her squadron as they waited for Robin and her girls to return.
“Three more days,” Nancy said in reflection. “We’re only going to be here for three more days, and then we’ll probably never see them again.”
“Well,” Trixie said, trying to be positive, “at least we don’t have to leave tomorrow, like those other two sister squadrons.” Her words did little to change the mood. None of them wanted to think about leaving.
Zoe forced a smile and rapped on the tabletop. “I’m getting out of here,” she said. She stood up and walked toward the nearest exit. “You girls are just too gloomy for me. I think I’ll wander on up to the control room and see how our prodigies are coming along.”
Following the predetermined order in the log book, Veronica continued sending signals to the training flights, just as she’d done on several previous occasions.
“ECHO 6,” she said, “twenty–five degree turn to starboard, at mission time two one zero plus ten.”
“Roger, Volaris,” Paulina’s voice answered, “twenty–five degree turn to starboard, at mission time two one zero plus ten.”
Ariel placed a check mark in the flight log to indicate the order had been confirmed. “Next transmission is for ECHO 8,” she said. She moved her pen down to the next instruction on the page. “Switch to the Terrapin’s frequency now.”
“How are we doing?” Commander Jeffries asked, peering over their shoulders at the console.
Veronica turned around and gave her a thumbs up, just as Zoe stepped into the room. “Everything’s perfect,” Veronica insisted. “All four of them are right on the mark.”
“Next transmission,” Ariel prompted. “ECHO 8, angle up five degrees, at mission time two one three plus twenty.”
“Nice work,” Commander Jeffries said to Ariel. “You’ll be a full–fledged controller in no time.”
“So,” Zoe said as she walked toward the console, “how are they doing? Any of them see any action yet?”
“I certainly hope not,” the commander responded. “They’re too young to have blood on their hands.”
Zoe chuckled. “Robin’s squad are trained killers,” she boasted. “She should have three yellow stripes on her ship.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” the commander cautioned her. “Those stripes may be meant to intimidate enemies, but they also make you easier to see.”
“Next transmission,” Ariel announced. “Tune in the Wallaby’s frequency again.”
“That’s Robin!” Zoe exclaimed with delight. She leaned in closer to Veronica’s console.
“ECHO 5,” Ariel read from the flight log, “thirty degree turn to port, at mission time two one seven plus twenty.”
Veronica read the instruction into her microphone, then paused and waited for Mindy’s reply.
Resisting the temptation to draw pictures in the flight log, Mindy idly fiddled with her pen as she waited for the next transmission to come through. A sudden burst of static crackled in her ear and continued to pester her for several seconds. She tried twisting the plug on her headset’s cord to see if that might clear up the connection. The static in her ear spiked and faded away, leaving her convinced that her improvised repair had been successful. Oxidation on the electrical contacts, she concluded — a topic of one of her troubleshooting sessions.
Across the control room from Veronica’s station, Miranda was monitoring the station’s normal functions while the training flights were under way. As she checked the station’s long range sensors, a light started flashing on one of her instruments, alerting her to a possible danger. What’s this? she thought, focusing her attention on the warning. A spike in radio interference! She studied a corresponding graph on her display as she tried to determine if it posed a threat. If it was natural, it would likely be weak and sporadic — like the passing of a magnetic dust cloud or something. But if it persisted for any length of time, it might be an enemy jamming device. For a few tense seconds, she kept her finger on the alert button, ready to sound the alarm if necessary. But the spike in interference soon trailed off, and her graph returned to its normal parameters. She sighed in relief and leaned back in her chair. There was no apparent threat. No cause for alarm.
Veronica listened intently to her headset, straining her ears to filter out the static. If Mindy tried to answer during a burst of interference, there was a chance she might still be able to hear it and confirm that her instructions had been received. She kept a watchful eye on the mission chronometer, still hoping to receive confirmation from Mindy. If the maneuver wasn’t completed at the specified time, it would be necessary to calculate adjustments to their flight plan — a task she was hoping to avoid if possible.
The time she’d allotted for a response expired shortly before the interference died away. She leaned forward and placed another call through to Mindy, still hoping to receive confirmation of the maneuver. “This is Volaris, calling ECHO 5. Please respond.”
“ECHO 5, here,” Mindy’s voice replied.
Veronica sighed in relief. At least communications had been reestablished.
“ECHO 5,” Mindy heard in her headset, “please confirm. Did you receive instructions for, and complete, a thirty degree turn to port?”
Mindy glanced down at her flight log and placed the tip of her pen underneath the last entry:
Thirty degree turn to port/2:01:05
“Affirmative,” she answered Veronica. “Thirty degree turn to port completed.”
“Very good. Continue on your present course, ECHO 5.”
“Understood. ECHO 5, out.”
“What was that
all about?” Robin asked.
Mindy shrugged. “They just wanted to confirm our last order. She said to continue on our present course.”
Robin sat back in her seat and relaxed. “Maintain speed and heading,” she ordered.
PANIC 031
Robin yawned and leaned back in her chair while attempting to stretch her legs out in front of her. Growing impatient for another transmission, she glanced at the mission chronometer again. Nearly three hours on the clock now, she thought. Almost a full hour since our last course change. At this rate the enemy won’t need to kill us. We’ll all die of boredom before we’re old enough to fight.
“Robin,” Michelle said, checking her console, “the scanners are picking up something out in front of us.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of the readings. “Looks like we’re coming up on some kind of debris field.”
Robin checked the display on her console and placed the forward camera on full magnification. The camera showed a scattering of space rocks ahead — an obstacle that posed a threat to her ship.
“What should we do?” Caroline asked. She turned in her chair to look back at Robin.
Taking a quick glance around at the others, Robin sensed the distress they were feeling and understood exactly what each of them was thinking. If we have to make any unscheduled adjustments, we’ll fall behind on our flight schedule. Our perfect christening flight will be ruined.
“There’s still time,” Robin said, checking the distance to the rocks. “Maintain current speed and heading for now. Hopefully they’ll tell us to turn pretty soon.”
Caroline nodded and turned back around, keeping a close eye on the rocks out in front of her. She gripped the flight controls in her hands, preparing to take action if she felt it was necessary.
All of the other girls looked at Mindy, watching her for hints of an incoming transmission. She could feel all of their eyes trained upon her as if pleading with her for a call to come through.
Robin kept glancing at the rocks on her monitor, keeping track of their rapidly shrinking distance from her ship. “What is our current throttle setting?” she asked.
“Throttle set at point one five,” Caroline answered.
“Anything?” Robin asked, looking at Mindy.
Mindy sadly shook her head.
A few isolated rocks began to pass by the windows, still a comfortable distance off to either side. As long as the Wallaby’s path remained clear, there was still a chance their current course was intentional.
Robin stood up and walked toward the front of the bridge, keeping her eyes on the space out in front of her ship. She scrutinized the multitude of rocks in the area and questioned the likelihood that Volaris was somehow keeping track of their locations. There’s no way! she quickly determined. “Reduce velocity!” she ordered in a panic. “Throttle down to point zero three, now!”
“Robin!” the other girls protested in unison.
“That’ll put us behind schedule!” Michelle complained.
For the first time since becoming their captain, Robin felt friction between herself and her squad. It was a painful experience for her — even more so than having her christening flight ruined. She struggled to maintain her composure and keep her emotions held in check. I have to appear confident and in control, she realized, or else they’re going to question my judgement.
Gathering her resolve, she looked Michelle directly in the eyes and said, “This ship is part of the task force that protects everyone in our sector. We have a responsibility to bring it back in one piece.” She looked around at each of her squad mates and wondered what their reactions to her decision would be. They all remained silent and lowered their heads as the wisdom of her words began to sink in. “Reduce velocity,” she repeated her order. “Throttle down now to point zero three.”
Caroline pulled the throttle lever back until the indicator read: .030. The girls eyed some of the larger rocks as they drifted closer and passed by the windows. It soon became clear to them that Robin was right. A collision in here would’ve proven disastrous.
“Mindy,” Robin said, “contact Volaris. Tell them we’ve had to reduce our velocity.”
“Okay,” Mindy said. She reached for the transmitter. “This is the Wallaby, calling Volaris. Come in, Volaris. Over.” She waited. There was no response. “This is the Wallaby,” she tried again, “calling Volaris. Come in, Volaris. Over.”
“Just a little more than one hour to go,” Veronica said, checking the mission chronometer again. “They’re all on their way back here now.” She glanced over her shoulder at Zoe. “Are you really as nervous as you look?”
Zoe grinned and shook her head. “I’m not nervous, I’m just anxious. Anxious to see my little sisters again.”
“Won’t be long now,” Veronica assured her.
“Get ready,” Ariel said. “Next transmission is for the Wallaby.”
Veronica switched the frequency again. “Go ahead.”
“ECHO 5, twenty–three degree turn to port, at mission time two five nine plus forty.”
“ECHO 5,” Veronica repeated, “twenty–three degree turn to port, at mission time two five nine plus forty.” She paused and waited for Mindy’s reply. After fifteen seconds of silence had passed, she glanced over her shoulder at Zoe in uncertainty and suddenly sat up straight in her chair.
“What is it?” Zoe asked, reading the look of concern in her eyes. She looked around for Commander Jeffries, but the commander had apparently left the room.
“ECHO 5,” Veronica called, “come in, ECHO 5. Over.” She waited. There was no response. The tone of her voice became more urgent now, attracting the attention of the other controllers. “ECHO 5, ECHO 5, please respond. This is Volaris calling. Over.” She allowed a few more seconds to pass, then slapped a button placing the station on alert.
Warning lights began flashing throughout Volaris. Piercing alarms screeched at brief intervals. Veronica turned to Ariel and pointed across the room. “Take the log book and go work with Miranda! Keep those other flights running on schedule!” She then returned her attention to her console and resumed her efforts to contact the Wallaby. By now, her emotions were beginning to surface. Moisture was forming in both of her eyes and her voice was weakening to a pleading whimper. “ECHO 5, ECHO 5, this is Volaris. Mindy, Robin, please respond!”
In the observation lounge, the startled pilots looked around in confusion, wondering what had triggered the station’s alarms. An alert chime sounded on the wall behind Jenny, beckoning her to turn toward the intercom panel. Zoe’s face soon appeared on the screen, and it was obvious she was upset about something.
“Jenny, get up here,” Zoe pleaded.
“What happened?” Jenny asked in concern.
“Something went wrong! They’re in trouble!”
Before Jenny could even issue an order, her pilots jumped up and sprinted for the elevators.
The control room appeared to be in total chaos. Every controller on the station was present, frantically trying to locate the Wallaby. The instant Jenny stepped into the room, she could feel the panic that was present in the air. Something is really wrong, she realized. Robin must be in serious trouble. In an instant, she settled on a plan of action and decided to dispatch her two best pilots. “Virginia, Suzanne, saddle up and get out there! Suzanne, take my plane if yours isn’t ready yet!”
Suzanne and Virginia sprinted out of the room. Jenny looked around for Commander Jeffries. The commander and Zoe were standing near Veronica, watching as she tried to coordinate a search.
“What’s happening?” Jenny asked the commander.
“We’ve lost contact with ECHO 5,” she explained. “They’re not responding to our communications.”
Jenny motioned to the rest of her pilots, calling them over to the bank of consoles. “I need a console and a copy of their flight plan,” she said, determined to do everything she could to find Robin.
Commander Jeffries briefly considered her request, then
realized what she had in mind. She pointed to the console beside Veronica’s. “Take this one. I’ll get you the flight plan.”
“Nancy,” Jenny ordered, “you’re on the microphone! The rest of you, get ready to make some fast calculations!”
Robin peered out through the Wallaby’s windows, monitoring the space around her ship. Her crew remained seated at their positions, watching their instruments for signs of imminent collisions. They were still creeping forward through the scattering of rocks, and as of yet they had not been forced to alter their course. But the debris field was becoming much more dense. It was obvious they couldn’t hold their heading forever. Sooner or later, a rock would block their path. It was only a matter of time. And then they would have to change direction and surrender their sole remaining link to Volaris — the last known trajectory signaled to them. It was the only measure of reassurance they still possessed, and they desperately wanted to hold on to it.
“Still no luck on the radio?” Robin asked, casting a hopeful look at Mindy.
Mindy slowly shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied. “I haven’t heard a thing.”
“I don’t like this,” Michelle said. “Something’s wrong. We must have messed up.”
Robin lowered her head in dismay. “Sheri,” she said, “run a diagnostic on the radio. Maybe something’s wrong with it.”
Sheri pressed a few buttons, then shook her head and reported her findings. “There’s nothing wrong with the radio, Robin. Everything checks out okay.”
“I knew it,” Michelle said. “We messed up. Somewhere back there, we took a wrong turn.”
“We did everything they told us to,” Mindy said. “This is where they sent us, Michelle.”
“Mindy,” Robin said, “turn back to the beginning of your log. Let’s run through it step by step and compare it against the mission recorder. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we did make a mistake somewhere.”