by D. E. Kinney
“A Drake, commanding a battle group—that’ll be the day,” Maco offered from an adjacent battle sphere.
Bo turned as if to speak.
“That will do, Cadet Maco,” the instructor said, motioning toward the Tarchein’s simulation.
“By the looks of your group’s deplorable situation.” He paused to allow Maco to take note. “I think she has a better chance than you do of ever commanding a fleet!”
With that comment, Maco’s opponent, Cadet Thorn, folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
“You haven’t beaten me yet, Herfer,” Maco said, only loud enough for Tommy to hear.
“Oh, I’ve beaten you, Maco. You’re just too stupid to know it,” Tommy calmly said and returned his attention to the control paddles.
Maco waved his hand and sneered, confident in his inherent superiority, but forty-two minutes later Maco withdrew the tattered remains of his fleet, and in seeking the refuge of hyperspace, forfeited the simulated battle to his hated rival.
As the year progressed, Tommy and Bo found themselves at the top of the class in both academic and leadership scores. Tommy had done so well that he had been appointed Cadet Commodore, a feat that no non-Tarchein had ever achieved, and Bo, equally impressive, was made Cadet Brigade Commander.
Other significant events in the third year included Tommy’s roommate, Sloan, applying and being accepted into the Warriors Corps, and Gary being inserted as the starting goalie for the brigade’s strat team—although on that score, Tommy’s selection as team captain hadn’t hurt. And though their squad had finished second behind the Cashim Brigade, it had, overall, turned out to be a very good year indeed.
One year closer to getting my wings, Tommy thought as he waited for the arrival of Remus and a well-earned break, one last, long, glorious summer prior to the start of his fourth and final year at the Academy.
Tommy stood in the now-familiar Academy embarkation area, looking out the expansive windows as heavy rain washed over the waiting Star Force shuttles, remembering his first year. Toadies, he thought and laughed to himself. The gloom of the nighttime storm would not make the departure of these young cadets any easier. My cadets, he thought, suddenly aware of his reflection in the window.
His uniform jacket was now adorned with several rows of cadet ribbons, plus he now had five golden stripes topped with crossed swords, denoting his appointment as Cadet Commodore, the highest-ranking cadet in the Academy. Gone too was his Banshee patch, replaced with the Star Force seal. Save for his position on the Hondo stratagem team, Tommy now had to represent all cadets, no longer to have allegiance to just one brigade.
“Here they come,” Sloan said, watching the first group of Toadies and their parents exit the lift.
Bo, as the Hondo cadet brigade commander, had assigned Sloan and Gary to get their new Toadies onboard the shuttle and safely to the Zoo, a job they would, at some point, no doubt get even for.
“Were we ever that small?” Sloan said, not expecting an answer, and headed over to the Hondo gate.
Tommy laughed to himself, turning once again to the downpour and the shimmering reflections of ships on the polished, well-lit pad, when Remus walked up behind him.
“Where is Bo?” Remus asked.
“Already at the Zoo,” Tommy replied, thinking of reaching out to his foster father but deciding against it. After all, he was the Cadet Commander.
Remus frowned. He disliked the term Zoo as he felt it was derogatory toward alien races.
“Sorry, sir, the Academy.”
Remus raised his hand, dismissing the slip, and smiled. “They must love this.” He paused and swept his hand around the room. “Heading back to school a month before the other seniors report.”
“Well, Bo has to be there, and I think she wanted the support of Gary and Sloan. Plus Gary seemed eager to ride back to the zoo—Academy with us early.” Tommy smiled broadly.
“He never got used to flying weightless?”
“Nope, never did.”
They both shared a laugh before Remus, his attention now directed toward the Hondo gate, said, “Sloan has really grown.”
Both took a moment to admire the handsome Human, his burnt-orange fourth stripe catching Remus’s eye as Sloan exited the facility and headed down the boarding tunnel to the Hondo shuttle.
“It’s the workout routine the Corps has him on.” Tommy paused for a heartbeat. “You know the Corps.”
“Yes indeed,” Remus said, looking back at Tommy. “They’re lucky to get someone like Sloan. I expect we’ll see great things from that young man.” And then after a pause, “As I’m sure we will from all of the Four.” He put an extra emphasis on the word four.
Tommy nodded but said nothing. Remus knew very well how Tommy felt about his closest friends, including his roommate. Or former roommate, as all cadet staff had been reassigned to much larger single quarters on the academy’s command deck.
“An adjustment I’ll have to learn to live with,” Tommy had said to Sloan after he found out about his promotion, to which Sloan had responded by tossing his datapad at him.
“I’ll see you at the yacht,” Remus said.
Tommy nodded to his foster father.
Remus turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Tommy. “Have I told you how proud I am of you, son?”
It was one of the very few times Tommy had ever heard Remus refer to him as his son. He assumed it had been out of respect for his parents. “You’ve always let me know how much you cared for me, Father.”
Tommy saw moisture well up in the elder Tarchein’s eyes as he opened his mouth to speak, but he just smiled and turned away.
Tommy watch Remus make his way through the crowd of excited Toadies and their parents, now clustered in groups—mostly of like species, but not all. And with a quick glance at Cadet Cruise, he picked up a small mic.
“All incoming first-year cadets report to your gate for processing. Have your wristcomm set for ID scan,” Tommy’s voice boomed over the room’s PA system. “And mind your brigade!”
Gary shared a knowing smile with Tommy before receiving the first cadet.
“Are you kidding me, cadet!” Gary grabbed the Drake’s arm and made an entry into her wristcomm. “Cib, I’m going to remember that name, Toadie.”
Tommy tried to suppress a smile as he moved through anxious parents, taking questions and exchanging greetings. It’s going to be a long night, he thought.
Many months later, in fact just a few weeks prior to graduation, Tommy was enjoying a few quiet moments in the seniors’ lounge when Sloan and Bo came in.
“Have you heard anything yet, Tommy?” Bo asked, taking a seat next to Gary, who had dozed off.
“Found out today,” he said, then added, “flight training.”
“Congratulations, Tommy,” Sloan offered, then walked over to the beverage replicator. “Knew you’d get it.”
“Still nothing?” Tommy asked Bo while catching a cold beverage tube from Sloan.
Bo was in the process of checking her wristcomm for the second time since she had entered the room. “Not yet.”
She desperately wanted to fly, but since Drakes historically were a bit headstrong and because she had led the class in academics, especially astrophysics, rumor was that she might be assigned to deep-space navigation. That would mean the bridge of a warship, but not a pilot.
“How about sleeping beauty there,” Sloan said, pointing toward Gary with the same hand that held the now half-full beverage tube.
“Flight school. We’re in the same squadron,” Tommy added.
“You already have your squadron assignments?” Bo seemed hurt at the thought.
Tommy could only shrug as Bo stood to leave the room. “I’m sure you’ll get your slot, Bo…Bo?”
But she was already out the hatch.
“Needs of the Corps,” Sloan said and sat down in the spot Bo had vacated.
“Yeah, but a twenty-five year commitment as a nav—”
Tommy put his face in his hands. Finals were coming up, and he suddenly felt very tired.
You’re not in flight school yet, he thought. There was still the bio-matter progression final, and what about Bo—should he ask Remus to look into it?
“What about you,” Tommy asked, rubbing his face.
Sloan had requested a slot in a Quick Reaction Assault Team, or Q. Tommy could not understand why anybody would want to be blasted out of an orbiting assault ship to plummet through an atmosphere in a single-person assault capsule—riding the can, they called it. But then again, Sloan had chosen the Corps.
“Just came through. Infantry leadership school, then an assignment to Special Forces Operations training on Bindal—and if all goes well, my own platoon in a Q.
“Congratulation, Sloan—I guess,” Tommy said and laid his head back against the couch.
Sloan just laughed. He knew how most felt about the Q. He felt the same way about flying.
“What?” Gary stirred.
“Finals have been canceled,” Sloan said. He winked at Tommy and left the room.
“That’s nice,” Gary said and put his face back in the cushion of the couch.
Tommy finished off his drink and stood to leave. If only that were true, he thought, and tapped the hatch release..
But they did get through finals, although for most seniors it was not their best effort, and they were soon assembled in the reception hall for graduation ceremonies.
Tommy, dressed for the first time in the black dress uniform, complete with red jacket, of the Star Force, stood along with the six cadet brigade commanders, including the Vixtin cadet commander, Maco, Star Force ranking officers, and Academy staff. These seven seniors represented the top graduates of the class, all Tarchein with the exception of Tommy and Bo.
It had been a very busy day, with shuttles working overtime bringing the parents of graduating seniors and invited guests to the Zoo. There had been tours of cadet quarters, the classrooms, athletic fields, and of course the gift shop. And, after lunches in the decorated dining hall, there had been presentations of the different Star Force career communities, along with guarded question-and-answer periods.
It had been some day, one which Tommy had long looked forward to, and at times thought would never come. He was sure most of the five hundred or so graduating cadets, now at attention, felt the same emotions as General Ethos stood to address the assembly.
“Class 6115, Academy staff, and honored guests. Today is the day you’ve been no doubt dreaming of since that first taste of Academy life just four short years ago.”
The gathered crowd chuckled at the absurd statement. Four short years indeed, Tommy thought.
“But you’ve made it, and let me be the first to say how very proud we all are of your accomplishments. But, as I look out on these newly commissioned Star Force officers, let me make something very clear. It is time to put away the casual face of school days and put on the stern determination of duty, honor, and service to our great Empire. These are perilous times, besieged on all sides from forces that would seek to steal our glory and the only real stability in the galaxy.” The general glanced over at his son. “We expect great things from this class—from both Tarchein, and others…” The word “others” fell from his mouth like he had eaten something bitter.
The general now turned to the school’s commandant, who nodded, and after one last, long agonizing moment, said, “Class 6115—dismissed!”
A great cheer rose up, with back slaps and well-wishes all around as Tommy leaped from the platform to find and congratulate his closest friends.
“We made it,” Tommy said, grabbing both Gary and Sloan—Bo jumping into the group hug as well, all Drake dignity, for now, set aside.
“Congratulations, Tommy,” Gary said, pumping his friend’s hand.
“Congratulations, ensigns, we made it.” Then after a moment, “You too, Lieutenant,” Bo said to Sloan—the rank structure for the Corps different than that of the fleet.
Looking over at Remus and his friend’s families making their way through the crowd of well-wishers, Tommy asked, “Did you hear anything, Bo?”
All three, concern on their faces, looked directly at Bo, who after a pause for dramatic effect, held up her wristcomm.
“Pilot training! You got it!” Tommy slapped her on the back.
“I’m going to be a Mudhen,” she exclaimed.
“You got our squadron,” Gary said. “That’s great!”
“Yep,” Bo said, looking at Tommy. “How about that, Tommy, your squadron.”
“That’s great, Bo, what are the odds?”
“What are the odds indeed.” Bo mouthed a “thank you” that only Tommy could see before turning to take Sloan’s congratulatory hug.
“We’re all going to be together again—well, almost all of us,” Gary said, looking at Sloan.
“That’s okay. Someone has to do the real fighting,” Sloan said, tugging on his orange jacket and pushing Gary playfully.
“But it looks like you two are stuck with me, well, at least for two more years,” Bo said.
Smiles and hardy congratulations were all around as the Four moved out to meet their waiting parents, all no doubt looking forward to a final farewell to the Academy. Their time at the Zoo was at an end!
Over the last twenty years the requirement for officers has compelled Star Force Training Command to recruit and commission an ever-increasing number of aliens. A situation that has resulted in an increased number of direct commissions obtained through accredited institutions or thru the completion of various officer commissioning programs. This alarming trend must be offset, first by retaining current Tarchein officers both junior and field grade, second by taking steps to recruit and commission more Tarchein, and then, most importantly, we must ensure Tarchein officers are assigned and retained in billets of organizational leadership. Immediate changes to our recruiting and staffing strategy must be implemented to not only increase, but maintain overall control, of not only battle groups, but individual commands as well. This is, after all, the Tarchein Empire!
- Memo sent by Admiral Ty to the Council of Fleet Admirals -
The future is an unseen reality existing within a faithful heart.
- House of Hawks -
CHAPTER NINE – PART II
The Slate
Tommy had enjoyed a full month off before finding himself a thousand feet over the dirty desert landscape of Razeier. The military shuttle in which he now sat—sharing its packed cargo bay with spare parts, supplies and a sad-looking maintenance chief, still hungover from his last night of leave—was just making its final approach into the Star Force Base Slater, the largest flight-training facility in the Empire.
Alerted, to the final approach phase of the flight, Tommy leaned forward a bit, loosening his restraints and preparing himself for the landing when the pilot suddenly banked sharply and pushed over into a steep descent, commanding the now badly vibrating ship to trace a long, precise arc before violently reversing his heading and lining up on one of the Slate’s two long gray transition strips.
The maneuver, Star Force SOP, was flown more aggressively than Tommy was accustomed to. Not only was it a little unnerving, but the seemingly erratic movements did little in the way of allowing the shuttle’s passengers, namely Tommy, to get a long-awaited look at the massive training facility. The shuttle’s captain, in his zeal to get the beast quickly on the ground, had flashed over the transition strip, carrying far too much speed in Tommy’s opinion, and leveled off at a mere thirty feet, executing a wild-eyed whifferdill in order to line up on the strip’s steady green guidance strobes. He was then forced to dump the ship’s excess velocity by performing an abrupt pitch-up maneuver, going to max boards, and engaging full reverse thrusters—the result of which was a rapid deceleration that threw Tommy forward into his loosened shoulder straps, woke up the dozing chief, and quickly, almost
instantly, brought the ship into a stable three-foot hover.
There’s no way this guy’s got his dampeners engaged, at least not at anything close to a hundred percent, mused Tommy, releasing his shoulder straps and collecting his scattered gear as the shuttle quickly taxied to a vacant landing pad and settled.
Stepping over bundled parts and maneuvering around several crates, Tommy quickly moved to the hatch. He had thought the approach performed by the shuttle’s captain was just his way of showing off—something to impress the Slate’s fledgling pilots. But upon exiting the ship, the reason behind such a high-speed approach and landing became obvious.
Tommy had never seen so many aircraft gathered into one place at one time, and all, or most, flown by students. They were everywhere—landing, hovering, taking off, or flying overhead at a dozen different altitudes. It was no wonder the captain put us down so quickly, he thought, stepping onto the scorching landing pad. The dry, hot temperature of Razeier a shock after the cool, air-conditioned cabin of the shuttle.
Slater had been a magical destination, something Tommy had long hoped for, often finding comfort in the thought of this place, and justification for the long hours endured at the Academy. But to finally be at this base—the first stop for all Imperial pilots. He wanted the moment to somehow last. He wanted to remember every detail, sound, and smell. He wanted to be able to vividly recall it as a treasured memory, an image that could be summoned in difficult times. Graduating from the Academy was important, to be sure, but this—this was the realization of a dream.
Still filled with wonder, Tommy barely noticed the crew chief’s mumbles as he hurried past him on the pad—something about hotter than hell itself. Tommy’s focus, as he shielded his eyes from the harsh glare, was on a small white trainer as it streaked across a cloudless blue sky. By tomorrow, I’ll probably be up there as well, he thought.
Slater was indeed the largest and by far the busiest base in the Empire. It was the first stop for all would-be pilots. Not just Star Force, but future PDF pilots from every planet that fielded such a command, guild cargo pilots, commercial transport crews from the massive multi-decked luxury liners to the smallest star yachts, and even future helmsmen. Every Imperial pilot started at the Slate.