by Linn Schwab
“What is that?” Lisa asked her, straining to speak through a morning yawn.
“Oh, nothing special,” Nancy said, feigning an attitude of indifference. “Just the footage from Virginia’s cockpit recorders, that’s all.”
“She made it back?” Suzanne cried out.
Nancy grinned at her and nodded.
In a sudden frenzy of excitement, the girls all jumped to their feet at once. They swarmed around Nancy, sweeping her into the corridor, and began pulling her along with them toward the control room. All of them were bursting with anticipation to learn how Virginia had fared against the Tiger Sharks.
Suzanne struggled to hold back tears of relief. “How is she? Is she alright?”
“Don’t worry,” Nancy assured her, “she’s gonna be fine.”
“Did she say if she got any?” Zoe asked.
“No. She passed out before she could say anything.”
“I hope she got at least one of those dirt bags. They’ve had it coming for a long, long time.”
As the group piled onto an elevator together, Lisa paused to express some reservations. “Wait,” she said. “Should we really be doing this without Virginia? It seems a little inconsiderate of us.”
“Why?” Nancy said. “She’s already seen it. She had a front row seat when it happened. Besides, Major Richards had to sew her arm up, so she gave her a pretty steep dose of sedative. Do you really want to wait until she wakes up? It could be several more hours yet.”
Lisa hesitated for an instant, then gave in to her. “No, I guess not,” she said.
In the control room, Nancy found an unoccupied console and slipped the memory chip into a receptacle. As the other girls gathered in close to her, she selected the forward–facing camera feed and toggled through the file until the Wallaby appeared. She then allowed the image to advance in real time, and the audio signal kicked in as well. Almost immediately, they heard a pilot’s voice on the console’s speakers:
“Look out, Terrapin! Tiger Sharks are coming after you!”
“Right where we left off,” Nancy said. She felt a tingling sensation run up and down her spine as Virginia split off and banked away from the formation. It only took a moment for her to spot the Tiger Sharks, and the targeting display quickly flashed up on the monitor. The numbers only reached as high as 93.3 before Virginia unleashed her first rocket.
“What’s she doing?” Suzanne said in disbelief. “She fired too soon.”
The other girls remained focused on the screen as they watched the rocket close in on its target. It tracked unerringly, swift and true, and slammed against the side of one of the Tiger Sharks.
Kelli slapped both of her hands together and thrust her fist into the air triumphantly. “Oh yeah!” she yelled. “What a shot!”
“That’s my girl!” Zoe said. “No one shoots rockets like Virginia!”
The three remaining Tiger Sharks were spinning and tumbling as Virginia closed in on her second victim. She triggered her guns and rolled to her left so she could land as many bullets as possible on him. The plane appeared to come apart at the seams, and its hapless pilot met a sickening death. Suzanne felt compelled to look away for a moment as a feeling of queasiness overtook her. The other girls had all seen worse before, but even they seemed to be taken aback by the ferocity of Virginia’s attack.
“Wow,” Lisa said, “she’s certainly not showing them any mercy.”
“Why should she?” Nancy argued. “As Zoe said, they’ve had this coming for a long, long time.”
The chase on the lead Tiger Shark now began. Virginia’s first pass barely missed the mark. She overshot the squadron leader once, but managed to swing around into position behind him. He tried all manner of maneuvers to shake her. She hung with him like she was glued to his tail. Without warning, a sudden hailstorm of bullets engulfed Virginia’s plane from behind. The fourth Tiger Shark had just made his presence known.
An uneasy hush fell over the Hornets when they saw the devastation to Virginia’s plane. It was hard to believe she’d even survived the first volley, but the pursuing Tiger Shark caught her again and again, wreaking untold havoc on the body of her fighter.
Kelli shook her head in dismay as she watched fragments of Virginia’s plane break away. “Why are those bullets causing so much damage?” she asked. “I’ve never seen bullets do that to my plane.”
Nancy glared at the screen in contempt. “They must be using some kind of special ammunition.”
“Those bastards!” Lisa complained. “No wonder they have such a fearsome reputation!”
Virginia’s guns finished off the plane in her sights and she immediately broke into evasive maneuvers. She somehow managed to elude her pursuer, even though her plane had already been severely ravaged. At some point shortly thereafter, it became clear that the battle had come to an end. The fourth enemy pilot remained unaccounted for, but what mattered most was that Virginia had survived, and left a taste of defeat in the Tiger Sharks’ mouths.
“Now we’ve got something to build on,” Nancy said, clearly pleased by what she’d just seen. She smiled in satisfaction and looked around at the others. “And they’ve got reason to be afraid of us.”
* * * *
Once again, Robin heard footsteps approaching. She could tell it wasn’t Delia this time, though. The footsteps continued to grow louder and closer, but they were much too soft to be Delia’s. It was Christy who finally stepped into the room, carrying a tray of food in her hands. She sat down beside Robin on the cot, and set the tray off to the side for a moment. “Delia said I should bring this to you,” she said, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She gazed into Robin’s eyes for a moment, then finally told her, “I thought you were dead.”
Robin looked back at her with a similar expression. “So did I,” she softly replied.
The two of them broke into smiles of relief, and wrapped their arms around each other. “You shouldn’t scare people like that,” Christy said. “It isn’t very nice at all.”
“If you think you were scared...” Robin said. She felt Christy break into nervous laughter.
Christy let go of Robin and turned her attention toward Sheri now. “How is she,” she asked, expressing concern.
“Major Richards isn’t really saying anything, but ... I think it’s pretty bad.”
“It hurts,” Christy said. “It hurts all of us. Everyone in our battalion is pulling for her.”
“I know,” Robin said. “It would be the same for any of us. We’ve all been through so much together.”
Christy nodded and took a deep breath. “Did they tell you about Commander Jeffries yet?”
Robin frowned. “Yeah. I still can’t believe it. How could she just ... die like that?”
“I don’t know. It’s really sad. Everyone loved her. And everyone wishes she was still here. Even though...”
Robin waited for her to finish the thought, but Christy had apparently changed her mind. “What?” she asked. “Even though what?”
“Even though she fired those missiles at you.”
“What?” Robin said. “When did that happen?”
“When you were fighting that heavy cruiser. Didn’t you see the explosions? They were so bright we could even see them from here.”
Robin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The commander fired missiles at us? Her thoughts became an anguish driven whirlwind of confusion. Why? she wondered. Why would she do that? What would cause her to even consider firing missiles at her own personnel?
She wondered if perhaps Christy might be mistaken. After all, no one on the Wallaby had witnessed any detonations. But she remembered something Jenny had mentioned earlier, about Robin’s girls all being turned to ash. She realized now that Christy must be telling her the truth. The commander had intentionally fired missiles at her. The thought of it left her feeling torn up inside. Confusion hovered at the forefront of her mind, blocking out everything else for a time. She could see that Christy was
still speaking to her. She could hear her voice, but couldn’t make out the words. A feeling of queasiness roiled her stomach. Never in her life had she felt so ill. Never felt so betrayed, or so expendable. She recalled the warmth she had felt from Commander Jeffries’ hands, and the compassion that had seemed to radiate from her. The despair became almost too much for her to bear, and she told herself it must’ve all been a ruse. The commander never really cared about me. And the Sentinel Fleet doesn’t care about me either. I’m nothing more than a living piece of ordinance, to be hurled at the enemy and quickly forgotten. She looked down at the food that Christy had brought to her and realized there was little point in trying to eat it. Her stomach wasn’t going to keep anything down. And to make matters even worse, she really didn’t care one way or the other. She was ready to give up on her duties now. Ready to give up on everything.
* * * *
“Transport ship!” Miranda announced, glancing beside her at Veronica.
“What transport ship?” Veronica said. “There’s nothing scheduled to arrive today.”
“I don’t know, but there’s a transport ship asking for staging instructions.”
Veronica switched her transmitter on. “Incoming transport,” she said, “this is Volaris. What is it that you’re delivering to us?”
“Volaris, this is the transport ship, Lily Pad. We have twelve pristine fighter planes on board, and instructions to drop them off with you.”
Miranda and Veronica gasped in unison. Both of them were surprised, but pleasantly so.
“I don’t believe it!” Veronica said.
“Neither do I. Command must’ve taken us seriously for once.”
Veronica spoke into her microphone again. “That’s welcome news, Lily Pad. Very welcome news. How did you manage to get here so quickly?”
“Actually, these planes were allocated to the Seventh Fleet. We were already en route to deliver them there, but we just received an order this morning to leave them here with you instead. Let me know as soon as you’re ready for them, and we’ll start flying them over to you.”
“Thank you, Lily Pad. Go ahead and start bringing them over. We’ll make room in the hangar for them right away.”
“Well,” Miranda said, “this should make Major Richards happy.”
Veronica smiled at her and said, “I don’t know about Major Richards, but it definitely makes me happy!”
ANGELS 052
For several long disheartening hours, Jay, Thomas, and Angelo had been searching the edge of the asteroid field for any signs of their missing captain. Now, with their fuel supplies nearly exhausted, they reluctantly headed toward the rendezvous point to join up with the ships that were gathering there. They’d already returned to the Melbourne once so they could top off their fuel tanks and continue with the search. With that thought in mind, it was obvious to them now that Peter must have long since burned through his own fuel. There was little point in extending the search any longer, other than to verify the whereabouts of his body. And that would be of little concern to the fleet. Recovering bodies had never been much of a priority. They would just end up being cast back into space — the eternal resting grounds for all of the fleet’s casualties.
After landing his fighter on the Melbourne, Jay made his way toward the locker room. Commander Ingman met up with him near the entrance, and questioned him about the results of the search.
“No luck, I take it?”
Jay shook his head. “Not a trace.” It was obvious that he was saddened by the loss of his captain.
The commander frowned. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s about all we can do. I’m listing Peter as missing in action, and promoting you to captain as of this moment. The Four Twenty–Eighth is your squadron now, Captain Beauregard. I’ll pass the word on so everyone knows it’s official. Congratulations,” he said in a sombre tone. “I’m sure you’ve been deserving of this for a long time.”
“Not something I’ve been looking forward to at all,” Jay said. “I’d much rather have just continued on as Peter’s wing man.”
“Why’s that?” the commander asked him.
Jay shrugged. “Captain Straydel was probably the best pilot in the fleet. My chances of staying alive were greatly increased by flying with him. And both of us operated well as a team. Adjusting to a new pilot is going to be tough.”
“I see,” the commander said. “Perfectly understandable. Listen, Jay, speaking of new pilots, we’re going to be taking some new flyboys on board. In fact, they should be arriving here any moment now. These aren’t experienced squadrons from other carriers. They’re completely green, straight off the transports from Earth.”
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring. Any reason in particular they’re being sent here?”
“We need ‘em. We need every pilot we can get. Plans are in the making for an ad hoc assault. And right now, your squadron is all we’ve got on the Melbourne.”
“Assault?” Jay queried. “For what purpose? I just flew past all those ships out there, Commander, and half of them have holes the size of Pittsburgh in them.”
“I’m not sure what the reasoning is. It’s not my call to make. But these new pilots could probably use some good advice, Jay. And I’m counting on you to help them out in that regard.”
After the commander walked away, Jay stepped into the locker room and sat down on a bench to rest for a moment. As he reflected over the loss of his captain, Thomas and Angelo sat down on either side of him and began to remove their boots and flight suits. Seconds later, a crowd of young pilots streamed in and spread around the room searching for empty lockers.
Here we go, Jay thought to himself. It’s always the same thing with new pilots from Earth. The silence will last for about half a minute, and then one of them will promptly enlighten us as to how fortunate we are that they’ve come to our rescue.
Laying claim to the locker beside Angelo’s was a young man with an exceptionally muscular build. He’d already unzipped the top of his flight suit and tied its sleeves around his waist to keep it in place. On the bulging exterior of his right bicep was a tattoo which bore the name “Pogo” in script. A tag on the duffle bag he’d tossed on the floor listed his name as Pogo Amarelli. Angelo found himself wondering how someone with such a build had ended up as a pilot. There was no benefit to be had from the additional strength, and the extra bulk would likely prove to be a hindrance to him within the tight confines of a fighter’s cockpit.
Adding further to Angelo’s sense of bemusement was his preconceived perception of such musclebound types and the level of intellect normally associated with them. It made him wonder — though he felt somewhat guilty for it — if Earth had become so desperate for pilots that they’d been forced to lower their standards a bit. He decided, though, not to prejudge the pilot based on this stereotypical image. Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, he decided. He might actually prove to be smarter than he looks.
Reaching into his duffel bag, Pogo pulled out a sheet of paper and proceeded to affix it to the front of his locker. On the face of the sheet was a hand–drawn caricature depicting Pogo in an imposing position. In the sketch, he was holding an unflattering likeness of a decidedly male enemy pilot in a choke hold — the tattoo on his arm on display front and center as he squeezed the life from his imaginary victim. Angelo snickered when he saw the image. Not so bright after all, he concluded. And his ego is obviously even bigger than his biceps.
Pogo reacted to Angelo’s snickering with a look that expressed both annoyance and confusion. “What?” he said in a challenging tone. “What are you laughing at, Mr. funny guy?”
“Man,” Angelo said to him, pointing at the likeness of the enemy pilot, “if that’s what you think they look like, you’re in for a very rude surprise.”
By now, Thomas had also seen the drawing, and reacted to it with snickering as well. This put Pogo on the defensive as he tried to determine what they found so amusing. To make matters even worse
for him, all of the other pilots in the room had overheard the conversation and were listening in now.
“What?” he said. “How different can they look? They only left Earth five centuries ago. Are you trying to tell me that in that amount of time, they’ve evolved into something that doesn’t look human?”
“No,” Angelo said, “that’s not what I’m saying. Just that your drawing is a little bit off, that’s all.”
Pogo appeared to be agitated by the thought that he was being mocked in front of all the other pilots. “Alright, so tell me,” he insisted. “Just what exactly do they look like?”
“Oh, I dunno,” Angelo said, deciding to hand the question off to Jay. “What would you say they look like, Jay?”
Jay had thus far kept his silence, electing not to get involved in the exchange. As he contemplated whether he should offer up an answer, his eyes were drawn toward an open locker where Peter had stashed his personal belongings. Prominently displayed on the inside of the door was a picture of his daughter that he’d always carried with him. The details of her death were well known to Jay, and he’d said many a prayer for her over the years. As he looked at the picture of the smiling little girl, an answer to Angelo’s question seemed to gel in his thoughts. “Angels,” he said. “They look like angels.”
The answer initially took Angelo by surprise, but he decided it was actually a fitting description. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, “they do look like angels. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what they look like.” He turned to look at Pogo again. “So tell me, Mr. full of bravado. If they look like angels, and we’re killing them ... just what does that make us look like, huh? If you manage to get your hands on one of them, are you still going to feel so eager now to grab her by the neck and choke the life out of her?”
Pogo seemed surprised by Angelo’s choice of words. “Her?” he said. “What do you mean, her?”
“Oh yeah,” Angelo quipped, “that’s another little problem with your caricature. You see, all of their pilots just happen to be female. I guess no one bothered to explain that to you.”