by Linn Schwab
“Her?” the commander challenged him, apparently unconvinced. “Are you really so certain this pilot was female?”
Jay frowned and looked at the screen again. He’d long ago grown tired of trying to argue this point. Commander Ingman had always been skeptical that all of the enemy pilots were women. Even Captain Straydel had tried to convince him, but it appeared that his efforts had been unsuccessful. The commander still seemed to be in denial. Jay suspected it was likely a matter of conscience. He just didn’t want to accept the truth.
“Tell you what,” Jay said, reaching for the console. “Why don’t we just see if my assumption is correct.” He toggled the video in reverse for a moment, then zoomed in on the side of the enemy plane. A close–up clearly showed the pilot’s name painted beneath the cockpit in bold white letters:
VIRGINIA SCOT
Commander Ingman seemed a little surprised at first, but he countered with a logical explanation. “It’s just a name painted on the side of a plane,” he said. “That alone doesn’t prove anything. If I really wanted to deceive my enemy, which isn’t a bad idea come to think of it, I could paint a girl’s name on the side of your plane, and they wouldn’t be the least bit wiser, would they?”
Jay stared at him in silence while he contemplated pressing the issue further. “Alright, Commander,” he finally said, toggling back through the video again. “Just remember, you asked for this.” He found a head–on shot of the enemy plane and zoomed in closer on the front of its canopy. The image showed the face of a young female pilot as she concentrated on performing maneuvers.
“There’s your enemy,” Jay said, gesturing toward the screen with both hands. “The big bad boogeyman our leaders sent us all the way out here to fight. She looks positively terrifying, don’t you think? All twenty–three or twenty–four years old of her.”
The commander seemed at a loss for words. Several seconds passed before he recovered. “Alright,” he said, nodding in acceptance. “You’ve made your point. But what can you tell me about those yellow stripes on her plane? Have you fought other pilots that had those same markings?”
Jay toggled the image forward until the stripes on the enemy fighter were visible. “Never encountered them before, myself,” he said. “But from what I’ve heard, they are formidable opponents.”
“Are they as formidable as our elites?”
“I can’t really say. Maybe you should ask the pilot you got this combat footage from.”
“I’m not sure how much stock I’d put in what he has to say about that. Her plane was severely compromised, but he decided to withdraw and allow her to escape. If you ask me, he should have finished her off instead of turning tail and running away from her.”
“You’re not seeing the whole picture, then,” Jay insisted. “His instrument panel is clearly visible in that video, and you can see that he was very close to running out of fuel. In my opinion, he made the right decision, Commander. Remember, it takes us two years to bring replacement pilots out here from Earth. Our enemy doesn’t have nearly as far to travel.”
“Hmm. I guess I somehow managed to overlook that. Thank you for pointing that out to me, Jay. It makes my next decision much easier now. Seeing as you’re short one pilot right now, and he’s the last surviving member of his unit, I’m assigning him to your squadron, effectively immediately. Unless you have any objections, of course.”
Jay shook his head. “No objections from me, Commander. He’s more than welcome to join my squadron.”
“Good. I’ll contact the Belfast and have him fly over right away. It’ll be good to have your squadron at full strength before our next assault gets under way.”
“Any idea how long before we get the order?”
“Not yet. Everything’s still on hold right now while we make a few repairs on some of those cruisers. My guess is, it’ll be at least a few days. But I haven’t really heard what the plan is yet.”
* * * *
As soon as his new pilot arrived on the Melbourne, Jay hurried down to the flight deck to greet him. He held out his hand and introduced himself. “You seem familiar to me,” he said.
“I’m Jason Elliot,” the pilot told him. “Formerly of the Four hundred and Eighty–First fighter squadron.
“Okay, I remember you now,” Jay said. “You were stationed on the Independence for a while, weren’t you? About five years ago, if I‘m not mistaken.”
“That’s right,” Jason said, “I remember you too. Weren’t you part of Captain Straydel’s squadron?”
Jay nodded. “Up until yesterday, I still was.”
“Really? Where’s Captain Straydel now? I’d sure like a chance to speak with him again.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jason, but the truth is, you’re Captain Straydel’s replacement.”
“Oh,” Jason said. “That’s unfortunate. I really owe a lot to him. He gave me some helpful advice back then. It’s probably the only reason I’m still alive today.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, “and look at you now. Not only did you survive, but you’ve also managed to join the ranks of the elites. How long have you been sporting the teeth on your plane?”
“About eighteen months now, I guess. I haven’t really seen much action yet, though.”
“Pretty good scrape you had out there yesterday. I was just watching your cockpit recording a little earlier.”
Jason lowered his head in regret. “I tried my best to save Captain Kincaid. I really did. But that pilot just would not back off. I swamped her plane with bullets so many times there was hardly anything left of it. I tried to get a rocket off at her too, but I just couldn’t get her lined up for a shot. I don’t know what else I could have done. I’ve never felt so uncoordinated in my life. She made me look like a clumsy oaf.”
“Put it behind you,” Jay advised him. “Intimidation is one of a fighter pilot’s greatest weapons, and it looks like that girl’s got you a little unnerved. Don’t let what happened out there yesterday get in your head, or you might as well consider yourself one of her kills.”
“Right,” Jason said, “I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry, I won’t let it get to me, Captain.”
* * * *
Major Richards had just returned to the control room when Commander Eldridge arrived to retrieve Robin’s key. “You know,” she said, still harboring suspicions, “you could have removed those restrictions yourself.”
Commander Eldridge seemed completely unfazed by the comment. “You’re the acting commander for this facility,” she said. “As such, any updates in the status of the personnel here are a part of your responsibilities.” She grabbed the key and looked around the control room to get a sense of how things were being managed at the moment. “I only see two controllers on duty,” she said. “How many are currently assigned to Volaris?”
“At the moment, we have five dedicated controllers, and three who split time with other positions. We also currently have one trainee who just arrived here a few days ago.”
“That may no longer be sufficient.” The commander gestured to a nearby tactical display. “Show me an overview of your surroundings. I want to see what you’re up against.”
Major Richards stepped over to the display and called up a view of the surrounding area. Commander Eldridge studied the image briefly, then pointed at a location near the tip of Pangea. “This is where your forces engaged the enemy?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The commander appeared to be contemplating something. “This is a vulnerable position,” she decided. “If they launch an all–out assault in that area, it would take our fighters far too long to get there from here. This station is in danger of being exposed. You’ll need to find some way to remedy that.”
“Commander,” Major Richards said, “I’m not really qualified for this level of planning. Any advice that you can offer me would be greatly appreciated.”
Commander Eldridge touched the tactical display with he
r finger, and several hundred blinking lights suddenly appeared on the screen. Each one of them consisted of a small string of numbers directly adjacent to a tiny ship outline. Major Richards recognized the flashing images as I.D. numbers for Sentinel warships.
The commander’s eyes moved from one number to the next, focusing on the ships that were nearest to Volaris. “Let’s see what’s available to us right now,” she said. A few seconds later, she pointed at one of them and instructed Major Richards to make contact with it. As soon as a connection was established, the commander spoke into a transmitter.
“Attention, Sentinel vessel,” she said, “this is Commander Melora Eldridge, currently stationed on Volaris fighter base. Identify yourself and state your destination.”
“Commander, this is the carrier Zephyr, en route to dockyard Bristol for repairs.”
“What is the nature of the repairs you’re in need of?”
“Combat damage to engines one and three, major outer hull damage, and our communications array has been severely compromised.”
“Do you currently have any fighters on board?”
“No fighters on board at the moment, Commander. They’ve all been dispersed to other carriers.”
“Alright, Zephyr, I need you to answer a question for me. Would you be capable of serving as a stationary launch platform for as many as eight full squadrons of fighters?”
A brief delay followed the question, then the operator responded, “Yes, Commander. But we’re a little short on personnel right now.”
“Understood,” the commander replied. “There should be a wreckage field coming up off your port side. You’ll find it at the ten o’clock position on your scanner. I want you to park the Zephyr inside that wreckage field and make preparations to begin receiving fighters.”
“Yes, Commander. Any idea how long we’ll be stationed there?”
“You can plan on being there a very long time. Commander Eldridge, out.” She turned to Major Richards again. “I’ll leave the decision up to you as to which of your squadrons you want to send over. See to it that the Zephyr gets resupplied. She’s under your command until further notice.”
The major seemed thoroughly surprised by the arrangement. “Thank you, Commander,” she responded sincerely. “Having that carrier stationed out there might prove to be very helpful to us.”
“It might,” the commander said, walking toward the exit. “Or it might not. There’s always a degree of uncertainty in war. You can never be sure how a decision might play out. Not until after the fact, anyway.”
UNCERTAINTY 055
Mindy awoke while the station was dark. Morning was still several hours away. Her thoughts immediately focused on Sheri, and the plea for assistance she’d made on her behalf. Determined to find out if her request had been fulfilled, she decided she would try to pay Sheri a visit and see if she showed any signs of improvement.
As Mindy rolled out of bed, she thought she heard someone whimpering. The sound appeared to be coming from the bath chamber. Curious to see who it was, she tiptoed to the doorway and peered inside. She found Christy Allison sitting on the floor, cradling her head between her hands. She must not be feeling well, she decided. If I find Major Richards, I’ll let her know. She quietly backed away from the bath chamber, then headed straight for the corridor.
When she arrived at the infirmary, the door was open and the lights were turned down. Sheri was all alone in the room. Mindy was disappointed to find her no better off. It takes time to heal, she tried to reassure herself. Maybe I just need to wait a little longer. But she was impatient to find out if her plea was being answered, and standing at Sheri’s side wasn’t going to tell her anything. She turned to face a nearby section of wall and glared at it as if demanding a response. But once again, there were no hints of a reaction. The uncertainty was too much for her to live with any longer. If there really was some sort of mysterious presence on Volaris, she was going to have to find a way to force a confrontation.
Mindy stormed out of the infirmary in a fit of determination, and followed the red line that signified a battleship lap. She was convinced that at some point along this course, she would find exactly what she was looking for — an access panel along one of the walls that opened into the station’s maintenance tunnels. There were hundreds of such panels scattered through Volaris, all of them similar to one another in appearance. But the particular panel she was trying to locate seemed to be loose every time she ran past it. This meant she could gain access to the tunnels without anyone knowing what she was up to. It also meant she wouldn’t have to ask for permission — a key consideration for her right now. No more secrets, she told herself. One way or another, I’m getting an answer. I’m not giving anyone a chance to say no.
A gap appeared in the wall of the corridor, in the general area she expected to find it. She grasped the edge of the panel with her fingers and carefully pulled on it to pry it open. This is it, she told herself, sticking her head in through the opening. Since they refuse to come out and show themselves, I’ll just have to come in there and find them!
* * * *
The morning brought little relief to Robin. The only thing that seemed to work out in her favor was that news of her suspension had already spread, so there was no need for her to inform anyone. With the infirmary now officially off limits to her, she was completely in the dark about Sheri’s condition. And Major Richards — upon seeing how weak she’d become — ordered her to remain inside the cafeteria until she’d consumed a full day’s worth of rations. Since her stomach was stubbornly unreceptive to food, this forced her to remain there throughout the entire day as events around the station unfolded without her.
Jenny approached her early in the day to see how she was dealing with the suspension. She sat down across the table from Robin and struggled to think up something to say. “This is tough,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t even know what to tell you, Robin. I wish there was something I could do to help you.”
Robin nodded in acceptance. “What do you think is going to happen?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t have any experience with this. In fact, I’ve never even heard of it happening before.” She flashed a supportive grin at Robin. “You’re just blazing all kinds of new trails, aren’t you.”
Robin forced herself to smile, but it was clear that her spirits were still in tatters. “Have you heard anything about Sheri?” she asked.
“No. I tried to check in on her for you, but they aren’t letting anyone near her right now. Commander Eldridge seems to be very interested in her, though. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not.”
“What do you think she wants with Sheri?”
“I’m not sure. She’s scheduling interviews with everyone who’s close to you. Maybe she just wants to ask her some questions. I just hope she doesn’t try to push her too hard.”
An announcement came over the station’s loudspeakers:
“Delia Pomeroy, report to classroom A.”
Jenny glanced around to see if she could locate Delia, but she didn’t seem to be present in the cafeteria. “That’s the room where Commander Eldridge is interviewing people. I guess Delia must’ve been pretty high on her list.”
* * * *
The announcement came as a surprise to Delia. She found herself in a bit of a daze as she made her way to the designated classroom — her usual outwardly confident stride replaced by footfalls reined in by apprehension. What does the commander want with me? she wondered. Am I in some kind of trouble too? She was aware of the reason given for Robin’s suspension, and that was enough to give her cause for concern. If Robin was suspended simply for endangering her crew, what implications does that hold for me? Two of my crew died as a result of my actions. Is there any reason I shouldn’t face discipline as well? And didn’t I also endanger the lives of ECHO 7 by taking them into combat with me? Any negligence that can be attributed to Robin seems to pale in comparison to what I’ve done.
Arriving at the entrance to classroom A, she hesitated briefly to gather her composure. When the door slid aside for her, she was surprised to discover that the room was nearly dark inside. Commander Eldridge was standing near the center of the classroom, observing images of combat footage projected on the walls. It didn’t take Delia long to realize that the footage she was watching was from the Calypso.
“Captain Pomeroy, step inside, please,” Commander Eldridge greeted her. “I’ve been evaluating your combat performance. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.
“First of all,” she said, “I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of the two members of your crew who were killed. May they be forever comforted by our appreciation for the courage and loyalty they displayed. I want you to know that, in my opinion, you’re not to blame for either of their deaths. Your attack on those two cruisers was well conceived. It was just an unfortunate stroke of bad luck that resulted in both of them being killed.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Delia replied. She made an honest effort to sound grateful and sincere, but both of them knew it was just for show. A few words of reassurance were hardly adequate to free her from second–guessing her actions, and anguishing over what she might have done differently to prevent her two squad mates from perishing.
“Now,” Commander Eldridge continued, “as far as the outcome of the battle is concerned, it appears to me that you and the crew of the Calypso were instrumental in achieving a victory for us. You seem to have a knack for destroyer combat, Captain. I’m very impressed with the results of your attack runs and the decisions you made on which vessels to target. It makes me wonder if we shouldn’t reconsider our practice of sending destroyer crews on to fighter training. Perhaps an argument can be made for retaining some experienced crews in destroyers. What are your thoughts, Captain Pomeroy? Where do you think your skills would be most beneficial to the Sentinel Fleet?”
Delia looked up at the image on the wall just as one of her torpedoes ripped open a cruiser. It was hard to make a case against that kind of power. A fighter could never cause that much destruction. They lacked the necessary weaponry to do so. But fighters had their own advantages as well, with their superior ability to accelerate and maneuver. And fighters were the Achilles’ heel of destroyers — the one foe that posed a real threat to them. So the question Delia had to answer for herself was whether she’d be more effective wielding a destroyer, or attempting to deprive the enemy of them.