Byron noticed that the officers were also suited for flight. His gaze traveled past the four instructors to the two fighters waiting by the launch tubes. The ships bore bright red insignias and the identifying numbers lacked the ‘T’ that marked the training vessels. Even in the darkness of space, it would be impossible to confuse the ships.
“Any deviation in your flight plan,” stated Bassa, his voice redirecting Byron’s attention, “will result in your dismissal. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the men replied in unison.
Bassa began to pace slowly in front of the men, eyes scanning the ranks. He gave Byron a cold stare before allowing his gaze to fall on the next man in line.
“This may be your first actual flight, but perfect execution and a precision landing are mandatory. Once you have performed your first run, your ship will be taxied into position for another run until three landings are achieved.
“Now, to your ships!”
Byron tried to conceal his excitement, but his pace was stretched by Trindel’s eager gait. Upon reaching their fighter, the men ran through the exterior checklist before Trindel gave his pilot the honor of climbing the ladder first. As he reached the platform, he glanced at the other ships and grinned. Their Cosbolt was second in line, a far more enviable placement than dead last.
Once his helmet was in place, Byron slid into his seat and fastened the harness. Turning his attention to the control panel, he anxiously scanned the display. Confident none of the switches or dials had changed position during their meal, he poised his finger over the power button.
Ready? he asked Trindel
I’m ready!
Pressing the button, Byron grinned as the panel came to life. The various instruments and screens were a welcome glow. The lights were even more vivid than those of the simulator. Mesmerized by the sight, Byron stared in awe at the illuminated panel. An emotional burst of excitement from Trindel jolted him to life.
Preflight check, Byron announced, shifting his thoughts to the task at hand.
Running through each item on the list, pilot and navigator confirmed the proper operation of the ship’s numerous systems. Signing off on the final check screen, Byron lowered the canopy and performed a final inspection on the cabin’s pressure.
All clear? he asked Trindel, noting the instructor’s ships were already entering the launch tubes.
Ready to roll!
Byron touched the com. “715T ready,” he announced.
“Check, 715T, awaiting clearance.”
He tested the seal of his helmet one last time before pressing his back against the seat and adjusting the position of his feet. His piloting skills would not be required until the ship entered the launch tube, as Trindel operated ground movement from his position. Until they received clearance and moved into position, he had nothing to do.
The lack of stimulus was calming, though. Discouraging Trindel’s preflight nervous chatter had been challenging, but over time he had learned to be quiet. Byron had trained his navigator to shield his overactive mind before a flight, and even the prospect of actual flight had not loosened Trindel’s mental voice. Alone with his thoughts, Byron’s attention was once again drawn to the teleporter.
The mechanism’s power was unmistakable. It echoed in his skull, vibrating every nerve. Byron focused on the device, allowing its potency to connect with his own mental powers. Feeling the strength of his mental abilities expand, he allowed his mind to absorb even more energy. The sensation was intoxicating. He felt capable of teleporting the ship across the universe …
We’re up! exclaimed Trindel.
Byron’s eyes opened. The ships in front of them were rolling into the launch tubes.
Be ready, he replied.
Within minutes, they were given permission to approach the now-open launch bay. Trindel eased their ship forward, keeping pace with the fighter to their left. With incredible precision, Byron’s navigator eased the vessel into the launch tube. It never ceased to amaze Byron that someone possessing Trindel’s hyperactive nature was capable of handling such a delicate operation, but his navigator excelled in his position.
Once the second set of hatches closed, Byron fired up the engines and performed the final systems check. Trindel locked the vessel in place and their ship was ready to launch.
It’s all you!
Byron smiled, his fingers tight across the throttle. The lights illuminating the launch tube beckoned, their glow leading to a dark point at the end of the tunnel. He focused on that patch of blackness and what lay beyond. That spot represented freedom.
“Launch in five seconds,” control announced. “Prepare! Three … two … one …”
The ship went from a stationary position to flight speed in less than one second. Byron’s grip on the throttle grew even tighter as they raced down the tunnel, engines burning at precisely the correct level. The tiny speck of darkness grew and the tube’s lights were only a blur …
The fighter exploded from the tunnel in silence. Despite his exhilaration, which surged outward unshielded, Trindel held a fixed lock on their flight pattern and projected the course to his pilot. Byron maintained their gentle climb, the excitement of their first flight coursing through his body. The vastness of space stretched before him, its expanse immense. The simple route was obviously meant to provide new pilots a moment to gather their wits. Fearful the view would distract him from their assignment, Byron focused on the upcoming flight pattern change.
At the appropriate moment, he veered right. Following his navigator’s instructions without question, he continued to circle to the right. As the landing bay came into view, he realized it was not the same one used by the transport. Four distinct lines guided approaching Cosbolts and he concentrated on the second stripe from the right. Trindel engaged the landing runners in preparation and gave the signal. Throttling back the engine, Byron prepared to enter the bay.
Perfect landing, perfect landing, he repeated.
He held the nose steady and ship parallel. Both sets of runners had to touch evenly and he refused to settle for a lopsided landing. A single, gentle bump assured Byron of his success. Throwing the engines in reverse, he slowed the ship’s headlong flight. Trindel made adjustments from his position, assisting with the plane’s movement on the ground. Operating as an experienced team, Byron and Trindel brought their ship to a halt on the exact mark.
Byron emitted a cry of elation, which was quickly seconded by his navigator. He turned off the engines, relinquishing total control of the ship to Trindel. To his left, he noticed the other Cosbolt’s position two rows away and just over the mark. Byron grinned at the pair’s mistake.
Think you just missed there! he called, his thoughts aimed at Surren, the pilot.
Didn’t ask your opinion, hot shot! came the defensive reply.
Couldn’t resist, could you? prodded Trindel, his tone one of amusement.
Byron chuckled, pleased with his taunt and satisfied with their first actual flight. His team had flown and landed with a precision worthy of their status.
Trindel taxied out of the landing bay and the relays pulled the ship into the hanger. They returned to the line of Cosbolts waiting to launch. The first two teams had already spread their enthusiasm among the young men, elevating the excitement. Byron preferred to gloat privately and only reveled in their success with Trindel. They still had two more runs to complete.
The final two runs resulted in perfect execution and textbook landings. Byron’s confidence swelled and his elation threatened to emanate beyond the cockpit. He reigned in his emotions but did permit a smug grin to emerge as they returned to the hanger. The instructors could not fault their performance today.
Several teams were reprimanded for overshooting their mark upon landing, but none had veered off course or landed improperly. Byron felt a dismissal on the first day of flight would’ve been too harsh a judgment regardless. He liked to think that Bassa was not so coldhearted as to send a team home this early and d
ampen everyone’s spirits.
Discussions during the evening meal centered solely on their first flight. The men were eager for tomorrow and the promise of a longer flight pattern. They also voiced displeasure with the harsh criticisms received. Sitting at the end of a table, Byron merely listened to the conversation.
“Well, if today was any indication, it’ll be a long six months,” mused Forcance, poking at the remains of his meal.
“Bassa sure is tough,” Surren growled, cocking his eyebrows at the navigator.
“He expects perfection!” exclaimed Arenth, his dark eyes on the officer’s table.
Surren leaned back in his chair and frowned. He was a large man and quite capable of exerting his dominance on lesser individuals. Conflicts with Surren were frequent, as he believed only his opinion counted. Byron found the pilot difficult and overbearing.
“I think Bassa gets off on pointing out mistakes!” Surren exclaimed, his wide nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Such as overshooting your mark today?” Byron asked, tired of Surren’s attitude.
The burly pilot shot him a piercing stare, his eyes reflecting his contempt. Byron returned his gaze, aware that no one would side against Surren. Byron was not favored by the other young men and he relied on Trindel’s friendly nature to remain integrated with the others. Of course, his outcast position was by choice. He was not here to make friends.
“Once Bassa sees your team’s reckless antics, I’m sure he’ll have plenty to criticize,” growled Surren, his lips pulled back in a malicious smile. “I bet you’re the first one to go!”
Feeling his defenses rise, Byron returned the pilot’s threatening scowl. “Maybe you should go home before you embarrass yourself further, Surren.”
“Don’t worry about me, hot shot!” Surren announced with a laugh, rising to his feet. “Your first crazy jump will be your last.”
“Maybe I’ll just jump up your ass!”
Surren scoffed at Byron’s rebuttal and departed with his tray. Irritated, Byron shoved aside the remainder of his meal and leaned back in his seat. He would not be sent home early, regardless of what Surren believed. Failure was not an option at this point.
“I’m not jumping up anyone’s ass,” Trindel murmured to no one in particular.
After three weeks of actual flight time, which involved formations and basic drills, Byron was pleased to hear the men would begin target practice next.
Despite Surren’s prediction, Byron and Trindel’s performance was flawless so far. They could hardly deviate from pre-planned flight patterns, though. Byron took pride in his perfectionist nature and was determined to prove his wasn’t as reckless as his record suggested.
There was no time off on Guaard and the men began target practice the day after the announcement. The flight patterns were pre-assigned, but Byron did not mind. The simulators recreated true flight but not without omissions in experience. The knowledge that one’s life hung on the brink of every maneuver made for a unique experience. Byron appreciated the opportunity to acclimate to the sensation and he was able to focus on his aim. His shots were precise and on target.
They advanced from one target to multiples while still following flight patterns. The last run of multiples, the teams were given free rein to select their own approach. The targets were set equal distance apart in a triangular form. The young men would be judged on their precision of flight as well as accuracy.
Slated to go last, Byron watched the other ships with interest as he and Trindel awaited their turn. The pilots varied in their course of attacking the targets from above or below, but every ship ran a zigzag course. There were a few notable maneuvers, but no performance stood out from the others. Never one to conform to standards, Byron opted to try something entirely different.
What’s our approach? asked Trindel.
Byron smiled, sensing his navigator’s adventurous spirit. Out and back, he replied, visualizing the projected path.
Sounds good to me!
Trindel plotted their course and they waited for the signal.
“715T, commence your run!” commanded Officer Jarth.
Byron throttled forward, aiming for the nearest target. The metallic orb glimmered enticingly in the darkness of space and he set his sights on the object. The moment they were in range, he fired on the orb. A laser of light struck the middle of the glowing sphere. A green light blinked, signifying a direct hit.
Continuing in a straight line, Byron aimed for the second target. Pivoting ninety degrees, he fired at the orb without a moment’s hesitation. The green light flashed and he pursued the final target. Byron angled their Cosbolt just enough to avoid firing directly at the squadron and hit the third target with ease. Adjusting their trajectory, he and Trindel rejoined the other ships and fell into formation.
“Interesting approach,” Jarth commented over the com. “All ships, return to base. We’ll reconvene in the debriefing room.”
Maybe we should’ve tried something else? offered Trindel.
I had a reason for that approach, Byron stated, prepared to defend their course of action.
Good, because I have a feeling Bassa will want to hear it!
Once they’d landed, the young men gathered in the debriefing room. Trindel preferred to sit up front, but he remained by his pilot when Byron selected the back row. Wishing to avoid scrutiny, Byron always selected a position that would provide a view of the room. He and Trindel settled in their seats and waited.
The officers’ ships were equipped with recording devices that captured the performances of the teams in training. These images flashed on the screen as Officer Rellen discussed each team. No team had missed their mark, although one team was reprimanded for a yellow light, which signified they’d barely grazed the target. No one received a glowing report, as perfection was expected at their level. Byron had learned to adjust his expectations accordingly and was not surprised.
However, the last drill was discussed in depth. Each team’s run was displayed on the large screen, and Officer Jarth suggested corrections for every approach. When Byron and Trindel’s performance was exhibited, Jarth paused.
“Team 715T tackled the targets with an entirely different approach,” he stated, his tone neutral. “Your maneuver around the second target was acceptable, but it forced you to adjust for the last target. Time was not a factor in this drill, but that adjustment might cost you at a later time.”
Several heads turned in his direction, but Byron kept his eyes on the screen. “I felt a direct shot placed the other ships in the line of fire, sir,” he explained.
“That is true,” Jarth conceded. “The safety of your comrades is a priority, but never anticipate a miss.”
He managed a curt nod, but inside Byron seethed. He never expected to miss his targets.
“The other pilots elected to hit the targets in order,” observed Bassa from the corner of the room.
Every head turned to face the senior officer as he stepped closer. Bassa stared hard at Byron.
“What made you select that particular route?”
The room’s attention shifted to Byron. He gathered his thoughts and projected what he hoped was a calm demeanor.
“Sir, a direct course placed our ship further from the base and exposed,” he explained. “By shooting the far target second instead of last, I placed our ship on a return course to the base and within safe proximity of the squadron.”
Bassa nodded, contemplating Byron’s response. “A logical approach,” he conceded, addressing the men as a whole. “You must learn to think through every decision. The drills are repetitive for a reason. Learn the basics now so that when the time comes, you can make these decisions quickly and accurately.”
He surveyed the room, his expression serious. Turning to Jarth, Bassa nodded.
“You are dismissed!” Officer Jarth announced.
There was a great deal of shuffling as the young men rose to their feet. Bassa watched Byron shoot his navigator a triumpha
nt smile. Trindel did not speak, but his smug expression indicated private thoughts were exchanged. Bassa observed the pair with interest as they departed.
Rellen approached Bassa as the room emptied. “Think you may have boosted his ego to new levels,” he declared.
“Jarth had already pointed out the only error in his approach,” Bassa replied. “Overall, he did select the most logical approach.”
Crossing his arms, Rellen regarded Bassa with skepticism. “Thought you wanted to keep him under control?”
“Considering he deviated from the others at the first opportunity, I’m sure Byron will provide ample occasions for rebuke.”
Rellen nodded in agreement and departed. Bassa remained, still pondering Byron’s actions and explanation. He would indeed require close observation!
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