“Third section of Blue squadron, scramble back out. Mongol, you’re in charge of the section, report in to White Knight on the ground link channel, she’ll give you your assignments.”
“Thank you, sir!” Mongol grinned and he raced out of the room, followed by three other pilots.
Round Top came in to the room and Jason went up to him and shook his hand.
“Damned fine work, Round Top, another couple of missions and you’ll be an ace.”
“I was scared to death the whole time,” Round Top said sheepishly.
“Good, stay scared, and just keep shooting straight.”
Jason turned away, barely noticing the cup of coffee that one of the pilots put in his hand as he punched up the situation board on the holo screen to check on the status of each spacecraft. Three fighters, one recon, and one Sabre fighter/bomber were down for repairs and off the mission list.
Doomsday came into the room and angrily threw his helmet on a chair.
“They’re picking up Griffin and his tail gunner right now. The kid sounded badly shaken.”
“Hell it took a week to stop the shakes after my first eject,” Jason said.
“His co, Jim Conklin, is dead.”
Jason nodded, he had assumed that one of the crew was gone.
“That little spoiled jerk screwed it.”
Jason said nothing, looking back at the status board. Kevin was on final approach for landing.
Jason walked out of the room and back out on to the flight deck. Tolwyn’s fighter was pulled off the flight line and came to a stop. The canopy popped open and an exuberant pilot stood up and climbed out of his ship, joyfully slapping his ground crew chief on the back.
“I got one, I got a Drakhri,” Kevin announced, coming towards Jason.
Jason said nothing, looking at Kevin coldly.
“Didn’t you hear me, sir? I got a Drakhri.”
“First off it was a Sartha, so get your plane recognition straight.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I guess I’m just excited.”
“That Sabre you were supposed to cover,” Jason started, his voice cold.
“That Sartha was coming straight in on us,” Kevin interrupted, “I snapped a thousand clicks ahead to meet him and the furball turned and ran back towards the moon’s surface. I figured if I didn’t nail him right there he’d be back up for more trouble, maybe hit some of the medevac’s coming back up. So I went down and got him.”
Jason said nothing in reply.
“The Sabre got back all right?” Kevin asked, his voice suddenly nervous.
“You fell for the oldest trick in the book. Lure away the escorts and then jump the bombers. Three Kilrathi sortied as soon as you were clear. They got the ship.”
Kevin looked at the deck.
“The crew?”
“Remember Jim Conklin?”
“Yeah.”
“Well remember him, he’s dead.”
“What about Griffin and Tarku?” he whispered, his head lowered.
“Rescue is picking them up.”
Kevin stood silent.
“You killed Jim Conklin because you were out after glory. You wanted a kill and you disobeyed my order to stay with the cripple.”
“But sir—”
“Don’t ’but sir’ me,” Jason said softly, his voice barely raised, ground crews not twenty feet away not even aware that a major chewing out was in progress.
“I didn’t get the order,” Kevin said quietly.
“Let me guess, your radio was on the blink.”
Kevin nodded.
“I got scorched a bit down on the planet, it was drifting in and out.”
“That’s bull. That line’s been out there since pilots first flew and wanted to ignore an order. So don’t hand that crap to me, mister.”
Kevin looked at him defiantly.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You’re grounded, mister. I’m giving your ship to Nova, her ship got shot up.”
“She can’t fly worth a damn.”
“I don’t give a damn if she couldn’t fly through the middle of the Ring Nebula with her eyes open. I’d rather have her on my wing than you,” Jason snarled, raising his voice for the first time. “You’re confined to quarters.”
Kevin turned and stalked off, his face pale, and Jason returned to the ready room.
Doomsday came over to Jason’s side.
“So what are you going to do with Tolwyn?”
“I grounded him for the duration of this mission.”
“Grounded him? That damned spoiled brat should have his wings permanently clipped. We lost a Sabre because of him and a damned promising copilot.”
Jason nodded.
He noticed Sparks standing to one side.
“What the hell is it now, Sparks?”
“Sir, Lone Wolf’s crew chief just told me that the kid’s entire bottom shielding is gone, his durasteel armor down to just twenty millimeters. He was scorching it close.”
“And his radio?”
“Blown out, sir.”
“Thanks Sparks, and sorry I barked.”
“It’s all right, sir,” and again she flashed her radiant smile and went back to overseeing her crews.
Jason sighed and looked back at Doomsday.
“I think he made a judgement call, and figured that it was best to dump that Kilrathi before he got away. It’s just that he guessed wrong. He disobeyed standard operating procedures in leaving a crippled plane. If nothing had happened I’d have chewed him out a little and then sent him on his way. As to the radio? Maybe it did blink out before the Sabre was lost, maybe it didn’t, but you know we’ve all used that excuse when we were out after a kill we just didn’t want to get away.”
Doomsday chuckled and nodded.
“I think his killer instinct took over,” Jason continued. “It’s what makes us fighter pilots rather than jockeying some damned transport ship back in the rear, or teaching ground school to a bunch of pimply kids. He’s got the killer instinct, and we need more like him. We’ve just got to break him first, rub that snobby upper crust crap out of his hide, teach him the ropes, and teach him to think with his head, rather than fly like another Maniac.”
“What about Conklin?”
“War kills people,” Jason said quietly. “It’s another letter for me to write. But we got off light for a bunch of amateur kids. I was expecting five times as many casualties.”
“I still think that kid is a spoiled brat and a royal pain in the ass.”
“Oh, I fully agree,” Jason replied, “but someday he just might make a damned fine fighter pilot.”
“My lord Thrakhath.”
He turned his chair to look at the messenger. Something was wrong; it was evident by the young warrior’s face. This one could not conceal his emotions, not a good thing for a staff officer. Even in the worst of times he expected absolute calm.
“Go on then.”
“We’ve just received this communication from Imperial Fleet Command.”
The messenger placed a sheet of folded paper on Thrakhath’s desk, the top cover of the sheet bearing the red triangle denoting that the message was top secret.
“Have you read the message?”
“I was the one who transcribed it, sire, as it came through the coding system.”
“Now tell me this, Jamuka,” Thrakhath said quietly, looking up at the messenger. “Did you walk or run from the communications center?”
“I walked, sire.”
“You lie, you are breathing heavily.”
The messenger was unable to reply.
“Consider what is now occurring aboard my ship. You are seen running, your expression one of agitation, something is therefore wrong. In your hand is a message bearing a top secret code stamp, and I am willing to venture that you carried it with the code marking face outward because you wanted others to see just how important you were, bearing a secret communication to my office. Am I not right?”