He put his gear on and walked out to the flightline. Several of his old squadron mates were waiting for him, including Angie. He was bombarded with questions, like did he still remember how to wear his helmet and did he need a barf bag. Kelly took the good-natured ribbing in stride. After all, he was about to climb back into the cockpit of a fighter again.
Major Brown’s crew chief helped them both into the cockpit and checked that all was secure and as it should be. Major Brown fired up the F-53B and took a salute from his crew chief. He moved the fighter from its parking space and onto the taxiway. He lined it up on the runway and turned the controls over to Kelly.
“Kelly, I’m signed for this thing. Just don’t break it.”
Kelly did a quick instrument scan, pushed his head back against the headrest and kicked the throttle to the stop. He pulled straight back on the stick and aimed for space. In just a few minutes, he was back in outer space behind the controls of a fighter.
Major Brown came on the intercom, “Man, I didn’t think this heavy lady could do that. Now I know how those early astronauts felt being strapped on top of a rocket and blasted into space. That was some ride. What do you want to do now?”
“Turn your sensors on. I anticipate some company.”
Major Brown turned his sensors from collision avoidance to all around combat sweep. It was only a few minutes before the ship warned of approaching fighters. He checked the monitor and saw three ships in tight formation and one lagging behind. Janey, Angie, John, and Angie’s new wingman were coming up to play.
“You might want to tighten your straps, Major. It’s going to get a little bumpy. Activate the combat sim, if you would, sir.”
Major Brown was laughing when he keyed his intercom, “Okay, Kelly, combat sim is on and I’m strapped in securely. Let’s see if you still remember how to do this.”
Kelly punched the throttle to the stop again. He watched the reaction as Janey’s flight realized he was on to them. They split into two groups of two, accelerated, and attempted to come up on each side of them. That was their fatal mistake. Kelly frantically programmed the ship’s computer.
He waited until they were almost in firing range at max velocity and hit the execute key. The fighter spun on its axis, facing toward the pursuers and fired two notional mini-seekers at John Kanakis and Angie’s wingman. Then the ship’s engines fired, bringing them to a dead stop in space. The G-forces caused both Kelly and the Major to black out temporarily. When they came to, the ship had spun back and the four ships were in front of them. A quick flick on the control stick, a short burst from the guns, and Angie was out of the fight. Kelly turned on Janey’s fighter. She jinked left, right, up, and down, but Kelly stayed right on her tail. He finished her off with another mini-seeker.
His screen showed another healthy fighter coming up under him on an intercept course. Kelly pushed hard on the stick to line up with the fighter coming up from below. When he was lined up on a collision course, he pushed down on the stick again to look like he was chickening out. The other fighter changed angle to shoot him through the cockpit. Kelly let him come on a little bit more then then pulled up hard on the stick and fired the nose rockets to drop the nose down and fired off a burst from his guns as he blew past underneath.
LTC Matthews came up on the communicator laughing, “Okay all, Kelly is too good for us. Let’s head down to the base.”
The flight of four joined up on the squadron commander’s ship and Kelly lined up to the left of them. As they got within the pattern, they peeled off single file and made individual approaches to the spaceport. When the wheels hit the taxiway, Major Brown took over the controls and taxied the fighter into its place on the apron.
The crew chief came over with the personnel ladder and helped Kelly and Major Brown get unhooked from the fighter. They dropped down from the fighter and walked into the squadron equipment room. Janey and her flight were lined up inside the door on their knees and bowing for him, “Oh mighty ex-fighter pilot, we bow and scrape before you.”
Kelly helped them up off the floor and laughed with them, saying, “I guess some folks owe me a beer or four.”
LTC Matthews entered the room and said, “A beer or five, I believe.”
Major Brown piped up, “A beer or six, that was one hell of a ride I went on.”
LTC Matthews said, “Kelly, get your captain and meet us at the Officers Club tonight about 1900. We’ll celebrate the successful test and bid farewell to Antares. We’ll need to leave in two days for Tau Ceti if we are going to beat the Bolivar back. It’ll be good to knock back a few and swap space stories.”
Kelly looked around at the warmth in the faces and said he would ask the captain.
Kelly changed out of his flight gear and headed for the Vigilant. Angie caught up with him. “Hey guy, that was some fantastic flying today. If you could have stayed in the Fighter Force, I think you would have been a major force in fighter tactics. Your off-axis tactics are so hard to defend against. I recorded all your engagements and have been studying them. I’m not as good as you, but I’m practicing.”
“Tonight, don’t drink too much. I’d like you to come to my room again tonight so I can say goodbye properly.”
“Well, I have at least six beers to drink tonight. I’ll make sure to snack all night so I don’t disappoint you.”
Angie looked to make sure no one was around and gave Kelly a quick kiss. She turned and hurried off to the flight line. Kelly went back to the Vigilant and told the captain about the party. Janey had already invited him and he was looking forward to it.
The captain asked how his flight went. Kelly told him, with sweeping hand gestures, about smoking his entire old flight and the squadron commander. LCDR Timmons laughed and mumbled as he walked off, “Once a fighter pilot, always a fighter pilot.”
As 1900 approached, the captain stuck his head in Kelly’s quarters and said it was time to go. Kelly closed down the terminal, where he was double-checking some personnel actions that were to go for the captain’s approval. They could wait until tomorrow.
They found the nearest waiting shuttle and rode over to the Officers Club. When they got there, the party was already going strong. Angie met Kelly at the door, handed him a beer, and gave him a kiss. Janey did the same for LCDR Timmons.
Major Brown came over with the ancient ceremonial red fuzzy high top hat of dubious origin. He indicated that LCDR Timmons should put it on and that he was being made an honorary member of the fighting 68th. Kelly started laughing, because he had been through this particular ceremony himself. Major Brown took LCDR Timmons’ beer, handed it off to someone, and stood on a chair to get everyone’s attention. Kelly and Angie stood back.
“We’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the presence of an outsider in our midst, begging entry into our august body. I present to the Fighting 68th an insecure Fleet officer incapable of going into space by himself, a so-so officer, and a miserable human being wishing to improve his lot in life by sharing the company of the finest, deadliest, craftiest, fighter pilots in the known universe.” A loud cheer erupted.
“I offer up, for your consideration, one LCDR Edgar Timmons. LCDR Timmons comes to us as a fellow warrior against the K’Rang. He is, unfortunately, burdened by having had to accept a former member of this august body into his crew and somehow turn him into a proper Fleet officer. Now we all know how ineffective this former member of the venerable 68th was and still is today, but it is a task that may make LCDR Timmons worthy to grace our presence. Pilots of the Fighting 68th, what say you?”
A resounding nay boomed through the club followed by gales of laughter.
“LCDR Timmons, the Fighting 68th has spoken. Even though we don’t want you, all the other squadrons in Fighter Force voted before us and they don’t want you either. I guess we’re stuck with you. Members of the Fighting 68th, fill your glasses. Thank providence that we are not currently subject to the damn Fleet regulations against alcohol on ships. Fill your glasses and toast our newest honorary squab, Edgar Timmons.”