by Noah Barnett
For a few seconds, Charlie entertained himself imagining the two NPCs secretly hooking up. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Jen and Tobias’s companions dumped their players for each other? He took a sip from his mug to cover his smile.
“So, how do you like the game?”
Tobias shrugged. “The fighting is fun, but there is too much downtime. I suffered through enough ‘hurry-up-and-wait’ in the corps. I’m not the kind of man who can enjoy wasting his time.”
“You were in the Marines?”
“Only long enough to get the free education.”
“Did you see combat?” Elva asked with interest.
“No,” he smiled. “I was part of the Chaplain, which was another reason I wanted out so badly. All the services are non-denominational, which annoyed me. I went to a Christian College for my BA.”
“I see,” Charlie mused. “That explains how we first met. You brought that two-handed blade into a competition match. Everyone else was using pistols, but not you. In Gun Meister, you and it were inseparable. What did you name it again?”
“The Word of God.”
Charlie smirked. “Cute… To be honest, I wondered if your theatrics were an act.”
“I still believe that our mission is righteous,” Tobias said, slipping back into his dogmatic persona. He seemed to be feeling better.
“Well, I’m going to follow Remy’s example. I got up way too early today, so I’m going to rack out.”
Charlie stood, giving Tobias a short wave. Elva took his elbow, and she and Charlie headed back to the bunk room. Tomorrow, he’d be directing a flight of a hundred ships. He needed to sleep and take some time to consider his strategy.
CHAPTER SIX
Day Four - Flight Lead
Charlie yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand. Even with two alarms, breakfast, and a cup of strong coffee, he'd struggled to log into Star Nova. Elva sat dozing against him with her head on his shoulder, while Remy slept against the wall, a blanket wrapped around her body. Jen was fighting a yawn and Tobias knelt on the ground near the entrance. He would have tipped forward and crashed to the floor had Gadreel not been holding his head up.
"You lot look like you need a couple more cups of coffee," Monty chirped, his voice far too energetic. He looked fresh as a daisy in his gray flight suit. Charlie yawned again, forcing himself to stand up and walk around the room. He had to get his head on straight; today he was being tested for flight lead.
"Once we get into the simulators it'll shake the sleep loose," Jen suggested drowsily.
"How can you stay awake for so long?" Charlie asked Monty incredulously.
"I keep myself busy with study. Grace has a gift for teaching, and I've been learning how to pilot the fighter."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to switch roles?"
"Nay, sir." Monty shook his head. "I fear I have grown to enjoy the violence of war."
Jen pushed away from wall, yawning. "I have enough on my plate, so I'll leave the navigating up to Alastair."
Charlie wasn't interested in learning the math either, but maybe he'd eventually pick it up. Elva clung to his arm as he slowly padded around the room, trying to clear the fog from his head.
"Awaken, warrior, our time for battle has come," Gadreel said, nudging Tobias. He dragged his eyes open, apparently by sheer force of will, and looked up. The massive crusader grasped her hands between his and she smiled down at him with her bicolored eyes, readily pulling him up in the low gravity. Though young, she always maintained her poised and collected demeanor.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do today?" Monty asked.
Charlie blew out an explosive breath. "It's going to be like ordering children around, and I don't expect them to listen after combat starts. I think the best I can expect is to point them all in one direction."
"I agree, sadly. The players are no army, and three days of training aren’t enough to make them listen to orders," Jen said, going over to Remy. She nudged the snoring pile of blankets with her boot.
Just then, the simulator cockpits slid open and four players climbed free.
"We won!"
"Congratulations," he said, approaching the woman with the rainbow hair. "Any advice?"
"Our flight leader just bunched everyone together. The Roth split their forces again, so we took out the first group before moving in on the dropships," she said, waving a dismissive hand before bouncing from the room with her wingmates.
That does seem like the simplest solution, he thought.
Charlie helped Elva inside the first simulator pod, and before she put the helmet on, she motioned him to lean in. Long fingers curled into his hair, bringing his mouth to hers in a hard, hot kiss. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.
"How long are you going to make me wait?" she asked, as he caught his breath. With the training, they hadn't yet found time to be alone. The cockpit closed before he could formulate a response. He spun the gunner seat around and climbed in. The canopy slid shut as he pulled the flight helmet over his head.
Light blossomed as the simulation started up. This time, the entire formation was already in space, and ahead of them, Earth floated like a tiny blue dot amid the vast carpet of stars. He checked the controls and saw that his HUD had changed marginally. There were now twenty icons representing the wing leads along the left side, meaning that Charlie had control of one hundred ships. He glanced to the ship console to check his ship statistics. The systems were all green and they had a full tank of fuel and air; plus, two additional Shrike missiles were listed on his weapons loadout.
His radar was currently empty of enemy contacts, so he reached for the joysticks. The turret turned, a hundred green dots coming into view, forming a roughly staggered line in space. As he examined the formation, a window formed in the lower corner. It was the instructor, Mansfield.
"Long range scans show the Roth forces approaching your flight path. You have five minutes to decide how to organize the formation. The objective is to destroy as many Roth ships as possible."
"What am I going to do?" he mused aloud. Sticking together was the best choice, but he could either full-on attack or stay defensive. He'd toyed with the idea of using several staggered lines and letting the Roth slam into the first to start the fighting, while the second would join the fray soon after. His third line would be used as reserves—not that he had many.
After some consideration, he selected wings eleven through twenty. A communications channel was automatically created and he cleared his throat.
"This is flight lead. You are to decelerate at full burn for sixty seconds."
"You're splitting up the lines? Are you—"
He closed the channel, cutting off whatever the person had been about to say. The next line he was planning to send into reserve, and he wanted it to include his own wing. He selected wings one through five and the comm channel connected.
"Wings One through Five, accelerate at full burn for sixty seconds," he instructed, then closed the connection. The long, ragged line of fighters began to split apart. Fifty fell back toward the oncoming Roth fighters, while his ship and twenty-four others flew ahead. He opened another connection with his wingmates, waiting nervously until the first enemy contacts began filling his radar list.
"Well, that's it," he radioed. "Once things kick off, the fighting will be fast and furious."
The comm crackled.
"Wing Thirteen to flight lead, you do realize that all the Roth are coming?"
He blinked.
"All of them?"
"I see two hundred fighters on my radar and they're closing in fast."
He would have sworn if he’d been by himself. This scenario was completely different from the one the previous group had described.
"Roger that, stay in formation."
He closed the connection, grimacing. His first line was going to get slammed by two hundred fighters. That was four to one odds, but reg
ardless of the numbers, his plan was still sound.
He tapped an icon on his display. "Elva, please rotate the fighter. I'd like to see what's going on."
The Jaguar spun to face the battle, which was already starting, green and red icons mixing in violent flashes of light. There were a lot more enemy fighters this time.
He selected wings five through nine and a channel opened. Several of the pilots were already talking.
"They're fucking dying in there."
"I know. When is he going to let us go in?"
"This is flight lead," he barked over them. "Decelerate towards combat and engage the enemy."
He closed the connection before any of them could respond. Almost immediately, the next five wings dropped back toward the Roth. Wing leaders began disappearing from his list as the battle raged.
He scrolled down the list of enemy contacts, trying to decide when to send in the last line. The humans were down to about forty fighters out of seventy-five, but the Roth had lost almost sixty Interceptors. That brought them down to a hundred and forty, so he keyed the final five wings.
"This is lead. Give ’em hell," he said ferociously. For a second, he considered ordering Elva to skirt the battle so he could keep watch, but decided against it. He was itching for some blood and it wasn't likely he'd have to give any further orders. The die had been cast.
The Jaguar's engines kicked on full blast as the fighter accelerated toward the combat zone, along with twenty-five other fresh fighters. Someone was playing heavy metal music through the comms and Charlie smirked, glancing at his weapons loadout. He selected a Shrike missile from the list and picked the closest target.
Ahead of him, an Interceptor was fixated on a wildly weaving human fighter, and the bouncing circle danced around his crosshairs as the missile locked. The weapon streaked away as he squeezed the trigger, but he didn't wait to see if it hit, just selected the second Shrike and another target.
This one was further away, and the lockup took more time—but just as he fired, the Jaguar jerked sideways, narrowly dodging enemy laser fire. His missile lock failed and the Shrike flew off into space as Elva twisted the ship, pouring on thrust as two more beams cut across their prow.
"Good dodge," he said absently.
"I saw their contacts closing in." She sounded out of breath.
He picked one of the approaching ships, this time selecting a Wasp, and as the enemy fighter shot past he locked onto its engine plume. The Wasp dropped away, chasing after the turning enemy, and this time he did track the missile with his crosshairs. It curved in a tight arc, following the Roth's wake, and he grinned as the enemy ship blew apart in a bright, fiery explosion.
Elva rotated the Jaguar on another vector and burned forward again. He had one Wasp left, but he took a moment to glance at his radar list. They were only ten minutes into the simulation. Today's battle had been brutally fast, and only twenty Roth remained. However, his side had been equally decimated. Charlie's wing had three fighters left, but everyone else had scattered and altogether there were less than a dozen friendlies fighting to survive.
He selected everyone remaining and opened a comm channel.
"All ships converge on flight lead."
This time, instead of back talk, he heard a chorus of affirmatives.
Charlie kept his final Wasp in reserve but selected one of the targets closing in on them. The turret rotated, and he caught sight of a laser beam as it slid past, passing just behind them. He waited until Elva's next maneuver was complete, then aimed at the enemy ship. A ghostly circle appeared where the computer was predicting the enemy would be and he squeezed the trigger.
The twin auto-cannons began to flash, sending glowing lead into space. He tracked the pip as the stream caught up with the vessel and the Interceptor tumbled suddenly through space as the slugs slammed into the ship. Several more rounds tore apart the small craft, and he switched targets.
"I have four on me," Jen called.
"Can you get us on Jen's tail?" he asked Elva.
"I can try."
The Jaguar turned toward one of the dancing green icons. There were more than four fighters chasing it. Far more. The Roth still held the numerical advantage, and he was down to only eight planes.
He selected the closest target and the Wasp immediately caught the scent of the Interceptor’s engine trail. He fired the weapon as soon as he heard the tone indicating that he was locked onto the enemy ship, then switched to a second one. Lasers were flicking out at Jen's desperately spinning ship.
"Jen, point your craft at my ship."
Her icon turned toward him and he aimed at one of the ships following behind her, pressing down hard on the trigger. Glowing lead slid past the passing Jaguar to slam into the enemy Interceptor, but two other Roth fired their lasers and the red beams sliced into her from behind, cutting her ship down the middle.
"Damn it!"
He selected the next target. They were closing in fast, so he quickly positioned the Jaguar’s cannon onto the enemy vessel. The two ships passed within a thousand meters of each other, and he caught sight of the Roth pilot just as the bullets smashed into its cockpit.
Seconds later, a laser beam blindsided him, the red light playing over the side of the craft coming toward him. He had just enough time to admire the way the black armor bubbled and melted away before the laser sliced through the gunner’s cockpit, the tempered glass providing little protection.
Darkness enveloped him before the canopy slid open. He dragged the damp helmet from his head, standing shakily. The pilot's cockpit was already open, and for once, Elva looked slightly dazed. She wiped the sweat from her face and neck with an expression of disgust. She’d never had to deal with bodily fluids when she’d been a weapon and it showed in her surprise.
"What is this?" she asked, sniffing the arm of her flight suit.
"That’s your body odor, little lady," he informed her. It was the scent of a woman after a hard workout, and he caught her hand.
"The developers must have put in a patch last night so you get to experience all the sordid and stinky pleasures of being human," he said, helping her down from the ladder and following the others into the packed conference room.
Lieutenant Mansfield was in conference with another uniformed man whom Charlie didn’t recognize. They were talking quietly over a pair of tablets and he wondered how badly he'd failed. Things had not gone well, in his opinion, but at least they'd given the Roth hell. He sat and waited as the last of the players filtered into the room.
After a few minutes, the older man left, and Mansfield activated the display screen.
"I'm going to break down the battle in detail," he explained, pointing to the holofield. "The Roth changed things up this time, leaving the dropships to fly ahead."
He indicated an extended swarm of red dots. While the Interceptors moved forward, the humans shifted into three staggered lines.
"This is also the first time the Roth have committed their entire force, so you were outnumbered two to one. You did well, and most of you managed multiple kills. We destroyed a hundred and ninety Roth fighters. They are classifying this as a loss but awarding bonus points for the use of reserve units," he said, pointing the remote toward the display. The image changed to show a graph.
"This is a timeline of the battle. You can see our forces steadily dwindling, but you'll notice two spikes in enemy losses. One at five minutes, and another, larger one, at ten minutes. This was due to fresh Jaguars entering combat.
"All in all, I am quite pleased with the outcome; however, two earlier flights completed the scenario. We're not high on the list at the moment. My only suggestion at this point is for the pilots. You should get together and practice flight maneuvers so that you can work together to bring the enemy ships into your gunner's crosshairs."
Another click of the remote, and the images disappeared.
"Tomorrow, Spanky is up for flight lead. You have the rest of the day off. Practice, eat, or go b
ack to sleep; it's up to you."
He clapped his hands together. "Dismissed."
Charlie stood with his squad, feeling annoyed and dejected. He'd made a significant tactical error.
"I should have ordered the reserve wings to attack the dropships. They were left undefended."
"The enemy Interceptors are faster than our Jaguars. They may have finished off the rest of our forces and still had time to catch up," Elva said, pulling his bicep against her chest. She wrinkled her nose at his stink but didn't pull away.
"Maybe," he mused. He glanced over at his team. "If anyone needs money, just let me know. I think Elva and I have a date with a shower and a bar of soap."
