by A. D. Bloom
"But the 111 is an autonomous drone," he said. "It has an AI. Did they take it out?"
"The geeks say we can cut our training time for combat pilots by 95% by leaving the Bitzers' artificially intelligent brains intact and using them to help the novice pilots fly."
"You said we'd be in control. That's not in control."
"You will be in control. We put reins on the AI. In precisely the same way that a horse does the running for the cavalry, you say where the Bitzer goes, and it goes. You steer, and the artificial intelligence handles balancing the main thrusters and the 96 maneuvering jets and all the overwhelmingly complex operations required to actually fly the craft. You will direct its flight. You will tell the Bitzer where to go with your hands and your feet and your thoughts. By leveraging the AI, we will have you combat ready in under twenty-four days."
This was impossible as far as he knew. Nobody learns to fly in under 24 days. Period. This had to be a setup, a sucker-deal of some kind, but he just couldn't guess their game and like everyone else, at this point, he kept his mouth shut because who wants to go back to prison? What worried him most was that Staas Company had lots of 111 drones lying around to convert. Their new Bitzers were cheap to produce. Losing them would cost Staas Company so little they'd barely notice...
"You're the first class of untrained pilots to learn on the Bitzer – the first of thousands of new pilots we will train to win this war. Alright, nuggets," Burn said. "When I give the word, you will put on your helmet, follow the visor-projected navigational arrows, and step to your fighters."
Standing under his own plane for the first time, it finally looked big enough to intimidate him. Four, massive and symmetrical spurs protruded from the aft end of the rounded hull, housing the maneuvering thrusters. Hit those thrusters wrong and you'd spin so fast you'd snap your own neck.
C-block had looks on their faces like kids at Christmas. He'd never seen them look that happy before. It had to be a raw deal, but he didn't want to say it.
Burn said, "You will approach from the starboard side of your one-five-one. You will climb the ladder rungs currently extending from your cockpit. When you are sufficiently high, you will identify the dual release mechanisms that are painted orange and clearly labeled and you will use them to open the cockpit. Go." Nobody moved fast enough. "Go, go, GO!" Burn shouted, and he jumped up the ladder rungs.
He found the two cockpit releases. He gripped the bar, twisted and pulled like the arrows said to, and the front of the coffin-shaped vertical cockpit swung open on its own power. Inside was a cross between a pilot's seat and a gravity couch, heavily padded. The entire instrument panel and the simplified flight controls were mounted on the cockpit's front lid along with two sticks and pedals. It wasn't what he'd expected.
Burn said, "With your right hand, you will grip the starboard side cockpit handhold located just inside the cockpit. You will set your right foot on the red, foot-shaped silhouette marked with a counter-clockwise arrow. You will pivot on that foot in that direction until you are standing and facing forward in the open cockpit of your Bitzer."
Once he was inside, standing as Burn had described, the lid of the coffin closed and the flight couch molded to the shape of his flight suit. The dual stick and pedal controls leaned towards him from the cockpit's lid and put themselves in his hands and under his feet. "Extend your flight-helmet's power and secure data feed umbilical as indicated in your visor." The arrows projected in his visor blinked and pointed at the fat data-feed already extending itself from the right side of the cockpit like a decapitated snake. "Plug it in."
Burn walked up and down the ranks and files and made sure every cockpit door had closed. "You guys are awful quiet in there." She stepped towards her own fighter, parked in the very front of the pack, and began to climb the ladder. "The artificial intelligence is simple, non-networked, and incorruptible. It's also canine-based."
"Why didn't they make it like... the red baron or something?"
"Complex, human-based AIs go insane. That's why they're mostly illegal. You won't have that problem with these," Burn said from inside her cockpit. "They're so simple, it's elegant." Her fighter lifted off the deck, withdrew its three landing gear and jittered left a centimeter and then right a centimeter with little bursts off her maneuvering jets. "All the AI inside your Bitzer wants is to chase and kill things without proper IFF transponders. Listen carefully people. Today, the stupid AIs are smarter than you are. Today, you're going to learn from them. For now, keep your hands off the reins and let the Bitzers do the flying."
The lights surrounding the bay's main doors began to flash. When they opened, he could make out Earth, far off, like a shiny blue bead against the starry black.
"You may notice the large, red button located to the port side of the cockpit." It was the big kind – the kind you hit with a gloved fist and not a single finger. It was made to be found and punched easily when under duress. Burn said, "Under no circumstances are you to push the large, red button."
"What does it do?"
"It gets you booted out of here and sent back to prison. That's what it does. Do not push the red button."
Burn whooped like a banshee cowgirl as she blasted off hard and fast into the black. His F-151 and all the others shot after her. A few of the C-block nuggets cried out in sheer terror as they got pressed back into their flight couches by the gees, but he'd always loved that feeling.
The pack circled Arbitrage with the AIs inside the Bitzers jockeying and racing each other to be in the front of the formation. He couldn't see the other pilot's faces, but as the pack rounded the bow on the first turn, they weren't screaming over comms anymore.
After they pulled through the inertial gees in the bottom of the turn, the 151s dug in and chased Burn's plasma tail hard. Arbitrage's port side whizzed past, and ahead of them, he saw Burn pivot on her maneuvering jets and rotate her Bitzer to face the pack. Just after she passed the ship's bow, the little jets flared on her maneuvering thrusters, and her fighter slid sideways, still facing the rear. As they neared the bow of the ship, too, she came into profile and said, "You nuggets are gonna feel this one." He thought he might have heard her snicker just before she leaned on the rear thrusters hard and blasted herself back down the ship's starboard side. She grunted with the gees and, a couple of seconds later, he felt them himself when the pack of 151s chasing her pulled the same maneuver.
The Bitzer's pinch couldn't counter all the inertial gees. The numbers projected in his visor told him what he flew was a twenty-five gee maneuver, but what he felt after the pinch did its trick was just over five gees. That was impressive, but he knew these planes would have to fly a lot harder than this to keep up with the aliens' fighters. That's what the big red button had to be for. He was sure of it.
Chapter Six
He decided Shafter had written the Manual of Exo-Atmospheric Fighter Combat himself. Shafter's name wasn't anywhere in the document, but he could hear his grim-faced commander's voice when he read it. "Aerial combat is a 250-year-old tradition with a canon of tried, trusted, and proven maneuvers that have been relevant and useful to combat pilots flying endo-atmospheric planes from Sopwith Camels to 13th Gen Sukkhois and Sub-orbital stutter-jets. Nearly all of these maneuvers have been developed to help the fighter pilot accomplish one goal: to move his plane in a manner that allows him to put his weapons on target and blow his opponent from the skies. In space, the goal is the same, but there's significant differences in the maneuvers used to achieve it.
"Lift isn't holding the fighter up, so it doesn't need to face the direction of travel to keep wind rushing over the wings. It can face any direction relative to its path of travel and it's impossible to stall. An exo-atmospheric fighter is always in a state of hyper-maneuverability. This radically changes what is required to achieve a firing solution and the tactics employed to that end.
"Throw away the defining energy-management components of most classic maneuvers like the high and low yo-yo. If you cha
se an opponent through a turn then pull up and roll down on him across the circle, then you won't store any of your speed away when you climb and you won't pick up any when you turn and dive back in. The only thing that can manage speed is thrust. The yo-yo is still a useful maneuver, but to accomplish it, be prepared to feel some heavy gees when firing the primary thrusters against your path of travel.
"Even without atmosphere and gravity, some things are so fundamental to aerial combat that they remain unchanged no matter where the battle takes place. 1. Speed is life. 2. Teamwork is essential. Remember: The ultimate maneuverability of any manned fighter craft is determined not only by what the craft is capable of achieving, but also by what the pilot is capable of surviving."
*****
Shafter and Burn lectured on tactics and formations, showing them how they should fly a combat spread and use the advantages of the Loose Deuce and how to use the separate flight elements of the Fluid 4 to put an adversary in a bad spot. It was all worthwhile, but whenever his instructors were lecturing, he just wanted to get back out there.
The sticks and pedal were a fully bi-directional feedback system that moved with the Bitzer's thrusters and jets as much as they commanded them, so he learned to fly by holding the sticks and pedals loosely as the 151s followed Burn through turns and loops and rolls. He felt how the sticks and pedals moved for each kind of maneuver and he learned to make them move like that again. In just days, he was the one holding the reins.
*****
A week after they got in their cockpits, the nuggets had their first 2 on 2 skirmishes over Europa – a chance to practice engagements using what they'd learned. Burn watched from Arbitrage where she could see everything and everyone projected in the air in front of her on the tactical display and observe with painful clarity how the C-Block nuggets performed.
Sparking practice rounds disintegrated on the hull and lit the Bitzers up with flashes. Michelob cursed over squadron comms. "Shut the hell up," Burn said in their ears, "You're dead. You spun on your jets to get that shot and left yourself drifting sideways like a target drone. All four of you were pathetic. Both flights will clean the redsuits' head tonight. Next match-up... Gusher, you're flight leader. Holdout, you're his wingman. Form up in Loose Deuce. Take a spin around Europa and get ready for J. Colt and Marchett to intercept you. Colt, you're in the lead. Vector 035 by 114 to intercept."
He and Marchett felt constant gees pressing them back into the flight couches as they accelerated in a wide, counter-clockwise orbit high over Europa's cracked ice. Jupiter loomed behind them like something hungry and predatory. Arbitrage hung silhouetted against bright and lurid bands of color.
Gusher and Holdout would come around Europa's limb in less than a minute. He and Marchett had orders to fly 'round the night side and engage, but he realized that after they came out of shadow, the sun would 'come up' in line with Gusher's probable attack vector. The vector Burn had put him on would give Gusher and his wingman the advantage. If Gusher was awake, then he'd see the opportunity he had to adjust his own attack vector just a little and put the sun right behind him like fighter pilots had been taught to do for centuries. He'd be nearly invisible on LiDAR.
"Marchett, this is a setup. Gush and Holdout are gonna come at us out of the sun and we're not going to see a damn thing until we've lost initiative."
"Sun's pretty small this far out," Marchett said. "They're gonna have to fly real tight to hide in it. If they're jammed up too tight..."
"Do it," he said. "I'll fly in and be the bait."
After Marchett peeled off, he went in alone. The lightning flashes in Europa's night-side clouds rushed past under him, between his feet. He looked up to his two o'clock high, right into the raw sunlight. Gusher and Holdout should be up there now, he thought. C'mon, Gusher, I'm an easy kill. Come get your cake.
He spotted them where he thought they'd be when Holdout slipped out of position. For half-a-second, he had to pretend he didn't see Gusher and Holdout there, rolling in on him. Then, he pretended to panic. He pushed and pulled the sticks and visualized the defensive barrel roll that he could almost do all by himself now. His 151 spun around its direction of travel like it was flying down the outside of a pipe.
They slowed in behind him and tightened up even more. Holdout was so close on Gusher's tail that if she slipped to starboard, she'd cross his exhaust.
Marchett came at them from over the pole. He attacked high on their 3 o'clock and when they saw him and they saw he'd have Holdout lined up for the kill in just a couple of seconds, Gusher must have called for a defensive split because Holdout veered up and left while Gusher went low and right to try and come in on Marchett's tail as he chased her.
Holdout went evasive and after Colt turned in on Gusher's 4 o'clock, both of the 'enemy' fighters were on the defensive.
While Holdout flew like mad to evade him, Marchett changed targets and spun his Bitzer, pitch, roll, and yaw until his cannons pointed at Gusher who was still on the run from Colt's guns and tightly pinned in the bottom of a high-gee turn.
Marchett had him. He fired a gratuitously long blast and hosed down Gusher's starboard side and cockpit with practice rounds. Burn called out: "Kill. Kill. Kill. Gusher you are dead, bloody meat."
Holdout finally realized Marchett had broken off her and tried to bring her guns to bear. Marchett was still rotated out of his line of travel and the only way to keep from getting dusted was to change direction, but that meant applying lots of thrust outside his path of travel and pulling some dangerous gees.
Marchett hit the thrust hard and begin to pull through it, but halfway through the maneuver, where the gees were heaviest, the fighter faltered. It broke from its path for just a fraction of a second. That was enough to tell him that Marchett had passed out. Marchett was now unconscious and the 151's AI had taken over complete control of the craft.
Holdout spun her fighter on its jets like a top, chasing Marchett with her stream of fire. She peppered his Bitzer with practice rounds, but she'd made herself an easy kill with the same mistake. Less than a second later, Colt buzzed her within a few meters of her cockpit, so close that he could see her face in her helmet lit up by all the sparking practice rounds bouncing off her canopy. "And...that's a kill," Burn confirmed. "J, when your sorry-ass wingman wakes up, tell him his new name is Snooze."
"Snooze?"
The whole squadron said it once on comms themselves like they were trying it out to see how it felt. It fit. Snooze was always willing to pull a high-gee maneuver he couldn't take and have himself a nap. He did it a couple times a day now. Even if Marchett was awake, he wouldn't have gotten to say anything about his new name, but as it was, Snooze was still out cold.
*****
Nobody even noticed the nosebleeds anymore. Snooze always got the bleeds after pulling hard gees. After today's exercise, he sat on his steel bunk and leaned his head back while the blood dripped on the front of his exosuit. Other pilots were showering, but Snooze looked like he needed to rest more than he needed to be clean. He shook his head while he pinched his nose. "Snooze." The man certainly didn't like his new name much. Colt thought it might have been because Marchett had been working so hard to deceive them and his new nickname didn't do much to help him get away with it.
It wasn't just that Snooze was always ready to pull an extreme, high-gee maneuver that was guaranteed to knock him out. Some of the not-so-extreme maneuvers were too much for him. He'd managed to cover that up so far by making sure that if he was going to lose it, then he'd lose it doing a hardcore maneuver, pulling over 30 gees instead of something he'd be expected to complete. That way, he didn't look like a dying pussy who couldn't hack it.
"It was that cheap-ass Brazilian gene-cutter," Snooze said. "Lemme tell, you, boyo. You gotta change your identity, then don't do it the way I did it. Full body cellular rewrite can mess you up."
"I'll try and remember that."
Not being able to hack the gees was going to get Snooze killed. They b
oth knew it. There wasn't much to say about it either. He wouldn't have stopped flying even if it was an option. The big question was: why did Burn let him keep going? If she'd named Marchett 'Snooze' like she did, then she'd figured out his weakness. She knew his tendency to pass out during extreme ACM made Snooze more than a little dangerous to fly with. In any normal training program, the instructors would be weeding pilots like him out for the safety of the other pilots. By all rights, Marchett should already be gone and on his way back to prison. But he wasn't.
In fact, plenty of less-than-perfect pilots were being allowed to continue flying with problems so big that no amount of heart could fix them or compensate. Snooze wasn't the only one. Calvino, aka Yellowpack, was just plain panicky. Kim got named Flats because his brain just didn't seem to work in three dimensions. Telly Lyons got named Dirty because when it got crazy, she had a tendency to hyperventilate over her mic for about fifteen seconds until her rebreather adjusted her mix.
Deficiencies like these abounded and they were the sort of thing that would get pilots killed, so why didn't Shafter and Burn bounce anyone? Why did they knowingly keep pilots who could get other pilots killed? The only answer he could come up with was that Shafter and Burn thought their new pilots were all going to die anyway.
Chapter Seven
In the third week, the Opposing Force exercises began. Shafter, Topper, and Dig (the only remaining experienced Lancers besides Burn) played the part of the Squidies.
