Last Flight of the Acheron

by Rick Partlow

  “If the missile cutter concept doesn’t work, there is no plan B. We’re bringing two more Strike Wings online next week, and Admiral Sato has authorized me to make whatever changes I consider necessary, up to and including wholesale tactical and strategic reassessments. To answer your question, I can look at recordings all day long and I can get ideas that are mostly armchair quarterbacking. I’ve never flown anything but a desk.” He pointed to a slender, dark-complexioned Captain seated beside the DSI agent. “Captain Chacko here has logged more hours in a ground support fighter than I’ve spent filling out travel vouchers, but he’s never fought the Tahni. He’s never flown a missile cutter.” He was starting to remind me of old videos I’d seen of blood-and-thunder evangelical preachers.

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice softer now, his eyes darkly intense, “what we need to do to beat them.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do you think they listened?” Ash whispered the words into my hair.

  I didn’t answer for a moment, drowsy and satisfied and breathing in the smell of his sweat. His chest was muscled and smooth and comfortable. I tried to look up into his eyes, but the room was too dark to see him. It wasn’t much as quarters went, small and cluttered and bare white when there was light enough to see it, but I was happy to be back. I was happy to be alive, happy to not be in a cell somewhere awaiting court-martial. It was so much more than I’d expected yesterday when I’d come out of T-space in the Huntress.

  “I think they did. A little, anyway.”

  We’d been in that conference room for hours yesterday. They hadn’t been satisfied with verbal recommendations, either; they’d had the four of us break down every second of the mission from the logs of every ship that had survived. By the end, I’d felt wrung out and exhausted and I’d imagined I was going straight back to my quarters and passing out; but when we’d arrived at my door, Ash had kissed me and I’d found myself suddenly interested in other things beside sleep.

  “Hell, even if they don’t change anything else,” I reflected, “it was worth it to get rid of Keating.”

  “Amen.” Ash kissed me on the forehead, and I could feel his smile even if I couldn’t see it. “How did that bastard ever get put in charge of anything bigger than a mess hall?”

  “That’s how the military is, sometimes,” I told him, remembering what Mom had said to me, once. “He knows someone, maybe they owe him a favor; and when the position came up, it sounded like a quick route to a promotion, so they pushed him for it.”

  “Sounds more like how things worked back in the Kibera,” he muttered. “Favors and patronage. I didn’t think the Fleet would let shit like that happen.”

  “We’re all still human,” I reminded him. “Most people have to learn things the hard way.” I turned over and tried to look at him through the gloom. “Do you ever think about it, anymore? Home? Your family? You haven’t talked about them in a long time.”

  “My family?” He mused. “No, not really. There wasn’t much to miss. My brothers were in the Reformery on and off for as long as I could remember, and when they were home, all they did was slap me around and try to make me run messages to their drug dealers. And Mom…well, she wasn’t happy at all when I told her I wanted to go to the Academy. I had to spend the next two weeks in a public shelter because she told me she’d kill me if she saw me again.”

  I hissed out a breath.

  Yeah, okay, you win; your family is more fucked up than mine.

  “I guess,” he admitted, “that I think about Carmen sometimes.”

  “She was that girl you liked?” I struggled to remember the name. He hadn’t mentioned her more than once or twice, and never for long.

  “Carmen Aguilar. We were in school together. We used to walk home and talk about how we’d get out of there someday, volunteer for the colonies or something, and be somewhere we could see the sky.”

  “Did she not want to wait for you when you decided to go to the Academy?” I guessed.

  He didn’t say anything for a second. When he did speak, there was a depth of pain in his voice I’d never heard before, even when he was talking about his mother.

  “She decided she was with the wrong Carpenter. I walked in on her with my older brother. Apparently, being able to get good drugs in the here and now was a better deal than working on a farm in the colonies at some nebulous point in the future.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I told him, burying my head in his shoulder. I could feel his breathing rising and falling steady against my cheek. “You want a drink?”

  He grabbed my hand in his, not tight but firm. “Can I ask you something, Sandi?”

  There was a long silence, and I thought it might not be a rhetorical question and he was waiting for me to say it was okay, but then he went on.

  “Are we friends?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” I demanded, sitting up. “Of course we’re friends!”

  “I mean,” he clarified with a shrug I could feel through the bed, “are we friends who also do this?” His hand moved to my hip demonstratively. “Or are we, you know, something else now?”

  Oh. That kind of question.

  Shit.

  Why do guys always have to ask those kinds of questions?

  I didn’t want to have to think about this. That was one of the great things about Ash, we could have fun and I didn’t have to think about things. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to answer him, I just didn’t want to have to know the answer.

  “Ash,” I began, and I could hear the reluctance in my voice even though I’d tried to conceal it, “we…”

  “No,” he interrupted abruptly, sitting up in bed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Damn it. He knew I didn’t want to answer him, and like the martyr he’d always been, he was assuming he knew what that meant.

  “Ash, you just caught me off guard,” I said, scooting up beside him, leaning against the headboard. The cheap plastic of it felt cold against the bare skin of my back. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about…existential stuff like that lately. Everything’s been one constant shit-storm for months, and it feels like you and I are the only sane thing I can hold onto.”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all needy. Maybe I’ll have that drink, after all.”

  “Sure,” I said, rolling over and switching on the bedside light. The shadows from the panel built into the wall beside the headboard fell across Ash’s face, and I wondered if he’d actually dropped it or just decided to stop talking about it.

  I found the bottle I’d smuggled into the room after our last mission and poured two plastic cups full on the small, round table in the corner. I’d just picked them up to head back to bed when I heard my ‘link chirping at me.

  No, I realized, it was both of our ‘links chirping, lying beside each other on my dresser. I shot a concerned look at Ash, then set the cups down and grabbed both the datalinks, tossing his over to him. I looked down at my screen and saw that it was a message, not a call.

  “Admiral Aviles?” Ash asked me, looking up from his ‘link.

  “Yeah.” I touched a control and cast the feed over to the room’s entertainment center.

  Aviles’s chiseled, handsome face popped up in the holotank, looking a bit more haggard than when I’d last seen him. He’d obviously been strategizing with the other brass long after the four of us had left.

  “Lt. Hollande, Lt. Carpenter,” he said with a nod. “If you were asleep, I apologize in advance, but I assumed you’d want to know our findings.”

  “Is it just me,” Ash muttered, “or did he know we’d be sleeping together?”

  “The man’s not stupid,” I pointed out. I wasn’t complaining. Not being stupid was a rare and precious quality. From Ash’s frown, it didn’t seem he was too happy about it, but I blew it off.

  “There’s going to be a new training doctrine as of first thing tomorrow morning.” He rolled his eyes tired
ly. “Sorry, later this morning. The details are attached to this message. Learn them now, because you’re both going to be the training officers for Strike Wing Alpha, and you’re going to be training the trainers for the other wings coming on-line.”

  “Shit,” I muttered, half in shock. That was a pretty high-responsibility position for a couple of Lieutenants-junior grade…

  “Incidentally,” he went on, as if he’d heard me, “you’re both promoted to full Lieutenants, retroactive to the beginning of this pay period. You’re also both now Squadron Leaders as well, First Squadron for you, Hollande, and Third for Carpenter.”

  This time I couldn’t even swear. My mouth just hung open, slack-jawed. I looked at Ash and saw a mirror of my own face.

  “I know this is a massive load of work I’ve dumped on your doorstep,” Aviles said, not even a little apologetic. “I have every confidence you can handle it.” He shrugged. “If you can’t, you’ll get replaced by someone who can.” He smiled tightly. “Good luck.”

  Then his image was gone and an indicator flashed, showing the attached data file with the new training doctrine. It was an alarmingly large file, and it was depressingly late. I looked between the holotank and the cups of tequila and sighed. Ash was already pulling on a pair of sweat pants and I reached for a shirt.

  “Coffee?” I asked him.

  “And lots of it,” he said with a nod, grinning despite the work ahead of us. I couldn’t help but match the smile.

  Squadron leader.

  ***

  Commander Ekeke was waiting for us at the door, her hands planted on her hips and a perpetually stern expression on her face, when we walked into the Strike Wing headquarters building early the next morning. I was completely exhausted, working on about a half an hour’s worth of sleep grabbed almost accidentally when I’d dozed off in the middle of annotating training routines and constructing simulator scenarios. All the data was stored on the base net, on our personal ‘links and on two separate dataspikes just because we were paranoid about losing that much work to network corruption.

  We both came to attention and saluted, and Ekeke did the same, not making us wait the way her old boss would have. The offices were deserted except for the three of us; we’d come in early to get the simulators programmed before the other pilots and crews showed up.

  “Good morning, Hollande, Carpenter,” she said gravely.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Ash responded with a hell of a lot more energy than I had left. I mumbled an echo that I hoped his response would drown out. I really just wanted to sit down before I fell down.

  “So, a lot has changed in a short time.” Ekeke sounded awkward, embarrassed even, but she soldiered on and said her piece. “I just want you to know, I was not aware of what Captain Keating tried to do to you. I would not have gone along with it, had I been.”

  And I could believe that as much as I wanted.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ash responded for both of us, which was good because I wasn’t going to. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Commander Murray is being transferred to lead of the new Strike Wings as of next week,” she said, addressing Ash now, “so there will be no issues and no hurt feelings with you replacing him as Third Squadron Leader.” She turned to look me in the eyes and I struggled to pry mine open so I didn’t look as if I was about to fall asleep on my feet. “With Lt. Carpenter taking over Third and the losses during the last mission, it was decided to transfer out the remaining members of First Squadron to the new Strike Wings as well, so you’ll be getting an entirely new crew of pilots starting next week.”

  “I understand, ma’am,” I told her, nodding. I fought to keep a smirk off my face. I still hadn’t forgiven that little shit Vinnie for running out on us, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to deal with him. “We’ll have the training simulations programmed and ready to run by the time the new crews report.”

  “I’ll let you get to work, then,” she said. She started to step out of our way, but hesitated. “I know there’s not much chance that I’ll be made the permanent replacement for Captain Keating, but if they happen to ask for your recommendation…”

  “I doubt they will,” Ash admitted, always the diplomat. “But if they do, we’ll definitely let them know what a good job you’ve done.”

  That seemed to satisfy her and she finally got out of the damned way and let us through. The hallways lit up as we passed through them, the sensors picking up our body heat and turning on the lights for the day.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered when I was sure she was out of hearing. “That wasn’t desperate or anything…”

  “She probably is desperate,” he reminded me. We nearly passed by the Squadron Leaders’ office suite, and I did a double-take before I realized those were our offices now. “She’s worried she’ll be dragged down along with Keating. Something like that could kill her career.”

  Ash pushed the door open and the lights came on. Each SL had their own cubicle in the office suite and I found the one for First and fell into the chair. It was cheap and plastic and uncomfortable, but it felt like Heaven.

  “Am I the only one who sees a problem with so many people being obsessed with their fucking career when we’re getting our asses kicked by the Tahni?” I asked him, bringing the data console at the small desk online.

  “Weren’t you the one who told me that we’re still human?” He reminded me drily.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I acknowledged, rolling my eyes. “But do so many humans have to be assholes?”

  “Oh, I think you know the answer to that…,” he was saying when there was a knock at the open door.

  I looked around and saw Captain Damian Keating standing in the doorway. He was a shell of a man, slumped in on himself, even his uniform seeming too large on his sunken frame. I could smell the alcohol on him from three meters away and his eyes were mapped in traces of red, and for just a beat I tensed up, thinking he might actually be here to start a fight, or might even have a weapon.

  “Christine…Commander Ekeke told me you’d be here,” he said quietly, not slurring his words but their precise pronunciation telling me he was making a conscious effort to avoid it.

  Ash had already been standing. I slowly came to my feet and faced him.

  “What can we do for you, sir?” Ash asked him, his tone cautious, respectful out of habit.

  “I’m just here to pick up a few things from my office,” Keating explained, jerking a thumb back down the hallway. “I…I suppose I’m being reassigned.”

  Someplace shitty, I thought hopefully.

  “I just wanted to apologize,” he blurted out, like ripping off a stuck bandage. “There’s no excuse for what I did. Whether I think it was right or wrong for you to break from tactical doctrine, the situation you were in was my fault. The responsibility for the deaths was mine. I was slow, hesitant, and I was afraid to act, because I didn’t want to get any more people killed.”

  Because you didn’t want to get yourself killed, you mean, I thought. But maybe I was being too harsh. Maybe he was telling the truth.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ash said. “I know it couldn’t have been easy to come here.”

  Keating looked at me, but I said nothing. I was trying to be nice, because the only thing I could think to say was to suggest he emulate the Japanese samurai if he really wanted to apologize.

  He nodded, as if he could read my thoughts on my face…and maybe he could.

  “It’s a hard thing holding the lives of other men and women in your hand,” he told me, a slight break in his voice interrupting the sentence. “A hard thing to send them to their death and know there wasn’t any other choice.”

  He wiped a sleeve across his nose, sniffing, and I thought I saw tears in his eyes as he turned.

  “You’ll find out.”

  He left without saying another word; Ash stared after him, his expression troubled.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” I chided him, punching him on the shoulder. “He’s an assho
le.”

  “Maybe he’s right, though,” Ash mused, not looking at me. “Do we really want this job?”

  “If we don’t do it,” I pointed out, “then we have a really good chance of someone just as incompetent as he is being in charge of us.”

  That seemed to bring him out of his funk. He nodded and walked back to his station.

  “Lots to do,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Squadron leaders, deploy by pairs and engage.”

  Captain Caroline Osceola, the new commander of Strike Wing Alpha, projected a steady calm in her voice that I wished I felt. I was nervous as hell and just certain I was going to screw things up, but I tried to imitate her tone when I gave my first combat order as a squadron leader.

  “First,” I transmitted, “pair up by wingmen and start your missile run.” I switched to a different frequency and said to my own wingman, “Shayk, you’re with me, stay on my wing.” Back to the Squadron net. “Keep a capacitor bank charged, jump if you get in trouble. Remember your training!”

  I was telling them things they already knew, but I thought maybe that was half the job of being a leader, reminding people of things they’d learned.

  I immersed myself in the interface and watched the ships under my command boost inward from our jump point, just one squadron of one wing of a whole group, dozens of missile cutters, some still Transitioning into the system. This was the biggest operation the Attack Command had attempted so far, and it was different from the first two in nature as well as scale…and it was all based on tactics and strategies that Ash and I had pulled out of our asses.