by Linn Schwab
The plane to her right began to move forward. When its tail cleared the nose of Virginia’s plane, it wheeled to the right and taxied off toward the airlocks. Patti was under way; now it was Virginia’s turn. She glanced to her left for reassurance. Sitting in the cockpit of the next plane over, Stacey winked at her and flashed an “o.k.” Virginia released her brakes and moorings, then moved her fighter out into the traffic lane. Lining up to the rear of Patti’s plane, she straightened her wheels and advanced toward the airlocks, waiting for her turn to pass through the chamber. She desperately wanted to get this right. Any mistakes she made at the airlocks could delay the launch and end up costing lives.
There were two locks located at the stern of the ship; one on the port side and another on the starboard. Their massive hydraulic doors and powerful vacuum pumps allowed planes to exit the flight deck quickly without losing a great deal of the ship’s oxygen supply. When everything was functioning as designed, a fighter could pass through them in less than thirty seconds.
Virginia kept her eyes focused on the doors. There was a definite rhythm to their operation. She lined her nose up with the rear of Patti’s plane as it disappeared into the airlock in front of her. The inner door sections slammed together, with the lower part rising up from the floor and the upper part sliding down from above. Virginia readied herself to guide her plane through. Timing and speed were critical here. Too fast, and she might slam into the doors; too slow, and she would be holding up traffic and disrupting the timing of the planes behind her. She wanted to look back and check with Stacey, but the lock was already beginning to open, requiring the full focus of her attention. Keeping a steady hand on the throttle, she allowed her momentum to dictate her progress — just as her instructors had taught her to. Her plane eased its way into the chamber. Space was only a few seconds away.
A curtain of blackness and shimmering stars opened up before her as the outer doors parted and receded. Virginia’s plane rolled across the transit platform and made a graceful leap off into the heavens. She was free of the Mistral, floating amongst the stars — and she was completely exposed now to enemy fire.
“Form up, Virginia,” Kathy instructed, her voice sounding filtered through the intercom speaker. “The battle fleet’s already in position.”
Virginia retracted her landing gear, then reversed course and flew parallel to the side of the Mistral. On its exterior, the carrier seemed largely featureless — an imposing mass of dark gray metal plates with a myriad of vertical and horizontal seams. Its hull was long and somewhat shaped like a cylinder, though its width was visibly greater than its height. The nose and tail sections were rounded in appearance, and there was a large observation tower located near its mid point, protruding upward like a giant tree. When her fighter cleared the bow of the vessel, she got her first look at the two opposing fleets. They were enormous. It was going to be a real firestorm. Virginia accelerated and caught up with her squadron, then nestled her fighter into formation. Stacey and Gina arrived just behind her. Squadron Fifty–Seven was ready.
“Alright girls, throttle up to point three five!” Kathy ordered. The squadron rocketed forward in perfect formation.
Virginia took another quick glance at her fleet. The battleships were swinging their big guns into position. These powerful vessels bore a striking resemblance to their mighty seagoing namesakes of old, with their massive fore– and aft–facing gun turrets, and elevated decks for surveillance and targeting. Even the angled bow had been retained, though it now served to deflect incoming ordnance rather than to plow through ocean waters. Heavy and light cruisers were patterned after battleships, though smaller in size, and more lightly armored. Destroyers alone were a radical departure from their predecessors — designed to be fast and easy to maneuver, they were similar to catamarans in appearance. Wide in stature and low in profile, they were known for being difficult targets to hit, presenting their adversaries with little to aim at.
The two fleets continued to close in on each other, with the larger ships hanging back toward the rear in support. Just before the smaller ships locked horns, the battleships erupted in spectacular fashion, opening up on their targets with a fierce volley of fire. Discharge flashes pierced the blackness of space. Enormous projectiles streaked toward the two opposing fleets. The smaller ships answered with a volley of their own, and fighting flared up across the entire field of engagement.
Kathy’s eyes scanned the area around her for the best possible entrance into the fray. “Let’s drift out a little,” she instructed her squadron. “We’re going to sweep from right to left across the field of battle. Stay focused now. Let’s not get separated. Ready … BREAK!”
The formation banked left and plunged into the battle. Virginia felt a rush of exhilaration as she slalomed her fighter between enemy ships, targeting them with her heavy machine guns and trying to unnerve them by strafing their weak spots. The threat of being killed seemed to fade from her thoughts as she focused her attention on causing destruction. The atmosphere of combat was nothing new to her; she’d served for two years on board a destroyer, taking part in several major engagements. But that had been a different experience altogether than streaking through a battle in the seat of a fighter.
“Enemy squadron coming in from above!” Patti yelled.
Virginia glanced up and identified the threat — four enemy fighters with their guns blazing away. Kathy’s squadron pulled up and began to return fire. The two opposing forces closed on each other, shifting their positions to avoid head–on collisions. Both sides continued to fire their guns right up until the last fraction of a second. The two formations then quickly staggered themselves and whisked through each other like hair through a comb. With too much momentum to turn and pursue, both squadrons raced off in search of other targets.
“Whew!” Kathy exclaimed. “Good pass, girls! I think we scored a few hits on ‘em! Let’s swing around to the left and get set up for another run.”
Virginia felt relief and a sense accomplishment. She’d survived her first combat run, and so far she was keeping pace with the others. While her squadron was circling around, she glanced back out across the field of engagement. Both sides had deployed powerful fleets here. The Sentinels had four carriers and five battleships engaged, and perhaps a few dozen destroyers and cruisers. The enemy fleet appeared to be smaller in size, but relative strengths could shift without warning and were subject to wild fluctuations during the course of a battle.
With both sides employing similar ship designs, their paint schemes were the only thing to set them apart. The Sentinels’ war ships were solid gray in color, while enemy ships were camouflaged to blend in with space debris — a tactic which had historically served them well.
“Low angle!” Kathy yelled. An isolated group of enemy ships had caught her eye. “Keep an eye on their defenses,” she warned, directing her squadron to intercept them.
Virginia concentrated on the enemy ships, checking their positions against her targeting display. If she ended up with a favorable alignment, she might be able to fire a rocket. Waiting for her squadron to settle into an approach angle, she focused her attention on a light cruiser as it drifted steadily into her sights. It was getting close, but she was running out of time. The indicator read:
HIT PROBABILITY – 95.9 PERCENT
No good. She needed at least ninety–seven. Acting on impulse, she checked the spacing of the other planes around her to see if there was room to compensate. The formation was solid and tight. There was precious little room for deviation here. Tracers suddenly began streaming forward as her comrades triggered their heavy machine guns. Defensive fire immediately flared back at them from machine gun turrets on the enemy ships.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Kathy yelled. She banked hard to avoid the incoming rounds. In an instant, Virginia was left all alone as the fighters around her peeled off in all directions. With enemy fire beginning to creep in on her position, she took one final glance at t
he targeting display:
HIT PROBABILITY – 97.1 PERCENT
Without hesitation, she pressed the ROCKET button. A blast of white light flashed forward from her left wing. With a hint of panic setting in, she pushed her flight controls to their limits and held her breath for a few tense seconds. Her fighter rolled sideways through a stream of enemy tracers. She cringed as the bullets tore through her plane. She was hit, but her fighter was still in one piece — and most importantly, her canopy remained intact. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her rocket streak forward and slam against the side of its target. The cruiser shuddered under the force of the explosion. A plume of smoke and debris shot out into space.
“Nice shot, Virginia!” Patti shouted excitedly.
“Patti, what happened?” Kathy demanded.
“Pollyanna put a rocket in the side of that cruiser!”
Kathy glanced over her shoulder and keyed her eyes in on the light cruiser. The ship still appeared to be operational, but there were visible signs of significant damage. Its lights flickered on and off sporadically and its upper decks were veiled in a faint cloud of smoke. A stream of tracers flashed by outside her canopy — a potent reminder that she needed to stay focused. She rolled out and pulled away in time to avoid being hit, then looked around herself and assessed her current situation. Her squadron had been separated and the area was crawling with enemy forces. Her girls were in a vulnerable position right now. She didn’t like it. It was time to pull out.
“Let’s rendezvous back at the Mistral,” she ordered, then turned her fighter in the carrier’s direction. She looked behind her, trying to locate her pilots. Three of them were already following her out. “Everybody check in,” she insisted. She called their names out one after another, giving each of them ample time to reply. They all responded. Kathy sighed in relief. The Mistral was coming back into view and her squadron would soon be forming up again.
A blinding light suddenly enveloped the battlefield. For an instant, Kathy had to shield her eyes from it. Judging from the direction and the intensity of the flash, there could be little doubt about the source of the explosion — an enemy battleship had gone up in flames.
“Whooo–ooo!” Kathy hollered. “That’ll shake ‘em up a little!”
From his vantage point on the bridge of the battleship Alabama, Admiral Sands reeled from the intensity of the flash, holding his arms up to shield his eyes from the glare. When the searing light began to recede, he lowered his arms and peered out through the port windows. A wave of debris suddenly pelted his ship, causing everyone on the bridge to recoil for an instant. The admiral closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to prepare himself for the worst. He already knew the situation was bad. But how bad? How many of his ships had been damaged by the blast? A cloud of smoke outside the windows began to dissipate, and a sobering image was slowly revealed. The battleship New Jersey had been completely gutted by the explosion. Several ships around it had been raked by shrapnel from its hull. To press on with the assault right now could prove disastrous. It was time to reevaluate his chances of success.
Looking around at the faces of his crew, he could see the concern and disappointment in their eyes. As always, there was great desire and commitment among them to win a victory that would bring about an end to the war. But these brave men and women were only a small portion of his forces — the many thousands of lives he was responsible for. They understood how serious the situation was. So he knew it would come as no surprise to them when he issued the order for his fleet to withdraw.
Virginia found her squadron lining up just beneath the Mistral’s hull. Five of the others had already arrived. She nestled her fighter back into formation, then relaxed and waited for Kathy’s instructions. They were still waiting for Gina and Stacey.
“Are you alright, Virginia?” Patti asked. “It looks like you took a couple of hits.”
“Where is she hit?” Kathy asked with concern.
“I can see two bullet holes in her left wing.”
Kathy scrutinized the damaged wing. It didn’t look like anything serious. “Are all of your controls still responding, Virginia?”
“Everything’s working,” she reassured her captain. “I’m fine.”
“Okay. Everyone keep an eye out for Gina and Stacey.”
Virginia leaned back and watched for the two missing pilots. Another squadron was also regrouping nearby. She could tell who they were by the numbers painted on their tails. Leslie’s squadron. Virginia was well acquainted with them. They lined up beside her squadron in the ready room.
“Here they come!” Samantha announced.
Gina and Stacey were just coming into view, flying in close support of each other. Kathy looked around until she spotted them, then said, “Okay now, let’s be ready to move out.” But when she looked back out at the battlefield, the enemy fleet was already pulling away.
“They’re leaving!” Patti cheered.
Kathy took a deep breath and relaxed. The battle was over, her pilots were all safe, and the enemy forces had been turned away again.
Virginia watched with a sense of relief as the enemy ships began to withdraw. It was a good feeling to see them heading away, but she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see them. This war had lasted for well over a century, and neither side showed any signs of giving in.
Commander Sarens’ voice suddenly broke in over the intercom: “Captain MacGregor, come in please.”
Virginia listened in as Kathy answered her.
“Yes, Commander.”
“The enemy fleet is withdrawing. One of their carriers has fallen behind.”
There was a brief pause, then Kathy responded, “I see it.”
“Get moving and see if you can catch up with it. Leslie’s girls are going to come with you. They’re listening in on your frequency now. I want you to lead the attack. Take command of both squadrons and get out there as fast as you can.”
Gina and Stacey were just sliding into formation. Kathy addressed both squadrons now. “Let’s move, Sentinels! Throttle up now to point nine zero! Leslie, have your girls fall in behind us. We’ll make the first pass, and you follow us in.”
“Affirmative,” Leslie replied.
The intercom fell silent for a while as both squadrons raced forward and closed in on their target.
As usual, Peter’s squadron had been called on to cover the retreat. As the other pilots raced to catch up with their transports, his squadron remained a short distance behind to discourage enemy fighters from pursuing them. With combat skills honed by years of experience, his pilots patrolled the zone of retreat, ready to pounce on anything that threatened to approach. But the planes in his squadron bore an ominous shark tooth design on their noses, and enemy pilots normally kept a respectable distance from them.
Peter was bitterly disappointed. It was frustrating to keep launching these attacks, only to be repelled again and again. And it wasn’t as if these raids didn’t cost anything. Planes and ships were being lost on a regular basis, as well as countless thousands of lives. The battleship New Jersey was a perfect example. More than twelve hundred men and women had been stationed on that ship, and now every last one of them was dead. Just once he wished he could finish a battle without being chased away by these…
“Captain Straydel, come in please.” It was flight command calling him. There was a hint of urgency in the operator’s voice.
“Captain Straydel, here,” he responded.
“Captain, the carrier Lexington has sustained heavy damage. She’s starting to fall behind the main fleet.”
Peter looked down along the line of ships. One carrier appeared to be trailing the others. “I see her, command. We’re on our way.” He glanced over his shoulder to see if his pilots were paying attention. All three of them flashed him a thumbs up signal. “Let’s go, boys,” he said, pushing hard on the throttle. “Lady Lex needs an escort. Let’s bring her home.”
Kathy glanced around hersel
f, making sure that her squadron was still in formation. She looked back over her left shoulder. Leslie’s squadron was only a short distance behind. Both squadrons were gaining on the target. If each pilot could hit with at least one rocket, the carrier would likely be rendered immobile. At that point, they could fly back to the Mistral, and their battleships could finish the job from a distance.
“I want everyone in my squadron to fire together,” Kathy insisted. “Everyone sound off when you have a clear shot.” She took a quick glance at her targeting display:
HIT PROBABILITY – 98.8 PERCENT
“The captain’s angle is set!” she announced. “Virginia?”
Virginia aligned her fighter to match Kathy’s heading, then checked her readout:
HIT PROBABILITY – 98.5 PERCENT
“I’m set,” she confirmed.
Patti and Stacey checked in next.
“Set!”
“Set!”
Virginia steadied her thumb on the ROCKET button. The tension was so heavy she was struggling to breathe.
“Set!” Gina called.
Virginia felt herself beginning to tremble, her eyes open wide with anticipation. Only a few more seconds and they should all have an angle. Eight rockets would stream out in a single wave and—
A powerful explosion went off beside Virginia’s fighter. Her plane was flung from the formation by the force of the blast, along with some of the other planes around her. She wrestled with her flight controls to fight off a spin, trying desperately to stabilize her orientation.
Kathy felt the blast rock her plane. She could see several of her fighters tumbling out of control. “What the…” she started to say as she scanned the area for the source of the explosion. Her eyes caught a glimpse of an approaching formation — she didn’t need to look twice to know what they were. She gasped and yelled out, “Tiger Sharks! Everyone head back to fleet right now!” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Virginia fighting for control of her plane. “Virginia, get out of here as fast as you can!” she warned.
