“I know he was a pilot; Mom would worry about him constantly. She tried to hide it but you could see the tension in her. She was overjoyed when he was promoted into a command position. Ah…a lot of it’s hazy. I was only eight or nine at the time.
“We started seeing more of him after that. He’d come home for a while after a two-year deployment. We’d go camping a lot when he was home.” Jeff paused smiling to himself at the pleasant memories. “That lasted about seven or eight years. Two years out, maybe two weeks at home. It must have wore on him, the war that is. He got pretty grouchy for a while. More so than usual. I remember Mom saying, ‘I don’t think you’re happy unless you’re bitching about something!’
“Then it was over. I remember the news report like it was yesterday. The first fleet soundly pounded the Drac into submission sending them back beyond the outer rim. Maybe two months later he was home for good. Took an Earth-side post and commuted a lot. Usually spent the day at San Diego, but would fly out to Great Lakes or Annapolis for a week or two every now and then. Otherwise he was almost always around. Captain Styles would call him up for a six-month cruise about every other year but things settled down to…normal...” he trailed off catching a glimpse of the massive landing tunnel the shuttle turned into from the corner of his eye. Turning he stared in awe at the enormity of the enclosure. It dwarfed the small shuttle which began drifting towards the bulkhead angling for the landing platform.
“Smooth landings in a shuttle,” James remarked on the tepid approach. “Not like a combat landing at all.”
“Have you seen much combat?” Jeff asked absently absorbing the sights outside the porthole.
“Me?” James laughed, “Not a single minute. But it’s standard procedure in the field. No competent air boss wants his pilots going soft so they spring combat landings on you occasionally. Makes sure you still have your chops in case something does happen.” Leaning back James crossed his arms. “Closest thing to combat I’ve seen was a hostage situation with some malcontents,” he punctuated air quotes with his fingers. “Damn pirates if you ask me. Boarded a cruise ship touring Saturn’s rings. We got scrambled to fly cover for a rescue team, just in case those scumbags had any friends hiding nearby. Turns out they did, but I didn’t hear about it till well after the marines negotiated the situation down with their rifles. Man I tell ya, for a month after that, my palms would sweat every time I got in the cockpit. You’d think with all our enlightenment and twelve years of fighting the Drac we’d have learned better by now.” Sighing James said sullenly, “Human beings can be pretty loathsome at times.”
Having become so engrossed in the story Jeff was caught by surprise when the overhead speakers announced that docking was complete. Whipping his head about to see that the large hatch in the bulkhead had already finished its ascent he whispered softly, “It’s so quiet,” as the shuttle completed its journey into the large elevator.
James laughed at the comment. “You get used to it kid, welcome to the Tungsten.”
“Thank you Sir.”
“I already told you Grant, none of that formality crap.” James moved to retrieve his duffle from the overhead bin. As Jeff mimicked him pulling his own duffle down James leaned on the rack next to him asking, “I suspect you’re here for flight training. Following in the old man’s tracks?”
“With any luck,” Jeff said settling the bag on his shoulder. “I’ve logged a few hours in simulators, but nothing official.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never flown a plane?”
Jeff laughed. “No, I can fly. Dad took me up quite a bit teaching me all he could. Just never in space.”
Barking another laugh James pushed him up the aisle saying, “In that case, I’ll make sure the boys give you a proper welcome.”
As quick as that Jeff found himself being herded off the shuttle along with a gaggle of other junior officers. Stepping onto the deck the sheer magnitude of the bay looked too big for the ship to contain. A plethora of craft from remote drones to massive star fighters filled the deck with more littering the storage platforms adorning the walls. Overhead cranes moved amongst a maze of catwalks at dizzying heights and large containers of munitions or parts were stacked in the compartments corners. The sights and sounds of the bustling room were so overwhelming he was startled when a surly looking man barked, “Papers!” in an effort to get his attention.
Dropping his duffle Jeff snapped to attention firmly holding his duty folder before him. “Ensign Jeffery Grant reporting for duty Sir!”
The man muttered something incomprehensible under his breath leafing through the paper work. Seemingly satisfied he grunted slapping the folder against Jeff’s chest. “Group C Grant,” he growled throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “And if I ever catch you dragging your ass across my flight deck like some slack jawed fucking retard again, I’ll slap you so hard you won’t know one end of a razor from the other. Dismissed!”
“Thank you Sir,” Jeff said. The man didn’t seem to hear and was already yelling at the next person in line. Shouldering his duffle, he trotted over to the collection of officers the deck chief directed him to noticing James off to the side speaking with a very large man. Just behind him a shapely young lieutenant with a short bob of hair leaned against a crate. She was shaking her head in what could be amusement based on the wry grin she was wearing. Slowing to a walk he fell into line at the far end from the three placing his duffle on the deck.
Jeff wasn’t spared even a moment to introduce himself to the person standing next to him before the large man bellowed, “Atten-Hut!” Instinctively Jeff and his five cohorts snapped to attention. Arms crossed over his barrel of a chest the man stood two hands taller than Jeff and grumbled very audibly as he paced down the line. “What the fuck sorry ass excuse for new recruits is this Skid?”
“I don’t pick them Sir,” James muttered with a snort.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” he grated clasping his hands behind his back. Stopping at about the middle of the pack, he stood roughly a meter back from the line. Squaring his shoulders, he announced in a bold voice, “My name is Lieutenant Commander Jack Simmons. I am Squadron Leader for the Diamondbacks and will be your senior flight instructor. You…ragged, pathetic excuses for recruits that Command decided to saddle me with can call me Sunshine!” Something that sounded like a choked snicker sounded from the far end of the line. Jeff stole a glance as Lieutenant Commander Simmons, arms pumping angrily, descended quickly on a lithe woman shouting, “Something funny Ensign?”
“No Sir!" the woman replied in a clear tight voice.
“Are you sure about that? Or do you have a case of the giggles? I didn’t hear anything funny out here so maybe you’re thinking of a joke. Well, are you Chuckles?”
Jeff was shocked at the oddly intimidated sound of her voice. How did someone like that get to this point in their career without encountering a hardnosed officer was beyond him. As she stammered for an answer the lieutenant commander mocked her inability to speak. Having always been a sucker for a woman in over her head Jeff called out, “Sir. I think the ensign is just showing some nerves Sir!”
Dead silence followed, save for the sounds of the flight deck crews activities, some of which stopped to watch the spectacle unfold. Simmons slowly turned his head glaring at Jeff. “Who the fuck asked you pretty boy?” he yelled storming down the line. “You her knight in shining armor, ready to protect her from the ugly ogre? What’s your name Ensign?”
“Grant Sir!” he replied judiciously.
“Grant?” Simmons said a breath of disbelief in his voice. Laughing he looked at James. “This Russell Grants boy?”
“That’s the rumor,” James replied with a wry grin.
“Can’t be,” Simmons continued. “Look at him! He’s too pretty to be a Grant. The man’s face was so hard you could sand a table with it.”
“And what do you know about my father?” Jeff erupted without thinking.
A grin split Simmons broad
face. Leaning into Jeff’s he rasped, “Backbone.” In a more subdued, though no less fierce, tone he said, “I like that. Think you can take me Knight? Cause I don’t allow pussies on my squad.”
“Whether or not I can kick your ass is up in the air. But your breath is about to knock me out…Sir,” Jeff said remembering what his father told him about knowing when and when not to back down.
“Oh shit Knight, I think I like you.” A wicked toothy smile showed on Simmons face. “Okay, seeing as you’re new, and a Grant,” he said fussing with the collar of Jeff’s jacket, “though I see no family resemblance, I’m gonna let you slide today.” In a harsher and more menacing voice he added, “But I don’t want to hear any more lip outta you until you have your bars. You get me son?”
“As clear as the day is long Sir,” Jeff answered tightly.
Taking a few steps back Simmons yelled, “Apple! Show the ladies to their racks.”
The shapely woman who’d been leaning against the crate stepped to the line adjusting her jacket. In a sweet voice that managed to exude command she said, “You heard the man. Grab your shit and follow me!”
***
James watched as Apple herded Jeff and the others from the bay. “So what do you think?” he asked when they were gone.
“He’s got his old man’s attitude that’s for sure.”
“We need pilots like that,” James said idly, “No guts, no glory. If you don’t have that attitude you’re just flying by the numbers.”
“What good will it do him, or us, if he can’t handle a stick?” Simmons grumbled irritably. “The Drac don’t exactly care if you’re a vet or a rookie.” Blowing out a breath in resignation he added, “This accelerated training bullshit isn’t going to help matters.”
“It’ll help weed out the ones that have no business being in a fighter.”
“That’s not the point Skid!” exasperation tainted his voice. “We’re cramming a year of flight training into six months. That’s barely enough time for maneuvers, dog fighting and landing drills alone! What about zero G training? Or dealing with the disorientation of that damned vacuum? Do you know how long it took me to get used to that silence?”
“I know Sunshine, I know. But what choice do we have?”
“Fucking politicians,” he grated, “don’t tell nobody nothing until it’s too late. Worst part is these kids don’t know shit about what they’re getting into. And we can’t tell them.”
CHAPTER 4:
TRAINING
His first full day onboard the tungsten proved to be the final day of respite Jeff would enjoy for the next six months. After Lieutenant Commander Simmons literally pulled everyone from their racks in the berthing, the lieutenant, one Joanne “Apple Bottom” Winters, who showed them to those racks, provided a cursory introduction to the operations onboard the mammoth vessel. The day was spent getting acquainted with both the ship and his mates. Where the showers were, what was off limits and memorizing the hastily developed map Jeff drew in his head was the task for the day. It merely hinted at the gauntlet of training he was about to traverse. The first month alone was a torturous journey of testing his stamina. Weeks of classes teaching him the intricacies of piloting a star fighter were intermeshed with daily drills and the initially nauseating task of zero gravity training. The schedule was exhausting leaving Jeff to catch up on sleep at the irregular intervals he could.
After a month of the seemingly endless training he began logging hours upon hours of simulations. Flight patterns, civil versus combat formations and the plethora of dials, switches and screens of the SF-32 Razor Star Fighter were beat, pushed and burned into his brain. Flight prep drills and hands on maneuvering in one of the Tungsten’s many shuttle craft rounded out the grind. His aptitude for space flight quickly emerged continually impressing his instructors with the sheer dexterity he demonstrated the simulation and shuttle craft alike. Like sadist’s they pressed him harder the next day. Pushing him to perform at an even higher level he’d be pulled into a simulator or shuttle at all hour’s day or night. If he ever blanched at the timing he’d often be reprimanded by a curt, “Combat runs don’t take place at your convenience Ensign.”
Jeff began losing track of the days, or even the time of day for that matter. The artificial light of the huge space craft didn’t follow the passing of time on Earth. Onboard the Tungsten everything operated twenty-four hours a day. The gauntlet continued its march over the months and the cold empty blackness of space held no sympathy for his trials. Stretching on forever his wonder for the universe was now a mere blip of a memory. Jeff now only saw the cosmos as a field. An inky black void dusted with stars that he would hurtle himself deep into over and over again.
The pressure, however constant, didn’t deter him. He excelled at the training. Learning the ins and outs of space combat created an itch for his chance to get behind the stick of an actual razor. The pitches and rolls began coming as if second nature during simulation, and he’d begun pushing the shuttles to their very limits. By now the star field was simply a backdrop much like the clouds of Earth’s sky when he’d fly with his father. The points of light would become distant lines of havoc as he spun the training craft in ever more complex patterns. After one impromptu training session in which Jeff succeeded in making his instructor vomit it seemed his chance had finally come.
James roused him from an exhausted slumber the very next day saying, “Hey kid, you ready for the real thing?”
“What’s that?” Jeff breathed nearly falling from the rack.
Laughing James repeated, “Are you ready for the real thing?”
“Skid, I was born ready for this!” Jeff said scrambling down to the deck.
“Good. Meet me on the flight deck in ten minutes.”
In a flash Jeff was pulling on his duty slacks and boots tripping over his tongue with thanks and formalities. His tongue wasn’t the only thing he was tripping over nearly doing the same through the hatch in his haste. Flying down the hall he skidded around the final corner dodging crewmen before throwing the hatch to the locker room open. Blindly leaping through the threshold he narrowly avoided clipping a bench and crashed into his locker. There Jeff paused, his heart threatening to burst from his chest in excitement. Taking a deep breath, he committed to savoring this moment. Pulling the grey metal door open he reached in retrieving his flight suit. The texture of the strong yet supple material ran over his fingers reminding him of goose flesh. It was a dark green garment. So dark it appeared nearly black. The luminescent stripping along the limbs and torso cast a soft orange glow in the shadows. Taking great care, he pulled the suit on over his khakis checking every seal repeatedly. One hole could mean certain death if he had need to eject from his craft.
Satisfied there were no leaks or tears in his gear Jeff reached up pulling the large flight helmet off the top rack of the locker. It was a bulbous and heavy thing resembling more of an elongated deep sea diving helmet with a wide arched face shield. What it lacked in mobility, forget about trying to look behind you, it made up for tenfold with advanced image enhancing technology which synced directly with the fighter’s systems. The visor essentially became a one-hundred eighty degree tactical heads up display which would keep the pilot apprised of everything he needed to know. Caressing the contours of the device he strode confidently toward the waiting hatch leading to the flight deck.
The door hissed open. Immediately Jeff was assaulted by the sights and sounds of the orderly chaos taking place. Stepping through the birth his eyes scanned the deck taking in the bustling scene. Crewmen were swarming the deck, and in some cases, the massive razor star fighters. Pushing craft into position for flight prep or aligning them in one of the many launch tubes lining the far side of the hold. With little effort he spied James standing beneath the wing of one of the behemoth fighters. Trotting in his direction Jeff couldn’t help but smile. Under the blonde mop of hair James looked almost the size of a child compared to the enormity of the warplane.
&nb
sp; The powerful craft towered in the hold. A dozen missiles hanging in clusters decorated the impressive wingspan reaching from the sides of the two massive trans-atmospheric ion engines which ran almost the entire length of the craft. Stretching high above the ships tail the vertical stabilizer climbed towards the ceiling as if it were the giant dorsal fin of some fantastic sea creature. Upon it the whimsical visage of a Diamondback Rattle-Snake spitting venom was emblazoned. The cylindrical fuselage towered a good three meters above the deck nestling the cockpit just behind the long tapered nose. It was an imposing image of mankind’s military might.
Stepping up to James Jeff snapped to attention. “Ensign Jeffery Grant reporting as ordered Sir!”
Laughing James waived off the propriety. “I can see your old habits came back now that you’re fully awake. Save the formalities for the brass Knight.”
“Yes s…did you just call me Knight? Only Sunshine calls, me…that…” Jeff trailed off. James was smiling at him and gesturing with his finger up. Jeff’s eyes followed climbing to read the markings on the razor’s fuselage. Just under the canopy in bold print the markings read, LTJG. JEFFERY “KNIGHT” GRANT — DBGF-304.
“You earned it kid. Welcome to the Diamondbacks.”
Triumphantly Jeff said, “Thank you S... Skid!”
“Better. Now saddle up. I wanna see what you got.”
With a smile reminiscent of a kid let loose in a candy store Jeff threw himself up the ladder. Handing his helmet to a deckhand making final adjustments to the craft he settled into the cockpit. While strapping into the seat the deck hand busied himself settling the helmet on Jeff’s shoulders and securing the airtight seals and connections to the life-support system. Two quick raps to the helmets dome signaled he could proceed with pre-flight checks. A flip of a switch later the polymer face mask came to life projecting a virtual grid. Tactical information, combat systems, fuel, oxygen, if there was anything he needed to know about the plane or its surroundings the Heads-Up-Display had it covered. The hours of simulation leached from his hands. Vernier thrusters, flight control flaps, life-support and a host of others sensors were quickly checked and rechecked by rote. Satisfied that he covered every step, there was nothing left to do but relax and wait for the massive star fighter to be loaded into an available catapult.
In the Blink of an Eye Page 4
