That was close! he thought, scanning the area for another target.
They’re getting crafty, Bassa replied. Dive!
Forcing the throttle forward, Byron caught sight of an enemy vessel passing below. It moved with great speed, but the new angle of their Cosbolt provided a clear line of fire. Holding his position as well as his breath, Byron waited for the precise moment. He sent a single shot and the Vindicarn fighter exploded.
Need an easy one like that now and then, he commented. Byron felt weary after two weeks of constant fighting.
Incoming!
Byron swung the ship around to face the vessel. He was forced to jump when the enemy fighter fired before he could respond. Reappearing behind the craft, he accelerated and took aim. The shot missed its target as the Vindicarn veered sharply to the right and returned fire with a disrupter blast. Byron managed to avoid a direct hit and the ship rolled sharply on its side. Recovering from the abrupt maneuver, he pushed the Cosbolt to full speed. The enemy veered again, but this time he kept pace and fired two shots before the ship changed direction again.
Gotcha! he exclaimed as the vessel erupted in a ball of flame and debris.
Muscles tense and stretched tight during the exchange, Byron allowed his body to slump in his seat. His suit felt hot and itchy and he longed to remove his helmet.
No time to relax! Bassa cried. Wentar’s headed our direction and he’s in trouble.
Receiving the image from his navigator, Byron focused on the incoming Cosbolt. Wentar was attempting to shake his pursuer and flying erratically as he dodged laser blasts. Grasping the throttle even tighter, he requested a strategy.
Head on.
A grin crept across Byron’s face. That was his favorite trick and Bassa knew he could execute the maneuver to perfection. Feeling his energy renewed, he turned to face Wentar’s craft as Bassa relayed their intentions.
What?! cried Wentar’s navigator.
Byron heard Bassa repeat his instructions in an authoritative tone and he proceeded with caution. Wentar’s erratic flying meant lasers from the enemy ship were flying in all directions. Wentar appeared more focused on avoiding enemy fire and Byron realized he’d better act quickly.
Throttling ahead at full speed, he bore down on the Cosbolt. There was a flash of panic from Wentar and his ship dove to avoid collision. Byron fired one shot and jumped to safety as the enemy ship exploded.
They emerged some distance away and far from the immediate battle. Wentar’s angry voice rang in Byron’s mind.
Are you insane? he exclaimed, seething with indignation.
You don’t have a Vindicarn on your ass now, do you? Byron answered, annoyed by Wentar’s tone.
He’ll appreciate it later, Bassa commented privately.
The enemy finally broke off their attack but not before Byron destroyed two more fighters. As he landed their ship, he realized he was shaking from exhaustion. Bassa forgave his rough landing.
We just need some rest, he observed.
The ship taxied into the hanger and Byron was relieved he could at last remove his helmet. His hair felt plastered to his scalp and he slicked the damp locks away from his forehead. Once he reached the comfort of his quarters and enjoyed a long shower, Byron doubted he’d possess energy for anything else today.
He descended the ladder and all but slid to the bottom. The moment his feet touched the ground, he heard Wentar’s angry voice.
“You idiot! What were you thinking?” the pilot demanded as he approached, his face livid with anger. “You could’ve killed us both!”
Byron turned to face the enraged Wentar. “I had the situation under control!” he countered.
“That was your error, Wentar. You turned too soon!” Bassa charged as he joined them on the hanger floor.
“That was still a stupid stunt!” declared Wentar, planting his body in Byron’s path.
“I instructed him to execute that maneuver and he did so with precision.”
Wentar’s head snapped in Bassa’s direction. “You told him to do it?” he cried.
Bassa moved to his pilot’s side. “Yes I did. He’s performed that maneuver many times. The only risk came from your piloting error.”
Wentar’s navigator had joined them at this point, and he stared in bewilderment at the antagonists. No longer focused on Byron, Wentar had turned his attention to Bassa. The man’s eyes were filled with anger and Byron wondered if he intended to take a swing at Bassa.
“Maybe we should be questioning your judgment,” Wentar spat, his shoulders squared.
“You’d dare question the best navigator in the fleet?” demanded Byron, clenching his fists at his sides.
Wentar shot him a hateful look. “Obviously his judgment has been impaired by a young, reckless pilot!”
Byron reacted without thinking. Lunging forward, he plowed into Wentar’s midsection. The man’s hands grasped at his back and Byron managed to push the older officer back several feet before he felt a second set of hands grab his hips. Despite his firm hold on Wentar, he lost his grip. The man’s fists beat his back as he was pulled out of range.
“No!” Bassa’s voice sounded in his ears.
Wentar’s navigator and two other officers were now restraining the man. He struggled for a moment, as did Byron. Bassa had wrapped his arms around his chest, making it impossible to move, and Ernx’s hands grasped his shoulder. With a gasp, Byron ceased his movement.
“Let go of me!” Wentar demanded, shoving those restraining him and taking two steps back.
Several other officers had gathered, alerted by the sounds of a scuffle. Wentar scanned the faces of those around him with disgust. Sneering at Byron and Bassa, he shook off his navigator’s hand and turned on his heels. His partner flashed them an irritated glance before following his pilot from the scene.
Bassa removed his arms from around Byron’s chest and his hands firmly grasped his shoulders. Settle down, he ordered.
Ernx stepped back, his eyes wide. “What happened?”
“He didn’t like the way we saved his life,” Byron cried, his eyes on the retreating Wentar. “Maybe we’ll just let them blow your ass out of the sky next time!”
Byron! scolded Bassa. “He’s tired and not thinking straight.”
His shoulders sagging, Ernx nodded in agreement. “I think we’re all pretty strung out.”
Now that the excitement was over, the men dispersed. Weary from a long day, Bassa and Byron moved toward the exit at a slow pace. Byron continued to seethe over Wentar’s accusations.
Forget about it, Bassa thought.
He has no right to question your decisions! Especially after we just saved his ass.
We’re all tired right now, Bassa offered. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.
Tell him I’ll shoot him down next time and save the Vindicarns the trouble!
Byron!
Bassa grabbed his shoulder and spun the young man around to face him. Byron frowned at his navigator’s behavior, but he did not pull free. Bassa’s expression softened.
“I’m not always right you know,” he admitted.
Byron stared at his friend, stunned by the self-deprecating disclosure. If there was one person he never questioned, it was Bassa.
“Of course you are,” he stated, allowing his navigator to sense his steadfast conviction.
Bassa smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “I appreciate your confidence.”
Byron straightened his back and lifted his chin. I trust you with my life.
And I trust you with mine.
They regarded each other for a moment. Byron made no effort to suppress the admiration he felt for Bassa, and he sensed similar feelings in his friend. The meaningful exchange drained his last traces of energy.
Bassa patted his shoulder. “Now, get to your quarters before you drop!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Tomorrow we join forces with the Lathella,” the commander announced, his eyes scanning the men, “in what will be on
e of our most important missions.”
Beside him, Byron felt Bassa straighten his shoulders. Every squadron had gathered in the hanger for this briefing, and clustered around the portable screen they were packed in pretty tight. Surrounded by so many bodies, Byron felt a bit claustrophobic. His shoulder pressed against Bassa in order to avoid direct contact with the man on his left, and he could feel the warm breath of the tall pilot behind him on his neck. The announcement piqued his interest though, and Byron quickly forgot his discomforts.
“A large Vindicarn vessel has been located in sector 98-163. It is armed with a disrupter a thousand times more powerful than those in the fighters. A recent encounter revealed this disrupter could potentially neutralize a deep space vessel with one blast.”
There were several gasps of astonishment and the mood in the room seemed heavy. Byron felt his chest tighten at the thought of a ship possessing that ability. The fleet was no match against a weapon of that magnitude.
The commander waited for the men to grow still again. “We believe this ship also refuels the disrupters. So it is imperative that we discover a way to destroy it.”
The display behind Kernen came alive. The screen exhibited the location of the enemy vessel in orbit over a planet. The commander glanced at the display and continued.
“An hour ago, the vessel parked beside this small planet,” he stated. “The surface is mostly rock, but it does boast water and a breathable atmosphere. We believe the ship has stopped to gather resources. This is our window of opportunity.”
A closer image of the large craft appeared on screen, its shape as unique as its size. Whereas the fighter ships encountered thus far were narrow and streamlined, this vessel boasted a bulky midsection and many protruding components. It was impossible to see details from their position, but Byron wondered how many weapons adorned its surface. If the ship’s disrupter was truly that powerful, it wouldn’t really matter.
“Several potential entry points have been discovered,” Kernen informed the men, those locations now highlighted on the image. “If we can acquire an interior layout of the Vindicarn ship, we may find a way to reach the vessel’s core or main disrupter.
“This is the Lathella’s assignment,” he announced, raising his voice in emphasis. “We are to provide cover and create a distraction.”
Byron glanced at Bassa, his eyes bright, and his navigator returned his determined look. After weeks of endless, random battles, they now had a purpose beyond just holding back the enemy.
The commander outlined the plan of attack, which involved every squadron on board the Sorenthia. Joined by half of the squadrons from the Lathella, they were to keep the enemy fighters occupied while teams focused on five key entry points. Once the shields weakened, single-seater Darten fighters would enter the Vindicarn ship and penetrate its structure. Their squadrons would cease the attack when all five Dartens either returned or their destruction was confirmed.
Potential suicide mission! Byron exclaimed, in awe of the men brave enough to take on such an assignment.
Every time we get into our fighter it could be our last, Bassa reminded him.
Kernen concluded by ordering the squadrons to the simulators in preparation for the mission. The squad leaders announced the afternoon simulator schedules and Byron was pleased they would practice first. He wanted to tackle the simulation while adrenaline still coursed through his body.
By the time he emerged from the simulator, Byron was exhausted. The sheer number of Vindicarn fighters they’d face tomorrow morning was far greater than any previous encounter. Byron did not voice his thoughts, but their mission of diversion might degenerate into a frantic fight for survival.
The evening meal was light, its hours extended for those still in the simulators. The mood was one of oppressive excitement, and anxious discussions flowed from one table to the next. The men were eager and ready, but a measure of uncertainty remained. The simulator drills had revealed a grim reality. Coupled with the threat of the Vindicarn’s main disrupter, their chances for success were slim.
This battle has you worried, Bassa commented as they departed the dining hall.
Worried? No. Byron was unwilling to show any measure of hesitation in front of his navigator.
They entered the telepod and he turned to face the entrance, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He hoped his stoic expression would conceal his anxiety, but Bassa wasn’t fooled.
A little fear is good, Byron. Keeps you sharp.
Gritting his teeth, Byron felt annoyed, but not with his navigator. As the door slid open, Bassa nudged his elbow.
“Come on. I have something that will take care of that nervousness.”
Curious, Byron followed Bassa to his quarters. The senior officer gestured toward the table and Byron sank into a chair. Bassa opened a small cupboard and produced a bottle.
“You still have spirits from Spaceport 89?” Byron exclaimed. His two purchases were long since gone.
Bassa smiled and set the flask on the table. “No, not that cheap stuff. I brought this with me when I boarded the Sorenthia,” he announced with pride, “and there’s just enough left for two.”
While Bassa retrieved glasses, Byron examined the bottle. His eyebrows rose as he noted the label.
“Are you sure?” he asked, stunned Bassa would share such rare vintage with him.
“Wouldn’t offer otherwise.”
Bassa set two glasses on the table and grabbed the bottle. He deftly filled each one before taking his seat. Setting aside the flask, he grasped the closest glass and Byron followed suit. He expected Bassa to toast to victory, but his navigator simply tapped his glass. In the confines of his quarters, the clinking sound was loud. Byron lifted the glass to his lips, his eyes on Bassa. His friend downed half the contents in one shot. Byron attempted to do the same, but the strength of the drink caught him unaware. He struggled to swallow without losing any of the valuable liquid.
Bassa chuckled. “It’s probably stronger than you’re used to,” he offered as Byron gasped for air.
A little, Byron admitted.
“You’ll sleep good, I promise.”
Bassa took a smaller sip and set his glass on the table. He leaned back in his chair, arching his back in the process.
“Tomorrow’s mission will be difficult, but if just one of those Dartens succeeds, it will be worth it,” he declared.
“They won’t all make it,” observed Byron, his voice solemn.
“They understand the risk involved.”
“Damn brave,” he commented, lifting his glass. He eyed the clear liquid, contemplating his next words. “Not sure I could be that fearless,” he admitted, downing the contents of his glass.
He caught his breath as the liquid slid down his throat, its warmth causing him to wince. Byron coughed once, unaccustomed to a drink so robust. However, he could feel his muscles relax as the liquid coursed through his system. He would indeed sleep well tonight.
“Being brave doesn’t mean being fearless,” Bassa informed him. “It means doing the right thing despite one’s fear.”
Byron cleared his throat and gazed at his friend. Had Bassa experienced fear when he discarded his comfortable position to follow a young pilot into space?
“Was becoming my navigator the right thing to do?” he asked before he lost the nerve.
“Think that was a brave thing to do?” Bassa inquired before finishing his drink.
“Absolutely!”
He pushed his glass closer as Bassa lifted the bottle and his friend poured the remaining contents into their glasses. Bassa swirled the liquid in his glass before raising his gaze to meet Byron’s eyes.
“It’s a decision I’ve never regretted,” he stated.
Byron smiled at the sincerity of his words and the accompanying feelings of genuine friendship. He’d protested their pairing at first, but now he was grateful for Bassa’s presence. The man had taught him many things, most of which extended well beyond their
time in the cockpit.
“I have no regrets, either,” he finally admitted.
Bassa nodded and lifted his glass before taking a sip. Byron downed half his glass, shuddering once more at the effects. The warmth of the liquid filled his body, relaxing his mind as well as muscles. An idea he’d mulled over for the past few weeks resurfaced in his thoughts. While his senses still felt the effects of inebriation, Byron decided to voice his plans.
“I was thinking,” he began, his gaze on his drink. “Once our assignment on the Sorenthia is done we’d try something new.”
CassaStar Page 21
