by Jim Laughter
Next was time in simple trainers. Being ships of limited speed, distance, and firepower made little difference to the new trainees. Their instructors organized Delmar, and what turned out to be the other FAR trainees, into a flying drill team.
Delmar enjoyed the many hours spent drilling, and once again, it was paying off. Unconsciously, Delmar slipped into the number three position beneath the Flashes right wing. He saw Waldon's navigation lights blink in silent acknowledgement.
Delmar looked at the other scout ship now above his own. The comparison made the young captain wince. Before the mothership disaster, the Cabbage Patch had been one of the sleekest craft in the Axia. Now the only record she seemed intent on setting was for the most undiagnosed malfunctions in a single ship.
Aboard the Flash, Waldon was also looking at the Cabbage Patch through his rear visual sensor. The ship flying below and slightly behind him was as sleek as his own. But in truth, it had turned into a collection of problems. The Fast Attack Recon ships were experimental when the new captains had received them, and until now had proven themselves capable of anything asked of them. Even Delmar's survival when the mothership was attacked and destroyed was due in part to the integrity of the Cabbage Patch.
The problems his friend was experiencing bothered Waldon in another way. If it could happen to the Cabbage Patch, it could happen to any of the FAR ships.
Maybe they're too advanced.
Even the thought of his precious Flash turning into a flying disaster like the Cabbage Patch sent a shudder through him.
A message from Approach Control interrupted his musings. Although Delmar would now be in range to hear the directions himself, they’d previously agreed that it would make for less confusion if they flew it all the way with Waldon as leader. Delmar's suspicion that he might at times have his hands full with the problem-plagued Cabbage Patch had proven accurate.
"Ok, boyo,” Waldon said as he keyed his mic. "Here we go."
No response followed, which puzzled Waldon. Assuming Delmar must be busy with some trifle, he swung the Flash into the new vector and watched for the Cabbage Patch to follow. Instead, Delmar's ship continued along its original course. Even figuring for a total comm failure, Delmar should have flown in formation onto the new vector.
"What's going on, Delmar?" Waldon called as he continued to watch the Cabbage Patch veer off course. Still no response on either the comm or in the flight of the other ship.
"Approach Control, we have a problem up here,” Waldon called.
"Already noted, Flash,” Approach replied. "We're clearing the area just in case. Proceed at your discretion. Advise if you need assistance."
"Acknowledged.”
Waldon vectored the Flash around to follow the Cabbage Patch, swinging up next to the other scout ship. He noted that Delmar had not changed course in the slightest from their earlier heading. Accelerating, Waldon brought the Flash up to where he could look in through the main view screen of the Cabbage Patch. What he saw caused him to gasp.
"Approach, we've got an emergency,” Waldon called as he continued to watch the slumped form of Delmar sitting in his control chair.
"The captain of the Cabbage Patch appears to have passed out at the controls."
"Acknowledged, Flash,” said the calm voice of the controller. "We have a retrieval ship headed your way now. Expect arrival in one minute."
"Acknowledged.”
Just then, he saw Delmar's body lurch spasmodically. The Cabbage Patch suddenly veered toward the Flash. Rolling his axis ball hastily, Waldon spun the Flash out of the way. He watched the Cabbage Patch roll over on its back and head straight down toward the atmosphere.
"Hurry up on that ship!" Waldon yelled into his mic.
Even while he watched, he could see the heating effect of the atmosphere along the repulsion field of the Cabbage Patch. To his horror, he saw it deform, leaving the hull of the other ship badly exposed on one side.
Waldon again accelerated and gave chase to the diving Cabbage Patch, bringing himself up on the exposed side of the plunging ship to protect it with his own repulsion field. Their two repulsion fields would have normally kept the two ships from touching, but with the failure of Delmar's system, Waldon was able to make physical contact with the Cabbage Patch.
"Now I've got you,” Waldon said when he felt the changes in flight of his own ship. Ignoring the rapidly growing sight of the planet surface, Waldon started using his own ship to overcome Cabbage Patch's drive and force her back into space. He felt a shudder run through Flash as it fought to change the course of its sister ship. The screech of scraping metal tore at Waldon's ears and heart as the two hulls pressed together.
Ever so slowly, he began to change the flight of the out-of-control Cabbage Patch. The view out his front window faded as the view of the rapidly approaching surface changed to the darkness of space. As soon as he was certain the Cabbage Patch was heading safely away from the planet, Waldon spun his axis ball and arced the Flash away from the Cabbage Patch.
"You owe me a paint job and a boatload of new screen doors, boyo,” Waldon said to himself while he watched his friend's ship head out into open space. He brought the Flash back around and flew alongside of the Cabbage Patch. The scrape marks from where the Flash had shoved against her were alarmingly visible along one side of the Cabbage Patch. While he watched, a retrieval ship swung into formation with the disabled ship.
"We’ve got him,” the retrieval ship reported as a purple-gold ray reached Delmar's ship and latched on. "Give us some room, Flash. We need to disable his drive without hurting you."
"Acknowledged.”
Waldon swung away to a safe distance. The disabling ray was a recent development and only a few ships had one. From what Waldon had heard, only the large ships were capable of carrying enough mass or power.
Continuing to watch from a safe distance, Waldon saw a green ray bathe the rear of the Cabbage Patch. It immediately stopped its flight and was drawn in by the attractor ray.
Waldon vectored Flash into line with the much larger ship. The Cabbage Patch was expertly drawn into one of the docking bays. The doors closed and the retrieval ship headed back toward the surface of Erdinata.
"We're inside the scout now,” the retrieval ship technician reported to Waldon. "We found the captain alive but unconscious. We're proceeding down. What base was he headed to?"
"Jasper Station,” Waldon answered. "For a total refit."
"Acknowledged. We'll see you there. Oh, and by the way,” the retrieval ship continued, "that was some good flying."
"Thank you,” Waldon answered. "I'll follow you down.”
Chapter Two
The pilot looked forward through his spinning propeller. His plane clawed for altitude. Leveling out moments later, he scanned beneath him for his opponent. He saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye.
A quick glance over his left shoulder exposed the enemy biplane bearing down on him with deadly accuracy. The pilot snapped the control stick over to the right, throwing his craft into a series of snap rolls in an effort to shake his pursuer.
Another peek over his shoulder showed the effort had been in vain. At the sound of gunfire, he cut his throttle and pulled the nose up. His plane began to vibrate violently. The red biplane roared past just as the pilot felt his craft fully stall.
A quick kick on the right rudder pedal and his plane heeled over and into a spin. Once, twice, three times the pilot watched the surface spin beneath him, smoke billowing behind his plunging aircraft. The plane spiraled twice more before he pushed left rudder, correcting for the spin rotation.
The ground rushed up at him and he adroitly pulled the plane out of the dive until he saw clear sky ahead. The biplane, with engine now silently wind-milling, skimmed a few hundred feet above the ground. He heard the crowd roar its approval, then grinned and rolled his plane inverted to complete the pass.
Advancing the throttle, the engine roared to life again. He shut off the smoke
generator and rolled the rest of the way around. He swung in a wide circle, looking for the enemy biplane. Just then, the other aircraft appeared on his left and the two flew along together. The opposing pilot signaled a thumbs up. Yohan rocked his wings in response.
As if tethered together, the two biplanes completed their approach and landed side by side on the wide runway, their wheels touching down at the exact same moment.
With practiced ease, the two pilots taxied together near the main stands and shut down their engines. The crowd again roared their approval as the announcer for the air show introduced the flying duo. By now, both pilots were out of their biplanes, and after waving a final time to the crowd, headed for what served as a pilot ready room.
"Thought you were going to chew my tail off up there,” Yohan said. He held the door open for his friend.
"Getting nervous in your old age?" Pete Gilley chided his friend. "And would you mind not hitting the smoke so soon? That stuff really stinks."
The pilots stashed their gear on two empty chairs and sat down at one of the tables. A volunteer helping run the ready room brought them cold sodas.
"Couldn't think straight with all the gun noise those speakers of yours were making. Did you put in a new amplifier? You’re going to scare off all of the paying customers."
Yohan snorted at the mention of paying customers. All he and Pete received for doing air shows was food and a fresh load of fuel. In truth, it was enough to satisfy him. It also allowed him to do what he enjoyed most – flying.
Flying had been the one source of pleasure in his life since the accident. His work in the language department at the university was interesting enough but still didn't provide the zest he missed. A friend had taught him to fly primitive aircraft on weekends years ago, and now he found a solace for the emptiness he had come to know so well.
"You have to go back to school tomorrow?" Pete asked, breaking Yohan's train of thought.
"Not until Tuesday,” Yohan answered happily. "The department staff meeting scheduled for tomorrow was canceled."
"That's good to hear,” Pete said. He set his empty soda bottle on the table. "I think it's a shame the way they demand you be there for every little function. Doesn't leave a man time to play."
"You can say that again.”
"Do you want to work the Cambridge fly-in tomorrow?" Pete asked. He waved for the volunteer. "They extended it a third day because of public response."
"That's good news for a change,” Yohan said. "They usually cancel those things. Must have sacrificed a tourist to the weather gods."
"Do you want to fly or talk religion?"
The volunteer finally came their way. Other pilots were now drifting into the lounge as other parts of the air show finished.
"Might as well,” Yohan answered with a grin. "Only this time I get to win the dog fight."
"What can I get for you gentlemen?" the eager volunteer asked, interrupting the two pilots.
"Give us a couple of chilidogs and two more sodas,” Pete Gilley answered before Yohan could speak. "And put extra onions on mine.” He winked at his friend. "I like to have food that fights back a little."
"You want the onions on the chilidog or in the soda?" the volunteer shot back as she headed toward the kitchen.
"I still don't see how you can eat like that and still fly,” Yohan said. "I'd heave my cookies in the first snap roll."
"Food is just like airplanes, Yohan by boy,” Pete said. "They only do two things – what you make them do and what you let them do."
"Just the same, I don't like flying with my gut twisting faster than the aircraft,” Yohan said. Just then, the volunteer came to the table with their order.
"Here you go,” she said with a smile.
"Hey, I asked for extra onions!" Pete protested when she set down the identical plates. Before he could complain further, another volunteer appeared next to the first and emptied a double handful of chopped onions onto Pete's chilidog. Without a word, the pair of volunteers turned and left Pete trying to spot the end of his chilidog sticking out from underneath the mound of onions.
"So what are you going to make this dog do, Pete?" Yohan asked with a grin.
∞∞∞
"Ready to begin the test,” Eaton said into the comm system of the Blackhawk. A glance at his detector screen showed the other ships at their prearranged locations.
"Acknowledged, Blackhawk,” the controller replied. "Commence test."
Eaton reached up and threw the switch on an auxiliary panel that the engineers had recently installed next to his pilot seat.
"Optiveil engaged,” Eaton reported. To his perception, nothing notable had happened.
"Acknowledged, Blackhawk,” came back the reply. "Stand by while initial scanning is conducted."
That's all I ever seem to do anymore, Eaton thought. Maybe I should change the name of this ship to Standby.
When he first received word from Shalimar that he was being assigned to the Optiveil project, Eaton had been elated. The idea that his FAR ship was being equipped to be undetectable was very intriguing.
Eaton didn’t know much about the new technology, only that it was highly classified and very experimental. He knew some independent trader named Ian Cahill had discovered it when he happened upon a hidden planet somewhere in one of the lost sectors of the Axia. He didn’t know where, and quite frankly, he didn’t care.
However, according to rumor, this new Optiveil system was powerful enough to hide an entire planet. The engineers that created it apparently convinced Cahill to let them install it on his ship, an old space freighter called the Cahill Express. At that time he’d been able to use the new cloaking device to follow a Red-tail ship to its destination, and had in turn helped relieve an overrun planet of a Red-tail taskforce.
If it can do that, perhaps it will prove useful on my fast recon missions, Eaton thought. He sure hoped so, and soon.
He was growing weary of the whole affair. For almost two months after he arrived, the engineers had tinkered with their first field model before they installed it on the Blackhawk. Eaton had been confined to doing office work while engineers swarmed over his ship. What appeared to him to be a simple two-day installation job had stretched into weeks. Now, to his great surprise, they had finally decided to conduct actual trials.
"Initial scanning completed,” the controller reported to Eaton. "Begin second phase."
Eaton reached up and flipped another recently installed switch labeled Optiveil. The ship appeared to shimmer just a bit, causing Eaton to feel just a little queasy. Nothing else seemed to change.
But that’s what these tests will prove.
"Acknowledged,” Eaton replied. "Engaging drive system now."
He advanced the throttle bar and began to steer the preplanned flight path. His detector screen revealed he was passing each of the other ships, apparently undetected. Finally, he arrived at the end of the test course and slowed the Blackhawk to a full stop.
"Initial run completed,” Eaton reported.
"Acknowledged,” the controller answered. "Turn and prepare for the second run."
Eaton obediently swung his ship around 180 degrees and waited for the go signal. He watched his detector screen while the other ships repositioned for the faster run.
"Begin second run,” the controller ordered.
"Acknowledged,” Eaton answered as he again advanced his throttle.
The Blackhawk accelerated when Eaton moved the throttle into the yellow arc. Concentrating on his piloting, he guided his ship along the test flight path. Minutes later, he brought the ship to a halt at the end of the course.
This is amazing, Eaton thought. They don’t see me.
"Second run completed,” Eaton reported.
"Acknowledged,” the controller replied in a monotone voice. "Stand by and prepare for the third run.”
Eaton swung the ship around again and tried to wait patiently.
The other ships, loaded with whole array
s of detection gear, repositioned themselves along the course. Although it was tedious waiting at the end of each run, Eaton had to grudgingly admire all of the coordination these tests involved. Finally, the comm sprang back to life.
"Proceed with the next run,” the controller announced. Eaton again advanced the throttle of the Blackhawk.
Hours later Eaton was tired of the entire Optiveil project. The controller had directed him to fly his ship back and forth across the test course more times that he cared to remember. He could easily imagine that there were actual ruts in space created by these never-ending runs.
Every possible variation had to be tested in spite of the frustration level of the pilot. After the initial test runs came flight paths that tried every speed level of the Blackhawk. Then came the attitude test, mixing various angles of pitch and roll while Eaton flew the test course. Finally, they came to the weapons test.
"Ready to begin initial weapons run,” the controller said.
"Acknowledged,” Eaton replied wearily.
A glance at his detector screen showed the other ships were now widely scattered. Automated drones floated along the projected flight path for Eaton to target. The other ships would measure to see if the back flash from the Blackhawk's weapons affected the Optiveil system.
"Begin weapons run now,” the controller ordered.
"Acknowledged.”
Advancing the throttle, Eaton accelerated toward the first target. He alternately used his heat rays and torps in quick succession to destroy each target along the course. Finally reaching the prescribed end of the course, he brought the Blackhawk to a stop.
"Course completed,” Eaton reported.
"Acknowledged,” the controller answered. "Return to bay 16-L."
Eaton swung his ship around toward the distant mothership. As the Blackhawk shot forward, Eaton decided to have a little fun. Leaving the Optiveil engaged, he spiraled invisibly around the other ships as they headed in. He zipped past them and entered the docking bay, bringing the Blackhawk to a bumpless landing on his assigned pad. He watched carefully to see if the bay personnel had detected the entry of his ship.
