Chapter
Three: First Flight
Back in his quarters again, Zekk suited up for flight practice,
slipped into an orange flight suit and zipped his jet black knee boots up. After putting a pair of black gloves on, he
tightened a belt around his waist, making sure the holster was situated
properly. Zekk picked his helmet up off
the nightstand and slid it under his arm.
It shone a steely color from its recent polishing. Every
Hearing a rustling on his bed cover, he looked down to see
Gallack slithering over something. Zekk
looked closer, and he could see the snake was nudging his silver-woven necklace
with her scaly nose. I think you would want this.
“Thanks Gallack,’’ he said with a
grin. The serpent hissed softly, and
darted off under the bed. Zekk
laughed. The serpent never ceased to
amaze him. He took a last look around
him. There were cast off clothes strewn
all over his quarters, and a half-eaten dinner was still sitting on the desk. A stack of papers was spread out on the
nightstand. He grimaced, knowing he
would have to clean the place up when he got back. In the bathroom, Ziel was chasing his food
around the tank before he ate it, as usual.
The ensign took another deep breath, as the he pondered today’s
flight. Walking over to his night stand,
he brushed the papers to one side and picked up his blaster. Placing it firmly in his hip holster, he
walked out the door of his quarters. The
door hissed shut behind him and he
took off down the hall. When Zekk
arrived at the turbo lift he found his hands shaking and his stomach felt as if
it were soaring. It was not a fear of
flying; he had flown before. This time
it was different. It was going to be the
first time he had flown as a member of a team.
The squadron leader was going to evaluate his skills, and decide whether
or not he was good enough to be given a permanent place in a squadron. The lift doors opened, and Zekk walked in.
“Main Hanger,’’ he uttered. Beeping in compliance, the lift plunged
down. Lights went whizzing by, and in
seconds he had arrived on the main hanger deck.
After Zekk had exited the lift, he saw a small group of orange clad
pilots standing in a loose circle. Most
of them were facing away from him toward the row of fighters. They heard the lift doors close and turned
their heads in his direction. He gave a
faint smile and nodded. Most of them
ignored him. One young man, however,
smiled and waived back at him. Zekk
walked over to the man and stood next to him.
The man smiled radiantly as he extended his hand.
“Hi, my name’s Fray, Meryl Fray,” he
said, shaking Zekk’s hand. Meryl was
nearly the same height as Zekk, and had broad shoulders to go with his barrel
chest. Long, blonde bangs swept over his
wide blue eyes, and back over his ears.
Despite the muscular build, Meryl looked childish.
“Nice to meet ya. I’m Zekk Alvarion, fresh out of the Academy,”
he said with a lopsided grin.
“Really? So am I.
Most of these guys are too. Not
the friendliest of sorts, but this is pretty much a stress situation,” Meryl
said with a chuckle. He turned his gaze
from Zekk to the group.
“Yeah, I kinda noticed that.” Zekk paused a moment and looked around. They would be flying A-wings today, which
were among the more difficult fighters to fly.
These craft were more responsive to movements pilots made while flying,
and were not as forgiving as some of the older fighters. It would certainly be different from flying
those old clunkers back at the academy.
Zekk was about the only one of the group with any interstellar flying
experience, and even then it was only flying transports and those ancient
artifacts. The rest of the group had
spent lots of time in simulators, and running drills in the old Y-wing at
Fayrah. Making a mistake there meant you
went back and tried the exercise again.
Making a mistake here meant you were dead. Maybe
that was why fighter pilots had no fear of anything...they weren’t around after
their first mistake to know any different, Zekk thought to himself. Zekk shook his head to clear his
thoughts. He turned his gaze upon the
people around him. They stood with
nervous looks upon their faces. The
exception was Meryl, who was grinning like an idiot. Maybe I
should give him some attention; he looks like he needs it. “Where are you from?” Zekk asked, turning towards Meryl.
“I’m from Corellia. How about you?” Meryl asked in return. He adjusted his long bangs, and stuffed his
hands into his pockets.
“Coruscant,” Zekk replied. “The um…lower levels.”
“Oh, … sorry to hear that.”
Meryl’s cheeks flushed as he lowered his gaze and shuffled his
feet. It was common knowledge that
people who grew up in the lower levels were either the damned, or the
outcast. If anyone could survive the
gangs, or worse, the predatory species the lived beneath the pylons of the city
towers, they could handle themselves anywhere.
Zekk had known people who had fallen prey to some of the mysterious
creatures that leaved in the dank shadows.
He had brushed death there more than once.
“Heh, don’t worry about it.
It’s our decisions that get us where we are. I’m here now.
Besides, it teaches ya a thing or two about survival. Way I see it; I’m the only one of us that has
a chance if we crash on a swamp world.
Give me a nest of gundarks any day over the Depths,” Zekk said,
finishing up the last comment with a chuckle, while Meryl grinned.
The two went on,
describing their home worlds to one another.
It seemed the popular topic of discussion for the day. Meryl was a merchant’s son. His father had been a navcom builder during
the days of the Rebellion. Meryl spent
most of his youth learning about computers, and helping his father run their
business. It was a profitable occupation
for them, as the Corellian sector was bustling with space traffic. Space goers were in constant need of
maintenance for their navcoms. His
family’s luck ran out when Imperial authorities had found they were selling
computers to a group of bandits, and they were shut down because of it. It was an honest mistake, but it was well
known that Imperials had no tolerance for anyone dealing with ‘thugs’. After that, Meryl and his father packed up
and moved to the Tahr System, just outside the space owned by the worm-like
Hutts. This was quite a gamble, being
that Hutts were a dangerous lot, and the vile crowd of bounty hunters, mercenaries,
and gamblers they attracted were just as bad.
It paid off in the end, though, and they were able to get themselves
back up on their feet. Their business
flourished in that bustling space.
Merchant and pirate vessels were in constant need of upgrades, and
Meryl’s father was in constant demand as a serviceman for their computer
systems. The freighters that hauled
themselves across the stars looked for updates on star charts, and bought newly
plotted routes from them. All his life,
Meryl had wanted to get back at the Imperials for ruining his family’s business
so had decided to join the Rebellion. To
Zekk it seemed innocent enough; the need for revenge against the Empire was
something a lot of people shared. Even
himself…However, their superior officers did not share the same…ideals. The sound of clacking boots echoed on the
cold steel floors like chimes.
The squadron leader approached, and everyone went quiet. He carried himself with an ease and
confidence that made it quite obvious he felt superior to those around
him. The group quickly formed a line
several meters away from the foremost A-wing, and came to attention. It was Vice Admiral Hovington. The admiral was perhaps the most famous man
in the fleet. Besides countless kills,
what made him special was the fact that he still flew his fighter in
combat. While most other admirals sat in
their command chair during a skirmish, Vice Admiral Hovington joined the ranks
of the fighter pilots. He was not about
to let his pilots die in battle without his being there. He was an accomplished fighter pilot, having
flown in the early wars against the Galactic Empire. Hovington’s considerable leadership abilities
were known throughout the entire Alliance Fleet. Those that served under the Admiral tended to
respect and admire him. Almost to a man,
they were unswervingly loyal, not just to the Rebellion, but to the Admiral in
particular.
Hovington consulted his data pad one last time and looked up at
the collection of untried pilots. He
walked the length of the group once, inspecting each one, then swiveled on the
heel of his boot. The admiral had an
emotionless look on his face, very much the way Zekk remembered it from their
last encounter. The ensign took a deep
breath and turned his eyes straight forward.
This time the admiral was wearing a dark leather trench coat, with
shoulder tabs bearing the markings of a vice admiral. He had a sash that was a shade lighter that
coat, with a golden buckle bearing the markings of Sabre Squadron. The admiral walked by the front of the
line. As he passed Zekk, the admiral
glanced at him and gave him a smile almost too faint to notice. Obviously he remembered the ensign. Zekk shifted uncomfortably. I want
to be forgotten, not remembered.
With one last sweeping gaze, the admiral began to speak. His accented voice rang through the chamber,
coldly.
“I am Vice Admiral Hovington, you’re
squadron leader. It is my job to train
you to fly, and one day to fight. Before
we begin, I want each of you to step forward, speak your name, and step back
into place. Understood?” Everyone
replied with a loud ‘yes sir’. “Very
good. We’ll start at this end. You,” he said as he pointed at one of the new
pilots. The pilot looked startled and
dismayed at being chosen first. Giving a
brief side glance to the person next to him, he stepped forward.
“Ensign Darrin Garrager, sir,” said
a human man that looked to be slightly younger than Zekk. His face showed he was quite intimidated by
the admiral and those around him.
Garrager had short, spiky red hair that was cut to the standard military
length. He spoke in a southern Corellian
accent, common among the farmers of that planet. He was fairly tall and had a rather slim body
overall. He had a well defined jaw, with
weary, blue eyes placed beneath his broad forehead. The admiral nodded at him. Darrin stepped back into line, and another
man that appeared to be a few years older strode forward. The man’s stride was confident, and the look
on his face showed no fear of anyone, or anything. Somewhat taller than Zekk, the man was
muscular and handsome. He had short,
blonde hair and ice blue eyes that seemed to glow. His voice only added to his swagger.
“Ensign Serrith Wuir,’’ he said.
Serrith had kept a very small but obvious smile since the moment he had
been called forward. He slowly stepped
back into line, all the while holding the admiral’s gaze. Hovington cocked an eyebrow at Serrith, but
just as quickly turned his gaze. The
next pilot that stepped forward was a woman holding a jacket under her left
arm.
“Ensign Jera Carver, sir,” she said
clearly. Her voice plainly stated there
was no problem with confidence, and with good reason. Jera was an attractive, athletic woman of
medium height. Zekk guessed she was a
couple of years older than himself. Her
muscles were slim but well-formed, and were more than visible through her
flight shirt. She had sleek, brown hair
that fell down on her shoulders and long eyebrows similar to Zekk’s. Her deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle under
the overhead lighting. Broad shoulders
and a slim waste, she had a physique that turned heads. As she stepped back into line, Jera turned
her gaze to Zekk. He realized he had
been staring at her the whole time.
Zekk’s cheeks flushed as he quickly turned his gaze away from her. Jera appeared to take no notice of her new
audience, and snapped her head forward.
A dark skinned human man, who towered far above everyone else, moved
forward to announce his name. He was
easily two meters tall.
“Ensign Gerril Owin, admiral,” he
said in a deeper, accented voice. Gerril
had a powerful voice that seemed as though it moved things around when he
spoke. His stature only added to the
intimidating aura. His muscles were
quite sculptured, stretching his flight suit with every move he made. This was not a man you wanted to tangle with
alone. Nevertheless, something made him
seem gentle, almost timid. As he
returned to line, a Twi’lek man next to him began to twitch his head tails
nervously. Zekk was not sure if the
Twi’lek man was scared of Gerril, the admiral, or the many humans around
him. In a raspy voice, the Twi’lek spoke
his name.
“Ensign Xerrah Ilak.” His eyes kept
darting back and forth. It was clear
Xerrah was not comfortable with his new surroundings. Zekk had to be honest; he was not comfortable
around the Twi’lek either. Ilak had
golden, reptilian eyes with flecks of brown in them. Those eyes looked as though they could cut a
person in half. Sharp teeth and dark
claw-like fingernails added to the ominous appearance. Zekk hoped he was not too quick to use them
to settle an argument. Xerrah stepped
back, and made way for a man by the name of Faust Dartayne to check in, whom
Zekk had met once in the cafeteria. The
man was about the same age as Darrin. He
had dark black hair that was cut to a medium length, allowing it to touch his
ears and eyebrows. His skin was somewhat
pale overall, which made for a rather strange contrast with the dark hair. Faust spoke with a dull voice that sounded as
though he were depressed. The look on
his face made it seem as if he was oblivious to the world around him. The procession went on, coming to Meryl Fray. He looked
as nervous as Zekk felt. After taking a deep breath, he stepped
forward.
“Ensign Meryl Fray, sir,” he said in
a boyish voice. Fray got back into
line. It was Ensign Alvarion’s turn
now. He stepped forward, and spoke.
“Ensign Zekk Alvarion,” Zekk said
clearly. That was the conclusion of the
introduction of the new pilots.
Hovington nodded his head and slid the data pad under his arm. The admiral pulled a stack of papers out of a
folder that he picked up from a bench nearby.
Carefully shuffling the papers between his hands, he snapped his eyes up
to the group in front. He began to speak
in a very dignified and clear voice.
“Very good. Today, I will assess your flight skills, your
strong and weak areas, and what sort of craft is best suited to your abilities. Each of you will be assigned an A-wing
fighter for today’s exercises. Now, as
most of you know, the A-wing is the fastest and most maneuverable fighter we
have. To fly it, you will need
exceptional skills and reflexes. I
understand that this is quite a change from the Y-wing, and I will therefore
not throw you out of the fighter corps, take your wings from you, and make sure
you will never again fly as a Rebel pilot if you make a mistake … assuming you
survive that mistake.” Hovington paused while the group looked around at each
other with uneasy looks on their faces.
“So much for the pleasantries,” Zekk
whispered to Meryl, with a sarcastic look on his face. The admiral looked directly at Zekk. Blinking, Zekk quickly turned his head
forward and resumed his state of silence.
The admiral then continued, bringing his eyes slowly away from the
ensign to the rest of the group.
“Your flight plan is simple.
You will fly up to the orbiting Golan defense platform Mathas Station,
where you will begin dogfight simulation.
Keep in mind; this is not a computer anymore. Any mistakes you make could be fatal. Live fire will not be used against you, but
all other dangers are relevant. After
you board your fighter, begin pre-flight checks, and stand by for takeoff. Is that clear?’’ Everyone shouted ‘yes
sir’. The admiral handed out assignment
papers to each of the pilots, and they walked towards their designated
fighter. Hovington then turned away and
strolled to his own fighter, Sabre One.
By the time Zekk had received his fighter assignment, most the
squadron had boarded their fighters.
Ensign Fray came over to Zekk, and patted him on the back. Meryl glanced at the fighter at the end of
the line. Zekk looked over at his own
fighter, and smiled. He turned back to
Meryl and sighed.
“Well, I guess we’re in the big show
now. It’s hard to believe that we’ve
gotten this far,” Meryl said with glee.
It was quite obvious that Meryl was as happy as he had ever been. There were nearly tears in his eyes, and he
was nervously swaying side to side. Zekk
looked up at him with a lopsided grin.
“There’s a reason we’re here,
dude. Don’t worry about it, you’ll do
fine. Trust me.” He paused a
moment. Zekk was not as sure of himself as
he sounded. He frowned and pointed at
one of the fighters. “I got Sabre
Seven. I see you got nine. We’d better get goin’ man.” Meryl nodded in
agreement. The two walked to end of the
row together and looked up at their new fighters. “Yo, these A-wings are shiny as a gem. Not like those Y-wings we flew back at the
academy,” Zekk said. “’Wonder if they
respond any better than those crates do.” Meryl laughed, and started to fidget
with the strap on his holster. He
sighed.
“I guess we just give ‘em a try,”
Fray commented. Zekk nodded his head up
and down with a challenging look in his eyes, which he got every time he flew.
“Let’s do it man.” Zekk said as he
knocked fists with his new comrade.
After zipping up his flight suit, Zekk gave a half salute to Meryl, and
turned away. They each walked opposite
directions to their ships.
Zekk slipped on his helmet as he arrived
alongside Sabre 7. His eyes rose to gaze
upon the ship. Sighing, the ensign took
one last look at the papers and climbed up the ladder. He stopped on the last rung. The gleaming red and cream hull glistened under
the hanger floodlights. Zekk hung there,
motionless, with his black gloves in one hand.
He gripped the railing firmly, leaning back against the cool air. His eyes danced from side to side as he let
the sudden surge of power subside in his mind.
Then, he took the last step. Zekk
walked slowly and gently over the fighter’s hull, allowing the clack of his
boots on durasteel armor to echo throughout the hanger. In looking around him, Zekk could see he was
not the only one with alvs in his stomach.
As he had reached the center of the fighter, Zekk kissed his silver
necklace for good luck and dropped down into the cockpit. He flipped a light switch on the dash. As Zekk settled in the leather seat, he
rubbed his hands together. Okay, he thought. Zekk took one last deep breath and began the
pre-flight checks. His hands moved with
unusual easiness over the control panel.
So far it was just like a Corellian transport. Zekk powered up the ship’s computer, and
turned on the targeting systems. He
checked to be sure the fighter was fully fueled, and calibrated. He flipped on the power to the engines and
they began to heat up. Zekk heard a deep
whine from the outtakes as the engines came up to readiness. Remember,
the fighter is an extension of your body, he said to himself. Zekk pushed a button and his canopy lowered
and sealed shut. The ship was read to
go. All around him other pilots were
securing their canopies as well. All
that was left was for Control to give the clearance to take off. Suddenly, the navcom came online and began to
speak in a robotic, masculine voice. The
ensign jumped at the sound, assuming something was wrong. “Greetings, I am Vortex, your ship’s artificial
intelligence interface.” Zekk cocked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. He was not fond of artificial
intelligence. All it did was get in the
way during combat. He could picture
himself heavily damaged, evading multiple pursuers, and then having a damage
assessment pop up on the H.U.D. Worse
yet, droids had the uncanny ability to notify you that you were in trouble,
long after you had come to that conclusion yourself. Zekk continued exploring the control
panel. He slid a hand down the console
until it reached the steering controls.
Ensign Alvarion looked at the rubbery, black joystick that was covered
by grey and red buttons. This was a
newer joystick than those he had used in the past. It appeared as though it was formed to
perfectly fit into the palm of his hand.
The top had three red buttons on it, and a firing trigger on the
front. Zekk decided to click one with an
arrow on it. The screen lit up and
Vortex began to speak. “Missiles armed.”
Zekk’s eyes went wide as he quickly leaned forward. “Oh shit,” he said aloud. Zekk danced his hand to and fro over the keyboard. He quickly hit another arrow button, and the
missile launcher disarmed itself. Zekk
gave sigh of relief and leaned back into the seat of his fighter. He continued to take deep breaths to calm
himself, not quite sure his skills would carry over into the newer generation
of fighters.
Admiral Hovington made sure everyone was secured inside their
fighter before hopping into his own. He
settled himself into his seat, fastening the safety harness first, before
moving onto the preflight checks. All
had been completed except the primary ignition.
Hovington pressed the igniter switch up at about the same time he
entered the security access code. The
engines came to life with a fiery roar, settling out into a tinny hum. He sealed the cockpit window, then slipped
the helmet over his head. With the
engines powered up, he requested take off clearance. Control granted it, and Hovington gave the go
ahead. “All right, listen up. I want each you of to take off in order-one
at a time. I’ll take the lead. Form up on my wing once we enter space. No one is to throttle up past one hundred
until I say so.” He paused momentarily as he acknowledged the clearance. “Ok, here we go. Wuir, you’re in the two slot, so follow me
up.” Hovington’s fighter gave a gush of air as the repulsor lifts hammered the
ground below him. Dust and pieces of
debris scattered everywhere. His fighter
slowly lifted off the ground as he retracted the landing gear. With a moment’s pause, the admiral blasted
off into the atmosphere. One by one the
rest of the wing did the same.
Hovington’s fighter shook as it pounded through cloud and atmosphere
layers. The nose of his fighter jolted
from air turbulence. At last, the final
atmospheric layers disappeared from view and gave way to the starry skies. Hovington had run through this routine many
times, but never got tired of seeing the beauty of the stars and the
cosmos. As for the rest of his wing,
this was their first atmospheric departure in an A-wing. Ah yes, he remembered the first time he had
done this. It was an experience that
would last a life time… After the entire squadron had exited Naboo’s
atmosphere, they formed a V-shaped wing.
It was an impressive sight to see.
The white and red patterns seemed to blend into one harmonious lance of
power that had no equal. It was well
known that Sabre was the premier fighter squadron in the fleet, and it seemed
to show now. The only squadron that
could rival this fame was Krayt Squadron.
Krayt was made up of a bunch of crack bomber pilots that would take on
impossible missions that others feared to even consider. Sabre Squadron was known for tackling
impossible odds during dogfights, displaying valor above all else. The admiral wondered who would get the glory
now…most of his top pilots had gotten squadron commands of their own, or been
killed in combat. And now, once again,
he was faced with the impossible task of training and uniting the most
unpromising group of know-nothings in the fleet. Hovington led his brood around the station
once, and then into the commercial traffic going to and from the planet
spaceport below.
“Watch out for space traffic, I
don’t want anyone crashing into anything.
The last thing we need is a law suit on our hands for delirious flying,”
the admiral said over the radio. Zekk
glanced though his window at Meryl.
Ensign Fray sarcastically saluted him and laughed. This was the most exciting feeling the two
had ever experienced. Inside the
plasteel cockpit, they felt invulnerable, yet so open. Their squadron leader led the wing over to a
traffic lane. Hovington steered under a
large transport ship, and the rest followed him. Everyone could see the lights and portals
onboard the slow freighter as they passed within meters of its hull. Admiral Hovington brought them around the
lane, and headed back for the station.
It was obvious he was allowing his squadron to acquaint themselves with
the new fighters, and have a little fun.
Naboo’s sun stretched its arms over the top of the planet, making for a
golden halo. Off in the depths of space,
a nova flickered quietly. Space really
was beautiful…but all too often war ruined the quiet calm. “Bring up the practice field beacon on your
screens,” Hovington ordered. After
everyone had locked on to the nearest target in the field, he continued. “Notice the numerous round objects scattered
all over the field. They are laser
drones. These ones do not fire high
powered lasers, but rather ‘sting’ the shields on your fighter. After you have taken a set number of hits,
you are to leave the field while the rest of your wing tries to complete the
practice run. You are to shoot the
drones with your laser cannons only. Is
that understood?” Everyone responded with a confident ‘yes’. The admiral informed the station that his
squadron was ready to commence their practice.
A lone zero-g worker in the field caught the transmission and scurried
away as fast as he could. “Very well,
throttle up and engage now,”
Hovington ordered with a two-fingered gesture as he peeled away. The wing powered up to full throttle, and
entered the practice field. Each of the
fighters split up and attacked separate drones.
“These drones are tiny. How the hell is this supposed to simulate
combat?” Garrager asked as he throttled up, adjusting the toggle screen. Many of the others were thinking the same
thing.
“What’s the matter? Is shooting down
drones too difficult for you?” Wuir taunted.
He barrel rolled, and fired his cannons at the nearest drone. As it exploded into a ball of flame, the
surrounding drones fired at him. He
easily evaded them. “I love the smell of
cooked drones in the morning. Now which
one you losers think they can score higher than me?” Every one of the fighters
split off into different directions, in search of their own quarries.
Everyone attacked the drones
solo. Garrager took several hits in the
center of the field where the drones were most concentrated. He veered up and to the left, but one of the
drones tagged him several times. His
ventral shielding had failed according to the simulation. As he tried to maneuver away, another drone
caught him from behind. His computer
informed him that was the hit limit. The
station ordered Garrager to leave the arena and wait near the docks. Frustrated, he headed towards the station,
and Ensign Wuir hollered after him.
“Ha-ha. Seems as though we have a
runt to the litter,” Wuir said. “I think
we know who the new bus pilot is.” Jera responded with an “ow” as if she was
taunting Garrager as well. Wuir cycled
his targeting screen, turned back around and fired a few shots into the
field. All of them missed their mark.
“Hey nice shooting Wuir; you might be ready for the junior
marksmanship contest now,” Zekk commented.
The rest of the wing started laughing.
Clearly it was making Serrith very unhappy.
“What the hell-You think you can do
better little man?” Wuir challenged. He
had a look of disgust on his face.
“As a matter of fact. Watch this.” Zekk plunged his fighter
straight down into the heart of the field, and fired his cannons at a cluster
of drones. Several of them exploded in
balls of flame. Zekk looked over his
shoulder and smiled. “I do believe
that’s called drone-slaughter. Now, was
there something you wanted to discuss?” he said to Serrith. His comments were dismissed with a gesture
from Serrith’s finger. Zekk looked down
at his targeting screen, and noticed a drone had locked onto him. It began to spray a series of lasers at
him. Zekk swerved to his right, pulling
up and away. The drone managed to score
three hits on the shields. He turned his
fighter back around, and steered it towards the attacking drone. Zekk waited until he had centered the drone
in his sights, before he pulled the trigger.
He hit his mark, and the drone went up in flames. He gave a sigh of relief, and looked for
another drone to kill. Ensign Fray
whizzed by and blew up another drone. As
he maneuvered around a hunk of debris, a cluster of drones loosed a volley of
lasers at him. There was little time to
react. Before he could take evasive
maneuvers, the drones scored enough hits to end his run. The station command informed him to return to
Mathas Station. Meryl slammed the palm
of his hand on the dash of his fighter.
“Damn it!” he yelled in frustration. After receiving the message to return, he
cruised back to the station, all the while muttering about how idiotic this
test was. The rest of the wing continued
to battle the drones. Ensign Dartayne
quietly continued on alone, and Ensign Ilak roared on through the field. Faust targeted a drone perched atop an old
wing piece. The wing appeared to be from
a freighter that had been destroyed long ago.
Ilak fired a few shots and destroyed the drone. After flying past it, a pack of drones hidden
behind the wing fired an array of lasers.
Ilak could not dodge quickly enough to avoid being eliminated. He received the signal to leave the practice
field. Ilak hissed and bared his sharp
teeth in anger.
“A deserving blow, karma at last. That’s what you get for stealing my kill,”
Dartayne whispered to Ilak dolefully.
The Twi’lek man squinted his reptilian eyes furiously.
“We’re gettin’ dropped like bugs out
here,” Ensign Alvarion commented while avoiding a volley of drone fire. “Now listen up all you losers. Form up a wing and let’s plow right down the
middle of that drone pack behind that big piece of junk over there,” Zekk
said. He typed coordinates into his
computer and transmitted them to the remaining wing mates.
“This is stupid. What the hell do you have in mind, alley
trash?” Serrith questioned the plan.
Just as he did everyone else, Wuir did not trust his wing mate. Zekk clenched his jaw, and glared over his
shoulder at Wuir, as the man settled his fighter in behind him. It appeared that was Serrith’s way of
approving.
The rest complied and followed Zekk deeper into the field. Drones continued to fire a cloud of lasers
around them. Jera and Zekk took the
lead. “Do what I do,” Zekk said. The two whipped around the hunk of debris
without firing. Zekk paused long enough
for the drones to acquire a lock on Jera and himself. “Ok, throttle up! Take ‘em out guys!” he
yelled over the radio. The drones
continued firing at the two lead A-wings, taking no notice of the two fighters
flying around the bend. Owin took the
first shot and demolished three of the seven drones. Wuir flew up behind Owin and fired a spray of
lasers. He caught two of the remaining
drones in his line of fire. Each of them
ricocheted in opposite directions, colliding with other drones. The entire drone cluster blossomed into
flames.
Wuir grinned widely and flew up
behind Zekk. “Now that’s what I’m
talking about,” he said. Ensign Owin
twisted his fighter to the side and lined up with the rest of the wing. Each of the fighters glided effortlessly
through the black of space. Below them,
the planet glowed brightly. Freighters
and liners descended into the atmosphere below, while others flew away into
deep space. The odd flash of white light
indicated a vessel entering hyperspace.
The flight turned and soared away from the planet, heading back to the
station. Meanwhile Faust was driving
hard at the drones, firing shots left and right. At last, he grew weary of the lack of
efficiency of cannon fire. Keeping a
hand on the stick, Ensign Dartayne clicked a button on the dash. The rest of the wing received warning alarms
on their dashes that a missile was being fired.
Soon a red flash exploded from Sabre
Five’s missile tube, as the advanced
missile flew ahead. Colliding with a
single drone, the explosion that followed swallowed an entire cluster in
flame. For once, Faust showed an
expression of merriment, if only for a moment.
“Oh yes, I like that one,” he said
with a dull voice.
“Sabre Five! Cease missile fire
inside civilian space immediately or you will be fired upon!” sounded the
station’s traffic controller franticly.
“Go to hell, may you burn
miserably,” Faust muttered. He returned
to the group, assuming his place with the wing.
Zekk was staring at him with a look of wonder. Ensign Dartayne noticed his wingman’s
bewilderment. “What?”
“Nothing,” Zekk said laughing
softly. The five flew in standard
formation, looking for another drone pack to hit. Wuir spotted one and was in the process of
transmitting a flight plan when the station command sent a command over the
chat link.
“All craft are to regroup.
Follow your squadron leader to this hyper-point,” a man said over the
radio. The station control transmitted
an encrypted file to the squadron’s navcoms.
The three that had been disqualified from the drone practice were
ordered to rejoin the group. After they
had assumed their wing formation, the admiral led the wing away from the field
and out into the depths of space. The
computers aboard the A-wings began to decrypt the files that had been
sent. Wuir looked down at his computer,
and raised his hands off the controls in confusion.
“What the hell is it doing? I didn’t press anything,” he said in
an irritated voice. Serrith started
pressing buttons on his keypad to terminate the decryption. “God damn computer. Shut off! Shut off damn it!” He started
hitting the keys harder and harder with his forefinger.
“Well ensign, unless you wanted to get blasted somewhere off to
the Core Systems, I suggest you allow your navcom to finish its sequence to
allow you to get to where we are going,” Hovington said. Serrith’s eyes opened wide, and he stopped
his tirade. His cheeks flushed red
enough for Gerril to see through his cockpit.
The rest of the wing started chuckling and jeered at Serrith. Admiral Hovington got a look of annoyance on
his face, and continued speaking with the station control. Zekk thought he heard the admiral mumble
something about stupid rookies and higher standards.
“Alright, listen
closely. I am leading you to another
practice field. The nature and location
of this field is secret. You’ll notice
your screen says ‘hyper-point unknown’.
Don’t worry about that. That’s
simply one of our security precautions.
It is a strange feeling when you enter hyper-space for the first time in
your fighter. Being in so small a
cockpit makes you feel open to dangers of space. This time your navcom will activate itself. However, when running from an enemy, you
won’t have time to use a computer to make a jump; you will have to do it
manually. Three seconds can be the
difference between life and death.” Hovington momentarily paused his monotonous
speech. “Your hyper-drives will initiate
on my mark.” The admiral flew his fighter nearer to the jump. He looked at his screen one last to time to
be sure the lane was clear. Serrith was
still trying to clear his computer. It
was obvious he had not been listening.
Everything looked fine to the admiral.
“Ok, here we go. Punch it.” He
powered up his hyper-drive and disappeared with a flash of radiant light.
“Hyper-point unknown! What hyper-point?! It hasn’t finished its
decryption. My navcom’s activating
itself. Wait, oh no! I’m gonna die!!!”
Serrith started screaming wildly while trying to abort his autopilot. It was too late. His hyper-drive had already powered
itself. He and the rest of the wing
surged into hyper-space and were gone.
The brilliant blues swirled all around them. A few minutes later they were in an asteroid
field surrounded by gun platforms and mines.
Further into the field was a small station built into the side of the
largest rock formation that could be seen.
It appeared to be nothing more than a small hanger, capable of holding
about three fighters, and a few laser turrets.
Around them were three old freighters that had been stripped of their
engine cores, but were otherwise intact.
The system appeared to empty, with no nearby planets or stars. This was probably the remains of a planet
that had been destroyed by a nova some eons ago.
“Hey, I’m alive!” Serrith said over the radio. It was obvious he was being sarcastic, in an
attempt to cover up for his foolishness.
“Damn, that’s a shame,” Zekk replied callously. He turned his head slowly towards Serrith’s
fighter and smirked faintly.
“Hey, shut up. Okay?”
Serrith shot back. Zekk and Gerril began
laughing. “It’s not like I haven’t been
through enough already. Now I gotta take
it from my own wing mates? Isn’t it obvious that my incredible speed-thinking
abilities allowed me to plot my course through hyper-space in a heartbeat?”
Serrith put his hands up and motioned for applause. Groans started coming over the radio.
“Alright that’s enough,” Hovington said abruptly. “We don’t have time for this. Throttle down until you are at a full stop.”
Everyone did as the admiral asked. They
were about four clicks from the nearest freighter, and about seven clicks from
the asteroid station. “Okay. I am sure by now you have noticed we are at
another practice field. Here we are
going to use our warheads, and if need be, finish the job with our laser
cannons. If you’ll target the nearest
freighter, you’ll see it comes up as ‘enemy ship one’. This is the first one you are going to
target. I am going to divide you into
groups to destroy each of them. This is
the fun part. Carver, Alvarion, Owin;
you three will take the first one. But
for now, sit tight.” He paused a moment.
“Deep space station ‘Graveyard’, are you there? Comeback.” At first
there was no response. Hovington queried
them again. Then there came a clatter
that sounded like a microphone being dropped.
“Roger that, admiral.
Long time no see. I was wondering
when we’d see the next group of rookies out here. It was gettin’ kinda lonely, ya know? Over,”
said a young man.
“Ha-ha. Good to see you
too, lieutenant. Say, I got a little
something special for you today. Over,”
Hovington replied.
“Oh yeah? Well what can we do for you? Hey, if you need us to
show the rookies how it’s done, we’d be happy to oblige.”
“Nah,” Admiral Hovington replied laughingly. “Today it’s all about the rookies. I want you to bring up the power nodes on the
freighters. We’re havin’ a pot shot fest
today. Can you do that for me?”
“God damn it. I just
fixed the damn things.” He paused a moment, as if considering the options. “Ah hell, give me a minute, will ya? I gotta
power up the combat utility vehicle. We
just blew a circuit board here on our command pad. I’ve got to do it manually. Be there when I can, over and out.” The man
seemed a bit irritated over the whole request.
“Copy that and thank you, Brent,” the admiral replied.
Lieutenant Brent ran down a narrow corridor leading away from
the command center, and hopped into a lift.
It had been a while since he had seen any new pilots fly through the
Graveyard. High command had labeled this
station ‘Graveyard’ ever since a new recruit had smashed into the side of a gun
platform and gone up in a plume of smoke, three years back. He remembered seeing that happen some two
weeks into his command. It was not
exactly his idea of a warm welcome, but life went on after that. He hopped onto a lift and entered ‘hanger’
into the controls. The doors closed and
it plunged downward. Two years with the
fleet, and he had gotten posted as a commanding officer on some wayward station
way out in the middle of nowhere. About
the only comfort was the fact it was a secret base. Still, he wanted some real action. His dream, like so many others, was to
command a squadron in battle. He
remembered the briefing he had been given when he first took to the wing and
became a fighter pilot. ‘As a fighter
pilot, you will never know fear. The
second you find out what fear is really all about, is the second you die. You’re not around to learn from that
experience, so you’ll never know any different.
One mistake is all it takes.’ He chuckled to himself. I
wonder if they still give that stupid confidence booster. The lift came to a stop and the doors
opened up.
Brent was dressed in nothing more than his worn leather flight
jacket, and casual pants. As always, he
carried his favorite pistol at his side and a spare charge clip on his
waist. He looked over at the combat
utility vehicle. It was painted tan with
red and yellow stripes going back across the nose to the stern. A fair portion of the paint had been chipped
off from years of usage in asteroid fields.
All the tiny debris did a number to a ship’s exterior, and this ship was
in bad need of an overhaul. Brent pulled
down on the external access lever, and the boarding ramp popped open half
way. It did not lower to the ground as
it normally did. Apparently the
servomotors had frozen. “Oh this is just
great,” he mumbled. The lieutenant
walked quickly over to work bench, and picked up the biggest wrench he could
find. Brent sauntered back over the
boarding ramp. Heaving the wrench high
over his head, he brought it down on top of the ramp as hard as he could. The ramp gave a loud ‘clunk’, and then opened
at its usual slow pace. “Ah! Ha-ha!
‘Just needed some love.” A mechanic nearby stood with a shocked expression on
his face, staring and Brent.
“What are you lookin at?” Brent asked in a rather rude
tone. The mechanic raised his eyebrow
and walked away. Brent rolled his eyes
and climbed up the ship’s ramp. The
vehicle was about twice the size of an X-wing, forming what he thought of as a
sleek box. It had a container mounted on
top of the hull that was meant for carrying warheads. Combat utility vehicles were mainly used to
reload warheads onto fighters or recharge their shields during combat
engagements. There were not any defenses
aboard them, so they were completely vulnerable to attack. One thing Brent knew for sure was that he did
not like them at all. He much preferred
the feeling of authority that he got, when sitting in the cockpit of an
X-wing. He sat down in the soft chair of
the ship, and tried to power it up. The
vehicle did not respond. “Son of a
bitch!” he yelled. “You best get you’re
damn ass in gear fore I-,” he was cut off abruptly by the sound of the engines
roaring to life. “Yes! Alright baby,
let’s see if you’ve got anything left in you.” He pressed a button on the
bottom of the joystick and raised the ship slowly off the deck. Brent pulled a lever next to the seat, which
raised the landing gear. “Station
control, this is Brent requesting permission to exit the hanger.” A young woman
by the name of Terrise, who was in point of fact Brent’s girl friend, replied
over the com.
“Ok sugar lumps, you’re clear for take off.” Brent could hear
the sarcasm in her voice, and moreover the laughter of other men behind her.
“Yeah yeah…Ok, here goes something.” He eased the throttle
forward, and blasted out of the hanger.
The ship jolted and fought the controls as it exited the force field
surrounding the hanger bay. The force
field erupted in electrical whites and blues over the canopy as it resealed
itself. Brent gritted his teeth and
flexed his arms as he held on tight to the stick. He managed to make it safely into space. “Ok, everyone get the hell outa the way. There’s no telling where this wild ride’s
gonna take me.” He steered towards the first freighter. After he arrived at it, he powered the ship’s
engines off and came to a stop. Brent
unfastened his crash harness, and got up.
The lieutenant walked towards the back of the ship and suited up in a
zero-g suit. He checked its air supply
to be sure it was adequate. Everything
appeared to be in order. Brent stretched
his neck, fastened his helmet, and opened the ramp, omitting to depressurize
the cabin. The sudden whoosh of air
release from the compartment sucked him out into space and sent him spiraling
away from the ship, and the freighter.
He started yelling over the radio and flailing his arms about. “Ah! God damn it!” The lieutenant reached
down for his controls and stabilized his rocket pack. “I hate these blasted suits. Come to think of it, I hate outer space. Why the hell did I volunteer for this job?
Isn’t there someone else out there capable of my job? I should be in bed right now,
with Terrise, settling in for our evening session of-,”
“Lieutenant!” Jera yelled.
She was appalled that Lieutenant Brent would talk about that particular
part of his personal life over the radio.
Gerril and Zekk were chuckling over the lieutenant’s comment, but Jera
was wide-eyed in disgust.
“Ahem. Lieutenant, are
you about ready to turn on the power nodes? I’m running a bit behind
schedule. We need to be at Fayrah in
about three hours. Do you think you
could speed it up a bit?” Admiral Hovington asked in a polite voice.
“Why you…,” Brent mumbled
under his breath. “You wanna do my job?
Well then you come on out here, and you
do it. But until then, just sit back in
your comfortable cockpit with a steering mechanism that works, sir.” Brent thought
about saying more, but knew that if he spoke his mind, it was the end of his
career. He had had enough errors for one
day. The last thing he needed was
someone bickering about a schedule they had to keep. Admirals just never seemed to get it. There was
such a thing as hard work. Why couldn’t they just stay in their command
chairs? Brent started banging on the rocket controls with his multipurpose
tool. By now the entire squadron, with
the exception of Jera, was whooping with laughter at the scene. A couple of them started making little jokes
about what all had been going on.
Hovington got a dull look on his face that indicated things had gone far
enough. The lieutenant had pushed a
little too far with the admiral.
Fortunately for Brent’s sake, the lieutenant and Hovington were good
friends. However, Admiral Hovington
needed to keep his wing contained during duty.
“I would appreciate it if you lightened your tone with me, young
man. Understood?” the admiral said. Brent replied with a faint ‘yes sir’ and blew
his cheeks out in frustration. Brent was
starting to sweat from it all. He
inhaled and exhaled to try and calm himself.
What was the admiral’s malfunction
today? He approached the freighter’s hull, and spotted the power node
externally attached to the bridge. Brent
juggled the controls on his rocket to ease him up to the node. The lieutenant gripped a loose piece of hull
to stabilize himself. He reached up, and
took off the control panel covering the power switch. With a flip of a switch, the power node’s
lights flared on and emitted a beacon wave that would register on the fighters’
data screens.
“Alrighty, that should do it,’’ Brent said with a sigh of
relief. The power node’s beacon sent
transmissions to the remaining freighters.
The ship beacons on each of them powered up and emitted enemy target
indications. “About time something
worked around here. Well, if you’ll not
require my services anymore, then I will take my leave of this hell house. Admiral.” Hovington laughed softly and
thanked the lieutenant for his efforts.
Brent turned around slowly and flew back to his vehicle. Star clusters glistened off his visor,
masking his face, as he approached the ship.
Being out here in a suit that felt like it would fall apart at any
moment made him nervous. The ship grew
larger as Brent approached the external railing. He gripped the handle bars around the rusty
hatch, and hauled himself back into the safety of the ship’s cabin. After he had secured the hatch, and
re-pressurized the cabin, he removed his helmet and gasped for air. The suit that he had worn was dusty, and had
no air cooling in it. Brent let his head
fall backwards and closed his eyes while cooling off under the ship’s rickety
fan. A few minutes later he had recuperated
from the space trauma. He cast off the
rest of his suit, letting it clatter all over the grey deck plates. Brent powered the ships engines back online,
and engaged the throttle to haul back to the station. Meanwhile, Hovington had begun organizing his
pilots into groups. He decided on
allowing the most ‘mature’ pilots to take the third freighter; it was the one
furthest from his position and it would be hardest to see exactly what was
going on there. Serrith, he felt, was a
loose cannon, so he would keep him on his wing, where he could keep his eye on
him. The admiral began to issue orders
to each of the groups.
“Carver, Owin, Alvarion, I want you three to take the furthest
freighter near the station, as I said before.
Garrager, Fray, Ilak, you are to tackle the second freighter. Wuir, you and I will take out the first
one. As you’ve already demonstrated your
ability to fire a warhead, you will stay right here, Ensign Dartayne. Switch your weapons from cannons to
missiles.” Hovington ordered. “You know
the key.”
“Aye sir,” Gerril answered in his deep voice. The others complied with the command and flew
towards their designated targets. The
admiral continued on.
“Now, I’m not going to sit up here and lecture you on how to
blow something up. I think you all
learned that back at the academy. All I
want you to do is fire in sync with each other.
Once you get within targeting range, fire your missiles together, and
destroy the freighters. You may engage,
now.” Hovington powered up the throttle on his own fighter, and looked over at
Serrith. Serrith gave the admiral a nod,
and followed him into strike range. The
engines aboard Hovington’s fighter hummed their tune as they had so many times
before. He was long since an ace pilot,
having seen many battles in his day.
Hovington’s fighter had served him loyally in many battles, and had
become an extension of his body. The
admiral hoped he could teach his pilots the same. It loomed in his mind that he was training
the next generation…to kill…to die…Years from now, one of them was going to
replace him as squadron leader, and maybe even as admiral. He cleared that thought from his mind, as the
alarm went off that he was acquiring a lock.
“Ok Wuir, have you got your lock yet?”
“Yes sir. Target acquired,”
he replied respectfully. He still had a
hint of blood thirst in his voice.
“Very well, ensign. Fire
missiles one and two.” He waited as Serrith launched his missiles sequentially,
before firing his own. The admiral
pulled the trigger back with a soft click, and fired two of the twelve
missiles. As always, he enjoyed the
sensation of squeezing the trigger. The
fiery orange flames rocketed out behind the jet black tubes of the missiles, as
they accelerated through the starry, black horizon. The missiles held true to their course, as
Serrith’s duo slammed into the port side of freighter. The port hull caved in as it exploded into
flame and debris. Pieces of the hull
spiraled out into space, and molten durasteel glowed in shades of red and orange. Seconds later Hovington’s missiles reached
their target as well. They collided into
the bridge and sent a shock wave of fire down the main frame that split the
ship into two jagged halves. Hovington
looked over at Serrith in time to see him with his hand in the air indicating
his triumph. That boy needs to learn
another joy other than killing things, he thought to himself. Hovington unfastened the strap on his helmet,
letting in dangle beside his face, and stretched his hands. Squinting his eyes, the admiral peered off at
the triangular shapes of Ilak, Fray, and Garrager. The three had just launched their
missiles. Moments later, he saw a cloud
of green and red fires erupt, just as quickly vanishing into faint streaks of
light. The A-wings peeled off left and
soared towards the station. Further off
across the asteroid field, Hovington could see three faint red lights glowing
against the dark backdrop. From a
distance, they looked like a trio of hornets screeching across the sky. The wing closed in on their final quarry.
“Ok, you two ready to have some fun?” Zekk asked with a grin.
“Heh, you bet flyboy.
Wanna bet a woman can ‘pull the trigger’ faster?” Jera taunted at
him. She pursed her lips and flashed him
a daring look with intense eyes.
“Why don’t you two, just…get a room?” Gerril taunted. He grinned a big grin and showed all his
white teeth as he started chuckling. It
was obvious he was just joking, but Jera and Zekk looked at each other with an
uneasy look. Zekk snapped his head forward
again. Jera lowered her dark brown eyes
and turned her gaze forward. Why was it
she always felt so uncomfortable around him? It wasn’t that she didn’t like
him. Sure, he had a slight attitude
problem, but that was good. Was it not?
Jera shook her head to snap out of her day dreams. She had to focus on the task at hand. Gerril started to talk. “Ok lady ‘n gent, let’s get a lock. Let me know when ya all got ya locks. Cool?”
“You got it, brother,” Zekk responded, still gaping off into
space.
“Right on Gerril,’’ Jera said.
“I got my lock. You boys locked
on yet?” Gerril turned his head and gave a thumb up signal.
“Locked and ready to fire,’’ Zekk said with a hint of anxiety.
“Ok Zekk, I let’s see if a man really can keep pace with a
woman,” Jera goaded. Zekk replied with a
‘ready’. Gerril initiated a countdown
over the radio. The alarm went off. Six red lights rocketed into space in
formation with one another. It looked
like a child’s fleet of model star fighters, from a distance. Like birds of prey, they closed in on their
target. The center pair, Jera’s
missiles, made the first impact with the freighter. Before their explosion had time to disappear,
Zekk’s missiles detonated next to them, followed by Gerril’s. The freighter went up in a huge ball of fire
that reached out into the field, sending pieces of metal and rock whirling in
all directions. By the time the cloud
had cleared, there was nothing left of what was once a starship.
“Yeow!” Jera exclaimed in triumph. “Score that for female kind. Once again, I’ve proven what is a known fact
around the galaxy. You owe me an ale,
Zekkster.”
“What the hell for?” Zekk said with his eyes wide in
irritation. He grimaced, turning towards
Jera’s fighters.
“Not to bust your bubble,
sweetie, but it has been proven that women can respond in combat situations up
to twice faster than a man.” She said over the radio. Jera turned her missile launcher off and
resumed a standard flight pattern with her two wing mates. “You didn’t think I could do it. Now you know better. Bet smart, kid.” She winked at him. Zekk rolled his eyes at her larking about.
“Yeah whatever. Corellian
ale, next bar we get to. Don’t call me
kid, either,” he replied in what appeared to be an irritated submission. That was a major step for Zekk, as he rarely
ceased an argument with anyone. Jera
smiled widely and look down to her portside at Zekk. She started laughing at the look on his face. Zekk tried to look like he was ignoring her,
but it obviously wasn’t working. He
pulled his lips into a tight posture, and gripped the joystick tighter.
“Thanks for the drink. Is
there a dinner to go with that?” she asked.
Now Gerril had started laughing at Zekk.
Zekk had had about enough of this.
Being embarrassed in front of the two made him feel like a kowaakian
monkey-lizard. Maybe he could redeem
himself…He did a one-eighty up and slammed his rudder into a starboard full
axis rotation, pulling over the top of Jera’s cockpit. He narrowly missed colliding with her
vertical stabilizers, as he fired his engines back up to full throttle and
raced back towards the admiral. “Oh ho
ho, naughty boy eh? I’m gonna get you for that one.” Gerril shook his head and
eased into a smooth turn back behind Zekk.
Jera did likewise. The three
cruised back to the way-point, with Zekk far in the lead. After they had regrouped with the squadron,
the admiral began to speak.
“Very good. You’ve all
lived up to the standards set by our requirements for being in a squadron as a
fighter pilot. That’s enough work for
the day. We’re all heading to Fayrah to
rest for an hour or so, to share a drink before heading back. Congratulations on keeping your wings.”
“Yeeehaaaw!” Garrager hollered, yet again showing he was a
country kid.
“Bring up the Fayrah nav-buoy on your navcom and prepare for a manual jump into hyperspace,” Hovington
continued as if he had not been interrupted.
“Make your course twenty-two degrees starboard, ten up on the lateral,
and increase your speed to full throttle.
Let’s go.” He rubbed his eyes with his brown leather gloves, and looked
down upon the flight suit he had donned for years. It seemed as if he had spent a lifetime being
a fighter pilot. Some day they were
going to retire him behind a desk. They
had tried many times. The farthest they
could go with him was a command ship. He
was considered to be too valuable by high command to be flying a fighter out in
the middle of space combat. Such was the
way of the military. With rank came
superiority. Hovington was not about to
let them convince himself that he was superior being simply because he was an
admiral. He had had that discussion with
the fleet’s commander, Fleet Admiral Chel Qavam, before…Hovington pressed a
button on the dash and brought up the HUD projection of the nav-buoy. “So long Graveyard. Ok lady and gentlemen, punch it!” Each of
them initiated their hyper-drives, and one by one, blasted into hyper-space.
Back on Graveyard Station, Lieutenant Brent sat in his bed,
relaxing after what had turned out to be a nightmare of a day. He pulled his shirt off, and tossed it on the
bed post. He was sore all over. That blasted zero-g suit had sharp corners in
it that went right through his light shirt.
He was going to be sore for days.
Just as he was settled into his bed, the intercom rang.
“What the? Could anything more go wrong?” he groaned, pausing
for a few seconds to catch his breath before speaking. “Door’s open.” The door swished open, and
Terrise stood in her night gown leaning against the doorway, smiling at
him. That
would be a no, he thought to himself.
She untied her reddish-brown hair, letting it fall about her shoulders,
and shook her hair into a wavy cascade.
Terrise had very attractive features.
Her deep brown eyes glowed like fire jewels in the glow panel
light. Her sculptured face was
emphasized by the darting shadows in the room.
She had lips that were crescent shaped like a moon. Her shoulders were narrowly built. Slender arms, and a small chest simply added
to her nimble physique that made her that much more beautiful. Brent looked at her and smiled. She smiled back at him, and walked slowly
towards him as if she were suspended in the air.
“Rough day at work?” she asked, never breaking eye contact with
him.
“You have no idea,” Brent said, returning her gaze.
“Well that’s too bad.” Terrise paused a moment, as if
thinking. “All’s well that ends well,”
she said as she blew him a kiss. Terrise
began to unfasten the buttons on the front of her gown, and sat down on the
foot of his bed. Brent dimmed the lights
to their lowest level, and let her warmth flow over him.
“I need to have more rough days in the field,” Brent
commented.
* * *
Sabre Squadron’s pilots surged through the chaotic swirling
blues of hyper-space. The admiral sat
quietly in his cockpit trying to catch some sleep before they arrived at the
Fayrah Academy. This was the last task
he had to accomplish before he would be free to take his shore leave, at last. It had been over thirteen months since the
last time he had been able to simply relax and enjoy the beauty of Naboo. More importantly, he would be able to enjoy
it with his wife, Shiraz. After his last
battle engagement with the renegade Imperial Navy, he had made his first step
towards his fantasized retirement, and gotten married. His wife’s full name was Shiraz Guru-Kye, who
was from the planet of Dathomir. Few
off-world men married a Dathomirian woman, due to the customs of the
planet. No man actually asked for a
woman’s hand in marriage on Dathomir; a woman purchased a man to marry. By law of the Guru-Kye family, Admiral
Hovington was Shiraz’s property. The
admiral was somewhat caught off guard the first time he met Shiraz’s
parents. He recalled walking into her
mother’s home, and seeing his soon-to-be father ushered away like a pet. The mother, Nekaife, began to circle the
admiral as if inspecting his physical attributes from every angle. After Nekaife seemed satisfied, she moved on
to probing various parts of his body, some of which he would rather have left
untouched. At that point he had jumped
back in shock. The mother seemed almost
offended by his response, when Shiraz had intervened. Shiraz had to quickly explain to her mother
that these off-world men had many strange customs, many of which were not
correct, but had to be respected.
Nekaife simply nodded and walked away.
That was much to the admiral’s relief, as any mature woman on the planet
of Dathomir was more than capable of using the force to turn any offending man into a permanent resident
of the last place he stood. Shiraz
herself believed few of the ancient social mores of her planet to be logical,
but it was necessary to comply with them on the surface to give the impression
of upholding the Family’s honor. The
Guru-Kye family had consented to her marriage with the admiral only because
they saw him as a ‘useful husband’. The
admiral did indeed miss her company on that peaceful planet. ‘Fortunately’, she did occasionally manage to
charter a luxury yacht to rendezvous with his command ship when he least
expected it. Shiraz had stopped her
voyages through space after the war had finished. She seemed to think he would not be capable
to handle himself during his engagements with the Empire. Now that the war was over, his wife did not
feel the need to worry so much about his safety. Hovington turned his communications speaker
off. The admiral sighed and squeezed his
eyelids shut, falling into a light sleep after he set his timer to wake him
before they arrived.
It would be only about ten more minutes before the squadron was
ready to drop out of hyper-space in the Fayrah System. As always, the group continued to chatter on
and on about combat maneuvers, and old war stories they had been told by Fleet
Captain Ikon. Most of them, including
Zekk, missed the old captain. Taylus and
Zekk had become friends in the time it took for Zekk to learn how to become a
fighter pilot. Captain Ikon was the
first one to recognize Zekk for who and what he was, and provided the necessary
atmosphere for his skills to flourish.
Some of his wing mates had the same story to tell, and were equally
ecstatic about seeing Taylus again.
Garrager started reading recent macro-scans of nearby systems
surrounding Fayrah that were stored on the ship’s computer. Each of the A-wings was equipped with the
latest star charts and system reports, which were constantly being
updated. He was particularly interested
in the inhabitants of neighboring worlds, and major astronomical events that
might be of interest. Garrager spotted a
line highlighted in red. It read: large
meteor collided with the planet of Antornis.
Although not inhabited by any sentient beings, Antornis was home to a
wide variety of lichens and bacteria.
“Hey gang, check this
out. Antornis gets hit by a big meteor,
and destroys an entire continent worth of fungus, algae, lichens, bacteria, and
other simple life forms. The casualties
are estimated in the uncounted quadrillions.
Can you believe that?” Garrager asked with the slightest hint of shock.
“What, you mean the fact that a meteor fried a bunch of slime,
or that fact that you’d find that an interesting topic?” asked the ever
taunting and sarcastic voice of Wuir.
“Well, excuse me for assuming I’d be able to hold an educated
conversation with you,” Garrager responded in an almost hurt tone. Wuir rolled his eyes with a wave of his
hand. Garrager scrolled further down the
screen, before continuing. “Ok, you
can’t tell me this isn’t interesting.
Here’s a report from Dantooine.
Apparently convoys from all over the sector, and nearby systems, have
been being attacked by an unknown group of outlaws that seize the merchandise,
and more often than not, kill the crews or sell them into the slave
market. What ever happened to the good
old days of getting mugged in a city?”
“This is a most disturbing report. I for one do not recall reading that in the
weekly reports. Are you sure this is
concrete information, Darrin?” Xerrah asked, as he tweaked his head tails. Xerrah was perhaps the most philosophical of
them all, always thinking before his actions.
“Six thousand, two hundred and fifty-three confirmed casualties,
and over three hundred missing men and women,” Garrager replied abruptly. He had a look of alarm on his face and a
tinge of annoyance in his voice. The
fact that gangs of murdering vandals could pull this kind of thing off nowadays
made him wonder just how many more like them would arise in the future…
“Oh my sweet suns. Who
the hell are they? I mean, damn, how they can get away with that kind of piracy
without the local authorities takin’ ‘em out”? Gerril queried, expressing his
own astonishment in turn.
“Well, it may have something to do with the sector patrols
getting destroyed, bought off, or captured.
Don’t ask how, but they seem able to do it. My guess is they are separate gangs attacking
simultaneously. It’s just mere
coincidence. Remember, that’s close to
the Free Worlds Region of the Tapani Sector.
That region harbors all kinds of smugglers, pirates, bounty hunters, and
other scum of the sort. Their liberal
government is overly receptive to their ilk.
Black Sun themselves are looked on as being heroes for speaking out
against political ‘tyrannies’ as they like to call them. Now that the Empire has been abolished, they’ve
become our problem. As of two years ago,
the Senate has opened peace negotiations with the Free Worlds. Even some of us are from the Free Worlds. If you’ll recall, smugglers lost their lives
to the Imperial Fleet, or worse, were sent to the spice mines of Kessel. Naturally, they joined the Rebellion as a way
to destroy the Imp threat,” Darrin Garrager spouted off. He was well aware he was in the spotlight as
he said it.
“Ok memory core, if these are just a bunch of gangs, then how
have they been able to send an entire sector into turmoil? I mean, this sounds
a bit bigger than someone like the Reigning Skulls, or Black Sun. Do you think there’s any political backing to
them?” Jera asked. She seemed very
worried over the entire situation. As
far as Wuir and Zekk were concerned, it was just another opportunity to rack up
some more kills and do a good deed in the process.
“Well, I’m not sure,’’ Darrin continued. “I guess that’s a plausible conclusion. Things will probably settle out in time, so
don’t worry about it. These things
always seem to work themselves out in the end.
Besides, we’re not going to get sent into a combat zone that far away. We’re safe here.” He smiled at Jera. She raised her eyebrows at him and
smiled. Zekk took note of this
immediately. He shifted in his seat and
peered closer at the current situation between the two. He quietly hoped that Jera was not developing
a liking to that guy. Who the hell was
he? He was a lousy pilot, a computer nerd, and was not half as good-looking as
himself. He wondered if Jera was like
that with everyone.
“Is there a reason you think we’re safe here, all cooped up
without any space scum to toast?
Something you’re afraid of, Mr.
Garrager?” Jera said. She was
obviously taking a quick shot at him to make a fool of him in front of her
squadron mates. Darrin’s cheek flushed,
and he went dead quiet. Well, that
answered Zekk’s question. She likes a fighter ace, Zekk thought to
himself.
An alarm went off on Hovington’s dash, and he immediately
snapped to attention and rubbed his eyes.
He exhaled, and stretched against the crash restraints, then turned the
alarm off, and flipped the communication systems back on. It was time to make the final approach to the
Fayrah System.
“Ok my young Sabres, it is time to drop out of hyper-space and
return to your nest. Drop out, now!’’ Admiral Hovington emphasized the
last word. The entire squadron powered
their hyper-drives down and engaged the sub light engines. The Fayrah System exploded into view before
them. Dead ahead of the admiral, Fayrah
Academy hung motionless, as though it were suspended in glass. Hundreds of lights shone all over the
exterior of the station’s hull. All
around the station were gun platforms and missile batteries that made up the
static defenses.
“Home sweet home