“I’d expectedyour retired pilots to be older,” the chief admitted. “These guyslookyoung.”
“Not many of us stayin the business for more than a couple of decades,” Hennessy toldhim. “No inertial dampening, so all those high-G maneuvers take atoll on the body.
“I have to admit, Iwas surprised at how many retired pilots we were able to recruit. Isuppose all those years at sea had a lot to do with it.”
“Sir?”
“Hard on familylife. More than a few retirees living in bachelor apartments tryingnot to go crazy. Give them a chance to get back in the game, withoutall the physical strains…” Henodded down the length of the hangar.
“I’d betterget to my own bird.” Hestarted walking.
He was the captain ofthe Kuphar, which was now converted into a carrier.Technically, he should be staying on the ship but it was pretty muchthere to support the fighter complement.
That was a job for theXO, as far as Bill Thruster Hennessy was concerned. He’dbeen excited when Luna first started tinkering with the controls onher own corvette. The idea of space-fighters was clearly the nextlogical step.
He hadn’t expected tomiss his chance to fly one himself but he’d been made captain ofone of the first carriers. It was a freighter when he arrived atRagnarok but he’d started regrowing the ship as soon as thesettlers were on the planet and his cargo holds were emptied.
He approached his ownfighter. Didn’t come all the way out here to watch others haveall the fun. He ducked under the fuselage, which was roughlytwice the size of a Super-Hornet.
He almost reachedup to trail a hand along the underside but caught himself just beforehe would have disturbed the carbon nano-tubules that gave the craftits stealthy nature. “Gotta come up with a way for us to get aboardwithout havingto touch the outside,” he told his crew-chief.
“Aye, sir,” theEnglishman confirmed.
Hennessy boarded hisfighter and squirmed his way into the control seat. He smiled. Somejoker had stuck a small flower to his headrest.
He’d kept theflower behind his ear thenight of the party,only taking it out when he went to bed.Somehow, it would have feltlike he was betraying that little girl’s gesture if he’d removedit.
It was a source ofamusement on the Kuphar which he saw as a good thing. Luckily,he already had a call-sign, otherwise they’d be calling himFlowerchild.
“Pre-launch,” hecommanded.
He couldn'thelp but shiver when the nanites inhis suit crawled against his skin to create the control surfaces. Ittook only a few seconds but he giggled when the pressure-contactsgrew in the soles of his boots.
A chime assured himthat he was now ready to exert control over his ship. He checked thestatus board. His squadron was ready for launch.
He smiled. One of thebenefits of being both the captain and a squadron leader was that hecould pick a new call-sign. The one he’d always wanted.
He activated hisconnection to the unit-net, listening as the chatter between hispilots trailed off. They’d noticed his icon going live.
Unlike the rest ofthem, his own icon had no call-sign next to it. He activated it andthe chuckles were all from the Earth pilots and mostly just the NorthAmericans, at that.
“GamblerSquadron, this is Wild Bill. Standby for launch.” He linked in thebridge channel. “Orbital Control,Gamblers ready for launch, over.”
His pilots were stillstrangers. Those from the republic were inclined to stick together,much like their comrades from Earth. The squadron’s name and itssymbol of aces and eights would get the non-Earthers curious.
Questions would beasked; stories would be exchanged.
For now, though,it was time to put them through their paces. WildBill was no exception. He might have been an experienced fighterpilot but he had little experience at fighting in the black.
“Gamblers, OrbitalControl. Squadron clear to launch, over.”
“Control, roger. Outto you. Gamblers, on my mark…” he activated the launch sequencetimer.
It hit zero and twelvefighters ejected from their cradles, spitting out both sides of theship simultaneously.
Thecurrent force doctrine still treated the ‘fighters’ as more likesmall ships. They were stealthy, eachcarrieda pairof Bau’s missiles and had what roughly equated to athirty-millimeter Gatling gun.
They were viewed by Ethas a scouting platform that could also deliver a deadlystealth-strike using missiles. No messy hairballs anticipated.
It was all freshsteaming horseshit, of course. If a large force showed up, there wasno guarantee that missiles alone would do the job. There was everychance they’d find themselves turning and burning in the middle ofan enemy formation.
And that’s exactlywhat they spent the next hour doing.
His republic pilotswere better at stalking an enemy ship but, once they were spotted,their tendency was to race in, guns blazing. The Earthers were mostlyspotted a lot sooner but their survival rate was still better.
The Earth pilotsmaneuvered like they were one with their ships. Their counterpartswere still adjusting to the lack of a traditional bridge hierarchyand it made them slow.
As they startedpicking up their game, their ‘wild’ comrades were still leavingthem behind as they exploredthe insanelyerratic maneuvers they could pull. There were no G’s to hold themback anymore.
Hennessy finallycalled it quits and ordered his squadron back to the Kuphar.He slid his ship into the same launch-bay and it came to rest in thestowage position.
He felt the controlsurfaces disappear inside his armor and he got out of his chair,grimacing at the strain in his muscles.
He may not have beensuffering the brutal strain of high-G maneuvering but all of thetwitching and flexing needed to control his ship had added up.
“Still not a patch onthe stress of flying a Thunderbolt,” he told himself as he easedaround the seat and stepped onto the boarding stair that had justbuilt itself from a section of the hull.
He took a moment,standing with his feet on the steps, to stretch, feeling for themuscles that would be giving him the most trouble. His calf muscleswere definitely going to need some time to get used to this new wayof flying and his shoulders had a lot of tension as well.
Manageable,he decided. He exited the craft, ducking until he was clear.
“How’d she handle,sir?” the crew-chief asked.
“Gorgeous,Blackwood! Absolutely gorgeous! We got us a sweet little bird!”
“Shame we can’tput the insignia on her anywhere.”
