“As you can see, we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Whatley scanned the room. “The plan is to capture the central structure intact.”
“Why, Major? Better to blow it apart,” a Boar pilot interjected. He followed up with the brrrrrrt. “Give us the go. We’ll send every Leaguer in there to hell.”
Whatley turned his head toward the man. “Is that your answer to everything?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Would you like to stop fighting on the defensive and start hitting the damn Leaguers before they hit us?”
“Uh, of course, sir.”
“Then. Pay. Attention.” Whatley cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we’re going to capture the central structure. Intelligence analysis suggests their central computer should have detailed information on deployments throughout the sector.”
Feldstein raised her hand.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, wouldn’t they destroy the data or self-destruct the station the moment we jumped in, if they thought we could pull off capturing the thing?”
“Well, would ya look at that? A fighter pilot with a brain beyond blasting targets.” Whatley turned toward the group from the Black Hogs squadron. “Take notes. She’s way ahead of you.”
Assorted snickers broke out, while the Boar pilots looked sheepish. A few rolled their eyes, and one again made the brrrrrrt sound that had become famous throughout the Greengold.
“The key is our captured League fighter. I’m going to fly it out of the shuttle bay of a stealth raider and drop an EMP warhead on them that’ll scramble their electronics for hours. As soon as I’ve accomplished that portion of the mission, the Greengold will drop in and blow everything else apart while ensuring the Marines make it safe and sound.”
Whatley’s announcement that he would fly the captured enemy craft took Justin by surprise. Why’s the CAG doing that? I’m the one with the most seat time in it.
“Any questions?”
“What if there’s an overwhelming enemy force or you can’t detonate the EMP?” Justin asked.
“Well, then someone else in this room will have to step up and lead,” Whatley replied. His eyes seemed to bore into Justin’s soul. “Colonel Tehrani has taken steps to ensure we can perform back-to-back Lawrence jumps if required. So regardless, the ship will be safe.”
Easy to say that. I know there’s a four- to six-second period after a jump when any vessel using a Lawrence drive has almost no power. Still, that the CO was taking such planning into account assuaged some of Justin’s fears.
“Anyone else?” After several seconds without reply, Whatley continued, “Good. You’ll receive detailed mission-briefing packages by the end of the day. Study them. Practice in the simulators. We jump out first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, and one other thing. The ship is, as of now, on a complete EMCON Alpha communications blackout. No transmission off the Greengold. Period. All leave on the station is canceled.”
Groans echoed across the ready room.
“Loose lips sink ships and get fighters blown up,” Whatley growled in return. “And you knuckleheads, with a few glasses of beer in you, will spill everything to the first attractive woman or handsome guy that walks up.”
A few of the pilots at least had the good sense to look sheepish. Justin felt a momentary emotional tug. He’d hoped to talk to his wife and daughter that night for his turn on the comm rotation.
“Okay. That’s all I’ve got. Study, practice, and get some rest, and we’re going to do what we do best tomorrow—blow those Leaguer sons of bitches out of space. Fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”
Justin and everyone else belted the familiar refrain, “No matter the odds!” Cheers and applause swept across the room.
“Dismissed!”
Hanging back as the rest of the pilots streamed out the hatch, Justin waved at Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye. Mateus motioned as if to ask if he was leaving, to which he waved. They continued, and the hatch closed behind the last person, leaving Justin and Whatley alone.
“What’s on your mind, son?”
“I think I should be the one flying the League fighter, sir.” The words rushed out of Justin’s mouth like a flood.
Whatley raised an eyebrow. “This hero stuff going to your head?”
Justin swallowed. “No, sir. I’m the only one who’s flown it, though.” He paused. What the heck has gotten into me? “And the rest of the air wing will need your guidance if it all hits the fan when the Greengold jumps in.”
“You know, you keep surprising me, Spencer.” Whatley smirked then laughed. “You keep this up, and you’ll win the Medal of Honor.” He turned serious. “Just remember something—it’s generally awarded posthumously.”
“I’m not looking to die in a blaze of glory, sir,” Justin replied. Whatley’s got a point, though. He kept taking extreme risks in the cockpit. Those risks had paid off, but at some point, his luck had to run out. Doesn’t it? Or perhaps Colonel Tehrani was right. Maybe there isn’t any luck, and it’s all training along with some sort of divine intervention. That he’d even had the thought bothered him. Justin didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t put his hands on, and any daylight in that belief was significant.
Whatley nodded. “I doubt you are, but that’s precisely what’ll happen if you volunteer for every half-baked mission that comes up.” He pursed his lips. “Are you confident you can fly the thing?”
“I got an assist in it, sir.” Justin flashed a grin.
“So you did. Okay. I’ll sell the colonel on this, but hear me loud and clear. You’d better not pull any John Wayne shit out there. You get me, Spencer?”
Justin didn’t quite understand the fascination some of the older officers had with an actor from old Earth videos. They weren’t even holographic but projected on a screen or a wall, requiring technology so old that the GalNet had instructions on how to create players for the videos out of children’s supplies. “Got it, sir.”
Whatley sighed. “Now get
