CassaSeries

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

You hesitated during that last maneuver, Bassa thought as they entered the telepod.

Byron sighed and leaned against the wall. He’d paused before making the jump but only because he saw a better location for their reemergence.

We should’ve approached from below, he thought.

That would’ve placed us too close to Wentar’s ship.

I could’ve done it.

Not safely! Bassa thought, his tone stern.

The telepod’s doors opened. Disgusted, Byron pushed off the wall and exited the compartment. He retreated to his quarters, hoping a shower would cool his temper.

I could’ve done it safe enough, he thought, dropping his computer pad on the table. Besides, hasn’t he noticed? It’s not very safe out there regardless!

During the past few flights, Bassa had corrected him several times. Byron worried the senior officer’s dominance as a former instructor would resurface. His navigator now chastised every perceived mistake. It annoyed Byron to find himself on the receiving end of a lesson once again.

A shower revived him. Retrieving a glass of water, Byron sat at his desk to complete his report. His irritation flared again as he analyzed today’s flight, but he manage to finish his task before anger got the better of him.

An hour remained before the midday meal. Byron wanted to take his frustrations out on the court and changed into appropriate clothing for such an activity. He’d need another shower, but the exertions would clear his mind.

Pleased to discover an empty court, he commenced to striking the ball with his racket. The lower gravity of the room resulted in a liberating sensation. The sound of the ball hitting the wall reverberated throughout the court, creating an almost rhythmic noise. The plain, white walls were mesmerizing, and only the faint odor of stale sweat disrupted the sterile atmosphere. Byron concentrated on the ball, but the banality of the room caused his mind to wander.

Why had Bassa followed him into active duty? Did the man enjoy torturing him? After six months of the senior officer’s overbearing presence, Byron had been happy to escape. He assumed that Bassa entertained similar thoughts, pleased to see the pilot leave Guaard. Instead, the man chose to follow him and continue exerting his dominance at every opportunity.

Picking up the pace, Byron struck the ball even harder, channeling his annoyance into each swing. He resented the fact that Bassa criticized his every move. His navigator doubted Byron’s abilities as a pilot. Why the glowing recommendation if Bassa continued to find fault? How was he to advance as a pilot with the senior officer inhibiting his actions?

With renewed fury, he struck the ball with all his might. The blow sent the ball flying with such velocity that he held no hopes of following its trajectory. Exhausted by his efforts, Byron crouched on the court and watched as the wild bounces dwindled to a roll. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he stared at the now motionless ball.

How am I going to survive this assignment? he thought.

That evening, the men were informed that the Sorenthia now proceeded to new coordinates. She would join another deep space cruiser whose recent encounters with the Vindicarn fleet required reinforcement. Rumors of the declaration of war circled the dining hall, and Byron listened to the conversations with interest. Fear didn’t cross his mind, but his nerves tingled with excitement at the thought of another enemy encounter. He would not fail to make a kill the next time, either.

“I hear the Jentra suffered casualties,” Hannar informed the others.

“First in the fleet,” added Deacer, shoving aside his tray.

The man’s pilot nodded. “It’s about to get ugly. Hope you’re ready for this, Bassa.”

“Don’t enjoy it, but I’m ready,” the navigator said, his gaze falling on Byron. You’re ready, too, he thought.

Byron nodded. Finished with his meal, he stood to his feet. His navigator also arose.

“We won’t be flying while the ship is teleporting,” Bassa warned as they exited the dining hall. “Be prepared for intense simulator drills tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Byron said.

And hopefully I’ll go without your criticism tomorrow as well, he thought.

Banking to the right, Byron pursued the enemy vessel. The Vindicarn ship dove in an attempt to shake him, but he adjusted course and continued to close the distance. Receiving assurance from Bassa the area lay clear, Byron lined his sights and fired one shot. The enemy ship exploded in a cloud of debris.

Byron emitted a triumphant cry and veered away from the wreckage. He’d just completed his first kill as a Cosbolt pilot.

That’s how it’s done! thought Bassa, seconding his pilot’s exuberance.

Elated, Byron changed course as Bassa relayed new headings. The battle continued and many enemy ships occupied the vicinity.

No other opportunity provided itself, though. The Vindicarn broke off their attack and vanished a moment later. Byron rejoined the squadron and continued patrolling the sector for another hour. He took pride in his victory today, although he doubted one kill would garner respect from the other officers. Perhaps it would curtail Bassa’s endless criticisms, though.

Two ships received damage during the fight but with no loss of life. The men were in good spirits when they returned to the Sorenthia. Byron tried to conceal his smugness, but he smiled when he overheard another pilot comment that the rookie had downed an enemy fighter. Bassa again extended thoughts of praise, followed by a word of caution.

Don’t let it go to your head.

Byron frowned at the implication and chose to ignore his navigator’s comment. This was his moment of glory and he’d not permit Bassa to dampen his spirits.

After the debriefing, one of the pilots approached Byron as he exited the room.

“Congratulations,” he said, his eyes bright. “First kill?’

Byron stared at the man, contemplating his response. He was one of the younger officers, although still several years Byron’s senior. The pilot’s blue eyes reflected genuine interest and sincerity.

“Yes,” Byron admitted, still wary.

The man nodded, his dark, curly locks bobbing across his forehead. “You stay aboard the Sorenthia for long, it won’t be your last one. I’ve seen more action on this ship that my previous two assignments put together.”

“That so?” said Byron.

The pilot smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Ernx.”

“Byron,” he said, returning the pilot’s gesture.

They arrived at the telepods and Ernx flashed another grin. “See you in the dining hall.”

Presenting what he hoped was a smile, Byron nodded as the man stepped into the first unit. Their brief exchange surprised him. No one in his squadron had spoken to him since his first day aboard ship. The prospect of companionship outside of Bassa’s company pleased him. Perhaps he’d even make a friend.

The following few days saw no action from the Vindicarn, and the squadron concentrated on drills. While his attempts to forge a friendship with Ernx met with success, his interaction in the cockpit with Bassa continued to deteriorate. His navigator corrected numerous maneuvers, questioning Byron’s every decision, and their flights reflected this uneven exchange of opinion.

His patience came to an end during an engagement exercise. In pursuit of a drone, their path coincided with another Cosbolt. Making a quick calculation, Byron knew the drone would veer right and provide a clear shot. He conveyed his intensions to Bassa as the other fighter pulled alongside their ship and prepared to accelerate.

No, dive, came the response.

I have this!

Rorth’s closer. Dive!

Infuriated, Byron dove. As he’d suspected, the drone veered right and Rorth missed the target. Without waiting for instruction from his navigator, Byron announced coordinates and jumped their ship to a new position. Emerging just above the drone, he pulled back on the throttle, placing their target in a direct line of sight. Firing the laser once, Byron neutralized the drone.

Rorth’s ship veered away from the drone and Byron adjusted their position as well. Despite his success, Bassa’s disapproval flooded his mind.

That jump was unnecessary, his navigator thought. Rorth had that drone.

I had the better angle initially. You need to trust my judgment!

And you need to listen to my instruction.

Annoyed with the whole situation, Byron closed his mind, silencing any further conversation. He grew tired of the limitations placed upon him by Bassa. Unless permitted to achieve his full potential, his assignment to the Sorenthia amounted to nothing more than a waste of time. He might as well transfer to a remote moon base than squander his talent here.

“We cannot work as a team if you refuse to hear me!” said Bassa over the com system.

Gritting his teeth, Byron contemplated ignoring his navigator’s words. Banking to the left, he channeled his frustration into a very tight turn designed to annoy his navigator. The sudden burst drained some of his anger and with reluctance, he lowered the barrier around his mind.

Rejoin the squadron. Now! Bassa ordered, his thoughts burning with fury.

Gripping the throttle even tighter, Byron steered toward the formation. The remaining drones hung lifeless in space as a testimony to the squadron’s success. Responsible for two of those drones, Byron’s victory seemed hollow. He wanted nothing more than to return to the Sorenthia and escape the confines of the cockpit.

Their ship entered the hangar last. Byron burst from his seat the moment the canopy opened. Leaping onto the platform before the flight crew had even secured it to their ship, he grabbed the outside rung of the ladder and slid to the floor.

Byron!

He glanced up at the platform and scowled. Unwilling to engage in further conversation with Bassa, he closed his mind and turned to join the others in the debriefing room.

“Byron!”

The fury in his navigator’s voice was unmistakable and it caused a passing member of the hangar crew to jump. The man’s gaze fell on Byron and he stared at the pilot in surprise. Feeling foolish, Byron stopped dead in his tracks, his fists clenched to his sides. Bassa’s boots struck the floor of the hangar and he turned to face his navigator.

“You do not close your mind while we are in that ship,” Bassa said, squaring his shoulders as he approached. “We’re ineffective as a team and vulnerable without mental communication.”

Byron’s frown deepened. “We are ineffective regardless.”

“We are when you defy my instructions,” Bassa countered, coming to a halt in front of his pilot.

“You don’t trust my judgment!” Byron said, no longer concerned if their heated exchange attracted attention. “You tell me I’m one of the best damned pilots you’ve ever seen and yet you hold me back at every opportunity.”

“I am trying to instill some caution in you.”

“Why? You think I’m going to make some reckless mistake?”

“I’d like to prevent that,” said Bassa, leaning closer.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes! I’m here so you don’t get yourself killed,” Bassa said, brandishing his gloves to emphasize his point.

Byron stared at his navigator. Bassa’s solemn expression was at odds with his anger. The memory of a photo on Bassa’s desk and the story of the young pilot killed fresh out of training crossed Byron’s mind. In a flash, he understood the real reason why Bassa left Guaard and followed him into space. Despite the senior officer’s intentions, it infuriated Byron.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t prevent your brother from a tragic death,” Byron said, his eyes narrowing, “But damn it, I am not your brother!”

His cold words caused Bassa to lean away, his eyes full of doubt. Sensing he’d struck a nerve, Byron abandoned all pretense of remorse or tact.

“I didn’t ask you to follow me and I don’t need your protection,” he said, standing up to his full height. “I certainly don’t need someone riding my tail every damn day. I don’t need or want your help! Got it?”

Bassa’s stern expression dissolved, replace by stunned disbelief. Meant to hurt, Byron realized his words invoked the desired result. The bitterness inside him now apparent in the older man’s eyes, Byron prepared to revel in that minor victory. To his surprise, Bassa did not speak. His navigator stared at him as if mortally injured, and Byron’s moment of satisfaction slipped into regret.

Desperate to escape the unpleasant scene, Byron turned on his heels and strode from the hangar. He retreated to the back of the debriefing room and not even an encouraging word from Ernx could elicit more than a curt nod. He didn’t want to connect with anyone, himself included. Slipping into survival mode, Byron turned off all thoughts and feelings.

If only I could turn them off forever, he thought.

Byron and Bassa avoided each other that evening in the dining hall. The young pilot sat at the far end of the table with Ernx and his navigator, Nintal. Despite Byron’s solemn expression upon entering the hall, his new friend enticed him to talk, and in no time, they bantered back and forth. Bassa watched with a heavy heart. A jovial moment with his pilot seemed so out of reach now. Byron had made his feelings very clear in the hangar.