The 28th Gate Volume 8

Episode 7-2

I frowned, thinking it seemed like a strange assignment for an entire squadron, but I didn’t question the orders. I just fell in behind Helmi and the rest of our flight as we watched the first small wave of fighters advance from the opposing Fayatt ships. There was only a single small battleship this time, supported by a couple of cruisers and some destroyers. By the looks of them, the Celestial’s new guns would be more than a match for the entire fleet.

We watched as the few opposing fighters were quickly swarmed by the other squadrons from Wing Two, while Wing One advanced on the Fayatt destroyers and the Celestial began bombarding the lone battleship. Small glittering flashes lit up the sky, creating a sharp contrast to Selma IV’s night side to our flank and the distant glow of the Selma IV Gate itself. But for a moment, it almost looked like it would be a dull simulation for Squadron Three.

Of course, that didn’t last for long.

“They’ve got orbital defenses!” came a warning across the comms from the Celestial, even as a brilliant blast shot past us and collided with the Celestial’s hull.

“I thought those things were shut down!” cried Domas, another pilot in my flight.

“I guess not,” Helmi answered even as squadron leader Barret issued us new orders.

“Squadron Three, we need to shut down those orbital batteries! Flights One and Two, take the closest platform. Flights Three and Four, you have the next platform!”

With new orders in place, we accelerated away from the Celestial and the frantic action in the distance, streaking toward the orbital batteries.

“Watch out!” Helmi called. “They have more fighters here!”

“On it,” I answered, following his elaborate spin as we dove in toward the little cluster of fighters guarding the orbital platform.

“It’s firing!” Domas called, and we all rushed to calculate its firing arc to ensure we weren’t within it. Then we fell upon the fighters, spinning and twirling. I grinned as my twin Ianthes responded as they should, tearing through the first target I gave them.

“Time to hit that platform!” Helmi called. “Domas and Van Rogh, watch the fighters. Penjani, on me!”

I spiraled around his fighter, continuing to spin so I could pulse my Ianthes at the enemy fighters behind us until we were almost within range of the platform, then I spun around to get a solid targeting lock.

And just as my starboard thrusters stabilized my S52’s spin, I heard a loud crash from behind me and the cockpit began to fill with smoke. Coughing, I whipped my neck around to the power compartment behind me and the source of the noise became immediately apparent.

I’d just blown a power regulator for the main engines, leaving my craft with nothing but its thrusters for propulsion.

Stifling a groan, I turned back around, sure I could at least complete the attack run with my thrusters.

“Watch out!” Helmi called. “The platform is firing again!”

I didn’t need to calculate a firing arc this time—I was staring straight down the barrel of the massive particle cannon. And without my fighter’s main engines, I had no hope of altering my course in time.

“Not again,” I muttered just before my cockpit flashed and all my systems switched to standby as I was knocked from the simulation.

After the fight I was feeling more than a little demoralized. And I wasn’t the only one. The orbital batteries had continued to tear through Wing Two, eventually destroying the Celestial before we could shut them down.

But at least I was looking forward to Hunter’s debriefing, because I was sure he’d manage to inspire us once again. Instead, immediately after the simulation ended, we broke into squadrons for the debriefing. Fortunately, I knew squadron leader Barret. She’d been with Quatra’s outfit for even longer than I had, flying support and protection for plenty of Quatra’s most valuable shipments. And from what I’d heard, she got her start flying with a corporate fleet long before that. She was strict and she was hardened, but she knew what she was doing.

And she wasn’t happy.

I’m not sure how long I expected our second debriefing to last, but it was late that evening before we finally let out, far later than I’d even imagined. And however upset I was at my own performance, I knew some of it was because my S52 wasn’t finished, which meant during the entire debriefing I was running checklists in my head of the components I needed to have ready before the next simulation.

By the time I finally made it back to fighter bay seven, I was exhausted. But there wasn’t time to sleep. I still had work to do. About the only bright star that evening was Arlen, who was already waiting for me when I arrived.

He flashed me a warm smile, but I could see it in his eyes. He’d already heard how the training had gone.

“I’m surprised you’re still awake,” I teased, not even slowing stride as I grabbed a bag of tools and slid myself under the Marrog’s frame.

“Ha! So says the girl who hasn’t slept in how long now?” he tossed back, dropping to the deck and sliding in beside me.

“Egh. I’ll sleep when I’m—Hey! Have you been messing with my ship?”

“Yeah. I got bored waiting for you, so I went ahead and reinstalled the lower power relays. I thought you’d be back here ages ago. Got held up in your debriefing, I assume?”

“Yeah. And thanks.” I started to work on the secondary power systems, which could be recalibrated now that Arlen had installed the lower relays.

“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have really been that bad,” Arlen added when I didn’t elaborate.

I’d have shot him a glare if I hadn’t been supporting a decoupled power connection with my forehead. “I was the first one out again.”

“Well, yeah. But someone had to be. Besides! You had some nice bits of flying before that.”

I almost dropped the entire power connection as I spun on him. “You were watching?” I shouted.

He offered a little shrug, refusing to meet my eyes as he busied himself on the other side of the ship. “I mean, a few of us were while we worked. Technically it was only supposed to be those on the fighter repair staff who would need to do tune-ups on the fighters in the future, but we wanted to cheer you on. You know, in spirit.”

I groaned. Something about the idea of having made a fool of myself in front of not just Arlen but more of the engineering crew as well didn’t make me feel any better about the whole affair. So, I quickly finished the secondary system recalibration and moved to inspecting the connection feeds on the engine regulator that had failed on me during the last simulation.

I groaned as I realized how bad it was. “This power regulator is completely blown.”

“Yeah, we noticed that. Might be an upstream problem with the battery terminals though.”

“Could be. But I’d better start by just trading the regulator out.”

“Here! I’ll get you one.” Arlen shimmied out from under the fighter and then returned a moment later with the piece I needed. I accepted it without a word and then turned to exchanging it for the damaged one.

“So…” Arlen started cheerfully, probably trying to spread the condition. “At least you got to fly with the legendary Hunter, right?”

I groaned. “No. He was just watching.”

“Well, I mean, that’s fine. Isn’t it? So, what’s really bothering you?”

I sighed. Arlen knew me well, which meant he had an annoying ability to read me. “I don’t know,” I replied, stalling the inevitable. “I just…” I shrugged and let the sentence die, focusing on the work overhead.

“Uh huh. I’ll check the cockpit.” He vanished and I heard him scrambling up into the cockpit above me. “Oh! I see power up here!”

Finally, something was going my way. I pulled myself out from under the Marrog and stood, hopping up to lean over his shoulder and confirm everything was working as it should be.

Arlen shifted out of my way with a knowing grin. “So? Why did it upset you?”

I groaned. “Because of the way some of the other pilots talked about Hunter in the debriefing. It was like I was the only one there who’d seen him fly. They just thought he’d come in and demanded Quatra let him take over. I guess a bunch of the experienced pilots are upset Barret didn’t get command of the entire wing. They kept saying she’s a more experienced pilot and knows the region better than he does.”

Arlen eyed me for a moment, his brows knitting together in confusion. “But you know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t matter what I tried to say, they just didn’t listen to me. To them I’m just a dumb mechanic who wants to fly. And then I was the first one to get killed in our first training exercise.” I sighed. “And the second.” I sighed again. “I don’t know. I’m sure I can do better. I’m just not sure how.”

Arlen gave me an encouraging smile, then a rough punch on the shoulder. “I’d start by scrapping this rusty thing!” he said, knocking on the edge of my S52’s cockpit. But when I gave him a stern glare, he threw both hands up, warding away the attack. “You know I’m only kidding! We just need to get it fixed up so you can show everyone what you two can do!”

I nodded, comforted by his silly joke. But at the same time, I had another idea of what to do.

I found Hunter in a small office set off the flight deck of fighter bay three, sitting hunched over a pair of displays. To one side sat a third display replaying the last training from multiple viewpoints. But the two displays in front of Hunter were filled with layers of Wing Two management files.

I’d never considered that being a wing commander would come with so much paperwork.

Judging from the expression on Hunter’s face, he hadn’t either.

He glanced up when I lingered in the doorway, then turned to face me. “What do you need?”

I paused, suddenly unsure whether I should be interrupting him. But since I’d already done so, I figured I should just plow on ahead. “I want to be a better pilot.”

“That’s why we’re running training scenarios,” he replied, turning back to the paperwork.

“They’re not helping me,” I countered, stepping into the small space. “I’ve been the first one to die in both of the trainings so far. But I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Hunter glanced at me then turned back to his displays. “Sounds like you need more practice.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just stood there staring at him. He didn’t look happy. He didn’t even look like himself. His shoulders were rounded forward as though he were trying to carry the entire weight of the wing, and a less than half-eaten meal off to one side suggested he hadn’t been taking care of himself.

He finally realized I was still standing there, and he turned back to me with an aggravated scowl.

“Can I ask you an honest question?” I interrupted before he could say anything.

He just grunted.

“Why aren’t you flying with us? I thought you said you wanted to lead from the front.”

His aggravated scowl turned into a snarl. “Because I already know how to fly.”

“Of course, I know that. But I just mean that…” I wanted to tell him about the other pilots, about the grumbling I’d been hearing in the debriefings. But I didn’t know how. So instead, I ended with a lame, “I just want to know how you do it.”