TWO: Flight or Fight

Four days later, the GTD Aquitaine arrived on station. The rest of the Third Fleet had arrived a little early but as it turned out a faulty converter in one of the support ships delayed their departure for four hours.
Admiral Petrarch was furious and the commanding officer of the support ship was relieved of his command. Petrarch told the unfortunate officer that he was lucky he didn’t have him shot, which under the rules of wartime discipline was apparently well within his rights.
Petrarch wasn’t going to kill a man for screwing up his vessels maintenance records.
But he could kill a career for it.
The rest of the Aquitaine’s considerable star craft wing showed up before that happened. With the four interceptor squadrons, one of which was the CAG’s (Commander, Air Group) personal squadron – the Suicide Kings, four bomber squadrons and the other three fighter squadrons in addition to the 53rd, plus the miscellaneous support craft and the search and rescue wing, the GTD Aquitaine have a full complement of nearly one hundred and fifty combat ready space craft.
They were loaded for bear and ready for anything the NTF threw at them.
Once underway the Admiral was kind enough to introduce himself to the new troops and, being a former star fighter pilot himself, took a few extra minutes to introduce himself to the eighteen new Pilots that had joined the various wings assigned to the Aquitaine. He seemed personable despite the regrettable support ship incident and had paraded around the Combat Information Center, or CIC, with an easy sort of command presence. Every office knew who was in command and the hierarchy that followed might as well have been set in stone. From the admiral all the way down to the galley staff all knew what their roles were and understood the task at hand.
It also helped that Admiral Petrarch had that aura of someone who’s been there and done that, as the saying goes. Anyone that took the time to review his service record, which was made available to the crew so that they understood that the old man had indeed walked the walk, could be confident in his leadership. Victor couldn’t help but be a little inspired by him and even got a chance to speak with him. It went better that he could have ever imagined.
“Welcome aboard the Aquitaine, Pilot” Petrarch said smiling.
“Sir, Ensign Cary Victor, 53rd Hammerhead Fighter Squadron, Sir,” Victor said, snapping to attention.
“At ease son,” he replied offering his hand which Victor gladly accepted.
“Victor? Why does that name sound so familiar?” The Admiral eyed Victor cautiously, “You’re not related to Commander Armand Victor?”
Vick’s heart swelled with pride, “Yes Sir. He’s my father.”
“Really?” Petrarch cocked an eyebrow.
He looked at Victor more closely and then smiled, “Well, I suppose he is. You look an awful lot like him you know. He’s a good man. Some of the things he came up with during the Great War saved a lot of lives, including my own. Would never have brought down the Lucifer in time if it hadn’t been for the jump drive modification he worked on. He wasn’t just brilliant, no. More important than that was his ability to persevere under pressure. Hell, the man thrived under pressure.”
Jump drive, the Shivan Super Destroyer? His father had never mentioned working on the jump drives or the Lucifer.
He patted Victor on the arm, “Nothing like the threat of extinction to separate the men from the boys. You look just like him.”
Cary could see a hint of nostalgia in the old admiral’s smile, the shadow of old tales and the fading glory of hard earned victories. His father had spoken rarely of his contribution during the Great War, preferring instead to simply shrug off his accomplishments and just mutter something about just doing his part.
Victor learned a lot about his father’s humility and the true value of his service to the GTA. It made him proud. The old man made him proud.
“Nice to see you followed in the honorable tradition Mister Victor.”
“Yes Sir! Thank you sir!”
The rest of the gathering was really just the standard trading stories and catching up between old friends and remembering those no longer among the ranks of the living, whose ranks were starting to swell as the insurgency gained momentum.
Victor was assigned to the Alpha flight group of his Squadron led by Lieutenant Morales. They went over the patrol schedules and generally chatted about life in the fleet for the next two days. Finally, when they were close to their destination, Petrarch gave the combat flight crews their mission briefing.
A final confrontation with the NTF was brewing at Epsilon Pegasi and the Third and Thirteenth Fleets were being sent in to provide badly needed reinforcements for the ships defending Epsilon Pegasi. The Thirteenth Fleet was a Vasudan Battle group led by their Flagship, the GVD Psamtik, a massive Vasudan Destroyer, one of the more powerful ships in the GTVA fleet. The plan was to establish a blockade of the Alpha Centauri and Sirius jump nodes, trapping the NTF within the contested systems and preventing the spread of the rebellion.
It was ambitious to say the least.
After the mission briefing Victor decided that it might be a good idea to spend as much time in the simulators as possible. Victor had met most of his squadron mates in the intervening time. The NTF was definitely making a push towards Epsilon Pegasi and the Third Fleet was being sent to reinforce GTVA positions there.
Less than twenty four hours later, Masher, Potshot, Victor and another pilot, Ensign Ricky Vorhees, call sign Slash were finishing up their Combat Defense Patrol. It was still referred to as a CAP, the old acronym for a Combat Air Patrol. It was almost six a.m. local time and the flight deck was clear. Most of the Aquitaine’s fighter and bombers were off on a strike mission. The Hammerheads had been held back in reserve just in case the NTF got lucky.
“Not bad Victor.” Morales said after they landed.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Their Myrmidons were pulled off the flight line and set onto their platforms. They would be inspected for damage and then sent one deck below for post flight servicing.
“You have soft hands on the stick and you know how to fly straight. Make sure you remember the basics when the time comes and you’ll be just fine.”
“I’ll try.”
“NTF Pilots aren’t as technically proficient as we are but they have balls you wouldn’t believe.” Vellum added.
“He’s right Victor. They have raw talent and serviceable fighters but what really sets them apart is their near fanatical belief in their cause,” Masher paused for a moment to let it sink in.
“They are willing to die.” Victor said, finishing the thought.
“Exactly.”
“And die they do, in great numbers.” Vellum added with a grin.
Masher shot Potshot a dirty look for the comment but said nothing.
“It reminds me of something that an ancient Terran general said once a long time ago,” Masher said as he turned his attention to the newest member of the 53rd.
“What did he say?” Victor asked.
“He said no dumb son of a bitch ever won a war by dying for his country.”
Vellum made a snorting sound and grunted derisively, “What idiot said that?”
“He wins by making some other dumb son of a bitch die for his country.” Victor said, again completing the thought. Vellum stood there waiting for the answer, looking slightly confused.
“Pretty good, Vick,” Masher said approvingly.
“The idiot in question was Patton.” Victor said to Vellum, who just rolled his eyes in exasperation. How the hell was he supposed to know who that was? Not everyone studied ancient war horses.
“Nice. Maybe we could make your call sign Egghead.” Potshot shot back.
“No. We have time to come up with something suitable for Mister Victor.”
They were nearly off the flight line when the alarm klaxons sounded suddenly and alert calls for battle stations roared through the flight deck. The four pilots turned right around and ran back towards their fighters, which had yet to be transferred below.
“Get those Myrmidons ready for flight now!” Masher ordered. The lift technician started the cranes going in the opposite direction, returning the space superiority fighters to the flight line.
“Potshot, you and Slasher launch and set up CAP on point. Victor, you’re with me.” He bellowed as they slipped back into their fighters. They all managed to launch less than five minutes later and they were on their patrol stations awaiting order thirty seconds after launch.
“Command, this is Alpha One awaiting instructions.” Masher said keying his command circuit commlink.
“Stand by Alpha One.”
“Masher, looks like they’re calling out the horses,” Slasher called out.
Masher looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, four more Myrmidons were launching.
“That will be the skipper and Beta flight.”
“Alpha One, Command is tracking inbound hostiles through subspace. Someone got through the blockade. We have then vectored to your position. ETA, seven minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Masher replied tersely.
Two minutes Command was calling in another emergency. A pair of NTF Cruisers had run a blockade. There was also a five Vasudan transport vessels carrying refugees from Cygnus Prime that had come under attack. The Vasudans, probably from the GVD Psamtik, sent in a wing of fighters to provide cover but now the fighters were calling for reinforcements. Captain Loukakis, leading Beta flight, made his decision quickly.
“Potshot, you and Victor are going to reinforce the Vasudans. Zeta flight is preparing to launch now so we should be able to handle anything that comes our way here. The two Vasudan fighters are dinged up so we are sending in support as a precaution. You boys ought to be able to handle it.”
“Vasudans?” Potshot’s disappointment was evident in his voice but he managed to hold his tongue. He thought about voicing his displeasure at being left out of the action but decided against saying anything.
“Aye, Sir, happy hunting,” Vellum replied as he slowly angled his Myrmidon up and over the slowly forming group. He reversed course, mumbling sullenly about his milk run mission to baby sit a few Vasudans with the squadron virgin.
“Victor, remember to stay close to the transports,” Loukakis continued.
“Hammer anything that gets close and for god’s sake stay in contact with Potshot. Keep your head out there.” Loukakis didn’t like having to send a new pilot off alone without knowing what he was capable of but Admiral Petrarch’s decision to send off the rest of the Aquitaine’s fighter on the Third Fleet’s blockade and counter strike mission meant that he was forced to sit behind in reserve. Fleet safety was his responsibility and all he could do was sent his least experienced pilots to cover what should be an easy mission. If they ran into trouble they would have the Vasudan fighter pilots to help them out. The Vasudan pilots of the Thirteenth fleet and especially those on the GVD Psamtik were some of the very best.
That’s probably why Vellum nearly threw a fit, he thought smiling inside his flight helmet. A little competition would be good for the boys.
“I won’t let you down Boss.” Victor replied with a bit more confidence than he really had. He and Vellum would need to form up and clear the fleet’s course heading to make the short jump to where the Vasudan refugee’s were supposed to be.
“Okay Victor, switch to combat frequency one four seven and form up on my wing.”
Victor rolled his fighter over and pulled back on the stick, reversing course and formed up on Potshot’s wing quickly.
Victor felt his pulse quicken and a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d been told to expect butterflies his first time out, that a little nervousness was a good thing. The adrenaline your body starts to produce was good for making you more alert. And so were some of the medical supplements he was required to take as a pilot.
“Alright Vick, just, uh, don’t freeze up out there and we’ll be uh, fine.”
Potshot was nervous and it did little to convey confidence to his virgin wingman. It was the first time that Vellum was being allowed to lead a flight. That there were only two fighters in his flight element was immaterial. Either way, Victor was too preoccupied to notice, he was too busy checking his ammunition stores and countermeasures. He had never really expected to conduct a preflight inspection after launching but another lesson drummed in during flight school was always know what you are carrying into battle and be prepared to make do with what you have.
You won’t always have a choice.
He had a full load of Tempest dumb-fire rockets and his personal favorite Rockeyes, midrange fire-and-forget missiles with a decent amount of teeth. You didn’t have to lock onto your target to fire them. Just get him in the center of your Head Up Display and say hi. There was also supposed to be a retrofit of the Prometheus cannon but that was still just scuttlebutt. They would have to make do with some antiquated Subachs.
“Alpha Two, this is command, your coordinates have been updated. You may jump when ready.” Victor took a deep breath and flexed his fingers on his flight stick and throttle. Potshot acknowledged command and gave Victor, designated Alpha Four, the order to jump.
A tear in the fabric of space, a pool of blue shimmering light, appeared directly in front of each fighter. It doesn’t matter how many times you get to see a wormhole open up, it’s always an impressive sight, even for a small fighter.
“Up, up and away,” whispered Victor.
And they were gone.