Wings of Honor Page 3

  “It was a temporary lapse in judgment, sir.”

  “A temporary lapse in judgment.” Captain Hughes chewed on the words. He stood from behind his desk, his broad, two-meter frame towering over Coda. Space stations weren't built for men like Captain Hughes, whose clean-shaven head nearly touched the stainless-steel ceiling. Combine that with his square face, and he looked every bit like the career military man he was. “A temporary lapse in judgment.”

  The amusement in his voice terrified Coda more than anything else about the situation. Good things rarely followed a superior’s laughter.

  Captain Hughes rounded the desk and took a seat on its edge, crossing his arms. His cold eyes didn’t match the amusement in his voice. “Tell me, Ensign, do you consider yourself an honest man?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How about someone who takes responsibility for their mistakes?”

  “I… I think so, sir.”

  “Then I’m confused, Ensign. Because from my perspective, striking Ensign Krylov once, maybe even twice, would have constituted a ‘temporary lapse in judgment.’ But three times? Four? Having to be dragged away by your fellow wingmen? That doesn't strike me as temporary. So either you’re lying to me, or you’re refusing to accept responsibility for your actions. So which is it? Are you lying or acting like a child?”

  “Sir?”

  “I asked if you're dishonest or immature.”

  “It was a mistake, sir. One I was goaded into.”

  “Ah, so it’s the latter.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I said it's the latter,” Captain Hughes repeated. “Actions of a boy. An inability to accept responsibility. Not too surprising, given your family situation.”

  Coda’s eyes slipped from the rear wall, finding Captain Hughes’s.

  “You have a weak spot, Ensign. One your enemies will exploit if you don't take better care of hiding it.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I don't see how I can hide my family situation. Our name is known throughout the galaxy, and it isn't thought of kindly.”

  “No, it's not, but that doesn't mean you have to wear it as a badge of shame. It drives you, Ensign. I can see that. But it also holds you back. Three times, you've been in this office, and all for the same reason: because you can't keep your anger in check. All because you thought defending your family honor was more important than defending the human race.”

  “Sir, that's not—”

  “Another lapse in judgment?” Captain Hughes asked, raising any eyebrow. “Arguing with your commanding officer?”

  “I'm sorry, sir.”

  “You're a damn fine pilot, son—nobody will debate that. Squadron Leader of the Ace Squadron of your graduating class, you should have your pick of commissions. Unfortunately, I can't recommend you for deployment. Not until you've learned to control your anger.”

  Coda’s head spun. This can't be happening. It was his worst nightmare—beyond his worst nightmare.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Granted.”

  “You're making a mistake, sir.” Coda kept his voice cool, devoid of all emotion. If getting angry had jeopardized everything he'd worked for, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. “I am a very good pilot, one of the best in my class, and from what I understand, there's a shortage of those skills on the front.”

  “That's where you're mistaken, Ensign. You're one of over one hundred fifty pilots in a single graduating class from a single academy. There are others like it. Pilots, we have, Ensign. Drones, on the other hand… So maybe if you were in a more demanding field like advanced manufacturing or robotic engineering, something where you had to use that tiny brain of yours, I might be more lenient.”

  “This isn't just any academy, though, sir. This is the Terran Fleet Academy. The best of the best. And I'm in command of its top squadron. Surely that counts for something.”

  “It does,” Captain Hughes said. “Which is why you’re being allowed to graduate. You’ll be stationed either in the Orbital Defense Force or on one of the smaller vessels deeper in the black. But you won’t be on the front.”

  “All because of a little fistfight, sir?” Coda couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Terran Fleet Academy was a military institution. Violence wasn’t just encouraged; it was taught.

  “Because you clearly don’t understand what it takes to be a part of a squadron. When you’re in battle, a real battle, your fellow wingmen need to have absolute trust in you. There’s no room for grudges. There’s no room for ego. And there sure as hell isn’t room for pilots who aren’t capable of learning from their mistakes.”

  The jumble of emotions inside Coda was nearly enough to break him. Anger, frustration, devastation, confusion—he could barely tell them apart. They mixed with the fear he’d already felt, causing sweat to drip down his back and his eyes to water. He attempted to blink the emotion away, but it was too much. Captain Hughes was right. Controlling emotions was a requirement for any great pilot. And Coda just didn’t have it.

  But buried deeper was something that kept Coda standing, kept him from lashing out, from giving up. Determination.

  He was Callan O’Neil. The cards had been stacked against him his entire life. He’d been through worse, faced stiffer odds, and still been accepted to the most prestigious flight academy in the Sol Fleet. This was only a setback, and one he refused to accept. He would fight. He would succeed. And when he won, he would smile at Andrei, Captain Hughes, and anyone else who had tried to stand in his way. He would make fools out of all of them.

  “Let me remind you, son,” Captain Hughes continued, his voice taking on a more somber tone. “We are at war with an enemy more terrifying than you can imagine. They have the advantage in technology. They have the advantage of numbers. And they’ve had us on the defensive for longer than you’ve been alive. We’re the only thing that stands between them and the destruction of the human race. They don’t give a damn about your family history or personal grudges. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Coda said.

  “Good,” Captain Hughes said. “Because if you’re to stay in the drone fleet, you will begin your career elsewhere.”

  Coda blinked. “If, sir?”

  Captain Hughes uncrossed his arms and stood with a sigh. “You’re being given a choice, Ensign.”

  “Between what, sir?” Coda tried to temper the hope blooming in his chest.

  Captain Hughes didn’t respond, though. Instead, the door opened behind Coda, and another man strode in. He was shorter than the captain by a few centimeters though still thickly built, with ebony skin and closely cropped black hair peppered with white. Lines creased his forehead and the edges of his mouth, drawing Coda’s eye to his brown eyes and full lips.

  Coda struggled not to stare. The man in front of him was straight out of military legend. He’d killed more Baranyk than any other known pilot and was someone Coda had studied and tried to emulate during his time at the academy. Commander Chadwick Coleman.

  “Ensign,” Commander Coleman said. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s an honor, sir.”

  “Spare it, Ensign,” Commander Coleman said. “There’s no time for flattery. I have a number of these to get through, so I’ll be brief. I’m putting together a special squadron, and I want you to compete for a spot in it.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Before you give me your answer, Ensign, there are a few things you need to understand. There are no guarantees. You’ll have to earn your place. And by ‘special,’ I mean top secret. Nobody can know who or what’s involved. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it’ll be dangerous. Far more dangerous than anything you’ve experienced, maybe even more dangerous than being on the front itself. But I’m offering you a chance to fly, Ensign.”

  “How many other pilots will be in the squadron, sir?”

  “A few.”

  “Any I know, s
ir?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And who might I expect, sir?”

  “Other pilots like yourself, Ensign. Pilots who have shown a knack for flying but might not have all the qualities Captain Hughes is looking for.”

  “How long will the deployment last, sir?”

  “That depends on how successful we are.”

  Despite the commander’s elusive answers, Coda wanted to say yes on the spot. Very few pilots had the chance to fly under the great Commander Coleman. But he had one last question. One that was essential to his longer-term goals.

  “Will I get to kill Baranyk, sir?”

  A smile parted Commander Coleman’s face, exposing teeth as white as porcelain. “You might, Ensign. You very well might.”

  For the first time since beating Shadow Squadron, Coda felt like smiling. “Then sign me up, sir.”

  Commander Coleman pulled a tablet from the inside of his uniform and held it before Coda. “Just need your prints, Ensign.”

  Coda should have been more nervous than he was, but he placed the palm of his hand against the tablet, allowing it to scan and record his prints. Little green boxes similar to his targeting-guidance system appeared around his fingertips, then when the tablet had taken a proper scan, they flashed, indicating a successful scan.

  “Welcome to the training program, Ensign,” Commander Coleman said. “Or should I say Lieutenant?”

  Coda let himself smile. He wouldn’t be promoted a full lieutenant yet, of course, merely a lieutenant junior grade, but it was a start, and it was certainly more than he’d expected only a few minutes before. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Lieutenant. Grab any personal belongings you have and meet me in Shuttle Bay Three at sixteen hundred, ready to ship out.”

  “Yes, sir.” Coda saluted and spun on his heels, dismissed.

  “And, Lieutenant…”

  Coda stopped in the doorway.

  “You should know I flew with your father. He was a good man and a hell of a pilot. If you're half of what he was, I expect great things out of you.”

  For the first time in forever, Coda was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken kindly of his father, let alone compared Coda to him and meant it as a compliment. Eyes brimming with tears, and not knowing what else to do, he nodded to Commander Coleman then exited Captain Hughes’s office.

  “Ah, shit,” Buster said as he entered Coda’s quarters and saw Coda’s personal belongings strewn about his bed. “That bad?”

  “No,” Coda said. “Not at all. Well, that's not true. Captain Hughes did rail into me for fifteen minutes and tell me that I wouldn't be joining any of the ships on the front, but then…” Coda paused, trying to figure out how he could tell his friend what had happened. “Then, well… it’s classified, but it's really exciting.”

  “That's good,” Buster said, sounding relieved but sharing none of the excitement Coda felt. “I think. What can you tell me about it?”

  “Not much. Mostly that I won’t be serving my time on a third-rate ship patrolling the belt or something.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Buster took a seat, watching Coda place the rest of his personal belongings in his bag. There was something off about him.

  “You okay?”

  “Me? Of course.” Buster smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes.

  “You’re full of it. What's up?”

  “It's nothing, Coda. Really.”

  “Damn it, Buster, we've trained together for months. I can tell something's wrong.”

  “That's just it. We've trained with each other for months. You and me. Us and Viking Squadron. We’re the Ace Squadron, and you're shipping out with barely a goodbye.”

  “It's the nature of the beast, Buster. But trust me, this is better than the alternative.”

  “I guess.”

  “It is.” He zipped up his bag and set it aside. “Commander… the other officer said he had a few other meetings. I think he’s recruiting other pilots. If you haven't been invited yet, I'm sure you will be.”

  “Why?” Buster asked. “Why me?”

  “Because we were the Ace Squadron, and you played an integral part in that.”

  Buster laughed. It was livelier this time. More real. “I just kept your ass out of trouble.”

  “Which is a difficult job,” Coda said. “Obviously.”

  “Obviously. What time do you ship out?”

  “Sixteen hundred.”

  Buster looked up at the clock inset in the wall above the door. “Better get a move on it then.”

  Coda grabbed his bag and slapped Buster on the shoulder. “I'll see you on the ship.”

  “What if you don't?”

  Coda didn’t want to think about it. “Then you're going to kill a lot of bugs on the front.”

  “What do I tell the squad?”

  “Tell them I'm doing something exciting and not to worry. They'll hear about it soon.”

  Buster nodded. “I will.” He crossed the distance between them and pulled Coda into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Coda.”

  Coda hugged Buster back, slapping his friend hard on the back. “You too, man.”

  When the embrace ended, Buster smacked him on the arm. “And stay out of trouble. You’re not going to have me looking after you.”

  Coda laughed. “I'll try. Probably fail, but I'll try.”

  “All right.”

  Coda nodded a final time, and not wanting to extend the moment out any longer, he left his quarters and best friend behind, headed toward the true unknown.

  5

  Docking Umbilical, Terran Fleet Academy

  Sol System, Earth, High Orbit

  Coda floated through the docking umbilical connecting the academy to Commander Coleman’s transport ship. Away from the spinning operational facilities of the rest of the space station, he didn’t experience the simulated gravity felt elsewhere, instead relished the seldom-felt, disorienting zero-g experience. He and the rest of the academy pilots operated their drones in three-dimensional space, but those were simulations, and while simulations could train the mind how to think, they couldn’t train the body how to react. As a result, his body wanted to panick, unsure whether it was floating, falling, or flying.

  The umbilical was mostly transparent, giving Coda a breathtaking view of the Earth below. Two years had passed since he’d left, leaving behind everyone he’d ever known or loved. He and his mother hadn’t separated on great terms—Coda had seen to that when he’d applied for the Terran Fleet Academy against her wishes.

  “I lost my husband to the war,” she had said, tears streaming down her face. “I won’t lose my only son too.”

  But lost him, she had. And her words continued to haunt him. His actions had driven a wedge between them, and she hadn’t been there for his graduation from basic. She hadn’t responded to his letter informing her that he’d been accepted into the prestigious Terran Fleet Academy. And she wouldn’t have been at his academy graduation, either. It was as if he were already dead to her.

  Looking down at the beautiful planet below, Coda realized why he’d been so quick to say yes to Commander Coleman. There was nothing left for him on Earth. Nothing in those blue oceans, sandy beaches, green forests, or snow-peaked mountains. Nothing but a mother who didn’t want anything to do with him and a past he desperately wanted to rewrite.

  The transport ship had a traditional winged design that resembled NASA’s original space shuttle and was large enough to seat twenty or thirty passengers and crew. Able to fly in atmospheric conditions and land planetside in an emergency, the ship was truly meant for space travel with metallic walkways, rounded edges and corners, and a seating design that would make a terrestrian nauseous.

  The ship’s crew greeted him at the air lock, took his bag, and led him to his seat—a formfitting gel seat with a five-point harness meant to keep him in place and protect him during hard burns and excessive G’s. He floated into
position and latched the lap belt, keeping his eyes focused on the air lock.

  Jose “Uno” Hernandez, Raptor Squadron’s top pilot, was the first to arrive. He looked surprised when he saw Coda, but he masked it quickly and took his seat across the aisle from Coda.

  “Coming with us, huh?” Coda asked. “I was starting to think I was the only one.”

  “Not today,” Uno said. “I’m surprised to see you, though. Thought you’d be going to the front.”

  Word of Coda’s demise apparently hadn’t spread throughout the rest of the academy yet. That was one of the benefits of shipping out prior to graduation, he supposed.

  “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fly with a legend,” Coda said.

  Uno grinned. “Me, neither.”

  “Any idea where we’re headed?”

  Uno shook his head. “You?”

  “Nope. I’m in the dark too.”

  “Well, I’m not going to lie, Coda. I feel better knowing you’re going too.”

  Coda nodded. He’d spoken with Uno on only a few occasions, but the Raptor pilot had always struck him as someone he could get along with. He was also damn good at what he did, and if Uno was the caliber of pilot Commander Coleman was after, then he was truly building something special.

  More pilots trickled in after Uno, fifteen in all, including David “Squawks” Anderson and Benjamin “Noodle” Campbell. After joining Coda and Uno, the other two pilots chatted amicably, doing their best to hide their anxious anticipation.

  Coda kept one eye on the air lock, hoping to see Buster, but as the minutes ticked by and the transport began to fill up, his hopes dimmed. When Commander Coleman arrived, he did have another student in tow, but it wasn’t the one Coda was hoping for.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Coda mumbled.

  Moscow floated behind the commander, sneering as he surveyed the shuttle’s occupants. He’d been cleaned up since his fight with Coda but still sported a split lip and swollen eyes that were beginning to purple. A pair of butterfly bandages crossed his right cheek, and another held together a cut above his left eye. If Moscow was embarrassed by his injuries, he didn’t show it. Instead, his sneer turned into something more sinister when he spotted Coda.