Wings of Honor Page 5

  The hornet drones flew in a series of tight formations, wing to wing, nose to tail, with incredible precision. They moved fluidly, attacking like a swarm of their namesakes. And there were dozens, maybe hundreds of squadrons, each assaulting the Baranyk fighters and ships with devastating efficiency.

  Coda had seen similar vids in the past, but many of them were classified beyond his clearance level, and without the proper instruction, they were impossible to emulate. That was one of the things that excited him the most about fighting on the front—becoming a fighter pilot and learning the secrets behind such precise tactics.

  “This was taken thirteen days ago in the Dakara System,” Commander Coleman said. “Our ships had been engaged with the Baranyk Fleet for seventeen minutes when… well, see for yourselves.”

  The ships on the vid continued their assault. Missile trails and tracer fire filled the vacuum between the larger vessels, carving into the reinforced ship exteriors with little resistance. Smaller points of light flashed briefly then disappeared as drones and Baranyk ships exploded. The human fleet was pressing their advantage and making for the Baranyk capital ship when the drone fleet just… stopped.

  They didn't stop in the traditional sense—there was no stopping in the vacuum of space—but all navigational movement ceased. As if the pilots had lost all navigational control, the drones continued on their course, never deviating or avoiding fire.

  The Baranyk made quick work of the drones, eliminating the human fleet in moments before turning their sights on the human capital ships. As the alien fleet closed on the human vessels, Commander Coleman paused the vid, freezing the enemy fire as it hurled toward the metal constructions with violent intent. He stood silently as if encouraging questions.

  “With all due respect, sir,” said a pilot in the front row. “But what the hell just happened?”

  “According to Fleet Intelligence, the Baranyk have developed a new weapon that knocks out all communication between our drones and the drone pilots aboard our battle cruisers.”

  “But that would mean…” The pilot’s voice trailed off as he came to the silent conclusion.

  “That our ships are sitting ducks,” Commander Coleman said. “Yes, if Fleet Intelligence is correct, the Baranyk have eliminated our greatest advantage in this war.”

  Coda ran through the implications in his head. The Baranyk were a fierce enemy with superior firepower and a technological edge. The humans’ only advantage, if they even had one, was in numbers. Maybe not human numbers but fighter numbers. And only because drones were easier to replace than pilots.

  At some point after the early years of the war, when the fleet had faced catastrophic losses among its fighter wings, Fleet Command had realized it was easier to manufacture new starfighters than it was to train new pilots, and within a year, Fleet Command had shifted away from manned starfighters to drones that could be operated from the relative safety of the heavily armored battle cruisers. The Baranyk, for all their technological advancements, hadn’t adopted a similar strategy against their human enemy. Until now.

  Of the many theories why the Baranyk hadn't altered their original tactics, the prevailing one was that the Baranyk fighters were some kind of lesser creature akin to drones themselves, something easily produced in large numbers. Still, humanity, with its vast network of colonized planets and moons, could manufacture drones faster than the Baranyk, and that had given them the advantage. If that was no longer the case, then the Baranyk had a bigger advantage than they had ever had before.

  “Fortunately,” Commander Coleman said, “Fleet Intelligence believes the Baranyk were reluctant to use the weapon, which explains why they didn’t use it until human victory was clearly at hand, and why we haven’t seen it used since.”

  “Why would they be reluctant to use it again, sir?” another pilot asked. “I understand them wanting to keep it a secret, but use it once, and the secret’s out. What advantage do they have by not using it again?”

  “Intelligence has a couple of ideas. The first is that it’s some sort of new weapon, and with all new weapons come bugs. Maybe they’ve attempted to use it, but it hasn’t worked. Another thought is that since it is a new weapon, not all Baranyk ships are equipped with it. In either case, Intelligence is working to counteract the weapon, and that’s where you come in.”

  Coda felt his face contort in confusion. Fleet Intelligence harbored some of the smartest men and women the human race had to offer, and if anyone could solve the latest riddle, it was them. He was no mental slouch, but he wasn’t qualified to assist in any intelligence efforts, either.

  “Intelligence is working on ways to counter the device so that our ships can retain communication or ways to boost the strength of our signal so that the drones are unaffected when the enemy attempts to use their weapon. But that’s not for us to worry about. That’s not our mission. We’re the backup plan. Hell, we’re the backup plan to the backup plan. The redundancy in case everything Intelligence comes up with fails. We’re another kind of experiment.”

  “And what kind of experiment is that, sir?” The words were out of Coda’s mouth before he knew it. Squawks and Noodle looked at him, their mouths agape, leaning away as if attempting to distance themselves from him.

  “The best kind, Coda. The kind that’ll put all of you into the cockpits of real starfighters. The kind that will allow you to become real pilots, just as I was.”

  Commander Coleman’s words cut to Coda’s very core. He wants me to be a pilot. Not a drone pilot—a fighter pilot. Just like my father. Coda never would have thought it possible. Hell, since the advent of drone warfare, it hadn’t been possible. Now suddenly placed on the same treacherous path as his father, Coda’s doubts resurfaced.

  His blood runs through my veins. What if I’m just as weak? What if I fail? What if I cause death and destruction just as he did?

  It was almost unimaginable. If Coda failed, the O’Neils would never have a place among the military again. They would be disgraced. Discarded. Hated. Coda tried not to think about the riots in his hometown, about the vile threats and vandals terrorizing what little peace his mother still had.

  I can’t do it. I won’t. I can’t risk it.

  Even if he avoided the traps of his father, Fleet Intelligence wanted to put Coda and ninety-nine other rookies into the cockpit of a death machine. Casualties among fighter pilots had been the highest among all Fleet personnel and for good reason. The extreme conditions pilots faced in a starfighter were as dangerous as anything the Baranyk could throw at them. Even with inertial dampeners and other systems meant to lessen the strain, the physical toll alone had accounted for nearly ten percent of all fighter deaths, and many of the pilots who had survived suffered lifelong ailments. Flying a starfighter was akin to looking into the face of death itself.

  But…

  Some of the most renowned military figures had been pilots. It was no coincidence that Coda had recognized Commander Coleman on sight. He could have done the same with a handful of other legendary pilots. Of everyone he looked up to, of all the prestigious drone pilots fighting on the front, he knew their call signs and had maybe even seen a picture or interview with them once or twice, but none of them were as recognized as those original starfighter pilots. If Coda’s goal was restoring honor to the family name, what better chance would he have?

  I have too much riding on this.

  It was almost poetic, in a sense. He’d dreamed about righting his father’s wrongs, and now he had an opportunity to do it from the same cockpit.

  Can I really turn that down?

  Coda found himself nodding. Nodding in excitement. Nodding in agreement. Ready to get started.

  “I see a lot of nervous faces,” Commander Coleman said slowly. “And rightfully so. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. This isn’t going to be easy. Chances are some of you won’t survive. Statistics say that five of you will stroke out before you ever see battle. And even then, the cards are stacked against you. In
my day, a pilot spent six weeks at Advanced Preflight Instruction, then six months at Primary Flight School, and another eighteen weeks at Advanced Flight Training. We have twenty-six weeks.”

  Nervous whispers filtered throughout the room.

  “The odds are slim,” Commander Coleman continued. “I understand that. Fleet Intelligence understands that. Which is why there are one hundred candidates in this room. Out of all of you, only twenty-four will make the squadron. The rest of you will receive new orders. But unlike you, I understood the challenges and expectations when I accepted this post. I understood the odds and the limitations of our timeline. But I also understood what was at stake. There’s a very real chance that Fleet Intelligence will fail in their attempt to counteract the Baranyk weapon, and if that happens, we are the only thing that stands in the way of our fleet’s total destruction.”

  Commander Coleman paused, letting the words sink in. He knew, just as Coda did, that when it was put like that, when they were faced with the ugly, terrible, terrifying truth that their fleet’s destruction meant the eradication of the human race, nobody would quit. They were all here for reason, and they would give it their all or die trying.

  “Look around, nuggets. The men and women in this room are the best and brightest fighter minds in the fleet. I personally picked every single one of you, because if there’s anyone who can learn to fly a starfighter under these conditions, it’s you. We will become the most fearsome squadron in the Sol Fleet. Now grab some food and some sleep, because we begin FAM Phase tomorrow at oh six hundred. Dismissed.”

  8

  Corridor, SAS Jamestown

  Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

  Coda was so deep in thought as he left the ready room that he didn’t hear Moscow fall into step behind him. Uno and Squawks were at his side, talking animatedly about how they were going to kick Baranyk ass, when Moscow’s voice cut through the corridor.

  “Gonna be a pilot like your old man, huh, O’Neil?”

  Coda’s body tightened at Moscow’s words, but he continued forward, acting as if he hadn’t heard him. He felt his friends’ eyes on him, but they took his lead, letting the taunt go unanswered.

  “Seeing as your old man went rogue and killed his wingmen,” Moscow continued, “I’m not sure I like that very much.”

  Coda let out a long, slow breath, silently repeating Captain Hughes’s words over and over again. You don’t learn from your mistakes. You don’t learn from your mistakes. You don’t learn from your mistakes. Letting Moscow goad him into another fight wasn’t a mistake he would make again. He wouldn’t give Moscow the satisfaction.

  “You hear me, O’Neil?” he said even more loudly. “You going to kill us like your old man killed his wingmen?”

  Coda’s resolve broke. He turned to face his tormenter.

  “What do you say—”

  “Stow it, Lieutenant!”

  Every pilot inside the corridor froze, their eyes falling on Commander Coleman, who had just exited the ready room.

  “Do you have an issue with who I assembled for this squadron?” Commander Coleman asked, advancing on Moscow.

  The other rookie looked genuinely terrified. His eyes darted to the small gang he had assembled, but each of his new friends gave him a wide berth. He was on his own, and he knew it.

  “I asked you a question, Lieutenant!”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you will cease all talk of Lieutenant O’Neil’s family. Do you understand?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Commander Coleman closed the remaining distance between him and Moscow in a single step, bringing his face inches from the other pilot’s. The larger officer made Moscow look like a child by comparison.

  “Crystal, sir.”

  “Good.” Commander Coleman surveyed the corridor, looking at Moscow’s gang and the others who were milling around. “Anyone else?” When nobody answered, Commander Coleman returned his attention back to Moscow. “Get to your barracks.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moscow turned and started down the corridor. He didn’t say anything to Coda as he passed, but his eyes burned with anger and embarrassment. This isn’t over, they seemed to say. Not by a long shot.

  As Coda turned toward the barracks, Commander Coleman’s gaze settled on him. The Commander’s expression was unreadable, and as the moment drew longer, Coda grew increasingly uncomfortable. Turning his back on the commander felt inappropriate, especially since he had just come to Coda’s defense. Fortunately, Commander Coleman nodded at him then continued down the corridor in the opposite direction, sparing Coda from further scrutiny.

  “Come on,” someone said to him, and Coda found himself being pushed toward the barracks.

  Back in the privacy of their quarters, Coda’s new friends huddled around him.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Squawks asked. “I mean, I knew you and Moscow didn’t like each other, but damn.”

  Coda shrugged, not sure how much he wanted to talk about it.

  “Seriously,” Squawks pressed. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing,” Coda said quietly.

  “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  “It’s… complicated,” Coda said.

  Squawks opened his mouth to say more, but Uno laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lay off him. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “No,” Coda said. “It’s fine. Me and Andrei have been rivals since our first day at the academy. I don’t know why, but we never got along. Actually, I’m pretty sure he hated me since day one. And it only got worse when we got our own squadrons. Anyway, when Commander Coleman recruited me, he told me that he had flown with my father. That he was a good man. I guess hearing Moscow bad-mouth him pissed the commander off as much as it did me.”

  Coda’s friends shared an uneasy look. Joseph O’Neil wasn’t someone people usually talked about, and when they did, they certainly didn’t praise him. Calling a known war criminal a “good man” just didn’t happen—especially from a superior officer.

  “The commander flew with your father?” Uno asked tentatively.

  Coda nodded.

  “Did he say when?” Squawks asked. “I mean, was he there when… you know…”

  “When he allowed the Baranyk to wipe out his entire squadron?” Coda asked bitterly. “He didn’t say. But I got the impression that they knew each other pretty well. They might have even been friends.”

  Squawks whistled his surprise.

  “Are you going to talk to him about it?” Uno asked. “You know, so you know for sure.”

  “No.”

  Another awkward silence, made worse by the other pilots’ reluctance to meet his eye, fell over the group. Coda wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He hated talking about his father, because when he did, things got awkward… and he lost friends.

  “Look,” Coda said, “I know you’ve all thought about it, so if we’re going to fly together, you deserve to know. Yes, my father is a war criminal. Maybe even a traitor. And his wingmen died because of it. But my father’s mistakes were his own. Not mine. And for as long as we fly together, I promise I will do everything in my power to be the best wingman I can be.”

  “You don’t have to say that, Coda,” Uno said.

  “Yes, I do,” Coda said. “It’s important to me. And I need all of you to understand that, okay?”

  He was met with a series of small nods.

  “We’re going to kick some serious Baranyk ass, aren’t we?” Squawks said, his playful bluster shattering what remained of the awkward moment.

  “Hell yeah.” Coda was grateful for the new subject and gave Squawks a knowing smile. He reminded him of Buster, who’d had a rare ability to say the right thing at the right time, protecting Coda with words when he resorted to fists.

  Uno hooted his own battle cry, and the rest of them followed. Before Coda knew it, they were smiling and laughing again, their nerves
and concerns disappearing. Coda took part in all of it, silently noting that for the first time since he could remember, nobody cared who he was or where he came from. In that moment, Coda and his small group of friends were ready for whatever the following day had in store.

  9

  Hangar Deck, SAS Jamestown

  Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

  The next morning, the pilots formed up in front of Commander Coleman on Hangar Deck 7B. The Commander stood in front of a squadron of X-23 Nighthawks; the single-manned starfighters were larger than the Z-18 Hornet drones the pilots were more familiar with, sporting a sleek design with angled wings, four rear thrusters, and a narrow cockpit. Matte black and ornamented with a full armament of missiles and a nose-mounted cannon, the Nighthawks looked every bit like the big brother to the Hornets that Coda had imagined them to be.

  “Welcome to FAM Phase,” Commander Coleman said, “also known as the Familiarization Phase. Over the next two weeks, you will familiarize yourself with every nut, bolt, nook, and cranny of the X-23 so that when we are done, you will be able to rebuild your Nighthawk in space with nothing more than your flight suit and fingernails.

  “Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, the next two weeks will be one of the most trying times of your lives. It will test your patience and mental endurance more than ever before. FAM Phase is not fun, but it is important, and I expect you to treat it as such. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” the squadron echoed in unison.

  “Good,” Commander Coleman said. “There are one hundred of you and only twenty-five X-23s, so form into groups of four and find a fighter. Over the next hour, I want you to acquaint yourself with it. Run your hand along her body. Sit in her seat. Look her up and down, inside and out, then we’ll begin the real fun.”

  Coda quickly formed a group with Squawks, Uno, and Noodle and found an X-23 that wasn’t already surrounded by overly excited pilots. Squawks bounded up the ladder and climbed into the cockpit before anyone had an opportunity to argue, grinning as he took in the various gauges and screens.