Noah - 8. Chapter 8

Date: 1st April 2395
Location: MMV Tallinn

“Not a bad job, Cadet.” The Flight Chief commented as he inspected the rebuilt Cutthroat. It had taken nearly seven hours with the help of two of the ship’s mechanics, most taken up with the rewiring and computer setup. Very little of the internal systems could be salvaged, about the only things remaining were the chassis and chair but finally it was done.

“Thank you, Sir. I couldn’t have done it without Crewmen Prefect and Lister’s assistance.” I replied, proud of the praise nonetheless.

“There’s just one thing missing; the name.”

“The name?”

“No ship should ever fly without a name, Cadet.”

“I’ve never named a ship before.” The Dagger I rebuilt with my father was christened ‘Phoenix’ by him in testament to it’s rising from the ashes, but that was chosen by him.

“Well, it should be something important to you. Hopefully this ship will be with you for a long time, you’ll learn to think of it more as a lover than a tool.”

“I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.” I replied. There was nothing I could think of at all.

“Well how about we think of something related to your call sign. That’s something else we’ll have to fix, we can’t go calling you Cadet forever more.”

“Thank you!” I said with a thankful sigh, “Lieutenant Cole, my old Flight Master started calling me Cadet years ago and it just stuck. I’ve been dreading being stuck with it.”

“Well I think we should go have a talk with the others. Nobody picks their call sign around here, kid. Let’s go head to the bar, the guys are all in there and I’m sure they’ll have a few suggestions.”

Motioning me to follow, he walked out of the flight bay and through the ship towards the bar. As we were mid-shift there were few people wandering around the ship, most either sleeping, relaxing or working. The bar was as rowdy as ever when we walked in and after greeting a few people, the Flight Chief jumped up onto the bar and pulled me up before shouting loudly, making the bar fall silent.

“Cadet Jones here is in need of a new call sign. Who here has something for him?”

I was rapidly turning bright red as he drew the whole room’s attention to me. Suddenly the room erupted with shouts of suggestions, ranging from stupid to down right insulting, I imagined that they had all been waiting months for a new pilot to arrive for this opportunity to throw out their ‘amusing’ call signs. It was Commander Griff who made the first good suggestion I heard;

“The kid fights like nothin’ I’ve seen, I say we call him Thor after that warrior guy.”

I liked that, my father was from Earth’s northern European region, where the Norse religion originated, and Thor was the god of war.

“Thor, I like that one.” I said somewhat excitedly to the Flight Commander.

“QUIET!” Thorn bellowed over the din of names. “The kid’s made his choice, I want you all to welcome Thor, our newest pilot!”

The room erupted in cheers and Thorn jumped down from the bar.

“You got twenty minutes left of your shift, hardly worth going back for.” He said, thrusting a drink into my hand. “See you on your next shift, Thor. You’d better have a name for your ship when you start, like I said no ship flies without a name and you gotta take it on a shakedown.”

“Yes, Sir.” I replied, things aboard ship definitely went much faster than on the planet, that or life after school was simply a rapid non-stop ride from one event to the next.

“Hey, Thor!” Griff pulled me into a seat at his table. “Good name, kid.”

“Thanks, Griff.” I replied, putting the full glass of amber liquid on the table and trying to ignore it. “Good suggestion.”

“I hope you can fly as well as you did before when you ain’t got a group of ships shooting at you. I’d hate to have to open up on your ass just to get you to stay in formation.” He laughed. “You’re one of my boys now,” he grabbed me with one arm and hugged me into him, “You watch our backs out there, we’ll watch yours, we all come home in one piece.”

“Sure thing.” I replied with a smile.

“Here, lemme introduce you to the others, this is Foxtrot, Ventro, Pyro and Streak.” He pointed out each of the four other pilots at the table, each one raised their glass to me when they were named but said nothing more.

“That whiskey’s the good stuff.” The pilot with bright red hair identified as Pyro commented, regarding the glass in front of me. “The real stuff, not sequenced; don’t let it go to waste.”

“The kid don’t drink.” Griff smiled, eliciting a round of laughter from the other pilots.

“Trust me; you will do by the time we get back to Europa.” Ventro, the youngest looking member of the group commented. He looked barely 20 but if he had recently been cloned he could be any age. “Everybody starts drinking after their first tour, it’s the only way you can deal with…” he paused and stared into the distance, “some of the things that happen in space.” He continued staring blankly and absently sipped his drink.

“You’ll understand in a few days.” Griff said with certainty, “For now if you don’t wanna drink we aren’t going to force you.” He grabbed the glass from in front of me and drank it. “Definitely the good stuff.”

“Where ya from kid?” The pilot directly opposite me, pointed out as Streak asked. “You gotta be Europan, you’re too pale to be from Earth.”

People who had escaped from Earth had commented on how pale Europans were, but I had never really taken any notice. Being much further from the Sun and spending little time outside, Europans didn’t have any chances to tan.

“Yep, I was born in the City and have never been further than the belt.” I replied; this trip aboard the Tallinnwould take me further from home than I had ever been.

“Thought as much. You got anybody back home?”

“Just my dad, I never knew my mum and I’m an only child.”

“Me and Foxtrot here are twins, we were from Cannelli turf originally but joined the M Military when Cannelli were kicked out of the system.” The only way to join the M Military from one of the other Corporations was to be resident in a captured territory, even then the rate of acceptance of adults was very low, children always had a better chance of attaining citizenship since they were more adaptable to the M customs and lifestyle. That meant they couldn’t be much older than 24-25, and from the looks of them they were on their first body.

“Are you tw…” I began but was cut off by a loud alarm and the lighting dimming and taking on a red colour.

“ALL HANDS TO COMBAT STATIONS. ALL FIGHTERS IMMEDIATE LAUNCH.” The Captain’s voice shouted over the comm. Immediately the bar was filled with movement as everybody scrambled to their station.

“C’mon kid, I know you know what to do in a fighter, move it.” Griff said hurriedly as he pulled me to my feet and along behind him, “Just do what you did last time and watch our backs.”

In the changing room everyone simply pulled their flight suit straight on and jammed on their helmets, not taking the usual care that they usually did. The second they had their helmet in hand each pilot would run through the airlock and head straight to their fighter.

I managed to jump from the pad straight onto the right arm of my Cutthroat, a feat I would never have expected to accomplish normally, but the adrenaline was filling my veins and I was running on impulse. No sooner had I dropped into my seat did I hit the emergency start-up for the engines, sending a violent shudder through the ship as the cold engines were filled with superheated plasma and the systems all came online. To my left I saw Griff signal me to follow and lift off his pad.

Increasing power to the grav thrusters I lifted off and while retracting the landing gear swung the nose towards the bay doors; barely a second after increasing thrust I was outside the ship and surrounded by weapons fire.

Glancing at the ships flying around I could see that they were the same sort that attacked myself and my friends previously, and they were outnumbering our fighters at least three to one.

A thud on my ship’s left arm made me look up just as an enemy fighter barely missed me, flying from directly above. The radio chatter from the pilots all around was a confusing mess that I couldn’t understand or pick any one voice from. Immediately ahead of me I saw a Cutthroat chasing one of the enemy ships, with an enemy behind him. A moment later my cannons ripped the chasing enemy apart, several stray shots hitting another enemy who just happened to be passing in the way at the time, sending it spinning out of control for a few moments before exploding.

Spinning around I felt a very sharp jolt and my ship was sent spinning. Regaining control took me several attempts but finally I managed to straighten my course, immediately noticing I was getting no thrust from the right engine and the thrusters in that section was not working either. In front of me I saw the rear ends of two enemy fighters speeding away, after pressing a few buttons and locking on my two missiles took flight and hunted them down, each one futilely attempting to evade before being destroyed in a large explosion.

The whine of the lock alert wailed all around me as a fighter somewhere locked onto me, preparing to fire a missile. Knowing the ship was probably chasing me and expecting me to pull off to one side and accelerate I pulled back the throttle into the reverse thrust position. The inertial dampening unable to compensate for such rapid deceleration I was thrown into my harness, a sudden feeling of light-headedness overcoming me as the blood rushed to my extremities. I retained enough consciousness to open up on the enemy fighter as it flew past me, spraying him with a cloud of antimatter shells, each one devouring a chunk of his ship. Though there was no explosion, as I lined up for a run on the stricken craft, the pilot ejected in a small pod. Following the unwritten code of all pilots, I left the pilot and after destroying his craft moved on to another target.

As I spun around, I caught sight of three enemy fighters in formation heading towards the Tallinn, each one releasing two missiles at the ship before veering off. The ship’s defences would easily handle one or two missiles at a time but six would overwhelm them and could cause major damage to the ship.

Hitting the emergency thrust I lined up as best as I could with the path of the missiles and closed the distance before slowing. Firing my cannons for ten seconds straight and ignoring the overheat alerts I attempted to create a flak barrier to stop the missiles, my efforts being met with three explosions. The remaining three missiles were too close by that point for me to do anything and watching as I flew past, two were caught by the defences but the last impacted on the hull, sending a field of debris erupting from the ship.

I didn’t have time to dwell on the damage as three enemy fighters exploded in front of me and two Cutthroats flew past. Checking my scanner, though there were far less enemy fighters, they were still outnumbering the Cutthroats, of which we had lost two. Picking the nearest target I moved in, spewing out glowing blue rounds after it. Seconds after I engaged the fighter, I was surrounded by shots clattering off my armour from his wingman, unable to engage and evade at the same time I chose the safer option and started pulling evasive manoeuvres, manually routing power to different thrusters at the same time as dodging to make my flight path more erratic and harder for their targeting system to lock onto; a little trick my father had taught me long ago.

With the power of only one engine I was unable to pull away from the fighters and with each passing minute their shots were getting closer as they managed to predict my movements. I was just beginning to wonder how I was going to either lose them or turn the tables when the shots stopped raining past me and two flashes lit up behind me.

“That’s the last of them boys, RTB and ready for debrief.” The call came over the radio. Whatever had happened, we had fought them off and aside from a single gaping hole in the side of the Tallinn belching smoke into space, the ship seemed relatively undamaged.

Flying at speed I had not really missed the input of the one pair of thrusters or the one engine, but decelerating to dock, it became harder and harder to keep the craft level and steady. When I finally wrestled the ship through the bay doors and back onto the pad it had previously occupied, I landed very heavily, with the right rear section resting on the ground.

For several minutes I sat in the cockpit with my eyes closed, breathing heavily. My face was drenched in sweat, dripping from my hair, nose and eyebrows and vanishing into my flight suit, which was feeling very sticky and uncomfortable. When I finally opened my eyes, Griff was standing, astride the two battered arms of my Cutthroat looking equally drenched but with a big grin.

“You are one lucky fucker, you know that Thor?” He laughed. “Damned good flying though.” He jumped forwards and onto the top of the cockpit. Opening the hatch he offered me a hand.

“Debrief’s in one hour, I suggest we get you cleaned up and have a drink, you look like you need one.” He said as he lifted me out.

I was silent as I stripped off in the changing room and entered the cleanser. Though I was feeling more comfortable in a clean uniform after cleansing, my mind was still racing, replaying the battle over and over, focusing on every near miss and impact on my ship from enemy fire.

Walking along with Griff and two of the pilots from his wing, I noticed a few marines scattered around the ship on guard, and there was a sense of tension and urgency in the air with the ship still on heightened alert. The bar was strangely subdued when we entered, chairs and tables were still scattered everywhere from when the alert was called. Picking up a chair and table, Griff sat down, followed by myself and the two remaining pilots. I couldn’t help noticing the extra space, where Streak and Ventro were not sitting; I hadn’t seen either since the alert call.

Everyone at the table was silent for a few moments before Griff piped up.

“Who wants a drink? I’m parched.” He jumped up and hopped over the bar, shortly returning with four shot glasses and a taller glass. He passed around the shot glasses to the other two, the tall glass of what turned out to be lemonade to me and took a shot himself, leaving one on the tray.

Taking their shots the three pilots quickly seemed refreshed, while I sipped my drink.

“Guess Streak and Ventro didn’t cut it.” Griff laughed , gaining an uncomfortable look from Foxtrot. “Oh relax, Foxy, he’ll be waiting for ya as soon as we get back to Europa. He’s probably getting used to his new body right now.” He said with an amused tone.

“I guess.” Foxtrot replied sadly. To those born and bred in the M Military, death was a learning experience, something you shrugged off and tried not to let happen again, but Streak and Foxtrot, being raised for their first few years as Cannelli still saw it as the end and Foxtrot was obviously mourning while Griff seemed unfazed by the whole affair.

“Thor, kid; where did you learn those evasives? It’s been a long time since I was at school but I’m pretty sure they don’t teach those sorta moves to kids.” He changed the subject away from the missing pilots.

“A little trick my dad taught me when we first started flying our Dagger; said it got him out of more than one tight spot.” I replied, staring ahead into space.

“Well your dad obviously knew what he was doing. You’ll make a great pilot some day, hell you’re a great one now, when you finish the academy you’re gonna be some top gun shit.”

I blushed a little at his flattery, “I just got lucky, again.” I told him, “When I’m out there I’m not thinking, it’s all instinct.”

“Damned right it is.” Pyro commented, “Fuck, you think out there in a fight and you’re waiting in line for a new body.”

“He’s right, kid. You got the skill to letyourself fly on instinct and still make all the right choices. I saw what you did with those missiles, and I’ll be willing to bet I’m not the only one who did. Shit like that is what separates a good pilot from a great one.” Griff moved closer and put an arm around my shoulder.

“I was just in the right place, anybody else would’ve done the same.” I argued.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know I wouldn’t have thought of trying to shoot down the missiles, and what’s more is that it worked. Sure one got through but one is a helluvalot better than three. I’d probably have gone and done something dumb like trying to get in the way; take one out and get killed in the process. You’re quick, you’re smart and you’re good, that’s what being a flyboy is all about.” By the end of Griff’s lecture I was beginning to feel tired, drawing a laugh from all three of the others at the table when I yawned loudly at the end, my eyes beginning to feel very heavy.

“I think our little god of war’s tired.” Pyro laughed. “I’ll walk him back to his quarters, don’t go anywhere guys.”

Offering no resistance I stood and walked alongside the tall redheaded Lieutenant. We walked in silence to my quarters, with me struggling to stay awake by the time we arrived. The minute the door opened I stumbled across to the bed and collapsed.

I woke up at 18:00 sharp to the buzz of my neural link and the smell of freshly sequenced coffee. When I sat up I realised that I was in full uniform and on top of the sheets, still exactly where I had been when I fell asleep last cycle. I had been so exhausted by the battle, following rebuilding my ship that I had simply shut down.

‘Damn, my ship.’ I thought to myself, I had just finished rebuilding it and now it would have to be repaired again. Stripping and stepping into the cleanser I let my mind wander, finding it always coming back to rest on the pressure I was beginning to feel aboard. The pilots seemed to be treating me as some sort of great pilot, but I was just lucky. I couldn’t imagine what would happen when they realised it really was just pure dumb luck.

After my coffee and a breakfast provided by the sequencer with no conscious input from myself I started down to the bay. It was 18:35 and I didn’t start duty until 19:00, so I was in no rush. Though normally I would simply say hello to acknowledge those I passed in the corridors it seemed that everyone today was with thanking me, congratulating me or telling me what a great pilot I was. When I finally made it to the changing room I fell against the wall and closed my eyes. A tear began to roll down my face as I thought about how everything around me was changing so rapidly and I felt as if I were being dragged along with no say in the matter. I quickly wiped my eye and turned to the sequencer when I head the door slide open, retrieving my flight suit and trying to keep my back to whoever had entered until I had cleaned up my eyes.

“Hello, Cadet.” The Flight Chief’s voice came from behind me. “I hope you’ve thought of a name for your fighter, it still needs to go on a shakedown and yesterday was the only time it’s going up without one.”

“Sorry, sir; I haven’t thought about it.” I replied in a slightly broken voice. I felt slightly confused yet more comfortable with him talking as if the battle hadn’t happened and that everything was as it had been when I finished my shift sixteen hours ago, but I still felt like I wanted to just break down.

“Well in that case we might just have to see what the guys think. I hate to inflict their sense of humour upon you, but at least you can choose for yourself when your ship is finally destroyed.”

Having heard some of the suggestions for my call sign in the bar, I was worried about what they would come up with, but I didn’t trust my voice enough to say anything. After a few minutes I felt that he was watching me and when I tuned to look I saw him leaning against the wall waiting for me.

“This way, Thor.” He left the changing room and, hesitating for a few moments, I reluctantly followed. Outside I found him sitting in the back row of seats in the briefing room, pointing to one next to him.

“Now, what’s wrong?” He asked in a concerned tone as I sat down.

“Nothing.” I sniffed, trying my hardest not to let the past few cycles’ events flow out in a flood of tears.

“So why are you struggling to hold back tears? Sven, you’re one of my pilots now and I need to know that all my pilots are happy. It doesn’t take a genius to see that there’s something bothering you.”

“That’s just it; yesterday at this time I was at home, on Europa looking forward to school ending next week and heading off to the Academy. Now I’m an enlisted Cadet in the accelerated program, with my own fighter. I’ve been in two dogfights, nearly been killed, watched 2 new friends killed and two other people I’ve been introduced to have vanished, probably killed themselves.” A slight nod from the Chief confirmed that the two pilots I had been introduced to earlier had been killed in the dogfight. They would be resurrected back on Europa but it was still a shock when someone you were just speaking to is killed. Taking a deep breath I managed to continue. “I’ve rebuilt a Cutthroat from the ground up and I’ll probably have to do the same again after last cycle. Everyone keeps saying I’m this great pilot and I’m just really lucky…” By the time I had finished the floodgates had opened and I had tears streaming down my face.

“You’ve definitely been through a lot.” He admitted, putting an arm around my shoulder, “More than you could really have been expected to, but this is the situation you’ve found yourself in, life is like clinging to an asteroid; you never know where it’s going or what’s going to happen next. All you can do is take each day as it comes and try to go with the flow. We’re heading back to Europa for repairs so you’ll be home again soon and everything should calm down again. Once you’re in the Academy and stuck into your studies and practice you’ll learn to cope with the pressure. I don’t know what’s going on out here, usually these patrols are pretty eventless; you’d spend most of your time flying patrol missions and probably wouldn’t even get a chance to let your guns off. Life in space is very dull most of the time, once you’re posted on a full assignment you’ll see just how little there is to do and you’ll be longing to relive this little trip.”

Though his message was basically one of complete helplessness; confirming that I’d rarely have much control of where my life is going, I felt a strange comfort from being told that and that it would calm down again to a normal pace.

“Don’t worry about your fighter; it’s already been repaired, and your friends will be waiting for you back on Europa. As for being lucky, you may think that you’re just lucky, or that you’re not really flying, but once you’re in a fight everyone is running on adrenaline and instinct. I can see from the way you handle your craft that you’ve been instructed for a long time, much more than just in school. Whoever’s taught you has done a good job, nobody could get through those last two battles on pure luck, you just need the confidence of flying solo for a while and you’ll begin to realise just how good you are. If you still don’t believe it, let’s just say that if you were assigned to my ship today I would be proud to call you one of my pilots.” I wanted to believe that he was making it up and was just deceived by my luckiness but that last statement, in the tone of sincerity he used was pushing against the doubt I held at my ability to fly combat. I had stopped crying now and had calmed down. I still felt overwhelmed a little by the day’s events but I felt far better. “Now, go get yourself cleaned up and I’ll see you on the flight deck in five minutes.” He stood and left the briefing room via the airlock.

I remained sitting for a few moments thinking over what he had said. I still had doubts, I had been incredibly lucky to survive everything I had been though and nobody could deny that; skill had nothing to do with being hit by a dud missile, but it was possible it had contributed to the kills I had gotten; Griff had seemed impressed by the evasive manoeuvres I had pulled when being engaged, and I had prevented two missiles from making it to the ship. Just maybe I did have a little talent.

After a quick cleansing cycle I stepped out onto the flight deck. My fighter was sat on the pad I had set down on, but rather than the damaged wreck I was expecting to see, it was in pristine condition, without a scratch.

“Every pilot should know his way around his ship, inside and out but we have flight crew to repair fight damage.” The Chief said from behind me. “You’ll be flying shakedown with Griff’s wing this cycle, but not until you do one thing.”

“Sir?” I enquired.

“There’s just one thing that needs attaching to the ship.” He produced a gold plate from behind him, engraved;

CUTTHROAT 09939471

MJOLNIR

C^2C‘Thor’ Jones

“The guys thought of the name, I think it’s pretty appropriate, Thor’s Hammer.” He said, handing the plate to me.

“I like it.” I replied; it was a fitting name for my fighter, with my much improved call sign.

As I walked to the section of the left arm the plaque would sit, I noticed something else that hadn’t been there before; on the underside of the right arm were eleven outlines vaguely resembling fighters, my confirmed kills. Though the ship had been pretty much totalled after the first battle it had still been salvageable, and I had survived so my kill-count was retained. It was used as a form of challenge between pilots; to see who could rack up the most kills without being either killed themselves or losing their ship, either case resulting in their count being wiped and having to start again in a new ship and/or body. One of the decorations at home was a panel of Dagger armour with forty-three fighter outlines, my father’s peak count and his last count from when he was transferred to the command of the Europa city’s north-eastern sector docking port.

“Griff is going to be briefing his wing in a few minutes, you included. Once you’ve attached that, report to the briefing room.” Thorn ordered before heading to the control room. Sequencing the tools from my tool belt, I riveted the plaque to the underside of the left arm and headed towards the briefing room.

Griff was just setting up at the podium when I walked in, Foxtrot and Pyro sat in the first row of seats chatting. I walked to a seat in the second row, just behind the two pilots.

“Hey, Thor.” Pyro greeted me as I sat down.

“Hi guys.” I replied pleasantly, beginning to feel better.

“Now that we’re all here,” Griff began in a loud voice to get everyone’s attention before continuing in a more conversational tone, “We can go through this cycle’s flight plan. We all took pretty hefty damage in the fight earlier, so we will all be running shakedown. We’re near to the Inshell asteroid belt, so we’ll be conducting navigation, targeting and weapons systems. We will each conduct separate communications and manoeuvring tests before leaving the bay. With flight time and testing I expect we’ll be shipboard again by 27:00. We’ll be operating with full patrol armament and supply. Any questions?”

All three of us said nothing and nodded our understanding.

“Good, Pyro you’re first up on comms and manoeuvring.” He announced, heading into the airlock.

Immediately upon entering the bay, Pyro began climbing the ladder leading to the upper docking pads where his fighter was sat. Logging into the wing’s communications I listened in with Griff and Foxtrot as he conducted a number of checks with the control room, ranging from vocal communications over different frequencies to the remote scanner uplink and remote control. After clearing each one by one he lifted off the pad, remaining hovering in one place several feet above it before rotating on the spot first clockwise then anticlockwise before doing the same in a barrel roll either way and flipping end over end. Finally he slowly moved to the centre of the bay and aimed out of the doors. With a tractor beam locked firmly onto his ship he engaged the main engines, gradually increasing power to emergency thrust levels and returning to zero, spinning his ship around he did the same in reverse before confirming all engines fully functional and setting back down on the pad.

Griff, Foxtrot and finally myself performed the same procedure and at 21:00 we were finally all cleared for launch.