First Strike

The Kurgan fighter dove for the surface of the small moon, trying to shake off its pursuer. Flying meters from the rocky surface, the craft headed straight for a canyon.

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Tarina to herself as she brought her sleek ship in behind the fleeing Kurgan fighter. She was flying a Corsair, a newly designed fighter currently being rushed into service with the fleet’s fighter carriers.

  Both ships had expended all of their missiles on other fighters during a dogfight above Illum Prime. They were both down to guns only.

  Tarina watched as her opponent dove into the deep canyon that ran like a jagged scar along the surface of the moon. She quickly followed. Dressed in a skintight survival suit, Tarina knew that if her craft were hit that the chances of her ejecting safely were almost non-existent. Even if she did, she only had six hours of oxygen before she died.

  A buzzer sounded in her helmet followed by a robotic-sounding voice. “Warning, you are flying too close to the sides of the canyon.”

  “I know, I know,” replied Tarina as she skillfully flew through a narrow portion of the canyon, missing the walls by less than one meter.

  Ahead, the Kurgan fighter bobbed and weaved from side to side, trying to throw off Tarina’s aim. She had to give her opponent credit, whoever was flying that craft knew how to fly.

  Her ship’s targeting computer was only good for engaging targets with missiles; without them, she was reduced to using the illuminated aiming circle on her heads-up display. She depressed the trigger on her joystick. A burst of thirty millimeter depleted uranium rounds shot toward the Kurgan fighter. The shots missed, striking the wall of the canyon and tearing off chunks of rock, which hit the sides of her ship as she flew past.

  A second later, her opponent shot straight up out of the canyon.

  Tarina had been expecting the move and chased after him. She knew that her adversary was trying to get in behind her. However, her Corsair fighter was faster and more maneuverable than the Kurgan’s craft.

  They climbed higher and higher. Every time Tarina lined up the fighter in her sight, he would move away, it was as if he knew what she was thinking.

  “Warning, you are running low on fuel,” said the voice in her helmet. “Break off the engagement and return to your ship immediately.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting him go, not now,” replied Tarina as she increased her speed trying to close the distance between them.

  The Kurgan dodged another burst of cannon fire.

  Tarina swore. Not only was she running low on fuel, if she did not destroy the enemy craft soon, she would run out of ammo as well. Up ahead, the Kurgan fighter banked over. It had given up trying to shake off the pursuing craft; it now fled straight back toward the remnants of its battered fleet.

  “I got you now,” crowed Tarina as she lined up the enemy craft for a killing shot.

  A red light flashed inside the cockpit. “Warning, incoming missile!”

  Tarina looked down at her console and saw the deadly projectile streaking toward her from behind. She instantly reached for a button on her console and activated her fighter’s countermeasures. Chaff ejected from the sides of her craft, trying to draw off the missile. With her teeth gritted, Tarina pushed the joystick hard over as she tried to get away from the incoming projectile.

  The voice in her helmet warned, “Countermeasures have failed. Time to impact: three seconds.”

  Tarina, in desperation, spun her Corsair about one hundred and eighty degrees and fired her cannon hoping to strike the missile before it hit her.

  A half-second later, a bright white light flashed before her eyes. Her craft shuddered.

  “Okay, open it up. Get her out of there,” said a new voice in her helmet.

  The image in front of her changed from deep space to a training mock-up of a Corsair. The cockpit flipped open and two technicians reached inside to remove her helmet and undo her safety harness.

  “Second Lieutenant Pheto, report to Major Jolson,” called out a voice over the training hangar’s PA system.

  Tarina swore. It was the third time in as many days that she had been killed during a simulated dogfight. With her helmet under her arm, she took a deep breath and strode through the building. She gritted her teeth and avoided looking into the eyes of her fellow trainees as she made her way to Major Jolson’s office. She stopped, collected her thoughts and knocked on the open door.

  “Come in,” said Jolson curtly.

  Tarina stepped inside the office, came to attention, and smartly saluted her superior officer.

  Jolson looked up and returned the salute.

  “Miss Pheto, take a seat,” said Jolson, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

  Tarina sat down; it was then that she noticed that there was another officer in the room. Sitting off to one side was a man in his early forties. He wore a flight suit with a colonel’s silver eagle on his collar.

  Jolson stood up and closed the door. “Miss Pheto, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Tarina closed her eyes for a second. God damn it, I blew it. I’m being reassigned to a rear echelon transport unit, flashed in her mind. Clearing her throat, Tarina said, “Sir, I had the Kurgan fighter in my sights. In another second he would have been destroyed.”

  “Instead, you were.”

  “Sir, I don’t think it was a fair test of my abilities.”

  “Oh, and why is that, Miss Pheto?”

  “Sir, the people running the simulation didn’t give me a chance. My ship’s radar should have detected the other Kurgan fighter long before he fired off his missile.”

  Jolson sat down on the edge of his table and looked down at Tarina. “Miss Pheto, you can’t always count on your fighter’s electronics. Sometimes they fail and all you have is your skill as a pilot to save your ass in combat. Don’t forget that you broke formation to chase after that Kurgan fighter. Lone wolves tend to get themselves killed. Maybe not today, but one day in the future you’ll meet your match and there will be no one to cover your six and you’ll die.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Tarina. He was right. She had become too focused on killing her opponent that she failed to see what was around her. Her tunnel vision had killed her again.

  “Miss Pheto, you’re an exceptional pilot, but I don’t think you have the temperament to be a fighter pilot onboard a fleet carrier,” said Jolson. “It takes a disciplined team to win in battle.”

  Tarina felt as if her chest was in a vise and it was slowly closing, cutting off the oxygen to her lungs. “Sir, if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll do better the next time.”

  Jolson shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Pheto, you’ve had three kicks at the can. You’re reckless. Perhaps if there wasn’t a war on we could take the time to break you of your bad habits. However, with the fleet screaming for trained pilots, I can’t in good conscience send you out there to die or get someone else killed because of your carelessness.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Tarina, trying to not let her crushed feelings show on her face. “Am I to be reassigned?”

  “Yes, you are,” said the colonel. “I watched the simulation from beginning to end. Miss Pheto, Major Jolson is right, you’re an exceptional pilot and I need outstanding pilots who are capable of working on their own.”

  Tarina sat up. The colonel didn’t look like a transport pilot. The sharp look in his eyes told her he was a tough and determined soldier. Perhaps her future wasn’t as a pilot hauling supplies across the galaxy.

  Jolson said, “Second Lieutenant Tarina Pheto, I’d like you to meet Colonel Darcy Wright, Commanding Officer of the First Special Warfare Squadron.”

  “Sir,” said Tarina, nodding at the colonel.

  Colonel Wright looked deep into Tarina’s eyes. “Miss Pheto, I’m looking for pilots who aren’t afraid to take risks and have what it takes to fly missions deep behind enemy lines. Do you think you have what it takes to be a member of my team?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

&nbs
p; Wright smiled. “Good, report to hangar nine at 0900 hours tomorrow morning. I’ll have someone meet you there, and Miss Pheto, from now on if anyone asks, you are a pilot with the Three Hundred and Thirty-Third Transport Squadron.”

  With that, Wright left the room. Both Jolson and Pheto stood to attention until the colonel was gone.

  “Miss Pheto, effective immediately your permanent records will reflect that you have washed out of fighter school and you are being reassigned to other duties,” said Jolson.

  “Yes, sir,”

  “Good luck,” offered Jolson as he shook Tarina’s hand. However, his tone was less optimistic.

  “Sir, do you know anything about my new assignment?”

  Jolson shook his head. “Until today, I’d never heard of them, but they seem to have heard about you.”

  Tarina couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, her life had suddenly taken a turn into uncharted waters and she knew it.

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