First Strike

Tarina Pheto walked into hangar nine at precisely five minutes to nine. She spotted a group of young officers standing about enthusiastically chatting to one another. As she approached, the air seemed charged. Excitement was etched on the faces of the pilots. Tarina noted that the group was a mix of people; some were captains, the majority, however, were lieutenants. No one looked more than twenty-five years old.

  “Hey, Tarina, over here,” called out a redheaded woman.

  Tarina smiled. Walking over, she warmly greeted Wendy Sullivan, a girl who had been at the academy with her. At least she wasn’t alone.

  “So they drafted you too,” said Wendy.

  “I washed out of fighter school, you?”

  “I was asked to leave navigator school. I kept getting into arguments with the other students and the instructors over their calculations,” explained Wendy. “They were always wrong.”

  Tarina recalled how Wendy could do calculations in her head faster than anyone in her class. She was nicknamed the Human Computer for her skill and accuracy at plotting courses through light years of space. She also wasn’t known for her humility.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. All this secrecy is a bit unnerving.”

  A major walked in and told everyone to follow him to the back of the hangar. A dark curtain hung from the ceiling to the floor.

  “Welcome to Triple-Three Transport Squadron,” said Colonel Wright exuberantly as he walked out from behind the curtain.

  A couple of the new officers chuckled.

  Behind them, the hangar doors closed.

  “Before I show you the ship you will be learning to fly, I want to make it perfectly clear that you are free to leave in the next two minutes and no one will think less of you. If you stay here, you are agreeing to undertake highly dangerous missions behind Kurgan lines without the hope or possibility of extraction. Should your craft become damaged and is unable to return, it will self-destruct, taking you with it. Should you become incapacitated for any reason, your ship will self-destruct. In short, your deep space raider will not fall into the hands of the enemy under any circumstances and neither will you.”

  A captain put his hand up. “Sir, what if there is a malfunction or a computer error, will the ship still auto-destruct?”

  “Yes,” replied Wright bluntly.

  A murmur ran through the crowd.

  “Now if any of you wish to leave and carry on to another assignment, please step aside and report to Major Fareed, who is standing off to the side of the hangar. He’ll have you sign a series of non-disclosure papers and make sure that you are dispatched with all haste to a real transport squadron.”

  Tarina looked around. No one moved.

  Wright looked over at a technician standing by the wall and nodded. The curtain began to rise behind him. “Now that we have that out of the way, feast your eyes on the X-5 Avenger.”

  Tarina’s eyes widened when she saw the craft. It had two seats: one for the pilot, the other for the navigator. It was long and sleek, with short wings further back on the fuselage, which she took to be a sign that the Avenger could be used inside a planet’s atmosphere. At the back of the ship was a large engine unlike any she had ever seen.

  Wright walked over beside the Avenger. “On the drawing books before the outbreak of the war, the X-5 was rushed into production. It is unique in the fact that it has a jump engine. No other craft this small has this capability.”

  “How far can it jump, sir?” asked Wendy.

  “For now, that and all other technical information will remain secret.”

  Tarina and Wendy exchanged a look of disbelief. What else was going to be classified? wondered Tarina.

  Wright continued. “You’ll note there are no racks to mount missiles on. The only weapon you will have is a thirty millimeter cannon built into the nose of the craft. As space was limited inside the fuselage, you have only enough ammunition to defend yourself. Let me be clear, this is not a fighter. The Avenger is designed with only one purpose in mind, and that is deep space reconnaissance.”

  “Sir, has it been tested yet?” asked a slender, dark-haired pilot.

  “Yes, but not behind Kurgan lines.”

  Someone in the back groaned.

  “Come on, don’t be shy, crawl around the X-5,” said Wright, waving the pilots over. “For the next month you are going to learn all about this craft and what it can and can’t do. During that time, your skills will be evaluated. Don’t bother asking to team up with anyone. All crew assignments will be my call. One last thing before I turn you over to Major Fareed and tackle the mountain of paperwork sitting on my desk. I hope that you all spoke with your folks last night because as of right now, you are confined to base. You will hand over your phones and any other communications devices you have on you to Major Fareed. There will be no communication with the outside world until I say so.”

  Wright paused and looked into the eyes of his handpicked personnel. With a grin etched on his face, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the First Special Warfare Squadron.”

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