CassaSeries

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Moving targets provided a new challenge for the men. All had scored well during simulator training, but real targets proved more difficult. Blatant misses received sharp disciplinary words from the instructors and resulted in additional practice for the offending teams. The days grew longer as the men logged more time in space than during previous exercises.

Byron and Trindel didn’t miss a single target, their maneuvers quicker and tighter than the other teams. None of the pilots were as adept at sharp turns or exhibited such precise movements. However, Byron’s flying carried with it a dangerous edge. Concerned the others would attempt to emulate his tactics, Bassa pointed out the misjudgment of Byron’s strategy on more than one occasion. Resentment stirred in Byron, although the young man was wise enough to avoid a verbal confrontation. The last thing Bassa needed was a squadron of reckless pilots.

Small drones were employed for the next phase of training. Programmed to evade the trainees, the devices pursued as well. This added a new dimension to the exercises, forcing the teams to adjust their plan of attack. The first day with the drones resulted in two teams failing the exercise. Unacceptable to Bassa, he voiced his displeasure at the debriefing.

“The first time this squadron faces an attacker and two teams are neutralized!” he said, fury enveloping every syllable. “That is totally unacceptable. Did you forget every shred of simulator training? If you can’t avoid a drone then you don’t stand a chance in real combat.”

Bassa glared at the young men. The trainees appeared uncomfortable and the offending teams sank in their seats. Officer Jarth had gone over the day’s exercise, chastising the unsuccessful teams, but Bassa wanted to ensure they understood this outcome would not be tolerated. Often one ship would miss its mark the first time out with the drones, but never two.

“We will repeat this exercise again tomorrow with no errors, understood?” Bassa said.

The young men signified their compliance with a loud ‘Yes, sir!’ Bassa scanned the room, his deep scowl reflecting disgust with the sloppy flying he’d witnessed today. His gaze fell on Byron, who appeared unperturbed. The pilot performed his drills without errors, although his flying still bordered on reckless. Bassa opted to save that observation for another time and not detract from today’s issue.

“Teams 512T and 639T, report to my office,” Bassa said. “Dismissed!”

On the heels of that order, Bassa exited through the side door. Byron rose to his feet and his gaze fell on Trindel’s wide-eyed face. Unconcerned with the fate of the errant teams, he gestured for his navigator to proceed him out of the room. Trindel remained silent as they returned to their quarters, for which Byron felt grateful. He did ponder Bassa’s words while he showered, though. Perhaps the first team would go home tomorrow.

He’d just slipped on a shirt when a persistent beeping signified a visitor.

Byron?

Trindel’s tentative inquiry echoed in his head. Not surprised to hear his partner’s thoughts, Byron instructed his door to open. Trindel’s forlorn expression greeted him and Byron invited him to enter.

“I’ll be ready in a moment,” he said, dropping into his chair and reaching for his boots.

Trindel nodded and shifted his stance. “What do you think is going to happen to Forcance and the others?”

Byron shrugged with indifference. “I don’t know. It’s Ganst and Forcance’s second error.”

“Do you think they’ll be sent home?”

Pulling on his second boot, Byron glanced up at his navigator and sighed. Trindel possessed such a tender heart. He hated to see any man fail. However, the fate of the two teams resided beyond their control. Byron’s primary concern lay in his own team’s performance to care.

“Trindel, we can’t worry about them,” he said, raising his voice to emphasize his point. “Just focus on our team.”

“You don’t care what happens to the others?” Trindel asked in astonishment.

“Not really.”

His navigator’s eyes widened even further. Byron could sense his answer bothered Trindel. Rising to his feet, he approached his friend and clasped him on the shoulder.

“Trindel, my primary focus is our team. My obligations are to you, my navigator. I can’t control what happens to the others, so I’m just concentrating on our performance, all right?”

Squeezing Trindel’s shoulder in emphasis, Byron waited for his navigator’s reaction. He didn’t want to alienate Trindel. Few claimed friendship with Byron and it was imperative that he protect his relationship with this young man.

Trindel nodded with reluctance. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” said Byron with a wink.

Trindel smiled and the worry vanished from his face.

“That’s better,” Byron exclaimed, patting his navigator’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Byron poked at the last of his meal, contemplating another bite. A light midday meal due to their afternoon flight schedule but he still doubted he could finish. As of late, his strained nerves left Byron with little appetite.

“Not hungry?” said Trindel.

Glancing at his navigator, Byron shook his head. He stabbed at his food one more time before dropping his fork and shoving aside his tray. Across from Trindel, Byron heard a sarcastic chuckle.

“He’s busy working on today’s crazy stunt,” came a deep voice, eliciting laughter from those present.

Byron scowled at Surren, annoyed by his glib comment. “No, I’m contemplating how many shots it would take to bring you down. I’m guessing one.”

Arising from his seat, Byron grabbed his tray. Surren refused to relinquish the final word, though.

“At least I’m not the prime example of reckless flying!”

Byron did not reply, allowing his unshielded contempt for Surren speak for itself. Depositing his tray on the rack, he elected to retreat to the hangar and prepare for today’s flight lesson.

Surren’s parting words continued to grate on Byron’s mind. He and Trindel never made errors and accomplished designated tasks in record time. At the moment, they were the only team without a mark on their record; a testament to their skill and ability in the cockpit.

Yet at almost every debriefing, Bassa found fault with their flying. They either performed an improper maneuver or approached a target from the wrong angle. None of these corrections resulted in disciplinary action or a mark on their record, but the squadron witnessed Bassa’s verbal reprimand every time. Byron and Trindel had become the brunt of many jokes, and he tired of the snide remarks.

He paused at the lift, his eyes on the teleporter pod across the hall. The units remained off limits to the young men until they began teleportation training in the ships. Byron knew how to teleport, though. He’d stolen a few rides during his youth and understood how to operate the device. Every time he climbed in the cockpit, the ship’s teleporter called to him. To his dismay, Bassa insisted the trainees not begin that particular lesson until the appointed time, and those drills remained a month in the future.

Scowling as Bassa permeated his thoughts, Byron entered the lift and requested the hangar’s level. He seethed inside, annoyed the senior officer selected his team as the example for every questionable maneuver. Byron could not understand the constant criticism. His decisions weren’t irrational nor did they place his team in danger. For reasons unknown to Byron, he’d become the senior instructor’s prime target, and he grew tired of the negative attention.

He suited up early and returned to the hangar floor just as the other men arrived. Byron ignored the stares and proceeded to his ship for preflight inspection. By the time Trindel joined, him. Byron already sat in the cockpit.

“Don’t let Surren get to you,” his navigator said.

“I’m not worried about Surren,” said Byron, slipping on his helmet.

When the trainees sat in place, the day’s assignment was announced. It involved several flight patterns and brief engagement of targets, no live ammunition. Byron wondered at what point they would fire real weapons and decided to worry about it later. He had enough problems and concerns at the moment to occupy his time.

Trindel kept them on course for every flight pattern change. They maneuvered with precision, staying in line with the other ships. The squadron had practiced these movements many times and the teams knew the commands by heart.

The promise of an encounter crossed Byron’s mind just as two drones appeared on the radar. His muscles tensed in anticipation of a chase.

“Flank right, 439T and 227T, engage,” Officer Rellen instructed.

Byron maintained their position in the ranks, watching with envy as the two ships veered toward the targets. The drones changed course and the Cosbolts took off in pursuit. Forced to concentrate on the squadron’s course, Byron was unable to watch the ensuing dogfight.

Incoming! thought Trindel, flashing the coordinates to Byron.

“291T and 479T, engage!”

Byron gritted his teeth and held his course. The squadron circled and flew between the two skirmishes. The first two Cosbolts had neutralized their targets and returned to join the others. Today’s encounter promised to be brief, which meant four to six drones at best. Byron’s team might not see action today.

Below us!

Spying two more drones on the radar, Byron caught his breath. The current position of their ship placed them in close proximity.

“192T and 715T, engage!”

Byron dove toward the targets. The drones changed course, and Byron relayed his intended target to the other team. Without waiting for an answer, he pursued the drone on the left.

The drones separated and Byron kept his sights on his selected target. The drone veered right and dropped. Byron followed, pushing the throttle forward. The drone altered course, but Byron refused to be so easily shaken. Circling around, their quarry continued to avoid Byron’s sights. Trindel suggested a new strategy and his pilot agreed. They began to gain ground on the drone.

Trindel flashed a visual of the other drone. Their target nosedived just as the second drone crossed their path. Byron could not pass up the opportunity and relayed his intensions to Trindel. He fired one shot and a green light flashed in the corner of his screen. One down!

Pull up! Trindel thought.

Byron had failed to noticed the other Cosbolt in pursuit of the drone. The ship hadn’t altered its position and they were on a collision course. Their trajectory provided more room to go over the approaching ship, but they would lose sight of their original target. Ignoring his navigator’s suggestion, Byron projected an alternate course of action and sent the ship into a nosedive.

A brief flash of panic arose from Trindel, replaced by instructions for a safe crossover. Their ship shot underneath the other fighter. Byron sensed the close proximity, but they passed without incident.

Byron caught sight of the other drone. Lining his sights, he fired two shots. The second beam reached its mark. He grinned in triumph as the green light flashed a second time.

Byron! thought the other pilot, anger in his thoughts.

We conveyed our intensions, he thought. Didn’t we? he asked Trindel.

Just barely, but yes, his navigator thought.

That was still too damn close! the pilot thought.

Not as close as you think, Byron answered in exasperation as they returned to the squadron.

The ships joined the others and assumed formation. They completed the flight pattern with no further drone encounters and returned to base.

Pride swelled in Byron regarding his team’s first multiple kill. The other pilot conveyed annoyance, but he chose to ignore the implication he’d done anything wrong. He intended to relish the rare occurrence of two downed targets in one day.

The debriefing room meeting began with the analysis of each ship’s flight pattern. The instructors discussed the target approaches of every pilot, making suggestions and corrections where necessary. Byron and Trindel’s turn began with a compliment for the double kill. They had fired the fewest shots to achieve this goal, which also garnered praise. Officer Char offered a couple suggestions for their approach–a standard procedure. However, he paused when their final dive maneuver appeared on the screen and Bassa stepped forward.

“Why did you select that course?” said the senior officer, his brows pulled together.

Sensing disapproval, Byron straightened his shoulders. “Going over the other Cosbolt meant we’d lose sight of our target and delay our pursuit. I knew we had enough clearance and seized the opportunity.”

Bassa’s expression did not alter and he turned to Trindel. “Did you share in his decision?”

“Well, yes,” stammered Trindel. “And I did relay our intensions,” he added, shifting in his seat.

Bassa’s gaze returned to Byron. “Your maneuver assured acquirement of your target. However,” he said in a firm voice, “I don’t want to see another close call.”

“We were within regulation distance…” began Byron.

“ ‘Within’ being the key word! No more close crossovers, period,” the senior officer said. “In fact, tomorrow’s lesson will focus on crossovers until I am satisfied you can perform the maneuver precisely.”

A scattering of moans echoed across the room. Bassa’s gaze remained focused on Byron, who returned the man’s stare with an equal amount of intensity. The senior officer’s scowl deepened and Byron shielded his angry thoughts.

“That will be all for today,” Bassa informed the young men. “Byron, I will see you in my office immediately.”

Byron’s body flushed with anger. Grasping his computer pad, he leapt to his feet and all but shoved Trindel out of the way. His navigator stepped aside, anxious thoughts pulsating from his mind. Providing Trindel with no opportunity to speak, Byron stormed out of the room. He reached the lifts ahead of the other trainees, but not before Surren’s voice reached his ears.

“I told you those crazy antics would get you in trouble,” he exclaimed in triumph.

Shooting Surren a scathing glare, Byron stepped into the open lift.

“Level Two, now!” he said, willing the doors to close.

None of the young men reached the lift in time and Byron rode in silence. The compartment was anything but still, though. He saw no need to shield his turbulent emotions, and the fury pounding between his ears grew deafening. It overshadowed the hum of the lift and emanated unchecked from his body. Had Trindel joined him, Byron’s navigator would’ve exited at the first available floor.

The doors sprang open, revealing an empty hallway. Byron strode out of the lift with a purpose, fury still pounding at his chest. The classrooms resided on this level, but no sounds emanated from the rooms. He paused at a fork in the hallway, glancing in both directions. To his relief, no other personnel were present at this time of day. His passage would go unnoticed.

Turning to his left, Byron began the long walk to the officers’ wing. He’d never been summoned to Bassa’s office before, but every trainee knew the way. No man wanted to see the officers’ wing, as doing so implied a disciplinary action, but everyone had to remember the exact location.

Byron turned the corner and proceeded down another long, white corridor. He wondered if Bassa’s office resided on the far end of the complex just to make this walk more uncomfortable. If designed to give an errant pilot time to think, it did nothing for his state of mind.

Rounding yet another turn, he entered the officers’ wing. Byron passed two sets of doors and paused at the double doors leading to Bassa’s office. He eyed the doors with trepidation, reluctant to enter. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to quell the rising agitation and clear his thoughts. He could not afford a direct confrontation with the senior officer. Waving his hand over the panel, Byron was told to enter.

The doors slid apart, revealing a large, well-lit room. Bassa sat at his desk, his eyes on his computer screen. Byron stepped into the room and the doors closed. Bassa did not look up or give any indication that he was aware of a visitor.

“Sir?” Byron said, unsure what he was to do next.

“Have a seat,” Bassa said, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Approaching the desk, Byron dropped into the chair on the right. He felt like a disobedient boy, about to receive punishment for his unruly actions and attitude. He refrained from slumping in the chair and held a respectable stance with his hands in his lap.

Bassa continued to stare at the screen, and Byron found his gaze wandering to the walls. The numerous plaques of recognition reflected Bassa’s status as one of the best navigators ever to serve the fleet. The awards were many and Byron wondered why he would give it all up to be an instructor.

His gaze dropped to the desk. Byron noticed the picture frame, turned just enough for viewing, and frowned at the image. The young man in the photo could have been his twin. The eyes were closer together, but the shape of his face resembled his own, as did the jet black hair. The similarity was uncanny and Byron fidgeted in his seat. His movement caught Bassa’s attention.

“So, you do not agree with my assessment of your flight today?” the senior officer said, leaning away from his desk.

Byron suspected the question to be a test, and his future on Guaard might depend on his answer. However, tact was not his strong suit. He was not about to back down from his convictions now.

“No, sir, I do not,” he said.

Cocking one eyebrow, Bassa regarded the young pilot with interest. “Elaborate.”

“I was within regulation distance, sir,” Byron stated with force. “At no time was either ship in danger. We relayed our intentions, performed the maneuver, and neutralized both targets.”

Bassa gave no indication of his thoughts on the matter. Sensing he’d crossed the line, Byron prepared for the rebuttal.

“Your past history,” he said, raising one eyebrow, “indicates you have a problem with authority.”

Clamping his jaws tight, lest he say something inappropriate, Byron struggled to shield his resentful thoughts. He grew tired of his less-than-perfect record being thrust in his face. He managed to control his tongue and thoughts but not so quick to conceal his expression. Byron realized he viewed the senior officer through slitted eyes.

“Well, that ends right here,” Bassa said, his deep voice loud in the confines of the room. “Right now!”

Byron did not flinch, but he knew that tone of voice all too well. He now stood at the brink, staring over the edge of a very deep chasm. One more step and he’d cross the point of no return. Despite the anger coursing through his body, Byron did not want to lose his only opportunity.

“Yes, sir,” he said, conceding to the senior officer’s authority.

Bassa stared hard at the young pilot, as if judging his sincerity. “Unless you want your records made public.”

Byron’s eyes widened in horror. Bassa possessed the authority, but he wouldn’t dare throw open Byron’s records for the entire world to view. Judging from the senior officer’s stern expression, though, it was far from an empty threat.

“No, sir,” Byron said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Bassa took a deep breath and leaned back even farther in his chair. “I expect total compliance and obedience from those residing here on Guaard. And I expect even more from you.”

Puzzled, Byron forced his gaze to remain steady. Bassa paused and c****d his head.

“Do you know why, Byron?”

“No, sir,” Byron answered, confused.

“Because your skills in the cockpit far exceed that of the other pilots’ abilities.”

Byron paused. That was the last answer he expected to hear.

“I have two objectives with your training,” continued Bassa. “First, to make sure you possess the necessary discipline to master and control those skills. Second, to prevent the other pilots from attempting maneuvers of which they do not possess the necessary skills to achieve.”

Byron couldn’t believe his ears. “Yes, sir.”

“My comments today were meant to discourage the other pilots from trying your trick, as they would only meet with failure.”

Nodding, Byron took a deep breath. “So, my maneuver was not wrong, sir?”

Bassa’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

His mind reeling, Byron grasped at the senior officer’s assessment.

“I have seen many exceptional pilots come through Guaard. If we can properly develop your skills, you have the potential to be one of the best. However, I will not pass an undisciplined pilot. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Byron said.

“Now, this conversation remains here, understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Bassa leaned forward in his chair. “You are dismissed.”

Byron leapt to his feet, eager to depart. A thought occurred to him.

“Sir?” he inquired. “How will I know when I make a real mistake?”

The senior officer met his eyes and Byron detected the fainted trace of a smile on his lips.

“You’ll either be dead or on your way home!”