Wings of Honor by Craig Andrews (black authors fiction .TXT) 📗

the second night, Coda wasn’t worried about completing the remaining modules in time, but he was growing increasingly concerned that his test scores wouldn’t be high enough to pass.

Commander Coleman had set the benchmark at a cumulative eighty percent, and while Coda was within spitting distance of that mark, the long days and nights were beginning to take their toll. In the last forty-eight hours, he hadn’t managed more than thirty minutes of continuous sleep, and faced with severe sleep deprivation, he found himself making stupid mistakes—misreading questions, making basic arithmetic errors, and simply highlighting the wrong answers.

By the time he was ready to begin the final module his uptick in scores had taken a dive, and he would have to score a ninety-six on his final exam to meet the commander’s benchmark.

As with nearly every other test, the questions began simple: Identify the various components of the X-23’s navigational thrusters. The X-23 leverages how many navigational thrusters for its X, Y, and Z-axis maneuvers? Unlike the Shaw Drive propulsion system, which leverages electromagnetic propulsion, the navigational thrusters used what fuel?

Coda calmly punched in the answers for each, and it wasn’t until he was a third of the way through the exam that he even needed to consult his notes.

Name the optimal compression range for the aft- and port-side nose thrusters. In the event the liquid oxygen compressor is damaged, what other system can provide emergency navigational abilities? What steps are required to bypass the compressor to make this possible?

He was halfway through the exam when he got his first question wrong. It was a ridiculous question about hydrogen composition mixes where the four possible answers varied by less than a tenth of a percent. By that point, almost an hour into the exam, his adrenaline rush of having nearly completed FAM Phase had worn off, and he made his second mistake, simply miscounting the correct number of zeroes after a decimal point. It was exactly the kind of question that pissed him off.

Who cares what the optimum hydrogen composition mix is for the navigational thrusters? That’s not my job.

Captain Hughes had criticized him for not trusting others—well, he sure as hell trusted that the Deck Chief knew how to service the X-23 better than he did.

Seething, Coda queued up the next question and immediately erupted into a series of curses. Of course it was a follow-up question. It only made sense that the test was doubling down on something he obviously didn’t understand. Something he didn’t care about. Worse still, he had twenty-five questions to go, and if he got another question wrong, he would have to answer every other question correctly in order to score marks high enough.

His emotions getting the better of him, Coda punched in the first answer he thought might be correct, and to his welcomed surprise, the terminal flashed green.

Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good. Knowing he’d somehow dodged a self-inflicted bullet, Coda put himself through a relaxing exercise that his anger counselor at the academy had taught him. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his mouth for ten seconds, held it for ten seconds, then out his nose for an equal amount of time. After five long breaths, he opened his eyes. Feeling a renewed sense of clarity, he read the next question.

The monitor flashed green with another correct answer.

Five questions later, five right answers. Then ten. Twenty. Before he knew it, he had five to go and only needed to get four correct.

Three left. Then two.

His body trembled as he read the second-to-last question. It would almost be fitting if he missed the last two questions—to come so close only to fail. That was something his father would have done.

Coda read the question three times, and his answer five more, consulting his notes every time to ensure he wasn’t making a stupid mistake. Satisfied he wasn’t, he held his breath and punched in the answer with a shaky hand. His eyes welled with tears as the green bracket appeared, and alone in the small room, Coda let them flow freely down his face.

I did it, he thought. I did it.

The words of the final question were blurry through his tears, but even then, barely able to read them, he still got it right.

Walking into the ready room that night, Coda was hit with a strange mix of excitement and dejection. The pilots milling around the auditorium seating wore grim expressions that randomly broke into smiles. Everyone in the room had lost someone they’d known to the commander’s exceedingly high benchmark, and while it was tough to say goodbye, it was equally tough not to feel proud of what they had accomplished.

Coda found Uno and Squawks talking to Noodle. Unlike the rest, they wore openly relieved expressions, smiles shining through bloodshot eyes and pale faces. Their excitement only grew when they spotted Coda.

“You did it?” Uno asked.

“Ninety-eight percent!” Coda shouted triumphantly.

“I told you!” Uno slapped him on the chest and gave him a friendly shove. “I knew you could do it.”

“By the skin of my teeth,” Coda said. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. Any of you. Thank you.”

Uno beamed, and the others inclined their heads in recognition. Before anyone could say anything more, the door to the ready room opened. Commander Coleman strode in.

“Attention on deck!” someone shouted, and every pilot inside the ready room snapped to attention.

“At ease,” Commander Coleman said. “And find your seats.”

It wasn’t until everyone had sat down that Coda noticed just how empty the room was. He couldn’t say who was missing, or even how many, but it was a sizable number.

Moscow, unfortunately, wasn’t one of them. He met Coda’s gaze and didn’t look happy. His group was down a member, and Coda’s unexpected success was surely salt in the wound. Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, Coda turned his attention back to Commander Coleman, who waited at the front of the