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

trigger again. The cockpit vibrated with a muffled rumble as simulated projectiles barreled out of the Nighthawk’s nose-mounted cannon.

Two seconds went by. Then three. Nothing happened. He’d missed. But the enemy vessel had altered course, veering off at a ninety-degree angle.

It’s fleeing.

Since the computer was regulating his speed, Coda flipped his fighter back around, settling on a course that would bring him directly behind the enemy vessel. One eye on the yellow indicator highlighting the enemy craft, Coda kept the other on the distance between them. It wasn’t getting any smaller. He wasn’t gaining on it. He nearly squeezed the trigger again but flicked the weapons switch instead, toggling his missiles.

Successfully engaged, the targeting system changed. A circle appeared, trailing the enemy fighter. Keeping the enemy in his sights, Coda allowed the targeting system to lock on. Then, when the circle completely surrounded the enemy fighter, it stopped flashing, going solid with the dull sound of missile lock.

Coda squeezed the trigger, and a missile blasted forward. He quickly lost sight of it, but a new bracket appeared on his HUD, tracking it as it streaked toward the enemy fighter. A heartbeat later, and with a flash of light, the enemy ship was destroyed.

“Splash one!” Coda shouted, keeping his hands on the joystick and his eyes on his surroundings. No other fighters came, and a few brief moments later, the simulation dissolved.

“Good!” Commander Coleman said, bringing the ladder up to the edge of the simulator. “Very good. If that had been a real Baranyk fighter, you would have been shot to shit fifteen different ways to Sunday, but you weren’t a complete disaster out there, and for today’s purposes, that was good enough.”

“Thank you, sir.” Coda climbed out of the cockpit onto the ladder.

Commander Coleman laid a firm hand on his shoulder as his feet touched the deck. Having been spun every which way imaginable over the last several minutes, he was thankful for the added stability.

“So how was it?”

“Amazing, sir.” Coda grinned. “Absolutely amazing.”

14

Mess Hall, SAS Jamestown

Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

Uno didn’t come to lunch that day. Coda noted his absence, assuming it had to do with his throwing up in the Simulation Room earlier that morning. Uno was probably embarrassed, mopping the deck, or both, so Coda decided to give his friend some space. But when he didn’t show up for dinner either, Coda knew the issue was more serious.

After shoveling in the last of his protein paste, Coda left Noodle and Squawks behind and sought out his friend. There weren’t many places a pilot could be—Commander Coleman hadn’t granted them access to the larger ship—so when Coda didn’t find Uno in his bunk, the gym, or the bathroom, there was only one other place he knew to look.

The Simulation Room was dark when the doors slid open, and Coda almost left right then, but something drew him inside. It could have been his desire to find his friend or the allure of gazing upon the simulator again; he couldn’t be sure.

The lights flickered on as Coda stepped inside, the room’s motion sensors detecting his movement. Uno sat at the base of the simulator, his arms hugging the knees. He made no motion to see who had walked into the room, just continued to sit there, staring upward at the machine.

“We missed you at dinner,” Coda said, stopping to the side and slightly behind Uno.

“Wasn’t hungry.” Uno still didn’t so much as look in Coda’s direction.

“Yeah? Still not feeling good?”

Uno took a deep breath but didn’t say anything more. He obviously didn’t want to talk about what had happened.

“You know what’s crazy?” Coda said, deciding to take a different tack. “I grew up designing my own X-23s. Well, not the X-23. I’d call them the X-24 or X-25 or whatever, but I’d design them and print them out on our 3-D printer. They were just toys, of course, but I’d stage mock battles in my room, even run simulations, pitting them against the X-23 to see which was more powerful. The X-23 always won, of course. There was no way a twelve-year-old would design a better starfighter than the military’s top minds. But it was fun.”

Coda’s words echoed off the walls, dissipating into silence. Uno made a face but didn’t appear any closer to talking. Coda walked up to the simulator, took hold of one of the arms as Commander Coleman had, and gave it a push. The mechanism went into motion, the various arms and cockpit spinning with it.

“It’s crazy,” Coda continued, “because after they were decommissioned, I never thought I’d fly one. Hell, I never thought I’d see one again, but here we are.” Coda turned back to Uno and took an exaggerated breath. “Here we are… And holy shit, do the things scare the crap out of me.”

Uno’s eyes found his, surprise plainly visible on his face. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“I thought I was the only one.”

“No,” Coda laughed. “Definitely not. I bet half the people who failed FAM Phase did it on purpose.”

“I wish I’d thought about that,” Uno said.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Coda said. “Viking Squadron was a pretty tight group, and I didn’t know if I’d ever find that again. But then I met you guys, and you’re all right. I mean you’re kind of a know-it-all, and I’ve never heard anyone complain about working out as much as Noodle. And Squawks… well, Squawks just never stops talking. But you’ve all been there for me. Without you, I wouldn’t still be here at all.”

“Not sure I did you any favors,” Uno said, his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles.

“I’m not sure you did either,” Coda said, matching his smile. “But whatever crap we go through, we go through it together, all right?”

Uno nodded, his gaze taking on a distant quality.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” Coda asked.

“There’s not much to say. I got nervous, and I threw up.”

“We both know there’s more to it than that.”

“Maybe.” Uno