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

all of it,” Noodle said. “You don’t know what it’s like. It’s nothing like the simulator; that’s for sure.”

Squawks just laughed and called him a wuss, but Coda could see that under the bravado, their friend was growing increasingly uneasy. When it was Squawks’s turn to go up, Noodle and Coda gathered together in the ready room to listen in. They weren’t the only ones, either. Moscow and his gang were hanging out in the back of the auditorium, keeping to themselves.

Since the uneasy truce had been made in the simulator, Coda hadn’t had much interaction with Moscow or his gang, and it was a welcomed change since it provided him with fewer distractions.

“All right, Squawks,” Commander Coleman’s voice said over the ready room speakers, “well done today. Let’s bring it in.”

“Roger that, sir,” Squawks said, his pride barely masked behind military decorum. By all indications, his flight had gone well. Like Coda and Noodle, he’d been able to perform the basic flight maneuvers they’d mastered in the simulator, but as Coda had already found out, when it came to performing a hands-on landing aboard a moving vessel in high orbit, there was a canyon of difference between the simulator and the real thing.

The seconds ticking by, Coda listened to the commander’s instruction, piecing together the landing sequence in his mind’s eye. Squawks would be parallel to the Jamestown by now, ready to begin his landing procedure.

“Squawks, you’re a kilometer out. Call the ball.”

“Roger that. I have the ball.”

Coda slid to the edge of his seat, growing increasingly nervous. This was the most difficult part of the landing sequence, and Squawks was already muttering curses under his breath.

“You’re too shallow, Squawks,” Commander Coleman said. “Just like in the simulator. Keep the two together, and you’ll be fine.”

“Copy that, sir,” Squawks said, though Coda thought he could hear panic in his voice.

“You’re still too shallow, Squawks,” Commander Coleman said a few seconds later. “Abort and prepare to circle back for another pass.”

“Negative, sir,” Squawks said. “I’ve got this.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Almost there, sir.”

“Pull up, Lieutenant. Pull up. Squawks, pull up. Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!” Commander Coleman’s shouts were followed by an eerie silence.

Silent seconds ticked by, the quiet punctuated only by Commander Coleman’s heavy breathing. Coda didn’t move, didn’t think, fearing the worst.

Had Squawks successfully landed or had he crashed into the side of the Jamestown? Would they have felt the impact? Heard the explosion? Or would it be the equivalent of hitting a bug on the freeway, a nuisance that would have to be washed off when it was convenient?

Then he heard it. The faint voice of his friend.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

“Oh my god is right.” Noodle ran a hand across his closely shaven scalp. “What just happened?”

“Your friend is rubbing off on him,” Moscow said, striding down the auditorium stairs. “It’s the O’Neil curse.”

His emotions already flying high, Coda seethed. His feud with Moscow might have taken on a different tenor lately, but that didn’t undo the months of comments, digs, and verbal jabs. Before Coda could reply, Moscow and his gang continued down the stairs, leaving the ready room behind.

“I’m seriously going to kick that guy’s ass someday,” Noodle said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Coda said, his words at odds with his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to let Noodle kick Moscow’s teeth in—hell, he wanted to do it himself—but he was tired of his temper turning him into a failure.

“You’re just going to let him get away with it?”

“We’re supposed to be part of the same squadron, Noodle. Fighting him won’t do any good. It’ll just make it worse.”

Noodle stared at him as if he had just turned into a Baranyk. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

“He and his gang get to you? Push you into an empty room and have their way with you?”

Coda’s anger was quickly moving from Moscow to Noodle. If he wasn’t careful, he’d take it out on his friend. “Drop it.”

“The commander talk to you? Tell you to bury the hatchet?”

Coda let out a sharp breath, less because Noodle was right, and more because he was being such a persistent little asshole.

“He did, didn’t he?” Noodle said. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t. Look, Coda, you tell me to sic him, and I’ll bite his leg like a Jack Russell terrier. If you tell me to stand down, I’ll do that too. Just tell me why.”

Coda imagined Noodle with his teeth around Moscow’s calf and had to hold back a smile. “Then as my friend, listen to me when I say don’t worry about him. Moscow’s an ass, but…”

“But what? Coda, I don’t know what the hell happened, but you spent every day fighting with that guy for months, and now you’re defending him? What changed? What do you know that I don’t?”

Coda drew in a deep breath. “Let’s just say I understand where he’s coming from.”

“Coda—”

“It’s not my story to tell. Okay? Just drop it.”

Noodle snapped his mouth shut and looked away, irritated. That was fine as far as Coda was concerned. Noodle could be mad. He could even think that Coda was defending Moscow. Anything was better than having the squadron know that Coda’s father was responsible for Moscow’s mother’s death. That would drive a wedge between him and everyone else in the squadron so deep that there would be no recovering from it. And at that point, the commander wouldn’t have to choose between Moscow and Coda. The squadron would choose for him.

The nearly botched landing earned Squawks the first SOD in the squadron. If he got two more, he would be expelled entirely. For nearly a day and a half, he steamed, running landing simulation after landing simulation, obsessing over the mistake. Tex had tried to help him through it by sharing stories about his own experiences and offering small tips and tricks that he’d learned over the years, but Squawks made it abundantly clear that he wanted none of it.

His