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

it, wasn’t it? He was willing to risk his life to save Moscow’s because he had dedicated his entire military existence to undoing the damage his father had done. He couldn’t undo the deaths, and he couldn’t bring back Moscow’s mother, but he could do everything he could to save her son.

“Charlie One, Charlie One, this is Alpha One. Do you copy?” Coda waited for a response, then when none came, tried again. “Moscow, it’s Coda. Do you copy?”

Still nothing.

Following the flight path indicated on his HUD, Coda moved into position, bringing his Nighthawk into a low orbit around Theseus and directly into the middle of Moscow’s incoming trajectory.

“Andrei, it’s Coda. Are you there?”

Moscow never responded. His comms were likely dead. After all, Coda hadn’t heard his mayday on the radio.

Unless he’s injured… or worse.

Was Coda trying to save someone who couldn’t be saved? Risking his life for someone who was already dead? There was no way to be sure, and he didn’t have time to radio the tower and have them check the vitals measured by his flight suit. Moscow’s fighter was coming in too hot.

Coda brought up Moscow’s Nighthawk on his HUD, measuring its incoming velocity and rate of spin. Like an outfielder tracking down a pop fly, Coda calculated the multiple points where he could catch Moscow’s vessel. Then, firing his forward thrusters, he propelled his fighter backward, deeper into the moon’s gravitational pull. The maneuver meant that Moscow’s fighter was still gaining on his but at a slower rate than before.

As Moscow’s fighter came closer, Coda feathered his thrusters, gaining more reverse speed, thereby slowing the rate of Moscow’s pursuit until they had nearly matched speed. Moscow’s fighter was in visual range now. Its portside wing was missing, and the glass of his cockpit was cracked.

Still plummeting toward the moon, Moscow’s fighter closed the remaining distance. With one eye on the catch point, Coda gave his rear thrusters a single short burst, slowing his rate of descent. Half a second later the two fighters collided in a second crash of metal and…

…Coda caught Moscow’s damaged fighter.

“I’ve got you!”

The two fighters were lodged against each other, their wings and fuselages intertwined like two hooks looped together. The positioning brought their two cockpits side by side, and Coda could finally see Moscow. The other pilot was slumped against his seat, not moving. He was either dead or unconscious, but there was nothing Coda could do about that at the moment. Increasing power to his rear thrusters, Coda gently slowed their descent. His Nighthawk groaned under the combined strain. The fighters were designed to deal with intense g-forces. They wouldn’t break apart, would they?

Coda couldn’t do anything about that, either. He continued to increase his thruster power, and within seconds, they had settled into a dangerously shallow orbit, neither falling nor climbing.

“Come on,” Coda said, encouraging the fighter. “You’ve got this. You can do it. Come on.”

Little by little, he increased thruster power, never more than half a percent at a time. His fighter was intact, with only moderate damage, but Moscow’s was barely hanging together.

The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, and despite the occasional metal groan, they eventually escaped the moon’s gravity well. Breathing a sigh of relief, Coda surveyed the battle space. The other fighters had disappeared, and a quick glance at his HUD showed that they had all returned to the Jamestown.

“Jamestown Tower, this is Alpha One. What’s the ETA on that recovery ship?”

“There was a malfunction with the hangar bay doors, Alpha One. The recovery ship is still several minutes out.”

Coda cursed. After literally catching him in space, Coda couldn’t afford to sit around and wait.

“Copy that, Jamestown Tower. Alpha One requesting clearance for emergency landing.”

“Coda,” Commander Coleman’s voice said over the radio. “What’s your status?”

“I’ve got Moscow, sir. His ship is… attached to mine.”

“Alpha One, repeat,” Commander Coleman said.

“I said he’s attached to me, sir. Our wings are crisscrossed, wedged together. It’s not pretty, but I’ve got him.”

“What’s his condition?”

“Unknown, sir,” Coda said. “His ship is intact, but…” Coda heard other voices in the background and realized the commander hadn’t been talking to him.

“Increased heart rate… blood pressure dropping…” He could barely make out the words, but what he heard didn’t sound encouraging.

“Coda,” Commander Coleman said. “This is what you’re going to do…”

Coda’s mouth went dry as the commander gave him his emergency landing orders.

“Do you copy?”

“Copy, sir.”

“All right. We’ll see you aboard soon.”

“Alpha One, Jamestown Tower. Proceed to Landing Bay 7C and prepare for emergency landing.”

“Acknowledged. Proceeding to Landing Bay 7C. Coda, out.”

Coda’s ship was already moving—slowing down would likely mean their two fighters would separate again—so he angled the nose of his ship around to point toward the Jamestown. Or at least where the Jamestown would be. They’d practiced emergency landings in the simulator but never anything like what Coda was about to attempt.

His course plotted and speed set, Coda’s only job was to make the small adjustments needed to keep his fighter on the designated path indicated on his HUD. This far out, that task was simple, but as he grew closer, it would become increasingly difficult. What he hadn’t counted on, and what his computer struggled to compensate for, was the added mass of Moscow’s fighter and the reduced navigability due to his damaged thrusters.

For the first time since the first week practicing landings, Coda almost succumbed to his fear. But what he had now that he hadn’t had before was hours of training. Experience.

Banishing the emotions from his mind, he focused only on the task at hand. He adjusted, readjusted, and felt the ship moving under him, always anticipating what he would need to do next. When the Jamestown finally came into view, he was still green, his ship well within the range of error. But then he realized just how fast he was truly going.

Unable to slow down, Coda and Moscow were approaching the Jamestown at more than ten times the speed of a normal landing. Terror seized