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

was a start, and it was certainly more than he’d expected only a few minutes before. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Lieutenant. Grab any personal belongings you have and meet me in Shuttle Bay Three at sixteen hundred, ready to ship out.”

“Yes, sir.” Coda saluted and spun on his heels, dismissed.

“And, Lieutenant…”

Coda stopped in the doorway.

“You should know I flew with your father. He was a good man and a hell of a pilot. If you're half of what he was, I expect great things out of you.”

For the first time in forever, Coda was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken kindly of his father, let alone compared Coda to him and meant it as a compliment. Eyes brimming with tears, and not knowing what else to do, he nodded to Commander Coleman then exited Captain Hughes’s office.

“Ah, shit,” Buster said as he entered Coda’s quarters and saw Coda’s personal belongings strewn about his bed. “That bad?”

“No,” Coda said. “Not at all. Well, that's not true. Captain Hughes did rail into me for fifteen minutes and tell me that I wouldn't be joining any of the ships on the front, but then…” Coda paused, trying to figure out how he could tell his friend what had happened. “Then, well… it’s classified, but it's really exciting.”

“That's good,” Buster said, sounding relieved but sharing none of the excitement Coda felt. “I think. What can you tell me about it?”

“Not much. Mostly that I won’t be serving my time on a third-rate ship patrolling the belt or something.”

“Glad to hear it.” Buster took a seat, watching Coda place the rest of his personal belongings in his bag. There was something off about him.

“You okay?”

“Me? Of course.” Buster smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes.

“You’re full of it. What's up?”

“It's nothing, Coda. Really.”

“Damn it, Buster, we've trained together for months. I can tell something's wrong.”

“That's just it. We've trained with each other for months. You and me. Us and Viking Squadron. We’re the Ace Squadron, and you're shipping out with barely a goodbye.”

“It's the nature of the beast, Buster. But trust me, this is better than the alternative.”

“I guess.”

“It is.” He zipped up his bag and set it aside. “Commander… the other officer said he had a few other meetings. I think he’s recruiting other pilots. If you haven't been invited yet, I'm sure you will be.”

“Why?” Buster asked. “Why me?”

“Because we were the Ace Squadron, and you played an integral part in that.”

Buster laughed. It was livelier this time. More real. “I just kept your ass out of trouble.”

“Which is a difficult job,” Coda said. “Obviously.”

“Obviously. What time do you ship out?”

“Sixteen hundred.”

Buster looked up at the clock inset in the wall above the door. “Better get a move on it then.”

Coda grabbed his bag and slapped Buster on the shoulder. “I'll see you on the ship.”

“What if you don't?”

Coda didn’t want to think about it. “Then you're going to kill a lot of bugs on the front.”

“What do I tell the squad?”

“Tell them I'm doing something exciting and not to worry. They'll hear about it soon.”

Buster nodded. “I will.” He crossed the distance between them and pulled Coda into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Coda.”

Coda hugged Buster back, slapping his friend hard on the back. “You too, man.”

When the embrace ended, Buster smacked him on the arm. “And stay out of trouble. You’re not going to have me looking after you.”

Coda laughed. “I'll try. Probably fail, but I'll try.”

“All right.”

Coda nodded a final time, and not wanting to extend the moment out any longer, he left his quarters and best friend behind, headed toward the true unknown.

5

Docking Umbilical, Terran Fleet Academy

Sol System, Earth, High Orbit

Coda floated through the docking umbilical connecting the academy to Commander Coleman’s transport ship. Away from the spinning operational facilities of the rest of the space station, he didn’t experience the simulated gravity felt elsewhere, instead relished the seldom-felt, disorienting zero-g experience. He and the rest of the academy pilots operated their drones in three-dimensional space, but those were simulations, and while simulations could train the mind how to think, they couldn’t train the body how to react. As a result, his body wanted to panick, unsure whether it was floating, falling, or flying.

The umbilical was mostly transparent, giving Coda a breathtaking view of the Earth below. Two years had passed since he’d left, leaving behind everyone he’d ever known or loved. He and his mother hadn’t separated on great terms—Coda had seen to that when he’d applied for the Terran Fleet Academy against her wishes.

“I lost my husband to the war,” she had said, tears streaming down her face. “I won’t lose my only son too.”

But lost him, she had. And her words continued to haunt him. His actions had driven a wedge between them, and she hadn’t been there for his graduation from basic. She hadn’t responded to his letter informing her that he’d been accepted into the prestigious Terran Fleet Academy. And she wouldn’t have been at his academy graduation, either. It was as if he were already dead to her.

Looking down at the beautiful planet below, Coda realized why he’d been so quick to say yes to Commander Coleman. There was nothing left for him on Earth. Nothing in those blue oceans, sandy beaches, green forests, or snow-peaked mountains. Nothing but a mother who didn’t want anything to do with him and a past he desperately wanted to rewrite.

The transport ship had a traditional winged design that resembled NASA’s original space shuttle and was large enough to seat twenty or thirty passengers and crew. Able to fly in atmospheric conditions and land planetside in an emergency, the ship was truly meant for space travel with metallic walkways, rounded edges and corners, and a seating design that would make a terrestrian nauseous.

The ship’s crew greeted him at the air lock, took his bag, and led him to his seat—a formfitting gel seat with a five-point harness meant to keep him in place and protect him during hard burns and excessive G’s. He floated into position and latched the lap belt, keeping his eyes focused on the air lock.

Jose “Uno” Hernandez, Raptor Squadron’s top