Dad used to say that as long as you don't care if you sell your soul to do it, you can get anything you want.
He was probably right. All I want is a ship. All I need to do to get it is to put myself in debt to Liberty Security Force commander name of Jun'ko Zane, alias "Juni", which I can probably work off running a few missions for her. Combat missions.
Told her I'd think about it. I'm going to say yes, a pilot without a ship is a waste of space, but I've gotta work myself up to it. Never liked flying combat.
The Rheinlander cruiser Donau is due in pretty soon, too. Big peace overture while Rheinland is busy screwing around in the Border Worlds against treaty.
Told Juni yes. It's a simple job now, low-risk, escort food and medical supplies via the trade lane route from Fort Bush to Pittsburgh, through the debris fields. Convoy has a regular escort flight but they're a man short, regs say they need four and they only have three. She gave me an old Starflyer; a couple of Justice guns, Mark 1s. Nothing to be proud of, but it's a ship, and it'll handle decently in a furball if that happens.
I'm supposed to meet the patrol, Gamma 6, spaceside. Or at least its CO, King; the other half of it's at Fort Bush.
The Donau was there when I launched.
The Donau is dead. Five fighters, superheavies; I didn't recognize the type. They killed it with a missile volley and then jumped the escorts.
"Newark Station this is Liberty Security Patrol Gamma 6! We are engaging the enemy!"
And suddenly I'm right there, back in the combat sims, and there's a superheavy in front of me and I'm pounding his tail. His shields are down and he's trailing bits of superheated armor material. He's tough, but he can't shake me. I know he can't shake me, the same way I know where my limbs are without looking, the same way I know how to breathe.
I never liked combat. He's tough, tough enough that ordinarily he'd be able to just ignore a gnat like me. He'd jump to Cruise and we'd never see him again. But King hit him with a cruise disruptor. He's not going anywhere. He still ignores me, and turns to fight King, salvoing heavy guns. King catches a couple shots, and they knock him around a bit, his Patriot light fighter makes him a hard target.
Keep pounding. Something flares; the superheavy's drive chamber is breached. He's leaking plasma. He suddenly realizes that he HAS to pay attention to the Starflyer in his aft arc and starts jinking.
"Newark, we need support here!"
"Gamma 6, interceptors are scrambling. The Colorado and its escort are inbound."
But he can't shake me. His left wing snaps off at the root. He starts to tumble out of control. A series of my shots go through the hole his wing left. One of them hits something explosive. The superheavy tears apart.
"Freelancer Alpha, splash one." Calm. Controlled.
I never liked combat. Because this fighter pilot stuff? I'm really fucking good at it. And killing people isn't the most honorable of professions, no matter how you slice it. Hell, I don't even have a cause I'm doing it for to hide behind.
It takes less than five seconds to glue myself to the tail of another superheavy who's tangling with one of the Donau's escorts. I work the superheavy down to almost nothing, but the Rheinlander gets the kill with a cockpit shot. Fine by me, I already have another target. He's shields-down and dragging his ass, a stream of flame coming out of the base of his tailplane. I hammered at the source with my guns. Make it quick and clean, go for the damage.
His fuel tanks went up and he blew apart. "Freelancer Alpha, splash two."
"This is Newark Station. Radar is clear. SAR, report. Did you recover any survivors from the Donau?"
Deep breaths. Try to control the panting. I wasn't panting a moment before. My hands are shaking. You only shake when you're safe. Adrenaline crash. "Trent, King. That was a hell of a show you just put on. Two out of five with the lightest thing on the field."
"Acknowledged, King. We've got a convoy to catch." I don't want to talk about it, okay? Let's just move on.
"Roger, uploading coordinates."