Chapter 12

Despite the terrible losses suffered by the CDF and KDF that battle, Bill managed to sit down at his desk with a grim satisfaction.

Husky Squadron was still completely intact except for Terry Kay, the Eagle whose callsign was Husky Eight. He was in the sick bay being treated for his wounds.

Bulldog squadron hadn't taken any losses either, though all of their Kodiak fighters were so banged up they would spend days being serviced.

Fang Squadron had lost three pilots. Sticks was seeing to the condolences that would be sent out.

Demon Squadron had also lost three pilots, including their CO, Norton Xion. The XO, a kangaroo named Gus Burke, had taken control of the squadron, and was getting acquainted with the burden of command.

The 1st Tactical bomber wing under Commander Warren had fared much worse. His own squadron, the Strikers were at half strength, having lost six pilots and their ships. The other squadrons in his wing had just seven or eight survivors each.

As for the stragglers from Macbeth, there were eight pilots flying extremely damaged LF-220's who had made it to the Katinian Fleet. Once their fighters were repaired they would be incorporated into the 1st tactical bomber wing to ease some of the losses.

For their part, the Huskies had inflicted something around eleven losses on the enemy each, a vastly impressive number. Bill had bagged the most, at 24 fighters and two capital ships, and Matt Keeler had done the least, his nova bomb at the final clash claiming 6 enemy fighters. Still, one's worth to the squadron was not measured in kills.

Bill closed the battle results on his terminal, and brought up the tactical screen. Macbeth, Venom and Sector Z all lay in enemy hands. The fleets arriving at Titania had saved that planet, and Starfox would be heading the defense around Solar.

For him and Husky Squadron, though, Zoness was to be their next destination.

Or so it seemed. His terminal beeped, having received an incoming message from the Admiral.

Bill frowned at having to deal with more tactical and strategic problems after having just come out of a cockpit, but opened the message anyway.

Don figured he had never felt more tired.

It's one thing running through high-speed, hyper-realistic simulations of battles and actually fighting for my life and my mission in a real war. Jeez, I wonder how those veterans felt after their first battle. Commander Grey, Captain Perry and Lieutenants Leahy and Bastion had hardly seemed fazed after the battle, completely ignoring the fatigue which came from a hard battle, more concerned with making sure Terry was all right and issuing orders to the maintenance crews.

As he walked back into his quarters, he saw that Keeler was poking through his things. He dug deep into his cargo box and pulled out a towel. "Aha! Finally found it. See you, Don, I'm off to the showers."

"Yeah, see you Matt."

Keeler turned and walked out.

"Showers, eh? Good idea." Don muttered to himself, reaching for his own cargo box.

The moment he had undone the latches, an inflatable female canine shot out of the box, propelled by the compressed air inside it like a stone from a slingshot. Don yelled in surprise and stumbled back wards. Then there was a flash. He felt his stomach sink.

There was Keeler, at the door with a camera, grinning like a maniac.

Don couldn't help but let a rueful smile cross his face. "I left my box unlocked earlier today, didn't I?"

Matt nodded emphatically.

"And this is the same prank I put on your bed, isn't it?"

Matt nodded again. He looked like he was on the verge of exploding with laughter.

"You know I'm going to get you back for this."

The boy shrugged.

"No, I'm serious."

Keeler broke down laughing and struggled out the door.

"Kids can't take anything serious these days…" Don muttered.

A few hours after the battle at Macbeth, Bill walked into the hangar. The smell of hot metal combined with countless flashes from laser cutters and welders contrasted sharply with the clean, never used hangar he had seen when he first landed. Many of the originally sparkling fighters now bore black streaks, deformed hulls and large holes from enemy fire. His own fighter had been lightly hit, with a laser bolt having grazed his left wing.

He approached the mechanic nearest his fighter, who was now just packing up his tools.

"What shape's she in?"

"Good shape, sir. The wing structure is back to normal, though the material we used to patch it up is not as strong as the original metal."

Bill nodded. "Not much that can be done about it right now. How's the rest of the squadron?"

"Top shape, we've repaired most of the major damage now. Though keep your eye on those three- they insisted on dealing with their own problems." The mechanic pointed a wrench at three individuals further down the hangar.

Leena Sweet, Robin Charters and Fuzzy Pawson, Huskies ten through to twelve respectively, were milling around Leena's fighter. Sweet was in the cockpit, Charters was reading a console not far away and Pawson was lying under the fighter, working on something just beneath the cockpit.

"They managed to scrounge some components off the ship's stores. Engineering is not happy." The mechanic chuckled. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm off-duty now."

"Of course." Bill said. The mechanic saluted and strolled away.

Bill turned to the trio near the fighter. "You three!"

The three pilots stopped what they were doing. Sweet vaulted out of the cockpit and Charters turned and saluted. Pawson slid out from under the fighter and followed suit.

"Sir!"

Bill returned the salute. "What's going on here?"

Pawson raised his paw. "We're making some modifications to Leena's fighter, sir. We found some components for shield generators and, well we're giving it a try."

This piqued Bill's interest. "What are you doing about the power it needs?"

Pawson pointed at a component lying on the floor next to the fighter. "We also managed to get our paws on some older but more efficient generator components. They should boost the power enough for some light shields." Fuzzy laughed. "We traded a pair of hand-held games consoles, an expensive watch and one hundred and fifty bucks for them, but we got'em."

Bill didn't realize the Archangel's quartermasters were so willing to let go of parts.

"So the shields work or what?"
Fuzzy grinned. "They're already working on my fighter."

Bill was surprised. It hadn't taken them very long to do that.

"Listen, I got a job for you. See if you can get shield generators on the entire squadron."
"Um, sir, we traded everything we could part with for those components. And even if we had more cash, the engineers will eventually start complaining that we're not leaving enough for them."

"Don't worry about that." Replied Bill. "I'll get some squadron support behind you. I'm sure they'd be willing to cough it up for a chance to survive that little bit longer in battle."

"Yessir. It shouldn't take long if we've got all the parts we need."

"Good. I'll be providing you those parts. That is all."

The three pilots saluted and returned to their work.