"Okay, Lieutenant Pasley. Start your engines whenever you like," the crewman in the control deck said. "You'll pull out after A7." David Pasley sat in a padded flight chair, and looked into his helmet's HUD. The engines showed green. He hit a few buttons and his ship's engines rumbled to life, the noise elevating to a shriek. David knew the sound would be ear-piercing for the deck crew outside. The F42B/C1 Longsword interceptor was quick, and for a craft of it's size quite maneuverable.
David watched as the last other Longsword in his squadron, A7, pulled out. He pushed the thrust lever forward a touch and the Longsword moved slowly out of the launch bay. As he approached the launch strip he shoved the thrust lever to the redline and the interceptor leapt forward, the blast from the engines blowing over a few boxes. He rocketed out of the bay, emerging into the blackness of space. He looked at the planet floating nearby, Girandihar II, a ball of blue, green and white. A sense of vertigo pervaded him, but it quickly passed. His stomach didn't have time to settle, however.
The wing leader spoke over the intercom: "All right boys and girls, let's put 'em through their paces. Try and keep up with me, okay?" David knew Lt. Nitoka must be grinning as she said that. She was an amazing pilot, and loved testing her skills against the other pilots of her wing. But David knew he could keep pace with her, maybe even beat her. This time.
Nitoka's ship blasted forward and the other ships gunned the engines, flying alongside. The Longsword took a sharp pull upwards, almost 90 degrees. The rest of the wing followed, tracking her actions closely. Before everyone had made the upward bend, Nitoka shot into a series of banking, high-gee turns.
"Lose anyone yet?" Nitoka taunted. "No? Well, maybe that's because I'm not trying. Let's see how you handle this maneuver." Her Longsword jumped downward into a half-loop, her cockpit now facing 'down'. She went straight from this maneuver into a spiraling corkscrew, and a loop. Most of the other pilots tried to fly in formation around Nitoka, and went hurtling off into space.
"I'm out!" one of the pilots said, as her fighter spun crazily. Now there were only three pilots, and David was still in the race. He felt he had left his stomach behind in space somewhere, but he ignored it, pouring all his concentration into flying. He followed every move Nitoka made with his eyes, and shortly after with his interceptor.
Nitoka had gone into a banking turn with a reverse when something came on one of the channels. David started at the static, sending his Longsword tumbling. No! Lost again! He thought, bringing his fist down on the controls. He suddenly remembered the message and listened.
". . . Say again, Covenant vessel spotted in vicinity of Orion. All Longsword squadrons ordered to engage Covenant fighters in the area." The race quickly ended, and the fighters immediately assembled into formation. Nitoka began barking orders: "Everyone, this is it. Stay in formation. We will launch Argent S missiles at medium range. We will then break formation and engage any bogeys. Understood?" All of the pilots acknowledged their orders. "Okay, people, let's make it happen!"
The formation jetted into a one-eighty degree flip and afterburned toward the Covenant vessel. At a distance it looked almost like a toy. As they closed with it, however, it became more sinister and terrifying. It was an odd shade of purple-blue, and made of round, organic shapes. A black stripe along the side began to light up, motes of red light collecting into a solid, bright line. David had heard stories about it. He knew that, once fully charged, the Covenant ship would be able to launch massive, bluish torpedoes made of pure plasma. If his fighter got in the way of one of those, it would be vaporized. Not even dust would be left. Fortunately, they seemed to use these bolts exclusively as ship-to-ship weapons. They had more accurate, short range weapons for hitting fighters. He shivered.
David looked up, and they were approaching the Covenant vessel quickly. Small red triangles appeared on his HUD, designating enemy fighters. The Office of Naval Intelligence called them Seraphs, and they were smooth and bulbous, teardrop-shaped. They were also more than a match for the Longsword, especially due to the shimmering, silvery energy shields that protected them from damage.
A timer appeared on David's display, along with the words 'Argent Launch'. It read 00:15. David quickly flipped up the cover on the Argent safeties and armed them. He centered the target on one of the alien fighters, and a firing solution came up at the bottom of the display. The Seraphs loomed closer, much closer. "Aim for the Seraphs, just a few more seconds. Keep steady," Nitoka comforted them. David's hands began to sweat. The Seraphs were almost at point-blank range. The timer still read 00:07. His hand crept to the firing control and he counted down in his head. Five . . . four . . . the leading Seraph fired and the others followed, the bolts of greenish fire hurtling toward them. Three . . . two . . . one . . . the shot loomed closer it was going to hit him and he was going to die and . . .
"Missiles away! Break! Break!" Nitoka yelled. David jabbed the firing button and pulled up and right hard, and the green boiling plasma blew by under his left wing. Most of the Seraphs moved nimbly out of the way of the missile strikes, but a few took direct hits and their shields overloaded and failed. "Engage enemy fighters!" Nitoka ordered. David turned his bank into a half-loop, turning over and coming down behind a Seraph. He armed the 40mm cannon and watched the target reticule, trying to line up a shot. His aft proximity warning bleeped, and he knew a Seraph must be behind him. He ignored it, knowing his Longsword could take the hit; he wanted to shoot down one of those alien bastards! He lined up a shot on the Seraph in front of him.
He pulled the trigger and the 40mm strobed. Bullets slashed the weaving Seraph, and its shield shimmered silver. It dodged, but David followed it with his shots. A few seconds, and David knew its shield must be almost down, so he de-safed an Argent S and locked on, when another warning sound toned. The heat and radiation counts jumped and his brain screamed plasma! But by then it was too late, and a green glow surrounded him briefly before the bolt struck his ship and his cockpit exploded, taking him with it. The acidic green became black.
"Whoa, Pasley, it's okay. Calm down. What, you thought you were dead?" There was a laugh. David lifted the visor over his eyes, breathing hard. The light blinded him for a moment. He looked up to see one of the crewmen, only then feeling the comforting hands on his shoulders. His flight suit was covered in sweat, and the chair he was sitting in was soaked, too.
He unstrapped himself and finally responded, "Yeah, I guess I got a little too into it. Still, they make these sims pretty real, don't they?" He forced a laugh. The crewman looked at him sympathetically.
"Yeah, I guess they do," he said, and walked away. David was left shaking his head, trying to still his pounding heart. The other pilots were still in the sim, and he watched them 'flying'. They manipulated the sticks and footpedals deftly, occasionally jerking the controls. Doubtless they were performing some challenging maneuver. Nitoka snarled and David knew she must have gotten something, Seraph or otherwise.
He sighed, wishing there was something to do. Nobody was there to talk to; there were only three techs monitoring the sim. Occasionally they looked up at their screens, interested, but not much. They probably had seen a lot of flight sims. Anyway, they were inside a little room set apart from the sim room, so there wasn't much point in trying to start a conversation.
He sat down on a curved couch, and reviewed the flight. The maneuver practice had gone well; he had kept up with Nitoka until the very end, and probably would have gone farther if the orders from the bridge hadn't distracted him. Once the fighting started though, he'd had trouble staying in formation, and almost broke. His biggest mistake, though, was ignoring the fighter behind him in order to strike the one in front. Apparently the Longsword's armor didn't do much in the face of plasma weapons. Maybe it burned through the armor. Or maybe the Covenant pilot had just gotten lucky . . . but it wouldn't be a good idea to assume that. Next time, he'd have to be a lot more careful, and more evasive. Who knew? Maybe the Covenant were not as good as their simulation versions. Or . . . they could be better. David brooded over this, but soon took his mind from such thoughts. They weren't pleasant.