After three years of classrooms, drills, physical training, discipline, cockpit orientation, simulations and formation flying, the moment had finally arrived. Seth about to climb into the cockpit of a combat-equipped flying Zoid for the first time since the attack on his home village.
Only this time he was actually nervous. Over those three years, he began to wonder if his success that one time was no more than chance, as many of his fellow cadets were ready to assume.
If ever he was looking for reassurance, he found none with his instructors. The academy was not a warm and caring place, particularly for cadets in the airborne training program. After two years, he surmised that instructors and cadets held a resentment for the beneficiaries of the very grant that allowed Seth to attend the academy. But Seth decided their prejudice wasn't worth his time, and instead focused on his studies so he may get back to flying and perhaps one day return to his village as its protector.
But this resolution faltered the day he reported to the briefing for his first air combat training session. There, at the head of the briefing room was Captain Alain Burns, formerly a Lieutenant, and the man responsible for placing Seth in the academy.
For a fraction of a moment, Seth felt again like the shaken child who had just taken his first taste of real combat. But when Burns made eye contact, the last three years of schooling came back and Seth was no longer a frightened boy, but rather a senior cadet working to finish in the top of his class.
"Atten-TION!" the Sergeant shouted when all the cadets in their flight suits were present, and Seth stood at attention with the rest of them.
"Be seated," Captain Burns said, and the cadets obeyed. "Welcome to your first air combat training session. In this sortie, you each will be piloting the Pteras, type Silver." The screen at the front of the room lit up with details of the Silver Pteras. "You should all have been briefed on the Zoid's capabilities as they relate to the standard-type Pteras, but the Sergeant Major tells me we have a few of you who'll need reminding. So pay attention, because I do not repeat myself.
"The Silver is not equipped with a bombing package, so it is lighter. This means more speed and maneuverability, making the Silver the standard air superiority Zoid of the Imperial Army. Primary weapons are the dual thirty-seven millimeter gatling cannons and eight Type-Twelve air-to-air missiles. Defensive systems include a twenty-percent reduction in the radar cross-section and a Hiltz Systems EM-206 electronic countermeasure system, along with standard chaff and flare packs. This sortie will present you with the skills to use all these systems to effectively secure air dominance.
"For this session, we will be using non-explosive proximity missiles with the same tracking and flight characteristics of the real thing, while the cannons will be loaded with blank rounds and your gun sights will register the hits."
The briefing continued, describing the maneuvers they would be practicing, followed by an air-strike scenario with moving targets.
Seth listened, but couldn't help wondering what Burns was doing teaching at the academy. A lot had happened to Seth in the three years since he'd last seen Burns, but he seemed to not have changed at all. Burns was still stiff, stern and uncompromising. As he ended the briefing by listing the violations that would lead to a cadet being grounded, Seth resolved to ask him about the village now under military protection as a condition of Seth's academy attendance.
"Check with your flight leaders for unit assignment. Are there any questions?" As per usual, no one spoke up. Asking questions in a briefing was looked upon poorly, and doing so implied you were questioning your commander's ability to lead. "Very well. Report to the flight deck. Dismissed."
The cadets stood almost in unison and began filing out. Seth calculated that now may a good time to ask the Captain.
"Sir, may I have a word?" Seth asked after he'd pushed through to the front of the room.
"The time for questions has ended, Cadet," Burns replied, looking only at his briefing papers.
"To be clear, it's more of a personal request, sir."
The Captain looked at Seth this time, and studied him a moment. "Proceed, Cadet Riker."
Seth cleared his throat. "Captain, you sponsored my admission to the academy three years ago."
"I've sponsored a lot of new cadets over the years. You'll have to be more specific."
"Sir, in return for my attendance, you offered that my home village may be placed under military protection."
A dim light of realization came over Captain Burns. "Right. From the Reslo Province. The orphan boy flying the Pteras. How are you finding it here so far?"
"I find it well enough, sir," Seth answered. "But I'm wondering about the state of my hometown since I left."
"Couldn't you ask someone who's there now?"
"I'm sure I could, sir, I just... can't think of anyone who would take my call or answer a letter."
"And you don't want to feel like you're talking to the wall?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. I'll make some inquiries."
"Thank you, sir," Seth said, a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
"Now get to the flight deck."
"Yes, sir."
The flight deck was busy with technicians making last minute adjustments and cadets getting their flying orders. With the whir of machinery and crash of repairs, it was hard even to hear oneself think, let alone for Seth to hear from his flight leader the Pteras he was to be assigned. Despite that, he just managed to hear he'd been assigned unit 177, and would be the fourth wing in Delta flight.
Seth found unit 177 at the end of the flight line, being hastily worked on to patch up old panels while a technician tried to close the ammunition cover on the starboard wing by using more force than should have been necessary.
Seth climbed the ladder to the cockpit, helmet in hand. A flight deck worker climbed up after him to help him strap in.
"Hey, Cadet," the worker said, "is this your first combat sortie?"
"Correct," Seth said sternly.
"Okay, well, I guess your flight leader doesn't like you that much."
"Why do you say that?"
"One-double-seven here's got a trick throttle body and a sticky gun trigger." Seth looked at the worker incredulously. "Sometimes your throttle's gonna start going up and down on its own. Now, when that happens, pull the throttle all the way back and cut the magnesser breaker. You're gonna have to try and glide for a few seconds, then push the throttle all the way forward and switch the magnesser back on."
Seth looked at the wings of the Pteras, which weren't wings so much as they were a skeleton of wings, designed for magnesser propulsion rather than aerodynamics. "Did you say 'glide?'" he said.
"I said 'try to glide.'"
"Well, that's fantastic," he said with sarcasm. "What do I do about the trigger?"
"Try and click it a few more times, but if that doesn't work real soon, just switch on the safety."
"And when I need to shoot again?"
"Turn the safety off. That'll be your new trigger."
Seth groaned. "Any other surprises?"
"Uh, I think the last guy that was in here said it tends to list to the right a bit. But missile tracking works great, just as long as you keep the target in a twenty-five degree field of view."
"Yeah, it's a shining example of Zoidian engineering," Seth droned as he began the startup sequence.
"What'd you do to piss off your flight leader, anyway?"
Seth paused. But then, what was the harm in telling him? "I may have relocated the contents of his survival pack to the river during wilderness training."
"Nice!" the tech said, and he got out of the way of the closing canopy.
After takeoff, Seth learned what the tech was talking about when the throttle became erratic as he participated in formation maneuvers. The instructor took notice, calling Seth over the radio.
"Pick an airspeed, Delta Four. Delta Six is relying on you to fly steady so he can keep formation."
"Apologies, Wing Leader," Seth replied as he did his best to stay level while he reset the system. "Techs on the flight line briefed me on this unit's known mechanical issues."
"Delta Four, do you need to get back on the ground," the instructor asked, though it didn't sound like a question.
"Negative, Leader," he said, regaining powered flight. He wasn't about to give up this early. "It's under control."
"Copy. All right, Delta flight. First target is vector two-seven-zero, for fifteen, three thousand," the instructor said. "Lock on to the drone and arm your missile systems."
Seth was careful to pay close attention as soon as he heard the words "target" and "vector," for this was critical information about the location of the target, and was hardly ever repeated. Seth focused on the radar display in the cockpit. "Two-seven-zero" was two hundred and seventy degrees; due west. "Fifteen" meant the target was approximately fifteen kilometers away. "Three thousand" was the altitude of the target, three thousand meters, roughly level with his altitude. He spotted the blip on the radar screen at that corresponded to the direction and range, and cycled the radar locks until the correct one was selected, then looked at the heads-up display to confirm the altitude. When he saw the radar lock icon was level, he knew he was right on track. He armed the missile targeting system, making sure the target was within the twenty-five degrees field of view the technician was talking about.
Each member of Delta flight called over the radio in turn, confirming they had radar lock and armed missiles.
"Stand by to fire on my command," the instructor said. "These mid-range missiles are radar guided. You will need to maintain contact for the missile to hit the target. Delta One, you are cleared to launch."
The first in Seth's flight fired his missile. Seth watched it track the drone and explode a cloud of red smoke to register the successful hit. The wing leader then allowed Delta Two and Three to fire in turn before allowing Seth to take his shot.
"Delta Four, Spike Zero," he called over the radio in accordance with the protocol for firing a training missile.
Seth prayed for a successful hit as the missile streaked toward its target. If the mechanics had failed to tell him about any more faulty systems, it would be more than he could bear...
Relief came at the sight of the red smoke. He could move on to the next exercise.
"All right, Delta, time for gun practice," the wing leader called over the radio after all of Delta Flight had taken a turn at firing their practice missiles at the drone. "Accelerate to close up behind the target. A real enemy will never fly level to let you shoot him at your leisure, so I've had the drone programmed to fly in an S-pattern for this exercise."
Each student took his turn getting in behind the drone to shoot it down with simulated gun rounds. The first two did well, receiving positive feedback from the instructor, while the third took too long, given the lack of any feedback at all from the instructor.
"Delta Three, return to formation. Four, move in and fire at will."
"Roger that, Wing Leader," Seth replied. "Four, moving in."
A solid two years of simulations and formation flying allowed Seth to slip in behind the drone and match it's flight path without any difficulty. When he armed the cannon fire system, the heads-up display changed, showing the predicted path of the gunfire. Lining up the shot was as simple as aiming the nose of the Pteras until the drone fell into the gun path, then pulling the trigger.
Seth truly wasn't ready for the sound of the cannons. They were far louder than he remembered them being on the day his home village had been attacked. There was no tracer fire, but the technicians had programmed the heads-up display to simulate the rounds striking the target.
Once he saw the simulated hits, he released the trigger, only to hear the cannons continue to fire. Remembering the technician's warning, he switched off the cannons' safety, found near the throttle, and the firing ceased. They were only blank rounds, but the training session was also meant to teach ammunition control, and if there weren't any rounds left, the system wouldn't register any hits.
"Good hit, Four," the instructor said as Seth breathed a sigh of relief. "Five, you're up."
The remaining two trainees finished their task, then the instructor tasked the drone to return to base.
"Delta flight, adjust course due south and drop to twenty-five hundred meters for the strike scenario. Your heads-up display and canopy projector is going to simulate mountainous terrain and a hard deck of one-thousand meters. Switch to ground-scanning radar and activate the tactical readout on your secondary display."
Seth did as told, seeing the gun sight switch to ground attack mode.
"Delta Three to Leader," Seth heard one of his wingmen call out, "I thought this was a dogfighting exercise. Why are we practicing a ground strike?"
"This is the curriculum established by the Academy Commander," the instructor replied sternly. "Take your problems up with him."
Seth had also wondered about that, but better someone else voice the concern than him. Still, he reflected on what a senior cadet had told him two years ago: "The combat instructors like to throw surprises in your way."
"Use your radar to locate the four moving targets on the hard deck," said the instructor. "You will take it in turns to line up for a gun run."
The students did as told, lining up with space between them so they could strike at the targets. The targets were only small flying drones, meant to simulate vehicles on the ground. The first was about to open fire when Seth heard the alarms sound in the cockpit.
"Break, Delta, Break," the instructor called, and as Seth banked right and saw six hostile markers on the tactical display. Obviously, this had something to do with the strike exercise scheduled for this sortie.
"Looks like Captain Burns organized a little ambush for you cadets," the instructor said. Seth was certain his fellow cadets were swearing just as much as he was. "Your final assignment is to engage the hostile units without getting shot down. Begin."
Seth re-armed the air-to-air missiles and radar, cursing that the instructor had ever made him turn them off. He pushed to full throttle, praying the magnesser system wouldn't act up again, and locked on to one of the new targets, six Pterases, colored black.
"What do you want to bet these aren't drones?" said Delta Three. "They're probably instructors in those birds."
Sure enough, as Seth's missile streaked through the sky, the target Pteras dropped chaff and jinked so fast it had to be a trained human pilot. Ordinary fighting techniques weren't going to register any hits on these flyers, so Seth would need to improvise, especially now that the hostiles had fired missiles.
Reflecting on the simulation sessions, he switched on the ECM jammer, banked hard to put the missile on his left and dropped chaff. He watched the missile track to where he had dropped the chaff, just like it was designed to do. A year ago, an instructor had told Seth's class that chaff packs, bundles of thin aluminum strips designed to reflect radar and confuse incoming missiles, had saved more pilots' lives than ejector seats. When used appropriately, of course.
And Delta Three had demonstrated just what happened when they weren't used correctly. He had continued to fly straight, probably choosing to lock on a target before taking evasive maneuvers. A cloud of red smoke around him marked him as dead.
"Delta Three is down," the instructor called, probably to increase the stress level among the trainees.
"Delta Four, Spike Zero," Seth called, firing another missile at the same target he'd tried before. He was much closer this time, so he would be in gun range by the time his target dodged...
"Four, splash bandit," he called out after using the safety switch for his trigger and landing a hit on the target. Now it was time to work with his wingmen, as all the Pterases, both friendly and hostile, were now engaged in a mid-air scramble, something his instructors called a "furball." Seth couldn't help but smile at the apt naming convention.
"Delta One is down," called the instructor once a cloud of red smoke appeared next to his lead wingman.
"Delta Two," Seth called out, seeing a target above and forward of the second in the flight, "tally bandit, eleven o' clock, high."
"Copy, Four. Delta Two, solid lock – Spike Zero!" Delta Two responded, and fired a missile at the black Pteras that Seth had pointed out, striking his foe. "Two, splash bandit." Now the playing field was level; four to four.
Seth tried to take down another with his guns, but failed to line up in time. Instead he heard Delta Six warn him about a black Pteras on his tail.
"Copy that," he replied. "Five, I'll lead him into your line of fire."
"Copy, Four. Guns ready."
Seth dove in front of Delta Five, watching his mirrors to make sure the black Pteras would follow. To give Five a longer look at the target, he pulled up and rolled, but when he couldn't linger any longer he banked hard left.
"No hit, Four," he heard Five call. "Standby for Spike."
"Copy, Five. Breaking right."
"Delta Five, Spike Zero!"
Seth struggled to keep his eyes on the Pteras behind him as the gravitational forces pushed him into the pilot's seat, but he finally saw the red smoke appear next to it just as he heard the instructor call "Delta Two is down."
Seth immediately scanned for a new target, when he saw two of them bearing down on Delta Six. He locked on a missile just as one of them launched his own missile at Six. A cloud of red smoke preceded the instructor's call that Six had been shot down.
Now one of the black Pterases was rounding on Seth while the other had dodged his missile and was flying head-on towards Delta Five.
Seth turned towards the Pteras coming towards him, but wasn't fast enough to line up his guns so the two Pterases flew past each other when the inevitable happened; the throttle had gotten a mind of its own again.
The time it took for Seth to reset the system was time enough for the black Pteras to loop back and get right on his tail. Just as he was able to maneuver again, the radar warning system screamed to alert him that the enemy had locked on to him. He glanced at Delta Five only long enough to see he had his hands full, so Seth was on his own.
The black Pteras was matching him move for move, and the magnesser system could give out any second, so it was time to try something that never worked in the simulator. Diving for the simulated ground, he looked at the simulated terrain and hoped the missiles would follow the same rules regarding collisions.
The black Pteras fired a missile, and Seth just had time to put a sharp mountain ridge between him and it. As it happened, the missile could pass through the simulated mountains, but thankfully the instructor had seen his maneuver, and called over the radio, "Delta Four, proceed. Spike is negative impact." Seth was grateful; he didn't want to have to argue the point later. But the back of his mind did wonder if maybe they'd seen this maneuver before...
The missile may have been able to break the rules, but his pursuer couldn't. He had to fly wider around the ridge, giving Seth time to focus on his next move. Just as he heard the call that Delta Five had been shot down, he climbed higher to give himself time. As he did, the black Pteras flew right up behind him. Seth leveled out, then cut off the magnesser system. Pushing the rudder hard to the right, the Pteras turned around until it was gliding backwards. There wouldn't be time to hold missile lock, so he flipped the gun safety switch as he turned.
"Delta Four, splash bandit!" he called, but no sooner than he had turned the Pteras back around and re-activated the magnesser system did he see a black Pteras's missile screaming towards him.
"Delta Four is down," called the instructor. "Delta flight, re-form on Delta One and return to base."
Sargent Major Llyr had dismissed the cadets and made his way to the debriefing room, where he would meet with the flight instructors, Captain Burns, and Tech Sargent Victors to discuss how the cadets fared on their first combat sortie.
The debriefing room was simple and unadorned. Nearly all rooms were this way in the academy. It cut down on how often the cadets got distracted. When Llyr entered he saw he was the second to arrive, following Captain Burns, who had seated himself at the head to the conference table, opposite the wall screen.
"Captain," Llyr said, saluting him.
"As you were," Burns replied. Llyr seated himself to the Captain's right.
Next to arrive were the six flight instructors. They saluted the captain and took their seats, engaging one another in idle chatter about students who seemed to stand out (be it for good qualities or bad). These were all career-military men no higher than Lieutenant who had unexceptional piloting performance in their day, and were now considered too old to be assigned to regular platoons. Before arriving they had spoken to the men who piloted the black Pterases in the ambush scenario to get a better idea of how the students fared under pressure.
Finally, Tech Sargent Victors entered carrying the data drive with information downloaded from the students' Pterases, He saluted the Captain and sat opposite Llyr on the Captain's left, where he plugged the drive into the terminal so the information would appear on the wall screen.
"Go ahead, Tech Sargent," said the Captian.
"To get it out of the way," Victors said, "all cadets passed the missile launch exercise. Same goes for the gunfire exercise, with varying degrees of ammunition efficiency. Moving on to the ambush scenario, I think we should look at Delta flight first."
This was unusual. And Captain Burns noticed it.
"Sargent," Burns said, "I know I haven't been here long, but is it not protocol to go in order of the flights' designations during a debriefing?"
"A little latitude, sir, if I may?" said Victors. Llyr had seen Victors do this before. He was never fond of new personnel, and he was typically passive aggressive in putting the new blood to shame. Once, in the mess hall, Victors confessed to Llyr that, being from the stricken province of Sallen, he resented officers like Burns, born to a well-off family from the Capital.
Burns considered him a moment, then nodded.
"Thank you, sir." Victors then addressed Delta's flight instructor. "Lieutenant Andras, you may present your evaluation."
Lieutenant Andras stood and approached the wall screen, which presented the information regarding the six members of Delta Flight.
"Let's get the unpleasant business out of the way first. First, Delta Three was shot down almost immediately. Failed to prioritize evasion over target acquisition, and it was just like picking the low-hanging fruit."
"He's come to my attention as well," Llyr added. "Without serious improvement, his tenure here will be short lived."
"He'd do well in infantry, then," said Burns. "Disposable, hardly missed, and he'd make the enemy use up ammunition."
"Next, we have Delta One," Andras continued, ignoring Burns's remark. "Second to be shot down, but I'd chalk that up to bad luck. Did well in evading the missile salvo, but the pilots said they just happened to put him in an impossible situation shortly after. Delta Two scored an easy hit brought to his attention by Delta Four, which brings us to the back three.
"Six flew very well, but he's too timid with the trigger. He'd be more likely to down an enemy by grounding him. He has good observational awareness, but the ambush pilots told me several times he was lined up well, but no shot came. Five has potential. Splashed one in the furball that was bearing down on his wingman, eventually stalled during maneuvers and hit the simulated deck."
"Common mistake among cadets," Llyr said. He always found that trainees were far more likely to keep altitude when there was the threat of hitting a floor that wasn't simulated.
"Lastly, Delta Four. Three downed bandits, last to get hit. Good chatter, worked in tandem with wingmen, excellent use of terrain in missile avoidance. Although at the end I don't quite understand what he was up to. After a head-on pass he flew level instead of looping back, and got himself back in crosshairs. But then he scored a kill on his pursuer during a flat spin."
"Probably trying to show off," Llyr said. Hot shots always tried to make themselves look better by intentionally putting themselves in dire situations. He believed the Army was too kind to this sort of personality.
"He did report early in the exercise that his Pteras had mechanical issues."
"Your opinion, Captian?" Victors asked. Whatever point Victors wanted to make, it was coming soon.
"Seth Riker," Burns said. "Orphan kid from a small town in Reslo. His town was under siege by a local crime syndicate. The town had a few weapons borrowed for self defense. When my unit arrived on the scene, he had taken out multiple hostiles with an old standard Pteras. Kid's a natural pilot."
"You sponsored his admission under the Colten Grant, sir?" Victors asked.
"I did. Seemed a waste to leave that talent in the boonies."
"Well, he almost went to waste in a crater. Riker was assigned to unit one-seven-seven."
"Is that supposed to mean something, Sargent?"
Victors produced a file and laid in front of Burns. "Sir, last week I presented this information to you regarding unit one-seven-seven's mechanical problems, requesting that it be removed from the active flight line on the condition that it is unsafe. You deferred decision until a later date. Then, I get the call yesterday to have Pterases ready for thirty-six cadets, six instructors, and the ambush unit. That's fourty-eight, and we have fifty-one Pterases on base, two of which are torn down to the frames."
"Make your point, Victors," the Captain said, though Llyr knew it had already been made.
"Cadet Riker is one of the best pilots this academy has ever seen. You said yourself he's a natural talent. But you nearly killed him because maintenance wasn't a priority for you. ...Sir."