Star Valor

9 of the squadron's 20 TB-54 Starbrutes were perched on the apron outside a row of hangars. Suited and ready, Caleb shielded his eyes from the dazzles being fired off the open canopies as he approached his plane. He grimaced slightly over the fuel stench that hung in the air.

Sergeant Steinberger was doing his own personal walk around each plane, checking laser cannon mount here, a wing seam there. His act was more ritual than necessity. "This ain't gonna be no pep talk," he said as everyone gathered. "And you may no longer work for a livin' but I'm still givin' you orders. Fall in!"

Caleb assumed his position and locked his heels as he had many times before. But this time he stood before one of the most powerful military aircraft ever designed, about to climb aboard the beast and rocket off to....

A lousy support mission.

He should be nervous and thrilled. Yeah, he was awed by the presence of the planes and the mighty image that he and the rest of the squadron conveyed; however, he couldn't help gritting his teeth and swearing beneath his breath.

"I'm looking at your faces and I'm seeing some pilots who look mighty pissed off," Steinberger began. "Raise your hands if you're pissed."

As Caleb indicated he was, he looked down the line. Yes, everybody was definitely pissed off about their orders.

The sergeant gestured for hands down then began his routine pacing. He paused before Cross. "Don't you understand Hebrew? What does laboud yahad mean?"

"Sir, it means working together, sir."

"Does anybody know where this conversation is leading?"

"Sir, yes, sir," Batra said. "You are going to tell us that even though we are rear left flank, we are still a vital part of the war effort, sir."

"No, I'm not, you shitbird!" He rushed to Batra. "You people got screwed! I recommended that they sent you poor bastards to the line because you people are squared away. Other squadrons could learn from you folks. But you got screwed."

"Sir, we feel bad enough already, sir," Spitzer said. "Maybe we do need a pep talk."

Steinberger paused, either considering Spitzer's suggestion or ticking off mental seconds until he would explode. "What you need is a swift kick into reality. This war gets bad enough, your candyass support position will be front line. Stuff that in your skivvies while you're feeling sorry for yourself."

"Sir. We trained, we got planes. Why won't they let us fight, sir?" Abebaw asked.

"Look at me. What do you see?"

"Sir?"

"WHAT DO YOU SEE?!"

"Sir, a senior drill instructor, sir."

"BULLSHIT!!! I'm a broken-down old Jew who's forced to turn dreidel-spinners into ass-kickers. I ain't ever going to no front line. I might as well be tongue-cleaning toilets!"

"Sir, that's not true, sir!" Caleb said, then realized he'd just called the sergeant a liar.

But the expected chide didn't come. On the contrary, the sergeant nodded. "I know it ain't! I woulda swallowed laser fire a long time ago." He came to attention. "Let me tell you who you've been lookin' at. I am the 5th generation of IDF drill instructors in my family. One of my ancestors was training teenage boys to defend Israel during the Six-Day-War. I am part of a proud tradition. I am past, present, and future, alive before your eyes. Look at each other. You are the same."

Caleb loosened up his jaw, feeling his anger beginning to evaporate. Now he felt stupid for being upset in the first place. Every person did, indeed, have a job to do, and it was his job to support the attack, just as it was Steinberger's job to making him feel like an asshole for being angry....

"Sir, would you like to hear our battle cry?" Laura asked, then smiled at Caleb.

Steinberger put a hand to his ear. "Ledderrip!"

Nine pilots screamed at the top of their lungs, producing an ear-splitting primeval chorus that stunned and caught the attention of a line of new recruits marching by.

"Haydad! That is a battle cry! Now. Mount your camels."

The takeoff crews were already swarming around their planes as Caleb put on his padded skullcap, then helmet. A crewman slapped the hook-on ladder to his met and Caleb ascended to it. At the top, he absorbed the view of Berkson's jet parked two down from his. The tank had painted snarling shark's teeth and the words: COUNTER'S REVENGE on the nose of his Starbrute.

With the cockpit fitting Caleb like a second skin, he ran through his pre-flight checklist: lap and shoulder belt; leg restraints; oxygen, computer and comlink cables plugged to his suit; pre-flight thruster sequence engaged; canopy toggle flipped to lower. Since he was at the end of the apron, Caleb would be first to take off. He flashed the plan captain a thumbs up and the tall man waved him out toward a service road that led to the runway. Caleb eased back the thruster control. His engines whined in response and the jet lurched forward. He looked down to Sergeant Steinberger. Caleb and the rest were finally leaving the nest, and that fact was reflected in Steinberger's wistful expression. Caleb proudly returned the man's salute then took off.

Reaching the runway, he braked and called the tower for clearance to launch. Permission was granted, and he opened up the thrusters. The simulator had done a shitty job of re-creating the engines' incredible muscular bellows. The tarmac, hangars, and perimeter fences were soon long streaks of color, and with a pulse that threatened to snap off into near light-speed, Caleb eased back his stick and left the ground. Multiple sonic booms reverberated in his thruster wash as he soared into a sky as blue as the Tammuzian sun.

Lech'am alohim! And don't worry, Joop. I'll keep an eye on the cars ahead of me.

He thumbed on the NAV system, which already had his course pre-programmed, then eased back and flipped a toggle to let the autopilot steer him towards the ionosphere.

Wipe that shit-eatin' grin off your face, Caleb, you've got work to do.

But look at me! I'm flying. I'm an Israeli soldier!

Skipchatter between the pilots and the tower confirmed that all 20 birds of the 69th were off the ground. Caleb fixed his gaze ahead, and was glad he did, for at that moment his Starbrute passed from day into starry night. The NAV system console beeped, signaling the crossover. With Earth curving back away from him, Caleb disengaged the autopilot and banked right until he was locked into the formation course. He engaged the HUD and saw the other four Starbrutes of his wing; they were closing in on him, ready to form a deadly arrow with Caleb as its laser-sighted tip. All four wings of the squadron would assume a formation that put Caleb's wing next to Laura's in the front, with Dresner's and Samuel's wings in the left and right flanks, respectively.

"Gold Leader, this is G4," Batra identified. "Systems nominal. Formation looking good. Link good."

"G3 in," Cross said. "Cool, clean, and mean."

"G2's a go," Abebaw added.

"G1 on my mark," Batra said.

"Gold Wing. Gold Leader reporting links and locks 100%. Steady as we go," Caleb said. "Red Leader, wing report?"

"Spitzer's having trouble with her link," Laura informed him. "She's breaking up but she thinks she knows why. Beyond that, we're right and tight. White and Blue wings report no problems."

Caleb adjusted his heads-up display to zoom in on their destination. A distorted video image of the carrier Galaxi appeared, but the signal was no better than some of the footage of the news reports he'd watched back home. A zillion-shekel system gave him a thirty-shekel picture.

"Red Leader, have target destination IDed in display," Caleb said.

"Gold Leader, confirm Galaxi position at 32.5 kilometers."

Caleb was about to reply when his heads-up display flickered, then disappeared into a shower of static. He turned a dial, trying to boost the system's signal. "Just a mick, I'm getting interference on the LIDAR."

It was silly to do so, but Caleb made a visual scan of the space around him and his wing. The void looked innocent enough; there wasn't anything present that might cause the interference. Solar flares? Maybe. More likely his equipment wasn't living up to its engineer's expectations.

With a great charge of interference that made him cower, the heads-up display abruptly locked onto a bogey zooming past at close range. Caleb shot a look over his shoulder. Nothing. "Check 6....I had a contact on the HUD." Switching to another LIDAR frequency, he added, "Musta been an asteroid or..."

Bang. There it was.

It was no asteroid.

An alien reconnaissance craft cruised through local space; it was just like the one he'd encountered on Mars except for the fact this this one was battle-ready. The heads-up now did a fine job of reproducing the wings of the ominous-looking ship.

Steinberger hadn't been kidding about the line coming to rear left flank!

Caleb tried to keep the hysteria out of his voice, but he failed. "Red Leader. Confirm bandit---a recon vehicle---on the LIDAR."

He could only imagine the look on Laura's face and the faces of the rest of the squadron.

After letting his gloved finger trace the recon ship's trajectory, he checked a data bar. "10 o'clock, 35 degrees south, 96 drilmeas."

"I can't see 'em!! I can't see 'em!" Batra shouted. "My LIDAR's blank!"

"Wrong freq, Batra."

"I've got something," Cross sang darkly.

"Confirm! Confirm!" Berkson cried. LIDAR channel 4! Contact, ten o'clock!"

We should engage. Now.

No, wait. What's our strategy? Assume diamond formations and surround?"

Caleb took a deep breath and called for Laura. "Red Leader, we're...."

"Gold Leader," Laura interrupted, "alter intercept angle 30 degrees. Blue Wing, White Wing, watch six, HACK!"

He banked left then dropped into a full throttle dive, watching as his wing followed, their movements a little sloppy but generally mirroring his. Once the NAVA system indicated that he'd reached the new angle, he cut speed by one quarter and leveled off to probe his HUD. Nothing. Nothing!

Patience---there you are.

"Got 'em, Red Leader," he informed. "12 o'clock high!"

"I don't think he's picked us up," Berkson said.

"We got him, that's all that counts," Abebaw opined.

"Confirm at 12 o'clock high." Laura's voice was steady but had a definite edge. "Let's light the pipes and head downtown."

"Copy, Red Leader. Blue and White Wings going high and we're coming under and up to surround. Gold Wing.....ready?"

"On your mark," Cross said.

Caleb checked out what was at this moment his favorite digital readout:

WEAPONS SYSTEMS: NEGATIVE.

He tapped one, two, three, and the fourth button.

PROXIMITY GUNS: GO.

But they weren't really what he needed.

LASER CANNONS: PRIMING......PLEASE WAIT.

Come one, come on, come on!

CHARGE: POSITIVE.

"MARK!"

Caleb maxed his thrusters. The Starbrute rocked him into his seat and screamed towards the alien glider at what felt like a runaway velocity. His HUD showed his and Laura's wings veering away from Blue and White Wings.

Then, framed by his long canopy, he glimpsed the alien ship as it rolled into an inverted dive in an attempt to evade Gold and Red Wings.

"He jinked!" Laura cried. "SCRAM! SCRAM!"

Both wings broke formation, and suddenly there were nine Starbrutes crisscrossing from multiple angles above and below Caleb. He saw Laura release a volley of bolts that the alien miraculously corkscrewed through unscathed.

Though he hated to admit it, the time had come for a crack shot. "Berkson! Get in the fight!"

"I'm tracking but I can't get a lock!" the tank complained nervously.

"Eyeball it! Take the shot!" Caleb ordered, then turned his Starbrute on a wing and streaked towards the fleeing alien.

"Negative! R4 and G3 in my line of fire!"

"R4, G3, break off pursuit!" Caleb commanded angrily.

As the two Starbrutes that were blocking Berkson's fighter peeled left and right, Caleb saw one of his own target locks floating over the image of the alien and freeze. "I gotta lock! Firing!"

He thumbed the trigger. Two bolts erupted from his cannons followed by a repercussive tremor that passed through the craft. One of his bolts grazed Berkson's right wing and was tossed off target while the alien nosedived to avoid the other.

"Jon! Damage report!" Laura requested.

"Right wing scorched. Systems still nominal," the tanks said, his voice a tad calmer. "My HUD's b lank. Contact gone."

"It must be jamming our LIDAR. Went below us like a fish on a line," said Caleb.

"Then, hey, Laura. Let's go fishin'," Berkson suggested. "You can stay on shore, Waxman. Maybe take in some target practice."

Caleb tensed. "I had target lock. I didn't...."

"No time to argue," Laura cut him off." And no time to fish. We don't have the fuel. Return to designated course. I'll call ISPACCOM and report ACM with the enemy."

The 4 wings regrouped, and the squadron resumed its original formation.

It took another 5 minutes for Caleb to fully catch his breath. Finally, he was calm enough to notice the view. Despite the fact that it was still 200 million kilometers away, Jupiter loomed in the distance. Knowing the planet was 10 times the size of Earth was one thing but seeing that truth up close was going to be something extraordinary.

With a long ride ahead and trying to wrest off the lingering frustration of losing the fighter and guilt of nearly hitting Berkson, Caleb thought about getting a little shuteye. But why did he have to be aboard a jet whenever he wanted to sleep? The thin mattress of his bunk back in the barracks was looking better and better. He activated the autopilot, shut his eyes, and listened to the hum of his thrusters and the hiss of oxygen.

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It was a lovely wakeup call consisting of the demonic little buzzing of his proximity beacon followed by somebody whose voice---and especially humor---he could do without.

"The Jonahs meet their whale!" Berkson announced.

The supercarrier INS Galaxi was an enormous interplanetary starship that looked nothing like the old seagoing aircraft carriers Caleb had once seen on history discs. The vessel contained a 60,000-square meter flight deck that was heavily trafficked, and Caleb estimated the girth of the carrier at a hundred meters. Blue, red, and white flashes came randomly from along the flanks of the ship, and the tiny running lights of fighters and transports illuminated their comings and goings. It was unnerving to know that somewhere inside that flight deck Caleb was supposed to find a parking space. He'd have better luck at the shopping mall during Hannukah.

They were contacted by the carrier's bridge and their NAV systems were, thankfully, fed coordinates for their final approach. As Caleb hovered a moment before starting his descent, he passed into a strange and beautiful glow. All around him was the cavernous, metallic, illuminated by the glowing orange, white, and black gasses of Jupiter, king of the solar system. He was disappointed that the great red spot was presently on the far side of the planet, but the Galaxi's orbit would eventually take it over the storm.

All of the landing practice in the simulator was put to good use. He hit the deck gently and silently, cut retros, then was directed by two members of the deck crew to a platform that would drop him into the lower deck. Once in position, he powered down, felt a jerk, then was swallowed by the carrier.

In the immense lower deck, the arm of a jet crane swung in front of him and locked into place. Caleb fingered the DETACH button on his cockpit control panel. His pit was lifted away from the rest of his jet and placed upon a flatbed. Soon, five other pilots joined him, 2 beside and 3 facing. Batra, Cross and Laura all beamed.

The flatbed was guided automatically past a string of flashing red lights mounted to the ceiling and into an airlock. While waiting for pressurization, Caleb finished shutting down his remaining systems, detached his suit cables and removed his helmet. The lock's opposite doors slid apart. Caleb opened his canopy with the others and jumped down. He moved out of the lock and into an immense tunnel, the ceiling of which was ribbed with clusters of many-sized duct work. Halls intersected the tunnel at five or six points, and the 20 or 30 members of the ship's support crew assigned to the area were in a state of frenzy, darting down halls and reaching for wall links to shout orders. Flight mechanics and pilots also double-timed towards prep bays.

As the rest of the squadron assembled behind him, Caleb turned to Laura. "What's going on here? They seem pretty hairy."

"I guess we must've landed in the middle of a drill," she hazarded.

Berkson seized a passing mechanic by the arm. "Hey, what's going...."

The woman glared at him and tore herself away.

"TESH-O-MAT LAV!" Batra shouted.

Lieutenant General Lewitzky had just come around a corner. He strode towards Caleb and the other pilots, stopped and brought a hand up to his graying temple in salute. "Six-nine, you all will accompany me to the orientation room."

"Sir, what's happening?" Laura asked.

"ISPACCOM checked out your report of the enemy recon vessel. Radio telescopes have since found out not only no trace of enemy troops in the Chorix system, but rather a force amassing outside our solar system."

Berkson beat his fist loudly into his palm. "The enemy plans were a setup." Then he leered at Caleb.

The lieutenant general pursed his lips and swallowed. "At this point, nobody needs their plans to know which directly they're heading."

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Star Valor

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