Per Cobb’s instructions, we inched our throttles forward and engaged the boosters. And just like that, I was flying—really flying—for the first time. It wasn’t fast, and I spent most of it sweating and overly cautious about my every movement. A part of me was still in awe.
It was finally happening.
We flew out toward the battlefield, but before we’d gotten very far, Cobb called again.
“Halt it here, cadets,” he said, sounding more relaxed. “I’ve been given more information. You aren’t going to fight—a problem with the elevators caught us with our pants down. One of the flights that was supposed to be on reserve got stuck below.
“They’ll relieve you soon. Until then, the admiral wants to make it seem like we have more reinforcements than we actually do. She sent you and another flight of cadets to hover close outside the city. The Krell won’t fly in and risk engaging what they assume are fresh ships.”
I nodded slowly, remembering one of Gran-Gran’s lessons. All warfare is based on deception. Sun Tzu had said. When we are able to attack, we must seem unable. When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. It made sense to use a few dummy flights to worry the Krell.
“。 . . Sir,” Jorgen said, “can you tell us what is happening on the battlefield? So we can be ready, just in case?”
Cobb grunted. “You all passed the test, so I assume that you can tell me basic Krell attack strategy.”
I started to answer, but Arturo beat me to it.
“When debris starts crashing down,” he said, speaking quickly, “the Krell often use the fall to mask their radar signatures. They fly low, underneath our larger AA guns, and try to approach Alta. If they arrive, they can drop a lifebuster bomb.”
I shivered. A lifebuster would not only vaporize everyone in Alta—shields or no shields—it would collapse the lower caverns, burying Igneous and destroying the apparatus.
“The Krell don’t always use a lifebuster though,” I said, jumping in. “Those take a special slow-moving bomber to carry them. They must be expensive or difficult to make or something—because the Krell often retreat the bomber if threatened. Most of the time the Krell and the DDF fight over the falling debris. It often contains salvageable acclivity stone, which we can use to make more starfighters.”
“I suppose you might be right,” Arturo said, sounding dissatisfied. “But he asked for their basic strategy. The basic strategy is to try to destroy Alta.”
“Three out of four skirmishes never involve a lifebuster!” I said. “We think they’re trying to wear us down, destroy as many ships as possible, since it’s harder for us to replace them than it is for the Krell.”
“All right,” Cobb said, cutting in. “You two can show off for each other later. You’re both very smart. Now shut up.”
I sat back in my cockpit, uncertain if I should feel complimented or insulted. That . . . seemed a common mix of emotions when dealing with Cobb.
“Nobody in today’s battle has seen a lifebuster bomber,” Cobb said. “That doesn’t mean one couldn’t approach, but today’s debris fall does contain a lot of machinery with old acclivity rings.”
Ha! I thought. I was right. I looked to see if I could spot Arturo, to gloat, but couldn’t make him out in the lineup of ships.
“Sir,” Jerkface said, “something has always bothered me about the way we fight. We respond to the Krell, right? When a debris fall comes, we fly out to check it. If we find Krell, we engage them.”
“Generally, yes,” Cobb said.
“So that means we always let them pick the battlefield,” Jerkface said. “Yet the way to win in war is to surprise the enemy. To keep them off balance. To make them think we’re not going to attack when we will, and vice versa.”
“Someone’s been reading a little too much Sun Tzu,” Cobb said. “He fought in a different era, flightleader—and with very different tactics.”
“Shouldn’t we at least try to bring the fight up to the Krell?” Jerkface asked. “Attack their base beyond the debris field, wherever it is? Why does nobody talk about that?”
“There are reasons,” Cobb said. “And they’re not for cadets. Stay focused on your current orders.”
I frowned at that, acknowledging—grudgingly—that Jerkface had asked good questions. I looked over my shoulder at the green proliferation that was Alta. Another thing struck me as strange. Cobb was an expert pilot, and a First Citizen. He’d flown in the Battle of Alta. If reserves were needed, even the illusion of them, why hadn’t he come up here with us?
We sat quietly for several minutes.
“So . . .,” Bim said over the line. “Anyone want to help me pick a callsign?”
“Yeah,” Jerkface said. “I need one too.”
“I thought we already decided on yours, Jerkface,” Nedd said.
“You cannot call your flightleader something embarrassing,” Jerkface said.
“Why not?” Hurl asked. “What was that famous pilot, with the name about gas or—”
“Broken Wind,” I said. “One of the First Citizens. She only recently retired, and she was an amazing pilot. A hundred and thirty career kills. An average of twenty engagements a year.”
“I’m not going by Jerkface,” Jerkface said. “That’s an order.”
“Sure thing,” FM said. “Jerkface.”
I smiled, looking out of my cockpit toward FM’s ship right beside mine. Had she known him before? I thought I could pick out a hint of an accent to her voice. The same one that laced the voices of the three boys—rich people accents, from the lower caverns. What was her story?
Lights continued to flash in the distance, and I found myself itching to grab the throttle, engage overburn, and send my ship blasting toward it. Pilots were fighting, maybe dying, while I just sat here? What kind of warrior was I?
The kind that crashed into the mess hall the first time she turned on her engines. I thought. Still, I watched those lights, tried to imagine the battle, and squinted to try to catch a glimpse of a Krell ship.
I was still shocked when I saw one streaking toward us.
I’d seen hundreds of depictions of their ships in art. Small, bulbous, it had a strangely unfinished look—with wires trailing behind like tails. It had a small, opaque black cockpit. Most Krell ships exploded completely when damaged or when they crashed, but in some few, we’d recovered burned-out remnants of the wicked armor they wore. Never an actual Krell though.
“Jerkface!” I said.
“Don’t call me—”
“Jorgen! Flightleader! Whatever! Look at your eleven, down about two hundred feet. You see that?”
He cursed softly.
Hurl said, “All right! The game is on!”
“It’s not a game, Hurl,” Jerkface said. “Instructor Cobb?”
“Here. What is it?”
“Krell ship, sir. It looks like it flew low, under AA gun range, and is heading for Alta.”
Cobb didn’t respond immediately. I sat, sweating, hands on my controls, trailing that ship with my eyes.