Chapter 2

2

Z ara strode into the classroom for the senior flight trainees at the Earth Alliance Flight Academy, her boots soundless against the polished floor. The room buzzed with energy, the holographic displays at the desks casting a soft glow on the faces of the trainees. As she made her way to the front, whispers rippled through the room.

"That's Captain Reid!"

"Yes! I told you we'd get Ghost!"

"She's the youngest pilot ever to receive the Star of Valor."

Zara bit back her smile as she reached the front of the room and put her document folder and personal comm-pad on the desk. Then she turned around. The trainees snapped to attention as she looked over them. God, she loved trainees with their bright eyes and sheer hunger to prove themselves.

"At ease," she said, pitching her voice to carry through the room. "I'm Captain Reid, and I'll be your instructor for advanced combat training."

She paused and looked around. The trainees leaned forward, hanging on her every word.

"You have all worked hard to be here," she continued, still scanning the room and noting something about each one of the trainee pilots.

"Each of you has demonstrated exceptional skill, dedication, and courage to even walk through that door. But that's enough ego-stroking. Savor it," she advised with a swift, wicked grin. "Because I'm a hard taskmaster and I'm going to be riding your asses every second of every day until you earn your wings. And make no mistake… the challenges you are about to face will test you like nothing you've ever met before."

She walked along the front row, making eye contact with each trainee. Some met her gaze unflinchingly while others swallowed nervously. None looked away. Good. She couldn't work with cowards at this level of training.

Returning to the front of the room, she leaned back against the main desk, her hands on either side of her hips as she crossed her ankles.

"In this class, you will push the boundaries of what you thought was possible. I will push your boundaries further than that. Here, you will face your fears, conquer your doubts, and emerge as the best damn pilots in the galaxy."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the room. She allowed herself a small smile.

"It will not be easy." She straightened up to warn, her voice cracking like a whip. "I want your best, every single day. I will push you to the limits of your flying and beyond them. Because when you're out there, facing the unknown, your training is the only thing that will stand between you and oblivion."

She paused to let her words sink in, and the trainees sat up a little straighter, their faces set with determination and, for most, the arrogant confidence that came with being the best of the best. She'd soon see about that. Arrogance got pilots killed. Fast.

"So… are you ready to become the pilots you were born to be?"

The recruits responded with a resounding, "Yes, Captain!" that echoed around the walls of the training room.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she pushed off from the desk. "Then let's get started."

She activated the holographic display with a wave of her hand and brought up a detailed schematic of a sleek starfighter. The trainees leaned forward in their seats, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"Okay… you are all familiar with the BX26 Nightstorm fighter," she announced. "The Bixie is the standard training craft for the academy and is in service across the human-held galaxy as a mid-range, reliable fighter. It's also the fighter you've been using and are familiar with."

Murmurs echoed around the class, which she ignored.

"As you can tell, this is not the Bixie. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet the Bixie's big sister, the HL-4 Shadowbolt. The bolt is a sixth-gen starfighter designed from the ground up to be faster, meaner, and all-together more badass. She's here to kick ass and take names… even alien ones if she has to."

Laughter rolled around the room, but it was muted. The trainees, like everyone in Earth's military services, knew that since the Lathar had found them, none of the old rules applied.

"Okay, so today is going to be your first flight in the Bolt. And we're going to focus on the Cobra Maneuver," she announced, her voice clear and confident, again ignoring the little murmurs and looks of concern from the trainees. "While the Cobra is one of the most difficult and dangerous defense/offense techniques in the book, it's saved my life on more than one occasion, and it should always be in your playbook. Watch…"

With a few deft gestures, she set the hologram in motion, demonstrating how the starfighter could twist and roll to avoid enemy fire. The simulated craft danced through a hail of laser blasts to emerge unscathed on the other side.

"I remember one mission," she said as the holo froze with the fighter in the middle of the screen. "We were outnumbered three to one, and the enemy had us pinned down. Our only chance was to break formation and split their fire."

She paused, letting the tension build before continuing. "I gave the signal and we went for an intersecting multiple Cobra Maneuver?—"

" The Hydra ," someone in the middle row breathed.

Zara nodded. "Indeed. Until that point it had never been done. Hell… no one thought it was even possible. But we did it in perfect sync, and the enemy never saw it coming. We got past them, flipped, and took them out from behind. Weapons lock in seconds."

The trainees hung on her every word. One of them, a young man with sharp eyes and a distinctive cast to his features that screamed outer colony, raised his hand.

"Captain Reid, how do you stay focused in situations like that? When everything happens so fast, and so much is at stake?"

She smiled. She'd asked that same question many times when she was a trainee.

"It's all about trust," she said, her voice softening. "Trust in your training, trust in your wing-mates, and trust in yourself. When you're in the cockpit, you have to let go of everything else and focus on the moment. Your next move, their next move. It's all about the next three seconds. You don't look ahead any further than that. It's not easy, but with practice, it becomes second nature."

The trainee nodded, and she saw the gears turning behind his eyes as he processed her words.

She turned back to the hologram, ready to dive into the technical details of the maneuver. "Now, let's break this down step by step."

She waved her hand and the fighter rotated slowly in the air. With a few taps, she brought up a detailed schematic of the Bolt, highlighting the thrust systems and the wing controls.

"The key to the Cobra Maneuver is in the thrust vectoring and wing articulation," she said. "By precisely modulating the thrust and angle of flight, you can execute a rapid change in direction that will throw off any pursuers. Essentially, you flip and rise up behind them like a striking cobra. Watch closely as I run through the sequence."

The holographic fighter banked hard, its wings sweeping back as the thrusters pivoted, sending it into a tight roll and a hard arc to bring it up behind the enemy fighter on screen. She narrated each step as if she were the pilot in the cockpit, knowing to the second what timing and coordination were needed to pull off the maneuver successfully.

"Alright, pilots," she said, as the holo-fighter froze in the middle of obliterating the enemy ship with its forward guns. "Time to put theory into practice. Activate your simulators and prepare for launch."

A buzz of excitement rippled through the room as the trainees complied, the room filled with the sound of sim-chairs sliding back. She made her way to the instructor's sim-chair at the front of the room, settling into the form-fitting seat with practiced ease. Her movements were automatic as she pulled on and clipped the harness in place. It wasn't technically needed as the chair wouldn't take her inverted, no matter what she did in the simulation, but it added to the sensory information.

As she slipped on the neural interface headset, the world around her dissolved and was replaced by the familiar confines of a Shadowbolt cockpit. A second later, her HUD flickered to life, streaming telemetry and tactical data as the wing formed up around her.

Taking a deep breath, she let the familiar scents and sounds of the simulated cockpit wash over her. She flexed her fingers and reached for the controls.

"Ghost to all pilots," she said over the comms. "We're going to run through the Cobra Maneuver in sequence. Stay sharp, and keep your eyes on my six. I'll talk you through it."

She glanced at the tactical display, confirming that the rest of the simulated wing was in position behind her. With a subtle nudge of the throttle, she eased her bolt forward, building speed as they approached the designated engagement zone.

"Alright, wings. Here we go. Initiate Cobra on my mark. In three… two… one…"

Her fingers tightened around the control yoke, and the G-forces slammed into her as the fighter accelerated.

"Mark!"

A swell of pride rolled through Zara as the trainees practiced the Cobra Maneuver with increasing speed and precision. They were quick studies, and she didn't appear to have a joker in the pack, something that made her job a lot easier.

The simulation ended, and she slipped off the neural interface headset. The cockpit dissolved around her, replaced by the classroom as she unclipped her harness. Standing, she rolled her neck this way and that, stretching out the kinks in her shoulders.

"Excellent work today, pilots," she said, her voice carrying across the room. "Debrief will be at 0800 tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

The trainees filed out, their chatter filled with excitement as they discussed the new maneuver. She lingered for a moment in case any of them wanted to ask questions, but none of them did. No doubt they were all eager to head to the mess and then the bar to wind down.

Collecting her things from the desk, she headed out as well. The air of the hallway was cool, a welcome respite from the warmth of the classroom. No matter how hard they tried to keep it cool, that many sim-chairs in such a small space made it into an oven. At least it was still spring. By the time the heat of summer hit, she'd have them in real Shadowbolts, and the heat of the classroom would be another instructor's problem.

The gym was a short walk from the classroom. Pushing the door open, she was greeted by the familiar scent of sweat and rubber mats, the soft clank of weights and grunts of exertion from the weights area filling the air.

She paused for a moment, frowning. A cadre of Latharians had arrived the other day, joining one of the bomber-fighter classes. She had to admit they were an impressive sight, their huge and powerful physiques a stark contrast to the leaner, more agile frames of the human pilots. Even so, they moved with a fluid grace she never would have expected from men so big, their muscles rippling under their skin as they lifted weights that would have crushed a human. She arched an eyebrow. That looked like half an engine welded to the side of the weight there.

Shaking her head, she made her way to her usual corner of the gym, where a punching bag and a set of free weights awaited her. Sitting down, she began to wrap her hands as she waited for her sparring partner, who was late. Again.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall behind to reveal a tall, lean human man. His gaze swept over the gym and then cut to her. She shook her head. Asshole knew he cut a good figure framed by the doorway.

"Oi, Wolfe!" she called out across the gym. "Get your ass over here so I can pound you into the mat."

"Really?" A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sauntered over, his short hair tousled and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sounds kinky. I'm in."

She snorted and tossed him a set of wraps for his hands. "In your dreams, and you're late."

"Fashionably so," he quipped, catching them deftly. "Besides, I figured you could use the extra time to warm up. Wouldn't want to beat you too quickly."

She arched an eyebrow as she rose to her feet. "Big talk. Let's see if you can back it up."

They squared off on the mat, circling each other like predators. Aiden feinted left and then darted right, his fist whistling past her ear as she dodged to the side. Without missing a beat, she retaliated with a swift jab to his ribs. But he was already gone, and she spun around in frustration, tracking him in her peripheral vision.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted, dancing back out of range.

Her eyes narrowed. "Nice move but try this!"

She launched herself forward, her leg sweeping out in a vicious kick. He managed to block, but the force of the blow sent him staggering to the side a few steps. Recovering quickly, too quickly, he was on her again, but it was her turn to dance out of range.

The squeak of their feet on the mat filled the air as they danced around each other and traded blows, both looking for an opening—something to end the match. Preferably before they dropped dead of exhaustion trying to find it. That was the problem sparring with someone who was so evenly matched. It was difficult to get the drop on them.

As they sparred, her ears picked up a conversation from across the gym. Two of the Latharians were talking, their voices low but still audible over the clank of weights.

"I don't understand why human females are allowed to fly starfighters," one grumbled, shooting death glares at Zara and the other women in the gym. "It's too dangerous for their delicate constitutions. They should be protected, not risked in combat."

She almost snorted. Delicate constitutions? Had he been walking around the place with his eyes welded shut or something? Some of the most lethal pilots they had were women.

The other alien grunted in agreement. "If it were up to me, they'd be kept safe on a planet someplace, focusing on bearing the next generation of warriors."

Heat ripped across her cheeks as her jaw clenched so hard she was surprised she didn't shatter her teeth. Of all the outdated, misogynistic, assholish things to say. But they were guests, and all the staff had been warned to play nice. She clenched her fists, the fabric of the wrap creaking as she channeled her frustration into her next punch.

"Ignore them," Aiden murmured, getting himself into her line of sight, between her and the aliens. "They're a bunch of wankers, every one of them. Don't worry, I'll kick their asses on the training flight tomorrow. Or rather…" He grinned. "Bertha will."

She blinked. "You're throwing them in with Banshee? How'd you manage that?"

Her grin started off as the smallest quirk of her lips and broke into the widest smile she'd had for weeks. Bertha, aka Banshee, was the tiniest bomber pilot they had on staff. Retired, she was dainty and petite with the softest voice imaginable. She was also hands down, the most vicious and vindictive pilot anyone had ever met, one who was prepared to—and had — destroyed her own plane just to bring a particular enemy mark down.

The thing was… Bertha didn't fly with students often. Said they were "too breakable."

Suspicion hit her like a volley of laser fire. "What did you do?"

If wicked had a visual description, it was the grin written wide over Aiden's face.

"Well, we were walking the other day, and you know how she likes to talk about the Tev-17 campaign. I… may have made sure to stop right by a bunch of those twats."

Zara was already shaking her head, her sides aching with silent laughter. No way… Even the Latharian idiots couldn't be that suicidal. Surely.

"No… please tell me that they didn't?—"

Aiden nodded so much she thought the top of his head was going to come off. "Told her that a woman's place was breeding brats and that because she was too old for that, she wasn't worth anything."

"Fuck me," Zara breathed, pausing to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. "They're dead men walking. Can I watch?" she demanded eagerly. "I'll bring popcorn."

"Copilot seat in my bird already has your name on it."