News of the strike flashed through the WSO network, firing onto various WSO-only stitches on the academy’s intraweave, and thence directly to any active WSO micomms. Many a disgruntled WSO thought it was a great way to get back at their arrogant pilots and so passed the word along. Others blew off the announcement, some telling their pilots about it. Not because they always got along, but because they could see just how disastrous this situation could get.

  When the Monstero Nach arrived on the flightdeck that shift, Telsh motioned the rest of the WSOs to her. She waved the pilots ahead to perform their pre-flight walkarounds without them. The WSOs gathered in a rough semicircle around her and she motioned them in close, making sure to lock eyes with each of them in turn. She needed her words to sink in. “By now you all be hearing about this stupid WSO strike I trust. Be hearing this, it not be happening on this squad,” she ordered with all the authority her quiet voice could muster. “I be knowing that some of you be having issues with your pilots acting fools in the past, Nash, Acknit, Ller, Bichard, yes even you Bichard. You and Chris still not be at top form after your incident.”

  Bichard couldn’t help but stand down from her stare even though she had a hard time focusing on his big multifaceted eyes. The pheromone exposure sessions in medical still left him feeling a little off for hects afterward, but the recovery time got better with each test and he was able to maintain more control over himself.

  “I not be knowing if you be knowing it or not, but it be one of Chertsin’s idiot pilots that be setting this off. What I do know you be knowing is that we be having a mock combat exercise against them this cycle.” She looked across the bay at her old teammate with hard eyes, the old wounds from when Chertsin had been a member of their security team remaining even after all this time.

  Matt nodded, a power struggle in a cockpit could be disastrous, though he and Gavit had never had any problems. “Telsh is right, while some of us may have issues with our pilots, they’re not worth our lives. Besides, who would you rather show up? Your pilot, just to prove some juvenile point? Or Chertsin’s Commandos? Show them just how good teamwork factors in?”

  Arion took a peek at the half-Tomeris squadron, and Torgen in particular. He was the one who’d started this nonsense. “We’ve been itching for a chance to take the Commandos down a few pegs. What better cycle than when their WSOs are all on strike?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “We do this for the Black Vises,” Arion added. “What they did to them last engagement was inexcusable. We do this for us, and give Chris and Bichard a clear shot on Torgen and Gendic’s bird, all copy?”

  “All Copy,” the WSOs replied. Even Bichard smiled at the idea of getting a measure of payback on Torgen. The academy had let him go with only janitorial punishment duty for almost getting Chris and Bichard killed with his little pheromone prank the tridec before.

  “Great, then let us be getting to our fighters and showing the CC what we be,” Telsh ordered.

  Certsin’s Commandos 01, Training Orbit 3

  Around the innermost planet of the system, an ancient and long-abandoned wheel-type space station rotated in polar orbit. Once a powerful and crewed solar power relay station, it had served as a holdout for the system’s former inhabitants after their home planet had been destroyed over a thousand annura earlier during the Vedekian wars. The station hadn’t been able to support a crew without regular resupply though, so the inhabitants had had no choice but to abandon it, fleeing the system in slow ships in the vain hope of survival. Those few that had remained hadn’t lasted long, and now the station served as their collective grave.

  Despite its failing orbit, the station now served as an excellent location for the academy’s fighters to practice defensive and offensive maneuvers around a vital asset. The cadets would zip between the ancient derelict and the broken spokes connecting the docking hub to the main wheel. Live fire exercises had made the station unfit for habitation long ago, and a thin cloud of debris trailed behind as the craft orbited. Crews even came out once an annura to raise it into higher trajectory. Engineering cadets had mounted controls and positioning thrusters to keep it from falling to the pockmarked surface of the small planet below.

  In the cockpit of his fighter, Chertsin scowled as he watched the Monstero Nach fly in formation around the space station. Their low-powered approach seemed to be working. They were dumping their excess heat into their ZKEP, Zero Kinetic Energy Potential, heat sinks, and should be all but invisible to thermal scans. In addition, they’d approached with the sun at their backs scrambling the Monstero Nach’s sensors. “I don’t think they see us yet, good.”

  His WSO did not respond.

  Chertsin opened a link over the tight beam channel to the rest of his squadron. “All Units, Lead. On my mark, power up and attack your assigned targets, then we’ll deal with their fighters.”

  Affirmative replies came back over the link.

  Chertsin’s intent was to make this a quick and decisive victory, one that would humiliate the Monstero Nach. He saw it as a fitting payback for the punishment they’d forced onto Torgen after his prank had gone bad. As the last of his pilots reported in however, the static over the link made him wince. “What’s the deal with all the crap signal reception? Why aren’t you running it through a filter to clean it up?”

  His WSO, Rovlin, kicked Chertsin’s seat in response, snorting her dissatisfaction. “You mean you not be hearing? We all be on strike. You arrogant assed pilots be thinking you be doing everything yourself. So we be letting you, and you in particular, in the rack too.”

  Chertsin couldn’t believe it. He’d planned this strike with his WSOs. What was what crack about in the rack too? Is she no longer going to let me into her bunk? “What are you squawking about woman? We’re not taking part in that stupid strike. We had you all get that rockslide going to futz up the Nach’s and their friends. Not to be screwing us up,” he yelled back, his Tomeris accent slipping in.

  She snorted back, kicking his seat again. “Yeah, but after how into it the rest of our pilots be, we be deciding you all be needing a lesson too, especially you boss man. We be more than just machines back here, or your personal playing thing. So now, you be finding that out the hard way.”

  The advice from an old commander about not sleeping with your subordinates rang through Chertsin’s head. After seeing that other commanders here had relationships with their squad mates, he thought he could too. Is she jealous of the other women I’m screwing? I visit her bunk most, that should count for something, right? Determined to not let this stop, Chertsin shook his head and prepared to attack. “I don’t believe this. Fine you WSOs be damned, but this little stunt of yours not be… won’t win you any respect. Play stupid if you like, we’ll show you what use you really are!”

  He called up his torpedo’s targeting system, lighting up his target. Sneering, he made several abortive attempts to get a lock, frustrated that his WSOs would do something so stupid before their fight with the Monstero Nach. “And I’ll show you this duwn how easily you can be replaced.”

  Monstero Nach 08, Training Orbit 3

  Chris snorted and tried to cover her mouth to suppress the laugh bubbling up in her throat. The approaching fighters lit up her sensor sphere as plain as coal on snow. She stared at her hand for a moment as it slapped against her helmet’s visor, then laughed anyway. “Oh my Bichard, tell me you’re reading this approach.”

  Bichard replied with a clicking chuckle. Gokhead and Officer OssGrim had modified Bichard’s WSO interface to allow him to speak aloud while in the level 5 shroud. “Oh I definitely am.”

  It relaxed Chris to hear the hum-click of his voice again in the cockpit. She didn’t even mind hearing his voice in stereo as his disembodied computer voice echoed through the internal link. “It’s certainly bold of them to attempt a ghost insertion without their WSOs participating. And Torgen’s fighter is lit up quite nicely. I don’t think he’s even using his ZKEPs.”

  The joy Bichard had in the new level 5 interface reverberated through his voice. It was a wonderful gift to commemorate his return to flight after his surgery. It also allowed him to hum his band's songs during flights. Chris loved the personal soundtrack he provided. “A good low-energy ghost insertion requires a good WSO to constantly monitor all your power systems. They need to divert all waste heat away from your skin. At the very least, it requires a working WSO. I take this to mean that the CC are part of the strike after all.” Bichard set a passive target lock on Torgen’s fighter so as not to tip him off. “And Chris, make it hurt.”

  Chris grunted her approval. “Oh I plan to my Bichard, I plan to!” Now, how best to embarrass the big Tomeris?

  In mock engagements against other squadrons Tadeh Qudas, as an instructor, could not lead the Monstero Nach. Therefore, the lead position cycled between Blazer and Trevis, with Trevis taking the lead this cycle. “All Units, Lead; we be seeing the approaching fighters, poorly ghosted ones.”

  Affirmative clicks seemed to laugh in response over the link.

  “Be taking passive locks and waiting for them to be powering up then engage. Let us be taking them down quick, and be giving zero eight a clear line on their number five.”

  Bichard’s mandibles clicked together at that as everyone picked their targets. They plotted their vectors over the WSO weave, giving their ship a clear line on Torgen’s fighter. “Target assignments are in, and attack vector plotted.”

  Chris smiled at the projected attack plan floating beside her. The others would pick off the fighters ahead of and around CC-05, giving her a clear attack vector. She formulated her attack, confident that her revenge would prove sweet. “Very nice, and my Bichard, thanks.”

  “Thank me with a high kill score. Maybe see if we can get Porc’s target before he does too.”

  Chertsin’s Commandoes 05, Training Orbit 3

  The distance to their predetermined strike point ticked away on Torgen’s HUD. His eagerness to attack mounted with each passing cent, and he flexed his hands on his controls. The Monstero Nach appeared oblivious to their approach as they orbited the ancient wreck. I be wondering if I be able to score any hard hits on that hulk? What a badge of honor that be, scarring it like Markus doing with the hulk of the Bathory in the Proving Grounds.

  As he always did, Torgen reached back and tapped the HUD repeater behind his seat to get his WSOs attention. What difference be it making if he be under the shroud? It be my signal. “We almost be there. Be you getting a shark lock? I want to be launching before we be spanking that bitch and her bug.”

  Gendic snorted back at him in response as over half the Monstero Nach disappeared behind the station on their patrol.

  Torgen saw this as the perfect time to strike and slammed his throttle to the firewall, tickling the afterburner. He raced ahead and waited for the telltale buck accompanying his shark’s launching. No bucking came and he scanned his console for a problem. To his disbelief, he saw that neither of the two torpedoes were armed, nor were their targets illuminated. He looked around at the rest of his squadron. Instead of a coordinated launch, some had already launched, some were just doing so now and some did not appear to be heading out at all.

  “Gendic, why we not be launching?”

  “Not be my job this cycle,” Gendic bit back, Torgen’s words the cycle before not forgotten.

  Torgen twisted about to look at his WSO. “What you be saying?! You be having a job back there, now be getting to it or we be dead.”

  “I know what my job be,” Gendic laughed back at him as a familiar tone echoed through the cockpit. “And you might want to be checking your alerts, we be targeted.”

  Torgen recognized the sound and dropped back into his seat to see the ‘Missile Launch’ icon blinking on his console and HUD. “I be needing an escape vector!”

  Gendic remained silent as a vector line appeared on Torgen’s HUD, revealing the missile’s location.

  Falling back on his training, Torgen wrenched his fighter around and mashed the afterburner button. If he timed it right, he could race past the missile and slide away in time to spoof the proximity sensors or force it into a turn that would crush it.

  The gambit failed and despite Torgen’s last cent slide up and to the left the training missile’s simulated warhead fragmented and destroyed his forward shields. He pulled hard over on the stick and attempted to vector away just as the second training round signaled its detonation below his torpedo pack.

  Alerts rang throughout the cockpit as system after system shut down under the simulated assault. Twisting his fighter around, Torgen looked up in time to witness low-powered plaser rounds splash against his shields. The blasts stripped away what remained of the energy barrier and his damage indicator continued to light up until everything in the cockpit went red, signaling their ‘death.’

  A message appeared on his HUD from his killer. “Payback is ours, Pedlick.”

  Chertsin’s Commandoes 01

  Chertsin cursed as Torgen’s fighter fell and Chris and Bichard breached their lines. The midnight blue and silver/white fighter was in marked contrast to the black and gray splinter camo of his squadron’s craft. The tone of a missile warning drew him away from thoughts of revenge and he picked off countermeasures. Punching his afterburners, he rocketed away perpendicular course to the misile’s track. The missiles fell for the decoys, and changed course to intercept their larger sensor shadow. They detonated their simulated warheads too far from any targets to do any harm.

  Looking at the station through the SIS in the floor, Chertisn spied Monstero Nach 08 racing back to her squadron. He whipped the fighter back towards it and slammed his throttle hard against the stops. Thrusters all across the fighter fired in response as he raced back towards his new objective. “All Units, Lead, be converging on me and attack,” he ordered, cursing his slipping accent.

  To his dismay, only five fighters replied their affirmatives. As they formed up, Chertsin checked on the status of the warheads they’d managed to launch. Under the control of a WSO, the shark was an agile and deadly weapon. Its Particle Duct Engine, a first generation gravity drive, allowed for maneuverability that would otherwise be impossible for anything of its size and speed. Without the WSOs however, the torpedoes relied on their own inertial guidance suites. They would take a straight line or preprogrammed serpentine course towards their target. This left them vulnerable and Chertsin’s sensors revealed the Monstero Nach had intercepted all but three. Those that had made it through splashed at different points across the station’s simulated shields, doing no damage at all.

  “Damn! All fighters, close and attack. At least we can do that without our damn WSOs!”

  His wingmen called back with their affirmatives, determined to do some damage to the other squadron. The six pack of fighters raced ahead towards the station, forming up into two three-ship flights as their afterburners flared behind them. As they raced in for the kill, the defending fighters fell back into the spokes of the station, turning and running away from their assault.

  “Yeah run cowards, not even the spokes will save you,” Chertsin cackled as he watched their engines burn before disappearing behind the myriad spokes. “All Units, close in and kill them. We can still win this.”

  The surviving fighters dove towards the ring station and opened fire on everything they saw. Targeting lasers and low energy plasma bolts lit up the darkness only to glint against the debris that floated in a perpetual cloud around the derelict station. Rage filled Chertsin as he dove past the first wheel, unable to find his prey amongst the sensor-scattering debris cloud.

  Without the WSOs processing the incoming signal returns and filtering out garbage, false returns and echoes from the drifting detritus clogged their sensors screens. Chertsin and his squadmates raced around the station, searching for their prey, and one by one they fell as Monstero Nach fighters pounced on them. Bursting out of their hiding places in various hull breaches and broken spokes of the station, they picked off the craft until only Chertsin remained.

  “Saldray,” Chertsin called to his wingman as Gavit, with Chris on his wing, slipped past and splashed his last squadmate.

  Rage consumed him as the fighter started to drift, its systems shut down by the simulated kill shot. He split away and rushed after Chris, firing all the way. But as he approached, an alert blinked to life on his screen ordering him to divert power to the weapons.

  He hadn’t managed the power on a fighter since he’d flown a Dagger. He ended up shunting too much power, drawing energy away from his engines just as Blazer and Arion’s fighter dropped down from above. Chertsin had no time to react as Blazer opened fire with all six of his cannons. The rounds splashed against his shields as he tried to maneuver away. His momentum was too high though and he just spun around in circles.

  He attempted to send power back to his engines, but it was too late. Everything went red. Blazer’s kill message popped up on his screen. “Come back when you’re a team, not a group of all-stars. We only play teams.”

  The bitter reminder of the Blade Force defeating them at Slamball overrode all sense and Chertsin slammed his fist into his main console splintering the “shatterproof” screen.

  Splicer 5000 Deck, Main Hangar, UCSBA-13

  Grunt waited in silence on the flightdeck as Monstero Nach and Chertsin’s Commandos descended the elevators and parked in front of him one after the other. Seething with anger, he glared at each crew as they climbed down from their fighters; fixing them with hard stares as the two squadrons gathered in their ready areas. As the last crew joined their squadron, Grunt strode towards them.

  Both squadrons snapped to attention. Grunt walked among them, making a show of inspecting random suits and helmets. Less than satisfied, he walked to the front of the two squadrons. “At Rest!”