[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
technicians scrambling to their emergency stations.
The Thunderbolt streaked over the flight deck with bare meters to spare,
executing a roll-over as it passed. Then it looped away, killing its speed
with a sharp braking thrust and dropping effortlessly into the original
approach path. Blair let out a sigh of relief.
"He's on target," someone announced laconically.
"He does that again and he'll be a target," someone else said. Blair shared
the sentiment. Rollins had warned Blair that the new pilot was likely to be a
problem, but he'd never imagined the man would pull a stupid stunt even before
he reported aboard. Fancy victory rolls looked good in holomovies and stunt
flying by elite fighter show teams, but they were strictly prohibited in
normal carrier operations.
The new pilot had a lot to learn.
The Thunderbolt performed perfectly, hitting the tractor beams precisely and
touching the deck in a landing maneuver that could have been used in an
Academy training film. Moments later, the fighter rolled to a stop inside the
hangar deck. Gravity and pressure were quickly restored as the technicians
secured from their emergency preparations.
Blair, seething, was on his way to the deck before the gravity hit one-half G.
The pilot climbed down the ladder from his cockpit and paused to remove his
helmet, an ornately decorated rig which carried the word
FLASH in bright letters, presumably his running name. He was a young man,
under thirty from his appearance, but his flight suit carried a majors
insignia. He glanced around the hangar with an easy grin, stopped to wipe away
a speck on the underside of the Thunderbolt's wing, then sauntered casually
toward the exit. He seemed completely oblivious to Blair.
"Hold it right there, Mister," Blair snapped.
The man gave him a quick look that turned into a double-take as he caught
sight of the bird insignia on Blairs collar tabs. He drew himself
erect in something that approximated attention and rendered a casual salute.
"Didn't expect a high-ranking welcoming committee, sir," he said.
His tones were lazy, relaxed. "Major Jace Dillon, Tamayo Home Defense
Airspace Command. I'm your replacement pilot."
"That remains to be seen," Blair said. "What's the idea of pulling that damned
stunt on your approach, Dillon?"
"Stunt, sir? Oh, the flyby. Hell, Colonel, it was just a little bit of
showmanship. They don't call me Flash for nothing, you know." Dillon paused,
seeming to realize the depth of Blair's anger for the first time.
Page 50
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I just thought I had to show you
Regular boys that Home Defense isn't a bunch of no-talent weekend warriors,
like everybody thinks. Figured if you saw I knew how to handle my bird then
you'd know I could pull my weight, that's all."
Blair didn't answer right away. He could almost understand the man's thinking.
Home Defense units had a poor reputation with the regular
Navy, often entirely undeserved. There had been a time, back when Blair was
this kid's age, that he might have pulled the same kind of stunt to make a
point with a new command.
"All right, Dillon, you can fly. You proved that much. Next time I see you in
that bird of yours you better show me you know how to obey regs, too. You hear
me?"
"Yes, sir," Dillon replied.
"Your Home Defense unit& does it use standard Confed ranks?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"And you're a major& "
Dillon flushed. "Yes, sir, I am."
"I find that a little difficult to believe, Dillon. A major is usually more
seasoned."
"The rank's legitimate, sir," Dillon said, sounding defensive. "Rank earned in
Home Defense units is automatically granted in the Confed
Regulars upon activation of the unit."
"Of course." Blair studied him for a moment. "So you hold a major's commission
in the Home Defense. Let me guess& your father's either the unit commander or
a prominent local backer who helped fund the unit, and you were bumped through
the ranks to Major in consequence, right?"
"Sir, I'm fully qualified as a pilot& "
"We established that, Major. I'm interested in your rank qualifications.
Is my assessment correct?"
Dillon nodded reluctantly. "My father donated some funds when the unit was put
together," he admitted. "But the rank is legitimate, sir. I was a test pilot
with Camelot Industries before I signed on with the HDS, and
I've been with my squadron for two years now."
"Two years," Blair repeated. "Any combat action?"
"Er& no, sir."
He sighed. "Well, Dillon, you're a major in the Confed Navy Flight
Branch now, heaven help you& and the rest of us. Try to conduct yourself as a
responsible officer of this ship and this flight wing. Do I make myself
clear?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Then& welcome aboard, Major Dillon. Report to Lieutenant Colonel
Ralgha for indoctrination and assignments. You're dismissed."
He watched the young man leave the hangar, not quite as cocky or relaxed any
longer. It seemed that the Home Defense squadron had truly dumped a
hard-shelled case on the Navy. Dillon was an inexperienced kid who carried a
major's rank and the powerful protection of a wealthy family to boot. Dillon
would soon learn that neither benefit would mean much when the wing went into
action. It was ironic, in a way. His father had probably put him into the HDS
to get him out of the dangerous job of test pilot.
Blair found himself hoping the kid would not have to learn his lesson the hard
way. Not that he particularly cared what happened to this young showoff& but
if he turned out to be the weak link in the wing, he could take better men and
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]