As he felt the shuttle's landing gear touch down on the deck of the docking bay, he took a deep breath to collect himself. Confidence and nonchalance were the key, but nothing fake or they would see right through him. Once the light blinked for the passengers to disembark, he rose out of his seat and took his place in the line exiting the shuttle.

He was left to look around in bewilderment for a few moments after getting off the shuttle before he was approached by a lieutenant clad in a flightsuit and jacket. Matt recognized him from the welcoming materials sent by the unit. The lieutenant extended his hand and smiled broadly.

Mazurek began to walk off and Matt followed, but he had only gone a few paces when Mazurek stopped and turned back around to face him.

Matt did not question him, nor did he complain. He was not above carrying his own gear, after all. He returned to the shuttle where a couple airmen were unloading the cargo. It was not long before Matt got his bags and was on his way to his new quarters. Upon entering the small and austere two-man room, Mazurek pointed to the wall locker on the right.

Matt complied with all due haste. He did not have the time to unpack right now, so he simply tossed the bags in the locker as they were. He did, however, spend the few seconds it took to set the lock to his ID card before following Mazurek to his next destination.

He was led through the winding corridors to a briefing room just large enough to support the pilots of a standard squadron. Plastered on one of the walls was the crest of the squadron, a blue Japanese devil defiantly raising up a spear with a crescent-shaped head against a backdrop of stars. Along the bottom of the crest was a banner that read '227th Fighter Squadron' and above it was kanji that Matt recognized as 'ao'oni', the name of the creature depicted in the crest.

A broad-shouldered man dressed in a flightsuit and jacket like Mazurek was seated at the desk at the far end of the room, completely absorbed with some work on the console. Mazurek stepped forward and called out to the man.

The man looked up from his work, not quite seeming to process what he was just told. Realizing this was his new commanding officer, Matt walked up to the desk and saluted him.

The man, who Matt now identified as a captain, absently returned the salute.

Matt complied, but was taken a little aback by the Captain's lackadaisical manner. After four years of officers following the regs to the letter, his CO's nonchalance was rather jarring. The Captain seemed to realize this and made no effort to hide his consternation. He rose from his chair and extended his hand.

Although it was a little awkward, Matt shook the CO's hand, earning a slight grin.

"The second you're done inprocessin', you an' me are gonna go out on a patrol. I'd love ta cut ya new jacks some slack, but the learning curve's real steep 'round here. Ya either learn or ya get your ass killed. Only thing is ya usually get your buddy's ass killed, too, so I ain't got the patience for no fuckups. Ya fuck up, you're out. The wing commander an' me is real tight, so don't think I can't make it happen. Ya volunteered for combat duty, so ya've got some reason for bein' out here an' I'm sure it'd rub ya the wrong way ta get transferred ta some shitty air unit an' reclassed ta pilot a goddamned Swallow.

"But you ain't gonna be that way, right? We're gonna go up an' you're gonna be solid fuckin' gold. You're gonna double ace your first sortie, right? Tell me I'm right."

Recalling how he had to respond to badgering upperclassmen, Matt shouted, "I'm going to triple ace, sir!"

Mazurek scratched his head. "I dunno, boss. Right now we've got five-to-one odds he'll fuck up on the first patrol."

Matt cocked his head slightly, which prompted Captain McCormick to look at his watch.

Translating that as 'dismissed', Matt went to attention and saluted. This earned him an exasperated look from the Captain.

Captain McCormick cursed, "Dammit, rookie. Remember what I told ya? We ain't got time for protocol bullshit. I don't wanna see ya salutin' anythin' less than three bars, ya got me?"

Captain McCormick returned the salute even sloppier than before.

Captain McCormick went back to his work on the console while Matt and Mazurek left the briefing room. As they were walking, Mazurek started looking at Matt as if he were some sort of alien.

Once they had reached Matt's quarters, Mazurek gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

Matt waved as Mazurek walked off. Entering the room, he saw that his roommate still had not returned yet and decided against waiting up on him. He could always introduce himself later. Opening his wall locker, he dug out his PT uniform from his duffel bag and changed into it. He carefully hung up his dress uniform and, opting to unpack later, went straight to bed. After all, he had a big day ahead of him.

Two weeks had passed since that first patrol and Matt was getting used to life on the starbase. The patrol schedule was constantly shaken up to keep the pilots from becoming complacent, so he was always on his toes. Nearly two months had passed since the last enemy contact in the sphere and the chatter from intel gave no indication of an impending attack. All that was about to change.

Matt had just gotten back from a patrol and was on his way to his quarters for a few hours of sleep when an alarm sounded. Warning lights flashed as the wing commander's voice blared on the intercom.

There was no time to lose. Matt ran back to the 227th's launching bay as fast as he could. He started to suit up the moment he got his hands on his gear. Although he donned the suit hastily, he was still careful enough to make sure everything was adjusted just right. An oxygen leak was the last thing he needed in his first combat sortie.

He started to worry about his ship. It could not have been back more than twenty minutes and he knew it was not enough time for the crew to run all the necessary checks. He approached the crew chief with that concern in mind.

The Chief saluted him.

Matt climbed into the cockpit, secured his helmet and strapped himself in as his fingers danced across the console to activate the launch sequence. Looking back to the crew one last time, he gave the final salute and was on his way. Within moments he was outside the base and his radar screen was lit up by dozens of contacts. Before he could react, Captain McCormick's voice boomed on the radio.

The enemy fighters had already come into view, launching an unfocused volley of light weapons fire their direction. Given the type and pattern of the fire, Matt recognized the enemy ships as Viper-class light fighters. Even though the Sheolites had employed them since the beginning of the war, they were fully capable of standing toe-to-toe with a second-generation fighter like the Kodachi. As the blasts came closer, Captain McCormick's voice could be heard on the radio again.

Mazurek whooped, "Don't shoot till ya see the whites a' their eyes!"

One of the other pilots laughed. "Those fuckers don't even have eyes, Clip!"

The radio was overwhelmed by a roar of assent from the other pilots in the flight. As the blasts from the enemy flew past or glanced off shields, the pilots of Bravo Flight picked their targets and opened up with their pulse cannons. The rapid spray of low-energy bursts worked well to weaken shields, softening up ships so more powerful weapons would not be wasted.

Of course, the Sheolites had their own way to deal with shields, a potent electromagnetic beam that could overload shield projectors. But fortunately for the Union forces, the Sheolite disruptors drained excessive amounts of power and were likely to render all energy weapons inoperable and occasionally short out shield projectors and missile launchers as well. The smart ones used the weapon sparingly, but as a general rule, the Sheolites were suicidally reckless and seemed to care little about their own losses.

The enemy fighters continued to charge forward with guns blazing. Checking one of his display screens, Matt saw that his scanners were no longer picking up forward shields on the Viper he was targeting. He quickly transferred more energy to his own forward shield as he switched to the more powerful particle cannon. The volley of slower but considerably stronger blasts tore through the Viper's cockpit and struck the power core. The fighter exploded along with a few others the flight had taken out.

The flight broke off in pairs to take on the Vipers that had gotten past them and the successive waves en route. While closing the distance between them and the enemy, Mazurek opened a two-way channel between Matt and himself.

The two Vipers they were targeting either did not know about their pursuers or they did not care. They were charging at the starbase at full speed, making little effort to dodge the fire from Fahrenholz's batteries. Devoting the bulk of their shield power to deflecting the base's defenses, the Vipers were highly vulnerable to an attack from the rear. Mazurek did not need to tell Matt what to do. There was no need to soften them up with pulse cannons and several particle blasts were all it took to shatter the main thrusters of both craft. Mazurek whooped victoriously as the Vipers exploded within a split-second of each other, but the sense of victory was short-lived.

Matt had already switched back to his pulse cannons before Mazurek had finished speaking and took out one of the missiles before he could say 'roger' in reply. By the time Mazurek's stream of pulse fire raked across the trailing missile, Matt had destroyed the other two.

If Mazurek's realization had come a second later, both pilots would probably be dead. The two Kodachi flew apart just as a flight of six Vipers swept down from above, narrowly missing them.

As soon as Matt had formed on Mazurek's wing, the Vipers split up, flying in all different directions.

Matt did his best to keep it together. No one would be able to save him if he got rattled. He would never forgive himself if Mazurek put himself in danger on his account.

He was doing well to stick to Mazurek's wing when one of the Vipers looped around and flew between them, nearly taking off Matt's wing. Before Matt could return to Mazurek's wing, two more Vipers flew between them.

The Viper tailing Mazurek fired a couple particle blasts that glanced off his shields. He took evasive maneuvers, but the Viper doggedly stuck to its prey. Matt decided to ignore Mazurek's warning and swooped down on the Viper.

As he peppered the Viper with a spray of pulse fire, it broke off its pursuit and made a wide arc away from Mazurek. Matt did not want to stray too far, but he was even less keen on the idea of letting the Viper go. The Viper was good enough to stick to Mazurek's tail and could dodge well, but it could not escape Matt's blasters.

Just as Matt shot down the Viper, he saw four others flying at Mazurek on all sides. In unison they fired their disruptors. There was no way he could dodge the concerted attack.

There was no time to lose. Mazurek was a sitting duck. A couple good particle blasts were all it would take to tear through a Kodachi's armor.

Having been drawn away too far from Mazurek's position, Matt kicked the engine into high gear and sped to his wingman. Hoping the Vipers' shields had been shorted out by their own disruptors, he opened up with his particle cannon on the nearest one while getting a missile lock on another. The computer was taking too long. He quickly estimated the projected coordinates of the other two and launched missiles at all three at once.

He had guessed right. None of the Vipers had their shields up. His reward was four fireballs bursting around Mazurek, but he had made a critical oversight. There was still one Viper left.

As if it were on cue, the surviving Viper swept through the wreckage of its wingmates and fired a missile squarely at Mazurek's engine.

The blast tore Mazurek's Kodachi in two. There was nothing Matt could do.

It was already too late. Reflexively, Matt fired his last missile, somehow managing to hit the Viper. It was detonated by the Viper's shields, but the enemy fighter did not escape undamaged. When it looped around to fire back at Matt, its starboard particle cannon exploded. Knocked off course, the Viper tried to correct itself to fire its surviving cannon, only to be finished off by a volley from Matt's Kodachi.

Matt glanced at his radar. There were no hostile contacts nearby. During the momentary reprieve, the full weight of Mazurek's loss hit him. Intellectually, he thought he was prepared for the inevitable deaths that came with warfare, but nothing can truly prepare a person for the real thing. He probably would have stayed in a daze if Captain McCormick's voice had not roused him.

Silence.

Nothing.

The desperate edge to Captain McCormick's voice stirred Matt out of his momentary catatonia.

As Matt was flying to his position, he could hear Captain McCormick broadcasting to the squadron leader.

When he got no reply, Captain McCormick got in touch with the squadron's communications officer.

Captain McCormick was interrupted by the sound of the threat detector as several contacts moved to intercept the three fighters.

It was a flight of six Vipers like the one that had surprised Matt and Mazurek. Matt felt a little more prepared this time, but he used up all his missiles earlier and had to rely on his cannons alone. These Vipers were far more aggressive than the last group, favoring volume of fire over accuracy. Once they got closer, it would not make much difference.

The Vipers could not hold up long against the concentrated fire of the three fighters. One went down, then another. The shields on the third were wearing down when Captain McCormick's ship was rocked by an explosion on his right wing.

He said they were going to make it, but with all the blistering fire they were taking, Matt was not so sure.

The Captain's voice became harsh. "That's an order, airman! Break off!"

Matt broke away from Captain McCormick's wing just as a missile crashed into the main thrusters of his ship. The injured Kodachi spiraled down to the surface of Titania below them. He was unable to react to it just yet. There were still two Vipers left. His shields were all but gone at this point and they could not recover while he continued to take fire from the stubborn bandits. Fortunately, they could not outfly him. He looped behind one, blowing off its tail and knocking it off balance before firing a volley into its engine. He then pulled up sharply, spun 180 degrees and attacked the survivor from above. Its shields did not hold up for long and soon it joined its comrades.

With the radar screen finally clear of hostile contacts, Matt did not even have time to catch his breath when a voice came on the radio.

Matt said it again. "Ao Four is down, Ao Two."

Matt sounded off after Ao Three and Six. Then there was Ao One-Three. That was it. Of the fourteen pilots of the 227th, only five had survived. The Sheolite attack had been thwarted, but the price was steep. For the time being, at least, Fahrenholz and Titania were safe.

Matt went down to Titania and found himself in the steakhouse Captain McCormick had bragged about. He had promised to take Matt there when they got a pass, but Captain McCormick was gone. It all had a hollow feel to it.

He sat alone at a table. There were actually quite a few customers, but Matt was oblivious to them. He did not even notice the waitress standing right next to him.

It took Matt a moment to react. He forgot that he was in uniform.

Mentioning Captain McCormick caught his attention. Matt remembered Captain McCormick saying something about a waitress here. He looked at her. She was in her early twenties and had wavy brown hair that went down past her shoulders. She wore one of those old-fashioned Anna Miller numbers that were popular on Titania. He could not help noticing how the outfit accented her rather generous bustline. For some reason, Matt was not surprised that she was Captain McCormick's type.

He did not have the heart to tell her. He excused himself and left the steakhouse. He was on the next shuttle back to Fahrenholz. He went straight to his quarters the moment he got back.

All he wanted to do was sleep. While he changed into his PTs, he stared at his roommate's bed. Letterman was one of Alpha Flight's fatalities. They had already cleaned his personal effects out of the wall lockers and stripped the linens off his bed. The bare half of the room was an inescapable reminder of the unit's losses.

Not even three weeks had passed since he joined the 227th and almost every pilot he knew was dead. He did not have any illusions about people dying on a fairly regular basis. It was the nature of the military, the nature of war. But he did not expect it to be like this. Maybe he was just naive.

Matt was sure of one thing: He could not take many more losses like this. With that thought on his mind, he flopped onto his bed. He had not been sleeping well since the attack, but perhaps tonight would be different.

Matt shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, sir."

The wing commander put down the DataPad and folded his hands. "Humor me, Lieutenant," he said. "Why?"

Matt shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, I have to disagree. I'm the only one to survive in my flight. If I was good enough, my wingmates wouldn't have died."

The wing commander was quiet for a few moments, as if he was gauging Matt's resolve. "You aren't going to back down on this, are you?"

Matt held his ground. "No, sir."

The wing commander gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Alright, Lieutenant, you're dismissed. But I just want you to know that I think this is a waste of your skills."

Matt rose from his seat, saluted the wing commander and did an about-face. He believed the wing commander was being sincere about passing along his request. The higher-ups would be reluctant to send him through a new round of training so soon after graduating the Academy. He could only pray for it to happen. If he could redirect his career to finding and rescuing other pilots, he could start to chip away at the debt he owed to all the comrades who died so he could live.