marked “Pilot Ready Area. “Let me show you what I mean, sirs.”
Walsh opened the door for the two officers, and all three entered a room set up almost like a small theater. A large view screen was located on the back wall with a podium. Several swivel style seats with small attached desks were set in a rectangle in the center of the room.
Through a door on the right side of the room marked “Training,” Hood could hear two people shouting at one another. The sounds grew louder until the two young pilots, a tall blond man and a much shorter woman with raven hair burst through the door and into the Ready Room.
“Captain on Deck!” Walsh bellowed.
Both pilots immediately stopped their conversation and snapped to attention facing Walsh.
Walsh turned to Hood. “You see what I mean, sir. And these two are the best pilots of the bunch.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Walsh,” Hood said, as he walked past his new Air Boss, moved closer to the pilots and dressed them down with a stare that could melt stone. Hood stopped and turned his head to Walsh. “I need you to encourage them, get them ready and rein them in when they get too far out. These ‘college punks’ as you call them, Mr. Walsh, are our eyes, ears and fists. They gather intel, fend off our enemies and deliver precision strikes on critical targets some of our gunners here could only dream about.” He pointed toward the two pilots. “They’re our lifeblood out there, and they must understand that they have our full confidence. Pushing it to the edge is what fighter pilots do, but we must help them define that limit. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Walsh?”
“Crystal, sir!” Walsh shouted in compliance.
“Good,” Hood said and he turned back to the pilots. “So, who am I talking to?”
The male saluted Hood as he answered with a slight German accent, “Lieutenant Harrison Krieg, sir. Call sign Wolfhound.”
Hood saluted Kreig, and the woman snapped her own. “Ensign First Class Emma Thielson, sir. Call sign Reaper.”
Trying not to act impressed, Hood returned Thielson’s salute as well. “Mr. Walsh says you’re two of the best pilots that will be assigned to this ship.”
Kreig spoke up immediately. “We are the best, sir, no doubt.”
“Really, Lieutenant,” Hood replied with a skeptical tone. “Okay then. What training scenario did you just run?”
“Blind op 7-1 in an asteroid field, sir,” Krieg replied. “We just recently added it to the new Stingray fighter training protocol for one-on-one combat.”
Hood paused for a moment and then looked down at Ensign Thielson. “How long?”
“Sir?”
“How long were you in the mission before you acquired a lock on your opponent, Ensign?”
Thielson shook her head. “I’m not sure. Thirty seconds, maybe?”
Hood looked from Thielson and then to Krieg. “You’re both dead. Do it again.”
“What?” Thielson blurted out. “I mean, excuse me, sir. How could we have both lost?”
Clearly annoyed, Hood crossed his arms and stared hard at the young woman. “Ensign, do it again and find out. And this time, use your eyes to find all adversaries, not just the ones you know.”
After both pilots nodded their compliance with his orders Hood turned on his heel and headed toward the exit. “Have them repeat it until they understand, Mr. Walsh. I want all squadron members through that scenario before we leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Walsh answered and ushered the two pilots back toward the Training Room.
Sanchez jogged to catch up to Hood. “Sir, I remember that scenario. A couple of real nasty Cilik’ti drones were hiding on one of the asteroids. If you didn’t pick them up fast, you were vapor.”
“It’s a good test of our pilots’ abilities, Raf, and where we’re headed, I need them sharp.”
The Armstrong’s new XO chuckled. “I must have run that mission five or six times at the academy before I made it through. How many times did it take you?”
“I never ran it,
Walsh opened the door for the two officers, and all three entered a room set up almost like a small theater. A large view screen was located on the back wall with a podium. Several swivel style seats with small attached desks were set in a rectangle in the center of the room.
Through a door on the right side of the room marked “Training,” Hood could hear two people shouting at one another. The sounds grew louder until the two young pilots, a tall blond man and a much shorter woman with raven hair burst through the door and into the Ready Room.
“Captain on Deck!” Walsh bellowed.
Both pilots immediately stopped their conversation and snapped to attention facing Walsh.
Walsh turned to Hood. “You see what I mean, sir. And these two are the best pilots of the bunch.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Walsh,” Hood said, as he walked past his new Air Boss, moved closer to the pilots and dressed them down with a stare that could melt stone. Hood stopped and turned his head to Walsh. “I need you to encourage them, get them ready and rein them in when they get too far out. These ‘college punks’ as you call them, Mr. Walsh, are our eyes, ears and fists. They gather intel, fend off our enemies and deliver precision strikes on critical targets some of our gunners here could only dream about.” He pointed toward the two pilots. “They’re our lifeblood out there, and they must understand that they have our full confidence. Pushing it to the edge is what fighter pilots do, but we must help them define that limit. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Walsh?”
“Crystal, sir!” Walsh shouted in compliance.
“Good,” Hood said and he turned back to the pilots. “So, who am I talking to?”
The male saluted Hood as he answered with a slight German accent, “Lieutenant Harrison Krieg, sir. Call sign Wolfhound.”
Hood saluted Kreig, and the woman snapped her own. “Ensign First Class Emma Thielson, sir. Call sign Reaper.”
Trying not to act impressed, Hood returned Thielson’s salute as well. “Mr. Walsh says you’re two of the best pilots that will be assigned to this ship.”
Kreig spoke up immediately. “We are the best, sir, no doubt.”
“Really, Lieutenant,” Hood replied with a skeptical tone. “Okay then. What training scenario did you just run?”
“Blind op 7-1 in an asteroid field, sir,” Krieg replied. “We just recently added it to the new Stingray fighter training protocol for one-on-one combat.”
Hood paused for a moment and then looked down at Ensign Thielson. “How long?”
“Sir?”
“How long were you in the mission before you acquired a lock on your opponent, Ensign?”
Thielson shook her head. “I’m not sure. Thirty seconds, maybe?”
Hood looked from Thielson and then to Krieg. “You’re both dead. Do it again.”
“What?” Thielson blurted out. “I mean, excuse me, sir. How could we have both lost?”
Clearly annoyed, Hood crossed his arms and stared hard at the young woman. “Ensign, do it again and find out. And this time, use your eyes to find all adversaries, not just the ones you know.”
After both pilots nodded their compliance with his orders Hood turned on his heel and headed toward the exit. “Have them repeat it until they understand, Mr. Walsh. I want all squadron members through that scenario before we leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Walsh answered and ushered the two pilots back toward the Training Room.
Sanchez jogged to catch up to Hood. “Sir, I remember that scenario. A couple of real nasty Cilik’ti drones were hiding on one of the asteroids. If you didn’t pick them up fast, you were vapor.”
“It’s a good test of our pilots’ abilities, Raf, and where we’re headed, I need them sharp.”
The Armstrong’s new XO chuckled. “I must have run that mission five or six times at the academy before I made it through. How many times did it take you?”
“I never ran it,
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