Alpha One - Chris Burton [49]
The reality of his loss had not sunk in and he was in denial. I’m surrounded by friends who can help me through this, he told himself, but he hadn’t yet grasped the fact he would never see Joanne again.
He had told Carla this morning. She took it badly and Steve was supportive. Maria grew distant. Her reaction was almost non-committal—a shrug of the shoulders, suggesting she didn’t care because she didn’t know Joanne. She did. Everyone knew Joanne. She was a legend in her final year, when she won the Academy Top Gun competition outright with one of the best scores ever recorded, but elected not to participate in the Alpha Top Gun tournament. This was a two-finger gesture to the Academy: their best pilot refused to represent them at the Top Gun. Joanne had her reasons but only her closest friends were privy to them.
Jake reflected further. He was not sure whether his relationship with Maria would last. She had moments of insularity, and this was beginning to get annoying.
The chief trainer’s distinctive South African accent boomed through the Hunters’ comm link. The Hunters were grounded until three p.m. tomorrow afternoon and the cause of the incident established.
Pilot error caused the crash. He came in too fast as he approached the turn. The trial completed one thousand kilometers before the turn. He came in far too wide. The excess speed, with the significant gravitational force of the moon below, meant when he tried to compensate for his error he overestimated the ability of the Hunter. She stalled, forced into a flat spin.
The second—and more important—issue of the canopy failure needed to be rectified. The canopies were due for an overhaul and replacement within six months. The Alpha engineers would spend the next twelve hours refitting the ejector systems and new canopy hoods to each of the ten Hunters before the Top Gun event recommenced tomorrow.
The speed restriction was lifted when the Hunters were cleared mechanically. Jake accelerated to SD4 and began his approach to Earth. What a day, he thought. He lost a good friend and nearly witnessed the death of a colleague—all because of a jump ship. He must be honest; Sabre 4 was fantastic. It was worth the risk to continue with his training. One day soon he might be piloting one.
Jake finally arrived home at 11 p.m. with no sign of Maria. He ate a sandwich, showered and went to bed. He woke at 8 a.m., by the roar of a huge Galaxy-class commercial carrier coming in low above the apartment, touching down at the space port. He washed, dressed, and then took the first comm link of the morning. It was Carla, checking that he was okay.
As the morning went on, the comm link port was non-stop. Mostly from old friends of Jake and Joanne. The recurring theme was one of deep sympathy, but Jake grew tired of repeating, yes, it was a shock and yes, he would miss her, but they hadn’t been together for over a year.
Admiral Black called at 11.15 a.m. to thank Jake for his visit and his kind words. He advised of a Memorial service scheduled for the first Friday in December.
By 1 p.m., Jake changed into his pre-flight fatigues and was just about to leave his apartment when the comm link port buzzed once again. This time it was his mother. She was out when Jake called yesterday morning, and wanted to express her sympathy in a way only a mother could. She started off saying how much she would miss Joanne, but moved on to the inert danger of jump ships and she was glad Jake wouldn’t be flying them post-Academy. Jake smiled. He told his Mother umpteen times he would start his career as a jump ship pilot but she hadn’t grasped the idea, despite his father making his