flights to worry the Krell.
“. . . Sir,” Jorgen said, “can you tell us what is happening on the battlefield? So we can be ready, just in case?”
Cobb grunted. “You all passed the test, so I assume that you can tell me basic Krell attack strategy.”
I started to answer, but Arturo beat me to it.
“When debris starts crashing down,” he said, speaking quickly, “the Krell often use the fall to mask their radar signatures. They fly low, underneath our larger AA guns, and try to approach Alta. If they arrive, they can drop a lifebuster bomb.”
I shivered. A lifebuster would not only vaporize everyone in Alta—shields or no shields—it would collapse the lower caverns, burying Igneous and destroying the apparatus.
“The Krell don’t always use a lifebuster though,” I said, jumping in. “Those take a special slow-moving bomber to carry them. They must be expensive or difficult to make or something—because the Krell often retreat the bomber if threatened. Most of the time the Krell and the DDF fight over the falling debris. It often contains salvageable acclivity stone, which we can use to make more starfighters.”
“I suppose you might be right,” Arturo said, sounding dissatisfied. “But he asked for their basic strategy. The basic strategy is to try to destroy Alta.”
“Three out of four skirmishes never involve a lifebuster!” I said. “We think they’re trying to wear us down, destroy as many ships as possible, since it’s harder for us to replace them than it is for the Krell.”
“All right,” Cobb said, cutting in. “You two can show off for each other later. You’re both very smart. Now shut up.”
I sat back in my cockpit, uncertain if I should feel complimented or insulted. That . . . seemed a common mix of emotions when dealing with Cobb.
“Nobody in today’s battle has seen a lifebuster bomber,” Cobb said. “That doesn’t mean one couldn’t approach, but today’s debris fall does contain a lot of machinery with old acclivity rings.”
Ha! I thought. I was right. I looked to see if I could spot Arturo, to gloat, but couldn’t make him out in the lineup of ships.
“Sir,” Jerkface said, “something has always bothered me about the way we fight. We respond to the Krell, right? When a debris fall comes, we fly out to check it. If we find Krell, we engage them.”
“Generally, yes,” Cobb said.
“So that means we always let them pick the battlefield,” Jerk-face said. “Yet the way to win in war is to surprise the enemy. To keep them off balance. To make them think we’re not going to attack when we will, and vice versa.”
“Someone’s been reading a little too much Sun Tzu,” Cobb said. “He fought in a different era, flightleader—and with very different tactics.”
“Shouldn’t we at least try to bring the fight up to the Krell?” Jerkface asked. “Attack their base beyond the debris field, wherever it is? Why does nobody talk about that?”
“There are reasons,” Cobb said. “And they’re not for cadets. Stay focused on your current orders.”
I frowned at that, acknowledging—grudgingly—that Jerkface had asked good questions. I looked over my shoulder at the green proliferation that was Alta. Another thing struck me as strange. Cobb was an expert pilot, and a First Citizen. He’d flown in the Battle of Alta. If reserves were needed, even the illusion of them, why hadn’t he come up here with us?
We sat quietly for several minutes.
“So . . .,” Bim said over the line. “Anyone want to help me pick a callsign?”
“Yeah,” Jerkface said. “I need one too.”
“I thought we already decided on yours, Jerkface,” Nedd said.
“You cannot call your flightleader something embarrassing,” Jerkface said.
“Why not?” Hurl asked. “What was that famous pilot, with the name about gas or—”
“Broken Wind,” I said. “One of the First Citizens. She only recently retired, and she was an amazing pilot. A hundred and thirty career kills. An average of twenty engagements a year.”
“I’m not going by Jerkface,” Jerkface said. “That’s an order.”
“Sure thing,” FM said. “Jerkface.”
I smiled, looking out of my cockpit toward FM’s ship right beside mine. Had she known him before? I thought I could pick out a hint of an accent to her voice. The same one that laced the voices of the three boys—rich people accents, from the lower caverns. What was her story?
Lights continued to flash in the distance, and I found myself itching to grab the throttle, engage overburn, and send my ship blasting toward it. Pilots were fighting, maybe dying, while I just sat here? What