Lieutenant Falcon Llewellyn jumped from his Valkyrie class fighter. The deck was a flaming and debris-filled mess. The rest of the squadron was splayed in various positions. He was relieved to see most canopies opening and stunned pilots clamboring out. Thumbs up were flashed his way as he darted to and from each starfighter. He skidded to a halt at Ensign Pheobe Avant’s ship.

He leapt up onto the cockpit and found her unconscious. “I need a medic!” he shouted as the deck under them shuddered with still incoming fire. He tapped at the mini-console next to the canopy and jumped back as it flipped open with a burst of air. He accepted a thrown medical tricorder, getting to work while a medical team strode through the main doors and weaved their way to him.

“We’ve got it from here, Falcon.” The lead medic had climbed up beside him. He handed her the tricorder, giving her a full report while the others unfolded an anti-grav patient transport bed. She touched his shoulder as he angled out of her way, “We’ll take good care of her.” Falcon jumped down and did a headcount. The others were being checked per landing policy. The deck shook again, and he could feel the ship going to warp.

A medic was at his side, scanning. He asked, “How bad is it?”

She tapped at the device, making notes as she went. “Sickbay’s full of triage. One ward is nearly at capacity, and the last word was we’re opening another ward since we’re still getting walk-ins and reports.” She made a final note on her tricorder, “You’re clear, Falcon. You should get your team ready – we’re hearing Montana Station’s going to red alert – battlestations and all.” She glanced at the starfighters. “You know what that usually means.” She gave him a last encouraging look before she returned to gather her team.

He did know what it meant. It meant the station would be activating their starfighters, all 24 of them.

“Lieutenant.” Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana stood in the middle of the Command Control Center as the ruby red lights shone across the deck. Falcon Llewellyn had rushed to meet the station CO at his request and hadn’t had a chance to change out of his flight suit.

He accepted a towel from a deck officer and wiped his face and hands. “Fleet Captain Fontana. How can I help?”

“I’ve got fighters ready to go, but I don’t have a squad leader or commander. We know what’s coming for us, but we need patrols at the edge getting us intel.” He held up a PADD. “I don’t have time for a ceremony. I need you to take command of Montana and Zepyhr’s squadrons. I need eyes out there, Lieutenant.”

Falcon stood at attention. “Whatever you need, sir.”

“It is what I need.” He tapped at the console. “You’re the interim squad commander over us and Zeyphr – get our birds in the air.”

It took him a minute and a half. The pilots on Montana had been waiting for orders, and his group, sans Avant, had launched. He keyed his mic while he oriented positions, “Malmstrom Wing, you take coreward. Glasgow Wing, you take trailing. Opheim Wing, you take spinward with West Two to Four. Kalispell Wing, you go with West Five to Eight to Rimward. Regular reports, regular scans. You pull any hero shit out here, I will take you off duty. Understood?” Each pilot responded in the affirmative. “I’ll be working the overall area. Let’s be careful out there.”

A few minutes later, the patrols were underway. Falcon listened as reports came in – plenty of debris detected in various directions. Yet nothing of the Vaadwaur Supremacy variety was being detected. “Spinward wings – what do you see?”

A crackle in his ear, “West 3 – we’re seeing elevated readings in line with aperture activation, but it’s too far to be exact. Some ship signals are in and out, the Blackout is playing for the other team.”

Falcon turned the nose of his starfighter towards them and punched the accelerator. The Zephyr had fled from that direction. His biggest fear was that the Vaadwaur would attempt another smash and grab with more smashing and less grabbing. He sat up in his seat as multiple alarms rang out. “West 3 – we’re getting signals! Looks like fighters are coming our way!”

He spoke evenly, “Retreat Spinward wings – pull back fast.” He switched channels. “Montana, we have incoming Vaadwaur fighters. Pulling back our teams.” He was heartened to see the group returning quickly. “Good work, let’s get under Montana’s Shadow.”

The group flew well into weapon’s range of Montana, and Falcon ordered, “Hold here. Full sensor and observational systems.” He turned to face the enemy, waiting and watching. The beeps in his cockpit kept an ambient rhythm as they waited. Watched. He tapped into the channel to Montana, “We’re seeing Pythus-class fighters on the outer edge. According to records and intel, we should see Manasa or an Astika class.” He waited, watching the tactical screen. They had stopped. Just outside the weapons range of the station. He clicked to Montana, “You seeing this?”

A voice in his ear replied, “We are. They appear to be waiting. We don’t see their escort, so they might be testing to see your quality, Lieutenant.”

Falcon might have fought to fly straight at them ten years ago. Foolishly, he’d have gotten his wings in trouble and put lives on the line that didn’t need to be. “Roger that, Montana.” He clicked over to the other teams. They had nothing to report in their sectors. Closing the channel, he stared at the unmoving Vaadwaur fighters, muttering. “I guess we’ll just keep staring at each other, boys.”

Minutes passed, and the regular reports continued. Nothing. He keyed through the sensors, searching for answers. Nothing. Suddenly, there was a spike in one of the fighters. Then all ten had a similar energy spike…and the energy continued to build. The klaxons began to sound as the Vaadwaur began to accelerate. He stabbed the channels open, “All wings – we’ve got suicide bombers! Open fire once they’re in range of Montana!”

The Vaadwaur fighters came fast now, and the station opened fire. Surprising Falcon, they dodged the weapons fire. Had they put actual pilots in them? “All wings – intercept and destroy!” He shoved his fighter into pursuit as the Vaadwaur bobbed and weaved from the station’s weapons platforms.

“West 4 – got a lock!” There was a flash of fire as one of the ten attackers was down. He felt pride for Ensign Aisha Zephyr – she’d asked for the assignment to the starship that bore her last name. Her work ethic was second to none in her home department of operations.

Falcon replied, “Good shooting – nine to go.” He checked the computer’s estimates. “All wings, we’ve got five minutes before they intercept Montana.” He slammed into a dive, firing at a Vaadwaur that had broken off. Navigating the fire from Montana and the other fighters was challenging, but they needed to stop this attack. As his target crumbled into a mess of debris, he shouted in celebration, “8 to go!”

The voice of Aisha Lavigne announced another win, “West 8 – splash another one!” He smiled. Her call sign was ‘Wine’ because she had a thing for the stuff, no matter the occasion. Her stationing in science had been successful. Thank goodness for sythehol.

A voice broke through, “West 5 here – it’s getting hot!”

Falcon directed several of Montana’s fighters to help Ensign Micah Machesky with several Vaadwaur on his tail. While he battered his enemy in front of him, he kept half an eye on Machesky and his support. Micah seemed to waver, looking as if he was going to panic. Falcon spoke firmly to the pilot, “Hold on, West 5 – keep evading. Support is right behind you.” Seconds later, another Vaadwaur fighter met its end. A second later, Falcon’s target exploded. He checked his screens. Montana had taken its fair share. There were just two…now one. And then there were none.

Falcon knew this wasn’t over. This would only serve as a break. He asked, “All wings – check your areas – full scan. Report in.” He waited and watched – no more signals appeared on his threat screens. Slowly at first, each wing verified their areas clear of attack craft. He checked his screen one last time. “Confirmed – threat screen is clear. All wings return to home hangers. Be ready for a patrol roster within the hour. Good work, team. Let’s go home.” He clicked off the channel and sat back in the cockpit. It had been six months since he’d gone head to head with an enemy in a fighter. It felt good.

He stared out into open space. The Vaadwaur were out there. This was only the beginning, he had to remind himself.

That did not feel good.