One thing that few people know is that only one of Wolfenheim’s starfighter pilots came from the mainland United States. One came from Mars and two were favored children of the Star Kingdom of Hawaii. Jackie White was one of those two, a conclusion I came to the first time she and John Anderson met. It was obvious that they knew each other, and not in the ways of fellow servicemen. They grew up together, and he was surprised to see her. He thought she was dead. That’s all I managed to hear before they realized I was within earshot and clammed up like guilty school children trying to keep a secret from their homeroom teacher. But that was enough. There was a Cowboy who died at Alpha Centauri back in The War’s first few months. She was from Hawaii. I met her cybernetic partner years after that. Yeah. I know how rare it is for a cyber to outlive her pilot. But there it is. Charles certainly recruited a unique team to defend Wolfenheim.
The Branan sent their first colonization ships to a trinary star system outside the greater Betelgeuse system at one tenth of lightspeed. The six-lightyear trip took only six decades to complete, starting with a year of acceleration and ending with another year of deceleration down to the local system speed. That’s another way of saying they spent six decades drifting through the interstellar void, hoping they didn’t hit something large enough to destroy the entire ship. It was not a trip devoid of tension. But at least they knew what they were flying into. Earlier robotic probe swarms had explored the system and told them what planets were ready and waiting for them to come. They knew what the colonists would need to survive, and they knew what they needed to bring with them. The Branan were not flying out in the great unknown in hopes that something would be there. They knew their destination quite well. It was only the space between that destination and their home that was the hurdle they needed to cross.
“The Shang are painting us with sensor sweeps,” Betty reported and glanced towards one of the displays where it showed a complex diagram of colors. “We’re scattering and jamming below detection levels. But I think they’re getting suspicious.”
“Prepare to break and attack on my order,” Charles transmitted as they continued to close the range. “Use old weapons packages only. Let us keep our full capabilities to ourselves for now.”
“Roger that,” Jack returned with an approving smile.
“Approaching detection levels,” Betty reported as the sensor display began to flash. “I can’t keep them in the dark much longer.”
“Break in three,” Charles ordered.
Jack tightened his hands on the controls and ran his hands over a display.
“Two.”
A T&J song about bad guys biting the dust began to play.
“One.”
Power flowed from capacitors, flooding defensive and offensive systems with enough power to light up small cities.
“Break! Break! Break!” Charles ordered and the world exploded in time to the screaming of a steel-stringed guitar.
Deflection grids came alive and fire control systems locked onto their targets. Gravitic cannons reached out and twisted the very fabric of gravity between the Shang formation and the incoming Cowboys. Deflection grids collapsed and armor buckled as focused gravity tore the plates apart. Laser turrets pulsed into unshielded flanks, vaporizing armor and weapons alike…
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Jewel is the cyber that most people had contact with when speaking to the Wolfenheim Project fighter squadrons. It was her way of helping the others keep their anonymity. It also did a good job of making people think the project was less organized than we really were. Think about it. A girl with multicolored hair and a tie dyed shirt calls you up. Do you think the organization she’s working for is serious about whatever they’re doing? She put a lot of hard work into making most people think we were just a rag tag group of yahoos that would never succeed at anything. Except the parties. Those were legendary. And Jewel was the self-appointed Mistress of the Balls. I have been a conman most of my life, and I can say without reservation that it was a pleasure to watch her work. We smuggled more supplies into the project under the cover of those parties than I had managed to acquire, in total, before she joined up. She had a truly glorious gift for graft.
Movie star good looks. Top Gun recruiting poster material. Super hero proportions. Blessed son of the Star Kingdom of Hawaii. All of this and more has been said about John Anderson. He was the face of Wolfenheim’s fighter wing for years on New Earth. He was always the voice of the other pilots at every meeting with those outside the project. And he was always Mister Anderson. No rank given. I thought that was odd at first, but I began to understand in time. He could pull off the act of quiet confidence well enough that most people never questioned his authority, while maintaining a slight air of mystery. That encouraged speculations on who he was, and those speculations sparked investigations. The investigations uncovered his true identity. Hunter Roberts. Former commander of Captain Olivia Wyatt’s fighter squadron. Retired. He accepted those investigations and the questions they brought, courting public opinion and the press. And because they focused on him, none of them found out who the other pilots were. It was a masterful ploy of misdirection, and I heartily enjoyed watching the man in action. Almost as much as the newsies loved getting his photogenic face on their columns.




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