The Academy Years

Meeting a Maniac

It was a tired, nervous and impatient group. We'd gathered here the night before, 1200 kids who had traveled from the corners of Confederation space, to take the shuttle to the Space Naval Academy on Hilthros. We were the 201st plebe class, and after a short orientation by Midshipman Third Class Tanaka Mariko, we'd been ordered to report early the next morning for our flight to the new facility.

The ship was absolutely immense. Only 1199 of us reported on time, so we were stuck in the launch bay, worried about meeting our jump time to Hilthros. We were waiting for Todd Marshall and gassed that he was delaying our flight. After all, we had worked toward this goal for 18 years and were ready to get the show on the road. The anticipation was devastating.

The cabin door suddenly burst open and a panting, red-faced Marshall stumbled in. He tossed his duffle into the overhead storage compartment and turned to Lt. Mariko.

"I know I'm late, but I had to say my goodbyes to that waitress from the sky-lounge," Marshall said with a wide grin, "and she wouldn't let me go. I'm sure my classmates don't mind. After all, I'm the one who's going to shatter every academy record and graduate Number One in the class."

The hoots and groans died down when the passengers noticed the rage building in Mariko. The red face, tight jaws, and clenched fists were a dead giveaway.

"Stow your gear and hold your tongue, catbreath," she bellowed. "You're starting your space academy career with 15 demerits and the only record you're likely to break is for the number of times you pull KP or worse."

Mariko stalked toward him until only two inches separated her face from his.

"We're at war, Mister. And from what I've seen so far I could put your brain on a spoon and it would look like a marble rolling around in one of the moon's craters. That's not a great recommendation for a prospective combat pilot. Now take your seat and stay out of my sight."

Unfortunately, the only empty seat was next to me. "Boy, she's a bit touchy this morning," he whispered.

"I can understand why," I replied.

For the next three hours, Marshall treated me to the "short" version of his life story. He boasted of his grade point average, placement-test scores, athletic prowess and sexual conquests. He was undaunted when I tried to nap, and would nudge me repeatedly before continuing to harangue me with stories of his flying experiences (his father owned a charter flight service on Leto) and educational awards. The guy was as cocky as anyone I'd ever met, and personified almost everything I find unattractive in an individual.

Finally I lost it. I reached over, grabbed the front of his shirt and twisted. "Marshall," I whispered, "I'm giving you only one chance. Steer clear of me or you'll think you've run into a runaway laser saw with a taste for flesh. If you're good, you can prove it at the academy, but words won't impress me."

The Plebe's Handbook

A voice came over the shuttle's speaker system and cut through my anger. "We're approaching our jump point, so please return all tray tables to the upright position and fasten your safety harnesses. The captain will turn on the harness light when it is safe to move about the cabin."

Although the gee-force effects were negligible, the change in our speed was reflected in a dazzling light show outside the porthole. Apparently, new ranges of the light spectrum become visible when the neutron warp drive is enabled. It seemed like an hour, but it was only minutes before the jump was completed and the lights were replaced by black space.

Mariko walked to the front of the cabin, grabbed a micro-phone, and turned to face the 1200 plebes. "You're in for a surprise when we arrive at the academy," she announced. "I will pass out the official plebe handbook and I strongly suggest you take the last three hours of our trip to study it. Don't waste any time." I took my book and began reading. I noticed that Marshall was already asleep.

The handbook detailed everything expected of a plebe. It explained how beds were to be made, shoes and buckles shined, and the exact placement of every piece of clothing in the footlockers in each room. An entire section dealt with the 800-year-old Honor Code that would guide our actions throughout the next four years. The honor code wasn't a written regulation, but a principle that bound every midshipman. Basically, it stated that lying, cheating, and stealing would not be tolerated. In practice, it also meant that a midshipman must report any instances of lying, cheating, or stealing. A middie who knew of such behavior without reporting it was as guilty as the individual who commit-ted the act.

The regs also included more than 50 lists that we were expected to memorize, information on formations, mail call, tele-phone usage, and restrictions on relationships between the sexes.

As I thumbed through the book, a single folded sheet fluttered to the floor between my feet. On the front was written A Special Message from the 1st Class. I picked up the sheet and turned the page to discover the following:

As a Plebe, you represent the lowest form of life at the TCSNA. You are lower than a sand worms in the Brim-stone System, lower than the bilge in an ancient frigate, lower than a hairball in a Kilrathi's innards. Until the end of your first year, you will be known as "youngsters," and as such, you will cater to the whims o f those who arrived at the academy before you. The members o f the 3rd, 2nd and 1st classes o f the academy look forward to your imminent arrival.

Before applying to the academy, I had read every article I could find about life at the most prestigious educational institution in the galaxy. I was astounded to learn how many traditions had managed to remain intact through so many years. Since the beginning of the Galactic War, however, the focus had changed. While the original space academy was preparatory to flight and support classes, since 2634, when war officially had been declared, the academy had become a training ground for combat pilots and support personnel. In any event, I felt I was prepared for anything. It wouldn't take long for me to discover just how naive I had been.

First Lessons

Radar Screen 1: The Enemy Approaches

Radar Screen 2: Caught in the Middle of a Maelstrom

Radar Screen 3: The Most Threatening Enemy Positions

Strategy and Tactics in Space Flight Combat

Avoid the Initial Wave of Enemy Fighters

Employ Disciplined Firing Methods

Use Speed Changes in Your Evasive Maneuvers

Give Your Missiles a Chance to Strike

Stay Ready to Use Your Afterburners

Taunt the Enemy

Don't Leave TCSN Capital Ships Unprotected

For Tighter Up or Down Movements, Roll and Turn

Turn and Slide Using Afterburners

Use Target Lock to Direct the Fight

Attack Enemy Capital Ships from the Rear

Joining the War

Next Section: The Vega Campaign