Remember the Starfighter by Michael Kan Page A

photo. “AKA Gray Squadron.”
    “You must have been only 19 when you first joined with us,” Drayden said. “Still fresh faced and all smiles.”
    Julian looked down at the photo and saw the grins across the faces of all the pilots, himself included. The young men and women had come dressed in their black flight suits, helmets in their hands, ready for a mission. But in spite of the seriousness, they put their arms across each other, posing with lighthearted expressions. Julian took note of one couple, a man and a woman, who embraced each other as the photo was taken. “Thompson and Ganim,” Julian said to himself. Two old friends, now long gone.
    “I still have a hard time looking at the photo,” Drayden said. “Orion was a nightmare. We lost some good people in that battle. Damn.”
    “I hated myself for losing them. SpaceCore, on the other hand, thought otherwise and gave us all medals. Now look at me. Seems like whenever I lose people in battle, I get promoted,” he said, drinking again from his cup. “Feels like I’m sitting on a heap full of dead comrades.”
    “It’s painful. All of this is. But our friends died for us so we could fight again,” the admiral continued. “So I keep fighting.”
    Julian had looked up to the admiral. In some ways he was family. For five years he had served under him. In those early days, Julian had always been the unsure one, while Drayden maintained a steady hand, guiding him whenever it was needed. The admiral had taught him things he would never forget — how to fly and how to fight in the face of the galaxy’s most deadly enemy. They could be beaten, and Drayden had showed him how. Now he was asking him to fight again. 
    “I know it’s hard to stay sane, but fight the fear Julian. This war and the Endervars. They can destroy as many of our ships as they want. But we won’t let them take our spirits, you hear me?”
    Julian nodded his head in full agreement. But still, he wondered. “The pain, the guilt, does it ever go away?” he asked.
    “Never,” the admiral said. “You just learn to live with it.”
     

***
     
    He arrived at the hanger bay, seeing the field of shuttles preparing to take off. Soon they would launch and take Julian, along with the rest of the officers, to the carrier groups stationed in orbit.
    He had been reading over the crew assignments on a data tablet. His strike group, Gamma Team, was made up of just over fourteen people, barely enough to operate the ships that had been assigned. He himself would only command two other fighter pilots, both of whom had yet to graduate from the academy. 
    It was clear SpaceCore had invested little in this operation, fearing that if things went badly, they could afford the loss. The evacuation of Bydandia was far more vital, but if anything, maybe the assembled strike groups could delay and distract the approaching enemy.
    The Endervars would always have their own prerogatives, and humanity had done little to change that. Even so, Julian felt ready for the mission. He was eager.
    This was his chance. To fight the foe and deliver some payback. He had been away from the battlefield for four years, although in a sense, the war had never left him.
    Standing there by himself, he dropped the data tablet to his side, and crossed his arms. Julian needed to leave, and board his shuttle. But before his departure, Nalia had asked that he meet with him.
    The minutes had ticked by, and still he waited. Finally, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
    “Captain Nverson,” the man said. 
    It was Commander Ibarra, the deep baritone voice not at all like the one he had wanted to hear. Julian straightened his spine and immediately saluted his superior.
    The commander, dressed in a formal white uniform, pulled off the naval hat from his head. He was an older man, one who had retired to Lincoln-4, a small colony just a few light-years away from Haven.
    Like Julian, Ibarra was a veteran who had only recently been