“Beta, return to the hanger and rearm,” he ordered.  His pilots needed a nap, a shower and some food, perhaps not in that order, but they weren't going to get it.  Ark Royal had won a breathing space, yet he knew better than to think it would last long enough for anything other than a quick reloading session.  “Alpha; hold position and wait.”

The fighting seemed to die down as the aliens continued their withdrawal, clearly taking the time necessary to work out what had happened to their frigate and devise countermeasures.  Kurt busied himself by supervising the reloading process, then devising a potential attack pattern of his own.  If nukes could strip an enemy craft of its point defence – and it looked like they could – he could use a nuke to clear the way for the bombers.  But it would only work, he realised numbly, if the aliens were actually charging up their weapons when the nuke detonated.  Or were their weapons always charged?  The records suggested, very strongly, that the aliens could discharge plasma bursts from all over their hull.

He felt his entire body aching as he returned his fighter to the hanger, then waited impatiently as the ground crew hastily reloaded his guns.  They’d drilled, time and time again, until it took no longer than five minutes to reload and prepare for a second launch, but it was always different when they were under fire.  At least the aliens still seemed to be keeping their distance, although both of their formations were starting to merge into one.  It didn't look as though they had a third force in position to cut the humans off ...

“I'm getting too old for this shit,” he muttered.  “I should have volunteered for the home defence squadrons.”

“And then you would never have your pretty uniform mussed,” Rose said, sardonically.  “And all the pretty girls would know you for a coward.”

Kurt cursed – he was too tired to remember that everything he said was broadcast to the rest of the squadron – as the other pilots added their comments.  Most of them seemed to agree that being assigned to a home defence squadron was the same as being sentenced to a very slow death, even though it was quite likely that the home defence squadrons would last longer.  But then, there had always been a tendency to undervalue such squadrons.  They might not have been assigned to carriers, but that didn't make them cowards.  Hell, Kurt honestly had never met a pilot who hadn't applied to serve on a carrier.  It was always more exciting than being assigned to a home defence squadron.

“You ask me, sir,” another pilot put in, “it's the same in starfighters as it is in fucking.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Really?”

“Of course, sir,” the pilot said.  “You get into your bird and take her to heaven, twice a day.”