Dawn Patrol (Imperium Galactic Book 10)

Dawn Patrol By Timothy Ellis Imperium Galactic, Book Ten. Copyright © 2023 by Timothy Ellis This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events are fictional and have no relationship to any real person, place or event. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental. The author is Australian and the main characters in this universe are of Australian origin. In Australia, we colour things slightly differently, so you may notice some of the spelling is different. Please don't be alarmed. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contents One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six Twenty Seven Twenty Eight Twenty Nine Thirty Thirty One Thirty Two Thirty Three Thirty Four Thirty Five Thirty Six Thirty Seven Thirty Eight Thirty Nine Forty Forty One Forty Two Forty Three Acknowledgements A Message to my Readers Also by Timothy Ellis Read the universe in this order The Hunter Imperium Timeline One “Trainee Lod.” “Sir.” “You are now Pilot Lod. You report to your squadron right now. Pack your duffle, and move it. My batman will tell you the details.” “Thank you, Teach.” I’d moved it, trying to hide my astonishment and glee. Getting a squadron posting before you formally finished pilot training meant several things. You were good. And I was. First in my class to get promoted and posted in fact. It also meant someone had died. More likely quite a few had died. Because squadron attrition meant they had reserve pilots on hand. The fact they were promoting a trainee like me meant that enough pilots had died today that someone was short a reserve. I would be one of the new reserves. Even last reserve was better than trainee. What I didn’t know, and I found out as soon as I reported to the squadron office several hours later, was they had no reserves at all. Half the squadron had been wiped out that morning. The reserves were already allocated. They still needed one more. Me. I was now officially pilot fifteen, in Twenty Five Squadron, Tenth Wing. The mood in the squadron ready room was grim. The kill board showed what had happened this morning, with solid lines through the deceased, and dashed lines through the wounded. The number of kills on each told its own story. This was an elite squadron. Had been an elite squadron. But their number had come up. Now there were names added, all with zero kills. Mine was on the bottom. The Squadron Lead had welcomed me, but his words were automatic. No-one else welcomed me into the ready room. Faces turned to look at me, then turned back to their drinks. I’d cast my eyes around, looked the kill board over, and then gone looking for where I’d sleep. My bed had everything I needed on it. Flight suit, leather jacket, sidearm, helmet, and everything else I needed to fly a modern fighter. And a parachute. I’d trained to use one, but statistically, very few were able to use them when the time came. The second bed was unoccupied. Whoever had been sleeping here, had either moved, or died. And I wasn’t going to ask which. I stowed my basics, organized my flight gear, and went on a tour of the base. All of it was underground. It had to be. Everything of any real value was these days. Even the tarmac of the airstrip was underground, with the outside doors almost hidden from direct observation from above. In the maintenance area, I’d found my plane. It was patched in a lot of places, with several new ones where the pilot sat. My guess was the pilot had managed to get back, but either died shortly after, or wasn’t coming back anyway. It was best not to dwell on such things. The ground crew watched me as I walked up, and said nothing as I did a walk around, then sat in the cockpit. It wasn’t exactly the same as the simulators I’d mainly been flying, or the trainers I had flown. But it was close enough. My hands went over everything in the sequence of startup, without starting it. I checked the stick, speed slider, and pedals for how they moved. Every plane was subtly different. This one was mine now. The long days and nights of study and training had paid off. I’d made it to where I’d always wanted to be. In the cockpit of a fighter. All I had to do now, was not die on my first flight. And statistically, my odds of survival were not great. And if anything, the fact that half the experienced pilots of this squadron had bought it that morning, meant my odds had worsened. The food that night had been significantly better than that served at flight school. But it had been eaten in silence. I did my best not to be unnerved by that. The news came after, and I learnt what had happened that morning. The war was what normal was. The nations were where they were. The armies attacked and defended, by land or sea, and the fleets dueled and retreated. But in the air, bombers attacked, fighters defended. When the bombers got through, underground cities got pounded. But when they did, it meant fighter pilots had died first. The tides of war waxed and waned, and this morning had been worse for us than normal. But the war went on. The reserves were called up. Trainees became reserves. And something different happened the next day. I’d gone to bed that night convinced I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I had. The batman had