Free Valkyrie Rising (Warrior's Wings Book Two) by Evan Currie Page B

stared at the results for a few minutes, then keyed open the squadron data-link and forwarded the results to the public folders with a high priority request for confirmation.
    *****
     
    USF Cheyenne
     
    “Captain Mackay submitted navigation data to the ship’s cloud for confirmation,” Denise Milan said as she stepped carefully across the flag deck of the Cheyenne.
    They were under two gravity acceleration, heading for the Beta Jump Point as quickly as they could without undue stress on the systems and crew, which made movement a pain, but it was still possible to do the needed preparation work to get ready for the jump when they arrived.
    “Have you looked it over?” Nadine asked seriously. While she might not know much about navigation, at least not at the level of intricacies involved in this case, she knew that Denise did.
    “I have. It looks good,” Denise said as she collapsed painfully into her bolster. “Computer agrees, says it should work.”
    Nadine grimaced. “I want to hear ‘will work,’ Denise, not ‘should’.”
    “No one has ever jumped this far before, Admiral.” Denise shook her head. “It’s a risk. The math says it’s good, and I don’t see any variables missing from the plot.”
    Nadine nodded. “All right. Shoot it to the squadron, command channels this time. Let the captains see it officially, if any haven’t already peeked.”
    Denise snorted softly. She’d checked the access logs. Everyone had looked, not just squadron captains. “Yes, ma’am.”
    “If no one has any substantive objections, we’ll follow MacKay’s nav calcs,” Nadine said simply. “Inform the resupply and refueling ships to continue on to Atlantis by conventional routing. As I understand it, they don’t have the power to make this jump?”
    “That’s correct, Admiral. Our logistics ships are based on older hulls,” Denise answered. “They can keep up with us in normal space because of the limits of acceleration force, but they don’t have the reactor power for a jump like this.”
    “Ok, well, make sure everyone is topped off before we part ways,” she ordered. “We’ll rendezvous with them in the Atlantis System.”
    “Aye, ma’am.”
    *****
     
    SF Shoot House
    Fort Bragg, Carolina
     
    The rifle slammed back into her shoulder as Sorilla stroked the trigger, unloading a trio of rounds into the target at point blank range. It went back, hitting the ground with a solid clang, but she was already moving on. The Special Force Shoot House was one of the most fun places on Earth for her; it was the greatest game every conceived.
    Constantly changing, with targets that could fire back, the Shoot House absolutely destroyed every other training sim she’d ever dealt with. Normal Army used video sims, three dimensional projections, dummy guns, the works. They were decent for what they did, introducing the shooter to the madness of combat, but they didn’t have a patch on the Shoot House.
    She cleared the room, moving on to the next, and was startled when the door slammed shut on her just as she stepped through. She half turned back on it then corrected to bring her rifle to bear on the open door across the room as it, too, began to slide downward. A hiss caught her attention, leading Sorilla to glance up to the vents in the walls.
    Her implants were on full combat processing, the computer feeding intel to her according to its programing. Part of the training was to teach her implants to respond better to her personal habits and to display information she was likely to consider relevant. With the valve wide open, anyone would be overwhelmed by information overload, leading to indecision, hesitation, and likely death for an operator.
    Those limits on the data feed didn’t even think to stop her implants from displaying the results of the hyper-spectral scan they automatically took of the air coming in from the vents.
    VX? Shit! Sorilla blanched white as paste, her body moving on automatic even as