Hard Road to Takeoff

A new story inspired by an obscure album cover. Against All Odds was a 1983 album by British metal band Quartz. I like their song "Hard Road" from that album, and the song, as well as the album cover, inspired this tale. Enjoy!

Art by Garry Underhill

Hard Road to Takeoff

The normally bright white halls of the space carrier were painted with a layer of crimson light emanating from long rectangular lights. The light was accompanied by the screams of an alert klaxon. A young dark-haired man raced down the halls. He wore what appeared to be a silver flight suit with armored white pieces. On the breastplate was his surname on a black rectangle with golden letters, and a rank insignia with a United Earth flag was on the pauldrons.

James Dennison ran like a man possessed. He had to get to his jet quickly. He noticed another figure running up to him. Like Dennison, this man wore an armored silver flight suit, but his appearance indicated he was not an Earthman. After all, not many Earthmen had purple skin, and a small blue Mohawk.

“Dennison!” Argton “Arg” Tyrox greeted with a grin, showing his sharp front teeth.

“Arg.” Dennison answered, a small smile on his face. “I take it you heard the alert?”

“Indeed I have.” Arg answered. “Those damned Ragnorix!”

Dennison nodded as Arg continued to rant. The Ragnorix had caused a lot of problems for Arg's people. The Yrdisians had lost a lot thanks to them.

“...and now they're heading here. They think they can take this craft and head to the Sol System?! Well, as the Earth phrase goes: Not on this watch!”

“Close enough.” Dennison shrugged. The two ran into a large hangar. Dennison's green eyes widened as he took in the large launching area. Arg smirked, and patted Dennison's shoulder.

“Good hunting, my friend.” The Yrdisian said. “May the spirits watch over you.”

“You too, man.” The two clamped hands, then Arg raced to his craft. Dennison watched him head towards it. He found himself reminiscing. Dennison had dreamed of touching the stars his entire life. Growing up in Binghamton, upstate New York, he had spent many a night looking out at the starry skies with his telescope. His parents, brothers, and sisters saw him as a dreamer. But the dream would not leave him. He wanted to fly.

Sadly, Binghamton didn't provide a lot of opportunities for someone who dreamed of flying. Growing up in a family with little didn't help out much, either. But Dennison was willing to work hard. And he did. He got high grades at school, and he was shown to be a spectacular athlete, lettering in track and field. It allowed him a scholarship into Binghamton University.

Dennison walked towards his craft, a sleek silver jet-like swept-wing craft. He placed a hand on it, and then passed it over the metal skin of the jet. He found himself thinking back again. After he graduated college, he joined the Earth Aerospace Navy. It was his time in the Academy in Florida that he had first met Arg. The two of them had become fast friends, despite their differences.

“Oh dear, the Dreamer is living up to his name again.” A woman's French-accented voice teased warmly. James turned his head and saw a stunning woman smiling at him. Her hair was in a short bob that reached to her shoulders, and she had golden eyes, contacts. Her skin was dusky in complexion.

“Oh, sorry.” Dennison apologized.

“What's gotten you into this flight of fancy, mon ami?” Juliette “Bulldog” Foucault inquired, cocking her head slightly.

“Just thinking how I got here.” James answered, looking at his craft. “I've wanted to fly among the stars since I was a boy. And now I am. Sure, it's in combat, but still.”

“And I sincerely hope you are able to stay in reality for this.” Another man said. Juliette and James turned around and saw another man walking up to them. This man was Japanese, his hair cut short, and dark eyes severe. Dennison smiled at the commander of Gold Squadron: Shiro “Kage” Shimamura.

“He may be a dreamer, Kage, but he's a reliable one.” Bulldog smirked and playfully jabbed Dennison in the side with her elbow. “After all, this handsome gentleman was my knight in shining armor during that incident three weeks ago.” Dennison blushed at that. Kage nodded.

“Indeed.” Kage put on his helmet. His helmet was white with swirls of black on the side, and the kanji of his callsign on the front in black lined with gold. The design made sense, considering said callsign meant “shadow” in Japanese. “Get in your craft, Dennison.” He ordered, then did so himself.

“You know, I don't think he likes me very much.” Dennison chuckled. Bulldog smiled.

“He does, mon ami.” The Frenchwoman assured. “He just wants you to come back alive. As I do.” She winked at him. The pilot put her own helmet. Like Kage's helmet, it was white. However, hers had a design of a snarling brown bulldog's head, and her callsign on it in brown blocky letters. “Good hunting!” She gave him a thumbs up and went to her craft.

“You too!” Dennison gave her a thumbs up, and then looked up at his craft. He boarded it and found his own helmet sitting in the brown leather seat. He picked it up and smiled at the protective headgear. His had a pair of large white thought bubbles from old comic books on the sides, and the front was his callsign in silver lettering: “Dreamer”. He put the helmet on as he took his seat, and the jet's canopy came down. He buckled up and powered on his space plane, his thoughts also going back to his time in the Academy. He was a good student, but prone to stumbling into various misadventures.

Dennison could have sworn he felt the engines firing up. It really shouldn't have been possible, thanks to the craft's inertial dampener systems, but it was something he couldn't help but feel. All pilots of these craft felt the same thing. Bulldog thought it was a psychosomatic thing.

He placed a small silver music player on his dashboard, and turned it on. He swiped on the touchscreen until he found a playlist. It started playing its first song, an ancient heavy metal song.

Thanks for getting me into this stuff, Uncle John... Dennison thought, a smile on his face.

“Prepare for launch.” He heard the launch commander order.

This is it. My first space battle. Dennison thought. All the study, time in the simulator, the induction into Gold Squadron...all led to this. It was a long road, filled with adventure, but he was here. The newest member of the elite group of spaceplane pilots, fighting to save their world from invaders. He took a breath. He listened to the music playing softly.

“It's a hard road...” The singer belted out.

Indeed. But it was all worth it. Dennison watched the other planes launch. He took a breath. That's right. Take a breath. He assured himself. After all, his nerves were understandable. This was not a simulation. This was real. He could end up dead. Dennison accepted that. After all, if he was going to go out, better to do it saving the universe.

“Dreamer, launch!” The commander ordered. Dennison pushed the throttle. The engines roared. He felt the force of the spaceplane push him into his seat as it roared its way out of the hangar into the ebony depths of space, like a bullet being fired from a gun. He resisted the urge to whoop like a cowboy from those ancient Westerns one of his squadmates loved. It wasn't the one called “Cowboy”.

“Gold Squadron, report in.” Dreamer heard Kage order over the subspace radio system. He listened to the other members of the squadron report in, the last being the almost musical tones of Bulldog.

Well, she didn't get that callsign from her voice. Dennison mentally chuckled. He activated his own subspace radio. “Dreamer, reporting in.”

“Enter into Alpha formation.” He heard Kage order. “And then engage the enemy. For Earth.”

“For Earth! Let's rock and roll!” Dreamer answered. The ship cut its way through space like a hot knife through butter, ready for battle.