The Nerdy Dozen (4 page)

NEIL PUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR MARKED
MESS HALL
AND looked around for Biggs. The recruits this morning seemed even smaller than they had the night before, huddled together at a single table in a room that could easily accommodate hundreds. Neil ran to the buffet line, where a haphazard breakfast had been set out. He quickly chose a plain bagel, ripped it in half, and slathered a generous amount of cream cheese on each piece. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and slid into the spot across from Biggs.

It was only after he'd inhaled half his bagel that he looked up to see Biggs's curious expression.

“Neil . . . ,” his bunkmate said slowly, “what happened to your hair?”

In his panic at possibly missing training, Neil had nearly forgotten all about his ill-fated haircut. He reached up nervously to the side of his head. Gulping, he grabbed a spoon to use as a makeshift mirror, but it only confirmed what he'd feared. His shaggy hair was now framed by two almost-bald patches, one of which was larger than the other, both slightly uneven.

“Nice hair,” Trevor said with a smirk from a few seats down.

“Nah, it's not so bad. You've got this kind of . . . European thing going on. I can dig it.” Biggs paused, then burst out laughing.

“'Tis a noble hair trimming indeed,” said the boy next to Neil. It was the sleeptalker from before.

“Neil, this is Riley. Riley, my main man Neil,” Biggs introduced.

“My lords,” Riley said in an old-fashioned, most certainly fake British accent. He nodded, as if to pay respects.

“Riley does those Renaissance Faire things,” Biggs explained. “Cool, huh?”

At that moment, Jones strode into the room, flanked by Wells and Lopez.

“A-
tten
-tion!” said Jones. His forehead was crinkled with age lines that arched toward his black-and-gray buzz cut. Neil could see the muscles on either side of the major's jaw bulging from gritted teeth.
That's got to be the thickest neck I've ever seen on a human
, he thought.

Everyone at Neil's table stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back in the process.

“Still needs some work,” Jones said. His voice was gravelly and deep, like Neil's father's was when he would fall asleep watching sports and then try to act like he hadn't. “You'll be forming two groups, one of five and one of six. When I call your name, line up behind me here,” Jones went on. “Second group, line up behind Lopez. My team will head to flight simulation. The rest of you will be joining Lopez and Wells for the physical component, the Decider. Then we'll switch.” His eyes caught Neil's newly styled hair, and he paused.

“Okay, then,” he said, and looked down at the paper in his hand.

“Samantha Elizabeth Gonzales.” Samantha moved to stand behind Jones.

“Jason . . . ,” Jones continued, as two boys started forward. “Oh, looks like we've got two. Both of you, then.” Jones marked a check on the clipboard in his hands and continued with their names, but Neil's thoughts ran elsewhere.

Oh no
, Neil panicked
. Not middle names.

“Robert St . . .” Jones paused.

“Starlight. My parents had me on the solstice,” Biggs said, grinning.

“Robert
Starlight
Hurbigg. Trevor Phillip Grunsten.”

Please, please don't say my middle name.

“And finally, Neil Ashley Andertol.”

“Yeah, that's me,” Neil murmured as he studied the major's shoes. A small laugh rippled through a few in the group, but Trevor's was by far the loudest.

“It's a family name,” Neil defended in a whisper. It was true—it had been passed down through generations from a grandfather with at least five
great
s. But why couldn't his mom have waited until Janey to use that particular name?

“Yeah, passed from your grandmother to all her daughters,” Trevor muttered.

“Listen up, everybody,” Jones cut in. “Before we head into training, I want to tell you the same thing I was told on my first day of combat drills.” He cleared his throat and clasped his rough hands. “You're getting ready to climb a mountain, and it's not an easy one. It will be tough. You will be lonely. You will be exhausted. But you are representing your country, and if you want to be the best, you have to remember to keep climbing. And if you run into problems—well, don't come to me. I'm not in the business of babysitting. Now, let's move out!”

 

Neil and the five others in his group paused with Jones in front of a white door marked
SIMULATION CHAMBER
.

“Recruits,” Jones began, “welcome to the first part of training. You'll find that this flight sim is quite similar to the game you've all been playing, just a little more . . . realistic.” His eyes gleamed with excitement. “While the game you've been playing is more of a stripped-down version we'd planned to send to other bases, these babies have all the bells and whistles.”

Neil imagined that “bells and whistles,” in this case, most likely meant things ready and willing to give you whiplash. Inside the room, six massive boxes lowered to the ground with an eruption of hydraulic lifts and mechanical grinding. The doors slid open in unison, slowly displaying faintly illuminated cockpit seats. High-definition panels were visible in every direction, forming a glowing cocoon for the pilot.

In front of them loomed a jumbo high-definition screen, showing the video feed from the game's map and the individual flight simulators.

“Now, we'll be basing everything on time and score. There will be three separate rounds, twenty-five computer-generated enemy bogeys, and the six of you. The first two rounds will be cooperative, sort of like a capture-the-flag situation.” Jones clicked a button on a small controller cradled in his fingers. “We call it man on fire.”

“Ahem, person on fire, please,” Biggs said, nodding in Sam's direction.

“Right. Person on fire. Basically, one teammate will have the ‘flag,' which on your screen will look like the jet is engulfed in flames. Your job is to protect the jet, or make sure you're not taken down if you're the one on fire,” Jones explained.

Everyone watched a simulated round on the screen, with one fighter in flames as teammates flew in formation to protect it.

“Second round puts you on the offensive. An AI bogey is your man on fire, and you've got to take 'em out. Since there are more of them than you, things should get interesting quick,” Jones said. He clicked his control once more.

“Final round is every ma—sorry, every
person
for themselves against the computers. No time limit, most bogeys eliminated wins. And none of these ‘extra lives' or whatever it is you kids have in these games. This is the real deal: when you're down, you're down. And when things start to go wrong, these simulators will make sure you know it. Any questions?” No one responded. “I said, any questions?”

“Sir, no, sir!” the group shouted back.

“That's more like it. Next time, don't make me ask twice. All right, double-time to the chambers.”

“Ladies first, Ashley,” Trevor said, pushing Neil to take the first simulation chamber.

Neil felt his ears flush. He'd spent years making sure no one knew his middle name, and it was the Air Force, somehow, that ended up giving it away.

“We'll see who's a lady when the scores are read,” Neil said as he ducked inside the chamber.

“Hey, I can kick both your butts,” Sam retorted, and pushed past Trevor, giving Neil a cold stare, too.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Neil mumbled.

Neil took a deep breath and fastened himself into the sturdy leather chair. The door closed, and air filled the hydraulic lifts beneath the machine as it rose off the ground. He secured his headset, which was much bigger and offered more padding than the flimsy one he was used to.

“We've entered first names into the system for scoring,” Jones said. “Since we've got two Jasons, I'm calling you Jason One and Jason Two.”

“I'm One!” said Jason 1 over his headset. “Sorry. I get a little competitive sometimes.” Jason 2 made no effort at radio communication.

The array of levers, buttons, and instruments in front of Neil was overwhelming, but they seemed familiar. He quickly ran his hands over the control panel, testing various parts and getting to know the layout. It was just like the game, but better.

The control stick for the plane looked like a hybrid of a standard joystick and the video-game controller on Neil's gaming console. It required two hands, had a groove for every finger, and offered two triggers and two swiveling analog control pads. Neil understood why normal pilots might have a weird time adjusting to it, but it felt natural to him.

“On three, cadets,” Jones's voice blared through Neil's headset. “One, two—”

On the major's “three,” Neil excitedly pushed
START
, and his plane took off into the sky. He could feel his simulator's hydraulics working beneath him. On-screen, Trevor's plane was lit up as the man on fire, and Neil immediately shot to the left, to cover Trevor's blind spot as they raced forward. The first round passed in a blur. Biggs and Sam were eliminated early, both of them sacrificing their own planes to protect Trevor. The Jasons lasted longer, but soon they, too, had fallen in the enemy crossfire. Now it was just Trevor and Neil, dodging fire as they raced across the artificial landscape toward the goal line.

“Yes!” Neil exclaimed as he shot off another bogey just as they crossed the finish. He yanked off his headset and leaned back with a sigh of relief. He'd definitely won that round. Trevor would never have survived without him.

“Round one to Grunsten,” Jones's voice came over the speakers.

What?
Neil thought angrily. How was that fair? He wanted to argue, but the next round was about to begin.

The second round was much harder than the first. The computer-generated enemies seemed more advanced. Every time Neil dodged, they were right there in front of him, as if they'd known what he was going to do before he even knew. Neil wasn't the only one to notice.

“They're figuring us out,” Trevor's voice sounded in everyone's headset. “Okay. I'm gonna just go wild.”

“What?” Neil demanded. “What do you mean?” But Trevor didn't answer.

Trevor began to fly dangerously and erratically, like he was closing his eyes and just turning the joystick around blindly. He created virtual havoc among the enemies, and for a split second Neil paused, admiring Trevor's plan in spite of himself. It was actually a good idea.

And then Neil saw, in the center of Trevor's storm of chaos, a direct shot at the enemy man on fire. It was only there for a split second, but that was all Neil needed. His instincts lightning-fast, he fired at the enemy—a perfect shot directly into the bogey's center. The round ended.

“Round two to Andertol,” Jones announced. Neil smiled. He let his muscles relax for a brief second, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his arms.

“Nice job, Neil!” Samantha's voice resounded through Neil's headset.

“Okay, now final round, recruits,” Jones said. Neil was tired—winded from the last round and his neck sore from the thrashing of the simulator—but he leaned forward in furious concentration, letting his mind block out everything except the game. He needed to win this.

As the level began, Neil noticed right away that this round had also been created with a significantly higher level of difficulty. The computer-generated enemies were faster than before, and there were many more of them.

“Let's stick together, Neil,” Samantha suggested.

“Sure—I'll swing through that mountain range and flush them your way.” Neil was so absorbed in the game that he didn't even realize he had just spoken to a girl.

Neil and Samantha worked well together, moving like a team and picking off fighters with practiced efficiency. When they had only a few enemies left, Neil spun away to take out Trevor—only to shoot down Biggs accidentally.

“Oh, sorry, man,” Neil said, feeling terrible.

“
Namaste
, brother.”

“
Gesundheit
,” Neil replied.

Just as Neil circled back toward Samantha, a rocket hit her square in the nose, sending her fighter down in flames. It was only Neil and Trevor left now. Neil clamped down on the controls and made a hard left, hoping to get a lock on his final target.

“ManofAshley, thought you should know you have lost to B4rrelR0ll. Oh, and you should really be more careful of your blind spots,” said Trevor, who appeared from high above Neil on the right and then barreled down rapidly. Two rockets hit Neil at once, and his screen faded to black.

The simulator doors opened with a hiss, and the six pilots crawled out. Neil stumbled forward, still in shock from the abrupt end to the game. He should have seen that coming. And he should have guessed that Trevor was none other than B4rrelR0ll.