An Agent's Inbox #27

Dear Agent,

For as long as anyone could remember, the kennels of the sky planet Rem have always supplied the great military fleets with pilots bred to be sharp enough, fast enough, and psychic enough to fly the two-man fighters needed to defend their world against the forces of the rogue planet Rom.

A Dog of War at the top of his line, Oz was ready for the latest wave of a thousand year war, when a crippling injury ruined his chances of a brilliant flying career.

Now serving as a medical officer on a rest station, a second chance comes to Oz in the form of Akita: the sixteen year old veteran of Rem's most decorated fleet; a top-bred pilot haunted by the death of his previous partner. Volatile and damaged, Akita has refused three previous replacements, but Oz is determined to fly again.

As Rom draws closer, the Dogs of War are expected to fly, but there is more to Akita than just shell-shock, and more to the kennels than Oz has ever been told. The next invasion may come sooner than anyone expects.

CRY HAVOC is a 100,000 word young adult science fiction novel inspired by an interest in WWII ace pilots and a love of the common dog. I've enclosed the first 250 words of the manuscript. Additional materials are available upon request. I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks again,
A.S.


CRY HAVOC

The launch ship tore through the upper cloud level and downwards, a silver line against the swirling purples and reds of Rem’s greatest storm. Ahead of them, the enemy was just a dot against the next layer of clouds, some thousand feet down. Through the slim strip of his windshield, Akita could catch only the barest glimpse of their exhaust plumes, but he knew he could catch them. He adjusted the thrust with one flick of the burn switch. Beneath him, the launch came alive from out of its sleeping dive. The vents roared. The burners rumbled. The cockpit jolted and jounced like it was ready to come apart, but like any Dog of War worth his contract price, he knew his ship. Noreaster fell like a comet from the sky. The enemy plunged into the next strip of cloud and Akita plunged with them. The world through the plexi became nothing but a red and purple mist.

“Shiba, what have we got?”

“They’re four lengths ahead of us,” said his Shepherd, priming the charge cannons with a flex of her hands. She sat in the rear Shepherd’s seat. In the mirror set up beside his console, Akita could see the sharp, distant look in her eyes and the gleam of her psychic dampeners as she gazed out past the walls of the cockpit and into the skies beyond. It was said that a well-bred Shepherd at their peak could see a stretch of sky ten miles out from their starting point. Shiba was a fourth season vet, like Akita, and very close to it. “Three and a half lengths. Akita, we’re not maxed. Put on some thrust. We can take them.”