This was already Zhao Chen's tenth sortie.
As he took off his helmet, he deliberately wet his palm with drinking water and wiped it over his face and forehead.
So that Zhao Chen looked very weary, his head all over sweat.
By the Star Alliance's flight standard for fighter pilots,
unless wounded, ten sorties in one battle counted as the standard.
Beyond ten was generally pushing past the body's limits.
"You've met the ten-sortie standard. Do you need to rest?" The ground crewman stood on the ladder and looked at Zhao Chen's 'sweat-stained' face, admiration in her eyes.
Ten might be the standard.
But in truth most fighter pilots, in real combat,
could not reach ten sorties.
On average it came to about eight.
Pilots who could truly manage ten, like Zhao Chen, were rare enough.
"I may need to rest a while." Zhao Chen looked worn out.
He could not appear too outstanding.
"Very well. Please come down." The ground crewman asked nothing further, and ran no physical check on Zhao Chen.
If a pilot who had not met the sortie standard asked to rest, a physical check was required,
to make sure the pilot truly was unfit to fly again,
and not shirking the fight.
Zhao Chen climbed out of the cockpit.
Then came down the ladder to the deck.
His legs trembled, as though he were about to fall.
The ground crewman beside him caught him at once.
"Do you need a wheelchair?" the ground crewman asked with concern.
Zhao Chen shook his head and declined the kindness.
"I only need a moment to steady myself." Zhao Chen moved to a spot where he would not be in anyone's way, and stood.
He looked around.
He could see pilots from other fighters who had chosen to rest, and their condition was plainly poor.
Some were gasping; some were being sick outright.
One had not even got his helmet off before being sick inside it.
Some had collapsed entirely and were helped down and taken straight to the medical bay.
Those who could walk out on their own feet, as Zhao Chen had, were very few.
Which was why the fighter pilot's post carried no few benefits.
They had earned them.
Just then someone clapped him on the back.
"How do you feel?"
Zhao Chen first paused, then stumbled a few steps forward despite himself, as though he could not keep his feet.
"Sorry, sorry. Force of habit." Lieutenant Zhang caught hold of Zhao Chen, looking apologetic.
Zhao Chen gave Lieutenant Zhang a 'wry' smile. "Your constitution is very good, Lieutenant."
"Heh-heh-heh, a few more sorties and you'll be the same. You did well too. Ten sorties on your first real combat in an interstellar fighter." Lieutenant Zhang looked at Zhao Chen with approval.
Lieutenant Zhang's face was somewhat pale too, but his voice was still deep and strong; his physical quality was plainly excellent.
"Come, let's get back to the ready room." Lieutenant Zhang made to help Zhao Chen along.
Zhao Chen declined. "I can still walk by myself for now."
"Ha-ha-ha, very well."
The two walked to the ready room.
Things in the ready room were not much better.
Several people lay outright on the couches, asleep or resting, one could not tell.
Several were already on nutrient drips.
There were few pilots sitting there in good condition.
"We're an elite squadron; everyone picked for it is the sort who'll fight to the last. In another flight squadron. They'd likely choose to rest after seven sorties. And they wouldn't fight as hard as we do either." As Lieutenant Zhang spoke, his eyes went to the squadron's combat data module beside them.
There the squadron's figures could be seen.
Most striking, first of all, were the names gone gray.
A third of them had turned gray.
And over a dozen more names bore a red cross.
Which meant those pilots were now being treated in the medical bay, likely wounded in the fighting.
As Lieutenant Zhang looked at the roster, his face grew solemn; he laid his hand over his chest, as though performing some rite.
Zhao Chen too looked solemnly at those names, all strange to him.
"Our death rate as fighter pilots is very high. There's a saying. That our average lifespan is thirty combat sorties." As he gave the figure, Lieutenant Zhang wore a slight smile.
But there seemed something bitter in it.
"But we're promoted fastest too. Once this campaign is over. I expect you'll make officer, a warrant officer at the least. And then I can put in to have you made a deputy squadron leader." Lieutenant Zhang clapped Zhao Chen's shoulder.
"That would be splendid," Zhao Chen said with a smile.
For an ordinary interstellar soldier, going from master sergeant to warrant officer took at least one or two campaigns, and one to three years besides.
But for a fighter pilot, so long as you lived.
One campaign was enough.
"Well, I'll be. Our squadron is first in our whole Third Flight Group!" Lieutenant Zhang looked at a ranking board beside them.
On it were recorded the total enemy kills of each squadron.
The Second Squadron, which Lieutenant Zhang led, had over five hundred kills in all,
far above the First Squadron on the same board.
"Ha-ha-ha, you lads have done me proud. Once the campaign's over I'll go and ask the group leader for a reward. I'll see to it we all go and enjoy ourselves properly at a star port. Ha-ha-ha." Lieutenant Zhang was beside himself.
"Lieutenant, I don't think one round will do it. Look closely. Our Third Group's Second Squadron isn't only first within our own group. We're first among all ten groups on our mother ship!" A pilot sprawled limply on a couch beside them spoke up.
Lieutenant Zhang looked over at once, and his eyes went wide.
Sure enough!
They truly were first on that board as well.
Second was the First Flight Group's first elite squadron.
"Damn! I could take off on the spot!" Lieutenant Zhang put his hands on his hips, so excited he could have flown out and charged a few more rounds.
"Our figures this time really are very high. I wonder where our squadron will rank in the whole campaign. Our group will have us to thank, too, for a place on this campaign's flight rankings!" said another pilot on a nutrient drip, smiling.
"Rewards! Great rewards! This time I'll go and ask rewards for you all. Every one of you promoted a grade at least!" Lieutenant Zhang seemed already to see the glorious scene of his own promotion from second lieutenant to first.
Zhao Chen said nothing, only went on looking at the gray part of that roster.