$BChapter $B4 $B– $BRIP$B, $BSOBs


$BFlight $BDeck$B, $BTCS $BWellington

$BDeep $BSpace$B, $BOberan $BSystem

$B1136 $Bhours $B(CST)$B, $B2669.167


"We are gathered here today to say goodbye to two pilots whose lives were cut all too short," Lt. Colonel Mitchell began from behind the podium.

"For Captain Morgan "Bones" Burton, a survivor of the Battle of Terra and 2nd Lt. Thad "Champ" Cooper, a recent OCS graduate, this war has finally found an end."

As the Wing Commander continued to drone on with a generic eulogy about two pilots he had barely known, David took in the assembled pilots around him. Most of the old ship's pilots stood with him in formation at the far end of the flight deck in front of the two coffins. A few naval officers were also sprinkled throughout the gathering, most notably the Wellington's Captain. The skipper, who David thought was too old to hold the rank of Captain, stood next to Mitchell, his head held low, wringing his hands repeatedly. 

"Must be wondering how to tell a Confederation Senator that their son was lost under your care without flushing his career down the toilet," David angrily thought to himself as the service continued.

"Our friends are not the only Confederation pilots who have died in the line of duty," Mitchell said. "Death is a fear each of us must face everyday aboard this ship."

David looked up and down the ranks of assembled officers. He noticed the wide range of emotional expressions each of his fellow OCS graduates wore. The sentiments seemed to run the spectrum from anger to sorrow at their first personal look at death. Clenched jaws and fists were common, every young pilot trying their best to guard their true feelings. As he continued studying the audience, David noticed the older pilots didn't share the emotional involvement David and his colleagues had invested in the ceremony. 

Most of the veterans just stared straight ahead while others actually seemed bored to be in attendance. David felt the anger inside burn a little hotter. How could these people be so callous, so detached from the death of two human beings? He personally hated Champ, as did most of his OCS class, but the guy didn't deserve to die. David had not ever met Captain Burton, but he was an officer in the Confederation Space Forces, someone who had been willing to sacrifice his life to keep the Kilrathi at bay for one more day. These men's deaths should not be overlooked and their funeral ceremony reduced to a formality. David heatedly turned his attention back to Mitchell, who was still reading the eulogy like he was reciting a daily training schedule.

"But we cannot forget why we are here, and what we are fighting for," the Wing Commander continued to deliver the tired words. "Many pilots have given their lives for our cause, and we will continue the fight in their memory."

He placed the data pad he had been reading from onto the lectern. 
"Attention!" the Wellington Captain's command resounded throughout the mostly empty flight deck. The assembled pilots and naval personnel obeyed the order as the honor guard stepped forward and presented their laser rifles. Mitchell pressed a button on the podium. The coffins rose up from the deck and began to move toward the atmospheric force field at the end of the hangar. As the coffins passed the three-member honor guard, they raised their rifles to their shoulders and fired through the force field and into the vacuum of space. David noticed a few of his fellow graduates jump at the echoing retort of the laser rifles. The assembly followed the coffins as they disappeared in the distance, a beautiful sprawling nebula the backdrop for the deeply depressing scene. 

"Flight operations will commence in one hour," the Wellington's Captain announced. "Dismissed!"

The gathering of pilots and ship's personnel began to disperse and prepare for the upcoming fighter ops. David turned to follow them, thinking maybe a few hours of combat drills would be a nice outlet for his anger. As he passed a few barrels near the stairs to Flight Control, a lone figure silhouetted against the nebula outside the force field caught his eye. He watched as the figure stopped just short of the atmospheric shielding and gazed out into space.

Curiosity getting the better of him, David turned to follow the figure. He walked across the flight deck toward the person, but it wasn't until he saw the shoulder length black hair that he recognized the woman staring out into the void.

David placed a hand on Panzer's shoulder. 

"You okay, Angela?" David asked his friend.

She partially turned towards David for a moment, but quickly resumed her gaze into the nebula. In that instant, David had noticed the redness and swelling around Panzer's eyes. 

"I'm fine, David," she began, her voice weak, "Just wishing I'd handled some things better, that's all."

David had only seen this side of the female pilot a few times in the years he had known her, but he knew that it was best not to push the subject. If Angela wanted to talk about it, she would choose so without any goading. They both stared out in space for a long moment.

"You know I don't think I ever said one nice thing to Champ," she finally continued.

In spite of himself, David had to chuckle at the comment.
"You know, Angela, he didn't give any of us too much of a chance to say anything nice to him," David offered.

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped Angela's small frame.

"No," she meekly agreed, "he didn't, did he?"

The two pilots continued to look out into the nebula, both unsure of what to say.

"You remember the time he programmed your friend's vid-comm to broadcast her conversations with her fiance to every monitor in his dorm?" David finally asked with a laugh.

She giggled out loud at the memory.

"Oh, yeah," Panzer replied, "she was mortified. She was known as 'Honeybear' Almquist for the rest of the term! Actually, she chose it as her callsign when she graduated with us." David snickered. "And she married him too, I think her last name is Hasselbeck now."

"We got him back, though," he said. "That Alcorian dye you gave me to put in his shampoo didn't come out of his hair for two months. He apparently had to go to a Confederation function with his dad with bright green hair."

Angela laughed again, her attention still on the nebula. 

"God, he was such a bastard," she said, a somber tone returning to her voice. A beat passed before she finished her thought.

"He didn't deserve to die, though," she concluded softly.

David moved closer to his friend and put his arms around her shoulders. She grasped his forearm as he held her.

"No, no he didn't," David replied. "No one does. Not one person in the thirty-five years of this damn war has deserved to die."

The female pilot sighed, her shoulders drooping. "One of my instructors cornered me in the mess yesterday evening and actually asked if it 'felt good to get my wish'," she finally responded after a few moments.

David felt the anger from before returning. It had slowly slipped away while he was comforting his friend, but the nonchalance of the veterans at the death of both one of their own and his annoying colleague was again beginning to grate on him.

"I actually didn't truly want Champ to die," she began, "but everyone who met the jackass had at least imagined one way to kill the guy."

"I didn't really want it to . . . I mean, nobody ever really means . . . I'm not a bad person," she finally concluded, beginning to shake from both frustration and emotion. 

David squeezed her tighter before backing off and grabbing her shoulders to turn her around. She resisted at first, but complied after a few moments of half-hearted opposition. David placed his hand on her chin, pulled her head up, and looked into her eyes. 

"No you are not, Angela," he reassured her, "nobody wanted this to happen, no matter how much of a pain in the ass Champ was. What happened isn't anyone's fault. This is something we all knew was a possibility when we signed up, something we all expected could happen one day."

A small smile spread across David's face.

"I guess it's a little different when it happens to someone you've known and, for the most part, hated for a few years."

Angela weakly returned his smile. 

"Now come on," David said, leading his friend towards the pilot locker rooms. "We've got combat drill briefings to attend in a few minutes. We have to find a certain hard-ass female pilot I know is around here somewhere. She has a date to show her instructor that a little tact and compassion would go a long way."

David's last comment drew a harsh laugh from Angela, who began the struggle to regain her composure.

"Yeah, maybe raking his balls over the coals a few times would make me feel a little better," she replied, allowing one of her devilish smiles to break through.

David chuckled as they made their way around a tractor towing an Arrow out of a fighter elevator.

"Have I ever asked you to remind me not to get on your bad side?" Sandman kidded his friend as they left the flight deck.

"Many, many times, David. Many, many times," she responded with a much warmer smile. 


$BFlight $BDeck$B, $BTCS $BWellington

$BDeep $BSpace$B, $BOberan $BSystem

$B1352 $Bhours $B(CST)$B, $B2669.191

$BMore $Bthen $BThree $BWeeks $BLater


David swore loudly as his Arrow taxied to a stop. He hastily popped the canopy and tore off his helmet, wanting more than anything to just get out of the nimble craft's cockpit. David quickly realized, much to his annoyance, that all he could do was sit and wait for a technician to bring a gantry over to his fighter. He grew more frustrated as he unlocked his gauntlets and once again recounted the events of the past few days and of their most recent mock engagement with the veterans of the Diamondback squadron.

For four days, the OCS graduates had been participating in extensive combat drills with their instructors. For four days, multi-fighter space superiority duels had been waged all across the Oberan system. And for four days, David and his squadmates had been getting their heads handed to them by Major Baws, Ninja and Assassin. Not one junior squadron flight had scored a victory since Panzer and her team had beaten their instructors their first time out. Apparently, Angela's flight had lit a proverbial fire under the veterans onboard the Wellington. This morning's three-on-three engagement hadn't ended any different than previous training flights. While David had survived to go one-on-one with Major Baws, the veteran had reached deep into his seemingly never-ending repertoire to quickly position himself for the kill.

As if on cue, Baws' fighter, canopy already open, taxied in beside David's. David's squadron CO flashed the young pilot a small grin. 

"Not bad out there this morning, Markham," the veteran pilot offered, "It's getting tougher and tougher to surprise you."

David returned his superior's smile, trying hard to hide the frustration he was feeling.

"One day you're going to reach the bottom of that bag of tricks, sir, and I hope to be right behind you when that happens," he replied.

Baws laughed, busying himself with removing his gauntlets and gloves. 

A technician finally rolled the ladder up to David's cockpit. While climbing down, David noticed most of the Hellcat fighters of the Hellscream squadron prepping for takeoff farther up the flight deck. An uneasy feeling began to creep through David's slowly receding disappointment, the same feeling that had appeared when they had first received word that the TCS Kennedy would be passing through the system and relieving them of their only combat fighter squadron, the bomber squadron, and two of the four escorts. The thought of being in, what had been a few days ago, uncertain territory without a 'safety net' was a little disconcerting. Add in the fact that the only pilots would be the two pilot trainee squadrons, and it could make one more than a little nervous.

David caught sight of Viking among the throng taking his fighter through a pre-flight checklist. He began walking down the flight deck to wish the older officer well. As he neared the activity, David noticed the Longbow bombers they had onboard being prepped for takeoff as well. He reached Viking's side and clasped him on the shoulder. 

"Nice big carrier, returning to the front lines, taking most of our combat force with you . . . sounds like you're getting the better end of this deal," David said with a smile.

Viking turned towards the young pilot. 

"Hey, Sandman," Viking began with a grin, "you know as well as I do you go where the brass tells you to."

"I know, but do you have to take all of our strike power with you?" David ribbed the Hellscream pilot further, gesturing towards the bombers being prepped. 

"And just what the hell do you think you rookies need with 'strike power'?" Viking asked, his smile widening before his expression turned more serious. "The Kennedy has taken some serious losses in the past few days and the powers that be have decided that a quick field replacement will suffice. The Wellington's resources fit the bill."

"Besides," the older officer added, "you young pups are about ready to leave the nest on your own without the 'mother hens' looking over your shoulders."

"Thanks, Viking. Losing that much heavy firepower just makes me feel a little . . .," David paused, searching for the right word.

"Exposed? Naked?" the older officer knowingly finished for him.

"Yeah," David answered, nodding in agreement.

"Don't worry," Viking reassured the young pilot, "We haven't come across a single pirate raider in almost a week. The George Custer reported traces of some significant jump activity at the Able jump point."

Sandman nodded.

"So I guess Intel suspects any remaining pirate forces have decided to cut their losses?" he asked.

"That's about the size of it," Viking responded as he inspected his fighter's landing gear. 

"A few hours ago, the Custer was ordered to pursue and size up the situation to see if any further action was necessary," the older pilot continued. "She hasn't reported back yet, but I'm sure those raiders didn't stop running in Able."

"Besides," Viking concluded, sensing the younger pilot was still troubled, "there are a few line ships en-route to assist in your 'end of training' wargames. They're scheduled to jump in-system within a few days and can handle any hornets' nests you rooks can stir up."

"That makes me feel a little better," David admitted. "I guess flying with a ship full of veterans will be a nice change to babysitting us, huh? Looking forward to it?"

"Actually," the older officer began, "it's a little different than you might think, Sandman. Your reputation and combat record usually just get you 'in the door' when you're transferring to a new post. You basically have to prove yourself all over again to the resident pilot community."

"In addition," the older pilot added with a grin as he finished the checklist, "since I was trapped in Circe for the duration of the Battle of Terra, I have another hurdle to overcome in the minds of a lot of pilots to achieve ultimate acceptance."

David shook his head knowingly, his thoughts returning to his first conversation with Major Baws. 

"Well, Sandman," the older pilot said with a smirk as he picked up a duffel and threw it into the Hellcat's storage compartment, "I guess we now say our teary goodbyes."

David laughed, came to attention, and saluted. 

"Watch your back, sir," David said, "and give 'em Hell."

Viking laughed and extended his hand.

"When you make it to the front and you find yourself in the Kennedy's neighborhood, look me up. There will at least be one old dog you won't have to show all your new tricks to."

David took the man's hand and shook it. 

"Will do, Viking," David pledged as the first Hellcat roared through the atmospheric shield on the short journey to its new home.