Hell's Razer
Page 16
A great clanking of metal from below drew Blazer’s eyes to the stern as a trio of fighters rotated into view from the recovery deck. Like the rest of the ship, the hangar’s floors ran perpendicular to the ship’s long axis. This allowed the carrier’s acceleration to provide gravity, the acceleration compensators only keeping that gravity to a manageable level. With the ship currently in cruise mode, coasting between nav points, the hangar remained in zero-g.
Docking arms grabbed the trio of craft and raced them up the central shaft towards their assigned shelf. Their midnight blue and silver white paint schemes were a welcome sight.
Blazer motioned after the craft and the team hustled over to the nearby lift platform. The menu on the display showed the location of the various assigned squadrons in the hangar. He recognized some from mission reports and one more he smiled at. I’ll tell the others about them later, he mused before he selected the entry for Monstero Nach. The lift responded, rising after their craft. He gazed upwards at the forward bulkhead. It had a similar arrangement to the rear, the doors able to open directly to the forward launch bay if necessary. Blazer thought about that as they neared their shelf, passing another set of doors along the shaft that led to an external docking platform for Corvette class ships.
They rose past several tiers. Massive pressure doors made up the ceiling of each shelf, able to seal off each section in case of a depressurization event. Individual squadrons sat parked on each tier, with a trio of fighters latched to a set of rotating panel doors that led to the outer bulkhead. These were the alert fighter, able to launch immediately in a scramble situation. Crews waited in those fighters, most lazily passing the time. One crew in a Splicer-3000 looked up as they passed and the pilot’s eyes went wide in recognition. Blazer smiled back.
The lift reached the tier with their fighters. Having arrived just mere moments before, the docking arms set the latest trio in place on the deck and into the ready hands of their maintenance crew. Blazer spotted his fighter amongst those that had just landed and waited. He motioned the others towards their own craft.
It was a relief to see his fighter, but parked beside it was Zero-Four, Marda’s fighter, or rather, Marda’s old fighter. She’d been pulled from the regular flight rotation due to her being assigned her own medical bay. He watched the crew chiefs disembark the fighters; their white flight suits a marked contrast to the standard fleet blue. It was not a crew chief who exited Zero-Four however, but a flight officer in blue and silver.
He approached the officer and an older Rimdook stepped up in front of him and saluted. For a moment Blazer thought it was chief Flind: the coloring was similar, but his hand and eye were both real, not artificial. “Lieutenant Vaughnt, Master Chief Gemerin, Squadron Master Chief for the Monstero Nach,” he announced and turned his shoulder to reveal the snarling Lodran skull visage of their squadron patch. “Pleased to meet you, sir!”
Blazer returned the arm across the chest salute. “A pleasure as well, Chief. How are our fighters?”
The master chief motioned towards the three craft that had just landed. The officer signed off Zero-Four and handed the craft’s macomm off to its chief. “These last three still need to be checked out, but when we looked them over before launch, they appeared fine. Those crews on the Cathedral Stations seem to know their stuff.” He leaned in close, his foul Rimdook breath stirring up more memories of Chief Flind. “I won’t let the other squadrons know how many brand-new parts are on them. They might be tempted to cycle them into spares.”
That concerned Blazer. “Is the ship low on spares?”
The Master Chief shook his head. “No sir. We restocked and refitted before we shipped out, but this squadron is now low rung on the ladder. Some others might not respect your belongings, if you catch my meaning.”
Blazer nodded. “I do. Thank you, Chief.”
“Good. Also, I noticed some interesting modifications to some craft. I’d like to look into them, pretty non-standard. You wouldn’t happen to know Major Flind would you?”
Gavit scoffed. “Major? Do you mean Chief Flind?”
Blazer held up a hand. “He didn’t go by his officer rank back at the Academy, but yes, we know him. He approved these mods before we left for the Gorvian front.”
The Master Chief smiled. “I thought I saw his handiwork. He’s over on the Robial now.”
“They’re lucky to have him.”
“Wouldn’t be right if they didn’t. Now, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to check out your birds,” he said motioning towards the fighters.
Blazer chuckled, but didn’t head off towards his fighter. Instead he made towards Marda’s and the officer waiting there. His body language screamed impatience.
Blazer looked the man over as he approached. He leaned against the fighter like he owned it, and deliberately looked past Blazer. Blazer almost wanted to look and see what he could be staring at besides the empty scramble doors. The Monstero Nach had no fighters positioned for immediate launch. The man’s face was impassive, with unkempt brown shaggy hair that bore a subtle greenish tint. His eyes however were filled an intense displeasure. Blazer couldn’t be sure why, but he’d find out. The man straightened and Blazer recognized something about him that the flight suit had hidden before. He was an Energy Gatherer. “Officer Zanreb reporting, Lieutenant Vaughnt. I’m your new medic.”
Blazer considered that. Tadeh Qudas and Marda hadn’t mentioned anything about her replacement other than to say he was coming, qualified, and apparently, standoffish. The team was now thick with medics, but neither Priest nor Hallet had Marda’s level of expertise. Blazer noticed the lack of salute and brushed it off. He wasn’t much for formality, instead he extended a hand. “A pleasure officer Zanreb. What can you tell me about yourself? I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to review your dossier.” Blazer’s hand hung in open space, Zanreb ignored it.
“I’m formerly of the Wolfsbane’s old rescue team, been on medical recovery since we hit the Gorvian Prison barge.”
Blazer left his hand out a moment longer, then retracted it and nodded. “I see. We were trying to get onto that operation.”
“Be glad you weren’t. It was a slaughter. Only a few of us made it out, and even then...” he rubbed his left arm. At this distance Blazer could see the energy flowing in the man’s electrolytic layer. The levels in the left arm were lower than the rest starting past the shoulder. He’d seen that before in other Energy Gatherers who’d lost a limb only to have it regrown. It could take several annura to build the electrolytic layer back up.
“I understand. You’re fit for duty then?”
“Yes sir,” he all but scowled. “I’ve checked out my fighter too. Is he my WSO, Gokhead?” he asked, indicating Arion behind Blazer.
Blazer shook his head. “No, Gokhead’s over there” Blazer replied pointing Gokhead out. He spoke with his crew chief, pointing out a pair of specialized humps on the fighter’s spine.
Zanreb went rigid. “Respectfully, sir, I request a different WSO.”
“Is there some kind of problem, Officer?”
Zanreb finally made eye contact with Blazer, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening into chasms. “Nothing I’d care to elaborate on right now, Sir. I’ve just had poor experiences with Drashig WSOs in the past.”
Blazer went to say something before he felt Arion’s hand on his shoulder. “We have to check out our fighter B,” he announced, and switched to micomm.
Blazer nodded to Zanreb. “Yes, we do. I’ll take your request into consideration. Introduce yourself to Gokhead and the rest of the team in the meantime, then get yourself settled in. I’ll read you in on our con ops later.”
“Already working on that, sir. It’s been ‘interesting’ reading. We can go over tactical operations in a briefing room next cycle.”
Blazer nodded and headed over to his fighter, pulling up Zanreb’s profile on his micomm. He was a highly decorated officer, graduating the academy two annura before them. He
had earned numerous commendations and awards, most of which had been received after their mission to the Gorvian prison barge. Nothing about it jumped out at him that explained his attitude aside for the losses his previous team had incurred. It was possible that it would just take him time to adjust to having a new team: he’d seen that before. There was one unusual entry, a minor thing, but he’d applied for and been passed over several times for a special assignment back in 1001.
Blazer opened those tabs in his micomm and came to a halt beside his fighter, shocked. He did his best not to look back.
Blazer opened the transfer requests. They were all coded, but he recognized the operational identifiers. Arion was right – he’d wanted in on the taskforce that had brought down the Electrolite Cult.
Arion just shrugged.
Before Blazer could get into his inspection a familiar scent wafted by – the cologne was one he would know anywhere and one he hadn’t been privy to in annura. He spun about to greet his old friend, former squadmate and buoy boy. “Deniv!”
“Did you really think that you could sneak aboard ship and keep your birds on my flight deck and not say hello?” Deniv asked with a giant, cheesy grin.
“Deniv!” Gavit called out before Blazer could reply. “I thought I smelt that crap you call cologne.”
“Tentri!” Chris called out and launched towards Deniv’s WSO. “Bodain, Ashgo,” she continued as she sailed towards them.
Blazer moved in to hug his friend as the rest of the team closed. Bichard slapped him on the back as he neared, knocking the breath out of him. “I thought you were aboard the Robial?”
Deniv couldn’t help but beam at them in response. “We were transferred here a tridec ago. Something about being super awesome for nailing numerous Gorvian strike corvettes when the Planet Slicer went up.” He then made a show of rubbing the squadron leader pip on his shoulder beside his dual bars.
Blazer couldn’t believe it. “There’s no way that I’m calling you Major.”
Deniv just smiled. “I won’t make you do it, Lieutenant, but I’m squadron lead now. So, I should be promoted to O-35 soon. Ain’t wartime promotions a bitch?”
Gavit slapped his old friend and rival on the back. “Don’t let it go to your head Deniv. But what about Nodio?”
The Nip Tails all went silent in response. It was clear that something bad had happened and even Deniv looked away as Tentri stepped up. “Uh, Nodio and Rashe got nailed at Nash 9.” He scratched at his temple as if trying to dig the painful memory out. “They got hit square on by a Gorvian Torpedo - never knew what hit them.”
Chris laid a hand on Tentri’s shoulder. “Damn shame. How many of you guys made it?”
Ashgo hung his head in shame a moment, then leaned back against Blazer’s wing. “Let’s just say that the memorial wall on the Robial added fourteen more names before we left.”
Deniv looked back up. “We were relegated to a relief squadron and flew short the rest of the conflict. Then, I think it was over… Cynial, yeah. We took out a few Geffer heavies and Command realized we still had some bite left in us. They started sending us crews from other cut-up squadrons.” Deniv actually chuckled. “Makes sense. That’s how we started out at the academy, rejects from Special Ops.”
“Not rejects,” Blazer replied, a hand on his shoulder.
“No, not rejects. Just too classy to be Special,” Deniv continued.
Tentri pointed down a few tiers to their squadron’s level. “We’ve got a couple OG Nips on scramble duty. After they get off, we should head to the Burning Crater, catch up.”
Gavit looked agog at the group, especially those on the team that nodded in recognition of the name. “Wait, the ship’s bar is the Burning Crater? As in uncle Toran’s saying, ‘Live Fast, Die Young, and Leave a Burning Crater when you die?’” he asked. “And nobody told me?” A few snickers echoed back. “Sheol he was in command of the first 5000 squadron aboard this ship. It makes sense. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Probably because you were already wasted on Bomber Ale and painkillers, My.. Idiot,” Chris replied, almost tripping into declaring him her own again. “We should all meet up after we get off shift. Catch up.”
“I’m your idiot now?” he asked, shaking his head and turned back to Matt and Rudjick. “Definitely a dream then.”
UCSB Date: 1005.124
Monstero Nach 06, Hangar 5, Wolfsbane, Vashko System
Boredom was a constant companion when on the ready position, and there was nothing Gavit could do to alleviate it. His fighter hung latched to the rapid egress hatch, but that left him nothing but time, and in turn, it was killing him. “So much for getting back on the flight rotation early.”
In the back-seat Matt busied himself on the WSO network, fully immersed in that virtual world with Bichard and Arion. Together, the trio were assimilating data coming in from the Wolfsbane’s sensors in search of any trouble.
Gavit and the other pilots had no such outlet. Instead, Gavit sat back reading articles on his micomm. News of Tris and her latest holovid cropped up every so often. Then there were the latest rumors of her involvement with one of her co-stars. It was annoying. Information from different sources painted the same event in vastly different ways. The rumors of her potential infidelity didn’t even bother him. He knew that his chances of seeing her again were slim, and he wasn’t sure that he cared. She was always so much drama. By the nature of the reports, that hadn’t changed - fights with her co-stars had even increased in frequency. Still, he couldn’t help but dwell on her, especially now.
He tried to distract himself and looked over at Nach 04. It would take some getting used to not seeing Marda in that seat, especially with Bichard in the back. That still blew his mind: Gokhead was honestly the best WSO in the squadron. He was tempted to ask Matt to switch with him before Bichard had volunteered. That had upset Chris, but she’d accepted the transfer, for now. It also put Bichard out of their shared living quarters, and Gokhead in. That had actually levelled Chris out. Gokhead was a minimalist, except that he dominated the table with his various projects.
I almost wish that Chris were on my wing. That thought stopped him dead. He and Chris were always competing, but lately he’d wanted her around more. Maybe it was that they were sharing quarters, but a few cycles in the same room shouldn’t have had that much of an effect. He tried to push her out of his mind; couldn’t.
There was a short pause.
Gavit felt unsure for the first time in a long while. It was a simple request he had in mind, but he just couldn’t muster it.
If he hadn’t had his helmet on Gavit would have palmed his forehead in frustration.
He considered that: it was out of character of him to offer such free help to Chris. Even he couldn't be sure why when a twinge from his knee drew his attention.
There was another pause and the response that came held zero emotion. Despite being an artificial telepathic link, the messages sometimes conveyed a hint of the user’s emotions. Gavit had felt a hint of surprise at his request for just a moment before Chris went silent. It was possible to suppress those feelings through the link, though it took deliberate effort.
Her response didn’t even feel as self-assured like normal, and he wondered if she could feel his underlying emotions. He decided to not suppress before he responded and poured gratefulness into his thoughts.
Gavit wasn’t lying, as the deck crew were all running up to the fighters to detach their umbilicals. A moment later the smooth, white, bottle-snouted face of the Vilick flight controller popped up on his screen. He could never explain it, but the five-gendered race would always turn him on. It didn’t matter which of them they were, and he’d taken lovers with all of them. Though he did regret the one and shifted in his seat at the memory of how his sphincter had felt afterwards. Some said it was pheromones, but even through the screen the masculine being stirred his loins. “Attention Monstero Nach and Nip Tails flights. We have received a distress call from an outbound civilian freighter. Message is garbled but appears to indicate an attack from a privateer vessel. Prepare for immediate launch and intercept.”