by Chris Hechtl
She took long strides down the corridors, stretching her legs. She exchanged salutes with those that offered her salutes but really navy etiquette in that regard was spotty at best. She didn't care. She just wanted to lay down the law and get her crew moving.
== ^ ==
“What's the skinny, Jerrica? Do you know who Junior is sending us as CAG?” Lieutenant Junior Grade Ezra Kedson asked, arms crossed by the entrance hatch as she came in. He blinked at her in confusion, instantly noting something was different about her. He glanced down to her shiny rank insignia and whistled softly. He opened his mouth to ask, but she shook her head hiding a smile.
“Attention on deck!” she called out, lifting her chin. The pilots lunged to their feet at parade rest. There were a lot of new faces she noted. That was to be expected since they'd just had a recent cycle of promotions and transfers. She made her way to the podium at the front of the group. Behind her was a drawing board, miniature fighter models, and a holo projector. She wouldn't need them initially.
“Those of you in this room are now the flight wing of the escort carrier Kittyhawk, the lead vessel in the Kittyhawk class, and the first carrier to be constructed and launched by the Pyrax shipyard. You will be referred to as …”
Her voice was drowned out by a sudden cheer that spread through the room. She waited a moment. They had a right she supposed; they had all worked hard to get this, the first carrier posting of the rebuilt navy.
When the voices died down, she nodded. “Now that you've gotten that out of your system, sit your asses down and listen up,” she said firmly. The crew settled, some looking at her in surprise. Jerrica was good, a damn good pilot and good squadron commander, but all were expecting Yeager. Well, Yeager was off, on leave for two months with his wife and new baby before he took charge of the flight wing on the Jones. “As I was saying, we've picked up another name tag, the Kitty.”
“That's better than kitty litter,” someone mocked.
She snorted. “There are going to be some changes, so listen up. The flight wing will now be composed of a dozen Star Cobras in Squadron One, six Raptors and six Mitchell bombers in Squadron Two, a mix of six marine craft in Squadron Three, and one eight-ship specialty squadron rounding out Squadron Four. We are going to be damn crowded; the BOSS is already bitching up a storm about it. I'm telling you what I told him, tough. Get over it. Get friendly, but not too friendly,” she growled. That earned a stifled chuckle. “You'll hot bunk; you'll do what it takes. If you can't handle the job, turn in your wings to someone who can.” She glared at the room and watched them squirm for a moment before she nodded.
“We'll be called the Fourth Aerospace Wing until someone comes up with a better name. Those of us who have been here for a while never did get around to agreeing on a proper name,” she admitted wryly. Personally she favored the Jolly Rogers, though it was a pirate name. She'd leave it to the pilots to decide; Commander Valdez and the skipper had pointed out the discussion would make things lively. So be it. Pilots were pilots. They were highly competitive, and she needed an opportunity to draw them together and build team spirit while also presenting a minor distraction to vent some of their excessive testosterone on.
A few of the crew looked at each other. She smiled a little. “If you haven't figured it out by now, I am the new CAG.” She flashed her IFF, watching as the dawning comprehension and some sulks hit the faces of the assembled pilots. The noobs came to attention in their seats. Some of the old guard like Kedson had a sour expression on their faces. Well, too bad. She'd earned it. She was a lieutenant commander now, the wing commander of the ship.
She looked around the room coldly, meeting a few eyes and holding their gaze, daring them to object. None did. “For your information, Commander Yeager and Commander Valdez chose me. I was promoted this morning. For those of you who haven't caught up with the latest scuttlebutt, I'll give you a heads-up. The admiral is back in contact, and he's brought friends. He sent new orders and promotion lists back with Firefly last week.”
Jane heard that bald challenge and felt like cheering. Not just at the news of Firefly, like many of them she'd already knew about that. No, it was that her old boss had taken the prized top slot. Damn it felt good, she thought, listening attentively.
A few of the crew looked at each other. She smiled slightly. Firefly's return had been the talk of every mess in the fleet. Things were really getting interesting now.
“We've got working-up exercises over the next couple of days. Be ready for turnaround runs and a whole lot of headaches. Then we've got some refitting to put up with. Fortunately, most of us will be on leave while the ship gets torn apart and put back together. There will be a skeleton watch though. I'll draw up the list later. If you are at the bottom of the scoreboard,” she indicated one of the boards behind her. “Then expect to stick around,” she said. There was a collective sound of groans. “Tough. Those of you at the bottom will need the extra time to get squared away. Now, questions?”
“Yeah, why are they here?” Kedson asked, jerking a thumb to the four marine pilots in the back of the room. All were wearing green flight suits. Each of them held noncom tags as well.
“They are a part of the marine fighter wing.” She nodded to Staff Sergeant Hurranna of the Anvil cat clan and First Sergeant Deja, the selkie. The other two she didn't recognize. “They will be flying assault shuttles for our marine contingent. They will also be flying SAR OPS while also training on the Cobras. I may even tag them for other duties. We'll be picking up eight more marines shortly, so I suggest you learn to behave.” She knew that warning wasn't worth the effort. They were all one big happy family only on paper. Service rivalries were cropping up everywhere. There was a bit of resentment that the jarheads had their own planet to play on.
Then there was the fact that most of the pilots in the room were either warrants or officers while the marines were all noncoms. That was going to be a tricky situation to handle.
Kedson scowled, hands apart. “Eight more? CAG, we're a bit crowded …”
“Can it, Kedson,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It's what we're supposed to have. There are going to be some shake-ups. Some more of you are going to be transferred to the Jones with Commander Yeager in a couple of weeks.” That made a few people look up brightly in anticipation. “Some are going to take on duty on one of the fortresses. Get over it. We're hitting the docks for an upgrade in a week like I said.”
“Awesome!” The room broke out into cheers over that. Everyone was heartily sick of the ship's lack of everything and anything. Power was the biggest problem.
“After that, we'll sort the flight roster out. So get used to flying with the marines. They could save your ass sometime, so play nice,” she said, eying Kedson. Kedson had an innocent act that fooled a lot of people, but not Jerrica. She knew the guy was a malicious prankster.
“Oh,” Kedson said stupidly. He blinked then gave the marines a second look. His eyes stopped on Hurranna. “She's kinda short, but oh well. Guess it takes all kinds.”
“You talking about me or the size of your johnson, creep?” the lynx growled softly, flicking her ears in amusement. A sputter of chuckle ran through the crowd. Kedson looked a little shocked, then his face reddened beautifully.
“Can it. We're all one big happy family now,” Jerrica said before Kedson could get anymore over his head then he already was. “Which means pilots are pilots. But do keep insults to officers clean, Sergeant,” She gave the lynx a stern warning look.
Staff Sergeant Hurranna nodded looking a little sheepish. “Yes, ma'am,” she murmured. “Sorry, sir,” she said to Kedson.
Jerrica turned back to the others. “Kedson, you've got first up. Maverick, you've got his wing. I'll need to see the senior officers in my ready room for squadron commander assignments after the exercise. Until then, get moving.”
She stepped away from the door to allow them to file out.
== ^ ==
Jane grinned as they filed out o
f the room. Some of the other old guard were muttering, but she loved the idea of her old squadron leader becoming the big boss. She wondered briefly who would take her old slot. She didn't want it. She wanted to fly, but throwing it to Kedson or someone who didn't know their ass from their elbow would be a pain in the ass.
The marines though … she eyed the quartet thoughtfully as they chatted with Jerrica. The CAG she reminded herself. She snorted and then went back to her rack. She was going to be in the cockpit soon, so she'd better get ready and hit the head before she strapped her Cobra on.
== ^ ==
“Got it covered?” Captain Nax asked, eying the CAG as she filed out behind the group.
She snorted looking after the marines before she turned to the boss. Commander Nax had come up through the ranks. He'd started out on Firefly in her engineering compliment before he'd done a brief stint as her boat bay officer. Then he'd gotten into online college courses and gotten himself back into engineering as one of Firefly's assistant chief engineers.
He'd finally been pulled out and promoted to first lieutenant to take on a yard duty slot during a brief spat of building following a care package Pyrax had received from Admiral Irons. That term had ended so he'd gone on as an XO on a frigate before he'd gotten back into the yard. He'd been sidelined with a seemingly dead-end job until he'd dug into it. He'd taken on the Kittyhawk project and had convinced then Commander Logan it would be worth it. He'd made it his baby and had rammed her into flight despite a lot of misgivings about her design and lack of proper components. Some in the navy had said it had been a little too early, and they'd been right. She remembered the early days of Kittyhawk, when they weren't sure if the life support would fail and there had been so many problems it hadn't been funny. But Nax had tracked them down, one by one, detailing what and how to fix each or what could be safely ignored for the moment.
It had been clear to everyone involved that despite the ugliness of her lack of proper parts he'd loved the ship. And those who'd served on her had fallen in love over time with the old girl as well. Warts and all.
Even if she'd been a hell posting.
“I think I got them off on the right foot. Keeping things moving should be interesting. I'm glad you got a jump on the upgrades, sir. Are we really only going to be in refit for a week?”
“No, I checked and it looks more like two weeks unless they re-prioritize things again. If they do, we could get kicked down the list and be in dock longer.” He scowled. “I don't have it in me to make the engineers work through their liberty. They deserve the time off,” he said.
She nodded ruefully. Every department had their stories of hell and being overworked, hers included. But at least she knew her pilots were relatively comfortable and coddled compared to the grease monkeys trying to keep everything together and from flying apart.
“The commander’s insignia looks good on you,” he said nodding to her rank. “Sorry we couldn't do a ceremony.”
“That's okay, sir,” Jerrica said, shrugging. “They look good on you too, sir,” she said hastily. It hadn't been so long for the skipper to be wearing his own new rank tabs—a week. He'd been promoted the day Firefly's convoy had returned from the battle of B101a1.
“I figured I was due eventually,” the captain replied, glancing at his rank insignia as he shrugged. “I suppose we both earned ours. Now we've got to keep earning them … and the next ones,” he said.
“You could use them, sir. Me, I'm happy with these. I think I'll stick with them for a little while longer,” Jerrica joked.
Nax snorted. “You do that, Commander. Carry on,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured as he left.
== ^ ==
Deja was there as a recent transfer, but it was obvious from the way the selkie comported himself and pushed his marines that he was dead serious on making the transfer and marine wing a success. He had apparently planned on giving piloting another try despite his rocky past. However, he was drawing a line, showing his comfort zone and sticking firmly inside it.
Jerrica was torn. They need good hyper navigators, but the selkie marine was a hell of an instinctive pilot as well. He should be a combat pilot, but he had opted for ground support, which meant he stayed a marine. The corps wouldn't have their own fighters for several years. They wanted to get their hands on the Cobras since they were aerospace craft. However, the fighters that were most likely going to come up for reuse would be the Raptors; they were quite unpopular with the pilot community. Pity, he'd make a hell of a naval pilot.
“Slick, this isn't an interrogation or anything. But I do need to get a handle on you, how your mind works, and what makes you tick if we're going to get along,” Jerrica said, starting the interview process. “Don't feel like you are the only one; I am doing this with all of my pilots. I'm just starting with my squadron commanders,” she said with a cock of her head to his lofty position.
She was glad he was leading by example. He insisted his troops kept up on their PT, something all pilots needed to do religiously, while he also had them hitting the books when they weren't on the flight line or tearing apart their birds for routine maintenance.
They had only been with her for a few days, and she was already impressed. It was just Deja, his copilot Chatterbox, Hurranna Lynx Lass, and her copilot Zipper, but she knew it was an established habit he had ingrained into his routine as well as their own. Transferring it to the incoming marines should be easy since they would be malleable and would adapt to his since he was the boss.
Which was the way it should be, she thought. And he was starting them off with teaching them some good habits, so that was even better. She made a few more mental checkmarks next to the selkie's name as she watched him survey the shuttle's avionics bay.
“Bad?”
“No, ma'am, we're just still tweaking these birds,” Deja admitted after a long moment.
“I was referring to your reaction,” she said.
“Oh, sorry, ma'am,” he said, turning to her. They made small talk for a bit as they waited for the shuttle's crew chief to finish up checking the other avionics bay before he brought the testing rig over to their side of the aircraft.
“You know, you are kind of famous. You are the only one of us who can pilot a starship and get as much as possible out of her. You are also the only person who has done a skip. According to what we know, only a dolphin or a Ssilli can do better,” she said, eying him.
“I was lucky, ma'am,” he admitted, still looking at the electronics within the tight compartment. To the uninitiated it looked like a nest of wires. But the power and ODN wires were all bundled with zip ties and were carefully shielded and sheathed to protect them against heat, vacuum, and potential sharp objects. “I did what Captain Mayweather wanted.”
“What we needed. What Antigua desperately needed. Had you not been there, Firefly would have gotten there eventually … a month or so later. Thousands more would have undoubtedly died. I'm surprised you weren't put in for the medal,” she said.
“Kinda hard to do that since the only people who could approve of it is Congress, ma'am. They are long gone,” the selkie replied. “Besides, I did the job. It was just that, a job. It was … hard at first, but I got used to it.”
“I'm guessing it wasn't … pleasant?” She could kick herself for probing and possibly opening a scab, but she needed to know where his edges were and how hard they were going to present themselves.
“They tried to make it as pleasant as possible. It just brought up old memories and stuff for me. Stuff I'd rather not think about,” he admitted.
“Okay,” she said quietly, making a mental note. He would need more time and possibly more counseling before he was approachable about that subject again. “So, how are you settling in? Have you gotten to fly any of the other birds?” she asked.
Deja turned in place as he checked out the three ships he was supposed to fly. He had to be checked out on each since all he had was sim time in each of the t
ypes. He'd flown the SAR craft in sims, but he hadn't had much stick time, preferring Warhawks or other marine craft. The third craft was the basic trash hauler, a transport shuttle built to haul goods and personnel to and from the ship.
The shuttle design was modular. There were variants like the tanker version and one that was supposed to carry new munitions or even replacement crews to ships in flight. He wasn't certain about the wisdom of that design, but it was on the books so he'd had his people dutifully study it just in case they ever ran across it.
Not that he found it ever likely that they would. If it was anything like doing something supposedly simple like taking on fuel, the people who came up with the idea should have been locked in a rubber room and left there to rot. Replacing munitions on a fighter was a pain in the ass on deck. He was pretty sure it would be hellish and intensely stressful while in flight. Throw in combat and it was a recipe for disaster for the ships involved as well as the mission.
No, he had no desire to fly some slow plodding shuttle loaded with weapons into combat without weapons of his own to defend himself. Pass.
“I heard you did that run,” a deck ape said, coming over to them. “Chief said another twenty minutes. We're waiting on a couple replacement chips from stores. Things are nuts right now I guess,” he said, shaking his head. “I wanted to ask you why you were here,” the chimp said, eying Deja. “I mean, you did a damn good job in that run. Why did they let you quit?”
“I'm a marine. I guard a bridge and I can man it for damage control or as a prize crew, but I don't belong there. Not anymore,” Deja replied quietly.