Star Trek: Outwardly Mobile
Banshee Squadron
(Star Date 56600)
By
Jay P. Hailey
And
Richard Merk
I - Fly Girl
1. The Pomona Fair Grounds, 2361
The sun was warm. The air was fresh. The lemonade was sour but refreshing.
The cheerfully burbling music was a constant background.
The animals smelled odd to city folks. Some wrinkled their nose. To people who knew animals it smelled natural.
The petting zoo held domesticated animals that put up with the touches of children and adults with good nature.
The elephant was popular and enjoyed making new friends.
The zebra was cranky, but stayed calm.
The Hypatrian land mollusk gingerly felt the happy mammals with its fore tentacles and was extremely careful about the placement of its huge tree-trunk-like rear tentacles. It ate some seaweed and seemed genially puzzled at the attention. Wasn't there a plow somewhere that needed dragging?
Cotton candy. Clowns, the safe daylight kind. There was a puppet show.
What three-year-old Alexandra Dalton couldn't get enough of were the kites.
Hanging buoyantly in the hard blue sky, balancing on wind and string, moving as if with a mind of its own. Each an artwork of its own.
Alexandra imagined being up in the sky with the kites. She reached out and for the first time understood the implacable, impersonal oppression of gravity.
Being in the sky made you pretty. Being in the sky made you free.
The images of the kites in the sky dancing on the Santa Ana winds would color Alex Dalton's dreams for the rest of her life.
2. In the air over the Mojave Desert, 2366
Alex pushed the stick as far to the right as it would go.
The flyer slowly, slothfully rolled fifteen degrees and hung there, refusing to go any further.
She pushed the stick back to the left, as far as it would go. Slowly, weakly, the flying machined rolled the other way and stopped at three hundred and forty-five degrees.
"What are you doing, Honey?" asked Dad.
Richard Dalton was tall, thin and generically handsome. An architect, he approached his daughter with tolerant, slow love but affection as deep as the Marianas Trench. He'd let Alex go ahead for a bit and then ask questions.
It was actually starting to annoy her, although she couldn't explain why. She returned the flyer to vertical flight and then, saying nothing she pushed the stick forward as far as it would go.
The flyer pitched forward to the same safe, sane, boring and pedestrian fifteen-degree limit. It did pick some speed as it descended but soon came upon a safe, sane speed limit, and obeying its carefully designed safe, boring and stifling control module, it adjusted itself to go no faster.
After waiting a moment to make sure the flyer would not pick up any more speed, Alex pulled the stick back sharply to its limit.
The flyer slowly, grudgingly nosed upwards, and again stopped at its fifteen-degree limit.
The flyer almost thought about picking up speed, but decided in a sluggish and far, far too conservative a fashion not to.
Flying nose up, the flyer climbed, slowly, gently, implacably, safely.
Alex sourly took her hands off the controls.
"It's been nerfed, Alex," Richard said, cutting to the end of a socratic question and answer session that he dimly sensed would have Alex shrieking at him.
She glared at him. "What does nerfed mean?"
"Made so safe that it's boring," Richard said sadly.
"Can we get an un-nerfed one?" Alex asked immediately.
Richard scratched his chin "They have safety protocols for a reason, Pun'kin. Tell you what, you keep your grades up and I'll try to find something."
It was all Alex could do not to hurl herself from the family flyer screaming. "Okay, Daddy."
3. March Air Field, 2366
An air show.
Parked in row after row was every type of flying machine you could imagine. Mostly they were shuttlecraft owned by civilians. Experimental, customized or very old preserved spacecraft.
Among them were older machines, skiffs, lifters, cargo fliers and some even older than that.
A replica Spitfire, an authentic F-16. Even a replica Wright Flyer.
Alex looked at it intently. A kite you could ride.
-*-
The airplanes buzzed. Alex watched entranced. Matched red propeller driven planes, six of them. They were flying so close together. She could see them seem to bob in relation to each other.
Her eyes were glued. These people were *really* flying. The impression of speed was intense. They made a soft whispery buzz as they flew. It was the propellers carving through the air.
Six airplanes carved through the sky, swooping and diving within inches of each other.
The show was a little less than an hour.
After a big, spinning group loop, the red airplanes climbed away.
The Alex realized that she was thirsty, that her feet hurt and that she had to go to the bathroom.
She looked up at her dad, to find he was watching her.
"You liked that, huh?" He grinned.
Alex bounced up and down. "That was so COOL!!"
4. Vista City. 2366
Richard Dalton walked across the tarmac with his daughter.
"What is this place?" Alex asked, her voice verging on whiny.
"You'll see," Richard said.
It looked industrial, adult and boring to Alex. Warehouses and flat permacrete all over.
Finding the number he was looking for, Richard approached the door and rang the bell.
A half beat later the door swished open.
It took Alex's eyes a moment to adjust from the solid California sunlight to the interior lights.
It was just exactly what it looked like from the outside. A warehouse. Dirty. Prosaic. Industrial.
Alex didn't notice much of that.
What caught her eyes was the airplane that occupied the place of honor in the warehouse. A red, sleek fuselage, elegant wings and a clear cockpit bubble for maximum pilot visibility.
It was one of the display planes from the air show some weeks ago.
Alex didn't realize her breath caught in her throat. There were other planes in the warehouse, too.
A thin man with graying blonde hair and a bland smile was walking towards them.
"You must be Steve Ashby," Dalton said holding out his hand.
"A pleasure, Mister Dalton. I take it this is Alexandra?"
Richard had to nudge his daughter twice before she ripped her eyes away from the airplanes and towards their owner.
"Uh... uh... Hi," she stammered.
Steve crouched down to eye level with Alex, something she usually hated.
He said it quietly but firmly. "Rule one is that trainees work hard. They mostly pilot mops and brooms. Trainees have to complete stacks of homework and do the hardest math correctly, the first time. After days and days of work, you might just get to fly one of my airplanes."
Alex felt her face drain and her eyes bug out. "Really?"
"Interested?"
Alex looked at her father. He smiled through and through. He'd hit it out of the park this time. "Is this what you want?"
Alex's' shriek made dogs howl a kilometer away.
Steve winced. "That sounds like a yes to me."
Richard's smile got wider "That'd be my guess."
II - Graduation Day
5. Starfleet Academy, Graduation Day 2378
Alex watched the formation flying on a screen in her cockpit, while keeping her skittish little fighter in formation. The training plane wanted to roll and dance. Holding it in formation was not that hard. The hard part was coming up.
Blue Squadron was completing their run. The pilots of the class of 56701.1 were hot and their routine was difficult.
As they finished their planned routine, Blue Squadron made a starburst over the Academy parade grounds and flew out of sight of the audience on the ground.
Fourth year cadet Alexandra Dalton smiled to herself. It was an unspoken challenge. Blue Squadron always tried to one up Red Squadron on graduation day.
Now it was Red Squadron's turn.
Taking a deep breath and focusing formidable powers of concentration, Alex took up her slot position in the formation and Red Squadron went to work.
Inside the plane, there was heavy work. The angles had to be precise, but the air they were cutting through was anything but, a roiling mass of chaotic oxygen and nitrogen.
Temperature gradients across San Francisco lead to randomized updrafts and down drafts, areas of different temperature made the density of the air vary.
Although it looked like Red Squadron's Kestrel fighters were on rails, from inside, Alex could see the minute imperfections and corrections each pilot had to make.
Alex monitored her power systems, engines, safety systems, shields and emergency transporter transponder, her telemetry channels and the functioning of her main control computer.
She monitored all this while spiraling though an 8 or 9-g corkscrew, keeping Red Five less than a foot off her wing the whole time.
She kept her breathing and her pulse regular as Red Four passed her at approximately the same distance with their combined speed well over thirteen hundred kilometers per hour.
About an hour later, Alex was breathing hard, sweaty and her shoulders ached. However, her soul was satisfied, and you'd need a sonic chisel to get the grin off her face.
She heard Red One, the squadron leader, Kastal M'roka do his best deadpan astronaut impression over the open channel. It was being broadcast live over loudspeakers to the assembled class and visitors on graduation day.
"And that, gentlemen, is how you do that." Red Squadron, class of 55701.1 had capped the day.
6. The Voice of Experience.
Somewhere in San Francisco, parties were happening. Brand new Starfleet officers were singing, dancing, shouting and getting seriously drunk.
The restaurant was quiet and smooth inside. The furniture was lovingly polished and finished wood, the decor carefully chosen.
The crowd spoke quietly and Alex could hear the clinking of dishes, silverware and glasses.
Alex spotted Miles O'Brien and a short, dark haired woman, both still in Starfleet dress uniforms from the graduation.
So was Alex. She sat down; the maitre'd gently slid the chair under her.
"Chief," Alex nodded.
"Alex, this is a friend of moine, Ezri Dax. She's stationed at Deep Space Nine," O'Brien introduced.
"Lieutenant," Alex said, the pages of the protocol manuals dancing in front of her face.
"Do you mind if I call you Alex?" Dax asked. "This isn't a formal occasion."
Alex smiled "Please. May I call you Ezri?"
The Trill woman nodded.
Both women looked at O'Brien. "Call me Ishmael," he grumped.
Ezri smiled. "Miles doesn't handle the social transitions that well."
Alex tried a wan smile in reply. She was nervous.
"I loike you, Alex," O'Brien started. "You're the kind of kid who'll go far if you give yourself a chance."
"Thank you," Alex said. *Here comes the BUT...* she though to herself.
"So explain t' me why yer so all fired hot t' fly fighters."
Alex blinked. "I... I..."
"It's a dead end, Alex. Fighter Squadrons are where they put officers who aren't going t' amount to anything," O'Brien said.
Alex stared at O'Brien, stunned.
"Miles," Ezri said, softly.
"Nobody's been allowed t' tell you this bluntly because once you get through year one, we instructors are specifically forbidden from discouragin' ye. Now yer an officer, supposedly someone who can handle the truth. I've said y' could be a great engineer. I talked to yer navigation teachers, and yer security teachers. They all said ye've got a good head on yer shoulders and yer as quick as hell on the uptake. You could go anywhere you want in the service," O'Brien said.
Alex took a deep breath. "I'm here to fly, Sir." It was her mantra. It got her through the horrible days of year one in the Academy, when exhaustion, despair and impossible demands threatened to wash her out.
O'Brien leaned back with a stubborn look on his face.
Ezri jumped up and with a stupidly perky expression and said, "I have to go to the bathroom. C'mon, Alex."
Alex let Dax drag her off to the women's restroom.
-*-
Tears started flowing as soon as they were safely inside. There was actually a lounge just inside the first doorway. Four hundred years ago, it was a place for women to have the vapors. Alex knew nothing of the original design or she might have been insulted.
Ezri sat Alex down on a paisley couch and sat next to her.
"You know that wasn't an attack, don't you?" Ezri said.
"Ye-" Alex's voice caught in her throat. "No! It felt just like an ambush to me."
Ezri nodded. "He's been eating his heart out about you for a while."
Alex looked at Ezri "Huh?"
"You remind him of his daughter," Ezri explained.
"I have plenty of father figures already!" Alex snarled.
Ezri giggled. "That doesn't stop them when you're cute, Alex."
Alex tried to bite down the snicker. It's hard to cry when you're snickering, or snicker when you're crying. Alex managed it. "Why?"
"Are you aware of the reputation of the fighter squadrons in Starfleet?"
Alex thought about it. "Not... really. I... I was so focused on getting my wings..."
"It's just what O'Brien said," Ezri said brusquely. "Fighter pilots themselves keep this internal image, but the rest of the fleet considers them a waste of time."
Alex looked at the smaller Trill woman. Anger started to burn inside her.
"Have you looked at what fighter pilots do in Starfleet?" Ezri asked.
"Yes," Alex snapped.
"Have you looked at how often they do it?" Ezri asked.
"He brought you here to help him talk me out of being a pilot!" Alex accused.
Ezri looked into Alex' eyes. "I'm a counselor, Alex. I'm here to make sure you're happy, no matter what Miles thinks."
"You have a funny way of going about it!" Alex snarled.
"Tell me why," Ezri said.
"Why what?"
"O'Brien talked my ear off. This new girl, she could be the next Picard. She could be the next Janeway, but she has wings glued onto her ankles and won't stop."
"He said that about me?"
"I told you he'd been eating his heart out for a while," Ezri said. "So. Why?"
"Why do I have wings glued on?" Alex asked.
"Uh huh."
"I don't know, I just do," Alex said, "My best day in the Academy was today, flying the final review. I can't get enough flight time."
"You sure?"
"YES, I'm sure!"
"No, are you sure you don't know why?" Ezri asked.
Alex thought about it. "Ever since I was a little girl, flying seemed like so much fun to me."
Ezri nodded. "Okay. Bear this in mind. Starfleet is about being flexible. Some day you may have to climb out of the fighter and do something else."
Alex looked at her.
"But we don't have to burn that bridge until we get there," Ezri said.
Alex felt relief rush through her. She looked at it. "Who said you get to give me permission to be a pilot?"
Ezri grinned. "I don't. I'm here to give you permission to give yourself permission. Once you know what you want and know that you're allowed to do it, my job is done."
Alex grinned "I like that."
-*-
Ezri marched up to the table. "Miles!"
"Did you talk -?"
"Shush!" Ezri was sharp. "The discussion is over."
"But, I just-"
"Over."
O'Brien looked at the two younger women and measured their resolve. Then he surrendered. "Alright. What are we having for dinner?"
Ezri looked back at Alex and winked.
"By the way, Congratulations, Ensign," O'Brien said. "Starfleet is well ahead today."
Alex could see the fatherly affection bursting in O'Brien. An urge to hiss and throw things came and went. Alex was far too good-natured to turn down an honest friend.
III The Assignment 2379
7. Serenity
Tanned, fit and rested, Alex Dalton stepped off the cargo shuttle onto the planet of New Canada. She breathed deeply, glad for fresh air at long last.
"Stay in touch, Alex," Vicky Collins said, as she stepped off the shuttle. A year in space under way led to new friends and acquaintances. Alex stepped off the shuttle. "Thank you, Vicky. You too!"
Alex felt a pang of emotion, but it wasn't as if she wouldn't see her friend again. They were both stationed on the same planet.
The air was cool. In the distance, the hills seemed furry and green with pine trees and other vegetation.
The Map on her PADD said the VSF-6501 Squadron; the "Banshees" had quarters on the other end of the Starbase 91 Annex. The main base was in orbit high above.
Alex started walking. Warehouses, workshops, offices bordered the long, flat permacrete tarmac of the base annex. It looked familiar to Alex - much of the same thought process was evident in March Field in California or even in the Vista City Municipal Airport.
Although modern vehicles didn't use runways the way airplanes did, having a flat, smooth place to put flying machines was too handy. The planet seemed riotous and green to Alex, like the Pacific Northwest, around Seattle where she'd visited relatives as a girl, not to mention the Boeing Museum.
Some time later Alex was beginning to feel like she was trudging, but she enjoyed the feeling. Even a huge Starliner Pod only had so much space. Being out in the open felt good indeed.
In an obscure corner of the annex, facing flat permacrete landing areas and parking areas, there were the hangars assigned to Banshee Squadron. The doors were open and in the sunlight, people were working on the old workhorse Kestrel fighter planes.
A curved, three story building next to the hangar was the HQ and quarters of Banshee Squadron. Alex walked up the front walk. Flag poles out front had the flags of the Federation, Starfleet, and two Alex didn't recognize. A flag with Blue bars on both side and a blue maple leaf. The other flag was black and featured a silver depiction of a woman riding a sideways Cochrane delta.
Alex walked in through the large transparent steel doors. The lobby of the building featured another flag. Orange, white and green with a golden harp in the middle.
Pictures and artifacts littered the walls in display cases. Pictures of crews, flights, old fighters, even ancient Tomcat class fighters. Obviously, there was a lot of history there.
Alex found the directory and followed it to the office marked "Squadron Commander - Jazz Phoenix".
-*-
"Welcome, Ensign." Jazz Phoenix looked intense. Alex stood at rigid attention.
"Let me tell you what our job here is. We're high mobility Red Shirts. We use our craft to get down on the deck and lug heavy phasers into position. We train hard, we work hard, we fly hard and we play hard. Think you're up to that?"
Ma'am, Yes Ma'am!" Alex found herself barking. Embarrassment flared. You wouldn't think she was an Ensign with a year's service under her belt.
Jazz stifled a grin and worked hard to look serious. "We'll find out. Banshee Squadron had twelve planes. We're in two flights, Green Flight and O-Flight, Short for Orange. You're now Green Six, in my flight so I can keep an eye on you."
"Yes, Commander." Alex forced herself to be less stiff.
"You'll have time to meet the rest of the squadron as we go. I want you to hit the ground running on your training," Jazz said. "Come along."
Alex's' new quarters were pretty standard officer's quarters, with a window that had a wonderful view of the side of the Hangar next door to the HQ building.
Alex didn't get to see them long.
8. Hangar Queen
Lieutenant Luke George was a hairy man, with dark curly hair that threatened to fly away. His voice was surprisingly high. "For the first half of your day, you'll report here, to do maintenance and engineering work on the planes. We're all qualified technicians, out here."
"Yes, Sir," Dalton said.
Here is the crew chief, Lieutenant Dan Grozzick. He runs the maintenance crews. It doesn't matter if you make Admiral some day, you listen to what Grozzick says, am I clear?" George said.
"Yes, Sir."
They walked around half-disassembled Kestrel fighters, with people scurrying around them. Alex could see roughly what people were doing. It looked like routine but heavy maintenance.
Three technicians were wrestling an engine on an anti-grav back into the housing on the bottom of the fighter plane. The control circuitry looked odd and deeply suspect to Alex.
"Lieutenant Grozzick?" George said.
Grozzick was a large Bolian man, his skin lined with age; he rolled out from under the plane easily. "This is the new meat, Lieutenant Commander?"
"This is Ensign Alexandra Dalton. Ensign Dalton, Lieutenant Dan Grozzick."
"Pleased, Sir," Alex smiled.
Grozzick looked at her sternly with calculated doubt. He had to wrestle down a grin. Dalton was puppy fresh. Instead, he growled, "You won't be. And knock off that Sir crap. I work for a living."
Alex tilted her head. Usually it was Non-Commissioned officers shouting that. "Sorry, err. Lieutenant."
"Call me Dan. I couldn't avoid these pips, but they ain't spoiled me, yet," Dan barked. "Come along." He started to march through the chaos of the hangar with long, purposeful, energetic strides.
As Dalton hurried to catch up, she looked at Lieutenant Commander George. He threw her a genial wave.
Grozzick led her out the back of the hangar. There in a field where weeds were starting to slowly reclaim the land from the Starbase annex, were wrecks. Shuttles, Kestrel class fighters, and other things. At the center of the mess, up on blocks, was a one-hundred-year-old Tomcat class fighter plane.
"That one is a replacement unit for the Katala Defense Force. Your job is to get it flying," Grozzick said.
Alex blinked at the ancient hulk, stunned.
"These are your parts locker," Grozzick said.
Alex looked around at the surrounding ruins and her stomach dropped into her shoes.
"Draw your tools and get to work," Grozzick said.
Alex looked up at the big Bolian man and tried not to cry. "Yes, Si - Dan."
Grozzick looked around conspiratorially and leaned down. "This is a test of your ingenuity and improvisational skills, Ensign. You can come talk to me if you get stuck."
Alex nodded, dumbly.
"Right. Let's get on it." He turned and walked back into the hangar with the same long, high-energy steps.
-*-
Conn Piper was a thin man, with a pencil moustache and slicked back hair. He moved very precisely. He smoked a pipe. It smelled interesting to Alex.
"Today we'll be going over the care and maintenance of energy weapons." Piper's voice was deep and distracted. His mind seemed to be more with the phasers on the table than in the room with Alex.
Alex looked forward to showing Piper how much she'd learned at the Academy.
Ten minutes later, she had a PADD out, and was making Piper repeat himself, while she took careful notes. She began to realize how much she didn't know about phasers.
9. Settling In
The next morning came far too early. Alex dragged herself out of bed, stumbled in and out of the sonic shower and struggled into a cover-all. That would be the first half of the day, working on the nightmarish hulk of an ancient fighter plane.
Then Alex went down the stairs to the mess hall.
People were eating with unhurried enthusiasm and talking. Alex immediately felt isolated.
At one table, a foursome of women were talking. A tall blonde waved at Alex. "Ensign Dalton! Over here."
Alex walked over, shyly.
"You're the new kid, right? I'm Lee Carter, the second in command of Green flight. You're with us." The blond woman smiled engagingly. "This is Jo Schmidt; she just got here a couple of weeks ago."
"Hi." Jo could have been Alex' sister.
"This is Sam Beckett," Lee introduced.
Beckett's greeting was a soft "Hi." She seemed quiet.
"This is Morgan Mason." Lee pointed out a woman with curly black hair and deep brown eyes. "Howdy, Sugar. Welcome to the party." Mason's southern drawl was catchy.
"And this is Kimberly Tycho," Lee pointed out.
"Call me Kim." Tycho had short curly brown hair and a catchy smile.
"Hi, everyone," Dalton smiled. She found herself shaking hands with Tycho.
"So what monstrosity do they have you working on out back of the hangar?" Lee asked.
Alex was bleak. "A Tomcat class fighter."
That sparked a round of giggles.
"You're lucky," Kim said.
"Oh?" Alex said dubiously.
"Once you finish it, you get to test fly it. I got a cargo lifter," Kim said. "Strong but slow."
"I thought you liked your men that way," Lee said.
More giggles.
Alex found herself giggling along. It felt good.
-*-
Alex found herself in a dark alley, and tried to keep the sweat from her palm from making her phaser too slippery.
Ahead of her Conn Piper and Max Vasser moved to cover, covering all sorts of angles with phasers.
It was Hogan's Alley, a combat simulation on the holodeck.
It didn't feel all that simulated. The fact that Alex wanted to get a good grade on her security tactics review made the false tension of the holodeck all the more real.
Alex skittered to a doorway and covered the street.
A noise startled her. She spun, dropping to her knee and firing through the door. It was supposed to have been boarded up.
Alex hosed down the Orcs in the doorway, who fell howling and snarling that they'd been denied their tasty prey.
Alex had a bad feeling. She rolled to her left just in time to avoid a green disruptor beam. The door across the alley had also opened up. Green and orange beams flew across the alley.
With a horrible electrical shock feeling and green flash, Alex was hit.
-*-
The gurney spun and Alex retched. It was worse than the phaser stun used to train cadets at the academy. Alex was convinced she'd been seriously damaged by the disruptor blast. She was wobbly, had no equilibrium and her stomach felt like it was going to crawl out her mouth and quit her body in a huff. She wished it would go ahead and get it over with, and quit torturing her.
"Ensign."
Alex looked up grimly into the face of Vasser.
Vasser was gruff. "You didn't suck, but you need a lot of work. See you tomorrow."
If there had been a God, Vasser would have been struck by fourteen lighting bolts. If there had been a God, Alex would be safely and comfortably dead. Alex's' crises of faith was brutal, short and resentful.
Conn Piper watched her suffer with detached amusement.
"Holodeck... safeties...." Alex managed, weakly.
"We use real disruptor stun beams," Piper smiled with graceful maliciousness. "Teaches you to duck better."
"Oh, God!" Alex cried.
Piper reached for his pipe and started to pack it with noxious weed.
"OH GOD!!" Alex cried.
-*-
"And then he smoked that evil thing at me!" Alex protested.
More laughter.
Lee nodded. "They love to do that. It reinforces the lesson."
The women at the table at the El Taco in the city of Serenity, New Canada all said it together. "Don't get hit!"
Rick, the ruggedly handsome manager of the El Taco brought out a tray loaded with food from all over the Galaxy. It honestly looked to Alex as though it had all been cooked in the same pan.
As she got the galactic cheese flauta, slathered with guacamole and sour schplict, Alex felt herself growing green and faint from the memory.
Rick slid a clear soda across the table. "Sprite. Sip it. It'll help," he said.
Alex looked up at her benefactor. How did he know?
Answering her unspoken question Rick smiled. "They'd do it to all of us, if they could."
Alex sipped the lemon lime soda and sure enough, it helped. "I have a question."
Lee looked at her inquiringly. "Yes?"
"What flag is that in the entry way to HQ?"
"I'm told it's the flag of the land that invented Banshees," Lee Carter said. "It was apparently put up about eighty years ago by the first commander of Banshee Squadron."
"Huh," Alex said. "So Green Flight is one side..."
"The Oh in O-Flight is for Orange," Morgan said. "But no one wants to say orange when there's shooting goin' on."
"Ahhhh," Alex said, sipping some more Sprite. The food was starting to smell good.
New Guy
The Tomcat was coming along. Alex found the old wrecks were full of lots of interesting stuff that was actually salvageable with a little effort.
The subsonic thrum of a cargo lifter sounded. Alex peeked out of the type-five shuttlecraft where she was stripping flight controls.
The cargo lifter was big. It set down a comfortable distant out in the weeds.
Grozzick, Kim Tycho and some of Grozzick's enlisted crew got out and opened up the back of the lifter.
More wrecks. Used up, damaged and broken shuttles. The crews attached anti-gravs to the hulks and slowly floated them off the cargo vehicle.
After they had seven new wrecks, they started unloading boxes. Alex wandered over towards the cargo lifter.
"Can I help?"
Tycho turned and nodded. "Yup. New guy coming in tomorrow, grab a box and hide the stuff in it. It's Easter egg time."
Alex looked at her shocked. "Hide it?"
"Well, scatter it around and make it look casual. We want to know if the new guy is going to be stubborn enough to do a thorough search before he comes in asking for new parts requisitions."
Alex looked around. "They did that to me?"
Tycho grinned. "To all of us. If someone doesn't find a cool piece, it stays for the next newbie."
Alex gulped. "I just looked because I was afraid of Grozzick."
Kim nodded. "Probably a good idea. He's not mister patience."
Alex took a deep breath and then started thinking about the casual and random spacing of used and semi-used components she'd found. Now, how to duplicate that, but make it all look casually thrown around?
-*-
Alex kept the phaser moving around the room. She checked under the bed, behind the doors, and in the closet.
Having checked all the places she said, "Clear!"
Vasser, Piper and the rest of the trainees, Jo, Henry Mark, a short man with unruly blonde hair, Morgan and Kim all acknowledged without taking their eyes away from their own zone.
There was an electronic beep and the holodeck announced, "Scenario cleared. Program ended."
Everyone stood up wearily. It took a lot of energy to be focused and paranoid for two straight hours.
Vasser nodded. "We're getting there. Now we really go to work."
Alex, Jo, Henry and Morgan looked at her.
"This is the training wheels level. This is just to see if you have the spark to do this right," Vasser explained. "Now we're on the road to turning you into real soldiers to be afraid of."
Henry shook his head. "I don't understand. We're pilots. Why do we have to learn this stuff, again?"
Piper said quietly. "Didn't you listen to your briefing when you were assigned here? We're heavy weapons security people. Our job is to move quickly to put phasers on target. The only difference is that instead of running on foot, we're pushing these hopped up flitters."
"And," Vasser pointed out, "learning how to mind your field of fire and work as a team here means you'll be better at it in the air. That way you're not some yahoo I have to be afraid of when you're behind me."
Henry nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."
-*-
The next morning found Alex happily working away on her old Tomcat. Now that she knew success was in reach, things seemed a lot easier. Underneath her Tomcat, wrestling with a power rectifier, she heard the door open and close.
Grozzick said, "The Nybarite Alliance has purchased a type 5 shuttlecraft. That one. You'll restore it."
Another voice spoke with disbelief: "What a piece of junk!"
"She'll be pretty when you're done with her, Ensign," Grozzick said, his voice filled with a dangerous confidence.
There was a pregnant pause. Then the other voice said, "Yes, Sir," sullenly.
Grozzick called out, "Dalton! Come meet your new squad mate!"
Alex put down the power rectifier and her tools carefully, and rolled out from under her Tomcat.
As she stood up and got a look at the new guy her heart caught. He had a classical profile, chiseled good looks and soulful brown eyes.
He looked at her and his sullen attitude turned to sunshine. "Well, hello." His smile sparkled.
Alex had three conflicting reactions. She wanted to melt and sigh at the new guy. It was a visceral, subconscious reaction. Then she realized that she had zero makeup on, was dirty and sweaty, and dressed in a shapeless coverall. So the initial "ooo, pretty" crashed headlong into "oh my god, I'm scuzzy!"
Her third reaction was anger at herself for such an emotional reaction and faint distaste for the new guy. He was sullen and whiny.
Alex found the emotions making her blush. "A- Alexandra Dalton." The stumble over her name, making the embarrassment and irritation dominant in her mind.
The new guy got even sunnier. He could see the confusion in her face and thought it was cute. "Cruz Thompson," he said.
Alex slapped a tight grin on her face and shook his hand. She was glad she'd left her tools under the Tomcat.
He saw that and thought it was cute, too. "Pleased."
They looked at each for an uncomfortable moment.
Grozzick waited a touch too long before barking. "Get to work."
Alex looked at Grozzick to see a twinkle in his eye and restrained grin.
Did he misinterpret the awkwardness as attraction?
Did he too think Alex was "Cute"?
Or did he realize that Thomson irritated Alex and relish inflicting the two ensigns on each other?
"I have to get back to work," Alex disengaged awkwardly. She returned to the safe harbor of her ancient plane.
-*-
About forty minutes later, footsteps crunched up to the Tomcat.
"I don't know about you," Thompson said, "but I didn't sign up to be a technician. I'm here to fly."
Alex looked out from under her plane again. It was a hard point to argue. "Me, too," she admitted reluctantly.
"I wonder if we should complain?" Thompson mused.
Alex blinked. This was so far from the normal Starfleet officer's "Can Do" attitude, that Alex couldn't believe it was coming from Cruz' mouth.
"You go right ahead," she said.
Cruz lit up his sunny smile again. "Relax, I was just thinking."
"Probably not your best thing," Alex found her self saying.
Cruz chuckled. "Alright, alright. I give up." He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Alex rolled her eyes. "Is there anything else?"
"Umm, yeaaah." Thompson looked embarrassed. "How much do you know about inertial stabilization systems?"
-*-
Fifteen minutes later, Alex found herself in the beat up type 5 shuttlecraft, with the avionics panel apart, and the inertial stabilization module up to show how the gyroscopes and accelerometers kept track of the shuttle's orientation.
"And circuit C handles the sensor feedback," she said, peering at the instructions printed on the avionics access panel. "So we'd plug that in there," Alex demonstrated.
"That's great! Thank you!" Thompson said enthusiastically. "I definitely owe you one. Now, what about the master control unit?"
Alex smiled at him "This must be how he'd gotten through the Academy," she found herself thinking.
Then she had a moment of clarity where she saw her relative place and position in the world.
With a sour expression on her face, Alex unplugged the inertial stabilization module.
Thompson watched her, absorbed in the technical details.
Alex got up off the deck, and walked outside with the inertial stabilizer.
"Okay. What?" Cruz asked, following her.
Once outside, Alex disassembled the device and took the gyroscopes out. She'd laboriously aligned them to the rotation of New Canada while Cruz watched. She waggled the gyroscopes around ruining their alignment.
"Hey!" Cruz yelled. "What'd you do that for?"
"This shuttle is your job," Alex said simply. "I showed you how, now it's your turn." She pressed the disassembled device into his hands.
Cruz glared at her, his face momentarily showing anger. Then it passed like a shadow. "Ha, ha, ha," Cruz laughed heartily. "Yeah, sure. I get it. Thank you, Ensign."
Alex turned back towards her Tomcat. "Have fun."
"Ha, ha, ha," Cruz said, his insincerity wearing thin. "That's great."
-*-
The rest of the day Cruz Thompson worked with grim efficiency on his type 5 shuttle. He seemed markedly less confused.
11. Flight Time
This was more like it. The Kestrel fighter planes used by Banshee Squadron were heavily field modified, but each changed had been created by pilots to make the planes better.
Green Flight swept over frozen tundra at breathtaking speed, and even more breathtaking altitude. Or rather, lack of altitude.
Alex grinned to herself that 6,000 years of human technology boiled down to a faster, slicker version of "Hide behind the big rock, sneak up on your prey and back shoot it when you get the shot."
To attack planetside targets entailed using the whole planet as cover to approach the target, flying fast and low to avoid sensor beams.
It took real flying. Alex was having a blast. An ice covered mountain loomed and then seemed to dance ever so slowly out of their way as the six fighter planes streaked around it.
They were traveling just at the edge of super sonic speed so that shockwaves wouldn't give them away.
Compared to warp drive or even plain old impulse drive they were moving dead slow, but being that close to rocks, hills, ravines, and icy obstacles gave a sense of speed that impulse drives and warp speed could never match.
Alex checked her position compared to Sam Beckett. The quiet, shy woman was a whole different person in the cockpit. She attacked every obstacle and seemed to be daring it to reach out, before turning at the last moment and snickering "Sucker" as she flew past.
Alex was Sam's wingman, so she had to keep up. It was heavy work, but Alex was in heaven. This was real flying.
"Green One, Green Flight," Jazz Phoenix said over the comm. "We're entering the engagement zone. Count off, ready to attack."
"Green Two, taking it to you," Lee Carter said with a grin in her voice.
Green Three, wait for me," Sam Beckett said with an uncharacteristic giggle in her voice.
Cruz Thompson was Jazz Phoenix' Wingman. "Green Four. Give me some more," he said.
Morgan's accent was lilting, "Green Five, keepin' the blue side up."
Alex hesitated for a moment trying to think of something witty. Her mouth did it for her. "Green Six, standing by."
"Excellent," Phoenix encouraged her. "Let's go."
Alex had almost a quarter of a second to kick herself for not coming up with a good line before Sam rolled her plane into a huge glacial valley and roared along a frozen lake at almost two meters of altitude.
The valley was wide on the south side with a large frozen lake. It got narrower and seemed to climb steeply into the mountains. Jumbled rocks guarded their privacy and maintained a foreboding watch that had gone on for centuries.
From a distance, Alex imagined that the Kestrel fighters of Banshee Squadron looked like hyperactive aggressive fireflies. Sort of Christmasy.
"Stay alert, Six. The approach is defended by disruptor cannon and missile emplacements," Beckett said. "We're first in, clearing a path for the rest. Arm phasers and fire as you get targets."
"Acknowledged, Green Three," Alex said. She didn't have time to worry about being witty. She activated the weapons systems on her plane and double-checked the training exercise lockouts, and then made sure her countermeasures canisters were visible to the control computer. No decoy would do a bit of good if you couldn't fire it.
Then Alex was into a hellish set of S-turns through a narrowing cannon. Here the ancient basalt seemed hostile and very sharp, glinting in the moonlight of New Canada's larger moon, the Moose.
As she struggled to avoid becoming a modern rock painting, Alex saw a flash. She barely managed to get the nose around to put a phaser beam into the holographic turret, without turning so much that she flew into the canyon wall.
As the holographic turret obediently exploded, Alex's' heart thrill of victory was cut off by a screech from the warning system. A missile had locked on.
Guessing, Alex slapped the countermeasures panel for a flare and then deliberately got a touch too close to a wall and barely escaped that. A bright flash behind her told her... something. Hopefully something good. Alex could feel the coppery taste of fear in her mouth. The missiles and turrets were holographic. The rocks, ice, and killing cold were very real. Apparently, the holomissiles tracked energy because the flare distracted that one.
As she righted her plane and tried to regain her equilibrium, Alex almost flew into the path of another beam. Only a quick, lucky feeling jerk got her around it. Alex relished killing that turret.
As she continued, Alex got into the rhythm of it. She began to swoop instead of jerking and her smile got wider.
Then at the top of the canyon, there was the target. Alex laughed. It was Frankenstein's Castle, or at least a good simulation of it. A baroque looking heavy beam weapon started to swing towards her, only to be peremptorily slagged by a beam from right above. Beckett swooped past Alex and pressed home the attack on the castle. Alex dove right in behind her.
They streaked past the Castle, having stripped it of half its point defense weapons, Alex could almost swear she saw the Mad Scientist and Igor shaking their fists at her.
12. Kelly
Vince Kelly strode into the pirate base like he owned it. This was not surprising. He did. Kelly dressed in conservative business attire, calculated to work with his rakish good looks to present an aura of technocratic success. He could blend in on any one of a dozen Federation and Orion worlds as a successful businessman on his way up in the world.
Kelly's chosen field of entrepreneurial success was unusual.
"So, Krezuk," he said, smiling. "What's the word?"
"We have taken a great prize," Krezuk smiled. Kelly would be proud.
"Oh? What prize is this?" Kelly asked blandly.
"We took the Federati Starliner City-of-Port-Royal," Krezuk said proudly.
"Ah," Kelly nodded. "I believe I have heard of this. Big ship was it?"
"At least three hundred mega credits, resale. I believe we can ransom the ship itself for a large pile of money," Krezuk grinned. "Let alone the passengers."
"Ahhhh, yes. The passengers." Kelly's smile was dazzling. "The creme de la creme of Earth society. I believe, Krezuk that you actually have a measurable fraction of Earth's economy itself hostage, just from the relatives of the people you took."
"Heh heh heh," Krezuk chuckled, imagining the piles of latinum.
Kelly's smile grew glittering. "I heard it on the news, you see."
"Heh, heh, heh," Krezuk smiled picturing fame as well as fortune, completely missing the point.
Kelly turned and walked towards his office. "Make sure the hostages are well cared for. They'll be your bargaining chips. Damaged goods don't resell as well."
"Huh...," Krezuk nodded. He hadn't actually mistreated any of the hostages. Much. Yet. However, he hadn't gone out of his way to make their stay pleasant either. After all, they were captives of a fierce, deadly and truly badass pirate clan. They shouldn't be having a good time. But when Kelly made a gentle suggestion, you snapped to. Or he snapped you.
-*-
A priceless piece of Andorian crystal smashed itself against the wall with a harsh crack. Pieces flew everywhere.
Kelly's face was a mask of rage.
R'Zal, Kelly's Vulcan assistant waited through the emotional display dispassionately.
Gaining some control of himself, Kelly stomped over to his desk and took out two PADDs. "Get the smart list on the small raiders for a 'patrol' - sealed orders for when they get free to head for fallback Gamma," Kelly snapped.
"Rearrange the guard schedules. I want the stupid list on guard duty when the Marines get here," Kelly snarled. "Offer them bonuses for bravery and bloodshed."
R'Zal nodded.
"Once you have that in motion start cleaning the computers and physical plant," Kelly said.
R'Zal nodded. Kelly meant to erase with great thoroughness all records that could lead back to Kelly or be used to map his operations. Then R'Zal would carefully spray solvent in their rooms and working areas to dissolve DNA and other biological clues that Starfleet might use to track them.
Kelly breathed deeply getting control of his temper. "And leave Krezuk to me."
Except that she was used to such things, the tone in Kelly's voice would have made her shiver.
-*-
Krezuk sipped his poisoned wine cluelessly.
The meal was excellent. Kelly fumed very silently. His cooks would be running for the last ship out now, having abandoned one of the most carefully arranged kitchens in the sector. It would be weeks before they had their kitchens set up properly to cook well again.
"To our success, my friend," Kelly lied smoothly.
"To our success," Krezuk said. He honestly thought he'd made Kelly's inner circle. Krezuk wasn't that stupid. Kelly was that good a liar.
13. To the Rescue
The USS Kitty Hawk drove through space firmly and quickly. A mothership on a rescue mission, no one was going to get between her civilians and her rescue.
Jazz went over the mission briefing again with her crew.
"Confidence is high. The Midas Array took this long range scan," Phoenix said. The screen lit up to show far, far too fuzzy a picture of a structure on an iceball world.
"We'll be the lead wave to take out point defense ahead of the assault shuttles," Vasser said tiredly.
"Making sure the assault shuttles get in and out safely is our main combat goal," Luke George said.
"Don't engage any heavy units - leave those for the escorts," Lee Carter said.
"We'll leave the ship and approach passively on a ballistic heading to mimic probes. Once over the horizon, we'll light up our engines, descend to the deck and approach from the northwest of the station, low to avoid the sensors."
"When will we be back aboard?" Jo Schmidt asked innocently.
Taking the straight line, Morgan Mason drawled, "Cain't tell you that, honey. It's classified."
Jazz Phoenix bit her lip. "Okay. You've got it. Let's go get ready."
-*-
On the flight deck of the Kitty Hawk, the Banshees checked their planes one last time and made sure all necessary survival gear was aboard and working.
Across the big bay, green uniformed marines performed their own checks on weapons, equipment and violent boarding gear. The assault shuttles were almost as old as the Kestrel fighters were. Big rectangular boxes with a circular hatch right up front and a bulbous cockpit for the pilot. Plasma cutters on docking ring, arranged to punch a perfectly sized hole in even the toughest hull.
Starfleet security and medical moved among the Marines. Corpsmen and Specialists who would join the Marine Squads in the fighting on the base.
Boarding actions were insanely dangerous. Boarding actions with hostages so you couldn't use plasma grenades and main starship phaser strikes were even more so.
Colonel Tarik, the leader of the Marines approached across the bay. Jazz went to meet him. There was always a tension between the Marines and the pilots of Banshee Squadron. The Marines considered the pilots pampered prima donnas. The pilots seemed to look down on the Marines as ground pounding thugs.
Until the shooting started. Then the Marines looked to the pilots for fire support. The pilots of Banshee Squadron knew their success lay in the hands of the men and women on the ground.
Tarik stuck his hand out and Jazz took it. "Good luck, Commander," Tarik said, his Vulcanoid composure as solid as the duranium of the hull.
"Take care of yourself, Colonel," Jazz responded. "Good hunting."
Tarik smiled faintly. "An interesting turn of phrase. And you."
He turned to head back to his people.
"Okay, people!" Jazz called. "Let's get suited up and ready to ride!"
Dalton watched the exchange. She couldn't help wondering which of the Marines or Corpsmen wouldn't be coming back from their mission.
-*-
The task force dropped out of warp dangerously close to the planet. Starfleet didn't use cloaking devices. They had to achieve tactical surprise in other ways.
Alex, clad in her armored space suit, sat in her Kestrel, waiting to launch. The Kitty Hawk shuddered and then seemed to lean dangerously forward towards her nose.
Two Saber class starships, a Steamrunner and the ancient USS Kitty Hawk appeared in low orbit in a blaze of light. As they did, objects separated from them. Probes, meant to give the Starfleet ships a wide and more complete view of the proceedings.
As the tilting deck rolled back into its normal horizontal position, there was a banging thump and the Kestrel was flung out the open shuttle bay door. The Kestrel, powered down into stand-by mode, seemed to tumble away from the ship. Alex gripped the internal handles tightly. It went against her every instinct to be deliberately out of control.
Alex watched the cold, white form of the iceball roll in front of her. The planet was nearly the same mass as Earth but floated abandoned and quiet, far, far away from its primary.
The fighter plane was in zero-g, the inertial dampeners that kept Alex alive during hard maneuvers powered down to avoid registering on the enemy sensor net.
There was a sharp orange flash. Alex gasped. Phaser fire. The sensors on the Kestrel were down for the same reason, running silent. Alex couldn't tell who was firing at whom. Were the Starfleet ships okay?
A hard white point of light blossomed and faded. A photon torpedo.
The drifting, slowly spinning plane sped along its path. Alex could do nothing but wait.
-*-
Inside the pirate base, chaos reigned. Alarm klaxons bellowed. Pirates of all shapes and sizes ran.
Vince Kelly and R'Zal strode down the hallway quietly, calmly, and yet with purpose. They knew where they were going and what they were doing.
-*-
In the Ops Center, Krezuk was sweating and trying hard not to show it. The pickets were getting pasted quickly. When Starfleet could pin you into a straight-ahead fight, it was usually a foregone conclusion.
Krezuk winced as an Orion Raider brewed up and splattered itself across the sky. Why had Rann decided to go head to head with the Federation ship?
Krezuk looked at his options. More than half his fleet strength was out on patrol. Most of his ships were small raiders anyway.
There was absolutely no chance of backup. Other Orion colonies, pirate groups, and even the Botchok government itself would laugh in his face for even asking.
Therefore, the battle in orbit was lost. That left the battle for the base. Fortunately, he wasn't as badly screwed there. He could polarize the base hull and prevent transporters from working. Then he could have a standoff with the Starfleeters. They wouldn't dare use their heavy phaser cannon for fear of hurting the hostages.
Krezuk began to see the wisdom of treating the hostages well. They were much better bargaining chips for his freedom intact and untraumatized.
"Go find Mister Kelly," Krezuk said to a junior pirate named Kald.
Once Vince was in Ops, he'd come up with something brilliant and totally mean. Krezuk grinned. He might just get out of this yet.
-*-
Kald was a young Orion and very earnest. He was new to pirating and the whole adventuring thing.
He quickly found Kelly and R'Zal heading towards some obscure storage areas near the back of the base.
"Your pardon, my lord," Kald said. Vince Kelly wasn't an Orion noble. But he could torture people as well as any Orion noble and better than most, so respect was paid.
Kelly looked at the young Orion blankly. "Yes?"
"With respect, sir, my lord Krezuk requests your presence in Ops."
Kelly nodded. "I bet he does. What's your name?"
"Kald, sire," Kald replied. Was it a good thing or a bad thing when Vince Kelly knew your name?
"Come along, Kald," Kelly said.
R'Zal quirked an eyebrow at Kelly but said nothing.
Kelly kept walking.
Kald hurried to keep up.
-*-
The storeroom had absolutely nothing to make it different from any one of a hundred others in that base, and a dozen in that corridor.
Kelly walked right into it. The door hissed open. Kelly walked towards the back of the room where a services trunk fed air, water, energy and information through the base.
Kelly walked up to the conduits, pipes and technology and reaching out with sure moves, he triggered a hidden latch.
The fake services trunk went dark and slid aside revealing a doorway.
"A secret door!" Kald breathed.
"Of course," Kelly grinned, "What would a pirate base be without hidden passages? After you, Kald," Kelly gestured the Orion youth ahead.
Kald stepped forward curiously. Where did the passage go? What lay hidden beyond?
As Kald passed Kelly, Kelly made an odd shape with his hand and snapped a blow into Kald's neck.
Kald gurgled painfully. He couldn't breathe! He was choking!
Kelly slammed his elbow into Kald's temple. Kald flopped to the ground limply, unconscious and suffocating.
"Pirate lesson number one, Kald," Kelly said, stepping on the dying youth on his way past. "Dead men tell no tales."
As she stepped past Kald, R'Zal grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. The hidden doorway slid shut and the fake technology lit back up, for all the world a vital piece of base infrastructure.
-*-
As a fireworks show it was amazing. As a battle, it was frighteningly vague and random. Alex watched until her plane rolled around the planet away from where the Starfleet assault was happening.
The timer counted down and her fighter plane sprang to life. Now safely on the other side of the planet from the pirate base, the fighters of Banshee Squadron came to life.
They would maintain communications silence until after their first pass. Alex could see the angry firefly sparks of some of the other fighters. But there was no telemetry from them.
Alex breathed a sigh of relief though. The channels broadcast by the big ships came through loud and clear. The task force was scratched up some but not seriously damaged - and the Orions still fighting in orbit were about finished.
Now it was the Banshees' turn. They'd do what fighters did. Put just the right amount of firepower in just the right place.
Alex turned her fighter nose down and advanced the throttles to full. Her Kestrel screamed out of the sky like a bird of prey.
Fresh scans of the base appeared on her screens. Having starships overhead was handy!
At the last minute, Alex yanked her plane out of the dive and screamed along a landscape so cold and so frozen it made the poles of New Canada look tropical. The stuff humans breathed was frozen on the ground as snow.
Dodging mountains and cliffs Alex found herself pacing another plane. Alex made a decision and throttled back a little. Who ever the other plane was, it was probably a more experienced pilot. Since this was her first combat run, Alex decided to play wingman and learn from a professional.
Then, clinging to her new wingman, Alex flew through the frozen night with more confidence.
It wasn't long before Banshee Squadron was most of the way back around towards the base, coming in low and hot. Alex flipped the switches on her control panel. Her plane made sure it was her and then armed its weapons, pulse phasers and micro torpedoes.
Looking around, Alex could see the other sparks approaching. The rest of Banshee Squadron.
Then, seemingly too quickly, they were on top of the base. Alex locked her weapons onto a phaser cannon along the pirate base's north side and pressed the firing stud on her joystick. Two micro torpedoes thumped away from the plane. Then Alex was past the target and turning hard to come back around for another pass.
-*-
In Ops, Krezuk cursed as several of his weapons turned red on his status screen.
"Fighters!" the sensor operator called. New symbols lit up on the tactical display - fighter planes.
Krezuk sneered "Fighters won't last long against our raiders!"
"Sir, our raiders are all engaged against the starships," the sensor officer pointed out.
Krezuk stopped sneering. That was bad. Where was Kelly?
Thumbing his intercom button to all-call, Krezuk spoke. "We are under attack by fighters. Three bars of gold pressed latinum apiece for each confirmed kill."
It was an extravagant use of money, but Krezuk was starting to have a very bad feeling.
-*-
"Green Flight, sound off!" Jazz barked.
"Green Two, I'm good," Carter said.
"Green Three, leave some for me," Sam Beckett grinned.
"Green Four, I'm at the door," Cruz said.
"Green Five, givin' 'em hell," Morgan called out.
Alex rolled through a turn, and winced as an orange phaser beam splashed off her front shield, weakening it and stopping inches before her cockpit window. She checked her screens for missiles, and dropped a flare anyway, just to be sure. She had three targets in strike range. Heavy phaser? Point defense phaser? Some funky looking missile tube thingie? Alex locked onto the point defense phaser, knowing it was the natural enemy of the Marine assault shuttles.
As she did so, the hours spent thinking of things that rhymed with "six" evaporated like the fog on a summer's morning. Alex said, "Green, uh... Six, yeah, (grunt)." She fired two micro torpedoes and threw a couple of phaser pulses in the direction of the missile thrower thingie on general principle. "I'm... uhhh...." as she swept past the base again, she noticed shuttle bay doors opening.
"Be advised," Alex, said deadpan. "Hostiles launching, 278 degrees true."
Jazz quickly switched channels. "Oh-One, we have hostiles launching. Can you provide cover?"
Luke George came back with his own deadpan. He sounded like he was at work in an office somewhere. "Roger that, Green One. You stay on target, we'll provide cover."
Jazz switched back to Green channel. "Orange flight has our back, stay on target."
"Roger," Carter replied.
"On target," Sam said.
"Yes, sir," Cruz said.
"Pressin' the attack," Morgan said.
"Green Six," Jazz said.
Alex was sweeping around in a long turn to the south of the pirate base trying to spot what was launching. She turned back in her seat expecting to be chided for poor comm protocol. "Go ahead, Green One."
"Nice catch."
Alex's heart flew. "Roger, Green One."
-*-
Alex Dodged around a Ferengi Shuttle Pod that looked like it had Klingon Heavy Disruptor cannon welded haphazardly onto it. From above and behind her, microtorpedoes tore the idiotic machine apart.
Alex focused. The last point defense phaser was located in an odd angle of the base hull, making it frustratingly difficult to hit. The metal all around the phaser was scarred and mangled by phaser and micro-torp hits, but no one had managed to take out the actual weapon yet.
Taking a risk, Alex throttled back and slowed down relative to the base, drifting along at half speed, she rolled right up to the point defense phaser when they both fired at the same time.
-*-
Alex rolled away from the exchange uncertainly. Her plane had red lights all over what was left of the panel. Her cockpit windshield was smashed. She looked at herself and found that her armored space suit was scorched and crunchy in places.
A small light blinked to let her know her urine container was full.
"Green Six, report status," Jazz barked.
"Uh, Green Six. I'm a little singed but I'm okay," Alex said.
"I can see you have a hull breach from here, Six," Jazz said.
"Yes, Ma'am, but my suit is holding fine," Alex said.
Jazz grinned to herself. Fortunately the enemy shuttles were all down, and Alex's' kamikaze run ended the threat the base posed to the Marine assault shuttles.
"Green Four, escort Green Six back to the Kitty Hawk," she decided. That would get her two greenest pilots back aboard ship and out of harm's way.
"Aye, Skipper," Cruz said.
"Aw," Alex said. Then she caught herself. "Acknowledged, Green One, returning to base."
-*-
As the two fighters rose gently above the surface of the ice world, they passed the assault shuttles heading the other way. Alex didn't see much but sparks moving in formation. They looked stately and formal.
Cruz maintained a stony silence. He was faintly irritated that Alex had a better kill score than he did. Obviously, the girl was buffaloed by his brute competence and felt that she had something to prove.
Motion caught his eye. Dialing his sensors in, Cruz spotted a sweet star yacht skipping along the frozen surface. Obviously, it was hoping to escape the way the fighters came in.
"Hey, Six," Cruz said. "Check it out. Three o'clock, almost under us."
"Umm, I don't have much left in the way of screens," Alex said. "What have you got?"
"Looks like a Bearcat class yacht, trying to sneak out the back door."
"Umm. Can we take him?" Alex asked. She didn't know the stats on a Bearcat class yacht off the top of her head.
"I can. Moving to engage," Cruz said.
With that, green Four nosed back down toward the planet and streaked away.
Alex grimaced and rolled into a dive after him. Hopefully her plane would hold together just a little while longer.
-*-
The yacht bucked as the fighter peppered it with phaser pulses.
R'Zal returned fire. The green beam of a disruptor splattered off the shield of the Federation fighter plane.
"They have upgraded their shielding," R'Zal said quietly. "It will take a few more moments to destroy him."
"We don't have it," Kelly said. "Our own shields are almost gone."
R'Zal raised her eyebrow. "They have been upgrading their weapons as well."
"No one flies stock Kestrels any more," Kelly said. "I'm going to jump to warp."
"We're too close to the planet," R'Zal said.
Kelly started setting up the jump. "I think we can do if we time it just right."
R'Zal sat back as her weapon deactivated, drained of power. "There's something--" she started.
"Don't," Kelly snapped.
She looked at him, affronted.
"I turn you on. I know. Working," he said.
R'Zal blushed deep green. She could kill without changing expression but becoming emotionally vulnerable was a new experience for her.
Kelly shot her a grin "If we live through this, I'll take you up on it."
R'Zal blushed more deeply, but she smiled back.
-*-
"His shields are almost down!" Cruz howled, "I almost have him!" His plane careened through the black sky at reckless speed. Cruz maxed his ship out staying with the fleeing yacht and exchanging potshots with her.
"Help me out here, Six!" Cruz cried, "This is a bigwig! I know it!"
"I don't have weapons lock!" Alex replied. "My sensors are fried!"
"Dammit!" Cruz cursed. All his missiles were gone and his fixed pulse phasers made hitting the erratically flying ship difficult.
In a burst of light and weird radiation, the yacht leapt to warp speed.
"Going to warp!" Cruz called. "I can stay with him!"
"Kitty Hawk to Green Four, negative. Disengage pursuit," a new voice sounded over the comm channel.
"But I can catch him!" Cruz yelled.
"Look at your sensors again, Green Four. There's no way. Besides, you have a wounded bird to escort in."
Cruz knew what his sensors said. The yacht easily outpaced the Kestrel in warp speed flight. He just didn't want to believe it. A moment of rage flared through Thompson, and he pounded his fist on the panel of his plane. "DAMNIT!!!"
Then hanging his head Cruz said, "Acknowledged, Kitty Hawk. Green Four and Green Six on approach."
"You're cleared to dock, Green Six and Green Four."
-*-
As the Yacht swept through warp space, Kelly looked at his sensor readings with a glare. "Banshee Squadron," he said the name firmly.
14. The Hard Work
Alex breathed deeply and tried to stop shuddering. The medics almost threw her to the deck in their eagerness. Sensors poked here, there, and everywhere.
"How do you feel?" the blue-shirted medic asked.
"Like I'm going to throw up," Alex said.
"Good," the medic said. "That's just the adrenaline. You'll be fine."
Alex smiled wanly. "Thank you."
-*-
If she'd stopped to remember, Alex would have understood why the medics were in such a hurry.
There was too much to do. Voices yelled. Medical teams moved with efficiency. Some security teams covered with well-practiced ease.
However, mostly people ran around and did their best to be useful.
Alex started a stretcher-bearer, carrying wounded hostages, Marines, Starfleet, and pirates.
Then A