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$BLift $BBravo $BTwo $BNine$B, $BTCS $BWellington

$BDeep $BSpace$B, $BOberan $BSystem

$B1806 $Bhours $B(CST)$B, $B2669.165


David stepped onto the lift and requested the appropriate level. It had been three days of routine training since his flight had run into the pirate raiders. The other escort flights that day had reported intermittent contact with unknowns on their long-range scanners, but no further conflicts had erupted. 

The incident with the pirates had given David some notoriety among the Wellington's complement. He had received many congratulations since the scrap, the kudos coming from OCS graduates and veterans alike. Both young and experienced pilots had echoed David's wish to follow up the attack on the pirates, but both had also agreed that orders had to be followed. 

David had to admit, the attention was flattering, but he also had to acknowledge that the encounter had left him with mixed feelings. It had felt great to finally see combat; jinxing missiles and lining up high deflection shots on hostiles had been an experience far beyond any he had previously had. The actual cause of his troubles was the identity of the enemies he had put in his sights. David had been waiting for much of his adult life to fight the Kilrathi, but the enemy he had been forced to engage were not felines of any kind. 

The pirate craft could have been flown by Varni, Firekkan, or half a dozen other races, but the comms traded throughout the engagement pointed toward humans as the most likely culprits. David could not begin to fathom what could possibly turn someone into that kind of scum. Literature and history had taught that conflicts of the Kilrathi War's magnitude were actually a unifying force for a race, the menial squabbles of the past being put aside so that everyone could serve the greater good. David could not understand how anyone of any race could willingly attack supply lines that were effectively keeping the Kilrathi from ruling the known universe.

David knew that, throughout history, there was always a portion of society that would try to profit from war, to take spoils whenever possible, but he found that personally witnessing the practice and fighting against it were two entirely different concepts. David shook his head. His definition of 'enemy' was already changing. It had to be altered to include not only the Kilrathi, but also anyone actively involved in damaging the Confederation war effort. The 'grey' area of war that had been the topic of many lectures from veteran pilots during his time in the OCS program was something that David could never quite grasp. Yet, this murky region of conflict was already showing up in his first few missions as an officer. David frowned at the thought that this might be the first stone cast, a forbearer of things to come. He quickly tried to force those thoughts from his mind. It did very little good to dwell on subjects which one had no control over, even though the practice was much easier said than done. 

Luckily, the lift doors opened a few levels before his intended destination, breaking David away from his internal musings. A hunkering, bald OCS graduate stepped onto the lift, a casual grin breaking across his face as he recognized the occupant.

"Our local celebrity! How's it going Markham?" the young officer asked.

"Pretty good, Hoobler," David replied to 2nd Lt. "Hoobler" Hornaday, a member of the Starjumper junior squadron and one of Sandman's OCS classmates, "how about you?"

"Not too bad," Hoobler replied, rubbing the back of his neck, "I just had my butt handed to me by a Hellscream pilot, though."

"In the sims?" David asked. His interest was definitely piqued. The veteran Hellcat squadron didn't usually slum with the OCS graduates in the simulators.

A sly grin passed over Hoobler's face as the lift doors closed behind him and the elevator resumed its descent.

"No," he continued, "the real thing . . . well, almost. A Hellscream was assigned as my instructor for the last exercise of the day. He had heard through the grapevine we would be starting advanced combat training soon and decided to give me a jump start."

"Sounds intense," Sandman commented.

"You aught to know," Hoobler responded. "You saw the real thing a few days ago. Captain Snyder just transferred his squadron training program to my onboard computer and we went a few rounds."

"I think the first one may have lasted 20 seconds," he added with a grin.

David returned the pilot's smile. 

"That good, huh?" he asked.

"Better than that good," Hoobler replied. "This guy was spooky. He anticipated everything I put that Arrow through. I mean, towards the fifth or sixth time I started giving him a run for his money, but he was always at least one step ahead of me. I even had the speed and agility advantage over his Hellcat, but he sure knows how to put that fighter through its paces."

The lift doors opened to a lively scene. David surveyed the lounge area from the elevator. He could definitely tell the last sortie of the day had come in. It seemed like every pilot onboard the old girl was scattered throughout the music and conversation filled room. 

David patted his fellow pilot on the shoulder.

"Just you wait," he began, "in a few months, we will be that good and we'll rotate back to put a new batch of rookies in their places. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

"Sounds like a plan," Hoobler replied, his grin growing a bit wider.

The two pilots stepped through the lift doors and began to weave their way through the tables and gathered personnel. Along the way, David was stopped now and again by naval officers and pilots he didn't recognize, each offering congratulations on how he handled the pirate encounter. David felt a little uncomfortable accepting the praise from people whose names he could not recall, but he and Hoobler finally pushed their way to the bar. 

David made a hand gesture towards the barkeep, signaling he wanted two beers. The bartender brought over the beverages as David, aware of the din surrounding him, pushed a little closer to the bar so the man could read his name patch and charge the drinks to the right account. 

"Put those on my tab," a familiar voice said from behind the two young pilots.

David turned to see Assassin behind him, his credit chip in hand. He motioned for the bartender to add two more to the batch.

"We appreciate it," David thanked the instructor pilot. 

"Yeah, let's all buy the conquering hero a round while we're at it," a voice David wished he wasn't too familiar with called out.

David looked over Assassin's shoulder to see Champ pushing his way through the crowd to their place at the bar. He must have been at it for a while. His speech was slightly drawn out and his steps didn't seem very sure. 

"Tell me the truth, Assassin," Champ spat out as he reached them, "did Sandman lift a finger when the fur hit the fan or did he run for cover while you, Ninja and Baws took out the pirate trash."

David felt himself get red hot. He stepped forward, ready to lash out at Champ with the first retort that sprang into his mind. 

Assassin cut him off before he could speak. 

"Look, rook," he began, "even if the after-action reports weren't public record which you could read anytime, I can safely say his performance was well beyond that of a normal rookie." 

The intended continuation "such as yourself" was left unspoken by the older officer, but the meaning was clear to all the pilots witnessing the confrontation. 
 
The crowd turned to see what Champ's response would be, but the younger officer just stood still, the blood vessel above his temple now visible, unable to find any words of retaliation. 

"Come on, Sandman," Assassin finally broke the silence. He gestured toward Hoobler. "Bring your friend. Ninja and I have a table in the corner."

Assassin grabbed his two drinks and led David and Hoobler through the crowd of onlookers as Champ fumed behind them. 

"We'll see who's being patted on the back the next time these pirates decide to grow a pair," Champ weakly called after them before grabbing a seat at the bar and taking out his frustrations on his drink. 

"Geez, that guy is such an ass," Hoobler commented as they again picked their way through the throng of pilots and officers. "Why do people put up with him?"

"Because one word from his daddy would break an officer's career like a twig," Assassin answered over his shoulder. He shook his head in disgust. "Even when we're fighting for the survival of our species we apparently have to play politics."

David finally spotted Ninja sitting at a far table with another older man he did not recognize. 

"Hey Viking," Assassin greeted the pilot as he approached the table, "if I had known you were joining us, I'd have grabbed you one."

"That's alright," Viking responded, "I'm still finishing my own drink right now."

"Hey Sandman," Ninja welcomed them, "and it's Hoobler, right?"

Hoobler nodded and turned to David.

"Markham, this is Captain 'Viking' Snyder," he said. "This is the Hellscream pilot that gave me my lumps today."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid," Viking responded with a grin, "by the fourth or fifth engagement, I actually had to work."

Assassin, Sandman and Hoobler sat down and joined the two pilots. 

"So," Viking began, looking in David's direction, "you're the rookie who gave an assist to these two brilliant space jockeys here?"

"Yes, sir," David answered, "I was along for the ride."

The older pilot waved his hand in dismissal.

"Call me Viking while we're off duty, kid," he responded.

David nodded in reply taking a drink from his glass. Assassin passed his extra drink over towards Ninja.

"I hear we are taking over your Hellcats for a few sorties tomorrow, Viking," Ninja goaded the older officer. "Maybe I'll be assigned your fighter and I can leave you a little gift. Hmm, maybe a slime rat under the seat."

Viking chuckled.

"Do it and you might find the same rat in your next meal," he countered. 

"You'll like the Hellcat," Viking continued after taking a drink from his glass. "Longer range, better endurance, sturdier. Heavier guns. Better avionics. More adaptable. It's definitely a step up from the featherweights you guys are taking out right now."

"Maybe," Ninja said, "I'm more of a light fighter man myself. I'd take something that will dance over a heavier fighter any day." 

The thin pilot took a drink from his glass.

"Also, I couldn't help but feel the hot air coming from near the bar a few minutes ago," Ninja added.

"Yeah," Assassin said, rolling his eyes, "there's at least one in every class. Something he stumbled upon in his little rant has kept me thinking for a few days, though."

David turned towards Assassin.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I know where you're going with this and I've been having the same thoughts," Ninja nodded in agreement with Assassin. "The pirates are going to be back."

"How are you so sure, Ninja?" Hoobler questioned, taking a long pull from his drink.
 
"He can be sure because the few little details we have lean heavily towards that possibility. The first of these little puzzle pieces is actually the sector we are currently patrolling," Viking offered.

The two OCS graduates traded puzzled glances at the veterans' seemingly incongruous line of thinking.

Assassin leaned forward. 

"You can usually make a blanket assumption of a raider's intelligence by the space lanes they try and plunder," he began. "You have your common-as-dirt idiot up in the Gemini Sector who enjoys a pretty free reign over the territory. It doesn't take a lot of brains to be a pirate up there as most transports usually have to fend for themselves due to the thinly stretched Militia and Confed forces."

"Yeah," Viking chuckled, "I've heard some stories of pirates actually attacking the Perry Naval Base. Cunning pirates are indeed few and far between in that stretch of space."

"Now," Ninja took up the lecture, "you have our pirates who are raiding a system that is nestled firmly between the front lines of the Kilrathi War and the Inner Planets of the Confederation. You two newbies may think of this as a backwater system, but to a pirate, this is a pretty volatile place to set up shop."

"The risk to raid convoys here may be extremely high, but the payoff could be huge. You would need to be pretty shrewd to operate in this no-man's land," Viking added. "These guys only attacked your convoy because they had the numbers advantage, the element of surprise and didn't expect to see pilots of your caliber in escort." 

The older pilot leaned back in his chair. 

"I definitely know they didn't expect a carrier full of pilots with itchy trigger fingers to come wondering into their neighborhood," he concluded with an amused grunt.

"But now," Ninja continued, taking the reigns once more, "after seeing the amount of activity in this system, I know my interest would be piqued if I was a pirate looking for a big score. So, I'd stay put and nose around to see what I'm up against before I tucked my tail between my legs and left the system."

David tried to follow the back-and-forth conversation that was taking place.
"So how does this mean we haven't seen the last of them?" he asked.

Ninja and Assassin looked towards Viking.

He put down his glass and leaned forward with a smile.

"Oh, is it my turn again?" Viking jokingly asked.

"After you three and Major Baws returned with your report," he continued, "the Hellscreams were tasked to an extended seek-and-destroy mission. The birds the pirates flew were not jump capable, so they needed a base of some sort from which to operate. Colonel Mitchell and the Captain wanted the pirate staging area located and neutralized, so we sifted through all the dummy training rounds and loaded up the few live torpedoes we had onboard in the few Thunderbolts in the inventory and escorted them around the asteroid field looking for a small base or capital ship."

He took a long drink from his glass before continuing.

"We found nothing," he dramatically concluded.

"Wait, if you found nothing, why does that mean that the pirates are still in the system?" Hoobler questioned. "It seems to me that would be a good sign they weren't here."

Viking grinned at the young pilot.

"You don't understand, Hoobler, we found nothing," he answered. "That includes no jump traces. The George Custer also reported no unfriendly contacts or jump disturbances at the Eddings jump point. No jump traces means no retreat for the pirates."

"The past few days of exercises have consisted of basic training drills within the Wellington's CAP," Assassin began, bringing the conversation full circle. "The next few days will be patrol, combat and recon drills, exercises that will draw small groups of fighters farther away from the carrier."

Ninja nodded.

"It's only a matter of time before a flight stumbles upon the pirates trying to do some recon of their own and the bad guys will have the numbers advantage once again," he explained.

"So, the moral of the story is to watch yourselves, boys," Viking warned the OCS graduates. "These raiders are most likely crafty . . . as far as pirates go, that is. These waters will become quite a bit rougher in the days to come."

Hoobler laughed.

"Don't worry," he began, switching to a bad imitation of a holo-vid pirate,"we know to sound the cannons for a Hellscream assist if we run avast any saber-rattling buccaneers, don't we, Sandman?"

David chuckled and took up the game.

"Aye, matey," he said, not faring much better with the pirate imitation, "they'll sail to our rescue and send the lot to Davey Jones' locker!"

Assassin and Ninja groaned in unison.

Viking turned to the two veterans. "Are you sure the bartender didn't give them rum instead of beer?" the older officer asked with a laugh.

"Arrrr," Hoobler cried out, "them be fighting words, mister! Me pal and me can hold our ale with the best of them."

"I can drink to that," David agreed before taking a swig from his almost empty glass.

"So can we, swabbies," Assassin chimed in, finally giving in and joining the fun. 

"Who wagers you two will be walking the plank before any of the actual pilots at this table run up the white flag?" Ninja challenged.

"Well," Viking interrupted before David or Hoobler could respond, "you four have early exercises you can't be tardy to in the morning. It wouldn't do for you boys to stumble into the briefing room tomorrow on the wrong end of a bender."

David and the three other younger pilots shrunk a little at the rebuke, the older fighter jock seemingly not wanting to continue the sport.

"But I, thanks to the stand-down we received so you guys can fly real machines," Viking continued with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "can drink till sixteen men are dancing happily on my chest. So I think another round or two for the rest of you might ensure I'm not drinking alone."

David shared a smile with the other pilots sitting around the table.

"Well, what are you waiting for, rookies?" Viking asked David and Hoobler with a grin. "Down what's left of those beers and go get us all another round. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!"