Date: July 9, 1944
Time: 2100
Location: Mid-Atlantic shipping lane, code name "Golden Trail"
Group: Task Force Omega.
Mission: Classified
(Hey all. I just wanted to say thank you for reading into my first ever story here on Fan-fiction. As a new writer, I would love some feedback on how I'm doing and what I could improve on in the future (if you want there to be one) and I will do my best to make the story enjoyable to read)
The sun had just finished its daylong trek through the sky and had arrived at its final destination setting snugly at the horizon line the separates the sky from the sea. The large, life giving star illuminated both the sky and water alike in a brilliant blazing reddish-orange glow which matched well with the deep sapphire waters and the light "candy" blue of the Mid-Atlantic sky. It was peaceful, almost disturbingly so, how with the soft light of the sky and the gentle sway of the calm oceanic waters, a traveler could be swayed into a sense of peaceful bliss as they made their way over the waves. Above the sea, a small cluster of puffy white clouds glided softly over the waters below casting a small shadow as they moved through the sky overhead. One could see around for miles and only see water in every direction; just plain, open water and near limitless sky as far as the eye could go.
The water itself was peaceful as well, the sound small waves made as they swayed to and fro without a sense of direction, just passengers to a natural force they couldn't control. Things could and would be different if a storm where present instead of the nice day that was currently in place. The sea could grow angry, the calm sounds of the wind and waves replaced with the loud roar and heavy thunder of the angry sea. Many times a year, this part of the Atlantic was known for its rough seas and troubled storms. However, no current storms where present to disturb this example of nature's wonder and peace.
That was, until a slow rumble pierced the calm air. It was thin at first, just barely noticeable above the rustling of wind and sloshing of the water. But in time, it grew in both intensity and strength as it grew closer. The sound climbed, until it over took all the other sounds around the sea. If one would look up, they could see the cause of the disturbance fly overhead, close to the water and swaying back and forth over the glass-like waters. It was nothing of nature's design, but was made by the hands and tools of mankind. To be accurate, it was created by the hands and tools of the United States of Liberion. The proof of such a claim could be seen on either wing of the metal bird, a large blue star that's encased in a larger blue circle with a white background, the colors of which stuck out hard against the deep blue shade of the body. The aircraft made a sudden change of course and made a wide left hand turn and headed past the group of puffy white clouds on its new course, leaving behind a small trail of smoke in its wake.
The aircraft was not flying of its own will. Inside the machine sat its controller, busily looking side to side out over the glass-like water on both sides of the plane. With a few adjustments, the aircraft tilted upward and flew higher up into the sky, flying farther away from the water and into the open airspace above the Atlantic. The pilot once again scanned his surroundings, looking left to right and up and back, as if looking for something out of place. On his face was a pair of thick, black goggles secured tightly to his head by straps that wrapped around a black leather skull cap that covered the pilots head. He wore a heavy brown leather vest that had that matched his dark green leather gloves and dark brown boots. The man's eyes darted back and forth, from all sides around him to the mirrors placed above his head used to check behind him.
He tilted his craft once again, this time to the right, in a slow, clockwise circle. He looked out in all the different directions that he could see with his craft in such a turn before he leveled out and headed back toward the group of slow moving white clouds. He watched said clouds pass him by for the second time this evening before he made a slight adjustment to the heading of his craft. Seeming content, he moved his hand from the flight stick and to the black radio-transmitter attached to his flight mask. He flicked a switch on the control panel in front of him with his other hand and waited until the plane picked up the radio band he needed to communicate on. A short burst of static filled the peaceful cabin as he adjusted the frequency with the set of nobs. When the static stopped and had reached the set frequency, he placed the mask on and began his message;
"This is Cloud Hopper to White whale. Repeat, Cloud hopper to White whale. Please Respond" He said calmly and while looking over his shoulder at the sea below. Even within an hour of flight, the sun had now nearly sank behind the cusp of the horizon. The sky was now pinkish, with a tint of blackness that would soon over take everything in a short amount of time.
It was only a few seconds until he heard the reply, "Cloud Hopper, this is the White whale. How goes the hunting?"
The voice was deep, commanding and filled with age. He recognized it as the commander of Omega fleet and captain of the USLS Aircraft Carrier, "Yorktown". The fleet itself was many miles away from where the pilot was currently flying and was due to arrive once he had sent in his mission report.
The pilot replied back with a jokingly sad sounding tone. "White whale, this is Cloud hopper. The fish aren't biting. I say again, the fish aren't biting. I think we need to use some better bait, over." He smiled and laughed a bit at his attempt at humor.
The captain on the other end must have thought it was funny, because he heard a low crackle of laughter in his deep voice and the clearing of his throat. "Roger that. Well Lieutenant, We could strap some cooked meat to your plane, see if the enemy take the bait. Better yet, How'bout we paint your plane rainbow colors and strap you to the front of the ship. See if that works out any better."
"I-I don't think that's necessary captain." The Pilot stuttered back, hoping that the captain was kidding. "I don't think the Neuroi know we're here, which I would call a lucky break, sir." He looked back out at the setting sun just as it was going under the water and disappearing for the last time. The scattering of the light caused the water to turn almost amber in color.
"Well, I hope so Lieutenant." The commander sighed in both relief and a bit of held in anger, "We've already lost three convoys to those damn creatures in the last four months. We need to keep this shipping lane open to Britannina if we want them to stay in the war and our campaign to continue. We need to keep these supply's save, dry and on time and we're taking a big risk as it is having this many ships without a proper escort, that's why we have you and your plane acting as heavy recon".
Mentally, the Lieutenant sighed, knowing that his little plane would do little against a real attack. "Roger that. Do you want Cloud hopper to return to the CAP, the way-point is clear as far as I can see." The pilot asked as he scanned the sea and sky around him, but once again seeing nothing for miles.
"Affirmative, Cloud hopper; Return to the CAP at once. We will change course to the next way-point after you arrive, Gray whale out."
The pilot complied and angled his plane sharply to the right and accelerated away from the area. The plane's turbo charged engine letting lose a heavy roar as it gained speed and velocity. On the tips of the wings formed white trails, a result of the hot wings cutting through the cold air above the water. With the loss of light and the night now dominating the sky, he flipped a switch and a light green glow illuminated the instruments and gauges allowing him to see. He kept his running lights off so he wouldn't lead any Neuroi that he couldn't see in the dark back to the fleet.
He kept his plane low to the water, trying to make himself the smallest target possible that he could. He kept in eye on the altitude gauge and on the water level to make sure he didn't clip a wave and crash in the dark by mistake. He could see the whitecaps of the waves under his plane and when he looked behind him, he could see a thin white mist from the prop being so close to the water. The mist being thrown off from the waves was also spraying the canopy with water making visual judgment a little difficult, but the Lieutenant continued to keep his plane under control the entire time. The gentle sway of the plane weaving back and forth over the cold waters below started to play havoc on the pilot, nearly putting him to sleep as he made his way back home.
(Time Jump)
It took about thirty-five minutes to reach the outside layer of the CAP. He could see the running lights of several circling craft flying several hundred feet above him along with the lights of several ships on the horizon. As he grew closer, he could make out the silhouette of the first few ships leading the convoy painted gray against the horizon bobbing and swaying in waves that had developed in the last half-hour. Judging by the way the ships where moving in the waves , the weather in the area had changed since sundown with some of the larger waves slashing against the sides of the ships and spraying water up onto the deck. A thin gray mist had also enveloped the water, rolling like a ghost over the water as the ships cut through. One of the leading ships, a Fletcher-Class destroyer named "Lights Dawn" could be seen leading the convoy through the mist and could be seen braking over a rather large wave and smashing down on the other side, the lights on the bow and stern thrashing violently as the ship moved through the water.
As he was marveling at the impressive sight, a bright flash from about twenty yards behind the destroyer caught his eye and then almost his ear as a glowing sphere flew over his left side and exploded with a bright white flash. He recognized it instantly as a five inch shell fired from a Fletcher-Class destroyer's main 127 mm gun, one of five. He flipped on his running lights and rolled up into the air as more than a dozen spot lights all turned and illuminated his plane against the back drop of the dark night sky. The sudden change in light forced the pilot to shield his eyes from the light.
He grabbed for his radio as the channel was flooded with threats and very angry voices from the convoys defending ships. He was about to speak as another shell flew up, nearly missing him, and exploded off behind him. "Hey!" he yelled into the mic. "I'm a friendly. I Say again, you are firing at a Friendly!" He cried, keeping his plane in a circle above the ships.
After some grumbling and a few very pissed off gunners yelling at him, the light show was put out and he was once again flying in the dark above the fleet that just tried to kill him. He ripped off the mask in both anger and relive as another voice erupted over the channel. "Lieutenant Robbins, what the hell did I tell you about entering the CAP without telling us you're coming?"
"Sir" Robbins started…
"Don't sir me Lieutenant. We almost blew you're ass out of the sky because of that little stunt. The last time it was during the day and the plane on patrol saw you, this time it was a destroyer with gunners hyped up on coffee. You're lucky I told the "Airtine" to hold fire until we had lights on you. You could have been killed!" Robbins could hear the captain's fist hit the panel near what must have been the radar operator, which must have scared the hell out of him because there was a girl like yelp followed by a chair falling over.
"Sorry sir. I forgot about signaling before I crossed the line. I was focused on flying low and on the floor so if I being chased it would be hard to spot my aircraft from the sky." He sighed and leaned back into his seat, rubbing his eyes with his hands," It's been a long day, sir. I would like to return to the ship if that's alright with you".
There was a pause before the captain replied, his voice trying to stay calm and collected. "Granted. Get your ass back on this deck before I tell the gunners we have live target practice. Jefferson out"
With a click, the captain killed the connection. A few seconds later, the red and blue lights on the deck lit up on the Aircraft Carrier. The ship now looked like a floating runway as the lights bowed up and down with the ship in the near pitch-black night. On the center of the ship a few lines of white lights lit the center to make the small, moving runway easier to see at night.
With a smile, Robbins flew over the group of ships that where situated in a defensive formation around the carrier and lined himself up for a landing. He could see the lights from the control tower and the upper observation platform flicker on as he grew closer. He could also make out shapes moving around on the deck, which was probably from the ground crew rushing to prepare for the landing of an aircraft. As he approached the aft of the ship, he radioed ahead to the controller in the tower. "This is Lieutenant James Robbins in the cloud hopper, requesting permission to land" he called out over the radio.
"This is Carrier "Yorktown"; Roger that Lieutenant, Runway is clear. Ground crews are in the green and the ship has achieved landing speed, call the ball."
"Roger, coming in for the attempt."
Robbins lined his plane with the aft of the ship. This was the hardest part of any mission, landing on a moving runway as it bounced up and down and swayed left to right on the also moving ocean. It made it even worse at night, where the pilot had to be dammed sure he lined up with that ship and came in right on the "ball". Too slow and he could stall and slam into the back side of the ship. Too fast, and he could over shoot the arresting cable and crash into the deck of the ship, but you also had to gun it when you hit the deck in case you missed and had to come around again, all of this in the near black inkiness of the night. Robbins however, was not going to miss…at least not on purpose.
Robbins lined the noise of his plane up with the lights of the ship as he grew closer to the deck. At about fifty yards, he pitched the noise up and lowered his flaps, creating a larger air flow under the plane, helping him glide in to the target. Lastly, he flipped a switch and the hook that was attached to the rear of his plane lowered to grab hold of one of the retention cable stretched out over the deck. He held his breath as he came in low just nipping the tail of his plane with the deck, the hook caught the second of three cables lined over the deck and brought the plane to a heavy and bumpy halt.
Once on the deck, he let out the breath he had taken in suspense and throttled down the loud roaring engine. He pulled down the black goggles on his face and opened the canopy, exposing himself to the wind and the wash from the waves crashing against the side of the ship. The cold Atlantic spray felt refreshing against his hot, sweaty skin. He stood up and exited the cockpit and stood on the right wing of this plane, looking out over the stern of the ship as it churned in the waves. When the ship dipped, it looked like a wall of water was about to crash down over the deck and sweep everything way. This changed as the ship drove up the wave. When this happened, James could see the two escorting destroyers in front of the ship heave up and down as they broke across the swells.
His attention was pulled back to the deck as he heard his name being yelled over the noise on from the idling plane. He turned to see a man dressed in what looked like a mechanics uniform jogging over to meet him. As he came closer, James could see he was holding a bag of tools and had several belts attached to his body. His large black boots made a heavy thumping sound as he approached the right wing where James was standing.
The man stopped, held up his hand and made a fist. James recognized this as the sign to shut off his engine, so he reached back into the cockpit and cut power to the plane's engine, watching the prop come to a slow spin before finally stopping altogether. With a final grunt, the beast of a machine fell silent and dead on the deck of the ship. When James turned back to the new arrival, the man put his feet together and gave James a salute.
"Welcome back Lieutenant." The man said his voice full of young enthusiasm.
James gave one back as he stepped down off the wing onto the flight deck. "Chief mechanic. It's good to see you again." He shook that man's hand as they walked back toward the hatch that leads into the inside of the ship. He stopped and turned around to watch the flight crew attach his plane to a tug cart and move it off the flight deck and onto the main elevator. The plane lurched around a tad as it was taken down into the heart of the ship by the mechanics.
The mechanic he was following stepped up behind and watched the sight from inside the hatch, seeming to him to be another part of his day. "She'll be fine sir. My men will take good care of your bird." He reassured the lieutenant with a pat on his shoulder and a cheerful smile.
"Oh, I'm not too troubled. I have the up most confidence in your skilled crew, Chief. They're the best damn flight crew in the navy from what I've seen" He complimented him with a light laugh. The head mechanic nodded and moved ahead through the maze that was the inside of the ship. James was right behind him, stepping over a floor mantle that was popped up and sidestepping past a few young sailors that walked by.
"I thank you for the words sir; we know how special that plane is too you so we'll do our up most to give it the most attention that we can without making you look like the favorite son." He joked as he ascended a flight of gray metal stairs toward the bridge with James close behind. They moved past a pair of service men that saluted both the James and the chief as they walked by.
"I see, thank you. That Hellcat is all I have left from my last deployment. I feel that more of my life was spent in a flying metal box in the past few years then I can remember before the war" He said with a sting of sorrow as they entered the bridge proper. They stood at the door and looked inside, waiting for the captain to finish talking to one of the young officers that worked on the bridge. When he was done, he turned to see the two men standing at the door and asked them to come in. They both did and stood before the captain at attention
"First Lieutenant James Robbins reporting as requested sir!" He said as officially as he could before his commanding officer. The chief did the same, ambit a little less formal. Under the lights, James could see that the head mechanic had grease stains on both his hands and face that darkened his skin from the pasty white that it was normally. He could also see splotches of what appears to be oil and cooling fluid on his shirt and pants. The sight was not uncommon among the crew that serviced the aircraft, even more so when they were repairing planes riddled with blast holes from Neuroi combatants.
"At ease men" the captain ordered, his hand waving away the formal situation. He spoke with both age and authority when he addressed his men. His white captain's uniform was nearly spotless. His different badges and awards hung neatly on his chest right next to the black outline of the captain's jacket where the buttons resided. He wore his cap, which had the emblem of the United Sates of Liberion navy. His rank was neatly pinned on the collar of the uniform. You could tell how much it was polished by the way it shone in the light of the bridge, almost blinding the airman when the captain turned and stood at a certain angle.
Captain Jefferson turned to the mechanic and nodded. "Thank you for bringing the Lieutenant up here as fast as you did chief. With that finished, I want you to head back down to the hanger and begin prepping the Lieutenants plane for combat. We need him at top fighting condition when the time arises. Dismissed" The mechanic saluted, turned and nodded to James as he stepped outside and down the metal stairs, his heavy boots making loud stomps all the way down. The captain then turned to James, his tired, ageing eyes looking up and down the man in front of him. His voice switched from a loud, ordering type to a soft, almost friendly demeanor. "So son, how do you feel being aboard a ship again" The captain asked.
"To be frank sir, I don't like it. I've been based on land most of my time in the service, flying missions out of land based airfields most of the time. It's a drastic change from what I do now, taking off and landing on a moving runway bobbing up and down on the sea and moving at twenty-five to thirty knots is a challenge in and of itself." James said somewhat emotionless as he looked out the window at the churning sea off their port side.
Captain Jefferson gave a hearty laugh and slapped James on his shoulder. "It's not the first time I've heard that from a landlubber like you. I can tell you I had the same feelings about being stationed at dock for six months at Norfolk; I was about ready to tear my hair out if I had to sit through another staff meeting at that godforsaken place. The day I was told we were shipping out, I took my navigator and helmsman, kicking and screaming, out of a bar in the nearby town and dragged them all the way back to the base, all ten miles." He said as he gave another hearty laugh.
To James, it was an amusing story, if highly unlikely. It still made him crack a smile and nodded as the captain wiped his eye of a stream of tears from laughing so hard." It sounds like one hell of a story sir."
"It is, as a matter of fact". Stated Jefferson," But it's a tale for another time. What I brought you here for is too review our course to the port it Britannia. Being the lead scout, I need you to be familiar with the route we plan to take so you can scout ahead for any Neuroi. It's best if we can steer clear of them as much as we can" He stated as the two of them walked over to a table that had a large map of the Atlantic Ocean. On said map, were the major shipping lanes of all trade between Liberion and the Island nation of Britannia. There were several pencil traced lines connecting major ports in both Liberion and Britannia in different colors. The colors, which ranged from red to blue, were the danger level of that particular lane. For example, the major trade lane known as "White blossom" which traveled from the industrial naval yard in Boston, Massachusetts through the Atlantic taking a northern route up near glacier land and into the North Sea ending at a shipyard in Britannina near Eastchester was colored red, meaning Neuroi raids were numerous and the route should only be taken if necessary. The convoys that traveled this route usually had Heavy cruiser class support and hundreds of smaller ships that included both the convoy supply ships and combat ships.
The route Captain Jefferson's convoy was traveling on was named "The Golden Trail". While not as treacherous as the "White blossom" route, it was still dangerous in its own right; requiring a somewhat sizable fleet to protect the transports that undertook the path. A fleet like the one Robinson was a part of; this fleet was based out of Naval Station Norfolk in Virginia, and its path of travel took it through a tight middle path carved through the center of the Atlantic that was patrolled by the Liberion Navy form the start of the second Neuroi war. The route churned northward, passing through the Straits of Dover and ended outside of London proper at a large naval yard that was being use by both naval body's as a base to conduct operations inside contested Europe.
"As you know, over the past six months, we've lost contact with four different convoys that trekked through this region; Two of ours, and two from the Britannia royal navy." The captain used a pencil and marked where the search party's found the remains floating out on the water. Two of the marked spots where only a few nautical miles from where they were now. Robbins nodded his head, not new to the fact. He could still recall reading about the findings in the news all those months ago.
Jefferson continued, "We are currently One-hundred and thirty miles from the point you surveyed about an hour ago." He marked said spot with a green circle and drew a dotted line from where the fleet was now to the point. He stopped and looked up at the Lieutenant, making direct eye contact with him. "According to your findings, we've yet to make contact with any Neuroi, which would normally be a good thing. However, I've yet to give any type of all clear. I don't believe we're alone out here and I've yet to be convinced of such. We're just far enough from the coast that we're somewhat safe, but close enough that I'm not sleeping well at night" The captain took a cup of what appeared to be coffee and took a quick sip before setting it down. "I don't like it one bit."
Lieutenant Robbins nodded at the captain before looking back down at the map. He wiped his forehead of the drops of sweat from the sudden attention from the captain. "Sir, I'll stand by what I've seen, and that's basically nothing. I flew around the set coordinates for almost two hours and found nothing but open sky and water. Furthermore, we know that the Neuroi don't make strikes this far out in open water. For whatever reason that is, I think we're safe for the time being." He looked down put his hands down onto the map and tapped a pencil on the spot where the fleet was currently, thinking about something that had just crossed his mind. "Sir, I have a question."
"Shoot." Said Jefferson.
Robbins nodded and pointed at the circles drawn on the map. "I've never read the official reports, but I have read the news clipping about the mysterious attacks on those ships you mentioned earlier. How we lost near six hundred ships, Two hundred from us and four hundred from the Britannia Navy, in half a year in these attacks on the shipping routes. The attacks themselves were out of the blue and rapid, leaving no survivors and little to no wreckage in their wake, correct?" He asked.
"Yes, we've been over this before. What's your point?"
"That's just it. How are they attacking us?" the Lieutenant pointed to the area where the last attack occurred. That fleet belonged to Britannia had started their journey from a port just outside of London. Their destination: New York military harbor. Everyone knows they never made it and their remains were found three hundred miles out to sea, but that's what was puzzling to James. "How can the Neuroi attack us? It's well known that they don't move their forces out over open bodies of water. If they had, Britannia would have fallen years ago. For some reason, water and blood thirsty genocidal aliens don't mix and that's what's saved Britannia …for the most part." He added at the end
Jefforson nodded and took another sip of his coffee, eyeing the nation in question on the map laid out in front of him. "Yes, every now and then we get a brave one that tries to make it out over that small stretch of water in the straights, before getting the living crap kicked out of it by that group of witches based out of Mont ST-Michel."
James Taped a pencil against the map, looking at the now talked about area just off the coast of Gallia, situated on a small outcropping of land in Normandy. The base was the best spot to protect both the island of Britannia and the little amount of Gallia that had been retaken.
"I've heard about this place before. That group of witches, they're based out of that airbase in Galia?" James asked while looking up at the captain.
"Yep" He said in response "From what I've been reading and picking up in conversation, some of the best witches we have from all over the allied countries in this war are stationed there. I think even one from Liberion made it into their fold as well. They're supposed to be the best witches we have, meaning we've put a lot of our eggs in the same basket in the hopes of saving Britannia and hopefully one day freeing Galia." Jefferson scuffed at the thought rubbed one of his eyes with a free hand
The Lieutenant caught that last part after his explanation. "Sir, I'm not entirely sure your convinced about that last part." James rolled the pencil in between his fingers in thought as the captain placed his cup on the table.
"Your Damn right I'm not." He stated bluntly. "I don't care how good these witches are, their still young girls for crying out loud. How do you expect a small group of girls to keep out the greatest threat to humanity that we've faced than ever before? Not to discredit them for their efforts but…" The captain paused, looking out through the window to his left side at the bright moon that hung in the dark night, the light from which he could see what looked like clear blue waters that the fleet was moving through. It also lit up his face, allowing James to see the distraught gloom on the old man's features
James looked over as well, but only slightly paying attention to the white orb in the sky. He was caught up in what the captain had said about these young women and the tremendous job that had to perform in both protecting what little ground they had left and trying to take back what they had lost. It must be devastatingly stressful to have that much weight on your back.
He looked back at the captain, who now had a lit cigarette in between his lips. He was taking slow, deliberate puffs and blowing the smoke out into the air. James could tell he was waiting for him to say what he knew was coming, so he did.
"From what it sounds like, they have the talent to pull of such a crazy mission. They might be what we need as a bit of help in the morale department" James stated, with a hint of hope in his voice. The old captain crushed that spark however.
"Indeed. However, Most of them are still kids, and being the top aces or what have you in the war means very little when all that I think about when I talk or read about them is the picture of my youngest daughter. I would quit the navy tomorrow before I would see my young girl fighting like that." He looked over at James and then at the table, "It hurts to know that I already have a daughter fighting like that. I could never live with myself If she got hurt."
Before James could ask about his daughters, the captain stood up from his chair and put out his cigarette. He then rolled the map they had been analyzing for what turned out to be three hours and placed in under the table in a stack of other maps and documents. He turned to James, re-adjusted his coat and spoke to him.
"Alright, we've been at this for a while now and it's getting late. I want you tucked away and asleep for your shift in the early hours. The closer we get to the land, the more likely we're going to be meeting the boogie man and I don't want a tuckered out airman fighting the bloody devil." He raised his hand in a salute. "I'll see you at 0700, Lieutenant"
"Sir" James said as returned the gesture and walked out of the bridge, down the metal stairs and back into the twisting metal heart of the large ship.
On his way through the decks back to his assigned room, James was thinking about his conversation with the captain. He had only been on the ship for about four weeks, and has known the captain for far less time, only being introduced to him about three days before he was assigned to the fleet. It wasn't uncommon for pilots from different squadrons to be shifted around where they were needed, it happened all the time. What was strange was the way he was being tossed around like a baseball. About three months ago, back when he was flying with his original group, he was told he was to be transferred back stateside to fly trainers for newly enlisted men. He was fine with his new assignment for it would get him away from the action for a little while.
He passed by a group of sailors he knew that waved and greeted him as he walked past, breaking his train of thought. He greeted both and continued through the passage and down another set of steps deeper into the vessel. He arrived at his room and knocked on the door. He waited before he pushed the door open to see the room was empty, save for the belongings of both him and his roommate who must have left earlier as the room was dark. He flicked on the small light that hung in the middle of the room, closed the door and then proceeded to remove the heavy jacket, gloves and boots that he was wearing.
As he did so, he remembered what he was thinking about and sat down on his bunk to think about the strange set of events. About a month after he returned stateside and three weeks before he was to start his new job, he received another set of orders to report to the Norfolk naval facility for re-assignment on a carrier task force in the Atlantic fleet. It was four days following that letter when he had arrived that he was told he had been assigned to fly heavy recon/air intercept for the task force that was moving a rather large amount of supply's to Britannia. He asked the Admiral, one George Trent, why he was being assigned a ship based duty when he was only trained to fly ground based flights. It was only during his last deployment that he had any training on carrier based take off and landing, and that was only for four months before this dance began. Anyway ,he was stonewalled, saying that other than what details he was already given, it was on a need to know basis…and guess what…he didn't need to know.
"I love when the military plays with the strings of my life without telling me about it"
He placed his gloves and Jacket on the metal table in the room and placed his boots under his bunk, the bottom one of two, and rubbed his eyes. He looked over and gazed at his reflection in a nearby mirror. His blue eyes looked back at him with a worn stare that made him look twenty years older than he was. His light brown hair, which was trimmed down to military standards, had grown a bit tall. Not enough to cause an issue, but he may soon need to visit the ships barber to get a trim. He ran his hand over his cheeks and jaw line, noticing the few scrapes and cuts along the way. All memory's from the past. Things he wants to forget, but can't escape. For being twenty, he looked much older then he really was. He Felt older then he really was.
James sighed and fell onto his bunk both mentally and physically drained from a full day in the air. He thought about getting some midnight chow, but then remembered the ships mess closed an hour ago. He dammed his luck, sighting the fact of spending over three hours in debrief that really only need fifteen minutes. James found it rather odd why the captain of the ship was spending so much time talking to him. He put more effort in having an open dialect with this no-named pilot that would only be on board until they reached the next naval base over his own crew who he's served with for over three years.
He yawned and found himself getting even more tired. He glanced up and noted the time to be about one in the morning. He sat up and reached up at the light switch and flicked it, casting the room once again in a dark shadow. He lay back again and cracked his neck, felling his tired body grow relaxed. He looked behind him out the small porthole in the room. The bright white moon hung in stark contrast to the dark night sky behind it; the stars placed like pin-pricked holes were also visible. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and he rolled back over and let them close and accept the gentle grasp of sleep. The last thought slipping out his mind;
"Will I live to see it again?"
(Once again, I need to thank you for looking at my story, please leave some reviews, notes, comments and such for me to look over so I can improve my story. I will try to update it as much as I can, Thank you TM227)