Here's the legal stuff again. It's pointless and has no real weight, but it's here anyway.

All non-original characters and locations are the properties of their respective copyright holders. Since no-one actually reads this, it's unlikely that I'm going to get sued over it, but please don't anyway.

Anyway…

Star Trek: Flight Line

Chapter Three: Return, Part One

The Ikari was orbiting Starbase 375, along with the rest of the Second Fleet. Having rejoined the fleet following their operation across the border, the whole task group was pulled back to the Starbase and await further orders. The only clue they had about what was going on was the size of the armada that was already there and waiting. So now they were sitting there, waiting for an order they had no clue about. What they did know was that everything was going to change just a bit.

"What?" Booster was shocked.
"Word is, we're getting a fresh load of nuggets in today." Jon tried to explain. "Nugget" was a slang term they used to describe a trainee pilot.
"Jeez... This soon into the war? Why? I mean, it's not like we're short-handed or anything."
"Best guess is they're being thrown out of Cranwell as soon as they can hit a target and fly straight at the same time. And presumably there aren't enough under manned squadrons for them to be posted as replacements to." Cranwell was where all the new fighter pilots were trained, as part of their specialisation training around regular courses at the Academy. "Although I presume you're gonna break them in the usual way?" Booster had a reputation for hazing rookie squad members. Everyone posted to the squad fresh out of the Academy had things taken and hidden or left for them to find, and the occasional bit of helmet graffiti. Nothing permanent, and all in good fun.
"You know me too well. Of course. So who am I getting?"
Jon tapped the PADD carrying the revised roster.
"Ensign Tom Wade. Call-sign is, predictably, Tomahawk."
"What happened to the old system, where you'd be assigned it for something notable?"
Jon laughed under his breath. There was a time when a pilot's call-sign told you something about them, such as Booster's hot-headedness and fondness for afterburner, Rocker's love of heavy music and Killjoy's love of bringing everyone back down to earth with a metaphorical bang.
"Dunno. Either way, it's not as shocking as my newbie. Ensign Simon Duke. Call-sign is Scimitar."
Mark sighed.
"What's the story with that?"
Jon tapped his new No.4's name, bringing up a profile.
"No idea. Chances are the only reason I got him was to keep that little theme going."

"Keep it steady. That's it." Jon was leading Simon on his first flight. "The next set of rings is just ahead."
He looked back to see the new pilot's fighter wavering slightly.
"Just relax. You can do this."
"Yes sir."
Jon sighed. Over the comm-system it would have sounded like a rush of static in the rookie's ears. Before the war, a fighter pilot would at least be expected to be able to do this sort of thing easily before they got posted. He tapped a button on his panel, and it flashed once. Simon was flying through the next ring course, concentrating on where he needed to go next.

Jon's search sensor pinged.
"Damn. Enemy contacts, closing fast from 182 mark 13. We're the only ones that can take them out."
"What?" The rookie's voice was layered with fear.
"It's all right. Just stick behind me and you'll be OK."
"Under... Understood."
Jon sighed again. The nugget couldn't even string a sentence together anymore.

There were three Jem'Hadar patrol ships, in a loose formation.
"OK. They don't seem to have noticed us. We should be able to..." Jon's plan was cut off by the formation making a hard turn and coming straight for them, firing at the same time.
"Dammit. Break!" Jon slammed into a long left turn, popping off a torpedo which obliterated one of the ships, and saw his trainee go right. He hit another button on his panel.

One of the patrol ships broke from the formation and began to chase Jon.
"Dang. I can't shake him! Get him off me..." The patrol ship fired again, striking Jon's fighter in the starboard nacelle, causing it to explode.
"No! I can't do this alone!" Simon started to break down, before sucking it in. "There's no choice. I have to." He banked round, and flew straight at the enemy, which kept firing. The shots hit the port wing, but Simon kept closing, before opening up with his phasers at close range. Too close. The shots ripped into the enemy, sending it careening out of control, and straight into the side of Simon's fighter. Everything went white, and then faded into the familiar grid of a holodeck. Jon was stood at the door, helmet in hand. He wasn't happy.
"What the heck were you trying to do there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why you waited that long before firing. You could probably have guessed that gunning that close would make it hit you."
"But you said this was just going to be a manoeuvring test!"
"Combat doesn't arrange itself around a nice little schedule. You need to be ready for it at any time. I guess you still aren't ready for active service yet."
He turned and headed back into the ready room.

Jon was hanging up his harness in his locker when Mark came in.
"How's your nugget?"
Jon slammed the door. He was surprised that the number of times he'd done this out of stress hadn't dented it at all.
"Short answer: He's a complete idiot."
"And the long answer?"
"He takes too many risks and can't handle a dogfight on his own. I put him through a little Kobayashi Maru earlier. He decided to use his guns at about 600 meters."
"What went wrong?"
"Ship he was targeting went out of control and crashed into him. All I can hope for until I can iron the kinks out of him is that we don't get deployed as a full flight, or that he doesn't have to shoot at anything if we do. How's yours?"
"As good as can be expected. He can stay in formation through some basic manoeuvres, but other than that..."
Mark was interrupted by the Launch Stations siren. Jon pulled open his locker again and grabbed his harness and helmet.

Jon pulled on his helmet once he was in the cockpit. He, like everyone else, had no idea what was happening. Once the flight was in formation alongside the Ikari, he opened his squad channel.
"All Charlie-flight aircraft, sound off."
"Charlie-Two roger."
"Charlie-Three roger."
Simon was silent.
"Charlie-Four? Hello? Can you hear me kid? You'd better be marking our tail, son."
"Charlie-Four roger."
Greg perked up.
"Man, I'm glad you got the short straw instead of me."
"Shunt, button it." Jon switched his comm back to the fleet channel.
"All vessels, assume attack positions. Prepare to move out." The command came like a ton of bricks. Normally, the pilots would have been briefed on the target and specific objectives. But here, plainly, was an armada being mobilised at short notice. They'd heard rumours about an attempt to recapture DS9 from the Dominion before they could dismantle the minefield, so maybe that was what was happening. As the four fighters moved into escort position just off the Ikari's starboard nacelle, the lead vessels began to jump to warp, followed by the rest of the fleet.