Macross Quarter Bridge
0947
"Weeeee!" was the first sound Flight Captain Ozma Lee heard when he stepped onto the bridge of the Macross Quarter with his second morning cup of coffee. He was not amused.
"What the hell is going on up here?" Ozma demanded sternly of the three young women huddled around the big screen monitor at the back wall.
"Oh, Ozma!" Monica said as the three stood sharply and saluted him. "Sheryl got her Pilot Wings today! She's taking her first flight!"
"Hmph." The three took back their seats, but the lighthearted situation did nothing to diminish Ozma's stern aura as he turned his gaze to the monitor as if he already knew what he expected to see. Sure enough he saw it, a shiny white VF-25 flitting about like a stimmed up kid in a balloon park. If he caught the tail identification right, it was unit SMS-029. "That idiot. That plane is brand new, it hasn't even been broken in yet."
The fairy's relentless giggles suddenly had another voice cut in, one he recognized intimately. "Take it easy, Sheryl! You're making me sick!"
"Where is Cathy?" he asked flatly as he took a sip from his coffee.
Lam spoke up this time, "She's with Sheryl in the back seat."
Ozma's sip sputtered out in a cloud of vapor and droplets. "What? Damn it, I told her to skip that with her! I barely trust that tramp with a plane, let alone my woman's life."
"Oh come on, she's not that bad," Lam said with a roll of her eyes.
"I'll believe that when she gets more than twenty-nine seconds of combat flight time." His frown only deepened as he watched the Valkyrie perform a particularly high-G maneuver involving a Fighter-to-GERWALK transformation. "She's completely out of control."
At that moment, Monica gasped sharply and shot up from her seat to point at the big screen, "Bring up chase camera three!"
Lam did so diligently, and the entire bridge crew watched the main screen expectantly. The close-up view was replaced with a wide-angle shot of the area, showing the entirety of the lingering exhaust trail of Sheryl's VF-25 scrawled across the bright sky. It looked like a two-year old had been given crayons and left to scribble across a mahogany floor. Ozma's frown persisted. Silence lingered on the bridge, and for a long moment no one stirred. Finally, Monica relented, "Never mind."