Blair

The next morning every pilots was summoned to the briefing room. Both Drake and Maniac were standing there like statues as the pilots filed in. Once everyone was seated Drake moved to the podium. "The time has come," she began. "For you all to learn what our mission is. Two weeks ago a ConFed recon craft picked up a transmission originating in the T'rewinst system. After much analysis and deciphering it was determined that the person who sent the transmission was Commodore Christopher Blair."

A general murmur of disbelief went up through the pilots. Maniac frowned and steeled himself. "That's enough people," Drake continued. "I understand that you are all skeptical, but we don't have the time to second-guess the situation. As of yet we do not know what we will be encountering once we reach T'rewinst, but one thing we do know is that it we can expect a lot of enemy resistance. Therefore, from now until we get back to the G'renll sector, we will have four flight wings active at all times instead of two. Your flight schedule will be posted for you in Pilot Country. I know many of you were not expecting this. But if this message is for real and Commodore Blair is alive, then we owe it to him to bring him home. Dismissed."

With that the pilots all stood, saluted briefly, and began filing out. Drake approached Rapier as he was heading for the door. "Lieutenant Johnson," she said.

Rapier turned to face her. "Yes, ma'am?" he replied.

"Lieutenant Patrick has informed me that the updates to the simulators are complete," she said.

"Are they ma'am?" he replied. "I was not aware."

"I was hoping that you and the rest of Omega Squadron would finally show Commodore Marshall and myself what you can do. If it is no trouble."

No, ma'am, no trouble at all. We look forward to showing you what we've got."

"Good, then I expect you all in Pilot Country at 1300 hours."

"Yes, ma'am,"

"Carry on."

"Yes, ma'am," Rapier said and saluted. Drake just nodded her head and walked out. Once she was gone, Rapier let out a low sigh. "And so it begins."

A few minutes later, Rapier joined up with the rest of Omega Squadron in Pilot Country. Waborita was mixing waboritas for a lot of people. Tracer was just about to take a shot when Rapier walked by and took the shot from his hands and handed it off to some random pilot.

"What's that for?" Tracer whined.

"The CAG wants to finally test us in the simulators," Rapier replied. "So we all need to have our game faces on."

"Crap," said Tracer.

Rapier walked over to the bar where Waborita had just finished making the last of the waboritas and was about to make a toast. "Hold on a sec," he said putting his glass down. "Rapier, do you want a waborita?"

"No," replied Rapier. "And neither do you. The CAG is going to test us in the simulators at 1300 hours."

"Damn," said Chameleon who also put down her glass.

"Why does the CAG always have to spoil our fun?" asked Waborita. "I think she hates us."

"That's because she does hate us," said Chameleon.

Bitch and Princess came over to confront Rapier. "What's this crap Tracer's telling us about the CAG?" asked Princess.

"She wants to test us now that Midnight has the simulators working," Rapier responded.

"Y'know," said Bitch. "I can very easily go over to the simulators and break them if you would like."

"That won't be necessary, Bitch," said Rapier. "Look its only one sim and then she'll be off our backs."

"God I hope so," said Princess. "I'd hate to think that she'd do this to us on a regular basis."

"On a similar note," continued Rapier. "Where's Midnight?"

"Guess," responded Bitch pointing to one of the simulators.

Rapier got an annoyed look on his face and walked over to the simulator that Bitch had pointed towards. He just looked at it and knocked. Within a few seconds the cover to the simulator opened and Midnight looked up at Rapier with an emotionless glance. "You knocked?" Midnight asked, trying to look stoic.

"You're going to make the rest of us look bad," Rapier said trying not to smile.

"Well, I can't help it if the rest of you aren't up to my standards."

"Your standards? Who's the Wing Commander here?"

"You?"

"That's right," Rapier said giving Midnight a light punch in the arm. "And don't you forget it."

The seven of them gathered around the simulators to discuss the upcoming sim. "Wasn't the fact that we toasted 22 real enemy ships in under ten minutes a good enough indicator for her?" asked Tracer.

"I agree with Tracer," said Chameleon. "We've already more than proved ourselves."

"When did this squad become a bunch of whiny pussies?" asked Rapier. "Do any of you have anything better to do? Anything at all?"

They all looked at one another and they all shook their heads.

"Okay, then," Rapier said. "Then we do this and get it over with. This way, we show her, the Commodore, and every other pilot in here that we are the ones they will have to keep up with. Remember why we dubbed ourselves the Omega Squadron in the first place. WE are the ones who come out on top in the end when the dust settles. WE are the end all be all of everything it means to be an ace pilot. US. At the academy we were the best, no one could top us, no one could stop us. We are here not because ConFed says we are the best, we are here because we ARE the best."

"That's an interesting sentiment, Lieutenant," said one of the pilots from right behind Rapier. "Are you bragging or is that true?"

"He's bragging," said Tracer with a smirk. Bitch just smacked him upside the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

Rapier turned to face the owner of the voice and came face-to-face with a female pilot. She was a blonde in her mid thirties. She had a major's rank insignia and a Black Widow Squad patch on her arm. "Actually, Major," he said almost in a condescending tone. "I wouldn't want to fly without them. When I say they are the best, I mean it."

"Well I think there are few pilots in here who would disagree with you," said the Major. "You are making a very lofty declaration there. Can you back it up?"

"I have utter faith in my squad," he replied. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. Major…"

"Talvert," she responded. "Major Jean Talvert. Wing Commander, Black Widow Squadron. Most people call me Stiletto, you can call me Major."

"Well, Major, if you want to see how good my squadron is, just watch the sim display once the CAG gets here."

"I'll do that."

"Good, then maybe you'll see that the statements I made were facts."

"If the sim proves that your squad is as good as you say it is, then I'll let you start calling me Stiletto."

"Looking forward to it, MAJOR," Rapier concluded. Stiletto just gave him a wry smile and walked back to a group of pilots at the bar.

"That could have been better," said Bitch. "You really know how to piss people off."

"I didn't say it to piss her off," replied Rapier. "I trust every last one of you with my life. I hope that the rest of you have that same trust in one another. Because if you don't, then you shouldn't be flying on each other's wing. End all, be all?" He put out his hand in the middle of their circle.

"End all," said Midnight putting his hand on Rapier's. "Be all."

"End all," said Bitch, putting her hand on Midnight's. "Be all."

"End all," said Waborita, putting his hand on Bitch's. "Be all."

"End all," said Princess, putting her hand on the Waborita's. "Be all."

"End all," Chameleon, putting her hand on Princess's. "Be all."

"End all," Tracer said, putting his hand on Chameleon's. "Be all."

"Are we the best damn squad on the ship?" asked Rapier.

"Yes, sir!" the rest of the squad replied in unison.

"Are we the best damn squad in ConFed?" he asked.

"Yes, SIR!" they all responded again.

"Are we gonna kick bug ass and save the day?" he asked.

"YES, SIR!" they responded one more time.

They broke their huddle and headed to the simulators to warm up. Across the way Maestro had a big grin on his face and silently toasted them. He looked at Stiletto. She returned his gaze, smiled, and clinked her drink against his. I like them she thought to herself. They have what it takes.

To be continued…