A/N – I'm continuing this to the gentle prodding of a reviewer. Honestly, I didn't plan on finishing it. I wrote a story similar to this about 2 years ago and had started on the next one when they became trapped on a CD. Sounds crazy, huh? But it's infuriating because my 2 gig folder with everything I've ever written is also trapped on that CD so I had to start all over. I swear I posted that story somewhere on the 'net... but I can't find it. Oh well. I'll try and update this regularly.

BTW, sorry if there's huge spaces between the paragraphs. Has something to do with formatting that I haven't figured out yet.

Katina Squadrons

Chapter 3 – Arise From Nothing

Four years later...

"I am authorizing creation of a new Arwing squadron or movement of an existing squadron to each non-flying Cornerian base," General Pepper announced to his staff. They hurriedly typed or wrote into data pads as he continued, "With the increasing threat of Dr. Andross's biotechnology, each base must be protected. Larger bases may be issued two squadrons, depending on mission contributions and need."

Although the general knew more squadrons would be created than moved, it was a necessary precaution he needed to take. Within the next two days of meetings and preparations, five new squadrons were created, and four were moved.

In the list was a base on Katina, a supply depot on the space route to Edena, now known as Venom. In the past six weeks, four ships had been attacked, and one destroyed, on their stop to Tagger Air Base. One flight of four fighter pilots was already stationed at the base and their small force was no longer sufficient.

The base was authorized one squadron, a newly formed squadron, consisting of mostly new pilots, and a largely inexperienced commander.

Commander William Grey.

"He has merits, General," one officer said, "Top of the academic class, specialized in military operations and tactics, highest marks in flight school, he even broke the record for the simulators. Six kills in five minutes. If it had been a real dog fight, he would have been an ace."

"You mentioned battle experience," Pepper asked, looking over the canine's records.

"Yes, sir, he has flown two escorts that were attacked, scored one kill in his first battle, and all three in his second. He flew solo, as a small cargo carrier escort."

"What about the pilots under his command, do they have any experience," Pepper asked, afraid of the answer.

"Well," the officer hesitated, knowing he would be giving the answer Pepper did not want to hear, "Most... don't have experience, although a few have been flying with other squadrons for a couple months, and two of the pilots were a part of Crescent Squadron."

"Now defunct," Pepper added.

After a moment of deliberation, the general spoke, "One Crescent pilot will fly as the commander's wingman, and the second will lead a flight. Situate the rest of the pilots in rank and experience order, furs with the most leading flights and pairs, and the least their wingman."

The meeting stretched on into the night, until each squadron was apportioned appropriately, in General Pepper's mind. Any less would be indecorous of the General of the Armed Forces.

"Me? A commander of a fighter squadron?" William Grey stated, his tone unbelieving.

"Yes, you will command a fighter squadron," General Pepper repeated, "Don't lose your bearing, Commander," he emphasized the rank.

"Yes, sir." Bill straitened and inclined his head just slightly.

The action bought an approving nod from the General.

"You will meet your squadron in one standard week. During the next five days, you will complete briefings and be issued supplies."

He slid a data card across his desk, "This chip contains your squadron rooster, supply lists, briefing times and checklist. You will report back to me in twelve days with your completed checklist."

Bill took the disk and slid it in his breast pocket. A sharp salute was returned by the general, and Bill took his leave from the office.

Hours later, Bill had grabbed his surf board and had headed out to the beach. He had one standard week of ocean waves left, and he would be damned to skip out on the privilege. There wasn't even a lake or pond for miles at his new assignment, Tagger Air Base, Katina.

Coming over the crest of sand dunes, a lowering sun gave only a few hours of surfing for the athletic canine. Bill gazed over the ocean, watching the waves for any promising crests. Among the blue waves were other hopeful surfers. Most sat upon their boards, waiting for the right one. The swells weren't impressive, but some were worth trying for.

With a joyful gait, Bill headed for the waves.

Keeve Bryant looked up from his desk. A sheet of paper had slid across the surface. Glancing at the form, he eyed his name and the word, 'Orders'. A grin spread across his face as he grabbed the sheet and read further.

Sergeant Nom shook Keeve's hand. "Finally getting back into the cockpit, Major?"

"Yes, I am," Keeve shook with joy, "I've been waiting for these orders for years now."

"Sir, it has been a pleasure working with you. Enjoy your new assignment while we deskjockies make sure you get paid." Sgt Nom winked at the jab at his career.

Keeve smirked. No longer would he push papers and pencils.

"I only have a week to get to Space Command," Keeve frowned, "I'd better start packing tonight."