A/N – There won't be much action in this chapter, but most of the pilots are introduced here and you can get a glimpse their personality and a bit of history.

Katina Squadrons

Chapter 5 – The Pilot's Lounge

Three hours later found most of the new Red squadron's pilots in the lounge designated for them. It was more of a bar-like setting with a jukebox updated to modern music, and some oldies to mix in.

The jukebox was currently blaring a rock number as the fighter pilots socialized with their new comrades.

Peter watched for Bill but was greeted by an old friend first.

"Well if it isn't Peter Klein," Daphne Weber said as she crossed her arms.

If the seat hadn't had arm rests, Peter would have fallen out.

"Daphne!"

She paused, "Is that all you're going to say? After all these years and you can only stare flabbergasted?"

"Of all the Daphne Webers in Lylat, you had to be the one," he slapped his paw to his head.

"Let's call it fate, shall we," she smirked, "I'll come bother you later, I have other furs to meet."

"I want to cry," Peter muttered.

Their infrequent meetings as children had left scars on his childhood memories. The husky always had an air of superiority about her. When they played sports, she strove to be better and would try anything to be on top. It was the 'anything' that drove the two apart.

Peter brushed off the encounter and took a swig of his ale.

"Let's hope Bill gets here soon, 'kay," he told his mug.

A few tables down, old friends were making new friends.

Keeve and James were sharing a booth with Jenzalah Roberts and Aika Muyo. Jenzalah was a lively rabbit who loved to talk. Aika was the opposite, a quiet, reserved calico.

"So where are you two lovely ladies from," James asked.

"I'm from Prescott, Corneria," the rabbit said. She tossed her chest length brown hair over her shoulder with her paw.

Keeve dipped his head, "Jenzalah, right?"

"Call me Zale," she said.

"How about you," Keeve paused, "Aika?"

The feline softly smiled and nodded, "I am from... from... it's not important. I am here now and that's what matters. Excuse me."

She left the lounge.

"Now look at that, Keeve, you scared her off," James said.

Zale took a swig of her beer, "You shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition."

"Huh?"

"Prepositions are words such as off, or with, or to, and you shouldn't end a sentence with one. It's bad grammar."

"Who are you, the Grammar Queen," James laughed.

"Well since you asked, yes, I am." She smiled and finished her drink, "I'll be back."

Zale walked by another table where two Academy graduates were listening intently to old 'war stories' from a red-furred golden retriever.

"So there I was," Greg Mitchell waved his paw across the table, "Strapped to the table with electrical wires and an old ceiling lamp in my eyes. That busty feline comes in with a whip and a can of something. She asked me, 'So Mister Brave Pilot, do you give in?' Of course I said no."

He leaned back and took a long drink. The two young pilots gripped the table and leaned in.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, she took that can and shook it. You know what was in it?"

"What?" They simultaneously asked.

"Whipped cream. And I am a sucker for... suckers covered in whipped cream. She took off that strappy bra, smothered her chest with whipped cream, and you can guess what she did next. Boy was I in heaven. But I couldn't give in, I needed more man points. You won't believe how she made me give in."

"How, how?!" One asked.

"You can't leave us hanging, this is better than late night TV!"

"Yeah, more open to interpretation, huh? Lets your imagination run. So, where was I? Oh, she started tickling me. But of course that was after she covered me with that whipped cream and licked it off. There is nothing more tantalizing than a scantily clad woman licking whipped cream off your chest... Ahh... So after I gave in she gave me the ride of my life. She even did it free of charge because I outlasted every other guy. Cool, huh?"

He took another drink, "So who are you two again?"

A short tree frog leaned back, "I'm Kim Motter. From Zoness."

"Depoli Derr. Kline Air Base on Fortuna." The snow tiger rolled up his sleeves.

"Hey, aren't you General Derr's kid?" Greg asked.

"Yeah. I'm trying to make a name for myself, you know," Depoli frowned.

"I can relate. My bro and I were always known as the Mitchell's cargo pilots. I was like, 'Hey, my name is Greg.' They didn't care though, they just said unload the damn cargo and free up this space. Oh well."

"Are we gonna have experiences like yours," Kim asked.

"Ah, maybe someday you will. If you follow my lead," Greg finished his drink, "Hey, lets get another round."

At the bar, two identical lynxes shared drinks.

"So has Mya found out I'm here too," Ambro Tainer asked.

"More likely than not. She's gotten real meticulous lately. I'm sure she's probably looking thru personnel lists right now, or working on her jet tweaking this and that. She wasn't happy about our dual assignments, so I'm sure she'll be pissed about you being here too," Alexander Tainer said as he slammed his shot and tapped the bar for another one.

"Hey that's four already, you should slow down there bro," Ambro said.

"I can handle my liquor, thank you."

Alex, Ambro, and Mya were triplets, born on Monument, Corneria. Alex and Mya signed up as pilots while Ambro took up the mechanic's wrench.

Ambro nodded as he took a drink. "So what have you been up to? Just flying escort missions and one day you get orders to a real squadron?"

"Pretty much. Mya got the Flying Diamond a few months back. She was out on a solo mission when a full enemy squadron attacked. She held off all twelve of those fighters until that cargo ship made it to Cornerian air space. She was going to refuse the award but the wing commander made her take it."

"Refuse the Flying Diamond?! She certainly doesn't have that pilot attitude."

Alex laughed, "What's that supposed to mean, there, wrench-turner?

Ambro smirked, "You break 'em, we fix 'em. Hey I better get outta here before someone catches me. Take it easy bro, I'll see ya around."

"Later," Alex waved as he slammed his fifth shot and tapped the bar for another.

When Bill finally arrived, some of the pilots had already left. The gray hound searched the room trying to remember who was who. His eyes fell on Peter and he made his way across the room.

"Well look who finally decided to show," Peter grinned, offering a drink.

Bill took it and said, "I wanted to start unpacking."

"Oh okay. You could have come up with a better excuse though. Some furs have already left."

Bill nodded as he took a drink, "I'll see them eventually. If they're my pilots, I'll see them tomorrow. Commander Bates sent me a memo with a tour time. It's the only thing I have them doing tomorrow. With all these new pilots, I'm going to encourage them to visit the simulators at least once a day and record the stats."

"At least you get a couple weeks to acquaint yourselves with each other and the jets. When Bulldog Unit came, we were pulling sorties the next day. Of course we were all battle experienced too. Looks like you've got yourself quite a task, Commander."

"Please, call me Bill," the canine smiled, "This lounge looks like it'll be a nice place to relax."

"Oh yeah, it's for pilots only. We catch some maintenance guys in here every now and then. They say their fixing something but most the time it's just to hang with us. I don't mind if you don't."

Bill frowned, "Well, only for a few minutes. This place is for pilots only."

Peter nodded. "So is this your first command?"

"Sure is. I went into the academy for a ground job, but they liked my flying too much."

Peter laughed, "They don't care what your specialty is; good pilots are hard to come by. I've seen your academy records, six kills in five minutes. That's pretty good."

"I really think I got lucky, but I tell everyone else it was skill," Bill winked.

They shared a laugh.

Chase Halloway searched the room for furs he hadn't met yet. The thick-furred malamute straitened his tartan shirt and finished his ale. He was moderately tall and thickly built. He found a bar stool and took a seat.

A tan furred rabbit approached him, "I don't believe we've met."

He took her extended paw and shook it, "Chase Halloway. What is your name, lovely lady?"

She smiled sweetly, "Jenzalah Roberts. Call me Zale. Pleased to meet you. You looked a little lonely over here so I thought I'd be company for a while."

Chase had usually been the one to approach a female, so he was unsure of what to do in the reverse situation. He decided to make small conversation.

"So what made you become a pilot?"

"Now that's a question I haven't been asked yet," she grinned, "I just like flying. My father is an admiral of a cruiser out in Sector Y and my sister is the Bridge com Officer."

"Wow, so your whole family is in the military."

"Well my mother isn't. She's always worried sick about us. But she's used to it by now. So what about you? Why are you flying?"

"Jenzalah Roberts, right?"

She nodded.

"Hey, remember Chief Halloway? The Chief Sergeant of the Space Corp?"

Zale thought for a moment then nodded, "Yeah, I remember him from some military functions in the past. Ones were you bring your families and everyone gets drunk."

"That's so cool. I'm his son. I really thought you looked familiar."

"Yeah, now that I think about it, you look familiar too. Wow, they say it's a small universe."

Chase laughed, "So how is Admiral Roberts?"

"Oh he's fine. Rachel tells me he's getting a little too old to relate to the newer officers coming aboard, but he's doing well. How is your father?"

"He's retiring in a few years. I guess he's had enough," Chase laughed.

"They might not let him go if we go to war with Andross," Zale hesitated.

Chase took a drink, "Well, if we do, we'll just have to make sure it doesn't last long."

"Indeed. I'll drink to that."

They clinked bottles and drank.