DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating
to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen
to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random
lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and
nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't
even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website
without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If
that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be
quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Two: Enlistment~
~----~
The military recruitment office. Glenn could still recall the last time he'd been here, only at the one stationed in Green Earth. Orange Star's recruitment office building was considerably larger than the one he'd seen before, as it rose fifteen stories high. Not only that, but the place seemed even more massive inside. He couldn't help but feel somewhat dwarfed as he gawked around like a tourist, gazing at the sheer magnitude of this situation. There were a few Orange Star soldiers and guards about, busy-bodying random rubberneckers around to make sure they kept moving to wherever their destination was.
It took him a full forty-five minutes to find where the Air Force recruitment offices were. By the time he reached them, he figured he must have been all over the building and another, from the first to fifteenth floors. Finally, he'd just walked into what he'd thought were the restrooms of the floor he was on - he could remember a time where he'd had such a thing happen before - and there he was.
It's about time, he thought to himself as he scanned the room. Strangely, unlike the other floors, the Air Force recruitment offices didn't seem so crowded. Glenn found that somewhat peculiar, but thought something of it as he anxiously stepped up to one of the desks towards the entrance doors.
"I'd like to join the Air Force," Glenn Gordon stated frankly to the clerk.
"Then," the busy-with-a-book clerk said while pointing to another desk, "you want that one over there."
Glenn paused for a moment, and headed over to the other desk, where a large, jiggly man sat in a chair that seemed to be seriously strained under the weight being put on it.
"I'd like to join the Air Force," he said once again in the exact same tone and manner. The viciously overweight clerk hesitated, eyed Glenn, then pointed to the desk he'd come from with his pencil.
"You want that--"
"No, I don't," Glenn grumbled, quickly stopping this chicken race before it got to the point of being foolish, "she told me to come to you, and I'm not going to go ping-ponging around here for thirty minutes."
"Alright, alright!" The clerk irritatedly fumbled away whatever he was fiddling with at the moment and took out a few sheets of paper. Presumably enlistment forms, Glenn figured, as he'd gone through something similar when he had joined the Green Earth Air Force. The clerk handed the forms and his pencil to Gordon. "Just fill these out and get them back to me whenever you're done."
"Thank you."
Since there wasn't a whole lot to cover on the enlistment forms, Glenn just wrote them out there at the desk. While he scribbled on them with the midget-quality pencil the clerk had let him borrow, he couldn't help but wonder to himself if he was doing the right thing. He hadn't thought much about it since last night when he'd made his decision. And even still, he was supposed to be at the school right now. He most certainly had called first to let them know he wouldn't be coming in, but perhaps it was the responsibility portion of his job that was weighing on him, telling him to leave this office building and get back to what he was supposed to be doing.
Then he shrugged all that off. He had to concentrate on what he was doing now, and what he'd be happy doing. The passed was past, after all.
The heavy, uniformed clerk paused somewhat excessively, eyeing Glenn, who was still busy doodling with the enlistment sheets. "Ain't you that pilot I saw on that War Stories show? Yeah, they showed your picture."
Glenn took a moment of silence as well before answering. "Depends."
The clerk leaned over the counter, examining the name on the enlistment form, and he smiled widely. "Yep, you're him."
Glenn didn't quite know how to react to this, as he wasn't used to nor did he necessarily care for being a public icon. He decided to just not answer. The clerk continued to sit there, still eyeing Gordon until he started to fidget under the fat man's gaze.
There came a part in the enlistment form where he was asked what aircraft he would like to pilot, if he recieved such a position. There were first choice and second choice options. Naturally, Gordon's penciled hand quickly moved towards the role of Orange Star fighter pilot.
But he stopped himself, examining the other positions. Did he really want to fly a fighter jet again?
There was also bomber, attack helicopter, and transport helicopter pilot positions for first and second choices. Maybe he'd be better off not behind the yoke of a fighter again. He could still be in the air in a transport helicopter, and that was nice and safe, for the most part. If he came under attack, he'd be allowed to split as soon as the action got started. But his eyes continually moved towards the checkmark area next to "fighter pilot".
He'd leave this one up to fate. "What's the current tally on Orange Star fighter pilots?"
The clerk shrugged his heavy shoulders, his fat face jiggling a bit, reminding Glenn very much of jello. "Not good. People are joinin' the army 'cause it's more traditional, and more people are heading into the navy because they think they can see the sights, or whatever. Right now, good pilots are tough to come by since alot of them retired after the war, and most of our enlistees want to be flying those damn transport choppers because they just want to be in the air and think it's safe. Basically, we'll be in a crisis if we don't get alot more pilots enlisting soon somehow, what with these border attacks and all. And even then, we're gonna have to train them."
That had not totally been the answer Glenn had hoped for. But did he have a specific hope in mind? No, he decided, he didn't. Fate had rolled the dice, so it seemed. "Alright."
With the small pencil in his hand, he checkmarked the area next to "fighter pilot."
As for his second choice, Glenn simply considered leaving it blank. He'd be betraying the fate that had answered his call if he didn't, or so he felt. Finally, he scratched his name in on the line at the very bottom of the last enlistment sheet, proving to himself that he was going to go through with this. "Okay, I think I'm finished. What do I do--"
"Give 'em to me," the clerk mumbled, grabbing for the papers before he'd even finished his own sentence. Glenn figured that would be it for the day, but then, the overweight clerk handed him a sheet of paper that had just finished printing out, causing him to blink in confusion.
"What's this?"
"Your orders."
His orders! He'd already been given orders. That had been awful fast. He couldn't help but smile, quickly liking the way the Orange Stars got to the point with everything -- And how they got to the point with everything quickly. His eyes surveyed the order sheet. Apparently, if he was able to decipher everything on it correctly, he figured the orders told him to report to the Washington Air Force Base the next day. Luckily, he knew where the base was, as Glenn had ended up keeping fairly up to date on where all the Orange Star bases were, thanks to all those dumb news programs and shows that he was never able to avoid.
The clerk waved him goodbye. "Adios."
Glenn paused again, and waved similarly as he walked out.
Geez, he thought to himself as he walked through the mazes of the giant office building, these guys must be pretty desperate for pilots.
The Washington Air Base, as Glenn had heard, was luckily not very far from where he lived. Some good pilots had come out of Orange Star when stationed at it, or that was the rumor, at least. Not only that, but Glenn had noticed that it was edgily stationed fairly close to the border that kept Orange Star and Blue Moon apart. The base must have been experiencing a shortage of pilots, thanks to those border skirmishes, attacks, whatever they could have been classified as, as Glenn figured. He didn't think too much of it, though, he just wanted back into a pilot's seat.
And in the pilot's seat, he would soon be, or at least he hoped so. Upon arriving at the air base the next day, he hadn't seen any airplanes of any sort from the entrance. Maybe that was the way they wanted things. Nevertheless, it sent an ambiguous fear through Gordon. Perhaps he wouldn't get to fly a plane after all by some outlandish mishap in orders, or maybe there weren't any air planes at the base at all. It was certainly a fear that he shouldn't have felt, as he knew that if the air base didn't have any planes it couldn't exactly be called an air base. Even still, though, the fear kept on all the way towards what would be his new home.
But when he went past the security checkpoint, the true entrance to the air base, he smiled. There they were. Or one of them, in any case. He could see the Orange Star fighter jet blasting down the airstrip, its afterburners at full power, and it rose up off the concrete, almost floating up from the ground though at well over one-hundred-fifty miles an hour, taking off into the sky. He couldn't help but feel envy towards whoever may have been sitting in that jet's cockpit.
The fears subsided. He'd be flying one of those beautiful things after all.
He stopped his car to sit there on the road and watch more of the fighters taking off.
It wasn't until only a few minutes later that a Washington Air Base security guard stepped up and rapped on the window loudly, catching Gordon's attention immediately. The startled enlistee jerked his head to the side, surprised, and he rolled down the window a bit.
"Keep it moving, sir," the guard told him. Glenn nodded, a little saddened that he had to stop watching the fascinating show before him, but sadness turned into excitement as he remembered that he was to be a part of that show very soon. He started the car up again and continued onward.
Only a few moments afterwards, he was finally inside of the air base command center. The air of the place smelled familiar -- Glenn couldn't place his nose on exactly why he knew the fuel-like scent of air bases. It reminded him of whenever he went into a dentist office. All of them smelled the same, and he realized it was the same way for air bases. It wasn't a necessarily foul scent, but it made Glenn blink in confusion and puzzlement as he attempted to get a bead on what it accurately was.
Thankfully, it didn't take him an unmanagable amount of time to get to the point with everything that was required before he got into the cockpit of a plane. He showed the first uniformed man he saw his orders, and they pointed him over in the direction of where he'd recieve his true commands. It seemed, from what a few of the uniformed folks told him, that he'd have to first be introduced to his fellow squadron pilots, and recieve even more orders from his commander.
Well, he thought to himself, the commander here can't be much worse than Clay Shamrock, bless his soul. Glenn could still remember old Shamrock and those vile orders of his. He didn't even want to remember some of those missions the man had thrown at him, but even still, the mere thought of Shamrock made Glenn feel a little uneasy, and a little depressed on the spot.
Those feelings went away when he was introduced to the man who would be his commander. And new feelings of disappointment quickly arose, to Glenn's dismay.
Even from just looking at him, Gordon could tell that George Beauregard was going to be a tough nut to nail. Not only that, but the wall-eyed stare that Beauregard gave him made him feel somewhat jittery and upset. Glenn already knew that making friends wasn't Beauregard's top priority in the three seconds he'd known him.
Glenn knew saying hello and holding out his hand to the Commander would get him a nasty comeback, and probably a bad reputation for longer than he wanted. Instead, he did the smart thing, and saluted Beauregard upon stepping up next to him and whoever the high-ranking official was conversing with. "Sir."
"Gordon," Beauregard uttered, his attention still more on the person he was talking to than the new pilot who'd warily stepped up to greet him. Gordon hesitated and placed his hands at the small of his back, trying to be as polite as he could and wait out the conversation without losing patience. It didn't quite go as planned, and Beauregard continued mumbling to his friend about things that may as well have been in a foreign language to Glenn. He resisted the powerful urge to roll his eyes in impatience more than once, but finally, the Commander seemed to finish the back-and-forth babbling, and he finally turned his attention towards Gordon. "So, you're Glenn Gordon."
Glenn nodded slightly, giving the same response he gave everyone who addressed him by name. "That's me."
"I've heard alot about you."
Once again, Glenn resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"You're the fellow who was shot down over Blue Moon and was lost for a while," Beauregard continued, saying all this as if Glenn didn't know any of it himself, "and you got back okay, but not without some tragedy when you got back. That's some tough luck, pilot. Don't worry, we'll take care of you here pretty well."
Glenn wondered if that comment was supposed imply that the Orange Stars did their business better than the Green Earthers, but he figured the Commander didn't mean anything hurtful by it. "I certainly hope so, sir. The last thing I want is to make my destination the ground again when it's not supposed to be. I suppose this could be looked at as my thanks, since the Orange Stars helped me out when I was stranded in one of Blue Moon's neutral cities for a while."
"Yes," Beauregard said, though still showing no hint of a smile whatsoever on his crackly face. "Colonel Baxter filled Orange Star Headquarters in on your dilemma, and that he'd found you. I remember alot of us being pretty happy when that happened. There aren't many pilots like you, Gordon, in the fact that when one of you goes down, you're likely to not get back up again, ever."
The rememberance of Colonel Baxter had filled Glenn's mind while Beauregard spoke, and he'd restrained his bodily actions again, this time to shudder in disgust. Just the thought of the dirty schmuck made Glenn feel dirty himself. Not even a bath in disinfectant could remedy such a feeling.
"Well, I would have ejected, but Green Earth and Yellow Comet fighters don't come with ejection mechanisms. You'd think that with a Commanding Officer like Eagle, they'd have such an option put into their most precious equipment. As for Kanbei, well, his army may be tough, but there are some design flaws you just can't overcome."
Beauregard seemed to stifle a laugh at the mere thought of Yellow Comet's fighters. Glenn had to admit, it was a fairly humerous absurdity. Somehow, even though all of Yellow Comet's military equipment was somewhat aged compared to every other country's, they could still keep up in terms of combat specialty.
"Oh well," Beauregard said, the crackle of a smile that had shown during the stifle of his laugh subsiding quickly, "I'd better tell you right now about your squadron, Gordon. There are a couple based here, so don't get confused about which one you're in. Orders from the Capitol say you're to fly with the 207th, also known as Thunderbolt Squadron. I suppose you could go and meet your new wing-mates right now, but you'll be sharing a section of the base in the barracks with them, and you'll be rooming with one of them, so it's up to you when you want to meet them."
His new wing-mates. Glenn knew no one could ever take the place of his old comrades, especially Dario Yossarian, as annoying and troubling he may have been while he was still alive. However, something told him to push forward, and this something also made him a little excited to meet his new comrades, his new friends. At least, he hoped they'd end up being friends. Gordon wasn't in this to make rivals out of comrades, or worse, enemies. He looked off down a few corridors in the building he was in, pondering exactly where he'd find them all. "I'd like to meet them now, I suppose. It would probably be better now to do so than later. Where are they at?"
Beauregard nodded in the direction of a hallway. "You'll probably find them in the cafeteria. It's down there, take a left, and its the second door on the right. You'll find it pretty easily."
"Thank you, sir." Glenn thankfully remembered to stay proper and gracious in front of his commanding officer before he went yokelling down some hallway without showing the man some respect, well-deserved respect at that. Beauregard finally seemed to crack a smile, a more noticable one than before, and saluted Glenn. The pilot returned the salute. At least he'd made some slight conversation with his new commanding officer and had made a good impression.
"Dismissed."
Glenn nodded one final time and started to take off down the hallway, but he suddenly remembered something more important than becoming friends with people he'd never met before. "Hey, uh. Excuse me, sir, but, when do I get to fly a plane again?"
George Beauregard's expression told Glenn the answer probably wouldn't be one he liked. "Not today. Probably not tomorrow either, since we're still getting your fighter ready, and also some forms filled out because of its transition to the 207th. Not only that, but you'll have to go through a little bit of simulation training first, but with your experience, I don't think you'll require much assistance from the simulators. Green Earth fighters and Orange Star fighters are more similar than you probably know."
Hesitation came from Glenn as he rubbed the back of his neck disappointedly. He'd been hoping to get in the air as soon as possible, even if that meant immediately, but luckily, he was a little more patient than he thought he was. He could wait until the next day, or however long it took, as unstabling as that may have been. "Alright, thank you again, sir."
Beauregard just nodded and walked away down an anonymous hallway opposite to the one the pilot was destined for. Without waiting around moronically to see if there was anything else his commander wanted to jaw about, Gordon decided now was the best time to split and meet his new wing-mates.
He took off, towards where he presumed the cafeteria was. Since Glenn had the tendency to get lost unavoidably easily in even the smallest of buildings, he made sure to follow Beauregard's directions exactly and to the brim. Sadly, what should have been a thirty-second walk ended up being a ten-minute journey.
Finally, he grumbled to himself as he looked at the door with CAFETERIA plastered on its glass window. He hoped lunch wasn't over for his new comrades.
It came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn when he found the cafeteria was near-empty. Being a fairly spacious room, and considering it was lunchtime, it struck him as odd that there were only seven other people in the entire place. However, Glenn found the lack of people somewhat satisfying, and he welcomed it, as he didn't want to go searching around a huge flock of Washington Air Base pilots while trying to find people he'd never met before. That would be like trying to find a needle in two haystacks, and a wild goose chase was the last thing Gordon wanted at the moment. He was anxious to get up in the air, although reality continued to prod him with a stick that constantly reminded him he wouldn't be heading up into the sky until at least the next day.
Glenn stepped over to the table the seven uniformed people were eating at, but he found himself growing more intimidated with every step. It made him recall his school days, when he'd been forced to make new friends. Those had been uneasy moments, but this was worse. The stakes here were miles high. These were people he would be risking his life with, and even entrusting his life to at times, if such times came upon him.
"Excuse me," he mumbled less-than-confidently while trying his best to meet all their gazes at the same time, "are you guys in Thunderbolt Squadron?"
"Guys?" one of the two girls piped.
Glenn nervously cleared his throat, quickly trying to figure out why such a situation as this one was fluttering him so badly. "Guys and girls, I should say, sorry--"
"Sit down," the same girl said, a smile unfolding onto her young face. This came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn, and he made himself sit down, though not without an inner struggle. Perhaps it was the nervousness, or the magnitude of the moment, but he thought it best not to pay much attention to these feelings. He'd have to do his best to fit in. Heck, he could fit in pretty easily, if he tried, or so he figured. But he couldn't help but wonder why they were already looking away from him and eating.
One of the boys looked up from his meal at Glenn. "Aren't you gonna get something to eat to?"
There was, quite frankly, no chance of Glenn eating for the rest of the day. He was too edgy from meeting his comrades, and too anxious to get into a fighter jet again. "I don't think so, I just sort of came down here to meet you all, since I'll be flying with you now."
"That makes eight of us," the other of the two girls sitting at the table said with a mouthful, trying not to chuckle. Gordon blinked in confusion. What was she talking about?
Another of the men explained. "We're all new members of the 207th, too. It's a new flight squadron, apparently, from what that old Beuregard guy told us. Looks like Washington wants to start from scratch with us. Not a bad idea, I be thinkin'. We'll burn up the skies, won't we, Cass?"
One of the girls nodded while rolling her eyes towards her rather arrogant wingmate.
So that was it. All seven of these people were newbies, too. Glenn realized he had nothing to be afraid or nervous of. These folks were in the exact same situation he was in. Somehow, this made him feel a little more comfortable with the situation, and smiling, he outstretched his hand to the one who had ended up filling him in on the scenario. "I'm Glenn Gordon."
The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it vividly. "The name's Tuxedo Ral."
Gordon paused.
"Tuxedo Ral?" he uttered, realizing he almost insulted the man with the way he said the rather abnormal name. In all honesty, Glenn had been expecting an average name, but one that he would remember. He was right, apparently, as strange a name as it was.
Tuxedo stared at him with a smirk, or a grin, Glenn couldn't decipher it. However, it reminded him very much of the cocky, hyena-quality smirk Dario Yossarian had always had on his face, and just that expression made Glenn realize he would probably end up becoming friends with Tuxedo faster than any of them. "Yep, yep. It's not a nickname, actually. I think when my parents met, a tux had somethin' to do with it. Or maybe they just liked penguins. Either way, that's my name, and it's nice to meet you, Mr. Glenn Gordon."
Glenn couldn't help but grin too. "Sounds fair."
Tuxedo jerked his head next to the blonde girl sitting next to him. "This here's Rainey Banker, and that other chic over yonder inhaling the meatball- and-nacho sub is Cassie Somethingorother, and old ugly here is Bubba Boggs, and--"
"I, uh, can introduce myself pretty well," another of the boys stated, holding up a hand towards Tux to make him shut his excessively large trap. The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it, though not as rapidly as the first introductee had done. "My name is Marcus Madison. I was transferred over here from Gravedigger Squadron since we sort of ended up getting pummeled in the border skirmishes. I guess they want to start from scratch with them, too. I'm finding it pretty nice here, so far, even though I only got here today."
"He doesn't give a damn--" Tux started in, speaking for Glenn before the man could utter a single word.
"Well, he would if you'd let us introduce ourselves without branding us for fools," the big man seated next to Marcus blathered while trying to gulp down a soda. It didn't come out exactly the way he hoped it would, since talking and soda didn't mix.
Glenn hesitated while the big guy and Tuxedo exchanged verbal blows back and forth, and he outstretched his hand to the man he was currently seated next to. "I didn't catch your name."
Tuxedo cut off his attacks and started to say That's Because He Didn't Throw It, but the rest of the table shot him a stingy glare that read Don't Even Think About It.
The man Glenn spoke to didn't really respond. He just smiled and nodded while eating some sort of food Glenn had never seen or heard of before. Whatever it was, it didn't look terribly appetizing.
"He's Achmed Somethingsomething," Tux stated.
"Yahasatitapen," the man finished for the loudmouth.
"Yeah, that."
Glenn paused, covering his confusion. "I can't really seem to place that name and a country together. Where's he from?"
"I dunno," the big man known as Bubba muttered, shrugging. "He doesn't speak a whole lot of our language, just a couple of flight commands and stuff."
"Sounds good to me," Glenn said while smiling as he patted Achmed on the back, "quiet people make good friends. They're agreeable, ask no questions, and pass no criticisms."
Achmed smiled politely and nodded again, despite the fact he probably didn't understand a word Gordon had said.
Gordon still hadn't heard the name of one Thunderbolt. He looked towards the man and hesitated before speaking. "What's your name?"
The man didn't bother answering him.
"Hello?"
The man glared at him.
Oh great, Glenn thought. He'd discovered the obvious hot-head of the group. And he'd been so close to getting away with making friends with all of them, too. He'd been in such a situation before, though. When he'd first entered the Green Earth Air Force, there had been dozens of these guys. He knew to not let them get on his case, but seemed each of them was different, different in the littlest ways that made dealing with them that much more difficult.
"What's your name?" Glenn asked again, ready to give up and not bother with this one. People who didn't want to be team-mates shouldn't have been part of a team.
"Knives," the man answered.
Gordon forced himself to throw a laugh away. That was an even stranger - if not worse name than Tuxedo!
"Knives? Where in Yellow Comet did you get a name like that?"
"It's a nickname."
"I can tell," Glenn said, still trying to get such a goofy grin off his face. "I've never heard a name like that one before. Man, that's, uh, interesting."
There was a stare from Knives, and Glenn realized that what he had just said could have destroyed any respect socialization may have gotten him. He cleared his throat, shutting up, and wisely turned his attention away from the fellow with the overly-peculiar nickname as he thought up something better to speak of. "Speaking of which, which one of us is going to be head of the squadron? I mean, when we're in the sky. Who's the lead?"
Tuxedo smiled. "He is," he uttered, jerking his head to Knives.
----------
Author Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry if you found it boring, as it was simply meant to introduce the 207th pilots a little. Things will get a little more exciting in future chapters, though, so if you're a mindless action fan, have no fear. Also, feel free to R&R, and leave questions or comments. They're much appreciated.
Dr. Bross - The opening dogfight was means to introduce the Blue Moon pilot Gordon will end up having his rather destructive rivalry with. It also showed just how dangerous the pilot and his squadron is to Orange Star. As for why he's afraid of his past, Glenn is somewhat haunted by the events in Part I of the Fighters, and it may yet prove to get in the way of his work as he tries to rekindle whatever flying spirit he has left. So, there's your answer. Sorry if that's kind of a disappointment.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Two: Enlistment~
~----~
The military recruitment office. Glenn could still recall the last time he'd been here, only at the one stationed in Green Earth. Orange Star's recruitment office building was considerably larger than the one he'd seen before, as it rose fifteen stories high. Not only that, but the place seemed even more massive inside. He couldn't help but feel somewhat dwarfed as he gawked around like a tourist, gazing at the sheer magnitude of this situation. There were a few Orange Star soldiers and guards about, busy-bodying random rubberneckers around to make sure they kept moving to wherever their destination was.
It took him a full forty-five minutes to find where the Air Force recruitment offices were. By the time he reached them, he figured he must have been all over the building and another, from the first to fifteenth floors. Finally, he'd just walked into what he'd thought were the restrooms of the floor he was on - he could remember a time where he'd had such a thing happen before - and there he was.
It's about time, he thought to himself as he scanned the room. Strangely, unlike the other floors, the Air Force recruitment offices didn't seem so crowded. Glenn found that somewhat peculiar, but thought something of it as he anxiously stepped up to one of the desks towards the entrance doors.
"I'd like to join the Air Force," Glenn Gordon stated frankly to the clerk.
"Then," the busy-with-a-book clerk said while pointing to another desk, "you want that one over there."
Glenn paused for a moment, and headed over to the other desk, where a large, jiggly man sat in a chair that seemed to be seriously strained under the weight being put on it.
"I'd like to join the Air Force," he said once again in the exact same tone and manner. The viciously overweight clerk hesitated, eyed Glenn, then pointed to the desk he'd come from with his pencil.
"You want that--"
"No, I don't," Glenn grumbled, quickly stopping this chicken race before it got to the point of being foolish, "she told me to come to you, and I'm not going to go ping-ponging around here for thirty minutes."
"Alright, alright!" The clerk irritatedly fumbled away whatever he was fiddling with at the moment and took out a few sheets of paper. Presumably enlistment forms, Glenn figured, as he'd gone through something similar when he had joined the Green Earth Air Force. The clerk handed the forms and his pencil to Gordon. "Just fill these out and get them back to me whenever you're done."
"Thank you."
Since there wasn't a whole lot to cover on the enlistment forms, Glenn just wrote them out there at the desk. While he scribbled on them with the midget-quality pencil the clerk had let him borrow, he couldn't help but wonder to himself if he was doing the right thing. He hadn't thought much about it since last night when he'd made his decision. And even still, he was supposed to be at the school right now. He most certainly had called first to let them know he wouldn't be coming in, but perhaps it was the responsibility portion of his job that was weighing on him, telling him to leave this office building and get back to what he was supposed to be doing.
Then he shrugged all that off. He had to concentrate on what he was doing now, and what he'd be happy doing. The passed was past, after all.
The heavy, uniformed clerk paused somewhat excessively, eyeing Glenn, who was still busy doodling with the enlistment sheets. "Ain't you that pilot I saw on that War Stories show? Yeah, they showed your picture."
Glenn took a moment of silence as well before answering. "Depends."
The clerk leaned over the counter, examining the name on the enlistment form, and he smiled widely. "Yep, you're him."
Glenn didn't quite know how to react to this, as he wasn't used to nor did he necessarily care for being a public icon. He decided to just not answer. The clerk continued to sit there, still eyeing Gordon until he started to fidget under the fat man's gaze.
There came a part in the enlistment form where he was asked what aircraft he would like to pilot, if he recieved such a position. There were first choice and second choice options. Naturally, Gordon's penciled hand quickly moved towards the role of Orange Star fighter pilot.
But he stopped himself, examining the other positions. Did he really want to fly a fighter jet again?
There was also bomber, attack helicopter, and transport helicopter pilot positions for first and second choices. Maybe he'd be better off not behind the yoke of a fighter again. He could still be in the air in a transport helicopter, and that was nice and safe, for the most part. If he came under attack, he'd be allowed to split as soon as the action got started. But his eyes continually moved towards the checkmark area next to "fighter pilot".
He'd leave this one up to fate. "What's the current tally on Orange Star fighter pilots?"
The clerk shrugged his heavy shoulders, his fat face jiggling a bit, reminding Glenn very much of jello. "Not good. People are joinin' the army 'cause it's more traditional, and more people are heading into the navy because they think they can see the sights, or whatever. Right now, good pilots are tough to come by since alot of them retired after the war, and most of our enlistees want to be flying those damn transport choppers because they just want to be in the air and think it's safe. Basically, we'll be in a crisis if we don't get alot more pilots enlisting soon somehow, what with these border attacks and all. And even then, we're gonna have to train them."
That had not totally been the answer Glenn had hoped for. But did he have a specific hope in mind? No, he decided, he didn't. Fate had rolled the dice, so it seemed. "Alright."
With the small pencil in his hand, he checkmarked the area next to "fighter pilot."
As for his second choice, Glenn simply considered leaving it blank. He'd be betraying the fate that had answered his call if he didn't, or so he felt. Finally, he scratched his name in on the line at the very bottom of the last enlistment sheet, proving to himself that he was going to go through with this. "Okay, I think I'm finished. What do I do--"
"Give 'em to me," the clerk mumbled, grabbing for the papers before he'd even finished his own sentence. Glenn figured that would be it for the day, but then, the overweight clerk handed him a sheet of paper that had just finished printing out, causing him to blink in confusion.
"What's this?"
"Your orders."
His orders! He'd already been given orders. That had been awful fast. He couldn't help but smile, quickly liking the way the Orange Stars got to the point with everything -- And how they got to the point with everything quickly. His eyes surveyed the order sheet. Apparently, if he was able to decipher everything on it correctly, he figured the orders told him to report to the Washington Air Force Base the next day. Luckily, he knew where the base was, as Glenn had ended up keeping fairly up to date on where all the Orange Star bases were, thanks to all those dumb news programs and shows that he was never able to avoid.
The clerk waved him goodbye. "Adios."
Glenn paused again, and waved similarly as he walked out.
Geez, he thought to himself as he walked through the mazes of the giant office building, these guys must be pretty desperate for pilots.
The Washington Air Base, as Glenn had heard, was luckily not very far from where he lived. Some good pilots had come out of Orange Star when stationed at it, or that was the rumor, at least. Not only that, but Glenn had noticed that it was edgily stationed fairly close to the border that kept Orange Star and Blue Moon apart. The base must have been experiencing a shortage of pilots, thanks to those border skirmishes, attacks, whatever they could have been classified as, as Glenn figured. He didn't think too much of it, though, he just wanted back into a pilot's seat.
And in the pilot's seat, he would soon be, or at least he hoped so. Upon arriving at the air base the next day, he hadn't seen any airplanes of any sort from the entrance. Maybe that was the way they wanted things. Nevertheless, it sent an ambiguous fear through Gordon. Perhaps he wouldn't get to fly a plane after all by some outlandish mishap in orders, or maybe there weren't any air planes at the base at all. It was certainly a fear that he shouldn't have felt, as he knew that if the air base didn't have any planes it couldn't exactly be called an air base. Even still, though, the fear kept on all the way towards what would be his new home.
But when he went past the security checkpoint, the true entrance to the air base, he smiled. There they were. Or one of them, in any case. He could see the Orange Star fighter jet blasting down the airstrip, its afterburners at full power, and it rose up off the concrete, almost floating up from the ground though at well over one-hundred-fifty miles an hour, taking off into the sky. He couldn't help but feel envy towards whoever may have been sitting in that jet's cockpit.
The fears subsided. He'd be flying one of those beautiful things after all.
He stopped his car to sit there on the road and watch more of the fighters taking off.
It wasn't until only a few minutes later that a Washington Air Base security guard stepped up and rapped on the window loudly, catching Gordon's attention immediately. The startled enlistee jerked his head to the side, surprised, and he rolled down the window a bit.
"Keep it moving, sir," the guard told him. Glenn nodded, a little saddened that he had to stop watching the fascinating show before him, but sadness turned into excitement as he remembered that he was to be a part of that show very soon. He started the car up again and continued onward.
Only a few moments afterwards, he was finally inside of the air base command center. The air of the place smelled familiar -- Glenn couldn't place his nose on exactly why he knew the fuel-like scent of air bases. It reminded him of whenever he went into a dentist office. All of them smelled the same, and he realized it was the same way for air bases. It wasn't a necessarily foul scent, but it made Glenn blink in confusion and puzzlement as he attempted to get a bead on what it accurately was.
Thankfully, it didn't take him an unmanagable amount of time to get to the point with everything that was required before he got into the cockpit of a plane. He showed the first uniformed man he saw his orders, and they pointed him over in the direction of where he'd recieve his true commands. It seemed, from what a few of the uniformed folks told him, that he'd have to first be introduced to his fellow squadron pilots, and recieve even more orders from his commander.
Well, he thought to himself, the commander here can't be much worse than Clay Shamrock, bless his soul. Glenn could still remember old Shamrock and those vile orders of his. He didn't even want to remember some of those missions the man had thrown at him, but even still, the mere thought of Shamrock made Glenn feel a little uneasy, and a little depressed on the spot.
Those feelings went away when he was introduced to the man who would be his commander. And new feelings of disappointment quickly arose, to Glenn's dismay.
Even from just looking at him, Gordon could tell that George Beauregard was going to be a tough nut to nail. Not only that, but the wall-eyed stare that Beauregard gave him made him feel somewhat jittery and upset. Glenn already knew that making friends wasn't Beauregard's top priority in the three seconds he'd known him.
Glenn knew saying hello and holding out his hand to the Commander would get him a nasty comeback, and probably a bad reputation for longer than he wanted. Instead, he did the smart thing, and saluted Beauregard upon stepping up next to him and whoever the high-ranking official was conversing with. "Sir."
"Gordon," Beauregard uttered, his attention still more on the person he was talking to than the new pilot who'd warily stepped up to greet him. Gordon hesitated and placed his hands at the small of his back, trying to be as polite as he could and wait out the conversation without losing patience. It didn't quite go as planned, and Beauregard continued mumbling to his friend about things that may as well have been in a foreign language to Glenn. He resisted the powerful urge to roll his eyes in impatience more than once, but finally, the Commander seemed to finish the back-and-forth babbling, and he finally turned his attention towards Gordon. "So, you're Glenn Gordon."
Glenn nodded slightly, giving the same response he gave everyone who addressed him by name. "That's me."
"I've heard alot about you."
Once again, Glenn resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"You're the fellow who was shot down over Blue Moon and was lost for a while," Beauregard continued, saying all this as if Glenn didn't know any of it himself, "and you got back okay, but not without some tragedy when you got back. That's some tough luck, pilot. Don't worry, we'll take care of you here pretty well."
Glenn wondered if that comment was supposed imply that the Orange Stars did their business better than the Green Earthers, but he figured the Commander didn't mean anything hurtful by it. "I certainly hope so, sir. The last thing I want is to make my destination the ground again when it's not supposed to be. I suppose this could be looked at as my thanks, since the Orange Stars helped me out when I was stranded in one of Blue Moon's neutral cities for a while."
"Yes," Beauregard said, though still showing no hint of a smile whatsoever on his crackly face. "Colonel Baxter filled Orange Star Headquarters in on your dilemma, and that he'd found you. I remember alot of us being pretty happy when that happened. There aren't many pilots like you, Gordon, in the fact that when one of you goes down, you're likely to not get back up again, ever."
The rememberance of Colonel Baxter had filled Glenn's mind while Beauregard spoke, and he'd restrained his bodily actions again, this time to shudder in disgust. Just the thought of the dirty schmuck made Glenn feel dirty himself. Not even a bath in disinfectant could remedy such a feeling.
"Well, I would have ejected, but Green Earth and Yellow Comet fighters don't come with ejection mechanisms. You'd think that with a Commanding Officer like Eagle, they'd have such an option put into their most precious equipment. As for Kanbei, well, his army may be tough, but there are some design flaws you just can't overcome."
Beauregard seemed to stifle a laugh at the mere thought of Yellow Comet's fighters. Glenn had to admit, it was a fairly humerous absurdity. Somehow, even though all of Yellow Comet's military equipment was somewhat aged compared to every other country's, they could still keep up in terms of combat specialty.
"Oh well," Beauregard said, the crackle of a smile that had shown during the stifle of his laugh subsiding quickly, "I'd better tell you right now about your squadron, Gordon. There are a couple based here, so don't get confused about which one you're in. Orders from the Capitol say you're to fly with the 207th, also known as Thunderbolt Squadron. I suppose you could go and meet your new wing-mates right now, but you'll be sharing a section of the base in the barracks with them, and you'll be rooming with one of them, so it's up to you when you want to meet them."
His new wing-mates. Glenn knew no one could ever take the place of his old comrades, especially Dario Yossarian, as annoying and troubling he may have been while he was still alive. However, something told him to push forward, and this something also made him a little excited to meet his new comrades, his new friends. At least, he hoped they'd end up being friends. Gordon wasn't in this to make rivals out of comrades, or worse, enemies. He looked off down a few corridors in the building he was in, pondering exactly where he'd find them all. "I'd like to meet them now, I suppose. It would probably be better now to do so than later. Where are they at?"
Beauregard nodded in the direction of a hallway. "You'll probably find them in the cafeteria. It's down there, take a left, and its the second door on the right. You'll find it pretty easily."
"Thank you, sir." Glenn thankfully remembered to stay proper and gracious in front of his commanding officer before he went yokelling down some hallway without showing the man some respect, well-deserved respect at that. Beauregard finally seemed to crack a smile, a more noticable one than before, and saluted Glenn. The pilot returned the salute. At least he'd made some slight conversation with his new commanding officer and had made a good impression.
"Dismissed."
Glenn nodded one final time and started to take off down the hallway, but he suddenly remembered something more important than becoming friends with people he'd never met before. "Hey, uh. Excuse me, sir, but, when do I get to fly a plane again?"
George Beauregard's expression told Glenn the answer probably wouldn't be one he liked. "Not today. Probably not tomorrow either, since we're still getting your fighter ready, and also some forms filled out because of its transition to the 207th. Not only that, but you'll have to go through a little bit of simulation training first, but with your experience, I don't think you'll require much assistance from the simulators. Green Earth fighters and Orange Star fighters are more similar than you probably know."
Hesitation came from Glenn as he rubbed the back of his neck disappointedly. He'd been hoping to get in the air as soon as possible, even if that meant immediately, but luckily, he was a little more patient than he thought he was. He could wait until the next day, or however long it took, as unstabling as that may have been. "Alright, thank you again, sir."
Beauregard just nodded and walked away down an anonymous hallway opposite to the one the pilot was destined for. Without waiting around moronically to see if there was anything else his commander wanted to jaw about, Gordon decided now was the best time to split and meet his new wing-mates.
He took off, towards where he presumed the cafeteria was. Since Glenn had the tendency to get lost unavoidably easily in even the smallest of buildings, he made sure to follow Beauregard's directions exactly and to the brim. Sadly, what should have been a thirty-second walk ended up being a ten-minute journey.
Finally, he grumbled to himself as he looked at the door with CAFETERIA plastered on its glass window. He hoped lunch wasn't over for his new comrades.
It came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn when he found the cafeteria was near-empty. Being a fairly spacious room, and considering it was lunchtime, it struck him as odd that there were only seven other people in the entire place. However, Glenn found the lack of people somewhat satisfying, and he welcomed it, as he didn't want to go searching around a huge flock of Washington Air Base pilots while trying to find people he'd never met before. That would be like trying to find a needle in two haystacks, and a wild goose chase was the last thing Gordon wanted at the moment. He was anxious to get up in the air, although reality continued to prod him with a stick that constantly reminded him he wouldn't be heading up into the sky until at least the next day.
Glenn stepped over to the table the seven uniformed people were eating at, but he found himself growing more intimidated with every step. It made him recall his school days, when he'd been forced to make new friends. Those had been uneasy moments, but this was worse. The stakes here were miles high. These were people he would be risking his life with, and even entrusting his life to at times, if such times came upon him.
"Excuse me," he mumbled less-than-confidently while trying his best to meet all their gazes at the same time, "are you guys in Thunderbolt Squadron?"
"Guys?" one of the two girls piped.
Glenn nervously cleared his throat, quickly trying to figure out why such a situation as this one was fluttering him so badly. "Guys and girls, I should say, sorry--"
"Sit down," the same girl said, a smile unfolding onto her young face. This came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn, and he made himself sit down, though not without an inner struggle. Perhaps it was the nervousness, or the magnitude of the moment, but he thought it best not to pay much attention to these feelings. He'd have to do his best to fit in. Heck, he could fit in pretty easily, if he tried, or so he figured. But he couldn't help but wonder why they were already looking away from him and eating.
One of the boys looked up from his meal at Glenn. "Aren't you gonna get something to eat to?"
There was, quite frankly, no chance of Glenn eating for the rest of the day. He was too edgy from meeting his comrades, and too anxious to get into a fighter jet again. "I don't think so, I just sort of came down here to meet you all, since I'll be flying with you now."
"That makes eight of us," the other of the two girls sitting at the table said with a mouthful, trying not to chuckle. Gordon blinked in confusion. What was she talking about?
Another of the men explained. "We're all new members of the 207th, too. It's a new flight squadron, apparently, from what that old Beuregard guy told us. Looks like Washington wants to start from scratch with us. Not a bad idea, I be thinkin'. We'll burn up the skies, won't we, Cass?"
One of the girls nodded while rolling her eyes towards her rather arrogant wingmate.
So that was it. All seven of these people were newbies, too. Glenn realized he had nothing to be afraid or nervous of. These folks were in the exact same situation he was in. Somehow, this made him feel a little more comfortable with the situation, and smiling, he outstretched his hand to the one who had ended up filling him in on the scenario. "I'm Glenn Gordon."
The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it vividly. "The name's Tuxedo Ral."
Gordon paused.
"Tuxedo Ral?" he uttered, realizing he almost insulted the man with the way he said the rather abnormal name. In all honesty, Glenn had been expecting an average name, but one that he would remember. He was right, apparently, as strange a name as it was.
Tuxedo stared at him with a smirk, or a grin, Glenn couldn't decipher it. However, it reminded him very much of the cocky, hyena-quality smirk Dario Yossarian had always had on his face, and just that expression made Glenn realize he would probably end up becoming friends with Tuxedo faster than any of them. "Yep, yep. It's not a nickname, actually. I think when my parents met, a tux had somethin' to do with it. Or maybe they just liked penguins. Either way, that's my name, and it's nice to meet you, Mr. Glenn Gordon."
Glenn couldn't help but grin too. "Sounds fair."
Tuxedo jerked his head next to the blonde girl sitting next to him. "This here's Rainey Banker, and that other chic over yonder inhaling the meatball- and-nacho sub is Cassie Somethingorother, and old ugly here is Bubba Boggs, and--"
"I, uh, can introduce myself pretty well," another of the boys stated, holding up a hand towards Tux to make him shut his excessively large trap. The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it, though not as rapidly as the first introductee had done. "My name is Marcus Madison. I was transferred over here from Gravedigger Squadron since we sort of ended up getting pummeled in the border skirmishes. I guess they want to start from scratch with them, too. I'm finding it pretty nice here, so far, even though I only got here today."
"He doesn't give a damn--" Tux started in, speaking for Glenn before the man could utter a single word.
"Well, he would if you'd let us introduce ourselves without branding us for fools," the big man seated next to Marcus blathered while trying to gulp down a soda. It didn't come out exactly the way he hoped it would, since talking and soda didn't mix.
Glenn hesitated while the big guy and Tuxedo exchanged verbal blows back and forth, and he outstretched his hand to the man he was currently seated next to. "I didn't catch your name."
Tuxedo cut off his attacks and started to say That's Because He Didn't Throw It, but the rest of the table shot him a stingy glare that read Don't Even Think About It.
The man Glenn spoke to didn't really respond. He just smiled and nodded while eating some sort of food Glenn had never seen or heard of before. Whatever it was, it didn't look terribly appetizing.
"He's Achmed Somethingsomething," Tux stated.
"Yahasatitapen," the man finished for the loudmouth.
"Yeah, that."
Glenn paused, covering his confusion. "I can't really seem to place that name and a country together. Where's he from?"
"I dunno," the big man known as Bubba muttered, shrugging. "He doesn't speak a whole lot of our language, just a couple of flight commands and stuff."
"Sounds good to me," Glenn said while smiling as he patted Achmed on the back, "quiet people make good friends. They're agreeable, ask no questions, and pass no criticisms."
Achmed smiled politely and nodded again, despite the fact he probably didn't understand a word Gordon had said.
Gordon still hadn't heard the name of one Thunderbolt. He looked towards the man and hesitated before speaking. "What's your name?"
The man didn't bother answering him.
"Hello?"
The man glared at him.
Oh great, Glenn thought. He'd discovered the obvious hot-head of the group. And he'd been so close to getting away with making friends with all of them, too. He'd been in such a situation before, though. When he'd first entered the Green Earth Air Force, there had been dozens of these guys. He knew to not let them get on his case, but seemed each of them was different, different in the littlest ways that made dealing with them that much more difficult.
"What's your name?" Glenn asked again, ready to give up and not bother with this one. People who didn't want to be team-mates shouldn't have been part of a team.
"Knives," the man answered.
Gordon forced himself to throw a laugh away. That was an even stranger - if not worse name than Tuxedo!
"Knives? Where in Yellow Comet did you get a name like that?"
"It's a nickname."
"I can tell," Glenn said, still trying to get such a goofy grin off his face. "I've never heard a name like that one before. Man, that's, uh, interesting."
There was a stare from Knives, and Glenn realized that what he had just said could have destroyed any respect socialization may have gotten him. He cleared his throat, shutting up, and wisely turned his attention away from the fellow with the overly-peculiar nickname as he thought up something better to speak of. "Speaking of which, which one of us is going to be head of the squadron? I mean, when we're in the sky. Who's the lead?"
Tuxedo smiled. "He is," he uttered, jerking his head to Knives.
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Author Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry if you found it boring, as it was simply meant to introduce the 207th pilots a little. Things will get a little more exciting in future chapters, though, so if you're a mindless action fan, have no fear. Also, feel free to R&R, and leave questions or comments. They're much appreciated.
Dr. Bross - The opening dogfight was means to introduce the Blue Moon pilot Gordon will end up having his rather destructive rivalry with. It also showed just how dangerous the pilot and his squadron is to Orange Star. As for why he's afraid of his past, Glenn is somewhat haunted by the events in Part I of the Fighters, and it may yet prove to get in the way of his work as he tries to rekindle whatever flying spirit he has left. So, there's your answer. Sorry if that's kind of a disappointment.