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 Ten: The Thunder Rolls~
~----~
The bright, pixelated screen showered with flowers of destruction and the occasional appearence of a very plain-looking black fighter jet. In total, there were eight of them in the simulation program as the Thunderbolts ran what was known as the 'Cyclone' scenario. A less-than-popular mission, the 'Cyclone' was already becoming the most dreaded scenario the flight-combat simulations the Reagan Air Base had to offer. And today, the Thunderbolts all flew right in the middle of it.
There weren't any teams. In this scenario, it was all pilots for themselves. The 'Cyclone,' named for being an enormous battle tank that literally walked on four legs at an amazing speed with normal tank-and- ballistic-missile strike capabilities, strolled onward down on the ground, apparently taking its sweet little time as it headed for whatever Orange Star railroad base it was intending to target with its deadly payload once it got within close enough range. Whoever took out the Cyclone first was more or less deemed the winner, but that wouldn't matter much. Beauregard had already informed the squadron that they were to take on a whole platoon of Cyclones sometime in the next few simulation sessions.
Of course, the 'Cyclone' simulation was a necessary one. These days, the technology was just too great to not have to practice for something like this. Commander Beauregard and the Thunderbolts all reluctantly agreed without saying that someday, for all they knew, they may have to face powerful walking tanks very similar to the Cyclone. The risk was just too large, but if - or perhaps when - it happened, they'd at least be a little ready for it.
The simulation turned out to be a terribly working one for all the pilots. Cassie had ended up being the winner, with Tuxedo rounding out the second overall best score while Achmed brought up third. Glenn Gordon had tied with Fel Banon for fourth best score, mostly because the guy had been absolutely dogging him the entire time. Every time Glenn had tried to do something, anything at all, whether it was fly casually, engage someone or something, or just try and figure out what the hell was going on around him, Fel Banon had not left him alone the entire time. Whenever Glenn looked around in the simulation cockpit at the many bright screens surrounding him, the very bland, artificial enemy fighter recognized by the computer as Fel's had always been right there, mostly anywhere the Thunderbolt flight leader had looked.
Eventually, Glenn had gotten frustrated enough with the tenacious man to make a mistake, and Fel had automatically taken advantage of this, switching his simu-fighter's weapons over to guns and giving Glenn's imaginary jet a fat load of undesired lead. Immediately, Glenn had cursed out loud - something he'd grown very ashamed of doing as of late, now that he was the flight leader - and had outright asked Fel Banon, to put it mildly, what flaming malfunction had rotted the pilot's brain capacity.
Fel Banon had not seemed terribly impressed nor amused at the time, and after the simulations, he'd stepped right up to Glenn's video cockpit. "I do hope that next time you engage me in another of these meaningless duels in the simulations, you'll treat yourself and your squadron members with more respect, in both flying and vocal terms."
"What?" Glenn had frustratedly yelled. "You're the one who started that duel! Hell, I didn't even respond to your actions in the sim! You were the one dogging me like you were having a seizure or somethin'!"
"One can't help but wonder why exactly you were chosen to be the leader of this squadron," Fel Banon had calmly responded, paying no real large amounts of attention to the very angry pilot's accusations. "Your temper will eventually be your downfall."
"Don't talk that way to me! You're not the one in charge of this squadron! I'm the leader of this squadron!" And Glenn had instantly realized how foolish he felt while the words had flown out of his mouth as though they weren't an actual part of him. He wasn't supposed to act this way - It just wasn't like him. Immediately he turned a very red color, from both anger with himself & Banon and from embarrassment.
He had quickly discovered that part of what Fel Banon had been saying was true, and quite stunning. This wasn't how a leader was supposed to act. A leader had to be bold, and act with courage, dignity, intelligence, and a blue thousand other wonderful things that Glenn knew he didn't have within him. As far as he knew, he had maybe courage, but that was about as useful as a spatula in an out-house. Courage wouldn't help an armless pgymy stop a locomotive by standing out on the tracks and waiting for it to come to a halt, and as far as Glenn was concerned, courage wouldn't help him do any better at being a leader.
But maybe it would. Courage had many different forms - Perhaps Glenn just needed to find his.
He continued to think about it all through lunch, as he sat outside at the Reagan base's small recreational area with Tux and Bubba, both of whom sat there stuffing their faces with enormous peanut-butter-and-turkey sub sandwiches. Their apparent food didn't look terribly healthy, nor particularly stomach friendly or appetizing.
"Hey, Tux," Bubba asked while Glenn sat there, staring off into space, thinking as usual, "what day is it?"
Tux hesitated, then took one hand off his monster sandwich and jerked a thumb sideways towards the shining sun while he closed one eye, looking at the sky as though he were going through some elaborate ancient ritual that told him the exact date and time. "I reckon it's Tuesday. Yup, Tuesday. Not Monday or Wed-ness-day or Hannakuh Day, no sir, it's gotta be Tuesday."
Bubba smirked, quickly looking very annoyed at Tux's sarcastic response. He reached over and grabbed some of the turkey out of the widely-grinning pilot's sandwich, immediately getting very put-out commentary. "Hey! Dang, man. When was the last time you washed your hands? Now I can't eat this thing, 'cause for all I know you have sephilapossumitus or somethin'."
It was right then that Fel Banon stepped up to their table, carrying something that undoubtedly looked better for one's internal system. The man had better taste in food than Tux or Bubba, Glenn would give him that much.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, mostly to Glenn, expressionless.
"Yeah," Tux blurted before Glenn could utter a single word, "he does mind."
Considering Tux was Glenn's best friend in the squadron, and now possibly anywhere else, it didn't come as unexpected that the obnoxious-but-friendly guy would back him up in most any situation his flight leader got into. Glenn welcomed Tux's support, but would have preferred to handle Fel Banon on his own. He got to doing so before Tux ended up speaking for him more. For all he knew, Fel would dare Glenn to eat a trio of running chainsaws, and the last thing the flight leader really needed was for Tux to get full of himself and declare himself Gordon's show-running manager.
"Why?" Glenn asked, successfully ignoring Tux's annoyed response to the new, hot-shot pilot standing before their table.
Fel Banon's expression showed that he seemed slightly surprised at something. "Why? We're wing-mates. As far as I knew, wing-mates stuck together."
"Not in this squadron, pal!" Tux spat. "Around here, we do things Glenn's way! It's his way or the runway!"
"Tux," Glenn muttered, waving a hand for the guy to close his fat trap, "will you just shuddap a min-"
Now Bubba was starting in. "Yeah, newbie! Go bother those dingbats back in Heartbreak Squadron. If you want any respect around here, you'll have to earn it, so stop bein' such a pain the ass to Glenn!"
Glenn coughed. "Guys."
"Well," Fel Banon growled, "perhaps if Lieutenant Gordon's actions were a little more concievable in the simulations, HE'D earn some respect from ME."
Tux stood up, anger flaring in his eyes. "You lousy, no-good, worthless, cheatin', lyin', snake-in-the-grassin'-" And this flurry of random, inane adjectives continued on.
"Maybe if SOMEone would quit doggin' him in the sims, then maybe SOMEone would actually get some respect HIMSELF!" Bubba yelled.
This in turn caused an even louder vocal conflict to sprout among the three Thunderbolt pilots. Some of the officials inside the Reagan command center looked out their large, glass-panel windows at the very noisy argument coming from the small rec area. A sweatdrop ran down the side of Glenn's face. The very last thing he needed at the moment was to get dragged off to the stockade by the MPs, and worse, have to stay there while these three monkey-brains bickered for no real reason other than the fact that Tux had a big mouth, Fel had a big ego, and Bubba had both.
"Hey!" Glenn shouted, standing himself. "Knock it the hell off!"
All three of the argumentive combatants instantly silenced, staring at him.
"We're supposed to be a damned team here," he growled, glaring at all three of them, "and what're we doin'? We're sitting here, arguing with each other! We're at war here! We can't bicker amongst ourselves, we've got bigger fish to fry! We're supposed to be helping each other out, not picking fights with one another. Calm the frickin' heck down."
Fel glared at him. "I only asked to sit down, and in return, I am insulted. I won't grant my company to you three any longer, and I hope it stays that way for the rest of our time together."
"Maybe if you weren't such a douchebag-" Tux started.
"I said, shut up!" Glenn yelled, glaring at his friend.
Fel Banon sneered down at Glenn. "Is this the way you intend to run your squadron? By telling your wing-mates to shut up when they get out of line? Perhaps we should continue this discussion with Commander Beauregard, so he can see exactly how nice a job you're doing at keeping the 207th together and, as modestly as possible for you, sane."
An ice-cold look was shot at Fel Banon from Glenn, but still, he couldn't help but admit the truth in what the newest member of Thunderbolt Squadron had said. Glenn's face color took on a reddish hue as for the second time that day Fel Banon had struck a chord within him. The feeling inside him reeked of ridiculousness, of cowardice that told Glenn he wasn't cut out for being a leader of an air force squadron.
"I'm sorry," he blurted without at first realizing it. Immediately he wondered why on Wars World he would ever say such a thing to a guy like Fel Banon
"Sorry won't cut it when we're all up there in the sky fighting," Fel Banon muttered, crossing his arms. "If your squadron doesn't respect you by the time that fighting rolls around, then we are all, to put it bluntly, more condemned than you want to admit. Get your act together, little Thunderbolt, for everyone's sake."
And he walked away, leaving the three pilots to stand there, stunned. Glenn soon sat back down and put a hand on his forehead, obviously frustrated. The other two quickly sat down, following his suit.
Glenn sighed. How utterly embarrassing. "I feel like I just accidentally blew up a science lab, times maybe a thousand."
"Glenn," Tuxedo said, "don't listen to what that jackass tells you. You're a great leader. Hell, you saved alot of our behinds over Krasst."
"No, he's right. I'm not doing a good job. I've still got so much to learn." Glenn leaned back on the bench he sat on at the table, but couldn't go very far back, since he didn't exactly have any desire to go falling backwards onto the grass. "Even after all this time, there's still so much I need to understand about being a leader, or even being a wing- mate."
"No one can learn everything, Glenn." Bubba glanced off to where Fel Banon had stormed away. "Even the greatest minds in the world are always ever- learning. You've just gotta accept this about yourself."
The Thunderbolt flight leader ran a hand through his brown hair, already feeling a wave of exhaustion come about him, even though it was hardly noon. "But I just don't know enough, that's my problem. Banon is right. What if I screw up when one of you guys up there in the air needs me?"
"Glenn, man, we stick together, remember? Orange Star folks stick together, Orange Star military forces stick together, and friends stick together." Tux crossed his arms assuredly, and his big mouth added something that probably didn't need to be said, but it was still welcome. "That last part's the most important one, I think."
Glenn couldn't help but grin at his friends. "I'd think so."
---
A strong south-westerly wind had no effect on the Black Hole officer's powerful suit of armor. The very ambiguous creature moved from one area to the next at the Fate's Point Aerial Brigade base, shouting orders to random troops and personell as though it were a general in the midst of a losing battle - Thankfully not so, at the moment.
The armored officer found Kailaff Boldigh sitting alone with a few members of his squadron, talking amongst themselves ever so quietly. They hardly seemed to be making any noise. If one looked close enough, it was actually simple to tell they were keeping more of an eye on what was going around them than on themselves.
The officer stared at Boldigh, cradling its giant gun-arm in its left, metal hand.
"Commanding Officer Flak wishes to speak with you," it said, its voice sounding as though it were trying to gargle while somebody choked it. "Come with me."
Boldigh did not respond.
The very ugly officer shifted some of its weight, so the gun-arm pointed more at the renegade squadron leader. Its large, red eyes narrowed into slits. "The fact that you have killed dozens of your enemies in combat does not make you this world's leading member of society."
"Hundreds," Boldigh corrected, smiling at it pleasantly, ultimately sending a vile spark of fear down the alien officer's very unnatural spine.
"Come with me at once," the creature gurgled again, flicking an extremely out-of-place tongue rapidly from wherever its mouth was. "Commanding Officer Flak is, as you have seen for yourself, not the most patient being currently stationed on this world. I personally would advise-"
Zodo Gallow stood to his feet from beside Boldigh and waved at the alien officer with one of his gloved hands. "Get out of here, you glittery, tardy-gaited foot-licker! Kailaff Boldigh has no need of orders from the likes of a sorrowful sack of alien mesh like yourself!"
Angrily, the officer again shifted its weight, pointing the gun-arm directly at Zodo Gallow. "Do not speak to ME in such a tone, Gallow! You forget that you and your squadron are heavily outnumbered here. Failure to take orders is not looked upon kindly by Commanding Officer Flak, nor our fearless leader. Perhaps you'd like to send a complaint to him, yes?"
Gallow hesitated. It was true that they were outnumbered. While many defectors to the Black Hole cause were most obviously welcomed, there was a very tense rivalry between the human defectors and the actual Black Hole alien forces themselves. It had apparently originated due to an attack on Black Hole forces in northern Orange Star, where a defector had pretended to join the Black Hole army only to blow himself up in the middle of their command station. That had not been easy on the now poor relationship between the humans and the aliens, but for the most part, the commanding officers and the 'fearless leader' himself never bothered to notice or care.
"You will come with me, Boldigh, or I will shoot you and your miserable squadron where you are," the officer challenged. "I grow tired of this, and commanding pale-skinned meatbags such as yourselves is not the most wonderful assignment I could have been given."
Boldigh still sat there, but not for long. Eventually, he stood up from where he sat, and walked over next to the officer. "Lead the way."
"Yes, E.T., lead the way," Gallow grumbled, feeling himself to be rather lucky when the officer ignored him.
The officer led Boldigh around the enormous base, eventually coming to the large command center after ten minutes of non-stop walking. It gestured for Boldigh to head in, still keeping its gun-arm mostly aimed in Boldigh's direction, or close to him anyway. The Black Hole pilot paused for a moment, eyeing the officer who returned the ill gaze fully, and he stepped through the door into the command center.
He knew the way to where the Commanding Officer was. Down a hall, make a left, second door on the right. Considering he'd had to converse with the Commanding Officer before, Boldigh had quickly put the directions into his memory.
He entered the large office room, filled with maps, computers, mostly anything Boldigh didn't care about at the moment. Commanding Officer Flak stood at a table towards the side of the room, noticed Boldigh, and lumbered toward him. Flak was a giant. Boldigh had always thought himself to be rather large, but if that was so, Flak was literally an elephant. At times, Boldigh felt he had the brains of one to accompany the size.
"So there you are! Where have you been?" Flak bellowed.
Boldigh didn't respond, which didn't come as unexpected to Flak.
"Never mind," the giant man grumbled, "sit down."
Again, Boldigh didn't respond and he hesitated, preferring to stand. This caused Flak's face to turn a maddening, reddish color. If there was one thing the big man didn't like, it was people who didn't take orders from him at once.
"Sit down," Flak growled, his whisper more final than any scream.
Boldigh paused, and did so, causing whatever color that had been in Flak's big face to return. The giant Commanding Officer stepped backwards and sat on the table, causing it to creak loudly under the sudden strain it had to carry. If Boldigh had one emotion at that moment, it was feeling pity towards the table.
Flak crossed his tree-sized arms and glared at the pilot from under his helmet and goggles.
"Do you know why you're here?" Yes, of course Boldigh knew why he was here. Would Flak get a response? Of course not. "You failed at Krasst, that's why."
Neither of them said a word for a few seconds.
"You know what the penalty is in this army for failure."
Again, no words were spoken for nearly ten seconds. Finally, Flak raised his head slightly, giving Boldigh what was coming to him. "But the failure belonged to our ground forces. . . Not you. They have already paid the price for failure by Orange Star's hands."
Fearlessly, Boldigh stared up at Flak, and what he said next would have gotten anyone other than himself killed right there on the spot. "Get to the point, before I leave."
Flak's expression turned downright hideous as his face scrunched up angrily, but he was seemingly able to restrain his temper for the time being. "You are the best pilot in the world, as you and many others say. You also carry on your shoulders the greatest squadron in the world."
Boldigh blinked once, possibly trying to say yes. There was no way to know.
"But how is it that you and your marvelous squadron were bested in combat above Krasst? How is it that some petty Orange Star fighter squadron was able to take on yours and win, even when you had the advantage of overpowering numbers?" Spittle flew from Flak's mouth whenever he spoke, and it was beginning to get on Boldigh's nerves. "Are you really as good as you say you are? Or are you perhaps nothing but a running-down has-been now?"
A crack showed through Kailaff Boldigh's tight outer frame as he cracked one of his index fingers with his thumb. His eyes seemed to be wandering towards nowhere in particular as he remembered what had happened at Krasst. The thought that there were pilots as good as his in the world was literally inconcievable.
"I see it's hard for you to accept. Have no fear. You'll have another chance against them."
Boldigh paused, and looked up at Flak blankly. "What are you saying?"
"Your new assignment is to find this squadron that bested you and take them out, sending a message to the world that you are the best. You represent Black Hole, and when you're the best, we're the best."
The Black Hole pilot hesitated, his mind going through possible future scenarios.
"When do I begin this assignment?"
Flak grinned. It was a vile expression, one that rivaled Boldigh's grin for outright most chilling. "At once. Seek out this squadron, and when you find them, Kailaff Boldigh, destroy every last one of them. Leave no trace of them whatsoever."
Boldigh's face seemingly tried to smile, but nothing came, which Flak found rather unnerving, despite the circumstances. The pilot stood from his seat, and began to make his way towards the door, feeling the conversation to be done with. He'd get started on this new assignment as soon as was possible.
"Boldigh," Flak suddenly said.
Boldigh stopped at the door and turned around.
"How are you going to begin this assignment? What are you planning to do?"
The fearless Black Hole pilot stood there a moment, thinking, and he responded with what he always said whenever asked that very question. He had said it three months earlier, and he said it now.
"I will take them by their hearts." And he walked out of the room.
--------
Author Notes:
I had to hurry and get this chapter up since our cable is getting turned off today. Not enough cash. So, yeah, there'll probably be a little wait before the next one. Thanks for reading, and reviews are just as welcome as always.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Ten: The Thunder Rolls~
~----~
The bright, pixelated screen showered with flowers of destruction and the occasional appearence of a very plain-looking black fighter jet. In total, there were eight of them in the simulation program as the Thunderbolts ran what was known as the 'Cyclone' scenario. A less-than-popular mission, the 'Cyclone' was already becoming the most dreaded scenario the flight-combat simulations the Reagan Air Base had to offer. And today, the Thunderbolts all flew right in the middle of it.
There weren't any teams. In this scenario, it was all pilots for themselves. The 'Cyclone,' named for being an enormous battle tank that literally walked on four legs at an amazing speed with normal tank-and- ballistic-missile strike capabilities, strolled onward down on the ground, apparently taking its sweet little time as it headed for whatever Orange Star railroad base it was intending to target with its deadly payload once it got within close enough range. Whoever took out the Cyclone first was more or less deemed the winner, but that wouldn't matter much. Beauregard had already informed the squadron that they were to take on a whole platoon of Cyclones sometime in the next few simulation sessions.
Of course, the 'Cyclone' simulation was a necessary one. These days, the technology was just too great to not have to practice for something like this. Commander Beauregard and the Thunderbolts all reluctantly agreed without saying that someday, for all they knew, they may have to face powerful walking tanks very similar to the Cyclone. The risk was just too large, but if - or perhaps when - it happened, they'd at least be a little ready for it.
The simulation turned out to be a terribly working one for all the pilots. Cassie had ended up being the winner, with Tuxedo rounding out the second overall best score while Achmed brought up third. Glenn Gordon had tied with Fel Banon for fourth best score, mostly because the guy had been absolutely dogging him the entire time. Every time Glenn had tried to do something, anything at all, whether it was fly casually, engage someone or something, or just try and figure out what the hell was going on around him, Fel Banon had not left him alone the entire time. Whenever Glenn looked around in the simulation cockpit at the many bright screens surrounding him, the very bland, artificial enemy fighter recognized by the computer as Fel's had always been right there, mostly anywhere the Thunderbolt flight leader had looked.
Eventually, Glenn had gotten frustrated enough with the tenacious man to make a mistake, and Fel had automatically taken advantage of this, switching his simu-fighter's weapons over to guns and giving Glenn's imaginary jet a fat load of undesired lead. Immediately, Glenn had cursed out loud - something he'd grown very ashamed of doing as of late, now that he was the flight leader - and had outright asked Fel Banon, to put it mildly, what flaming malfunction had rotted the pilot's brain capacity.
Fel Banon had not seemed terribly impressed nor amused at the time, and after the simulations, he'd stepped right up to Glenn's video cockpit. "I do hope that next time you engage me in another of these meaningless duels in the simulations, you'll treat yourself and your squadron members with more respect, in both flying and vocal terms."
"What?" Glenn had frustratedly yelled. "You're the one who started that duel! Hell, I didn't even respond to your actions in the sim! You were the one dogging me like you were having a seizure or somethin'!"
"One can't help but wonder why exactly you were chosen to be the leader of this squadron," Fel Banon had calmly responded, paying no real large amounts of attention to the very angry pilot's accusations. "Your temper will eventually be your downfall."
"Don't talk that way to me! You're not the one in charge of this squadron! I'm the leader of this squadron!" And Glenn had instantly realized how foolish he felt while the words had flown out of his mouth as though they weren't an actual part of him. He wasn't supposed to act this way - It just wasn't like him. Immediately he turned a very red color, from both anger with himself & Banon and from embarrassment.
He had quickly discovered that part of what Fel Banon had been saying was true, and quite stunning. This wasn't how a leader was supposed to act. A leader had to be bold, and act with courage, dignity, intelligence, and a blue thousand other wonderful things that Glenn knew he didn't have within him. As far as he knew, he had maybe courage, but that was about as useful as a spatula in an out-house. Courage wouldn't help an armless pgymy stop a locomotive by standing out on the tracks and waiting for it to come to a halt, and as far as Glenn was concerned, courage wouldn't help him do any better at being a leader.
But maybe it would. Courage had many different forms - Perhaps Glenn just needed to find his.
He continued to think about it all through lunch, as he sat outside at the Reagan base's small recreational area with Tux and Bubba, both of whom sat there stuffing their faces with enormous peanut-butter-and-turkey sub sandwiches. Their apparent food didn't look terribly healthy, nor particularly stomach friendly or appetizing.
"Hey, Tux," Bubba asked while Glenn sat there, staring off into space, thinking as usual, "what day is it?"
Tux hesitated, then took one hand off his monster sandwich and jerked a thumb sideways towards the shining sun while he closed one eye, looking at the sky as though he were going through some elaborate ancient ritual that told him the exact date and time. "I reckon it's Tuesday. Yup, Tuesday. Not Monday or Wed-ness-day or Hannakuh Day, no sir, it's gotta be Tuesday."
Bubba smirked, quickly looking very annoyed at Tux's sarcastic response. He reached over and grabbed some of the turkey out of the widely-grinning pilot's sandwich, immediately getting very put-out commentary. "Hey! Dang, man. When was the last time you washed your hands? Now I can't eat this thing, 'cause for all I know you have sephilapossumitus or somethin'."
It was right then that Fel Banon stepped up to their table, carrying something that undoubtedly looked better for one's internal system. The man had better taste in food than Tux or Bubba, Glenn would give him that much.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, mostly to Glenn, expressionless.
"Yeah," Tux blurted before Glenn could utter a single word, "he does mind."
Considering Tux was Glenn's best friend in the squadron, and now possibly anywhere else, it didn't come as unexpected that the obnoxious-but-friendly guy would back him up in most any situation his flight leader got into. Glenn welcomed Tux's support, but would have preferred to handle Fel Banon on his own. He got to doing so before Tux ended up speaking for him more. For all he knew, Fel would dare Glenn to eat a trio of running chainsaws, and the last thing the flight leader really needed was for Tux to get full of himself and declare himself Gordon's show-running manager.
"Why?" Glenn asked, successfully ignoring Tux's annoyed response to the new, hot-shot pilot standing before their table.
Fel Banon's expression showed that he seemed slightly surprised at something. "Why? We're wing-mates. As far as I knew, wing-mates stuck together."
"Not in this squadron, pal!" Tux spat. "Around here, we do things Glenn's way! It's his way or the runway!"
"Tux," Glenn muttered, waving a hand for the guy to close his fat trap, "will you just shuddap a min-"
Now Bubba was starting in. "Yeah, newbie! Go bother those dingbats back in Heartbreak Squadron. If you want any respect around here, you'll have to earn it, so stop bein' such a pain the ass to Glenn!"
Glenn coughed. "Guys."
"Well," Fel Banon growled, "perhaps if Lieutenant Gordon's actions were a little more concievable in the simulations, HE'D earn some respect from ME."
Tux stood up, anger flaring in his eyes. "You lousy, no-good, worthless, cheatin', lyin', snake-in-the-grassin'-" And this flurry of random, inane adjectives continued on.
"Maybe if SOMEone would quit doggin' him in the sims, then maybe SOMEone would actually get some respect HIMSELF!" Bubba yelled.
This in turn caused an even louder vocal conflict to sprout among the three Thunderbolt pilots. Some of the officials inside the Reagan command center looked out their large, glass-panel windows at the very noisy argument coming from the small rec area. A sweatdrop ran down the side of Glenn's face. The very last thing he needed at the moment was to get dragged off to the stockade by the MPs, and worse, have to stay there while these three monkey-brains bickered for no real reason other than the fact that Tux had a big mouth, Fel had a big ego, and Bubba had both.
"Hey!" Glenn shouted, standing himself. "Knock it the hell off!"
All three of the argumentive combatants instantly silenced, staring at him.
"We're supposed to be a damned team here," he growled, glaring at all three of them, "and what're we doin'? We're sitting here, arguing with each other! We're at war here! We can't bicker amongst ourselves, we've got bigger fish to fry! We're supposed to be helping each other out, not picking fights with one another. Calm the frickin' heck down."
Fel glared at him. "I only asked to sit down, and in return, I am insulted. I won't grant my company to you three any longer, and I hope it stays that way for the rest of our time together."
"Maybe if you weren't such a douchebag-" Tux started.
"I said, shut up!" Glenn yelled, glaring at his friend.
Fel Banon sneered down at Glenn. "Is this the way you intend to run your squadron? By telling your wing-mates to shut up when they get out of line? Perhaps we should continue this discussion with Commander Beauregard, so he can see exactly how nice a job you're doing at keeping the 207th together and, as modestly as possible for you, sane."
An ice-cold look was shot at Fel Banon from Glenn, but still, he couldn't help but admit the truth in what the newest member of Thunderbolt Squadron had said. Glenn's face color took on a reddish hue as for the second time that day Fel Banon had struck a chord within him. The feeling inside him reeked of ridiculousness, of cowardice that told Glenn he wasn't cut out for being a leader of an air force squadron.
"I'm sorry," he blurted without at first realizing it. Immediately he wondered why on Wars World he would ever say such a thing to a guy like Fel Banon
"Sorry won't cut it when we're all up there in the sky fighting," Fel Banon muttered, crossing his arms. "If your squadron doesn't respect you by the time that fighting rolls around, then we are all, to put it bluntly, more condemned than you want to admit. Get your act together, little Thunderbolt, for everyone's sake."
And he walked away, leaving the three pilots to stand there, stunned. Glenn soon sat back down and put a hand on his forehead, obviously frustrated. The other two quickly sat down, following his suit.
Glenn sighed. How utterly embarrassing. "I feel like I just accidentally blew up a science lab, times maybe a thousand."
"Glenn," Tuxedo said, "don't listen to what that jackass tells you. You're a great leader. Hell, you saved alot of our behinds over Krasst."
"No, he's right. I'm not doing a good job. I've still got so much to learn." Glenn leaned back on the bench he sat on at the table, but couldn't go very far back, since he didn't exactly have any desire to go falling backwards onto the grass. "Even after all this time, there's still so much I need to understand about being a leader, or even being a wing- mate."
"No one can learn everything, Glenn." Bubba glanced off to where Fel Banon had stormed away. "Even the greatest minds in the world are always ever- learning. You've just gotta accept this about yourself."
The Thunderbolt flight leader ran a hand through his brown hair, already feeling a wave of exhaustion come about him, even though it was hardly noon. "But I just don't know enough, that's my problem. Banon is right. What if I screw up when one of you guys up there in the air needs me?"
"Glenn, man, we stick together, remember? Orange Star folks stick together, Orange Star military forces stick together, and friends stick together." Tux crossed his arms assuredly, and his big mouth added something that probably didn't need to be said, but it was still welcome. "That last part's the most important one, I think."
Glenn couldn't help but grin at his friends. "I'd think so."
---
A strong south-westerly wind had no effect on the Black Hole officer's powerful suit of armor. The very ambiguous creature moved from one area to the next at the Fate's Point Aerial Brigade base, shouting orders to random troops and personell as though it were a general in the midst of a losing battle - Thankfully not so, at the moment.
The armored officer found Kailaff Boldigh sitting alone with a few members of his squadron, talking amongst themselves ever so quietly. They hardly seemed to be making any noise. If one looked close enough, it was actually simple to tell they were keeping more of an eye on what was going around them than on themselves.
The officer stared at Boldigh, cradling its giant gun-arm in its left, metal hand.
"Commanding Officer Flak wishes to speak with you," it said, its voice sounding as though it were trying to gargle while somebody choked it. "Come with me."
Boldigh did not respond.
The very ugly officer shifted some of its weight, so the gun-arm pointed more at the renegade squadron leader. Its large, red eyes narrowed into slits. "The fact that you have killed dozens of your enemies in combat does not make you this world's leading member of society."
"Hundreds," Boldigh corrected, smiling at it pleasantly, ultimately sending a vile spark of fear down the alien officer's very unnatural spine.
"Come with me at once," the creature gurgled again, flicking an extremely out-of-place tongue rapidly from wherever its mouth was. "Commanding Officer Flak is, as you have seen for yourself, not the most patient being currently stationed on this world. I personally would advise-"
Zodo Gallow stood to his feet from beside Boldigh and waved at the alien officer with one of his gloved hands. "Get out of here, you glittery, tardy-gaited foot-licker! Kailaff Boldigh has no need of orders from the likes of a sorrowful sack of alien mesh like yourself!"
Angrily, the officer again shifted its weight, pointing the gun-arm directly at Zodo Gallow. "Do not speak to ME in such a tone, Gallow! You forget that you and your squadron are heavily outnumbered here. Failure to take orders is not looked upon kindly by Commanding Officer Flak, nor our fearless leader. Perhaps you'd like to send a complaint to him, yes?"
Gallow hesitated. It was true that they were outnumbered. While many defectors to the Black Hole cause were most obviously welcomed, there was a very tense rivalry between the human defectors and the actual Black Hole alien forces themselves. It had apparently originated due to an attack on Black Hole forces in northern Orange Star, where a defector had pretended to join the Black Hole army only to blow himself up in the middle of their command station. That had not been easy on the now poor relationship between the humans and the aliens, but for the most part, the commanding officers and the 'fearless leader' himself never bothered to notice or care.
"You will come with me, Boldigh, or I will shoot you and your miserable squadron where you are," the officer challenged. "I grow tired of this, and commanding pale-skinned meatbags such as yourselves is not the most wonderful assignment I could have been given."
Boldigh still sat there, but not for long. Eventually, he stood up from where he sat, and walked over next to the officer. "Lead the way."
"Yes, E.T., lead the way," Gallow grumbled, feeling himself to be rather lucky when the officer ignored him.
The officer led Boldigh around the enormous base, eventually coming to the large command center after ten minutes of non-stop walking. It gestured for Boldigh to head in, still keeping its gun-arm mostly aimed in Boldigh's direction, or close to him anyway. The Black Hole pilot paused for a moment, eyeing the officer who returned the ill gaze fully, and he stepped through the door into the command center.
He knew the way to where the Commanding Officer was. Down a hall, make a left, second door on the right. Considering he'd had to converse with the Commanding Officer before, Boldigh had quickly put the directions into his memory.
He entered the large office room, filled with maps, computers, mostly anything Boldigh didn't care about at the moment. Commanding Officer Flak stood at a table towards the side of the room, noticed Boldigh, and lumbered toward him. Flak was a giant. Boldigh had always thought himself to be rather large, but if that was so, Flak was literally an elephant. At times, Boldigh felt he had the brains of one to accompany the size.
"So there you are! Where have you been?" Flak bellowed.
Boldigh didn't respond, which didn't come as unexpected to Flak.
"Never mind," the giant man grumbled, "sit down."
Again, Boldigh didn't respond and he hesitated, preferring to stand. This caused Flak's face to turn a maddening, reddish color. If there was one thing the big man didn't like, it was people who didn't take orders from him at once.
"Sit down," Flak growled, his whisper more final than any scream.
Boldigh paused, and did so, causing whatever color that had been in Flak's big face to return. The giant Commanding Officer stepped backwards and sat on the table, causing it to creak loudly under the sudden strain it had to carry. If Boldigh had one emotion at that moment, it was feeling pity towards the table.
Flak crossed his tree-sized arms and glared at the pilot from under his helmet and goggles.
"Do you know why you're here?" Yes, of course Boldigh knew why he was here. Would Flak get a response? Of course not. "You failed at Krasst, that's why."
Neither of them said a word for a few seconds.
"You know what the penalty is in this army for failure."
Again, no words were spoken for nearly ten seconds. Finally, Flak raised his head slightly, giving Boldigh what was coming to him. "But the failure belonged to our ground forces. . . Not you. They have already paid the price for failure by Orange Star's hands."
Fearlessly, Boldigh stared up at Flak, and what he said next would have gotten anyone other than himself killed right there on the spot. "Get to the point, before I leave."
Flak's expression turned downright hideous as his face scrunched up angrily, but he was seemingly able to restrain his temper for the time being. "You are the best pilot in the world, as you and many others say. You also carry on your shoulders the greatest squadron in the world."
Boldigh blinked once, possibly trying to say yes. There was no way to know.
"But how is it that you and your marvelous squadron were bested in combat above Krasst? How is it that some petty Orange Star fighter squadron was able to take on yours and win, even when you had the advantage of overpowering numbers?" Spittle flew from Flak's mouth whenever he spoke, and it was beginning to get on Boldigh's nerves. "Are you really as good as you say you are? Or are you perhaps nothing but a running-down has-been now?"
A crack showed through Kailaff Boldigh's tight outer frame as he cracked one of his index fingers with his thumb. His eyes seemed to be wandering towards nowhere in particular as he remembered what had happened at Krasst. The thought that there were pilots as good as his in the world was literally inconcievable.
"I see it's hard for you to accept. Have no fear. You'll have another chance against them."
Boldigh paused, and looked up at Flak blankly. "What are you saying?"
"Your new assignment is to find this squadron that bested you and take them out, sending a message to the world that you are the best. You represent Black Hole, and when you're the best, we're the best."
The Black Hole pilot hesitated, his mind going through possible future scenarios.
"When do I begin this assignment?"
Flak grinned. It was a vile expression, one that rivaled Boldigh's grin for outright most chilling. "At once. Seek out this squadron, and when you find them, Kailaff Boldigh, destroy every last one of them. Leave no trace of them whatsoever."
Boldigh's face seemingly tried to smile, but nothing came, which Flak found rather unnerving, despite the circumstances. The pilot stood from his seat, and began to make his way towards the door, feeling the conversation to be done with. He'd get started on this new assignment as soon as was possible.
"Boldigh," Flak suddenly said.
Boldigh stopped at the door and turned around.
"How are you going to begin this assignment? What are you planning to do?"
The fearless Black Hole pilot stood there a moment, thinking, and he responded with what he always said whenever asked that very question. He had said it three months earlier, and he said it now.
"I will take them by their hearts." And he walked out of the room.
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Author Notes:
I had to hurry and get this chapter up since our cable is getting turned off today. Not enough cash. So, yeah, there'll probably be a little wait before the next one. Thanks for reading, and reviews are just as welcome as always.