Forging the Thunderbolt #1

Episode 10: Harter Kampf

Kampf – (noun) Struggle; war; fight; conflict

Harter kampf – (noun) Uphill struggle.

- Idiot's Guide to the Martian Federation German -

2146 HOURS – 04 APRIL, 2214

It was only his first day aboard and he was already working late. Strangely, he found it nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from his computer for more than a minute. The spreadsheets detailing the maintenance logs for the various interceptors and exo armors were displayed on the screen which sat on the desk before him.

He had never seen himself as much of a commander. He was more of a combat leader, possessing the skills to lead his squadron under fire than actually run it day to day. He simply didn't feel that he had the organizational skills to really handle all the details and skull-work that went into bossing a squadron in anything other than out in space and he had often delegated to his junior officers.

But that had been before Kurtzenheim. Before the court martial. Before his stint at the Exo Replacement Department.

His last assignment had forced him to learn how to read maintenance logs and the like. And he had been introduced to the arcane art of studying patterns in such dreary records. So far, he was generally pleased with what he saw. The machines were in pretty good condition and the deckhands were keeping them that way. Winnie Kok's Pathfinder ST was the most reliable of the lot, having suffered the fewest down checks of all the squadron's craft.

But he also noticed that the exo armors had been putting in fewer flight hours than the interceptors while the squadron had been under Lieutenant Chan's command. That would certainly have to change. In fact, he thought as he consulted the flight hours for each machine once more, everyone would be flying more, now that he was the boss.

He knew he had to finish reviewing the maintenance logs a little sooner. He still wanted to finish going through the personnel dossiers of all the pilots in the squadron before he turned in for the night. As if in direct response to that thought, the door chime to his office sounded, forcing him to look up from his computer.

For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he could simply ignore the visitor and simply carry on with his work. The door chime sounded a second time before he could return his attention to his computer so he cleared his throat and called out, "It's open."

A heartbeat later, the doors swooshed open to reveal the lanky frame of Warrant Officer Winnie Kok standing nervously in the doorway. In her hands, she held a tiny, flat container which Alvin recognized immediately as one used to serve main entrées at the ship's galley.

"Yes, Winnie?"

"Um, good evening, sir." She began, sounding somewhat unsure. "We um, kinda missed you at dinner and well, uh . . . I was wondering . . ."

"If I've eaten yet?" Alvin looked at her with a raised brow. "The answer's no, Winnie."

"Um, well, then, sir . . ." She looked nervously down at the package that she held in her hands. "I've got you something from the galley . . . Um, it's not much, but . . ."

"Thanks, Winnie." Alvin allowed himself a slight smile and he made a show of clearing his desk and indicating to an empty spot. "It was really thoughtful of you."

She crossed the distance that separated them almost in reverent silence and he could sense her anxiety as she laid down the food container carefully on the cleared portion of his desk. As soon as the meal container was safely down, she pulled her hands back and assumed the posture of attention.

"Hope you like it, sir." She said formally. "Um, will there be anything else?"

"Considering that it wasn't I who summoned you, no." Alvin waited till she was about to turn before he spoke again. "Yes, there is one thing."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to interview each and every one of you tomorrow morning. Just to get to know you people better." The squadron commander explained. "First thing in the morning. Here would be preferable. I'd leave the arrangements to you."

"Um, me, sir . . .?"

"Yes, you, Winnie." There was a slight frown on the commander's face. "Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no, sir . . . Um, just that, well, uh . . . isn't that, uh, normally left to the XO?" Winnie was biting her lip in anxious anticipation of what she imagined would be her commander's annoyed response.

"Normally, I supposed." Alvin conceded. "But I'm the boss here and it's my job to delegate, isn't it? So if there's no further problem, carry on."

The younger officer hesitated, her body turning but her feet seemingly undecided on whether to move or not. She lingered a moment longer, until she saw his lips moving to voice a query.

"Um, yes, sir." She finally said, speaking before he could. "I'll get on it right away."

He watched the nervous, rookie officer leave. The hatch slid shut behind her and left him alone once more in the confines of his office. Even though this was his first day aboard the Fantasia, he could see himself treating this small compartment as his solace and refuge. It had been like that at his previous assignments as well. Oddly enough, he found some form of comfort, surrounded by reminders of the more mundane tasks that came with his job. Perhaps he was a workaholic, he mused. Or perhaps it was because it offered him a chance to be alone and away from everything else.

He studied the food container on his desk and picked it up, noting that it was still rather warm. Peeling over the re-sealable cover, he saw the usual vat-grown, algae paste that had been produced by the ship's recyclers. High in all the nutrients required to sustain human life, the soft, featureless paste was ideal for the Jovian psyche and way of life.

Having been a soldier for the better part of his life, Alvin had little experience with the Confederation's civilian work culture. But what little he had seen during his time at Jovian Armor Works had convinced him that the average civilian was every bit as hardworking, if not more so than a member of the JAF. And unlike members of the armed services such as himself, the average civilian didn't have enforced eating and resting breaks, hence foods that were easy to consume on the go saw widespread popularity in the Confederation.

In the times that he had met people of other nationalities, particularly those from the planetary colonies, the comment about Jovian synthetic foods had always been the same – bland and distasteful. Well, having eaten real meat on several occasions, Alvin wasn't thoroughly impressed himself, and he didn't understand why people back home were willing to spend so much on such 'natural' food when synthetics were tastier and healthier in his own opinion. Of course, it was somewhat ironic that he had a preference for chicken flavored synthetic meals while he actually did not find himself particularly drawn to the real thing.

With the spoon attached to the container, he scooped up a small pile of the soft paste and took a tentative nibble. There was an appealing but unidentifiable taste to the mouthful of food. Either the Fantasia's stewards were above average cooks (though cook would be a misnomer since stewards were really food preparation specialists rather than chefs per se) or he was really hungry and his mind was playing tricks on his taste buds.

With that tiny morsel down his throat, he took a larger bite, this time emptying the spoon before placing it back into the container. He stared at the screen again. Suddenly, with food in front of him, the spreadsheets no longer made much sense. Feeling somewhat guilty at that, he closed the maintenance reports and called up the personnel records of the pilots who were assigned to his squadron. That would certainly make lighter reading, so he thought.

He picked a name from the list of interceptor pilots at random and took another spoonful as he waited for his computer to retrieve the requested record. He was just about to take another mouthful of nutrient-enriched mush when the screen refreshed, the picture attached to the dossier giving him pause immediately.

He stared at the file image of the pilot in wide-eyed horror, then checked the name. No, it can't be . . . But as he read on, there was no doubting who the pilot was. He dropped the spoon back into the container as his mind whirled, old memories flooding back into his mind, his food lying forgotten on the table.

0758 HOURS – 05 APRIL, 2214

"It's favoritism, I tell you," Lieutenant Adelene Chan said heatedly to her sister.

The younger of the Chan sisters rolled her eyes in a manner that showed it wasn't the first time she was hearing this from Adelene. "Oh, come off it already, Ade. You know that assumption's crazy."

"It's no assumption, alright . . ." Adelene's eyes narrowed into slits. "Organizing these interviews is the XO's job. And what does he do? He gives it to that . . . exo pilot!"

Out the corner of her eye, Corporal Breanna Chan could see Warrant Officer Winnie Kok suddenly concentrating on a spot of deck between her booted feet. "Now, now . . ." Breanna said soothingly.

"I don't understand why you are so upset, ma'am." That was Grace Fong who bravely leapt into the conversation from her seat next to Adelene's. "After all, he is one of the foremost authorities on small craft tactics. I mean, his writings were required reading back when I was still a trainee."

"It is you who doesn't understand." The former squadron commander said bluntly. "What do you know about any of all this, you're just a private."

If Private Grace Fong was affected by Adelene's remark in any way, she didn't let it show. Instead, she seemed even more persistent than ever before. "But his reputation as a master tactician does precede him . . ."

"Oh, yes," Adelene nodded and her tone dripped with sarcasm. "His reputation does precede him. And remember, he got his entire squadron killed in their last battle. Where were the tactics in that?"

"Well, it was a tough battle and many JAF units suffered heavy losses . . ." Grace began

"What do you know about it?" Adelene snapped. "I was there. You weren't."

"Alright, Ade . . .Let's not get so snappy." Breanna intervened, exchanging a look with Grace that told the junior interceptor pilot that it was better for her to withdraw while she still could. The soft-spoken interceptor pilot was quick to take the cue and she made herself scarce before she could get herself entangle in any further argument. "Maybe Winnie just happened to be in the right place at the right time . . ."

"It's just like you to say that. After all, you're all exo pilots."

"Aw, come on . . ." Breanna shook her head in exasperation. "Listen to yourself! You're just being plain unreasonable."

"I don't think so . . ." Adelene retorted menacingly. "You're the one who's not listening."

"Hey, if he had asked you, would you have done it?" Breanna asked sharply then quickly added, "Willingly?"

"Well, I . . ." Adelene hesitated and never got to reply as Corporal Joshua Loke, called out a warning that was barely loud enough to be heard above the drone of conversation in the ready room.

"Officer on deck!"

Lieutenant Ng was already waving them aside as he stepped through the hatchway into the ready room, even as they rose to their feet so as to come to the posture of attention as protocol demanded.

"As you were, people," He seemed quite unwilling to stand on ceremony this morning as he stepped up to the slightly raised platform at the front of the ready room and took his place behind the briefing lectern. "Please, be seated."

The pilots looked at one another in slight surprise and for a stunned moment, no one seemed to move. Then Lieutenant Adelene Chan led the way by dropping back noisily into her seat and one by one, the others followed suit. The squadron commander made a show of glancing through some notes that he had brought in with him as they sat.

When all movement had ceased, he looked back up again at the assembled pilots. "Is everyone who's supposed to be here already here?"

There was silence and he noticed that they were all avoiding eye contact with him. Winnie coughed nervously and her mouth moved silently, as if unsure or whether she should speak or not. He was about to ask her when the hatch at the back of the room hissed opened and Warrant Officer James Wong came scrambling into the room, gasping for breath. He was about to dash for the nearest empty seat when he noticed that all eyes, including that of the squadron commander, were on him.

"Um, hi . . . sir." He waved, biting his lip in anticipation of the torrent of abuse he was sure would come his way in a matter of moment. "Nice morning, isn't it?"

"You're late, Mister Wong." Alvin said humorlessly as he glanced at his wristwatch. "By two minutes. Explain."

"I was um . . ." James hands were in front of him in animated motion as he tried to explain himself. "Well, who would have guessed showers were so cold in the morning?"

"Unacceptable." Alvin noticed several pilots wincing as he uttered that single word. "Have a seat and stop wasting my time."

"Sir, of course, sir!" And James leapt into the nearest seat.

"Now, with that aside, who wants to go first?" He flashed a grin and again he found himself staring at the tops of his pilots' heads more than at their faces. "Come on . . . volunteers?"

Not a single soul moved and all eyes were cast towards the deck. An awkward heartbeat passed, and then another. But still no one moved. Other than the background noise made by the ship's machinery, the only other audible sound in the compartment was Winnie's nervous coughing.

"Well, don't all go rushing forward at once." Alvin didn't bother biting back the sarcasm in his tone. "Alright, we'll just have to do this the hard way. Winnie, you're first." Without saying another word, he gathered up his things from the lectern and strode towards the entrance to his office which lay to his left. Out the corner of his eye, he could see some of the other pilots in the squadron slapping Winnie on the back, offering congratulations and condolences at the same time.

Resisting the urge to sigh out loud, Lieutenant Alvin Ng opened the door to his office and ducked right in.

0807 HOURS – 05 APRIL, 2214

"Could you . . . repeat that?" Alvin allowed his uncaring demeanor to slip as he looked up in wide-eyed surprise at what he thought Winnie had just said.

"Um, sir . . ." She hesitated visibly now that his gaze was finally upon her and not at something on his personal computer. "I said that . . . uh . . . I uh, do not wish to um, be a flight leader." She spat the last phrase out so rapidly that he wouldn't have understood her if he hadn't heard her the first time round.

Alvin blinked. "Let me get this straight. You," he aimed an index finger at her in a semi-accusing manner as he spoke in a pointed tone. "Do not wish to be a flight leader?"

"Uh, yes," Winnie fidgeted under the penetrating look that he gave her. "Sir."

"You say this even when you haven't actually been assigned as a flight leader?"

"Well, sir . . . I guess that I uh, well, uh . . . would be made one. Since I'm uh . . . the only other exo pilot of officer rank, well, besides you in the squadron."

"Very perceptive of you, Officer." He said flatly as he swiveled his chair so that she could only see the side profile of his face. "You are either very brave or very scared. I'm not sure I know which." He allowed the words to sink in as he studied a hologram of the JSS Godsfire that hung on the wall before him. The tension in the office was palpable as the squadron commander allowed the silence to stretch.

Again Winnie coughed nervously. But other than that, she stood rigidly at attention now, awaiting her fate.

"You do realize that considering the fact that our nation is currently at war, what you just said could easily be interpreted as an admission of incompetence . . . or even worse – cowardice." It was finally after he had finished speaking that he shifted his head ever so slightly to fix her with a critical eye.

Winnie swallowed visibly and he could see the panic in her eyes. "Yes, sir. I realized that." But her eyes told him otherwise.

"All right, Winnie. You've told me what you want." Alvin allowed some of the edge in his tone to bleed away. "Now convince me as to why I should give you what you want."

"Sir?"

"Well, you don't want to be a flight leader, right? So tell me why?" There was a note of anger in his exasperated response. "I think I'm entitled to that. Don't you think your squadron commander's entitled to an explanation?"

"Sir! O-of course, sir!" Winnie replied crisply enough to please any OTS instructor. "Sir, it's just that . . . well . . . it's just that I don't think I can . . . uh . . . handle it . . . yet. Sir."

"Don't think you can handle it yet?" Alvin frowned at the tall, slender woman. "What's that supposed to mean? I've seen your OTS and flight training results, you're a born pilot. You've got all the right moves. You telling me that we're not training our officers good enough these days?"

"Sir, it's not that, sir. Uh, well, sir . . . I'm not ready to lead. I don't think I've got what it takes."

"Well, then the only way to get what it takes is to go out there and do it, isn't it?"

"Sir, this is different . . . lives are at stake here." Winnie replied hesitantly, sensing she wasn't putting up a particularly convincing argument.

"This is war, Winnie." Alvin told the young officer coldly. "Lives will always be at stake."

"Sir . . ." Winnie was trying her best not to look crestfallen. "If you um, order me to do it, I'll do it. But I know I can't."

"That's not actually for you to decide." The squadron looked back at his computer screen and frowned. "Consider yourself lucky. If it weren't for the fact that I believe you to be salvageable, I would have no hesitation in transferring you out, though I'd doubt you'd ever find a unit commander willing to grant your . . . unusual request."

Once again, the silence in the squadron's commander's officer stretched on for an uncomfortably long time. Alvin waited until he saw Winnie fidget before he spoke again. You realize that the next person after you in seniority where exo pilots are concerned would be Joshua Loke?"

"Sir." Winnie nodded abruptly and answered haltingly. "I realize that. Sir."

"He's a corporal." He said simply before looking back up at Winnie again. "Last I checked, corporals do not lead flights. Nor do they command warrant officers."

Winnie opened her mouth to speak, then thought the better of it and remained silent, allowing her superior to maintain control of the conversation instead.

"While I empathize for you, I must also remain fair and work within regulations." Alvin carried on smoothly. "I will grant you this. We're still short of one exo pilot. If he or she turns out to be another officer, then you can get your wish. If not, you're still going to find yourself leading a flight. Fair enough?"

"Sir, yes, sir." Winnie responded, barely able to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice.

0813 HOURS – 05 APRIL, 2214

"Your record states you're qualified to fly the Vindicator." Alvin frowned slightly at the information up on screen before him.

"Yeah, man. I mean, sir." Private John Cheah replied sheepishly, painfully aware of his mistake. "My apologies for the informality, sir."

"You've never flown it operationally?" Alvin went on, as if oblivious to what John had just said.

"Sir, my previous unit didn't have any Vindicators in its inventory."

"Well, neither do we. For now." The squadron commander explained. "So I hope you will be fine with sticking to the Pathfinder Alpha for now. I know she's not exactly the most heavily armed exo in the . . ."

"It's ok, sir." John nodded. "Really."

"Which brings me to my next question." He fixed the private with a steely look. "You didn't complete your tour with you last squadron. Instead, you kept asking for a transfer. Why?"

John hesitated slightly as he struggled to find the words to answer. "Sir, I . . . well, for the same reasons Breanna did, sir."

"Well, I haven't interviewed Breanna yet, John. So unless I'm psychic, I wouldn't have the foggiest clue as to why you did it. Besides, this interview is about you, John, not her. Unless you're saying that it was entirely her idea to get that transfer and you simply tagged along."

"Sir, no, sir." John replied softly, looking towards the deck.

"Then? Speak up, man. And look up when I talk to you."

"Sir, yes, sir!" John snapped back up to attention. "Sir, it . . . I . . . we're at war, sir!"

"Funny, that sounded like my line a few moments ago." Alvin remarked wryly more to himself than to John. Then added sarcastically in his direction. "And thanks anyway for the newsflash. I really needed to know that, yeah?"

"Sir, a colony defense squadron is no place for pilots of our caliber to be stuck in. We want combat, sir. We want to get out there and do our bit." John explained animatedly and passionately. "Sir, we don't want to spend our time in some second line squadron waiting for an attack that may never come when we can be out here, on the tip of the spear and taking the fight to the enemy."

"So you're saying you're not happy with the task of being that final thin line of defense aboard a colony cylinder that's home to hundreds of thousands, if not millions of innocent citizens who have no one to count on except the JAF?"

"Well, sir, no . . . um, I mean yes. Well, actually I mean, no."

"You're beginning to sound a bit like Officer Kok. Make up your mind, Private."

"Sir, it was never my intention to shirk my duty to the citizens of the Confederation." John managed to say after regaining his composure. "But neither was it my desire to be the final line of defense. Given a chance, I want to be the first line of defense."

For a long moment, Lieutenant Alvin Ng kept very silent, looking at his desk. A part of him wondered why he couldn't have any pilots who were like his old Deathwings. The memory of his former comrades brought with it a stab of pain and he quickly banished those thoughts.

"Well said, Private." Alvin's face was a stern, unreadable mask. "However, it begs my next question. When was your last psych review?"

"Sir . . .?"

Then the squadron leader's features gave way to a lopsided grin. "Relax, John. I was only joking. I've been in your shoes before and I know exactly how you feel." The lieutenant stood and extended his hand. "Welcome to the Thunderbolts, Private Cheah. I'm sure you're going to find your time here both exciting and fulfilling."

0823 HOURS – 05 APRIL, 2214

Officer Joshua Wong was out on the docking platform supervising a work detail composed of his bosuns as they clambered around the ship's hull, checking for any signs of damage, unsecured access panels and all other forms of irregularities. Word was that the Fantasia was due to begin space trials soon and would be leaving dock any day now.

Nearby, Officer Jeremy Kiew and his own work detail were overseeing the transfer of yet more supplies into the ship's massive holds via large conveyor belts. As each pallet passed by, the men and women of the Quartermaster Department would sweep their handheld scanners over the containers, registering each and every cargo module that was being hauled up into the ship's hull.

He heard the measured sounds of footfalls behind him above the din of the conveyor belts and his own people doing some spot-welding on the relatively pristine hull of the Fantasia. Officer Wong turned and saw a tall, lanky man in the uniform of an exo pilot with lieutenant's rank tabs on his collar and a heavy-looking space bag in hand.

His less than stellar encounter with Lieutenant Alvin Ng the day before still stung his pride somewhat so this time, he made a greater effort to straighten his uniform before stepping up to meet the man just short of the boarding tube.

"Good morning, sir!" Officer Wong greeted crisply, his hand flashing up in a parade ground perfect salute as he came to attention in just off to the new arrival's side.

The lieutenant looked somewhat startled by his greeting and he stopped to drop his bag onto the metal deck before returning the salute. Though he wasn't exactly sure what it was, Joshua Wong knew that there was something different about this visitor. The other man's salute was far more exuberant than his and he was almost sure that he saw the lieutenant slapped his heels together.

"Good morning to you, Warrant Officer."

Again, Joshua's suspicions about this new arrival were amplified, this time by the man's heavy accent and the fact that he had even used his rank. By and large, lieutenants in the JAF did not address Warrant Officers in full. In fact, they hardly acknowledge the rank at all. As the lowest form of officer life aboard the Fantasia, Warrant Officer (O) Joshua Wong was used to being called 'Wong' or if he was lucky, 'Joshua' by his superiors.

"Are you looking for something, sir?" Joshua tried to sound polite despite his mounting suspicion. The media had run a lot of stories about spies and traitors in the aftermath of the Mars operation and there's was no telling who could be an agent of a nation with less than pleasant intentions towards the Confederation.

"Yes. The JSS Fantasia. I believe this is it?" The lieutenant asked politely, looking past Joshua and at the ship that currently sat placidly in dock.

Joshua found himself shifting to stand between the lieutenant's gaze and the ship, as if it would somehow protect his beloved vessel from this rather suspicious exo pilot. "Yes. Do you have orders to report to her?"

"Affirmative. I do." The man reached inside his tunic and retrieved a thin sheet of printed plastic. Joshua took it and glance through it quickly. His eyes drifted to the bottom and widened at the signature, then he hastily returned the sheet.

"My apologies, sir." Joshua replied nervously. "I hope you understand that I just have to che . . ."

"The inconvenience was negligible and necessary, Warrant Officer . . ."

"Wong. Joshua Wong." He snapped to rigid attention. "Ship's Damage Control Officer, at your service, sir."

"Thank you, Warrant Officer Wong. Your thoroughness is commendable and appreciated. Perhaps you can give me directions to the squadron's ready room now."

"Of course, sir." Joshua heaved a sigh of relief that this new arrival was not offended by his paranoia and suspicion. A part of him began to wonder why the brass had assigned yet another lieutenant to the squadron. He had already heard about what happened to Lieutenant Chan. So why would the Thunderbolts need another officer? He let the question linger for only a moment, then decided he wasn't being paid enough to think and simply said, "Follow me, if you'd please, sir. I'll show you the way."

0829 HOURS – 05 APRIL, 2214

"Thanks for the sharing, Private." Alvin nodded to his latest interviewee who sat across him. She smiled wordlessly but beatifically at him. Deep down inside, Alvin knew he was going to like Private Breanna Chan. As an exo pilot, she had the grace and agility to really make a Pathfinder dance, the aggressiveness to mix it up with the enemy, and the brains to know when it was time to bug out.

But beyond that, he and Breanna could simply click. He wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the kind of chemistry that one normally read about in novels. Maybe it was just because they communicated on the same wavelength or something. Whatever it was, there was something about Breanna that reminded Alvin about his former squadron and that familiarity still brought more smiles than frowns.

"There's just one last thing I want to ask you." Alvin said and she looked up at him, still smiling. "It's probably just a coincidence. But you and Lieutenant Chan look somewhat alike. Is there . . ."

The smile on Breanna's face faded ever so slightly as she replied, "She's my sister."

"Oh."

"Would there be anything else, sir?" Breanna asked, with a slightly hard edge to her voice.

"I take it that it's not something you like talking about?"

"No, sir. It is not." This time, he noted that her tone was devoid of all emotion.

"I see. Is it going to affect your performance in the squadron?"

"Of course n . . ."

"Honestly?" The single word emanating from the officer's mouth was more than enough to cut Breanna off in mid-sentence and she fell silent before him as she mulled over the question glumly.

"Well . . . I'll try not to let it bother me, sir." She finally grated after much thought.

"That's not good enough to keep you in my squadron. " Alvin didn't like having to say that, especially since he knew how hard it had been for her to get this assignment. And after all, he really liked her since she had come the closest to reminding him of the Deathwings. "I need to know if I can trust you to keep your head screwed on right when the time comes to count on you."

If Breanna was in anyway shocked by his apparent ultimatum, she didn't let it show. Instead, she seemed to consider what he said for a moment longer before she spoke again. "You know how much I want to be in a frontline unit, sir. I'll do my best not to let you down. I'm sorry I can't promise more than that."

Alvin stared at the woman for an awkwardly long moment, waiting for her to shift nervously under his gaze before he spoke. "I admire your honesty, Breanna. Fair enough."

"As long as nothing too drastic happens, I'll be fine." She added with a slight smile that was strangely reassuring to him and he couldn't help but return the gesture.

"Nothing too drastic . . ." He repeated quietly.

The door to his office slashed open and a barrage of sound poured in immediately. Breanna looked over her shoulder while Alvin rose from his own seat in surprise to confront the commotion that was now spilling into his inner sanctum.

Several things happened in a very short time. The first and most obvious thing was the sound of Lieutenant Adelene Chan's heated protests about something. Second, Corporal Joshua Loke was not far behind her, his apparently quiet demeanor lost as he struggled to make himself heard with the squadron's XO.

All of it seemed to be focused around a slender, familiar-looking lieutenant who wore the qualification insignia of an exo pilot on his tunic. Adelene seemed to be screaming bloody murder and looked ready to lay into the calm-looking intruder with her fists while Corporal Loke was doing everything he could to keep her away short of physically touching her.

He listened for a moment and heard snippets of what was being hollered. His XO was saying something about removing the lieutenant who had the nerve to barge in, while Joshua seemed convinced that Adelene was going to use violent, if not deadly force to do so and for some reason, he seemed to be focused on defending this newly-arrived lieutenant.

As for the lieutenant himself, he was leering at Alvin, looking calm, composed and almost arrogant oblivious to the tiny battle that was going on behind him. There was something awfully familiar about the man, especially that rubber-faced grin, but the Jovian squadron commander couldn't quite place a finger on it and it further frustrated him.

The argument flared even louder and the lieutenant's grin grew wider. Alvin snapped.

"Quiet!" His palm came down on his desk with a ringing crack and he winced slightly as the stinging tendrils of pain crept into his abused hand. Only Breanna caught the look on his face, but the sly wink that she flashed in his direction told him that the secret was safe with her. "Damn it, this is the JAF, not some mindless, squabbling rabble! May I remind you that you are not children! Now, explain yourselves! Calmly and clearly, if you'd please."

"I was trying to stop this . . . this man from barging into your office . . ." Adelene began, her voice shaking with anger.

"Sir, you don't understand . . ." Joshua Loke piped up.

"Oh, shut up and let me finish, Corporal . . ."

"Sir, you don't . . ."

"Hey, I was talking to you! You don't talk to an officer that way!"

And again, the two of them began to bicker. Through the wide-open door to his office, Alvin could see the rest of the squadron glancing in nervously, curious as to the cause of the commotion but not wanting to appear too nosey.

"Enough! Both of you!" Alvin roared, his palm slashing down towards the table once more but hovering just short of the surface as he remembered the pain. "One at a time! Adelene, you first! In one sentence, please."

"Alvin, this man," she pointed at the new arrival in the manner one would at an enemy while carrying a loaded weapon. "Insisted on barging in here to see you without permission. This is a severe breach of protocol that . . ."

"I said one sentence, Adelene." Alvin cut her off and turned to Joshua. "Corporal Loke?" He said with just enough emphasis on the man's rank to remind him of his place and stature.

"I know the lieutenant, sir. And I know he means no harm."

"Do you two not understand simple English? I said 'one sentence'." Alvin held up a single finger in front of them both. "One! Do you get it? Well, never mind that now. This lieutenant wants to see me that badly, huh?" Both Adelene and Joshua, sufficiently chastened, nodded wordlessly.

He stared at the man who had the nerve to come marching into his office without the courtesy to even so much as knock. "You wanted to see me? Urgently?" Alvin felt a tingle of fear as he realized that the man was of equal rank. Could it be his turn to be relieved of command?

"Ah, Alvin . . . you've not changed much since we last met." The other lieutenant spoke in accented English, his head shaking as he smiled. "Still fiery as ever."

"I'm sorry. You look awfully familiar but I can't quite put my finger on it." Alvin said coldly in an effort to show that he was in no mood to play guessing games or waste time. "Oh, do enlighten me if you will." Alvin saw the edge's of Adelene's mouth twitch upwards slightly as she heard him directing his sarcasm against the intruder.

"Lieutenant Peter Tan, late of the Martian BundesArmee, reporting for duty as ordered." The man replied in an imperious tone that was obviously feigned but it definitely had the old memories flooding back.

"Peter?" Alvin's eyes widened in shock as the recognition finally struck home. "But I don't understand. Last I heard, you were a Hauptmann in the Twelfth Sturmobergrupen."

"Hauptmann?" Adelene's eyes went equally wide in shock though Joshua Loke simply nodded.

"It's a crazy world, Alvin." Peter said, reaching to tap his nose and eye his friend conspiratorially. "And last I heard, you were a Captain, bossing the Deathwings."

A look of pain registered on Alvin's face a moment before he could replace it with a fake, wry smile. "Well, as you've said, Pete. It's a crazy world."

"Can someone tell me what the heck is going on here?" Adelene had her hands on her hips, looking very annoyed at being out of the loop. Even her sister, in a rare moment of agreement, looked equally perplexed at the turn of events.

"I'm sorry, people. Would you excuse me and . . . Lieutenant Tan for a moment?"

"But what's going . . ."

"That wasn't a request, Adelene."

"Oh, alright . . ." Adelene sighed, scowled, turned on her heel and left, Breanna and Joshua following after the seething XO of the Olympian Thunderbolts.

"And someone close that door!" Alvin yelled after the three retreating pilots.

"Oh, sorry." Joshua said sheepishly as he turned back at the doorway to thumb the stud that shut the door.

Alvin waited until the door had hissed fully shut before dropping heavily into his seat and letting out a loud sigh. He indicated to the vacant seat in front of his desk. "Sit down, Pete."

"Don't mind if I do, Alv."

"What in the hell did I do to deserve being stuck with an outfit like this?" He sighed and shook his head. "No, don't answer that. I screwed up big time with the Deathwings and I should consider myself lucky to be given a squadron command again at all."

"Gosh, you're all so cheery this morning." Peter remarked dryly.

"With clowns like those in my command, why shouldn't I be?" Alvin replied sardonically. "It's not a squadron. It's a damn circus."

Peter shrugged and panned his head to one side to politely hide his smile.

"What about you, Pete? What the hell are you doing so many million miles away from home? And in a JAF uniform at that?" Alvin asked, forcing himself to think about anything other than the Thunderbolts for the moment. "I don't know how you got that uniform or what's going on. But as far as I'm concerned at this juncture, you're still technically an officer of a belligerent nation."

"Didn't you hear me say that I was late of the BundesArmee?"

"But how . . .?"

"I defected, of course." Peter allowed himself another slight smile as he saw the look of horror exploding onto the Jovian squadron commander's face.

"You what?"

"I defected. Since you pretty much can't resign and walk out of the BundesArmee, you know." Peter explained in a tone normally used when one talked about the weather in a colony cylinder (which never changed unless by popular vote).

"But why . . .?"

Lieutenant Peter Tan's face lost all trace of humor at the utterance of that simple question. The look he fixed Alvin with was cold, unyielding and backed with iron resolve. "Isn't it obvious, my friend?"

"Well, I must confess that I am not particularly observant this morning and I'm still grappling the fact that you're actually here now, in that uniform, sitting before me." Alvin said dryly, shrugging disarmingly. "Perhaps, you'd like to explain to me?"

"Freedom." Peter said. "To escape the blatant tyranny and oppression of my homeland. Do you remember the time when I entertained you as a guest on Mars and how different it was when you received me as a guest here in Olympus?"

"Well, yes, I do. Those were good times."

"Yes, I saw things here that I had grown up not being allowed to even think about. I saw the Confederation thriving on the very things that my government would deny us all in the name of während der daur der aktuellen krise – for the duration of the current crisis." Peter shook his head viciously. "Well, we've been some damn crisis or another ever since the Federation was formed. I knew things were bad, but only after touring the Confederation did I realize just how much of our freedoms my leaders have stripped my people off simply 'for their own good'."

"Well . . . you did mention how stifling it was to live in the Federation. But you never struck me as the sort who would defect . . . more of working to change the system from within."

"Some things cannot be changed from within. Not when your leaders have the right and power to simply make you disappear should they see it fit." The look of pain on Peter's face told Alvin that his Martian friend was speaking from experience. "I had made plans to head for the Free Republic before Kurtzenheim, but when your people came, I figured I'd stand a better chance with Jovians. I crossed the line of no return saving your Corporal Joshua Loke during the Battle."

"I see . . ." Alvin tried to absorb the magnitude of what he was being told. "So our intelligence people have deemed you safe to put on that uniform?"

"Complete with exo qualifications. I know your machines are pretty much ahead of ours, but I'm sure you people can teach an old dog some new tricks." Peter smiled slightly, glad to be changing subjects. "But how have you been all this time?"

"Not all too great. I led the Deathwings flew into a CEGA trap over Mars. I was the only survivor and there was a court martial. It's a minor miracle that I was only reduced to lieutenant. And it's unbelievable that they can still entrust me with a squadron to command." The Jovian exo pilot said bitterly, looking away.

"But you're a solid pilot and a good tactician. They can always use a man of your quality despite all you've done wrong."

"I don't know. You've seen my people. Not exactly first-grade stuff." Alvin shook his head sadly. "And I've got to say that this squadron is simply getting crazier and crazier by the hour. Sometimes, I wonder how much crazier it can get! Say, Pete, how long have you got before you're needed elsewhere?"

Peter looked at his friend with a bemused expression on his face, his lips moving but no sound coming forth.

"What?" Alvin's eyes narrowed into slits.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding, Alvin. Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. " He reached into his tunic to retrieve the printed plastic sheet that contained his orders. "I'm not here to visit. I'm reporting to the Thunderbolts for active duty."

Alvin's jaw fell wide open and his eyes looked about ready to roll out of their sockets as he accepted the printed sheet.

"So I guess it does get crazier, Alvin." Peter concluded with another one of his trademark grins.