The IIA prisoner transport came to a halt, a shackled woman of dark green skin and orange eyes emerged, shackled, still wearing the same flight suit she was detained in from the start. She struggled against the IIA officers, full of a fury deep inside her. She didn't want to be locked up yet there she was. What drew her attention was a SpecOps officer waiting for her. This was unusual.
"Mind enlightening me as to what I'm doing here?"
"Doing here, sir," one of the guards corrected her as he delivered a gut shot to the pilot with his baton. "Show some respect, whelp."
Vult, waiting nearby, watched the IIA transport pull up near the hangar. As he made his approach, he witnessed the interaction. Whom he assumed to be Chasva, the pilot bound in chains, said something to her escorts. Something that earned her a prompt baton to the midsection, dropping her to the pavement, gasping for breath.
The undeserving bout of violence quickend the Commander's approach. Before either of them could address him properly, Vult unkindly disarmed the baton out of the Internal Affairs officer's hand and backhanded him with it across the side of his face. Droplets of blood spattered across the tarmac as he fell, sprawling in a dazed heap from the blow.
Sensing the other officer was about to get seriously involved, Vult rounded on him with the bloodied baton thrust in his face.
"Try it and see what happens, Sergeant." The Commander dared him with a stern expression of contempt. "She's compliant. Why are you roughing my prisoner up?"
The other IIA officer held up his hands as Chasva coughed, gripping her midsection. "She's been an insubordinate issue since day one, Commander. No respect, likes to push the limits no matter what. No wonder why she's bound for deactivation."
"Didn't..say sir to me." The IIA officer on the ground rubbed his face.
Chasva coughed further, speaking between pauses in the bouts, "And I'd kick you…in the spooch…if I could."
"Pick her up." Vult gestured with the baton before turning his attention to the one he struck. "She didn't call you "Sir"? Where's your bearing for me? That give me the right to kick your teeth in, here and now?"
"Sir, sorry, sir," he looked at Vult's collar rank, "I…assumed you were another Lieutenant based on our height, sir, my mistake." The officer reached down and picked the pilot up, letting his partner get up himself and rub his cheek in pain.
"Yeah, that's right, stupid." Chasva poked the bear, even after being struck.
Despite coming to the Private's aid, the bloodied baton snapped to her.
"Be quiet." He ordered, looking to the pair of IIA officers. "Assuming anything is a bad habit. Remove her restraints."
"Bu-"
"Before you start dictating protocol to me, Sergeant, I am ordering you to remove her restraints. She is my prisoner in my custody. I went through this this morning with your colleagues at the detention center. Check my credentials."
The Lieutenant of the pair looked at the dataslate and his eyes indicated he was damn near ready to shit some bricks from what he saw. "Uncuff her, now you imbecile."
The Sergeant looked shocked, "You look like you saw a ghost, Lieutenant."
"This guy has a higher security clearance than even the Director! Do what he says or we're both going to be sharing a cell with her, you idiot!"
"Oh Irk!" The pained Sergeant quickly fished out the keys to the restraints and freed Chasva of her binds, the pilot rubbing her wrists as he gathered them all up.
"We'll just…wait by the transport until ordered further, Commander."
Watching them hurriedly carry out his requests upon realizing just whom they were speaking to and what it meant for them if they disobeyed him, Vult said nothing. He only maintained a presence of observation through hard-set eyes, the appropriated baton in hand still.
Once the prisoner was freed of her restraints and the pair stood before him awkwardly, he unkindly tossed the baton to the tarmac without breaking eye-contact.
"You do that. Clean yourself up." He spoke, turning his attention to the Private. "You, walk with me."
Chasva walked with Vult, absolutely blindsided by the display before her. It only piqued her curiosity further. "You put the fear of Irk into IIA of all people. You drag me, some no name pilot slated for deactivation, out to the tarmac here at Krad air base, and…I don't know what's next. But what in the blazes is all of this? An elaborate loyalty test?"
The Commander said nothing until they were some distance away from the IIA transport, walking towards the hangars.
"Something of that nature, Private." Vult cryptically spoke. "I will explain shortly in that hangar just ahead of us."
"This makes no sense. I'm just a shuttle pilot. You're Spec Ops. Not to mention on top of that I'm Armada and I have a record."
The azure-eyed male abruptly stopped and turned to face Chasva at his six o'clock.
"Parade rest, before me, now." He sternly commanded, pointing an artificial finger to the ground just in front of him.
She eyed him down for a few seconds, defiant as ever in her current situation. She figured if she was going to go out she may as well let the inferno roar. This? What was this?
Her expression and delay did not go unnoticed.
"I forced IIA to release you into my custody and you think it wise to test me, Private? Front and center, NOW!"
"Commander, I'm a dead woman walking, what have I got to lose?!" And there it was, she laid it all out. "I'm dead! They made it clear they're going to kill me! What are you going to be able to do against Internal Affairs of all people?! There was that but this is IIA!"
"More than you believe me capable of, Private. You haven't a clue why you're here, why I ordered IIA to bring you here. A little respect goes a long way considering the lengths I'm going to see if you're worth my time or not. So far, you aren't helping your case…now…are you going to cooperate or do I need to march your c'hurta back to the transport and be done with it?"
Chasva sighed and rubbed her face, straightening out parts of her flight suit. There was some silence as she did so. "Sorry, I'm still running on a fire that's been burning since they cuffed me and regularly beat the ever living daylights out of me with bars of soap wrapped in bedsheets. Wanted to beat the blazes out of me from the second I walked in the door. Didn't see it fit to show them any respect given the circumstances….Sorry."
"I'm not IIA. I'm not responsible for your beatings but you are testing my patience." He made it quite abundantly clear. "Now…are we going to proceed forward with bearing and diligence, Private?"
She took a breath, snapping to attention, "Ready for you to lead on, Commander."
Seeing her relent in her defiance was promising. She let the grudge go…for now. Vult nodded in approval.
"That's better. I don't ask you to follow protocol for my ego, Chasva. A reminder of self-discipline, nothing more." He clarified, gesturing for her to follow as he turned about for the hangar once more. "As for why you are at Krad Air Base today, you are here at my request. I am currently recruiting new members for my team and your dossier. Your profile caught my attention. Not because of your "rough flying", but comments left for a prior infarction. You are a graduate of the fighter program, are you not?"
A more forlorn sigh was first to escape the lips of the rather defiant woman. "That I was. Fully qualified to fly our front line fighters. The rank I have now was more or less just a formality; I was scheduled to get my commission as a Sublieutenant before being assigned to the fleet. Then I buzz the tower since I'm a bit of a maverick and…I end up grounded for fourteen days, they transfer me to pilot flying bricks, and I lose my chance to be an officer."
"What provoked you to disobey a direct order for an unauthorized fly-by of the control tower?" Vult pursued, nearing the hangar with Chasva in tow. "Surely you knew there would be consequences to your actions. Why'd you do it?"
"...I love to go fast." She feebly admitted, "Not to mention I thought being in the top five in my class bought me some credit but…no I'm an idiot." As they neared the hangar, Chasva stopped in her tracks as she eyed the parked fighter, her jaw dropping in amazement.
Noting the lack of footsteps in his wake, the Commander slowed, turning to face the awestruck Private.
"Something wrong, Chasva?"
"That's…" she started with stunned admiration as she approached the craft and examined it closer. "That's a PA570 fighter-bomber. I've only ever seen the concept art of this while I was going through training for the P566."
"Oh, that?" Vult nonchalantly gestured to the pristine, sleek craft currently parked in the hangar. "I'm told this is one of the first production models fresh off the assembly line. It's been approved for service, but yet to ship. The Armada wants more real-world testing to be done before they take them en masse."
By now, the pair of Irken were inside the hangar, able to take in the impressive piece of military machinery before them. Most Irken craft were bulbous and round. A shape that worked fine in the vacuum of space…not so much in-atmosphere. Incredibly unstable and difficult to maneuver.
This, however…was a whole different beast.
"You're clearly the expert here, Private. I'm used to sleeping in the mud…you seem quite enamored with this craft. Why is that? What is so special about it?"
"This has the lessons we learned from the Vortians during the last Impending Doom. Sleek, versatile. Meant to prevent a smaller profile in space compared to the 566 we have now but also meant to operate with greater lethality in atmo. You cut through air, you don't try to punch your way through it. High speed, lower drag, in and out of atmo easy, and I get to see this up close for the first time?" She was already in love… "You want me to fly it, don't you?"
As Chasva educated him, Vult was anything but idle. He had been wearing a full-length overcoat, a piece of their uniform that rarely saw use these days. Typically worn by sentries or those exposed to the elements for long periods of time on-base. The removal of his coat revealed that he too wore a flight suit.
"You said you liked to go fast." He reiterated, turning to face her once more with a smirk. "Show me, Private."
Chasva quickly looked around and pinched herself. "Yup, no, not dreaming. Okay let's do this." She quickly made her way over to the fighter and scaled a ladder attached to the pilot's seat. Grabbing the helmet out of her seat and donning it. Second nature kicked in from training as she hooked up her flight suit and the helmet to various systems. The internals were very similar to the 566, though some less options in a two seater. She whistled, signaling for some of the ground crew to come deal with the ladders as she started running through the pre-flight checklist to fire everything up.
The Commander followed suit right behind her to the waiting seat behind Chasva's. A tandem cockpit of pilot and co-pilot. While a trained co-pilot could sit there, the future models intended to have a limited AI handle most of the heavy lifting with the weapon systems. Thankfully, the prototype craft was unladen with any ordnance save for whatever was integrated into the fuselage of the craft.
Settling into the seat and donning his own flight helmet, he strapped in and connected his suit to the craft's systems.
"Comm check, check, check." He radioed as Chasva ignited the engines and begun spooling up.
"Solid copy up here," Chasva was practically grinning as she hooked her oxygen mask to the helmet. The whirr of a fighter's engines was a sound that long since escaped her and she was once more starting them up. It was like a dream come true. Beat the pathetic fwoomp of a shuttle's engines any day of the week.
"Alright, here's the deal." Vult began from the co-pilot's seat. "This is equal parts an evaluation from me as it is of you for this craft. Armada wants real-world data. Stress test on the frame, that sort of thing. I only understood about half of it." He admitted to lighten the mood. "Basically, from my understanding…you need to bend, but not break this thing. They want to know how far it will bend before it snaps…and the most obvious part of not killing us, of course. You up to the task, Private?"
"All I can say is, hold onto your lunch, Commander. Didn't earn an award for pulling 9Gs as a flight cadet for nothing." She throttled up to start them out of the hangar.
"Intentionally didn't eat today because of this." He admitted as the craft began to roll. "I'm sure I'll have nightmares about this. I'll leave protocol at your discretion, line up for clearance to take off."
"Yeah, you probably will have nightmares." She laughed, "For the record, 9Gs? That was actually just slightly under the structural limit of the 566 in atmo." She searched for the local frequency and keyed it into the radio. "Tower, this is Magnet, requesting clearance for takeoff."
"Magnet, Krad Tower, taxi to and hold short of runway 21 left."
"Taxi to and hold short of runway two one left, Maverick." She replied as she made her way down the taxiways towards the runway.
Vult, by and large, was along for the ride. He was never trained as a pilot, nor expected to be one in the Irken Elite. He knew enough to get a basic shuttle or dropship airborne, but this was far beyond the realm of his capabilities. All he really could do was focus on Chasva's behavior and performance…and maintain his own composure.
"Magnet?" The Commander queried, genuinely curious. "I assume that is your callsign, yes? Why Magnet?"
"Correct. It's actually a bit ironic," she chuckled, "Actually used to shoot out far ahead of everyone in formation flights." She stopped short of the runway, watching as a large cargo craft came in for a landing before braking and turning off onto the taxiways itself. "Proud of it as a fighter cadet, saw no reason to lose it as a shuttle pilot."
"Magnet, Krad Tower, clear to take off."
"Cleared to take off, Magnet." She grinned as she moved the fighter onto the taxiway, holding the brakes as she brought the engines up to full military power, though only just to get rolling some short distance. She kicked in the afterburner, bringing them up to speed before pulling the stick back and pulling off of the runway vertically, watching as she gained speed as they climbed. "Thrust to weight ratio in this thing is impressive. Can't stall this beauty like this."
About the time Vult could see the runway before him as they lined up is when his spooch began to knot in anticipation. The screaming roar of the powerplant behind them increased in crescendo as throttle was continually applied. The craft shuddered with the brake release and they began rolling, picking up speed. So far, not a terrible experience.
That instantly changed the moment Chasva slammed the throttle forward and immediately pinned him to his seat. One moment they were horizontal with the ground, the next, the nose facing space and the ground at his back. Completely vertical and rapidly climbing.
"No inertia dampeners in these things?" He queried, finally able to breathe again.
"Oh, you need that on?" She laughed, "What do you think this is, Commander, a cruise ship? Fighters don't get that sort of luxury. For Irk's sake, I know attack craft that don't have them either. It's all expendable! Be a waste of weight and resources."
"Suppose we've been spoiled in our insertion craft having them," Vult admitted, relaxing as the fighter leveled out at a cruising speed high above Devastis. "Would make sense to not have gravitational forces altered for pilot feedback. Don't have to worry about shuttles shearing themselves in half taking turns at-speed after all, right?"
"Nope. Worst you get is turbulence and nasties trying to shoot you down," she lowered the visor on her helmet, examining her HUD and checking her sights as she cycled through the internal practice missiles loaded in the fuselage and the guns, practice munitions. "So, what's the deal?" She glanced over her shoulder, "This an exhibition flight or is there something more in mind?"
"Speaking of turbulence," Vult conveniently changed subjects as they cruised. Surprisingly scenic and peaceful to see the terrain below rolling by…even if it was Devastis. "...I want to hear your side of the story that landed you in hot water, Private."
Chasva turned her attention back forward as she demonstrated basic combat maneuvers. Still knew them like the back of her hand. At least show off her moves while she talked. "Well, the first time was indeed turbulence. That one was true. The second?" She chuckled, "That one was a convenient moment of revenge for the Rear Admiral insulting my piloting skills. In hindsight, I should've waited for him to have a hot bowl of soup instead of a big mug of juice."
The Commander noted Chasva's casualness in manipulation of the craft while she carried on a conversation. Multi-tasking was no issue for her. Unfortunately, some of the slightly more aggressive movements, quickly pitch-rolling side-to-side, instinctively had his hands and feet attempting to brace inside the cockpit. The sensation of being effortlessly tossed around and at the mercy of the Private and physics was surreal.
"Would you say that makes you petty and vindictive by nature or was it purely because of Rear Admiral Oris' comments about your flying? Until I addressed it on the tarmac, you were keen on defying authority as much as possible."
"...Genuinely think it might be a trait in me. Never much cared for being insulted." She threw the plane vertical and killed the thrusters in a movement that quickly bled speed before leveling it back down and firing the engines back up. "Honestly, my brain always told me 'Don't get mad. Get even.' Apparently it ended up landing me in hot water, so to speak."
"Boiling hot," Vult commented, recovering from the sudden lurch of inertia changing. "Think you can curb that and control it if you're treated with respect or does it control you?"
She mulled it over as she quickly rolled the fighter a few times before leveling out once more. "Yeah, I think I can. If it ever gets the better of me just slap me across the face."
"Respect is shown when it is given. I run a tight ship, no pun intended, but I put my team's well-being first and foremost. I'm not the commanding officer that issues suicidal orders for stupid reasons. Clearly I go above and beyond. You're not even in my unit and I dressed down two IIA officers for you."
"Suppose so…thanks for that. I genuinely had no idea of this. I thought the whole universe may as well have been arrayed against me. No fun when you think you're literally alone and there's nothing between you and…total annihilation in a very real sense." Her radar already picked up something new. A trio of fighters, still pretty far off. Something to keep an eye on.
"No, it isn't…something we have in common," The Commander cryptically alluded. "I'm not at liberty to discuss much of it in detail, but I can say pending the outcome of what is to follow, you will be surrounded by like-minded individuals."
About that time, those three contacts on radar were at full-burn and screamed past their cruising craft. Three P566s…quite close…and then they broke formation to begin peeling back.
"Oh, they're finally here."
She knew exactly what this was. Combat training. She knew the tell tale signs of it. "Do I have an altitude floor?"
"Keep it out of the trees, terrain is free game…and try not to put us in any buildings, either." Vult relayed, watching through the canopy as the newly-arrived craft continued circling back in preparation to begin the exercise.
"Safe to assume you've reached this conclusion, but that wing of three are going to use you for target practice. Evade them."
"Let's play." She grinned, Turning hard towards the trio of fighters as she slammed the throttle forward. With a bit of deception, she used her helmet to gain a missile lock on one of the two fighters as she leveled nose on with one of the 566's, opening fire with the ship's main cannon firing practice munitions. The high speed, and Chavsa's boldness, caused the more bulbous fighter to blink and break before any possible aerial crash.
"HA! I always win."
No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, Vult immediately sensed the fighter's rapid change of direction at-speed. Chasva had no qualms about throwing the airframe around and, by extension, him. Just when he thought the initial take off was harrowing, she made it look like a walk in the park with what followed.
Redirecting the craft back toward the wing of three to challenge them saw their formation break, scrambling to recover and give chase. The P566 was capable, but its shortcomings were put on display compared to the prototype. These were not cadets, but accomplished, experienced pilots who knew their crafts. The inexperienced pilot would fight its meandering, unstable turning. They used it to their advantage, slingshotting around to instantly be on their six. A new sound filled the cockpit, the concurrent information fed to the HUD of their flight helmets: Enemy tracking attempting to get a lock.
"Blast!" Chasva threw the fighter vertical once more as she killed the throttle to quickly bleed air speed and pass between the trio until she was behind them. The throttle slammed forward again as she targeted the lead element of the group, locking on and firing one of her internally loaded practice missiles in rapid succession. She was out of practice in a fighter but as her old memories came flooding back, it was apparent she was no slouch.
The launched missile screamed towards its intended target, Evasive maneuvering was clearly taken by the targeted craft, attempting to shake the lock. Just as success was to be had with a direct hit, a cloud of metallic particles ejected behind the P566, "detonating" the warhead. The two wings of the element lead were already plotting against Chasva while she focused on the lone lead. More alarms filled the cockpit as a pair of tracking signals threatened to take hold.
"Ah…" she quickly glanced around, finding the closest element of the two before throwing the craft in to pursue it, keeping an eye on the other and making sure her countermeasures switches were flipped up and prepared to fire.
"So…uh…this normal?" Vult queried, quite shaken amidst the ongoing tango with the trio of fighters. Definitely a good thing he hadn't eaten. Even on an empty spooch, he was feeling nauseous.
"Nope! I'm an idiot, I got too focused when I should've been watching these other two!" She threw down on one of the pedals, giving her the extra thrust needed to fire her guns and hose her target for a gun kill by a deflection shot before breaking off to focus on the third fighter. Her systems lit up as a practice missile launched, forcing her to fire her countermeasures and take an evasive maneuver before maneuvering back to pursue the final fighter. "These guys sure aren't cadets, that's for sure."
"I can tell! Your old CO might have caught wind you were on the stick today!" He revealed, bracing as she rolled in hard, the world around them violently spending as down became up, up became down, over and over again. "Oh, Irk…"
"Don't crap yourself, Commander, there's just one more left." Though this one was proving harder to kill. Forced overshoots, forcing her to dodge. He was good. Though the tricks only worked once or twice. She decided to gain distance before coming back around and charging the final fighter head on. Both of them lit up with their cannons, neither yielding, neither wanting to break off. It almost appeared an aerial collision was inevitable before both forced their crafts in different directions, Chavsa passing under the 566 and the remaining fighter over her.
There was a few moments of silence aside from the engines, but she laughed as she threw herself around to get him back in for a missile lock. "A draw! HA! That's a first!"
All the chaos subsided in an instant…as did Vult's spooch, for now.
"...draw means we're dead, right?"
"Oh, no, I mean a draw in old fashioned game theory. You both set yourself up on an inevitable collision course. It's a matter of who-"
Amidst Chasva's clarification, their remaining adversary made it clear he had no intention of relenting. Her mental distraction from Vult gave him enough time to slingshot his craft around and strafe the prototype. A split-second window of opportunity taken landed several successive hits. Simulated, the craft shuddered as the left thruster flamed out.
"That doesn't sound good!"
"Nope, now kindly shut your mouth so I can focus!" She slammed the stick down, descending down towards the ground in a near vertical dive. Their handicapped craft screamed toward the ground below, the altimeter rapidly dropping. So much so the fighter felt it prudent to speak up about it.
"Pull up. Altitude Warning. Pull up."
"Shut up!" Intent on building up enough speed and needing to lower her altitude in an attempt to fire the failed thruster with higher air pressures. Even without full thrust, gravity aided in pulling the vessel back toward solid ground, climbing ever higher. Vult may not have been an aviation expert, but the sound of groaning metal in a vehicle was never good.
"Overspeed Warning. Wingshear Imminent. Reduce Speed."
"I said shut up!" She needed her thruster back, speed was key. Closer to the ground, maybe 500 meters as she leveled out, it worked. The thruster roared to life once more as she drove the fighter towards one of the canyons of Devastis. She knew this fighter could handle the twists and turns, the 566 couldn't, not without turning into paste against the walls.
"See how you like a game of maneuverability."
Her adversary gave chase, lacking the acceleration or aerodynamics to close the gap, but even bleeding-edge technology had structural limitations. He only needed to bide his time and wait for the opportunity to present itself once again without leaving himself out to dry. A high-speed, high-stakes game of strategy where the winner takes all.
The open skies of Devastis gave way to sheer rock walls of varying shades of orange and red stone. Vult, heart pounding from adrenaline surging at being thrown about like a ragdoll against his will, suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic as the walls seemed uncomfortably close at high speed. One simple mistake, one wrong input of the flight stick, and that was it. There was no surviving an impact of that magnitude.
Chavsa, meanwhile, was in her element. This is what she was literally born to do and yet it was ripped from her. Her focus was still on the fight. They still had one more fighter to take down. "Get a grip back there!" She yelled, authoritatively, pilot's instinct, as if she was yelling at her own second in the back. "I need eyes! Where is he?!" The sooner she knew the sooner she could exit the canyon and formulate a plan of attack.
One moment she told him to be quiet, the next she was demanding answers and assistance. Either she was getting desperate or training was taking over under duress. Either way, she needed help and he was the only one there to help her. A grip would be found.
His visored eyes immediately scanned high through the canopy, looking around.
"No visual, no visual-"
Straight above them, the glint reflection of the 566's violet fuselage rolling over and diving on them.
"6 o'clock high!"
Chasva slammed the stick vertical and threw on the afterburners. Out of the canyon her own eyes were able to take over as she leveled out towards the last remaining fighter. A scream of a missile lock blared as she fired her second practice missile before switching back to the cannons and opening fire in short bursts. She was determined to down this fighter, one way or another.
Another violent direction change as they rolled back toward the chasing P566. Rather than engage, it chose to dive hard and fast, narrowly avoiding the missile but a few rounds of their practice munitions landed true. As to how incapacitating that was hard to tell.
Rather than give him a second to recover, Chasva turned hot on his heels, throttling down slightly to prevent an overshoot; she was holding her fire now, being more deliberate with her ammunition as she fired in bursts, trying to be as accurate as possible. "Ikveda bastrato, there's only one man I know that flies like that." Her tone completely changed. This wasn't just some fun combat exercise anymore. This turned entirely personal for her. "Kern…today is the day I own your c'hurta."
The P566 intentionally took a harrowing route through the canyon network. Twists, turns, snapbacks, arches…extremely tight quarters to constantly break line-of-sight. The prototype's speed advantage was nullified here. Both had taken simulated damage from the engagement. About as even a match-up as it was going to be beneath the circumstances. Despite the lower speed, the constant inertia shift continued to throw Vult about. Yet…surprisingly…he was getting used to it. This was "normal" for pilots, they had to get accustomed somehow.
Pursuer and the pursued dove through an arch and hugged tight against the inside canyon wall of a natural bend. Chasva's gun sight was just mere feet away from lining up a shot, but the turn was too tight. Any tighter and she'd put it in the canyon wall. The P566 held the advantage…and maliciously abused it.
Its normal tracking shifted abnormally…almost physics-defying as the craft sharply slung itself to the left, away from the wall, thrust vectored, and lifted its tail as a brake…and flew backwards briefly while facing Chasva.
Missile lock.
She ignored it briefly, deciding for a different avenue, she fired her cannons at one of the walls, triggering a rockslide as she took her fighter vertical and out of the canyon.
"Damn…you got me, Magnet. Missile hit the rocks in my own face. Not bad." A familiar voice commented over their communications. "You earned it."
"Assume that is who you think it is?" Vult queried, relieved that it was finally over.
She chuckled. "Well, Lieutenant Kern…what else did you expect from the number three in the class?"
"See flying shuttles hasn't tempered your ego any. Your plus 1 still alive?"
"Yup, he's still with us. Didn't vomit all over the canopy or anything either." She pulled her fighter in to fly alongside her former instructor's 566, throttling down to match his speed. "Not too bad for a ground pounder."
"Apologies, Commander. When I learned who you were putting through their paces, I couldn't pass the opportunity up. Surely you understand."
"Put me through my paces, that's for sure, Lieutenant." Vult huffed. "...I can't believe you guys do this willingly."
"Oh, come on now…can't be as bad as getting shot at on the ground, can it?"
"...fair point…so, Lieutenant? Assessment of Magnet?"
"She's still got it. Taught her everything she knows…apparently she learned some new tricks, too. Considering she just went up against a flight of three veteran instructors and came out on top with no seat time in what? Two years?"
"Sounds about right, give or take a couple weeks," Chavsa answered.
"She'd be a double or triple ace on Vort with those skills…what do you think of that ride, Magnet? Better than the 566?"
"Absolutely. Sleek, fast, handles like a dream. I kinda wanna keep it." She laughed over the radio. "Not to mention it just gave me the best sort of combat introduction in ages."
About that time, the other two 566s formed in on the pair, regrouping from their holding pattern while their lead and Magnet finished their duel out in the canyon. A squadron of four, Chasva the odd one out.
"Sure the Armada will be chomping at the bit to put them in service…I hope you know we'd have splashed your sorry c'hurta if you were in a 566. Three-on-one, you aren't that good."
"I don't know, Lieutenant. Three kills to your zero speaks for itself." Vult joined in on the banter. "Surely the combat veteran isn't making excuses that better equipment beats out skill and experience."
"You fight dirty, Commander."
"I was molded by the dirt, Lieutenant. It's where I live."
Chasva chuckled, "Well, if anything this makes for a much better sort of test than anything that was thrown at me back in the academy. Three instructors?" She whistled, "Either you have it out for me or you're mad I got to fly this new beauty before you."
"I'm not the one that decided to buzz the tower after being told no…and I'm just a tiny bit jealous you got first dibs on that hot seat."
"Now that I'm not about to pass out…wingshear isn't good, right?"
Kern laughed
"No, not at all…fighter yell at you about it? Lemme guess, after the flameout and you lawn-darted?"
"Called it." Chasva answered, "Screamed Overspeed at me and I told it to shut up. I wanted that engine back."
"Classic." Kern chuckled, visibly shaking his head in the cockpit of his craft. "So, Commander…"
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Not everyday a prototype fighter shows up at Krad Air Base…not everyday a Spec Ops Commander drags a Private out of the detention center to put her in that fighter…I probably already know the answer, but what you got in store for Magnet? Genuinely curious."
Vult huffed in amusement.
"Should she accept, a spot on my team. Otherwise…classified."
"Knew it…word of friendly advice if you haven't already picked it up. Magnet's feisty. There's a reason why she ended up in the detention center."
"I'm aware. We've come to an…understanding. She won't go back to the detention center if she gets feisty with me."
"Hear that, Magnet? You best behave or you'll end up worm food. I know these Spec Ops types. They don't play around. That man in your co-pilot seat is stone cold."
"I already told him if I start acting like a bastrato again, he's free to slap me across the face." Chasva laughed. "I know I'm full of fire. Maybe part of how I ended up that high in the class."
"Guess this is your second chance then, huh?" Kern summarized, the smile in his voice could be heard. "Don't let it go to waste. Be a shame to see all that talent lost forever. Commander, you take care of her."
"I intend to, Lieutenant. I have a strong feeling she'll fit right in."
"Be sure to stop by and pay us lowly peons a visit next time you're on Devastis. For now though…ladies first on-approach. Round of drinks to see you off properly, my treat."
Chasva looked to Kern and gave a quick salute, "Looking forward to it." She took a breath, "Krad Tower, Magnet, requesting permission to land."
"Magnet, Krad Tower, cleared to land. Runway 21 Left."
"Magnet copies, landing on two one left." She lined up, flaps extending on the aircraft's wings as the gear came down. A smooth touchdown on the rear wheels before the nose wheel joined, slowing to a stop before taxiing back to the hanger and running through the shutdown checklist before unhooking herself from the aircraft. With her helmet resting on the console in front of her instead of on her head, she stood partially over the back seat to look at Vult. "You look like you've never been happier to see the ground." She reached out to shake his hand. "This means a lot to me, you have no idea. Thanks."
Vindication…in a sense she had it.
Unlike their spacecraft status takeoff, the Private glided in on-approach leisurely. A steady, slow descent, manipulation of control surfaces, and a steady decrease of throttle set them down back to the ground, gentle as could be. Hearing the rumble of the landing gear across the runway was music to Vult's antenna.
Once clear of the runway and taxied back to the hangar the demonstration began in, she swung the rolling craft about, nose towards the door. Just as she had entered it. The whine of the thrusters spooled down. A deep breath of relief as the canopy released and opened with a pneumatic hiss, permitting him the room necessary to remove his flight mask and helmet. His complexion was definitely a few hues paler than normal. Normalcy would return soon enough.
"...I will never complain bout the ride in a shuttle again. That much is certain, Private." He admitted with a weary huff. The hand garnered his attention, to which he accepted in kind with a nod. "I can tell. All I had to do was "borrow" a prototype aircraft to coax you into agreement." He concluded in jest.
"So? Unsure how often you'll have access to proper fighters…but I can certainly use those skills on a flight stick should you be inclined. What'll it be, Private? Trip back to your cell or a trip back to my ship to meet your new unit?"
"I was hoping we could keep this beauty. Though I suppose even your influence has its limits." Chasva laughed as she waited for the ground crew to bring ladders over so she could exit the cockpit, putting a hand on the nose of the fighter she was flying moments ago. Back to the cell? What sort of a deal was that? An awful one. She glanced over the shoulder to the Commander as he exited the fighter, "Can I still go get drinks with my former instructors before I head up? It may as well be the graduation from flight school I never had."
Feet back on solid ground. He would never take that for granted ever again. Vult watched the enamored pilot appreciate the craft she expertly handled. A unique bond between machine and operator. True passion for what she was trained to do.
Her query of taking Lieutenant Kern up on his offer elicited a checking of the time on his wrist.
"...I suppose you've earned it, Private." The Commander permitted, unzipping his flight suit and reaching into an inner pocket. "Though I do have a series of tasks I need you to perform prior to boarding the ship. Simple procedural things. Issued gear, uniforms, so on. You will be missing equipment from the quartermaster. The rest is aboard the ship. Any questions? I need to return and prepare for the others' arrival."
She walked over to him and took the datapad, looking it over briefly and nodded. "I suppose you also want me to keep my flight suits?"
"In a sense. Prefer you exchange them for Spec Ops livery. You've earned the prestige."
"Spec Ops has their own flight suits? Now I'm a jealous Armada gal." She smirked and nodded. "Consider it done. If you can ever get your hands on these, or even this particular gal," she gestured to the fighter, "well, I'd be most appreciative. Happy to deliver you air support any day of the week. Or whatever it is you have in store for me."
Vult eyed the prototype fighter Chasva all but bonded with briefly before turning his attention back to the beaming Private.
"...I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, you give me your all and make it worth my time and effort to…appropriate one of these. Fair enough, Private?"
The feisty woman gave him a thumbs up, "Will do. You got an inferno at your disposal."