Burn knew something was going on between the Fed and Jackal, but he couldn't prove it.
They always seemed to show up to morning meetings around the same time. They disappeared at weird times, they kept… winking at each other sometimes. There was one time, too, where he even saw Dagger wink at one of what must have been an inside joke. Disgusting, he thought.
It was unbecoming. Unfitting. Wrong. It went against every fiber of his being to even stand next to her without punching her in the jaw. His brother's killer. The enemy. A threat to my squadron. And now, one of his own squadmates was… befriending the enemy, at least, but if his suspicions were correct…
Scott shook his head. No, it can't be. I know he was kinda looking at her like that a while ago, but…
Burn sat down at the lunch table, the three of his suspects nowhere to be seen. "Hey, Major, Captain," he said, chowing down on a sandwich.
They acknowledged his greeting, but otherwise stayed aloof. "Hey Burn." "Lieutenant Bernitz."
A few moments later, Burn spoke. "Have Spook and Jackal been a little… off, lately, to you?"
BASH grabbed her tray and stood up. "Sorry, Burn. Just finished eating." She made a production of looking at her watch. "And I've got a meeting with JC."
Really laying that cold shoulder on thick, huh, Major? Burn took a sip of water as she left. Just because you don't want to see it doesn't mean it's not there.
Zip groaned. "What is it this time, Lieutenant Bernitz?"
"I think there's some… inappropriate behavior going on in this squadron. Between at least two of the squadron's members."
"I don't know, Burn. The weirdest stuff I've seen around here recently is how you won't take off those tactical gloves when you eat a sandwich, but please, continue."
"That's a religious thing and you know it, Zip." Burn's brow furrowed, taking offense.
Zip shrugged. "I never did quite understand that tenet. Good thing I'm not exactly Dust devout anymore."
"Oh, whatever." Burn sighed. "Theology can wait. I think Spook and Jackal are fraternizing."
"And what evidence do you have to back that up, exactly? Or is this more of your crack detective work— I'm sorry, crackpot detective work." Zip rolled his eyes.
"I… uh…" Scott smiled uneasily.
"You're gonna make those kinds of accusations? Come back with something concrete. Not 'I saw Jackal looking at Spook's ass this one time.' Okay, Lieutenant? Otherwise, I'd like to ask you to refrain from making allegations against your fellow officers." Zip shook his head and returned to his sandwich.
"Uhh…" Scott hung his head. "Yes, sir."
Prove it, huh? Burn grit his teeth, holding up a copy of The Practical Application of Advanced Air Combat Maneuvering to pretend he was reading. In reality, he was camped out with a good view of the hallway that led to the cell, watching the passers-by in the early morning hours before the daily squadron meeting around the ping-pong table. He grumbled to himself, taking a pull from the foul-tasting can of the potentially harmful energy drink. I wonder how long we can last running on this stuff before someone drops dead, he thought. But hey, it's either this or exhaustion.
Burn skimmed the book, a Federation Air Academy staple text. It was pretty common fighter pilot reading worldwide, too, since the tactics inside it were based on actual combat experience from the Oceania War— the author, a Magadanian pilot whose name Burn didn't particularly care to remember— had been a prominent Federation ace and a Peacekeeper. The book, mercifully, was full of graphics, and he scanned through the pages, watching diagrams of Sk.37s twirl and turn through the air with swanlike grace. While some more demanding maneuvers are fully dependent on the capabilities of one's airframe, the text read, a more skilled pilot in a lesser airframe will almost always defeat an amateur on the cutting edge. See, for example, the Battle of Canberra, where mercenary pilots Cerberus and Merlin drove off my Cobalt Squadron's much nimbler Sk.37s in simple F/C-15s. Burn took another swig of his drink, the battery acid taste and the heart-stopping amount of caffeine preventing the lullaby of the textbook from pulling him back to sleep. Pilots, therefore, must learn these tactics from both the perspective of the more maneuverable and the less maneuverable pilot, for they never know when they will cross paths with airframes superior to theirs, and must be equipped to defeat them regardless.
Burn looked up from the book just in time to watch Jackal walk through the hallway and briefly look over his shoulder. Shit! Burn buried his face in the book. Hope he didn't see me.
After a few minutes, Burn put down the book, got up from his spot, carefully walked down the hallway stairs towards the brig, and came out in front of the Fed's cell. Alright, he thought. I'll get the guard to testify to Zip and BASH.
"Airman," he said to the guard, standing outside between him and the cell's only window. "I need to see the prisoner at once."
"Sir, I can't do that," he said, shuffling uneasily.
Shit! Even the guard? Has our discipline really gone so lax? His eyes widened. "Why not, Airman?"
"Well, uh, Lieutenant, she has the same rank as you. And she told me no visitors."
"Really, Airman? Because I saw a squadmate of mine come down this way— and you and I both know the basement brig is a dead end. So, where did Jackal go?"
"Um… Lieutenant Khoury told me to let him in—"
Burn stormed towards the steel door and slammed into it, the metal plate not budging an inch. Panicked yelps echoed from inside the cell.
"Airman, I order you to open this door or by the Dust I will have you on tribunal."
"I swore I wouldn't do this," The guard paused. "But I guess I don't have much of a choice."
The guard opened up the door to the cell, and the Fed, Jackal, and Dagger all turned to look at Burn, expressions shocked.
"What… the… fuck!?" Burn shouted.
They were huddled around a folding table, the scent of instant coffee rising from the mugs in their hands. A hoard of coffee packets was propped up out of sight of the window in the corner of the room.
"Oh… hey, Burn," Jackal said, breaking the silence. "What's up?"
Burn stared at her. The Feddie bastard that had done this to him. He shouted, filled with rage.
"OH, YOU MOTHERFUCKER—"