AN: Hello again! It's almost been 5 months since I last updated. Sorry! Training strikes again. Hopefully I will be more consistent from here on out. I have gotten the writing bug back, and really feel that I have a solid way to incorporate Cody into the plot of the games while hopefully minimizing any sort of Mary Sue-esque storylines. Please keep the reviews coming! And I'm happy to say that we reached 50 followers! Amazing. I'll get to the story, and see you all next chapter!
Disclaimers: I do not own Mass Effect or its characters. Only my OC. There is no implied or actual relation to real life individuals in the Navy section of this story, only created characters/ships/squadrons.
Flight training was just as I remembered it from my own time's version on Earth. Hectic, crammed schedules mixed with endless book learning enough to make even the most seasoned officer's head spin. But, luckily, I had a considerable background, and the instructors advanced me based on proficiency out of basic courses. That left me only to learn the specifics of Alliance trainer aircraft, and before that of course the simulators.
These sims were unlike anything back in my Navy. We had tech, sure, but full immersion setups designed to mimic flight conditions, with high definition that made training feel just as real? That was impressive. It was odd to me at first using the holographics as my main control surfaces, having based my whole career off of stick and rudder flying, but you play enough video games as a kid and it works out just fine. The initial training was conducted with the TX3, a modified version of the Alliance main-line fighter built to accommodate an instructor and student. Cortez, my neighbor, was able to bypass this completely because he flew the actual SX3 in the fleet, and let him progress to the Kodiak. I, however, was left to get familiar with this new, untamed bird.
My IP was a pilot with the callsign Geeky, I guess due to some combination of their taste in medieval shows not to mention their thick Alliance issue glasses they had to use at OCS before the glory of modern medicine could be used to avoid any heckling. He was a damn good pilot, and with his guidance I picked up the feel for supermaneuverable spacecraft in no time. Soon enough we were on to solos, tactical training, fighter maneuvers and the like, which I took to with gusto, applying some of my own tactics as well as the Alliance's playbook.
What is normally a year long process or more is reduced to merely 6 months due to my advanced rate of training. At the end of my 6 months, into January of 2182, I earned my wings for a second time. My same sense of pride and accomplishment came back as it did the first time, although it was a shame none of my friends or family were there to see it. Living in a new time was difficult, and despite having acquaintances like Cortez, it just wasn't the same. Hopefully my next command will change that.
—-
Not soon after graduating the training program and getting my wings of gold on my Alliance uniform, I was sent off to the fleet. I had been assigned to fly an SX3 interceptor on a year long deployment within 5th Fleet. I would be aboard the Einstein as a part of her compliment. Saying my goodbyes to classmates and neighbors, I packed my few bags and headed off to the docking bay to meet my new home. VF-30 would be my new squadron, the White Wolves. Their CO, Commander Vitrano, met me as I boarded from the station.
"Lieutenant, welcome aboard! We've heard a lot about you. Follow me, I'll show you to your stateroom. You'll be sharing with 3 other pilots, I'm sure you're used to it if your blacked out record is anything to go by" She turned and beckoned me to follow down the p-way and into an elevator.
"Yes ma'am, it's no problem at all." I quickly responded before following.
"So, the Wolves are a good bunch, solid pilots, a bit young and cocky but weren't we all at some point? While we might be stationed on the Einstein, we usually end up on extended detachments to various colonies or smaller single-ship expeditionary groups that need a few interceptors for their various needs." The elevator deposited us in the Officer's berthing compartment. "With that being said, don't get too comfortable because we need to move at a moment's notice. This is your hatch, feel free to find me if you need anything, and welcome to the team."
Giving my Commander a few words of thanks, I opened the door to my new berthing, finding only one other Pilot there at the moment. "Oh, hey I'm Cody Harris, I'm the nugget that just checked in, apparently I'm bunked with you all."
"Hey mate! How ya doin? Name's Sean McCormack, but they call me Aussie, though. To no one's surprise. You can take the top left rack, that one's free. The other guys are out on a flight. You have a callsign bud?" Aussie was sitting what looked to be quite uncomfortably on his desk chair across the way as I dropped my things into their respective lockers.
"Used to be called Shredder, but that was a while ago, so we'll see I guess… but nice to meet ya Aussie." The two of us spent the next while chatting over chow, before eventually the call was given that the fleet was getting underway. Both my other hatchmates were good people so far I could tell, they went by Leak and Knock. Leak was a younger Indian man, fairly fresh out of flight school, who had unceremoniously earned his callsign because of an incident in the cockpit not to do with his suit's seals leaking, if you catch my drift. Knock, however, got his because of his apparent habit to just barge into people's rooms in the middle of various "activities". Quite a few laughs were shared that first night as we hit the Arcturus relay. My hatchmates also had me resigned to the fact that they would find a new callsign for myself soon enough.
—-
The first of the Wolves' non-standard detachments came when my hatch was called on to provide air defense for a smaller Alliance colony near the Terminus that had reportedly been seeing merc and pirate activity rising lately. What I found to be helpful was that the Wolves kept the hatches together for dets, as they are called, so myself, Aussie, Leak and Knock were tapped to head to the boonies for the next 3 months.
As the SX3 was FTL capable, our flight of 4 departed the carrier and hit a relay on its own, arriving at our colony within a few short hours. The looks on the colonists' faces as 4 Alliance interceptors swept low overhead in parade formation was priceless. Circling to land at what passed as the "spaceport" there, we were led to our accommodations at the local militia post. They apparently had rooms there for anyone that happened to be on duty, and were kind enough to lend us space.
It seemed that we had drawn the lucky straw, the airspace had been fairly quiet after we arrived for around 2 months, leaving us to enjoy our stay with the colony and have our fair share of fun. Training was still a priority of course, and we had our occasional slaver shuttle to scare off, but nothing major. Knock, though, said the cursed words that most people know never to say when you're in the military. "This place has just been so quiet!"
Days later, it was our 4 SX3 fighters and a handful of colonial militia up against a slaver freighter carrying numerous shuttles and gunships. We took to space as I commented over the det frequency, "Fuck you, Knock, you just had to say it, didn't you?"
The ensuing fight pushed all of us to our limits, none of us having faced actual space combat before, except of course the sims. Aussie and myself stuck at each other's wings, as did Knock and Leak, attempting to thin out the shuttles to prevent losses on the surface. It worked fairly well, until a Batarian gunship decided to plant itself firmly on mine and Aussie's ass. "Get this four-eyed bastard off us, Harris! I'll keep his attention."
"Gladly…" Thinking back to my training on Earth, I remembered the maneuverability of the aggressor aircraft we trained for, namely the Sukhoi cobra maneuver. My resulting dumbassery earned me my new callsign. I used my angular thrust to kick me back and yaw me to the left, nearly shearing my interceptor in two due to the gravity of the planet combined with the inertia. In a controlled loss of control, I cartwheeled nearly three times before righting myself on the tail of the offending Batarian, letting loose with my twin mass effect guns, seeing him light up in a ball of flame and scrap.
Spending the remainder of the afternoon cleaning up straggling slavers and pushing them back to the relay with the help of a 5th Fleet QRF kept us occupied and our minds on mission, but once we were back and barely out of our fighters, my Australian friend had tackled me to the dirt, "Alright, Flips, that was damn impressive back there mate!" The other joined in with a joking chant of "Flips, flips flips…" before I finally got them to stop so we could get cleaned up and rest. Even with inertial dampeners, pulling G was no joke.
—-
The remainder of my tour with 5th fleet went as planned, with not nearly as much excitement as our stint in the Terminus. My hatchmates and I would go on two more such detachments, the remaining time spent back on the Einstein. As we pulled back into Arcturus, much needed shore leave within sight, I heard a ping from my Omni tool. It was Captain Anderson, the very same that advocated for me to the Admiralty to earn my commission with the Alliance. It was encrypted, even more so than the standard of security in 2183, meaning something was up. Vowing to catch up to my wingmen at the nearest bar, I stayed behind and logged into my terminal, accessing my encrypted email, reading which immediately made my eyes widen. In an instant I grabbed my gear, packed, slung my packs over my back and made my way across the station towards the Recon Flotilla's docks. I still managed to stop for a single shot with my 'mates', explaining my situation as best as I could without breaching need-to-know. They understood, and bid me farewell. I would definitely stay in touch.
As I entered the secret squirrel side of the station, I was scrutinized by no less than 3 security checkpoints before finally finding the Captain in a briefing room, along with a Turian companion in red and gray armor.
"Welcome back, Lieutenant, sorry to pull you away from your shore leave, but I find that this is an extenuating circumstance" He indicated to the seats at the table, at which point I finally relaxed from the position of attention and sat with the two.
"I understand, sir, but your message was very vague. I'd like to know why I have signed transfer orders but with no other details. With all due respect." I eyed the Turian sitting to the left of Anderson, he was doing the same back to me.
"Of course, son, but this assignment is very hush-hush at the moment, and we couldn't risk anything even over secured channels. We need a fighter pilot to compliment a new stealth frigate, and we believe that pilot should be you. Welcome to the crew of the USS Normandy, under my command."
I was stunned. To be selected for an assignment such as this one, so soon into my career with this new Navy? "Thank you sir, I'm honored, but a Frigate with a fighter detachment? Quite out of the ordinary…"
"We know, but that was all part of the design process, we need a jack of all trades ship that can not only penetrate deep behind enemy lines, collect covert recon, but also hold its own against any threat. And don't worry, your talents won't be wasted when the fighter is stowed. While we have a pilot already chosen for the job, you will be assisting him with weapons systems, or standing in as needed as your collateral duty."
"Aye, sir. I'll do my best, and I'm excited to be a part of this." Standing to shake his hand, Anderson and the Turian both did the same. This was also the first time I had shaken hands with an Alien. What a day.
"Also, Harris, this is Spectre Nihlus Kryik, he will be our Turian liaison for our upcoming shakedown runs. He will also be evaluating our first Human Spectre candidate. Exciting times indeed."
The Turian in question nodded, respectfully, "Lieutenant".
"Spectre, sir." To say I had a foot in my mouth was an understatement, first time meeting extraterrestrials let alone a Council operative? And being assigned to essentially a Black Ops project?
Anderson saved me from any embarrassment, "Let's go get a look at her, shall we?" Nodding, I followed the two into the docks, stopping next to a large window pane, spotlights shining over a glistening new hull of a sleek frigate, Normandy proudly emblazoned on the sides. "Glad to have you, Lieutenant Commander." My new CO looked at me with a smirk, handing me my gold oak leaves, adding another layer to my already whirlwind day.
"Glad to be here, sir…" not my most eloquent moment, but as I pinned on my new rank, it was all I could think to say in awe of the beauty currently docked before me.