"Colonel, would you mind clarifying the word 'reassigned?'"
"Not much left to clarify, Riker," Velasco said, stowing more of his personal effects into another cardboard box. "Council passed the resolution, Yates is shutting down, your unit is dissolved, your station is being reassigned."
"My pilots?"
"Also reassigned. Some are going to head their own units, others going to replace pensioners at the Academy."
"And the Swords?"
"The birds go with the pilots. In your case, to the Guard."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Can't imagine you having anything to say that hasn't been said already, Captain."
"What's the rationale for relegating the world's most advanced war bird to ceremonial duties?" Seth asked.
Velasco sighed. "Riker, you're unlikely to figure this out on your own, so listen close: Bureaucrats don't need a rationale. They don't abide by logic, reason or intellect. Most often, it's about how they can most help the people who give them money and fuck over the people most affected by their decisions. Right now, the people in charge won't take money from the people who help us, so it's time for us to grab our ankles and hope it's over quickly."
The Colonel's words were sobering. The era of conflict was ending, and a military left unchecked was becoming a thing of the past.
"It's shitty, I know," Velasco said. "My old man went through the same deal, only he wasn't given the courtesy of a phone call first. MPs just showed up one day and ordered him to clear out his effects. Spent the rest of his career in intelligence, watching Tore fall apart. To cap it all off, he had to watch me outrank him."
"Is there... any chance of saving my unit?"
"Unlikely," Velasco said, going back to packing. "Storm Flight was a classified program, under the radar. We covered our tracks so much it's unlikely we'll be found if we're needed again."
"Sir, a request?"
"You can try."
"I'd like to have full details of my pilots' reassignment orders."
"What the hell would you do with that?"
"I'd also like details on the support personnel: mechanics, flight line crew, weapons technicians-"
"Trying to build your own rogue squadron, Riker?"
"-and Scabbard," Seth finished.
"Eirenes," the Colonel said. "Still seeing her, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not worried about ethics, then?"
"I am not her commanding officer, Colonel. I'm a pilot, she's a dispatcher. She relays instructions and intel to and from my own commanding officers. There is no breach of ethics because we do not give each other orders, sir."
"You still work together during combat."
"Not anymore, according to my new orders."
"What are you planning to do with this information, should I grant it?"
"We were a highly effective unit, sir. Should the time come, I'd like to be able to bring them together again."
"Expecting another war, Riker?"
"Hedging bets, sir. It's impossible to both prevent and prepare for war. As a soldier, I'd rather be prepared."
Seth arrived at Logan's office, greeted in the waiting room by the secretary, currently splitting her attention between two phone calls.
"The Colonel will be back shortly, Captain," she said once he approached before quickly returning to her phone calls. A closer look showed Seth that she was alternating the microphone mute between the two calls. "Please inform the General we will update the personnel list once the Colonel has finished. Have logistics redirect the order to the Quartermaster's office and we'll send officers to pick up their equipment there." Somehow, she could speak while listening to an unrelated conversation. Perhaps she missed her calling in counter-intelligence.
Logan entered the room, eyes buried in reports. Seth barely had time to salute before the secretary muted her phone calls and handed him a stack of additional files.
"Quartermaster has the weapons order, Nirav still wants his personnel list, and Riker is here twenty minutes early," she said.
"Copy," he answered. "Hold calls. Riker, with me."
"Yes sir," Seth obeyed. Neither Logan or his secretary saw that he was halfway through a salute, so he supposed it would slide.
"Close the door," Logan instructed Seth once they were in his office. Once the door closed, Logan made on final note in his files and said, "I'll be honest with you, Captain; The Guard could use a few good pilots, but an Ace like you is wasted on us."
"Velasco sent you the combat reports," Seth said.
"Sent me more than that." Logan finally put down his files and looked Seth in the eye. His dark eyes were tired, no doubt from the influx of work his office had recently received. His service cap hid a mane of prematurely-graying hair while an unbuttoned collar did its best to provide relief for the sweat that came with stress. "Copied me on your Academy records. I would say they're impressive if I wasn't a bit confused by them."
"Sir?"
"Captain, do you remember those annual personality evaluations that never seemed to matter?"
"Only vaguely, sir," Seth answered.
"Well, they matter to me, Riker," Logan continued, retiring to the chair behind his desk. He beckoned Seth to take a seat opposite him. "Usually, when I interview transfers, I have more time to lead up to this, but today I have to get right to it: your first three years at the Academy showed your primary motivation to be 'defense of the people.' Explain that."
Seth tensed up a bit as he sat down. Why was this relevant? "Honestly, sir, the Academy feels like a long time ago."
"I understand that, Captain. Been even longer for me. But Guardsmen are responsible for the lives of others. A candidate's psychology is important here. So tell me: Why did you want to protect the people?"
Seth was loathe to remember the past. It reminded him of a time when he was weak.
"I was recruited to the Academy by then-Lieutenant Alain Burns. He persuaded me to join on the basis that my hometown would be under military protection."
"That's a bold promise."
"I'm from Reslo, sir. The whole region was under martial law."
"...When did you find out?"
"Shortly after I began ACT."
Logan shrugged. "Well, that explains why you went from 'defense of the people' to wanting a 'solid career path.' You check out as far as personality. I was just curious about the change."
"Anything further?"
"Marksman scores need work. Swing by the Guard range. Lieutenant Burren will lead you in the right direction. Also get some PT with Sargent Ritter until he clears you for Guard duty."
"Colonel, sir, shouldn't my fitness as a pilot qualify me?"
"You're a Guardsman now, Captain. I may need you for VIP detail if we get spread thin."
Logan's phone rang. He picked it up immediately. Hadn't he told the secretary to hold calls?
"Put him through," Logan said after a few seconds. "Go for Logan. ...Grover is on call. ...Standby." He looked at Seth, "Is your bird in the hangar?"
"Flew her in this morning."
"Replacement is on the way. Give Iria the details and she'll forward them to dispatch," Logan said before hanging up. "The rest of this will have to wait. Report to the flight line. You're on transport detail. You'll be briefed during pre-flight."
"Anything further, sir?"
"Negative. Now get moving."
"Sir," Seth saluted and departed the office.
"I'll be straight with you, Captain," Lieutenant Ortiz said as he escorted Seth through the flight line, "you're here because two guys called out already."
The hangar was impressive, housed in the bottom of the United Imperial Central Command building in the heart of the capital, Evopolis. Regular units stood alongside the crimson-colored zoids of the Council Guard. Large hangar doors lead out to the streets or the dedicated tunnel to the Council Tower, where the members held sessions and kept their offices. In the center were a trio of elevators, each large enough to carry four zoids each, used for raising flight-types to the runways and landing pads on the roof of the tall building. The sounds of maintenance and heavy machinery rebounded as Seth was led to his Sworder, currently being taxied to one of the elevators. Every eye not busy with some chore watched the silver bird with awe. It wasn't every day they saw a zoid that was still largely-classified.
"MacRae was supposed to land his Redler here this morning, but lost hydraulics over Jocelae. Grover was supposed to be on call to sub, but nobody told us he got his arm busted up in a bar fight two nights ago, so Logan will have him court marshaled within the hour."
"More paperwork for the Colonel, then," Seth remarked. Logan surely didn't need anything else on his plate.
"It's his zoo, so he might as well deal with the monkeys," Ortiz said as they reached the Sworder and Seth climbed up to the cockpit. "You're flying escort for the Councilmen from Sovàn. Apparently they've got some emergency meeting with their local leadership, and since they're all in one Hammerhead, they need a full fighter escort. You'll be flying in tandem with the three Redlers MacRae was supposed to be leading." The elevator began its ascent, bringing the Sworder, Seth, Ortiz, and multiple mechanics to the roof. Seth recognized a few of the mechanics from the crew at Yates.
"Who's flight lead now?" Seth said as he ran pre-flight diagnostics.
"That'd be you," Ortiz answered, resting his arms on the edge of the cockpit. "There's no one in the flight above first-grade Lieutenant, so lead falls to you, Captain."
"Roger that." It was the first time he'd taken over a squad someone else had assembled and trained, but he'd make do.
"Course is laid in on your tactical, and you got full payload. Radios are preset: channel one is your flight, two is the Hammerhead, three is command, four is broad. You got three wingmen, and they've all got a standard HAVCAP package, but Redler battlenet won't connect to yours, so you'll just have to remember who's got what."
"Threat level status?"
"This is a by-the-book flight," Ortiz said. "Councilman Lynette is the only one in the spotlight, and his political stance makes him friendly to the separatists. Our own state boys are more likely to take a shot at him at this point. But that's why we're here. We work outside party lines."
"Roger that."
"You'll rendezvous with the Hammerhead at the city limits. Give the crew a heads-up when you're close. Not sure they know what your bird looks like yet. When you're in formation, just keep pace with the Hammerhead, stay on their wing. They kick up a lot of turbulence on their six. It'd feel like you're driving on a washboard road."
"Nobody likes a bumpy flight." The large metal doors above them opened, flooding the elevator shaft in daylight.
"When you're an hour outside Sovàn, Command will relay instructions for landing. The rest is pretty self-explanatory: don't let the important people get shot. And hey, have fun up there."
"Six hours at idle throttle?" Seth said as the elevator reached the top. "Sounds riveting."
"Hammerhead's callsign is Sage Seven, you and your wingmen are Slate One. And one more thing, Captain," Ortiz added, stepping back to allow the canopy to close. "We gotta to paint your bird red when you get back."
Indeed, Seth's silver Sworder contrasted with the crimson Redlers awaiting him on the roof. Once the elevator was locked in position, their own cockpits closed to encase their pilots.
Selecting the first communication preset, he spoke in to his headset, "Slate One, sound off."
"Three, copy."
"Four, copy."
"Two, reading you. Welcome to Slate, Captain."
"Roger that," he answered. "I'm scheduling you three first for takeoff. Proceed to rendezvous once you're airborne and take a holding pattern. I will catch up in the air."
"Guess that means you got the faster bird," Three said. Seth supposed he'd learn their names later, if at all.
"Take to the air when cleared, Slate," Seth finished his instructions. His role in the Guard was as-yet undecided. It wasn't prudent to make friends with these pilots if he wasn't destined to lead them in the long run.
In good time the Redlers were airborne, and Seth shortly after. The hundreds of buildings below reminded him he was above a civilian population, where supersonic flight was prohibited without special dispensation. It was hard not to exceed the limit, given the powerful engines in this beast. He never had to consider it before, since Yates was a remote installation, far removed from civilian eyes.
Nevertheless, he soon joined his Redlers at the rendezvous point as the Hammerhead was approaching.
"Sage Seven, this is Slate One Actual," he called to his new charge. "Escorts are on station. How copy, over?"
"Slate One, Sage Seven, reading you in the clear," the Hammerhead pilot answered. "Two minutes to rendezvous."
"Sage, be advised, fighter escort is mixed platform: three type Redlers, leader type Sworder."
"Roger that, Slate. Guard command did mention a substitution. However, still unclear what you mean by 'Sworder.'"
"You'll see in a minute, Sage. Slate One out."
Seth laid in a course to intercept the Hammerhead and the Redlers formed on his wing. Once they had visual on one another they radioed confirmation and fell into formation, where Seth and the Hammerhead pilot could make eye contact through the canopy glass.
"Slate, Sage," he called. "I think I know what you mean by 'Sworder,' now. Impressive bird you got there."
"Copy that, Sage," Seth responded. "Though I'd appreciate it if you could open your throttle a bit. We're pretty close to my stall speed."
"Roger that, Slate. Package should appreciate an early arrival."
The Hammerhead gained speed, allowing Seth to fly without needing additional lift from the arm thrusters.
Twenty minutes underway, they got a transmission from command.
"Slate One, this is Watchtower. You are now exiting Guard-controlled airspace. Task one escort to Overwatch rotation at fifteen thousand. Sage Seven will relay further instructions from civilian ATC."
"Roger that, Watchtower. See you on our return. Slate One out." Then, to Sage, he called, "Slate One Actual to Sage Seven, we have reached civilian airspace. You have the lead on comms. Slate Flight will begin Overwatch rotation."
"Copy, Slate. If I may ask, which one of you is taking the first leg?"
It was sort of an odd question, but there was no harm in answering. "Slate One-One will take the first rotation."
"Roger that. Uh, would you mind holding off on starting that rotation for just a minute?"
"Sage, would you mind clarifying?"
"Bit of a private joke in the cockpit, Slate. Word is one of the VIPs on board killed your Sworder program. Thought you might want to show off a little bit."
"Roger that," Seth replied. "Holding for your signal." Logic told him the cancellation of the Sworder program was just politics, but his pride as a pilot couldn't resist the chance to show them just what they had decided wasn't worth their money.
"This is gonna be sweet," Lieutenant Bernard quipped as the Sworder pilot radioed his confirmation. "Can't wait to see the look on his face!"
Major Preston couldn't wait for the next duty rotation. Flying an executive Hammerhead was a very comfortable job in the Council guard, especially compared to the poor bastards in ceremonial duty. But having this nitwit lieutenant for a copilot added undue stress to the occupation, and Preston was especially regretting putting Bernard in charge of the radio for this journey. It was highly unprofessional to bring VIPs to the cockpit under the pretext of a tour just to show off.
"Ah, quit sulking, Major," his copilot said, eyeing the Sworder flying just outside the forward-starboard window, the whine of its engines audible even from inside the Hammerhead cockpit. "If it wasn't for him, we'd have hundreds of those birds instead of just one."
"What makes you think that's the only one?" Preston countered.
"Sure, there's probably about ten of them," Bernard admitted, "but if the army had a thousand, then half of us can retire. No one would stand a chance against those things."
"They're classified zoids, Lieutenant. How would you know what they could do?"
"An academy buddy of mine was riding convoy escort during the Warrick Siege. He said they came under fire from insurgents one day, then their air support came." He pointed to the silver arrow outside. "A squad of those things blasted them cockroaches like they were nothing!"
"Your friend talks too much," Preston said, a sentiment he would have liked to voice to Lieutenant Bernard himself. Weapon systems were classified for a reason, especially if they were active in the field.
Finally, if nothing else but to shut Bernard up, crewman Lundgren returned to the cockpit with Councilman Lynette and his family.
"Major Preston, sir," Lundgren said, announcing their presence. "Councilman Stephan Lynette, his wife Rosslyn, their daughter Elisi."
The Councilman and his wife were rather young for such a high public office, their daughter no more than six years old. They made for a very photogenic family.
"Welcome aboard, Councilman," Preston replied out of respect for the office.
"Thank you, Major," he answered.
"Welcome aboard," Bernard greeted them with more enthusiasm. "Thought you folks might want to take a look at the special escort we have today."
"Well, this is a treat, isn't it, Elisi?" the wife said happily.
"There it is, right outside," the Lieutenant indicated the unique fighter outside the window.
"Let's take a look," the Councilman said, picking up his daughter for a better view.
"Pretty!" the girl said when she saw the silvery zoid.
"I thought Guard zoids were painted red..." the Councilman asked.
"Probably a recent acquisition, Councilman," Preston answered. "We were supposed to have four Redlers flying with us, but there was a late substitution."
"What exactly is that?" the wife asked.
"That's an Interceptor, ma'am. The pilot's called it a 'Sworder.'" Preston then supposed the Lieutenant would blurt it out if he didn't say anything. "My copilot tells me they cleaned house during the Warrick Siege."
Preston didn't look at how the Councilman behaved at these words. Instead, he watched the Lieutenant, who was eyeing the Councilman's reaction.
"It's about to start Overwatch, if you want to see how it flies," Bernard said. He couldn't wait to show it off. "It'll climb to fifteen thousand meters to watch for any threats."
"Well, let's see," the Councilman said. He was very calm about facing the project he cancelled.
"Okay, then, keep your eyes peeled," Bernard answered. He then clicked on the radio and called to the Sworder pilot, "Sage Seven to Slate One Actual, you are go for Overwatch."
"Roger that, Sage; go for Overwatch," the pilot answered.
The Sworder pitched up slightly, losing a bit of airspeed. The whine of the engines escalated to a scream until the afterburners lit, scorching bright blue, and the scream became an almighty roar. The silver bird shot forward like a bullet and thundered into the sky above as if gravity were reversed. Seconds later, the only evidence it shared their airspace was a faint contrail from its engines.
The Lieutenant whistled in awe. Preston had to admit it was impressive. He spared a glance at the Councilman to see his eyes had widened. The little girl in his arms was even more amazed.
"Daddy, where did it go?" she asked.
"It's right there, young lady," Bernard said, pointing to a dot on the radar screen. "It's going to fly above us for a while, but after a little while it will come back and one of the Redlers will take its place."
"I've always wondered why they rotated," the wife asked.
"It's for the escort pilots," Preston answered. "This is a six hour flight, and their cockpits are pretty cramped. The routine breaks up the monotony and keeps them alert."
"It is an impressive machine," the Councilman remarked.
Bernard's face betrayed a feeling of disappointment. He was really hoping the Councilman would be gobsmacked, having finally witnessed the incredible weapon he'd helped dismantle. Preston took solace in seeing Bernard knocked down a few pegs.
But the next duty rotation still couldn't come soon enough.