25 January 2006
"Paperwork. The bane of my existence."
I let out a small grunt into the office. I drop my pen and stretch. My back gives a few satisfying pops. I then look across my desk to make sure it's still organized.
Yep, the papers are still in a neat stack.
The only other thing resting on my desk is a photograph tucked into a frame on the side. The rest is perfectly bland.
I close my eyes and then send a hand back through my blonde hair neatly tied into a ponytail. The door creaks open and a sharply dressed man comes through.
"Colonel?"
My blue eyes snap open and I consciously make sure that any fatigue previously shown immediately disappears. They easily zero in on the man who stands rigid before me.
"Yes, Sergeant Peterson?"
"Mam, you had asked to be told when the documentary was about to start?"
A moment of silence passes. My gaze glazes over for a second as I stare through the Sergeant. It unconsciously drifts to the photograph. Four people, pilots by their attire, stand together. Two females up front stand back to back facing the camera with their arms crossed. Both of them look like younger versions of me. To the left next to me, the one with short hair touching her shoulders, stands a tall jock. A smirk can be seen as he flips the camera the bird. To the right of the one with a tightly braided bun is an average man with oil stains on his face. A simple raised hand is shown.
A second passes by before I realize my gaze has wondered. My eyes snap back to the Sergeant and then to the paper in front of me.
"One moment."
I take the pen and quickly sign my name, Elisabeth Achterberg. After that, I move from my seat and head to the door. I nod to Peterson as I move by to get my heavy coat from the rack.
"Thank you, Sergeant. Feel free to come along if you want to watch as well."
"Where are you headed to Mam?"
"The lounge."
"Mam?"
"It's the place with the largest television and I don't doubt it's being used for this. This little documentary has been the talk of the base if not the entire air force."
Peterson follows behind me as I stride towards the lobby. Peterson manages to get his own coat on quickly enough and we both exit out into the cold I shoot a look out across the snowy wonderland. It's not snowing now thankfully. We both start jogging to a smaller building down the line.
"How are you liking Heierlark Base, Sergeant?"
I glance back to Peterson and see him make a small shrug.
"It's definitely ... colder than I expected."
"The base or the locals?"
"Bo-uh. Base, of course."
I turn around to hide a smirk when I see his quick grimace. The people around here might understand what happened, but bruised national pride doesn't disappear just because you're now citizens of a new country.
Especially if said country caused said bruised pride. The nukes are carefully not mentioned.
"You transferred here from Sand Island?"
"Yes, Mam."
"Has Colonel Longstreet left yet?"
"Word had it that the changing of the guard would happen about a week after I left, Mam."
"Good for him. Colonel Perrault was his replacement, right?"
"Yes, mam."
I let out a quiet snort.
I feel sorry for Sand Island. I only met him once but from what I've heard that stick up his ass hasn't changed at all.
Peterson and I arrive at the entrance to the building jokingly referred to as 'entertainment operations'. I pause for a moment just before going in.
"Oh, and Peterson?"
I turn around to look at him and he stares back quizzically.
"Mam?"
I give Peterson a small smirk.
"Don't worry about the locals. Give them a couple of decades and they might start saying hello."
"-and so his rant continues on and on. The technicians to the side are sick of it, we're sick of it, hell even he looked sick of it. All of this because one poor sob made the mistake of answering the bastard's question of 'where do you all see yourselves in five years.' So he's finally through with his tirade and finishes with, 'And that's where you all will be. Scrubbing the latrines with your faces because none of you are good enough to even look straight!' "
I sigh with a disgusted look. We're all sitting here listening to the latest story of the newest nugget instructor after the old one was transferred. The man might be knowledgeable in certain things but we all seem forced to learn more about how to shout than the finer details of flying a jet. We call him the bull because all he sees is red. The groans heard all around attest to this.
"But wait, the best part's next." The narrator's face splits into a grin. "Once he's finished he finally notices that we're all standing a little straighter and the technicians too! He stands proud for a moment but then frowns like he's realizing, 'Wait a minute. I'm not respected here.' "
A few chuckles come from those who know what's coming next.
"And sure enough. He turns around and guess who's standing behind him, staring him down?"
Everyone waits expectantly and the nugget's grin turns blinding.
"Now I'm right in front of him so all I hear at first is some woman saying, 'Why Major Timmons, I didn't realize that you were a marine drill instructor.' "
I hear someone in front of me give a small hiss and a bark of laughter behind me.
"He immediately snaps to attention and his hand - you've should have seen it - his hand nearly collides with his forehead. He quickly stands to the side and that's when I finally see who it is. Our savior is Colonel Achterberg herself, with the most unamused face I've ever had the fortune of seeing. Timmons is just looking straight into the hangar wall. The man looked like he swallowed a real nasty lime."
Everyone lets out a chuckle. I and those who know her laugh for a particular reason. The Colonel doesn't often speak and she tends to delegate most of the small things to her subordinates but you quickly learn not to cross her. She doesn't yell. It would almost be better if she did. Instead, she talks to you like a parent to a child or an elder sister to a younger brother. When she's finished chewing you out, you just feel stupid.
That's not your punishment though. Instead, you get grounded and forced to deal with any paperwork required. Then, and especially if you don't have any, you're labeled her temporary assistant and forced to follow her. This includes standing near her as she does her work around the base. All along you're to remain quiet. Not a peep at all. This is among other things. We call it being "brevit demoted." One guy said it almost counted as a war crime.
One other guy asks, "So what happened?"
The nugget shrugs and leans back into his chair.
"Nothing. Or at least nothing there. She let us relax and then introduced herself. A small little speech and then we were off following the Bull for the rest."
A few guys shake their head. The same guy as before prods, "What did the other nugget say again?"
The narrator thinks for a second and then dramatically stands up straight with an overly serious expression.
" 'I'm going to be part of the aggressors, sir!' "
I shake my head at that.
"Good luck to him, then. Only a select few get to join."
A fellow pilot next to me nudges my side, "You would know, wouldn't you, Allen?"
Everyone looks to me and I acknowledge them with a smile.
"Yes. Cost me more than I would have liked, but yes."
"Cost?" A random officer asks.
My friend stands up and spreads his arms.
"You guys are looking at Mr. Secretary. Poor bastard's payment for his skills being recognized is being the one with the most brevit demotions."
I grimace and everyone else laughs. I sigh.
"Laugh it up now but I'm graduating real soon." I stare down my associate with a soft glare. "It's Mr. Aggressor now."
"Not yet, Hamilton."
The new voice causes my eyes to widen and a spark of chill to run down my back. Everyone not already standing jerks to attention. At least one chair falls over. All of us turn to look at the lounge's entrance where Colonel Achterberg and Senior Master Sergeant Peterson are standing.
The Colonel's usual placid expression breaks unusually fast. A small smile forms on her face and she actually waves an arm at us.
"At ease."
She easily moves through the men and few women returning to what counts for relaxation when in the presence of a superior. Nobody is brave enough to leave. She looks around before taking a seat facing the muted television screen in the room.
"I heard there is a particular documentary scheduled to come on soon on OBS. Judging by the increased presence in the lounge and not … say … the bar, it means many of you are waiting to watch it as well?"
We all share looks. One brave soul tries to clarify.
"Are you waiting for the Belkan War documentary?"
Achterberg gives a small nod.
The same girl smiles and gives an affirmative, "Yes, Mam!"
Achterberg gives another acknowledging nod before looking around once more.
"Thank you. By all means, don't let my presence keep you from enjoying your down time. If I wanted to-" Her gaze is caught by the small chalkboard which counts each person's brevit tallies by their initials and rank. Her lips twitch up for a second before being forced down and she continues. "-change the scoreboard, I wouldn't do it during a social gathering. I would wait until formations the next morning."
Everyone manages to tear their focus away from the Colonel after a couple of uncomfortable laughs. I make a note to not drink anything tonight to be ready for tomorrow's gathering. The girl who spoke up grabs the remote and unmutes the television. Commercials are on but the next listing is the documentary. We all sit back or stand to wait ...
… that is, until the last commercial before the show starts slaps us all in the face.
"You've gotta be fuckin' with me."
Whoever voiced it goes unnoticed but it's a feeling we all share. On the screen is an army ad in all its cursed charm.
Sergeant Peterson looks like he's killing himself trying to keep from laughing and the Colonel herself has an impressively complex expression. Mortification, disbelief, annoyance, and humor are all wrapped into one.
Peterson covers his face and laughs, "The grunts must have paid a pretty penny for this."
Achterberg shakes her head and sighs, "No, this is entirely OBC and their bad timing. They've been going downhill for years."
The room manages to laugh at the joke for what it is. After that, the remaining tenseness in the room disappears. The commercial passes with a few jeers at the last second until what we've been waiting for finally comes on.
A Black Screen
A date and a vague location fades in with gunfire being heard.
"Oh, him? Yeah, I know him. It's going to take awhile … it happened years ago."
I barely catch Achterberg's whisper.
"How? He's dead? Isn't he?"
I almost focus in on her but I consciously bring myself back to the video so that I don't miss anything.
Wide-screen shot of an unknown soldier is shown with the man's face being hidden by the top bar.
"Did you know … that there are three kinds of aces? Those who seek strength. Those who live for pride. And those who can read the tide of battle. Those are the three.
...
And him?
...
He was a true ace."
Author's Notes (10/31/2017):
Hello Reader, welcome to another of my stories I'm likely never to finish. As of right now I have a backlog of 4 chapters after this one which I will publish after proofreading them, one day after the next, for a total of 5 chapters. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and will enjoy the next 4. The one after this will be documentary style but the three after that will be normal story.
Canon here is considered anything from the Ace Combat Zero and Ace Combat 5 games and those games only. Neither the Wiki information nor even the backstory from official websites will be considered canon. They might be used but don't expect them to be so.
Until tomorrow/next chapter.