The Officer's Mess hall was bouncing that night – the Flight Sergeants and lower ranks had been invited up to join the officers for the evening, and Senior Command had seen to it that a case of ancient soft drinks was left suggestively in the centre of the room, much to the delight of the younger pilots present. At the far end of the hall, a trio from the tech & maintenance division had set up an impromptu stage on old packing cases and were attempting a performance that those who were slightly hard of hearing – or even completely deaf – might describe as vaguely musical in nature.
Midway down the hall, Cray, Kwesi, Beta and two other young Flight Sergeants were sitting at a small table, chatting amongst themselves and laughing as they reminisced over old times at Battle School. Kane sat a little apart from the group, absorbed in his own thoughts.
"…So then Tyro grabs his helmet, chucks it out the airlock and says 'And next time, don't forget to floss!'" One of Kwesi and Beta's friends - who's name was Joey - finished his story and the others erupted into fits of giggles, Cray laughing so hard that he somehow managed to bang his head on the table, causing even more hysterics among the youngsters.
Although pilots were hand picked for their outstanding performance during academy simulator tests while still on Earth, they were still required to attend Battle School like everyone else. However, instead of undergoing the more complex strategy training, pilot cadets were transferred to Flight School where they spent their days learning advanced combat manoeuvres, tactical formations likely to be employed and space navigation techniques. This was the point where ranks were determined; leadership and ability to manage a combat situation led to the command of a Squadron; anticipation of the enemy and strategic awareness were attributes looked for in a Space Captain; while other ranks were simply related to overall flying skill.
"That reminds me of a lad I used to know, back then." Said Cray once he'd got his breath back.
"Sven his name was – we had one hell of a laugh together. In the end the poor fella got iced for booby-trappin' the Duty Sergeant's bidet. The last thing he said before they came for him was that it was gonna be worth every freezin' cold second!" The Sergeants giggled.
"You remember Sven, Mace?" Cray asked.
There was no reply.
"C'mon, Mace? Wakey-wakey!" The Captain persisted.
Kane snapped out of his daydream.
"W-Who? Sven? Oh yeah, how could I forget 'ol bugger face." He replied gloomily.
Cray chuckled and whispered playfully to the others, just loud enough for Kane to hear. "You see lads, Private Mason here didn't get on too well with Sven 'Chomper' McBride."
"Damn right I didn't." Kane agreed. "That bastard almost bit my ear off before we were out the atmosphere!"
"To be fair, that was only after Mace described Sven's sister as… Now let me think, what was that word he used… Ah yes, 'Banging', I believe it was." Cray explained to the youngsters in a stage whisper. They shook their heads and tutted in mock disapproval, loving their inclusion in the officers' banter.
Kane was about to reply with a suitably scathing retort when Cray held up a finger. "Hold on, I'm not finished yet. I also seem to remember you referring to his mother as 'a right hotty'…"
"Well, she was." Kane protested.
"…And saying his father was an 'old crock'. In fact, I reckon the only member of his family you refrained from insulting was his pet chinchilla." Cray finished triumphantly.
"Fair point, I did forget about the rodent." Kane conceded sarcastically, amidst more giggles from the younger contingent. "But the bidet prank? Please. So last year."
"That's rich coming from the sole perpetrator of the 'starfish' prank – I did tell you not to use boiling water." Cray mocked.
"Always have to be right, don't you Chester." Replied Kane, leaning back in his seat and casting his eyes to the ceiling.
Cray had known the Squadron Leader long enough to detect a slight hint of irritation in his reply – a reference to their earlier conversation, perhaps.
"Touché my friend, touché." The Captain addressed his friend lightly, before turning to the Flight Sergeants. "Listen, why don't you boys go find some more drinks – looks to me like five-three Squadron have more than their fair share." He pointed to where Squadron Leader Dill Taggart was sitting with his flight crew.
This fact was not lost on the youngsters and they set off bent double, apparently hatching a cunning plan to repossess the soft drinks with the clever use of distractions, diversions and Kwesi's jacket.
Cray pulled his chair up in front of Kane and sat on it backwards, facing his friend. "Come on then, spit it out."
Kane looked at him blankly. "Spit what out?"
Cray rolled his eyes. "Ever since that engagement you haven't been yourself. Hell, ever since you found out about this new Commander you've been acting weird. So what's biting ya? Other than Sven of course..."
Kane smiled slightly and stared at Cray for a moment – it seemed strange to think they had first met at six years old, an unthinkably long distance away back on Earth. They had spent most of their lives together, one way and another. Both were only children, but they were nothing less than brothers to each other – albeit, brothers in arms.
"Look Cray… We just took hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives. It doesn't matter that they're Formics, they're still alive and… Well, living. And I killed them. Me, out here, from the comfort of a VR helmet. And that's not even the worst part; here we are, partying, drinking, playing music and celebrating when all we've done is start yet another war. And this time… This time it's supposed to be the end. For one of us, anyway." Kane paused and looked over his shoulder, subconsciously checking nobody else had heard.
Cray sighed heavily. "It's like we always say Mace – it's a game, just a game."
"Except it isn't a game anymore." Kane persisted. "You try telling that to the families of those buggers we just killed. Hell, you try telling that to the Commander."
"Mace, I was there too – it wasn't so bad…" Cray started but Kane cut him off.
"You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't make them crash and burn. Real ships, real people, not sims."
"Formics, Mace, not people! Aliens that want to see us all destroyed!" Cray corrected him. "And you gotta stop thinking like this – what good is it gonna do? Command will find out, you'll get yourself relieved of duty, iced and sent back to Earth on a charge, and then what'll happen to two-seven? The boys need you Mace… Hell, I need you. You and me, the best of the best. The way it's always been, right?"
Before Kane could reply, the conquering heroes – aka Kwesi, Beta, Joey and Kath – returned with their cargo of pilfered drinks. Before turning to congratulate them on their haul, Cray raised his eyebrows at Kane, who nodded slightly in return; the message was clear. The Squadron Leader had to pull himself together and get on with the task at hand. Time enough for a conscience later; they had to finish what they had started. The third and final Formic war had begun, and nothing anybody could say was going to change that.