Well, this is gonna be a hell of a posting.
Not 2 days ago Captain Anderson, yes, THE Captain Anderson, asked me to join his crew on the SSV Normandy for some "need-to know basis" kind of mission. I had heard of the Normandy from the grapevine in my old squadron, some kind of experimental stealth frigate. Supposedly this ship had some serious tech crammed into it, and came at a hefty price tag. God, I wish they'd just throw the fly boys a bone and fix our damn piece-of-shit trident's missile capsules. I bet this thing could have funded a thousand fighters, just from what I've heard.
And now, I was going to see and behold.
I don't know what to think of this. Why the hell does a frigate want a fighter pilot? Air-to-ground? Close Air Support? I could only guess, but, nevertheless, I was always down for another adventure. Sure, I had to leave my boys behind in Texas, the Long Star Gunfighters, but I'd be lying if i didn't see the, perks, of a change in scenery.
For one, "Danger Zone" won't get me a mandatory "extended" physical training session. You see, there's an old tradition in the Alliance Navy dating back to the days of the United States. If any Navy fighter pilot was caught playing that song, they were marked for some "discipling" by his squadron mates. Nothing violent, but let's just say my first wingman got caught, and paid the price with a food firing squad in the mess with whipped cream and cold stew.
But know I'm not in a squadron? No wingman? Freedom to bump those 1980s classics my parents played 24/7. What can I say, I have my father's ear.
I was lost in these thoughts as I walked through the Citadel to the docking bay near C-SEC. I was luging around my footlocker's worth of things I would have aboard the Normandy, not enjoying how my bag's strap was digging into my shoulder. Never thought to ask for a replacement since my first assignment. Oh well.
I eventually made it to the elevator to the docking hangar, keying in the right floor. I clutched my bag strap like it was my life line. Okay, deep breaths. There was lots of chatter from the Lone Star boys around him. Mostly rumors about his past, but there was one thing I knew for a fact: That he was very close with his now-XO, Commander John Shephard.
And everyone knows who Shephard is. Damn war hero. Held off the bats in the Skyllian Blitz singlehandedly, got the Star of Terra for that. He was practically a saint in the grunt's books, even had a thing where we joshed around new recruits that were trying *so* hard to be like him. You could always tell who those guys where. They were always more, let's says, "enthusiastic" about their reasons for joining up. Less of those types once I got sorted to Fighter Weapons School, but damn if those annoying-ass recruits were a dime-a-dozen in the marines.
I always held respect for the man, I mean, how could I not? I've heard he's a nice guy. But, like any rumor, i couldn't tell if it was the propaganda talking or the idiotic musings of grunts and the like.
Well, I'll know soon enough. Once this damn elevator starts moving faster than 1 meter per eternity.
Eventually, I arrived at the docking bay, and immediately I saw Captain Anderson and Shepard standing at the dock. I guess I was getting a proper greeting. How about that for hospitality?
"Bruce 'ace' MacKinnon, welcome abord, son" Anderson said as I was walking towards the two. Yeah, "Ace." That was my call sign. But I guess my "antics" in the Long Star Gunfighters had gained an audience outside the fly boys in the Alliance. I gave a little smirk but wiped it off my face and gave a salute to the captain.
"Reporting for duty, Captain Anderson."
"At ease, MacKinnon," Anderson said "My pilot has told us an earful about you," Shepard chuckled a bit, his armed crossed in front of him. He offered a handshake. But what did he mean about "his pilot?" Someone been talking shit? Well, it doesn't seem bad, Anderson's demeanor conveyed that. I wondered who this pilot was that gave him an "earful".
I shook Anderson's hand "It's a pleasure Captain." Anderson was a man that commanded respect. A true military man, almost statesman-like, with a grizzled complexion and eyes that had seen it all.
"Welcome Aboard MacKinnon," Shephard said, smiling with a toothy grin as he also went for a handshake. He was a large man, decked out in his N7 armor, red and white stripe painted down the right side. He had a predator at his side, modded out almost beyond recognition. He seemed quite friendly. I guess it wasn't all propaganda? Good first impression.
They walked down the catwalk to the airlock, with me in tow. The ship was an absolute beauty of a frigate. Sleek, dart-like, looked like an old-school supersonic jet. My heart was stirred up. I had a good feeling about this, but I'd be damned if a pang of nervousness didn't seep in to. What kind of mission was "top-secret" and needed an experimental stealth frigate and a fighter pilot?
This should be fun.
We stepped into the airlock, and as it cycled, Anderson turned to me with Shepard over their shoulders. "Now, if I'm correct you might know my pilot from your academy days." He said with a straight face, Shephard with an almost-knowing smirk on his face.
Wait, no way. It couldn't be. Not that crazy crippled bastard, right? I heard he was some kind of big-shot now, but surely it wasn't Mr. top of the class, right?
As I stepped into the cockpit, a familiar voice came from behind the pilot's seat. "Well, well, well if it isn't Mr. bargain-bin Goose." His seat turned all the way around to reveal an old academy friend that I hadn't spoken to in a long while.
Joker.
Yeah, I did have a pretty slick mustache, and if the alliance ever regulates facial hair again, you can call me a mutineer. Only Joker would make such dated references, and no, I still did not think he was funny in the slightest. His callsign was awfully ironic, as most were.
Except mine of course.
"And if it isn't glass legs himself." I chuckled with reserved joy, knowing I couldn't get too comfortable too fast being the FNG and all, at least around my superior officers. I knew Joker in my academy days. Always busted his ass. Felt like he had to prove something. We had plenty of friendly wagers, and I'd like to say we were even, but the truth is, he was too damn good. Maybe all that brain power for his legs went to his flying. "Good to see you, Joker. Looks like you got yourself made."
"Pff, Yeah! The Normandy is the sweetest girl a man could ask for, and she's allllll mine," Joker said with joy in his face, then to abrupt seriousness as he looked at Anderson "um, no offense captain. I trust you got to show this new blood the rest of my beauty"
"None taken joker, just don't get us killed and you can have her. And yes, lets continue MacKinnon" Anderson said as he turned away to lead me to the odd-looking CIC. I shot joker a "we'll hang later" look and a mock two-finger salute. I had never seen a CIC anything like this. It was large and somewhat triangular, with some kind of platform in the center, I assume that's where Anderson would be, but the Alliance never put the commander in such an, *odd* place. I had a quizzical expression on my face, and I guess Shephard had taken notice.
"Turian style CIC. Weird, right?" Shepard said gesturing towards the command platform.
"Yeah, no kidding, like a King overlooking his subjects. I guess turians like that visible hierarchy sort of thing,", I mused. It wasn't very profound. I mean their government is literally called the "Turian Hierarchy."
"It's been surprisingly effective so far, as...alien... as it looks. Those turians are onto something. This cross-species venture turned out fine here, and in many other ways on the ship," Shepard gestured around to point out some of the irregularities from Alliance standards around the design.
"This ship's a hell of a way to burry a hatchet, that's for sure," Anderson gave a chuckle at that comment. I knew he was around for first contact and was involved in some of the fighting. Maybe I'd get some stories out of him one day.
We walked around the ship, with the two pointing out various parts of the ship. I met the doctor, Chakwas, I think her name was. She seemed to know the commander pretty well, given their friendly banter. Finally, after checking out that *gargantuan* drive core that i will definitely pry Adams over later, we found our way to the hangar.
And my brand spankin' new fighter jet.
"And here's…" Shepard slapped the side of the jet with authority, "…your new office," Shepard said as we gazed upon the fighter for the first time. Brand new SX-7 Interceptor, or "Fighting Falcon" as we called it after an old fighter jet the F-16 back on earth, as they filed similar roles. "Ready to customize and fit to mission parameters. Right now, we have it fit for multi-purpose, but that'll change as the mission changes."
It was a familiar sight, and a beautiful one. Would bring a tear to any airman's eye. Twin Rolls Royce Model 5 antimatter thrusters, twin 20mm M120-A "Vulcan IV" gimbal-assisted mass accelerator cannons, sleek design, turning rate outclassing any alien fighter, and atmospheric eezo-projected airfoils, and that was just what I knew was default. The thing was a flying lawn dart in atmo, but damn if that didn't allow me to pull some crazy shit at times. Earned me my callsign, after all.
No way, they put a buzzsaw on this thing?
Yeah, they really put that beast of a gun on there. Technically, it was called the M230-G "Judgement" Air-to-Ground Autocannon, but the Navy quickly gave it a punchier nickname due to its characteristic sound. If you heard the buzzsaw fire, you weren't the target, so they said. If you were, you had a 30mm High-explosive incendiary round headed straight for your squad. Let's just say many bat slavers had some "judgement" laid down upon them, and damn if they didn't deserve it.
As I was ogling my new aircraft, and its new pristine shine, Anderson put his hand on my shoulder. "We went all out to make sure you could support our ground team, Shepard will just laze the target and the rest is yours."
"Thank you, captain, I think this set-up will do just fine." I said with some humor in my voice, getting a chuckle from the two.
Shepard spoke up, arms crossed in front of him in a powerful stance. "You can come down here and play around with her to your hearts content after you stow your things and get a sleeper pod assignment. Talk to Chakwas and she can get you sorted, and I'm sure she'll want a checkup from you too," Shephard said with a smirk, knowing that the FNG treatment awaited him in medical.
"Thank you, Shepard. You know, I always kind of liked to stick around the hangar bay for bunk assignments, so is it okay if a requisition a cot down here in case I start burning the mid-night oil?" The truth is, if I was around my ship, my heart was at calm. Always something to tinker with, make more deadly. It was my therapy of sorts.
"Sure thing, ace. Just make sure you're always mission ready and we're straight." He carried himself with a heroic demeanor, like I was talking to Lancelot or something. Something just seemed...noble about this man. He always made eye contact, fully engaged with the topic at hand. A man who I could damn well respect and take a fire support order from.
"Alright, Ace. Just letting you know, we're not too formal around here when we're not in an operation, as you could probably tell already," Anderson had a relaxed posture to him, as if I was talking to an old acquaintance. "We run this ship tight when were on the clock though, so don't get too comfortable. I trust my crew to know when it's game time."
I smiled at that. I had gotten used to the rough and rowdy environment of a fighter squadron, and I really did not want to give that up. I don't know if I was gonna pull any of the heinous shit I usually would, but not having to force out a "yes sir" every time I wanted to talk to my superior officer was a relief.
"That's good to hear sir, would be a bit hard for the likes of me to keep my antics buttoned up anyway," I joked, Shepard just returned a small smile and let his arms down to the sides of his hips.
"Pilots, man. Always the fun guys. I think this op will be a first of many, Ace. Talk to you later, and welcome aboard." I shook Shepard and Anderson's hands, and they left me to my own devices, bombs, guns, and wrenches.
Shepard stopped and made an about face just as he was leaving, "oh, and just letting you know, you're new piece is awaiting you in the cockpit of the fighter. I think you'll like it." I guess that means I won't have to requisition a sidearm, and i wonder what a ship like this would assign as a sidearm to a pilot. Given his comment, I was hopeful that it was a nice one. I gave him an acknowledging nod.
I gave the two a salute, and they dismissed me to get sorted aboard. First order of business, check out this fighter and see how I tune her up. Apparently, we were set to depart for Eden Prime in a few hours. Talk about a trial by fire. Still have no idea what this mission is all about, all I know is they need someone for some short-range recon and maybe some close air support.
I unpacked my flight suit and put it on the wall near the drive core behind my fighter. I took a look at my helmet and rebreather, inspecting it for any cracks or malfunctions. I may or may not have snuck in some music into its on-board software, but no one needed to know that. I investigated my reflection. Stache looked good, I looked good, and I was ready to fly high.
I was going to be quite busy for the next couple of hours.
3 Hours later…
So I've finally got my fighter set up just how I like it. I always turn down the inertial dampeners to 50% strength. People called my crazy for doing it, but I just have to really feel the movement of the jet, or I'll be just as bad as any rookie. Of course, I always have a failsafe on so I never go into G-LOC, and I knew that I could handle about 20 Gs at that setting before it became detrimental to my skill, and the mission. G-LOC really was only a problem at 25 Gs or more. Those inertial dampeners really let me turn on a dime.
I had some of the crew help me loading up the weapons system, as well as fitting the missile pods with Jericho III Kinetic Bombardment armament. Those were really a last resort for this mission, if I really needed to bring the sky down, two of them were ready to use. They technically were completely absent of explosives but fired a hyper-dense rod of metal at 50% C after a missile guided it to its target. Sheer Kinetic energy was the only boom factor, and its namesake was testament to its bunker-busting capabilities.
Alright, all done here, lets go catch up with Joker, and hopefully avoid that Turian Spectre onboard.
I only caught a glimpse of him in the mess, but Nihilus, I think his name was, looked like the most stereotypical turian hardass I've ever seen. He was a damn council spectre, too.
Now THAT got me a bit nervous, if I'm cutting through my non-chalant fighter pilot exterior. Why the hell was a spectre aboard a ship when Anderson assured the crew that this was a simple shakedown run? Something is up, and a part of me finds that pretty fun, but my better conscious and self-preservation instinct was having none of it.
I made sure my new crew uniform looked nice enough, and punched the button to send the elevator up to the CIC. I gave brief greetings to Pressley and some other crew members whom I hadn't met yet. When I came into the cockpit, Joker was lining up a Relay jump.
"Hey Joker, a hundred credits says you drift more than 2000k this jump," I chose a wager as the proper way to announce my presence to Joker, as wagers we're almost a standard greeting with our history in the Academy.
"So that's how its gonna be, huh?" Joker gave me a look of mischief. "You're on, jackass, just watch this shit."
Joker was now in the zone, checking transit mass to the slimmest of margins, taking us in with an attack angle nearly pixel perfect to the computer course plot. He head and eyes were perfectly fixed on his dash. The Relay lit up, and he counted down the jump.
"Hitting the relay in 3…2…1, aaaaaaanddd boom." Joker not attentively watched his computer for post-jump metrics was we were flung across space to the next relay. "Hope you're ready to lose, FNG." He jawed at me with a little friendly sarcasm, "You can have your little fighter jet, I know my big beautiful baby like no one else."
"Yeah you always did like them big didn't ya," I returned the banter. Joker feigned an injury to his side from the jab.
"Owwww, low blow, ace." The jump then just completed, and that's when I realized that Nihilus and Shepard had joined us in the cockpit, and I had no idea how long they was there for. I mentally prepared for some discipline. I shot him quick look, and there expressions were stoic. I guess they simply didn't really care.
"Thrusters…check, Navigation…check, Internal Emissions Sink engaged…. All systems online," joker flatly said now knowing that Nihlus and Shepard had joined us. "Drift.. just under 1500k." He turned to me and mouthed something to the tune of "get fucked" as I recoiled in disappointment. Damnit.
"1500 is good, your captain will be pleased," Nihilus caught my attention just before departing the cockpit. Wow, that guy it's a bucket of fun.
"I hate that guy, also gimme my money bitch," I resigned to transferring the credits on my omni-tool. Maybe another day I'll get it back.
"You think having a Spectre onboard is fun?" Shepard said sarcastically, moving up behind Joker's chair.
"Oh, just a bundle of joy those types," Joker gesticulated dramatically. "But in all seriousness, why is a council Spectre on a shakedown run? Doesn't it seem odd?"
Shepard pondered that briefly, putting his hand on his chin. "You're telling me, it does seem odd."
Kaidan, I think his name was, who was sitting in busy silence in the corner, decided to speak up now. He seems like the strong silent type-a guy. I'm sure I'll get to know him at some point. "I mean, the council did fund this project, so they could just be keeping an eye on their investment." I hadn't considered that. I certainly hope he's right and we aren't going on some galaxy-altering suicide mission.
But that would be kinda sick.
Just as I was about to make a comment, Captain Anderson came over the radio. "Joker, tell the commander to meet me in the comm room for a briefing. And if Ace is up there, tell him to suit up and get pre-flight checks done. It's almost go-time."
"Aye sir." Joker turned to me and Shepard. "Well, no more fucking around I guess."
That was my queue to suit up.
Helmet, Check. Emergency Rebreather, Check. Gloves, Check. Suit, Check. Back-up gun, Check. G-suit, Check. I patted around my body checking that everything was where I needed to be for flight.
Damn I have the coolest job in the world.
I climbed the fighter from the back as it was hanging from the launch catapult on the ceiling of the hangar. Gradually, I slipped myself down into the open cockpit and fastened my harnesses. I closed the canopy up and began initializing systems. Time for pre-flights. These were mostly redundant, but whatever makes Anderson feel better.
"Okay joker, radio check."
Joker purposely put his mic to max volume. "CHECK CHECK IS THIS THING ON?" I jumped in my seat, and if it weren't for my harnesses already done, I'd have hit my head on the canopy.
"You're a fuck, you know that?" I adjusted my flight wheel and tested the aileron pedals.
"Thank you, ace. I consider that a high compliment."
I regained my composure and initialized my helmet-fighter HUD link. "Okay, joker, anyway pre-flights,"
I started rattling off the procedure to Joker. "Thrusters, go flight. Nav, go flight. Weapons, go flight. Atmo airfoil, go flight. Pussy mode, go flight."
Joker caught that last one and let out a light laugh. "Wait, what the fuck is pussy mode?"
"Inertial dampeners, of course." I flatly replied.
"Right, you maniac." Joker mumbled through the comm.
Suddenly, Joker sounded worried, almost fearful, and commed on mission-wide channel. "Hold on, transmission from Eden Prime, I'll broadcast it to the comm room and to you, ace."
Just then, my comm lit up with a video of some kind of battle. Wait, that's Eden Prime. Alliance Soldiers were being viciously attacked by some unknown enemy force. Bullets and explosions blanketed the battlefield. Alliance forces were getting decimated. There were almost-robotic noises in the feed, with radio chatter over it. And all the sudden, a deafening thunderous noise silence the battlefield, the grunts looking absolutely petrified. The camera panned up to some king of Cthulhu-looking monstrosity. I started breathing a little harder at the sight, my eyes glued to the eldritch dreadnought.
Then it cut to static.
"Reverse and hold at 38.5," Anderson told joker to roll the video back to the unknown vessel.
"Lord, have mercy," I exclaimed in a hushed tone. I was met with a few seconds of silence. Anderson then simply stated what we were all thinking.
"This mission just got a lot more complicated."
Thanks for reading! This idea has always been at the back of my head when I was reading other fan fictions. I've always been a fan of inversions of expectations, like in Halo 3 ODST where you're not some unflappable badass superhuman, but you're just a grunt. That's what I aim to do with this. Of course, Ace is still an extraordinary pilot, but his role is limited because of his expertise.
And yes, this will have Tali getting friendly with a fighter pilot. Let's see where this goes.
This is my first attempt at this kind of writing, so all critiques are welcome and well-taken. Thank you!
