444th Air Base, Zapland, Usea.
June 25th, 2019.
1200hrs.
"Son of a bitch…!" Mere grunted, her arms pushed through a hole where a MFD used to reside fishing for a wire that her fingers kept brushing against but never quite catching. "I swear, whoever worked on this Eagle before it was mothballed, I'm gonna strangle them."
"When I said I needed help fixing up the Eagle, I wasn't joking," another woman responded, working under the wing.
"And there's no other better Eagles out in the scrap heap?" With a huff, she pinched the tip between her ring and thumb before pulling it through to attach it to the yanked out MFD. "Like, any other plane than this cursed plane."
"If we're to meet our quota for ready planes then yes. So quit your bitching and just wire it up, Wire. Or would you like this wrench to help you?" The ratchet of the wrench stopped and Mere could hear the mechanic below her take a step out to presumably gesturing said tool in a threatening manner.
"What you could do Queen is plug in ground power for me to test the MFD," Mere chimed back as she repositioned the display before checking all the switches to make sure they're off. She heard the mechanic limp off to the ground support generator before it rumbled to life supplying ground power to the aircraft. Flipping the main power switch she checked the hud first hoping she didn't fuck up the wiring before moving to the RWR. With a click of a button the green circle came to life and seemed to work. Powering it off, she went over and flipped a switch to the MFD and looked down expectantly at it only to scowl. Giving it a light smack on the side didn't change anything either. With a shake of her head and a sigh, she flipped the main power off and glanced over the edge of the cockpit.
"Power it down." Running a hand through her light brown hair, she looked over the jumble of wires that connected to it. "Well it can't get much worse."
As soon as her words left her mouth, she felt something hit her shoulder before clanking off the edge of the cockpit. She shot a glare over at the mechanic who was walking back under the wing to continue her work.
"You're gonna eat those words," she mused. Mere opened her mouth to retort when the air raid siren began to blare. A short moment later the hanger they were in began to shake as the shockwaves of distant explosions ripped across the base.
"Don't… Don't say a fucking thing," Mere growled, her head lowered a bit in the cockpit before she continued her work inspecting each and every wire connecting to the device. Realistically, the two of them should be hitting the deck or running for some other piece of hard cover that isn't a hanger but they were getting used to the nearly weekly occasion. "Should head for some hard cover," Mere mused as she continued her work.
"Yeah, we probably should…" Queen nodded but continued to wrench away. "But, those dumbasses only go for the big runway. And if I die in this shit hole, I'll die doing what I like to do."
Outside, Mere could see people running past their hanger. The familiar hum of a jet engine powering up filled the air as the base's array of jets began to taxi out onto the runway and up into the air. The thought of how many of them would be coming back crossed her mind as she watched a Mirage take to the air followed by a F-16. She thought it's still stupid the base commander locked their FCS every time they went up to 'fight the enemy' and to 'drive them back.' What good is it for the enemy to be driven back if none of them get shot down?
Tracing one of the wires back she sighed, feeling the insulation dip to exposed and frayed wire. A small distance away was another frayed end of a failed splice. The hanger rattled above them as the shockwaves of distant explosions reached the hanger andshe just pushed through doing her job getting the wiring sorted in a piece of trash once known as a F-15C. That was her new life ever since she was transferred to the 444th squadron to atone for her crimes as they say. The first day she was assigned on base was still fresh in her mind as she was brought before the base commander McKinsey.
"1st Lieutenant Meredith "Hotwire" Andersen. Ocean Maritime Defense Force part of Eighth Carrier Air Wing, WSO of the VFA-213 the Blacklions." McKinsey rattled off looking down at an open file. Mere stood stiffly as her eyes examined the base commander. He is a short, broad shouldered man with tanned skin cropped with short snowy white hair. His posture radiated discomfort and annoyance yet his eyes were cold as he looked up at her. "Or you were before you came to my base."
Taking off his glasses he closed her file pausing as he tapped the center of it once before he straightened himself. "I was only expecting the airforce to make up all the convicts here, but it seems the Navy has their own troubled children too. And to think someone of your background and heritage would even step foot in a place like this." Mere tightened one of her hands into a fist behind her back, the other gripping her wrist as she tried to remain calm. She already got off somewhat easily since she hasn't been thrown out of the military completely, but she doesn't want to mess up as shitty of a chance she has on day one.
"And what should that imply, Commander?"
"It means that you still have some use to the military and more importantly to me." He leaned his head back a bit even though Mere stood about 4 inches taller than him. "To make myself clear, around this base you are to respect the rules, respect the guards, and to respect my authority. My word is law to you lowly convicts. Who you were is irrelevant here. From now on, your new identity will be your tac name. Until you have atoned for your crimes, Hotwire is all you will be. This is the same for all the prisoners here. You may introduce yourself to the others once you leave here but I will advise to choose wisely. I wouldn't want to drag the Andersen name any lower than you have."
Mere narrowed her eyes as her temper flared at his last statement. Her grip tightened around her wrist like yanking on the leash of a growling dog. Taking in a breath, she let it out slowly.
"Is that all, Commander?"
"One last thing, for now, you will be working with the base's mechanic to get me some of those scrap planes we have here working. Reports says that you know your way around a plane. Mead will be your cellmate so get along or else it will be solitary for you. Dismissed."
Even just thinking about it pissed Mere off to no end but she directed her anger away from McKinsey and back to whoever the hell was the electrical mechanic for this Eagle. She was sure there's more spliced wires in this plane than rivets and every little patch are so shittily done. No wonder it was sent to be mothballed.
After the air raid was over, all the convicts and personal were sent out to do some clean up. This involved moving the destroyed mock ups and filling in the craters of the fake runway. She could thank the hire ups for having some common sense to bring in some form of EOD onto the base. She only heard rumors that before some convicts found an unexploded bomb in the fake runway. It was cleared and they had atoned for their crimes with it. With a grunt, she lifted some sheet metal with the help of another convict. He was a tall lanky fellow, short blond hair that is combed over and usually had a mischievous grin on his face when he talks to anyone.
"Man, they certainly did a number on the base this time around," Tabloid huffed as he moved with Mere to throw the scrap onto a trash pile. "You think they'll finally understand that this is all fake and for show?"
"I'm just shocked they haven't taken a clue since no one has been shot down," Mere grunted as the two added their scrap to the pile. "Besides, how's the HUD now in your Mirage?"
"Oh that? Works like a charm," Tabloid smiled. "I knew once I had the Hotwire touch that it would work right as rain. Now if everything was actually linked to the guns and missiles…" he trailed off and just gave a shrug with an amused smile.
"All this flying with no weapons is really pissing me off though!" Another man joined them with a grunt as he tossed on more rubble. He was a few inches taller than Tabloid and built like a brick shithouse. It was a wonder how he even fit in the cockpit at all.
"Think of it this way Champ, since it's the commander's orders all of spares blood is on his hands." Tabloid chuckled.
"And it makes sense that power hungry asshole can't trust us convicts with any form of weapon," another man of average height, small build, and a receding hairline commented as him and a tall blond came over. With a grunt they tossed their trash onto the growing pile and Full Band huffed, wiping his hands a bit.
"All my good work for nothing huh," Mere sighed as she wiped some sweat off her brow.
"Yeah well, if it makes you happy, I've got something that might interest you all," Full Band commented, glancing around at the others when one of the guards yelled at them.
"You five, get back to work!"
With a slight nod, the five made their way towards a mound of dirt near a large crater with some shovels strewn about. Picking one up, they started to fill in the hole for some other guy to paint it black.
"I heard from a lil' birdy that we're to expect some new convicts sometime soon."
"So? This is a penal unit. Of course we're gonna get more convicts," Count scoffed.
"Well the important thing is that apparently there's quite a hot shot pilot amongst them. Might even give you a run for your money, Count." Full Band shot back. Counts smirk faltered a bit and huffed.
"Well, we'll see about that," he grunted, tossing some dirt into the hole.
"Wait, wait, wait, so what's that about a new hot shot?" Another passing prisoner spoke up and grinned. "That sounds like music to my ears! All right, how about a bet to see if this new guy can out pace Count? Anyone wanna take it up"
"Please, High Roller, we all know I will come out on top." Count's smile widened again and Mere only rolled her eyes. Glancing between the pilots surrounding her she made the first bet.
"Two insta-coffees on the new guy."
Count recoiled a bit and shot Mere an almost betrayed look. "He isn't even here and already betting against me? Come on Hotwire, you know I'm top dog here. 'Sides, how can you judge a good pilot from a bad one?"
"Not like any of us had a chance to even prove who's best in the sky either," Champ grunted as he shoved some more dirt into the hole. "Talk all you want Count but once my blood gets boilin' I'm unstoppable up there! Just you wait!"
"Once the commander lets me off my damned leash then we'll see that I truly am the best here." Count smirked as the group finished filling the hole.
"Well, talk all you want. All of this will be settled in the skies," Mere grunted as she glanced around, seeing that for the most part, everything was being cleaned up. 'New' planes were being wheeled up and stationed outside while other mechanics were getting to work setting up fake wings on the large aircraft that were hit. Was this even worth it in the end? Leaning her chin against the top of the handle she began to get lost in thought about why they were even here. Sure it was a penal unit so Osea might as well get their worth out of them in some form of diversion, but with how things are going it's not a very convincing diversion. So what, the satellites will show a large airfield with multiple strategic planes stages ready to take off to head into Erusean territory. They send out a bombing force to bomb out the large air field and meet critically low resistance. Just a handful of SAM emplacements protecting the actual important bit of the Zapland base yet no SAM, AA guns, nothing on the main airfield. What's that? They sent fighters to meet us while we're on top of their base? Well it's time to head home and wow, basically all of our aircraft had made it back home without a scratch.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she came back to reality when Tabloid gently bumped her arm. Out of everyone she's met so far in the penal unit, Tabloid was the closest person she could call a friend. The Scrap Queen, or Queen as she liked to call her, was more of a working friendship. Neither of them were there to be friends, but it was best to try and keep it on good terms and rib one another since they shared a cell. Glancing over to Tabloid he kept his stupid grin on his face. "Something on your mind?"
"Just… Thinking about what could be wrong with the Eagle… It's honestly easier to list what's not wrong with that stupid bird," she deflected a bit. It was still true that the Eagle was on her mind, she got the MFD to finally get some power to it yet the Eagle itself refused to recognize it. She'll need to rip into it further to find what's wrong. Until then, she's only reminded that she's got a Super Hornet to finish along with the Tomcat.
"You and the Scrap Queen been working on that for a while now. Why not move onto some other planes?" He asked when the guards blew a whistle yelling that work was complete and to file back onto the bus. Complying a bit, she dragged the shovel along to throw in the back of a pickup storing some of the equipment.
"It's an Ego thing really… It seemed like an easy project at first with how well put together it is but fuck were we wrong." Mere dumped the shovel into the back of the pickup before being shuffled onto the bus. Taking a seat, Tabloid took the free spot next to her. "Plus, it's good to make some spares with more people coming onto the base… That and to make up for the loses we had. I didn't see Vixen or Dud working today. Were they..?"
Mere trailed off and looked at Tabloid. His bright eyes dimmed a bit as he looked down and nodded a bit. Entwining his fingers together, he rested his chin on his hand. "And Erusean was on Vixen's tail and I tried to get him off by locking him up like you said but it seems like they're only getting bolder. I didn't see Dud go down but I heard it from another pilot."
Looking out the window, Mere bit onto her thumb, chewing a bit as she thought about what they could even do. If McKinsey was to continue the way he is, it's gonna be the death of everyone here. Even if they were convicts, not all of them had a death sentence. Life in prison for others doesn't mean that they can just throw their lives away. What pissed her off more was the idea that the mechanics could just magically make working planes with the scrapped and mothballed planes they had at their disposal. The ones they had running currently were the few that were in good enough condition for some simple maintenance and bug fixes here and there. Everything else needed more time and just the right amount of sweet talking to get into a somewhat working order. Queen is a miracle worker in her own right with the turnaround time she had with some planes but there's only so much they can do. Especially at the rate of planes they were losing. Perfectly good and serviceable planes just gone cause we can't shoot back. She needs a miracle if she is to get out of this alive. They all need a miracle.
444th Air Base, Zapland, Usea.
June 30th, 2019.
1100hrs.
Sitting in the cockpit of one of their latest projects, Mere was going over an avionics check as she just rewired the HUD and it was all looking promising. She only glanced up from her work every now and then as a mechanic or pilot passed by to fetch some tools or to rest in the shade a bit. Fortunately for her, she was able to keep out of the sun and under the shade of the hanger. Even with the shade however, the heat was still nearly unbearable. Be it the humid cellblock or the semi humid hangers, the heat just finds its way to make their lives miserable. The only place with air conditioning was the main staff building where McKinsey and the other staff usually holed up. Wiping some sweat off her btow she fiddled with her hair a bit having pulled it out of her ponytail thinking it might help with the heat but it changed very little. She did have some thoughts about chopping it off like Queen has but only lingering ones. Pulling it back up she nodded to herself as everything seemed to be working well adding one more plane to the fleet of scrapped together fighters. Sitting up a bit in the seat she leaned back wondering if she'll ever need to go up there. So far her name has been off the flight list and she figured if she were to survive being in the 444th, it would be best to be on the ground. In order to keep that up, she's gonna need to continue to bust her ass to keep a plentiful reserve of single seaters.
"Hey, Hotwire!" One of the ground crew called to her. Leaning over the edge of the cockpit, she looked down at the crewman. "Count's winning again that his plane is having some wiring trouble. Can you amuse his grace with your presence?"
"Yeah yeah. I got it." With a grunt she powered down the F-16 and climbed down the ladder. Grabbing her tool bag, she made her way out of the hanger pausing briefly as she entered the sun. Raising a hand to try and offer some form of shade for her eyes, the sun beat down incessantly onto her skin. Cursing to herself about the blasted heat, she pressed on walking to the furthest hanger where Count's plane was held. On her way, she began to mull over what could be the issue. Her thoughts, however, drifted back to the F-14 that's also stowed in the back of the hanger. She has yet to declare it flight worthy even though everything on her worked perfectly fine. A small bit of maintenance was all she needed before she was deemed airworthy, even with a myriad of small trivial details that the airforce or navy would fret over, but it still went against what she originally thought. Stay grounded; be safe. Yet there's still a small pull to get up back into the air. The freedom she felt while flying coupled with the stories her aunts and uncles would tell her about the time that they flew during the Circum-Pacific War, it all led her to wanting to fly. Even if she wasn't in control being a WSO, she had total trust in her pilot to fly them where they needed to be, and their trust in her to help them when she could.
Entering the hanger, Mere observed the small puddles of brown water pooling under Count's plane as he washed it down. Currently he was polishing the cockpit out when he took notice of her at the entrance.
"Well well well, seems like Ms. Wire decided to grace us with her magic," he mused.
"Save your serenades for someone else, Sir Count," she retorted back as she approached the plane. "So, what's up with your bird? Last I checked, everything was fine."
"Yeah, well, the radar display is acting up and so is the heads up display. Radar dims every now and then but comes back while the HUD gets all wonky whenever the plane gets all jostled around a bunch." Count rubbed the back of his head as he looked down at Mere.
"Strange, that's what I fixed last time." Mere's brow furrowed as she tired to narrow down what could be the next issue. Making her way up the ladder she slid into the pilot's seat and focused her attention first to the radar display.
"I'm sure he's done something just to get you over here," one of the other spare pilots chimed, Spare 3 or Lampshade as they know him by.
"Hoh, is that something you wanna bet on?" High Roller butted in as well.
"Oh shut up, I'm being serious here," Count growled as he shot the two of them a glare while Mere just shook her head. She remembered back on her first day at the base all eyes were on her. For what it's worth, there was only one other female on base and by that point the Scrap Queen had made it clear that it was hands off or you'll get a wrench shoved so far up your ass that she'll be able to tighten that loose bolt in their head. Mere, on the other hand, was freshly drawn blood in shark infested waters and she's sure that a number of the men saw her as a potential barracks bunny. She was proud of her body with the above average proportions her genes endowed her with but they were quick to learn she had teeth too.
While at the mess for lunch, one of the inmates decided to test the waters with the new girl and went up and grabbed her ass as she placed her tray down at a table. Mere turned and glared at the man who just held his hands, a smirk on his face which was quickly wiped off as she grabbed his hand pulling it away from him as she ducked under his arm, wrist still tightly gripped. Before he knew it, his arm was pulled back around and pressed firmly against his spine and pushed up towards his head. Giving a grunt he tried to walk away only to feel a boot kick the back of his knee causing him to fall forward. With a loud thud, Mere slammed the man into the table and pinned him there.
"This what you wanted, asshat?" She growled as she gave his ass a slap and pressed a bit harder. Out wheezed a pained, "n-no ma'am," when the guards decided that the show's over as they broke the two up and hauled his sorry ass out of the cafeteria. Mere stood on guard a bit as she glanced at the two other guards who looked at her and shrugged as they walked back to their positions mumbling, "don't make more of a scene or you'll get thrown in solitary." Letting out a sigh only now had Mere noticing how quiet the cafeteria got.
"Heh, told you she'd kick his ass," Champ grunted and just turned around back to the others at his table as High Roller grumbled sliding over some money to Champ. Count seemed a bit star struck as he stared at Mere for a few seconds before looking away as the room went back to whatever conversation they had before the big interruption. After that, Tabloid had convinced her to sit with some of the others which gave her an opening to enter the small circle of pilots.
Having dismantled a bit of Count's plane, Mere tracing wire after wire when a distant drone began to grow louder and louder. Looking up, she noticed the others heard it too with most of their eyes looking out through the open hanger door before they all went back to doing what ever they were doing.
"New shipment of supplies and convicts huh," Count murmured as two C-130's could be seen circling around on their final approach. Mere chewed the inside of her cheek a bit as she pushed one of Count's cockpit mirrors around a bit to get a view of the F-14 that was sitting in the back. She kept looking up at it every now and then as she checked over the wiring of Count's radar display. Something kept nagging her at the back of her head saying that things might be different; if she were to continue how she is, nothing will change. Clicking her tongue, she let out a light irritated huff as everything seemed normal on the display and only made a quick mental note to try and find a possible replacement if the problem persists. Moving to the HUD, she found the problem quickly as she wiggled the wire that supplied power to the device and it came off with little effort. Quick and easy fix, she told herself as she began to get busy with her work. Maybe if she gets done quick enough she could see what Full Band said was true about a crack pilot. She's been around a few aces and she was quite confident in picking him out. Maybe they'll be able to bring the most out of that F-15 that's still kicking their ass.