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Saber in the Sky - Roll Call
Posted By: mPlacki<mplacki@gmail.com>
Date: 3 December 2007, 12:55 am
Read/Post Comments
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0530 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar)
UNSC Sequoia, geosynchronous orbit above Sigma Octanus IV
"Beeep… Beeep… Beeep…"
Jordan's alarm clock chirped loudly, bringing his all-too-short nap to an end. For a few moments, he lay on his cot, idly wondering what would happen if he didn't get up. Hell, he was too tired to kill the alarm, let alone get out of bed.
Ah, well. Such was the life of a pilot.
The past twenty four hours had been equal parts boredom, terror, and insanity. As part of the Seqouia's Blue squadron, Jordan and his team had been protecting the ship from Seraph interceptors while it helped defend Sigma Octanus. The actual battle had been relatively short, of course - Admiral Stanforth's daring plan had quickly decimated the Covenant ships - but cleaning up afterward had been a hideous, thankless job. The massive debris field provided the perfect place for small Covenant ships to launch ambushes, as electric surges and burning wrecks foiled eyes and sensors alike. Flying cover for various search and rescue missions had been a nerve-wracking job, and there simply weren't enough Longswords to give the pilots their needed rest.
Of course, there had been open offers to come in, land, and rest while another pilot took the bird out. But no self-respecting aviator ever thought much of that option.
Thirty minutes and a cold shower later, Jordan had made it to one of the ship's mess halls and was busily devouring a muffin and coffee, his PDA resting on the lunch table in front of him as he checked the morning's status reports. More search and rescue missions throughout the week, most of them in the next two days… well, that was to be expected. Twenty ships destroyed outright, thirteen more too damaged to fly to Reach for repairs. One hundred and eighteen Longswords reported destroyed.
There were six pilots left in Blue Squadron.
It was funny, really. He had known since the beginning of his pilot training the sort of survival statistics he could expect. Nearly fifty percent of all pilots died in their first five missions; seventy percent in their first ten. Most would suffer some sort of injury requiring intensive treatment at a specialized military hospital. They had been drilled into his head, over and over. And he had believed them, really. It wasn't hard to believe, after all the territory the Covenant had conquered. But it had never really… struck home.
In spite of the hot coffee, he shivered. Six faces he would never see again – faces he hadn't even considered missing. And, most of them hadn't even made a sound as they died - not a squawk or scream over the radio. Just gone…
"Jordan!"
Jordan jerked in his seat, nearly spilling his coffee on his PDA. Striding purposefully toward him, a worried expression on his face, was Lieutenant Foster, his squadron leader. His eyes were puffy and his face unshaven, but he was clearly awake, alert, and expecting a response.
"Morning, sir."
"You still asleep, Jordan? I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes!"
"No sir, just… didn't hear you."
Foster raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the subject. "Well, anyway, I got a message from Captain Deckard over on the Leviathan this morning. Apparently he wants you to go over and run some simulator exercises."
"Captain who?"
"Deckard, Captain Deckard. Oversees all the starfighter ops on the cruiser."
"What's he want me for?" asked Jordan, puzzled.
His commanding officer shrugged. "No idea - 'need to know' and all that. But you're supposed to fly over and meet him at eight." Foster gestured at the PDA on the table. "You didn't get a message?"
"I, uh… hadn't looked yet. Just checking the status reports."
Foster made a face. "Don't look at those, you'll get all depressed. All they talk about is how much stuff blew up, not how much we saved." He gestured at the door. "I'll see you later, Jordan."
Jordan watched him walk off before pulling his PDA closer. Upon selecting the mail screen, a flashing message popped up:
United Nations Space Command Priority Order 69824M-37
Encryption Code: Red
Public Key: file/kappa one/
From: Captain John Deckard, UNSC Leviathan
To: Lieutenant Junior Grade Jordan McKell, UNSC Sequoia
Subject: Pilot evaluation exercise
Classification: RESTRICTED
/start file/
Lieutenant McKell:
I'm running some examinations on Longsword pilots, and you're one of the candidates on my list. I'd like you to fly over to the Leviathan this morning to take yours. Deck 12, Section A, room 314 – 8 o'clock sharp.
Thanks for your cooperation.
Captain John Deckard
Starfighter Operations, UNSC Leviathan
/end file/
Jordan reread the order, then shrugged. Probably a psych evaluation or something, he decided. Well, it wasn't his place to question. It was close to six thirty, and between preflight checks and docking, it was probably going take an hour to get to the cruiser. Might as well get going now.
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