Chapter 2 Submission
SUBMITTED BY: CPT Longstreet /
HOLONET REGISTRATION: <FriederLeimenstoll@gmx.de>
SUBMITTED ON: 2008.05.16
Girder …
girder … girder … and another girder … and another girder … and now one with a
slight different design. Ensign
James Longstreet wandered through the corridors of
the
Suddenly, I heard the
plaintive cry of a young Mexican girl - no, wrong song, again. Suddenly, a
friendly “Ensign Longstreet” was heard. The Ensign
turned and saw a young Sub-Lieutenant coming near. EN Longstreet
saluted and smiled, as the SL who called his name has been a fellow cadet
during the years on the Academy.
“Brian”, Longstreet
said, “How are you doing? Still instructor for the juniors?”
“I am” the SL answered “And
I also see that you are still Ensign despite having passed all exams?” “Well,
now my CO is on sickbed and my flight leader doing most of his work official
promotion may take some time - and double of that if we can assume, and we can,
that updates on junior officer profiles will be made last after that database
attack some days ago.”
“So true James, but it will
come!” answered politely the SL; who knew that problems from his cadets.
“Brian, you maybe remember that EN Arkada was
assigned to the Academy too some weeks ago. Is he still here? Haven´t seen him for a week or so.” asked EN Longstreet, having vast interest in seeing this well-liked
officer again. “Nope, he was transferred again, together with several other
officers; but I don´t know any details - not my pay
grade. Enough of this now, I´m going for lunch, will
you join me?” Wrinkling his mouth a clear “NO!” came from Longstreet
“You know better then I do that the food here isn´t
first class as long as you´re no Bantha.”
The SL grinned “I do, but you know the worse the food” “…the better the Army.
And this from a guy who sits all day in a chair commenting pilots have of his age and double his abilities. I´m off, so see
you later!”
Fighter pilots are said to
be fit in most physical aspects, except for endurance. Well, everyone who´d have seen EN Longstreet
running back to his quarter must have thought again over it (and for sure no
one guessed that he just needed a new pack of cigarettes). Smoking as always
anger turned up in him again as he thought of his assignment to train with a
TIE-bomber. Rockets can be shot from Interceptors, too. Torpedos
are for Gunboats. They hadn´t used
space bombs for training as “they cost more than your monthly payment.”
Bombers were slow, big and nearly un-manoeuvrable - give those to pilots a year
away from retirement.
Then, lost in thoughts, Longstreet nearly walked into a line of cadets. And passing
them by as on report was an officer clearly distinguishable from the normal
folks going around on the Academy. Of normal build, with a face premising to be
in the second half of his best years - but eyes that showed youthful power and
enough metal on his chest to give him dignity of a man a century older. Jacob Jansen, Rear Admiral and Commandant of the Academy. Longstreet swallowed his cig and entered the formation
within a second. He needed 2 seconds more to realise what he did and the fact
that his chest and face turned into stone mode as the Admiral passed him. As
the eye rolling human he was he saw that the other cadets had done the same
with a look of pride in their faces; and EN Longstreet
asked himself if he looked as funny as they when he did it. However the looks
on the faces of several female cadets were different - a look he liked on women´s faces as long as they weren´t
his subordinates and half of his age. It was a strange thing that needed much
concentrated thought; what of course Longstreet
realized in the moment he was in the flight simulator and piloted his bomber
into his own space bomb.
Days passing, endless miles
of corridor to walk, endless simulations, the Academy got really used to the
Ensign again. And then, what all wanted in theory but not this case, news had
arrived from the front. A squadron sized fighter unit of our dear Navy was
destroyed - on special assignment under special circumstances. Last location,
no wrecks or ship parts, no emergency signal, just rebels near it. Standard
procedure even for special assignment Longstreet
thought - missing in action, assumed death.
A list of the pilots of the
unit appeared in line. Names he never heard, and he felt like in a bad old movie
(“Where are you from, son?” “
Walking back to the
squadron-lounge at zero-gravity (or at least it felt like this) and smoking 2
sentences formed in Longstreet´s mind: “Fly at your
best so don´t die like the rest!” The second sentence
was something with woman and subordinates; but that´s
another story.