## Locker Room ##
Lieutenant Leon Athalla fastened the pressure seal on his black flight suit. Reaching into his locker and produced matching black gloves and pulled them on flexing his hands the rubberlike material crinkling with his movements. Pulling his flight helmet from the locker he closed the door and turned to check the seals on his boots resting his leg on the nearby bench.
“What do you think this is all about”, Lieutenant Peter Redfield asked as he suited up next to the veteran fighter pilot.
“Don’t know”, Athalla replied adjusting the seal on his right boot before refastening the clamp that held it tightly in place.
“Don’t you think this is odd? I mean I know the Charon has a complement of fighters, but we’ve never used them. The crews are still wiping the dust off of them. I mean we’re a science and exploration ship right?”
“Science, medical, warship – they all carry risks lieutenant. We are not any different. Peace, war – we can be called to fight at any time for any reason.”
“But..I’m not a combat pilot”, the young man said. “Sure I have some training, but most of my flight hours have been in shuttles not fighters. I never expected to be engaged in combat. Rumor has it we might be up against the Romulans. Aren’t they supposed to be our allies”, the pilot asked with a obvious nervousness to his voice.
Athalla stood and looked the man in the eyes. The pilot was young and inexperienced. If they were called to fight it would no doubt be harder for the uninitiated. “Lieutenant, wearing that uniform requires you be prepared for any contingency. Combat is one of countless challenges we may face. Whether it’s the Romulans, the Borg, the Dominion or an unknown threat we must be ready to perform our duty at any time in any place. I am sure you didn’t get those wings only to ferry ambassadors around all day right?”
“Well no..but..”
Athalla put a reassuring hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “Redfield right?” The pilot nodded. “If we’re ordered to launch I’ll be your wingman. Do your duty pilot. Put aside everything else and focus on the task at hand. Leave your doubt and your feelings on the tarmac as they will only get in your way out there. I’ll watch your six. Fly the fighter and let your RIO handle the rest. Do that and you will be just fine.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Have some confidence in yourself.”
Athalla nodded and turned to leave.
“Thank you lieutenant”, Redfield called out behind him.
Athalla waved as he headed out to the flight deck to examine his fighter. The deck crews had just hauled them out of storage and none of them had been flown to his knowledge. There was bound to be some problems with the craft having been on ice for so long.
## Later – Flight Deck ##
“Error detected in starboard RCS thrust valve. Diagnostic failed.”
Sitting in the cockpit of the Valkyrie fighter, Athalla ran through a battery of diagnostic programs on the bird that had been assigned to him. As he had guessed the fighters were suffering from minor problems as a result of long term storage.
“Computer, activate starboard RCS module at 75 percent thrust for five seconds.”
“Unadvisable. Error detected in starboard…”
“I know all about the error computer. Just do what I said.”
A moment later a loud jet of gas filled the hangar deck as his RCS thrusters fired for several seconds before terminating as ordered. “Computer, rerun diagnostic.”
“Diagnostic complete. No errors detected in starboard RCS module.”
A quick flushing of the RCS units tended to fix sticky valves. Normally he would have had the mechanics pull the module and replace it however there wasn’t time for extensive repairs or preventative maintenance. He would just have to hope this bird didn’t lose any feathers if they were ordered out to fly.
He spent the next fifteen minutes calibrating systems, updating software, and adjusting the controls until the craft finally began to feel less like a foreign machine and more like an extension of himself. It would take some time for him to form a bond with this unit. Only combat could forge such a relationship between man and machine. This bird was still untested, unproven, and worst of all he had never flown it. It could be as unpredictable as a wild mustang or as limp and unresponsive as a corpse in a morgue. Every craft had its own unique personality and it was up to the pilot to understand the tiny idiosyncrasies that gave character to their machines. This fighter was a stranger and he would have to learn from it quickly.
Athalla ran several more diagnostics and his preflight checks to catch any difficulties ahead of time. A few minor issues were quickly remedied but were not unexpected given the fighter’s stay in cold storage. One or two other pilots were inspecting their craft as well, but as the lieutenant has stated earlier most of the pilots aboard were not combat veterans. An exploration ship had no real need for a crack fighter squadron and having one would be something of a waste. Instead they had a few fighters, a handful of experienced pilots, and the rest were almost civilian pilots by experience. If this situation got ugly Athalla feared for those pilots as they would get a crash course in bitter reality. He hoped they could cope.
Powering off his computers, Athalla was about to exit when a loud voice cut across the deck over its loudspeakers. “All Fighters to your craft. All Fighters to your craft. Standby for immediate launch. Repeat standby for launch. Romulan warships inbound. This is not a drill.”
“Sonofa…”, Athalla muttered reversing course and dropping back into the cockpit. Only a few seconds had passed before honed skills had reactivated his ship’s computers and had rerun most flight checks. He was ready to launch to meet the danger.
His friends had noticed a change in the pilot as word of possible action became more of a reality in recent days. He was the only one who seemed pleased with events and could be described as anxious to mix it up.
Perhaps unconsciously he did want to prove himself. It had been too long since he had flown actual combat. Did he still have the right stuff? Were his skills still sharp? There was only one way to tell, one way to keep himself honed to a razor’s edge – and that was to fight. He was a combat pilot and after being posted to the Charon he had to know if indeed he could still call himself one.
[ To Be Continued…? ]
______________________________
Lieutenant Leon Athalla
Combat Pilot
(apb Tav)
