CROSSFIRE - Atlantis DSV - New Cape Quest

Banick nodded. “With your permission, I‟d like to forward it to Alliance Central
Command in Melbourne. It details the actions of the Brisbane, sir.”
Ainsley paused for a moment before nodding solemnly. “A superb thought. Please
see that it‟s done.”
The Admiral disappeared from the bridge soon after, leaving Banick alone with
Callaghan on the upper deck of the Battlecruiser‟s bridge. “You didn‟t ask him,” said
Callaghan quietly.
“I‟ll see him in the morning. We all need time to think right now, Ryan.”
“He explained it to you, yet?”
Banick shook his head. “Not a single word.”
Rapier Eight was the last of the Commonwealth‟s fighters to return to the ship as the
VF-108 Cavaliers finished launching to relieve the veteran squadron from its overwatch
CAP. Cunningham tossed a salute across the way to the last of the departing Cavaliers as
she finished clambering down the ladder that had been propped up against its side. With a
deep sigh, she removed steadied herself against the fighter‟s nose gear as she sat down,
and then lay on the deck, letting the helmet she‟d been wearing for the last seven hours roll
out of her hand. Closing her eyes, she let the exhaustion finally wash over her, her head a
swimming mess of every manoeuvre, every evasion and every kill. That had been
bookended by a six hour Combat Air Patrol as the fleet picked up its survivors, secured the
region and then completed a sweep of whatever forces the Alliance had chosen to leave
behind. “Happy Birthday, Sarah,” she muttered unhappily to herself as she unzipped the
front of her flight suit.
She continued to lie there in silence for several minutes until she felt the decks shake
slightly under her as a heavy pair of boots approached and sat down next to her. Her head
lolled over to look at the side-ways pilot next to her, squinting as she thought aloud. “My
head hurts.”
Lieutenant Samuel Rogers smiled a little as he played with his gloves, straightening
the fingers, and trying to press out the creases that time and wear had left in them. He said
nothing at first, instead putting his feet atop his own helmet. “So apparently, Richards came
through,” he said.
“Yeah, I got that,” Cunningham replied as she rubbed her tired face, feeling her
hands slick with the grease and muck that had gathered on her cheeks and forehead over
the course of the last six hours. Rogers stood up slowly after a minute or two, gathering his
helmet from the deck to stuff the gloves inside. He‟d already started to walk away when
Cunningham called out. “You gonna help me up?”
He stopped, grinning slightly as he turned and looked down at her. “That‟d be about
right. I‟m always pulling your ass off the floor.”
She rolled her eyes as he extended a hand. She gripped it, and he heaved her up off
the deck, his other hand steadying her as she stood. The two Lieutenants turned after a
moment to see Lieutenant Commander Wilhelm Schrader, Rapier Two, approaching quickly
from the holding bay‟s doors. He was a tall man, heavily built with a chiselled, brick-jaw and
short-cropped blonde hair. They straightened as he approached, his flight gear still underarm.
“You two alright?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Rogers replied sharply. “Problem?”
“Debriefing, five minutes,” he ordered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
As quickly as he‟d entered, the squadron XO left again, his gait wide and his stride
long – showing none of the exhaustion that was still rife in the two junior pilots.
“How does he do that?” Cunningham asked as she picked up her own gear.
Rogers smiled. “German efficiency.”
~
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