CROSSFIRE - Atlantis DSV - New Cape Quest

“Not exactly what you‟d call fleet-standard, is she?” Mackenzie teased, turning on his
heel and falling in to step beside her. Roderick cocked her head as she looked up at the
craft, running a bare hand across its smooth, unmarked flanks in practical envy. It was cold
to the touch, but there was something about the material that was entirely unfamiliar –
feeling more like plastic than metal.
“Not exactly a Raptor, you mean,” she replied finally, pausing at the gaping maw of
the fighter‟s starboard intake.
Mackenzie smiled. “Oh she is. Just not the one you know. SF-41/A, Raptor-III.”
Roderick turned in puzzlement. “I thought the fleet wasn‟t going ahead with the
design contract?”
“They aren‟t,” Mackenzie confirmed. “And there have been a few changes since then,
too. Completely stripped out the glass cockpit, improved the combat sensors and up-rated
the engines. Outer hull is even the latest generation of composite stealth tech.”
“...Which would be why we couldn‟t see you,” Roderick muttered.
“They aren‟t specification even by the original tender standards.”
“How many do you have?”
“Nineteen, including ours, and more coming... Although it‟s taking longer than we‟d
like with the design changes. Integration issues are still teething.”
Roderick frowned. “Integration with what?”
They turned as a spray of sea water erupted from the moonpool and covered them
both in a shroud of mist. The launch heaved and surged as it settled on the surface, the
whine of the hydraulic lift below audible as it lifted the shuttle to the deck.
A pair of officers entered the hangar a few moments late as a tractor lashed a tow bar
to the shuttle‟s undercarriage and started to haul it clear. Lieutenant Commander Davis
Akara looked shockingly tired, thought Roderick as he approached, although the second of
the pair she knew only by reputation. Commander John Razak had taken up the post of first
officer well after she‟d transferred to the Atlantis and they‟d never personally met in the time
since.
The two officers seemed to notice the fighter pilots and headed for the flight line,
muttering something to each other that was lost amidst the hectic milling of ground staff
around the hangar. They needed to stop three times to let red-jacketed enlisted men hurry
past wheeling trolleys laden with torpedo and cannon munitions. Roderick knew the drill well
– rank meant nothing on a military flight deck. The only thing that truly mattered was the
colour of your uniform. It came with some surprise, however, that the ground staff on the
Aquarius still tended to those duties with purpose and discipline – even having been almost
completely bereft of any subcraft to service for much of the prior six months. Looking around,
it was painfully clear that the Ghosts remained the only full-strength combat unit left on the
ship. The few units that remained of other squadrons littered the hangar in various stages
and degrees of dismantlement or maintenance.
For a quiet, entirely somber moment, Roderick wondered if those fighters even had
any crew left.
Akara smiled broadly as he saw Roderick, Razak maintaining a degree of
pensiveness that the captain found hard to measure. “Job well done, Wing Commander,”
Razak said flatly, looking directly at Mackenzie as if Roderick were not even there.
The Wing Commander shrugged. “No job to speak of, John. Very uneventful.”
Razak cracked a wry smile. “We like uneventful.”
“It‟s been a long time, Captain,” Akara noted, nodding at Roderick‟s oaks and
tridents. She smiled. “How have you been, Davis?”
“Laying low, as always. We owe you one for what you did today. Thanks.”
Roderick nudged Mackenzie gently with an elbow. “What he said. Just doing our
jobs. We‟re on the same side.”
Razak looked uneasy as he looked Roderick up and down. She was shorter than he
expected – barely above five foot – but still every inch the alluring firebrand she was
reckoned as. Despite himself, he smirked, and offered his hand. “Glad to know it,” he said.
“Commander John Razak, XO.”
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