Crash Calestorm

08.03.15 (Sept 7, 2261 (Stardate 2261.220) Mission Brief: (originally from 07.27.15 Brief) The Comanche Creek orbits the planet Goram. ‘Creek teams continue to evaluate the validity of the former Vulcan training base. With the possibility of rogue pirate activity, security remains a concern with proximity to the border. Mission Summary: SEC and Marine squads patrol the countryside for any remaining Jester pirates. The Aero wing conducts regular sector patrols and planetary patrols. Our teams at the base continue to work on getting the base cleaned up. Time Between Sims is immediately after this Sim.

The following log takes place on the 3rd day of our 72 Hour TBS and directly after the events of “Knock Knock”… Planet Goram 14:54 Hours Planetary Grid 3 “This is Cycle 15, Vega and Calestorm in pursuit of suspect. Request assistance from available Security and Marine patrols…” They had crashed - no pun intended - someone’s party after busting into the way station storage shed; Jo-Jo and Crash had surprised a male pirate, sporting the colors of the Lunatic Jester Posse. That was all she’d been able to take in before diving for her life under a hail of plasma discharge. Wind whipped the hover cycle as the pursuit speed continued to pick up. They got air off a hill and came down with a soft whumpf as the sensors detected the ground and the hover blades compensated for the forward motion. The pirate swerved into a copse of trees and 15 followed. Crash swore as tree branches whipped them and snapped against the velocity of the cycle. They shot out the other side of the woods and dropped down into a valley. The pew pew pew sound lancing across the air was reminiscent of a child’s toy blaster gun and belied the actuality of the deadly energy blasts screaming towards them. Crash ducked and several shots tore through where her head had been. Helmets were wonderful but she preferred not taking a direct shot to the face, thank you very much. Hunkering down behind Sergeant Vega - who used the windshield for what little cover it provided - she flipped the safety setting of her Diatron blaster from plasma stun to disc launch out the lower secondary barrel. She spoke into the helmet to helmet mic pick up. “This Jester’s good! I’m not messing around anymore! Pull up as close as you can and I’m going to EC the little so and so!” Vega nodded and complied, the bike lurching forward to close the gap. It was easier for him to drive and control the hover cycle as Crash handled the pew pew pew duties. Even with the stability assist activated, she’d have been hard pressed to keep the cycle steady with Vega firing; he was a big boy. Shifting her center of gravity, Crash stayed seated as she leaned out to fire. With a growl she mercilessly let loose with all four of the electronic countermeasure discs, the blaster recoiling in her grip. One disc got caught in a wind gust and went wide but the other three attached to the bike. With the combined jolt the EC’s fried the cycle and it dumped, all systems shut down. The pirate flew off his ride and a panicked cry was cut off in mid-yelp as he impacted with the grassy slope and rolled to a gangly stop. The hover bike made a single sweep as the enlisted and commissioned officer assessed the downed man and the vehicle; Cycle 15 landed and powered down to standby mode. The captain kept her weapon trained on the motionless form in the distance while Vega slid easily off the seat and moved forward cautiously, kneeling down to check for a pulse. Crash hopped off the cycle and stood nearby, head on a swivel as she covered Jo-Jo and visually assessed the grasslands for any incoming threats. “He still breathing?” “Affirmative.” She spoke into her helmet mic. “This is Crash. Suspect unconscious, in custody. Medical team requested on site….”

The following log takes place on the 3rd day of our 72 Hour TBS… Planet Goram 14:31 Hours Supply Station Alpha The way station wasn’t much to look at. The area had once been a busy place of operation as had the main base. The buildings - main command center, one barracks, and three outbuildings - were configured with the usual set up and far enough away from the main base to conduct training operations with enough supplies to sustain the trainees for the two week training hops. The 214 Black Sheep flight patrols had done fly overs and taken aerial recon shots with their EC photography packages, but Captain Crash Calestorm had wanted to Mark One Eyeball the place herself. And she’d picked up a shadow along the way: Staff Sergeant Joseph “Jo Jo” Vega. They’d taken one of the hover cycles out, making good time across the flat lands and countryside terrain. Setting the transport down just shy of the station perimeter and within the relative safety of a small wooded area, Crash and Jo Jo had started speaking in conversational tones. It was then that Vega’s gloved hand suddenly shot out, clamping against the Captains mouth. Now, most people who did that to Crash would shortly find themselves dis-attached from their skin. She did allow exceptions and the Staff Sergeant was one of them because, well, Staff Sergeant. You don’t get to that rank in the Starfleet Marines by being an idiot and Jo Jo Vega was certainly no idiot. His MOS was heavy weapons and in addition he now handled the administrative and training duties for the ‘Creek MARDET. His instincts were right on and he’d always scored high in reconnaissance evaluations. So high in fact that he’d turned down several letters of recommendation to the Starfleet Border Patrol’s element of Battalion Recon*. His official reason was the typical “Hey, I like blowing stuff up too much!” but Cale had often wondered what the real reason was. With that said, she damn well wasn’t about to complain and it really wasn’t her place to force the issue even as his commanding officer. Calestorm’s posture went still as death and her eyebrows shot to her hairline, the gesture asking the silent question of “you heard something?” and a single curt nod from the younger man was the response. Her hand dropped to the non-regulation blaster strapped to her leg while Vega activated a portable scanner and took readings; the scans showed no trace signatures either hot or cold blooded. Vega raised a speculative eyebrow at her. Crash shrugged a shoulder, indicating an unspoken order: even the best equipment could never replace the senses or an on-site team, let’s go investigate shall we? With precise hand signals, Staff indicated they would emerge from the tree line on a diagonal approach to the main building and then come up on the large storage shed from the blind side. Vega was to take lead point and Crash was to provide rear guard and cover support. Cale indicated that his instructions were received and understood. It was amazing how much could be conveyed in a series of simple signals. They set off along the tree line, using the afternoon shadows cast by the foliage to their advantage until the last second. Popping out into the open, they made their way to the target shed. Once in position, Vega gave the whispered final word. “You ready for this, you Snot Nosed Jockey?” It was a playful jibe at her former MOS as a fighter pilot. She'd beeen young once don't you know... Her answering smile was just as wide as Vega’s. “Let’s do this, you Knuckle Dragging Grunt.” He winked at the older woman and then heaved back and kicked at the entryway. = = = = EC – Electronic Countermeasures MOS – Military Operating Specialty MARDET – Marine Detachment Battalion Recon - The (United States) Marine Corps Reconnaissance Battalions (Marine Division Recon)…provide division-level ground and amphibious reconnaissance…are employed to observe and report on enemy activity and other information of military significance in close operations…do not normally insert by parachute, and provide limited direct action. – From Wikipedia, for full description click here https://en.wikipedia...ance_Battalions

(07.13.15 Brief carried over to 07.20.15) = = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 07.13.15 Mission Brief: Sept 4, 2261 (Stardate 2261.247) Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. With the abandoned base secure and most of the smugglers in custody, the command staff and senior crew of the Comanche Creek ascertain if the former training base is viable for re-staffing and use as a forward outpost. = = End Brief = = ComCreekChat15-7-20.txt

(Note: 07.27.15 Sim cancelled, Mission Brief will be picked up for the 08.03.15 Sim) = = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 07.27.15 Mission Brief: (Sept 7, 2261 (Stardate 2261.220) The Comanche Creek orbits the planet Goram. ‘Creek teams continue to evaluate the validity of the former Vulcan training base. With the possibility of rogue pirate activity, security remains a concern with proximity to the border. = = End Brief = =

(From original 07.13.15 Mission Brief) 07.20.15 Sept 4, 2261 (Stardate 2261.247) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. With the abandoned base secure and most of the smugglers in custody, the command staff and senior crew of the Comanche Creek ascertain if the former training base is viable for re-staffing and use as a forward outpost. Mission Summary: Teams continue to work at the base or spread out and investigate the surrounding countryside. Time Between Sims is 72 Hours

Crash Calestorm -> 07.06.15 Mission Brief: Sept 3, 2261 (Stardate 2261.246) Time Between Sims is 15 Minutes. Our team squares off against the Lunatic Jester Posse smugglers. Things are rather pew, pew pew. Crash Calestorm -> Questions before we zoom? Crash Calestorm -> BEGIN PEW! ComCreekChat15-7-6.txt

(Note: 07.13.15 Sim Cancelled and Mission Brief carried over to 07.20.15) = = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 07.13.15 Mission Brief: Sept 4, 2261 (Stardate 2261.247) Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. With the abandoned base secure and most of the smugglers in custody, the command staff and senior crew of the Comanche Creek ascertain if the former training base is viable for re-staffing and use as a forward outpost. = = End Brief = =

07.06.15 Sept 3, 2261 (Stardate 2261.246) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 15 Minutes. Our team squares off against the Lunatic Jester Posse smugglers. Things are rather pew, pew pew. Mission Summary: Pew, pew, pew. Pew, pew, pew. Time Between Sims is 24 Hours

Crash Calestorm could move pretty fast for an old broad when she needed to. Happy boots, fast boots, ninja boots! Her lanky form slammed around a curve with the precision borne of self-preservation and as she cleared the mid-way point through the access alley, she dropped a small metallic device and kept on running. She dove off to one side and around, slamming her shoulder against the pre-fabricated structure and held her blaster at the ready…just in case. The sound of boots pounding against the packed earth was followed by the whump of a pulse discharge and then the dull thuds as bodies hit the ground. Calestorm hazarded a peek into the access area and her three pursuers lay stunned on the ground. The captain unclipped three small transporter beacons from her utility belt and flung them towards the downed smugglers. The devices clamping to a leg, arm or torso and within seconds the transmit signal was picked up and they disappeared tin the swirl matrix of the Comanche Creek transporter. The ship had moved in system as the assault on the base commenced and any hostile tagged with the transponders were beamed up for incarceration; the ‘Creek was also hassling and jamming any attempts by the smuggler ship as it attempted to recover its crew from the surface of the planet. Additionally, Lieutenant Honor-Scar and her fighters had been deployed to deal with any straggling pirate fighters. She spoke quickly and precisely in her ear mic, the audio feed heard by the ground teams and ship Bridge Ops. “Three more packages are off for delivery, continuing along the perimeter towards the base control center, Crash out.” There were younger officers, officers such as CDR Wesley, Mission Specialist Byblos, NCO’s such as SSGT Vega and Security trained in advanced ground tactics that could more than handle the main assault contingent while she had taken sweep duty to catch any targets bolting from the base. Crash jogged up to two battle buddies from Security and with a quick flurry of hand signals, the three continued on together. According to the constant real-time reports on ground team to ship wireless, fourteen of the pirates remained unaccounted for on the surface base. Yondu had not yet been accounted for as well and….”Oh sh*t!”…live blaster fire was slung at Crash and the two SEC guards as they rounded the perimeter of a building. The three Fleeters ducked and scattered, Calestorm using her momentum to slam her shoulder into the entry way of another pre-fab structure; crashing – pun not intended – through and landing on the tiled decking. She was momentarily stunned while years of and habit forming training allowed her to keep a grip on her weapon. A blaster appeared in her line of vision and she automatically raised her own weapon. “Watch yourself now, Captain. I’d a Terran crew member – young kid, he’s off guarding the galaxy and stuff like that – would call this a Mexican Standoff. So how about you drop your weapon since you’re in no position to negotiate?” His blaster never wavered as the pirate leader stood over her prone form. Her blaster as well stayed on target. “Mister Yondu, I’d take you a whole lot more serious if your fly wasn’t down.” (To Be Continued In Sim…)

Planet Goram 05:45 AM With the sun beginning to clear the horizon on Goram, one might have considered it a pretty day if they all weren’t flying straight towards an abandoned base occupied by the Lunatic Jester Horde, yet another faction of smugglers and thieves looking to make a name for themselves at the expense of innocents. Leading from the front - to the dismay of both the Doctor and Commander Wesley, after all she was just getting some air - Crash Calestorm stood half in the entry way of the Mule, one boot planted on the extracted entry ramp as tow lines held her in place. Tactical goggles protected her eyes from the grit and dirt kicked up by the exhaust and travel velocity. The red kerchief that Cale fisted flapped in the upshot of winds as Shan “Deathwish” Shalin deftly maneuvered the big Mule in a hover pattern a couple hundred feet away from the base. In days past, a sea faring ship hoisting a red flag* indicated that they were carrying or discharging dangerous goods. Through the centuries the symbol had been skewed from maritime use to space and now used primarily by smugglers and pirates. The signal now meant “I have goods to discharge”. Since she hadn’t been shot off the entry ramp, she considered that a good sign. She ordered into her ear mic, “Bring us down inside the main outside compound area, Deathwish.” = = = = Now extracted from the safety harness, Calestorm stood on the entry ramp. Her body posture was outwardly relaxed but at total odds with her mind as every iota of her reflexes and self-preservation screamed at her to get the hell down and out of the way. The frayed boonie hat she’d acquired from one of the marines cast her upper face in shadow. Her face was dirty from the travel and the flight jacket completed the quick disguise; she looked like any other flea bitten space scrounger. And she made damn sure to keep her hand on the Diatron* blaster slung low on her hip, thank you very much. Two Lunatics approached the Mule warily, weapons not drawn but held at the downward ready. These guards – one man, the other a woman – looked tired and had obviously been on night guard watch. Other members of the smuggling outfit mulled around, not quite interested in what was going on as the base occupants sleepily shook off the partying effects of the night before. Several Jesters lay sprawled in the courtyard and Crash could make out a small outbuilding that had obviously been converted into a cantina. They wore jackets, long coats or ponchos in varying shades of red, indicating the gang colors. She subvocalized in spurts, giving the officers and crew inside the Mule and those on approach under cover on foot updates but the small digi-camera embedded in one lense of the goggles transmitted the main tactical information to the comm devices and data slates everyone carried. The female spoke first. “What’dya want?” “Negotiate trade. I got a Mule-class acquired from Starfleet and I want to sell it for scrap or whatever.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the large support vessel. “What’ve you in mind?” “Uh huh. Nope. I want to speak to your Boss.” “How do you know I’m not the boss?” “Sweetie, if you were the leader of this bunch? You wouldn’t be out here on guard duty picking your nose.” The male muttered an oath and started to swing his rifle up. His companion started backing away and made no move to hoist her own hardware, obviously intending to go ahead and let him get himself killed; so much for teamwork. Crash didn’t move a muscle. Please, speak up. Come on, come on come on….where are you… “Enough!” A gravelly voice rang out from the shadows between two of the forward structures and a tall figure appeared. Crash made a quick assessment of the newcomer: Blue skin, maybe from Andorian stock, head shaved mostly bald with only a shock of white hair styled in a mohawk. The long red leather jacket, the cocky gait…yeah, this here was the leader of the Jesters. “Greetings. Glad you decided to join the party. You got a name?” “I think I should ask you that.” She cocked her head to one side. “Just call me Quincannon.” It was her mother’s maiden name. “Business associates call me Loose. Are we going to do business Mister…?” She let the question trail off in anticipation. “Yondu.” “Okay Mister Yondu, what’s next?” He sauntered closer to the entry ramp and eyed the Mule. “You snagged this piece of equipment? From a Starfleet team? No way.” Crash spread her arms in an act of exasperation. “Mister, it’s called tactical scrounging. We snuck up on ‘em and boom. Things happened and we managed to fly off in this nice little piece of mechanical ass.” Inwardly she winced at her crude choice of wording. Why couldn’t they run into a genteel pirate or some such one of these days? The bandit leader gave the Starfleet Mule another visual once over and then turned his attention back on Calestorm. He jerked his chin towards her, the gesture actually intended towards the flight jacket the middle aged captain wore. “Looks like you’ve seen some action.” The various dings, burns and rips were from years of wearing it but Cale kept up the bravado and replied with a simple “Yeah, action.” followed by a shrug. She pulled a piece of fabric hidden inside the jacket and tossed the command gold shirt that she’d stripped off less than a half hour ago. The scrapped fabric flew outward to land at the bottom of the ramp; she had hastily burned it with a phaser to further add to the ruse. “You know how things can happen in this business.” Silence. “And I heard through the off-channel chatter that some of your guys tangled with the Comanche Creek fighters…figured you wouldn’t mind paying for some payback, so to speak.” She rapped on the hull of the Mule with her knuckles. Yondu continued to eye her. “If not? I know there are other buyers out there interested in prime Feddie equipment.” The mohawked leader held up a hand. “Now, wait a minute, I haven’t said I ain’t interested.” Crash gave a brilliant smile, all teeth. “Well, Sir, if it’s all the same to you, myself and my guys have just stolen AKA acquired Fleet equipment…I’d like to skip the pleasantries and start this shindig - NOW!” The shout was the agreed upon signal for the Trojan teams inside the Mule and the MARDET and Security teams - who had been sneaking up to the compound though the fields - to move and swarm the base. The captain swiftly dove off to the side of the ramp and pulled the Diatron, firing three plasma stun discs in quick succession; the two guards were clipped and went down but the third shot went wide and missed the Lunatic leader. Yondu bolted for cover as all Hell broke loose. To Be Continued In Sim… Notes: * Maritime Flags: https://en.wikipedia...Code_of_Signals * Diatron (visual aide): http://nerf.wikia.com/wiki/Diatron (Nerf or nothing!)

Crash Calestorm -> 06.22.15 Mission Brief: Sept 2, 2261 (Stardate 2261.245) Time Between Sims is 2 Hours. As a new day dawns on Goram, our Away Team stealthily approaches the abandoned based turned smuggler operations center. Crash Calestorm -> And I sent out a Cale log - the Mule has landed. She called a meeting, for everyone Crash Calestorm -> * EDIT - 06.29.15 Mission Brief ComCreekChatlog15-6-29.txt

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 07.06.15 Mission Brief: Sept 3, 2261 (Stardate 2261.246) Time Between Sims is 15 Minutes. Our team squares off against the Lunatic Jester Posse smugglers. Things are rather pew, pew pew. = = End Brief = =

06.22.15 Sept 2, 2261 (Stardate 2261.245) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 2 Hours. As a new day dawns on Goram, our Away Team stealthily approaches the abandoned based turned smuggler operations center. Mission Summary: Stealthy is such a broad description. Using the Mule as bait, our team gets very close to the smugglers in question...namely flying it right up to the re-purposed Vulcan Base, landing and offering the "stolen" Starfleet utility vehicle for the right price. Time Between Sims is 15 minutes.

Federation Border Planet Goram 04:25 AM Under the cover of twilight, Captain Crash Calestorm observed the Vulcan training base turned smugglers den. The base sat on an elevated landscape and overlooked a craggy valley; the terrain immediately surrounding the base was flat. Lowering the binoculars she frowned. Not the most ideal target, but they’d handled worse. Even with the Electronic Countermeasure equipment package installed on the Mule going at full-on capacity, the planetary storm had concealed their approach and that was to their favor. Mind, they’d been forced to put down at LZ Three, the last choice and furthest from the target base on her choice of landing and assault approach points. Originally established by Vulcan Special Forces (although the Vulcan government would flat out deny an organization like this existed), the base had been employed primarily for troop training. Candidates would spend long hours in tactical and historical study and then take to the field for training on the open, craggy or forested landscapes. The planet was perfect for colony establishment and farming but many governments were hesitant to invest the time, money and personnel due to the proximity of the Outer Rim territories. It also hadn’t helped that the last group of officers and trainees to man the base had an unfortunate encounter with Orion raiders. The attack had been one of the many skirmishes that blossomed during the infamous Orion Cartel Wars. The Orion slavers would swoop in, grab who and what they could, and swoop back out. The Starfleet and other allied powers had done what they could to protect citizens but the border territories had remained the most vulnerable. Crash remembered that attack, though she hadn’t actually set a boot on Goram. In respone to the attack on the base, Starfleet had ordered a picket patrol established around Goram and the nearest sectors. Her ship at the time had been one of the vessels taking part in the patrol duties and she’d flown CAP assignments for weeks along the sectors. Great Bird, that had been a lifetime ago… And that was then and this was now, and she and her Away Team had some smugglers to route out. Intel had been correct - for a nice change of pace - and the base was being used by the Lunatic Jester Horde. The hostile number count was twenty eight, not ideal but again, her crew had dealth with worse odds. She placed a hand palm down on the poly-steel hide of the Mule as a long, slow and slightly evil smile worked its way across her features. Quietly, she called over to Staff Sergeant Vega. “Jo Jo, grab that battered flight jacket of mine, the one with no insignia and that low slung holster and pistol; they’re both in in Cargo Pod 2. And fetch Commander Wesley and the Command Team out here right quick.” Calestorm turned her gaze again to the horizon and the smile grew even wider. “They like to scavenge for parts and vehicles? Fine, we can accommodate them…” She patted the Mule for emphasis. To Be Continued In Sim…

06.22.15 Sept 1, 2261 (Stardate 2261.244) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 6 Hours. The Away Team launches out from the Comanche Creek, on approach to the planet Goram for a night landing. Mission Summary: The Mule makes planet-fall undetected, a safe distance away from the abandoned base. Time Between Sims is 2 Hours

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 06.22.15 Mission Brief: Sept 1, 2261 (Stardate 2261.244) Time Between Sims is 6 Hours. The Away Team launches out from the Comanche Creek, on approach to the planet Goram for a night landing. = = End Brief = =

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 06.29.15 Mission Brief: Sept 2, 2261(Stardate 2261.245) Time Between Sims is 2 Hours. As a new day dawns on Goram, our Away Team stealthily approaches the abandoned based turned smuggler operations center. = = End Brief = =

06.15.15 Sept 1, 2261 (Stardate 2261.244) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. With the wreckage confirmed as that of a Lunatic Jester Posse scout, the Captain has ordered the ship to Yellow Alert as a precaution. Mission Summary: A nasty virus rogram causes havoc on the ship, with the crew being treated to a non-planned viewing of "Horror Express" starring Christopher Lee* on many view screens (It's the Moral Officers fault) among several other programs. Meanwhile, communications signals are intercepted from the planet Goram, indicating pirate activity from a long abandoned Vulcan survey outpost. As Engineering works to deal with the viral hilarity, holding ship position away from the planet, the Command Staff orders preparations to quietly insert an Away Team planet-side by shuttle. Time Between Sims is 6 Hours.

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 06.15.15 Mission Brief: Sept 1, 2261 (Stardate 2261.244) Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. With the wreckage confirmed as that of a Lunatic Jester Posse scout, the Captain has ordered the ship to Yellow Alert as a precaution. = = End Brief = =

06.08.15 August 31, 2261 (Stardate 2261.243) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 4 Days. The wreckage of a pirate fighter has been tractor beamed on board. Mission Summary: The pirate fighter wreckage, an old Starfleet issue Brewster Buffalo, is analyzed by Lt Shalin andMission Specialist Byblos. Commander Wesley speaks with Doctor TAral on a personal matter. Captain Calestormspeaks with Ensign Aztec (NPC) about the unique dynamics between the Command Team. Time Between Sims is 24 Hours.

The following log takes place following the 06.01.15 Sim… The Rust Belt mission was going well if somewhat sedate, minus buzzing the bridge and having Commander Wesley lock CIWS targeting systems on her in a gentle reminder to quit the flybys on the bridge. Her ship and crew were performing excellently. Calestorm was getting as many flying hours in that she could and loved every minute of the routine. This was a nice change from being shot at constantly or sent on a godforsaken spookity-spook counter-Intel undercover mission, thank you very much. Her current assignment from CAG Honor-Scar was detachment flight from the CAP, spotting and recording locations of space debris and junk left to float, likely jettisoned from freighters. It was a cheesecake assignment and once she tagged a spot either the ‘Creek would take care of the junk or the fighter wing would get in some targeting training. An added element to the patrol included the offspring of an Earth groundhog crossbred with one of the last remaining Vulcan-bred ground squirrels. The resulting hybrid - known affectionately as Blinky - was a rodent capable of zero G and lack of oxygen exposure. Mind you, leaving him unattended for an hour wasn’t advisable, but he could survive for a limited amount of time when exposed to these elements. She had no idea why in the hell Admiral Coyote had volun-told them to take part in the experiment, but here they were. Shauna had been impressed by the Caitian’s record and mentioned wanting Lieutenant Jumper Honor-Scar taking part in the tests but Crash had nixed that idea. Now, she wasn’t one to be prejudiced but a felinoid and rodentia together in a space-bound fighter? Can we say incident report? No thank you. Besides, during the pre-flight briefing Blinky and Jumper had been squinting unfavorably at one another. So being the glutton for punishment that she was Cale had volunteered to take the little rodent furball out and about in Lightning 20. The Science geeks and the Deck Crew knuckedraggers had rigged up a little sling harness for him in the cockpit. The groundhog hybrid had done quite well on the flight and chittered quietly to himself. She’d behaved and didn’t try to give the little guy a heart attack with some hot dog maneuvering. The spot check debris patrol had been going well until she entered a little situation developed in a small cluster of asteroids she’d been investigating. Five pirate starfighers had faced off against the captain. Well….this was problematic… They were likely Junkers and she’d warned them off by broadcasting over known civilian wireless channels. Nothing, no feedback. As if the Starfleet markings on her fighter and the fact they were on her side of the border weren’t a deterrent in itself. Then again, pirates weren’t known for their diplomacy skills. Crash did a quick mental rundown of the pirate vessels; two were Mark III Grumman Wildcats, civilian fast escort conversions from the early days of the Starfleet-Orion border skirmishes and the others were Mark II Brewster Buffaloes, former Starfleet multi-roles typically used for starbase defense. The fifth fighter was a “mutt-class” as she didn’t know what the hell it had once been. There were so many mismatching panels and beams welded to it, and likely bubblegum holding it together for good measure that it was hard to distinguish the original pedigree. All five were painted maroon with the clan symbol prominently displayed: a demented looking clown with crossbones. These guys flew with the Lunatic Jester Horde, a crew that usually dealt in various misdeeds and shenanigans. Exit, stage left! Mama didn’t raise no fool and Crash’s abrupt departure probably gave her those extra seconds of surprise and distance that she needed. “Shepherd One to The Barn. I could use some Black Sheep on my coordinates ASAP. I’m turned and burned but I’ve got me some piratical shenanigans. Recon cam footage is uploaded and sent.” Her voice came out calm and clear, as if this sort of thing happened every day and she didn’t have five maniac pirates bearing down on her. “Shepherd One, information received and The Sheep are dispatched.” “Five hostiles, four known aftermarket and one mutt config—Oh Hell Naw! You did not just shoot that green sh*t at me! Lightning 20 engaging!” Two bright green tracer rounds had lit up the space around the Lightning. Cutting the fuel feed and slamming on the maneuvering thrusters, Calestorm backslid the Lightning so suddenly that Blinky slipped from his harness hammock and slammed into the upper canopy with a thud and a squeek. The sudden stop caused the Lunatics to zoom past her; as they passed she jabbed the commands to launch out an EC drone to discharge and cause some havoc with their instruments. Then she reignited the engines at full burn and was off and running again. The inertial forces floated Blinky upside down across Crash’s direct field of vision. Well, upside down relative to their inverted position as location was relative at this point. She screamed and he screamed back at her as he went past. The rodent reached the opposite side of the cockpit and scrabbled to grasp onto the side of the console for dear life. “Shepherd One to Sheep. Can y’all hurry it up as I’ve got a floating badger in my cockpit – and don’t anyone dare make any jokes y’all hear me now?! – and I’m engaged to five, I repeat, five. I’m in some deep sh*t!” “Sir, I thought it was a groundhog?” “Blue Boy!” Jumper’s purring voice held a growled warning over the wireless feed, informing her pilot to shut up in no uncertain terms. The Lightning completed its crazy eight arc under the deft manipulations and Crash was vaguely aware of the shredder drone that shot past her and exploded, missing its intended target – her! Jigging sideways and causing Blinky to bounce right in her lap, Crash put distance between her and the explosion. She glanced forward and her Mark One Eyeball confirmed the status of inbound. “Hang on Blinky! Don’t fly angry! Don’t fly angry!” “Meep!” Lightning 20 jerked out of its forward momentum and launched into an upward arc, the silver paint tone of the fighter catching the starlight as it twisted through the black of space. At the apex of the arc Crash set her bird on its back and faced the pirate cluster upside down. She flipped her middle finger at the pilot closest to her, the gesture clear through the transparent aluminum of the cockpit. “Greetings from Border Patrol!” she called out onto both the civilian and Starfleet wireless channels. Calestorm quickly peeled away from the furball - pun not intended - the CAP patrol whooshed in under the leadership of felinoid Lieutenant Honor-Scar to engage the pirates. = = = = CIWS – Close In Weapons System CAG – Commander of the Aero Group CAP – Combat Air Patrol Mark One Eyeball – relying on your own vision instead of scanners/tracking programs, etc *With apologies to the writers of Top Gun (1986), Independence Day (1994) and Groundhog Day (1993).

06.01.15 August 27, 2261 (Stardate 2261.239) Mission Brief: Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. The Comanche Creek continues on our Rust Belt patrol course. Mission Summary: In keeping with mission parameters, several pieces of space junk are disposed of. AKA the Tactical officer and Aerofighter pilots get some target practice in. Time Between Sims is 4 Days.

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 06.08.15 Mission Brief: August 31, 2261 (Stardate 2261.243) Time Between Sims is 4 Days. The wreckage of a pirate fighter has been tractor beamed on board. = = End Brief = =

= = USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 = = = = Mission Brief = = 06.01.15 Mission Brief: August 27, 2261 (Stardate 2261.239) Time Between Sims is 24 Hours. The Comanche Creekcontinues on our Rust Belt patrol course. = = End Brief = =