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Crash Calestorm

Memories: Ghosts

The following log is a Calestorm and Coyote Pre-Launch Log Production...

 

2258

USS Comanche Creek NCC-214

Main Hanger Deck

 

Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote had needed a few moments alone after a particularly busy work day within the FTR offices. The line officer had wandered the corridors and sections and areas of the Comanche Creek for the last hour or so, subconsciously allowing herself to be drawn to the area that she had felt most comfortable in during her younger officer days -- the hanger deck.

 

She had intended to change the scenery a little bit, and finish up on this last report somewhere other then her hectic offices, but her red hued data slate device sat unused and in idle mode where she had left it on the decking behind her and within the interior of the darkened shuttle.

 

The launch for the FTR’s line ship was a scant few days away, and most of the last minute equipment preparation and vehicle off loading had been completed with all the necessary hardware towed and loaded on board the vessel. Coyote had found herself a nice comfortable entry ramp leading up into the interior of one of the new shuttles, and proceeded to plant it down on the portion of the upper ramp; she was directly across from a collection of the Goshawk class star fighters, all stacked nice and neat in upper and lower berths off to one side of the hanger deck.

 

After a little while, she was aware of another presence, mostly due to the clump clump clump sound of booted feet as they approached her from the aft position. And thankfully, Shauna was able to sense that this particular visitor was very much alive.

 

“You still sit on the shuttle’s hydraulic entry lift and read reports? Skipper, you do have a very nice admiral’s office now. It has carpeting and everything. That’s where you’re supposed to do your report stuff.”

 

Coyote didn’t acknowledge the new arrival, and just scooted over a spot to allow Captain Ashton Calestorm a place to sit down and unfold her lanky frame. The blond and silvered haired female captain planted her arse down on the top of the entry plank next to her friend and favored her commanding admiral with a silent look that said it all – the classic ‘what’s up?’.

 

Like Shauna, Ashton wore the gray colored uniform away team jacket over her regular golden duty tunic; the environmental systems were operating at low power, and the landing party jackets were to ward off the chill of deep space that was creeping through the corridors.

 

And then again, maybe the admiral was wearing the jacket to try and ward off a different sort of chill creeping down her neck. “There are ghosts about tonight.”

 

Calestorm had known for years that Coyote had always been a touch sensitive. Sixth sense, a Seer, Medium, whatever the culture called the ability to sense or see the afterlife, Shauna had the gift. Then again, the so called gift was sometimes considered a curse. It wasn’t as if she could communicate with the beyond, it was nothing as prominent or dramatic as that.

But, when some *thing* set her hackles off, it was usually something substantial. Shauna had had the episodes frequently as a child, and then as she had grown into puberty and then her adult years, the sensing episodes had started to continually dissipate to random encounters as she continued to get older.

 

And then, every once in a while such as this night, she got that God awful eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Not on my ship Admiral Coyote. We have a no spook rule here.”

 

Ashton tried to make light of the situation with the little joke, but Shauna didn’t even crack a smile; her attention remained on some distant point across the expanse of the hanger deck.

 

“Talk to me Skipper. What’s the word?”

 

“Excuse me Sirs? Everything alright here?” A voice echoed off the bulkheads within the wide expanse of the deserted hanger deck.

 

The lone speaker was Chief Petty Officer Edwards, of Earth Orbital Starbase security. The base security personnel had been patrolling the corridors and decks regularly prior to the ships maiden launch per standard procedures.

 

Cale took the initiative and politely answered the NCO. “No worries Chief. The Admiral and I are just going over the last few specifications of our plan to take over the Starfleet when the Comanche launches tomorrow.”

 

The square jawed man looked a bit stunned“…Uh, Captain? Calestorm? Ma’am”

 

Some people just didn’t have a sense of humor.

 

Admiral Coyote chose to intervene then, just in the nick of time. “Carry on Chief. We won’t be here for very much longer. As the Captain mentioned, we are going over some details, but nothing involving galactic domination.”

 

The man left the immediate area with a rather puzzled look planted across his mug, and when the two women were alone again,Shauna turned her attention to her line captain and canted a semi-tolerant and amused eyebrow towards her. “You really haven’t changed over the years Ash.”

 

“Hell no Admiral. And neither have you.” Calestorm winked and smiled a good natured leer.

 

“True. But, I think it’s fair to say that we’ve both come a long way …remember that shore leave at the Leonis 4 Starbase? It’s funny how old memories become ghosts…and the people that inhabit the memories are like wraiths frozen in your memory of the time …”

 

2226

USS Warlock NCC-509

Main Hanger Deck

 

Lieutenant Shauna Walking Coyote, call sign Skipper, had staked out a spot off to one side of the still busy, even though half the crew was on leave, hanger deck. She sat on one of the entry ramps used to clamp onto and attach to the Type 1 shuttles, her long legs dangling off the side and a couple inches from the scuffed gray decking. The pilot barracks was way too noisy at this time of night, and she wanted to finish the last chapter of the book that had caught her interest during shore leave.

 

Although, really, things weren’t that much quieter down here either; a few of the younger and recently transferred midshipman and ensign pilots were all fired up and enjoying the few days leave left that had been granted to the crew of the USS Warlock. Typical junior officers on what amounted to their first leave as a regular member of the crew, it appeared that a few of them had gone beyond the bounds of normal celebrating though, and definitely alcohol was involved if Shauna was any judge of the smell wafting off the lot of them: about five or so of them sported the symbol of the Fleet Starfighter Corp on a shoulder.

 

Shauna Coyote just didn’t get it. Then again, maybe that was why she chose not to defile her skin with ink.

 

A cry of happiness rose from the group then, and the Lieutenant turned her attention back to the rambunctious cubs; one of them had clearly one the ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ contest: Ensign junior grade Calestorm had pulled up her right trouser leg and was currently showing off the tattoo coup de grace of the night, which was a rather lurid and nasty looking skeleton that stretched from her knee to ankle, clear down the side of her calf. It was some sort of fantasy ghoul, robed, casting some fireball or some such thing. Coyote could just make out the 24th Archmages lettering wrapping about the design.

 

Sure, a tattoo celebrating the Warlock air wing was all well and good…but what if you transferred off ship? Eh?

 

A shouted statement wrenched her out of her private thoughts just then. “Yo! Skipper! I got something else to show you!” And with that statement reverberating across the hanger deck, Ashton ‘Crash’ Calestorm, proceeded to drop her uniform trousers, adjust her undergarment, turn around, and moon the Lieutenant in all her lily white glory.

 

There were just a few things that you didn’t do in the Starfleet: invert the navigation control couplings in main Engineering, stick a tribble down an important tube or pipe, ‘cause that was just plain cruel, putting aside the mechanical ramifications. Or say, mooning the El Tee pilot who happened to be your squad leader. Little things like that tended to, well, get you in trouble.

 

The gathered pilots were stunned -- including of course Coyote -- and then the junior officers busted out laughing as a group. Once the auburn haired native Indian Lieutenant recovered her senses though, she literally saw red, and descended on the ensign.

 

“What is the matter with you Ensign Calestorm? Are you bucking for a write up?”

 

Standard procedure, of course, and Shauna intended to follow this situation through to the letter. She felt her neck muscles tighten in response to her level of anger, and she was so wire tight it was a wonder she didn’t pop right there.

 

Ashton had managed to pull her underwear back into position, but chose to leave her trousers pooling about her booted ankles as her anger took control and blocked out any sort of embarrassed decency.

 

“Are you bucking for a personality Lieutenant Coyote?”

 

The six foot Coyote was about an inch or two taller then Cale and had about fifteen pounds on the junior pilot, but Ashton didn’t care right then about the physical odds -- she just wanted to take a chunk out of someone this night, and the pilot el tee pretty much qualified perfectly.

 

“What’s the matter Ice Lady? I get under your skin and in your veins? Afraid you’ll be contaminated by me? You play just like you fly -- ice cold. I bet you didn’t even leave the ship during our entire leave time Hell, I have half a mind to shove those by the book rules and tactics you love so much right up your ass. Have a little fun every once … “

 

Coyote threw the first punch, throwing the still pants down Calestorm further off balance; then she and Coyote went down in a tangle of legs and arms and some random profanity.

 

Everything started moving very fast then.

 

2258

USS Comanche Creek NCC-214

Main Hanger Deck

 

Cale rubbed at the spot on her jaw where that long ago fist had impacted ruefully. “I deserved that.”

 

“No duh Sherlock.”

 

2226

USS Warlock NCC-509

Secondary Hanger Deck

 

Things had gone very fast, indeed. More like degraded into a cluster frell.

 

Several of the pilots had tried to break apart the two women, but to no avail. Cale and Coyote had gone at it like two wolf mothers fighting over a last scrap of food for their respective cubs. All the animosity and competition that had existed between the two women pilots came crashing out, literally, as they pummeled one another into a joint submission. Eventually though, the situation and brawl was brought to a screeching halt. Now, both Calestorm and Coyote stood at stiff attention, blood dribbling from noses, knuckles, lips, hair disheveled, clothing rumpled and ripped.

 

The CAG of the air wing roared, his face going beet red and contrasting sharply with the white blond hair that he wore in a severe and regulation crew cut style. “I don’t care what happened! I don’t care why you, Lieutenant Coyote got mixed up in this, and Ensign Calestorm, I really don’t even want to know why your trousers are down around your ankles…”

 

2258

USS Comanche Creek NCC-214

Main Hanger Deck

 

Crash and Skipper were cracking up, their giggles and laughs reverberating across the empty hanger deck of the Comanche.

 

“I should have mooned Mister Flat Top Haircut while I had the chance! Hell, we were already in trouble!”

 

“No way! He never would have been able to handle it! We would’ve had to emergency comm Doctor Franklin to come down and revive our CAG! The man was even more straight laced then I was then! Worse even!”

 

The two female senior line officers roared with laughter, helpless with it while the jocularity ran its infective course.

 

2226

USS Warlock NCC-509

Secondary Hanger Deck

 

Any and all pilots within the general area of the hanger deck had pretty well scattered to a somewhat safer area on the ship once the ships CAG had arrived on the scene, so the Lieutenant Commander had his two current resident miscreants all to himself.

 

With no audience other then a handful of NCO service techs who were snickering from the relative “safe zone” area behind a couple of the heavy recon star fighters, Lieutenant Commander Bryan ‘Booker’ Banner had no qualms about telling his two pilots exactly how he felt about this little incident and tearing the two wildcats a new one in the process.

 

“Both of you rejects get cleaned up! You’re both off leave as of now and on the Five AM patrol run. So that gives you ladies -- and I use that term loosely! -- four hours to clean up, get some sack time, head out on your lovely patrol run so you’re both out of my freakin’ hair for a few hours, and then I want you both back here scrubbing the alert five star fighters until I can see myself in the aft compartment housings!”

 

2258

USS Comanche Creek NCC-214

Main Hanger Deck

 

“Lieutenant Commander Banner was a tough one, but he was a good CAG. We learned a lot from him.”

 

Shauna sighed in agreement with Cale, and then spoke out loud. “Booker, Slim, Jay Jay, Relay, Captain Cross, Commander Jackson, Doctor U’badin, the Sigmus Colony guys, those few Intel guys we lost…they’re all out and about tonight Crash, all around us … “

 

“You know Skips…I believe you. I’ve no doubt that those ghosts are out there roaming tonight. But, I think ya just got yourself all worked up. Since the Comanche’ll be your first ship for the FTR program, and I’m your first line captain, and we’re heading out tomorrow for parts unknown, you’re just goin’ down memory lane back to our first assignment together. That’s all.”

 

“I know Crash. It’s just hard to escape them sometimes. The ghosts. Our decisions. What we did. Everyone who didn’t come home.”

 

The two settled into the sort of silence old soldiers usually settle into, the kind of silence that isn’t deafening, but just companionable, where no one needed to say anything more. Then, after the appropriate amount of respectful time had passed, Calestorm broke the companionable silence with her particular brand of humor.

 

“Is ol’ Iron Pants Booker around here? ….If I flip the Warlock CAG the bird, think he’ll haunt me? The gesture might get rid of him too, you know, like a crucifix but different?”

 

And then, things started happening, very fast.

 

Lord help any security officer coming through the expansive hanger deck on patrol now, for they’d be treated to the sight of a mildly irate yet amused admiral running full tilt and chasing down her equally amused line captain who was only about three steps ahead, yet valiantly diving for the access door and exit from the deck to try and attempt a clean getaway.

 

And both of the old broads could still haul it and move pretty darn quick when they wanted to.

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