Therapeutic

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The USS Comanche Creek and her crew had been on patrol along the Federation border protection grid zones for the past few days; so far, things were going well and no one had shot at them with intent to kill -- score one for the good guys.

 

Or, to put it another way: The Federation and its Starfleet were doing as well as could be expected for an organization that was attempting to rebuild its Fleet and borders after an attack from a highly disturbed future Romulan. The times were still uncertain, various criminal factions and pirate organizations were not making the process any easier and insisted on encroaching within the colony territories, and it would probably take a few years for the Starfleet to get its officer, crew and ship numbers back up to snuff.

 

Regardless, the assignment offered the ‘Creek crew a chance to do some “downtime duty” across all the departments and shifts, and being out and about performing what amounted to a milk run mission cataloging and replacing communications and security buoys along the perimeter was a welcome change of pace. The crew had been exposed to various run and gun missions since the ships maiden launch, and it just seemed that everyone and their mother (for some odd reason) wanted to blow them out of the stars.

 

Then again, maybe Cale was just getting a wee bit paranoid…

 

Although, even the most straight-forward assignment could still have an unexpected situation: During the last patrol run, the forward starfighter squad had found that one of the communications buoys had been shot six ways to Sunday. Either the buoy had been hit by some of the local sector colony kids joyriding in a shuttle and taking some potshots at the device, or something more sinister had tried to take a chunk out of it.

 

Captain Calestorm herself had played many games of ‘Bang Out the Buoy’ during her slightly misspent youth as a Colonial Patrol Brat (CeePeeBee’s to you civilians, and you’d better smile when you say it), and was half hoping the situation with the communications node didn’t stray beyond some old fashioned juvenile delinquency. The ‘Creeks Sci-Forensic department was currently checking the buoy over, and if the situation turned out differently based on the findings, then the crew would simply roll with the punches and tactically adapt to whatever new situation presented itself.

 

In the meantime, over these last several days, the captain had taken the opportunity to get some flight time on the forward patrol patterns -- also referred to as Captains Prerogative. For this current flight run, she had launched out in the Pappy Boyington in order to see what the shuttle could really do.

 

The Boyington was a Type 1 shuttle, yellow jacket class, and typically functioned within a multi-role payout. Smaller in size then the Goshawk and Haribon starfighters, the shuttle was mostly used in a courier and diplomatic capacity, patrol duties where needed, and was capable of engaging in non intensive combat missions such as this patrol run. The Boyington hadn’t yet gotten a proper breaking in period, and Cale intended to put the shuttle through its paces. Some of the Fleet captains hardly ever set a boot in their personal shuttles, but Crash was not that sort; she damn well intended to make the vehicle live up to its designation as a working captains yacht.

 

In deference to the ships aerospace group though, she had looked over the flight schedules and taken any overlap times or vacant slots that needed a rotational pilot, falling easily into the standard role as a backup pilot. Keeping an edge on your flight time was all well and good, but it wouldn’t do for her to muscle her way in and take the flight points from the department pilots proper. Right now, it was oh five thirty ships standard time, and Calestorm had opted to take the lead spot in a CAP* run for the early/early shift.

 

If she happened to be out and about with one of the launch squads, Crash tended to behave herself if the CAG* had assigned himself to be on the point starfighter lead. The Cait officer was the no nonsense A-Line type of air wing commander, and she didn’t wish to undermine her lead pilot lieutenant’s influence on the inter-squad politics and officers. For now, as the patrol recon lead, it was time for Calestorm to break out the literal loop holes and have some fun with the Boyington.

 

She had already given the two younger pilots that had accompanied her on the CAP patrol an eyeful when she launched a variation on a flip six invert maneuver in order to get a closer look at a functioning security buoy…and shortly after completing the move, she informed them that she’d skin them alive after Lieutenant Mrkath got through with them if they ever tried the same thing while going sub light. The flip six maneuver was within acceptable safety parameters while maintaining your normal atmo booster jets, which Crash was in fact using for the in close visual inspection. If a pilot tried the same maneuver while going full sub light they’d end up passing out or smeared across the side of the Comanche Creek or some godforsaken moon.

 

She was pretty sure the two of them -- newly transferred pilot ensigns, good kids but full of juice and way too eager to prove themselves -- got her message when the hoots and hollers of encouragement at her trick died down and the pilot to pilot wireless got reeaaaaal quiet. Then, after a few moments had passed the curiosity won out and the two ensigns figured it was safe to started asking her questions.

 

Some mobile classroom time while in the cockpit? Yeah, Cale could handle that. It’d been a long time since she’d been an instructor, but she had always found the aspect of teaching interesting. The remainder of the patrol was completed within the hour, no damaged buoys had been encountered along this stretch of grid, and the Boyington and its two Goshawk fighter escorts started to fly a return pattern run back to the ‘Creek hanger bay.

 

The captain and her two junior Blacksheep pilots talked shop for the duration of the return flight about various tactical maneuvers that could be employed safely or with an acceptable amount of risk, keeping their conversation contained over the wireless pilot to pilot and pilot to ship communications lines so as to avoid any unwelcome or prying ears that might be trying to listen from across the sectors. From what she had been able to pick up from the overall conversation, Lieutenant Mrkath had done a very good job schooling his newest pilots. They were both raw, but with some spit and polish (but not too much), they’d clean up right well.

 

As the main hanger bay came into view through her cockpit canopy and she received her approach coordinates to bring the Boyington in from the flight officer on duty at the main bridge console, Calestorm felt conflicting feelings surge through her gut. It felt good to be home, but all the same she would have to leave the Black and go grounded again…the simple fact was that the flying calmed her down. Command responsibilities aside, the repetitive nature and the familiarity of performing some simple piloting work was something that she was very familiar with.

 

And, the captain needed some familiarity in her life right now.

 

…Crash wouldn’t dare let on to the crew about how she truly felt about the beating that she had endured while on leave at the New Topeka colony. Mad as Hell, yes -- that much she had made clear to her senior crew members.

 

It was the underlying feelings that she was trying to work through, the aftermath feelings that hadn't come to the surface until now. It just wasn’t something she was willing to share with her subordinate crew, at least not right now. In the interim, Crash would work through the frustration, fear and psychological ripple effect on her own; it was either find some outlets or continue to beat the hell out of the punching bag in the ship’s main gym, picturing Litasha’s face smack dab in the middle while she meted out some reactionary punishment.

 

Flying was fun, plain and simple. Always had been, always would be, and she would never say any differently. In her heart, she’d always be a pilot.

 

Flying was also currently a personal therapy option that Crash Calestorm needed to explore in order to maintain her sanity…

 

*CAP – Combat Air Patrol

*CAG – Commander Air Group