Sugarfoot

[STSF Jumper 0]

The following log takes place just prior to the 06.06.11 Sim…

 

Neural Sector

214 Beta Squad CAP

 

The CAP* for the most part had been going well, and Ensign ‘Jumper’ Honor-Scar was pleased.

 

Not that she’d been really worried or anything, as she was one of the best pilots in the 214’s aero wing, but what was really bugging her was that she was one of the best insertion pilot among the squads, if she said so herself. She’d been specifically ordered off the shuttle pilot roster for the Neural away teams, and directly by the captain no less. Calestorm didn’t usually micro manage the pilots like that, leaving the flight squad assignments to the CAG* and Executive Officer.

 

The golden furred Caitian pilot really didn’t mind taking the lead for one of the CAP patrols though. The wing wasn’t exactly shorthanded, but had gone through some changes with transfers, notably the CAG for extended medical recovery after the Wei mission. With an influx of newbie pilots, the more experienced vacuum riders were pulling double shifts to compensate for the requirements of the Neural mission.

 

The scheduled CAP patrols had been made aware that there were sensor shadows pinging the radius sensors on the main command bridge. Rumors were already flying that at least one was an Orion dreadnought ship, probably the Cartel this far out. The second sensor ghost had as of yet been unconfirmed. All the pilots were hyper sensitive.

 

She verbally activated her helmet comm and contacted her assigned wingman over the secure pilot too pilot wireless. “I’m going to peel off and take the full lead. Maintain the patrol pattern and I’ll swing back once I complete my full arc.”

 

The answer was immediate over the wireless. “But our orders are to maintain the pattern, and stay together.”

 

She noted that the Tomcat pilot and his EC* Officer assigned to Beta stayed quiet, probably letting her roll with the newbie wing man.

 

Her wingman was a recent transfer and had been assigned as a Hornet jockey, senior cadet pilot rank. Like the other survivor ships of Starfleet, the Border Patrol had been getting a lot of newbie crew, and quite a few of the incoming greenies were even younger then Jumper.

 

The Human had immediately fallen into the role of ‘squad conscience’ of whoever he was assigned to work with. Honor-Scar actually didn’t mind that, really. As one of the crazier pilots, she knew how to recognize the more dangerous types – the ones who really were crazy.

 

Stiles was just concerned, and she’d respect that.

 

Honor-Scar responded with a patient (for her) sigh over the helmet comm. “I know that Sugarfoot.”

 

Newbies were usually referred to as 'Sugarfoot' on the USS Comanche Creek, which was a nice way of saying that they had to earn their stripes. Jumper had always figured it was a redneck Human thing, not that the felinoid would say that to Calestorm’s face. Anyway, it was nice to be able to call someone else that for a change and not have the nickname directed at her.

 

“We have a lot of activity going on here that we can’t get seem to get a lead on. I’m going to go high and wide and see who or what I can flush out. Stay calm, stay on our vector pattern, keep in contact with Alpha CAP, and watch my six.”

 

With a flash of blue plasma exhaust, Honor-Scar gunned her Hornet and peeled off into the distance. After the fighter’s onboard tracking computers pinged, indicating that she had reached the position arc that she had inputted, she commed the home ship. “This is Hornet Five to Shepherd Command; I’ve moved slightly off our patrol route to get a closer look at some readings we’re picking up. Alpha patrol is informed, inbound to assist Beta with the vector cross overlap. Transmitting field sensor readings now, comm silence will be maintained for next thirty, Five out.”

 

****

The felinoid couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very off. Her unease was proven right when her communications console was pinged with an ID transponder, followed shortly by a Federation class vessel appearing in the distance. The ensign immediately confirmed a visual and digital ID, and did not like what she found.

 

“Shhhivasssta nah fahl sssoren!”

 

Her wingman paused for a second before responding over the wireless. “Uh…okay, don’t speak Caitian, but that did not sound pretty.”

 

“Shivasta fahl! Got something on that second ping, and it’s my fragging cousin’s ship. That frigate is one of the fast stealth response bad boys, only about thirty personnel, handle all kinds of commando assignments. Last I heard, she was working the Beta sectors.” Jumper wasn’t revealing anything that wasn’t already publicly known about the SEALs* of Naval Special Operations Command.

 

The EC officer assigned to Tomcat Ten responded back to her, his tone curious. “Any idea what she’s doing here?”

 

“Not a clue.” Jumper growled, a long low hiss that expressed her discontent. What in the Great Hunter was JoNs doing here?! This mission just got weirder and weirder. “Okay boys and girls, mark this on your calendars and note the date; I’m playing this by the book. Alpha and Beta, continue forward and then maintain position facing the arrival. I’m contacting the Shepherd again.”

 

As she made her way back to her original flight heading in order to link up with the others, Honor-Scar switched her comm over to a secondary secure channel. “This is Blacksheep Five to Shepherd FOPS*. Confirming secondary sensor ghost - we have a friendly on the perimeter. They are transmitting on audio encryption, requesting permission to enter system. They have orders from Command. Request advisement - do we provide escort or continue searching for confirmation of sensor ghosts?”

 

A soon as the words left her muzzle, the entire patrol descended into a waking nightmare.

 

An Orion dreadnought loomed out of the darkness, letting loose a volley of torpedoes at the USS Washington Crossing. The helmsman controlling the fast frigate managed to react, turning the sleek Starfleet vessel to avoid the full spread. Two of the torpedoes impacted, sending steel plating flying outward and knocking the Federation vessel sideways.

 

The Alpha and Beta patrols from the ‘Creek were in line with the remaining torpedoes and debris; training kicked in, and the pilots went into a standard scatter and evade pattern. The EC Tomcat assigned to Alpha managed to move out of the way, as did the Tomcat assigned to Jumpers patrol. The two Alpha Hornet pilots got their starfighters out of immediate range as well, plasma exhaust leaving a blue fire trail against the black.

 

Her wingman was just clearing the hot zone as the scattered debris pelted the tail end of the starfighter, sending pilot and vehicle spinning; a stray torpedo slammed into Hornet Four in mid-spin, tearing it apart.

 

Ensign Honor-Scar continued to zoom towards the hot zone; she was close enough to see the events unfold in stark detail. She swiped a paw at her cockpit console to access the general squad wireless. “Fighters on me! Move it guys!”

 

Forgetting comm to comm coded protocol, the younger pilot exploded over the wireless. “Comanche Creek! We have shots fired, repeat, shots fired. An Orion dreadnought has fired on the USS Washington Crossing! Our fighters have scattered, Hornet Four has been lost, repeat, Cadet Stiles has been lost! Do we have permission to engage! Do we have permission to fire!?”

 

Her growling tone held both fear and anger. “Requesting fragging direction!”

 

TBC In Sim…

 

_______

CAP – Combat Air Patrol

CAG – Commander of the Air/Aero Group

EC – Electronic Countermeasures

SEAL – Sea, Air & Land

FOPS – Flight Operations