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STSF_Scooter

Flashbacks, Pt 2

Vir: Londo, this is insane!

Londo: Insanity is part of the times. You must learn to embrace the madness. Let it fire you.

Knives- Babylon 5, S2e17

Flashback, Part II

 

Surgical ICU Waiting Room

Tripler Starfleet Medical Center

Honolulu, HI

SD 2240.190 1015 local

 

Still in her flightsuit and gear, Audraya sat on cracked vinyl couch that so many others had spent countless hours waiting to hear about a loved one. Only Commander Ichijo wasn't a significant other, just her flight instructor. And as pilot in command of the Tornado that she managed to keep out of the Pacific, she felt it was still her responsibility to keep an eye on him. An old, rubbed to parchment Tricare pamphlet was in her hands, but her mind was going over the emergency landing, like silent movie, and what should've been done better.

 

She'd flown in on the medical shuttle with the Commander, and given a clean bill of health by one of the ER docs. The fighter was on its way Hickam, to be gone over with a fine tooth comb and repaired, by a heavy-lift assault craft.

 

Looking up for a moment, her eyes focused on the cane that suddenly appeared in front of her. Tracking further up, she caught the cuff of a gold shirt...and the large amount of braid just a few inches above it. Oh crap! She jumped to attention. “Admiral, sir, I didn't see you standing there.”

 

“At ease, Ensign. Have a seat,” Admiral von Natzmer said, waving Audraya back down. The centenarian admiral took a seat next to her. “You're Bob Wesley's daughter, aren't you?”

 

“Um...yes sir, I am. How did you know?”

 

The Romulan War veteran chuckled. “Not many Orions in Starfleet, that's how. Caused a bit of a ruckus when you decked Captain Barnett during his class. Personally, I found it amusing.”

 

Audraya blushed slightly, while the Admiral favored her a grin. “Sir, I...”

 

“Stifle it, Ensign. I'm an Admiral. I see reports from around the Fleet, including the Academy. What he tried to do should've resulted in a court-martial. For him. Honestly, an instructor and field grade officer should've known better. Hell, in my day, he would have been. Verdammt Flotte ist immer zu verdammt weich,” he growled in German. “Ensign, have you had a chance to get quarters?”

 

“No sir.”

 

“Go to the billeting office at Schofield, and get yourself a room at the Q. I'll contact your commander at Armstrong, and clear you to be here for the next 48 hours. Meet my flag captain, Captain Dumoutier tomorrow morning, say around 9, at Wheeler Hangar 1. Anyone who can deadstick a Tornado can fly what I have in mind. And bring your flightsuit, Ensign.”

 

“Yes sir, thank you sir.”

 

-=-=-=-

Wheeler National Historic Airfield

SD2240.191 0845 Local

 

The smell of sea and mountain mingled with the alien smells of aviation oil and gasoline. Audraya walked down the flightline of full scale mockups of pre-World War 2 P-36 Hawk and P-40 Warhawk fighters, in their pre-war markings. A couple of school trips included the old US Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson and the Smithsonian NASM exhibits for history, along with her brothers dragging her to a couple local airshows made her appreciate just what kind of skill was required to fly those fragile crates.

 

After a quick visit to the Exchange at Schofield for some necessities, and a trip to Waikiki for some leisure, Audraya's mental balance was definitely on the mend, and looking forward to this flight.

 

“Ensign,” she heard behind her. Turning, she saw Captain Dumoutier in an old style khaki flightsuit. “Ah, good, you're early and in your suit. Come along, we have a 1000 launch clearance, and I need to go over preflight and take off procedures.”

 

“Procedures, Captain?”

 

“Yes. Follow me, Ensign.” Nodding, she followed the French officer down the ramp. They stopped at one airframe.

 

“Here's the crate you'll be flying today. I'll be in the back seat, as your instructor. She's an original SNJ-5, built during the war. Go ahead, Ensign, climb up and strap in.” As she did, Dumoutier began explaining the rather sparse controls, switches and instruments the historical aircraft, as well as explaining he had 200 hours logged in the airframe. Several Starfleet ground personnel, in period appropriate uniforms, came out of the hangar, a couple dragging a large fire extinguisher on wheels out. The crew took up stations around the aircraft, as Dumoutier climbed into the rear cockpit. One of the crew handed Audraya a reproduction leather flying helmet and throat mike.

 

“Clear,” Dumoutier called from the rear cockpit, as he set throttle, magnetos and primed the engine.

 

“Contact,” came the shouted reply.

 

Dumoutier hit the starter button, and with a whine and cloud of black smoke, the R-1340 engine kicked over, swinging the 9' prop at the nose of the aircraft. “You've got the airplane, Ensign,” he called over the interphone.

 

“Roger.” With moves that dated back to the First World War, Audraya signaled the chocks pulled. The crew chief gave her a thumbs up and saluted the aircraft. Advancing the throttle, she began taxiing the plane. “Captain, I can't see over the nose.”

 

“Swerve the plane left and right along the centerline. That'll allow you to see around the nose. Almost all taildraggers need that. Good. Taxi to the end of Runway 6. We'll be taking off to the east.”

 

“Roger, sir.”

 

Even though Wheeler was part of the Pearl Harbor National Historical Park, the field was still an active uncontrolled airfield, such as advanced pleasure aircraft required. The runway was all appropriately marked, there were functioning lights, and the beacon still rotated at all hours. At the runway threshold, Dumoutier pulled out the checklist again. “Brakes,” he called.

 

“Set,” Audraya replied, standing on them.

 

“Throttle to 36 inches.”

 

The plane began to vibrate, as the engine manifold pressure reached the required 36 inches of mercury. “Set, and held. Instruments checked and set.”

 

“Tailwheel locked, release the brakes. Remember small inputs to see, and don't take off too early. Let it float up off the ground.”

 

“Yes sir.” With the brakes off, the plane began to roll down the tarmac, the rear wheel coming up off the ground within three hundred feet. Pulling back on the stick, the mains came up off the ground.

 

“Gear up,” which was followed by the whine of hydraulics. “The aircraft is yours, Ensign. Don't do anything that either I, or the Admiral, will regret.”

 

As they crossed the end of the runway, Audraya, a maniacal grin on her face, rolled to the right, pushed the stick forward, and leveled off, at 190 feet, pressure altitude—right over Interstate H2—and 182 indicating on the airspeed indicator. With controlled, precise movements of the stick and rudder, Audraya moved away, and ran parallel to I-H2 and Rt 99, to where they merged with I-H1. Banking hard right, she avoided the Aloha Stadium, and followed the highway, and along the Hickam SFB perimeter...and just under an inbound Pan Am Orion suborbital shuttle. “GODDAMNIT ENSIGN!” Dumoutier shouted into the interphone. “If you flew any lower, you'd need a goddamned scooter.

 

“That's it, Ensign. When we get back, you're formally being christened with 'Scooter.'”

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As they crossed the end of the runway, Audraya, a maniacal grin on her face, rolled to the right, pushed the stick forward, and leveled off, at 190 feet, pressure altitude—right over Interstate H2—and 182 indicating on the airspeed indicator. With controlled, precise movements of the stick and rudder, Audraya moved away, and ran parallel to I-H2 and Rt 99, to where they merged with I-H1. Banking hard right, she avoided the Aloha Stadium, and followed the highway, and along the Hickam SFB perimeter...and just under an inbound Pan Am Orion suborbital shuttle. “GODDAMNIT ENSIGN!” Dumoutier shouted into the interphone. “If you flew any lower, you'd need a goddamned scooter.

 

“That's it, Ensign. When we get back, you're formally being christened with 'Scooter.'”

 

::highly approves:: Nice flashback log 'Scooter'!

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