Chapter 1: 'Pilot'

[Hades]

UN Heavy Transport 1572
February 11, 2137 - 06:12 UTC
Two Minutes from Navy Base 'Einstein'

"Foch Control, this is United Nations Heavy one-five-seven-two. Requesting permission to commence docking procedures."

"Permission granted, one-five-seven-two. You have been cleared to dock in the main landing deck. Steer clear from the radiation pockets."

The ship's pilot returned a confirmation, brought the ship to auto-landing mode and leaned back on his seat. His copilot mirrored his movements to the very letter, and reached for the cigarette pack stashed underneath the seat. In a very fluid motion, he removed two cigarettes from within it, lit them up with a military lighter and offered his compatriot one of the pair.

"And, applaud! Third Earth-Mars transit this week, with zero pirate attacks."

While the pilot did not agree verbally, it was not because of disagreement. He was just too busy appreciating his fix of nicotine and cancer, as his wife always claimed he did. Truthfully, he couldn't care less. Medicine was advanced enough that cancer was nothing more than a bug to be squashed by a healthy dose of antiviral-like substances, and nicotine addiction wasn't even dangerous.

The copilot enjoyed his cigar for a few moments, and then activated the ship's intercom to address the passengers.

"Attention all passengers. We have arrived at Navy Base Einstein, and will be docking with the Foch in a few moments. Please secure your gear for landing..."

"...oh, and if you look out of the starboard windows, you might catch a glimpse of the Foch, the Troy and the Thor."

And he was right; two four-and-a-half kilometer long Majestic-Class Supercarriers and an almost as large Asgard-Class Dreadnought were all docked in a line inside the gargantuan drydocks. The shuttle made an approach for the supercarrier on the far left.

[Zombiedude101]

Nathan released a quiet grunt, having been stirred from his half-dazed state by the sound of the co-pilot's voice over the intercom. With something of a half-hearted sigh of relief at their journey coming to an end, he leaned forward and glanced out the window, silently nodding, as if the god-like ships which lay before his eyes had been presented to him in hope of gaining the Veteran Pilot's approval.

With a slight twitch of the fingers attached to the cybernetic replacement for his forearm, he sank back into his seat and exhaled once more. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't wait to get behind the controls of a fighter craft once again, even if it was just for a drill. After all, it'd been at least two months since he'd last been behind the seat of one, and that was all the way over on Europa for a couple of hours whilst training with the rookie pilots. Hopefully the people he'd be working with on this new assignment would be a little more seasoned, not so green.

[Chief]

Cold halls covered in even colder faces. Masks or helmets, it didn't matter. All hid the same. The transport was a hive of cogs, elements of a larger machine: a machine of war. Soldiers checking their weapons, looking through their duffelbags, trying to look useful. He hadn't brought much. Just his uniforms and pistol. That'd be all he'd need on the Foch. He looked out the window, observing the large vessel. It looked efficient, lots of turrets to say the least. It'd be a good ship to serve on.

For now, he used the time he had to prepare himself for the times that were to come. Harsh times, times of peril. He'd have to be ready, and he'd have to pray his fellow soldiers would be as well. He leaned back into his small chair, his head bumping against the back of it. He closed his eyes.

[Hades]

"Control, this is Troy Hornet one-five-seven. Pre-flight check complete, all systems in the green. Requesting clearance for vertical take-off."

Captain Audrey 'Crashdown' Sinclair waited patiently for the Landing Signals Officer to respond, her right hand's fingers tapping nervously on the control stick of the Hornet fighter she was in. If there was one thing that was a relief aboard the Troy, it was controlled vertical take-offs. No need for the electromagnetic catapult, no need for the pilot to do anything but make sure the computer was doing its job right and push a button now and then. By the looks of it, the computer had finished booting up, and her flight helmet's visor was filled by the holographic heads up display.

"Crashdown, you are a go for launch. Commence vertical climb and stabilize at ten. Exit through the rear hangar door and contact Foch's LSO."

Within a moment, the magnetic lock on the elevator was severed. The thirty ton fighter's ventral RCS thrusters kicked in almost immediately, sending the vehicle on a slow climb towards the ceiling. Only a second later, the dorsal thrusters fired in the exact opposite direction. The fighter came to a complete halt in the middle of the hangar.

"Skids up, stabilized at ten. Commencing main engine burn."

"Copy that, Crashdown. We'll miss you."

"No you won't." she replied with an awfully audible chuckle, and the LSO hesitated before replying.

"Alright, no I won't. Off the record, Sinclair, you have been a massive pain in the ass. My sympathies go to the Foch's LSO. And the deck gang. And your squadron leader. And the CAG. And-"

"I get the point, LSO."

"Just don't do any stunts like that hands-on landing on your first day. The Chief almost murdered me that day."

"What was that? Did you say hands-on maneuver? Acknowledged, shutting off autopilot."

She couldn't help but grin at the protests of the man over the radio, and she completely ignored them as she shut off the autopilot. Breaking half a dozen regulations, she fired up the afterburner and dashed for the Troy's still opening rear hangar door. The LSO's reaction was priceless; a long scream into the radio, followed by incoherent yells as the fighter made a z-axis turn and passed through the slit of the door. After several threats of court-martial, and claims that she was criminally insane, she innocently replied through the radio.

"Troy, this is Troy Hornet one-five-seven. Changing designation to Foch Hornet one-five-seven. Switching channel to the Foch's control tower."

The fighter made a hard nose-to-tail turn, kicked in its thruster again and set a course for the Foch's landing deck, passing narrowly by the heavy transport moving in to dock.

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