[FFML] [Fic:SRW] Resonance Sigma (Beta, partial, Serious Critique needed)

[Mike Ching]

Hi All:

I've been banging my head against a wall because this
beast I'm writing just feels and reads all wrong. I'm
trying to go for a Super Robot Wars fanfic, but with a
Battlestar Galactica (2003)feel, but none of it is
working. Either my pacing is all wrong, or I'm being
too wordy, or it simply falls flat at the start.

I seriously appreciate all your heavy criticism on
this. As in NEED it--I don't like the way I'm writing
this at all, and I could use some help.

- Wavehawk

==================================================
The moon shone bright on the field of a massacre.

Flames mixed with the stench of mechanical blood and
the groans of twisted and broken metal scattered
across the landscape. Darkness and light flickered
maddeningly about the night, where two mechanical
giants remained standing.

The bat-winged head of the Gespenst Personal Trooper
quivered with the same fear the pilot inside had.
Sculpted in cursive, flared armor, the blue-shaded
Gespenst looked more like a stout giant wearing armor
than a combat mecha, wide body belieing the speed and
power within. Ahead of it was another machine, painted
in flat white and black, the latter ghostly as it
walked out of the flames to meet the Gespenst.

The black mecha was, in all respects, the Gespenst's
polar opposite. Where the Gespenst consisted of thick,
robust curves, the other machine seemed like shattered
stained glass stepping out and impaling the night.
It's right arm carried an odd-looking sword, designed
much the same as the machine itself as it swung an arc
with flourish, a challenge to the fear-stricken
Gespenst.

There was good reason to fear, as the metal corpses
scattered about were all Gespensts.

With a scream and a burst of speed, the last Gespenst
swung its right fist straight at the black machine.
Armed with a trio of Plasma Stakes, it was a
close-combat machine that packed sufficient firepower
at range. The stakes crackled and threatened
shattering destruction at whatever point of impact it
would encounter.

The opponent did not block; instead it swung its left
arm at the incoming fist, stepping into the attack
instead of avoiding it. Cutting the distance gave it
the advantage--the punch slammed into the Gespenst's
right wrist, deflecting the blow upwards and away.

The black mecha then swung one leg into a kick,
smashing into the Gespenst's torso and sending the
burly machine flying. even as the Gespenst sailed
backwards through the air, the Black mecha's sword
pointed, tip-first at it.

With a burst of green-blue fire, the 'sword' fired off
four plasma shots at the hapless Gespenst. One punched
a hole through the Gespenst's head--causing its pilot
to scream, blinded. The other shots blew out the blue
mecha's kneecaps and it's left arm--obliterating the
Plasma Stake weapon.

The now-decapitated Gespenst bounced off the ground
with ignoble violence, finally coming to rest on a
hill away from his now-dead comrades. Terror in his
soul, the pilot alternated betweren profanity and
pathetic pleading as his Gespenst tried to crawl away
on one functional arm. The Black mecha casually strode
to the blue machine, slowing only to watch--and
possibly enjoy--the Gespenst and the way it tried to
wriggle away from the fight it had already lost.

"Kuroi...Kuroi Akuma..." the rattled pilot stammered,
remembering the Japanese-given name of their foe. The
beeping sounds he heard were not all from his
machine--rather, it was the waste bladder in his pilot
suit alerting overfull. A name that they had long
since lost to time, returning now. The name was
appropriate, in any language. "B--Black Devil!!!"

"The difference between you and I is that you have
never before stared death in the face," the Black
Devil's pilot coldly declared, his machine's visor
glowing an unholy green as he scanned the pinned
machine at his feet. The metalshod boot stepped down
hard upon the damaged mecha's engine, its pilot
blabbering inanities of fear as he and his vehicle
still tried to crawl pathetically away. "Let me help
you."

The Black Devil sank its sword into the cockpit, up to
the hilt.

<<-------->>
Resonance Sigma
Mission One - Arrival Blues
<<-------->>

The evening waters of the Pacific rolled silently for
miles ahead. Like the sailing ships of old, the Rah
Kailum moved at a slow speed, almost coasting as it
sailed on a bed of airborne Minovsky particles towards
its destination. The giant ship, last of the
Rah-series Mobile Suit supercarriers, was not really
intended for atmospheric flight but was retrofitted
with a Minovsky float system for this one flight.

*It's the end of our journey, isn't it, Bright?* the
ship's acting Captain thought, as he watched the deep
blue ocean spread far off. Plankton shimmered in
reaction to the Minovsky field's almost physical
force, a gossamer carpet for the ship's approach. As
the Ship's lead officer looked from the sea to the
sky, he saw that the fairy-blue lights above, remains
of a long-destroyed moon. The phosphorescent sea and
glowing sky seemed to light the path to his future.

Amuro Rey looked again to the sea, wondering if the
end of the Kailum's journey would be the end of his
military career, as well. Absently, he plucked at his
graying sideburns. His once flame-red hair now turning
a lighter shade of burnt umber. He'd considered it for
years; pressed for emergency service as a mobile suit
pilot at the age of sixteen, he was more an with a
knack for engineering and inventions. He wanted
nothing to do with the military then.

That all changed when he first took on the RX-78
"Gundam" prototype, carrying on to be one of the top
aces of that war. For years after that conflict, he
had lived in semi-reclusion, living off royalties from
his inventions and a military stipend--before once
again finding himself behind the controls of an MS.
Since then it had been the constant in his life;
piloting combat mecha, even though he had spent most
of his life denying that he had a talent or taste for
war.

Yet, the Military provided him a career and an income;
though he had always complained of it's rigidity,
Amuro now wondered if he could ever really lead a
civilian lifestyle.

{Captain Rey?} the ship's communication channel hailed
him.

Amuro blinked; years on and he could never get used to
the rank. There was also a twinge of self-awareness as
he stood. Rah Kailum was Bright Noah's boat, not
his--it felt wrong to be addressed as it's Captain in
any form or function. But Bright wasn't around any
longer, and he'd made a promise. The Kailum's last
voyage would be overseen by him. Straightening
himself, he tapped the closest comm speaker on the
wall. "Yes, Noddy. What is it?"

{Captain, I've received a couple of heads-ups from
Pearl,} the communications officer replied. Pearl
Harbor Naval Base was to be their last stop; although
most war relics were shipped to the Kennedy War Museum
in the Florida Everglades, the Rah Kailum was much too
large a ship. It was eventually decided to turn the
entire ship into a floating museum near Pearl
Harbor--much to the amusement of the Kailum's
reamining techs, waiting for a chance to have their
first Hawaiian vacation. {First off, there's a Drop
along our course...}

"Understood. Tell Bean to set changes to correct for
that," Rey crossed his arms. Long before this ship,
long before his military service, he only aspired to
be an engineer. Partly to impress his estranged
father, and partly for the mental challenges of the
work. Everything from the popular Haro toys he himself
made and patented, to more practical applications,
were part of his passion. Thus, Amuro was familiar
with Drops; meteorites that fell into orbit on a
regular basis. Ones that fell away from human
habitation were generally ignored, but more serious
threats were often destroyed in-orbit. Rah Kailum was
taking a long route away from shipping lines, so there
was no surprise that this one was not intercepted in
any way. "What's next?"

{Second sir, a notice that a representative from ORB
will meet us halfway to Pearl for the Ceremony} There
was a pause, then a slight smile could be heard in
Noddy's voice. {Sir, it's the Archangel.}

Grinning slightly, Amuro shook his head. It had been
ages since he'd last bumped into the Archangel's
captain. It would make for some interesting times,
indeed. "Acknowledge that. Anything else?"

{They're wondering if you can submit your speech for
review...sir.}

"Speech," Amuro growled in a worryingly low voice, his
earlier good cheer evaporating. He'd told the
Diplomatic Corps to stuff it seven times; he was not
writing, much less presenting, the Rah Kailum's
decomissioning speech. "And they want to review it."

{Uhm...A~~aye sir,} came the reply, and the comm went
dead. The captain was once again alone, but
nonetheless burdened. Amuro was never a public figure,
and it felt wrong for him to steal Bright Noa's
thunder, making speeches and the like for the troops.
But there was one more reason Rey did not want to make
a public showing.

"I'm not going to go down Char's path," he mumbled,
once again running his hand through the waves of grey
in his hair. A little drop of bitterness and regret
crawled into his voice then. "I should never got on
that damned white thing in the first place."

==========

The two VF-series Variable Fighters landed smoothly on
the deck of the Ventrue, snagging the first arrestor
cable with almost movie-perfect precision as they
slammed to a sudden halt, from 400 kilometers an hour
to a flat zero. Both two machines resembled planes
from the late 20th century and performed as such--that
is, when they were not utilizing their other
configuration in combat.

Aoi Tsushima brought her VF-2J into a turn, its twin
engines idling low as she lined up with the smaller
tow vehicle in front. Glancing to her right, she could
see her wingmate's VF-2J, performing the same
maneuver. Aoi gave the other pilot a thumbs-up, to
which the other merely nodded, as a second tow vehicle
came to bring the second VF into park.

Once the craft stopped, a quick blast of sound came
from the deck, the signal for all-clear. At this, the
technicians and deck hands suddenly poured onto the
deck. Beyond the bustling flight deck, Tsushima could
see the ocean, glistening with sunlight. The
Armor-class light space carrier Ventrue was already
safely berthed at Pearl Harbor, but had not yes
released its fighter squadrons to the nearby airfield
as most carrier crews did upon return. Pulling the
cockpit open, she began to peel off her
helmet--allowing her long opal-black hair to fall
freely onto her shoulders. The deck hands had already
started applying locks on the VFs, and Aoi released
the locks holding her pilot suit to the machine's
control seat.

"Welcome back, Raven!" the deckhand called Tsushima by
callsign, a smile on his face as he saw her climb down
from the plane. Tsushima was unnerved by it when she
first started, that most of the Ventrue's deck crew
were male. But it was something she'd gotten used
to--after all, the Ventrue was the only carrier to
have an all-female fighter squadron--the 52nd Tactical
Fighter Wing, known as the Battling Banshees. "CAG
Sakamoto wants you two ASAP."

On her opposite side, her wingmate stepped off, but
had not removed her helmet as she stepped away from
her machine.

*You haven't gotten over your habits, Cera?* Raven
shook her head, but cracked a knowing smile. She then
turned to the deckhand who spoke. "We'll be in Pri-Fly
in two."

"Nope. Now," the yellow-shirted Deck Boss jerked a
thumb toward the ship's bridge. Pri-Fly was the
pilots' briefing room belowdecks of the ship. Meeting
in the bridge meant a long talk in the office of the
CAG (Commander, Air Group). And whatever CAG Mikoto
Sakamoto demanded, the pilots obeyed. "She doesn't
look happy, but I'm sure it's not because of you."

"Great," Aoi gave the tech her best Cheshire-Cat
smile. By now, her wingmate had caught up to her,
pulling off her own helmet to reveal a blonde crown of
hair. Raven gave her friend the same grin. "So, you
ready to face the lions, Crimson?"

"No," Cera "Crimson" Walker looked back at her
wingmate with questioning blue eyes, then to the Deck
Boss. "Is this to do with CAG's new assignment?"

"Probably," the Deck Boss responded, then allowed a
more smug grin to creep across his features--Crimson's
nordic features were almost regally beautiful, and
many among the crew had tried to hit on her at least
once. "Speaking of which Crimson, you got a date for
tonight?"

Walker simply ignored the advance, and kept to herself
as she walked on ahead toward the bridge.

"God, what a icy bitch," the man shook his head, then
looked back at Tsushima with an almost pitying face.
"I dunno how you got stuck with her, Raven."

Raven simply shrugged. It wasn't that Crimson was
arrogant, unlike the common belief among most of the
pilots and techs. Cera was simply shy, afraid to open
up to people. Aoi understood that; even if she didn't
know her full story, she trusted her wingmate to be
there for her.

She always was.

"Aoi to Aka," Raven winked at the puzzled Deck Boss,
who knew absolutely nothing about the Japanese
language, as she sprinted off to join Walker. "Blue
and Red. We're meant to be partners."

==========

The duffel on his shoulder felt like a ton by the time
he'd reached the grounds. The island's playful wind
whipped at his face and hair as he unkindly noted to
himself a need for a haircut. Despite being a Marine
in the Federal Service, Craig Benton hated crew-cuts,
wanting to take some off-duty time to let flow his
locks to a length drill sergeants would have
considered a court-martial offense.

*Hell with that,* Benton threw the idea to the wind.
While it would have been an interesting stunt, he felt
it wasn't worth the trouble. He'd been a fine,
upstanding Marine among the Federation's best. Even
so, Craig wished they could afford to be more lax in
regulation hairstyling; after all, he wasn't a foot
soldier--unless you counted boots of sizes in excess
of 5 meters long.

Pearl Harbor Naval Station was a new experience for
the young Marine; the sunny environment and nature of
most of the troops he'd met here were far removed from
the colder climate in Norfolk. By the time Benton
arrived at the base auditorium, he'd half-wondered if
"The Pearl" as many troops called it were not a
vacation assignment in itself. The meeting area was
covered by a sheet-metal roof, but covered in dried
palm leaves, giving it a rustic tropical beach-house
look inappropriate for a military base. There was an
almost-even mix of men and women in the crowd--most of
whom Craig guessed to be between their late teens and
early twenties.

Most of the pilots he saw came from Navy or Army
backgrounds, which were to be expected. Benton was
selected among his squad as 'Representative' to this
training program. Personal Troopers (PTs) were mostly
used by Ground Army and Space Navy forces as a
first-repsonse combat mecha unit; The Air Force and
older Ocean-going Navy preferred Variable Fighters.
The Marines still insisted on the older war-era Mobile
Suits, and were considered the most backward of the
forces. All in all, the Earth Federation Senate judged
the costs unnecessary, and pushed for the adoption of
a new mecha, a PT that could be used by all members of
the Federal Forces.

Benton seemed to be the only Marine in the crowd as he
stepped into the shade. *Lucky me.* 

"Chee, they let jarheads in here too?" one pilot
sniffled.

Craig turned to meet the speaker, a tall blond one
with a wide smirk and his regulation flight jacket
around his waist. Benton raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Aren't you and I a bit too old to start with
inter-service rivalry?"

"Everybody knows the Navy kicks butt and you lunkheads
clean up the leftovers," the blonde shrugs. "Don't
worry, I like ya already, hockey puck."

"Hockey puck?" Benton didn't get the reference, but
shook it off. "Never mind. Who..."

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Cody Jennings at your
service, sir!" the cocky pilot grinned.the younger
pilot grinned smugly as he snapped off a pert salute,
then offered his hand. "Friends call me Oddball. So
what's your handle?"

"Second Lieutenant Craig Benton, Callsign 'Wizard'.
26th Marine Expeditionary," Benton shook the younger
man's hand. It was firm, gregarious, and had him
worried--most loudmouths he'd met in the Corps tended
to get themselves AND their unit killed in off-duty
drinking accidents. Already he did not like Jennings.
"So...Oddball. Who's the Top here?"

"Me, of course! Bombs, bullets, and babes are my
specialty, dude!" Cody stuck his hands in his pockets,
much to everyone's laughter or chagrin.

Craig twitched, knowing Oddball wasn't taking him
seriously--"Top" in Federation Army and Navy parlance
meant superior officer. He DEFINITELY did not like
Jennings.

"Don't let Oddball stir you up, Eltee," another voice
in the group piped in. "He's just bored, like the rest
of us."

"Hell YEAH I'm bored," Cody yawned expressively,
watching the sky overhead shimmer with the heat haze.
"All my talent and all I'm doin' today is watch a
bunch of old rustbuckets fall down."

"Have some respect for your history," the other man
stood to his full height. Benton figured him to be in
his thirties, wearing a navy uniform like Jennings.
The service patches indicated he came from the same
ship and squadron as Oddball, which Benton decided to
make a note on. "The Rah Kailum is a classic. She's
the last of the supercarriers to be built, and ain't
never going to be one like her again. It's an honor to
stand guard at the decommissioning."

Oddball scoffed and turned away, disgusted.

"Guard duty?" Benton hadn't heard this. He'd been
assigned to The Pearl for Advanced Pilot training.

"Tom Mace, same Callsign," the dark-skinned pilot
acknowledged with a bored, dour expression on his
face, merely sitting down quietly in front of the
newcomer. "The Rah Kailum's coming down to the Pearl
for decommissioning. The Admiral thought we young guns
could make ourselves useful."

"Ah," Craig nodded, noticing a small group of other
pilots take refuge in the auditorium's shade. Already,
he noticed Jennings heading up and making an ass of
himself in front of the new faces. Looking at Mace, he
asked: "Have you known Oddball long?"

"Long enough to want to kill him," Tom grumbled.
Already, the conversation was heating up between
Jennings and the army pilots who'd just arrived.

"...And what?" Cody needled a dour-looking newcomer.

"None of your business, moron!" a platinum-blonde girl
wearing an army uniform stepped between Jennings and
the man he was pestering. "Now get out of my
squadmate's airspace, before I crack you one!"

"Well, I was just checking to see if he was alive,
Honey," Oddball then leered at the girl's athletic
figure--a match for her tomboyish good looks.

"Don't 'Honey' me, jackass!" the girl spat, but was
held back by a couple other pilots, trying to calm her
down. Not nearly as stupid as he acted, Oddball
stepped away as the Army pilots gave him dagger
glares.

"Life of the party," Jennings shrugged, jerking a
thumb in the direction of the girl and her compatriots
as he sat down beside Mace and Wizard. A wink as he
flipped the chair over, leaning on the backboard as he
smiled. "She likes me, that gal."

Mace snorted. "You're delusional."

"Pfft, I like 'em with fire," Cody then faced Craig
with a sly grin. Patting the Marine's back loudly
enough that all the pilots in the room took notice, he
then guffawed: "So Wizard, what kind of girl do you go
for?"

Benton didn't answer. He was trying very hard to turn
invisible and disappear.

==========

"Always the duty shift," Ensign Olivier Madden groaned
as he set the machine to work on the small island
shore. The Micronesian islands pockmarked the region
between Asia and the Americas, and for years had been
sparsely populated, with little military presence for
any extended period of time. Olivier cursed his luck
that it would be his Construction Brigade (CB) team,
better known as the SeaBees, that would finally get
the job of setting up a base of operations in the
area.

Shaking his head, the military engineer was more
annoyed that his other hadn't yet arrived to help him
out. Whether it was day or night, he'd always get the
early work assignments. But then, such was the life of
a Navy SeaBee. They used specially-developed PTs for
their tasks, equipped for maritime engineering work as
well as combat. The Consys-type PT Madden piloted
shifted its weight as the makeshift pier began to
form. It was not armed today; the pier construction
was a routine job.

A series of waves in the water took his notice--the
kind of waves caused by a humanoid mecha wading in
from the ocean. Though the work was done on land and
shore, the SeaBees returned to a small patrol ship
offshore, one that had many more creature comforts
than the barren rocky beaches they were working in.

"Took you long enough. Were you guys oversleeping
AGAIN?" Olivier began, then noticed the mecha in front
of him was not a Consys-type.

It was a unique design of sculpted lines, lean in
construction like the older Huckbein PTs and some
Mobile Suits, but nothing like Madden had ever seen in
either the Federation forces or even some enemy
armies. The form expressed smoothness with an edge,
like the curved blade that rested on the machine's
waist. Even the way the waves swept around its legs,
it seemed like the machine's form actually cut the
water that touched it.

"Who the hell?" Madden then switched on his comm,
speakers in his PT focusing at the stranger's mech. He
had never seen combat, having been a combat engineer
in the sidelines for all his short military career.
Suspicion was not at a level that prompted fear in
him. "Unidentified mecha, please stay your ground and
state your business."

"I am Saladin, First of the Ten Hammers," the
machine's pilot announced as he slowly drew the
elegant, scimatar-like blade. The odd curls and
rainbow-like waves became apparent as the daylight
struck its edge. "Lovers of war like you must die."

"Say what?" Sitting all too comfortably in his PT,
Olivier seemed dumbfounded. "What the hell are you
ta---*" 

==========

Mere minutes after the encounter, the SeaBees' ship
began to turn back to Hawaii. No one would ever notice
the way the ship would pause on occasion, to throw
another dead body overboard.

==========

"Lieutenant Senior Grade Susan Ferrer, requesting
permission to come aboard sir," the tall blonde
saluted, crisply, through her starched whites and
curly locks. Her face was all business, yet almost
disdainfully attractive with blooming youth.

Inwardly, Captain William Pelaeus wanted to shake his
head, although it was a gesture he did not convey. The
Captain of the Mid/Ark-class cruiser Astella was ever
the old-fashioned wet-navy sea dog, believing that
women had no place on board a ship, much less the
military as a whole. Nonetheless, he nodded and gave a
respectful return salute back; Hawaii may be a resort
haven for civilians, but Pearl Harbor Naval Station
was still very much a miliatry base...even if the
Captain felt it was too laid-back for it's own good.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant," he began. Somewhere in
the back of his mind, he wondered if there was a
casting call being conducted for female bridge and
support crew; for some reason, the ones he was stuck
with were always young, attractive, and single. "I
understand this is your third assignment as Command
and Control for a combat vessel."

"Yessir," Ferrer answered without missing a beat.
Pelaeus counted it as a positive that she wasn't quite
as perky or upbeat as the junior-junior girls he'd had
the misfortune of babysitting early on. "I've served
on the Coleman before, and the Saratoga before that."

"Actual combat experience?"

"Policing action against privateers near Side 6," the
blonde lieutenant offered, but did not continue.
Ferrer apparently saw the dissaproving frown on the
captain's face as she mentioned it; it was hardly
sufficient combat experience, given that the
privateers were small-shuttle brigands raiding
inter-colony passenger shuttles. Clearly no match for
a New Salamis-class Missileboat like the Saratoga.

"Fine, it'll do," the captain nodded with an air of
dismissal. "Take a moment to familiarize yourself with
the interface; A Mid/Ark is a bit more complicated
than the smaller boats."

"Aye-aye, sir," Ferrer saluted, then went to her
station, though still a bit tense. Pelaeus wondered if
he hadn't been too harsh; he was married to the
Federation Space Naval Forces in general, and to the
Astella in particular. He didn't like it when his
attention was being drawn elsewhere, especially on his
own ship. It wasn't that he was a mysoginist; he
simply didn't like having to check himself from saying
something crude or offensive to a member of the
opposite gender, especially in a combat situation.

There were, however, practical reasons he had not
wished for women on his boat. Undergoing it's final
checks at Pearl, the Astella was on a mission to the
Colonial establishment on Mars. Such a long tour of
duty would put it far beyond the range of the
near-earth Colonies; It would not be made any more
comfortable for the mostly male troops and crew when
in the presence of incredibly attractive women
somewhere on board.

"Allright," Pelaeus said to himself, looking over the
bridge. It was a new crew, and the seventh he'd
commanded on the Astella. He took a glance at them,
young and old. The poker-faced man to Pelaeus's right
nodded; Master Chief Petty Officer Stephen Sandor was
the Astella's Science Officer, the most senior male on
the bridge after Pelaeus himself, and the only one
he'd previously served with.

The other crewmembers made him uncomfortable; like
Ferrer, they were all female, and despite their
qualifications, Pelaeus felt uneasy. He'd already read
their dossiers; the Sensor Intercept Officer, Sergeant
Evelyn Watterson was the only bridge member originally
from the Army, having served with the 23rd Mobile Suit
Company's recon unit prior to her assignment.  

Sitting ahead fore was Chief Petty Officer Kim Pak Ho,
a petite Gunner whose babyfaced good looks belied her
reputation as an ace shot. Pelaeus had heard of her
foul temper from other captains; he'd had his share of
temperamental crew before, and knew that Kim's
aggressiveness was merely a facet of perfectionism--a
sterling trait for a gunner to have.  It was his
helmsman, Maria Ibanes, that he was worried about. A
Lieutenant Junior Grade straight out of the academy,
she posted the highest marks for piloting. The bad
news was that she had a reputation as a showboat. And
finally was the unknown factor, Lt(SG) Susan Susanna
Ferrer, his new Command and Control officer.

All in all, not a bad crew for peacetime.

Relaxing in the command chair, Pelaeus allowed himself
a short moment of tranquility. Perhaps he would have
time to pay his respects to his old friend Bright, by
way of visting the Ra Kailum on it's decomissioning...

==========

"I can't believe the nerve of that Navy dork,"
Lieutenant Bec Jaeger grumbled as she crossed her
arms, leaning against one of the auditorium's posts.
Scratching her platinum-blonde close crop of hair, she
wondered why her Commander had sent her squad, the
1/82nd Light Armored Cavalry, to a Navy facility.
"What the hell are we doing here, guys?"

"Training for the next-generation PT everyone talks
about but have never seen," Sergeant Raleigh Karristen
replied, quietly. He was the one whom Oddball had been
tormenting earlier, and was quite softspoken but
direct with his responses. "I wonder if living through
Navy blowhards is part of the training?."

"I oughta clobber that guy one," Jaeger's wingmate,
Sgt. Alec "Rake" Rendell, responded with an enthusiasm
the other Army pilots did not share. Despite his best
efforts, his feelings for his squad leader were
glaringly obvious. "Gimme the word, and..."

"Forget it," Bec replied with a toss of her head. She
was hotblooded and intolerant, but far from stupid.
Looking around, she kept her eyes peeled for her other
squadmates.

"I see them," Karristen tapped his squad leader's
shoulder and pointed. It didn't take long for Jaeger
to see the three other pilots of her squad approach. 

"Sergeant Shogo Kojima and Corporals Marisa Crispino
and Todd MacGready, reporting sir!" The shortest of
the trio, a young japanese with horn-rimmed glasses,
snapped to attention. Behind him was a stocky woman of
south american descent, and a bright-eyed if whip-thin
caucasian man, all wearing Earth Federation Army
uniforms and sharing the 1/82nd's symbolic
wildcat-on-tank-treads patch.

"Hey we're not on inspection here, Boots," Hunter gave
the bespectacled Japanese pilot a grin--not noticing
the pang of jealousy across Rendell's face. "At ease."

"Thank you Sir," Kojima breathed. He seemed out of
place in her squad, looking younger than his years.
Craning his head toward the other small groups of
pilots, he had a look of confused recognition on his
face. "Hey--I think I know that guy."

"What, you mean the jerk?" Alec beat Bec to the
comment.

"I mean the Marine. He's..." Kojima then stepped away
and approached the group nervously. Before Jaeger
could stop him, she was paused by the tone of
recognition in her teammate's voice. "Craig?"

"Shogo?!?" Benton's eyes went wide as he spun around.
The army uniform took him slightly aback, but there
was no mistaking the voice or the young man's stature.
Almost instantly, the Marine had gripped Boots' arm
with a vigorous, friendly shake. "Shogo Kojima? Damn,
it is you, isn't it!?"

Before Shogo could answer, Jaeger had come to his
side, eyeing the Marine and the circle of Navy pilots
who had congregated. "Boots, you know this guy?"

"Well yeah..." Kojima reddened behind his spectacles,
aware of the attention he'd stirred up. "Wizard was in
my class some years back."

"But he's a JARHEAD," one voice spoke up--no one owned
up to it--using the term like an epithet. Almost
immediately, the groups started taking different sides
of the area, Navy on one side, Army the other. Benton,
a Marine, and Shogo, seemed to be at the center.
"You're Army, aren't you?"

"And what if he is?" Jaeger, and the rest of the
1/82nd suddenly clustered around Kojima. The other
five pilots had been eyeing the navy side with game
faces, ready for anything.

"Hold on there!" Benton waved a hand up, sheepish.
"Don't misunderstand. Shogo and I were classmates in
high school, before we joined the EF."

"Whoa! So he had that Call-sign since high school?"
Oddball suddenly cut in, letting out a shrill war
whoop. "I gotta hear this!"

Mace gave his wingman a rude shove. "Jennings, stand
down before I kick your ass!!"

"Uhm..." Shogo started, then gave Craig a worried
look. The whole situation would erupt in an ugly
fistfight if someone didn't clear the air. 

Benton decided not to let his friend grill any
further. "I liked reading J. K. Rowling's earlier
books."

Dead silence. Then snickers.

Tension broken, most of the other pilots then started
moving away, going back to their own little circles.
Eventually, all left were Benton and the 1/82nd, which
still kept a barrier between Shogo and his old friend.

"He's okay, Eltee," Kojima reassured his protective
commanding officer. "Craig used to look out for me in
school."

Hunter looked at Wizard doubtfully, but was no longer
hostile. With a warm clap on Boots' shoulder, she and
the rest of her team stepped aside to let the two
friends talk.

"Your squad really looks out for you," Benton grinned.

"Well yeah, Bec--I mean Lt. Jaeger's very tight with
us in the squad," Shogo smiled. "We're practically
family."

"She's tough in a good way," Craig had to nod, looking
back at the officer in a new light. He then asked the
question on his mind: "I never thought you'd sign up
for the Army."

Shogo started biting the nail on his thumb. "I kind of
failed the Navy swim test, so..."

"That's not what I meant," the marine replied, a
little more worried for his friend. Shogo was a bright
student who had always been bullied in school in his
youth. Craig had always thought the Japanese trooper
would have taken more of a scientific or teaching
career. "You could have picked any college course.
Why'd you join the military?"

"Mikoto-Oneesan..." Boots gulped at the warmth he gave
the honorific. "She's why."

Wizard was silent for a moment, then brought his hand
to his forehead. "Shogo..."

"I don't want to hear it, Craig."

"Okay..." Benton bit down on his lip. The earnest look
on Kojima's face said it all, and though he really did
appreciate seeing his friend again, the marine
suddenly wished he hadn't. "Okay."

"Uhm, you haven't met her since then, have you?" Shogo
then asked, trying to make light of the matter but
failing. "I mean, Marines and all..."

"No," Craig sighed, once again feeling awkward. "26th
MEU's assigned to a whole different fleet--I never saw
her."

Neither of them could speak any further when the whine
of a public address system came to life; heads in the
auditorium spun to look at the small stage set before
them, a tall woman in formal Navy dress whites
addressing them all. Eyes glued on the raven-haired
lady on stage, Shogo was more silent than anyone else
in the crowd.

"Welcome to the Pearl, kids..." the female officer
breathed deeply and scowled. Building a team such as
this was not going to be easy. "I am your instructor,
Captain Sakamoto. You will refer to me as
Banshee-One."

==========

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<i>"I figured Daredevil must be Catholic because only a Catholic could be both an attorney and a vigilante."</i> -<b>Frank Miller</b>
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