| Author | Message | ||
     Craig Serrold |
========================== Pitstop System, M64 Spectre TFW-47 Stardate 240201.28 ========================== "All right, T-Birds. Standby to drop to impulse," Lt. Craig Serrold spoke into the fighter wing's private comm frequency. Serrold's fighter shuddered slightly as he pulled back on the FTL drive controls and dropped back into realspace. To his port and starboard and directly astern, three more fighters were doing the same. It was a shame that all the pilots he had trained back on Reor had to stay. The added complement of fighters and pilots would have been nice to have aboard Coronado in the coming days. The Thunderbirds - Starfleet Marine Corps Tactical Fighter Wing 47 - raced through the outer parts of the Pitstop system, tracing a course that would take them through the outer asteroid belt and into the inner system, where their goal awaited. A quick run through the outer belt would do good for the wing's reflexes, something he intended to work on once they had some proper training simulators to work with - namely, those aboard Coronado. He had been looking forward to that for some time. "Okay, people," his voice filtered across subspace in mere fractions of fractions of a second. "Watch yourselves. It's been a while since we've been through something like this. So if you think that you're not up to it, let me know right now." Of course, all clicks came back as ready. Serrold allowed himself a broad grin beneath his flight helmet. He worked his people hard, just like he worked himself hard. But that didn't mean he didn't know how to have a little fun. Fun was what he lived for. The action and adventure of deep space, just a few thin sheets of transparent aluminum and duranium between him and certain death. He dialed back his inertial compensators to 95% and set his navigational deflectors to only handle dust-sized specks. He knew that the others were following his lead. And suddenly they were plunging head-long into the asteroid field. It was a dense one and quite large. Serrold imagined that Pitstop had once had at least one more planet. The debris was consistent with a lunar collision, as if moon's orbit had become unstable and had forced the satellite into her cosmic neighbor. Though it might have been some sort of planetary collision. \i[That} would have been a sight to see, Serrold thought. Danger loomed around every twist and turn that Serrold put his Spectre through. He would have preferred something a bit heavier for facing off against the Pfhor. But the Spectres were hardly shabby. Certainly not with the armor and weapons upgrades that he was looking at adding to his wing's craft. He would need approval, most likely. He would talk to Col. Wayne or Major Gregg about that. A quick jerk on his flight stick, and his fighter pulled up and over a rather large asteroid. He had always been told that he had never been joined with a symbiont because he was only half Trill and that such a joining would never work out. But Serrold suspected there was another reason. Most joined Trill avoided seeking out danger and excitement. Certainly there were the more infamous ones like Kor and Dax, both of whom were known to be just a bit on the radical side. But for the most part, Trill preferred the quiet life. In his trials, his testing for possible joining, Serrold had passed all but one of the tests with flying colors. He was considered a bit too "rambunctious", the Symbiosis Commission had said. Too flamboyant and adventure-seeking. He was certain that the Commission had turned him down because they considered his personality in conflict with their ideal of a joined Trill. His parents were renowned geneticists. They could have found a way around the Human/Trill hybrid blood that ran through his veins. But he supposed it was too late for that train of thought. He was here in M64, stranded with the rest of Task Force 5.4 and likely never to see home again. He had resolved himself to this far sooner than some of the others out here with him. He rounded the last asteroid and burst forth into open space. And there she was. Gleaming, her hull almost completely repaired, she hung alongside the Mobile Repair Facility. At this distance she was little more than a white shape against a dark backdrop, but the fighters were rapidly closing and detail was growing. Serrold could make out almost a dozen small shapes swarming around her and knew before he even checked his instruments that they were Starfleet shuttles and runabouts bringing the crew back to the only real home they had left out here. Coronado was almost ready to rejoin the fight against the Pfhor. Serrold pressed his lips into a thin smile. He planned on being among those to lead the charge against those bastards. They would pay for all the trouble they had caused. But most of all, they would pay for causing him his first crash. For the young half-Trill pilot, that was just unforgivable. ========================== Christian D. Clem '01, aka "Aggie" 1st Lt. Craig Serrold, SFMC Wing Leader, TFW-47 "Thunderbirds" U.S.S. Coronado NCC-97901 |