Rendezvous
Posted on Fri Jul 17th, 2015 @ 4:58pm by 2nd Lieutenant Robert Lancaster & Captain Julius Whitlam & 1st Lieutenant Thomas Lancaster
Mission:
Prelude to War
Location: En Route to Starbase 310
Timeline: MD02: 0700hrs
[ON]
Main Bridge, USS Manoora
"Approaching the rendezvous point, Captain," Ensign Sel'alla announced.
Whitlam checked the chronometer on his armrest display and nodded in approval; they were precisely on time. "Very good, Ensign," he said. "Take us to impulse power."
The Manoora dropped out of warp some three hundred thousand kilometres from the USS Dromodon, the ship that was to give her the last of her Peregrine-class fighters to bring their complement up to the full twelve. That distance was close enough, Whitlam thought, to let the new fighters stretch their wings in the transfer.
"Signal the Dromodon," Whitlam said. "And let Commander Weld know that the last of his flock is inbound."
----
USS Dromodon
There was an old joke on Earth that Bobby had picked up about military lifestyle: hurry up and wait. Today, he got to experience the hurry up part to the extreme. Just this morning, word had filtered through the crew of the USS Dromodon about the shocking news. The Romulan Star Empire had signed a nonaggression pact with the Dominion. It had caught everyone off guard; no matter their difficulties with the Romulans in the past, many in Starfleet had felt that the enigmatic race might join them in the seemingly unavoidable war that was brewing after the Romulans had stood with the Federation and the Klingons when the Dominion had first arrived in force in the Alpha Quadrant. Now though, it seemed that the Romulans had other plans and evidently Starfleet was responding by dramatically stepping up their presence at Bajor. Bobby could feel the excitement and even fear from many of the crew on board, like an icy tingle up and down his spine and up into his brain, sensing the heightened emotions around him.
Bobby, and the rest of his flight, had already known that they'd be transferring to the 242nd Squadron but the young pilot had thought he'd have more time. Now though, the orders had suddenly been updated to depart within the day to make their way to the USS Manoora. The Dromodon would be joining a separate taskforce than their new posting, so the wing would have to make a hasty rendezvous while the Manoora was en route to Starbase 310. The two ships would only be in the capable range of the fighters for a short window. Bobby was in his quarters, carefully but quickly packing up the few pieces of Deltan and Terran artifacts he'd picked up over the years to add to his small bag of clothes and other belongings. There wasn't even enough time to say goodbye to the rest of the Marines on board, but they would understand of course. The Federation was on the brink of war, after all.
The young man paused just a moment, his bag slung over a shoulder, and turned back from the door to look over the cramped quarters he had shared with other junior pilots onboard for these last four years. It wasn't home, really, that would always remain Delta IV and Earth in Bobby's mind, but it had been a place where he felt he belonged. The pilots and Marines here had made him feel welcome, had taught him much, and they had fought alongside each other many times against the Maquis. It made him wonder if maybe they'd been fighting the wrong enemy all along, as the Maquis had been proven right in the end.
The Cardassians couldn't be trusted. After the long Federation-Cardassian War, there had been hope that their differences would be settled. Now, with barely twenty years since the end of that conflict, the Cardassians had sold out to the massive and threatening Dominion, and many people - Bobby included - felt as if they had betrayed the other civilizations in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. This was as close as Bobby ever came to questioning his superiors, though it wasn't something he would ever say out loud. He delayed only for that moment though; it was time to go.
Bobby jogged through the corridors of the Dromodon, smiling and calling out his farewells to those crewmen he saw along the way, but in short order he had reached the flight deck. The Peregrine Class attack fighters had been moved into position for launch already by the deck crew, and he could hear the telltale hum of their systems warming up. The Flight Leader, Captain Anderson, was already present. Of Thomas Lancaster, Bobby's cousin and the third member of their flight, there was no sign of him yet. That wasn't surprisingly really, Tom often did things his own way. No doubt, he would be arriving soon with a joke on his lips though.
In the meantime, he kept himself busy, stowing away his one small bag of items on his fighter, and joined the technicians in double checking things were set and ready to go.
“Ladies! Leaving so soon already?” The familiar upbeat note of Thomas Lancaster’s voice cut through the solemn reverie. He came striding onto the flight deck with his duffel cocked over his shoulder, carrying his usual grin from ear to ear. “But the party hasn’t even begun!”
Once he reached the pair, Tom dropped his bag and snapped up into a sharp salute.
His tone shifted smoothly towards professional. “Word is we’ll be coming within range of the Manoora soon, Captain. All systems checks complete and ready to disembark on the order. Just waiting on the final call, now.”
Tom set his posture at ease and lowered his hand, his gaze finding Bobby where his cousin had taken up beside Captain Anderson. He gave his fellow pilot a curt nod. “Lieutenant.” A small smile followed the statement, creeping into the edges at Tom’s mouth.
It was reassurance, of a sort. Tom hadn’t missed the tension in his cousin’s precise posture, the concern he didn’t quite manage to banish from his carefully schooled features.
No matter the place, Tom’s casual confidence had always been something of a constant in the group.
Around them the deck was starting to clear. Technicians finished their final checks and then got out of the way, the Peregrine fighters sitting pretty on glowing engines. Tom could feel the hum of the energy coming up through the soles of his boots, prickling along the hairs of his arms and in the nape of his neck. It filled him with a sense of excitement.
The assignment had been both sudden and unexpected, and that alone kindled in him the fire of anticipation. Trepidation, though valid, was far from Tom’s mind in the moment. All he could think of was the challenge to come.
Then the call went out.
Tom grinned and clapped Bobby on the shoulder. “There she is, gentlemen. See you boys on the other side.”
Grabbing his gear he flipped off a quick two-finger salute and set off at a quick jog across the deck.
Sliding into his cockpit of his fighter with the practiced ease of old familiarity, his fingers were already darting through his checks even as he fastened himself into the seat with his other hand.
The console blinked its lights at the ready, and Tom piped himself in through the comm.
“All systems go and ready for launch. Bay doors open, Captain, and there’s a whole wide sky out there waiting for is. Ready on your signal.”
A smile had crept up into his voice.
"Let's go, and stay tight," Captain Anderson replied over the comms. "And no funny business. This is just a transfer, not an airshow."
The hum of the fighters’ driver coils intensified, landing struts slicking back as the RCS thrust kicked in and slowly freed them from the deck.
Anderson’s craft maneuvered forward first, her thrusters taking her out ahead of the pack.
Tom glanced over his systems feedback one last time and punched it forward.
The shimmering forcefield dissolved around him and then he was dropping free into the void, the Dromodon falling away behind him with the stars dancing over his head.
“Pity this will be such a short run, Captain. I could do with a little stretch to my wings.”
"Yeah, you could," came a snicker, then Bobby's fighter shot past his cousin's, so close that the man would be able to see the younger's grinning face; Bobby had turned his craft upside down compared to Tom's and took one hand off the control to wave. Then he streaked towards their waiting, new home. The maneuver was damned foolhardy, that was for sure, but the comm line was filled with laughter as the fighter righted itself. "Getting slow, old man."
"Red 3, what did I say?" Anderson's put-upon voice called out, and even his sigh could be heard. The pair of crazy cousins were going to be the death of him someday, he just knew it.
"Sorry, sir," came Bobby's voice, sounding anything but that as he laughed a final time. His fighter spun on one wing, settled back into formation, and the three of them carved a path through space to their new home.
----
Flight Control Centre, USS Manoora
Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Miranda Mantel was pulling duty as officer of the watch in the Flight Control Centre at that time. The rendezvous with the Dromodon was no surprise and she had been drilling her team for the past three hours on the procedure for receiving the flight of three Peregrine-class fighters. She fancied herself as a hard task master and was determined that nothing would go wrong. Fortunately, her team was of the same opinion and their drill performance was perfect.
She tapped a control on her overhead as she watched the three fighters get closer and closer. The channel opened, "Red Flight, this is Manoora Flight Control, I have you in my control area. Proceed on final approach vector. Nice and easy, one at a time."
=/\= "This is Anderson. We read you, Manoora. Landing procedures engaged. Kind of you to make some room for us."=/\=
When the third fighter was on the deck, Mantel's mouth stretched in a wide, satisfied smile. "Welcome home, Red Flight. Good to have you with us." She gave a quick thumbs up to her chief of the watch before speaking to the overhead comm again, "Flight Control to Bridge. Red Flight is aboard."
----
Main Bridge, USS Manoora
"Acknowledged, Lieutenant," Whitlam said from the comfort of his command chair. He had watched the entire operation with a keen eye and was pleased that they were now aboard. It meant they could continue on with the flight to Starbase 310. "Signal the Dromodon. Confirm that we've received the fighters and wish them a safe onward journey."
After ordering Sel'alla to resume the course and engage warp, Whitlam sat back in his chair and reflected. With the arrival of this final flight of fighters, the transformation of his ship from a ship of peace to a ship of war was complete. He looked up at the streaking starscape on the main viewer and thought about what they had lost. It tore him up inside that Starfleet was on a war footing; defence of the Federation - war - was now their primary purpose. It didn't gel with him, but he knew his duty and he would do his utmost.
He just hoped he would see the day when peaceful exploration was once again Starfleet's primary purpose.
Captain Julius Whitlam
Commanding Officer
1st Lieutenant Thomas Lancaster
Fighter Pilot
2nd Lieutenant Robert Lancaster
Fighter Pilot
Captain Anderson
Flight Leader (NPC)
Lieutenant (j.g.) Miranda Mantel
Flight Deck Chief (NPC)
