Breathe Together

Posted on Thu Aug 20th, 2015 @ 2:27pm by 2nd Lieutenant Robert Lancaster & Staff Warrant Officer Meroka Setan [R. Lancaster]

Mission: First Strike
Location: Deck 9, Hangar
Timeline: An Hour Before Launch

[On]

Bobby had never felt this excited before a mission. His heart rate was steady, but accelerated, breathing deep. There was a tingle in the lieutenant's hands and on the back of his neck. Bobby could feel the excitement around him as well, like something palpable in the air. He didn't feel nervous, it was excitement. He'd flown a number of combat actions against the Maquis - something he regretted now - but none of those was like this before. This time, when he launch and started shooting, Federation would be at war.

The Marine pilot didn't relish this fact, not like some warriors might. Bobby had never lusted after combat or a chance to kill an enemy. This excitement came from the very real fact that, for good or ill, his life in Starfleet would never be the same afterwards. No one's life in the Federation would be. It was at once disappointing and invigorating. They were supposed to be peaceful explorers out here in the cold depths of space. War was just a reality they would have to explore together as well.

Bobby snapped his mind to pay attention to the tasks ahead of him, and didn't lose his focus again. He felt like the taut string of a pulled bow. His fighter was finishing warming up, and he and his TacSys Ops were making the final checks.

"Fuel supply is good, Lieutenant," Meroka Setan said, his head popping up from under a wing. The Bajoran looked a little strange without the eponymous earring they wore, but just as excited as Bobby. "I was able to find the microfracture. We've got it patched up, and it'll hold just fine unless someone shoots it right off."

"Good job, Meroka," Bobby replied, relieved. They were the last fighter then that was going to be reported ready. For a bit there, Bobby had been afraid that they would have been grounded. Starfleet wasn't prepared for this war, not really. Equipment was in short stock while new supply lines were set up, and some things were just plain out of date. "Got your phaser cannons all aligned now, variance of just .2 microns the diagnostic shows."

"Aww, Lieutenant," Meroka joked as the pair of them started packing away their tools as quickly as they could manage. "That's way too high!"

"Ha ha," Bobby replied, rolling his eyes. His TacOps might be young, even younger than Bobby who was the youngest pilot in this squadron. But he was also a crack shot. "Let's hurry, the others are waiting on us." He could practically feel the judging eyes of the other pilots, most of whom had already joined the lines for the elevators to the launching bay. They said that Bobby and Meroka were not good enough for this, or so the pilot thought. Just preflight jitters he hoped. Bobby ran to store the toolkit in a locker, zipped up his flightsuit, and ran through a quick mental checklist. He came up with nothing left to do.

The pair climbed into the fighter, closed the canopy, and strapped themselves in. The Peregrine hummed around him reassuringly, the consoles were lit but dimmed enough they wouldn't be blinding once they were in the dark sky. Oh boy. This was really happening. From the plan the squadron commander had given them, there might not actually be much fighting for them. It was supposedly an escort mission down to and up from the planet, giving his fellow Marines, the dust-eaters, the real big slice of the pie. That was fine, orders were orders, but things might also go south. Intelligence could be off about the defenses. The base might turn out to be heavily armed to defend itself against space and atmospheric threats. The enemy could have more ships than were supposed to be there. One thing was for sure, something Bobby had learned in his tactics classes over and over again: no plan stayed the same after first contact with the enemy.

Bobby turned his fighter gently, lined up along those ahead of him, and schooled himself to patience. Both he and Meroka started breathing deep, their breaths matched, a little ritual they had started when fighting the Maquis. It brought their bodies and minds together, they felt, to make a more effective team. Being able to know what the other was about to do without speaking was an advantage, and had nothing to do with telepathy. The breathing together focused their minds as well, energised their limbs, relaxed them so they could focus on their jobs. Excitement slipped away now till there was nothing left except that focus in Bobby's mind. He could almost feel the same focus in Meroka as well.

Breathing together was also symbolic for them. They would keep breathing together until they either returned, victorious, or were dead. Those were their two options. A fighter might pack a punch for it's size, but one direct hit from a Cardassian cruiser would likely punch through their shields and blast them into oblivion, especially if the reports about upgraded weapons by the Dominion were true.

The two young men kept it up even as the clock hit one hour till insertion.

[OFF]

2nd Lieutenant Bobby Lancaster
Marine Fighter Pilot
USS Manoora

Private 1st Class Meroka Setan
Marine Tactical Systems Operator
USS Manoora