In the Queen's Service

[LancerZero]

Gibraltar had always been a busy place. During the Tau-31->Tau-23 gate's construction, it'd been busy for obvious reasons. A constant stream of workers and materials flowing to and from the station in a wide variety of craft, along with their escorts and the pirates trying to lift their goods. Once construction was completed, the Privateers moved in. Though they were far fewer in number than the crowd of engineers, architects, workers, and pilots that'd previously inundated the station, they made up for it. Besides the space taken up by their bombers, fighters, handful of gunboats - not to mention the Dagobaz, pride of the QCP, berthed alongside - there was the massive amount of infrastructure needed to support such an effort behind enemy lines. Crew, engineers, supplies, replacement parts (smuggled from Bretonia, stolen from Kusari, and purchased at the nearby Freeport 6) and service personnel nearly filled the space that'd been vacated.

All of this combined to mean that it wasn't always easy to find solitude on Gibraltar. Martin had, however, managed to find one particular hangar clear, at least temporarily. Scattered around the periphery were various umbilicals, reloads, parts, and service equipment needed to minister to the hangar's central piece: a Challenger-class Bretonian heavy bomber.

This was no ordinary bomber, obviously. That much was apparent at first glance. Several of the engine cooling units had been replaced with Kusari gunboat units; the tiny gunboat's engines were scarcely larger than those of the Challenger, had extra capacity & were well-armored. That, and they'd been unable to smuggle a proper Bretonian set recently. The sensors had been taken off an Ahoudori destroyed in Kyushu a few weeks ago; while they were intended for civilian use, the added sensitivity of the explorer's scanners helped in locating hapless traders for the bomber to prey upon. The thruster had once belonged to a freelancer's Roc, sold for its component parts a few days prior at Freeport 6. The bomber guns - two were still the original Bretonian weapons, but the other two had come from a Farmer's Alliance bomber that'd tried to assault one of the QCP's few gunboats during a patrol of Tau-29.

As Martin boarded the bomber and climbed into the "cockpit" - more of a bridge, really, as spacious as it was - it became even more apparent. Though barely two thirds of the equipment and consoles were Bretonian, great care had been taken to ensure that they were securely attached to the bulkheads in a sensible way. In spite of their various origins, they didn't appear haphazard at all. When he powered the craft up, everything worked. Minor system incompatibilities made the start-up take slightly longer than normal as a set of customized code resolved the inevitable errors, but everything worked. In spite of the hardships the Challenger had faced, in spite of the fact that she'd had a third of her systems and several parts of her hull patchworked with whatever was available, it was readily apparent that the ship's previous owner had cared a great deal about it.

Of course, that was to be expected from what had been Captain Jack Fraser's personal bomber. Martin had been mentioned his love of the Challenger in passing, from the many sorties he'd flown in them while under the banner of Queen Carina's Own. Near the end of his service, he'd flown his bomber more often than his Templar or captained the Defiance or Exeter. At any rate, a few days later he'd casually asked Martin if he did, indeed, like the Challenger. When he'd responded in the affirmative, Cap'n Jack had allowed as to the fact that he happened to have one he had no particular need for, and that it really ought to be flown more often. Martin had permitted the possibility that he might somewhat enjoy taking said craft for a spin once in awhile, to which Jack had laughed, and said the bomber was now Martin's. The former QCO officer had understandably been somewhat caught off guard, and was left speechless in Fraser's wake.

It had taken an engineer asking him to authorize the transfer of the Challenger to his command, and the relinquishing of his Roc, to really convince Martin that he'd really gotten his old baby back. Well, one of them, and not really, but absolutely.

He sat down in the pilot's seat and strapped in, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. With that, he was transported back in time to one of his bomber sorties...to the time he'd lost a SNAC joust to one of the SCRA's best bomber pilots. To the time he and a fresh recruit had, with just the two of them, handily taken out a Molly destroyer in Cambridge. To the tense engagement in one of the Leeds smog clouds, between the QCO and SF bomber wings (with a pair of fighters) and a Molly fleet including two destroyers and a pair of gunboats. Sent them running with their tails 'twixt their legs that time, he recalled. To a more recent engagement, joining with other QCP and BAF to destroy a Kusari battleship in Leeds. Martin opened his eyes again, and with a start, he saw that a small picture of the fighter pilot he'd met two years ago on the Suffolk attached to the center console.

Now, how did I fail to notice that on my first run-through? He plucked the picture from the console and held it closer to his face. Ah, yes...definitely her. Those high cheekbones, that chin...no mistaking them. Well, I haven't been introduced to my bombardier. Perhaps she- His reverie was rudely interrupted by a distinctly male throat being cleared just behind him. Martin practically leapt to his feet, dropping the picture on the console - only for a grin to spread across his face as he beheld the intruder.

"You two need a room?" the intruder asked with a nod to the picture.

"Sully! What brings you to this godforsaken rock, eh?" Thomas Sullivan stood in stark contrast to Martin: whereas the latter was average in height and build, with brown hair and a decent but relatively unremarkable face, the former was almost too tall to fly fighters, lanky, with blonde hair and a ruddy face with a crooked nose from one too many fistfights.

The two men clapped each other on the back, and Thomas chortled. "To burn and pillage, my friend. Rob Kusari blind, then cruise through the streets of a conquered New Tokyo in a stolen limo."

"What's with the picture of Ruth? Did you put that there?"

"Yeah. In case you forgot what we're fighting for." He gave a not-too-subtle wink - he was terrible at it. "Anyway, how's the new hardware working for you?"

"Not bad. Like anything with a computer, it has bugs every now and again, but it's like being a new man."

"S'that how they got you?"

"Part of it. Also, I was tired of being a bump on a log when it was possible to make a difference. The only part that troubles me is the 'robbing' part, but I'll get used to it. They are the enemy."

"Damn right they are," Thomas grunted. "Remember, these are the heartless fiends that took Tau-31 and half of Leeds. The guys that nearly shot down your sister a couple times on patrol in the core systems. The folks that ruined half your body, and killed dozens of your friends and comrades-at-arms."

"Right. Haven't forgotten that bit. It still goes against the grain - we trained to protect the innocent, not prey upon them." Martin reattached the picture to the console, and sat back down in the pilot's seat.

"Marty, Marty, Marty..." The bombardier shook his head. "That's the whole point. They're not innocent. Anybody doing shipping within Kusari is giving them money. Samura is the primary corporation in Kusari. The shogun is their puppet. Therefore, doing business in Kusari equals paying the shogun. And what does the shogun do with that money?"

"Builds more of those damned Chimaeras and capital ships."

"Exactly. We're making a difference here - shipping through and within Kusari is down quite a bit. We actually have to go hunting for targets now, and we're the bane of the KNF. They hate us, really hate us - if there's Outcasts, Chrysanthemums, and us in the same system, guess who they go after first?" He jammed a thumb at his chest. "That's right, us. We're cutting 'em off at the knees, and if you've got some kind of moral objection to taking money away from the shipyards that build the ships that kill your friends and family, then don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

Thomas' words had their desired effect; Martin stood and drew himself to his full height - still nearly a head shorter than his old friend - and answered, "No objection, Tom - I came here to feed the Kusari dragon its own fingers until it chokes to death, and by God and the Queen, that's what I'm going to do."

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Current Stories
Linus' Lackadaisical Logs(upd.3-1-10)
Archived Logs
In the Queen's Service(upd.4-21-10) | The Finer Things in Life (upd.4-8-10)
Silvy's Story(upd.2-29-08) | Conrad's Flight & Fight(upd.1-14-08)