In the Company of Scoundrels

Breakfast of Champions

Commander Greyfire rubbed her eyes, and took a cautious sip of her steaming tea. She was reading the reports from the previous night as her ship prepared for its next mission; on which she fully expected to be briefed later this day. It was her custom to take her breakfast while catching up on what had occurred while she slept. She reviewed maintenance and supply logs, crew readiness reviews, current news events, and intelligence briefings. For several minutes she sipped her tea while she read, taking occasional bites of toasted roll. “Ok my” she said to herself, putting down the hot mug. She had been reading an intelligence report attached to the crew reviews of her fighter pilots…As she read further into the report her brow furrowed, and she reached for her comm. "XO, send the Gold Squadron Wing Leader to my quarters. Also, I’m forwarding you an intelligence report. There’s something brewing, and I cant figure it out. Lets look into these presumably unknown drifters who so casually out-flew our pilots.

“Wing Leader Jackson, why is it that I’m receiving reports of Gold Squadron, minus its Wing Leader, making fools of themselves last night in some spacer bar?” She paused briefly as his face paled. Before he could stutter out some useless denial of knowledge, she continued. Do you know why we call our novices Gold Squadron? Its because everybody watches out for gold. As Wing Leader you should be first in line to keep the rest of your wing from making themselves, and this ship look like rank amateurs…."

Jackson strode into his wing’s quarters and flipped on the lights. He ignored the groans of his hungover teammates. “Get out of bed rookies. I just got dressed down but the Commander for your little stunt last night. You might have thought that today was the last day of shore leave, but its simulator training day instead.” Tipping Benson out of his bunk, “not only couldn’t you out-fly a bunch drifters in the bar, but the word is that one of them had never even flown before. What to you have to say to that?”

The hung over Benson looked up from the floor. He knew he’d be cleaning the head for a week, but couldn’t resist. “That shit rolls downhill Sir?”



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