I have always wanted to fly. One of my earliest memories is me standing in the side yard of our house in Filer, Id. I am looking up watching a jet fly overhead, convinced that it was an F-111. It may well have been - I had been collecting anything with planes on them for years & one of my favorites was a deck of cards with a different silouhette and designation of US fighting aircraft.
I don't really remember when my obsession with aircraft began, though. Its always just been there and it wasn't just any aircraft, it was military. I am the only kid I knew that had made up their mind about what he was going to be when he grew up. I knew I was going to be career military. I shared this dream with everyone. I am sure most adults laughted & shook their heads, thinking it just one of those temporary fancies most kids get. It wasn't.
I spent a lot of time in the Air Force recruiters' office growing up. Why the Air Force? Because they had the planes. At that age the services were completely compartmentalized. Air Force had planes, Navy had boats, Army had tanks, Marines had guns & cool uniforms. The Coast Guard was never really thought of.
Both of my parents were veterans - my dad was in the Army-Air Corp, my mom was in both the Army & Navy. My mom never talked about her experiences, but my dad shared a lot of his. I grew up with stories of his tour in France - fascinating stuff, especially to a kid already enamoured with the military.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Love Lost
Tonight isn't a poem, nor is it a short story. I think it falls more under the catagory of "Essay." I am labelling it as a poem because that was more the intent than the other two.
From the untouchable shell of my body to the churning, confused gut, an unexpected, brave grasp on the hand starts a strained heart thudding rapidly and powerfully in a full-barrel chest, a hurting soul starts in perplexion - pulls away.
A mind, remembering, longs for that caring, soft hand in mine, knowing full well the pain that always comes in the end - not caring, not looking to the future, only craving the moments with that special other.
A hole in the middle of the body, often experiencing the happiness of being close, always knowing the explosive pain that always makes it a little deeper, a little harder to fill.
A short, sharp breath pulls the adrenaline into the blood, hsapens the pleasure senses in the body to more appreciate a warm hug that fills the mind with intense, white joy at the affection of another.
Dilated eyes drink in the beauty of the face, the curves of the body, knowing, remember intimate touches in times past, always knowing, always wishing that the emptiness, the lonelyness will be banished forever, never to lay its cold, callous fingers on my hurt, broken heart.
Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again, doing everything to stop it from coming again.
The cold pressure of the steel tube ont he temple, the weight in the palm, the tenseness of the trigger - a sudden deafenign explosion, a flash of blinding light, a sudden unbearable pain, then nothing - no hurting ever again. Oh, the bliss of etenity - no cold uncaring people to spurn me, only a cool, soothing darkness that never ends.
I don't actually remember what situation I was thinking of when I wrote this, though I can guess. I do remember writing particular passages, which I think is a bit strange.
I am guessing that I was writing about Christy (the commentary on the poem Pride talks about her). The other possibility is Crystal. I remember writing the last paragraph and feeling a kind of release, a chill running up my spine and my face flushing. I guess it was my way of making sure I wouldn't actually do it. Not that I think I would have done so had I not written it - I just can't find any other way to describe that feeling.
The interesting thing about this piece is that even though I wrote it when I was 16(?), it does a fairly accurate description of the four major relationships I have been in during my adult years. As I was typing it in and got to the passage "Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again" I felt the same way I have during each of my breakups - a sense of falling and spinning. Interesting that this random piece of witing from 17 years ago would still ring true...
From the untouchable shell of my body to the churning, confused gut, an unexpected, brave grasp on the hand starts a strained heart thudding rapidly and powerfully in a full-barrel chest, a hurting soul starts in perplexion - pulls away.
A mind, remembering, longs for that caring, soft hand in mine, knowing full well the pain that always comes in the end - not caring, not looking to the future, only craving the moments with that special other.
A hole in the middle of the body, often experiencing the happiness of being close, always knowing the explosive pain that always makes it a little deeper, a little harder to fill.
A short, sharp breath pulls the adrenaline into the blood, hsapens the pleasure senses in the body to more appreciate a warm hug that fills the mind with intense, white joy at the affection of another.
Dilated eyes drink in the beauty of the face, the curves of the body, knowing, remember intimate touches in times past, always knowing, always wishing that the emptiness, the lonelyness will be banished forever, never to lay its cold, callous fingers on my hurt, broken heart.
Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again, doing everything to stop it from coming again.
The cold pressure of the steel tube ont he temple, the weight in the palm, the tenseness of the trigger - a sudden deafenign explosion, a flash of blinding light, a sudden unbearable pain, then nothing - no hurting ever again. Oh, the bliss of etenity - no cold uncaring people to spurn me, only a cool, soothing darkness that never ends.
I don't actually remember what situation I was thinking of when I wrote this, though I can guess. I do remember writing particular passages, which I think is a bit strange.
I am guessing that I was writing about Christy (the commentary on the poem Pride talks about her). The other possibility is Crystal. I remember writing the last paragraph and feeling a kind of release, a chill running up my spine and my face flushing. I guess it was my way of making sure I wouldn't actually do it. Not that I think I would have done so had I not written it - I just can't find any other way to describe that feeling.
The interesting thing about this piece is that even though I wrote it when I was 16(?), it does a fairly accurate description of the four major relationships I have been in during my adult years. As I was typing it in and got to the passage "Too soon does the first intense love fade into pain and confusion at her withdrawl, not understanding why it's happening, what I did to cause this sudden freezing of her love, not wanting, dreading that void that will come again" I felt the same way I have during each of my breakups - a sense of falling and spinning. Interesting that this random piece of witing from 17 years ago would still ring true...
NaNoWriMo
Ok, so I am not going to make it. I like where the story is going, but I won't be able to get 50,000 words in by Friday. I plan on finishing it though.
In the meantime I will start putting my poems back up. I have also started journaling my time in the Navy and will be posting those entries as well.
In the meantime I will start putting my poems back up. I have also started journaling my time in the Navy and will be posting those entries as well.
Friday, November 23, 2007
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront
“'Virtually' isn't very reassuring,” she mumbled as she leaned back, eyes smoldering. Luckily only Dakson heard her and shook his head slightly to caution her.
'Did you really expect a different answer this time?” the Chief asked.
'No, but it is still fucking stupid. I don't really think anyone will show up, but just because I am sure of that, I don't want that to jeopardize everyone on this planet. My opinion is not worth billions of lives.'
Chief Dakson smiled, 'That's why I love you, ma'am, no pretensions about the intrinsic worth of your opinions!'
Lieutenant Pipkin rolled her eyes but smiled at the same time. 'I keep you around to keep me grounded, not give me a big head...'
They were distracted from their private conversation by their companions pushing back their chairs and standing up, talking trivialities with their neighbors as they made their way toward the door. Dakson and Pipkin joined the exodus from the captains conference room.
“Have you found something for our cadets to occupy their time with?” Pipkin asked.
“I think I will have them on the upper level cleaning out cobwebs to finish out the day. I gave them the morning off with some training and a long lunch so I have to do something to convince them I'm not really a nice guy.”
They continued to talk about unimportant topics until they got into the car and it started on its way back to the flight line. Inside the vehicle they let their true feelings cloud their faces, both knowing what the others' thoughts of the Captain's opinion were without either of them having to give voice to them.
The short ride passed in companionable silence as they both chewed over the days events. When the car arrived at the main hangar, they got out, nodded to each other, and went their separate ways once they entered the building, she toward her office and him toward the training shop.
As the chief came around the side of the damaged spacecraft in its cradle, he saw the two cadets standing at their ease in front of the shop door. He consciously straightened himself up and cleared his face, putting on his work mask – cheerfully and distantly efficient. As the young men saw him coming they straightened up into parade rest and watched him approach.
“Okay boys, are you ready to earn your keep? Let's go, I'll show you where the cleaning locker is and we will get you started up top.”
Chapter 2: The Darkening Sky
Cadet Brison dragged himself out of the transient barracks rack, groaning as his sore muscles protested his every movement. Bleary eyed he shuffled across the open bay berthing to the closets, giving Cadet Walkers' rack a vigorous kick as he stumbled by. He ignored Walkers' mumbled complaints as he opened his locker and grabbed his towel out of the back and threw it over his shoulder, then took his shower kit off the top shelf.
“You would think after months of working through everything Driscol and Waugh could throw at us, we would be over this damn soreness,” complained Walker behind him.
“No kidding... But, then, we weren't spending ten hours a day either hunched over a broom or with our arms above our heads.”
“Maybe we should suggest this place to them as a torture pit. Have them send the screw ups here for a week.”
“Not a bad idea,” Brison responded as he walked out of the room on his way to the shower. As the door closed behind him he heard the bed creak as Walker finally got up. Shuffling down the passageway he shook his head. These last three days certainly weren't what he expected when he got the assignment here. Sweeping the endless concrete of the hangar or clearing cob webs out of the maze of rafters above that same expanse of floor certainly had nothing to do with familiarizing himself with a fighter and it's operations. He was still brooding about the injustice of it all as he entered the shower room, shucked his clothes, and eased himself into the soothing flow of water. Though, as the hot streams of water massaged and worked the tensions out of his aching neck and back, he did have to admit that the bathing facilities certainly beat the crap out of what he had to use over at the recruit training center barracks. And he didn't have Chief Driscol and Petty Officer Waugh in his face all day every day. He also had to concede that it was certainly more pleasant to share a room with only one other person than a hundred other smelly, grumbling, pissed off men and women.
By the time he shut off the water and stepped out to dry himself, he was feeling much better. Brison was almost smiling as he thought about being able to work around the majestic bulk of the fighter sitting in it's maintenance cradle in the center of the hangar bay. By the time he had finished toweling himself off, getting dressed, and packing his toiletries, he was smiling. He left the head with increased vigor in his stride, almost bouncing as he entered his and Walkers' room – his obvious anticipation of the day earned him a sour scowl from his room mate.
“I don't see what there is to smile about, asshole,” Walker said by way of greeting, and bent back to finish tying his boots.
Ignoring the other cadets' grouchiness, he pulled his dungarees and boots out of his closet and began climbing into uniform. “You should start taking your showers in the morning.”
Walker finished up with his boots and stood up, turning his usual morning glare back to Brison. “Why, so I can be as cheery as you afterward? No thanks. It is indecent to act that way in the morning.”
“Whatever, man,” Brison snapped at Walker as he pulled on his own boots, “You just want a reason to complain everyday.”
With a small chuckle, Walker reminded him “Like I need an excuse to complain. It's every cadets job to anticipate a terrible day, that way we are pleasantly surprised if anything positive happens.”
“Yeah, and how is that working for you?”
“Nothing has ruined my day by pleasantly surprising me yet!”
Both men left the berthing, laughing softly, and made their way down to the hangar deck.
'Did you really expect a different answer this time?” the Chief asked.
'No, but it is still fucking stupid. I don't really think anyone will show up, but just because I am sure of that, I don't want that to jeopardize everyone on this planet. My opinion is not worth billions of lives.'
Chief Dakson smiled, 'That's why I love you, ma'am, no pretensions about the intrinsic worth of your opinions!'
Lieutenant Pipkin rolled her eyes but smiled at the same time. 'I keep you around to keep me grounded, not give me a big head...'
They were distracted from their private conversation by their companions pushing back their chairs and standing up, talking trivialities with their neighbors as they made their way toward the door. Dakson and Pipkin joined the exodus from the captains conference room.
“Have you found something for our cadets to occupy their time with?” Pipkin asked.
“I think I will have them on the upper level cleaning out cobwebs to finish out the day. I gave them the morning off with some training and a long lunch so I have to do something to convince them I'm not really a nice guy.”
They continued to talk about unimportant topics until they got into the car and it started on its way back to the flight line. Inside the vehicle they let their true feelings cloud their faces, both knowing what the others' thoughts of the Captain's opinion were without either of them having to give voice to them.
The short ride passed in companionable silence as they both chewed over the days events. When the car arrived at the main hangar, they got out, nodded to each other, and went their separate ways once they entered the building, she toward her office and him toward the training shop.
As the chief came around the side of the damaged spacecraft in its cradle, he saw the two cadets standing at their ease in front of the shop door. He consciously straightened himself up and cleared his face, putting on his work mask – cheerfully and distantly efficient. As the young men saw him coming they straightened up into parade rest and watched him approach.
“Okay boys, are you ready to earn your keep? Let's go, I'll show you where the cleaning locker is and we will get you started up top.”
Chapter 2: The Darkening Sky
Cadet Brison dragged himself out of the transient barracks rack, groaning as his sore muscles protested his every movement. Bleary eyed he shuffled across the open bay berthing to the closets, giving Cadet Walkers' rack a vigorous kick as he stumbled by. He ignored Walkers' mumbled complaints as he opened his locker and grabbed his towel out of the back and threw it over his shoulder, then took his shower kit off the top shelf.
“You would think after months of working through everything Driscol and Waugh could throw at us, we would be over this damn soreness,” complained Walker behind him.
“No kidding... But, then, we weren't spending ten hours a day either hunched over a broom or with our arms above our heads.”
“Maybe we should suggest this place to them as a torture pit. Have them send the screw ups here for a week.”
“Not a bad idea,” Brison responded as he walked out of the room on his way to the shower. As the door closed behind him he heard the bed creak as Walker finally got up. Shuffling down the passageway he shook his head. These last three days certainly weren't what he expected when he got the assignment here. Sweeping the endless concrete of the hangar or clearing cob webs out of the maze of rafters above that same expanse of floor certainly had nothing to do with familiarizing himself with a fighter and it's operations. He was still brooding about the injustice of it all as he entered the shower room, shucked his clothes, and eased himself into the soothing flow of water. Though, as the hot streams of water massaged and worked the tensions out of his aching neck and back, he did have to admit that the bathing facilities certainly beat the crap out of what he had to use over at the recruit training center barracks. And he didn't have Chief Driscol and Petty Officer Waugh in his face all day every day. He also had to concede that it was certainly more pleasant to share a room with only one other person than a hundred other smelly, grumbling, pissed off men and women.
By the time he shut off the water and stepped out to dry himself, he was feeling much better. Brison was almost smiling as he thought about being able to work around the majestic bulk of the fighter sitting in it's maintenance cradle in the center of the hangar bay. By the time he had finished toweling himself off, getting dressed, and packing his toiletries, he was smiling. He left the head with increased vigor in his stride, almost bouncing as he entered his and Walkers' room – his obvious anticipation of the day earned him a sour scowl from his room mate.
“I don't see what there is to smile about, asshole,” Walker said by way of greeting, and bent back to finish tying his boots.
Ignoring the other cadets' grouchiness, he pulled his dungarees and boots out of his closet and began climbing into uniform. “You should start taking your showers in the morning.”
Walker finished up with his boots and stood up, turning his usual morning glare back to Brison. “Why, so I can be as cheery as you afterward? No thanks. It is indecent to act that way in the morning.”
“Whatever, man,” Brison snapped at Walker as he pulled on his own boots, “You just want a reason to complain everyday.”
With a small chuckle, Walker reminded him “Like I need an excuse to complain. It's every cadets job to anticipate a terrible day, that way we are pleasantly surprised if anything positive happens.”
“Yeah, and how is that working for you?”
“Nothing has ruined my day by pleasantly surprising me yet!”
Both men left the berthing, laughing softly, and made their way down to the hangar deck.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
New novel readers
To cut down on the level of confusion, it may be a good idea to start at the beginning of the revised novel, found here:
http://rbowman1234.blogspot.com/2007/11/nanowrimo-novel-stormfront-revised.html
http://rbowman1234.blogspot.com/2007/11/nanowrimo-novel-stormfront-revised.html
Friday, November 16, 2007
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront
Dakson just grunted and slouched in the back of the car, grimacing slightly as he stared out the window as he thought about how boring these meetings usually are.
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, Brison made a snide comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting the chief likely had with the division officer, and got an elbow in his side for the trouble. Irritated, Brison spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when he saw the quartermaster standing behind him. His planned comment fled, the blood drained from his face, and he started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
Brison managed to stammer out a “yes, ma'am” while suffering a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
“We'll be serving for another forty five minutes,” they were told as the quartermaster dropped them off at the tray rack. “The enlisted mess is to the right of the galley, the officers' mess is to the left. You are not authorized to enter either unaccompanied, so you will find tables along the wall of the galley area itself,” she stated as she moved off, leaving the two cadets to fend for themselves.
Cadet Walker grabbed a tray and headed for the food line, not wanting to lose a minute of real food. Brison followed, still red in the face from his recent embarrassment. He passed through the line without saying anything or looking anyone in the eye, just pointing to his choices, and ended up at the desert rack. As he was debating on which pie to take, he was startled out of his brooding by a voice at his shoulder - “What's up, Brison? You look like the Chief just stepped on your favorite cat.”
Jumping a little, he turned and saw Cadet Wilston standing behind him. He grinned a bit and shrugged. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut, is all.”
Wilston chuckled at that, “You are just now figuring this out? I would have thought it dawned on you as they led you out of the barracks a couple weeks ago in hand cuffs.”
Shrugging again and looking down, Brison replied “Yeah, well sometimes the bat upside the head only makes your think about how much it hurt to get hit by it, not so much about what you did to deserve it...” He looked back at her and asked “What are you doing here?”
“I am going to be a supply officer, so they figured I should spend some time at the elbow of some of the cooks.” As she replied, Brison noticed that she was wearing a white smock over her dungarees. “Though how learning to follow a recipe card is going to help me understand the logistics of supplying battle groups, I still haven't figured out,” Wilston continued.
“I haven't a clue, either,” Brison replied, shaking his head. “I'm sure it will al reveal itself by the end of the week...” As he started to turn toward the booth that Cadet Walker had found for them, he stopped and asked “Do you have a few minutes to join us?”
She looked over to the table and back, then nodded slightly. “Sure, they won't miss me for a couple minutes yet,” and joined Brison for the quick walk to the table. Declining Brison's offer to give her the booth seat, she grabbed a chair from another table and sat at the end. “This way I can head back quick if they give me a call. So, what are you two doing out here?”
“We get to be hangar rats this week,” Walker replied.
Nodding and chuckling, Brison looked over and saw that she was a bit confused. “We go to flight school when we get out of here, so they sent us over to work around the fighters. They might let us get inside one sometime this week – we hope.”
“Very cool!” was her reply. “Pilots, huh? How long have you wanted to fly?”
“Since I was a kid,” both Brison and Walkers' replied at the same time, and all three laughed.
“My dad was a pilot but was out by the time I was born,” Brison explained. “I grew up hearing stories about his deployments and was always day dreaming about taking on the bad guys. So, here I am.”
Walker looked at Brison, then at Wilston, and shrugged. “I watched a lot of space movies growing up and just wanted to be one of the heroes. It took a long time before I realized that the pilots in the movies weren't really pilots, but by then the dream had taken root!”
As they talked, Brison remembered watching the fighters, both atmospheric and vacuum, flying overhead to and from the base. His father had made sure to find a home close to the training base on the southern coast, that way he could watch the various craft on maneuvers. He learned each of the models and configurations of the ships while watching them with his dad, and in the process absorbed his passion for flying. A childhood spent building spaceship models, reading novels, and collecting anything with air or spacecraft on them served to solidify the goal in his own mind.
The galley closing chime sounded in their ears and they automatically started cleaning up their lunch mess. Brison realized he essentially participated in the conversation on auto pilot while he was daydreaming, and glanced at the other two cadets to see if they had noticed. They seemed pretty well clueless that he had been checked out for the last half hour and he felt better.
“Well, it was nice talking to you guys,” Wilston said as she stood and put the chair back. “I better head back and see if they need me to scrub pans or something. Enjoy sweeping the hangar bay!” With that she went back into the kitchen.
“Ready to see what the Chief has in store for us this afternoon?” Walker asked.
“Not really, but let's do it anyway...” Brison replied, and led the way out of the mess hall and back across the street to the hangar.
Lieutenant Pipkin and Chief Dakson stared at each other across the conference table in the Captain's office, eyes glazed and only half listening to the other department heads bickering about their respective annual budgets.
'How much longer do you think this will go on?' the chief sub vocalized into their private channel.
'Not much, if I have to break in myself. I am about to go to sleep.'
'About to? I am pretty sure I did for a good thirty minutes there!'
Lieutenant Pipkin couldn't help but smile. She had thought his eyes were more glassy that they usually were during the Monday department head meeting. 'Careful, Chief. I would hate to have to write you up for snoring.”
Dakson smiled himself and rolled his eyes at her comment, then again at Supply's request for new silverware in the officers' mess.
That was enough for Pipkin, however. Clearing her throat and leaning forward, she faced the head of the table. “Sir, can we get an update on the status of our request for that patrol squadron. I have been on the comm with the tactical group and have gotten nowhere.”
The budgetary discussions fell away as the reminder of even a slightly potential danger was voiced. A few of her fellow officers voiced their agreement in more information but most just sighed and sat back, tired of hearing about it after the last few weeks.
The base commanding officer looked back at Pipkin, undisguised irritation written plain across his aged face. “Lieutenant, I have not heard anything new. The request has been made and no special squadron was dispatched. We will get our usual patrol stop in a month or so and I will see if I can get them to hang out for a while. That shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure they will be ready for some good R and R. That's the best I can do.”
“With all due respect, sir, we need to try to expedite that. I am not comfortable with that ship and that drive. What if one of their Brax mainbrains got a glimpse of the star field on the other side of the fold when the tender came through. We are wide open here – I haven't been able to get decent upgrades for the system defense net for years.”
The Captain stared back at her. “Drop it, lieutenant. As you know, the tender folded in from a secure location. There is virtually no chance of a trace to it here.”
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, Brison made a snide comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting the chief likely had with the division officer, and got an elbow in his side for the trouble. Irritated, Brison spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when he saw the quartermaster standing behind him. His planned comment fled, the blood drained from his face, and he started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
Brison managed to stammer out a “yes, ma'am” while suffering a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
“We'll be serving for another forty five minutes,” they were told as the quartermaster dropped them off at the tray rack. “The enlisted mess is to the right of the galley, the officers' mess is to the left. You are not authorized to enter either unaccompanied, so you will find tables along the wall of the galley area itself,” she stated as she moved off, leaving the two cadets to fend for themselves.
Cadet Walker grabbed a tray and headed for the food line, not wanting to lose a minute of real food. Brison followed, still red in the face from his recent embarrassment. He passed through the line without saying anything or looking anyone in the eye, just pointing to his choices, and ended up at the desert rack. As he was debating on which pie to take, he was startled out of his brooding by a voice at his shoulder - “What's up, Brison? You look like the Chief just stepped on your favorite cat.”
Jumping a little, he turned and saw Cadet Wilston standing behind him. He grinned a bit and shrugged. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut, is all.”
Wilston chuckled at that, “You are just now figuring this out? I would have thought it dawned on you as they led you out of the barracks a couple weeks ago in hand cuffs.”
Shrugging again and looking down, Brison replied “Yeah, well sometimes the bat upside the head only makes your think about how much it hurt to get hit by it, not so much about what you did to deserve it...” He looked back at her and asked “What are you doing here?”
“I am going to be a supply officer, so they figured I should spend some time at the elbow of some of the cooks.” As she replied, Brison noticed that she was wearing a white smock over her dungarees. “Though how learning to follow a recipe card is going to help me understand the logistics of supplying battle groups, I still haven't figured out,” Wilston continued.
“I haven't a clue, either,” Brison replied, shaking his head. “I'm sure it will al reveal itself by the end of the week...” As he started to turn toward the booth that Cadet Walker had found for them, he stopped and asked “Do you have a few minutes to join us?”
She looked over to the table and back, then nodded slightly. “Sure, they won't miss me for a couple minutes yet,” and joined Brison for the quick walk to the table. Declining Brison's offer to give her the booth seat, she grabbed a chair from another table and sat at the end. “This way I can head back quick if they give me a call. So, what are you two doing out here?”
“We get to be hangar rats this week,” Walker replied.
Nodding and chuckling, Brison looked over and saw that she was a bit confused. “We go to flight school when we get out of here, so they sent us over to work around the fighters. They might let us get inside one sometime this week – we hope.”
“Very cool!” was her reply. “Pilots, huh? How long have you wanted to fly?”
“Since I was a kid,” both Brison and Walkers' replied at the same time, and all three laughed.
“My dad was a pilot but was out by the time I was born,” Brison explained. “I grew up hearing stories about his deployments and was always day dreaming about taking on the bad guys. So, here I am.”
Walker looked at Brison, then at Wilston, and shrugged. “I watched a lot of space movies growing up and just wanted to be one of the heroes. It took a long time before I realized that the pilots in the movies weren't really pilots, but by then the dream had taken root!”
As they talked, Brison remembered watching the fighters, both atmospheric and vacuum, flying overhead to and from the base. His father had made sure to find a home close to the training base on the southern coast, that way he could watch the various craft on maneuvers. He learned each of the models and configurations of the ships while watching them with his dad, and in the process absorbed his passion for flying. A childhood spent building spaceship models, reading novels, and collecting anything with air or spacecraft on them served to solidify the goal in his own mind.
The galley closing chime sounded in their ears and they automatically started cleaning up their lunch mess. Brison realized he essentially participated in the conversation on auto pilot while he was daydreaming, and glanced at the other two cadets to see if they had noticed. They seemed pretty well clueless that he had been checked out for the last half hour and he felt better.
“Well, it was nice talking to you guys,” Wilston said as she stood and put the chair back. “I better head back and see if they need me to scrub pans or something. Enjoy sweeping the hangar bay!” With that she went back into the kitchen.
“Ready to see what the Chief has in store for us this afternoon?” Walker asked.
“Not really, but let's do it anyway...” Brison replied, and led the way out of the mess hall and back across the street to the hangar.
Lieutenant Pipkin and Chief Dakson stared at each other across the conference table in the Captain's office, eyes glazed and only half listening to the other department heads bickering about their respective annual budgets.
'How much longer do you think this will go on?' the chief sub vocalized into their private channel.
'Not much, if I have to break in myself. I am about to go to sleep.'
'About to? I am pretty sure I did for a good thirty minutes there!'
Lieutenant Pipkin couldn't help but smile. She had thought his eyes were more glassy that they usually were during the Monday department head meeting. 'Careful, Chief. I would hate to have to write you up for snoring.”
Dakson smiled himself and rolled his eyes at her comment, then again at Supply's request for new silverware in the officers' mess.
That was enough for Pipkin, however. Clearing her throat and leaning forward, she faced the head of the table. “Sir, can we get an update on the status of our request for that patrol squadron. I have been on the comm with the tactical group and have gotten nowhere.”
The budgetary discussions fell away as the reminder of even a slightly potential danger was voiced. A few of her fellow officers voiced their agreement in more information but most just sighed and sat back, tired of hearing about it after the last few weeks.
The base commanding officer looked back at Pipkin, undisguised irritation written plain across his aged face. “Lieutenant, I have not heard anything new. The request has been made and no special squadron was dispatched. We will get our usual patrol stop in a month or so and I will see if I can get them to hang out for a while. That shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure they will be ready for some good R and R. That's the best I can do.”
“With all due respect, sir, we need to try to expedite that. I am not comfortable with that ship and that drive. What if one of their Brax mainbrains got a glimpse of the star field on the other side of the fold when the tender came through. We are wide open here – I haven't been able to get decent upgrades for the system defense net for years.”
The Captain stared back at her. “Drop it, lieutenant. As you know, the tender folded in from a secure location. There is virtually no chance of a trace to it here.”
Monday, November 12, 2007
NaNoWriMo status update
Ok, I just reposted the majority of what I had written. As the story progressed, it diverged from where I had envisioned it going and it no longer made sense to keep it in first person. I went back through and changed it to third person, and added some additional dialog and viewpoints from other characters.
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront (revised)
Chapter 1: The Gathering Clouds
'This is what I dreamed about doing growing up?'
Cadet Brison remembered that day vividly. The concrete was burning his hands as he did push-ups, his entire basic training class in the same predicament around the grinder. The afternoon summer sun beating down on them and the reflected heat pounding them the concrete below.
'This is my fault,' he reminded myself. Not that he had to, the drill instructors are reminding everybody of the same thing from the shaded balcony where they are directing the punishment. Cadet Brison could feel the anger from my fellow cadets focusing on him, and all he could do was accept it as his due.
“Say 'Thank you, Cadet Brison for failing your test today.'” Chief Driscol calls out to the company. Only a few of his fellow cadets followed the instruction. Cadet Brison didn't know if he should feel grateful that not everyone was willing to throw him to the wolves or if he was disappointed because all that was going to do would be to keep the entire company out there longer.
As the Chief exhorts the rest of the company to thank the cadet for the various miseries that are going to be visited upon them for the rest of the afternoon, Cadet Brison heard a sonic boom and a scream of engines overhead. He glanced up and saw a fighter screaming back into the atmosphere, vapor streaming off the fuselage as it braked for a landing at the base. The cadet smiles - 'That is what I dreamed about growing up.' The afternoon on the grinder doing penance with his company was just a step along the way.
The cadet could feel the blisters starting to form on his palms and refocused on the situation he was in, wondering how long they had been out here. He couldn't recall the last few thank you messages the Chief has been calling out, but he does hear what the Chief says next, and cringed.
“Cadet Brison has decided to purposely let this company down and you are all going to pay for it. You can thank him every day for the extra drills you will be getting for the next week. Thank him for the blisters and sore muscles you will have.”
“Don't listen to him!”
Surprised, Cadet Brison turned his head and saw Cadet Walker standing up and glaring at the Chief. He was certainly the last person Brison would have expected to stand up for him seeing as how there had been virtually no interaction between the two since they had arrived, and especially considering the amount of pain and trouble he would get from it.
“You have beaten into our heads the need for teamwork. You have had us on our faces on this grinder when we falter in that, and now you have us out here to demand that we turn on one of our own company? Screw that, 'sir,' we are a team, we have been one for months now – you are not able to change that with any amount of afternoon beatings!” When he was finished, Walker remained standing, staring defiantly up at the Chief.
Brison was impressed at Walkers' defiance but knew from experience that it was pointless. He start to shake his head and noticed that other cadets were standing up, then felt someone take his arm and pull him up.
“You may not be my Section Leader anymore,” Cadet Wilston tells Brison, “but I still think of you as my Section Leader. None of us are going to let this go on anymore.”
Brison shook his head as he looked at her. “It really is my fault that we are out here. I failed that test on purpose and everyone knows that. The Chief has every right to be angry – that stunt of mine dropped the company to third...”
She didn't reply, just turned her attention to the instructors above them and stood at attention. Confused by the reaction of his class mates, Cadet Brison did the same.
Chief Driscol is leaning on the railing, looking at each of them in turn, glaring. He stopped when he got to Brison and nodded his head slightly. The Chief suddenly stood up straight, smiled and claped his hands together with a sharp crack that echoed through the barracks courtyard.
“It's about time you pulled together as a team. As Cadet Wilston points out, I have been trying to beat the concept of teamwork into your heads over the last few months.” Driscol stood surveying the company with a sad smile on his face, his inherent authority lending several feet to his short stature, and placed his hands behind his back. Driscol seeminged unconsciously assume parade rest – though Brison was sure that it was he had done for show as the company followed suit automatically. “You all will be done with this training in three weeks and will go to your first commands. Teamwork here is required to pass tests, run the physicals, and to make it through the training. Out there you will need it to survive. You won't have months to decide to work as a team, you will need to figure out how to do so within weeks!”
When he finished Petty Officer Waugh stepped up. “Company, atten-hut!” The entire company snapped to attention at the same moment, the crisp slap of their shoes coming together on the pavement answered his command. “Fall out. Dress blues inspection at 1600.” It was 1550. The entire company raced to the barracks stairwell entrance in a mad dash to get changed and pop tall beside their racks.
As Cadet Brison entered the building Wilston come up behind him. “Brison,” he says. The cadet turned to look at him, neither of them slowing down as they went up the stairs. “What were you thinking? You didn't seriously think anyone would believe you just had a bad day on the test, did you?”
Brison pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the stairs. “At the time it seemed plausible.” It hadn't, really, but he had managed to convince himself that it could be believed. He hadn't thought to consider the fact that he had never missed more than two questions on any of the previous tests. “I figured I could use the couple days I had just spent in the Zoo as an excuse. The test on top of the rest should have been enough to hold me back a week and get out of this fucking company.”
They entered the barracks floor, everyone that had been ahead of them were already at their bunks changing out of their dungarees and into their dress uniforms. As Wilston split off to go to his rack he glared at the other cadet. “You can't be that stupid, can you? They're not going to let you out of this company. You are going to go too far for them to let someone else say you graduated from their class.”
Cadet Brison stopped and looked after him. That thought had never crossed his mind – Driscol and Waugh rode his ass hard the entire time he had been here. Brison had assumed they would jump at the chance to dump him on another company. Confused, he finally made it to his bunk and changed as fast as he could into his blues.
He wasn't fast enough to avoid further attention from the company commanders. As he snapped to attention at the foot of his rack, Driscol and Waugh were standing at the front of the room, their seemingly permanent scowls passing over each of them. Waugh starts down the isle toward the cadet, Driscol, as always, doing the talking.
“Cadet Brison, why am I not surprised to see that you were the last one ready for inspection?” None of the rest of the company has the nerve to point out that there were still a couple stragglers finishing up the details of their uniform down the row a bit. “Haven't you caused enough trouble? I would think that after all the shit you caused over the last week you would make every attempt to become invisible!”
It was all Cadet Brison could do to stop a snort of derision. 'As if that could ever happen,' he thinks, 'I have made myself too well known to ever be invisible in this class.'
Petty Officer Waugh was standing in front of him by then, though Brison was careful to keep his eyes focused on a point on the opposite wall. Chief Driscol was looking at him as well, directing the entire force of attention on the mentally squirming cadet.
“You stood in my barracks and told me to my face that you would not do push-ups because you didn't agree with my reason? You insult me by thinking your opinion is equal to mine? You stood in my office, where I was graciously not beating the shit out of you for it – and was, in fact, giving you a chance to redeem yourself – and essentially tell me to fuck off? I strip you of your Section and again refrain from knocking the crap out of you, ordering you back to your rack to take part in the physical training, and you still you refuse? You get arrested and sent to the Zoo, you face Captain's Mast, come back to my company, and throw a test? Are you intentionally trying to fuck with me and this company, cadet?”
Petty Officer Waugh was glaring up at him. Somehow this short, intense oriental man could make anyone feel as if he were looking down at them. As Chief Driscol pauses, Waugh speaks quietly. “Drop”
I immediately drop into the up push-up position. I hear the Chief coming closer now, continuing his tongue lashing.
“I am beginning to think that you are purposely trying to fuck with my career, Brison. Down.” The cadet lowered himself to within a couple inches of the floor and held himself there, waiting. “Everything you do reflects on me. This little stunt today dropped the company from first place to third. Up.” Brison pushed himself back up and held, his face red and ears burning from embarrassment. “You will re-take this test and pass it this time. Do you know how much ass-kissing I had to do to get this for you. Down. And make no mistake, I am doing this as a favor to you. Up. I am offering you one final chance to redeem yourself. Down. If you fuck this up, you are mine for a very long time, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he manages to grunt out, the strain of holding himself inches from the floor causing him to shake all over.
“Good. Stand at attention and get ready for inspection.” Chief Driscol moved off as Brison get to his feet and snapped to attention. Waugh looked at the cadet for another moment, then shook his head and followed the Chief back to the gallery at the front of the room.
Fuming, Brison berated himself for his lifelong dream, the burning desire to fly a fighter craft. He couldn't help but think 'If I hadn't pursued this so single mindedly, I would have been spared this humiliation.' Even through his anger, he couldn't convince himself that he could have done that.
Cadet Wilston watched as Cadet Brison got back to his feet. She hated seeing her former Section Leader treated this way. She knew that the company commanders had singled him out early on for his performance. She was grateful once again that she wasn't ambitious or smart enough to attract their attention. She knew also that she was lucky to still be here – if it hadn't been for Cadet Brison helping her with her drills and studies, she would have failed out over a month ago.
Admiring the way the other man stood rigidly at attention even when obviously angry, she remembered seeing that same look right before he had refused to train a couple weeks ago. Standing stiffly at his full hight of just under six foot, the veins standing out on his neck and his face flushed red all the way up into his buzz-cut hair, he flat refused to drop when Driscol and Waugh dressed down the company for a dirty barracks.
Both drill instructors had rounded on him when he was the only one standing, berating him for disobedience. Brison remained respectful as he stated he felt that the company was being unfairly punished as the barracks had been, in his opinion, spotless when they left for breakfast.
It was this force of character that made her realize that given half a chance, she would follow this man in anything he commanded. Even as the company commanders tried to break him, then had him arrested, she placed absolute trust in Cadet Brison.
She knew, too, that the majority of the company felt this way as well.
Over the week, the company paid on their faces for Brison's error in judgment. They bonded more during that week of pain than they had since they had arrived. Brison retook and passed the test he had previously intentionally failed and the company regained their standing as the top ranked in the division. Other than the newfound comradeship, the week passed mostly unremarked. One day blends into the next when they consist of marching, drilling, exercise, and basic military instruction. It also helped to distract them from the monotony to think about the upcoming week - the second to last week of training was work week.
Common lore had it that this was the week where cadets get to spend a week learning a bit about their real world job. Everyone talked about that as it is was the truth, but nobody really believed it. Most accepted that more than likely they would get stuck doing what the drill instructors decided they should do – after all, they conceded to themselves privately, there really isn't a rating devoted to kitchen scullery duty.
So it was that while the barracks resounded with groans of dismay as the cadets read their packets and realized they would be doing drudge work, cadet Brison gave a small grunt of surprise when he discovered that his assignment directed him to report to the flight line at the base across the bay.
It took a moment for the realization that the drill instructors didn't send him to a dark hole in the ground. By the time he refocused the barracks was in the midst of emptying. Brison took a few minutes to pack his laundry bag with dungarees and clothes for the week and went down the stairs to the street to found a base shuttle waiting. He stepped into the bus and the doors closed behind him as it left the curb, continuing on to it's programmed destination. Brison looked around to see how many other pilots there were aboard and saw only Cadet Walker sitting in the back bench, the rest of the bus was empty.
Cadet Walker looked at Brison speculatively and nodded in response to the other man's quizzical look. “Not who you expected to see on this bus, am I?”
Brison Grinned ruefully and shrugged, moving to the back to sit with Walker. As he did, Brison looked at Walker appraisingly because he was right – he was not the sort of man that would generally be pegged for a pilot. He stood about six foot, for starters, a bit tall for a fighter jock. When he had first arrived at basic training he was quite heavyset, though the constant workouts they had gone through over the past few months took care of that, trimming him down a lot. A little too fast for his body to catch up, it appeared, as his skin sagged a little around the cheeks, arms, and belly. Walker had intelligent eyes and always seemed a step ahead of most of the rest of the company, though his test scores were never in the top percentile. As he thought about that, Brison began to think that in that Walker was smarter than himself, as this seemed to have kept Walker out of the forefront of the drill instructors' attention.
'If I had followed his example, my test failure of last week would have gone over mostly unremarked.' Brison thought. 'But,' he conceded to himself as he sat down next to Cadet Walker, 'that is a philosophy I would never be able to take as my own. For better or worse, I am driven to be the best in whatever I do.'
Out loud he commented “Honestly, no. I never pictured you as one. What is your secret? How did you manage to go through this entire time meeting the requirements for the flight program and maintain your relative anonymity in the company?”
Walker looked at Brison and smiled as if he knew what he was about to say was so obvious he shouldn't have to say it. Looking Brison straight in the eyes he says “Self confidence.”
Confused, Brison wrinkled his brow and look right back at Walker and asked “How so?”
Brison could tell that Walker was amused, though he couldn't figure out why. Cadet Walkers' smile gets slightly bigger as he turns his head back to the front of the bus and explains “I know what I am capable of. I know where I am going and how I am going to get there. I don't need to set myself up as a superstar performer in order to give myself an ego boost.”
Cadet Brison was immediately offended. 'This mediocre performer has the gall to insinuate that me performing to the best of my ability is just a pathetic attempt to gain acceptance?' he thinks, then wonders at his reaction. 'Why would react so strongly if what he said didn't have a kernel of truth...' Brooding, he too turn toward the front of the bus and watched the city stream by.
'Do I really see a bit of myself in what he just said,' Brison wonders. Perplexed, he reflects on his motivations. 'Do I really make myself the top performer because I need the approval of others in order to validate my own sense of self-worth?' He concedes that this is possible, or at the very least he can see where it would have started out that way. Every child craves attention, and in that he was no different. Brison went through the standard deviations on this theme – causing fights, theft, disobedience – and got his daily doses of attention. Along with not a few spankings. He got his first taste of positive reinforcement in his primary education when, out of boredom, he excelled in some minor exam. The praise from Brison's instructor and from his parents resulted in such a warm glow inside himself that he decided that he would seek out that feeling whenever possible.
From there it became habit, then second hand. Excelling was no longer an effort for him. In this he can echo Walker – Brison know what he could do and where he was going. The difference between them was that Brison don't have to hide this ability because he knew he would always be capable of it.
Brison look over at Cadet Walker and came to the realization that Walkers' decision to hide his ability did not come from self confidence, but the lack of it. Walker did not under perform because he has nothing to prove, he did so because he was afraid that if he started to be the best, one day he might find that he wasn't. This was an idea that Walker was not comfortable with, so he hid safely in his chosen mediocrity, smug in his conviction that he was better than those that out performed him without ever having to put this conviction to the test.
The two men rode out the rest of the trip wrapped in their personal thoughts, each admiring the city they had only been able to see in the distance from the training compound. They traveled past all too soon, the majestic buildings being replaced with lush greenery as they approached the bay. As they Came around a final hill they both found themselves leaning forward in anticipation, neither having ever seen the base up close.
It comes into view gradually as they round the hill, sprawling next to the water, jungle giving way to buildings giving way to runways and landing pads. They watched as gigantic cargo ships lumbered up from the field and as personnel shuttles came down at a sedate pace. They saw atmospheric trainers circling in the airspace above the runways, a couple true fighters near the hangers undergoing maintenance, and several taking test flights out over the ocean.
“Takes your breath away, doesn't it,” Walker asked without taking his eyes off the scene before them.
“Yes, it does,” Brison responds, nodding unconsciously in agreement. After trying hard but not being able to see the craft on maneuvers out at sea, his eyes latched hungrily on the sleek spacecraft in the maintenance cradles near the hangers. Even with hatches popped open and workers crawling over their skin they were majestic in their deadliness. “I can't wait to get inside one of those babies.”
Walker smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I wonder if they will take us up in one?”
“Don't we wish. There isn't a chance in hell they will take us up. Two cadets? No way.”
“Yeah, you're right. We will be seeing enough of the inside of them soon enough, I guess.”
Brison nodded in silent agreement. He supposed that a couple years of flight school qualifies as 'soon enough' after a lifetime of working toward that goal. It took the bus about ten more minutes to reach the level of the base, after which they both lost sight of the objects of their desire. They let out a sigh and leaned back at the same time, glanced at each other, and chuckled slightly at their identical reactions.
A few minutes later the bus pulled up in front of the base main hangar and announced that they were to disembark here. They climbed out and saw a lieutenant that seemed to be waiting for them. They snapped to attention and gave her a crisp salute.
“Cadets Walker and Brison reporting as ordered, Ma'am!”
She casually returned their salutes. “This way, cadets,” she said as she turned and headed through the open hangar doors.
The two cadets followed her into the cavernous building. The center was dominated by a fighter in various stages of disassembly, surrounded by gantries. As they angled across the concrete to the suite of offices along the sides Brison realized just how big the craft really was. He had spent time around atmospheric training craft most of his life and had imagined their space faring cousins to be the same approximate size. He now realized just how wrong I had been – the space fighter was huge.
Easily two hundred feet in diameter, it looked nothing like it's atmospheric counterpart. There were no wings or other control surfaces, nor was there a visible cockpit. There were, however, numerous weapons mounts. It appeared to the cadet as they walked by that the majority of the hull had a weapon system of some type attached.
“I haven't seen this model before.” Brison heard Walker mutter. He glanced at the other cadet, momentarily confused, then looked back at the ship. Brison realized he hadn't seen this configuration before, either, but it hadn't struck him as odd. It seemed to him like a naturally neutral shape for it to be in, then suddenly realized what the disconnect was.
“You did realize that fighters are flexmetal, didn't you?” Brison asked Walker incredulously.
The silence that answered the question was confirmation. Brison looked back at Walker speculatively. He really didn't know the most basic feature of these amazing things. It gave Brison a pleasant, if somewhat guilty, feeling of validation as his previous realization about Walkers' claim of superior self confidence was confirmed.
The lieutenant showed them into a somewhat cluttered office and sat behind the small wood desk at the end. Walker and Brison snapped to attention in front of her desk as she hit a call button in the corner screen. “At ease,” she commented without looking up.
As the cadets relaxed, her office door opened and a chief entered. The casual way the man folded into the single chair against the wall seemed to indicate that he spent a lot of time in this offfice. “I am Lieutenant Pipkin, the flight line division officer,” she introduced herself. “This is my line chief, Dakson. You belong to him for the next week. More than likely, he will have you walking the tarmac looking for FOD, sweeping the hangars, or cleaning the head. You may occasionally get close enough to a fighter to drool over it.” Noticing the cadets' involuntary looks of dismay, she relented somewhat. “I will arrange a day for a pilot to give you a tour of the interior before you leave. Until then, I don't want to see you near any of the craft and if you bother any of the pilots I will have you back to the recruit training center before you can blink. Chief, anything you would like to add?” she asked and looked over at the man.
Dakson was studying the newcomers through squinted eyes, the expression on his long face doubtful. He pursed his lips and jumped up from the chair, heading for the door. “I can find something for them,” he commented without looking back as he headed back out.
The two cadets hurried out after him, wanting to make sure they didn't get lost. After they caught up to him they followed him to the maintenance shop where he set them up with some basic maintenance training sets and advised them he would be back in a couple hours to give guide them around the hangar and show them where they will be working, then he left.
Walker and Brison looked at each other, shrugged, plugged in, and went to sleep.
Chief Dakson strode purposefully across the hangar back to the lieutenant's office. He knocked once and entered, took the few steps to his chair, and folded his tall, lanky frame into the too small seat. “Heard anything about the squadron request, yet?” he asked without preamble.
Lieutenant Pipkin glanced fondly at him, amazed once again at how he could look so comfortable in a chair that was obviously two sizes to small for his hight. She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. They keep telling me there isn't one available, that there is nothing to worry about.” She looked back at the console on her desk and muttered “idiots.”
Dakson smiled at hearing that last word. For all that the whole of known space is in the midst of a shooting cold war, you still couldn't work with bureaucracies. If some one on some central world somewhere feels that an obscure training facility thousands of light years from the “front” was safe, then as far as the brass was concerned, they were safe, and no amount of whining would change that opinion. “Well, let's hope they are right.” he sighed. Looking over at his division officer knee deep in some report or other, he felt momentarily sorry for her and knew he wouldn't trade in his anchors for her bars any day.
“Well, ma'am, I am going to make sure the outside maintenance crews are being productive, then I'll decant those cadets and get them over for some chow. Meeting with the CO at noon?”
He waited just long enough for her to give him a nod of affirmation before he was up and out the door again, his never ending store of energy making it nearly impossible for him to sit in one spot for any length of time.
A couple hours later the chief re-entered the training shop to find the two young men reclined and plugged in. He walked over to the console to check the progress. When he saw that he timed his return perfectly, he nodded to himself and hit the wake up button.
He could see the life visibly come back into them as the system brought them out of the training state it placed them in when the plugged in. The blinked and looked around, catching sight of Dakson at the console after a few moments.
“Sleepy time is over, cadets.” he says by way of greeting. “Lets hit the line then I will drop you off at the commissary for lunch.”
The cadets unplugged and stood, a bit wobbly while as they tried to compartmentalize the new routines that had been uploaded, and again followed Dakson out into the thankfully dim hanger.
As he led the way, Dakson gave them some passdown. “Okay, boys, this hanger is going to be your home for the next week. We have a transient barracks on the top level where you will be bunking. You will report to this office each morning for your days assignment, and more than likely will spend your day in here doing it. About the only sun you will be getting is on your way to and from meals at the commissary on those days we forget to bring your box meals or when we open up to let a fighter fly in or out.
“You will have a session or two a day with the pilots, either in the lounge or aboard one of the craft, to familiarize yourselves with the layout and systems. This afternoon I will have Captain Clemmons give you a tour of this beauty here this afternoon.”
By that time the small group had reached the safety perimeter around the craft in the center of the hanger and started to walk around it. Walker and Brison couldn't help but stare up at in naked awe. Even the chief was looking at it with open admiration on his face. The big sphere was sitting in a gantry with all its weapons stripped from their mounts and it still radiated a deadly majesty.
Walker noticed some scarring and scorch marks along her sides, and as they came around further he saw several people high up her curve replacing buckled plating. “Chief, what happened to her?” he couldn't help but ask.
“A tender folded in from the border last week with a full attachment of damaged fighters. Apparently the Pax hit one of our outlying stations and caught a carrier as it was in the process of docking. It was able to get most of it's fighters to fall off before it was gutted by the light carrier and its squadron that skipped in. The base, surviving fighters, and the carrier escorts were able to wipe it out, but all in all it was a win for them. A carrier, a couple hundred fighters, a good portion of the station destroyed, a thousand personnel lost, and several dozen ships and fighters damaged. There was nothing living other on the ship other than itself on their end.”
Brison looked at the chief. “How many did it bring in like this?”
“They brought twenty of them to us for repairs. Another fifty came in as scrap and spare parts. This one will be ready to fly in a couple days and is the last one with major damage. There are two outside needing cosmetic repairs, and those will be done by the end of the day. The last batch we finished repairing is out on test flights and will be hitching back up to the tender in the morning if everything tests out right.”
Brison nodded and looked back at the damaged old girl sitting there. They had seen the others on their way in and it suddenly made sense to him why there were so many present. Something Chief Dakson had said struck the cadet. Brison looked back and asked “The tender folded in?”
Dakson looked at the cadet and grinned. Walking away from the craft knowing that the men would follow he said “Yeah, it was a brand new ship, fresh off the Guild assembly lines. Beautiful ship, it can get anywhere on that new drive in no time at all.”
“Chief,” Walker spoke up. “Wouldn't the Pax be able to trace where it came to have these ships repaired? If it jumped directly from the border, wouldn't it be easy to follow?”
Nodding, the chief replied “That is a concern. The LT has been on the comm chewing some major ass. The brass says the fold space jump is untraceable, but personally I don't trust it. There has to be some factions in the Mining Guild that would be willing to plant traces on anything they sell. How can you truly trust an organization that sells to both sides?” Shrugging, he continues. “Nobody is truly neutral in anything. Don't worry, cadets, we have requested a patrol squadron to skip in for station keeping in the system just in case.”
Concerned but somewhat mollified, the cadets followed the chief outside to make their way to lunch. After the dim of the interior, it took a couple blinks for them to get their lenses to darken enough so they could see normally. Dakson smiled at their reaction, not bothering to adjust his, since the cafeteria was just across the street. He was treated to a replay of the frantic adjustments as they entered the building.
“Just check in with the quartermaster and she will get you going.” he told them. “I have a lunch meeting with the LT, so I will see you back in front of the fighter in an hour.” With that Dakson turned on his heel and left.
In just a few minutes he had made his way back across the street, into the hangar, and met the lieutenant as she was leaving her office. “Ready, ma'am?”
Nodding, she led the way out front where a car was waiting. They climbed in the back and it set off toward the quarterdeck. “Let's see what the old man has for us today,” she grumbles as she settles into the moving vehicle. “He should have some status report for us on our last maintenance budget request at the very least.”
Grunting, ***
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, Brison made a snide comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting the chief likely had with the division officer, and got an elbow in his side for the trouble. Irritated, Brison spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when he saw the quartermaster standing behind him. His planned comment fled, the blood drained from his face, and he started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep you mouth shut.”
Brison managed to stammer out a “yes, ma'am” while suffering a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
'This is what I dreamed about doing growing up?'
Cadet Brison remembered that day vividly. The concrete was burning his hands as he did push-ups, his entire basic training class in the same predicament around the grinder. The afternoon summer sun beating down on them and the reflected heat pounding them the concrete below.
'This is my fault,' he reminded myself. Not that he had to, the drill instructors are reminding everybody of the same thing from the shaded balcony where they are directing the punishment. Cadet Brison could feel the anger from my fellow cadets focusing on him, and all he could do was accept it as his due.
“Say 'Thank you, Cadet Brison for failing your test today.'” Chief Driscol calls out to the company. Only a few of his fellow cadets followed the instruction. Cadet Brison didn't know if he should feel grateful that not everyone was willing to throw him to the wolves or if he was disappointed because all that was going to do would be to keep the entire company out there longer.
As the Chief exhorts the rest of the company to thank the cadet for the various miseries that are going to be visited upon them for the rest of the afternoon, Cadet Brison heard a sonic boom and a scream of engines overhead. He glanced up and saw a fighter screaming back into the atmosphere, vapor streaming off the fuselage as it braked for a landing at the base. The cadet smiles - 'That is what I dreamed about growing up.' The afternoon on the grinder doing penance with his company was just a step along the way.
The cadet could feel the blisters starting to form on his palms and refocused on the situation he was in, wondering how long they had been out here. He couldn't recall the last few thank you messages the Chief has been calling out, but he does hear what the Chief says next, and cringed.
“Cadet Brison has decided to purposely let this company down and you are all going to pay for it. You can thank him every day for the extra drills you will be getting for the next week. Thank him for the blisters and sore muscles you will have.”
“Don't listen to him!”
Surprised, Cadet Brison turned his head and saw Cadet Walker standing up and glaring at the Chief. He was certainly the last person Brison would have expected to stand up for him seeing as how there had been virtually no interaction between the two since they had arrived, and especially considering the amount of pain and trouble he would get from it.
“You have beaten into our heads the need for teamwork. You have had us on our faces on this grinder when we falter in that, and now you have us out here to demand that we turn on one of our own company? Screw that, 'sir,' we are a team, we have been one for months now – you are not able to change that with any amount of afternoon beatings!” When he was finished, Walker remained standing, staring defiantly up at the Chief.
Brison was impressed at Walkers' defiance but knew from experience that it was pointless. He start to shake his head and noticed that other cadets were standing up, then felt someone take his arm and pull him up.
“You may not be my Section Leader anymore,” Cadet Wilston tells Brison, “but I still think of you as my Section Leader. None of us are going to let this go on anymore.”
Brison shook his head as he looked at her. “It really is my fault that we are out here. I failed that test on purpose and everyone knows that. The Chief has every right to be angry – that stunt of mine dropped the company to third...”
She didn't reply, just turned her attention to the instructors above them and stood at attention. Confused by the reaction of his class mates, Cadet Brison did the same.
Chief Driscol is leaning on the railing, looking at each of them in turn, glaring. He stopped when he got to Brison and nodded his head slightly. The Chief suddenly stood up straight, smiled and claped his hands together with a sharp crack that echoed through the barracks courtyard.
“It's about time you pulled together as a team. As Cadet Wilston points out, I have been trying to beat the concept of teamwork into your heads over the last few months.” Driscol stood surveying the company with a sad smile on his face, his inherent authority lending several feet to his short stature, and placed his hands behind his back. Driscol seeminged unconsciously assume parade rest – though Brison was sure that it was he had done for show as the company followed suit automatically. “You all will be done with this training in three weeks and will go to your first commands. Teamwork here is required to pass tests, run the physicals, and to make it through the training. Out there you will need it to survive. You won't have months to decide to work as a team, you will need to figure out how to do so within weeks!”
When he finished Petty Officer Waugh stepped up. “Company, atten-hut!” The entire company snapped to attention at the same moment, the crisp slap of their shoes coming together on the pavement answered his command. “Fall out. Dress blues inspection at 1600.” It was 1550. The entire company raced to the barracks stairwell entrance in a mad dash to get changed and pop tall beside their racks.
As Cadet Brison entered the building Wilston come up behind him. “Brison,” he says. The cadet turned to look at him, neither of them slowing down as they went up the stairs. “What were you thinking? You didn't seriously think anyone would believe you just had a bad day on the test, did you?”
Brison pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the stairs. “At the time it seemed plausible.” It hadn't, really, but he had managed to convince himself that it could be believed. He hadn't thought to consider the fact that he had never missed more than two questions on any of the previous tests. “I figured I could use the couple days I had just spent in the Zoo as an excuse. The test on top of the rest should have been enough to hold me back a week and get out of this fucking company.”
They entered the barracks floor, everyone that had been ahead of them were already at their bunks changing out of their dungarees and into their dress uniforms. As Wilston split off to go to his rack he glared at the other cadet. “You can't be that stupid, can you? They're not going to let you out of this company. You are going to go too far for them to let someone else say you graduated from their class.”
Cadet Brison stopped and looked after him. That thought had never crossed his mind – Driscol and Waugh rode his ass hard the entire time he had been here. Brison had assumed they would jump at the chance to dump him on another company. Confused, he finally made it to his bunk and changed as fast as he could into his blues.
He wasn't fast enough to avoid further attention from the company commanders. As he snapped to attention at the foot of his rack, Driscol and Waugh were standing at the front of the room, their seemingly permanent scowls passing over each of them. Waugh starts down the isle toward the cadet, Driscol, as always, doing the talking.
“Cadet Brison, why am I not surprised to see that you were the last one ready for inspection?” None of the rest of the company has the nerve to point out that there were still a couple stragglers finishing up the details of their uniform down the row a bit. “Haven't you caused enough trouble? I would think that after all the shit you caused over the last week you would make every attempt to become invisible!”
It was all Cadet Brison could do to stop a snort of derision. 'As if that could ever happen,' he thinks, 'I have made myself too well known to ever be invisible in this class.'
Petty Officer Waugh was standing in front of him by then, though Brison was careful to keep his eyes focused on a point on the opposite wall. Chief Driscol was looking at him as well, directing the entire force of attention on the mentally squirming cadet.
“You stood in my barracks and told me to my face that you would not do push-ups because you didn't agree with my reason? You insult me by thinking your opinion is equal to mine? You stood in my office, where I was graciously not beating the shit out of you for it – and was, in fact, giving you a chance to redeem yourself – and essentially tell me to fuck off? I strip you of your Section and again refrain from knocking the crap out of you, ordering you back to your rack to take part in the physical training, and you still you refuse? You get arrested and sent to the Zoo, you face Captain's Mast, come back to my company, and throw a test? Are you intentionally trying to fuck with me and this company, cadet?”
Petty Officer Waugh was glaring up at him. Somehow this short, intense oriental man could make anyone feel as if he were looking down at them. As Chief Driscol pauses, Waugh speaks quietly. “Drop”
I immediately drop into the up push-up position. I hear the Chief coming closer now, continuing his tongue lashing.
“I am beginning to think that you are purposely trying to fuck with my career, Brison. Down.” The cadet lowered himself to within a couple inches of the floor and held himself there, waiting. “Everything you do reflects on me. This little stunt today dropped the company from first place to third. Up.” Brison pushed himself back up and held, his face red and ears burning from embarrassment. “You will re-take this test and pass it this time. Do you know how much ass-kissing I had to do to get this for you. Down. And make no mistake, I am doing this as a favor to you. Up. I am offering you one final chance to redeem yourself. Down. If you fuck this up, you are mine for a very long time, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he manages to grunt out, the strain of holding himself inches from the floor causing him to shake all over.
“Good. Stand at attention and get ready for inspection.” Chief Driscol moved off as Brison get to his feet and snapped to attention. Waugh looked at the cadet for another moment, then shook his head and followed the Chief back to the gallery at the front of the room.
Fuming, Brison berated himself for his lifelong dream, the burning desire to fly a fighter craft. He couldn't help but think 'If I hadn't pursued this so single mindedly, I would have been spared this humiliation.' Even through his anger, he couldn't convince himself that he could have done that.
Cadet Wilston watched as Cadet Brison got back to his feet. She hated seeing her former Section Leader treated this way. She knew that the company commanders had singled him out early on for his performance. She was grateful once again that she wasn't ambitious or smart enough to attract their attention. She knew also that she was lucky to still be here – if it hadn't been for Cadet Brison helping her with her drills and studies, she would have failed out over a month ago.
Admiring the way the other man stood rigidly at attention even when obviously angry, she remembered seeing that same look right before he had refused to train a couple weeks ago. Standing stiffly at his full hight of just under six foot, the veins standing out on his neck and his face flushed red all the way up into his buzz-cut hair, he flat refused to drop when Driscol and Waugh dressed down the company for a dirty barracks.
Both drill instructors had rounded on him when he was the only one standing, berating him for disobedience. Brison remained respectful as he stated he felt that the company was being unfairly punished as the barracks had been, in his opinion, spotless when they left for breakfast.
It was this force of character that made her realize that given half a chance, she would follow this man in anything he commanded. Even as the company commanders tried to break him, then had him arrested, she placed absolute trust in Cadet Brison.
She knew, too, that the majority of the company felt this way as well.
Over the week, the company paid on their faces for Brison's error in judgment. They bonded more during that week of pain than they had since they had arrived. Brison retook and passed the test he had previously intentionally failed and the company regained their standing as the top ranked in the division. Other than the newfound comradeship, the week passed mostly unremarked. One day blends into the next when they consist of marching, drilling, exercise, and basic military instruction. It also helped to distract them from the monotony to think about the upcoming week - the second to last week of training was work week.
Common lore had it that this was the week where cadets get to spend a week learning a bit about their real world job. Everyone talked about that as it is was the truth, but nobody really believed it. Most accepted that more than likely they would get stuck doing what the drill instructors decided they should do – after all, they conceded to themselves privately, there really isn't a rating devoted to kitchen scullery duty.
So it was that while the barracks resounded with groans of dismay as the cadets read their packets and realized they would be doing drudge work, cadet Brison gave a small grunt of surprise when he discovered that his assignment directed him to report to the flight line at the base across the bay.
It took a moment for the realization that the drill instructors didn't send him to a dark hole in the ground. By the time he refocused the barracks was in the midst of emptying. Brison took a few minutes to pack his laundry bag with dungarees and clothes for the week and went down the stairs to the street to found a base shuttle waiting. He stepped into the bus and the doors closed behind him as it left the curb, continuing on to it's programmed destination. Brison looked around to see how many other pilots there were aboard and saw only Cadet Walker sitting in the back bench, the rest of the bus was empty.
Cadet Walker looked at Brison speculatively and nodded in response to the other man's quizzical look. “Not who you expected to see on this bus, am I?”
Brison Grinned ruefully and shrugged, moving to the back to sit with Walker. As he did, Brison looked at Walker appraisingly because he was right – he was not the sort of man that would generally be pegged for a pilot. He stood about six foot, for starters, a bit tall for a fighter jock. When he had first arrived at basic training he was quite heavyset, though the constant workouts they had gone through over the past few months took care of that, trimming him down a lot. A little too fast for his body to catch up, it appeared, as his skin sagged a little around the cheeks, arms, and belly. Walker had intelligent eyes and always seemed a step ahead of most of the rest of the company, though his test scores were never in the top percentile. As he thought about that, Brison began to think that in that Walker was smarter than himself, as this seemed to have kept Walker out of the forefront of the drill instructors' attention.
'If I had followed his example, my test failure of last week would have gone over mostly unremarked.' Brison thought. 'But,' he conceded to himself as he sat down next to Cadet Walker, 'that is a philosophy I would never be able to take as my own. For better or worse, I am driven to be the best in whatever I do.'
Out loud he commented “Honestly, no. I never pictured you as one. What is your secret? How did you manage to go through this entire time meeting the requirements for the flight program and maintain your relative anonymity in the company?”
Walker looked at Brison and smiled as if he knew what he was about to say was so obvious he shouldn't have to say it. Looking Brison straight in the eyes he says “Self confidence.”
Confused, Brison wrinkled his brow and look right back at Walker and asked “How so?”
Brison could tell that Walker was amused, though he couldn't figure out why. Cadet Walkers' smile gets slightly bigger as he turns his head back to the front of the bus and explains “I know what I am capable of. I know where I am going and how I am going to get there. I don't need to set myself up as a superstar performer in order to give myself an ego boost.”
Cadet Brison was immediately offended. 'This mediocre performer has the gall to insinuate that me performing to the best of my ability is just a pathetic attempt to gain acceptance?' he thinks, then wonders at his reaction. 'Why would react so strongly if what he said didn't have a kernel of truth...' Brooding, he too turn toward the front of the bus and watched the city stream by.
'Do I really see a bit of myself in what he just said,' Brison wonders. Perplexed, he reflects on his motivations. 'Do I really make myself the top performer because I need the approval of others in order to validate my own sense of self-worth?' He concedes that this is possible, or at the very least he can see where it would have started out that way. Every child craves attention, and in that he was no different. Brison went through the standard deviations on this theme – causing fights, theft, disobedience – and got his daily doses of attention. Along with not a few spankings. He got his first taste of positive reinforcement in his primary education when, out of boredom, he excelled in some minor exam. The praise from Brison's instructor and from his parents resulted in such a warm glow inside himself that he decided that he would seek out that feeling whenever possible.
From there it became habit, then second hand. Excelling was no longer an effort for him. In this he can echo Walker – Brison know what he could do and where he was going. The difference between them was that Brison don't have to hide this ability because he knew he would always be capable of it.
Brison look over at Cadet Walker and came to the realization that Walkers' decision to hide his ability did not come from self confidence, but the lack of it. Walker did not under perform because he has nothing to prove, he did so because he was afraid that if he started to be the best, one day he might find that he wasn't. This was an idea that Walker was not comfortable with, so he hid safely in his chosen mediocrity, smug in his conviction that he was better than those that out performed him without ever having to put this conviction to the test.
The two men rode out the rest of the trip wrapped in their personal thoughts, each admiring the city they had only been able to see in the distance from the training compound. They traveled past all too soon, the majestic buildings being replaced with lush greenery as they approached the bay. As they Came around a final hill they both found themselves leaning forward in anticipation, neither having ever seen the base up close.
It comes into view gradually as they round the hill, sprawling next to the water, jungle giving way to buildings giving way to runways and landing pads. They watched as gigantic cargo ships lumbered up from the field and as personnel shuttles came down at a sedate pace. They saw atmospheric trainers circling in the airspace above the runways, a couple true fighters near the hangers undergoing maintenance, and several taking test flights out over the ocean.
“Takes your breath away, doesn't it,” Walker asked without taking his eyes off the scene before them.
“Yes, it does,” Brison responds, nodding unconsciously in agreement. After trying hard but not being able to see the craft on maneuvers out at sea, his eyes latched hungrily on the sleek spacecraft in the maintenance cradles near the hangers. Even with hatches popped open and workers crawling over their skin they were majestic in their deadliness. “I can't wait to get inside one of those babies.”
Walker smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I wonder if they will take us up in one?”
“Don't we wish. There isn't a chance in hell they will take us up. Two cadets? No way.”
“Yeah, you're right. We will be seeing enough of the inside of them soon enough, I guess.”
Brison nodded in silent agreement. He supposed that a couple years of flight school qualifies as 'soon enough' after a lifetime of working toward that goal. It took the bus about ten more minutes to reach the level of the base, after which they both lost sight of the objects of their desire. They let out a sigh and leaned back at the same time, glanced at each other, and chuckled slightly at their identical reactions.
A few minutes later the bus pulled up in front of the base main hangar and announced that they were to disembark here. They climbed out and saw a lieutenant that seemed to be waiting for them. They snapped to attention and gave her a crisp salute.
“Cadets Walker and Brison reporting as ordered, Ma'am!”
She casually returned their salutes. “This way, cadets,” she said as she turned and headed through the open hangar doors.
The two cadets followed her into the cavernous building. The center was dominated by a fighter in various stages of disassembly, surrounded by gantries. As they angled across the concrete to the suite of offices along the sides Brison realized just how big the craft really was. He had spent time around atmospheric training craft most of his life and had imagined their space faring cousins to be the same approximate size. He now realized just how wrong I had been – the space fighter was huge.
Easily two hundred feet in diameter, it looked nothing like it's atmospheric counterpart. There were no wings or other control surfaces, nor was there a visible cockpit. There were, however, numerous weapons mounts. It appeared to the cadet as they walked by that the majority of the hull had a weapon system of some type attached.
“I haven't seen this model before.” Brison heard Walker mutter. He glanced at the other cadet, momentarily confused, then looked back at the ship. Brison realized he hadn't seen this configuration before, either, but it hadn't struck him as odd. It seemed to him like a naturally neutral shape for it to be in, then suddenly realized what the disconnect was.
“You did realize that fighters are flexmetal, didn't you?” Brison asked Walker incredulously.
The silence that answered the question was confirmation. Brison looked back at Walker speculatively. He really didn't know the most basic feature of these amazing things. It gave Brison a pleasant, if somewhat guilty, feeling of validation as his previous realization about Walkers' claim of superior self confidence was confirmed.
The lieutenant showed them into a somewhat cluttered office and sat behind the small wood desk at the end. Walker and Brison snapped to attention in front of her desk as she hit a call button in the corner screen. “At ease,” she commented without looking up.
As the cadets relaxed, her office door opened and a chief entered. The casual way the man folded into the single chair against the wall seemed to indicate that he spent a lot of time in this offfice. “I am Lieutenant Pipkin, the flight line division officer,” she introduced herself. “This is my line chief, Dakson. You belong to him for the next week. More than likely, he will have you walking the tarmac looking for FOD, sweeping the hangars, or cleaning the head. You may occasionally get close enough to a fighter to drool over it.” Noticing the cadets' involuntary looks of dismay, she relented somewhat. “I will arrange a day for a pilot to give you a tour of the interior before you leave. Until then, I don't want to see you near any of the craft and if you bother any of the pilots I will have you back to the recruit training center before you can blink. Chief, anything you would like to add?” she asked and looked over at the man.
Dakson was studying the newcomers through squinted eyes, the expression on his long face doubtful. He pursed his lips and jumped up from the chair, heading for the door. “I can find something for them,” he commented without looking back as he headed back out.
The two cadets hurried out after him, wanting to make sure they didn't get lost. After they caught up to him they followed him to the maintenance shop where he set them up with some basic maintenance training sets and advised them he would be back in a couple hours to give guide them around the hangar and show them where they will be working, then he left.
Walker and Brison looked at each other, shrugged, plugged in, and went to sleep.
Chief Dakson strode purposefully across the hangar back to the lieutenant's office. He knocked once and entered, took the few steps to his chair, and folded his tall, lanky frame into the too small seat. “Heard anything about the squadron request, yet?” he asked without preamble.
Lieutenant Pipkin glanced fondly at him, amazed once again at how he could look so comfortable in a chair that was obviously two sizes to small for his hight. She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. They keep telling me there isn't one available, that there is nothing to worry about.” She looked back at the console on her desk and muttered “idiots.”
Dakson smiled at hearing that last word. For all that the whole of known space is in the midst of a shooting cold war, you still couldn't work with bureaucracies. If some one on some central world somewhere feels that an obscure training facility thousands of light years from the “front” was safe, then as far as the brass was concerned, they were safe, and no amount of whining would change that opinion. “Well, let's hope they are right.” he sighed. Looking over at his division officer knee deep in some report or other, he felt momentarily sorry for her and knew he wouldn't trade in his anchors for her bars any day.
“Well, ma'am, I am going to make sure the outside maintenance crews are being productive, then I'll decant those cadets and get them over for some chow. Meeting with the CO at noon?”
He waited just long enough for her to give him a nod of affirmation before he was up and out the door again, his never ending store of energy making it nearly impossible for him to sit in one spot for any length of time.
A couple hours later the chief re-entered the training shop to find the two young men reclined and plugged in. He walked over to the console to check the progress. When he saw that he timed his return perfectly, he nodded to himself and hit the wake up button.
He could see the life visibly come back into them as the system brought them out of the training state it placed them in when the plugged in. The blinked and looked around, catching sight of Dakson at the console after a few moments.
“Sleepy time is over, cadets.” he says by way of greeting. “Lets hit the line then I will drop you off at the commissary for lunch.”
The cadets unplugged and stood, a bit wobbly while as they tried to compartmentalize the new routines that had been uploaded, and again followed Dakson out into the thankfully dim hanger.
As he led the way, Dakson gave them some passdown. “Okay, boys, this hanger is going to be your home for the next week. We have a transient barracks on the top level where you will be bunking. You will report to this office each morning for your days assignment, and more than likely will spend your day in here doing it. About the only sun you will be getting is on your way to and from meals at the commissary on those days we forget to bring your box meals or when we open up to let a fighter fly in or out.
“You will have a session or two a day with the pilots, either in the lounge or aboard one of the craft, to familiarize yourselves with the layout and systems. This afternoon I will have Captain Clemmons give you a tour of this beauty here this afternoon.”
By that time the small group had reached the safety perimeter around the craft in the center of the hanger and started to walk around it. Walker and Brison couldn't help but stare up at in naked awe. Even the chief was looking at it with open admiration on his face. The big sphere was sitting in a gantry with all its weapons stripped from their mounts and it still radiated a deadly majesty.
Walker noticed some scarring and scorch marks along her sides, and as they came around further he saw several people high up her curve replacing buckled plating. “Chief, what happened to her?” he couldn't help but ask.
“A tender folded in from the border last week with a full attachment of damaged fighters. Apparently the Pax hit one of our outlying stations and caught a carrier as it was in the process of docking. It was able to get most of it's fighters to fall off before it was gutted by the light carrier and its squadron that skipped in. The base, surviving fighters, and the carrier escorts were able to wipe it out, but all in all it was a win for them. A carrier, a couple hundred fighters, a good portion of the station destroyed, a thousand personnel lost, and several dozen ships and fighters damaged. There was nothing living other on the ship other than itself on their end.”
Brison looked at the chief. “How many did it bring in like this?”
“They brought twenty of them to us for repairs. Another fifty came in as scrap and spare parts. This one will be ready to fly in a couple days and is the last one with major damage. There are two outside needing cosmetic repairs, and those will be done by the end of the day. The last batch we finished repairing is out on test flights and will be hitching back up to the tender in the morning if everything tests out right.”
Brison nodded and looked back at the damaged old girl sitting there. They had seen the others on their way in and it suddenly made sense to him why there were so many present. Something Chief Dakson had said struck the cadet. Brison looked back and asked “The tender folded in?”
Dakson looked at the cadet and grinned. Walking away from the craft knowing that the men would follow he said “Yeah, it was a brand new ship, fresh off the Guild assembly lines. Beautiful ship, it can get anywhere on that new drive in no time at all.”
“Chief,” Walker spoke up. “Wouldn't the Pax be able to trace where it came to have these ships repaired? If it jumped directly from the border, wouldn't it be easy to follow?”
Nodding, the chief replied “That is a concern. The LT has been on the comm chewing some major ass. The brass says the fold space jump is untraceable, but personally I don't trust it. There has to be some factions in the Mining Guild that would be willing to plant traces on anything they sell. How can you truly trust an organization that sells to both sides?” Shrugging, he continues. “Nobody is truly neutral in anything. Don't worry, cadets, we have requested a patrol squadron to skip in for station keeping in the system just in case.”
Concerned but somewhat mollified, the cadets followed the chief outside to make their way to lunch. After the dim of the interior, it took a couple blinks for them to get their lenses to darken enough so they could see normally. Dakson smiled at their reaction, not bothering to adjust his, since the cafeteria was just across the street. He was treated to a replay of the frantic adjustments as they entered the building.
“Just check in with the quartermaster and she will get you going.” he told them. “I have a lunch meeting with the LT, so I will see you back in front of the fighter in an hour.” With that Dakson turned on his heel and left.
In just a few minutes he had made his way back across the street, into the hangar, and met the lieutenant as she was leaving her office. “Ready, ma'am?”
Nodding, she led the way out front where a car was waiting. They climbed in the back and it set off toward the quarterdeck. “Let's see what the old man has for us today,” she grumbles as she settles into the moving vehicle. “He should have some status report for us on our last maintenance budget request at the very least.”
Grunting, ***
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, Brison made a snide comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting the chief likely had with the division officer, and got an elbow in his side for the trouble. Irritated, Brison spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when he saw the quartermaster standing behind him. His planned comment fled, the blood drained from his face, and he started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep you mouth shut.”
Brison managed to stammer out a “yes, ma'am” while suffering a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront
The two of us hurried out after him, wanting to make sure we didn't get lost. After we caught up to him we followed him to the maintenance shop where he set us up with some basic maintenance training sets and told us he would be back in a couple hours to give us a tour and show us where we will be working, then he left.
Walker and I looked at each other, shrugged, and plugged in, and went to sleep. After a couple hours, the system woke us up to find Chief Dakson standing by the console.
“Sleepy time is over, cadets. Lets hit the line then I will drop you off at the commissary for lunch.”
We unplugged and stood, a bit wobbly while we tried to compartmentalize the new routines we uploaded, and again followed him out into the, thankfully, dim hanger.
“Okay, boys, this hanger is going to be your home for the next week. We have a transient barracks on the top level where you will be bunking. You will report to this office each morning for your days assignment, and more than likely will spend your day in here doing it. About the only sun you will be getting is on your way to and from meals at the commissary on those days we forget to bring your box meals or when we open up to let a fighter fly in or out.
“You will have a session or two a day with the pilots, either in the lounge or aboard one of the craft, to familiarize yourselves with the layout and systems. This afternoon I will have Captain Clemmons give you a tour of this one here this afternoon.”
By that time we had reached the safety perimeter around the craft in the center of the hanger and started to walk around it. Walker and I couldn't help but stare up at in naked awe. Even the chief, I later realized, was looking at it with open admiration on his face. The big sphere was sitting in a gantry with all its weapons stripped from their mounts and we could still feel the deadly majesty of her.
I noticed some scarring and scorch marks along her sides, and as we came around further I saw several people high up her curve replacing buckled plating. “Chief, what happened to her?” I couldn't help but ask.
“A tender folded in from the border last week with a full attachment of damaged fighters. Apparently the Pax hit one of our outlying stations and caught a carrier as it was in the process of docking. It was able to get most of it's fighters to fall off before it was gutted by the light carrier and its squadron that skipped in. The base, surviving fighters, and the carrier escorts were able to wipe it out, but all in all it was a win for them. A carrier, a couple hundred fighters, a good portion of the station destroyed, a thousand personnel lost, and several dozen ships and fighters damaged. There was nothing living other on the ship other than itself on their end.”
I looked back at the chief. “How many did it bring in like this?”
“They brought twenty of them to us for repairs. Another fifty came in as scrap and spare parts. This one will be ready to fly in a couple days and is the last one with major damage. There are two outside needing cosmetic repairs, and those will be done by the end of the day. The last batch we finished repairing is out on test flights and will be hitching back up to the tender in the morning if everything tests out right.”
Nodding, I looked back at the old girl sitting there. We saw the others on our way in and it suddenly made sense why there were so many present. Something he said struck me then. I looked back and asked “The tender folded in?”
He looked at me and grinned. Walking away from the craft knowing that we would follow him he said “Yeah, it was a brand new ship, fresh off the Guild assembly lines. Beautiful ship, it can get anywhere on that new drive in no time at all.”
“Chief,” Walker spoke up. “Wouldn't the Pax be able to trace where it came with these to be repaired? If it jumped directly from the border, wouldn't it be easy to follow?”
Nodding, he replied “That is a concern and the LT has been on the comm chewing some major ass. They say the jump is untraceable, but personally I don't trust that there is some factions in the Guild that would be willing to plant traces. How can you truly trust an organization that sells to both sides? Nobody is truly neutral in anything. Don't worry, cadets, we have requested a patrol to skip in for station keeping in the station just on case.”
Concerned but somewhat mollified, we stepped outside to make our way to lunch. After the dim of the interior, it took a couple blinks to get my lenses to darken enough so I could see normally, and set them to lighten gradually so I could adjust to the light. Not that I had to worry about it too much, since the cafeteria was just across the street, so I had to go through another quick adjustment set as we entered.
“Just check in with the quartermaster and she will get you going. I have a lunch meeting with the LT, so I will see you back in front of the fighter in an hour.” With that he turned on his heel and left.
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, I made a comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting he likely had with her and got an elbow in my side for the trouble. Irritated, I spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when I saw the quartermaster standing there. My planned comment fled, the blood drained from my face, and I started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep you mouth shut.”
I stammered out a “yes, ma'am,” suffered under a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
Walker and I looked at each other, shrugged, and plugged in, and went to sleep. After a couple hours, the system woke us up to find Chief Dakson standing by the console.
“Sleepy time is over, cadets. Lets hit the line then I will drop you off at the commissary for lunch.”
We unplugged and stood, a bit wobbly while we tried to compartmentalize the new routines we uploaded, and again followed him out into the, thankfully, dim hanger.
“Okay, boys, this hanger is going to be your home for the next week. We have a transient barracks on the top level where you will be bunking. You will report to this office each morning for your days assignment, and more than likely will spend your day in here doing it. About the only sun you will be getting is on your way to and from meals at the commissary on those days we forget to bring your box meals or when we open up to let a fighter fly in or out.
“You will have a session or two a day with the pilots, either in the lounge or aboard one of the craft, to familiarize yourselves with the layout and systems. This afternoon I will have Captain Clemmons give you a tour of this one here this afternoon.”
By that time we had reached the safety perimeter around the craft in the center of the hanger and started to walk around it. Walker and I couldn't help but stare up at in naked awe. Even the chief, I later realized, was looking at it with open admiration on his face. The big sphere was sitting in a gantry with all its weapons stripped from their mounts and we could still feel the deadly majesty of her.
I noticed some scarring and scorch marks along her sides, and as we came around further I saw several people high up her curve replacing buckled plating. “Chief, what happened to her?” I couldn't help but ask.
“A tender folded in from the border last week with a full attachment of damaged fighters. Apparently the Pax hit one of our outlying stations and caught a carrier as it was in the process of docking. It was able to get most of it's fighters to fall off before it was gutted by the light carrier and its squadron that skipped in. The base, surviving fighters, and the carrier escorts were able to wipe it out, but all in all it was a win for them. A carrier, a couple hundred fighters, a good portion of the station destroyed, a thousand personnel lost, and several dozen ships and fighters damaged. There was nothing living other on the ship other than itself on their end.”
I looked back at the chief. “How many did it bring in like this?”
“They brought twenty of them to us for repairs. Another fifty came in as scrap and spare parts. This one will be ready to fly in a couple days and is the last one with major damage. There are two outside needing cosmetic repairs, and those will be done by the end of the day. The last batch we finished repairing is out on test flights and will be hitching back up to the tender in the morning if everything tests out right.”
Nodding, I looked back at the old girl sitting there. We saw the others on our way in and it suddenly made sense why there were so many present. Something he said struck me then. I looked back and asked “The tender folded in?”
He looked at me and grinned. Walking away from the craft knowing that we would follow him he said “Yeah, it was a brand new ship, fresh off the Guild assembly lines. Beautiful ship, it can get anywhere on that new drive in no time at all.”
“Chief,” Walker spoke up. “Wouldn't the Pax be able to trace where it came with these to be repaired? If it jumped directly from the border, wouldn't it be easy to follow?”
Nodding, he replied “That is a concern and the LT has been on the comm chewing some major ass. They say the jump is untraceable, but personally I don't trust that there is some factions in the Guild that would be willing to plant traces. How can you truly trust an organization that sells to both sides? Nobody is truly neutral in anything. Don't worry, cadets, we have requested a patrol to skip in for station keeping in the station just on case.”
Concerned but somewhat mollified, we stepped outside to make our way to lunch. After the dim of the interior, it took a couple blinks to get my lenses to darken enough so I could see normally, and set them to lighten gradually so I could adjust to the light. Not that I had to worry about it too much, since the cafeteria was just across the street, so I had to go through another quick adjustment set as we entered.
“Just check in with the quartermaster and she will get you going. I have a lunch meeting with the LT, so I will see you back in front of the fighter in an hour.” With that he turned on his heel and left.
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, I made a comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting he likely had with her and got an elbow in my side for the trouble. Irritated, I spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when I saw the quartermaster standing there. My planned comment fled, the blood drained from my face, and I started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep you mouth shut.”
I stammered out a “yes, ma'am,” suffered under a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront
She casually returned our salutes. “This way, cadets,” she said as she turned and headed through the open hangar doors.
We followed her into the cavernous building. The center was dominated by a fighter in various stages of disassembly, surrounded by gantries. As we angled across the concrete to the suite of offices along the sides I realized just how big the craft really was. I had been around atmospheric training craft most of my life and had imagined their spacefaring cousins to be the same approximate size. I could now see just how wrong I had been – the space fighter was huge. Easily two hundred feet in diameter, it looked nothing like it's atmospheric counterpart. There were no wings or other control surfaces, nor was there a visible cockpit. There were, however, multiple weapons mounts. It seemed as we walked by that the majority of the hull had a weapon system of some type attached.
“I haven't seen this model before.” I heard Walker mutter. I glanced at him, momentarily confused, then I looked back at the ship. I hadn't seen this configuration, either, but it didn't strike me as odd. It seemed like a naturally neutral shape for it to be in. I then realized what the disconnect was.
“You did realize that fighters are flexmetal, didn't you?”
His silence more than answered my question. I looked back at him speculatively. He really didn't know the most basic feature of these amazing things. It was a pleasant, if somewhat guilty, feeling of validation as I confirmed my previous realization about his claim of superior self confidence.
The lieutenant showed us into a somewhat cluttered office and sat behind the small wood desk at the end. Walker and I snapped to attention in front of her desk as she hit a call button in the corner screen. “At ease,” she commented without looking up.
As we relaxed, her office door opened and a chief entered. The casual way he folded into the single chair against the wall seemed to indicate he spent a lot of time in here. “I am Lieutenant Pipkin, the flight line division officer. This is my line chief, Dakson. You belong to him for the next week. More than likely, he will have you walking the tarmac looking for FOD, sweeping the hangars, or cleaning the head. You may occasionally get close enough to a fighter to drool over it, and I will arrange a day for a pilot to give you a tour of the interior before you leave. Until then, I don't want to see you near any of the craft and if you bother any of the pilots I will have you back to the recruit training center before you can blink. Chief?” she asked and looked over at the man.
He was studying us through squinted eyes, the expression on his long face doubtful. He pursed his lips and jumped up from the chair, heading for the door. “I can find something for them,” he commented without looking back as he headed back out.
The two of us hurried out after him, not wanting to lose sight of him.
We followed her into the cavernous building. The center was dominated by a fighter in various stages of disassembly, surrounded by gantries. As we angled across the concrete to the suite of offices along the sides I realized just how big the craft really was. I had been around atmospheric training craft most of my life and had imagined their spacefaring cousins to be the same approximate size. I could now see just how wrong I had been – the space fighter was huge. Easily two hundred feet in diameter, it looked nothing like it's atmospheric counterpart. There were no wings or other control surfaces, nor was there a visible cockpit. There were, however, multiple weapons mounts. It seemed as we walked by that the majority of the hull had a weapon system of some type attached.
“I haven't seen this model before.” I heard Walker mutter. I glanced at him, momentarily confused, then I looked back at the ship. I hadn't seen this configuration, either, but it didn't strike me as odd. It seemed like a naturally neutral shape for it to be in. I then realized what the disconnect was.
“You did realize that fighters are flexmetal, didn't you?”
His silence more than answered my question. I looked back at him speculatively. He really didn't know the most basic feature of these amazing things. It was a pleasant, if somewhat guilty, feeling of validation as I confirmed my previous realization about his claim of superior self confidence.
The lieutenant showed us into a somewhat cluttered office and sat behind the small wood desk at the end. Walker and I snapped to attention in front of her desk as she hit a call button in the corner screen. “At ease,” she commented without looking up.
As we relaxed, her office door opened and a chief entered. The casual way he folded into the single chair against the wall seemed to indicate he spent a lot of time in here. “I am Lieutenant Pipkin, the flight line division officer. This is my line chief, Dakson. You belong to him for the next week. More than likely, he will have you walking the tarmac looking for FOD, sweeping the hangars, or cleaning the head. You may occasionally get close enough to a fighter to drool over it, and I will arrange a day for a pilot to give you a tour of the interior before you leave. Until then, I don't want to see you near any of the craft and if you bother any of the pilots I will have you back to the recruit training center before you can blink. Chief?” she asked and looked over at the man.
He was studying us through squinted eyes, the expression on his long face doubtful. He pursed his lips and jumped up from the chair, heading for the door. “I can find something for them,” he commented without looking back as he headed back out.
The two of us hurried out after him, not wanting to lose sight of him.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
NaNoWriMo status update
Well, I got off to a bit of a slow start. I didn't get anything done on the first 2 days, then only 406 words yesterday. Today I almost got to the point I needed to be at Friday night. If I can repeat that tomorrow evening I will only be one day behind.
The story is flowing well, the dialog feels like it is natural. But then, I am just the writer. It is up to all of you to let me know.
Please comment if you would like to. Everything is welcome, critisism, praise, suggestions for improvement, etc.
The story is flowing well, the dialog feels like it is natural. But then, I am just the writer. It is up to all of you to let me know.
Please comment if you would like to. Everything is welcome, critisism, praise, suggestions for improvement, etc.
NaNoWriMo novel: Stormfront
This is what I dreamed about doing growing up?
I remember that day, and thinking that, vividly. The concrete was burning my hands as I do push-ups, my entire basic training class in the same predicament around the grinder. The afternoon summer sun is beating down on us and the reflected heat is hitting us from the concrete.
This is my fault, I reminded myself. Not that I had to, the drill instructors are reminding everybody of the same thing from the shaded balcony where they are directing the punishment. I could feel the anger from my fellow cadets focusing on me, and all I could do is accept it as my due.
“Say 'Thank you, Cadet Brison for failing your test today.'” Chief Driscol calls out to the company. Only a few of them followed the instruction. I didn't know if I should feel grateful that not everyone is willing to throw me to the wolves or if I am disappointed because all that is going to do is mean we will be out here longer...
As the Chief exhorts the rest of the company to thank me for the various miseries that are going to be visited upon us for the rest of the afternoon I hear a sonic boom and a scream of engines overhead. I glance up and see a fighter screaming back into the atmosphere, vapor streaming off the fuselage as it brakes for a landing at the base. I smile - that is what I dreamed about growing up. The afternoon on the grinder doing penance with my company is just a step along the way.
I can feel the blisters starting to form on my palms and refocus on the situation I am in, wondering how long we have been out here. I can't recall the last few thank you messages the Chief has been calling out, but I do hear what he says next, and cringe.
“Cadet Brison has decided to purposely let this company down and you are all going to pay for it. You can thank him every day for the extra drills you will be getting for the next week. Thank him for the blisters and sore muscles you will have.”
“Don't listen to him!”
Surprised, I turned my head and saw Cadet Walker standing up and glaring at the Chief. He is certainly the last person I would have expected to stand up for me, especially considering the amount of pain and trouble he will get from it.
“You have beaten into our heads the need for teamwork. You have had us on our faces on this grinder when we falter in that, and now you have us out here to demand that we turn on one of our own company? Screw that, 'sir,' we are a team, we have been one for months now – you are not able to change that with any amount of afternoon beatings!” When he was finished, Walker remained standing, staring defiantly up at the Chief.
I am impressed at his defiance but know from experience that it is pointless. I start to shake my head and notice that others are standing up, then feel someone take my arm and pull me up.
“You may not be my Section Leader anymore,” Cadet Wilston tells me, “but I still think of you as my Section Leader. None of us are going to let this go on anymore.”
I shake my head as I look at her. “It really is my fault that we are out here. I failed that test on purpose and everyone knows that. The Chief has every right to be angry – that stunt of mine dropped the company to third...”
She doesn't reply, just turns her attention to the instructors above us and stands at attention. Confused by the reaction of my class mates, I do the same.
Chief Driscol is leaning on the railing, looking at each of us in turn, glaring. He stops when he gets to me and nods his head slightly. The Chief stands up straight, smiles and claps his hands together with a crack that echoes through the barracks courtyard.
“It's about time you pulled together as a team. As Cadet Wilston points out I have been trying to beat that into your heads over the last few months.” he surveys us, a sad smile on his face, and places his hands behind his back, seemingly unconsciously assuming parade rest – though now I am sure it was all calculated and done for show. “You all will be done with this training in three weeks and will go to your first commands. Teamwork here is required to pass tests, run the physicals, and to make it through the training. Out there you will need it to survive. You won't have months to decide to work as a team, you will need to figure out how to do so within weeks!”
When he finished Petty Officer Waugh steps up. “Company, atten-hut!” We all snap to attention at the same moment, a crisp slap of our shoes coming together on the pavement answers his command. “Fall out. Dress blues inspection at 1600.” It's 1550 now. The entire company races to the barracks stairwell entrance in a mad dash to get changed and pop tall beside their racks.
As I entered the building Wilston comes up behind me. “Brison.” I turn to look at him, neither of us slowing down as we go up the stairs. “What were you thinking? You didn't seriously think anyone would believe you just had a bad day on the test, did you?”
I pursed my lips and looked forward. “At the time it seemed plausible.” It hadn't, really, but I had managed to convince myself that it would be believed. Never mind that I never missed more than two questions on any of the previous tests. “I figured I could use the couple days I spent in the Zoo as an excuse. The test on top of the rest should have been enough to hold me back a week and get out of this fucking company.”
We were entering the barracks floor, everyone that was ahead of us was at their bunks changing out of their dungarees and into their dress uniforms. As Wilston split off to go to his rack he glared at me. “You can't be that stupid, can you? They're not going to let you out of this company. You are going to go too far for them to let someone else say you graduated from their class.”
I stopped and looked after him. That thought had never crossed my mind – Driscol and Waugh rode my ass hard the entire time I had been here. I had assumed they would jump at the chance to dump me on another group. Confused, I finally make it to my bunk and change as fast as I can into my blues.
Not fast enough.
As I snap to attention at the foot of my rack, Driscol and Waugh are standing at the front of the room, their permanent scowls passing over each of us. Waugh starts down the isle toward me. Driscol, as always, doing the talking.
“Cadet Brison, why am I not surprised to see that you were the last one ready for inspection?” This isn't true as I can see a couple stragglers finishing up the details of their uniform down the row a bit. “Haven't you caused enough trouble? I would think that after all the shit you caused over the last week you would make every attempt to become invisible!” As if that could ever happen. I had made myself too well known to ever be invisible in this class. Petty Officer Waugh is standing in front of me now. Chief Driscol is looking at me, directing the entire force of attention on me. “You stand in my barracks and tell me to my face that you will not do push-ups because you don't agree with my reason? You insult me by thinking your opinion is equal to mine? You stand in my office, where I am graciously not beating the shit out of you for it – and am, in fact, giving you a chance to redeem yourself – and essentially tell me to fuck off? I strip you of your Section and again refrain from knocking the crap out of you, ordering you back to your rack to take part in the physical training, and you refuse? You get arrested and sent to the Zoo, you face Captain's Mast, come back to my company, and through a test?”
Waugh is glaring up at me. Somehow this short, intense oriental man makes me feel as if he is looking down at me. As Chief Driscol pauses, Waugh speaks quietly. “Drop”
I immediately drop into the up push-up position. I hear the Chief coming closer now.
“I am beginning to think that you are purposely trying to fuck with my career, Brison. Down.” I lower myself to within a couple inches of the floor and hold, waiting. “Everything you do reflects on me. This little stunt today dropped the company from first to third. Up.” I push myself back up, holding, my face red and ears burning from embarrassment. “You will re-take this test and pass it this time. Do you know how much ass-kissing I had to do to get this for you. Down. And make no mistake, I am doing this as a favor to you. Up. I am offering you one final chance to redeem yourself. Down. If you fuck this up, you are mine for a very long time, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I manage to grunt out, the strain of holding myself inches from the floor causing me to shake all over.
“Good. Stand at attention and get ready for inspection.” As I get to my feet and snap to attention, Driscol is moving off. Waugh just looks at me for another moment, shakes his head, and follows the Chief.
Fuming, I berate myself for my lifelong dream, the burning desire, to fly a fighter. If I hadn't pursued it so single- mindedly, I would have been spared this humiliation.
Other than retaking and passing the test I previously intentionally failed, I don't remember many details from the rest of that week. One day blends into the next when they consist of marching, drilling, exercise, and basic military instruction. The rest of that week wasn't as important as the next. The second to last week of training was work week.
Common lore had it that this was the week where cadets get to spend a week learning a bit about their real world job. The truth of the matter is that you got stuck doing what the drill instructors decided you should do – after all, there really isn't a rating devoted to kitchen scullery duty. Thus is was a surprise to me when my assignment came directing me to report to the flight line at the base across the bay to work with the fighter craft.
I went down the stairs to the street and found a base shuttle waiting. Apparently, because my assignment was on another base I didn't have to march there. I stepped into the bus and the doors closed behind me and it left the curb, taking us to it's programmed destination. I looked around to see how many other pilots there were aboard and saw that save for myself and Cadet Walker sitting in the back bench, it was empty.
Walker looked at me speculatively and nodded in response to my quizzical look. “Not who you expected to see on this bus, am I?”
Grinning ruefully, I shrugged and moved to the back to sit with him. As I did, I looked at him appraisingly because he was right – I would not have pegged him for a pilot. He stood about six foot, a bit tall for a fighter jock. When he first got to basic he was quite heavyset. The constant workouts we have gone through over the past few months took care of that, trimmed him down a lot. A little too fast for his body to catch up, apparently, as his skin sagged a little around the cheeks, arms, and belly. He had intelligent eyes and always seemed a step ahead of most of the rest of the company, though his test scores were never in the top percentile. In this he was smarter than myself, I suddenly realized, as this kept him out of the forefront of the drill instructors' attention. If I had followed his example, my test failure of last week would have gone over mostly unremarked. But, I conceded as I sat down next to him, that is a philosophy I would never be able to take as my own. For better or worse, I am driven to be the best in whatever I do.
“Honestly, no. I never pictured you as one. What is your secret? How did you manage to go through this entire time meeting the requirements for the flight program and maintain your relative anonymity in the company?”
He looked at me and smiled as if he knew what he was about to say was so obvious he shouldn't have to tell me. Looking me straight in the eyes he tells me “Self confidence.”
Confused, I wrinkle my brow and look right back at him and ask “How so?”
I can tell he is amused, though I couldn't figure out why. His smile gets slightly bigger as he turns his head back to the front of the bus and explains “I know what I am capable of. I know where I am going and how I am going to get there. I don't need to set myself up as a superstar performer in order to give myself an ego boost.”
Instantly I was offended. This mediocre performer has the gall to insinuate that me performing to the best of my ability is just a pathetic attempt to gain acceptance? Then I wonder at my reaction. Why react so strongly if what he said didn't have a kernel of truth. Brooding, I too turn toward the front of the bus and watch the city stream by.
Do I really see a bit of myself in what he just said, I wonder. Perplexed, I reflect on my motivations. Do I really make myself the top performer because I need the approval of others in order to validate my own sense of self-worth? Possibly, I concede. Or at least I can see where it would have started out that way. Every child craves attention, and in that I was no different. I went through the standard deviations on this theme – causing fights, theft, disobedience – and got my attention. Along with not a few spankings. I got my first taste of positive reinforcement in my primary education when, out of boredom, I excelled in some minor exam. The praise from my instructor and from my parents resulted in such a warm glow inside myself that I decided I would seek that out whenever possible.
From there it became habit, then second hand. Excelling is no longer an effort for me. In this I can echo Walker – I know what I can do and where I am going. The difference between us is that I don't have to hide this ability because I know I will always be capable of it.
I look over at Cadet Walker and come to the realization that his decision to hide his ability does not come from self confidence, but the lack of it. He doesn't under perform because he has nothing to prove, he does so because he is afraid that if he starts to be the best, one day he may find that he isn't. This is an idea he is not comfortable with, so he hides safely in his chosen mediocrity, smug in his conviction that he is better than those that out perform him without ever putting it to the test.
We rode out the rest of the trip wrapped in our personal thoughts, each admiring the city we have only been able to see in the distance from the training compound. All too soon we were past it, the majestic buildings replaced with lush greenery as we approached the bay. Coming around a final hill we both found ourselves leaning forward in anticipation, neither having ever seen the base up close. It sprawls next to the water, jungle giving way to buildings giving way to runways and landing pads. We see cargo ships lumbering up from the field, personnel shuttles coming down at a comfortable pace. There are atmospheric trainers circling in the airspace above the runways, true fighters near the hangers undergoing maintenance, and a couple taking test flights out over the ocean.
“Takes your breath away, doesn't it,” Walker asks without taking his eyes off the scene before us.
“Yes, it does,” I respond, nodding unconsciously in agreement. Not able to see the craft on maneuvers out at sea, my eyes latched hungrily on the sleek spacecraft in the maintenance cradles near the hangers. Even with hatches popped open and workers crawling over their skin they were majestic in their deadliness. “I can't wait to get inside one of those babies.”
Walker smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I wonder if they will take us up in one?”
“Don't we wish. There isn't a chance in hell they will take us up. Two cadets? No way.”
“Yeah, you're right. We will be seeing enough of the inside of them soon enough, I guess.”
I nodded in silent agreement. I suppose after a couple years of flight school qualifies as 'soon enough' after a lifetime of working toward that goal. After about ten minutes we reached the level of the base and lost sight of the objects of both our desire. We both let out a sigh and leaned back at the same time, glanced at each other, and chuckled slightly at our identical reactions.
A few minutes later the bus pulled up in front of the base quarterdeck and announced that we had reached our destination. We climbed out and saw a lieutenant that seemed to be waiting for us. We snapped to attention and gave her a crisp salute.
“Cadets Walker and Brison reporting as ordered, Ma'am!”
I remember that day, and thinking that, vividly. The concrete was burning my hands as I do push-ups, my entire basic training class in the same predicament around the grinder. The afternoon summer sun is beating down on us and the reflected heat is hitting us from the concrete.
This is my fault, I reminded myself. Not that I had to, the drill instructors are reminding everybody of the same thing from the shaded balcony where they are directing the punishment. I could feel the anger from my fellow cadets focusing on me, and all I could do is accept it as my due.
“Say 'Thank you, Cadet Brison for failing your test today.'” Chief Driscol calls out to the company. Only a few of them followed the instruction. I didn't know if I should feel grateful that not everyone is willing to throw me to the wolves or if I am disappointed because all that is going to do is mean we will be out here longer...
As the Chief exhorts the rest of the company to thank me for the various miseries that are going to be visited upon us for the rest of the afternoon I hear a sonic boom and a scream of engines overhead. I glance up and see a fighter screaming back into the atmosphere, vapor streaming off the fuselage as it brakes for a landing at the base. I smile - that is what I dreamed about growing up. The afternoon on the grinder doing penance with my company is just a step along the way.
I can feel the blisters starting to form on my palms and refocus on the situation I am in, wondering how long we have been out here. I can't recall the last few thank you messages the Chief has been calling out, but I do hear what he says next, and cringe.
“Cadet Brison has decided to purposely let this company down and you are all going to pay for it. You can thank him every day for the extra drills you will be getting for the next week. Thank him for the blisters and sore muscles you will have.”
“Don't listen to him!”
Surprised, I turned my head and saw Cadet Walker standing up and glaring at the Chief. He is certainly the last person I would have expected to stand up for me, especially considering the amount of pain and trouble he will get from it.
“You have beaten into our heads the need for teamwork. You have had us on our faces on this grinder when we falter in that, and now you have us out here to demand that we turn on one of our own company? Screw that, 'sir,' we are a team, we have been one for months now – you are not able to change that with any amount of afternoon beatings!” When he was finished, Walker remained standing, staring defiantly up at the Chief.
I am impressed at his defiance but know from experience that it is pointless. I start to shake my head and notice that others are standing up, then feel someone take my arm and pull me up.
“You may not be my Section Leader anymore,” Cadet Wilston tells me, “but I still think of you as my Section Leader. None of us are going to let this go on anymore.”
I shake my head as I look at her. “It really is my fault that we are out here. I failed that test on purpose and everyone knows that. The Chief has every right to be angry – that stunt of mine dropped the company to third...”
She doesn't reply, just turns her attention to the instructors above us and stands at attention. Confused by the reaction of my class mates, I do the same.
Chief Driscol is leaning on the railing, looking at each of us in turn, glaring. He stops when he gets to me and nods his head slightly. The Chief stands up straight, smiles and claps his hands together with a crack that echoes through the barracks courtyard.
“It's about time you pulled together as a team. As Cadet Wilston points out I have been trying to beat that into your heads over the last few months.” he surveys us, a sad smile on his face, and places his hands behind his back, seemingly unconsciously assuming parade rest – though now I am sure it was all calculated and done for show. “You all will be done with this training in three weeks and will go to your first commands. Teamwork here is required to pass tests, run the physicals, and to make it through the training. Out there you will need it to survive. You won't have months to decide to work as a team, you will need to figure out how to do so within weeks!”
When he finished Petty Officer Waugh steps up. “Company, atten-hut!” We all snap to attention at the same moment, a crisp slap of our shoes coming together on the pavement answers his command. “Fall out. Dress blues inspection at 1600.” It's 1550 now. The entire company races to the barracks stairwell entrance in a mad dash to get changed and pop tall beside their racks.
As I entered the building Wilston comes up behind me. “Brison.” I turn to look at him, neither of us slowing down as we go up the stairs. “What were you thinking? You didn't seriously think anyone would believe you just had a bad day on the test, did you?”
I pursed my lips and looked forward. “At the time it seemed plausible.” It hadn't, really, but I had managed to convince myself that it would be believed. Never mind that I never missed more than two questions on any of the previous tests. “I figured I could use the couple days I spent in the Zoo as an excuse. The test on top of the rest should have been enough to hold me back a week and get out of this fucking company.”
We were entering the barracks floor, everyone that was ahead of us was at their bunks changing out of their dungarees and into their dress uniforms. As Wilston split off to go to his rack he glared at me. “You can't be that stupid, can you? They're not going to let you out of this company. You are going to go too far for them to let someone else say you graduated from their class.”
I stopped and looked after him. That thought had never crossed my mind – Driscol and Waugh rode my ass hard the entire time I had been here. I had assumed they would jump at the chance to dump me on another group. Confused, I finally make it to my bunk and change as fast as I can into my blues.
Not fast enough.
As I snap to attention at the foot of my rack, Driscol and Waugh are standing at the front of the room, their permanent scowls passing over each of us. Waugh starts down the isle toward me. Driscol, as always, doing the talking.
“Cadet Brison, why am I not surprised to see that you were the last one ready for inspection?” This isn't true as I can see a couple stragglers finishing up the details of their uniform down the row a bit. “Haven't you caused enough trouble? I would think that after all the shit you caused over the last week you would make every attempt to become invisible!” As if that could ever happen. I had made myself too well known to ever be invisible in this class. Petty Officer Waugh is standing in front of me now. Chief Driscol is looking at me, directing the entire force of attention on me. “You stand in my barracks and tell me to my face that you will not do push-ups because you don't agree with my reason? You insult me by thinking your opinion is equal to mine? You stand in my office, where I am graciously not beating the shit out of you for it – and am, in fact, giving you a chance to redeem yourself – and essentially tell me to fuck off? I strip you of your Section and again refrain from knocking the crap out of you, ordering you back to your rack to take part in the physical training, and you refuse? You get arrested and sent to the Zoo, you face Captain's Mast, come back to my company, and through a test?”
Waugh is glaring up at me. Somehow this short, intense oriental man makes me feel as if he is looking down at me. As Chief Driscol pauses, Waugh speaks quietly. “Drop”
I immediately drop into the up push-up position. I hear the Chief coming closer now.
“I am beginning to think that you are purposely trying to fuck with my career, Brison. Down.” I lower myself to within a couple inches of the floor and hold, waiting. “Everything you do reflects on me. This little stunt today dropped the company from first to third. Up.” I push myself back up, holding, my face red and ears burning from embarrassment. “You will re-take this test and pass it this time. Do you know how much ass-kissing I had to do to get this for you. Down. And make no mistake, I am doing this as a favor to you. Up. I am offering you one final chance to redeem yourself. Down. If you fuck this up, you are mine for a very long time, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I manage to grunt out, the strain of holding myself inches from the floor causing me to shake all over.
“Good. Stand at attention and get ready for inspection.” As I get to my feet and snap to attention, Driscol is moving off. Waugh just looks at me for another moment, shakes his head, and follows the Chief.
Fuming, I berate myself for my lifelong dream, the burning desire, to fly a fighter. If I hadn't pursued it so single- mindedly, I would have been spared this humiliation.
Other than retaking and passing the test I previously intentionally failed, I don't remember many details from the rest of that week. One day blends into the next when they consist of marching, drilling, exercise, and basic military instruction. The rest of that week wasn't as important as the next. The second to last week of training was work week.
Common lore had it that this was the week where cadets get to spend a week learning a bit about their real world job. The truth of the matter is that you got stuck doing what the drill instructors decided you should do – after all, there really isn't a rating devoted to kitchen scullery duty. Thus is was a surprise to me when my assignment came directing me to report to the flight line at the base across the bay to work with the fighter craft.
I went down the stairs to the street and found a base shuttle waiting. Apparently, because my assignment was on another base I didn't have to march there. I stepped into the bus and the doors closed behind me and it left the curb, taking us to it's programmed destination. I looked around to see how many other pilots there were aboard and saw that save for myself and Cadet Walker sitting in the back bench, it was empty.
Walker looked at me speculatively and nodded in response to my quizzical look. “Not who you expected to see on this bus, am I?”
Grinning ruefully, I shrugged and moved to the back to sit with him. As I did, I looked at him appraisingly because he was right – I would not have pegged him for a pilot. He stood about six foot, a bit tall for a fighter jock. When he first got to basic he was quite heavyset. The constant workouts we have gone through over the past few months took care of that, trimmed him down a lot. A little too fast for his body to catch up, apparently, as his skin sagged a little around the cheeks, arms, and belly. He had intelligent eyes and always seemed a step ahead of most of the rest of the company, though his test scores were never in the top percentile. In this he was smarter than myself, I suddenly realized, as this kept him out of the forefront of the drill instructors' attention. If I had followed his example, my test failure of last week would have gone over mostly unremarked. But, I conceded as I sat down next to him, that is a philosophy I would never be able to take as my own. For better or worse, I am driven to be the best in whatever I do.
“Honestly, no. I never pictured you as one. What is your secret? How did you manage to go through this entire time meeting the requirements for the flight program and maintain your relative anonymity in the company?”
He looked at me and smiled as if he knew what he was about to say was so obvious he shouldn't have to tell me. Looking me straight in the eyes he tells me “Self confidence.”
Confused, I wrinkle my brow and look right back at him and ask “How so?”
I can tell he is amused, though I couldn't figure out why. His smile gets slightly bigger as he turns his head back to the front of the bus and explains “I know what I am capable of. I know where I am going and how I am going to get there. I don't need to set myself up as a superstar performer in order to give myself an ego boost.”
Instantly I was offended. This mediocre performer has the gall to insinuate that me performing to the best of my ability is just a pathetic attempt to gain acceptance? Then I wonder at my reaction. Why react so strongly if what he said didn't have a kernel of truth. Brooding, I too turn toward the front of the bus and watch the city stream by.
Do I really see a bit of myself in what he just said, I wonder. Perplexed, I reflect on my motivations. Do I really make myself the top performer because I need the approval of others in order to validate my own sense of self-worth? Possibly, I concede. Or at least I can see where it would have started out that way. Every child craves attention, and in that I was no different. I went through the standard deviations on this theme – causing fights, theft, disobedience – and got my attention. Along with not a few spankings. I got my first taste of positive reinforcement in my primary education when, out of boredom, I excelled in some minor exam. The praise from my instructor and from my parents resulted in such a warm glow inside myself that I decided I would seek that out whenever possible.
From there it became habit, then second hand. Excelling is no longer an effort for me. In this I can echo Walker – I know what I can do and where I am going. The difference between us is that I don't have to hide this ability because I know I will always be capable of it.
I look over at Cadet Walker and come to the realization that his decision to hide his ability does not come from self confidence, but the lack of it. He doesn't under perform because he has nothing to prove, he does so because he is afraid that if he starts to be the best, one day he may find that he isn't. This is an idea he is not comfortable with, so he hides safely in his chosen mediocrity, smug in his conviction that he is better than those that out perform him without ever putting it to the test.
We rode out the rest of the trip wrapped in our personal thoughts, each admiring the city we have only been able to see in the distance from the training compound. All too soon we were past it, the majestic buildings replaced with lush greenery as we approached the bay. Coming around a final hill we both found ourselves leaning forward in anticipation, neither having ever seen the base up close. It sprawls next to the water, jungle giving way to buildings giving way to runways and landing pads. We see cargo ships lumbering up from the field, personnel shuttles coming down at a comfortable pace. There are atmospheric trainers circling in the airspace above the runways, true fighters near the hangers undergoing maintenance, and a couple taking test flights out over the ocean.
“Takes your breath away, doesn't it,” Walker asks without taking his eyes off the scene before us.
“Yes, it does,” I respond, nodding unconsciously in agreement. Not able to see the craft on maneuvers out at sea, my eyes latched hungrily on the sleek spacecraft in the maintenance cradles near the hangers. Even with hatches popped open and workers crawling over their skin they were majestic in their deadliness. “I can't wait to get inside one of those babies.”
Walker smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I wonder if they will take us up in one?”
“Don't we wish. There isn't a chance in hell they will take us up. Two cadets? No way.”
“Yeah, you're right. We will be seeing enough of the inside of them soon enough, I guess.”
I nodded in silent agreement. I suppose after a couple years of flight school qualifies as 'soon enough' after a lifetime of working toward that goal. After about ten minutes we reached the level of the base and lost sight of the objects of both our desire. We both let out a sigh and leaned back at the same time, glanced at each other, and chuckled slightly at our identical reactions.
A few minutes later the bus pulled up in front of the base quarterdeck and announced that we had reached our destination. We climbed out and saw a lieutenant that seemed to be waiting for us. We snapped to attention and gave her a crisp salute.
“Cadets Walker and Brison reporting as ordered, Ma'am!”
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
NaNoWriMo
Well, tomorrow begins the novel writing marathon! I was planning on posting a final poem before I start on the book but I am not up to it tonight.
There has been a long hiatus in my posting and I do apologize. I have been working late getting that rental house done. I finished it tonight!!!
I participated in the costume contest at work today - the first time ever. I was part of a group doing Dodgeball. I was convinced to shave off my goatee. I didn't like the idea, but hey, it's only hair - it will grow back. We did win the competition, so it was worth it.
There has been a long hiatus in my posting and I do apologize. I have been working late getting that rental house done. I finished it tonight!!!
I participated in the costume contest at work today - the first time ever. I was part of a group doing Dodgeball. I was convinced to shave off my goatee. I didn't like the idea, but hey, it's only hair - it will grow back. We did win the competition, so it was worth it.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
I Love Not You
I love not you for your comely grace,
For your pleasing eye and face,
Nor for any outward part,
NO, nor for your constant heart -
For these may fail, or turn to ill;
So you and I shall sever.
I keep therefore a sure mans eye,
And love you still and know not why -
So have I the same reason still
To love you forever!
I wrote this in response to my girlfriend's question as to why I loved her. I wasn't able to answer with definate reasons so she got upset.
I was trying to say that any specific reason I give at this moment is only true for this moment. When I love I do so whole-heartedly and without reservation. I love the whole person, not just the labeled aspect.
Therefore when asked why I love (you), my answers will be different from day to day or even hour to hour - if I am able to give a reason at all...
For your pleasing eye and face,
Nor for any outward part,
NO, nor for your constant heart -
For these may fail, or turn to ill;
So you and I shall sever.
I keep therefore a sure mans eye,
And love you still and know not why -
So have I the same reason still
To love you forever!
I wrote this in response to my girlfriend's question as to why I loved her. I wasn't able to answer with definate reasons so she got upset.
I was trying to say that any specific reason I give at this moment is only true for this moment. When I love I do so whole-heartedly and without reservation. I love the whole person, not just the labeled aspect.
Therefore when asked why I love (you), my answers will be different from day to day or even hour to hour - if I am able to give a reason at all...
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Dear Josh
Hey bud, it's been a while since we talked. July of 2002 I believe.
I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I miss you. I am angry with you. It's taken me four years to cry for you.
I don't understand what you were thinking. You were a mechanic, for Christ's sake! You couldn't have been in such a hurry that a few more seconds would have made that much difference at work. It would have made such a huge difference for us.
I felt so ashamed for so long because it took me so long to realize Christina wasn't calling to wish me happy birthday. I was laughing because I was happy to hear from her, and I thought she was laughing, too. When she just made sure it was me and gave me to your mom, I started to realize something wasn't right.
When Shirley told me what happened, I didn't know what to say. I told her I would be there for the funeral, but I didn't cry.
I went outside and worked. I called you names and was mad at you, and knew I shouldn't be. I knew I should be doing something, but I didn't know what. I cursed at you, and I am sorry.
I know we had issues when we were growing up, and I am not sure all of them were resolved in the end. You were more of a brother than nephew, and I guess those things brothers have to go through. I just wish we could have ended on a better note.
I am so sorry for everything. I am sorry for missing your funeral. I drove as hard as I could, but I stopped to sleep for a couple hours. If I hadn't done that, I would have been there. I have never been to your grave. I don't know if I can go. I don't know if I am strong enough. I couldn't even look at the tree we planted for you at Danny's the last time I was there.
I miss you, man.
Love,
Rich
I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I miss you. I am angry with you. It's taken me four years to cry for you.
I don't understand what you were thinking. You were a mechanic, for Christ's sake! You couldn't have been in such a hurry that a few more seconds would have made that much difference at work. It would have made such a huge difference for us.
I felt so ashamed for so long because it took me so long to realize Christina wasn't calling to wish me happy birthday. I was laughing because I was happy to hear from her, and I thought she was laughing, too. When she just made sure it was me and gave me to your mom, I started to realize something wasn't right.
When Shirley told me what happened, I didn't know what to say. I told her I would be there for the funeral, but I didn't cry.
I went outside and worked. I called you names and was mad at you, and knew I shouldn't be. I knew I should be doing something, but I didn't know what. I cursed at you, and I am sorry.
I know we had issues when we were growing up, and I am not sure all of them were resolved in the end. You were more of a brother than nephew, and I guess those things brothers have to go through. I just wish we could have ended on a better note.
I am so sorry for everything. I am sorry for missing your funeral. I drove as hard as I could, but I stopped to sleep for a couple hours. If I hadn't done that, I would have been there. I have never been to your grave. I don't know if I can go. I don't know if I am strong enough. I couldn't even look at the tree we planted for you at Danny's the last time I was there.
I miss you, man.
Love,
Rich
Friday, October 12, 2007
Mind Breaker
The night was dark, lightly misted,
Moist droplets ran across my lips.
Light, cloying fingersran along down my hips.
Etheral darkness surrounded, my senses lifted.
Shapes flitted by, there, here,
Gone when I looked, it was nothing I could see.
It caught my eye, in the distance - there, could it be?
Closer it, or I, came. My breath caught with fear.
Tall, dark hair, black cape.
Cruel nose, red eyes, pale face.
He drifted near, guarded by empty space.
Arms lifted, cape opened, I watched with fear as he changed shape.
Cruel fangs, leather wings, same eyes
Stared into my sould, beat at my face.
Sharp fangs at my neck, tearing and cruel as a spiked mace.
"No, leave me!" I strained to scream line one who dies.
Gone, all gone. Was it really there?
I shuddered cold in the heat.
There - soft fur, like a cat at my feet.
Oh, I long to look. Do I dare?
No chance, for then a hoarish face sprange to sight.
Fetid breat, black eyes, wet nose
The mind recoils from the truth - Death, if he chose.
Saliva drips from an open mouth - resolve builds...how can I fight?
Hairy, clawed hands surround my throat.
Please, oh, please God, let me breath!
The horrid vision fades, the night begins to seethe.
My hands clutch, grab at the coarse fur coat.
Ah, sweet air! Deep breath-Opened eyes.
A shear moan of terror crawls out my mouth.
Monstrosities surround, close from east, north, west, and south.
My brain fills with mind-shattering cries.
Hands, paws, claws, teeth tear away my skin
Hot blood from my veins drive beasts mad.
Cold pain enters a body in tatters clad.
An inistant buzz fills hte sky,
Distant sleet leaves my fody fresh.
Then I see it, the mist that clings to human flesh.
There's no escape from this final nightmare - from my soul comes a silent cry.
Hmm, what was I thinking when I wrote this? I honestly can't remember. When I started typing it I thought it was a different one. As I transcribed it, it did make me think of something, whether it was the impetus for this writing I am not sure.
I could have sworn I dropped the rhyme style by now....
When I was about six years old, I had the same recurring nightmare. It wasn't your normal nightmare because even then, I knew it was just a dream. In the dream I was terrified, but I never woke scared. Here it is:
I am in a house at the end of a dead end street. It doesn't resemble the house I lived in, but I knew it was mine. There is no one else inside, there is one lamp on in the living room. I walk into the living room and see darkness through the windows. I am looking form the rest of my family - it is strange that no one is around at this time of the evening.
I look out the window, and drop to the floor, panicked. There are people moving around outside, coming out of houses open to the night, searching. Except they aren't people, they are vampires. I know they are vampires because they are all in classic vampire dress.
There are a few of them coming toward my house. What do I do? On my hands and knees I look around and crawl behind a chair on the other side of the room.
Just as I get hidden, the front door opens and in walks a number of vampires. I chance a peek around the back and see that they are my brothers and sisters. They begin searching the house for me.
When they get almost to where I am hiding, I jump up and sprint through the open door and run outside.After a while, I run out of breath and start walking, looking for someone to help. I can't find anyone, the only people I see are vampires, and they have all noticed me. I stop walking and look around at all of them looking at me, knowing I was the last person in the world.
Then I wake up.
I don't know how long I dreamed that same dream, nor when I stopped, but I still remember it vividly.
Moist droplets ran across my lips.
Light, cloying fingersran along down my hips.
Etheral darkness surrounded, my senses lifted.
Shapes flitted by, there, here,
Gone when I looked, it was nothing I could see.
It caught my eye, in the distance - there, could it be?
Closer it, or I, came. My breath caught with fear.
Tall, dark hair, black cape.
Cruel nose, red eyes, pale face.
He drifted near, guarded by empty space.
Arms lifted, cape opened, I watched with fear as he changed shape.
Cruel fangs, leather wings, same eyes
Stared into my sould, beat at my face.
Sharp fangs at my neck, tearing and cruel as a spiked mace.
"No, leave me!" I strained to scream line one who dies.
Gone, all gone. Was it really there?
I shuddered cold in the heat.
There - soft fur, like a cat at my feet.
Oh, I long to look. Do I dare?
No chance, for then a hoarish face sprange to sight.
Fetid breat, black eyes, wet nose
The mind recoils from the truth - Death, if he chose.
Saliva drips from an open mouth - resolve builds...how can I fight?
Hairy, clawed hands surround my throat.
Please, oh, please God, let me breath!
The horrid vision fades, the night begins to seethe.
My hands clutch, grab at the coarse fur coat.
Ah, sweet air! Deep breath-Opened eyes.
A shear moan of terror crawls out my mouth.
Monstrosities surround, close from east, north, west, and south.
My brain fills with mind-shattering cries.
Hands, paws, claws, teeth tear away my skin
Hot blood from my veins drive beasts mad.
Cold pain enters a body in tatters clad.
An inistant buzz fills hte sky,
Distant sleet leaves my fody fresh.
Then I see it, the mist that clings to human flesh.
There's no escape from this final nightmare - from my soul comes a silent cry.
Hmm, what was I thinking when I wrote this? I honestly can't remember. When I started typing it I thought it was a different one. As I transcribed it, it did make me think of something, whether it was the impetus for this writing I am not sure.
I could have sworn I dropped the rhyme style by now....
When I was about six years old, I had the same recurring nightmare. It wasn't your normal nightmare because even then, I knew it was just a dream. In the dream I was terrified, but I never woke scared. Here it is:
I am in a house at the end of a dead end street. It doesn't resemble the house I lived in, but I knew it was mine. There is no one else inside, there is one lamp on in the living room. I walk into the living room and see darkness through the windows. I am looking form the rest of my family - it is strange that no one is around at this time of the evening.
I look out the window, and drop to the floor, panicked. There are people moving around outside, coming out of houses open to the night, searching. Except they aren't people, they are vampires. I know they are vampires because they are all in classic vampire dress.
There are a few of them coming toward my house. What do I do? On my hands and knees I look around and crawl behind a chair on the other side of the room.
Just as I get hidden, the front door opens and in walks a number of vampires. I chance a peek around the back and see that they are my brothers and sisters. They begin searching the house for me.
When they get almost to where I am hiding, I jump up and sprint through the open door and run outside.After a while, I run out of breath and start walking, looking for someone to help. I can't find anyone, the only people I see are vampires, and they have all noticed me. I stop walking and look around at all of them looking at me, knowing I was the last person in the world.
Then I wake up.
I don't know how long I dreamed that same dream, nor when I stopped, but I still remember it vividly.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Pride
Thinking, hurting, crying, burning
Inside.
Too strong, proud to show my emotions, churning.
Pride
The love killer; together no more, fears.
Pain,
Alone in my sorrow-tears
Stain
The pillow in the night.
Why?
Liquid eyes blur the sight.
Cry
For my lost love.
Lost
The freedom of the soaring dove.
Cost
Of the loss of affection.
Madness
At the sight of her, perfection.
Sadness
At missing the toss of her hair.
Silken
Strands flying in the wind, so fair.
Hidden
The thinking, hurting, crying, burning
Inside.
Strong, proud now to show emotions, churning.
Pride.
It wasn't long after writing this that I abandonded the rhyme style of poetry - it started to seem (and still does) very forced. Some of the lines in this you can tell where I was straining to find rhymes.
I wrote this sitting in a very comfortable maroon spinning rocking chair in my high school best friends' house right after finding out my girlfriend had spent the last year sleeping with whoever caught her fancy - except me...
As I was typing this in I was thinking about how much of a fool I must have been to talk about the loss of her love, affection, etc when it is obvious to the present me that the past me never had any of those things from her.
Hindsight.
About two years after this, after she moved back to Georgia and returned to Idaho, I started courting her again. She seemed to have changed alot and answered all of my questions (I am assuming) honestly about her cheating. Somewhere along those lines I got involved with my first ex-wife and forgot all about her until running into her in the mall several months later. She was quite excited to see me - until I told her I was getting married. She got this strange closed look, spun on her heels, and walked away. I found out about a week later she moved back (again) to Georgia, and found out a year after that that she was married within a month or two.
I haven't heard from her since that day at the mall in 1993.
Years later, my second ex-wife and I were visiting family in Idaho when I found out that the night before she and I started dating, my high school best friend (and my second ex-wife's brother) had slept with her. Now, this hurt a lot. A lot more than it should have. Not so much that he slept with my girlfriend, because she wasn't at the time, but that he didn't say anything. He knew her intimately the entire time we were dating, and said nothing. That is what hurt the most.
Inside.
Too strong, proud to show my emotions, churning.
Pride
The love killer; together no more, fears.
Pain,
Alone in my sorrow-tears
Stain
The pillow in the night.
Why?
Liquid eyes blur the sight.
Cry
For my lost love.
Lost
The freedom of the soaring dove.
Cost
Of the loss of affection.
Madness
At the sight of her, perfection.
Sadness
At missing the toss of her hair.
Silken
Strands flying in the wind, so fair.
Hidden
The thinking, hurting, crying, burning
Inside.
Strong, proud now to show emotions, churning.
Pride.
It wasn't long after writing this that I abandonded the rhyme style of poetry - it started to seem (and still does) very forced. Some of the lines in this you can tell where I was straining to find rhymes.
I wrote this sitting in a very comfortable maroon spinning rocking chair in my high school best friends' house right after finding out my girlfriend had spent the last year sleeping with whoever caught her fancy - except me...
As I was typing this in I was thinking about how much of a fool I must have been to talk about the loss of her love, affection, etc when it is obvious to the present me that the past me never had any of those things from her.
Hindsight.
About two years after this, after she moved back to Georgia and returned to Idaho, I started courting her again. She seemed to have changed alot and answered all of my questions (I am assuming) honestly about her cheating. Somewhere along those lines I got involved with my first ex-wife and forgot all about her until running into her in the mall several months later. She was quite excited to see me - until I told her I was getting married. She got this strange closed look, spun on her heels, and walked away. I found out about a week later she moved back (again) to Georgia, and found out a year after that that she was married within a month or two.
I haven't heard from her since that day at the mall in 1993.
Years later, my second ex-wife and I were visiting family in Idaho when I found out that the night before she and I started dating, my high school best friend (and my second ex-wife's brother) had slept with her. Now, this hurt a lot. A lot more than it should have. Not so much that he slept with my girlfriend, because she wasn't at the time, but that he didn't say anything. He knew her intimately the entire time we were dating, and said nothing. That is what hurt the most.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Too Much Time
It's not something I am used to having. Too much time. What to do with your day when you have no duties?
We were planning on working on a deck and some interior projects but that didn't pan out. We forgot to call Iowa 1 Call before diggig and the guy didn't have the trim for the windows, nor any of the linolium or surround for the bathroom. So that was a bust.
So, the rest of the day was taken up with filling back CardShark orders, getting a haircut (and flirting with the stylist - she's cute and single!), watching SuperBad, and getting my weeks shopping done.
Which leaves about 8 hours of no plans just in the afternoon! I need to learn how to get a social life!!!
This is going to be a quick week, got a secret shop to do between Monday and Wednesday, working on the house as able in the evenings, and taking Friday off for travel. Going out of town to visit a dear friend.
I am nervous about my weigh in tomorrow. I have a goal in mind - 240 to start. However, I have had that goal for a couple years now and am not a whole lot closer to reaching it. I need to set a timeline.
In preparation for National Novel Writing Month I have decided to convert to using a Dvorak keyboard. I ordered stickers to put over the keys of both my home and work keyboards. I am going to need all the speed I can get while trying to pump out 2000 words a day!
That's all the random stuff for today. Stay tuned for tonights poem revisited.
We were planning on working on a deck and some interior projects but that didn't pan out. We forgot to call Iowa 1 Call before diggig and the guy didn't have the trim for the windows, nor any of the linolium or surround for the bathroom. So that was a bust.
So, the rest of the day was taken up with filling back CardShark orders, getting a haircut (and flirting with the stylist - she's cute and single!), watching SuperBad, and getting my weeks shopping done.
Which leaves about 8 hours of no plans just in the afternoon! I need to learn how to get a social life!!!
This is going to be a quick week, got a secret shop to do between Monday and Wednesday, working on the house as able in the evenings, and taking Friday off for travel. Going out of town to visit a dear friend.
I am nervous about my weigh in tomorrow. I have a goal in mind - 240 to start. However, I have had that goal for a couple years now and am not a whole lot closer to reaching it. I need to set a timeline.
In preparation for National Novel Writing Month I have decided to convert to using a Dvorak keyboard. I ordered stickers to put over the keys of both my home and work keyboards. I am going to need all the speed I can get while trying to pump out 2000 words a day!
That's all the random stuff for today. Stay tuned for tonights poem revisited.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The dusty past
Between the military, relationships, breakups, getting out of the military, more relationships, and more breakups I have moved more times than I can count. The last time I tried I came up with 11 in two years (this was between 2001 and 2003).
Through all these changes I have moved my things, culled my things, kept or tossed my things so much that there is nothing that I can point to and say that had stayed with me the entire time - with one exception.
I have managed to keep a folder of poems and short stories that I wrote over my freshman and sophmore years in high school. This one purple folder has stayed with me, alone, for the last 16 years. It is getting faded and tattered, the handwritten and typed (no computer printed pages) pages yellowing with age.
I have only shared the contents of this folder with 3 other people besides my english teacher over those two years (Mrs. Erickson in Buhl, ID, a major influence in my life-more on her later). I figure if they were important enough to me to hang on to for that long they should be shared.
I am going to start posting them here and attempt to give a brief explanation as to what was going on in my life at the time I wrote it. I make no claims as to the quality of these writings - please remember they were written by a confused and mentally messed up teenager trying to pretend to be normal and well adjusted. They served as therapy - as long as I was writing them I was not doing them. The demons were coming out.
Some are corny, some are sappy, some are dark, some are just plain stupid.
Comments are welcome.
(untitled)
Hot anger boils
away from me
like water thrown
on a white glowing furnace.
The rage glows blue
as if it were a
razor edged blade
heating in a forge.
My flesh grows orange
from the forces of
madness building in
a black glass ball
that threatens to
burst into green flaming
shards if release
is not found.
With poisonous pearl satisfaction
my fury flies
from me in great
yellow lightning bolts
to engulf my adversary
in fires burning grey
with triumph.
Mrs. E had given an assignment to write a "color poem." She gave no explanation as to what she meant, nor any expectation of style (she was wonderful that way). I remember sitting there staring off into space thinking there is no way I could come up with something off of so little instruction (I still do this today, I just realized). I don't know when I started writing or what thoughts prompted it,
I just spent about 7 minutes zoned out there...
but I do remember the landscape of the poem building in my mind line by line until the end, and I know the face of the person being hit by that lightning. Thinking about the why behind it just opens a deep, dark pit in the middle of me.
I thought I had taken care of that. Apparently not. I am not sure I should keep doing this. I am tired as I write and these memories seem to be something of a free association session and I don't like where it is going.
Through all these changes I have moved my things, culled my things, kept or tossed my things so much that there is nothing that I can point to and say that had stayed with me the entire time - with one exception.
I have managed to keep a folder of poems and short stories that I wrote over my freshman and sophmore years in high school. This one purple folder has stayed with me, alone, for the last 16 years. It is getting faded and tattered, the handwritten and typed (no computer printed pages) pages yellowing with age.
I have only shared the contents of this folder with 3 other people besides my english teacher over those two years (Mrs. Erickson in Buhl, ID, a major influence in my life-more on her later). I figure if they were important enough to me to hang on to for that long they should be shared.
I am going to start posting them here and attempt to give a brief explanation as to what was going on in my life at the time I wrote it. I make no claims as to the quality of these writings - please remember they were written by a confused and mentally messed up teenager trying to pretend to be normal and well adjusted. They served as therapy - as long as I was writing them I was not doing them. The demons were coming out.
Some are corny, some are sappy, some are dark, some are just plain stupid.
Comments are welcome.
(untitled)
Hot anger boils
away from me
like water thrown
on a white glowing furnace.
The rage glows blue
as if it were a
razor edged blade
heating in a forge.
My flesh grows orange
from the forces of
madness building in
a black glass ball
that threatens to
burst into green flaming
shards if release
is not found.
With poisonous pearl satisfaction
my fury flies
from me in great
yellow lightning bolts
to engulf my adversary
in fires burning grey
with triumph.
Mrs. E had given an assignment to write a "color poem." She gave no explanation as to what she meant, nor any expectation of style (she was wonderful that way). I remember sitting there staring off into space thinking there is no way I could come up with something off of so little instruction (I still do this today, I just realized). I don't know when I started writing or what thoughts prompted it,
I just spent about 7 minutes zoned out there...
but I do remember the landscape of the poem building in my mind line by line until the end, and I know the face of the person being hit by that lightning. Thinking about the why behind it just opens a deep, dark pit in the middle of me.
I thought I had taken care of that. Apparently not. I am not sure I should keep doing this. I am tired as I write and these memories seem to be something of a free association session and I don't like where it is going.
Playing cards
Today some of us went out to Des Moines for the pre-release event for the most recent Magic release, Lorwyn, and we had an excellent time!
We hung out all day together, played cards, walked around the skywalk, had lunch - just a fun day in general.
It has been a while since I have just enjoyed myself like that. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if our freind Dave Ladage could have joined us. Next time.
Tomorrow Mark and I start working on the deck and some interior finishing work. Looking forward to doing this again, it has been too long!
We hung out all day together, played cards, walked around the skywalk, had lunch - just a fun day in general.
It has been a while since I have just enjoyed myself like that. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if our freind Dave Ladage could have joined us. Next time.
Tomorrow Mark and I start working on the deck and some interior finishing work. Looking forward to doing this again, it has been too long!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Finally letting go
I don't know why I have been thinking about my relationship with Hillerie so much. There is no reason to, it was a mutual decision with some extenuating circumstances, and it hadn't been going well for a while before that anyway.
So, I have decided I need to let go. I am not sure what I was holding on to anyway. Whatever it was certainly resided solely in my head, not anywhere else. I certainly feel a whole lot better all of a sudden!
I still plan to do things with Phil - pre-releases, paintball, stuff like that. He wouldn't get a chance to do that otherwise. Kinda like being a Big Brother, I suppose.
If Hillerie and I talk, fine. If not, fine as well. I have no intention of being unfreindly, there is no reason to.
I wish her the best, and always have. I hope she finds a great guy (though not too nice, cause as we know nice guys don't keep the girl!).
It feels good to cut the last, invisible chain.
So, I have decided I need to let go. I am not sure what I was holding on to anyway. Whatever it was certainly resided solely in my head, not anywhere else. I certainly feel a whole lot better all of a sudden!
I still plan to do things with Phil - pre-releases, paintball, stuff like that. He wouldn't get a chance to do that otherwise. Kinda like being a Big Brother, I suppose.
If Hillerie and I talk, fine. If not, fine as well. I have no intention of being unfreindly, there is no reason to.
I wish her the best, and always have. I hope she finds a great guy (though not too nice, cause as we know nice guys don't keep the girl!).
It feels good to cut the last, invisible chain.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
All these posts
No, I am not being overly creative in a broken sort of way. I originally started this blog on myspace at www.myspace.com/more_mr_nice_guy. However, upon some questions from people I invited I found that you cannot view the blog unless you are a member of myspace.
So, I started this today and copied all my previous posts over. I plan on keeping both going as I do have readers (ok, 1 reader) over there.
Comments are welcome!
So, I started this today and copied all my previous posts over. I plan on keeping both going as I do have readers (ok, 1 reader) over there.
Comments are welcome!
e-mail address
Let this be a lesson to you! Always double-check your e-mail address when registering for a site. I typed mine as @mchis.com instead of @mchsi.com.
Now I can't seem to get it changed. I try to change it and it send the confirmation to the incorrect address. I try to contact "Help" and it says a reply will be sent to the incorrect address. No help there.
I even try to send an e-mail directly to support@myspace.com and that gets returned to me as "no such user."
Irritating...
Now I can't seem to get it changed. I try to change it and it send the confirmation to the incorrect address. I try to contact "Help" and it says a reply will be sent to the incorrect address. No help there.
I even try to send an e-mail directly to support@myspace.com and that gets returned to me as "no such user."
Irritating...
Today
Ok, that's irritating. I just lost the entire post due to an unexpected error... GRRRRRR. I guess I need to write this in UltraEdit(R) before trying to post just in case. Let's see if I can re-create it (though it feels somewhat strange to re-type it, kinda like I am repeating something I said because I feel like I am being ignored. Weird.)
I was pretty busy today, so no earth shattering thoughts to mull over. I don't know why, but some days I don't have enough work to keep me busy while others I feel swamped. The workload stays pretty much the same each day, though...
An opportunity has come up at work and I am applying for it. I feel that this is a chance to make some very possitive changes in our part of the organization. I will keep this updated with any developments in that area.
We got our first job from our ad in the phone book! We had to underbid like crazy to get it, so we won't be clearing much. Just enough to cover the cost of the ad and a bit left over. I can't complain, though, not with my call to close ration hovering at 30-1. We are doing a simple 10x10 deck and some minor interior work. But still, it's cool.
There, I retyped it. It feels kinda clunky doing it and the words don't flow as smoothly. Oh well...
I was pretty busy today, so no earth shattering thoughts to mull over. I don't know why, but some days I don't have enough work to keep me busy while others I feel swamped. The workload stays pretty much the same each day, though...
An opportunity has come up at work and I am applying for it. I feel that this is a chance to make some very possitive changes in our part of the organization. I will keep this updated with any developments in that area.
We got our first job from our ad in the phone book! We had to underbid like crazy to get it, so we won't be clearing much. Just enough to cover the cost of the ad and a bit left over. I can't complain, though, not with my call to close ration hovering at 30-1. We are doing a simple 10x10 deck and some minor interior work. But still, it's cool.
There, I retyped it. It feels kinda clunky doing it and the words don't flow as smoothly. Oh well...
Random Thought
A group was talking this morning about the over-use of Thank Yous and kudos in everyday life and comparing that to the corporate world. We hire a new employee and everytime they get the hang of a portion of their job, they get kudos, congrats, etc. This may go on for a couple months until they get settled in. Then what happens? Well, they are performing as expected so they don't get praised as much. How does this feel? Having been there, it is like you are doing things wrong now - where you would have previously gotten a "good job" you now get silence.
This post isn't about work, it's about relationships. That long paragraph above was to set the background for this short one:
In relationships, like work, at the beginning we shower the other person with praise and compliments. This feels great! It is, however, unsustainable. So, after awhile, they start to go away, only the feelings left behind in their absense are more intense as the situation is much more personal.
As if this weren't bad enough, it gets to the point that when your significant other does something you don't like, you start witholding the good stuff!! This is dangerous because unlike the first example, this is Personal, not business...
This post isn't about work, it's about relationships. That long paragraph above was to set the background for this short one:
In relationships, like work, at the beginning we shower the other person with praise and compliments. This feels great! It is, however, unsustainable. So, after awhile, they start to go away, only the feelings left behind in their absense are more intense as the situation is much more personal.
As if this weren't bad enough, it gets to the point that when your significant other does something you don't like, you start witholding the good stuff!! This is dangerous because unlike the first example, this is Personal, not business...
Weight Update continued
I need some way to balance weight maintenance and everyday life - and by that I mean the workout portion. Eating right is in itself a daily test.
Hillerie and I watched some episodes on the Discovery Channel about some of the worlds heaviest people. It's easy to sit back and shake my head, thinking how could they let themselves get this way?
Then I hear them talk about how eating makes them feel, what the tastes do for them and I realize - that could be me! It could be me because the way they are describing their interaction with food is exactly the same way I feel!
So I have to be careful of that 1000lb person I could become...
Hillerie and I watched some episodes on the Discovery Channel about some of the worlds heaviest people. It's easy to sit back and shake my head, thinking how could they let themselves get this way?
Then I hear them talk about how eating makes them feel, what the tastes do for them and I realize - that could be me! It could be me because the way they are describing their interaction with food is exactly the same way I feel!
So I have to be careful of that 1000lb person I could become...
Weight Update
Ok. Weight update. Last Monday I weighed in at 285. Today I am at 280. No crash diet, no radical anything. Just watching what I eat and working out more.
I like being active, but it is a constant struggle because I like activities that lend themselves to little physical activity.
Before Hillerie and I became an item, I worked out all the time because, honestly, I didn't have a whole lot else to fill my time with. So, what happened when we became serious I was able to focus more of my attention on the relationship and family. Unfortunately, I don't know how to moderate - it's all or nothing - so my workouts not only slowed, they nearly went away altogether. What little I did only served to instigate depression when it wouldn't do anything but give me a false sense of security.
With my metabolism, I can't afford a false sense of anything. It takes constant attention to keep my weight under control.
(will be continued)
I like being active, but it is a constant struggle because I like activities that lend themselves to little physical activity.
Before Hillerie and I became an item, I worked out all the time because, honestly, I didn't have a whole lot else to fill my time with. So, what happened when we became serious I was able to focus more of my attention on the relationship and family. Unfortunately, I don't know how to moderate - it's all or nothing - so my workouts not only slowed, they nearly went away altogether. What little I did only served to instigate depression when it wouldn't do anything but give me a false sense of security.
With my metabolism, I can't afford a false sense of anything. It takes constant attention to keep my weight under control.
(will be continued)
First Post
I figured this was about the only way I would get a first post...
I don't know what I will blog about in general, but I plan on having fun conversations with myself.
I do plan on using this as my posting area during National Novel Writing Month ( http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ) in November. I figure I will go with my memiors cause my life is just so darn interesting!
Anyway, I look forward to receiving comments at some point - so don't be shy!
I don't know what I will blog about in general, but I plan on having fun conversations with myself.
I do plan on using this as my posting area during National Novel Writing Month ( http://www.nanowrimo.org/ ) in November. I figure I will go with my memiors cause my life is just so darn interesting!
Anyway, I look forward to receiving comments at some point - so don't be shy!
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