UCMS Torchlight
Richtofen class strike carrier
60,000 feet above Eden VII
342 miles East of New Lima
April 4th 2670 AD
-Major Daniel MacMillan-
The hangar bay of the UCMF Torchlight was like a bees nest. Busy techs in yellow and black uniforms running about, prepping birds for launch while announcements sounded over the horn.
"General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands to action stations. The route of travel is forward and up to starboard, down and aft to port. Set material condition 'Zebra' throughout the ship. General Quarters.."
Trolleys of 40mm shells were being quickly towed from plane to plane, fuel cells pumped and sealed in short order. Pilots in grey uniform raced up ladders to reach their planes on the tri-tiered holding racks, signaling flight staff and elevator control as the roaring sound of jet engines began to fill the air. Sharp and angular interceptors were carried on overhead gantries, moving towards the 8 overhead elevators that led to the launch tubes.
A large Scourge flotilla had been spotted Southwest, recalled Major Daniel MacMillan. The cause for this early morning mess. His pulse raced as he sprinted along the wide flight deck, helmet in hand. Bay 49… bay 49… The alcove came into view, his Archangel custom nestled comfortably it's perch. A unique Archangel, jokingly named Papa dragon. The product of 12 years of flying expertise, a sneaky chief engineer and a couple bottles of gin. It's navy grey paint was punctuated by a fire breathing shenlong along the barrel of his 40mm guns, and some two hundred jelly kill marks adorning the side of the fuselage.
The Major climbed up into the cockpit, donning his helmet and buckling himself in. He opened up his kneeboard and flipped to a new page, scribbling down the date and other specifics. Old school but effective. MacMillan cycled through various imaging screens on his helmet HUD. His helmet registering specific eye movements and transmitted commands. Time to get the bird started up. MacMillan worked his way through a dozen switches, injecting fuel, testing flaps, running an abbreviated series of preflight checks. He shut down diagnostic-startup and booted up flight mode. An isometric lidar projection of the nearby terrain appeared in his vision, quickly relegating itself to the upper left corner of his vision to make room for fuel, ammo, and radar displays. The cockpit flickered in and out of view as the external cameras kicked in, streaming visual data from around the plane directly to his helmet and allowing clear visual through the Interceptors hull.
MacMillan looked up and waved to the elevator control booth on the ceiling. A stout operator gave him the thumbs up and began to work the controls. MacMillan slid the canopy closed as a forklift like contraption descended from the ceiling, sliding underneath the wings of Papa Dragon and pulling it from it's alcove before raising it to the ceiling.
The radio buzzed and the voice of the new assistant section leader, Vince, came through.
"Can you believe this shit Mac? Fucking flight op at 2 in the morning."
"Just be glad we spotted em at all this time Vince, any more jellies sneak by us and we'll get one hell of an earful from FLEETCOM"
"Better an earful than another early morning op, at this rate I'm gonna start growing grey hair."
"You and me both kid"
The crane deposited Papa Dragon into the elevator 2 holding cradle, which retracted flush Into the ceiling as it loaded the interceptor into the long, sealed launch tube.
"Hey, I heard down the grapevine you ignore regulation, you really don't fly with countermeasures?"
“ I know they tell everybody to keep it on, but trust me. Countermeasures are useless against the Jellies. That D-class shield plate ain't gonna stop a plasma bolt anytime soon. All it does is waste power and computing space. You’ll just be saving energy.”
