Work Text:
Prologue
Kingdom of Jacksonville
Mayport AFB
December 19th AC 431
05:00
Darrel Howell, better known by his callsign of Crimson One, was woken up by the usual alarm for the barracks at 05:00 and started getting out of bed and going through the usual motions of getting ready for the day as he thought through their situation. Crimson Squadron had arrived on this base at 23:00 yesterday. This was their fifth back to back deployment this year, if he was keeping track right. Most other squadrons may have taken breaks, however, Darrel was in touch with his squadron, and they had 12 pilots and planes: 8 active along with 4 reserve. The pilots and their respective planes on reserve would swap out based on many factors. If a Pilot simply needed a break for a sortie or two, they were allowed to swap out, or if their plane was damaged by any lucky shots from the trash they usually faced.
Darrel saw these deployments as an opportunity to keep sharp so he did oftentimes switch who was deployed to make sure everyone got airtime on a deployment. At some times, all 12 members would sortie in groups of 2 - 6 when they needed to be in multiple places at once.
This deployment would be like their many others to the periphery, put down any pirate or mercenary groups that are deemed somewhat noteworthy, and establish that even among the Periphery, the Federation was the dominant force.
His thoughts went to the division of airtime, and ensuring everyone would be deployed equally to limit exhaustion along with other factors. From the general briefing they had received on this area, they were having issues with both mercenary groups running wild as well as pirates ambushing Federal naval convoys and that just couldn’t stand.
Darrel finally focused on the present as he walked into the pitiful excuse of a mess hall this base had. To be expected from the Periphery however, and especially with a nation this small.
“Hey Makmur.”
He greeted his second in command, who responded with a quick mock salute that Darrel returned as they started getting coffees ready for their squadron who trickled in a few moments later. He wasn’t one to stand on ceremony, as long as the chain of command was respected when orders were given out, and everyone operated smoothly there wasn’t a reason.
The two senior pilots quickly handed everyone out their drinks. Of course, anyone of the twelve people in their squadron could have done the job of making the drinks and handling them, simply a result of being together so often. The pilots all found a table and sat down, sending four runners to get the food. They usually sent the 4 reserve pilots to do this, and today was no different.
Darrel saw the local forces start to come in and glanced at the clock. 05:45, people here were slow it seemed, but again there was a reason Crimson was here. A few of the locals eyed Crimson, perhaps their seats had been taken, and as one started towards Erickson who was sitting next to him, they saw the patches on her shoulder and simply looked for somewhere else to sit.
“That’s going to be a problem…”
Erickson muttered to him. She had seen it too, and in all honestly would probably be right. The base was decently packed for what it was, and the Federation had sent them to the base to appease the local government and avoid claims of warmongering, but how much the people who lived here knew was an unknown quantity. Probably not much he thought, as most of the aircraft operated here seemed in various states of disrepair. Thankfully they’d brought their own ground crew so the work would be trusted.
The others came back, taking Darrel out of his thoughts on the people who lived here, and the problems with the base. He was starving after having spent 7 hours in flight here, then not eating until now. He started eating the food, which was entirely unnoteworthy, but still would be nourishing he knew.
Darrel was halfway through his meal when Erickson gently tapped his shoulder and made him look up at the door. A higher rank looking officer was waiting patiently, but his eyes were locked on Crimson. Darren stood, motioning with one hand for the others to stay seated as he walked over, and was able to make out the insignia better. Still not sure of the title in this service, but he’d use the Federation’s title here.
“Is there a problem Major?”
He asked simply, again forgoing the formalities of respecting rank. As far as Darrel knew, the Major, who’s name tag read Johnson had earned his rank from having friends in the right places.
“Captain Howell, you and your squadron will report to a briefing at 06:30.”
Johnson replied. Whether he was the base commander or simply delivering instructions Darrel didn’t know, but they had their first mission in…he glanced at the clock, 30 minutes.
“Understood sir.”
Darrel replied and turned back to his squadron who glanced up at him as he approached.
“Crimson, finish up eating, we have a briefing, and I want everyone there at 06:15.”
He handed out his own orders here, and Crimson all took their last bites of food before getting rid of the food. Darrel grabbed his tray and cleaned it off, stacking it with the others and quickly moving to brush his teeth and get to the briefing room.
06:30
Crimson had all assembled in the briefing room and were waiting quietly, some of them murmuring to each other as they took bets on their first target of the deployment. Of course the bets would all be settled after the mission, and were never anything serious, perhaps 5 to 10 credits. Darrel knew about it, and while he didn’t participate to set a good example, it was also harmless as long as it caused no arguments or friction.
The noise all ceased as Major Johnson stepped up to the front, having got his PowerPoint, and his thoughts in order.
“Crimson team, your job is simple here. Convoys keep being intercepted in these two stretches. You’ll need to split off into two teams, find the pirates’ base of operations in both spots and eliminate the threat. We’ve had reports of some potential anti air weaponry, however intel says they have no aerial presence. Any questions?”
Major Johnson waited a moment and saw no-one come forward.
“Dismissed. You’re wheels up in an hour.”