Wild Hairs, Whiskey, and Wings

We all know I'm impatient as hell. And we all know I'm sorta prone to doin' my own thing, despite... advice, rules, or orders to the contrary. Really, I ain't so opposed to rules as a whole, so long as they ain't stupid and the situation don't call for 'em to be broke.

Duncan discussed it with me, whether I really wanted to enlist in the military, I sorta didn't get his trepidation when he asked me, then explained, given how I am, that I could well spend a goodly 'mounta' time in the brig. My reply? "You've seen me fly Merkabah. They'll pull me outta there when there's action. And as long's I'm allowed conjugal visits, no problem." Yeah.

I sorta see his point now. But on the other hand, I was right, too.

See, after enlistment, us nuggets were taken 'round and shown the ropes, then went in to qualify on flight and marksmanship. But 'fore any flyin' and shootin' actually took place, the flight instructor took us all out on the flight deck to go over the Stryker specs with us so we weren't totally blindsided our first time in the cockpits of 'em.

Well... I'm a sorta hands-on kinda gal. I learn best by doin'. "Kinetic learner" is what they call it. Some stuffy flight instructor dronin' on at me 'bout specs just don't do it for me so much. So, as he was leadin' us 'round the flight deck, I was bored to near tears, and got a wild hair up my ass. I climbed into one of the strykers to check out the controls and figure things out for myself. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

The class wandered away, and I thought there'd be no harm in seein' what she could do. The strykers're sleek, elegant little planes, sexy and menacin' all in the same breath, and ever since I laid eyes on 'em, I been itchin' to get in the cockpit and try 'em on for size. So, I started her up and took off. Sorta discombobulatin' at first, there was a good three minutes after I cleared the Elindor's hangar of panic on my part, tryin' to figure out what did what. Good deal of spinnin' in twenty-seven directions at once, but given the way Merkabah handles, that part didn't get me. All hell'd broken loose on the flight deck and in CIC, though. I had forty different folks screamin' at me over my comm.

I got it though, control, figured out where everything was and went on a short trip loopin' the Elindor 'fore I headed back in to be clapped in irons and possibly shot multiple times. It was exhilaratin'... the speed, the maneuverability, the sheer strength it took to control her. I was in love with this plane. And I got the feelin' she was likin' me, too, cuz she handled like a dream as I tried to put the old girl through a few paces.

My trip back in the ship was what ya might call excitin'. I was used to just landin', none of this catchin' a trap business. But the principle wasn't rocket science, so I managed to catch it and land her without killin' myself. Mighta been a few seconds in that cockpit where I was nervous, even. But I'll never admit it to to anyone.

The flight instructor was heated. I mean, yeah, I can sorta see why. If I'd gotten myself killed, it woulda been his ass. Prol'ly'd still be his ass that he wasn't payin' attention and let one of his nuggets pull a stunt like that. Ooh, he yelled, started yellin' the second the cockpit opened up and didn't stop for a full forty minutes. While he was yellin', I happened to glance up and noticed Admiral Leitner standin' there watchin'. I wonder how long he was watchin'. I wonder how much of my stunt he saw. It was weird, wasn't til I saw him that I started regrettin' what I'd done. For some reason, the idea of disappointin' him was more dauntin' to me than the threat of bein' tossed in the brig for a month.

And I did get tossed in the brig. When the flight instructor lost his wind, he had me report to the brig for insubordination and reckless endangerment. So I got to sit my happy little ass on a slab in a cell and cool my heels. While I was in there, all I could think 'bout was how sweet it was to fly that stryker. Also wondered how mad Duncan was gonna be that I got my ass tossed in the clink my first day in the service. Prol'ly more amused than mad. Man knew me too well to be surprised at all, really. I just hoped I got to see the look on his face when he found out what I did.

About three hours after I made home in my cell, I was told the Admiral wished to speak with me, and I'd be escorted to his quarters. Now, I don't wanna say I was terrified, cuz it wasn't like he was gonna shoot me or torture me, but I won't deny there wasn't some anxiety as I made my way down the ship's corridor, flanked on either side by an armed guard. My heart was poundin' so hard I was scared I might drop dead from a heart attack 'fore the admiral had a chance to chew me a new asshole.

He didn't look at me when we got there, just told the guards to remove my cuffs and leave us. Then he turned his back and walked behind his desk and told me to have a seat. I didn't say a word, just did as asked and stared at a point on the wooden surface of his desk, suddenly feelin' wooden myself. There was just somethin' bout this man that commanded respect. And hearin' a lecture from him, hell, gettin' the boot from the service by him was prol'ly the worst punishment they coulda given me.

"Major Cooperstone warned me that you were a pistol, Ms. Fargis. Not that he needed to. I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you." He still wasn't lookin' at me. He was shufflin' through some papers, like he either had more important matters to attend to or like he didn't want to look at me. But he kept talkin'. "I knew you'd be a troublemaker when I brought you on my ship. I figured you would have at least waited a few days before you started raising hell, but I've been wrong before."

My mouth started talkin' 'fore my brain could catch up. "Well sir, I ain't one to waste time."

'Round here they call him 'the Old Man' with a sorta mix of pride, affection and reverence. Reckon right 'bout then I knew why as his brown eyes found me over the steel rims of the glasses he wore. "There's a reason why we follow routine, procedure, orders," he began as he leaned back in his chair. "We're at war. For many on this ship, this war has been going on many years, and others have joined us more recently. To serve isn't the same thing as fighting. Those who serve put their lives in the hands of each other because we believe we're part of something greater than just the individual. That's where the routine, the discipline becomes important... When the battle rages, we have to commit entirely to a single moment that defines each and all of us." Without waiting for me to respond he drew a dark velvet box from a desk drawer and took out whatever was inside.

I knew what he was sayin'. There was a good damned reason I shouldn'ta gone off on my own half cocked just for shits and grins to prove I could fly a stryker, if even only to myself. If there'd be an actual good reason to do it, like protectin' someone or somethin', it woulda been justified, but what I did wasn't, and I was gonna have to learn to be a bit less impulsive so't my fellows in arms could trust me when the time came to get into the shit.

But insteada' continuin' to lecture me, he chuckled. What I saw etched into the lines of his aged face and in his eyes shocked me. Amusement and pride. What the hell? The old man wasn't even a little mad. He was impressed.

"Miss Fargis, in my experience, there are three types of soldier. Leaders, followers, and hard chargers. From what I've been able to dig up about you, I already know which one you are. You've scorned the opportunity to become a leader at every turn, even though there are plenty who would gladly follow you. And God knows you aren't a follower. What you are is a hard charger - a soldier who knows that sometimes it's better to throw the rulebook out the window and do what needs to be done, who follows their own orders and answers to no one."

I didn't say a word, cuz honestly, I didn't know what there was to say. Sounded like he was payin' me a hell of a compliment. And he wasn't finished. "The thing is, I know I can't control you. Trying to control hard chargers is about as effective as trying to herd cats. But I can find a way to use you. And that's what I'm going to do."

At that point, he pulled out two glasses and poured a healthy shot of whiskey into each one before picking them both up and continuing. "To be a stryker pilot, you have to have deadly sharp instincts and brass balls. Those ships aren't easy to pilot, and going into combat in one takes a very specific type of soldier. In all of my years in the military, I've never seen anything like the stunt you pulled today. And that tells me that you've got the skills, the instincts, and the balls to be a stryker pilot." He held one of the glasses out to me, and I accepted it with a quiet "Thank you, sir." I looked down at it, not sure what to say beyond that. And when I did, I saw the wings at the bottom of the glass.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant. And welcome to the 12th." The old man smiled. Somethin'd told me he had a soft spot for hell raisers, and I'd been right. By all rights, I shoulda been tossed overboard after rottin' in a cell for a year. But he promoted me to an officer and gave me wings 'cuz he recognized who I am and that if used right, my attitude could be advantageous. The old man knew how to lead, how to turn what most folk'd see as a problem to an asset. After that, I think I woulda followed him into battle armed with a spoon.

I followed suit as he raised his glass "The 12th Cavalry! First in the field and last to leave it." As the Old Man drained his glass, what I took for a look of pride and pain drifted across his wrinkled features. "And never truer words spoken," he gravelled quietly.

Duncan was gonna laugh like hell. Shit, he prol'ly planned the whole thing out with the Admiral. While the two showed no signs of recognition to anyone else, while it was all business 'tween 'em in public, I could sorta sense camaraderie 'tween 'em, like they were old friends behind closed doors.

Everyone else was either gonna stare at me in disbelief or hate me, thinkin' I got some kinda special treatment 'cuz my fiance's an officer. I sure as hell hope it wasn't special treatment. But no matter what, people were gonna sit up and notice the cocky nugget who stole a stryker without trainin' to fly it without killin' herself.

Boy, was the flight instructor gonna be pissed, though.