Disclaimer
I don’t own Macross. If I did, I would be far too rich to be bothered writing fan fiction.
Hasukawa looked up at the fighter in disgust.
"Cripes. Three years spent flyin’ goddamn Valkyries. All I want is to be assigned a Lightning. Is that too much to ask?"
The plane captain snorted. "If you’ve been flying for three years, why are you still only a Warrant Officer?"
"Shut up, McCoy. Gimme this bird’s list."
McCoy shut up, and handed the gripe list over to the rather volatile Warrant Officer. "She’s got no down gripes against her at the moment." He had to speak rather loudly; the mecha hangar was a noisy place, what with a lance of Destroids preparing to march.
Sora flipped the list open. "What has she had for down gripes?"
"Left powerplant failed three times since the jet walked out of the factory. We replaced it two months ago, and she’s been running fine since then." McCoy closed his eyes, thinking. "Radar has been kinda hit-or-miss, but only once has it gone down bad enough to ground the bird. She’s had some hydraulic problems, grounded her a couple of times. Battle damage once, but that’s not exactly chronic." He shrugged. "She ain’t no hangar queen, but she’s had more than a few ailments."
Sora nodded. "What are her up gripes right now?"
McCoy started ticking them off his fingers. "Point six has had some problems with the ejectors; doesn’t always drop. Battle computer has two bad bytes of RAM; unless your target count goes above one hundred, that won’t be a problem. Radar is, as I’ve said, hit or miss; right now, the IFF isn’t energizing. Left-hand gyros are not communicating at all properly with the drive computer; you’ll have to rely completely on imaging for the left arm. Some surface corrosion, since she hasn’t been used for a while. Jungle’s hell on surfaces. Two weak hydraulic pumps; the result being that the bird takes almost three seconds to shift from Gerwalk to Soldier mode."
"Fix that first."
"You worried about the pumps coming apart?"
"Yes, I am." She flipped through the folder in her hand. "Pumps four and twelve?"
"Four and twelve. Four’s in the right engine nacelle, but well protected; if it comes apart, you’ll lose the use of your right leg. Twelve is in the right trailing edge glove; if it comes apart, you’ll lose the ability to fold the right wing. If it comes apart violently enough, you might lose your right tail."
"The plane can fly with only one tail, right?"
"Yep."
"Fix the pumps first anyway." She snapped the gripe list shut. "According to this, this ain’t the first time number four has failed. I’m gonna go over this. I can’t fly for six more days, so you got plenty of time to repair those pumps."
"No problem, Warrant." He was making notes on his own datapad. "Pump replacement will take four days. I want to replace the left-hand gyros as well, since we’ll have the airplane torn down anyway. And I think we can squeeze in the IFF problem as well, if you can shake one extra person free to help out."
"I’ll talk to the Captain about it."
* * * * *
Lt. Borela watched as Naxos 206, the fourth Destroid in Third Lance, stepped off the lift. Naxos 206 was a Spartan MBR-07, a mostly humanoid machine. Instead of a head, it sported a small laser turret; the pilot operated the machine from within a sealed compartment in the torso, with only three small windows for external views. A powerful VR/holographic system gave him more information about their surroundings, but for all intents and purposes, the Spartan was operated entirely on instruments.
It had been more than fifteen years since Borela had piloted mecha of any sort, and that had been a Glaug Combat System. The Glaug had boasted impressive maneuverability, far more so than this walking tank, and excellent visibility, but had been far more fragile than this machine. In truth, he was of two minds which was the better machine.
This Spartan carried the GU-12 rifle/cannon, a large-bore armour-piercing weapon. Despite the great distances it could throw a slug, it was effectively a short-range weapon; the slugs were barely guided, and lost any hope of accuracy beyond half a kilometer. But the Spartans - there were two in the lance - were the close-in support for the larger Mech in the lance: Lucern 104, a Tomahawk MBR-04.
The Tomahawk was somewhat less humanoid than the Spartans; rather than hands, its arms supported massive gun barrells, and under each of the two shoulder missile packs was a cluster of cannon. Six surface-to-air "Diamondback" missiles rested in a box-launcher over the right shoulder; a searchlamp rested over the left. And still no head.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant."
Borela turned, to see a Microne standing near the APC. Who knew how long he’d been standing there; he’d been obliged to shout over the din of the hangar. Borela glanced down at his shoulder boards, and was surprised to see the golden leaf of a Major. He saluted the officer, and was surprised again when the man returned the salute crisply.
"Can I help you, Major?"
"Perhaps. Can you tell me who it was who encountered the two Variable Fighters yesterday?"
Borela frowned; Major or no, this was not a fit subject for conversation on a crowded hangar deck. "I’m afraid you’d have to take that up with Major Sutton, sir."
"All right, fair enough." The man glanced around the deck. "How do I get to him from here?"
Borela’s frown deepened; U.N. Spacy firebases were fairly standardized, and if a person did not know his way around one..."One moment, sir." He cupped his hands over his mouth. "Corporal Able!"
The Corporal stopped whatever it was he was doing - Borela had never entirely figured out what it was Security did from day to day - and ran over to the APC.
"Corporal, I want you to take this man downstairs to Major Sutton’s office. If Major Sutton is not there, take him to see Captain Roberts."
"Yes, sir!"
"And do not let him get lost."
"Understood, sir. This way, sir."
The Major had little choice but to follow the Corporal, but Borela could see that his words had not been lost on the officer.
Naxos 206 was finishing its calibrations, and the Destroid’s pilot flashed a thumbs-up to Lucern 104, the Lance commander. Borela’s radio crackled. "All four units ready to depart, sir."
Borela clicked on his throat-mike. "Very well, Sergeant Tesch. Do you have your navigation data?"
"Yep. All waypoints programmed in."
"Excellent. Let us begin." He switched off the mike, dropped down into the AAR-II, and dogged the overhead hatch.
"Micrones drive the mecha, and the Zentran just drive the bus," grumbled Saro from the machine-gunner’s station.
"Gently, Private. They are sending us because they cannot do the job without us. Corporal, you may start your engines."
* * * * *
"I don’t care if you have a note from God. I cannot allow you to see the black box data."
Major Sutton had been born in Blackpool, England, but had been a resident of North America since before the Global Civil War. His dialect was completely North American, and his accent all but gone. The only time it made an appearance was when he was very angry, or very drunk.
Right now, he was angry.
The Intelligence Major - he had declined to give his name, as many of his ilk were wont - was unruffled. "It is a matter of planetary security, Major Sutton, and my orders are quite clear. I need the FDR readouts at the very least, and preferably the gun camera footage as well."
"I can’t give you that data." One hand unconsciously twisted the end of his mustache. "Ignoring, for the moment, the many regulations banning any tampering with the boxes. The black boxes are sealed units, meant to be decoded only at a full installation. We don’t have the wherewithal to access or display the data, and even if we did, I doubt you have the wherewithal to understand it. They will stay in the avionics bay until they are sent for!"
"It would look very bad on your record, Major, if I were forced to report to my superiors that you were obstructing this investigation."
"You may feel free to report whatever you like to your superiors, Major. Oh, and whom might they be?" He waited, but got nothing but silence for his answer. He nodded. "That’s what I thought."
* * * * *
"Enter."
Hasukawa stepped into the Commander Air Group’s office and saluted.
"Put that away, Sora." Captain Kosuji was a veteran of the Space War, and one of the first female fighter pilots in the U.N. Spacy. She had earned her Ace of Aces ribbon in that war. At the moment, she had her feet up on her desk, one hand behind her head, and a report in the other. She tossed the report onto the desk, and straightened up. "Whaddaya want?"
"Sir, I’d like to requisition one extra tech in order to repair my fighter."
"You’ve been assigned Seraph 224, haven’t you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Varley just handed me the repair report on Seraph 209. So he’s got nothing pressing on his plate. Do you think he’ll have any problems taking orders from McCoy?"
"No, sir." She shook her head. "Varley’s seniority is only a couple of days."
"Right, right..." She grabbed the report, flipped it open, and ran her finger down the list. "He’s pretty good...according to his report, Seraph 209’s got an empty list for the first time since it left the factory." She snapped it shut. "Get him on it, then."
"Yes, sir." She turned to leave.
"Sora."
Hasukawa paused, then turned back. "Yes, sir?"
"I notice you’ve shed no tears over the loss of 210."
Sora flushed slightly at that. "I wanted to be posted to a Rapier squadron, or a Lightning squadron, sir. Flying state of the art machines. Not these dinosaurs."
"These dinosaurs, as you call them, won the Space War. Not the Rapiers, which were a grace note, if anything. And certainly not the Lightning; the prototype for that flew in 2011."
"Yes, sir. But the A-type is the oldest of the Valkyries."
"Noted." She frowned, then turned to look at her TOE. "Tell you what. If you can go a full three months without managing to get yourself in hack - and that’s a full three months from today - I’ll push an upgrade through the Major. Get you installed in a VF-1J. It’s not a Lightning, but it’s a world better than the old A-type."
Sora’s eyes lit up. "The Jaybird is supposed to be a real sweet bird."
"Performance-wise, she isn’t much better than the A. It’s the electronics that are better."
"Better hydraulics, better flight computer, four percent higher Theta levels..."
Kosuji grinned. "For someone who detests those old dinosaurs, you know your stuff, Sora."
"I’ve got to, sir, if I’m ever going to get a newer machine."
"Well, here’s your shot. Stay out of trouble for three months, and Seraph 215 is yours. Supak’s transferring out, so I’m gonna have to re-juggle the entire TOE...And your Lieutenant’s board is coming up in two months." She flipped the younger pilot a thumbs-up. "Who knows, I may even give you Third Flight."
Sora’s eyes lit up, but before she could say anything further, there was a knock on the door.
Kosuji sighed. "Come!" She glanced back at Hasukawa. "Dismissed, Warrant."
The door opened, and Captain Roberts stepped in. Kosuji leaned forward. "Captain."
"Captain." She nodded, then turned to face Hasukawa. "Carry on, Warrant."
"Sir." Hasukawa saluted, turned and left.
"May I?" Roberts gestured towards the chair.
"By all means. Coffee?"
"No, thank you." Roberts sighed. "Mina, I’ve got a problem, and I think you need to be told about it."
Kosuji shrugged. "Shoot."
"Someone tried to force their way into the avionics bay earlier today."
"Whoa!" Every last scrap of Kosuji’s attention was now on the Captain. "I don’t like that idea at all! Hell, the friggin’ nukes’ detonators are in there!"
"Exactly." She pulled out her notebook. "At 0745, a Major of Intelligence, who refused to give his name, turned up in the mecha hangar, asking to speak with Hasukawa or Black. He was directed instead to Major Sutton. Major Sutton reports that he was in conversation with the Major from 0830 until about 0945. Apparently, the visiting Major needed to communicate with his superiors."
"So where is he now?"
"Oh, wandering the base, most likely asking nosy questions." Roberts flipped a page in her notebook. "But the attempt to bypass security was made at 0930, while Major Matuchek was in Communications."
"Thought he didn’t give his name."
"Do I ask you how you fly fighters? No? Then leave me to my methods." She snapped the notebook shut. "Matuchek wanted the Flight Data Recorders from Seraph 210."
"Good luck," snorted Kosuji. "Those left by helicopter yesterday."
"Really?" Roberts’ eyebrows rose. "Does Major Sutton know this?"
"He does."
Roberts grinned. "Guess he wanted to jerk this guy around." She sobered. "But I think we have reason to suspect someone on our Firebase of being an Intelligence spook."
* * * * *
The Daedalus-class submersible mecha transport was unable to approach the Hong Kong docks under her own power; the churn from her massive screws would flatten the hundreds of small boats tied up around the city. The harmour had twelve tugs available for such duty, but the Drake’s captain would have none of that; several of her Spartan Destroids were drawing lines, like thirty-tonne sailors pulling in a fifteenth-century galleon. The docking operation would likely take another day, after which the Drake’s crew would have a two-week liberty in the city. And even though it had taken a horrible pounding at the hands of Dolza’s armada, Hong Kong was still there, and still beautiful.
The tall, blond man clapped a hand on his even taller companion’s shoulder. "Easy, Kinota. We can’t do anything today, anyway. Not for at least seven more days."
"They were idiots, Gregory."
Gregory shook his head. "I disagree. We had to move the planes, we had to move them immediately, and we still didn’t know the firebase’s patrol schedule. It’s just bad luck, my friend."
"Bad luck." Kinota turned to face the Human. "Bad luck is what you Micrones blame everything on. The pilots should not have attempted to engage the U.N. Spacy fighters!"
"We still don’t know what exactly happened."
"It doesn’t matter, in the long run. We lost the aircraft. The pilots paid for their stupidity with their lives." Kinota turned back to face the docks.
"How much of a crimp will the loss of the two Variable Fighters put in your operation?"
"A fairly sizeable one." Kinota sighed. "I don’t suppose that the prototype can fly, can it?"
"It can, but it won’t fly as well as the two lost fighters."
"It doesn’t need to."
"There is also one other aircraft. We haven’t finished it yet, but it should be ready by the time you need it."
"Can you be certain of that?"
"Oh, yes." Gregory nodded. "Powerplants have already been fitted, as have avionics, and both tested out fine. We just need to finish surfacing the jet. As long as you don’t mind it seeing combat on its maiden voyage, it will be ready."
"Good." He smiled. "The crash site is certain to draw attention very soon; we must get as much out of it as we can, and to our new headquarters."
* * * * *