“Captain Hutcheson and company requesting permission to come aboard.”
Hutch, Scarecrow and their flight crews stepped through the portal and into the transporter room of SWS Oleander.
Hutch and his team saluted as he spoke. His counterpart, the Oleander CAG, stepped forward and returned their salute.
“Permission granted,” the CAG replied as a female Boatswain’s mate piped them aboard. “It’s good to see you again, Hutch.” He turned to Scarecrow. “We’re all anxious to see what you can do, Commander. I think introductions are in order.”
“Of course,” Hutch said. “Captain Brett ‘Shere-Khan’ Collins, allow me to introduce Commander Steve ‘Scarecrow’ Richardson and his flight crew–Lieutenant Commander Vince Williams and Lieutenant Stacey MacPherson. And my flight crew–Lieutenant Commander Percy Edwards, and Lieutenant Rob Jones.”
“Good to see you again, Vince. You too, Percy.” Collins smiled, then turned back to Scarecrow.
“So this is the infamous Scarecrow we’ve all been hearing about. The scourge of the snakeheads!” he pumped Scarecrow’s hand as he spoke.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, CAG,” Scarecrow replied.
“We’ve heard quite a bit … all of it good, of course. Everyone here is anxious to see you in action.”
“If all goes well, I’m hoping we’ll be able to solve your pest control problem for you.”
“Indeed …” Collins eyed Scarecrow for a moment, sizing him up. Then he smiled. “Hutch, I have a briefing to prepare for. I’ll see you and your team at 1300 hours. But for now, the petty officer will show you to your billets, and then Admiral Stanton wants to meet with the two of you.” He motioned to Scarecrow and Hutch, then saluted and left.
“Welcome aboard Oleander, Sirs. I’m Petty Officer Jim Hanson.” The petty officer stepped forward and snapped a sharp salute. “I’ll show you to your billets now.”
Hanson led the Nautilus officers out of the transporter room down the passageway. They passed numerous crewmen, who stopped and saluted, then stared and whispered to each other once the Nautilus team was past them. Scarecrow and Hutch looked at each other in surprise.
“You’d think they’d never seen a TR-3B flight crew before.” Williams thought out loud.
“No, Sir, it’s not that. They’ve never seen a bona fide ‘ace’ before,” the petty officer said. “Your reputation precedes you, Commander Richardson. D’you know what the crew’s calling this enemy bird, Sirs?”
“Enlighten us, Petty Officer.” Hutch said.
“They call him the ‘Red Baron,’ Sir.”
“Then who does that make me?” Scarecrow asked. “Charlie Brown?”
“No Sir,” MacPherson replied. “It makes you Snoopy.” She released a slight chuckle.
“Yeaaah, I don’t think so …” the commander said. “I’ll stick with Scarecrow.”
“Enter!” Was heard through the hatch.
The petty officer ducked into the rear admiral’s office and saluted as Scarecrow and Hutch followed him in.
“Admiral Stanton–Captain Hutcheson and Commander Richardson reporting as ordered, Ma’am.”
The pilots stood to attention and saluted.
“Thank you, Petty Officer. Dismissed.” Stanton leaned back in her chair and stared over a tent formed by her fingers as the petty officer exited the room. With her head canted forward, Stanton scrutinized the pilots for a moment, then turned her attention to Scarecrow.
“Good to see you again, Hutch,” she kept her eyes on Scarecrow as she spoke.
“You too, Ma’am. It’s been a while.”
“It has been too long. Didn’t get a chance to connect with you on Mars …” The battle group commander continued to stare, her eyes fixed on Scarecrow. He remained at attention, eyes forward, not once daring to make eye contact with Stanton. He knew what this was.
“At ease …”
The Nautilus pilots relaxed, if only somewhat. After several moments of uneasy silence, Stanton leaned forward and turned to look at Hutch.
“So this is Reynolds’ famous hot-shot pilot.” Her demeanor was stern. “What can you tell me about him, CAG?”
“Everything you’ve heard about him is tr–”
“With respect, Ma’am, I can speak for mys–”
“On my ship, you speak when spoken to, Commander.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Scarecrow stiffened as he replied.
Louise got up and walked over to stand in front of Scarecrow, barely a foot from him. He was more than a full head taller than her, and she had to peer up at him to attain eye contact, but that didn’t deter her. He could smell her perfume, mixed with perspiration. As her eyes bored into his, he remained as still as a standing stone, never returning her gaze. He continued looking straight ahead, over her.
“I hate chiggers.” She broke the nervous silence.
“Ma’am?” Scarecrow’s demeanor morphed to puzzlement.
“Know what a chigger is, Commander?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well, I’ve got one right now, and he’s tryin’ to crawl up my butt … and your BGC tells me you can scratch ‘em for me …”
“Admiral?” Scarecrow refocused his gaze to stare down at Stanton.
“At ease, Scarecrow, I wasn’t comin’ on to you. You’ve sold me.” She returned to her seat, then began typing on her tablet. “Jon speaks highly of you, Steve, and if that’s all I had to go on, I’d still be convinced. I’ve read a number of your AARs, and I was impressed by your presentation at the Mars pow-wow. This Red Baron I’ve got buzzing around my ship is more than just a nuisance.”
“We prefer to call him ‘Black Bart,’ Ma’am,” Hutch said.
“Black Bart? Why?”
“We went with the gunslinger analogy because of the way he challenged Scarecrow with his message. Like an outlaw calling out the marshal for a gunfight in the street at high noon.”
“Hmmm, Black Bart, eh? I like that. Well, Marshal Richardson, I need you to burn him down for me. He took out four of my birds. Those fellas were more than just my crew … they were family,” she gritted her teeth as she spoke. “I don’t want you to just take him out–I want you to tear him apart. I want you to make him hurt!”
“Message received, Admiral.” Scarecrow turned and stared at Stanton, his expression resolute. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Good.” Stanton reached across her desk and offered Hutch a data key. “Here’s all of the intel we have on his engagement with my birds. Sensors as well as tactical readouts. Study it, both of you. You might gain some insight on this threat.” She stared at them once more with grim determination. “As we speak, we’re headed back towards the Proxima system, where we first encountered this bandit. When we arrive, we’ll begin broadcasting a message that you’re responding to his challenge.
“I’ve lost four of my birds to this snakehead, so we only have five TR-3Bs left. Destrier loaned us one of theirs while you were transporting over, so that gives us a total of six. I’m not takin’ any chances, gentlemen. I’m sending all of you out after your ‘Black Bart.’ He wants you, Richardson, so you’ll be flight lead. Sorry, CAG, but he didn’t ask for you.”
“No apology’s necessary, Ma’am. Scarecrow and I have flown together long enough that I have no problem deferring to him on this mission.”
“Good. Squash this chigger for me and let’s be done with him.”
At 1300 hours the pilots and their flight crews met in Oleander’s CAG-OPS. Shere-Khan introduced the Nautilus flight crews to his pilots flying the mission with them.
“Here’s the sensor data we collected from our two previous engagements,” Shere-Khan said as he activated an ARI at the front of CAG-OPS. All eyes scrutinized the data now scrolling beside a schematic of the enigmatic saucer, spinning slowly in the air before them.
“This is definitely not your typical snakehead TR,” Williams said.
“No,” Shere-Khan replied. “As you can see, this fighter is a third larger than their standard model. It has a larger power plant, and its defenses have been upgraded.”
“Ablative armor, increased shield density,” Scarecrow said as he squinted at the wraith-like display. “Even the ventral ports have been reinforced. Weapons almost two-thirds more powerful. No wonder you were defeated.” He looked over at the Oleander CAG. “No offense.”
“None taken. You’re right. Notice also there are six life-sign signatures. Two reptilians and four grays. They normally only have one pilot and his pair of minions. I’m guessing this fighter has a pilot and WSO.”
The room was silent.
“We need more TR-3Bs,” one of Shere-Khan’s pilots said.
“We’ve got six. That’ll have to do,” Scarecrow replied.
“Why didn’t you bring your own birds?” The pilot added.
“Because when we got the call, half our air wing was sequestered behind several hundred tons of equipment to be shipped to Mars,” Hutch replied. “The other half is flying defensive counter-air for Nautilus. We could have waited until it was off-loaded, but your Battle Group Commander insisted we come as soon as possible. The six will have to do.”
“Destrier’s air wing could join us.”
“They have somewhere else to be right now.”
“Six will be sufficient,” Shere-Khan said as he cast his pilot a punitive gaze.
“Alright,” Hutch said. “Let’s figure out how to burn down this dragon-wagon.”
Shere-Khan brought up the telemetry of both engagements on the ARI. Everyone studied it intently. First, a playback of the destruction of the original pair of Oleander TR-3Bs, then Shere-Khan’s abortive second assault.
“I’ve studied the tactical readouts and determined the enemy used a scenario where it placed one of Oleander’s birds between it and the other …” Shere-Khan narrated as the ghostly ARI scenario unfolded in slow-motion, “… thereby eliminating the first bird’s ability to target it. Then it only needed to deal with fire from one bird, reducing our section’s advantage. It appears that the snakehead saucer’s maneuvering capabilities are much greater than we’ve seen in previous encounters.”
It was obvious that several of the team became unnerved by this fact. Stacey fidgeted in her seat as the CAG spoke. Scarecrow noticed her uneasiness.
Scarecrow followed the sensor readout as it played the second engagement again. “I suggest our method of attack should be to form a circle around the enemy craft, and attack in a pinwheel formation. That way, it won’t have the opportunity to use any of us as cover, and it’ll have to receive fire from all six TR-3Bs at once.”
“Makes sense,” a junior pilot said. “Bird brain’s inter-connectivity between our TR-3B’s will keep us from committing friendly fire.”
“Yeah. We know,” Hutch replied, his voice deadpan.
They continued for some time, and as they were wrapping up their briefing, the comm clicked.
“Stanton to CAG-OPS.”
“Go ahead, Admiral,” Shere-Khan responded.
“Tactical reports we have a bogey on an approach vector. Looks like our chigger took the bait. Better saddle up, CAG.”
“Aye, Ma’am. We’re on our way, now.”
“Happy hunting. Stanton out.”