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+--- Thread: Reckless Abandon (/showthread.php?tid=86443)
Reckless Abandon - Stoat - 08-29-2012
On New London, Rachel hit the ground running. She was getting tired now. Physical training was all well and good, but she wanted to be in the cockpit, not stuck planet-side, running through mud, water and god knows what else. She pictured herself strapping into her Templar and a smile crossed her lips, just as she ran headlong into the fence she'd forgotten she had to jump. Her breath whooshed out of her as she folded double over the wooden rail before sliding ungracefully back into the mud.
"Furlough!!" came a scream, echoing across the assault course. Red faced and angry, Sergeant Major Jones was making a bee-line for her. She groaned, but not loud enough for the Sergeant Major to hear. "What the hell do you think you are doing, Furlough, sitting there on your arse in the middle of my assault course? Get up! Get the hell up, and if you run into another of my obstacles you'll be running into my fist in the ring!! You got me, Furlough?"
Rachel hauled herself to her feet and snapped to attention, or at least the closest she could manage with mud and water dripping off her.
"Sir, yes sir!" she barked.
"So, get moving Furlough!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
She vaulted the fence with ease, leaving the fuming Jones behind. She made sure she concentrated for the remainder of the course, and as she crossed the finish collapsed to the ground, joining the majority of her squad in the mud. When she sat up, she saw an officer standing not five feet away, studying her. She hauled herself to her feet and saluted.
"Ensign Furlough," said the officer, returning her salute. "You have been assigned. Get showered, get your gear, and get to the space port. You're heading for the Harlow."
Reckless Abandon - Stoat - 08-29-2012
Sat at his communications console, Adam Earhart's head raised slightly.
**...-We- require host...selection -Yours-...{urgency}...**
Adam contemplated briefly. He kept a close eye on the ensigns that were stationed on the Harlow, always looking for a suitable host candidate. The ongoing war with Gallia was proving wasteful of resources though. The most suitable candidates were all now dead, leaving pickings decidedly slim. There was one, though. A female, Ensign Rachel Furlough, and it seemed she was soon to be promoted to the rank of Lieutenant. Adam had initially discarded her as unsuitable. She was reckless, impatient and impulsive. Not the best qualities in a host, but needs must.
**...host identified...**
Adam sat back in his chair and stretched. This would require some careful planning.
Reckless Abandon - Stoat - 09-04-2012
The tannoy barked into life
'Battlestations! Battlestations! All pilots to your vessels. All crews to your guns. Battlestations! Battlestations!'
Rachel fell out of her bunk, hauled on her flight suit and ran for the hangers. A month she'd been stationed on the Harlow now, and the training regime was getting tedious. She longed for some real action, an actual fight.
As she approached the hangars, a figure stepped out of a doorway, too close to avoid. She noticed the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander on the figures shoulder as they collided, both crashing headlong to the deck. She got to her feet, and hurried to the Lieutenant Commander as he started to rise. Standing aside him, she reached forth her hand to help him rise. A firm hand grasped hers.
'Sir! Oh, sir, I'm so .........' she stopped suddenly as she caught sight of who she was talking to, flustered.
'Oh!' she exclaimed. She was looking into the eyes of none other than Austin Rodney Goodman, Bretonian war hero, anti-hero, and barracks room pin-up. He was also one of the reasons she had decided to join up. Deep down, she wanted to be just like him. A Bretonian hero. 'I ....... ah...... um......... Sorry sir! Battlestations! Must dash!!'
She spun on her heel and flew the remaining distance to the hanger bay, and the safety of her Templar, muttering one word over and over.
Five minutes later she was in space, safe, but still swearing.
'Delta wing, report in.' The voice of Lieutenant Carter crackled in her headset. Her wingmen started to sound off.
'Delta seven, sir!' she called in order.
'Good show, delta wing. You're getting there. Break and head for home. We'll be debriefing in fifteen.'
The Templars turned and headed back to the Harlow. Once docked, Rachel joined her wing and headed for the debrief. Sat in the room, she chatted idly as they awaited the Lieutenant. Eventually he entered, and they stood as he made his way to the podium.
'At ease.'
The ensigns sat back into their chairs. All eyes were on Carter. This, they knew, was where they got their assignments. This would be the final part of their training. Active service as part of one of the fleets. Collectively they held their breath in anticipation.
'Well done, delta wing. You have all successfully completed the training program, albeit some more successfully than others. You get a week planetside, then you report to your new fleets. These are as follows. Jenkins, Markey, Baldock, you're headed for the Essex. Brown, Jones and Grey, the Derby. Simkins, Furlough, Hachett, the York. Wright, Maxey, Millar, the Suffolk. Carter, Blake, O'Grady, the Ark Royal. Congratulations ensigns!' Carter saluted. Delta wing rose and returned the salute crisply, smiles on all their faces. 'Dismissed!'
A cheer erupted from delta wing and they turned to congratulate each other on their postings.
RE: Reckless Abandon - Stoat - 10-12-2012
Rachel sat on her bunk, staring in disbelief at the Lieutenants pips she cupped in her palm. It had all gone so fast. From her decision to join up only four months had passed, and now here she was, an officer in the armed forces. She remembered the two ensigns that had been posted to the York with her. James Simkins and Donnie Hachett, both dead. Simkins lost to Gallic forces only two days after they were posted to the York, Hachett to Molly terrorists as he was on a routine patrol to Planet Leeds just a week ago.
It seemed so senseless, the unrelenting loss of life. Besieged on all sides, she didn’t think things looked good for Bretonia. She’d had her fair share of close calls as well. Twice she’d lost her Templar, both times to Gallic forces. Then the most recent loss of a Challenger to a corsair Imperator. That still smarted. She received an almighty bollocking for trying to tackle the gunboat solo, and the fact that she’d eventually received backup from the BPA held little water with her superior officers, especially when he’d lost his own Challenger as well. Resources. It was all about resources, and human lives didn't seem to factor into those resources .
Reckless, that’s what they’d called her. Decision making skills insufficient for an officer of the armed forces. She rubbed angrily at a tear that was starting to form. Bastards! She hurt enough from the knowledge she’d let the corsair escape, she didn’t need it rubbed in all the more. And the furore she’d caused when she suggested that more time be spent developing the tracking ability of their Nova torpedoes……. She sighed deeply, before reattaching her pips. It was too late to regret her decisions now. She glanced at her watch. Time for yet another patrol. Grabbing her flight suit, she pulled it on and then ran for the hangars.
A trip to Newcastle this time, the cushy patrol. It had been two weeks since anyone had been lost in Newcastle. As she launched, she hoped that would continue.
RE: Reckless Abandon - Stoat - 01-29-2013
Newcastle.
So much empty space. That was why this patrol run was considered cushy. The chance of actually happening across hostiles was monumentally slim. Unless you were walking into a trap, but then you were screwed anyway. Rachel sighed deeply.
“Got a problem there Furlough?” The voice of Major Howiss crackled in Rachel’s ear.
“No sir, just ………….” Her voice trailed off.
“Stay focused! That goes for all of you. It’s the moment you switch off that everything goes to hell, remember that. We’ve got a boring job to do. Two days in our cockpits, with nothing but a tube to piss in and some pretty rotten rations. Change heading to seven four niner, repeat seven four niner. We’re heading for sector hotel six I’m afraid. We drew the short straw.”
There was a series of groans as the four Templars swung to the new course. This was a trip to the edges of the system, with little to see and less to do. The last patrol to the sector had recorded nothing. They all expected to discover the same.
*******
The hours passed slowly. Asteroids slowly gave way to hydrogen clouds, which gave way to nothingness. The view was pretty, she supposed, but twenty three hours into their patrol it no longer held the beauty it had. With the Templar on autopilot she started to doze.
She was flying through a nebula of some sort. She was in peril, of that she was certain, but little else. As the clouds of the nebula started to give way she saw something ahead, far in the distance…..
![[Image: 1_zps4053cc28.png]](http://i537.photobucket.com/albums/ff332/lib3drakeaj/Furlough/1_zps4053cc28.png)
As she strained to make sense of what she was seeing a noise started to grow. Static, getting louder. A voice. Major Howiss?
“..ant Furlough!” she jerked awake, a cold sweat on her brow.
“Yessir! Sorry sir!”
“Damn it all Furlough, what was I saying before? You’ll be on report for this one. Falling asleep in your cockpit. This is not going to go down well with the brass. Now get your shit together. We have an anomaly ahead. Your job is going to be to investigate it. Get moving.”
“Yessir!” She glanced quickly at her display and swung her Templar towards the anomaly. She could see it plainly. A swirling, hazy ball. Electricity forked across it. She moved closer, before stopping, and scanned, gathering data for later analysis.
![[Image: 2_zpsaf333fbf.png]](http://i537.photobucket.com/albums/ff332/lib3drakeaj/Furlough/2_zpsaf333fbf.png)
A memory suddenly sparked. She’d seen something like this before.
“Sir! I think I know what this is. It’s a wormhole, sir.”
“Well bloody done, Lieutenant. Of course it’s a bloody wormhole! What we need is to find out where it goes!”
“Sir? We need to find out where it goes, sir?”
“Yes Furlough, of course we do.”
“Roger, sir.” She took a deep breath, and kicked in her engines.
“No Furlough!” came the panicked voice of the Major. “Don’t bloody jum……..”
Too late she tried to reverse thrust. Light exploded around her. She was pressed back into her seat, and alarms screamed. She was thrown from side to side like a rag doll as the Templar bucked and rolled. Just as she thought the vessel would start to fall apart, the violence began to subside. The blinding light dimmed, and something resolved itself in front of her. She stared around, mesmerised. She was not where she had been, she knew that much. She opened the navigational computer. One word flashed across the screen. Uncharted. She swallowed. Then she saw something move. Dead ahead, emerging from behind an asteroid.
![[Image: 3_zps24198344.png]](http://i537.photobucket.com/albums/ff332/lib3drakeaj/Furlough/3_zps24198344.png)
Now I'm screwed, she whispered. Fear coursed through her. These things had been seen before, and this one had seen her. She looked around desperately. She had seconds.
There! The wormhole! She kicked in her engines, knowing this was her only chance. Anywhere was better than here. As the wormhole took hold of her Templar again, a bolt of energy passed through the space where she had been.