Gunner stood on the flight deck of Barrow Base, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he was unsure of what to do or say. He could whine? Beg for forgiveness? That might get him some kind of forward momentum, but at the cost of making himself look weak. Gunner despised weakness. The new Alliance Commander also represented everything but weakness. No, better to take a strong stance.
"Yes, sir," Gunner said. "With the recent incursion of Rheinland foreign nationals due to the war, I was tasked with safe-guarding Liberty space, sir. My wingman, Mel Travers, defected in the line of duty and fled to conspire with Junkers and anti-nationalist sympathizers. I took it upon myself to bring the defector to justice and prevent any unnecessary intelligence leaks, sir."
There was no visible change to the Commander's expression, he seemed to neither be satisfied nor disappointed by this explanation. Every word he had just been fed was being thoroughly chewed on and processed, until one in particular stood out like a piece of bone in an otherwise pleasant meal. "Justice?" He scoffed. "This was a crusade for the sake of your pride. To prove betraying you wouldn't end well. Enlighten me, how many people did we lose trying to appease your bruised ego?" While the manner in which these words were conveyed was perfectly polite, there was a bitter undertone of contempt that could easily be picked up on.
Things could only go downhill from here because not only did this brute act without any sort of oversight, he had run away from a fight he picked. If the intention was to show as little weakness as possible then not only was this a near-fatal failure, but it proved the image he sought to so violently dispel.
"Yes, justice. And no matter how many men and women we need to sacrifice, we pursue and take that justice for us and for all of Liberty. Is there actually a cost too high for that end...sir?" Gunner remembered the formality of addressing his superior at the last moment. But the contempt and frustration that he normally kept so carefully guarded from his face in situations like this was beginning to break through.
With the smallest shiver of hate in his forearm, the Commander raised an index finger in Gunner's direction. "You're pathetic." The look in his eyes made it seem like only an extreme degree of restraint was responsible for Gunner's continued breathing. "In a few years from now we'll be at war with quite possibly everyone for the soul of an entire country. That's no small thing. And when that time comes we really can't afford to be having our men die on account of barking dogs that rouse them to action but then run away with their tail between their legs. If you believe so fully in this idea of there being no cost too high, then why did you limp back?"
This time rather than let gunner answer, Cobra cut him off with a wave of the hand. "Your hypocrisy isn't even the worse part. Let's weigh the damage this wingman of yours caused." For theatrics, Cobra raised his left hand and then clenched his fist shut. "Nothing really. With the exception of your self esteem perhaps. The Junkers won't bring the fight to us, it would hurt business and the Rogues are already on their payroll to try and take us out where possible."
He then pointed directly at Gunner before continuing. "Now let's compare that to you and your campaign to bring the traitor to justice. You still haven't told me how many people died for your sake. I realize you must be a little thick headed considering you have a second set of goggles on that dome of yours despite one already being on your face. But when I ask you a direct question - you will answer plainly." The Commander's posture stiffened a little, both prepared and entirely comfortable with the possibility of imminent violence.
There was a long pause. Or at the very least it felt like a long pause to everyone on the flight deck, Gunner and the Commander included. In reality it was probably no more than a few tense seconds. But the threat of violence can make even a nanosecond feel like millennia.
Gunner had miscalculated. He had not only very clearly misjudged the Commander's stance, tone, and readiness, but Gunner had also misspoken...gravely. No cost too high? The Commander was right, if he had actually believed that like the rest of the rats scurrying around this base, then he would have gladly let Mel space him and become one with the aether.
But Gunner didn't believe that. Gunner was a predator, and predators eat their prey; they don't sacrifice themselves for "noble" causes. There is one thing, however, that all predators know and abide by: they know when to protect themselves from a greater threat.
...a threat like the newly christened Commander of the Xeno Alliance.
He let loose a high pitched chuckle. "So in the end you did more damage than that cattle activist ever could have."
"You've proven to me you can't be trusted to lead. And that with the Alliance you'd just be a liability. It's fortunate then that you've made either prospect extremely unappealing, it'll save lives and keep our reputation out of the gutter. So for as long as I'm Commander you'll never have a spot with us. You're on your own." With this, the Commander was prepared to leave unless Gunner had anything clever to say that would require a proper lecture.
Gunner gave the Commander a long cold stare. He could yell, but it wouldn't change the man's mind. He understood that at least.
With his right hand he reached up to the patch on his left shoulder, deftly digging his fingers into the patchwork and seams that held it in place. There was silence on the flightdeck save for the tearing of cloth.
Once the it was free, Gunner took of the winged half-star, his symbolic tie to the Alliance, and flicked it at the Commander's feet. And with that he turned on his heel and walked back to his ship.
If Gunner thought this display would somehow wound Damien's pride, he had miscalculated his ability to rise above pettiness and understand just what buttons needed to be pressed. "We always were out of your league." Though in saying this, no move was made to recover the star which had been thrown to the floor. It was just cloth. It had no value beyond the significance it held while worn by those worth the ideals behind the image.
Patiently, the Commander waited until Gunner scurried off and into his ship. And just as the brute had made himself comfortable and started strapping in was when he made a move. It was barely perceptive from that distance. Not to mention how quick Damien could be with sufficient motivation. But in the time Gunner had blinked upon getting seated, the Commander had not only pulled his pocket cannon free but also fired off a shot directly at his canopy.
It was just the one shot. And while it failed to penetrate the toughened glass, which anyone could have guessed, it was placed exactly in line with Gunner's head. If the glass had been removed or otherwise shaved down to cut back on cost - then he would be a momentarily convulsing corpse by now. This was clearly a threat and a loud one at that.
Gunner stared at the small chip in his ship's cockpit window. It wasn't enough to cause decompression, but it was certainly enough to make a statement.
He slowly and methodically traced a finger from the chip in the cockpit to his own forehead. It was a straight line.
Hoping to avoid getting himself into anymore danger by staying on the landing pad for longer than necessary and incurring more of the Commander's wrath, Gunner fired up all systems on the Cobra 1 and got himself airborne.
As he left the Barrow, he prayed to the gods he didn't believe in, and plotted a course deeper into Libertonian space.
There were no more curses. No more promises of revenge or muttered rambling. Both Gunner and the universe knew that if he lived...he would make it everyone's problem.
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