Disclaimer
I don't own Macross. If I did, I would be far too rich to be
bothered writing fan fiction.
02: Situation
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 Fifteen 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."
* * * * *