Yeah, and they said I'd never make it this far. Still, got a way to catch up to Jo, though.
Okay here's a short exert from Book 2 of the Hope Island Chronicles: First Comes Duty.
Context: As a rookie (grommitt) pilot Nathan has been posted to a small aircraft carrier. It holds only five fighters, hence the small. He's turned up with another grommitt who's a bit of a bother and they have both been evaluated. Now for the pilot's debrief:
“So what do you think, Bird?” Chappell asked.
Jay took a sip from his coffee mug then leaned back in his chair. Six hours of intense evaluation had left the pilots fatigued. With the boat underway and blue watch half completed the three of them had the wardroom to themselves.
“If Whitney’s ego was any bigger it would have its own orbital path.” The officers chuckled yet full well knew how quickly a bad attitude could get a pilot killed. “I don’t like to say it, Boss, but he’s not bad. He has a lot to learn but his basic skills are sound.”
Chappell nodded slowly. “Dash?”
“Telford is exceptional,” she said. “I’m not just talking about him winning the Ellison Trophy. He has a natural instinct for flying I wish I had during my first deployment. Telford could actually be the real deal. You know, what they used to call a natural stick and rudder pilot.”
“That good?” Chappell found it hard to keep the surprise from her voice. Dash had never given a pilot such a wrap.
“He needs seasoning, to be sure, but I think we’ve got a live one here.”
“Hmm,” Chappell said non-committally.
“Better be good to him, Boss.” Dash smiled mischievously. “You’ll probably be working for him one day.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“How did he trap aboard?” Dash asked.
“Right on the center line and picked up the third wire,” Chappell said. She should be pleased that one of her new pilots showed competence.
“And wonder boy Whitney?” Bird asked.
“Slightly off center and picked up the number two wire.”
“Hmm, room for improvement then,” Bird said.
The pilots chatted for a few minutes about the coming mission. The hatch slipped open and Telford stepped over the coaming. He stopped halfway inside the room.
“Is this a bad time, Boss?”
Yes quick, very quick.
Dash sported a lazy smile. “We stopped talking about you ages ago.”
“Great,” Telford said, making his way to the coffee urn.
The boat’s cook made an appearance. “Hey, Mister Telford, can I get you anything?”
“No thanks, cookie. I’ll wait till main meal for you to poison me.”
“Only the best of my poison for officers.” He winked then turned away.
The three pilots continued their conversation but their attention wandered irresistibly to the simple act of coffee preparation by Nathan’s choice of condiments. Pilots took their coffee black, almost by virtue of an unwritten dictum. Telford placed four satchels of sugar and a large glob of cream into his mug. He turned from the bench, catching three curious expressions focused on his activity.
His forehead creased for a moment then he glanced at his mug and back at the pilots.
“My foster-father owns a coffee plantation on Kastoria.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
A muttering of understanding ended their fascination with the subject. Anyone raised on a world that produced the finest coffee in the League of Allied Worlds would find the standard issue Corp coffee in need of attention. Nathan joined them and sipped his coffee, wincing minutely.
“How was your first day?” Chappell’s curiosity got the better of her.
He smiled. “Lieutenant Valetta showed me –”
“Hey,” she pointed at her chest, “Dash.”
“My first day. Hmm.” A tight smile stretched his lips. “Fighter training is one thing but service aboard an operational MEB is something else. In a few hours, Dash showed me some moves you can only learn from experience.” He sat back and sighed. “It’s a whole new adventure.”
“Not your first adventure,” Jay offered.
Nathan’s forehead creased.
“I think Bird is talking about your time on Truculent,” Dash said.
His jaw tightened. “That was anything but an adventure.”
“According to the news nets,” Chappell said, “you acquitted yourself well.”
A sardonic grunt. “If you believe the nets, I single handedly stormed onto the Picaroon, massacred a couple of hundred of those dastardly headhunters, rescued every one of the captives then moseyed home, while patting myself on the shoulder.”
Everyone chuckled. Chappell needed more.
“The nets tout you as the hero of the Genevieve Incident. You did a lot of interviews, at the time.”
His eyebrows locked together. “I hated every one of them. But commodore, pardon me, Admiral Waugh, told me if I tried to avoid them it would create a feeding frenzy. I didn’t want those leeches getting anywhere near my family, so I took her advice. There were more than thirty of us on Picaroon, not just me. That’s what I told them but they reported a completely different story. Lying bastards.”
Chappell smiled inwardly.
“Not a fan of the media, then? Bird asked.
“I get more honesty and common sense from a Gary Larson cartoon.”
“Who?”
“Gary Larson.” Blank stares. “A twentieth century, old Earth cartoonist. Come on, you guys haven’t read Larson?’
Shaking heads.
“I’ll pop some into the boat’s data base. They’re insightful and hilarious.”
“I’ll check it out. Oh, by the way, how are you settling in with your roomy?” Dash teased.
“It’s not so bad.” He smiled ruefully. “I can only hope he doesn’t talk in his sleep.”
Okay here's a short exert from Book 2 of the Hope Island Chronicles: First Comes Duty.
Context: As a rookie (grommitt) pilot Nathan has been posted to a small aircraft carrier. It holds only five fighters, hence the small. He's turned up with another grommitt who's a bit of a bother and they have both been evaluated. Now for the pilot's debrief:
“So what do you think, Bird?” Chappell asked.
Jay took a sip from his coffee mug then leaned back in his chair. Six hours of intense evaluation had left the pilots fatigued. With the boat underway and blue watch half completed the three of them had the wardroom to themselves.
“If Whitney’s ego was any bigger it would have its own orbital path.” The officers chuckled yet full well knew how quickly a bad attitude could get a pilot killed. “I don’t like to say it, Boss, but he’s not bad. He has a lot to learn but his basic skills are sound.”
Chappell nodded slowly. “Dash?”
“Telford is exceptional,” she said. “I’m not just talking about him winning the Ellison Trophy. He has a natural instinct for flying I wish I had during my first deployment. Telford could actually be the real deal. You know, what they used to call a natural stick and rudder pilot.”
“That good?” Chappell found it hard to keep the surprise from her voice. Dash had never given a pilot such a wrap.
“He needs seasoning, to be sure, but I think we’ve got a live one here.”
“Hmm,” Chappell said non-committally.
“Better be good to him, Boss.” Dash smiled mischievously. “You’ll probably be working for him one day.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“How did he trap aboard?” Dash asked.
“Right on the center line and picked up the third wire,” Chappell said. She should be pleased that one of her new pilots showed competence.
“And wonder boy Whitney?” Bird asked.
“Slightly off center and picked up the number two wire.”
“Hmm, room for improvement then,” Bird said.
The pilots chatted for a few minutes about the coming mission. The hatch slipped open and Telford stepped over the coaming. He stopped halfway inside the room.
“Is this a bad time, Boss?”
Yes quick, very quick.
Dash sported a lazy smile. “We stopped talking about you ages ago.”
“Great,” Telford said, making his way to the coffee urn.
The boat’s cook made an appearance. “Hey, Mister Telford, can I get you anything?”
“No thanks, cookie. I’ll wait till main meal for you to poison me.”
“Only the best of my poison for officers.” He winked then turned away.
The three pilots continued their conversation but their attention wandered irresistibly to the simple act of coffee preparation by Nathan’s choice of condiments. Pilots took their coffee black, almost by virtue of an unwritten dictum. Telford placed four satchels of sugar and a large glob of cream into his mug. He turned from the bench, catching three curious expressions focused on his activity.
His forehead creased for a moment then he glanced at his mug and back at the pilots.
“My foster-father owns a coffee plantation on Kastoria.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
A muttering of understanding ended their fascination with the subject. Anyone raised on a world that produced the finest coffee in the League of Allied Worlds would find the standard issue Corp coffee in need of attention. Nathan joined them and sipped his coffee, wincing minutely.
“How was your first day?” Chappell’s curiosity got the better of her.
He smiled. “Lieutenant Valetta showed me –”
“Hey,” she pointed at her chest, “Dash.”
“My first day. Hmm.” A tight smile stretched his lips. “Fighter training is one thing but service aboard an operational MEB is something else. In a few hours, Dash showed me some moves you can only learn from experience.” He sat back and sighed. “It’s a whole new adventure.”
“Not your first adventure,” Jay offered.
Nathan’s forehead creased.
“I think Bird is talking about your time on Truculent,” Dash said.
His jaw tightened. “That was anything but an adventure.”
“According to the news nets,” Chappell said, “you acquitted yourself well.”
A sardonic grunt. “If you believe the nets, I single handedly stormed onto the Picaroon, massacred a couple of hundred of those dastardly headhunters, rescued every one of the captives then moseyed home, while patting myself on the shoulder.”
Everyone chuckled. Chappell needed more.
“The nets tout you as the hero of the Genevieve Incident. You did a lot of interviews, at the time.”
His eyebrows locked together. “I hated every one of them. But commodore, pardon me, Admiral Waugh, told me if I tried to avoid them it would create a feeding frenzy. I didn’t want those leeches getting anywhere near my family, so I took her advice. There were more than thirty of us on Picaroon, not just me. That’s what I told them but they reported a completely different story. Lying bastards.”
Chappell smiled inwardly.
“Not a fan of the media, then? Bird asked.
“I get more honesty and common sense from a Gary Larson cartoon.”
“Who?”
“Gary Larson.” Blank stares. “A twentieth century, old Earth cartoonist. Come on, you guys haven’t read Larson?’
Shaking heads.
“I’ll pop some into the boat’s data base. They’re insightful and hilarious.”
“I’ll check it out. Oh, by the way, how are you settling in with your roomy?” Dash teased.
“It’s not so bad.” He smiled ruefully. “I can only hope he doesn’t talk in his sleep.”
. Coming, relatively soon.
