The alarm went off and Falco groaned, grumbling the word "Off". The buzzer
went silent, and he continued to lay in bed for a few minutes, relishing the
feel of the sheets, of his pillow, of the perfect temperature he was at. It
was one of those mornings he just didn't want to get up, even though he'd
been awake for almost a half an hour. He ran through all the things he had
to do in his mind that day, and he knew he had to get up, but it just was so
hard to do.
At last, with a groan, he rolled out of bed, putting his feet on
the cold floor. These temporary quarters were for the birds, he thought.
Even he, a colonel, got the shaft. It would be good to be on the ship, in
his own quarters.
Ahh, the ship. It had no name yet, but it was new, it was fast, and it was
Sinclair's baby right now, and that was something he trusted. Michael
Sinclair was an old friend, and Caius didn't make friends easily, at least
not close ones. It took a lot of time for Caius to trust, but Mike had
earned it. So the fact that his new ship was in his hands made Caius
breathe easier. Mike wouldn't let him down.
A cup of coffee in his hand, he went into the bathroom and looked in the
mirror. What he saw was depressing. Almost fifty, his graying hair cut in
a Marine high and tight, and his weathered face, marred by wrinkles
and a scar that cut down the side of his face from temple to jawbone, made
him look old. He didn't feel that way usually, but this morning he did.
Maybe it was the thought of a new ship, with all those young people aboard.
Or maybe he was just old.
The copper-skinned Magna Roman contemplated his life for a few moments as he
sipped his coffee, but the Marine in him yelled loudly enough that he
finally got his act together and got ready for the day. A shower, a shave,
brushed teeth and fresh uniform made him ready to face the world. As he
walked out the door, the alarm clock in his room rolled to 0600.
-------
The new ship was impressive. Courage class. He liked the name. Courage
was part of the Marine code, and at least half of his pilots were Corps. He
hadn't met them all yet, and he knew very few of the Fleet pilots, but he
knew a fair number of Corps pilots, and that was good. By the end of two
weeks, he hoped to know all their names and by the end of a month, he'd know
about their families as well. And they'd all be coming to him for legal
advice after two months. He was glad he'd kept his bar certification up.
As a college grad, he'd joined the Corps as enlisted infantry. That was how
he'd gotten that scar, and it nearly cost him his life. After his
three-year tour was up, his mother convinced him to go to law school, with
the ultimate goal of getting him out of the Corps. Well, he'd gone to law
school, but in his last year, he'd signed back up for the Corps again, this
time as JAG. His mother was furious, but at least he wasn't in the trenches
anymore. He spent six years as a prosecutor, and he was proud of his
record. His grades had been mediocre, but he'd really shone as a trial
lawyer. He'd thought he was happy. But then a tour as the JAG of a Marine
air base changed all that.
One trip as a guest in a fighter had been all it took. Truth be told, he
hadn't really been happy as a lawyer. He loved his job, but missed the
excitement and honor of real combat. A few calls to people he knew, an
application
that he'd taken two weeks to write so that it would be perfect, and he got a
slot in flight school. After that, he'd never looked back.
And now, twelve years later, he was a colonel and a CAG, and his friend (and
inspiration, if he'd ever admit it) Admiral Sinclair was making the ship
he'd be on next, at the command of six squadrons; one refuelling, one search
and rescue, one fighter, two fighter-attack (with pretty new ships for
those), and one long range surveillance and recon. And the time had come to
see them all.
The hanger deck was busy with activity, from the plane techs to builders
working on finishing touches. He inspected the planes (they were still
called that, since 'ships' would get confusing) and found them all to look
good. Those pretty new F/A's were nice, but he liked his old fighter, which
was there, as he'd requested. She was an older bird, repaired many times,
but he'd done some amazing things in her (including a few women) and
he refused to give her up. Checked out on the new F/A's, he still flew in
the fighter squadron, a man of tradition.
He climbed up the side of one of the new F/A's to poke around the cockpit.
"Colonel!" a voice called, and he stood up and turned.
A pretty woman in a flight suit was standing at the base of the ladder,
Marine major's insignia on her suit.
"Well, hello Charlotte," replied Caius, climbing down the ladder and
offering his hand. "Good to see you again," he said warmly.
She saluted, and he returned it, something that was bred into the Corps.
"It's been a while, Colonel," she smiled. Major Charlotte Briggs was a
pretty brunette with green eyes was almost an inch taller than he was,
coming from a lower gravity colony world. "I'm glad we'll be able to work
together
again."
"I saw your name on the docket," replied Caius. "Glad to see you made it to
squadron commander. You deserve it, especially after Beta Firax."
She winced. "That was the worst day of my life."
"It was almost the last," he reminded her.
"Thanks to you, it wasn't," she replied. "I owe you."
"I hope I don't need to take you up on it," he smiled. "I might look old,
but I don't intend to check out before my time."
"What about that attitude you Magna Romans are always famous for?" she
asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "The one about 'better to die young in
battle than to die old in bed.'?"
"You must have mistaken me for a Klingon or a fool," he replied, chuckling.
"I like life too much, and I wouldn't mind dying an old man."
She smiled. "Good to hear it. So," she said, looking up, "these are the
new ones, eh?"
"They're nice. You'll like them."
"I miss my old one. It worked. New planes, you never know."
"I'll see if I can get permission to have the two squadrons take them out
for a test flight."
"Thank you, sir," she said, relieved. "I'd rather find out here than in a
nasty little altercation with the Rommies." Her hand trailed over the skin
of the plane, her experienced hands feeling not only the metal, but for any
irregularities in it. Briefly, Caius imagined those hands running over his
chest, but he dismissed the thought immediately. She was pretty, but not
worth the pain in the ass inter-squadron romances could be. He'd counseled
enough pilots on it that he knew better.
"Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted," said Caius. I've still got to
go over the other planes and then bury myself in paperwork." He spent most
of his time in the office anymore, a fact that depressed him, but he also
knew it had to be done and it came with the job.
"Thank you, sir." She saluted, and he returned it crisply. "I'll see you
around."
He nodded and went off to explore and check into his planes. Pilots might
get hurt, but it wouldn't be because of something that had been avoidable.
Not on his watch.
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"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
- Thomas Alva Edison (1847-1931)
