Night Squadron - Dar Times

The ten months Ares Crane went missing was one of the darkest periods of Aiden Hunts' life.

***

KMS Odysseus...

It sounded like some sort of sick, cruel, disgusting joke.

Aiden half expected someone to burst out of the supply cabinet opposite of him and yell "Gotcha!" He wanted to know who had put General Kless up to this. First, Aiden would pummel that nameless individual into a pulp. He would then buy them a drink and ask how they managed to get the hard-nosed General to play along with such a gag. One thing was certain though, this prank had yet to tickle his sense of humor.

"We're doing what we can but it's been thirty hours since we heard from Captain Crane," the heavyset General said from his seat on the other side of his desk, uncomfortably running his fingers through his thick hair.

Someone could jump out of the supply cabinet at any time now.

"I'm sorry Commander," the General continued. "I know you two were close. That's why I came down here in person, better you hear it from me than from second-hand chatter."

"I..." Aiden covered his mouth with a closed fist for a moment before speaking up again. "Thank you, General."

Kless stood and gave the young Korscian a sympathetic look. In their brief working relationship together they had never gotten along all that well, but Aiden could sense the sincerity behind the gesture. They had both been at this long enough to know that this kind of news was never pleasant to receive. A part of Aiden was honestly thankful that a man he had butted heads with so many times in such a short period could set aside his differences to relay this message. It was a subtle reminder that in the end, they were all on the same side.

"I need to go relay this news to someone else. Commander, if you need anything don't hesitate to call."

As Kless left, Aiden buried his face in his hands. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to react to the news that his best friend from an admittedly small group of friends was missing? Ares was either dead or, worse, in the hands of the Jaheem. Should he feel angry? Sad? The only thing he could identify was numbness. Kless had been in his office for nearly ten minutes explaining what happened but he barely remembered a word that was said after "It's about Captain Crane." He remembered Kless mentioning vague reports from other agents that his M35 fighter had been disabled and captured in the skies over Carothea. Everything else uttered by the General had flown over his head.

He began to feel the numbness fading. It seemed to coincide with the realization that no one would be jumping out and proclaiming that this was all a gag at his expense. Slowly the first layer of emotion that had been hidden to that point bubbled to the surface: a feeling of utter illness.

Aiden fell out of his desk chair and doubled over, vomiting into the waste bin stored under his desk. After several long minutes he forced himself back onto his seat, wondering idly if he looked as sick as he felt. He found himself oddly focused on the foul taste in his mouth and the burning sensation in his throat. When was the last time some bit of news had caused him such physical distress? His mind quickly flashed back to his teenage years, sitting at a viewport and watching the explosion that destroyed Nars station.

Ares was the closest thing to family he had. The thought of him being dead or thrown into some dank holding cell caused his stomach to lurch again. Taking a deep breath, Aiden leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. What now? He realized with a jolt that he had calls to make. Standing, he made his way to the 'shower adjacent to his office, pouring cold water into his hands and splashing it against his face. He looked in the mirror in an effort to compose himself before toweling off and returning to his desk.

He keyed in a few commands into the terminal. Moments later he was patched through to a Reich Republic training vessel several systems away.

"This is Frigate Panama," a young-looking officer appeared on Aiden's desk holo-display. "Please identify yourself and state the nature of your call."

"This is Commander Aiden Hunt," he replied. "I need to speak to Lieutenants St. John and Fenn, priority clearance."

Perhaps it was an abuse of his rank to issue a priority clearance for a call like this, but at that moment Aiden couldn't be bothered to care. This was far more important than a list of holo-comms etiquette guidelines.

"Understood, patching you through," the officer said. A holding image appeared on the display while the Lieutenants were tracked down

Jarro Fenn and Hanson St. John were former Knights that had been part of the original pre-Siria squadron. Several months earlier they had been reassigned to a starfighter academy to instruct young pilots, something Aiden still wasn't pleased with. He had been trying for weeks to get them back and onto the potential Knight Squadron reformation roster without success. Still, he knew that they were doing good work and that they were happy enough with their new calling.

The holding screen that had been on his display for several minutes vanished, revealing a grinning Jarro and a significantly more even-keeled St. Hanson.

"Long time no talk, Boss," Jarro said. "Now, if this is about the package of stuffed pixar I sent you I swear I can explain."

Jarro did his best to try and smile. A feeling of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach as he tried to formulate words. He had written more of the dreaded "Next of Kin" letters than he cared to remember and though they never became routine, he had at least gotten to the point where he could emotionally prepare himself to deliver bad news to the loved ones of a subordinate. This, however, was so much more personal. He was preparing to relay dreaded news to two individuals that were both close friends of Ares and himself.

"Hanson, Jarro..." Aiden trailed off. How would he prefer to hear this news? Certainly not drawn out. He would want the messenger to get straight to the point.

"There's no easy way to say this," Aiden subconsciously shifted in his seat in a futile effort to calm his nerves. "I just got word that Ares went missing over Carothea yesterday. It's been over thirty hours since last communication but..."

Hanson's face fell, "The reports aren't good, are they?"

Aiden shook his head, "It doesn't appear that Ares made it off-world."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Though it was only a few seconds in reality, it felt like an excruciating eternity for Ares before anyone spoke again.

"That's not funny, Aiden," Jarro said quietly.

He wasn't quite sure how to reply. Aiden could read it in the man's eyes, Jarro wasn't going to admit that Ares could be gone. If he were to be honest, Aiden wasn't quite sure if he believed it either. This was Ares Crane, he'd gotten through plenty of rough scrapes while with Knight Squadron. Surely he'd be able to find a way out of this mess.

"I really wish I had better news," Aiden responded. "We're going to get him back, though. It's going to take more than an Jaheem holding cell to keep him contained."

He smiled, buying into his own foolish words. Jarro seemed to appreciate the thought but Hanson merely offered a half-hearted smile. He may have been the dour one, but he was also a realist. Just the expression on his face cut deep into Aiden.

"Does Wynter know yet?" Hanson asked.

"Wynter...?" Aiden eyes shot wide open. How could he have forgotten? "I'll... I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I need to..."

He didn't bother finishing his thought, standing and terminating the call and running out of his office. Aiden swore at himself aloud for not thinking of her sooner. He knew that she was onboard the Odysseus, they were part of the same asinine Reich Republic-mandated propaganda tour. In hours he was supposed to be paraded in front of diplomatic leaders and she was supposed to play the role of Gisela Deja's body double. Had she heard yet?

General Kless's words flashed back into his brain. He was going to meet with someone else to share the news about Ares. This time Aiden let out an even louder, more scathing curse. Of course she knew. She was the person Kless needed to speak to. Aiden was absolutely furious with himself. That should have been the first thing he had done after finding out. He should have broken the news to her, not some General with which she was only faintly acquainted.

Aiden stopped in front of the door to Wynter's temporary quarters, keying the door chime. After a few moments without an answer he pounded on the steel door and shouted her name. Still no response. Gritting his teeth he ran his fingers over the control pad and committed his second abuse of senior officer privilege of the day, entering in his security bypass code and disarming the lock. The door slid open and he stepped in.

There on the living area floor was Wynter.

In his mind's eye he always saw her as a woman who held herself up in a regal, supremely elegant manner. To see her collapsed on the ground, sobbing into her hands was nothing short of jarring. Once more Aiden was at a complete loss. The only thing he could think of was to sit down next to Wynter, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and simply let her cry on his.

Right at that moment the numbness returned.

***

Somewhere in gravity-drive...

Aiden muttered to himself as he watched the countdown meter mounted to the canopy railing count backwards towards zero. Thirty seconds until the reversion to real-space. He hardly realized how tense he was. Had he not been wearing a pair of black flight gloves he may have been able to see that his knuckles wrapped around the flight-stick and gravity-drive lever had turned white. The moment the meter hit the 00:00:00 he deactivated the gravity-drive. The molten black and blue tunnel of hyperspace gave way to thousands of sharp, white needles before yielding to the sight of a star-field against a back backdrop.

Out in the distance was the Nebula-B class frigate Redemption, the Kriegsmarine's primary medical vessel. He reached for the communication panel of his Valkyrie, trying to activate the subspace radio but instead flipping the switch that controlled the heating unit with an unsteady hand. Cursing, he took a calming breath and activated the correct switch. Easy, Hunt.

"Frigate Redemption this is Luftwaffe Valkyrie One-Zero-Zero-Seven requesting landing clearance," Aiden said into his helmet-mounted microphone.

"Acknowledged, please transmit your security credentials," A voice aboard the Redemption responded.

Aiden depressed a series of buttons on the flight console, "Transmitting security codes."

After several agonizing moments the traffic officer authorized his approach to the hanger on the port-side of the ship. He set down on the designated landing circle, admittedly with a bit less precision than he usually expected from himself. Wasting no time he pulled off his gloves and helmet, keying for the canopy release. Once more he began to mutter to no one but himself as he waited for a deckhand to bring a ladder towards his ship.

After several minutes of waiting he had enough. Clumsily he undid the straps holding him into the flight-seat and stood, launching himself over the edge of the cockpit and towards the ground. His ankle rolled under him as he landed, causing Aiden to wince in pain. The injury wasn't enough to deter him as he half-ran, half-limped towards the hangar exit. 'It's okay, I'm on a medical frigate. They can patch me up after I see him.'

Hours earlier he had received a priority message indicating that Ares had been found. The details were sketchy. From what he understood a Junkers patrol flight had stumbled upon a broken-down Jaheem prisoner transport. After shaking off its escort, a military detail boarded the ship and liberated the prisoners onboard, many of which had been Prisoners of War. They had immediately been transferred to the Redemption for treatment and precautionary evaluations.

Someone matching Ares's description had appeared in that group of recovered POWs. The instant Aiden had been told that he made a break for his Valkyrie. Without bothering to clear his departure with his superiors, he managed to con a deck officer into granting him clearance to leave for the medical ship. One of these days he was going to get a demotion for abusing the powers his rank provided.

After scrambling to the primary medical desk he made his way towards the room where Ares was. Shoving his way past a few guards and doctors, he burst into the recovery room that his friend had been assigned to recuperate in. He scanned the beds, ignoring the startled look some of the patients gave him. He was only dimly aware that he looked somewhat deranged, limping towards them while still clad in his flight gear.

Out of the corner of Ares's eyes he spotted him. A wide grin formed on his face as he stepped towards one of the beds, but the expression soon vanished as he took a good look at the patient. The dark blonde hair was a match and he had the frame of a starfighter pilot, but the man lying unconscious in that bed wasn't Ares. Aiden could see how the unknown former POW could have been mistaken for a Korscian but that did precious little to ease the sensation that he had just been punched in the stomach

He picked up the smart-pad hanging at the end of Not-Ares's bed. Just as he feared, the patient had been mistakenly identified. Any lingering hopes that he had simply been given the wrong room number to find his friend had been dashed. Most likely some poor duty officer that had been swamped with new arrivals had been forced to search through the Kriegsmarine database to try and match faces to service record mug shots, leading to the false positive identification. With a heavy sigh, Ares replaced the smart-pad and left the recovery room.

Before he left he made sure to inform a nearby physician that Not-Ares needed to be re-identified. A medical tech tried to stop him on his way back to his Valkyries to treat his very clear limp, but Aiden would have none of that. He needed to get back to his post. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he climbed back into his starfighter and half-heartedly went through a memorized pre-flight checklist. When he pulled back on his flight-stick slightly to pull off the steel hangar floor, his ship failed to lift.

Aiden wasn't quite aware that he was shaking with anger as he yanked on the stick harder in a futile attempt to bring his ship off the ground. Just before he hit the end of his patience, Aiden realized that he had forgotten to activate the repulsorlift motivators. Taking a steadying breath, he reached under the orange visor of his helmet and rubbed his eyes, ordering himself to rein his emotions back in. He went through his checklist once more, making sure he hit everything. The second attempt to leave the hangar was successful.

The gravity-drive leg back to the Odysseus felt markedly longer than the jump to the medical frigate. Aiden spent the nearly four hour trip with a single-minded focus on the pain he was feeling in his ankle. Better to lock in on that than reflect on yet another dead-end chase. How many groups of recovered Jaheem prisoners had he scoured in hopes of finding him? Worse, how many more leads were left to follow?

It was 1930 standard time when Aiden found himself back in his office at sitting behind his desk. The moment he had touched down he was greeted by a superior officer who was all too eager to chew him out for leaving for the Redemption without proper clearance. He had gone into autopilot, offering a series of "yes, sirs" and "no, sirs," at appropriately timed junctions while largely ignoring the verbal dress-down he was receiving. Aiden couldn't be bothered to care about some sort of official reprimand that would appear on his service record. The moment his superior had finished chewing him out, Aiden retreated to his office.

For a long while he stared at the wall-mounted chrono situated just above the door opposite of him. Forty-three minutes and twenty-one seconds after he sat down he reached for a locked drawer in his desk, entering in his pass-code to release the seal. He slid it open and procured a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass. His hands were shaking once more. With shaking hands he poured the drink into the glass, though more of it landed on the desktop than where it should have gone.

He slammed the drink down and immediately filled the glass again, repeating the process. He wasn't proud of what he was doing. Nor was he proud of how many bottles he had gone through over the last few months, but logic and reason had been tossed out an airlock hours earlier. After the fifth shot of Jack's he paused to look at the terminal on his desk. Still on the primary display was the message he had received that Ares had been found. Aiden's hands balled into fists as he read it over once more. Just another lead that had gone nowhere.

His fist suddenly landed on the keyed input of his terminal, shattering it and sending shards of material flying in all directions. Aiden sat very still for a long moment, his entire body trembling with rage. The shot glass and bottle of Jack's met his wrath next. Both were hurled into the door opposite of him. The loud shattering of glass filled the room and amber liquid trailed down the steel before forming a puddle on the floor below. He was standing now, hunched over his desk and glaring at nothing in particular.

Without any warning he overturned his lightweight, shoddily-constructed desk, causing the stacks of flimsy and various writing implements to crash onto the ground. He spun around and swiped at a stack of datacards on a shelf behind him, knocking them to the floor unceremoniously. Aiden grasped a model display Valkyrie and threw it at the floor, the force of the impact scattering broken pieces away from the now broken ship. Just as he was about to pick up a holo-frame a hand grabbed him by the wrist.

Turning on his heels he was surprised to see Hanson St. John standing on the other side of his upturned desk.

"Wynter begged me to take some shore leave to check on you," Hanson said without being prompted.

Aiden snagged his hand away from his former subordinate, "I'm fine."

"Really, Aiden?" Hanson looked incredulous as he motioned at the scene of chaos surrounding them. "You expect me to believe that you're fine? Look at yourself!"

"I said I'm fine," Aiden repeated, putting as much edge in his tone as he could muster.

Hanson walked around the desk, an accusatory finger in the air, "How many times are you going to fly out to the Redemption to personally sift through their new arrivals? How many times are you going to volunteer for a routine patrol just for a chance to see a Jaheem prison transport to cross your path?"

"At least I'm trying to find him!" Aiden shot back.

"It's been four months!" Hanson threw his hands into the air in frustration. "If he hasn't shown up on a transport by now he's not going to. We don't even know if he's still alive!"

Aiden's fists clenched once more, "Shut up, Hanson."

"What are you going to do?" Hanson demanded. "Get in your Valkyrie and go all the way to Carothea yourself to look for him?"

"You need to leave."

"That's about your only option left. Aiden, he's gone. He's gone and there's nothing either of us can do anymore."

Aiden was shaking again. How dare he? How dare Hanson suggest that Ares wasn't coming home? He had gotten through worse. They all had managed to survive worse. Aiden took a step towards Hanson. The man needed to leave his office at that moment. He was in no mood to deal with Hanson's dour outlook on the situation. If he wasn't going to help find Ares, that was fine. What Aiden wouldn't stand for was Hanson trying to project that hopelessness onto him.