Lieutenant Commander Ryan Murphy pulled off his flight helmet and relaxed back in the seat of his Claymore fighter. Running through the shutdown routine, he powered off the engines, then deactivated the rest of the impressive new fighter's systems. He'd just spent the last two hours on another test flight, this time shooting up agile target drones.
Although he was still in love with the highly advanced craft, which was a huge upgrade over his old rapier, the initial awe was wearing off and he'd started spotting quirks and idiosyncrasies of the converted gunship. Adjusting to the extra pair of Gatling Lasers in the loadout of six had been easy, but landing rounds on target with the Gauss Cannon built into the fighter's fuselage was proving a trickier prospect.
The airlock popped open with a hiss and a deck engineer poked his helmeted head through the portal. "Leprechaun! The Captain wants to speak to you!"
"Hey, Garv," Murphy replied, climbing out of his seat and heading for the airlock. "Could you take a look at the alignment of the Gauss Cannon's sights. I'm still not convinced they're properly calibrated."
Garvy laughed and rolled his eyes. "I've told you before; you have to lead your targets! The projectiles are slower, it's not like the Gatling Lasers."
"I know you told me, but I'm sure it's fucked up," Murphy protested, before giving him his most endearing smile and clapping the engineer on the shoulder. "Indulge me, would you? There's a six-pack of Trankaran ale in it for you..."
The Engineer sighed and nodded. "Alright, I'll take a look."
"Cheers, fella," the young pilot said with a grin.
Murphy squeezed past the tech and climbed out onto the wing of his ship. Following his ritualistic habit, he placed two fingers to his lips, kissed them, then pressed the digits against the image of his lucky charm painted on the Claymore's fuselage.
"Thanks, darlin'," Murphy murmured under his breath, as the portrait of the beautiful dark-green lioness beamed a glittering smile back at him.
Sliding off the wing of his fighter, he jogged over to the maintenance gantry, then climbed the steps out of the hangar and joined the main concourse. The vast Flight Deck on the Terran Federation flagship, The Retribution of Zeus, was bustling with crews eager to get more practice with the new Claymores. He spotted Whiskey leading four young pilots towards the hangar and the two officers exchanged respectful nods. Murphy suppressed a smirk, not envying the experienced fighter-pilot the job of training up those rookies.
When he finally arrived at the Captain's office, he saw two more familiar faces standing outside and he smiled at the two young recruits. "Hey, lads! Not in trouble already, are ya now?" he teased the two ensigns.
"No, Sir, Lieutenant Commander!" Ensign Halifax replied, snapping to attention.
Baker gave him a sharp salute, then smiled and shook his head. "Nothing like that, Leprechaun."
"Catch me after I've seen the Captain, and I'll give you those pointers on the Rapier I was talking about," Murphy said with a good-natured smile.
The two ensigns exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to respond.
Before they could reply, the door beside them opened and Captain Lewis stepped out. "I thought I heard your Irish brogue, Leprechaun. Can I have a word?"
"Of course, Captain," Murphy replied, following the older officer into the room and closing the door behind him.
"Take a seat," Lewis said, gesturing to the chair as he sat behind his desk.
Relaxing into the chair, Murphy studied the Captain for a moment, not liking the way he brushed his finger across his moustache. That usually meant his old instructor was on edge. "What's up, Gator?" he asked, figuring he might as well get to the point.
"I'm assigning you your own wing, Ryan," Captain Lewis said, leaning forward and looking at him intently. "You think you're up to it?"
Murphy blinked at him in surprise. Being offered command of five fighters was the last thing he expected his commanding officer to say. He couldn't help grinning as he said, "Binary's gonna be pissed!"
The Captain leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I've already assigned him a wing of his own. You guys are the veterans now, you'll need to train up the new replacements as your wingmen."
Suddenly ensigns Baker and Halifax standing outside the Captain's office began to make a dreadful kind of sense. "But they're flying Rapiers, Gator!" Murphy protested. "They'll never be able to keep up with my Claymore!"
Shaking his head, Captain Lewis replied, "I'm not mixing fighter classes in a wing, don't be ridiculous. Your four wingmen will be assigned Claymores the same as you."
Murphy hesitated for a moment, then said dubiously, "It's a very powerful fighter, Captain. I'm not sure giving one to a rookie is a good idea."
Lewis shrugged. "The entire squadron will be switching to Claymores when we get more from Olympus, so they'll need to learn to fly them sooner rather than later. I've split the first batch of twenty into four wings and you'll be leading the second." He saw Murphy's look of surprise and smiled. "You've logged fifty-percent more flight time in the Claymores than any other pilot on the Zeus... Teach them all the tricks, Lieutenant Commander. You're dismissed."
Rising from his chair, Murphy saluted the Captain. "Thank you for this opportunity, Gator. I won't let you down."
Lewis nodded towards the door. "I don't know what you said to Baker and Halifax, but they specifically requested they be assigned to your wing."
Murphy grinned at him. "Is that right?"
Laughing, the Captain shooed him out, "Get out of here before I change my mind!"
Opening the door to the office, Murphy strode outside and found the two ensigns staring at him, wide-eyed with anticipation. The sudden weight of responsibility came crashing down on his shoulders and he froze, realising the lives of these two young men were in his hands. Memories of Angel, Snakebite, and Romeo flooded back, as did the feeling of guilt that he'd let his old wingmen down. If only he'd trained harder before Regulus, improving his piloting skills, practicing his shooting, maybe he could've saved them. He'd been trying to atone for that with all the hours he'd logged in the Claymore, hoping to be the best wingman he could be, but now he was going to be the Wing Commander it mattered more than ever...
Fighting down his doubts and fears, he put on an air of bold confidence. "Alright lads, let's go!"
