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[Dampe]

Aboard the USSF Academy
Unknown Star Sector
Thursday, May 29, 2358
11:30 Hours

The auditorium felt empty to the twenty-four men and women sitting in the first row. Over the past five weeks, the number of recruits had dwindled as the training grew more rigorous. Along with pilot training, recruits were instructed in subjects ranging from astrophysics to xenobiology. Two recruits were killed, one during training on the range with the Subcompact Laser Rifle (training with the SLR is mandatory for all USSF personnel), when a deflected beam hit a recruit in the eye and came out on the other side of her skull. The second incident occurred during flight training with the T-380 Apollo; a pilot named Nakamura came into a landing too fast and his Apollo skidded across the starboard hangar before a rack of unexploded ordnance brought his aircraft to a halt. The maintenance crews were picking up pieces of him for weeks. After Nakamura's death, many recruits washed out voluntarily. After the last round of training (including a simulated dogfight in T-380s), these twenty-four were all that remained.

Chief Instructor Nevarez looked over the pilots (having received their wings in a small ceremony, the evening, they were recruits no longer) with a cold gaze. "Pilots!" He barked. "You stand before me today because you are the finest men and women in the galaxy! It is with great honor that I announce your squadron assignments. Let's begin. Airman First Class Adams! 92nd Tactical Fighter Squadron! Airman First Class Benson..." Nevarez continued on in this fashion. "Airman First Class Desmond! 374th Tactical Multirole Composite Squadron!" Nevarez kept going down the alphabet. "Airman First Class Lee! 374th Tactical Multirole Composite Squadron! Airman First Class McLain! 374th Tactical Multirole Composite Squadron!" On and on he went. "Airman First Class Snidely! 374th Tactical Multirole Composite Squadron!" Finally, after Airman First Class Ziang, he finished. "Each of you has an envelope on their bunk. In that envelope is a document telling you where you'll be reporting, and in some cases, a requisition form for your starfighter. It's been an honor to train every one of you. Dismissed."

Spoiler: Orders (click to show/hide)

**Orders** **Orders** **Orders**
The following named personnel:
Desmond, Ryan A1C [93 125 872], Lee, Dhanish A1C [84 975 120], McLain, John A1C [52 117 455], and Snidely, Candace Britta A1C [12 087 253] are to report to Dock 15 tomorrow (30 May 2358) at 08:00 for transport to USSF Delaware.
**Orders** **Orders** **Orders**

Spoiler: Aircraft Requisition Form (click to show/hide)

Select one of the three aircraft below.
More aircraft will be available for requisition at a later date.

F-623 Comet IV
Fighter
+ Fast
+ Well-Armed
- Overheats Easily

F-625A Patriot III
Fighter
+ Reliable
+ Simple
- Lightly Armored

F-627D Wildcat IX
Fighter
+ Reliable
+ Well-Rounded
- Poor Maneuverability

[Spiderking50]

Request: F-623 Comet IV

John has yet to speak except to say "Yes Sergeant" over the entire course of the training.

[Playergamer]

Desmond quickly fills out the requisition form, after spending a few moments considering the options. "You take a hit out there, you might as well be dead.." He puts in the F-625A Patriot III as his choice, before handing in the form, and hitting the sack.

The next morning, Desmond heads to Dock 15 a little early, watching people bustle around the dock, and is waiting there patiently when the clock strikes 8:00.

[Harry Baldman]

"Heh. Wasn't so hard now, was it?"

The past five weeks had not been much to her liking, but she'd persevered in the name of increasing her market value if nothing else. Now it was only a matter of increasing her life expectancy. With luck she wouldn't end up like Nakamura. And luck had oddly been on her side during this time - suppose a fighter pilot requires that, if anything.

Request: F-625A Patriot III

Next morning Britta reports to the deck two minutes past the appointed time. In fact, she's made a point about being about two minutes late to just about anything, largely on account of it occasionally saving her from trouble.

[UnicodingUnicorn]

Lee has wisely kept his mouth shut and avoided any trouble in the past few weeks. Now comes the moment where he can no longer be in the background anymore.

He recalls tales of pilots lost adrift in space after their fighters broke down, never to be heard from again. "Guess I'll take the F-625A Patriot III. Least it'll make the maintenance guys like me more..."

The next morning, Lee arrives a little early to take in what may be his last breaths of natural Earth air.

[Dampe]

Aboard the USSF Academy
Unknown Star Sector
Friday, May 30, 2358
07:35 Hours

One of the dock workers sees Lee taking deep breaths.
"Never met someone who liked breathing synthetic oxygen," he muttered to himself.
Candace, Desmond, and McLain all arrived around 07:45, taking to heart Nevarez's statement that "in the USSF, if you aren't fifteen minutes early, you're fifteen minutes late." After introductions were made, the four pilots boarded an FTL shuttle to the USSF Delaware.

After a brief FTL jump, the shuttle docked with the Delaware, a Statesman-Class cruiser. With its small crew of around 2,500, it was dwarfed by the behemoth battleships of the Central Fleet. As the pilots disembarked, they were greeted by an older man in the uniform of a Star Force cruiser captain, and a man in a flight suit, who looked to be in his early forties. Instinctively, the four pilots saluted. " At ease. I'm Captain Patterson. Welcome aboard my ship. I'm late for a staff briefing, but Senior Airman Dalton will show you to your quarters." With that, the older man turned and left. "Like the boss said, I'm Senior Airman Dalton. I'm the XO for the 374th squadron, so you'll all be reporting directly to me. I'm guessing they didn't brief you on the situation in this sector back at training. You'll find out soon enough. Follow me."
As the pilots followed Dalton down the hallways of the ship, they began to become familiar with its layout. They emerged on a catwalk over what was presumably the main hangar. On the deck below, the engineers were hosing down and dismantling four twisted, burnt hulks of metal. Dalton grimaced. "That's all that's left of the last four replacements. Poor bastards. Hopefully you'll last longer than them. Your birds are being assembled and shipped here now, they'll arrive tomorrow. My ship's in the reserve hangar being repaired. Here, let's keep going." After a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at a door. Dalton handed each pilot a key card. "This will get you anywhere in the ship that you're authorized to be. Don't lose it." Dalton removed his own from a lanyard around his neck and slid it through the reader. The room was plain, with two sets of bunk beds and an adjoining bathroom. "Welcome to your quarters. Get settled in, I'll brief you all later tonight."

[Harry Baldman]

"Yes, sir," Britta says half to herself.

Familiarize self with the USSF Delaware. Hopefully the roughly 16 hours I have to do this, if "tonight" is any indication, will allow me to not be late this time around.

[Spiderking50]

Find a computer or a mission room. Try to learn more of the situation before the briefing.

[Playergamer]

Tag along with that girl, whatever her name is. Good to get to know the ship early.

[Harry Baldman]

Tag along with that girl, whatever her name is. Good to get to know the ship early.

Britta looks back at the trailing oddball.

"What's up?"

[Playergamer]

"Nothing. Figured I might as well stick with you, since it seemed like you were going to take a look around."

[Harry Baldman]

"Oh, yeah. That is what I'm doing. Got a lot of time on our hands, right?"

She continues to walk for a good moment before speaking again.

"You and the other guys aren't exactly personable types, I've noticed. You're Desmond, right?"

[Playergamer]

"I am. You'd be...." Desmond pauses for a moment, racking his mind for her name. "Snidely?" Desmond has a faint tinge of an accent.

[Harry Baldman]

"C. Britta Snidely, at your service. How'd you like the training? Don't think we've really spoken until now."

[Dampe]

The duo continues down the hallway. (+1 to all internal navigation rolls in Statesman-class Cruisers)