The hangar lights are already on full blast as I fall off the ladder.
Lying there, I regretfully stare at my helmet, and silently curse Axel.
Taking the Normandy from me’s fine, but my coffee? …ugh…
The pain fades a bit, and I seize the opportunity to get up and into the hangar.
Lights are already on full blast, so I shield my eyes and stumble over to the Alamo.
As I pace around it, I key into my headset. “Any technicians up today?”
I get a response, so I make my request as I squirm into the pilot’s seat.
“Sweet, please install the engine modules on the Alamo.”
I run diagnostics on the systems, and it lights up green, and I heave a sigh of relief.
I notice the fresh magazine in the autopilot booth, and I scramble for it, hoping Axel doesn’t see it, and it works. At least I’m not losing everything today.
By the time I get back to the Alamo, the MT’s done their job, as I hear a voice from the other side stepping back into the cockpit.
I flip open the magazine, an issue about…lucky me, it’s about dropship cockpits this time!
But there’ll be time for distractions later, once this op gets rolling. I enable the systems and hope the loose screw isn’t important.
Ignition. I’m alive.
So I quickly flip open the magazine to the section about going solo, hoping to catch up on the latest tricks.
…padded helmets, wish I had one…
…desk chairs can hold you during takeoff? Interesting…
…Pembroke? Pembroke, do you copy?
…so about those deskYou there!-
I jolt out my seat and find the irritated Major in the other. I missed briefing, and half of command comms, so I’ve no bloody clue when I’m supposed to take off, and I’m not about to ask the man with the loaded Mateba. Luckily, the horde of marines banging on the door and pointing at me makes it obvious.
I remain as still and silent as I can along the journey, and a few near misses with asteroids later, the landing pad comes into view.
Snow’s all over the windscreen, but I make out the lights. Gosh, I hope these poor marines packed their scarves…