The Reign of the Daisy Cutters

[Red Thunder]

"Alrighty."

The short range comm had been spotty, Anira's message being intercut with static in places. But Whiskey thought she got the gist. Pulling her knife from its sheath, she scrapped away a bit of the plastic that covered the torpedo that prevented cold welding. Satisfied that she had a wife enough portion, she glanced up at the station and grinned.

"Here goes nothing!"

Jetting out from cover, the Clone rocketed forward. The quick movement caught the slowly approaching enemy Cutter's attention. They responded in kind, speeding forward to defend their post from the unknown threat. The station itself, apparently made aware of the approaching Whiskey, began powering up their cannons. Her eyes followed the barrels as they tracked her across the sky, and her mouth turned up in a manic smile.

"A race, huh? Nice. Anira!" she yelled, grinning. "Gimme some cover fire! The cannons would be nice!"

Finally she got to the underside of the listening post. Whipping her knife back out, she scrapped off a section of plastic coating from the station's underbelly. Slapping the torpedo against it, exposed surface to exposed surface, and punching the timer activation, the Clone immediately kicked off, jetting south of the station with as much speed as she could squeeze out of her damaged Cutter. One of their approaching enemies turned to give pursuit, while the other pulled up to examine the torpedo. He began yanking on it with all the strength the machine could muster, clearly having recognized what it was, but the cold weld held true, the two pieces of metal having effectively become one at a molecular level. Whiskey didn't even give her pursuer a glance, knowing full well that getting caught in the explosion would be far worse, and she prayed fervently that Anira was retreating as quickly as she could. Behind her the post's cannons managed to squeeze off two rounds before her own monitor, tracking the torpedo's timer, reached zero.

Her proximity klaxons blared loudly as the shells whizzed past her machine, and Whiskey spun around to face her opponent, knife still ready in hand. Her face was hard and filled with grim abandon, ready to die.

"Bring it, you thrice gods-damned exhaust-sniffer!"

 

[JustAFed]

Anira tensed as Whiskey shot out from their cover. She'd hoped to get in a little closer but the enemy cutters would have seen them before then. The only issue now was that her wingman had elected instead to try and place the torpedo against the hull of the station. Things could never be that easy could it? Sure enough, the sudden movement caught the attention of the enemy, who flew off in an attempt to pursue her. If only they'd looked a while longer.

"Guess we've got to work on our communication skills." She muttered as her cutter powered up.

The station would have its firing solution on Whiskey soon, but Anira would be faster. Several trigger pulls later, gushes of flame began to erupt from the numerous turrets dotting the station. All the while Anira made sure to keep her eyes on Whiskey's cutter. Her sensors were picking up more cutters on approach and even ftl disturbances just opposite the station from them. Just as Whiskey kicked off, she could see the spatial distortions of wormholes tearing space-time open. She'd have stared in disbelief if it wasn't for her fear of dying a fiery death forcing her to kick her ass into full gear away from whatever came out of the holes.

As she turned tail and ran, Anira spotted Whiskey still being pursued by one of the two cutters that had given chase to her. She suddenly had the idea of taking the pilot as a prisoner. They would out range of the explosion and on their own, would they really be willing to fight to the-

"Bring it, you thrice gods-damne-fshhhhhhhh."


The light from the explosion behind them lit up the inside of her cockpit despite facing away from it and the attempts of the HUD trying to dim itself to compensate. The following pressure blast pushed her hard against her restraints and nearly caused her to nearly veer off course and into a rather sizable asteroid. Thankfully she managed to regain control and continue her pursuit of Whiskey and her opponent, who had spun around to witness the red-blue-orange bloom of an explosion that had once likely been their own home away from home.

They didn't seem to notice Anira's approach at all until she slammed her cutter into their own and took hold of its arms. "Whiskey! Cut the arms and sever the main power supply!" Being face to face with the enemy seemed to bring the fight back out of the enemy pilot as the cutter attempted to break free from her grip. She swallowed hard as the sounds of her cutter straining against the other gave her pause on her actions. Say what you could about the outies, but their cutters were strong, and if Whiskey wasn't fast enough, Anira's would be the one missing arms. She just hoped the explosion on temporarily knocked out their comm equipment. "Now Whiskey!"

 

[Red Thunder]

The light of the explosion overwhelmed Whiskey's sensors, causing her HUD to dash to empty white for critical seconds. She'd made the mistake of turning toward the station in facing her opponent, and now he was going to take advantage of the opportunity. It was the smart thing to do; she could hardly blame him.l, as she'd have most definitely done the same. The Clone brought up the Cutter's arms defensively and braced for impact.

It never came. Instead her speakers crackled to life. Anira was screaming instructions to her partner, desperate. Panicking, Whiskey punched the HUD reset, but there was no need; it was already mid restart. The screen sprang to life after a second, and she grabbed for the arm controls again. Anira had the enemy in a lock, arms pinned behind it. But as Anira had feared, the enemy was starting to out strength her, and her Cutter's arms were starting to give way. Screaming a battle cry, Whiskey propelled her machine forward. She drove the knife deep into her target's right arm at the shoulder, destroying its maneuverability. Twisting it in the wound with her right hand and grabbing her target's left side with her left hand, she then drug the blade through the enemy Cutter's chest toward its left arm, slicing through innumerable systems and supports, bifurcating its power supply. The Outie machine went limp, and Whiskey ripped her knife free. The breath she didn't realize she'd been holding spilled out with a rush, and she wiped the sweat from her eyes.

"Fumes, Anira. That was fuming ballsy." She grinned, clearly excited by their success. "Now let's get the hell back to base. And, I guess, your buddy."

-----------------------------​

The trip back was slow and tense. Ever beep on the proximity alarms made them jump that they might be pursued, and the chance that the damaged engine of their enemy might explode at any moment didn't help. Captain Waltz was not going to be happy with that scenario. But maybe, just maybe, she'd overlook that with the promise of potential information from their prisoner.

Ceres at last came into view. The asteroid buzzed with activity, their proximity alarms having surely gone off as they detected an Outie Cutter approach. But the armed greeting party they'd sent soon turned into an armed escort, guiding the three Cutter's into the most secure bay: the Clone on the left, Litimco on the right, and their prisoner between them. Whiskey breathed a sigh of relief as the massive doors closed behind them.

Security at last.

With a grunt she climbed through the hatch and stretched.

"Fumes! They never tell ya how cramped those things get!"

 

[JustAFed]

Upon their arrival, there would be no fanfare. Not like Anira really wanted any in the first place. She'd been silent for the whole trip back, mostly in shock that they had actually done it. Then came her analysis of what happened moments before the station was turned into a giant firework. FTL drives were uncommon even among military-grade vessels and it really made her wonder about the capabilities of the enemy. She doubted that anything large had come through, but she knew that her superiors would be pouring over her verbal report along with the specifics of her sensors logs. If a ship did come through, surely it had been destroyed by the station exploding. Would they earn kill marks for each individual they killed, or just the station as a whole? Just more things she couldn't afford to think about, not until she was in her bunk at least.

A wave of relief washed over her as she heard the landing bay doors crush shut. All that was left was the short amount of time it would take to pressurize the bay and she could get some fresh air, and a look at their prisoner. There had been no sign of movement from the enemy cutter that was hefted between their own. The cutter didn't look that much different from their own, it was bigger, bulkier and looked much more sturdier than any standard issue cutter on their side. This was the unfortunate result of shipping the majority of manufacturing into the outer planets. The outies had the raw material and production capabilities to make what they needed without cutting corners, what they lacked was the combat technology that her side had. She'd never met an Outie in person before, and wondered if they were all that different from her.

She popped out of her Cutter soon after Whiskey did and popped her helmet off. "Well, we spent a lot of time doing a whole bunch of nothing in between all that action. Ah, look. The rest of the welcoming committee."

Down below them a team of marines surrounding several officials, including Captain Waltz. "Down, now!" She ordered. Without a thought, Anira activated her cockpit-mounted lift that would allow her to descend to the deck without risk of death. Early cutters lacked such a simple device and caused quite a bit of trouble for pilots for returned with damaged cutters. Nowadays it was standard. Anira stood at attention as Waltz approached, flanked by two of the heavily armored marines who were cautiously eying the enemy cutter as if it would suddenly come to life and attack them on the spot. "Congratulations on your first official mission completed. It seems you did some overachieving as well." The Captain glanced up to the cutter and sighed. "I look forward to hearing all about it in your debriefing. First we've got your little friend here to worry about." High above them, a set of six mechanical arms descended down in front of the capture cutter. Four of the arms were equipped with clamps to grip around the cockpit of the cutter while the other two were fit with a cutting blade and and torch. Anira recognized them as the system used to pry pilots from severely damaged cutters that somehow managed to make it back. The same thing could be said for a pilot that refused to come out.

"What's about to happen here is above your paygrades. Combray and Miller will escort you to the debriefing room." Waltz said matter-of-factly, eyes focused on the mechanical arms. It was the nicest way for her to tell the two pilots to screw off before they removed the pilot from their cutter. Anira gave a hesitant look to Whiskey but figured it would be in her best interest to not question her and turned to leave, led by another pair of marines who seemed all to ready to get to the safety of anywhere that wasn't near a cutter.

The trip to the debriefing room wasn't long, but Anira was sure that the wait for Waltz would be. Until then, it was Anira and Whiskey alone. Anira set her helmet down on the lone table in the room and plopped down on the chair infront of it. Finally, emotion found its way through her facade as she burst into small fit of laughter. "We did it. We fumin' did it!" She yelled to the ceiling. "We....wow....we could have died." She shifted over to her partner and smiled. "And we won't even be allowed to talk about it, I bet."

 

[Red Thunder]

"Nah, 'course not. We're the peons; it's the chess player that gets the recognition, not the pawns."

Whiskey had been strangely slow about following her partner's lead, both when they'd been ordered down from their Cutters and when they'd been dismissed to the debriefing room. Combray actually had to give her a friendly nudge to remind her to leave the Brass to their work; the Clone had been staring dead eyed, first at the enemy machine and then at Waltz herself. Even now, as she stood in the doorway not much past the actual closed entrance, Whiskey had a vaguely glazed look on her face. As if she were fully processing all they had just accomplished. All that had just happened to them. Her answer to Anira however had broken the spell.

"That was incredible!" she grinned at her partner, arms crossed confidently. "I can't wait to see what they have planned for us next time! If, uh, if we can ever manage to get assigned duty without having to hear the Waltz's tune again, that is."

She grimaced. Their captain's rebuking was still apparently fresh on her mind. Shrugging, Whiskey glanced over her shoulder toward the doorway. It was still closed; Combray and Miller had likely strode off on other duties. After all, where were the two girls going to go? Any access to any space worthy machine required access they didn't have, in the odd chance they'd wanted to go AWOL. Chuckling mischievously, the Clone reached deep into her jumpsuit and pulled out a small metal bottle. Not much bigger than would be used for a single dose of motion sickness medicine, and indeed labelled as such, it was suddenly tossed Anira's direction. Another was pulled from the secret compartment, and Whiskey cranked it open.

"Congrats, Litimco. We're legitimate pilot, no matter what anyone says. And that deserves a toast."

Holding the open bottle to her nose, she took a deep sniff. It was wonderful smell, full of oak and age. Slowly, almost reverently, Whiskey placed the mouth to her own and suddenly threw back the shot. It burned like fire in her mouth as she held it there, appreciating the liquor, and it was worse going down. But the warmth that sat in her belly was worth it. Capping the bottle, she shoved it back into her jumpsuit.

"1998. Jameson. I save it for the special occasions. And for friends." A smile spread across her face, this time a bit more soft and friendly in nature. "And hey, here's both."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira's grin widened as her friend joined in the reverie of their victory. It was all she could do to enjoy it, for the wrath of Waltz would sure be on its way to ruin the mood. Still, she was hopeful that they wouldn't get stuck on desk duty for too long. "With any luck we won't be stuck in a cubicle for more than six months!" Waltz was brutal, and often her punishments were more a stab at a pilot's pride than anything. Nothing could sting a bird more than chaining it to the ground.

She looked onto Whiskey, eyes wide, as she produced two canteens from her flight suit. She was surprised that they had made it past inspection. Then again, they were already pressed for time as it was. She caught the canteen with one hand and peered at it suspiciously. It was a victory toast now, but could it have been a last drink before death had the mission gone south? It wouldn't pay to dwell on it, and she opened it up shortly after Whiskey.

"Amen to that." She replied with a smirk.

Not bothering to test the waters, Anira simply downed a pair of swigs from the canteen and took the brunt of the repercussions with an audible groan. She was never much of a drinker, but she knew she'd earned this one. And if she was going to get chewed out by her CO, then she'd rather be a little buzzed for it after nearly dying. Still, the whiskey burned like hell and she struggled to keep it down in the first few seconds it entered her system.

"It's certainly aged well." She leaned further back in her chair and looked her companion over. After a moment, she snorted and raised her canteen. "To victory and friendship, both of which I hope last through this damned war." Without another word she put the canteen to her lips again and further subjected herself to its whim and coughed upon downing it. "But next time, I get to pick the drink of choice!"

 

[Red Thunder]

"Pff." Whiskey scoffed loudly, not bothering to hide what she thought of that arrangement. She strolled over to a seat of her own and sat heavily in it. She felt...happy. Truly happy, in spite of the circumstances that lead to the mission in the first place, never mind the fair amount of trauma that went into accomplishing the mission at all. A small smile tugged at her lips, her previous declaration still not entirely taking hold within her own mind. Pilots. Cutter pilots. They were fuming Daisy Cutter pilots. Euphoria filled her brain, and she just sat in her seat, arm draped over the back as she leaned into it, completely relaxed and at peace with whatever happened. The strong liquor, taken on such an empty stomach as the two of them had, only encouraged the feeling.

Unfortunately.

The door to the debriefing room slid open with a woosh, almost seeming to move with more gusto that's usual for the individual that it opened for. Whiskey turned her eyes to it in response. Captain Waltz stood in the doorway, framed perfectly by its white walls, and despite the success of their mission, despite the retrieval of a prisoner, she looked distinctly unhappy.

She stepped into the room with a clack of her booted heels, coming to stop just far enough to allow the door to close. Her narrowed eyes stared each of the pilots down as she waited for it to do so, and when it had done so, she addressed them.

"Whiskey. Litimco." Waltz'a voice was cold and even, and she carried in her posture a solemnity they weren't expecting. The effect, somehow, was worse than if she had stormed in and begun screaming at them. "Your actions in bringing with you a prisoner to our hidden outpost have put us in a severely untenable situation, well intentioned and otherwise well considered though it may have been."

From where her hands were called behind her back, she brought forward to their view her right hand. It held a small rectangular device about four inches wide by ten inches long, its otherwise red surface marred by black scorch marks that surrounded three impact points. Waltz weighed it in her hand before gesturing with it to the pair.

"This is an Outie tracking device," she stated, matter-of-fact and emotionless. "It was fortunately damaged in the battle, leaving it to only send a very general idea of its location.

"But even that is too risky. This information has been passed up the chain of command, and a plan of action will be formulated. As to you, neither of you are to receive punishment, at least at this moment; in your position, I cannot be sure any other pilot, myself included, wouldn't have jumped at the chance to bring back a prisoner."

The Captain paused, and she glanced down at the tracker. The corner of her mouth turned up in the slightest sneer, as if utterly disgusted at the circumstance caused by such a small, insignificant box. With a light scoff, she replaced her hands behind her and looked to her pilots.

"I'm sure you have questions. Ask them."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira took in the moment for all that it was, but she could only revel in her success for so long. As if on cue, the door swung open and Captain Waltz had appeared. Anira had been caught offguard enough by the fact that she was about to take another swig that the best she could do was tuck her canteen down between her legs instead of sand at attention. Her cheeks were beet red in part of embarrassment of breaking one of the many rules of the station and being caught by her CO of all people and it certainly didn't help that she was about to get what she was sure would be a verbal whooping.

At her first words, it took everything Anira had to not look away from Waltz. The idea of the enemy cutter having a tracking device on it had never even crossed her mind. Maybe it was adrenaline, or maybe she was too eager to please the brass, but now...she should have known better. Her eyes set on the tracking device, it was a welcome refuge from having to look into those severe, disappointed daggers that Waltz was shooting at her. They would not be punished, that much was a relief. Though, she was sure that if it had been working properly she'd be spending time in a cell with Whiskey and not a conference room.

She shook the thought from her head and resolved to be thankful for simply being allowed to return altogether in one piece. Still, she was curious. One question burned in her mind since they started on their way back.

"Captain, what is the condition of the prisoner? Could we be able to see them at some point? I've...never seen an Outie that wasn't on a newsfeed."

Waltz looked back to her, expressionless as always. "The prisoner was unconscious and on low air supply when we cut him out. As of now he's undergoing quarantine measures and will medically examined before being questioned. Whether or not you get to even lay eyes on the prisoner is a decision that is above me pay grade." She finished with of resentment. "It would not be for another two days at the least."

Anira simply nodded and proceeded to shrink into her seat, hands cradling the canteen at her legs. She wanted nothing more than to finish the damn thing off and sleep the night away. Waltz, on the other hand, turned her attention to Whiskey, eyes scanning her features in mild curiosity. "And what about you, Whiskey?

 

[Red Thunder]

The Clone had leapt to her feet when the captain appeared in the doorway, remaining in a position of unsturdy attention. Damn her celebration. She'd remained there as trained, Waltz never giving her permission, taking the pseudo-chiding with as blank a face as she could manage. The enemy Cutter had a tracker on it; why hadn't she thought of that? They had trackers on their ships.

And the prisoner himself. Or herself, maybe. No, wait: Waltz said 'he'. So then. What did her superiors have planned for the poor bastard, provided he even survived the oxygen deprivation? She didn't envy the guy.

Suddenly the captain turned to her, asking whether she had questions. As Whiskey considered, Waltz snorted.

"And at ease. Damn. I'm unhappy enough about the situation; I don't need to feel like I'm being patronized. I demand respect; I hate ritual."

Whiskey blinked, the stiffness leaving her limbs slowly, as if even her body couldn't believe that Waltz would break formality. But she relaxed.

"Well, it sounds like everything is accounted for. Everything except the two of us. What's gonna happen with us?"

"You two," her supervisor stated, "will be assigned to patrol. I think it's safe to say you can each handle a Cutter, albeit in radically different if supportive roles. But for now, get some rest. The whole base will soon get ready for evacuation, and that includes you two. You'll be contacted later with further information, both on your assignment...and on your new partners."

Waltz gave them each a meaningful look, and Whiskey almost frowned, catching herself only in time. Partners? To share the assignment with? Turning on her heel, the captain strode to the door, pausing to allow it to open.

"Head back to your bunks," she instructed without looking back, "as soon as you've finished celebrating."

For the briefest moment, Whiskey thought she caught a lighter, less serious tone. But suddenly the captain was gone, and they were alone. With a huge sigh, perhaps a little exaggerated, the Clone fell back into her chair. "Fuming hell."

@SpaceCowboyEin