Waking up didn't feel like a good idea, but he couldn't help it. Lancer blinked stray hairs out of his eyes and tried to understand what had dragged him out of dreamland oh yes, definitely hours too early.
He fumbled for something to wear in the darkness, then climbed out of bed in all his nude glory and yawned. No need for modesty at the moment, he just still kept forgetting that he was again living alone, in his own room. The room you shared with Turner, a voice whispered in his ear but he corrected the statement in his mind. His own room, at the moment only his. But what was that insistent noise?
The sound of running feet echoed faintly through the door and jolted Lancer fully awake.
"Idiot!" he hissed aloud and flipped the lights on. He'd certainly been in deep sleep if the 'red alert' alarm signal took this long to register in his mind!
Lancer tried to hop into his overalls, tie a scarf around his head and find his shoes, all at the same time, and miraculously was more or less clothed by the time he barged out of the door. However, the scarf he was still battling with managed to blindfold him temporarily, so that he ran straight into something that was mercifully somewhat softer than a granite wall.
"Careful, Lancer!"
"Sorry, Commander..."
Once in the corridor, it felt only natural to follow Osip to the common room. Only when he slipped in there, by that time tying the stubborn and uncooperative scarf around his wrist to finally get it out of harm's way, did Lancer realize what he had done. Sure, the months with Turner had fully conditioned him to react to an all-base alert, and his pumping heart and adrenaline-filled veins ensured he was now fully prepared for a fight. The problem was that he had nothing to do in this battle.
"Situation?" Osip eyed the rapidly growing group of pilots around him, one hand on the comm.
"They're disturbing our detectors as best they can, but the sky is very clear and we have visual confirmation." Arria sounded very alert and, considering the ungodly hour, altogether too businesslike. "There are some bombers, and two squads of fighters, apparently to cover for them."
"Bombers? Shit!" All pilots perked up. "OK, we'll put up two squads of ours against them. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Arria confirmed. "Man all AD guns. Other pilots on standby."
Osip turned towards the hangars, barking orders to the pilots, and at last yanked his jacket zipper fully up so that a generous expanse of toned coffee-brown chest disappeared from sight. Lancer swallowed guiltily, averted his eyes and tried to sink into the wall. He had no business here. He was useless. All mechanics were in the hangars getting the aircraft ready to launch, and that group included most of the people he called his friends. He knew better than to go in there right now, though. He'd only disturb them. Better stay somewhere out of the way and wait until he could do something.
Lancer sat down with a sigh, took the deep violet scarf in his hands and began to twist it absently, all the while listening to the exchange between the pilots and control room. The Union very obviously was under the impression that their base was somewhere around the root of Mount Robillard, not actually inside it, and could be severely harmed by bombing. In reality the base itself was safe, but that didn't mean it was not vulnerable. It still needed its entryways: multiple chutes passed through solid rock for launching and landing aircraft, getting transports in and out, securing the air supply inside. The fewer chutes they had available, the more critical each one became.
At the moment two major passages were closed for repairs; the last thing they needed was the forced closure of another few. The chutes were well concealed and scattered over a large area, but they still could be hit by a random bomb. As it was, Fonzo together with several other men had been hard at work for the best part of four days with the ones that only needed some fixing. Trying to recreate structures blasted into fragments would be an altogether more daunting task.
For the hundredth time Lancer wished he were more technically gifted, then maybe he'd be more useful. Well, at least he had learned how to perform superficial maintenance on his gun, but that was about the limit of his technological skills…
His musing was interrupted by Arria barging through the door of the control room and towards the corridor. The man glanced at him in passing, then froze in his tracks and turned, a thoughtful expression spreading on his face.
"Lancer!" Arria's eyes were gleaming. "You're not needed anywhere right now, are you?"
"No."
Arria ignored the hurt expression and flashed a quick smile in reply. "Wonderful! Come with me, quick."
Lancer automatically dashed after him into the corridor and soon noticed they were headed to a level he had never visited before: the Air Defence guns. "Commander? Where're we going?"
"Somewhere where you definitely are needed ah, there you are, Reed!" Arria stopped when a short, sturdy man emerged in front of them, seemingly out of the wall. "Here's Lancer, he's free. I'm sure he'll manage just beautifully with a few minutes' training on the gun, if you can spare him a moment."
"Will do. Come on, kid," Reed said gruffly and turned to go. Bewildered, Lancer dove after him through a low door, only to find himself inside a small cockpit-like room with an array of controls and one seat.
"Sit."
He plopped obediently into the chair and turned to give a questioning look at the man introduced as Reed. He remembered seeing the man a couple of times in the common room, but the rest of his person and occupation had so far remained a mystery to Lancer. Obviously that was going to change soon enough.
"Ever shot with anything?" Reed's voice was gravelly but not unfriendly.
"I can shoot with a handgun, the ones we carry when going out on the trashwagons," Lancer offered, and the man snorted.
"Better than nothin', I suppose, though this is an AD cannon, and it's a wee little bit different from a handgun," he growled. "But never you mind, kid. Now, to start with, put on that headpiece. And you'd better listen good."
A few short moments later Lancer was alone in the little room and trying to get his bearings right, quick. A small monitor showed a camera view of their own planes shooting up from the thick forest and grouping rapidly to meet the enemy. It also showed the locations of the approaching Union aircraft. Arria had not exaggerated: the sky was very clear, hardly a sliver of cloud visible, and the main sun was just about to dip below the horizon, leaving only its dwarf companion to throw a somewhat muffled shine on the landscape. Well, at least there still was a good amount of light left.
With its twin suns, the surface of Jainah enjoyed a complex sequence of light, semi-light, semi-darkness and absolute darkness, something the central time-keeping system resolutely ignored. Lancer, like the rest of the planet's inhabitants, was used to relying on the clock for the daily rhythm, and for him stars at noon or a brilliant double sunset in the morning were a perfectly natural occurrence.
He peered at the monitor and concentrated on not looking at his hands while he checked once more the locations of the most important controls: direct, aim, shoot. This was the last moment to actually memorize which was which; very soon he'd have to use them automatically. The headpiece and the crosshairs in his field of vision made him feel distinctly eerie. He was now part of a weapon. He was a weapon.
He took a deep breath and focused on the approaching bombers. They were still out of range. Reed had warned him against an itchy trigger finger. There was no sense in wasting precious energy, not to mention that it might endanger their own pilots. Instinctively his grip of the controls tightened, then he forced himself to relax and leaned back into the seat.
Right now, he guessed, Reed would be back on his own cannon, probably praying to some obscure deity that Lancer wouldn't make any disastrous mistakes. He himself hoped it very much. Being needed didn't make him overly confident with his own abilities at that moment, and he suspected that even with a broken arm, the regular operator of the gun Akio? Akuyo? would probably handle the thing far better.
Well, no time to dwell on that anymore, Lancer decided as the computer informed him that the targets would be within range in fifteen seconds. Stop worrying and just do your best.
"Squads, this is Base." Hell, Arria sure was quick on his feet! His voice sounded over the headphones with some urgency. "We've spotted another two squadrons of fighters approaching. Bombers closing in "
Reed's cannon flared and the bombers wasted no time in changing course. Lancer looked at the screen and felt his brain closing down. Reality disappeared, only the things in his field of vision remained.
He quickly sorted out the rebel planes. Protect them. They were a motley crew, many different types and makes, as opposed to the sleek and uniform shapes of the Union fighters. Destroy them. The bulkier shapes of the bombers were now scattered but seemed intent on carrying out their job. Stop them.
His gun still hadn't fired a single shot. One of the bombers was obviously going for stealth, it was flying so low that the treetops seemed to scrape on its belly, and AD fire went steadily high above it, shooting as the cannons were from an awkward angle. Lancer's gaze locked on the bomber, the crosshairs flashed in front of his eyes and turned red. His hand clenched on the handle with a purpose.
"Yay!" The plane that had been hanging on the bomber's tail and trying to shoot it down performed a quick spin to avoid the fireball that erupted in front of it. It emerged through the billowing smoke and headed back up, Wilson's cheerful voice blasting over the link: "No damages, Cap, I'm joining you!"
Lancer's jaw tightened. He hadn't paid attention to the fact that one of their own had been so close to his target. Must remember to warn next time, he admonished himself. Damn, the Union fighters were quick and their pilots had lightning reflexes! And so many of their own planes were old, not performing at their peak.
As if on cue, one of the Union fighters fired at a rebel plane, hitting it on the tail. The urgent voices and frantic exchange between the pilot and Base was, however, lost on Lancer as he leaned forward in his seat, body taut, unblinking eyes following the fighter, zoning out completely. The bastard would pay for that stunt...
Osip joined the other pilots in the big common room, squeezed through the general throng, and flashed a broad smile.
"Somebody pinch me," he said, "I think we're all back here again! How's Neimann? I hope he managed to carry out the landing routine?"
Hoots of relief answered him, heralding the unexpected arrival of said person. He looked rather pale and clearly favored his left leg, but he was walking without crutches and met the Commander's relieved eyes with a smile.
"Neimann reports in, sir," the man grinned. "Sorry, I got my plane a bit scratched but we still got back home together."
"Never mind the bloody plane!" Osip bear-hugged the pilot, then shot a guilty glance around. "Whoops, I just hope none of the mechanics heard that... But honestly, it's good to see you're all right. And I also honestly think you ought to go and rest, man, considering that you only just walked out of the ward!"
"If they did hear it, you are dead meat very soon, Commander!" Neimann put in. "But don't worry, I'll be going in a moment. I just wanted to personally thank the guy who saved my butt from much worse damage, and I think I have a hunch where it came from... good shooting, Akio!"
Neimann turned to speak to a broad-shouldered man who was leaning lazily against a corner, then stopped to gape when the man smirked ruefully and lifted a cast-stiffened right arm. "What the hell you couldn't possibly shoot with that! Then who was at your post?"
"Haven't got the faintest idea, sorry." Akio peered expectantly towards the open door. "Could've been Reed himself, for all I know. Anyway, Reed's the only one who'll be able to tell you."
"Tell what?" Reed's gruff voice sounded from the corridor and a moment later the man himself emerged into the already-full room pushing a slim blond figure in front of him. "Hey, guys, I want you to meet our newest AD gunner."
He ignored Lancer's alarmed glance, stopped and slapped the young man on the back. "This guy's never used anything but a handgun before or so he claims. He gets a six-minute introduction to an AD gun, is warned not to shoot blindly, and is then pushed straight into action. No time for practice shots. I'm guessing everybody who was up in the air this morning is real happy you weren't told about this until now, right?"
Reed's swarthy face crumpled into a leer at the horrified looks around him, and Lancer made a desperate attempt to hide a deep blush behind his hair. "Anyways, there he is, engaged in battle. I watched him and counted. Seventeen shots. Downed four, bull's eye. Scraped another two. Now, whaddaya think of this rookie?"
Embarrassed and overwhelmed, Lancer tried to will himself into invisibility and simultaneously mumble something to everybody who came to join in the flood of thanks and praise that poured upon him from every direction. The deep gratitude in Neimann's eyes and the man's quiet 'thank you' made him swallow hard a few times. Lancer wanted to kick himself exactly when had he become so shy? but he couldn't help it, it was all too much. Finally he tried to slip away
"Oompf!"
only to run, for the second time that morning, into something that looked but didn't quite feel like a solid wall. Big hands grabbed his shoulders and steadied him, and he craned his neck to meet Fonzo's amused gaze.
"Now, now, don't you harass my favorite blond here, guys!" Fonzo gave a threatening scowl to the room in general, threw his arm around Lancer's shoulders and pulled him close so that he rolled his eyes and gasped for breath.
"Hey, big brute, you'd better stop manhandling my new sharpshooter!" Reed retorted and made to punch Fonzo in the gut so that the man yelped in mock indignation. "Get your paws off, mecha-man, or you'll become a sitting target for the AD guys to sharpen their aim at!"
Lancer tried in vain to wiggle free from Fonzo's grip during the playful tussle that ensued. His lack of success was largely due to the fact that he was laughing too hard to put up a real struggle, and too surprised by the irresistible bubbling inside him to try and stop it. When had he last laughed? He couldn't remember, and didn't really care. It felt too damn good to laugh, anyway, laugh until his stomach muscles began to cramp.
"We sure have come a long way in a short time," Osip's amused voice cut through the ruckus, "to have two guys fighting over the favors of a third."
Still chuckling, the two men relaxed from their battle stances Reed was not fool enough to actually get to grips with Fonzo, even in a mock battle and Lancer nearly fell on his ass when the arm suddenly sneaked away from his waist.
"Quite frankly, I think you'll just have to share him." Osip eyed each of them, dark eyes glittering. "Or what do you say, Commander?"
"Definitely, Commander." Arria stepped next to Osip and nodded gravely. "Reed will have him during air battles, Fonzo after them. Agreed?"
"There!" Reed flipped a triumphant middle finger at Fonzo. "By Commanders' orders, he's mine first!"
"Bastard," Fonzo growled. Corinn grinned like a six-inch wrench and patted his shoulder comfortingly.
"I'm hurt." Lancer crossed his arms on his chest and glowered at the men who blinked in confusion. Had they gone too far? Osip and Fonzo opened their mouths at the same time but the young man was quicker. "I have a feeling my stamina is being severely underestimated here."
"Right." Osip looked at Lancer who right then lost his battle against a huge smile, and swallowed the apology he had been about to utter. Not that anybody would have heard it anyway in the subsequent roar of laughter.
Arria wiped his eyes and shook his head. He knew there was only one way to snap the people out of the after-battle high, and he decided to use it: "I think we're all in need of breakfast right now."
