"Ko-dan?"
"Sir, if it is, it's not like anything I've seen before. It's definately not Star League."
"Shit. Get the crews to the GunStars. Now."
Over the loudspeakers in the base on the orbiting the planet Rylos, the klaxons blared, followed by the unmistakable orders "All GunStar Crews, code 6, all GunStar Crews, code 6. Report to your ships for immediate scramble briefing enroute." Repeated three times.
The Hero of the frontier war, Alex Rogan, and his navigator Grig were enjoying a game of Chess when the order came. "Gri-"
"Don't ask, Alex! We must get to GunStar1!" With that, the two bounded out of the galley, quickly snatching up their gear, and dressing on the way.
The Hangar was huge, housing fully 50 Gunstars. Alex found himself in awe in spite of himself. The countless times he'd been hangar 17 did not dissuade him from gaping every time he stepped into it. He'd seen it rebuilt after the Ko-Dan assault a few years ago, and transformed from smoldering wreckage, to an impressive, cavernous fortress, attached to the base, with room for yet more GunStars, it was amazing. At the moment, it was alive with activity as crew after crew assembled at the lifts to their respective ships. Already the first few Gunstars were loaded into the launch tubes. At any given time, 10 Gunstars could exit the base simultaneously, and this was but one of 30 or so in the base, allowing for hundreds of ships to be scrambled at any time, not to mention the command ships constantly patrolling the area where the Frontier has once been, before it was collapsed by Emporer Xur several years ago. Alex found himself wondering what on earth---Rylos could cause such an alert to be given, what could possibly have slipped past the patrols and get close enough to necessitate a scramble like this. And this wasn't a drill!
In the Cockpit, Grig gave the first of many orders to his GunStar wing, the Warwolves. over the radio, he barked "Preflights by the numbers, everyone."
"Whiskey 1, Check."
"Whiskey 2, Check."
"Whiskey 3, Check."
"Whiskey 5, Check."
"Whiskey 6, Check."
To that Grig added, "Whiskey 4, are you reading me?"
"Yeah, Grig, whiskey 4, here. Sorry, our radio's on the fritz again."
"Alex?" Grig asked.
"What means, 'on the fritz'."
"Oh," Alex replied from the gunnery chari, already powering up his weapons, checking missile loadouts, and testing the chair gyros, "That's uh, an old Earth Saying, It means, it's not working right."
"I see....Very well." Thumbing the communicator switch, "Right, Patrick, you'll have to use backup short range instead."
"Copy that, Whiskey 7. Short range it is."
Whiskey 4 was one of the newest members of the WarWolves wing, and he was human, like Alex. From a city in Arizona, he was hand picked by Centauri, again, to prove that humans did, in fact, have what it took to become a member of the Star League. Patrick had alot riding on him, and he knew it. He had to not only prove that humans were capable and able fighters, that Alex Rogan was not just an anomaly, but he had to prove that Alex was the Rule rather than the exception. As such, Alex took him under his wing immediately upon arrival, teaching him the finer points of piloting a GunStar, gunnery tactics,and Space Navigation.
Okay, I'll stop here I have a really neat idea as to where this will go, but I'm not going to continue if teven this much is considered pure garbage. So tell me what you think, and if you wish the story to continue!
*WHORING ALERT! WHORING ALERT*
