From Ship To Stars

Posted on Sun Jul 27th, 2025 @ 10:06pm by Lieutenant Commander Ferrand Beaulieu

589 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Let That Be Your Last
Location: Hanger Bay 1

Ferrand was seated in his office, reviewing the latest maintenance logs for the fighters on the deck. Most of the logs were routine, with nothing alarming to catch his attention. Given the mission requirements, many of the fighters had not logged any flight hours for some time. While this wasn't a significant concern, it meant that the pilots were grounded, and flight training in the holodeck had its limitations.

"Commander Beaulieu, one squadron is out on patrol. There is one flight each on Close Alpha and Mid-Omega patrols, and one flight is tasked with sweeping the orbitals. I want a pass near the meeting complex where the Admiral is located; make it two if possible. Launch when ready."

It was easy to identify the voice; only two individuals had the authority to give orders, and one of them was on the planet, leaving the First Officer. He opened a communication link to the hangar bay, requesting that the flight be made ready for launch, including his own craft. "Aye ma'am." Ferrand stood up, grabbed his flight helmet, and hurried out the door. He felt a sense of eagerness, as this would be the first real operational flight of the new fighter that Victoria had constructed for him. It met the specifications of any other fighter being prepared, but knowing she had contributed to its creation filled him with additional pride in piloting it.

As he raced down the ramp to the hangar floor, his crew was busy preparing his craft. Typically, a crew consisted of five members: a chief, a weapons technician, a systems technician, and two general technicians. The two general technicians stood ready, holding the flight suit open for Ferrand to step into. Every pilot developed a routine with the ground crew over time; some pilots dressed themselves, while others assisted with maintenance. This created a bonding ritual between pilots and crews, where trust was paramount. Pilots would even go so far as to apologize for damaging a fighter that the ground crew had dedicated so much time to maintaining to high standards.

"Standard loadout profile, sir, with no external stores. Systems and electronics check, preflight not initiated."

"Thank you," Ferrand replied as he donned his helmet, securing it to the suit that two of his crew members assisted him with. "What about the others?"

A brief glance was sufficient to receive a response. "1-6, 8-10, and 12, along with 15 and 16, are preparing."

"Get another two squadrons ready for scramble and two more to preflight status," Ferrand instructed, hoping they wouldn't be necessary, but it was prudent to have them prepared. 'Scramble ready' meant the crafts would be fully prepared for launch, with pilots inside and engines primed. Ferrand then ascended the ladder to the cockpit and settled in.

"Preflight," Ferrand commanded.

"Comms."

"Check, backup... check," he confirmed.

"Engines."

"Online and idle," Ferrand replied.

The duo completed the remaining preflight checks, which took about a minute, before receiving the green light to launch. Many pilots slightly adjusted the inertial dampeners to get a better 'feel' for the craft's handling, as any changes were easier to detect this way; Ferrand was one of those pilots and swore by it. Upon seeing the green light, the craft lifted off the deck and surged forward through the shield into the cold expanse of space. A quick glance at his sensor readout indicated that other fighters were launching right behind him.

Once all 12 were in space, he issued his orders for flight patterns, leaving the fly-by of the meeting point to himself.

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