Combat Piloting Interview

Posted on Tue Nov 26th, 2019 @ 10:22am by Captain Enalia Telvan & Ensign Fiona O'Dell
Edited on on Sat Nov 30th, 2019 @ 2:43pm

Mission: Neutral Zone Neutrality
Location: Main Gym
Timeline: 2396

While Enalia had heard a lot of mixed reports on Ensign Fiona O'Dell, she had not met the woman herself. She knew she was an accomplished test pilot and had covered quite a few night shifts on the bridge, but the Mariprosian midget had also come up on the Captain's blotter several times for bar fights and drunk and disorderly behavior in Ten Forward. She and her life partner, Ensign Gavarus, were somewhat notorious on the Hera for that very reason.

They were also a bit famous for being the only team that could keep up with Ensign Gonadie's crazy inventions, which made them more than interesting in Enalia's eyes. After all, getting in a bar fight or two... Or thirty...

The Trill woman sighed heavily as she finished off another holographic fencing opponent. This was how she had taken to clearing her head before lunch and to get in some extra training - Fencing training to hone her skills.

"Level one seventeen clear. Proceeding to level one eighteen." came the sound of the computer's voice as she focussed and the next opponent came on.

The infamous pair had just adopted the minotaur baby and it seemed to have had a positive effect on them as no complaints had reached her desk in several weeks as of late, other than the incident of Minnie headbutting several children and breaking a door. Enalia would take the victories where she could get them though, and she was hoping Fiona's combat piloting skills would mesh well with her combat command style.

This was why Enalia had asked the woman to meet her for lunch after her time in the gym.

"Suuure, take on some bridge shifts. Learn how to fly the big girl, take care of the ship and be ready for combat flying. Now it's meet the bluiddy Captain. Fookin Lieutenant settin me oop... no good ivvir come oot of a meetin' wi' the brass, Fiona, me gel," the picayune pilot muttered to herself as she paced outside the gymnasium, trying to psyche herself up.

Breaking away from R&D, she hadn't told Gavarus about the meeting, instead begging off that she had to follow up on some orders from the Lieutenant, who seemed determined to keep her every waking hour occupied with simulations and required reading and technical specs. It was one thing when she was working to find the flaws in experimental spacecraft and she just had to report. Now it was like being in flight school all over again, because apparently Romulans didn't sleep or think other people did either. The deeper into it she got, the more O'Dell was regretting having agreed to take on the additional duties.

Now it was a meeting with the Captain for lunch, where she'd have to watch her mouth, try not to say anything offensive, and pray the woman was in a good mood. She'd already peed four times between leaving Deck 3 and arriving at Deck 7, she was so nervous. She desperately wanted a drink to calm her nerves, but it certainly wouldn't do to have the Captain know she was a day drinker on top of whatever other reports she had on her.

Of course, there was the question of why she wanted to meet with an ensign whom the top of her head came up to the woman's tits. Fiona had already braided, unbraided, ponytailed and turned loose her hair, and she couldn't stop wringing her hands. She was also reasonably sure she could throw up if she'd had anything left in her stomach, but that she'd left behind when the Chief told her about the scheduled meeting. In the moment she was equally willing to run away and hide or to just resign from Starfleet to avoid the meeting, but that would just get her into more trouble or cause Gavarus to resign as well, and that wouldn't be fair to her porcine partner.

"Why did ye agree to do this, ye daft hairbrush," Fiona muttered to herself, but she knew. The damned Lieutenant had pointed out all the lives in her hands, and two of them were Briaar and Minerva. She'd drive a shuttlecraft into hell to outfly Satan himself to protect those two, so she had to face this. Thinking of those big brown eyes, she tried to swallow the enormous lump in her throat and steel herself.

For Briaar. For Minnie.

"Inta the lion's den to meet the bluiddy pirate pornstar..." the midget Mariposian muttered, stepping into the gymnasium where she'd been told to meet the Captain.

Barely catching a glance of the picayune pilot entering the gym, Enalia took a double step back and stepped on the emergency stop zone for the fencing sim, bringing her training to a halt. She then stepped out of the specialized weapons training area and grabbed a towel and her water bottle, sheathing her sword - a beautiful gold heavy rapier with a full guard and a rose jewel pommel. "Ensign O'Dell, I presume. It's a pleasure finally meeting you. Your reputation precedes you." With a rather piratical grin that may have looked a bit sadistic from the angle Fiona had, Enalia offered her a handshake.

A bloody SWORD? O'Dell's eyes went from the sword dropped casually into the scabbard to the rather prodigious bust of the trill woman, which sweat had rendered somewhat translucent. Which was indeed right at eye level for the short stunt pilot. Gathering her wits and trying not to stare at the big brown 'eyes' staring at her at eye level, O'Dell plastered on a smile that didn't quite work and when she spoke, her voice immediately cracked. "Ah, nothing-"

Trying to clear her throat, the nervous junior officer took the sweaty hand in her own and tried not to react to the sweaty handshake. "Ah, noothin' good I'd s'pose mum. Sir. Cap'n."As per usual, not knowing which form of address to use, Fiona just rattled them all off, hoping she'd hit the right one as her accent thickened as it always did when she was nervous.

"Some good, some bad," Enalia admitted, her mood souring just the slightest. "And never call me 'sir' unless you want to go for a really long spacewalk." Continuing to towel off and stepping through one of the public sonic booths, Enalia headed to her locker that had her uniform as she continued to talk. "Your recent records aboard the Hera have been impressive, to say the least. Forty-seven bar fights in the last year alone, successful piloting of an experimental and untested combat vehicle which resulted in not only you staring down my mother, but collected critical intel and spared the lives of her crew. And that's just getting started."

At this juncture, the small stereotype didn't know what to say, so she just shut up and listened. It didn't sound like an invitation to talk, so rather than correct or comment, she just followed along, wondering if she was going to watch the woman get dressed next. Folding her hands behind her so the Captain couldn't see her fidgeting, O'Dell tried to keep her breathing even as her heart hammered in her chest and she tried to concoct excuses for whatever other misbehavior might come up next.

"So... having said that, I and both of your supervisors believe that you would be a good match to my command style during combat." Enalia then grabbed out her uniform and slipped it on over top of her gym clothes. "Thus, I've invited you to lunch with me. My wife has prepared us a nice Trill version of shepherd's pie, so I hope you like it. Instead of being made with beef, we make it with a large, meaty bean. Otherwise, it should be pretty close."

"I'm, ah, sure t'will be fine mum. Captain. Si-" O'Dell managed to stop her nervous rambling just in time to not repeat the same mistake twice, as visions of what constituted 'a really long spacewalk' flooded into her brain, and she bit her lip to try to focus and change the subject. Before she realized she was going out on a limb, she had already started to speak. "Uuhhhh, so whut, ah, beggin' yuir permission ta ask, mum, what exactly is yuir, uh, command style thatcher thinkin Ah might be a guid match fer?"

As the spotted woman led them out of the gym and down to the nearest turbolift, Enalia began her explanation. "Unlike most captains, I don't give headings or attack patterns. I find them predictable and pointless almost all of the time. If I call out evasive maneuvers, it's up to you to come up with something that the Hera can do that won't tear her apart at the seams yet, is still evasive. If I call out a general maneuver like 'bring us about', I want you to figure out the heading based on where the bloody enemy is. Line up for good firing angles and such. I've used mines, warp shadow probes, hidden behind asteroids..."

As they entered the turbolift, Enalia paused a moment to lock her eyes with Fiona's. "Computer, deck eight. I'm a pirate queen at heart. My tactics are that of a pirate queen. I refuse to lose. If that means you have to do a one hundred eighty degree power slide at warp nine... Don't rip the engines off. What this interview is for is to help me determine if you can take the pressure on the bridge. After all, there are nearly eight hundred lives aboard counting on how well you can pilot. Not only that, but it's no exaggeration to say that some days the fate of the universe is decided on that bridge."

"So how about we have lunch and see how well you handle that kind of stress?" Enalia finished as the turbolift doors opened.

"Can we joost skip to the paart where ye see if I kin fly the bluiddy ship instead of the fookin' interview?" O'Dell blurted out, then her hands flew to her face to cover her mouth as her eyes went wide. "M'sorry m'sorry ah christ jayzis... ah... I dinna... ah..."

For a moment Enalia could only stare as Fiona stumbled over her words before bursting out in laughter and clapping the much shorter woman on the back. "Fine then, to the flight simulator. Computer, take us to the flight sims and clear one for use." With a chirrup, the turbolift doors closed once more. "We'll have to apologize to Maica afterwards for being late. Now... Which battle should we load? Any recommendations?"

Surprised that her gaffe hadn't landed her in hot water, the short sprite spoke frankly, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "Ah jazis mum, I dunno. The Lieutenant's had me runnin sims an' exercises and alla that blatherskite, an' they all blend inta one another. Ye want to see if I kin figger oot what ye want from nae mooch orderin', ye pick the scenario and I'll show ye what Ah kin do to fly her. L-T said ta joost lean inta her and fly her like I would a single pilot fighter, so ye call the battle and I'll see if I canna keep us from gettin blowed oop, aye?"

"Then how about a classic scenario from one of the earlier days of the Hera under my Command?" Enalia grinned that lopsided grin of hers as the turbolift doors opened to the flight control offices, the flight sims not far away. "While rescuing an intel officer from a Reman prison station, we had to team up with a pirated B'rel scout class and fight an older Warbird while in orbit of a small neutron star. That mission was before our current refit so I think we can bump the old Ar'kif to something more modern like a Valdore or... Let's say a Laeosa class warbird and with no help. You'll have to line up attack vectors on an evenly matched Rihannsu vessel, worry about a stealthed runabout, and keep up with whatever surprises they have."

"Plus there's the gravity pulses of a neutron star ta keep an eye oot for, a'cuz they pulse, aye? S'like waves radiatin' ootward at odd intervals that mess wi' the nav sensors and make it like waves on the beach? Runaboots have phasers but no torpedoes, an' since ye said team up I assume we're tryin' ta line up rendezvous coordinates fer the runaboot, while we're fightin one a'them great big Romulan birds the same size as us. Cept she packs a cloak we canna penetrate, a horde a'disruptors, and plasma cannons that pack a wallop, cuz they bypass our shields and do structural damage, aye?" Switching the topic to actual flying, the accent eased back and the little lass immediately became both more talkative and forthcoming. While it was clear she was afraid of the rank and intimidated by the woman, flying was something she had considerably more confidence in, and said confidence was readily evident.

As Enalia programmed in the modified scenario, she added a few notes from the actual battle she had lived through. "We have a slew of tricks up our sleeve as well though, including tachyon field emitters that can detect a perfect cloak through at close range, given the star's pulses don't disrupt it too much. Though with them defending their station, they didn't use their cloak more than three times, as I remember. The stealth runabout will have to be protected at all costs as the Selune's sole mission is to not be detected and rescue the agent. Their mission will take nine minutes. As for their plasma weaponry... They're slow enough so if we keep a decent distance they should be avoidable. The Leosa class is also suspected to have similar tricks to ours, including specialized armaments."

The sim doors finally opened as the computer chirruped, revealing a replica of the Hera's bridge, red alert status already in place. Helm and the Captain's chair were empty, with the rest of the seats filled with unfamiliar faces as status reports were being called out, setting the stage for the mission.

"Captain, the star just cycled! Shields at ninety-seven percent! Enemy has detected us and is decloaking! Leosa class Warbird! The station is not taking any outward action so far."

The Trill Captain strode to the big chair and sat down as if she owned it. "Ensign O'Dell, activate manual controls and take us to combat speeds."

As the Captain spoke, the scrawny starfighter pilot had already scampered ahead of her, literally jumping into the empty helm station chair. Punching in her access code for the station with confidence, the station adjusted the settings to accommodate the half-pint heroine. Smaller and shorter and more petite than most of her peers, O’Dell was ideally suited to testing starcraft as her lower body weight and mass meant that she was easy to accommodate in a cockpit. But it was a liability on the bridge, where the stations were set for adult-sized humanoids.

The USS Hera was no ordinary vessel, however, and her flight control interface had been designed by a genius whose revolutionary designs would someday be a fleet standard. The seat moved up and forward, pedals extended out from underneath it even as a throttle and joystick rose up out of the flat panel display, ringed by holographic interface controls that enabled a number of functions, all of which O’Dell had recently been tutored in, rather extensively.

At which point she paused, waiting.

"Try and anticipate their moves and avoid a frontal assault, but do your best to line up our forward weapons," Enalia ordered, checking the scenario readouts on her chair.

“They’ve decloaked and they’re lining up their targeting resolutions, mum. If we give ‘er a tic… ah, there she is, she figgers we’re g’win ta be on the same course and speed, so there she goes, annnnd…” the petite pilot jerked the throttle back toward herself even as she angled the throttle, pulling the large and seemingly unwieldy starship into a sudden reverse turn, negating and reversing her forward momentum for two seconds as the line of disruptor fire tracked a trajectory upon which the Hera was no longer pursuing. Shoving the throttle forward, launching the large vessel into action, O’Dell propelled the customized Nebula class forward.

“Ye g’win ta stare slackjawed all day or do ye plan to return fire, aye?” the small smartass at the stick called out to tactical even as she began evading adjusted incoming fire from the enemy warship, clearly anticipating the trajectories with a grasp of three-dimensional geometry that could not be taught.

"Modulate phasers to compensate for the star's interference and open fire. Ready quantum torpedoes - set them to explode on proximity rather than on impact. It'll irradiate them like a glow bug so they can't cloak easily." The spotted captain was calling out orders fast now that the sim was in full swing.

That was when the ship shuddered slightly from a wave from the star. "And let's see if they're having a hard time with the pulses as well. Tactical maneuvers, please. I want to dance a jig around our partner."

“Wahhhhhl, if ye want ta dance a jig wi’ a starship, mum, ye canna do that wi’ three dimensional flight plans,” O’Dell commented from the helm as the Hera slid past the Romulan vessel, even as her hands were not on the helm, but busily tapping away at the holographic display showing a globe of the arena of engagements. The small and dexterous digits of the little lass fairly flew, and they were back at the controls within a few seconds, at which point she called over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving the displays as the computer crunched the math for her. “Get yuir targeting set and gi’me a mark- the cap’n wants a jig, we’re g’win ta show her a right bonny good time!”

The tactical officer, puzzled by the request that sounded more like a demand from the impish helmsman, reported. “We’re locked on, so-“

“Aye, guid! Cuz here we goo!” At that, the starship suddenly blipped for a fraction of a second at warp 1, moving laterally. On the spherical display above the piloting station, it showed that the Hera had winked out then reappeared two thousand kilometers from her starting point. Where she remained long enough for the Romulan warship to change her targeting resolution, whereupon as it opened fire, the Hera was no longer there, but hopping in a seemingly random direction for another fraction of a second warp hop, another three thousand five hundred kilometers distant.

“At's the spirit, target this, ye pointy-eared bastards. Lady wants a jig, we’re g’win ta dance to a right merry tune,” O’Dell muttered to herself, although the captain still heard it clearly. Raising her voice to be heard clearly, the little lass they called ‘Leprechaun’ called out to the starship’s master and commander, her eyes never leaving the tactical display as the Hera winked back into existence six thousand kilometers from her previous position, yet still aligned toward her opponent. “That’ll keep ‘em confused for a bit more mum, til they catch on and start launching spreads. D’ye want to close or lead ‘em on a merry chase noow? Ye said we’re stallin fuir time to protect the runabout, aye?”

The operations officer was looking a bit green as they reported in. "Selune reports they've docked with the station. Estimated mission time, nine minutes."

"Excellent," replied Enalia. "Unload all torpedoes, please." As soon as she gave the order, the forward main launcher and the forward pod launchers began a salvo of quantum torpedoes that would put an Akira class to shame - a full twenty one gun salute, each one set to explode not on impact, but in close proximity, the radioactive debris soaking right through the Romulan ship's shields and right into the hull so that it would all but glow in the dark for weeks.

The resulting fireworks caused the viewscreen to dim as they lit up almost as bright as the star they were fighting near. "Enemy shields at seventy percent. They're launching torpedoes. Captain, they're loaded with protomatter warheads!"

"Evasive maneuvers! They touch us we're all dead!" Enalia ordered immediately. "Lock phasers if you can!"

“Nae pressure there,” O’Dell muttered as she cancelled the random warp hops. It wouldn’t do to pop into an explosion- this would have to be handled manually, watching the sensors to determine the trajectories of the torpedoes, estimating the explosive radius of the warhead burst and staying ahead of them and avoiding them even as she kept the starship in the theater of operations to insure the success of the mission. As the torpedoes streaked out from the Romulan warship, O’Dell’s bright emerald eyes, seemingly too big for her face, darted across the displays for a second and a half, watching, anticipating and making her choices before she shoved the throttle fully forward, taking the Hera up to full impulse, fully .9 of warp speed. Generally considered too fast for maneuvering, the pixie pilot was taking no chances. If they touch us we’re dead left little to the imagination, and zero room for error.

“Maaaan of Haaarlech stoop yuir dreeeamin, can’t ye see their spear points gleeeamin…” O’Dell sung not entirely under her breath as she pushed the starship into twisting, rolling and shearing maneuvers which threatened to tear the great ship from stem to stern. But the pedals enabled her to work the inertial dampeners as she flew, adding stressors to compensate or loosening them up when she needed more time and distance.

A sudden shudder was indicative of a close miss, and the diminutive daredevil interrupted her song to curse. “Fookin goabashite Romulan bastards, yuir nae messin oop me test flight! Tactical, if Ah git’ny closer I’m g’win ta scrape the paint, so what’re ye waitin fer, bluiddy Christmas?!?”

As the tactical officer started sweating, phaser fire lanced out at the remaining protomatter torpedo before the Leosa class warbird suddenly pulled their own 'Picard Maneuver' and popped up in front of the Hera, launching a full salvo of plasma torpedoes right in the path of the Nebula class starship.

"Load tricobalt warhead and fire on that warbird!" Enalia ordered immediately. Slow seconds passed as the glowing green balls in front and the yellow ball behind them converged on them before a silver lance of light arced out of the forward torpedo launcher, just as the warbird decided it was a good time to cloak, striking the green ship in the side of the beak-shaped forward hull. "All hands, brace for impact!"

“Impact me tiny arse!” O’Dell curse at the helm. Shoving the stick down and activating a waiting warp hop, she accelerated beyond the capacity of the pursuing plasma torpedoes, leaving nothing in their path but the Warbird itself. As O’Dell pulled the Hera into a turn that strained the inertial compensators, the starship cavitated and groaned, but held together as she redirected them back toward the battle. “Suck on that, ye plasma-breathin bastirds!”

As the bow hull of the warbird broke up and escape pods ejected, the singularity core started going critical and imploded, taking most of the beak of the now derelict ship with it. The sim then started shutting down and cycling through the results, displaying the damages to each vessel and the six minutes left they would have to wait on the Selune to return.

After a moment of review, Enalia nodded satisfied. "Congrats. We took out the warbird with only mild torsion on the hull, fourteen minor injuries, six major injuries, and the equivalent of two blown warp coils worth of maintenance, limiting us to warp six for the next week. I would call that a passing grade."

Clambering out of the helm station chair, O'Dell looked like a guilty child as she clasped her hands behind her back and looked over to the Captain somewhat forlornly. "Ah, sorry mum... I dinna mean ta breek her. Lieutenant said I should treat 'er like a starfighter, so that's what Ah did... sorry I blew out the warp coils."

"If you hadn't, there wouldn't be a ship to pilot. Hence why you pass. However... Do be mindful that there are nearly eight hundred other life forms aboard this behemoth of a fighter, ok?" Enalia spoke softly, not scolding the young officer, but instead choosing to nurture the raw skills she displayed.

"You're an amazing pilot and if this were the Artans, you'd be at the helm of one of our flagships, but as this is Starfleet... Unfortunately, I have to remind you of your responsibility to the ship and crew... Assign you simulations... And clear you for combat ops on the bridge." Enalia then glanced over at the simulated ops officer trying not to vomit on her console. "But if you make anyone throw up, you get to clean up the mess."

"So... be more careful, mum? Dinna fly 'er like a starfighter?" O'Dell asked, not sure what the lesson was to be taken from the Captain's words.

"Fly her like a really big, pregnant starfighter," Enalia amended softly. "She's as agile as a ship a tenth her size, but not quite as sturdy as a proper fighter, and carrying very precious cargo. Does that make better sense?"

The short and spindly ensign witht he mop of unruly curls, didn't make eye contact when she began speaking, still clearly self-conscious. "Ah'm nae a vurrah good officer, mum. M'lazy and Ah curse too much and I dinna keep me mouth shut when Ah should, and Ah drink too mooch. But... th'Lieutenant, she told me that we're flyin' inta dangerous sectors, and we're likely in fer a fight, an' she won't be here ta pilot her. So she wants me ta do it." Looking up at the much taller woman, O'Dell's face wore a small, chagrined smile.

"The Chief's onboard, Ensign Gonadie, and she's havin' chicks... three, she says. An' me Briaar's onboard." As she spoke, O'Dell smiled a bit more genuinely, thinking of the important people in her life and relaying it to the authority figure who intimidated her, but now, not so much she couldn't explain herself. "She's an engineer, clever an' smart, wi' big strong hands what kin fix innything. And our wee Minnie Mo, an'... I dinna think I'm the one fuir the joab. But... precious cargo, mum. I'd do innything to protect 'em. Whativvir it takes... e'en takin' the bridge under the scary pirate, if yui'll pardon me sayin' so, and flyin' the big pregnant space whale like she's a Banshee fighter."

"So... aye, mum, Ah do understand precious cargo. S'the only reason m'here today. I'd do whativvir it takes to protect me family and me loved ones, aye?"The midget moppet's bright green eyes searched those dark eyes of the Trill captain with hope that she'd expressed herself sufficiently for the Captain to understand why she'd faced her fears and done as she'd been asked, to audition for the position and responsibility that she very much did not want, yet did so because she had to.

Enalia leaned in and gently rested a hand on the Mariposian moppet's shoulder. "Aye, Ensign. I understand perfectly. And Fiona? That's what'll make you a great officer one day. Now how about we go have that lunch? I've got a bottle of my family's vintage we can crack open with it, but don't tell anyone, ok?"

The smile that dawned across the face of the picayune pilot was genuine, and grateful. “Aye Cap’n mum’s the word. Long as ye dinna mind a wee drunk at the cap’n’s table, cuz I’m a cheap date!”