Hawkeye Island

Task Force 86

Previous Next

A Streak of Bad Luck

Posted on Sun May 3rd, 2020 @ 11:23pm by

Mission: Mission One: A New Beginning...(Backstory)
Location: Raeya III
Timeline: December 2395

---BEGIN


Nearly 300 meters up the side of one of Raeya III's tallest mountains Second Lieutenant John Mitchell stood precariously on a ledge no more than a few centimeters wide, his body pressed tightly against the cool stone surface of the mountain. There was a narrow crack in the rock just above his head, and he reached cautiously up, probing. The gap was just wide enough to fit the middle two fingers of his right hand, up to the first knuckle; he inserted them securely, drew in a deep breath, then exhaled.

Concentration was critical. A single instant of distraction, a hesitation, one tiny slip, and death would be the inevitable outcome.

At eye level, he found a slight depression in the rock, not enough for a firm grip, but enough for what he needed. He rested his left hand in it and, gripping with the two fingers of his right, pulled his body up over the edge and onto the flat pinnacle of the mountain where he turned to lay on his back.

The act was at once exhausting and exhilarating. He paused for a moment to let his rapid heartbeat slow and to take in the phenomenal view of the Mountain Range as it cut a path through to the ocean far off in the distance where the Randa Islands were located.

Mitchell turned and stood, further along the mountain-top a shuttle was waiting to take climbers back down, but he had other plans. He pulled the pack that had been strapped on his back and opened it up, revealing what was essentially a wing suit with a propulsion unit and a face mask. He quickly disrobed and slipped the wing-suit on, It covered his entire body. A second later he flipped the mask over his face and then packed his belongings in the bag and strapped it back onto his back. Then without so much as a second hesitation he walked to the edge of the mountain that he had just ascended and stepped off.

Holding his hands tight to his side Mitchell flew down the side of the mountain like a bullet head first towards the rocky ground below. Then once he achieved sufficient speed he opened his arms extending the wings of the suit and instantly began leveling out, parallel with the ground. Still over one hundred meters in the air, the suits mechanical thrusters kicked in and he adjusted the flight path until he was rocketing along headfirst over the mounain tops and towards Hawkeye Island beyond that.


**** LATER THAT NIGHT ****

As old 20th century blues and scattered conversation filled the bar behind him, an utterly despondent James Mitchell stared at the liquid in the glass on the bar in front of him. It was dark and brooding, and given his latest turn of events he was feeling the same about the streak of bad luck his career had been going through lately. The blonde haired woman that had just gotten up and left the bar was beautiful, and she smiled pleasantly enough when he grinned at her. ‘Still have that’ he told himself with a self pitying sigh.

A week s prior he had been reprimanded, demoted and told that he was lucky he was still being allowed to keep his wings. And to top it all off he had been sent packing to the Delta Quadrant. To some stupid Island on some stupid backwater planet he'd never even heard of before called Raeya III where he'd probably be lucky to fly once a month, if they ever let him fly again. He was supposed to report to his new CO at 0800 tomorrow, but that wasn't till tomorrow and he still had one last night of freedom left.

Mitchell drank deep and looked around the place where his attention was diverted to a young dark skinned woman walking towards the bar; short black hair, legs that would not quit beneath a short skirt, and calves tucked into thigh high black boots. The combination drew appreciative stares from every man present who saw her, from a few women, and even from a couple of non-humanoids. Nodding and smiling to those she recognized, she ambled up to the bar and leaned gloriously toward the bartender where she ordered a glass of Saurian Brandy.

“That’s a helluva drink for a woman wearing those kinds of boots,” The fighter pilot said from two seats down as he admired her figure.

She turned towards him, Marine she could tell immediately even though he wasn't wearing a uniform. He had nerve, if not brains. Typical ladies’ man, she decided: muscular, handsome, stupid. His grin confirmed it. She straightaway banished him from her reality.

Mitchell pressed on and was about to move closer when a gruff voice sounded behind him.

“This guy bothering you?” a very large man said looking at the woman.

“It's fine,” The woman answered. “Nothing I can’t handle, I’ll be back to our table in a second, just waiting on my drink.”

Smiling, Mitchell leaned toward her. “Or you could stay here with me?”

“Hey. You mind your manners.”

Mitchell turned with a smile and clapped a friendly hand on the large man’s shoulder. “Relax. I didn’t touch her and I didn’t say anything that bad.”

Seeing that things were starting to head south the woman looked back. The rest of her party had now left their table in the corner and were assembling around Mitchell. It was obvious what was about to happen. Not that she even liked this guy, but feeling somehow sort of responsible, she took a step and tried to pull the larger man away.

“Hey it’s ok, let’s just go back to our table.” She implored, but it wasn’t enough.

The large man pushed her away and swung at Mitchell, but he was ready for it and he ducked then charged forward and grappled him. He knew it was best to keep close to the big man so his friends wouldn’t be able to get in a clean swing. That unfortunately didn’t last very long as the man’s two friends wrenched him away rather easily. They then held him by his arms and the big man reared back another punch, this time connecting directly with Mitchell’s jaw.

Rocked by the blow, his head snapped back, then forward and back again as the large men kept swinging and hitting. And then just as quick as the fight had started, it ended with Mitchell being dropped to the ground with a thud. He rolled to the side, and the last thing he remembered seeing before passing out was the long dark legs of the woman he had been chatting with running from the bar.

---END



Second Lieutenant John "Renegade" Mitchell
Fighter Pilot
17th Interceptor Squadron
66th SEG
Hawkeye Island

 

Previous Next

labels_subscribe