Devon's Blade Read Free Page B

probably hard up for new tail on such a small base. I handed him my ID tag and he retracted his eye balls back into his head after he saw my rank.
    “Does it ever cool off around here?” I asked Chet.
    “Sometimes, when a summer typhoon blows through. But that doesn’t happen too often.”
    I shook my head and took a long drink. The beer was warm and bitter. A cheap domestic brand probably out of date by the time it arrived planetside.
    I turned around on the wooden stool and leaned back on the bar, hoping to catch a breeze coming across the flight line from the beach. Instead I just managed to swat a few more mosquitos on my leg and arm.
    “The bugs don’t carry any known diseases, but they are annoying,” the man said. He pushed his empty mug across the bar and backed off his stool.
    “Get you another Chief?” the bartender asked.
    “Nope, I’ve had my fill.” He turned to look me in the eye and tilted his floppy sun hat.
    “Pleasure to meet you Devon, I’m sure I’ll see you around. It’s a small island.”
    “Likewise,” was all I could say before he was headed out the open door with a slight lean into night. I took my drink and walked back out to where the women were drinking and talking quietly. They clammed up and I could tell they were looking me over and trying to decide if I was worth getting to know.
    “Good evening ladies. May I join you?”
    The dark haired one shook her head and the blonde just stared at me with big eyes. Enlisted, no doubt. I sat down on a wooden chair beside the blonde and looked off across the flight line.
    “You’re the new Fighter Squadron Commander aren’t you,” the blonde asked.
    I took a drink and winked back at her. “Yeah, but don’t hold it against me.”
    She smiled and took a nudge on her shoulder from the brunette as they stood up.
    “We have to turn in, ma’am,” she said as she shoved the blonde woman away. I waved goodbye and looked back out towards the ocean. It was clear they were uncomfortable talking to a higher ranking officer. I got that. They were probably maintenance crew judging from the grime under their short, broken nails.
    I sat there alone for a while, trying to drown my anxieties about the next day and finally decided I was tired enough to sleep. It was a short walk back to my shack where I climbed under the netting and fell onto my lumpy cot. I don’t remember falling asleep. You gotta love cheap beer.

CHAPTER 3
    Remote bases usually had a much leaner structure than regular fleet squadrons. They used to be called Combined Squadrons but lately Fighter Command has taken to just calling them Fighter Bases. There was an overall Base Commander and only a Fighter Squadron Commander under that. Operations and Security personnel all fell under the Base Commander’s direct control and anything to do with supporting the flight line was under the Fighter Squadron Commander’s control.
    It was customary to meet with the Base Commander when you took over command of a squadron. Before the war there was a bunch of pomp and ceremony accompanying any change of command but all that had slowly gone away under the pressures of being at war. Now it was just an informal meet and greet, often over a meal. Base Commanders typically outranked Fighter Squadron Commanders for all things not directly associated with carrying out the greater mission. I usually got along fine with my base commander but I can’t say as if the feeling was always mutual. That was probably due to the fact that they wound up doing what I needed more than the other way around.
    I knocked on the wooden door with two sharp raps and heard a terse “Enter.” from inside. I wore a clean, light gray flight suit with my hair tied in a regulation tail. Always put your best foot forward when meeting with your superior officer.
    I walked up to his desk and saluted, “Commander Ardel, reporting for duty, sir.”
    He was eating his breakfast on a tray from the mess tent. It looked like