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Flying With Damaged Feathers

by hornethead

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Relic

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Chapter 2: Relic

Outside, the rain had finally stopped, but a fresh set of thunderheads that hung low over the ocean threatened to soon renew their downpour with the help of the off shore winds. It was also becoming dark, the rain-washed sky transitioning into that almost otherworldly dark glow that heralded the onset of night. Tiran quickly made his way off the base and stepped out onto the dirty sidewalk, wondering if he shouldn't just head straight home.

Suddenly, he had an urge to do something he hadn't been able to do in quite a while, and his favorite place wasn't too far away from his current location. He was going to eat out tonight. There weren't a lot of funds in his account, but seeing as he was leaving soon, it didn't really much matter to Tiran.
It took him little over an hour to walk to the place downtown, but fortunately, Tiran managed to make it to the tiny hole-in-the-wall establishment at the fringe of downtown San Diego. Tiran opened the door and stepped in just as the next wave of rain drops began to patter on the sidewalk.

In Tiran's long absence, the place didn't seem to have changed a bit. A few tables lined the wall directly to his right, following the flow of the bar that took up the other side of the room. From behind the bar, an old, frail looking Chinese man looked up and smiled at one of his few remaining regulars, if Tiran could even call himself a regular here anymore. He was actually surprised when he saw the gleam of recognition in the old man's eyes.

No words were said. Tiran simply walked in and took his usual seat at the end of the bar. Within seconds, a cold mug of beer was set in front of Tiran. He took a sip, savoring the golden frothy goodness as it raced down his throat while the old man retreated to the kitchen to prepare Tiran's food.

No sooner than Tiran had taken just a few more sips, Li spoke up, 'Robert Cho is attempting to reach you, would you like me to patch him through?'

Tiran swallowed his beer, "Is he at the apartment?" he mumbled to himself.

'Negative. He is currently four-point-six blocks from our position.'

"Eh, just get him over here."

Tiran worked on the rest of his beer. When he finished it, he suddenly found the empty mug being almost instantly replaced with a full one, along with a steaming bowl of noodles suspended in a meaty broth. Tiran was about to dig in when the door swung open and a man hobbled in, drenched in rain and leaning on a cane. He smiled as he spotted Tiran at the end of the bar and limped over to take a seat.

"Ha! There you are, old Tiger Tiran, how you doin', man?" he said as he sat down, favoring his left leg as he did so.

"Hey, Bobby." Tiran replied casually as he slurped down some of the salty noodles, "what brings you here?"

Robert Cho, or Bobby, was an old acquaintance. An aviator, much like Tiran, they had flown together in a few operations, always watching each other's backs. He was among the few who were probably as close to a friend as Tiran was ever going to get. He hadn't seen the man, not for a couple years at least. As Tiran eyed his leg, it seemed that time hadn't been to kind to him.

"Oh, not much." Bobby replied, holding up a finger to the old man behind the counter to indicate that he would like a beer. "Just been hearing things..."

"Hearing things, huh?" Tiran asked almost dismissively. He had an idea of what things he might have heard, but he didn't really want to talk about them. Couldn't really, since he'd signed those papers. Word still got around fast it seems. Tiran tried to steer the conversation in another direction, "What happened to your leg?"

Bobby glanced down at his leg, "Oh, this?" He rapped his thigh with his knuckles, producing hollow thunks. "Took an AA round to the leg last year, sheared it clean off. I told them they needed to armor the bottoms better, but you know how it is. They don't take our suggestions seriously until something happens. At least I got a shiny new leg out of it!" He added with a smile. "Though the joints do tend to stick when it rains."

"I feel ya," Tiran said as he held up his arm and demonstrated its sluggishness.

"Yeah, you'd think they'd give us some better tech, considering." A mug of beer slid in front of Bobby, he picked it up and greedily took a swig, letting out a contented breath after. "So," he started, turning his body more towards Tiran, "you gonna tell me what's going on?"

There it was. The question Tiran knew was coming. Still, he feigned ignorance, "What do you mean?"

Bobby leaned back and rolled his eyes, "Oh, c'mon! It's not every day that an officer that had been forced to resign and dropped from the roll is seen wandering around Thirty-second without getting tossed out on his ass." He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at Tiran, "Something's going on, what is it?"

Tiran had almost forgotten how determined and stubborn Bobby could be. He wasn't going to let this go easily. Tiran put down his chopsticks and let out a defeated breath, "I'm not exactly sure myself, Bobby. All I know right now is that I'm not supposed to talk about it."

Bobby leaned back with a quizzical expression, "Gag order, huh? They yanked you back in, didn't they?"

"Something like that."

"Sounds real sketchy to me."

"Isn't it always?" Tiran said, returning his attention to his meal.

Bobby eyed him suspiciously for a moment before going back to his beer. "Well," he said in a more subdued tone, "Whatever it is, don't let them do to you what they did last time."

"I'll try not to."

"It was really messed up, y'know, what they did after they pulled you out of all that debris and the...bodies. the whole squadron was pissed, you know. We all knew you were way to good a pilot for that to have been negligence. You'd think they would at least take a look at the black box..."

"It was destroyed."

"I know," Bobby said, "I read the report. But still, the whole thing was bullshit."

Tiran finished up his meal, draining the contents of the bowl and downing the rest of his beer before slapping a few bills down on the counter. "I gotta go, Bob," he said, standing up and walking to the door. "I'll see you some other time, whenever I get back."

"Alright, man. Stay safe," Bobby replied wearily at Tiran walked out the door.


* * *

"Tiran, wake up!"

The sheets shifted a little, but other than that, there was no reaction to Li's words or the incessant beeping of the alarm clock.

"Tiran, get up, you're late again."

With a groan, Tiran pulled the sheets off and sat up in his bed. He pulled his arm up and glanced at his watch, it was almost nine-thirty in the morning.

"Tiran, you're supposed to be at the facility in thirty minutes, I recommend you get dressed." Li chastised.

"Sure thing, Li," Tiran said groggily as he pushed himself off the bed and ambled into the bathroom. his head was pounding once again. Tiran splashed his face with cold water and grabbed the near empty bottle of rum sitting on the edge of the sink, taking a couple gulps to help quell the beast raging in his skull.

"The bus is due to arrive in thirteen minutes." Li urged.

"I know, I know," Tiran said with annoyance as he pulled on a pair of pants, "We'll get out on time, don't rush."

A few minutes later, Tiran was out the door and sprinting for the bus stop. He made it just in time, climbing aboard just as it was about to pull away.

The ride was boring, but fortunately, it didn't take long. The storage complex wasn't too far from his apartment. In fact, he probably could've walked there instead, but Tiran needed to get his things and get packed quickly. Not for the first time, Tiran wished he had a car. Unfortunately, those were pretty expensive these days.

The place the bus dropped Tiran off was old, a little bit dilapidated. Here and there, small green plants poked up from the cracks and rifts in the aged concrete, crawling towards the sunlight. Still, it was secure and out of the way. And cheap.

Tiran walked his way among the rows and rows of identical sheds until, finally, he found his own. Pulling out his key, Tiran unlocked the roll-down door and braced against the onslaught of dust that was sure to ensue. The door flew up into it's stowage with a rattle, allowing Tiran to step inside.

The self-storage space wasn't large. It didn't have to be. All Tiran kept here were a few items too large to fit within his tiny abode and old remnants of his recent past. A rack hung on the wall to the far side. Tiran stepped over to it and began to rifle around in the old uniforms and clothing he had put there.
He would only need a few things; dress uniform, working uniform and his old flight suit. The rest could stay. Tiran began tossing the items he intended to take on a cardboard box to his right.

As he did so, the box shook and shifted, causing something wedged between it and the wall to loosen. It dropped to the hard concrete floor with a clack and a thud, causing Tiran to pause curiously and look around.

His curiosity over taking him, Tiran searched for the source of the disturbance. With a littler bit of searching and reaching back into impossibly small spaces, he found a small mahogany case on the floor behind the cardboard box. He picked it up with his left hand and was surprised to find that the case was made of real wood, something he hadn't encountered in years.

Just as he thought about that, Tiran remembered exactly when he had encountered it; the day his grandfather had given it to him.

Smiling devilishly, Tiran undid the clasp at the front of the lid and gently lifted it open. The item he had inherited was still there, snuggled within the warm red velvet that was made to fit especially for it. Tiran's smiled dropped to a fond grin as his fingertips passed gently of the gleaming rows of small brass cartridges that sat upright alongside the weapon inside the case.

Wanting to admire it more, Tiran wrapped his hand around the grip and pulled out the old antique. The pistol was dated by modern standards, requiring ammunition comprised of a brass shell filled with combustible powder and capped with a heavy metal slug in order to fire—no where near as efficient as today's firearms, which used small, metallic needles magnetically propelled to devastating velocities, nearly hundreds of which could fit nicely within a single magazine.

Still, the old pistol was not without it's beauty, with it's sleek lines and lethal intent. The paint job was a bit odd, subdued crimson reds, blazing yellows and electric blues streaked down the slide, phased in with the matte black. Some of the equipment was as well, with a strange small metallic block that attached to the muzzle and extended the slide out a bit.

Despite that, it was extremely valuable, since they were no longer made, as well as the ammunition. Tiran thought about when he might get back, it could be quite a long time. Should he bring it with him, he wondered.

He remembered his grandfather telling him how he'd gotten it when he had given it to Tiran, saying it was something very important that should be kept close at all times. The pistol had apparently been delivered once when Tiran's grandfather was a young man.

Tiran's grandfather had told him that one day, he received a knock at his door. When he answered, a middle aged looking man with a British accent and missing two fingers was there to greet him. The strange man let himself in, claiming he was a friend of the family in 'an odd sort of way,' as he put it. They talked for a bit and then he left, leaving Tiran's grandfather behind with nothing more than unanswered questions and a small case. A case much like the one Tiran was holding now.

Either way, it was a nice little heirloom and Tiran decided to keep it. Maybe take it with him on this new little assignment Cherovic had him on. All Naval pilots were required to carry a sidearm nowadays, their own personal ones if they so chose.

The smile returned to Tiran's face as he slid it into the bag he had brought to carry his items. He would get a rise out of Cherovic with this particular item, he was sure. The next day was sure to be a fun one.


* * *



Tiran dropped his duffle bag with a huff as he stepped into the Special Projects Department's hangar, rubbing his shoulder as he looked around. The MAs at the gate had pointed him here, but there didn't seem to be as much activity going on here as he had expected. There were only a few pieces of equipment and some computer consoles with their attending technicians, nothing like the clutter of harried workers and experimental equipment he had envisioned. There were, however, several spec-ops types loitering around and heavily armed, which made Tiran a bit nervous.

Tiran grabbed one of the techs as he walked by, "Excuse me, I'm Tiran, I was told to come here, am I in the right place?"

The tech looked a little sluggish, but straightened up when he noticed the bars on Tiran's epaulettes, "Huh? Oh, yes sir! Admiral Cherovic is actually waiting for you in the office over there," he pointed to a small office with the blinds drawn closed attached to the interior of the hangar.

"Hey, thanks," Tiran said as he picked his hefty bag up again.

"No problem, sir."

Tiran casually made his way over to the office wondering what he was in for. He checked his watch, still late. Cherovic wasn't going to be happy about that. Then again, she never really was happy about anything he did. It was one of the few things in life that gave him any amusement.

Approaching the door, Tiran knocked a few times before letting himself in, "Morning, sorry I'm a little late."

Cherovic was seated at the only clean desk in the small opposite, and to Tiran's chagrin, so was Dr. Welkin.

"Ah, yes, I was wondering when you'd finally get here, if ever at all..." Cherovic chastised, clearly displeased to Tiran's delight.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure this was the right place though. What with the hangar and all, I thought I'd get a good look at whatever death contraption you brought me here for."

"It's been moved for security reasons. I didn't want it here in the first place, but my superiors seem to be over-eager to commence the testing."

"Yeah, those superiors, huh? They can be real ball busters," Tiran chuckled, but stopped when he saw the warning look Cherovic gave him. Tiran still allowed himself a chuckle inside.

"Regardless," Cherovic said, pulling a tablet from her bag and placing it on the table, "You shall have your look. Please, take a seat."

Tiran dropped his bag in the corner and reluctantly sat down beside Dr. Welkin who smiled mischievously at him.

"Now," Cherovic continued, "I assume you have the LIANI program on your person?"

"Her name's Li," Tiran said defensively.

"Of course," Cherovic smiled.

"It's a pleasure to meet you again," Li broadcast from her tiny speaker embedded in Tiran's arm, "Congratulations on your promotion, Admiral."

"Thank you, Li. I'm sure you have disabled all your transmission capabilities, we will be discussing classified material." Cherovic said politely.

"Of course, Admiral."

"Good." Cherovic replied, powering on her tablet and accessing some files. "Now for the reason you're here, Tiran." She pulled up some picture files and spun the tablet around to face Tiran and Dr. Welkin. "I'm sure you are familiar with this craft?"

Tiran pulled the tablet closer and stared at the image on the screen. In it was a stubby looking aircraft with cockpit shaped like a rounded triangle in the front with a boxier section attached behind it. It was about twelve meters long by three and a half meters high with stubby wings just aft of the cockpit and running down its length. Thrust and control nozzles were scattered here and there around the craft.

It was a nostalgic sight for Tiran, he did know this aircraft. It was one he used to fly. The AVC-21D Longjumper was a fairly ugly looking, yet highly maneuverable VTOL aircraft designed to insert and extract combat teams into hotly contested areas. A combat jumper, it was often outfitted with a small 20mm chin gun along with air-to-surface missiles and rockets mounted under its wings.

Normally flown with two pilots, one sat behind the other, it could also a complement of fifteen marines in its aft compartment. With its mini molecular fusion power plant, it could quickly drop them in almost any terrain or situation, while under fire, and also provide close-air-support, then bug out before the enemy even knew what was really going on. It had effectively replaced the old helicopter in high-risk combat operations, and Tiran was one of its pilots.

"So what?" Tiran said, "It's an old Longjumper. I flew those all the time, as well as a lot of other people. What's so hush-hush about this?"

"This is," Cherovic replied, changing the picture.

A new aircraft appeared. Tiran looked, it was another Longjumper. But, no. It was different, sleeker. The basic frame was the same, but the fuselage had been radically altered. The wings had more lift area and were more swept back, reinforced. On top of that, they had more weapons racks attached to them and to the sides.

The cockpit and aft compartment were different, too. The cockpit was smaller and more flush with the rest of the fuselage. By its size, Tiran guessed that only one person could fit in there. The aft compartment was the piece that seemed to have changed the most, however.

It looked like it had shrunk in size as well, but to such a degree that it seemed almost compressed. Along its sides were a myriad of warnings about gamma and electro-magnetic radiation. there was no aft ramp or side doors, just small, man-hole sized access covers. The only thing that seemed untouched from the outside was the power plant area and most of the thrust nozzles.

"What the heck is this?" Tiran asked. "It looks like an over-sized fighter now."

"Yes, I know it does," Cherovic agreed, "but it is much, much more, I assure you."

"Then why do you have me here? I ain't no fighter jock," Tiran said, eliciting a humph from Dr. Welkin due to his poor choice in grammar.

Cherovic's eyes slid onto the thin, reedy man, "Something to say, Doctor?"

Dr. Welkin, a little suprised at his call to attention, nevertheless cleared his throat, "Fighter jock, indeed. This is no mere fighter, I assure you. No, it is so much more. This is the AVX-221 Cloudburst, currently being held at a secure location due to a recent security incident. What this baby can do puts any and all fighters anybody owns to shame." The Doctor beamed at his own proclamation.

"Well, what the hell?" Tiran said, "Why would you turn a Longjumper into a freaking fighter?"

"Why the hell not?" Dr. Welkin countered. "The Cloudburst's abilities are absolutely astonishing! Why, with its Blink abilities alone, you could—"

"Not here, Doctor!" Cherovic chastised, cutting him off. "Once we reach the site, you can brief him on the Cloudburst, as well as its support equipment, but you would be wise to remain silent on the matter until then."

Welkin looked visibly cowed, "Yes ma'am."

"Good. as for you, Tiran, you are to report back to this airfield tomorrow morning, ready for departure to the new site, am I understood?"

"Sure."

"Good. Good day, gentlemen. I shall see you tomorrow evening. Dismissed."

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: New Wings Estimated time remaining: 7 Hours, 47 Minutes
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