Building Wings On the Way Up.
Clover stood outside a glorified shack with a small mob of people. The engineers, technicians and various tradesmen seemed to be about 70% tired, 50% hungover, 80% disgruntled, 80% lacking coffee, and about 30% sleeping while standing up. With many people Clover noted, as pulling double to even quintuple duty between these categories. After about fifteen minutes of waiting around the engineers sent out those amongst them that were least tired to forage for coffee, and soon the technicians and trades people followed suit. After a short expedition of two minutes, a tradesman returned in tow with a person pushing a small coffee and donut cart, and there was much rejoicing.
“What do you want? Cause I need the biggest coffee that ever existed.” A tired hungover disgruntled and severely lacking coffee version of Veldt asked.
“Just whatever’s cheap ,” Clover responded, wondering what the effects of snorting a line of caffeine were.
“Sounds good,” Veldt affirmed, pulling out a bag of coins. “Say, think I could grab one of those plant pots and claim it’s a coffee cup?”
“They have holes in the bottom Veldt.”
“Yea and I’ve got some super glue what are you getting at?”
“How do you not have coffee cups on you?”
“I have two and they're full of pens.”
“You know you can take the pens out.”
“And lose the aesthetic!”
“They’re coming between you and your coffee,” Clover mumbled. “Your call.”
“Hold these,” Veldt piped before getting into que.
Clover rummaged around to find pocket space for the roughly eighty writing implements and other odd tools that were thrust into her hands. “Where does she keep all her damn pockets?” She wondered with enough annoyance that the person next to her could divine it.
Clover stuffed the pens in her bag and crossed her fingers that nothing would leak. She found her paperwork in there and wished she hadn’t stayed up all night studying it. Most people seemed to have gotten it right before they left and were reading it while waiting.
“Here’s a coffee, it’s mostly chicory” Veldt stated between slurps.
“I’ll live with it,” Clover mumbled.
She checked the line to the coffee guy again and it seemed to be filling up with people in military fatigues.
“Are these guys who we’re waiting for?” Clover mumbled.
“Good question,” Veldt Slurped. “Let’s find out.”
Veldt immediately walked up to the person last in line who looked to be in his mid 30s and that had a sort of aura of mild disgruntlement about him. He was carrying a reusable canteen that had “I C0ULD B3 F1SH1NG AND 1’M H3RE” with letters that look like they were stolen off several old mailboxes. Veldt then began tapping him on the shoulder while Clover wondered the best way of denying that they knew each other.
“Hi hello, hi there, my friend was wondering if you know who we’re waiting on?”
“Good question,” they mumbled. “I was just told to be here a half an hour after sunrise.”
“Ah,” Veldt stated, gears visibly turning in her head. Took her a bit to get there though so she had to oil said gears with some coffee.
“You were told to get here before that I take it,” He stated
“Yes.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“No we were told sunrise,”
“I was told fifteen after sunrise,” a scrappy looking guy in fatigues muttered.
“Yea I think it’s typical time padding,” they muttered.
“Well, is ‘what's their name’ going to get here soon?”
“Nope,” both the troops chimed at once.
“Fantastic,” Veldt wandered off.
Clover pulled out a cheap paperback she’d found forever ago and got to reading. It was some odd science fiction book that had turned bright mustard yellow with age. Clover wanted to return it to the library but didn’t have the time. She just picked it because the cover was cool looking and had no idea what it was about. She reread the line about how in the final years of the twenty first century, humanity was exploring the far off reaches of the solar system and building a massive orbital defense network to defend all of earth from asteroids. She then read that in the year 2130 we would be making contact with aliens with an international crew of stoic astronauts.
“They were so optimistic,” Clover wondered to herself. “2130 is just a few years off, we have to hurry the hell up if we want to get there.”
Clover looked around at the airfield she was at. There was the ancient air museum, where what few things that hadn’t been looted years ago contained a few aircraft from the 1940s. Down by the airfield there were some colossal airplanes that were over 200 tons, and could fly over 6000 miles a day. Most days there were scrapper teams on them, cutting away anything deemed good for reuse in the factory. The closest thing Clover had ever seen to a spacecraft were the high altitude balloons the factory sent up every once in a while to see what condition the jet stream was like. They rose high enough that Clover couldn’t see them and every once in a blue moon they could be recovered. She made a note to ask someone who wasn’t Veldt how much of this book was even possible.
“Oh the brass are here, everyone look alert.”
There was a general shuffling around and everyone who looked to be in military fatigues got into lines. Meanwhile all the engineers and tradesmen shuffled around awkwardly not really sure what to do. Someone who had on a uniform that didn’t look like it was covered in grass and mud stains drove up on a tiny quadricycle before delivering a few lines about the importance of duty and ordered everyone there inside the longshack. After abit of shuffling around and elbowing into each other. The inside was crammed full of random crates, old bikes, and a ton of bunkbeds was in the back. The leader of the lot stood in front of a massive whiteboard that had an ancient Doug flag hanging in the background and began to speak.
“As of this moment, everything that’s about to be revealed in this room is classified,” the Captain said. “Anyone who reveals what goes in this room to someone without the need to know will be punished to the fullest extent of the law and your relevant contracts.” He gave a knowing look to all the engineers and tradesmen.
There was a shuffling from the back. Many people around Clover were fidgeting uncomfortably. She was willing to bet between everyone in this room, half of Seattle knew what was up already.
“As of Yesterday before Sundown, the experimental aircraft referred to as Aeolus 01 or Dvorak has not returned to any known Cascadia port, nor has it radioed in to report its location. In short, the Dvorak is considered missing in action.”
There was a flurry of quiet “damn it’s,” and “called it’s” from around the room. Though oddly one voice from behind Clover sounded different, she looked behind her.
“Um, could I get through?” The guy running the coffee cart said trying hard to be quiet and leave the area as fast as possible.
Clover stepped aside and the captain giving the briefing immediately glared at the barista.
“How much did you hear?” the captain fumed.
“Err…”
“Get him out of here.”
The barista was immediately grabbed by both shoulders and a path was cleared so he could leave with his cart. The barista said “sorry” a lot and was gently yet firmly led out of the shack where the door was slammed in his face.
“I was still waiting on my coffee,” the guy next to Clover grumbled.
“Ok we don’t have a lot of time, every second we waste is another that the Dvorak could get further away,” The Captain attested. “Long story short, we don’t know if the Dvorak was broken, stolen, blew up, or if their captain decided to take it for a joy ride. Hell maybe it’s going to fly over us any minute now claiming that none of their radios work. We don’t know, we need to know. That airship cost enough energy to build that we could have housed most of my home town. Get it back, or if it’s been destroyed, find out why.”
There was some muttering at this and a voice suspiciously similar to Veldt mumbled, “It didn’t break.”
“Here’s the best option we have available at the moment,” the captain stated. “I’m requesting any and all troops available to the eastern borders so we can start a search party that could track down bigfoot. The problems start with nearly all available soldiers dealing with marauders along the southeast borders. So that’s where our current plan comes in, while I request as much manpower as physically possible from the southeast, we’ll start sending out teams of skilled civilians with our Forest Rangers. Forest Rangers already monitor the areas the airship was meant to fly so they’re the most likely to spot any irregularities. They move in and out of locations fast and frequently have civilian specialists following them for dozens of reasons. Perfect for moving engineers if the Dvorak is recoverable. If it’s not recoverable, find out why. Either way your job is to find it, observe it, and report it.”
There was a mumbling around before someone bothered to ask, “when do we leave?”
“As soon as the Forest Rangers show up to drag you out east. Till then you’re meant to pack up supplies and go through basic processing. Who here in this room hasn’t been sent to the borderlands before?”
Nearly every hand in the room rose including a fair few of the military guys. The captain’s face grew to an ever more irritated expression and sighed somewhat.
“Everyone put your hands down.”
All but a few people put their hands down.
“That’s not everybody,” he grumbled.
“Question?” an engineer mumbled.
“State it.”
“Why aren’t we just sending another aircraft?”
“We just lost an aircraft and your first instinct is to send another,” the Captain groaned. “Nevermind the part where I mention nearly every unit available is on the southeast border. We’ll have aircraft search parties, when we have aircraft to spare. Next question, make sure it’s not something I already told you.”
“What’s our plan if we get shot?”
“It starts with don’t, then it middles with getting out of the line of fire, then finally if all else fails hope it wasn’t something important that got shot. In all reality you will be traveling with highly trained Rangers, listen to them and don’t do anything stupid. All right next, you there?”
“What job code do we charge this project to?” Veldt asked.
The Captain stared at Veldt. The Captain then motioned for someone to walk over and asked him something in a hushed tone.
“Yea you’ll have that answer when you get back,” the Captain stated. “Alright everyone get out and get outfitted. One of these crates contains your equipment, I leave you in the capable hands of Specialist Brown and Specialist Ferris. Now somebody sort out how to assign these people equipment. Dismissed.”
People began shuffling out of the long shack one at a time. Which wasn’t helped by the small door and the people trying to move crates out at the same time. Clover and Veldt followed the huddle and found someone with a whistle gathering a crowd.
“Ok people it’s time for specialist Ferris’s class,” A tired looking woman holding a crowbar yawned. “Would it have been nice if I’d been told I was going to do this more than five minutes ago? Yes it would have! Would it have been a good idea to give me equipment not in a bunch of boxes I can’t get into? Also yes! Would anyone like to know what really bites me?”
The tiny crowd around her looked too quiet to speak up.
“And I know what you’re all really wondering. Why did they give me a literal goddamn ton of military hardware, and no way to move it to our actual testing grounds half a mile away? Well I’ll be happy to tell you all that it’s because I made the mistake of not reserving a pallet jack, one hour in advance. For something I literally learned about five goddamn minutes ago. Now does anyone have any idea how we’re going to move this?”
“Should I go and-” Clover started.
“See that’s the kind of volunteer I like to hear,” Ferris shouted. “What’s her name McGee, help me move all this junk. Also all you in the back row, don’t act like you can hide, get up here and help.”
Over the next hour, the engineers, tradespeople and assorted military personnel began the task of hauling crates over to the actual training ground. They learned in detail how the industrial rail yard was practically right next to the training grounds. Luckily since it was Saturday and things were light around Boetown, a few pallet jacks and a tiny solar truck were borrowed before anyone had real time to complain. A few borrowed crowbars too and the crates were open with Ferris starting a lecture.
“Alright everyone pay close attention here because this piece of equipment is the most important thing you will touch in your shortass stint in the ranger corps. You will use this daily, you will keep in no less than great condition, and you will thank the taxpayers of the Rainier Republic for funding all this.”
“Urm I can’t touch guns,” someone spluttered in the audience with a hand up.
“These are not guns, this is your transportation,” Ferris barked. “Everyone grab a crowbar and open a crate, I’m not opening them for everyone.”
Five minutes of bent nails and grunting noises later, and most people started pulling out cargo bikes painted dull green buried in straw.
“The Roosevelt mark twos are some of the best engineered bikes in Cascadia no question,” Ferris started. “They have a 150 kilo tested weight limit, which is good because you’re going to be hauling everything from welders to smaller people on these. They have been proven to survive everything from train wrecks to battery explosions, though we’re still not sure on surviving user error.”
“Heavy,” Veldt muttered trying to pull her’s out of the crate.
“You’ll only be pulling half your weight,” Ferris beamed. “The low ammo can is a battery holster, giving you one kilowatt hour of capacity. Between that and a mid drive motor you can expect a solid sixty to one hundred kilometers of range, provided that you don’t slack on the peddling. Only use the motor when you need to and not before otherwise you’ll lose it when you need it. Do I make myself clear?”
There were a mumble of yes’s heard around the tiny crowd.
“Good, onto the important part of this training. Alright whoever doesn’t know how to ride a bike, raise your hand.”
Everyone's hand stayed down and Ferris uttered a prayer of relief.
“Alright now, who hasn’t used an ebike before?”
A few hands went up including Clover and Veldt’s to her surprise.
“You built an ebike once,” Clover pried “How have you not ridden one.”
“Built the engine not the whole bike,” Veldt shrugged. “Plus I had someone else test it, someone who you know, actually knows something about driving ebikes.”
“Fair enough,” Clover shrugged.
Both of them pulled their bikes out of the crates and rolled them up to the line. Veldt also found some technical specs out of the crate that looked to have mailed with it. The actual demonstration for how to use a bike seemed pretty simple actually. Throttle was on the right, the switch for the battery was inside the bottom case, the headlight switch in the middle, and there was even a bell on the left. It took both of them about two minutes each to figure out how to actually use the bikes. Veldt had a bit of a problem getting her bike to actually stop the motor, but she figured it out with only minor cursing of the engineer who designed it. Veldt then revealed that pretty much everything that could be charged would be charged off the bike’s battery and managed to find an old cigarette lighter in her coat to plug in.
“Just keep that around with you?”
“You would not believe how useful it is.”
“For what, smoking pot while riding a bike?” Clover pointed out. “Seems like a recipe to have Ferris yell at you.”
“Come on let’s go to the other thing,” Veldt stated while absentmindedly lighting bits of paper on fire.
They rode up to the shooting range where they could see a lockbox was being opened up.
“Ok who’s used a firearm before?” The instructor asked.
Maybe four people put their hands up, Clover was one of them.
“As of this moment if it doesn’t relate to gun safety please forget it.” The instructor sighed, pulling out a pile of paperwork. “Alright everyone line up, grab a booklet and grab a test, if you wander off with any of my pencils I will auto fail you.”
Clover grabbed a test and looked it over, ‘Basic Firearms Safety’, score of 100 needed. She sighed and opened the booklet. “I already dropped out of college, why did the pop quizzes follow? Actually it’s Saturday, I’d be doing homework. What the hell am I doing with my life?”
Veldt patted around her pockets for some pens before remembering where they went. An awkward question later and Veldt opened her book to begin highlighting and underlining every sentence that looked vaguely important. Given the size of the book, by the end of it all it looked like some kind of new pride flag.
While Veldt and Clover were studying some new faces began wandering the field asking around. After a lot of milling about Clover was asked something.
“I’m looking for Donna Veldt and Cleaver West,” a serious faced woman asked.
“That’s Veldt, I’m Clover,” she pointed.
“And Cleaver is?”
“How I sign my name in cursive it seems,” Clover sighed.
“Hello Clover, I’m Private First Class Jezebel Calisto with Squad 39,” Jezebel mentioned, shaking her hand abit while still holding the test. “I’ll be working with you to recover the balloon.”
“Airship!” Veldt piped.
“The Zeppelin.”
“Actual zeppelins only come from the manufacturer Zeppelin,” Veldt argued. “Just cause Mustachio McGee over there legally changed his last name to Zeppelin, that doesn’t mean we make Zeppelins!”
“I heard that!” Mustache McGee piped.
“Hmm neat,” Private Jezebel stated. “Well feel free to debate the name all you want. Just as soon as both of you get kitted up, me and Pew Pew are meant to head out with you.”
“Pew pew?”
“Ehh,” Jezebel corrected herself. “Err, that's not his actual name.”
“Pew pew, like that skunk from the ancient films?” Clover asked. “Does he stink?”
“Um.”
“Is French Canadian?”
“No..”
“Is he you know…” Clover started getting abit beet colored. “You know, have problems with women?”
“No he’s just the marksman,” Jezebel insisted. “Look he’s over there you can talk to him if you want.”
Clover glanced over to see someone in the shabbiest uniform she’d ever seen, that started olive green and turned into grass and walnut stain quickly. This person carried a massive bag that looked like it was purely to contain smaller bags and had a scoped rifle that appeared to be the only thing in a vague state of clean on the person. Clover glanced back at Jezebel who’s uniform looked more like someone’s who was about to enter a job interview and appeared to even be ironed. She even had fancy Douglas fir shaped cufflinks and a few small medals over her breast.
“What do those stand for?”
“Oh um,” Jezebel looked down. “Four years of service, wildfire scout, swine killer, reforester, paratroop training, marksman rank three, expert cyclist.”
“Dam,” Clover remarked, wondering what half of those actually meant.
“Yea I don’t usually wear these, I was planning to do… something else today.”
“I’ll say, you got enough metal on you to jingle as you walk,” Veldt piped.
“Well..”
“It must sound like christmas!”
“Hey GI Jez,” Pew Pew ranted while wandering over. “They’re trying to pass off these 22 harmonica guns for trainer guns. What is this a carnival, knock down all the invasive pigs and win a stuffed capybara?”
“What?” Jezebel sputtered. “That has no kick at all. Are they running 300PSI and giving out fancy stickers instead of badges?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Pew Pew shrugged. “Anyway I take it SF tryouts are canceled.”
“Yea,” Jezebel sighed.
“That’s bullshit you’ve been training for months for this,” Pew Pew exclaimed. “Anyway, have you found the idiot named after a meat cleaver yet?”
“This is Clover,” Jezebel pointed.
Pew Pew looked at Clover for a solid thirty seconds. As Clover looked back she could practically hear him trying to shift gears in his brain off of rant mode.
“Hi I’m Specialist Fred Preston nice to meet you,” Pew Pew awkwardly sputtered, holding out his hand to shake.
“I’m Clover, that's Veldt.”
“Yo,” Veldt added.
“Ok I can see you’re doing the safety test,” Pew pew noticed. “When you do the actual physical test just check the safety and make sure it’s unloaded. When they hand it back to you, check that it’s unloaded again.”
“All this kinda seems like common sense.”
“Oh no,” Jezebel moaned while shaking her head. “Common sense is less common than you think.”
“Yea I swear some of the people we get in here have only seen a gun in movies.”
“Remember that guy who as soon as he got one, just shot the damn thing in the air repeatedly while screaming ahhhhhh!” Jezebel joked, “or that other guy who wanted to see if he could shoot a Canadian Goose.
“Oh god I remember,” Pew Pew sounded off. “Then we had to issue a take cover order to the whole base in case it started raining flechettes. Morons!”
“Yea, I think it’s probably good they’re doing low PSI first,” Jezebel pointed out.
“Yea you’re probably right,” Pew Pew huffed. “I swear half these people must have come from the Hemingway, Brautigan or Hunter S Thompson schools of shooting excellence.”
Clover shot him a look, “err thanks for the heads up.”
“Don’t mention it,” Pew pew muttered. “Also look out for a bunch of double negatives and triple negatives in the written test.”
“Why…?”
“To check if you're paying attention.”
“Got it.”
Clover and Veldt went over their tests for another ten or twenty minutes double checking everything. GI Jez and Pew Pew seemed to mostly talk about where the other members of their squad were and made a bet that someone called Gopher was trainspotting. Which Clover had to be assured that they meant the actual definition. They also bet Celestia found a cool animal and was probably chasing that around, the bet came from whether it was a bird or a dog. Pretty soon Clover turned in her test. Specialist Brown squinted at it for two minutes before speaking.
“Allright, ready for the actual test.”
Clover was handed a bright orange airgun that was chained to the firing bench..
“Please change the power setting of the rifle.”
Clover went through everything she could think of with the rifle. It looked pretty simple between the safety, sights, loading mechanism and tank pressure setting. She’d never actually used an airgun before, but it was pretty similar to a black powder rifle. And certainly much quieter.
Ok very good on the trainer, time for the real deal.
Specialist Brown pulled out a gun that looked to be around twice the size of the trainer. It had a complete miniature scuba tank nestled on the bottom and looked like something used for shooting down mothmen.
“This is a standard Greensmith carbine model two, it has a listed pressure to over 4000 psi, an 8 round magazine, it’s a 50 cal or 12.8mm depending on who you ask. Magazine is equipped to load ball bearings and ball bearings alone, do not attempt to load it with already fired ball bearings that haven’t been gauged. If you need to fire an alternate ammunition type, unclip the magazine and load ammunition normally. Sights are adjustable, don’t adjust them, they're already perfect. If you're forced to adjust them in the field, there’s a flathead screwdriver in the case alongside your flashlight and bayonet. Any questions?”
“... An Airgun?”
Pew pew wandered over by now to see what she was being issued. “Really we don’t have actual model three’s for them?”
“Nothing we can loan out,” Specialist Brown retorted. “These are probably due to get scrapped, auctioned, or mothballed for civil defense within the month.”
“I thought the army used real guns?” Clover inquired.
“This is a real gun, it shoots a 50 caliber ball bearing at just under the speed of sound.” Pew pew muttered while eyeing the rifle. “I mean it could be in better shape, but it’ll pass a range test from the looks of things.”
“What type of gun have you used before?” Specialist Brown asked.
“My family uses blunderbusses,” Clover explained. “I’ve seen some troops that use those gold shell spitting ones from before the collapse.”
“She’s from sort of California,” Veldt piped.
“Weed farm in northern Cal?” Pew pew inquired. “Not familiar with the town of Sort-Of.”
“No winery, a lot of our neighbors are though,” Clover explained.
“Well Clover I'm going to level with you traditional rimfire cartridge guns are fantastic," Pew pew stated. "If you have ammo, and a metric ton of cash to buy em. Airguns have a lot of upsides, a lot of weird sides too though."
"Are you going to let me run my test?" Specialist Brown asked. "Go be a gun club nerd somewhere else."
"Got somewhere to be?" GI Jez joked.
"Yes actually," Brown huffed. "Unlike you lot I can actually go home after this and I don't need to spend another hour waiting to fail complete morons whose knowledge of gun safety begins and ends with whatever looks cool bro."
Brown shooed Pew pew and GI Jane to go be stupid somewhere else and made Clover finish the test. Clover nearly failed actually hitting the shots as she was used to firing a blunderbuss that lacked accuracy but had a loud ass boom and on each pellet had "to whom it may concern" written on it rather than a specific recipient. She squeaked by on the long range targets, and went up to hand her gun in. She was so amazed at how quiet the shots were that she nearly forgot to check to confirm it was unloaded and the safety was on before handing it in.
"Congratulations on not being terrible, here's your course certification, let me stamp it."
Brown went to stamp the paper after Clover signed it.
"#&<%ing Ferris I will kill her."
Where there was meant to be an Approved stamp was instead a massive Good job! stamp complete with smiley faces. Brown looked around for where her real stamp went before cursing and scribbling "This is considered approved, -Spec Brown."
"Uhh thanks."
"Yea just hand me your ID. I have to make a copy before signing out a loaner. For the love of god do not lose this gun or all of MP will toss you in some salt mines for the entirety and eternity of time and space.”
"Good to know."
Clover signed and grabbed the rifle like it might bite her.
"How hard was it?" Veldt asked.
"Could be worse, don't be an idiot and you'll pass."
"Sweet I'm next then,” Veldt attested while wandering up to the firing range.
They watched Veldt take the test a few times. As it turns out it’s a bad idea to ask about and tinker with a recently calibrated gun on the course. By the time she was set up for the first round of shots, Veldt was already out of time. Her retest didn’t go great as apparently screwing with the optics on a gun in the middle of trying to shoot it was a bad move. For the third round she actually hit a few targets, however it wasn’t a great move to point the gun at her foot when lowering it. Though the move Clover thought definitely did her in, was losing the test pencil earlier and spending ten minutes trying to figure out where it went.
“You fail,” Brown stated. “Leave.”
Veldt walked back and shrugged. “Some people choose pacifism,” Veldt mumbled. “I guess pacifism chose me.”
“Alright you two, grab your bikes,” Gi Jez stated. “We need to grab our bags and I’m not biking all the way to the mountains.”
