The Hazardous Precept

Part Three: Developments Like clockwork One o’clock came and Sheila came into my quarters. Typically I would have been ready, but the background check and review of the orders had left me short on time. I had not yet decided whether to wear my mess dress or my traditional blues. She didn’t look very surprised to find me in my skivvies and a white undershirt. In fact she looked rather pleased. She was like a hunter stalking easy prey, which made me all the more uncomfortable. “Please come in. I shouldn’t be much more than a few minutes.” Sheila smiled, I didn’t even wait for her to respond before I turned and walked into my bedroom. A whistle followed as the door to the hallway closed. I looked at the suit of Confederation Mess Dress that hung in my uniform closet with more than a little disgust. To me it resembled a civilian business suit, not a military uniform. Beside them was my Marine Corps Dress Blue Alphas, the dark navy blue overcoat in pristine condition, brass highly

Part Two: Beginnings I arrived at Confederation Low Earth Orbit Platform L-13 on the thirteenth of March 2015, as usual on Sundays the Station Duty Officer received me. The station was bustling with activity even though it was just before four in the morning Earth time. You see orbital time was subject to the will of earthbound people. For us, a dawn was virtually the same as any other time, as our natural dawn was much different than our clocks mandated. The SDO was a salty old man who had obviously served for years in the artificial gravity of space. His arms were thin but muscular and his eyes had an almost odd shape to them. He introduced himself as Master Sergeant J. S. Montgomery. “Sir. I’m sorry to welcome you to the station.” He sighed and paused just long enough for me to speak. “Why is that?” “There has been a death sir. A suicide it seems.” He looked as though his mother'd just died. The Master Sergeant kept his bearing and hid his thoughts well however I was

War Toys Time for a little fiction.. Flexing the writing muscles a bit... WAR TOYS Part One: History Lessons “Lesson one in our little red flag operation is basic fighter maneuvers or BFM.” Before the group of us stood an instructor. I believed this one man was the most ‘Crusty,’ ‘Hard Bitten’ man in the world, and that his only purpose was to teach us how to kill, and kill efficiently. Like all fresh new candidates, I believed to my very soul that I was being honored having been chosen to fly a combat fighter. I could not see beyond my little part in the grand design at that point. I knew only that I had made the cut, and had been chosen to represent my country and my family in the United States Marine Corps. My father had been a pilot and his before him. I was the product of the military engine, primed from the womb to live on adrenaline and to crave the almost narcotic effects of flying close to blackout in atmosphere. Father had borne a son who thrived on nothing but flyin