The Fields of Fire

Chapter 4: Michael Branton

"This is Sparrow 1 to tower, final check for runway availability," Michael spoke into his radio.

"Copy that Sparrow 1. Runway is clear. Proceed for landing." The tower then went off to list the various landing parameters, "Northeast wind 25 knots, ship roll 5 degrees, roll period 32 seconds, ship heading 15 degrees south of west, ship velocity 16 Knots."

Michael hated landing on aircraft carriers, always shifting and rolling with the ever churning sea. When he got deployed to the naval air arm, he very nearly considered deserting. Because the only thing worse than being ripped out of the sky by a dragon, is dying like an idiot trying to land on a boat.

His hands were stiff a the controls as he tried his best to level out his aircraft. There was a guy on the flight deck with a flag telling you if your too high or too low, but Michael was pretty sure the guy just pretended to be doing something while randomly waving flags around. Michael knew he just had to go with his gut.

It felt like his aircraft was about to rip in half as it smashed violently into the carrier deck. It slid forward before the hook on the underside of his plane caught one of the steel wires strung across the flight deck. With a dramatic screech, the plane was slowed by the steel cable designed to catch him. The wire stretched and stiffened until his plane finally came to rest. He sat for what seemed like an eternity, zoning out to the thoughts of Tau, and his home, and why in the world potatoes float when they're mostly made of water. Michael was still gripping his controls like a vice when someone threw a water bottle at his window.

He could see the man's orange uniform and he realized that he was an engineering Sargent. He started shouting out some kind of command, but Michael couldn't hear what the man was saying through his cockpit. Michael read the man's lips, "Turn off Engine". He realized what the man was saying and quickly flipped off his engine and popped open his cockpit hatch.

The Engineer shouted at Michael as he stepped down from his Aircraft, "By Yorrin's grace, we aren't made of fuel out here, okay? Learn some common sense will you."

Michael looked back at his plane and realized he had just left it sitting in the middle of the runway. "Shit! I still need to park this thing!"

The Engineering Sergeant laughed, "Somebody else can do that for you. You've got bigger things to worry about."

Michael tensed up, "W-what are you talking about."

"Everybody heard about that little stunt you pulled. Sparrows four and five already came back and reported you to the flight-captain." Shit, Shit, SHIT! Michael thought. The man continued, "The FC wants your ass in his office ASAP. I suggest you get moving, Chief Petty Officer Branton."

Michael swallowed, looked back at his plane and then looked at the Engineer, "You take good care of her."

"Sure thing."

Michael walked across the steel flight deck towards the tower that that stood menacingly over the flight deck. When Michael reached the tower he saw a military police officer standing guard at the oval-shaped steel door that allowed entrance into the tower. The MP didn't make eye contact as he spoke, "The Flight Captain would like to see you immediately."

"I'm aware." Michael replied as he stepped through the door. He watched the other crew members stare him down like a dead man as he paced through the steel passageways towards the FC's office. Eventually he came to the door. It was imposing because the door to the Flight Captain's office wasn't the typical 6 inch steel door that existed across the rest of the ship. His door was made of polished cedar and had a thick slab of metal with bold black letters marked into it.

FLIGHT CAPTAIN: ARLONDO BARYSTAN

Michael walked up to the cedar door and summoning the small amount of courage that existed in his body, he knocked. "Come in." He heard from the other side of the door. Michael obliged as he opened the wooden door with a creak. Michael recognized the man's office. Arlondo sat on a padded chair over looking a desk covered in an unsorted pile of papers and maps. Opposing the desk sat a rusted metal chair that looked as though it would collapse on its own weight before Michael even sat in it. Michael walked over and slowly sat down on the chair, then he sighed with relief as he realized the chair would not in fact crumble into dust. Michael finally made eye contact with the Flight Commander, and he saw nothing less than controlled rage.