Bluesky Oasis
Posted on Sun Aug 17th, 2025 @ 7:36pm by Lieutenant JG Kate Kono
1,116 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Wounds From the Mirror
Location: holodeck
Timeline: Near end of Mission
Kate stepped into the holodeck once more, a place that had swiftly become her sanctuary. The room transformed into her personal escape, a gateway to a fabricated world where she could soar as a fighter pilot, an experience that sharpened her concentration like nothing else. She walked towards her beloved aircraft, the F-16C, Block 50. Its sleek, aerodynamic form gleamed under the simulated sunlight, a testament to its engineering marvel. Though it didn't boast the highest thrust among fighter jets, there was an undeniable allure in its all-around reliability, setting it apart from the Block 52 variant with its Pratt Engine. The whirring of virtual engines from other simulated Vipers on the airfield filled the air, promising another thrilling adventure in the skies.
“Good morning, Captain.” the Crew Chief said as he walked over to the short Asian girl and snapped her a salute. “Nice day for a ride. She’s fueled up for you. Fourteen thousand. Previous writeups on this board show nothing of major significance and you’re cleared by maintenance and ordinance. Live 38’s four a piece. Five hundreds. I suspect you aren’t planning on setting off the seismometers today.”
Kate giggled and shook her head before pulling her helmet out of the bag and pushing the fabric into her flightsuilt leg pocket.
“I’m just happy to get up there and fly, Sergeant. It’s become a few-and-far-between thing to do.”
“Welcome to the Air Force, Captain,” the Sergeant quipped. Kate in-turn extended her tongue out of her mouth and made a humming sound while rocking her head from side to side in a playful manner.
Kate's boots clanged against each metal rung of the ladder, the Crew Chief's weight shifting behind her. She tucked two piddle packs beneath the hellhole, her fingers working with practiced precision. The Imodium tablets left a chalky residue on her tongue until she sucked water through the hose draped over her shoulder. The sergeant's hands pulled her restraints taut against her flight suit—click, click, click—then traced the pitot tubes with a mechanic's scrutiny before his thumb pressed the seat safety with a satisfying snap.
"Good hunting, sir!" The words floated up as the ladder retracted with a hydraulic hiss.
Kate's torso stretched sideways. "CLEAR?!"
The Chief's arm cut upward in a crisp salute. Her hand found the Master Switch—two notches up, smooth as silk—then the APU. When she yanked START-2 downward, the status lights danced amber to green. The engine caught with a whine that climbed to a roar, sending tremors through the stick, the seat, her bones, her heart.
She settled into the cockpit seat, feeling the familiar contours beneath her, and powered up the computer systems. The Head-Mounted Display (HMD) flickered to life, casting a soft glow inside the visor, while the Heads-Up Display (HUD) illuminated with crisp, digital readouts. Her fingers moved with practiced precision as she reached forward, selecting LIST-ENTER on the control panel. With a deft swipe of the dobber button to the right, she input her jet number, 34722, her thumb gliding down the well-worn checklist strapped securely to her left knee.
The low hum of the engine filled the cockpit as she engaged the parking brakes, ensuring the aircraft remained stationary. Twisting her body slightly to the right, she flipped a series of familiar switches upward, each click resonating with the confidence of years of experience. These switches controlled every critical system of the aircraft, a machine she knew inside and out.
The aircraft began its electronic self-test, a series of beeps and whirrs echoing in the confined space. She opted for a quicker Navigation Alignment to a Stored Heading instead of a full Alignment, eager to escape the confines of the USS Washington’s inner corridors, quarters, and even its arboretum, which was unusually full and unwelcome; after what had been a grueling week. The thought of soaring through the open sky filled her with anticipation, her fingers itching to take the controls and leave the real universe far behind.
The ICP Readout blinked READY in sharp green letters against the black display, and she twisted the knurled metal knob up twice from STORED to NAV, feeling each satisfying click beneath her fingertips. She reached forward, pulling the backup ADI's cage ring with a practiced tug, watching the miniature horizon settle into position, a failsafe ready for flight. Her gloved index finger flicked the dobber on the ICP left twice with surgical precision, then pressed the rubberized COM2 button, followed by a rapid-fire input of 122.75 for Ground Control. Her hand fell to the throttle's cool metal grip where she pulled the communications switch back with her pinky, causing her helmet to hiss with static before establishing an open line.
"Nellis Ground, Grappler 1-1, Flight of One F-16 Viper requesting taxi or takeoff with VFR Departure, Information Numbnuts," she called, her voice crisp and professional despite the humorous code name.
Three seconds of crackling silence followed before a man's voice, deep and gravelly like desert sand, filled her left ear through the helmet speaker.
"Grappler 1-1, request to taxi approved with Info Numbnuts, proceed to Bravo and take that all the way to Alpha, left on Alpha and hold short for Runway Three-Left."
Kate's lips curled into a smile beneath her tight-fitting oxygen mask, the elastic pressing into her cheeks as her eyes crinkled with undisguised joy.
"Nellis Ground, Bravo to Alpha, Short Three Left, Grappler 1-1," she transmitted, the words tumbling out with barely contained excitement. She thrust her fist upward toward the canopy before splaying her fingers wide in the universal signal for release. The Sergeant stepped backward on the scorching tarmac, his arms sweeping downward in rhythmic motion, directing her forward.
Kate's thumb flipped the parking brake switch with a definitive click and her feet eased off the rudder pedals. The protective awning that had shielded her from Nevada's merciless sun receded from view as the canopy descended with a pneumatic whine, sealing her inside the cockpit's climate-controlled sanctuary. Her fingers found the spider lock mechanism, twisting it firmly to secure the bubble of polycarbonate glass as the Chief pivoted sideways, his right arm swinging in a dramatic arc before pulling both hands up in a playful tiger's stance, punctuating the gesture with a final, crisp salute.
Kate couldn't help but giggle, the sound echoing inside her helmet as she returned the salute and mirrored his tiger pose, her hand momentarily leaving the throttle as the aircraft began its slow roll toward Bravo Taxiway, the wheels crunching over tiny pebbles scattered across the sun-bleached concrete.
After the tumultuous experiences she had endured, this break promised to be a refreshing oasis of blue skies.
RSS Feed