New Mexico / June, 1958 / 02:24
Nighttime.
The desert cooled greatly at night, especially nights as clear as this one. Lieutenant (J.G.) Al "Bingo" Calavicci wouldn't know the difference. Half the bottles lay strewn in the dirt while the other half were placed precisely, a practical lineup on the white edge line of the road. Off the road, in the dirt, Al's candy apple red ( Read more... )
The desert cooled greatly at night, especially nights as clear as this one. Lieutenant (J.G.) Al "Bingo" Calavicci wouldn't know the difference. Half the bottles lay strewn in the dirt while the other half were placed precisely, a practical lineup on the white edge line of the road. Off the road, in the dirt, Al's candy apple red ( Read more... )
Of course, the feeling lasted all of twenty-three seconds before the panel before her lit with dozens of angry red warning lights and the dials on everything from the altimeter to the oxygen monitor began to spin wildly. All Kara could see outside the cockpit were angrily churning black clouds, lightning jumping alongside her wings, and rain beginning to form on the glass.
Wait... rain? For there to be rain, there had to be atmosphere, and that meant...
"Frak!" The Viper plunged out of the clouds and just about slammed into solid black night sky, crystal clear for miles around. The change in weather, while odd, was hardly on Kara's current radar - in fact, all she could think about was the wide expanse of ground rushing up to meet her.
It may only have been seconds since Kara decided she wanted to check out permanently, but now the pilot within her sprang to life and wrested control back. Her fingers flipped switches, her body leaned into the thruster pedal, and the pilot called Starbuck managed to flip the bird onto her belly and land. Well, 'land' might be a bit of a stretch, but she set the thing down without bursting into a giant ball of tillium-fed fire, so she'd call it whatever the hell she wanted to.
Once the heap finally stopped, Kara struggled out of the cracked canopy, half checking herself for injuries sustained and half trying to prevent new ones. She mostly failed at the latter endeavor, and by the time she made it to the ground she was wrenching off her helmet and throwing it to the ground in anger, pain, and bereavement. Some of this she vented by kicking scattered parts as far as she could, cursing loudly, and tearing at the straps on her flight suit - the rest she planned to save for later.
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When he looked up, the car was still there. "Lisa..." It came out feeling like relief. He would have celebrated, but an angry, unexpected noise cut through the desert. The Lieutenant ducked and patted at the ground in search of his sunglasses, which would prove neither useful or practical considering the situation.
But then it hit him. If there was someone out there, then either they've come with the crashing object, or they'd been waiting out there the whole time and just happened to be in the way. Not drunk enough to believe the latter, Calavicci scrambled to his feet and went for the car to retrieve a flashlight. The light inside the trunk illuminated the quickly sobering face of the young pilot. He pressed some blankets out of the way, grabbing hold of the heavy flashlight and leaving the trunk open behind him.
"Help here!" He called out into the darkness, waving the now-lit light across the landscape in a long swoop. Boy, I hope they're friendly, he commented internally, worried it might be his last
thought. Or cute he conceded, thinking death would be more bearable when hidden behind a pretty face.
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She cast one look over her shoulder at the smoldering wreckage of her bird, scowled to herself, and unholstered her sidearm, making for the light in the distance.
She approached cautiously, but as she drew nigh, she could see the figure of a man beside what looked like a car. It was hard to see either as they were both cast in shadow, but she supposed if the man meant to capture and cannibalize her or whatever, he'd have made some move by now. The sight of several bottles catching and throwing the flashlight's beam served to soften Kara somewhat, and she lowered her weapon toward the ground as she moved closer (though, naturally, she made no attempt to hide it).
When she was near enough to make out the man's features, she stopped. She was still a few yards away when she spoke. "Captain Kara Thrace," she informed him evenly. She presumed he'd go on to identify himself, and though she really wanted to know where she was, she figured she save her questions until she could gauge the man's ability to supply her with the information.
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"Are you... hurt?" Al leaned to one side trying to understand her flight suit. It looked different. "That experimental or something?" He nodded out past her as if to illustrate. Okay, so maybe he was speaking out of turn, but it wasn't like the circumstances weren't already strange. "Sir," he added, as an afterthought.
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Either way, she gave the man something of a lazy salute in return, not really caring one way or another. She was hardly one for the pomp and and ritual of military life in the best scenario, and in any case she outranked him no matter what sort of navy he belonged to.
"I'm fine," she lied, keeping her tone brusque and her pistol where he could see it. She nodded behind her to where he'd indicated. "And that was my plane." She took a few more cautious steps closer, eying the young lieutenant up. He didn't appear to be carrying anything more dangerous than a cigarette lighter, but that didn't mean she was going to offer her hand in friendship and prevail upon him for a smoke - not yet anyway. Instead, she nodded toward the car - a sleek little thing if ever she'd seen one. She imagined the old man would know what it was called, what was under the hood, and how many were made; the notion almost made her smile. Kara held herself in check, though, gesturing toward it with her free hand. "Did you drive here from a base?" It'd almost be too good to be true to have crash-landed her Viper a few miles from a naval base (or better yet, an air force base), but stranger things had happened.
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As Al began to settle a little in his skin, he loosened up and dropped his salute. It most certainly wasn't the time for extra formality considering his half-gone drunkenness and her half-crashed soberness. "I've got some water." On his way back to the trunk, he gathered up the full bottles of beer, dropping them carelessly onto the blankets he had previously moved. He peeked around the side, spotting her position before taking to the opposite side of the car as before. When he rejoined her, he approached on her flank, flashlight in one hand and a plastic jug of water in the other. "Doesn't pay to cross the desert without it," he commented, presumably to feel they shared some frame of reference.
He left the water on the pavement and began his careful creep in the direction of her downed plane. If it was an experimental plane, he at least wanted to get a look at what was left of it. His eyes watered from the traces of smoke and the still-smoldering metal radiated enough heat that he could avoid most of the wreckage. A whistle escaped him even if the darkness obscured most of the details. He turned back to her to ask, "Ah, where... where did you say you were coming in from, sir?" She hadn't, of course, but since they were asking questions, he thought he'd give it a try.
[OOC: ILU!]
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Without facilities, materials, and tools, her bird was as good as dead, so she repeated her questions. "A base, Lieutenant? Is there one around here?" She turned a circle on the spot, scanning the desert - as far as she could see, there was nothing but flat, darn, mostly barren land. "Where are we, anyway?" She figured that was best way to ask the obvious question so that it wouldn't sound so... odd.
((ooc: ILU too!))
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With his lighter and Lucky Strikes now in hand, he was forced to hold the body of the flashlight under his arm. "And, if there is a base out here, Captain, it's not one that I'm allowed to know about. And I've got some pretty decent clearance," he boasted after placing a cigarette between his lips. The Lieutenant (J.G.) smirked behind his addition and then shook the pack at her until a cigarette worked itself out far enough for her to grab. "Anyway, I don't think you'll get far with what's left of that puppy. What d'you say to letting a guy lend a hand?" He tilted his head forward, effectively dragging the light near enough to the Captain's head to illuminate a portion of her face.
A better look. She was a blonde (God, he loved blondes,) and tall. Thrace had what? An inch on him? Maybe more, though he thought he was probably slouching a bit. Built well enough, too. She looked... sturdy.
With his lighter aloft, Al lit his cigarette and lit his face, the warmth of the flame brightening his features for her benefit.
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The news they weren't near a base was more bad luck, and Kara sighed. She took the proffered cigarette, turning it between her fingers as she waited for the lighter. It was the first cigarette she'd had that was not hand-rolled in... gods, three years already? And it was probably the first cigarette she'd had at all in weeks. At least, if nothing else, she'd managed to run into a smoker (and by appearances, an accomplished drinker).
She studied him while his gaze turned inward in the act of lighting his own cigarette. He was a little older than she'd initially guessed (for Kara had never been a junior grade anything, and she hadn't been an lieutenant in years), and handsome in such a way, Kara knew he knew it.
When he was through, she popped the cigarette into her mouth, enjoying the familiar feel of it between her lips for a moment before leaning closer so Calavicci could light it. She guessed the way to go about getting what she needed to know from the man was to play to her more obvious strengths - after all, most men she knew put up with absurd questions more readily from a beautiful woman than they did an ace Viper jock. Kara didn't delude herself into thinking she was some paragon of feminine beauty (especially now that she was streaked with soot and blood), but for the moment, she was the only woman for miles, so she had an edge.
She took a long drag and straightened up, taking the cigarette from her lips and offered him a half-smile. "Thanks." Gesturing toward the road, she asked, "Where does this go, then?" She tipped her head to one side, arching an eyebrow. "Please tell me you don't actually live out here somewhere."
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Thoughts of fleeing the scene brought up even more questions. Where had she come from? How long had she been in flight? Just what exactly what was she doing that didn't glean her the knowledge she had gone down in a state as large as New Mexico. She sounded American, at least -- any other nationality would have had Bingo scrambling to call in to someone. But, as strange as her circumstances were, he couldn't exactly claim he weren't somewhat suspicious in their own right. A service man, alone and drunk in the middle of the desert, still in uniform but definitely not on the fresh side of it's wear. And just how long had he been up?
Al cleared his throat and took another long drag from the cigarette. She looked kind of hurt, didn't she? At least, he thought that was blood.
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She took another step nearer to the road. The air was chilly, but the ground was warm under her boots - Kara guessed it was summer. She looked into Calavicci's trunk on her right and then back at him. "I think I'll just join you, if that's okay." She helped herself to one of the beers in the back and loitered near the bumper as she cracked it open.
Swallowing deeply, she reveled in the immediate rush of cool on down her throat and deep into her chest. In that moment of thoughtfulness, she felt every single scrape and bruise of her brutal "landing," and she didn't know what the hell to do about any of them, let alone getting home. She could hardly check into a hospital with naught but her dog tags for identification; she'd be chucked into the booby hatch. She was well and truly frakked, and plans were not forthcoming. Perhaps she was simply tired - it had been quite a day, after all, and as she wound down from her adrenaline hike, she felt every long second of it bear down on her.
Unable to stall any longer, she fixed her kind host with a curious look. "What're you doing out here, anyway? Just waiting for people to fall from the sky?"
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When he came around the back, he made sure to keep some distance between them. His aim was to seem the least like a creepy highway rape-stalker. "Look, I got a towel in my rucksack and plenty of water. You wanna at least get cleaned up a bit? I'm not too demanding, but if someone comes 'cross this, they might be." He'd sort of been down that road already, hadn't he?
He hoped there wasn't a sting there. In most cases he probably wouldn't have cared so much, but with her being torn up, he just didn't want to risk it. "Not to be a spoil sport, Captain, but don't you think drinking might look kind of bad if your CO comes along to pick up the pieces and you're blowin' hot, he might steam up a bit in a different way, if you get my meaning." Um, she might not, Al, but thanks for that commentary.
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Nodding toward the trunk, she said, "I really don't want to tempt fate any further, I guess." She stripped out of the top of her flight suit in a perfunctory way. There was a three inch gash on her left bicep that stung when she pulled the fabric away as well as an unpleasant twinge in her left knee where she'd aggravated that old injury - and that wasn't even mentioning her hands. She'd burned them on the scalded skin of the bird, and while there were no blisters, if she planned on swiping some diamonds later, she'd sure as hell leave no prints.
Taking a final drag on the cigarette, she ground it beneath her heel and accepted the towel, attempting to dab at the most obvious wounds first. A lot of the blood, she found, was coming from the wound on her arm, and that cheered her somewhat - at the very least, her injuries could have been far worse than they were.
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Admittedly, he was a bit worried about the blood, but the Captain seemed like she wasn't too broken up about the whole ordeal. Then again, the effects of such an experience might not present themselves for days. He wondered if he should even be asking questions, but it all seemed a little too odd for his taste. "What was you heading? Somewhere remote?" He was trying to keep his tone casual, but he know she'd probably see right through it.
[OOC: I did this post from ny phone. It probably seemed longer than it is. Also, ILU!]
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She brushed off the attention with practiced military authority. "Top secret." She gestured vaguely behind her toward the Viper. "My bird was an experiment for high-altitude flight. Obviously, it failed." She shrugged, hoping her generic explanation would work, especially considering she could only guess what the skin of the plane looked like from re-entry into atmosphere.
Either way, there wasn't much she could do for it, so she lifted her half-gone bottle of beer to her lips and took another taste. It was different from anything she'd ever tasted, but very familiar. Different ingredients to meet the same end, she assumed, and in any case, it tasted gorgeous. Without fresh crops of wheat and rye, real beer had disappeared from the Fleet entirely, and the synthetic crap was disgusting. If nothing else, she was glad this place had some perks.
Nodding toward him, she asked, "Where are you heading tonight?" It wasn't like she'd be able to identify the place name, but she hoped she could fake it enough to get a ride out of the cold, empty desert.
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He was thinking about her comments. An experimental plane wasn't uncommon or unheard of, but a top secret experimental plane wasn't the type of thing that a person revealed quite so easily, despite Calavicci's previous confession about his security status. More than a few things weren't adding up, and he wasn't about to keep pretending. As he reached for a beer of his own, he said, "Captain, I'm not entirely certain where you've come from, but it's pretty obvious to me that you're not from around here. Let's cut to the chase, why don't we? And you can just tell me whether or not it's worth me taking you somewhere more official, or if I'm just better off dropping you at the nearest hospital and forgetting any of this ever happened." He was a reasonable man, so he gave her the option. If it weren't for her blonde hair, he probably wouldn't have been quite so generous.
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