THE SHUTTLE TO THE TRINIDAD

Deep breaths. Deep, long breaths. Friederika dozes off on my shoulder—thankfully not rupturing my ears with her snores and in respect, I try my best not to fidget too much. Despite the spaciousness of our shuttle's passenger compartment, Friederika is more than happy to glue herself to me. And it feels odd because she'd totally be the type to kick off her boots, man spread, and take up several seats… or maybe I'm just projecting?

Regardless, Friederika presses herself to me like I'm a well-worn childhood teddy bear that she never quite grew out of. Under normal circumstances, I'd get up and move to another seat or kick her away… I'd be annoyed—and truth be told, right now I'm not. I appreciate it more than anything. Because no matter what I do I can't shake off the anxiety and Friederika's indirect support helps.

No amount of twiddling my thumbs suffices. No matter how many times I curl my fingers into my wrist cuffs to caress and tug on them, it does nothing: my nerves remain unsettled. After enough rustling, I feel they no longer are recognizable as proper sleeve cuffs. Both are so wrinkly and are so pulled out from underneath the jacket sleeve that I might now more closely resemble a snobbish aristocrat with exaggerated costumes stemming from those antique-themed dramas I sometimes watch with Friederika.

A smirk creeps up one and I glance over at the snoozing Friederika. If she were awake now Friederika would chastise me. I can picture it now; karate-chopping me on the forehead as she utters, ‘poor Prince, he would through the trouble of looking after you and you throw away his kindness!’ And frankly, it does make me a little guilty that I didn’t stop to think about ruining my professional image. Friederika too would know that I’m far too anxious for my good.

My chest is tight—as if a rope squeezes me tight—and my empty stomach makes me queasy. It never occurred to me that I haven't eaten before stepping foot on the shuttle. Maybe it’s for the best? Glancing at the gentle gremlin resting on my shoulder, I imagine she’d complain that even if I eat while this much of a nervous wreck, I’ll hear the resurfacing of that horrible Cadet Puke moniker. Come to think of it, I can’t even remember the last time I even had something to eat.

I’ll probably grab a small bite after we reach the Trinidad. Maybe a cup of water, or even tea to wash down the uneasiness. It’s the Trinidad at hand here; it ’s the flagship of the navy. It’s bound to have the best cuisine available regardless of the star zones it traversed. Though, given the rumors I’ve heard from veterans of past campaigns, the Trinidad— and by extension the Ruthenians—their selection of drinks notably coffee is worse than even our home back down under. Quite a feat to accomplish but I am not one to object to the cuisine quality of Straya.

…it’s no good. Thinking about food when I’m this queasy is a bad idea. And I’d hate to make a mess in lieutenant Baikal’s shuttle. No matter what I preoccupy my thoughts with, it does little to mitigate my growing uneasiness. Maybe Friederika is right; maybe I am getting cold feet? Barging into the general staff without any form of game plan? The only thing that can come out of this is making a mockery out myself… I don’t even know if admiral DeRyck is even aware of my recommendation for the Victorian Cross, or the Lieutenant rank—not that I don’t care about either, even though everyone else seemingly does.

Ah… it’s no good. At this rate, if I dwell anymore on moping I’ll have my anxiety come up and make a mess in here. So left with no other case, I’ll have to reunite with my long-lost companion, Mister SPEIBSACKERL—which I believe is a standard-issue among naval shuttles, so it should be in here, right? I carefully place the irresponsible Sub-Lieutenant on the seat railing and slide to my feet as quietly as possible. Turning around, I open the storage hatch and reach into the pitch darkness for the SPEIBSACKERL…

And I stop, by chance, I glance out the window just as I grab hold of the plastic sick bag. Less than a few kilometers away is the massive Trinidad. It’s awe-inspiring for sure, and there are dozens of cruisers and shuttles zipping around… but that’s not what catches my attention.

It appears as a gray orb at first. But with each passing second, it gets bigger. And the bigger it gets, the more it appears this ship is rapidly approaching us. No, is it a ship? Is it a meteorite? Random wreckage? No, judging from the abominably large nose, that is definitely a shuttle—but not one I’ve seen before. Is it a new model? Maybe it’s part of the Admiral’s fleet. In any case, it’s zoning straight towards us.

Oh, right, yeah, it’s zoning in like a bloodthirsty seagull.

No time to register the screaming. My mind races—my mental gerbils spin so frantically on such short notice that they may as well have launched themselves into the next plane of existence. Just as I throw myself onto Friederika in the vain hope of tossing us to the safety of the floor—my vision spins rapidly. With so many stars and blurriness, I can barely comprehend the two of us getting thrown about all willy-nilly like within the confinements of the passenger compartment. Numerous contents like papers and items of baggage fly out of the overhead containers which thrash around for what feels like an eternity. Any moment now, I will likely vomit out all my anxiety.

It all happens so soon, and just as abrupt as it happens, it ends all so abruptly. Friederika and I crash to the cold, unforgiving floor together—never once has my hydraulic grip ever left her precious bonehead. Friederika is by now, of course, more than qualified as being fully awake. She cries out like a deranged animal, brushing me aside and scrambling for the pilot’s cockpit. “Miss Yuri! Lieutenant Baikal! What the bloody hell is happening?!” Friederika cries. Still dizzy, I can make out Friederika shaking the poor pilot senseless. “Are… are we under attack?! Why aren’t you firing back?!”

Weakly pulling myself to my feet, I reach over for the now-more-than-desired tan-colored yet crumbled SPEIBSACKERL. “Christ almighty, calm your tits, will ya?” Yuri retorts “it’s nothing of the sort. It’s only some amateur pilot who has no idea what the hell they’re doing. It’s been this way ever since the armada dropped by…

“It’s been nothing but a war zone so to speak out here—no! Not like that, I mean excessive traffic jams and near close calls like now. There’s no way they’d go out of their way to target some random shuttle so far out… huh? What do you mean who do I mean? Those lousy, good for nothing Brenaco scumbags!”

After filling up the SPEIBSACKERL, I look up to see brushing the curious Yuri aside to peek into the compartment. “Say, is your girlfriend alright?” Yuri asks. Friederika is quiet for a moment before she utters something in protest. “My eardrums were getting shattered from her blood curdling screams the whole time… just like now. Christ, you two… I still don’t know Prince deals with you—“

“Vicky!” Friederika wails, scurrying over and crashing onto me, in the process brushing the SPEIBSACKERL aside. “I’m sorry! I forgot about you in the thick of the moment! You look so beaten up for my sake,” Friederika sniffles, stroking my hair. She wipes her nose on my sleeve and helps me up, as wobbly as I still am. Being thrown around like a rag doll did a number on me. Head still throbs a little though. But at least it’s not a concussion unlike that one time… the dreadful memory of that old man with the bulging eyes as his fireship exploded resurfaces, but I shake my head at the thought.

“Never mind that,” I groan, rubbing my head still. Peering through the window It’s evident that the big-nosed shuttle has stabilized by now and seems to be on a set course for one of Gasson’s Clusters. “You did what you had to do—prioritizing the situation before your mate emptied her contents all over you,” Friederika glances at the SPEIBSACKERL, and I’m grateful that I managed in sealing it before Friederika brushed it aside.

“Vicky, I didn’t mean to…” Friederika quips, the curling of her bottom lip as she frowns. I flick Friederika in response—a powerful one that evokes a typical Friederika cry as she falls on her bum rubbing ground zero. Ensuring that I’m stable, I make my way up the aisle for the cockpit. Yuri leans into view—her visor is up, wrinkling of her pretty little brow.

“Man, you look like utter shit,” Yuri remarks. The temptation to deliver another decisive forehead flick swells within me but for her sake and mine, I exercise great restraint. “Hey, don’t make such a fussy face, it was a joke, kinda,” she eyes me down before continuing, “that rough-housing doesn't look like it’s from the barrel-roll maneuvers I was doing. You sure you’re doing alright?” Without even so much as glancing back at the controls, Yuri is more than capable of casually maneuvering our transport into the Trinidad’s beaming runway. “If you want, I can turn this here shuttle around if you’re not feeling up for, uh… whatever it is you’re hoping to accomplish at the Admiral’s ship.”

Straightening up, I try to answer—but I can’t utter a word. Is it last-minute hesitation on my part? My mind races but it concludes nothing, I’m hyping this up when it might just be nothing. We’re going to take action against Brenaco—that much is certain. Is it concern over the possibility of initiating yet more action against the Mafia? No, the Admiral wouldn’t do something so sensible… right? Li…

No, in any case, I want to simply know what the decision will be. A deep sigh and straightening up again. “Um… no need to change course, Yuri,” I say with a brief salute. Yuri nods, propping her feet on the wheel.

“Good, because it’d be too much of a hassle to turn back now,” We are eclipsed in abrupt darkness—then a blinding light. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust as Yuri nonchalantly flips her visor up and continues, “though that said, it does appear to be incredibly slow around the Trinidad—so, you know…” Yuri glances at me, hands clasped over her stomach. thumbs twiddling, “if you’re still inclined to leave, and I don’t blame you…”

I only shake my head. There’s a series of omnidirectional mechanical whining and then some mild thuds as the shuttle makes its touchdown. “Well, I’d hate for you to waste so much fuel in getting us here, only to head back, er… empty-handed,” I say wryly, mustering the strength for a smile. “I may as well make it count… somehow.” Yuri only acknowledges with a grunt, waving me off as I exit the cockpit. But then she calls out to me as I pass through the sliding door.

“Say…” Yuri begins, her gaze looking out the window, “if you ever meet the bastard… er, commodore Chal at all, or, well, any of his chief of staff for that matter,” Yuri sighs, she glances over at the vacant co-pilot seat, “I know I don’t have the authority at all to say this—and I definitely shouldn’t be encouraging reckless insubordination… but punch his lights out for me, will ya?” She says, finishing it off with a scoff.

It’s at that moment I realize that back then, Yuri was accompanied by a co-pilot when Friederika and I were tasked with removing a missile dud that struck the Yilan’s port side. It’s been months and the thought never crossed my mind at all until now. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I say, slipping off my cap. “Did she…?” Yuri waves the question without hesitation—her fingers curl as they fall back onto her lap.

“No, I don’t think—“ a quick clearing of her throat, “that asshole couldn’t die even if she played hop-scotch over a couple of landmines,” Yuri takes a deep breath as her helmet—the visor down—rolls to the co-pilot controls. “She volunteered for the mission at Baltit—first wave,” she continues, “because of some bogus last-minute reorganization, I was transferred to a different division—in other words, I went to Malabo—” though it’s subtle, Yuri shakes her head, “Malabo was hell… let me tell you that. So many good boys died on my seats, and all I could do was hope I could make it in time… I wanted to be a savior—not a deliver of death. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how nightmarish it was over at Baltit.

“And after the whole bloody ordeal ended, I tried to find Jamie as quickly as I could. I found out that Jamie’s mates said…” her voice cracks trailing off. Yuri stops for a moment—a brief hesitation to raise her visor—but her hand drops to her lap. Another rough clearing of her voice, “Jamie was first listed as ‘killed in action’—but I… but I identified the corpse they showed me—it wasn’t her. So they changed it to ‘missing in action’…”

“You don’t have to… if you don’t want to, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whisper, but Yuri seemingly ignores me.

“They told me Jamie’s shuttle was shred to pieces—resembled those dirty Frankish swiss cheese than anything they said,” Yuri continues, “knowing that asshole, she probably had some noble idea of getting the Star for Gallantry or even that bloody Victorian Cross, either way…” Yuri repositions her head to look out the cockpits, “missing in action, killed in action, prisoner of war… with that goddamn Scarface, it’s all the same for her. Jamie may as well get her commemoration posthumously… the thought that I have to approach her family myself… is haunting.”

“Lieutenant Baikal?” I whisper, clutching my chest. I’m at a loss for words… if Buttermilch and I could’ve prevented the splitting of the fleet… would this still have happened?

Yuri cuts me off, “these past three months have been taking their toll on me. The only thing keeping me going is knowing the possibility that she may be alive…” again, Yuri brings her hand to her visor. And again, she balls her trembling hand and pounds it on her thigh, “frankly, I can’t even remember the last time I ate or forced myself to do a body shower. All I can think about is Jamie and all the others we left behind,” Yuri lets out a few short gasps before recomposing herself, “I want to believe she’s safe and sound out there somewhere. But most of all, I want to believe a shred of humanity in that bastard Scarface.

“Why, if I could go back and clock her lights out myself by god I’d do it. By god, I’ll drag Jamie back here myself—and I’ll head butt her for trying to act so high and mighty… but most of all, I want everyone else to come back, too… it’s no secret we’re essentially abandoning our comrades in Malabo and Baltit. Fuck those Brenaco guys,” Yuri shifts to face me—the ghastly expression of a blonde expression shines back at me, “I know you can’t do much… but, please—just give that bastard Chal and all the others a piece of my mind—a piece of the fleet’s mind,” Yuri says.

There’s a brief pause as Yuri rests in her chair and turns her attention to the window, “I think I’ve had my say of things, little Ensign. I shouldn’t have kept you hostage for so long.” Without another word, I give a salute, and proceed with an about-face out the cockpit—but like before, I find myself compelled to stop. I clutch my garrison cap tightly, leaning against the wall next to the door is a melancholic Friederika. Our eyes meet briefly—Friederika glances past me into the cockpit.

I can’t bring myself to let Yuri suffer alone like that. I can’t simply walk away from someone I inadvertently caused pain among two people—and the many left behind during the evacuation from Toscana. I give Friederika a nod, and head back into the cockpit, standing next to Yuri’s seat. The Lieutenant pilot is slow to realize my presence, “er, Happ? Did you still need—“ I flip her visor, revealing her shocked expression—wet cheeks, and ruined eye makeup—and with no further hesitation, clasp the helmet and slide it off. “W-what’s this about, Ensign?” Yuri asks, her voice quivering, her eyes darting me and to the doorway, “what—“

I pull her to her feet and it’s at that point Yuri chokes on her words. I throw my arms around her, clutching the Lieutenant and stroking her flowing hair now unrestrained from its tight, oversized helmet. “It’s all going to be okay,” I whisper “you shouldn’t have to suffer alone—I don’t want you to mourn alone in misery, Lieutenant,” cradling Yuri as I continue speaking softly, “what happened in Toscana is regrettable—but that just means that as the survivors, we should find the strength to rely on our friends for times like these. And even though part of the responsibility for the disaster lies with me,” clearing my stuffy throat before I continue, “so as someone who feels guilt over what she couldn’t do… all I can do now—besides beating the shit out of the irresponsible officers—is bring you some comfort. I want to believe, too, that Jamie is out there somewhere still… there’s nothing wrong with believing in hope, right?” I finish softly.

Yuri tries to mutter something—but all she can do is squirm around, her skin sticky to the touch. Yuri shakes violently for a moment before cutting loose a long, distressed sigh. She tries to mutter something—but only a gasp and tears come out. Her body gets heavier as she struggles to stand—using me as a shoulder to cry on.

I don’t know what Li may have done for those prisoners. I may never know if my words from that day could have swayed her in any capacity… but I can only hope that she may have influenced their livelihood. After all, Li, you said so yourself that we are no longer enemies, right? She wouldn’t do something so heartless after our heartfelt conversation, right, Li? That’s even assuming Li won her battle at Rouen—and whatever became of her after her failed coup at the Mafia capital.

As my mind wonders, Friederika comes in and latches onto Yuri from behind. Yuri sniffles, her tears leaving stains on my face as she musters the strength to say something, but Friederika cuts off the opportunity. “Vicky’s right,” she says, trying to stay composed, “even if your buddy is gone… you still have others to rely on. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“You kids,” she gasps, trying to wiggle her shoulder to wipe tears away, “you kids are too much you know?” Yuri’s strength is all but gone, and she is now more or less held up by us two. “You two… you two are so lucky to have each other,” Yuri croaks, and I wipe some of her dark-stained tears away, “if I ever see Jamie again… I don’t want to believe she’s gone. I’ll tell her how I really feel—I’ve always felt envious of your bond,” Friederika can’t help but let out a snuffling chuckle.

Friederika squeezes my arms tightly so much that it hurts with her gorilla gremlin strength. There’s a moment of silence between us, but Yuri speaks up again, “your support means a lot to me—it really does. But… shouldn’t you guys be heading off now? I’d feel even more guilty if you guys missed your important meeting because of me.”

“No… I don’t think that’ll be necessary, at least for a little while,” I reply, meeting brief eye contact with a peeking Friederika, “if that’s alright with you. I’ve been bloody anxious about it… so this is sort of soothing in its own right.” Friederika nods; an affirmative grunt. Yuri tearfully scoffs and strokes my bangs.

“I guess we’re all nervous wrecks some way or another," Yuri remarks, returning the favor by squeezing me back. “But at least before you go, I can tidy up that pathetic excuse of a uniform, so you look spiffy in front of all the officers.”

The three of us chuckle, taking in the precious moment we have together. And it’s in this small window of fondness that all my anxiety and fears simply wash away.