GEN Presents:

The events portrayed in this story are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead or dead is entirely co-incidental.
There, that should keep the Lawyers off my back

There Goes My Medal of Honour
Short Humour by FO/AD Kessler/CS-4/SSSD Sovereign

He groaned pitifully and poked his head out from beneath the covers to see what was causing the noise. It couldn’t possibly be 0700 hours yet, that could only mean the message terminal was alarming. He groped around under his bed for his boots and threw the first thing that came to hand at the comms terminal. Something shattered in the darkness with a satisfying tinkle of breaking glass. Nestling back into the blankets, he drifted off to sleep again.

Of course, it could have been the bridge trying to tell you we’re under attack or something. Then again, probably not. Sleep tight.

Kessler really hated his conscience. He threw back the covers and sat up in bed, wiping sleep from his eyes absent-mindedly.

"What’s that noise, sir?"

Only half awake, he had a bit of trouble remembering exactly who it was in bed with him. "It’s just the communications terminal…erm…" he decided to play it safe "…Cadet. Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep. My steward will wake you when it’s time to get the Shuttle back to the Daedalus."

He sighed. Remembering names had never been one of his strong points. "Play message."

"Video facility temporarily malfunctioning. Audio content only."

"Whatever, just play the damn message!"

"This is your last warning, Kessler! Pay the money today or the Wookie dies!"

"Erm…erase. Play next."

"From: Executive Officer/Sector Admiral Compton

"To: Undisclosed Recipients.

"Congratulations on your appointment as the new Flight Officer of the Emperor’s Hammer Strike Fleet! Due to Admiral Eric O’Flynn’s accidentally decapitating himself while shaving yesterday, the position of Flight Officer and TIE Corps Commander has become vacant. This highly prestigious job is now yours, pending acceptance of this message. Simply reply to sender with the word "Accept" in the subject header, and you can be in complete command of the entire Navy and Starfighter Corps of this elite military organisation, with total power of life or death over thousands of military personnel! Free bumper sticker and cup holder to the first fifty responses!"

The Flight Officer? Didn’t the Flight Officer have total and unrestricted access to the Cadets’ Barracks on the PLT Daedalus?

"Computer, draft a reply…"

Sector Admiral Compton stared morosely at the suicide letter. It did not make for encouraging reading.

"I can’t take it any more! I’m sick of explaining to Cadets why calling themselves ‘Corran Horn’ or ’Darth Vader’ isn’t a good idea! I’m sick of explaining to people that we don’t care if they’ve done the IWATS Quake Level design course, it still doesn’t go on their personnel profile unless it’s IWATS Core or Squadron Management! I’m sick of people asking for transfers without bothering to tell their own Commanders first! I’m sick of people applying for Flight Training when what they really wanted to do was join the Directorate! I’m sick of Subgroup Commanders bitching at me because I remind them to get their rosters in on time! I’m sick of taking my life into my hands every time I step into my own office because Vice Admiral Chandler’s pets have gotten out of control again! But most of all, I’m sick and tired of running around catering to the whims of a thousand idiots who make dumb requests without bothering to read the Training Manual first! I’ve had enough! I’m going to go and cut off my head with a spoon now. You’re all a bunch of arses! Bye!"

Not even the offer of two cup-holders had been enough to change his mind. Ronin was going to go ballistic when he got back.

"Never mind, Boss" said Vice Admiral Tron. "Some idiot will take the job. We’re bound to find a Sublieutenant sooner or later who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow."

Compton nodded gloomily. Actually, that idea had potential…

Tron perked up suddenly. "Hey, there’s a reply coming in."

"Screw you, Compton! Do you think I was born yesterday? – High Admiral Kawolski."

"Maybe we should have extended the mailing list to include Cadets too?" Compton suggested.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! No – Cadet Corran Horn237"

"I already tried that, Boss."

Compton screwed up Eric’s letter and tossed it into the wastebasket. "Maybe we should ask Sirrus? It might shut him up?"

"It’s not that bad is it?"

The message terminal chimed again. Tron hit the "play" button.

"This is Admiral Kessler. I just have one question - about the PLT Daedalus…will I get my own key?"

And there was much rejoicing.

Kessler looked puzzled. What exactly had Sector Admiral Compton meant when he’d said, "Cheers, sucker"? Oh well, it was only 3am and the line had been a little fuzzy. He’d probably misheard it. All the same, he checked his copy of the Training Manual to make sure Sucker wasn’t some kind of obscure military title that he was now entitled to.

Halfway through the 600-page volume, he realised that he’d have to appoint a replacement Battlegroup Commander for himself. A few seconds later he realised that Rear Admiral Ricaud still had those photographs of Kessler and the Lieutenant from Supply. The ones with the rubber dresses. And the Alphabetti Spaghetti. And the goat.

"Open a channel to the ISD Relentless, I need to speak to Rear Admiral Ricaud."

Acknowledged.

Click, whirr, beep.

"Ahh, Kessler. You missed the last payment. Very naughty."

"Hello there, Vice Admiral Ricaud."

"Vice Admiral? This sounds good. What will it cost?"

"Just tell me where you hid the negatives, scumbag."

Kessler breathed a sigh of relief. At least his reputation was safe now. The rubber dresses and the Lieutenant could have been explained away, but the goat was definitely a problem. He dropped the negatives into his security safe and locked it shut. That was that. Now, he’d better head on over to the SSSD Sovereign to see how big his new Quarters were. He hoped there’d be a waterbed. And lava lamps.

Pausing at the door, he had a sudden idea, an evil one, his favourite kind. "Get me Lieutenant Colonel Callista of Typhoon Squadron… I have a mission for her."

Lieutenant Colonel Callista walked into Typhoon Squadron’s messdeck with their orders, a manic grin on her face. "Listen up, Phooners. We have orders. Brandy, put the nurse down, you don’t know where she’s been. Blackbird, alcohol should be taken orally, not intravenously."

LCM Brandon quickly stuffed Nurse Novak into his locker. "Nurse? What nurse?"

CM Blackbird looked up through an alcohol-induced stupor. "But I get drunk faster and stay drunk longer this way, Boss."

CPT Vader jerked to and fro spasmodically, his eyes shut and a pair of headphones covering his ears.

"Someone get Vader’s Ricky Martin tape off him, will you?"

Eventually, order returned to the messdeck. "Okay, like I said, we have new orders. As you know, we’re the Battlegroup Commander’s Escort Squadron, and why are we BGCOM’s Escort?"

"Because we’re the best of the best of the best, sir!"

Calli frowned. Not everyone had joined in. "Something wrong, Blackbird?"

"I forgot the words, Boss." Blackbird mumbled.

Calli grated her teeth together. "Anyway, Kess’s on his way over the Sovereign right now…"

"So we have to go fly him over? The Sov’s only six klicks away! He could almost walk it!"

"Not quite," said Calli. "Kess isn’t BGCOM anymore."

"What, he got demoted?"

"Sort of, he’s the new Flight Officer."

She gave them a few minutes to stop laughing, then continued.

"So we’re needed to escort the new BGCOM to the Challenge."

There were a few blank looks at this statement. "But Torres is already here. I don’t get it.." mumbled CM Blackbird.

Calli’s lips tightened. "Well that’s the thing, Torres isn’t the new BGCOM. It’s Val Ricaud."

"Ricaud? Ricaud’s coming here?"

"Yep."

"Not Torres?"

"Nope."

"He still has those negatives, doesn’t he? The ones with the rubber dresses, the Alphabetti Spaghetti and the goat?"

"Probably, yes. I can’t think of any other reason for it."

Various low growls emanated from the throats of the assembled Typhoon pilots. Someone banged at the inside of a locker, demanding to be let out.

Captain Vader pulled out a Gloria Estefan tape and slotted it into his Walkman. The Rhythm is Gonna Get You began to play. "Hey, El Hefe. I have an idea."

The newly promoted Vice Admiral Ricaud sat at his desk with a very self-satisfied grin on his face. From Lieutenant to Vice Admiral in under three months! It was just a shame he’d had to give Kessler the negatives, but after all, Vice Admiral was as high as Kessler could promote him. He no longer had any use for him now, so losing the negatives hadn’t been such a big deal. Now, if only he could get some dirt on Grand Admiral Ronin his future career prospects would be assured…

"Vice Admiral Ricaud, sir. Your transport is ready to take you to your Flagship now, sir."

"My Flagship? Oh yeah…erm, which one is that?"

"The ISD Challenge sir."

"The Challenge, of course. Righto."

Ricaud took a turbolift to the main hangar and stepped onto the deck with a spring in his step. Things were definitely looking up. The bay, however, appeared to be deserted except for a single Modular Freighter and a TIE Corps Lieutenant Colonel.

"Good morning, Vice Admiral, sir" she began.

"Hello, are you the pilot?"

"Not exactly, sir. I’m the Commander of your Escort Squadron. We’re here to take you to the ISD Challenge."

"Ooh! I have an Escort Squadron? Very nice. I must be really important now, right?"

"Oh yes, sir. Very important, sir."

"So where’s my Shuttle?"

"Oh, only low ranking officers have Shuttles, sir. Someone as important as yourself gets one of these specially modified Modular Freighters."

"Splendid! That’s good, isn’t it?"

"Yes, sir. Very good. If you’d like to board your ship now, sir?"

"Absolutely, this is all very impressive isn’t it?"

Calli opened the boarding hatch to the number five cargo hold and ushered him inside. "Oh yes, sir, very impressive." The strains of Gloria Estefan’s The Rhythm Is Gonna Get You echoed from within.

"I say, there are an awful lot of animals in here. They look pretty sick, too…"

"Don’t worry about that sir," said Calli, locking the hatch. "Just think of them as the in-flight entertainment." She pulled out a comlink and opened a channel to the Freighter’s Cockpit.

"Okay, Vader. He’s all yours. Be gentle."

"No problem El Hefe."

The freighter lifted off with an alarming lurch. The sounds of distressed animals from inside rose by few dozen decibels.

"Madre de dios! There seems to be a problem with the inertial damping systems. Could be a rough ride."

"That’s a shame. Make sure you get them to the Bowel Complaint Research Lab more or less on time. The strain of Dysentery they’re suffering from is particularly virulent and the research people want them in one piece. Once that’s done, you can drop our beloved BGCOM off at the Challenge."

"Si, Hefe. ETA at ISD Challenge is twelve hours. See you there."

"Don't rush on my account."

The Freighter lumbered out of the docking bay in a series of violent forward lurches. Calli grinned evilly. Well Ricaud. It seems Gloria Estefan is right. The Rhythm IS going to get you.

Admiral Kessler opened the door to his new Office on the SSSD Sovereign and stepped inside. The first thing that struck him was the heat. The second thing was a large tentacle that wrapped itself about his neck and began to drag him towards a large pit in the centre of the cavernous office.

Vice Admiral Chandler, the Flight Office Command Attaché looked up from his newspaper. "Oh, are you the new guy?"

"Krrghgnmmmfff!!"

"I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite get that."

"KRRGHGNMMMFFF!!"

"Oh excuse me. Bobby! Put the Admiral down! Bad Sarlacc!"

The tentacle released Kessler reluctantly and retreated to its pit.

Kessler rubbed his throat tenderly. "What the hell was that?"

Chandler turned a page in his newspaper. "Oh that’s just my Sarlacc. Don’t worry, he’s been fed this week, he’s just being friendly."

"You keep a Sarlacc in my office?"

"Yeah. I feed him on Admirals who piss me off."

Kessler considered this for a second. "You’re Vice Admiral Chandler, right?"

"Right."

"Not the same as the Rear Admiral Chandler who used to be Wing Commander of Wing V?"

"The very same."

"Did you ever find out who that pilot from Nun Squadron was who put laxative in your coffee? The pilot who transferred out to Wing X before you could get your hands your hands on him?"

"No, the little scumbag erased his records before he went. But I’ll find him one day. It’s only a matter of time. Why? You got a lead for me?"

"Umm, no. Just checking. Forget I mentioned it." Sooner or later, Kessler was going to have to get round to killing the few remaining pilots who still knew he had been in Nun Squadron once. "Anyway, I’m here, I’m the new Flight Officer. Compton said you had some things for me."

Chandler dropped his newspaper onto the desk and opened the drawer. Reaching inside, he began to toss various items to Kessler.

"Flight Officer’s badge."

"Check."

"SSSD Sovereign all areas Access Card."

"Check."

"Subscription to Fascist Dictators Monthly"

"Check."

"Bumper sticker and two cup-holders."

"Check."

"Key to the Cadets’ Barracks on the PLT Daedalus."

"WOOOHOOO!!"

The hatch popped open and a slow wave of brown goo seeped over the lip. A low moaning noise emanated from within. The military band struck up the Imperial March and a company of Stormtroopers snapped to attention.

"Admiral on deck!"

Vice Admiral Ricaud staggered from the hatch and walked unsteadily down the boarding ramp. His uniform appeared slightly…sticky. He squelched when he walked.

Vice Admiral Torres, the Commodore of the ISD Challenge saluted smartly and peered at the unsteady figure of the new Battlegroup Commander.

"Morning, Val. What’s that on your face? Jungle camouflage?"

"Not exactly."

"And your uniform looks…different. Is that the new colour for Flag Officers this season?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Interesting smell too. The women like that, do they?"

"I really wouldn’t know. Can I just get to my quarters now please?"

"Sure, just try to stay downwind if you don’t mind."

Ricaud sat at his desk and fumed. Kessler was going to pay for this. The only problem was that now he didn’t have anything to blackmail him with. He was going to have to install some cameras in the Cadet Barracks on the Daedalus and hope he caught him in the act. And that could take some time.

Hold on. This is Kessler we’re talking about. It shouldn’t take that long.

Brightening up at the prospect of some revenge, he flipped open the safe in Kessler’s office. At the very least he could console himself with some of that Spiced Brandy Kessler was known to keep in his safe.

Sitting on top of a pile of documents was a familiar looking brown paper envelope. Ricaud opened it and glanced inside.

Rubber dresses.

Alphabetti Spaghetti.

Goats!

"Operator, I want you to get me a channel to the Gossip Editor of the Auroran Times."

Admiral Kessler sipped at his drink and relaxed on the sofa, a Cadet on each arm, and several more sitting at his feet, all gazing adoringly at him as he recounted tales of life in Wing X as a starfighter pilot.

"Yes, those were the days. I tell you, we knew how to deal with Rebels when I was a pilot!" He sipped at his drink again and eyed up a particularly innocent-looking young Delta Company pilot. "You – my cabin at 1600 hours. Bring a friend."

"Yes sir!"

"Admiral Kessler, sir," interrupted a Cadet, breathless with hero-worship. "Tell us again about how you single-handedly saved the Emperor’s Hammer from destruction by the Dendrite Pirates and rescued Grand Admiral Ronin’s fiancée from the clutches of the Dreaded Bladder-Beast of Baal."

Kessler grinned. "Really, it was nothing. All in a day’s work when you’re as ruggedly good-looking and heroic as me."

The TV in the bar crackled into life, with a special announcement. "This is Channel One News with the late breaking story of scandal high in the leadership of the TIE Corps. We go now live to TIE Corps Headquarters where special reporter Dirk Janson has a story of an Admiral, two rubber dresses, a tin of Alphabetti Spaghetti and a goat called Mildred."

"Oh bugger" said Kessler. "There goes my Medal of Honour."

© (copyright) Paul Lee Charlton. All Rights Reserved

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