Meeting the new Boss

Posted on 14 Aug 2025 @ 3:33pm by 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews & Private Earnes Fry

2,546 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: S3 Episode 5: 95th Regimental Missions
Location: Hanger deck
Timeline: T pluss 1 hour after launch from starbase.

ON

Private Earnes Fry, Rifleman, had just finished chow after his first come to the first day in the rest of your Marine Corps training session's. His 15-minute shower, in real hot water, had helped lower the volume of his screaming muscles. The Major did not pull punches when it came to training her Regiment. Wanting to quickly finish his check-in process so as not to upset anyone, which could possibly impact the duration and consistency of his PT training. Checking to see the Location of the Regiment XO, it showed the location of 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews as being on the Hangar Deck. Heading there, Private Fry, tried not to alienate anyone else today.

Cassandra was in her coveralls, inspecting her fighter. The last training bout the bird had listed to the left a little, and Cassandra had been busy crawling around the nav systems hardware for the better part of an hour to try and recalibrate the damn thing. Part of her wanted to cheat and call Leland or Aidon in to help her. Only it was her bird and thus her responsibility to know how to repair it. The arrival of a new face in the hanger made her pause. With everything she had going on new faces made her nervous these days. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and tough-looking. She watched him closely.


Looking down at his Padd, Private Fry looked up a picture of the Regimental Executive Officer. It was not a good idea to wander around the hangar bay looking lost. People tended to put you to work. After seeing the picture and looking around, Private Fry spotted the said most important person working on a bird. Bird was what the Marines called the fighters. Flying Combat Air Patrols was a job left to the Starfleet. The Very Important Job of Close-in-Air-Support was handled by Marines. The Most Important person looked to be working on a gyro-stabilizer. Based on the off-axis tilt of the port wing, it would take more than a 10-kilo short-handled sledgehammer named "Bob" to fix it. Private Fry walked over to the Regimental Executive Officer, came to attention, saluted, and then said," Private Earnes Fry reporting for duty, Ma'am!"

Private Fry waited for the XO to respond before looking down at the partially disassembled wing and asking, " Have you tried Bob yet?"

Cassandra saluted him back respectfully. The tension in her shoulders easing slightly. His question made her smile. "I just might. Winchester wants me to at least attempt to fix it without resorting to brute force if at all possible. I made him no promises, though. Are you a pilot?" She asked her blue eyes a little hopeful. "Or an engineer, maybe?" She'd take all the help she could get at this point.

Private Fry replied, "I qualified on about 25 different craft, most were civilian in nature. I did, however, log thousands of hours on hundreds more in the simulator. Now, as far as an Engineer... "
*Private Fry thought for a moment*, then said, "More like I grew up on a farm, and we had older equipment that was constantly breaking down. Our Family had 3200 hectares of farmland, some of which was pretty rough out back wasteland. Parts were not always easy to get on that backwater planet. We were off the beaten path. I would hazard a guess that the Port stabilizer has taken one too many hard landings, or close encounters with FOD(Foreign Object Debris), and the sensors say they are calibrated, but are misaligned. You can't trust the internal self-diagnostics on that issue. Or the connection is just dirty enough that the signals are getting mixed in with garbage, and giving the auto thrusters a bad bias."

Cassandra raised both eyebrows, clearly impressed, as she knelt beside the battered wing and motioned for Fry to join her. “Well, Private Fry, you certainly don’t sound like just another grunt,” she said with a teasing smile. “Farmers don’t usually talk in engineering manuals, let alone know what FOD is. I’m starting to think you might be underselling yourself.”
She scanned the diagnostic pad again before tossing it lightly aside with a huff. “You might be onto something with the stabilizer. Honestly, the self-diagnostics just make me want to throw this thing into warp and see which parts survive the process.”

She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. “So, tell me, Fry, do you still use that farm ingenuity? Because I’m about two seconds away from calling it a lost cause and asking you to slap a miracle on this bucket of bolts. ” Whether it was his farm-boy expertise or that glint of confidence in his eye that convinced her, Cassandra found herself feeling, for the first time in hours, that the wing might actually see the skies again. "I'd be happy to learn anything you can teach me to help get this done." She invited.

Private Fry looked over at the new boss. "Well, a combine/harvester has about 3 thousand Newton's worth of torque, and it can pick up and throw a two-kilo rock or tree root a couple of hundred meters at almost 200 meters per hour. That is why all farm equipment had a mandatory cage around the operator that is 2.5 centimeters thick of transparent aluminum at a minimum. "

*Private Fry smiled as he remembered the thousand-plus hours he had spent driving one around*

"One day, farming in that thing will pick up dozens of new dents. As far as the thrusters, it's leaning to the left, covered with dents, so let's start there and see if I am right."

Private Fry climbed under the wing, looking for the access panel directly under the main repulsor. " Of course, they split the main lift unit access!" Private Fry spent several minutes trying to slide around to get the best view. "Ummm, if you can hand me the tricorder, I want to rule out grounds. I assume that you looked for those first. But there might be a ground that only happens while the system is starting or flexing."

"Not yet," Cassandra admitted as she handed him the tricorder he asked for. Watching and listening intently to what he said and what he might be doing next.

Private Fry spent several minutes pushing and pulling various wires and cable runs before getting zapped by a static discharge. "Well," Private Fry said, "I found one problem." Sliding out to get some air and to stretch a bit, Private Fry said, "Rubbing against seams or edges is the most common cause of static discharge." Had Private Fry had a mirror to look at, he would have seen every hair on his body standing straight up, although Private Fry did smell a whiff of ozone.

He reminded her of Leland as he slid out of the access tunnel. Cassandra giggled good naturedly at the sight of him. Impressed, he had managed to fit into that tight access to begin with, little alone maneuver in it enough to check the wiring. The smell of Ozone and the fact that he was named Fry seemed an almost foreboding combination. It almost set her giggling again as it crossed her mind. Instead, she pulled on her military bearing and asked, "So how do you suggest we fix the problem?" A smile still playing at the corners of her mouth as she spoke.

Private Fry said, "Well, we have to fix the wiring loom, the floating ground that is not supposed to be floating, and then spray on more molding insulation on all the sharp edges in there." Brushing the black specks off his arms, legs, and chest. Private Fry resumed his spiel. "How the edges sharpen themselves, I will never understand. It happens on all high performance craft, military or civilian."

Cassandra arched an eyebrow , “Well, well, Private, I think you might be wasted on grunt work.” Her hands rested on her hips, and she gave the fighter a glance, then back at Fry, a spark of amusement in her eyes.

“I don’t know if it’s your farm-boy tricks or the fact you look like you’ve tangoed with a lightning bolt, but I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

She bent slightly, inspecting the access panel where he’d just been. “Wiring looms, floating grounds, sharp edges turning into gremlins... Are you sure you didn’t design this bird? Because that’s about as accurate a diagnosis as I could’ve hoped for, probably better considering the hour I wasted before you showed up.”

Standing, Cassandra rolled her shoulders and motioned toward the tool kit resting a few feet away. “Alright, then. If we’re doing this, I’ve got a solder gun that’s temperamental, a roll of insulation that might be older than you, and maybe, just maybe, enough patience to see this through. What I don’t have is your level of enthusiasm for this death trap, so you’re going to lead the charge on this one, Fry.”

She stepped aside to let him grab what he needed but decided to crouch back under the wing with him a moment later, curiosity tugging at her.

“You know,” she began, her tone softer now, the edges of her voice relaxed, almost conversational, “most people see a busted fighter and call it a write off. But you? You come in here, get zapped, and come out with a game plan like it’s another day on the farm.”

She studied the fighter’s battered wing for a moment, as though seeing something more profound in its dented surface than just the obvious damage. “There aren’t too many people who’d take the time to solve the problem like that, let alone with zero hesitation. I can tell you’ve got grit, Fry. But you’ve also got the brains to back it up, which, frankly, is the rarer combination.” When she looked back at him, there was something almost approving in her expression.

“Tell you what,” she said as she stood, tossing a quick glance toward the ship like it was daring her to hope for an easy fix. “If we can get Murphy here operational without blowing anything or anyone to kingdom come, you’ll find yourself fast-tracked to my personal list of people I bother when things go sideways. Think you can handle that kind of pressure, Private?” That teasing smirk returned as she arched her brow again.

Private Fry took one look at the hungry look of the BOSS and let out a groan, "I should know better than to volunteer for something. If I am honest, I turned down my commission at the academy due to some bull. Some of the frat guys got a little envious that I had built a racing simulator in my dorm, and used it to feed the holodecks. Yes, it was uncovered that some bets were made, but I had nothing to do with them. I was charged anyway. Due to complaints by the powerful to the Academy Commandant, I had a permanent black stripe in my OCS record. So, I resigned my commission and requested a transfer to the Marines. The Commandant was happy to oblige me. Since I am no longer an OCS grad, my record is now clean."

Private Fry felt a little relieved to get that off his chest. but felt sorry for dumping on his boss. "I wanted to be a combat Pilot, but that dream ended. I do feel better as a grunt, no command issues, no bad calls to make. just blow stuff up..."

Private Fry grimaced, then said, "Sorry to dump all that on you."

Cassandra listened, and she felt for him. She herself understood what it felt like to have the big guy put his proverbial foot in her face and kick her down the ladder. Twice now. Wasn't that what Admiral Doe was doing even now to her? Her smile lost the teasing tone to it, melting into something more heartfelt. "I am actually glad you told me." She looked at the fighter and then back at the large man in front of her. "It just so happens that the Tomcat is training Marines to fly fighters. As a volunteer, you would be trained under Paul Winchester, a personal friend of mine. If you're serious about wanting to fly one of these pidgins, we can still, make that happen. Black mark or not." She offered.

Private Fry said with a sly smile, "Well, as long as the Academy folks don't get wind of it, I don't mind sitting in the cockpit again!"

Cassandra's smirk softened. She crossed her arms, studying Fry with a thoughtful expression, before nodding once, decisively. “Well, Private, looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal,” she said, “Paul Winchester isn’t exactly the sympathetic type, so I hope you’re ready for the kind of training that’ll make you wish you were dodging lightning bolts again. But if there’s one thing I can tell about you, it’s that you don’t back down once you’ve got the scent of a challenge.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to the battered fighter as though considering what it represented—not just a broken machine but something larger.

“You’ve had your share of bruises, it sounds like. Life doesn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for people like us, but there’s no rule that says you can’t barrel through the obstacles anyway. If you’ve got the guts to jump back in that cockpit then, Fry…” She chuckled lightly, “you might just be stubborn and crazy enough to make a damn good pilot.”


She let that hang in the air, momentarily. Cassandra’s teasing smirk returned. “And don’t think for a moment that you dodged grunt work in the hangar, either. You still owe me a fixed fighter before I let Paul get his claws in you.”

As she turned, grabbing the temperamental solder gun, she threw a glance over her shoulder. “But don’t worry if this goes south and we all end up in a fiery wreck? At least you can blame me for volunteering you into it.” she jested. “Now let's get this fixed up.”

It would take next to no time at all with the private Frys help. Soon, the fighters' work was completed.

Fry hung upside down with one leg wrapped around the front edge of the aircraft, as they tested for more gremlins, shorts, or other engineering problems. Satisfied that their work was done, Fry said, "Well, we have given our best and have not broken anything else, I hereby declare this bird, Debugged!"

Fry quickly put the access panel back on and started fastening the thousand-plus screws back in with the sonic screwdriver. "Why they don't standardise the torque specs for all these fasteners, I will never know."

Fry stood looking at their hard work, and was satisfied with a job well done.

OFF:





Rfn Fry PNPC

 

RSS Feed