‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 099 Veiled and Rescued

‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 099 Veiled and Rescued

Arriving at his post today, Lübeck found everyone unusually busy. It turned out the Combat Command Center had launched an operation—only its clearance level was low, so he hadn’t been notified beforehand.
Lübeck listened to the briefing: a resource transport convoy had come under attack by Spider BM Charle, a Martian spider species—medium-sized, black, with razor-sharp fangs and scythe-like forelimbs, moving with startling agility.
Settling in, Lübeck pulled on a headset, patching into the combat comms channel for real-time updates as he studied the battlefield layout. The armored relief column was already en route; the medical rescue team’s countdown was halfway through its twenty-minute prep. Scanning the roster, he saw Brittany’s name listed prominently, and a flicker of concern tightened his chest.
Air cover was currently returning to base. Lübeck recalculated the timing of each wave and realized there would be a gap where ground forces would be without aerial protection. Footage streaming in showed the ambushed convoy holding a restrained defensive posture, careful not to provoke a full-scale swarm assault, though several personnel were already injured.
“We’ve got an air cover gap?” Lübeck asked the operations officer.
“Yes. We’re out of attack aircraft pilots—they’re all already deployed.”
Lübeck reviewed the base’s remaining assets. “Assign me a Hell Messenger attack craft. Load four MK-77 incendiary bombs, rest of the payload with unguided rockets. Forty-five minutes loiter time fuel. Thirty minutes to launch. Confirm.”
The systems operator stared, wide-eyed, as Lübeck input the commands from memory. The young man didn’t know Lübeck had flown that very aircraft before. Once done, Lübeck glanced at the operations officer, who gave a sharp nod: Execute.
Seeing the orders queued into the system, Lübeck headed straight for the hangar. The base’s internal rail transit made movement quick, but first he needed his flight suit and clearance to enter. Ground crews were already fueling, arming, and loading ordnance.
The Hell Messenger was an ugly aircraft—built solely for close air support on Mars. No sleek fuselage; aerodynamics were irrelevant in the thin Martian atmosphere. Its stubby wings generated no lift, serving only as hardpoints for weapons. Flight was pure thrust, courtesy of four liquid oxygen-methane rocket engines. Piloting it felt less like flying a plane and more like maneuvering a massive quadcopter—except with rocket engines instead of rotors. To accommodate its two massive spherical fuel tanks, the nose and forward fuselage were bloated and ungainly. The slender rear section existed only to provide attitude control torque. Pilots called it “the Pipe.”
Lübeck strapped into the cockpit, powered up the electrical systems, linked into the tactical data network, and monitored the battlefield feed while the systems ran self-checks. He waited until fueling completed.
The ground crew finished ahead of schedule. After pressure equalization and evacuation, the hangar doors opened, and the aircraft was lifted to the roof launch platform. Confirming with the tower, Lübeck ignited all four rockets. The roar was deafening; shockwaves rattled the cockpit walls. He lifted off vertically, banked, and set course for the combat zone.
It didn’t take long to spot the advancing armored column below. Pressing forward along the road corridor, he overtook the medical evacuation craft—Brittany was aboard that one. He accelerated past them into the hot zone; his job was to clear a safe landing area first.
From the air, Lübeck saw the convoy locked in a defensive perimeter. Swarms of Martian spiders moved across the terrain. Their migration patterns were unclear, but their distribution was sparse. Convoy gunners fired short bursts to keep larger specimens at bay, conserving ammo. Bomb craters pockmarked the landscape—scars from earlier air strikes.
Assessing the situation, Lübeck made a high-speed low pass, releasing two incendiaries. Delayed detonation turned the ground beneath him into rolling walls of flame, tracing his flight path with a long dragon of fire. He looped back, dropped the other two, boxing the convoy behind a V-shaped wall of searing heat aimed straight at the oncoming swarm. Then, pulling the nose toward the ground forces, he began a centripetal spiral, strafing lingering threats with Hydra rockets and the M61 Vulcan cannon.
Soon after, the medevac craft landed, loaded casualties, and lifted off. Lübeck stayed on station until the relief armor arrived. He prioritized remaining targets, emptied his rocket pods, then turned for home.
Only now did Lübeck let out a slow breath. Flying this airframe again after so long… well, Martian flight demanded little in the way of high-G maneuvers, and his body had held up. Catching up to the medevac craft again, he throttled back, matching speed to escort them.
He positioned himself where sunlight struck the cockpit canopy, angling for a clear view inside. As the distance closed, figures became distinct. Behind one window, he recognized a familiar silhouette. But Brittany wasn’t on the combat net. So Lübeck toggled his navigation and formation lights—full bright. The Hell Messenger’s left-wing red strobe pulsed, washing the medevac cabin in crimson flashes.
Brittany looked up. At first her mouth fell open. Then her hands pressed against the window, eyes widening. Finally, she waved wildly, radiant with a joy that told him she never expected to see him like this.
They returned to base in sequence, but Brittany couldn’t wait for him. She disappeared straight into the medical bay. Back in the Combat Command Center, Lübeck confirmed the situation was stable, then clocked out. Dinner in the mess hall, then he packed a portion for her and returned to his quarters to wait.
Waiting always left him hollow. Hours he might have spent reviewing reports now felt wasted. He turned off the lights, staring out at the vast, indifferent stars—so many, yet so meaningless. Better to shower. Warm water, dim light—and suddenly, memories of Brittany surged back.
Had he really fallen for her? Or was this just fleeting exhilaration? Lübeck questioned himself, unsettled by how sentimental he’d become.
Water drummed against his skin, pattering on the floor. Eyes closed, he let the warmth and the sound of dripping water fill the silence.
Then, faintly—the door.
“Lübeck? Lübeck, are you here?” The voice drew closer.
He opened his eyes. It was her—Brittany. Following the glow of the bathroom light, still in her uniform, she pushed the door open and stepped in. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she looked at him.
“Was that you flying cover for us today?”
“Yeah,” Lübeck smiled. Normally, he’d have teased her about her clothes getting wet. But not today. He just held her waist, watching the water darken her shoulders, her damp hair clinging to her temples, droplets trailing down her cheeks, catching the light before curving along her neck and disappearing into her collar.
Right then, all he wanted was to see Brittany standing right in front of him.