TITLE: Five Minutes
AUTHOR: Jos Mous
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine, nor am I making any money at all whatsoever.
RATING: PG to PG-13
PAIRING: Hammer/Kid… sort of
NOTE: This particular little fic was inspired by the webcomic “Angels 2200”, which can be found at www.angels2200.com If futuristic spaceships manned solely by women and teenage girls are your thing, go check it out.
A tapping noise could be heard in Hammer’s quarters. It was caused by a pen repeatedly hitting the table. Hammer looked at the pen moving wildly up and down between her fingers, but didn’t really see it. She was thinking. Mostly about death.
The average life expectancy of a rookie fighter pilot was next to nil. It had been a joke, once upon a time. A convenient excuse for little vices. We’re all going to be dead soon anyway, so we might as well enjoy what little life we’ve got left. Whiskey in particular had embraced that philosophy.
Well, they’d seen real battle and no-one had died. No-one in the Icebreakers that is. Hammer hadn’t really known the Green Giant girl, but suddenly the jokes just weren’t that funny any more.
And then Bubblegum had come back from her, hah, “interrogation” of the prisoner. She had been ordered not to say anything, but most of Icebreaker squad treated the captain’s orders more like suggestions. Turns out they’d been shooting at fourteen year old girls. Worse, someone on the other side had ordered those kids to go on a suicide run.
Not for the first time it occurred to Hammer that if the only fighter pilots left weren’t even of age yet, this entire war was extremely pointless.
Hammer realised she shouldn’t be thinking like that. She was the leader of a squadron and this was a war. She had Duties and Responsibilities. She had to put her feelings aside so she could go out there and kill more fourteen year olds.
The pen rammed the table once, hard, and then resumed tapping it.
Well maybe the whole damn universe was rotten anyway, but what the hell was she supposed to do about it. The best she could do was try to keep her squad alive long enough for them to maybe find some time to really enjoy what they had left.
Not that that was so difficult to do. Most of the girls managed to make their own fun with what little resources the Outcast had to offer. Even Quetz managed to keep herself entertained somehow. Everyone seemed to be doing fine, considering. Well, except for Kid.
The pen paused.
Hammer didn’t want to think about Kid. Which was probably why she was thinking about her right now. She hadn’t meant to be that harsh on the girl. Oh hells, who was she kidding, yes she had meant to be that harsh on her. But she’d sort of hoped that everything could go back to something resembling normalcy not long after.
Tapping noise started filling the room again.
Whiskey was probably right about a couple of things. Maybe she did find Kid attractive. Maybe she did want “more than friendship” as the expression goes. But she couldn’t afford it. She was squadron leader. Any kind of entanglements would seriously hamper her ability to command. Best to keep Kid at an arm’s length then.
Ah yes, that was a convenient excuse, wasn’t it?
The traitor thought was there before Hammer could stop it. OK, fine, so maybe she was scared, so what? Everyone was afraid nowadays.
Afraid to die, yes.
Well either way she still couldn’t. Whichever way you looked at it, she still had responsibilities.
To hide behind.
Hammer stared pensively at the door. She hated the way her mind worked sometimes. It was always so damn truthful.
Eat, drink and be merry, eh?
The pen was thrown on the table. It rolled to the other side, fell off the edge and hit the floor not long after. Hammer didn’t pick it up. She hadn’t even noticed it falling. She was already walking down the corridor, looking for a particular French girl.
… for tomorrow we die.