A Certain Point of View

Status: First Post
Title: A Certain Point of View
Rating: PG (for minor profanity)
Genre: SF (B5 related)
Author: Duh. That would be me.



I never asked to be involved in Sheridan’s jihad. I mean, hell, I’d served my time. More than my time, actually. It really burned my ass when that Commander Ivanova threatened to commandeer my “Starsider’s Hope” if I didn’t volunteer my services to the cause. Don’t get me wrong, I got no love for Clarke and his goons, but space piracy is space piracy any way you look at it.

I was strapped into a Fury while she was still copping a feel at the junior prom. I fought the Dilgar and the Minbari. It’s in my service records if you’d like to check. I never served on “The Line,” and I’ll be honest about it. Lot of old timers will tell you that they were there, though. If everybody who said they were there, were actually there, there would have been about a billion survivors. Me, I was on Mars planetary defense. There we were, me and my team, waiting to die, just to buy the dirtsiders a few more moments of precious life. Imagine our surprise, and yeah, relief too, when the Minbari passed by Mars, heading for the home world.

Then came the president’s announcement that Earth was going to fall. By the time we heard the message, the war was over. The boneheads had surrendered. I can tell you that when we heard the call, you would have been hard pressed to hold us back, but we had to defend Mars. What if a couple of those Sharlin cruisers dropped out of H-space and decided to take out the colonies there? Let me tell you a little known fact. Just a side note, really. Then Representative Clarke was in Mars Dome One while the whole shooting match was being decided next planet closest to the sun. I should know, because I was there.

After the war, I hung up my PPG and went civilian. Scraped up the credits to buy my own long-haul transport. It’s not that I didn’t sympathize with Sheridan and the other outer colonies. I was right there running guns for the Narns when the Centauri decided to bomb their planet. I also ran refugees out of the line of fire, women and children mostly. I made a profit at it, sure, but that’s not the only reason I was decided to do it. I’d seen what weapons of mass destruction had done to Earth colonies during the big war.

I did my part to ease the suffering of Mars during the riots. Wasn’t I there, making food drops to the rebels… Rebels, that’s what they called them, then. Still do. Isn’t that the same as what Sheridan and the others are? Maybe if they win, they’ll be called “freedom fighters.” It’s all semantics anyway.

They threatened to take away the “Hope” from me. Where was she? Dry docked on Epsilon, guarded by Sheridan’s secret weapon. And where was I? I’m standing by, with four multidirectional thrusters strapped to my ass, waiting to take the last plunge into the dark. The last time until the next time. Jesus, I’m fifty years old. Too old to be a fighter jock, but they need the bodies, and the experience. Me, I just want my “Hope” back.

I could feel the shift back to normal space, the cockpit readout indicating we were at Earth beacon one-one-six. People will tell you that there is no way that you can feel the shift. They don’t know what they’re talking about. You can feel it in your bones. A low rumbling as the jump engines are engaged for the trip out of hyperspace. Ask any of the old spacers and they’ll tell you. The jump out is a physical thing.

I heard Sheridan’s voice in my headset. I’ll say this for him, I may not like his style, but he has a lot of charisma, “…We have come home!”

There was no resistance. The gambits at Mars and Jupiter had paid off. This was going to be a milk run. My crew chief squawked his microphone. Looking out at him, I saw he was giving me a long count. The planetary defense grid was online. So much for an easy time. I never was lucky anyway.

The launching struts clanged and popped against the side of my Fury. Feeling the launch charge thrusting me forward, I started the main thrusters.

“Okay, Gamma Squadron, on me,” not a tremor in the voice. Calm, cold. Experience will tell. Gamma Two formed up on my left wing. One hundred meters behind me and to my left. Three and Four formed on my right, similar spacing, except they were above my cockpit. If you looked at us, we would diagonal upward from the left, and another formed from my point. The FoF system picked them out as green pips in the sphere.

Benson, in Gamma Two, chimed across the intercom. “Hey, pops, how about some tunes?” I’d nearly forgotten. We couldn’t go into the fight without some good old rock and roll. So sue me, I’m a sucker for the classics. I slipped the data crystal into its slot, and was rewarded by the Beatles singing about a revolution. Appropriate music for our mission. I channeled it through to the other “Gamma Goats.” I never asked, nor wanted to be involved in the Babylon 5 rebellion, but I was, and I had a squadron to watch out for. We were a small one, survivors in the war, thrown together, but they were mine.

Rice and his wingman broke the formation, chasing down the missiles. I watched them for a moment, before turning back to my sector. I jinked left, letting a missile slide past me to the starboard, yawed, and led the target. The warhead separated, spinning out of control, as my shots took it in the drive section. I was peripherally aware of shots over my cockpit as Benson took out a missile that would have taken me out.

Rice wasn’t so lucky as his wingman missed his shot. I watched as his pilot section explosively decompressed, silently exploding. Damn, I would have to write another letter to an expectant family. Watching the number of ships dwindle down under the onslaught from the defense grid, I thought, so many letters. Too many.

In that moment, I hated Sheridan, as much as I hated Clarke. So much waste, so many lives snuffed out. But I had a job to do, and I’ve never been one to shirk a duty.

The fire suddenly slackened as the orbiting platforms turned inward. My weapon system shut down. I’d kept my finger on the trigger almost constantly since the engagement began, and the system could no longer cool the barrels rapidly enough.
There was nobody else with a good firing solution on the nearest platform (firing an oblique angle is damn near impossible at the speed we were travelling).

I fired my afterburners, throttling up to ramming speed. I pitched over and ejected, being possessed of a healthy sense of self preservation. The ejection boosters gave the drive system that extra oomph. What the hell, it wasn’t like it was my ship.

Well, it’s done and history calls us freedom fighters, not rebels. A lot of people died to “return the government back to the people.”

After the war, I got “Starsider’s Hope” back, and headed out for Narn space. Maybe I could turn a credit or two helping them rebuild.

I never wanted to get involved with Sheridan. But I did and now I’m a hero. They called it being called back to active service, I still call it railroading. I even have a medal. It’s back in one of the storage compartments, if you want to see it. That and two credits will buy you a cup of coffee.


[This message has been edited by TheKnave (edited 10-16-2000).]