cruiser

life was like rocket cruiser...

the ship had began it's voyage... it's hydro-fission turbines sending the ship onwards, faster than the average cruiser.

as the jockey penned his journal... he wrote a note, more a respect to a comrade than his own for his own keepsake...

i will not leave my wingman.

He tiltedhis seat back and put the rubber stub of his pencil to his lip, thinking deeply.

A blast of the siren shattered the hitherto peaceful moment, the jockey nearly falling off his chair.


He smiled, the lopsided grin and single raised eyebrow betrayed his barely concealed joy towards the battle that is to come, and also spoke of his bemusement at the enemies' strike... it came too soon... barely on time, by the jockey's reckoning.

Flipping the chair back to it's position, the jockey snapped the elastic band back in place to secure the journal before pocketing the journal into his pocket, then the pencil back into his shirt front while striding towards the hangar while the service crew scrambled around him, busy with their tasks.

it is the season for war again...