Wacky Wednesday – “Bosley’s Battle”

11 Jul

“Bosley, I just don’t get it,” said Jett with a shake of her head, her wavy black hair cascading over the thick wool of her collar. “These’ll never work. And even if they do, d’you really think Cap will let you use them?”

Her fingers traced the hard steel outline of the combat drone, popping over protruding rivets and swooping along its curved contours.

Suddenly, the air raid siren wailed through the hangar and Bosley snapped his suspenders happily. “Oh, I think he might.”

Then, an authoritative voice crackled out from the loudspeakers, booming out over the din of activity. “All fighters, scramble. Code Orange. Repeat: Code Orange. Initiate MERCURY Protocol. Bosley, those damned things better work.”

Bosley blinked wetly behind his enormous glasses. Jett raised an elegant eyebrow as she grabbed her leather helmet and goggles. “You’re lucky he likes you, y’know.”

Bosley grinned. “I know. Don’t worry, Jett – they’ll work.”

Jett was already running out into the swarming hangar, disappearing behind mechanics, technicians, and pilots as they sprinted and shouted. “That’s what you said about the wooden wings. And the electro-ray. And the magnetic missiles.”

A look of indignation crossed Bosley’s squat face, and he was about to spit out a retort – but Jett was gone, the hangar doors were open, and the first aeros were already in the sky.

**

“This is Typhoon One. Form up, ladies. Bogeys coming in hot, twelve o’clock.”

Jett pulled a stop and her engine pitch lowered, bringing her aero into autopilot. She swivelled her head and spotted four identical birds flanking each wing, flying in spearhead formation. Straight ahead, in the light of midday, she could see the tiny specks of approaching enemy aircraft.

“All wings, report in.”

She heard a chorus of crackling female voices on her radio, chiming in from two to nine. She punched another switch. “Bosley, are you ready?”

Over the radio, she heard a crashing as Bosley knocked something off his desk. There were scuffling sounds, and he said “Um…yes. Yes, ready.”

Jett smiled, and lowered her green goggles onto her face. “Engage.”

The beautiful blue of the summer sky was all at once filled with the roar of engines, the streak of smoke, and the rattle of machine gun fire. Aeros blossomed outward as they exploded, their pilots flung hundreds of feet into nothingness. Jett was calm as her craft plunged through the air, twirling and weaving through waves of enemy fighters, her guns barking at the twitch of her thumb. “Bosley?” she said, as she swerved to narrowly miss a falling wreck. “Any time now!”

She heard a muffled reply, and a moment later the sky shook with the groaning and screeching of metal under duress. Jett pulled the stick to the side and looked out her cockpit glass at the carrier aero, watching Bosley’s drones drop out and explode forward as their thrusters ignited. Jett recalled Typhoon Squad, and they hung back from the dogfight as the drones tore through the remainder of the enemy.

In a matter of minutes, the skies were empty again, the lingering traces of smoke and falling debris the only evidence that a brutal battle had taken place.

On the way back to the hangar, Jett was forced to listen to Bosley’s cheering brags, accompanied by encouragement from her ladies.

But she smiled. He deserved it.

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