Author's note: I do not own the Wing Commander Franchise, and I in no way claim to own the Wing Commander Franchise. This is merely a work of fanfiction. The only thing I own are the characters and vessels created for this fanfiction. Have a nice day!

Prologue

Commodore Todd "Maniac" Marshall stood on the Bridge staring out of the main window of the TCS Palau. Almost ten years had passed since the Nephilim had arrived and Blair had disappeared. Now the latest intelligence reports were claiming that they had picked up what could be a message from Blair in the T'rewinst system deep inside Nephilim Territory. However, all the top brass felt that it could just be a trick by the Nephilim to lure ConFed ships to their deaths. Still, Maniac wanted to be sure. He had flown too many missions with Blair to just let this go. If anyone was going to check out whether or not this message was for real, it was going to be the Maniac.

Elsewhere, the seven rookie pilots that made up Omega Squadron were assembled in Colonel Franklin's office standing at attention. Colonel Franklin looked pissed.

"What the HELL is wrong with you all?" he demanded of them. A few of them winced at his tone. "The Station Admiral wants you all thrown in the brig for that little stunt you pulled at the ceremony today. You do not, I repeat, do NOT, do an up-and-down vertical proximity flyby of a station in Wasps while their booster packs are engaged. You could have killed not only yourselves, but the majority of the top brass in this sector. That's the first thing. The second is, how many times have you all been warned not to wear that damn patch on your flight suits?"

"Sir!" shouted the Wing Commander of the Omega Squadron.

"What, Lieutenant?" snapped Colonel Franklin.

"Sir," he continued. "You said you wanted something special to show the Admiral, something they have never seen before, sir." Sir, we were just following your orders and suggestions, sir. Sir, and as for the patch, sir, I repeat my previous statement that it is simply a sign of unity amongst our squadron to promote good morale, SIR."

"First of all," returned the Colonel. "My orders did not include breaking some of the strictest rules regarding fighter operation. And second, the patch is not regulation issue of ConFed. However, I'm not going to throw any of you in the brig and all of this will be overlooked, for now."

"Sir?" the pilots all replied in unison in stunned disbelief.

"That's right," the Colonel said almost bitterly. "Since you yahoos are the only pilots to ever operate the new Cobra class fighters outside of simulators, you are the only ones qualified to take them on their first real mission."

The pilots stared at one another in total silence.

"The TCS Riker is a cargo transport," began the Colonel. "It will be carrying fourteen, the ONLY fourteen, Cobras to a rendezvous point in the G'renll sector where you will meet up with the TCS Palau commanded by Commodore Todd Marshall. Once there you will fly ALL the Cobras over to the Palau and then report aboard as a part of its fighter contingent. This is an important assignment, boys and girls. Don't screw it up. Understood?"

"Yes, SIR!" the pilots responded in perfect unison.

"Very well," said the Colonel. "Dismissed!"

The pilots all saluted and silently turned and marched towards the door to the office. "And one more thing," the Colonel said stopping them. "Best luck, to all of you."

Once they were out the door the Colonel sat down at his desk and folded his hands in contemplation. "I just hope that luck is all they'll need," he said as he turned his chair to face the darkness of space outside his window.

To be continued…