Call Sign

Author: ShaViva

Rating: T

Content Warning: Coarse language mostly

Season: Mostly set in 1997, six years before Enemy Mine.

Summary: Ever wondered what Major Evan Lorne's call sign is, and more importantly the story behind it? Let me offer you just one possibility! This is pure Lorne ... an AU look at just one small slice of his background.

Classifications: General

Pairings: none

Spoilers for: None ... well, spoilers for the Canadian TV documentary series Jetstream but I'm guessing that won't be an issue for most readers.

Acknowledgements: Wikipedia used for information about various fighter wings, AFB's, jet specs, and training Lorne would have had to do to be who he is when we're introduced to him. I used lots of information gleaned from the Discovery Channel program Jetstream (excellent documentary, narrated by Kavan Smith). See www dot discoverychannel dot ca / jetstream / if you want to find out more.

Disclaimer: The Stargate characters, storylines, etc aren't mine. I am unfortunately not associated in any way with the creators, owners, or producers of Stargate or any of its media franchises – if I was we'd be seeing them on TV for some time to come *sighs dejectedly*. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, equipment, etc are the property of whoever owns them. The original characters and plot and anything else I made up are the property of me, the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Copyright (c) 2009 ShaViva

oOo

Authors Note:

I was talking with a friend about my RPG version of Lorne and the idea of a call sign came up. We decided on something cool but in reality call signs are chosen for you – you don't get to pick them – and more often than not they relate to things you might not necessarily want to immortalise. Pilots have two choices – they either love their call sign which is great because they're stuck with it for the rest of their careers. Or they hate it ... which is great because they're stuck with it for the rest of their careers!

This is intended to be a background piece for my other story, Forlorn Hope ... because I kept needing details on Lorne's background and having to make them up on the spot. After watching Jetstream (very inspiring – these people are seriously impressive) putting Lorne into that training program and ultimately giving him a call sign of his own was just too attractive and alluring to pass up.

I've worked out an entire broad military history for Lorne which includes details on which wings he was assigned to - some of that will be revealed in this story and the rest will be part of Forlorn Hope. I had to make lots of decisions about his background - they never really even say what kind of air force person he is but the fact he flies the F-302 with apparent ease AND leads a squadron of pilots in First Strike makes me think he's a pilot so that's what I've gone with, despite the whole geology thing from Enemy Mine.

Lastly, I'm aware that F-18s are predominantly US Navy and usually flown off the back of aircraft carriers – I'm claiming writer's license to make a few tweaks on the 'what's likely' metre so I can put Lorne into the F-18 training program and make it seem reasonable. And yes I could have done the same thing with an F-16 but as far as I know there isn't a documentary series about them to draw inspiration and lots of detailed information from!!! Chapter titles loosely based on the episode titles from Jetstream.

The story starts in February of 1997 when our wonderful Evan Lorne is 26 years old and a Captain working out of Edwards AFB in California. I hope you enjoy!

oOo

Chapter 1: Rookie again

"Captain Lorne," the voice on the other end of the phone was unfamiliar and all business. Evan sat up abruptly, dropping his feet from the table where he'd been resting them back to the floor. "This is Major Baker from 410 Squadron, Canadian Forces Base Cold Lake Alberta. There's a slot with your name on it in the next CF-18 training program ... if you want it."

"Me Sir?" For a moment Evan was speechless. He'd put his name in for the International Officer Exchange program but hadn't expected it to result in an offer like this one.

"You're a pilot aren't you?" Major Baker asked, his tone of faint amusement suggesting this wasn't the first time he'd got stunned disbelief from the other end of the phone.

"Yes Sir ... I am Sir," Lorne replied emphatically. "And yes Sir – I want it." He didn't have to think about it ... the chance to fly something new was a no brainer as far as he was concerned, no matter how it had come about. And the chance to fly a Hornet - the one jet above all others that he really wanted to fly - made his decision an instant one.

"You had me worried there for a minute Captain," the Major said. "Never had anyone say no before." He then went on to explain that Evan was being transferred on Officer exchange – before he could take a place on a Canadian fighter wing he had to do the F-18 training – hence his place on the next program. Major Baker paused for a moment and then continued briskly. "The paperwork's on its way ... you'll report for duty in two weeks."

"Thank you Sir," Evan said, unable to keep the grin plastered all over his face from leaking into his voice.

"Don't thank me just yet son," Major Baker replied. "You've just signed up for one of the toughest training programs around ... and you'll be cursing me before you get to the end."

"Maybe Sir ... but I will get to the end," Evan said confidently, understanding what the other man was trying to tell him but sure that he would make it through.

"See that you do," Major Baker said. "We'll see you in two weeks Captain."

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied before hanging up the phone in a daze. "I'm going to Canada," he said aloud. It wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking of as 'International' but he'd take it just the same.

oOo

Two weeks later Lorne arrived in Alberta, stepping off the plane and taking a transport straight to the base. The climate change was going to be an adjustment, especially after his year at Edwards air force base in Mojave California. If there was ever a greater contrast between base assignments, Evan would struggle to imagine it. On the surface the two bases looked remarkably similar – there were only so many ways to set out a system of runways and support buildings in a big open space. The road map was where the similarities stopped though. He'd gone from hot, dusty and just plain brown to cold, lush and green. Shivering slightly, Lorne pulled his jacket closer ... bloody cold in fact.

Catching sight of the home hangar for his new squadron ... the 410, also known as the Cougars, Evan grinned. Flying something new was exciting and he was keen to get started.

Looking around for directions to the main office with the intention of officially reporting for duty, Evan immediately spotted the row of CF-18 Hornets parked on the tarmac some distance away ... everything was quieter than he'd been expecting, until sound reached him, coming in fast from a distance.

The roar of a plane preparing to land drew his attention across to the nearest runway. Even from this distance it was loud but Evan didn't cover his ears. Instead, he watched, pulse beating a little harder than usual, as the pilot guided the jet back to Earth, the wheels slamming down on the tarmac harder than Evan was used to.

It was a thing of beauty ... grace and power balanced through the magic of technology and engineering ... and he was going to fly one.

"Captain Lorne?" a voice called Evan back to the task at hand.

"Yes Sir," Lorne gave a crisp salute, his eye's noting the name stitched above the other man's shirt pocket ... Major Thomas Baker. "Sorry Sir," he said. Being distracted from reporting in on time probably wasn't the best first impression he could have created.

"Understandable Captain," Baker replied lightly, casting his own eyes to where the F-18 was taxiing to a stop for post flight checks. Turning back to Evan he nodded towards one of the buildings. "The rest of your class are already assembled ... you best join them."

"Yes Sir," Evan gave another smart salute before turning in the direction the Major had indicated. He'd known flying in that the rest of his class would already have been ferried in and settled at the base. His duties at Edwards prior to being dismissed had him working up to the very last minute and this really had been the earliest he could get there.

Signing in at the front desk Lorne followed the directions given and slipped into the back of a small class room just before the instructor began speaking. There were two rows of students but something about their postures and general demeanour said the six at the front were the rest of his class – the rookies.

"Good morning," the instructor said. "I'm Major Nathan Collins. Welcome to Fighter town, and welcome to the F-18."

oOo

The first week passed in a blur of training sessions and studying. They called it ground school – back to basics. And they had to get through it all before they'd be allowed anywhere near an actual F-18 ... in fact it would be weeks before they'd get their first chance to fly one.

Getting to know his classmates happened without effort as they spent hours and hours in close proximity – lessons and off time all spent focusing on the machine they were there to conquer.

Captain Marcus Price, Lieutenant Cade Boston, Lieutenant Neil Somerton, Captain Andrew Rider, Captain John Jones and Captain Paul Merlin ... the men who began as six faceless names to Evan soon became his friends and comrades in arms. They helped each other study – testing knowledge, grilling on the emergency protocols they'd have to get 100 percent correct every test – and they ribbed each other mercilessly, targeting any sign of potential weakness as a way to blow off steam. Like the fact that Cade always blushed when they teased him about his poster boy good looks. Or how Neil was always just so damn happy, no matter how tired they all got.

The "highlight" of that first week was the almost 900 page manual on the F-18 they were handed and instructed to know from cover to cover. And not just know – understand and be able to apply to any given situation. They had a little over three weeks to learn it all – they'd be tested and if they didn't get a high enough mark they'd be out. The pressure was intense – hours spent hunched over their computers or flight manuals, taking notes and then rewriting them over and over again.

Lorne had an advantage because he'd flown a development version of the F-16 and in many ways it was comparable. But just because you could fly one plane didn't mean you could just jump into the cockpit of another. Hell, even guys who'd qualified to fly an F-18 still had to come back and refresh after they'd been out of action for more than a year. Major Collins had said it on the first day ... their previous experience counted for nothing. The F-18 was the first plane Evan had ever contemplated flying that was widely considered to be not completely stable ... and therefore potentially unpredictable. Every pilot wanting to fly one had to be fully prepared to react in every situation.

Lorne had been reduced back to junior officer status too, a point hammered home when his class was ordered to clean and reorganise the officers club during their first week – apparently something every class had to do. Evan wasn't an ego driven man – unassuming and quiet, he went about the business of following orders much as he always did and even enjoyed it a little when they got to the painting portion of the day.

"Man, if my Mom could see me now," he muttered as he welded a large paint brush and started on the skirting boards.

"She want more for you that to be a glorified tradesman?" Captain Andrew Rider – Drew - joked with an amused chuckle.

"Art teacher," Evan explained, giving just the barest details. It amused his family that he'd chosen a military way of life when he'd always been so intensely private within himself. The two didn't exactly go hand in hand but Lorne had learned over the years how to play the game.

"You paint then?" Drew asked, curious instead of teasing now.

"Used to," Evan revealed. "Weekends mostly. Had to give it up after graduation ... no time," Evan looked across at Drew with a modest grin, "which is a gift to the art world since I pretty much sucked at it."

"Let me guess ... you wanted to do jet portraits but none of them would stay still long enough," Drew suggested, still teasing.

"Something like that," Evan agreed, good natured. He'd made friends with all of their class but Andrew Rider and he had just clicked from the first day ... each teasing the other about the superiority of their own country and its military, its sporting teams, and anything else they possibly could.

"So your family didn't mind you going off and joining the air force?" Drew asked, this time more serious.

"I don't think mind is quite the right word," Evan answered the question thoughtfully. "My Mom probably wishes I'd been drawn to something a little less dangerous – something that would keep me close to home. But she understands ... and she always encouraged me to go for whatever I wanted." He stood and shifted position to the next section of skirting requiring painting and then squatted down again. "What about you?"

"My Dad is over the moon that I'm here – tells everyone any chance he gets that his son's gonna be a fighter pilot," Drew said, a little embarrassed. "My Mom teases him about it but he says she's just as bad."

"That's great," Lorne smiled as he continued to paint.

"What about your Dad – is he bragging to anyone who'll listen?" Drew asked curiously.

"No," Evan said, the smile dropping from his face abruptly. "I ah – he never got to see me fly. He was killed when I was ten." The privacy fences had slammed down and his face was a careful mask of indifference. Thankfully Drew was sensitive enough to pick up on it and quickly moved the conversation to hockey and the relative merits of their respective teams.

oOo

The Human Centrifuge.

A machine of apparent torture designed to simulate what pulling g's was really like. A machine to prove once and for all whether you had what it took to be a fighter pilot.

As the days drew nearer for their trip to Toronto to test in one it was the only thing anyone could talk about. What it would be like. Horror stories they'd each heard, whether they were true or not. All of it was hashed and rehashed over and over during every free period, even as they crammed for the Hornet operations test.

Lorne kept silent for most of it ... he hadn't shared much about his prior postings but that was about to change as one of them finally thought of the obvious question.

"Has anyone done the centrifuge before?" Neil Somerton asked.

Evan remained silent as one by one the others admitted that they hadn't.

"I've pulled 5-g's in a CF-104 Starfighter though," Marcus Price offered.

"What about you Evan?" It was Drew who noticed that Lorne hadn't actually answered the question.

"I've done it," Evan admitted reluctantly.

"You've been in the human centrifuge?" Neil asked, surprised, obviously not having expected anyone to actually say yes. "What was it like?"

"Have you ever been tackled to the ground and had someone sit on your chest?" Evan asked. "Because it's like that only imagine it's a giant ... a really huge and incredibly heavy giant sitting on you instead." Noting the dismayed looks, Lorne continued. "It's doable Neil," he said firmly. "There's no reason why all of us can't pass that test first time."

"How many g's you pull?" Drew asked.

"What, ever?" Evan stalled, trying to decide how much he should reveal. Drew nodded, everyone silent as they waited for Lorne to answer the question.

"Nine," he admitted finally. "But I had the g-suit on and it was only a few seconds."

"No way man!" Neil returned incredulously. "That's just ... no way!"

"You were at Edwards AFB before here, right?" John Jones, the oldest and their unofficial leader spoke up. "Don't they do test flights for like NASA and stuff?"

"Yeah," Evan grinned suddenly. "You know guys, I'd like to tell you more but then I'd have to kill you all." Six pairs of eyes looked at him silently. "Classified," Lorne explained somewhat lamely when nobody laughed. "Ah ... joking. My last post was for NASA – at Dryden FRC ... high speed research. Had to take the plane to the limit to be doing my job properly. "

"NASA?" And suddenly everyone was looking at Evan with expressions that might have been awe.

"It's not as impressive as it sounds," Evan discounted, flushing slightly in embarrassment. "I wanted to be an astronaut so Edwards seemed like the place to be to get noticed."

"Did you apply for the Astronaut training program?" Drew asked.

"Yeah," Lorne admitted, shrugging as he added, "shortlisted but didn't quite make it. But hey, I haven't given up yet." Before anyone could ask more questions, Evan glanced around. "Enough from me ... I want to hear about you guys. Cade ... what were you doing before they invited you here?" He deliberately chose the shyest amongst them with a subtle reminder that they'd all been chosen – that someone had seen something worth developing in each of them.

Smiling, Cade Boston launched into speech, talking about his last post animatedly. That led to each of them sharing something of themselves and put Evan back into the shadows - just where he liked to be.

oOo

Over the following week, each of his classmates found a private moment to talk to Evan about the Human Centrifuge. None of them wanted to admit to their peers that they were worried about passing the most demanding of all the tests they'd have to do in it ... sustaining 15 seconds at 6-g's without going into g-LOC – gravity induced loss of consciousness ... but they all were. Having someone who'd been there and done it was too valuable a resource to pass up.

Patiently Evan took them all through it – what to expect, what had helped him get through it - putting their minds at ease as he countered all the rumours they'd heard. It was a nice complement to the formal training and guidance they all received once they were at DRDC Toronto.

After the introductory speeches, Captain Charles, the man in charge of the testing, called for volunteers to go first and Evan felt the weight of all eyes on him. They'd all feel better once someone had shown them that it could be done.

"I'll do it," he said easily, not minding the less than subtle pressure.

They went in twos, Drew naturally falling into step beside him. "Now remember, this is doable," Drew coached with a faint grin, reminding Evan of his own words.

"Laugh it up," Evan said with a bland expression. "Just remember – you're next."

They put on their g-suits – specially designed with bladders running up the legs and across the stomach. In a real situation the bladders would inflate under high g's and force the blood to stay where it belonged, but for the test each trainee would have to go it alone without that assistance. Charles took them through a run down on what they needed to do, having each practice before judging them ready to proceed.

And then Evan was strapped into the chair inside a claustrophobia inducing unit mounted on the long arm that made up the guts of the machine. The large circular room, brightly lit and all white, was silent as Lorne waited for them to give him his cue.

"Launching AR6 for 15 in three ... two ... one ... mark."

Evan began his anti-g straining manoeuvres immediately, tensing his abdominals and his leg muscles while taking quick, short breaths. The pressure on his chest was intense ... the equivalent of half a tonne of weight pressing down on him. Breathing was difficult, the threat of g –LOC never far away.

But to Lorne it was familiar ... with a cool head and firm concentration he completed the 15 seconds with ease, coming down feeling tired and a little sore but overall happy to have set the right example.

"Your turn," he told Drew, slapping a hand to his shoulder as the two switched places.

oOo

By the end of the day they'd all completed the ultimate test, along with a number of others required for them to qualify to be fighter pilots. It was the first big hurdle and they'd leapt over it.

oOo

The human centrifuge might be the most dreaded test but it wasn't the only one ... in fact, pretty much every day at 410 squadron was about being tested in one way or another. Being tested, and trained so that life and death decisions could be made automatically. Having to think about it when the ground was coming towards you at frightening speed would be something that only happened once. There were no second chances.

Heading into week three, Lorne walked into the training room to see the pilot's seat for the F-18 taking centre stage. Ejecting wasn't something any pilot wanted to think about but it was a possibility they had to train for. Thankfully Lorne hadn't needed to eject since he'd first started flying planes with that capability and with any luck he never would. Because learning about the Martin-Baker ejector seat, hearing about it from someone who'd actually ejected for real, was an eye opener.

As Evan listened to the man speaking of being disoriented, of how quickly it all happened, his mind shifted to the past ... to the knock on the door and a strangers sad face telling them his father wasn't coming home. "Don't go there," he coached himself silently, pushing the past to the back of his mind where it belonged and refocussing on the instructor.

Being a fighter pilot meant flying the jet strapped into your seat tight - 4 straps for each leg, and 6 for the torso – while you literally sat on a rocket. If needed, the charge would shoot your seat clear of the cockpit while a second charge blew your restraints and released the parachute. It would all happen in two seconds and when you made it back to Earth the landing would be hard – really hard.

That's if you were lucky ... if you were unlucky you'd have to parachute into water and there'd be no time to think about what should be done once you were down. Lorne spent a day in the pool training for just that scenario - being pulled backwards into the water and having to fight his way from the restraints within seconds while they continued to drag him along. That wasn't the end of it – he then had to escape from the suffocating hold of the parachute canopy itself before it pulled him under.

"Too cold for your Yankee blood?" Drew teased when Lorne dragged himself from the pool for what felt like the hundredth time, teeth chattering.

"Oh yeah," for once Evan didn't even try to pretend otherwise. "I hate the cold," he muttered as he dragged a towel around himself and towelled off.

"We're almost done," Drew said bracingly. "Then we can go warm up with a few drinks."

"I am there," Lorne said feelingly, pulling his sweater over his head and then hunching into the nearest chair. California had never seemed so far away as it did that day.

oOo

Not everything being thrown at them was to be dreaded. Week three also saw them finally allowed inside the F-18 flight simulator. Evan had been looking forward to it since the day he'd set foot on the base. The cockpit of an F-18 might look like a confusing array of buttons, dials and displays but to him it was much more than that ... mastering every aspect, controlling 'the beast' was his ticket to the sky. He'd been there before, the planes he'd flown at Dryden FRC just as powerful and complex, but the added edge of instability gave the F-18 an extra allure.

When it was his turn all Lorne could think was that finally it was time to have some fun.

They threw every kind of emergency at him ... systems failures, tower overshoots, near misses. On the outside he was calm and controlled, giving nothing away as he dealt with every situation using a combination of what he'd learned about the F-18 and his prior experiences. Inside he was grinning ... it was the most fun he'd had since his last test flight at Dryden FRC and he wanted it to keep going. When it was over he left the simulator reluctantly, already looking forward to his next session.

"Well done Captain," the simulator operator told him, clearly impressed.

"I guess some of that prior experience does count after all," Evan commented easily.

Back in the trainees lounge, Lorne sat and listened quietly as the others talked about their own first sessions and all the mistakes they'd made.

"That's what it's all about," he finally commented when it seemed Cade in particular was beating himself up about not having got it right first time. "Make as many mistakes as it takes in that simulator and work out how to overcome them without having to think about it ... then you really will be prepared to fly the real version."

"Lorne's right," Jones agreed. "They have to see that we can handle the high pressure situations ... implies that we kind of have to make mistakes in the first place. I'd rather make them in the simulator than in the air."

"Man, I can't wait for that first flight," Cade said reverently.

Evan didn't say anything but inside he was thinking 'Hell yes!'

oOo

Sitting in an exam room couldn't possibly be anyone's idea of a good time. Lorne took a seat for their first written test, thoughts focussed on what he needed to get it done. Everything was important ... a mark of 85 percent was required but their instructor had pointed out that rarely did they see marks below 95 percent – just to put the pressure on that much more.

And then there were the red pages ... dealing with critical emergencies that required an immediate response and what they were expected to do if one of them occurred ... they'd be tested on all of them and would have to give a word perfect reply in order to pass.

The room was silence ... Evan writing neatly and rapidly as he worked steadily through each section, not letting himself look at the big picture. Each question was a mission on its own and letting himself think too much about what was up next only made the whole thing seem too big. The only thing he did pay attention to was the time – not finishing wasn't acceptable.

Three hours later it was over ... they'd all had the chance to show that yes, they could absorb 900 pages of facts and procedures and demonstrate their understanding by regurgitating it in written form.

"Thank God that's over," Price commented as they all exited the room.

"You got that right," Evan agreed with a grin. "I don't know about you guys but I've always hated exams."

"Maybe you should have gone into the art business after all," Drew teased. "Pretty sure a shit load of exams are in your future if you continue on this road."

"I said I hated them," Evan shot back. "Didn't say I couldn't do them."

"Oh – well that's all right then," Drew returned, ducking out of the way when Lorne attempted to throw a fist his way.

"You're an ass Drew," Evan said even as he tried not to laugh.

"An ass who's about to dress up like a flight suit wearing penguin," Drew pointed out, reminding them all of the next task on their agenda.

Their own official welcome to the Cougar's party. A welcome party with a difference since they'd all have to serve behind the bar as well as act as waiters for the entire base. They were the staff as well as the guests of honour ... just another one of those 'you are the lowest rung now and don't forget it' activities they'd have to get through. It was a 'show us how much you want it' thing, as well as a clear message that ego did not belong in the cockpit of an F-18.

"It's been a while since I bartended," Evan said as he pulled on the crisp white shirt, buttoning it quickly and then reaching for the black bow tie.

"Sounds like a man with experience," Jones announced, finished with his own bow tie. "Guess that puts in you charge behind the bar."

"I never said I was any good at it," Evan complained, even though the assignment suited him. Pulling his khaki flight suit over the top and zipping it up quickly, Lorne turned to see the rest of his class were also pretty much ready to go.

Apart from their dealings with the officers as instructors the class had so far had little to do with the powers that be on base. Now they were thrust into the social side and clearly on display.

Evan knew the game ... put the new guys on the spot, force them to interact with people they'd be able to avoid otherwise ... tease them a little too just to see what they were made of. He gladly took a spot behind the bar, mixing drinks with a calm competence and occasional flair that advertised he'd not only done it before but had in all likelihood spent a number of hours at the task.

"Captain," Evan looked up from preparing a drink to see Major Baker standing at the bar.

"Sir," he greeted the base second in command respectfully, straightening unconsciously as he handed the completed drink to it's recipient.

"At ease," Baker said casually.

"What can I get you Sir?" Lorne waved a hand at the array of alcohol stretched out behind him.

"A Madras," Baker requested, the look on his face suggesting he wasn't sure Lorne would have even heard of one, let alone know what to put in it.

"Coming up Sir," Evan replied, grabbing a shaker and pouring the correct measures of vodka, cranberry and orange juice inside. Shaking it a few times as he grabbed a highball glass and scooped up a few cubes of ice, Evan then skilfully poured the mix into the glass. "You want the garnish Sir?" he asked.

"Why not," Baker said, grinning in amusement as Evan added a slice of lime to sit over the edge of the glass. "Thank you Captain."

"No problem Sir," Evan replied, looking for his next customer but not finding one.

"So I take it this isn't the first time you've served behind the bar," Baker commented.

"No Sir," Evan replied, crossing his arms over his chest and resting some of his weight on the bar behind him. "Worked all through military college."

"The base salary not enough for you," Baker asked, "or did you just have expensive hobbies?"

"Ah, more the latter Sir," Lorne returned, having no intention of admitting to providing financial assistance to his Mom and sister in those years, until his sister had won a scholarship to Art school and his Mom had insisted he quit sending her money.

"I've seen your file Captain," Baker reminded Evan. "A lot of flight hours before you even made it into the Euro-NATO Joint Jet Pilot Training program. That doesn't come cheap."

"No it doesn't Sir," Evan agreed. "Worth every drink I ever poured and then some. You know how it is Sir ... I had to fly, didn't have a choice."

"We get a lot of dedicated fliers here Evan," Baker grabbed Lorne's attention by addressing him by his first name. "Not sure I've ever had one with your background though ... your sheer love of the sky. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you actually enjoyed the Human Centrifuge." It was an interesting comment because it was generally accepted that no one liked the centrifuge.

"I wouldn't go that far Sir," Evan replied, not sure what to say and trying hard not to appear as uncomfortable as he felt. Having the spotlight on him wasn't something he coveted and he suddenly realised his tactical mistake. Serving at the bar had allowed him to hide but it also now had him pinned down without an easy escape.

"Relax Captain," Baker advised with a chuckle. "Now – you've hidden behind the bar for long enough. Time to come out and meet some people who share your passions. You're going to be working with some of them once you've finished the training program so now's the time to start building your network."

"Yes Sir," Lorne reluctantly gave up his place for Jones to step into, following Baker out into the room at large.

What followed was about what you'd expect from a group of mostly men - military men at that - in possession of large quantities of alcohol and with something to celebrate.

Lorne and every member of his class had to participate in more than one beer call ... the rest of the group singing a silly song that ended with the command to drink. Evan played along, downing entire bottles of the local brew until he was on the edges of being very drunk.

That was also about the time when everyone else was already completely shitfaced – a good thing for someone who wanted to fit in but at the same time didn't want to lose that much control over themselves. No one even noticed when Evan stopped responding to beer call, nor when he switched to soda.

The party went on ... and on ... more than one person telling Evan that it wasn't considered a party at all unless they were all still going strong when Friday night had long turned into Saturday morning.

Finally things wound down and Lorne was free to return to his room, steady on his feet since he'd stopped drinking hours before. He might not be drunk but he was dead tired ... weeks of sleep deprivation as he crammed as many hours into every day as he could manage catching up to him.

He'd been officially welcomed, passed his first big tests, and made new friends over the past four weeks. Four weeks and he hadn't even touched an F-18 yet. It was a good start though and he'd get his chance before too much longer.

Falling onto his bed fully clothed, Evan closed his eyes and let sleep find him.

Authors Note:

I must acknowledge again the Jetsteam program ... the basic key activities I've portrayed here all came from there - I wouldn't have had a clue what they do in fighter pilot training without it! The next chapter will reveal Lorne's call sign – they get assigned pretty early in the training program.