The Furies

"All right, listen up," a deep baritone bellowed.

The cadets were all snapped from the near catatonic state the endless speech had produced. The PR officer was smiling and saluted before he exited, leaving the standing on the pad with only a giant of a man in an NCO's uniform that had more stripes than any of them had ever seen.

"I'm Sergeant Major Tucker and for the next four months, your sorry asses are my responsibility. The officers will make pilots out of you, I'll make soldiers out of you. I want you ladies to get your gear and form up over by blast door C. You've got two minutes to get whatever it is you've got in there, out of your system, or I'll be taking it out personally. Move!"

Leigh moved slowly over to the gear bags and located hers. She shouldered it and moved over to the blast door with the rest of the excited cadets. Her contempt for her fellows was barely contained and was sufficient to keep anyone from introducing themselves.

"Form up, follow me," the sergeant bawled, then exited at a swift route step.

They had learned to march in basic, but Leigh would be damned if she would become a faceless cog in the Authority war machine. She intentionally stayed out of step.

"Halt!"

The big man walked back to Leigh and stared at her from under the smokey bear hat.

"Did you forget to take your dildo out this morning, sweet pea?" he asked with a big smile.

"No, Sergeant," Leigh replied, ignoring the suppressed giggles from her fellows.

"Well, are you just too stupid to stay in step?"

"No, Sergeant."

"Listen girly, you got hot panties or something? You looking for some dick?"

"No, Sergeant," she replied through clenched teeth. Everyone was staring and laughing at her now.

"Well, sugar britches, why you trying to get daddy's attention then?"

Leigh was fast, incredibly fast, but she never even saw the backhand that sent her sprawling to the deck. Big, ham sized hands seized her jumper front and jerked her to her feet. She kicked out, landing a solid blow between the big man's legs. To her amazement he just smiled.

"Keep it up sugar, I like it rough," he said.

She was jerked up and slammed to the deck, the shock of her feet hitting so hard sent waves of pain up her legs and into her knees and hips. Before she could move he drove his knee between her legs. Leigh screamed, she had never felt pain like that. With total disregard the big man slammed her, face-first, into the bulkhead, causing her to see stars. Several backhanded slaps, delivered in rapid fire had her tasting blood. He beat her casually, unhurriedly, and without the faintest hint of emotion.

In her life she had been beaten by several men. Angry men with fire in their eyes, aroused men with lust showing on their faces and even a sadist with unholy ecstasy as he inflicted pain upon her. Tucker's face showed nothing, he might have been swatting a mosquito for all the concern she saw. It was calculated, brutal, and at the same time almost casual. It was the most frightening thing she had ever witnessed.

He stepped back and executed a spinning kick, driving the sole of his combat boot into her stomach. She fell to the deck and retched. Her body screamed and she tasted the smoky taste in her mouth that let her know a tooth was broken. He pulled her up to her feet by her jumper and locked eyes with her.

"Now darling, you fall back in with these other twats and keep up. If I have to stop this collection of split tails again, I'll pull every hair out of your cunt while the whole damn ship watches on closed circuit."

Leigh staggered back to her place and fought the nausea and dizziness. She was disoriented and in pain, but she kept up, certain of only one thing. If she screwed up again, he would do exactly as he promised.

Holly Dupree marched along, occasionally stealing a glance at the small girl struggling next to her. Holly was from old earth, the scion of a very rich family. Her parents had protested violently when she chose to earn her citizenship in the Navy, rather than taking the civil service job they had arranged for her.

She was regretting her idealism now. The beating the small girl had taken could only be described as brutal. Holly had never even been spanked before she arrived at boot camp. In the thirteen weeks there she had been slapped repeatedly, punched, kicked, and pinched. Her big breasts had seemed to be an inviting target and they had been so bruised and swollen before boot camp ended she had gone up a cup size.

The DIs had been merciless, and she had always been a target. It wasn't that she was clumsy or dumb, just that she had never had to do for herself. There was a maid back home to clean up and make the bed. A valet to help dress her and a cosmetologist to do her makeup and hair.

Despite the abuse, she had persevered and was now excited to be training on fighters. Her black belt, or primary drill instructor, had made her take the aptitude test a second time, not believing how well she had scored. The greatest thrill of her young life had been marching up to him after graduation and receiving her first salute from the son of a bitch.

The dark haired girl stumbled and started to fall. Holly's hand shot out, grabbed a handful of her jumper and kept her on her feet.

"Lean on me," she whispered urgently.

The girl looked up at her though pain glazed eyes and nodded dully. Holly slipped her arm around the girl's small waist and half-led, half carried her through the maze of corridors.

She wondered why she was helping; the girl had been so mean tempered on the flight no one would talk to her. Then she remembered boot camp. The first five k run. She had been the one stumbling then and if it hadn't been for another dark haired girl, doing for her exactly what she was doing now, she would have washed out on that hot summer day.

She had paid her back, on a hot sultry night. Allowing the little butch to suckle and nuzzle her big tits until she fell asleep. She had thought that evened the score, but she realized now she was really evening it. Helping someone in need with no expectation of reward. As they filed past the Sergeant Major, into the squad bay, Holly held her breath. He saw them, she could see it on his face as plainly as day, but he said nothing.

Mindy closed her eyes as her hips moved into the fast driving rhythm she knew Leia adored. The room was dark and smelled heavily of aroused women. Sweat dripped off her lean body as she drove the thick dildo into the lush redhead beneath her.

Mindy was naked, save for the red harness around her waist. Leia wore a thin olive drab tee-shirt that covered her full breasts and the thick, fire proof socks all techs wore. Mindy was between Leia's splayed legs, holding her body up on her arms and working the big dildo into Leia's tight, pink pussy.

The insistent alarm continued to buzz, but for a few more strokes they both pretended it didn't exist. With a soft moan and sigh, Leia came. Her pale body arched and her hips shot up to meet Mindy's. The lithe blonde collapsed onto the redhead's soft body and for a timeless moment they lay still.

Mindy rolled off her body and lay panting as the redhead sat up.

"Thanks love, nothing like a quickie to make the shift seem short," she said with a giggle.

Before Mindy had even caught her breath Leia wiggled into her coveralls, leaned over and kissed her damp brow and slipped out of the room.

The tall girl rose and unbuckled the harness, tossing it and the slick dildo into the dirty clothes hamper. She showered quickly and slid on a pair of issue boxers. An issue tee and issue knee stockings came next. From the closet she retrieved the long black trousers, grey blouse and black dress jacket. Another induction day, another class, another night of missing her girl. What a fucking way to live, she thought as she placed her cap on her head and sprinted for the squad bay.

Raven "Lucky" West sauntered into the squad bay. She wore the same dress blouse and trousers as Mindy, but instead of a dress jacket, she wore a leather bomber's jacket. 151st fighter group, Hell's Angels was stenciled on the back, along with a logo of a starfield with a scantily clad female devil on a motorcycle. On the left sleeve was a stylized hand of cards. Five of diamonds, two of clubs and three aces of Diamonds.

Only an ace with over fifty sorties to their credit could wear the jackets, in lieu of a dress jacket. The patch was her badge of honor, the five and two representing sorties flown and the three red aces each represented five confirmed kills. Hearts indicated ten, Clubs twenty. An ace of spades represented fifty. Any pilot who saw her would know immediately she had flown fifty two combat sorties and scored fifteen confirmed kills.

Lucky wore hers mostly because "Surfer" Gibson couldn't and it gave her a leg up in the pussy contest. Lucky was a tall girl, with wide hips and heavy breasts. Her face was pretty, but not stunning and the glasses and long brown hair softened her appearance a bit. She was excited today, more so than she usually was with an incoming class. She had seen the new policy regarding training. Thirty fresh bitches, straight from planet side and not a swinging dick to be seen anywhere they were allowed to go. A dyke's dream come true. She couldn't wait to get a look at them and decide which one she was bedding first.

"Surfer" Gibson was a tall, lithe girl with a toned body and jet black hair. She was stunningly beautiful and the uniform showed off her trim body to best advantage. She was casually leaning against an RFD MkII trainer and had the same hungry look Lucky was sure she was wearing. The two butch flight instructors had a friendly standing wager. They kept score on the recruits they bedded during each four month cycle. Whoever lost had to play the bitch for the other during the two week down period between classes, when they kept each other company.

When Captain Davies entered the bay from her office they both came to attention. Lucky suppressed a grin when she noticed how gingerly Surfer was moving. She had gotten in her last fuck before the new class arrived less than an hour earlier and she could still see visions of the lithe girl's upthrust ass as Lucky's big red dildo pounded into it.

"Ladies," Erica said with a nod.

"Captain," Lucky replied with a salute.

"Boss," Surfer replied before saluting.

"Where's the Goose?" Erica asked after returning the salutes.

"Here," Mindy called as she entered the squad bay at a trot.

"They should be here any minute. I don't need to tell any of you we're taking a beating out there or that our pilot losses are unacceptably high. Command is asking us to put more emphasis on defensive formations and evasive maneuvers. Tucker will enforce stricter discipline. Goose, they aren't hitting what they shoot at, that's the word from the field, any ideas?"

"Yeah, take the skirts off and turn 'em loose on real time targets. You're never going to learn gunnery shooting at stationary targets and drones," she replied.

"Lucky?"

"I agree, Captain. Letting them go live is going to result in more training accidents, but you can't substitute for the real thing, even the simulators aren't the same."

"Surfer?"

"If we are going to go live, lets change up the flight training and stress landings first." she replied thoughtfully. "That's where we have the most accidents."

"I don't know," Erica said thoughtfully.

"It's up to you, Boss," Lucky said, "but if you want them to survive longer in combat, you're going to have to risk losing a few in training. That's the way it always works."

"All right, I'll run it by the man."

The sound of marching feet echoed in the squad bay, suspending the brief meeting. Tucker marched them in sharply.

"Platoon, halt! Left face! At ease!"

Erica surveyed them, the expectant faces and bright eyes. She read them all, from the farm girls to the city girls, the cocky to the shy. It had become routine for her. And it killed her to know she would be sending most of them to their deaths in about four months. One in particular caught her eye, her face was bloody and she marked the girl as a troublemaker if she had already earned Tucker's ire.

"Welcome aboard TAS Yorktown. I'm Captain Erica Davies, Boss to you all. I know you're all tired, so I'll keep this brief. I assume Lt. Commander Haniford has already bored you to tears," she said, waiting for the titters and giggles to die.

"Yorktown is the oldest ship in the fleet, the last with a fully functioning civilian city onboard. York is completely off limits to you all, for now. Anyone caught there will be jailed. No exceptions. Don't say you weren't warned."

She looked at them for a long moment before continuing.

"We'll be your training crew, so let's get the introductions over, and let you draw your temporary bunking assignments. I'm Yorktown's Air Boss, anything that flies is my responsibility. I've been a combat pilot for longer than most of you have been alive. Lucky?"

The stacked woman moved confidently to the front of the formation as Erica stepped back.

"All right girls, my name's Raven West, but you'll call me by my call sign, Lucky. We do things a little different here, you'll each get a call sign and you'll be known by that for the rest of your training period. Get used to it, get used to responding to it. In combat, it's what you will hear from your wing mates and you need to answer to it as naturally as you do your given name."

She paused briefly, and then continued.

"I'm the senior flight instructor here. I've got five years combat experience and over fifty sorties. I can teach a monkey to fly one of these birds, and I can train you if you're willing to learn. Surfer."

The dark-haired girl glided to the podium. She surveyed them quickly, settling in on a tall, busty blonde for her primary target.

"Marina Gibson. Surfer to you. I'm also a flight instructor, but my primary job will be to teach you unarmed and armed combat techniques, as well as a physical training regimen to get your bodies ready for the Gs you'll be pulling. I have four years combat experience and have killed a Trog, hand to hand. Goose."

"I'm the Goose," she said, from her place near one of the planes, "I'll be your primary gunnery instructor. If you don't kill them, they will kill you. Lucky and Surfer will show you all the acrobatics, with me it's deadly serious. I wash out half of those who fail each training class. Anyone can fly one of these things, but it takes dedication to be a good shot. If I think you aren't as serious as you need to be, I'll form forty-four your ass, most ricky tick. Tucker."

"I'm Sergeant Major Tucker. Don't have no fancy call sign. You'll call me Sergeant Major. First one to call me sir, I'll take you across my knee and tan your ass. I'll teach you how to perform effectively as a unit. Discipline here is my responsibility and you girls are going to be as disciplined as the emperor's guard, mark my words."

"All right," Erica intoned, "fall out, find your rooms and stow your gear. I'll be conducting interviews this afternoon and all of tomorrow. You have free run of the flight crew service area. Get to know your way around. Come Monday, be ready to start learning. Dismissed."

The express lift that took her from the flight deck to the bridge rose soundlessly. Only the slight sense of motion in her stomach gave away that she was moving at all. It rose five hundred decks in the space of a minute before it stopped with a gentle bump and the doors hissed open.

"Air Boss on deck," the sentry called out before she even got out of the lift. Everyone on the bridge snapped to attention.

"As you were," she said and the crew went back to work.

They were all young and fresh faced. Command rotated them every six months; just about the time they started to figure out a bridge crew on a parked ship was about as useful as tits on a boar hog. This crew had just arrived with her cadets and would get a thorough, if narrow, taste of life on the bridge of a star ship.

Captain Quarrels sat in the padded skipper's chair, with his ever present cup of tea. He was in his eighties now, at that point where you either get promotion to flag rank or start thinking about life after the service. He was qualified, but knew he wouldn't see another promotion. Command of the Yorky was a highly prestigious way of easing you out. His days in uniform were numbered, just like hers, and the two career military personnel shared a bond.

"Captain," she said, offering a salute.

"Erica," he replied with a mischievous smile.

"Permission to speak to you in your office?"

"Of course, of course, come along young lady," he said, rising stiffly and limping to the blank door that marked his office. Inside the room was sumptuously appointed, with real wood furniture and real silk upholstery. He sat behind his big desk and smiled easily.

"What can I do for you? Haven't decided you're hard up enough to take me up on my offer of bed and breakfast, I suppose."

Despite herself Erica laughed. He drove her to the brink with his lack of formality, and made passes at her that were so intentionally clumsy they were comical. One day she swore she was going to take him up on it, just to see his face, but not today.

"I suppose you saw the directive from command?"

"Which one? The one that reprimanded the chef for cooking too much or the one that directed me to institute harsher measures to stop fraternization, as if I can control hormones with orders, or the one directing me to begin live situation training, forgetting the ship hasn't moved since before I was born?"

"The one directed at the flight crew," she said, shaking her head.

"Oh come on, smile. Yes, I saw it. Stupid. It isn't as if you are sending them off half-cocked, so to speak."

"Perhaps we are," she began.

"Poppycock. Utter balderdash. You do as fine a job training these children as anyone in the fleet."

"I'd like your permission to go to live fire gunnery drills, sir."

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked, suddenly serious.

"I think it's the only way we are going to give them an edge. The instructors all agree. I'm just concerned about safety."

"You're the Air Boss. I'll rubber stamp whatever decision you make, my dear. I too, think it's the only way we can give them a more realistic training program, but I would never have stepped on your toes to suggest it..."

"Thank you, sir," she said, saluting.

He smiled and gave her a wave as she exited.

Lucky, Mindy, and Surfer all sat at the wooden table and downed beers as fast as Bel, the crippled bartender, could bring them. It was their last evening of liberty until after the initial flight training was completed and as usual, they were tying one on, speculating and telling lies. Bel sat with them often, as much one of the girls as any man could be. In fact, Lucky had dubbed him an honorary lesbian. He wore that title with as much pride as he did the small medal of honor around his neck.

His bar was the place where the pilots on board hung out. Small, smoky, and filled with memorabilia from his flying days, he had bought it off the last owner, who had also been a combat veteran. There were no patrons this early and the bar girl knew better than to go near Lucky or Surfer when they were drinking. The last time she had found herself mildly drunk and sandwiched between them. Not something she would normally mind, but the two of them were so competitive she had missed three days of work before she could walk straight afterwards.

Bel was a short man, with thick arms and a barrel chest. He had been crippled when his Executioner had been too close to the line of fire of a battleship's main battery. Both legs had been vaporized below the knee and he now got around on prosthetics. He passed more tankards around and eased into a chair.