The Coy Method - Crash Protocol VII
Posted on Mon Sep 29th, 2025 @ 8:07pm by Commander Rosa Coy
553 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire
The Type 11 shuttles touched down on the Sunfire’s landing pad with gentle precision, engines winding down to a quiet hum. The cadets emerged, still gripping the rails of their craft, faces streaked with sweat and grime. Relief swept over them when their eyes fell on Sira, stepping from her shuttle as if she had simply walked out of a training simulator.
“Sira!” Arven called, sprinting across the tarmac. He skidded to a stop, breathless, and the others followed.
The five remaining cadets enveloped her in a careful, almost desperate embrace. Threx patted her back with more force than expected. Jeyna murmured, “Thought we lost you.”
Sira’s own voice trembled slightly as she replied, “You didn’t. You did what you had to.”
Rosa observed from the observation deck, arms crossed, her face neutral. Coy whispered in her mind, “Oh, the sweetness of relief. Nothing like a near-loss to tighten bonds.” She smiled faintly to herself, though outwardly, her expression remained that of the unflinching instructor.
The cadets finally stepped back, exchanging glances and quiet, shaky laughter. Sira gave a nod to each of them, her own composure a quiet anchor after the storm.
They followed Rosa into the briefing room, seating themselves around the holotable. Tactical displays hovered above, showing shuttle vectors, storm intensity, and each pilot’s performance metrics. Rosa moved to the head of the table, letting silence hang just long enough for attention to settle.
“Mission recap,” she began, voice steady and firm. “What worked. What didn’t. And, most importantly, what you learned when everything went sideways.”
Rosa gestured toward the cadets in turn, forcing each to articulate the principle they prioritized under duress.
Jeyna lifted her chin first. “Mission first.”
Threx, fists still trembling from the Badlands maneuvers, said, “Lives first.”
Arven, voice raw, whispered, “Proof of loyalty.”
Veylin, serene as ever, responded, “Calculated survival.”
Dalkor, bitter and unflinching, said, “Truth, even if ugly.”
Rosa nodded slowly, letting each answer sink into the room. “Good. All of you,” she said, “made choices. Choices that carried weight, choices that could have ended lives. And each of you survived not just because of skill, but because you trusted—and sometimes sacrificed—for each other.”
She moved to a display showing projected assignments. “The next step is yours. Your performance opens paths, and it closes others. Choose carefully. Take what you’ve learned about yourself into the roles you select.”
Cadets leaned forward, studying the options. Whispered discussions flitted across the table: tactical leadership, sensor arrays, rescue coordination, specialized operations. Rosa watched quietly, letting the tension and excitement grow.
Commander Jenna Ramthorne entered at that moment, green eyes scanning the table with veteran precision. “All assignments verified. Performance metrics match the proposed roles. Cadets, you’re cleared to make your selections.”
As murmurs of agreement and questions rippled through the room, Coy’s voice slid into Rosa’s thoughts, teasing: “You orchestrated it all. The lesson, the panic, the relief… who knew you had it in you?”
Rosa allowed herself a tiny, private smirk. “Quiet,” she hissed internally. Then, outwardly, she addressed the cadets, “Go forth. Make your choices. And remember the lessons of today — they’re not just about flying or surviving. They’re about who you are when everything is at risk.”
TBC
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