Starfire
Copyright© 2025 by Mark Randall
Chapter 16
After leaving Thad in his new rooms, Stewart spent the rest of the day running errands for Lieutenant Commander Morse and the other chiefs. He was even able to get a few luxuries for the squadron’s ready room. That evening, he decided to stop at the pilot’s lounge for a quiet drink before heading to his quarters.
As he was standing at the bar, a pilot that he knew came up and stood next to him. Stewart knew him from before. He was an older pilot with plenty of rock hunting experience. But from the very beginning, he had bullied Stewart. He repeatedly told Stewart that he wasn’t a real pilot, just a kid playing at being a pilot. He had never become violent, but there had been times when he had shoved Stewart out of his way.
As he stood at the bar, he threw a hip check into Stewart. “Hey, play pilot, buy me a drink”, he growled, looking over his shoulder and grinning at his mates.
Stewart moved slightly over, giving the bully more room. “C’mon, Buchanon, give it a rest,” he said.
Buchanon took this as a challenge and turned to face Stewart. When he did, he saw the Red Dragon on Stewart’s shoulder.
“What the hell is this, play pilot? You signed on with the other play pilots?”
Unnoticed, another pilot had stepped up on the other side of Stewart. He clapped Stewart on the back. “Hey, Stewart, how’s it going, brother?” Prominent was the red dragon patch on his shoulder.
“Oh great, they’ll let anybody in here. Hey Jackson, you’re another one of those redpatch play pilots?” Buchanon sneered.
Not intimidated, Jackson replied. “Don’t try me, Buchanon. I’m not in the mood.”
Buchanon shoved Stewart out of the way and took a step forward. “Jackson, I’ll take you on, any day, any time.”
When Stewart was shoved, he stumbled back into a table full of pilots. One of them shoved him back towards the bar. “Knock it off, little man. There are adults here.”
At a nearby table, another pilot, also wearing a red patch, jumped up and shouted, “Just what the hell does that mean”?
“Oh, piss off, red patch,” was the reply.
Meanwhile, Stewart, stumbling towards the bar, bumped into Buchanon. Buchanon, enraged, grabbed Stewart and held him at arm’s length. “You little punk,”
Before he could continue, Stewart took a half step back and planted his right foot, as hard as he could, into Buchanon’s crotch. Buchanon’s face started out red and quickly faded to pale. His breath whooshed out, and he bent over, grabbing at his crotch.
By this time, the lounge was filled with shouting and insults. Then the shoving started, quickly followed by punches. The only people not involved were the bartender and the two waitresses, who had retreated behind the bar.
Before the first punch had been thrown, the bartender had called security and reported a riot.
Paul Holt was the senior officer on duty at the time and responded with a half dozen others. When he walked into the lounge, it was a chaotic scene. But most of the fighting had died down.
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