[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/1sSwV4k.jpg[/img][/center][h3][b]Chapter 1: Homecoming[/b][/h3][hr]
[color=D3D3D3][i]All hands, The Galatia will be exiting hyperspace in 30 minutes. Elevating readiness to Alert 1, report to your commanding officers and await further orders.[/i][/color]

The announcement blared over the shipwide loudspeakers, and if that wasn't enough, anyone with a standard issue holo-tablet also received the rather obnoxious alert interrupting whatever it was they were reading at the time. The Galatia, already a steadily humming hive of activity, quickly burst into a form of controlled chaos. After 4 hours of bated breath, the Galatia and the rest of its battlegroup- a sizable fleet consisting of a pair of Calisto-class Carriers, the TNS Roosevelt and the TNS Churchill, and the Mars-class battleship the TNS Zeus, and their dozen escort ships, were about to arrive in the Vega system at a beachhead established by a smaller advance force that launched 3 days ahead of them.   

The Galatia itself still bore a few battlescars from it's recent deployment in the Capella system, and had less than a few days of R&R before the ship- now loaded with a few extra shuttles full of fresh recruits made its return to the front. The shuttles full of fresh faced twenty-something yearolds traveled around the ship in small clumps, as if their numbers would help prevent them from getting lost in the halls of the ship. Their reception was as mixed as they could have expected- some veterans considerably less enthused about having a fresh recruit on their wing than a fellow veteran, but with the war stretching on the way it was, veterans were becoming an increasingly rare commodity. 

Shortly after the ship launched into hyperspace, the rookies were shown to their quarters- small 30'x30' rooms with shower and bathroom, a couple steps worth of living space, a desk and terminal, and a bed. They were told to 'sort their shit out', which included stowing their gear, writing a will if they had any next of kin, and otherwise mentally preparing themselves before reporting to the briefing rooms by the 30 minute mark before exiting hyperspace. 

The veterans on the other hand, were given free reign of the ship while they were in hyperspace, and most of them found themselves at the gym or in the bar, or catching some last minute winks in their quarters. As long as they were sober and prepped for a mission by -0030, their limitations were much more relaxed. 
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[img]http://i.imgur.com/czVGDgx.jpg[/img]
Standing outside the door of Briefing Room Alpha- the designated briefing room for the pilots of the 144th Direwolves, Logan White exhaled nervously, his fist clenched around a nearby handhold, knuckles blanched from a lack of bloodflow. He stood outside the sealed bulkhead apprehensively. He was- as far as he could tell the first of the rookies to reach the briefing room. Maybe the others got lost? Or maybe they were already inside and he was the last of them to enter- that'd be a bad look for him. Sure he got a little lost in the halls on the way to the briefing room, but it was still only -0029, so he couldn't be off [i]that[/i] bad, could he?

Taking a deep breath, Logan held it in for a moment before he clasped his feet together and knocked on the door- grabbing at the handhold again to keep himself from floating off. 

"Ensign Logan White, reporting as ordered!" he bellowed at the door. There was no answer. He blinked, unsure of what to do. After another moment, he reached for the keypad and pressed the green button at the bottom. As the door slid open, he pushed himself in and grabbed at the handhold by the door. He repeated himself.

"Ensign Logan White, reporting as order-" 

"Oh shut the fuck up fresh meat." interrupted an annoyed voice.

"Yeah Kobe Beef, shut your mouth up, and sit your ass down, ain't nobody wanna hear your shit." replied another voice with a twangy English accent. 

Logan clenched his mouth shut, shuddering in a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he gave the room a quick look around. It looked like the briefing room was rather empty- seeing as it appeared built to seat some 60 people, and with the squadron only numbering 20 pilots, the room appeared relatively sparsely populated. Pilots sat in clumps, some sat by themselves, in upright blue-and-steel chairs with displays on the armrests. Like most of the hallways, the walls of the briefing room had handrails with moving conveyor bands for personnel to travel in the zero-g environment with. Logan kept looking around- he didn't know who was who, and he didn't remember the faces of his shuttle mates enough to pick one out in the crowd- if any of them were even there yet. 

"Excuse me." He heard behind him, and he turned around with a startled gasp as an alien floated past him. Logan's arm flailed out reflexively for the nearby handhold, surprised at his first encounter with an alien, and especially not expecting one to talk to him. Seemingly oblivious to Logan's alarm, the alien merely floated past him, fist bumping the pilot that had called Logan 'Kobe Beef' and taking a seat next to the guy.

"Hey New guy, didn't you hear him? Take a fucking seat!" called another voice. This time, Logan moved, pushing off the wall and floating over to one of the empty seats near the front. He sat by himself, near the front display podium. The podium was empty, apparently Commander Knight had yet to arrive. Logan pulled himself into his seat and shot a few glances around the room, trying to take in the different faces, seeing if he could manage to recognize any of the other rookies he flew in with.