Gideon Gets His Callsign (Winged Praxis Story)

==Description==
Bases on the events triggered in the Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA) main story, where main character whom is a aerospace pilot earned his call sign. This sidestory that predates both the Battle of New Olympia, which will feature in later flashbacks, as well as Gideon becoming host to this story's SI.
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==Story==
Lloyd Marik-Stanley Aerospace School
Republic of Kasnov-Greenland, New Olympia
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
October 5th, 3014
Captain Loren "Cliffhanger" Kumari stood solemnly on the stage at the LMS O-club, old-school chalkboard by her side. It was testament to her presence that she could be accurately described that way, as she was not wearing her LMS instructor's jumpsuit, nor her FLWM uniform. Instead, the legendarily strict instructor pilot wore wool pants, a cotton shirt, a leather trench coat with a a map pocket on its breast, complete with a hardcopy of the Garden of the Gods, a silk scarf, and a leather skullcap with earflaps. Oh, and goggles. One couldn't forget the goggles, made of metal and glass, with lens faceted at the side. None of it was imitation, none of it was synthetic.
 
It looked ridiculous. But it was a close approximation of what the very first generation of combat fliers had worn, back in the days where airframes were wood with stretched cloth, where engines spat castor oil over the pilots that sat behind them, and the proper maintenance for a jammed gun was to hit it with a hammer and hope.
 
Perhaps the Inner Sphere wasn't so far away from that last, Kumari reflected. But it was the rare ASF that had a gun available in the cockpit, and unsecured hammers were a potentially lethal projectile under G. No, in this enlightened age, the method involved thumping the nearest available open space on the console and demanding that the piece of junk started working. Potentially with a prayer to Blake or your particular flavor of almighty if you thought it would help.
 
Pilots really hadn't changed much since then, and ceremonies like this were part of how they maintained that lineage. Mechwarriors liked to think that they had invented the concept of becoming one with their machine, fighting honorable, skillful battles, rising above the brutality of war. ASF pilots knew better. Their ancestors had been fooling themselves like that from the very beginning, far before humanity had gained the stars, ever since some mad Frenchman by the name of Garros had put some metal deflector wedges on his propeller and shot a machine gun through it.
 
Perhaps a respect for that history kept the cadets from laughing at her in this ridiculous get-up. More likely it was her carefully cultivated reputation. It worked out either way. She looked over to Commandant Tobias "Inspector" Lastrade, who sat behind the bar with her fellow instructor pilots, resplendent in equally ridiculous pilot costumes from across history. Inspector gloried in a green jumpsuit with a harness festooned with equipment, a decorated white helmet with an oxygen mask hanging from it, and 'speed jeans', the ancestor to the modern anti-G-force systems built into an ASF driver's combat suit. Other IPs wore ancient silvery pressure suits, leather jackets with fur trim and crush caps, and an outfit that Kumari thought was a blend of the commandant's and her own. To cap things off, The most junior wore a replica of Raymond Bache's Deimos Project suit.
 
Inspector nodded to her, mouthing 'Showtime, Cliffhanger.' She nodded back.
 
"Cadets!"
 
There had been some nervous whispering among the student pilots before she spoke. There was only silence now.
 
"You may be wondering what you're doing here in the O-club," she said. "After all, you were all told when you came here that you would receive your first drink here upon graduation, and not a second before. It is one of LMS's most sacred traditions to welcome you to the fraternity of officers in this place. But needs must." She gestured to the ceiling. "You all know what's coming to New Olympia. The 18th Marik Militia has broken faith with their history of standing for the people of the League, and taken common cause with an usurper! They're babysitting the so-called Fifth Ducal Guard, and mean to take New Olympia for the insurrection.
 
"They mean to take you," she said, lowering her voice. "They want to brainwash you into the loyal core of a traitor's legions. They want to take the finest young pilots in the League and use you to cut our state to ribbons!" A smile crossed her lips. "But they underestimated you." She paused to look across the collection of second and third year cadet faces. Worried, apprehensive, determined, some even cocky. She didn't expect to see too many of the last survive what was to come. "Every one of you has volunteered to fight these oathbreakers. Cadets, you have made me proud."
 
Smiles and murmurs made their way through the crowd, along with cadets nudging each other. The tension had broke somewhat. Good
 
"But that means we have to do something!" she yelled. "Because the first drink in the O-club is not the most sacred tradition!" She slammed her balled fist against the chalkboard. "Today is your NAMING!"
 
The room went silent again. One voice spoke up, hesitant, unsure. "Really, Captain?"
 
"Really," she confirmed. "I refuse, we refuse, and you will refuse to bring any pilot into combat who does not have the glory of a callsign. You've volunteered to fight for the League. In all likelyhood, some of you will not come back. You will not do so unnamed." The statement hung in the air, a truth that every pilot knew, but none wanted to admit. "With luck," she said, "your callsign may save your life."
 
She turned to the board. "Now, there's some rules you need to know. First, this is a no-rank ceremony. If you have been Named, you will be referred to by your callsign, and only your callsign." She wrote on the board. "If you are a FNG, you may be referred to by the name your parents gave you. It helps us discuss. I am the master of the Naming, and you shall call me Cliffhanger." She pointed to the IPs in turn, giving their callsigns, which the cadets had never hear before. "Second, you had best get to drinking. I know none of you have religious or health exemptions. LMS policy on drunkenness does not apply today. You've got time to sleep off the hangovers before we go up." That got a cheer. "When you are called to the stage, you will sit in this stool." She pointed to it. "You will present your bribe to me, and then you will shut your mouth, as your fellow FNGs discuss what your callsign should be.
 
"In other units, they may do this differently. The namee may be absent, and FNGs are often not allowed to suggest, or even vote." She shrugged. "But this is LMS. We've got almost nothing but FNGs at our namings." That got a laugh. She let the room calm back down. "There are rules for callsigns. First, they are not meant to make you look cool. Callsigns are a reminder that there's something absurd or stupid about each of us. They should breed humility, and the drive to accept that about ourselves. If you complain about your callsign, you're gonna get a worse one. If you've tried to name yourself, and trust me, we know if you have, don't expect to see it on the board." She underlined 'NOT COOL' on the board. "Second, you should be able to pass it off at the bar as something cool to non-pilots. Nothing so vulgar that it doesn't fit in polite society. We have to pretend that we're civilized. Third, callsigns must be reflective of the namee. Something they've done, some play on their name, personality, physical characteristics. If it's a screw-up, the story behind the callsign must be at least 10% true." The room laughed.
 
"Yeah, lots of latitude there," she admitted. "Now, my fellow costumes and I have veto over any callsigns you put forward. If we say it doesn't go on the board, it doesn't go on the board. Our word is final." She let out a bit of her more customary expression. "Once the board is full, your callsign will be decided by loudness of the cheer it gets when I point to it. Again, costumes are the judges. If you accept your callsign, you will drink a shot from this bottle," she pulled out a bottle and shotglass from behind the board, "and take your place in the sacred fraternity of Named aviators. If you do not accept your callsign and want to try for another on the board," she pulled out another bottle from behind the board, and a glass stein. "you drink from this. I have no idea what Inspector cooked up this time for his witches brew, but I'm pretty sure I saw him buying baijiu. How much you drink," she gestured to the costumed pilots, "is up to us." She put down the bottle. "And don't worry. We've got plenty of both sorts of bottle."
 
She clapped her hands and started writing on the board. "Now, you need to know about the tradition of Last Callsigns. FWLM tradition is that if you fly in combat under a callsign, you keep it forever. That may be in death, it may be in life. Other pilots may get reNamed once they get to a new unit, but if you've seen the elephant under a callsign, it's yours forever. In all likelyhood, this Naming will be the last one you attend as a FNG. This will likely be your Last Callsign."
 
"Barring particularly monumental stupidity!" yelled Lastrade from the bar.
 
"Oh, shut up, Inspector!" she shot back with a goofy grin that disturbed more than a few cadets. "Final rule! Have fun with it. Like my dad said to me when I told him I wanted to grow up to be a fighter pilot..."
 
"I'm sorry kiddo," roared the room, "You'll have to pick one!"
 
Cliffhanger laughed. "Adams!" she called, "Get yourself up here and present your bribe!"
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The Naming had been a long one, thought Cliffhanger. It had been filled with arguments, laughter, impromptu dancing, impressions, blatant lies, full-body flushes, sanctioned impropriety, an actual fistfight, off-key singalongs, and drinking. So much drinking. All in all, she was feeling pleased with her performance as master of the Naming. It had been a good one. Just what the cadets needed. She checked the list. One name to go.
 
"Alright, alright!" she yelled, slurring only a little bit. "Last one! Zalman, get your butt to the stage!"
 
The Jewish cadet pulled himself up from where he was chatting happily with T-Bone and Itchy, with a pair of bottles in hand for his bribe. He kept to a mostly straight line as he headed for the stage, though it took a bit for him to figure out where the stairs were, considering for a moment simply hopping up. For the sake of his nose and the bottles, reason prevailed over intoxication. "For the consideration of the costumes, Cliffhanger," he intoned in what was supposed to be, but missed by a wide margin, a solemn voice. The goofy grin also damaged the impression
 
Cliffhanger weighed both bottles in her hand. One was obviously alcohol, with an amber color. The other was a viscous red-brown liquid, totally opaque. "What do we have here?"
 
"Tastes of home," he said, smile becoming more prideful. "Cerillos whiskey," he said, nodding to the amber booze. "Been keeping that for a special occasion. Figured this qualified." He raised his voice and addressed the table he had come from. "Though Itchy kept trying to get me to crack it open!"
 
"Fuck you, Zalman!" yelled Itchy with a laugh.
 
"Promises, promises," said the unNamed cadet with an answering chuckle.
 
"And the other?" asked Cliffhanger.
 
"Kibbutz Machseh BBQ sauce," he said. "Or at least as close as I can replicate here. The tomatoes aren't quite right here."
 
"Ooooh," said a thoroughly drunk Inspector, "That'd go great on some pulled pork."
 
The cadet flipped him off, before muttering under his breath. "He's not wrong though."
 
"Right," said Cliffhanger, adjusting her scarf. "Your bribe has been judged adequate and creative. Sit down and shut up." Zalman did. "Here sits FNG Gideon Zalman!" she yelled. "Who among you has a Name for him!"
 
"I've got one!" yelled a cadet who now went by Naptime after an incident with GLOC during one of their first BFM flights. "Skywalker! Been calling him that since first year! Remember how Mr. Cowboys and Indians was going on and on about how he could pull that spinning flapjack post-stall maneuver as a defense and attack. Like, actually believed he could pull it off like some kind of Skywalker with his mystic connection to the sky!"
 
"Didn't Gid get you with that same maneuver?" piped up T-Bone, to drunken laughter.
 
"Once! In the simulator," yelled back Naptime. "Do you remember what happened when he tried it in a Sabre?"
 
"Sure do!" yelled Discord, named for a mix-up when boarding a VTOL for parachute training. "Which is why man needs to be Dreidel!" In the manner of pilots everywhere, they demonstrated with their hands, left hand 'plane' chasing the right before the right pitched up flat, rotated to point its nose at the left as it passed...only for Discord to throw their right hand out to the side, spinning it at the wrist, yelling in a combination of Israeli and Spanish that sounded almost, but not entirely unlike Gideon. The room burst out in laughter. "Seriously, Gid!" they yelled, "I've got no idea where you thought spinning like that was a good trick."
 
Cliffhanger wrote both callsigns on the board as Zalman flipped off Discord with a smile. "Any other ideas?"
 
"Agro!" yelled Socks, who had collected a frankly implausible number of sock related stories, from stealing the left socks from an entire third-year training flight back in his first year, to allegedly placing socks on random dormitory doorknobs, to having a pair of unwashed lucky socks they used for every checkride, and the capper, which Cliffhanger was dubious had even 10% worth of truth, where Socks had apparently streaked across the flight line wearing nothing more than one tube sock. Where they wore it was not specified. "Do you remember how much he kept moaning about how he should have been sent to Allison back during first year? All that time riding agromechs, and here he was, stuck as an ASF pilot?" They smiled. "And the aggression! Dude looks ready to deck me one for bringing that up!" Socks laughed as Zalman made an 'eyes on you' gesture with a forced frown.
 
Cliffhanger put it up on the board. "Come on, don't be shy," she said. "This is the last chance for this Naming."
 
"What about Farmboy?" asked Canyon, a third-year cadet who the drinking was getting to. A unfortunate step and tumble followed by getting caught by a gullywasher during a SERE exercise had led to their callsign. Canyon propped themselves up on their elbows, looking at the curly haired cadet. "And yeah, yeah, I know Zalman, you grew up ranching. Doesn't stop you from being a hick, anyway you slice it." That got some laughter and another rude gesture from Gideon. Canyon shook their head abruptly and sat up straighter, appearing to sober. "Or what about Duster? Do you remember what he did to that quillar field?"
 
"A fine piece of nape-of-the-earth flying," said Cliffhanger, writing both names on the board.
 
"Yeah," said T-Bone, "If you call picking quillar kernels out of every crevice on the leading edges 'fine'."
 
"I was referring to what he did with his torches," said Canyon. "Quillar does not act like popcorn. Did the farmer ever accept the apology?"
 
Gideon shook his head.
 
"Pity," said Cliffhanger. "Others?"
 
"Yeah," said Hermes, a fast-talking gossipmonger native of New Olympia who had avoided the callsign Radio only through the drinking of Inspector's witches brew, much to their regret. "Hotshot."
 
Cliffhanger tapped the chalk against 'NOT COOL'. "Brushing up against the rules, Hermes."
 
Hermes shook their head. "No way, Cliffhanger. So there I was, on leave after PriFly and I go to one of the bars. You all know the type." Laughs went around the room. "Right, I was there for the same reason, duh. But I see Gid here at the bar with what had to be at least a centi-Helen, maybe a deci-Helen. And he's doing alright for a scruffy-ass hick. He's laughing, she's laughing, they're standing real close, they're both getting absolutely faced. So I figure, kudos, and I raise my glass to the man, and start to look for my companion for the night." Hermes smile filled with schadenfreude. "That's about the moment where Gid knocks over a shotglass, making a move on this woman." Laughter rang out. "But the lucky bastard's still ok! He spilled it on him, not her, and he's wearing those ridiculous leather pants, so he could just wipe it off and go on." Hermes paused for a moment to let the tension build. "But then she dropped her cigarette..." Hermes mimed Gideon's lap catching on fire. "Fwoosh!"
 
Cliffhanger looked over to see Zalman attempting to look as innocent as possible. Hotshot joined the list. "Okay, I think we've got room for one more," she said.
 
"Easy," yelled Misfit, who had dodged both Oddball and Kink through liberal consumption of the 'witch's brew', only to end up with a callsign referencing the time they had gotten stuck in the cockpit of one of the training Sabres due to their large frame, along with the numerous issues they had getting a properly fitted flightsuit. "Call him Steer. Dude's half cow anyway. Stubborn as an ox, always spouting bullshit, horny, smelly, and do you remember that time in Darienbad that he he turned onto the off-ramp?" Misfit put a mock look of horror on their face. "Steer!" they yelled. "Steer!"
 
To the sounds of laughter, Cliffhanger wrote it on the board. "Right then, our final choices for this list, and last round for this Naming," she said, revealing the board to all.
 
Skywalker
Dreidel
Agro
Farmboy
Duster
Hotshot
Steer
 
With that, Cliffhanger pointed to the first name...
--FINI--
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;*Note from author (whom had readers choose the callsign of main character): I will be opening up a poll so that you may vote for your preferred callsign for Gideon. As the situation in the Naming is not a single ballot system, I will be allowing you to cheer for up to two callsigns if you'd like. The poll will remain open until I have finished the edits on the already posted chapters. Not sure precisely how long that'll be, but it's coming along. There are a couple of callsigns that Gideon will try and drink the 'witch's brew' to avoid, but that'll be a hard dice roll. He's pretty drunk already. Specifics of the roll will be determined by how far ahead the winning callsign is. If he passes the roll, the callsign will default to the second most popular.For those of you who contributed callsign ideas and were referenced here among the LMS cadets, if you'd like the characters anonymized or gendered, please reach out to me and we can make it happen. Also, if you'd like them to show up later in the story, we can talk too. Thank you very much for your suggestions.
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Gideon Gets His Callsign
Category:Works by Colonel deFraug
Gideon Gets His Callsign