14 pilots and a klingon. Those sound like federation odds. We struck out boldly from the fort, following Excess on a route that had us summiting Winter Hill. Upon reaching the Sullivan Constellation, we circled the Inner belt, where despite a wrong turn we found an ideal staging ground for our maneuvering training exercises. We went through the flight manual, and mastered every formation that 4-years-ago-Skunk could think up. We got really good at some of them by the end of it too. We departed the abandoned truck lot at about 0130 hours, and shortly thereafter Bane experienced a wardrobe malfunction. We stopped at his fort so he could swap spacesuits and pilots could dump fuel, and as we were relaunching Sidekick and the klingon burned up.
Along the way to the Central Constellation Spooky Pirate suffered a mechanical when its cockpit's banana bracket sheared off. Makeshift road repairs were performed, and XXIII traded ships with Wombat to reduce the load on the temporary kludge. We made our way down to Magazine Beach, where we found many articles of fitness, which caused much rejoicing. We moved on to the nearby base... um... kickball field, where a rousing game was played, with XXIII as the Umpire On High. The ball got really freaking gross. Oh, and we interrupted some couple's blankety hankety pankety. The score was high, and Team Awesome won by a landslide. Dread Flint stole second base, and rode it around the field. The final mission objective to construct a human pyramid was completed with ease. After all objectives were achieved, a knighting ceremony was held to induct Sewer as the newest full-fledged pilot among our ranks. Our ride home was peppered with radiation and cheers.
