The VF/FCUK-U2 Viper, powered by three 3.14-Thon engines with oscillation overthrusters, has seven external wing stations, comprising two wingtip stations for an assortment of space-to-space and space-to-ground laser missiles, including Aim-1 Cobras, AXRAADs and Aim-86 Anaconda Harpoons; two inboard wing stations for external fuel tanks or space-to-ground missiles; two nacelle fuselage stations for Aim-1Cobras or MF/JKPFN66-6/K Forward-Looking Sensor Array (FliSA) pods and a centre station for fuel tank or space-to-ground weapons such as GBU-10 laser guided bombs.  The VF/FCUK-U2 Viper is missionised for traditional fighter, attack, multi-sensor imagery reconnaissance and close space support roles through selection of external pods to accomplish specific mission objectives…

“Duh,” said Starbuck.

“You’re supposed to be listening,” Apollo reminded him, stopping to draw breath. 

The VF/FCUK-U2 Viper functions not only as a strike fighter, but as a Forward Space Controller (Spaceflight)/Tactical Space Controller (Spaceflight) (FSC(S)/TSC(S)) and tactical reconnaissance spacecraft.  Used solely in a Tactical Space Co-ordinator (Spaceflight)/Forward Space Control (Spaceflight), or “Fast-FSC” role, the VF/FCUK-U2 Viper proves to be a superior FSC(S)/TSC(S) platform…

“Duh!” said Starbuck, louder.

“What do you think about that?” Apollo asked.

Starbuck just shook his head in mute distress. 

“Okay.  What about this bit?  It describes some of our hand held laser weaponry.  Listen.”

Saboted Light Armour Penetrator (SLAP) ammunition uses a reduced calibre heavy metal .30078 cm diameter penetrator wrapped in a plastic sabot, that produces a very fast laser round with a very flat trajectory that enhances hit probability.  SLAP ammunition is completely inter-operable with 5 mm T’KLE laser machine guns with a stellite liner.  The 7.62 mm effort was not successful, and caused catastrophic barrel failures due to in-bore break up of the sabot…

“Duh!”

“Starbuck?  What’s the matter?”

“Stop it, Apollo.  I can’t bear any more!”

“Why?  You promised you’d help me out here.  What about the Position Azimuth Determining System (PADS)?  Don’t you want to hear about that?”

“No,” said Starbuck, faintly  “I’ve lost the will to live.”

“But it’s an inertial measurement unit you can interface with your Viper navigational computer!  What about the North Finding Module, then?”

“Aha!  I know this one!  You mean a compass!”

“A compass?” Apollo tried to be dismissive, but was struck with a sudden doubt that Starbuck might just be right.  “I don’t think it can mean anything as unsophisticated as a compass, Starbuck.  It says here that it provides the azimuth for alignment of the Modular Universal Laser Equipment (MULE), so the MULE can locate the azimuth of true north, magnetic north, and/or grid north to an aiming point.”

“No,” said Starbuck, very sadly.  “I was wrong.  It’s not just that I’ve lost the will to live, Apollo.  I really, really, really want to die.”

“Technical Corps are actively perusing...” Apollo paused.  That didn’t sound quite right, but that’s what the datapad said, so he shrugged and went on, “…an improvement for use on an autonomous mortar system, so it provides a +/- 2 mile north direction reference on the MULE.”

Starbuck moaned and put his head in his hands.

“Wow,” said Apollo, impressed.  “Listen, Starbuck!  When you use it in conjunction with the Laser Designator/Rangefinder module, it can enhance self location!”

“You mean,” said the lieutenant.  “That it tells you where you are.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you didn’t.  You talked an unbelievable amount of felgercarb.  Well, all I suggest is that you don’t do any enhancing of your self-location in public, Captain, because they told me when I was a boy that it makes you go blind.  Besides, you’ll get arrested.”

Apollo sighed.  “Don’t you take anything seriously?”

“Not that felger.  Look, when you asked me to listen to your report I thought you meant something you had to do for Colonel Tigh.  Lords, I was even flattered, poor trusting fool that I am.  But what is *hell* is all this felger about?  Am I being punished for something?”

“Of course not!  We need to sort out the training manual for the new cadets.  I dug out my Academy lecture notes.  I figured we could use them as the basis.”

Starbuck stared.  “You still have your notes from the Academy?”

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t know why I bothered asking.  Of course you do.  Did they teach us all that garbage?”

“Don’t you remember?  You went to the same Academy that I did.”

Starbuck shook his head.  “I don’t think that’s possible.  I think you went to an Academy in some parallel universe where they taught you to mangle Standard into that god-awful tripe you just read me.  Was that what they taught you in those special classes they herded you clever fast-track nerds into?  And here was me thinking that it was remedial social skills they were teaching you.”

“Well I think it’s interesting,” huffed Apollo, hurt.

Starbuck sighed and twitched the datapad out of Apollo’s hands.  “Interesting?”  He read for a micron or two.  “All right, Captain Interesting, what does ‘missionising’ mean?”

Apollo blinked.  “Er…”

“And what in Hades is a FSC(S)/TSC(S) platform when it’s at home and receiving visitors?

“Er,” said Apollo.

“And ‘actively perusing an improvement’?  The techs were actively reading an improvement?  I can’t even begin to make sense of that one.  Unless - oh I get it!  That’s a typo and they were actively *pursuing*.  They were, weren’t they?  They were chasing some poor little defenceless improvement, the great bullies, and your handwriting is crap.  Even you can’t peruse it.”

Apollo felt sheepish and hung his head to hide the blush.

“And isn’t it reassuring to know that the new I-MARS 35 Equinepower motor gives the capability to insert and extract personnel with the CCRC more safely and without degrading performance?”  Starbuck tossed the datapad aside.  “Well, I don’t know about you, Apollo, but the thought of inserting personnel more safely has me sleeping sounder at night, especially knowing I’m not degrading my performance.”

Apollo sighed.  “It’s perfectly normal military speak, Starbuck.”

“It’s gibberish, Apollo.” 

“It would be perfectly understandable if you’d paid attention in your Academy classes.”

“Gibberish,” said Starbuck, loudly and firmly.  “Twaddle.  Claptrap.  Do you really know what it means?”

“Of course I do!” asserted Apollo forcefully, then instantly undermined his moral superiority when overcome with innate honesty.  “Well, some of it’s a bit…  I mean, some of it is sort of..”

“Crap.  That’s the word you’re looking for.  Although on your current showing, you probably wouldn’t say that you were doing anything as simple as looking for a word.  You’d say that ‘a verbal construction that is outside of current visual parameters, is the strategic objective of a search and find reconnaissance and infiltration mission’.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I didn’t write it, exactly,” Apollo said. 

“Ordinary decent words contorted out of all recognition.”  Starbuck seemed inexorable.  “Gibberish.  Say it, Apollo.”

“It’s just my lecture notes.  I mean, I just wrote down what they told us.”

“God knows why they thought you were so smart.  Say it, Apollo.  Gib-ber-rish.”

“And just who’s the captain around here?” the captain demanded.

“Apollo.”

Apollo glared. 

Starbuck waited.

Apollo sighed.  “It’s gibberish.”

“That’s my good boy.  I knew you’d be sensible.”

Apollo sighed again.

“And every good boy gets his reward.  If you continue your reformation this way, I might just be persuaded to do a little personnel insertion when we get off duty.”

Apollo brightened.  “Really? Well in that case, I’ll go so far as to say it’s worse than gibberish.  It’s gobbledegook.”

Starbuck stared and smiled, a very wicked and knowing little smile.  “Another word that doesn’t quite mean what you think it means.  What *do* you think it means, Apollo?”

“Jargon,” Apollo said.  “Verbal nonsense.  The very gibberish you mentioned.”

Starbuck’s smile grew wide and bright.  “Not quite.” 

“I’m sure it is.  Everyone uses it to mean jargon.”

“I’m sure they do.  And I’m also sure that they’re wrong.” 

Apollo frowned, turned to his computer monitor and searched the database.  “Dictionary says it means jargon.  I’m right.”

“Dictionaries are written by prissy mouthed puritans.”  Starbuck glanced at the chronometer on the wall behind Apollo’s head.  “Now me, I'm anything but prissy mouthed and I make it about twenty centons before Boomer’s due here to take over.  Plenty of time.”

“For what?”

“For demonstrating to you the true meaning of the word.  This is definitely a case for action being louder than words.”  Starbuck stood up and locked the Duty Office door. 

“What are you doing?” asked a suddenly apprehensive Apollo.

“You’ll see.”

One quick dart and Starbuck was on Apollo’s side of the desk.  He grabbed the arms of the chair and rammed it quickly into the corner, before Apollo could even begin to think about protesting.  He opened his mouth to protest, it’s true, but Starbuck took base advantage of this tactical error and dived in to see if Apollo’s tonsils had in any way degraded since the last time he’d carried out an infiltration mission in the target area.

Apollo’s protest died in his throat.  He did no more than wriggle when he felt Starbuck’s hands at his pants, or heard the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being pulled.  Starbuck’s hands felt way too good for resistance, armed or not, especially when they grasped the cock that leapt up to meet them.

Apollo moaned softly into Starbuck’s mouth.

Starbuck pulled back and glanced down at what he had in his hands.  “Well, well, well!  Visual and sensory reconnaissance suggests we’re combat loaded here, Captain.  Luckily, I’m armed with full precision strike capability.”

“Wha…?”  Apollo gasped loudly as Starbuck struck, the lieutenant’s hot mouth engulfing him.  “Lords…!!!!”

A wickedly hot and wet tongue swept over the sensitive head of Apollo’s cock, licking up the drops of pre-cum that seeped from it.

Apollo moaned again, softly and sweetly.  The hands that had gone instinctively to his groin in defence, were carding through Starbuck’s hair instead.  He was disarmed, surrendering, pulling in the enemy closer, prepared to collaborate completely.

The tongue licked its way from the tip, down over the head, flushed purple with blood, and in long sensuous sweeps down the shaft to Apollo’s heavy balls.  Starbuck’s hand was already there, holding the sacs, rolling them between strong fingers as his tongue repeatedly licked from base to tip, across the almost painful arousal, slit still leaking, and down to the base again.

“Oh Star…” said Apollo faintly, and cried out when the fingers handling him squeezed and stroked, and Starbuck took him all the way into his mouth, letting him plunge into that hot, talented space, not even gagging when Apollo started thrusting against his throat.

Apollo could barely move in the chair.  He wanted to thrash around, to scream and shout and come like the cry of an embattled army.  But the pants that Starbuck had merely undone, rather than pulled down, and the arms of his chair prevented him from throwing his legs open and capitulating to enemy occupation.  All he could do was twist his fingers in Starbuck’s thick blond hair, throw his head back and pump his hips as fast and as hard as he could.

It was too much and too fast, and the pressure in his balls, enhanced by the feel of those strong fingers handling him, stroking him, sharp nails dragging against the soft skin, built into something that was agonisingly close to the sweetest pain he’d ever felt.  He did scream once, shouting Starbuck’s name, when the white-heat exploded and he jack-knifed forward to pump jism into Starbuck's mouth, and his wicked lover was choking and swallowing, using tongue and fingers to make him spasm again, and again, draining him dry.

He fell back in the chair, moaning, helpless, feeling like his bones had melted and his brain had leaked out of his ears.

“Now that,” said Starbuck, sitting back on his heels and grinning.  “…is gobbledegook.” 

He wiped the last evidence of Apollo’s jism away from his mouth with his fingers, licking each one clean, slowly, suggestively.

Apollo smiled, grateful.  He was very grateful.  It wasn’t often in his career that linguistic training was so pleasurable, and after a few centons he was able to say so.

Starbuck smiled, pleased.  “Anytime, Captain.  And the centon we get off duty, I expect to be hustled into a quiet storeroom for the counter attack.  I’m looking for you performing a surgical strike on my key base, and for me being serviced in a series of special operations.  In fact, I absolutely insist on you mounting a full scale forward assault on my unprotected rear, with a full discharge of your missile and sod any collateral damage...”

“Well, duh,” said Apollo.

 

 

 

^+^+^+^+^+

The italicised text is adapted from the US Marine website, which really did describe a North Finding Module. Gobbledegook really is, apparently, 17th century English slang for fellatio.  Once you know that it’s just so obvious! Slash is just soooo educational, innit?