Idiot, he thought, recalling other pieces of advice from the past.  When you tangle with the press, you never come out ahead in the long run.

***

Kurt wiped sweat from his brow as he clambered out of his starfighter and half-walked, half-staggered towards the wardroom.  Behind him, he heard the sound of the launch bay crew moving the starfighter back into the launch tubes, replacing the power cells as they moved.  The sound faded away as he stepped through the airlock, then into the wardroom.  Luckily, the wardroom was one of the places barred to reporters by prior arrangement.

He stripped off his flight suit and dropped it in the basket, then strode into the shower to wash away the sweat.  Water ran down, cleansing his body; he closed his eyes and allowed it to run over his face.  He heard the door opening again behind him, but ignored it.  Moments later, several other bodies joined him in the shower.

Opening his eyes, he smiled to see that none of the younger pilots looked any better than he felt.  It had been a hard exercise, with everyone pushed to the limit.  Rose had designed it, partly to make it clear to her subordinates that she was more experienced than them, but Kurt suspected that he would have to have a few words with her about overdoing it.  A pair of experienced pilots had come alarmingly close to disaster.

“Get some rest,” he advised, as he stepped out of the shower and towelled himself off.  “We will be going back to the simulators in the morning.”

Walking back into the wardroom, he pulled on his shipsuit and headed towards the door.  It opened a moment before he reached it, revealing Rose and a handful of her new subordinates, chatting together with surprising enthusiasm.  The exercise must have comprehensively broken the ice, he decided.  It helped that she’d been a squadron flyer until her sudden promotion after the first battle.

“I need a word with you after you’ve showered,” he said, catching Rose’s arm.  “Meet me in my office.”