This is what happens while reading a GuP fan-fic while watching a music video called: Pizza Angel, while remembering one of my favorite video games. Enjoy.

Red Angel

"We've got a problem!"

The manager of Pizza Angels turned to the young teen with a tired expression. The dispatcher was a bit of a high strung case, one of the reasons he had never qualified as a combat pilot. He often blew things out of proportion; one could even call him neurotic at times.

"What is it Patches", he asked in an aggravated voice. 'Patches' was the name the pilots had given the position of dispatcher, but the call sign seemed to match this individual particularly well.

"We just accepted a large order from a school ship!"

The manager pinched the bridge of his nose. "And?"

"And we only have one pilot available!"

The manager sighed. "How large was the order?"

"Sixteen large pizzas, and they want them delivered straight to them."

The manager put his face in his hand. So that was it. On paper this wouldn't be an issue, but Pizza Angels was no ordinary Pizza place. Pizza Angels was a flying Pizzeria, housed in a large Zepplin that was currently flying over the Pacific, and thus they had to use planes to deliver the pizzas to their destinations, over the wide area they serviced.

For large orders like this one the customer would usually go and pick them up at the airstrip, allowing the pilot to return quickly, but this time they were being asked to deliver it straight to them.

"Because students can't drive I guess", the manager muttered.

Deliveries outside the aircraft were not uncommon, and usually they weren't much of a hassle because most of the aircraft had a compact scooter in their hold as a means of transportation; unfortunately there was no way that tiny scooter would be able to carry so many Pizzas at once, and he couldn't take multiple trips or they could get cold, or worse: stolen.

"What about a trailer?"

The dispatcher gave him a blank look. "A trailer?"

"Yes, put in a trailer that he can tow behind the scooter. He can put all the pizzas in there and bring them all at once."

Patches seemed to run this through his head for a moment. "But will a trailer fit in the plane?"

"Why are you asking me? Why don't you go find out?"

Almost in a panic, the dispatcher left the office and scrambled down the metal stairs though the hanger area and towards the storage holds.

The manager sighed. "I'll never let that guy fly me anywhere."

The manager walked over to the window overlooking the hanger. From this vantage point he could see the cavernous space that was used to house the aircraft, and the single aircraft they had left.

The Sanderson "Vampire" hung from its universal joint on the spinning rack that was horizontally centered on the 'spine' of the Zeppelin. It was painted in the colours of the Pizza Angels with a red fuselage, white wings and horizontal stabilizers; and red wingtips. Painted on each wing was the Pizza Angels emblem: a slice of pizza with a halo and small feathery wings.

The pilot was checking the aircraft over as part of his pre-flight checks, a crucial task on the temperamental machine.

Red, as the pilot was known, was wearing the standard flight uniform of the Pizza Angels: a red and white, vinyl flight jacket with the company's emblem over the left breast, and a matching hat, and a white t-shirt with res sleeves underneath, also with a small company logo. The rest of a pilots outfit was up to them.

The manager could only sigh and hope everything went well.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Redab Salguod walked around the nose of the aircraft, checking for any damage in the plane's weathered, riveted skin. Every step he made on the metal grating of the hanger deck resounded through the cavernous interior and rang loudly, even over the constant droning of the Zeppelin's numerous engines, mostly due to the fact that warping caused them to not fit properly into the floors framework.

The plane hung suspended on a universal joint that allowed the plane to be easily maintained, (or in this case inspected) without having to be taken off the rack, and the rack itself rotated when one of the planes needed to be launched. It had seven mounts for aircraft of which his was the heaviest.

The plane had seen a lot of flight hours that was for sure. The leading edges were half stripped of paint, revealing the gleaming metal beneath, and what paint was left was dull and weathered. His main focus however, was not on the aircraft, but the mission at hand.

Delivering Pizza was not a terribly difficult thing but this mission presented a major problem, namely he had to deliver it after he landed; again normally not a problem, but sixteen? He absentmindedly opened the cargo door near the nose of the aircraft and looked inside.

For balance, the heavy scooter was shoved far into the hold, closer to the middle of the aircraft, leaving plenty of space for Pizza closer to the door and any other items that needed to be accessed quickly, or at least before the cargo.

He heard the sound of frantic footsteps rapidly approaching him.

"Red!"

The pilot let out a heavy sight. Dealing with the dispatcher on anything other than a dispatch was a huge drain.

"What is it? Did you talk to the manager?"

He turned and saw the dispatcher carrying a canvas and aluminum object.

"Yes, he said to use a trailer", the dispatcher panted. "I found you a small collapsible one."

The trailer used the blue canvas as the bin to hold the cargo, with the aluminum acting as the frame. Folded up it was the size of a small suitcase.

"Great! We'll put that in last. How long 'till the Pizzas are ready?"

"They should be down here in a few minutes. Have you done your pre-flight checks?"

"I'll do the rest when I'm in the cockpit."

"Do you have your emergency kit?"

"Yes."

"Is your radio working?"

"That's one of the pre-flight checks."

The dispatcher continued this back and forth several more times until mercifully the Pizzas arrived, delivered by one of the deck hands.

The dispatched was also relieved.

"Excellent! Red, you get into the cockpit, we'll load the plane."

Red saw no reason to argue and immediately climbed into the snug but comfortable cockpit of the Vampire.

It smelled of old carpet and there were stains all over the interior. The seat was upholstered in dark red vinyl that was starting to crack and masking tape had replaced the rubber grip on the control stick. Even the throttle controls for the planes twin engines had been reduced to mostly bare metal, though remarkably the instrument panel remained in excellent condition, where only natural fading due to exposure had taken place.

As he began his final pre-flight checks and the cargo was loaded, he checked his pockets for the invoice, the credit card machine, and put on his Aviator's sun glasses.

As he finished he heard a banging noise and saw the dispatcher and deck hand give him a thumbs up, saying they had close up the plane. Ordinarily a pilot would have to confirm for himself that the cargo door was properly closed, but that was a bit of a loose regulation here, and the clock was ticking.

He started up the Vampires twin engines and waited for the oil to warm up. He radioed the control room and they opened the belly doors of the Zeppelin.

Wind rushed into the open gap and he felt the rack rotate to place his plane over the howling opening.

From his position Red couldn't look down to see what lay below, but being over the pacific he had a pretty good feeling that it was ocean.

He gradually throttled up the Vampires engines until they reached pull power. He signaled the controller watching him from the control room to his right, and then the plane dropped.

The dull, artificial light of the hanger was suddenly replaced by natural sky that was turning a soft orange as the sun set.

He shoved the control stick as far forward as it would go, slowly forcing the Vampire's nose to dip, revealing the rapidly approaching serenity of the Pacific ocean.

He checked the airspeed indicator and as soon as it reached the required speed he hauled back on the stick until the plane was level.

Red blinked to clear his vision from the effects of G-force and checked his aircraft for any signs of trouble.

His altitude indicator read 2000 feet and his airspeed was stabilizing. The weather was mostly clear and the sun was setting, painting the distant clouds a lovely red and the sky a brilliant orange.

He reduced power on the engines to climbing speed and looked back at the zeppelin he had just left.

Its bay doors were now closed and the Pizza Angels emblem, was the only distinguishing feature he could make out from that distance.

He contacted the control room of the zeppelin:

"Red Angel, all green, proceeding to delivery. Over."

"Roger Red Angel. Happy flying. Over"

With that done he started climbing to cruising altitude and double checked the GPS that was providing up to date information on the ware bouts of Oarai's school ship. He made a small course correction, and then settled down for the forty minute flight.

The Sanderson FB14 Vampire had been designed as a heavy fighter bomber, with a heavy armament of six 30mm cannons and several hard points for rockets and bombs it was a force to be reckoned with. All that combined with its impressive armor brought the Vampire to a hefty 13,250 pounds, and although it was a fighter bomber, it wasn't very good at dogfighting thanks to its cumbersome handling and slow speed.

The Vampires normally troublesome maintenance requirements had been mostly alleviated by replacing many of its components with higher grade parts, and replacing the original engines with a pair of more powerful ones from Pratt & Whitney. In order to make space for the cargo hold in the fuselage, the two inboard most cannons in the wings had been removed, making space for a door to open, but it was still a tight fit with the remaining cannons. The dedicated courier variant didn't have these problems, but then Pizza Angels needed the armor and weapons.

Red pulled the delivery instructions out of his right breast pocket which showed a map of the top deck of Oarai's school ship.

The red circled indicated the delivery point, and it was drawn around what looked like a set of large industrial storage sheds, or heavy vehicle garages.

"Not too far from the airstrip either", her mumbled. "Maybe this won't be as big a deal as we thought."

Twenty minutes into the flight, Red could see the silhouette of the Oarai school ship in the distance. Even from so far away he could tell it was huge.

If he remembered correctly it was over 7 kilometers long, had an average beam of 1,000 meters, and the deck was nearly 500 meters above sea level. Definitely a massive ship and from what he was told it wasn't even one of the big ones.

He was about to prepare for his landing approach when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. By pure instinct he threw the control stick hard to the left and slammed the left rudder pedal as far as it would go.

Tracers streamed by where he had been milliseconds before and a twin engine green airplane flashed past.

He reversed his turn and looked down to see a green E-1C Avenger. The green livery meant one thing: "Pavarotti's Pizzeria Pirates".

They were a rival flying Pizzeria that had always been territorial, a part of their 'charming' image as 'pirates'.

Red looked behind him and saw another Avenger bearing down on him from 4 O'clock.

The Avenger fired its guns, streaming angry red tracers that just fell short of their mark and the Avenger overshot.

Red reversed his turn again to try and get a few of his own shots off but by the time the sluggish Vampire turned the Avenger was far out of range.

Red cursed and searched the sky for the first Avenger and found it heading almost right for him, barely a kilometer away.

He turned the Vampire to face the attacker who, much to Red's initial bewilderment kept coming at him. Who in their right mind would go head to head with a vastly more heavily armed and armored aircraft? When the bewilderment had passed however, he understood.

The Avenger pilot thought that his Vampire was the unarmed courier variant. Many companies in the same kind of 'aggressive business' as Pizza Angels would disguise cargo variants of combat aircraft by fitting fake guns as a cosmetic camouflage to disguise the fact that they were unarmed. After all, why would a Pizza delivery company spend the extra money on the much more expensive and unreliable warplane variant?

A sadistic grin spread across Red's sunlit face. That pilot was about to learn that "Pavarotti's Pirates" weren't the only ones who understood 'Aggressive Marketing'.

Coming at each other in excess of 600 miles per hour, the Avenger pilot opened fire a full second too early, while Red with his heavy cannons had the range advantage. He pulled the trigger and volcanic thunder erupted from the Vampires wings as 30mm shells hurled themselves at the enemy plane.

The shells converged and slammed into the Avenger's fuselage like flying hammers, blasting large holes through the planes mediocre armor, snapping control cables and shattering the instruments.

Red pulled up hard and skimmed over the burning wreck of the Avenger as it barreled past him. He had fired only two rounds from each of his planes four cannons, but it had been more than enough to reduce the offending aircraft to a tumbling fireball.

He looked behind him and saw the unfurling white silk of a parachute, indicating the pilot had escaped, miraculously alive.

Red scanned the sky for the other Avenger and found it circling at high altitude, not making any kind of attack or even positioning himself for one.

Red could only hope that it meant the other pilot was having second thoughts about tangling with him. He didn't wait for the pilot to make up his mind, and resumed heading straight for Oarai's ship. If that Avenger pilot was smart, it would stay and keep an eye on his fellow pilot until help arrived, or at least until he hit BINGO fuel.

"Oarai School Tower this is Charlie, Tac, Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra on approach. Requesting expedited VFR approach. Over."

A young feminine voice came back over the radio.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, roger. Say again, you're requesting expedited approach? Over."

"Affirmative. Hostile aircraft in area. Requesting expedited approach into no-fire zone. Over."

Once they got within two kilometers of Oarai's school ship, neither of them would be allowed to open fire. This no-fire zone was to protect the people on Oarai from getting mixed up in any skirmish between aggressors.

Red lined himself up on the ship ahead of him, he was about five minutes from it at his current speed, and he could just make out the runway lights.

Suddenly the hairs on his neck stood up again. He jammed the stick forward and firewalled the throttle. Tracers streaked over his head and the familiar green blur of an Avenger roared past him.

Red swore. The Avenger was going to try and shoot him down before he got into the no-fire zone. The enemy pilot was looping around for another pass, and if he kept going he would get another run before Red was in the no-fire zone.

Red had to pull back on the throttle or he would be forced to do a circuit and try to land again, giving the Avenger more chances to shoot him down. Instead he dove, dipping the plane below the airstrip's horizon in an attempt to gain speed, but this way, he could lose the speed when he climbed back above the ship's deck.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, you are now in the no-fire zone, but you are too low, please pull up."

With a sigh of relief he started to pull back up and lowered his landing gear. He looked behind him and then saw the Avenger bearing on him yet again.

He jinked to the left and dove. Bullets pinged off the underside of the plane and the Avenger rolled to the right, starting a barrel roll that would bring him back behind the Vampire one more time before they hit the ship.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, Pull up" the air traffic controller yelled over the radio!"

"Negative", Red responded. "Enemy aircraft is still pursuing, I'm going to have to pull up at the last minute. You try to contact that pilot and get him to lay off."

"We've tried! No response!"

Red gritted his teeth as the Avenger came down on him again from the second half of his barrel roll. He was so close to the rear of the ship that he could make out the hair colour of people sitting down on benches looking at the two aircraft streaking towards them.

Red waited a full heartbeat, the longest heartbeat in his life, and then pulled back on the stick with all his might. A stream of bullets struck the Vampire's wings as the Avenger fired and then Red swore again as the Avenger flew behind and underneath him.

Red hit full flaps as he climbed above the ship's deck. He could hear the Avenger's engines screaming at full power as it squeezed into the tiny space between the Vampire and the ship.

The Avenger slipped ahead of him as they climbed, right into Red's gun sight. His finger twitched reflexively but he didn't let it near the trigger. He would not make the same mistake as that pilot.

With the Avenger ahead of him, he nosed forward before the plane stalled and lined up for the final approach to the airstrip.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra on final. Over.", he announced to the air traffic controller.

"Acknowledged, Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra. Were you able to see the registration on that hostile aircraft? Over."

"Negative control. Was busy trying not to get shot. Over."

"Roger. Please clear the runway quickly. Welcome to Oarai Academy Over."

Red smiled. "Even after that they act like I'm an ordinary tourist."

As the Vampire's wheels touched down and it settled onto the runway Red quickly looked behind him again, but didn't see the Avenger. He hoped that meant it was gone now. Speaking of which-

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, to control. Over."

There was a pause before they answered.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, go ahead Over."

"Have you received any distress call? There was one pilot who abandoned his aircraft approximately ten kilometers behind the ship. Over."

There was a longer pause before they answered again.

"Golf, Romeo, Whiskey, Sierra, are you saying an aircraft was shot down? Over."

"Affirmative control; approximately ten kilometers behind the ship. Over."

"Acknowledged. We will send a search team. Was pilot hostile? Over."

"Affirmative control. Over."

"Roger Over."

Red taxied the Vampire to the ramp and shut down the engines. He removed his aviator's shades and wiped his brow before opening the canopy and climbing out.

From his vantage point on top of the wing he could see where the Avenger's last burst had struck the aircraft. The plane had been so close that the bullets hit the wings instead of the fuselage, but damage near the wing roots was never a good thing, and he would have to get the plane inspected before he could fly it again.

"Boss isn't going to be happy", he muttered.

He dropped to the ground and opened the cargo door to retrieve the wheel chocks. He chocked all three wheels before starting to unload his cargo.

First he unloaded and then deployed the collapsible, canvas trailer and then started to put the pizzas into it. Thankfully they still felt warm, even after all that time. Now came the hard part.

Red hopped inside the cargo hold and released the straps holding the folded scooter in place. The scooter weighed about 100 pounds when full of fuel, so it was always a bit of a struggle to load and unload it, though it was more of the awkwardness then the actual weight. He managed to get it down and then shut the door.

Red maneuvered the scooter to the front of the trailer but his heart sank when he discovered that the scooter didn't have a trailer hitch.

"Come on Red", he told himself. "You're a man; improvise."

He opened the cargo door again and pulled out a rope that was used to tie down the plane when it was parked on the tarmac. He tied one end to the underside of the scooter's seat and then tied the other through the trailers loop. He stuffed the excess rope into the trailer, started the scooter's tiny two-stroke engine, closed the Vampire's cargo door once again then got on the scooter and set off.

"Why would they put all their high schools on ships", Red wondered as the scooter putted along.

The school building was large enough that he was able to make out its large silhouette fairly easily against the smaller building around it. He arrived just as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon.

He quickly spotted the large brick garages and drove up to the large green door. Its chipped paint and worn exterior betrayed its age. When he turned off the scooter's noisy engine, he could hear lively chatter coming from inside.

Hoping he was at the right place he knocked loudly on the door and waited for a response. A hush descended on the people inside, and then about twenty seconds later someone opened the door.

It was a girl with brown eyes and matching hair tied up into a short, voluminous ponytail and when she saw him she gave him a beautiful smile.

"Pizza delivery", Red announced.

The girl giggled "Right on time". She opened the door, inviting him in.

Red quickly undid the rope holding the trailer and then pulled the trailer inside, but was not entirely prepared for what he saw, because when he first entered the building the first thing that caught his eye was a line of tanks.

Red knew from his combat experience, which models they were, and some of them were impressive, while others were simply odd, or generic.

Sprawled out on picnic cloths on the floor were groups of girls between three and six in number, each. He guessed they were the tank crews.

Another girl with chin length black hair, wearing half a pair of glasses, and a scowl, walked up to him.

"Are you from Angels Pizza?"

Red groaned inwardly. The other girl was able to see the obvious, and it's Pizza Angels

He reached into the left breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out the invoice.

"Here's your bill."

The girls snatched it from him and then took it over to a small girl with twin tails and a permanent smile in contrast to her compatriot's scowl.

Red looked out over the rest of the girls still sitting on the floor. Each group seemed to have its own theme. One looked like a sports team, another full of noticeably younger girls, one of ordinary looking girls, one consisting of girls in orange overalls, but the one that caught his eyes the most was the group of girls who all appeared to be in some kind of costume from some period in history, including one who appeared Roman, and more strikingly one blonde girl wearing a world war two era German jacket and cap.

She had noticeably fairer skin than her Roman friend, and most strikingly her blonde locks were flared out in an odd but eerily familiar manner.

"Hey you!"

Red turned to see the mono-spectacled girl approach him with a wad of cash.

Red accepted the cash. "So what's the occasion?"

"You're here to deliver the Pizza. Just do your job and get out."

"Scuse me", Red muttered as he started to count the money.

"Everyone, line up to get your Pizza", the rude girl ordered just before Red addressed her again.

"Hey Colonel Klink; you're 200 Yen short!"

'Colonel Klink' whirled around, aghast. "Impossible! You miscounted."

"I counted it twice", Red argued. "You're short!"

"Senpai!"

Red and the Klink girl turned to see one of the younger girls holding a small bit of cash.

"This was on the ground."

Red went over and took it.

"What do ya know. It's 200 Yen."

Klink regained her composure and put one hand on her hips.

"There, you have your money, now do your job and get out."

Red grunted but nonetheless set about his task of handing out the individual pizza boxes from their insulated bags. He handed one out to each of the girls who came to collect them, some even said thank you."

After he had finished and was about to take the trailer back outside he looked up and there was one of the ordinary looking girls with shoulder length orange hair, standing just off to his side.

"Can I help you", he asked in a professional tone?

"Ah, um, I was just going to ask if you wanted to stay."

Had she not heard the exchanges between him and their Colonel Klink? He was obviously unwelcome.

"Sorry ma'am, it's against company policy to party or mingle with customers while on duty."

This didn't seem to discourage her, in fact she grabbed onto his arm.

"Aw come on, it's boring here with just girls, and I bet you could tell us about all kinds of things. You're a pilot right? That must be a well-paying job."

Alarm bells rang in Red's mind and her tore away from the clingy girl.

"Hey, don't be like that", she said with a child-like whine. "I just want to get to know you better."

Red grabbed an object strapped to his right side and brandished a small black cylinder containing a shiny metal rod with a bulbous top. He flicked it at the girl and it sparked causing her to jump back fearfully.

Red looked around to make sure no one else was coming for him and then calmly pulled the trailer back outside and closed the door behind him.

He sighed. "Why can't I ever deliver to normal people?"

While it was possible that girl was merely being overly friendly, people had warned him about Japanese girls who tried to get close to him, or ask him about his finances like that.

"Am I just paranoid" he asked himself?

He looked out towards the ocean and sighed. "And they didn't even give me a tip."

Red reused the rope to lash the trailer to the back of the scooter and mounted the vehicle to return to the plane. He still had to report the events of the day to his boss, who wouldn't be happy about one of his planes being shot at, especially in close proximity to the school ship. What's worse, the plane was damaged.

"Hey wait!"

Red looked up and saw one of the girls from inside run up to him. She had a very voluminous, short, light-brown hair and eyes. She had been one of the 'normal girls' that he had seen.

"Can I help you?"

The girl reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small series of bills.

"We forgot to give you your tip."

Somewhat surprised Red accepted the money; although he had a strong feeling that this girl had just given him his tip out of her own pocket instead of everyone contributing.

"Appreciated", he said.

"Also, sorry about Saori", the girl apologized. "She reads a lot of girl's magazines and they don't always give the best advice."

"Tell her to stop reading whatever magazine she got that advice from" Red told her.

The girl chuckled. "Also I need to apologize for our public relations manager. She acts really tough and abrasive, but she's not that hard a person."

It took Red a full second to realize who she was talking about. "Colonel Klink is your public relations manager?"

The girl blinked in confusion, not understanding the reference.

Red simply raised his hand as a signal to never mind it.

"I'm Redab Salguod, but you can call me Red."

"M-my name is Yukari Akiyama."

It was amazing how a simple introduction could improve the atmosphere of an already friendly conversation.

"So tell me Yukari. What exactly is going on here? Your PR Manager wouldn't tell me."

Yukari's eyes seemed to light up and a huge smile overwhelmed her face, until she was practically beaming.

"We just won the National Panzerfahren Tournament, and this is kind of a small early celebration party before we do something more formal."

Red should have guessed they were a Panzerfahren team. It was the only thing the Japanese did with tanks outside of the Defense Forces.

"Congratulations", Red said in as polite a tone as he could muster. Yukari didn't seem to pick up on that though, and she got even more excited.

"Yes, it was a tough battle, just us alone against the enemy team's Tiger, but we managed to beat them, all thanks to Lady Nishizumi!"

Red perked up and then looked at Yukari with a raised eyebrow. Yukari still looked pumped, with her hands clenched in fists and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Nishizumi? As in the Nishizumi tank school?"

"Yes! She's originally from there but she left it and we ended up beating her old school which was led by her older sister! We beat one of the best tanks schools in the world!"

Red was suddenly unable to contain himself and broke down into fits of near hysterical laughter.

Yukari was caught off guard by this and stood motionless and bewildered as the pizza pilot started crying from his own hysterics.

When he finally managed to calm himself down Yukari asked him the obvious question.

"What's so funny?"

Red sighed and wiped a tear from his eyes. "I hate to break it to you Yukari, but the Nishizumi tank school is arguably the worst tank school on the planet. They're great at being in parades and that's it."

Yukari's face was completely blank, as if her mind had crashed and was now rebooting. When she seemed to have booted up again her brows furrowed and her face flushed with anger.

"Who says that", she demanded! "The Nishizumi school wins the international Panzerfahren competition all the time!"

Red sighed and shook his head. "Look Yukari, I hate to bust your bubble but Panzerfahren isn't looked upon with as much fervor in the rest of the world as they are here in Japan. In fact in the rest of the world, Panzerfahren is just a stepping stone for most girls to get into military schools for Junior high."

Yukari blinked, and her mouth opened slightly. "Junior High?"

Yeah, most elementary school girls who want to go to military school join Panzerfahren teams to increase their chances of getting accepted. So basically the Nishizumi School is just a bunch of seal clubbers. That's why they win almost every year."

Yukari's fists clenched up and her face wrinkled in anger. "Lady Nishizumi isn't like that at all! She's an amazing person, and she could beat any other panzer commander in the world if given a fair chance! And she may not have followed their doctrines but she still learned her craft from the Nishizumi school so there's no way it's one of the worst."

Red sighed. "Much as I'd like to stay and argue with you I have to go inspect my plane, and then report in to my boss."

"Then I'll come with you" Yukari insisted. "I can't let Lady Nishizumi's honor go undefended!"

Red sighed. "Fine, hop on."

He kicked the starter and the scooter burped to life.

Yukari sat on the back seat side-saddle and then tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist.

'I guess she's embarrassed', Red thought. He gave the engine a quick rev, and then started back towards the airstrip, hoping his new female companion would at least let him do his job while they argued.