After returning to our home base in Zapland, we were debriefed by Colonel McKinsey who did not look too pleased at all. Despite having done significant damage to the enemy airbase in Roca Roja, the colonel didn't think it was good enough. He lined us up and chewed us out about how cowardly and useless we all were. It didn't seem to matter to him that we were limited from having been denied the opportunity to resupply and refuel our fighters. It didn't seem to matter that we were ambushed by new drone fighters, and it didn't matter that we had lost one of our comrades too. Since I had gotten here, I was constantly reminded that we were scum and that we were expendable. I just didn't think that our superiors here actually believed that to be so true.

After getting yelled at, Full Band and Champ were thrown in solitary while the rest of us were dismissed back to our cells to "think about what we did." I half expected Count to say something snide and start a fight with me but he remained surprisingly quiet. That was fine. I didn't feel like talking to anyone else at the moment anyway… not even Tabloid.

Another quiet day passed with no incident and I returned to my cell block after a day of carting munitions around the airfields. I found Tabloid already there sitting on his cot paging through one of his many books as he simply gave a quiet nod of his head to greet me. I flopped down on my cot and stared at the ceiling in silence. My thoughts continued to drift back to the incidents of the past two days as I reached for my pocket and found a wad of rolled up bills there… the money High Roller had given me.

I can't say I knew the guy well, but he had been one of the friendlier people here and I didn't have anything bad to say about him. Besides, who was I to judge? We were all criminals here anyway, right? How did that old saying go? Something about people throwing stones in glass houses? If anything, I was still plagued by the guilt I continued to feel. I hated the helpless feeling I had experienced in the air battle over Chopinburg and I hated the fact I couldn't save one of my comrades, Brownie. I hated the fact that the return of the drones in Roca Roja spooked me and made me freeze up when High Roller called for help. Could I really have saved him? I'm not sure. All survivors in war play this game wondering if there was only something they did differently, that it would have made a meaningful difference. I guess it was about time that caught up with me too.

I heard footsteps and was pulled away from my dark thoughts when I turned to see three men enter the hall and come to our cell doors. It was the rest of Spare Squad. Tabloid looked up idly and closed his book with a sigh while addressing Champ and Full Band, "Well… I see they finally let you two jokers out of the doghouse. I would've bet they'd keep you in there at least another day or two."

"And it's a good thing they didn't," Full Band grinned. The older man with dark curly hair and a slightly receding hairline led the others inside our cell carrying a sock that was weighted down with something, "If we were, then I wouldn't have been able to salvage this."

I sat up in bed and gave a sarcastic snort, "What's that? Your dirty laundry?"

Full Band shook his head and reached inside the sock, "No. High Roller's. I was able to get back to my cell before the guards came to clean the rest of his junk out."

Full Band had been High Roller's roommate and I could only guess that they probably didn't get along. It seemed like they must've annoyed each other, but that was just speculation. Granted, I was a little horrified at the fact that Full Band was basically pilfering a dead man's belongings, but I was also a little intrigued too.

"Feast your eyes on this boys," Full Band smiled as he pulled out a large stack of cash money. That must have been where High Roller had been hiding his winnings from all his bets. He was quite literally socking it away.

Everyone gave murmurs and low whistles as Full Band flipped through the bills of money, "The spoils of war."

"I can't believe he actually hoarded away that much," Tabloid exclaimed in shock, "I wonder what he planned to do with it all?"

I remained silent as I planned to keep my promise to High Roller, even if he wasn't here.

"Imagine if he was able to earn interest on this," Count added greedily before Full Band swatted his hand away.

"Easy there gentleman. As we are the gambler's wingmates, I'm sure he would've wanted us to have this. So we're going to split it up between us evenly."

He counted out the money and divided it between us in smaller stacks. Champ grinned and shuffled his new ill gotten gains, "You know… we could probably buy some stuff from the base's PX store with this."

"Well… I could use some new books," Tabloid mused while Champ waved it off.

"Psh. Forget the novels Tabloid. Maybe we could find some dirty mags or something."

"I share a room with you, remember?" Count scowled to him, "Don't even think about it Chump."

I tucked my money away to add to the cash High Roller left me, "How about you Full Band?"

He scratched his chin in thought and shrugged, "I dunno. I kinda want to see if I can get my hands on some more parts for my transistor radio or something."

"So you could tool around with it and keep listening in on others?" Count asked, "You said you were some intelligence officer before you landed here, right?"

Full Band's features went taut and he remained quiet before Count gave up and lost interest. "Ah… whatever. What are you going to do with your winnings Trigger?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted as I got up and left the cell, "I'll have to think about it some more."

I wanted some space. What was going on in there sickened me a little. I knew we were in a war, and I was no stranger to death already, but to do what we were doing right now? It felt like we were picking over the corpse of one of our own. The fact we were joking and happy about profiting off another's loss was a morbid feeling and one I didn't care to grow too accustomed to.

Later that day, I found myself at the doors of one of the base's hangers that was being used for storage. It was quieter now as early evening began to set in. Orange and red light lit up the airstrip; the same kind that had bathed the deserts of Roca Roja in our recent operation. I sat alone on an old wooden crate leaning against a hanger door while watching the sunset. I had to report back in a little while for dinner but I was in no rush to get back to the complex either. I watched the orange skies for a while until I heard someone approach from across the way. "Still thinking about flying the coop, huh? Can't say I blame you."

I turned to see my wingmate Count approach with his usual air of casual smugness, "Although I might have mixed feelings if they shot you down. I wouldn't have any interesting competition up there."

"Is that what you think this is? That this is all just a big game to you?" I frowned in irritation.

"High Roller certainly seemed to think so," Count sniffed as he joined me and stood to look at the skies, "Say what you will about him, but he always went big and played to win so I can respect that."

"So we respect him by basically looting his body and making jokes about it earlier?"

Count turned his head with a hard glare, "See, that's where you've got it all wrong Trigger. Don't you start going around talking all high and mighty to me. Look around here man. We're all criminals here. We're the dregs that Osea doesn't want anymore. We're thieves, rebels, and murderers."

"That doesn't mean we have to act like it," I protested but Count answered me with a scornful laugh.

"Come on Trigger. is that what you're really afraid of? A model officer and ace pilot sinking into the mud to become like the rest of us? Let me tell you something Trigger. You're in no position to talk. There's blood on our hands already. Yours, mine, everybody's in Spare."

"I am not a murderer," I shot back heatedly, "And I didn't kill Harling either!"

"Maybe. But does that really matter now? How many Eruseans have you killed? How many of their soldiers have you bombed? How many of their pilots have you blown out the skies? No. You shouldn't be scared of that. You're exactly where you need to be. You're already a killer like the rest of us."

We stared each other down for a long moment before I looked away toward the sun again, "Do you know what I'm most afraid of right now Count? I'm afraid of trusting myself right now. In that last battle, I completely froze up when we were attacked by those drones. That may have cost High Roller when he needed my help."

"You're not the squadron leader," Count pointed out, "If he decides to fly like a dumbass and get himself killed, well... that's not your responsibility."

"If someone isn't responsible, then all of us may very well get killed on another mission. You're a pilot. You know that too," I argued.

Count gave another dismissive chuckle and reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette before lightning it, "Seems to me that some of the other guys in the squad might be starting to see you as that guy. That if they follow you, we'll come out on top."

"I thought you were the self appointed leader of Spare Squadron."

Count wrinkled his features has he took a drag of his smoke, "You can think what you want. If you want to challenge me and convince the others you're actually worth following, then you're going to have to prove it out there. Best you learn to fight those drones and let go of that guilt. It's only going to weigh you down here."

I considered his words and looked up slowly, "Yeah... okay. Why are you doing this Count?"

He took another puff of his cigarette before tossing it aside and walking off, "I don't know. Maybe I just like having a real challenger. Or maybe I just like having someone owe me one."

I watched the man depart down the airstrip in silence before a small smile crossed my lips. Maybe in his own odd way, Count had a point. Sure, I still thought he was kind of an arrogant asshole, but it didn't mean he wasn't right either. There wasn't a lot of point in dwelling too much on the past. I'd still have to live with what happened: at Chopinburg, at the Lighthouse with Harling's death, and with the loss of High Roller. The only thing was, either I learned to face those drones again and control myself, or they would certainly control me. I wasn't about to let that happen. I got up slowly from my crate and headed back toward the complex, with some new things to consider now.

After dinner, I returned to my cell for the evening and settled in when Tabloid returned carrying a few more books. He grinned, "Hey Trigger. Got some new material. Maybe you'll want to take a look."

"Sorry man, I think I'll pass. It's been a long day," I yawned.

Tabloid chuckled and pulled out a tabloid magazine he had purchased at the PX with some of his money, "Nonsense. I think I found something you'll want."

He reached into the magazine and tore out a large page. Using some tape from his desk, he taped the page near my side of the wall. To my surprise and amusement, it was a picture of Princess Rosa Cosette D'Elise of Erusea. Despite the events of the day, I couldn't help but laugh aloud, "Really?"

Tabloid clapped my shoulder, "You seemed kinda down about everything so I figured that'd cheer you up a little. I know it's not quite the same as something from the dirty mags that Champ wanted, but this might give us a little motivation to stay alive here if we have something nice to look at."

"Thanks. It certainly makes this bare wall a lot better looking," I chuckled in agreement, "Still, I'm just a little concerned about one other thing if we hang this up."

Tabloid tapped his chin, "Oh? That the guards will think we're big traitors for admiring the enemy?"

"Hell no! I'm more worried the guards will try to take this for themselves."

In that moment, both Tabloid and I grinned and exchanged the first long genuine laugh that we've had since coming to this godforsaken hell-hole.

Elsewhere, the Osean air base in Zapland grew quiet as the late evening shift took over and much of the base personnel settled in for the night. Within one of the secondary control towers, only one computer screen remained lit while a figure in an Osean Air Force uniform sat behind it working in a darkened room. He was a tall thin middle aged man with sallow skin and sharp angular features. He looked to be balding and his face seemed to remain contorted into a mild frown or sneer. He sat transmitting a recorded radio message along with backing up data on some storage drives. As he finished his work, he paused a moment and watched the signal strangely waver for a brief moment before finishing its broadcast on a secret channel.

He was startled when he heard a voice from behind in the dark room address him, "What's the status Bandog? Are you almost done?"

The cruel AWACs controller of Spare Squadron turned in his seat to face Colonel McKinsey and give a quiet nod, "Yes sir. The data has been backed up and the rest has been sent off like you requested."

"Was there a problem just now?" McKinsey asked.

Bandog shrugged and shook his head, "No. The signal wavered for just a moment, but it must have been nothing. I doubt anyone would have been able to tap into our secure radio band."

"See that it remains so," McKinsey said sternly, "No one else must find out about this. Even if it won't be long..."

Bandog looked the colonel and nodded, "Sir? Are you really going to be ready to do this? I mean... if anyone were to find out what we're leaking here... we could be hung by a tribunal, or lined up in front of a firing squad."

"Now is not the time to lose your nerve Bandog. You're in too deep with me and we've gone this far," McKinsey rebuked him sharply, "Besides... you know as well as I do what direction this was is going to take. We have to be sure we'll be on the winning side."

Bandog grimaced and shifted in his seat with slight discomfort, "You don't think anyone else suspects anything... do you? Or maybe those dogs in Spare Squadron?"

"Don't worry about the convicts," McKinsey said with a scoff, "Besides, even if they did, I have special plans for them. And if they wind up dying... well, who's going to miss them, right?"