(AN: So, here we are...as promised this chapter didn't take as long to get out as the previous one. I've finally reached some sort of equilibrium at my new job so now I can dedicate some time each day to writing. Hopefully I'm keeping things in line with the character development, and not keeping the Disney characters too OOC. I want to try and get a couple of chapters out before the second Frozen movie comes out later this month (mostly to capitalize on the hype :) and keep this crazy torpedo going.
Also, most of the research I've been doing (in addition to the Disney-related stuff) is military-related, so to any of the vets/current serving/COD crowd types I hope it's entertaining and adding to the story and not muddying the waters too much. Also I wanted to get this out before Armistice Day (or Veteran's Day in the U.S.) as all of you know that date is near and dear to my heart and one of the reasons I am such a military otaku. So I will give the standard PSA, which is after you've read this on Monday (or any day) be sure to thank a veteran for their service. We wouldn't have the freedom to write this trite drabbles on a fanfiction site if not for their sacrifices.
And after that awkward mawkishness...on with the show!)
(Kingdom of Arendelle, the 12th day of Sólmánuður, Coronation Day, 0915 hours local time)
Princess Elsa, soon to be crowned queen of her realm, gingerly approached the window overlooking castle's courtyard. Resplendent in her royal coronation gown and cloak, she slowly removed her gloves and took a shuddering breath to brace herself. She had not slept well, and what little sleep she had was filled with nightmares of black, scaly dragons and odd-looking grey wyverns breathing fire. Once again she had a terrible premonition of things to come. To steady her nerves, she repeated the mantra that her dearly departed parents taught to her.
"Don't let them in...don't let them see..."
She turned, and slowly made her way to a massive painting that dominated an entire wall. It was a portrait of a man, in formal attire with a crown on his brow, holding a scepter in one hand and a golden orb in the other. It was her father, and the likeness was striking; handsome, imposing, but with a hint of melancholy that Elsa was all too familiar with. She continued to her self.
"...Be the good girl you always have to be...conceal...don't feel..."
She picked up a candlestick and small porcelain urn, approximating the scepter and orb that she was to hold as part of her coronation.
"Put on a show...make one wrong move and everyone will know-"
Elsa's nerves were getting the better of her, and as her resolve wavered her rogue magic manifested itself as ice crystals slowly formed over the candlestick and urn. She set them down quickly as one of the royal pages entered the room.
"Tell the guards to open up the gates!"
In the courtyard her younger sister Anna was overjoyed at the gates opening up, and she ran outside for the first time in a long time, with a song in her heart.
(BGM: For the First Time in Forever, Frozen)
The HUMVEE rattled as it went over a pothole, jostling the soldiers inside. Lt. Bradley, PVT. Davis and PFC Mayfield were riding in the 'first wave' of the mission, with SGM Wolfe driving, and they were currently making from their undisclosed point of arrival to their destination. The cobblestone road that the military truck rattled over ran through the small town square, over a short causeway and straight to the castle gates. It was wide enough to allow at least four lanes of civilian motorized traffic, but now it was clogged with people. Peasants and nobles alike were dressed in the best finery and making their way to the coronation at Castle Akershus, where the lovely if reclusive Princess Elsa would be crowned Queen of Arendelle.
It was a joyous occasion, but at least one person in the crowd didn't share in their joy.
"Move it or lose it, shithead!'
Wolfe leaned on the HUMVEE's horn as he waved away a particularly large group of slow-moving nobles. The lead noble stood gawking at the large, rattling dirty metal construct as it slowly drove past, but the SGM Wolfe paid him no heed, the traffic and the mission contributing to his foul mood. Lt. Bradley was in better spirits, especially now that he was on terra firma. He stared out the window, watching as throngs parted ways in the wake of Wolfe's wrath and foul language. Over the din of the crowd and the rumble of the HUMVEE's diesel engine, he heard something. For some reason, the lieutenant could hear a very familiar song echoing in his ears.
"Anybody else hear that?"
When none of the other soldiers responded, Bradley simply shrugged and started humming along to the song. It didn't last long, Wolfe took his eyes off the road, glanced over to the officer and growled.
"With all due respect sir, knock that shit the fuck off."
Bradley paused in his humming and grinned at Wolfe.
"Hey, c'mon sarge, it's catchy!"
He heard Davis chuckle.
"Yeah, the first 234 times you hear it..."
PFC Mayfield grinned.
"Don't care how many times I hear Princess Anna sing that, I'd still smash."
The young officer shook his head.
"C'mon private, she's like 14!"
He looked over to Wolfe.
"An' Sar'ent Major, you gotta admit Princess Ana's got a sweet singing voice."
The sergeant major muttered something under his breath. Davis leaned in.
"Sorry sarge, what was that?"
Wolfe shifted glanced back.
"I said, 'don't remind me'...my daughter loved that stupid fucking song to death, and played it on repeat when she was visiting last summer. I wanted to either shoot myself or shoot the stupid fucker who wrote the tune."
The lieutenant chuckled.
"Oh, come on, Sar'ent Major, it's not that bad. Besides, you need to smile more."
Sergeant Major Eric Wolfe didn't smile. If anything, the scowl that was his resting face deepened as he drove through the crowds towards the castle that loomed head. He felt very self-conscious, and with good reason. Everybody, both noble and peasant alike, was staring at the Exiles' HUMVEE as it rumbled past on the cobblestones. Over Wolfe's protests LTC Long authorized Bradley to drive the HUMVEE to the palace as a show of strength as well as wear their dress uniforms during the coronation, and when seeking an audience with the newly appointed queen. Long's rationale was this was a military operation, and their dress uniforms wouldn't be out of place in an environment like this.
The sergeant major glanced over at his charge, 2nd Lt. Bradley. He really didn't feel being part of this op, it was outside his comfort zone, and he knew it was the first major operation for Lt. Bradley to oversee since Dubai. The seasoned part of Wolfe's brain knew that at some point this would turn into babysitting detail, or worse. Finally he spoke up.
"This was a mistake, we should have gone in mufti."
Wolfe glanced down at the HUMVEE's interior and then back to all the stares they were getting.
"Driving this Hummer through town we're out in the open, and more to the point we're sticking out like a diseased cock on a wedding cake."
He paused pressed the horn at a slow oxcart that was blocking their way to the gates.
"Oh for fuck's sake...GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE WAY!"
As they approached the castle both Bradley and Wolfe noted that the gates were already open. That didn't seem odd to the lieutenant, after all opening the gates was in the song, but he found it odd that neither of the palace guards stared at the HUMVEE as it drove past.
"Well, that was easy..."
Wolfe shook his head.
"Too easy, something fishy's going on here, and it's not last week's catch..."
Bradley shrugged.
"Well, can't be helped, sarge. Just have to adapt and overcome."
The HUMVEE came to a stop at a large porte-cochère at the far end of the castle's first courtyard. An impeccably dressed butler approached as Lt. Bradley opened his door.
"You are the envoys from the Albionian Royal Court?"
Bradley nodded.
"That is correct, Mister-er?"
The butler gave a low bow.
"You may call me Markus, sir. And you are?"
The lieutenant straightened up and saluted.
"Lt. Bradley of the Damned-I mean, Knight-Commander of the Round Table, sir. We have our invitations to the coronation here."
With that he produced a creme colored parchment envelop from his bellows pockets and offered it to the butler. Markus opened the envelop and examined its contents, then looked over Bradley's ACU's and his PALS vest.
"I was under the impression that Knights of the Royal Albionian Court wore plate armor..."
Davis, who had disembarked already, piped up.
"Hey, that shit's ancient history man! Too impractical!"
The butler almost raised an eyebrow at the private's remark.
"As you say, sir."
He then turned his attention to SGM Wolfe, who had killed the engine and opened his door.
"You do understand that even with invitations..."
Markus' eyes traveled over the sergeant major's ACU's.
"...that formal attire for this momentous occasion is not option? We are not holding the coronation in a rock quarry."
Wolfe glared the butler.
"Well I was planning on wearing this, but since you said otherwise, we did bring our dress uniforms-"
He paused and glanced over to Lt. Bradley.
"Well, those of us who are attending the coronation, anyways..."
Wolfe directed his attention back to Markus, and took a step forward, until he was almost nose to nose with the butler.
"An' just so you know Mr. Fancypants, the last sumbitch who gave me lip about my duty uniform had to learn to talk with his nutsack stuffed between his tonsils. You trackin'?"
Markus' eyes widened at the sergeant major's words, and there was a light flush on the man's cheeks as beads of sweat formed on his high forehead. Some of the guards must have thought something amiss, because one of them slowly approached, only to be waved off by the butler. He quickly recovered and his lips pursed into a small smile at Wolfe, which disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.
"My apologies, good sir. I meant no disrespect."
He turned and snapped his fingers at a couple of footmen that were close by.
"These men can help you with your luggage, sirs."
The butler paused as he noted the large olive-green footlocker that being manhandled by Davis and Mayfield. He turned his attention back to Lt. Bradley and raised an eyebrow. The young officer grinned sheepishly.
"We're good to go on our luggage, Markus..."
He glanced back at Wolfe, still scowling.
"...but if you could lead the way to our quarters?"
(1 hour later...)
Lt. Bradley tried re-tying the navy blue tie on his dress uniform shirt for the 3rd time, then examined himself in the mirror. Nope, still too short. After the Exiles were shown to their luxurious guest quarters at Castle Akershus and the servants were hastily dismissed, the soldiers went straight to work. For Davis and Mayfield, that meant getting geared up and assembling their weapons that were stashed in the locker. For Lt. Bradley and SGM Wolfe, that meant getting dressed into 'formal attire,' in this case, their Class A's. Bradley's thoughts were interrupted as he heard the sergeant major's voice behind him.
"Sir, if it makes you feel better nobody's gonna see that your tie is too short..."
Bradley turned to face Wolfe, who wasn't smiling, but his face wasn't scowling either.
"...as long as you keep your jacket buttoned up."
The lieutenant nodded.
"Thanks sarge!"
The sergeant major leaned in as he continued.
"But I ain't lettin' you off the hook either, sir. If you so much as unbutton one button or loosen that tie when you're on duty I will report your lack of Grooming Standards to the colonel right after I park your ate up ass into a sling..."
With that the sergeant major's face cracked into a very small smile.
"...with all due respect, sir."
Bradley grinned at the senior NCO.
"Y'know, sar'ent major, I was always curious about something. Why is it that every NCO whenever they say 'with all due respect' to their CO what they mean is 'Kiss my ass?'"
This time Wolfe's smile grew two sizes, and he almost chuckled. Almost. The smile left almost as quickly as it appeared, and he checked his watch, the glanced over to Mayfield and Davis, then back to the lieutenant.
"We should go, sir."
Bradley nodded.
"Roger that."
He turned to the two privates.
"Gentlemen, you know your roles?"
Mayfield, dressed in his Zulu Squad kit, patted his Scout Tactical.
"During the coronation I go to my super-secret-squirrel hiding place in the rafters and keep an eye on Princess Elsa-I mean the HVP during the coronation..."
Bradley nodded.
"Alright, we will be your eyes and ears on the ground, if there's any suspicious movement, we report it to PVT. Davis."
Davis then stepped forward.
"So I, also in my secret hiding place on the ground, report any suspicious movements to Mayfield or you, sir."
He held up an olive-green satchel.
"And, god forbid anything happen to the High Value Person, I will use my magical bag of wonders to administer first aid."
The private grinned.
"Not to worry, I've already informed the staff that I'm the team's 'healer' and offered my services to them if they required help."
Bradley grinned.
"Roger that. Alright, you two get to your posts, the sergeant major and I will get to ours."
The coronation was still half an hour away from starting, but the stave church within the grounds of Castle Akershus was filling rapidly up with nobles and visiting dignitaries. As they made their way towards the church, among the nobles in their finery two figures stood out. They were obviously military uniforms of some sort, dark navy blue but with minimal ornamentation and without the gold frogging that normally went with dress uniforms. Still, they had to be military by their bearing and demeanor.
Bradley glanced down at his dress uniform, then back over to Wolfe. Like the lieutenant SGM Wolfe was wearing the new navy blue Class A's, the only thing that distinguished the officer from the senior NCO was Bradley wore Corfams and the sergeant major wore his spit-shined M81 boots with the dress trousers expertly bloused into the tops. And then there was the matter of ornamentation. Lt. Bradley's single set of 'butter bars' and small cluster of ribbons paled compared to Wolfe's. In addition to his Command Sergeant Major chevrons, Wolfe had 8 Overseas Service Bars sewn onto his right sleeve, and a whooping 11 'hash marks' on his left, adding to this his full compliment of service ribbons it made the young officer's uniform seem plain in comparison.
Lt. Bradley was more fascinated than jealous though as he glanced over at the of ribbons on Wolfe's chest, rivaling even Konrad's.
"Pretty impressive fruit salad you got there, sar'ent major."
When Wolfe didn't respond the lieutenant leaned in.
"...I didn't know you got the Medal of Honor like the Old Man."
Wolfe kept pushed open the doors to the church and grunted non-committedly.
"Where did you get that?"
The senior NCO didn't respond right away, instead his eyes darted around the stave church's interior. Completely paneled in beautifully carved timber with light streaming in, the church was a sight to behold. Of course, it was lost on Wolfe, as he was scanning the area for threats. As the sergeant major's gaze passed the thick rafters that crisscrossed the high ceiling, the thought he caught a glimpse of Mayfield. Wolfe made a mental note to drill into the private the importance of camouflage, then finally responded.
"Gulf War One."
"What for?"
Wolfe sat down the the pew next to a small, weaselly looking main with a bad comb-over and a monocle.
"Surviving. Sir with respect, I'd prefer you drop the matter and focus on the task at hand."
Lt. Bradley nodded and sat down next to Wolfe. Considering the matter closed, the sergeant major suddenly remembered his surroundings and removed his black beret, and after nudging Bradley the lieutenant did the same.
PFC Mayfield shifted his positions, as one of the pouches on his plate-carrier was digging into his sides. He was perched on top of one of the large rafters that spanned across the stave church's wooden ceiling, keeping an eye on the proceedings below. He saw a figure wearing teal-green dress and a scarlet cloak approach the altar. He peered through the scope of his Scout Tactical and zeroed in. A smiled played his lips behind his skull balaclava, their High Value Person, Princess soon-to-be Queen Elsa of Arendelle was quite the looker in person.
"Man, CGI don't do her justice in the cartoons..." He thought to himself.
He heard Davis' voice in his headset.
"Misfit Two this is Misfit Three, do you have eyes on the HVP?"
"Roger that, I have eyes on HVP, and I gotta say, she's quite the looker."
"Focus on the mission, Misfit Two. Any sign of enemy contact?"
Mayfield shifted his position and checked through his scope. With the tiara placed on her head and holding the scepter and orb, Elsa was now officially the Queen of Arendelle. The coronation had gone without a hitch. He keyed the mic on his radio.
"Misfit Three, negative...no sign of enemy contact...just sayin' the loot's a lucky guy if he gets to meet her in person..."
Elsa quickly placed the scepter and orb back onto the pillow, then turned to face the audience. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody, not the bishop presiding over the ceremony, nor her younger sister Ana, nor any of the attending guests saw her magical powers.
She was only partly right. It escaped the attention of SGM Wolfe, who was by this point grumbling to himself about having to babysit a boot lieutenant and watch a coronation instead of overseeing this operation. It escaped the attention of Lt. Bradley, who was too busy in admiration on attending his first coronation. It even escaped the attention of Mayfield who was too busy checking out her out to notice.
It didn't escape the attention of one person. Concealed in the shadows was a shorter man wearing a simple but luxurious frock coat and tie, in fact, there was nothing that distinguished him from any of the other guests. His piercing grey eyes, however, did catch sight of the momentary display of Elsa's ice magic. The man raised an eyebrow and turned, addressing the audience.
"So, my suspicions were spot on."
The man slowly made his way out of a side door in the church, into a small courtyard that led to a smaller door. Captain Pilton loosened his cravat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"But, seeing as how this really is Frozen, I know exactly how all this shit is gonna go down."
He pushed open the door, revealing a path that led to a small thicket outside the castle walls.
"This promises to be fun."
As he approached the thicket he reached into the pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a radio. He keyed the mic and spoke.
"Kilo One-One, this is Kilo Actual, be advised I am inbound."
Dossler's voice came through the static on the other end.
"Roger that Kilo Actual, will advise perimeter."
Pilton took a drag from his cigarette and glanced back at the audience.
"Not as swanky accommodations as what Prince Hans gets, but it'll do for the mission."
He paused.
"Oh well, by this point ol' Hansie is going to be making contact with the target's little sister, courtesy of a 'chance meeting' on the docks."
Captain Pilton took another drag.
"...and with some coaching from me and a nudge will help push the target over the edge, and reveal her true colors."
The captain's face contorted into an evil grin.
"And that's where we come in. I help Prince Hans hunt down a dangerous Ice Witch, he saves the kingdom and is rewarded handsomely."
Pilton stubbed out his cigarette and gave the audience another aside.
"What? You mean what about Hans and his plans to kill Ana? Well, that's none of my business. He's free either to save her and be rewarded, or kill her and inherit Arendelle."
He pocketed his pack of cigarettes and ducked under a low-hanging tree branch.
"That's the beauty of free will, isn't it?"
Pilton stepped into a small clearing in the thicket, where the soldiers of Kilo Company had set up a makeshift camp. The Interrogator approached, but not before the commander of Kilo Company turned one last time to the audience and smiled, this time more genuinely.
"Didn't I say this was worth the wait?"
(Meanwhile, inside Castle Akershus)
Queen Elsa rolled her eyes as the Duke of Weselton left. The man was insufferable, and it was all she could do to not tell the little weasel off. She leaned over to her adviser.
"Who is next?"
"Two envoys from the Royal Court of Albion, your Highness."
She had heard that the ambassadors arrived in a bizarre metal coach that moved on its own accord without horses. It was explained as an invention of the king's court mage, an enigmatic wizard named Merlin.
She nodded and turned to see two men approach. They were wearing dark navy blue dolmans with lighter blue trousers. The older soldier, with a weather-beaten face and short silver hair that spoke of a career soldier, had his trouser hems tucked into black polished boots, the younger one wore more conventional dress shoes. Both had multi-colored ribbons decorating their chests, they must be military honors, she thought.
Bradley swallowed hard. The newly crowned queen of Arendelle was different up close and personal. He had seen the intel photos in the debriefing, but now he was very much struck by how beautiful and regal she was in person. He glanced over to SGM Wolfe, who gave a small nod.
Elsa watched as the older soldier nodded to his subordinate, he had far more ribbons on his chest so he must be the ranking officer. The younger soldier approached her, he had dark blue eyes and blonde hair, which was also short. It must be a style for Albionian soldiers, Elsa thought. He was also very handsome. She took in a sharp breath as the young officer cleared his throat.
"Greetings, your Majesty, on behalf of his Highness the King of Albion. We bring the King's felicitations on your coronation and offer these lucrative trading rights as tribute."
He held up a scroll of linen parchment, bound with the royal Seal of Albion. Elsa, for her part, caught herself staring at the young officer. Off-guard and not knowing what else to say, Queen Elsa simply nodded.
"Then your monarch has my thanks."
Elsa's attention was momentarily drawn towards the open area of the ballroom, she watched as her younger sister awkwardly danced with the Duke of Weselton. She smiled to herself and was still thinking about that when she collided with another body. The man staggered back, but immediately stiffened.
"I'm sorry ma'-er-your majesty, are you alright?"
She focused on the young man in a uniform, and remembered that it was one of King Arthur's envoys. For a moment she was lost in his blue eyes, then an idea occurred to her.
"It is no worry, good sir, save one request."
The young officer nodded.
"Of course, anything!"
Elsa fidgeted awkwardly with the hem of her cloak, alternating between glancing at the young officer and a fixed spot on the far wall of the banquet hall. This handsome young man was the first real person that she had spoken to who was not a relative or part of the royal household. She suddenly wished she was near the table that had all the chocolate. It wouldn't help, but at least she could keep her hands from fidgeting. And sample some delicious chocolate in the process, she flushed pink at the thought.
"Uhhh...your Majesty?"
She turned her attention back to the envoy. Those blue eyes seemed as lost as she was, it did make her feel marginally better. Finally she blurted out.
"Does the charming young officer have a name?"
That caused him to flush a bit pink.
"2nd Lt. Bradley, of the 'Damned 33rd', your Majesty."
He saw her flinch at the name of his unit and hastily added.
"Technically it's the 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion, the 'Damned' part is just a nickname, your Majesty."
"I see. The Albionian Royal court must have some very powerful enemies to have such an army at their disposal."
She fought down a flush that was creeping up her neck and to her cheeks, but Elsa was relieved that the words were coming more naturally. At least the heat seemed to be keeping her powers at bay, she thought to herself. She was also relieved that the young officer named Lt. Bradley starting talking about his military unit, and their exploits. Most of it was lost on the young queen, but she did enjoy hearing the sound of the young man's voice.
She found out that in fact this lieutenant was in fact a junior officer and the older man was not of a higher rank, but rather a förste sergeant. Bradley introduced him as Sergeant Major Wolfe, who gave her a cursory nod. He reminded Elsa of a stern uncle who served in several military campaigns, one whom both her and Ana always felt self-conscious in front of. To her great relief, after the introduction the grim-faced sergeant excused himself and made his way to the far end of the banquet hall.
The young queen noticed that that even as he spoke with her, Lt. Bradley's eyes kept flicking about the room, as though he was looking for potential trouble. Then as she turned to accept a flute of champagne from a servant. The quartet had started playing again, but over the din of the music Elsa could hear Bradley speaking quietly to himself. She couldn't make out the words, but she caught the last thing he spoke.
"Roger that."
She walked up to him, seeing his right hand was over his ear. Elsa had a strange impulse that came over her, but couldn't resist it. As she approached Bradley, the young queen felt nervous.
"Excuse me, sir."
Bradley turned quickly, and flushed as if he had been caught doing something that he shouldn't have. Elsa took advantage of this, held her head up and spoke in her best queenly voice.
"Lt. Bradley, I politely request that you would have the honor of the next dance with the Queen of Arendelle!"
Her request caught the soldier off guard, and it took him a full minute to parse out exactly what Elsa was asking him.
"Come again?!"
Sgt. Major Wolfe keyed the mic on his radio.
"That's the gist of the sitch, sir."
LTC Long's voice came through the static in his earpiece.
"Understood, Sergeant Major. Charlie Mike, continue with the operation, anything changes keep me posted. Otherwise Lt. Bradley's still on point."
"Acknowledged, sir. Will keep eyes on potential HEC's."
"Excuse me! Are you talking to yourself?"
Wolfe froze, and looked over to see a young girl in her teens staring at him. She was dressed in a very formal dress of deep forest green, and had vivid red hair. And lots of freckles. The sergeant major recalled the intel brief. This was the queen's younger sister Anna. He gave a brief shake of his head.
"That's a negative, miss."
He considered the matter closed and turned to go, but the girl grabbed his sleeve and stopped him.
"Wait, I was sure you were talking to yourself."
Wolfe gave the impudent girl one of his withering glares that could cause paint to peel and fresh OTS graduates to lose control of their bladders.
"I. Was. Not. Now let go of my arm and scram!"
Anna shook her head and continued as if the old soldier hadn't even spoke.
"…I know you were speaking to someone, because you were calling someone 'Roger', who were you speaking to?"
Wolfe rolled his eyes and pulled a radio out of his pocket, unplugging the earpiece.
"Look, kid, I was having a conversation with my commander using this magic box, it allows communication over long distance. Nothing nefarious. Speaking of which, have you seen Lt. Bradley? He's younger, blonde and wearing the same clothes as me."
Anna paused and put a finger to the corner of her mouth.
"Oh, that's easy! He's dancing with my sister Elsa."
That caused Wolfe to lose his composure.
"He's what?"
His eyes darted to the dance floor, and sure enough, there was the queen of Arendelle, Queen Elsa, blushing and dancing with Lt. Bradley. With his US Army dress uniform on display to every pair of eyes in the room the lieutenant was the antithesis of discrete, as he awkwardly trying to keep up with the young queen and avoid stepping on her toes. At least Elsa looked like she was enjoying herself, although that was no consolation to Wolfe. The sergeant major shook his head.
"This observe and report mission was rapidly degenerating into a clusterfuck..."
Glossary
Förste Sergeant: Literally translates as 'First Sergeant', this is a senior ranking NCO in the Swedish Army. It's anachronistic since the rank was introduced in the 1970's, but, then again so's having a US Army Battalion in a Disney Princess story ;)
By the way the reason for Long and Wolfe joking about Bradley's sense of direction is a running gag in the US Army. One of the courses in Officer Training School is Land Nav, or Land Navigation, and historically all 'Boot Loots' have a terrible sense of direction and are always getting lost in their Land Nav courses.
Hopefully I'm getting the A&E personalities right. For any of the Elsa haters who are saying she's acting OOC by flirting with Bradley, I say she's a girl in her late teens who's been isolated from anyone and everyone who is not her immediate family. She's never had a chance to go out on a date (not that she would even under the best of circs, given that she's royalty) let along talked to anyone her age, so if her Prince Charming comes in the form of Lt. 'Boot' Bradley, well...can't blame her ;)
Next chapter will be up later this month, and it will get interesting so stay tuned!