Chapter Three: Disquiet
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Sand Island Air Force Base, Ceres Ocean.
September 24th, 2010.
1600hrs.
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Genette watched from the sidelines as the group of pilots all played with Chopper's dog, Kirk. One of them, usually Chopper, would throw the frisbee and when Kirk gave chase the others would try and take it from him. Often as a result of him wanting it thrown again but refusing to give it up. Genette had been invited by Chopper to join the games, but it wasn't exactly his speed. He'd accompanied them out there, though, and the woman called Alto was nice enough to offer him a soda even if he didn't join in.
They were all a rather unique group, and he enjoyed watching them have a good time around each other. Even in spite of what had happened. Chopper had been tight-lipped about the whole thing, evading the question and jumping from one topic to the next at a rapid fire pace in hopes Genette would forget about it. Somehow, in just an hour or so since the squadron returned, the only word he'd heard in passing was that they came across a UFO. It fit the bill for the most part, if you used a broader definition of 'unidentified' from his understanding.
He took a sip from his soda as he observed the scene before him from a bench set up just outside the hangar doors, the mechanic they all referred to as 'Pops' working on a transport plane inside. Genette would have liked to be properly working, able to take footage and photographs, but without his camera that was impossible. So instead he jotted down a few things in a notebook that they'd yet to take from him. It wasn't small, but it was able to fit into the inner pockets of his vest, so unless they were monitoring him at all times he doubted they'd go so far as to snatch it from him.
As he set his drink down and opened it up, ready to start scribbling some thoughts down for later – assuming he was even allowed to do the piece he'd come here for – Pops' voice echoed out in the hangar behind him. "Y'know, if they catch you with that you're probably gonna have hell to pay."
Genette nearly jumped out of his skin at the comment, already paranoid about potential consequences. He settled down once his brain registered there was no threat of an MP or senior officer there. "You're probably right…then again, I could just say it's my diary," he said, only half-joking. "It's not like anyone can read my handwriting but me."
"You write for a living and you don't have neat handwriting? There's some irony for you," Pops said with a light chuckle. "Then again, I guess computers make it easier on you, huh?"
"You have no idea. I don't know how I ever made it without one," Genette said. Every comment on his handwriting, even his own embarrassment over it, just made him all the more happier he hadn't been born in the Dark Ages. His infinite curiosity and ideas would have had absolutely no constructive outlet were that the case. He tapped the end of his pen lightly at the top of the page, then flipped it closed. "Anyways. It's not like most of it will do me any good. If the military has their way, then the story I'm after won't ever happen. So, it doesn't matter what I write down."
"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Pops said, having barely glanced his way during the whole exchange, keeping his hands busy as he tinkered with something on the transport plane he flew. "Before you know it this whole mess'll be settled, you'll get your story, and you can go home in no time. If we're being optimistic at this point…though between you and me, nothing in this world has ever been that easy."
"A quick look at history could tell anyone that much," Genette responded, turning his own attention back to the soldiers and dog racing about the runway before him. It was almost enough to take his mind off the current situation. Almost.
"Smart young man," Pops complimented with a light laugh. Despite his words and everything going on around him, he'd been remaining upbeat this entire time, seemingly unbothered by things occurring around him. Genette wondered if it could be a facade, but he didn't yet know him well enough to say. "In any case, keep your chin up. If the last couple of days have proven anything at all, it's that you never know what could happen."
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Thanks," Genette said genuinely. It gave him something to think about, and so long as the gears in his head were turning he'd be just fine without an actual job to do. For now, anyways, he'd be far too restless before long if something didn't give. Maybe even enough to consider playing fetch with Kirk like the others. But until he reached that point, he was content to observe, and to better understand the people he was stuck with.
Only a few more minutes passed by, during which a few of the pilots dropped to the ground to rest for a while after a lengthy game of chase with Kirk when he decided to go sprinting down the length of the runway so they wouldn't take the frisbee from him. Chopper returned to the others with Kirk slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour, strangely alright with being carried in such a manner. He still refused to give up the frisbee, not even when Chopper finally set him back on the ground and he went hopping away a few steps, waiting for the game to continue.
Genette's attention was pulled away from the scene by Bartlett and Cruise's arrival, the two of them marching towards the hangar, in vastly different moods. Cruise was frowning, though it bordered on an irritated scowl, while Bartlett was smirking as if he'd just won some kind of argument. At first Genette wondered if there was conflict between the two of them somehow, but as they approached and were finally within earshot he found that wasn't the case at all. Not based on the end of their conversation that he caught.
"...pretty sure if you weren't the only instructor left Perrault would have shot you," Cruise said, looking truly exasperated by him. Bartlett was stifling a laugh, waving her off, but that didn't silence her. "I hate these guys, too, but you don't have to kiss their ass to stay out of trouble."
"You were makin' just as many smartass comments as I was," Bartlett quickly pointed out with a shake of his head. "Besides, all I did was state my opinion. Nothin' wrong with that."
Cruise crossed her arms, stopping a few feet from where Genette sat while Bartlett kept walking, not looking back at her. She huffed. "My smart ass comments were only meant to be heard by you. Next time you get onto your nuggets for being disrespectful, I'm going to remind you of what you said," she told him. Then she adopted a poor mockery of his voice, "'All I did was state my opinion'."
The Captain chose to ignore her, laughing the exchange off. Cruise was quick to forgive, not that she was too upset to begin with, leaving the matter alone. Maybe she was just happy she got the last word in. Watching the two of them, it was hard to imagine there was any difference in their rank. They treated each other like equals, and apparently – based on what Cruise had said – liked to badmouth their superiors behind their backs. Well, Bartlett was more forward with that badmouthing than Cruise was.
Genette watched as Bartlett and Cruise both silently greeted Pops, who seemed amused by the whole exchange. While Genette was curious, he didn't outright ask them what they were talking about, wanting to know more than just that. He knew the Captain had been brought in to speak with the superiors, apparently about the alleged unsanctioned dogfight. He didn't want to press it if they didn't want to discuss it, though, so he tried a subtle approach. "So, how did everything go with you two?"
"They chewed his ass out for engaging without permission," Cruise said nonchalantly, taking a seat at the opposite end of the bench Genette sat on. She leaned forward, cupping her face in her hands. She seemed exhausted. "I got roped into it, but I wasn't there for that."
"What were you there for?" Genette asked.
"Call it emotional support," Cruise answered with a short chuckle.
"I didn't need backup, though your concern is touching. Honestly, the whole thing was just a bunch of posturing. That and they're ticked off because I didn't let my pilots die just to avoid anyone thinking something might be wrong out here," Bartlett said, pacing a few short steps each way, seemingly restless, before he finally stopped. He placed his hands behind his back, watching some of his trainees as they enjoyed the late afternoon sun. Only Chopper and Kirk were still in the game, the others having dropped to the ground to sit. Bartlett didn't look away from them as he spoke, smiling softly. "Honestly, why do they even bother reprimanding me? I know I'm gonna be stuck at Captain forever, I don't need to be reminded. Just like they know I'm never gonna be able to follow orders to their satisfaction. Waste of everyone's time if you ask me."
"When you consider it's a matter of security, it makes a little more sense. Though it's still stupid. You do your job, people get mad. You don't, people die. And get mad," Cruise said, sounding as though she'd already had this conversation with him. At the very least, she humored him. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't. It wouldn't matter either way, anyone in that area would have seen what happened. Civilians aren't nearly as stupid as the military likes to pretend."
Genette lowered his gaze somewhat, keeping his head up but his eyes on the pavement below, holding his hands in front of him. He ran his fingers along the back of his hand, trying to find a good way to question them. It was a pretty sensitive subject, but at the same time he didn't like being left in the dark. If they were going to force him to stay there because of what he knew, he may as well actually know something. "Why do you think they're covering up the battle? We may still be at peace officially but…it feels pretty fragile."
"Listen…" Bartlett said, taking a deep breath, and Genette tilted his head towards him, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "The only thing waiting across that ocean is Murska Air Base. That's Yuktobanian territory."
Genette considered that for a minute. He didn't say something directly, but the implications in his answer were clear enough. From the direction the enemy came and the direction they'd retreated, it lined up. At least as far as Genette could tell. Even so, it was a bold accusation. Especially given Osea and Yuktobania's current relationship. "But haven't we been allies with the Yukes since the war fifteen years ago?"
"Yup, and that's exactly the issue," Cruise said, straightening up, clapping her hands on her knees. She began to explain, "We've seen nothing but MiGs, and while they aren't the only country that uses them they've got an awful lot of them. It's one of the two aircraft series their manufacturers helped produce with North Osea's company. They pioneered them. Then there's the livery on that reconnaissance craft, the direction. Just one too many 'coincidences'…"
"Yeah. That's why we've got people working their asses off trying to confirm what the hell's going on over there," Bartlett added, keeping a faint smile, but he sounded almost reluctant to agree. He lowered his head, staring down at their shadows for a few moments while he spoke. Then he lifted his head towards the sunset again, sighing. "I bet they've got hotlines ringin' off the hook somewhere upstairs. The government doesn't want to get the public too riled up with all of this, y'know?"
"There'd be instant outrage if it got out. Both countries would be at each other's throats whether there was actually a war brewing between them or not," Cruise said, glancing up at him. It was like she kept looking for a specific reaction from him. Not because she was fishing for it but because she was expecting it. Maybe worried about him. She kept talking. "So even if we already know what might be going on, it's better not to be hasty."
"But, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. Soldiers like us are too stupid to think for ourselves, so we just gotta keep our mouths shut and roll over when they tell us to. Even if we were at war, they'd never admit that they let an enemy get so far across our border," Bartlett said, his tone and expression shifting to match his frustrations. He softened again as he looked back at Genette. "After having to watch this shitshow go down, I feel kinda bad for you, actually. Getting dragged into it and all."
"Nah, it's alright," Genette said with a slight, breathy chuckle to put him at ease, not bothering to fight off a smile. If nothing else, he got to see what life was like for them all when no one was looking, just waiting for the call to action. It felt real and all the more intriguing. "It's not so bad. I get to be with you guys."
"Y'know, given all the evidence, I'll bet the Captain's probably hating this more than anybody," Pops said suddenly, the first thing he'd said since his brief conversation with Genette earlier. Genette gave a curious hum as he straightened up, furrowing his brow as he and the others turned so they were facing him. His tone was almost teasing as he approached them, wiping some grease off of his hands. "He used to have a lady friend over in Yuktobania, back when we were all on the same side."
"Really?" Genette couldn't help but feel slightly amused, turning over to find Bartlett staring at the ground with an almost sheepish look on his face. That was a side he couldn't really picture him having.
"Oh, yeah. An intelligence officer for the Yuke Army," Cruise helpfully answered for him before he could say anything about it, almost playful in the way she said it. She was almost dramatic as she added, "I had just been assigned as his backseater not long before she went back to Yuktobania, and took his heart right along with her."
"Okay, okay, can it, would ya?" Bartlett responded, smiling in spite of himself as he walked over and lightly cuffed the side of Cruise's head. She laughed it off and he shook his head in exasperation as he told Genette, "Don't listen to these two. It wasn't meant to last and it's hardly the love story they make it out to be."
"I'd say it's definitely up there," Cruise said, tapping Genette's shoulder and pointing to Bartlett's spare F-4 sitting off in the corner of the hangar. He turned to look at it, unsure what exactly he was meant to see until she pointed it out to him. It was a playing card, specifically an Ace of Hearts with a dagger cutting through it, Bartlett's personal emblem. One that Genette hadn't thought anything of at first. "Take a look at the emblem on the nose. Subtle, isn't it?"
Bartlett sighed, accepting defeat on the matter. Though Cruise and even Pops definitely enjoyed teasing him, it was hard to tell if he was irritated they'd put him on the spot or genuinely didn't believe it to be a big deal. He seemed embarrassed, but shrugged it off, shaking his head as Genette gave him a curious look and Pops expectantly looked to him for a response. "Eh. It's just an old war wound now. Couldn't fix it even if I wanted to."
Genette didn't want to press the matter, so he was grateful when Pops changed the subject and instead questioned him and Cruise about the mission. The whole time, Genette listened, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Not only did the emblem make sense, but his personal callsign as well. Though Bartlett laughed it off, it seemed there was more to it than he was letting on, but Genette wasn't in any position to question him about it any further. They barely knew one another, after all, it wouldn't be polite. The less he knew the better.
So he stayed quiet and content with the knowledge he had, waiting for an invitation back into the discussion. Even if he couldn't write anything, he had a good feeling about things going forward. Or rather, a good feeling about the Wardog Squadron going forward. The actual situation he found himself stuck in was a completely different story.
September 26th, 2010.
1300hrs.
Osea was at war. They just didn't realize it yet.
Captain Allen C. Hamilton sat in his office, listening to the roar of jet engines as Wardog Squadron took to the air on one of the recent increased patrols. They were being sent up like clockwork, with the purpose of preventing anymore trespassers from surprising them. Hamilton was perhaps the only person not in total denial over the identity of their soon to be enemy, well aware of who it was. He was privy to previous incidents in Yuktobania's territory, although that wasn't the only reason. Anyone could see from the evidence, mainly the footage of the aircraft, exactly who was responsible.
On the surface, at least. Hamilton stared at the blank page that would soon hold a report, but it wasn't for the Osean military. He'd already written that one, this report was for his own, personal reasons. An assessment of the Osean military's strategies, their aircraft, the 3rd Naval Fleet that had conducted several joint operations with the Sand Island Squadron in the past…among many other topics. To anyone that got too curious it would appear to be nothing more than some journal of sorts for the sake of documentation. Anyone that knew him well would especially have no reason to question it, but that was a practically nonexistent list.
The only potential wrench in his daily activities moving forward was that sister of his. Somewhere along the line he felt like he'd failed her. Kathryn used to be a warm and cheerful person, then as she got older she became stubborn and withdrawn. And a pain. Always thinking she had something to prove and at the end of the day all she was proving was the plethora of negative qualities she'd come to possess. On some level, he blamed their father's return and overprotectiveness, but he played a part in that, too. By now the only person that actually knew her was that friend she was so fond of, Hans Grimm.
But the main issue with Kathryn was that she did not respect Hamilton's authority, if she respected anyone's at all, and that worried him. If she wasn't careful she was going to stick her nose where it did not belong and get herself into trouble he'd be unable to help her out of. Whether either of them liked to admit such a simple fact, he was not going to be around to protect her forever. There was a limit to how much he could do for her.
Thankfully for the time being she seemed content to avoid him, and with how frequent these patrols were becoming she would hardly be around to bother him much. So for now, Hamilton was content to ignore it. He could burn that bridge when he came to it. Maybe if he was lucky, she'd be a valuable asset if it came down to it, assuming she could keep her nose clean long enough. There wasn't any point in worrying about it now.
Sighing, not getting anywhere with this report, Hamilton decided it was time to move on to his next plan for the day. He locked his laptop as a precaution, getting to his feet and setting off for the base commander's office, sure to shut his own office door behind him. The day was no busier than usual, so there weren't many people he had to steer clear of to avoid a collision or a conversation, and fortunately for him Colonel Perrault's office wasn't very far from his own.
In a matter of minutes he arrived at his superior's door, lightly knocking on it and waiting for the ever sour sounding response as he was ordered inside. Hamilton opened the door, stepping through and closing it in a single motion. Perrault looked up at him, a scowl seemingly permanently etched into his face as he greeted his adjutant. "Captain Hamilton. Something I can help you with?"
"There's something I've been meaning to speak with you about, sir. Regarding that journalist, Mr. Albert Genette," Hamilton said, forcing himself to be formal and courteous. The Colonel wasn't exactly someone he liked working with but he'd learned quickly to stay on his good side. In addition to that, once you knew which buttons to avoid and what strings to pull in any given interaction with him, it became quite easy to control any conversation. Whether he realized it or not. But in order to do that he had to think he was actually in control. At all times.
"Oh? And what about him?" Perrault asked, seeming almost bored already. As if anticipating the worst, he let out a groan before Hamilton could answer. "Don't tell me he's found a way to cause trouble already. He hasn't even been here a week."
"Quite the opposite, sir. In fact, he's been a paragon of good behavior. Courteous and respectful, even given the circumstances he's found himself in," Hamilton said, choosing each and every word as carefully as he could. What he was about to ask would hardly benefit anyone, but some part of Hamilton took pity on the guy. He'd been treated more or less as a prisoner ever since the first incident. There was no telling, perhaps he'd be of use later on, but for now Hamilton just wanted a clean conscience. "Which is what I wanted to speak to you about. I feel we've misjudged him and treated him unfairly, even under the circumstances."
"It's a matter of security, simple as that. Anyone should understand that," Perrault said dismissively, almost with a sigh. "If you feel bad for him, that's your problem, but I for one see no reason why I should feel guilty for doing my job. Now, if he came to you and filed a complaint…well, he can just get over it."
"He's filed no such complaint and he's complied with any and all regulations laid out for him. Quite willingly, I should add," Hamilton argued, sure to keep a level head. The idea had hit him earlier that day, though he knew it was a longshot. "None of what happened was his fault. It seems like overkill to essentially punish him."
"Sounds to me like you're going soft on the guy. If we give him an inch he'll be taking it a mile," Perrault said matter-of-factly, leaning back in his seat. "Once all of this is settled he's free to go, but for now I'm not going to risk having some civilian blabbing to the public that we let all of this happen. It's bad press."
"What's the worst that he could do? All of the photos and video footage have been completely destroyed. Without any evidence, there's nothing for him to report," Hamilton said. Not for the first time he wondered why he was bothering to argue this case, but in a way he just didn't want to see someone singled out the way Genette had been by Perrault. Photography and writing had been hobbies of his some time ago, before the military and life as a whole got in the way. To see someone having to stifle a passion of theirs, especially a valuable one like that, it rubbed him the wrong way. Someone had to look out for the guy. "Consider it this way…whatever happens from here, he'll be the first to dress it up for us. Willingly, even. If we refuse to return his property and send him on the way, however…that definitely would lead to 'bad press'."
Perrault hesitated, considering what he was being told. He often spoke to Hamilton about what a dump the base was and how someone as high and mighty as himself deserved a more glamorous post than a training base, but the second there was a chance to make himself look better he couldn't pass it up. Although Genette had come to Sand Island for Bartlett – someone that Hamilton kept his opinions about to himself – he was only welcomed because Hamilton convinced Perrault to see him as an asset. Eventually the island as a training base could rival the status of Heierlark Air Force Base. Or so Perrault seemed to think.
Eventually, he started to give in, with only some reluctance. "You seem awfully convinced of his value."
"Call it intuition. I know skill when I see it," Hamilton said, and it was the truth. He had a way of seeing potential, hence his sister and Grimm's assignment. They were good kids, they just needed direction. In this case, Genette was an excellent journalist, he just needed an ally. "He's more trustworthy than you give him credit for. I know you looked into those articles. Very few write with that level of knowledge and respect."
"Hmph. Fine." Perrault huffed. Play his ego and make him feel important and one could get anything they wanted out of him. In this case, Hamilton just had to point out a few things that would be useful to Perrault specifically. He sat up in his seat. "There are conditions to this, however. We do this my way."
Or so you may think. Hamilton kept the thought to himself. "Very well, then. Shoot."
"Until we receive official confirmation on what's going on, any footage or photography is to be heavily restricted. He will not leave his quarters unless supervised by an officer," Perrault began to rattle off a list of rules that almost sounded rehearsed, counting them off one by one on his fingers. "Any and all writing is to go through a review and approval process before publication, though that one is a given. Lastly, should his actions and words in any way prove to be disruptive and disrespectful, responsibility is to be placed on your shoulders. I hope you've considered all of this carefully. You're a good soldier, after all."
"Thank you, sir. I assure you it won't be something you'll regret," Hamilton said, and he realized not for the first time that he'd said those exact words before. To many different people, all in the name of seeking their trust and approval. In all of those instances, he hadn't yet regretted it. Although a case could be made for how badly Kathryn was capable of reflecting on him, with some careful damage control it wasn't much of an issue. Although it was arguably another burden he'd have to bear, he had a good feeling about Genette for the most part. "If things don't work out, I'll take full responsibility."
"You'd better. He'll be here on your good word, after all. And we've all seen what can come from that," Perrault said casually, making a poor attempt at subtlety. Hamilton ignored it, never once letting his poker face slip. There was a moment of silence as Perrault stared behind him at the door, an unusually thoughtful look on his face (proving he was indeed capable of thinking). Then he spoke again, changing the topic, "Whatever shitstorm is coming our way isn't going to be an easy fight, at least if the rumors from higher up the ladder are true. The last thing we need is poor PR…"
"I wholeheartedly agree, sir. Hence my belief in Mr. Genette's value," Hamilton said with a small smile, trying to appear somewhat upbeat. "No matter what happens, the military will be prepared. The public should be able to rest easy."
That was a lie, and one he said with practiced ease. From what he knew about this entire ordeal, absolutely no one on either side of this conflict would be prepared. At least not fully. He tried not to dwell on the details. He didn't want a war, and those above him and behind things likely didn't either, but as far as he could tell it was a necessary step for proper justice. It was a long awaited reckoning. All he had to do in this show was play the role he was given and everything was supposed to work out.
Perrault gave him an almost bored look, having no reason to seem at all suspicious, likely more irritated by the fact Hamilton had spoken and interrupted his thinking. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms. "As if there's any question that our military will deal with matters swiftly," he said. "As for what you needed, I'll speak with the MPs on the matter. If that's all, there's matters I need to attend to."
"Of course. Thank you for giving me the time, sir. I'll be on my way," Hamilton said, offering up a quick salute that was lazily waved off by Perrault. So he then gave a quick nod, spun on his heel, and marched quickly and quietly to the office door. Open and shut in one quick and quiet motion, almost sighing in relief as he heard the door faintly click behind him. He shook his head and set off on the return trip to his office, holding back a scoff as he glanced over his shoulder. Gullible, but his superior had his uses. Even for small, meaningless favors.
The walk back to his own office was a brisk one just as before, only with more nods and forced smiles of greeting to various peers and subordinates as he marched past them. He gave no one any indication that things were out of the ordinary, cool professionalism easily his greatest weapon. In the coming war it would serve him more than it already did, and while not looking forward to it he was confident. Either in himself and his own abilities or in that of his superiors, Osean military or otherwise.
As soon as he made it back to his office, he was quick to shut the door, though he didn't return to his seat. He lingered by the window, staring out at the runway as everyone went about business as usual for the most part. In the time he'd been gone, Wardog Squadron had completed their patrol and that familiar sound of jet engines grew closer and closer as they returned, making their approach on the runway. He kept watching, unable to keep his attention from being drawn to the aircraft. One by one the four of them landed, proceeding to taxi back to the flight line. In no time they'd be taking to the air once more. He found the whole ordeal to be a bit pointless. No amount of patrols was going to save them.
The plan was already set in motion whether anyone cared to admit it or not. Before long war stories would be making the headlines and one plane crossing the border would be the least of anyone's concerns. It would start small and then explode almost overnight. Near constant surveillance of their borders wouldn't even be enough. There were only a few people that could stop this from happening, and as far as Hamilton could tell they were satisfied so far with how things were unfolding. So there wasn't any point dwelling on the matter, not when it was out of his control. He just had to sit back and watch the show until his cue, though he could already feel himself growing restless.
As silence settled around the base once more and the aircraft disappeared from his view, Hamilton sighed and moved back to his desk, staring down at his phone and laptop as he considered his next course of action. He picked up the phone, holding the receiver to his ear and hesitating as his fingers hovered over the numbers. It was a simple call, but not a smart one to make, and certainly not on an easily compromised line. There were other people he thought to call, anything to procrastinate on writing that report of his. His uncle, perhaps, to make sure his family was somewhere safe. Somewhere that wouldn't be a priority should Osea be attacked. Or his father, but his father had a strange way of seeing through bullshit in a heartbeat, especially when it came to his children. If he wanted to raise alarms, that was the fastest way to do it.
Admitting defeat, he set the receiver back down with a short sigh and lightly tapped it with his index finger a few times. Then he moved around his desk, returning to his seat and opening his laptop back up. There wasn't any point in doing anything else, it wouldn't do any good to procrastinate when it came to the inevitable. Just like it wouldn't do any good to make phone calls under the guise of concern. While the idea of his family being among the casualties wasn't one he liked, nor was the idea of being left in the dark until he was useful all that appealing, but there wasn't anything to be done about it.
At least he knew this war was brewing, and that would have to be enough. Eventually he'd be less powerless than he was now, able to offer more assistance than just playing puppet master with the base commander. Some part of him missed flying and being in control of what happened in the skies. He hadn't joined the air force to be stuck on the ground, but that was where his previous squadron told him he was needed, so he trusted them and complied. On some level he always knew talent and skill would only get him so far, but it still stung a little no matter how they tried to paint it. He consoled himself with the knowledge he'd have his opportunity sooner or later. For now he had to tolerate the lack of control.
Pushing any and all distractions out of his head, he began to type up his assessments of what cards Osea had hidden under their sleeve, and what threat to this war they may pose. For a moment, he wondered if it was worth noting how Wardog Squadron had performed in battle, though ultimately he decided that information would need to wait. Even he wasn't sure, in spite of his confidence in their pilots' abilities. They could easily slip up and get themselves killed much like their wingmen in that 'training incident', rendering their mention in any of his reports as pointless, or perhaps they'd continue to hold their own and prove to be a headache. Only time would tell how things would unfold.
As the afternoon dragged on, Hamilton watched the squadron take off once more as he mused over a conclusion to his first report.
September 27th, 2010.
0730hrs.
Things had begun to return to normal, at least as far as everyone else was concerned. There hadn't been any more attacks, no more unidentified aircraft, and no official word from their higher-ups that anything was going on. Since none of their patrols over the last few days had turned up anything suspicious – and none of the military's infinite satellites or radar had detected anything worth noting – as far as anyone else was concerned there was nothing to be worried about.
The problem was, Kathryn found she wasn't very good at not worrying. It seemed she was the odd one out, as everyone else was content to not bother themselves with the situation. Well, for the most part. The only one still acting weird was Nagase, but if she was worried then no one else was going to find out about it. Bartlett was also acting somewhat unusually, but he was known for that at this point, so Kathryn wasn't quite as concerned about that. Not until she had good reason to be.
That morning in the mess hall, Kathryn scanned the room as she held onto the styrofoam tray that contained her breakfast, trying to find a suitable place for her and Hans to sit. Really, she was just trying to find someone else she was familiar with to talk to. It wasn't terribly crowded, but she was on a bit of a personal mission. One that Hans picked up on the second he'd finished getting his own food and took notice of the look on her face.
"Are things with Lieutenant Nagase really that bad?" he asked her almost immediately as he rejoined her side.
"Something's wrong and no one wants to talk to me about it," Kathryn responded. She'd been confiding in Hans about everything going on, and while he was clearly just as anxious he still chose to play the voice of reason. Although her main reason was concern for her friend, there was underlying curiosity or maybe even frustration motivating her as well. Fear definitely played a part, too. "I don't like being left in the dark. Especially not with how things have been."
"You really should just let it go," Hans said with a sigh, lightly grabbing hold of her arm to move her forward so they weren't in anyone's way. Simultaneously allowing him to take control of the situation and keep her from holding up their breakfast. Fair enough, she was hungry. "If there's something we need to know, then we'll know it. That goes for both the higher-ups and Lieutenant Nagase."
"I find it hard to believe you're actually willing to settle with that," Kathryn said, glancing up at him beside her. He looked at her, then away and said nothing. She knew him well enough to know when he was keeping his mouth shut, never one to want to make things worse no matter what it was.
"Well, it's not like what I think really matters. That's the way things are," Hans replied. Despite how his words seemed, he didn't sound irritated at all. Nervous, yes, but far from irritated. Sometimes she wondered how he kept his cool even when something clearly was bothering him, but he never taught her the secret to his patience. Nothing else was said on the matter as they reached the table he'd led her to, greeting its occupants with a pleasant smile. "Good morning."
It was one of the least crowded tables in the mess, only two people seated at it. Dogma and Arrow were seated across from each other, half-drunk cups of coffee and almost empty plates in front of them. As Kathryn took a seat beside Arrow and Hans sat across from her, Dogma gave them a half-hearted response in greeting while Arrow was the only one to return Hans' smile and pleasantries. "Good morning. We were just talking about you two."
"Oh, wonderful," Kathryn said, picking up her piece of toast. She took a bite from it before she looked over at Dogma, swallowing before she spoke. "Since when did you start gossiping?"
"Just talking about what a pain in the ass you can be. That's not gossip," Dogma retorted, forcing an almost pleasant smile and tone as he casually took a sip of his coffee. He shrugged, returning to his usual neutral expression. "In all seriousness, we were just talking about the operation the other day. The fact that you happened to come up was unintentional, trust me."
"If it makes you feel any better we were technically talking about everyone," Arrow said, finishing off the last of her coffee in a few gulps and setting the empty cup down on the table. It wasn't uncommon to see her downing more than a few cups of coffee in a day, so none of them gave it a second thought. She continued. "With how busy things have been, I didn't get a chance to talk to anyone about that…er…'UFO' incident."
"Where'd that rumor come from, anyways?" Hans asked Kathryn, looking over at her. Although she shouldn't have, she'd told him as much as she could recall about the operation, so he had no reason to pay attention to idle rumors. Judging from the fact Arrow was still in the dark, that meant he kept it between the two of them, grateful he hadn't betrayed her trust but feeling bad for not telling Arrow about anything.
"I'll give you three guesses," Kathryn said, glancing across the hall at where she'd just taken notice of Chopper, sitting at a table with Clown and a few soldiers she didn't know personally. Chances were Chopper didn't know them all that well either, but he'd talk to anyone that would listen. She didn't actually know if he was the source of the rumor or not, but he certainly kept it going. "I think a couple of people have been asking him about it."
Dogma straightened up to see where Kathryn was looking, shaking his head with a scoff. He almost seemed amused. "He's not confirming or denying anything, is he?"
"You think he would?" Kathryn asked, giving a short, dry laugh. "There's not really any fun in that."
"I suppose not," Dogma said with a brief laugh of his own, something rare from him. At least in Kathryn's case, though their relationship had improved now that they didn't have to directly depend on one another in the air.
"A UFO would be infinitely more interesting than a bunch of unidentified planes," Arrow said, almost wistfully sighing. She seemed far too disappointed by the actual story, likely because it wasn't as interesting when you weren't experiencing it, but she still remained respectful as she went on. "It would probably have been a lot nicer to run into, all things considered. It sounded like you guys had your hands full."
"I can't say it's what we were expecting, that's for sure," Kathryn said, wiping bread crumbs off her fingers, trying to decide which of the fruit they'd been allowed to choose from that day looked the most appealing. The processed, pre-packaged fruit they offered all tended to taste the same, with the occasional slight difference, so it probably didn't matter much. In any case, that was the least of her concerns. "Whatever's going on, I just wish they'd stop acting like we're all stupid."
Hans sighed, reaching for his bottle of water and taking a sip before he spoke. "I told you before, if we need to know something, we'll know," he said, glancing around the table. "Besides, what could we do about it if we did know?"
"I guess there's no point stressing over it, but it does feel like an insult," Arrow said, not agreeing or disagreeing with the two of them. She wasn't touching any more of her breakfast, fidgeting instead with her empty cup. "Like…even if the two of us hadn't heard about it firsthand from you guys, anyone can see it's all a little fishy. Just because we're not high up the ladder doesn't mean we're stupid."
The whole table was silent. Kathryn stared down at her hands, turning an apple slice over in her fingers as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. She suddenly found her appetite was fading, though the hunger remained. At least now Hans couldn't pretend nothing was wrong, not when even Arrow and Dogma were willing to admit it, but still. It wasn't a victorious feeling. After a minute or so, she broke the silence. "Anybody else feel like the entire world is about to change, or am I just going crazy?"
"You feel that way from one operation?" Dogma asked her, almost incredulously. She glared at him, and that was a good enough answer for him apparently. He scoffed. "Yeah. You're definitely going crazy. What's the point in getting worried over nothing?"
"You can act tough, but we all know you're rattled." To Kathryn's surprise, it was Arrow that confronted him. She crossed her arms as he looked over at her, unable to come up with a retort. She raised a brow, then relaxed and waved it off, not sounding mocking as she said, "Look, between nearly dying and then Edge completely zoning out, I'd be rattled, too. Everyone's in the same boat, so stop acting like you're any different."
"I'm not…rattled by any of that," Dogma muttered, glaring at Hans and Kathryn before he went about avoiding eye contact with anyone. He looked like he could have disappeared he would, brown eyes darting around before he cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. That seemed to be enough for him to collect himself, regaining his confidence. "I'm not like any of you. I understand that my superiors are just doing their jobs, same as I am."
"But if there's a war we deserve to know about it," Kathryn pointed out. By hiding everything they were just making things worse later on, not even being able to trust their own people. Kathryn understood why the general public didn't need to know, but the families of those dead soldiers deserved the truth. And so did every pilot still alive and fighting.
Dogma didn't look at her, looking around the room and trying to seem unbothered. "Yeah, and why?"
"Because we're the ones that are going to be fighting it, not them," Kathryn answered, careful not to raise her voice. But without meaning to she'd dropped the food she'd been holding to her plate and accidentally slammed her fist down. Not hard enough to catch anyone else's attention, but enough that it made her seem more angry than she was. She sighed, suddenly embarrassed, but she didn't let them see that. "Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put him on the spot like that," Arrow quickly said, though it wasn't her fault at all and everyone knew that. Kathryn was about to open her mouth to protest, and Dogma as well, but Arrow didn't let either one of them say a word. "It's not worth fighting about."
Hans looked over at Kathryn, who made sure to put on a blank expression, and she was certain he looked almost tired. Or worried. He was never caught in the crossfire of any confrontations or outbursts, but she knew that he hated watching from the sidelines. It's not like she was constantly picking fights, but between her brother and father she was often high-strung and short-tempered and he hated being unable to help. Now that she was at odds with her superiors and co-workers it seemed he was in the same position as he would be back home. That was enough for her to feel bad and rein things in, even if he wasn't the target of her anger.
She looked up at him, silently apologizing to him, and that seemed to be enough. He sighed and gave her a soft but exasperated look before he brushed it off, now looking between Arrow and Dogma before he broke the silence that had followed. And to Kathryn's surprise Hans asked Dogma about the other thing she'd been worried about, though whether or not it was actually on her behalf she didn't know. "So, what about Lieutenant Nagase?"
Dogma glanced at him. "What about her?"
"Blaze told me the same thing you told Arrow," Hans said, using her callsign over her actual name for the sake of the other two. "Did something happen up there to shake her?"
"Just regular nerves, probably from that first fight," Dogma replied with a shrug, slowly popping a grape into his mouth. "She just got carried away and chased the bandit a bit far out, it's not like she's the first pilot to do it."
"Yeah, but that just isn't like her," Hans pointed out, using the same logic Kathryn did to justify her concerns. He swallowed, glancing briefly at Kathryn before he continued. "Doesn't that worry you at all?"
"It probably should, but it isn't like it got us killed or anything," Dogma said, hesitating. Judging from the look in his eyes, he was clearly more bothered by it than he was letting on. Or at least it seemed that way to Kathryn. She could read him, even if they weren't good friends. He snorted and shook his head. "Look, if something's going on in her head, she hasn't let me in on it. If we need to be worried about her then she'll come to us, but for now it's not a big deal. So ease up on her. And me, if you wouldn't mind."
"Well…I guess you're right. It was worth a shot," Hans said, looking back over at Kathryn. What he really meant was that he had tried. She gave him a grateful look and he just gave her a faint smile, returning to his breakfast.
For several minutes they all ate and enjoyed their breakfast in silence, none of them having much else to say about anything. Other than regular small talk, there just wasn't anything they needed to talk about. Not long after they settled into the quiet and worked their way through breakfast, the journalist, Genette, arrived in the mess hall. Hans and Dogma, having been facing the door, were the first to take notice of him, bringing Kathryn and Arrow's attention to him. He looked tired, but regardless he greeted everyone that acknowledged him with a friendly smile and seemed upbeat.
The first thing he did was check the room for someone, apparently for people he was familiar with as he stopped his searching as soon as Hans sat up and chose to wave him over. Kathryn expected he'd get himself something to eat first, but instead he went straight for the table, not bothering to grab anything to eat. Either he wasn't hungry, skipping breakfast, or just didn't have an appetite for what was being served. Regardless of the reason, Kathryn couldn't blame him. It wasn't the greatest food you'd ever eat, they saved the good stuff for theme days or special occasions, but it was free. Even so, no one could fault you for not eating the regular stuff that was served.
When he reached their table, Dogma and Hans moved over to allow him space to sit. Genette gratefully took the seat, greeting them as he did. "Good morning," he said, sounding polite and giving a respectful nod to them. "I'm glad I found you here. I've been hoping to speak to some of you, if you wouldn't mind?"
"Are you even allowed to be working right now? After all this nonsense?" Arrow asked, looking around at the others. She tried to keep her wording vague, but Kathryn had a pretty good feeling that Genette wasn't quite as willing to accept what he'd been told, either.
"Well…they don't really know I'm working right now," Genette admitted, giving them an almost sheepish laugh. None of them criticized him, so he went on. "Besides, after confiscating my camera, I don't think they really care what I do. Not like there's much I can do, so…really, I'd just like to get to know everyone a bit better. I'm stuck here, right? And after seeing a bit of the action…consider me a bit starstruck. By all of you."
"You've only seen Nagase and Bartlett in action," Kathryn pointed out, narrowing her eyes on him. She wasn't suspicious, in fact she was almost amused by it. He'd been instantly enamored with all of them, that much was clear, but Bartlett and Nagase were the only pilots he'd seen enough of to form a real opinion on.
"That's fair enough," Genette admitted, not at all nervous. He did seem to like talking fast, though. "Truth be told, I'd like to know more about the operation, but I'd never publish any of that information. And really, truthfully, I do want to know all of you better. Captain Bartlett and Lieutenant Cruise can't sing your praises enough, so clearly you're all very special, right?"
"That's probably a matter of perspective," Dogma said, at last finishing off his coffee and setting the cup down. He seemed uninterested in the conversation for the most part.
"Well…maybe so," he said, now letting out an almost nervous sounding laugh.
Kathryn almost felt bad for him. She knew how much it sucked to not be able to do your job, having been grounded more than once since she'd been flying. It felt awful, to have something you were good at and to be driven, but to be unable to do your job. Right now, Genette was probably bored, maybe even frustrated, and no doubt he felt useless. At least, that's what she assumed based on her own experiences. So she decided to throw him a bone. "What exactly do you want to know?"
Genette's eyes almost lit up, but he maintained his composure as he spoke. "Anything that you'd all like to share. Why you joined up, how you're all doing, whatever it is you're striving for…simple things like that," he went through what seemed like a mental checklist. "We can start small, it's not like this is any kind of official interview. Completely off the record."
"Do you always befriend the people you're gonna be writing about?" Arrow asked him, hiding her own amusement it seemed. It was hard to be annoyed with the guy.
"I try to, not that it always works. People seem to think I'm ever after a story, which I am but not for the reasons they think," Genette explained, probably not used to being asked the first question instead of doing the asking. "I like to hear people's stories, not because I want to make money off of them as much as because I think they're worth listening to. Some of the best stories never get told, or so they say."
The discussion began to evolve naturally, none of them having very much to share with him. Likely nothing they set out for. They did end up sharing their thoughts about the attacks, finding he hated not being in the know almost as much as they did even if he understood it. It wasn't a forced discussion, and Kathryn had a feeling they all kept the topic on work to avoid feeling pressured to share mundane, personal facts about themselves. Frankly, it's not like they had much of a personal life these days, and if they did they'd want to keep it personal for as long as they could. So they all discussed the things that they could connect with. In this case, how their jobs surprisingly overlapped. At least in Genette's case.
Kathryn wasn't sure what to make of him if she was being honest. He'd gotten sucked into journalism because he liked stories, of any kind, and he enjoyed sharing them. He also admitted he had a knack for history and military knowledge, another thing all of them could attest to. Apparently, as was the case for many other people, what first piqued his curiosity was the Belkan War and that old documentary. Hans and Kathryn didn't share their thoughts on that war with anyone, and they each had their reasons, both personal. But thankfully, they weren't pressed on the matter, using the excuse they were too young at the time.
The conversation went on from there, Kathryn had lost the interest to continue listening after the war fifteen years ago had been brought up. It was an awful war, for one, and unfortunately the only war she knew intimate details on. The stories her father told her were ones she had to keep to herself, a sharp contrast to the stories Hans' uncle had told them. One tried to paint a painful but hopeful picture, one that was reflected in the documentary everyone was so fond of and that Genette seemed to share, while the other had long since struggled to find any hope. Kathryn was well acquainted with the latter's struggles, and she almost hated him for it. Which said more about her than anything, but that was her problem.
She was completely snapped out of her own thoughts as a voice came over the PA system, the speakers making the voice of whatever soldier had gotten stuck with the duty sound incredibly jarring. "Wardog Squadron, report for briefing immediately. Repeat, Wardog Squadron, report for briefing immediately."
"Ah. Wonderful. Looks like there's something to be worried about after all, Hamilton," Dogma said to Kathryn as he stood up, snatching his empty tray up with it. He set off for the door without another word, discarding his tray and not waiting for anyone else.
Kathryn ignored the look Genette gave her when he heard her name, getting to her feet as Chopper and Clown already set off after Dogma. The latter called out for her to hurry up, a sense of urgency in his voice that did nothing to help her nerves. She cursed under her breath, doubtful she'd be the last one to arrive given the fact both Alto and Nagase were absent from the mess hall but scared to death about what could have possibly come up. She reached to grab her trat, intending to throw it away on her way out, but Hans stopped her as soon as he noticed she'd started shaking from her nerves.
"Don't worry about it, I'll clean up. You should go," Hans told her, grabbing her wrist and pulling down slightly so she'd lower the tray back to the table. His touch was oddly soothing, enough so that she relaxed a bit.
"Right. I'm sorry, thanks," Kathryn said quickly, her adrenaline already spiking. And she wasn't even in the air nor did she have any idea what they were about to be briefed on. After everything that had happened, they were all prepared for the worst.
"Be careful," Hans said, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. He was probably just as worried. She knew Hans didn't like being on the ground, either, but he never complained and some selfish part of her was glad she didn't have to worry about him in the air. So for now, she didn't know if it was relieving to leave him behind or not, but for now she tried not to concern herself with it.
"I'll try," Kathryn told him, returning the smile. His efforts calmed her down enough that she didn't race off like the others, setting off across the mess hall at a brisk walk instead, trying to further calm her nerves as she left. The last thing she wanted was to add to his concerns even more than she already had, and she couldn't take off without a clear head. If there was a fight, she had to be focused.
That was easier said than done, though. Even though none of them had any idea what they'd be walking into today, Kathryn's instincts told her that it wasn't good.