Chapter Three: Adaptation

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Erusean Air and Space Administration, Erusea.
May 31st, 2019.
1000hrs.

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Dr. Schroeder stared out at the vast, empty desert-like area that the EASA was located. As summer drew closer, the desert became more and more unbearable, parched and ugly to look at in spite of the nearby lake, the mountain range and forest in the distance becoming an almost tempting oasis. Schroeder was used to a cooler climate, one that Erusea did not offer, and it was starting to get to him. His attire wasn't the best choice for the weather that day, what with his stuffy lab coat and black polo shirt. Regardless, he liked to keep his style simple and decided he would grow accustomed to the heat sooner or later.

His eyes flicked over to his workplace off to his left, a table with various computers set up beside a trailer, underneath a white awning for protection from the sun and other elements. A water bottle bearing the EASA logo rested on the far end of the desk, sweating almost as much as he felt he was. His assistant, Massa, had been kind enough to bring him water regularly, since he went through the drinks faster than he'd care to admit. Although temperatures seemed to be rising at least three degrees everyday, water was still — thankfully — plentiful.

Giving in to his thirst, he returned to his workplace to grab his water bottle, taking his eyes off of the sky and the surrounding area for the first time in several minutes, but the break didn't last long. He was awaiting the return of one of the very reasons he had been working with EASA to begin with so he could officially get his day started. Gründer Industries had sent him out to work with Erusea's scientists in developing their drones' intelligence and making them more adaptable and efficient in combat.

In order to do this, he had to study the data collected by a well known Erusean pilot, a stubborn, aging old fellow by the name of Mihaly A. Shilage. Mihaly was an excellent pilot, the only problem was that the maneuvers he pulled in the air — however unique and hard to match they were — combined with the high altitude and his age, took a toll on his body. Schroeder had him wearing a specialized flight suit for this purpose as well as to collect the flight data, but it seemed he was always having to improve the design and order new ones. Schroeder could only hope that the suit held up during his first day in real combat.

The rest of the experimental squadron that Mihaly was the leader of, Sol Squadron, had stayed ready to fly in and support him if they needed to, but Mihaly had engaged the Osean pilots by himself. Sol had come back not too long after, but Mihaly had taken a detour so he could refuel before he made his way back to the EASA base, everyone eagerly on the lookout so they could hear the tale of how it happened. Schroeder couldn't very well blame them. He enjoyed hearing Mihaly's stories of combat on the rare occasion he chose to share.

Most of his stories were about his former pupils; pilots that he'd trained before his retirement from combat. A favorite story among the pilots was that of another of Erusea's top aces, Mihaly's best student, and the leader of an infamous squadron. Mihaly never mentioned his real name, only referring to him as 'Thirteen'. The way he described Thirteen, it almost seemed to Schroeder that the younger pilot had surpassed his teacher, or at least came close to it. If that was the case, then it would have been a blessing if they'd been able to study Thirteen instead.

Unfortunately for Schroeder, Thirteen was shot down by an extremely skilled ISAF pilot in 2005, towards the end of the Usean Continental War, and was believed to have been long dead. While Mihaly's skill was hard to match, Schroeder worried for the success of the drones and by extension for Mihaly's health. Mihaly exceeded expectations every day, but everyone had their limits. A younger pilot that flew the same way as Mihaly and could still adapt and improve whenever he needed would have been a safer option, and Schroeder got the feeling that he wasn't the only person who thought that.

Judging by the glares he often received from Mihaly's eldest granddaughter, a fifteen-year-old that resided on the base with her ten-year-old sister to look after their grandfather, coupled with how she always had a look of longing or sadness whenever Mihaly spoke of Thirteen's skill in combat, it gave Schroeder the impression that she wished her grandfather wasn't the EASA and Schroeder's test subject.

Schroeder sighed and wiped his arm across his brow, twisting the top back onto his water bottle as a cool, late spring breeze blew across the desert. Relaxing and relishing the welcomed, cool air, his water bottle slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a sharp, metallic clank as it hit the ground. Mildly startled, Schroeder cursed under his breath and bent down to lift it off the ground just as the winds began to pick up.

The personnel previously lounging about suddenly became active, running into the hangars and out. Schroeder straightened up, water bottle in his hands once again, covered in dust. He looked out towards the runway, the familiar roar of a jet engine drowning out the chatter among the ground crew. Squinting against the sun and dust that was stirred up, scowling at the unpleasant stinging in his eyes, he could make an Su-30 as it came in for a landing.

Here he comes…Schroeder thought, taking his time to dust off his water bottle and set it back down, next to his workplace. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watched closely as Mihaly feebly climbed out of his cockpit, struggling as he made his way down the ladder and onto solid ground. At first, he seemed alright, able to get his bearings just fine, but then he began to cough and staggered sideways. His granddaughters rushed over to him to support him, guiding him over to a tent where he could sit down and rest.

Even from such a distance, Mihaly's coughs and wheezing could be clearly heard as he struggled for his breath. This wasn't a good sign. It meant, once again, the flight suit wasn't good enough to protect him. As if Schroeder didn't have enough work to do, now he had to put in an order for a new and improved suit. He clenched his jaws as he continued to watch Mihaly struggle to regain his composure, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Unlike the way he appeared in the air, now he looked like a weakened, vulnerable old man, extremely close to having one foot in the grave.

Mihaly's breathing eventually slowed, falling into an even rhythm. The ace held up a hand for his youngest granddaughter to remove the mask, as she'd been holding it up for him. Looking to her sister briefly, who gave a short nod, she slowly pulled the mask away and took a few steps back, watching her grandfather curiously as her sister helped him sit up. Schroeder couldn't hear what they were saying, but Mihaly said something to the older of the two, Ionela, and she responded before giving him a small kiss on the top of his head, turning around and making her way towards the hanger.

The youngest, Alma, didn't follow after her sister right away. Schroeder wondered for a moment if Mihaly had asked for some water or something of the likes and if Ionela left her sister to keep an eye on him, but the fifteen year old stopped, turning around and calling out for her sister. Alma hesitated, but rushed over to Mihaly and wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a hug. He gave her a small, stiff pat on the shoulder and watched as she began to skip off, giggling, after her sister. A rare, small smile played at the corner of the pilot's lips.

It was almost endearing how little they seemed to care about Mihaly's intimidating presence and almost detached demeanor. Schroeder could never fully understand him, and no matter how much time he spent studying him, he wasn't able to tell what Mihaly's emotions were. He never once complained, never turned away a challenge or opportunity, and was cool and collected during combat, all of this earning him respect from civilians and soldiers alike. Schroeder wasn't able to get close enough to him to know what he thought about his situation, though. Nobody was.

Glaring back at his computers, Schroeder thought grudgingly of how much work he had ahead of him and decided it best to stop his pondering and get started on it. The drones were going to have to be much faster and more skilled if Erusea had any chance of winning the war against Osea. So far, they seemed to have a fighting chance, and Osea still seemed to be getting themselves organized. With Mihaly on their side and the drones being tweaked everyday, Erusea just might come out victorious.

Sighing once more, the scientist turned back to his workplace, slowly making his way back under the shade. Admittedly, he cared less and less about this war every day, and it had only been a little over two weeks since it started. How much did Mihaly and his squadron care? Schroeder wondered. How much did the Erusean princess, who'd been speaking out against Osea and criticizing their strategies, care about the war?

Trying not to get too philosophical during work, he wondered why anyone would care enough to start a war in the first place. From his own, mostly neutral perspective, Osea hadn't done anything to warrant a declaration of war, and if it was it didn't seem intentional. Osea was aggressive and powerful and their politicians seemed only out for themselves more often than not, but weren't most politicians that way?

He remembered the royal family of Erusea objecting to the international space elevator that the former president of Osea had ordered construction on, but was it reason enough to start a war. Schroeder felt a headache coming on, growing frustrated that he wasn't able to understand the reason behind the war. There had to be one, and he had to understand it. Wars were pointless to him, and after the devastating war his own country had gone through when he was only around ten or eleven, he couldn't understand why so many actively and willingly engaged in them.

At least with the work being done on the drones, it would be a step towards a future where humans no longer took part in the actual, physical fighting. It would hopefully reduce casualties and improve efficiency, and Schroeder hoped that other countries would follow suit. It was all a matter of time.

Schroeder took off his glasses, wiping them off with his coat before placing them back on his head. For a moment, he just stared at his computer as it started up. Groaning at how slow it was running, he left the shade of the awning and made his way across the small patch of desert between himself and the tent Mihaly was sitting underneath. "General," Schroeder greeted Mihaly cooly once he was within earshot. "How was your flight?"

Fort Grays Island, East of Usea.
June 3rd, 2019.
1100hrs.

"You can't be serious." Knocker stared at the base commander with a look of anger and disbelief, able to feel the hair on the back of his neck bristle. The base commander raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a blank expression and eyes that betrayed no emotion. Knocker had just heard the commander's mission proposal, and at first it had gone well enough and the idea seemed fine, until he mentioned that he'd be sending in one pilot by themselves to clear the way for the rest of the squadron. Normally, Knocker would have volunteered himself or Clown, two pilots with plenty of experience, but the base commander didn't agree with him there.

"Pardon my choice in wording considering recent events, but I'm dead serious, Captain," the base commander growled in response. "Perhaps I can explain my reasoning for choosing Lieutenant Foulke for this mission in your own words." He picked up Trigger's file from his desk, opening it up to where the reports Knocker had written on her performance during the last missions had been placed. Clearing his throat, he began, "'Lieutenant Foulke is quick thinking and adaptable in combat, able to assess a target and fight accordingly. Possessing an excellent aim and no hesitance in combat, her TAC name — Trigger — fits her well. Thus far, Foulke has proved to be a worthy and promising addition to Mage Squadron. Captain Pierce and myself have high expectations for her.'"

Knocker watched as the base commander set the file back down on the desk, lifting his head and staring down his nose at Knocker. When he spoke again, he made sure to have an unmistakable air of authority over him. "Now, after reading that report, why shouldn't I choose Foulke — or Trigger, as you and the others call her? This mission requires someone who's quick thinking and doesn't hesitate in a sticky situation."

"Then send me!" Knocker was close to pleading, but he maintained a harsh, non-submissive tone, making his disapproval known. After losing Brownie just a few days prior, Knocker had been training them as hard as he could so they wouldn't have a repeat incident, but that did not mean he was ready to send any one of them out on a mission by themselves. Trigger especially. She was quick thinking and adaptable, but she got to eager in a fight and — similar to Brownie — didn't seem willing to retreat. "Or send her in with someone else."

"We can't afford to send you in and it's less risky if we just send one pilot," the base commander responded stiffly. "I need you to fly in with Golem and Mage after Trigger's mopped up the anti-air support around the space elevator. There's no point in arguing, Turner, I've made up my mind. Foulke is the best choice for the mission." As if he thought everything was settled, the commander turned his back on Knocker, no longer paying attention to him.

Knocker gritted his teeth, trying to take deep breaths to get his anger under control. Growing increasingly frustrated and unable to think of a compelling argument, he slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him, cursing over the loud thud from the impact, "Goddammit!" The base commander turned around, clearly displeased by Knocker's outburst. Taking a moment to regain himself, Knocker finally got to the root of his problem. "The last time I let a member of my crew out of my sights, she was chased down by some sick bastard who thought it would be fun to toy with her before he killed her! I'll be damned if I'm going to risk it again!"

The two officers stared one another down, a silence falling over them. After a couple of minutes, the commander sighed and gave an almost pitying look to Knocker. "I know what it's like to lose a wingman, and I understand that it's going to be difficult to adjust to it," he spoke with a frown, his tone having softened significantly. "But you have to understand that a lot of risks come with being a pilot. Everyone knows about it, they know before they even go through training. The success of the mission takes top priority and sometimes you can't afford not taking a risk."

"Yes sir…" Knocker replied, having broken the eye contact with the base commander, now trying to avoid it at all costs. "I understand, sir." The truth was, he didn't understand how his own commander didn't seem at all concerned for his pilots' welfare. Knocker knew mission success was important, but his wingmen mattered more in his mind than beating Erusea did. Brownie could have lived or died and the mission still would have failed. Her death had been meaningless.

"I've been watching your training, and I've been paying attention to each and every one of you," the base commander continued, turning to look out the open window, out at the overcast sky. "You've done good with them, and they're shaping up to be fine pilots, but there's always going to be someone out there that's better than them, better than you, and so on and so forth. But you can't protect them forever, and if you try to, they're never going to improve and that just puts them at more risk. You can't play babysitter forever."

Knocker clenched his left fist, his right one still red and aching from slamming it onto the desk, and sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes sir…" He was beginning to feel enclosed in the office, the tension in the room taking an agonizingly slow time to ebb away. Outside, there was a faint rumble of thunder as the storm clouds drew closer to the island, threatening a downpour on the base. There wouldn't be anymore flying done today. "Sir, if I may, could I speak with Lieutenant Foulke about the mission? I'd like to ask her if she's comfortable with this. At least prepare her for it."

The base commander glanced at him, then waved his hand dismissively. "Go ahead. She's self-confined herself to her quarters, so I asked her to pack away Lieutenant Brown's belongings to get them ready to be shipped to Brown's family in Osea. As far as I know, she hasn't left since after the service the other day." Knocker nodded in response, taking his leave. Just before he could open the door, though, he heard the commander say, "Oh, and Captain Turner? I'm assigning Lieutenant Jameson to Golem permanently. I think he's a good fit for the position and he works well with the others. To add to that, another level head out there will do you good, don't you agree?"

"Yes sir, I do," Knocker answered calmly. So Faun was now his new wingman and thus Brownie's replacement. Not that it was an issue. Knocker probably would have requested the change regardless, especially since Faun was a slightly older pilot compared to the other nuggets that stayed calm under stress. But it wouldn't be the same. Just have to adapt…that's all there is to it. "Is that all?"

"Mmm? Yes, that's all. Dismissed."

1215hrs.

The quietest place on the island during lunch hours was in any of the hangars. Ground crew and mechanics closed the massive doors, but kept it — along with the side doors — unlocked and ready to open in case of an emergency, so access was easy. Naomi was tired of being cooped up in her and Brownie's room and it was too loud in the Mess Hall. In order to get some peace and quiet, she went by the mess hall, grabbed herself a sandwich and a water bottle, got her raincoat, and chose to brave the storm and walk out to the hangar to eat.

Summertime was fast approaching, and with it came Usea's rainy season. The humidity wasn't helped by the rain, and the days became uncomfortable and sticky to the point where it was easier to stay inside and find something useful to do without getting soaked in your own sweat. Knocker still insisted they train in this awful weather, and the training had only gotten harder and longer with Brownie's death. Luckily, they would probably get a break from flying because of the thunderstorm.

Knocker had become more cautious and harder on his pilots. The only one that handled the change well at all was Faun, having become more aggressive and determined to get better after Brownie's death. He had been rather fond of Brownie, being one of her first friends when she and Naomi had been transferred to Fort Grays. They'd all managed to grow close to one another in such a short time, but Naomi couldn't help but wonder if the others were taking it so hard because they'd lost a friend or because they were suddenly aware of their own mortality. Perhaps it was both, but whatever the reason, everything and everyone was changing as a result.

That was mainly why Naomi wanted to be by herself. Although she thought of herself as a people-person and fairly extroverted, she found it difficult to socialize with the others now that Brownie was gone. They'd been in flight school together, been roommates since they were eighteen, and friendly competitors from the first time they were in the air together. Naomi was amazed they'd gotten as close as they had, but she wasn't entirely surprised by it. But now Brownie was gone and it was time to move on. Wasn't it? The others didn't seem to think so, and in all honesty, she herself wasn't buying into the 'accept and move on', even if it might seem like the best option.

Naomi heaved a sigh, as she reached the hangar where Mage Squadron's aircraft were housed, the rain pattering against the tarmac and on the hood of her raincoat. Moving around to the smaller door that was better suited for human entry, she checked the door to make sure it was unlocked and opened it up just enough for her to see inside and make sure nobody else was there. As expected, it was empty, save for her and Clown's planes and the tools. Void of any people. Not wanting to stay in the rain any longer, she opened the door the rest of the way and stepped inside, letting the door slam shut on its own since there was no one it would disturb.

The thud of the door shutting echoed throughout the hangar, briefly drowning out the steady drumming of rain on the roof. While the hangar wasn't completely dark, there was a minimal amount of light, turning the Falcons that she and Clown flew into shadows, a faint shimmer along the outline of the canopies the only thing really visible. We can change that. Naomi turned to her left, towards the corner of the hangar and where the light switch was. Her fingers made contact with the switch and she flicked it up, into the 'on' position.

The reaction to the switch wasn't immediate, and the first sign that the lights were even in working order was the low buzzing sound that started up a few seconds after she flipped the switch. Not long after, the lights began to flicker before they became consistent and provided decent lighting throughout the hangar. Naomi pulled back the hood of her raincoat and looked around the illuminated hangar, satisfied with herself.

She made her way over to her own aircraft, the one farthest from where she entered the hangar. She ducked under Clown's plane, taking notice of some damage along his belly and on his wing as she passed it. Traces of the mechanics having been fixing it up before lunch were everywhere. After a short, uneventful walk from one side of the hangar to the other, she stopped at her plane and stared up at it. Some dings along the side and the wing were visible, the paint having been scratched away and replaced with black marks. Her plane's canopy was in desperate need of a cleaning, dust and dead bugs covering it.

Pulling her sandwich and water bottle out of her pockets, she set them down on a nearby mechanic's cart and grabbed a rag from off of the tools. The ladder that she would normally use to climb in and out of the cockpit from was already in its normal location. Climbing up the ladder, the tattered rag slung over her shoulder, she was sure that the ground crew probably could have wiped it down better than she could have, but she was already there so she might as well. Her lunch had already been postponed long enough anyways, a few more minutes wasn't going to hurt her.

Besides, what else was there for her to do? She wasn't much help when Brownie was in danger, the least she could do was help out the ground crew and give them a helping hand, however minor it was. They have enough on their hands as it is, she reasoned with herself. "Don't we all?" Naomi added out loud in a scoff as she began to rub at the dirt built up on the canopy. "Don't we all…"

1245hrs.

Knocker went by the Mess Hall after checking to see if Trigger was still busy packing away Brownie's things in their quarters. When he wasn't able to find her there, he figured she'd just gone to get lunch. By the time he arrived, however, the room was starting to clear out. The ground crew was taking advantage of Knocker's choice to remain on the ground until the storm passed over, as he was worried that the wind and lightning would be too risky, and they were already heading out to fix the dents that Golem and Mage had put in their planes.

Although the other tables had at least one or two occupants remaining as they finished up what was left on their trays, Knocker's wingman's own 'personal table' was easily identified by two things, the first one being that they all seemed to flock together and — when Brownie was still there — all five of them would be sitting at one table making enough noise for an entire football stadium. That brought him to the second identifying trait. Boggard's signature laugh and naturally loud manner of speaking.

Today the mess hall seemed quiet, though. Boggard's laughter wasn't drowning out other conversations, in fact, there was hardly any talk at all. OBC was playing on the TVs and for the first time since Knocker had been at the base, he could actually hear everything being said. OBC had taken a break from broadcasting the war and was airing an old documentary on the Belkan War in honor of the upcoming anniversary of The Seven Pillars, and most of the base personnel still eating were actually…paying attention to it? Knocker found himself mildly surprised by the change of pace.

As he looked around the room, the hushed conversations faltered as many noticed Knocker just standing by the doorway. Once satisfied that he wasn't about to tell them that there was a sortie that the base commander neglected to have announced over the PA system, they went about what they were previously doing. Eventually, Clown emerged from the small crowd, one side of his mouth tilted upward in his ever present smirk. "Lookin' for somethin' in particular?" he asked Knocker, skipping over the formal greeting from one officer to another. "The menu's a little more diverse today, in case you're interested. Soggy sandwiches, soggy salad, soggy weather…"

"'Diverse'?" Knocker snorted, risking a small smile. "That's funny, because judging from your list it sounds like there's a solid theme going on there." Both men chuckled at this, going quiet not long after. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't exactly comforting either. "Seems like the mood's following the theme. Everyone's so down you'd almost think that we were running…" He trailed off, finding his next choice of words unfitting. Like we were running a funeral home or something...

Clown cleared his throat, surveying the room like Knocker had done. "That may have something to do with it." He gave a nod towards the TV. The documentary had reached the point in which it went over the Belkan nukes. A mercenary and former member of the infamous Galm Team was recounting the event and his subsequent betrayal of his wingman. "Pretty depressing day, but I'll tell ya the truth, this documentary never gets old. A little dark, but at least it makes the history fun. The Belkan War was a pain in the ass to write an essay on back in college with the way they write it in those damn textbooks."

Knocker nodded in agreement. "I remember that whenever this would come on the History Channel, I'd drop everything I was doing just to watch it again," he said, sighing at the memories as he watched the former pilot remorsefully tell of his actions after the bombing. "You know I was a big fan of Galm Team back in the day. Every piece of footage of the Demon Lord, every article, biographies from enemy aces that talked about him. You name it, I studied it. It was pretty hard to find, though."

"They were somethin' else, I won't argue with ya there. Not surprised you looked up to the Demon Lord, either, considering you both fly like a bat out of hell." Clown chuckled and clapped Knocker on the shoulder. Knocker looked down at his feet, perhaps a little embarrassed, but still managing to smile. The mood had lightened up significantly and honestly, Knocker felt a lot better than he had before coming here. Clown took a breath, regaining himself. "Now that you mention it, Trigger's style is real similar to that, perhaps a bit more reckless. Reminds me of some footage I saw of the Demon Lord's wingman, but I can't remember his name for the life of me."

"You'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure. Then probably announce it to the whole base once you finally remember," Knocker teased, earning him a mildly annoyed glare from Clown. "Speaking of Trigger, have you seen her recently? The base commander said she went to her quarters but she isn't there. And nobody I've talked to has seen her since Brownie's memorial service. Evidently she's turning into a recluse. Give it a few weeks and she'll probably have an army of cats and a cane."

"She never struck me as the crazy cat lady type of recluse, but if you say so." Clown shrugged, then looked down at his watch. "I wouldn't mark 'er down as AWOL just yet. Last time I saw her was almost an hour ago. She stopped by here, got some food, and then left without a word. I have no idea where she went after that, but she probably went outside. She was dressed for the weather."

"Right. Thanks, Clown." Knocker gave a stiff nod, having some idea as to where she might have gone. Not as if there were many places she could be, it was an island after all, and not a very large one at that. "I want to talk to you about the operation that the base commander told me about later tonight. You bring the drinks?" Clown nodded in conformation. Knocker offered a small smile and turned away, towards the door to head out and try to find Trigger one more time before he called it quits.

1505hrs.

The ground crew returned from lunch early, having no problem with Naomi's presence in their hangar. In fact, one of the sergeants tossed her some more waterproof gear and a hose so she could help clean off her and Clown's planes. The hangar doors had been pulled open, revealing the cloudy sky and allowing for a cool, late spring breeze to blow rain into the hangar. The soapy water puddles had begun to contribute to the puddles outside that were growing due to the downpour. Overall, the rainy day wasn't as gloomy as Naomi had previously thought.

Perhaps the highlight of the day was the fact that the mechanics had a radio and had plugged one of their smartphones into an AUX cord and were now playing off music from their 'Work' playlist. It was a little ridiculous, but they all seemed to enjoy it. Naomi noticed that the mood was lighter here than it had been in the mess hall. Although she wasn't a big music person, she was able to appreciate the extra motivation that came with it.

Everything was going fine, her thoughts off of her lack of sleep and Brownie's death as she scrubbed at the plane and focused on the music playing in the background, humming along to it, occasionally muttering the lyrics to herself. A popular song from the last war, The Journey Home, was playing in the background. It was an upbeat, pop cover that Naomi didn't care too much for, but it was alright. Most of the crew around her voiced their differing opinions on it while they worked, drowning out most of the music. "Oh, c'mon," one of them, a gruff, older mechanic, scoffed when a young airman suggested that this was the best version of the song he'd heard. "The only good version of this song is the original."

"Can't say I disagree with him," Naomi put in with a chuckle, glancing over at the two men. "You should have heard my brother-in-law's rendition of it. I can't say that this one is much different. Only addition is the music in the background." The airman that had originally complimented the cover gave a huff of annoyance when the sergeant in front of him laughed and gave him a light shove on the shoulder. At last, the song ended, moving on to an older, laid back, acoustic based song. The sergeant walked past Naomi and muttered something about how the song was 'decent music' in comparison to what they'd just heard before.

As the day progressed, the rain began to let up and the sun was desperately trying to shine through the clouds. Eventually the rain stopped completely, making for a rather pathetic storm in her opinion. It also meant Knocker would probably find them something to do that day. Speaking of Knocker...Naomi looked outside, hearing footsteps sloshing through the puddles as they made their way to the hangar. Knocker was approaching, Faun right beside him, the rest of Golem trailing behind, in some deep conversation.

It wasn't long before they entered the hangar and made their way towards Naomi. "Joining the ground crew from now on?" Faun asked her with only a hint of teasing. "Because I'm gonna say it now: Soap suds and rubber boots don't become you." Naomi glared at him, smirking as she aimed the hose at him, silently threatening to spray him. He quickly put his hands up and laughed. "Relax there, Trigger. Save it for the Eruseans!"

"Don't worry, I will," she replied, lowering the hose. They deserve far worse, if you ask me. After what that bastard did to Brownie. Naomi straightened up as Knocker cleared his throat, turning her attention away from Faun and her own thoughts. "Captain," she greeted him. Glancing at the others, she asked him, "What are you all doing here anyways? Did HQ give a briefing on a new mission or something and decided not to tell me?"

"No, nothing like that," Knocker said quickly. "Golem Squadron is going to be doing a quick little patrol, that's all. We wanted to check with the mechanics and make sure that our planes were ready." He looked behind her at the F-16s, still in the works but looking better than they had before. "I'll admit, you've done a decent job of cleaning up those planes. Looking sleek and shiny so far. Maybe Faun's not too far from the truth."

"He's just looking for less competition," Naomi answered, smirking as she made eye contact with her friend. Faun rolled his eyes and shrugged, following after Boggard and Footpad so he could check on the status of their planes. "I'm not gonna stay on the ground for too long, I hope. For one I want something to do and second, I love the sky too much to sit back and let Golem have all the fun."

"That reminds me…" Knocker put on an expression as if he'd just remembered something, but his tone said otherwise. "The base commander has you in mind for their next move."

Naomi let the hose fall to the ground and crossed her arm, shifting her weight off of one foot, putting her in a more relaxed position. "Me?" Her interest was piqued. "Go on, then. I'm a little confused, though. I'd just be going out with Mage and Golem anyways, so why singling me out? Are they having me do something else while you guys take out the enemy forces and keep them occupied?"

Knocker sighed. "In a way…not exactly, but they are having you go off by yourself." Naomi felt her stomach drop at this. She stood there, mouth hanging open. It wasn't that big of a deal, she knew that, but she still hated the idea. There was safety in numbers, and if it was just her, any number of things could go wrong. "The details of the mission will be explained in the briefing coming up, but all I know is that you'll be dodging enemy radar and dealing with some anti-air weapons."

"And you approved this? No offense Knocker, and with all do respect, but did you and HQ forget what happened the last time we sent someone off on her own?" Her words unintentionally came across as a challenge. "I mean, it's been four days. I doubt you suffer from any short-term memory loss, but it's debatable with HQ half the time…"

"I'll have you know I'm completely against this entire operation," Knocker replied, holding his head up and visibly tensing up. "I shouldn't have let Brownie out of my sight, and the last thing I want to do is let you go off on you're own. You're too inexperienced and you've got a lot to learn before something like this should be placed in your hands. But they all seem to think you can handle it and Golem Squadron and Clown will be there to back you up as soon as we can. If you'd like to refuse, though, I can try and send myself or Clown in instead and let you hang back with reinforcements."

"Faun's a better option for this. Or Footpad." Naomi pointed out, taking a deep breath. "Not that I think it's a good idea for anybody to go off on their own." Looking over at where Faun, Boggard, and Footpad were having an animated discussion, she frowned. They were handling everything better than she was. And they all had one another. Turning back to Knocker she said, "I don't like the idea, but I'm willing to hear more about it. I'll do it."

Knocker raised an eyebrow, his expression and tone softening. A rare occurrence, especially towards any of his wingmen. "If you're sure. I'm actually feeling a little hopeful about this, now that I know you're willing to do it. We'll have a training exercise in the morning just to make sure you stay sharp out there." He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "See you soon, Trigger."

Naomi watched as he left the join the others, giving a small chuckle. Anxiety began to creep its way back and there was a strange chill running down her spine. Going off on her own would be different. She wasn't sure she'd be ready. But her squadron would be there. "We can handle this. It's just one step towards ending the war."

Author's Note: Here's a nice little filler chapter for ya. I feel really bad about not updating in a while, but schedule's and real life can be a massive pain. I tried some new perspectives in this, including that scene with Schroeder at the beginning. Expect more of that, since I want to show other viewpoints besides Trigger's.

Ya'll are getting a double update because you're all so awesome and patient. Next up is the chapter, so strap in because things are getting interesting now!

Please let me know if you spot any typos in the story or anything else that possibly slipped through when I was editing, thanks!