Chapter Six: Old Friends, New Allies
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Fort Grays Island, East of Usea
June 7th, 2019.
1300hrs.
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Clown picked up the receiver on the old rotary dial telephone, staring down at the numbers and going over his choices of who to call. Back in 2010, when he'd served during the last war, he'd met a young journalist fellow that was enthusiastic about his assignment to the Sand Island Air Force Base. More importantly, the man showed an interest in the Wardog Squadron. Clown kept track of him after the war and the two had remained good friends.
The thing about this journalist fellow, was that he was good at two very important things. One of them was keeping an important secret to himself or a close circle of friends. The second was that he took the investigative part of his job very seriously. If you needed something, chances are, he'd go as far as he could to find it for you without setting off a single alarm bell with the higher-ups. The kid had contacts and he knew how to use them.
What Clown needed right now was someone who could slip in and get him some information. He also needed someone with significant influence in the military, and his first thought for that were the former Wardog pilots. Now they were known as the 'Ghosts of Razgriz', but very few people knew who the people behind the emblem were. It was mostly questions that the public presented in regards to these pilots, questions that wouldn't be answered until 2020. However, there were a few in the military and government that Harling had granted the information to years ago, which meant that the former pilots received the utmost respect from the OADF and many of the government officials and staff at Bright Hill.
"Well, what's this grand idea you had, Clown?" Knocker asked impatiently. Clown blinked for a moment. He'd forgotten he brought Knocker with him, which could potentially complicate things. "In case you haven't noticed, we're running out of time. Trigger is running out of time. The calls you made earlier were dead ends, so what have you got planned now?"
Clown looked up at Knocker, setting the receiver down to give his hand a rest. "Just give me some time, Knocker," he said. "We haven't got a lot of it, but I know more than three people who can help us and who are easier to reach. They also have more to bring to the table, if you ask me."
"Really?" Knocker crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Who are they, then?"
"You remember The Four Wings of Sand Island? The article written by this one reporter that followed the squadron throughout the Circum-Pacific War?" Clown asked. Knocker gave a nod in reply. "Well it just so happens that I'm good friends with him and…some other people related to the squadron. You see, Harling awarded this journalist and all involved with the squadron with a pretty sweet status in the government when the war was over. They have influence almost everywhere, including in the courts. And that's how we're going to help Trigger."
Knocker frowned, forever holding the title of a doubter. "I hope you're right. But what makes you think that they're willing to help you?"
"Just a hunch. They're always looking for a way to lend someone a hand these days." Clown grabbed the receiver again and began to dial the number. It rang a couple of times before someone picked up. He recognized the voice that said 'hello' instantly. "Blaze," was his greeting to the person on the other end. "Long time no see. I was wondering if we could talk about somethin'. It's important."
Naomi continued to toss her pocket knife at the ground, jealously and longingly watching her friends take off and fly above the island for training. She wished she could join them, but nobody would let her get anywhere close to the hangars. She wasn't even allowed to look over her plane, to see how badly it might have been damaged in the fight and the ground crew no longer trusted her. When she told her father about all of this early in the morning, he'd simply told her to hang in there and that he'd try and get some help from some friends of his as soon as he could.
It seemed everybody knew somebody that could help her, but whether or not they'd actually agree to do so was a completely different story. Right now it seemed like she was as useless as she could possibly get, sitting back and letting everyone else fight her battles for her. But what could she do? Nobody was willing to hear her side of the story, save for her friends and family, but what could they actually do? Even Clown admitted that she was the only one close enough to have shot Harling. The whole situation was so infuriating.
The knife fell to the ground as she lost focus, no longer landing with the handle sticking up and the blade in the ground. Just her luck. She seemed rather 'lucky', now didn't she? Considered a prodigy in flight school, she made her way on luck alone, able to remember small details and learn from simply observing. She was good at taking what someone else showed her and putting her own twist on it. Somehow this made her out to be a good pilot. And then on her first flight during combat, she kept her cool and took care of the bombers. It was luck. All of it, wasn't it? And all that luck had to run out eventually. Unfortunately, it chose the worst time.
"Everything I've worked for this whole time…everything I've ever wanted…" Naomi grumbled to herself as she cleaned the mud off of her knife, the jet engines overhead roaring as if to boast of their position in the skies. Maybe she was just being dramatic. "My entire life is going to shit, now. I had a plan, dammit!" Talking to herself relieved very little anger. In fact, it probably only succeeded in making it worse. She sighed, regaining herself. No point in getting worked up over it, even if it did seem like her entire life was unraveling before her and there was little she could do about it.
Folding the pocket knife, she slipped it into her pocket and stepped back inside, no longer wanting to waste time by watching Golem Squadron faking dogfights. Things were going to be changing, like it or not, and she didn't have any control in the matter. She needed to accept this and learn from it, learn to adapt. "If you were able to make it this far, you can make it the rest of the way," she said to herself as she stepped back inside. That was something she learned on her own a long time ago. "You've got people looking out for you and your life isn't over, just…on standby. Time to grow up and suck it up..."
Oured, Osea.
June 9th, 2019.
1100hrs.
Albert Genette was a very patient man. Being an investigative reporter, it pretty much came with the job. However, sometimes the opportunities that presented themselves were either too good to wait for or too awful to be forced to sit and wait through. Still, when he received several phone calls that day from three old friends of his, he found that he was unable to resist the idea of a break from work to catch up and he also found that the suspense was killing him. He was currently waiting for two of them in Oured Park, hoping to take them out for brunch, and he'd been sitting at the bench by the fountain as patiently as he could, trying not to explode with excitement.
Unfortunately, his friends were taking their sweet time. He'd met them during perhaps his most memorable assignment, during the last war when he got wrapped up in conspiracy theories involving Belka and watched a squadron of rookies that loss their leader go on to join the top aces of the world as they disappeared as heroes. In fact, his 'old friends' had been a part of that squadron. Genette couldn't help but find the memories were beginning to grow bittersweet for him, seeming so close and so vivid and yet so far away.
Among the flags that flew around the fountain in the park, the most cherished was a greenish colored flag with the Razgriz Squadron emblem on it. Former President Harling had ordered the flag be added to the park's collection as a tribute to the squadron that protected him and Osea, saving the day and vanishing as the morning came. No one currently in office at Bright Hill dared take the flag down, as the citizens of Oured cherished it, even more so now that Harling had been killed.
The reports were unclear as to how it happened other than a missile striking the transport craft he was on board as it went back the way it came, towards the space elevator. Many people were in despair as they asked where the Razgriz was and why they didn't care about Osea anymore. That was a lie and Genette knew that for a fact. Rumors were floating around that the IUN was planning on bringing down the space elevator in the midst of their rescue operations and that Harling had turned back to the elevator to protect it. That was what Genette believed.
He looked up at the sky, the dark blue unblocked by any clouds and unmarred by any war. The elevator had been built to preserve this everlasting peace and someone from Razgriz was on an important mission and relied on the elevator to get home. It was her only way back and if it went down, well, he didn't want to think about that. Nagase had been…an important person to him, to say the least, and she was due to come home from a seven year mission into space any day now. Harling had to have been protecting the elevator, just so she'd make it back. He still had the squadron's wellbeing at heart, even all those years later.
"Genette!" Hearing someone call his name rattled him from his thoughts. He looked for the source and spotted none other than the leader of the Razgriz in the flesh, approaching beside one of her wingman and a man that Genette didn't recognize. He smiled, standing up to greet them. Funny enough, neither pilots looked as if they'd be the ruthless killers that The Ghosts of Razgriz were thought to be. Blaze, as he knew her, was one of the most reserved and thoughtful people he knew, save for Nagase, perhaps. And then there was Grimm, Blaze's best friend, former wingman, and husband, who was easily anxious and as polite as they came. Not exactly what you'd expect from two ruthless fighter pilots, but they were menacing enough whenever they needed to be.
"What took the two of you so long?" Genette asked, the two pilots embracing him in a friendly group hug as soon as they got close enough. As they drew apart, he eyed the older man standing over by the fountain, watching the three of them curiously and cautiously. He had short, light brown hair and a tall, broad-shouldered and slim build. At a glance, Genette would have guessed he was in his late forties or early fifties. He seemed content with going unnoticed for the time being, allowing the old friends to catch up, not at all bothered by his exclusion from the reunion.
"As you could probably guess, it was hell getting a flight down here on such short notice and getting out of the airport in a timely manner," Blaze explained, brushing a strand of dark brown hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. Genette noticed she was sporting a longer haircut than he was used to seeing her with. "I think everyone's trying to get away from the major military bases in case Erusea launches another attack. The traffic out of Oured and Aurick is insane right now."
"Can you really blame them, though?" Grimm asked, raising an eyebrow. "Erusea's efficiency with their drones is going to be hard to beat, and even if they aren't targeting civilians, would you want to live anywhere near a military installation that the enemy's got in their crosshairs?" Blaze nodded in agreement, not saying anything, though. Grimm had a good point, but Genette trusted the two of them to help as much as they could with the war instead of running like everyone else seemed to be doing. Grimm then added, "I personally think it's smart to have a place to go. After all, it doesn't seem like this war is going to come to a quick end."
"I'm supposed to be the realist, Grimm," Blaze said with a frown, giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're the optimist. Don't give up on me now." He gave a half smile at this, but said nothing else. Blaze sighed and began a conversation, "So, Genette, how's everything been? I heard from Pops that OBC and GAZE are fighting over you. He said you'd be able to tell me more about it."
"Yeah, things have been great aside from that. The OBC wants me to cover the politics going on behind the scenes between Erusea and Osea, whereas GAZE wants me to write an article on Harling. They keep offering me more and more money, but honestly, I want nothing to do with either of them right now." Genette replied, fidgeting with the hem of his vest as he spoke. "What about with all of you? Have you spoken with Bartlett or Snow recently?"
"The two of us are doing fine, overall. As for the others, Snow's been busy with his work lately. We invited him to come along while we were here, but he's out of town right now," Grimm answered, taking a look at his surroundings while he spoke. His eyes lingered on the Razgriz flag before he turned back to Genette. "Bartlett and Nastasya are on vacation in Yuktobania, but he called us a few days after he got word about the war. He suggested we all keep a low profile until the war blows over."
"I still don't think that means we can sit by and do nothing," Blaze put in. She shoved her hands into her pockets and frowned. "Especially now, with Harling dead. I feel like if we were there we could have stopped it."
"It was for the best that we left the air force," Grimm told her softly, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "They didn't need us anymore. There wasn't any need for us. The next generation deserves a chance to fly, too. As Pops once said, it's their time to shine. Besides, I doubt we could have stopped what happened to the president." Blaze's frown didn't fade, but she gave her husband a grateful look. Harling had done a lot for them, and Genette knew that Blaze considered herself in some sort of debt with Harling. After all, he gave her hope. More importantly, he gave the world hope.
Genette took the moment of silence to change the topic. "So, who's your friend?" he asked, nodding towards the gentlemen they'd brought along. The man had gone on to take a short walk around the fountain area of the park, looking up to observe the flags and the birds that stopped flying and perched on the flagpoles occasionally. "I thought it would just be the two of you."
"Oh, I feel awful for forgetting!" Blaze pressed her hand to her forehead, almost smacking herself as a punishment for her forgetfulness. "Follow me, I'll introduce you to him. He's part of the reason why we came here." As they approached the man, he looked up expectantly and curiously. Blaze grinned as they drew close enough to speak with one another and greeted the man, "Pixy, this is Genette. He's the journalist I told you about, remember?"
Pixy, as the man was called, looked to Genette for a moment, simply observing him. He gave a small smile and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Genette. Kathryn's told me a lot about you. Same with Hans, here. They tell me you've got spunk." Genette took his hand, giving him a firm handshake and a mildly embarrassed smile in return. Pixy…where had he heard that name before? It took a moment before it hit him.
"You're Larry Foulke!" Genette released his hand and tried to contain his shock. "I can't believe it took me so long to recognize you!" His mentor and inspiration, Brett Thompson, had an interview with a man named Solo Wing Pixy many years ago. Genette had studied the film itself, paying attention to how Brett constructed the interviews and his writing style. Although Brett had very little influence over Genette's style now that he'd 'grown up' as it were, he still remembered the interviews. In fact, just a few days prior the documentary had been aired on OBC.
"I was hoping that everyone would forget about me over time," Pixy said, his face flushing ever so slightly. He quickly made sure to push down his embarrassment and the rosy color faded from his cheeks almost as soon as it appeared.
"They never forgot about Cipher," Blaze reminded him, patting him on the back. "I don't think they'd be forgetting about his most rememberable wingman anytime soon. Especially not when they air the documentary three times a year." He scowled at this, giving her a stern glare. She crossed her arms at this. "Relax already, Pixy. Dad said you'd be fine as long as you kept a low profile. Remember why you wanted to come in the first place." Blaze turned back to Genette. "Now, the important question comes. Genette, did you get a call from Clown?"
Clown had been Blaze's WSO during the last war, flying with them in the F-14s that Wardog, and later Razgriz, used. He was younger then, a few years younger than Bartlett was, and he was one of the funniest guys on the base. He got along well with the resident motormouth and jokester, Chopper, who had actually given him the nickname that he'd held onto for all those years. Unlike the other pilots, Clown wasn't as well known, so he and the other WSOs were allowed to continue their lives, not ever being listed as KIA like Blaze and her squadron had been. After the war, he went to Heierlark for some retraining and became a pilot. Before a few days ago, the last Genette heard from him was in the summer of 2018, when he told them he'd been transferred to the IUN's Peacekeeping Force.
Genette blinked for a moment, processing the question, a little taken aback after being mildly starstruck. "Uh, yeah. He called me a few days ago. He said that a pilot in his squadron was in some trouble and he wanted to meet with me when he got in Oured. He said he'd call me back, but I haven't heard from him since."
"He told us basically the same thing," Blaze replied. "He gave me some extra info, though. Apparently, and the media doesn't know about this yet, but I have a feeling Perrault or someone is going to tip them off, but the pilot in trouble allegedly killed Harling." Genette stared at her, making sure that his 'you can't be serious' face was easily identified. He'd heard a few rumors that someone in the IUN had killed him, but many believed it was an entire squadron and others believed it was a cover up of some sort.
"That's where I come in." Pixy's tone had changed from lighthearted to dead serious, as had his expression. "The pilot they're accusing of killing Harling is my daughter. I was hoping that you would be of help and it seems that Clown had the same idea, considering that a few of the higher-ups in the Osean military and government are aware of your status. At least, the ones that Harling trusted with the information are well aware."
"There's only so much we can do," Grimm put in, speaking mostly to Pixy when he said this. "But a talk with Perrault and maybe a few other people might give her a chance. First, we're planning on meeting with the…ahem…accused — for lack of a better word — and her flight lead tomorrow. That is…if you're interested in what role you would play, Genette. We could spend the day talking it over. Feeling up to it?"
Genette thought for a moment. He was interested, sensing a brand new opportunity to uncover a few war secrets. And he could avoid annoying calls from OBC and GAZE and other employers all offering him ridiculously boring story propositions. This way he was self-employed, possibly pitching whatever he wrote to a company sooner or later, after the war. Besides, who was better fit to cover Harling's death and speak with the supposed criminal mastermind. Maybe his imagination was running ahead of him, but he was able to smell a good adventure and story a million miles away. "Let's talk it over at the restaurant. I think you guys are gonna love the place I picked out, if you haven't already been before."
The four of them started out of the park, the early afternoon sun climbing higher as they went.
June 10th, 2019.
0800hrs.
Naomi flexed her wrists, moving her hands in an attempt to make the cuffs sit more comfortably on her skin. She'd been sitting on the transport plane for hours, waiting for them to come and get her, only having a few angry guards for company. Clown and Knocker had asked if they could fly as an escort and then they'd come back with the new pilots, one of which would be taking Naomi's place in Mage Squadron, the others moving on to replace the loss of Skeleton Squadron. The base commander had, shockingly, agreed to it, provided that the rest of Golem Squadron stayed behind on high alert. They hadn't been pleased by that.
Since they'd have to fly directly through Erusean territory in order to cut the travel time as short as they could, the transport landed at as many allied bases as they possibly could, often stopping for a few hours to rest and get a break. Naomi was stuck on the plane, handcuffed and treated like she was rabid or something. Clown and Knocker were often the ones bringing her food and water, which she found hard to appreciate if she was being honest. The sounds of explosions and battles nearby had her set on edge and she felt much safer once they were in the air, even if she wasn't a fan of being a passenger and not at the controls.
The one thing she wanted at that point was a shower and a change of clothes. Civilian clothes would have been fantastic, but unfortunately, she was stuck wearing her flight suit. Knocker had explained before they left Fort Grays that she'd be allowed to clean up and wear her dress uniform for her trial, but that was little comfort. Nevertheless, she was sticking by her desire to grow up and suck it up. She felt like everything was falling apart, but she wasn't planning on falling with it. Maybe that was how she'd managed to sit through the entire journey without arguing or complaining to her superiors.
She assumed that once they arrived in Oured she could finally have a break. But apparently there was paperwork that needed to be filled out before they could release her into her new, temporary 'room'. It wasn't as simple as just throwing her in a cell and tossing the key, though Naomi was convinced that's what they wanted to do. Instead, they kept her trapped on a stuffy plane in long sleeves in the summer with temperatures climbing into the eighties. At least she had a nice, somewhat refreshing bottle of water. It tasted like someone left it outside in the sun on the beach all day, but it was as good as she could get.
At last she heard the metallic thumping of footsteps as someone made their way up the ramp. Both she and the guards turned to acknowledge the person entering the aircraft, squinting against the light from outside. Clown came into view before long, greeting the guards with a nod. "We'll take it from here, boys. Your boss says to take a break," he drawled, crossing his arms to stare down at them.
The guards exchanged hesitant looks with one another, briefly glancing Naomi's way. One of them finally spoke up. "We can't just leave a criminal, sir," he said, shifting his hold on his weapon, which he'd had at the ready. "Not without someone to replace us. It isn't that we don't trust you, either, we just don't trust her." He gestured to Naomi and she scowled as she let out a harrumph at being talked about as if she wasn't sitting right there. "I'm afraid we'll have to accompany you until we're officially relieved."
"Whatever you say," Clown replied with a shrug, acting with indifference. He turned to Naomi and gave a cheeky grin, "Guess our prison break'll have to wait, eh Trigger? Well, come along anyway." The guards shot him a disapproving look as he helped Naomi to her feet, leading the way outside. The two of them fell in behind her, giving her an extra shove forward to hurry up. Clown stopped at the end of the ramp and waited for them. Naomi squinted as her eyes painfully adjusted to the light, while Clown placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her the rest of the way.
He led her over to Knocker, who was waiting beside two unfamiliar guards, likely the ones there to relieve the others and take over their position. Knocker nodded her a greeting, putting on a rare, friendly smile as he said, "We're going to be making a little detour before you head to your cell. I talked with the warden and he said it was alright if you had a few visitors beforehand."
"Visitors?" Naomi asked, one of the first things she'd said that day. It was strange to hear her own voice after keeping her mouth shut for the entire morning. Clearing her throat, she went on with her questions, "Who are they? Why are they here so early in the morning? Nobody that I'm familiar with knows that I was sent here." She was trying to figure out on her own who would be visiting, but after three rough days and two rough nights it was difficult to think straight.
"You'll just have to wait and see who they are. Long story short, they should be able to help you," Knocker said simply as they started their walk towards a hangar where a jeep bearing the OADF insignia was waiting to drive them to the prison. Naomi noticed that both Knocker and Clown were trying to keep serious expressions, Knocker being especially tense whereas Clown seemed more relaxed and at ease. Confident as opposed to the threatening vibe Knocker was giving off.
As they approached the jeep, one guard sat in the driver's seat, putting Knocker in the passenger seat. Naomi sat in the middle in the back, between Clown and the other Guard. The hangar doors were open enough for Naomi to clearly see inside and as the jeep lurched forward, driving away from the airfield, she caught a glimpse of a sleek, shiny gray plane. An F-22 if her memory served her correctly. She felt a pang of jealousy towards whatever pilot got to fly such a stunning bird, knowing she'd probably never get the chance.
The drive to the prison wasn't incredibly short, but the scenery made up for it. Since the base was located on the outskirts of Oured, along the coast, there were plenty of trees surrounding the area and varied wildlife. All along the way Naomi noticed a herd of deer grazing in a nearby clearing, a fox prodding along the side of the road with what looked like a dead snake dangling from its jaws, and an osprey perched atop the wired fence, taking flight over to a pine tree as soon as the jeep made its loud, smelly approach. Before long, the trees began to thin out and the jeep slowed its approach, making a turn into the base's prison, which resided beside a large field bordering the forest.
There was a massive parking lot, the secure, multi-story building that — without a doubt — had different levels based on the severity of the crime, and several guarded, barbed wire fenced yards for exercise and recreation. Even with all that, there was still plenty of room left over to give the local animal inhabitants a place to roam. Awfully thoughtful of them, Naomi thought. The car slowed to a stop into it's parking spot and she was ushered out, leaving little time to enjoy the scenery now that they weren't zooming past it.
In just a few minutes, without a word to one another, they had reached the front door. Once inside the building, they showed the paperwork to a soldier at a front desk, who looked it over with a scowl, skimming it. He set it on the countertop when he was finished and glared at Naomi before he rose from his seat. "Follow me," he said coldly as he made his way over to a locked door. It had a scanner and after he passed his ID over it, the scanner beeped and it unlocked the door. "Just so we're clear, no physical contact with the visitors. Captain Turner, Captain Pierce, I got a call from the colonel. I'm leaving you two in charge of Lieutenant Foulke at the request of the major. The guards will be just outside if you need them."
"Understood," Clown replied, followed by a mumbled agreement from Knocker.
Naomi looked between the two of them, perplexed by the exchange and the vague choice in wording on behalf of the soldier leading them down the long hallway. It was difficult to imagine it housing a prison, what with the clean walls and floor and the bright, almost cheerful lights. It reminded her more of a hospital than anything. They finally stopped by a door, a sign beside it read 'Visitation Area' followed by 'Authorized personnel only'. The guard unlocked it and Clown and Knocker stepped aside, with the former holding out his arm towards the now accessible room, "Ladies first. Just get comfortable. We'll be in shortly."
Hesitantly, she stepped towards the door, the cuffs rattling as she moved. The guard opened the door and ushered her inside, shutting it quickly behind her. The click of the shutting door echoed and for a moment Naomi thought she was alone. All of the light was coming from a natural source, let in by windows that were lined up just below the ceiling, and once again she had to get used to the change in light. It was really getting annoying.
After a quick look around, she finally noticed the visitors waiting on her. They looked up and all of them stood in silence for a moment. There were four of them, three men and a woman, all standing around one of the tables in the room. The woman looked barely taller than Naomi and was wearing an OADF dress uniform. Her lawyer perhaps? Two of the others had a more questionable reason for being there. The man standing closest to the woman was lanky with short, reddish-brown hair, and he dressed more casually with an old flight jacket bearing an emblem from a squadron Naomi was unfamiliar with. The man on the opposite side of the table appeared older, with facial hair and a mature, serious quality about him.
The only person that Naomi recognized from the group was the last one. There was no mistaking the eyes and hair the same color as her own, nor the honest, friendly smile that he put on as soon as he saw her. He was her father. He actually came. "Dad!" Naomi began to tear up, finding herself unable contain the pent up emotions, though she tried her best not to get too sappy. She hadn't actually seen him since flight school and although they talked often, it just didn't compare to the real thing. Ignoring the guards warnings of 'no physical contact' she tried an awkward run across the room, nearly crashing into her father's chest. The breath was knocked out of him, but he regained his balance and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.
It wasn't actually much of a hug on her part, what with the handcuffs preventing her from returning the embrace, but just like he did when she was much younger, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. The exhaustion and stress began to ebb away and as childish as she felt in the moment, she also felt safe. Her father had said he'd get her some help, but she hadn't been expecting to actually get to see him. She pulled away, still having to look up at her father to look him in the eyes. Biting back a few tears, mostly of joy, she managed to make a rather dumb observation, "You…you came all the way from Aurick."
"Of course I did." He spoke as if the answer was obvious. As if she should have known he'd been there, waiting for her with one of his hugs, comforting smile, and some fatherly advice. "I know I taught you not to let them take you down without a fight. I said I'd help you with that and that's what I'm here to do." He placed a hand on her back and turned her towards the three strangers and pointed each one out to her. "This is Kathryn, Hans, and Genette. Kathryn and Hans fought in the last war. They were good friend's of Harling. So was Genette."
"Oh." Naomi couldn't help feeling as if they'd show some sort of bias towards her because of this. It seemed all of Harling's supporters believed Naomi had killed him, some less than others perhaps. But close friends of Harling might have similar, more peaceful views than he did. She said to the three of Harling's friends the only thing she could, "I'm sorry about your loss. I…well…if I did hit him, I can assure you that it was an accident. I'd never want to kill someone like that."
The woman, Kathryn, exchanged a curious look with Hans. Genette on the other hand kept a poker face. Naomi guessed that Kathryn and Hans were close, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to point out that they were wearing matching bands on their ring fingers. She found herself a little suspicious of the two of them, considering her father really only knew suspicious characters. He rarely let her meet them, but she'd seen photos of his buddy from the Belkan War. Come to think of it, Kathryn and that man bore similar features. The green eyes and oval face were the easiest to recognize.
"We're not here to grill you or anything like that, Naomi," Kathryn assured her, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs. "We're just here to meet you and get your side of the story." Naomi stared at her blankly. It was difficult to believe anyone was willing to hear her side of the story, or even believe it for that matter. But she couldn't ask any questions before the door opened and Clown and Knocker entered. Kathryn seemed to recognize Clown, as they quickly greeted each other with a friendly hug.
Naomi glanced at her father for answers, but he just chuckled and shrugged it off. Of course he'd leave it a mystery. Hell, he was a mystery. She watched the conversation between her flight lead and the strange major that she just met. "Blaze! It's good to see you!" Clown let out a hearty laugh as they drew apart from the hug. He greeted Hans and Genette with a firm handshake. "How have you kids been? Last time I actually saw you was…oh, about two years ago. God, I feel old, now." Naomi noticed that Knocker looked just as confused and uncomfortable as she felt.
Genette joined the conversation and the four of them began to catch up, with Knocker slowly making his way over to Naomi and her father. He greeted her dad with a hand shake and a brief exchange of names before he placed a hand on Naomi's shoulder. "I'd say there's a lot we don't know about that guy and a lot he'll probably never tell us," Knocker said to her. "But next time you get the opportunity, you should thank Clown. He's the one who got you all these new allies."
"I never knew he had so many…well, friends, honestly. I probably am going to end up with a pretty serious debt to him." Naomi shook her head. Although she didn't want to interrupt the reunion, she also wanted the cuffs off of her hands and a place to take a nap, which meant the visitation time could go by a little faster. She was also interested in finding out how the three new friends, that her father and Clown somehow knew, were going to help her. She brought both hands up, raising one slightly higher as if she had a question during a class. Naomi cleared her throat to get their attention and then awkwardly smiled. "Umm…I really hate to interrupt, but how can any of you get me out of what's looking like a life sentence?"
There was a pause as they all looked from one to the other, figuring out who was going to be leading the explanation of their master plan. It was Genette who finally decided to speak up, "We can't get you out of punishment entirely, but we know who to talk to in order to get you a…well, a more promising sentence. On top of that, I'm somewhat of an investigator, so I'll be looking into your case and connecting the dots that the military either missed or chose to ignore. Blaze and Grimm on the other hand—" he gestured to Kathryn and Hans, "—have a few connections with a few people in the OADF. If they talk to the right people, they can get a say in the ruling."
"That seems a little odd." Naomi furrowed her brow, choosing to be more skeptical than usual. No point in getting her hopes up for nothing. She took a seat and placed her hands in her lap. "I've got some questions for all of you before I know if I'm able to trust you. Just who are you guys anyways? How does Clown know all of you? Why does my dad know you? Why should I trust you?"
"Take it easy, kid," Kathryn chuckled, her companions showing equal amusement. "This isn't an interrogation. Now, I'll try my best to answer your questions. I can't tell you much about us and who we are, but I can tell you that I was in the last war. My squadron flew F-14s. As you know, they're two-seater aircraft and Clown sat in the back seat of my plane. That's how we all know him. I know your father because he's a good friend of my father and Grimm's uncle. And lastly, you should trust us because we've been in the same situation as you have."
Naomi tilted her head to the side. "Really? You were accused of murdering a former president and sent to prison? You've had to worry about facing a trial that's going to make or break everything you've been working for?"
"No," Hans answered this time. "We've been accused of a crime we didn't commit, though." Naomi clenched her jaw, awaiting the story that was likely to follow. She wanted to hear their explanation, and her suspicion was already beginning to ebb away. Hans continued, "During the last war, our former flight leader was accused of being a spy. Since he trained us, we were all regarded with suspicion. One morning the base commander pulled a gun on us and we had no choice but to run. A pilot from the first Kestrel intercepted us and allowed us to bail out before he shot our planes into the ocean. The world believes that we're dead, now, or nothing more than a legend or a squadron of ghosts."
Listening to the story, Naomi's eyes widened and she looked up at them, glancing from Kathryn and Hans to Clown as she began to remember something she'd read a few years back in high school. The emblem on Hans's jacket was the Wardog emblem…the Wardog were believed to have been killed in action…they were nicknamed the 'Demons of Razgriz' and when they were 'killed' they earned a new title among allies and enemies alike. How could she have missed that when she walked in?
She stood up, taking a step towards them as the pieces all came together right before her. Only one, simple statement was able to escape through her shock, "You're the Ghosts of Razgriz."
"That's right, and they're on your side." Clown was grinning again. "You're luck is changing, Trigger. You've got yourself a few new friends and they're going to help you as much as they can."