Chapter Twenty: Confrontation

|…|…|…|

New Arrows Air Base, East Usea.
August 6th, 2019.
1400hrs.

|…|…|…|

Bandog sat in Major Wiseman's office with a worried look on his face, carefully observing his surroundings. Wiseman seemed very dedicated to those under his command, with framed pictures on his desk and walls of all of them after operations. Each time with a different group. But each one had a date written in the corner as well as a title written on it. One in particular caught Bandog's eye. It was Major Wiseman, Lieutenant Jaeger, a pilot Bandog didn't know, and then Lieutenant Hirose. It looked as if they'd just returned from a sortie. The four pilots were still in their flight gear, just outside the hangar, looking proud of themselves even if slightly tired. They were all so close looking in the photo, resembling a family more than a squadron. A very strange family that didn't look at all related to one another, but a family nonetheless.

However, before he could read the title or the date, the door to the office swung open. He instinctively jumped, but relaxed as the major and another man entered the office. Bandog recognized the second man. They'd sort of met earlier that morning. He was Trigger's father, the guy who'd caused quite a stir at Zapland when they found out the relation he had to Trigger. Bandog wondered if he should start calling her Lieutenant Foulke or Naomi, since that was her real name as Full Band has so kindly revealed to him. But, it just didn't feel right to him. He straightened up, giving the two men his full attention as he nodded respectfully. "Major, Lieutenant," he greeted. "Good to see you again."

The older men exchanged an amused look, with Foulke having a more tired look about him. It was Foulke that replied, looking back to Bandog. "Respectful. I like that," he said. "However, it's former Lieutenant if anything. To save yourself the trouble, it's probably best to skip formalities with me. I was never one for them anyways." Bandog nodded. Of course he wasn't. After all, he used to be a mercenary. It surprised Bandog that he wasn't eager to be called by the rank he was given, simply because it gave him authority and guaranteed a degree of respect. Nevertheless, Bandog would respect that. Foulke smiled at him and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Wiseman cleared his throat and both of them gave the major their full attention. "Now that we've got that out of the way," he said as he dropped a stack of files on his desk. "I'm here to…well, think of this as a bit of a debriefing. Please, take a seat." The dark skinned man gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. Bandog and Foulke both hesitated before they took a seat just as they were told. Wiseman looked them over before he continued. "The information both of you provided us should be enough to deal with McKinsey. Our base commander made a phone call to the General Staff Office about an hour ago and they want to bring him in for an inquiry. Chances are, he'll be sent out to the front lines where things are hottest shortly after being stripped of his rank."

Bandog narrowed his eyes at this. So McKinsey would finally know what it was like to be treated like nothing more than a pawn. An unwilling sacrifice. Bandog didn't voice his darker thoughts on it, instead simply scoffing. "So, the great commander gets a taste of his own medicine, then?" he asked, even though he could already guess the answer. Wiseman nodded and Bandog held back a somewhat bitter smile. Good, he added silently to himself with a nod. He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable before asking, "And what about Spare Squadron and myself? What happens to us?"

"Well, that's entirely up to you," Wiseman replied, glancing at Foulke. "I've spoken with the others. They were a little reluctant at first but have agreed with the transfer here. I mean, I could have just not given them a choice, but it's a team effort around here and I need everybody to willingly work together. We'll be working with the Spare pilots to refine their training and go over their strengths, and Miss Mead has agreed to work alongside our mechanics. So really that just leaves you, Mr. Guard Dog. You're welcome to stay here. I'm sure we could find somewhere for you to work based on your skills." He shuffled the files until he got the one he wanted, opening it up and skimming it. With a smile he looked back up at Bandog. "Airman Joshua Marsh…hmm…no offense, I think Bandog sounds a little cooler."

"You and me both," he said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair nervously. It had been ages since he'd heard his real name. Bandog was just what he preferred, and after a while he kind of forgot about it. Maybe this was how the prisoners felt now that they were returning to a regular unit. No longer would it be a custom to call them by their nicknames. Bandog figured he might as well get used to his old name, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Actually, maybe he didn't have to hear it that often. He looked at the other two and hesitantly asked Wiseman, "Umm…if it's alright with you, could you keep my real name between us? I'm sure it would just take some getting used to, but I kind of like the name Bandog and if I'm gonna stick around then I don't want people calling me Josh or something like that until I get to know them better."

Wiseman nodded. "If that's what you want. Only myself and the base commander have to know. Whether or not everyone else knows is your choice. Around here we like to switch it up a lot, though. At least Húxiān — Lieutenant Hirose, I mean — does it. I'm sure your friends might, too," he said. There was a pause as he read Bandog's file and then closed it, returning it to the bottom of the pile. He looked back up at Bandog. "So, with the name request, does that mean you want to be transferred here? I should warn you. It can get tough, even if you aren't a pilot. It all depends on how big an operation we have going down. It might be easy for the first few days, but you can get overwhelmed once things start picking up."

Bandog took a deep breath, considering all of his options. With the remainder of the 444th in North Point awaiting orders and Commander McKinsey being transferred and likely losing his rank, where was Bandog going to go? There wasn't anything for him back in Osea and even if there was he was too young to retire. Besides, the former Spares were going to need someone to help teach them how to act like real soldiers again. Wiseman was probably more than capable, but Bandog knew what made these guys tick and could lend a hand whenever it was needed. At last, Bandog was sure he wanted to stay. He nodded. "Yes, sir," he said with a nod. "I'm going to be staying. I've got nowhere else to go. But, er…what about my dog? You know, the Dinsmark shepherd they had in the crate on the transport? I'm not much of a handler, but I'd miss her company a little and she could do wonders for morale."

At this, both Wiseman and Foulke grinned and looked at each other. Bandog looked around at them, confused, and Foulke was the one to explain, "We've already seen her work her magic firsthand. A couple of McKinsey's soldiers were unloading the transport and that dog of yours wasn't happy about being muzzled and in a crate. So, Lieutenant Jaeger and the younger pilots spoke with the guard and they let her out. After a couple of minutes of uncertainty and hiding in the hangar, she eventually came around and started a game of chase with everyone. When we left they were all trying to figure out what kind of commands you taught her and tossing her pieces of some guy's sandwich as a treat."

Embarrassed, Bandog groaned and hid his face with his hand as Foulke and Wiseman both laughed. Figures that the first time the dog is around real soldiers she decides to act completely undignified and like a puppy. The military did most of her training, and yet for some reason they couldn't get rid of her weird personality. How was it that a dog had so much personality anyways? He tried not to smile, but the mental image coupled with the other men laughing made it difficult. At last, it died down and he had an opportunity to show his face again, although he was pretty sure that it was a little red. As they all caught their breath, Wiseman cleared his throat. He was still grinning as he finished explaining, "The base commander happened to be coming by to get me when all of this happened. After the others started pleading like children begging their parents for a pet, he finally agreed that if it helped keep up morale then I should see if you want to keep her around."

"Well, of course I want to," Bandog said. "I mean…I was a little upset when McKinsey first gave me a dog to add to my responsibilities, but she's loyal. Not much of a guard dog, but I think she can sense who the real enemy is." He shook his head and chuckled, recalling the way she would behave around McKinsey. "You know, it's funny. She never lashed out at Tabloid or Trigger, she ignored the other prisoners, and she always growled at McKinsey and some of his guards. Better judge of character than I am, I'll tell you that." The others nodded, still looking amused, before Bandog straightened up and put on a serious look once again. "Anyways…what about the rest of the squadron? How are they doing?"

Foulke nodded in agreement and leaned forward. "I'm curious about that myself, Major," he said. "I wasn't around when the doctor looked them over and I didn't read the medical report, either, but they all look exhausted. I've heard McKinsey was one sadistic bastard when they were under him."

"Nothing's wrong with them that can't be easily fixed. All of them appear to have mild cases of malnutrition, heat exhaustion, and a less serious case of sunburn," Wiseman said to them. "Bandog's in better condition than all of them, but that's to be expected since he wasn't a prisoner. Speaking of…" he paused and read over some papers on one side of the desk that were yet to be put in a folder, "...Tabloid, Count, and Trigger were probably the worst off. They already explained why. They've got some bruising from being manhandled by some of the guards frequently, though they apparently let up on them towards the last few days. Other than that, I'd say they'll be ready for combat within the next few days. Now that McKinsey's out of their lives I'm sure they'll be much happier, too."

Bandog felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he gave confirmation. Not that he excluded it from his report. He was sure that the others all had similar stories about solitary. Next to him, he saw Foulke tense up and take a shaky breath. Through gritted teeth and looking darkly out the window, he declared to his two companions, "I'm gonna kill that bastard, McKinsey. The no good son of a bitch won't even see it coming, either."

Wiseman gave him a look of understanding, but it quickly hardened to a more stern one. "I know how you must be feeling right now," he said. "But officially we aren't supposed to get involved. We're just supposed to get him on a transport and make sure he doesn't get a chance to contact anyone." After a moment, Wiseman looked around, and then said. "However, unofficially I think that we can let both Spare Squadron and you have a word with him. I know you all must want some closure, so for the next two hours, until dinner time, all security personnel on base are either on break or simply saw the Spare pilots and Larry Foulke saying goodbye to Commander McKinsey. So, both of you should feel free to get a little creative. Obviously, I'm not condoning some extreme violence, but giving him a little scare is acceptable to some extent."

Foulke looked to Bandog and then back to Wiseman. "Well, in that case…" he said. "If that's all you have to say, Major, I have someone to pay a visit to." Wiseman nodded so Foulke said his goodbyes to them, stood up, and quickly left the room. Bandog could imagine that the visit with McKinsey was going to be less than civil, but there was no way he was going to interfere. He and Spare Squadron had their own score to settle with their former base commander. For now, it was Foulke's turn, though. He needed to get the others together before they could confront McKinsey anyways.

"Well, anyways," Wiseman said, bringing Bandog's attention away from the door and back to him. "I'll let you go on and speak with your friends. If you want to have a talk with McKinsey then you can. The choice is yours, but I doubt he'll be conscious once Trigger's dad is done with him." There was a hint of a smile on the major's face, but it quickly faded and was replaced with a perfect line as Wiseman began looking over the rest of the Spare files and reports, becoming focused on that. He glanced up once more and nodded towards the door. Distractedly, he said, "Sorry…you're free to go. I've got to go over all of this for some paperwork tonight, so I'll let y'all get settled."

Bandog nodded and stood up from his chair, leaving the office after taking one last look of the photos of Wiseman's squadron. Carefully shutting the door behind him, he stepped out in the hallway and tried to remember which way led outside. He was sure that he'd find a door eventually if he just wandered around, but right now he needed to get to the hangar before Sarge caused any more inconvenience or embarrassment. As for Spare Squadron and McKinsey, Bandog decided not to do anything about it. They'd gotten their revenge. Now it was time to put it in the past. It was like Wiseman said. Trigger's crazy father seemed to have it handled, so why should they waste their energy?

1430hrs.

It didn't take Pixy very long to find where McKinsey was lurking. He was getting his luggage sorted out with the crew of the transport he'd flown in on. While the commander was busy barking out orders, he almost didn't notice anything or anyone around him until Pixy was standing right beside him. Startled, McKinsey turned to face Pixy, who gave a fake smile as a greeting. For a few seconds, McKinsey studied Pixy's face long and hard until a smug smirk formed on his face and his eyes lit up with recognition. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, crossing his arms. "If it isn't the infamous Solo Wing Pixy. You know, your kid has been nothing more than a massive pain in my ass. And she seems to have inherited your traitorous nature."

Pixy took a deep breath. He knew that Naomi wasn't without her faults, but she wasn't guilty. At least not officially, anymore. The General Staff Office, thanks mostly to Wiseman, Kathryn, and several other's efforts, finally ruled it as what it was. An accident, not murder. Pixy was fine with himself being marked as a traitor. That much was true. But his daughter was still loyal to Osea in spite of being treated like shit by her own country over and over again. Coolly, he replied, "I'm sure you'd know all about that, now wouldn't you, Colonel? Or would it be 'former Colonel'?"

McKinsey blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" His expression quickly went from shocked to angry, and he drew himself up and stepped in front of Pixy. It was almost an amusing sight, because Pixy was taller than the furious man that desperately tried to seem threatening. The guy wasn't incredibly short, but he didn't scare Pixy. Not in the slightest. For one, he was a narcissistic coward that overestimated himself and for two, he didn't look like he'd be able to hold his own very well in a fight. Although Pixy was trying to come up with an outcome to a fight just in case McKinsey threw a punch, he still listened to the guy's angry monologue. "Now listen here! I've received more medals than you've probably seen in your lifetime. I've proven myself worthy of this command. I fought nobly for my country during the Belkan War and the Circum-Pacific War, which is more than I could say for you. Now just what is this 'former' bullshit?"

"You know, I've never been a fan of people talking to me like that," Pixy said, shaking his head and looking up to the sky. Finally, he lowered his gaze back to McKinsey. "I just wanted to tell you a couple of things. First, you're going to be walking into a trial in North Point. A bunch of Osean and other allied Generals sittin' around on their asses all for you. Erusea isn't gonna come and bail you out. We've got a couple of witnesses saying that you and your buddies were going back and forth selling information to the highest bidder. Man, you make my mercenary days seem honorable. Hell, at least I actually picked a side. May not have been the right choice in the end, but hey, you live and learn. Right?" McKinsey actually looked genuinely scared as Pixy spoke. A giveaway that he was right. Pixy grinned. It was his turn to look smug. "Yup. Colonel Matthews back at Fort Grays was confronted and he sold you out in a heartbeat. And the intel one of your prisoners dug up proves it."

There was a moment of silence before McKinsey chuckled darkly. "We'll just have to wait and see about that. You sound so sure of yourself, but I've got connections everywhere. Further more, it won't end with me and you know it." He crossed his arms, then looked around. The commander lowered his voice. "And they'll be coming for your daughter soon enough. The bitch got in over her head at the Lighthouse. I may hate her, but she is a hell of a pilot. They know a threat when they see one and I already gave them the information they need. Erusea's gonna be singling her out in battle. Belka might even try and hunt her down. I wonder what would happen if they got her hands on her. I hear both countries treat POWs harshly. How harsh would they treat one who was a woman, hmm?"

He knew he shouldn't have done it, but McKinsey was a traitor who would be in handcuffs soon enough anyways and he wasn't Pixy's commanding officer. There was absolutely no consequence to it whatsoever. Pixy made a fist, and before he completely thought it through, it just so happened to make contact with McKinsey's nose. There was a dull thud and an almost faint crunch as well and McKinsey staggered backwards from the blow, clutching his face with his hand. The transport crew didn't even bat an eye. In fact, they almost looked pleased by it. McKinsey looked up at him, eyes watering slightly and his face red with anger. When he pulled his hand back from his nose, blood was trickling down. Pixy unclenched his fist and sighed, feeling much better than he had. But he still had a few things to say.

As McKinsey tried to back away, staring in shock at the blood that had gotten on his hands, Pixy grabbed his shirt and drew him in close as if he was preparing to punch him again. Instead, he just held him in place, lowering his own voice to what he'd describe as a snarl. "After surviving so long without your soldiers tearing you apart, looks like you think you're invincible. You're not invincible and you don't deserve to be called a leader. You're a tyrant, and sooner or later they always get what's coming to them," he said quickly, wanting to make sure that McKinsey still heard what he was saying while not giving him an opportunity to interrupt. "If anyone comes after my family, during or after this war, I'm going to hold you personally responsible. If something happens to Naomi, I'm going to hunt you down and I'll make you suffer, whatever the cost may be. Do you understand me?"

Although he tried to keep a defiant look on his face, McKinsey reluctantly nodded. Pixy, having everything out of his system, let out a sigh and stepped back. He let go of his grip on McKinsey's uniform and let the colonel nearly fall from the unexpected release. McKinsey tugged on the hem of his clothes to straighten his uniform out before wiping the blood away from his nose and staring down at it. He looked around before muttering under his breath to the crew, "Carry on…"

His work being done, Pixy glanced towards the hangar where the LRSSG pilots had witnessed the entire event and were chattering about it while they continued to play with Bandog's canine companion. Avril and Tabloid were standing off to the side, looking impressed. Beside them was their friend Count, who was practically grinning ear to ear. And with a blank expression on her face, Naomi stood leaning against the hangar door with her arms crossed. Their eyes met for a moment from across the ramp, but Naomi broke eye contact and pushed herself off of the hangar. The other three watched her leave with confused and concerned expressions, but she didn't look back. Count started to follow after her, saying something to the others, but Avril stopped him and shook her head. Even from where he was, he could just barely hear what Avril was telling the other two. "Give her some time."

As they all looked at Pixy sympathetically, although still in high spirits from seeing their former commander getting punched, he turned away and decided to head off to his own quarters. Looking back at McKinsey, he gave a fake smile that only caused McKinsey to scowl as he reached for a nearby rag and pressed it to his nose, which was starting to look swollen. Satisfied with his work, Pixy turned around and headed off in the opposite direction of Naomi. She'd probably gone off for a walk. She did that sort of thing. Apparently work and any sort of activity most would find stressful seemed to calm her down. So long as she didn't run into anyone while on a walk, it usually did the trick.

It hurt that Naomi had to find out about his past the way that she did. And it hurt even more that she reacted the way she did. He had no control over whether or not she found out, and he was coming to the realization that he was becoming less and less capable of protecting her. He couldn't protect her from her heritage, and unless he found a way to keep her out of the air then he couldn't protect her from the enemy either. Pixy knew all three of his children were grown up and perfectly able of taking care of themselves, but he still had a responsibility to them. At least the other two knew of the past and were able to move on from it over time. He didn't blame her for being upset. Maybe giving her some time and space was really all that he needed. Maybe she'd realize that he lied to protect her, and for no other reason. But she had to realize it on her own time, it would seem.

Downtown Farbanti, Erusea.
August 7th, 2019.
1200hrs.

After a long flight from the EASA facility, Rosa had been hoping to be given some time to rest and settle back into her responsibilities. But no sooner than a day after her arrival back in the capital, her father had made a lunch reservation for a meeting with several Erusean generals. The princess was less than thrilled, but seeking the approval of her citizens and colleagues meant that she had to be present for these meetings in order for her speeches to be accurate as well as any questions from journalists. Well, not all of the time. A simple talk from her father and a look over some notes was sometimes all she had to go off of during a speech. So long as she informed the citizens that the casualty rate was supposedly dropping thanks to the drones, everyone was happy. But Rosa was starting to get suspicious of the statistics she was oftentimes given.

But she wasn't supposed to question it. That was her father's job, and if the war with Osea truly was justified then it didn't matter. So she agreed to go to the lunch meeting with her father, not that he really gave her a choice. He asked her if she was feeling up to it, and if she'd answered 'no' to the question it would have made her out to be a liar. But her thoughts on the way to the restaurant her father had booked weren't actually on the meeting or the war or any sort of politics.

She'd have much rather been curled up in her family's library with a good book and her dog, Leo, sitting by her side. And every now and then she might get a text message from Ionela. She missed her friends. The visit to the facility had been…enlightening. Everyone there seemed to not care about the war, or outright disliked it. They didn't like talking about it unless they were learning of General Shilage's sorties. But in the last days Rosa had been at the facility, he'd been focused on studying other aces from previous wars in hopes of discovering who the mysterious pilot with the three scratches was. Even Rosa was a little curious. She knew nothing of aviation, she knew nothing of planes at all, and she knew little about the military aside from the politics behind it, and yet the way the General spoke of this pilot stirred some sort of fondness for the sky. She could understand why pilots like Ionela's grandfather longed to fly so badly. It looked peaceful up there, save for the war raging on somewhere else.

Rosa's thoughts were interrupted as the car came to a stop and their driver got out to open the door for her and her father. She pulled her gaze away from the window and the sky overhead as she undid her seatbelt and climbed out with her father. They were dressed like people with money, but not like stereotypical royalty. Her father was wearing a nice suit and a tie the color of the Erusean flag, whereas Rosa was dressed even less like royalty, wearing a white blouse and a khaki skirt. It was more casual and suited the occasion. At least she didn't feel like she was boiling in these clothes. Although she'd never tell her mother and father, she didn't enjoy wearing most of the dresses they had tailored for her.

Their bodyguard joined them, sticking out like a sore thumb. He reminded Rosa of the bodyguards they showed on movies and TV shows, dressed in a perfect black tuxedo and wearing sunglasses. He even had an earpiece to communicate with the other guards tasked with looking out for and protecting the family. This guard Rosa had known for many years. He'd worked with her father's cousin and then continued to serve her father when he took the throne. His name was Henri, and Rosa would even have considered him a good family friend. He reminded her of her relatives. Friendly and cheerful, but still focused on his job. Anxiously looking around the area and deciding it was safe, Henri nervously spoke to her father. "Your Majesty, perhaps the lunch could be rescheduled and hosted at the palace, rather than so close to the residential areas."

Rosa's father narrowed his eyes, but there wasn't any sign of anger in his bright blue eyes. He gave a warm smile. "Now, Henri, why the concern?" he asked as the three of them made for the entrance to the building, the driver getting back in the car to park it elsewhere. Or to likely take care of his own business. He'd be back within two hours, which was how long meetings usually took. Her father was always very lenient with the staff, which Rosa was happy for. He never treated any of them like they were lesser simply because they weren't wealthy. Rosa knew it was because of their own background. They didn't come from money, which is why many thought they were unsuited to rule the country, and they understood not to let the money interfere with their character.

At the question her father asked, Henri let out a sigh. They entered the restaurant and only then did the bodyguard answer. "Because of Osea. The last attack on the capital damaged many neighborhoods. They killed countless civilians. Had you and your family not been safe at home at that time…well, Lord knows what might have happened to you." Rosa frowned, recalling the attacks. However, after the pride of Osea's navy — the Kestrel II — was sunk in their last attack, they withdrew. Without their mighty carrier, it seemed they doubted their abilities. Since then, Osea hadn't bothered them and all those that resided in the capital had been safe from harm.

Rosa would have pointed this out, having been quiet for some time, but her father made it clear that he wanted the subject dropped. The King shrugged it off. "It's alright, Henri," he said in an attempt to get him to relax. "I'm sure we'll be fine. The Osean military hasn't been anywhere close to the capital since we sunk their carrier. I doubt they'll just attack without any warning." They were greeted in the mostly deserted restaurant by a young man that was dressed in a suit and a bowtie. His hair was slicked back and he had a very quiet, mature demeanor. With few words exchanged between them, aside from the waiter bowing to Rosa's father and welcoming them to the restaurant, they were led over to a table where everyone else was already waiting. Henri looked unsure what to do, so her father thought quickly. "Er, Henri, why don't you sit at a nearby table and have some lunch of your own? I don't think you've taken a single break all day."

Henri reluctantly agreed and the waiter led him to a table to sit with a couple of soldiers that were accompanying the generals. General Édouard Labarthe, the Conservative leader, was the first to stand up as the King and Rosa arrived at the table. The others followed suit, respectfully bowing before the two of them. Rosa returned it with a proper, practiced curtsy before she sat down. Her father motioned for them to relax as he took a seat and ordered more ice water for himself and for Rosa. Labarthe looked at the two of them with a friendly smile. But it was the leader of their left leaning party — former General François Parrish — that was the first to speak up, solely to Rosa. "I heard you recently returned from the EASA site, princess," he said. "You got the grand tour and everything. Must have been interesting, seeing the work that goes into our drones firsthand. It's impressive, isn't it?"

"François, please!" General Labarthe hissed at his companion. "That's no way to greet the King's daughter!" Parrish was much younger than Labarthe, perhaps the youngest general that Erusea had. He was definitely straight to the point and didn't enjoy beating around the bush. That being said, he didn't appreciate small talk very much. Rosa could understand this, but she often didn't know the right way to respond to him. Most of his questions were never phrased like questions at all and he put her on the spot more often than not. He knew what he was talking about, though, even managing to convince Rosa and her father of the importance of using drones. Labarthe was always opposed to Parrish and his ideas, though. Rosa blamed it on being on opposite sides of the political spectrum, but she did feel like there was something more to their rivalry than met the eye.

Parrish gave a mildly apologetic look to Rosa and her father, which she responded by smiling awkwardly. As Labarthe and her father engaged in small talk, trying to rope Parrish in as well. Rosa was here for business and for lunch, though, so she stayed out of the conversation and instead chose to admire the place they were dining. This was always her favorite restaurant. When she was much younger and her parents often worked days at a time for their money, Rosa always enjoyed the special birthday treat that was dining at the 'fancy downtown restaurant' as she called it, never caring much to say its full name. Of course, that wasn't its actual name. La Rose Blanche was its name. The White Rose.

Her parents always joked that it was named after her, although she eventually grew out of believing that once she turned around nine or ten and realized that it was just a regular, expensive sounding name. The restaurant was lovely, though. Gorgeous glass chandeliers were hung throughout it to provide lighting, and it had sleek, marble flooring with orange and white rugs under the tables. The ceiling was painted to look like the city always did at sunset, and atmospheric, soft jazz music was always playing. On most days there was a band that came to play at certain times, but if they weren't present then recordings of their music were played instead. Everywhere that one could place flowers were occupied by the restaurant's namesake. Bouquets of them at every table and as many as they could fit without looking gaudy or overwhelming. And it always smelled of their amazing food.

Rosa's particular favorite dish to order was a croque madame. A variation of a delicious baked ham and cheese sandwich that was topped with a fried egg. It was delicious, and it was also nice to look at. They definitely knew the importance of presentation. It wasn't long before everyone had ordered their food and it arrived, the service at the restaurant being incredibly quick and always on time. However, most of their time was spent talking rather than eating. Eventually, the topic turned around towards drone production and the increased use of them and how it was providing Erusea with a cleaner war. Rosa delicately wiped her lips free of any crumbs with one of the monogramed napkins and washed her food down with a few sips of water, preparing herself for when they'd ask her of her opinion on it.

"The drones are far more precise in battle, and with the researchers from Gründer Industries helping program and improve them, well…" General Parrish was grinning wildly as he spoke, pausing his speech only to eat something and then picking right where he left of. Labarthe stared at him with mild disapproval as he eagerly continued. "They'll dominate the skies. Eventually, Osea will lose too many soldiers whereas we haven't lost anything that we can't replace. I think we should rush the prototype drones. Our last one — programmed completely from scratch with just General Shilage's flight data — was shot down over Bulgurdarest by that pilot with the scratches. At least, that's what the last footage it transmitted showed us before its signal went dead."

She looked up in surprise. "The pilot with the scratches? General Shilage told us about him!"

Parrish nodded and frowned. "Yes, well, he's been a massive pain in our ass. No idea who he is, but if Osea has any more like him hiding anywhere then we're all screwed. This guy and his squadron shot down a squadron of our drone fighters. I don't know how they figured out how to get around the fake IFF, though."

"Because, although it's impressive, it's easy to get around," Labarthe said, filling his glass up with more water before setting the glass pitcher down. "The drones, although they may reduce human casualties on our side, are pointless. They can be hacked, for one. And their fake IFF signature only goes so far for a resourceful squadron — as you've seen!"

Rosa wasn't sure at first if she should say anything, but at last decided to offer her own opinion. "And the drones still come at a cost to many humans regardless." Parrish and Labarthe looked at her, surprised, but her father simply glanced at her and allowed her the stage. Nervously, praying she wouldn't slip up and say something foolish about something that she knew next to nothing about, she continued, "We're using data from human pilots to program them. The data is gathered by sending them out into combat. The ace that we're getting this data from can only take so much. The drones are only as capable as a human pilot. They can't read the reactions from an enemy pilot. They don't know how to adapt. They can't adapt. They can only go as far as their programming allows them."

Parrish's face lit up. Labarthe looked impressed by her observation and seemed to think that she proved his point, but Parrish seemed to think the exact thing. "Brilliant observation, Your Highness! I'm glad you brought that up, since I've been meaning to inform you of this development." He reached into the jacket of his dress uniform and produced a neatly folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, he presented it to those sitting around him. Rosa leaned forward, seeing that it was blueprints. The drones on it were thin and sleek, looking as though they'd be agile. In fact, it almost reminded her of a swan in flight. Graceful. However, she knew that it wasn't meant to look pretty. In all fairness, it was a little scary how it looked like no plane that she'd ever seen.

Parrish seemed ecstatic about it, though. "The prototype that was shot down was an early version of this aircraft. However, our plan with this is that it can observe and gather data on its own. A more advanced AI than we've been working with. It's self-aware and…well, think of it as having a photographic memory. Not only that, but if needed it can transmit the data to other drone manufacturers across our country. So while we're producing more drones, they become smarter at the same time." Labarthe looked almost disturbed by this information, Rosa's father looked intrigued, and Rosa herself felt conflicted. It seemed a little extreme. Not to mention risky. "It can do everything a real pilot can and then some. Osea has good pilots, but all that skill goes to waste. The drones can take the data and adapt it, since they're more maneuverable than your average fighter. Take Osea's favored aircraft. The F-15 and the F-22. Good aircraft, maneuverable, and capable of a lot of things. But our drones can outmaneuver them any day. Not to mention the speeds this thing is capable of. High-G turns with no risk to the pilot mean that it's able to pull them off more than your average pilot could. Not to mention it can pick up speed afterwards within seconds, meaning there's little chance of it stalling."

Labarthe snorted. "So while I've been trying to think of possible, peaceful solutions to the war, you've been developing things to keep them going?" he said accusingly. Rosa tensed up, sensing an argument coming on. This was why she didn't like politics. While an actual war was raging on somewhere else, their government was waging its own war within, arguing about whether to fight or whether to not fight. But at this point in the war, it seemed a little early for peace talks. Labarthe disagreed, though. "The war won't last much longer, I'm certain of that. Osea's representatives have been willing to start peace negotiations. If you pull out something like that, all of our recent progress with them is going to go out the window. This war will go on longer than necessary and, whether you believe it or not, blood is going to be pointlessly shed."

"Labarthe, you're so stubborn at times," Parrish said with a sigh, folding the blueprints up and sticking them back into his jacket. "If we start peace talks on Osea's terms then we've let them win. Osea will continue to disrespect us and to invade our land and build more of their hideous projects on our soil. The Lighthouse…the International Space Elevator…do they think that everyone needs them to come and save the day? The world wasn't falling apart when Harling decided to build the elevator. We didn't need saving. Thanks to him, things actually did begin to fall apart. Osea needs to be taught a lesson. They need to be taught that the people of Erusea — the people all over Usea, actually — are capable of just as much. We're capable of more than Osea could ever even dream of, and yet they overshadow our accomplishments every day. Drones are the only way we can accomplish that with a clean war."

"War is never, clean, Parrish," Labarthe replied. "Regardless of what you do, no one makes it through a war with clean hands. I hope that one day you'll realize this. You can't ignore reality just because it makes you feel powerful." With this, the subject was dropped as everyone finished lunch and waited for the waiter to arrive for the check.

Rosa and her father discussed the new type of drone with Parrish, with Labarthe only asking a few questions about it. She felt bad. The older general's words kept playing in her mind, though, as the afternoon continued. War is never clean…no one makes it through a war with clean hands...Did that include Rosa? Wasn't the blood on her hands as much as it was everyone else's? Just because it wasn't entirely Erusean blood…that didn't make it any more or less okay. But Parrish presented a good argument as well. Osea had disrespected them. But should they pay for that at the cost of innocent people's lives? These questions kept going around in Rosa's mind and she was starting to doubt everything she'd been told by her father and by General Parrish.

New Arrows Air Base, East Usea.
August 8th, 2019.
0645hrs.

Naomi stared up at her plane and examined it carefully. Wiseman had made them all an offer to join the LRSSG during a debriefing earlier that morning. The others had all agreed to it prior to that morning though. Apparently Wiseman had a chat with all of them, but couldn't find a time to bring it up to Naomi. So he brought up the good news while informing them McKinsey had been transferred somewhere else to face the consequences of his espionage and stressing his achievements. Until Wiseman could figure out what to do with all of them as far as squadron placing went, Naomi and the others were left to their own devices and to wander around the base and do as they please. Although she was sure that her friends were less than happy about her decision, she chose the solitude of the hangar where her and Count's old planes were being kept.

Now that they were free of Spare Squadron and mostly from the convict title, she still found herself somewhat fond of her plane. It was beat up and so was Count's, so both of them would be scrapped. Chances were that she and him, if they were to fly with Wiseman's squadron and not just sit around as temporary replacements, would be getting new planes. Likely F-15s like the rest of the LRSSG. Naomi wasn't complaining. She'd be fine with a new plane, but she had a weird sentimental attachment to the F-2. Just like the old F-16, it kind of represented something in a way. She looked specifically at the tail, where the three sin lines were and chuckled dryly. She didn't even mind the sin lines anymore.

In fact, she almost liked them. They stuck out a little, but maybe with some touching up…there had to be some way to stylize it. Her thoughts drifted to different designs as she tried to picture something in her head. It had been so long since she'd used a pen and paper, but if she could get her hands on some then maybe she could draw something up. That was, if she still remembered how to do it and not suck. She never thought of herself an artist, but she did enjoy doodling. That's how her personal emblem came to be, after all. But Bandog said it himself during her first fight over Zapland. Prisoners don't use anything without supervision. Not even a pencil. The thing was, they never let them near pencils anyways, supervised or not.

As she sat in silence, she remained aware of her surroundings. That meant that she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye as someone entered the hangar. Actually, three someones. She didn't bother looking away from her plane to see who they were. Within a few minutes, she was surrounded by Avril, Tabloid, and Count. Count took a seat on a box beside her, crossing his arms. "You miss solitary this much, eh Trigger?" he asked. There was a pause and then he added in an almost teasing way, "Or would you prefer Naomi now?"

Naomi sighed, but she didn't look at him as she spoke, "Count, if you're going to just sit there and mock my name then you should just leave before I introduce your face to my fist." She then turned to look at him, keeping her expression blank in contrast to the smirk he was wearing. "Honestly, I don't think they'd get along too well."

Count almost laughed. "Jeez, you really do take after your father, now don't you?" Naomi tensed, huffing in irritation and glaring at the other two who were holding their tongues. As she looked away, Count suddenly had a much calmer tone when he spoke. Unusual for him. "Relax, Trigger. I'm not here to mock you or your name. In fact, I kinda like it. Naomi is a pretty name." Naomi turned back to look at him, blinking in surprise. She tried to search his face for any sign that he was kidding, but she didn't find anything. She hadn't heard anyone compliment her name in a long time. It still sounded weird, though. Even weirder coming from Count's mouth. He shrugged. "We just came here to talk to you. But if you want to be upset with someone, then it was Avril's idea."

The Scrap Queen huffed and placed her hands on her hips. "Thanks, Count," she said, most definitely not grateful that he sold her out. "It's almost like we didn't have that talk where both you and Tabloid completely agreed to said idea. But go ahead and sell me out to the person that just threatened to punch you. I don't mind at all." The two glared at each other like bickering siblings while Tabloid and Naomi both shared a look that said one clear thing. 'Idiots'. But Avril eventually took a deep breath and looked at Naomi. "We've given you plenty of time to get used to the way things are going to be from now on. It's time for you to stop moping around and holding a grudge against your father."

Everyone was surprised by how forward Avril was, but none of them dared argue with her. Actually, Naomi didn't have the opportunity to. She opened her mouth to defend herself and Tabloid cut in, "If we're going to be part of a real squadron then we can't afford to walk around with a chip on our shoulders." He paused and looked around to see if either Avril or Count had something to put in, but if there was a cue then they missed it. He sighed. "We get you're upset, but you found out about what your dad did a month ago. We figured that you were over it. And if you're not, then that's…understandable. It's perfectly normal to be upset about something like that. I mean, your life kind of turned out to be a lie."

Count nodded in agreement. "But your father came all this way for you," he continued what the others were getting at, once again keeping Naomi from butting in. "I mean, the guy freaking punched McKinsey! Hell, even I think the guy's a bit of a badass just for that." Naomi did manage to smile a bit. She hadn't wanted her father to see it, but she was actually surprised and more than a little pleased that he punched McKinsey like he did. She would have preferred to have an opportunity to do it for herself, but she was given a second chance by Wiseman and didn't want to blow it by decking someone who still outranked her even if he wouldn't for much longer. She'd have probably been thrown back into prison and given a couple of extra sin lines. Of course, five or six sin lines wouldn't be too big a price to pay.

"What we're getting at is that you need to talk to your father. Normally. Confront him," Avril said, not pleased by the extra input that Count had given. She was being surprisingly level headed. Of course, she still looked ready to kick Naomi's ass if she disagreed. She opened her mouth to continue, but then hesitated. Naomi looked at the others in confusion, but Avril just looked to Tabloid. He nodded for her to continue, giving her an encouraging smile. To her surprise, Avril gave a stiff nod in response and took a deep breath. "Look, the reason I ended up in prison could technically be seen as my dad's fault. And my grandfather's. My grandpa wouldn't let me join the air force after generations of pilots fighting all because my dad pulled a stupid stunt and got himself killed. I was upset. Hell, I still am. I hate my father for getting his dumbass killed and leaving me to deal with it. But if I had an opportunity to see him again, I'd set the grudge aside long enough to hear his side of the story."

Although she didn't show any sort of sadness as she told her brief story, Naomi was surprised at how open she chose to be in that moment. Even Count and Tabloid looked a little surprised. Mostly Count. Something told Naomi that Tabloid might have already heard some version of the story. After a brief period of silence, Count started to wrap up their pep talk. "Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, why don't you get off of your butt and listen to your dad's side of the story. You saw what happened in Spare Squadron when everyone found out your identity. Maybe he had a good reason not to tell you."

Tabloid nodded in agreement. "I saw how your dad looked at you, Trigger. I think that it's just as hard for him as it is for you. It's not fair that you're only thinking of you and the side of the story that you know. So give the guy a chance before something happens and you don't get the opportunity."

Naomi was silent as she considered what they'd just said. Admittedly, she hadn't been thinking about her father. Or rather, she had, but she only considered his reasoning and feelings to be selfish. She looked around at them and shook her head. "You three rehearsed this, didn't you?" she asked.

Count shrugged. "Eh, only a little bit. Most of that was improv." He winced as Avril smacked him on the back of the head for the comment. He turned to glare at her, rubbing the back of his head, and Tabloid and Naomi had a good laugh at his expense. As the lying died down, Count said to Naomi, "I'll have you know that that entire pep talk was harder than it looked. I'm not good at stuff like this, but I didn't want to feel like I owed you for your advice about Full Band's death." Naomi gave them all three a grateful look, patting Count on the shoulder. He looked embarrassed and suddenly stood up, getting back to his usual demeanor. "Anyways. Are you gonna take our advice, or are you still going to act like the most stubborn human being alive?"

She laughed and stood up. "Uh…well, I'm gonna take your advice. But, I'm doing things my own way." They looked mildly concerned as she started to leave. Over her shoulder she called to them, "Relax. I'm taking action sooner rather than later, but I want to hear more than just his side of the story." None of them said anything as she left, no longer questioning it. They probably already knew what she was going to do. This was only one part of the bigger picture, and she needed to understand a little bit more before she could confront her father. In any case, she was grateful her friends were so pushy. Or annoying. Or good at giving speeches. Either way, they'd already come a long way from Zapland.