Chapter Twenty-Six: All In A Day
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Farbanti, Erusea.
September 3rd, 2019.
0813hrs.
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General Parrish was back at the palace, and in as awful a mood as ever. No surprise there. In all the years Henri had spent working as a bodyguard for the royal family, never once had he met a politician he hated nearly as much as he hated General Parrish. Although at this point, the 'general' part of his name was meant to be only a formality. Yet Parrish seemed to be taking charge of the military like a regular leader, seeming to divide their forces rather than unite them. It was no wonder that Osea was starting to turn the war in their favor. That and the fact that they had a brand new ace on their side. Erusea had General Shilage, that was no secret, but he hadn't been well recently and was being sent out on fewer sorties. The drones brought absolutely nothing good to the table.
Right now, the King and the general were in conference. Poor Princess Cossette was joining them, although her father had been surprisingly harsh with her after she went against his wishes with her last speech to the public. That had caused quite a stir among the people, and the news was still talking about it. Henri pitied the Princess, having gone from such a bright young girl to a political pawn in the course of a few years. She'd always been a kind-hearted, respectful child, and it wasn't her that wanted the war with Osea. At least not now. She'd been manipulated, and now that they realized her doubts and the fact that she understood how they'd used her it was clear that they weren't happy about it.
He'd made a vow to never question the King and respect them regardless, but even he was starting to be manipulated by Parrish. The King — at Parrish's prompting — ordered an investigation into General Labarthe and ever since then, no one had heard from the Conservative leader. Henri could only pray that he'd found a way to escape, because once they finished their investigation and discovered that Labarthe had been communicating in secret with Osea then he'd be branded a traitor and likely killed on sight. Henri knew this, but he'd held his tongue, finding himself slowly leaning to support the Conservatives for his own stubborn reasons. If there was something other than vigilance that he was good at, it was listening and keeping secrets. Everyone considered him a confidant, and it was rare that he divulged the information shared with him. Unless the other person was someone who had his absolute trust.
Henri lingered outside of the King's study, straining to hear the conversation coming from inside. It was too muffled for him to make anything out, but he did know that Princess Cossette was rarely allowed to speak up. He felt another stab of pity as he had so frequently ever since that day, before he let out a tired sigh and made his way down the hall, towards the kitchen. Although he never actually joined in on the chatter among the cooks, he did enjoy eavesdropping on their gossiping. Also, some of them were usually kind enough to let him help out so that he felt like he was actually doing some good. Although he was a bodyguard, nothing very exciting ever happened. Maybe that was a good thing. Either way, he still got paid for the work and respected by everyone for the possible dangers that came with his job.
As he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see the Queen moving about the kitchen, joking with the staff. Henri stopped short, taking in a deep breath and shaking his head in amusement. The woman never once stopped her working. He'd be lying if he said he didn't admire her work ethic. After living as a commoner for so long, it was no surprise that she rarely let the staff handle all of the work and was often seen helping them out as if she was one of them. Her blonde hair, the same color as her daughter's, was pulled up into a tight bun to keep it out of her face, and her blue eyes were practically shining as she moved about the kitchen. The only thing marring her appearance was some flour on her apron, hands, and face, although in his opinion it didn't detract from her appearance. Henri tensed up as the Queen — her name being Annette — looked over at him with a kind smile. "Ah! Bonjour, Henri! Surprised to see you in here today!"
He dipped his head in a respectful and nervous manner, smiling sheepishly. "Yes, well…I hadn't planned on it, but General Parrish didn't want me to attend their meeting. I got a little bored standing outside."
Queen Annette gave him a knowing look, nodding as she reached for a nearby knife to cut the tomato she had. "Yes, well, François is a funny man. Never was the same after the last war, so we always let his weird behavior slide. At least, the King's cousin and his brother were fine with ignoring it. We weren't so sure, but we figured he was decent enough." As she began slicing the tomato, Henri was quick to find something he could do to help out to continue their conversation. There was some anger in her voice as she spoke of Parrish, unusual for her. Like Princess Cossette, she never was an ill-tempered woman. Short-tempered at times, but she always managed to get it under control and she'd mellowed out once her husband assumed the throne.
Henri took a couple of carrots and a smaller knife and began chopping as they continued their conversation. "I've never heard much about his time in service, before he entered into regular politics," he said. "He seems like such a…well, if you don't mind me being blunt, Your Majesty, he seems a little bitter. Especially, I've noticed, towards Osea."
She looked up from her slicing and narrowed her eyes for a moment, as if debating speaking with him about Parrish. At last, Queen Annette returned to her tomato-cutting and explained, "Well, he wasn't a pilot during the war, but many of his close friends were. His brother was, too. And you remember how badly ISAF's ace crippled our air force."
"Who could forget," Henri said, gently moving the chopped carrots to the side to get started on the next. Everyone knew of the legendary Mobius 1, although they knew very little about him. Just that he was a pilot with a ribbon insignia that fought for ISAF. Beyond that, every file on him released to the public had been redacted, save for any basic knowledge on him. He'd defeated the powerful Yellow Squadron and stopped a Free Erusea uprising a few years after that. Henri looked up at the Queen. "Are you telling me that Parrish's brother was shot down by Mobius 1? What would that have to do with Osea? They weren't involved in the war."
"Well, not directly, anyways," Queen Annette answered him with a shrug. She laughed, almost nervously. "It's an absurd rumor, really, that surfaced a while ago. Something about Mobius 1 possibly being an Osean. After all, we heard years ago that this ace just showed up one day and I guess just decided to fight for ISAF. Either way, I suppose that François just wanted somewhere to lay the blame and Mobius 1 and Osea were easy targets. But now that Mobius 1 has disappeared again and Osea moved in with the Space Elevator, well…you can imagine what that did to him. Now he's got a natural disliking of Osea and all those in it. At least in its military." The Queen paused and glanced at Henri. "I probably shouldn't be telling you all of this. But between you and I, I'm starting to trust Parrish less and less. I've been speaking with Cossette, and he seems rather harsh. He's seemed to turn my husband and child against one another…God, sometimes I wish we hadn't gotten involved in politics."
"I don't think you could have really chosen that. But I'm sure it's not all that bad. Your husband is a good man, and your daughter seems to have handled it well enough before now," Henri replied. Queen Annette looked up at him, as if she was asking what he knew that she didn't. He wasn't about to lie to her, and if Princess Cossette had been lying to her mother about how stressed she truly was then it was for the good of the family. He explained, "Well, Princess Cossette confided in me the evening after her speech. Her heart doesn't seem into her speeches anymore, and…it really isn't my place to say, but I don't believe that she supports the war as much as Parrish and the King do."
"I could have told you that, Henri," the Queen huffed, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear and smearing flour across her cheek. She huffed as she finished with the tomatoes, talking as she moved about, the rest of the kitchen staff pretending to mind their own business. "Even I don't support the war. It's a foolish, wasteful endeavor. Our capital has been attacked. Entire lives — families — have been uprooted. Countless people were killed. And all for what? This war is General Parrish's endeavor, and my husband is unfortunately foolish enough to follow along with it. Gunther Peninsula and the bay isn't even Erusean territory. The Space Elevator was authorized by the government of Selatapura, and building it doesn't 'threaten Erusea's sovereignty' or whatever garbage they've had my child relaying to the public." Queen Annette turned and gave Henri an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Henri. I shouldn't be dumping all of this on you. Parrish isn't a bad man, nor is the King. They're just terribly misguided and everyone else pays the price. Eventually it will come back around on them, but whether or not it will be too late by then…"
Henri chuckled as he wrapped up his chopping. "Well, Your Majesty, I think they should be leaving the public speaking to you, personally."
Queen Annette's face flushed slightly and she stifled a laugh. "Oh, goodness no, Henri! I love my country, believe me, but I didn't make a vow to the public, I made one to my family and that's why I'm standing by them regardless of my opinions on their decision. I don't support them, but I'm not going to fight with them to try and fail to change their minds. They've made their bed, now they have to lie in it. I only wish Cossette had realized it a bit sooner." Before Henri could respond, the door to the kitchen opened and the King stood there, a somewhat surprised look on his face. The Queen's face lit up as she saw her husband and she stepped forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Good morning, mon amour! How was the meeting?"
The King brushed his wife off in the literal sense, wiping his cheek to make sure that she hadn't gotten any crumbs or anything on him. He looked at her, then his eyes flicked over to Henri suspiciously before giving the Queen his full attention. "Just fine. But, I have to leave for the rest of the day, so I won't be joining you or Rosa Cossette for breakfast. I just came to fetch Henri." The King of Erusea looked back at Henri and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Henri, I'm afraid that we need to leave right away." He paused and glanced down at the knife in his hands and smirked slightly as he added, "That is, if you haven't resigned as bodyguard and found your true calling as a chef."
Henri quickly wiped his hands on a nearby towel after he set the knife down, adjusting his tie and straightening his jacket out. "No, Your Majesty, of course I haven't. I was only offering a hand." He made his way across the kitchen and bowed to the Queen, bidding her farewell as he and the King stepped back out into the hallway. Henri glanced down the hallway and happened to see Princess Cossette and her dog Leo walking with Parrish while the General said something in an extremely fake, friendly way. But the King was in a rush, and the trio didn't notice them as they headed for the entryway. It seemed like something was on the King's mind as they continued along the way, all the way until they stepped outside and started down the front steps to the waiting car. That was when, to Henri's surprise, the King clapped him on the shoulder. He glanced at him, confused. "Er…Your Majesty? Is something wrong?"
"Well, yes and no. I have a request for you." He stopped, and Henri did the same, the two men facing each other with the King sighing as he gathered his thoughts. At last, he explained, "According to General Parrish, we have good reason to believe that the Osean forces may be attempting another attack here, on Farbanti. As such, I'm meeting with some military officials to speak about an evacuation and we'll be moving Erusean troops into the city as a precaution. I just want to know that my wife and daughter are in good hands. Should the capital come under attack, I'm trusting you with their lives." The King glanced back at the palace doors, almost longingly. "If the fighting returns to our home then I'm sending my family somewhere safe…that's all I can think to do. And I trust that you'll protect them?"
"Of course, Your Majesty." Henri didn't even want to entertain the thought that the King might doubt his abilities. "I swore long ago to protect yourself and your family, and nothing would ever stop me from doing that. I'd give my life for you. And for Erusea." Even if I don't agree with the way you've been running things as of late, I would still lay down my life for my country and for its rulers, he added silently to himself, remaining as composed as ever. Even if it was somewhat unprofessional for him to think of them in any way other than his employers, he considered them his second family. After he lost his own family long ago he had nothing but his work, and the royal family treated him with such kindness that over time he truly grew to care for them. Regardless of his personal opinions, his loyalty would never waver.
The King was satisfied with the answer, and he continued on his way to the car without a word. Henri followed behind with a resolute nod, glancing over his shoulder and allowing his thoughts to drift to Parrish. They weren't so different, both having lost those they cared about. But Parrish sought only to serve himself as a result of his grief, choosing revenge rather than honor. Henri had the best interest of those around him in his mind every day he woke up, or at least he liked to think that he did. No one was truly selfless, although they could try their hardest to put others before themselves. Whatever was coming, and whatever Henri may have to do, he would do to ensure that the royal family was no longer suffering from Parrish's manipulation. For the King, Queen, and Princess, he vowed to himself. Again, he repeated under his breath to himself, "And for Erusea."
0845hrs.
Rosa kept her hands clasped together in front of her as she walked along with Parrish, her father having suggested that the two discuss the benefits of drones and the importance of their sovereignty to her as if she was a child in need of schooling. She wouldn't deny that she had been naive, but she was hoping to change that. Normally she would have listened in awe, but now she thought that the conversation — which was rather one-sided, as the former general rarely gave her the opportunity to speak, at least without interruption — was something more akin to brainwashing than actual teaching. But her parents taught her patience, meaning that the young princess was left with nothing more to do than walk along in silence and nod as if she actually was starting to believe what he was telling her. It was all things that she'd heard before, save for him drifting off topic to rant about his Conservative counterparts.
She glanced down at the ground, finding that Leo had abandoned her side a short while ago. Looking back over her shoulder, she found that he had discovered one of his chew toys and chose to flop down in the middle of the hall to play instead of marching along with her. Not that she blamed him. Thankfully, General Parrish was only staying until breakfast, her father having — surprisingly — made him promise that he'd leave by breakfast so he wasn't imposing on Rosa and her mother. Perhaps he knew that Parrish would just prattle on endlessly about the drone production and how well they were doing in the war (lies, all of it, Rosa realized, as well as making war seem like a game he was following) against Osea.
For just a moment, she drifted out of her thoughts to pay actual attention to the General as he spoke. It was like every word was coming out with nothing to stop it, and his voice practically blasted into her ear when she'd actually focused, "…but the Conservatives don't believe that UAVs, or drones in general, are the future. Bunch of foolish old men if you ask me — a few women, too! Technology is always advancing, and they're all simply too close-minded to accept the change and adapt to the new world. With all of the technological advancements we make, more than just soldiers can be working alongside the drones. They could help doctors save more lives, already helping in reducing them. We already have cars, televisions, smartphones…all with endless data and capabilities that make our day to day life easier to live! Why, I wish I'd grown up in such a privileged world. I can only be grateful that I was provided the resources to help it along!"
The topic changed once more, although it caught her attention this time and she paid attention. She didn't know why, but Parrish had a tendency to overshare and she'd learned to listen. For some reason she had a nagging feeling that somehow, she should. "We've finally started production on the new drones for real this time. The ADF-11F is it's name, as you know, but we've taken to calling it the Raven. Ahh…such gorgeous creatures. Real ravens, I mean. Mysterious, intelligent, swift in flight. Perfect namesake for our drones. Not to mention that they're prominent in several different mythologies. Did you know they're capable of mimicry? Even of human speech." He paused, offering a rare smile that actually unnerved Rosa. "But I'm getting off topic. That's one of the reasons that we chose that name. The Raven looks bulky, and it is a massive aircraft, but as you already know, it can read the reactions of its opponents, record the data, and recreate it perfectly all in a matter of seconds. And if push comes to shove, it allows for a human to pilot it. But we doubt that we'll ever need that. We've been developing several new features to hopefully dominate in aerial combat and preserve all the hard earned data it collects if it's ever damaged."
"Really? Like what?" Rosa feigned interest, making her voice higher pitched to seem as innocent and childlike as possible, hoping to get more information out of him. As far as he knew, his apparent brainwashing was working. If she was being honest with herself, learning about the drone itself — even if she didn't understand most of it — was entertaining. She'd rather him talk about the 'Raven' than hear him talk about how much he hated Osea and his political opponents.
Another smile, and his eyes seemed to light up. "Now, that's a good girl. I knew you'd take an interest before long." Rosa faked a smile, something she was getting rather skilled at. Parrish continued, "Well, the Raven is able to detach itself from its wings if it takes any damage and continue flying. This way it can keep the data safe, retreat from the fight quickly, and transfer the data to any suitable source if it really needs to. Once it transmits the data, it won't need a body anymore and it can destroy itself to prevent being captured should someone somehow actually manage such a feat. That's actually our forward thinking at work. We have several factories all over the continent, so many that Osea would never be able to find and destroy them all before things get out of hand for them. If anything goes wrong, the drones are preprogrammed to send out the data to the manufacturers to continue making new drones. It also will regularly transmit newly acquired data to the factories so that the new information and skills can be put to use in the new drones. Basically the drones will continue evolving, without any need for human supervision even though we provide that as a precaution. Long after we're gone, our legacy will continue standing."
Rosa felt a pit in her stomach. That sounded like something out of some of the more morbid novels she'd read before. Machines wipe out the human race, or outlive them and turn the world into some inhospitable place to live. Either that or they take their revenge on the human race, leaving a select few alive to watch their world crumble. She shuddered at the thought of Erusea — her beautiful home — destroyed and darkened because some man told everyone that this was the best future for them. At last, she'd made up her mind. And although she really shouldn't have, she stopped abruptly and rounded on the general, blurting out with more despair than anger, "That's a horrible future! You want destruction to be your legacy? Erusea's legacy? And you pretend as though General Labarthe is the one leading us to ruin. He's the one trying to save us from it! And yet your ego won't allow you to consider that this isn't what the world wants, nor what it needs! If I'd known sooner —"
Just as quickly as Rosa's mood changed, Parrish's changed as well, and he turned a steely glare on her as he interrupted her, "Oh, save your speech you ignorant child! What do you know about what's good for our country? You're barely a real adult! You don't even know what's good for yourself! And here I was thinking that you were beginning to understand again, but apparently that traitor Labarthe has gotten to you more than we thought."
"Traitor?" Rosa's eyes widened, her previous emotion from the outburst diminishing. Her hands fell to her side. "What do you mean 'traitor'?"
Parrish scoffed. "Labarthe is being investigated, and he's almost completely disappeared. We have evidence to believe that he's been communicating with Osea behind the King's back, all while turning you against Erusea and your own father!" He frowned and looked her up and down, causing her to take a step away from him, briefly worried that he'd try and grab her wrist and hold her there like she was some kind of prisoner. With a shrug, he said, "But it doesn't matter, Princess. The world is changing and Erusea intends to win no matter the cost. I'm sure that there are others that are far more suited than you are to assume the throne. Even now, now that you've been manipulated into believing you're more than just a pretty face to win over the hearts of the people, you're already a threat. And all threats have to be eliminated for the good of the kingdom."
She took a step back, and heard footsteps approaching. Both politicians instinctively put on a normal, cheerful expression without any trouble at all, although Rosa knew that her face was probably a little red from her emotional outburst. In fact, she briefly felt her lip tremble as she took a deep breath to calm her emotions. As they turned towards the source, she was greeted by the face of her mother. Although the Queen of Erusea gave a kind smile, there was obvious suspicion in her eyes as she looked between Rosa and the general. Her gaze lingered for a moment on Parrish before she looked to her daughter. "Ah, Rose, there you are. I was just on my way upstairs to get ready for breakfast," her mother explained to her, using an old pet name her mother had given her when she was much younger. It used to embarrass her, but now she was actually relieved to hear it and she let her muscles relax slightly as she heard it. Ever the observant parent, Rosa's mother noticed this. "Is something wrong, love? You look a little out of sorts."
Rosa glanced over at Parrish, who was smiling to maintain his every day 'nice guy' persona as she was starting to call it. However, there was something about the smile that was a warning to her, and Rosa hesitated before finally breaking their eye contact and offering a smile of her own. "Everything's fine, Mother," she lied with ease.
But her mother was no fool, and she narrowed her eyes on her daughter for a moment before declaring, "Oh, I see. Well, then, it might just be a little too hot in here. I'll speak with Mary about adjusting the thermostat." She looked at Parrish, and Rosa saw a barely noticeable flash of disgust across her face as her dignified air slipped for only a moment. Thankfully Parrish didn't seem to notice. "General, I hope that you don't mind our terrible manners, but would you please show yourself to the door? The staff is very busy and I'm afraid that Princess Cossette and I have to head upstairs to make ourselves more presentable." She gestured to the rather un-royal clothes she was wearing; a brown skirt and a pale green blouse. Her hair was frizzing slightly and her face and outfit were both covered in different stains, from flower to what looked like the makings of their lunch for later that day. Rosa, on the other hand, was dressed just fine in her own opinion, but wouldn't argue with her mother's excuse for her.
Parrish gave her a fake look of understanding, respectfully performing a neck bow and holding his hands behind his back. "Of course, Your Majesty. I understand completely, and I thank you and your husband for your time. The Princess, too." His eyes flicked towards her with contempt, but he maintained his cool composure as he bowed to her as well, turning to face her slightly. "I hope you'll think about what we discussed, Your Highness. I wouldn't want to be misunderstood, nor do I wish for you to be misled." He took a breath, sensing both women glaring at him before he started away. "Well, I'll be taking my leave, now. Good day to you both." His expression faltered and Rosa caught her mother watch him go with a smirk on her face.
Once they heard the echo of the palace doors slamming shut from the entryway, Rosa gave her mother a grateful look and visibly relaxed. Without a word, the Queen placed a hand on her back and began to guide her down the hall, towards the staircase so her mother could actually follow through with what she said she would. Checking around to make sure that no one was within earshot, Rosa's mother finally spoke once they reached the top of the recently polished stairs. "So, do you want to tell me what the deal was with Parrish? For a second there I thought the two of you were arguing."
Rosa hesitated again. "It was just a little disagreement. We sorted it out."
That was a lie and her mother, after eighteen years, could easily tell when she was lying even though her daughter had gotten quite skilled at it over the years. "Rosa Cossette D'Elise, I know I didn't teach you to lie to your parents," she said with a stern, authoritative voice. "Now how about you tell me the truth?" Rosa didn't say anything, looking down at her feet as they walked. The Queen sighed, reaching out to place a warm hand on Rosa's cheek, gently tilting her head up again. "Oh, little rose...I have to wonder when that wide-eyed baby girl of mine grew to be such a troubled young woman."
The pair went quiet after that until they reached Rosa's parents' massive bedroom. Rosa entered without giving her mother's statement another thought, taking a seat on the neatly made bed and placing her hands in her lap, slouching and staring down at them. She barely glanced up as she heard her mother shut the door and caught a glimpse of her turning around to face her. Her mother let out another sigh, this one more annoyed than the last for some reason, and she began to walk around the room, picking out her new outfit for the day, and ranting to Rosa about politics as she did. Although Rosa agreed, she felt like she had to keep the information she discussed with Parrish a secret. And the ominous comment about threats to the kingdom. Rosa shuddered thinking back on this.
"Mother..." Rosa began softly once the Queen had finally gone silent for a few moments, no longer going on about how shady politicians were. Both paused and looked up at one another, Rosa unsure where to go from there. She took a moment to think it out, finally deciding that if she felt unsafe then she should tell her mother. Had Henri been there then she'd have told him as well. But he wasn't. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, looking around before she carefully continued, "…I think that General Parrish might be planning something. He said that General Labarthe was under investigation, and that Labarthe has been manipulating me into being against the drones. But it isn't that I'm against the drones! Now…I think now I'm against this entire war. I'm not saying we give into Osea, but negotiating under peaceful terms would be the more reasonable, responsible thing to do. That way no one has to keep fighting. But Parrish said I'm a threat because I think that."
"Oh, Rosa." Her mother shook her head. "He's only trying to intimidate you. We've known Parrish for ten years. Just like every politician, he's all bark and no bite." Although she said this, there was something close to anger in her eyes if only for a second. By now she was changed out of her clothes and into a modest orange dress. She let her blonde hair down and flipped it over her shoulder, braiding it as she began to pace. "I don't agree with the war either, Rosa. But your father and General Parrish have only Erusea's best interest in mind I'm sure. Before long, all of this will be behind us and nothing more than a bad memory. We can't change their minds, so for now we can only sit by them and keep quiet. Be seen not heard unless they say otherwise."
"Rather outdated approach to things, don't you think?" Rosa scowled, and her mother only shrugged.
"Maybe so, but until you assume the throne it's probably the best option for you," the Queen replied. She finished her hair and crossed her arms, looking down at Rosa for a moment before motioning with one hand. "Sit up straight, child." Rosa did as she was told, straightening up and letting the scowl on her lips even out to form a straight line, her brow still furrowed. Her mother sat down beside her and placed a hand on Rosa's. "Look, Rose. Until you assume the throne, you're expected to obey your father. He's the King. If you want to confront someone, confront your father. But I'd wait for a better time. He's under a lot of stress right now, and I'm afraid your speech didn't do much to help."
"Please stop reminding me…" she said, frowning. Everyone wanted to keep bringing that up, and she'd rather forget that it ever happened. "I'm next in line for the throne, and if the people won't listen to me now then how can I expect them to ever listen?"
"They do listen, Rosa. You're incredibly charismatic and you've won over the public. That's why your father wanted you to handle the press and the public," her mother replied. "But for the time being, people don't want to think that the royal family is going through any drama. It was quite obvious that your sudden change in heart upset your father a great deal." Rosa opened her mouth to protest but her mother cut her off, "Ah — look, I know you're only stating what you believe in, and that's what I taught you to do. But there's a time and a place. And now, at this time, I'd steer clear of General Parrish and try to avoid stepping on his and your father's toes. You and I will just keep our heads down and get through this, hmm? Deal?"
Rosa nodded reluctantly, not really convinced that her mother was taking her any more serious than Parrish had. She offered a small, sad smile. "Deal."
Her mother smiled. "There's my girl. Now how about some breakfast? A lot of eggs today. Eggs Benedict…about three different types of omelets…" Rosa stood up and followed her mother out of the bedroom as her mother continued listing off the menu they had for breakfast, but Rosa's thoughts still weren't put at ease. Something was off about the morning, and it made her feel like something bad was on its way and she might not have these seemingly immature worries.
Erusean Air and Space Administration, Erusea.
1016hrs.
No one had any idea of the visit from Parrish. Not a single soul. Schroeder kept his head down and maintained his usual composure as the base began to bustle with activity at the start of the day. Massa and Simon both got to work doing whatever he asked them to, Mihaly's granddaughters stayed out of the way, Mihaly's wingmen all tended to their aircraft and spoke of the recent destruction of one of the Arsenal Birds (which had come as some bother to Schroeder), and Mihaly himself took a seat outside the hangar to watch the skies. But a storm was moving in, and dark clouds blocked the usually calming color of blue you'd be able to see. Mihaly didn't seem to be bothered by anything, though, let alone a simple storm.
Schroeder wouldn't mind a little rain either. With it would probably come some cooler weather and relief from the godforsaken heat he had been enduring for some odd five months. He wasn't used to prolonged periods of hot weather, dry or humid. Autumn was on its way and he intended to greet it when it arrived. Unfortunately, being cooped up in a hangar with his work meant he would have little time to enjoy it. None of the pilots would get much of an opportunity either, since he'd begin sending them out more frequently before long. He only had to wait for the arrival of the new and improved suit. Hopefully this would be the last one. No more tweaking, no more failures, no more pain on Mihaly's part.
He looked over at Mihaly and felt a stabbing guilt as he saw him let down his guard only briefly for the sake of his youngest granddaughter. Ionela watched her sister with exasperation as Alma presented a painting she'd done in her free time. Schroeder didn't have a good look at it, but the colors that he could see looked rather good together. He heard Alma cheerfully announce to Mihaly that it was a painting of Shilage Castle, and although Schroeder squinted he could barely see it still and decided to stop trying. To his surprise, Mihaly allowed a small smile and took the painting from her, examining it with an almost impressed nod. He passed it back to her and placed a hand on her cheek before telling her to go play and let him finish his thinking.
The realization hit that if the suit didn't work and he continued to push Mihaly as far as his body would allow, then he could be taking Ionela and Alma's grandfather — and their only guardian — away from them. As far as Schroeder knew, their mother and father were both dead and the only relatives they had were each other and Mihaly. He clenched his jaw, typing something into the computer as he worked to refine the data and transfer it to a chip. He couldn't let himself be distracted. If he did, then Mihaly would almost definitely be doomed. He had to remained focused and unattached like he always was. And yet that nagging, guilty feeling just refused to go away.
"Doctor!" the sound of Simon calling out to him brought Schroeder away from his work and from his thoughts. Almost grateful for the distraction, Schroeder turned around to face the bright, black haired boy running towards him while frantically waving a tablet in his hand. Simon had sharp, angular features, and he was good friends with Schroeder's other assistant. Both of them were still in university, but he had high hopes for them and fully intended for this 'extra credit' assignment to not be a waste for any of them. When the nineteen year old finally came to a stop, he shoved the high-tech electronic tablet towards Schroeder, his brown eyes lit up. Massa approached at a slower pace, having been distracted by the commotion. Simon, while panting, motioned with the tablet. "Lieutenant Fitzgerald…calling you…from Tyler Island…" he managed between sharp breaths.
Massa smirked, clapping him on his back with a rather amused look on her face. "Deep breaths, Simon. Don't hurt yourself." They both looked at Schroeder with curiosity as they waited for him to take the tablet and answer the call.
Schroeder took the tablet from him and looked at the screen, which displayed the EASA logo on a white backdrop. The incoming call was a video call, rather than just voice alone, and the contact name displayed on the screen read Lieutenant Georg Fitzgerald - Tyler Island Contact - Erusean Army. Georg was of Belkan descent like Schroeder, and he was stationed with a mercenary unit in the Erusean military working to take Tyler Island over. The island itself had been home to an Osean penal unit in the southwestern part of the island and throughout most of the war, Osea controlled the land and the airspace. In that time, Erusea had been fighting with Osea in a violent tug-of-war match for control of the island. The fighting had been going on for well over a month, now, and both countries were starting to exhaust their own resources and considering abandoning the island all together.
Georg had actually previously resided on the island before it was taken over by Osea. He sent his family — a wife and two daughters, seven and three, if Schroeder recalled correctly — away from the island but remained with the Erusean forces to continue fighting. Georg himself had been instrumental in their drone production, having designed and put to use the technology they had used to fake IFF designations and declare their mock Osean fighters as allies. It was a cruel trick, but General Parrish had been all over the idea, and most of their military followed suit. That was how former president Harling had been killed, and how the blame was put on an Osean pilot. Georg had refused to speak about the incident afterwards, seeming to take no pride in what he'd created. Schroeder could understand the feeling.
Swiping his finger across the screen, the call answered and a mildly fuzzy image appeared on the screen, getting more and more distorted for a moment and tracking the movement as slowly as it could, frame by frame until all at once with a quick glitch, the live image came to a reasonable quality and allowed the movement without any trouble. A man in his mid-thirties with brown hair and blue-green eyes nervously looked around the structure he was in as some shouting could be heard in the distance. At last he looked back to the screen as his device chimed to let him know that the call had been accepted. He gave a relieved sigh. "Dr. Schroeder…I'm glad I was able to reach you. Signal out here is pretty good, but with all the bombing and whatnot, I didn't know how good."
The scientist glanced over at his assistants, then back down at the screen. "We read you loud and clear, Lieutenant. Has something come up?"
Georg took a deep breath. "Yes and no. A couple of Colonels are trying to set up a meeting between some of Osea's leaders back towards the penal base. We're hoping to withdraw from the island, but it doesn't look like that'll happen any time soon." He paused for a moment with a heavy sigh before reaching behind the screen to type something into his computer, then picked up a clipboard and looked through some papers. As he skimmed his own work and orders, he spoke to Schroeder, "I did want to talk to you about these orders from you…we've got a couple of modified Osean aircraft equipped with the A.I. and the flight data from General Shilage, all on standby for the time being. And they have the remote access to the MQ-101s…but after that squadron shot them all down over the Waiapolo Mountains, I don't think it's a good idea to send them in unless it's a last resort."
"I'm not asking you to send them in, I just want a couple transferred out here as a precaution. We think that Osea is making a move on the capital, and we're rushing production on the new drones. If they find out about this place, we might be left defenseless. That copycat Solo Wing…what're they calling him? Three Strikes?" Schroeder paused and noticed Georg tense up at the mention of the pilots before he gave a slow nod in confirmation. Schroeder continued, "Well, if Osea discovers this facility then we wouldn't stand much of a chance. General Parrish wants me to keep pushing General Shilage, and I don't know how long he can hold up. Speaking of…you looked over the new flight suit design, right?"
He nodded. "I did. It looks like you accounted for everything with it, but if this Three Strikes is really as good as everyone's been saying then I don't think a specialized flight suit is going to be much help." Georg and Schroeder were both realistic about the world around them, but Georg was far more vocal with his doubts and opinions. He looked around again, then seemed to take a moment to examine everything behind Schroeder as if trying to find signs that someone might be listening in. At last, he spoke up again, lowering his voice slightly, "General Parrish contacted us not too long ago. General Labarthe too. I think something bad is on the way. Parrish ordered us not to let up on the fighting and they'd ship us some fresh supplies within the next few days, but Labarthe said to try negotiating a withdrawal from the area. Our own forces had mixed opinions, and some think we should keep fighting. But majority rules and two of our Colonels are working to negotiate a ceasefire at least until we can both get some soldiers that aren't exhausted from fighting."
"You mean that there's some doubt among the ranks?" Schroeder asked. He furrowed his brow, thoughtfully. "That's…interesting. Could be that either of the generals are trying to create division. I've heard that the royal family is even starting to turn on one another, but you can never trust rumors, can you?"
"No, I suppose you can't. I just don't know how much longer I can put up with this back and forth," Georg said with a huff. The blurry figure of a soldier appeared at the entrance of the barracks that Georg resided in, calling out something that Schroeder couldn't understand. Georg responded by turning around, calling back, "Yeah?" Another muffled answer came. "Okay, I'll be over in a minute. Don't let Claude touch anything until I get there!" He turned back and gave Schroeder an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but duty calls. I'll see what I can do about sending the UAVs out there, but I can't make any promises. EASA hasn't exactly been our top priority lately."
"I understand completely," Schroeder said with a nod. "I'll tell you if something else comes up."
"I'll try and do the same," Georg replied. "Tschüss." With the goodbye in Belkan, the tablet chimed and the screen froze before reading 'Call Ended' and cutting back to the home screen.
Schroeder set the tablet down, catching the surprised and concerned looks on Simon and Massa's faces. He sighed, having completely forgotten that the two of them were there. "Stay in science where everything is certain," was the only thing they got out of him, and it was enough to satisfy them and get them to return to work. While the three of them went back to their work, Schroeder spent more time looking distastefully at the schematics of the new drones. They were nicknamed the Raven, and as perfectly designed as they were, he knew that they'd bring nothing but destruction. Everyone seemed aware of it, but very few spoke of it as if it was a problem.
Perhaps he was one of the few that actually doubted the efficiency or practicality of the drones. He shook his head to himself as he went back to his work. Maybe he could ask Georg about it, since his fellow Belkan had been having doubts since day one. But right now he had other priorities. He looked over at Mihaly once again and took a deep breath. It wouldn't be hard to convince Mihaly to fly more, but he didn't want the general to get suspicious and refuse to go on any more sorties. If they found out about General Parrish visiting, then there wasn't any telling what they'd do. He tried to push the thought away, securing the data chip in the computer and allowing it to do its thing while he stood, wondering just how deep of a mess he had gotten himself into.
New Arrows Air Base, East Usea.
1434hrs.
How'd I get here? I wasn't that lost in thought, was I? Instinct, maybe? My subconscious being an ass?
Tabloid furrowed his brow as he looked up at the aircraft in front of him, practically nose to nose with it. He'd been on a walk, not really feeling up to joining everyone in celebrating the most recent operation. His conversation with Count just a few days before rang in his ears as if it had happened right there in front of him. Trigger and Count were in the action, and Tabloid was stuck by himself with some college kid that was learning to fly and a grouchy, former guard dog and his pet. The only good thing about being out of the action was that he got to spend more time with Avril, but he couldn't help but feel as if what Count had said was true. They didn't want him here, and they didn't need him either.
But that was only half of what he'd been thinking about. Now the thing on his mind was the plane he had apparently wandered to the farthest hangar to visit. The hangar wasn't locked, but only one person had any business being in here to begin with. Solo Wing Pixy and the infamous F-15C that he'd flown through countless battles as the wingman of the Demon Lord. A mysterious squadron led by a mysterious man during a mysterious war. All in all, it seemed pretty fitting. The documentary that got played to death about three times a year shed some light on the 'mystery' of the Belkan War, but most of the motives were defined. Unless it was a cover up. Which it could have been. Belkans weren't exactly known for being straightforward.
Regardless of the politics behind the war, this Eagle had probably seen so much battle and bloodshed. And caused it, too. Well, technically it had just been the object in the situation and the means to do it, not the cause itself. Its pilot controlled it and the pilot was held responsible for the death he played a part in. This thing was old. Older than Tabloid, even, probably pushing thirty years, and yet it still flew like it was brand new. Tabloid should know. He'd faced Foulke in fake fights before. The man was skilled, and his plane had received some serious upgrades to be able to maneuver like it did at the age that it was. By now, you'd expect it to be floating around a scrapyard. He managed a small smile as he wondered what Avril would make of this thing.
He began to walk around it, running his hand along the body of the aircraft. Not a speck of dust and no dents or scratched paint. There was no evidence that this plane had ever seen a real fight, or that it belonged to anyone other than some compulsively clean pilot. The only sign that it belonged to a battle-hardened ace and had ever flown in combat was the red wing that had earned Foulke his popularity. Tabloid wondered how Foulke felt about Trigger using the red wing idea. He seemed okay with it, but Tabloid was a little conflicted on the matter. It wasn't like she hadn't earned it with that time she straight up took a missile for Count, but the wing had come to represent something completely different from simply losing a wing and flying back and landing without further incident. But it wasn't any of his business.
As he circled the fighter, he couldn't help but wondering what it would be like to be in a real, intense dogfight with allies that would actually watch your back. Tabloid had probably earned the title of ace by now, but it didn't feel like anyone else thought the same way. What would happen if he were to just take off and never look back. To fight for himself like Foulke had done. No country, no politics, just him and the sky. And of course his Eagle. He could make a name for himself. Being a mercenary sounded kinda cool, the more that he thought about it. No one to make you feel tied down or less valuable than everyone else. It was appealing, in some way. Theoretically, supposing that you didn't lose sight of the goal and go about it the wrong way, you could help bring the war to an end that way.
Why would you think something like that? Tabloid cursed himself and immediately felt bad for so much as even considering the idea. He glanced down at his boots and frowned, letting out a frustrated sigh. How could I think about leaving them behind? Avril, Trigger, Count, and even Bandog all crossed his mind. Bandog might not miss him, but the others probably would. And why would he sacrifice his friendships just because he couldn't fly? But he wanted it so badly at this point. He felt like they were forgetting about him. They had other priorities, and now that he wasn't in the action any longer…it actually kind of hurt. After surviving Spare Squadron, it felt like they all just forgot about it and moved on. But Wiseman must have had something in mind, or else he wouldn't have agreed to take Tabloid in under his wing. But was Count right after all? Did they only want Trigger? Were they using her as a pawn, or did they genuinely care? Tabloid clenched his fist, but made no move to hit it against the plane. He couldn't bring himself to do it if he tried.
"You got something on your mind, kid? Or do you just really like the plane?"
Tabloid jumped in surprise and took a step back, turning towards the open hangar doors where he saw the owner of the plane standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and a strange, unreadable look on his face. For a moment, he felt himself panic slightly, but once it subsided he was able to put on a rather forced smile and answered the older, more experienced pilot. "Eh, just thinking. Sorry, I guess I got carried away." Foulke narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. He approached him, arms still crossed, and Tabloid shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously, still unsure about the guy. His parents had told him stories about Galm Team, taking into account that they immigrated to Osea just a few months before he was born and his father had kept up with everything that happened in Belka. He felt a familiar stab of guilt as he recalled his own heritage, and swallowed hard, feeling like there was a rock lodged in his throat.
Foulke closed the distance between them, keeping his eyes on his plane as he did. He glanced at Tabloid out of the corner of his eye. "So there is something on your mind. Or someone, maybe?" Tabloid gave him a confused look and shook his head. What…what was he talking about? Foulke shrugged it off. "Eh, probably none of my business, but do you need someone to lend an ear? I'm pretty good when it comes to advice. Mostly. Well, I'm sure some of the people I know would probably tell you otherwise, but they're just jealous if you ask me. Sooo…what's the matter?"
He debated whether or not he should bring it up or not. He barely knew Trigger's dad, and he didn't know if he wanted to risk trusting him or not. Should he? The guy had given McKinsey a nice punch to the face. It had been satisfying, and he wasn't actually all that bad, but what was with the prompting? Tabloid shook his head and looked around nervously. "Uh, well it's not really a big deal," he lied. Truth was, it was eating him up and it was clear to see that. Count was the fraud, not him. He couldn't lie even if he wanted to. Foulke seemed to realize this, but didn't say anything. Tabloid continued. "I'm kind of curious about something though…either before or after you…y'know, defected from your unit and all that…did you ever feel like you were overshadowed by your flight lead? Like no one recognized what you had to bring to the table?"
Clearly taken aback by the answer, Foulke blinked and thought about the question for a moment. At last, he seemed to find the right words. "Well, that all depends. Before, I already had a pretty good reputation. Everyone expected me to do a good job and I like to think that I didn't disappoint them. When Cipher — the Demon Lord, that is — came along, I thought he was a pretty good guy. In fact, he was better than any of us expected. But it was always a team effort," he explained. Tabloid felt somewhat disappointed, but didn't let it show. Another pause and then Foulke went on to say, "After I defected, I guess things kind of changed. I did what I thought was the right thing, but history is always going to remember me as the villain and Cipher as the hero. Or they'll just forget all about me and only remember the great Galm 1 saving the world. It doesn't change our friendship any, but I guess it kinda bugs me a little bit."
"Oh…yeah, I can get that," Tabloid admitted, almost embarrassed that he brought it up to begin with. He scratched the back of his head and glanced around.
"I feel a little guilty, if I'm being completely honest," Foulke said with a shrug, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the faded, brown leather jacket that he was wearing. Tabloid raised an eyebrow, curious for him to continue. It didn't take long. "I mean, my buddy ended the war. I would have ended a lot more than that, and none of it would have been good. In a way, maybe I'm happy that I don't get any of the credit for ending the war. Because if I had, then it wouldn't have been worth the cost. Fame isn't worth much in the end." He eyed Tabloid curiously and it was his turn to ask a question. "What's with the question? Are you feeling left out with Naomi and Count getting to go off on sortie?"
"Eh, kind of." Tabloid shifted nervously again. It felt weird. "I guess I'm just upset that I don't get to share in whatever they have going on. In Spare Squadron, Count was the closest thing to a friend that I had before Trigger came along. And then when she did, it kind of gave everyone a real reason to fight. I mean, here was this girl that we thought killed Harling and yet she outdid just about everyone in the air. Even Count's kind of taken by her, has been from the start, but he'll never admit it." Tabloid was aware of Trigger's father studying him as he spoke. He looked up at the plane again to try and push it out of his mind. "Anyways, it gave me and Count a reason to fight and it was kind of the three of us from then on out. A fraud, an anarchist, and a murderer. I mean, talk about a ragtag bunch, eh? They're my friends, and I thought I wouldn't see them again after the 444th became legit, but then I got sent here and had another chance to fly with them. Now I'm stuck on the ground…a part of me wants to just request a discharge or something and go home, but…"
"But you don't want to leave your friends behind?" Foulke finished for him.
Tabloid, still feeling a little uncomfortable with the topic, said, "Well, yeah." He chuckled slightly as he recalled his motto. "In Spare Squadron, Trigger was sort of like our good luck charm. I had this wild theory that if we stuck with Trigger during the tough battles, then we'd all make it out alive. And it actually worked. I've made it this far thanks to her, and I owe it to my friends to stick around. To actually stick with Trigger like I said I would. But how can I do that when I'm stuck on the ground, missing out on an opportunity to be something more than what I've been since this stupid war started. I want it to end, but I want to help it end however I can and if that means fighting then I want to do that. But I want to be beside my friends when I do."
"I get the feeling." Foulke seemed to have some look about him all of a sudden, as if he could understand it a lot more than he was letting on. After sitting in an awkward silence for a moment, he clapped Tabloid on the shoulder, startling him. "Well, I can't promise anything, but let's see how you do in a little assessment. Maybe I can put in a word with Wiseman and we'll see about it. Like I said, no promises, but go suit up and I'll speak with Hawkins to get the flight authorized and then we can get going. What do you say? Give it a shot?"
"Well, I guess it's a start." Tabloid gave a small smile. It was a nice gesture, but without a guarantee, it didn't solve the issue. He knew that he should just make the best of it and not complain. So that's exactly what he did. He still couldn't help but wish things would change, and yet after all of this, there was some kind of hopeful feeling. Like things just might be changing soon enough. Good or bad change, though, how was he supposed to know? He could only keep his fingers crossed and pray it was good.
1558hrs.
Naomi and the other pilots all made their way down the hall at HQ, towards the briefing room. Wiseman and Commander Hawkins had told them that they had something urgent going on and to report to HQ right away, so everyone except for Fencer, Tailor, and Jaeger came along (though they were informed that they'd be filled in separately). Naomi noticed that Tabloid was trailing behind, looking uncharacteristically depressed, which was even more odd since she heard that he'd done well during the practice dogfight they did earlier that day. But while everyone else was talking, he was surprisingly quiet, and Naomi recalled Avril and Count mentioning something about him being a little left out with Wiseman keeping him back at base. Naomi wasn't quite sure what to do about it, though. And right now, she was too busy wondering what had been so important that it required their immediate attention. Especially after they were promised a day off after chasing down those IRBMs.
"So, Fencer still hasn't recovered?" Count asked them all after Húxiān mentioned one of their missing comrades being stuck on base. Naomi knew for a fact that those two weren't exactly the best of friends. Both of them had high opinions of themselves, and it conflicted with their work a lot. She couldn't help but think that they were a little jealous of one another in more ways than one, but she didn't say anything. Admittedly, she'd be more than a little hurt if Count replaced her with Fencer as his rival in the skies. But she and Tabloid were like his partners in crime. There was no way that he'd give up their longstanding competition. Worse case scenario was that he included Fencer in the contest, but Fencer was a bit more…refined for that.
"Actually, he has," Lanza answered Count's question with a shrug as they drew closer to the door. "A lot faster than expected, too. But the doctor won't let him fly."
"Ha!" Count let out a chuckle, smirking slightly as he picked up the pace of his walking to flank Naomi when they reached the door. "Guessed as much." He reached forward and slipped in front of Naomi, pushing down on the doorknob to enter first and then holding it open for the others to follow. One by one they filed in, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. The screen was already on, the curtains closed, and the lights shut off. As usual, a 3D map displayed the Usean continent, highlighting the Erusean occupied territory and the Osean occupied territory. Count let out a short whistle, squinting for a moment as his eyes adjusted. "Jeez. I guess we're late to the party and they started without us."
"Hope they buck the trend for whatever mission they're sending us on," Naomi huffed as she looked around. With a frown, she added. "And here I was hoping that we'd actually get the day off. Like promised." To be fair, they had been warned to be on high alert in case something came up. But right now she just wanted to go and watch a movie or something with a thing of popcorn and some soda. A rare treat, and here were the plans she had, going to complete and total waste. She had another thought, and so did everyone else, as they were grinning, but none of them got an opportunity to say something as they noticed the unexpected visitor standing next to the screen.
The man was tall, slightly older in appearance. He was at least in his mid to late forties, with blond hair that was quite obviously gelled in order to stay in place. Naomi thought that, in some places, it was turning white from his age, but it might have just been the glow from the screen. Clothing-wise, he didn't look like a soldier, dressed in a dark blue suit and tie with a simple name tag clipped to his breast pocket with a name and rank on it. It was clear that he was rather impatient, wearing a cross look on his face and checking his watch as he roughly tapped his foot on the floor. Wiseman was more patient than Naomi was, looking on with a blank expression. Her father stood nearby, clearly biting his tongue and not a big fan of their guest. "How much longer are you going to make me wait?!" demanded the newcomer.
All of the pilots exchanged confused and annoyed looks with one another before taking their seats. Naomi sat down between Count and Tabloid, and Lanza and Skald sat on Count's other side with Húxiān taking a seat beside Tabloid. Húxiān scoffed and leaned towards the others to ask what just about everyone was wondering, "Anybody know who the self-important stiff is?" All of them smiled and had to stop themselves from laughing at the stranger's expense. Wiseman and Naomi's father's eyes both flicked towards them at the sudden, suspicious commotion and they all tried to wipe the smiles off their faces. Even Tabloid seemed to cheer up slightly at the comment.
Skald, although smiling still, hissed at their friend, "Shh! He'll hear!"
"And if the rumor I heard is true, then he really is quite important," Lanza seconded.
Any other jokes and comments were silenced with that as they gave the three men standing up front their full attention. Once Wiseman was satisfied that no further disturbances would come from his men, he pressed some keys on the computer and a live video feed popped up. It was a surprisingly high quality display, and there wasn't any lag at all as the man in the video adjusted something. Naomi couldn't figure out his age, but he wasn't very old. He was dark skinned, with curly black hair and barely noticeable facial hair. It wasn't just well groomed scruff like Count had, and it wasn't a full on beard like Tabloid once had (and was growing back for some reason). It was really just…there. He wore a white dress shirt and had a pair of glasses. All in all, he seemed a little nervous and awkward by the entire ordeal, looking around the screen as if observing everyone that was present. He glanced over at Wiseman and their guest and nodded. "We're connected. Ready now, sir."
The video shrunk away as the screen zoomed in on the southern part of the continent. Their well-dressed visitor straightened his tie and then his name tag as he looked at the LRSSG pilots with an irritated sigh. "Well, now that you're all here, I suppose that I can get on to introductions," he said to them. "I'm Brigadier General Howard Clemens. And it seems I have the honor of being in charge of this operation." Something told Naomi that he wasn't too impressed by what he saw, which was a change of pace from everyone usually piling praise on top of them. Naomi wasn't sure whether she liked it or hated it. This guy just seemed like a smug, pretty-boy version of Bandog that actually hated them. There was definitely something…off about him. Glancing around at the others, she wondered what they thought of it.
As the screen closed in on a specific point, Naomi recognized the location instantly, remembering the operation they'd had to the same area. And the name that popped up confirmed what she thought. She didn't know if she should be excited to see the name again. It didn't exactly bring back fond memories, but the battleground would probably be somewhere they were familiar with. Clemens nodded to the screen as a pair of pictures popped up. "Our objective is to capture an advanced submarine in harbor at Artiglio. The port of Artiglio and the surrounding oil facilities were mostly destroyed by another air operation."
"Oh, that port," Tabloid said as the realization dawned on him. "Huh. Never thought I'd see it again, and honestly I didn't really want to."
"You know, that seems like such a long time ago. Hard to think it was just a little over a month ago, eh Trigger?" Count asked, shaking his head as he recalled what little of the operation he'd actually been present for. Naomi wasn't upset about it anymore, and he had learned his lesson, but they weren't really memories that she wanted to bring back. He took notice of the somewhat agitated look on her face. Almost concerned, he asked her while nudging her slightly, "Hey, Trig, you alright there?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Naomi replied with a shrug, hoping to push back the memories. "Just dredging up ancient history, really."
"Wait, you guys have been there?" Skald asked them.
All three of them nodded and Naomi explained, "Yeah, we were the squadron that cleaned the place out. First half was easy, but this giant freaking sandstorm showed up and we had to fly through it. Talk about intense." She shuddered, recalling how frustrating that battle was. "I definitely don't recommend doing that. Not good on the nerves."
Clemens cleared his throat. "However, Erusean forces repaired the facilities under our noses and use them to resupply and maintenance a giant submarine," he said to them.
The video feed man, who had been quiet all this time, spoke up and the screen expanded slightly so that they could see his face. "Here's a question. How long do you think this submarine is?" Everyone paused and looked around in confusion. They were fighter pilots, and estimating the size of a target should be something they were good at, but caught off guard by the question and without a proper reference to go off of they were all drawing a blank. He didn't seem to mind, though, and eagerly answered his own question as if he was the host of some trivia quiz or documentary, "If you guessed 495 meters, you're right!" The screen displayed a bright, light blue model of the submarine, rotating it so they could get a good look at its appearance while general information popped up. Their new friend went on, "It also has a width of 116 meters and a submerged displacement of 810,000 tonnes."
The model flipped around to the back, highlighting what powered it. "It's a super-sized nuclear submarine powered by two liquid metal cooled reactors."
Naomi crossed her arms, mildly impressed. "Well, I guess it really is huge. Seeing it in person must be terrifying." Everyone murmured in agreement. After a short pause, Naomi glanced at her father and Wiseman before nodding to the man explaining the submarine to them. "So, who's the quiz show host?"
They looked to the screen as he answered her question, almost excitedly. "David North, ma'am. I'm an Osean Intelligence Agency — or OIA — analyst from Advanced Weapons Analysis. It's a privilege to be speaking to you right now. I've heard a lot about you, Three Strikes. Or do you prefer Solo Wing like your father?" Her wingmen all looked to her with impressed looks on their faces at David's mention of her, and even her father chuckled slightly and looked over his shoulder at her.
Naomi ignored it, though, not wanting to draw attention to that at the moment. She looked around at her superiors and even towards the screen with David's face on it, having only one more question, "Okay, so it sounds like he's helping us on the operation. If that's the case, then why isn't he here?"
"Because he doesn't need to be," Wiseman replied with a small smile. "He can perform his analysis at his home office."
Naomi's father chuckled. "Yup. We've got ourselves an armchair detective. Wish our job was that comfortable," he said with a grin that Wiseman shared.
Even David smiled at the comment. Clemens, on the other hand, was not impressed, and began to impatiently tap his foot again. Wiseman must have noticed the general's annoyance, as he quickly nodded toward David and ordered in a more serious tone, "Continue."
David paused only for a moment before he did as Wiseman said, smiling as he did. His eyes even lit up as he got more into the explanation. "I've come to call this super-submarine 'the Alicorn'," he said to them as the screen continued to circle the model. "The Alicorn is a submarine…and yet it can stage aircraft operations like a carrier." The model zoomed on the nose, highlighting a runway, complete with a catapult and everything. Just like a regular carrier. The screen then continued down the hull until it reached the midsection, and two boxes appeared on either side. "It also boasts some serious firepower with its two main railguns. Their range is over 400 kilometers." The model shrunk as it was zoomed out, and it showed four directions, stretching out 400 kilometers each to display the weapons' range. "The sub's force projection capabilities are equivalent to a carrier strike group. Furthermore, it can approach underwater or use aircraft and railguns to attack outside the enemy's — that's us, for anyone wondering — range."
"Sounds like a real monster if there ever was one," Tabloid muttered in dread as his blue eyes narrowed in on the screen.
"You guessed it, Lieutenant Hartmann. Fall in the wrong hands, this thing is a real beast. It's basically a modern day sea monster," David replied, and he ignored the surprised look on Tabloid's face at the fact that he knew his name. He continued, "It has an…unusual history, befitting such a ship. It was launched four years ago. However, it went MIA on a sea trial after being outfitted." The screen showed several news articles next to the model, and it looked as though David was the one scrolling through them as he spoke. "It was later found at the bottom of the ocean entirely by chance. Of the 356 crewmen, only 330 were rescued. Here's another quiz question for you. For how many days was the Alicorn underwater? The answer: it was 698 days."
"Whoah," Lanza said, blinking in shock.
"They were down there two years?" Count balked. "God…I can't imagine how awful that was."
"I can…" Naomi added in a dark tone, shivering slightly. She hated cramped spaces, she hated feeling trapped, and she hated the idea of being trapped underwater. There were several times she'd imagined 'what if' scenarios in her head. That was exactly why she hadn't chosen the Navy. The air was safer and you knew everything it would throw at you. The ocean? You never knew when it or something in it decided it wanted to kill you. Join the Navy and you're at the sea's mercy. Not a pleasant thought at all.
"It probably was pretty awful. They were on the sea floor, at 15 degrees," David explained.
"So why are they deploying it to the front lines now?" Skald asked as the screen zoomed through the Alicorn model and back to the Usean continent.
"Well, I suspect it has something to do with the loss of an Arsenal Bird and the IRBM cluster," the analyst replied with a shrug, glancing to Naomi and Count. He must have known that they were the ones that chased down the missiles.
Lanza had a thoughtful expression for a moment, but it turned to a relaxed, almost turning it to a bored one within just a few seconds. "Huh. Okay, so we just blow up the damn thing?"
Clemens spoke up again, quickly rising from the seat he had taken and turning on the pilots. "We capture it," he snapped at them with a rather pissed off look on his face, raising a finger as though he was speaking to a bunch of children. "If you'd been listening then you'd have realized this. Don't make me repeat myself!" Naomi, Count, and Tabloid all looked at one another, thinking the same thing. This guy reminded them of McKinsey. Naomi glared at him, as did everyone else, but Wiseman sent them a warning glare that made sure no one spoke against Clemens. The annoying general went on without giving it another thought, "We've had reports from local sources that there are weapons of mass destruction aboard the Alicorn."
"Source?" David echoed curiously.
"If we can secure that evidence, we'll gain advantage in the peace negotiations post war," Clemens went on, ignoring him. The screen now showed several allied and hostile blips facing one another head on in the waters outside of Artiglio, marking the Alicorn among the cluster. To Naomi, it looked like they were seriously outnumbered. Erusea had as many fighters as possible to cover their precious submarine. Wiseman took over the briefing, if only for a moment, and informed them, "The Osean Navy has dispatched a fleet including a landing ship to capture the Alicorn. Our mission is to secure air superiority and protect this assault-and-capture task force." Clemens nodded. "If we take too long, they'll scuttle the sub. The fleet will commence its actions while we seize the skies." You mean while you sit around and do nothing and the real soldiers seize the skies, Naomi corrected in her head. She didn't like or trust this guy. He was way too much like McKinsey.
"Wouldn't it be risky to send the fleet in before we've secured air superiority?" Count asked him, seeming genuinely concerned by it.
"That is none of your concern, Lieutenant O'Connor." Clemens glared at him, but Count didn't shrink under the cold stare and instead returned it, lifting his chin defiantly.
"Actually, since we're the ones providing this cover, it is our concern," Naomi challenged, keeping an even tone but adopting a rigid, tense and defensive posture. "We're outnumbered. Significantly. We'll be spread out too thin over a large battlefield. There's no way that we can guarantee the entire fleet's safety."
"If you aren't good enough to do that, then you should rethink your career and stop boasting, Captain Foulke. Remember, we can take that shiny promotion of yours away," Clemens answered. Naomi gritted her teeth.
It was Tabloid that spoke next, doing a worse job of keeping his cool than Naomi had done. The tone he used was extremely accusing. "But you're basically putting our fleet in danger for your own political games. You can't expect us to just roll over and take that lying down, can you?"
Everyone else agreed with the statement, and Naomi saw her father look expectantly at Clemens for an answer. But it took a moment for him to respond. He looked around at them, even giving Wiseman a glare as he said, "They should have taught how to address your superiors in bootcamp." Clemens' eyes centered on Tabloid, Naomi, and Count and there was a small smirk that played at his lips as he added with a sneer, "Or in the penal unit."
Count tensed at that and made a move like he was going to stand up and march over to Clemens to give the guy a piece of his mind, but Naomi quickly grabbed his forearm to stop him. Skald grabbed his other arm just in case he still tried to make a move for the general. He looked around at them, then made eye contact with Naomi for a moment before reluctantly plopping back into his seat and grumbling an apology. Before things could get out of hand, Wiseman quickly jumped in, giving them another 'watch it' look before sending a more apologetic look Clemens' way. "Er — An EW squadron will be deployed. Their ESM will be a valuable asset. Stay within their range and you'll have a significant advantage over your enemies. The ETA for the EW aircraft is the same as H-hour."
"Oh. And only Strider Squadron will sortie," Clemens told them. Strider Squadron's emblem appeared on the screen, followed by the ID photos of those on the current roster. Naomi, Count, Skald, and then Húxiān. Well, there was a first time for everything, including different formations.
"Woah, wait a minute. I have to sit this one out?" Lanza asked, looking at Skald in desperation and disappointment. His best friend gave him a smug grin which earned Skald a hard slap to the shoulder.
"Yeah, that happens a lot around here," Tabloid said with a huff. "Better get used to it, Lanza."
Húxiān's jaw dropped and she looked over at Naomi uncertainly and with some nervousness that likely had to do with Naomi's less than favorable track record. She wasn't entirely bothered by it, only somewhat hurt by the question that followed. "Wait, Wiseman, you're not coming?!" It almost seemed like anxiousness in some ways. Naomi didn't blame her. In fact, Húxiān probably had a very good reason behind it. Maybe she'd never flown a mission without Wiseman. Maybe he was her good luck charm like Naomi had been to Spare Squadron and still seemed to be to Tabloid and the others.
Wiseman shook his head, his arms crossed. He had a look of understanding on his face. "I'll be assisting the brigadier general here at HQ."
Clemens rolled his eyes as the system began to shut down. "This is by no means a difficult mission. Your squadron commander's absence shouldn't change that." The computer shut off and the lights came back on. "That's all. Dismissed." The brigadier general himself marched out just as he said goodbye to David and ended the video call. Naomi felt bad for David, in all honesty, having witnessed that little disagreement. It wasn't as if it was the worst interaction with a superior officer, but this guy just rubbed Naomi the wrong way. She watched Clemens leave with a blank expression, trying to think about what his problem could be.
She only turned away from watching the door when she felt someone brush against her shoulder. Turning slightly, she saw that Count had taken up a position behind her on account of the fact that they were still standing in the middle of the row of chairs. Their wingmen all stood up and shouldered their way out to talk in a less cramped place. Naomi, however, made no move to follow, still wondering if she should be suspicious or not. Count must have picked up on this, and what he said next confirmed that she wasn't the only one with doubts about the guy. "Somethin' seems off about him to you too, huh?" Count asked her, keeping a quiet voice so that Wiseman wouldn't overhear.
Naomi nodded, crossing her arms. "I just can't put my finger on it. Maybe I just don't like him because of his attitude, I dunno. I wasn't a fan of that jab about the penal unit, though. I could tell you and Tabloid weren't either." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes. More and more, she just wanted a break. And they hadn't even gone to work yet. Too much stress and concerns for one evening. "Maybe I'm just paranoid because of McKinsey. Prison's probably…warped my brain or something..."
Count gave her a look of reassurance, and to her surprise actually put his hand on her other shoulder as if he was going to bring her in for a side hug, but after a moment of hesitation he simply gave her a pat on the shoulder and then pulled his arm back. "I know what you mean. So, for the time being, why don't we just not talk about our time in the penal unit, huh? It's depressing." With that, he carefully inched his way around her until he was freed from the row of chairs and joined the others in conversation. Tabloid still seemed upset, and he said something to Count that Naomi couldn't hear, but it was clear that he was starting to get a little antsy being stuck on the ground for so long.
Pushing Clemens out of her mind, she focused on her new idea and made her way to the front of the room to join her father and Wiseman. The two older, more experienced pilots didn't notice her approaching at first, and she heard Wiseman make a comment about 'keeping an eye' on someone. She wondered, however briefly, if they meant who she thought they did, but when her father noticed her, both of them cut their conversation short and immediately turned to face her. Wiseman greeted her with a nod. "Hey there, Trigger. You need something? I figured you'd be taking the rest of Strider out to the hangars to get started on your pre-flight checks or something."
"Actually…" she glanced over at Tabloid and gave a tired smile. "Actually, I want to ask you a favor. Do you think Tabloid could fly in Skald's place?"
Wiseman furrowed his brow, considering the request. "Well, I don't know about that." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "I haven't worked with him and Tailor recently, so I wouldn't know how much they've improved if any at all." With that, Wiseman looked over to her father and asked him, "What do you think? Is Tabloid ready for a real operation with Strider, you think? Give 'im a chance to stretch his wings a little, get used to the Eagle in a real fight?"
Naomi looked over at her father, who was watching Tabloid with a look that she couldn't quite understand. At last, he shrugged. "If you want him flying with you, then that's your choice. And it wouldn't be a bad one. He's got good skills, he's smart, has great reflexes. He doesn't fly on emotions and seems to leave his problems on the ground for the most part, and he doesn't question orders unless he has a hell of a good reason," her father said quickly. "And there's something else about him, too. Either way, he's a loyal kid. I think we could give him a chance. Might help whatever weird mood he's in all of a sudden."
"That's what I was thinking." Naomi looked over at them, then gave a grateful smile to Wiseman and her father. "Thanks, guys. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have some serious ass to kick tomorrow and I intend to be ready." Both of them laughed and shared an exasperated look as she left them to rejoin the others. They all looked over at her as she approached, and Naomi stepped between Count and Tabloid — the two of them were standing side by side and speaking with Húxiān — and wrapped her arms around both of them. "Well, boys, y'all up to giving Erusea a hard time tomorrow? Pretty sure that me and Húxiān are."
Tabloid gave her a puzzled look, so did everyone else. Skald stepped forward. "I thought I was flying with Strider tomorrow. Are they sending us up with five instead?"
She shook her head, wiping away a grin to allow her expression to soften. "No, we're still flying with four. But if it's alright with you, Skald, I want Tabloid to fly number three. I'd say it's about time he got his time to shine, wouldn't you?" Naomi let go of Tabloid, freeing him from the 'hug' or 'huddle' or whatever she'd caused. He stared at her with both confusion and gratitude written on his face as he started to smile, and his mood had a complete shift.
She grinned, letting Count slip away to ruffle Tabloid's hair. "Hey! There he is!" Count said with a chuckle as Tabloid swatted him away. That didn't deter him in the slightest. "That's the optimistic, sickeningly cheerful Tabloid that we all know and love!"
"Ack — Count, lay off, would ya?" Tabloid asked him, although there wasn't much hostility in the way he'd said it. Count did go quiet, standing beside him with a smirk on his face. "You…you're sure about this? Everyone's okay with it?" He looked between Naomi and Skald, but ultimately it was Skald that needed to be okay with it.
After a moment of consideration, Skald shrugged. "Eh, why not?" he said. "Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Lanza while I'm away." Lanza rolled his eyes at that, but the others laughed at it.
Húxiān, on the other hand, was not as sure of it. She looked between the three of them, seeming mistrusting on them. It looked as though she didn't want to fly with ex-cons, and granted, none of them had a perfectly clean record. But as if she remembered the debt she thought she owed them from when Spare Squadron provided cover in Yinshi Valley, she took a deep breath and relaxed, most of her nervousness seeming to dissipate. She looked to Naomi. "Alright, then, Captain. What's our plan for tonight?"
"Hangars first. Avril and Bandog could use a helping hand," Naomi replied as she led the way out of the room and to the open door. "Then the mess hall. After that, everybody's going to call it a night. I want us at the top of our game tomorrow. Any complaints?" Everyone shook their heads and confirmed that they heard her as they set off to the hangars. Although Naomi seemed to have it all thought out, the truth was that she was nervous. So much so that it was everything that she could do not to shake. She couldn't help but feel like they were going in blind. There was no telling what could happen out there and they had no idea just what might be in store for them.
Author's Note: Well the last half of this chapter did not want to be written at all, but I finally got it done.
As you could probably guess, this means that I will indeed be writing for the DLC missions because I think it could add to the story, if not for the fact that it gives me an opportunity to squeeze in some extra character development. So starting from here and the next chapter, the next two chapters won't be released until maybe early November, and then one at the end of November, so I'm going to be taking a break until the next mission releases.
Spoilers are ahead, to warn everyone who has not had a chance to play the mission for themselves yet.
Also, our new bad guy is apparently as memeable as Pixy is…with the way that he obsesses about his crisp white sheets, though, I can't really fault people for it. But, that's what V2 is for, I suppose. Solo Meme Pixy/The Meme Lord of the Round Table (hey, he deserves a menacing title too) shall not be defeated that easily!
Well, pardon my randomness and I hope that you enjoy the double update! :)