Chapter Forty-Two: Reprieve
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Gardos Air Base, Erusea.
September 20th, 2019.
0530hrs.
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Morning came quicker than expected, though when Naomi had first opened her eyes it was still dark. Some time in the middle of the night she could recall numbly making her way to her quarters, but anything else was a blur beyond a night of vivid nightmares. Part of her had been happy to be roused from her sleep, but with fatigue and grief weighing her down she ended up spending the first hour or so of her morning tossing and turning in an uncomfortable bed, desperate to be in any state but her current one.
Eventually the responsible adult and soldier in her head reminded her that, like it or not, she could not stay there all day. Her muscles were stiff and sore, making every movement feel ten times more challenging than it should be. She made it to a sitting position at the edge of her bed, where she paused to collect herself. If she was going to get up, then she had to face the day like any other day. Breaking down from pain or anything else wouldn't do anyone any good. Even so, it was something that was easier said than done.
It took at least a minute to clear her mind and rise to her feet, going about a normal morning routine as best as she could. Her belongings had been brought in by her father, if she was recalling correctly, not that she had any desire to go through and unpack what little she had to make the space her own. It just seemed like a pointless process that would make her morning even more of a challenge to get through, so all she did was pull out a fresh uniform and leave it at that.
Naomi wasn't sure if it was just the overall situation, but everything seemed quiet both outside and in the barracks. The atmosphere was tense as everyone was trying to go about their regular duties. Everything felt off, which did nothing to improve anyone's mood, not that she could blame them. No one was celebrating last night's victory, which Naomi thought was for the better. The operation may have succeeded, but what about their losses? Not to mention the situation with the satellites. Oseans and Eruseans alike were suffering from the previous night, no point in acting like they weren't.
After cleaning up and changing she set out, not really sure where she was going and why but knowing if she stayed in her room and wallowed in misery she'd be a piss poor squadron leader. The halls were quiet, even at this hour when she was certain most soldiers were already waking up. She didn't run into any familiar faces along the way, and worse she hadn't figured out her way around beyond the basic layout of the base, so even if she wanted to seek out her comrades she couldn't. Instinct told her to head for the HQ or find her way to whatever building the mess hall was in, but in spite of the fact she hadn't eaten in over 24 hours at this point she had no appetite at all. The thought of trying to keep any food down right now was not an appealing one, but she settled instead on just finding her way to HQ and figuring things out from there.
For just a moment she caught herself thinking she should go find Wiseman, her thoughts drifting away and briefly blocking out the memories that had played on repeat almost all night. Then she felt an overwhelming ache in her chest as she had to remind herself that he was gone. Wiseman was dead, that was reality now, and yet it almost didn't feel real. She could no longer wonder if he had any news for them. She couldn't go to him for advice. They'd only worked together a few months, but he was her commander and her friend and because of her failure he was dead. Mr. X had haunted her since Chopinburg and once again he took someone from her. And she let him.
Whether that was self-pity or self-hatred, Naomi couldn't be sure. One thing she could be sure of, though, was that it was not an unfamiliar feeling and she hated it more every time it reared its ugly head. She tried not to dwell on it for too long, knowing she had to face the others and that would be difficult enough on its own without her feeling sorry for herself.
When she stepped outside it was just as dead quiet as it was inside the barracks. The sky was still black, though the stars appeared to have dimmed. Absent from the sky at last were the bursts of light from the mass satellite destruction. At least that was all over, though she didn't want to imagine how that might affect their future operations. Assuming they'd have any moving forward.
Not wanting to linger outside, finding the silence and darkness unsettling, Naomi tried to keep her walk brief. It was also getting colder and colder as the month dragged on, and this particular morning was a chilly one, which was another reason to hurry along. Though try as she might to at least walk at a faster pace, her muscles protested every step of the way and her lingering fatigue made her too tired to care. So she just zipped up her jacket and shoved her hands in her pocket, staring at the pavement tinted an almost blue off-white by the few lights on around the base.
She only bothered looking up to set herself in the right direction, the base not exactly scenic. By the time she reached the main HQ, her appetite was still nonexistent so she did not plan on sorting out where the mess was. There were a few people out and about this early – or perhaps late for them – though they paid her very little attention. Something in the back of her mind told her to head for the room where they'd had their debrief the previous night, wondering if there were any new details on the current situation. So that's where she headed, making her way through the corridors without any trouble.
By the time she reached the room, she found the door was already cracked open, held in place by a rubber stopper. The sounds of subdued conversations could just barely be made out, though who exactly she couldn't make out from the hall. Though the door was cracked and an interruption wouldn't be the end of the world, Naomi still thought to knock before she stepped inside. Lightly knocking with the knuckle of her index finger, the conversations ceased and a voice she recognized as Colonel Beckett's sounded from the other side. He sounded tired as he called out, "Come in."
Naomi did exactly that, pushing the door open the rest of the way. Inside she was met by nothing but familiar faces, gathered around a table with papers strewn about. Long Caster, Jaeger, and her father, her comrades from the IUN, and Colonel Beckett all looked to the door as she entered. The rest of the LRSSG was probably keeping to themselves, which was for the best for now. She didn't want them to see her as tired as she was. Aware all of them were staring at her, she tried to come up with a greeting. The best she managed was, "Is everything alright?"
"I think we should probably be asking you that," said Faun as he, Boggard, and Footpad all exchanged a look of worry before staring back at her. They didn't look nearly as exhausted as Knocker, Clown, and Hans did, but there were still noticeable bags under their eyes. Their expressions softened to looks of pity as Faun went on. "We heard about what happened in Farbanti. Are you holding up alright?"
"I'm…trying to," Naomi replied, admittedly not sure how she was holding up herself. She approached the area they were sitting by, not bothering to grab one of the many chairs as appealing as it was. Instead, she remained standing beside her father's chair. Everyone around the table went back to looking over whatever they'd been working on before she interrupted, no one saying much. "You never answered my question, though. Nothing's wrong, right?"
"Well, that all depends on your definition of 'wrong'," Clown said, glancing at Beckett from across the table. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. It would have almost seemed like he was looking for a fight, if not for the fact the annoyance present in his voice didn't line up with the almost apathetic expression he wore.
Naomi didn't have to be a genius to pick up on the fact something wasn't right. Perhaps not an issue, but definitely not ideal. "Have I interrupted something?"
Her father sighed, leaning his head against his fist. "No, you haven't, we're just…trying to reassess."
"Without the rest of us?" Naomi looked between him, Long Caster, and Jaeger now. It wasn't like she had any official authority they were undermining, but without Wiseman she couldn't help but feel as though the rest of them deserved to know everything going on. If there was a plan, they didn't deserve being left in the dark.
"Relax, Trigger, it isn't like that," Jaeger spoke up now, not raising his voice nor taking a defensive tone. It was a genuine attempt by her wingman to set her at ease. "You all had a long night, you needed the rest."
Naomi narrowed her eyes. She wasn't accusing them of anything, merely concerned by the situation. "And you didn't? We all went through the same thing, Jaeger."
"Sorry. I wasn't able to sleep." Jaeger's tone and expression made her instantly guilty. She wasn't mad or looking for a fight, nothing of the sort, but she realized her wording may have been off. When she opened her mouth to apologize, Jaeger offered a weak smile and spoke before she could. "I'm not upset, I understand you're concerned. It's been a rough night, and I didn't want to bother you with something like this."
While he had a fair point, Naomi still felt off. It was like this nagging feeling she had a responsibility to help with such things now. She may have essentially been Wiseman's right hand man as far as them both being squadron leaders, but ultimately she felt she had fallen short in assisting with strategies and decisions. Truthfully, she was probably better at split second decisions, but even then she knew that wasn't the best approach. It had really only been a few hours since Wiseman's death, but in the time she spent lost in her own thoughts she had to accept things would be different going forward. Which meant she needed them to bother her with things like 'this'.
"If we're preparing for whatever's to come, given all that's happened and where we're left, I think I owe it to all of you to step up," Naomi said, well aware everyone at this table was listening to her and yes, she felt she owed it to them just the same. But she was mainly speaking to Jaeger and Long Caster, and of what remained of their numbers. Her tone of voice was not meek, nor was it commanding in any way. She wasn't asking for permission, but she had nothing to assert, really. If anything it was closer to an off-handed promise.
Hell, even I don't know what I'm trying to do or say anymore. The thought crept up on her, but she made the choice not to dwell on it.
For a few moments Jaeger and everyone else in the room just stared at her. Processing, debating, judging, whatever was going through their heads was a mystery to her. She would leave if dismissed by Beckett or her former commanders, even if she had little reason to trust the former yet, but she was adamant about participating in this otherwise. Perhaps it was forcing what little naivety she had left away, trying to grow up. Whatever it was, it was something she felt she needed to do.
It was Long Caster that broke the silence, looking between Jaeger and Beckett. "Truthfully, Trigger, we have only a rough idea of where we're going from here. There was maybe one other operation planned to follow up Farbanti, but we don't know how or when to move on with this," he told her, his tone of voice not one she was used to from him. As if he was struggling just to get the words out. "The idea was these two operations would end the war, but with the satellites down we have no way of knowing if it's safe enough to pull it off, let alone the extent of the current situation."
"The information and communications from outside are more or less cut off, as you already know. So, in the near future we can't even appropriately calculate our losses," Beckett added, pinching the bridge of his nose. Naomi looked to him as he spoke, trying to gauge his feelings on this situation. It wasn't until he continued that she could tell that – at least on some level – he cared. "Commander Hawkins has locked himself away, it seemed, but we know he's alive. We don't know if Kath– ahem…Major Hamilton was ever rescued, so at this point she's MIA. As for the rescue team that picked up Lieutenants Winters and Lanza, we're holding out hope they made it out of the city but by all logic they should be here by now."
Naomi now had two rather difficult reminders. One being that it was overly optimistic not to prepare herself and the others for the worst case scenario, but until it was absolutely necessary she found herself unable to give up on them. They were alive, they'd been retrieved, there was no way of knowing they had lost them. Well, she couldn't speak for Kathryn, but she wasn't sure what to make of the situation there. She wanted to believe she wouldn't be done in that easily, but it was hard to say. Which brought her to the second reminder. Hans and Clown were facing the loss of someone dear to them, the IUN and even Beckett were feeling the same sting the LRSSG was.
"And what about the rest of you?" she asked her former wingmates, being uncharacteristically quiet this entire time. While she knew why, it still was something unusual to her, though she guessed she would probably need to get used to it. "What will you do now?"
Knocker and Clown both looked up, then at each other, and then finally to Beckett. They didn't reply right away, but eventually Knocker cleared his throat and answered. "That's just the thing; why we're here so early, I mean. We were sent to play backup, but being cut off from the rest of the IUN means that…there's not much left for us in the future, aside from sitting on sidelines while you and the LRSSG continue with your orders."
"There is…one idea we had," Hans said, glancing at Beckett and then Long Caster. Besides that one instance, he kept his eyes fixated on one of the files strewn across the table as he went on. "But really it all depends on what our losses are looking and how things play out."
Naomi blinked, thinking she had a pretty good idea of what they were getting at. Her brain may not have been running as smoothly as it could, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out based on what he'd said. "Do you mean–"
"We're considering bringing the Golem and Mage Squadrons into the LRSSG," Long Caster answered, confirming her suspicions. Well, half of them at least, granted she wasn't too sure about the rest. He went on, leaning back in his seat and counting off on his hands. "There's a lot we'll have to consider…we're down several aircraft, either scrapped or in need of repairs. There's plenty for us here at this base, at least, but that's just one part of the problem. Aircraft, rosters, supplies, pilots…"
"And our chain of command," Clown added when Long Caster hesitated. He looked right at Naomi, a different look than any she was used to. One that was more…weary? Desperate? Almost as though he was asking something important of her, but she wasn't about to jump to conclusions on what exactly that could be. Not when she wasn't at all prepared for what they likely meant by this.
"Trigger?" The voice of Boggard startled her, as he'd been quiet like the others. But now she realized not only were they all looking at her, but they had the same tired and bordering pleading looks on their faces. With concern mixed in there somewhere from her father and Jaeger. What was going through their heads right now, as she just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights?
Her father snapped her out of what had started to feel like a spiral, rising to his feet and gently shaking her shoulder. "Naomi?"
It did the trick, though she didn't look at him for fear of seeing worry and pity written all over his face. Instead she looked up to Beckett, figuring if anyone would answer the many questions running through her head it would be him.
"What do you mean by that?" Naomi was aware of how flat her voice went. Her surprise faded fast, though her thoughts kept racing and there was nothing else she could pin down. She was just apathetic, now, or just on the edge of it.
Jaeger opened his mouth to answer, drawing her attention as he'd started to say her name. The abrupt wail of the base's alarm system cut him off, however, causing everyone to spring to their feet, a few swears slipping out in panic. That quiet and ominous atmosphere from earlier had been completely shattered, replaced now with added tension and fear. While they all tried to process what was going on for the alarm to have been sounded, Footpad raced over to the windows and flicked open a gap in the blinds so he could see outside.
"They've fired up a few of the searchlights!" he announced to the others, everyone looking his way now, and sure enough where there should have been complete darkness there were flickers of bright, white light.
"Oh, what the hell's going on now…" Naomi snapped, mostly to herself, not waiting for anyone to reply and certainly not waiting for anyone to stop her before she began a fast walk to the door, breaking into a jog once she was out in the hall. The other pilots in the room took off after her without having to be told, something she knew only by the sound of boots on flooring behind her.
She was careful to avoid bumping into any of the other soldiers now on guard, racing about trying to assess the situation and figure out what was going on. Weaving between people and finding her way around the halls, Naomi made it to the main entrance and shoved the door open as quickly as she could, stepping aside and keeping it open with her shoulder to allow the others quick access. Fresh, cold air filled her lungs, something she was grateful for, and she carefully scanned the area, trying to catch sight of any threat she could. As the others filed outside, it appeared they were attempting to do the same.
The first thing that became obvious was the silence. There were still people shouting back and forth, trying to find out what was happening, but there was a lack of any noise. No explosions, no bombings, an absence of gunfire and that distinct roar from a jet engine. Naomi checked the skies, looked around everywhere else for any other sign of an attack, but there was nothing. Not a single threat. So what in the world was going on? Did anyone know, or were they essentially chasing a ghost here?
"This feels off, somehow…" Jaeger said as he took a few steps forward so he was standing beside Naomi. "What should we do?"
"I don't know. This is just…weird," Naomi answered. Her thoughts went to the rest of the pilots, Count, Húxiān, Skald, Tabloid, and Tailor, and she began to worry about them being apart from the rest of them if something was actually wrong. Then again, if there was an issue and it got out of control, the smart move would be to send up air support. They couldn't just stand here doing nothing, they would only get in the way. It was the only thing she could think of at the moment. "I think we should head to the hangars, in case they need us to scramble. And just in case, I–"
"Hey!" The distant sound of Skald's voice cut her off, and she practically spun around looking in the direction of where it had come from. She could make out his figure, taller than the others, alongside Count, Tabloid, and Húxiān, with Tailor doing his best to catch up. Skald hadn't been addressing her, however, something she realized as she watched him grab a soldier that was racing past him and said, "Tell them to cut that thing off, it was a false alarm."
"Trigger!" Count called out to her the moment he noticed her, and for some reason she felt an instant rush of relief. He picked up his pace to a light jog as Naomi and the others approached the rest of them. The first thing she noticed was that, in spite of how exhausted he looked, he was smiling. Almost all of them were as soon as they saw Naomi and Jaeger. "There you are, we've been looking for you. Both of you."
"Do you have any idea what's going on? Why are you smiling?" Naomi looked over each of them, but aside from the tired smiles everything seemed mostly normal. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Trig," Count said, absentmindedly brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. He looked at the others and nodded. "More than fine, I'd say, right?"
"We need to head over to the hospital, though," Tabloid began to explain, but given that he said that right after Count said everything was fine almost gave her emotional whiplash. He noticed the shock on her face, and probably on Jaeger's as well and he realized his error. "Shit, I didn't mean–"
"If there's a point, would you all mind slowing down and getting to it?" Jaeger asked, more exasperated than annoyed.
"It's Fencer and Lanza," Húxiān quickly answered, taking a short breath and allowing a small smile of her own. "They've finally made it through. They're safe."
Shilage, Erusea.
0800hrs.
What a pathetic sight.
That was all Mihaly could think as he thought of the current state of his squadron. While his wingmen had fought bravely and as well as they were able, sustaining more minor injuries than they could have in the circumstances, they still lost their aircraft. And Mihaly's plane was hardly in one piece after the flight here and the battle the evening before. So here they were, with a handful of working aircraft hidden away in a regular tunnel now blocked off and converted into a makeshift hangar and runway.
When they arrived at Shilage, they found that most of the Erusean military forces here were made up of the soldiers that originated from Shilage and Voslage. Following the operation both Erusea and Osea had simultaneously conducted to destroy the other's satellites, their military was splintered and communication was now almost nonexistent. With this opportunity, the soldiers that had always cried out for independence from Erusea finally had a fighting chance. The regular Erusean soldiers were outmanned, and those that didn't retreat into whatever was waiting for them in the midst of this chaos had quickly surrendered by the time Mihaly and Sol Squadron found their way here.
The power struggles meant very little to him, if anything at all. As far as morale went it had quickly boosted that of Wit and the others. Mihaly had a feeling once this was all over with that newfound independence would disappear just as quickly as it had been achieved. Its current status was already questionable enough as it was. But as long as he could fly, he would defend it, if only to keep the skies above it in his control. His priorities were the skies and keeping the civilians that resided below them out of harm's way. Beyond that, the lands that his family cherished for centuries were of no concern to him.
Although there was an ongoing war, and Erusea liked to keep their supplies and troops tucked safely away in unassuming locations – often without the consent of those that resided there – there were still many people that had stayed put in their homes and shops. Now that the military forces in control were 'their' people, they were no longer under martial law, and neighbors and families crowded the streets to profusely thank and pay back the soldiers with homemade food and blankets. It was a brief reprieve, what Mihaly knew well would be a short-lived and fragile peace. He did not refuse or rebuke them for their kindness, but for him it was undeserved and he wished they would care for themselves first and foremost. The people of Shilage were quite stubborn, it appeared.
"Mihaly?" Wit's voice echoed out in their 'hangar', pulling Mihaly out of his thoughts. The rest of Sol Squadron was nowhere to be found, likely resting somewhere in their makeshift base around the castle and the outskirts of town.
"Aren't you supposed to be recovering like the others? As I recall, you were told to take it easy," Mihaly answered him without turning around, keeping his eyes fixated on his damaged Su-30. Repairs would take forever. He wished he'd had word on the aircraft he ordered Schroeder to send here prior to the battle at Farbanti. If it wasn't here, he had no idea where it was. Likely turned into a pile of scrap in the middle of nowhere all things considered.
"It's nothing that won't heal quickly. Besides, I was wondering how you were holding up," Wit replied, sounding almost like Ionela. Concerned over nothing, certainly not anything that was their business. Something he should expect at this point.
"I'm fine." Mihaly kept it simple and to the point, and it wasn't entirely untrue. He felt fine now, or as fine as one could feel after everything, and the misery he'd been in upon landing had been short lived. He was not exactly in perfect condition, he felt fatigued and his body sore, but he was still living and breathing without regular, lung burning coughing fits. He would consider that to be 'fine'. "There's no need for you to be concerned."
Wit was quiet for a few moments. "Right. Oh, and about the Snowbirds–"
Mihaly didn't give him a chance to finish. "I already told you, I shot down one of their lead planes. It wasn't Three Strikes. That being said, they won't recover from this easily."
"That wasn't what I wanted to ask you," Wit said, and that finally made Mihaly curious. He turned to face him, finding his number two pilot looking quite the mess. Disheveled, exhausted, beaten down and bruised. But there was still that spark in his eyes all the younger, idealistic pilots had. "We let you down over Farbanti…letting ourselves fall prey to them like that. When the time comes to face them again, I swear we won't fail you a second time."
"Touching…did you really come all the way down here just to apologize to me?" Mihaly was almost joking, but Wit's reaction was to freeze up and let guilt and regret make its way to the surface. He crossed his arms. "I'm not disappointed. The only one that failed was me, once again. Next time, I intend to be fully prepared."
"About that next time…you practically invited Three Strikes here. What's to say she'll actually take that bait?" Wit asked, referring to their conversation the night before when Mihaly explained the situation following the loss of all of his wingmen. "Osea isn't stupid. If they feel they're walking into a trap, especially after the losses they've taken, how can you be sure they'll bother with us? Especially when there's bigger fish to fry. No offense to you, of course, Mihaly, I just mean that–"
He cut him off again. "I understood perfectly fine, calm down."
"Of course. Apologies."
"To answer your question, I have no idea what the odds of that are myself. But thanks to the Erusean military they're more in our favor if anything," Mihaly explained, though he hadn't even thought about it much until a few hours earlier. It was sheer coincidence that Wit even asked about it. "There are precious resources being stored here. Erusea has hardly ever been subtle, so enemy intel likely has heard something on this. That being said, with no way to communicate with their allies and superiors, there won't be a steady flow of supplies and information. I can't guarantee that they'll come here, but with all that's happened I can guarantee it won't be long before they're starving and desperate."
"And what about us?" Wit asked him. "We're down aircraft. None of the few pilots we have here fly Su-30s, and even if they did, surely there's strength in numbers. We could use allies, leave Sol Squadron as the last line of defense."
"My own plane barely held up, and I hadn't expected it to last until my next encounter with Three Strikes anyways." Mihaly's thoughts once again shifted to that of the experimental fighter Schroeder said he would arrange to have moved here. Surely the EASA wasn't foolish enough to leave it unguarded in the air, even if it was powerful. It would only be as powerful as the pilot in control. "Assuming our dear Dr. Schroeder is a man of his word, there will at least be some way I can continue flying…I'll have to speak with someone about the situation regardless, of course, assuming that we don't want to become helpless prey."
At that point Mihaly was thinking aloud to himself. They'd been hidden safely away the night before while the men and women on the ground suppressed those loyal solely to Erusea, and in the chaos and with the exhaustion from their dogfight Mihaly and Sol Squadron had not the time nor energy to ask about their current situation. In fact, until this morning the aircraft had completely slipped his mind. But now that Wit brought it up, they shouldn't waste any more time than absolutely necessary.
Wit stayed quiet during Mihaly's musing. And when he spoke again, his hesitation was apparent from his voice. "There's something else I want to ask you."
Mihaly glanced up at this. The tone of Wit's voice told him he likely wasn't going to enjoy hearing what was weighing on his mind, but he chose to humor him regardless. "Go on."
"How far are you willing to go with this? All of it?" Wit asked him, the hesitation from before already fading now that he was allowed to go on. "Erusea is going to be splintered and left to fend for themselves until all of this comes to an end. The only thing left for us to do is defend our corner of the world here, assert our independence until they accept it. It's no longer our war. Are you willing to throw out this freedom again, just to settle a score?"
Just as he predicted, he didn't like what he had heard in the slightest.
Once again, absolutely no one could see beyond a shallow understanding of the situation and his goal in the skies. They watered it down to a petty rivalry, and perhaps on some level his ego was more than a little bruised. But he was getting older, and the world was changing in more ways than one and at an almost alarming rate. If he was eventually going to be confined to the ground, to watch others take to the skies, then he wanted to know what was being left in his wake. Was the drone program the only course left, lifeless computers with no understanding of human emotion to calculate and exterminate any potential threat, or was there still honor among those taking to the skies and through that hope for humanity to grow and learn from wars such as this?
Mihaly wanted an answer. And he intended to find one. However, the answers Mihaly wanted were not what his pupils wanted. Everyone had a reason for choosing the paths they did, for fighting someone else's war. They fought for their homeland, Mihaly fought for his. What that meant to them was something they needed to figure out. What that meant for Mihaly was finding an equal.
A few seconds passed before he answered Wit, keeping his answer calm. "The freedom you speak of is yours, it's not mine. And need I remind you we are surrounded by Eruseans on all sides? There will be no real independence for anyone until this war comes to an end." As Mihaly said that, he could recall one final point of concern to force Wit to rethink his words. "Furthermore, my granddaughters along with countless others have been separated from their home and family by this conflict. We are not free of this fight because we overpowered a few exhausted and unsuspecting Eruseans."
Wit's expression shifted to something blank and unreadable, though when he spoke it gave away his shame and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Mihaly. I wasn't thinking. Though, as you said, we have more than one enemy. At this point, I doubt it's just us facing this problem. Which means we need a solution before anyone decides to come for a fight."
As if on cue, outside the tunnel a line of trucks had come to a halt on the side of the freeway turned runway, interrupting the conversation and drawing their attention. They were not transport, rather that belonging to the infantry. Although they bore Erusean markings, the men that filed out had the same Voslagian patch worn by Wit and the others. They didn't look too worse for wear, perhaps more than a little scuffed up but nothing requiring urgent medical attention. Wit and Mihaly watched as a small group entered the tunnel, making a beeline towards the two. Whatever they wanted, it clearly had to do with them.
"General Shilage." One of them called out the moment he was in earshot, recognizing Mihaly instantly. He performed a quick salute, making brief small talk. "They told us we would find you in here, and I'm glad we did."
"Oh? Don't tell me there's something wrong." Mihaly crossed his arms, not particularly concerned. They didn't appear to be in any hurry, after all. If anything they looked to be in good spirits. So why the need to come looking for him?
"Nothing at all, sir. Would you mind if I took up a moment of your time?" Now it seemed the soldier was interested in getting to the point, so Mihaly shook his head slightly in response and gestured for him to continue. "Yesterday afternoon, prior to the satellite destruction and the…shall we say 'uprising' against the Erusean soldiers, the EASA had sent several aircraft to a facility a few miles from here. I'm sure you know of the nearby civilian airfield. There was one aircraft of high value, it seemed, some guy at the EASA base even sent some pilots in Sol Squadron's spare aircraft. Our unit and the Eruseans were sent out to guard the airfield as a 'precaution'."
"Nothing out of the ordinary about that," Wit commented, and he was correct. "What's your point?"
"Well, in the uprising we seized the airfield and planes for Voslage. We figured the only ones that had any right to them were you and your men, General," the soldier replied quickly, looking to Mihaly instead of addressing Wit directly. "And when the Eruseans surrendered they even told us they were here on orders to deliver the aircraft at your request. Once we secured the area and sent another unit of ours in, I figured we should come straight to you with the matter."
"That was good judgment on your part." Though Mihaly was genuine, he remained distant. Schroeder had held up their agreement after all, and while it was nothing more than being practical by sending the aircraft available to him up as escorts to the plane, it was a blessing to Sol Squadron after the loss of their aircraft. Without any hesitation, Mihaly practically ordered the soldier, "Take me to the airfield. I want to see it for myself."
The soldier nodded, not questioning him. After a short pause to collect his thoughts, he replied, "I'll arrange for you to head out there, with the appropriate measures to ensure your safety. You understand the circumstances, General. You are the last person we need to lose."
With a nod of both understanding and permission from Mihaly – though he was not entirely patient, having been concerned about the whereabouts of his new plane since he awoke that day – the soldier quickly marched off with the few men that had followed him, heading off to put together safe transportation for him. Another reason he never bothered to concern himself with Shilage's fall. The status of his family was an exhausting obstacle at times, and one he was much better off without. Sure, his rank in the Erusean military played some role but to the Voslagians loyal to Shilage that was not their motivation to keep him safe.
The news and conversation had piqued Wit's interest, judging by the thoughtful and curious look on his face. In spite of his appearance and the bags under his eyes, it was easy to see that the news that the rest of Sol would not be grounded had improved his mood, even just slightly. Mihaly didn't blame him. Being grounded when the sky was just within your reach was enough to make any pilot restless.
"Mihaly, would you mind if I joined you?" Wit asked after a few moments. "I'm…curious. I'd also like to see the state of our planes for myself."
"You may join me if you desire, it makes little difference to me what you do," Mihaly replied. There was only one thing he cared about. That beautiful plane, a work of art as far as he was concerned, and the last trick Mihaly had up his sleeve.
It seemed that the vagueness of that grunt's words were too curious for even Wit to ignore, and with a short pause he asked, "What aircraft are they referring to, anyway?"
Mihaly crossed his arms. The only way to make Wit understand the beauty of it and its importance was to allow him to see it with his own eyes, to examine the weapons and technology and everything about it. But he did not want to disappoint Wit by telling him to simply be patient, as though he was an antsy child, so he chose instead to give a simple answer. And as honest of one as he could.
"The aircraft that will decide who the skies belong to."
Gardos Air Base, Erusea.
0900hrs.
The hours that had gone by since Fencer and Lanza were brought in had been long. Although Naomi and the others were asked there immediately, all they were offered was a brief report and confirmation that they weren't dying or missing any limbs. Four hours had gone by, and as they had little else to do besides wait in their rooms with nothing to do but worry, they all remained in the waiting area. The only word they'd gotten from one of the officers overseeing everything was that once both of them were settled, stable, and conscious they would be allowed visitation. Of course, since they weren't given much to go off of there was no telling how long they'd be waiting there. Could be any minute they'd be allowed back, or they could very well be there until tomorrow morning.
Although the waiting area was cramped as far as hospitals go, everyone hung around and kept to themselves. There was coffee and water available, but they were all jittery enough without the caffeine. It wasn't as unsettling a quiet as far as everything went. Tailor paced the room, too restless and worried to sit down. Jaeger was keeping up a hushed and long conversation with Long Caster, while Húxiān had grabbed some military magazine and was absentmindedly flipping through it. Skald sat by her, fidgeting with a coin he'd had in his pocket while looking lost in thought. Count and Tabloid had sat down by Naomi, in a row of chairs that gave them a perfect view of the rest of the room, and they'd said almost nothing the entire time.
While Naomi was aware of everything happening around her, every so often she had to rest her eyes for a few minutes. It wasn't like there was much she was missing. The hospital was as cramped and barren as the barracks were, the only difference being warmer lighting and the overwhelming smell of disinfectant. Honestly, she'd probably rest better here than in cramped quarters. But no matter how much she wanted that, she didn't let herself give in to her exhaustion. The others weren't, so neither should she.
"Trig?" Count's voice drew her attention to him. Although he was right next to her, she didn't lean on him like she'd done when she dozed off in the briefing room the previous night. She almost wanted to, though, but didn't for both their sakes and the fact she didn't want to let her guard down and fall asleep. When he had her attention, waiting for her to lift her head from the backrest of the chair, he went on, "You didn't sleep much, did you?"
Naomi shook her head and suppressed a yawn. Although normally she probably would have tried to sound more upbeat, she knew he'd see through it. Instead her reply gave away how tired she was. She almost sounded hungover. "Nope. I feel like hell, but I'm fine." Naomi noticed he gave her a look that was a mix of concern and doubt, so she quickly added, "Really. No need to look at me like that. I'm more concerned about you."
Count looked away from her, staring at the floor and taking a breath. He looked just as tired. "I'm, uh…I slept a few hours, I think? I dunno, once I got to the barracks it was just hard to rest. But it ain't like it's a big deal. Hell, I doubt anyone in this room got a good night's sleep after everything."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Naomi said, taking a good look around. They were all tired and likely even scared at this point. What was going to end the war likely just dragged it out indefinitely, and until this war was over they weren't going home anytime soon. Besides, they all gave up a nice, cushy 8 hours of sleep when they signed up for the military. This wasn't something they weren't used to, but what made the lack of sleep especially hard to handle was the shitstorm they had to face now.
"Y'know, speaking of, did something happen last night?" Tabloid, who'd been listening the entire time without a word, now joined the conversation. "You were over at HQ when we found you, along with our friends from the IUN. There any word on what our next move is gonna be? If we're gonna be exhausted and scared out of our minds, it'd be nice to go down fighting…"
"Honestly? I don't think they have any more of an idea than we do," Naomi replied, squirming in her chair to find a new, more comfortable position. Why were these chairs always so uncomfortable if people had to sit in them for hours on end? She was uncomfortable to begin with, though, the chair was just one of many inconveniences. Still, she did her best to suck it up and went on, "Apparently there was one more sealed-order operation following Farbanti, but they don't know if or when we'll follow through with that. I think now that Fencer and Lanza are back, they might have one less burden as far as strategy is concerned but…"
She trailed off, looking over at Long Caster and Jaeger and hesitating. They likely couldn't hear her, given that they kept their voices low this entire conversation so the others weren't disturbed. And if they did hear her, they hadn't cared, but she wasn't sure if anything that was said in that room was meant for anyone else. Although they'd been interrupted she had a pretty good idea of what they were about to ask of her, and for some reason the idea intimidated her. The weight of everyone else on her shoulders, not just Strider Squadron. And then to bring Golem and Mage into the mix. God, she just wanted this all to be over. It was nothing but chaos and they weren't even 24 hours in.
When she didn't answer, Tabloid and Count both exchanged a look before Tabloid spoke. "'But'? What's the matter?"
Luck must have been on her side, because much like the scare earlier that morning at HQ, one of the techs interrupted as he stepped into the room, wearing a standard military uniform instead of the scrubs one would find in a civilian hospital. All eyes were on him as the source of the disturbance as well as the first person that had spoken to them since they all arrived. "Uh...apologies, I wasn't trying to startle you all. Captain Foulke?"
Naomi was immediately on her feet, Tabloid and Count right behind her. "Yes?"
"You're all free to come back now. They're awake, a bit groggy from everything, but they're both conscious and they asked to see everyone," the tech replied, leaning his back against the door to keep it open. "As I told you when you arrived, both of them were incredibly lucky. Especially under the circumstances. Neither of them were in critical condition."
"Right. That's a relief to hear," Naomi said, and she truly meant it even if it probably didn't sound sincere. By now everyone was collecting themselves, eager to head back and see their friends. Far be it from her to hold them up more than necessary, so she tried to make her conversation with the tech brief. "Is there anything we should know before we head back?"
"No, ma'am, I don't think so. I'm sure they'll fill you in themselves, and if not the doctor is still around. You can speak with him if necessary," he replied, then with a quick nod to them he began to step aside, still holding the door. "If there's anything you or they need, let us know. If not, we can give you all some privacy with them."
Naomi didn't say anything, simply nodding as she led the way out of the waiting room. There was a high chance at least Fencer had seen what happened during the fight, which meant they may have already come to realize that Wiseman was gone. If they didn't, she wasn't looking forward to having to say something to them. Her desire to avoid that conversation was what she held onto as they made their way to the back where the tech directed them, trying to keep from full on sprinting back. It was two less deaths they would have to come to terms with. One loss was more than enough.
The room they entered next was similar to the waiting room. In other words, much like the barracks but larger and more steril, and with several cots lining the walls, most of them empty. The disinfectant smell was only slightly more tolerable here, making it easier on the senses. In the hallway and waiting room it was almost suffocating. There weren't any large windows and natural light like any normal hospital, nor were there any nice pictures and artwork hung on the walls for anyone to admire. It was cramped, empty, and uncomfortable, but setting aside how cramped it felt Naomi reminded herself what they were there for and her attention shifted to the only two occupied beds in the room.
As soon as she saw them it was as though she could finally breathe easy. Finally being able to see them, face to face, right in front of her made the fact that they were alive real at last. They had some bandages in different places, for Lanza noticeably on his head. Bruises and smaller cuts all over his face, one obvious gash over his head had been taped up. As far as Fencer went, he was just about in the same boat as far as head injuries were concerned. Though unlike Lanza, who was sitting up on the edge of his bed, Fencer looked on the more pale and tired side. But they were alive, and their injuries would heal.
Lanza was the first to spot them, not standing up but he did offer a weak smile in greeting as he weakly called out, "Hey, look what the cat dragged in!"
They had all already reached their beds at this point, and before anyone said anything else Naomi approached Lanza and wrapped her arms around him as carefully as she could. He'd started to say something right as she did this, and she completely caught him off guard. Once she'd gotten that out of the way, she leaned towards Fencer and gave him the same treatment. Even though she wasn't as close to them as some of the others, even if it was against the military's ridiculous rules, she didn't care. They were alive, and she'd been worried sick about them since they went down. She was going to give them a damn hug.
"What's this all about?" Fencer asked her, wincing slightly as he moved his arm to return the gesture. Half-joking, he added, "Don't tell me we had you worried."
"Damn right you did," Naomi said with a scoff at his joke, though she wasn't upset with either one of them. "I'm just glad you idiots are okay. God knows what could have happened to you after last night."
"Aww, looks like the boss has gone soft," Lanza said with a strained laugh as Skald gave him a light fist bump in greeting. Everyone got their hellos with the two of them done, complete with light ribbing to make the situation less grim before Lanza finally spoke again. "Sorry to keep you all waiting up for us like this, but we had a bumpy ride out here."
"I was about to ask what happened that took you guys so long," Húxiān said, crossing her arms. "I'm sure it was hell down there, but the Eruseans packed up in a heartbeat after everything was said and done. Figured you two wouldn't be so far behind us."
"Well, after the communications went out everyone was in a panic. Going completely blind into the enemy's country, even if the area was secured by Osea, isn't exactly a fun little road trip," Fencer answered, grunting as he adjusted himself so he was sitting up more. "That, and we got banged up pretty good. Almost got gutted by debris on my way down, so they were sewing me up for a hot minute. Same with Lanza's head."
They all looked to him, and he leaned forward to show the back of his head, with an obvious injury. "Pretty sight, isn't it? Had to have stitches and all I'm getting out of it is a scar you're never gonna see," he said as he straightened up again. "Anyways, they couldn't just throw us in a helicopter and send us on our way. If we'd been in the air, I don't think we'd have made it at all."
"I thought they said your injuries weren't serious?" Long Caster said, looking between the two of them. He almost looked sick at the topic, but nowhere near as close to passing out as Tailor did.
"Well, all things considered, they weren't. I just had a pretty deep wound and a lot of bleeding," Fencer explained, rolling up his t-shirt to show off his own injury. It didn't look to be in too bad of a location, just right on his side. "It didn't impale me or puncture any vital organs. Honestly, that's a miracle by itself if you ask me."
"I gotta admit, that puts you two down as some of the luckiest bastards I've ever met," Count said with a shake of his head, offering a small smirk. "And trust me, we'd know all about luck."
There was a brief lull in the conversation as everyone went quiet, all of them avoiding addressing the obvious. It wasn't until Lanza broke the silence that they passed the point of no return. "So, umm…we saw the rest of the dogfight. Well, Fencer did, I was in and out the whole time but…seeing everyone, I'm guessing it's real, then. Wiseman's…"
He trailed off. No one wanted to answer him at first, but Jaeger finally sighed and moved to place a hand on Lanza's shoulder. "He didn't make it. I'm sorry, you two. There wasn't anything that could have been done."
"Right…" Fencer's eyes turned towards Tailor, and the kid honestly looked ready to start crying. Naomi wouldn't have been surprised, and she wouldn't have blamed him at all for it. But Fencer, who'd always given Tailor a hard time like an annoying older brother, now had a look of genuine concern on his face. "And how are you holding up, kid?"
Tailor blinked, looking up at him as if he hadn't heard him right. He cleared his throat, probably trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me. I mean, hey, something like this was bound to happen sooner or later, right? It's the military, right? Comes with the job."
He tried to at least laugh it off, but it wasn't something that easy to brush off. For the sake of his pride at least he probably wanted to keep it together. Naomi figured Fencer must have realized this, because he just gave him an understanding nod. "Alright. Let me know if you want to talk. Trust me, I'm gonna have plenty of time on my hands until they clear us to fly again…"
"So, what happens now?" Lanza asked, looking to Naomi for an answer first before Jaeger and Long Caster.
"We're not sure. Not yet, anyways. But at least now that you two are back, the future's looking a lot better," Long Caster replied. "That reminds me, though. Once you've recovered and you're able to leave, Fencer, I need to speak with you about something. Trigger and Count as well. I won't lie and say it isn't serious, but it is something that can wait for now. So just take it easy for a bit, alright?"
No one said anything more on the subject, and as they all tried to make lighter conversation Naomi found it a bit difficult to keep focused on the discussion. She had never been this quiet before, something she was aware made it obvious there was something on her mind. Well, aside from the obvious. She was right, then, about what had almost been asked of her earlier in HQ. The role of company commander of the LRSSG would be decided between the three of them, somehow, though she had no idea how. Would they choose based on accomplishments? Time with the squadron as a whole? Current rank? It was nerve-wracking to think about.
In the middle of the discussion she heard Tabloid make a joke to Lanza, but truthfully she'd tuned everyone out. The priority of her concerns had shifted. Lanza and Fencer were alive, that was one weight off everyone's shoulders. Now they just had to figure out what their fate was going to be for the rest of the war, and Naomi didn't know if she could handle that responsibility. But if she was asked to do something, she would fulfill that duty as best she could. That was the only thing she knew how to do at this point, even if she didn't like it. She wasn't going to have much say in the matter.
Count must have noticed her absence from the conversation and attempts to lighten the mood, as he hung back beside her before finally breaking the silence. "You're unusually quiet. And you don't look so great," he said, and all she could do at first was look at him. "What's bothering you, now, Trig?"
"It's that obvious?" Naomi asked, not really surprised by it. More like annoyed with herself for not having a better poker face.
"I can read you like a book," Count replied with a nod, crossing his arms. "So, you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?"
"I'm just…worried about what Long Caster said," Naomi answered. She hesitated, but if she had to confide in anyone she would happily pick Count over and over again. "Remember when I got cut off earlier, in the waiting room? Well, when I was over at HQ…I think they're considering us to take Wiseman's place. You were his wingman, Fencer was probably a candidate long ago, and I'm…an experienced pilot? Strider Squadron's lead plane? A good luck charm? Pfft. Hell if I know what I am anymore."
"You're a hell of a lot more than that and you know that as well as I do. Don't sell yourself short like that," Count said to her, his tone one that shocked her. It was less scolding and more that kind of offhanded faith in her abilities, like when Húxiān had compared him to the Strider 1 before her and he'd been adamant that Naomi wouldn't be replaced anytime soon. Not something she would ever be used to from him. He went on. "They'd be idiots not to promote you. Or at least consider it."
"What about you?" Naomi asked him. She couldn't really stop herself from going on, feeling the need to repay his compliment. "You've wanted the lead for a long time now. You're a skilled pilot, Count, you just have a big mouth and an even bigger ego. When you started to panic over Farbanti, it scared me, but you pulled yourself together and…if they gave you the chance you'd be just as great as Wiseman or anyone else."
Count seemed almost embarrassed, for a moment he just looked at her before he reached up to rub the back of his neck and looked away. He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but he sounded nervous as he went on. "Hell, take out the part about my ego and you'd almost make me blush."
"I'm being serious. You act like you have a high opinion of yourself, but you don't put enough faith in your own abilities when it comes down to it," Naomi said, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. "You brush it off, but I'm not kidding. You'd be as great in Wiseman's shoes as anybody else."
"Trust me, I'm nothing compared to you…" Count muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Naomi to hear. She wondered if he even meant to say it out loud, so she didn't acknowledge it. It embarrassed her to hear, to the point she felt it was best to pull her hand back. After she did, he turned his head back towards her but didn't look at her face until he spoke again. "But, it doesn't matter. You or Fencer should have the lead, not me. It wouldn't feel right."
Naomi hesitated. Whatever happened, she couldn't do it without their help. Without him. It wasn't any way a leader should feel about a subordinate, but with Count she'd stopped caring about rank a long time ago. He was her friend and had been her wingman countless times. She was allowed to care for him, right? Which was why she didn't want him to back down like this. "Don't do that. Don't give something like that up. Wiseman must have believed you could do it, or else he wouldn't have made you his wingman."
"Forget about it for now," Count finally said, taking a deep breath. "There's nothing we can do about it until we hear what Long Caster has to say. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but until then it doesn't do anyone any good stressing over it."
"You're right," she admitted, trying to push her worries to the back of her mind. It wasn't like it was the first time she'd done this, and it certainly wasn't the last. But Count was right, there wasn't anything that could be done.
"Yeah, I know I am," Count said, offering her a tired smile. "Now, c'mon. Let's not spoil the reunion anymore."
Without anything else to do, Naomi followed Count away from the sidelines to rejoin the others. It wasn't much of a reunion, let alone any kind of celebration, but everyone had enough on their plate without her putting even more of a damper on things. But she wondered what would happen when they did finally cross that bridge. Once again the uncertainty of everything made her anxious and frustrated. There was really only one other thought on the subject before she set it aside for the time being.
If they asked me to lead them to victory, asked me to lead them home, could I do it?
Author's Note: SO! Ya girl hasn't perished!
It has certainly been a hot minute since I last updated this, so I'll try to keep the explanation as brief as I can. We'll start with the common concerns. Why have I been AWOL? Well, more than one thing. Life likes to sucker punch me and my health isn't the greatest, so that piled onto standard writer's block and burnout made for over a year without an update.
I was devoting the energy I had to smaller projects and other fandoms, and trying to spend some time working on art over writing because I was more satisfied with it. Which, somewhat related, if anybody else out there struggles with bad creative blocks I recommend the video 'What Makes Writing So Hard?' by Tale Foundry. It was painfully relatable and perfectly put my thoughts and feelings to words, and it actually helped me get some extra motivation to write.
But, moving on to the next question I have gotten. Is this fic abandoned/going to be abandoned? The answer is...mostly simple. No. I want to finish this fanfic, I'm still working on it, but I've never been able to promise regular updates. I am notoriously bad with deadlines, so all I can offer is maybe a goal I set for myself every month, but I can't even guarantee I'll fulfill that. So the next update could be a month from now or six. Truthfully I don't have much control over it, I write when I'm physically able and have the time. At the very least I can promise I am not abandoning Three Strikes and I will write and post when I can.
Can't promise I'm going to have many more 15k+ long chapters, though, I have to cut back on that lol
All of that being said, I hope y'all enjoyed and thank you for reading and thank you all for being so patient with me!
Take care for now!