Three Strikes

by bluebellwren

Naomi Foulke - TAC 'Trigger' - the latest in a line of air force prodigies, becomes the OADF's scapegoat when she's wrongfully accused of murdering former President Harling. In the midst of war against Erusea, she's sent to a penal unit to atone. Determined to redeem herself and swiftly end the war, she finds herself facing threats from all sides as she grows from prisoner to hero.

47. Jumping At Shadows

Chapter Forty-Six: Jumping At Shadows

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Anchorhead Bay, Erusea.
October 1st, 2019.
2200hrs.

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The EASA transport had held up well when under attack, though that was the least of Schroeder's concerns as the brief allies they'd made in those Osean fighters withdrew from the area in the opposite direction of their plane. The drone escorts were gone, having gone against their orders as if they were human pilots making a calculated decision. Even going so far as to call more allies to their aid before that Osean F-22 pilot made quick work of them. Now they continued onward, completely defenseless and Schroeder's ego more than a little bruised.

The drones' behavior was unexpected, having completely ignored all attempts to control them from within the aircraft. But despite the fruits of their labor now being nothing more than pieces of scrap and ash, Simon seemed overall pleased with what would have been a successful performance from the AI under any regular circumstances. He was clearly exhausted, but still smiling. "Did you see that, Dr. Schroeder? Autonomous mode was fully functional! They're incredible…"

Schroeder didn't acknowledge him right away, silently removing his glasses to wipe the sweat off his face and clean the now cloudy lenses. His gaze remained focused on them in the dull lighting, though he was aware of Simon looking at him the entire time. At last he took a deep breath. "It's not enough to be merely functional. There has to be a time when it should not function…but the question is when? At one point can they not be allowed to make decisions based on numbers and vague orders?"

"What do you mean?" Simon's tone had changed, and when Schroeder looked up at him he found that his protégé's expression had faltered to one reminiscent of childish if he was a kid that had just had his entire world shattered by a simple statement.

"Their purpose is to create a clean and efficient war, where unnecessary casualties are a thing of the past. A perfect soldier…" Schroeder said, though he was beginning to think things were too far gone for their original purpose to still stand. He had intended to create something good, or at least his superiors that handed the project over to him had told him it was good. But that Osean pilot had been right. Whoever created something without humanity to solve problems connected to the very thing they lacked was a fool. "But if at every turn they're fighting their commanders' authority and making unauthorized decisions during sorties, what's their purpose? If they attack friendlies like this based solely on what they perceive to be an enemy, what stops them from going after Erusean pilots? Or worse yet, civilians…"

"But at least we've proven their autonomy can work and function. What are they supposed to do if their commanders are taken out and they need to continue their operations?" Simon asked him, a question made out of genuine curiosity as opposed to one intended to start a fight.

"And what if they decide their commanders' orders should be overridden? That a populated area should be wiped out to continue their allies' advancement? Or that their allies are expendable compared to them?" Schroeder asked him, and there was no answer to any of his questions. No, they could not create a weapon they could not control with the purpose of ending wars. New, endless wars would instead be waged and diplomacy would quickly become a thing of the past. "Their autonomy is centered on self-preservation and broad interpretations of 'hostile' and 'enemy'."

"Then what's the solution?" Simon asked him, becoming slightly more confrontational now. "What alternatives are there, aside from setting back their technology about ten years and scrapping all of our progress? We could make them better or…or find a way to give them a moral compass. Something so that all of this isn't a waste!"

"Keep your voice down," Schroeder ordered, barely raising his voice. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping the girls were far enough away from them that they couldn't hear their conversation. He wondered what kind of a person it made him, to know that all of Mihaly's pain had most likely been for nothing but continuing this pursuit anyways. Surely the data he had was the final piece, and all of it would be enough. Maybe Simon was right, and he just needed to be patient, but even so he was just…tired.

Simon lowered his voice as Schroeder requested, catching on and instead quietly prompting him, "Well, do you have the answers? Or are we risking our life for something that's going to go nowhere."

"I don't know," Schroeder admitted slowly, and it wasn't an easy thing to do either. His thoughts drifted to the drive they were transporting away from the fighting, to Selatapura. That had to be the key. Though even he was doubtful, he knew Simon wanted answers. Blaming him for that would make him out to be a rather poor teacher, but his eagerness to take such a slap in the face as a victory probably already did that. "They're missing the drive they need…once we've uploaded the data, we can work out any problems that arise, I suppose."

The answer seemed to satisfy Simon, even if only a little. "I'm confident in our work," he said, still looking disappointed like before. "Our work means something. Or it should. But I don't want to have made this progress for nothing."

"I'm afraid that comes with the field. If you wanted simple solutions and easy victories you should have enlisted," Schroeder said with a sigh, rising to his feet. "In this field of work it's nothing but trial and error. If you ever plan to succeed in it you're going to have to get used to failure."

Simon said nothing, giving him a vague acknowledgement though clearly having expected or hoped for some kind of comforting words. But he knew well by now that Schroeder was not very skilled at dealing with people on an emotional level, and outside of not wishing harm upon someone and trying to keep them safe he could not offer them much in that department. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of it, it's just that clinical professionalism and surface level friendships were what he was best acquainted with. Which is why his next course of action as they left the battlefield long behind them was arguably as foolish as his hopes for the drones.

He left Simon alone in the cockpit, heading back to check on the girls. Massa had remained with Mihaly's granddaughters, but he was sure Ionela hadn't spoken a single word to her since they left. She'd come in right before they'd been attacked, demanding to know what was going on, but after she'd seen the Osean fighters she just went silent. After they'd been attacked, Ionela had rushed back to hold onto her sister despite Massa being there, and Schroeder was sure all three of them were probably still shaken up from the incident. Even he'd been ruffled by it, though he kept his composure.

The aircraft was more or less empty as far as transports go, containing only luggage and a few necessary equipment Schroeder had packed away in addition to the passengers. Massa stood going over everything to make sure it wasn't damaged, muttering a checklist under her breath. Across the aisle Ionela sat with Alma standing in front of her, clutching tightly to her stuffed animal as her sister looked her over for injuries. She said something that Schroeder couldn't hear with the background noise from the plane, but whatever it was prompted Ionela to take off her coat and drape it over her sister's shoulders even though the younger of the two had her own. Ionela motioned to the empty space beside her and Alma crawled into the seat, adjusting the larger coat to use as a blanket before she leaned against her sister's shoulder.

Schroeder chose to approach Massa first, though Ionela sat quietly staring at the ground ahead of her after her sister had sat down. She made no indication she cared or even noticed that he was there, but he figured space was the better option until he knew what to say to her. He stopped a few steps from his assistant, who didn't stop what she was doing just to greet him.

"How are things holding up?" he asked her, which caused her to pause for only a few seconds.

"As far as I can tell, nothing was damaged," Massa answered as she resumed her scanning, having finished looking things over and now going about the process of doubly securing everything. "That doesn't mean it isn't, not that half this junk does us much good without the satellites. It's still too expensive to just throw around like it's nothing."

"I was asking more about you than the equipment, though it's nice to know you're on top of things," Schroeder said, already certain he didn't sound very concerned either way. The equipment was precious cargo indeed, but he could replace that. If somehow there were injuries or even death in this line of work, it would fall onto his shoulders.

"Oh. Right," Massa said, her own social awkwardness shining through. She shrugged, leaving her work alone and falling back into her seat. "Nothing's broken or bruised and my glasses are still intact, so everything's fine. Just rattled."

"That should pass. As far as I know, we shouldn't run into more trouble along the way, not that I could say that for sure, but…" Schroeder trailed off and Massa simply nodded, understanding well enough where he was going with that. He glanced over his shoulder at the girls, still sitting quietly and unmoving, then looked back to Massa. "How are they doing?"

"You should ask them yourself if you really want to know. Neither of them said a word once the attack was over," Massa answered him quietly, leaning to the side slightly so she could see behind him. She crossed her arms, lowering her voice further so it was barely over a whisper. "Ionela looked pale when she came back here. I figured it was just the fear getting to her, but she's kept almost completely to herself. She barely even spoke to Alma. Something about what she saw when she was up there with you really did a number on her."

"I see." Schroeder was still hesitant to speak with the girls, out of fear of making things worse off on everyone. But he would feel better if he was able to worry less about the emotions of those around him and focus on the work that was awaiting him when they arrived at their destination. While he doubted the two would care to open up to him if something was bothering them, he may as well try. "Thank you, Massa. I'll…I'll do what I can. Try and get some rest."

With that he turned away from his assistant, taking a deep breath to steel himself for a fight should he unknowingly say something wrong. Waiting right where she'd been this entire time, Ionela sat with a blank expression and her hands folded in her lap as she kept a blank expression. Her eyes stayed focused on the floor beneath her feet, not reacting in any way as Schroeder took a few steps towards her to make carrying a conversation easier. He kept his footsteps quiet so as not to disturb Alma, who had seemingly had enough of the chaos from earlier and appeared to have quickly fallen asleep. Practically in a matter of only a few minutes, though he'd really have no idea.

For just a few moments he stared down at Ionela, waiting for her to engage in a discussion to spare him the trouble of having to get her attention. When it finally appeared she wasn't going to acknowledge him, he swallowed and reluctantly tried to think of the best way to approach the conversation. He wondered how Mihaly might have handled this, but were Mihaly around Schroeder would not be in this situation to begin with. No, in a perfect world he'd be continuing his doomed project in a comfortable environment where he did not have to consider the thoughts and feelings of a child that utterly despised him. He was beginning to think she wasn't entirely unjustified.

Schroeder adjusted his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose for just a moment until he quietly spoke up. "Ionela. Are you and your sister okay?"

Ionela didn't look at him, though from what he could see her eyes did seem to focus and her expression shifted slightly. At first he thought she was ignoring him, but more at him than to him she shakily said, "There were three scratches."

"What does that mean?" Schroeder asked before he could think better of it, caught completely off guard by her answer. He'd expected a dismissive 'fine' to get him to go away (and he gladly would have done so) but instead she'd given him that to work with.

"The tail of that plane," she almost numbly answered, her grip on her own hand tightening as she proceeded to nervously tap at her knuckles with her index finger. She went on, slowly. As though she was trying to keep her emotions under control. "Those Osean fighters…their lead plane. That was the aircraft my grandfather told me about. The one with the scratches."

He thought back to the interaction, the Osean fighter that had gotten close to them. So close they could have reached out and touched it they really wanted to. He hadn't paid much attention to them in the moment, having been concerned about other things, but in his memory it did stand out next to its allies. Even in that brief moment. Schroeder may not have put much thought into why Mihaly was flying and the adversary he was hellbent on defeating, but he knew well enough that if he had a choice then only one of the two of them would remain in the sky the next time they met. He quickly figured out what had brought Ionela to such a state of shock.

"Three Strikes?" Schroeder asked her.

Her immediate silence was confirmation enough. Ionela finally moved, lifting her gaze and straightening up before she gently adjusted herself and Alma. Wrapping her arm around her sister, she slowly stroked her hair like a mother would comfort their child before she covered her ear with her hand. It would do little to block out their conversation, but she seemed to think it necessary as she continued. "If that pilot is alive, then it's likely my grandfather is…gone. He wouldn't have stopped until one of them was dead, and clearly it wasn't her that suffered that fate."

"That could very well be the case," Schroeder said, each word slow as he tried to wrap his head around the fact himself. He'd prepared himself for that fact, but there wasn't any way to confirm it. While he wouldn't say he was in any sort of denial, fully able to accept such a thing and move on were that the case, it wasn't something he thought to be likely now that he was faced with the possibility. At his initial response he saw her eyes flick towards him, almost watering, and he knew he needed to find some way to fix whatever she was feeling. "And it's also possible that he survived the encounter. Or that Three Strikes wasn't even at Farbanti."

"Osea sent just about everything they had in there, there's no reason she wouldn't have been there," Ionela answered quickly, almost scoffing at his suggestion. As if she knew he was reaching for whatever he could. "You don't have to coddle me, I'm not an idiot. When they didn't return following this blackout…I already assumed the worst. Seeing that plane here tonight just reminded me of a fact I'd been too much of a coward to accept."

"There's no way to confirm whether he's alive or dead, that's the only thing that you need to accept," Schroeder told her, not sure if he was trying to comfort her or just wishing to get the conversation over with. He made an effort to keep from sounding harsh, not that it made much of a difference. "So there isn't any point in entertaining the subject, whether it be naive hope or premature grief."

"What would it matter to you?" Ionela challenged, not snapping or raising her voice at all. In fact the way she said it was eerily calm, something he wasn't used to from her. She didn't wait for him to answer. "You have no reason to pretend to be concerned for his well-being any longer. Whether he lives or dies is inconsequential to you at the end of the day, so long as your precious project succeeds. He didn't care about your research, and you never cared why he was so eager to put his life on the line. So really, why should his life matter to you?"

In spite of her calm Schroeder found himself uncomfortable as she looked at him with that empty, blank expression. Any tears that had threatened to spill over previously were long gone, and once more she reminded him of Mihaly. Intimidating. In Mihaly's case it had come with age and experience, but for her it was just a product of her upbringing. Schroeder found himself hesitating like before, but at last he pulled himself together enough to answer her.

"I…I don't know," he said, clearing his throat. "It shouldn't. Perhaps it doesn't. I'm merely offering you something to think about."

Ionela narrowed her eyes, but then she fixed her gaze straight ahead again. She removed her hand from over Alma's ear, resting it instead on her sister's shoulder. The look in her eyes that replaced the empty one from before wasn't one he liked. As though nothing had happened, she properly answered his question from before. "Thank you, Dr. Schroeder, we're fine. Goodnight."

"Very well, then. Goodnight." Schroeder gave her a curt nod, almost relieved the conversation was over.

Had that been the end of it he would have been perfectly fine to leave it like that, but instead he was left to think about what she had said as he returned to the cockpit. Maybe the reason he 'cared' was guilt at putting Mihaly under incredible physical stress in combat for the sake of a project he barely had the will to continue. Or maybe he 'cared' because he didn't want to be left to pick up the pieces should Mihaly truly be dead, too selfish to even offer basic sympathy to two children. Whatever the reason was, he couldn't find anything that set his mind at ease.

And unfortunately, they had a long flight ahead of them and Schroeder realized he'd be left with more time for introspection than he would have liked.

---

2230hrs.

A portable radio sat in a soldier's lap as a small group of soldiers gathered around to listen to the broadcast as the fighting around the city started to cease gradually following the LRSSG's escort. The sound of the General's helicopter began to move farther away as it slowly took to the skies, and the immediate area where they'd set up was quiet courtesy of the air support from Strider Squadron. Tensions were still high, though, and everyone had their guard up due to the amount of Eruseans still in the area. Although they had a common goal to work towards in the name of peace, no one completely trusted anyone.

Genette leaned his head against the side of the armored vehicle's door as fatigue began to get the better of him, a lack of sleep over the last few days taking its toll. His pack with his notebooks, pens, and film and photography equipment was the only support to his back from where he sat. Silence was beginning to settle over the city as their allies withdrew, having announced their departure and rattled off the coordinates once everyone was ready to move out, leaving Genette and the others a chance to catch their breath.

There wasn't any way of knowing if their original goal in coming here had even paid off, but now that they had a home base to return to they had a better chance at patching things up. At least, as best as he could figure. He wasn't being modest when he admitted this sort of thing wasn't his area of expertise. He could string together articles and essays and piece together photographs and films all to tell a coherent story and illustrate whatever point he needed to get across, but he knew very little beyond the basics as far as restoring any kind of communications network went. At the very least he knew enough to get them here and back in touch with their allies. Small victory, really.

Conversations were hushed as those that had gathered around listened to the news broadcast from the ENN, recounting the situation and operation they'd witnessed. The voice of the newscaster maintained a professional and clear tone as he spoke, though understandably anyone would be rattled in this situation.

"War is something I'll never get used to, but tonight has been a total shock. The city under martial law. Gunfire and the roar of jets echoing through the streets. There's a strict curfew, but people have gathered in bars and other places to learn what's going on," the newscaster reported, the radio interference minimal and only slightly affecting the broadcast. "As such it is our duty to continue to investigate and report the situation. We archived all footage that we've shot for when the communication networks come back on line, in hope of shedding light on this and other unfortunate battles such as this one happening all across the continent. Signs of the clean warfare at the beginning of this war are now gone."

"Spoken like someone who's never seen a real war," scoffed one of the soldiers. "There's no such thing as a clean war, no matter how you dress up the situation."

"People still die either way," muttered another in agreement, adjusting his hold on the rifle he carried. "Just because their government and military still looked good in the public eye when this all started doesn't mean shit."

"The public hardly sees guys like us as people unless they want to feel good about themselves," a third said with a shake of his head. "Our lives only matter when they can be exploited."

"It's nothing new, things have always been that way," the man with the radio said with a tired sigh. He tested the volume knob on the radio to see if it would go any higher as he added quietly, "Now keep it down so we can hear, would ya?"

"There are rumors of a military group calling itself the Free Eruseans – a resistance group that has been virtually inactive since their most recent uprising in 2014 – have assumed a presence on the frontlines. Their actions and whereabouts these last five years, and even in this war itself, have been largely a mystery to the general public assuming the validity of these rumors," the broadcast continued. "Our country has fallen into a state of anarchy and ruin following the fall of our capital, leading to another power struggle within the Erusean military. Previously active military representatives for the only seemingly officially recognized factions have vanished. With the Conservative members backing General Édouard Labarthe blaming General Françios Parrish's drone project – a joint project between the Erusean Air and Space Administration, the Erusean Royal Armed Forces, and Belka's Gründer Industries – for leading Erusea down a path of self-destruction. The royal family's status and whereabouts following this incident are presently unknown…"

Genette lifted his head, his attention caught by the mention of Gründer Industries. His exhaustion faded fast, for a moment leaving him dazed as though he'd been shocked awake by a splash of ice water. He looked around at the group, that seemed curious but not nearly as caught off guard by what had been said. One part of him wondered if it was a product of an almost half-asleep state, a case of his subconscious digging up memories better left alone following the night he'd had, but there was only one way to know for sure.

"Did he just say 'Gründer Industries'?" he asked the men nearby, all of them looking up as he spoke.

"Sounded like it, yeah," the one with the radio answered. He looked around at his companions. "I know relations with them have been shaky at best over the last few years since the last war, but aren't they technically an Osean company?"

"Only in name, really, despite their alleged loyalties. In their eyes they're Belkan first and foremost, not that it's particularly surprising, and a worldwide arms dealer on the side," the man that had spoken up first when they'd first interrupted the newscaster said. "Just look at their history. They do business with the highest bidder, then supply their enemy on the side. Doesn't surprise me Erusea went crawling to them for help."

"Questionable ethics there, don't you think?" asked another, though the question was mostly rhetorical.

"You don't know the half of it," Genette said, quietly so that they barely even heard him. There was very little about his experiences and knowledge he could divulge to them, everything he knew not being information he could be careless with. While not unusual that Gründer was still active, it struck him as odd they'd involved themselves on such a level so publicly. An ulterior motive of theirs, most likely, or perhaps an unintentional side effect of working alongside someone seemingly eager to boast of their newfound project.

Was this entirely their own project that they handed over to Erusea for a price or was this something entirely of Erusea's creation? Although he was well acquainted with them and their various methods, any AI program wasn't at the forefront of their operations and work nearly ten years ago. A new development? Or a secret project? His mind was reeling with questions and no answers, with no way he could investigate the matter any further. All those years ago, they must have just barely scratched the surface of what Gründer Industries was capable of unleashing onto the world, not that he doubted for a second they'd fixed the problem.

But soon enough, all of this would be out in the public for all the world to see, and this drone project could very well be the final nail in their coffin.

Genette leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he stared down at the pavement. To himself he muttered, "What have they been up to all this time? And what do they gain from this…?"

Everyone's attention returned to the radio, leaving Genette alone in his pondering. He tuned much of the broadcast out after that, the last thing he processed was the newscaster announcing, "Officers from countries annexed by Erusea have taken multiple groups and declared independence, further fracturing our nation…"

The topic wasn't one of any interest to him, and without any further elaboration on the drones and Gründer's involvement on the project there wasn't much about what was said that was consequential to him. He stayed quiet, his thoughts only broken when the group of men scoffed and criticized the newscaster's rose-tinted view on Erusea and their actions, but there was nothing he had to contribute to that particular subject.

Though only a few minutes had gone by, it felt like hours.

Genette eventually looked up and around, trying to find where Jacob had disappeared to. All he knew was that after the General had gotten on the helicopter, the driver of the VIP vehicle had returned to them and informed them that there was some kind of intelligence officer interested in meeting and speaking with them before they left the city, and that apparently they had some valuable information that they wished to share. The driver was apparently acquainted with this officer on some level, reassuring them that the intel was trustworthy. Though hesitant, the Major ultimately agreed and had gone to speak with the driver while they waited it out.

The broadcast was nearing its end after the newscaster briefly explained the situation with the annexed countries, informing all listeners that the rumors pointed to two particular countries having paved the way to the others' independence. Shilage and their neighbor Voslage, small and ancient nations that had been the most reluctant to join Erusea. Genette knew little about them, their histories fading with more and more time, but they were one of the more modern Erusean states with very few that desired an Erusean label. He wondered if this freedom amidst the chaos would truly last for them, or if they'd be reined back into submission once Erusea recovered.

"As the dead of night sets in, we find ourselves facing a dim and uncertain future. Who do we turn to in this darkest hour? In the past there has always been someone to guide the way to hope, and now more than ever we need a beacon of light to show us the way. A lighthouse in a sea of turmoil…" the newscaster said as he began to wrap up, his delivery almost enough to make you cry. Static and interference began to worsen, cutting off anything else he'd said, "...signing off, and this is the Erusean News Network."

Nothing more was said as the station went silent and only static played over the speakers. The soldiers from before all began to solemnly discuss everything they'd heard, while Genette took the opportunity to stretch his legs. No one paid him any mind as he stood up, setting off across the damp pavement as he made his way past crowds of weary men and women all on their guard despite the calm conditions. Weapons were at the ready, and they'd no doubt spring into action should the situation arise, no matter how badly in need of a good rest they were. There was hope, though, if only because they had a home they could return to with food and a cot to sleep on.

As he walked he couldn't help but consider the final part of that broadcast. A beacon of light to show the way…a lighthouse. Though his thoughts first went to the space elevator, nicknamed the Lighthouse, he knew most would see that as the source of conflict. Genette thought differently, if only because he knew the motivations behind its construction as well as the much larger purpose it could serve. To him, that was the most fitting to unite them all in the end. But then he remembered, all throughout history no matter how bad a situation looked there were always a brave few clearing the way.

He wondered then, for Osea at least, was Major Foulke the one they would be turning to? They had already put so much faith in her, rallying behind Three Strikes as she took on the Eruseans. The course things had taken reminded him of so many of the pilots he'd met and the few that he'd formed a lasting connection with. One thing he knew was that the greatest pilots never rose to the occasion seeking glory and fame. At the end of the day, no one would know their faces or their pasts, they would know only whatever symbol and name they carved out for themselves. He hadn't had the chance to ask Trigger why she'd wanted to fly, but he was certain she never asked to be Three Strikes. It was likely he knew the general answer anyway.

Genette knew why Blaze was so desperate to keep flying, even if this was someone else's battle, and the sole reason Grimm had followed her simply being that he wasn't about to lose his wife. Though he did not know the Demon Lord or Pixy well, he knew the reasons a mercenary went on to be a hero while the other fell from grace. Why a one-man squadron never would have been if not for a young man seeking to break free from his own past. There were many others across the world that Genette had never had the privilege of meeting, but he'd learned that everyone had their reasons for flying. They didn't set out to be heroes or monsters, they just wanted the thrill and freedom that came with their job, and stepped up only because they had no choice.

Only Strider Squadron had flown tonight, which left him wondering if the time for their new hero was fast approaching. If this darkest hour would pass when she finally took her place alongside her predecessors. An ace of aces.

His train of thought halted as he reached the frontmost vehicle, the VIP car parked across the road from it. Jacob and the driver of the car stood across from each other, their focus on the empty stretch of road ahead of them, leading to the tunnel that just a few moments before a fighter jet had flown through. Chilling to think that the now tranquil city, and such a beautiful one at that, had been a warzone for the last few days.

The two of them took notice of him, the wet pavement making it a challenge to quietly walk around in boots when every step splashed and thudded on the ground. Jacob gave him a tired smile. "Ah, Genette. I was just thinking of asking you to come up here," he said, then shot a mildly annoyed look to the driver before he continued, civil as ever. "But it's beginning to look like the intelligence officer we're waiting for is going to be a no show."

"I told you, she'd be here," the driver, who as far as Genette could tell based on his mix of casual and tactical attire was PMC. Tall and getting on in age, with light hair that was still visibly graying. He crossed his arms. "She's the one that helped me keep that General of yours and that Osean unit safe. The information she has is valuable, she just…does things on her own terms, that's all."

"Well, regardless, I can't risk leaving my men out here in the open for much longer. We're tired and there's no telling when the Eruseans are going to finish regrouping," Jacob said with a sigh as Genette approached. He turned his attention back to the road. "I'll give her another fifteen minutes, but after that we're going to start moving out. There's no point in staying out here when all of our allies have left."

"Fair enough," the driver said. He switched over to greetings as Genette looked at him, offering a friendly smile. "Hi. You don't look military."

"That's because I'm not. I couldn't make the cut, so now I just write about them," Genette said, trying for a lighter tone. He'd never really considered a military career, just took up an interest in it thanks to family. From there he'd played on his strengths and interests to end up where he was now, risking his life for a story more than anything. He went on. "I'm a journalist. Genette. Albert Genette."

"Ah, yeah, I think I've heard your name around. Pretty ballsy guy to seek out shit like this just for an article," he said, almost sounding amused. "Nice to meet you. You can call me John."

John. Genette noticed he neglected to offer a surname, looking back to the road as a more serious expression replaced the friendly smile he'd been wearing. One of the most common and ordinary names in the world and it was all he gave Genette to work with. Perhaps it was on purpose, or maybe he thought it was too trivial to share. Regardless of the reason, Genette didn't press him on this matter, too curious about the person they were waiting for. One that apparently John knew better than he'd previously assumed.

"This intelligence officer we're waiting for…why didn't she hand over what she knew to Captain Karl and the Erusean General?" Genette asked either one of the men beside him, certain they both likely knew more than him. At the very least Jacob likely knew the gist of it better. "And what exactly does she have to offer?"

"I find myself wondering the same thing, if the intel is so important," Jacob said. He kept his voice level, clear of anything that gave away a lack of trust in spite of his words. "I'm only trusting you because your reputation precedes you. So much so that the General sang your praises to the Osean military to ensure they hired you. But this is all a little unusual given the circumstances…and your background."

"I appreciate that you trust me even though you don't have to, but believe me I don't know any more about this than you do," John replied, looking up towards the sky as he spoke. "All I know is that she wanted to speak with someone either in the air force or with a close connection to them. I heard over the radio that you're clearly working alongside that Long Range Strategic Strike Group or whatever…so I gave her the go ahead."

"How'd you get in touch with her?" Jacob asked.

John pulled out a phone from his pocket. An older, rather outdated one that Genette hadn't seen in about a decade, likely not his personal phone. He waved it about for emphasis, then returned it to his jacket pocket. "She currently resides just outside of Anchorhead. And as far as we can tell, at least around here, local calls don't have any difficulties. Outside of a set range, though, that seems to be a different story."

"Well then, that's promising," Genette said, really only to Jacob who gave him a short nod after taking a deep breath. At least it meant they had come in the right direction.

Barely any time went by at all before the distant sound of some kind of engine could be heard on the road. Not being an expert in vehicles, Genette had no idea what exactly it was, the only thing he could tell for certain was that it was some kind of motorcycle. Not the obnoxiously loud kind he soon discovered as the shape of the bike rounded the turn in the tunnel and shot out onto the main road. From the way John reacted to it, stepping forward and muttering something under his breath, that must have been the 'intelligence officer' they were waiting on. The bike began to slow to a halt, veering off to the side of the road towards the car John had been driving.

The engine cut off as the vehicle came to a full stop, the rider pulling off the helmet that concealed her face. On her back was a faded pack, one of only two signs she had any connection to the military at any point. The second was the flight jacket she wore, any insignias too faded to make out of not in an easy to spot location, a clear sign she wasn't lacking in combat experience. The rest of her clothes were casual, a simple pair of jeans, boots, and a dark red blouse.

Although short in comparison to the three men she approached, the way she carried herself and the lines on her face were enough to tell she wasn't someone to be trifled with. Her eye color was hard to make out, but the sharpness in the way she looked at all of them made an instant impression. To Genette she stood out, with dark hair and a tanned complexion, along with the same striking impression that the likes of Blaze or former Captain Bartlett had.

When she spoke, however, her voice was quiet and almost soothing. She paid Genette and Jacob little attention, her gaze flicking right to John as she greeted him, though perhaps the reason for that was that he met her halfway in the road. "And here I was thinking you'd just slip away and forget what I told you."

"You're one to talk after you left me hanging here for so long," John replied, his tone almost a retort if not for the smile that appeared on both of their faces as he towered over her in an almost playful manner. He didn't beat around the bush. "I found you people with connections to that Three Strikes you seemed so intrigued by. They're heading to the same base right after this. And thanks to you never giving a damn about anyone else's schedule they almost didn't wait around for you."

"Anchorhead is safe for now. The soldiers that are still around are too weak and exhausted to be of any real threat, not even to the civilians. Poor bastards can't even throw their weight around," she said, her attention now shifting to the two of them. She shifted her weight off of one leg, crossing her arms as she looked them over. "Judging from the looks of you, things aren't much better on the Osean end, are they?"

"We've been on our feet since Farbanti. I'd say we're not doing so bad," Jacob answered, giving a short laugh. He seemed friendly, setting aside his reservations now that they were face-to-face. "So, you're the intelligence officer your friend John here told us about? From the way he talked you up, you must have your hands on a goldmine of intel."

"'Intelligence officer'? Pfft…overstatement of the century," the woman sent John a glare, his only reply to make a poor attempt at playing dumb. She looked back at Genette and Jacob. "Well, first thing's first, let's get introductions out of the way. You can call me Freeman…or Malia, I suppose, if you'd prefer a first-name basis. No one of importance, really, just someone who happens to know more than I probably should."

"Understatement of the century," John muttered, rephrasing her words from earlier almost with an exasperated huff.

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, give me one good reason why I should trust your intel?"

Freeman looked almost offended, taking a few steps closer. Jacob tensed as if he expected her to try something. However, she simply said, "I gave you my name, didn't I? If you don't want to trust me, that's perfectly fine, but I assure you that I've already trusted you far more than I should, Major…" she slowed just enough to find his name on his uniform, "...Grimm?"

Genette stayed quiet during the exchange, looking between the two of them almost nervously. It seemed John was in the same boat, staying close to Freeman but whether with the intention of protecting or stopping her he couldn't tell. Luckily for both of them, Jacob spent only a short while considering everything before he finally nodded. "Alright. I'll hear you out."

"Good. Thank you." Freeman pulled her pack off of her shoulders, tossing it onto the ground between them. Perhaps a show of good faith to reassure him she wasn't going to pull a weapon on them. Looking to Jacob to silently ask for permission, Genette then reached forward to grab it as she began to explain. "It's intelligence that I've gathered over the last…oh, what, twenty-something years now? Anyways. Every bit of it is connected to a drone project started in the 90s by Gründer Industries, starting with what limited information there was prior to their joint effort with the EASA within the last few years."

"Holy shit…" Genette couldn't help but say as he pulled out one of the first files, each file within the pack varying in size and marked by year, some of the folders looking rather old and worn. The fact he'd been thinking about this just moments earlier was enough to feel like a creepy twist of fate, but he set it aside enough to flip through the pages. "These drones…they almost look like that experimental fighter from the Belkan War…more streamlined, maybe more maneuverable then…"

He began to ramble, mostly to himself, rattling off everything he could think of based on his limited expertise as he began to skim the files one by one right where they sat, completely in awe. Freeman looked at him as he began this, then gestured to him as she asked Jacob, "Is this guy one of yours?"

"You could say that," Jacob said, but he didn't stay on the topic. "I'm to take it if they're collaborating with the EASA, then that means there's some connection to these…fighters and those upgraded drones we've had buzzing around all this time?"

"And the entirely autonomous fighters your squadrons have no doubt had run-ins with," Freeman said quickly, though she seemed to be mostly deducing based on what information she had on hand. Quickly, she began to explain what they were looking at. "A few years ago, before the Continental War that involved ISAF, there were other conflicts throughout the Usean continent. That was the first time these drone fighters showed up. We didn't think much of them at the time, but something never sat right with me about them, so when all was said and done I began to poke around. It's taken me years to get my hands on all of this, and even more to get some idea of what the hell it was."

"And that is?" Jacob asked.

"Everything came back to a single name. Well, acronym is more apt to describe it. Z.O.E or…Zone of Endless," Freeman said, and all three of the men present looked at her. It was clear from the shift in her voice that this wasn't something she told them easily. "An advanced artificial intelligence, designed specifically for combat. My best guess is that Gründer made a premature move deploying them early in their development, and intended to refine it until they could fetch a pretty penny for it. Then the EASA started their own drone project, involving a legendary ace, and Gründer saw the perfect opportunity for a business deal."

"Hold it right there a sec, you're telling me that the reason you disappeared off of the face of the earth all this time was because you were meddling in Gründer's business all these years?" John suddenly interrupted, rounding on her, genuinely annoyed. The kind of annoyance born out of concern rather than anger. "For Christ's sake, Mia…do you have any idea what could happen to you if they found out what you knew?"

"Whatever I do isn't any of your business. Besides, as far as I can tell they haven't a damn clue what I know," she replied, her response only slightly annoyed. If anything she seemed more dismissive, briefly caught off guard by his comment. She recovered in no time. "Back on topic…whatever the EASA and Gründer have been up to all this time is further enhancing this AI, combining what the EASA had developed with their own creation. Perhaps their goal is to create something essentially superhuman by combining that data with Z.O.E, after this war started and the project became more or less public there wasn't much behind the scenes I could do."

"If I recall…that General Labarthe knew as much about the Belkan origins of the drone AI," John said. "So if you knew all this, why didn't you tell him?"

Freeman answered without any hesitation, almost scoffing. "Because I don't trust the Eruseans as far as I can throw them, regardless of their stance on this AI. You know that."

There was a brief pause, and then John finally asked her, "Then why didn't you tell me?"

That question was harder for her to answer, judging by the way her jaw clenched and she avoided eye contact with him. Genette exchanged a look with Jacob, the clear history between the two of them enough to make the situation more than a little awkward. Whatever had happened between the two of them, a simple falling out between friends or otherwise, it had left a lasting impact on them. Not that Genette felt it was his place to pry or even cared to do so. He would never be seeing the two of them again, but something about it was intriguing. Like staring at a train wreck, or something to that effect.

Finally Freeman cleared her throat, not offering him an answer. "I don't know anything about their plans to deploy these things," she said to Jacob. "When or where is a mystery. But what I do know is that they're not going to stop at anything. Osea's new golden child, Three Strikes, has been spelling disaster for them from day one. And that name she bears isn't doing her any favors. They won't stop until she's dead and gone, and if they have their way this war will never end."

"I see…" Jacob said, staring at the files in Genette's hands as he spoke. "Without knowing when exactly they plan to send these things up, every operation could become a gamble."

"And it hasn't already?" Genette couldn't help but point out, flipping the file at the top shut and adjusting his grip on them so none of them fell. "They have a right to know this, so if they run into it they know what they're up against. With all the uncertainty we're facing, they need all the help they can get."

"Well, can't argue with you there," he said slowly, then looked back at Freeman and John. "We appreciate this, really, we do. But, uh, is this information going to cost us anything?"

"If you'd asked me years ago, I probably would have said yes, but considering the situation…" Freeman paused, genuinely considering the best way to reply to him. After a few seconds she gave a slight smile and found her answer. "Let's look at it this way. I've given you the information, and in exchange your pilot finishes this war."

"That's fair enough," Jacob said with a laugh. "No pressure, right?"

"Well, she's got a lot of people all fired up out here," Freeman gave a laugh of her own, shoving her hands in her pocket. "She has allies she can rely on if she really has to. Just…make sure she's careful."

"You care an awful lot about someone you've never met," Genette observed, and she gave him a curious look. He furrowed his brow. "Were you a pilot yourself, Ms. Freeman?"

She smirked, reaching down to grab her now empty bag and sling it over her shoulder, giving John an amused look before she finally replied with a chuckle, "Now that's gonna cost you. Take care."

With a quick two finger salute, she turned to march back to her bike, the back of her jacket now partially visible. Enough to make out what looked like the shape of a bird, though with the lack of light other than street lights it was hard to be sure. Genette could have sworn it looked familiar, maybe something he'd read years ago, but he decided not to press the subject. While there was no doubt more than met the eye when it came to their strange 'intelligence officer' and no matter how much she'd been willing to share with them, it seemed there were some things she was more than willing to keep to herself.

As she started to put on her helmet, John called after her. "Hey!" he said, waiting for her to look his way before he went on. "Don't disappear on me again, Nix, alright?"

The nickname caught her attention more than anything, the demeanor she'd had the entire conversation slipping. Even from the distance between her and Genette, he could make out the way her expression softened. Only the edge of her mouth moved into anything resembling a smile. "Heh. Yeah, I missed you, too," she replied, pulling her helmet over her head and adjusting it before she added, "See you around, John."

Just as quickly as she had shown up, she revved the engine and carefully made a 180 before she disappeared down the street, leaving her old companion to shake his head as he watched her go. He muttered a 'goodbye' of sorts to himself as she left, turning back to Genette and Jacob for his own farewell. "Sorry to run, but my work here's finished. Give the LRSSG my regards, would ya?"

"Yeah, of course. Pleasure working with you," Jacob said, giving a slight nod. He turned to Genette. "Well…I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get to our new home so we can stop looking over our shoulders already."

"No arguments here," Genette said with a tired laugh, more than happy to leave Anchorhead behind them. It had been a long night, with more surprises in store than he'd expected or wanted. While it may not be much of a home, he'd take an air base in a foreign land surrounded by allies over an unfamiliar city with very few friendly faces. Gardos Air Base would at least be easier to settle into than spending the rest of the war wandering around enemy territory hoping for the best.

As the two of them began to head back to where most of the soldiers were gathered around, they only got so far before they realized something was off. In one of the trucks, one of the soldiers was shouting into the radio at their allies, his voice carrying enough that all of his brothers-in-arms had stopped to stare. He abruptly slammed the radio down, shoving together just about every swear in the book as he exited the truck, looking around until he spotted Jacob and he made a beeline for him. There was panic written all over his face as the distance between them closed.

Jacob's concern was evident on his face, but when he addressed his subordinate he kept his voice firm. "What happened?"

"It's General Labarthe, sir," he quickly said, his voice almost breaking. "He's dead."

---

Gardos Air Base, Erusea.
October 2nd, 2019.
0100hrs.

Strider Squadron returned to Gardos Air Base after midnight, all four of them running on mental auto-pilot as they landed one by one. The hangars were mostly deserted by this hour, save for a handful of maintenance crew around just for them. Everyone stayed quiet as they headed to the lockers to finally get out of their flight gear, and Naomi was sure none of them had anything they wanted to say at the moment. The night had gone from bad to worse, and the only positive outcome was that they'd been able to complete their objective. Though how successful that would all be in the end remained to be seen.

As they all stepped inside they found Cyclops Squadron waiting, not suited up but simply lounging around. Fencer and Skald sat on the floor leaning back against the lockers, while Lanza had stretched out over one of the very small benches to rest his eyes. Tabloid paced about the room, a classical novel he'd been reading sitting forgotten on the bench in front of his open locker. Hushed conversations were what they were met with as they returned, all talking ceasing as Naomi and the others entered.

Tabloid's pacing ceased and Lanza slowly sat up, the eight pilots all staring at each other for a few seconds. Seeing the expressions on their faces, all of the Cyclops pilots' expressions changed to ones of concern. It was Tabloid that broke the briefly tense silence first. "Hey, you guys aren't looking so good. Everything go alright?"

"That depends on how you look at it," Count muttered in response, dropping his helmet to the bench as he went about unhooking and unzipping the various components of his G-suit. The others began to do the same.

"What happened?" Lanza looked between them, keeping his voice quiet.

"It's a long story," Naomi replied, glancing at her wingmen as she finally pulled herself free of the harness. Every part of her body ached as she began to remove her flight gear, but staying in it wasn't any better. She sighed, talking slowly as she tried to summarize the situation. "Things got out of control real fast. Our VIP is on his way to safety, but…let's just say things are a lot more complicated than we thought."

"Complicated?" Skald asked, raising an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"

Naomi started to answer, but Húxiān answered for her, practically slamming her equipment down out of frustration. She crossed her arms, staring down at Skald as she spoke, raising her voice slightly even though she wasn't mad at him. "A bunch of Oseans out there apparently think Trigger is some penal unit rebel or some stupid shit," she said. "Somehow they even got the idea that the General we were escorting was a fraud or somethin'. The idiots wouldn't back the hell off!"

"You mean they fired on you?" Lanza asked.

"They sure as hell tried to," Count said with a scoff, not looking up as he undid the last few clasps holding his harness in place. "Something tells me that the Osean military still had it out for Trigger even after that whole Clemens situation was worked out. And apparently there's been a rumor that some penal unit went ape on their allies, sooo…here we are."

"So somewhere out there, amidst all of this insanity, there are Osean units that think Trigger is still a penal unit pilot and a traitor?" Tabloid shook his head as they all murmured a reply to him. That was the best they could all work out of the situation, anyways. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "So…if you're all still here, then does that mean…"

Naomi, Count, and Húxiān all went quiet, looking away from their friends and leaving Jaeger to do it for them. None of them were happy with how things had gone down, but no one could change what had happened either. As all of Cyclops looked at Jaeger, he sighed and answered Tabloid's question quietly. "Long Caster gave us the all clear. There wasn't anything else we could have done…the pilots all bailed out safely, we made sure of that, but we didn't have a choice. They just wouldn't listen to reason."

Fencer leaned his head back, letting it lightly hit the locker behind him as he stared up at the ceiling above them. "Holy hell, what is this war turning into…I knew things were going to be bad, but this is just ridiculous."

"Well, when has war ever made sense?" Naomi asked, removing the last of her gear. She wanted to go to bed, but they still had a debriefing. And she wasn't sure how she was going to face Beckett with the report of what they'd done. "Or been easy, for that matter? I know it comes with the job, but I don't think anyone was prepared for shit like this. It's going to make things a hell of a lot harder if this doesn't end soon."

"If anything good came out of the operation, at least we'll be one step closer to going home now," Jaeger pointed out, reaching down and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Whatever happened, we got the General out of Anchorhead. We just have to wait it out and pray it all goes well. Besides that, we've got some more friends on our side now that we've found Major Grimm and his unit, right?"

The conversations ceased as Long Caster suddenly stepped inside, everyone looking up at them. His gaze fell on Naomi, and she straightened up where she sat as he hesitated. It looked like he was stumbling over the right words to use in his head, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. And sure enough, he took a deep breath and finally managed to speak up. "Trigger…Colonel Beckett needs to see us ASAP. It's in regards to the incident."

"Right…right, I've finished up here," Naomi said quickly, swallowing a knot in her throat as she rose to her feet. Count was the first to look her way as she moved to leave, and it seemed all of them were both concerned and sympathetic. They all understood the situation, there wasn't any point in sugarcoating it or trying to ignore it. She nodded to her wingmen. "I'll see you three in the debriefing, alright?"

"Alright," Count said, the others all joining in with the same acknowledgement after him.

Naomi followed Long Caster out, through the hangars and outside into the night air. Their walk was spent mostly in a tense silence, not that either of them were in the mood to say anything or even had anything to talk about. Nothing they could say would make the night any better. Although the other Oseans likely escaped with nothing more than a few injuries, everyone knew the minute they made the decision to fire upon them there would be consequences when they returned to base. The only thing they could do was plead their case to Colonel Beckett and hope he understood.

The walk to Beckett's office wasn't very long, maybe because Naomi was too busy with her own thoughts trying to prepare for any and all arguments that could be thrown her way. It wasn't like they were going on trial, if anything it was probably nothing more than your standard reprimand. Both were things she was familiar with, but neither were exactly enjoyable experiences no matter the reason. With everything quiet she found herself more anxious than she probably would have been had she and Long Caster been in the mood for conversation, but she set that aside. No changing it now.

They reached the office only to find the door already open, with Beckett standing at his desk speaking with an airman. Naomi noticed the patch of a medical unit on the man's shoulder. Their conversation was hushed and apparently had come to a close before they even noticed Naomi and Long Caster's presence, as the airman turned around to leave and only then did Beckett's focus turn to them. The airman acknowledged them both with respectful nods before he hurried on his way and left them to Beckett.

"Glad everyone's back safely," he said before either of them could ask any questions. He remained standing, staring down at a few loose sheets of paper on his desk before he decided to explain the airman's presence. "I didn't call you here for this, but I suppose you have the right to know…Colonel Hawkins has been admitted to the hospital here on base, and he's been removed from command until he's recovered and given a proper psych evaluation."

"Wait, what happened?" Long Caster asked, his face almost completely draining of any color. "I thought he'd started to come back to his senses."

"We thought so too. But…he went out there himself, completely drunk and half delirious but somehow sober enough to make the call to hand over his weapons. They called me out there a few hours ago and he wasn't in a good place," Beckett explained with a sigh, going over the papers in front of him. "This was all the lab results and the doctor's report on the situation. He's been drinking heavily for some time, and that combined with all the stress…God, I'm an idiot. I had no idea it was this bad when I spoke to him…"

Naomi wasn't particularly close to Hawkins. He never made much of an impact on her, and for the most part all he really did was relay orders for them and pull some strings here and there. But to think he'd ever get broken down to that kind of state by all that had happened…he seemed so collected any time she'd ever interacted with him. Not that she hadn't seen something like this coming a mile away when he'd locked himself away after Farbanti. Now it was finally a reality.

"So…what happens now?" Naomi asked, Long Caster having gone silent. He looked almost sick, like he was on the verge of passing out, and she wondered if she'd be able to catch him if he did.

"I'll be fully taking his place," Beckett said simply. All three of them remained quiet as he collected himself, and then the inevitable finally came. "Which brings me to the real reason I called you both in here…the escort operation. In any normal situation I would be expected to take disciplinary action, but this isn't a 'normal' situation. Under the circumstances, you both acted in the best interest of the operation and your men, but once this is all said and done the higher-ups in Oured aren't going to see it the same way. Especially not in your case, Trigger."

Long Caster cleared his throat, pulling himself together and answering before Naomi could. "Sir, I take full responsibility for the incident. I'm the one that gave them the all clear to fire," he said quickly. "The operation, our VIP, and Major Foulke and Strider Squadron were all in jeopardy. It wasn't an easy decision to make but I didn't see any other choice. Had I been thinking clearly I'm sure I would have found another solution. I'm sorry, sir."

"He's covering for me, sir, I was in charge and the one who fired in the first place," Naomi quickly cut in before Beckett had a chance to respond, both of them looking at her now. There wasn't any way she was about to let Long Caster take the fall for something that wasn't his fault. "If anybody here should take the blame it's me. I should have kept my head better up there, then maybe we would have been able to talk them down."

Once more Long Caster opened his mouth to argue, and Naomi was ready to cut in when he did, but Beckett was quick to silence both of them before either of them got another word out. "Alright, both of you slow it down a moment here, please," he said, almost exasperated. "What I was getting at before is that there isn't much I can do to you, short of barring you from duty but we need both of you too much for that. You're not children, and you're certainly not rookies at this point, so I don't see a need to lecture you and chew you out. You've both accepted responsibility for it, all I have to do is make sure there are efforts taken to ensure it never has to happen again."

"Yes, sir," both of them replied simultaneously, but Naomi didn't want to leave it at that.

Beckett noticed, though how she didn't know. She took a wild guess that she had similar cues to her father, but regardless it saved her the trouble. "Something else on your mind, Major?"

Naomi hesitated, wondering if it was even worth bringing up now. It was probably a one in a million run-in that would never happen again, but it had rubbed her the wrong way ever since. At last she figured there wasn't anything to lose. "Those pilots seemed to have been fed a lot of false intel. From being under the impression we were selling Osea out for escorting the General to apparently having orders to bring me down because I was a 'penal unit rebel' or whatever. Is there something we missed or what?"

He was quiet for a while, eventually sitting down with a sigh before he answered her. "My best guess? The top brass still in doubt about your innocence and skills very likely spread their influence throughout other units stationed overseas," he said, and she could practically see him working things out in his head. "Then of course, there's still warmongers present in the Osean military, even if not many. Funnily enough, there's quite the overlap between those two. And what better way to act out than now, when nobody knows what the hell is going on?"

"Are you suggesting she's essentially going to be hunted for the rest of this war?" Long Caster asked, and when he put it like that it was enough to freak anyone out.

"Not necessarily. These kinds of people are opportunists, and they won't be risking their life against someone of your reputation without something to gain from it, whether soldiers or mercenaries," Beckett said. She figured if anyone would know about that, maybe it would be him. Or her father. Suddenly his tone changed and his expression softened. "I'm sorry. But…regardless of how above and beyond you go, you're never going to get them to see past your last name. Or Harling. Your innocence doesn't matter to some."

"Yeah. You'd think I'd have come to terms with that much by now…" Naomi muttered. There wasn't anything about that that hadn't already been said. After the night she had, she wasn't interested in dragging that out. "Anyways…what about the penal unit thing?"

"Now that one I can't even begin to figure out, but it doesn't sound like good news." Beckett shook his head and leaned back in his seat.. "Honestly, I'd just advise being careful. There isn't any point worrying about it."

A brief silence settled in before Long Caster asked one final question for the night. "Now, what about our next move?"

Beckett looked over at Naomi, almost like he was asking for her input, but she didn't have anything to offer him. Only thing they knew for certain was that they couldn't just sit around and do nothing for the rest of the war. Finally, he answered, "We'll just have to figure something out, I suppose."

"Right…we should probably let the others know," Naomi said, her thoughts now drifting to the debrief and finally being able to get a good night's sleep. "Is that all, sir?"

"Unless you have any other concerns. You're free to go. Debrief, decompress, get some rest. Dismissed," he said, and while he may not have sounded in a hurry it was clear his social battery was draining fast.

They both thanked him and exited the office, Long Caster closing the door quietly behind him. It shut with a gentle click and they were quiet once more as they began their walk down the hallway. The rest of Strider Squadron would no doubt have gathered for the debrief by now, so that's the direction they headed for. Only a few people passed them on their way, things more quiet than they had been on previous nights, something that Naomi didn't find as comforting as she probably should.

Without any sounds around them, the lack of conversation was frustrating. The two of them rarely had one-on-one conversations, and Naomi wondered if there was any reason for this. It wasn't that she and Long Caster didn't get along, they got along as well as anyone, and after being on so many operations together it was hard not to trust one another. Long Caster had probably saved their asses more than once. Without that kind of guidance, operations would be more of a hassle, that's for sure. And he must think highly of her and the others to be so willing to take responsibility for their actions during the operation without any hesitation.

Eventually Naomi had to say something. "Why were you willing to take the fall for us?"

Long Caster looked over at her, and for a moment or two he seemed startled. Stumbling over his answer, he eventually replied. "I just…don't want to see you all go down for something like that. Not when it was really me that made the call."

"But we're the ones that pulled the trigger," Naomi said. She crossed her arms, shivering slightly. "It's not like you were down there."

"You're right. That's exactly it." The way he lowered his voice and took on an almost guilty tone was completely unlike anything she'd come to expect from Long Caster. He cleared his throat, but when she looked over at him he looked like he could have started crying but he didn't. "I'm not the one laying my life on the line. All I can do is throw information and mission updates at you and hope it's enough."

Naomi didn't know how to answer him. She hadn't meant what she said like that, it had just been to make a point, but she realized now it probably could have come across wrong. Although it seemed everyone was doing their best to move past what had happened over Farbanti, Naomi knew none of them were quite able to let go. A touchy subject, maybe, but she wanted to know. "Long Caster, do you…feel responsible for everything that's happened?"

"There's not any point dwelling on it now, but…" Long Caster began, but he cut himself off. They had almost reached their destination by now, and the topic wasn't exactly the best to be on, so he may have just wanted out. "None of us can change anything, I'm just trying to do my job up there. There's enough on you guys' plates, you don't have to worry about me."

There wasn't anything else that needed to be said, and they wouldn't have had the chance to anyways. Just as they entered the main HQ and turned down the hall towards the briefing room, the sudden and familiar sound of the air raid sirens rang out, startling both of them. At first Naomi guessed it was another false alarm, but the distant roar of engines immediately followed by a sharp scream and an explosion at the far end of the base near a bunch of warehouses quickly proved otherwise.

"You've gotta be kidding me…I gotta get to the control tower," Long Caster said, cursing under his breath before he took off back down the hall. Naomi watched him go as another, closer explosion rocked the building this time. She hoped Cyclops would be enough, but more than anything she hoped everyone stuck on the ground would be alright. Long Caster running straight outside in the middle of a bombing wasn't exactly the smart move, but they'd need all the help they could get.

Naomi couldn't do anything about their circumstances, not until their aircraft were fixed up a bit after the night they'd had. Low ammunition and fuel wasn't a recipe for success, so she just had to trust Cyclops Squadron to hold out and keep the enemy from destroying the hangars. Trying to set aside her anxiety about things out of her control, she went back on her way until she reached the briefing room. It was quiet, save for muffled explosions and sirens blaring outside and the way almost everyone was now wide awake and on edge.

Inside, the room was mostly deserted except for her wingmen. Húxiān sat leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling while Count had taken up the pacing habit from Tabloid and now slowly made his way up and down an invisible line. Jaeger sat trying to make some attempt to keep the computer working, but a nearby explosion that almost knocked everyone standing off balance also caused the computer to cut off. The screen displayed an 'OFFLINE' message before an attempt to automatically restart it was made, though they could be waiting the rest of the night before it decided to work again.

Count was the first one to notice she'd finally arrived, stopping his pacing and bringing attention to her right away. He might have almost looked relieved. "There you are, it took you long enough. How'd it go with Beckett?"

"Well enough. We're off the hook as far as I can tell, which makes me think it was just a formality," Naomi replied, taking a look around the room. Jaeger had stepped away from the computer and Húxiān had sat up, everyone watching her with matching looks of exhaustion. She remembered the update on Hawkins, and it occurred to her to try and break the news to them. Not that it was an easy thing to do, she was just grateful he was still alive. "There was one other thing. About Hawkins."

"We already know. Tabloid told us after you left," Jaeger said softly. "Can't say we didn't see that one coming."

"Whatever was up with him, it's out of our hands," Húxiān added, and Naomi couldn't really tell how upset she was by the news. It rattled her, but it was hard to figure out even that much based on her tone of voice. "Y'know, we were just as close to Wiseman, yet we don't get the luxury of fallin' apart like that and abandoning our positions…"

"Hawkins himself never thought he was cut out for a command," Jaeger said, crossing his arms. "Under these conditions things could have been a lot worse. We should consider ourselves lucky he's still here to wait the rest of the war out. It does…add to our troubles, though. I didn't want to say anything until Trigger was here."

"About what?" Count asked, dropping into the seat beside Húxiān as he spoke. "Is it about this attack?"

"No. Cyclops should be scrambling in response to the attack on base. We should head up too, once our planes are ready," Jaeger said, glancing at Naomi for her response. She simply nodded, waiting for him to go on. He hesitated, but finally steeled himself for what he had to say. "What I was talking about was…well, Major Grimm's unit sent out a transmission once we withdrew from the area. We didn't pick it up when we should have. And it turns out that Labarthe is dead."

The shock that set in was almost instant, and it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped. Count was the first one to get his thoughts together, his response just one of disbelief at what they'd been told. "What did you say?"

Naomi felt like she was going to be sick, her throat tightening and her stomach twisting as her hands started to tremble. She shook her head, raising her voice when she spoke. "That's impossible, we saw him leave! There's no way…the area was completely clean."

"Apparently he was shot down by another Osean aircraft after he left the area of operations," Jaeger explained slowly, having already accepted the fact. "They told me on the way over, but I knew I should have waited to break the news. I'm sorry, you guys. I mean, I know it was chaos, but still."

"So what now?" Húxiān asked, and once again all eyes were on Naomi.

"That's it," Naomi said, taking a deep and shaky breath before she sat down. It almost felt like her legs would have given out on her if she hadn't. She was doing the best she could to keep her anger and frustrations in check, too tired to lash out or have any real response. She stared straight ahead, at the empty screen, closing her eyes as the fight going on outside began to quiet down. "The original plan of operations has come to a close. Labarthe was our last hope, and now…we have nothing. There's no plan going forward."

"If that's it, then...it looks like our luck's finally run out," Count said with a sigh. "I guess all we can do for now is watch our own backs."

"Speaking of, it sounds like Cyclops Squadron isn't having any trouble out there," Jaeger said, and he was right. Explosions were more spaced out, making her wonder if it was even a bombing run or just an attack from regular fighters. Either way, things would be settled before long. "We should probably head over to the hangars, just to be safe. You never know what could go wrong anymore."

"Right. You guys go on, I'll be over shortly. I need to catch my breath…" Naomi said, and none of them argued with her on it. She wasn't going to abandon them, they knew that, but she was at her limit. When the time came – if it came at all – she'd be up in the air with them, no doubt about that. After what happened with Hawkins it probably wasn't the best look, though, but they were both completely different people.

Jaeger and Húxiān were the first to leave, Count standing up and following them at a much slower pace. He stopped after a few steps, standing just a few feet from Naomi. They paused briefly when they noticed he'd stopped, but before any questions could be asked he told them, "I'm gonna keep Trigger company. We'll catch up."

The two of them didn't argue, exchanging a look before they decided to leave it alone and head out. Naomi glanced at the door as it shut behind them, then looked up at Count. She wasn't ever annoyed by his company, maybe even grateful since being left alone to pull herself together wasn't ever something she was good at. He must have had a reason for it, though.

"Hey." Count broke the silence first, just to get her attention.

"Hey," Naomi replied, the first thing she noticed being the look on his face. Like he was embarrassed and conflicted all at once, maybe even guilty. It wasn't like anything she was used to from him. "Are you alright?"

"It's my job to ask you that, isn't it?" Count ran a hand through his hair, almost nervously. He went on. "There's just…something I wanted to talk to you about."

She felt a rush of anxiety and she didn't know why, but it was hard for her not to feel concerned when he said it like that. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I figured since it was just you and me and all, and after everything we heard from Labarthe…I guess it's the God's honest truth, then," Count said quickly, not breaking eye contact with her. He wasn't angry, in fact his voice was beginning to sound almost calm. There was still a hint of nervousness to his words, though. "You really weren't the one the one who killed Harling, were you, Trig?"

Whatever Naomi had expected from him, it wasn't that. She just stared up at him. "No. I wasn't."

"I guess I gave you a hard time in Spare for nothing, then. All that time I was calling you a murderer…the Eruseans were the real murderers. Just like you said, the day we met," Count said. He looked embarrassed again, maybe almost flushed, and that guilty look returned along with it. "I don't know what to say, really…there's nothing I can say that doesn't make me look like an ass, but if it means anything, I– er…part of me already got the feeling you were innocent. But now I have to swallow my pride, sooo…I guess this is an apology."

Now he finally looked away from her, clearing his throat. While he was genuine, at least in his own way, that was the reason Naomi couldn't help but quietly start to laugh. She'd been holding back the urge to cry for weeks now, only to have those tears spill over from just a few short laughs. It wasn't the result of the laugh, it was a result of two different emotions, or maybe her head just not knowing what it was feeling. At the end of the short lived laughing fit, she managed to give him a tired smile. "Count…"

He looked at her, still flustered but now confused along with it. Maybe even offended. "Hey, I'm trying to be serious here! Knock it off."

"You didn't have to apologize. I've never held it against you," Naomi said, trying her best to explain her own thoughts. She never expected an apology from him. After everything they'd been through together, that was the last thing on her mind. He was her wingman, entirely by choice, and that was more than enough. "Do you really want my forgiveness?"

Count nodded slowly. His reply was quiet, more than a little sheepish. "I need to hear it. Just so I know."

"Alright. You're forgiven," Naomi said, and she stood up, doing the only thing she could think of to prove she meant it. She took a few steps towards him and wrapped her arms around him without another word, resting her head on his shoulders as soon as he relaxed into the hug and returned it. The embrace was comforting to her, and if she'd had the choice she wouldn't ever want to let him go. After a few seconds she gave a sigh, being reminded suddenly of everything that had happened in this war up until this point. "How'd it all come to this…"

"I wish I knew," he said, leaning his head against hers. They were only there a few seconds longer before he gently rubbed her shoulder before relaxing his hold around her. "We should go suit up before the others think we abandoned them."

"Right," Naomi said quickly, pulling away from him. Though the situation hadn't been awkward, she knew it had been odd under the circumstances. But she was known to be impulsive, so she'd just done what she felt was right in the moment. And she wondered if she wanted him to think nothing of it. As soon as they left the briefing room and headed down the hall, though, it was the farthest thing from either of their minds.

As Cyclops Squadron suppressed the first wave of the attack, Strider Squadron was ready to join them for their second battle that night.

---

Author's Note: I tell myself I need to stop writing chapters longer than 10-12k and look where I am. Apparently I like to suffer.

Anyways! This chapter was a bit of a hassle, but I'm happy overall with how it came out. Highlight is probably the cameo in the second scene, which I feel I made obvious but that's just how it worked out, so there you go. Moving on, I've been setting small, low commitment writing goals for myself to keep working on things provided I feel up to it, so I'm hoping to keep with consistent updates but don't hold me to that. I have some other things I want to work on and only so much time and energy RIP.
Lastly, I'm a bit behind on replying to reviews, but I'll do my best to answer soon!

The next few chapters are going to be the buildup to Homeward, so they're going to be pretty centric on the characters at Tyler Island, with scenes for Mihaly and Sol Squadron as well as the EASA characters sprinkled in there. Every time I realize I've reached the last four operations of the story it's honestly scary. We are so close to the end, and boy is there a lot to prepare for.

Shoutout to my friend UltraBooster for giving me a hand and helping me decide on the chapter title. Of all the things that could have given me a headache I did not expect the title to be one of them.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope y'all enjoy! Take care!