Final exams and then graduation in early October. Good God it feels like barely a week ago I was just starting out in October of 2011.

Anyhow, it's been a while since the last update, mostly because I recently got my hands on the Ace Combat PS2 trilogy, a trio of games no flight enthusiast should be caught dead without, and I've been going over and over those three games so many times it's long ceased to be funny. Words can't really express exactly how much I'm in love with this series; every entry in the series plays fantastically (yes, even Assault Horizon, which is regarded as the black sheep of the family) and the soundtrack holy shit. Piece of advice: go onto YouTube, search for a track under the Ace Combat Zero OST named 'Zero' and gorge your ears on one of the greatest and most magnificently composed tunes ever conceived for a video game. If there is a better and more fitting tune for an aerial duel, I've never heard of it.

Now that my gushing over all things Ace Combat has died we can get onto something a bit more on-topic: this a shorter chapter than usual, and as you'll soon see there's not really all that much that goes on; it's really more of a breather chapter after the rather faster last chapter. I'd planned on doing much more in terms of happenings but nothing I typed up turned out in a way that read particularly well (it all actually moved a little too fast).

Anyway, that's enough blogging, now it's story time.

The Pelanoi Accounts

Chapter Thirteen: Taking Stock

An Undisclosed location

The man in uniform stood at the head of the briefing room, powerful hands clasped behind his back. His dark uniform was crisp and clean, and the various medals and service ribbons pinned to the breast glinted even in the dim light. His eyes were hard, but a keen observer would detect a deep-set weariness beneath the stoic façade he put on for the men he stood before. There were only thirteen of them, all told, five of them from the United States Air Force who sat on steel chairs while the rest wore suits but nothing to indicate which organisation had sent them.

The man at the head of the room, a Brigadier-General by the name of Armstrong, spent a further moment looking over the people whom he had ordered (or requested) to attend the briefing session. None of them seemed to have any idea what they were doing there, particularly the airmen, who occasionally shifted in their seats and flicked nervous glances at the suits.

Eventually he decided that he'd best get their little show on the road.

'Gentlemen,' he said, injecting a note of command into his voice. The airmen stiffened and sat at attention, their posture rigid and professional. One of the suits smirked.

'At ease,' Armstrong said to the Airmen, who visibly relaxed, though they still appeared tense.

'A little more than forty-eight hours ago, the entire island of Pelanoi, situated in the Atlantic Ocean a good seventy miles South-West of the Canary Island cluster, was quarantined and its Self Defence Force was mobilised in its entirety. Since then it's become readily apparent that what we assumed was a re-emergence of Swine Flu is much, much worse. Barely an hour into the crisis we and several other nations received a request from the Pelanoi government to send relief in the form of rescue transport – they are evacuating the island.'

He paused to take a breath before he continued.

'On-site elements from the relief effort have confirmed the sighting of what appears to be the T-Virus.'

The suits took a collective gasp and a few began murmuring among themselves. The airmen looked at them, confused as to what the fuss was about, before turning their attention back towards Armstrong, no doubt expecting answers.

'Satellite imaging has confirmed that the scale of the outbreak is island-wide. Two of its three cities, including the capitol, are overrun entirely and the third – the coastal city of New Rynns – Is under heavy siege, with what remains of the Pelanoi Police Force and SDF barely hanging on by a thread if our most recent report is accurate.'

A hand rose, from one of the airmen.

'Yes son?'

'Pardon my expression sir, but what the hell is going on? If there's a war going on then–'

'You misunderstand, Lieutenant,' Armstrong cut him off, noting the pins on the airman's uniform; 'there's no war. There never is with the T-Virus or whatever the hell Umbrella cooked up all those years ago. There's only horror and slaughter.'

The Lieutenant looked mildly put off by the answer, but opened his mouth to speak again. 'So then, my next question: what exactly is the T-Virus? And what does it have to do with the Umbrella Corporation?'

The Brigadier-General took a moment to compose his answer. Discreetly he flicked a glance towards one of the suits, a big, blocky man who sat at the back of the pack, his eyes permanently concealed behind a pair of reflective shades that he never seemed to remove no matter what the conditions were. From the stories he'd heard about that man he had to be at least sixty, but age seemed as afraid of him as so many others he knew were, for he was as lean and hard as a man half his age, and Armstrong didn't doubt for a moment that he could give the hardiest shooter in Delta Force a run for his money on an assault course.

The suit shook his head ever so slightly, and that sealed the deal for Armstrong.

'That Lieutenant, is above your paygrade,' he said, after clearing his throat.

'Then with all due respect, sir, what are we doing here?' the Lieutenant asked.

Ah, Armstrong thought to himself, now comes the really difficult part.

'Two hours ago I received a communique from the President, along with several recommendations from people rather high up in the BSAA. The first item, was that all communication with the government on Pelanoi has ceased. The last we heard from the Chancellor and his cabinet was twelve hours ago, who said that they were making their way to New Rynns City with an escort from the SDF. As far as we know, they've still not arrived, and we've been forced to give them up as lost.'

Armstrong swallowed his throat drying as he continued. 'The next item, was a Presidential Order… and this, Archer Squadron,' he turned to look at the five airmen, 'is why you were called. As of 0730 hours today the island of Pelanoi is considered lost… in twenty-four hours from now all aid vessels will pick up as many people as they can and leave the space surrounding the island. In a further twenty-four hours, Archer squadron will sterilise the island.'

There was a stunned silence.

'"Sterilise?"' one of the airmen, a Staff Sergeant, asked, his face white with shock. He knew what the order meant, just as everyone else in the room did. 'You mean…'

'I'm afraid so son. Forty-eight hours from now you and your squadron will be loaded with five nuclear torpedoes. You will fly within the airspace and deploy the weapons… wiping Pelanoi, and everything on it, off the face of the Earth.'

The Survivors

The drive, though bumpy, was quiet.

Leah had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that one of them was dead, even if it was grumpy, irritable Ethan, who had been an insensitive asshole at the best of times. Even stranger was the fact that she seemed to actually miss the guy, and from the dour looks the others wore, save Nick who, in fairness, hadn't gotten the greatest impression from the sour young man.

As if there was any other kind, Leah thought to herself, recalling their first meeting. The cranky guy had almost cut her head off with that fire axe of his when Leah was running from a small group of undead as she fiddled with her weapon. She'd taken it off a body and didn't really have much of a clue as to how to use it, and her taser had proven to be of little practical use against something that no longer required its nervous system to function.

She shook her head, wondering how Randolf was taking it. Despite the stand-offish attitude most of them held towards the lecherous Australian, Leah knew he wasn't an inherently bad guy, and he and Ethan had rarely been apart for long (though she suspected Ethan would have denied that any sort of friendship existed between them if asked, which, having barely known each other longer than a handful of days, would have probably been fair enough). He sat at the back of the minibus, paddle held loosely in both hands propped over his lap, he looked to be dozing off but his posture was too rigid for that.

She scanned everyone else in the minibus, trying to gauge the mood. Tiffany was at the wheel, manoeuvring them down the trail that ran through the wildlife preserve, her eyes were bloodshot and every inch of her screamed 'fatigue' and she appeared more tense than Leah had ever seen her. Ellen was, as usual, a statue, a picturesque portrait of calm, but having spent a great deal of time with her (more than she would reasonably tolerate were the circumstances not so life-threatening Leah was sure, and she suspected that the feeling was mutual), she could see the tiniest of cracks in her mask. Exhaustion, surely; Ethan and Ellen had failed to bond in any sort of way, which Leah found privately amusing as both of them had serious attitude problems when it came to human interaction.

Nick and Mary were sat next to each other, the large man hadn't let the young girl out of his sight since they'd found her again, and Leah wondered what exactly led the man to be so overprotective of the kid, they clearly weren't related. Daughter of a friend? More likely, but now was hardly the time to ask. Besides, the wild, haggard look he wore frightened her more than a little.

To her left sat Sydney and Cassidy, who were both asleep. The two had drifted off shortly after their escape from those psychos in black, though how they could sleep after all that . Sydney murmured something Leah didn't catch and the corner of her mouth twitched in a grimace. Whatever she was dreaming about wasn't particularly pretty, which Leah could empathise with completely. She wondered how everyone would cope once… if they got off Pelanoi alive.

Twitching, flickering movement brought Leah's attention to her right. Sema was fiddling with her collection of medicinal herbs, but her movements were shaky, jittery. More out of irritation at the constant movement rather than any concern that the precious herbs might be lost, Leah reached out an arm and lightly pinched the nurse's arm.

'Calm down,' Leah said, startled at how hoarse she sounded. Sema stared blankly at her for a few moments before her dark brown eyes finally focused and she nodded slightly before packing the herbs back into the pouch she'd retrieved them from.

'You're right,' Sema said, sounding as bad as Leah did, 'could have lost those if I'd kept that up. I just… all that's happened since it started you know? All that horror, all that death… and it's a gunshot wound that eats at me the most… crazy, don't you think?'

Leah wasn't particularly interested, and now that the adrenaline was being flushed from her veins she was feeling like nodding off herself, but she endeavoured to make a noise that sounded sympathetic. It came out as a most unladylike grunt, but it appeared to ease the older woman somewhat.

Maybe all we need is a good night's sleep, hell I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams here, Leah thought to herself as she settled on the last member of their ragtag group; Kit. He had wiped off most of the blood that had streamed from his nose in his encounter with the merc group. From what she'd gathered, one of them had ambushed Tiffany and Kit had gone to her aid. The merc, however, had beaten Kit and would have killed the two of them then and there but for the intervention of Ellen and Randolf.

A trickle of resentment flared within her when she noticed the target of Kit's intense gaze. Surprise, surprise, it rested on the woman who'd done everything in her power to keep as many of them alive as possible. The resentment died quickly, replaced by a strange pang of longing. If she'd met him earlier would he look at her instead? She didn't know, just as she didn't know the state of her own feelings towards Kit.

That she was attracted to him was a no-brainer. He had well-proportioned features and an athletic figure most men strive for but rarely attain and, though quiet, he cared. If there was a definition for 'Mr Perfect,' Leah had little doubt she'd find a photo of Kit there.

Leah, however, was stubborn, prideful, and more than a little arrogant, much of this she knew was down to her own athletic background, having been hailed as a swimming prodigy at a young age, even having represented America in international swim meets. She had gotten everything she wanted and had people of all sorts of backgrounds shower her in praise. To acknowledge out loud that the man she was attracted to – even if she was still uncertain as to the exact reason why – pined for someone else was anathema to her. It was stupid, juvenile and petty…

And it's completely you, a little black voice told her in the back of her head. Her thoughts turned in on herself and in short order she tuned the world out entirely as Tiffany continued to race them through the preserve towards the unknown.

The Mercenaries

'Where are they headed?'

It was the first question Elias had asked once he'd snapped out of his rage-induced reverie after executing one of the targets, the youth who'd been shot by the now deceased Natalia Brookes. A quick check of his corpse revealed that he did not possess the data stick, which likely meant that the woman who had taken it was the one who had it. The news was hardly surprising, however, and as such, their goal remained unchanged: hunt down the survivors and destroy the data stick.

Viper scanned the hall of the vehicle bay as Tech and Felix tried to hotwire two of the four Hummers that sat in the space. The keys to all the vehicles were gone, meaning the mercs had to waste valuable time breaking open the interiors of the vehicles to get them running. While they had been doing that, Natalia had dashed back to Brookes' body to give her a Viking burial of sorts. The two had bonded quickly on the helicopter ride to Pelanoi, Brookes proving almost as much of a pyromaniac as her fiery Irish teammate, and the blonde mercenary seemed morose at the loss of a friend.

Viper couldn't understand it himself, but then he didn't need to. All he needed to do was help Grey Team complete the mission, collect the rest of his pay from Grant & Glukhovsky, and then deliver the samples of the T-Virus he'd collected to his other employer.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

His visor, however, shortly after entering the ranger station, had picked up on something unusual. A small smattering of blood had set up a big red flag in the wireless database he had amassed through various means.

The blood, still wet, contained traces of a virus unlike anything in his database. That in itself was interesting enough, but when he took a sample, the virus died. The pathogen quite literally burning up in order to preserve itself. He required the host, and he required it alive.

That, however, presented a new challenge to him. Grey Team had been given strict orders to leave no one alive from the gaggle of individuals they pursued, and Viper had little doubt that Elias would not acquiesce to leaving even one alive, he was so terribly inflexible like that. Admirable in the right circumstances to be sure, but his single-minded determination when it came to completing a job would throw him into direct conflict with him, and even with all his technological and psychological insight, he didn't particularly enjoy his odds if it came to trading blows with the older mercenary.

No, if he was going to pull this off, he needed help.

Tech was out of the question, out of all of them he was the only unknown quantity, having erased practically everything about himself before he disappeared from public life and entered the shady world of the PMCs. All Viper knew about him was that he was barely an adult, and that he was a technological wizard.

Jäger was a possible recruit; Elias' opinion of the sharpshooter had soured in Jäger's failure to so much as nick any of their quarry in the town the previous night (just a few short hours ago he reminded himself). Viper knew the feeling was mutual, not least because of Jäger's own deep-rooted issues with figures of authority and the no doubt burning embarrassment that came with having flunked so many easy shots and being called out on it in full public display. It was a terrible thing to feel that you were the weakest link on the team, especially one run by someone generally as unforgiving as this Elias Dunbar.

Alaina was likely a no-go. Perhaps earlier she might have taken up his offer if he'd implied there might be a juicy bonus for her, but the death of Brookes had put paid to that idea. She was stalking back from the corridor where her friend was buried and she had murder in her eyes. It was likely that nothing short of complete devastation of their prey would assuage her, even if it turned out the host had nothing to do with Brookes' death.

That just left Burke, and Viper regarded him as he worked on crossing the right set of wires to jumpstart the Hummer. He'd scared the crap out of him with the remarks to his family he was sure, and if need be he had little doubt he could push on those little switches again to twist him into helping. If not though, he was confident he'd be able to neutralise any threat the medic might pose.

He was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of an engine flaring into life, one of the hummers was operational, and soon enough Tech withdrew from his vehicle, giving Elias a thumbs up. Shortly after, Ghost got his own vehicle working and he too hopped out and gave a short series of hand signs indicating that they were good to go.

'Good,' Elias said over the team's private radio frequency, making sure those among them who were out of earshot could hear him. 'Ghost, Tech, you two are with me in one jeep. Viper, you take Jäger and Jenkins in the other. Let's make tracks people; the meat's got enough of a head start.'

Their team lead seemed to have taken the time to compose himself, though Viper thought he detected the tiniest hint of strain. Grey Lead was in control, but only just, and Viper filed that information away. He was uncertain of whether or not that little nugget would be of any practical use in the near future, but in his experience it never hurt to make notes.

As he hopped into the front seat while Jenkins took the wheel, Viper began to try to work out a plan for completing his other job as the remaining six mercenaries sped out of the Ranger station to complete the other.