Part 3: Victory Beer

Katsuragi drummed her fingers absently on the table, puncturing the bored silence that had fallen over the long private room. Putting together Blue's victory party had fallen to her, since she commanded the losing side in last night's simulated exercise. That and no one else had either the pull or the time to do it.

Saying that putting together the party had been a pain in the ass severely underestimated the case. Getting an oversized private room in a karaoke bar that wouldn't mind NERV's younger members was traditionally one of the great challenges of Tokyo-3's social life. Getting such a room on short notice created a feat that should have been enshrined in poetry and song. Just finding a place that met all the prerequisites had taken threats, cajoling, horse trading and the careful application of a pouty smile. Then, she had to put the whole thing together through a NERV front organization in order to satisfy Earth Defender Command's paranoia concerning their pilot's identities. She had been shocked to learn that EDC considered the identity of its pilots as the second most important secret in the organization, just below the technical details of the ANSRS system. The fact that they had not told her so contributed to her current annoyance, but not as greatly as the lecture she had received mid-afternoon from the EDC Counter-Intelligence team that had swooped down on her soon after she'd begun mentioning Blue Squadron as part of the arrangements. While she could appreciate, on an aesthetic level, their effectiveness, the whole thing cost her time, which had made the arrangements even that much harder.

It was enough to drive a woman to drink, she concluded as she cracked open another beer.

All of this frustration would likely have abated if the party had gone off without a hitch. Earlier, all was well. The invited NERV personnel had arrived on time and settled into their seats on their side of the long table. They had all ordered their drinks with pleasant efficiency, and had managed, until a few minutes ago, to carry on the sort of non-offensive conversation that makes waiting endurable. Unfortunately, they had run out of safe topics, and still Blue was nowhere in sight.

"Gott in Himmel!" cried an exasperated Soryu. "Is there anything ruder than being late to your own victory party?"

Ikari looked down into his half-empty glass. "Maybe they're just caught in traffic or something. It's always crowded this time of day."

Soryu glared at him, her eyes focal points for concentrating her frustrations on Ikari. "Oh, shut up. They could have called. It's probably those Americans' fault."

The chill of silence descended around the room again, the feeling even more oppressive after Soryu's outburst. Maya began to speak, "Well, this is a karaoke bar. Maybe someone…" she was cut off but a loud, persistent, drunken song from down the hall. The tremendous soundproofing of the place managed to distort it, but sheer boisterousness propagated it through the room. And it seemed to be getting closer. The assembled guests traded apprehensive glances.

Katsuragi sighed and stood, about to confront the rude guests when the door burst open. The two American Blue pilots, Viper and Dice, lurched drunkenly into the room, leaning on each other for mutual support and clutching a beer bottle in their free hands. Their exuberant singing continued with the end of their chorus, "We are the hounds of heaven, the bloody dogs of war!" They took another stumbling step into the room, raising the bottles triumphantly over their head. Their entrance left concerned looks on the rest of the party as they stumbled towards their seats across from the Eva pilots. Shadow followed with Bookworm, the pair chattering endlessly in what seemed their own private patois of numbers, acronyms and inside jokes.

Short staggered in under the load of more beer, followed by Songbird, her dress plucked from the window of one of Tokyo-3's fashion hotspots. She bowed gracefully, and with all sincerity stated, "We're very sorry." Her head tilted up, eyes watching Viper crawl over the table towards the beer Short had begun deploying to the table. "For everything. We really are sorry."

Soryu leaned forward to confront the new arrivals, but Katsuragi tugged her back quickly. "Did you have trouble finding the place? I'm sorry for choosing such an out of the way location," Katsuragi said, hoping to smooth things over.

Songbird waved her hands as if to push away any blame from the table. "No, no. If we were more familiar with Tokyo-3, it would have been very easy to find. Besides, Whitman-shosa ordered us to undertake a longer exercise than we expected after class."

Katsuragi sat back. "What sort of exercise did he assign after you stayed up all night in the simulator and then when to school?" It seemed rather harsh to make children train more after such an ordeal.

Short piped up. "A ten kilometer run. He said it was the right way to celebrate a victory, since we clearly didn't need more sim time." Glasses clinked as Short arranged them for efficient beer pouring. Next to him, Shadow began opening bottles to facilitate the start of real drinking. "That also accounts for the state of our gaijin friends," Short continued. "They decided to rehydrate themselves with beer, rather than water."

"Short, gaijin is not the politically correct term for people like me," replied Viper, his face contorted exaggeratedly in mock indignation. "I believe the proper term is complete idiot."

"No argument here, Lead," Short quipped as he tipped a beer bottle and began to pour. "Then again, I don't think anyone would argue with that, ever." Blue squadron laughed heartily, accompanied by a nervous chuckle from a few of the NERV crew across the table. They seemed relieved that such a remark didn't bring another argument, or even violence.

"Still, it seems like a demanding schedule," remarked Katsuragi, performing passably at the task of keeping her surprise under wraps. "And even still, here you are, out drinking."

Short shrugged. "The numbers add up- we didn't run yesterday, so we needed to make up the distance. And we don't have to fly tomorrow, and you did invite us out. It would be rude to pass up free beer," he concluded as he began dealing beer glasses as if he headed a Vegas blackjack table.

Katsuragi nodded. "Well, Whitman-shosa and I have different backgrounds, I suppose." She took the glass Short passed her, and then continued. "Speaking of Whitman, I was hoping he'd make it- as well as some others. I hope there isn't some emergency detaining them."

Songbird replied, her beer set off to the side at a discreet distance from her- close enough to be hers, far enough away to not be hers. "Our crew chiefs apologize for not coming. Apparently, by some secret ritual calendar unknown to us, this is the night of the month where crew chiefs all over the world gather in dark corners of bars to drink. We pilots do not inquire further into such mysteries. Though Shinobu, Viper's crew chief, may stop by to collect him. This is actually unrelated to squadron business."

Katsuragi nodded, but pressed. "And Whitman- is there an emergency?"

Viper spoke up, slightly more sober for sitting down. "Depends on your definition of emergency, Major. His car's in need of repair, and anytime a car that beautiful has a major gripe, it's an emergency in my book." Most of Blue Squadron's pilots nodded in agreement, Short and Dice more emphatically than others.

Katsuragi tilted her head to the side, quirking an eyebrow. "What kind of car?"

Short responded as he pulled his glass up, "An '07 Dodge Viper. Thankfully he had it shipped over when he was assigned to command Blue. It's something of a totem for the squadron, and when it's not working, we worry." Short extended his hand in a toast. "To fast planes, fast cars, and fast women."

"I'll drink to that," replied Viper, his glass ringing as it intercepted Short's. He leaned slightly to avoid the elbow Dice aimed at his ribs, while Song sighed exaggeratedly for public consumption. This toast seemed to bring back the reserved consternation inherent in NERV personnel, until a third glass joined the pair at the center of the table.

"I'll drink to that," said Aoba, pushing his long hair off his face.

Viper grinned. "Let's party," he said, declaring festivities underway.

---

Ikari Gendo crossed his hands across his face, his elbows propped up on his desk. "So, I see that this Blue Squadron performed beyond our expectations?" He lifted his eyes to focus on Fuyutsuki.

"It would appear that we have underestimated them. And our continuing investigations into Earth Defense Command are uncovering some unconfirmed, but worrying issues of various kinds," Fuyutsuki replied, his hands clasped behind his back. "The pilots and their commander appear to be more complex than our original scenarios had indicated. Furthermore, it seems much of our information on them has been deliberately falsified."

Ikari contemplated this for a moment. He had hoped Fuyutsuki would allay, not confirm, his concerns about this group. "This new element must not overwrite the scenario."

Fuyutsuki nodded in agreement. "I'm beginning to take steps, though this may take a while. We need a certain period to form new estimates."

Ikari nodded his assent.

----

"… And I felt so fucking proud, that I shouted right out loud," sang Shadow. He managed to hold the last note of the last verse to its appropriate length, despite his earlier drinks.

"Fuck 'em all!" the rest of the company completed the song's simple, bold refrain. Even Ikari managed to collect enough courage to complete the last line, despite the obscenities and anti-social tendencies projected by the song. Drunken laughter, mostly provided by Blue Squadron, filled the room.

"Shadow, old buddy, don't let anyone cheat you out of a record deal," laughed Viper, slapping his wingman on the back forcefully. The smaller pilot chuckled as he buckled slightly under the smack.

Aoba's cheeks had flushed long ago, aided by Short's aggressive beer pouring technique. She leaned over the table slightly as said, "So, I've wanted to know just where these nicknames of yours come from. After all, if I don't get to know what your real names are, I'd better know the stories behind the names you use." She giggled girlishly, a little surprised at her own boldness.

Short chuckled. "Well, I once forgot exactly where a runway began. This is a problem when you're trying to put your plane down on it."

Viper grinned over at him. "Once? I heard it was chronic problem."

"Shut up, Viper. At least I'm not named for a minor movie character," retorted Short. He took a long pull of his beer. "And it was twice, okay? Only twice would I have crashed a multibillion dollar hypersonic trans-aerospace fighter."

"Actually, the Stormwarden's total production cost is only $1.5 billion per aircraft. Considering the plans for a second wing, that should fall pretty quickly, given the production cost per aircraft and the applicability of economies of scale," reminded Bookworm.

"I hope that was enough of an explanation for our dear Book," chuckled Short.

"That and she managed to ignore the drill sergeants back in basic by smuggling novels into formation. A natural skill, I say," Dice chimed in. Aoba looked at her expectantly. "Oh, why do they call me Dice?" She laughed. "Well, soon into combat instruction, one of the instructors got tired of my risky tactics and yelled, 'One day, Devlin, the dice are gonna come up craps for you!' It stuck."

Viper nodded. "And as for Shadow… well, go review your sensor tapes from this morning's sim. That was all his work. Well, him and Book."

Book blushed, deeper than the red in her cheeks from the drinks. "It was mostly Shadow's analysis and jamming plan."

This exchange raised the bitter memory of NERV's shocking defeat, and many on NERV's side of the table seemed to slump a little lower. Dice watched them deflate, and moved quickly. "And as for Songbird, well, why don't you just show us? It is a karaoke bar, after all, Song."

Song extended her arms and tried to wave away the sudden attention. "Oh, there's no need for that. I'm really not that good, you know."

Dice laughed. "You don't have to put up the act, Song. Just sing that song you were listening to earlier."

Blushing, Song took to the small stage at the head of the room. As one might expect, she put the original version to shame.

----

Whitman finished replacing all the tools in their proper places. He didn't want Shinobu to get upset someone had used her tools. Either she would bash his brains in with a hammer, or she'd make a slip and Viper would die a horrible death when his 'Warden malfunctioned. Seeing as how Shinobu's love for Viper made the latter impossible, Whitman decided the former would hurt too much. After double checking everything was back in its proper place, Whitman relaxed, wiping the grease from his hands and turning back to his car, now with a fresh exhaust manifold.

Unfortunately, standing behind the car was a scruffy looking, long haired man. Whitman didn't recognize him, though he smiled a goofy grin in Whitman's direction. There's a pistol in the second drawer of Shinobu's toolkit, he thought to himself.

The man kept grinning. "So, this is the new home of the famous Earth Defender Squadron Blue?" He looked around, clearly thrilled at the elegant lines of the gleaming white Stormwardens. "You look a little old to be a pilot, so that must make you Commander Whitman."

Whitman leaned back against the tool case, dropping his hand slowly towards the second drawer. "Get lost, hippie. The protests are back in Tokyo."

The man eyed Whitman's sliding hand. "If you're going for iron, friend, at least give me a chance to explain myself. I left my pistol back at home, so it's the least you owe an unarmed man."

Whitman glanced around the hangar. They were still alone. "You get one minute. And remember, I'm well within my rights to kill you if I don't like what I hear. You're committing about a million capital offenses just standing there."

"My name's Kaji, Commander Whitman, and I have a lot to tell you," the long haired man began.