Chapter 16: Aces High
"We work together. We fight together. Wars are not won by individuals. They're won by teams."
-Francis Stanley "Gabby" Gabreski
Hm. Right back where I started.
The irony wasn't lost on Bishop as he stood on the same train platform he'd arrived on nearly two months ago.
Has it only been that long? It sure as hell felt longer, the pilot thought as he lit up a cigarette, casting a glance up at the screen showing the train schedule. The irony also wasn't lost on him as he reflected on his purpose in waiting here for the first train of the day to pull in it the station. He was here to collect a couple of new arrivals with the intention of subjecting them to the exact same barrage of nonsense he'd endured.
He'd been back in the city for a little over a week now, having departed the carrier shortly after it arrived in New Yokohama. He hadn't bothered to say goodbye to Katsuragi, Kaji, or the kids, leaving straight for Tokyo-3 with his pilots as soon as the aircraft were loaded on the transports. Things with that bunch had been getting a little... complicated for his taste as of late. He was a professional here to do a job, he had to remind himself, and he'd either die here or return home when the job was done, never to see any of them again. In either case, bitter experience told him there was no sense getting any closer to them or more involved in their lives than was absolutely necessary. It would only end in pain.
So, it was as much as means of escape as anything else that he'd thrown himself so totally into his work lately, eating, living and sleeping at the new base. He'd had his doubts that Katsuragi's idea would ever come to fruition, imagining they'd have to make do flying out of camp Fuji. He had to give her credit, though. She'd lit a fire under the asses of the technical department, and he arrived in Tokyo-3 to find construction on the new mountain lair nearly complete.
The massive cavern was located under Mount Hakone, near the northeast corner of lake Ashi. NERV had long ago carved it out from its natural form into a roughly rectangular space, about 150 metres wide by 250 deep, with ceilings that averaged around 100 feet in height. It narrowed into the launch tunnel at the northwest corner, which ran for about 100 metres before reaching an opening that overlooked the lake, and was secured at both ends by a set of heavy steel blast doors. It was a truly massive space, though it needed to be. Both for its past and planned purposes. For many years it had been used as a warehouse for Eva parts and other large equipment, but the frequent battle damage endured by the mechs over the past few months had quickly emptied much of the facility's stocks, and what remained could be accommodated elsewhere.
Now it would be an underground airport, with the ability to launch, recover, fuel, arm and maintain NERV's small but potent fleet of fighters all under one roof. Bishop wouldn't have thought such a thing to be possible. He'd heard of the Swiss air force doing something similar with the mountains that surrounded their bases, but their underground hangars were only for storing jets; they taxied out onto a regular runway to take off and land. He had to admit, though, that NERV's engineers had tackled the problem with their usual gusto and come up with something deeply impressive in its scale and ingenuity, and all in a little over a month's time.
And by God, he thought with a smirk, all this Bond-esque bullshit actually worked. The Avengers arrived at the new base on the back of a convoy of transport trucks a few hours after he set foot in it for the first time, and that very same day 302 made the first successful launch and recovery using the new system with him at the controls. It was quite a thrill, shooting through the launch tunnel as his jet was accelerated up to 200 knots by the electromagnetic rail catapult, 40 knots better than a carrier's steam catapult was capable of.
The landings on the other hand were, quite frankly, terrifying. A 400-metre stretch of four lane highway running along the lake shore downhill from the launch tunnel served as a runway. The traffic was cleared off the road and a set of arrestor wires stretched across its span, and just like on the carrier he had to slam his jet down in what was more of a controlled crash than a proper landing for the tail hook to snag one, throwing the throttles all the way forward as soon as the wheels were down in case it didn't catch and he needed to lift off again. Unlike on a carrier, however, there was dense forest off either side of the 'runway', with precious few metres of clearance and zero margin for error. Once the jet was safely down, he turned onto a narrow taxiway that led into yet another tunnel, this one leading a short way into the mountain to an aircraft elevator. Parking his jet on the platform and shutting down the engines, he could then sit back and relax while he was lifted through a diagonal shaft back up to the main bay. The elevator arrived at the southwest corner of the underground hangar, where the aircraft could be towed to the adjacent parking and service area and immediately refueled and armed if necessary.
With the jets already airworthy thanks to his efforts on the carrier, it was a trifling matter for Takao and his team to finish modifying them to carry their weapon, and he'd been able to focus his efforts since getting back on training his pilots.
It was certainly nice to be working with professionals again. All the UN aviators were talented and experienced pilots, with over a thousand hours on fighters a piece, so all they really needed to do before flying the Avenger was to familiarize themselves with the manual and learn its systems. He'd given them three days to do so, before giving a few hours' classroom instruction and taking each up for their first flight at the controls with him in the back seat. They did well; they weren't quite ready for an operational sortie yet, but once they'd proven they could take off and land without killing themselves or anyone else, he felt confident enough to send them up solo. They took turns flying 302, the other aircraft having only recently completed their modifications.
Glancing up as he stood on the train platform at the sound of a jet engine, he saw the early morning sun flash off the old girl's wings as she passed overhead with Igor Sokov, the Russian, at her controls. He was off to practice some aerobatic manoeuvres over the ocean in order to become better acquainted with the big jet's handling characteristics; knowing her many quirks and how to properly deal with them was crucial for being able to successfully recover from an attack dive.
Yes, after all the hard work, the operation really seemed to be coming together. For a change, fate had even done him a favour, dropping a pair of experienced Avenger pilots who spoke Japanese into his lap, the two people he was supposed to be meeting here whenever this bloody train cared to show up. Apparently, word had gotten around while he was in Halifax that he was looking for just such a unicorn, eventually working its way up the grapevine to national defence headquarters in Ottawa. There, a friend of his with too much time on his hands decided to do him a favour with a cursory search of the RCAF's service records, and to his surprise two names popped up that matched his criteria.
Preceded by a tinkling musical chime, a Japanese woman's voice came on the station's intercom, announcing in a cloyingly sweet tone that the next train was about to arrive. "Please stand behind the yellow line, thank you!" she warbled as Bishop took a last drag on his cigarette and was about to flick the butt down onto the tracks, before opting for a nearby garbage can instead, conscious that getting caught littering was likely to get him lynched by the locals. The train pulled in and squealed to halt, and it didn't take long as its passengers began filing out for the pilot to spot who he was looking for. As he suspected they would, both men jumped at the opportunity to fly the Avenger again when Bishop reached out to them, even paying their own travel expenses in order to get here.
"Kariya? Leveque?" He called out as he approached a pair of anxious-looking men, dressed in civilian business suits but lugging military-style duffle bags who stepped off the train after most of the crowd had preceded them. They nodded as Bishop extended his hand to them. "Welcome to Tokyo-3, gentlemen," he said amiably in English as he shook their hands. "How was the trip?"
It was Captain Gordon Kariya, a Japanese Canadian whose parents were born in the interment camps that answered him first. "Not too bad, sir. Certainly had worse." Several years his junior, Kariya was likewise a career officer, only old enough to join up near the end of the war. Despite this, he still logged a good number of hours in combat and had three kills and a Distinguished Flying Cross to show for it. He continued to fly after the war right up until the Avenger was retired, before being reassigned as a flight instructor. He didn't seem to care too much for sitting in the back seat while rookie pilots tried to get him killed day after day, and needed very little convincing to apply for a transfer to NERV.
Nodding, Bishop turned his eyes on Edouard 'Eddie' Leveque, a Quebecer whose name and reputation preceded him. Something of a legend back home, Leveque had squeezed more life into his 39 years on earth than most. A pro hockey player in the early '90s, he became an overnight sensation in his rookie year in the NHL, hailed as the next Gretzky or Howe. An injury put a premature end to his promising career, though, and with nothing left for him in Quebec, he signed on to a cargo ship in Montreal as a deckhand and went off to see the world.
From there, he simply disappeared. When the ship returned to her home port a year later, he wasn't on it, his crewmates claiming that he jumped ship in Singapore. Bishop well remembered hearing about the case of the runaway hockey star on the news as a teenager. He wasn't seen or heard again until after second impact, when he suddenly turned up at a recruiting station in Vancouver; now with a deep tan, a jagged scar that ran from his right temple down to his jawline, and a pocket full of Japanese yen. Nobody knew where he'd been or what he'd done in the half-decade he'd been missing, and despite incessant badgering from the media, he outright refused to tell the story to anyone.
Wherever he was, though, he'd evidently heard rumours of war brewing at home, and somehow made it back through the prevailing worldwide chaos to volunteer for service. Much like Bishop, he started off in the ranks, training as a tanker and fighting in some the war's first engagements. One day, while he and his crew tried to dig their vehicle out the mud, he happened to look up just as an Avenger roared overhead, and the rest was history. He flew with the famed 'Alouettes' of 425 squadron, and his name appeared on the list of aces not too far below Bishop's, with 24 victories to his credit. Unlike Bishop and Kariya, he'd been smart enough to get out while he was ahead, retiring as a major to work for the airlines. Ferrying tourists and businessmen around the sky was no way to round out a life such as his, though, and the promise of adventure and danger was more than enough to lure him away from civvy street. Well, if it was adventure and danger he wanted, he'd find plenty here.
"Can't tell you how glad I am to have you aboard. Hope you've got you're flying gear with you." Both men nodded, before Bishop abruptly switched to Japanese. "...Just to be sure, you guys do both understand what I'm saying, right?"
Kariya nodded and answered him in the same language. "Yessir. I've spoken it since I was a little kid."
"Great." Bishop turned to the Quebecer, whose face betrayed no emotion. "How 'bout you, Frenchie?"
The man nodded slowly, a tiny smile crossing his lips as he answered in a growl. "Of course. Call me 'Frenchie' one more time and I'll open your throat for you, Englishman."
Bishop stood and stared at him for a moment, before all three veterans broke out into raucous laughter almost simultaneously. "Ah, I missed that old Quebec charm. People here are too damn polite for their own good," he chortled, clapping a hand onto the man's shoulder. "Alright gents, best we get going, got a busy day ahead of us." He chopped a hand in the direction of the exit, both men hefting their bags as they followed him down into the street where his pickup truck was waiting.
"Just toss your bags in the back," he ordered, before the three pilots squeezed into the cab, shoulder to shoulder on the bench seat. "Oh, by the way, you brought your dress uniforms like I told you to, right?" he asked as they pulled away from the curb, looking over to see them nod.
"Good. Sorry, should have mentioned this earlier, but we're gonna be on parade this afternoon. Hope you still remember some drill."
What a damn circus, Fuyutsuki thought to himself as he surveyed the activity in the newest addition to NERV headquarters. Against one wall of the cavernous space, a row of bleachers were set up, occupied by nearly a thousand of Tokyo-3's citizens, along with a raised platform on which he now stood. Joining him on the dais were a score of local dignitaries, reporters, and representatives of the city's figurehead civilian government, including the mayor and most of the city council, and a selection of NERV's senior officers. Captain Katsuragi was there, along with Inspector Kaji, several department heads, and all three of the Evangelion pilots.
It was the idea of the PR department, this ridiculous display, akin in his mind to a parade put on by some dictator to show off his military might. The city was abuzz with rumours about what they were building under mount Hakone, and instead of trying to keep it a secret, they suggested inviting the public in and putting on a show for them. It would be great of NERV's image, the head propagandist argued to him, for the people to see these sleek, handsome aircraft in this brand-new facility, along with their derring-do pilots ready to go up and defend the city any time day or night. He supposed they had a point, anything to take the emphasis of the fact that the brunt of their defence would still be borne by children.
Major Bishop, as commander of the unit and the facility, of course had to be convinced, but to Fuyutsuki's surprise he quickly came around to the idea. He related to the old professor that one among the many temporary assignments he'd held in the years before he arrived here was commander of the RCAF's colour squadron, a ceremonial unit that for several months in the summer of 2013 had been given the honour of forming the King's guard in New London. As such, he was something of an expert on the subject of military drill, and it was seemingly out for spite for NERV that he'd agreed to parade his unit's personnel for a formal inspection in front of the public.
"'Bout time you people learned how a proper fighting force conducts itself," the foreigner had sneered at him as he left his office a few days ago. As the senior officer present, the duty of inspecting the troops fell on Fuyutsuki, though having had exactly zero military experience prior to joining NERV, he still wasn't entirely sure what was expected of him. By rights, Ikari ought to be overseeing this nonsense, but the commander had predictably arranged to be away on important business for the next few weeks.
He supposed all he could do for the moment was to try to project a military bearing, and the old man sniffed haughtily and stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back as a note from the band signalled the beginning of the ceremonies.
All eyes turned to the right, where a marching band borrowed from one of the nearby JSSDF units played a single tuning note, before snapping to attention and readying their instruments. Behind the band, a set of blast doors that sealed off the inner side of the launch tunnel began to slide open, and the band's drum major barked an order and twirled his baton with a grand flourish as they stepped off, the instruments striking up a jaunty march that Fuyutsuki recognized with a small smile as 'The Maple Leaf Forever'. The nerve of that damned Canadian.
From behind the band, the first ranks of the aerial operations section emerged. The major marched at their head, followed by his pilots, formed into three ranks of two. As officers, all marched with a drawn sword in their right hand, swinging their left arm to shoulder height with every step in the commonwealth style. The two men in the first rank behind the Major wore the same uniform as him, while the other four wore the white dress uniform of the UN fleet.
Behind the pilots, the various mechanics, ground crew, administrators and other support personnel marched in formation, formed up into a column of three files. They had no weapons, but also marched in the commonwealth style with both arms swinging alternately up in time with the music. There were nearly 300 NERV personnel aside from the pilots attached to the unit, and they wore the organization's standard tan uniform with a red beret.
Fuyutsuki supposed that as a cynical academic, he was obliged to disapprove of the display of pomp and circumstance, knowing it to be an archaic holdover from the days from the days when soldiers fought standing shoulder to shoulder with muskets. However, the old professor had always found something deeply satisfying about watching well-performed military drill, knowing the level of cohesion and teamwork it took to pull it off. This collection of people, all from highly disparate national, ethnic, and economic backgrounds, all had to put aside their individuality and place complete and utter trust in one another in order to move as one, knowing that a slight misstep from any one of them could trip up the whole formation.
As the column neared the bleachers, the major's booming voice barked out the command "Eyes left!" in English, able to be heard even over the band and the din of hundreds of boots striking the steel floor in unison. As one, the troops snapped their heads towards the crowd as they marched past, with the officers raising their swords to their faces in a gesture of salute.
"Eyes front!" came the second command a moment later, and with similar precision 300-odd heads snapped forwards again. The band wheeled off and stopped in the centre of the floor, continuing to play as they marched in place, while the column continued on until it neared the rear wall of the facility. The command "Right, turn!" was given, and the major turned smartly on his heel 90 degrees to the right while remaining in step. Each successive rank behind him did likewise, the column becoming a perfectly straight single file line that snaked its way towards the wall opposite the grandstand, where all eight of NERV's new fighters were lined up wingtip to wingtip as though they too were on parade.
They executed another right turn when the head of the line reached the first aircraft, and the column now marched back the way they'd come, the line of tan uniforms stretching out in front of the line of jets until it spanned nearly the entire hangar.
The words "Parade, halt!" echoed across the space, and all at once the band stopped playing as hundreds of boots crashed to the floor in unison.
"Riiiiiggght turn!" Now stationary, the long line whirled smartly and stamped their feet to snap back to attention, now facing towards their audience.
"Parade, right dress!" Each of them stretched their right arm out to touch their neighbour's shoulder, shuffling into position to ensure they were the correct distance away. The visual effect from across the hangar was certainly impressive, Fuyutsuki thought, with 300 figures now standing at attention with perfectly equal intervals between them.
"Officers, take positions!" At the far-right end of the line from Fuyutsuki's perspective, the six pilots took two steps forward, turned to their rights, and marched smartly back up the line. As they passed each of the middle six aircraft, the rearmost pilot stopped and turned back to the front, until the six pilots were all standing at attention in line with their aircraft. The Major then followed, taking several more steps forward to put himself out front of the formation, and stopping when he was directly in the centre of the line.
Watching from across the hangar, Fuyutsuki realized that he was probably supposed to do something at this point, with the troops formed up and a deafening silence settling over room. The old professor floundered for a moment, before his subordinate came to his rescue.
"Uh, sir," Captain Katsuragi sidled up to him and stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. "…I think they're waiting for you to inspect them now."
"Ah yes, of course," he responded with a grateful nod. "Very well." He stepped down off the dais and began to stride purposefully across the hangar towards the waiting major, stood firmly at attention. He had no idea if this was the correct thing to do, but his small entourage seemed to be following him so he assumed it was.
Sensing his confusion, Katsuragi fell into step beside him and quietly gave him some advice.
"I'm sure you already know this, sir," she began tactfully, "but when you reach the major, he'll tell you his troops are ready for inspection. All you have to do is nod, make your way down the ranks, and maybe make small talk with a few of them. Oh, and just tell the major to dismiss them when you're done."
"Indeed, thank you captain," he respond stiffly, not betraying his immense gratitude. Unlike him, she had served in their country's armed forces, and seemed to know the drill, so to speak.
As their small party approached the head pilot, the officer swiftly brought the hilt of his sabre up to his face in salute, and held it there as Fuyutsuki came to a halt in front of him, before it eventually dawned on him that he was meant to return the salute. He did so, half-heartedly lifting his hand in what was probably a poor imitation of the gesture. The major then brought his sabre to his side, and with barely contained contempt in his eyes finally addressed the old professor directly.
"Sir!" he barked in a voice nearly as loud as the one he'd used to give commands. "Aerial operations section reports 289 out of 289 personnel present and accounted for, in open order, awaiting your inspection sir!"
"Hm." Fuyutsuki nodded slowly in response. "Very well, let's proceed, major."
"Yessir. After you, sir." Taking the cue, the old professor set off towards the first in the row of pilots, the major pausing to sheathe his sabre before turning smartly and falling into step beside him, maintaining a stiff marching gait. He stopped briefly in front of each of the aviators, making a show of looking them up and down before moving on the next. They were certainly a well-dressed and intimidating lot; even the young Japanese woman who was barely taller than the teenage Evangelion pilots had a certain warlike look about her.
That done, he moved on the much longer row of enlisted personnel, the process quickly becoming tedious as he examined uniform after identical tan uniform, pausing to make some banal small talk with a few whose faces he recognized. Finally, mercifully, he reached the end of the line. As he paused, he figured he ought to say something a little more substantial than a simple dismissal.
"Well," he began, raising his voice and hoping he could be heard all the way down at the other end of the line. "I can see that everything is in order here. You have all given us a fine display of skill and discipline here today, and I have every confidence that you will demonstrate much of the same when faced with the enemy. Major, you may dismiss them."
"Yessir!" came the curt reply from his side. "Parade, Dis-miss!" he bellowed out in a volume that told Fuyutsuki his own final remarks had probably not nearly been loud enough. The troops remained at attention for another second, before standing at ease and falling out, chatting excitedly and clapping each other on the shoulder in congratulation for a job well done. Many in the crowd watching from the bleachers were family members of the parading personnel, and they began to spill out onto the floor and make their way across to hug their fathers and husbands, while the reporters from the local papers all scattered to try and corner one of the pilots for an interview.
Turning to the small party of local notables who'd been following on their heels, Fuyutsuki made the appropriate introductions, the major shaking each of their hands in turn. He was every bit the gentleman officer as he chatted politely with the politicians, even obliging the mayor who asked to see his sabre, drawing and reversing the ornate weapon to present the hilt to him with the appropriate amount of ceremony and reverence. The old professor knew what lurked beneath that perfectly polite exterior, and imagined that the pilot was probably resisting with all his might the temptation to murder the politician as the portly man made a few poorly coordinated cuts at the air with the fine sword, narrowly missing the major's face with the last one before sheepishly returning the weapon to its owner.
Instead, though, the pilot just laughed it off as he returned the sabre to its scabbard, accepting the mayor's frantic apologies and shaking his hand once again before excusing himself to see to his troops, giving Fuyutsuki a final, frosty glance before disappearing into the crowd.
"Right then, refreshments are being served next door, I'm sure you gentlemen could stand a glass of champagne," Fuyutsuki said genially as he steered his entourage towards a door that led to the adjacent block of offices, some of which were still undergoing renovation into briefing rooms and sleeping quarters for the alert crews. He noted that captain Katsuragi had set off in pursuit of the major, while inspector Kaji was already mingling among the crowd, the new Evangelion pilot from Germany sticking close by his side. The other two teenage pilots stood together on the fringes, not seeming to know what to do with themselves.
Guess I've got to deal with these parasites on my own, he thought with a small smirk. The privileges of rank.
Misato caught up the Canadian officer as he stopped to chat with a few tan-uniformed men, shaking their hands and giving them warm words of praise for their performance. His mood seemed to immediately sour as she arrived at his side.
"Well, don't you look nice," she purred in her sultriest voice as took hold of his elbow to steer him away from his subordinates, anxious to talk with the man who she'd hardly seen the last battle.
"Yeah… you too," he replied frostily, casting a wary glace around.
"Bah, can't stand this damn monkey-suit. Feels like wearing a straight jacket." She was referring to her formal uniform, which she avoided donning like the plague. The long, stiff, shapeless black dress and matching wedge cap looked more like something a flight attendant would wear than the uniform of a senior officer. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealously towards troops of the commonwealth in that regard, whose elegant and timeless dress uniforms reflected three centuries of military tradition.
"Hm. Now you know how I feel in this fucking insane asylum." The terse response belied no trace of amusement.
"Geez, somebody piss in your cereal this morning or something?" she asked, not understanding his moodiness. "Everything went off without a hitch, you did a great job putting this all together. What's your problem?"
"…Nothing," he muttered.
"No, not nothing. You've been avoiding me ever since we got back, Shinji's been asking if you left again. Now what is it?" she demanded, and was alarmed to see a flash of anger in the pilot's eyes.
"You've got some nerve, you know that?" He spoke in a dangerously calm voice. "I don't appreciate being used."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh for god's sake, is that what this is about? You're mad about that thing with Kaji?"
"You're damn right I am," he snapped back at her.
"Why? It's just a bit of harmless fun."
"Not for me. I'm a married man, Katsuragi. Don't you see how I might find this whole thing just a little bit inappropriate?"
"But I thought you said your wife was…" She suddenly remembered that night when she'd first to come to him for advice, when they shared that bottle of fine scotch and first spoke to each other in something resembling friendship. She remembered that picture on his wall, the only thing in the apartment he seemed to actually care about.
"…Oh." She suddenly understood, the major's eyes giving her a quick glance before darting away. The anger was gone, replaced with sorrow at the very mention of the subject.
"Yeah." He said stiffly. "I'm not going to be keeping up this nonsense for however long I'm here. This isn't high school, so either you grow up, talk to Kaji like an adult and put an end to this, or I'll bloody well do it for you."
"Okay, okay," she acquiesced with a sigh. "I'll think of something. Just…" Her thought was cut off by a shout from behind them.
"…Speak of the devil," she muttered, seeing Kaji with Asuka at his side as he made his way through the crowd towards them.
"Well, look what we have here," the ponytailed man said with a broad smirk. "What a handsome couple you two make."
"Right back at ya, pal." The major shook off his melancholy mood and returned a shot across Kaji's bow, cocking an eyebrow as he looked down at the teenager clinging affectionately to the man's arm. "Dunno how it works on this side of the pond, but that sort of, *ahem*, age gap is generally frowned upon where I come from."
"Oh, no, no, it's nothing like that…" Misato watched gleefully as her ex squirmed under the major's inquisitive gaze, rubbing the back of his head as he glanced down at the girl. "Well, I've been her guardian for a long time, and I guess uh… Asuka, stop it!" he hissed at her. The girl huffed and released the man's arm reluctantly.
"He's just joking with you," she said matter-of-factly, before turning to the pilot. "And Kaji's only doing his gentlemanly duty by escorting an unattended young lady. Wouldn't expect you to understand anything about that." The girl sniffed derisively.
"Yes, I'm sure he is," the major said with a chuckle. "Well Miss Soryu, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you liking Japan?"
"It stinks," the girl said bluntly, crossing her arms. "I'm stuck in a tiny apartment with her and that idiot, Shinji," she jutted her chin out at Misato as she continued. "And they're making me go back to middle school even though I already have a college degree. It's ridiculous!"
"You have a degree?" the pilot asked. "I didn't know that. What was your major?"
"Physics, with a minor in organic chemistry," she replied casually, as though they were totally normal credentials for a fourteen-year-old to possess. "Why, what was yours?"
"Don't have one." The major replied equally casually.
"…You don't have a degree?"
"Nope."
Asuka seemed to find this fact immensely gratifying. "Well, pardon me for assuming," she chortled with a smug grin. "…But in Europe, officers are expected to be educated. I suppose we're just a little bit more civilized than you are over in the colonies."
"Asuka…" Misato began in a warning tone, wanting to avoid a public argument, but the major cut her off.
"Officers do normally need a degree, in peacetime at least, but when the enemy's at the gate you can't be too picky," the man said with a small smile. "Besides, what do I need a degree for? The army taught me how to march and shoot, and the air force taught me how to fly. What else do I need to know?"
The girl was clearly tempted to take the bait, but checked herself before attempting to answer the rhetorical question. "Whatever," was all she said, before turning her blue eyes back up towards Kaji. "I'm hungry, I hear they're serving food somewhere around here. Let's go!" she demanded, once again grabbing the agent's arm to steer him away.
"…You've got both those kids living with you now?" The major fixed Misato with an amused look. "Must be getting crowded."
"A little," she said as the pair turned to continue on. "I thought it would be good for them to get closer. Y'know, teamwork and all that."
"Hm. And you don't think having a pair of hormone-riddled teenagers living in such close proximity could present a problem?"
"Nah." She cracked a smile as she thought about it. "No way Shinji has the guts to try anything, and if he did, Asuka would give him the beating of a lifetime." She looked over at the man with a smirk. "Why, you offering to take one off my hands?"
"Nope," he replied firmly. "Foster parent ain't in my damn job description."
"Yeah, well it wasn't in mine either, but here we are." She answered with a shrug, before a pair of men who were being swarmed by journalists nearby caught her eye, both dressed the same as the major. "…Say, are those the new pilots that arrived today?"
"Yep." The major whistled and shouted over to the men in English, who pushed their way through the crowd towards them. "Eddie! Gordo! Get over here, got someone I want you to meet!"
Misato surveyed the pair as they arrived in front of her. "Gentlemen, this is Captain Misato Katsuragi. She's our boss. Captain Katsuragi, may I introduce Captain Gordon Kariya, DFC…" The younger of the two nodded and greeted her in perfect Japanese, his facial features belying mixed Asian and European ancestry, with round eyes and a broad chin combined with high cheekbones and coarse black hair.
"…And Major Edouard Leveque, DSO MC and DFC, retired." Misato turned to greet the older man, whose sharp-featured and weather-worn face was nonetheless strikingly handsome, with sparkling hazel eyes, wavy brown hair, and olive skin. Much to her surprise, the man delicately took hold of her hand and kissed it, greeting her not in Japanese, but in French.
"Mademoiselle," he began lyrically, bowing with a grand sweeping motion from the hand that didn't hold hers, "J'ai parcouru le monde, aimé une centaine de femmes et mené une centaine de batailles, mais je n'avais pas vraiment vécu jusqu'à aujourd'hui, lorsque j'ai posé les yeux sur toi pour la première fois. Ta beauté exquise nourrit mon âme, comme le pain nourrit le corps et la musique nourrit l'esprit."
"Uhh… Thank you?" She looked over the major, the other one, for guidance. She had absolutely no idea what had been said, but assumed from his tone of voice and the fact that he still held her hand in a dainty but firm grip that she had probably just been given a compliment.
"My French is a little rusty," he related to her with a broad grin, "But I think he likes you."
"Ma'am," The Frenchman addressed her now in Japanese as he finally released her hand, which seemed passable enough but carried a very strange accent. "I am your loyal servant, at your command I would gladly lay down my life, and if you would only be mi-"
"Alright, simmer down." The major thankfully interjected with a reproachful look at his countryman. "My apologies, captain. Major Leveque here clearly doesn't remember the lecture on appropriate workplace behavior we all had to sit through back at officer school."
"Oh, it's quite alright." She waved off the apology, rather flattered by the fact that she'd so quickly smitten this strange foreigner. "I'm pleased to meet the both of you, and allow me to thank you on behalf of NERV for having come from so far away to offer us your services. We truly do appreciate it."
Both newcomers bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and the group continued to chat politely for a few minutes, before Misato spotted a tan-uniformed woman who she recognized as one of the sub-commander's aides rushing through the crowd towards her.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" she said quietly as she arrived beside Misato, out of breath and clearly having something urgent to tell her. That was never good around here. She excused herself from the group of pilots and took the aide aside out of earshot.
"Well?" she asked of the young woman.
"Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki sends his compliments, ma'am," she stammered anxiously, "And asks if you would please join him on the bridge as soon as possible."
Misato took a quick look around the facility, noting that more uniformed attendants were quietly collecting the Eva pilots and hurrying them off in the direction of the elevators that led back down to the geofront. Those damn angels certainly knew how to time their attacks, if that's what this was.
"Okay, tell him I'm on my way, thanks." The aide nodded and hurried off. They could have just sounded the alarm and sent everyone to battle stations, but Fuyutsuki was no doubt conscious of the fact that they had hundreds of civilians in here, and doing so might cause a panic.
"Well, this has been fun, but duty calls." She said goodbye to the pilots, before pulling the major aside to whisper in his ear.
"Something's up. Find a way to get the civvies out of here, and be ready for a fight."
Bishop could well enough deduce what was going on from those few words, watching the woman's retreating back as he pondered what to do next. At least, for a change, he didn't have to do it alone.
Job number one was to clear to the civvies out the hangar. The offices next door would suffice for a place to stick them for now, probably as safe a place as any to be in an angel attack. The problem was getting them there without starting a stampede.
"Boys." He gathered Kariya and Leveque at his side. His fellow Canadians were quickly becoming his right-hand men, he needed their help to pull this off. "I need you to gather up the rest of the pilots. I want all of you in your pressure suits and waiting for me in the briefing room in ten minutes."
Though they'd only been here less than a day, they had already been briefed in great detail on their mission and its importance, and being veterans knew an urgent order when they heard one. With a quiet "Yessir," they disappeared off into the crowd to carry it out.
The next person he needed to see was the chief, whose name he'd only recently learned was Koshiro Miyabe. With the formation of the new unit, he'd been promoted to command of all the ground crews for its aircraft, and Bishop found him showing one the jets off to his two young children with his wife at his side.
"We build 'em good in Canada, eh kids?" he said as he arrived beside the stout chief, shaking his and his wife's hands and greeting the children with a broad smile as they looked up at him with awe struck expressions. "Beg your pardon Missus Miyabe," he continued with a small bow, "But may I borrow your husband for a moment?"
"Of course, major," she replied with a warm smile and a wink. They'd met several times before, and Bishop was charmed every time by her grace and good humour. "Just bring him back in one piece."
"Can't make any promises, ma'am, but I'll try my best." He gave the kids a wave as he strode away with the chief at his side.
"What's up, sir?" he asked with a curious look, no doubt sensing something was amiss.
"How quickly can you have the jets armed and fueled?" he dropped the act and spoke bluntly to his subordinate.
"Fifteen minutes." The chief was always the consummate professional, and knew Bishop wouldn't be asking if he didn't mean business.
"Good. Take care of your family and tell your crews to do the same for theirs, then get to work."
"Yessir." He split off to quickly return to his family, and Bishop knew he'd get the job done come hell or high water. Now to deal with the rest of the civvies, and a nearby group of newspapermen gave him the perfect opening.
"Major Bishop! Do you have a moment, could we get an interview!" they all shouted in turn as they spotted him and gathered around him. He raised his hands for quiet before addressing them.
"Afraid I'm a little busy at the moment, but we've got a rare treat for you folks," he began grandly, letting a murmur ripple through the crowd before continuing. "We'll be doing a live demonstration of our launch system for you. Unfortunately, I'll have to ask you all to leave the hangar floor, things will get a little noisy in here once we start up the ventilation fans and the get the aircraft running. Never fear though, my associate here," he pointed toward Kaji, who for some reason hadn't left with the rest of the senior NERV staff and was watching the commotion unfold nearby with his usual detached amusement, "Will be happy to show you to the upper levels where you can watch in complete safety."
He was referring to the bank of windows that ran along one wall of the cavern about two stories above the floor, the upper part of the office complex. Part of it had been converted into the command centre, from which the controllers could direct the movement of aircraft on the hangar floor as well as communicate with them when they were airborne. The rest of the upper offices were unused space, and it was a perfect place to stick a bunch of nosy journalists. "I'm sure Inspector Kaji will see to it that refreshments are served," he said with a smirk as he tried to herd the crowd his way. Kaji shot him an annoyed look, but seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, and Bishop breathed a sigh of relief as the man led the group away from him towards the offices.
The rest of the civvies were slowly but surely doing likewise, while word spread among the ground crews that they were preparing to launch. They kissed their families goodbye once they'd seen to their safety, before sprinting back across the hangar to their assigned aircraft to get to work, paying no mind to the fact that they still wore their formal uniforms.
Seeing that all was in order here for the moment, he shouldered his way through the crowd headed towards the doors leading out of the hangar, finding himself in an atrium that branched off into a number of corridors. Taking off at a jog down one, he entered his newly reassigned office, shut the door behind him and quickly changed into his flight suit and pressure suit, hanging up in a locker beside his desk along with the rest of his flying gear. Grabbing his helmet, he then hurried across the hall to the briefing room, a small theatre with a dozen seats facing a lectern in front of a whiteboard and projector screen.
He found his pilots assembled there per his orders, ready to go and excitedly talking among themselves, no doubt sensing action. They snapped to attention as he entered the room, before quickly taking their seats at his beckoning.
"Alright everyone, I'd hoped we would have more time to train together before this happened, but it looks like you'll be learning on the job." He began. "Nothing official yet, but I suspect we'll receive the order to launch at any moment. You all know what we're up against here, but if you follow my orders and listen carefully to what I have to say to you now, you'll be fine." He had confidence in all of their flying skills, but none but him had any experience launching the god's arrow projectile in combat.
He made good use of the few spare minutes they had, giving his pilots a cliff's notes version of how to use the targeting system, ensuring they all at least had the correct steps for firing a shot written down on their kneeboards and could recite them by memory.
"Good. I'll be flying in the lead aircraft," he said once he was satisfied. The remainder of the flight would be broken down into two sections of three aircraft, each led by one the Canadian pilots. He assigned the UN aviators to them at random. "Nagara, Ishida, you're with Leveque. Ozaki, Sokov, you fly with Kariya. Both these men are every bit as experienced on the Avenger as I am, so listen to their advice and don't be afraid to come to them for help." Being able to break his flight down into smaller units led by able officers he could trust to act independently would give them plenty of tactical flexibility, necessary when facing an enemy that could take a seemingly infinite number of forms.
Their time to prepare quickly ran out. The slow whoop of the general alarm began to blare from the intercom system, telling them that the order to scramble had come from the main command centre down in the geofront. The seven pilots crowded through the door and ran as best as they could in their clumsy suits back down the corridor and out in the hangar, where the ground crews were almost finished preparing the Avengers for their first dance with the enemy.
Their maple leaf roundels had been painted over with the NERV logo, but at Bishop's insistence they retained their camouflage and nose art, the line of fighters presenting a fearsome spectacle for the reporters and their cameramen as the pilots mounted up. The huge exhaust fans embedded all around the walls and ceilings of the cavern began to spin, creating an almighty din that was topped only a moment later by the whine of seven pairs of turbofans starting up.
Strapping into 302's cockpit, Bishop watched for his crew chief's signal to crank his engines, quickly shutting the canopy to escape the racket echoing through the cavern. A moment later, the chocks were away, and he eased the throttle forward, his jet the first to pull away from the line of aircraft. Taxiing in the confined space required him to follow the signals of a crewman on the ground, who walked ahead of his aircraft. Two more crewmen also walked below either wingtip, all three in constant communication with each other and the pilot to ensure there were no multi million-dollar fender-benders.
"Arrow one, this is control." The voice of one of the controllers watching from behind the windows crackled in his ear as his jet slowly moved forward. "The Evangelions are preparing to engage an unknown threat approaching from Suruga Bay. Your orders are to be ready to provide air support if requested. Depart on vector two-three-five and climb to angels 80, contact headquarters when orbiting over the Numazu area and await further instructions. Clear to launch."
"Roger." From his jet's parking spot, he only had to taxi a short distance forward before making a sharp left turn towards the launch tunnel, the huge steel doors having been opened to reveal a dot of sunlight off in the distance. Following the ground crew's signals, he taxied forward slowly until the nose of jet was just over the threshold of the tunnel, stopping just short of the beginning of the catapult track. He now followed the signals of the shooter, the technician tasked with running the catapult, who signalled him to lower the launch bar and inch forward until he felt the nosewheel bump into position on the catapult shuttle. He then held the brakes while another pair of techs approached the nosewheel to attach the holdback bar, a thick metal rod connected to the deck which held the jet in place while the engines spooled up, releasing it when the catapult was fired.
Behind his aircraft, three huge metal plates lifted from the floor on hydraulic arms, forming a semi-circle of steel ramps around the tailpipes that would deflect the force of the afterburners upwards, preventing harm to the crew working in the hangar or damage to the other jets lining up behind him. The shooter verified that all was set and that the rest of the ground crew was clear, before raising his right-hand and moving it in a spinning motion with two fingers held upwards. The pilot took hold of the throttles and slowly moved them all the way forward, the engines roaring to full power behind him. The nose of the aircraft dipped slightly as the holdback bar strained against the massive amount of thrust, the aircraft seeming to crouch like a lion about to pounce.
With a final check, the shooter then saluted, knelt down, and swept his arm to point down the tunnel. In the small booth dug into the wall on the other side of the tunnel, the tech manning the controls for the catapult hit a button on his panel, releasing the holdback bar and allowing the catapult shuttle to shoot forward along the electromagnetically charged rail, dragging the aircraft along with it by the nosewheel.
Bishop pressed his head back against the seat and strained against the violent acceleration, watching as the tiny dot of light at the end of the tunnel quickly grew, before he was suddenly out in the bright sunshine and flying over the sparkling blue water of lake Ashi. He immediately retracted the gear and flaps, before banking left to turn away from the city and fly south down the lake's five-kilometer length. This was their standard operating procedure by his decree, giving the pilots plenty of opportunity to make a water landing should something go wrong immediately after takeoff.
302 was, as usual, functioning perfectly though, and as the lake's southern shore passed beneath he pulled up to climb away. Watching in the mirror, he saw the next jet behind him shoot out of the tunnel, executing a smart turn to follow his course.
Just knowing he was part of a team this time rather than on his own was enough to slow the pilot's racing heart. Hopefully, the Evas would do their job, and he wouldn't even have to catch a glimpse of whatever monstrosity was about to emerge from the ocean. But if he had to face it, then by God, he wouldn't face it alone.
"13:40 hours. Target first sighted 500 metres from the coast. Engaged by Evangelion units one and two." Maya Ibuki's voice recapped the events of the disastrous battle to the group assembled in the debriefing room. Misato couldn't watch, leaning forward with her head buried in her hands as her subordinate continued.
"13:41 hours. Unit two attacks with sonic glaive, unsupported by unit one. Target split in half through the core, presumed destroyed." So far so good…
"13:42 hours. Target reanimates as two separate entities." And here's where it all goes horribly wrong, she thought, casting an irritated glace at the two rattled Eva pilots who sat on either side of her.
"13:43 hours. Both Evangelions are engaged simultaneously by the two halves of the angel, acting in perfect synchronicity. Both units rendered unserviceable within forty-five seconds thereafter." On the projector screen at the front of the room, images of the nearly-destroyed mechs were shown on the screen, the Angels having driven them face-first into the dirt to completely immobilize them after having beaten them to a pulp.
"Unbelievable…" she heard the sub-commander mutter from behind her. Even the seemingly unflappable man was angered by the display of utter incompetence from the pair of teenage pilots, for which he bore the ultimate responsibility as the senior officer present.
Shit rolls uphill, as the old saying went, and as their immediate commanding officer, she knew that she would also be in for a world of hurt, her head already aching as she imagined the pile of paperwork awaiting her in her office. Of course, that would be the least of her concerns now if it weren't for the events that followed the defeat of the Eva units.
"13:45 hours," she continued matter-of-factly. "Aerial operations section are formed up and orbiting at attack altitude over the target, and are ordered to immediately engage. Target has no means of combating airborne threats, and with AT field weakened suffers heavy damage from first round of kinetic energy projectiles. All seven aircraft attack en masse, five of out of seven projectiles confirmed to have hit nearly simultaneously. Target temporarily immobilized ten kilometres southwest of Tokyo-3 as it regenerates, AOS returns to base to rearms for another sortie. JSSDF determine intervention with N2 weapons unnecessary at this time."
The next slide showed the aftermath of the first strike. The two halves of the angel had rejoined, and the thing now bore a set of massive, smouldering holes in its black body. It lay prostrate on the mountainside as it tried to repair itself. It wasn't quick enough.
"14:06 hours. First AOS aircraft appears overhead as second sortie launches and immediately proceeds to target. All seven aircraft attack one by one, all seven score direct hits. Angel now suffers massive tissue damage as over thirty percent of its body mass is blown away. AOS returns to base, prepares for third sortie." Maya brought up the next slide, showing the angel now as a barely recognizable mass of amorphous black goo plastered to the hillside. The earth all around it was torn up from the hypersonic projectiles burying themselves deep into the bedrock after punching through the things body.
"14:25 hours. Third sortie is launched with six aircraft, carrying the remainder of NERV's total stockpile of twenty projectiles. After first projectile hits, the target rapidly undergoes metamorphosis, its remaining biomatter collecting into an ovular mass surrounding the core. The outer layer of biomass forms a superhardened shell, and the remaining five projectiles all score direct hits but fail to penetrate." The final slide was brought up, showing the huge smooth, black, capsule-like object that contained what was left of the angel. "MAGI analysis suggests that no weapon possessed by humanity can penetrate the shell, but the Angel is completely incapable of movement or combat while inside. It is undergoing a process of intense regeneration, and it will emerge once this process is complete and resume its advance."
"And how long do we have?" Fuyutsuki asked.
"The MAGI estimate twelve days, give or take." Ritsuko answered him from her seat beside Maya, idly smoking a cigarette and in just as glum a mood as the rest of them. "We can have the Evas combat ready by then, just barely." The doctor cast a baleful glance across the room to where Misato was seated with the two pilots. "The question, then, is whether our pilots will be up to the task."
"I'll be up for it," Asuka proclaimed haughtily. "In fact, you may as well just send me out by myself. I'll be better able to fight without him slowing me down."
"Hey!" Shinji stood up on the other side of Misato and pointed an accusatory finger at the girl. "You were the one who attacked without orders. If you waited for me, maybe we would have won."
"How dare you!" Asuka shot back, now on her feet as well. "I almost beat my half of the angel. It was only because the other half defeated you so quickly that they were able to gang up on me!"
"That's enough, the both of you." The sub-commander stood up and spoke sharply, his normally calm voice taking on a hard edge Misato had rarely heard. "You two owe the major and his pilots a great deal for salvaging some sort of victory out of this debacle. Do you know why their attacks were successful while yours failed?" Cowed by their elder's sharp rebuke, both of the kids looked down at their shoes and shook their heads. "It is because their attacks were coordinated and precise. Because they know how to function as a team. You two are going to have to learn to do precisely that whether you like it or not, because they had to use our entire stockpile of god's arrow projectiles in order to clean up your mess. Nobody will be coming to help you next time."
Both the teenagers sat back down with a harrumph and turned away from each other. She supposed she would have to deal with them later. For now, something occurred to her, and she turned to Maya to ask her a question. "…Say, where is the major? I figured that arrogant ass would want to be here to gloat."
"He was invited, ma'am, but he told me to tell you to uh, and I quote, get bent." She looked down sheepishly, but Misato gave her a hard look that told her to relay the rest of the message. "… He also said that he and his pilots were exhausted from having flown three operational sorties within an hour, and that he was taking the entire unit out on the town to get, and again I quote, shitfaced."
"The man certainly has a way with words…" Kaji, seated a row behind her, piped up with a chuckle while Misato stewed and worked her jaw in indignation.
The remainder of her evening was spent, as she figured it would be, buried under a mountain of paperwork. Certainly hope that jackass is living it up, she though sourly as she scribbled her name onto yet another damage report before tossing it onto the 'out' pile, which after several hours' work was still far eclipsed by the 'in' pile in height.
That wasn't fair to him, she supposed. Even if he was an asshole about it, he deserved credit for his actions today; if nothing else, he'd managed to spare NERV the humiliation of having to get the JSSDF involved. Still, Misato suspected that they had only delayed the inevitable. The Evas would have to fight that thing again before too long, and they would have to do it alone.
At some point around midnight, when the two piles were nearing equal heights, she lay her head down to rest her eyes for just a moment. When she opened them again, it was after 6:00 AM, and Ritsuko was standing in front of her desk with a pair of steaming mugs and a sympathetic smile on her lips.
"Ritsuko…" she mumbled with a groan, gratefully accepting the cup of strong coffee and taking a long sip. "What do I do?" She was at her wit's end. Not just with the paperwork, but with the kids as well. They seemed to bring out the worst in each other, and she had no idea how she was supposed to get them to work together with the degree of precision that would be needed to beat that damn thing.
"Not to worry," the blonde woman said with a mysterious air. "I come bearing gifts."
"The coffee?" Misato looked down at the mug, thoroughly confused. "Thanks, but it doesn't really help me…"
"Not that," She cut her off curtly, reaching into her pocket to retrieve a small data card. Raising an eyebrow, Misato took it and plugged it into her computer terminal, frowning in confusion when a video popped up and began to play.
"What the hell…" she muttered as she watched what appeared to be an old news report. It showed a JSSDF military drill team performing a rifle routine for a crowd of bored spectators. It was certainly an impressive display, but she still didn't understand what good Ritsuko thought it would do her.
"Notice how they all move in perfect synchronicity. What does it remind you of?" Ritsuko asked slowly, waiting for her groggy friend to catch up.
"…The Angel?" Misato eventually answered uncertainly, wondering where this was going.
"The Angel." Ritsuko nodded. "As I'm sure you're aware, military recruits learn drill for a reason. It conditions you to respond to orders instinctively, teaches discipline, teamwork, and to trust your comrades unconditionally…"
"I know Ritsuko," Misato replied irritably. "I was in the damn army, remember?"
"Well, don't you think it might be a good way to get the kids to work together?"
Misato scoffed at that. "Yeah, right. What do you want me to do, dress up like a drill sergeant and yell at them? They'd just laugh at me!"
"Maybe you're right," the blonde said with a knowing smile. "If only we knew a big, scary military officer who happens to be an expert at teaching drill, and who's going to have nothing better to do for the next few weeks. Someone the kids know and trust, but who could still instill a bit of fear and respect in them…"
It suddenly all clicked into place into her head, and Misato couldn't help but plant a kiss on her friend's cheek as she suddenly stood, almost knocking down her piles of paperwork. "Rits, you're a genius!" she exclaimed.
"No argument there," she replied with a smirk, "But this actually wasn't my idea. Read the note." With that, the scientist turned to leave, giving her friend a cheeky wave as she slipped out the door. Looking down at the data card, she noticed for the first time the little handwritten note taped to the side.
Hope this helps, got the idea from watching your sweetheart on parade yesterday, the writing, which she immediately recognized as Kaji's said. Last time I saw him, he was down at the Sunrise Tavern. I'd start looking there. The note ended with a tiny heart, which despite herself she couldn't help but crack a smile at, before she decided that the paperwork could wait and hurried out the door.
The Sunrise Tavern was something of a local institution in Tokyo-3. Run by an Australian expat and decorated in the style of a traditional English pub, it was a popular drinking spot for NERV's foreign personnel, as well as among the mechanics and techs. Misato arrived there at around 7:30 AM, and was shocked to see the state of the establishment as she stepped through the doors. Tables overturned, broken glass everywhere, and the shelves behind the bar almost completely bare.
Several of the culprits remained at the scene of the crime as they slept off whatever happened here last night, and she recognized one of the ground crew, passed out on the small stage where the bar often featured live music, a half-empty beer mug still clutched in one hand. Gingerly stepping towards him over the glass-strewn floor, she bent down to give him a few light slaps on the face to bring him about.
"Oi, you, I'm looking for your boss. He still around here?" she demanded of the groggy man, who seemed barely able to lift his head off the floor to squint at her.
"…Huh?"
"Oh for god's sake." She could see he was in no state to answer her questions, so she left him and made her way over to the bar, where the establishment's proprietor was busy wiping down the counter.
"Excuse me," she asked the burly Australian man, who looked her up and down with a suspicious glare. "I'm looking for a guy who was here last night. Blonde hair, grey eyes, about yay tall." She held her hand about 9 inches above her head. "Have you seen him?"
The man nodded, answering her in accented Japanese. "Bloody right I seen 'im. That damn Canuck owes me for all the booze him and that whole NERV crowd drank last night. Said to put it all on his tab, and they kept going till the wee hours of the morning, carousing, and singing, the whole nine yards. Then the bloody drunken fool and all his pilot pals stumbled away when I had me back turned. Haven't seen 'im since, dunno where he went." He leaned forward to jut a finger under her nose. "If you run into the bugger, tell 'im the next time he sets foot in here, he'd better have my damn money."
"Okay…" Not a huge help, but at least she knew that he wasn't here anymore. Heading back out the door, she figured he would probably be somewhere between here and the apartment complex, and started off in that direction. If he was as far gone as the bartender said he had been, he probably hadn't made it too far.
Making her way down the street, she saw that life was more or less carrying on as normal in Tokyo-3, despite the looming threat of the regenerating Angel just over the hills to the south. There was a distinctly tense mood in the street, though, people seeming to hurry a bit more as they went about their errands, casting furtive glances at each other all the while.
Sure enough, about two blocks away from the bar, Misato heard snoring coming from a narrow alleyway as she passed it by, and doubling back found the reprobate fast asleep with his back against a dumpster.
"Geez, and I thought I had a problem," she muttered to herself as she approached. It took a moment for her to realize what she found so odd about his appearance. For the first time she could recall, he was wearing civilian clothes, a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. It was like seeing a tiger without its stripes. He also wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, pulled down low over his eyes as he contentedly snoozed away the day. "C'mon you lousy drunk, get up!" she shouted as she kicked the bottom of his shoes.
"Ugggghh." He let a low groan and slowly lifted the brim of his hat, revealing bloodshot eyes that seemed to take a moment to notice her. "…Katsuragi? That you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Get up and get yourself together, I need your help with something."
"…Nah."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he drawled as he pulled the hat back down over his eyes. "Jets're all out of ammo. Nothin' more I can do."
"No, there's something else," she protested, "I-"
"I don't care. I don't think I could even stand up right now, and If I could, I'd go straight home and sleep for about a week straight." He cracked a small smile. "Tell ya what, if I wake up and the world's still here, I'll assume you won. 'Till then, leave me the hell alone."
"So that's it?" she demanded. "You're just gonna lay here until the world ends?"
"Do you have any idea what flying three of those missions in a day does to a person?" he asked without moving. "I'm beat to hell, and so are all my pilots and ground crew. Thought we deserved a little celebration and a rest after we did our jobs so well, what more do you want from us?"
"I'm not asking them, I'm asking you." She tapped her foot impatiently. "I need your help with the kids."
"Ah yes, the kids," he said with a bitter chuckle. "Seems to me that what happened yesterday is a perfect example of why you shouldn't send them to do an adult's job."
She sighed wearily. Why did everything and everyone in her life have to be so difficult? "I don't know how many times I need to explain this to you, but-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he slurred his words slightly as he mustered his strength and managed to stand, leaning heavily against the dumpster as he gained his bearings. Frowning in confusion, he lifted the hat off his head and examined it. "…Where the hell did I get this?" He looked over at his arm. "And what the…" he lifted up his sleeve to reveal a fresh tattoo on his right bicep, the skin all around it still red and inflamed. "I don't remember having this yesterday…"
"Jesus, what where you guys drinking last night, grain alcohol?" Misato asked as she moved closer. She'd certainly had some wild nights in her time, but she couldn't recall ever having waken up in an alleyway with a tattoo she didn't remember getting. Well, except maybe for that one time in college...
Leaning in to get a look, she immediately burst out laughing when she saw it.
It was an image of a god's arrow dart, with a pair of feathered wings attached to its sides and the words 'DEATH FROM ABOVE" inscribed in a scroll that wrapped around its length. "We should have that put on a patch for your flight suits," she said with a chortle, glad she at least had something to laugh about.
"Oh my god.." the pilot groaned as he gingerly poked at it. "…That's not permanent, is it?"
"Sure looks like it, cowboy. Whose bright idea was that?"
The Canadian wracked his brain for a moment. "…I think it was Nagara's."
"The tiny little woman?"
"Mmhmm. She can put away more than you might expect. I vaguely remember all of the pilots and a bunch of the ground crew following her over to a tattoo parlour across the street from the bar…"
"Well, I guess you've got a new unit insignia," she said with a smile as he rolled his sleeve down. "Speaking of which, that bartender's looking for you. Says you owe him some money."
"Yeah, I know." He seemed to be able to take a few tentative steps now, stopping himself from throwing up with a visible effort. "May as well head back there so I can pay the man." He looked down at her with a small smile as they made their way slowly down the sidewalk. "Maybe he'll take pity on me and fix me a hair of the dog. I'm assuming I'm gonna need it."
Misato nodded, briefly explaining what she wanted from him as they made their way down the street. The major remained silent as he listened, though she could tell from his expression that he wasn't thrilled at the idea.
He continued to chew on it in silence as they entered the tavern and sat at a pair of stools in front of the bar. The Australian gave the major a withering look, snatching the cowboy hat off his head and returning it to his own, before placing a very long bill in front of him. His eyebrows shot up as he read down the list. "...Wow."
"Fuckin' A." The Aussie grunted, standing in front of them with his huge arms crossed. "And that's just the drinks. The damage you buggers caused to my bar is gonna run you some extra."
"Don't suppose I can write this off as a business expense," the major muttered as he reached for his back pocket and withdrew a fold of Japanese bills. He counted them all out under the bartender's watchful eye, seeming to come up a fair bit short.
"Terry," he said genially as the man snatched up the money. "…You know I'm good for it. NERV owes me a whole bunch of back pay that I'm supposed to get next week, I'll get you the rest then, plus a little something extra if you can fix me a Caesar…"
"Hm," The big man grunted as he pocketed the money. "Alright, canuck, but if you try to stiff me, I'll have your head stuffed and mounted behind the bar. Now what in the bloody hell's a Caesar?"
"Only the number one hangover cure on the planet, and my country's greatest scientific achievement. Like a bloody Mary, but with clam broth, hot sauce, Worcester sauce…" The Canadian trailed off when he saw an utterly disgusted look cross both the bartender and Misato's faces. "Y'know what, just give me a bloody Mary."
Misato was tempted to ask for one of the refreshing cocktails herself as the cool glass was placed in front of the major, but decided to press on to business instead.
"…Well?" she demanded of the man as he sipped his drink.
"Well what?" he answered wearily. "What do you want me to do, give 'em the 'full metal jacket' treatment? Teach 'em how to march up and down a parade square? What good do you think it'll do them?"
"It'll teach them some damn discipline is what good it'll do them." She answered firmly. "I know they're only kids, but that's the hand we've been dealt, and it's about time we started playing it properly. They're responsible for the fate of humanity, if being tough on them is what it takes to get them to take that responsibility seriously, and what it takes to keep them getting themselves killed in the next battle, then so be it."
"Hm." The major stared at the red liquid in his glass. "A nice old lady in Halifax told me something similar once."
"…What?"
"Nothing," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Anyways, there's only one way I know how to teach drill. It's the way I was taught, and they're gonna hate my guts by the end of it."
"Maybe…" Misato saw his lips twitch into a frown a that last thought. She knew he really did care about the kids, and was no doubt hurt by the idea of having to be the bad guy in their eyes, but she hoped he understood her reasoning.
"…But they'll be alive."