Avery leaned her head against the window, watching as planes came and went on the runways. It had been just under a week since the squadron's last sortie, and she was beginning to feel like she was going mad. If there was one thing that she hated, it was being left to sit around, twiddling her thumbs while everyone else was off fighting a war. She had gotten to the point where she spent at least an hour scrutinizing every little detail on the daily updates being sent out- just so she could try to piece together how things were going.

Suddenly, the door behind her opened, and Shepard came in. When she turned around and saw him already dressed in his flight suit, though, she felt heart skip a beat. "Glade, I've got some good news for you," he said, the corners of his lips already curling into a smirk.

The young pilot practically leapt to her feet. "You better not get my hopes up, sir. You have no idea how much this wait has been killing me." Her eyes were practically beaming with anticipation.

Shepard chuckled. "I admire your enthusiasm, kid. Back in the day, I was the same, but I think I'm a bit too old to have that kind of energy nowadays. Plus…" His expression darkened as his voice trailed off. "It's a bit harder to after the things I've seen."

"You mean Oceania?" she asked curiously, following close behind as her CO started toward the briefing room.

He nodded solemnly. "Among other things, yes, but Oceania was the first, and the worst."

She hesitated before saying anything, trying to choose her words as carefully as she could manage. There wasn't exactly a right thing to say, but there were definitely several wrong ones. Eventually, she decided on just one question. "What was it like?"

Shepard was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts, his memories, his suffering- into as clean a thought as he could manage. With a war like Oceania, though? There was nothing clean about it. "It was… shitty," he finally said. "The Cabal was insane- everyone knew that- but with the way things unfolded, you'd have to sit and wonder if the Federation was much better- especially the Cascadians."

Avery flinched at that final remark, gazing up at him with a curious expression. "What do you mean by that?" The question came out with a tad more hostility than she intended it to, but Shepard didn't seem to pick up on it.

"You'd think the grudge was personal the way they fought the Cabal. To call them ruthless would be an understatement. Granted, they were far from alone in that regard, but they took it to an extreme. And it only got worse toward the end when things… took a turn. You'd think they formed a cabal of their own with the way they carried on- like they found… something." As Shepard continued on, Avery noticed something in his eyes. It was faint, but the more he explained, the more she saw a hint of fear. He shook his head in the hopes of clearing away any bad thoughts. "It was a horrible situation all around," he concluded as the two of them finally reached the briefing room.

Avery said nothing. She just followed him in and took her usual seat while her mind raced with thoughts. Was that why everyone here seemed to look upon her with such scorn? The scars of a decade and a half old conflict? It was a thought that left her with more questions than answers, and yet it still felt like a massive piece to the puzzle that she'd been missing.

"Alright, Locksmith, I know you've all been very eager to get back up since your last sortie," Grayson began. "We've had a very chaotic week, so I thank you all for bearing with me. With any luck, though, you'll be going up far more frequently after this." He turned toward the map of Cascadia on the screen behind him. "Fortunately for us, Major Ackers' tactical intel was exactly the game-changer we were hoping it to be. We've routed the rebels' advances in the north and put them on the back foot, allowing us to focus the brunt of our forces toward our main objective at the moment: Presidia."

Avery listened on intently. She could feel it deep down in her bones. They were so close to taking back her city that she could practically see it clear as day. She just hoped that the rebels had left the city in an at least somewhat salvageable condition.

"However, there's been something of a… complication within the last few days," Grayson carried on. "A third party has entered the fray: mercenaries pouring in from the Periphery. Already there are several high caliber mercs that have been proving to be exceedingly difficult to deal with. As of now, keeping as many mercenaries as possible from entering Cascadia has become one of our top priorities. Fortunately, Border Control has been working around the clock with Federation Intelligence to pinpoint as many mercs as possible before they enter the country. Your goal today, Locksmith Squadron, is to intercept one of the largest of these border crossings."

Cutter studied the map intently. "So, who's the target? What kind of firepower are we talking about here?"

"The majority of them are a detachment from a large mercenary corps called the Octant Group. However, Intelligence suspects that quite a few freelance mercenaries will be tagging along as well," Grayson explained, pulling up shaky and blurry photographs of planes all bearing the mercenary roundel. "According to our estimates, they'll be crossing northeast from the Aitor Desert, presumably to link up with a small pocket of rebels hoping to establish a foothold in the south. However, you five will intercept them at the border, keeping them from ever arriving."

"Is it going to be just us going up against them?" ASH asked.

"Ideally, yes. Until reinforcements from the core states can start arriving, we have a lot of ground to cover with a minimal number of pilots. If things get tricky, though, the airship Verrigan will be close enough to provide assistance. Any other questions?"

The pilots all looked at each other and shook their heads. A few moments later, they were all heading toward the hangars, ready to take to the skies once more. There was a tension in the air that everyone could feel was there, but nobody risked acknowledging it- not until they were making their final checks before takeoff.

"So… mercenaries, huh? Never would've thought," Avery said, finally breaking the silence that had been present since they left the briefing room.

"Mercenaries are nothing but bloodhounds," Shepard spat with a level of vitriol that felt downright uncharacteristic of him. "All they do is make things worse- let their lust for greed blind them to the suffering they inflict everywhere they go. It was only a matter of time before they started seeping in like mold."

"Then I guess it's a good thing we're stepping up to the plate to keep too many from getting in," Cutter suggested, shrugging as he climbed into his plane. "Don't you worry, Mitch. Once we show 'em they ain't welcome in Cascadia, they'll get the message."

As Avery went through her system checks, she glanced over to Shepard. He said nothing in response to his wingman. He simply looked down at his cockpit as it gradually came to life. Avery watched on with a hint of regret nagging at her. She couldn't help but feel like this was her fault- at least partially. She shouldn't have pressed about Oceania.

Eager to change the subject, she lowered the visor on her helmet and fastened her oxygen mask over her mouth. "Locksmith 6, ready for takeoff," she sounded off.

ASH did the same. "Locksmith 5, ready to go."

"Locksmith 3, standing by."

"Locksmith 2, good to go."

There was a brief pause, punctuated by a heavy sigh. "Locksmith 1 ready, requesting takeoff clearance."

"Locksmith Squadron, cleared for takeoff," ATC replied in an instant. "Taxi to runway 2-1 then climb to angels 15."

Shepard led the way, as he usually did. One by one, the others followed him out of the hangar and onto the runway, and they took off shortly thereafter. As her wheels retracted into the fuselage, Avery formed up alongside her squadron while they climbed. To be back in the cockpit after what felt like ages was beyond exciting; it was downright invigorating. She didn't realize how much she missed the feeling of being airborne until she was back up in the sky. Not long after, though, her eagerness was very swiftly tempered by the realization that they still had to fly all the way to the AO, and with Padlock still giving her the silent treatment, and Shepard still clearly bothered by the news of mercenary, conversation was going to be few and far between.

To her own surprise, however, the flight down south wasn't nearly as long as she thought it was going to be. Unfortunately for her, though, she only knew this because their arrival was punctuated by North Star. "Locksmith Squadron, be advised, we've got confirmed mercenary IFFs crossing into Cascadian airspace- looks like an advance element for the main force. Prepare to engage."

"Might as well flash 'em the usual warning," ASH suggested.

"Not that they deserve it," Shepard replied before taking a heavy sigh. "Attention all mercenary aircraft approaching into Cascadia. As of two weeks ago, all inbound flights to Cascadia have been grounded or diverted away. If you do not change course immediately, we will respond with deadly force. This is your first and only warning, mercenaries."

Silence…

"Guess we've got our answer, then," North Star said. "Locksmith, push bearing 100 and maintain current angels. You're weapons free on all mercenary IFFs in the airspace."

Avery looked down at her radar, confirming five hostile aircraft straight ahead. As she looked back up, they all appeared on her HUD. It was a non-uniform flight- all different aircraft from one another. They were definitely mercenaries. As she followed her squadron in, she flicked the master arm switch readied herself. The fight was on. "Locksmith 6, engaging."

"Alright, we're man-to-man, here. Everyone, pick a target and stay glued onto 'em," Cutter ordered. "We need to take these guys out before the rest get here or we'll be in deep shit."

Avery called out the SV-37 on the far-right edge of the formation and lit her burners to meet it head-on. An MLAA from this far away straight ahead would surely miss- she knew that for just about certain. No, she'd need to get in close for this. Her quarry felt the same, as neither of them fired a shot- not yet, anyway. It was going to come down to who was quicker on the trigger. Avery kept her eyes glued to quickly decreasing distance to her target, waiting until it in range. The STDMs started growling to life, keeping a low tone as they stalked their prey. Neither plane deviated course- not yet. As soon as the missile found its target, her finger squeezed on the trigger acting on nothing but pure instinct. A missile alert in her own cockpit followed shortly after, and both planes went evasive as the dance began.

Avery reached to deploy countermeasures without a moment of hesitation. Her other hand, gripping tightly onto the stick, yanked left and pulled back hard, bringing her into an aggressive turn toward the SV-37. Both missiles went wide, careening off into the sky after they lost their lock before detonating harmlessly in the distance. However, the fight had only just begun. While the Viggen was busy trying to shake the missile headed towards it, Avery took the opportunity to get in nice and close- close enough that she could see the chips in the gaudy paintjob it was sporting. She let out a burst of tracers toward the bandit, but they were quick to react. Before the last of her shots left the gun's barrel, the merc pilot was already inverted and diving away. Rather than chasing directly after them, Avery banked right, hoping that she would cut him off on the way back up, and fortunately for her, she was right. The Viggen pilot was helpless to do anything as her other STDM launched off the pylon and sailing directly into the SV-37, blowing it up on the spot.

"Locksmith, the main group is almost on you- ETA two minutes," North Star warned. "You've gotta hurry up or else you'll end up getting swarmed."

"These guys aren't exactly making things easy for us," Pad responded with a distressed grunt as he persisted through the g-forces pressing down on his body. "Not to mention the fact that we're gonna end up outnumbered anyway."

As much as Avery loathed the AWACS, she had to admit that he at least took his job seriously. "I'll see if the Verrigan is able to provide support, for now, just keep at it," he assured the pilots, already working toward a solution.

Avery looked down at her radar, taking stock of who all needed her most. She eventually settled on Padlock- especially since he was the one closest to her- and turned in his direction. The MG-29 glued to her wingman's tail was relentless. With each turn Padlock made, the merc seemed to almost anticipate it. With each evasive maneuver he took, Pad found the gap between himself and his pursuer growing ever shorter. She was moments away from firing one of her MLAAs but stopped when she glanced back down at her radar, specifically toward the incoming mercenary convoy. She switched back to guns, opting to save her missiles and instead close the gap between herself and the two pilots locked in combat by lighting her burner. With each moment she spent closing in, she waited longer and longer for the merc to react to her presence, but they gave no indication that they even saw her. By the time they did, though, it was already too late. A short burst from her gun, followed quickly after by a longer one after realizing it didn't do the job, was all it took to send the plane spiraling down to the ground below.

"Looks like that's the last of the ones on point," ASH observed as the last hostile contact in their immediate vicinity vanished from their scopes.

"Now the real challenge begins," Shepard replied. "Locksmith, form up on me. Let's send these mercs packing."

Directly ahead of them, just shy of 3 dozen mercenary aircraft were closing in fast. Most of them were fighters- an assortment of all kinds of bandits- but bringing up the rear was a handful of transports and even an AWACS. It was a good think Avery still had six missiles left, because she was going to need every last one of them. The missiles began tracking eagerly, waiting for the slightest hint of an enemy radar signature, and when they did, Avery let two of them off her pylons. They moved in unison for a time, but as they got closer to their targets, the two missiles split off from one another. One went straight for one of the lead planes, while the other sailed right past the fighters and instead toward one of the transports. They both hit their targets with ease, and with the missiles that the rest of the squadron fired off alongside her, the mercenaries' formation was already broken, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

The Federation pilots went charging in as soon as blood was drawn- not unlike bloodhounds. Meanwhile, Avery opted to keep her distance. After all, with both of her Fox 2s used up, she was going to be at a disadvantage at short range. She'd be far better off taking on the mercs from outside their range, so that's exactly what she did. Her first target was an easy kill- although it was admittedly more or less stolen since Cutter was the one that put him in such a vulnerable position to be taken down, which he was clear to voice his objections to. Her second target was better off than the first, dropping chaff and even trying to notch her missile. Unfortunately for him, though, he acted just a moment too slow, and the missile caught him mid turn. By the time she fired her third missile, leaving just one left hanging off her wing, it became clear to Avery that she'd need to get in close. They just needed on last push to finally finish off the last. Her missile just barely missed its target of an F/E-18, but in evading it, the pilot put themselves right in Shepard's sights. This was it- now or never. Avery fired off her last missile toward the AWACS, already trailing smoke from a strafe that Padlock made on it. In the state they were in, there was nothing they could do. More importantly to Avery, though, she had didn't have to deal with missiles weighing her down, allowing her to chase down the last bandit with all the speed she needed. Shepard fired off his last missile, forcing the mercenary to drop countermeasures as they took evasive action, but in doing so, they chased themselves right into Avery's gun sights. To their credit, they held on for quite a while, but there was only so much he could get away with jinking when a full squadron was after you.

"Looks like that was the last of 'em." Avery noted, looking around through the sky and seeing nothing but her own squadron. "To be honest, Grayson made it seem like they'd put up more of a fight."

"For you maybe- after all, you were doing nothing but clinging to the edge of the furball and picking them off at the edges," Cutter teased her.

Avery shrugged dismissively. "It's like you said, Cutter. Kills are kills. I'm here and they're not. I'd call that a win."

"Standby," North Star interrupted. "Is that…? Shit! Locksmith, disengage- retreat from the AO immediately, we've got more bandits coming in fast- same bearing as before."

"Damn, we don't have the ammo or fuel to take them on. Locksmith, let's hurry up and turn tail before they can get too close," Shepard ordered, waiting until all of his pilots were headed back before he took his position at the front of the formation. "North Star, you got anything more for us?"

"Intel suggests they're a pack of mercenaries from the equatorial Periphery called the Thorn Rose Group. You might not wanna mess with these guys even if you did have the ammo to take them on. Don't worry, the Verrigan's getting on station. They'll give you your opening to slip away."

Just as soon as Avery took note of the 20 hostile aircraft quickly gaining on them, a friendly air cruiser made its presence known. They wasted no time in putting themselves in the mercs' way, and before long, they were engaging with them. Luckily for Locksmith Squadron, the mercs were all far too preoccupied with the 205-class cruiser to pay them any mind, and before long, they were safely outside the AO- free to head back to Prospero at their own leisure.

As was to be expected by this point, Grayson was waiting expectantly for them once they returned. If Avery didn't know any better, she might've thought that he had done nothing but stand in that same spot since they left. After all, it was the only place she ever seemed to find him nowadays. Although, given everything that he's been tasked with coordinating practically by himself, she didn't exactly blame him.

One the pilots were all seated, Grayson cleared his throat. "Locksmith Squadron, the intercept was a success. It's estimated that you destroyed at minimum of 80% of the Octant Group's active personnel, and I'm sure the remaining 20% will think twice before even looking at Cascadia the wrong way. As for the last minute additions…" he paused for a moment, taking the time to gather his thoughts up before he pressed on. "The Verrigan did a sizable chuck of damage to their squadrons before they had to pull out, but unfortunately the mercs did make it into Cascadia proper. Border Control is putting together all the intel they can find on them, but as of now, we've got far bigger concerns to worry about." He stopped to offer the pilots a reassuring smile. "Get some rest, Locksmith Squadron. We're going to be expecting quite a bit from you in the coming weeks. I hope you all take the time to enjoy this brief respite you've had while it lasts, because in a few days' time, the first forces from the Federation Mainland arrive. And that's when our work will truly begin."