Everett could not put his finger on it, but there was something about RAF Lossiemouth that made it even more dismal than it felt. Perhaps it were the wrecks of several RAF planes that had been unceremoniously dumped onto the side of the runway, or the plentiful scars that marked the airbase's buildings and hangars. He had to admit, he had second thoughts about his commitment to the UNF when he first saw the damage; after all, this was no Balkan state that was just a hop away from the UNWO, this was Scotland, far into European territory. If the UNWO could threaten such a place, it meant that the UN was certainly in dire straits.

"Oi, Evy, are you in there?" A female voice, thick with a South African accent, asked suddenly, snapping Everett out of his thoughts. He looked back down from the ceiling at the woman seated opposite him. She was Zola, his weapons system officer. They had known each other from their time as mercenaries, but had only flown together in the same plane for a couple of flights. "Seriously, Evy, I can't believe you still get jet lag. You've been flying for...What? Six years now?" She said with a smirk and leaned back in her seat.

"Seven," Everett replied in a grumble and looked down at his empty plate. Now that he thought about it, the food was probably what gave him a bad feeling about the place. It was not bad by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact it was pretty good, but the portions were mediocre at best. Even after clearing his plate of everything, crumbs included, Everett still felt slightly peckish. While he understood that wartime conditions made simply getting an adequate supply of food an issue, "And it's not jet lag. I'm from the fucking tropics. The cold is playing hell with me." He said, picked up his mug with a hand and took a sip of the green tea he had brewed himself from a commercially bought teabag. It tasted stale, but at least it was something warm.

"I'm from Africa and I'm not feeling any worse for wear," Zola said. "'Sides, this can't be the first winter you've experienced."

"The last winter I experienced was in Croatia." He snapped. Just a week ago, he had been helping train fighter pilots destined for the skies above Syria and Iraq by flying the aggressor plane. He knew how the air forces of the UNWO worked, and his job, while boring to him, was vitally important to the UN air force. At least, that was what he had been told so many times that it lost its meaning and became just another phrase used by his superiors to explain why he had not been transferred to a combat unit. "That was nowhere as cold as this frozen hell."

Zola laughed and reached for Everett's mug. "I'll agree with the hell part, this base sure looks like one for the likes of us." She said and took a long sip. Everett arched a brow as he watched her, but said nothing. "Anyway, any plans for the day?" Zola asked and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. "I don't think they'll let us bring the Ghost up in this weather. I was thinking of checking out the town, you want to come along?"

Everett shrugged. "Eh, why not. Not like I've got-"

The loud, shrill alarm played over the PA system interrupted him and gave the both of them their plans for the day. "Looks like we're bringing the Ghost up, after all." Everett said and took one last sip of his tea before handing the cup over to Zola. She took a long gulp and set the mug back on the table before standing up. With only a few flights together, both of them were equally apprehensive about the challenge ahead. Their communication was passable, but it was far from being perfect, and in a combat scenario, anything less was potentially fatal.

"No time to waste, let's go!" Zola said and pretty much pulled Everett to his feet. They, along with a mass of other people, ran out of the mess hall and headed straight for the flight operations building. They hastily pulled on their G-suits and checked that everything was in working condition before rushing out of the building and onto the tarmac. They managed to hitch a ride with a vehicle transporting ordnance to their squadron. From the primarily air-to-air loads the vehicles were carrying, Zola guessed that they were being sent out to intercept an enemy flight. "Aerial combat," She said grimly.

"Aim, lock and shoot. Principles remain the same." Everett replied, though he was reassuring himself as much as her. They were both ground-attack pilots, with Everett having only marginal experience in air-to-air combat over the skies of Africa. It was going to be difficult getting accustomed to getting a lock and having to tell Zola to open fire rather than pulling the trigger himself, but he was confident that the two of them would be able to pull it off without any problems. 

They hopped off the vehicle once they were at their aircraft. The Ghost of the Straits, or The Ghost for short, was a heavily modified Su-24 Fencer. "Nothing we can do here until the techies get things sorted," Zola said and nodded towards the Israeli Kfir and its pilot just two planes down from theirs. "There's our officer, I'd reckon. She does match the picture in the files they gave me."

"Same here," Everett said and started walking towards the officer. "We should talk to her. Maybe we can get some details."

"Right you are," Zola said and followed close behind. The high-pitched whines of the external APU systems feeding startup power to the engines of the assembled aircraft was deafening, and it made it hard to even think.

"Colonel Yosef?" Everett called out once they were close enough. "I am...Flight Lieutenant Everett Yang, and this is my WSO Flight Lieutenant Zola Vermaak." Their ranks were the ones they had when they left their respective air forces, and Everett did not know whether they were still legit, but it sure sounded a lot better than introducing themselves as rankless ex-mercenaries. "We're the crew of the Ghost of the Straits, that Su-24 two down from you. We were wondering if we could get any details on the mission ahead."