The squadron had recovered to the fantastical sub-carrier with (thankfully!) no casualties or incidents. Now, their aircraft had been maneuvered carefully into parking and maintenance spots, their wings and other extremities folded for storage, and ground-crews swarming them for post-flight maintenance and down-loading of remaining munitions. Ariella saw her pilots deplaning and waved to gather them to her side. As she did so, she congratulated them all in person and individually on a job well done, smiling as she did.
"Colonel Yosef?" enquired a male voice behind her, and she turned to face the speaker. A youngish man dressed in a UN Navy uniform stood patiently behind her, the perfect caricature of poise and bearing. He offered a salute - British fashion, open handed - to her, and she returned the gesture.
"Welcome aboard, M'am. Captain Halifax will be with you shortly, he's just securing the ship from flight operations and setting us about our latest orders. My name is Gates, I'm the captains XO. He asked me to show you around, and answer any of your immediate questions. If you please?" he gestured toward the rear of the hangar, and lead them on, explaining as he went.
"The ships' history is available on the internal network, which you'll all get access keys to shortly. She was originally designed by the Russians, but now belongs to Avalon and the UN Navy. Ah, here we are-" he gestured to a door to their left. "Here's the equipment and survival equipment shop for flight ops. You'll find a ready room next door for your flight suits, and some showers and changing facilities. I'll meet you out here".

Some few minutes later, Ariella rejoined him in the ready room, and he explained further once the squadron were reunited.
"Yes, as I was saying - we can support up to fifteen aircraft for flight operations, as well as having limited surface and sub-surface combat capabilities. Since we can support fixed and rotary-wing ops, we can also deploy Special Operations forces to shore, and boarding forces to other vessels. So, we're quite flexible, if unconventional. And the ship requires a lot of maintenance. We are, quite admittedly, making it up as we go. However, at the moment, we're something the UNWO won't expect, and we're ready to go."
He gestured to the door, and led them along a cramped passageway, and up a ladder to another deck. stepping through a door into a small room, he was met with another crewman who stood up to attention, before being waved at ease. Nodding to the pilots hesitantly, he looked to Gates, who explained.
"This is Yates. He's part of the ships' complement looking after requisitions and equipment. Particularly, he's currently looking after personal equipment and electronics, and he's reconditioned and prepared a number of personal computers for you".
Gates handed a stack of small tablet-like PC's to Ariella, who distributed them to the others.
"The ships' wired for data everywhere, so we use the network to update standing orders, schedules, notices and other information. It's much easier and more efficient than paperwork, and can be done instantaneously. There's not much of a link with the outside world when we're submerged, but we use databursts for updates through a mast-mounted antenna when necessary, and have a SATCOM link when surfaced. The ship has a huge electronic library though, including all the documents for bringing yourselves up to speed on the ships' rules, regulations and operations."
"Sounds very concise," said Ariella, powering hers up briefly, and flicking through a few pages. "And much easier than endless briefings"
"That's the idea," Gates conceded. "Though don't worry, we still do those too".
She gave a slight grin and chuckled, and Gates followed suit. "So, what next? Where will we be based? Are there bunks?"
"Yes, please follow me".
He lead them a little further along the corridor, and into a relatively larger room. Space was still limited, but double-stacked bunks lined the walls. Comparatively, they were small compared to the quarters back on base, but they were spacious for a submarine. Each was capable of being completely enclosed with a folding sound-proof partition for privacy and comfort, and had storage lockers alongside, larger than a regular submarine and more like a high-school locker. Additionally, there were two bathroom/showers off of the main room. Each of the bunks also had a built-in smaller storage compartment, and an overhead larger screen and headphones.
With the aviators present, eight in total, there were a surplus of bunks. Four more looked in use, she reasoned for the crews of the Osprey and Helicopter she'd seen secured on the deck. That still left a number free, presumably for additional aircraft.
"Okay," she said with a nod. "Everyone, pick out a bunk. It's not as cushy as land-side, but it's not as miserable as an aircraft carrier. It's your own little piece of home; get used to it for now."
She turned back to Gates, who was still picture-perfect. He gave that slight smile again and nodded. "I'll leave you to get settled for now. Your pad - that's what we call the tablets - has a map on it, as well as a listing of normal operations. my contact details are on there as well, if you have any further questions, and Captain Halifax will contact you shortly too".
Gates excused himself, and Ariella turned back to the others.
"Okay, let's get ourselves sorted and, uh, 'shipshape'? When the captain comes looking, I want to make a good impression. This compartment looks good, but let's see if we can't make it a little more 'ours' over the time we're here, huh? And," she rapped the little computer against her knuckles. "Maybe we ought to go over these things together, and see what else we can find out about this ship." she smiled at the others. "Any other questions, please ask me - I'm sure we've got plenty of getting to know each other to do. We've only flown together once, and while we did well, we can always get better. I'd like to get to know you all, and I'm sure you've got questions for me. Or at least, I hope so. And maybe I'll have some more answers once I read this thing".
The Israeli pilot slung her bag onto one of the bunks and quickly unpacked the meager possessions within - most of her stuff had been in the quarters at RAF Lossiemouth, and would hopefully catch her up - before she sat down at the small table in the center of the room, and began to read. Within a few minutes she'd caught up on the latest development of the situation and their current orders for deployment, and felt confident that she could answer any questions regarding that fact. Next, she moved onto learning about the ship - the Nimue - and its' layout.
"Well, getting somewhere," she murmured to herself. "Now I don't feel quite so lost..."

Miyoshi responded to the Colonel's congratulations with a smile, a "thank you", and a traditional bow. No amount of Westernization could shake her Japanese upbringing. The squadron had performed well and the flight lead wasn't afraid to say so. Miyoshi had flown under some flight leads in the past that were never congratulatory or even complimentary to their pilots, and a communicative and positive flight lead was something Miyoshi valued more than most.

Soon, a man who identified himself as the carrier's executive officer arrived and began the guided tour, during which Miyoshi was silent yet curious. After a brief pause to let the pilots change out of their flight suits and a distribution of the carrier's tablet PCs, the squadron found themselves in their bunk room.

Growing up in space-cramped Japan and particularly the Japanese military, Miyoshi actually found the accommodations to be quite comfortable. The ability to siphon off your own bunk to be a soundproof privacy module, as well as both a tablet PC and an overhead screen with headphones, seemed generous at the very least. Placing her personal bag in the small storage compartment, she began to acclimate herself to her new maritime home. She turned on her tablet PC first, sifting through several pages much like Ariella had done, and set it aside to converse with her flight lead.

"Colonel, if I may, what do you think of this carrier so far? I haven't stopped being fascinated since I saw it from Massao...my plane, I mean," she asked, clarifying herself at the end. She had plenty of time to get to know her squadron, but she figured she wouldn't leave Ariella hanging after her call for questions. She hoped the flight lead wouldn't react negatively to her quick response.

As they were shown some parts of ship, being allowed to change at one point, Adriana couldn't help but swipe through a lot of the available content, just about spacing out on everything else the XO was saying. Once they arrived at the bunk room, her sister nudged her, bringing her attention to the room. "Wanna sleep in the bunk above me?" Rikke asked, Adriana nodded and followed Rikke to two empty bunks, Rikke barely sitting on the bottom bunk and Adrian crawling into the top bunk. "Funny as it is, its quite comfortable in these" Adriana mentioned with a small laugh, then crawled back out and stood in front of her sister. "I hope our stuff from the base comes over, I really need my music for the slow days" and the two continued with some idle chatter.

The closest Zola ever got to travelling across the seas was when she flew across the Mediterranean to throw in her lot with the UN, and thus she found herself feeling completely lost even as she stood around the nose of her aircraft beside Everett. Landing on an aircraft carrier would have been different enough for her, but a submarine aircraft carrier? Just saying those three words in her head made her feel like breaking out into a fit of laughter; it simply sounded like something only an overly-imaginative ten year old would seriously consider to be an actual thing. "So, what now?" She asked, the silence between her and her pilot becoming far too awkward for her liking.

Everett nodded to their squadron leader, who was waving them over to her. "I guess a debriefing or something," He said and stretched his arms.

"Ah, right." Zola replied with a nod, her voice just above a mumble.

Everett looked sideways at her with a minute, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. "Don't worry, I was nervous the first time I was on a carrier as well. The Chinese make practical stuff, but they didn't really put much thought into crew comfort, if you ask me."

"Who's nervous?" Zola asked sharply and glared at Everett, who merely shook his head and chuckled before walking towards their squadron leader. As she walked behind him, however, she gave herself a little grin. It was nice to know that Everett could tell that she felt uncomfortable. No doubt it would pay dividends in later missions. Still, she could not shake the slight unease that clouded her mind as she followed behind her pilot towards Ariella. She much preferred wide-open spaces, having grown up in the wilderness of the South African bush. Yes, the cockpits of the planes she had flown were cramped, but she was never expected to spend any more than just a few hours a day in them.

The two of them stopped in front of the Colonel just as she was congratulating each of the pilots in turn. "We could've done better, I think." Everett said with a grimace when it came to their turn, earning him a quick elbow to the ribs from Zola. He was about to let off a caustic reply, but then remembered that the Colonel was standing right in front of them and held his tongue, though he did cast a dirty look over at his WSO.

"We both appreciate it." She said with a sweet smile. "I don't even think those bombers tried, if you ask me."

Not long after, the ship's executive officer appeared and quickly introduced himself before taking the squadron for a short tour of the hangar facilities. Were it not for the knowledge that they were on a massive submarine, Zola could have mistaken the facilities to be simply smaller and cramped versions of those in an airbase. She could barely feel a flutter through the floors of the submarine, which to her was odd, considering that her image of a submarine was essentially a long, cramped tube constantly filled with the smell of sweat and with vibrations from the engine reverberating through the hull.

She paid little attention to what was being said - she could always just ask Everett for details if needed - until they were given the tablets. "What's this?" She asked Everett as she gingerly took hers and turned it over in her hands.

"You would know if you were paying any attention," Everett said, sounding slightly annoyed. "It's supposed to make our lives easier. Orders and everything will come through them, so I guess we have to keep them with us at all times."

Zola nodded and continued following the squadron to the bunks. Now she paid her full attention to what was being said. Sound-proofed partitions, personal monitors and headsets, it all sounded too good to be true, and it only got better because Zola knew that it was all real. This was so much better than the bunks she was used to. RAF Lossiemouth had been a vast improvement over the hot and humid bunks of Africa and this was light-years away from them. "Y'know, I think I might actually get to like this place." She quipped and looked to Everett.

"It is...Comfortable," He said and cleared his throat. "But I imagine we will not be spending too much time here."

Zola walked forward and sat down on the bottom bed of the bunk closest to the door. "I'll take bottom, if you don't mind." She said.

Everett's response was a shrug as he shoved their only bag into the storage compartment. Being mercenaries, they did not have much in the way of personal belongings aside from clothes and other essentials such as phones, documents and the like. Zola would have bought some things to personalize her bunk had she known that they would be relocating to the carrier, but she barely had any time to roam around the towns around Lossiemouth between practice sessions with the Fencer and the Avalon-mandated conversations with Everett.

She flicked on her tablet and scrolled through a few pages, all of them about the carrier, before losing interest. Really, she only needed to know where the hangar, her bunk and the canteen was. Anything else she could just find out when needed. Seeing the Colonel sitting at the small table in the center of the room, Zola stood up and walked over to join her and the Japanese pilot. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Everett keenly studying the tablet and decided to just leave him be. He always got a little antsy when he did not get his 'alone time', as Zola had found out during their brief encounters in Africa.

"Hello," She said cheerily and stood beside the table. "This is all pretty damn amazing, if you ask me." She stopped, then realizing that the other members of the squadron most likely did not know who she was, decided to introduce herself again. "I'm Zola. Zola Vermaak. I fly in the Ghost of the Straits with Everett," She pointed over her shoulder to him. "Over there."

Ariella had been absorbed in the tablet, one leg crossed over the other, foot lightly bouncing as she read. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully as she read, before Miyoshi spoke up. Looking up, she smiled as the Japanese woman sat down.

"Colonel, if I may, what do you think of this carrier so far? I haven't stopped being fascinated since I saw it from Massao...my plane, I mean,"

"I know the feeling, Lieutenant," she answered, pulling up the schematic image she'd found and showing it to her. "I mean, all the submarines I'm familiar with are much more... conventional, big tubes or cylinders with a conning tower and a couple of fins. The Nimue, well - it looks like a space-ship, or a sea monster. And it's so huge. Almost the size of an aircraft carrier." She shook her head in amazement and gave a smile. "It's weird, and a strange beast for sure. Like something out of a cartoon, or a comic book. But, it's here and we're on it - I can't wait to see what it can do, and I'm glad it's ours".
Another friendly face from the squadron came up and introduced herself, drawing attention away from the conversation.

"Hello. This is all pretty damn amazing, if you ask me." She stopped, then realizing that the other members of the squadron most likely did not know who she was, decided to introduce herself again. "I'm Zola. Zola Vermaak. I fly in the Ghost of the Straits with Everett," She pointed over her shoulder to him. "Over there."

She nodded to the man, who seemed absorbed in his tablet (which was a good sign, she supposed), and then turned back to Zola.
"It's a pleasure to meet you - properly, at least. Obviously I've seen your dossier and we bumped into each other a few times. But it's nice to get a proper introduction. And yes, you're quite right - we were just talking about the same thing, as I'm sure you heard. It's fascinating that something like this exists. And not just that, that it seems to, well - work. I'm looking forward to finding out more." Frowing she set down the tablet. "Hmm. How about we go and locate the mess hall, and continue our conversation? I don't know about you, but I could certainly use something to eat after all the action earlier, and it's better to talk over food and a beverage. Not to mention, it'll help with finding our way around".

Farid's landing was almost screwed up. It took three attempts before he landed; the first one was abandoned because he approached at too high of an angle, the second attempt failed to catch any of the arresting wires as the runway unexpectedly moved down due to the tides, and the third caught the last arresting wire. Although it was far from good, at least he could take the pride of being the first Indonesian pilot to land an aircraft on a carrier, and he was quite happy about it.

As the squadron were basically introduced to the seemingly unearthly object they had just landed on and its insides, Farid allotted himself extra amount of effort on memorizing the layout of the place. To keep looking at his tablet for directions when his first sortie order on the carrier came up was the last thing he wanted. Only after he was sure he had memorized the place did he notice that the rest of the squadron were already having little conversations. He then stood on the squadron leader's opposite side of the table, not having intentions to sit down unless someone asked him to. "Has anyone got an update on the world news? I mean, as seen by civilians across the world?" he asked the rest of the squadron, who are still by many ways strangers relative to him. That question, in the middle of an ongoing war like this, had been the new 'how is the weather?' question for Farid.

After everyone landed, the squad got together behind Colonel Yosef. A man named Gates, apparently the captain's executive officer, took the group in a small tour around the not-so-usual carrier. Being already fascinated, Matt paid attention closely. He knew that - unlike in the Scottish base - they're in for the long haul here and such, he wanted to get familiar with the place. After meeting with another important crew member, Gates handed out tablets for everyone, explaining how the entire carrier is part of an internal network and such, they're able to see any sort of information they could possibly ask for on the device, including briefings and orders. Even though Matt wasn't the biggest techie around, he enjoyed and appreciated technology.

Eager to start using the tablet immediately, he decided to hold himself until the tour was done. He didn't even know where are the living quarters yet. His wishes were answered as they finally arrived to a larger room with double-bunks. They weren't too spacious nor too comfortable, but he was actually pleased with them. After all, this is a submersible aircraft carrier and the conditions were still better than what he was used to on normal carriers. As the Colonel said, it will be their "own little piece of home" for the time being. Seeing that some of his fellow pilots already picked a bunk, he settled on one of them as well. He took the top bed, the bottom still empty. He didn't really have any friends in the squad as of yet nor he had a piloting pair.

Finally getting time to use the tablet and dive into the knowledge base, he started with learning a little bit about the carrier itself, which - it turned out - was named Nimue. He did not have any questions to the Colonel as of yet and those that came into his mind were answered by the device. However, he started getting seriously hungry and more importantly, thirsty. He didn't even notice while in the air, but now that everything was settled, the needs stormed him. So when she offered to go to the mess hall with another pilot, he decided to join. He jumped off the bunk and asked the two: "I apologize for the interference, mind if I join?"

"Sounds like a plan," Zola said in response to Ariella's suggestion. With the dogfight and ensuing landing on the submarine carrier having previously occupied her mind, Zola had completely forgotten about her hunger. The last thing she had eaten was the breakfast offered at RAF Lossiemouth, and that had hardly been filling. She just hoped that whatever food that was on offer in the canteen was not too freeze-dried. A few days of eating those kind of foods, she could handle, but she could not imagine having to live on them for weeks or even months.

Just then, another pilot spoke up. Zola did not recognize him, but he seemed polite and friendly enough. "Sure!" She said with a nod. "More the merrier, yeah?"

Figuring that it would be more useful for Everett to know the other pilots, seeing as how he was the one flying the plane, Zola excused herself and walked back to her bunk. Her pilot was still reading through the tablet as if it were some best-selling novel and that simply was not going to do. She knew that if he had his way, that would be all that he did until he had finished reading through every scrap of information on the tablet, or at least until their next mission. Zola plucked the tablet from Everett's hands with a mischievous grin. "Oi, we're going to the canteen to get some food. You should join us." She said.

"I'll be the one to decide that," Everett replied with a scowl and snatched his tablet back. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up with you later. I want to know this carrier as well as I can."

"You can do that later," Zola said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We should get to know our squadron first."

"I said I'll join you all later, not that I won't join you at all." Everett said and looked up above the tablet. "We don't have to do everything together, we're not symbiotically linked."

Zola let out a huff and placed her hands on her hips. "Fine, but I'm coming back to drag you out if I don't see you there in half-an-hour." She said, as if she were disciplining a child.

"You do that," Everett replied in a mumble, his attention already shifted back to the tablet.

***

There was another member of the squadron who had spoken up earlier, asking about news of the world. That was the pilot Everett had been most keen on getting to know; as far as he knew, they were the only two who came from the South-East Asian region. Singapore and Indonesia had their differences in the past, but right now, Everett was just happy for there to be someone from the same region as he was. He reached into the storage compartment, pulled out his bag and rummaged around the inside, eventually pulling out a yellowed and crumpled newspaper from months ago.

"Hey, Indonesian," He called out. "I got sent this a few months back. My family knew some people who could get mail across the frontlines." Everett did not know about the other frontline regions, but he knew that there smuggling was a booming industry along the UNWO-UN lines between Russia and China. It was expensive, risky and sometimes even deadly, but for the right price, you could find someone willing to take whatever you wanted anywhere in the world. The newspaper had cost his family almost a month's worth of wages, and it was no surprise that it was the first and last of its kind Everett received. "Singaporean paper, but there's some things about Indonesia in it. Months old news, but its something, eh?"

Everett passed the paper to the Indonesian pilot with as friendly a look on his face as he could muster. "Everett Yang." He introduced himself.

November 18th, 5:47 hours
2018
Base aérienne 701 Salon-de-Provence
Bouches-du-Rhône (13) ,Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur
France

Far south from the British Isles, in contrast to the cold, unforgiving weather that his new teammates were facing up north, Natan was already cursing the hot, Mediterranean sun, which had decided to show up nice and early. Despite the early hour, the sun was already shining brightly at sunrise, as the Persian brought his fuel-deprived Tomcat around to land at the first leg of his journey to meet up with his new allies, who, unlike him, had already been in Scotland for the last few days. Unfortunately, an early release of an untested update for the F-14D+’s software left him grounded for a few days in the hot sun of the Negev desert while Avalon techies worked out bugs that had appeared in the avionics and systems, which continued a few days after the original time he was supposed to leave and it was only the night before that the last bug had been crushed. With that, Nate began a long, overnight flight to the west, which, after a couple of hours of tense flight in supercruise, had brought him to one of France’s two remaining airbases in the south, Salon-de-Provence Air Base.

However, as he turned the plane around towards the rising sun to land, he was astonished to see that the airbase was less a strip of tarmac in the middle of a typical southern French landscape, but instead, due to the heightened water level around it, the base had been practically turned into an island, with a few typical Mediterranean mountains rising out of the waters around it in an aesthetically breathtaking fashion. Or, if he remembered just what had been beneath those waters years ago; in a grim reminder of the past. A distance away from the base, part of a small church rose out of the sparkling water and Natan could see shadows of houses and former residences and business under the water. To him, the forms that formed shadows under the gentle waves and the small church that rose above were remnants of a tragedy still fresh in the minds of many. He grimaced as he remembered what he had seen of his hometown on a flyover of it years ago; nothing but water with a surviving minaret barely rising out of the waters, a visual analog to the scene here. The pilot clutched the joystick in frustration as he recalled the memory in his mind and he gritted his teeth.

“Unknown fighter, state your mission immediately!” A voice with a French accent spoke up on his comms, in an authoritative tone, knocking the ex-IRIAF pilot out of his thoughts. Natan sighed as he turned on comms on his side; he had to speak up at least a dozen times on the trip, due to the Avalon techies forgetting to set his own plane’s IFF codes to make him show up as a friendly. He made a mental note to chew up the next Avalon guy he saw as he began to speak.

“This is Captain Natan Winter, of the Israeli Air Force, on mission with the United Nations. Requesting permission to land and refuel.” His peculiar accent was evident and he wondered just what the operator was thinking as a short silence followed. Natan took the free moment to observe what was on the base. Surprisingly enough, despite the sorry situation around the base itself, BA 701 was in decent condition, as evidenced by the good variety of planes that were on ramps, being made re ady for combat, at least when viewed from Natan’s relatively high altitude. Aside from Alpha Jets used for the training facilities housed at the base, a bunch of Mirages were being armed and even a few Rafales, the French Air Force’s pride and joy, were undergoing maintenance, despite the early hour. Among the more famous fighters were a few gliders and prop aircraft for training both Air Force and Aéronavale pilots, along with a pair of Transall C-160’s near a hangar. In all, the base was surprisingly active. After all, along with Toulon, which had been rebuilt on an artificial island in order to further facilitate defense of the southern territories of France, this base was one of two airfields still operational in the Mediterranean south of France. Thus, its responsibilities not only as a air defense base but also as a training base had become essential and losing the base would be devastating, which explained the batteries of Crotale and Mistral SAM launchers that were positioned all around the base and the freshwater missile boats and hovercraft which were stationed at a small dock near the tip of the base’s “island”. Seeing as the strip was originally at the same height as the rest of the town, Natan deduced that a similar treatment to Toulon’s base had been done here before major damage could be incurred by flooding, saving many of the fighters at the base, along with adding two new strips of asphalt adjacent the original.

“We’re expecting you, Captain Winter. Land on the second strip and we’ll guide you to a ramp for refueling.” With a nod, Natan confirmed this over radio and brought his Tomcat around for a landing. Everything went smoothly; the plane was low on fuel and thus easy to maneuver, so the pilot of the large fighter had no difficulties in bringing it down on the freshly paved runway, which ran adjacent to the base’s original strip; the sole runway of the base before modernization following the events years ago. It was only now that he noticed the true state of things at the base. While there was no shortage of fighters, there was also no shortage of metal carcasses laying on the sides of the runway either. Natan glanced at an obliterated Rafale that was being looked over for salvageable parts by a few French Air Force soldiers as he taxiied past. A few of the men had noticeable injuries; in particular, one who looked like a higher ranking officer was completely bandaged on the side of his face. The aforementioned Transall C-160’s were being unloaded with what looked to be medical supplies and weaponry, such as missiles for the SAM’s situated around the base. In reality, it seemed, the base was in much worse condition than he had originally thought based on his view from altitude.

Within a few minutes of his landing, Nate had been brought to the ramp and a fuel truck was brought to refuel his plane. It would take him only a few hours to fly to Scotland, where he would then meet his fellow pilots and then transfer to the aircraft carrier they would be operating from. To be honest, Nate wished he could cut out the flight to Scotland and just go straight to the carrier, but orders were orders. This made him sigh as he looked over the refueling process from his cockpit. The French were efficient, even at the early hour and Natan silently thanked whoever had alerted the base in advance to him coming there, which saved him a lot of time. Eventually, Natan decided to get some fresh air and he popped open the canopy, just in time for a student from the air school to bring him a bottle of water and some saltless, flavorless crackers, which, while not especially friendly in terms of taste, at least didn’t carry much of a risk of sitting unwell in his stomach; a danger when in a dogfight. Natan shuddered as he remembered the last time he had vomited when flying. Needless to say, it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat.

Quietly chewing on the crackers as the plane was refueled, Natan jumped when he heard the winding-up of a siren. Natan urgently looked down at the crewmen working on refueling his plane. Unsurprisingly, they were as startled as he was. The pilot closed the canopy and opened up radio as the cockpit’s noise cancellation dampened the sound of the siren. “Control, this is Captain Winter. What’s going on out there?” He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat as the response came in.

“Captain, we have just detected five bogie headed towards this base. We are currently sortieing two Rafale to intercept. Please remain where you are.” As he said this, Natan saw the two fighters rolling down two different runways. Immediately, Natan questioned if two Rafales would be enough against five fighters.

“Are you sure only two fighters will be enough? I can sortie right now if-”

“Negative, Captain! Stay where you are. We have orders to refuel your plane completely before letting you takeoff. We are currently preparing two Mirage to intercept also-” This time, it was the French radio operator who was interrupted, but this time, it wasn’t by a voice of a human, but by the thundering sound of explosions as missiles destroyed the two French fighters, before they could even takeoff. Natan’s eyes widened as he witnessed the destruction.

Five fighters zoomed overhead at a low altitude, below the base’s SAM’s effective altitude. Nate only had a few seconds to identify the planes; four MiG-21 Fishbeds, looking to be at least somewhat modernized, being led by a plane that struck fear into Natan’s heart with its smooth and lethal looking fuselage; a highly-modified Flanker; equipped with canards and thrust-vectoring nozzles. All had quite the set of weaponry; a set of unguided bombs adorned the innermost pylons, short-range air-to-air missiles on the wingtips and, most interestingly, pods in between the bombs which had opened up to launch missiles at the Rafales, each containing two air-to-air missiles each. Following their strike on the Rafales, they gained altitude, probably preparing for another run at the base.

“I don’t care, sortie the students! We must protect this base!” A man yelled at the operator inside the tower, which Natan heard clearly as he still had his radio on and his mouth fell slightly agape at the thought of rookies fighting against five seemingly experienced enemies. This could not be allowed to happen.

Natan had to think fast. His cockpit indicators told him his plane was armed sufficiently; four Pythons under his fuselage, but most of the hardpoints were taken up by the now empty drop-tanks. His cannon was fully-loaded and his plane was now forty-percent refueled. Sighing, Natan made a decision. He tapped on the canopy to alert the men who were working on his plane and when they looked up at him, he made a throat-cut gesture and the apparent highest ranking man, upon seeing the gesture, hesitated before nodding and he told his men to disconnect the refueling equipment. When the man gave him a thumbs-up, Natan put his helmet back on and began to taxi to the remaining runway.

“Captain Winter! You are going against orders! Return to the ramp immediately!” The French operator barked at him. Nate simply turned off the radio as he came onto the only strip of asphalt that didn’t have a smoldering Eurocanard on it. Without waiting for confirmation to takeoff, he slammed the throttle forward and the Tomcat shot forward. When it had reached a high enough speed, Nate pulled the the stick back and the plane took off with few problems. First, he brought the plane into a vertical climb and gained altitude, flying above the clouds, before pulling back on the throttle and stick; once the plane was inverted, he rolled it over and flattened out, dropping the empty tanks as he did so. Glancing at the radar screen, he saw five blips heading towards the base. The fighters had completed turning around and were now heading in for another run. Natan didn’t have time to hesitate; if even only one of the fighters managed to drop its payload, the base was done for. Natan engaged afterburners and the wings of the Tomcat swept back as it rapidly accelerated towards the enemies.

Right as Natan was able to lock onto the bogies on radar, he dove the his plane through the clouds and as soon as he broke through the bottom of the cloud-layer and could see the enemies, he shot all of his missiles, which all hit the MiG’s in near synchronization. To his dismay, the Flanker flew out of the fireball with little to no damage. With only his cannon left, it seemed that he would have to fight the remaining bandit the old fashioned way. Obviously, the enemy pilot had seen him at this point and the Tomcat was still heading towards the Flanker from the front at a roughly forty-five degrees angle, so he rolled and made a sharp turn away to evade the Flanker’s lock-on. Chances are, it already was locked onto him, he just had to make it hard for it to the enemy to shoot him down.The wings swept forward to make the plane more easily handled at low-speeds, but the Flanker had no problems keeping pace with the less-modified fighter; its own easy turning facilitated by its thrust-vectoring abilities and canards. Natan could hear a shrill beeping as the enemy locked onto him. His own plane’s maneuverability was no match for this fighter and even if his Tomcat was faster, accelerating in a straight line away from the Flanker was suicide.

Instead, Natan decided to bring the fighter down towards the earth, slowly throttling up as he did so, until he zoomed over the airfield, just below the SAMs’ effective firing altitude. The Flanker evaded away; it was too unsure for him, if he was only slightly above the F-14, he’d get fired upon by the SAMs. He turned away, firing a missile at Natan, which was easily dodged and Natan used the shield given by the surface-to-air battery to turn towards the Flanker. Having picked up speed in his dive and flight towards the base, his turn had a large radius, but it was still enough to turn around and get behind the Flanker. Natan’s breaths were short and ragged as he was hit by incredible amounts of g’s and he struggled to stay conscious as his plane broke through the sound barrier with ease as it left the SAMs’ protection area. Finally, when the F-14 had arrived behind the Flanker, the Iranian had a chance to fire upon it, but the enemy used its superior mobility to go into a Cobra maneuver. However, Natan had been able to predict the maneuver by looking at the nozzles and canards of the plane and made his plane do the same maneuver; simpler and slightly less agile, but effective all the same.

BRRRRRRTT…

As soon as Natan had the Flanker on his nose, he pulled the trigger and opened fire with the twenty millimeter for barely a second. Even if he only fired for a moment, the enemy plane was torn apart and Natan saw an explosion from the cockpit as the pilot ejected. With his radar now clear, Natan turned on his radio and spoke to the base commander.

“Enemies down. No air-to-air casualties. Requesting permission to land and finish refueling.” Natan didn’t want to stay for much longer with him now running the risk of being grounded for disobeying orders, even to a foreign military.

“We cannot comply, Captain. One of the MiG’s crashed on the remaining strip. However, you now have orders to go directly to the new base. We have sent the location to your flight system. Best of luck, Captain.” The operator was noticeably ticked off and Natan could easily imagine why. Seeing the directions appear on one of his LCD screens, the pilot sighed as he continued his trip. Hopefully only thirty percent of fuel would be enough to last him until he got to the aircraft carrier, the pilot remarked as he flew away from the base towards the Atlantic...

---

Fortunately, Natan had enough fuel to get to the “Nimue”, as she was apparently called.

Unfortunately, he also had no room for failure. If he failed to land on the carrier the first time, he wouldn’t have enough fuel to try again.

“Just my luck…” Natan muttered to himself as the Tomcat headed towards the front of the carrier, as he had just been briefed over radio. To begin with, it didn’t look that much like an aircraft carrier, more like a starship from some sci-fi show. Approaching the ship’s bow, he slowed down and lowered his gear. The ship continued moving as he did so, which made the landing situation all the more stressful and a bead of sweat dripped down Natan’s brow. He assumed a carrier landing would be a lot like landing on an airfield with an arresting cable for shorter landings, but now he had to factor in the consequences of missing the cable. On a typical airfield or carrier, he’d have the chance to pull up if he missed. But what would happen on “carrier” such as this one? Natan was afraid to even imagine the consequences.

All this served to strengthen his resolve as he steadily descended towards the carrier. His angle of attack was perfect, as was his speed of descent. Now, he could only rely on luck. Moments seemed to last forever as he approached the carrier, until he finally hit the deck, smoothly and with little sound. The F-14 continued rolling… rolling... rolling…

THUD.

The hook latched onto the very first cable and after recovering from the abrupt stop, Natan let out a deep breath and silently congratulated himself and thanked God. After being directed for the second time that day to where his plane would be maintained and refueled, he opened the canopy and climbed down as crewmen secured the Tomcat and began work on the fighter. Frankly, Natan was surprised he hadn’t been damaged during the battle that day, but that was mostly down to him having the element of surprise against his enemies. He could only wonder why they hadn’t hadn’t seen him on radar though. Perhaps he could attribute that to luck, for once. Putting this aside, Natan now realized how cramped the hangar was and after stretching and rolling his joints around to relieve himself from some of the stiffness, he began walking through the hangar, observing a few of the other aircraft inside. Surprisingly enough, it was almost empty, save for an Osprey and a helicopter. Natan guessed that most of his new allies had not yet arrived, which gave him a bit of time to think things over before he’d be introduced to them.

“Captain Winter?” A young woman’s voice, confident in its tone came up from behind him and Natan turned around to meet a short girl, dressed in crew uniform looking back at him. “You haven’t taken off your helmet, sir.” Natan chuckled at this as he took off his helmet and spoke back to him.

“What’s up, kid?” Natan said in an equally confident, but tired tone as he put his helmet under his arm. He obviously didn’t look all that great after a long night and a morning dogfight, but he did his best to look good for the younger soldier. She practically tossed him a sandwich and bottle of water as he did so and Natan had to make a good effort to catch the two items as he carried his helmet under his arm.

“I have orders to show you around the Nimue, sir. Please follow me.” To Natan’s slight dismay, it seemed that the woman, who was based on her nametag, a Lieutenant Peterson, was much more down to business than he was. With a sigh, he began to follow her through the submarine carrier, taking note where each important part of things were. After spending a good hour wandering through the ship, stopping to let Natan change into more comfortable clothes, they arrived at the now empty ready room, where Peterson had him pick up a small computer before directing back towards the bunks. Leaving him at the door, Natan gave her a friendly wave, which was returned with a much more curt one as he entered through the door, his bag on his shoulder, his computer under his arm and a bottle of water lazily hanging in his left hand. Seeing that most of his squadron was there already, Natan quickly thought of something to say, something that would redeem himself for being so late compared to the rest of them…

“Hey, sorry for being late. What’d I miss?” He grinned slightly to shake off the awkwardness but realized rather speedily that he had forgotten an important thing. “Ah, right. I’m Natan Winter and I’ll be serving with you guys. Could I get a sitrep on things with you? So we’re all on the same page?” Hopefully, it was good enough, but his somewhat casual tone probably didn’t leave a great impression…

The woman who introduced herself as Zola piqued Miyoshi's interest. "So I'm not the only one who names her plane, huh?" she said, referring to Zola's "Ghost of the Straits" namedrop. "Glad to hear it. I'm Miyoshi, by the way," she said, bowing to Zola.

A handful more pilots joined the conversation, each of which Miyoshi greeted with a warm smile and a bow. She only knew her squadronmates by their squadron numbers and aircraft, and even then her knowledge was not great. She would have to learn all of their names and numbers so she could begin to associate "Excalibur whatever" with a face.

With all of the hubbub and excitement surrounding the mission, the harrowing landing on the new carrier, the guided tour and finally the chance to finally sit down and talk with the rest of her squadron, Miyoshi had forgotten all about her hunger, and when her flight lead said the words "mess hall", her stomach gave a harmonious growl. Her eyes went wide in surprise, and instantly returned to normal size as she relaxed. "That sounds...excellent," she responded to her flight lead.

Just then another pilot came in, one who identified himself as new. She wondered why he hadn't made the mission, but in this world and this occupation there were a million possible reasons. Nonetheless, Miyoshi gave her traditional greeting. The others are probably getting tired of that already, she thought, immediately returning her thoughts to her ravenous stomach.

Ariella was quietly pleased that her suggestion for food went down so well, and gave a firm nod of approval as other squadron members opted to join them. Sliding her chair out from the table, she paused as another of the squadron, Winter, introduced himself. "Well, Natan, we're all just heading to the mess hall. Why don't you join us and get acquainted? I'm sure we can all catch up with one another then".

Leading the way via the notes on her tablet, the Israeli pilot took them down the Port side corridor of the huge submarine. They passed several interestingly-titled rooms and areas, and passed through several frames and spaces of the ship, before taking a right that lead them to the ships' small but well-appointed wardroom/galley/mess hall. There were few personnel there at this time of morning; the normal breakfast hours had come and gone, but the cooks had seemingly been notified that the pilots had just come aboard, and there were a selection of minor breakfast and snacking items on offer, in the normal buffet/canteen style service common to military institutions across the world.
Ariella picked a couple of pastries, as well as glass of fruit juice; nothing too heavy, but good to fill the hunger in her belly. Taking a seat on a table to the rear of the room, she tucked in as she waited for the others to join her, before she spoke up.
"So, looks like we've got ourselves a regular International Summit of pilots here. Not to mention the range of aircraft we've got going here. I'm pretty sure we ought to be able to handle anything that comes up, one way or another".

A few others also joined the group along with Matt. The battle surely took a toll on everyone's energies here. Almost everyone's. A new guy chimed in, introducing himself as Natan and stating that he is part of the squadron as well. Matt checked him twice, to make sure he really didn't participate in the battle, as he acted all natural about it. Ignoring his first thoughts, he didn't question him about what happened and what's the reason for his late arrival. He was pretty sure he has a good reason and he was not the one to ask such questions anyway. The Colonel was perfectly fine with it.

After his introduction, Matt introduced himself to him as well and shook his hands in a friendly manner. After all, he was one of them, even if he wasn't present at the "team building" mission. Everything settled, the group started making their way to the mess hall. They went through more of Nimue's areas and walked quite a bit even though they were technically on a submarine, which do not tend to be spacious. The mess hall itself wasn't very large, but it had everything it needed for a carrier canteen. There was a variety of meals available, mostly smaller snacks.

After picking up just enough food to satisfy his hunger, he sat down to the same table as Ariella. He waited for everyone to take their seats before starting to eat, a habit he acquired back in his childhood. Very true. he said when the Colonel mentioned the squad's wide range of nationalities and aircrafts. "Real jack of all trades. Let's just hope we can become master of all as well!" he continued with a smile on his face.

Miyoshi followed the Colonel to the mess hall, and was pleasantly surprised with the food options on hand. She had certainly seen - and eaten - far worse. Picking up two cinnamon rolls and a glass of orange juice to start with, she sat down at the table third. Miyoshi smiled at the comments from Ariella and Matt. She spoke up after they finished.

"The flying that I was able to see was first rate," she commented. "I didn't see much because I was chasing after the missiles, but what little glimpses I saw of the rest of you guys were really quite impressive," she said, checking herself. She had a habit of complimenting profusely when it was deserved, and she felt that this was one of those times. Before she went on too long on how satisfied she had been with her new squadron's first sortie, she changed the focus to them. She would have to be more careful next time...unless they didn't mind the endless compliments? She'd have to find out.

"How was it for you guys? What kind of opposition did they send?" she asked, curious. She had scarcely seen another aircraft during her missile hunt, let alone an enemy fighter. For all she knew, the fighters could have been biplanes or PAK-FAs...though Overwatch had said to expect Su-27s or similar beforehand. Either way, she wondered how the modified antiques fared against whatever newer crop there could have been. Obviously they prevailed, but in what capacity? Her thoughts continued to whirlwind out of control until she came to her senses. I could just look up the mission log on the tablet... she thought to herself, calming her stream of consciousness.

Zola let out a low whistle as she saw, and smelled, the food available at the mess hall. She could certainly get used to this; it was not five-star dining, of course, but it was certainly a whole lot better than what Zola was used to, or had expected, for that matter. Still, she showed restraint; this was pretty much the first off-duty meeting of the squadron, after all, and she wanted to make a good impression. She took a few slices of ham, a fried egg and a cup of coffee before heading over to the table where Miyoshi had taken her seat. "Don't mind me," Zola said as she sat down opposite her.

"As much as I would like to, I can't take credit for the flying," Zola said with a grin as she heard Miyoshi's compliments. She took a sip from her coffee, immediately feeling revitalized, though whether it was from the caffeine or heat, she was not sure. Letting out a relaxed and satisfied sigh, Zola continued, "But I'll pass it on to Everett if he doesn't show up. I'm almost certain he would appreciate it."

Her stomach rumbled, as if reminding her that she had her food to attend to, and Zola happily complied, every now and then glancing down the table. A new pilot had earlier joined them and Zola had yet to introduce herself to him. There would be enough time for that, she supposed, but for now she just wanted to sate her hunger. She swallowed down the last bit of a slice of ham just as the woman opposite her raised her next questions. "The Bears were easy pickings, and we managed to score ourselves two Sukhois, if I'm not wrong." Zola said and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Su-27s," She clarified. "I've spent enough time in Africa running from them to know how they look from a glance. Feels great to be able to finally turn the tables on them."

She paused for a moment, then realized that everyone at the table was a pilot except for her. Maybe they had caught on to the fact that she was only a WSO, but just for clarification - and to make conversation - Zola said, "I flew in a ground-attack aircraft as a mercenary. Damn thing was about as maneuverable as a brick but struck as hard as one." With a chuckle, she added, "Imagine my surprise when I came to Avalon and they introduced me to the Ghost. The Su-24's a damn fine aircraft, but I'm still getting used to Everett's flying. He's one aggressive and determined son-of-a-bitch, I know that much."

"More practice and more working together will help - considering we hadn't even flown a single sortie before the bomber attacks, I think we did well to get as far as we did," Ariella replied to Matt. "We'll have a chance to develop our tactics as we go".
She ate a little more as Miyoshi and Zola spoke up more, carrying the conversation along, listening as her new squad mates spoke. Zola's story was fascinating, and she listened intently as she spoke, having never had much real contact with a mercenary, and especially not one so well-spoken and seemingly professional.
"I hate to bring up stereotypes," she said, listening to Zola, "but you're not what I expected from a Merc. Much more... professional than I imagined. And that's definitely meant as a compliment. And I have to say that both you and Everett have certainly shown your stuff." She nodded further to her reply to Miyoshi's question about the enemy aircraft. "Yes, Flankers and Fulcrums, this time around. Though they seemed to be earlier models, luckily for us. I suppose the UNWO weren't expecting as much trouble, or they were occupied elsewhere with other missions. I'm sure we'll run into them soon enough, though".
Finishing off the rest of her meal, she pushed the plate to the center of the table, and looked around the others, regarding them as she sipped her tea.
"So," she said after a few moments. "I think it's about time we found our what our next destination is, and what our next mission is due to be. I'm going to head up to the bridge and check up with the captain. The rest of you check on the aircraft, and then meet me back in the barracks in-" she checked her watch. "Forty minutes. Then I'll bring you up to speed on what's going down". She gave a nod to the others. "Let's get going, people".

Miyoshi listened to the conversation, taking in what Zola and Ariella said. She was developing her opinions of her squadron mates slowly but surely. Zola, who she presumed was a backseater from her comments, was blunt and unfiltered - she seemed like an adept quick decision maker, especially to be able to keep up with her pilot as she described him. Ariella, of course, seemed very experienced, which Miyoshi would expect and demand from a flight lead. She also never stopped being a leader, a point proven moments later when she broke up the lunch chat to get the squadron hustling again. Fortunately, Miyoshi had just finished her small meal. She stood up, giving the appropriate affirmative response to her flight lead, and returned her tray, taking one final swig of her drink (emptying the glass) as she walked over.

She glanced back at the rest of her squadron mates at the table as she exited the cafeteria, assuming anyone who really wanted to talk to her would catch up. Getting to know her squadron mates was definitely high on her priority list, but sitting at the top was carrying out her flight lead's instructions immediately, so she didn't wait around to acquire a chat buddy. After an uneventful walk at a moderately brisk pace through the Nimue's corridors, she arrived at the hangar housing Excalibur squadron's aircraft. Walking the length of the hangar and admiring each of the other aircraft she passed as per usual, she soon reached her beloved Massao. The crew looked like they had just completed rearming the Foxbat, and the crew chief confirmed it when she walked up to him.

"Six R-37Ms, two K-77Ms and four K-74M2s all loaded and ready to go. Vulcan has the full 500 rounds. Fully fueled, fully checked and double checked. She's good to go."

Miyoshi acknowledged the crew chief with a slight head bow and a "Thank you", turning and beginning to walk back towards the barracks - but not before giving her aircraft a pat. "See you soon," she said under her breath with a little smile, and walked back down the length of the hangar. It seemed like the squadron had reduced in size from before - were some pilots reassigned? She didn't think anyone was shot down...of course, it could all be in her imagination. She was, however, fairly adamant that there had been more than eight aircraft at RAF Lossiemouth earlier that day. She mentally shrugged and assumed all would be made clear by her flight lead and in forthcoming briefings.

That Tomcat is gorgeous, she thought to herself as she exited the hangar and walked towards the barracks.

Soon, she arrived in the barracks. It had been far less than forty minutes, but she had really nowhere else to go in the massive submarine-carrier. So, she climbed into her bunk and turned on her tablet, immersing herself in its vast repository of information about the Nimue, Excalibur, and the current conflict in general. Now was as good of a time as any to get as up to speed as she could.

Ariella's meeting with the captain was short, and to the point. He turned out to be a fatherly, if somewhat professional (and virtually stereotypical) british man, by the name of Bryson. He was patient and polite, and explained that their orders had them heading south through the Atlantic, and through the straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean. Once they'd reached a position off the coast of Libya, they'd surface and launch the aircraft for a number of reconnaissance sorties of the various airfields, airstrips and other key target areas in the country. He went on to provide more details, including their expected arrival time - and then instructed her to head back to the ready room and advise the squadron to strap in, as they were about to engage the ships Supercavitation drive, which would be quite an initial shock.
Eyes widening slightly, she did as he suggested, excusing herself with a salute, and headed back to the squadrons' rooms, a few decks below.
Finding Miyoshi there already, along with those who hadn't joined them for breakfast, she quickly climbed into her own bunk and explained the imminent situation.
"Apparently there's a 'supercavitation' drive, which I understand to be something along the lines of rocket engines along with a complex air-pocket system. Either way, we're about to get a kick in the pants of acceleration, and being strapped in might be a good idea. After that, well - we've got a briefing to go through. I think we're going to be doing an advance recon for some strikes in the desert of North Africa".
A siren sounded a blast three short times, and a pleasant, synthesised female voice advised all crew to brace themselves for acceleration. The lighting snapped into a red-shift, and a rumbling hum grew from below the deck and the rear of the ship. Everything seemed to fall quiet for a few moments, before acceleration pressed them into their bunks momentarily and a throbbing vibration grew in the structure of the vessel around them. It persisted for several minutes, growing louder, and almost unbearable - until it rapidly dropped away into a less deafening and intimidating, but still loud rushing hum in the background.
"Huh," Ariella commented, slightly dazed by the whole experience, as she rolled off of her bunk. "That was... different".
Lightly dropping to the floor, she took a seat at the table again, and began to look over the briefing information that had been forwarded to her padd.
"Okay," she announced to those in the room. "Pull up a seat, sit in your bunk, or otherwise bring your padds online and networked. I'm going to begin the briefing momentarily".

"None taken, Colonel." Zola said with a chuckle. She had been expecting that reaction for quite some time, and almost thought that Excalibur squadron was going to disappoint her. After all, if most of her previous employers had been hesitant at best to accept a mercenary pilot, she felt more than certain that a UN experimental squadron would be even more so. "We get that a lot, but it makes sense for us mercenary pilots to be more level-headed. You wouldn't want a wildcard deciding where to drop a payload of bombs and missiles. I know I sure as hell wouldn't."

She took a few bites from her meal before continuing, "Decisive Solutions, the company I worked for, liked us to be professional. Made for better public relations. People like Everett were preferred, the constant professionals, but they were always far and few in-between. They were often sent for the jobs that paid the most. I was part of the majority of the DS fleet - your standard flygirl, if you want to call me that." She paused for a moment, recalling some of the nicer moments of her mercenary career with a small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Good times, but its all in hindsight, eh?"

Having said her piece, she turned her attention back to her meal and cleaned up her plate in a matter of minutes, just in time for the Colonel to inform them that they only had roughly forty minutes of free time before the next briefing and that they were to check on their aircraft. That sounded like a good idea to Zola; she wondered how the Su-24 was holding up, seeing as how it had never been designed for seaborne operations. "I'll take my leave then, Colonel." Zola said with a nod and stood up. Hoping that she could navigate the vessel using only whatever signs there were, she left the cafeteria.

Thankfully for her, she managed to find her way to the hangar within forty minutes. The Ghost of the Strait, being the second to land, was not too far from the entrance to the hangar; Zola could clearly see it as she entered the large, spacious room - not exactly the kind of words you would associate with a submarine at all. Much to her pleasant surprise, she saw a familiar face standing in front of the aircraft, looking up at the nose. "Oi, Evie!" Zola shouted out with a grin as she approached the aircraft and her pilot, immediately drawing the attention of most of the people in the hangar to her, not that she cared much about it. "Tore yourself away from the tablet long enough to leave the bunk, eh?"

"It's Everett." Everett said, though it was more to the snickering maintenance personnel beside him than to Zola. "And I was about to join you," He continued, looking back to his WSO. "Looks like that would have to wait. What is going on?"

Zola shrugged. "Hell if I know. The CO just told us to meet back in the barracks in forty minutes for a briefing."

"Looks like we'll be in the air again soon." Everett said and turned to face the various missiles around the Fencer, just waiting to be loaded onto a pylon. There were a lot more missiles than pylons, that much Zola knew, and the missiles ranged from air-to-air to the large, long-range anti-radiation missiles. She recognized the layout as something most Decisive Solutions pilots were accustomed to, herself included. It took up no small amount of space, but it did allow for the aircraft to be quickly loaded no matter the mission. When you were getting paid by the mission, it was imperative that your aircraft was always ready to take on any sort of mission that cropped up.

Zola walked over to the right side of the nose of the Fencer and looked up at the name stenciled on the side. Ghost of the Strait. She liked the name, but part of her wished that she had been there when Everett was deciding on the name. She could have at the very least added something of hers to make the aircraft a truly shared aircraft. "When we get another aircraft, I'm calling dibs to name it." Zola said, her eyes still looking at the name.

"As if we'll just be issued a new aircraft out-of-the-blue." Everett said and scoffed.

"I'm serious." Zola said and turned back to look at him. "It's not fair that I didn't get a chance to offer any input to the Ghost's name."

Everett rolled his eyes. "Fine," He said, but beneath his breath, he added, "If it would shut you up."

Zola chuckled as she walked past Everett. "I heard that, but I'll still hold you to your word." She said and tilted her head towards the entrance to the hangar. "We should probably start trekking back to the barracks. Wouldn't want to be late for the briefing, eh?"

Everett nodded. "It would leave a poor impression." He said and followed behind Zola as they walked back towards the barracks. It felt oddly refreshing to Zola to be walking in front of Everett, like she was leading him rather than the other way round in the cockpit. She offered herself a little grin for that thought, but wiped it off her face just before they walked back into the barracks. "Hello," Everett greeted politely and walked back to his bunk, picking up the tablet and lying back on the bed to scroll through it some more. Watching him almost made Zola want to look through her tablet - she refused to believe that there was anything so interesting that would capture Everett's attention to such an extent.

However, she just sat on the edge of Everett's bed, deciding to attempt a conversation. "So, what have you learned about this ship?" She asked.

"Not as much as I would like, but I suppose I can only know so much before I get visits from people in suits." Everett replied dryly. Just then, the Colonel gave a warning about the ship's 'supercavitation drive'. For a moment, Zola wondered just how bad the acceleration could be. After all, she had survived the rigors of air-to-air combat and came out none the worse for wear. However, when the siren sounded three times, followed by a vocal warning, and then the lights taking on an ominous red hue, Zola decided not to play around and quickly climbed into her bunk and braced for the acceleration. The entire ship vibrated, and Zola felt herself suddenly feeling quite fearful that the ship was going to destroy itself, but then came the familiar sensation of a rapid acceleration.

Almost as soon as she no longer felt herself being forced into the bed, Zola jumped down from her bunk. That was unlike any other ship propulsion system she had ever experienced, and she could not say that she wanted to experience it again, though she knew that she had little choice in the matter. She sat back down on the edge of Everett's bunk and took in a deep breath to calm herself.

"Are you alright?" Everett asked.

Zola nodded several times vigorously. "Absolutely. Just the nerves, is all."

"If you say so," Everett said and left it at that.

"Understood." Matt replied as the Colonel announced that she will get a briefing from the captain and that they should check on their aircraft while she's away. He stayed in the mess hall for a little more, getting another round of snacks to make sure he had enough fuel for the upcoming mission. Time passed a lot slower since they reached the ground and 40 minutes was plenty of time to spend. After finishing with everything, he - as the last pilot still there - took his leave and started heading towards the hangar. Thankfully, the place had plenty of signs to guide him towards the destination, otherwise he could've easily got lost, despite having a look at the map already back at the living quarters.

He met a few carrier personnel on his way, but none of them engaged into conversation, they all looked very busy. Just before reaching the hangar, he saw a small group of engineers talking about something called "cavitation" while clearly looking excited about it. Matt didn't bother listening further, not giving the topic a big importance. He was a lot more worried about his Jaguar at the mean time which he felt will be piloted again soon. In the large hangar, the Excalibur aircrafts were situated next to each other, in landing order. It was the first time Matt could see all of them clearly at one place, without snow or harsh wind obscuring the view. All of them had very distinguishable decals and paintings, some even having a name written on them and such, it wasn't hard for him to find his fighter. Despite having some fears of it being damaged because of the very...interesting nature of the carrier, the only wounds the Jaguar had were from the battle before.

Looking at a clock on the wall, he knew it was almost time for the meetup. All right, she's in top shape. It's all up to me now to keep it that way. he concluded to himself. Quickly leaving the hangar and walking all the way back to the bunks, he arrived before the briefing started, fortunately. Sitting up on his bunk and taking his tablet to hand, he waited for the few people still missing to arrive. The Colonel told them about a certain "supercavitation" drive the Nimue has, which makes it able to accelerate and quickly reach great speeds. And it's about to be used. "I see, so that's what those engineers talked about...This should be fun." he said, laying down in the bed, getting ready for the speedup to happen. Unmistakeable sirens and an announcement soon followed as the entire ship started vibrating, which kept growing stronger and louder as the minutes passed. Matt loved these kinds of experiences, but even he was surprised by the power of it.

After it was over, he sat up on the bed, letting out a "Whoa. Just wow." in his temporary daze from all the shaking. He shook his head a little and took a comfortable position as the Colonel announced the start of the briefing.

Miyoshi had to do almost nothing to prepare for the supercavitation drive's activation. After all, she had been in her bunk scrolling through her tablet well before the Colonel came in to warn of the announcement. Being ever curious, she had already read up a little on what the tablet had to say about the supercavitation drive. It seemed like something out of science fiction (as did the whole ship)...now it was time to see if it was science fact.

The siren sounded, the lights went red and the synthesized announcement came loud and clear. Then the acceleration came, which still startled Miyoshi despite how prepared she was for it. This was an aircraft carrier, not a fighter jet. And an experimental submersible one at that - a point which became loudly clear moments later when the ship violently vibrated. It's not supposed to be this violent...is it? she thought, a trifle worried about the integrity of the ship and if there would be malfunction and resultant delay announcements shortly. They didn't come, and the Nimue (relatively) settled down for its underwater supercruise.

She sat up in her bunk and looked around. The others were clearly as jarred by the violent activation as she was. That said, it was amazing. "So...this is an aircraft carrier," she said, exhausting all of her thoughts on the matter. While it wasn't the most fantastic acceleration she'd experienced by any stretch, it was being done underwater in a vessel that was holding a squadron's worth of jet fighters in it. Science fact, she thought.

She elected to get out of her bunk and take a seat at the table with the Colonel. She'd be spending a lot of time in that bunk, and figured it best to get out of it. Of course, she brought her tablet with her and resumed scrolling through it once she sat down. After all, "momentarily" hadn't occurred yet.