The bunks felt like slabs of concrete, so when Roland's alarm went off he never felt the urge to lay in bed. It didn't make sense, the Albion's Avengers clearly had a decent budget, their hangar base in Scotland was on of the most attractive buildings that Roland had ever seen Post-War but they seem to fall short when buying comfortable beds. Very strange, but Roland was humble enough to never make a big complaint about it, even after bunking there for last 2 weeks. Roland was already out of bed and putting on his basic army cargo trousers and shirt when he heard the familiar click clack of Hobbes perfectly shined shoes colliding with the immaculate clean floor as he marched down the hallway to Roland's sleeping quarters. It was 7:14 AM, so it was probably quite important, the British do enjoy a good lay in, if they can get away with it, Roland mused to himself.

Hobbes came to the door and knocked twice politely. Good mornin' Captain Shaw, I 'ope you slept alright, just wanted to let you know the recruits have all arrived at hangar base, their planes have docked and been scanned and I've asked them to wait in the common room for you. When ya ready sir.

Hobbes clacking footsteps became faint as he disappeared down the hallway again. Roland reached into his bedside cabinet and pulled out the dossiers of the pilots he was about to meet and grabbed his laptop after he put his shoes on. He yawned loudly as his mind began to whirr and function properly after splashing his face with water. The walk to the common room seemed longer than usual as his anticipation for this new group was high, he was able to handpick these pilots himself and even the fact that most of them showed up was something he never expected. So should be an interesting day

Roland didn't knock as he didn't see a reason to. There were 6 pilots sitting in the common room, some were already talking so Roland decided to find the coffee machine and make himself something to keep him awake.
They've got money for coffee machines but they can't buy a decent bunk, you should feel lucky you'll never have to sleep here its hell. Roland Shaw opened his dossiers near the coffee machine and looked around the room without introducing himself.

We are missing a person or two, I was contacted by another pilot of the fixer class who said he'd be late so we will give him a bit of time to get here before heading off. But apart from that I'm generally impressed with the diverse range of expertise in this room.

Roland took a sip of his coffee and leant against the counter as he peeked back into the dossiers quickly.

I'll let you all make your own introductions, communication is a big part of what we have coming up, and you all know the mission by now. I'm going to be coming with you probably not all the way as when we get to the USA I have to make contact with an AA base in New Mexico, but your objective is clear. Now we are in Scotland and we need to make it to what used to be Las Vegas so we have a multitude of different paths we can take along the way. After you guys talk and our fixer gets here we have 2 options We can either travel to Iceland which will take longer but there are more rest stops and places to refill fuel and ammo and then take the scenic route to america via Greenland and dock in New York. OR We can head straight across the north atlantic and dock in Philidelphia, its faster and there will probably be less enemies, but the bas stops are scarce and the enemies we do encounter will probably be more dangerous. But then time is of the essense and the longer we are travelling the more likely we are to be assasinated in the sky if anybody catches on to our plan, so as a group I want you to decide between yourselves on the path we will be taking.

Roland noticed Alfonse D'Aramitz was Canadian like himself from the file and gave him a subtle nod as the countrymen have been doing since the north american war. He also took note of Kerry Thomas who was from Texas. Roland tries to keep his prejudices in check but seeing a Texan automatically made his eyes squint in skepticism as his memories of fighting the IST (Independent State of Texas) army in the war was not something you forget quickly. He hadn't made his mind up about this young man yet, he was probably just a freelancer or a drifter.

I'll be waiting in the Hangar when you are all done, for a further brief, come see me when you have introduced yourself and made a decision about your mission path, I will be available to answer some questions later which you can add to the codex, also Nishizawa you want to be scanning as much as you can when you get in the sky, your team will need all the info they can get.

Roland gave her a small smile in respect as a fellow scanner like he used to be.

They wanted to call you the Albion Avengers 14th Contract Division, but I protested the idea, you guys are not an offshoot of some mysterious UK organisation, you are Sky Warriors and I want you to carry that name with pride as my division once did. I'll see you later.

Roland left the room with his dossiers and laptop and two cups off coffee that barely fit in one hand.

The sky was filled with fire, the clouds replaced by smoke. The sun hide from the slaughter in the sky as planes cut each other down, littering the ground and ocean with burnt steel carcasses, twisted from force of impact. The violence of the new Sengoku Jidai threatened the heavens themselves as gunfire ripped trough the air, there were no more gods to save any of them, they had long abandoned the nation that had cut itself up in pointless war.

"Where the hell are all these planes coming from?!"
"Watch you back Nani-chan, you've got a-"
"Ryujii-san? Ryujii-san?? RYUJII-SAN!!"
"Nani, he's gone, he got- ACK! Shitshitshitshit I'm on fire! Ahhhhhh-"
"Dammit my seat is jammed! I can't eject! Mayday! Mayday! I'm going dow-"

Ashikaga Nishizawa looked down at the floor of her MSO-6, sweat dropping like bombs over the clan's homeland right outside. Her knuckles had long gone white from fear, from worry, from desperation. This was supposed an easy scouting mission, like taking a nap for the legendary Hayabusa Clan 5th Air Wing. Yet, all of them were being out gunned, out matched and out numbered, swatted down like flies. The radio was only sending hyperventilation and panic, the lucky were able to get off a few words of a death poem before exploding into gory fireballs vaporizing any trace of them.

"Ashi, Ashi!" Nishizawa snapped back to reality as she looked to her right; her brother was right there next to her, she could feel his smile warming her crying body up, "Ashi, don't worry I'm here for you, I'll be right next to you. I promise."
"P-p-promise nii-sa-sama?" the girl wiped away her tears.
"Of course, my adorable little sister."

Nishizawa smiled as she reached to put her hand on the cockpit glass, her brother doing the same. "Nii..." she whispered. She could almost feel their hands meet as she pressed her hand against the glass, covering it in fingerprints and sweat.

Suddenly, her brother's plane was filled with the vibrant color of blood. Red like roses of which death blossomed from. Nishizawa had no air to scream for her brother's name as enemy planes dove in, tearing the plane to shreds. The burning twisted metal lurched to the side, slamming into Nishizawa's MSO-6. Alarms blared as flames danced up her arm, burning her straight to her soul. THe agonizing pain scorched her skin as her tears failed to put them out until she was engulfed in the fire, her plane diving like a meteor into the ground. One bit of the wing was ripped off, than another part, and another part, all until the whole wing was gone.

Spinning and tumbling in a fiery spiral of death, young Nishizawa let forth one last scream, only for the fire to run inside of her, burning her throat, incinerating her tongue and filling her lungs with smoke and stomach with ash.

---

*BRIZZ BRIZZ BIRZZ*
*click*

Nishizawa opened her eyes to the sight of the hanger ceiling, one hands clutched to the controls to her MSO-6 as the other brought down swift justice on her alarm. The Seishin Gado had sheltered her through the night once more, but it did nothing against her memories as the voices still haunted her. Nishizawa sank into her seat and sighed, she was so brash back then, her failure was paramount now that news of the Hayabusa Clan had been destroyed reached her ears. There truly was no other place for her, even here was just and excuse to run from her failure.

Panning around, she could tell she had set up sleeping in here last night. Two large pillows had accompanied her in, on to lean on and one to cuddle with. An old blanket sheep printed had tucked itself in, a bit too small as Nishizawa's tiny feet dangled from the ends of. The panel of buttons aside her held up an alarm clock, a notebook, a small clip lamp that she had attached to the edge of the cockpit. A book laid open, leaning against an empty bowl of Lamen, its page only read the words "Happily Ever After", citing the end of the fairtaly. But most importantly, there was a trinket of home: a tiny music box that produced the loveliest of music, given to her by her brother.

With her small hands, she gently cranked the aged brass handle and opened the wooden lid. At one point there was a spinning dancer in the center, gracefully twirling to the soft notes, but it had long disappeared with a small craft of two planes giving chase like an upside down baby toy you put over cribs. Around the spinning plate was a beautiful padding of golden silk, frayed around the edges with small burn marks spotting the delicate fabric but shiny and sleek none the less. And on the inside lid, a picuter strapped in suspended motion, framing the past for Nishizawa. It had been a picture of the Hayabusa 5th Air Wing, all lined up against her brother's plane, the Rose of the East. The girl could list off everyone names in a second: Ryujii, Nani, Otome, Haru Haru, Toujo, Hoki, Nobu, Hideyoshi, all the people who died due to her errors. Holding back the tears, Nishizawa stopped staring into the past as the music stopped and closed the lid before throwing her blanket off and dismounting the plane.

Leaping down from the cockpit, she sniffed herself and realized she hadn't changed out of her clothes before going to bed and smelling particularly like oil and roses. She winced and grimaced. Stripping herself down as she walked toward the showers, Nishizawa threw all of her clothes into a passing laundry basket and ignored the looks of the people who happened to see her figure walking down the halls.

Twisting the little knobs on, she let the water stream out and rain onto her body. The lukewarm water wasn't exactly invigorating but she didn't feel like drowning herself in a bucket of ice or boiling herself, her nightmares gave her enough of a burning sensation.

Shutting off the showers, she whipped a towel off the rack and wiped herself down, draining the water out of her white hair before putting the pins back in. The lockers flung open for her as she reached for a new uniform and skirt to put on, carefully sliding each button in the right hole, each stocking pulled straight and true to the form of her slender legs.

Walking out of the locker rooms, she stared down the hallway and traverse its long halls before turning into the common room. It was practically empty but that meant Nishizawa had control over the coffee machine which she soon exploited to make her favorite coffee, if it could even be called that. Only a quarter was real coffee in her cup, the rest was cream and sugar and marshmallows and whatever else sweet she could dig up.

Sip by sip, time passed and people entered and left the room, often with friends talking and gossiping, lucky them. It wasn't until the bombastic Welsh-Scottish-British-Irish-Gaelic-Something-From-That-Place-man Ronald burst in with the assignment (Nishizawa was infamous horrible with geography of anything not in Asia so its not entirely her fault). She listened with empty eyes, already making her mind up about the the longer route, it would be safer and if something is safer then people wouldn't die. It might take a while, but at least no one would get hurt to the level if they decided to follow Charles Lindenberg.

Roland smiled at her as he walked out, Nishizawa not bothering to return it and instead stare into her now empty cup. Faint voices in her head screamed in agony, but she once again, like so many times before, quickly shut them down and went back the coffee machine which had its original contents removed and replaces with some "organic arabic coffee beans picked by wondering bhuddist monks" coffee or something like that. Sipping her coffee one more time, she looked up into the light fixtures, remembering how the 5th used to zoom into the sun as a race, memories returning once more, "Don't repeat the tragdey."

Staring back into the depths of her cup, she began to sing to herself, "Red like Roses brings me to the place you rest..."

Alphonse had started his morning in a blind tumult of routines. First, as per usual, came the bumbling and mumbling he made as he re-tightened his bandages. They always came loose when he was at rest, be it at the dining table or in the bed, but by the work of God...well, they weren't in the way when he didn't need them to be. As the mummy in the morning, Alphonse had to go over and avoid getting his wrappings caught on the peeling wood shavings and cracks in the bathroom tiles, and with a rough scrub, his teeth were just as white as the next baron's pearls.

Granted, when your teeth's been stained with more motor oil than a lawnmower can go through in a lifetime, anything lighter than a stale sooty grey seems sterling.

Next came on the sweater, then the trousers, and then the socks and coat. As usual, the shoes and gloves always came last; one time, he had the pleasure of almost tearing his shin apart when he tried to tuck his trouser's ends in the boots. Shit, he had to dress more and more like a Texan by the day.

".. | .-.. --- ...- . | -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-," rang the telegraph, precisely at 5:05.

And back, he sent his own telegraph :

"--. --- | -... .- -.-. -.- | - --- | ... .-.. . . .--. .-.-.- | .. | .-.. --- ...- . | -.-- --- ..- | - --- --- .-.-.-"

If the caller was stubborn, he'd get more, but today wasn't one of those days. No wars to fight, no rare, legendary B-52 being sighted...yet. So, after a good 30 seconds, he left the telegraph machine and sauntered out. Hopefully, London would be kind today, as it had been for the past two weeks.

Then there came the perilous task of starting of the coffee machines. Each bag was a mix of roasts, so the end product was usually a hit-or-miss. On occasion, he could get a real smooth, rich serving that could be drunken black, or (like today) he'd come up with some sour, root taste. Cream couldn't fix the batch, and the farther he got with it, the stronger the sour taste became. 3 filters, all filled up with the same nasty beans, tragically went into the trash as another set replaced them.

The result was acceptable. It tasted like coffee, at least.

And so, with a cup of café in hand, Alphonse waited in the common room. The hour flew by with him wolfing down two servings of gruel (as of late, the only food he could be comfortable eating without feeling like he could break his jaw), and as soon as the decisions were made, he raised two fingers in favor of the trans-Atlantic option.

Sure, he might've gotten a glare by a few others, but all things considered, the stakes were higher for every opponent they met, not just themselves. They could dust a flock and that would be the end of the matter; not many, unless they were flying a fleet of the last B-17s in the world, would have enough guts to brave the trip as retribution. With the northern route, the crew could be hassled at every stop and flight in-between the check points; that was a sure-fire way to get tangled in some annoying affairs.

Once he stated his choice, he strode out alongside the other pilots, and made his way to not his plane, that Old Fart that sat way in the back like an elephant in a room full of hippos, but rather towards the "Seishin Gado". He needed a wingman to handle things, and the plane looked just about large and armed enough to cover those blind spots he had above and below him.

But did she agree with his plans? His knuckles beat the sheet metal like a drumstick.

First, Alphonse procured a map, and drew his fingertip along the trans-Atlantic route, before following up with a thumbs up and a thumbs down. Good, or bad?

@ClocktowerEchos

Reggie was not really in a good mood this morning when he woke up to the beeping. Yeah it was just a nap but this was one of those naps where Reggie found himself in a dream, in particular, one where he's in a rap video inside a strip club looking at ass the whole time... didn't even recognize that there were more to the body than ass, hell...as far as Reggie knew, the ass was the body. Reggie sat up in his custom P-51 Mustang looking at his watch "Man.................DAMN!" he shouted, looking out his canopy at the other planes in the hangar.

Yawning, he opens the canopy and stands up, not really happy about his nap interruption but...needed a little sprucing up before heading to the common room. He turned on his music he had installed, needing something to get him in good spirits.

youtube.com/watch?v=M8AtyaxgtOU

Starting off with the bopping of his head from the beat, Reggie was getting in a good mood "Ah yeah....we gon' start this shit off good!" as he started singing with the song. Getting in his shave and brushing his teeth, using water from his water bottle, a habit he started having when being without a proper place from grooming for several weeks while at war.

Wiping his face off to get the remaining cream off his face and putting away his razor, Reggie rinsed his mouth off and headed off to the common room, walking with a little strut. Upon coming in Reggie looked around to see the different pilots that he was more than likely going to work with. In a true Reggie fashion, he was going to make himself known whether anyone liked it or not "WHAT UP Y'ALL, GOOD MORNIN'!!" Reggie shouted out but did not receive a reply.

Looking around, still with no reply, Reggie spoke up again "Aight, so y'all gon' act like y'all didn't hear me......damn.....I SAID GOOD MORNIN'!" waiting a moment "Aight fuck it, y'all ain't gotta say anything, guess errbody a lil on edge but we gon' talk later. I'll just help my ass wit' some coffee then..."

Reggie walked over smelling the coffee "Damn this shit smell good. Guess the old commercial is right, the best part of wakin up is folgers in your cup but I don't believe that shit" he said looking at the other "Best part of wakin up for me is wakin wit' some fine piece of tail hugged all up on me...hahaaa..." Upon making it to the coffee machine and making a fresh small pot for himself, he looked on and pouring himself a cup "Shit man...I'll just take this coffee as black as my ass." Taking a sip and moving the cup from his mouth as a focused look came upon his face and looked at the cup after savoring and gulping down some of the liquid "*smacking his lips* Well goddamn....boy this must be that gourmet Euro shit right here! that...that Italian, British, French, Grey poupon shit!" taking another sip "They need to make a commercial for this....It'll make you go Mmm-mmmmmm bitch! like a sir style!" sipping some more "Damn!"

Reggie after learning about the options of which route they should take, Reggie of coarse, spoke out again "Maaaaan fuck that, I ain't got time for no fuckin sightseein'! We can haul our asses on the quicker route and get back to big titty America in no time. That's what I got to say about that shit...I don't know bout the rest of y'all but that's my vote.....shit..."

Reggie sat down for a moment to continue sipping his coffee for a little while longer while he checked out the others around who looks to have come from all walks of life. But before needing to socialize some more....he needed some more of that gourmet shit.

Kerry woke up late, the alarm clock noise blending into his dreams. He tried not to let his face betray his true feelings, but he wasn't happy, he barely got any sleep last night. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with his fingertips, his back ached upwards and downwards, beds are supposed to be soft dammit! Oh wait, this was his plane... Wait! Where's the alarm coming from?

Kerry spent the next minute asking similar questions before finally opening the canopy and hopping out of his plane. Walking out of the hangar into the hallways, he was bored, grays grays and more grays, a different colour would be nice, though, what colour would they use? Questions for another time, Kerry had to get to the meeting.

Upon entering, Kerry sat in the closest chair available, turning it around, and resting his arms and chin on the backrest. Listening to mister Shaw's lecture bored him. But the route choice interested him, after Roland left, Kerry stood up, flipped the chair back into place, and turned to the rest of the group, the large foul mouthed fellow suggested the quicker route, and the others discussed amongst themselves, Kerry walked to where Roland was, looking around and shrugging his shoulders.

"Right, listen up, I don't know any of your names, but I'm sure as hell not gonna allow myself to die because someone made a stupid choice, so to get to the point, we take the longer route. I'm no expert on terrain, or the boys who take to the air in those areas, but I know planes, and mine goes fast but not far, if we take the fast route, I'll crash and die, sure we'll refuel, but my plane cannot stay in the air for any longer than 24 hours at a time, and in order to maintain, it would take upwards of 4 hours at every stop, and I doubt I'll have that time. If things go wrong, say a flap jams, boom, there goes a pilot. So, if you're choosing the dumb option, I'd be glad to hear it, but you're wrong and you should feel bad."

He shook his fist at the rest of them, before turning and walking towards his chair. "Not a looker in the bunch."

Lieutenant Michael Ryan II was sitting behind his desk and sipping hot tea that Hobbes had brought him, fresh from the officer's mess hall. He was not happy with Roland and was again keeping him in line with the wishes of the AA. He tapped his pen against his mahogany desk and leaned forward.

So you've ignored the organisation again Roland? I didn't give you permission call them Sky Warriors.we appreciate your involvement in this mission but remember that the Albion Avengers have funded this whole operation and while we appreciate the sentimental value of you naming these pilots after your old squadron, we have to put official military unit names in our reports, we wouldnt want one of our other bases getting confused would we?

Hobbes was waiting nervously at the door, hoping to be asked to fetch some more tea, as the tension in the room was high. Michael Ryan was his superior but he also had great respect for Mr Roland Shaw too, who was visibly getting annoyed with more orders.

I realize that Michael, but these pilots, like me aren't soldiers, at least not for this mission, they are specialists, and need to be treated as such independent from your respected organisation.

Michael grunted with indifference and turned to Hobbes, as if to halfheartedly ask for his opinion....

Well, they seem like an alright bunch sir, 'spose it couldnt hurt if they got to go by a nice team name that guvnor Shaw gives em. Mind you there are some characters in that bunch, they got a black fella there who's got a nasty military background report full of fighting and insubordination, but then he's from Georgia aint he? I suppose theyve 'ad it pretty 'ard.

Roland picked up his dossiers and put one of the photos from his folder on to Lieutenant Ryan's desk.

Not only Reggie Jenkins but we have this guy, Alex 'Jester' Harving and hes from your neck of the woods here in Britain, hes a skilled pilot but did you know he suffers from ADHD? I cant treat a man like a soldier in an army when hes likely to forget my orders as soon as he hears them! I need to let this team find their own way, I'm just here to support. Some of them like D'Armitz and Nishizawa have had it pretty damn rough. Probably some PTSD there, even if I couldn't get an official psych report.

Micheal Ryan was still tapping his pen and took one more sip of his tea before leaning back and looking at both Hobbes and Roland with tired but focused eyes.

Fine, they can keep your little team warrior name, but from the sounds of it, you seem to be trying to prove to me that this bunch maybe could be wild cards, perhaps more trouble then they are worth, Roland?

Roland stood up fiercely and looked Ryan straight in the eye.

They are my team, and my trouble to deal with. I hand picked this team myself. They are rough around the edges but they are worth every penny you can spend on getting to Neon Haven, they are the best and only chance we have.

Nishizawa shook her head at Alphonse's plans, "Nu, brad ideau", she spoke in her accented english (or ingrish), "Tu meny peopre can be a hurtu iph we gowa ovare oceane desu."

Well, shit. The young Hayabusan girl didn't expect her english to be that bad, maybe it would be rough around the edges, but right now it was edgier than a crudely-forged gothic katana listening death metal. In a stroke of brilliance, she decided to speak in Japanese. "いいえ、それは悪い考えです。あまりにも多くの人が死ぬことができます。"

Once again, brilliant language skills; not one of Nishizawa's shining skills. Alas, only if she could have her plane speak for her or her brother. Her brother always had been better english (probably to the obscene amounts of old world hollywood and porn movies they had watched). Resigning herself to the fridge, she pulled out some sweet bread she had been saving only to find it half eaten. Some bastard had dcecided to go off and ninja her sweet roll bread. Glaring angrily into the floor as she took a seat, nibbling on the other half of what remained of her treat as she her the black man who walked into curse louder than the people in Backdoor Hoes 9 did. Once again, he decided to take the long, fast, dangerous route and even comparing America to a big busted women.

Now, she didn't know much, but Nishizawa thought Japan produced the craziest fetishes. Seems like you do learn something new everyday.

The loud tiger-esque purr of Duchess' engine was relaxing. In fact, everything about the aircraft was relaxing, it was so familiar. Izabelle looked out the side of the cockpit to see the border of Scotland coming into view, the wind rushing past the open style cockpit. It had been a long few days. She'd flown from Eastern Russia, all the way across Europe throughout the week and had stopped in England to refuel and rearm, but more so to rest. That was when the letter had been given to her, a call to arms from Albion's Avengers. To journey across the ocean to America, her lifelong dream.

She began her descent towards the airfield, turning on the dim navigation lights that pulsed rhythmically on the wingtips. The engines purr slowly quieted down to a dull roar as she pulled back on the worn throttle lever and the whole aircraft shuddered, almost as if it was silently protesting the landing. Duchess trembled as the wheels made contact with the runway, and while this would've made most pilots nervous, Izzy knew the aircraft inside and out. This was one of its few quirks, just like the touchy throttle and the split second delay between pulling the trigger and the response from the guns. She quickly slowed down the aircraft and let it coast to a halt on the tarmac, shutting down the engines and locking up the cockpit after hopping out.

Izzy's boots clicked on the hallway floors, giving a slight echo that was fairly audible. She turned the corner into the common room and looked around at the various pilots gathered before taking a seat off in the corner on her own, pulling off her wool lined jacket and long sleeve under layer to let the cold air out and warm herself up. Izzy didn't bother with coffee, it was bitter and kept her awake. She had a hard enough time getting to sleep without it. After a few minutes she became impatient and openly asked "So...who's in charge 'ere?", her Soviet-esque accent quite evident in her english.

After listening in on the briefing, her decision on the route was clear. Her plane didn't have enough fuel for the lengthy trip over the ocean, not to mention the wicked storms they would face. She quickly opted in to take the island hopping route. Izabelle knew they had a better chance to survive a fighter attack than a monsoon.

The golden rays of the dull, early morning sky danced along the low horizon as white clouds floated around the young pilot veteran and his airplane, "Der Hammerklavier," as he flew amidst the crisp morning air. A bright orange sun boldly emerged from the lands of the east as every passing moment glided by, exposing in every direction the lush green Scottish landscape of the north. The morning voyage to Scotland was long though not quite as tedious as Lennard might expect such a journey of four hundred miles from London might be. Just as long as he could get up early for a nice ride along a green landscape, it was certainly no burden.

I'm late. Lennard realized once again, although he had already sent a dispatch to his soon-to-be employers who had hired him to set part on a voyage to Old Vegas, or "Neon Haven" as many liked to romantically emphasize prior to his tardy arrival. A city of great promise and the main goal of Albion's Avengers who sought to free themselves from the binds of what they considered tyranny and thereby implement their own democratic society upon migrating there. The way Lennard saw it, none of it really mattered to him - only the money which would be promised after the job was done and this particular man, Roland, would pay that handsome price for his services as a fixer. It was certainly much better than being a low-life, petty criminal.

Lennard's ship, the "Hammerklavier,' rode just fine as it usually did, apart from the occasional hick-ups due to its old and ancient age, it served quite well on most days. The old plane descended slowly into the hangar bay, just barely touching the concrete floor of the platform below. Outside, Lennard took a breath the crisp clean air of the damp Scottish countryside just after opening the cockpit while throwing his veteran Royal Air Force boiled leather jacket over his light brown, wool cardigan sweater to brace himself for the northern winds of the lands beyond England, a land he had not known too well compared to the lands of eastern Europe.

Before entering the common room, Lennard began to hear the voice of a man address everyone who seemed to already be antiquated with themselves. He could hear the voice of Roland Shaw, his employer, as he took a moment to listen up before entering the room. Not soon after his introduction came a short rise of pilot's voices who shared their opinions on what course of action to take. This perfect opportunity to sneak into the room without appearing rude, though from the looks of it, Reggie had already seized that opportunity for himself. What a character he was, he reminded Lennard of his friends during the war, a memory he sought to drown with large portions of booze and alcohol. A memory the former captain chose not to return to. Lennard waited for a moment before speaking his mind just after entering the room casually while grabbing a cup of fresh, hot coffee.

"Well, I'm okay with any route we take, although it's better to be safe than sorry in my opinion. I'd say the longer route just in case." Lennard had already known Iceland having already being familiar with the country during the war, though the years may have changed the place from the rumors which spread over those years and Philadelphia had already been known as a land of Gangsters and Sky-Pirates who sought to plunder those in and around their territories even before his time. Alone, a man even as experienced as Lennard could be easily afraid, with a team however, the chances of survival could be assured especially with the pilots he was going to travel with who all looked as if they could take care of themselves. Yet, they were still ragtag pilots from the looks of it despite their looks, and as for the coffee; It was definitely was some gourmet shit, as Reggie put it.

Roland stomped out of Ryan's office with Hobbes walking behind him close by, the click clack of his super shined boots were now in a hurried rhythm. Hobbes knew that Commander Ryan could be difficult, and Roland's personality clashed fiercely with his. Hobbes ordered the AA staff to start cleaning, stocking and fueling the planes, as Roland didn't want to be in this base any longer then he had to be.

Arrogant limey prick!......No offense, Hobbes. How dare he question my decisions or even bring up my dead squad, you'd think if he was that well informed on the sky, that he could do this job himself, he can still fly cant he?

Hobbes didn't want to say anything, he had respect for both men and didn't want to get involved, and on some level Roland knew and respected this.

Roland's pace quickened into a jog, he strapped on his flight goggles and headed to the hangar, he threw on his bomber jacket and told Hobbes to make sure the runways were clear for all the pilots to take off. Hobbes ran towards the control room and relayed the message.

Oh one mor fing control room, we've got us two pilots running a tad late, keep the air space clear for Ava Falke and Alex Harving and give them our coordinates so they can catch up, all the planes are ready to go and im finking Mr Shaw is wantin to get a move on.......hang on whats that!?

DANGER DANGER!! UNIDENTIFIED AIRCRAFT ENTERING THE SCOTTISH AA BASE AIR SPACE, ACTIVATE ALL DEFENSES!

The screen was flashing red as the defense siren started whining very loud and soon the whole building was on high alert. The control room immediately activated the Anti Air guns, but were panicking as this base had never been attacked by anything but small drones, and weren't sure about the effectiveness of their guns on possible fighter pilots. Hobbes began to shake with fear and ran to one of the manual guns to help with the defense of the base, he was confident that Roland would be okay in this situation, they didn't call him the Dynamo for nothing.

Roland was now in the hangar making sure the planes were all prepped and ready to go, shouting at the AA staff to hurry up and open the doors, he had heard the alarm and had already had all the info he needed, he was going to engage these aircraft way before they got anywhere near the base, he didn't trust the Defense Turrets anymore than he trusted Michael Ryan so he needed to act quickly and protect the base including the pilots who had just arrived. So he ran to the intercom and gave his message to the common room.

Pilots! Sky Warriors, get in your planes NOW, we are going to head the enemy off before they reach the defense air space of the base, scramble immediately we are probably in for a fight. I'll be taking off immediately and see if I can draw them away from the attack path. we don't know what aircraft we are dealing with yet, but Hobbes and control room will keep us updated....It wasn't my intention for us to be in action so quickly but I picked you all for a reason. So lets get this done so we can head for Iceland. ASSEMBLE!

Roland then was in his beloved craft, the Iron Jackson, he slammed canopy shut and the engine growled fiercely as he flicked on all of his system, and steered the plane on the runway for take-off, the AA staff were finally finished and the way was clear. The engines breathed fire like metal flamethrowers and like a true Sky Warrior it was off, hitting full ground speed and gently lifting off into the air. Roland felt that beautiful sigh of relief that he always does when hes off the ground. He flicked on his intercom to speak with the unknown aircraft if he had to and also had a separate channel for his squadmates when they caught up. It wasn't long before he could see them on his radar, the enemy was about 2 miles away and were roughly 30,000 feet high in the air, probably ready to descend for an attack run. Roland didn't have his scanning computer on board anymore since the war but he still had a good idea based on his advanced radar. He picked up speed to engage and got a good look as he closed in.

There were 5 fighter planes and 1 bomber...they had an insignia that control room's air surveillance was able to pick up...they were Broken Birds!

The enemy intercom crackled on as the lead pilot began to speak.

Geetings unbelievers, we are grateful we got to experience the beautiful hills of Scotland for this assignment, our spiritual leader Father Caspar-Hannes has declared this land unholy, being poisoned by the will and demonic schemes of clan of Albion crusaders who wan't to tie the birds to the floor forever by building and expanding land cities when we are so close to ascending to the sky, we wont be able to save your bodies, but when we liberate your souls they will join us in the eternal sky.

Roland began to switch on his missile targeting systems, he didn't need to say anything to these nutjobs, he already knew that the only way to deal with the Broken Birds was to 'liberate their souls' first. Though he was familiar with them attacking random bases and settlements he was shocked for them to find this base in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. Roland took a deep breath and flew straight at the group. Hoping to get their attention and tie them up while his squad arrived.

Ahh so what's this?? a lone kamikaze pilot perhaps? what false idol are you prepared to die for I wonder? I admire your bravery sir, let me not keep you in this mortal realm any longer than we need to.....



***********************************************************************************************************

Codex updated!
(from control room and roland's radar)
Enemy Broken Bird Group (images)

After taking his seat, Thomas immediately heard the order to scramble. "This'd better be good, I'm in no mood to fight." Running to his plane, he threw open the cockpit and climbed in too fast for his own body, smashing his tailbone on the chair. 'No time to be hurt, gotta fly.' Thomas preformed a system check, left flap was slow to respond, and right HMG was low on ammunition, the plane was not in shape to be in a dogfight, but he had no choice. After a quick messing with the hydraulics to improve the flap, Thomas took to the air, throwing on his oxygen mask a second after take-off, a dangerous move, but Kerry knew what he was doing.

After a second of flying, Kerry saw Roland's plane, hearing a declaration from a plane's loudspeaker. "Not these nutjobs." Kerry said, ruefully. Turning on the plane radio, he tuned for a while, not finding anything. "Damn!" Thomas then turned to more conventional means, turning the lights on and off again in morse code. "Plane not in fighting shape, taking over-watch position." Hopefully Roland noticed, hopefully more pilots take to the air, hopefully he didn't get shot, hopes have a habit of being false, but Kerry hoped.

Upon seeing what he was matched up against, Kerry flew upwards, preforming a barrel roll (Not a aileron, damn you Star Fox!) in order to avoid gunfire. Upon regaining his composure, he realized that Roland was flying head-first into the enemy formation! "The hell are you doing?!" In order to stop Roland from killing himself, Kerry focused his nose onto a fighter, after a second, a missile locked on, and Kerry fired from above, the missile would prove difficult to avoid, as the fighter was focused on Roland, and the missile hopefully came from outside of his field of view. "Hopefully", there was that word again.

Roland was steaming with anger he had just caught notice of Kerry Thomas behind him flashing a morse code signal that his 'New One' plane was not at maximum condition. Roland explcitly told those AA idiots to make sure all the planes were battle ready before take off, but they had obvious did a slap-dash job with 'The New One' maybe prejudice against Texans was an issue here as well, or maybe they were just lazy, probably a bit of both. However Roland was happy to see the texan manuver his way past enemy gunfire and climb to an advantageous altitude and past the enemy's main attack path.

Roland was staring into the eyes of the beast Little Raven #2 was in short distance and started to squirt off some gunfire which was quite inaccurate due to the Iron Jackson approaching at an awkward angle. But Roland only had to yaw a little to the left and had #2 in his sights when he rattled off his own machine gun fire back at the enemy as he closed in.....

BRRRRAPPPEPPEPEPP

The Experince of Roland Shaw was apparent, with only a few shots his managed to punch some serious holes along the enemy plane's nose and right wing, there was black smoke trailing from underneath the craft within seconds which Roland noted as he flew past the plane, narrowly avoiding collision.

Little Raven #2:
Whattttt!!!??? how could this infidel strike me? the spiritual father was my guide, he was my mesiiah I... I....

BBBOOOOMMSHHHH

Kerry Thomas missile hit the enemy hard and detonated right underneath its engine and engulfed the Little Raven #2 in a massive explosion, the broken bird pilot was killed questioning his religion, although it was far too late to reconvert. There were 4 fighters and one bomber left, and they had now began to seriously mobilise, taking the situation a lot more seriously now there was a second plane in the mix. Roland boosted his signal and managed to patch through to Kerry's Intercom. It was risky, as if the enemy had sophisticated channels they might be able to listen in.

....Nii..cce.....nice work Kerry, but you have stop flashing morse code, the Broken.....irds were trained by the Dutch Army, they can readd......it you need to boost signal and ...et on to my.....channel....an.....you.....ear..me?!!

Just as the message ended Little Raven #3 and #5 had both split off from formation and started to climb altitude to start to chase Kerry, the were closing in fairly fast and both were on the same attack path, they were snickering over the intercom for everyone to hear.

Little Raven #3
AHAHAHH Bless the heavens and the eternal wings, we have a Texan on this battlefield, just as stupid as the Father said they were....looks like his plane isn't doing too well, well once he becomes part of the sky forever he wont be needing that ugly hunk of metal!!!

Little Raven #5
I shall be the one to deliver his final flight to the eternal sky, don't get in my way!!I will be the one with a warmonging Texan on my kill record! praise the eternal wings!!

#5 fired off some rounds from the machine gun and a few rounds slammed into Kerry's 'New One' for minor damage, the Texan was flying skillfully enough to not be seriously damaged but the armor of the plane took about 11% damage to Kerry's plane ,#3 was desperately trying to climb altitude to get on Kerry's tail so he could line up a Missile shot of his own.

Little Raven #1 (leader)
Ahh now you see this is part of the Eternal wing's plan he let one of our very own give his life and ascend as to refocus our efforts and destroy these godless mercenaries.......and has even offered us a feisty Texan as a gift for our worship....tell me Mr Kamikaze leader...what do you plan to do now?

Roland was sweating bullets, #1 and #4 were in tight formation with the bomber, which was going to be Roland's next target, but now Kerry was being chased by two insane fighters, Dynamo punched his control board in anger, and shouted down the intercom.

I plan to send you and your brainwashed children of the corn back to the very ground you despise at the highest and most dangerous speed possible...starting with you!!!

'Dynamo'began charging his single use deadly laser cutter beam, ready to slice that arrogant leader in half, the minute he could line up the shot. Hopefully Kerry could handle himself until the others caught up....

Nishizawa bolted out the common room once the alarms went off, within seconds she was in her beloved plane. Ninja jumping up into the cockpit, Nishizawa slammed the roof shut and strapped in. It seemed that the maintenance crews had cleaned up her things while she was gone, good on them. "Hey, nii-sama, are you ready?", the girl put on her gloves and looked back to silence, "Glad to hear you're with me nii-sama, I can always trust you!"

Letting out one of her rare smiles, Nishizawa began the start up phase, quietly muttering to herself the steps, "Hydraulics un desu, fraps sat too taak olf, EMS systemu onrine desu, prep fo a taek olf, capacitorses weady." Once she had listed everything off, her hands grasped the control handles on either side of her, each handle controlling one side of the plane's wings and flaps.

The Shenshin Gado rolled out on to the tarmac, the AA guns hurling shells into the air as planes flew above it.

"Shenshin Gado tu towa, zis is Scanna Nishizawa reiwesting taek olf." She spoke into her radio.

"Copy that Kaga, request allowed, proceed to runway one, good luck up there." the tower radio operator spoke back.

The engines spurted to life, the Guard awoken. Turning on to the runway, Nishizawa followed the glowing lights of one of the men on the tarmakr as trucks and carts stirred clear. Running to her side, the man gave her the all clear before running off elsewhere. Flipping some more switches and activating some more buttons, Nishizawa then pushed the controls forward, propelling her down the runway. Her eyes stayed on the accelerometer, watching for that 40 mph sweet spot the MSO-6 needed to take off.

"38... 39... 40!", Nishizawa pulled back hard and could feel the wheels lift off the ground. Stabilizing her flight pattern, she retracted her wheels and went into the fray, connecting to Roland through her radio, "Rorand-san, shood I scann dese pranes or gu and helrp yua?"

"Go ahead and shoot them Kaga, these Ravens are already in the codex." Roland crackled through the radio.

"Cropee, mrovwin tu engagu desu." Kaga banked right and pushed the controls forward, the MSO-6 launching forward toward the enemy. Within seconds she was on the tail of one of the Ravens, it seemed to be one of the ones behind Roland, number 3 it seemed. Carefully aiming her sights at the Raven, she prayed her shots were lining up and connecting as she let loose with her machine guns, the fact both of them were moving so wildly probably didn't do wonders to her accuracy.

As the alarms sounded, Alphonse hopped off of Nishizawa's MSO-6, and at a brisk pace, made his way towards the back end of the hangar. There, at the back-end reserved just for air shuttles and other massive planes, sat his B-52 bomber. Without much fighting in the recent weeks, the only problems the old behemoth would face would be a minor cough in the engines...hopefully.

These things were made long before the war; hell, the exact blueprint of the plane was probably already lost. While the design was straightforward, the risk of disassembling War-era planes with perfect re-assembly was beyond Alphonse's paycheck. If there was a fatal engine flaw waiting to happen, most tinkerers wouldn't see it coming.

It stood to reason, then, that the man had held his breath as he flipped on the turbines. He'd be out in the air within seconds...as soon as the engines were up to speed.

As the missile connected with the enemy, Kerry exhaled, holding his breath was a bad choice while midair, he knew that, but he had bad habits.

After the pilot was sent to whatever hell he believed in, Roland's voice was heard through the static of his plane's radio, after a few quick spins of the dial, he was able to get on the right frequency, however, in doing so, his maneuver became less erratic, allowing the enemy to get in a few shots.

"Dammit!" Kerry was more mad at the thought of doing extra work to repair the holes in the hull than the actual damage. Quickly returning to a climb, Kerry noticed two of the fighters were attempting to follow him. Angrily, he pushed the controls downwards, diving behind the bomber, then back upwards, hopefully, if the fighters were following too closely, they'd be heading towards the ground just as he took off again.

Turning back on the comms, Kerry spoke, not yelling, but his voice still loud enough to be heard over the detonation of the less fortunate fighter pilot. "Roland! I'll draw away the fighters, take care of the bombers then come provide backup!"

Kerry was in a bad position, two fighters on his ass, and Roland alone to face another two, and a bomber. He hadn't heard Nishizawa due to the rush of adrenaline and the racket his missile made, though he hoped that the other pilots had taken to the air, on a side note, Kerry really needed to stop hoping.

When hearing that they were going to take the scenic route, Reggie knew he couldn't go against majority votes but, he can still bitch about it "Aight....Aight that's cool...errbody wanna take the 'safe' route...but news flash bitches, there ain't no such thing as motha fuckin safe! you better hope we don't get into some shit because of this decision." he said.

As soon as he gave his opinion and started sipping his coffee, the alarms went off about enemy approach. The look on Reggie's face was priceless when he spit out his coffee "OOOOH SWEET BLACK JESUS!!! I knew this shit was gonna happen! I knew....this shit was gonna happen!!" Reggie jumped up and ran very quickly towards the hangar to get to his plane.

On the way he was still talking shit: "Boy I tell ya, I knew some bad luck shit was gonna happen. Errtime it's just one brotha with a bunch of white people, white people always choose the most fucked option that will get the black man killed first...happens in scary movies, happens in action movies, happens in gangsta movies....now...I'm next....maaaan damn! They gonna learn when to listen to our scary black asses"

Finishing his rants, He mad it to the hangar and to his plane and stopped for a moment to admire the shininess of it from the cleaning it went through. "Whooooo boy! yeah you do look sexy!" needing to get the show on the road, he opened the canopy and jumped in letting the top down. "Boy, slick...you gonna be shinin' so hard, the enemy gotta put on a welder's mask to look at ya!"

Starting up his engine, Reggie checked his gauges and turned on his radio, flipping through the channels until reaching the right frequency of the chattering that was going on. Flipping a few switches and operating some of his controls, Reggie started heading on the tarmac towards the runway, picking up speed enough to get his wheels off the ground.

Reggie got on the intercom, hoping someone would hear him "Sweet and Spicy Jenkins is in the air, heading to the playground!" Flying for a little to catch up. Reggie, at a distance, could see firing as one of the enemies were destroyed and saw two more enemies trailing on Kerry's tail. Watching the move Kerry was making near the bomber and the other two fighters to try and use tag team maneuver to get the other fighter's attention away from the bomber so to help Roland.

Reggie spoke "Aaaaaaah....I see ya boy! yo bruh...with the needle dick jet (Kerry). I see you got two on yo ass! Boy you betta grease up, hold on, put yo face in da pillow and take that 13 inches in yo ass like a G! hahahaha but don't worry bruh, I'm comin for these bitches. I'll get 'em off ya. Reggie headed over, flying at the enemies 9 o' clock, head on towards them. Firing a few shots of his machine guns at little Raven #5 to try and hit it but if not successful, it would be counted as a warning shot. Reggie looked on "Motha fuckin polly.....I'll get you a cracka alright!" As Reggie made a button hook right to try and get the enemy's attention away from Kerry.

Roland had his his finger on the trigger, the raven #1 leader had stuck to the bomber and left himself open for one attack as the Iron Jackson closed in. Dynamo Shaw was about to fire his single use laser cutter which could tear any normal plane in half. But he had to line the shot up just right because of how thin the beam was and for its extremely short time of fire. But he was hyper focused, his team were under attack and this broken bird squad leader was getting on his last nerve.

Say cheese asshole, pray your way out of THIS!

BZZZZZZTTTTT!!!!

The laser had hit! but it didn't hit the leader! Raven #4 had dived in the way last minuite to save his leader and the laser cut the plane's wing clean off as the lowly enemy began to spiral towards the earth.

Little Raven #4: My leader....My religion...right or wrong....I will obey.....

The explosion was a wicked flash as the plane hit the the scottish hills and black smoke started to billow upwards from the crash site. The leader was still alive and sneering over the intercom.

Little Raven #1:
Ahh Mr Kamikaze, do you see now the strength of our faith? we are not individual humans as you see us we are a flock of eternal ravens and we are willing to ascend to the sky in order to finish our holy cause on this disgusting world of land dwellers. The two in my squad that you and that vicious Texan killed are now watch over the rest of us from the eternal sky, I HAVE THEIR SOULS PROTECTING ME NOW HEATHEN!

The leader's once calm and condescending tone had now shifted almost instantly into a deranged snarl, his plane fired up the engines and broke off from the Bomber's protection and flew straight at Roland, with machine guns blazing. Roland wasn't prepared for this manuver and was in an awkward flight path after firing off his laser, he attempted to climb and evade but it was all too fast, the Iron Jackson was vunerable after attacking...the broken bird leader managed to strike Roland's plane with some good shots, Roland winced as the red and yellow muzzle flash his his retna and his plane's armor took around 30% damage just on the left underside of the body.

Roland managed to peel away before absorbing every round in the burst but the leader was now on his tail, Roland hated being on the defensive, but he wasn't an Ace he couldn't out maneuver an upgraded Little Raven on his own. Kerry shouted over the intercom to focus on the bomber but, Roland was now having to worry about not being turned into an Iron Meteor before he could launch a counter attack, and Kerry was still in a bad spot, even with Kaga taking shots at the pursuers.

Holy shiitt... that hurt, damn it!......Kerry listen, you cant get that close to the bomber... its slow but its turrets are everywhere...peel out of there and see if you can counterr.....attackk....shit..this leader is on my tail....work together...is that reggie?!

Kerry had been flying very well, but #3 was a little more skilled than the average broken bird rookie, he managed to line up his missile targeter and WHHHROOOOOSSHHHH the missile was off, it wasn't the most sophisticated heat seeker but it was chasing Kerry's new one like a hornet.....

Little Raven #3:
The Texan is mine!! its Mine!!! Praise the wings! I'm going to kill my very own tex....aaAHHHH!!

The #3 pilot's ranting had been cut short by Nishizawa who had just punched a blaze of shots into the rear of his plane, chewing up his tail wing and causing the little raven to start seeping thick white smoke from near the right wing, the pilot was no longer in fanatical joy but fanatical fear as the shots werent enough to kill him, but he tore away from his pursuit of Kerry and banked hard left for a wide U turn to re-approach.

Little Raven #3: Curses!!! another one! its Japanese plane?! the false gods of Shinto have followers here in Scotland? I though that Kamikaze biplane was alone?? Ahghhgh Wings! Eternal one helpp uss!!!

Little Raven #5 was then struck too, Reggie Jenkin's Slick Sexy had just peppered his craft with some nicely placed gunfire, which disrupted #5 own attack who was still chasing Kerry, but the shock from Reggies fire made his attack against Kerry miss, unlike #3. #5 did not peel off, instead he pulled a very tight somersault, shooting up in the air and diving backwards stalling just long enough to fly right on Reggies tail! lining up his own missile targeter at the rear of the Slick Sexy.

Little Raven #5:
Well you just came out of nowhere didnt you?! You may not be a texan but I can tell your plane is from the south, I'll have to settle for killing you instead!

Dynamo was now sweating even more than before, he could see from his radar that his squad was doing well, but the enemy was fighting back viciously.

Damn it, I cant shake this psycho...Kerry get the hell out of there!!!!! You cant take a missile shot in your condition!!!!..... Reggie, get out of that attack pathh you and Kaga are too close to the bomber! draw the fight away....I can see that Alfonse is on the way, we can still do this....keep fighting!

Bomber Albatross:
Foolish infidels....stay away from the albatross, my reach is further than you think....my leader....the georgian and the japanese pilots are doomed.....

The Bombers 6 turrets all began to face the direction of the MSO-6 and Slick Sexy and rattled off a hellfire barrage of bullets. The shots were not accurate but very very numerous and managed to clip both planes in the side for about 10% damage each, the enemy was not going down without a fight.....

Kerry flew upwards, avoiding the opponent's noses to the best of his ability, however, the tell-tale sound of a missile being launched behind him put a sinking feeling into his stomach. Rolling to the right, the missile stayed with him, a heat-seeker, of course.

A few seconds thinking, and then the welcome sound of other squaddies arriving, and Kerry had a plan.

Roland attempted to talk him into leaving, from the sounds of it, he wasn't doing to well himself. But Kerry was having none of it, he smirked behind his breath-mask, pushing hard on the controls, he pushed the plane to it's limits. "Negative sir, this plane can still handle itself yet!"

The problem flap made a screeching noise, before it popped into position. 'Two second delay, I can work with that' Kerry preformed a maneuver that he had never done before in an actual combat situation, a reverse-half cuban eight. Having to over-compensate for the faulty flap caused Kerry a lot of worry, but he completed the manuver successfully, going up and over the missile, and now in position to back up Roland.

"The guys on my tail are the least of my worries, you aren't fighting all of those guys alone!" Kerry calmly yet loudly said into his radio. Focusing his fire on the bomber, he shot his HMGs at it's left wing, hoping to sever it and send the pilot careening into the ground, before peeling to the left, to avoid the bomber's cannons, and also to make sure the missile wasn't gaining on him.

'Phase one complete, time to take this seriously.' Kerry's brow furrowed, and he felt filled with determination.

If one were to think an Albatross was huge, it was likely that that one had yet to seen the Old Fart. With the roar of hundreds of lawnmowers, the massive bomber took to the skies at a very gentle glide...

...then a high-pitched whine began to scream from the turbines.

In this world, many planes were unable to compete against the latest fighter jets of the old world without a few crutches. Sure, even a 20mm cannon could punch a hole through their wings, but without the speed and handling to match, many of the jets just flew by.

The B-52s, by then, were mostly just left in the hangars by then. After the fighting, they were refurbished with new, better turbines, the leftovers rebuilt from the wreckage of the War.

Though only the lightest of these planes could ever hope to match the fighter jets, they were still faster, still tougher.

The Old Fart had just reached a high pitch as it shot straight out the hangar's front, and was now releasing two streams of nasty 20 mm rounds at the Albatross's belly, perpendicular to the cockpit. The B-52 began to stink of gunpowder...

Now that he had the attention of #5, Reggie had to think of something quick since he pulled a somersault and was right behind him this time. "Aight you ol' punk ass, tight ass, crazy ass, bitch ass, nazi ass, fuck boy. Don't think you gonna ass rape me bruh! I'll show yo pastie mayonnaise lookin ass what time it-" before Reggie could keep talking shit, He could hear Dynamo screaming in the on the intercom.

hearing what he had to say about getting too close to the bomber and needing Reggie to get away, Reggie felt he was doing ok and didn't need to heed that advice feeling he knew what what the fuck he was doing. "Hey bruh! let me work this ass like how I want...if I need advise I'll-" as soon as the turrets started rattling, Reggie could feel the shocks of getting clipped. Reggie finished what he was saying to Roland "I'll get the fuck away like you said!.....Maaaaaaan SHIT!!! Ain't this about a bitch!!! I just got this shit washed!!! please black jesus, please let me stay alive long enough to see this motha fucka die!" Which sounded like he was lamenting.

Reggie started to barrel roll the Slick Sexy to the to the left direction to try and get out of range from the turrets and get enough room so to make a sharp somersault to try and get behind #5 and out of his range. He was going to position himself parallel to the bomber's wing while at the same time trying to shake off the #5...that's if he's able to pull it off while trying not to take too much damage and blown out the sky.