(@Ophidian And @Dynamo Frokane Collab Post)

Arnaud Degas liked to think he was a simple man. Give him a duty to perform, good music, good drink, a decent plane and some fine male company and he was content. He currently had the music and the drink.

As demonstrated by the fact he lounging back in a chair, shirtless, drinking some of the rum he’d managed to salvage from the old outpost.

And the plane was stashed in a cave somewhere.

He was however, lamentably, without fine male company. He was also, lamentably, running low on supplies. Food was….nice. Also necessary for life. And he only had enough left for a month or two more.

Still. At least he’d starve to death properly. In a fairly home cabin, good music from a recorded track, and a red flag pinned to the wall.

….Well.

Actually he wouldn’t so much starve to death as put a bullet in his brainpan when it got that bad, but details.

A knock on the door and some muffled words interrupted his train of thought. His hand immediately want for the AK-47 laid out on the table, slowly, he made his way to the door, and he raised his voice to respond.

“Well.” Arnaud drawled. “That’s a nice story, but I’m gonna need to ask for some proof. These aren’t exactly safe times. Or places.” His voice has a light caribbean accent to it, along with something of a hereditary french accent. The result...was...interesting to say the least.

And also popular with the foreigners, if past experience was any indication.

Roland sighed relief when he heard the inhabitant respond with such a civilized tone, but also kept on guard when he heard the lock and tumble of what sounded like an Assault rifle in the person's hands. He motioned Rggie to get a better angle on the door as he spoke.

I have my contract here with me, it has the Albion Avengers seal of approval along with a signature from Commander Ryan from the British division. Also if you look out your window you will see our planes, we aren't bandits, most of us are ex-military. I'm happy to come in and talk to you unnarmed if you want, we can discuss anything you aren't sure about.

Roland kept his gun close but had it lowered, hoping that Reggie still had him covered.

Arnaud Degas paused. “Alright. Let’s say I believe you. Open the door real slow, and we’ll talk.” He paused, mind racing. “And if you are who you say you are, I hope you’ve got a guard on those planes.”

If they did have supplies….well, this could be his ticket out of here for one thing. Not being certain he was going to die in the next month or two would be what was known in the business as a ‘big plus’.

Roland didn't want to take any risks by startling a man with an assualt rifle so he holstered his own pistol and motioned Reggie to lower his and stay back with the group, who were all looking pretty fed up and exhausted having to wait in the freezing wind, placing all their faith in Roland's diplomacy.

I'm afraid these planes are all currently unguarded, we are single fighter pilots who have been contracted together for a mission, we arent an official military unit.

Roland kept his voice calm as he spoke and slowly pushed open the door. Only to see a Tall handsome young man brandishing and AK-47, seemed like a sensible weapon, especially if he was here alone.

Well, here I am, my pistol is in my side holster, but they safety is on as you can look and see, and I have no intention of using it, may I come in? I wish to negotiate a way for my wingmates to enter with you and they dont seem to comfortable at the moment.

Roland peered over the man's shoulder and saw a red flag pinned to the wall, and noticed an army jacket on the table behind him.

I take it you are communist military? Central American maybe? I'm Ex-Canadian resistance, technically allies depending on what war sticks out to you most.

Arnaud paused and considered the situation. “So. You come in, pistol holstered, admit you’ve got alot of friends outside-giving away any ambush, and you’ve got more knowledge of politics then the average bandit.” Then waved his hand. “Alright. That’s all I wanted. Confirmation. They can come in.”

He slung the AK-47 over his shoulder. “And yes. I flew for the Federated Republics down in the Caribbean. We were hoping to set up an outpost up north. Expand. Force projection. All that.”

He waved his hand around the cabin. “Clearly, this didn’t quite work out.”

Roland exhaled deeply as the man unfocused his gun on him and took a more relaxed stance.He could tell this soldier was legit and no way some sort of criminal. Roland looked around the cabin, it was certainly livable but not somewhere a private would station himself by choice. Nonetheless it was warm and Roland was eager to negotiate his team inside.

Yes, I do have a few teammates, two of which cant stand up and need another 4 just to keep them upright, we've been flying for days, you see and we are low on fuel so we had to land somewhere. But we are all going to die in the nighta cold without shelter, so if you will have us for a short time soldier we could trade you some food rations and possibly fix up that bomber plane of yours in the shallow cave, on of our crew is a fixer class and he'd be happy to take a look at it.

The rest of the team had now found themselves closer to the door, all freezing and looking desperate. Roland looked back at them with empathy but turned towards the soldier awaiting a response.

“Uh. Sorry. Must now have been clear. Yeah. They can come in.” The FCRC pilot tossed Roland a sly look. “But I’ll take you up on that offer of supplies. I’ve got enough for two months myself-but if you’re giving me a chance to get off this rock….well, help yourselves.”

Well thank you for you hospitality, but now with the bunch of us, that month's ration kind of turns into a couple days ration, even with the food we have, but I do have a plan. And I dont expect any of us to be stuck on this mountain for more than 24 hours. But we will need your help, Private.

Roland outstretched his arm to shake the man's hand as he turned around and nodded to the rest of the crew, they all scurried in whilst shivering with hurried nods and mumbled thank you's to the reasonable stranger. Roland made his way in and sat at the largest table he could find and pulled out some folders and his computer. The plan was being formulated.

Today, was a bad day for Ava.

She is a highly skilled, incredibly talented pilot, someone who earned her Ace rank at such a young age, deserving of her title "Night Witch". She has fought her way across Europe, flown over the barren and harsh wastes of France, going up against the best of the best.

And to what end?

Now she carried a Ukrainian dog, helped by someone who only just grasps the concepts of "English" following a Canadian Scanner to an unknown hut in the middle of god knows where, Iceland, freezing her god damn legs off. Exhausted, cold, hungry, and with only a basic Luger as protection as she hefted her squadmate towards the shelter. And low and behold, it was occupied. In fact, the moment Ava noticed the lights in the cabin, she yelled "Gott Dammit!" After some, in what she would call, prolong negotiations, Roland was was able to get everyone inside. Ava simply muttered "Danke" to the strange Caribbean soldier as they made their way in. She and her squadmate Ashikaga lowered their beleaguered comrade into a chair, finally allowing Ava to observe the cabin with more freedom. It was simple, almost quaint if it wasn't for the now large group of veteran pilots standing inside, trying to warm up from the walk. Glancing around, her gaze came to rest on the stranger who had helped them.

Finding a spot on the wall, she leaned back and stretched, "Mein Gott that was a long flight...." she muttered as she stretched. Now leaning against the wall, Ava finally had a chance to size up the helpful stranger. He was young, muscular, a strapping young man to say the least. It caused Ava to laugh a little inside, as he reminded her of some ad in a prewar magazine she had once found. "So... Mr. Caribbean, you said you flew this far north for.... imperialistic purposes?" Ava started, trying to get some more information out the guy. She found it odd that the some organization based so far south go so far north, and east, for that matter.

Nishizawa was actually fairly well rested, no doubt due to her plane's technology once again. Its so much easier being able to enjoy long flights when you're plane flew itself. Between snuggling up into her blanket for a nap, eating prepackaged meals, listening to the music box, and listening to people fart in the radio, Nishizawa was actually in a pretty decent and healthy mood. Much more so than Ava who she was helping carry the Ukranian into the neat little shack in the middle of nowhere. Times like this is when she was glad her cockpit was large enough to act as her tiny one-room apartment that had guns and could fly.

Now, Nishi wasn't exaclty an expert on western cultural musics, but it seemed that the warm, upbeat music that radiated from the shack as the door opened wasn't native (or even all that fitting for that matter) to their cold place.

"Deh music iz a verre uff izent it?" she muttered to herself as she carefully headed in with her two comrades in arms (one literally in her arms).

Inside was refreshingly warm and overall very relaxing. Nishizawa watched as everyone else piled up into the room and Ronald gave an introduction speech. The man he was talking too was quite different then most of the men Nishizawa had seen really. Strapping young fellow, the kind that she saw girls at her old air base in Japan fawn over and do unspeakable things with in their heads.

Seeing nowhere where she could properly get a word in and nor did she feel the need too, Nishizawa simply found the warmest place and sat on her thighs like a proper Yamato Nadeshiko, content to just watch over everything from her corner and gently bobbing to the music.

Kerry was drunk.

Not drunk on beer or wine, whiskey or vodka, Kerry much preferred his beverage of choice.

Sleep deprivation, a high like no other, leaving you light-headed and madder than a wet hen.

And you hallucinate.

Shadows lurk just out of view, warping and disappearing before they can truly be seen, the skies filled with images strewn upon the clouds. You are too mad to fly, so Kerry let his auto-pilot do it for him. His head pounded but he never moved to rub at it. He knew he could have slept, but there was this one thing that crept at the corner of his mind, this thing he couldn't remember and yet remembered all too well. Whatever it was, he knew he would have to talk to Roland about it.

When they landed, he barely managed to climb out of his plane before falling onto his head. He grumbled and crawled onto his feet. It was not long before he remembered what he had been thinking about for hours, the same thing that left a pit in his stomach deeper then any abyss or cliff. He was having flashbacks, flashbacks of Texas, what a shit-hole it was, he was glad he got out of there, no matter how much he missed the idealized memories of the place, there was no reason to ever want to go back there, and the things he had seen had changed him, to the point where he doubted he would be flying if not for the State's horrific... well, state. He had no family left, he had no money to speak of, all he had was the skies, diving through them, up and down, around and around, there was no greater thrill to be had, and that thrill was what he lived for, literally, what else was there for him? Sometimes he flew into combat expecting to die.

For what? He asked himself again and again, he never found an answer, he flew because he was too stubborn to die, and he was too stubborn because he could fly. Kerry had been a part of so many squadrons he couldn't even try to count, but Roland truly seemed to care about each of the ones he had met only a few days ago, and Kerry thought he had definitely earned the man's respect with his actions during the skirmish with the cultists.

Rubbing his forehead, he resigned himself and sighed, letting out one little "Christ" and striding towards the hut where all his colleagues seemed wont to go.

"Dammit Kerry," he said, just barely a whisper.

"Why do you always do this?" he asked himself with a shake of his head.

The door opened easily, and the atmosphere of the shack was healthy enough on his tired mind. The calm and yet still quick music lent him a little calm, but he much preferred his own music, too bad he had been too tired to enjoy listening to it at the moment. Not in the mood to have that conversation with Roland he wished to have, he waddled off to the corner of the room and collapsed in a heap.

A pain shot up his right hip, reverberating thrice and leaving him cringing.

He had fallen onto his gun again, he hadn't shot himself or anything, but it was quick enough for the small SAA to dig itself into his hip and pinch his skin between his belt and the holster. Groaning and pushing himself off of his hip pitifully, Kerry took off his gun belt and threw it on the ground next to him, he reclined and exhaled deeply, chuckling once to himself as he looked at his gun.

Kerry Thomas; He thought.

Sky cowboy.

Arnaud smiled at the girl’s question. “Imperialist? When we do it, it’s called liberation actually.” He smiled easily, though it was a tad bit brittle. Then he waved his hand.

“How did the old tune go? Bit by bit the pieces fit, the soviet machine advances….not one move that won’t improve our nation’s chances.”

The Caribbean-born pilot leaned forwards a bit then. “The same principle holds here, I think. The Caribbean ah…..she has a government, but the government cannot control the weather yes? Who knows how long we can hold back nature hmmm…? Better to extend our reach now, while we still can, then wait until the ocean washes us all away. If it does.”

He lifted his glass of rum to his lips and took a good long gulp. “The war. Heh. She did not do wonders for my people's optimism.”

Ava shrugged and shook her head. "Sugar coat it all you like, Caribbean." She smiled coyly, remembering her own set of relevant lyrics. "And how did the other tune go? Hmmm? I believe it was... 'Meet the new boss, same as the old boss'? Anyway, I can relate, somewhat, as many can about their homeland seeking better grounds among the wastes of this broken world."

Ava paused, the playfulness in her voice seemingly replaced with a slightly sadder tone. "Sadly I was from a country defending said land... not seeking it." She looked to the Caribbean-born pilot, eyes somewhat darker, more serious. "If history has taught us anything, the ones who threw the words 'liberating' or 'freeing' while invading where more than often the ones who couldn't be any farther from what they said they stood for." Ava sighed, leaning back once again.

"But I get ahead of myself here, our unexpectedly long and exhausting trip hasn't done wonders with my mood, admittedly. We should probably discuss more fruitful topics... Like where do we all go from hear after we've had a little rest? The weather around these parts isn't exactly those most predictable.... So, Herr Kommandant, what exactly is our next step?" Ava said, glancing over at Roland.

@Ophidian@Dynamo Frokane

Arnaud shrugged, and directed his gaze-and his attention-to the males of the room, clearly not caring to continue the conversations. She was not from the Caribbean. Why would she understand their suffering? Their cause? Such arguments were a lost cause by all accounts.

Nothing to do now but listen in and drink in some of the eye-candy.

Not a bad way to spend the day, he had to admit. It was certainly better then his past company. Which was to say he, himself, and him.

Jingo had not tired out as much as he thought he would have during the long flight, in fact the three days had left him feeling a bit more refreshed. He was use to long flights, making routine flights from Newfoundland all the way to Gibraltar had made him fairly cable of getting comfortable in his seat, the longest straight flight being from Reykjavik to Cadiz which took almost two days if he were conserving fuel.

After setting down his mummified coworker Jingo took a step outside into the chill, he had not anticipated having to return the way he came, if he had known they were coming this way he would have probably stayed at the aerodrome in Reykjavik. Taking a deep breath before starting, he wandered past the parked planes and ran his hand along their frozen, metal skins, only stopping by The Witch Doctor to check the fuel needles on the drop tanks.

Continuing forwards Jingo crushing frozen dew under his feet. He had over heard the proposition that he was being dragged into, repairing the Frenchie's plane so they could crash at his frozen shack, it was hardly a fair deal as the issues with the plane weren't exactly known. Jingo stepped into the dark cave that the man used as his hanger. It appeared as though he had tried to repair the plane once before, there were lights dotted around and boxes strewn about. It was too dark to see the plane in full detail, so for a few minutes Jingo ambled around in the dark, almost slipping on a few puddles. Fumbling in the gloom he managed to find a generator and switched it on.

For a few moments Jingo wasn't sure what he was looking at as his eyes still hadn't adapted to the light, but when they did focus he felt physically sick. An R-1 Bolivar.

"The Trabant of the sky..." he mumbled, walking around it and checking out the body, "It may look like a car.. but it's all bike."

Roland Shaw had made himself a cup of coffee while his Co-pilots spoke to the friendly communist stranger. He was relieved that everyone seemed to be getting on. Reggie Jenkins had retreated into one of the bedrooms and fell asleep almost immediately as indicated by his bunker shaking snore volume. Izabelle and Alfonse were recovering quietly in two of the large sofa-chairs, not quite asleep but re cooperating quietly. Roland smiled at his crew, even though he was not that much older than most of them, it was hard not to see them like his offspring, continuing to make him proud with their resilience and bravery.

Roland nodded to Jingo as he headed outside to fix the young man's plane and sat down next to Armund with his coffee ready next to a map of the immediate area.

Okay everyone, you don't have to gather round me but listen carefully, based on my estimates we dont have enoug fuel to leave Iceland, along with our new friend there is enough fuel between us to fly for maybe another hour, but that would barely take us out of the mountain region. Luckily, Nishizawa's scanner left us some important information on that freight train we passed a couple days back. That train happens to be driven by Emmett Garvey he happens to be a member of Jim's Junkyard (check codex).

Roland sipped his very hot coffee and pointed to an area of the map that wasn't too far from their own position to Armund.

Okay private, I'm not sure what regulations you have in your army, but this is basically a matter of survival, we do this or we freeze and starve to death in this cabin. The plan is to steal the fuel tanker from Emmet Garvey's train and probably kill him. He is wanted criminal in the states, and Iceland has no central government, so we technically wouldn't be breaking any laws out here. The only thing we have to worry about is that Garvey clearly has a base out here somewhere, probably a fuel camp where he is making routine deliveries. Which means I expect him to have defenses or be able to call on some back up.

Dynamo took a deep breath, he didn't know how his team felt about robbery and murder, but he hoped they understood the context and desperate times of the situation, he continued with a cautious tone, as not to sound too detached from the gravity of the situation.

This is the plan, we are going to ambush the train at this field here, where the space is wide open for an easy attack. There is reason to believe there maybe some ground defenses so you and Alfonse can take care of any of that. I'm also expecting some areial backup which we will have to handle when it comes. The important thing is for our own Jingo Blowtorch to use his plane's winch to snatch the fuel tanker before we destroy the train, and safely fly it back to this cabin ready to fuel all our planes for immediate escape. I dont need to tell you how volatile a fuel tanker is when it's shot at, so its very important we draw fire away from jingo's Witch Doctor as he makes the steal. Then we use bunker buster bombs to pulverise the plane and we get the hell out of there.

Dynamo sipped his coffee once more and stood up, nodding to Kerry and Nishizawa as they sat in the corners of the cabin and then turned back to Ava and Armund.

We will be leaving at dawn, any questions?

Ava smiled and nodded to Roland, approving of his plan. "As much as I would have liked to have our scanner do some more recon, it seems we're not exactly strapped for time or fuel. I can keep any potential flies off of us should they dare try to take to the sky. It's time we..." Ava looked over at Arnaud and smiled, "...liberated that fuel from the train." she finished with a chuckle.

Now, she wouldn't admit it, but Ava was actually feeling some excitement for this operation. She failed to really join in on the fight at the airfield in time, so she really never got to see the capabilities of her comrade's aircraft. Not to mention an operation such as this would give Ava just enough of challenge to properly enjoy it, in her eyes.

@Ophidian

While there were certainly more than a few select choices for Armund to peruse and oggle, the bandaged Alfonse would certainly not be a viable option for viewing, unless Armund preferred his men à la momie : dried and scarred, with a side order of bandages drenched in motor oil covering top to toe.

At the sound of his name, Alfonse let out a phlegm-filled cough before stepping up to the table. Anyone, Arnaud especially, could see the slight furrowing of his brows casting a shadow over the sockets of his eyes as he peered down at the map and dragged clumsily a blunted, oily finger along the tracks.

"I hope you all realize that I am only one pilot. The ground and air defenses won't have their eyes on Monsier Jingo here, but if it's during the day, the enemy won't even need a radar to see my plane."

He turns to the rest of the crew.

"Do what you will, but make sure to keep off some of the enemy fire off of me. I'll do my job better when I'm not full of holes."