March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas
10:30 Hours Local Time

Scott paced back and forth in front of the large wall-mounted monitor again, his boots squeaking on the flooring of the meeting room. Anxiously, he glanced toward the door to the room and back at the laptop on the desk for the umpteenth time. His pacing was interrupted by an annoyed sigh of breath, and he glanced to the end of the front row of seats, and Kat 'KK' Kane, his RIO. She scowled at him, her single ice blue eye giving him a stern, disapproving look that he momentarily bristled at, before deflating, a wry smile creeping on his lips, matched by an amused one from her.
"All right, fine; I'll stop pacing. I'm just... nervous. It's been a long time since I've been responsible for anyone else. Well, in a professional capacity anyway. Command always seemed... out of my reach"
Kat sighed again and gave him a slight, sympathetic smile, speaking up in her rough, ragged, hushed voice.
"If the higher-ups didn't think you had what it took, then you wouldn't be standing there, ready to handle the briefing. And you and I both know you've got the experience and the record to back it up"
Scott sighed himself and nodded, leaning on the desk, and gazing the screen of his hardened laptop without really seeing it as he pondered.
"...Yeah, you're right. I've done as much preparing as I can do; I've read all of their dossiers and records, and I've reviewed the mission brief and intel. All I can do now is wait for them all to turn up". He frowned and checked his watch, and then glanced at the clock on the wall of the classroom-like briefing room.
"Speaking of which... where are they, they should be starting to arrive now...

Bell arrives after exactly as Scott says that and opens the door and does a gentlemen pose and says ”Bell Thompson at your service” in a funny way with a fake but very convincing British accent. He walks up to Scott and says”In all seriousness it’s a pleasure working with you sir”he goes in for the handshake, then turns to kat and gives her a slight nod and checks his pocket watch waiting for the rest of the team. He leans up against a wall and exchanges small talk with Kat and Scott and looks at pocket watch again and says”did everyone die or something” jokingly and then sits on a nearby desk and waits.

Sebastian walked in leaving the door open.

He looked at the People, ignoring the room to save stretches for later, knowing how’d this go. Unperturbed at the sight of the handshake Sebastian gave a Salute with Rank and Surname to gait around them, found a couch and sat, then began from there looking at them with stoic interest.

Bellgives Sebastian a head tilt and and mutters to himself something that literally no one could understand but it kinda sounds like he said “what is he, the terminator?” he grabs a Dr Pepper from a vending machine and drinks it and continues to sit on the desk. And smokes a cigar. He looks at the clock and raises his eyebrow and grabs a completely random book from a counter and reads it because he’s bored as hell. Halfway through the book the book ends and it’s just empty pages and he says “Who buys a book from wish.com” Jesus” he says comedically
And throws the random persons book in the trash and says “buy better books next time” and everyone’s looking at him and he says “What”and genuinely looks confused.

A rapid clacking announced the arrival of another member of the new squadron, a strawberry blonde so petite that even in heels she was by some distance the shortest person in the room. She made up for it by being impeccably chic - she wore the blouse and pencil skirt of Shattered Steel's dress uniform, sharply tailored and subtly personalised. Nothing to draw undue attention, just the slightest of tweaks - the lapels a little narrower and higher to frame the chin better, hidden darts to give room for the chest without bagging the shoulders... the untrained eye would notice nothing except that somehow she made the uniform look like a couture outfit.

And over that, she had thrown with studied insouciance a battered bomber jacket covered in patches from a dozen commands - most from the Armée de l'Air, a few from other PMCS, one or two of them defunct.

The clacking stopped and Aurélie stood before her new commander, snapping off a crisp salute. "Bouchard, callsign Chevy. Enchanté."

Bell Looks at Aurélie for a brief moment and can see right through her and Aurélie picks up on that. He looks down at the ground and then looks at her with an extremely terrifying look that she didn’t expect from someone like him but he is clearly warning her that if she betrays the team in anyway He will track her down and kill her without hesitation. He is really suspicious of her.
He tilts his head and continues what he was doing before without speaking a word.

Yesterday evening...

Ayvee leaned on her balcony in the small beach house she had rented for the past few months. A pina colada in hand, she watched the waves crash into the beach while the crisp sea breeze caressed her face. She breathed a sigh of contentment. Tomorrow would be her new assignment and new team with the PMC. Work had been steady, good even. A multi-role stealth aircraft helped attract contracts, especially one that could launch from carriers or short, dirt runways in the middle of nowhere. She took a long sip from her drink before putting it down on the railing. Walking off the porch and down the beach, she unwrapped her towel and dove into the warm waves.

There were worse places to be stationed.

---

March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
1435Z

Ayvee walked down the hallway towards the briefing room. She wore a collared, button-up t-shirt in a loose fit, khaki shorts, a wicker sun hat, and her old aviators. Her sidearm hung auspiciously off her belt while she carried her flight bag in her right arm. She entered the briefing room and took off her sunglasses, hanging them off her collar on her chest. She gave a warm, slightly sunburnt smile to those present.

"Hope I'm not too late; this place is a bit of a maze when it comes to finding these meeting rooms," she said and took in the rest of the group. There seemed to be some tension, but they looked capable pilots otherwise. She exchanged pleasantries and introductions with the presumed flight lead before she took her seat in the room and got out her touchpad tablet, reviewing the day's weather, any briefing information, and her notes.

March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas
10:30 Hours Local Time

He hurried his pace as he felt a drill hammering in his skull. Halfway there done with the buttons. He inhaled as he quickened the pace, one of his hands quickly snatching a cup of smoking Joe from a bewildered staff member, before taking a sip. Well, that hit the spot.

"Hey! That was my coffee, Circus!" The fellow staff member hollered in indignation, shaking his head.

"I'll compensate you, now I gotta dash!" The cheery tan man with Spanish twang replied, as he kept drinking it at breakneck pace, not skipping a beat. His other hand had finished buttoning the shirt and making himself presentable.

"You still owe me from the poker night!" He said.

"And I'll pay! Come on man, just trust me! Let me sort this kinda mumbo jumbo and you'll get your moola- ah mierda." Lázaro stopped in his tracks, as the limits of his multitasking were made evident and he had entered the briefing room... less than adequatedly. In fact, he had entered backwards, doing a little Moonwalker dance. He eyed his comrades, and then his superior. And then his comrades again. Those female uniforms could be really snug at times.

Welp, there was no time to wonder. "Ah, I thought this was for tea and crumpets." He said nonplussed. "Nevermind then. I hate crumpets." He quickly snapped, as he left the cup aside and saluted with two fingers, a smile on his face. "Right, Briefing? Hello all. Name's Lázaro. But since that kinda slobbers the microphones when pronounced, they call me Circus. Looking forward to work with you all. Specially the new commander. Kind...of."

Bell says a pun”so… do you juggle?” that earns a laugh from everyone. He steals a quarter from a desk and starts flipping it because he’s extremely bored even tho it’s only been like four minutes that feel like 4 hours. He grabs his notebook and starts sketching the team members that are here and he figures he’ll do the rest when they get here.

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo entered the briefing room with a wave, a smile, and a box of donuts which he set down on the central table and opened, saying, "Sorry I'm late; I brought donuts, though!"

He was young, barely nineteen, with silvery hair that may or may not be dyed. His skin was soft and attentively cared for, and his smile was meant to light up the room he had just come in. There was a gentleness in his face, a vulnerability that nevertheless hid confidently tempered steel underneath. But steel could be broken without other metals alloying them, and Mykhailo knew he was no protagonist; rather, he was just one of the team, one of the bunch of unknowns who would one day become his friends and allies.

To be honest with himself, he was nervous about no longer being the center of his world, much less others'. But glancing around at the others and their varied reactions to his offer, the young man smiled again, ready to trust yet also ready to defend himself - metaphorically - should his friendship not be accepted. But for now, he kept an open mind; he wanted to shed the ghost in his mind left behind by Artemio, his first love - He was not going to let hate ruin him like it had so many other people; just because others deserved hate does not mean he should poison his mind with it.

Otherwise, he could not face Artemio when they met in the afterlife.

To be honest, he still doubted that a good afterlife awaited him and his love; the beliefs picked up over a long time in deeply traditional countries were hard to shake off. But he knew that he no longer cared - He had been in love with another boy and what he felt was love; that should be enough.

So he smiled at his teammates, asking, "So, we're about to have the briefing, or are we waiting for anyone else? By the way, my name's Mykhailo, Mykhailo Martinez. I'm glad to meet you all."

He knew that not everything was going to go his way. One day, he'll take a loss and he needs to trust these others to pick him up. But at the same time... Can he pick them up as well, when they were down?

@Rhona W@AtomicNut@AvaP@Chronic@Kensai@Srpv

Bell practically runs to the donuts and grabs two Boston cremes and eats them in literally less then 18 seconds. He goes up to Mykhailo and shakes his hand and says “so how old are you kid” Mykhailo says it and he says “dam” and pats Mykhailo on the back. He goes back to stuffing his face with donuts.

Sebastian got off the couch, moving passed the pretty Lady, and got some donuts. A cruller and a sprinkly purple glaze. All the while bemused at how the Director took everyone in. Sebastian’d remain quiet throughout the beginning, enjoying service. He didnt get back to his seat.

---

“Goddamn, who sets briefings before lunch.”

Click-click, click-click, click-click. Flight boots against the linoleum tile, the wisp patter of loose shirts in the wind, echoed down the hallway. Yeah, he had a point. Who did set briefings right before lunch instead of most any other time. He’d have preferred it early in the morning, further into the night, but the middle of the day was always a bit odd. On the plus side, though, Boston had come to appreciate the laxity of it all, though, even if he compared it to the lessening standards with the Air Force. He’d never have been able to get away with aloha shirts, DBDU pants, and his boots.

Whap whap-whap, whap whap-whap.The heavy-built metal thermos hung at his belt, dancing against his leg with every step, and his hands were shoved deep into the hip pockets. Jane held her thermos, taking a long sip as they strode down the way.

“Busy beforehand, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Where the heck…oh, there it is.”

Open door, stride on in, and see everyone else right there. It’d have been easy enough to pause, look around, what have you with the feeling like they’d missed something, but clearly that wasn’t the case. After all, Valentine didn’t have any bits or pieces of information on the board. Boston smiled a little at it, a shadow of a smirk, turning to one of the back tables to draw out one chair before sitting in another. Jane sat in the proffered seat, briefly pausing to deliver a light shove against his arm, before setting her thermos against the leg of the table with a metallic clang - magnets were useful, all told, for putting mugs wherever you wanted them.

A sweep of the eyes, Boston taking it all in. Who the fuck brought in donuts at this hour. It was almost like they were trying to make him fat and happy, rat bastards. He didn’t recognize the brand, though, so at least that was a plus. All the brands he’d tried on-island were universally shit. One guy was practically stuffing his face with them, though, which was…yeah, a time.

For his part, Boston leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him. Jane just templed her hands in a triangle, leaning forward with her chin on the knuckles.

-Deleted-

March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas
10:38 Hours Local Time

Fuka didn't prefer to be punctual so much as she didn't know how to be anything but punctual. Any event, appointment, or outing required her presence not just on the dot but before it, a habit that followed her throughout her career. Showing up early let her collect her thoughts and focus on whatever task lay ahead.

But sometimes she had no control over her timeliness. Sometimes there was traffic, or an accident, or some new order that superseded her old ones. And sometimes a piece of shit transport pilot stuck his head up his ass and showed up late. She had been in Florida to get her arm recalibrated when the reassignment to the Cobalt Shadows had gone through, and she had been reassured that she would be able to make it to her first briefing on time, provided her diagnostic visit didn't run over.

The talk with the prosthetist finished up at 8:30 in the morning; she had her new pain medication in hand by 8:45 and the puddle jumper she was supposed to get on shown up at nine as promised she would have touched down at the Forge around 10. Instead it showed up at 9:30 and now she was late.

It was a bad start to her new assignment, but what could she do about it? The Navy had neglected to teach her time manipulation so in situations like these she could only sprint off the plane to find her quarters, dump her bags and then jog off again in search of the briefing room.

She slowed her run to a stroll as she hit the final stretch of hallway, walking in to see the gathered crowd. Her new squadron it seemed, with the bossman up front by the monitor and a-Holy hell, how old was that kid? He looked like he was maybe eighteen! Standards were different in a private venture of course, but recruiting teens right out of high school like a mall recruitment office was a bit much.

Any misgivings Fuka had were pushed aside by the presence of sugar, her mechanical hand snatching a donut from the box before she took a seat in front of the briefing display.

Shortly after Boston and Jane entered the room, Lars, Lilah, Miles and Brigitte followed, taking seats for themselves around the room. Scott did a quick glance around the room to check on who was there, and frowning slightly. He nodded to Kat, who was about to close the door, just as Fuka entered. Kat shut the door as Fuka grabbed a donut. Scott drew himself up and took a breath, before plunging ahead.

"All right, everyone. Thank you all for making it. A few things first-"
He glared at Bell. "As far as I know, you don't outrank me, so you can't smoke in my fucking briefing room! Put out that cigar, or I'll feed it to you... rectally. Also, you ought to know better than to smoke in an indoor area on the base! You're lucky the damn smoke detectors didn't go off. Serves you right you threw up for being a greedy asshole, too." He nodded to Mykhailo and gave the young man a slight smile and a wink. "Thanks for bringing the donuts. I'll grab one when I'm done talking".

He cast his eyes across the assembled faces. A grin slid onto his lips as he regarded Circus, his entrance to the room being particularly memorable. He nodded respectfully at Boston and Jane, the pair seeming very together and professional. A slight raise of an eyebrow and a friendly smile at Ayvee, who was ready and waiting. He gave a similar smile and returned the salute from Aurelie, impressed by her turning up in an immaculately presented dress uniform - and one that the notably gorgeous redhead made look very good.
"Bonjour," he replied in barely passable French, and nodded to her as he dropped the salute. "Please, take a seat. And thank you".

Once everyone was seated and paying attention, Scott found - to his delight and relief - his nervousness had dried up, replaced with enthusiasm and eagerness, and the confidence in his experience and authority. He returned to his place alongside the wall screen, and cleared his throat as he spoke up.
"Welcome, everyone. As you'll already be aware from the information you'll have received; I'm Lieutenant Colonel Valentine, your CO for Cobalt Haze squadron. You can call me 'Heartbreak', 'Scott' and 'Sir' if you must"
"I won't bore you with details you already know about the squadron, our role, or the rest. You're all here, you're all pilots. You know what we do, and what the expectations are from the Company if you've got this far".
He paused, his expression turning more firm and stern before he continued.

"I've read all of your dossiers and your records, so I know you've got experience and skill. Some of you have already shown you're professionals, or can be. Others... well. We'll work on it. I'm not gonna ride you all; it's not my style to be the most exacting or strict commanding presence. As long as you do what I need you do, do it well, and do it properly, then I won't ride you about the small stuff. But if you goof off all the time, make me, the squadron, or the Company look bad, then I will shit on you from a great height, and with righteous fury. Your head will spin so fast, you'll be mounted on top of a helicopter. But I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt for now. My expectations are pretty simple: be responsible and professional when you need to be. And when I need you to be. Follow the rules and the regs, and make sure shit gets done how it should, then we won't have to sweat about the small stuff or get stuck on it."
He smiled again, nodding firmly, before he continued.

"Now, all that said; we don't have a lot of time to sit around. We may be a new squadron, but it seems like we ain't getting it easy because of that. We've already got a mission to fly".
He clicked the wireless remote in his hand, and the screen came to life, showing a map of the Mediterranean, specifically the mid-region, around the southern tip of Italy, and the northern regions of Tunisia and Libya, and the islands of Sicily and Malta, their coastlines altered as all were by the results of the Heavenfall.
"Here's the deal," he clicked again, and the screen was overlaid with various windows, showing N/UN personnel and other unloading aircraft and ships, people working busily on construction and clearing debris, and various arrows on the map showing the courses and flow of traffic in the air and sea alike.
"The Maltese government is trying to get back on its' feet, with help from the N/UN. Supplies for the population are being shipped in by air and sea; construction supplies, heavy equipment, medical supplies and aid, and all sorts of other... stuff. However,"
He clicked again, and short video clips played; ships under attack from the air and sea and smoke rising from them. Life rafts surrounding another as it sank. A cargo plane; heavily damaged and crashing on landing.
"Raiding forces - their particular origins unknown, but believed to be a hostile PMC or some kind of alliance of local powers - have been attacking these supply convoys. They appear to be staging out of various locations on the North African coast, primarily around Libya and Tunisia. There have been raiding parties coming ashore in previous years before the government got organised, but this seems like a concerted effort. Lives have been lost, and the convoys aren't equipped to repel military-scale firepower. Current satellite intel shows an increase of activity around various coastal ports and airfields in the area too, so it seems like something is definitely building - which is where we come in".
He clicked through various photos that showed evidence of what he'd spoken about, before the next showed Malta International Airport from overhead.
"We'll be deploying to Malta International Airport, and stationed there for the duration of the contract. Our job will be the following. One: act as a quick-response force to defend and escort the maritime and aerial supply flights.
Two: engage in reconnaissance of the suspected enemy positions
Three: Form and execute a strike against those positions to deter or destroy any further attempts to interfere with N/UN, Maltese, or other activities by these rogue elements".
He clicked and an overview of those goals came up on the screen. His face had lost the slight smile it carried, becoming more professional and firm as he spoke clearly and at a measured pace.
"We'll depart from the Forge at 13:00 local time, giving you time to get your shit in order. Flight plans have been sent to your personal tablets, along with a mission itinerary and checklist. We'll refuel over the Atlantic from an N/UN tanker, so prepare for a long flight over sea. Once we've reached the airport and are squared away, we'll have more specific local intel to go over about the kind of forces we're up against, and start building a plan of action".
He nodded to the rear of the room, where the transport and helo crew sat. "We'll be deploying with our supporting elements, and a heavy transport will also accompany us with the necessary logistics for our stay. We'll also have an AWACS in the region, flying out of Italy".
He eyed everyone as he clicked off the last slide, meeting eyes around the room.
"Any questions, comments, opinions, ideas...?"
And as he'd said, he picked a donut for himself and took a bite as he waited for any feedback.

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo raised his hand and asked, "Is a certain nation to the east of the Ukraine involved, along with the NCAA? Or do we not know that for sure? To be frank, this sounds like the sort of thing both would do and I'm glad the N/UN hired us for it. Also, when do we deploy to Malta and how good are the defenses, the facilities, and what allied assets are nearby?"

Let go of your hate, keep only a little of your paranoia, were his thoughts. He quite liked Scott and the others, and so sought to contribute to the team, because, well, these are his family for now. So he racked his brain for pertinent questions and feedback to give, hoping that he did not overthink. So the Ukrainian-Filipino continued, "Also... What will be our area of operations once we are in Malta? Just the North African region? How respectful should we be of NCAA and Corporate Airspace?"

@Rhona W@AtomicNut@AvaP@Chronic@Kensai@Srpv

---

They watched with mild amusement as one pilot decided to light a cigar after throwing up, seeming to have speed-eaten half a dozen donuts, before that same pilot was lit the hell up from front to back by the CO. It turned a smile to Boston’s face at it, at the whole of it, just because of how absurd the whole thing had become and how absolutely stupid the pilot seemed to be for doing it. If anything, he expected the man to have been hungover or still drunk to do such things, and that somehow seemed better than if he’d done it sober even if being drunk at a briefing was so very, very dumb on its own. Jane just let out a long, long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose with closed eyes. Yeah, positive thoughts. Positive thoughts.

Then Valentine got through the briefing, Jane producing from her pocket a notepad and pencil like magic. She jotted things down as they came, notes here and there, key points of the briefing itself along with a personal note to check the goddamn tablet. They never checked the tablet, it seemed like, between the fact that the battery always seemed to die too quickly and the charger never seemed to properly work, but jesus they really did need to check that stupid tablet. Leaning back, she turned to Boston briefly, nudging him with her elbow while tapping on the note. He nodded sagely. Yup, they needed to check that thing.

Maltese convoys being caught by unknown parties, destroyed here and there…Boston narrowed his eyes at it. Why they were doing that…that was the big question. It wasn’t to steal it, blowing things up with missiles and cannons generally destroyed it, so clearly it was to apply pressure on Malta to either abandon itself - impossible, really -, to seek help from elsewhere, or to simply starve away and die. That’d cut down the potential culprits pretty well, and Boston could dismiss the Lt Col’s idea that the Libyans or Tunisians would be able to take advantage of that issue. Sure, they were maybe staging out from there, but certainly that’d be mercenaries working for some other group. Who could fund the whole issue while being able to actually take advantage of it realistically…there were a few groups, but really only a few. The plan itself was pretty solid, though.

Then one of the younger pilots piped-up, and Boston’s mouth went wry at the idea. A certain nation east of Ukraine, jesus just say Russia. He scratched at his neck idly, swallowing before speaking-up in response to the guy seated further on up, looking directly at him.

“Thirteen hundred today, clearly not good enough to halt the raids, good enough to keep whoever is pulling this nonsense from actually attacking Malta itself, god knows but it’s an International Airport, and an AWACS from Italy.”

Turning his head back to the Lt Col, Boston continued, “Am I to understand Freight Train and Stingray will be performing your reconnaissance operations along with the AWACS, sir?”

It was certainly a crew... Ayvee couldn't help but be taken aback by the eccentric squadron forming in the meeting room. Listening to the squadron commander talk like a drill sergeant certainly took her back to her academy days, and if the situation were different, she'd be almost insulted by that. They were supposed to be professionals, not raw recruits, sun hat notwithstanding.

However, considering everything else, she decided to make the most sensible move anyone can make in a corporate team meeting: stay quiet and listen. As the briefing progressed to the actual job, she perked up at the idea of being stationed in Malta. She had fond memories of when her father would visit the little jewel of the Mediterranean before Heavenfall, the history, the food, and the heavenly diving locations. Ayvee hoped it all would still be there when they arrived.

Pushing that thought aside, she refocused on the mission itself. As Scott continued, she reviewed the information in the briefing folder on the tablet. Various pictures, VFR charts, and other notable details scrolled past, some of which were on the board as he clicked through the presentation.

The QRF plan sounded acceptable to her. It was a shame; being on call meant less time on the beach and no whine tastings, but that was the mission at the moment. It did bother her how weak the recon was in the area before arrival, but she supposed that's what they were there for. To that point, "Boston" spoke up. “Am I to understand Freight Train and Stingray will be performing your reconnaissance operations along with the AWACS, sir?” he said.

Avyvee nodded to that and spoke up as well. "I think that'd make the most sense." She then turned to Boston. "Is the EW and optics on Freight Train all up to date? My guidance camera is pretty high resolution, but my stealth capabilities deteriorate when I mount my ECM pod. If we're doing recon, I'd prefer to keep my cross-section as low as possible so we can pen deeper. If things go wrong, we'll need that extra jamming capability, even with AWAC's support. I'm not expecting them to have anything too crazy, but it's better to be safe than sorry until we know what bad actors we're dealing with, as you said." she finished.

@Thayr

Sebastian pondered for a moment. He barfed. I bet he’s a crackshot. It’s March, there’s got to be chilly. Night mission? then asked “Sir, this a night op?”