March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas

Just after Valkyrie's Gripen had touched down and taxied away from the runway, the squadrons' C-130J thundered down the strip and lumbered into the air with a growling of propellers, followed by a bigger, four-jet Antonov transport that took off with a rumbling roar.
As the sound died away with the planes receding in the sky to the east, Kat arrived at the hangar the Gripen was parked outside of and where Ayvee's fighter was waiting. The tall woman stuffed her kitbag into the baggage pod hung on one of the Super Tomcat's hardpoints, before her attention was taken as well by the newly arrived sleek little delta-winged jet and its' pilot. She hung her helmet on the end of one of the missile rails and walked over to the pair, arriving just as Ayvee introduced herself. She smiled at the pair hesitantly as she stepped up close, and gave a nod to Freyja.
"Oh, hey;" she said in her rough, husky voice. "Valkyrie, good to meet you. And you're Stingray, saw you at the briefing but didn't get a chance to get introduced. Looking forward to working with you both"

---

Meanwhile, Scott had taken care of his own business; he grabbed some chow, took a shower and packed a bag with the essentials from his quarters. Such as they were; most of his stuff was still in storage in the US. He hadn't decided so far on whether to invest in a house on the island, or rent one, or just stay in the base housing. Whatever; he was all-but ready to head for the ready-room to suit up but with a little time to spare.
He headed out of the quarters and took a walk that'd take him in the direction of the ready room, hangar and the rest. He was eager to strap into the Tomcat again and get into the air, and for the mission to come - although before he got too far, he was distracted by the sight of Mykhailo and Fuka hanging on a bench with their kit bags. He stepped up just in time to hear Myk's clumsy pass - or joke, he wasn't sure - at the Japanese-American pilot. He couldn't help but raised an eyebrow and laugh as he leant on the edge of the bench.
"Well, good to see you two are getting acquainted fast," he said with a growing grin. "So, how's it going; am I seeing a romance about to bloom here?"

Mykhailo Martinez

"Just joking around," Mykhailo said. "An idle thought, that's all."

Besides, I prefer men, and she may not like that, the young man was thinking to himself. Then he sighed, relaxed, and admitted, "That said, I don't mind pretty folk."

Don't come out of the closet yet, Myk, he thought. You know they might not like you if you do it.

He decided to be careful; it's not as if Amazonian warrior women, like Fuka was one, weren't appealing to him. But honestly, if only a young man 'so inclined' was in their Squadron; that would make him even happier than he was now. But alas, all the men here were either: 1.) Straight, and 2.) Old.

So he faced Scott and said, "No romance yet, Sir. Besides, not ready for it."

This was a truth, considering how he had to get over Artemio first, and the ghost he represented...

@Smike@Rhona W

March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas

Whatever she expected him to ask, that wasn't it. The audacity was almost respectable even while baffling, and Fuka raised an eyebrow at the 'joke'. Of all the times for the boss to appear, now would not have been Fuka's first pick. Peacenik turned to face Scott and gave him a wry smirk, not believing the claim that it had all been a joke but nevertheless amused.

"Casanova here would like that, I'm sure, but going on a date with someone half my age at most, who lacks life experience and has, until this point, only ever hooked up with tittering high-schoolers? Somehow I'm not hearing wedding bells."

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo chuckled and said, "Understandable, Amazon," giving Fuka an affectionate (well, 'affectionate') pet name of his own.

He then turned to Scott and decided to ask, "So, what got you into this line of business in the first place? I already told Amazon why I am, but what about you? I presume you have your own story as to why you chose the high-flying life?"

Glancing at Fuka, Mykhailo was slightly wary that Fuka might have been too annoyed by his 'needling'; well, Mykhailo liked mischief when he can get away with it, and he liked to think that he fit a sharper niche of humor that Circus the Flying Circus had neglected to fill. Not that he disliked that guy, even though he found the slapstick genre to be bland, precisely because he had liked it when he was six or eight and those were days that he was ashamed of.

He was a grown-up boy now; nineteen. But he was still a boy and he needed to learn from those more experienced than him if he was to survive long enough to avenge Artemio and bring order to his mother's country and contribute in some small way to the defeat of the NCAA and their friends in Russia and China.

Let go, Mykhailo, he thought. Amazon - Fuka - was right that you have to take things less seriously; focus on the job - Not an imaginary fight between good and evil. Calm down, listen to the commanding officer's story.

If there was anything Mykhailo was proud of, it was letting go, shedding his anger even against a target that did him and those he loved harm - And in doing so, lightening his own pain and saving his mind the stress and trouble of someone who hated beyond reason.

@Smike@Rhona W

March 12th, 2014
Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge'
Unnamed island in the Bahamas



@Rhona W, @AvaP

Scott couldn't help but grin at Fuka's wry smile, especially given Myk's more formal reply. It just made the whole thing that much more amusing.
"Ah, too bad", he replied with a put-on sigh, still leaning on the back of the bench between the pair and giving an amused glance over the top of his shades, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his mis-matched eyes. "Going on a date with an older woman, you'd definitely end up with a lot of life experience afterward, that's for sure. But I respect your balls for asking," he said with a chuckle, before nodding to Fuka, his grin a close match for her smirk. Mykhailo changed track, asking him a question about his past, and Scott faltered, caught by surprise by the sudden shift, before he relaxed into a shrug.
"Honestly... ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to fly. I think I had a more romanticised, idealistic view of flying as a kid. I mean, who doesn't think about things that way when they're young? But," he shook his head and smiled, shrugging again. "The obsession never went away. Even now, I still love strapping myself onto a plane and getting up there. Nothing quite like it".
He stood up from the back of the bench, and nodded in the direction of the hangars and the adjacent buildings.
"And speaking of which, I'm heading to the equipment room; time to get ready to fly. Can't imagine you'll be too far behind me"
He nodded to them both and headed in the direction of the building to suit up for flight.

Meanwhile, at the hangar, Kat nodded back at Freyja as she greeted her.
"That's right;" she answered, struggling to speak up in her raspy voice. "I'm looking forward to working alongside you too. Both of you," she added, nodding to Stingray as well. "Although, you're right," she said, giving an amused smile to Scandinavian, offering her own hand to shake as well. "From what I've seen so far of the others, interesting definitely seems like it'll cover it well".

A few moments later, a crew bus pulled up and Scott disembarked, carrying his helmet bag, a travel bag of his personal gear, and clad in his flight suit, G-suit and survival vest, much like Kat when she'd arrived too. Seeing her and Ayvee with Freyja, he crossed over to greet the new pilot.
"Lieutenant Svensdotter," he said with a smile. "I'm glad you arrived before we took off - although, sorry to get you back up in the air so quickly. I'll make sure you're first on crew rest as soon as we get to Malta though; you'll need it by then. I'm looking forward to working with you as well," he said, holding out a hand to shake, before nodding to Kat and Ayvee as well.
"That said, I guess we ought to get busy; it's about that time"
He headed over to the Tomcat, stuffing his bag into the baggage pod along with Kat's, and fastening the access door. They did a walkaround of the jet with the maintenance chief, discussing a few things, before both climbed aboard and strapped in. The sound of the hangar was drowned out as APU's started, the shrill whine building as the starter unit fed enough power to the Super Tomcat to get one engine started, that in turn started the other.
Chocks were removed along with intake covers. Access and maintenance hatches closed and hoses and feeds disconnected as Scott and Kat ran through their preflight checks. Finally, the Super Tomcat's engines wound up to speed with the characteristic whine, that built to a howl, and then a rumble. Scott buckled his mask into place as the chief pulled the ladder away from the plane, and with a gentle push of his left hand, Scott fed the engines power and the jet began to taxi for the runway.
"Good afternoon, Cobalt Haze squadron, this is Cobalt Lead. Weather is looking fine for our departure, so if you wouldn't mind following me to the runway at your convenience. I'll be first off and orbit at ten thousand feet for you to form up on me, and then we'll depart in a leisurely Eastward direction to head for our rendezvous with the tanker and our transports somewhat west of the Azores, as per your flight plans".
His tone was informal and relatively breezy as he spoke, and his eyes moved between his instrument panel and the outside of the jet with a practiced ease, including a glance or two at the mirrors to meet Kat's eye as she raised an eyebrow and shook her head in amusement from the rear seat.
The F-14 turned onto the last taxiway and held there, waiting for the final checks with the tower and by a maintenance chief in a pickup truck, giving a visual final-final check as Scott waited for the others to follow suit.

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo was flying now; he had followed every step of the take-off procedure - He did not need to be the best or act like he was the best; he just needed to be enough to stand beside his squadron-mates. He knew what people said he was - A 'wunderkind', an 'anime protagonist', 'naive', 'callow', 'foolish' and 'too young'.

That slipped off him like water off a duck's back, too. Artemio would not want him to be sad.

He opened channels to Valkyrie, before saying, "Hey, hey, Valk! Brightspark here, and I'm glad to be flying with you instead of against you!"

Grinning under his pilot mask, he continued, "You're cute, you know that? Sad that I didn't get to fight you, though; you would have been a real challenge, win or lose!"

This would have struck those who heard it as boastful or overconfident, had not Mykhailo clarified, "Not that I care whether I win or lose as long as I survive reasonably intact. But seriously, though, Valk; you're not that bad a gal, from what I've heard - Let's have a drink together once we arrive in Malta!"

@Rhona W@Damo021

March 12th, 2014
F/A-18E Super Hornet
Somewhere over the Atlantic

Amazon huh? She had undoubtedly been given worse nicknames.

Fuka listened as Scott indulged the kid's questions, noting that he seemed more fond of him than she was currently. She didn't know if he had handpicked his team and thus chose the doesn't shave, barely postpubescent, desperate-for-attention-but-trying-to-play-it-off-as-a-joke novice or if he was just willing to make the best of a bad situation, but she couldn't help but wonder if he didn't find the situation odd. It was something to ask him about later, after they touched down.

Suiting up and taking off presented zero issues, Fuka falling in line behind the Tomcat as instructed. The Jolly Roger getup was an excellent pick to be sure but she'd take the sheer sleekness of her own paintjob. Was a glossy black coat with a Playboy bunny on the tail good for camouflage? No. Did it stand out and thus feed her admittedly powerful ego? Oh yes, absolutely and a thousand times yes.

They weren't long into the trip when Myk opened his mouth again, Fuka rolling her eyes in response to his second attempt at romance. The Navy jock snickered to herself as she flicked on her own comms, clearing her throat as she did.

"Ladies of Cobalt Haze, this is Cobalt 5. We have an enemy agent in our midst trying to honeypot us; I repeat, we have a confirmed swallow. He's tried to trap two of your comrades in one day, do not let your guard down."

Aurélie had to stifle a giggle at Fuka's shutdown of Mykhailo's... attempt at a pickup line. You couldn't fault the boy for trying to, how you say, "shoot his shot". But she did hope he was better at flying than flirting.

She wiggled Papillon's wings. It was a standard gesture when you were formation flying, within visual range, like a wave of the hand but with the aircraft itself. A trained eye might note just how crisply the maneouver was executed, a tribute both to the agility of the Rafale and the skill of its pilot.

She cleared her throat, and keyed her comms.

"Cobalt 5, Cobalt 3. Thank you for the information. We are duly warned. Cobalt 7, you are welcome to take me on in the simulator any time."

March 12th, 2014
Eurofighter Typhoon
Somewhere over the Atlantic

Where was he? Oh right, he was flying in formation. Lázaro had been rather angry at the existence known as TDC he had barely registered what he was doing, simply plowing through as if he had switched an autopilot on his brain. Before he knew he was already on the air. He had done this so many times, with so different steel skins he already felt half bird. Although each and everyone of the flying chariots he rode had their own personality, from the sputtering stalwartness of the Flying Pig, slow but reliable and easy on the hand, to the skittiness of his Jabalina.

"Acknowledged." He said on the radio channel. The skies were clear, and it seemed a good start for this kind of mission. He felt elated, as he knew some of the places he was going to flyby already."This is Cobalt 6. Cobalt 7 seems to have taken quite some friendly damage. The gentlemen of Cobalt will not leave this affront unavenged. I challenge you all to a dancing duel once we land our birds." The red-clad Eurofighter Typhoon then began to veer, doing a lazy barrel roll, still in formation. "With that being said, since we're near my homeland let me give a small cheer to my buddies of Patrulla Águila."

Circus gripped the stick as the spinning accelerated quickly dipping in altitude, before changing course and then going upwards, back into his spot in the formation, with a flawlessly executed maneuver."Wee." He let on the intercom, before resuming operation.

March 12th, 2014
F-117N "Seahawk"
Somewhere over the Atlantic

Ayvee Reagan laid back in her seat as the clouds drifted by. Her mask hung off the side as listened to her tunes playing softly as they flew in formation through the air. These moments were always calming for her, just drifting through the clouds. It was also nice to have a chance to admire everyone's aircraft. The squadron was truly diverse, with several exotic aircraft, herself included. Though that at least was something she was familiar with at this point in her career. Valk was a bit interesting. Someone who had flown against the N/UN now working for them. Though in the line of mercenary work, that was also not very surprising. You fly where the money was, and the N/UN alongside Shattered Steel often offered the largest payout. Or at the very least, consistent work. However, that wasn't completely true for Ayvee. Working for some of the other big players often came with some uncomfortable connotations as well. Eastern block states had a habit of tasking mercs to bomb civilian targets, and far Eastern blocks were like that but with ships. At least the N/UN clients tried to keep their work somewhat clean. She may be a mercenary, but even she had her principles.

Her almost meditative state of thought was cut short as the comms came to life. Thankfully it was the inevitable small talk of the squadron rather than a panicked call of contact. Ayvee smiled at the banter, glad to hear they were all starting to get along. She pressed the transmitter button with her thumb and spoke.

"Cobalt 4 here, Cobalt 5, no worries here. Can't honeypot the bear if the bear doesn't enjoy the honey," she said with a laugh.

After the ribbing died down, she decided to chime in again.

"Cobalt 4 here. I wouldn't worry so much about that one. So Cobalts, got a fun road trip question for you. If you had to be any animal, what would it be?" she said casually. A fun way to pass the time and learn a bit about her new squadron. Keeping the questions from being too personal was a point as well, what with the sorted pasts all mercs seem to carry.

@Damo021@AtomicNut@Kensai@Smike@Letter Bee@Rhona W

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo was learning to take the fact that he annoyed people in stride, and instead focused on replying to Aurélie with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, "Sure, I'd be glad to fight you on the simulators!"

Then he said to Ayvee, "I'd be an ermine, I guess? I already look the part..."

The squadron could hear him chuckle over the radio, before a weird choking noise that seemed like a sob was heard. Mykhailo was happy, but happy tears while flying several hundred meters in the air, in very cold temperatures, was not practical. If anything, it was unprofessional, ridiculous, and worst of all, fogged up the flight mask.

Ever since Artemio died, Mykhailo had grieved. He was still grieving, even now. But just because he was sad did not mean he couldn't open up his heart to everyone else here.

"Thanks, guys," he finally said after a moment's pause. "You've all been so good to me - I was afraid that this flight would be boring, but it isn't; not with you all around..."

There was still fear; fear that he'd fail them. Fear that he was no real wunderkind and lacked the skills needed to keep up with them. For a brief moment, Mykhailo wished that he was older... But that moment passed - He did not want to be closer to old age and death, even if there was an afterlife and not just oblivion.

"Anyway..." Mykhailo continued, "Call me young and naive - I'm both - but, Valkyrie... I genuinely think you're the real deal. I wish to have been the one to defeat you and also have been the first one to greet you into our ranks - Sadly, I'll just be the second or maybe third one. After all, you decided to escort that plane with civilians home at the cost of facing punishment; everyone heard about that. I know I'll face my share of betrayals and tragedies and eventually lose faith in everything one day, but that day isn't today. As long as we're in the same squadron, and as long as you treat us well, you're my -"

He choked at that, "You're my friend."

Part of him wondered if this was wise - Can such a criminal be truly forgiven? Mykhailo pursed his lips and said to himself, Yes.

@Damo021@AtomicNut@Kensai@Smike@AvaP@Rhona W

Scott's takeoff had been uneventful, the Super Tomcat responding faithfully and reliably as it always did. Now, he was at the leading edge of their staggered line formation as they crossed the Atlantic, leaving the Bahamas far behind as they headed for the rendezvous with the in-flight refuelling tanker. He listened in, and couldn't help but chuckle as the banter flew freely, especially as Fuka gave out her 'warning' and the others replied. He heard Kat giggle softly too over their inter-plane circuit, though she didn't join in.
"Roger, Cobalt 5, Cobalt 1-1; offering a refuge for any of the ladies of the squadron against Cobalt 7's attempts. It's perfectly legit, I assure you," he said with a deadpan humour in his tone. "Self-defence pillow-fighting classes will be included". He sniggered as Kat chucked something small at him from the rear seat in the cockpit, bouncing it off of his helmet with a 'clunk'.
He laughed as Circus mentioned a dancing contest, and replied in continued good humour. "Confirmed, Cobalt 6; I've seen Footloose, I'm pretty sure I can improvise well enough for us to put on a good show, over".

The banter and chatter continued over the rest of the flight on and off; it was something to pass the time with as they flew over miles and miles of ocean with little to mark their position and nothing much to see of note, especially at their altitude.
Finally, the tanker hove into view; looking more-or-less like a military-grey airliner. The refuelling was matter-of-fact and straightforward as they refuelled somewhere north-west of the Azores, and overtook their support planes, the fighters being faster than the transports that would arrive shortly after them at Malta's international airport.

As they moved closer to Spain, Circus put on a little impromptu flight display in salute of his countries' display team, something that Scott acknowledged with a waggle of his jets' wingtips.
As Ayvee spoke up and asked her question, Scott pondered his answer, chuckling at Myk's reply and giving a shrugging nod of agreement; the mental image did fit the young man well.
He was a bit perplexed and surprised by his following reaction though; it was surprisingly heartfelt and sincere for having barely known any of the rest of them for less than a day, and for something so run-of-the-mill as a flight across the ocean. Bemused and a little unsure of how to reply or what to say, he simply double clicked his microphone as an acknowledgement of the young man's words, before taking a breath to speak up in reply to Ayvee's question. Kat, however, beat him to it, a note of amusement in her raspy tones.
"Cobalt 4, Cobalt 1-2. Heartbreak would be a fox-"
Scott started to smile as he caught her eye in the mirrors on the canopy bracing, and she smirked at him as she looked back.
"-A wily, grey, mangy old fox...!"
He pouted in mock upset as he looked back at her, but couldn't help but grin.
"Well, what about you, Cobalt 1-2? What would you be?"
"I mean, duh. I'd be a cat!"

A short while later, they started to lower in altitude as their destination came closer. The sun had long set, and the night's splendour had given them a spectacular view of the stars from their high altitude, and of the distant gleam and glimmer of lights from the various cities that spread out far below.
As they dropped lower, the lights across the landscape marked out the populated areas of the island of Malta, resolving further and further into the shapes and lines of roads, towns, and villages, and finally the landing lights of the runway ahead of them.
Scott lead the approach, touching down with little flair or deliberation, the Super Tomcat's gear making barely a squeak of rubber on the runway as he landed expertly, the big carrier jet slowing down quickly to take the first turn-off and taxi to the apron.
He followed the guiding gestures of a ground crewman to park the plane up, mentally noting the possibility of needing shelters of some form, as he couldn't help but noticed the charred and twisted tangle of metal that had been bulldozed to one side of the parking apron, and the scars on the buildings from shrapnel or strafing, as well as sandbagged positions on flat roofs with the blunt snouts of anti-aircraft guns pointed skyward.
As he shut the jet down, crews rushed over to help him and Kat down, securing the planes' wheels with chocks and pulling down the built-in cockpit ladder. Climbing down, he took off his helmet and looked over as a man with tanned skin and a bushy, black moustache stepped forward, wearing a camouflage uniform with rank insignia that marked him as equal to his own.
"Colonel Valentine, a pleasure to meet you. I am Colonel Abela, deputy commander of the Maltese armed forces. Brigadier Hanlon sends his regrets that he cannot be here to meet you, but his position and duties have him in much discussion with both the President and also the N/UN. He sends his thanks for your arrival, however, and has detached as many of our personnel to aid you as possible"
"Thank you, Colonel. The rest of my squadron are with me, and our transports are right behind us too, with more of our own personnel and equipment to help bolster your defences. As soon as they land, I'll be happy to turn the security forces over to your command and advice on where best they can be utilised and employed for effective defence. Do you have somewhere for us to bunk down, and facilities for command and control?"
"Certainly. I have directed Captain Murano to be your liason, he will show you where you will be staying, and co-ordinate your actions with our own. We will make any and all resources we can spare available to you as well. Unfortunately, that is not as much as we may like; we are still rebuilding from the disasters of years past, which is why we require these resources that are being interrupted to begin with, and it is the current feeling that these raiders seem to be aiming to stage an invasion. But I will leave this to Murano to brief you in full"
"Thank you, Colonel. I'm sure we'll speak again soon"
The Colonel excused himself, climbing into a Land Rover that departed shortly after, and leaving Murano to introduce himself. A short man with bright, intense eyes and fair hair, he seemed very competent and quite personable as he spoke, turning to watch the rest of the squadron arrive with Kat and Scott.

The Sun had long set during their flight to Malta, honestly it was a beautiful sight when one could just fly and not be fighting. The gleam of bright various bright lights was an assuring sign for Freyja, after two very long flights, fatigue was really setting in and rest was calling for her, sleep was literally screaming for her. Eventually the runway light was a signal for the journey’s end and when it was her time to land, she did so, with little complaint from the wheel of her delta wing aircraft. She followed the guiding gestures of a ground crewman to park the plane up her plane with crew coming to attend to her aircraft and secure it with chocks and so forth. While shutting her plane down, she took a moment to see that the airfield had seen combat, and quite recently.

Once out of the plane she did get some looks from some of the Maltese crew, but she didn’t pay much mind to it and removed her helmet and grabbing her things while her CO spoke to their liaison that had been assign to them for the duration of their stay. When the pleasantries were done with, and the tour of the base was complete, Freyja could finally look forward to actually getting well needed rest. She had placed her duffel bag on a bed in the corner of the room where the ladies of Cobalt would be sharing, and got herself sorted. The plan was simply to go and get something to eat, shower and hit the sack as she was getting very tired.

Leaving to go to the mess hall to get some chow, Freyja got herself some food, she didn’t get much, but a small bite to eat would do her no harm, she sat herself down at a table no one was sat at and kept to herself from the mingling crowd that was already in the mess. Freyja could feel that there were eyes laying upon her, but she chose to ignore it, she had barely got started with her meal when a couple of guys came over to the table she sat at, one spinning a chair round to sit on it backwards while the other simply rest his foot upon another, casually leaning on his leg that was perched up on the seat, staring at the pilot.

“This the one?” the guy that was sat opposite Freyja opened with. “Yeah this is one, got out of that Griffon, the description of the markings on the tail I can easily remember.” Freyja sighed quietly under her breath and stopped eating. “Can I help you gentlemen?” The guys watched her movements for a moment before the one leaning spoke up. “You’re the bitch, that sank the N/UN navy supply ship many years ago, it was carrying equipment and supplies meant for Malta.” The other interjected. “My brother was on that ship, 70% of the people on that ship went down with her, do you remember that war criminal? Or was it just it numbers for you from whatever PMC gave you the biggest payout? The N/UN paying you the highest now is it? How dare you come here.”

Freyja slammed her cutlery down on the table which brought about the silence of the whole mess hall. Clearly people could over hear what was said. She looked up at the men, clearly she was annoyed, she often refused to speak of her past. “Nothing I have done since turning against my previous employers will make up for the atrocities I once committed in their name. Somewhere deep inside, I knew it was wrong, a voice I did not recognize screamed for me to stop. Back then I saw no way out, it was the way things were, they could not be changed. I tried convincing myself the people I was hurting deserved it. I became numb to their pain and suffering, I learned to shut out the voice speaking against it.”

“What the Fu… There is always a choice lady, and you dam well know it!” One of the guys scolded at her. Maybe her answer was no what they fully expected. “Indeed there is” she simply replied. Her short responses only seemed to anger the guys more. “And yet you still choose to ignore it!” Freyja continued to get agitated, but as much as she would want to smack these guys into next week, it would only make things worse for Cobalt Squadron and so refrained herself for falling into that trap. “And yet I sit here now” The guys hesitated on what to say next, they couldn’t believe just how this pilot was answering them back. “Do you hear yourself right now? They should have just locked you up and thrown away the key, hell you deserve a harsher punishment, I really can’t wait for the day you think you can forgive yourself.” This hit Freyja a bit, punishment, she knew full well about punishment she had to endure after hammerfall, working hard to keep her emotions in check.

“Because it will never come, I have accepted it. One day others may try to convince me that they have forgiven me, but that says more about them than me.” One of the guys rubbed his temples and audibly sighing. “Jesus… You got some nerve lady, okay fine war criminal, how do you plan to go on then? Huh? Enlighten us” Again she refrained herself from standing and striking any of them, the mess all just watching it all unfold.

“It is simple. I will never forgive myself. Accept it. I hurt others, many others, that cannot be undone. I will never find personal retribution, but the N/UN felt my life does not have to end. That which is right, just and true can still prevail. If you do not fight for what you believe in all may be lost for everyone else. But I do not fight for myself, I fight for others, others that may be saved through my effort. That is the least I can do.” She finished before standing up, she had lost her appetite, speaking of a part of her past made the woman shake, she was pissed, that much was evident. “Now if you bloody excuse me, I have lost my Appetite.”

Freyja ended up storming out of the mess hall, she was not upset from what the men did, she deserved it, but it angered her so to the point she felt she was forced to defend herself for the things she had done and in front of others also, maybe she should have expected it, it was only matter of time before something reared its ugly head, just so happened to be on her first assignment. She had made it to where the female dorms were assigned for her squadron, momentarily pacing back and forth around her bed. She rubs her temples for brief moment before rubbing under her eyes, without realizing it in her anger a tear was shed and so hid that evidence pronto. Suddenly there was a loud thud from the room as Freyja punched a nearby locker door denting it.

Mykhailo Martinez

Mykhailo ate his food in bitterness, seeing both sides of the issue between Valkyrie and the others. But it didn't matter; the young man had made his choice - Like heck, he was going to abandon his friend, but he knew full well that to pick a fight against people who were themselves grieving, people he understood, was not a good way to handle things. But how was he going to tell Valkyrie that he was not going to abandon her?

Oh, wait, he had a Datapad. So after eating, he typed a message to Valk on the pad, a personal message that said: Oi. You need to eat. I'm bringing you food. Just because you're not forgiving yourself does not mean you're allowed to starve - What if the foe attacks at any moment?

And so he took Valk's tray and rules or no rules, went to the very door of the Women's dorms, and knocked, gently but audibly, saying, "Did you get my message, Kyrie? You're not allowed to get yourself bent out of shape till you save more lives than you've killed - You're still willing and able to save people; so you don't get to harm the capability to do that; not if you're serious about it..."

To be honest, part of Mykhailo regretted being so free with words of forgiveness and friendship, not with someone he would have shot down himself not too long ago. If it had been Artemio she had killed somehow, back then... But regrets did not mean faithlessness; Mykhailo was anything but faithless, despite what Priests and tut-tutting lay preachers accused him of during his time with Artemio. He had made his bed, and it was time to metaphorically sleep in it.

But next time, he will make it clear that when someone needed his forgiveness, it was only personal from him; he was not going to speak on behalf of others. And forgiveness did not mean being blind to the danger others presented whether they meant to betray him or not.

That was a valuable lesson to learn - A bitter fruit the 21-year-old knew was vital to taste.

@Damo021

March 12th, 2014
Women's Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ
Malta, The Mediterranean

Fuka had no idea what to think about Myk, the too-young and too-emotional little guy with the Russia-sized chip on his shoulder. The consideration of her spirit animal was interrupted by the sound of sobbing over the comms, the veteran unused to overt displays of emotion in the field and now very sure that she didn't like them.

So she shut her mouth for the moment and listened to the others jabber, watching Circus show off and pondering a question that seemed symbolic of her new career:

What kind of outfit is this?

She found normalcy in Malta for a moment, setting down her gear and grabbing a bunk like she had done so many times in so many bases. There had been a time in her life when she would get homesick, but that was long gone. Nowadays she felt weird if she stayed in one bed for too long! Always on the go, always on the move, flying her to do something for Shattered Steel and then flying back to the States to talk to the docs about her arm, back to Shattered Steel and then every once in a while onwards to Arizona or Japan to visit some relative or another.

The sense of not owning your living space became normal, and Fuka had grown accustomed to the sterile nature of barracks life.

Now that it was after hours she had changed from her work gear to sweatpants and an undershirt, lying in her bunk with her datapad charging nearby. She had just fallen into a catnap after skimming personnel files when emotion again invaded her sanctuary, the Valkyrie storming in like a typhoon crashing against the coast.

The crash of a fist against metal shattered Fuka's light doze, training and experience shaking her from Rest into Fight. She was reaching for her pistol before she was even really awake, and it was only once she registered Freyja as the intruder that she let it remain in her bag.

"Goddamn girl, are you okay?"

Fuka wasn't the only one disturbed; the other Steel women in the bunkhouse had heard and seen the commotion. Questions bubbled up in a variety of languages, and to top it off Wunderkind had to start spouting off at the door:

You're not allowed to get yourself bent out of shape till you save more lives than you've killed

So that was what this was about. Christ.

"Valk take a breath, please." She pleaded, padding for the door. "The rest of you mind your business."

And for the visitor at the door-

"Mykhailo, thanks for bringing food. Maybe don't announce people's business at the threshold like you're our town crier?"

Her voice was a low hiss so that only he could hear, her flesh and blood hand gesturing for the tray.

"And next time you need to get something over to this side, ask someone to take it. Do me a favor and don't show up to the women's barracks unannounced."

You met a lot of unrepentant horndogs in the military; it came with being surrounded by people barely in their twenties. Myk was very quickly exhausting her patience. Hitting on her in their first meeting was funny. Trying his luck with Freyja on the flight was immature. Taking it upon himself to bring Freyja her dinner while she just so happened to be in the women's quarters?

Tone deaf, perverted, take your pick.

March 12th, 2014
Women's Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ
Malta, The Mediterranean

Aurélie allowed herself the slightest moue of her lips before replacing it with a carefully crafted smile. For all her efforts, it did not quite survive to make it to her eyes.

It had already been a tiring day. First a long flight, then a mediocre meal - the Maltese cooks tried their best with what they had, of course, but alas there was no decent bread, cheese, or wine - and even before she could finish what they had, a couple of the staff had come after one of her squadron mates. Aurélie had left it to Freyja to handle the matter herself. She'd not have got this far if she couldn't. But what Aurélie could do, and did, was to make it abundantly clear to the two, after Freyja had left, that they were not - repeat not - to harass another member of Cobalt Squadron again.

She had not needed to resort to threats. In certain situations, the moral authority of a woman sure of her place is enough to shake even the resolve of an angry man. It is a skill normally acquired later in life, once the last fuck-to-give has been lost, as the Anglos might say. But if a child is born without, then she may well turn out like Aurélie....

So it was that she had got back to the barracks to hear the exchange between Mykhailo and Fuka.

"Mykhailo, thanks for bringing food. Maybe don't announce people's business at the threshold like you're our town crier?"

And then another murmur from behind the door that she couldn't quite make out. But given the circumstances, she could well guess. She pitched her voice to carry past the door, so Fuka, and presumably Freyja, would hear what she was doing.

"Ciel!" she said. "It is our little Casanova, Mykhailo, here to woo the ladies, no? It is your lucky day then, I have been looking for someone to scratch my itch in the simulators. Come with me now, or do you make it a habit to keep a lady waiting?"

She was going to need a large cognac by the end of the evening. They would all owe her for this, perhaps Mykhailo most of all. The boy was truly - how you say? - "cruising for a bruising".

Mykhailo Martinez

"Thanks, Aurélie; I'd be honored to fight you in the simulators," Mykhailo replied to the Frenchwoman, before replying to his fellow 'silver-spoon child', "And yes, Fuka, next time, I'll ask someone to take the food to the Women's dorms - I forgot about the existence of the staff; no offense to them."

Then he followed the female pilot to the simulators, anticipating a fierce fight; he knew not to underestimate a strong and assertive woman.

A few hours later, he realized that, as he won through the skin of his teeth, Aurélie was holding back the true extent of her skills, and he looked at her directly as the both of them got out of the simulators so he can outright tell her he knew.

"I got lucky and you were holding back," were the twenty-one-year-old's exact words. "It seems you're wary enough to hold back some tricks; had I been lulled into overconfidence by that, I could be dead next time I fight."

His eyes glinted with... something before he continued, "You're a great pilot; I read enough of the superficial similarities of your backstory to Valkyrie's. I am honored to have had the chance to pretend I shot you down, and also to have tasted the sharpness of your wit. Let's have a fiercer fight next time when the opportunity strikes."

I like you but in a different way than Valkyrie and Fuka. That does not mean I trust you, you lovable rogue. But for now... We can use how skilled you are.

Then he went to the men's dorms to shower, put on his nightclothes, and then sleep; he had a long day tomorrow.

@Damo021@AvaP@Kensai@Smike@Rhona W

March 12th, 2014
Outside the Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ
Malta, The Mediterranean

Lázaro kept walking towards the base, as he savoured the minutes go by. The mediterranean was no foreign theater to him, he had seen some known faces. He just had dinner with one of said faces, as she was clutching his arm as they both walked into the base after a small getaway for food and talk.

Liutenant Giovanna Bellini, a shapely dark-haired italian beauty with a barbed tonge and an even meaner disposition in combat had been a small pleasure to find and share some past experiences with the Spaniard pilot. "I told you the Vongole here were nice." She said as both kept walking. "I had fun today."

"Not so nice for the wallet. My poor sweat and tears." Lázaro replied with a mock sadness tone.

"Shush, *Spagnolo*. You are private sector now. You're not paid in patriotism anymore but cold hard fat pay checks." She quipped. "And most people split these days, it's you lot who kept wanting to be a gentleman and pay it all."

"Does not mean I'm Midas." Lázaro replied.

"No, it does not. If it was true, we would be calling you Goldmember... and you would have problems when doing number one." The italian woman replied, flashing a cheeky smile.

"Small blessing in disguise. We could you know, continue this..." Lázaro said.

"If you had a house here, I would be glad to. But you need to go to the barracks now. Good boys go to bed early." The woman said, squeezing his arm one last time.

"We could try the female barracks."

"Dear, that's even worse. See you on the skies, *Rosso*." She said as she saluted, leaving Lázaro looking at her shapely behind trailing off in the cold.

Lázaro let a small chuckle as he looked at the skies of Malta. The calm before the storm. He remembered the last time across the Azores. It had started like this. A run of the mill mission. And then it all had turned into screams and explosions. And that flying ghost... remained at large. It was ominous.

He looked at the reflection of him on a polished surface, as he frowned. "Better not let Scott see this". He said, noticing a red bump on his neck, caused by the early...*friendlier* fire that he had with the italian woman. He didn't want to answer questions. Tomorrow would be mission day, not *grinding Circus for juicy details* day.

Besides he had heard some rowdy sounds from the female barracks and he'd do his damn best to ignore the box of Pandora, so like a fox, he tiptoed back to his assigned Bunker. Hopefully he didn't wake up anyone.