Aurélie had spent the hours since the recon flight's return sat at her desk with a coffee and brandy, writing up a report and lessons learned from the mission. Too much gone wrong, in the most suspicious ways - and then at the briefing, Scott had confirmed her suspicions. 

And then ordered her to start running on the ground like a poor bloody infantryman. 

Aurélie hadn't done any fieldcraft since basic training, all too long ago (she didn't like to think how long), and she only shot her pistol enough to pass her annual qualifiers - although that, at least, was easy, given her eye. Some things translated well, others not so much. Given a rifle and a hide, Aurélie might make a decent designated marksman, for much the same reasons that she was an excellent pilot: keen eye, steady hand, patience, and the heart of a killer.

But the brief this time was to follow Peacenik and do fire and movement. Which was... not her strong suit, to say the least. She wasn't terribly athletic, she was far from being strong (and what was this propensity of Shattered Steel to hire giantesses?), and she hated the clutter and mess on the deck. 

Still, orders must. She had tagged behind Peacenik, bringing up the rear so that she wouldn't be in anyone's way when it came to go charging at people with guns... it was odd; she had no qualms about going into the merge with a dozen friendlies and bogies flashing all about the sky - those were risks she was used to, and could deal with. But the thought of charging a gun, even if it was objectively less dangerous than the dogfight, left her trembling. An ancestral memory of the Great War perhaps, and the plight of the poilu? Who knew?

And then the shooting started, and the trembling stopped, and Aurélie noticed something - and the next time someone thought to check whether she was still there, she most pointedly was not....