Scott kept a tight grip on the Corsair's stick as the stricken aircraft gained two escorts in the form of the blocky MiG-31's that slid into place on his wingtips, their over-sized F-15 shapes positively dwarfing the diminutive SLUF.
"Hi guys," he said with a forced calm to his voice, though a waver betrayed his concern, even through the radio. "Thanks for coming to the assist. I'd do a victory roll, but as you can see, I'm having a bit of trouble".
"Roger that," replied one of the Foxhound pilots, the one with the gruff voice who'd spoken earlier. "You've done a hell of a job so far, Romeo. You'll make it down".
Scott clicked the mike in response, before switching channels to speak with Charles. "Ah, Border Boy, this is Romeo. Sorry I can't join you for the post-mission debrief and the drinks. I'll catch you all up later on, and owe you a round. See you soon, over".
The business dealt with, Scott grimaced and kept the Corsair as on course as he could manage. By now, the instrument panel was a field of red warning lights and shrill buzzing alarms, and all he was doing was damage limitation, rather than fighting to keep the plane aloft. Making it back to terra firma in one piece was all that mattered, and making sure no one got hurt when the plane inevitably fell out of the sky.
"Romeo, this is Wolf-2" came a female voice. "Capital Air Command has you on visual. The base is ahead, off your nose. Keep going, you're almost there," she urged patiently. "You're looking good so far. We're going to overfly Oured Bay on approach, so prepare to punch off your stores".
"Roger, Wolf-2," replied Scott. His hands danced over the controls on the plane, prepping the hardpoints to jettison his remaining stores. The missiles were dead weight now, and dangerous in the event of a dangerous landing. If things went truly bad, they could explode, and then there'd be no chance of escape. Thumbing the switches, he punched off the SDM pods, the depleted drop-tanks and the paired AIM-9's. The various shapes tumbled away from the stubby Corsair II with a rumbled of disturbed air, and the handling picked up a little, to Scott's pleasant surprise.

Looking out of the curved canopy, he saw the runway hove into view, stretching out like a welcoming mat. The flashing lights of crash vehicles stood off to the end, ready to start rolling as he made his approach. Foam had been sprayed in preparation to minimise the chance of fire on landing, and he felt a tightening in his chest as the Corsair vibrated and wobbled alarmingly, thumping and grating sounds coming from the jet. More lights turned red, and Wolf-1's voice sounded again, with more concern.
"Keep going Romeo. There's uh, a 'little' smoke coming out of your engine, but you're looking good. Cycle your gear and line up for landing, over".
"Roger, Wolf. Thanks for the reassuring words. Maybe I can just park this thing here and get a ride the rest of the way with you, over?"
A rough laugh came back and the Foxhound bobbed as it's gear came down and locked, and the huge jet angled for a slow-and-low approach, putting as much drag out as possible to keep the speed low.
"That's the spirit, Romeo. You're doing well, over"
Scott clicked the mike again, reaching for the gear levers. Even as he did, he realized how tired this was making him - the constant stress and hyper-awareness of the moment, coupled with the physical exertion was massively draining. Sweat was pouring through his suit, and streaming into his eyes, but he couldn't spare a hand to wipe his face. Cycling the gear, he waited for the rumble as the planes' gear extended into the airstream.
Nothing happened.
He returned the lever to the up position, counted to five, and tried again. This time, there was the rumble of movement, though it seemed abbreviated, before the lights turned green.
"Romeo, this is Wolf-2" came the woman's voice again, this time more reserved and uncertain. "Your gear's not fully down. Your main units have extended and locked, but your nose gear isn't down. Suggest you try again, over".
Scott looked at the panel, and felt his heart sink further into his pelvis. The hydraulic system was a mess of red - he couldn't try again even if he wanted to, and the flight controls were virtually frozen up. All the was keeping the plane flying was ballistic motion and the residual pressure in the system had dropped the flaps and the gear.
"Uh, I'm pretty much coasting in at this point," he said with a waver in his voice, as the jet began to oscillate as the vortices around the flight of the aircraft began to buffet from the ground. "I've got almost no control, and no pressure. I'm gonna have to keep her nose high and use the shape of the plane to drop my speed... and hope that's enough to slow down before I put the nose onto the tarmac... wish me luck. And... if it all goes to shi- hell, then uh..." he swallowed and his voice dropped a tone or two.
"Tell my wife I always thought of her. And tell my son that I'll always, always be proud of him. Over".
There was a moment of quiet, which became eerily and soberingly more quiet as the engine and the electrics gave out, the air conditioner in the cabin finally giving out and leaving him with the smell of burned plastic and the rush of air outside the plane, especially close the ground. There was a double click of affirmative on the radio, and then he grappled with the stick.
The Corsair was old. And, for once, this was in it's favour: The A-7 predated fly-by-wire controls, and so the linkages were all mechanical and driven by rods and hydraulics. With the pressure dropping off as the system failed and was going bone-dry, he had enough authority to keep the plane nose-high, but almost as soon as he dropped into ground-effect, the plane began to fight, lashing all over the sky. Struggling to keep it on course, the naval aviator fought the jet, throwing his weight and not-inconsiderable strength into keeping the jet straight, every muscle aching as the jet built up heavy vibrations that jarred to his bones and made him see double. The disorientation was staggering; sound crashed in on him from the roaring air and the groaning airframe, and the blurring double-vision and staggering pressure and fatigue on his muscles tore his attention in a dozen directions, but somehow he kept enough attention to keep the nose high as the jet descended, less like a bird and more like a falling leaf.
The tail struck hard with a screech, bouncing the plane up, before he pushed the nose down a little. The Corsair settled into its' main gears heavily with a scream of tortured rubber, dulled by the thick layer of crash foam. The wings of the plane, high up in the airstream, further braked the aircraft and slowed, it, but the vibration and shuddering through the frame increased. The gear strained and complained, and scott rotated the nose hurriedly. Almost as the fuselage came level and the lip of the big nose intake kissed the ground, the portside gear arm collapsed, and the fuselage dug into the ground. The world became a blurring cascade of noise, colour and strain as the plane slewed around and about.

Thrown against the straps, Scott was a virtual ragdoll as physics took over his journey and his limbs were thrown around the inside of the cockpit. His seat straps kept him mostly in place, but he was still wildly and violently shaken about. A gasp escaped his lips as something in his ribs gave way, and his neck felt like it had been shaken by an angry dog, before with a final lurching screech the jet came to a halt.
Quivering-limbed and with every part of his body aching, Scotts' blurry, double-vision came into vague focus and he slapped the controls. No response. Thumping and scrabbling reached his ears from outside, and he turned - and that hurt - to see rescue crews outside the plexiglas of the canopy. He raised a shaky thumbs-up, before they hit the emergency release. He managed to raise one aching leg, feeling something grate inside as he did so, before pulled his survival knife one-handed from the sheath on his leg and sawing through seat-straps. Then the hands of the emergency crew found him and took over. In a haze, he was spirited from the cockpit, and away from the Corsair as it was drowned in foam to prevent an explosion.

The next minutes were a blur as he was taken away from his downed plane, and laid out on a stretcher. Slowly, his disorientation faded, and he began to catch words - broken ribs, broken wrist, whiplash, compressed spine. It was clear from what was being said, that he was lucky to be alive, but that the next weeks - or months - would be hard. And maybe flying would never be a part of his life again.
But at least his family would.
Gently eased onto his back, he looked up as the blocky shapes of the pair of Foxhounds roared overhead, and he let out a sigh of relief as the medical crew wheeled him into the back of an ambulance.

Solo Island Control
<<Peace Sparrow, you are all cleared for landing.>>

"We'll let you all land first." Major Zondervan said to the pilots of Peace Sparrow. With this, the Belkans pulled away to give them more space to land.

Solo Island Control
<<Please head to the briefing room after landing for a debriefing.>>

"Roger that." Charles responded and brought the F-4E into a landing path. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he noticed a stealthy looking aircraft with flames trailing from one of its engines going for a landing on another runway. Charles, curious, inquired about this to the tower. "Tower, there seems to be... a rather interesting aircraft coming in for a landing. It seems to be damaged. Is it one of the Belkans?"

There was a short pause.

Solo Island Control
<<...the Nosferatu? Must be our little butterfly coming home from her little excursion in Yuktobania. Neo United Nations pilot "Papillon", what is your status?>>

Unknown Pilot
<< This is Papillon. My left engine is on fire and the right stalled about twenty seconds ago. I am also... *cough*, injured. Please prepare medical personnel on the ground and spray foam on the tarmac. I might need an arrestor cable prepared too.>>

A female's voice spoke in response to the tower.

Solo Island Control
<<Affirmative. If it isn't a problem, could you give me a count of your kills today? If the Nosferatu does explode, we'll lose records and we'd like to know while it's still fresh in your mind. >>

Papillon paused for a moment, but her radio was on and Charles could hear her breathing heavily, probably focusing on bringing the crippled aircraft in for a landing. As he did the same for his own plane, he felt a slight relief when he saw the landing gear and hook of the futuristic looking fighter lower.

Papillon
<<... I think about thirty-two fighters and eight bombers this morning and fifteen that attacked me on the way back.. Is that... satisfactory?>>

Charles gasped at the announcement and looked at the plane bewilderedly. "Geez, captain, eyes on the tarmac!" Erika said as the Phantom began to drift slightly. With a nod he returned to landing and the Phantom was landed in a few moments. Descending from the Phantom, Charles took off his helmet and looked in the direction of the Nosferatu. It hit the runway with a clang and it rolled for a moment before its hook caught on the cable and it abruptly stopped. A moment later, some crewmen sprayed foam on the flaming engine. However, the cockpit remained shut. To Charles' horror, the cockpit seemed to be broken. He could just see the figure inside take out its knife and after cutting itself out, it began bashing on the glass of the cockpit until there was a hole large enough for her to crawl out of. "Papillon" then pulled herself legs first through the hole. With a thud, she landed legs first on the tarmac and stood for a moment before falling to her knees. She was gripping her arm, seemingly to apply pressure to a wound. A few paramedics ran over and pulled her onto a stretcher before wheeling her off to a building.

The two pilots remained silent as they witnessed this and after the pilot had been brought away, Erika spoke. "I wonder if it went better for Romeo...?

"Hope so." Charles murmured before heading towards the building, navigating around crewmen who rushed over to the now unburning Estovakian fighter.

The five hour trip from Oured Bay to the Ceres Ocean went by in near silence - total silence from Natasha. The Belkans had to sometimes swivel their heads to make sure she was still even there. She was deep in thought as she flew at a leisurely Mach 1 with the rest of the squadron(s). Her thoughts of course centered around the events of the past few hours - why were we ambushed? Why were their Yukes and Estovakians above Oured? Why was the city almost nuked? How did the Belkans have such perfect timing? Did Romeo land safely? Are they getting him a new aircraft? Five hours of flight time later, she still hadn't come to a conclusion. As they neared their new base, Solo Island, she had the distinct feeling that they would be stationed there for a while. Initial impressions of the base told her that this was no bad thing. Soon the go for landing came out from the tower, and Natasha gained one more question. Who is this Papillon, she thought, looking over at the damaged futuristic aircraft making its approach, and how did she get...fifty-five kills in a single mission?! Natasha took her eyes and thoughts off of Papillon so she could land herself.

Touching down the lightly damaged MiG-23 Flogger with little drama, Natasha slowed her plane and was soon parked next to Border Boy's Phantom. Having landed after the Phantom, by the time she climbed out of her aircraft and onto the tarmac she only saw "Papillon" being wheeled away on a stretcher and crewmen running around the now-foamed fighter jet. Charles and Erika were facing the aircraft as well, and as Natasha walked behind them she briefly overhead their conversation about Romeo. So do I, she thought. Directed by the ground crews towards the building where briefing room was, she walked along the halls until she found it. Rather than walking into the briefing room before anyone else, she found a window overlooking the runway in the hallway next to it and stood at it with her hands clasped together behind her back, waiting to see the rest of her squadron mates land and musing about her own experience. After five hours of thinking there was still more to be done, but at least the most important subjects had been thoroughly covered.

As well as my antique MiG has treated me, it would be nice to get an upgrade, she thought to herself. Her inner monologue of thoughts was much more vocal than she had been on the radio, as was always the case with her. She would have to get out of her flight suit and into civvies before she began to open up outwardly, and after the events of today she would be relieved when that happened.

Angels sigh could be barely heard across the comms as the Squadrons flew to their new base, which felt like it would never come. The journey was boring, and the fact that noone seemed to try and get the conversations started seemed to make it even worse on her. She even checked a few times to make sure that everyone else was gone. The Belkans seemed to pay her little mind. and in return she did the same. As they finally came into the view of the base-which seemed to be in 'fine' condition- She put on a small smile as she knew she could finally land and rest. as soon as they were given the go, She put down her landing gear and touched down in her MiG, Which she placed next to Yellows and Border Boys Jets. She sat in the cockpit for a minute, listening to her stomach growl from the long day she had. She got out of her tin can and touched her Insignia before slowly making her way to the briefing room.

Despite his doubts, Husein understood anyway that following the rest of Peace Sparrow who went with Zondervan & Co. was the only option. He didn't opt to be the first to land after the damaged ones, for those trust reasons. As he was still preparing to land, a pilot with fifty-five claimed kills in a single flight landed in a CFA-44 Nosferatu, an aircraft that, while served for his country's enemy Estovakia during the Emmerian-Estovakian War, Husein did acknowledge as one of the best fighter aircrafts already in mass production. He wasn't impressed by the pilot's aerial victory count, however. He viewed that aerial victory, or "kill" as others call it, is not a measure of badassery. Instead, it is a measure of how many times a pilot have come close to his death, which will come at you anyway, sooner or later. He wasn't even proud of his two aerial victories today, his face clearly showing that he was not happy in any way, although with all those pilot gears one would not see that face.

As he came out of the plane and walked to the briefing room for debriefing, he had got a few points that he would want to floor out to the rest of the team unless they figured them out themselves. First, this so-called squadron did not fight with any teamwork. It was more like people in a so-called co-op mission in an MMORPG while everyone ended up trying to get the highest score. Second, their AWACS did not make any contact with the squadron after that nuclear detonation attempt. Third, and the most important, is just what exactly the intentions of the attackers, whose identity should be revealed during the briefing, are.

Miku stayed silent as she climbed down from her Viper. She was still a little bit rattled from the first engagement, and had been so preoccupied with avoiding incoming fire she hadn't actually fired back at any point. But at the same time her fear of nearly getting shot down again wasn't the only one clouding her mind; her brother had recently been transferred to the Joint Special Operations Command in the Citadel, and part of her mind was fixated on what might have happened to him.

It was things like these that made her question whether she even deserved to be a part of this squadron or not. Everyone else was a decorated veteran of a great many campaigns, and there she was, the rookie. Who seemed to be nothing but a burden on everyone else with her knack for nearly getting herself killed repeatedly.

The Jaguar came gently down towards the runway, flaring just before the rear landing gear touched down. The nose wheel hit slightly harder that intended, jarring the pilot and bringing her thoughts back to the present. She applied the brakes and taxied in next to the others. As the whine of the engines faded, she sat in the cockpit for longer than necessary. Kate fiddled with the avionics, mostly as an excuse for anyone watching but party because she wasn't sure if her hands were steady enough to undo her harness.

After a few minutes the canopy was raised and she climbed out onto the ground, her usual confident self. With an easy motion she slung her helmet over her should and headed for the debriefing.

Elizabeth was in a holding position, waiting for the others to land, mainly those with more serious damage than slightly shredded wings

After some time of waiting, she was finally given clearance to land. As she came in, the now serrated look on the front of the wings became more visible to everyone on the ground. The close encounter with the MiG was a nice wake-up call that this unknown enemy was not a ragtag group, and engaging them with the antiques that pretty much everyone was flying, would prove deadly in future engagements.

Once on the ground, she took few moments to collect herself, then opened the canopy and climbed down to the ground. She had a slight wobble as she walked to the briefing room to be debriefed. It was obvious she was still shaken up by the whole event.

Shortly after the mysterious Papillon had been wheeled away from the now smoldering Nosferatu, the pilots, tired from the exhausting day brought themselves to the new base's briefing room for what was hopefully the final debriefing of the day. Along the way, Charles found himself greeted by a great many base personnel, most of them familiar faces from when he had been stationed at the base and those who hadn't known him saluted him nonetheless for the logo on his uniform. Erika, however, earned a few strange looks for her own insignias. While there was little more than a friendly rivalry between the two private air forces of Neucom and General Resource Limited at the time, and while both forces were little more than tools for test flights of each company's products and showing each company's products at airshows, it was still a strange occurrence to see a Neucom Emergency Unit pilot on a General Resource Defense Force base.

Solo Island, once an OADF and OMDF base, had by the 1990's fallen into disrepair and had practically wiped off the map, due in large part to the technological difficulties of operating on a volcanic island with natural radar jamming properties. Thus, it was a huge surprise on the international level when in 2017, the newly created conglomerate, which infamously contained the Belkan Gründer Industries within it, bought the island and the base on it as a main base for their private military. They began with a huge modernization of the base; repairing and building new wind turbines on the southern area of the island, building a second runway on the base, clearing three quarters of the planes in the boneyard to make a residential area for personnel, harnessing the geothermal properties of the island for energy, renovating the tunnels on the north part of the island originally meant as a subterranean base for the OMDF and last but not least building state of the art communications towers on the perimeter of the island, circumventing the problems originally posed by the island's volcanic nature and establishing stable platforms for radar and sonar.

Charles had arrived on the island in 2018 and had been based there for two years before heading south to Leasath as a spokesman for General Group's products, after rumors were heard of Neucom providing experimental aircraft to Aurelia. This would be met with little success when Leasath was put on the defense after a powerful offensive by Aurelia following the failure of the attack on Aubrey Air Force Base and the following counterattack. The following months were some of the most memorable in Charles life, for various reasons...

"Captain Kreulich. Great to see you again." Charles was cut out of his thoughts by a man tapping him on the shoulder. He realized he was now standing in the briefing room. Erika, who looked more than a little ticked off by the looks she was getting from the General personnel, had remained silent but her attention was caught by the man. Charles recognized the voice.

"Franz. It's been a long time." He turned around and shook the hand of the man; a Colonel Franz Grisham, who looked about Charles' age but was much higher rank as he had one of the first men in the General Resource Defense Force when it was formed. As the commander of GRDF Air and Naval Base at Solo Island, he had known Charles ever since he had transferred to the base three years ago. They had become quick friends when they found out about their common Belkan origins.

"Too long, my friend. Who might this cutie be?" Erika was distracted from her investigation of one of the briefing room's chairs by this question. "Neucom, huh? Rare breed around here. She with you?" He asked Charles as more of the other pilots began to come in. The Belkans came in one group and many of the chairs were quickly occupied by the twelve pilots.

"Unfortunately." He chuckled and introduced his WSO. "Lieutenant Erika Ansel, Colonel Franz Grisham. She's my WSO for the games. Well, 'was'." The Colonel grinned, took off his cap and eagerly shook Erika's hand.

"A pleasure. You may be Neucom, but welcome to our base." Erika smiled somewhat, exhausted from the events of the day.

"Thanks. Glad to be here." Grisham put his cap back on and turned back to Charles.

"Well, we can talk more later. I need to get this briefing going. Have a seat." Charles nodded and gestured to Erika to take a seat and the lights were dimmed as the last few pilots entered. Amazingly, Papillon came in, bandaged from head to toe, but obviously standing. Unfortunately, Charles couldn't make out her features in the dim light and she took a place behind him, so he couldn't really look at her without being noticed.

Before the briefing started, however, the obligatory pitch for General Resource was put on screen. Charles cringed at it, but Franz chuckled from the back. Idiot, Charles thought to himself as he shook his head.
Those who will prop up everyone's lives:
General Group.
Those who want to progress the flow of ages along with everyone:
General Group.
Those who invent ideas for the environment of the future with everyone:
General Group.
And today, with someone...
Tomorrow, surely, with you.

A chime indicated the advertisement was over and Erika muttered. "Sounds like some sort of occult chant."

"Alright, that's enough of that." Franz walked to the front of the room and spoke in front of the screen, which had the General Resource Defense Logo on it. "As a few of you know, I'm Colonel Franz Grisham, with the GRDF. I know you're all tired and I don't like talking in front a group, so I'll keep this really short. Miss NUN butterfly, would you like a summary of what happened this afternoon or should I just tell these guys about your adventures this morning?" The bandaged NUN pilot shook her head and answered in a quiet voice.

"No thank you. I read the report on the way back to base." Her voice was weak, probably from the injuries and without the extra volume that she was given by the plane's radio earlier, the two Phantom pilots had to make something of an effort to hear her.

"Gotcha. That'll save us a lot of time. So, from what I read, Miss Papillon here was scrambled from an OADF base early this morning after hostilities began and it was thanks to her that you guys had an easier time in Oured. Fifty-five planes was it?" Franz leaned against the wall casually and Papillon nodded. "Damn, that is impressive. Mind teaching some of the guys around here how it's done when you're all better?" He chuckled and continued on with the briefing. "Unfortunately, her plane was damaged on the way back, but it should be repaired in a day or two once those NUN planes get here with the parts needed for repairs of her Nosferatu. Anyway, you Peace Sparrow guys were scrambled to Oured this afternoon and defeated the Yuktobanian and Estovakian aircraft. And then those bombers came in. But, this is where it gets interesting. Our friends in NUN just got off the phone with the Stovies and the Yukes and they both said that they deployed no bombers at all. Not even that Valkyrie. Apparently, the only ground attack aircraft they sortied were those Harriers. Thankfully, the Belkans, under direct orders from NUN arrived in time to save your asses and shoot down the Valkyrie so everything is good. Mission was a success." Not a single image appeared on the screen, though there didn't really need to be, Charles remarked. They all knew what had happened out there.

"NUN's trying really hard to find the origins of the MiG-29K's, Mask Squadron and the bombers, but they haven't gotten anything yet. So for the time being, they say you'll be on peacekeeping duty. You'll get more in a day or two once all the NUN personnel are on base." He was about to dismiss the pilots when Erika asked a question.

"What about Romeo? The ISAF pilot? Is he alright?" she said with a worried tone. Franz bit his lip.

"He's.. um... fine. Came out with some injuries, but he'll hopefully be back in the air in no time. Is that all...?" He trailed off, thinking he was forgetting something when he noticed the figure standing a little away from the group in the room. "Ah, that's right. I need to introduce you all to the newest member of Peace Sparrow." He gestured to the figure and he introduced her. "This is Second Lieutenant Vigdis "Mareritt" Lorenson, with the Royal Nordennavic Air Force. She'll be replacing Romeo definitively. Have anything to say, Vig?" He stepped aside to allow the pilot to introduce herself...

Having stood quietly and politely out of the way until the de-briefing/briefing was finished (and having snuck in quietly late, after it had begun), Vigdis stepped forward, feeling a little self-conscious now that the spotlight was on her.
The tall and statuesque short-haired Nordennavic woman snapped to parade-perfect attention and saluted the room, ice-blue eyes straight ahead.
"Sir! Vigdis Lorenson, reporting for duty. It will being my pleasure to serve with you all!"
Relaxing the salute a little, she gave a flashing smile of white teeth and nodded. "A pleasure to be meeting you," she added after a moment. "I am sorry to hear of Romeo, and hope I can be as good as he was, and that I am as goot as the rest of you".
Standing back to ease, she nodded, having said her bit, and looked from face to face for the reactions to her introduction. She hoped she'd made a good impression on her new comrades, though they looked a good bunch.

Franz snickered at the 'sir' the woman gave her. Erika noticed this and asked Charles about it.

"Well, I guess you could say there's two reasons to it. One, Franz really doesn't like being called 'sir'. Two, the GRDF isn't considered by nations to be a true military, more like a bunch of test pilots with varying levels of experience. Civvies, really. We aren't yet on the level of traditional air forces." He said this at a quiet voice and Erika nodded at each point.

"Like NEU, then?" Charles nodded and turned back to the woman, who introduced herself as Vigdis, and Erika did the same. "She seems nice enough, I suppose." The Erusian murmured. Charles didn't really have an opinion on Vigdis' personality, but she did seem like an enthusiastic addition to the group. Franz took the front after Vigdis had finished introducing herself.

"Well! Hope you get along with our new arrival. Anyway, for now, you're all dismissed. We'll have another meeting to discuss the apparent events and geopolitical events of today tomorrow morning around.... eight-hundred hours, perhaps? We'll see later. We've had rooms assigned to all of you and the NUN transports should bring some of your belongings from McNealy later this evening or tomorrow morning. Dinner is in one hour, at 1900. Get some rest, relax, but stay at the ready, all of you. We don't know what might happen in the days to come, so don't get too comfortable." He paused, as if for dramatic effect and then nodded and smirked. "Dismissed!"

Elizabeth sat quietly as the debriefing went on. Taking in all the information, but she was rather shocked when when the man debriefing them seemed to lose focus when talking about Romeo. She cursed to herself internally, then pushed the thought to the side as his replacement introduced herself, that's when she took a mental note of how many females there were in this group, and actually felt bad for the males in this squadron as they were outnumbered. But she knew she wouldn't be developing feelings for any of the males beyond comrades, and similarly for the females.

Once the debrief was over, Elizabeth walked around the base, familiarizing herself with its layout, and looking for possible locations to lay down and read or to just escape from everyone if she needed the space. She found a few good locations and had taken a mental note of the boneyard that lay north of the airfield when they were landing earlier. The island also had a eerie sense of possible relaxation as it had beachs, albeit littered with rusting hulls of ocean vessels. Elizabeth had decided to sit at one end of the runway and stared at the sky. She had an idea of how long she could sit here before she'd head in to eat dinner.

Miku was a little bit thrown by the arrival of the newcomer, but she figured she might as well go introduce herself once they were dismissed.

"Um... H-hi?" She stuttered slightly. That wasn't like her at all. Maybe she was still a bit shaken by the last furball.

Vigdis gave a warm smile as Miku introduced herself as the group dismissed.
"Hello," she said with enthusiasm, and a nod. "I am pleased to meet you, ah-" she read the young woman's name tag and repeated her name slowly, trying to get the pronounciation correct. "Ayne-jell weetch. I am sorry if I say it wrong," she said, her smile drooping a little. "My english is not so good, I have been trying to learn more, now that I am working with you all. I hope you can all teach me a lot." Realising she was talking mostly about herself, the big woman quickly changed subject, looking at Miku, and those around her.
"So, um - where is it you are from? I am eager to learn more about the world and it's places. It is part of the reason I joined the air force, you see. From where I am, it is cold, and very boring a lot. But you are Osean, yes? What's it like in your home country?" she said, genuinely curious and eager to learn more about her new wingmen.

Angelika stared into the wall in front of the group, her mind contemplating the events of the last mission, and studying the new arrival. But her thought process was interrupted by her stomach emitting a growl, signalling that it was time to get something to eat. As soon as the group was dismissed, she shot up out of her seat, and out of the room in search of the dining facility. The Emmerian knew that it would be a good idea to introduce herself to the new pilot, but to her food came first before socializing. especially when her stomach won't shut up. The pilot soon found herself sitting in a corner of a chow hall with a tray that held a few sandwiches, some water, and a pear.

Natasha sat through the briefing near the back of the room, and as it went on her expression became more and more judgmental. That shouldn't have even qualified as a briefing, she thought to her self. All of the questions I had haven't been answered. ...Hopefully the next "meeting" will be better. That is, if they ever decide on a time, she finished as she rolled her eyes. She could go on with her inner monologue but she decided to prioritize food - after all, it had been a long time since she last ate. Soon she found a cafeteria, and as she was filling her tray with various foods she spied her Number Two sitting. Angel's the only one, she mused. Odd. With her tray full and nobody she hadn't met before in sight, she sat down across the table from her wingman. "Hi, Angelika. Hope you don't mind me sitting here," she said with a brief smile. She observed Angelika's tray curiously. "Things go ok for you in the air?"

Angie looked up from her tray, grabbing the water and twisting the cap off. She finished her water and ate her pear."Hey, Nat. I don't mind one bit, everyone else here is a boring face in the crowd!" The Emmerian sighed "It went good. shot down a 'Stovie 27.How'd you do?". She lacked her usual energy, being exhausted from the last two sorties.

"T-that's not my name; I-it's my callsign. I'm Miku." Miku blushed slightly. She was still clearly just a bit flustered by all this. "And yeah, I'm Osean. It's been pretty quiet there since the war. Although at the same time this is really the first time I've gotten out into the wider world so I've had nothing to compare it to."

"Ah, Miku," Vigdis replied, obviously getting the hang of the shorter name much easier. "Well, hopefully you will have much chances to explore, with this assignment. I hope I will also". She gave a slight frown and touched one hand briefly to her stomach.
"Hmm, I think dinner was mentioned... maybe we should head that way, and see who else we come across, yes?"
Gesturing for Miku to follow her, she lead the way. "I have been here a little longer, so please; follow me?"

As she got outside she nodded toward a hangar not too far off, and the Splinter-patterned Viggen parked outside, canopy down and safety tags in place.
"There is my ride. She's not as new as some, but goes very fast, and she's agile. And has many weapon options too. I hope it will be a good fit with the rest of you".

Natasha smiled a little at her wingman recounting shooting down the 27. Angie was always eager, even in exhaustion. "Bagged a Phantom and two Bears. A shame they were only drones. Hopefully we'll have more to shoot at next time, huh?" She said lightheartedly - there had been no shortage of things to shoot at that last mission. "Hopefully they'll put us in some better planes soon." Although her Flogger had served her well, Natasha wanted a better chance against the newer generation fighters they'd undoubtedly be facing. Worrying about that could be saved for later, though.