Wolfgang’s eyes snapped open, it took a few moments for the haze of sleep to leave his mind. A bright light passed over his bedroom window before winking out. Rolling over he looked at the shape of Iliana in the darkness, he looked back at the window into the darkness beyond. A noise caught his ear, he strained to listen. The sound grew louder, a low rumbling, the sound of an engine, it disappeared suddenly. Sitting up Wolfgang slowly removed the blanket from his legs and stepped onto the wooden floor and crossed the room to the window. He kept himself out of the window proper and looked out into the complete darkness beyond. Standing perfectly still he watched, the clouded sky blocked the moon so the world beyond his window was totally black. Still he remained, he knew he had heard something; vehicles did not normally come up this far from the village that rested in the valley below his house.

Slowly the clouds above broke slightly and the moon shone through for a split second, but a split second was all Wolfgang needed to make out the shape of several men making their way up the hill. He could tell by the way they had spread themselves out that they were military and he had caught a slight glimpse of what appeared to be a transport truck parked behind them. Backing slowly towards the bed he leaned over Iliana, shook her gently and put his face close to hers, “Get Artur and take him through the tunnel as we discussed. Men are here who mean me harm.” He said in a hoarse whisper. Iliana’s dark eyes stared into his in the darkness for a moment before she nodded and began dressing quickly. Wolfgang moved to the window again, he could not see the men anymore but he knew they would be closing in quickly. He returned the bed and slowly and quietly slid the chest out from beneath; he opened the lid and removed the revolver and shotgun that he kept inside.

Iliana finished dressing and moved to the door, she paused for a moment as she passed Wolfgang, crouched down loading the shotgun, he stopped and looked up at her. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly to her. She placed a hand on his shoulder before disappearing through the door, he listened to her soft padding footsteps as she walked down the corridor to their son’s room. When he finished loading the shotgun he cocked it quietly and stood again, he threw on some clothes before making his way to his son’s room and looking in through the open door. Iliana was dressing Artur quickly and was in the process of putting on his shoes as he entered, he left the shotgun at the door to prevent Artur from seeing it. Kneeling down in front of him he smiled, “You and your mother are going on a trip son,” He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, “We’re all going to play a game together where we stay as quiet as possible, not one word. I bet you can do that better than anyone.” Artur nodded and placed his hand over his mouth. Wolfgang smiled again and squeezed his shoulder gently. Standing he picked Artur up and walked with Iliana to the kitchen, handed his son to her and slowly pushed a large shelf away from the wall revealing a trapdoor beneath.

Pulling the heavy wooden door open Wolfgang took Artur from Iliana, “Take the boat to Bar, if I do not meet you there within one day then take the train up the coast into Austria and I will find you. Take the money and the revolver in the bag at the bottom of the ladder.” He said quietly in English so his son would not understand. Iliana nodded and walked to him kissing him on the lips before climbing down the ladder into the darkness below. Wolfgang looked at his son and kissed him on the forehead, “Be good for your mother.” He said before handing him down to Iliana. He looked down at them before closing the heavy door and pushing the shelf back on top of the hatch. The moment they were gone Wolfgang let out a breath, he had stayed totally calm for their sake but now the anger and fear flooded into him, men were here for him and they would have harmed his family in taking him, he knew that much was true. Stepping back into the corridor he retrieved the shotgun and then made his way to the back door of his house through the kitchen. Quietly unlocking the door he slipped out into the small vegetable garden in the back and made his way to the small barn where his tractor was parked.

Stepping into the barn Wolfgang walked into one of the empty animal stalls and knelt down, he unfastened a loose plank and put it aside. Reaching into the opening he retrieved three stick grenades that he had stored there, putting the handles through his belt. He climbed the ladder into the hayloft and looked out of the opening into the garden below. The cloud cover was dissipating slowly, he waited until he could see the shapes of the men flanking around the house. He watched them check the windows as they made their way around the house, five men in total at this side of the house. The man at the front of the group reached the back door and waited for the others to catch up. Wolfgang stood slowly and removed one of the grenades from his belt, he waited for the men to group up at the back door before pulling the chord at the base of the grenade and throwing it across the yard at the feet of the men. There was a second of silence before one of the men exclaimed and the grenade detonated. Wolfgang waited; more men appeared, this time from the opposite side of the house. He could make out their rifles against the white exterior of his house as they reached the corner and looked around at the location the grenade had detonated.

Wolfgang pulled the chord on another of the grenades and threw them into this second group. Turning he made his way down the ladder, the grenade detonated as he hit the ground and he could hear the shouting and clamour of men as they sought cover. Reaching the back of the barn he pulled a heavy canvas cover off of a thin framed motorcycle. Jumping on he kicked the engine into life before speeding out of the back entrance of the barn. As he sped down the hill, gunshots rang out behind him and he could hear the whistle of the bullets as they missed him slightly. The hillside lit up as two headlamps appeared behind him, glancing back quickly he saw that the truck had been brought to the top of the hill and had smashed through the fence next the barn and was now in pursuit. Knowing he would not out run them Wolfgang took the last grenade from his belt and brought the chord up to his mouth before pulling it with his teeth and tossing it out to his right. Crouching low on his motorcycle he sped down the hill, gaining speed as he went, a few seconds later he heard the grenade explode followed by loud crash. Looking behind him he saw that the grenade had caught the back tyre of the truck and had caused it to jack-knife and flip.

More men appeared from the crest of the hill and began taking shots at him, Wolfgang turned and kept himself low on the motorcycle as he sped into the Montenegrin countryside while the bullets whistled around him. He kept going for several miles before ditching his motorbike in some underbrush and doubling back on himself. He made his way along the rocky shoreline with the waves crashing against the rocks masking the sound of his movement. He reached some short trees and sank down to his below to crawl through the thick foliage. He continued on for what seemed like hours, he lost all sense of time as he crawled along with nothing but the rustling of the trees and the sound of the crashing waves. He had to know that Iliana and Artur had gotten away before escaping himself. Their boat was left in a small bay that was almost invisible from both the sea and the land, he knew that the men would not have found it if they had planes with them they would be unable to see it in the darkness.

Wolfgang crested a small hill that looked down onto the bay, his stomach sank as he saw the small white boat rocking back and forward on the waves. Moving forward slightly he looked down onto the small beach where the tunnel from his kitchen emerged. A group of men stood, two had lanterns and they illuminated the beach in front of them. Iliana and Artur lay there, at first Wolfgang took them to be tied up. He checked the shotgun that he had strapped around his shoulder and began planning how to get down to them. His attention went back to the men, they seemed to be arguing, one man in particular seemed to be shouting at the others. He motioned to Iliana and Artur, three of the men approached and lifted them. Wolfgang had seen death in his life, so many times, he knew by the way his wife and his son moved when the men lifted them that they were dead. The men carried them back from the water and laid them side by side on the beach. Tears were flowing down Wolfgang’s cheeks and he fought back the urge to scream. He buried his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, he wished for it all to disappear.

Slowly, Wolfgang looked down at the men below him. He no longer cared about escaping, there was no reason to escape now. He began pushing himself up off the ground until the light caught the face of one of the men. It was the man who had been shouting at the others, the light from the lanterns caught his hair, silver hair. Wolfgang collapsed back onto his stomach and stared down at the man, it was Arturo Vargas. He saw now the familiar way his old friend carried himself, the arrogant air that he had always had. Wolfgang lay in stunned silence, the men went into the tunnel and disappeared from view but Wolfgang was barely aware of the passage of time. He lay in the underbrush for hours, the sun rose and he still did not move. His entire world had been shattered in a single night, he struggled to believe that all of this was really happening. He didn’t know how long he lay there but by the time he pushed himself to his knees and looked down at the bay below him and the surrounding countryside, he could see nothing. He looked at the small shapes of his wife and his only child, everything that he had lived for since he met Iliana, he wished so deeply that he could go to them, to bury them. He knew that he couldn’t, there would almost certainly be an ambush for him down there.

Wolfgang made his way back along the coast and managed to jump on board a train heading northwards into Austria-Hungary. He operated solely on instinct and eventually found himself in the Austrian city of Zadar in a tavern. He had barely anything with him but used the last of his money to buy as much cheap spirits as he could until he was blind drunk. He kept himself in a drunken stupor for several days before he finally ran out of money completely and could no longer steal anything without getting caught. He spent a day in self-loathing as he sobered up and then, with his head clear again he made a decision, he would kill the men who had taken his family from him. He would kill Arturo Vargas, the traitor who he had called a brother. Wolfgang knew he couldn’t do it alone, he began travelling around the coast of the Adriatic into Italy, he visited some of his old contacts that he had dealt with when he was a pirate, only the ones he knew he would be able to trust not to pass their information onto Arturo. The word went out, the Wolves of the Mediterranean were returning.

---

Wolfgang landed his plane gently in the sea just off the coast of Sicily, he steered into the entrance of the sea cave that he had used once or twice in the old days to hide in when he was being pursued. He had chosen this location as a meeting place for any of the former members of the Wolves that had gotten his message and were willing to join up with him again. Part of him wondered how many would come, he hadn’t heard much of what the former members of his gang had been doing since their separation. That had been the point, they vowed never to see each other again. Killing the engine he let his plane float the rest of the way into the cave, standing up on the seat he exited the open cockpit and took his mooring rope in one hand before walking along the wing and jumping down onto the rock shelf of the cave. He looped the rope around a piece of rock that jutted back out towards the cave entrance and stepped back to look at his plane, he had retrieved it from storage and had spent some time getting it back up to scratch. He had to replace most of the engine and repaint the whole plane in its trademark white, time had not been kind to it in the old warehouse he had hidden it in.

Walking along the rock shelf and into the cave proper Wolfgang smiled to himself slightly, when he had been here last he had complained about missing the comfort of the taverns that they had stayed in previously. To remedy this he had built a small wooden cabin inside the cave and had put furniture inside to make it look like the common room of a tavern, he approached the cabin and forced the rusted door open. Looking around he could see it had been untouched since he had been there last, the layer of dust was so thick it looked like everything had turned grey. He got to work tidying the place and lit the small gas lamps that were dotted around the room. Sitting down in a wooden chair he placed his feet on the long table that ran the length of the room and removed a short cigar and a box of matches from the top pocket of his leather pilot’s jacket and began smoking. He looked at the door and waited to find out if any of his old friends had heard his call and been foolish enough to come to this meeting.

It had been a long flight. Eric had stopped a number of times and each one had been in taverns that got progressively worse, he had had some of the worst beer he had ever tasted. He wouldn't drown his enemies in the swill he had been sold. It was almost a godsend when he spotted the familiar looking rocks near Sicily. CIrcling the rocks a number of times he lined the plane up for the descent. Angling for the descent the view caused him to reminisce of the times gone by. The raids, the hijackings and dogfights returned to him like a punch in the gut. He hadn't realised how much he had actually missed it. The plane hit the surf gently and slid into the sea cave majestically, as he pulled it up alongside Wolfgang's he threw a rope out to the same rocks that Wolfgang had just thrown his own rope. Mooring the plane he looked the old girl over. The 'Sea Cow' was what he had named her and she would soon be raiding the med again. Pulling himself out of the cockpit he looked down at the paunch that had developed over the years that he had been out of the business, god he looked like shit. Tieing up the other end of the line he sauntered towards the rusted door that had kept them safe so many years ago. Pushing the creaking iron open he spotted the big man himself.

Wolfgang was a good man by all accounts and Fredrik had a lot of time for him, though after all these years why in the hell did he want the Wolves back together. Wolfgang had a family and all of them were well off, there was no need for this anymore so he would be interested to know why the pack was being called in again.

"Wolfgang you man beast, it has been too long friend. How have you been I feel like we should have met up sooner. I assume I am one of the first to arrive?"

Wolfgang had been waiting for less than an hour when he heard the low hum of an engine approaching. He smiled slightly at the thought that one of his old friends had actually come to this meeting. Part of him had expected that nobody would show up. Taking his feet off the table as the door opened he got to his feet.

Wolfgang's smile widened as he saw Eric enter, he had always been fond of the man since they first met. He walked to him and gave him a firm handshake. "It's good to see you too, I should've known you would be crazy enough to show up here." He patted the man on the shoulder then looked him up and down.

"Can you still fit in your cockpit? You look like you might get stuck." He said with a sly smile. The truth was that if he hadn't had the farm to work on he would likely weigh twice as much as he all those years ago. Walking with Eric back to the table Wolfgang pulled a chair out. "Take a seat, I brought something for us all." Walking to the head of the table where he had been sitting he picked up a small wooden crate and placed it on the table.

"This is mostly wine but I know that's not really your style so, in case you decided to show up, I bought something else for you." Wolfgang reached into the crate and pulled out a large corked bottle and handed it to Eric. "Some fine Austrian wheat beer, you'll not get anything as good this end of Italy." Sitting down at the head of the table again he smiled, the appearance of one of his friends had given him hope that others may also appear. "Have a drink old friend, I'll explain why I invited everyone here if any of the others show up."

It was dangerous to fly at night, but it was preferable to trying to land at night, so Lucian Dubois had taken his chances with the moonlit, early morning skies over the Mediterranean Sea on his way to Sicily, where old friends were to gather.

It had taken about nine days’ worth of travel, preparation and planning to finally depart from Cannes to Corsica, to Cagliari, Sardinia. That wasn’t even accounting the time it took to travel from Tours, where the Wolves’ contact had tracked him down to Bayeux along the Normandy coast where his plane, The Magpie, sat in a warehouse owned by one of Lucian’s personal contacts, drained of fuel and oil and covered with several taped tarps to prevent the harsh ocean air from corroding the plane over the years. He had always intended to come back to his beloved bird, but he had been a very busy man the past 8 years, there simply wasn’t time. It had taken the better part of a day to bring the plane back to operational condition, and to secure his belongings, stored neatly in a specially designed metal crate that was fixed to the bottom of the fuselage and designed to be as aerodynamic as possible. It wasn’t that he needed to pack much, but he had a few things that simply could not fit into a suitcase. From there, it was a simple matter of planning his route, refueling along the way, and taking the time to rest in each port, fueling himself with local cuisine and inexpensive inns to catch up on rest. Unlike some of the more… impulsive of his out outfit, Lucian was a man who preferred to be unrushed, so he planned ahead when possible. After all, flying was supposed to be a liberating joy, and there was no reason to not enjoy himself between stops. After all, flying tired was as stupid as flying intoxicated, and flying on an empty stomach was both distracting and unpleasant.

After leaving Corsica, he had to be careful, given the current political climate. Italy was officially neutral, and focusing more on the criminal element of the sea, which Lucian did not overly concern himself with. After all, his weapons and ammunition were hidden away craftily behind a panel in the tail of his plane, screws painted over to give it the illusion that it had never been disturbed. Other than his revolver, which he declared at each harbour he stopped at, he had no contraband or anything worth smuggling. There were bigger fish to fry, so to speak, and Lucian carried himself in a calm, approachable manner. A small seaplane was hardly most smuggler’s choices for peddling opium around the continent, after all. More often than not, at least one of the men in charge of customs in each port was a military veteran, such as himself. It often did not matter which nation you were from, there was a bonding familiarity between men of uniform, regardless if their nations had a long history of animosity and conflict. It wasn’t that long ago, all considered, that Napoleon made his mark on Europe and the countless imperialistic conflicts between all large nations in Europe. To the men fighting the war, at least with the veterans, it often grew impersonal. The only difference between them was the flag they sewed to their sleeve. This was certainly something that helped Lucian avoid too much scrutiny, as the way the customs officers saw it, a former man of uniform, and an officer at that, had principles. Italy had much more troublesome things to concern herself with.

At last, the cove that had been marked on the map Lucian had been provided came into view and he pushed in his throttle somewhat, slowing his craft down for landing. Fortunately, the sea was not too choppy, so he did not have to concern himself with the short space to land within the protected bay and he felt the all-too-familiar drag of the ocean beneath the pontoons, the light craft bouncing with each wave. The more the craft decelerated, the closer to a boat it behaved, and he made his way to the cave opening, a natural formation that was large enough to guide a plane into. It was coves like this that were smuggler havens, and often ran the risk of search if discovered by the increasingly proactive Mediterranean powers. Finding a place to tie off behind a plane the Frenchman immediately identified as Erik’s, Lucian felt a wave of excitement and nostalgia creeping through him. This was really happening. The Loups were really reforming.

Finding his way through the old, musty wooden door, Lucian stepped into what looked like an old, long-forgotten tavern, recently cleaned. Wolfgang and Erik were sitting around a table, looking towards Lucian as he approached, his long grey-blue coat seeming somewhat inappropriate for the climate. He smiled warmly at his two old friends, shaking their hands in turn. Memories of each came back as he stared each man in the eyes.

Wolfgang, our leader. The man who fought me distraught 11 years ago in that Brest harbour and gave me a cause to rally behind. There seldom is a more passionate man, a true visionary. I never shared his idealism, but it is impossible not to respect or admire the man, even if he lets his emotions get the better of him at time. Somehow, he managed to turn that into a plus instead of a liability. There’s a pain, an anger in his eyes. Something has happened. I am willing to gamble it has to do with why he called us all together, after all these years.

Erik, our dear Swede who fancies himself a Viking. He certainly has his moments of being as cold and detached as one with certain episodes that makes him take stupid, reckless chances. A bit softer around the edges since the last time I saw him, the man reminds me of a bear, especially with the way he took to Madelief. Too bad he never bothered to teach her how to subtly handle the law, since one cannot simply bludgeon his way out of every situation. I can’t imagine what he found himself doing the past 8 years, he was never one to enjoy inactivity for long.

“My friends, it has been too long. We really should meet up more than once every 8 years. I don’t think our beloved planes can handle it.” He said, pulling a bottle of red wine from the crate. “Local Cabernet. You shouldn’t have.” He said, plucking a glass from the crate, blowing into it to clear the remaining dust particles, and pouring himself a glass slowly before taking a seat and a sip. “C’est bon. I trust you’ve both been in good health and company?” he asked.

It had been some time since the arrival of the Frenchman and by the time the dark shape of the Sky Witch appeared on the horizon, the sun was high in the Sicilian sky and its bright reflection off of the crystal waters below seemed to mirror the overwhelming joy that Madelief felt deep within. It was a feeling that had not left her since she had received word of the reforming of the Wolves, as if a fire had been lit once more in the cold hearth that her soul had become in her isolation from the team.
'Oh my god, this is amazing...' she thought to herself contentedly, paying little mind to the heading of her craft with her head resting back against the low, worn leather seat as she gazed up past the cacophony of metal sheets and guidewires to the sky above.

It had been a long and trying task to make this meeting for Madelief, but one she met with all the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Firstly, her neglected rust-bucket of a plane had to be restored. Saying goodbye to her mother in Den Helder with little ado, she had bought an old flatbed truck which was barely in better shape than her plane. Despite the state of the vehicle, it got Madelief and her scrap pile to Amsterdam where she then sold the truck and set about having what had once been her pride and joy repaired. Repairing went on and on until it became more of a rebuild, a restoration or even a resurrection. She was somewhat shamed by it but her aircraft had been so poorly maintained that many components were rusted or had seized up and by the end of the process, Madelief practically had an entirely new machine and was short a whole pocket full of guilders.

With her aircraft now fully functional and disguised with an unassuming blue and white color scheme, she began hopping port to port down the east European coast. As she flew, she tightened her skills up with all manner of unnecessary maneuvers, ducking diving, whirling and getting a little too close to the water on a few occasions. It felt fantastic to be back in the air again but Madelief was undeniably as rusty as her aircraft had been.

After taking some time to drill her skills and get her groove back in the Bay of Biscay, she finally reached the French/Spanish border where she had turned inland and crossed into the Mediteranean sea where, with heart aflutter, she realised she would soon be re-united with her old gang. It all became very real as she soared out over the coast and seaward for the first time in eight long years

Still, Madelief had one more stop to make before making for the hideout. Further port hopping got her to Milan where she met with a former contact, showing up as if it had been weeks, not years since their last business together and having her plane resprayed once more in its traditional colors. The deepest of deep dark midnight purples made her craft rather less than difficult to spot in the daytime, but style, not function was Madelief's primary concern when choosing it. Her tail bore the visage of a rather cheery looking yellow skull wearing an old, crooked witches hat in a much brighter purple than the rest of the plane with white wings protruding from its sides, the symbol of the Sky Witch and Madelief was practically aglow as the elderly Italian man pulled back the stencil to reveal it.

It had been three days since her plane slid out of that Milanese boatshed and made off for the secret cove off of Sicily and now, she finally saw it, their old hideout.

Gasping at the sight of the little cluster of rocks, Madelief leapt to her feet on the seat of her cockpit and ripped the dark goggles from her eyes to behold the seemingly inconsequential formation. Holding a guidewire from her wing, she leaned out over the side of her plane to get a better view with little care to the abrupt pitching of her purple bird as her mass of blonde locks billowed about wildly in the wind and the white fur of her flight jacket's collar tickled her cheek, a nostalgic feeling to be sure.
'Yes! I'm here!' she mentally reminded herself as if to certify that the sight was not an illusion before pumping her gloved fist in the air and letting out a wild scream of joy as she plonked herself back down in her seat and sent her plane into a tight, spiraling descent.

"Yahooooooooo!"

Over and over her plane twisted, around and around, down down down. The sinking feeling in her stomach as the plane seemed to lose all weight before plummeting reminded her of reaching her zenith on a trapeze, it was euphoric and she laughed the entire way down.

With a little less finesse than she would have hoped, Madelief soared down and skipped a few times across the surface of the sea before cutting her engines and puttering into the hidden cave.

Madelief gazed wide-eyed at the craggy stone as she floated through the cavern, unable to wipe the excited smile from her face. She was surprised to find she felt more kinship with this place than the did her own home, drifting up the entrance to the hideout brought her a greater feeling of peace than she had walking up the garden path of her family's home eight years ago. Madelief was happy beyond belief to have the chance to see this place again, she had thought these days were done but in that instant, it was as if the Wolves had never separated.

When she saw the trio of planes sitting there in the cave, Madelief could not contain herself any longer. Before her plane had even come to a halt, she scrambled up onto the wing with rope in hand and ran out to its tip, taking a running leap to the narrow path of rock at the cave entrance and hurriedly fastening her aircraft to it before charging along the rock shelf into the main chamber deeper in.

As she rounded the corner, her eyes fell upon the wooden cabin that sat within and she skidded to a halt on the heels of her knee high leather boots, bringing her gloved hands to her mouth in an excited gasp before hurrying forwards.

Practically kicking the door open, Madelief burst inside and saw the trio, sitting about as if they had always been there.
It was overwhelming really, with her father gone, her brother studying away from home and her mother being...her mother, the last time Madelief had felt any form of companionship was when she last said goodbye to these fine folk. After eight years alone, here she was again, amongst friends.

Throwing her arms open wide with a beaming smile on her face and a gleeful gleam in her icey blue eyes, she greeted them.
"Friends!" she cried with the warmest of smiles, her accent having thickened in the eight years since their separation "I am so glad to see you all!"

Unlike Wolfgang, the optimistic Madelief had little doubt that the others would answer his call to reform ranks. It was naive and narrow minded, but she could scarcely imagine that anyone was doing anything more important and exciting than this. In her mind, everyone's lives since the breakup of the gang had been as dull and lifeless as her own and she simply couldn't fathom someone refusing. She did note the lack of Valeria in the cabin, though Madelief had utmost confidence that she would arrive.

Just a few months ago, Madelief would never have given such an exuberant greeting. Indeed, there would be no laughing or running or leaping from planes. The absence of the wolves and death of her father had left her empty and directionless. Eating little and less exercise had left her frail and willowy, her face was drawn and gaunt and she sequestered herself inside her home and did little all day other than joylessly drill her acrobatics and play her father's piano.

It was truly a sad, pathetic slump she had fallen into, one that had all changed the day she had met with Wolfgang's contact and learned of the meeting to take place this day, now she was practically glowing and looked as if she had hardly aged a day, color had returned to her face and she was back on form, she even fit into the same smashing, cream colored jods that she used to wear.
From the doorway, she looked at each of the group in turn.

Wolfgang, the rough, tough looking leader caught her eye first. It was rather hard to miss the imposing looking fellow that had led the Wolves through their piratical romp. She still remembered the day she had seen him stomping through the crowd at one of her airshows with Valeria at his side to recruit her. She had immense respect for the pair of them although she often wished they'd lighten up. He looked as strong as ever, though somehow she caught a dreary sorrow in the tiniest corner of his eyes which caused her to frown slightly. She supposed eight years was a long time, much could have happened in the time since their separation.

Next to catch her eye was Mister Dubois, the debonair Frenchman who was, of course, sipping from a glass of red wine, the strong, fruity smell reaching her even at the doorway.
Madelief always found Dubois to be somewhat pompous but somehow it suited the highborn gentleman. He was undeniably classy and very knowledgeable about the fields that interested him and Madelief had managed to learn much from their conversations, even if she did have to yammer in his ear for half an hour to get him fixated on a topic enough to speak to her about it. She did remember finding his calm demeanor during combat somewhat unsettling and would regularly tease him for carrying around a 'diary'.

Lastly, and with a measure of surprise that betrayed the fact that she had failed to recognise him instantaneously,was Fredrik Ole Erik.
She gasped as she noticed the towering Swede and rushed towards him, arms wide open. It had been far too long since she had seen the bearish man who had taught her everything she knew about flying, right from ignition to barrel rolls. Yes, she had nearly killed him several times during the more advanced maneuvers but patience had prevailed and he had transformed her into a true pilot, it was good to see him.
"What's this?" she finally asked him after a long hug, tickling his paunchy belly with a cheeky grin.

It's almost funny how a single moment can irreparably change a multitude of lives forever. One moment, the Spanish writer was sharing dinner with his lovely young wife. They'd just laid their new baby to rest, and were now toasting the purchase of their small but lovely apartment near the heart of Madrid. Publishing all the dirtiest secrets of politicians in the country certainly brought in the money. Unfortunately, it also made one quite a few enemies. Enemies with the connections and means to purchase the services of some of the best in the business when it came to removing men like him.

Valéria had tracked the man's movements for the better part of the last month. Primarily through the lens of her scope, she watched his every action, familiarizing herself with his schedule. She only took breaks from him long enough to check out the activities of police nearby. Thanks to her scouting, she knew that approximately 7:35 at night was the idle time for her to carry out the deed. The nearest police cars were about five minutes away, and the family's neighbors would be asleep for the night. The woman adjusted herself, careful not to disturb any loose shingles -she'd once given herself away when one such single fell from the rooftop and clattered to the ground below, a thoroughly embarrassing mistake- and checked her watch. 7:34, with the second hand ticking ever closer to twelve. She took a deep, calming breath, and found the man in her scope once more. His head was thrown back in laughter at something his wife said. It was the last laugh he'd ever have.

With one squeeze of the trigger, with the the dull, muffled ringing of the shot, the shattering of the window pane, and a woman's shrill scream, a life was extinguished. A man was now dead, his child fatherless and his wife, widowed. All that, done in the span of just a few seconds. Valéria peered through her sight just long enough to ensure that her target's brain matter was now spattered across the floor behind him. To ensure that her job was indisputably done. The wife rushed to her husband's side quickly, blocking Valéria's line of vision, but she'd seen what she needed.

An empty feeling in her gut, Valéria slid down the slant of the roof, landing nimbly on a balcony below. The sliding door leading inside was glass, but she did not worry about the possibility of an inhabitant happening by and seeing her, wearing all black and with a sniper rifle in hand, prowling the night. This particular apartment had been on the market for weeks, fortunately. Without hesitating, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and easily shimmied down the storm drain nearby. The moment her feat silently hit the ground, she broke off into a sprint. At the other end of the alley she now found herself in, she'd concealed a bag with everyday clothing. In this case, a dress, with a skirt just full enough to conceal the specially made holsters in which she could hide her rifle even in plainest day.

An hour later, Valéria was clad in this plain brown garment. She was somewhat uncomfortable, if only because she hated skirts, but that was the nature of the beast that was her line of work. At any rate, she wouldn't have to wear it for long, because she had a safe house just a few blocks away in the form of a cheap motel owned by a very old, well trusted contact. By the time she'd reached its doors the sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance. The noise did not concern Valéria. She believed that she wouldn't be caught with the same certainty that she believed the sun would rise the next morning. She was one of the best at what she did, and she knew it.

The establishment wasn't the prettiest around and didn't smell the best, but it was one of few places that the woman felt she could sleep soundly. Sitting at the front desk, just a few feet away from the door through which she'd entered, was the motel's owner. This man was tall and bald, built like a brick wall and with the charisma to match. The eye patch covering his left eye was one of many signs of his background as what most would consider a less than savory character. In his youth, mercenary work had been his game, and it was one he played well. Now well into his fifties, he preferred brokering information among the various contacts he'd racked up in his years selling his services to the highest bidder. It was a hell of a lot safer -which the missus preferred- and gave him more time to read his five cent dramas, as he was currently doing.

"Good evening, miss," He greeted in Spanish, not glancing up from the pages of his book. He made no attempt to hide the cover, which pictured a woman in the arms of some darkly-clad man while a second man burst in through the door, all with overly exaggerated expressions of surprise. But then, a man with six inches and almost a hundred pounds of solid muscle on most who would consider mocking him rarely feared embarrassment. "A letter for ya," he told her, jerking his head toward a sealed envelope on the counter next to him. The slight widening of her eyes was the only indicator of her surprise; still, that was a lot, coming from her. She approached the counter and picked up the letter. The anticipation in her eyes dimmed somewhat when she noted that it was her brother's handwriting in the top corner. "A message came, too, if you're interested."

Valéria looked up, the unspoken question being just who this verbal message would be from, since the only two people she regularly corresponded with did so purely via letter. Now the man carefully dogeared his page and glanced around, ensuring that the small sitting room was empty and the door was fully closed. He leaned in close. "I've a boy who's been told that a pack of wolves is gathering up for the first time." That said, he took a pen and paper from his desk and scribbled out a location, sliding it to Valéria. She carefully placed the envelope in her bag, making a mental note to read it later. She committed the scrap's contents to memory before holding it over the flickering flame of one of two pillar candles that sat atop her friend's desk. She watched it burn, then turned away.

"Can you please find me transportation to Vercelli for tomorrow?" She asked briskly, mind already racing with questions and plans. All she needed was to pick up her plane, her arsenal, and a few changes of clothes...

---

Even after eight years grounded, A Loba took to the sky like she never left it. Retirement had treated the plane almost as well as it treated the woman, it seemed. And retirement had treated Valéria well. Few would have thought it possible, given the excellent shape she was in in her youth, but she was actually in better shape now than eight years ago. Her arms had only become harder, abs more clearly defined. Of course, the years did show, but that was more through her new scrapes and scars and the thin lines on her forehead from her habit of furrowing her brow when concentrating.

Valéria took a deep breath of the crisp night air billowing around her and gripped the wheel of the plane. She'd only flown a small handful of times since the wolves broke up. She kept her plane in tip top condition; cleaning it every day that she was at her home, replacing parts that seemed to be rusting or breaking, repainting it the same steel grey once a year. But her efforts were more out of the deep connection she still felt to the plane than any belief that she'd really get to fly it again. But despite her doubts, here she was, flying above the clear Sicilian sea, eyes scanning the dark coast for the rocky outcrop that marked the sea cave that was their designated meeting place.

It came into view, and she started dropping altitude. How many of her old friends would be there? Wolfgang, certainly, and Arturo. If anyone would call this meeting, it would be those two founders. Lucian, perhaps? For a moment, the ghost of a smile seemed to grace her lips. It was likely. Pretty girl that she was, Madelief may have settled down and started a family; but, something told Valéria that there was no man persuasive enough to convince the girl to abandon her pursuit of adventure. If he hadn't changed, Eric wouldn't have needed much pushing to return to their glory days. For the next few minutes, she pondered the chances of her various other former teammates attending.

Of course, it was very possible that none of them would be there. For all she knew, they could be dead, bounty hunters or soldiers or God knew what else waiting for her in the quickly approaching cave. She'd confirmed the message with a small handful more of her more trusted contacts, and it seemed to the real deal. But, just in case, she kept on the alert. After killing the engine, she listened carefully for some indicator of an ambush, but there was one to be found. What she did see as her plane drifted in were four she hadn't seen in far, far too long.

Valéria climbed out of the cockpit, a rope in hand, as soon as she was actually in the cave. She tied the rope carefully and securely around a solid rock, then simply followed the sound of voices to the small cabin, dusting her black trousers out of habit and straightening her crisp brown button-up shirt before sauntering into the open door. Already inside were Wolfgang, Madelief, Eric, and Lucian. The latter two had already broken into the alcohol, it seemed. Valéria very rarely drank -she placed much value on keeping a clear head, and far less tolerance for the stuff than she cared to admit- but even she couldn't deny that the occasion warranted some revelries. For most of them, this was the first time they'd seen each other since the group broke up.

For a moment after she entered, her ever analyzing eyes flitted quickly over the others who’d arrived. They went to Wolfgang first; the fearless leader who she first met over a decade ago, who'd almost single-handedly changed her entire life. Despite the rather unsavory setting of their first meeting, he'd helped her time and time again. First, by bringing her to Europe, then by giving her purpose with his invitation into the then newly formed Wolves, and in countless dogfights after that day. She regarded him with an immense respect similar to what she'd once given to her superiors in the military. Though she also grew to consider him a friend, that image she kept in her mind of him as her superior and leader kept her from growing overly close with him. And, despite her claims of not regretting a single moment of her history, he'd occasionally catch her watching him with a look bordering on guilt. The man wasn't too far changed from her memories, something she was surprised to find herself almost grateful for. She wasn’t perceptive enough when it came to human emotion to notice the slight change in his demeanor.

Next was Eric. He seemed perhaps a bit softer around the edges but, from what she could see, his spirit was very much unchanged. Also seemingly unchanged -in attitude, at least- was Madelief, who’d clearly just arrived as well and was playfully greeting the man who’d taught her much of what she knew. Valéria did note, though, with just a tinge of worry, that the girl seemed even thinner now than she was when they were younger.

Finally, there was Lucian. Though plenty of their group had been former soldiers, he was the only one who came from a line of them, as she had. The two had been close back then, despite the woman’s preference to act like she didn’t care much for anybody. She glanced from him to Wolfgang, wondering if the fact that she and Lucian had broken that promise never to see the others again had come to light, and if their leader would mind. For now, she saw no reason to bring it up.

Her assessment lasted only a few moments. Her greeting, like her personality, was much more subdued than Madelief’s. All she gave the group was a short nod with the smallest of smiles, one that appeared and disappeared so quickly that someone might question if it were ever there at all. Most knew, though, that this was a sincerely warm greeting from her. She made eye contact with Lucian for just a moment before taking a seat. It seemed that all of the people who were most likely to answer the call were here, save one. His absence puzzled her, given that he was one of the two who’d founded the group. Never one to extend greetings longer than necessary, she figured she would go ahead and ask the question straight out, addressing Wolfgang. “Where is Arturo?”

Wolfgang paused in his reminiscence with Erik when he heard the hum of another engine as it entered into the cave beyond the door. It finally dawned on him that maybe his call would really bring the remaining members of the Wolves back. He looked to the door as it opened and Lucien entered, getting to his feet he approached the man and took his hand in a firm handshake. He laughed slightly at Lucien's remark, "You're not wrong, I wondered if my engine was going to fall out on my way here. There's only so much a new coat of paint can do." Wolfgang patted the man on the back and headed back to his seat. Lucien had always been a reliable man, more of a military man than Wolfgang ever was but he wasn't overbearing in his militarism. Although they didn't always agree, he counted Lucien among his true friends.

The three continued their conversation, it felt as if they had never been apart. The time seemed to fly past until another distant hum reached Wolfgang's ears. He listened as it approached and seemed to spend some time in the air before he heard it cut out. Looking to the door as it practically exploded inward to admit Madeleif, again he rose to his feet. He smiled at her, she seemed slightly thinner than he remember but her energy and her presence were as large as ever. Giving her a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek he laid a hand on her shoulder, "It has been far too long Maddie, my life has been duller without you in it." He said giving her shoulder a light squeeze before stepping back and letting her greet the others. Looking at the group and the happiness at their reunion brought to mind the reason he had called them together, the smile slipped from his face and he made his way back to the head of the table.

It was not long before the door opened once again, he looked up as Valeria entered. Wolfgang held her gaze for a moment and gave her a small smile and a nod as she greeted everyone in her straight forward manner. He could tell that despite her distance she was glad to see the group again, he knew her well enough to know. Wolfgang caught a look between Valeria and Lucien, subtle and brief but he had spent enough time with them both to notice. It was not his style to bring it up in front of the others but he noted it, should it ever need to be addressed.

Valeria's question caught Wolfgang by surprise, he shouldn't have expected anything other than directness from her however. He had hoped that they might have time to enjoy each other's companies before he had to tell them why he had called them together but he knew that would have been delaying the inevitable. He took a deep breath and his eyes were distant for a moment as he remembered the events that had led him here. Looking around the room at the people gathered there he smiled, "I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for coming here to meet with me. I know we agreed to never meet again and I appreciate that I'm not your leader anymore." He put his hands behind his back.

"When we retired I moved to Italy, I fell in love and got married. Iliana was everything to me, I suddenly had purpose in life again. We moved to Montenegro and I bought a farm on the coast, it was paradise." Wolfgang smiled to himself as he thought of it. "I had a son, Artur. Smart like his mother, strong like me." Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned his back to the group for a moment to compose himself. "Men came to my house. They were after me, Anti-piracy types. They came in the night and I sent my family through a secret passage, they would take our boat down the coast. I had planned ahead because I knew that one day my past might catch up with me. I escaped. My family... Did not escape."

Wolfgang had to take another moment before he was able to continue. "I saw their bodies. I saw something else too, I saw Arturo. He was with the men who killed my family. Not only was he with them but he was wearing an Italian officers uniform." He knew that this news would be as hard for the others to accept as it had been for him. "The reason I brought you all here is because I'm going to find Arturo and I'm going to make him answer for Iliana and Artur. I know that if I try to do this alone I'll die and Arturo will never be brought to justice. I understand that this is not your fight, you never knew my family and you have every right to walk out right now and never look back, god knows I wouldn't judge you for a second."

Wolfgang looked at each of them in turn. "You followed me once and for that I owe you the world, but I need help one last time. It won't be easy, we may not survive so I beg you not to take this decision lightly. But I am asking you all if you will help me right a wrong that I cannot right on my own. Will you help me?"

Fredrik was on top of the world, his friends (who he considered his family) were reuniting and best of all Madelief, his young prodigy had been part of the recent arrivals. He would never forget the day she had tried her first barrel roll and almost slammed into his right wing that would have torn him from the sky. It was still one of his fondest memories and always made him smile and chuckle with a warm feeling in his stomach. Although this of course made her the only one who would be allowed to tickle the developed paunch and get away with it, though it still annoyed him just a little. As she stepped away he patted her on the back the way he always used too, he had patted her bum once in a way, he swore, was comradeship however she had almost taken his hand off for that. Never again he had vowed. Fredrik turned to Wolfgang as he started talking and sipped quietly at the cool refreshing beer whilst the man spoke his part. The hops tingled his taste buds and he savoured the taste however as Wolfgang’s story went on the beer started to sour and the smile was torn from his face. That traitor Arturo, he was going to pay for this. Standing Fredrik Poured a little of his beer out onto the floor in a sign of respect to Wolfgang’s family, then he grabbed his brother in a bear hug before speaking.

“Wolfgang, we all followed you to the gates of Valhalla and back, we fought, bled and killed for you. I may not speak for the others but Arturo has betrayed not only you but myself as well and I will once again follow you to wherever you need us to reap justice. I may need a few weeks to return to full stature and…”

Fredrik patted his midriff.

”…physique before I am ready for more face to face time. My flying of course is as it used to be. Unmatched.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Lucian said in response to Wolfgang, lamenting the woes of his own plane. “I never understood why anyone wouldn’t have taken the pains to keep their planes well preserved. It took me a day to get my dear Magpie back in running order; I can’t imagine what the years have done to your bird, Wolfgang.”

It was rather remarkable how well-timed the arrival of each members of the wolves were, and it was a testament to Wolfgang’s ability to plan ahead and account for the time it would take for not only the message to get out, but for the team to prepare and travel. Lucian, Erik, and Wolfgang had long settled into some light reminiscence when the sounds of an engine echoed from the outside. Lucian resisted the temptation to trace his hand to the Lebel on his hip, as company was expected, but he was not anticipating the force in which the door would open, the old wooden frame slamming open and creaking in protest, like an old lady being forced into activity after years of slowly decaying. That brought his hand to the revolver and almost to his feet when he recognized who it was.

“Casse-toi!” Lucian exclaimed with an embarrassed laugh. He shook a playfully disapproving finger at the Dutch woman. “You should know better than to alarm a den of thieves, my dear Madelief.” He smiled. “It is lovely to see you once again. Come, join us! Have a drink. We were actually just talking about that one time a storm rolled in when we were hitting a merchant vessel, and Erik kept trying to get you to go back in your cockpit…”

Madelief, our jester and performer, perhaps the most unlikely of us all to take up arms. Certainly full of life, perhaps with the confident arrogance that comes from defying death for so long. Prone to unnecessary risks, but you would be hard pressed to find someone with her set of talents. I never quite understood why anyone would decide to ever climb out of their cockpit to walk on the wings; flying is quite exciting on its own. It's remarkable she’s survived this long, given the risks she takes. Still, it’s hard to imagine the Wolves without her. She’s often acted like a lighthouse in the darker days, full of life when others are not. She never seemed to run out of energy. he thought, patting his breast pocket where he kept his notebook to let him know that yes, he indeed still carried his ‘diary’, an unfortunate but well intentioned running joke if there ever was one.

Lucian returned to his glass, quietly enjoying the company. For a moment, he could almost pretend that this meeting was likely about more than old friends rekindling the old fire.

Almost.

It wasn’t much longer afterwards that a final sound of engine filled the cavern and the group waited eagerly to see who would walk through the door. After what seemed like a short eternity, the door opened, and Valéria appeared, looking every bit the cold, professional woman she always was. Smiles did not come easily to her, and she scanned the faces in the room, not unlike an officer inspecting the ranks, as was her way. When her gaze turned to Lucian, and darted quickly, almost undetectably, to Wolfgang and back, asking herself the unspoken question of if Wolfgang knew about her and Lucian keeping in sparse contact over the past 8 years. He offered the slightest of shakes of the head, a slow, deliberate gesture, as the others looked to the woman.

Finally, Val’s face broke like the sun through the clouds, the small, almost shy smile a bombshell of expression coming from the Brazilian woman. Lucian knew her well enough to know this was one of those times where she was genuinely happy. When she walked over, her eyes met with the Frenchman’s again, and he offered her a warm smile and a faint tip of his glass before taking another drink. It was subtle, as was most of their consorting, but the look Wolfgang gave both Val and Lucian was enough to confirm that he noticed it. Lucian did not particularly care. One could still be loyal to his old comrades while bending silly rules. After all, they were pirates, and they lived off of defying authority. Besides, it was not as if any of them expected to be sitting here together, and Lucian regretted nothing of keeping in contact, and very quiet partnership, with Valéria over the past 8 years. It was, after all, 5 years longer than he worked with the Wolves. He would not discard that in the face of disapproval.
Val did not mince words.

“Where is Arturo?”

The words came out with the impact of a gunshot, an unspoken accusation of sorts. Arturo, the Italian ace who was Wolfgang’s closest friend and co-founder of the Wolves, was conspicuously missing. As the team was assembling in this Sicilian hideout, it should have been Arturo that Wolfgang reached out to first, whom should have been here greeting his old companions. Lucian didn’t react, not visibly, as he continued to sip as his wine, eyes now on the leader.

The truth of the meeting began to come to light, as the joyous disposition began to crack as Wolfgang began to share his tale, one with unexpected tragedy. Lucian blinked, surprised at once at the word of his former leader’s sudden family and equally by the news of their deaths. The man had tried to live a peaceful, good life, and was betrayed by his closest friend. But… why? It did not add up.

Unless Arturo valued money and security from the anti-piracy actions of the Italians than he did friends. Lucian thought, bitterly. The man always seemed to be introspective and perhaps a bit too much of a number counter for Lucian’s liking, but nothing would have hinted at him turning on Wolfgang like that. Lucian wondered briefly if a similar fate would not have befallen himself and his mother, brother, and two sisters had he stayed at the estate and it wasn’t sold out from under them. Would he have woken up in the dead of night to hear the racking of rifles and the screams of his family?

It was not a pleasant thought.

Even before Wolfgang reached his conclusion, his reluctant ask for help, Lucian had long made up his mind. Fredrik, as per usual, was quick to volunteer his help, although Lucian never quite understood why wasting one’s drink on the floor was deemed as a sign of respect. When the massive Swede finally released Wolfgang from his crushing embrace, Lucian nodded towards the Austrian.

“My friend, as a man accustomed to the call of vengeance, I am only disappointed you did not contact me sooner. Arturo will be brought to account for what he has done to you and your loved ones. I regret I never had the chance to meet them, given the life we’ve led. I have no doubts you were a generous lover and a kind father, and for that, my friend, I find a cause worth fighting for. It seems to have a much more alluring sheen than coin. I stand with you.” He said, pouring himself another glass of wine. It seemed like the sort of day that would invite indulgences, as the days ahead would be lean and decidedly dangerous.

Madelief's thunderous entry through the creaky old wooden door seemed to have flung her nearly a decade back in time. A few weeks previous, she had been sitting in a cold, sparsely decorated room in her family's old stone cottage with nothing but aching fingers, a piano and her own gloomy thoughts but now, in this little cabin, it seemed she had been transported right back to the height of the Wolves' career. Her world just seemed brighter as the flames of the gas lamps danced upon the honey coloured wood and the jovial laughter of her comrades filled her ears.

She was warmed by the words of Wolfgang and Lucian as she strode about the room, intent on re-establishing her unforgotten bond with each of them. She felt a sense of comfort as Wolfgang's scruffy beard tickled her cheek and she felt Fredrik's hand on her back. She laughed haughtily as Lucian related to her the topic of conversation within the cabin, remembering the event as if it were mere days since it occurred and flicking a wicked grin over at Fredrik as if to lightheartedly mock him for what she considered to be overprotectiveness.

This whole flurry of merriment as she entered filled Madelief with such joy. It was like the family reunion she had expected upon her arrival home, one that never came to pass.

Just as the excitement whirling about inside her was starting to die down, Madelief heard the door open behind her and spun to face it, wandering just who it could be and, with an excited gasp was met with the sight of Valéria Aparecida Oliveira de Azevido, a name which Madelief had intentionally committed to memory all those years ago in the hope that it would somehow impress the tough Brazilian and show that she had taken an interest in her. She never did know if it worked.

"Ria!" she cried, opening her arms wide for the third time since her arrival and stepping forward before the faint flicker that constituted a smile from Valéria crossed her face and warded her off, reminding her that big hugs were really not Valéria's way.
Somewhat awkwardly, Madelief managed to restrain her display of affection and attempted to disguise her hug by casually sliding her hands up into her armpits, resulting in stifly folded arms.
"I-it's good to see you" she finished, unable to remove the ear to ear smile on her face.

Were it even possible, Valéria looked even stronger than before. Her body was solid, her eyes hard, intense and unyielding. Madelief had always respected Valéria as a woman, as a pilot and comrade in arms. She had consistently tried to learn from her and, while she always felt as though she was kept at arms length emotionally and struggled to understand Valéria's impersonal attitude, sheer persistence and making an effort to play by Valéria's rules seemed to have led to some level of respect and mutual understanding of how to deal with each other, even if they could not fathom the other's inner workings.

As Madelief stood there in the cabin, the entire scenario seemed like a dream. She'd had them before, dreams where she'd be back in the sky, flying about with her friends and shooting up merchant ships. That was how she saw herself, she wasn't a pirate robbing and stealing and killing, she was just having adventures with her friends, or at least she was until she woke up in her dreary old room. But this, this was real, she knew because nobody could stay asleep with their heart racing with such elation as Madelief felt right now. They were all here, the ones she had known in her heart would answer Wolfgang's call, now the only one they were waiting on was Arturo, where was that guy?

Inspired by the pungent aroma emanating from Lucian's glass as well as his insistence on the matter, Madelief had acquired a glass of red wine and was daintily sipping on it as she merrily basked in the company of her allies when Wolfgang began to speak. She promptly turned to him with a contented smile on her face as memories of all of their former mission briefings flooded back to her. He still had that same authoritative tone and, at first, it filled her with nostalgic excitement as she listened intently for the reason he had called the Wolves back together. Not that the reason overly mattered, she was just happy to be there.

As Madelief listened, however, certain cues led to an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't heard Valéria question Arturo's whereabouts, but was similarly curious as to his absence, she was sure he would be here, why was Wolfgang beginning without him? And then there was Wolfgang's tone and that look in his eyes.

For a moment, Madelief thought that she may have been overreacting when Wolfgang spoke of Italy, Iliana and their son.
"Aww..." she sighed quietly at the sweet happy ending that Wolfgang seemed to have made for himself, glancing around at the others to gauge their responses, but her attitude was quick to falter.

Iliana 'was' the love of his life? The way in which Wolfgang spoke just didn't add up with the story he was telling, and then it hit her.
Madelief brought her hand to her pale lips to conceal the gasp that escaped from her mouth as Wolfgang mentioned the men that came to his house and tears welled up in her eyes as every word that followed confirmed her fears. Wolfgang had lived through his life, suffering injustice all along, he had survived through their harrowing life of piracy and had finally found peace with a family that he clearly loved and it had been taken from him. All in the space of a few seconds, Madelief had learned of Wolfgang's family and their death. She would never meet them, nor would she ever see the joy they brought to Wolfgang and only adding salt to the wound was that one of their own number had been involved in the foul crime, it was a crushing blow that saw Madelief trying, and failing, to fight back tears.

Madelief was brimming with emotion. She was enraged and saddened, vengeful and distraught, she could scarcely even settle her racing mind on one emotion and just stood there in stunned silence as Wolfgang continued. She did not even move as Wolfgang's story came to a close and felt completely overwhelmed as both Fredrik and Lucian pledged themselves to Wolfgang's cause.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. The reformation of the Wolves was supposed to be a grand occasion of mirth and rapture before they set off once again on their wild adventures. It wasn't supposed to transformed into a tragedy, people weren't supposed to be betrayed and have their families murdered, their quest wasn't supposed to be about vengeance, people weren't meant to die...

In the wake of Lucian's commitment to Wolfgang's mission, Madelief felt the room become quiet and concluded that it was her turn for a reply, and she struggled for several moments to give it. Things were real now, this was not even comrades getting shot out of the sky and going down in flames, this was a traitorous wrech specifically locating and murdering Wolfgang's family. Why had Arturo done this? She certainly wouldn't find out if she walked back through that door and went home to her mother. Wolfgang had called on her, as well as the others, because he had faith and trust in the fact that they would back him and even though this was not going the be the swashbuckling romp she had hoped for, she would not let that trust be answered with a turned back.

"I--" Madelief cleared her throat as her first attempt at speaking manifested as nothing more than a raspy croak, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes "I'm so, so sorry, Wolfgang" she said, placing the wine glass that she had been holding in a death grip down onto the table beside her as she stepped towards him, gently taking hold of his lapels and staring up at his reddened eyes "I only wish we could have met them...and perhaps we will, yet..." Madelief released him and walked back to her wine glass, taking a measured sip before placing it back down.
"If Arturo has the backing of the Italian Air-force, this is going to be one intense mission. I'll help you, Wolfgang" she replied, as her courage began steadily filling back in and the determined glint returned to her eyes.
"We'll find Arturo and bring him to justice" she pulled her treasured fishing knife from her boot "Sharp justice" she added, running a gloved finger along the back of the blade.

As her old leader started explaining why they were all there that night, Valéria leaned back against the wall of the small structure, arms crossed. She listened to him grimly, sure from the beginning that his story would not be a happy one. That the absence of a comrade prompted his explanation made her sure of this. His referencing his family distinctly in the past tense confirmed this. So, Wolfgang had finally settled down. The family life was not one that Valéria wished for herself. Indeed, she didn't know how any of the likes of them could just change their lives so dramatically. But he'd been happy, and she wished that for all of her former crew members. She pitied him for his loss.

The identity of the culprit surprised her. Arturo? Back with the Italian military? She herself had entertained more than one passing fancy of a reality where she could return to that life, but to actually pursue it... It was madness. And to betray Wolfgang in the process? He had to have some sort of reason for doing it all. He'd been distant, sure, but no more so than herself. Betrayal is not difficult in the face of fortune and glory, the cynic in her reminded, we all have something that would tempt us. Still, his actions were unacceptable. She was not filled with rage, and her blood didn't boil. But, as her mind established this one simple fact, the next logical step was clear. Reparations had to be made. And, as someone who considered herself Wolfgang's friend, she would help him attain them.

One by one, the others pledged themselves to the cause. Fredrik went into it as was his way; a physical show of affection and an empassioned declaration of justice and loyalty. While she'd have to challenge his statement of being 'unmatched' at a later date, she appreciated that he was still as she remembered. Lucian, of course, threw his lot in as well. As he'd said himself, he was in the business of revenge. She would have been very surprised if he hadn't considered it a worthy cause. Then, there was Madelief, expressing her grief for him with a show that would elicit an eyeroll from Valéria if it were coming from any other person, but was almost infectious from Madelief. The glint of her blade punctuated her words, and as she swore justice, it reflected quite dangerously in her eyes.

Feeling rather as though all attentions were on her, she considered her own loyalties too obvious to bother stating -for, like many who are considered difficult to understand by others, she considered her motivations and positions to be as clear as day- and simply looked at Wolfgang expectantly. "It seems that we await your orders, then," She commented. By now, it may have been noticed that her accent was much less thick than when the group had first formed.

Wolfgang was taken off guard by Fredrik's hug and grunted slightly as the man embraced him, he patted him on the back and then again on the shoulder when he was released. He appreciated the gesture, even if it was a bit of a surprise. He gave a nod to Lucian who offered a more subtle gesture which was appreciated all the same. Wolfgang met Madelief’s eyes as she approached him, it was only then that he realised that she had tears in her eyes. It stirred him that she had been moved to such emotion for his family who she had never met, the whole groups acceptance of his family gave him one of the first positive feelings he had felt since the night they were taken from him. Valéria’s characteristic straight forward response made him smile slightly. He nodded to her, “Thank you… Thank you all.” He said looking at the group gathered in front of him.

Wolfgang cleared his throat and spoke louder this time, “I’ve given this a lot of thought. Arturo has knowledge that makes him a very dangerous enemy, he knows our previous patterns and our safe houses, not just that but he knows us. Me in particular, he knows how I lead and how I plan. I intend to use this against him.” Wolfgang began pacing as he spoke. “He’ll expect me to go after him in an all-out attack, he was almost right. I did myself a favour by drowning myself in alcohol before I got to my plane; if I had managed to reach it sooner I would likely have gone after him alone without any plan. We’re going to use the opposite tactic; we’re going to make him come to us.” Walking to a box behind the chair he had been sitting on he pulled out a map of the Mediterranean, he spread it on the table in front of him and weighted the corner down with bottles and glasses.

“There are two things that drive anti-piracy units into action, threats to international trade and threats to wealthy Europeans. I intend to threaten both. I want them to force their hand and make them act hastily so that Arturo is out of his element.” Running his finger across the map he traced a line from Algeria around Sardinia and to Pisa, Italy, from there he continued up the Italian coast and along to Marseille in France then back down to Algeria again. “A new trade lane has opened, slaves from Algeria are taken over to Pisa where they get traded for gold and goods which are then taken to Marseille and traded for weaponry, fuel, machinery and everything else that the slavers need to keep doing what they do which is then dropped back in Algeria. Then the cycle continues. The wealth the French and Italian governments are pulling in from this, not to mention the slavers, is massive. We’re going to raid a convoy between France and Algeria, we’ll hit it here.” He placed his finger down west of Sardinia.

“These convoys are no joke, they’ve got at least 2 destroyer-class ships in tow as well as the planes they inevitably bring along. The reason I chose this leg of the journey to hit them is that they’ll have had the same escort from the beginning of their journey. The pilots will be tired and will be easier to take down. The destroyers are our main concern, they’ll be throwing a lot of lead into the air. We’re going to have to get in quick and hard and cripple their guns. Then we’ll divert one of the ships to Spain and cripple as many of the others as we can. We’ll sell the Spanish whatever goods are on board and get on our way; which brings me neatly to the second phase of my plan.” He put his finger down on Venice and traced it over the Adriatic Sea and down into the Mediterranean proper, around Greece and up to Constantinople.

“There’s going to be a luxury zeppelin flight from Venice to Constantinople. The people on board will be some Europe’s elite and there will be plenty of influential and esteemed individuals among them. We’re going to do something that’s never been done before, we’re going to board an airborne airship and we’re going to rob every passenger for everything they have. The money isn’t the point of this, the scandal is the real prize. The politicians who’s pockets are filled by the wealth and favour of the rich will explode with indignation and fury. The anti-piracy units will be deployed and Italy will be leading the charge. Which means that Arturo won’t have his precious planning time that he relies so heavily on, which will put him at odds with his situation from the start. That’s when we get him.” Taking a moment he looked over the map and then straightened and looked at the others.

“Any questions before we get into the fine details?”

It wasn’t a bad plan, all considered. Wolfgang always relied more on his heart than his head, and it was likely Arturo’s plan to exploit that. However, one needed to consider that he wasn’t relying entirely on Wolfgang’s emotions and quest for blood to hand the Austrian neatly in his lap. “We should be cautious when presuming Arturo’s intents, after all, he’s known us all for years, and as much as we know his strengths and weaknesses as readily as he knows ours, it would be foolish to assume we know his own plans. If he were counting on you to do something rash, Wolfgang, you would have done it the night… of the incident.” Lucian said, not wishing to remind the man of his lost family more than he had to. “We must also take into consideration that if he is serving the Italian military, then he may not be the one calling the shots. I can see him being an advisor or even a task force leader, but he is not a general or a politician. He reports to someone. Someone who likely now knows everything Arturo knows about us and will use that information in ways we will not readily know. We must act quickly and decisively, but I strongly caution us to not fall into any patterns or routines that can be exploited, and we must not follow similar practices as when we were last all working with one another. I would stake a large sum of money on Arturo predicting us forming, as well as trying to draw him into a situation where he’s exposed. We all know he’s never been so foolish to fall for a rudimentary ruse.” The Frenchman cautioned.

Lucian drank from the glass before setting it down on one of the sides of the map to keep it from furling up once more. He watched Wolfgang’s fingers deftly trace the trade routes, as well as locations of interest. Lucian’s eyes lingered on Algeria, bringing a heavy frown to his face. That was one country he was in no hurry to see again, and he knew full well what their slaving practices were like. He tried not to let his memory remind him of the day of his lapsed judgement and the dozens of dead men left to rot in the central African jungles. The trade relationship between France and Italy was interesting; typically, the two countries were at odds, and Italy was none-too-pleased with France’s military alliance with the Russians. If this were left unhindered, both Italy and France stood to become economic titans in a volatile political climate; everywhere one went, there were murmours of a coming war. Europe seemed to be a powder keg, waiting for the fuse. The military and economic alliances, the increasing military sizes, the European disposition for frequent wars over the smallest slights, there was a lot to be concerned with.

He nodded when Wolfgang concluded his ideas for the operation. “Naval convoys are mostly concerned with anti-shipping practices. It is still quite possible to attack these ships with minimal risk, either from a steep decent towards the top of the destroyers, or from just above the waves where their heavy guns cannot easily target. And let me assure you that targeting the destroyers should be one of our main aims; nothing is more embarrassing for a nation than to lose an expressive warship in peacetime. They would be forced to retaliate and send units to hunt us down to save face.” His finger tapped the route between Venice and Constantinople. “Which is why it is wise to continuously strike in unpredictable ways, between several different routes, means of attack, and nations. When the world looks West for us, we head East. When they look East, we head South. Although there’s only so many places we can call a refuge, it’s still trying to find a needle in a haystack unless they know where to look. The same goes for us, the timing of departure and routes are going to get mixed up the more this goes on to try and throw us off, and there’s likely to be decoy convoys meant to lure us out we need to be wary of. This likely means we’ll have to visually confirm when a trading route is being used over following hunches and dispatches. But the longer this goes on, the longer Arturo has to forge his net for us. We cannot do this indefinitely. Our planes are old now, and we’ll be facing much more modern equipment. We need to accept that Arturo may not meet his end at our hands, not in a dogfight. We may have to resort to… other tactics.” Lucian concluded.