Stephen kept toward the back of the cargo plane rides as often as possible. From Britannia to Orussia, then south to the carrier group and the massing fleets, he'd been succesful in keeping a low profile. It helped that most of the other Britannian soldiers were from the lowlands, so while the lot of them clustered together around him, they generally decided the boy in their midst didn't need to be part of the social club. It wasn't as if Stephen cared much anyway- or could care, really. Every three hours he had to take a different round of medication whenever they landed, warding off infections in the air that he might never have been exposed to if his power as a Warlock hadn't been discovered by the Britanninan government.
But he was here now, for Queen and Country, ready to serve in the 707th Wing among the other Strike Witches.
His last round of pills he took an hour before the transport was scheduled to land, and by the time the wheels touched down on the deck of the aircraft carrier, Stephen had already finished getting thoroughly sick and overcoming the side effects. Dressed in Khaki military fatigues with a tartan pattern military cap, he followed the rest of the troops and witches down the ramp slowly and cautiously. The Orussian and Liberion Witches were a colorful sort and judging from the equipment in the cargo bay of the aircraft, he'd be assigned to fight with some of them down on the ground. That could get... interesting.
The briefing and address by their superior officers was a simple matter- Stephen saluted when everyone else saluted and did as everyone else did. He was able to use a natural sense of direction to find his bunkroom after the address, however.
Seeing Room 3's furnishings confirmed the nagging little fearful voice in the back of his head, however. The bunk bed and single loft were not partitioned in any way. No screen, no divider, no nothing to ensure privacy between the other two Witches and himself. As he shuffled his large trunk of a case over to the loft bed, he had to mumble under his breath, reverting back from his carefully practiced Britannian accent back to the Highland speech from his true home.
"Well that's a real scunner! Two lasses an' I bunkin' t'gether, an' how's tha suppose to work?"