Three Strikes [✓]

Adaptation

Chapter Three: Adaptation

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Erusean Air and Space Administration, Erusea.
May 31st, 2019.
1000hrs.

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Dr. Schroeder stared out at the vast, empty desert-like area that the EASA was located. As summer drew closer, the desert became more and more unbearable, parched and ugly to look at in spite of the nearby lake, the mountain range and forest in the distance becoming an almost tempting oasis. Schroeder was used to a cooler climate, one that Erusea did not offer, and it was starting to get to him. His attire wasn't the best choice for the weather that day, what with his stuffy lab coat and black polo shirt. Regardless, he liked to keep his style simple and decided he would grow accustomed to the heat sooner or later.

His eyes flicked over to his workplace off to his left, a table with various computers set up beside a trailer, underneath a white awning for protection from the sun and other elements. A water bottle bearing the EASA logo rested on the far end of the desk, sweating almost as much as he felt he was. His assistant, Massa, had been kind enough to bring him water regularly, since he went through the drinks faster than he'd care to admit. Although temperatures seemed to be rising at least three degrees everyday, water was still — thankfully — plentiful.

Giving in to his thirst, he returned to his workplace to grab his water bottle, taking his eyes off of the sky and the surrounding area for the first time in several minutes, but the break didn't last long. He was awaiting the return of one of the very reasons he had been working with EASA to begin with so he could officially get his day started. Gründer Industries had sent him out to work with Erusea's scientists in developing their drones' intelligence and making them more adaptable and efficient in combat.

In order to do this, he had to study the data collected by a well known Erusean pilot, a stubborn, aging old fellow by the name of Mihaly A. Shilage. Mihaly was an excellent pilot, the only problem was that the maneuvers he pulled in the air — however unique and hard to match they were — combined with the high altitude and his age, took a toll on his body. Schroeder had him wearing a specialized flight suit for this purpose as well as to collect the flight data, but it seemed he was always having to improve the design and order new ones. Schroeder could only hope that the suit held up during his first day in real combat.

The rest of the experimental squadron that Mihaly was the leader of, Sol Squadron, had stayed ready to fly in and support him if they needed to, but Mihaly had engaged the Osean pilots by himself. Sol had come back not too long after, but Mihaly had taken a detour so he could refuel before he made his way back to the EASA base, everyone eagerly on the lookout so they could hear the tale of how it happened. Schroeder couldn't very well blame them. He enjoyed hearing Mihaly's stories of combat on the rare occasion he chose to share.

Most of his stories were about his former pupils; pilots that he'd trained before his retirement from combat. A favorite story among the pilots was that of another of Erusea's top aces, Mihaly's best student, and the leader of an infamous squadron. Mihaly never mentioned his real name, only referring to him as 'Thirteen'. The way he described Thirteen, it almost seemed to Schroeder that the younger pilot had surpassed his teacher, or at least came close to it. If that was the case, then it would have been a blessing if they'd been able to study Thirteen instead.

Unfortunately for Schroeder, Thirteen was shot down by an extremely skilled ISAF pilot in 2005, towards the end of the Usean Continental War, and was believed to have been long dead. While Mihaly's skill was hard to match, Schroeder worried for the success of the drones and by extension for Mihaly's health. Mihaly exceeded expectations every day, but everyone had their limits. A younger pilot that flew the same way as Mihaly and could still adapt and improve whenever he needed would have been a safer option, and Schroeder got the feeling that he wasn't the only person who thought that.