Chapter Thirteen: Revelations
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444th Air Base, Zapland.
July 14th, 2019.
1330hrs.
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Avril carefully looked over the F-15Cs that belonged to the surviving pilots of the reconnaissance team. They were in good condition, save for a couple of bullet holes that knocked out a necessary component or two. Avril looked around the hangar, expecting to see the usual mothballed planes that she'd fixed up for the Spare pilots, but instead saw the rest of the F-15s lined up. McKinsey had the con artist guy, the anarchist, and Avril's dumbass cellmate, Trigger, move the planes they and the ex-intelligance officer flew outside and park Cyclops and Strider's planes inside instead. It would only be for a couple of more days if Avril had any say in it, though. The Cyclops pilots had been breathing down her neck the entire time.
Cyclops 1, who Avril had been introduced to as Wiseman, was standing with his wingman, Fencer. Wiseman was a well-built, extremely tall gentlemen with a friendly, cheerful demeanor. Fencer was tall as well, only about an inch or two shorter than Wiseman, with a much more prickly and serious attitude. Avril could tolerate Wiseman, but she could barely stand Fencer. Maybe their personalities clashed too much, or maybe she just didn't appreciate the fact that he was so obsessed with his plane. You'd think it was a family pet undergoing some sort of risky operation with the way he treated it. In fact, he and Wiseman were chatting a just outside of the hangar while she was working, and Avril was well aware that Fencer kept looking inside to see what she was doing.
Outside, the roar of several engines told her that some extra supplies were being flown in from an allied base. Unfortunately all of the fighters were grounded since most of them were still in and out of solitary, so Avril rarely got a chance to see how well the planes she built held up in an actual combat situation. After Erusea suddenly quit bombing the 444th, McKinsey only sent Spare Squadron up when it was necessary for missions deeper into Usea. Avril didn't mind not seeing them fly that often, though. It only made her remember that she was stuck on the ground with a bum leg that kept her from pursuing any career in flying, however short-lived it would most likely be. Damned Osean aviation laws...
She limped across the hangar and through the hangar doors to finally speak with the two pilots. "Your planes are in a pretty decent condition, for the most part. It should only take a day or two to get 'em fixed up again," Avril told them. Both men nodded slowly. Avril realized she now had a chance to speak with them about the last mission. She wasn't friendly enough with the other pilots on base so they rarely told her about what happened while they were out. Avril had almost expected Trigger to talk about it when she came back to their cell the previous night, to try and make conversation, but Trigger had just climbed onto her bunk and gone to sleep without so much as acknowledging that Avril was there. Not that Avril was bothered by the lack of attention, and she couldn't blame Trigger for not sharing, either. "I am curious about one thing, though. I noticed that there's only four of you...how'd you managed to make it out? I heard the guards mention it was bad...apparently there was one hard-ass flying for the Eruseans."
Wiseman and Fencer both looked at each other before Wiseman answered, "There was. The Eruseans have a couple of great pilots in their midst, along with the with the drones. Without the support from your guys, we might not have made it out this lucky."
Avril raised an eyebrow. "Really? It looked to me like most of our pilots bailed on you as soon as things got rough. They aren't exactly renowned for their courage and it wouldn't be the first time they chose solitary over actually putting in an effort."
"Well, most of them actually did retreat," Fencer told her with a dry chuckle. "But two of them stayed behind and tangled with the enemy so we could retreat. Eventually, a third guy came back to help drive them off."
"Really?" Avril asked, placing her hands on her hips. That was something new. She wondered which dumbass had the idea to stay and cover the retreat. That used to be her dad's job, before he got himself killed. Reason number one why she wasn't able to fly and why she built that stupid plane with her grandfather. Admittedly, she still blamed Harling for the last war. In fact, back when Trigger first arrived, she thought about giving her a thank you note for killing the guy. "Well...thanks for telling me. I'll get to work on your planes, now. I'm sure you probably wanna get back to your own base, eh?"
"No problem." Wiseman turned away from her and climbed into the nearby cart that the guards used to go between the hangars.
Fencer followed him, climbing into the back of the cart, facing her. "Let me tell you one other thing, though," he said. "One of your pilots is pretty tenacious, takin' on the enemy ace alone back there. In fact, all three of the support showed some pretty amazing skill and determination. I, for one, was impressed by it. I'd keep an eye on them if I were you." He laughed, indicating he wasn't serious with what he had said, but Avril actually didn't think it was too bad an idea. Fencer's laughter slowly trailed off. "Anyways. You should take a look at their planes. No way they didn't take some damage out there. They could use the tune up."
"Right..." Avril said slowly. "Whatever you say. Thanks again." Fencer nodded in response, then the guard assigned to play as their escort drove them away. She watched them leave, then looked over towards the other planes where she saw Trigger playing fetch with their AWACS controller's guard dog. Not too far away, Count, the self-proclaimed leader of their squadron of misfits and lowlifes, was smoking a cigarette and carrying out a conversation with the other old guy from the allied squadron and the only female pilot they had in their squadron. Then nearby, looking over some of the other planes, Avril noticed the anarchist guy, Tabloid. He was always this cheerful guy with a dumb grin on his face, so she never thought much of him. He'd been the last pilot to return to the base...was he the one that took on the enemy by himself?
Tabloid turned around, facing his wingmen, then he must have noticed Avril glaring at him. He turned around and gave her a tired look for a moment before he quickly gave her a friendly grin and tilted his head to one side. Avril didn't return the greeting. If she wanted to know the details about the battle, maybe she could find a way to talk to him. The guards and the base commander usually went pretty easy on her compared to the others. She'd earned that for herself, repairing planes and whatnot. It might have also had to do with the fact she was a civilian. Whatever the reason, she knew that she could put in a request to stay out past their curfew, for 'work related' reasons. Then she could say she needed some help in the hangars and choose this Tabloid guy to give her a hand. She figured he was more of a follower than a leader, so he probably wouldn't tell her much unless he was on his own.
Deciding she'd finish planning later on, she started to limp towards him once he'd turned his attention on the others. He looked her way again when she finally reached him. "Hey," she called out to him. "It's Tabloid, right?" Of course she knew who he was, but she didn't know how else to start a conversation with him.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Scrap Queen," Tabloid said with an even wider grin. Avril resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The title wasn't so bad, now that she thought about it, but the gambler and the thug they used to have in the squadron used it more as a term of mocking than a legitimate nickname. Whatever, she thought. The two of them were dead now, anyways, so it didn't matter to her. Besides, at least the anarchist didn't have some sort of snide tone or condescending comment after. Tabloid looked her over. "Soooo...do you need help with something?"
"Not exactly," Avril replied with a small smirk. She placed her hands on her hips again and leaned off of her bad leg to give it some rest. "I need some help around the hangars later tonight. Commander McKinsey wants those F-15s in top condition ASAP, so I'm gonna have to do some overtime to get them ready." Avril shifted her weight again, looking to the hangar, then back at Tabloid. "I was wondering if you wanted to help me. I would ask someone else, but everyone's either stuck in solitary or lack any common sense when it comes to aircraft repairs."
"I'm not trying to argue with you or anything, but what makes you think I'll be of any help?" Tabloid asked her, his grin fading. "Definitely not the go-to guy when it comes to tinkering with planes."
Avril shrugged. "I've seen you working a couple of times before. You seem to know your way around an aircraft and can follow orders pretty well," she replied. Figuring he might take some further persuasion, she added, "Also, I can get my hands on some cheap liquor and you and I can have a drink while we work. McKinsey keeps a couple of bottles of the stuff in his office, which I happen to be allowed to access to. The office, anyways. Either that or I can find actually filtered water to drink. Better than the shit we're drinking now, that's for sure."
"Tempting offer." Tabloid crossed his arms, looking over at where Trigger was. Avril didn't turn around, keeping her eyes fixed on Tabloid's face, scanning for a reaction. At last, his blue eyes flicked away from that direction and back on her. "Well, I was gonna play some poker with some of the other pilots tonight, but what the hell." His dumb, cheeky grin returned. "I'll give you a hand. But I'm gonna hold you to that drink offer. What time do you want me to be at the hangar?"
"Say...around 2100?" Avril asked him, tilting her head up and once again shifting her weight. "I have a few things to do beforehand, otherwise it'd be earlier."
Tabloid pretended to think for a minute. "Yeah, that should work in accordance to my schedule," he said. "Y'know, since you'll be getting the drinks, I'll try and get my hands on some mugs from the mess hall. Don't wanna make you do everything yourself."
"Alright, then it's a deal," Avril said, crossing her arms. Tabloid kept grinning, then held out his hand for her to shake. She looked down at his hand and then up at the expectant look he was wearing. Sighing, she humored him and gave his hand a firm shake, officially sealing their little deal. This guy's weirder than I thought. "Well, I have to go dig up some extra tools, so I'll see ya around. If you don't show up on time then I send the guards after you." With that, she turned around and started to limp away, hearing him laugh at her comment. Did he think she was joking? Ah, well. Avril probably wouldn't be too harsh on him even if he did show up late. He was kinda likable, at least compared to the other cons she had to put up with.
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2100hrs.
Avril waited in the hangars for Tabloid to show up, just as planned, with the cheap whiskey she'd managed to steal from McKinsey. She wasn't much of a drinker, so maybe that explained why she wasn't exactly looking forward to the drink itself, but rather the conversation. Perhaps some strange part of her wanted some friends around the base. Maybe living in that shithole would be more tolerable with someone to share her suffering with. Sure, she had Trigger to share a dingy old cell with, but that wasn't the same. She wasn't comfortable with Trigger just yet.
Just as Avril was about to go and look for Tabloid, he waltzed through the hangar doors, dumb grin and all. One of the guards, Sergeant Baker, was his escort that evening. Baker was never on good terms with any of the prisoners, and he looked about ready to pull out his gun and shoot both of them if it meant he could go about his evening. "Alright, Mead, I brought your scrawny little friend to you," Baker snapped, shoving Tabloid on his back. "I'm leaving you both here on your own, so no funny business. And you better not tell McKinsey that I left or I'll throw you both in solitary until the war is over."
"Hey, my lips are sealed," Tabloid chirped, sauntering over to the crate Avril had set up as a table. He held two rusty mugs in his hand and he set them both down before turning back around to face Baker. "I can't speak for the Scrap Queen here, though."
Avril rolled her eyes, glaring at Baker as she did. "Yeah, I didn't want him around anyways," she said to Tabloid. "If you'll excuse us, Baker, we have work to do." She limped over to where she'd set out some tools and grabbed a wrench, tossing it to Tabloid. He just barely managed to catch it, grinning even wider when he did. Baker shook his head and groaned, quickly turning around and heading back the way he came. Avril waited until she was sure he was gone before she made her way over to the makeshift table and began to pour them both a drink. As she passed him his mug, she said, "You can just call me Avril, y'know. No need for all of that Scrap Queen nonsense."
Tabloid accepted the cup gratefully. "Oh...well, whatever you say, I guess." He watched as she limped back to her original spot, taking a quick sip of his drink. Avril saw him quickly surpress a disgusted look, swallowing the bitter tasting alcohol without any protest. Tabloid tilted his head to one side, his grin turning into a small smile instead. "Something tells me that we won't be working on those planes. Not tonight, anyways." Avril raised an eyebrow, signaling for him to go on. "I mean, for one you don't have any tools in your own hand and you stopped messing around with them as soon as Baker left." He lifted the wrench in his hand for emphasis, tossing it back to the tool box nearby.
"Not a bad observation. I'll give ya that." She took her own swig, staring distastefully at the contents of the mug. Definitely not the best drink she'd ever had, but it would do. "We'll be working on the planes, eventually. But not until later. You see, I figured you don't get a lot of meaningful conversation around here, and I thought I'd change that." Tabloid gave her a look of bewilderment, but he didn't say anything in response. Avril shifted her weight off of her bad leg, then motioned for him to sit down on a nearby box. "Take a seat if you'd like."
He did as she told him, taking a seat and looking up at her, smiling again. "So, what do you wanna talk about first?"
"Well, we've got plenty of time," Avril said cooly. "Why don't we start with the basics?" She took another sip of her drink. "Where're you from?"
At first, she thought he didn't understand the question, then she expected a smartass answer like 'Osea' but eventually he shrugged. "Oh, I grew up in November City," he replied. "Let me tell you, the sunsets there are gorgeous, especially in the fall." It seemed like he was starting to loosen up a bit, since he went on about his hometown for a bit longer before abruptly asking her, "What about you? I can't very well spend the entire night talking about me, now can I?"
"I've lived all over Osea, actually," Avril said with a smirk. Tabloid gave her a curious look. "Military family," she explained. "I spent the first three years of my life in Oured, then we moved to Bana for about four years, and then we moved to Aurick for a year, then back to Oured, and then to Cape Landers and I moved back to the outskirts of Bana when I was fifteen to live with my grandparents." Avril decided to chuckle and throw in some humor to help ease the tension. "Lemme tell you, after all those years of moving around, if I'd had my way then I'd have never travelled again. But the government had a different idea, aparently."
"Yeah, I've never been a big fan of how the government operates," Tabloid answered with a sheepish laugh. Avril nodded, not knowing how to respond and not really wanting to get into politics with him. She wasn't invested in politics after her dad died. It was easier to just avoid them than argue with people over them. Their conversation went on for a good while. Tabloid was a surprisingly chatty guy, going on and on about the novels he'd read, asking if Avril had read them. He was into the classics, liking very few newer stories, although he did bring up some children's series he read in high school about magic and wizards.
Avril wasn't exactly a bookish person, so she simply nodded and listened to what he said. Eventually, she managed to turn it around to the mission by asking him about a few books on aircraft she enjoyed, then asking him about being a pilot, and then she had set up a perfect opportunity to get the story she wanted all along. "You must be a pretty good pilot to have made an impression on those pilots ya'll were sent out to assist in that thunderstorm," Avril casually put into the discussion. "In fact, apparently you guys put on quite a show."
The smile Tabloid was wearing faded and he shifted in his seat, looking down at the floor. "Ah...of course," he said. "I remember that day well." Avril held back a scoff. It was the day before yesterday, of course he'd still remember it. He seemed hesitant to share the story with her, but he went on anyways, narrating it as if he was telling of some legendary fight. "Admist the swirling clouds, a fighter squadron was trying to help its allies reach safety. Trigger was insane out there. She flew through those clouds, twisting around the rocks, helping us take down the enemy anti-air weaponry like it was nothing."
"Sounds like she's pretty foolish," Avril commented at the mention of Trigger. Of course that dumbass was involved.
"Well, yeah, I thought so too," Tabloid forced a laugh. He quickly got back to the story, "But suddenly, a highly skilled enemy fighter squadron appeared and jumped on the recon team, picking them off at the edges. One by one, they fell right out of the sky!"
Avril narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow, surprised with how Tabloid had shared the story. He seemed to have a flair for the dramatic. She knew how to get the information she wanted next. If it was Tabloid that did all of the work, she could play his ego and find out. Simple as that. This was also an effective way to find out about his character. If it wasn't him and he took credit for it, that would make him a liar. If he told the truth, then maybe she could risk befriending him. "Although, I suppose there was nobody around that was even more foolish to go to their aid then," Avril said. She pushed herself away from where she'd been leaning, trying to sound as calm and coolheaded as possible, turning her back on him to look at the planes in the shadows. "So, you simply watched things unfold from a distance."
It didn't take long for him to reply with a short, simple, "Yeah." Avril tensed and looked over her shoulder at him, slowly turning back around as he continued, "It was Trigger who jumped right into the storm. She flew into the enemy's sights and took on their leader without even blinking. I don't think she even cared. It was insane...but, I mean, then again, who would've ever thought that I'd just go and follow her straight into the enemy squadron like that. I don't know how we managed to survive and get back with as few casualties as we did. When Count came back and gave me a hand, well...I'm pretty sure that all three of us were out of our minds." Avril didn't know what to say. She wouldn't argue with him, that's for sure. All three of them must have been terrified, just flying by the seat of their pants.
She studied Tabloid for a long while, noting his sudden change in behavior. He looked tired now, staring off into space with a faint smile and swishing the contents of his mug around absentmindedly. So it wasn't him, it was Trigger. Avril had to admit, she wasn't expecting that, especially not with the way Trigger acted all the time. A president murderer didn't seem the type for heroics, and yet here they were. Maybe there was more to Trigger than Avril had previously thought. She still needed to be cautious about this. Before the silence became awkward, Avril quickly asked him, "So how did you feel?"
Tabloid slowly looked up. "Well, I'm still kinda shaken up, actually," he replied, straightening up. "But you know something? I do feel a certain sense of pride, too. A bunch of misfits like us gettin' the praise of some bigshots in the air force. And it's all thanks to Trigger."
"She really is foolish, isn't she?" Avril asked, managing a small smile.
"Yup!" Tabloid said with a smile, eyes lighting up. He lifted his mug into the air as if toasting his wingman. "She sure is!" Both of them finished off their drinks and fell into a comfortable silence. Tabloid finally stood up, groaning as he stretched out. "Well, as much as I enjoyed the drink and the discussion, it's getting late and I'm pretty beat." He set his mug down on the empty barrel and turned towards Avril. "You wouldn't mind if I called it a night, would you?"
Avril grinned. "Hell yes I'd mind!" she said with a laugh. "I said you were going to help me fix up these planes and there's no way I'm gonna go to McKinsey and tell him that I didn't get any work done."
"Fair enough," Tabloid said, also smiling at this point. Avril approached the tools and tossed him a rag and a wrench once again, both of which he quickly caught. "So, where do we get to work first?"
"Well, we'll start with the flight leader's plane and the one next to his," Avril said, flicking on the hangar lights and looking over the planes once again, assessing them with no trouble at all. "They're in the worst condition so I want to get them out of the way first, since they'll be the most trouble." She tossed a wrag over her shoulder and grabbed her own wrench and gloves, passing Tabloid a pair of gloves that he could wear. "It's gonna be a long night, so hopefully that shitty whiskey didn't get ya too wasted."
"Nah, not to worry about that." Tabloid fell into step beside her. "I can hold my liquor. It takes more than one drink to get me drunk." He suddenly chuckled, looking down at his feet as if he was embarrassed by something. Avril gave him a curious look. "I actually hope that we can get together again and chat over a drink. It was nice being able to chat to someone. The rest of the cons aren't exactly the most personal, y'know? Sure, I've got Trigger and Count, but they keep everyone at arm's length. I was surprised when you approached me, because I thought you were the same way."
Avril was taken aback by the statement, but she nonetheless offered a friendly smile. "Well, if I'm being honest, I actually am like that," she said, ducking underneath the plane's wing to find where she was going to start work first. "I don't belong here like the rest of these prisoners. I took a chance reaching out to you. Truth be told, you aren't like the other prisoners." Tabloid smirked at this and Avril huffed and added, "Don't look so smug just yet."
"Well, don't you trust me? I mean, you know enough about me," he said, still smirking as he crouched under the belly of the plane.
She stopped, fighting a smile and placing her hands on her hips, staring down at him. He actually wasn't as bad as she expected, and he seemed to have a good judge in character. Not to mention he was more than a little cheeky, but not in an annoying way. He really wouldn't be a bad friend. Then again, this wasn't the best place to make friends and that wasn't what she was here for. At last, she answered him. "I haven't decided yet. It takes more than a stupid grin to win me over."
"I'll keep that in mind, then."
"You do that." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as they got to work.
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July 16th, 2019.
2300hrs.
Why am I doing this? If I'm caught it's the end of my career. The AWACS controller paused at his own thoughts. What career? Bandog knew very well that his career ended the second that he'd punched his superior officer and got kicked out of flight school. If he hadn't done that, he'd probably be flying an F-15 somewhere for some squadron that nobody would ever remember instead of stuck in this dump helping out an ungrateful slime ball and putting his own ass on the line. Eh, might as well help the little dipshit. Full Band isn't all that bad.
The only good thing to come out of his entire time at the 444th was McKinsey pawning off Sarge onto him. He didn't mind her, even if she was a little clingy and not much of a guard dog. Instead of barking and growling at the prisoners, she made friends with most of them and lashed out at the guards. It confused him to no end why Sarge would act all lovey-dovey with Trigger and Tabloid, indifferent to everyone else, and then bare her teeth and bristle every time she came across Sergeant Baker or McKinsey. Bandog always considered dogs to be excellent judges of characters, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that he had her after all. She hadn't been wrong yet, so for the time being, he figured he could trust her when it came to people.
There was one other good thing to come out of his work there other than Sarge. He got to meet a top ace pilot and a skilled squadron. Specifically one pilot from Cyclops had caught his eye, though. Lieutenant Hirose was a lovely young woman, and Bandog couldn't help but find her attractive. He'd only had a few conversations with her, since she brushed him off every time he made an attempt to talk with just her. Maybe he saw her as a challenge, or maybe he had just been deployed too long to be selective about women. The only women on the base weren't his type after all. That Mead woman was a bitch and Trigger was a bit young for him. In a way he saw Trigger as more of sibling material than someone he would want to date.
But Hirose — Húxiān — was everything he could ask for. She was smart, feisty, not afraid to swear, and best of all she put Count and Full Band in their place a time or two. However, he had to maintain a professional relationship. After all, she'd be gone in a few days and he'd probably never see her again. Still, that didn't stop him from thinking about her. He'd read her report from the battle, since the Long Range Strategic Strike Group pilots had turned in their reports early. She had an interesting way of wording things. By far, Húxiān's report had been the most interesting to read. She got a few good roasts on the pilots from the 444, too. It gave Bandog a good laugh, and he'd previously thought that only he had the nerve to call the cons anything worse than 'morons'. Maybe in another time and place...
Beside him, at his feet, Sarge's fur suddenly stood up on end and she began to snarl. Bandog looked down at her, annoyed by his thoughts being interrupted by her. "What's up now, Sarge?" he asked her, knowing completely that she couldn't answer him even if she wanted to. She perked her ears up and fixed him with a curious look, as if she understood what he was saying. The canine let out a soft whine and then curled her lip up slightly, looking down the hall. Bandog sighed, reaching down to stroke Sarge's. "So far you've growled at three guards, a rat, and that one prisoner that came by to collect the trash. Why can't you just let me know when Commander McKinsey comes by, huh?" At the mention of McKinsey and the sound of approaching footsteps, Sarge's growling became quieter and she squirmed her way behind Bandog's legs to stand between him and the door.
The reason for her odd behavior was no longer a mystery to Bandog as the source of her distress turned a corner and came into view. Commander McKinsey was clutching a few folders in his arms, holding a cup of coffee in the other hand as he made his way down the hallway. Having to think fast, Bandog quickly spun around and pulled the spare key he had to McKinsey's office out of his pocket, pretending to be struggling with the door. He had to think of a way to stall McKinsey, otherwise both Bandog and Full Band would probably be facing a firing squad in the morning. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but Bandog wasn't one of McKinsey's favorite people and the feeling was mutual. Bandog didn't trust McKinsey. He didn't trust any of the people here, actually, but McKinsey was definitely not to be trusted under any circumstances.
"Dammit, why won't this stupid door open..." Bandog muttered under his breath, effortlessly catching McKinsey's attention. He saw the commander stop and look up at him out of the corner of his eyes. Perfect. That's just what I want you sour old man. He heard McKinsey clear his throat an whirled around, pretending to be surprised by the commander. Sarge was already pressed against the wall, still growling at McKinsey, although her tail was tucked. Crazy mutt. Sometimes I wonder if you're as bad as he is. "Oh! Commander McKinsey! What are you doing here so late?"
McKinsey narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his nose as if he was disgusted to be in Bandog's presence. He glanced down at Sarge, then looked Bandog up and down. "I could ask you the same thing." He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing, then adjusted the files in his hands. "What are you doing here anyways, Bandog? I thought you went to bed hours ago."
"Oh, umm...I couldn't sleep so I came by to work on my report from the last operation," he lied, keeping his hand on the doorknob in case Full Band tried to come outside, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. "I haven't gotten a chance, what with escorting Major Wiseman and his squadron around the base all the time." Not that he was complaining. After all, he got to see Húxiān more that way. McKinsey pursed his lips, nodding. Sarge watched his every move as he held out the files he was holding for Bandog to take. It was a surprising move, and Bandog could only look down at them and then up at McKinsey. "Sir...why are you handing me these?"
"I couldn't sleep either so I went over the prisoners' reports," McKinsey explained with a shrug. Bandog hesitantly took them and looked at the first one. In messy writing, McKinsey had titled it 'Spare 2 - Count - Battle Report Operation Two Pairs'. The others probably had similar titles, the callsigns being the only difference between them. Bandog knew that the reports would be very different from one another, knowing how kills were self recorded and all. McKinsey seemed to confirm this, as he then said, "Count and Trigger's reports contradict each other. I want you to speak with both of them. Count's got a good combat record, but being here because of fraud...well, he's not the most honest guy. However, I don't trust Trigger as far as I can throw her. You're keeping an eye on them in the air, right?"
"Of course," Bandog replied, shuffling the folders about, not even opening them for a glance. He'd look at them later, when he wasn't trying to keep Full Band out of solitary. "Don't worry, commander. I'll straighten the two of them out. I'll let you know who's telling the truth." I already know who isn't. He didn't care for Count too much, but he could tolerate him. The guy was a glory hound, and it only got worse now that Trigger had come along and he'd had some real competition. Trigger wasn't a bad pilot. Neither was Count. Both of them were rather skilled with the flying part, but when it came to dogfighting and taking out targets, Trigger seemed superior for the most part.
"Perfect," McKinsey said, his lips contorting into their usual smirk. "Well, I'll be on my way. It seems you have everything handled. I'll let you get back to fighting with the door." He looked down at the still bristling Sarge and frowned. "And Bandog...take your dog to the doctor or something. I don't want Major Wiseman thinking that the guard dogs we have are rabid or anything." With that McKinsey started down the hallway, completely unaware that Full Band was currently snooping through his files and on his computer.
As soon as Bandog was sure that McKinsey was gone, he practically burst through the door to find Full Band sitting in McKinsey's chair without a care in the world while the printer finished a couple of papers. "What the hell is taking so long, you moron?!" he demanded. Full Band lazily looked up at him, the look on his face completely innocent as if he had no idea why Bandog was upset with him. "McKinsey was just out there and I had to get rid of him. Now I'm gonna have to get my report ready by tomorrow. Meaning I've got hours of work ahead of me because of your slow ass!" Full Band shrugged and went back to the papers he was reading. Bandog harrumphed, annoyed that Full Band practically ignored everything he said. "What the hell are you reading?"
"Trigger's OADF file," Full Band said nonchalantly, turning the page. Bandog stared at him in disbelief, checking the hallway before he slammed the door shut and approached the desk. Full Band didn't even flinch, acting as if he was reading a fascinating book rather than someone's personal information. He glanced up at Bandog. "Nice photo of her in here — really her best side if you ask me. Can you believe she's only twenty-one? And just barely at that. Finished high school early, attended college at the Osean Air Defense Force Academy where she was trained and then was transferred to Fort Grays after she graduated. Wow. Kid's basically a fighter pilot prodigy. Damn..."
Bandog rolled his eyes. "Yeah, big deal. That's not what we came here for, Full Band." He watched the printer for a moment as. "I take it you're printing out some of the stuff you found on McKinsey's computer?" Full Band nodded distractedly. Bandog shook his head and snorted with contempt. "And when will they be done printing."
"Oh, they're done now." Full Band waved a hand dismissively, furrowing his brow as he continued his reading. Bandog opened his mouth to say something but Full Band hopped up from the chair and immediately cut him off. "Bandog, you'll never believe this!" Full Band dropped the open file on the desk and pointed at it. "Okay, so her last name is Foulke, right? Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Bandog nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. He went on eagerly, "I thought it did too so I kept reading and they have her parents on file. They were stationed at Valais Air Base during the last war and guess who her dad was. Larry Foulke. You know, that Solo Wing Pixy guy. The ace from the Belkan War!"
"What does this have to do with anything?" Bandog asked. "So she's got Belkan heritage and her dad was some ace that got shot down after trying to nuke the world. Really impressive information."
"No, no, no, you don't get this. Flying is in her blood. Her dad was an ace, and her grandfather and great-grandfather were pilots in the Belkan Air Force years ago. Her brother fought in the last war against Erusea when he was only eighteen." Full Band was grinning now, and his eyes had lit up. "She's the daughter of a legacy. Like...air force royalty or something. Damn, no wonder she's so good...I don't believe this. With some time, she could be a real asset to the penal unit."
"Full Band, she already is a real asset to the penal unit," Bandog pointed out flatly, not in much of a mood for Full Band's antics. "Why would this change anything?"
"Bandog, with her on our side, we could get sent onto some real missions once in a while,," Full Band said, heading over to the copying machine in the corner of the office. "Once the top brass realizes how much of a dent we're making, we can get outta this dump once and for all!"
"But...Full Band, what if she kept this information hidden for a reason instead of flaunting it?" Bandog said, trying to look at things from a logical standpoint. Full Band was crazy. There wasn't a doubt about it in his mind now. "There is a stigma surrounding those of Belkan descent. I imagine it would be worse for someone related to a mercenary and a terrorist. Nobody's heard anything of the Foulke family since that documentary. Hell, nobody knew he had a family. Then if anybody from Belka found out about it, well...how would you feel about someone who helped in bringing your country to its knees?"
Full Band hesitated for just a moment before he shook his head. "Nah, I'm confronting her about this. She could learn a lot from her father. He was the real deal, y'know. The Demon Lord overshadowed him, of course, but still."
"Do whatever you want, Full Band," Bandog replied with another sigh, knowing that there was no way he could stop Full Band. He was a stubborn little bastard and he was going to do whatever he pleased. Regardless of the consequences. "Just remember that there is such a thing as being in over your head, Full Band. And truth be told, I think you're going to get us all way past that point. Hell, you probably already have."
Full Band looked back at him. "Just trust me, Bandog. Once we find out the truth about McKinsey then everything should settle down and there'll be no more sneaking around McKinsey's office. But now that we have Pixy's daughter on our side, I think our luck's really gonna change. Trigger's got promise, she just needs some motivation." Bandog shook his head and allowed Full Band to continue with his copying of the papers, going through and straightening up McKinsey's office as he waited. Maybe Full Band had a point. Bandog just didn't want anything bad to happen to these guys. In some weird way, he cared about them. Did he really? Eh, maybe.
|...|...|...|
July 17th, 2019.
1600hrs.
The soft patter of rain outside and the rumbling of thunder told Count that the storm they'd flown through over Yinshi Valley had found its way back to Zapland. It would be a couple of days before it continued on, but until then they'd have the weather to compete with. Knowing McKinsey, he'd either use it as an excuse to ground them and keep them locked up for a couple of days (time in the yard would be out of the question) or he'd suddenly decide that they needed some training and force them to fly with the thunder and the wind like he had with the last operation. It would most likely be the former, and they'd be confined to their cells and the hangar until it blew over.
With this in mind, Count hurried up work on a trashed radio he'd found in the scrap pile. The Scrap Queen had been busy, so he managed to steal it and take it back to his cell. Ever since they'd gotten back from Roca Roja, Count couldn't get the idea of taping a radio to his cockpit out of his head. It would certainly be useful in a pinch. He could figure out how to eavesdrop on the Eruseans and have the advantage in a battle, at least over the human pilots they had. At the same time, he knew that the others would be upset if they found out about it. Tabloid and Trigger knew about it and they had no problems, but if McKinsey found out about it...well, Count would be spending many of his likely numbered days in solitary.
Sighing, he stuffed the screwdriver he had back into his pocket and flicked the switch to turn it on, but there was no sound. He fiddled with the dials, but nothing. No static, no music, no talking. Shit. Count groaned and made his way across the hangar to return the screwdriver he borrowed, tired of tinkering with stuff for the day. He tucked the radio under his arm and looked outside at where his beloved Flanker was getting pelted with rain as the storm worsened. He'd have to wash it off. Again. "First the radio, now this," he muttered to himself. "I'm starting to think that this day couldn't possibly get any worse."
The only other person in the hangar with him was Trigger, who was doing something with a wrench. Everyone was working on their visitors' planes, mechanics and 'pilots' alike. Count found it disgusting. A bunch of hotshots who couldn't hold their own in a dogfight and yet McKinsey worshipped the ground they walked on. Everybody did, actually. Even Trigger. Count thought that he could trust Trigger to be the last person to blindly trust someone, and yet she seemed to be perfectly fine with them. Granted, she was still her usual awkward self. He didn't understand Trigger. In fact, he was starting to think it was impossible for anybody to understand her.
As he came into view, Trigger looked up and she gave him a brief smile. Count rolled his eyes, refusing to return it. Truth be told, he didn't like it when people smiled at him. After spending years studying how people acted, and with all the street smarts he had, it was often a bad thing when people smiled. It meant they were hiding something, whether it be something they did or some emotion they didn't want others to know. Count did it frequently, mostly just because people were subconsciously aware of how people could smile for the wrong reasons and he loved to piss them off. Trigger's smiles always seemed genuine, but he wasn't sure how well he could trust her just yet. She was too guarded. It felt like she had something to hide, so Count was going off of his gut instinct for the time being.
"Giving up on your radio or are you just taking a break?" Trigger asked. Count didn't respond, dropping the screwdriver into the toolbox he'd taken it from and setting the radio on a nearby tray with a frustrated grunt. Her face fell, almost to a concerned frown. He turned back towards her, placing a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow curiously. It seemed like she was trying to read his thoughts or something, what with the way she just stared at him with an unblinking pair of brown eyes. After just a few seconds, she finally spoke again, "Well, that's not a good sign. Looks like you're having more trouble than you thought you would, huh?"
"Yeah, no shit," he scoffed. It was Trigger's turn to roll her eyes at him, turning her attention back to the F-15 belonging to the pilot they called Húxiān. Húxiān was a pretty young woman, a little older than Count, and she had an attitude that rivaled the Scrap Queen's. She didn't like Count, that was for sure, and she wasn't pleased at all by the crush that Bandog seemed to have developed on her. Admittedly, Count didn't know that Bandog could have feelings for anyone other than himself, but the guy was full of surprises it would seem. Crossing his arms, Count studied the plane, taking in its appearance. Had he not gotten thrown into the penal unit, he might have had a chance to fly one of these. "I thought the ground crew finished the work on these."
Trigger set the wrench she was holding down and brushed her short, partially sweat soaked hair off of her forehead, smearing grease across her temple as she did. As she began to wipe her hands off with a rag nearby, she took a deep breath. "Yeah, Avril and Tabloid did a lot of work the other night, and so did some of the other mechanics. However, McKinsey ordered an inspection and noticed a lot of mistakes, so he's asking me to go through and fix them," she answered, slinging the rag over her shoulder. It wasn't difficult to notice that she was irritated by this. "I don't know why, considering I'm not a mechanic." Her eyes flicked over to him once again and she scowled. "Come to think of it, you were supposed to help, too."
Count sighed. "And? You said it yourself: neither one of us are mechanics. Why should I bother?" He took a few steps forward, reaching up and running his hand along the underside of the wing. Smirking, he looked back at Trigger, who was wearing an unimpressed look on her face. "Nothing's stopping me from admiring it, though. The F-15 is a pretty sexy bird after all." Trigger said nothing to this, simply tossing the rag at his head and then turning her back on him. It hit its mark, only because Count made a feeble attempt to dodge it, and landed on his shoulder. Stifling a laugh, he repaid Trigger by walking up behind her and smacking her on the back of the head with the rag. She flinched and glared at him indignantly, so he flashed her a fake smile. "What goes around comes around, Trigger."
He thought he heard her mutter something that sounded awfully similar to 'cheeky bastard'. Yeah, too bad you're stuck with me, princess. The two of them had nothing else to do for the day, but until the guards told them they could leave, they had to stay put or face a night in solitary. Trigger was going through and straightening up around the hangar as if she needed everything to be in order, moving a couple of crates and barrels out of the way among other things. Count only watched her, shaking his head as she occupied herself the remaining time. Women were confusing enough on their own, but Trigger brought that to a whole new level. She noticed him watching her and gave him a sheepish look. "What? Just because it's a penal unit doesn't mean we can't clean up. Honestly, you guys live like barbarians."
"Well, I don't mind it," Count said with a shrug, reaching into his pocket to pull out the pack of cigarettes he had. "Nothing wrong with a little clutter. Gives the place character."
"Pfft. I bet your mother loved having you help around the house." Although Trigger's words were meant to be nothing more than light teasing, Count couldn't help but bristle at the comment and mention of family. Trigger noticed him tense and her expression softened to a somewhat curious and perhaps disappointed frown. "I was only joking, Count," she said, her confusion with his reaction made very clear. When he shifted uncomfortably, she narrowed her eyes. "Why the look?"
Count pulled out one of the few remaining cigarettes he had, searching for something to light it with. Distractedly, he answered her with, "No reason for the 'look', Trigger. Just mind your own business for once." She opened her mouth to reply, likely with some 'witty' comeback, but thought better of it and simply cleared her throat, looking away. Good.
The sound of footsteps and water splashing got both of their attentions and Count looked up in time to see Tabloid skid to a halt, soaking wet from the rain, out of breath. His messy brown hair stuck to his head and his scruffy beard was dripping from his apparent sprint through the storm. Count never had any issues with Tabloid. They were cellmates, and aside from his yammering about books and government, Tabloid was a decent guy to be around. The way he followed Trigger around like a lost puppy was a little irritating, though, but Count didn't know why he was so bothered by it. Maybe he just didn't like that Tabloid effortlessly trusted Trigger, following the dumbass straight into the enemy's sights. Oh well. There wasn't anything he could do about it.
Trigger seemed to perk up as Tabloid entered the hangar. Count scowled as she suddenly, in a much cheerier tone, greeted Tabloid. "Well, look who finally decided to show up," she said. Hell, she practically purred. Count continued his search for a lighter, listening as Trigger continued to talk while Tabloid regained his composure. "Y'know, I think if you'd just asked, then they would have let you use the showers. You didn't have to go and play in the rain." Tabloid gave a soft chuckle at the poor attempt at a joke, but it was easy to tell that his mind was elsewhere. Trigger almost instantly picked up on this. "Hey, is something the matter, Tabloid? You look a little worried."
"Ah, he's probably just a little scared by the thunder," Count lied, crossing his arms and giving up on finding a lighter. He didn't have one and neither did Tabloid or Little Miss 'I don't like smoking', so it was pointless to waste any more of his time. Tabloid glared at him for the comment as he stood next to Trigger, rolling his eyes. Count held his head up, but figured he'd echo some of Trigger's concern regardless, "Seriously, though, pal. What's wrong?" Truth be told, he considered Tabloid the closest thing to a friend that he had, so he didn't go out of his way to upset him like he did with everyone else. Tabloid acted like he was everyone's friend, though, so it wasn't too difficult to avoid confrontation with him.
"Actually, nothing's wrong with me," Tabloid replied. Count and Trigger exchanged a look before expectantly turning back to Tabloid. Without any hesitance, he happily explained, "I overheard that Wiseman guy talking with McKinsey, right? And it sounds like he was trying to convince McKinsey to let them do a little test flight to make sure their planes are in working order and McKinsey agreed." Tabloid was starting to get excited, and his usual grin spread across his face. "That's all fine and dandy, but it's not even the best part. Wiseman was really adamant about having us fly with him a little when they go up. Apparently they want us to try a couple of maneuvers just to see how we handle under better circumstances and then he might put in a good word for us!"
Count was suspicious of the major's intentions, also dubious that McKinsey would actually allow it. Trigger on the other hand suddenly had the widest grin he'd ever seen, practically beaming from excitement. "Wait, you're serious?!" she asked eagerly, and Tabloid nodded. Trigger grabbed Count's arm, likely without thinking about it, and excitedly shook it as if she thought he wasn't paying attention. What on Earth was she getting so excited for? It wasn't a big deal. When she noticed that Count didn't share her enthusiasm, she let go of his arm and frowned again. "Count, aren't you excited? An ace — a real life ace — has taken notice of us. This could be really good...it could get us out of this shithole once and for all."
He snorted. Was she seriously buying into that garbage? Of course she was one of those people. After being in the penal unit a few weeks, the optimists started to lose their 'hope' or whatever the hell they ran on and then the second they thought of a way out, they clung onto it like there wouldn't be another opportunity ever again. Maybe they were right, but it was annoying to the rest of them. Sighing, seeing the look of confusion on Trigger's face, he began his explanation, "Okay, I'll be honest with you, Trigger. You're stuck here, and guys like Wiseman are only looking to benefit themselves. He's not going to put in a good word for us. Don't you get it yet? We're expendable, every single one of us. Your life and supposed 'skill' aren't going to get you anywhere. They mean zilch. So I hate to break it to you, but you're stuck here like the rest of us, doomed to waste away until nobody remembers you ever existed and no bigshot is going to change that."
Tabloid scowled. "Gee, Count. Real positive outlook you've got there," he said. Count rolled his eyes.
"Do you not trust Wiseman and the other pilots?" Trigger asked him, seemingly irritated by what he'd said.
"Real sharp, aren't you Trigger? Does anything get past you?" Count asked, smirking. He heard her suck in a sharp breath and stiffen at the insult, but she didn't say anything.
The tension didn't last very long, and the subject was quickly dropped as soon as they heard someone shouting as they entered the hangar. Count was the first to see Full Band enter the hangar, Bandog following close behind and shouting something at him, as usual. Count groaned as soon as he saw Bandog's 'pet' trot into the hangar, tongue lolling from her mouth, seemingly oblivious to the rain soaking her fur. As soon as the dog noticed the three of them, she took off, barking eagerly, stopping short just in time to shake the rain off of her. Count groaned as some of the rain spattered onto him and the distinct wet dog smell filled the air. Bandog and Full Band didn't seem to mind the rain or the smell as they approached.
"Full Band! Again, you're cutting these things too close," he snarled, his dark hair flattened rather unflatteringly against his head and forehead. It made him all the more a sight to look at as he lit into his partner in crime. Count chuckled mildly. Wouldn't that be ironic? The jailer joining the criminals. Priceless. "Just because you don't have a life worth worrying about doesn't mean that I don't, so that's the last damned time. I am done helping you!"
"You don't mean that," Full Band said, looking almost hurt by the comment from the AWACS. Bandog pursed his lips, but didn't respond. Full Band offered a cheeky grin and Bandog growled and looked away from him, focusing on the planes. Shrugging it off, the former intelligence officer turned towards the three of them, not at all discouraged by Bandog's usual gruffness. Count liked Full Band. He was a babbling idiot, but a pretty good fighter pilot for someone with little to no training. Full Band spent more time around Bandog, though, so Count didn't spend much time with him on the ground. However, whenever he returned from an information gathering spree, he always shared it with Count and Tabloid and now Trigger. Judging from the twinkle in his eyes, it was clear he'd gotten his hands on a juicy bit of information. "Well, his grouchiness aside, how's it going?"
Trigger and Count locked eyes, Trigger giving him a look that said that she wouldn't soon forget what he'd said. Finally she turned to Full Band as if Count wasn't there at all and answered, "Everything's going just fine." She also took notice of the look in Full Band's eyes, and it wasn't hard to tell from Bandog's behavior towards him just what had happened the night before. She turned the subject around to his information gathering. "So, what did you find out last night? Must've been something pretty good."
"Oh...yes. Yes it was." Full Band looked around at them, then reached into his flight suit and pulled out some papers that had gotten more than a little wet from the rain. It looked as if they were still readable, and once they dried out a bit, it wouldn't be too bad. Tabloid wrinkled his nose and slowly pulled away the soggy papers, looking them over briefly before he passed them over to Trigger, who set them down on the mechanic's tray for them to dry. Full Band watched her every move. "I think you might find some of those very interesting, Trigger. Specifically the last page."
Trigger gave him a perplexed look. "Umm...why?" Full Band didn't answer, but he did perk up as Tabloid allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. Count and Trigger only watched as Tabloid looked over the paper. At first, he only furrowed his brow as he read, but then the color seemed to drain from his face as he looked up at Trigger. "What?" The concern in Trigger's voice grew, but Tabloid only slowly passed her the paper. She quickly grabbed it from his hands and read over it. Count watched her worry turn into confusion. She looked around at the four men, then back at the paper. "It's just my file, Full Band. So you know my real name, now, and a couple of other useless facts. Big freaking deal."
Full Band suddenly looked really excited. "Are you serious Trigger? Why did you never tell us?" he asked her, looking as if he'd just received the greatest gift ever. Count studied the older man suspiciously as he took a step towards Trigger. They were about the same height, but Trigger recoiled in a way and started to take a step back, making her look a bit smaller than she usually did. As much as he liked seeing the oh so mighty Trigger acting as human as the rest of them, he wasn't sure why he felt unease at the situation. He felt like nothing good was going to come from this. When Full Band started gathering intel, did anything good ever come from it, really? Full Band, well aware of the others staring at the two of them, continued to talk at a fast pace, "You're Larry Foulke's daughter! You're the daughter of a legend! Flying is in your blood and with some work, we could really use that to our advantage!"
Count suddenly realized why Tabloid was standing off to the side with a sick look on his face, staring at Trigger with some sort of pity. Trigger looked confused, on the other hand, clearly unnerved by the situation as a whole. It took Count a moment, but he recognized that name. Larry Foulke...Foulke...legend...hero? Wait, that one doesn't sound right. No, not a hero. Count remembered that name very well in just a few seconds, stories that his father told him of times during the Belkan War and the documentary that he watched in high school and then again at flight school. How could he have missed it? The same colored eyes, the ruthlessness in the air, the fact that she could speak Belkan. It all added up now. Count scoffed and quickly cut in, "Hold on, now. 'Legend'? You're delusional, Full Band. Try terrorist. Or war criminal. Either of those work."
Trigger suddenly gave Count her full attention, clenching her fists and drawing herself up to her normal height. The look changed to one of...anger? He'd seen her annoyed with him every day since she got here, but seeing her angry was new to say the least. He kept a blank expression as she turned her back on Full Band and Tabloid and took a few steps so that she was able to make easy eye contact with Count. "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded. Was she playing dumb or was she actually this stupid? Count didn't answer her, raising an eyebrow to ask for clarification. Trigger let out an impatient huff. "You're lying Count. My father was just your average pilot in the last war. He wasn't a terrorist or a war criminal or whatever you claim he was."
"Trigger, didn't you watch that old documentary? From back in 2005?" Count asked her, trying to keep himself calm. He felt an odd sense of betrayal. Betrayal itself wasn't unknown to him, but why would he feel betrayed by someone he never trusted and someone who wasn't loyal to him in the first place? Pushing these feelings and thoughts to the back of his mind, he continued, "Warriors and the Belkan War. It was a documentary by Brett Thompson and it interviewed the pilots that fought with or against the Demon Lord of the Round Table. Larry Foulke happened to have done both — he fought with him as his wingman in the mercenary Galm Team and then he betrayed him and tried to wipe out borders or some shit. He just proves that Belkans can never be trusted."
Looking as if someone had just slapped her in the face, Trigger seemed to go into a state of shock. She shook her head and her breathing picked up. No longer was she looking at Count, instead her eyes were fixed on something behind him, as if she was looking at something far away and not paying attention to him. In an instant, she snapped her attention back to him and snarled, "So what if he did? What the hell does that have to do with anything now?!" Trigger took another step forward and they were almost nose to nose. "What does it have to do with me?!" Count opened his mouth to reply, but he found himself at a loss for words. Trigger's lip quivered slightly as she pulled away from him and spun around to face the others. Come to think of it, they had circled her like a pack of wolves, keeping her confined to a circle. Count noticed a panicked look on her face, but she kept up appearances. "Will one of you answer me, please?!"
"Listen to me, Trigger," Count snapped, bringing her attention back to him. "The sins of the father, alright? How are we supposed to trust you? You're the daughter of an infamous traitor, furthermore, you're technically Belkan."
"I was born and raised in Osea! I'm from Osea! I'm Osean!" Trigger insisted, sounding as if she was in disbelief rather than actually angry. "I didn't even know about it until then."
"That doesn't matter." Count didn't want to be around her anymore. He'd hear about Belkans. Portrayed as monsters in the history books, they certainly enjoyed living up to their reputations. Although he knew it was ludicrous, he couldn't help but reach for another argument, searching his mind almost desperately. He didn't really want to admit why he didn't trust her. The fact that her father was a Belkan wasn't a convincing argument. Even he knew it wasn't fair. Maybe he was just looking for another reason to keep her at arms length. "You know, maybe we shouldn't suspect McKinsey. Maybe we should suspect you, Trigger."
"Count? What on Earth are you talking about?" Bandog demanded.
"Think about it. The UAVs at the start of the war were launched from containers from Gründer Industries. They're a Belkan company. 'North Osea' my ass." Count kept his eyes fixed on Trigger. She wore a blank expression now, now. He bit his lip, then went on, "And then she kills Harling and gets sent here. Did you think maybe the Eruseans are in this with the Belkans and needed a plant or something."
"You sound like a paranoid old woman, Count," Tabloid pointed out. "Why would anybody want to infiltrate a penal unit? What're they gonna do? Find out how often they need to use solitary against someone?"
Count scoffed, and looked around at them all. "Fine then!" he raised his voice slightly and it echoed around the hangar. Sarge pinned her ears and her fur started to stand up as if she was worried an argument would start. Bandog quickly shushed her. Count pushed past Trigger and Tabloid, glaring at Full Band as he started towards the open hangar door. "Go ahead and risk your lives for someone who'll turn on you for the right price. Why should I care?" It was every man for himself in the penal unit and he didn't know why he thought — even for just a moment — that it was otherwise. Let those morons follow somebody that had no skill and was likely to turn tail and run to the enemy at the first sign of danger. See if he cared.
Tabloid, Full Band, and Bandog said nothing as he left, but Trigger called out to him. "Count, wait! Why are you acting like this?" He ignored her, not bothering to even look back, and before long he was making his way through the rain back to his cell block. Not worth it. They all proved his point. Nobody here was worth his time, and her highness definitely wasn't.