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It was only the sheer strength of his white-knuckle grip on the stainless steel guard-rail that kept Captain Kiral from being flung off of the command platform and plunged to the main deck of the bridge several dozen metres below when the impact struck. As the violent tremor shook the frontal section of the Neurath and mercilessly tossed her crew about, the Zentran commander briefly wondered - though not exactly feared - whether the emergency separation had been successful, or if they had been trapped along with the orbital module in the UN cruiser's attack. The fact that he wasn't breathing vacuum right now reassured him that this was not the case, as it did with the rest of the bridge staff, who quickly recovered from the physical shock (some having to scramble back to their stations after being tossed about the room) and began reporting.

Through all the announcements of casualties, weapons status, comm. chatter and the like, the report of the tactical officer stood out to the Neurath's commander, "We've sustained heavy damage to the aft section of the command module. Orbital module is... gone."

Over four hundred officers and crew, Kiral realized. Knowing nothing more than his upbringing among the highly-integrated Zentraedi population of Journey's End, he would have thought that something like this would have brought him an emotional shock or profound sorrow. In that moment, however, something entirely different from those innately human emotions awakened within him, a primal fire in his blood which hadn't been extinguished by the last generation's contact with humanity after all. It had merely been reduced to embers, glowing silently and unseen beneath the ashes it had left behind, waiting until the time that it would burst forth again.

For Kiral, that time was now. His subordinates, his comrades, his brothers; in a single blow, they had been taken from him forever. How selfish could the UN be? How much more would Earth take from them?! All at once, Kiral's grief, fury and resolve were expressed in a single cry, "Destroy them! Destroy them all! Wipe them out so completely that even the universe won't remember their existence!"

The Zentraedi officer's command and the outrage that spawned it spread throughout the Neurath and its forces like fire across dry tinder, igniting the hearts of the hundreds of warriors still alive to avenge their comrades. Like a tidal wave of righteous fury, the Zentraedi mecha crashed down upon the Shogun. All of the Quaedol-Magdomilla command module's missile ports sprang to life simultaneously as they launched a massive salvo of anti-ship warheads, individually weaker than the stealth cruiser's strike missiles but undoubtedly capable of ripping the smaller UN vessel apart in combination. Ultimately, this final, desperate thrust for vengeance was in vain as the approaching Gnerl and Regult pods were shredded by the Shogun's laser batteries.

Kiral - all of the officers on the bridge of the Neurath for that matter - watched the missile salvo's approach with barely-contained anticipation as the fire control officer read off the rapidly descending distance-to-target counter. "Six hundred... five hundred... four hundred..." Suddenly, a bright flash lit up the patch of the expansive dark void occupied by the Shogun, nearly prompting a triumphant cheer from the Neurath's bridge crew... until the light subsided, and the only sight their eyes beheld was that of the missile trails flaring out from what would have been the point of impact and careening harmlessly into space. "Target entered hyperspace fold at thirteen seconds to impact," the sensor officer, unable to do much else, reported with a quivering tone.

* * * * * * * *

Captain David Rhodes imagined that he could almost hear his Zentraedi counterpart's howl of rage at the moment the Shogun's hyperspace emitters fired and the starship, along with its mecha and the Sentinel carrier that had come to their rescue, were launched into the full sensory overload that was fold-space. Rather than take pleasure in it - as he was not the kind of man who took pleasure in a victory this costly for either side - he found the 'sound' oddly haunting, not the least reason being the way it lingered in his mind's ear all the way back to his chair. The UN stealth cruiser's commanding officer uttered a low sigh as he sat; whether the sound was an expression of sadness, fatigue, frustration or something else, wasn't entirely clear. "Comms, sensors, report. Did you find anything?"

The two young ensigns exchanged a brief glance, then turned their eyes back to the captain and shook their heads. "The sensors were recording data right up to the moment we folded out. I'll need to go over it more thoroughly later, but I haven't found anything that would indicate friendly mecha at the target site."

"I wasn't able to pick anything up on radio, either," Ensign Laville confirmed with a tight jaw that barely held her emotions back. "They're... gone."

The captain nodded mutely, then laced his white-gloved fingers together and leaned forward on his elbows. He was thoughtfully silent for a long while, contemplating the situation and the possible consequences of their next steps. At length, he finally leaned back and cut a steady glance toward his first officer. "Commander, instruct Major Sterns to hold a joint-squadron debriefing once all of the pilots have disembarked, including our new friends. We will be holding a command staff meeting in two hours; tell the Major to bring First Lieutenant Chorizal along. All other personnel not essential to emergency repairs and basic ship operations are to stand down and get some rest. This goes for yourself and the bridge crew as well. Upon execution of these orders, you are relieved."

Chorizal pretty much ignored the command to stop firing. He was pulling the trigger even as the eye piercing, psychedelic lights that signified a fold event flashed around him. A growl of frustration rose in his throat as the wonders of modern technology ripped him away from his potential prey.

Still, there was nothing to be done now, but to land. His mood was dark until he remembered that when he landed, he'd be able to see Monique again. Strangely enough, that idea appealed to him as much as the chance of killing more enemies.

He entered the hangar as quickly as the system would allow him to and exited his fighter just as quickly. The Zentran was not one for details so he didn't notice the missing fighters in the hangar as he headed to the ready room. Before going to see Monique, he would clean himself up.

Soon enough, he had the shower going and had a smile on his face as he remembered his success in the previous battle and considered how proud of him Monique would be. Of course, his pride was marred a bit by the lack of damage to his own fighter. He'd seen some of the other mecha in the hangar and knew that some of them were pretty mangled. That was clearly a sign that he hadn't fought hard enough. If he had, his own fighter would have been more damaged.

DJ sat in the Della Belle until the signal came through telling everyone that they'd folded. As far as he knew, there was no way for anyone to follow them, so they were safe for the moment.

After climbing out of his veritech, he examined the hangar closely, mentally ticking off his erstwhile companions as he spotted their fighters. He ran out of fighters before he ran out of list and that brought a frown to his face. It wasn't that he wasn't well aware of how dangerous their jobs were or that he'd never lost a friend in a fight or even that he particularly liked any of the Shogun pilots, but even now, he was always saddened when someone he knew and who'd flown with him didn't make it back.

He watched the other pilots disembark, studying them for their reactions as he headed for Raven's fighter.

"Hey, Kid," he said when she climbed down and her feet were on deck. "I'm glad you made it back. Looks like we were a coupla the lucky ones."

All the colors composing the human visual spectrum flashed before Falker's eyes, there was no way to avoid it ; even with his eyes closed, the pilot could feel his internal ear trying to adjust in vain to the new dimensions of folded space.

Cowboy felt as if he was falling, but soon the dimensional buffer compensated this feeling: as a ghostly reflection of things, it indicated to the human organism where he was heading to, in time and space.

From this point, the fold field was no more a scary place but rather an amazement for all senses, beyond the normal scope of perception.

**Focus, it's still dangerous out there, even if it's a pretty scenery. Master arms off.**

From his position on the hull of the damaged stealth cruiser, the Excalibur slowly began moving toward the Hangar's entrance ; the trick was to get into its future-self position, following the blue and transparent echo of things to come, just like walking into somebody else's footsteps.

It took a tremendous effort for the pilot to remain focused, but after what seemed a taste of eternity, the Excalibur reached the safe harbor of the Shogun's hangar. Force of habits, Cowboy reached for the safe place in his mind, far from the distractions of his immediate environment, to review the checklist.

**All systems nominal, check ; bring the output to zero, check ; servos parking brake engaged, check ; engines offline, check. Shutdown sequence complete.**

The Excalibur's engines finally came to a stop, the familiar yet threatening roar fading away ; there was nothing left but the TACNET chatter and the chaotic sounds of the ground crew's work, dampened by the canopy and the flight helmet.

A last breath of fresh oxygen, a last glimpse to the short moment of perfect peace that followed a combat mission... Kaïn felt very tired, reluctantly he unlocked the canopy and took his helmet off.

Voices, running footsteps, electric tools.

Smell of hydraulic fluids, ozone and smoke.

**It's ok, you're "home" now. Don't let them see how shaken you are, come on marine!**

Inspiration, expiration... The mercenary composed himself a nice controlled attitude, only letting the combat fatigue show-up.

The ground crew walked up to his bird, engaged the ejecting seat safeties and secured the remaining weapons with red flags.

- "Authorisation to come onboard?"
- "Authorization granted, sir."

Kaïn climbed down the ladder and took the PDA from the plane's captain hands.

I pushed her hard two or three times, a high explosive medium range missile triggered its proximity fuse above the central part of the fuselage, check out that area first. I have nothing but praises for this magnificient machine, she's all yours now."

The civilian vised the AVF's maintenance log once he finished reporting all post-flight informations, the VF-19 was now back to UN Spacy custody.

- "Point me toward the officer in charge, please."
- "This way, sir."

The black, dark blue and grey flightsuit without any rank markings was a bit unsetting for the Shogun's crew members, the only patch adorning it being the trident of Dark Sea Security Services.

The bearded man walked toward the designated officer and introduced himself to him.

"Hi, my name's Kaïn Falker, Dark Sea Security Services ; I was flying SHOTGUN-THREE."

As the first of the variable fighters moved from the landing port and into the hangar, they were greeted with a less-than-encouraging sight. True to the earlier communique from the bridge, the port-side landing deck had been mangled by some kind of weapon impact, but it wasn't until their fighters were ferried into the hangar that the true extent of the damage could be seen. The entire bulkhead along the port-side wall had buckled inward, but appeared to be intact. Meanwhile, damage crews were busy putting out a few lingering fires, while flight crews scrambled to pull valuable equipment and ammunition out of piles of debris. Off to one side of the hangar, paramedics attended to technicians who had suffered incapacitating injuries while they waited to be transported to the infirmary.

Fortunately for Will Mackenzie, he wasn't one of them. He'd been close enough to the blast that this hair and clothes were a little frazzled, not to mention his nerves, but he was otherwise uninjured. Under his direction, the rest of the ground crew cleared the deck for the incoming fighters. He Shanghaied Enyo into helping him with the cleanup and securing the mecha as they parked, as well, since they were short-handed at the moment and Will knew she wasn't the type who could stand being idle for long. Inwardly, he was a bit grateful for the opportunity to work with the Meltran again, without all that earlier unpleasantness looming over his head so long as he concentrated on the task at hand. It at least gave the illusion that things between them were back to normal, however briefly.

As each of the variable fighters were secured and powered-down in turn, Will checked them off on his portable data pad. After the last of the mecha, including any 'guests' who had come in, had been accounted for, however, he noticed a discrepancy on his list that brought a dark frown to his features. "We're... missing four."

Shinjo wasted little time getting out of the VF-11D. Much as he liked flying, he wasn't one to get too attached to the confines of the cockpit, and it would be nice to get his feet back on "solid" ground once again. So, once he was finished his post-flight checks and the ground crew had moved the ladders alongside the dual cockpit of the aircraft, he cycled the forward canopy that enclosed him open. "Looks like we're back safe and sound," he said over his shoulder to Restra before exiting the aircraft. Removing his helmet, he ran a hand along the combat blackened armor at the nose of his fighter almost affectionately before moving away from it to give the technicians a chance to work.

Moving to an out of the way area in the hangar bay, he did what some of the rest of the pilots seemed to be doing, looking over the aircraft that were in there. After all, he'd come in for a landing before the battle was officially over, so he should probably make sure everyone had followed after him. The count came up short, however, which brought a frown to his face and led him to count again. And then a third time. "The hell?" was all he said to himself when it kept coming back wrong and he was able to match faces to fighters. After all, if there was anyone he was sure could come back from anything, Winter Kanzaki was definitely one of those anyones.

Joker wasn't the biggest fan of folding in the universe. He hadn't made that a big secret over the years, of course. Nevertheless, he was well aware that folding had to be done, and although he may not have liked it overly much, he was well aware that his staying on the outside of the Shogun had gotten them out of a situation that was quickly getting worse instead of better faster than if he'd waited for everyone, himself included, to land properly. He let out a breath as the fold completed and Cowboy had gone into the hangar, then reached out and shut off the machine he'd taped to his console that the music was coming from as the song it was currently on faded out. Another mission done without gettin' my wings clipped, Rob, he thought as he pulled the device off and tucked it back into one of his flight suit's pockets before transforming his VF-19 to Fighter and flying forward a little ways. "Almost crepe time," he mutterd to himself, coming around and maneuvering in for a landing.

When his Excalibur was lowered to the hangar bay proper from the launch rail, was already unsealing and removing his helmet. With the technicians coming to secure his fighter, he opened the canopy, pausing briefly to listen to Commander Mitsushari's orders. "Roger, ma'am," was all he said in response before stepping over the side of his cockpit and down the ladder to the hangar's floor. Since he was the closest thing to the officer in charge in the immediate area, as the man-ape that was Major Grant hadn't made an appearance as of yet, it would be to him that Kaïn Falker was led, and the civilian contractor would likely realize rather quickly that Sterns was far less verbose in person than he was on missions. He responded to the man's introduction with a nod, then, "Major Sterns, Wildfire lead. Hope you can keep makin' yourself useful around here... God knows we need it."

That said, he looked around the hangar, scowling slightly. There was really no way that he could get all the pilots' attention at the same time just by yelling at them; not with all the bustle of the ground crew going on around them, which was only magnified by the damage to the hangar, the incapacitated techs, and the four Variable Fighters and their pilots that hadn't made it back. Striding toward the intercom mic on the wall, Sterns took it up, opting to relay the orders from the bridge that way. "Wing wide pilot debriefing in the briefing room in five. This includes anyone who wasn't here when we took off, but was when we landed. Repeat, anyone who flew, briefing room in five." With everything he'd had to do finished, Major Sterns headed toward the briefing room himself, setting his helmet down on the dais once he was in, but opting to stay standing on the floor level. After all, daises were for wing commanders, Captains, and reviewing officers, and none of those things were what he was.

Rave brought the Gnerl in for a landing, touching down with the skids proved interesting as he nearly collapsed the right side landing skid. “Still can't believe I had to resort to this...” he grumbled as he maneuvered the one armed thunderbolt out of the Gnerl.

Kneeling next to the Gnerl with both legs folded beneath it the Eleven leaned forward almost submissively as it's cockpit plate retracted pulling the canopy with it. Rave wasn't even thinking as he released his restraints and dropped the distance to the floor...

The landing was harder then he recalled... his knees ached and the rest of his body was beginning to feel the strain of battle... what the hell was wrong with him... that drop had never been a problem before... and the battle had hardly been anything serious... that electronics warfare crap had really been the problem... it rewrote the rules of engagement... again.

Looking up at the kneeling machine Rave finally spoke “You did well, this day.” he started addressing the Eleven directly. “This day I failed you. I have grown to know weapons of war... of which you are clearly not... and I failed you because of that.” bowing Rave kept his eyes forward toward the machine as he acknowledged it's strength. “I will become stronger...” he said his voice trailing off as he stepped back and turned away from the machine.

The ritual, a remnant of his home world, was complete and now he sought out the chief mechanic. Even though his body ached from the punishing forces he'd ignored throughout the battle. Making his way toward Mackenzie to see if there was anything he could do to help... he was pretty much a failure as a tech but sometimes all that was needed were bodies willing to work.

“Yes, four never withdrew from the orbital module. Call signs, Winter, Shadow Valkyrie, Archangel and Heartbreak. Though we managed to maintain a semi-viable escape window something must have happened within to block their exit.” One could hardly claim that Damon was anything short of cold about such things... but then he'd hardly known them. Heartbreak had been a wing mate and Winter his squad leader, but other then that they were just strangers to him. Archangel he didn't know at all and Shadow Valkyrie while he had fought along side him in the sim that was just a game.

At Major Stern's order Damon turned and walked away his interest in helping the techs over ruled by orders.

Damon walked in and put his helmet down as he took a more or less random seat and awaited the start of the briefing. He wondered who would be his new CO with winter gone... but even with that he was cold and almost distant as he reprocessed the battle looking for anything he might have over looked. The behavior of the Electronic Warfare Ship still troubled him. It had ample time to make the kill and yet instead practically toyed with them instead... why. The only solution is “They were trying to capture us...” that had to be it. No predator would ever toy with their prey like that unless it needed it alive.

It didn't even register with Damon that he said anything out loud...

Monique was not often thinking about the Zentran. It was not that she didn't like him, but there was so much pain. Her arm had hung strangely at her side and they had to force her shoulder back into place. Even with the numbing agent the process had been more than a little painful.

The medical bay was complete complete chaos in the wake of the battle. They had much more injured people to deal with and so the bridge officer had been put off to the side. Monique felt there was no reason to complain. She may have felt like she was dying, but there were those that were actually doing so. The fact that she was starting to look like one big bruise was a small price to pay. The Sirleaf woman never thought the sturdiness of the ship would be a negative in her eyes, but then it had never tried to rip her arm out of her shoulder before.

Jericho reacted with all the finesse of a man born to fly. His body twisted in space reacting instantly to the orders. The machine in front of him exploded silently in the darkness as he darted backwards towards the Shogun. The sudden pinprick of light tossed him slightly as they made the jump. The variety of colors passing before him, he was unaffected, never really understanding the so called “jump sickness” that some people suffered.

He turned his focus back to hand, moving over to the Shogun and beginning his boarding procedures. He had a bit of time to wait as others had priority over him. When it was his turn he made his approach slowly with purpose, landing the heavy Armored Thunderbolt with a heavy shudder. The large battroid picking an empty location in the hangar and setting himself down at a kneeling position. The large rifle was slung on his back.

The cockpit opened, and down descended Jericho on a rope, his foot holding itself in a noose. He reached the ground and stepped off with a light movement. The five foot eight pilot’s flight suit and helmet was entirely black, almost seeming as if he wasn’t all there. He took a few steps backwards and looked up at the damage to the main torso from the few missiles that struck him. Anger flashed across his face as he was struck with hate for the dead foes who had successfully laid a hand on his person. If only he hadn’t been forced to take the Armored Thunderbolt…. How he wished he had a lighter Variable Fighter.

He turned, staring across the hangar at the other pilots landing. He didn’t recognize any of them. He did though, notice a man who seemed to be in charge of maintenance. He’d have to make sure to talk to him later. He cocked his head to the side as he listened to Stern’s announcement and sighed.

He followed the man, making sure to stay several steps behind. As the major removed his helmet and waited up front to the dais Jericho was filled a certain bit of trepidation. Jericho removed his helmet exposing the mop of bright orange hair and pale white skin. One eyebrow was raised as he pursed his lips slightly. He sighed then took a chair in the middle of the room. He set his “thinking cap” underneath the seat then leaned back and began to slouch.

The sudden drop in the pitch of the Excalibur's twin FF-2550F thrusters from a loud shriek to a low whine signaled the end of its flight; as soon as the final safety checks were completed and she'd confirmed that the aircraft was secure, Raven opened the seal on her helmet and pulled it off of her head with a sigh. A greenhorn she definitely was not, but in all her time with the Nuevo Tejan Rangers, she had never experienced anything like she had today. The drawn-out battle of attrition had sapped every ounce of energy out of her - her head throbbed, her muscles burned, her chest was sore from the punishing G-forces, and she was thirstier than she ever remembered being in her life. When the deck crew sidled up to the cockpit with a ladder, she offered them a cursory thanks, and climbed down to the cold iron deck of the hangar with all the enthusiasm of a slug. Her pace hid her true feelings well - she'd never been so glad to get out of a variable fighter cockpit before.

When Erika reached the bottom, she pushed a few stray locks of sweat-stained hair back out of her face, and gave DJ a wan smile as he approached to greet her. "I heard there was a Spacy pilot about fifteen years ago who once said, 'Luck is one of my skills'. Any fight we can walk away from, eh?" she remarked with the characteristic dark cheerfulness that typically infected her mood after a combat operation.

Erika balanced her flight helmet over her left shoulder, with the fingers of her left hand hooked around the lower jaw section of the assembly, and turned her gaze toward the hatches that separated the hangar from the VF landing dock. "I don't see Jake around. He must still be waiting his turn to come in." With all the noise in the mecha hangar, she practically had to shout at her wingman, and so it was a foregone conclusion that she wasn't privy to Damon Clau's insight. "Well, come on. He can track us down in the briefing room. I don't want to be the one who needlessly kept Sterns away from his French confectionery."

One of the numerous skills a pilot learned over the years was how to take a very fast shower. While flight school and training taught a person how to maneuver a fighter, avoid getting killed while killing one's enemies, the simple life of a pilot taught a person how to stay sane between missions, including how to shovel down a plate full of food in a few minutes, how to keep oneself entertained in the vast expanses of time between missions and how to keep oneself clean when one could be summoned to combat at a moment's notice. Normally, he might have taken his time and enjoyed the hot water. When the announcement came over the loudspeaker in the dressing room that he was needed in five minutes, he shifted to a quick scrub down.

Thus, with a little time to spare, Chorizal hurried into the briefing room with wet hair but a clean body. His drying job had been a little spotty so his shirt clung to his back and was soaked through with water.

Taking a seat near the front, he looked around, noting the new faces with a scowl. These pilots had been useful in the recent battle, but that didn't mean that he trusted them or wanted to make them feel particularly welcome.

It didn't take him long to note the missing pilots either and his scowl grew darker. Did no one understand military discipline? Was he going to have to wait for the space pirate to show up before the briefing could begin? Where was the legendary ace Domerin Lorcasf, the man who'd been promoted the same time he was? Or Lorcasf's wingman? Or the Marine pilot. Discipline was really slipping on this ship.

He crossed his arms over his chest. The longer he had to wait for the briefing to begin the longer it would be before the briefing was over and the longer it would be before he could go find Monique. It was all quite annoying.

DJ held his own helmet by the edge of the opening at the top, his fingers hooked into the padding that normally protected his forehead and the edge of the raised visor pressing into his forearm.

He snorted at her words. "The deeper we get sucked inta this here brouhaha, the more I wish we really could walk away from it, verdad? I wouldn't mind takin' a nice little stroll back home, amiga."

Casting his glance around the hangar again, the glaring absence of his former wingman's fighter sent a spike of trepidation through his chest. "Yeah, you're prolly right. He was in the other team, after all. They had more ground to cover to get back." The fact that he'd been on the other side of the battle was also why DJ had lost track of him.

"And I guess we don't wanna give Sterns any excuse to be crabbier than he already is. He's got all the patience and social graces of cat in a horse trough."

He fell into step with his wingwoman, ambling his way towards the briefing room. He wasn't in much of a hurry, but then again, when was he in a hurry when the Spacy folks asked him to do something? This was worse, though and he moved slowly, casting glances over his shoulder back into the hangar periodically in the hopes of seeing Jake come in for a landing.

Alita Mitsushari's mouth was already open to bellow off the next set of orders when the Captain's clear tones cut through the bridge, silencing her more neatly than anything else would have managed to. Her jaw closed quickly, almost mechanically, and her lips set into a grim line. Nothing showed on her face, of course, but Mitsushari couldn't help but feel the slightest pang of dejection at her Captain's sudden interjection. Had she moved their pieces poorly? Had she chosen incorrect actions? Did he somehow find her performance lacking that he now chose to take control over the situation himself?

But it was his right to do so, as the Captain. Some would never have sat by for so long and trusted their first officer to run the battle in such a dire situation. Should that not show his confidence in her? The small, frightened child that once ruled Alita Mitsushari was doubtful, but she allowed none of her thoughts to show through on her face. Even if this had been the time for self pity or self doubt, she would never have betrayed a single moment of her own internal turmoil to her subordinates, nor to her superior. It was unprofessional to act in such a manner. And there was still the matter of their survival to be seen to.

So while the Captain took over the battle and the preparations for their hasty retreat, Mistushari saw to the tasks he had assigned her, moving among the bridge crew, giving her orders where they were needed, always careful to keep from overpowering the Captain, who's orders were most important at the moment. Of course even while her focus was elsewhere she kept a careful eye on how things were going. This was the cumulation of all her hard work and careful planning, and she was anxious to see how it would all turn out. Not to mention the fact that she was as aware of the stakes as the rest of the crew; their lives were all riding on the success of this attack. At the moment she made the call she was confident, of course, or she never would have set this chain of events into motion, but in the moment before the missile was to hit there was always that question; did I do the right thing?

In the moments before the missile strike her eyes, along with everyone else's, were locked on the viewing screen, waiting for the critical moment. As she watched the glowing hot destruction across the void, Commander Mitsushari's eyes widened, the first crack to show through her stony mask. As deafening silence descended over the bridge, Mistushari's ears were ringing with the silent sound of her own voice. No! Her mind was screaming over and over again. It can't be. They can't be... They had to come back. Hadn't she told them that? Hadn't that been a stipulation of her allowing them to waltz into that insane situation in the first place?

Time dragged on, hour by agonizing hour until mere moments after the explosion the Captain announced that they were making their withdrawal. It took every ounce of professionalism in her body to keep from echoing Ensign Laville's feeble protest. It was not her place to question the Captain, and even if the situation had called for such a thing, this would not be the time to raise her voice and offer such protest. They were wounded, their prey perhaps shocked by the loss of one of their ships but still quite capable. The time for them to leave with what they still had and preserve their lives was now. Otherwise what did they fight for anyway? Otherwise what did they die for...? Commander Mitsushari grit her teeth together hard and braced herself for the disorientation that came with fold travel all the while reminding herself that her Captain was likely thinking the same thing.

When it was over and the communications officer did her best to raise their missing pilots on the radio, answered only by the cold sound of static dead air, Alita Mitsushari's face finally fell, a sign, perhaps, of the strain she had endured throughout the course of the battle. If anyone on the bridge caught that moment of weakness, however, they would likely take it to mean something far deeper. Though she was a hard, woman, apparently chipped from marble and not the least bit giving or moving when it came to her position and her expectations for her subordinates, that one moment of weakness was enough to betray her humanity. Beneath that cold, stone exterior, Alita Mitsushari had a heart. And at the moment her heart was crying out for those lives which had been snuffed out during the battle.

Men that she had killed. I sent those mean to their deaths. It echoed in her head over and over again. She replayed the conversations on the radio in her mind and questioned every decision. Looking back now, she couldn't seem to remember why she had allowed them to make such a daredevil attack. Her teeth grit hard again as she struggled to regain her stony mask. Her hand closed into a fist at her side and for one moment she squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned white. I should have known better! I should never have let them go! Over confidence was the undoing of every great commander throughout history.

All of the tension went out of her suddenly and it seemed that the old Mitsushari returned, worn, weary, but herself none-the-less. Her crew needed her now. She couldn't fall all to pieces. She drew herself up, squared her shoulders, and spoke in an uncharacteristically soft tone. "They were four of our best. They fought well; our lives are all testimony to that." Even though she couldn't imagine this ship without the four of them. Without Lieutenant Lorcasf's customary scowl, or Second Lieutenant Liatos's quiet contemplation, or Second Lieutenant Valentine's bright eagerness.... It seemed that even the loss of the space pirate, acting Lieutenant Kanzaki would somehow leave a gaping absence on the ship, despite the fact that she had loathed almost every aspect of having him on board up until this moment.

"Call your relief crews." She continued on in an even tone before emotion could once more overwhelm her. "As soon as they arrive you're dismissed." Then she turned to see to her own tasks before her own dismissal. For once, she didn't have the will to fight the Captain to stay on the bridge. She asked the communications officer to get Major Sterns on the intercom and delivered the sad news to him, along with the Captain's orders before she turned and made her own way off the bridge.

There was the staff meeting in two hours of course, and of course she would be there, her usual calm, collected self. And then there would be the arrangements to see to. Four more funerals to arrange. Four more sad letters to write. And this time they were burying heroes. The idea of it was almost overwhelming. She pushed it out of her mind, seizing on the two hours she had to clear her mind and her footsteps took her sickbay where her thoughts reminded her that it was not just the dead to whom they owed their lives. At least one of her bridge crew had not come through the battle without suffering a wound of some kind. She wondered what had happened to Lieutenant Sirleaf. There hadn't been time in the heat of the battle to demand constant updates on her status. It had to be enough that medical crews were making their way to her as quickly as they could. Well now you're under no such limitations are you?

Moving through the door way, Mistushari manuevered herself around the patients and medical staff, doing her best to keep out of the way, until she found someone who looked as though they were not completely swamped with work whom she could address. "Excuse me, Doctor, I'm just looking for an update on Lieutenant Sirleaf... can you tell me where I can find her?"

No one would have been able to guess it just looking at him, but all Sterns really wanted to do was get out of his flight suit, take a shower and sit down. He was probably more relieved than he should have been that there was a command staff meeting in two hours, because that meant he'd be able to do all three of those things. The mission had been a long one. Too long, in fact... Striker Squadron had flown what basically amounted to two seperate sorties, and his own had flown one before those. It undoubtedly left what was left of them tired, ragged and probably more than a little ill-tempered. And when one considers the fact that Major Sterns was already probably ill-tempered enough for the whole of his squadron at least, that was really saying something. Because all of these facts basically coalesced into one nice big ball of unpleasentness, he was rather anxious to get this debriefing over with.

The Major waited exactly five minutes from the time he had finished his message about the debriefing until he began. Frequent glances at his watch kept him informed as to how much time had passed, and so it was not difficult to be fairly precise. Once the five minutes were up, he dove right into it. "Alright, we're all tired, hungry and cranky, so I'll make this as quick as I can. First thing's first, most of you probably noticed a shortage of Valkyries out there, specifically two Elevens and two Nineteens. Lietenants Kanzaki and Lorcasf and Second Lieutenants Valentine and Liatos did not make it out of the enemy vessel before it was destroyed. You will be notified as soon as possible when services are held, and any unwillingness to attend will result in further services.

"Secondly, on my way into the briefing room, I noticed that, in addition to our new friend's VF-11 Full Armor, there is another Thunderbolt Battroid squatting out there in the hangar. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the way we stow our kit. Once this briefing is over, the pilot of that aircraft is going to go out there, change it over to Fighter, launch from the Shogun, turn around and come back in for a proper landing. Because it's been a long day, I'm only gonna make you do this once, but failure to land properly in the future will result in landing drills until I am completely satisfied." Because Randall Taylor Sterns was an observant fellow, he knew precisely who he was talking to, but he didn't bother to name names. After all, sometimes when he didn't call people out directly, they tried to sneak past him, and that just made it more fun for him.

"Alright, that's all I've got to say," he conluded. "Anyone have anything else to add before we adjourn?"

In Falker's book, there was much to be said about the way the mission unfolded ; but he was just a passenger on board the Shogun now.

The civilian pilot stood back against the wall, near the access hatch, and listened to the major's speech.

This whole outfit looked weird: the ship, the pilots, their mission...

**FUBARed wetworks, that's what it is. Don't ask, don't tell.**

Kaïn sticked to this policy and waited for the UN military to decide when will be the proper time to send him off ; then he would report to the company headquarters.

Though Restra had closed herself off from the battle as much as she could in order to concentrate on her song, she could feel the battle winding down as the familiar sensations of the fighter landing reached her, and she allowed her song to fade away. She was quite accustomed to landing, after all, because in the past it had been the part of the battle she had most longed for from the moment they took off. When one spent the entire battle praying that they would be able to turn around and land in the next moment, they became fairly aware of the sensation involved with the action.

As Shinjo landed the aircraft, Restra powered down her sound equipment, doing the usual checks to make sure everything was still in working order and would be able to be brought up to running speed fairly quickly the next time they had to rush out into the middle of a space battle. For once, the thought of it didn't completely horrify her. It didn't send shivers down her spine or bring tears to her eyes or make bile rise into her throat. It was an almost refreshing feeling. She had finally made it through a battle without feeling like she should run away and hide in the first available safe place. It was just like Angel had told her; when she found her deeper purpose, she was able to endure even the terrifying, near death experience of battle in order to perform her duties.

So it was that when Shinjo turned to greet his flight companion after the long mission he would find, for the first time, a smile upon her face. "It's good to be back." She agreed before she lifted herself out of the cockpit and made her way down the other ladder to the deck below. She felt light, as if a horrible burden had been lifted off her shoulders. I can't wait to tell Angel and thank him for all his help!

It never occurred to her to check the other fighters to see if any of them were missing. Though she did glance at the pilots who were making their way out of their cockpits and noted the fact that there were several unfamiliar faces among them, it never occurred to her that several of her companions were missing. She simply assumed they had gone off elsewhere. Winter, after all, was their commander and likely had other important things to attend to - whatever it was wing commanders usually did at the end of these sorts of missions. She imagined she would find everyone during the debriefing and she headed in that direction fairly quickly, taking up a place near the door so that she would spot Angel as soon as he made his way inside.

It wasn't until Sterns had called the meeting to order and Restra realized that Angel and several others were still missing that she began to feel a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Something is wrong. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt in that moment that something had happened. Something bad. And it was her fault. She placed the blame squarely on her own shoulders. She hadn't done her job well enough. Someone was hurt or worse because she hadn't sung hard enough or reached out to enough people with her abilities.

She felt like she had been slammed full speed into a brick wall Sterns's announcement. Dead. And not just one of their comrades but four. And Angel among them. Angel, her savior, the bright shining light in the dark that had brought her hope. And now he was gone, before she'd ever gotten a chance to properly thank him.

Tears came instantly to her eyes. It was a silent thing. She had enough sense and dignity not to start sobbing in the middle of the meeting. She was surprised that everyone else seemed to be so calm and collected about the whole thing. Wasn't anyone else even remotely upset that four of the people they'd shared this ship with all this time were dead? That they were never going to see their faces again? That they'd never smile or laugh or reassure anyone ever again? Even the thought of never again seeing Winter, whom she had never really liked, made her feel as if she was now bereft of something precious.

"It can't be." She said softly, shaking her head and then burying it in her hands to hide the bitter tears that slid from her eyes. If only she had sung better. If only she had stretched her abilities further. What could possibly have gone wrong? How could something like this happen? Hadn't she sworn she'd get everyone back here safely?

The storm of emotion seemed to pass relatively quickly, and Restra at least managed to regain control of herself. She brushed the last few stray tears out of her eyes and drew herself up. She erected a wall between herself and the terrible sorrow she felt at the loss of four of their companions while silently she decided to speak to whoever was in charge of the funeral arrangements as soon as possible. She had to do her share, after all, to bear tribute to the brave lives which had been lost that day. She couldn't help but wonder how many more lives would be lost before this was all over. How many more times would she have to bid farewell to those she cared about... how long before someone was singing sad funerary dirges at her funeral?

She had nothing more to say, however, she simply sat waiting for Sterns to dismiss them, every muscle in her body tensed to carry her out the door the moment the meeting was over so that she could carry out her self appointed duty. Nothing else seemed to matter at this point anyway; they were all exhausted, dirty and likely the announcement that four more of their pilots had been taken from them would decimate the ship's morale; especially the death of such famous heroes as ShadowValkyrie and Archangel. She was more than ready to escape the room which suddenly seemed over crowded in favour of a long shower where no one, not even her, would be able to see when she gave in to the terrible torrent of sorrow she felt now.

Enyo had been in the hangar for some time; her fighter having been disabled very early on in the fight. She had not known too much about what happened outside; other than things had not been going very well. The Meltran was surprised that the ship had not blown up around her. They were alive to fight another day. She continued helping Will, pointedly in silence, as they went about the hangar.

At least some of them were alive to fight another day. She had noticed some valkyries had not come back and it was confirmed by Sterns' words. Enyo was not upset by the revelation; though she did find it disappointing to lose good pilots. Even dead, she still didn't like Winter, but he had been skilled at the art of war. It would of been more convenient if the Zentran had been destroyed instead, but such was the way of battles.

When she filed into the briefing room along with the rest of the VF pilots, Erika picked out a seat in one of the rows near the back and dropped into it with a heavy sigh. She set her helmet down on the chair to her right, leaving the one on her left open for DJ. It was somewhat befitting their status in the Shogun's fighter wing: the pair at the back of the class who didn't really fit in with the rest of the students. They even had a strict hard-ass of a teacher in Major Randall Sterns to round out the metaphor, looming over them from the front of the room and bracketed by a United Earth Government flag on one side, and a UN Spacy one on the other. She had to admit, the sight was a little discomforting as a reminder of the compromise she'd made. Erika was not exactly a patriotic woman, having abandoned her home world to live as a guest on another, but she would have given quite a lot to see that ridiculous green-red-and-blue tricolour over Sterns' shoulder at that moment.

The Wildfire pilot was ready to fall into her own thoughts and block out her CO's droning, but the major's first declaration struck her like a slap to the face that she couldn't ignore. Didn't make it...? she echoed his words silently, while he moved on to something about an improperly-parked fighter. Disbelief clouded her mind for an instant, before a flash of something more primal and instinctive took hold. Didn't make it?! A searing anger rose in her, like a fire had erupted in the pit of her stomach and spread throughout her entire body until, within seconds, her skin was tingling with raw emotion.

What she was angry at, exactly, wasn't entirely clear. It could have been the way nobody reacted to the news in a way that satisfied her - Restra would be an exception, if she could see more than the back of the girl's head at the present time. Anger at Angel himself for not coming back was a likely candidate, too. But at that moment, the most obvious target was the way in which Major Sterns dropped his bombshell as if he were reading the Sunday-morning church announcements, and she took the path of least resistance. "What the hell?!" she exploded, shooting out of her chair with such speed and force that if it hadn't been bolted to the deck, it probably would have been sent clattering into Kain, who stood against the wall directly behind her. "'They're dead, I'll let you know when the funeral is'? That's it?! What kind of heartless son of a bitch...?!"

The sudden burst of anger erupting from the woman seating before Kaïn took him by surprise ; hearing what she had to say, he sympathized with her feelings, yet he also understood the necessity for the major to handle things in a proper military fashion.

No wisdom was appropriate in times like these, but being an outsider, Cowboy was up to act as a buffer between the different parties involved here. Seems like it was not just a personal matter, the woman was wearing the Nuevo Tejan flag patch on her flightsuit ; this whole operation involved a volatile mix of warriors from all horizons.

He stepped forward by Raven's side and spoke quietly but loud enough to create a little momentum.

"We hear you Ranger, there's nothing such as an acceptable loss... But this is why we try to put away our emotions and remain objective during a debriefing, so that we can avoid loosing more good pilots in the future. Be assured I mean no disrespect to the memories of your fallen comrades, but grief belongs to funeral services and bars, here we need to analyze post-combat data, improve tactics and SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures) ; that's the best way to honor their sacrifice, for now."

Kaïn sadly nodded but did not took the liberty of a friendly gesture toward the Nuevo Tejan pilot. Then he returned to his spot against the wall, he already spoke more than his piece, considering he was a stranger to all the pilots in the room.