Captain's quarters
"Da, all are awake. I will have meeting talk later in conference room. I think twelve hours.
I agree on Hellcat being good fighter. I also know we have one better, you have been told, Da?"
Timochev concluded the last piece more than he inquired. He turned to the captain.
"Lieutenant Shadow was, how you say, thorn in my side on many occasion. We not always see eye to eye, but he damn good pilot. That why I select him. Sometimes... too bold... is correct phrase I think. But that is manageable. I would like him for third wing Captain."
Blake Dorn nodded, perhaps in thought, maybe in agreement.
"You make a good point on the ammunition, but since we have an entire hold just for that, filled to the rafters, it is not yet a priority. Things might seem random sometimes lieutenant, but trust me when I say there is definately a system to our madness."
He fumbled in his uniform pocket and pulled out a cigar. Casually he snipped the end off with a golden cutter he removed from his desk.
"Besides, who are we shooting? We are alone out here, at least for a couple hundred thousand miles."
"Still, we better prepare," the russian pilot agreed with Shadow. They really needed o up their readiness just in case, and besides, he too was eager to get flying.
"And you will. Right above Hangar 1 is hold number 9. We have dubbed it Flight-Opps. There are direct elevators there from the hangars, and it is designated as your operational command. There are also 20 simulators there, so you can train all you want. Since I have woken up all military personell now, your ground teams should all be awake and getting to work soon too. I trust you can get them up to speed Commander? The lieutenant can fill you in on the last twenty-four hours. Dismissed gentlemen."
Yuri stood up and saluted, then put on his beret. It was pitch black, with the symbol of his old squadron, a brown bear pinned in the front. He then turned to Shadow, shook his head at the door indicating him to follow, and left.
Timochev ---> Flight-Opps