In-character prelude for dcoda.  All other players, reading is encouraged but please don't post in this thread.

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Fort Campbell, Kentucky
02 October 2014
2216 hrs local (0316 hrs Zulu)

The roar from Kingfisher's Rolls-Royce turbine winds through a dull grumble to a whisper as you shut down the OH-58D.  Lieutenant Colonel Brad Hamilton reaches across the cockpit from the left seat for a first-bump.  "Excellent aviating, Hannah," he says, flipping up the night-vision goggles clamped to his helmet.  "Post-flight her and we'll call it a night."

You work through the post-flight checklist, conscious of your squadron commander's scrutiny.  You may be in the right seat - the command pilot's seat - tonight, but Hamilton is an OH-58D instructor pilot and maintaining your type-qualification in the Kiowa Warrior rests on his opinion.  Night flying is tricky at the best of times and this nimble airframe demands a subtly different set of reflexes than your usual UH-60.

Process complete, you turn over Kingfisher to the ground crew, feeling fairly confident in your performance.  The women's locker room is empty at this time of night and a long shower is just what your back muscles need after six hours in the -58.  Much refreshed and in a clean flight suit, you're on your way out the door when Hamilton's voice interrupts your progress.  "Omdahl."  You turn to see him wearing an expression of irritation - not at you, you judge quickly and thankfully.

"Sorry to keep you but it looks like I had a schedule fail," he explains.  "My office.  This shouldn't take too long."

As you enter Hamilton's office, another man rises to greet you.  He's wearing a fatigues in a camouflage pattern that it takes you a moment to recognize as British; you can't begin to parse the rank insignia.

"Miss Omdahl, this is Group Captain Mewes of the British Royal Air Force," Hamilton advises you, seating himself behind his desk.  "For your information, the group captain rates as a full colonel here and knows his way around the front office of a Chinook.  Among others."

Mewes extends his hand.  "A pleasure, Chief Warrant.  May I congratulate you on your return to flying status?  And, ah -"  He looks questioningly at Hamilton.  "The other, Colonel?"

"Haven't yet."  Hamilton rummages through several piles of correspondence on his desk before finding an envelope, which he flips end-over-end toward you.  "Just got you back and it looks like I'm probably gonna lose you," he growls.

Under the two senior officers' gaze, you break the envelope's seal and withdraw a single sheet of paper.  You scan it once, then again to be sure you haven't mis-read it, then look up at Hamilton.

"Yup," he confirms.  "The 160th wants to steal you.  And the Pentagon wants you to listen to another option, too."  He stands up.  "All yours, Group Captain."

As Hamilton shuts the door behind himself, Mewes turns to face you.  "Chief, I know you've had a long day, so I'll be as brief as the subject allows.  Prefatory disclaimer: this recruiting offer is voluntary and you will not be subject to any official or unofficial stigma if you decline.  Going to the Night Stalkers would be quite the line item for your C.V., whereas we are somewhat less glamorous.

"I command a joint intelligence unit reporting directly to the NATO general staff.  Our tasking is counterproliferation against technology and information that could inform WMD attacks.  We also work emerging technologies and trends with security implications for the alliance's member nations.  Without going into codewords you're not yet cleared for, some of those items are in the aerospace realm."

He gestures toward the folded letter in your hand.  "We're standing up an additional team for covert intelligence-gathering and we're in need of technically-minded individuals who can handle themselves in the field.  We're looking at your academic background for this, though your flight ratings are a definite advantage as well.  I realize infantry work isn't your métier, but the Green Platoon pipeline for the 160th should bring you up to speed.  Caveat: passing that qualifier is also a go/no-go for us.

"Finally, I will say that my people spend a lot of time in harm's way.  We are not officially a ground combat unit but it is an intrinsic part of our actual jobs.  So if you come aboard, you should expect to be shot at and you will be expected to shoot back."  His gaze flicks to your leg.  "I understand you have some experience with that sort of thing but I feel that full disclosure is necessary in this case.

"What else can I say to inform your decision?"

"Yes, Sir." the young pilot intoned, her lightly lilting voice betraying on the small touch of bemused concern at the seemingly impromptu summons.  It wasn't like the Lieutenant Colonel to improperly plan something.  No.  Something was up; Hannah took a deep breath and then followed her CO, heading towards his office.  All during the walk, she was left to silently wonder exactly what had Hamilton so on edge.

Not quite sure what to expect, Hannah was not surprised to see someone waiting there already.  She wasn't sure what to expect exactly, but at this hour of the evening, it wasn't going to be a social call.  She stood at attention.  From her formal stance, Hannah started to salute, but then took Mewes' hand in her own palm after extending her arm when the Group Captain did so.  "Thank you, sir." the Chief Warrant Officer noted dutifully, then raised an eyebrow at whatever oblique reference was being bandied about.  It obviously concerned her.  And yet, it seemed that she was always the last to know.  Still, the aviatrix from Minnesota stood at attention, her eyes locked forward.  Even if she strained to keep Mewes in her peripheral vision.

Hannah had caught the tossed envelope in mid-air, easy enough given the softball pitch.  Her hands trembled slightly as she opened it.  Her long, thin fingers ran through her dirty-brown ponytail as she slowly read words on single leaf of paper.  The lithe aviatrix pursed her lips slightly, it wasn't that she wasn't happy or honoured; far from it.  She could feel the excited edge of the endorphin rush from the selection coming on.  But, it did mean that she'd let down Hamilton, of sorts.  A promise to return to his command and run missions again for him looked highly unlikely.  Hannah had never liked his disapproving stare, even when it wasn't really targeting her.  Not really.

She watched the Lieutenant Colonel excuse himself from the room, the single sheet of paper was refolded and quietly found its way back into the envelope as he did so.  Hannah listened to Group Captain's offer in silence, which was apparently above Hamilton's pay grade as well.

Her eyes tracked the movement of Mewes' as he discusses the potential hazards of the assignment he is offering.  Obviously, he's read her file.  It's taken her almost a year to get back to where she wants to be.  Ten painful months of convalescence and physical therapy.  She was not eager to repeat that experience necessarily; in her opinion, no sane person would be.  The only possible benefit of that injury was the reassignment letter held in her hand; and even that is debatable.  Hannah knew how well she could handle various craft - and yet all of that was tangential to Mewes' unit and their charter.  She felt the light sheen of perspiration on her palms unsure which offer was causing the feeling of nervous tension that was building.

The Pentagon's offer was intriguing:  an intel unit reporting directly to the NATO general staff tasked with direct intervention to counter the proliferation of WMDs.  She could be smart about it and save her fellow soldiers lives; others might not have to go through what she had.  She could make a difference.  And that was what she had joined the army in the first place to do; put her money where her mouth was.  "How long would this posting be, Group Captain Mewes?" the subtle Norwegian sing-song lilt tinged her words as her fingers gently rubbed the envelope held between them, "And where is your unit based out of, sir?"  It was not as though Hannah is averse to travel or a foreign station, far from it.  She just needed a moment to collect herself.  For though, the army helicopter pilot had always prided herself on her quick thinking and agile reflexes, a lifestyle choice like this required some forethought and a deft touch.

But a defter touch than she could manage?  Hannah didn't think so.  And though she waited for Mewes' answers, the woman born in northern Minnesota had pretty much made up her mind.  If she could pass the physical - and that might be a big If as well, she was in...

Mewes nods.  "We're based out of Incirlik in Turkey, which is nicely central to our missions in the Middle East and eastern Europe.  The current intent is a tour of twelve to eighteen months, depending on operational tempo and continued support from NATO command."

He watches your fingers worry at the envelope.  "We haven't had cause to operate the H-60 platform but I should be able to arrange for you to get enough flight hours to remain current in it.  You may have to use Air Force assets to do that, though.  Our current birds are an Mi-17 and a Dauphin and others may be added as we expand."

The dark-haired Warrant Officer nodded curtly to the Group Captain's answers.  "Türkiyen." Hannah noted testing out her limited Arabic by letting the syllables roll gently off of her tongue.  She quietly took in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled; it very much sounded like she was going to get another posting in Western Asia no matter what.

The edges of Hannah's mouth quirked up slightly at the Mewes' offer to ensure that she kept her UH-60 ratings up.  "Thank you, sir." she noted simply and directly, "It is much appreciated."  And she was.  Her graditude was genuine.  And the Group Captain was, unsurprisingly, perceptive; which she could also appreciate.

Something still puzzled the young aviatrix from America's Heartland.  "Permission to speak freely, sir." she crisply requested, even though she knew that he had already covered some of this ground.  Hannah paused for a moment to both compose herself and for Mewes to respond - and potentially cut her off if necessary, before continuing.

"If my flight certs are not the primary reason for my selection, are there not many more qualified individuals for your team?" Hannah asked, for she readily conceded, "My technical expertise is limited at best, Group Captain.  I would not want to put the lives of the rest of the unit in jeopardy on that basis."  And even though she had never considered herself stupid or an idiot; Hannah had also never ever considered herself an engineer, either.  In her mind, she was a pilot, first and foremost.

"You'll find we're not so formal amongst ourselves, Chief.  Speak your mind."  A faint smile dances across Mewes' lips as he sits back and sits silently.

Giving you a moment to add any afterthoughts, he nods.  "Fair question.  To be perfectly honest, our recruiting filters are managed at a higher echelon.  They assess not only rated skills but personal history, psych profiles, and some other factors.  In terms of suitability for special operations, I'll admit you're a marginal candidate.  That's not a slight to your abilities as a pilot," he quickly cautions you.

"On the other hand, relatively few aviators are also qualified as maintainers on their own birds.  Or motorcycles.  That part of your skill set provides a certain self-sufficiency that's rather valuable to a team operating outside normal support.  And you'll be going through Green Platoon whether you opt for us or the Night Stalkers, so that should nicely brush up your infantry training."

He grins suddenly.  "And I wanted you because if I can't fly every op myself, I want someone who can do what you did in the Arghandab.  I've seen the footage from the escort Apaches.  Chief, you had less than three meters' clearance between those buildings, fire coming from multiple sides, and you still put your bird in there as if it were on rails and made pickup on your casualties."

"Your candor does you credit, sir." Hannah noted quietly, when Mewes explained her strengths and limitations as he perceived them, "Thank you."  Unsurprisingly, he had definitely reviewed her file; they both knew the score there for Hannah didn't need to know what was in her file.  She'd lived it.  And she was more than willing to accept the criticism as well as the compliments.  All of them were accurate; so, it made little sense to deny it.

Her lips were pressed thin when her performance at Arghandab came up.  It was still fresh and vivid in her mind's eye.  The smell of the sand and heat; the sulfur and the petrol; the caked salt and the blood.  She nodded rather curtly to the Group Captain's words, giving the British Officer a slight, crooked smile.  "'Fortune favors the Bold'." the brown-haired aviatrix ventured as a sort of explanation; it was a plain and simple acknowledgement that sometimes skill alone was not enough.  She shrugged slightly, adding quietly, "Sometimes it pays to be lucky."

Hannah wasn't necessarily a proponent of the old adage, 'It is better to be lucky than good'  For the female warrant officer never liked to rely solely on luck.  But, she was also not stupid enough to think that chance (or Fate or whatever) never played a part in any situation that really mattered; in her experience, it was best to be both good and lucky.

There were always too many 'ifs'.  If she and her crew hadn't gotten that assignment that day.  If the rebels had chosen to use slightly different tactics or weapons.  Or if they had chosen a different ambush site.  If there had been one less an errant bullet whizzing around.  Or if there had been one more ...

But she was pretty sure that Mewes knew that, especially as he had his own flight ratings.  Hannah was also pretty sure that he hadn't gotten the four bands on his shoulders or the scrambled egg on his cap by sitting behind a desk.  So, his assessment counted for something.

Hannah trusted that the smile was genuine.  As was the recruiting pitch and the sentiment behind it.  "You've made me an offer that is hard to refuse, sir." she noted before taking a deep breath that made her lithe frame shudder.  Then looking directly at the Group Captain, she ventured, "I only hope that I can live up to your expectations."  Naturally, Hannah knew that meant graduating from Green Platoon first.

All she could envision was a lot of push-ups and pull-ups in her near future...

"You already know the Night Stalkers' motto," Mewes notes.  "I think you can handle whatever we throw at you."  He stands and extends a hand.  "After what you've already been through, I'd say Green Platoon will be a formality.  I look forward to seeing you in a few months, Chief.  Welcome to Task Force Forty-Seven."

Hannah saluted Mewes, "Yes, sir."  Then she took the proffered hand, "Thank you, sir.  I'll see you on the 'Other Side™', Group Captain."  Of Green Platoon, of course.  It was said that one was never quite the same after such intense training.  And probably rightfully so.

The army aviator waited to be dismissed.  She intended to get a good night's sleep.  It sounded as though it was going to be a very busy morning.  In just a couple of hours.

And she wasn't actually going to be leaving Fort Campbell...