Tides of Change

[Rodent]

Fort Azores Control, this is Alpha-One-Nine, requesting docking rights.

Alpha-One-Nine, This is Azores, we recognize you and docking rights are granted. Welcome back, captain.

The Brown fighter soared through the air, it's engines giving it the power to resist the enormous wall of wind-driven snow that threatened to drive everything under. Spinning a few circles, it finally seemed to locate a hangar, and started giving signals.

The hangar doors opened, and the Nephthys fighter glided in, landing neatly on one of the marked empty spaces. Almost as soon as the landing was complete, a stocky man jumped out, in complete flight gear. Removing his helmet, Captain Santos Bolevara looked around the Hangar for a brief moment, then went to the nearby restroom to change into his stock uniform.

While undressing, he gingerly felt at the many swathes of bandages on his right side. The injuries had been no joke, but he was recovering, and certainly in flight condition...what he felt. The Doctors would not have let him go, but he had ways.

Back in his Order uniform, he jogged to his Nephthys, ignoring a few spasms of pain. One had to remain strong in this corner of the universe. He would do a few tweaks on his ship first, then go for a bite at the canteen. Taking a toolbox, he started working on the left wing, which had nearly been blown off on the last patrol in Delta. He had lost Five of his wingmen today. Normally, he would have felt grief and sadness, but it was becoming increasingly common.

Order forces were being put up against increasingly hostile odds, and nothing could survive under this much Pressure. Navy, Nomads, Hunters, Wild...would it ever end?

He attempted to drive it out of his mind as he worked on the repairs.