Chapter Text
Trigger couldn't help but ache when the briefing room filled with cheers and laughter.
He stayed seated, both hands in his lap.
Three of them were getting out.
The mercenary next to the tac screen basked in the attention that was given to him with a victorious smile. His dark, swept back hair and tailored pants gave him the air of an old world pilot. Because he was a pilot, had to be. There was something about the confidence in his poise, in the words he spoke…
Trigger couldn’t bear the smiles his squadmates flashed. The clapping, and the noise. It was too much. Who would be here for them, if not him? If not Count?
High Roller hooked his arm around Trigger’s shoulder, dragging him to his feet. He raised his fist high as he cheered along with the other. Tabloid saved himself from the crowd by leaning against the desk near the tac screen. He leaned forwards against it, speaking with the merc with a smile of his own.
“We have a saying here sir!”
Trigger didn’t hear the rest, didn't listen. He knew the words Tabloid was going to say too well. His body felt wrong, his mouth dry and bitter, as if he’d screamed. Truth was, he hadn’t spoken in days. Couldn’t remember the last time he had.
By the time he left the briefing room, Count was nowhere to be found.
Trigger made his way back to his cell, taking in the dim hallways one last time. He wouldn't miss them. The smell of harsh sanitizer and the constant rumble of noise, coming from the yard. The screaming and crying from the solitary cells. He wouldn't miss how every step of their survival came with a price. With a bet on their lives and a threat in their back, when the squadron didn't return with holes in their formation. In the month and a half Trigger had been in the unit, they'd lost half of the squadron.
Trigger entered his cell and started to stuff the few changes of clothes he still had to his name in a standard-issue bag.
Trigger loathed the thought of leaving his wingmen. Still, working with Sicario would be an opportunity. One that, if he played his cards right, he could extend to the rest of Spare in the future. Kaiser looked like an arrogant prick, but he knew where to put his money. He'd need more skilled pilots, and soon. The war in Cascadia was picking up pace, if the Federation radio broadcasts were anything to go by.
Trigger shouldered his bag, and left his cell without a glance back.
When he entered the hangar, he found Avril tending to the ground crew. Almost all the mechanics on base were gathered around her, looking up at her as if she was an anchor in a storm. Her face was closed, severe, but her tone was calm. Or, at least, it tried to inspire calm. Trigger knew he wasn't the only one who cared about the other cons, but seeing her lifted a weight off his shoulders. The 444 was filled with decent pilots, and clever men. They'd survive this, he knew.
Trigger raised his hand to greet Avril, which she returned with a grave nod.
Both Count's Su-33 and Trigger's ADFX-01 Morgan were ready to head out. Their noses peeked out of the hangar, where a few crewmen lingered by the open doors.
That's where Trigger found Count, staring out at the runway with both hands on his hips. As he approached, Trigger cleared his throat.
Count turned to face him with a furrowed brow. He crossed both arms on his chest, his gaze never meeting Trigger’s.
“Trigger.”
Trigger pointed at Count, before putting his right hand flat, and tapped it twice with his other hand. [1]
“I’m not the one you should worry about." Count nodded to Avril and her ground crew. To Tabloid and High Roller, watching from the other side of the hangar, but not coming any closer. He chuckled. A bitter, sad chuckle. "Stick with Trigger and you'll make it, right?"
Trigger sighed. He brought his four fingers together and tapped them twice on his temple [2]. He knew. He worried about them too. He wasn't done conveying it, when a new set of steps cut their conversation short. The mercenary from earlier. Kaiser, was it? His smile hadn't faltered. Avril walked next to him. She didn't need to say a word, her expression was as discontent as Count's.
"Gentlemen, I'm glad to see both of you ready." He held out his hand, first to Trigger, then Count. Both of them shook it. "I heard about your unconventional flights from a contact of mine. And, to be completely honest, I had a spot to fill… I hope you won’t mind our arrangement."
It felt as though the expression winded Trigger. That's what Clown had said too. A spot to fill. His brain scrambled, trying to brace for the worst. For a replay of Gunther Bay. Trigger took a shaky exhale, focusing on the conversation.
"What happened to your last pilot?" Asked Avril, as she shifted her weight.
"Well, Miss Mead… He was made an offer he couldn't refuse. You'll learn soon enough that this is the core of any mercenary operation. You will be free of your actions as well, once the war is over.
-Sounds too good to be true." Count scoffed.
“Don’t expect your task to be easy. Sicario is down an ace, and I have high expectations for you.” Kaiser clapped, as if to make the conversation end before Avril could speak up again. "Now, if the three of you are ready, please proceed to your aircrafts."
ASL Translations:
[1] Are you alright?
[2] I know.