The chief responds with an affirmative grunt and starts reading over the paperwork you gave him, with another grunt and a nod as he hands it back to you.
Lorens takes the papers back into his hand and smiles. "Hey, thanks. I'll see you guys around." As he starts walking towards the side access door, he goes over the document out of curiosity...
Wait, that's it? Save a few details, it's really just a piece of paper that says he's a part of the wing now. He recalls there being a word all Aesthian jet jocks use to name this sort of senseless bureaucratic requirement--
queep.Just shy of the doorway, Lorens stops and turns around to look back at his aircraft.
stuff, if anyone needs a piece of paper saying I'm a part of Mjolnir, it's me, he thought.
Is it really okay for some greasy-ass CAS pilot to be in the same strategic fighter wing that broke the Deltans?The A-10C, Lorens' faithful workhorse of two years, somehow appears to have shrunken within the imposing walls of the hardened hangar, a far cry from the wide, barren flats it once proudly stood upon.
He wonders if there's been some sort of mistake.
Well, I guess I'll find out. Wouldn't hurt to see what these guys are like in the meantime. Deciding to play along, Lorens tucks the paper back into his kneeboard, leaves the hangar and walks towards Valhalla's main complex.