The Shiva touches down on the deck with only three hundred pounds of fuel to spare. Relieved he was able to stick the landing without having to go around, Lorens sighs into his mask as a tractor wheels the fighter to the carrier's workshop.
Lorens' trek back to the Tordenskjold's upper decks passes by in something of a blur. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he stares blankly at the ceiling of the commons room, slouched in his seat with his head resting on the back of the chair, playing the day's events through his head over and over.
Aero is confirmed dead. Djuriskas lost one of their new recruits. Hundreds more are probably dead or missing in the waters below, yet in spite of all their losses, Arkhip abandoned his mission and deserted his team.
Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, Lorens closes his eyes and tries to rest. Memories from the last two years of his life begin to bubble from the deepest reaches of his subconsciousness. His transfer to Mjolnir would herald dozens of firsts in his relatively short career with the UCAF, and perhaps made for the biggest and farthest reaching change in his life. Lorens' time as a CAS pilot apparently served as a reasonable prerequisite for entry into the 514th, but nothing could have possibly prepared him for this.
Lorens opens his eyes. The din of the fusion engines and the scattering of his thoughts proved too much to sleep through. While he couldn't remember much from his short dream, Lorens does seem to recall one important detail.
141.
That's the heading that bastard took off in, wasn't it? Southeast by South. If he kept flying in that direction, there's a chance he might run into the Imperials.
Remembering he still needed to be debriefed, Lorens slowly gets up from his seat and walks to the CIC.