NOVA
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23/05/2002 - 11am
Alto, New Mexico
Silverwing Base
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You know when you're a kid in elementary school, you usually have a day dedicated to what you want to be when you grow up?

I remember it well. 5 years old, I went into school dressed as a surgeon. I had hold of one of those little plastic medical kits for kids and I was wearing scrubs that my Mom stitched out of an old bedsheet.

When it was my turn to speak, explain my career choice. I only had one reason. "I want to help people like my Daddy, who lost their leg."

My Dad is an ex-veteran. He lost one of his legs fighting in Vietnam. I remember him telling me the story; but at that age, he pretended he lost it in a fight with Captain Hook.

I don't think explaining to your 5 year old daughter that your right leg got blown off in a war was considered 'good parenting'. Although, the whole 'good parenting' thing got dropped when I was 8.

Still, I was dead set on becoming a surgeon. That was my plan. If someone had told me at the age of 5 that the only surgery I would be doing would be on my guns, I'd have said one thing.

"What's a gun?"

The faint sound of the radio humming in the background is the only thing cutting the silence of my concentration. In front of me, I look upon my dismantled pistol, splayed across my bedsheets like a map as I clean out its barrel with precision.

This Smith & Wesson Model 39; formerly my dad's from his veteran days, has been strapped to my thigh for every assignment as far back as I can remember. It's my go-to pistol, my lucky gun. Somehow, it's still going.

When it was my 3rd year anniversary of joining the Falcon squad; Commander Vincent bought me a new pistol. The same gun but a newer model. Had a blue stripe across the wooden frame that trailed from the barrel down to the trigger.

There was only one thing; it wasn't my lucky gun. It didn't carry the kill streak of my original; didn't carry the same successes. Because of that, and since I still seem to be stuck in my old ways; the new pistol is still in a dust sodden case under my bed. Untouched.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

Someone cracks their hand against my door, snapping me out of my focus. Still cleaning out the barrel, I make my way across the room and press down on the handle with my elbow. Valerie VanCelli is stood on the other side. Consider her something similar to a spokeswoman, but restricted within the Fleetwood organisation.

She spreads news to us, keeping us in check about the other squads. Her foot is tapping impatiently and her gunmetal eyes hold that same, stressful gaze they always do.

"Val, you don't look too happy." A grin pulls on the corner of my lips as I open my door more invitingly, stepping back to let her inside.

"I'm not happy," she abruptly snaps, ushering into my room. "Did you know Officer Richards apparently got killed 2 weeks ago? For some reason I've only just found out."

It would help if I knew who Richards is, or, was. As far as I know, he wasn't in my squad. I'd hope I would've heard about it before now if he was.

I think Val notices the confusion settling into my features, and she heaves out a frustrated sigh.

"Carlos Richards from the Hawk group? The officer who took down Taro Vasquelez just over 2 months ago. You've worked with him Nova, for Christs sake." She bites out.

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline upon hearing this revelation. She's right, I have in fact worked with him before on a combined mission back in '99; probably seems a little rude that I didn't remember him straight off the bat.

"Carlos Richards? Damn, how'd he go?" I ask with a flat frown, perching back on my bed. Richards was a good guy, a very skilled op at that. I actually worked pretty damn well alongside him, surprisingly.

I haven't harnessed much luck in the past in working alongside officers from the Hawks.

"Shot to the head, according to his partner." She says with a sigh, holding her forehead in her hands and prolonging a silence. I can't tell if she's just frustrated, or paying her respects.

"That's a shame." I mumble. I think my words came out more sarcastic than genuine, based off of the glare Val is giving me.

"No, I'm being serious. It is a shame." I repeat, raising my hands in defence. She nods approvingly.

"Yes, it is. It's also left the Hawk group one captain down. A huge loss for Fleetwood." She sighs, shaking her head.

She glances over her shoulder, already making her way back towards my door. "I'm not sure if this is related to his death, but Commander wants to speak with you. That's what I came here to say."

"Oh," my head swivels towards my pistol and then back over at Val. "Right now?"

"Yes Nova, right now." She nods before swiftly disappearing out of my room. Classic Val. Can't stay anywhere for more than 3 seconds before ushering off to do something else.

Vincent, our aging, British born and raised Commander is not somebody you want to be late for. My hands work quickly to click my pistol back together as I slide it into my belt like always.

Why do I carry my pistol around base? I have absolutely no idea. Base is surrounded by tall, barbed fences. And we're in Alto, not exactly an attack hotspot.

I think I'm just emotionally attached to this old thing.

Leaving my cabin, my feet practically speed ahead of me and drag the rest of my form behind them. My thoughts are running rabid.

Sure, it's not completely unusual for the Commander to ask for me; but it is unusual for it to be so urgent and sudden.

There's a nagging feeling that this has something to do with Carlos Richards' death.

Why it would be about his death when he apparently died two weeks ago? I'm not sure. I don't know if I want to know the direction this is going in.

That's when it clicks. If one of the two Captain's in a group goes down, they need someone to replace that spot. If nobody else in that Captain's group is adequate enough; they transfer an officer from a different group.

And I am a Captain in the Falcons. Surprising for a 25 year old, I know. However, when you've known how to operate a gun since you were 8 years old; the shock factor wears off a little.

Reaching the door to his office, my hand hesitates on the handle; daring me to open up.

I'm not nervous about speaking with the Commander at all, it's what the Commander wants to talk to me about that's got my feelings in a chokehold.

If my predictions are correct, I won't be impressed. My leadership in the Falcons has taken off in this past year for the better. I'm finally at a place where I feel settled.

I need to stop catasrophizing. It mightn't even be anything about what I'm anticipating.

"Shields, you need to remember I've got a camera outside of my office; I can see you lingering around. Just come in."

The Commanders voice rings out on some intercom that I can't spot. All my hesitancy pushes itself away as I open the door.

"Commander V. Val said you wanted a word with me." I announce myself with usual confidence; acting like I wasn't just hovering about his door like an imbecile a few seconds ago.

"Val was correct. Sit down, Shields."

My legs find a chair that is brushing against them as I lower myself down into it. Vincent links his fingers together, resting them on his desk above some case files.

My throat clears itself as some way to break the tense silence.

"I'm sure Val told you about the death of Officer Richards from the Hawk group?" He questions, one of his wrinkled eyes twitching slightly; the other hidden underneath his eye patch.

"Yes, Sir. She informed me."

"A damn shame. We decided to keep it quiet until we decided on our next steps." He says, popping a mint humbug into his mouth.

Next steps?

His thoughts loom behind his eyepatch; a symbol of the decades he's had in this field. Instead of breaking the silence outside of his loud chewing, he picks out a piece of paper and slides it across the desk in my direction. My hands reach for it hesitantly; bringing it up to my face.

It's a photograph of someone. An Officer ID picture, I have one exactly like it. They ironically look like mugshots; especially with the height chart on the wall behind.

It's a man; a man who bares familiarity that I can't place.

Olive skin. Thick, shaggy dark brown hair; 6'4 on the height chart. Tanned skin across a defined face, chin hidden behind bristly stubble. Rich, whiskey eyes. After studying the photograph, my head raises to meet the Commanders gaze.

"He's our next target? An Officer?"

Apparently what I say is the worlds most outstanding comedic line; Vincent practically hocks up the remains of his humbug as he falls into a fit of laughter. My face contorts into a look of utter disbelief, what the fuck is so damn hilarious?

"I'd certainly hope not!" Vincent roars, finally settling down from his laughing fit. "That, Shields, is your new partner."

Absolutely not. My predictions were correct.

"I already have a partner. I don't need a new one. Officer Hart is alive and well." I blunt, a completely unamused expression on my face in contradiction to his.

He nods, popping a second humbug into his mouth and sucking on it. "You're right, but you know who isn't alive and well? Carlos Richards. That's why you are taking his place in the Hawks."

The frustration forming in my features must be a whole lot more obvious than intended. Although I'd made the guess, I didn't think it'd be right.

The eye that isn't looming behind Vincent's eyepatch narrows into a slit. "I can tell you've got a problem with this, Shields."

A small sigh escapes my lips. "Of course I have a damn problem. Me and Hart have a great partnership; it seems wasteful to throw that away. I just-"

He silences me as he imitates a 'mouth-zip' before standing up; his chair screeching as he swallows the crushed remains of his second humbug.

His footsteps clank against the wooden floor.

"You're our best Officer in this goddamn group, Shields. Without a doubt. I don't say this shit easily. I don't give a damn hell that you're young, you've got better skills than I've ever witnessed from anyone in the Falcons. I've come to a decision with Commander North from the Hawk group, we both agree that you are the most able to replace Richards."

It's a compliment, but these are not the conditions I want to receive it in. My mouth opens but immediately snaps shut as he continues his speech.

"You'll be transferred to their base next week. Sorry to usher you away, but they have an important mission coming up. You're the only one within the Fleetwood combat groups who we truly believe can replace Richards in terms of skill. That's where this 'fella comes in."

He taps a finger against the picture of the agent on the desk.

"Leo Hendrix. He was Richards' partner, and now he's yours. I don't know how long this will be in place, Nova. I just ask one thing, don't fucking let me down."

As soon as that name exits his mouth, my jaw has dropped.

Leo Hendrix. The arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit who thinks he's always in the right. The only person in the entirety of Fleetwood I will openly admit I can't stand.

"That's fucking Leo Hendrix? Is this a fucking joke? So that's why he's so unfortunately familiar. I remember him now, the Santa Elena mission in '99. We almost killed each other before we killed the target."

He looks somewhat different from how I remember, changed a lot in three years. Last time I met him, he was a clean shaven pompous. On this picture, he looks rugged.

If it wasn't Leo Hendrix, I'd even say he looks attractive.

However, it is Leo. The weight of his arrogance pushes and conceals any charming aspects of his appearance.

"Well, that's definitely not a promising start to a new partnership. I'd hoped you would've forgotten about that whole ordeal. Although, we are three years past that now. Hopefully you both don't hold a grudge anymore." Vincent shakes his head, although he seems to secretly find the whole situation amusing.

"And who the hell is going to replace me in the Falcons?" I mumble, diverting my gaze and glaring at nothing in particular.

"Yamato Kato. No, he's not quite up to your skill set; yet we don't have many dangerous missions coming up in the foreseeable future. Gives him a chance to get used to the position."

I'm pretty sure Vincent is going to have an answer for every question I blurt out. It's like I'm fighting a losing battle, and that's something I'm not familiar with.

"And what if me and Hendrix do still despise each other?" I groan frustratedly, leaning back into my seat and rubbing my hands over my face.

"That's your problem, Shields. Whatever your relationship is with him, I have faith that you will not let it jeopardise any missions. He's a good man really, I've had lots of meetings where he's been involved. I'm sure you'll get along with him now."

He speaks with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Bastard.

"You'll be deported to Redhawk base a week today, Thursday the 30th. Gives you a chance to organise yourself. I know you aren't happy with this, it's written all over your face. There's simply nobody else that can do this job but you, Nova. I'm putting every ounce of my fucking faith into you." He says sternly before looking down and tapping his watch.

"I've got some calls to make. Come by if you want any more information."

The ushering motion his hands are making in my direction is my signal to leave before I can get another word in. With a quick, frustrated nod, I disappear out of the office.

I feel like I've been drowned with information. The claustrophobic heat isn't helping. Lisa Hart, my now old partner spots me; heading over and falling into my step.

"I just got the news. Val told me." A sigh escapes her lips. "It's going to be weird without you around, Novie."

Novie. If anyone else other than Lisa gave me that nickname, I'd stab them.

"Oh, so Val knew what it was about after all? She wouldn't tell me anything before my meeting." I say with a groan. "And tell me about it, I feel like I'm being flown away from my right to protest." An exasperated sigh escapes me, a grin tugging at Lisa's plump lips as her ginger locks sway.

"Hey, they're right in what they're saying though. If anyone's cut out for the job to replace Richards, it's got to be you." She reassures me, following my steps back towards my cabin.

"If the pressure wasn't on already, it definitely is now." I chuckle, inhaling sharply through my gritted teeth. Reaching my cabin, I push open the door. Lisa follows behind me.

Lisa Hart has been my partner in The Falcons for the past year. She's 30 years old; so older than me, although she joined later. Since she's been here, as well as being my co-captain, I think she views me as a younger sister. Not the type of younger sister whose hair you braid and sing lullabies to.

More like the type of younger sister who you have to cover for in raging gunfire. She gazes over at me with a frown on her freckled face.

"When do you leave?"

"A week today. The 30th." I groan, rubbing my eyes, "I feel like everything I've got established here is just going to vanish completely."

She shakes her head, offering me a smile. "Not true. You've made a whole lot of differences to this group. Them differences aren't going to change as soon as you leave. Besides, it's not a permanent thing, right?"

My answer is nothing more than a mere shrug. I have no idea if this will be permanent. I certainly fucking hope not. Lisa's grin reverses as she notices my lack of response.

"Damn. I can tell this is a lot to take in for you, especially so suddenly. Any reason why they can't delay it a few weeks?"

"Apparently they've got a big mission coming up that they 'need me on board for'. Not a clue when that is, but I'm guessing it must be pretty soon for me to get shoved 'outta the door." An exasperated laugh escapes my mouth. Lisa squeezes my shoulders gently and reassuringly.

"They've got a lot of faith in you. Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed that you're leaving. Try to look on the bright side, the Hawk group will get to see what a big deal you are." She teases, clearly making an effort to cheer me up.

"Well, Leo Hendrix is my new fucking partner. Of all goddamn officers between the groups," I utter, earning a tense stare from her in response.

"Oh, that's definitely not a good thing," she mumbles. She's heard all about my animosity with him in '99.

"Well, just try to not think about him for now. I'm sure you'll get on just fine with the rest of the Hawks. Well, I'm not sure, but I have high hopes." She grins teasingly, "and who knows, maybe Hendrix isn't the same as he was back then."

I chew on my bottom lip in thought. "Yeah, hopefully not, or we're going to have a big fucking issue."

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30/05/2002 - 9am

I owe most of my organisation to Lisa. Whilst I've been busy fixing up the last tasks I need to finish before I leave, Lisa has been organising all of my things.

Everything is neatly packed in my case, tactical gear separate. There's no way that it would have fit in with the rest of my shit.

She stands up beside me and passes the handle of my case. "I just had one issue when I was packing your stuff." A grin tugs at the corner of her lips.

"Let me guess, the guns?"

"Right on. Some are in your case, although the rifle wouldn't fit. I think that's going to have to ride on your shoulder for the trip." She chuckles, handing the black, glossy assault rifle over to me.

I nod and swing it over my shoulder, taking one last look at my empty cabin before walking out with Lisa.

"I owe you one. Thanks for helping me get my shit together, Lis." I grin gratefully, heading in the location of our helipad.

I can already see the surrounding trees being whooshed sideways from the force of the blades. The familiar sound of the rhythmic wing slap is already in earshot.

Walking across the base, a few other agents stop and say their goodbyes too me. As composed as I always seem, my heart is thumping like the blades of the chopper.

Nervousness isn't something I deal with, but right now it's overworking every gear of my system. All I keep telling myself is that it's the anticipation. Or maybe it's because I have to work with him.

Standing aside of the chopper; almost getting blown away, is Commander Vincent. He trudges over and meets Lisa and I halfway.

"How're you feeling, Shields?"

"Perfectly fine." I reply with a sarcastic grin. He chuckles and gives me a pat on the shoulder.

"I know for a fact you'll be perfectly fine. 'Go get your ass on that chopper and do a good job. Try and not have any issues on the first day, ay?" He grins. My head sways up and down in a nod.

"Definitely not my intention, Commander V." A half-smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. He gives me a final rub on the shoulder.

My attention then turns to Lisa, who suddenly yanks me forward into a sisterly hug. Hugs haven't been my thing for years, but I can't say no to Lis.

"Try not to die, okay Novie?" She chuckles, a hint of seriousness laced in her voice.

"Dying isn't on my agenda, don't worry." I grin as she releases the hug. She nods and stands back next to Vincent. I haul my case onto the chopper and pick up my PNR headset, sliding it over my hair. Throwing a final wave to Lisa and Vincent, I slide the door shut and don't look back.

I guess there's only one way forward.