(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7dd1oHkY31rargk6o1_500.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Ilya G. Faustin<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Approaching the USS Georgetown, ending up in the infirmary.<br/><strong>Addressing:</strong>Samantha Jamieson<br/><hr/>The thrusters along the base of the ailerons gave a short burst as the red plane made a roll on its axis to align itself towards the large carrier. It was hard to believe that Ilya had never been into space just a few weeks back. He was already flying like an ace. It had been a mess to get used to the quirky controls of flying in a vacuum, but in the end it was all about learning to fly again. And it wasn't that hard the second time around. Another burst from the pitch brought it in line with the flight deck. He pulled on the collar of the fur lined leather jacket that he wore over the sealed jumpsuit and corrected the goggles of his rebreather as he came in for the final approach. "Red Eagle coming in for landing, over." The was a moment of silence before the reply came. "Negative, Red Eagle, runway is cluttered, there is no room, over." The pilot raised a brow as he corrected the speed and pitch one last time. "Nonsense, there's plenty of room between the bomber and the fuel-tanker." He could hear a sting of panic in the operators voice as his plane came in for the final approach. "That's only a few feet of leeway! If you crash you'll..." Ilya flicked the radio off. He didn't need to hear any buts and ifs. Especially since the operator was right. He had two feet to play with. As the landing gear touched down on the deck people threw themselves out of his way. He bounced, once, twice, rolled towards his intended place between the two highly volatile objects. The break-thrusters fired off, Ilya in full control instead of trusting the autopilot's clockwork sensors. The large red craft slid to a halt a full feet on both sides to the bomber and tanker. "Pizdet'..." he muttered under his breath as he started to get out of his harness "...cluttered my ass."<br/><br/>The rear-mounted bubble canopy swung open and Ilya climbed out of the cockpit, his knees a little weak as gravity had returned to them somewhere along the way on the flight deck. Technicians were running towards his plane as he swung his legs over the side of the cockpit and onto the swept wing. These new Standardized Allied Fighter Planes were impressive in its performance but a bit too fragile for his own tastes. There was only a thin line along the base of the wing where you could actually stand, everywhere else you would permanently damage the aerodynamic symmetry of the craft. He pulled the rebreather helmet off his head as the techs swarmed around him and shook his head. He was startled by the shrill gasp from one of the females.<br/><br/>"You're Ilya Faustin, right?" She held her hands in front of her mouth and the other techs seemed to look upon him with a little more awe now. "The Winged Hero of the Proletariat?" He frowned a little and pulled his duffle out from behind the cockpit-seat. "Not anymore, no." He jumped down from the wing and made his way through the crowd towards the control tower. There was already a bunch of officers gathered around its base, watching him with arms crossed as he approached. He sighed heavily. He already knew what they had to say. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Faustin, impressive display." The smiling captain with his broad Texas accent threw him off his guard and he raised a brow as he stopped dead in his tracks. No yelling about regulations or how he had endangered thousands with his maverick tricks? "The Admiral would like to..." "It will have to wait, Captain. I've been flying from Helsinki non-stop. I need a check-up for blood clots. Could one of the ensigns show me to the infirmary?"<br/><br/>The captain looked a little disappointed, but finally gave a curt nod. Faustin did have a reputation for always making room for his profession first and foremost. "Of course, Lieutenant. I'll tell the Admiral you'll be with him in a while." An ensign saluted Ilya and started off towards the infirmary, the pilot looking back to the captain with a salute of his own in his stride. "Make that this evening, it'll give me a chance to catch an hour or two of sleep." The steep railed steps took him and the ensign down a level, where activity was reaching a fever pitch. Pulling his long fingers through his slick black hair Ilya gripped his duffle bag tighter. He was paying so much attention to not collide with someone that he actually managed to do so. Paper fluttered through the air in front of him and through the printed white sheets he saw the surprised face of a very beautiful woman. He stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. How had he not seen her coming?<br/><br/>"Chyort voz'mi! I'm so sorry, let me help you with that!"