<strong>Near Denver International Airfield</strong><br/><br/>The bar at the edge of the Denver Airfield was rather large, looking like a 'classical' Saloon from the wild west. The clientele, however were less 'cowboys' and more 'leather-clad, rowdy, and inclined to have a strong drink, a warm bed, and maybe a companion for the night'<br/><br/>The bartender, a large bald man with a muttonchop moustache, slid a seventh shot to the young woman sitting near the register, letting her keep drinking. "So, how many is that? Third one? I'm not going to be able to refer anymore young bucks to you, girl."<br/><br/>Next to her, a lanky man with a potbelly scratched his nose, then took a long pull from his beer. "Your plane's fixed up, at least as best as I can offer. Needed a new prop, as well as repairing a few bullet holes. Whatever was left of your wingman was cooked onto the engine, though. need to pull the entire thing if you want it clean."<br/><br/>Scarlet swirled her shot glass slightly for a bit before knocking it back. "...He was an idiot. So were there rest of them; so what's that make... 3 now? You've got a bit of a disappointing track record for referrals..." she said to the barkeep. "Don't feel bad though.." she started leaning off of her stool as though she was about to fall off of it, and then snapped back. "You do make a mean 44 Bullets..."<br/><br/>She slammed the glass down and looked at the repairman slightly crookedly. She was obviously a bit more than buzzed at this point. "Well pull the engine then... I ain't flying in no butcher shop with... with... wings! That's it... wings..."<br/><br/>The barman growled, pointing a thick finger at her. "If he was an idiot, then you, Scarlet, are a goddamn imbecile, and should be locked up for your own safety. Every time you come in here your plane's a shot-up wreck, you're sporting some new injury that needs bandages, and you're nowhere close to finding out anything new."<br/><br/>He leaned forwards, looking her in the eye. "Now; if you're going to insult someone, fine. But speak ill of the dead, and I'll turf your ass so hard you'll leave skid marks on the road outside. Got it?"<br/><br/>The mechanic shrugged, looking her over. "Gonna be expensive. Two thousand. Up front. Pulling the Engine is the easy part. the Cleanup is what'll take a few days."<br/><br/>Scarlet shrugged and sighed. "I don't expect people to understand. But you're right... I was out of line... he did his best... that's all I could have asked for. If anything you've given me the bravest and well... yeah. " she buried her head in her hands, not crying but just not looking at anyone. When she heard the mechanic, she took another deep breath and sighed.<br/><br/>"Forget it then... I'll be damned if I can afford that with these repairs happening so often these days..."<br/><br/>The bartender shrugged, and slid a key across the bar to her. "I think you've had enough to drink for now, Scarlet. First room on the left when you go up the stairs. Free of charge for tonight."<br/><br/>The mechanic smiled, pulling a cap over his balding pate. "I'll see what I can do about what's left, but there's probably going to be a.... smell until the engine gets pulled out and everything scrubbed as much as possible."<br/><br/>Scarlet got up from the stool and stumbled a bit, almost falling over. She, rather comically, pulled herself back up to the bar and took the key. "Thanks... might want to keep the recipe for that 44 Bullets on hand..." she smiled and nodded at the mechanic. "Yeah yeah... I'll give you a little extra to be thorough, too; without pulling the engine out, of course."<br/><br/>She drifted down the hall to the stairs, and took each step one at a time, with each hand on the railings. By the time she got to the top she overshot her room once, then twice, spent about five minutes fumbling with the key and then an audible sound of her slumping on the bed could be heard.<br/><br/><strong>Aboard the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, Currently En-route to Denver</strong><br/><br/>Johnston listened to the navigator's description of the battle, then nodded to himself. "I saw that from here, actually. The Devastator unloaded directly into the last Defender's nose, until the Defender appeared to spit most of its engine out of the hole. I think the pilot was bagged by a few rounds as well, but I'm not certain."<br/><br/>Pausing, he swirled the brandy in his glass, and took another sip, hearing a pair of feminine voices in the hallway. "Unless I'm mistaken, it sounds like two of the pilots are here already."