Scott watched and gave an affirmative nod and a brief thought of thanks to who or whatever was listening for each of the squadrons' planes that made it to the deck. Even the most routine of carrier landings was still a hair-raising prospect to anyone - successfully landing a multi-million dollar supersonic aircraft on a moving ship many times smaller than a normal runway with limited fuel and the possibility of any one of the thousands of moving parts on either going wrong was something that made one question their sanity. It was no wonder that each landing bordered on an emergency at the best of times.
The two F-15's, a C and a Strike Eagle that came in were both damaged and raised many eyebrows. One was smoking and wavering, and the crash-crews were on standby as the sleek aircraft landed - but thankfully, there were no issues with either aircrafts' landing. Everything else went smoothly, with only Kat's A-10 suffering from low fuel as it approached the boat. With the sudden scramble and the attack on the base, it was more than likely there weren't enough of the KA-6 tankers to go around - otherwise, he imagined the Thunderbolt would've been directed to refuel before attempting the landing. Either way, she made it down successfully too, completing a full recovery of all the aircraft currently assigned to his command and the small but potent squadron. 

Scott looked on with curiosity as the group of pilots assembled. He noted Misaki getting into a tussle with the deck crew and inwardly winced; any pilot worth the name knew that cussing out the maintenance group was a surefire way to end up with a whole heap of resentment, and a bad working relationship. That would be something that needed looking at. If the F-2 had been grounded, then there would have been a real and serious reason for it. 

"Here they come," said St. Helen, looking on as the pilots approached. "Remember anything about any of them?"
"More than you'd expect," he replied with a smirk. "Do you?"
"No, I don't have to command them. I just make sure you don't get yourself and me into trouble when we're flying. You got the big job, remember?"
"Thanks for reminding me."

The pilots mostly clustered around him, in a momentarily quiet spot of the ever-busy deck (in fact, he was surprised they hadn't been hustled out of the way yet), and the introductions came thick-and-fast.
[quote]"Dmitry Aleksei Novikoff, codename Stalin, at your service and it is an honor to be part of your squadron. Dobroho ranku, good morning. Uh-" he threw a glance over his shoulder at the next aircraft to land on the carrier to see if it would land safely or if it had to loop around for another attempt.  "Actually, a pretty bad fucking morning, da? Glad everyone is OK."[/quote]
[quote]"Knight One I assume?" Rodriguez asked before saluting the pilots. "Rodriguez Hefferman; callsign Spirit reporting in. I'm afraid the circumstances of our meeting here were not under the best of terms."[/quote]
[quote]"Call-sign Charnel reporting in." he said with a beaming smile "Though my friends call me Marciano, good to finally meet you all face to face and also while not getting shot at."[/quote]
[quote]"Callsign Kat reporting." She glanced at the others, waiting for further orders as they were. She knew trying to ask questions would be useless and only add confusion.[/quote]
St Helene stood to one side, as Scott returned the salutes all at once, his own salute somewhat casual and relaxed, but still showing a good edge. 
"Thanks, everyone. You're right; I am Knight One, otherwise known as Heartbreak, or Captain Valentine. This here's Razorblade, or Lieutenant Commander Carter. I'm your CO in the Black Knights; welcome t' the show. That was some mighty fine flyin' I saw up there, especially accountin' for the hasty scramble an' all too."
He looked over the faces around him; all of them were different and varied in appearance, and represented a good cross-section of the Mercenary Company as a whole. Momentarily he found his eyes drawn to Kat's feline ears, dwelling on them a moment before smiling and nodding to her as he continued to speak.
"Maintenance'll take care of yer planes fer now. We got a briefing scheduled with General Thomas - Thunderbolt One - but I ain't aware of the time and location other than 'on the ship', so I'd suggest y'all fall out to the mess hall, get some chow and relax a little. I'll come join you shortly when I get the scoop on the meetin' location, and we'll get a... 'informal meet' in too, so we can actually get to know who the heck each other are." He shrugged apologetically and scratched the back of his head. "Hate ta say it, but I'm as thrown inta this as you are. I did have notes and slides an' all that crap... but they're not much use right now under three feet of water, or burnt to a crisp. Anyhow - Razorblade'll show ya the way. If you'll excuse me, I gotta go rescue our Japanese pilot from bein' thrown overboard".
St Helen beckoned them to follow her into the conning tower, and lead them below decks and forward, away from the busy and active carrier deck, and into the bowels of the ship, toward the forward mess. The thump and crash of aircraft landing or taking off was a constant presence, as was the continuous stream of men and women going about their business, keeping the floating city alive. 
After a half-dozen ladders and doors, the short redhead lead them into a bustling mess hall, and the queue for food. Breakfast had evidently been extended, given the chaos, and there was a hustle to the room, along with the buzz of conversation and the mouth-watering smell of food. Like most PMC's, Thunderbolt Black ate better than the military, but with the same efficiency in the kitchens service. 
Scooping up a plate of food - bacon, eggs, hash browns, and the rest - she lead the way to a table and colonised it for the squadron. 
"So," she said before tucking in. "Hell of a first day as a squadron, right...."

Up on the deck, Scott headed over to where Misaki held a bloody rag to her head, as a deck crewman stood facing her, looking awkward as she ranted about her jet. Scott was about to step in, before the maintenance Crew Chief stepped up, a look like blood-and-thunder on his craggy face.
"Hey," he ground out, his square jaw set and a furious look in his face. "You're the pain in the ass that's chewing out my crews for doing our fucking jobs, right?" He glared at her. "Well, you wanna know why your Viper was in maintenance, it's because our pre-flight maintenance inspection found a fatigue crack in one of the engine compressor blades, so we had to pull your bird in for emergency maintenance on the engine. In other words," he said, deliberately spelling it out for her with a point of his finger, "We pulled the bird off of the flight line, because if we'd let it fly, it would've [i]blown up your plane, and possibly killed you[/i] So just to get it straight, [i]we saved your ass.[/i] He backed up and shook his head. "Fucking flyboys," he growled, and waved his hand, dismissing the argument. "Your jet is fixed, and being finished. It should be ready for your next sortie, [i]your highness"[/i].
He gave a passing glance to Scott with a nod, before he headed off to take care of the next plane coming in with damage from the fracas over the island. Scott looked back to Misaki, and raised an eyebrow, nodding to the gash on her head. 
"How's the head? Need to have Corpsman look at that for you? I'm Heartbreak, your new squadron leader. Good job getting that F-15 back on the deck in the shape it was in... though I hope you don't bring all your birds home in that way. Come on - if you're okay without the doc, then the rest of the squadron are in the forward mess. I'll be sorting out a briefing".
He picked up her helmet and handed it back, before giving a slight amused smile. 
"And... as a word of advice; feel free to ignore it, at your own peril... Maintenance crews love the planes as much as their pilots. Anything they do, they do with a damn good reason. Pissing all over their decisions? Not gonna help you out in the long run. And I need every pilot and every plane in my squadron at their best... unless you wanna find someone else to fly with".
He shrugged amicably and headed into the conning tower, directing her toward the mess, and the rest of the squadron.

In the meantime, he headed by the ops room and got the info - their briefing was in an hours' time. It should give them all enough time to change out of their survival gear and into regular flight suits, and decompress a little from the hectic combat they'd endured. He also found the room they'd be meeting in - thankfully, it wasn't due to be occupied before their briefing, and that gave him a chance to snag the area and have a little meeting of his own. 
Giving a sigh of relief that at least [i]something[/i] was sorted out, he headed for the mess hall and the others. 

St Helen had been chatting to everyone. She'd explained how she and Scott were introduced to one another and had flown with Thunderbolt Black in another squadron, before Scott had been tapped to stand up as the lead for the replacement 101st, which had been temporarily disbanded as resources were shifted around. She mentioned that they'd both flown F-14's during the war, and a little about some previous contacts, before Scott reappeared.
"Hello, campers" he sai with a nod. "Good news, our briefing isn't for an hour, so that gives us a short while to get our heads together. The briefing is in the main briefing room on deck 5. Gives us a chance to sign our flight gear over and change out of it, and we can get a brief introduction to each other, and I can let you know a little about me, too. Then I guess it'll be time for the bigwigs' address to us all. Finish up your chow, and we'll get on it."
Scott gathered himself a snack-breakfast of a pastry and a cup of tea, and sat at the table with the rest of them, his helmet alongside him. He nodded to everyone as he looked around. "Hell of a day, but at least we got breakfast. Glad you're all in one piece too. Some of those landings were mighty impressive."