Gurjan silently fiddled around with his control panel, the commander hadn't really said much directly to him, so he assumed everything was A-OK, still, couldn't hurt to keep a close eye on the ship's systems just in case something did go wrong. He perked up when control announced they would be launching. He had only once made the mistake of not bracing himself for launch, and that time had seen him hurtling through a training flight like an aimless fool. He stared straight ahead to the launch tube. The magnetic launch charged up, a feeling that made his fur stand on end.

Gurjan always liked to play a little game to keep his mind from dozing off in the moments before a launch. Guessing when the fighter would launch exactly. Mentally he counted down from three... Two...one... Nothing. Approximately two counts later, he was pressed into his chair by the acceleration. It was this moment for which Gurjan had signed in the first place. The feeling of being free from any larger mass, to be but a small speck hurtling through the Stygian black of space... He would have to write that one down after the mission. With learned movement, he wrested the sabre into formation behind the lead craft. It wasn't long until the mission objective reported in. Orders were clear, stick close to mission objective. One arm adjusted the sabre's throttle, another gently nudged the controls around to move into the new formation. For a few more moments, the Isorlai adjusted course, just one or two degrees at a time, before finally being satisfied with the angle with which he was following eagle eye



The minutes passed by slowly. As important as this mission likely was, it didn't change the fact that it wasn't particularly mentally engaging. Gurjan was somewhat struggling to keep himself fully alert. He knew that when things went south, a split second could mean the difference between success or failure. And yet he couldn't help himself dozing off ever so slightly. It was almost a good thing in a certain way that the routine of staring at a claymore's exhaust trail was broken by a ping from the commander. It took him just a moment to notice that which the commander had called to attention. He was now completely alert and awaiting orders. “Roger wild fyre lead, keeping bogeys in sight. Over”

His thoughts raced, he got a look around to see where he rest of the squad were, if shit hit the fan he would need to know exactly were his wingmen were before everything turned into a furball. Perhaps luckily, he didn't need to make a call for himself as to the intentions of the tallied bogeys, as the commander ordered all weapons hot. He just needed to follow orders, and those orders right now were to keep the rear flank covered. “Roger, they aren't gonna mess with our escort as long as I'm still here.” He kept his eyes starkly on the arrays of sensors and radars before him, ready to snap  the sabre around and open fire the moment someone decided to rear their head.