[@AtomicNut]

Fourteen, she said. So it seemed as if his estimation wasn't off the mark. It didn't serve to alleviate Harold's ongoing confusion however, so his reply was a curt and resigned "Okay."

He looked left and right, sweeping his gaze across the entire room and silently judging his squadmates-to-be while thinking of a reply to offer to the Sigma's offhand question. They all looked confused or anxious or both, though Harold was no exemption. The crying girl, Elora, as she introduced herself, looked as if she really had no place here. Serah, too, but for another reason. But then again, he reasoned, this was no conventional military unit. This was a batch that dealt in experimental weaponry. Harold wasn't sure whether to be worried or to be honored.

But hey - it's not like he didn't ask for this.

His gaze returned to Sigma's petite form. Her silver hair really caught the eye. She'd be beautiful, thought Harold, if she aged just a bit more. "You were asking why I'm not broken?" he finally asked, regaining his composure from the shock of seeing children. "I saw you eyeing this medal I have here on my chest. Yes, I've fought the Cruxi before. If you're talking about combat fatigue, I'll tell you," he smiled, and then shrugged. "That I don't know. Some men break and some men don't and I suppose some people just don't have the right stuff for fighting."

Harold stepped up, raising his voice to finally introduce himself. "Alright guys, I am Cadet Harold Buell. I graduated as a starfighter pilot from Bastion Alexandria and also participated in its defense some months ago. After that battle, I was promoted to Lieutenant and awarded a Knight's Cross, but due to this and that regarding the Framewerks, I'm back to my trainee rank - Cadet. Yeah, I know - the bullshit Command pulls at times; I'm surprised I even got to keep the medal. Anyway, I pilot the Rostosov. I think it's in this base. It's a heavy mech with big guns and heavy armor."

Then he added, "I've also been in the hospital for a time so I don't know jack about how it works yet. If they're looking for officers among our group - then hell, I spent two years as one and turned a batch of a hundred boys into thirty men worthy of fighting the Aliens as a starfighter instructor. Most of them died, but they died in glory and took at least two Cruxi bastards for each one of them."

It was turning into a speech. He raised his voice just a bit higher. Damn it, he thought - he wasn't good at speeches, but none of his mates-to-be had any combat experience. He felt an obligation to guide them.

"Let me tell you all something about this upcoming battle - the lady and the scientist did [i]not[/i] mention that we were supposed to fight each other - correct me if I'm wrong. Since our Frames are all really diverse weapons systems, I don't think it would make sense either for pilots to fight each other. I'm thinking - that our mechs are complementary, that as a group they form an effective battle force, but individually they are weak. Now, I've lead men before, and I've fought before, and I've seen the same thing - really specific units that are useless on their own, but when combined with other specialist weapons systems, make a potent fighting formation. You don't tell a Bomber Squadron to attack a Fighter Squadron because those two types of craft have specific roles in the battlefield. Asking us to fight each other would be exactly as telling Bombers to engage Fighters - pointless."

"So in the case that we're going to be fighting [i]with[/i] as opposed to [i]against[/i] each other, I'll be able to help you guys. I specialize in piloting but I think I picked up a couple of things from the Marines about surface warfare before I got blown up and my arm got ugly." He rolled back his left sleeve to reveal the scars. "If the opposite happens and we do have to shoot at each other, well - I can't do anything about that. God help us all in that case."