The transfer flight was comfortably, if tediously, routine. The majority of the route had been overwater, and the Ultrahornet cruised comfortably just below the mach limit at high altitude. The only break from routine monitoring of the flight controls for the pair of Faceless pilots aboard was a scheduled rendezvous with an in-flight refuelling tanker just before the big jet went feet-dry over the coast of  Remoni. The big multi-engined tanker/transport had turned up on time, and Amita had guided the F-18U with a deft and steady hand into contact with the drogue trailing behind the tanker, breaking the long silence of the flight to communicate in clipped and firm tones with the crew. 

Ajay, sat in the rear cockpit of the big jet, didn't speak up much if at all. Fidgety and bored as they both were after the hours spent in the confines of the jet, they were still Faceless, and thus still under the tight shroud of secrecy. As much as both he and his pilot yearned to exchange banter or even idle chit-chat with any other person at this point, they had to keep communication to the barest minimums regulations and safety demanded. 
       As the tanker broke away after transferring the poundage of fuel to keep their tanks topped up, the pair guided their aircraft over the coastline that spread out from horizon to horizon below them, a patchwork of colour as fields, hills, woodlands and urbanisation that spread out. 
       "Not too long now," Amita spoke up at last, as the HUD updated with waypoint and navigation information for their destination of Courier airbase, now onlt a handful of minutes cruising away. "I'm looking forward to seeing what it's like. The country looks so green compared to home. What do you think the people will be like?"
       Ajay glanced out of his cockpit windows at the land smoothly moving past below them, growing in detail as Amita put them onto a finer approach to the airbase, the grey blotch of a runway now visible, along with toylike structures of radar warning antennae visible nearby, large even at this altitude and distance. He replied in his normal quiet-but-strong voice as he turned his attention back to his displays. 
      "I'm not sure; the other Faceless will be interesting, I've never met others before now. I'm curious to find out what their lives have been like compared to ours, how their training and backgrounds are different. And as for this country... I don't know. I'm eager to fly alongside others, and to get into action. But fighting against another nation, rather than the Royalists, that'll be a challenge. They're bound to be a lot better equipped and trained. I think we'll have a lot to learn from the other pilots and personnel".
      "I'm sure we'll have something we can teach them too... or I hope so, anyway," Amita replied, before the ground control cut in over the radio and cleared them in for approach. The dark-skinned Faceless pilot aligned their aircraft with the runway, and with a smooth hum of hydraulics, the landing gear came down and locked into place, the added resistance and drag it provided sending a rumble through the otherwise sleek jets' frame. Nose high, she guided the F-18U into a steep, though smooth approach to the runway. 
       Hangars, blast-hardened aircraft revetments, barracks and all manner of other structures came out of the blur of distance and resolved into detail as the jet dropped toward the runway, the rush of airflow increasing around the aircraft as they dropped lower and their view closed in. Then the black-and-white 'piano keys' at the end of the runway filled the view and with the lightest of bumps, the mainwheels of the undercarriage kissed the ground. Brakes and flaps came down to brake their speed, and then Amita lowered the nose, bringing the plane into full contact and bringing the jet to a smooth stop in half the length of the runway. A 'FOLLOW ME' truck guided them along the taxiways and aprons of the airbase, and both pilots fell prey to curiosity, glancing up from short confirmations and commands as the jet was ushered into its' parking spot, adjacent to a hardened hangar. Within, technicians and support staff swarmed around a pair of mechs. Amita shut the engines down, and the crew ladders extended from below both opening canopies. The pair of Erustan pilots disconnected from their aircraft, unplugging life-support hoses and ejector seat straps before climbing down, their boots meeting the tarmac of the airbase the first time they'd touched ground in eight hours, from one side of the world to the other. 
	A uniformed member of the bases'  complement of personnel met the pair, while around him ground crew began to move over to the Ultrahornet, securing it after the flight. He nodded to the pair and gave them a brisk, but polite welcome, before directing them to the flight operations room to divest themselves of their gear and freshen up, before reporting to the briefing room in time for twenty minutes later, where the more official orientation briefing and introduction would - the pair presumed - be taking place. The same man lead them as a guide in the right direction, showing them to the right personnel to check in and turn in their flight gear.

A short while later, the two were dressed in freshly-donned flight suits as unmarked as Faceless ones ever were. With help once more, the pair of Erustan pilots found themselves on the threshold of the briefing room, hot on the heels of what could, judging by their age and appearances, only be other Faceless personnel. With curious interest, the pair looked over their contemporaries as they spoke up and introduced themselves. Both were male, light-skinned (by comparison, at least), and were, at least apparently, similar in age to Amita and Ajay both. The pair listened attentively as they introduced themselves to catch their designations and call-signs, and were surprised when the first of the two used his name. It was a moment of brief confusion; was this customary among Remani forces, or for Gene's home country? Either way, their attention was diverted as the other young man introduced himself as 'Hot Plate'. 
     Both of their accents were different, as were their body language, but beyond that, there was little to gather from the brief moment. Smoothly stepping up, both Amita and Ajay saluted the man ahead of them; his rank insignia, position at the head of the room, and the presence of guards indicated he was of importance. And aside from that, the others had introduced themselves to him as well.
     "Sir," Amita said firmly and in a clear voice that carried the slight sing-song lilt of her Erustan accent. "95097, Callsign Radiance reporting as ordered".
     "And 95099, Callsign Umbra reporting as ordered, Sir!", Ajay continued, the pair standing at careful attention, eyes only briefly flicking to regard their new fellow pilots. Both were curious, but sure enough they'd find out more very soon.