The period of slow, lazy circling over RAF Lossiemouth was a welcome break after the hectic dogfight. Everett brought them into a comfortable orbit over the airfield and activated the aircraft's autopilot. He released the controls with a sigh and looked out the window on his side, wincing as he saw the small fires that were a direct result of his final attack on the Tu-95. Part of his mind knew that had he not destroyed the aircraft, the damage would have been a lot worse. However, that did little to ease his guilt of having opened fire on a stricken plane. It was made even worse by the lack of admonishments from his fellow pilots - during his days in the PLAAF, it had been frowned upon for pilots to pursue damaged aircraft for a kill unless they had a specific order to do so.

"It had to be done, Evy." Zola said gently, as if reading his mind, and placed a hand on his arm. 

"I know," Everett said with a sigh. "It's just the uncertainty of it all and hindsight playing its games in my head. Those bombs could have still been unarmed, or the aircraft could have cleared Lossiemouth."

"It was combat, there was no time to consider all the possibilities." Zola said and smirked. "Come on, Evy, you've been a pilot long enough to know that."

Their radios sparked to life before Everett could respond, and what he heard only dampened his spirits even further. The skirmish had been nothing more than a distraction thrown halfheartedly at them by the UNWO. It was a minimal loss, maximum potential gain for them - if the bombers made it through, they would have leveled one more UN airbase and thus score a victory. If the bombers were lost, as they were, it would just be a minor defeat. Those few aircraft were by no means going to put a dent in the UNWO airforce, not by a longshot. "So much for a victory," Everett muttered.

"I wonder how the UNWO got so far into UN territory, though." Zola wondered aloud and furrowed her brow. "Last I checked, Gibraltar's pretty far into Europe."

"Maybe they hit the Spaniards while they were having their siesta." Everett said dryly, earning him a snort of laughter from Zola. "Either way, it's not our job to wonder how, we're here to just defend whatever the UN has left." He placed his hands back on the control column and turned sharper towards the heading specified by their AWACS controller. It suddenly made sense to Everett as to why the Avalon Institute had steadfastly pushed for an upgrade to the Fencer for carrier-borne operations; they had been flexible with just about every other arrangement. "Ever took part in any carrier-borne operations?" Everett asked.

Zola shook her head. "Nope, but I'm not the one putting us down." She said and patted Everett on the back. "Just don't splatter us against the ship and I'll be fine."

"Say until like easy liddat." Everett murmured beneath his breath, slipping into the broken form of English that was widely known as 'Singlish'. Even after countless years away from his home nation, he found it hard to drop the creole or even the accent, though the latter had been greatly tempered by his years going from country to country. He flew them on a straight and level course towards where the carrier was, the two of them chatting intermittently about anything and everything along the way, as they used to do when they flew alongside one another in Africa, though this time it was in person rather than over the radio. It was all routine - they exited the range of their AWACs and were picked up by the carrier's on-board air controllers - but what they saw was far from normal. 

The carrier looked liked someone had taken a proper aircraft carrier and smashed it into a submarine, creating something that looked vaguely like both. "Fuck me, we're supposed to land on that?" Zola said, her eyes wide with surprise at what she was seeing and voice filled with incredulity, voicing both her's and Everett's thoughts. "Which genius thought up this fucking thing?"

Everett did not reply, too busy trying to figure out how he was going to approach the carrier. They were going to have to land from the front, rather than from the rear like conventional carriers. He had to do it right the first time as well - aborting the landing too late or overshooting the runway would result in them being smashed against the submarine like a bug against a windshield. "Well, we're going to have to land on it." Everett said and mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. It would be like landing on the various PLAN aircraft carriers during his time with the PLAAF, only in the opposite direction.

Like Excalibur One, when it came to their turn, Everett did a few trial runs to find the best way to approach the flight deck. "Excalibur Eleven, the runway will be approaching you, so take care to reduce speed at a greater rate than you are used to. Remember to deploy your arrestor hook and try to put your aircraft down close to the front end of the runway and you should be fine." Everett said over his radio and gulped. The time for practicing was over. "Well, Zola, ready?"

"As ever as I'll ever be," Zola said uncertainly and shook her head. "Goddamn, I feel more nervous than when I'm entering combat."

"Right, then." Everett said and went on final approach towards the runway. "Excalibur Eleven, follow my lead and you'll do fine."

As the Fencer closed the distance between it and the runway, Everett reduced speed accordingly, reducing and increasing the rate based on how much distance he had left to cover. At the same time, he kept an eye on his airspeed indicator to avoid falling below stalling speed. "Nearly there," He said, more to reassure himself than anything else, and lowered the landing gears. He pitched the nose of his aircraft up and raised the spoilers, feeding some power to the engines when his speed was decreasing too quickly for his liking. Not long after, he felt a rough bump as the Fencer touched down, followed by another one when the nose gear hit the runway. Then, he felt a short, sharp jerk as the arrestor hook grabbed onto one of the cables.

"We're down. Powering down engines." Everett said and began the drill to power down his aircraft as they were towed to an elevator which brought them down to the cramped hangar below decks. By the time the Fencer was towed into its designated spot, Everett had completed his landing checklist and popped the canopy open once he felt his aircraft come to a complete stop. The ground crew hurried ladders to both sides of the cockpit and Everett and Zola wasted no time in exiting the Fence, eager to stretch their legs.

"Well," Zola said once her boots touched the floor of the hangar. "That was exciting. The landing, I mean."

"More than the dogfight, I'll say." Everett agreed with a nod and looked around him. Their squadron leader's aircraft was already in the hangar, and now they were just awaiting the rest of their squadron to land before the expected debriefing. Until then, Everett was content with just standing in front of his aircraft and enjoying the benefits of remaining stationary.