The loud tiger-esque purr of Duchess' engine was relaxing. In fact, everything about the aircraft was relaxing, it was so familiar. Izabelle looked out the side of the cockpit to see the border of Scotland coming into view, the wind rushing past the open style cockpit. It had been a long few days. She'd flown from Eastern Russia, all the way across Europe throughout the week and had stopped in England to refuel and rearm, but more so to rest. That was when the letter had been given to her, a call to arms from Albion's Avengers. To journey across the ocean to America, her lifelong dream.

She began her descent towards the airfield, turning on the dim navigation lights that pulsed rhythmically on the wingtips. The engines purr slowly quieted down to a dull roar as she pulled back on the worn throttle lever and the whole aircraft shuddered, almost as if it was silently protesting the landing. Duchess trembled as the wheels made contact with the runway, and while this would've made most pilots nervous, Izzy knew the aircraft inside and out. This was one of its few quirks, just like the touchy throttle and the split second delay between pulling the trigger and the response from the guns. She quickly slowed down the aircraft and let it coast to a halt on the tarmac, shutting down the engines and locking up the cockpit after hopping out.

Izzy's boots clicked on the hallway floors, giving a slight echo that was fairly audible. She turned the corner into the common room and looked around at the various pilots gathered before taking a seat off in the corner on her own, pulling off her wool lined jacket and long sleeve under layer to let the cold air out and warm herself up. Izzy didn't bother with coffee, it was bitter and kept her awake. She had a hard enough time getting to sleep without it. After a few minutes she became impatient and openly asked "So...who's in charge 'ere?", her Soviet-esque accent quite evident in her english.

After listening in on the briefing, her decision on the route was clear. Her plane didn't have enough fuel for the lengthy trip over the ocean, not to mention the wicked storms they would face. She quickly opted in to take the island hopping route. Izabelle knew they had a better chance to survive a fighter attack than a monsoon.