Today, was a bad day for Ava. 

She is a highly skilled, incredibly talented pilot, someone who earned her Ace rank at such a young age, deserving of her title "Night Witch". She has fought her way across Europe, flown over the barren and harsh wastes of France, going up against the best of the best. 

And to what end? 

Now she carried a Ukrainian dog, helped by someone who only just grasps the concepts of "English" following a Canadian Scanner to an unknown hut in the middle of god knows where, Iceland, freezing her god damn legs off. Exhausted, cold, hungry, and with only a basic Luger as protection as she hefted her squadmate towards the shelter. And low and behold, it was occupied. In fact, the moment Ava noticed the lights in the cabin, she yelled "Gott Dammit!" After some, in what she would call, prolong negotiations, Roland was was able to get everyone inside. Ava simply muttered "Danke" to the strange Caribbean soldier as they made their way in. She and her squadmate Ashikaga lowered their beleaguered comrade into a chair, finally allowing Ava to observe the cabin with more freedom. It was simple, almost quaint if it wasn't for the now large group of veteran pilots standing inside, trying to warm up from the walk. Glancing around, her gaze came to rest on the stranger who had helped them. 

Finding a spot on the wall, she leaned back and stretched, "Mein Gott that was a long flight...." she muttered as she stretched. Now leaning against the wall, Ava finally had a chance to size up the helpful stranger. He was young, muscular, a strapping young man to say the least. It caused Ava to laugh a little inside, as he reminded her of some ad in a prewar magazine she had once found. "So... Mr. Caribbean, you said you flew this far north for.... imperialistic purposes?" Ava started, trying to get some more information out the guy. She found it odd that the some organization based so far south go so far north, and east, for that matter.