Belasý was torn between approval of Kaneda's character and disgust that a captain would set so biased a goal, and then reward the one to complete it. Did he want to encourage dissent? The supers she'd known as a girl had been fiercely competitive, even while molded into groups that would work well together.
She'd never fit with any of them, and she'd paid for that, as she'd paid for her defiance, as she'd paid for having powers in the first place. It wasn't all that much of a reward, she supposed, but it was addressed like some sort of honor. Sure it was a nice gun, but they were very common in America. It was a symbol, little more, but then what was the point at all?
At least the little pep talk focused on teamwork, and absolute must for any fighting group, but in the end her opinion of the captain was diminished. Her regard for Kaneda did not change apart from the improvement it had already seen when he'd fallen in with Izkry, and she let her gaze focus on the ground. Her brother gave Kaneda a wide grin, openly glad for the man's success. His smile lingered as they marched too the mess hall, fading only upon discovering what the Americans called "spaghetti". He'd not yet had the misfortune to encounter this particular dish.
Sitting next to his sister at one end of a bench, he poked the soggy noodles drenched in the distinctly American condiment with his fork, his expression one of wary incredulity. "I am not thinking this is spaghetti," he said aloud, impressed all over again by what passed for cuisine in this country. Not that the army ate all that well -- he'd been to a proper restaurant a few times, and that was far better, but no self-respecting European would consume such...dubious fare. He'd been surprised the first time afield, as the Swiss army in general ate very well. The bagged and canned meals they'd used from another country were not very good. He'd been shocked at the sad state of the British Army's meals.
The Americans, however, were in a class all their own.
Perhaps this is why they are seen as fat and tasteless, he thought, nudging the worm-like noodles one last time before taking a deep breath and digging it. You just had to do your best not to smell or taste it, that was all. And pray it didn't give you indigestion. He glanced around at the others, noting their expressions. Kaneda's comment got an outright grin. "Yes, I think you are right. Maybe we are fighting Italians, but I do not think they would serve even their enemies such a meal. ...No offense, Frauline Maria." He'd never had anything against her for her ancestry, even as he hoped the rest would forgive him his own. "I think we must find a new word for what they give us here. Even 'food' is generous, yes? Perhaps...Ah! I have it. The mess hall, they serve the ufos." He pronounced the acronym poorly, closer to "oo-foh" than actual letters. Belasý raised an eyebrow at him, and he indicated his meal. "Unbekanntes -- ah, unknown food object," he explained. "Ufo -- that is the correct word, yes?" he asked of the only American at the table, hoping he'd gotten it right.
Bel had no issue eating what she was given, but her irrepressible sibling had truly outdone himself, and she made a noise that fell somewhere between a snort and a muffled laugh. The word fit all too well, she agreed, turning her attention back to her plate. Talk turned to where they they expected to be deployed, and she frowned. They'd yet to complete training. Surely they wouldn't be ordered out early, and risk another disaster.
Then again, command always had issues. It was inevitable.
"Montgomery, he is a commander I would server under gladly," Izkry agreed. "I hear good things of his planning, and his ideas of combining forces, but that he is perhaps even a bit too cautious. I could not say, strategy is not my thing. But he inspires his men, and that is important. Still, we cannot forget Rommel. I hear he is remarkable, versatile...and widely respected. Even by the Italians. Even by those he faces on the field. Do not underestimate him. He will not go easy." He washed another bite down with a drink. At least that tasted alright. "But invading France, as I hear them talking about, there is no way. We have seen what is there, and...Bel, she says trying to land an army there, it would be a massacre. There would need to be some crack already available on that coast, or some complex diversion. And you know what they say about complex plans." The young man sighed. "The Resistance, they are the best hope for France. Supporting them will do more good than anything else."
The mention of being dropped out of a plane behind enemy lines earned Kaneda another smile. "Ah, yes -- they might. That is how it went last time. And it would work for a close team, perhaps, one that could fit in. But we have a Russian, an Italian, a man of faith, a Frenchman, a pair that might pass for German, a Jap, a black man, and another American besides. And the Spaniard. As a group, we do not even fit with each other, and I am not sure how much disguising it would take. That was a problem before -- the lack of fluency, the visible disparity. I hope the ones giving orders think better this time." He rubbed his head with a grimace, and was glad to have the conversation turned to airplanes. Anton's answer would be interesting for sure. Izkry found him amicable, and liked discussing engines with him.
Bel ate the rest of her meal in silence, frowning at Oscar's muttering but keeping her thoughts to herself. She would keep her eye on him. If he tried to betray them she would be ready. But for now she occupied herself with considering the various people that were now her comrades. The Russian woman, she seemed isolated, and it didn't help that she spoke so little English. Bel resolved yet again to try to make an effort to approach her, but she'd yet to follow through very well. The Japanese man and the Frenchman were decent. John was sweet but he was going to get himself in real trouble. He would need to adapt fast or he would die, and they couldn't afford to baby him. Maria too needed to try harder -- and Oscar, while fit, was hopeless. She wondered yet again if they would ever be ready. The newest man -- the black fellow with the scarring and damaged skin -- was too new for her to know well. He was also very quiet, and her gaze lingered on him the longest where he sat almost across from her, her bright eyes watching him from behind the dark locks that hid much of her face from view. If he caught her staring she offered him just the slightest of smiles, barely more than an upward twitch at the corner of her mouth before turning away. The little she'd seen of him had made her decide that he looked much like she felt: someone who'd been forced into a role he never wanted. She'd heard someone say "experimental" regarding him, and that further cemented the image. Bel knew that life far too well.
"Hey now," Izkry protested when Kaneda suggested running again, even if it would hardly be an issue for those two. "I want to see this race. Give me a minute to finish -- I am almost done!"
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