Epilogue

The small grey silhouetted figure of an IAFS launch slowly soared it's way down through the large imposing doors of the fleet's pride and joy - Nonother than the unofficial prize flagship, Thee Tradech.

 As the small craft landed and a pair of extending steps made it's way forward out from the main doorway-exit, four young men and women made their way down the steps.

 A couple offering thanks to the pilot and Co-pilot, who in turn offered what migth of been seen as a look of pity, along with an accompanying nod of acknowledgement.

The four youths, fresh off the back of graduation from Bannerman-Ducal City's premier private-cadet training facility, one of many front's for IAFS on Abhaile - Filed out making their way through the impressive hanger, commenting on and admiring the various different Vijaiks and Casnels that they passed along the way.

 One member of the group, with something of a look of group leader about him, stepped ahead of the rest and inquired to a man that stood admiring his own gleaming Golden-Casnel

The man promptly pointed them in the direction of the large mecha-lift to the back of the cavernous room. Following this route the group of eager eyed youngsters soon found their way down to the under-hanger, an equally tall but much smaller room, with less colour to its metallic walls.

Both more dimly lit and less populated than the previous room, around them they observed six Vijaik machines - 4 of which gleaned to such an extend that one could almost smell the fresh factory paint off them.

 Two further machines at the end of the room showed far more ware, one had clearly had ad-hoc bits of plating added and repairs done to it - Most clearly around it's shield, waist armour area and extensive retrofitting of its leg thrusters.

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As for the other it too had clearly been repaired at some length, parts of it seemingly covered in soot and intentionally left unattended burn marks and paint stripping of what looked to have been a great fire.

This second mech also pertained a large haphazardly painted number '27' on the side of it's right hand shoulder and although the recruits couldn't see it from their vantage point, a similar marking was apparent on the opposite side with the number '26' on it.

Standing in the large expanse of space between all these machines stood a small group of two pilots and two mechanics. One of the mechanics nodded to the duo of pilots, whom turned to face the new-comers.

Of said group, a young woman of about 5'10 with auburn hair, could of sworn she saw the older of the two gentlemen mouth the words "-The 7th batch eh?-" thought it was impossible to know for sure.

The group closed in on the two older pilots and introduced themselves, one by one calling out their names and ranks. The younger of the two veteran pilots who at a distance had looked to be in his 30s (However up close one would of struggled to tell if the man, with his myriad of stress lines, deeply bagged eyes, lightly tanned skin, ragged working overalls, gloved hands and dishelved hair Wasn't actually somewhat younger and nearer to their own age.)

Now stepping forward and giving the group a once over, he smiled half heartedly with a grin that failed to be more then a faint curving of the lips - Then boldly with a straight face, yet still somehow un-enthusiastic in tone announced - "Welcome to Hell Kids".

The End