the sky is no man's land

Eva Park. Fighter pilot. Codename: Ace.

[freshmoviequotes]

Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong (2016)

[jeanmoreaux]

The water hears and understands. The ice does not forgive.

― Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows

[pilotpark-blog1]

ghostroberts:

The distaste Charles felt at the idea anyone could prefer guns to people didn’t show on his face, and he wondered, not for the first time, if this was going to work out. With his own reckless tendencies, he wasn’t sure he could hold back his opinions as easily as he’d learned to do. The last time he’d lashed out, he’d been eleven and left lying beaten until he was black and blue. Now he was older, he still hated violence, despite it being the very nature of his job and something he was good at. “I like most people, Ace. No point in not liking people, I reckon. Must get boring, having a stick shoved up your arse so high you can’t enjoy yourself.” He found it easy talking to her, and figured she wouldn’t get offended at the more vivid imagery he liked to colour his talk with. Foul language had been a part of his life for his early childhood, and although it’d disappeared a little while living with Liesel, it’d come back when he’d joined the army. 

“If you got a cough, see if you can find some honey, add it to a hot cuppa. Tea, that is, not coffee. Soothes the throat, so I’ve been told.” He’d heard it from one of the children when Henry had a cough, and a ten year old Charles had been desperate. He’d almost gotten caught stealing the honey, forced to leave it behind. Fortunately, Henry had gotten better without the help of the tea and honey. 

Her question made him shrug. “Been stationed a few places. Been serving for… shit, over fifteen years. Bloody hell. I don’t look old, do I?” His face lit up in a momentary grin, deflecting the question with ease. He didn’t want to think about the past year, the way he’d been acting. “Careful how you answer, us men have fragile egos, if you didn’t know already.” 

The laugh that escaped her lips was a full one, a short huff of a hearty one from the chest. War left shells of men, this she knew. She’d seen it the few short times she’d been on the battlefield instead of sky-high in her Hellcat. She felt it in the air in the silence that blanketed the medics tent after a mission that tipped sideways enough for the quiet to have a dead kind of weight to it.

( Sometimes she felt it in her bones if she thought too long of all she’d left behind in those dead fields with mud as dark as the sky got when she sailed through it-- -when her memories faded from crimson to sepia of a home she’d never known, of an identity she kept sewed onto herself with the shaky hands of someone who’d never mastered the art of belonging fully here or there. )

“That’s an issue you gotta take up with your teammates.” She replied, the shadow of the smile on her face an amused thing. “Tip from a seasoned pro— -’’ with false immodesty of the boast that carried for the butt of the joke, Eva continued. “- --Everyone likes most people with enough rum in them.”

“You sound like my Ma-- -turmeric milk, she’d say for a cough.” The words were reminiscent of times long past, though she didn’t let herself dwell too long upon them now, lifting a shoulder in a shrug to move the cadence of the conversation quick. “Might try that though. Reckon honey’s easier to get my hands on than turmeric.”

“You look bout a week from your deathbed, Lieutenant. And that’s me being generous.” Eva replied, not missing a beat. Tone clearly indicative of a teasing lilt, her grin smoothed into something easier. “Been at it for a while.” She commented more seriously, her own inexperience by lesser years a stark reminder now. That had been a common thread in her time in the air force. They hadn’t let women in for long enough, and plenty had tried to hold her years against her. Hadn’t worked though, Eva supposed, because here she was.

“You’ll like it here.” Eva offered, turning to offer him a gaze weighted sincere. It was a non-committed statement. She said it easy like there was no question to it, and believed it too. The Commandos came from all over and fought together, watched each other’s back with a loyalty that went beyond the country they called home. “You probably know this from the army already, but base becomes home real quick around here. One mission out there, and the others start looking like something of it too.”

[pilotpark-blog1]

drkane:

With the words of denial, Red found herself looking up and recognizing the face immediately. Eva Park, 28 years old with no documented past illnesses, but a note to always check for altitude sickness because she was one of the commandos few fighter pilots. “No, you never complained in the past, no expectations for you to start now”, Red answered in her usual tone, with memories of the past vaccines she administered to the pilot. 

These things were mundane and routine when they moved to a new location, so Belarus was no exception. Some complained, others didn’t, either way it had to be completed. While stoic herself, Red regarded herself as an excellent of emotions and people in general. It was part of the job, sometimes patience lied to her and themselves to avoid the possibility that something was wrong. A twinge of suspicion was raised with the pilot, but not enough for the alarms to blare. If it were something truly emergent, it would find its way to the light eventually. 

A small piece of gauze soaked in alcohol was rubbed against the crook of the pilot’s arm momentarily before the metal needle poked its way into her flesh, administering the newly concocted mixture of drugs that propelled them all into the future of medicine. It was removed as easily as it went in, and a small dry piece of gauze was placed over top, held steady by Red’s hand. “Cold air does cause the airways to constrict quite a bit upon entry, usually resulting in coughing, wheezing, and or dry mouth. Still, I’d like to check your throat just to air on the side of caution.”

She offered the doctor a passing smile at the exchange of words-- -Red, they called her. Eva had never come to ask her why. She’d never come to ask most, truly. Their callsigns were most of the identity that a stranger got to see. ( It wasn’t like there wasn’t room for them to talk about their past, but their memories serviced as a part of a past remiss-- -nobody wanted to bring up who they had been in the wake of the battlefield. Off it, though, with rum and a waning moon above them-- -it was all a different story. )

Eva held still as the swab was swiped over the crook of her arm where the skin gave easy, face unchanged as the vaccination was administered. Her mind was already wandering to further things that needed to be taken care of, tasks she should be aligning herself to and the next mission details that she should be getting to picking up from their Commander’s office. A wandering mind was an escape from the idling, and Eva had never done idling well. Her attention turned back to Red at her words, gaze meeting her green one. An affirmative nod at her words, Eva leaned back some ( not enough to jostle the gauze held to her arm ) with pursed lips.

“Whatever you think’s needed.” Eva trusted her to know what was best for her better than she did, in matters like these at the least. “I usually get a bit of an itch in the throat when I get back on base, but I’d rather be good to go before they roll out the missions.” No distractions when she was in the cockpit-- -up there, Eva was Ace and Ace did not get distracted, or make mistakes.  

Making small talk to service the silence that was to come as the doctor would keep tending to Eva, the pilot spoke, an easy light to her eyes that the impending days of war would eventually rid her of. “Did you go home for the break?”

[pilotpark-blog1]

ghostroberts:

“Yes, ma’am.” Charles winked at her so she knew he was teasing her for telling him not to call her ma’am. He’d certainly prefer to be more casual, but he couldn’t resist the joke. He shifted the mock-serious tone into a much more natural voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Ace.” 

He nodded, focusing his attention back on his surroundings. "When I say I just got here, I mean I don’t think I’ve been here five minutes yet. Army sent me here, apparently they needed another sniper. Not sure if I pulled the short straw yet, it’s so bloody cold.” He nearly opened his mouth to say something much more vulgar about the cold, but since he was talking to a woman, he shrugged it off and replaced his words with “I’m used to the cold, but never liked it much.” 

He could remember huddling up with Annie and Henry, trying to fit under a blanket he’d stolen. Without any food in their stomachs, and the chill that never left their bones, winters had been the worst for the Roberts family. Sometimes, he swore he could still feel that frozen desperation even when he had a belly full of food, lying in the sun in summer with a drink. 

Eva cocked a brow at his joke, pointing a finger his way as if in mock warning. A mouthend rising in response over the easy humor-- -they’d get along just fine, she decided. “Pleasure’s all mine, Ghost.”

“You’ll like the sniper crew we have around. They like the guns more than people, but they’re the best shots you can find around.” There was a light fondness to the teasing of her words, nothing but respect and good wishes for her comrades hidden under the lilting layers of humor Eva liked to service with her words. A short laugh at his following words, Eva shook her head in agreement as they continued their path down to the garage to deposit the fuel. The cold had been a decided change for her to. There was nothing familiar in the cool air and the snow that had greeted them for most of her time in the commandos. Eva was used to a kinder sun, and warmer waters. Her memories were of warm sand and sweat that liked to cling to skin, unwilling to let go when the air was thick enough to keep it there. ( the heat would always be home in more ways than the cold of the war could ever be. )

“Tell me about it. I’ve been back a couple of days and I can’t get this cough to pass.” She hummed, turning towards him and raising a chin in question. “Where’d they have you stationed before this?”

[pilotpark-blog1]

ghostroberts:

The units Charles had been a part of before mostly had women as nurses, but Charles had always seen women as being better than men at just about everything, so he nodded respectfully when the woman said the jerry cans were to go to the tarmac. While he could appreciate her looks, he knew better than to flirt without knowing whether it’d get him a slap in the face. 

“Lead the way, ma’am. You seem to know your way ‘round here better than I do. I just got here.” The easy, affable way of speaking came natural to him, even though it was more of a lie than ever. Beneath the mask everyone saw, there were nerves fraying, like a thread that had been pulled on too many times. 

Keeping an eye on everything going on around him, used to watching his surroundings even as he focused on the task at hand, he kept up the conversation. “I’m Lieutenant Charles Roberts. Ch- Ghost.” For so long, he’d been Chameleon, a reference to the fact he’d been able to change so easily to suit anyone, but after his brother’s death, he’d become Ghost, and he was going to stick to that new callsign, even though he could mentally hear Annie telling him off for being so dramatic. 

Eva was used to manning the tarmac more often than not, so the concrete slab of it was familiar to the pace of her footsteps. Steps falling into pace to where the tarmac was posted, the breeze felt easy as it took them down east of base and to where the planes were kept. Had it been the hot Philippine sun as she had once known it for the bare weeks she had been posted there, the heat would have been beating off of the concrete slabs to greet them-- -but here in the Belarus winter, it was nothing but wind chill that settled along their shoulders and in between fingers.  Eva glanced at the new company and tilted her head. “Drop the ma’am comrade, Eva will do.”

Easy humor that was all too familiar on her tongue, her words weren’t meant to be read into. She had nothing against the politeness, but if they were going to be fighting a war there was no need for the distance brought along with platitudinal titles.

“Good to have you on base, Ghost.” Eva replied, nodding once in gesture. “Sergeant Eva Park. Some call me Ace-- -whatever suits your fancies.”

“New on base?” Eva propped in query, keeping the light talk going as they headed onwards and to the side of the loading dock where they would deposit the jerrycans.

[bwgirlsgallery-deactivated20200]

x

[lifeinpoetry]

I am the native speaker of so much blood.

Christina Im, from “Necessary Roughness,” published in The Adroit Journal (via ofthemxses)

[pilotpark-blog1]

docxstone:

“Pretty sure it’ll take more than some numbers to drive me crazy,” she assured the pilot with a grin. “Close, but no cigar.”

Doc would take up small talk any day over the heavy seriousness of war. She was sure they all had plenty of it, so the small talk was nice in the down times. And helping Eva out was better than trying to find something to do until she was needed back at the medic tent. Not that she didn’t want to do her work, but settling in didn’t require much attention there.

She glanced over at the other woman as she reminisced about being in the air. Not so much the combat aspect, perhaps, but just flying. Doc smiled at the confession, taking a moment to readjust her own grip on the opposite end of the crate. “I could only imagine. Never was a big fan of heights, but getting back into it all has to be a good feeling. Wouldn’t see why you couldn’t go out, just to get your bearings again.”

“Good on you, I’ve seen a good few men go down for worse around here.” The words never strayed over anything heavier than the air-light, but they were true all the same. By the time most made it to the Commandos, they’d already been through the wringer enough to know how to patch themselves up after every splinter of sanity. Or they’d taken to staying splintered, using those jagged edges and keeping them sharp-- -either way, losing spirit around the Commando base was a dying breed of insanity. They much rather preferred A.W.O.L. disappearances and shadowed names where they were call signs and positions first, people with histories and lives second. It was easier that way.

“The extra fuel’s not in yet.” Eva replied, head tilting in leeway and words painting on a low, quiet sort of sigh that was as good as a woeful declaration from her. She’d go out on a scoping mission come time, get a hold on the air and see what they were up against. With caution, certainly, for their mark in the air was their strength in combat and she didn’t need to be tipping anyone off of their arrival.

“I’m guessin’ the medics’ tent can’t have many to patch up right now.” She commented to keep the conversation going, something addictive in this lull of normalcy. Her following words were framed like a statement, but ended like a question-- -so as to let Doc pick up where Eva left off. “The first mission doesn’t get deployed until late tomorrow night.”

[pilotpark-blog1]

ghostroberts:

Charles was relieved the drive was over. He hated sitting there, doing nothing, and even for him, there was only so much conversation he could carry on with the driver. The second he could, before the transport had even stopped entirely, he had two feet on the ground with his only bag slung over his back. He’d always travelled light, used to having on what he could carry. 

He knew he had to report in, but Charles had been a military man for a while, and he knew the best way to get on the good side of most bases was to help, so he helped unload the transport. With a jerry can in each hand, he turned to the nearest person. “Where d’you want me to dump the jerry cans? From the smell of ‘em, they’re petrol.” 

 The base was almost done digging in its heels, foundation laying down strong as the flurry of cartons left to be assigned started thinning and the flapping canvas of tents were pinned down one by one. The first mission wasn’t for a few days now, her first official mission even farther still ( combat units served different timelines, pilots deploying later than those who fought at the hearth of the battlefield )-- -but she still had her air force bomber donned. It wasn’t a Commando specific article of clothing, but it reminded her of different bases and different homes from a time that seemed long past now.

The calling voice beckoned her attention, head rising to meet the newcomer’s gaze. Newcomer, she assumed, for she didn’t recognize him. Straightening, Eva brushed off her hands and moved to the side of the companion in question where the rest of the jerrycans sat. Crouching to get a read on the side to see what they were marked for, a light grin smoothed across her face.

“Avgas.” Eva stated, straightening as she bent her knees to pick up two of her own and tilted her head to their east. “Best to drop ‘em off at the tarmac, we’ve been waitin' on these to take the wings out for a spin.”

[military-life]

[endless-unfolding]

To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

Mary Oliver, from “In Blackwater Woods,” in Wild Geese: Selected Poems (via a-pair-of-ragged-claws )

[pilotpark-blog1]

solocooper:

He was still in Colorado mending fence posts, eating his mother’s home-cooked meals, picking splinters from his palms, and tugging stubborn tobacco from the earth. The sun was still waning over the jagged bowl of mountain around him, instigating conflagrant sunsets the likes of which could not exist elsewhere. The scent of unsettled earth, once dry and brittle and unyielding, had clung to his clothes and his skin, and he carried it with him like armour when he left the farm behind. It would be the memories of home that would shield him from the shadows awaiting him in the trenches of war. Afternoons on the front porch swing, long mid-day hikes into the mountains, Esca with the morning light on his face — -

Despite the fact that leave was still lingering in his bones like a warm buzz, he couldn’t deny the thrill of being back around his fellow Commandos, back among great men and women whose presences encouraged him to fight hard and perform to the best of his ability. 

“I’ll sleep like a log tonight regardless. I managed to get my hands on some hooch, and I don’t plan on sharing.” He gave her a lop-sided grin, one that often earned him a swat or a thump on the back of the head. When she chided him further, he crossed his arms in lazy defiance. “Don’t think they’ll have much to say in the history books about the time that one pilot moved a box of bolts ten feet to the right. But if you insist.” A groan sounded as he stooped to lift another crate. His age would be coming back to haunt him one day, for sure, but for now, he pushed through the twinge in his back.

“I’d rather hear about your adventures, Park; don’t be bashful. You manage to get into any trouble?”

“No sharing?” Eva replied, words buried under the light heave that left her lips as they lifted up the crate in tandem. A cocked brow to forewarn of the words to come, her smirk was wholly amused. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re out lookin’, Cap.”

He asked her of her adventures, and her mind conjured up a vivid mosaic of memories she’d pieced together with a doting reverence. When the command had come, of course Eva had donned the folly of a fool before ever accepting the leave. Man the base, she’d said-- -like staying behind would give her something to prove, would teach her some way to learn to be alright with the silence the empty chair at the dining table echoed with. ( How many years now, a life built around knowing nothing other than the silence-- -and yet she knew no better. ) And when the sense had been knocked into her with a raised brow and a patient gaze of her Commander, Eva had submitted the forms to be sent and pushed any dissent of her own opinion to the back of her mind for later tending.

The first thing she had felt was the fresh, salt breeze. It had whipped through her hair, sifting past her like an embrace of all her own. The sand had felt especially coarse under her feet this time around, every night spent away at the shore with breaking waves and the stars to tell her of the silent tales and forgotten memories. She had not told her mother of all she had seen at the warfront, and to her due-- -her mother had never asked. ( She had no questions. She knew the war took from her, from them-- -the war took, and you could not refuse it. )

“Every day with the sun on my back and the sand under my feet.” Eva replied, the words carrying on a lilt and stopping just short of sing-song. For humor, and all. All where they had been was nothing like the home Eva had known. Going back had only served to remind her how much she’d missed it-- -the hearty sun welcoming her home so unabashedly, the waves breaking upon the shore and the sounds of the heavy wind on heavier leaves. Tone sobering up a bit then, there was a peaceful sort of sincerity under her words.  “Nothing beats the ocean crashing on Pai’a’s shores.”

A nod back to her companion, her chin raised in gesture. “Where’d you go back to, then?”

[pilotpark-blog1]

docxstone:

“Pretty misplaced,” she murmured, heaving the crate up at the same time the pilot had, walking with her toward the armory. Then again, even when she had been going through the inventory at her tent, a few items of hers had been misplaced and she had to track them down, too.

“I’ve had about enough of paperwork and staring at numbers,” she replied, “I get it, keeping track of our shit is important, but if I have to recount syringes and iodine swabs, I might lose it.” She could have easily handed off the work to any of the other medics, but Doc was particular about making sure she knew what she had and where it all was. Still, didn’t mean it didn’t give her a migraine. 

“Don’t go crazy on us now, Doc.” Eva replied, the grin easy in her words, shoulders relaxed even as they heaved the crate to where it needed to go. “Gotta stick it through to the end now-- -on principle, if nothing else.”

Light humor flitting past her lips, there was nothing committed to the words as the wind took them away once her tongue dropped them. Small talk came easy, came as a relief even, when the obvious elephant in the room was the war itself. She’d take easy talk over serious musings any day. Their steps falling in coordination easily, Eva adjusted her grip slightly before speaking up again.

“Didn’t think I’d miss the air as much as I did.” She stated, the words carrying on an upward lilt, as if to convey the mild surprise of the sentiment. Cutting through the wind in her hellcat seemed more instinctual than the daily get ups and sit downs of her day. “Flying in cargo’s great, but I think I need to take stretch my wings out some more.” The metal wings of her hellcat, that is.

[pilotpark-blog1]

drkane:

“Please do not complain or make minuscule comments about the size of the needle. It’s a new vaccination and yes you need it” Red called out in a loud yet blatantly monotone voice. The brown clipboard was held steady by digging its way into the petite Doctor’s side, hazel eyes glancing over the recruit in front of her momentarily before looking back down at the chart, making sure the information matched. She was only dealing with her fellow shadowed commandos today thankfully, the fly-boys from other brigades had a tendency to vomit out their ignorance on her shoes with a cocky smile and belittling tone.

“Roll up your sleeve, it will only take a second. And while you are here, has your medical history change at all in the time off? Have you experienced any fainting spells or been exposed to any illnesses?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Eva replied, words dry on a tongue that made it evident she wasn’t looking to waste her breath on complaining about sharp needles. Her gaze was a wandering thing, surveilling the tent as it was being patchworked into place around them. She never stayed in the medics’ tent longer than necessary. The air sat heavy in her lungs in here, there was much she did not wish to see. ( Sometimes she wondered if the medics were the bravest one of them all-- -to look death in the face and will his penance away from him with their own two hands. ) The checkup, of course, had been inevitable. They were required to check base with the medics every time they left base and came back. Now was no exception.

The woman’s following words caught her attention once more, gaze pulling back to hers. She thought of the scar that ran the length of her back-- -the one that ached even now, every cold night. Her mind wandered to the wound on her side that was healing nicely, if not for the tightness every other day or so. None of matter.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no.” She replied, words succinct enough. “Had a bit of a cough since I’ve been back-- -think I’m just getting used to the cold again.”

[pilotpark-blog1]

wardogmalthier:

The sensation of being out of place, of not belonging, wasn’t a foreign one to the corporal. It was a feeling he knew better than he knew his own mind, and one might argue that it was the unequivocal and defining truth of his existence: Anders belonged no where. So, when he found himself in Belarus filling the post of a deceased tank gunner, he was not disappointed to find that the same truth awaited him there. An empty, unfamiliar bunk, and a sea of strangers in the mess hall who spared him nary a look. He watched from the sidelines as the cogs of the great war machine came together so easily, and felt his legs twitch, begging to take action. Friends embraced one another fondly, marking the end of a long absence, soldiers marched supplies to and fro, tents erupted out of the earth, and a semblance of order began to appear.

Anders helped where he could, but ultimately found himself propped against the tank to which he’d been assigned. Hiding in its shadow, he wrote in his leather-bound journal idly and without much direction. Beyond the tank that hid him handily, he could hear the camp’s activities streamlining. Fires were being built, casting an orange glow against the autumn sky, and barks of orders had dissolved into the roar of friendly conversation. 

The night was jolly enough that you’d forget to think this was war, laughter raucous like the soil around them wasn’t to be soaked deep in blood come morrow’s mission, or the other. It wasn’t hard for base camp to start feeling like some home away from home-- -Eva knew her comrades better than she knew anyone else anymore. ( It was the best of it and the worst; it didn’t make it easier to know so bone deep those you could lose to the front lines ). It was a still sort of night under the evening’s gaze. The moon had reared her face bright and mighty in the sky, like she was rejoicing with them before the sky would take to raining blood again. Awash under the moonlight, the night seemed a willing break from the now familiar terrain of eastern Europe. ( This earth had a cold sort of beauty to it, a distant charm than the warm lathing of affection memories of Paia brought along. )

She almost missed him as she passed. In her hand, she had circled a bottle of rum as she made her way out the mess tent and out into the silent night on silently padding steps. He was tucked away into the corner of his stank, still & steely as the war machine around him. Eva almost didn’t spare him a passing glance, for his sake as much as hers. ( If people chose silence and the shadows around here during times of leisure, there was almost certainly a reason to it. ) She almost didn’t, and she would have had he not been an unfamiliar face.

“You got a canteen?” Eva called in greeting, slowing to come to a stand ahead of him. She held up the bottle in her hand, as if in explanation. She’d have to get acquainted with this new comrade sooner or later, she’d rather do it with some rum to warm the chest. “I’m feelin’ generous.”

[lyves-deactivated20180210]

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