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You notice that Schwarzhund, while not quite unhappy, looks reserved about all this.
"What's your take, Schwarz?" You ask.
"Conflicted," he admits. "You are an excellent pilot, India."
"But...?" she asks.
"But you're here now. You did a lot of good, but duty put you here." You have to admit, coming from the tacit hunter, that's some high praise.
"But I'm being wasted here," she replies. "I'm not boasting, it's just a fact. There's almost nothing I can do a platoon of Berets couldn't do better."
"Before, maybe," Schwarz accedes. "But upgrades."
"...Yeah. Yeah, that's true. I'll be a lot more effective. I haven't given up on flying--it's in my bones--but I think I can see myself working on it from here."
"All I can ask," he replies with a nod, satisfied.
"You definitely helped save Air Cav's ass," Em nods. "Including my brother, yannow that? Screened their approach, and you helped them line up with the intel you got."
"Just one flier to another," she says with a grin. "Though I do it with aircraft like God intended, not strapping wings to my ass."
"One more thing, if you don't mind me asking," you direct to Schwarzhund. "You didn't take being on the news well."
He grunts. "Never did. Not in this for recognition."
"Schwarz is actually kind of a big deal," Em adds. "Most of the SAs know each other. Hell, didn't the 17th ask you to transfer?"
"Four times as of last year," the dog grumbles. "Not my thing."