The young soldier, carrying orders, spied Captain Andros Silverwing lying on the hood of his Catamaran Fighter, taking in the warm sun of the Skyland morning. Cigar smoke wafted above his prone figure, snug in his uniforn, his ascot close around his neck. Women loved this man in uniform. The double-breasted jacket, jodhpur pants and boots just made them swoon. All, that is, except one, and that's the one that he couldn't stop thinking about.
'Captain Silverwing? I have orders for you,' the young soldier called up him.
'Do you now? Well, hand it over.' He saluted the young man who scurried off to his next task.
Life was good for Captain Andros Silverwing. Sure, his parents made him join the Aero Corps. After all, it was a family tradition. Twelve generations before him had served proudly. Well, it was a good thing he thought 13 was a lucky number. Luck had been with him on several harrowing missions so far. As he opened his orders, he realized that was about to end. A glorious soldier now being made a nursemaid to a bunch of Scrappers? Surely this was a mistake.