The Wraiths

On the foggy night of the Yellow Sea, an Aircraft Carrier belonging to the Imperial Ruthenian Navy was sailing on the calm seas. On the flight deck, flight and deck crews spurred on as they fulfilled their respective task. 

One of them was a Wraith Pilot, Lieutenant Rasul Rustamev, who was enjoying the sea breeze kissing his face as he waited for his co-pilot, Lieutenant Medet Marlenev. 

He watched as the scenery displaying the mechanism of the flight deck played before him. He can never get bored looking at how men and women coordinate with one another with trust and confidence so that pilots like him can efficiently execute the missions handed over to them.

"Lieutenant, sorry if I kept you for too long. I just went for a quick bite down in the mess hall because my stomach craves it," Medet said as he rubbed his belly with a satisfied look on his face.

"You don't have to explain everything to me, as long as you don't get late, it won't be a problem."