I was flying… I was in my usual F-15. There was a plane in front of me, a Lockheed XF-90. From the stylized hawk insignia, I recognized the pilot of the plane. It was Blackhawk, my flight lead.

There was a city beneath us. It was burning. Smoke billowed from large buildings, and I could even see the fire sprouting from the windows. People were running on the streets. I couldn't hear their screams, but I felt it. I felt their panic, their despair. The night sky was dark, and yet, it seemed unsettled, not like the usual calm sky I usually see whenever I was stargazing. There were no moon, no stars, only an endless span of stormy clouds.

From the distance, I could hear the rumble of several fighter jets. I turned around to look for them, and there it was; several black planes standing out against the burning city. They were flying low, as if they were trying to avoid radar. As if they were trying to avoid us.

Before I could try to figure out why they were there, all four planes swept up towards Blackhawk and me, their missiles already locked onto the both of us. It was only pure luck that I managed to avoid the two that were heading my way. Blackhawk managed to do the same, and I felt myself grin. He wasn't my brother for no reason.

"We'll get them, buddy," Blackhawk said to me through the radio. At the same time, he twisted his plane to get behind an enemy plane. "This one's mine."

I laughed. "Sure it is. Finders, keepers, loser. I'll get 'im first."

I waited for Blackhawk to reply. But he didn't. He was never one to let chirps go. He always chirped back . Something was wrong. "Blackhawk?" I tried, hoping that he'd reply. Even though I could see him, not having him responding to me felt strange. It felt surreal and scary at the same time. "Blackhawk!"

Still no reply. Before I could try again, one of the other enemy planes went after me. I saw it through my rearview mirror. I tried to roll out of the way, but the damned bastard was faster than I thought. It wasn't long before the red wing of my Eagle was riddled with bullets. The impact jostled my plane, and on instinct, I turned around to see the damage. Somehow, some of the bullets managed to hit a fuel line. With the fuel leaking, I couldn't see the wing. Just like that day…

"Larry? Are you okay?" Blackhawk's worried squawk through the radio brought me out of my reverie. He was flying by my side, as if to check if I was okay. Sometime between I was shot and his transmission, the scenery had changed. The dark sky was replaced by clear blue ones with not a cloud in sight, and the burning city was nowhere in sight. In its place was the barren mountain range that was the B7R.

It would've been perfect if the enemy had also disappeared. They hadn't. Just my luck.

"I'm fine, Sebastian," I replied. Even as I said so, I noticed that my fuel tanks were being emptied at a worrying pace. It didn't help that I had to keep my throttle all the way up lest I would stall. De ja vu…

"Larry? Can you hear me?" Blackhawk said again. At first, I was confused, but I quickly remembered that he couldn't hear me. My radio must've been busted. I shook the wings of my plane and turned the lights on to show that yes, I could hear him.

Before any more words were exchanged, the enemies attacked us once again.

Knowing better than to risk a futile fight with a heavily damagted plane, I tried to pull away from the fight. I did, but one of them decided to chase me down. I tried everything I could think off; a cobra, an Immelman, anything to shake him off. Nothing seemed to work. I realized that time was running out. I realized that I was going to die.

As if on cue, the enemy launched a missile straight at me. I knew there was no dodging this one, so I just closed my eyes and braced for impact.

The missile never hit me. Instead, it hit Blackhawk. I froze as I realized what had happened. He actually…

"Blackhawk, get out of there!" I shouted. His engine was hit, his plane was a mess, and fuck, was his cockpit actually on fire? "Blackhawk!"

There was no reply from him. I could only stare as his plane exploded into a brilliant ball of fire.

"BLACKHAWK!"

With a gasp, I sat up, fully awake and sweating. I looked around me. I wasn't in a burning plane anymore, staring at the exploding remains of my brother's plane. I was back in my room, in Valais Air Base.

It had been a dream.

Sighing, I rubbed a hand over my face to wake myself up just a bit more. The dream felt so real, I couldn't tell if I was really dreaming or not. It was unnerving. I could still feel the ghostly feeling of an overheated control panel lingering in my hands, stinging me as I tried to touch the button that would put the landing gear down. My ears were still ringing from the sound of missile alerts and the sound of Blackhawk shouting at me through the radio. Blackhawk… Just to check, I turned to the bunk below mine. To my dismay, it was empty. It looked as if it hadn't been slept on for days.

The dream was both a dream and not a dream.

I felt a pang as I remembered what had happened a few days ago. Even though I'd known about it all those time, it still hurt as much. I'd start the day, thinking that Blackhawk was still there. That the only reason he wasn't in the bed was that he was out on patrol flight. But it all went away when I saw the folded Ustian flag on the desk.

It was kind of ironic to have that flag, especially since we were both Belkans and we were both fighting our country in this stupid war. It wasn't that we resented fighting it, though. What Belka did was unforgiveable, up to the point where I was ashamed to call myself a Belkan.

A few weeks ago, Belka began an invasion on its neighbouring countries. The first to be attacked was Nostrand, which also happened to be one of its primary targets. Belka was renown for their amazing Air Force. Their pilots were legends. If Belka was good, Nostrand was better. I'd seen first hand evidence to back up that rumor. To say I was afraid when facing that Nostrandic pilot was an understatement. I felt like he was the personification of death himself. Luckily for me and my life, I was put up against him in a practice dogfight.

Since Nostrand beat Belka in their only strength, Belka decided to take that out first, and fast. The invasion was swift and silent; it only took hours for Warsaw, the nation's capital city, to fall into the hands of Belkan soldiers. The president and the entire cabinet were executed on live broadcast. It was only then that the rest of the world realized what had happened. Belka had decimated the nation's entire military forces, raiding base after base and leaving no survivor. It was the same case with the poor civilians who happened to witness them.

It was the beginning of Belka's invasion on every country near them; it was the start of the Belkan War.

Basically everyone in the entire world was outraged by what Belka did. Their invasion broke every single law of modern military combat. It was unspeakable. I shuddered. To think that what once was my beloved country did such a thing…

Shaking my head off of the thought, I stood up. The mountain air was cold, but not unwelcome. It felt soothing. Only several parts of Belka was colder than this mountain. It was almost reminiscent of home.

Putting off my jacket, I walked out of my room. There was no use staying in a place where there was a constant reminder of Blackhawk. The base was practically empty. Only several of the guards were awake, and that was solely because of watch duty. I glanced at my watch. It was 2 a.m.

No wonder, then.

Realizing that there must've been a patrol flight, I turned towards the Control Tower. I'd know since I saw the schedule. If I wasn't mistaken, the squadron that was supposed to do patrol at this hour was Tiger Squadron and the two mercenaries that were assigned with them. I wasn't all that familiar with them, so I didn't know their real names, only their callsigns.

I knocked on the door of the Control Room. I was surprised to hear someone say, "Come in." Normally, the night owls at the Control Tower were either too tired to notice someone knocking at the door or were using their headphones so they couldn't hear a knock. I opened the door, and found that I was right. They were all using headphones. Well, all of them did except the Base Commander.

Base Commander Ovechkin was the emperor of Valais Air Base. He was the one who kept things running in order. He was also the one who made the call to haul in mercenaries to strengthen Ustio's Air Force; it was a call that didn't sit well with the top brass. But in the end, it was one of the reasons that Valais Air Base was the last one standing. Despite being of Yuktobanian descent, the Base Commander was loyal to Ustio, and was an Ustian himself.

I snapped a salute at the Commander, who returned it. He grinned. "Lt. Foulke. What brings you here so early?"

Since it wouldn't be appropriate to say that it was a nightmare, instead, I said, "I was wondering if I could start flying, sir."

Ever since what had happened with Blackhawk, the Base Commander decided to keep me grounded until I got a wingman of my own. I understood. With the war, it was too dangerous for anyone to fly solo, and every single pilot was valuable at this stage. But it didn't mean that the order sat well with me. Flying was in my blood. You could never keep a beast inside its cage for long before it goes mad and breaks loose.

The Base Commander sighed. "We've been over this, Foulke. We can't let you fly until you have a wingman."

I couldn't help but stare at the floor dejectedly. "Yes, sir," I replied automatically.

"There is an open slot for you, though," the Base Commander said after a while. "But it's with the Tiger Squadron. Which means you have to be an Air Force pilot."

The perks of being a mercenary… As much as I loved flying, I wasn't willing to go through the whole Air Force crap again. Flying was good, but strict Air Forces and stupid protocols just weren't my style. "No, thanks, sir," I said politely. "I think I'd wait a little longer."

The Base Commander nodded. He was about to say something else when one of the radar operators tore off his headphones and turned to the Commander, saying, "Sir, I think you should see this."

The Base Commander went quickly to said radar monitor. Out of curiosity, I followed. The radar showed five planes at the edge of our airspace. Four were marked as Belkans and hostile. Apparently, they were chasing the other one. Now who that was was still a mystery…

The radar couldn't identify the lone aircraft. It was marked as an unknown F-15C. The radar operator pulled out his headphone from the audio jack, and suddenly, radio chatter blared through the speakers. "This is 2nd Lt. Jackson of the Nostrandic Air Force. I am being chased by four Belkan pilots. Request immediate help. These are my coordinates…"

I couldn't believe my hearing. A Nostrand was fighting off four Belkans right here in our airspace?! "This is Valais Air Base," Commander Ovechkin said to the microphone he just grabbed from the radar operator. "We read you, 2nd Lieutenant. What is your situation?"

"I'm low on fuel," came the reply a few seconds later. I could hear some alert system going off in the background, probably warning that a missile was locked on to the plane. "I only have enough to go for another hundred miles or so." That's barely enough for him to reach Valais…

The radar operator turned to Commander Ovechkin. "What is your call, sir?"

I looked at the Base Commander. He seemed torn. At one hand, it wouldn't be right to not help out someone from Nostrand. They need all the help they could get. On the other, it could very well be a ploy by the Belkans to smuggle a spy within the ranks of Ustio.

It didn't take long for Ovechkin to answer, "Send Tiger Squad to help. If anyone surrenders, bring them in. If the Nostrandic turns hostile, shoot him. Can't risk it."

"Roger that," the radar operator said with a nod. He turned back to the screen. The lone plane was now turned towards the Belkan formation, apparently going to engage them. "This is Valais Air Base to unknown Nostrandic craft," the operator said to the microphone which somehow had disappeared from the Commander's hands and reappeared in his. "We are sending a patrol over to your position. Surrender now and head over to our base. Our flight will handle the Belkans."

For a few seconds, there was nothing but static from the other end of the radio. I frowned. Was he somehow shot down? Looking towards the radar screen, I noticed that it wasn't the case. There were still five planes on the radar.

"A compromise," the unknown pilot answered. "I fight these guys first, and then your patrol can escort me to your base. I'll surrender peacefully, but in exchange, I want to join your forces as a mercenary."

Well, well, well… Wasn't that an unlikely request? "As if he can fight them all by himself," Ovechkin scoffed. I had to admit, the odds were not in that guy's favor. "Tell him we agree, if he can survive those four. After that, he can join the mercs."

I was barely able to restrain myself from pointing out what a stupid idea it was. For all we know, the guy could be a Belkan spy. And for him to request immediate position in the Air Force (even as a mercenary) was really suspicious. Not trusting myself to remain cool-headed about the whole situation, I walked out of the Control Room and headed straight for the runway. If the "new guy" was going to be here, I might as well see him when he arrived.

"You hear about new guy, Larry?"

I looked up to find the leader of Tiger Squadron standing in front of me. Viktor Malkin, also known as Buster in the skies, was practically scowling at me, standing there with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Yeah," I answered with a shrug. "I was in the Control Room when he first radioed in. Didn't stay long after that."

Viktor sat on the bench across from mine. The mess was mostly empty at the time. It was still really early, and only the pilots on patrol were there. The most likely scenario was that most of the pilots were still asleep. I wouldn't be surprised. Even the sun wasn't even up yet. "What's up with him?" Viktor asked, frowning.

I sighed. "All I know is he's a pilot from Nostrand. How he survived, I didn't know."

"Maybe traitor?" Viktor suggested. "Sold his friends in exchange for life. Something go wrong, he run here."

"It could be," I said. Absent-mindedly, I fiddled with the cup of coffee in my hands. "But I doubt it. Did you see him?"

Viktor shook his head. I looked around, to make sure no one was eavesdropping on us, and said, "He looked like he went through hell. I doubt that he's a Belkan spy." In truth, the guy really looked like it. He was battered and had bruises all over him. Even his flight suit was covered in blood. Whose blood it was I had no idea. I doubted it was his. He wouldn't be alive if he'd lost so many.

I had also noticed that he was actually wearing a genuine Nostrandic flight suit, with all the proper insignias. Moreover, he shot down three of the four Belkan planes chasing him. No Belkan spies would do that. Belka always valued the lives of their pilots; they would never let their pilots die just for the sake of smuggling in a single spy. And to the new guy's credit, the fight looked genuine enough; there was no hint of it being orchestrated.

When Viktor still didn't look convinced, I proceeded, "I was also there when Base Commander interrogated him. And guess what? The reason he's here is because he wants another chance to get at those Belkans. Don't you think that speaks for itself? He's from Nostrand; naturally, he wants revenge for his country."

"Still not like," Viktor argued, leaning forward a bit. "What if he spy? Tell secret to Belka? We die if they get our plans."

"True," I admitted. "But he's being locked in the infirmary now. He's not allowed to go out until he's cleared. There's no way for him to get to our battle plans that way. And don't worry. We'll be monitoring him 24/7."

Viktor laughed. "Locked in infirmary. Only plans he get is medical records. Still risky."

"We need all the pilots we can get, Viktor," I argued. "The Belkans are really good. And he's from Nostrand! You know as well as I do how good they are. That's why they're targeted first."

Grimly, Viktor nodded. He seemed less unhappy now. That was a good sign. "We keep watch on him," he said. "Give him chance. One wrong move, he die."

What else would you expect? "Agreed," I said with a nod. As Viktor stood up, evidently about to leave, I said again, "Will you tell the others?"

"Of course," Viktor nodded, grinning. "Got to be prepared for anything." He turned around and began to walk away, but just before he exited the mess, he stopped and called out. "You fly today?"

To my dismay, the answer was still a no. "Not yet," I said to him. "Soon, I hope." Which was true. I was starting to get sick of being stuck on the ground. You can only run the simulator so much before you get bored. And to consider I had to pay for using said simulator… Air Force pilots had the liberty to use it for free. Mercenaries…not so much.

"Watch out, Larry," Viktor said. "New guy might be wingman." And just like that, he left.

I hadn't even considered that. It wasn't that far-fetched an idea. My team, the Galm team (which right now was only consisted of myself) was the only mercenary team with a vacant slot so far. And we didn't have the luxury of grounding the Halo Squadron for long periods. Halo Squadron was the Air Force Squadron paired with the Galm Team. It was the setup the higher-ups had configured for the half-mercenary-half-military structure of Ustio's 6th Air Division. Each Air Force Squadron would be paired with a mercenary team. Tiger Squadron was paired with Alpha Team. It was an unorthodox approach, but hey, it worked. It was the reason Valais survived as long as it did. And right now, we were the last Air Force Base in Ustio's hands.

To that, I wish the Force be with us all…