The Unsung War

As a child war was nothing more than an abstract idea to me. War was always fought in distant countries; far away lands with names that I have never heard of. But, when I was nineteen, war broke out all over the continent. Battles were fought right outside my quaint little town off the cape. Every night deafening cannon fire and the bloodcurdling screams of dying men deprived me of sleep. I had been surrounded by merciless men who gave no mercy to others and the sight of death became as normal as the sight of life. I had an idea of what war was.

March 16, 2010 0232 hours

Mobius Base (Anderson Crater) – North Point

The alarm was wailing as I walked into the fighter jet hanger-a dull, emotionless, steel cage for housing beautiful birds of death. I was standing in the entrance of the hanger, in the center of the north wall, staring at the three jets in the hanger. We were supposed to always fly a five-man formation. But, six months ago I lost my fist pilot. I lost Pops. He was shot down during an air raid. That crazy old bastard. He was decided to play decoy so that I could shoot down the enemy fighters. But, their squadron leader-I think his call name was Warhog-got to Pops before I could get to him.

And, then last month I lost Rem. I lost my wingman. She crashed in the wall of the valley we were flying in, when we raided an illegal mercenary base in Gnome Ravine. She-like every other pilot who has ever been in this squadron-always pushed her jet harder than it could go. She died in an instant; vanishing from the realm of reality…like a passing dream.

Next to me was a man sitting backwards on a black fold-up chair, hunched over smoking a cigarette. He was a tall man wear the squadron's black g-suit, with his helmet under the chair. . His long, jet-black hair drooped over, covering his pasty white face. "It's weird for me too." He said quietly as the smoke from his cigarette crept out of his mouth and skulked up, over his hair, ascending to its demise. He was talking about there only being three planes in the hangar.

"I want you flying six o'clock on my left," I was still looking at the jets; "for now."

"'Kay." His voice was still just a murmur.

"But, you're gonna have to talk to me when we're up there." I said in a warning-like tone.

"You know I won't." he took one last drag from his cigarette, plucked it out of his with his first two fingers on his right hand, and flicked it to the ground; the hot cherry spilling some ashes as it hit the cold, hard floor. "I'll just stick close enough to you to where we won't have to communicate." Every time he spoke it sounded like he was always singing a beautiful melancholic tune. He rose from his chair; his hair moving from his face as he stood up, revealing the embodiment of desolation. He had deep green eyes so full of despair. Just looking into them could have made even the most joyous of people depressed. It was as if they were the 11th plague, temporarily devouring those who tried to peer into his soul. But, I found something behind that fortification of anguish…desire. He desired the one thing had never been fortunate enough to experience and was denied time and time again. He desired true happiness. Pure ecstasy. This man was Rapture.

"Let's go." I said assertively. I headed for my jet, which was in the center of the hangar. I always pushed the same exact jet my father used: a sky camouflaged F/A-22. As long as I flew that jet, I would always come back home.

I climbed into the cockpit, finding my helmet and "fat lady" in the seat. Right where I left them. The hangar door rose up, revealing the crater, which we were all housed in. My doorway to the skies.

"Hurry up and take off." I said into the radio. "Screw the systems check, they're too close for us to worry about that." I ordered.

There was no response on the radio, but I knew the other two pilots heard me. I looked out my canopy to see the other two jets already heading for the runway, which extended from the floor of the hangar and into the center of the crater. The first one to take off was Rapture, who was pushing a F-15E, and behind him was my other "wingman," Ares. He was in a gray Su-37 with yellow wingtips and a large, yellow 13 emblazed under his cockpit. And, then I was always the last one to go up.

A few minutes later we were all in the air with the enemy squadron not even two minuets away.

X: "SkyEye, what are we going up against?" I spoke into the radio.

SkyEye: "There are three waves of two B-1's each with a set of three escort fighters and one attacker." A nerdy, high-pitched voice came over the radio. He sounded scared and confused.

X: "Permission to engage?" I asked quickly. I could see the first wave of targets coming over the horizon.

SkyEye: "'Outta the way, kid!" I heard someone in the background. "Engage at will." I heard a deeper and stronger voice over the radio. It was Major Briggs, the AWACS commander. The AWACS jet was always in the air, watching over the squadron. It was our eye in the sky. "Watch yerselves out there, visibility is low." He warned us.

What will happen in the battle when I get around to it:

X shoots down: 1 F-G, 2 F-4X's, 1 B-1, 1 F-16XL, 1F-16Block 60, and the accompanying Ace: Supershark.

Ares shoots down: 4 B-1's, 2 F-X's, 2 F-20's

Rapture shoots down 1 B-1, 1 F-20, 2 F-16Block 60's. Takes 2 gunshots to the left wing.

After the air raid I went back into my room as if nothing happened. I had nothing to worry about, really. Rapture took a few hits, but he was fine. The runway to a single bomb-not too much damage was done. And, Ares got to let off some steam. Everything was fine.

It didn't really matter who attacked us; they're dead! Besides, I had just wanted to sit in my dark room and think about the life I missed out on. Think about the life I could have had if it wasn't for that war 5 years ago. Think about the girl I had to leave behind, the job I had just gotten, the happiness I could have had.