The Gunfighters

by Ronin201

Before he commanded a squadron during the Belkan War, Cody Walker was just another young F-14 pilot. Now, his training is about to show its use when he is directed to fly his first combat mission. Oneshot with OCs and a few refs to canon charas as well as other aviation thriller works. All respective owners retain their respective rights.

The Gunfighters

June 29, 1984

Crescent Beach, Osea

The only lights on where the ones going up the stairs, letting Cody know pretty quickly what Anne had in mind for him tonight. The only surprise was what she was dressed in tonight. He straightened his hair and set most of his things near the coat rack, hoping he didn't smell too much like NAS Oured Bay. Anne Walker hadn't married him because he was the highest of society, though. This little setup was not new, either; she'd enjoyed welcoming him home this way about once or twice a month. Other times she'd taken her time, but tonight patience was not on her agenda. After all, it was their wedding anniversary, and their daughter was at a friend's house, meaning they were alone.

He walked up the stairs, flight boots dashing any attempts to be stealthy, a smile on his face. Cody noted a flickering light coming from an open door, their bedroom. He walked inside and saw Anne waiting for him, sitting at the foot of their bed. Her figure was clad in a low-cut nightgown with a red color to it. She'd styled her long chocolate-colored hair like one of those pin-ups from the 1940s and applied a nice layer of lipstick, bathing her lips in a crimson tint. Anne's eyes locked onto his before she spoke.

"Long cruise, sailor?" She said, giving him a toothy smile. She strutted across the room, swaying those wonderfully full hips of hers and slid her hands up his torso. Her fingers kneaded the dirty flight suit, causing her to become temporarily distracted from him.

"Well someone decided to seduce me without thinkin' what I'd be comin' home in." He replied with a big grin. She looked up at him. He wasn't a beef cake, hell he was pretty lanky, but she could feel the firmness of his skin underneath. She grabbed his head and crashed their lips together, grabbing the zipper on his suit and yanked it down. Anne pulled away only to give him a single command.

"Shut up and get in that bed, you stallion." She purred. Cody obliged, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the piece of furniture.

"Oy, wake up Ranger."

Anne's chocolate-smooth voice was replaced by a low, gravely male's that had about as much sex appeal as a dead fish. The wonderfully elegant and beautiful woman disappeared from the view of 27 year-old Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Cody Walker, and as he opened his eyes, in its place was fellow junior grade Roy Hunter with his scruffy blonde hair and chiseled jaw.

"What is it, Baron?" Cody drawled, sitting up a little.

"Have you eaten yet? We should before the brief for today's strike." His friend suggested.

"Too much food in yer gut and y'all will puke durin' any fights." Cody intoned, scratching the side of his head.

"Too little and you won't have the energy to fight." The other pilot retorted.

Cody got up nonetheless and let himself be dragged back to the present of 1985 and reality, where Anne was hundreds of miles away, probably about to get up for work. He was about to do the same, but this was going to be a little different than filing papers for the city of Crescent Beach. They walked down the empty corridor to the nearest dirty-shirt wardroom. About half a dozen other officers from Carrier Air Wing Eight and the OFS Vulture (CVN-34) populated the space. Cody glanced up at one of the two TV screens bolted to the ceiling. The camera feed from the flight deck was concentrated on the waist catapults since the bow ones were occupied by a pair of F-14 Tomcats sitting alert. An E-2C Hawkeye and a KA-6D Intruder were being guided into place, replacements for the ones airborne no doubt.

Cody adjusted the zipper on his flight suit so it was a bit closer to the top of his stomach, making the olive garment feel even looser on his lanky frame. He pulled a mug from a shelf and filled it with black coffee. If he was going to stay alert for today, he needed to down the stuff with only a little creamer. He also slapped some cheesy eggs and bacon on a plate to give him some energy. They took a seat next to a pair of A-7 pilots from VA-116, neither of whom paid the F-14 pilots heed, at least until Cody spoke up towards Roy.

"I think I got too much sleep." Cody commented.

"You got two much sleep?" One of the Corsair pilots said with a doubtful look. Cody glanced at the man.

"I have a "bad" rep of falling asleep even when the whole damned world is rioting around me." He said with a flash of a smile.

"I envy you, Turkey driver." He replied.

"I can vouch for him; he's louder than the catapult." Roy chimed in. Cody chuckled and took a bite of his eggs.

After their quick meal, the two left and drifted to the hangar deck to get to the ready room quicker. The space was somewhat empty, with mainly spares or aircraft under maintenance placed here; any aircraft that were being armed for the upcoming launch were being gathered on the deck. The Carrier Battle Group was cruising in the bay alongside the Emmerian carrier Gracemeria and her escorts. The coalition was added to by Sapin government forces poised to contain the spread of the rebels. It would've remained a Sapin-only affair, but the members of "The Revolutionary Army of Futuro" had invited them by destroying an Osean freighter and an Emmerian yacht.

Cody took in a long pull of sea air as he passed by an SH-3. The sky outside one of the Nimitz-class boat's elevators was dotted with large clouds, casting shadows over the deep blue seawater. Towards the horizon he spotted the outline of a Perry-class frigate as it kept in formation with the larger ship. He grabbed the sides of some steps and followed Roy up them to the ready rooms. The one for their squadron, The Gunfighters of VF-135, sat next to the wing's other squadron, VF-78. Someone had Blue Oyster Cult's "ME 262" blasting from inside the space, and the din grew even louder as Roy pulled open the hatch.

To a casual or uninformed observer, the scene inside was almost different from a college fraternity party. Half the men in the room were drinking coffee emblazoned with the squadron's patch and eating from a thing of donuts. Compared to Cody's haircut, which mildly resembled the Marine Corps' High

-And-Tight, they all had hair that was way too long for soldiers.

"Heya Baron, Ranger, coffee?" Lt. Gerry Santiga offered, holding out their respective mugs.

"Had some in the wardroom." Cody grunted. Roy quickly nodded to confirm the same for him.

"They pushing back the brief?" Cody asked.

Gerry shook his head as the trio pressed through the small crowd to the rows of padded seats in the colors of the squadron. Cody shuffled to his and sat down, pulling out its small desk top. He was the tallest in the squadron at 6'1'', with everyone else averaging out at 5'10'' or 5'11'', which meant he had to slump into his seat a little when at briefings. He clasped one of the pocket zippers between two fingers and opened the compartment to make sure the picture of his wife and her daughter (she'd had her in a previous and short-lived marriage, so Mirabelle Stephenson-Walker was more Anne's than hers).

"Attention on deck!" the XO, LCDR. Telly Forrest barked. The squadron came to the proper stance as Commander Lloyd "Pinkerton" Pullock, the man in charge of VF-135, marched down the center aisle. Despite being short and stocky, he walked like a giant and looked like he could easily pop off anyone's head. He came to the front and turned around.

"Gentlemen, it appears that orders have finally come down to do what we've been waiting for. The President has issued an executive order to commence Operation Good Neighbor. The Vulture, along with the Gracemeria, will conduct air strikes against Sapin rebels in order to assist the Sapin government in retaking the Futuro Canal. MAG Three will be enroute to the area tomorrow, but for now we are involved strictly from the air." He began as a projector was fired up.

"Our target, or rather our escort's, for this morning's strike will be Escorpión Air Base, where most of the rebel force's air power resides. They've been using it to stave off most of the initial assaults by government forces, and will continue to pose a threat unless properly dealt with. Six Intruders will be the primary strike force, and we'll be providing eight of our own F-14s to escort them as well as a pair of EA-6Bs tasked with providing ECM cover. Who's flying and who's on spare duty is posted on the schedule. Each aircraft will be armed with a mix of Sparrows and Sidewinders; those above us have deemed the Phoenix too valuable to use in a little war like this. In addition, the Emmerians will also launch a small strike force to assist in destroying the base due to its sheer size, meaning we will have additional help from their F-8s." The commander explained.

An image was put into the projector from a TARPS pod that showed the base in question from directly above. It had two wide runways that stretched the length of the establishment, plus another two that were in a diagonal slant. The faintest outlines of hardened bunkers could be seen, along with the shapes of aircraft near the buildings and along the runways. Pullock clarified due to the absence of marks on the film.

"As you can see, the base is quite large. As covered in the threat briefs, the primary SAM in this area is the MIM-23 HAWK, with Rolands and Oerlikon 35 mm twin cannons backing them up at low level. We've also received hints that the rebels may have some older flak guns as a last resort. While these threats can engage us, they will be dealt with by four A-7s from VA-244 and the Prowlers. OUR primary concern will be the Mirage F.1CE and Mirage IIIEE fighters operating from this base. There are confirmed to be 36 aircraft there: two squadrons of Mirage F.1s and one of Mirage IIIs, and they have roughly 8 of them airborne at any time with others on the runway. The plan will be to draw any airborne ones away from the base and destroy them while the A-6s and Super Etendards attack the ones of the ground. We'll try and get em from afar and work with the F-8s if they get in close."

The final details of the plan were the positions of the assets for the strike, primarily the divert bases and tanker positions, as well as certain frequencies for SAR and other strikes going in (It was revealed that the Osean Air Force, not one to miss out on the glory, had shoehorned its way into the operation) and the weather which was forecast as being small scattered clouds at 12,000 feet. Six of the Tomcats would create a wall around the front of the Intruders far ahead, the SEAD-armed A-7s a little below to attack SAMs, while the remaining two would both cover the Prowlers and guard the rear of the package. Additional eyes would be provided by a single E-2C Hawkeye orbiting near the Vulture's outer perimeter, call sign "T-Bone". Cody would have Roy as his wingman, escorting the Intruders from the left-hand position.

The squadron was dismissed to don their gear for the impending launch. Each pilot carried, besides his helmet, a couple dozen pounds of equipment to ensure he would survive a flight in a supersonic fighter jet. The literal crown upon it all was the HGU-33 flight helmet. Every pilot in the squadron decorated theirs, Cody's was a glossy black with two yellow stripes going lengthwise across the top, and a revolver on the back above his call sign: Ranger. He holstered his sidearm, a Coly Python, and approached his Radar Intercept Officer.

"Ready, Power?" Cody asked his RIO, LCDR. Jean Ullis. The man nodded in return, more used to his own tag that "sir".

"You bet, Ranger." He replied.

The two F-14 crewmen walked down a corridor towards the exit to the flight deck, where a crescendo of noise was already playing away. The summer heat clashed with the breeze created by the ship's movement, though they had yet to turn into the wind. Cody and Jean's F-14A Tomcat was just aft of the carrier's island amongst several other of the escorting fighters. He walked to the nearest AIM-7M Sparrow and gave it a shake while Jean talked to the plane captain. Despite the relatively short distance to the canal, the F-14 had been equipped with two fuel tanks. He had six Sparrows to use and two Sidewinders (though he'd be happier with four of them, not two). He gave the F-14 a good inspection, and made sure to inquire about the engines. The F-14's TF30s had a well-deserved rep for being troublesome little bastards, and the newer F-14A+ was only just now entering service after some minor hiccups.

Cody maneuvered himself to the left side of the cockpit and grabbed the bottom boarding ladder before scaling upwards with relative ease. Into the front cockpit he settled, the shorter Jean behind him, hunched down towards his own panels and controls. Cody looked over at some of the ground crew as they made sure the F-14 was hooked up to the Huffer, so its engine would start. He let the TF30s, which the mechanics had painstakingly whipped into obedience. When the engines were finally running under their own power, Cody lowered the cockpit and inspected all his displays and gauges. He had a minute or two until he was really supposed to start taxing, though, allowing him to gaze over the other aircraft on deck.

A foursome of A-7E Corsairs across the deck were carrying the brand-new AGM-88A HARM (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile) in addition to their Mk.20s, fuel tanks and AIM-9s. Heavy load for this strike, Cody thought as he pulled down his visor to block the early morning sun. He peered out through the front windscreen at a member of the deck crew, a plane director as his yellow jersey indicated. The man was waiting as the plane's ground crew finally got out of the way, and then gave the Lieutenant his attention. He signaled Cody to release the brakes and bring the F-14 out of its parking spot. The pilot taxied forward gently, trying not to bump the other jets with his own.

The TARCAP F-14s were the second to launch, right behind the mission's E-2. Meanwhile the attack aircraft pilots waited and watched. Cody was directed towards Catapult #1 with Roy following behind him. There were already two F-14s ready to launch on Cats One and Two, while the A-7s were being corralled around Three and Four. Cody stopped behind the JBD and watched "Magnum 103" as its wings spread. Even with all the protection for his ears, he could still hear the engines spooling up to full power, then afterburner. He then noted that the left engine made a sudden burst of flame before the engine seemed to whine. He quickly realized, alongside the pilot of the jet.

"Ah fuck! Peacemaker 103 is down; engine problems." Lt. Stephen Weeker cursed over the radio.

"Roger that, get it off the cat, 103." The Air Boss radioed.

Cody watched as the F-14's wings were swept back and its engine spooled down, while the JBD lowered at the catapult was put on a leash.

"Cat two is temporarily down, all aircraft are to be redirected to Cat One. Get one of the spares up!" the Boss ordered over both the radio and deck loudspeaker.

Weeker's F-14 was stuck on the catapult while ordnance handlers came to make sure the weapons on the F-14 were safe. In the meantime Cody was brought forward as Starship Jefferson and Crowbar Dennis's F-14 was launched. Another plane director beckoned him forward onto the catapult. As he slowed into place, the pilot brought the wings forward from their swept-back state and watched the director got out of the way. He felt a slight drop as the Tomcat's front depressed a little so the wind would be going at the wings in the right way. Before he forgot or had to be reminded, he adjusted the flaps. He couldn't help but glance at the positions of the catapult crew as they scurried around the big jet. He reached down and again opened his pocket and felt the picture.

Now came the signal to get the F-14 into afterburner. He carefully yanked the throttles all the way up, weary of a fate similar to "Strongman" Weeker. But for now the TF30s worked, and he said nothing more.

"Nice n' comfy, Power?" He asked as he adjusted himself in the ejection seat.

"You're still too tall, Ranger." He replied.

Cody waited until the Cat officer was ready. The yellow-shirted sailor had just whipped towards him after checking everything one last time, and waited for Cody to salute. The pilot raised his hand and provided the gesture before looking down the line of wispy steam. Behind him Jean grabbed the handle above the radar display and closed his eyes. He always hated cat shots, especially since he was a RIO. Cody's eyes were wide open as he saw and felt the F-14 shake before screaming down the track. He was nearly thrown forward as it left the track and went skywards, but quickly gained control and set the Tomcat into a stable flight. Cody came by the Vulture one more time as Roy's F-14 was down the track in near unison with his pass. He slowed down and waited until Roy was clear of the launch pattern, watching as his wingman slid into place.

Sapin's desert region was perhaps the smallest piece of land in its boundaries, measuring only 4000 miles square, but it was as barren as the Yuktobanian tundra. Only oil and the Futuro Canal gave mankind any reason to be here. Today there was another reason as the strike force sailed over the coastline unopposed. In his cockpit Cody heard the RWR become alert, however, as the rebels detected them and had begun to actively track them (rather than when they were simply watching them conduct flight ops off the coast. To the far right, off in the distance, Cody could spot the dots that were the Emmerian strike force escorts, and too his front he could see the short hills of the desert. The Canal itself was off to the left, 30 miles away.

"Falcon 01, this is Scream 500, are you feet dry at this time?" CAG radioed from the VA-89 A-6 he was in.

"Scream 500, this is Falcon 01, we are crossing the coast at this time." An Emmerian-accented voice replied.

"Lion 302, this is Peacemaker 101, we're going to move ahead and draw fire, how copy?" Pullock chimed in.

"Roger that, Peacemaker." The lead A-7 replied.

The F-14s left the subsonic Corsairs behind and charged towards their target. Cody's RWR hadn't changed as they closed within thirty miles of the target; they were still well out of range of the HAWK batteries, but the HARMs were in range. Radio calls began to clash as the A-7s started firing.

"Peacemaker, radar contact! Two bogeys at 008, 200 miles at Angels 21! They appear to be descending." the E-2 reported. Bandits, Cody quietly corrected the E-2 controller.

"Ribeye, Peacemaker 101, are there any other friendly strikes in the immediate area?" Commander Pullock replied.

"We're looking into that now. Alpha Bravo says your status is Warning Yellow, Weapons Hold." The Hawkeye reported back.

The threat had been acknowledged, but the F-14s could not engage. Instead, they watched as the anti-radar missiles streaked off into the beyond without sound.

"Peacemaker, Ribeye, we have another group of bogeys. Count four at 355, 170 miles at Angels 17." The E-2 said.

Cody looked towards his eleven o' clock

"Roger that, can we get an ID on any of these guys?" Pinkerton demanded.

"Alpha Bravo has determined that no friendly aircraft should be north of you at this time, but has still required you obtain visual ID at this time."

Cody nearly said something that time, but held his tongue.

"Roger that. Peacemaker 110 and 106, approach the group of four with 105 and 104. The rest of us will stay back and greet the group of two, how copy?" The CO of VF-135 instructed.

"Peacemaker 110 copies." Cody said in conjunction with the other three F-14s.

He looked at Roy and signaled him to drop his external tanks as he would. The two F-14s tilted to the left and changed their heading to 355. If they'd had clearance and some AIM-54s, Cody thought sourly, those Mirages might be black dots in the sky now. But now they had to wait until they were in range for their Sparrows, which meant 30 miles away. Neither the Mirage F.1 nor the Mirage III could carry anything that reached that far. Visual ID would plague them until the shooting started, though. Cody leaned forward and squinted his eyes as two dots appeared on the horizon, then two more. The F-14s stayed in their own pairs, but Cody quickly signaled Roy to spread out into a "loose-deuce" formation

"Power, anyone saying anything about radio contact?" Cody asked.

"Negative Ranger, asked twice." Power said.

"Ribeye, Peacemaker 110, we ain't getting jack shit from the group of four; request permission to engage." Cody spoke up. There was a few seconds of dead air, by which time the distance had closed to nearly forty miles.

"Peacemaker, you are cleared to engage." He was told in a notably more excited voice.

Now that they were cleared to fire, Jean switched his F-14 to Single Target Track. The senior pilot, LCDR. Franklin Saint, began handing out targets. Cody and Jean were to take the guy directly ahead of them. Cody waited for the que to fire, watching as the dot he was facing grew wings and a tailfin. They'd hit 22 miles by the time he got a good angle. Cody gulped but did not hesitate.

"Peacemaker 110, Fox 1! Fox 1!" He declared as he ripple-fired two Sparrows.

The weapons on the rear two belly stations fell free for mere seconds before flame jettisoned from their exhausts, almost like a flameout. However the missiles pressed on well ahead of the F-14. Cody started waiting until the Mirages got in range to fire any radar-guided weapons they might've had. He squinted his eyes but saw no such shapes on the wings. The Lieutenant knew the Mirage F.1 could carry older radar-guided missiles, but he couldn't spot them; these guys were just packing short-ranged weapons. He opened his mouth to utter the battle cry 'Fight's on!", but he was interrupted by the twinkle of the Mirage F.1's DEFA cannons.

The Mirage managed to force him to dive below to avoid the fire. He went into afterburner for a brief moment to escape the twin thirty millimeters before slowly down and yanking the F-14 upwards, extending its wings like a majestic bird. Jean stared out the top of the windscreen at the Mirage as it continued on and began to break left, climbing to meet the Oseans.

"Baron, break off and engage at will." Cody snapped as he selected his Sidewinders.

Cody pulled over towards the F.1 in the hopes that his Sidewinders would pinpoint one of the heat sources on the enemy fighter. The Mirage edged upwards more, but it was bleeding airspeed. Cody waited until it made a move to escape a stall, and gave the Osean an opening. The Mirage tried to complete its move, but could not make it. He zoomed under the jet as it began to fall from the sky and swung back around. The Mirage's wiggled as it descended, completely helpless against the Tomcat above it. Cody balanced the F-14's nose at the rear end of the F.1, waiting for his weapons to get a proper sense of things. He rolled and followed the stalled Mirage down as its pilot tried to recover. The TD box around the target on his HUD met with the Sidewinders.

"Peacemaker 110, Fox 2!" He reported in unison with the jamming down of his thumb.

The port-side AIM-9 went forward with a distinct "fwhoosh" as it left and wobbled a little as it hit the resistance of the air. He stayed with the Mirage, forcing his F-14 to slow down for a few seconds. He gritted his teeth and began to accelerate as the F.1's flame sputtered back into existence. It gave the AIM-9 an even better view of things. Jean confirmed the fireball

"Peacemaker 110 has splashed one bandit." He said, trying to contain his excitement.

The pilot pulled back on his stick and passed over the wreckage as it spilt apart, no parachute in sight. Cody looked around, waiting for anything from his RIO. He turned towards the base, catching a glimpse of the A-6 force as it tried to rush through the fight.

"Where are those other bandits?" He called as the jet entered level flight at 10,000 feet. Jean had his face nearly buried in his radar screen as they screamed forward in parallel with the stubby Intruders. A sudden burst of black smoke redirected his attention. They apparently had those old guns…

"Scream 505 has been hit! Cool and Morg's bird has been hit!" someone shouted. In near unison a Super Etendard passed by above and behind, trailing smoke. The strike felt like it was falling apart; Cody keyed up his mike.

"Baron, you still alive?" He said.

"Yeah, Peacemaker 106 is still here; engaged offensive with two bandits alongside Peacemaker 105." Roy said, his voice under considerable strain

Cody was about to reply, but instinctively ducked as another one of the flak bursts popped up closer. He jammed the throttles back into afterburner to get over the base. Each time he did, he gambled with both his loiter time and his engines. The PW products were making him too damned weary. He swept his eyes towards the direction that the Etendard had come from and snapped the F-14 in the same direction as soon as he passed the control tower. He spotted the shape of one of the Intruders and a far sleeker shape, a Mirage III his eyes told him. He turned towards the helpless attack plane, again drawing fire from what remained on the ground. He immediately noted a problem regarding the Mirage: he wasn't firing. Cody at first pushed aside the idea as he readied his other Sidewinder, but his RIO found out why very quickly.

"Another bandit at six o' clock!" Jean called as cannon shells flashed by. Cody broke off his pursuit, allowing the Mirage III he'd been following to come after him alongside another.

Cody immediately put his F-14 to work to outmaneuver the two delta-winged jets. The aircraft were already going for Magic lock, pulling back to negate his violent twists. Each aircraft fired one of its missiles, forcing Cody to dump off flares to save themselves. He dove towards the ground in a roll, the forces of gravity landing blows upon blows on his body. The rebel jets were forced to pass by to the outside, but he couldn't bring the F-14 back to the right at his current speed as fast as he wanted. As he looked up, he spotted two new aircraft, long with stubby noses.

"Lion 08, Fox 2!" A voice cried as it fired a missile.

The Emmerian F-8 Crusaders had broken the formation but only pursued one of the Mirages and the missile that'd been fired, leaving the other to Cody and Jean. Cody wasn't surprised the interceptors had lost the advantage so quickly; they were old jets that were not made for this kind of thing. He gave no complaints, however, and targeted the other Mirage as it descended towards the desert floor in afterburner. Cody followed, making sure he controlled how high up he was to avoid sucking in dust. As he got close to the floor, he found the heat was beginning to overwhelm the AIM-9's seeker head. Cody frowned and selected his M61A1 Gatling gun. So be it...

The two fighters had settled out at roughly 700 feet as the screeched to the south. The enemy fighter was right there, but Cody needed to lead his target at this speed. At this altitude and speed he would have to walk the tightrope one step at a time. His training set off a series of reactions and thoughts, leading to him gripping the throttles and placing his altitude in his mind.

"Hang on, Power." He called. The man grabbed the bar above his radar and forced himself against the seat, as if it were a carrier shot.

Cody gritted his teeth and ripped the throttles back. He almost wanted to let out a battle cry, but neglected to as he jammed back the trigger with his right index finger. The 20mm weapon let out its distinctive sound, a tongue of bullets crossing the distance to the Mirage III. The pilot watched as flashes of mental winked at him from the back of the Mirage. Cody pulled up as debris flew back, trying to save his jet and its whiny engines. He slowed down and rolled inverted to watch the enemy aircraft as it was sent to its grave. He waited to see an ejection, but nothing happened. He bit his lower lip and began to get anxious. But his hope was never fulfilled, and the Osean felt a subtle upsetting of his stomach as the Mirage simply glided down into the sand, live rebel pilot in the seat. Cody gulped down the disturbing feeling and pulled back towards a higher altitude, checking his fuel gauge and hoping a KA-6 might be close if he needed gas…

---

Anne Walker peeked her head inside her husband's study. Her husband was asleep in his chair, his memoirs and notes for them all over his desk along with a half-empty bottle of beer. The rest of the room was spotless, coincidentally. She smiled and carefully opened the door. Mark, there grandson, had gone off to be with his friends and their daughter was at work still, allowing them to be alone. Though now they were too old to get it on like they'd used to. She came up behind the chair and rested her hands on his shoulders. He snorted and opened his eyes, but was not surprised. She delivered a kiss to his lips.

"Good afternoon, Stallion." She said with a smile. He returned it and swung his left arm around, playfully batting at her skirt. She gave him a look.

"Oh stop it, you dirty old man." She scolded, batting away his hand.

"Hey, yer the one who called me a stallion. And besides, you've still got those nice hips." He replied. She rolled her eyes and looked at the writings he had.

"Make some progress today?" She asked.

"Two chapters, including my first combat deployment."

"Ah yes, when we're still young in our marriage."

"Yup, back when me and Roy were young studs with smokes in our teeth and energy in our eyes."

Cody stared up at her a moment before he stood up and turned towards her, fixing his sweater. He carefully took her hands and held her close; beginning to move as if they were slow dancing. The woman's eyebrows arched at him.

"Cody, may I ask what you're doing?" Anne said, playing along.

He didn't answer, and there was no music, neither stopped to start some, but nonetheless they acted like it. Anne smiled and gave her husband a gentle kiss.

"I love you with every inch of my heart, Cody." She said as they swayed in a small circle. He smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

"And I love you just as much, Anne." He replied.

Even as he was here in 2011, He could still remember the raid, the losses they'd incurred (two A-6s, a Super Etendard and a pair of F-8s), and that Mirage pilot that'd gone into the ground with his jet. He'd mentioned it out of the sheer need to add to his hate of war. But he also knew that no matter what crap he'd been forced to wade through, From Futuro to Belka and every single shot he'd fired and enemy jet he'd trashed, he always had Anne.