Disclaimer: This is a pickup story of WingerFreedom662's story: The Ultimate Ace. Seeing as he wont get around to finishing it, I decided to finish it. You'll notice that I've fixed most of the grammatical errors of the first chapter, as well as make my one personal touches to the story. So read and enjoy. If there is any thing wrong with the story, just let me know
The Sheltered Wings of the Protector
"Amidst the blue skies, a link from past to future. The sheltered wings of the protector… The flames of hatred scorch the skies… Igniting Gaia's funeral pyre."
Chapter One
The Beginning
The male voice of an operator of an orbiting AWACS aircraft cut through the droning 'whoosh' of the tiny fighter's air conditioning.
"Attention Wardog Squadron, unknown enemy is at your twelve o'clock, altitude Angels 20." The pilot of the tiny F-5E Tiger shifter in his uncomfortable seat as best he could, physically restrained by the harness holding him tightly to his ejection seat.
He listened with half an ear as his flight lead, Captain Jack Bartlett, responded to the AWACS call, his gruff voice filling the comm. "Rodger that AWACS. Okay Wardog listen up. We are to intercept this guy as he tries to exit our airspace. Bad news is it looks like a Blackbird."
The pilot in the F-5 quietly groaned. Knowing full well they would never catch that fast bastard in these hunks of junk.
"Good news is somehow our guys managed to peg him with a SAM."
The pilot was actually astonished by this and he just had to ask the question burning his lips, "How the hell did they manage that?"
"Good question, Wardog 4." Bartlett replied, "Guess the pilot must have been asleep or something."
Wardog 4, a pilot by the name of William Crowe, privately agreed. The man was in his mid-twenties and there was way more to him than his ordinary appearance would suggest. Though he was flagged as a nugget in the Osean Air Defense Force, he was, in fact, the legendary ace who destroyed Stonehenge and Megalith, the feared super weapons of the Erusian military, five years ago. Mobius 1. He was just twenty then, now at twenty-five, his already amazing skills had matured to truly a new level of frightening proportions. Few knew where the amazing ace had gone when he had resigned his commission with ISAF and disappeared of the face of Strangereal. Only Crowe and a select few in the ISAF military knew the true story.
After what happened at Allenfort Air Base four years ago, Crowe went through great lengths to vanish off the face of Strangereal. Now he lived in Osea, fully intended to spend the rest of his life living in blessed solitude. He was famous through out the world as Mobius 1, or more commonly known as The Ribbon, or as the Erusian's called him, The Grim Reaper. But that fame came at a price and it nearly cost him and the rest of Mobius squadron to lose their lives and that was the reason he disappeared, to protect himself and his squadron. At least he was grateful for ISAF High Command keeping his identity secret from the international press, as they didn't want to lose their most valuable asset.
Now Colonel Crowe was here. Well, not Colonel anymore. Now he was a Second Lieutenant, a nugget with the OADF. Flying a fighter proved to be too addicting to just leave behind. So, he signed up to the OADF after years of dead-end jobs. He had to be exceptionally careful to mask his skills during flight training even if he desperately wanted to cut loose on some of the more arrogant cadets who all seemed to come from the Officer Training program that Osea ran in most colleges. Those idiotic fools wouldn't last thirty seconds against someone like him or Yellow Thirteen.
"Wardog 4, hello? You awake back there? You better be marking our tail, son." Crowe jerked in his seat as Bartlett's annoyed voice cut through his thoughts.
Shaking his helmeted and masked head, Crowe keyed his mike, "Yes sir. I'm still here. Your six is clear."
"Good. At least your confident." Bartlett said. Crowe glared through his visor at the green and brown camouflaged F-4 that his flight lead was piloting.
"Man, I'm glad you drew the short straw instead of me!" Alvin Davenport said brightly. Alvin, or as he liked to be called, Chopper, was another trainee flying an F-5, as all trainees did. They were the standard jet for ACM, Air Combat Maneuvering that the trainees had been practicing prior to this impromptu mission.
AWACS broke in with a stern "Cut the chatter," then the controller, callsign Thunderhead, started to issue more orders, "Wardog, continue on current course to intercept. Weapons safe." Crowe barley suppressed a sigh. Weapons safe meant do not fire until ordered. Generally regarded by most pilots as a death sentence. Orders were orders, however, and as much as he hated the order, he reached down and flipped off the Master Arm switch on the panel in front of him. Now, even if he pulled the trigger, nothing would happen.
"Rodger that Thunderhead," came a female voice from the plane to Will's left. That was Kei Nagase, a beautiful Oriental looking pilot, "Weapons safe until further orders." Right as the woman said that, the Ribbon's keen vision spotted a rapidly moving black speck in the distance.
"Wardog 4 tallyho, bearing twelve o'clock low." Crow stated crisply. The bogey was on their nose and about five hundred feet lower than the four-ship formation. The ace of aces felt the adrenalin begin to surge through his system. He clamped down the feeling before it made him betray something he didn't want to known. Bartlett came up on the radio and told them to go. The flight banked as one and rolled out right behind the crippled SR-71. Crowe still couldn't believe a SAM was able to damage, let alone hit the Blackbird. As the fastest plane in the world, the Blackbird was famous for never being shot down, that was, however, until Crowe shot one down during Operation Countdown.
As Bartlett and Chopper argued over who would send the surrender request, Crowe banked again and slid into position off Chopper's wing. The new position would allow him to get off a missile shot if it was necessary. His other position would've resulted in him shooting down his flight lead. And knowing Bartlett, Crowe would never hear the end of it.
As Crowe listened to Chopper's weak surrender order, the veteran ace scanned the skies around them. A useless action, considering they were still over Osean airspace, but for a man who spent most of his time over hostile skies he couldn't just quit doing it, even in peacetime. "Negative on the landing gear," Crowe said as he dipped down to check on the Blackbirds underbelly, "Guess he's not gonna surrender."
"Big surprise there Wardog 4," Bartlett said, "Did you really expect him to?"
"Not really," Crowe replied, "I wouldn't have done it." That was true. If he were in the cockpit of the Blackbird, he would have stalled long enough to wait for allied planes to come to his aid, just as he did when he had to escort a damaged U2 spy plane through a foggy Gnome Ravine, while also having to deal with the Erusian radar jammers around the area. That sudden thought caused Crowe to scan the sky one more time.
"You and me both, Kid," Bartlett answered. As Crowe continued to scan the area he couldn't help smile behind his mask. Despite what others may say about Bartlett, Crowe really did like the gruff old flight lead.
"Enemy aircraft identified bearing 280 altitude 6000. Hold until further orders." The radio blared again.
"Crossing the pond to fly cover for their spy plane, huh? Now there's a pilot worth his wings." Bartlett stated. Crowe silently agreed with that. But who in their right mind would risk a war by flying over a superpower and then send fighter into a sovereign nations airspace, especially a superpower like Osea?
"Wardog 4 to Heartbreak 1," Crowe called, "This is to weird. What's going on?"
"I don't know, Kid," The old ace replied, "But it's not our place to ask questions."
Crowe scowled behind his mask and visor. Who would do something so stupid? Definitely not Belka. They were still suffering the effects of the Belkan War of 1995. Ustio? Not likely. There was no reason for them to start a war against an ally country. Maybe Yuktobania? Again no. Yuktobania was a superpower and an ally of Osea. Crowe's radar bleeping an alarm brought him out of his thoughts. Crowe glanced down at it and saw four contacts about thirty miles away from them. The four bogeys continue to fly at them head on. Crowe decided he wasn't going to get caught by four, possibly hostile, planes with a stick up his ass. A deft flick sent the Master Arm from SAFE to Arm. No he was live again and ready to take two of the four fools out in an instant.
"I-I can see them," Chopper stuttered, the nervousness clear in his voice.
"Rodger," Edge, Nagase's callsign, replied. Her voice was accompanied by heaving breathing. Even though she had been the only surviving trainee from a bounce a couple of days ago, she now had time to think about her predicament. That was a real good way to raise the pucker factor.
Crowe, TAC name Blaze, which was an oxymoron considering his usually lazy attitude when on the ground, squinted and spotted four dim specks, "Wardog 4, tallyho. Four bogeys confirmed off our nose, altitude 6000." In contrast with the other two, his voice was calm collected. He had done his hundreds of times before. Now would be no different.
Copy, Wardog 4," Thunderhead replied, "Continue on current course."
"Rodger." That was Bartlett. Now the two opposing groups were within Sidewinder range. Will's instincts screamed at him to break. He trusted it, ramming the throttle to full afterburner and pulling as hard as he could on the stick. His Tiger responded instantly. He was shoved into his seat from both the sudden acceleration and the g's applied to his body by the violent pull. Crowe got out of the way just in time as four AIM-9Ls and tracer rounds singed the space he had just been occupying. Ignoring the startled cries of the two nuggets below, he rolled onto his back at the top of his climb and pulled again. The Split-S took him right onto one of the bandit's tail. Crowe was able to identify the jinking enemy as an older MiG-21.
"Hold your fire!" Thunderhead yelled. Will wanted to yell at Thunderhead to clear them to shoot, but Chopper did it for him.
"Oh come on! Those aren't blanks they're firing out there!"
"Shut your mouth and fire back!" Bartlett retorted as he sped past a MiG-21 on a high speed 'slash-and-dash', using the F-4 Phantoms weight and brute engine strength to his advantage.
"Rodger that! Blaze, engage! Crowe yelled, pulling the trigger for his twin cannons, the pipper right on the MiG attempted to evade him. The guns came to life with a loud 'braaaawwww' and twin tongues of flame and smoke appeared on the lower part of his canopy. The angry red tracers reached out and seemed to caress the MiG in deceptively gentle and harmless looking touch. A tracer struck the fighter's right delta wing and the small fighter blew up in a spectacular orange and red fireball. The ace banked and loaded the g's onto his fighter, broadcasting the call 'Splash One' to let everyone know that they were now three enemy fighters.
"Ah! Dammit! Get him off my tail! Chopper yelled. Crowe's head whipped around and found his fellow pilot in deep trouble. A silver MiG was just yards behind him and pulling lead, trying to get Chopper in his pipper.
"Chopper! Break right!" Crowe screamed at him, "Get him in front of me! I can nail him!"
Chopper didn't seem to understand. But Crowe knew what was going on in Chopper's head. He was afraid of having an enemy on his tail, scared of dying, that he couldn't remember anything about what to do.
'Dammit! I gotta get to him!' pounded through The Ribbons head. He reversed his turn, grunting to try and keep the blood in his head. His vision grayed from the g's despite his and his g-suit's best efforts, time slowed down to a snail pace. Crowe could see all the details on the MiG ahead of him. The sun glinted off the glass of the canopy, the seeker head of the Sidewinder slung underneath the wing and he could see the brilliantly orange afterburner flame flickering as the MiG pilot tried to take out Chopper. He flicked a switch on his throttle, blessing HOTAS as he did. Without it, he couldn't switch from guns to missiles in time. The HUD in front of him had a diamond moving across it, the Sidewinder's IR seeker on his wingtip looking at the target.
Will wished it would hurry up. The diamond merged with the target box around the MiG-21 and turned red. At the same time a loud growling tone blared through his headset, telling him his missile was locked and tracking. He pressed the little red button on the top of his stick. Time sped up and a white and orange blur streaked into his vision from his left and sped across to the right. The AIM-9X tracked beautifully, pulling lead on the enemy in front of him, following his prey's turn so it could deliver its deadly payload. A split second later, the MiG vanished in a large explosion as the missile found it.
"Blaze here, scratch one more MiG," Crowe grunted as he reversed again, pumping out flares and chaff to try spoof any missiles that might have been launched against him
"Thanks, Kid!" Chopper said as he rolled away and joined up with Bartlett.
"Next time keep your head on a swivel," Crowe grumbled. He didn't really mind his new teammates, but working with inexperienced pilots meant he had generally had to work twice as hard to keep their asses in the sky.
"Blaze! Break!" Edge's panicked yell brought him back to the task at hand. In his inattention, he had not eased his turn and that meant there were still g's on the plane, which, in turn, meant he was slower than he should have been. A bad combination that screamed 'hey, kill me! Of course, any experienced pilot would have capitalized on it, recognizing an easy kill. At that moment, his missile alarm started beeping at him. Time slowed down for a second, his squad mates were screaming at him, garbled, meaningless, white noise faded by both the alarm and his own deafness, brought on by his intense focus at hand: avoid the speeding missile with his name written on it. Another millisecond passed and he rolled onto his back for a second time and pulled again, letting go countermeasures as he did to spoof the missile. This time though, instead of following through and reversing course, he delayed his pull for what seemed like eternity, even though it was only a couple of seconds. Then he pulled through and kept it, doing a bastardized version of a loop.
The unorthodox maneuver brought him on his opponents. Now the hunter has become the prey. The stunt he had to get on the MiG's tail had put Crowe outside Sidewinder range. The Grim Reaper smiled grimly as he shifted weapons again, going from Sidewinders to Sparrow missiles. A ring appeared on the HUD and surrounded the target designator box that showed the MiG. Crowe pressed the pickle button and the Sparrow lanced from the pylon under his wing and blazed a smoke trail across the sky to the ill-fated fighter. He kept the doomed bastard's in his radar's ring so the Sparrow would keep track.
"Wow, Blaze!" Edge exclaimed in amazement when another MiG became a fireball, "That's three kills!"
"And only one fore me," Bartlett grumbled as he popped off to Blaze's left, "If I'm not careful you're gonna upstage me, Kid."
Crowe chuckled, "I doubt that, sir." he replied modestly, "You're to stubborn to let me do it." He chuckled again. Crowe had a staggering kill count that surpassed even that of the Demon Lord of the Round Table.
"Well, you're three up on Edge and me," Chopper broke in, "I owe you, though. You saved my ass back there."
"Alright cut the chatter." Thunderhead interrupted with the same sentence for what seemed like the millionth time during this mission. His exasperation showed in his voice, even over the radio, "HQ wants you four to RTB and Captain Bartlett to report to the Colonel's office." Bartlett's groan was the only response as they formed up and banked away, heading back to their base at Sand Island.
Several hours later, the members of Wardog that had, against orders, shot down several enemy aircraft were informed that the kills that Bartlett and Blaze racked up were to be stricken from the record.
"Damn, that really sucks!" Chopper yelled to the open air outside one of the maintenance hangars. Crowe sighed in annoyance at his loudmouthed squad mate's outburst.
"Relax, Chopper," he said, "It's no big deal."
"Are you serious?!" Chopper exclaimed, rounding on him, "You should be pissed. You were only two kills away from becoming an ace!"
Crowe inwardly smirked, 'If only you knew, Chopper,' "Like I said, its no bid deal." Crowe answered, shrugging his shoulders. Chopper snorted and Blaze continued, "Seriously. Kills aren't everything, Chopper."
"Yeah, but you would have been the first ace since the Belkan War fifteen years ago," said a new female voice from behind them. The duo turned and saw Edge coming behind them, "Don't you want that kind of recognition?" she asked.
"Not really." Crowe answered truthfully, still remembering what his fame had brought to his squadron at Allenfort. "I kind of like my peace. Besides, famous people get in trouble too much."
Chopper snickered, "Yeah, just look at the Captain." Kei smiled at the remark, while Crowe nodded his head in agreement. Their IP did seem to get in more than his fair share of trouble.
"I was gonna head over to the chow hall to get dinner," Edge said, "You two want to come?" Chopper agreed, but Crowe declined, claiming that he had already eaten.
After the other two had gone, Will turned to look out over the ocean at the setting sun. The fiery orange ball had dyed the normally teal ocean a bloody red. A slight sea breeze lifted his short, fair, brown hair that normally hung just above his blue eyes.
Crowe took a deep breath and reached into his pocket to feel silk. He removed the silk like object out in front of him, and slightly opened his hand to reveal a light blue Mobius strip. A sad smile graced Crowe's face. For six years he carried this small strip were ever he went. It was the only thing he had to remember his little sister, Claire, by. The ribbon was her good luck charm that she normally had wrapped around her wrist. In fact, she loved it so much that she almost never took it off. She gave it to him as a good luck charm for him, saying he would need in the future. Crowe thought how she would have loved to be here, sitting on a beach in the middle of the Pacific, looking at the setting sun. If only she didn't give him the ribbon before that fated day.
"Watch you staring at, Kid." Crowe whirled, startled, and quickly flung the ribbon back into his pocket. Bartlett was standing behind him with a lopsided grin on his face.
Crowe returned with a sheepish smile. "Nothing, sir. Sorry I didn't hear you there." he said, then quickly added, "Uh, whatever it is, I swear I didn't do it."
"No. You sure did do it," Bartlett replied, both men became serious, "Today with those guys at Cape Landers. What happened?"
"Not sure I follow, sir," Crowe answered, puzzled. What was Bartlett talking about?
"You fought like a seasoned ace up there, Kid," Bartlett elaborated, "I've never seen anyone with your fighting skills, except, maybe the Demon Lord or the Ribbon."
"Really?" Crowe replied, tensing up, and rubbing the silk fabric of Mobius strip hidden in his pocket for comfort. This conversation was getting into uncomfortable territory real fast.
"Yeah," Bartlett said, nodding, "You were beyond amazing up there today. A nugget shooting down three enemies in his first real engagement? I can see you going places real fast, Kid." Bartlett patted Crowe's shoulder, "Just wanted to wish you luck after you leave here." Crowe felt the tension drain away, so he stopped rubbing his sister's Mobius strip. Crowe guessed that Bartlett thought he was a shit hot pilot and was just wishing him good luck on his next assignment. Though, that remarked told him he would have to tone down his flying on future missions.
"Thank you, sir," Crowe replied, snapping a crisp salute, which Bartlett retuned, then the older pilot sauntered away, leaving Crowe to reminisce in his memories of family once more.
"Okay, listen up people," Perrault's nasally voice droned, "Today, several flight of UAVs over Sand Island and other points of the mainland. We have pinpointed them originating from the ship," At his words, a point on the map behind him pulsed red, "Wardog is to stop them by any means necessary. You are not to attack the ship for any reason. Am I clear, Bartlett?" Crowe scowled at the obese commander. He thought that since he was in charge of the base, he didn't have to respect those who served under him. Every briefing the ace had with the fat man ended up with some dig on Bartlett.
"Yes, sir."
"Good, now get out there and get rid of those pests." With that, the arrogant Colonel saluted and the pilots walked out to their jets. Today, since they were on an intercept mission, the flight would be in F-15C Eagles, with Bartlett in his trademark Phantom.
Blaze scaled the ladder to the Eagle's cockpit and seated himself in the seat before Pops, the best damn mechanic and crew chief on two continents, helped him strap in and handed him his helmet.
"Thanks, Pops," Crowe said, as he hooked up the mask and the g-suit to the air supple and sat his helmet on his head and strapped it down.
"Good luck up there, Kid," replied the balding middle-aged man with a gentle smile, "Come back in one piece, eh?"
"You bet. I'll see you at the O'club later tonight." Pops just grinned and descended the ladder. Meanwhile, Crowe held down a switch that lowered the canopy and sealed. He began flicking switched with practiced ease and, system-by-system by system, brought the warplane to life. He took a brief moment to pause and listen to the growing hum of the twin turbofan engines behind him as they tried to kick over. He advanced the throttle a fraction and the fighter lurched against the brakes as the hum abruptly became a whine. Crowe pulled back to idle and finished his checklists.
"Heartbreak 1 to all planes," Bartlett's gruff voice crackled in his ear, "Sound off."
"4, 2, 3." came the rapid replies from the pilots as they made sure that their machines were at one hundred percent.
"Rodger that, Sand Island ground, Heartbreak 1, Wardog flight is ready to taxi."
Static followed the statement for a few moments then came the answer, "Wardog flight taxi to runway 27 and hold short. Contact tower on 144.8 when ready."
"taxi to and hold short runway 27, call tower on 144.8 when ready." Bartlett rattled back, "Okay kiddies, you heard the man, let's move out. " The mammoth F-4 next to Crowe began to move and turn to the right, then passed in front of him.
"4 taxiing." Crowe stated then moved his throttle a fraction and felt the Eagle strain and then began to roll. He waited a few moments then pushed the right rudder pedal all the way in. The jet turned and then Brian was on his way on the runway. At the Hold Short Line, he hit the brakes and raised his hands, bracing them on the canopy above him. Only then did the weapons guys approach his jet and removed the safety pins on the eight missiles that weighted down his bird. The techs moved away and Crowe tossed a quick two-fingered salute before he punched 144.8 into the primary radio.
"Heartbreak 1, Sand Island tower, position and hold runway 27." A few feet in front of him, Bartlett's lights came to life and he advanced across the four yellow lines that divided the taxiway from the runaway, "Heartbreak 1, Sand Island tower, you are cleared for take off." A second, a roar cut through Crowe's canopy as the huge Phantom began to roll down the runaway at full afterburner, the twin ten-foot flames scorching the pavement as Bartlett pulled back and roared into the sky.
"Sand Island tower, Wardog 4 holding short runway 27," The Ribbon said into his mask. One more time static followed the radio call.
"Wardog 4, tower, position and hold." Crowe advanced past the hold short line and flicked a row of switches to turn on his wingtip, beacon, and strobe lights. A second later his left foot pressured the rudder pedal all the way in and the jet wheeled left, right in line with the white dashed centerline. He disengaged the nosewhell steering and stopped and began to run down his jet's systems one more time. The ace's heart was pounding in anticipation of hurtling down the runway at more than one hundred miles per hour. "Wardog 4 cleared for take off."
"Cleared for takeoff runway 27," he rambled back. Now there was no stopping him. His left hand pushed the throttle all the way forward. The F-15 shuddered like a horse in the gate, not lie being held by the brakes. His feet left the top of the rudders and the jet began to roll once more, quickly gathering speed, and a deep-throated roar reverberating into his red-hot exhaust. He tapped the pedals to keep the yaw under control. Now that he was finally moving, the control surfaces worked better. A second later he pulled the stick back and held. The jet flew off the runway and into the sky.
Crowe slapped the wheel-shaped gear lever to raise the gear before the wind of the speeding plane's slipstream tore them off. He pulled the throttle out of afterburner to conserve fuel, and still climbing, turned right to exit the pattern. Crowe found Bartlett on the Eagle's massive radar and sped to his location. Bartlett, who had turned off his lights, now flashed them and Crowe slid into position behind, and a little below, his flight-lead. About five minutes passed when the other two joined them and got into their positions, then the whole flight turned onto the course Bartlett had been given to intercept the UAVs.
"Thunderhead, the is Heartbreak checking in," Bartlett called.
"This is Thunderhead. Rodger. Wardog, continue on present course to intercept the recon planes as they return to their vessel," the deep-voiced AWACS replied. The flight continued to streak north on their way to deal with some stupid UAVs. As they continued their way, Crowe began to scan the skies, looking for any white dots in the sky. He knew that they would be probably be dealing with Predators.
Despite its fierce name, the UAV was only good for recon and maybe some light close air support, depending if the flimsy thing carried anti-tank Hellfire missiles or not. He hated the new UAVs that everyone and their brother were hawking as the future of air combat. That was utter bullshit in his opinion. Besides, you couldn't replace an on-location pilot with a remote team. But Crowe wasn't unreasonable; he knew UAVs had their own niche in the combat world. It just wasn't in front line air combat.
"Tallyho, we've got company," Bartlett's voice crackled in his ear, "Show me what you've got, Kid."
"Copy that," Blaze replied as he throttled up and rolled over the top pf Bartlett's F-4. He could see the Predators already, two tiny whiter specks in the distance so he punched it to close the distance and get in range. He flicked his Master Arm to ARM and went to guns. He wasn't going to waste valuable missiles on some plastic UAVs. The first Predator was in range now. He put the pipper on the fuselage and pulled the trigger. 20mm red-hot tracers lanced from the wing root of his Eagle with a buzz saw noise, striking the drone right where the gunsight said. He racked the second Predator with a second burst, this one shattering the wing and sending the UAV into a death spiral. He looped away and rejoined the flight.
"Great shooting, Blaze!" Nagase said enthusiastically, "You're already better than me and we graduated at the same time!"
"No joke, Kid, you're a natural!" Chopper said.
"Uh-huh. There are still drones around. Check your radar." Blaze said. The Eagles greatest asset that it made it such a formidable air superiority fighter was the enormous radar that had an unbelievable range. Well, that and a good pilot how to work the thing. Crowe knew this first hand when he fought against six X-02 Wyvern's during Operation Katina. The inexperienced Wyvern pilots thought they could take him down in an aircraft that was superior to his Raptor, only to end up as a crater on the ground. As the famous Belkan Ace, Manfred von Richtofen once said: "It's not the machine that makes the pilot, but the pilot that makes the machine."
"Kid's right," Bartlett said in his usual gruff overtone, "That ship launched more than one Predator flight." The flight split, Blaze and Chopper going after one element and Bartlett and Edge going for another.
"Mind if I take this one, Kid?" Chopper asked, the excitement clear in his voice.
"Sure, nock yourself out, Chopper." Blaze acknowledged in a bored tone.
"Sweet! Let's see how I stack up!" Chopper pulled into position and opened up. His burst was a little off, but he managed to hit the fuel tanks. The little unmanned plane went up in a fireball, considering its size.
"Whoa! Sure did blow up good!" The talkative pilot exclaimed.
"No surprise there," Crowe replied, "Any weight they save by taking out the cockpit is used for fuel. Little bastards can stay up way longer than we can."
"So lets shoot them down, eh?" Chopper said gleefully, Then we go back to the base and listen to 'the Sound of Madness'!" Blaze rolled his eyes in amusement and Chopper went after the second Predator. Even though Chopper could be annoying sometimes, Crowe had to admit; Chopper had a good taste in rock music, though Crowe preferred Usean metal bands, like 'The Amity Affliction.' The second Predator went into a nosedive, it propeller sheared of by a 20mm high explosive round.
"Wardog 3, report on status." Bartlett said curtly. Crowe spotted two specks heading towards them and he knew it had to be Bartlett and Edge returning.
"Both UAVs shot down, Boss," Chopper said brightly, "I'm glad there weren't any people in these things aren't you."
"Yeah," Edge said, "I don't think I'm ready to take on real pilots yet."
Bartlett snorted derisively; "Don't sell yourself short, Nagase. You did fine against those MiGs yesterday."
"Only because you had my back, sir." she replied, "Blaze took out half the flight on his own and saved Chopper from swimming home."
Well, that's me and not you, Edge," Crowe replied, "It was just beginner's luck, that's all. 'And the experience of war.' As much as he wanted to tell them that he was Mobius 1, he knew he couldn't. He'd be endangering their lives if they ever found out the truth. He couldn't relieve that horrible nightmare at Allenfort all over again.
"Wardog, this is Thunderhead," came the almost monotonous voice, "We have leakers again." Blaze's eyes slightly widened. This had to be the third time in less than two weeks! He knew they were out in the middle of nowhere, but this was still Osea. What the hell was going on with the early warning network?
"Same axis as before?" Bartlett asked. Crowe could tell by the tone of the old ace was wondering the same thing.
"280, same as last time."
"God damn, how many planes they got lined up at the border? We only got four on our side. We better abort. RTB. Now! Bartlett rolled his Phantom away, back towards Sand Island. Edge followed suite, leaving Chopper and Crowe to catch up.
"Let's move, Chopper," Crowe said, "We don't want to be around when those guys catch up. Trust me."
"But what about the ship?" Chopper asked, "Are we just gonna leave it?"
"It was never in the orders to begin with," Blaze replied, "Come on. We gotta get out of here." Crowe's tone left no room for argument and the two F-15s turned away to head to Sand Island. Blaze didn't realize that Chopper had fallen behind until he heard the frantic call.
"I can't make it, they're running me down!" Blaze's head snapped around so fast he cricked his neck. That minor pain wasn't helped by the g's that he was loading as he snapped his plane into a hairpin turn to go help his distressed teammate. He lit the burners as Bartlett made some crack at Chopper about the tail position. While that happened, Blaze's fingers danced on the throttle and stick, setting himself up for a BVR shot with one of the AIM-120 AMRAAMs slung to his belly. The missiles onboard radar began to track the MiG on his HUD.
"Hang on, Chopper," Crowe reassuringly said, "I've got him locked up."
"Them take him out, Kid!" Bartlett yelled. Blaze pressed the button and launched the AMRAAM. The missile raced after its target as the ace took advantage of the missile's fire-and-forget feature as he locked another MiG and launched a second AMRAAM. The counter on the HUD marking the time to impact of the first missile hit zero.
"Chopper, how you doing buddy?" Blaze asked. A crackle of static met his ears, and just as his heart began to sink, a very welcome voice burst over the radio.
"Hey, Kid! Could you have cut that any closer?" Chopper yelled at him.
Blaze grinned "Well, don't skip the details. Did I get him or not?"
"Kid, that bastard is on his way for a nice swim." Chopper replied, "The missile buzzed my canopy, man."
Blaze grinned as he zoomed past the enemies in pursuit of the MiG-29 Fulcrum that his second AMRAAM had missed.
"Enemy squadron has commenced counter-attack," a heavily accented voice foreign voice said blankly over the radio. Blaze wondered for a second who it was when he remembered that AWACS was transmitting intercepted comms to Wardog so that they could gauge what the enemy was thinking. A useful concept, but the efficiency of it was limited to the willingness of the enemy jabber. Most of the time, it was either the pilot swearing about being shot down, out of ammunition, or flipping out over the fact that the guy behind him was really good. Crowe had lost track of how many Erusian ground forces and airmen screamed, "It's The Ribbon!" over their radios. It also worked both ways. Blaze had noticed that most of the enemy pilots tended to go after Chopper, probably because he talked so damn much.
The MiG in front of him suddenly reversed his turn, but the ISAF ace was right there with him, matching him turn-for-turn. The MiG-29 was a good platform, Crowe knew, because he had flown one during the assault on the Tango Line. But this guy didn't seem to how to fly it that well. His finger flicked again, and in an instant, he was in guns mode. The pipper trailed behind the MiG just slightly and Crowe was pulling as hard as he could as it was. Pulling nine g's made him feel like their was an elephant on his chest as he fought to stay on the MiG's six o'clock, then the MIG pilot made a fatal error; he Split-S'ed. The maneuver forced the pilot to straighten his path so he could roll onto his back to follow through. The Eagle's superior power and legendary pilot made the attempted evasion a piece of to keep up with. This allowed the pipper to slide into position. The tracers slammed into the area of the MiG's cockpit and the plane kept diving. Crowe didn't need to follow; he knew he had killed the pilot. It wasn't the first pilot he had killed. During the Continental War, he killed countless Erusian pilots, but felt no sympathy for them. They were all Eursians; the people who took everything precious in his life away. Yellow Thirteen was the only Erusian pilot Crowe had respect and sympathy for. But these pilots weren't Erusian. Crowe felt some guilt in killing the enemy pilot.
"Blaze, splash one," he radioed with a monotone voice.
"You splashed an enemy fighter without permission to engage!? What were you thinking Wardog." Thunderhead raged.
A beeping jostled Blaze into the present. An acquisition radar had locked him up. That usually precluded a SAM launch.
"Blaze here," he called, "I'm spiked. Where is it coming from?"
"This is Thunderhead, the signal is coming from the ship," the airborne controller replied," I'll see if I can jam it. Standby." A second later and the spike vanished.
"Thanks, Thunderhead." Blaze replied as he banked away.
"Edge, splash one," Nagase's voice cut in. The engagement lasted for another minute or two before the remaining two MiGs were shot down. Edge managed to rack up another kill as Chopper racked up his first after Blaze had scared the MiG into climbing right into Davenport's sights.
"Picture is clear," reported Thunderhead, just before Chopper spotted a puff below them.
"Missiles!" he yelled into the radio. All four pilots began to jink and roll crazily before it became obvious that the deadly projectile had its eyes squarely on Edge.
"Come on, Edge!" Crowe yelled, "Evade it!" He watched as Nagase tried desperately to spoof the thing, but it was really dialed in, and despite her best efforts, the missile just did not want to break of the lock. In the heat of the moment, Kei forgot to use countermeasures. Then Crowe witnessed something that even took him by complete shock. Bartlett's Phantom came out of nowhere and cut right in front of the missile. The rocket couldn't resist the newer, closer, target and changed course immediately.
Crowe immediately knew what Bartlett was doing. 'You crazy bastard. You're going to sacrifice yourself to save Kei.' he thought His prediction came true when the SAM and the Phantom merged in a most unpleasant way. The resulting explosion was enough to tear off the wingtip and fatally wound the big fighter.
"Captain!" Edge cried, clearly worried about the man who may have just killed himself to save her. How could she have let this happen?
"Hey! Save the waterworks. I'm just gonna bail out here. Make a call to scramble the rescue chopper and my reserve plane, okay?" Bartlett told her trying to inject a reassuring tone in his voice. Then a bright flame lit up the Phantom's cockpit as Bartlett pulled, what most pilots had come to call, the 'get me the hell out now!' lever, and then the flame was followed by a stark white parachute as the seat left the man sitting in it behind to dangle from the risers.
"Thunderhead, this is Wardog 4, Heartbreak 1's ejection confirmed. Scramble the rescue chopper. Now." Crowe ordered.
"Rodger, rescue team is enroute. Wardog, refuel and rearm at the base and get back in the air immediately."
"But the rescue chopper isn't here yet," edge protested. The higher-ups didn't expect the flight to abandon their Captain, did they?
"Rodger that, Thunderhead." Crowe replied icily, "Wardog flight is on the way back now.
"Blaze! You can't really expect us to leave the Captain behind, do you?" Edge cried, shocked that her normally distant, but amicable, comrade could be so cold.
"Seriously, Kid!" Chopper yelled angrily, "What the hell are you thinking!?"
"Enough! Both of you!" Crowe yelled, slipping back into his former self, "There's nothing we can do! I don't like it either but we have our orders. If you a better solution, I'm willing to listen!" The ringing silence that followed his words convinced him that neither did. " I didn't think so. Look, don't worry, we'll RTB, let the rescue team can handle it from here." The other two seemed too scared to talk to him so they clicked their mikes and fell into formation behind them, following his lead without any further complain.