A/N: This was inspired by seeing By Dawn's Early Light (1990), a major part of which involves a B-52 crew. Ace Combat fanfiction doesn't seem to focus much on bomber crews, so despite the fact I try to focus on my major stories I wanted to do this. This will have 2-3 parts, so it isn't a oneshot but it isn't a large, multi-chapter story. Jan's inclusion was to give Ace Combat Assault Horizon a bit more love and because I can see Jan being the daughter of a bomber pilot, and that leading to her want to be a bomber pilot herself (yes we all know she is really from the United States but I don't fancy doing Ace Combat in the real world).
The Flying Freight Train (Part 1)
April 3, 1995
Bullock AFB, Northwest Osea
Lieutenant Colonel Martin Rehl gotten up early that morning; it wasn't like he could sleep anyways. The commanding officer of the 332nd Bomber Squadron, the Vengeful Spirits, was about to take his men into combat for the first time today. On the other side of the country, war was raging as the Belkan military poured into Sapin, Ustio, and Eastern Osea. Surprisingly enough, however, the 332nd and its parent wing, the 13th Bomb Wing, were kept out of the action and instead kept on doing the usual of preparing for war that would never come with Yuktobania. But a few days ago it was decided that the time had come for the Osean bomber force to enter the fray. The Vengeful Sprits would be flying at sunset.
Martin had spent those few days getting the squadron ready. He not only coordinated with department heads but also flight leads, crews (both aircraft and ground) and the intelligence folks. He'd even gone to several of these people to make sure they had what they needed. Despite giving the Osean Air Force 18 years of his life, he had never once actually led anyone into real combat, much less seen it. His father had fought in the Great World War of 1940-1946 aboard a B-17, and his older brother had taken a B-52D over the country of Songola. He'd earned his slot as a B-52 pilot in 1977, too late to see any major combat.
He looked at himself in the mirror as he made sure all the shaving cream had been washed away by his shower and that there was no sign of facial hair left except his moustache, Despite the end of March, he'd been told by a few junior pilots that it gave him the look of a cowboy. So until the wing commander told him off with it, it would stay. He dried the moustache and left the bathroom to get dressed. He noted that the bed was now empty, something that made his brows furrow. As he expected and somewhat hoped against, Marceline Rehl was downstairs in the kitchen, two cups of coffee next to her on the counter.
"Marcie, why are you up so early?" He asked nonetheless.
"Martin, we've been married 15 years. Do you honestly expect me to just sleep in when you're about to start flying combat missions?" The blonde woman said. He tried to reason, but she silenced him with a kiss.
"Listen, Dear, I'm not going to drag this out. I'm used to the Air Force life and by now if it'd gotten to me I would've left you much sooner than right now. I made you some coffee to wake you up. I'd say eat something here, but I'm willing to guess you have a very full day ahead that begins soon." The woman of 42 told him. He nodded gratefully and reached for the untouched mug.
"Where's Janice?" he asked after he took a long gulp.
"Jan is outside. She wanted to tell her dad goodbye." She said. Martin nodded and glanced towards the door. Through the window he saw Janice Rehl's short tuft of blonde hair, not much unlike her mother's color.
"As much as I shouldn't, I was planning on stopping by one of the fast-food joints near the squadron building." He added as he drank more of the dark liquid. He set the mug down and checked his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys. Marcie helped him adjust his peaked cap before she kissed him once more.
"Good luck, Martin Rehl. I love you very much." She said, grasping his hands.
"And I love you just as much, Marceline." He replied.
They exchanged one last kiss goodbye before Martin walked outside to say goodbye to his daughter and only child: Janice Rehl.
"Good morning, Jan." he said, sitting in the chair next to her.
"Morning Dad." She smiled, surprisingly calm for a girl whose dad was about to fly into battle.
Janice was now 14, and she'd long before begun to understand more complex things about the world, which made things a bit tougher and easier at the same time. As much as Martin had wanted a boy before her birth, Janice had made him a proud, proud father. She was a tough girl through and through, able to keep up with the neighborhood boys. Probably the thing that made him proudest was her adamant want to become a bomber pilot like him. She always liked to try and hang around the pilots and crew under him when she could, learning their language and ways.
"When do you and the others step, Dad?" she asked. He smiled.
"I'm not sure; they're supposed to give that to me today when they're sure we have the right information and that the fighters can escort us in."
"Do you know who you're going to fly with?" Jan went on.
"I'm planning on having one of our junior pilots along in the co-pilot's seat. You know Ozark, right?"
"Big guy with strawberry blonde hair?"
"That's him."
Jan looked down at her feet, as if searching for something else to say.
"I should be back in time for breakfast tomorrow." Martin assured. He wanted to add how calm she seemed, but held back at first. No need to set off an emotional bomb.
"Hey Dad, you won't get shot down, right?" She said. He'd thought too soon…
"I'll give it all I've got, Sweetheart." He almost choked out. She looked at him.
"I love you, Dad. Good luck." She said. He could tell her voice was cracking a little. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug.
"I love you too, Jan. Don't worry, your Dad will be home soon and when he gets back, we'll have a nice, big breakfast together. Sound good?" He proposed.
"Promise?" She asked.
"Spread my wings and hope to fly." He said, repeating the little incantation she'd used as a little girl.
With goodbyes said, Martin's family watched as he walked to the Mercedes in the driveway. He gave them one last smile before he backed out. Marceline smiled and waved, while Janice stood up straight and saluted the best she good.
Martin returned her salute and turned around to pull out of the driveway…
2nd Lieutenant Toby "Ozark" Dawmire felt down already as he left the gate of Bullock in his ageing Ford F-150. Before he started fighting the real war from the co-pilot seat of a B-52, he had some things to take care of. Toby had barely been in active duty a year at this point, grabbing a scholarship into Air Force ROTC and having to choose bombers over smaller jets when the time for pilot slots came. He didn't hate it, not one bit; he could have worse jobs like transport or AWACS co-pilot. He'd also come to like the Stratofortress in all its big, ugly, long, ground-pounding glory. If nothing else, it was downright righteous when you took off with the engines roaring at full power.
Of course there was also the very, very grim side to being aboard that plane. Even when he'd been growing up, Toby had never paid the concept of nuclear war much attention unless it was mentioned to him or in the news. He'd helped his dad dig a shelter at their house, but he'd never seen a nuke. That'd changed when he'd began training how to deliver the terrible weapon from the B-52, though much to his relief there was little to indicate that he'd be dropping nuclear weapons at any point in this war.
The normally quiet but friendly young officer felt particularly gloomy today, and not because he was on the warpath. He was all-too-ready for that, and more than happy to bust a few Belkan heads. The gloom was the part of his personal life. In the nearby town of Sierra Forks, his hometown nonetheless, a certain woman was about to start her own job soon, teaching fourth grade. Her name was Violet Trevorson. Soon she might be his wife, considering about a month ago they'd made love in a drunken fervor, with the nearest protection sitting on a gas station condom rack a mile from her place.
Toby had made a very powerful mistake, but he wasn't about to run from it. Besides, his family would make sure of it, whether it took some advice and consolation or shotguns and coercion. His younger sister, Alicia, also wanted to see him off before he had to report in at nine that morning. She didn't know about his little lovechild or even about him and Violet. As nosy and stubborn a girl as she could be, she respected her family's personal lives. Consequently, he planned to bring it to light for her in the hopes she would help him. Heaven help him through whatever reaction she would have.
The old truck grumbled across town towards the sole elementary school. At 6:50 in the morning, very few souls inhabited the place. Toby pulled into the one of the visitor parking spots and got out, putting on his peaked cap. He was in his flight suit and had his pager close at hands in case things got pushed up. In through the front doors the officer went.
"May I help you, sir?" The woman at the front desk asked immediately. Toby looked towards her, almost forgotten that she was there, and cleared his throat.
"Is Miss Trevorson here?" He asked, aware of her questioning look regarding why an OAF officer was here at this time.
"I believe she is; may I see some ID?" She asked. He took out his wallet and surrendered his driver's license in exchange for a visitor's pass.
Violet's classroom, Room 23, lay in the hall to the right of the main office. Toby kneaded the top of his cap as he approached the door, glancing at the name plate on it, made all the more cheery by the smiling sun and butterflies around her handwritten name. It felt like centuries since he'd been around teachers who did THAT. He almost felt like he was going to scare her half to death if he just came in, so he knocked first.
"Yes?" a voice asked hesitantly at the knocking.
"Violet, it's me, Toby." He said.
"Toby? Please, come in. I was actually hoping to talk to you soon."
A woman with short, auburn hair in what he'd coined the "teacher's haircut". There was never any set style, but just by looking at the way it was done up you could tell they were a teacher because you'd seen your teachers wear it. Her hair, not tied by anything, fell to her shoulders and framed her face and green eyes. Her figure was covered in a blouse and skirt that were the same color as her name. She was sitting at her desk, looking at him as he entered.
"Why did you knock? It's not like I'd be naked in my classroom or something." She said. And it's not like I'd mind you seeing me naked the dirty part of her mind added just to make things awkward.
"Eh, manners." He said quickly.
"Would you like to sit down?" She asked, looking around for a seat that wasn't made for younger children.
"I'll stand." Toby said with a small smile. She did the same.
"So, what brings you here?" Violet asked.
"Today we start combat operations, and I wanted to make sure you were okay before I went off. I know it's been a little time since…you know…" He said, still not comfortable accurately describing what happened. She bit her lower lip and sighed.
"I'm going to have to start considering maternity leave, Toby. Sooner or later people will notice and I can't deal with the problems of pregnancy while teaching." She said quietly. He nodded.
"At the very least I'll be nearby at the base between sorties. If you need anything please come right to me, or even my family. I'll make sure they won't hurt you." He said with a flicker of a smile. The young pilot put an arm around her.
"I won't leave you alone on this, I'm not like that. I wanna take care of you." He said, reaching for one of her hands.
Thank you, Toby…I know you will…" she said with a cracking voice.
"We're both idiots, aren't we? Give us a little booze, and little flirting, and bam, now we're probably going to end up as Mr. and Mrs. Dawmire with a child to boot." She said, trying to find some dry humor in the grim reality.
"I can't ask for a more perfect bride, though." Toby added.
They stayed in silence for an unknown length of time. Oh how badly they wished they could stay like that, but Toby had other business and Violet had her job.
"I'll call you when I land." He assured as he stood up. She nodded and wrung her hands pensively, before wrapping him in a hug and burying her face in his chest.
"Don't you dare leave this child fatherless, Toby." She said.
"I won't, I promise." He whispered in consolation. He bit his lower lip in hesitation, and then relaxed.
"I love you, Violet Trevorson." He said.
"I love you too, Toby Dawmire." She said back.
Toby begrudgingly left her to teach that morning, hoping he would be home by early tomorrow morning. He knew he was pushing the rules a little, going off base during a time of war, but he had nothing to hide. If the CIA or whoever wanted to piss away time and money to find out he was simply trying to deal with personal problems, they could be his guest. His sister, Alicia, had agreed to meet him at Star Burger for breakfast before he took off. Toby had decided that if he was gonna go down over Belka, he wanted to have some of his favorite drive-in's food in him. As he pulled into the drive-in's lot, he saw Alicia's 1990 Isuzu Amigo parked in one of the farther spots and his lanky little sister sitting in the front passenger seat, windows down.
"Order your food yet, Sis?" He asked as the truck went silent again.
"Was waiting for you, Toby." She replied with a smile.
Toby got out and hugged her. The redheaded young woman of 21 squeezed him as tightly as usual and opened the door.
"You're late, Toby. What kept yah?" She asked.
"I'll tell you when the food's arrived." He said with a bit of a sad smile. It didn't work for a minute.
"Now Toby, I don't lie to you; don't you go lyin to me." She said. He sighed.
"Sis, I'd rather talk about it after I've eaten a little. I've got a big day about to start, I need food." He insisted. She was about to say something else, but held back on her stubborn streak.
The two ordered breakfast sandwiches and orange juice to eat, and Toby kept Alicia distracted by talking about her own life. But all the time she was carefully navigating towards the issue of why he was late.
"Something's on your mind, Toby. I know it and I know you're just trying to steer away from the subject." She said as she took her sandwich out of its bag. Toby sighed as he looked at his own, taking a healthy bite from it before he said anything.
"Part of it's because I'm about to go flying my first combat mission, but you know Violet Trevorson, right?" He said. She nodded.
"She teaches at the elementary school, right?"
"Yeah, her."
"Are you seeing her?" Alicia asked, looking like she was about to assume she wouldn't approve. Toby leaned against his truck and took another bite of food.
"Yeah…We uh, we uh…had sex without protection roughly a month ago. She's pregnant…" He admitted.
Alicia was in the process of biting into her sandwich when he said that, which caused her to drop the chunk back onto the wrapper.
"Does mom or dad know about this?" She choked out. He shook his head.
"What happened Toby? I thought you were adamant on saving that til you were married!" She said, more shocked than angered. Another shrug on Toby's end.
"We were stupid, we were drunk, and when she brushed up against me we started feeling each other up and th-"
"Don't give me the details, Toby." Alicia interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to block the images of her brother having sex. She put down her sandwich and looked at Toby.
"Why did you not tell me? Or Mom or Dad? Or Grandma? Or anybody?" She asked. Toby bit his lower lip and sighed.
"Because I was frightened, okay? What was I supposed to do if you all went and ran her out of my life because you jumped to conclusions, dammit." He said angrily. The blonde's mouth hung open before her eyes emanated pure fury.
"I oughta slap you for saying that, Toby Harold Dawmire!" Alicia nearly roared. She even reared back a hand to do so, but stopped.
"I'm your damned sister! You think I'd run her out of your life because you accidentally got her pregnant?!" She said harshly.
"Not to sound like a dick, Alicia, but you do have a tendency to be very…stubborn, regarding the decisions your family members make." He said honestly. She seemed ready to say something, but held back a moment.
"Look that's not important, what is, is that you gotta promise me that if I go dow-"
Alicia punched his chest as hard as she could. For a skinny little small-town girl, she could pack a wallop. He grunted but did not move.
"No, don't you dare fucking say that! Don't you ever say that, ever!" She cried, her voice cracking. She glared at him through teary eyes.
"Never say that again! You're coming back!" Alicia instructed as she teetered on the brink of sobs. Toby stood there, arms at his sides as she nearly squeezed the life out of him.
"Don't worry about it. I'll make sure Violet's safe, but you're coming home and THAT'S FINAL." She declared.
Toby looked down at her for a long time, and then nodded quietly.
"Okay Alicia, I've gotta go. I need to report for the day in less than an hour." He said softly.
"I love you, big brother." Was all she sniffled out.
"And I love you, little sister." He replied with a smile.
Toby left soon after to return to Bullock. He decided he'd finish his sandwich back on the base…
"Room, attention!"
The crews all stood up as Martin came walking into the squadron's main briefing room. The 58 other crewmen waited for him to reach the XO, Major Carl Bullard, and take over.
"Be seated, everyone." He ordered as the Major left the stage. Martin waited until the room settled down and the lights dimmed.
"Good afternoon everyone, glad to see you all look ready to fight. As you know, we're finally being tasked to conduct raids against Belka. Our first raid is scheduled to be flown tonight against two separate targets; we step at dusk aka soon. Each target will be attacked by four BUFFs; the specifics of each flight's sortie will be detailed in their own briefings. At the moment the lines have stabilized in all areas and the BAF has been prevented from going much further than the frontlines. This means we won't run the risk of happening upon BAF patrols until we're near the border. Now, you all know what they can hurl up at us. The biggest threat from the ground will be their SA-10s. But remember, just because we fly one of the biggest jets in the Osean Air Force, doesn't mean we're gonna roll over and die like some bunch of pussies!"
Several cheers and hoots came from the small crowd of pilots. Toby himself let out a "BUFFs!" before Martin held up a hand.
"General Norton B. Turgidson, the man who made the B-52 an integral part of Osea's power projection, once said "no matter how advanced anything else, whether it be missiles or aircraft or systems, becomes, we will always need an aircraft that fits the description of bomber. We will always need an aircraft that is capable of delivering unmatched attack power and acting as one of the pieces in our nuclear deterrent. Nothing can ever beat a bomber's abilities, NOTHING." Well today we still prove that true, and the design General Turgidson pushed is still the tool of that idea." He iterated. The room got a little more sober.
"Good luck to you all. Trust your instincts, your training, your machine and your support elements. Remember were all going into this together. Your flight assignment has been provided with your maps. You'll join your flight lead and follow them to the proper briefing room. Are there any questions before we break up for individual flight briefs?" He asked. No hands came up, either because no one had anything to say…or no one wanted to ask anything. He nodded.
"Very well then…" Martin said.
"Room, attention!" Bullard called.
Toby stood up straight, towering above the others in his squadron. Beforehand he'd noted he was flying in the Lieutenant Colonel's flight. He walked towards the man, and Martin nodded to the young co-pilot.
"Hello Ozark, I'm changing my personal aircraft to yours and taking Captain Ebbard's place; were you informed of that prior?" the CO of the 332nd asked. Toby's eyes widened a little as he shook his head.
"No sir, I was not." He admitted.
"Well now you are." Martin said as he jerked his head towards a nearby door.
Twelve Stratofortress crewman gathered in a much smaller briefing room, where Martin once again took the helm. He cleared his throat and glanced at a recon picture blown up by the projector. The intel folks had already autographed it with a few notes and clarifications on objects and things of value.
"Our flight of four is being tasked with attacking this rail yard at Stagvogel. It serves as a major supply depot for the Belkan invasion force, but its sheer size and our recent change to the offensive has meant that it has not been properly dealt with. Our objective is simple and obvious: to plow it into the dust. We'll be carrying a full load of 51 M117 bombs each for this mission, and trust me when I say we'll need every bomb to crush this place." He began. The man glanced at some of the notes and switched slides.
"The target is located 62 miles east of the Osea-Belka border, on the southern edge of the town it's in. The trains arrive here before offloading supplies onto smaller units such as trucks and helicopters. Intel has confirmed that this is strictly a military facility and that no trains of civilian affiliation have been spotted here. Nonetheless, we will be making our bombing runs on a southwest-northwest axis ONLY to avoid any damage to the city itself. No other attack axis will be allowed unless cleared prior." He went on, knowing there would be those with mixed feelings about the possibility of civilians being caught in the fight.
"Our approach to the target will be a very lengthy one, but as I mentioned earlier the threats will not start to pop up until closer in. We will be penetrating Belkan airspace here…"
Martin turned towards a map of Belka and pointed to the northern tip of the Ivera mountain range.
"This is where the terrain is roughest, and thus ground-based air defenses will be lightest. Our IP will be here, 12 miles before the target. We'll make our runs in twos with a three-mile diagonal separation between each aircraft pair, and a ten-mile separation between the two elements in the flight. The round trip will take roughly 8-9 hours, which means we'll be taking on gas before we press." He outlined, tracing the proposed path. He walked back to the podium.
"In addition to our AWACS, call sign Clairvoyant, we'll be provided two KC-135s to top off from before we cross the border. Our escort in will be two EF-111s to provide SEAD and eight F-15s on CAP, call signs Mongoose and Condor, respectively. Our biggest threat is looking to be the MiG-31 Foxhound interceptor, possibly the MiG-21 Fishbed too. Almost all of Belka's Fulcrum, Phantom, and Mirage units are dedicated to the frontlines. Our F-15s have orders to stay as close to us as they can so we can breathe easier." He assured. Nonetheless Toby raised a hand.
"What about the defenses around the rail yard itself, sir?" He asked.
"I've been told that before we go in, the defenses will be neutralized by Wild Weasel aircraft." Martin answered. He looked at the rest of the crew.
"If you are shot down, don't forget what we've covered in the E and E briefs. Nothing has changed from those procedures." The man added.
"Any further questions?" He asked. More silence. Like it or not, they were ready.
With their time to step nearly upon them, the members of Sprit 1 adjourned to the lockers to get their flight gear. They, like all Osean bomber pilots, carried less gear than the pilot of an F-15 or A-10, but still had some of the basics such as oxygen equipment, survival gear and handguns. Toby's sidearm would be a black Smith and Wesson 4506, while Martin opted for a Model 15 revolver from the same manufacturer. Each member of the crews also had his own dark gray HGU-26P flight helmet, most with some little bit of personalization on them. Toby had taken the liberty of having the squadron logo and his call sign on the forehead of his helmet whereas most of the other crew had one or the other.
"Okay Ozark, you ready?" Martin asked as they led the crew of Spirit 1-1 towards the building's exit.
"Fucking A sir, fucking A." Toby blurted without thought. He caught himself in seconds.
"Sorry sir, I'm just wound up tighter than the screws on a boat." He said, admonished.
"No need son, just don't go cussing like a sailor on me." Martin said as he pushed open the door.
Outside the door were four Osean Air Force Ford Econoline vans, each capable of hauling ten guys. Sprit 1-1's crew and that of Spirit 1-2 piled into one while Spirits 1-3 and 1-4 took the other. Toby flipped through a few of his maps as the dark blue van transported the two crews from the squadron building to the waiting B-52H Stratofortress bombers alongside two more of its kind. He was particularly interested in the terrain that they would be navigating over, and how kind it would be to him if he needed to get low or put the big jet down, pending he had to be given control. Most of the area surrounding their target was valleys punctuated by foothills, with the exception of the Gelb Forest to the further east. The woods were also heavy around their entry point into Belka.
The van slowed down and came to a halt in front of their bomber. Martin slid open the door a d hoped out into the evening air, looking at the B-52 as the rest of his crew got out. He approached the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Houser, and cleared his throat.
"Is she doing okay?" He asked. The ginger-haired man nodded.
"Yes sir, we haven't had a single problem with her." He assured.
Martin nodded and walked towards the nearest bomb rack. As briefed, it was loaded with dark green M117 bombs of a 750 pound weight. He carefully examined the weapons to make sure they were properly attached and fused for the mission. Because of the sheer size of the B-52, he would not be able to look over every nook and cranny, and instead have to rely on the mechanics for the minute details while he made sure the machine was ready overall. The engines on his side were ready, and he couldn't see any signs of serious fatigue on the 1962-vintage machine. He turned around and began walking back towards the front.
Toby took the responsibility of inspecting the right side. The first thing he noted was that the ground crew had given "Spirit 1-1" the addition of some nose art on his side of the cockpit. A powerful-looking train engine in colors similar to the Osean flag came plowing onwards from a thick blanket of smoke, the words "Flying Freight Train" inscribed in red letters at the bottom. The whole piece had a very glossy tone. Toby cracked a smile as he observed it.
"Hey Staff Sergeant, who painted this up?" he asked as the crew chief approached him.
"Airman Davis, sir. He thought it'd boost your guys' confidence." The man said with the same expression.
"I like it, I like it." Toby said with a chuckle.
Toby's side essentially looked the same as his pilots, and after their inspection he walked towards the entrance hatch on the underside of the aircraft. He hunkered down, almost on his hands and knees because of his size, and maneuvered inside the bomber. He picked up the pace as he reached the ladder that would take him to the proper deck, grunting as he hoisted his big frame upwards. Colonel Rehl was already strapping in as he arrived and slid on his helmet, running up the B-52 so it could work on its own power. Toby went through his switches and displays as he tightened the straps. He looked at Martin, who gave his co-pilot a nod.
"Okay, start this honey up." He said. Toby nodded and started bringing the aircraft to life. On either side the engines began to whir as they were awoke and harnessed
"Roger, we're on our own power now." Toby said. His blood was pumping now as the displays and instruments also came to life.
"Okay everyone, let's get these preliminary checks done. Hustle!" Martin said. He waited to hear their confirmations, carefully sticking a photo of his family in the lip of the eyebrow window. He looked at Toby, who returned his gaze expectantly.
"Co-pilot ready." He added.
"Navigator ready." Captain Terrance Miller said.
"Bombardier ready." 1Lt. Bruce Lewicki reported.
"EW Officer ready." 1Lt. Sampson Burns assured. Martin fired up the radio.
"Bullock Tower, this is Spirit 1-1, requesting taxi instructions, how copy?" Martin asked as he checked his oxygen mask.
"Spirit 1-1, Bullock Tower, cleared to taxi to Runway 1-A; hold at the end until further instructions are given." A voice replied.
Martin released the brakes and followed an aircraft director as she beckoned the B-52 from its place and into a turn to go down the ramp towards the entrance to the runway. He glanced at the other B-52s as they waited to taxi; it made him feel like a general reviewing his troops before battle. He looked forward again and carefully maneuvered the B-52 to the right, moving carefully. The machine came to a halt as it faced down the runway, engines humming at low power.
"Bullock Tower, requesting conditions and clearance." Martin said as he lowered his visor to shield his eyes from the setting sun. There was a pause as the tower checked the weather.
"Spirit 1-1, winds blow from east to west at around 8 knots, looks like we may have a storm come through later so be ready for slick runways." The tower reported.
"Roger that, request takeoff instructions." Martin replied.
"You're clear 1-1, good luck and Godspeed."
With a breath Martin shoved the throttles on his side forward, Toby doing the same on his. The B-52 lurched forward, it's wings appearing to have the rigidness of paper as they bounced a little. Toby felt a smile curling across his face as the forces of acceleration worked their magic on them. The speedometer crawled upwards. The younger pilot constantly took glances at his pilot's stick so they could work in a coordinated matter.
"You know the drill, Ozark." Martin reminded him quickly. Toby's head snapped forward.
"Yes sir." He said.
Toby stuck his head to shoulders and kept his eyes forward as the bomber was rolling up past 100 miles an hour. As the runway end came closer, the two pilots pulled back on their control sticks. Toby felt the ground become separated from him as they cleared the runway and began their climb to 20,000 feet.
"Spirit 1-1 is airborne." Martin said…
Violet heard the low rumble of jet engines. She took up her cup of coffee and walked towards the balcony door of her condo. Once outside she looked around until she spotted a large shape as it climbed into the evening sky. The woman sighed and took a long drink from the mug, savoring the fancy decaf. The teacher ran a hand through her short head of hair and watched the large aircraft as it slowly rose above the trees and buildings.
Somewhere behind her the phone rang. She ignored it, of course, figuring that the caller would leave a message for her to hear if it was important. Sure enough the ring stopped and her voice pleasantly apologized for missing the call and asked a message be left.
"Hello, Miss Violet? This is Alicia Dawmire, Toby's brother…" A voice said. She cast a glance towards the sound.
"I'm sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but I…I wanted to say something to you…Toby told me about what happened…"
Violet felt the veins in her neck tighten as she waited for Toby's sister to say more. She took a step inside and listened, wondering if she should pick up the phone. Instead she listened more.
"…I'm not calling to tell you I'm out to get you or that I'm angry. I want to help, because I know that despite the fact my brother and you made a mistake, it doesn't mean you have to deal with more crap because of it. So if you need to come to us for help, we'll welcome you with open arms when Toby can't be there to help. Anyways Toby didn't put me up to this; I just wanted to say it. Have a good night."
The line went silent, and Violet let herself smile a little. She took another drink and felt her stomach, feeling just a little less scared.
A/N: As a quick note, the idea to keep the Osean bomber force out of the fighting until April 2nd (when the Belkan advance is apparently halted, especially in Ustio) came about because a bomber isn't the most effective weapon when on the defense (perhaps the only exception is a situation like Khe Sanh, but that's because they were not retreating).