The Ties that Bind: Blood, Steel, and Death.
Part 1: Trial by Air.
An Advance Wars Fanfic
By Mind-Game-King.
"You've got a mission duration of four days. This mission is to provide emergency air cover for the 1st tank battalion, should the need arise. The Fog of War is keeping us from being sure what the enemy has, so precautions are needed for their safety. Once the tanks have broken through the Anti-Air wave, you are to retreat immediately."
That was the order given to my squadron. We were always support, deployed to battle for no other reason than the safety of our comrades, instead of the destruction of our enemies. Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself.
"Hey! Kid!" My squad's leader barked at me in his harsh tone, "We're supposed to be in the air! Get your head outta the clouds, we need to fly!" If it wasn't one thing with my captain, it was another. I'd learned to shut up and listen to him, if for no other reason than to avoid a 'lesson' he taught using his whip. He was only somewhat happy when we got to fly, and if we didn't have a mission, we had his torture to look forward to. And people wonder why I can't wait to get out of this war.
The routine, as always, was a pain. Suit yourself up, check your own fighter, strap yourself in, adjust your plane's settings even if you didn't always remember why, and be on the tarmac 'as soon as possible'. It's no wonder we take a full day to get one squad ready.
The takeoff, however, was ironically the part I always looked forward to the most. From the moments of fear you missed something checking your plane, to the ever-constant worry of an enemy infantry unit taking over the whole airport, every care in the world just fades away when you lift off the ground. You have total control of your motions, flying at speeds unmatched by anything on the battlefield. You soar through the air. Is there anything more worthwhile than feeling released from your bonds to gravity?
Apparently so, as the obnoxious voice of our captain reminded me and the squad. Our directions were given to us, for our squadron to rendezvous with the Tank Battalion in the east. As far as the Intel had shown, our enemy was holed up with waves of Anti-Airs, crushing advance parties of infantry and bombers alike. HQ had decided the best course of action was to meet their army with one of our own, and my squadron was the backup for this final push, to take any bombers or copters the enemy had in store.
My radio crackled to life by the time we reached the rendezvous point the next day, a message from the officer in command of the battalion incoming.
"...We have a visual on the Enemies' front. Make your way into a holding pattern behind our own front line, and wait for further instructions."
The captain confirmed this request, and directed us into position. I could see below the lines of tanks below, all in order, mass produced in our factories and driven by our brothers in arms. So we quickly assumed the place ordered by the officer. By the time we arrived, all hell was breaking loose. A unit of Bazooka-carrying infantrymen had made a kamikaze effort to break into our line of Tanks. When the tanks broke formation to assault it, the Anti-Air's first line struck back. The battle was unfolding below us, but we couldn't do anything about it. All we could do was watch in shock as the front line of the Anit Airs pulled back to reveal a full compliment of long-range weaponry, unloading their payload on our front lines and driving the tanks back. My squad, however, didn't receive any orders to retreat from our captain.
What we got instead was a simple, meaningful message.
"As much as I hated you boys sometimes, it's been an honor flying with you."
We understood his meaning when we saw the incoming missiles.