AN/: Yup, I'm back. Long AN at the end. Don't want to keep you any longer from the story. Enjoy.
Still Ghosts, All the Same
Sand Island is a graveyard. Not for people. Not for machines.
Just for memories.
What used to be the frontline of hell, now sits silent, with only the calls of the gulls and the crashing of the waves to fill the air. No longer do the birds of prey, with their oily fangs, perch on the concrete runways. The earth desperately grabs and pulls at the man-made rock, splitting and breaking it with seemingly no effort.
Most people who fought in that war remember Sand Island as the nest of hope. Four Wings. Four Birds. Four Pilots.
But no one knows the story of those pilots. For them, Sand Island was purgatory. A stopping point between a rock and a hard place. Air Force careers went to die at Sand Island Air Force Base. If a pilot was lucky, they came here, trained, and left as quickly as they arrived. For those few who became stuck here, Sand Island was a curse.
So, one would be surprised that the famous 'Four Wings of Sand Island' even made it off the ground in those circumstances.
I had the fortune of meeting and speaking with those Four Wings. Over the course of a few months, four young hotshots became aces of legend. You'd never think those four would've ended up like that either.
Especially their flight lead.
He was cut from a different type of cloth. A breed of fighter pilot you only see once in a generation. No one gave him a second glance before the war. But he changed that very quickly. The Yuktobanians called him "Невидимый дракон", 'The Invisible Dragon'. Those who flew with him called him Blaze. But those who were lucky to share a moment with the man knew him as Ross.
Ross never felt that he should share his story. His modesty kept him from becoming a 'glory hound' like some pilots who were desperate for their moment in the spotlight for seemingly innocuous accomplishments. The fact this story is now on paper required months of persuasion and downright begging towards Ross. I know he'll feel embarrassed reading that last sentence, but I can't hide the truth.
The other side of Ross I learned about in transcribing his experiences was his commitment to detail and uncanny memory. Every flight and every day he could recall with a rather stunning level of accuracy, reminding me of things I had forgotten about when I had stayed on the base.
It doesn't surprise me too much, though.
Nevertheless, I don't want to detract from the man's own story with my monologue. All I hope for those of you who read on, if nothing else, is that you can understand and appreciate Ross' sacrifice and realize why those of us who saw and fought in the war with Yuktobania wish to never see another war again.
But, it's not my story. I'll let Ross tell it himself.
Heierlark Air Force Base is where the legend of the Four Wings began.
-Albert Genette, 2021
Ch.1 The Angel With Broken Wings
"Rotating CAP positions, stand by."
"Affirmative Baseplate, all units currently standing by for immediate tasking."
"All combat air patrol units, rotate counter clockwise from current positions into the next available patrol area. There are two rotations left until personnel cycling at approximately 1145 hours. Carry on. Baseplate over and out."
If I had known this was what being a 'fighter pilot' was, I wouldn't have bothered signing up for it.
I sighed to myself as I rested my flight-helmeted head on my hand, slightly slouched to the left side of the cockpit of the T-50 training jet as it sailed along through the clear, cold northern skies at about 30,000 feet. Sure, getting to cruise around in supersonic jets was pretty exciting, and when we really got to let loose and do that, I loved every second of it. Everything else, on the other hand…
It might as well have been torture. The CAP routines we had been doing had been excruciatingly boring. We hadn't done any real maneuvering or scenario training for at least a week. Maybe even longer. It was driving me crazy.
"Yo Blaze," my patrol partner, Danny 'Echo' Graves, called over the horn, irritating me even more than I already was, "Why didn't you come to the party last night?"
"I was busy," I grumbled back.
"What?" This was the root of Echo's nickname. Danny could never hear anything over the horn to save his life, except perhaps on his hearing exams or on actual assignments. Every other time, I might have been more successful in trying to talk to a snake.
"I was busy practicing."
"Practicing what? You really like this shit that much?" Echo snorted, hoping some of the others on the training patrol cared even to join in.
They didn't.
"I was at the rink, dumbass. I was on the goddamn hockey team at the Academy, remember?" I replied, my tone weighed down with frustration, "I've told you this at least five times before, and you never can quite get it through your thick head, can you?"
"Hey, calm down man, no wonder they call you Blaze," Echo interjected before I continued my rant, "You're worse than Gopher."
"Oh shut the hell up, Echo," Gopher shot back from somewhere way out behind our 4 o'clock, "At least my senses actually work, dipshit."
Blaze. It was a name that had stuck to me ever since I was little kid. I was always a rabble-rouser, looking for or causing trouble constantly with seemingly no regard for my own well-being. I'm pretty sure I made my parents' lives into a nightmare, but they never said I did, even after I had mellowed out. Somewhat, at least. I also had the unique distinction of having a 'cold-war split' family. My father was Osean, former army special forces, and my mother was Yuktobanian, a former naval advisor who defected to Osea with my father's help during the Cold War. Most people in the service I knew had no idea of that. Only my superiors who had read my file knew, and none of them had cared a bit so far. But I just knew that would change.
In high school, I was extremely ostracized for my heritage. Growing up in northern Osea near former Belkan territory with 'annexed' citizens shoved in exasperated the issue even further. But, some of my best friends growing up were full-blooded Belkans, which most Osean kids berated even more than me. It definitely helped foster that fiery temper of mine. Once I got to the Air Force Academy though, that all ended. People let me be, I went and played hockey, and I had an ok time. Definitely much better than I could've predicted it going.
"Charlie 16, Charlie 16, this is Baseplate, come in, over."
What the hell are they bothering me for? Gotta report for another court martial?
"Baseplate, this is Charlie 16, I'm receiving, go ahead, over."
"Charlie 16, you are excused from the rest of the patrol, the base commander wants you to report in to him, ASAP, do you copy, over?"
Huh. Wonder what this is going to be.
"Affirmative Baseplate, I copy. I'm on my way, over and out."
"Well, well," Echo started again, as I flexed my fists in anger, "Looks like you've been a bad boy, huh Blaze? Gonna have a little dressing down from the BC?"
"Well, I'm certainly not the one who got caught out past curfew, stone-faced drunk at some girl's house, am I, Echo?"
The horn lit up with everyone laughing at the pseudo-deaf pilot's expense, and Echo was reduced to a bunch of mumbling and grumbling as I broke out of the circle down towards what had been home for the past several months. Heierlark AFB. It was actually only an hour or so from where my parents lived and I grew up, so I felt right at home in the cold and the snow that everyone else complained about. The reason for most of the complaints was that the Bomber pilot training school was on the west coast, and the 'Big-Bird' school was on the southern coast, both in areas with extremely nice weather year-round. Getting stuck in the north with crappy weather, was sure to damage some egos, which I'm sure was the intention. Very few things are coincidental in the armed forces.
I made the approach and landing quickly since I didn't have anyone in the back seat, since solo-sorties had started about a month or so ago. It was nice actually being alone and having some space to think instead of some old-fossil yelling at you about every tiny little detail. I did pay attention to what they said at least. That couldn't be said for a lot of the others.
I rolled my T-50 in line with a row of more of the training jets, and the ground crew rushed out from the hangar behind the planes as soon as I shut down the engines. I helped them through the checklist for post-flight procedures, and once that was done, headed down the tarmac to the main building, flight helmet under my arm and a dark blue garrison cap on my head.
I headed inside the 'Hive' as the pilots called it to the Base Commander's office. The BC was a Colonel, a guy named Morgan 'Mad-dog' Steiner. Everyone pretty much called him Mad-dog, out of respect as a fairly successful combat pilot during the Belkan War. No one I knew had a single bad thing to say about Mad-dog. Tough, but fair was the best way of describing him.
One I got to his office, I stowed my cap in my flight suit's pocket, fiddled about with my dirty blonde hair, making the top, combed off to the side it needed to me, with the shaved sides having no way to resist my attempts at appearing presentable. I knocked on the door, and let myself in to the receiving room, with a receptionist that seemed to be a different person every time I came by. It was some dark-haired woman this time.
"I'm here to see the Colonel, ma'am. Lieutenant Ross Mitchell."
"Of course," she replied quickly, with a smile that seemed incredibly stiff and fake, "Right this way, Lieutenant."
I was led down a small hallway, my flight gear clanking awkwardly as we arrived at the door to Maddog's office. She knocked on the door and a deep voice immediately answered.
"Let him in, Captain."
She opened the door to the office, revealing that the Colonel wasn't the only superior who would be in on this meeting. While Mad-dog looked out the window behind his desk, his back to me, another guy was sitting in one of the two chairs that was facing the BC's desk. It was my instructor.
"Hey Blaze, long time no see, ey?" Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Butler's voice drawled in that patented south-eastern accent that he could never seem to shake off. Everyone who had the good fortune of being his student called him either 'Huggy Bear' or 'Papa Bear'. He had a knack for teaching pilots and seemed to always know the best way to get the most out of his trainees, no matter the issue. He was four inches shorter than me at about 5'6", and was no where near as bulked and muscled as I was. Despite the Bear nickname, he was rather thin, but that was a deceiving look. His short brown buzzed hair, and bright blue eyes showed no signs that he was reaching forty, rather than thirty.
"Good to see you, Papa," I smirked as we shared a quick handshake, and then stood at attention for the Colonel.
"Sir, Lieutenant Ross Mitchell, reporting in as ordered sir," I snapped my heels, saluting.
Colonel Steiner immediately turned around and returned my salute with a small smile, "I appreciate you keeping things professional with me. I know it can be annoying, but it'll keep you ready for when you leave this nest."
"No problem at all, sir," I responded, lowering my salute.
"Have a seat, Mitchell," Steiner motioned to the empty chair next to Papa, and I quickly took it, "Butler and I wanted to have a word with you about an opportunity that's just come up."
My dull green eyes widened immediately, and I was unable to suppress my surprise at this news.
"I know," Steiner continued, "Not exactly what you were expecting today, but it's something that Butler and I have discussed at length for a while, and we think you're just the person for this."
"Well, sir, what exactly is this 'opportunity'?" I asked, my curiosity raging madly.
"It's early graduation and posting to a frontline squadron," the Colonel answered plainly, "Of course, it won't be your final posting. It'll be your combat training with Wardog squadron, led by Captain Jack Bartlett. Only the best upcoming pilots get this posting. It's not quite the Naval Warfare Aggressor Training School, but it's definitely something on that level. You'll be ready for anything after you're through."
What?
"I recommended you along with another trainee to get fast-tracked," Butler said, as he took over from the Colonel, "You'll just have to pass your check-rides and examinations early, and then we start some of the intensive dogfighting training here with the F-5s, so you're ready to hit the ground running at Sand Island with Bartlett. I don't want to give him any slouches to complain about. He's got enough on his plate to deal with."
I'm good enough for this? What sort of things do they see that I don't? There's no way I'm as good as they're making me out to be.
"So, what do you think, Mitchell?" Colonel Steiner asked, as he took a seat in his rather plain and simple office chair.
"I don't know what to say, sir," I replied after a few moments of silents, taking a moment to glance to both Steiner and Butler, "I'm astonished you think I'm as good as you say I am. I don't think I really deserve such an opportunity like this."
"Oh, come on Mitchell," Butler moaned, clearly unimpressed with my answer, "You never give yourself credit for anything. You deserve this spot. You've worked your ass off from day one in the Academy, and from day one when you got here. Despite what your disciplinary record suggests, you're one of the best pilots I've seen in a long, long time."
"Butler's right, Mitchell," Colonel Steiner continued, "You know your stuff, and you really do pay attention. Whether you realize it or not, you've incorporated your lessons into your flying at a rapid pace. Most of the others can't do that. They still need another month or two before they're barely ready for a real training assignment, let alone an actual squadron posting."
I guess…they're right. I have noticed that most of the others are stuck on things that I've moved past fairly quickly. At least I won't have to sit on my ass doing CAPs all day, every day anymore.
"Well, I don't think I can say no then, I think you both have convinced me, sir," I said with a shrug.
"Good," Mad-dog smirked, clearly pleased with my acceptance, "Butler will get you acquainted with the other trainee you'll be working on the fast-track for the next two weeks."
"Sir, if you don't mind asking, who is this trainee?"
"Oh, I hadn't realized I'd avoided that. It's Lieutenant Kei Nagase, callsign Edge. She'll be your wingman and partner from now on. I think you two will work well together."
—
Scuttlebutt had it that the enigmatic 'Edge' was quite the pilot. I hadn't had the pleasure of flying in combat scenarios against her, but from some of the others, like Gopher, had.
After the sorties of the day, he came back furious, throwing his gear off in a fit of anger. It took quite a bit of shouting back and forth to finally get something out of him about why he was so miffed. He went on and on about this pilot that his team had a three-to-one advantage against in a dogfight. Gopher and the others apparently had 'tried everything' to get the kill, but no matter what they did, this pilot danced around and shot all of them down. It didn't help that Gopher was incredibly hard on himself as it stood, and this incident drove him crazy. For a few days he refused to even speak to anyone except when ordered. But one day, Gopher returned to normal without any explanation. I figured that the pilot he went up against had a word with him and got him back to normal.
A lot of similar things had happened with pilots who had gone up against me, but I was a loudmouth and equally self-deprecating when I shot the breeze with them. So, for the most part they were fine with losing to me. But with Edge, the polar opposite was the case. I was very curious to find out what Nagase was like in person. I didn't know where to find her, but she knew where to find me.
I was having chow in the mess hall, on my own, since my schedule was sent out of wack due to my trip to the BC's office. The food was about the same as usual, mediocre. It was never good enough to make you happy, or bad enough to make you throw up on contact. That day, it was every soldier's favorite meal, SOS or Shit-on-a-Shingle. It was really creamed chipped beef on toast, but honestly I always got tired of eating it. About half-way through a plate my stomach was done with it, and I had to force the rest of it down.
After getting through about a quarter of the enjoyable portion of my SOS, Kei Nagase came walking in and sat down across from me, flight book in hand. She didn't say anything to me for a few moments as I finished chewing my mouthful, glaring up at her the whole time. She seemed a little flustered by my act, brushing a few strands of her ear-length black hair out of her face in response to my 'intimidation'. Nagase was bony as could be compared to me, so her reaction wasn't necessarily unwarranted, her dark brown eyes glaring silently.
"Now I know why Gopher was mad," I snarked, taking a sip of my bottle of off-brand neon-yellow sports drink.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nagase responded.
"Oh come on, Ice Queen, you've really not figured that out yet?"
"Very funny," she sarcastically chuckled, "Is this your stand-up act?"
"It can be. I'll even do it for free, just for you. I can guarantee the quality will decrease dramatically as I continue to embarrass myself here," I shot back, cracking myself up a little. She seemed to take this better and she cracked a smile, one that appeared to be actually genuine. "Hey, there we go! I guess that means we can introduce ourselves politely now."
"I guess so," she laughed back, "I'm Kei Nagase, Kei or Edge is fine."
"Alright Kei, I'm Ross Mitchell, Ross is alright with me," I replied as I held out my hand, and she shook it quickly and firmly. "So," I continued, "I guess we're going to be suffering together for a little while, huh?"
"Yeah, you could definitely say that," Kei sighed. She rubbed her eyes and glanced off away towards nothing in particular. "Did you come through the Academy?"
"Mmm-hmmm," I answered with a mouthful of food, which I took a minute to swallow before I continued, "I took a year off after high-school before I started the grind to play with the under-20 national hockey team. I kinda did stuff on my own at the Academy since I was busy practicing with the team. Probably why you never saw me around, if you were there."
"That makes a lot a sense," Kei nodded, "You definitely have the look for a hockey player."
"I have the same about of brains as a typical hockey player too, don't you worry," I added with a chirp, pointing up to my head with an imaginary gun, "Got some grade A, genuine meat-head gray matter in here."
"That doesn't seem to be the case from what everyone says about your flying," she chuckled as she opened up her flight book and scribbled a few things inside.
"In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king," I rattled off instantly.
"I think you're selling yourself short."
"That's what everyone keeps saying to me."
"Well then, that means you might need to change your opinion."
"Hah, if I did that, I'd be off playing pro-hockey and being a rich, snotty asshole. I'm not doing that."
"Did a lot of your friends you played with go?"
That seems like such a long time ago. They seem like ghosts now, not people I thought were inseparable from my life.
"Some did, some didn't," I replied solemnly, resting my chin glumly in my left hand as I poked at my food with the other, "A lot of them changed when I met up with them at a reunion party not too long ago. I realized then that I had made the right choice in staying in. I wasn't the kind of person for that."
"I had a similar experience once, when I first went back home on leave. Everything just felt different, felt…wrong, you know?" she said, with a quick glance to the window and the clearing bright, blue sky, "It just…the whole thing gets more strange by the day."
"Amen to that." I went back to my main focus of trying to force myself to finish off my SOS. Eventually I did, while Kei busied herself with her own personal business in her books. She did ask the question at last, the one I knew was coming.
"So, how did you get the callsign Blaze? Is it one of those callsigns?"
I hesitated for a few moments, trying to gather my thoughts on how to explain this without coming across like a snob. "I guess it's part that. I've had that as a nickname ever since I was a little kid. My middle name is Ogonek, Yuke for 'Little Fire'. I just always had a major drive and sometimes a bad temper if I got set off. I 'earned' it in the force when a wise-guy took a crack at me in the hallway when he found out I was part Yuktobanian. He called me slew of things I really don't want to repeat. Without saying anything, I walked over and beat him up. No one has ever messed with me since. I wear that reprimand with pride."
"My family's from Proud Island, south of Usea, so I understand how you feel."
"Thanks Nagase, I don't know what it means coming from me, but that means a lot."
"Hey," she smiled, throwing up her hands, "That's what a wingman is supposed to do. Somebody needs to watch your back."
"Speaking of that," I said, slightly interrupted by a cough, "Do you want to work on some dogfighting sometime soon before we start the drills?"
She nodded firmly, "Absolutely. Once we are ready to go to the F-5s, just give me a shout."
"Where are you at?" I asked as she got up, "You're kinda a ghost around here, I have to say."
"Oh," she blushed slightly, "231 in the barracks, if you can't find me there, I'm probably in the lounge reading. Where are you mainly?"
"147," I answered back, "I can be kinda erratic, I'll be either at the gym or off-base at the rink, but I'll probably be out less since we have a short schedule now."
"Alright, I'll catch you around Ross," Kei replied with a wave as she walked off to wherever she was going.
"See ya," I said as got up and put away my dishes.
The whole rest of the day I had this odd-feeling of excitement in my gut, one that was similar to the one I had right before I would go out onto the ice at a hockey game.
Maybe I'm going to make it after all.
AN/: Hey everybody! Glad to see you all here. I know it's been a loooooooong time since I've posted anything at all on here, and I didn't keep my promises with The Man and the Eagle. Allow me a little bit of space to explain some things about what's been going on between my last update and now, which is quite a bit of time.
I'm now almost at the end of the first part of my college career. I went through a pretty significant shift in focus over the past two years which has demanded a lot of my time and effort. Since I'm also planning on attending law school, I've been pretty busy keeping up with everything and working to make sure everything plays out as I would like it to. It's been a hell of a lot of work, but it looks likes it's going to pay off in spades.
Also, I felt like after the first two chapters of the Man and the Eagle that something was wrong. It looked good but something was just not right. Something was missing from all of that. I couldn't keep on with a story that didn't have that spark, I guess I would call it. It took me until this summer to find it again. I had the incredible privilege to connect with some of my readers and cohorts, which was an amazing experience for me to mentor other writers or just be there to talk with them. All those experiences reignited my love for Ace Combat and why it's been such a joy to write about it at all. For those who I spoke to (you know who you are), thank you for letting me lend you a hand. It really helped me a lot more than you may realize.
I also have been working on a 'side project' of sorts that I didn't post on this account because I felt that it was something that wasn't necessarily representative of the 'Karaya 1' moniker and what I'm known for. But, if you feel so inclined, "The Miracle of Berlin" by Der Graue, is that project. I have four chapters posted of it. It's really just a 'post as it comes to me' story, so there might be an occasional update there. If you do take a chance on it, I sincerely hope you enjoy it as well.
Some of you old dogs, like me, may recognize a few similarities with this story to the old AC5 fic I posted one chapter of back in the day. I did carry over a few details, but I modified a lot of things significantly. I have a lot of big ideas planned for the story, new planes, new faces, and a whole new look into the Yuktobanian world during the war. It's going to be really fun and I can't wait to reveal it all to you. Please do not hesitate to let me know what you think so far. (I'm not really sure if this story will connect at all with the Hounds of War universe, but right now, I'm leaning towards no.)
I'm kinda nervous and excited at the same time to be back on here after so long. It really is amazing that I'm getting close to four years on the site. And I hope there will be many more. Have a great morning/day/evening/night, wherever you are.
Bis später,
Karaya 1