"Did you get your orders yet?" Pireau was propped atop one of the horizontal tailfins of his F-15C Eagle, sliding a plain white stencil around the area of his rudder fin as Tennir sat below. Dalarus sat just behind the cockpit on an identical F-15C next to Pireau's plane, looking down as a tech sergeant tightened and tweaked various things on his control panel. Pireau stopped moving the stencil for a moment to look down at Tennir.

"Not yet. We'll probably end up on one of the auxiliary carriers, hanging back off the Osean coast while the pilots on the main carriers do most of the fighting."

"But I thought you were good?" Pireau chuckled slightly.

"Answering that would only give me a big head. But I like to think I'm pretty good, and so is Dalarus. But it's a matter of where you come from. Ever heard of a town called Unger Ridge?"

"No."

"Exactly. That's my home town. Dalarus comes from this town called Firami, about 20 miles south of Unger Ridge. You go look at the profiles of those pilots stationed on the main carriers, you'll see the difference. The capital, Rinafon; all the major shipping ports, Ediral, Tulak; it's a system. Works the same all the time." In the silence, Pireau held the stencil back up to the wing, sliding it around till he found a spot he liked. Picking up a spray can from a small tray beside him on the tailfin, he began filling in one of the open sections on the stencil.

"That's not completely true." Both Pireau and Tennir looked up at Dalarus, who had now hopped from wing to wing over onto Pireau's plane. He trudged across the back of the plane, hands stuff into the pockets of his flight suit, before he stopped on Pireau's port wing, looking down at Tennir. "The squadron stationed on the C.A.C. Thunder, our flagship carrier; I did research. The flight lead comes from this town near the southern pole, Fenisk. It's literally buried under snow for half the year. His wingmen, the twins, both come from Illiad Bay; used to be a shipping port about 20 years ago."

"What happened to it now?"

"200 feet under the sea. The rest come from random small towns all over the continent." In the silence following, Pireau slowly, carefully finished spraying in the stencil, till 5 minutes later, when he removed the stencil to reveal the insignia he had chosen: a jeering jester mask, half black, half white, with double crossed swords placed behind it. A black circle with white highlights encircled the mask and the swords, with the squadron title printed in white within the circle boundaries.

"The 62nd Air Division, 14th Tactical Fighter Squadron; Joker." Looking up at Dalarus, Dalarus looked down at the insignia. His face was stoic for a moment, before he smirked lightly and nodded his approval.

It was the final weekend before the offensive. Most of the pilots and base personnel had left, spending these last couple of days saying goodbye to their loved ones. For the most part, the base was deserted, except for Pireau, Dalarus, Tennir, and a few other personnel who had nobody to say goodbye to.

Tennir, who was one of the personnel necessary to keep the base running, was leaving early Saturday morning when he spotted Pireau and Dalarus standing near the boundary fence of the base, both of them staring out at the highway in the distance where the distinct lights of military buses rushed by in either direction. Tennir walked up quietly and stood next to Pireau, who stood with his arms crossed, face stoic.

"No family to say goodbye too?" It was a few moments before Pireau replied, first with a slight shake of his head.

"Dad in a car accident when I was 17, mom a few years back; heart cancer." Tennir's face, though Pireau could not see it, showed silent comprehension.

"Does it hurt? Not having anyone?" Dalarus still said nothing, but Pireau turned quietly towards Tennir. His face showed no anger, only slight sadness.

"It used to. But now, I think it helps. There's no one left to let down. I no longer have to worry about somebody getting that letter of apology if I ever got shot down. No one left to mourn over me. So I have no connections. Nothing to lose."

Both men looked quietly down at the ground for a few moments, before they both looked up as the last bus honked its horn at Tennir, signaling they had to go. Tennir looked one last time at Pireau, and held out his hand. Pireau grasped it firmly.

"See you in a couple of days." Pireau nodded, and Tennir turned away from him, jogging lightly to the bus with his bag bouncing on his shoulder. Within a few seconds, the doors of the bus had closed, and it's engine grumbled as it rolled through the open gates of the airbase.

After the bus had disappeared into the blend of lights on the highway in the distance, Pireau walked back to the side of Dalarus, folding his arms back across his chest and replacing his look of slight sadness with a look of determination. "Only two more days."

While the darkest nights surround me,

And my enemies try to down me,

They know they have no power over me;

Because I am already free.

Those words were painted in looping cursive just below Pireau's cockpit as he taxied his F-15C Eagle towards the end of the runway. The sunrise was a brilliant orange, and it cast a glare through the left side of his canopy as he lined up for takeoff. His black and white jester insignia glowed orange, and shadows were cast along the grass lining the runway.

Inside, he flipped various hydraulic switches, making his final pre-flight checks as the control tower began to burp through the COM speakers in his helmet.

"Joker 1, this is Tower Control. Confirm aircraft status, over."

"Roger, Tower Control. Aircraft status is completely in the green, I'm go for takeoff."

"Roger, Joker 1. Commence takeoff. Joker 2, line up and run final pre-flight checks."

Pireau smiled on the inside as he put pressure on the thrusters, slowly building up his speed as he raced down the runway. 100...200...once he hit 300 miles per hour, he pulled back on the control stick, and his plane lifted into the sky, the bluish black of the dawn sky coming into view as he steadily increased his altitude. Within a few minutes, Dalarus had done the same, barrel rolling into position beside Pireau's plane.

Looking off onto the horizon, both pilots could see the small dots of the rest of the air strike force flying off into the distance. "Joker Squadron, this is Tower Control. Come back alive."

"You can count on it." replied Pireau, putting on the afterburners and blazing off towards the rest of the strike force, Dalarus following suit and blazing towards the horizon right behind him.

They had been flying for two days straight. For the entire strike force, it had been a chain of mid-air refueling from one another, even the tanker planes having to refill as they made their massive journey to the northern continents. Pireau and Dalarus flew near the head of the strike force, flying at the smooth cruising speed of 400 miles per hour, their cockpits hidden under a gigantic shadow. That shadow came from the C.A.C. Thunder.

The Circularian Air Carrier Thunder was the newest machine in their air force, a gigantic, two-mile-wide, one-mile-long, boomerang shaped air carrier made of angelic white metal and powered by eight stolen R4900 Airstorm engines. After studying the wars of the northern continents, the Circularian Air Force had taken the design of the XB-0 Hresvelgr and expanded it to epic proportions. It had enough fuel in it to fly around the world without refueling; twice. And that was the fuel it had reserved for itself, not counting the fuel it had for refueling other craft.

Throughout the flight, the two pilots were forced into bored, impatient conversation.

"How long do you think we'll be gone?"

"No way to know. Depends on the military strength of the northern continents."

"I did some research. All our data says the countries up here have a lot of powerful squadrons."

"That's what I've heard. I guess that's why we'll have to rely on the 'top squads' to take care of them."

Even Pireau was slightly shocked when he noticed the bitterness that soaked Dalarus' voice. Looking ahead, Pireau observed as the 'top squads' of their strike force led the flight group towards their first target, the Osean continent, each of the three groups flying in close diamond formations.

On the left, Condor Squadron, flying YF-17 Cobras with a blue and white condor, wings spread, emblazoned on their tailfins. On the right, Valiant Squadron, flying F-16 Fighting Falcons with a golden rapier slashing through its lone tailfin. And finally, Saga Squadron, with a royal warrior holding a mighty axe to skies inscribed on the tailfins of all 8 MiG1.44, dark green and gold stripes running vertically along the entirety of each plane.

"Don't sound so bitter. We'll let the top brass know who's really the best squadron. Just take it easy." Before Dalarus could respond, a transmission came in from the Thunder.

"All C.A.F. squadrons, this is the C.A.C. Thunder AWACS. The coast of Aurelia has come within visual range. Arm all weaponry, and prepare for lightning deployment on our mark." Looking past the lead squadrons and off into the distance, Pireau saw as the thin green strip of land that was Aurelia came into view over the horizon, slowly but steadily getting bigger as they approached.

He fastened his oxygen mask to his helmet, and then quickly looked over at Dalarus' cockpit. Dalarus copied his action, then flashed Pireau a quick thumbs up, before both pilots accelerated, drawing closer to the front line of the strike force as the beginning of the war drew to within only a few minutes.