Chapter Two
Secrets
Here's Chapter two, rewritten and the grammatical errors have been fixed. So, read and enjoy. If there's anything wrong, just let me know.
Debrief: Wardog is to assist the Kestrel in its escape from St. Hewlett Harbor.
Three hours after a quick refuel and rearm, the three F-15s soared towards Port St. Hewlett on a mission to stop the Kestrel from being sunk by enemy fighters. Crowe had managed to calm down, now fully concentrated on flying into combat. He wasn't mad at Chopper or Edge, quite the opposite really, he was just pissed off at the jackass higher-ups. They kept the four pilots under their political ROE instead of allowing them to do what they were trained to do or just cut loose. ISAF High Command had realized this and basically given free reign to all their combat pilots.
"Edge, you lead the formation," Thunder said to the three fighters as they approached the mountains that made a natural bowl around the bay.
"Negative," she replied softly, "You take lead, Blaze. I'll fly on your wing."
"Second Lieutenant Nagase follow your orders!" Thunderhead yelled.
Kei, instead of being cowed and taking lead, peeled up and to the left to put herself off Blaze's wing. "No. Blaze is leading, I'll protect his six. And I'm not going to lose another flight lead."
"I'll stick to the tail position," Chopper muttered. It was clear that the now tested by fire fighter pilot wasn't looking forward to another round of combat.
A deep voice cut in the flight's banter, "Quick screwing around. This is war. The enemy's all over, they'll eat you." The source of the voice appeared in an F-14A Tomcat that roared over the flight's head, "This is Captain. Snow, callsign Swordsman, give me your position."
While a missile cruiser gave him a bogey to deal with, Blaze started to order his flight, "Okay Wardog listen up," Crowe stated curtly, now once again in command of a squadron, "Our mission is clear. We make sure the Kestrel makes it out of port in one piece. Weapons free, and go after any target you deem a threat but try keep each other covered." Even as he spoke, Crowe was busy locking up an A-6 Intruder that was angling towards the 3rd Fleet as they tried to leave St. Hewlett.
"Blaze engaging, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM also as a Slammer, dropped from his belly with a dull 'clunk' and roared after the Intruder, who seemed to realize his situation and pulled up. Too little, too late. The Slammer struck, a direct hit that turned the sluggish plane into a streak of burning fuel and shattered fuselage. As the remains of the doomed A-6 splashed into the ocean, raising an ice white column of water, Blaze looped away and began to scan the sky around him in search of more targets. By now, the other two had found potential kills of their own. Edge was in hot pursuit of another Intruder and Chopper had gone after a Yuke F-5 that had shown to try and provide top cover. Edge let a missile go in the second Crowe had taken to keep an eye on his wingman. Chopper, on the other hand, seemed to be having a bit more difficulty. Crowe supposed it was because Edge was a bit better than Chopper, and since the Tiger was designed for dogfight in the first place, the enemy could keep trying to dance around in Chopper's sights.
"God dammit!" Chopper yelled, frustrated that the Yuke pilot kept picking just the right time to jink and force Chopper's aiming solution would be spoiled, "Someone give me a hand with this guy!"
"I'm on the way, Chopper," Blaze responded since Edge had decided to pick on another A-6, "Go high and I'll scare him up to you." As Chopper pulled, Blaze dipped down low and went to guns. No sense in taking Chopper's kill, or wasting any more missiles.
Blaze was now in range, "Ready up there, Chopper?" he asked and at Chopper's affirmative reply, pulled the trigger, purposely keeping his pipper low to scare the hell out of other pilot. The plan worked beautifully; as the tracers from the cannon in Crowe's Eagle wing root rippled past the F-5, the Yuke pilot got spooked and pulled up as hard as he could. Straight into Chopper's talons.
"Chopper, Fox two!" The loud-mouthed pilot cried over the radio as a missile left the pylon under his right-wing. The missile left a smoke trail from the wing of Chopper's F-15 al the way to the enemy F-5. An instant later, the Tiger vanished in a spectacular explosion. ""Yahoo! Chopper splash one!" the ecstatic pilot yelled as he pulled up to avoid debris.
"This is Blaze, kill confirmed. Nice shot, Chopper. Crowe called as he reversed to check his and Chopper's sixes.
"Hey, Kid! Did you see that? I got him." Chopper's excitement was now starting to get on Crowe's nerves.
"Yes, I did, Chopper." he replied, allowing some annoyance to color his tone, "Now get back on track or you're gonna be fish food." A faint gulp just barley reached Crowe's ears as the two split up to go seek more kills.
"The Kestrel is in open waters! Bon voyage, guys!" a random voice said over the radio. Crowe looked down at the harbor below him, and sure enough, the Nimitz-class carrier was past the bridge that separated the sheltered urban are from the open ocean. And he could see a blockade waiting for the approaching carrier.
"Wardog, form up," he ordered. A couple of seconds later, both Edge and Chopper glued themselves to his wings, "We've got a blockade ahead. The Kestrel's gonna have to run it."
"Roger," Edge replied swiftly, "What are we supposed to do?"
"We're going to provide air support and defense suppression."
"That's all well and good, Kid, but we're not exactly equipped for taking on a fleet y'know." Chopper piped up.
He does a point, Blaze," Edge added, "How are we going to make sure the Kestrel makes it through?"
Crowe smiled grimly behind his oxygen. These two were about to learn how he managed to single-handily destroyed the Aegir Fleet during Operation: Rough Seas.
"Look at the Kestrel. What do you see?" he asked. If either wingmen found his question strange, their voices didn't betray them.
"I see… F-18s?" Edge answered. She did feel a little apprehension about Blaze. What did the Kestrel have to do with their mission? Beside that they had to make sure that it got out to sea.
"Good eye." Blaze replied, nodding his head, satisfied. "Those Hornets are probably loaded with anti-ship Harpoons. We kill the planes wanting to kill them while they tear that blockade ahead to shreds."
"Sounds like a hell of a plan, Kid." Chopper said.
"Okay, let's go." The three Eagles rolled and entered dives, each one locking up and heading for one target or another. Tracers from the enemy from the enemy fleets point defenses streamed past the canopy but the trio ignored the potential death passing by their jets. Crowe had already done this kind of thing before with the Aegir Fleet, but this was still dangerous. Target fixation could even get an amazing ace like himself killed faster than one could blink.
Blaze pulled up just mere feet from the waves. The AA couldn't reach him here. They would have to shoot their own hulls to get a bead on him. This was the same tactic he used against the Aegir Fleet. He pulled up fast, risking leaving behind some paint on the mast of a destroyer he careened over.
'Ah, just like back in Comberth Harbor.' he thought, taking a quick moment to reminisce in nostalgia. Crowe quickly got back to the task at hand, shooting down the Intruder in front of him. The two were coming head on. Good thing the AMRAAMs on his belly were all-aspect, otherwise he would had to take the stern shot.
"Blaze, Fox Three," he called as he pushed the release button. His missile was away. He knew that. The jet had lurched for a moment before settling out. By the time had registered that, Blaze's hands had the F-15 in a hard climbing turn to get out of the way or risk becoming a fireball himself.
"Confirm kill for Wardog 1," Captain Snow called before coming into Crowe's vision, "Mind if I join? I can't seem to find my flight."
"Not at all, Captain. The more the merrier," Crowe answered. The two pilots went after a couple of Phantoms that had come from nowhere. These guys were different from the average pilots that Blaze had dealt with up to that point. They actually tried to dogfight him.
The four speeding fighters merged and began the dance that had gone in the sky since airmen had small arms on their person. The Osean pair was at a lower altitude, so the opening move went to the Yukes. The Phantoms rolled and dove on them. Snow climbed up to meet them, but Crowe actually mimicked the Yuktobanian pilots and dove as well. The Oseans had only been a few thousand feet so the speed gain wasn't that great, but the moved caused the Yuke air to split as well. As Snow began a turning fight with the first Phantom, Blaze was busy trying to get the second off his tail. Crowe whipped his jet all over the sky, just a couple hundred feet from taking a nice swim. He grunted and gasped as the g's assaulted his body, making every move of his arms and feet a test of his stamina and endurance. For a pilot with the strength of an entire ISAF squadron, even he was wearing at the bare edges of his perception.
"Blaze! Where are you?!" Edge yelled, as she scanned the skies for her flight lead.
"Kinda busy right now, Edge," Crowe grunted as he reversed for what must have been the millionth time, "Can I get back to you?"
"Now's not the time for jokes, Captain!" she cried, startled by his lightheartedness, even as he was going to turn. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Phantom move to follow. He smirked; the idiot didn't realize he was being set up. By trying to match Crowe's maneuvers turn-for-turn, the Phantoms had bled a lot of airspeed, and being down low meant he couldn't dive to regain that speed. However, the Eagles engines were so powerful that their combined thrust actually exceeded the fighter's weight. A quick switch on the HOTAS to get him into the right weapons mode, and if Crowe's predictions were correct, he should come out right on the guy's tail.
He rolled level and hauled back on the stick. The Eagle screamed upwards in a maneuver that the heavy Phantom couldn't possibly keep up with. Now Blaze was above his opponent and starting to loop down on the Phantom, who mistakenly tried to match the Eagle's sudden climb. While the Phantom was slowing down, the Eagle had come over the top of his climb and was starting into the follow through of a loop that had the pipper for the gun sliding into position on the Yuke pilot, Blaze made the switch as he started the climb.
The poor guy tried to jink, but the Phantom was too slow, too heavy. Blazed pulled the trigger. As angry red death perforated the fuselage of the doomed plane, Crowe spotted twin flares shooting up from the dead plane.
'They ejected' he realized as he let go of the trigger instantly. No point in wasting invaluable ammunition on a dead fighter. He pulled up to clear the wrecked Phantom and to get some altitude so any enemy pilots looking to snag an easy kill don't bounce him. Once he had hit a reasonable altitude, he lit the burners and regained the energy he had lost in the little skirmish.
"Captain Snow, what's you're position?" he called, looking for the Tomcat pilot.
A minute passed and just before he repeated the call, Snow's voice came through his headset. "I'm about a mile behind you, Wardog 1," Snow said calmly, if a little winded, "guess you got yours, too?"
"That's affirmative, Swordsman," Blaze answered, "AWACS, bogey dope."
"Wardog flight, Swordsman, two bogeys inbound, bearing 080, altitude Angels 10," Thunderhead responded.
"Rodger that. Alpha flight, this is Alpha 1, intercept targets," Swordsman commanded. Blaze just shrugged. If Snow wanted the targets, that was fine by him. Crowe was getting close to bingo fuel anyway.
"Okay, have fun, Swordsman. Wardog, fuel status?" Crowe called. If he was low, he could bet the other two were as well.
"Wardog 2, five thousand pounds." Edge reported.
"Wardog 3, four thousand five hundred pounds." Chopper reported. Chopper had gone after an Intruder and almost got ambushed by a MiG as he watched the A-6 spiral into the Pacific Ocean. He wouldn't be making that mistake again anytime soon.
'And I have five thousand two hundred. That's a little to close. Chopper only has five hundred pounds surplus. We've done all we can,' Blaze thought. Disappointment flooded him. That surprised even him. Was he starting to enjoy combat that much? Maybe he was; Crowe loved the sheer adrenaline rush of combat, the glory of the kill and the euphoria that came from it. But that kind of attitude was no way he was going to lead his squad. Running his squad into the sea with no gas just so he could enjoy the kill was not something he would do.
"Wardog to Thunderhead. Getting close to bingo fuel. Permission to disengage and RTB," Crowe said.
A moment later the airborne controller came up, "Roger, Wardog. RTB vector 099. Thanks for the help."
"Rodger, Blaze. Lead the way," Edge acknowledged.
"One, two, three. Three planes. Count 'em up man; we're all back safe. I can' wait to tell Bartlett when they pull his ass out of the ocean!" Chopper laughed as the flight turned back towards home.
Two hours later
"What!" Chopper yelled at the top of his lungs. The Wardog flight had landed back at Sand Island about an hour and a half ago after helping the Third Fleet make a successfully run the blockade at Hewlett and break out into the open ocean. They had touched down feeling pretty good about themselves and the success of their first real mission without an IP watching their every move and pampering them by coming to their rescue. Well, Nagase and Davenport felt good about it. To Crowe, however, it was a completely different story. The mission was just one more notch on his belt, and just a few more hours of flight time, plus the added bonus of a few more kills to his death list. That still didn't make him fell good, though.
He felt great, wonderful, even! He had led a flight to victory without losing either wingman. The last time he had commanded a formal was in the assault on Megalith. But that had been more of a group of ISAF's top pilots flying under the banner of the Ribbon. He hadn't really issued any real orders, Sky-Eye had said for all aircraft to follow him, but all Crowe really did was light the afterburners on his Raptor and blow through the green Yellows who tried to stop him on his way to assist the ground team who were trying to get to the control room, while Crowe took out the generators and then, finally, the central missile after the ground team had cleared the blast door.
It was different now. Now, he had to look after two less experienced pilots. And after what happened at Allenfort, Crowe made sure an event like that would never happen again, not to these two. But given that most pilots had giant ego's he would be lucky to get out with his sanity still intact.
The reason behind for Chopper's outburst now was the fact that Captain Hamilton, the base vice-commander, had informed them that the rescue team sent after their gruff captain had only found an empty life raft and a retreating enemy ship, the same one that launched the SAM at Nagase.
"Y-you can't be serious," Edge almost whimpered, her facing showing a helpless look.
"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, I am quite serious," Hamilton replied coldly. His tone matched his appearance. The man wore his OADF blues uniform with precision and had ice blue eyes that matched the uniform. The stark blond hair, exactly within regulation, completed the cold appearance. Crowe's eyes slightly narrowed; there was something about Hamilton that sent on him on edge, he just didn't know why.
"You should have let us open fire on that damn ship!" Chopper screamed at the top of his lungs, "Then we wouldn't have this friggin' problem."
"You know we couldn't done that, Chopper!" Crowe retorted, shocking everyone present, the normally quite, secluded man never got angry at any time, "There's nothing we can do right now. I don't like it either, but that's how it is."
"How the hell can you be so damn cold!?" Chopper yelled, grabbing the front of his new flights lead's olive drab flight-suite.
"Lieutenant Davenport, release Lieutenant Crowe immediately or go before a JAG. It's your choice," Hamilton stated, his voice just as lifeless as before. Chopper glared angrily at his superior, before finally relenting and letting go of Blaze. "Good. Now there's the small problem of your flight lead. Based on Lieutenant Crowe's performance today during the evacuation of the Third Fleet from St. Hewlett, the decision has been made to make him temporary flight lead until Lt. Colonel Ford can come down from Oured," Hamilton rose from his chair he had taken when he first entered and saluted the three pilots, who knew the conversation to be closed with no room for argument and so stood and returned the gesture.
After the icy officer had left, Chopper rounded on Blaze, "So? How 'bout it, huh? How come you're so damn cold!?" At least this time he didn't try to assault Crowe, who looked Davenport straight in the eye, and for the first time out of an aircraft between them, allowed the real William Crowe to come through, "Because I have to be," Crowe answered icily.
With that, he turned on his heel and left. Chopper was left there stunned. Something in Blaze's eyes made him want to piss his pants. He didn't know what it was, but there was more to Blaze that met the eye.
Crowe was stalking down the hall in a bad mood. Some might say he was pouting, but to those who knew him well would say it was his own way of letting of some steam. The man hadn't open to anyone here in Osea, and for a good reason. But he knew that would have to change once the two rookies of Wardog finally got their real baptism by fire and started to get that the fact that in war, nothing was pretty. They had to have at least grasped the concept or they would be flying airlines instead of the ADF.
Crowe had reached his room now. After entering, he looked around at the quarters that the Osean military had graced him with. He used to have roommates, but they had been killed in the bounce that happened a few days before the war started. Now he was the only one in the room, and he was fine by that. He had been alone for six years anyway. The doorway he stood in was directly across from a window that had a great view of the runway and had white Venetian blinds on them. Under the window was a small cabinet for their personal belongings. A small aisle separated the two bunk beds that allowed for four airmen to sleep in the same room. The bottom bunk on the right pair was his. The other tree beds had been stripped to their mattresses and the personals put into boxes and removed after the three other occupants had been killed. His stuff occupied those spaces now. Crowe dragged a trunk from under his bed and opened the keyed padlock on it.
Inside, packed neatly into it, were the two remnants of his old life. The first was a family photo of Crowe, his sister, Claire, and their parents. The second was a tarot card inside a plastic gem case that held the twenty-second arcane; The World. He picked up the photo, and gave a sad smile. He missed his parents and his sister more with each day, but a least they were in a better place.
Placing the photo aside, he reached back into the trunk and picked up a yellowing newspaper clipping. The headline blared, "Lone ISAF fighter destroys Stonehenge." The ace smirked at the article. This had been that had cemented his place in world history. He couldn't have done it without the other ISAF squadrons backing him up, though. Omega squadron focused on the triple-A and SAM sited that had littered the Railgun facility. While Rapier squadron, focused on the ECM emitter in the center of the ring of turrets. Those actions had allowed him to take out the turrets. The designers of Stonehenge had given crucial information on how to destroy it. There were three methods to destroy Stonehenge. Kill the operators in the control booths, blow up the supports that held the massive cannons, or go the insane route and blow up the barrels as the cannons were firing. Crowe went for the easier method; killing the operators.
He even had enough ammunition left over to kill Yellow 4.
The ace shook himself from the memory and pulled out another picture. It was taken a few days before that horrible day at Allenfort. He was in the middle, grinning, surrounded by his squadron mates, all in front of the only surviving experimental X-02 Wyvern. It was the same one he had flown after a Special Forces team raided Free Erusia's base of operations after he shot down the six Wyverns that had attacked him. He landed his Raptor at the base, and then flew the Wyvern back to Allenfort for ISAF R&D to research.
A knock at the door made him jump and start scrambling to shove everything back in the trunk. But before he could, the door opened and Nagase walked into the room.
Crowe's hard-won peace vanished before his eyes. The picture of him and his squadron was safely placed in his trunk, but the news clipping that were only printed in Usea were still out on his bed, as was his family photo, in her full view.
"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled as to why her flight lead was shoving stuff into a blue and chrome trunk clear on her face.
"You really should nock, Nagase," he chided gently. He had to distract her from the newspaper. Hopefully, she hadn't realized what it was yet, "What if I had just gotten out of the shower?" Embarrassing her to leave would work, it worked on Claire before. He could always apologize later. To his great surprise, a blush formed around her cheeks and she spluttered something about him not having enough time to shower.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the yellow newspaper, in an effort to both find another subject, and take his attention off the obvious color in her pale face.
Crowe watched helplessly as Edge crossed to the bed and picked up the newspaper. Nagase scanned the newspaper, quietly reading it. "Will, this a newspaper article of the day Mobius 1 destroyed Stonehenge. Why do you have this?"
Crowe had to think fast on his answer. Finally, he replied with "Well, you see. He's the reason I decided to join the OADF."
"Really? Me, too!" his wingman exclaimed, "I was actually a First Officer on Air Ixiom before I became a pilot. He saved my life from Erusian interceptors!"
Crowe's eyes winded. When he was on a combat air patrol, Sky-Eye had informed him to go and protect two airliners carrying Erusian defectors to ISAF. That mission was the most critical of the war, aside from the destruction of Stonehenge that is. Without those defectors, they would have suffered many more losses to the feared Erusian super-weapon than they already had. But what shocked Crowe was the First Officer Nagase he heard over the radio of Flight 701 was in fact Kei was a complete surprise to him.
"Seriously?." Blaze said in complete shock.
Edge nodded. "Yeah. I saw it happen with my own eyes. He took on three whole flights on his own." Kei gave away a small giggle, "I even remember him giving me a salute before he left." she said, amazed at what Mobius 1, what he, did.
Crowe was now the one blushing in embarrassment and rubbing the back of his head while giving off a nervous chuckle.
"So why do you have this, Crowe? These articles are only printed in Usea." Kei continued.
Crowe inwardly grimaced. How was he supposed to tell Nagase that wouldn't hint to her that he was Mobius 1? Maybe, this time, half the truth then.
"Well, the truth is." he started, seeing Nagase hanging on his every work. "I'm not Osean by birth. I used to live in a small town near the edge of the Erusian, San Salvation border until I was twelve." It was close enough to the truth anyway. Lying to his comrades would normally be the last thing he would do, but the anonymity and protection he so desperately desired came first.
"You lived near San Salvation? What's it like" Edge asked.
"I don't know. I was only twelve when we moved, so I don't remember much of it. Besides, when the Erusian's invaded San Salvation, we had already moved to a suburb outside Oured."
"Oh," her disappointment was clear. This is why he didn't want it known that he was Mobius 1, to protect himself and the others. Plus, she'd ask him to show her maneuvers, tell war stories, maybe even ask him on a date since he did save her life already.
"Is that a picture of your family?" Nagase asked, pointing to the small picture next to Crowe.
"Yeah." Crowe answered, looking at the picture.
"Can I see it, if that's okay with you?"
"Sure, here" Crowe said, handing his family photo to Nagase.
Kei looked at the picture for a few moments, her eyes darting between a handsome, tall man with brown hair, brown eyes and a beard, and a beautiful woman with blond hair and deep blue eyes. In front of the adults was Crowe, and a brown haired girl a couple of years younger then him. "Is this little girl your sister?" Kei asked.
"It is her name was Claire." Crowe answered, albeit a bit quietly.
"She's cute." Kei said, smiling at the happy family photo, before catching the distinction of Crowe statement 'Was my sister.'
"Is she…?"
"Yes." Crowe said sorrowfully.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Blaze. How did she die?" Kei instantly regretted asking a personal question like that.
Crowe's head slightly dropped, "If it's okay with you, I'd rather not talk about, Nagase."
Kei nodded, happy to end the topic right there and handed the photo back to Blaze. After that, Kei decided to talk about some other stuff for a while. A little later, Kei decided that it was best to leave Crowe alone for a while. She said goodbye and left his room. Crowe looked at the photo one last time before he glanced at the clock. The red luminous numbers showed that it was six o'clock. Edge had come in about five o'clock. He'd spent an hour talking with her about his life in Usea, while leaving bits about his sister. He gave a heavy sigh, and placed the newspaper and the photo back away into his trunk and locked it. He headed out into the breezy night, going towards the hangars.
Peter N. Beagle had the look of a fit man going into his golden years. The beer gut he had on him certainly never been there when he had been the feared pilot know far as wide as Huckebein the Raven. No one knew that of course, except Bartlett. Young Will Crowe wasn't the only one with secrets. Yep, Pops did know that blaze was really the legendary Ribbon. He found out by accident.
He'd had been watching a documentary on the Continental War that had been on when the former Belkan ace had taken a vacation to the beached of southern Usea. Pops had been a pilot for as long as he cared to remember. A pilot who could fly even better then that of the Demon Lord of the Round Table fascinated him. During his stay in the hotel near Crowne Beach, he had been watching a special on T.V. on the terrorist attack on Allenfort Airbase two years ago. The narrator had been talking about the rumors of what happened to Mobius 1, accompanied by the only known photograph of the pilot's face. He had remembered shaking his head at the young man, just barley out of his teens. Only twenty years old and he was already a legend. Pops guessed he left because of the terrorist attack on Allenfort. Pops couldn't blame him though; poor kid nearly went through the same thing the Demon Lord went through. That was the last time Pops had thought he would ever see The Ribbon.
Then the latest batch of nuggets came down from Hierlark Base to Sand Island for what was known around the base as 'Bartlett's Boot Camp.' Pops had been more surprised than he had been in years. The last time he had been this shocked had been when his homeland had nuked itself. If that had scared the crap out of him, this nearly gave him a damn heart attack. There, among the nervous trainees, looking completely at home was The Ribbon himself. 'Once a fighter pilot, always a fighter pilot, no matter what kind of crap gets thrown your way.' Pops guessed. He knew the young ace didn't want to be found out, and for good reason. He would purposely fly as if he had the barest grasp of flying, even though he could have taken that little F-5 and make it dance.
Hey, Pops, working late?" Ah, speak of the devil. There was Crowe now.
The balding man turned to address the speaker, "Ah! Blaze! Welcome to my humble kingdom!" The Raven said, smiling, and sweeping his arms out to encompass the spotless maintenance hangar.
The Ribbon returned the smile, "And what a kingdom it is, Sire," he answered, playing along the joke, "May this lowly whelp intrude on His Majesty's domain?"
"Feel free, but touch nothing, peasant," Pops threatened good-naturedly. Both men laughed while Blaze picked up a tool and went for a loose fuel line on the engines Pops was working on. In addition to their duties as a pilot, all the nuggets at Sand Island had to pick up a secondary specialty so they could help the NCOs at the units they would end up at. Blaze had picked up mechanic, as he knew planes inside and out from tinkering them during his free time as The Ribbon.
Both men had been working for an hour, conversing back and forth, when the air raid siren began to blare.
"What the hell?" Crowe muttered to himself, "Hey, Pops! Did they tell you about any exercises today?"
"There are no exercises going on today, Kid." Pops replied, going whiter, "We're under attack!"
Crowe grimaced, "Damn! I need to get to my bird!" The younger ace yelled as he sprinted for the gaping doors of the massive shelter.
"Crowe! Wait! There's no time!" Pops yelled, "Come with me, we just got some new birds from HQ. Three aren't combat ready, but one is fueled, armed and ready to go!" The old man shocked by the change in Blaze's demeanor. He went from looking like a scared nugget, to the battle harden ace, confident in his abilities to handle anyone, anytime, and in any fighter.
"Show me," he commanded curtly. Pos nodded and led him to the other side of the hangar where there were four planes under tarps. Crowe instantly knew what was behind the familiar silhouettes of the covered warplanes. Pops walked over to one in front and gave the tarp a solid tug. The tan sheet fell away to reveal an F-22A Raptor in all its deadly glory.
"A Raptor," Crowe murmured, a faraway look in his blue eyes. Pops knew he was reliving old battles from long ago. After all, he did it himself sometimes.
"Yep, and according to the orders I got from Colonel Perrault, they are going to be assigned to Wardog."
"Now way," Crowe replied, awestruck. He would be back in the cockpit of a Raptor again? This was a dream come true.
"Yeah. Now take it and go kick their ass, Kid," Pops paused wondering if he should let Crowe in on what he knew. Yes. He would tell him. That way he had someone to talk to if the going got rough.
Thuds from dropping bombs met the duo's ears. In a heartbeat, Crowe had flown up the ladder and was starting to run through the start-up procedures so fast it almost made Pops head spin. But then again, this was the Mobius 1, after all and in his trademark jet. Of course he would be able to fly it. No pun intended.
Pops took a deep breath to steel himself, and in a low voice that barely carried past the two aces, told Blaze on last thing, " Go show them what it means to tangle with The Ribbon."