Chapter 1
Above Route 123, Hoenn, 28th September 1863
The Orre Uprising.
Bright rays burnt into his eyes. The frigid weather chilled him to his core and numbed his fingers. The fierce winds battered his tired body and whistled piercingly into his ears. The entire sensation, every shiver, every ache, every twinge, every throb, was absolutely…refreshing. Richard Schaffer peered down to watch the landscape shift before him. Whilst travelling at breakneck speed made it nigh impossible to pick out any distinct shape in the forest below, he still found it oddly soothing to watch the blurs of fern green and myrtle shades rocket past him. Flight has always been a love affair for the aerial battle master. Whenever he took to the wing, he desired to soar higher and faster than any other being on Earth, to challenge the true upper limits of the world. Schaffer felt a place was always reserved for him amongst the clouds, and it was the elation resultant in this unique privilege that drove him on through dire situations such as now.
He turned his attention to his destination, marked by a plume of smoke so immense it could be spotted from nearly half the journey from Rustboro. A violent siege on Fortree City was being conducted by a division of the Orre Expeditionary Force. His flight of Hoenn's aerial battle masters was scrambled to help stave off the invasion of Fortree. It was a daunting task; Orre won most of their skirmishes on Hoenn soil, and always when they had air support. His air support.
How do they do it? How is their air force so dominant? Answer's simple. We all know it. But wrong. It has to be.
"Hey, Schaff! You ready?"
He knew the Orre aerial divisions were terrible; he took apart entire squadrons with his flygon alone. And yet one man in their air force was seemingly invincible; the infamous Aquila ace.
Aquila was somewhat of an urban legend amongst the Hoenn ranks, a demon that struck fear into every troop going into battle. No one caught a glimpse of his face, and only a handful could make out his mount. It was a truly devilish beast; a large, triangular head which comprised mostly of enormous jaws powerful enough to completely crush a man's head in it, a bony, lean body encased in stone colored, abrasive scales, two huge crobat-like wings, two stout, taloned feet which extended from the lower body, and a powerful tail tipped with an arrowhead which was capable of severing said man's head before the jaws crushed it. A modern gargoyle it would seem. But the beast is far from myth, as it was responsible for thousands of deaths whilst under Aquila's command.
"Schaff? Hey, flight lead!"
Schaffer and his flight were widely regarded as the best of the Hoenn's aces. They were heroes when they won battles and pillars of support during times of crisis. He, and his number two Rainer in particular, have been given almost celebrity status, a means to somewhat take the minds of the Hoenn citizens off the grim state the war has left them in. It was thus understandable that a clash between Aquila and Schaffer's aces was always a heated debate throughout the Hoenn ranks. Of course, both men always shook off such questions from the younger class of soldiers, but the thoughts of such an epic clash always lingered their minds. Schaffer in particular, longed for a challenge in the air. His love for flight extended into dogfighting, and it was provided Schaffer with an unmatchable thrill to duel in the air with enemy fliers. However, his five man flight tended to be relegated to the defense of Rustboro, a key city that could not be allowed to fall under Orre control. Due to this, he never had a chance to face Aquila and this left Schaffer picking off the dustox that were the rest of the Orre fliers whenever they tried to attack Rustboro. But Schaffer knew a clash with Aquila would be inevitable. And it may come today.
"Schaff!" Rainer, flying off Schaff's 7 o'clock, yelled once more.
Schaffer smiled. "Yeah Rainer, I'm ready. I can't wait."
Fortree City, Hoenn, 28th September 1863
Now I know why sarge always rants at us about proper weapon maintenance. The soldier swore for the umpteenth time as he desperately tried to clear a jam in his rifle. Under fire from relentless Orre soldiers, pinned with his back against a tree, all the while wrestling with the inner mechanisms of a Pattern 1853 Enfield that was satisfied with being little more than a club. His entire body rattled to the vibrations that emanated from the ground as Orre soldiers, and their beasts of war, tore through the dense Fortree vegetation like rampaging tyranitar. That's no surprise. Heck, rampaging tyranitar are probably standard issue where they come from.
Every three minutes or so there would be a tremendous bellow. The Orre aerial regiments unleashed constant bombardment, flattening the opposition from the sky before picking off whatever's left with their ground forces. It was hellish; hundreds of thousands of Hoenn servicemen lost their lives in the infernos, whilst hundreds of thousands more were left paranoid, even petrified by them. Shell shock was nearly as common as the flu in the Hoenn ranks.
The young trooper flinched instinctively as chunks of dirt and debris were hurled over his face. That last explosion, barely ten feet from where he hid, tore down more of the forest that had characterized the harmony the Fortree inhabitants shared with nature. He wasn't sure if he could hear anymore; the shockwave from the blast could have easily torn through his ear drums, and adrenaline was the best painkiller; he wouldn't notice the loss of such delicate tissue. He was deaf to anything at the moment even if his hearing still existed; the air was not only alive, but trashing violently with the rings, echoes and crackles of war. Sight was impaired as well. The nearby flames cloaked much of the action that took place around him with towering pillars of smoke and ash. The immense heat distorted his long vision with semi-mirages anyway; it was impossible to capture any details further than a few meters.
As the young man finally cleared the jam, he reached over to his remaining reserves of ammunition. He turned around and took a deep breath steadying his rifle on the gnarled root of the tree. Steeling himself, he reminded himself of his duty: to save Fortree or die trying. Everyone in the defense, from the grunts like him to the generals had believed this was a hapless defense. Everyone thought there was nothing stopping the stampeding tauros that was the Orre invasion force. But every single one of them would be damned if they didn't give their lives to prove themselves wrong. And so he did, as the moment the air whistled out of his smoke-filled lungs, a bullet took its place.
General Irvin Rowling watched over the horror that took place. Nothing they did even minutely slowed down the Orre war machine. But he wasn't going to leave it at that. That would be unacceptable. The Orre forces have laid waste to over half of Hoenn already and should Fortree fall, Lilycove would soon be in Orre's blood stained sights. He turned impatiently to his Kadabra, awaiting the telepathic message from it that would hopefully announce the arrival of Fortree's last glimmer of hope.
"Not yet" was all the Kadabra could telepathically muster, as it too witnessed the brutal deconstruction of Hoenn's most peaceful city. The general had been relieved to hear from Kadabra that Richard Schaffer and the best of Hoenn's aerial divisions would arrive to bolster the defense. However, that was three hours ago, and he began contemplating the failure of their arrival. He did what he could to stall the invasion as much as possible, but as the casualties mounted, there is little time left for Fortree.
"Not yet." The Kadabra's projected thought answered Rowling's repeated question. Rowling feared the flight group had been pulled to aid another skirmish, or were altogether destroyed in an ambush en route to Fortree. But a little part of him, the fan if you will, reminded him that the most celebrated aerial battle masters in Hoenn's history would pull through.
"Not yet." Rowling began contemplating the retreat order. Their forces were outgunned and outmatched. There was no use in mounting casualties in an unwinnable battle. They would at least be able to regroup and put up a stronger resistance at Lilycove, whilst the Orre troops wasted time securing Fortree and pillaging its resources. He would leave this battle a failure of a leader, but if it meant buying Hoenn more time, he would gladly choose disgrace. Besides, his peers understood the enormity of his task. It would be more self-inflicted guilt than anything. And there was definitely no disgrace in living to fight another day.
"Not yet." Yes. Retreat sounds like a good idea. Rowling had planned the retreat procedures beforehand; he only needed to announce the order to his Kadabra to have it distributed to every officer in Fortree. All he had to do was give the word. He turned to his Kadabra, hopelessly searching for guidance in his lifelong companion, but the Psi Pokémon could offer no thoughts of advice. He too realized the hopelessness in the situation; it was visible in his tense posture, with brows so furrowed they crinkled the normally flawless star symbol on his forehead. His eyes were locked onto the floor, as if in deep concentration. One did not have to be a telepath to read this Kadabra's mind, an ironic reversal that highlighted the direness of the situation. That made up Rowling's mind. And as he opened his mouth, he was interrupted, telepathically.
"General, Richard Schaffer is here." And it was confirmed as fast moving shadows cascaded over his makeshift bunker, charging straight into the enemy. Kadabra's posture visibly loosened, his eyes now peering up, gazing at the spectacular explosions that announced Schaffer's arrival into the battle. His squadron of flying aces quickly tore through the enemy mounts, launching energized projectiles and swiping at them with glowing appendages before passing by and turning around to begin another attack run. Loud shouts of exhilaration and euphoria rang through the air as one of the squadron's members jubilated in the annihilation of another Orre flier. Psychic messages from his Kadabra flooded his mind, with triumphant shouts from men in the front lines relaying their improved fortune on the battlefield.
Rowling couldn't help but shout too. And why shouldn't they be yelling in delight? The pride of the Hoenn Armed Forces had the entire aerial attack force fleeing for their lives as they capitalized on their unexpected, although somewhat delayed, entrance. Rowling smiled as he looked through the window of his bunker. As the tide of battle finally shifted to the Fortree's advantage, the general dropped his hand to his side, unaware that his thumb and index finger had his brow in a vice grip, due to his stress. We might win this now.
Almost in sync with his thought, his Kadabra questioned, "Are you still considering retreat, General?"
Rowling smirked at the question. Retreat? Whose stupid idea was that? "Not a chance."
The last of Orre's bombers received a violent acquaintance with the forest floor as Schaffer's flygon tore out its midsection with a dragon pulse. The aerial battle master, satisfied with the termination of another threat to Fortree, turned his mount around to rejoin his squadron mates in their standard 'V' formation.
"Yeeeee Haaaawwwwww! We got 'em good, eh cap?" Schaffer ignored the somewhat excited cries of his number four, Lloyd, as he craned his neck around to scan his surroundings. Tremendous grey plumes of smoke and ravaged Fortree undergrowth characterized the Orre bombers' destructive handiwork, and the least the flight lead felt he could do was make sure they were all either flying home in retreat, or now part of their deathly 'masterpiece.' His eyes found none in the sky. Their threat seemed averted. Rainer echoed his view: "Looks like we've cleared the skies, Schaff." The flight lead, ever cautious, glanced towards the rest of his squadron for confirmation. Their eyes roamed the landscape in search for any elusive Orre fliers. With no one spotting anything out of place, the flight lead was finally satisfied. Better ten eyes than two. "Looks like you're right," Schaffer replied. That was easy. Guess the Orre bombers are cowards. The aerial battle master smiled. Smart cowards though.
The flight lead now turned his attention to a garrison of Orre troops. They seemed oblivious to the loss of their aerial support, pounding mercilessly at the remnants of Hoenn's defensive lines whilst being completely exposed to the sky. "Let's just tear through a few ground troops and call it day then." Schaffer turned around to begin a strafing run on them.
The Hoenn flight lead poured out streams of flames into the Orre soldiers, annihilating their offensive and buying the Hoenn defense breathing room. That's right. Taste dragon pul –
– when a sudden yelp from his right caught his attention. He instinctively tore his eyes off his intended target and locked them on the source of the cry.
It was his number five, who was weaving from side to side desperately trying to avoid streams of fire. Her assailant followed up the salvo by forming glowing rings around his body, solidifying into a hail of pointed stones that launched directly at her. Amelia was forced upwards to dodge the combined fury of the stone edge and flamethrower attacks – right into the path of the attacker. She was sent tumbling down with a quick slash from its wings.
The ferocity of the attack had caught the entire flight unawares, and the assailant went into a suicidal acceleration, straight into the rest of the group.
The entire flight scattered, dodging the manic charge by the enemy flier. Using his momentum the assailant rocketed upwards and flipped over, sending him in a blazing dive at Robin. The young number 3 was forced to break right, separating him from the rest of the flight. The attacker pursued relentlessly, pressuring the Hoenn flier into a mistake. He had his teeth clenched into Robin's tail, and was not letting go.
It's him. It's him.
"Lloyd! Help Robin. Rainer and I'll cover you!" Schaffer commanded, who was replied with nods from both his number 2 and number 4. Everyone attacks together. He's no singling anyone of us out.
The attacker was now lining up for another salvo of fire, when the more yells rang through the sky. Lloyd's war cry seemed to work; Aquila had relented on his pursuit on Robin and now had his attention set on Schaffer's loud number four. With two vigorous, almost convulsive flaps of its wings, Aquila's mount halted all forward momentum and now barreled towards Lloyd. His mount widened its maw, preparing to shoot flames –
– only to be intercepted by Rainer. The courageous number two bashed the side of his charizard against Aquila's beast, sending both tumbling towards the Hoenn undergrowth. Both aerial masters recovered soon after though, and engaged each other in a 3 dimensional joust over the scarred forests of Fortree.
Each maneuvered into a firing position and loosed immense flames that would have singed the other into charcoal, had the other not jerked himself out of the way. They then spun around each other, attempting to outturn the other. Each spiral brought them closer to the ground.
Come on Schaff, I can't keep this up. Rainer was now losing the dogfight against Aquila, the latter closing in on to the former's six o'clock – prime attacking position. A few more spirals would leave Rainer, despite his dogfighting experience and talent, at the mercy of Orre's greatest ace. And Aquila knew it. Every subsequent blast of flames launched from Aquila's mount seemed to increase in intensity, as if rehearsing for the killer salvo. Schaff, damn it where are you?
His musings were answered when several orbs of pulsating blue energy flew towards Aquila, once again putting the Orre ace on the defensive. Schaffer roared into battle, his flygon hurling dragon pulse after dragon pulse after dragon pulse at Rainer's assailant.
Aquila, possibly sensing his inability to beat both in a turning battle, nose-dived at break-neck speed into the Fortree undergrowth, specifically into one of the massive fires that raged across the ground. Rainer and Schaffer pursued. The Orre ace, once again using the demonic speed and agility of his mount, suddenly began spinning violently. He continued to accelerate into the dive whilst performing the bizarre maneuver, and spun even more vigorously as he neared the flames, kicking up flaming debris as he approached it. The maniacal ace completely enveloped himself – and the two Hoenn aces – in a storm of embers and burning ash.
One.
Two.
Three .
Robin looked on at the horrific spectacle taking place. The flames that ravaged the Fortree undergrowth exploded in size as the three aces hurtled into it. Both he and Lloyd could not believe the loss of Hoenn's two best aces would have been so swift, but the reality was grim.
Four.
Five.
Robin squinted on the sixth second as he spotted movement from the smoke. "Captain, is that y –
– Aquila burst out of the flames and charged straight at Lloyd, the immense speed extinguishing a few lingering embers that rolled across his back. Oh no. His mount's talons latched onto Lloyd's neck and shoulders, ripping him off his Pidgeot. The Orre aerial master then launched himself into another insane spin, a death roll that brutally snapped Lloyd's neck. Aquila's mount dropped the former number four into the Hoenn undergrowth before turning towards Robin.
There was nowhere to run. Aquila tore through Robin's body with a stone edge attack before flying off into the dusk. The tide of battle shifted back to the Orre attackers.
Near Daybreak Town, Sinnoh, 1st December 2005
"The fall of Fortree City and the destruction of Hoenn's 21st Air Division marked the end of Hoenn counterattack. Lilycove City is also in Orre sights. I don't know how we can recover after such devastating loss, but Orre will not take Lilycove. I will guarantee that."
21:30. McCann replaced General Rowling's final entry to the Fortree invasion into his folder. Astounding, truly astounding. The elderly aerial trainer, a retired aerial champion in Sinnoh who was undefeated for well over a decade, remained awestruck by the immense skill displayed by aerial battle masters of old. The Orre Uprising represented the pinnacle of aerial battles in history, and to read actual documentation of such brilliant dogfights was an honor experienced by only a handful of people in the world. And for good reason.
Leaving his private study, McCann ventured outside his home to take a breath of the night air. Unique in shape, the valley McCann lives by never fails to bring strong air currents funneling through it. That, coupled with the sea of forest that surrounds his abode, guarantees a truly refreshing experience by simply standing outside and enjoying the clean air.
It is also a perfect place to recollect one's thoughts after a tiring day, search for inspiration, or contemplate the future. Every now and then, McCann would let his scizor take night flights, just to enjoy the experience. On those nights, he is certain even the metal bug loses the self-control and discipline encoded into every steel-type Pokémon's DNA. McCann smiled. No matter how cool or calm he is, even Scizor jumps for joy if it meant enjoying a midnight flight here.
Tonight's wind is truly amazing! I ought to call Maya. She'd love to see Chimecho and Scizor fly in such gorgeous conditi-
In one sudden movement McCann was jerked off his feet and slammed onto a wall. Before his mind could barely even register what was going on, McCann's body lay in two bloody piles on the bottom of the valley. The assailant, wasted no time in leaping back on to his mount, and whilst thumbing a shard of gold, flew off into the dusk.
