Chapter 3

Slippy was first to protest Fox's proposition. "We're going to rescue him? In this storm? There's no way we'll make it out alive!"

Fox waited for Falco to join in with his own disagreement. There was a brief pause before the bird spoke up. "I mean...well...honestly, that guy did put up a surprisingly good fight. I can see why you wouldn't want him to die down there."

Fox was surprised that the bird agreed; he did his best to continue as if Falco's support was entirely expected. "Exactly. We need to find out where he learned those moves and make sure they can never be used against us again. Pilots like him could pose a serious threat to our team if we don't get them on our side."

The frog was obviously unconvinced, but tried his best not to worry about the proposed task. "But...well...alright. If you say so, I guess. I can't stop you."

Fox began to issue orders rapidly. "Krystal, keep watch over the valley in case the other enemy ships come back for round two. Slippy, go retrieve one of our temp wing replacements for my ship. Falco and I are going to retrieve the pilot." Without a moment's hesitation, Slippy left the valley to meet the Great Fox and Krystal began a wide patrol of the area as Falco and Fox began to descend.

Every second provided more and more detail as the two Arwings crept towards the powdery surface. Falco's ship had sustained no damage at all, while Fox was having trouble even just flying to his destination on the ground. They circled the wreckage as they descended - one gracefully and smoothly, the other decidedly less so - until they'd both touched upon the snow on opposite sides of the snowdrift.

Fox released a latch, and with a hiss the glass dome pushed itself open, the frigid air of Fichina immediately clawing its way into the cockpit. Fox wrapped his scarf tight around his face before jumping to the ground below, letting the deep snow cushion his fall. He started to make his way towards the nearby wreckage, but the storm was unrelenting in its assault, biting at his face despite the protection his scarf offered. The waspy ship burned in the distance, the only light to shine in the darkening valley. If it weren't for the fiery beacon, glowing softly behind the dense snowstorm, he wouldn't have known which direction to go amidst the chaos.

Through the snow Falco slowly appeared from the other side of the fire, even more laboriously than Fox had. Slippy was right; the storm was quickly becoming an even more formidable foe than the pilot they were trying to rescue.

"Fox! What's our plan!?" Falco had to yell to be heard over the sound of the wind howling around them.

"My ship is too damaged for passengers! We need to carry him to yours!" Fox could barely even hear himself. The two of them made their way to the pilot, who lay face down in the snow. Though the flames nearby were a comforting refuge from the bitter cold of the storm, they were also a sobering reminder of the dangers that Fox and his team faced with every mission.

It was only after they'd hoisted the pilot over their shoulders that Fox realized just how badly his enemy had been hurt; the pure, white snow where the body had been was now painted with splashes of crimson. He was horrified to see that there were open wounds along the pilot's chest, and thick drops of blood had begun to drip out of the crack in his helmet.

With no time to lose, they began to make their way back to Falco's ship. An especially strong gust of wind nearly slammed them into the ground, but after regaining their balance they continued to trudge through the snow on their tedious journey. The ship couldn't have been more than 10 meters away, but it felt like an eternity had passed before they'd finally reached their destination.

Once they'd gotten to the Arwing, Falco let go of the pilot and hopped onto the wing of his ship. "Toss him up to me, Fox! I'll put him in the back seat!"

Fox tried to do as he was told, but the pilot was surprisingly heavy and much taller than he'd expected. After a few tries, and with some momentum, the vulpine finally swung the body high enough for Falco to grab him, and the bird struggled as he dragged him into the passenger seat. It was a pitiful excuse for a seat, nothing more than a small shelf behind the pilot, but in dire situations like these it made itself useful. Falco had to move his own seat forward to accommodate the pilot's unexpected height, and eventually the two were both strapped into their respective interior spaces.

After struggling to shut the hatch, Falco's voice crunched over the comm. "Alright. I'm gonna dock and take this guy to the med bay, pronto. I figure you're gonna try and dock too, right?"

"Not until I've got my wing back," Fox replied through his scarf as Falco's ship began to lift from the ground. "Slippy, where's that temp wing replacement?"

The frog's voice came through weakly. "I-I couldn't find one, Fox. We must have used them all after that mission on Aquas...I think you're go-g to have to wait until the storm blows over before flying yourself back up. Then we can head to Corneria to repair the wing."

Fox's stomach dropped. "Storms on Fichina last for days, even weeks! I don't think I can last that long, Slippy."

"Fox, you've got to. There's no way for us to g- any closer to the ground, not in these conditions. Even our comms have been having troub- -mmunicat- on - surface."

"What? Say that again?" Slippy's comm had begun to act up. Magnetic fluctuations were part of the reason Fichina was so unforgiving; not only did they amplify the strength and duration of storms, but they would frequently jam radars and, in extreme cases, block off wireless communication as well.

"- -o- - -i- - -..."

"Slippy? Can you hear me?" The frog didn't respond.

Fox watched as Falco's ship rose from the ground, struggling against the wind before eventually disappearing into the storm. If a fully functional ship was having trouble in these conditions, he couldn't imagine how poorly his own ship would perform. There was no way he could make it back to the Great Fox without a replacement wing.

"Can anybody hear me up there?"

The fire from his enemy's ship had begun to die. The sun had completely set by now, and darkness was all he could see for miles.

He realized he was shivering now. If he could just make it back to his ship, he could at least try to escape the vicious winds snarling at him from every direction. He began to retrace the footsteps he had just made, following them back towards the wreckage and the startlingly bloodied snow. It had never crossed his mind in the midst of the chaos, but with a sinking stomach Fox wondered if perhaps the pilot was already dead. Had this rescue mission been for nothing? He tried to rid his mind of the troubling thought and continued onward.

Wreckage was strewn about in a sizable radius around the enemy's ship. As Fox continued through the snow, the unusual shape of one of the wings caught his eye. He approached the rectangular piece, only to find that it wasn't a wing at all. As he picked up the scrap he realized it was actually a wooden plank, painted entirely black; on one end there were five loose nails, and the other end was connected to a sheet of metal by what appeared to be construction adhesive. The metal sheet looked to be harvested from an oil drum, perhaps flattened by hand with a blunt tool of some sort. It was no wonder the ship had been shot down so quickly, being composed almost entirely of junk and spare parts. Whoever this pilot was, he must have been creative, resourceful, and very, very desperate.

As desperate as you, Fox?

At that moment an idea began to formulate in the vulpine's head. He analyzed the wreckage of his enemy's ship in front of him, the right wing which had been entirely torn off. He studied the two flat scraps in his hand, about the same shape and size as the right wing.

As his right wing.

Immediately he began to retrace his footprints towards his Arwing, stumbling through the snow in his haste. His enemy had proven that it was possible not only to fly a ship with wings made of miscellaneous scraps, but to fly it so well that he made himself the most skilled opponent Fox had fought in years. If that pilot could pull off such a remarkable feat, then Fox knew it was possible to escape the storm on his own.

By the time he reached his ship, every breath he took was a painful stab of ice in his throat. He studied the damage to his right wing carefully; the end was no more than a jagged stump, with bits of wire and metal rods reaching for a sorely missed tip.

In a race against the elements, he began to work as quickly as he could. He fumbled for his blaster with frozen fingers, shooting five orderly shots along the edge of his wing. As the metal glowed with the heat from his blaster, he lay the makeshift wing over the glowing segments, turned his pistol backwards in his hand, and began to hammer the nails into the softened metal with the handle of his gun.

He could no longer feel his fingers at all by the time he'd finished hammering the wing into place, returning his blaster to his holster with extreme difficulty. He tested the new wing with a gentle kick, and it felt surprisingly sturdy, considering the circumstances. The metal had quickly cooled around the nails and formed a strong bond; it was perhaps the only way the cold had helped him so far. Fox decided his ship was as ready to fly as it would ever be.

He scrambled into the cockpit and tried to close the hatch, but it wouldn't move. He pulled at it again, but it was frozen open. He heaved with all his strength, practically lifting himself off of his seat, and the glass dome eventually gave in with a harsh shatter of ice. He was showered by the broken pieces, one of them stinging across his cheek as a last act of defiance before falling to the floor of the interior. He brushed the rest of the ice off, fumbled with the latches for a moment and finally sealed the glass shut.

Ever since Fox was a kit, every time he entered an Arwing he always enjoyed the sudden silence of the cockpit as soon as he fastened the latches. He was more than surprised, then, when the air was still howling all around him despite the latches being securely fastened. It was then that he realized that what had shattered was not just ice, but glass as well; the dome above him was now nothing more than a metal frame with sharp, taunting edges like sparkling thorns.

Cursing his bad luck, he brushed some snow off of the control panels and began startup procedures as best he could with his numb fingers, not even bothering with the seat belt - exposure to the elements had frozen the belt in place, and he didn't trust the dwindling strength in his hands to break the ice encasing the buckle. As he finished his rushed startup procedures, the engines stuttered for several heart-stopping seconds before they finally whirred to life, ridding themselves of the ice that had almost defeated them.

Fox took a moment to reflect upon the situation. He was stranded in the middle of a snowstorm, with no connection to the outside world, piloting a damaged ship without a wing, a windshield, a navigation system, or even a seat belt. He almost couldn't comprehend just how impossibly, life-threateningly unfortunate his circumstances were. The flight in which he was about to partake would be the ultimate test of his skills as a pilot.

With shaking hands and lifeless fingers, he increased the throttle gingerly. As soon as he had lifted not even a meter off the ground, the wind threatened to wrench his ship out of the sky. He counteracted the gust as quickly as possible, but the unfamiliarity of the new wing caused him to overcompensate as he lurched in the opposite direction.

A minute of pure terror ensued as Fox scrambled to regain his ship's balance above the ground, the winds around him trying desperately to pull him back down. If his ship were to be caught by a gust and land upside down in the snow...

No. He wouldn't think of that right now. He couldn't afford to think of that right now. He needed to focus all of his energy on keeping his ship upright in the winds around him.

Through trial and error, he eventually began to grasp not only how to counteract the gusts of wind before they had a chance to disrupt his ship's balance, but to do so while compensating for his poor excuse for a right wing. His attention was split in a dozen directions as he focused on wrestling for control of his ship while the winds howled in his ears and the snow blew all around the cockpit. Without a second to spare, he painstakingly raised his ship higher and higher, meter by meter, until the snowy surface of the planet faded into nothingness.

For a moment nothing existed except Fox, his ship, and the storm surrounding him. The predator was circling its prey.

"-n't be s- -bou- -hat, F-." The sudden return of the comm startled Fox, and he almost lost his balance again. "But wh-t about the pilot? How do w- break the news to Fox?"

"Guys? Guys! Can you hear me?!" Fox shouted into his comm, anxious to finally communicate with his team again.

"Fox! Where are you? Are you okay?" It was Peppy.

There was no telling if the wireless communication would go out again, so Fox needed to be quick and concise. "I'm in my Arwing; I'm flying somewhere above the surface, but the winds are too strong and I can't fly any higher without serious risk of crashing. I need you guys to descend enough for me to safely dock."

Slippy squeaked in shock. "What?! It's dangerous to fly your ship in these condi-"

"I am well aware of that!" He snarled into the comm. "Get the damn ship down here and help me out before these winds take me out of the sky, for god's sake!"

For a split second Slippy was stunned into silence. Fox couldn't remember the last time he'd lashed out at a teammate like that. He only ever lost his temper when he was truly convinced that he or his team were in a life or death situation. Given the circumstances, his words were more than justified.

Falco recognized the severity of the situation and broke the silence. "You all heard him! Peppy, lower the ship!" Fox yelped as an especially strong gust threatened his stability once more. The higher his ship flew, the more severe the conditions became. "You're out of your mind, Fox." Falco continued through the comm. "But we're gonna get you out of that storm. Hang in there, pal."

Fox couldn't even respond, his teeth gritted in pure concentration. The weather around him and the adrenaline inside him numbed his body and sharpened his reflexes. Through squinted eyes he began to search for the Great Fox's twin emergency lights in the darkness around him. Another gust of wind assaulted him, twisting his ship around as he fought for control once again. As soon as he'd stabilized, Fox took a deep breath and resumed his search, though it was nearly impossible to see anything through the snow-

There.

A dim, red glow directly ahead. With great difficulty, the vulpine eased his ship towards the beacon. He did his best to keep the red light in view through the shattered display as he and his ship battled against the elements.

As he approached, the lights became brighter and sharper, soon revealing the outline of the Great Fox. "Alright guys, I'm here! Open the docking bay!" Immediately the long door on the front of the ship began to raise itself. Never before had Fox been so relieved to see the landing strips in the docking bay, as if they were outstretched arms offering a welcoming embrace.

Docking had always been a tedious task, requiring precision to an extreme. If a pilot was too hasty in their docking procedure, or they didn't enter at the correct angle, they ran the risk of damaging their Arwing, the Great Fox, or both. It was every pilot's least favorite part of flying. The current circumstances only exacerbated the procedure; Fox was unable to afford the time to ensure a smooth, precise landing.

"Fox!" It was Peppy. "Have you docked?"

"I can't! These winds are too strong!" As Fox tried to enter the docking bay, he was forced to retreat from an unexpected gust which almost slammed his ship into the upper wall of the command ship. The vulpine growled in frustration as he realized the wind would be even more of a problem than he'd initially expected. "Peppy, can you stabilize the Great Fox any more?!"

"I've got the diffusers on full! I can't get her any more stable than this."

Fox attempted to enter two more times before angrily giving up, cursing the storm and his bad luck.

None of this would have happened if I hadn't tried to save that damn pilot!

It was impossible to land when the wind affected his ship so much. A single gust would send his Arwing careening into the walls of the stoic Great Fox. If only his damaged G-diffusers could match the motion-dampening strength of those on board the larger ship, then neither ship would move enough for the wind to be problematic. There was no way his Arwing could dampen the wind's effects in its current state. However, if the Great Fox could just move with his Arwing instead...

"Pep-!" Fox tried to call out just as his Arwing swayed dangerously. As soon as he'd regained control of his ship, he attempted to contact his teammate again. "Peppy! I want you to disable your G-diffusers."

"I...what? Are you insane!?"

"Just hear me out, alright?" Fox continued shakily. "My ship is getting tossed all around by the wind while the Great Fox is staying put like a rock. If you disable your diffusers, you'll let yourself move just as much as my own ship..."

"...and since they're moving at the same time, then compared to each other they'll be practically motionless." Peppy considered the idea for a moment. "...It sounds crazy, but I think we can pull it off. I'm disabling diffusers right-whoa!"

The Great Fox immediately lurched backwards with the strong winds, and through the comm Fox could hear the surprised crew losing their balance in the now-turbulent ship. "Good thing we've got those magnetic fasteners to keep our ships from tumbling around in the hangars, eh?" He heard Falco remark through the comm.

Fox fought to keep his own balance as the Arwing twisted from the same gust, but as soon as he'd corrected himself he was surprised and relieved to find that, compared to the Great Fox, he was in the same spot as he'd been before the winds. His plan was working.

With no time to lose, Fox began to nudge his ship forward. As the distance between the two ships closed, the vulpine found that it became harder to counteract the erratic winds while still keeping steady with the Great Fox. The weather was almost too much for him to bear as he desperately squinted against the wind and snow. Fox took a moment to blink out some of the tears from his straining eyes, and an especially strong updraft caught him by surprise in the split second during which he was blind to his surroundings. He yelped in alarm, expecting the worst, but the moment without guidance ironically kept his ship in sync with the Great Fox's movements. It dawned on him that he needed to ignore his instinct to combat the storm so aggressively, and instead move with the ebb and flow of the winds around him in order to successfully board.

He took a deep breath before slowly loosening his grip on the controls. The vulpine hadn't realized how tightly he was holding on to the levers until he had to pry his aching knuckles off of them. The wind immediately took the opportunity to barrage the underside of his ship, and it took everything in him not to fall back onto his hard-learned instincts, instead letting the winds sway the ship as they pleased.

The Arwing advanced towards the dock at a rate which Fox considered far too fast for standard safety regulations. However, given the fact that he was already breaking at least a dozen of those in his current situation, he decided one more wasn't anything to worry about. With one final blast from the blizzard around him, Fox's Arwing launched through the doorway and into the docking station. The ship skipped once on the metal floor before making contact again with a screech. The turbulent wind patterns on Fichina continued to cause turbulence aboard the Great Fox, and the unrestrained Arwing continued to skid and turn freely within the hangar, surrounded by sparks and the sound of squealing metal. Fox's lack of seat belt was proving to be a larger issue than he'd initially expected; he was being tossed all around the cockpit of his turbulent ship. "Peppy!" Fox called desperately as his Arwing collided with the far wall of the hangar, his head slamming headfirst into the controls of his ship. He yelped in pain before calling out again, gripping his forehead in one hand and the back of his seat in the other. "Peppy! I'm in! Turn the G-diffusers on!"

Without a second's hesitation, the hare flicked a switch and reactivated the diffusers. The command ship groaned under the new stress on the engines before lurching itself to a standstill. Fox's Arwing slammed into the far wall once more, this time heaving itself from its upright position and launching the vulpine directly through the metal frame of the windshield.

The jagged thorns of glass lining the windshield immediately ripped through Fox's flight suit and lacerated his shoulder. He howled in pain, the shards slicing down his spine, as he tumbled through the open windshield and crumpled onto the floor of the hangar. He roared in pure agony as he landed on his injured back, overwhelmed by the sheer pain coursing throughout his entire body.

"Fox? Are you okay!? FOX!?" He could faintly hear Slippy's screaming from the speaker in his dislodged headset, resting beneath his twisted arm. The vulpine tried to call out for help, but he could only whimper brokenly in such a state of torture. He began to feel the frightening sensation of blood pooling up beneath his contorted limbs.

Is this what it feels like to die?

With faltering eyes, as he lay sprawled upon the floor of the hangar, he looked up at his upturned ship one last time. He studied the shimmering remains of the windshield facing down towards him, now reddened with his blood. He examined the right wing, the black scraps, still held together his by his handiwork.

Is this what the pilot felt, too?

Fox heard muffled shouting in the distance, but could not summon the willpower to turn his head to investigate the source of the noise. The last thing the vulpine gazed upon was the long burn mark beneath the left wing, left there so many years ago, before his vision failed him entirely and he descended into darkness.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Whoo-ee! This one was a little longer than usual, but took way longer than I'd expected. I knew I wanted Fox to end up on the Great Fox in a severely compromised state, but I just didn't know how to go about it.

Anyways! One of the more important parts of this chapter is my personification of the storm on Fichina. I frequently describe the winds as howling, biting, scratching, and so on; I'm trying to solidify this idea of a storm being something that Fox will have to fight against - this time on Fichina, in the future within himself - so pay attention to any more storm imagery!

Speaking of imagery, I tried to use heavy imagery in this chapter to convey a sense of desperation and high stakes in a very life-or-death situation. I really wanted readers to realize just how deadly Fox's situation was and perhaps make them slightly uncomfortable through mildly shocking descriptions. Let me know how I did, because I honestly can't tell if I overdid it or not...

Also, just a fun little thing I noticed: scientific research supports the notion that this chapter is, on average, 20% more exciting to read while listening to Fichina's theme from Star Fox: Assault. Go ahead. Try it. You're welcome.

Haha no but actually, thanks for waiting so long for this chapter; I'll try my best to release future updates more quickly! And as always, please let me know what you enjoyed, what I can improve upon, where you think the story will go next, where you WANT the story to go next...any feedback at all is greatly appreciated!

Until next time,
-Gerlacus