Chp. 6: Catch Your Breath

March 25, 1995

Bana City, Southern Osea

Meredith had been unable to sleep, even during the car ride. It was a combination of things, really. Fear for her safety and Julius's, their belongings and vacation home she loved to use as a sanctuary from normal life, but most importantly her children. Her daughters were on the West Coast, far from the Eastern Border as they could possibly be, and her son Gerry was relatively safe in Oured, which she hoped was heavily defended (it was the capital after all). And Matt…she didn't have to guess or wonder…

This is exactly what she had feared, why she'd always been so firmly against his choice to be a fighter pilot. The worst part was that she couldn't do anything now. Despite the power of the Hall family, they could not hope to rip a soldier out of the service during a war just because his mother was worried. Favors phoned in or dirt that'd been kept in reserve couldn't do anything. And no one would just let her do it. Her husband wouldn't for the reasons of Matt being a grown man, and she was secretly to prideful to deal with being laughed by anyone at for worrying.

The woman stopped pacing and looked at the TV again. There was still a lot of confusion going on, so the Osean government had kept a bit of a leash on the media to prevent any false reports according to the anchors. It could be confirmed that several cities were or had been attacked, and that the Osean president had declared an official state of war. Julius had immediately gone to bed, but she couldn't sleep. She wanted to know what was going on, how bad things were. As much as she disliked it, she had to exhibit some patience. The war wasn't even a day old, and it was the first time in decades that Osea had been directly threated.

It forced her to accept Matt's position for the moment. As much as she hated what might happen to him, he was now at war, and she could do nothing about it. When he'd tried ROTC at the end of high school, she could've, when he was in college ROTC, she could've stopped it, even just before he accepted his commission, she could of stopped it. The problem was by that time it would've taken rather extreme measures. Pulling strings to change him from his goal of fighter to something like transport planes or work on the ground. Things she, as a mother, was not prepared to do. She loved Matt, and despite the reluctant admittance to her want for control, she was not going to go that far. She had the desire to, yes, but she wouldn't act on that. And she didn't even dare hope he would be injured and taken out of action. She looked at the screen as a new report seemed to be coming in.

"We can now confirm that the Belkan Army has in fact crossed the border in several areas. The government has issued a statement telling all residents in the areas will list shortly to tune to their emergency broadcast channel for specific instructions.

The screen faded to a list of regions and major cities, none of which were anywhere close to Bana City as Meredith would've predicted. Matt's air base was in one of the regions, but he had no reason to leave. She sighed and tried tpo smile a little. Hopefully he would give her a call soon enough assuring her he was in one piece…

As Matt reached the ground, he heard footfalls rushing up. The man turned around as Justin, along with one of the engine mechanics for the Eagle, sprayed the two aviators with shaken bottles. Matt's first guess was champagne, but as some of the liquid slipped into his mouth he tasted apples. Neither really tried to fight it, they just enjoyed the tradition fighter pilots usually got to enjoy, not strike pilots. Matt was still in a daze that they'd actually bagged a MiG-29, one of the most potent fighters out there. Marginally surprised (with how many planes the BAF was sending in, it seemed likely that he would encounter one in a dogfight, especially after the Mirage 2000).

It felt like an added bonus. He'd joined to fly the Strike Eagle, and get to experience the same low-level excitement his Uncle had almost preached about doing in the F-111, but now he also had a taste of air combat.

"Congratulations, sir!" Justin hollered with the widest grin he could manage. Matt and he shook firmly and the Staff Sergeant presented him what was left of the sparkling apple cider. After two straight missions, it was welcomed without even the remotest thought of complaint. Henry had the other bottle, and they clanked the two together as a photographer documented the whole thing.

Matt noted a small crowd was coming up, led by Colonel Mackey and Major McDale, both of who still had their flight gear. Bloodhound almost bounded up to the younger pilots like a school kid who had just gotten to summer vacation. He grabbed Matt's hand and shook it.

"Damn fine job, the both of you! Damn fine!" the man boomed as he grabbed Henry's and did the same. They could tell the young fighter pilot in him was alive and awake. McDale walked up to congratulate them as well.

"So how does it feel to be the second group of scorers in the squadron?" Chip asked. Matt's smile faltered for an instant.

"Second, sir?" his WSO repeated.

"Yep, McDale here bagged a pair of Mi-35s up north." The CO chimed in, hitting the Major's shoulder. McDale smiled.

Matt could recognize the look on the man's face. It was that grin when he was the superior one no matter what, and if crossed he would make you pay (especially considering he'd gotten a pair of helicopters, and it wasn't know if he and his WSO had scored before Matt and Henry). Matt wasn't about to confront Glory Hound McDale though, not now.

"Congratulations sir." He said to the slightly taller officer, extending a hand. They shook and exchanged smiles.

"Excuse me sir."

Matt turned around to see another crewman, Lorenzo, holding a stencil and spray paint cans in his arms.

"Would you like to do the honors, sir?" he asked. Prince looked at Henry, who nodded.

They placed the kill making under their name placard; next to a pair of bomb symbols from their two combat missions (Matt hadn't noticed them). The symbol was designed to look like a Belkan flag. The two smiled once more for the camera to document that short but jubilant ceremony before the aviators were to report to the building for a proper debrief. Many of the pilots were given bottles of water as they gathered in the squadron's main briefing room. The Colonel walked up to the front and gave a tired smile.

"Once again, good job everyone. We've managed to keep up our operational capacity and keep things at minimal losses. I've been informed that Captain Keller and Major Louis will be back within the hour. They managed to eject well west of the border, and that ant damaged planes will be returned to flyable status as soon as can be done." He started, tactfully leaving out the bigger picture. Matt quietly guessed they had done a little, but not much.

"We're being order to lower our tempo for a while. In the meantime, we'll be passed the proper information to begin conducting a more organized and effective routine. For the moment, we'll be on call for bomb delivery, especially around Wesson, and occasional DCA." He went on. Valentina raised a hand.

"What's the status of the force poised to take Wesson, sir?" she asked. The Colonel couldn't keep the tightening of his jaw hidden as he contemplated an answer.

"We've received reports that despite the heavy bombing, Belkan troops have begun to advance into the eastern part of the city. The Army National Guard and local Police are hanging on by their teeth while the 122nd Airborne Division and 9th Infantry Division are brought in to reinforce. Major Dillinger will further explain things regarding what we know." He replied, passing the baton to the proper person. The blonde-haired major stood up and almost robotically strode up to the front. Matt thought he glassed Valentina roll her eyes.

"Though much of this information is somewhat dated, we have received a better picture of things overall, as well as a confirmation of what has been lined up against us." She began, speaking in the icy voice that'd evoked her call sign of Phantom.

"It has been confirmed that the Belkan Army has five divisions, not four, pressing across the border. Most of these are along the northern plains and foothills, while the others have seized the Futuro Canal and are pressing into the Great Lakes area. They are supported by no less than five wing-sized units of Belkan aircraft based at several forward bases. From what we know, they have not made any attempts to take our own airports near the most of the fighting is up north; the only engagement down here is near Wesson. I've been assured there is no land-based threat to Foley Air Force Base at this time" The woman said, getting to the point. Henry raised a hand.

"Do we know anything about the Belkan attack on Ustio?" Henry asked. Matt nodded.

"Yeah, we've had a few Mirage F.1s and F-20s passing through Major, should we expect more?" He chimed in. The major regarded the question with a nod.

"From what I've been told, the Belkan military has severely damaged the Ustian war machine, and many squadrons are fleeing bases about to be encroached by the invasion force. Things are still coming in piece by piece on that, intel is more concerned with the threat to us at this time." She answered quickly.

"Is that everything, Major?" the Colonel asked. Again she nodded.

"Everything else is as previously stated sir." She added. The senior man allowed her to take a seat and again walked up to the front.

"Very well then, what's say we get some proper debrief on the kills today, shall we? Will those four crew please come up to fill us all in?" Mackey said.

Matt and his WSO exchanged glasses and stood up, following a smiling McDale and "Cosmos" Stevens before the others. The XO seemed all too happy to talk about the two Mi-35s he'd bagged, though no one dared bring up Matt and Henry had gotten the better catch. From the way he and a few others in the room explained it, the man had at least gotten them in a marginally impressive way, dropping a CBU above the machines as they were just airborne. He kept the elaboration to a minimum, considering he'd gotten them on the first pass as he showed with his hands.

"Well Lieutenant Hall, Lieutenant Collins, care to tell us about the MiG?" McDale asked as he finished. The pilot nodded and gave the man a rare but genuine smile.

"With pleasure, sir." He began as he raised his own hands…

The mess hall in the BOQ was kind enough to grill up some steaks for the weary pilots that morning alongside the eggs, coffee and grits. Matt was all too happy to sedate his growling stomach with some of the meat. He took his tray and sat near the TV in the space along with several other squadron members. The images currently showed the fighting near Wesson. There were no distinct shapes of soldiers or machines from the cameraman's point of view, just the spats of tracers going upwards or across the sky. As an explosion rocked the scene, the narrator (whom Matt guessed also had the camera) seemed clearly shaken.

"Sounded like an air-dropped bomb to me." Andre's voice sounded as he took a seat across from Matt. The pilot looked at the marine as he shoveled a bite on grits into his mouth. Valentina and Johnny were close behind.

"So it looks like Wesson's going to be a serious point of contention for us." Matt said after greeting them with nods.

"It'll be an interesting environment, especially for close air support." Valentina agreed.

She looked at the TV screen again and felt a small chill run her spine. Echoes of the Tyumen dispute that had wracked several parts of her family (she was a native of the Yuktobanian side of that border) sounded somewhere in her mind. Even when the images changed back to the studio, she still felt herself unable to comprehend.

"…Hey, Baroness, Earth to Baroness." Matt said again, slowly moving his hand in circles before her face. She blinked and turned her eyes to him.

"You okay?" he asked. She seemed to be unsure of the question for a minute before shaking her head and abruptly returning to reality.

"You were saying, Ratpack?' she blurted out. Matt looked at Johnny, who hadn't really sad anything, and nodded. His friend thought on the fly.

"Well what I don't get is why we aren't launching massive sorties and clobbering these guys with things like B-52s." He reasoned with slight annoyance.

"If that little stint near Wesson didn't tell you anything Ratpack, it's that the Belkans possess an excessive amount of anti-aircraft weaponry." Moose said.

"The way I see it Moose, the only ones that matter to a BUFF are the SA-6s. The rest can take a number above 13,000."

"Granted the Belkans don't have more long-range weapons around fixed targets in their own borders. It's only a matter of time before we start going deep into their home turf to destroy their own infrastructure."

"Which means we might be dancing around civilian structures…"

Matt's comment turned several heads.

"Who the flying fuck says we're gonna target civilians?" Johnny said, catching his drift.

"Who do you think runs and mans those factories that produce weapons for Belka?" Matt replied flatly.

"You sound pretty hypocritical now for a guy who just had a smile on his face a while back when he was telling how he blew a MiG out of the sky." Johnny was quick to point out. Matt was ready for him.

"That were different, soldiers killing soldiers is different. On April 21, 1992 I raised my right hand and took a pledge as an officer of the Osean Air Force. I pledged to defend the country, its laws, and its people from all threats, whether foreign or domestic. I did not sign up to deliberately attack and kill unarmed civilians."

Johnny almost stood up.

"NONE of us signed up to kill civvies." He nearly shouted.

Matt was about to retort when Moose stood up and stepped in.

"Enough from both of you." The man growled, making it known he was all too happy to use his physical strength. The two sat down and exchanged scowls.

"Heads up everyone looks like President Banister is going to say something." A pilot somewhere behind Matt said. he realized that they'd not been alone, and a wave of embarrassment slinked over him. He looked back at the TV.

"The President of the Osean Federation, David Banister, would like to address the nation in response to the current events on the Eastern border." The newscaster said. The TV screen faded to black for no more than a minute before President Banister's image appeared on the screen. He was a man with a small nose and chiseled features. His expression behind a pair of large glasses seemed to be that of a parent consoling their distraught child.

"My fellow Oseans, I come to you in a dark time for all of us. As I address you, the land and air forces of the Principality of Belkan lay siege to our Eastern border, forcing our hand in the crisis that has plagued them and their former territories for several weeks. It appears that instead of looking to negotiate the end of their financial crisis, they have decided that the path of war is the best. I can assure you all that we will not let this decision stand, especially not in the face of invasion of our allies in Sapin and Ustio and our own people.

Now by the time, many of you are probably able to gauge that we are now at war, and that your loved ones, your neighbors, and your associates are engaged in repelling the invaders from our homeland. With approval from the National Council, I have declared that not only a state of war now exists between Belka and Osea, but that the Osean Federation will also assist its allies in freeing themselves and pacifying Belka. We made the mistake of ignoring their massive build-up, and now we are going to reverse our mistake. I promise the Osean people that this will be a swift and decisive victory. This will not be Osea's Tyumen Dispute. To the people of Osea, I ask for your combined effort and support to ensure these, to our brave men and women in uniform I give you my full support, and to the Belkan politicians you started this unjust war, I give you my condolences for your inevitable loss."

His expression had been taut and serious most of the speech, but a flicker of a smile came with the last few words.

"Good night Osea, and good luck to us all." He finished.

The screen faded back to the newscaster. Matt suddenly stood up, a good third of his food untouched, and left without a word. He stoically ventured back to his room and without so much as taking off his boots crawled into his bed and let the floodgates that held back the fatigue and stress fall. He escaped to his past, when he'd been young and stupid, and spent his time enjoying the spoils of being a rich kid. When terms like "SAM" or "Fox 2" were alien phrases. His own words with Johnny not too long ago had come around to haunt him. The problem was, interdiction, the F-15E's niche, involved destroying means of war production. The SAMs, MiGs, and AA guns seemed to have shown themselves to only have the effect of waking you up and making you get creative. They never instilled any guilt. Like he'd said, in war soldiers killed soldiers. Despite the fact that he'd killed when he'd dropped his CBUs and fired his AIM-9s earlier, he'd done it as a warrior defeating other warriors.

Targets populated by civilians however, was another matter. Civilians may be part of an enemy country's population, but they are by no means the enemy. They had no choice. Yes they made war materials and technically prolonged the war…but that didn't take away from their perceived innocence. Matt opened his eyes and frowned. He'd gone off the path he'd wanted. The pilot stood up and stripped to his skivvies. He also slipped his boom box from under his bed and popped a CD of Depeche Mode into it. As he got back into bed, the music started. He lay under the covers to listen to it for a little while before he finally fell asleep a while.

When he woke up next it was daylight, and the CD was still playing (how many time it'd repeated he didn't know). Matt turned off the machine and looked around. The room was still empty, and if Johnny had come through Prince saw no sign. He grabbed a fresh flight suit, towel, and his toiletries and headed for the latrine to shower. One nice thing about being a pilot: hot showers every day.

It made him quietly thank the rear-echelon guys and base security. While the pilots, WSOs, and their ground crews got the fame, those guys made sure everyone still had hot water and a place to crash. He felt guilty he hadn't thought about that until now. He made his shower and shave quick to conserve the good stuff for the other pilots. As he walked back to his room, his eyes fell upon one of the payphones. His mom was probably worried.

The pilot fished around for his wallet and took out. The young man took out a call card he'd been given who knows how long ago and dialed up his parents' home in Bana City. After conferring with the operator and going through the mini-headache this kind of thing was, especially with base security tighter, the distinct ringing sounded in his ear. He wondered if they were even awake…

"Hall Residence, Meredith speaking." An all-to-familiar voice greeted.

"Hey Mom, it's Matt." He said. There was a pause as his mom seemed to come to grips with what had just happened.

"Matt! Oh thank goodness! Oh thank goodness!" Her voice cracked. He smiled.

"It's okay Mom, I'm just fine. I'm in one piece." He consoled. She sniffled and breathed deeply for a few more minutes before she said anything.

"I was so worried…we had to get to Bana so quickly…Where are you? Foley?" She replied.

"Yeah, they've got the based pretty tightly locked down."

"…Do they…are you?…"

"Yeah, Wesson's under siege…"

There was a pause.

"I'm okay, Mom." He repeated.

"I know Matt, I'm just…Listen, Matt, I want to apologize…" Meredith said. Matt was surprised to a loss of words.

"About what?" He choked out. His mom drew in a breath.

"About how often I've shown disdain for your choice to be a pilot…I'm…I'm still not happy, but because I'm concerned about you, especially now. NOT because of what I wanted you to be. And that's how I should've communicated it. I was mad, yes, when you choice the Air Force. I wanted you to be a big businessman or doctor like your brother…But I realize now that I was wrong to want you to do something only so I would approve of it…"

She fell silent to get another bought of tears under control.

"…I'm proud of you Matt, and I love you." She concluded. Matt smiled.

"Thanks Mom, I love you too." He replied softly.

"Is Dad awake?" the pilot added.

"No, he's still asleep. He's been spending a lot of time trying to make sure family and friends are okay and the parts of his business in the West are okay. He's been worried too, hoping you'd call. I'll go get him."

The phone was set down for a minute. The OAF officer calmly waited until he heard movement close again.

"Matt, you still there?" His dad asked.

"Yeah Dad, I'm still here." Matt nodded.

"Good, Your mother's brought me up to speed, and I'm glad you're okay. Can you give me a better picture here? I'm confused as hell what's going on."

"Belkans are coming, Dad. They're rolling across the border up north, but we're throwing everything we've got at em. Far as I can tell, you should be safe in Bana. Probably too far for them and they'd have to brave several of our bases just to get close."

His father took in the information (stuff Matt knew was in no way classified) for a minute and Matt could detect an air of optimism.

"Well, I guess we'll have to trust you and the rest of the Osean military to kick em out then. We're both proud of you Matt. Stay safe…"

His voice reached a discrete tone, probably to keep Matt's mom from hearing.

"…And bust some of those bastards' skulls open for your old man."

Matt cracked a wide smile.

"Yes, sir." He said.

Matt bid them both goodbyes, sent his love and hung up. The young man couldn't help but smile a bit more as he walked to his room. Inside Johnny was waiting He stood up and walked towards Matt.

"Prince…" He said.

"Ratpack…" the other Eagle driver replied after a minute. Johnny hit his friend's arm, but he did it with a flash of a smile.

"I'm still pissed over that little bit you said earlier, but I'm not gonna hold it against you in light of the fucking Belkans." He added. Matt chuckled.

"And I'm still pissed you got pissed, but you're right, we've got bigger problems."

The two stood there for a moment, then started chortling.

"I figured we could defuse that stupid spat earlier over some good beer. You in?" Johnny said. Matt nodded readily.

"Is the group O'Club even open?" he added. Johnny nodded.

"The wing commander, Colonel LeTraxe, ordered it himself. Like Colonel Mackey said, we're now getting into a more routine flight schedule." Johnny replied. Matt stroked his still damp hair and nodded.

"Well we shouldn't be rude and refuse the good Wing Commander's advice, should we?" He added…

Foley AFB had three bars on its grounds, two Officers Clubs (O'Clubs) for the wing's two groups, and a third, larger bar for enlisted personnel. The 245th, grouped together with the "Mongooses" 293rd (which along with their Base Support Squadron made the 71st Tactical Fighter Group), held control of an establishment called "The Beagle's Nest". It was a long bar with a patio and a small stage. Bar tables dotted the floor with a few booths tucked in the corner, and the bar ran the length of the place.

Matt entered the establishment, right before Johnny. They were greeted by a blast of loud rock music from a jukebox with a nostalgic design. The two positioned themselves near one of the establishment's TVs.

"Oy, Harper, what's on tap?" Matt said as the bar tender approached them.

"Anything but the hard stuff. Colonel LeTraxe says that's for a big reason to celebrate." The older man replied.

The two each ordered a simple bottle of beer. As Matt took a long swig of his, He spotted a familiar face at the end of the bar. It was Valentina…only her head seemed to be glued to the countertop. He frowned. Whether it was Johnny and him having a short-lived pissing contest (which would probably be stupid to get too upset over), or the stark realization they were at war, it bothered him. It was almost unheard of that she got down.

"Why aren't you down there talking to her?"

He looked at Johnny, who was still watching the sitcom rerun on the nearest TV. Prince's eyebrows arched.

"Look man, I ain't into her like that." He replied.

"Who said I was suggesting you go down and make passes at Baroness?" Johnny replied. Matt's look became frustrated while they were both silent a moment.

"Do you think she's pretty?"

Matt didn't like where this was going. Besides the fact that he didn't know himself, there was the whole fraternization thing.

"Ratpack, I spent ages 17-19 picking up women at my own whim and with relative ease, don't you think if I wanted to woo her, I would've tried?"

"True, but then she might snatch up your balls for hitting on her."

Matt looked at their fellow 'Paladin" again and sighed.

"I'm gonna go see what's got her so down in the dumps. It's starting to bother me." He said, taking his beer with him. The pilot didn't hesitate at all when he was close enough for her to hear him.

"Hey, Valentina."

She seemed to jump a little, then raised her head and swung it towards him.

"Can I sit down?" He asked. She waved a hand at the seat to her left.

"Be my guest."

Matt took a seat and drank again.

"Okay, Val, tell me: what's got you down?" He asked. She scowled at him.

"I don't want to talk about it, Matt. I'd rather let this glass deal with It." she replied, pointing at a mug of ale. Her squadron mate frowned.

"Come on Valentina, this isn't you. A few days ago you say that dropping a ton of Mk. 82s is better than sex, and now you get all quiet on me. I'm your friend, so I'm gonna be concerned." He replied. Her eyes shot daggers at him.

"Matt, mind your own fucking business or I will punch you so hard you go back to 1985." She growled. He remained steadfast.

"Then punch me." Matt retorted. She sat up, but did nothing more.

"I'm afraid, okay? This is like the Tyumen Dispute and Blood War. I'm afraid it'll be like that, what caused my family and me to flee here to Osea. I'm not running again." She said with an exasperated sigh. Matt nodded understandingly.

"Feeling any better?" He asked.

"Eons." She said sarcastically with a chug of ale.

Matt leaned towards her and gave her a pat on the back. This wasn't how he liked to see Valentina. It felt too…awkward. For a second he let Johnny's comments about her attractiveness ring in his head. There was no denying Valentina was a woman. It almost looked like she was simpering. He shook his head and got an idea.

"Hey, tell you what Val, what's say you and me talk about this stuff. Help each other through this? You vent to me, I vent to you." Matt proposed. She looked at him.

"You know, that whole idea pencil drivers push about having a "battle buddy" or something like that?"

The woman considered the idea for a minute. Prince gambled she trusted him enough as a friend to say yes. Today he'd predicted right, and she gave a reluctant bob of her head.

"Okay Matt…I'll give you a chance. Maybe it'll help." She shrugged as she lifted the glass to her lips again. Matt leaned to neck of the bottle of his drink towards her.

"Go Deep…" He began. Just a flicker of a smile came from Valentina's face.

"…Hit Hard." She replied, clinging the two vessels together.