Later that evening, Spare Squadron was gathered into our familiar briefing room on the base where Col. McKinsey waited for us. Once we had assembled, he called us to order and began his presentation. "All right criminals. Listen up! I'm going to brief you on the details of Operation One Pair. Your mission is to atone for your crimes by attracting the enemy's attention."

He gestured to his tactical display board giving a readout of a map with the next assignment, "Starting at 03:00 hours tomorrow morning, I want you to head from the base to the desert region of Roca Roja to the northwest. Your mission will be to attack the large Erusean base there. We've been unable to verify that base's ability to deal with fighters, so you will attack and provoke the enemy into revealing their AA strategy. Get them to fire at you as much as you can so that we can confirm where they're firing from."

"So we're being sent as sacrificial lambs again?" Tabloid grumbled, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

McKinsey ignored his complaint, "Once we've identified the enemy's capabilities, then it's a case of sending in our regular force to clean them out. For this mission, we've prepared a frontline base that can be used for ammo replenishment and aircraft repairs. However, this is not for you guys. Only the regulars have permission to use it. Even if you run out of ammo, don't forget that you're just decoys. You stay out there as targets for the enemy."

"So what you're saying is that you expect us to go out there and fight the enemy with one hand tied behind our backs again?" Champ fumed.

"You should be lucky I'm even allowing you to fly, much less with armed aircraft," the colonel retorted with a scowl. "If the regular air force didn't have need of you, believe me I'd be having you guys dig ditches or breaking rocks in the yard instead. Now if you're done complaining, I expect you to get out to the hangers and start prepping. You've got a job to do and I want it done. Dismissed!"

A short time later we made our way out to the hangers and I looked around for my aircraft marked with three lines. I stopped in surprise when I suddenly found my old Fishbed was gone. In its place sat an F-18 Super Hornet which looked to be in much better condition than my last plane. I looked to some of my comrades who had walked by, "Hey... what's all this?"

Full Band chuckled and crossed his arms, "Seems like you're moving up in the world Trigger."

Count ambled over and gave an aloof sigh, "It's probably for the better. If you're going to be flying with us now, it's best you pilot something that'll be able to keep up with us and not embarrass the squadron either. We may be convicts, but we still have a badass image to maintain."

I couldn't help but grin a little at that, "All right then. I can live with that."

As the others dispersed, High Roller stuck around and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to me. I looked at the money and then to him with a look of confusion, "What are you doing? What's with the money?"

"Think of it as an advance on what I'm going to owe you," he said with a wink, "Let's just say I've got a good feeling luck is on our side Trigger."

"You made another bet on me, didn't you?" I asked.

He grinned, "You should be flattered I'm betting on your life. As far as I'm concerned, you've been a good luck charm to us. I figure in a couple more sorties, I'll have the money I need to go places."

"A lot can happen in a couple sorties," I cautioned him.

High Roller winked and clapped me on the shoulder before he headed off to his plane, "I'll play the odds. I figure as long as I stick with you, we're going to make it just fine."

I shook my head with a sigh and pocketed the money before I turned to the ground crews who were prepping my aircraft. High Roller was definitely an odd one, but he seemed like one of the more friendly types around here so I couldn't be too hard on him either. I decided to head off and get some work done myself. I had to do my own pre-flight checks and selection of weapons which would be best suited to the mission ahead.

Early the next morning, the squadron took to the air and cruised for a couple hours toward our next objective. By now, the darkness of night had gradually given way and the early morning sun was beginning to break over the deserts of Roca Roja. An orange yellow hue hung over the expanse of rocks and sand as we could see similar colored canyon formations rise up in the near distance. We had some mixed cloud cover which we could make an approach from and hopefully surprise the enemy with. As I continued to look forward, I saw my HUD begin to light up with a slew of potential green targets on the ground.
"Let's use our ammo wisely boys. We've got a target rich environment but we have to make our shots count," I called over the radio.

"Come on. Don't be such a killjoy Trigger," Count chuckled, "I think you're just scared we might kill more targets than you this time around."

"Just like before. We'll blow the shit out of everything," Champ added in agreement.

As we dropped from the clouds, we throttled forward over a rocky ridgeline into the space of an enemy airbase. Spare Squadron split out and began to launch its attack on the Erusean airfield where several ground vehicles and parked planes were sitting. The ground became lit up as we launched a volley of missiles and strafed the buildings along the runways. A few grounded aircraft and a hanger erupted into fireballs while other vehicles scrambled to drive free.
"We're picking up several transport trucks on the move," Bandog informed us, "They're not a threat, but feel free to take them out."

"Leave em to me. Bullying the weak is kind of a specialty of mine," Champ replied with a dark chuckle while peeling off to attack the trucks below.

I continued strafing along the base's grounds with Tabloid close behind, "Spare 11, we've got grounded bombers at three o clock. Take em out."

"Roger that," Tabloid answered as he turned his attention to the grounded planes and destroyed them with a pair of missiles.

As I rose from my low flying attack run, I strafed the control tower and sent a missile into it watching as it erupted into flames. The squad gave a laughing cheer while Count swooped in from the other side of the field and silenced a pair of anti-aircraft guns, "Scratch two hostiles."

I had to give him some credit so I gave a grin, "Nice shooting Count. Thanks for the cover."

"Righto."

Spare Squadron regrouped as the airfield burned and Bandog radioed in, "Listen up Spares, there are three sections of the enemy air defenses here. You've still got two more so keep moving."

"If we don't run out of ammo first," High Roller chimed in. He was right. Although our fighters had been loaded with extra missiles and ordinance for this mission, there was no way Spare Squadron was going to be able to destroy everything with the limited resources we had.

The squadron changed direction and headed to the next Erusean site, an extensive network of fortified positions nestled within a nearby valley. As we approached, a fierce barrage of AA fire and SAM launchers came to life filling the skies with danger. A few rounds of fire glanced off my hull and shook my Hornet as we responded in kind trying to fight our way through to the valley. "Damn! They're really rolling out the welcome mat for us."

Some of the Spares scattered to avoid some missiles and draw away ground fire while the rest of us softened up the ground targets and carried out the airstrike on the installations. Full Band called out a warning, "Stay sharp boys. We don't have a lot of room to maneuver and there are gun mounts in the hills."

"At least we're getting them to shoot at us," Count said sourly, "I think McKinsey needs to rethink his strategy."

"Anyone want to make a bet? Whoever guesses the colonel's next strategy wins?" High Roller chirped.

"You wanna bet some of your ammo? Because I'm almost out of missiles," Champ called over.

Spare Squadron made its way through the valley and leveled off before approaching the last major site on our radars. I glanced at my instruments and radioed my team, "Keep an eye on your fuel gauges. If we're going to unload on this last target, we've got to make it count."

Just then, Bandog's voice came in over the radios with a sharp urgent tone in his voice, "Aircraft approaching at high speed, bearing 2-8-0."

I could see about ten new hostile blips appear on the edge of our radars and my heart stopped when I heard Bandog speak again, "They're drones!"

Full Band gave a scoff and spoke up, "These must be the infamous drones. Can they really dogfight without pilots?"

If only he knew. It was then that I realized my fellow Spares had not been in battle against any drone fighters... at least not like the ones I had. The horrifying memories of Chopinburg began to claw at the edges of my mind as I looked frantically about in irrational fear for the menacing shadow of an Arsenal Bird. I barely noticed that my heart had already started beating faster and my breaths grew shorter as I could feel the grip of fear in my chest again.

"Machines are not replacing humans," Champ insisted.

"Calm down. They're just obstacles in the way," Bandog reprimanded us, "Don't forget your original mission."

As much as I had grown to dislike our AWACs controller, I was a little grateful for his trying to keep us focused in his own misguided way. The intercepting fire from the ground began to intensify and I could hear my fellow Spares call out in dread as they found themselves harried from above and below. I turned my Hornet into a diving roll and set my sights on the ground targets. I'm not sure why, but I did not want to engage those drones in the air. "Let's go Spares. Follow my lead."

Our squadron swooped low and tried to shake the incoming drones by heading toward a large tunnel carved into the canyon leading toward the last major enemy installation. As we thundered through, there were several transport vehicles and supply crates lined along the sides which we strafed while passing by. As we erupted from the flaming tunnel to see the exposed enemy base, Tabloid gave a shout, "Let's light em up!"

Those of us with extra missiles unloaded on the airbase shredding warehouses and aircraft hangers with explosions, trying to do as much damage as we could before we were hit from the air. Spare Squadron spread out and circled within the valley taking out some of the AA guns and SAM sites before they could react to the surprise attack that had come in low. With the ground forces suppressed, I heard a new frantic cry come in over the radio. It was High Roller.

"This is Spare 7. Shit! Someone get this enemy off my tail!"

He must have been chased by one of the UAV's.

"I can't! I've got my hands full too!" Count answered as he climbed and began to dogfight some of the incoming drones that had caught up to us, "Look out for that missile! Shake it off!"

I felt my stomach drop again as the vivid flashbacks of Chopinburg resurfaced in my mind. My hands began to tremble as I fought to grip my joystick and maintain control myself. It was all beginning to sound too familiar. The chaos, the swarm of drones, and the panicked voices of my allies. I saw a trail of smoke in the air followed by a boom and heard High Roller shout again.

"Goddamn it! I'm hit! I'm still at the table!"

Tabloid veered away from a drone fighter as he tried to render aid but was chased off, "High Roller! Missile! Another one!"

"I should have bet on myself getting out of this one," High Roller muttered darkly as I heard him gasping, "Trigger? Where are you?"

I was looking around frantically and feeling myself lock up at the sight of the swarming drones in the sunlight. It was like losing Brownie all over again, only this time, I couldn't spot High Roller and I didn't know what to do."

"Trigger! Help me!" High Roller called out with more urgency before his line cut out and went to static.

Champ suddenly raised his voice, "Hey! Someone is down! Who is it?"

"It's High Roller! He's just been taken out!" Tabloid answered as he watched the flaming remains of the gambler's jet go down and explode on the ground. "I don't see any parachute!"

"Damn it!" I growled angrily. We had lost another comrade and I felt some anger at myself for letting my fear get the better of me and freezing up just now.

Bandog's voice cut in and splashed cold water on all of us, "Don't piss your pants about one aircraft being down."

"I wonder what happens to a bet when the banker's out?" Full Band asked as he tangled with some of the other drones.

"It's voided moron," our air controller cackled sadistically.

Full Band broke off and began to throttle away, "I'm out of ammo anyway! What's the point? Retreat!"

"Follow your orders! Do not retreat until I give the order!" Bandog shouted as a drone attacked me and struck a glancing blow on my hull with its guns.

Champ gave an indignant and angry reply, "We're out of ammo and we can't dogfight these things! You seriously want to lose all your pilots out here for nothing?"

"Shut up!" Bandog responded but Champ broke away from the fight too.

"Try and stop me! What about you Tabloid?"

My wingman had an edge in his voice, "I'm backing Trigger. Stick with the best if you want to survive."

"If anyone wants to stay and die, then let em," Full Band answered as he made his escape.

From above, Count snorted, "Poor decisions on your parts. I saw you freeze up there Trigger. Where were you when the gambler needed you?"

"Shut up," I growled as I avoided another drone that buzzed by and fired my last missiles at it. To my dismay, my shots went wide and missed.

"Damn! I'm out! Bandog, this is nuts! We need to get out of here... now! We weren't expecting these drones!"

There was a long silence before Bandog gave a grudging snarl, "All right. That's enough Spare Squadron. Fall back to base. Those bastards who broke off early will wish they were never born. You three will get a pass."

"Damn right!" Count cheered as the rest of us broke off and throttled away from the destroyed Erusean base below and outran the drones that had jumped us.

"Don't get your hopes up. I wouldn't be surprised if we get thrown in the cooler too," Tabloid muttered grimly.

Full Band gave a dry chuckle as we caught up to him and Champ, "Hey, who wants to make a bet on who gets their asses tossed into solitary? That's what that gambling nutjob would say if he were still here."

To my surprise, the only person who laughed over the comms was Bandog. After a laugh, our controller said, "Come on guys. Where's your sense of humor? Your buddy's making a joke. Laugh already."

The rest of us remained silent. I got the feeling Full Band and Bandog didn't care for High Roller treating his death so lightly rubbed me the wrong way. I was feeling just as guilty and angry at myself. We may have accomplished our goal of raiding the enemy base but to me, it still felt like a defeat. Was this how it was going to be if we lost more people? If I got blown out of the sky would the others just laugh and pick at my wreckage like a bunch of heartless vultures? It seemed like I would have a lot to think about on the way back to base.