Chapter Six: Phoenix Storms
The rain was coming down hard. The hope for quiet was ruthlessly and repeatedly interrupted by thunder strikes. The wind blew the cold water into Isis' face as she marched toward her Flanker. She inspected her plane, monotonously, and mounted up. She started her engines, no longer enjoying the sound. As Isis taxied, she heard William over the comm.
"Good luck…" That was all he said. But, that was all she needed. She lifted off the runway and began the flight to San Salvacion. It was her anger that had gotten her out of bed. For some reason, she just could no longer control herself, and let her emotions take over; a pilot's nightmare. The storm shook her craft, as if someone had grabbed her plane and was pulling it to the ground. Through her mind was a storm of a different kind…one of internal conflicts. Isis, at times, wanted to abandon the mission; the thoughts of Bob putting her back on track. This wasn't about ending the war or destroying a weapon of mass destruction. To her, it was about payback. She refueled numerous times, and landed at several air bases along the way. Each time, she was greeted with wishes of luck and victory. This, at least, calmed her nerves to the point where she could think clearly.
By the time that she arrived over San Salvacion, the battle was underway. William was able to get a hold of another base, which in turn sent some of their planes to assist Isis. The planes in question were the familiar Mig-33s she had trained against before. Before Isis began her attack, one of her allies contacted her.
"You must be that ace from North Point. Mobius, correct? Well, anyway, you already understand the mission. Want to give us a hand?"
Isis responded with a faint yeah and dove to engage. The complex was massive, there were targets all around. So far, the allied craft had been unable to do sufficient damage to the facility. This is due to the fact that Fulcrums had never really been designed for ground attack, only used in tandem with other attackers. Isis' Super Flanker, on the other hand, had been fitted with Fuel Air Explosive Bombs (FAEB) to inflict massive damage to the base.
Isis' first priority was to destroy the laser railroad artillery. This would involve timing, as the systems were designed to track any moving target designated as hostile and shoot it down. If it couldn't find another target, it would shoot blindly until it did. After that would be a ten second window where the laser needed to cool down. That would be Isis' only chance to destroy the artillery.
"This is Mobius 1-2, I am starting my attack on the railroad artillery!"
"Roger Mobius! We got your back" A voice came in response. Isis began her strike, now flanked by two Super Fulcrums. The lasers stopped firing soon after the attack commenced and the clock was ticking. Isis dropped one of her FAEBs and pulled up. The bomb impacted and left a huge fireball in its wake. When the fire cleared, there was nothing left of the emplacement. The two Fulcrums broke off and continued to attack. But there were just too many emplacements for Isis to get without needing to reload. She needed a plan that would conserve her ammo. As she scanned the ground for targets, she noticed a section of the base that was extremely busy. What she had found was the targeting and control systems for the laser artillery. After realizing this, Isis turned to engage. As she struck, she noticed all the people running away. Each and every one of them was caught in the explosion of her second FAEB. Isis looked away as the bodies melted from the heat. After the horror had subsided, the lasers stopped firing. One danger was eliminated, but there was still more to be done. The squadrons began to strike home, and caused massive damage to the missile launch systems. The final strike was all that was left. Isis noticed a large hole that had been created from internal explosions; it was just large enough for her to pass through. Down the passageway was the missile storage and also the computer core. It was an almost straight shot, but she would only have one chance to do it. Isis dove down into the hole, her afterburners on full; engines screaming for mercy. She went straight ahead, low and fast, until she came to the end. She fired her remaining ordinance and pulled up toward the ceiling, hoping the explosion would rip the roof open.
But the roof didn't open. Acting on pure instinct Isis pulled her nose over, half completing a Kulbit Cobra turn; a difficult feat even with a version three COFFIN. She took off like a shot and flew towards the entrance, a wall of fire close behind. Isis escaped, barely grazing the opening, and flew to a higher altitude. The facilities were destroyed, and the mission was finally over. But something had gone wrong, her thrust was decreasing and her controls were sluggish. Though she had enough power to fly home, she could no longer maneuver like she wanted to. The allied squadrons formed up on her, and one of them contacted her.
"Mission's finally over. Thanks for the assistance. We will escort you out of the area and to the nearest UPEO base."
Isis had finally gotten a hold of herself and gave a response. "Roger, thanks yourself."
"No problem." The conversation then subsided. The formation flew onward, leaving hell behind them. The storm that had plagued the area had also died off. Everything started to look better. But not all was well. From their six o'clock came four radar blips; four small blips...stealth fighters. And not just any, they were the four planes of the 235th; and they were hell bent on taking them down.
Isis was the only one who noticed. One by one, the other planes fell to the power of the 235th. The Fulcrums turned and tried to dogfight, but they were no match for the ace Raptor pilots. In minutes, only Isis and the 235th remained. The flight lead contacted her briefly.
"Now you will die, demon. Far too long have we let you poison the sky with your flying."
Isis wanted to turn and fight, but she couldn't. Her plane was far too damaged and over stressed. Instead, she began to count the seconds. The lock-on started at four, it was solid at eight. The range was closed at fifteen, the weapons bay opened at twenty. The enemy ace was prolonging the inevitable. Thirty...missile launch. It streaked through the sky straight for Isis' Flanker. But, before it could hit her, something destroyed it. Isis looked behind her as a beam of light fell from the sky. It hit the missile and obliterated it. It proceeded to move toward the enemy fighters, knocking each of them out of the skies. However, the new General Resource technology was put to the test. All four COFFIN pods deployed parachutes and fell to earth, their respective planes burning separate from them. Finally, the source of the beam came into sight. It had a sharp nose, very angular in design; the wings were swept forward. It had a black body and red lights around the "cockpit". It was an old ADF-01 Falken, in perfect condition. It flew past the wounded Flanker and turned around. It pulled up on Isis' wing and matched speed. The whole affair seemed like an eternity, yet it lasted but three minutes. Finally, after everything had calmed down, a call came through the comm.
"Yo, buddy! Still alive?" Isis broke into tears. The voice was of her best friend and companion. Bob was flying the Falken. It was touching, the sight of the two Aces united once more. Bob remained silent while Isis calmed down. Isis started asking a hail storm of questions.
"Hey, hey. Don't worry, I will answer everything when we get back home." Bob finally said, after hearing about twenty questions.
With Bob's return, the flight home went extremely quickly. The two made it back home, and returned to their hangar. Isis dismounted her craft faster than she ever had before. As she ran toward the strange looking fighter, she heard an unusual sound. Isis turned around and saw her Flanker simply give in; the landing gear collapsed and the plane fell to the ground. She heard Ian scream from afar.
"SHIT! THAT'S GONNA TAKE FOREVER TO FIX!" Isis laughed a little and continued to the Falken. She looked up and saw the cockpit open, and Bob rose from the inside. He took off his COFFIN controls and climbed off. It wasn't long after he touched the ground that Isis wrapped herself around him. Bob quickly embraced the hug and let Isis rest in his arms.
"I'm so happy that you're back!" Isis said with glee in her voice.
"Me too! It's great to see you again, Isis." Bob said, relieved to be home at last.
William and Ian, who had waited a bit to let the couple catch up with each other, walked over to the two. Meanwhile, the remaining base crew had arrived at the hangar to see Bob. Ian, who was as curious as everyone else, finally asked his question.
"Welcome home man! Wanna tell us how you ended up alive...in that beautiful plane!?"
"I would be delighted. Well..."
One week ago. 1532 hours. One hour after being shot down.
The COFFIN went black, and Bob was thrown back into reality. He looked around and inspected the damage. Nothing was broken, and he only had a minor case of whiplash. Somehow, while his plane was completely destroyed, the COFFIN was untouched. As it turns out there was a system built into the UPEO COFFIN systems that, when under extreme conditions, the COFFIN hardens up and becomes nearly indestructible at the cost of total power inside the craft. It would seem that those tiny UPEO suppliers had a way of making a living just as much as Neucom or General. Bob forced open the cockpit and stepped out, holding his head to ease the pain of his whiplash. He stumbled away from his plane and looked for shelter. Not to far from his crash site was a small village, barely scared from the battle that had raged not long before.
Bob walked around, looking around at the quaint town for all it was worth; which for him, at this point in time, was quite a lot. After about a minute of limping around, he was greeted by a man who looked to be in his mid forties.
"Hello there pilot. You feeling okay?" asked the man.
"Uh...yeah." Bob replied, straining out his words through his throbbing head. In truth, Bob felt he had never felt any worse in his life.
"You don't sound okay to me. C'mon, let's get you inside." The man directed Bob towards a small house near the center of town. As they walked inside, Bob decided it was time to introduce himself.
"Hey, thanks for helping me. My name is Bob Lankau, nice to meet you."
"No problem, man. I'm Arnold Marcus, and this my home. I have to say, you had one hell of a dogfight up there. Man, he just would not stop commentating on it."
"He?"
"Oh, yes. Let me introduce you." The two walked into the main room. Bob was fascinated at all the little knickknacks and interesting fighter pilot memorabilia on the walls and shelves. It was a nice home, and Bob was actually tempted to move out of the base and live there instead. But he soon remembered his duties and kept walking. Over near a large window, an old man was sitting in a reclining chair, looking out at the skyline. It took Bob a moment, but he knew he had seen that face before. Arnold whispered into the old man's ear. In turn, the old man stood up and looked at Bob with a smile.
"Well, what do we have here? Nice to meet you kid, hell of a fight that was. Name's Jack Bartlett." Bob's suspicions were correct; he had seen that face before. It was on all of his basic air tactics textbooks. "You seem confident up there, but you made far too many mistakes. If I wasn't 72 years old, I'd go up there and shoot you down myself."
Bob took a step back. This grizzled old fighter ace he was staring at had made a good point. Bob felt a little down on himself, and started to hang his head in shame. However, a hardy laugh brought Bob back.
"Why are you laughing!?" Bob asked. He was even more confused than a minute ago, and starting to feel a little embarrassed.
"The look on your face…it's priceless. HAHAHA!" Jack continued to laugh. Bob began to feel a little more comfortable in Jacks house, so he started to ask questions.
"Hey, uhh...Mr. Bartlett. You were born in Osea, right? Why did you move out here?"
"Please, call me Jack. And to the questions, yes I lived in Osea. I moved here after traveling around for a while. I am the town mayor now so it all just seemed to work out. Besides, it's been rather peaceful around here up till now. But you and that other pilot seemed to handle it quite well."
"Thank you, Jack." Bob responded. But, after Jack brought Isis up, Bob couldn't stop thinking about her. Thankfully, Jack realized that and told Arnold to take Bob around the town.
"Sounds like a plan." Arnold responded. So with that, Bob shook Jack Bartlett's hand and stepped out into the town square. He looked around, gazing at the small peaceful community. It was like nothing he had ever seen. Being born in November City, Bob never was able to enjoy a place such as this. As the two men walked around, Bob noticed all of the town's folk. They had returned to their daily lives, unaffected by the battle that had transpired over an hour ago. It all seemed so peaceful, almost surreal. Surely this was that "Old World Blues" that Francis had once told Bob about. As they came around a corner, Bob noticed a small group of people looking at something. They were looking at the wing of Bob's fighter, which had fallen off during his death spin. The crowd had gathered because of the two people looking for survivors. Luckily, they stepped out with smiles. Nobody had lived in that house for about a week. As Bob walked past the group, he was greeted with thank you's and you were great up there's. Bob was actually a bit happy now. He looked over to Arnold, who was talking on the phone. When he was done, Bob approached him.
"What was that about?" He asked
"Do you need a place to stay, Bob? I mean...until you feel a little better and whatnot." Arnold asked him. Bob was reluctant to respond. He didn't want to be a burden, but Arnold seemed to insist on asking him, so Bob accepted his offer.
"Good. You will be living in the house across from Bartlett's. It was mine, but ever since Bartlett arrived here, I had worked for him. And with his recent weakening, I have been living with him. So go on ahead and stay there, okay."
"Thank you, I will." The two returned to the town square, and Bob entered his new home. He gazed around the place, enjoying the attention to detail and the old time feel of the house. He lacked a Data-Swallow terminal, but there was a nice television in its place. He sat down on the couch in the living room and turned it on and started to flip through the numerous channels. All, or most, owned by either General Resource or Neucom. Before he knew it, dusk had arrived. Bob took his time and went to bed. It was soft and much more comfortable than the bed at his airbase, but it was still missing something. But what? Bob asked himself. Instead of worrying, he simply closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
The next morning came, and Bob was able to wake on his own; and it was the calmest he had ever woken up as well. Bob got out of his bed and opened a dresser to get changed. As he opened it, he realized that he was already dressed in his flight suit. He stepped out of his house and looked around. The day was still young, and Bob was feeling much better. Bob decided that he needed to keep active, so he started to walk around town again. He was greeted with kindness and appreciation from the townspeople, and he would return the favor. Bob was always wondering about going home, but he knew that the base was almost a hundred miles from the town he was in, and he really didn't feel like walking or asking for someone to drive him at this point. He rounded a corner and stopped cold. Bob was awestruck at what was before him. The building was massive, and there was a large cleared out space behind it. Bob was curious, and started to approach the building. It was oddly shaped; almost a big box, but with rounded edges. The roof was flat and it had a large door on the front. However, before he could open it a hand touched his shoulder. Chills ran down Bob's spine. Had he just ventured somewhere he shouldn't have? He slowly turned around to see Jack Bartlett standing right behind him.
"Uhhm hey, Jack...how, uhh…are you?" Bob asked, still freaked out by what had happened.
"I am quite fine. It seems you want to know what's in this building, no? Well, follow me." Jack led Bob over to a panel near the large door. He entered a code into the console and the door started to open. Bob peeked inside, and what he saw amazed him. The nose was pointed and black; it was a fearsome sight. Bob had never seen anything like it before.
"Wow, Jack! What is that thing?" Bob asked, his jaw almost touching the ground.
"That is the ADF-01 Falken, built by Gründer Industries; now better known as General Resource."
Bob began to circle the plane, inspecting every inch of it. It was amazing. The whole thing was in perfect condition, even the paint. Bob looked up at the tail. On it was the emblem of the Razgriz Air Command Squadron, the heroes who one the circum-pacific war in 2010. Under that emblem was the label ISAF, for the Independent State Allied forces. On the wings, were the ISAF roundels. Under the cockpit was the Mobius emblem. It was a mixture of designs from the two most famous squadrons in Strangereal. Bob saw Jack admiring his work.
"Hey, Jack. How did you find this?" He asked.
"Find? No, kid. This one's mine!" Jack replied as he gave a warm grin.
"What!?"
"Yup! After the war in 2010, the hangars that Blaze destroyed were cleared out, and we were able to build this. Then, later, an airshow was held over November City to showcase this; along with the ADFX-01 Morgan and an X-02 Wyvern. I was asked to fly this plane. More recently, GR was trying to confiscate this from a museum in Okchabrsk, Yuktobania. Thanks to some help from Natasya Obertas, my 'girlfriend' at the time, I was able to steal it and get it here. The townsfolk and I have kept it hidden ever since."
"Wow, that's awesome!"
"Yeah, she still needs a little work, but we can get it done...I know it!" The two got to work on the plane, and over the course of the week they were able to finish and tune every part on the plane. During that time, Jack was teaching Bob all about the plane and how it worked. Bob wanted to know as much as he could so he could fly at peak efficiency.
By the end of the week, it was ready to fly. And just in the nick of time, too. The rain was coming down hard. The hope for a clearing was ruthlessly and repeatedly interrupted by thunder strikes. But they would have to ignore that. Bob looked up and saw a lone SU-37 fly past. He knew it was time to hurry and get back in the air. He turned about and waved goodbye to Jack and Arnold. Jack screamed out GOOD LUCK! and Bob mounted the Falken. Bob taxied out onto the field and took off, barely missing the tops of the trees at the end. The plane was more than meets the eye now. Bob had salvaged many parts from his old COFFIN and was able to integrate them into the new system. The new system had the ability to switch from version one to version three at will. It was quite the technological feat. Bob checked the laser to make sure it was working then headed out into the storm. He was ready to fight again.
Present Day. About 1800. North Point Airbase.
"And that's it, really." Bob finished his lengthy story. "By the way…ISIS GET OFF OF ME!" Isis had been laying on Bob for about twenty minutes now. She laughed a little and rolled off of him.
"Quite the story Bob, and quite the souvenir, too!" William said.
"Yeah it is, isn't it. Glad to be back."
"Glad to have you." William concluded. The crowd dissipated and returned to their Barracks, posts, or the Mess; leaving just Isis and Bob alone.
"By the way Bob…" Isis asked, a sly look on her face "What was it that you were trying to say before you crashed. 'I just wanted to let you know that I~~~...' what?"
"Uhh~~~, nothing.
Hmm, Long chapter. Not my longest, but still.
How am I doing so far. I would love to hear what you think up to this point.
For example: I am planning on moving on to a more Neucom based story arc, should I or should I stay with GR for the next few chapters. Your choice if you want. Thanks for reading.