Brian Marshall looked at the clock. Five in the morning. It was August 2025, and the war had been going badly again for the IFOM. When Belka had declared war and attacked Osean territory simultaneously, the Oseans began to withdraw out of Usea to fight them in their homeland. Now only IFOM and Yuke forces were left in the defense.

He got up and put his flight suit on. It was stupid not to, he knew they'd be going up in a sudden, unexpected sortie any time now. It was always this way when war bogged down. Brian shuffled to the mess hall to eat, and wasn't surprised to see the other seventeen pilots already there. In fact, the only ones who used to rise later than him were dead, Falcon 9 and Pitch 5. The Pitch pilot had taken a SAM to the side of his plane, there was no way he could have ejected. Falcon 4 remembered watching the whole event, and it played out in his mind. The SAM being launched, screeching through the sky towards five. He watched as five broke left, but the missile was too far away then, and it turned towards the middle of the plane to score a direct hit. He recalled the stream of red fire that went streaking into the fuselage of five's plane, saw the horrible sight of-

"Hey, Marshall! You gonna stand around all say? Get somethin' to eat, we launch in an hour."

Brian sat down by Pitch 7 and his flight lead. They were going up on a sortie later to assist their ground forces. Again. "I half expected that the enemy would have launched a sneak attack before our offensive. Is that a bad sign?" Marshall jokingly asked. Seven laughed, "So you got up wearing your flight suit too, huh? Glad I'm not the only one." Everyone chuckled, but most were afraid to laugh out loud. The enemy would be sending in their best squadron, one the pilots had never faced before, they knew they would. Falcon 4 was disappointed; they had not run into the Seraph since the first battle when his whole squad was shot down. "Oh well," he thought. "Maybe it's fate that we'll meet again sometime…"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, flaps, rudders, ailerons, nozzles, all check."

Yellow 6 was performing his pre-flight checks on his Su-37. His plane was loaded with a payload of only air to air missiles, some Su-25 Frogfoots would provide close air support. HQ was also deploying KA-50 helicopters, and it was the Yellows' job to provide top cover. That meant they would be dealing with IFOM's top scoring aces, Falcon 4 and Pitch 7. "We'll do it. We'll do what not even the Devils or the Angels could. What not even the Seraph could do right," he reminded himself.

"Yellow 6, cleared for takeoff."

"Roger." He increased the power to afterburner, and rocketed down the runway. He pulled back lightly on the stick, then harder, pulling straight up. He leveled out and joined up with the five other Yellow aircraft already airborne.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Falcon Flight, engage." "Pitch Flight, engage!"

The two nine aircraft formations rolled in on their targets, a defensive position chock full of bunkers on their allies' flank. This mission was a decisive one; breaking through this emplacement meant throwing the Erusians back miles! Falcon 4 selected a cluster of pillboxes for his first strike.

"Bombs away!" The whole thing went up in a deafening explosion. "Target destroyed, flowing to next," Marshall told his AWACS. Everything was going smoothly, their troops were moving forward, snaking between empty bunkers and decimated boxes with little resistance. The whole wing was waiting with bated breath however. The enemy squadron was nowhere in sight, nowhere on radar. It was unsettling, like waiting for a coming storm. Then, Hawkeye radioed in to the pilots.

"Good work men. The forces below us have pushed through the position thanks to your air support. However, a massive enemy force is advancing, containing fighters, helicopters, and AAA artillery. Stay alert and get ready."

"All aircraft, this is Falcon 1, let's have the Pitch squad fly SEAD and take out the helis. Falcon squad, follow me high to intercept the bandits." "Roger Falcon 1, this is Pitch flight, breaking off." Marshall watched as Pitch 7 dispersed with the other Pitch pilots, and felt a sudden uneasiness, an insecurity. He followed his squad leader up to ten angels and flew out to meet the hostiles.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yellow 6 watched on radar as nine aircraft climbed to match his squad's altitude. He gave the order to disperse and engage at will to his other four wingmen. The fifteen aircraft in Yellow Squadron were flying in three groups of five. The other two formations eventually split too. They flew forward until visual contact was established.

"This is Yellow 6, tally ho, nine F-16s to our 12, continue on and splash them."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay guys, here they come. We're outnumbered fifteen to nine, so stay close and defend each other."

Falcon 4 broke left to trail a Yellow. Without even knowing it, he stuck to the Yellow's tail and followed him away from the battle at ten thousand feet. At around six thousand, the Yellow went into a Hook and escaped his view. Turning around, he found himself surrounded by four Yellows.

"OH HELL!"

He jerked the Falcon to the right again and dodged two missiles coming in from his 11 o'clock. It was hectic, he only knew that no matter where he turned, another bandit was waiting for him. He felt his aircraft give a shudder, felt it run down his spine to his legs. He looked behind him and saw a Yellow pumping bullets into his jet. "Aww, you son of a-" He began barrel rolling to avoid taking more hits, but already his aircraft was trailing smoke. He knew he'd be easily spotted and targeted by the enemy no matter where he went. He had no choice but to fight it out to the end…

"Attention all Aquila Squadron aircraft, RTB immediately, your presence is no longer required."

"What? Who is this? Speak dammit!" demanded Yellow 6, hot on Falcon 4's trail.

"This is Seraph 1, Sgt. Jones, your presence is not required Yellow. I repeat, disengage and RTB. These are direct orders from Farbanti, disengage. The Seraph will take your place in the battle."

Six was furious. Instead, he turned back to the smoking jet in front of him. Or, at least, that's where it had been. Now he was behind six, and the other Yellows had already broke off the attack. "Oh, you bastards!" he shouted after his squad. His next reproach wasn't heard, as he was busy evading the missile now homing in on his aircraft's exhaust.

"Damn!" He couldn't get out of the way in time, and the missile imploded just a bit astray of its target, shrapnelling and critically damaging his plane. Falcon 4 moved in for the finish. "C'mon…just a bit closer…" he thought. Then, time for him seemed to slow down, he looked behind him instinctively and had seen a gray plane come shooting down from above. A missile alert alarm filled his ears with a loud obnoxious buzz, and he swerved left. The Yellow escaped and disengaged in the confusion, cursing himself.

Now it was clear to Falcon 4 what was happening. It was them, the gray planes, the Seraph. Without a second thought about his damaged jet he turned after the bandit to his 9 o'clock. "Pitch 7!" he called. "It's them! Help me out!"

By the time seven got there, four was already turning and burning with the Seraph pilot, despite being in a crippled plane. At the moment, the Seraph had the advantage and got behind the Falcon. The smoke pouring out of the plane had increased, and the Seraph was almost flying blind. Nevertheless, he followed the Falcon, who, strangely enough, had started flying straight and was even throttling up. He followed suit, not wanting this ace to get away. This Seraph was none other than eight, and he was in gun range. His finger was on the trigger, but…

"Now!" The Falcon pilot broke right, and now Seraph 8 was facing another ace head on, Pitch 7. The F-16's gun lit up, shooting round after round at the Seraph. Only a few found their target, as the Berkut started into evasive maneuvers and then went after the wounded bird. He found the craft again, but soon realized that the other was on his tail now. "I can't get one without being attacked by the other," Aaron thought. "These guys must be the aces, they're flying so perfectly together." Instead, eight pitched up and soon lost the Falcon and Pitch pilots behind him. He ascended to twenty angels, and rested a bit.

He took a look at his radar. The two aces were far below him, and had no idea where he had gone. His wingmen were all attacking the remaining four aircraft of the nine plane formation that had intercepted the Yellows. Another eight planes were destroying the helicopters and attackers sent in to support the reinforcement troops.

"Crap, Harp, this is Seraph 8, please redirect the Seraph to attack the planes annihilating our back-up air support."

"Roger Seraph, I'll have a few deal with the enemy Falcon squad remnants and the rest will attack the Pitch. What are you going to do?"

"What do ya mean? I'm gonna deal with those two aces."

At this, he rolled his aircraft and dove through the clouds. The two were circling below him, one on the other's wing. The smoking aircraft was jerking about, and could not keep a steady course. It seemed that the plane had at last given out. He dropped down behind the two without them ever noticing. Switching off guns and back to missiles, he let them know where he was with a lock-on warning. Neither budged, but he knew they were aware that anywhere they went, one would go down. Seraph 8 called over an open radio channel. "Attention aces of the IFOM air force, stand down. You, in the damaged plane, egress at once. I will deal with your friend and spare you today." Harp's angry voice came over the radio waves. "Lt. Thatcher! What do you think you are doing! Attack, don't let them get-" Aaron turned off the radio and sat on the fighters' tail.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wounded ace turned and headed for base. The other climbed and disappeared, leaving Seraph 8 behind. "Heh heh, alright, that's more like it," he said to himself, before breaking and beginning a search for the other ace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yellow 6 touched down at his base, and proceeded to jump out of his aircraft the moment it was parked. He rushed into the debriefing room and shouted at anyone in earshot. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE THINKING! DO YOU NOT THINK THAT WE COULD HANDLE A FEW STUPID ACE PILOTS!" The base commander stood up slowly and walked over. "Six, calm down. It wasn't our decision. The Prime Minister himself requested you to return. Said he had another assignment for you. You and your wingmen are to fly to the capital immediately, no questions asked."

"Assignment my-" Six cut his sentence short at the commander's look, and turned around. As he walked back to his plane, he ran into Yellow 10, who asked him what was next. Six yelled back, "You know what! We're going to Farbanti, get back in your damn plane!"

"Whoa, six, chill out."

"Chill out? CHILL OUT! We, no, I could have had him! That stupid ace! But noooo, along comes the almighty goddamned Seraph to take over! And you know what really makes my day! The bastard who took over fighting that ace let him get away! So as you can tell, I am not in a good mood, so stay away from me or else I might start seeing things, like, say, an Su-37, that seems to look like an F-16… You know what I mean!"

Ten, nearly shaking with fear, nodded and then ran off. Six continued his wrathful journey to his jet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pitch 7 was in trouble. Even despite being in an unharmed F-16, he could not take the Seraph ace on alone. Eight was on his tail, and clinging tight to a lock-on. Aaron knew it was over, and was a bit saddened by this pilot's skills, which seemed to be lesser than his and the other ace's. Regretfully, he called, "Fox 2." The plane erupted in a fireball, and dropped down, out of view. He looked back to see that the pilot had punched out, and his orders suddenly came to mind. Do not allow them to eject, kill them, don't let them escape… But he already let one away, and something stopped him from turning around pumping the pilot full of lead from his gun. He knew he'd probably be court-martialed for this. He laughed it off however, not caring any more, and went after the other planes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The debriefing for most of the Seraph came as a shock. They had thought they had done what they were supposed to, shoot down all enemy aircraft. And they had…just not fast enough, resulting in the annihilation of the close-air support. Their ground reinforcements were destroyed because they had no help from the air.

"Well, well, well…" began the commander. "A few of you have a bit of explaining to do. Like you Jones; why did you not redirect aircraft to attack the second enemy formation earlier? And you Ericks…strafed one of your own tanks!"

"I thought it was one of theirs…" Ericks replied sheepishly.

The commander had one more point to make. "And you, Thatcher…why, WHY did you let a CRIPPLED enemy ACE escape to SAFETY! That man and his wingman are the reason we are being pushed back! And the second one! You let him eject! What on EARTH was going through your mind!"

"Sir, it didn't seem right to attack a mangled plane at that point, and I was unable to maneuver into position to strafe the pilot known as Pitch 7 before he got to the ground."

"It didn't seem right? This is war, Thatcher! Having morals will get you killed!" the commander screamed at Aaron. He put on a rather mocking tone and continued, "And you were 'unable to maneuver into position to attack that ace.' The hell you were. Why didn't you attack when you had the opportunity then?"

"I…" Aaron's voice trailed off and soon died all together. What could he say? Nothing came to him. He bowed his head in both defeat and disgrace.

"So. So, the great Seraph, the best pilots in the FEAF," the commander mocked, "Couldn't bring themselves to kill just two people for the sake of so many more of their own brothers! You people make me sick, get outta my sight… GO!"

The Seraph dejectedly walked to their dorms, unsure what this turn of events meant for them.

-----------------------------------------

Hmm, sorry for Yellow 6's bad-mouthing. Please review the story so far!