DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating
to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen
to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random
lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and
nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't
even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website
without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If
that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be
quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Three: Rain & Thunder~
~----~
The sight of a distinguished man like Captain Kailaff Boldigh almost sent a jealous chill down Colonel Riskaa's already-frostbitten spine. Riskaa preferred to stay away from the front lines of battle, and while they were thankfully not at war - yet, he still liked it best to keep himself as distanced as possible from the border between Orange Star and his native country of Blue Moon, what with all these border skirmishes that continued relentlessly at least once every week or two.
Riskaa was unconciously surprised with the state of the situation. Neither Orange Star or Blue Moon seemed to care excessively for the border attacks, though they certainly made a substantial amount of news. It had been like that for as long as he could remember -- Which dated back to the end of the war. Even with losses on both sides, it seemed as though both sides were reluctant to get into another conflict. Apparently, the gist of the whole scene was to simply let the sides continue on until one got tired of the fighting and gave up. Somehow, Riskaa couldn't see an end in sight.
But recently, the border attacks from Blue Moon had been stepped up slightly, mostly in the northern region of Orange Star, despite a small No Fly Zone situated up there. Despite the Zone, it was blindingly obvious to a bat that the Blue Mooners wanted the area for valuable resources. Sadly, Riskaa had deduced for that to be the only reason in the step-up of the attacks. Why didn't Blue Moon just buy the property for themselves?
Well, he reasoned with himself, once they get the money from those resources, they can. As silly logic as it was, it worked, and Riskaa's Commanding Officer, Olaf, wasn't one to keep a good bead on what logic was in reality illogical and what logic wasn't. Riskaa inaudibly wondered why he couldn't be working under Commanding Officer Grit instead. At least Grit cared about other human beings.
Kailaff Boldigh slipped off his Blue Moon officer cap silently as Riskaa gazed out his office's window, out into the horizon which was mostly obscured by the heavy rainfall that had set itself directly over the Blue Moon Headquarter Command Base they were stationed at. Boldigh remained completely closemouthed as the Colonel continously made his way back to his messy desk, then right back to the window, and trailed once again to the desk. There were so many things on his mind, Riskaa couldn't even stand in one given place for a few seconds.
Finally, he stopped, placing one hand on the desk's side to steady himself, and he turned to Boldigh. "Can you even begin to fathom just how rattled I'm becoming by this foolish border lock?"
Boldigh said not a word.
"I've even been issued," the Colonel continued somewhat agitatedly due to the situation, "the responsibility of overseeing all Blue Moon progress in terms of air forces. In other words, I have the pleasure of looking over casualties, strategy, and even production and maintenance costs. How the devil am I supposed to accomplish such a task?"
The silent man standing before Riskaa's expression did not change as his huffy commander spoke. This put Riskaa's normally obedient, commanding demeanor off somewhat, but he didn't let the character of an allied predator such as Captain Boldigh get to him. At least, he didn't try to. Boldigh still stood there like a block of ice.
"Not only this," the higher ranking officer grumbled, "but at the current moment, do you know exactly how much of this progress we're making?"
Boldigh blinked. The first bodily action of his in almost forty-five seconds.
"None whatsoever!" Riskaa yelled angrily.
The Blue Moon officer looked at the ground, still as reserved as he'd been since he'd first entered Riskaa's office, still preferring to listen rather than take any other option. Riskaa unwillingly allowed Boldigh to continue the silent treatment, as in all honesty he did not think it wise to criticize such a man of distinguished valor in the honorable name of the Blue Moon Air Service.
"And to top it all off, look at this." Riskaa rolled out a map of the known world already placed on his desk and jabbed his finger on a northern section of Orange Star, close to the border. There was a small X where he pointed, with the word WASHINGTON A.B. directly under the lone letter. "Blue Moon intelligence stationed in the Orange Star Capitol recently, very recently discovered information that told of more fighter and bomber squadrons popping up all around the border, but with the most springing up at this very base. Washington."
Boldigh's cloudy eyes centered on the location of the Washington Air Base. Riskaa read confusing things in the man's eyes that he couldn't decipher, but Boldigh was a fellow who was beyond the Colonel's understanding already. Besides, the distinguished Blue Mooner's expression didn't flinch in the least from what it already was - nothing. Expressionless, stoney, frozen.
"Considering this base is less than five bloody miles from the main resource location Olaf wants so badly, I'd think it to be a very bad decision on our part if we were to launch an invasion of this territory with those blasted squadrons stationed there at the same time." Riskaa's voice still carried a rather angered tone. "With those fighters and bombers there, it is very difficult for an aeriel strike on even minor locations, and it's also very difficult for the entire country to even begin to ponder any sort of assault on that area or the entire border line, period!"
Then, Riskaa seemed to calm slightly as he gave Boldigh a glacial stare. "And that's where you and your squadron come in."
Boldigh's eyes moved back up to the Colonel.
"Your unit is being sent slightly north, so we can have a better chance against the Orange Stars should they for some reason decide to launch an air strike against the forces on our side of the fence. You are also to do anything in your power to cripple the Washington Air Base to the best of your abilities. You are to remain stationed at Putin Air Base until orders from the Capitol tell you otherwise." Colonel Riskaa stepped away from the desk and moved closer to Boldigh. "In other words, I am leaving that blasted base in your hands. You're a distinguished officer. I trust you'll know how to handle the situation properly."
Iceboxed, Boldigh seemed to acknowledge this information without antagonism, sending a hint of relief through Riskaa. He had enough to worry about anyway. Even his voice was growing uneven, and was not without a frequent, occasional patch of crackling now. The cold, wolven attitude of Captain Boldigh was throwing him off balance, and, suffice to say, beginning to make him feel threatened in the slightest of ways. Scared.
Riskaa cleared his thoughts - and his throat - and centered his gaze on Boldigh once again, trying to prove himself to be braver than he seemed in front of the man. "If you don't mind my asking, Captain, what steps are you intending to take towards this situation once you reach Putin?"
Boldigh stared dead center into Riskaa's eyes for a moment, sending another chill through the man, only this time through his entire body, beginning at his eyes and icily electrifying him all the way to his toes. Then the Captain looked out the window into the rain, more unintelligable thoughts showing through his dark, clouded eyes.
Without warning, though, Boldigh turned his head and looked directly at Riskaa.
"I will take them by their hearts."
----------
It had been three days since Glenn had enlisted with the Orange Star Air Force. And he was closing in on insanity.
He had not come within any sight at all of getting into the cockpit of a fighter. There was nothing but simulation training, so far, and while the training seemed to be a slight antidote for his need for speed, his need for the air, it just wasn't the same in the winged eyes of Glenn Gordon. Every time he asked Commander Beauregard about when he'd finally be getting himself tossed into a jet already, Beauregard just looked at him funny and shrugged ever so slightly. He'd asked the Commander more than ten times ever since he'd arrived at the base, and he always recieved the same aggravating response.
And to add insult to injury, in Glenn's point of view, he'd been paired up with Tuxedo Ral to share a room with. Gordon didn't necessarily not like Tux, but the guy was so similar to Dario Yossarian in ways Glenn didn't even want to begin to focus on. Tuxedo was, essentially, a party animal, especially when it was supposed to be lights-out time. Every night, Tux would sneak out of the room after the order was given to turn off all lighting, and he'd go off down the hall, into Cassie LaGall's and Rainey Banker's room. And every night, Rainey Banker would irritatedly leave just as Tuxedo arrived, and every night, she would have to come over to Glenn's room to get a little sleep, and every night, Tux would come back drunk as a bicycle, waking Glenn up and asking him if he wanted a sip of the brown stuff he'd always be holding in a glass upon arrival. Glenn couldn't help but feel rather bad for Rainey, since the loony would always wake her up too with his occasional banshee yells whenever he got back from happy-fun- time with Cassie, and she'd go storming right back to her own room. Gordon honestly wondered how Tux could be so lucky in the fact that the MPs hadn't dragged him away to the monkey house yet.
But Glenn wouldn't deny the other side of the picture frame. Tuxedo was also a very good pilot, and had a serious side, too. He'd actually bested Glenn in one of the simulations, when all of the Thunderbolts went up against each other to perfect their dogfighting skills. Of course, Tux would never let him live that down, and reminded Glenn of it every hair- curled moment the two of them were awake, but even still, Glenn was already becoming fast friends with him, Rainey, and the rest of the 207th, with the obvious exception of the Lone Ranger, as the group had grown accustomed to calling Knives.
Even in the debriefing room, Knives sat alone, away from the miscellaneous patches of Thunderbolts talking. Glenn, Tuxedo, and Bubba Boggs were all involved in a discussion over their leader, trying to figure out exactly why he was such a recluse. Knives was a good pilot, so it should have been easy for him to make friends. Gordon could remember Roger Winters of the 56th being one of the most popular fellows on the Clinton Air Base when he'd been in the Green Earth Air Force. But Gordon reasoned with himself that one couldn't make friends unless they wanted to. He sighed heavily.
"I'll bet he's a psycho just waiting to pop out," Tux blurted in the middle of the coversation, "like in that movie I watched a few nights ago with Cass'! Yeah, when we're all asleep, he'll get him a big old jackhammer and- -"
"If he's a psycho, he would have gone and popped out already with a mule like you around." Bubba grumbled, taking a sip of a rather large soda. Drinks, besides water, weren't allowed in the debriefing room, but no one really seemed to care if Bubba brought one in. Glenn didn't bother trying to figure out why.
"I can't help it. I got cat class and I got cat style." Tux leaned back in his chair, taking the forelegs off the ground while he put his hands behind his head with a grin.
Bubba snorted.
Commander Beauregard entered then, holding a sheet of paper in one hand. Glenn noticed that the man didn't look as terribly unhappy as always. That unconciously told him something was up. Beauregard continued marching along until he reached the debriefing platform, placing the sheet of paper on the table before him. "Attention, please. If you would all be seated. Today's mission will be a standard one, but it will be a trifle more dangerous than what you've been simulating up to this point."
Glenn smiled very slightly.
"I'll get to the point. In today's scenario, you will be carrying out an attack on the Blue Moon 4th Space Launch Platform. Stationed there is a craft destined for space, but should it launch, it will take a controlled flight out of our planet's atmosphere and return to the ground. I think you get the idea." Beauregard tried to ignore Tux falling over backwards in his chair painfully. "Indeed, the craft is a rocket, and should it detonate, there's no telling how much damage will be done, wherever it should land. More than likely, Blue Moon Space officials can set the proper coordinates to send it wherever they choose, so the Space Launch control center will be your primary target. Should you come across enemy forces, including anti-air or enemy fighters, do what is necessary to keep your tails safe. In other words, take the proper course of action as your flight leader sees fit."
Beauregard suddenly became very serious. "Do NOT destroy the rocket. I don't think I even have to tell you this, but should you do so, it will detonate and have the same impact on Blue Moon as it would on Orange Star. We're not trying to start a war here. We're simply trying to defuse a match before it turns into an inferno. I probably don't have to tell you this, either, but as always, if any civilians are killed, you will automatically fail the mission. We are not in this to kill innocent people. Once the mission is over, ground forces will move in and take control of the rocket."
Beauregard fumbled with the sheet of paper, eyeing it. "Boggs, LaGall."
Bubba and Cassie blinked at their names being called.
"You two will focus on neutralizing the surrounding fifteen mile area from the Launch Platform. In other words, you won't be participating in the attack, but your roles are still very important ones. Should you spot enemy fighters or incoming aircraft, relay the message to the flight leader. You will all recieve more significant mission plans once you're in the sky."
Glenn's smile turned into a full-out grin. Most of the other Thunderbolts grinned just as widely.
"That's right - Today's scenario will not be a simulation. But I want you all to be careful out there, alright? This is real. And while you've all been in combat before, you can never be told to be careful enough." Beauregard nodded, finishing. "Okay, that's it for the briefing. Get into your flight gear and head out onto the north tarmac, we've moved your planes out there we're you'll be able to get to them easily. Dismissed."
The Thunderbolts watched Glenn set a land-speed record on his way out of the room.
In seconds, it seemed, he was already in the locker room, fishing out his gear from the locker and getting it all on as fast as he could. The rest of Thunderbolt Squadron entered behind him a few moments afterwards, and he was already halfway into being fully prepared for piloting one of those fighters.
"Geez, Glenn," Marcus Madison mumbled, watching Gordon almost fall over as he tried to stuff his foot into one of the pant legs. "Take it easy. And take it slow, too. There's only one first time. Cherish it."
"I've already had my first time. Who says I can't be excited about my four- hundred-sixty-seventh?" Glenn smirked as Marcus just shook his head.
Soon, though not soon enough for Gordon, he was in his flight gear and admiring himself in the mirror. He had to admit, the Orange Star flight suit was undoubtedly superior to the Green Earth's counterpart - which was really just a jumpsuit. As he stood there holding his oxygen helmet in his hands, he overlooked the suit entirely for the first time since he'd arrived at the base, due to the fact they never used them in simulations. The jacket was black all over, with the exception of his etched-in nametag - "G. Gordon" - and the orange sleeves. As for the pants, they too, were black all the way down to the similarly black, gleaming, almost knee-high boots, but a long orange streak ran down along them on both his left and right sides. His gloves were similarly flashy, with mostly black but some orange towards the knuckles.
And above his nametag were two of the most important aspects of the flight suit. An etched-in pair of wings, and a similarly sewed-in lightning bolt patch. Now he knew he really was part of this team.
He refrained from telling himself he looked overly-cool, but he'd never been in such a uniform before. Not even the dress uniform of the Green Earth Air Force pilots gave him this level of proudness he felt as he stood there, looking at himself in the mirror.
Before he could finish gawking at the man in the mirror who was gawking right back and he could race out onto the tarmac already, Tuxedo bobbled up, also completely decked out in the Orange Star flight gear with his oxygen helmet held under his arm. He slapped Glenn on the back viciously, laughing to himself. "Look at you! All purty'd up for the prom, eh? All we need's some glitter to go on those cute widdle eyewids of you--"
Someone slapped Tux on the back even harder. "Erk--?"
"And look at YOU," Bubba laughed, "are you supposed to be his date? You ain't exactly the type I'd let my daughter go out with, if I had one."
"Yeah, well, her momma'd be proud of me. She'd have good taste in men, even if she did make a big ol' mistake when she was fourteen by marryin' you." Tux ran his hand through the black hair that seemed to make him so popular with some of the ladies at the Washington Air Base -- With the obvious exception of Rainey Banker.
Glenn let the two boys go at it virbally, grinning at their constant but light-hearted arguing.
Until he remembered something. "Uh oh."
"What'sa matter with you?" Tux eyed him strangely.
Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. "My mom. Uh, I sort of left my apartment in her care, including all the rent."
"Well, what's so wrong with that?" Bubba asked, getting a pretty darn good idea what was wrong with it already. His assumption ended up being right.
"I didn't exactly tell her I was leaving it with her."
Tuxedo died laughing.
"Well," Bubba started, trying to speak over the horrific laughter coming from the loudmouth, "don't worry too much about that. Especially when you're up there in the air, where no one can come between you and that fighter of yours. Not a single one. I've been flyin' for twelve years and let me tell you, there ain't any better feeling, when you're up there all alone, just you and the plane. No one can take away that feeling, not any old Commander, not your momma, not the President of Orange Star. You remember this, Glenn Gordon, when you're up there in that plane and lookin' around like a hawk, you remember this. I realized it years ago, and I might as well pass on the truth to other pilots."
Glenn smiled, his sudden worrying going away smoothly. Bubba had a nice way with words, he noticed. And the big man was right, too. He had nothing to worry about, in terms of personal matters as long as he was up there in the air, inside the cockpit of what was sure to be a beautiful piece of work. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Maybe I'll call her when I get back."
He then put his arms around Tux's and Bubba's shoulders as they all began to leave the locker room. "Let's go fly us some planes, boys."
Tux grinned, laughing in goodheartedness now. "Yeehaw!"
----------
He was there. On the pavement. The wide, open space of the tarmac made him feel a little dwarfed as he walked alongside the rest of the 207th pilots, but Glenn felt good, very good. He grinned up at the sun baking down on him as he carried his helmet in his hands. A pleasant ten o'clock sun, it was, and his grin widened, feeling it would keep a good eye on him for the rest of the day.
For today had now become a very good day. Here he was, walking along on the tarmac, headed for his destiny. He'd waited three or four long days for this moment, and it had finally arrived. At the moment, Glenn Gordon couldn't have felt happier.
They all walked past two large dome hangars for storing fighters, and Glenn almost got chills when he looked at them. He was really going through with this. In mere moments, he'd be up there in the sky. If only he'd done this sooner! Why hadn't his class bugged him about his flying past earlier? Perhaps if he'd actually paid attention to them, he'd have realized that he still loved flying.
Then, as they rounded one of the hangars and moved out onto the northernmost tarmac area, his wide eyes calmed and the grin sank slightly, but he only felt happier. There they were. The inspection crew was busy looking over all of them, making random maintenance checks over every last possible thing that could be surveyed before the fighter jets went into action. Glenn could already see the large lightning bolt icons situated on the upper wings towards the back of the aircraft, signifying that they really were for Thunderbolt Squadron, but his eyes continuously moved to the names painted in black on the sides of the fighters. Madison, Boggs, Yahasatitapen. . . Where was Gordon?
The Thunderbolts finally arrived at the fighters and the maintenance crews, and everyone was already shooting for their respective planes. Gordon paused, looking around, rubbing the back of his head. Old fears began to rise. Was there some sort of fluke in paper management? Would he not have a fighter for another week? He fully expected Commander Beauregard to pop out of nowhere and tell him there was a mixup in orders, and that he wouldn't get to fly today.
Everything always happened to him. He always got the short end of the stick. Why couldn't he ever get some good luck for once? Why always him?
He blinked, his hand behind his head freezing in place, and his eyes moved towards the plane he was standing directly next to, centering on the name on its side.
Gordon.
Feeling somewhat sheepish as the maintenance crews stared at the man standing by his plane for no apparent reason other than to rub the back of his head, he smiled to himself. Someone was looking out for him today. He could just feel it. With the smile not fading in the least, his hand latched onto the bottom of the little ladder leading up to the open cockpit of the aircraft, and he quickly began to climb skyward.
Soon, he was sitting there in the cockpit and taking in the sounds and smells. He continued on with the standard start-up procedures as he stuffed the oxygen helmet on, completely obscuring his head, face, and some of his neck. He flipped up the black visor, though, staring at the numerous controls of the plane.
He pressed a button, and the canopy began to close shut, quickly making him feel somewhat claustrophobic when it did, but the feeling went away as soon as it had arrived. He hit a few more buttons on the console and he began to attach the large number of seatbelts together that would hold him in place during flight and evasive maneuvers. They'd really come in handy, and he knew it. He'd even needed the seatbelts during the simulations, where the makeshift plane situated on the ground bobbed back and forth, giving him a continuous headache. Good thing for seatbelts -- Crashing around in the cockpit in the middle of a simulator wasn't his idea of doing well.
The engines of the fighter began to start up just after he'd pressed the small number of buttons. Slowly, their noise level combined became hideous, causing Glenn to also feel thankful for the helmet and its noise desensitizors. Without them, he'd probably go deaf, especially when the afterburners came into play.
His finger pressed another button on the console, sending his radio transmission to ground control.
"Gordon requesting clearance for taxiing," he uttered into the radio situated in his helmet, wishing he could just blast off on the spot and head into the air without the consent of officials. He was too anxious, and he knew it.
Gotta calm down, gotta slow down, he told himself. Being inside of a plane wouldn't do him any good if he had a heart attack in the middle of it.
"Gordon, cleared for departure." Gordon smiled as the ground control official gave him the order. Finally, he could move. "Taxi to North Runway 1. Contact tower."
"Affirmative," he replied, watching Rainey Banker's fighter finish taxiing towards the runway. He could tell she was probably contacting the control tower as well, waiting for clearance to get going into the air. Glenn wondered if she was as anxious to get going as he was, because her plane didn't completely stop when reaching the runway. He only chuckled to himself at the sight.
Slowly, his fighter lurched forward, and he felt movement beneath him, sending another giddy feeling through him. This was real movement. This was no simulator.
He reached the edge of the runway, and his hand again pressed a button on the console, this time changing the frequency over to the control tower. "Gordon requesting clearance for take-off."
He prayed something wouldn't go wrong. Beauregard could be up there in the control tower, and he'd tell Glenn to stop everything he was doing, that something was slightly out of balance on the fighter, that they'd have to take it back to the shop. And it would probably take days to fix. Either that or it would never get fixed, and he'd be grounded for life.
Glenn forced himself to quit worrying, like Bubba had told him to do. Even still, though, he felt a sweatdrop run down his head as he awaited clearance. Would he finally be able to get going? Was all this excitement for naught?
It wasn't. "Gordon, cleared for take-off."
Glenn grinned and refrained from shouting out a "yahoo" that would inevitably go to the control tower.
He excitedly gave the fighter jet gas again, and it again slowly began rolling forward, this time turning onto the runway. Finally, Gordon lowered the black visor on his helmet and ratcheted the throttle up to full when the fighter was pointed straight down the runway, and it began to move forward. Quickly. When it was moving as fast as it could push when on the ground, he kicked in the afterburners, and the jet shot forward like a bullet, sending him right back in his seat and sending some of the blood in his head towards the back. It was still the best feeling in the world, as far as he was concerned.
His hands gripped the control stick, pulling back on it hard. The fighter blasted up off the ground and headed skyward. For a moment, he felt he'd almost faint from not only the sudden, vicious amount of G-forces but also from the excitement surging through his body powerfully.
Before he realized it, he was off the ground by nearly five-thousand feet. Tuxedo was flying to his seven o'clock as his wingmate, and the rest of the squadron was all around him as well. He looked out towards the greenish horizon and the big, beautiful blue sky. Now he could remember one of the reasons he loved flying so much. Everything looked so small, dwarfed, insignificant.
Bubba had been right. None of his personal problems down there meant a single thing up here. This was where he belonged.
It's good to be back, he thought as he smiled to himself.
----------
Author Notes:
I have a fairly large problem, and I'd like you folks to give a little feedback, if you can. See, AW2 isn't coming out for at least two more months, and I feel I'm writing this faster than I should if I want it to take place during the game, when Black Hole returns. So, what do you think I should do? I could wait until the game comes out and take chapters as slow as possible until then, or I could just do what Dr. Bross did, and have Black Hole show up whenever I feel. Or if you have anything in mind, let me know. Thanks for the current and future reviews, and I hope to continue pleasing you with this fanfiction piece in the future.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Three: Rain & Thunder~
~----~
The sight of a distinguished man like Captain Kailaff Boldigh almost sent a jealous chill down Colonel Riskaa's already-frostbitten spine. Riskaa preferred to stay away from the front lines of battle, and while they were thankfully not at war - yet, he still liked it best to keep himself as distanced as possible from the border between Orange Star and his native country of Blue Moon, what with all these border skirmishes that continued relentlessly at least once every week or two.
Riskaa was unconciously surprised with the state of the situation. Neither Orange Star or Blue Moon seemed to care excessively for the border attacks, though they certainly made a substantial amount of news. It had been like that for as long as he could remember -- Which dated back to the end of the war. Even with losses on both sides, it seemed as though both sides were reluctant to get into another conflict. Apparently, the gist of the whole scene was to simply let the sides continue on until one got tired of the fighting and gave up. Somehow, Riskaa couldn't see an end in sight.
But recently, the border attacks from Blue Moon had been stepped up slightly, mostly in the northern region of Orange Star, despite a small No Fly Zone situated up there. Despite the Zone, it was blindingly obvious to a bat that the Blue Mooners wanted the area for valuable resources. Sadly, Riskaa had deduced for that to be the only reason in the step-up of the attacks. Why didn't Blue Moon just buy the property for themselves?
Well, he reasoned with himself, once they get the money from those resources, they can. As silly logic as it was, it worked, and Riskaa's Commanding Officer, Olaf, wasn't one to keep a good bead on what logic was in reality illogical and what logic wasn't. Riskaa inaudibly wondered why he couldn't be working under Commanding Officer Grit instead. At least Grit cared about other human beings.
Kailaff Boldigh slipped off his Blue Moon officer cap silently as Riskaa gazed out his office's window, out into the horizon which was mostly obscured by the heavy rainfall that had set itself directly over the Blue Moon Headquarter Command Base they were stationed at. Boldigh remained completely closemouthed as the Colonel continously made his way back to his messy desk, then right back to the window, and trailed once again to the desk. There were so many things on his mind, Riskaa couldn't even stand in one given place for a few seconds.
Finally, he stopped, placing one hand on the desk's side to steady himself, and he turned to Boldigh. "Can you even begin to fathom just how rattled I'm becoming by this foolish border lock?"
Boldigh said not a word.
"I've even been issued," the Colonel continued somewhat agitatedly due to the situation, "the responsibility of overseeing all Blue Moon progress in terms of air forces. In other words, I have the pleasure of looking over casualties, strategy, and even production and maintenance costs. How the devil am I supposed to accomplish such a task?"
The silent man standing before Riskaa's expression did not change as his huffy commander spoke. This put Riskaa's normally obedient, commanding demeanor off somewhat, but he didn't let the character of an allied predator such as Captain Boldigh get to him. At least, he didn't try to. Boldigh still stood there like a block of ice.
"Not only this," the higher ranking officer grumbled, "but at the current moment, do you know exactly how much of this progress we're making?"
Boldigh blinked. The first bodily action of his in almost forty-five seconds.
"None whatsoever!" Riskaa yelled angrily.
The Blue Moon officer looked at the ground, still as reserved as he'd been since he'd first entered Riskaa's office, still preferring to listen rather than take any other option. Riskaa unwillingly allowed Boldigh to continue the silent treatment, as in all honesty he did not think it wise to criticize such a man of distinguished valor in the honorable name of the Blue Moon Air Service.
"And to top it all off, look at this." Riskaa rolled out a map of the known world already placed on his desk and jabbed his finger on a northern section of Orange Star, close to the border. There was a small X where he pointed, with the word WASHINGTON A.B. directly under the lone letter. "Blue Moon intelligence stationed in the Orange Star Capitol recently, very recently discovered information that told of more fighter and bomber squadrons popping up all around the border, but with the most springing up at this very base. Washington."
Boldigh's cloudy eyes centered on the location of the Washington Air Base. Riskaa read confusing things in the man's eyes that he couldn't decipher, but Boldigh was a fellow who was beyond the Colonel's understanding already. Besides, the distinguished Blue Mooner's expression didn't flinch in the least from what it already was - nothing. Expressionless, stoney, frozen.
"Considering this base is less than five bloody miles from the main resource location Olaf wants so badly, I'd think it to be a very bad decision on our part if we were to launch an invasion of this territory with those blasted squadrons stationed there at the same time." Riskaa's voice still carried a rather angered tone. "With those fighters and bombers there, it is very difficult for an aeriel strike on even minor locations, and it's also very difficult for the entire country to even begin to ponder any sort of assault on that area or the entire border line, period!"
Then, Riskaa seemed to calm slightly as he gave Boldigh a glacial stare. "And that's where you and your squadron come in."
Boldigh's eyes moved back up to the Colonel.
"Your unit is being sent slightly north, so we can have a better chance against the Orange Stars should they for some reason decide to launch an air strike against the forces on our side of the fence. You are also to do anything in your power to cripple the Washington Air Base to the best of your abilities. You are to remain stationed at Putin Air Base until orders from the Capitol tell you otherwise." Colonel Riskaa stepped away from the desk and moved closer to Boldigh. "In other words, I am leaving that blasted base in your hands. You're a distinguished officer. I trust you'll know how to handle the situation properly."
Iceboxed, Boldigh seemed to acknowledge this information without antagonism, sending a hint of relief through Riskaa. He had enough to worry about anyway. Even his voice was growing uneven, and was not without a frequent, occasional patch of crackling now. The cold, wolven attitude of Captain Boldigh was throwing him off balance, and, suffice to say, beginning to make him feel threatened in the slightest of ways. Scared.
Riskaa cleared his thoughts - and his throat - and centered his gaze on Boldigh once again, trying to prove himself to be braver than he seemed in front of the man. "If you don't mind my asking, Captain, what steps are you intending to take towards this situation once you reach Putin?"
Boldigh stared dead center into Riskaa's eyes for a moment, sending another chill through the man, only this time through his entire body, beginning at his eyes and icily electrifying him all the way to his toes. Then the Captain looked out the window into the rain, more unintelligable thoughts showing through his dark, clouded eyes.
Without warning, though, Boldigh turned his head and looked directly at Riskaa.
"I will take them by their hearts."
----------
It had been three days since Glenn had enlisted with the Orange Star Air Force. And he was closing in on insanity.
He had not come within any sight at all of getting into the cockpit of a fighter. There was nothing but simulation training, so far, and while the training seemed to be a slight antidote for his need for speed, his need for the air, it just wasn't the same in the winged eyes of Glenn Gordon. Every time he asked Commander Beauregard about when he'd finally be getting himself tossed into a jet already, Beauregard just looked at him funny and shrugged ever so slightly. He'd asked the Commander more than ten times ever since he'd arrived at the base, and he always recieved the same aggravating response.
And to add insult to injury, in Glenn's point of view, he'd been paired up with Tuxedo Ral to share a room with. Gordon didn't necessarily not like Tux, but the guy was so similar to Dario Yossarian in ways Glenn didn't even want to begin to focus on. Tuxedo was, essentially, a party animal, especially when it was supposed to be lights-out time. Every night, Tux would sneak out of the room after the order was given to turn off all lighting, and he'd go off down the hall, into Cassie LaGall's and Rainey Banker's room. And every night, Rainey Banker would irritatedly leave just as Tuxedo arrived, and every night, she would have to come over to Glenn's room to get a little sleep, and every night, Tux would come back drunk as a bicycle, waking Glenn up and asking him if he wanted a sip of the brown stuff he'd always be holding in a glass upon arrival. Glenn couldn't help but feel rather bad for Rainey, since the loony would always wake her up too with his occasional banshee yells whenever he got back from happy-fun- time with Cassie, and she'd go storming right back to her own room. Gordon honestly wondered how Tux could be so lucky in the fact that the MPs hadn't dragged him away to the monkey house yet.
But Glenn wouldn't deny the other side of the picture frame. Tuxedo was also a very good pilot, and had a serious side, too. He'd actually bested Glenn in one of the simulations, when all of the Thunderbolts went up against each other to perfect their dogfighting skills. Of course, Tux would never let him live that down, and reminded Glenn of it every hair- curled moment the two of them were awake, but even still, Glenn was already becoming fast friends with him, Rainey, and the rest of the 207th, with the obvious exception of the Lone Ranger, as the group had grown accustomed to calling Knives.
Even in the debriefing room, Knives sat alone, away from the miscellaneous patches of Thunderbolts talking. Glenn, Tuxedo, and Bubba Boggs were all involved in a discussion over their leader, trying to figure out exactly why he was such a recluse. Knives was a good pilot, so it should have been easy for him to make friends. Gordon could remember Roger Winters of the 56th being one of the most popular fellows on the Clinton Air Base when he'd been in the Green Earth Air Force. But Gordon reasoned with himself that one couldn't make friends unless they wanted to. He sighed heavily.
"I'll bet he's a psycho just waiting to pop out," Tux blurted in the middle of the coversation, "like in that movie I watched a few nights ago with Cass'! Yeah, when we're all asleep, he'll get him a big old jackhammer and- -"
"If he's a psycho, he would have gone and popped out already with a mule like you around." Bubba grumbled, taking a sip of a rather large soda. Drinks, besides water, weren't allowed in the debriefing room, but no one really seemed to care if Bubba brought one in. Glenn didn't bother trying to figure out why.
"I can't help it. I got cat class and I got cat style." Tux leaned back in his chair, taking the forelegs off the ground while he put his hands behind his head with a grin.
Bubba snorted.
Commander Beauregard entered then, holding a sheet of paper in one hand. Glenn noticed that the man didn't look as terribly unhappy as always. That unconciously told him something was up. Beauregard continued marching along until he reached the debriefing platform, placing the sheet of paper on the table before him. "Attention, please. If you would all be seated. Today's mission will be a standard one, but it will be a trifle more dangerous than what you've been simulating up to this point."
Glenn smiled very slightly.
"I'll get to the point. In today's scenario, you will be carrying out an attack on the Blue Moon 4th Space Launch Platform. Stationed there is a craft destined for space, but should it launch, it will take a controlled flight out of our planet's atmosphere and return to the ground. I think you get the idea." Beauregard tried to ignore Tux falling over backwards in his chair painfully. "Indeed, the craft is a rocket, and should it detonate, there's no telling how much damage will be done, wherever it should land. More than likely, Blue Moon Space officials can set the proper coordinates to send it wherever they choose, so the Space Launch control center will be your primary target. Should you come across enemy forces, including anti-air or enemy fighters, do what is necessary to keep your tails safe. In other words, take the proper course of action as your flight leader sees fit."
Beauregard suddenly became very serious. "Do NOT destroy the rocket. I don't think I even have to tell you this, but should you do so, it will detonate and have the same impact on Blue Moon as it would on Orange Star. We're not trying to start a war here. We're simply trying to defuse a match before it turns into an inferno. I probably don't have to tell you this, either, but as always, if any civilians are killed, you will automatically fail the mission. We are not in this to kill innocent people. Once the mission is over, ground forces will move in and take control of the rocket."
Beauregard fumbled with the sheet of paper, eyeing it. "Boggs, LaGall."
Bubba and Cassie blinked at their names being called.
"You two will focus on neutralizing the surrounding fifteen mile area from the Launch Platform. In other words, you won't be participating in the attack, but your roles are still very important ones. Should you spot enemy fighters or incoming aircraft, relay the message to the flight leader. You will all recieve more significant mission plans once you're in the sky."
Glenn's smile turned into a full-out grin. Most of the other Thunderbolts grinned just as widely.
"That's right - Today's scenario will not be a simulation. But I want you all to be careful out there, alright? This is real. And while you've all been in combat before, you can never be told to be careful enough." Beauregard nodded, finishing. "Okay, that's it for the briefing. Get into your flight gear and head out onto the north tarmac, we've moved your planes out there we're you'll be able to get to them easily. Dismissed."
The Thunderbolts watched Glenn set a land-speed record on his way out of the room.
In seconds, it seemed, he was already in the locker room, fishing out his gear from the locker and getting it all on as fast as he could. The rest of Thunderbolt Squadron entered behind him a few moments afterwards, and he was already halfway into being fully prepared for piloting one of those fighters.
"Geez, Glenn," Marcus Madison mumbled, watching Gordon almost fall over as he tried to stuff his foot into one of the pant legs. "Take it easy. And take it slow, too. There's only one first time. Cherish it."
"I've already had my first time. Who says I can't be excited about my four- hundred-sixty-seventh?" Glenn smirked as Marcus just shook his head.
Soon, though not soon enough for Gordon, he was in his flight gear and admiring himself in the mirror. He had to admit, the Orange Star flight suit was undoubtedly superior to the Green Earth's counterpart - which was really just a jumpsuit. As he stood there holding his oxygen helmet in his hands, he overlooked the suit entirely for the first time since he'd arrived at the base, due to the fact they never used them in simulations. The jacket was black all over, with the exception of his etched-in nametag - "G. Gordon" - and the orange sleeves. As for the pants, they too, were black all the way down to the similarly black, gleaming, almost knee-high boots, but a long orange streak ran down along them on both his left and right sides. His gloves were similarly flashy, with mostly black but some orange towards the knuckles.
And above his nametag were two of the most important aspects of the flight suit. An etched-in pair of wings, and a similarly sewed-in lightning bolt patch. Now he knew he really was part of this team.
He refrained from telling himself he looked overly-cool, but he'd never been in such a uniform before. Not even the dress uniform of the Green Earth Air Force pilots gave him this level of proudness he felt as he stood there, looking at himself in the mirror.
Before he could finish gawking at the man in the mirror who was gawking right back and he could race out onto the tarmac already, Tuxedo bobbled up, also completely decked out in the Orange Star flight gear with his oxygen helmet held under his arm. He slapped Glenn on the back viciously, laughing to himself. "Look at you! All purty'd up for the prom, eh? All we need's some glitter to go on those cute widdle eyewids of you--"
Someone slapped Tux on the back even harder. "Erk--?"
"And look at YOU," Bubba laughed, "are you supposed to be his date? You ain't exactly the type I'd let my daughter go out with, if I had one."
"Yeah, well, her momma'd be proud of me. She'd have good taste in men, even if she did make a big ol' mistake when she was fourteen by marryin' you." Tux ran his hand through the black hair that seemed to make him so popular with some of the ladies at the Washington Air Base -- With the obvious exception of Rainey Banker.
Glenn let the two boys go at it virbally, grinning at their constant but light-hearted arguing.
Until he remembered something. "Uh oh."
"What'sa matter with you?" Tux eyed him strangely.
Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. "My mom. Uh, I sort of left my apartment in her care, including all the rent."
"Well, what's so wrong with that?" Bubba asked, getting a pretty darn good idea what was wrong with it already. His assumption ended up being right.
"I didn't exactly tell her I was leaving it with her."
Tuxedo died laughing.
"Well," Bubba started, trying to speak over the horrific laughter coming from the loudmouth, "don't worry too much about that. Especially when you're up there in the air, where no one can come between you and that fighter of yours. Not a single one. I've been flyin' for twelve years and let me tell you, there ain't any better feeling, when you're up there all alone, just you and the plane. No one can take away that feeling, not any old Commander, not your momma, not the President of Orange Star. You remember this, Glenn Gordon, when you're up there in that plane and lookin' around like a hawk, you remember this. I realized it years ago, and I might as well pass on the truth to other pilots."
Glenn smiled, his sudden worrying going away smoothly. Bubba had a nice way with words, he noticed. And the big man was right, too. He had nothing to worry about, in terms of personal matters as long as he was up there in the air, inside the cockpit of what was sure to be a beautiful piece of work. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Maybe I'll call her when I get back."
He then put his arms around Tux's and Bubba's shoulders as they all began to leave the locker room. "Let's go fly us some planes, boys."
Tux grinned, laughing in goodheartedness now. "Yeehaw!"
----------
He was there. On the pavement. The wide, open space of the tarmac made him feel a little dwarfed as he walked alongside the rest of the 207th pilots, but Glenn felt good, very good. He grinned up at the sun baking down on him as he carried his helmet in his hands. A pleasant ten o'clock sun, it was, and his grin widened, feeling it would keep a good eye on him for the rest of the day.
For today had now become a very good day. Here he was, walking along on the tarmac, headed for his destiny. He'd waited three or four long days for this moment, and it had finally arrived. At the moment, Glenn Gordon couldn't have felt happier.
They all walked past two large dome hangars for storing fighters, and Glenn almost got chills when he looked at them. He was really going through with this. In mere moments, he'd be up there in the sky. If only he'd done this sooner! Why hadn't his class bugged him about his flying past earlier? Perhaps if he'd actually paid attention to them, he'd have realized that he still loved flying.
Then, as they rounded one of the hangars and moved out onto the northernmost tarmac area, his wide eyes calmed and the grin sank slightly, but he only felt happier. There they were. The inspection crew was busy looking over all of them, making random maintenance checks over every last possible thing that could be surveyed before the fighter jets went into action. Glenn could already see the large lightning bolt icons situated on the upper wings towards the back of the aircraft, signifying that they really were for Thunderbolt Squadron, but his eyes continuously moved to the names painted in black on the sides of the fighters. Madison, Boggs, Yahasatitapen. . . Where was Gordon?
The Thunderbolts finally arrived at the fighters and the maintenance crews, and everyone was already shooting for their respective planes. Gordon paused, looking around, rubbing the back of his head. Old fears began to rise. Was there some sort of fluke in paper management? Would he not have a fighter for another week? He fully expected Commander Beauregard to pop out of nowhere and tell him there was a mixup in orders, and that he wouldn't get to fly today.
Everything always happened to him. He always got the short end of the stick. Why couldn't he ever get some good luck for once? Why always him?
He blinked, his hand behind his head freezing in place, and his eyes moved towards the plane he was standing directly next to, centering on the name on its side.
Gordon.
Feeling somewhat sheepish as the maintenance crews stared at the man standing by his plane for no apparent reason other than to rub the back of his head, he smiled to himself. Someone was looking out for him today. He could just feel it. With the smile not fading in the least, his hand latched onto the bottom of the little ladder leading up to the open cockpit of the aircraft, and he quickly began to climb skyward.
Soon, he was sitting there in the cockpit and taking in the sounds and smells. He continued on with the standard start-up procedures as he stuffed the oxygen helmet on, completely obscuring his head, face, and some of his neck. He flipped up the black visor, though, staring at the numerous controls of the plane.
He pressed a button, and the canopy began to close shut, quickly making him feel somewhat claustrophobic when it did, but the feeling went away as soon as it had arrived. He hit a few more buttons on the console and he began to attach the large number of seatbelts together that would hold him in place during flight and evasive maneuvers. They'd really come in handy, and he knew it. He'd even needed the seatbelts during the simulations, where the makeshift plane situated on the ground bobbed back and forth, giving him a continuous headache. Good thing for seatbelts -- Crashing around in the cockpit in the middle of a simulator wasn't his idea of doing well.
The engines of the fighter began to start up just after he'd pressed the small number of buttons. Slowly, their noise level combined became hideous, causing Glenn to also feel thankful for the helmet and its noise desensitizors. Without them, he'd probably go deaf, especially when the afterburners came into play.
His finger pressed another button on the console, sending his radio transmission to ground control.
"Gordon requesting clearance for taxiing," he uttered into the radio situated in his helmet, wishing he could just blast off on the spot and head into the air without the consent of officials. He was too anxious, and he knew it.
Gotta calm down, gotta slow down, he told himself. Being inside of a plane wouldn't do him any good if he had a heart attack in the middle of it.
"Gordon, cleared for departure." Gordon smiled as the ground control official gave him the order. Finally, he could move. "Taxi to North Runway 1. Contact tower."
"Affirmative," he replied, watching Rainey Banker's fighter finish taxiing towards the runway. He could tell she was probably contacting the control tower as well, waiting for clearance to get going into the air. Glenn wondered if she was as anxious to get going as he was, because her plane didn't completely stop when reaching the runway. He only chuckled to himself at the sight.
Slowly, his fighter lurched forward, and he felt movement beneath him, sending another giddy feeling through him. This was real movement. This was no simulator.
He reached the edge of the runway, and his hand again pressed a button on the console, this time changing the frequency over to the control tower. "Gordon requesting clearance for take-off."
He prayed something wouldn't go wrong. Beauregard could be up there in the control tower, and he'd tell Glenn to stop everything he was doing, that something was slightly out of balance on the fighter, that they'd have to take it back to the shop. And it would probably take days to fix. Either that or it would never get fixed, and he'd be grounded for life.
Glenn forced himself to quit worrying, like Bubba had told him to do. Even still, though, he felt a sweatdrop run down his head as he awaited clearance. Would he finally be able to get going? Was all this excitement for naught?
It wasn't. "Gordon, cleared for take-off."
Glenn grinned and refrained from shouting out a "yahoo" that would inevitably go to the control tower.
He excitedly gave the fighter jet gas again, and it again slowly began rolling forward, this time turning onto the runway. Finally, Gordon lowered the black visor on his helmet and ratcheted the throttle up to full when the fighter was pointed straight down the runway, and it began to move forward. Quickly. When it was moving as fast as it could push when on the ground, he kicked in the afterburners, and the jet shot forward like a bullet, sending him right back in his seat and sending some of the blood in his head towards the back. It was still the best feeling in the world, as far as he was concerned.
His hands gripped the control stick, pulling back on it hard. The fighter blasted up off the ground and headed skyward. For a moment, he felt he'd almost faint from not only the sudden, vicious amount of G-forces but also from the excitement surging through his body powerfully.
Before he realized it, he was off the ground by nearly five-thousand feet. Tuxedo was flying to his seven o'clock as his wingmate, and the rest of the squadron was all around him as well. He looked out towards the greenish horizon and the big, beautiful blue sky. Now he could remember one of the reasons he loved flying so much. Everything looked so small, dwarfed, insignificant.
Bubba had been right. None of his personal problems down there meant a single thing up here. This was where he belonged.
It's good to be back, he thought as he smiled to himself.
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Author Notes:
I have a fairly large problem, and I'd like you folks to give a little feedback, if you can. See, AW2 isn't coming out for at least two more months, and I feel I'm writing this faster than I should if I want it to take place during the game, when Black Hole returns. So, what do you think I should do? I could wait until the game comes out and take chapters as slow as possible until then, or I could just do what Dr. Bross did, and have Black Hole show up whenever I feel. Or if you have anything in mind, let me know. Thanks for the current and future reviews, and I hope to continue pleasing you with this fanfiction piece in the future.