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 Six: A Not-so-friendly Welcoming~
~----~
Colonel Riskaa swallowed uncomfortably as he ran his hands through his graying, thinning hair. Reports of Black Hole troops spotted in Blue Moon territory were sending shivers down his spine and throwing his stomach into loops. How could he be so unlucky? Would he have to fight against those Black Hole bastards another time? Hadn't they learned their lesson? He'd nearly lost his family against them in the first war, and now that risk was coming back to haunt him. The Colonel couldn't conjure up any worse thought.
He growled, looking out the window, feeling as miserable as he'd felt when the first war had taking a direction towards Black Hole territory. Fighting an enemy they knew little to nothing about wasn't something he terribly looked forward to. He could deal with these Orange Star or Green Earth flies, perhaps even those Yellow Comet weirdos, but Black Hole was apparently not of this planet. Just the thought gave him chills.
Riskaa could only pray to himself that the reports of troops were false. The same would hopefully be said for the reports coming in from spies in Orange Star's capital that the country was being invaded. Such reports came in all the time, usually because that idiotic Commanding Officer of theirs, Andy, was far too hyperactive and inane for his own good. Every time a gun or noisemaker went off anywhere within the notable vicinity, Andy would come to the conclusion that the country was being invaded, usually claiming Blue Moon was to blame for such nonsense. It had been especially bad this last year on the annual day the country was formed, when all those fireworks went off. . . It wasn't hard for anyone to tell that Riskaa seriously loathed Andy whenever he spoke of him.
One of Riskaa's aides suddenly entered his creaky old office at the air base he was stationed at in Blue Moon, causing him to groan ever so slightly. "What is it, comrade?"
"Sir," the aide stuttered, his face puzzled, "I can't locate Captain Boldigh."
Riskaa's face became equally confused. "What do you mean, you can't find him? He must be here somewhere. Check the showers."
"We've already searched the base. He's nowhere to be found, and the same can be said for Zodo Gallow and the rest of the squadron."
"WHAT!?" Riskaa jumped out of his seat. "Did you check absolutely everywhere? Did you check with the guards at the gates? Maybe they left to go into town."
The aide shook his head. "We checked with everyone, sir. They're gone."
The Colonel stood there a moment, his mind rushing through a hundred possible explanations, trying to get a bead on exactly what was going on here with Kailaff Boldigh and his renegade crew. The last thing he really needed at a time like this was for his best squadron to go off on some damn foolish outing when war could start at any moment. What was Boldigh thinking? And on top of that, where the hell was he?
"What about the squadron craft themselves? Are they still here?" It was a question he'd hoped he wouldn't have had to ask.
"No, sir," the aide blurted, "the squadron's aircraft are no longer here."
Riskaa groaned and slumped back into his seat. "Well, why didn't you say so, you bleeding idiot? They're just on patrol or something. Go check with Flight Commander Lenin."
The aide's expression sagged as he put his hands together sadly. "I did, sir. Commander Lenin says no flights for the squadron are scheduled today, nor were any orders recieved to even send the squadron up into the air at all, for anything."
Colonel Riskaa sat there, hesitating, thinking. Slowly, he got back up out of the chair, realizing just how serious the situation had become.
A uniformed official suddenly burst in through the door, nearly toppling the poor aide standing next to it. "Sir! The capital in the Macro region reports it is taking heavy fire from aerial units! Ground forces have been spotted outside the city!"
Riskaa could only stand there and shake his head after letting the information sink in. He gazed out the window a moment. "Here we go again."
--------
It was nighttime when the transport plane carrying the Washington Air Base pilots began to near the shores of the Macro region.
Glenn had tried his best to fall asleep, but the chair he sat in was uncomfortable beyond all belief, and besides, how could he sleep knowing he was going to war again? He glanced to his left at Rainey Banker, who calmly sat there, sleeping soundly. Glenn couldn't help but envy her slightly, wishing he could be doing the same. Oh well, he'd probably be able to get some sleep at the base they arrived at. Wherever the base was. They hadn't been informed at all of where they were specifically headed. All they'd been told was that they were going to Macro. Hell, Gordon had never been to Macro, nor did he really know about it at all. He simply knew that all of the countries in the Cosmo region had land here for themselves.
He sighed slightly, gazing out the window miserably. His stomach growled aggravatedly, asking Glenn for some food, but the pilot's brain told the stomach to hush up quickly. Glenn agreed with the smarter portion of his body. He felt far too depressed to even bother thinking about food or eating.
At least he was here with friends. Like he'd told himself a long time ago, if he watched out for these people, they'd watch out for him. It was still a good exchange.
Muscles bunched at the corners of Glenn's jaw as he ground his teeth. If anything, nervousness was beginning to combat the depression he felt. He began to grow slightly worried that he may not come back from this war. Heck, he'd barely come back from the last one, and most of his combat had been against Blue Moon. If anything, these Black Hole guys would know what they were doing now that they'd been in action against all of the countries - combined. Things were about to get a whole lot harder, obviously. This realization only made Glenn feel worse than already.
I've gotta cheer up, he thought. No one likes going to war, but Eagle and Drake didn't go moping around when that first one started. Why can't I be the same way? Things will be fine.
Somehow, he couldn't quite believe himself just yet.
Rainey began to stir in her seat. Glenn was about to greet her and say something, but a small flash of light outside the plane caught the corner of his right eye. Slowly, his head turned and looked out the porthole of the transport jet, looking for what the source of it had been. Was it storming? It had probably just been lightning. Tux probably wouldn't like that, and Glenn wouldn't have disagreed. The former Green Earth pilot did indeed like such weather, but not when he was right in the middle of it.
Immediately he realized that the flash of yellowish light he'd seen had not been weather-related. Streaks of yellow shot up at the sky from the ground. Obviously, they were no longer over the ocean but were nearing the Macro region. It looked to be anti-air units firing up at something, since the powerful, streaking bullets were clearly visible in the night, but who was firing? And what at?
"Uh oh," he murmured, drawing enough attention from Rainey to worry her.
"What's the matter?" She still sounded sleepy, but her eyes were quite wide.
Something was VERY wrong now. The bullets were coming faster and more often now, and it was painfully easy to tell that some of whatever was on the ground was aiming for the transport plane carrying the Washington pilots.
Before Glenn could really even think about this, the plane lurched to the side, throwing everyone on-board into the opposite sides of their seats. It wasn't the best wake-up call for some of the pilots, but it worked, despite the fact the purpose of the sudden turn hadn't necessarily been to wake everyone up from near-restless slumber.
"The hell's goin' on!?" Tuxedo's voice was clearly heard above the rest of the sudden onslaught of gibberish and jabbering.
Beauregard came out of the cockpit area and glared at them all, holding onto the sides of the small doorway to keep himself steady. It didn't seem to help much. "Everyone, wake your asses up! Someone get to the rear of the plane and man the guns back there!"
Everyone just stared at him as though he were talking like a flakey Yellow Cometer.
"Did you hear me!?" Beauregard growled loudly, and just pointed at Gordon. "Lieutenant, get back to the rear of the craft and take control of the twin-guns mounted back there. You too, Boggs! Get to the one of the other side of Glenn's!"
Glenn, at the moment, really didn't feel the need to question why Beauregard wanted Bubba and he back there all of a sudden. Perhaps it was because he felt they were the most trustworthy of folk in the squadron, or maybe he just didn't care who went back there, as long as someone was manning the guns. If that were the case, then the situation was probably worse than Glenn had originally hypothesized. Whatever the case, an intense sense of urgency overcame him, and he jumped out of the seat - which he was thankful for, since he felt as though he were getting saddlesore from the damned thing - and raced towards the back of the plane.
The race between he and Bubba down the narrow, confining aisle of the transporter lasted only seconds. Glenn's adrenaline was going fast now - The plane was yawning this way and that way, every porthole he could catch out the corners of his eyes flashed repeatedly with yellow light and bare glimpses of the bullet streaks outside, but if anything had him going, it was the hideously loud crashing-boom sounds of flak being fired at them from the ground. Moving faster than he could think, he reached the large twin-guns mounted near the back of the craft with the giant viewport giving him an even better eyesight as to what exactly was going on.
"Well," he heard Bubba say, "what are we supposed to do now?"
Glenn successfully ignored him. There had been a reason Beauregard had sent the two of them back here, and he was keeping an eye out, hoping to find out what that reason was before it shot the lot of them out of the sky.
Even though it was nighttime, Glenn could still see what was going on down on the ground fairly well from the flashes that the anti-air units gave off when firing - And he realized that accompanying those flashes were those of explosions, a downpour of ground-and-air-based gunfire, and the red & blue lights of emergency vehicles all around the area. He strained his eyes further, trying to get a better bead on everything that was going on down there.
If he wasn't mistaken, he clearly thought he could see the flashes illuminating off the many outer hulls of air units. Battle copters, if he were correct. But they didn't look orange, as he'd first automatically unconciously presumed they'd been. Their hulls seemed to shine with a metal finish, as though they were made of some alloy that whoever had constructed them need not fear of much damage to whatever it was.
More flashes illuminated the ground. It was clear now that the combat forces farther inland to the shore with the anti-air units in particular were more orange in color. "Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
Bubba turned around. "What's the matter?"
"Those damned friggin' morons," the Thunderbolt squadron leader growled, trying to contain his true anger towards the situation, "think we're the enemy! That's Orange Star down there firing at us!"
"Oh!" Bubba groaned and turned back to continue gazing out his own large viewport. "Wonderful."
If Orange Star were the ones firing at them, then Glenn automatically came to the assumption that it was Black Hole with those battle copters he'd seen. His first-ever glimpse of a Black Hole unit and perhaps his last. Somehow, he didn't quite feel as though he deserved a medal at the moment.
"Glenn," he heard Bubba mumble, "what are these three flashbats doing?"
Glenn turned around to glance out Bubba's viewport, the one opposite to his own. "What are you talkin' ab-"
Three of the enemy battle helicopters had broken off from the main attack and were currently closing to within range of the transport plane. The two Orange Star pilots watched them race past the transporter parallel to it, and they began to circle around to try to get on its tail.
So this was the 'reason.' "Bubba, get ready! They're comin' around on us!"
He turned and yelled towards the front of the craft. "Hey, get ready to do some tight turns, here!"
The sight of Beauregard groaning and informing the transporter's pilot of their new situation didn't bring much hope to Glenn, nor Bubba. Well, Glenn thought, might as well get this over with. "Be careful, Bubs."
"You too, Gordo'." Bubba turned the large, imposing machinery he manned in the direction of the battle copters now pursuing them. Glenn proceeded to imitate the move, hesitating, waiting for them to get in range. His carefully trained eye and experience both told his brain when and where to fire, a trait poor Bubba probably didn't have the leisure of having. Glenn simply had more air experience, that was all. That and Gordon didn't think Bubba had the best of eyesight, either. But even, Heaven forbid, if the big man was blind in both eyes and was as smart as a box of rocks, Glenn knew he would be able to count on him for help, wherever and whenever.
It was only a matter of seconds before one of the Black Hole battle copters drew within range of the two twin-guns of Glenn Gordon and Bubba Boggs.
Glenn opened fire immediately, prodding Bubba to do the same. The heavy, powerful streaks of yellowish-orange bullets shot off from the transport plane's two gunning locations, soaring back towards the flock of battle copters pursuing them. The lead copter duked to Glenn's left and appeared to hesitate there to the Orange Star pilot while the other two returned the gesture. Some of their gunfire missed the transport plane by mere feet.
Swiveling the giant firearm mechanism, Glenn took aim towards the two copters bunched closley together, both still firing at the transport plane. Pressing the large dual triggers on the gun, more yellow streaks shot out from their large, blundering aircraft towards the copters. The enemy craft's gunfire ceased and both were sent into a tizzy from which they had to recover.
More gunfire came at them, this time from the lead enemy chopper. Glenn felt his stomach pitch as the transport plane lurched to its side after the pilot had seen the bright, powerful gunfire flying past the canopy and off into the distance. Bubba was still carrying on the lightfight between he and another copter where Glenn couldn't aim at from his side. Gordon couldn't help but wonder if Bubba was affected at all by the horrendous gravity forces or not.
Glenn allowed himself to relax slightly as the plane turned and was rewarded by having his body shoved towards his side of the curved hull with a painfully loud bang. "G'ah!"
His moment of weakness allowed the lead copter to get away with firing another batch of bullets toward them, and some of these made contact. The "PING" sound of bullets hitting the outer hull of a plane was unmistakable - Glenn would never forget it after having been shot down himself during his Green Earth campaign. "We've taken some damage back here!"
Thankfully, the bullets hadn't penetrated the hull. If that had happened, Glenn thought, we could basically say goodbye to any air pressure in here, along with our lives.
He watched as the lead copter continued to annoy them like a fly bugging a cat, eyeing it as it duked back and forth, trying to goad Glenn into firing at it and catching him off-guard. Gordon only hesitated, waiting for the copter to settle down slightly before firing again. The chopper couldn't very well hit its target while it was whiffing this way and that way, and Glenn realized this. He'd wait.
The wait didn't last long. The enemy chopper's erratic movements slowed ever so slightly, and Glenn took no longer of a break. More gunfire tore from the twin-guns towards the aircraft, this time more than one bullet making contact with its intended target.
With the enemy craft slowed as it was, there was no missing his target. Even though he didn't stop firing, he could clearly see the ominous front of the battle chopper shatter like a watermelon, destroyed casing pieces spraying out every which way as one of the twin engines shred up and blew apart. The copter began an unstoppable, jagged spin towards the dirt. It would seem Glenn wouldn't have to worry about those things being impenetrable. "Hah-hah!"
Bubba had not yet been able to take care of either of the gnats behind the transporter. Glenn looked out the other viewport and noticed his fellow pilot was trying to concentrate on both of them at the same time. "Bub', you have to concentrate on ONE of them! Choose the closest one!"
"But, damn, Glenn, they just keep switchin' positions. I'm gettin' dizzy- headed just tryin' to keep up with 'em!" Bubba didn't cease firing even as he spoke, making it nearly impossible to hear him. Glenn didn't bother trying to hear whatever excuse the man had. He'd have to take care of those two himself, if need be.
Again, the transporter lofted to one side, nearly throwing Glenn off his feet. "Damn it!"
Bubba snapped off more shots at the pursuing choppers, spreading them farther from each other, and allowed one of them to get within Glenn's sights. The Thunderbolt squadron leader fired almost as soon as the enemy copter had come within firing range, but he was still off balance slightly from the heavy turn the transport plane was in. None of the shots he'd fired made contact, nor did any even come within remote vicinity of hitting the copter, causing him to feel a half-second-long wave of embarrassment.
He pumped more shots out, this time towards the bottom of the enemy craft, trying to goad it into getting more into his line of fire. The chopper barely even nudged from its position. "Come on!"
Glenn wave towards his gunmate. "Bubba, fire at this one!"
Without any hesitation, Boggs did so without remorse, prodding the enemy chopper more within Glenn's line of fire. While the current, lurching motion the plane was in meant he didn't have a flame's chance of hitting anything as far away as Glenn's intended target, he knew what the squadron's flight leader was trying to accomplish here. Within only two seconds the chopper had juked back right into open range of Glenn's mounted twin-guns.
The Thunderbolt flight leader sent mountains of bright, powerful gunfire towards the enemy copter, causing its pilot to shove forward on the controls and send it into a plunge to evade the deadly ammunition. Glenn anticipated this, and moved the large, twin-gun mechanism ever so slightly forward, causing his aim to follow where the Black Hole chopper had dropped with intense speed. The gunfire from the twin-guns became a constant blur as long, bright-yellow arms tried to reach out and slap the enemy battle copter from above.
The enemy chopper began to try to twist out of the path of the gunfire, but its turn caused its rear end to come around. The rear rotor and upper wing shredded and shattered as though the bullets were hitting a combination of paper and ice, and this sent the copter into an even worse spin than its pilot had intended for it. Within seconds, the copter was plummeting towards the ground to join whatever was left of its comrade.
The final copter apparently decided it had had enough of playing around and began to open fire on the transporter without even taking care to preciously aim correctly. "Get him, Bubba!"
Glenn's head swiveled towards Bubba's viewport, but his eyes went towards the wing of the craft, quickly being shred as though a chainsaw were being taken to it. "Come on!"
Bubba wouldn't even have to fire. The enemy battle helicopter suddenly exploded in a bright flash of red, and its firey remains began to slowly fall out of the sky. Glenn spied a few large streaks of bright yellow shooting up past the wreckage just as it combusted, and he allowed himself to at least smirk. "I guess those guys on the ground figured out what they were doing."
"Yeah," Bubba muttered, though his voice showed he didn't believe Glenn, nor did his eyes which continued to gaze down at the ground to make sure the anti-air units didn't pull something funny out of their rears and try and shoot down the transporter again.
Glenn ignored him and began to make for the front of the craft. He tried to single out on concentrating on Beauregard, but he couldn't help but look at everyone to see how they were doing. Most of them looked scared to death, especially Tristan Royal, the poor kid. Glenn could see where their fear came from --He'd personally rather be in control of a swinging, weaving plane being fired upon, too. "We're clear back here, Commander."
Beauregard seemed to settle down slightly, his hand over his heart. "Phew. Good, good job, Gordon, Boggs. I'd prefer if you kept back there for the time being, though, since a few more of those flies could come back at any minute."
Glenn personally didn't feel that was necessary, since the pleasantly bright little show they'd put on had probably deterred any other Black Hole craft from coming up and trying to get at them, but even still, he obliged with the request from his Commander, just for the sake of making the older fellow feel better about the situation.
"How's that wing looking?" Glenn stopped by Marcus Madison, who sat next to the viewport directly next to the wing that concenred the flight leader.
"Well, it looks like it got hit with a grenade, but it's doing alright. It should last us a flight to wherever we're going and back again." Marcus seemed especially cool, despite what had just occured. Too bad the same couldn't be said for alot of the other pilots, most of whom Glenn didn't recognize as being in his squadron. He couldn't help but wonder if some of these boys and girls in the new squadrons from Washington were nothing but greenies. If they were enlisting people as young as these, then this Black Hole situation must be worse than it looked.
And from what Glenn had just seen, it had looked quite bad.
He stepped back towards the rear of the craft towards where Bubba now sat on the dusty floor, and stopped next to the large twin-guns. The battle still seemed to be going on as badly as before, but it was occuring behind them. Inky blackness coated the ground up ahead and to the sides of the transporter. "Looks like we're in the clear."
"I hope so," Bubba muttered. "I don't want to have to go through that again tonight. I ain't slept all day."
Glenn rolled his eyes. "You know, most people sleep at night rather than during the day."
"I," Bubba reasoned, "like to sleep during both. Sue me."
The flight leader just shook his head and looked back out the viewport towards the combat and all the flashes of war. He was truly glad he wasn't down there at the moment. Being up here in the sky was the place to be; that was how he liked it and that was how it would stay.
Then he smiled, looking at the grumpy man sitting on the floor near him. "It's been a while since he had a good victory like that. At least this is one victory we can have without having to toast dead comrades, and I, for one, like the change."
Bubba finally smiled. "You 'n' me both. What do you say we keep it this way?"
Glenn returned the expression fully. "Fair enough."
--------
Author Notes:
Nothing much to say here. I would, however, like to thank Dr. Bross for all his support. No matter what anyone says, around here on fanfiction.net, it's the reviews that keep a writer going. "Oh boy, a new review." You know the feeling. It's like getting candy. Anyway, thanks for reading, and any "R's" are appreciated.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
~----~
~Mission Six: A Not-so-friendly Welcoming~
~----~
Colonel Riskaa swallowed uncomfortably as he ran his hands through his graying, thinning hair. Reports of Black Hole troops spotted in Blue Moon territory were sending shivers down his spine and throwing his stomach into loops. How could he be so unlucky? Would he have to fight against those Black Hole bastards another time? Hadn't they learned their lesson? He'd nearly lost his family against them in the first war, and now that risk was coming back to haunt him. The Colonel couldn't conjure up any worse thought.
He growled, looking out the window, feeling as miserable as he'd felt when the first war had taking a direction towards Black Hole territory. Fighting an enemy they knew little to nothing about wasn't something he terribly looked forward to. He could deal with these Orange Star or Green Earth flies, perhaps even those Yellow Comet weirdos, but Black Hole was apparently not of this planet. Just the thought gave him chills.
Riskaa could only pray to himself that the reports of troops were false. The same would hopefully be said for the reports coming in from spies in Orange Star's capital that the country was being invaded. Such reports came in all the time, usually because that idiotic Commanding Officer of theirs, Andy, was far too hyperactive and inane for his own good. Every time a gun or noisemaker went off anywhere within the notable vicinity, Andy would come to the conclusion that the country was being invaded, usually claiming Blue Moon was to blame for such nonsense. It had been especially bad this last year on the annual day the country was formed, when all those fireworks went off. . . It wasn't hard for anyone to tell that Riskaa seriously loathed Andy whenever he spoke of him.
One of Riskaa's aides suddenly entered his creaky old office at the air base he was stationed at in Blue Moon, causing him to groan ever so slightly. "What is it, comrade?"
"Sir," the aide stuttered, his face puzzled, "I can't locate Captain Boldigh."
Riskaa's face became equally confused. "What do you mean, you can't find him? He must be here somewhere. Check the showers."
"We've already searched the base. He's nowhere to be found, and the same can be said for Zodo Gallow and the rest of the squadron."
"WHAT!?" Riskaa jumped out of his seat. "Did you check absolutely everywhere? Did you check with the guards at the gates? Maybe they left to go into town."
The aide shook his head. "We checked with everyone, sir. They're gone."
The Colonel stood there a moment, his mind rushing through a hundred possible explanations, trying to get a bead on exactly what was going on here with Kailaff Boldigh and his renegade crew. The last thing he really needed at a time like this was for his best squadron to go off on some damn foolish outing when war could start at any moment. What was Boldigh thinking? And on top of that, where the hell was he?
"What about the squadron craft themselves? Are they still here?" It was a question he'd hoped he wouldn't have had to ask.
"No, sir," the aide blurted, "the squadron's aircraft are no longer here."
Riskaa groaned and slumped back into his seat. "Well, why didn't you say so, you bleeding idiot? They're just on patrol or something. Go check with Flight Commander Lenin."
The aide's expression sagged as he put his hands together sadly. "I did, sir. Commander Lenin says no flights for the squadron are scheduled today, nor were any orders recieved to even send the squadron up into the air at all, for anything."
Colonel Riskaa sat there, hesitating, thinking. Slowly, he got back up out of the chair, realizing just how serious the situation had become.
A uniformed official suddenly burst in through the door, nearly toppling the poor aide standing next to it. "Sir! The capital in the Macro region reports it is taking heavy fire from aerial units! Ground forces have been spotted outside the city!"
Riskaa could only stand there and shake his head after letting the information sink in. He gazed out the window a moment. "Here we go again."
--------
It was nighttime when the transport plane carrying the Washington Air Base pilots began to near the shores of the Macro region.
Glenn had tried his best to fall asleep, but the chair he sat in was uncomfortable beyond all belief, and besides, how could he sleep knowing he was going to war again? He glanced to his left at Rainey Banker, who calmly sat there, sleeping soundly. Glenn couldn't help but envy her slightly, wishing he could be doing the same. Oh well, he'd probably be able to get some sleep at the base they arrived at. Wherever the base was. They hadn't been informed at all of where they were specifically headed. All they'd been told was that they were going to Macro. Hell, Gordon had never been to Macro, nor did he really know about it at all. He simply knew that all of the countries in the Cosmo region had land here for themselves.
He sighed slightly, gazing out the window miserably. His stomach growled aggravatedly, asking Glenn for some food, but the pilot's brain told the stomach to hush up quickly. Glenn agreed with the smarter portion of his body. He felt far too depressed to even bother thinking about food or eating.
At least he was here with friends. Like he'd told himself a long time ago, if he watched out for these people, they'd watch out for him. It was still a good exchange.
Muscles bunched at the corners of Glenn's jaw as he ground his teeth. If anything, nervousness was beginning to combat the depression he felt. He began to grow slightly worried that he may not come back from this war. Heck, he'd barely come back from the last one, and most of his combat had been against Blue Moon. If anything, these Black Hole guys would know what they were doing now that they'd been in action against all of the countries - combined. Things were about to get a whole lot harder, obviously. This realization only made Glenn feel worse than already.
I've gotta cheer up, he thought. No one likes going to war, but Eagle and Drake didn't go moping around when that first one started. Why can't I be the same way? Things will be fine.
Somehow, he couldn't quite believe himself just yet.
Rainey began to stir in her seat. Glenn was about to greet her and say something, but a small flash of light outside the plane caught the corner of his right eye. Slowly, his head turned and looked out the porthole of the transport jet, looking for what the source of it had been. Was it storming? It had probably just been lightning. Tux probably wouldn't like that, and Glenn wouldn't have disagreed. The former Green Earth pilot did indeed like such weather, but not when he was right in the middle of it.
Immediately he realized that the flash of yellowish light he'd seen had not been weather-related. Streaks of yellow shot up at the sky from the ground. Obviously, they were no longer over the ocean but were nearing the Macro region. It looked to be anti-air units firing up at something, since the powerful, streaking bullets were clearly visible in the night, but who was firing? And what at?
"Uh oh," he murmured, drawing enough attention from Rainey to worry her.
"What's the matter?" She still sounded sleepy, but her eyes were quite wide.
Something was VERY wrong now. The bullets were coming faster and more often now, and it was painfully easy to tell that some of whatever was on the ground was aiming for the transport plane carrying the Washington pilots.
Before Glenn could really even think about this, the plane lurched to the side, throwing everyone on-board into the opposite sides of their seats. It wasn't the best wake-up call for some of the pilots, but it worked, despite the fact the purpose of the sudden turn hadn't necessarily been to wake everyone up from near-restless slumber.
"The hell's goin' on!?" Tuxedo's voice was clearly heard above the rest of the sudden onslaught of gibberish and jabbering.
Beauregard came out of the cockpit area and glared at them all, holding onto the sides of the small doorway to keep himself steady. It didn't seem to help much. "Everyone, wake your asses up! Someone get to the rear of the plane and man the guns back there!"
Everyone just stared at him as though he were talking like a flakey Yellow Cometer.
"Did you hear me!?" Beauregard growled loudly, and just pointed at Gordon. "Lieutenant, get back to the rear of the craft and take control of the twin-guns mounted back there. You too, Boggs! Get to the one of the other side of Glenn's!"
Glenn, at the moment, really didn't feel the need to question why Beauregard wanted Bubba and he back there all of a sudden. Perhaps it was because he felt they were the most trustworthy of folk in the squadron, or maybe he just didn't care who went back there, as long as someone was manning the guns. If that were the case, then the situation was probably worse than Glenn had originally hypothesized. Whatever the case, an intense sense of urgency overcame him, and he jumped out of the seat - which he was thankful for, since he felt as though he were getting saddlesore from the damned thing - and raced towards the back of the plane.
The race between he and Bubba down the narrow, confining aisle of the transporter lasted only seconds. Glenn's adrenaline was going fast now - The plane was yawning this way and that way, every porthole he could catch out the corners of his eyes flashed repeatedly with yellow light and bare glimpses of the bullet streaks outside, but if anything had him going, it was the hideously loud crashing-boom sounds of flak being fired at them from the ground. Moving faster than he could think, he reached the large twin-guns mounted near the back of the craft with the giant viewport giving him an even better eyesight as to what exactly was going on.
"Well," he heard Bubba say, "what are we supposed to do now?"
Glenn successfully ignored him. There had been a reason Beauregard had sent the two of them back here, and he was keeping an eye out, hoping to find out what that reason was before it shot the lot of them out of the sky.
Even though it was nighttime, Glenn could still see what was going on down on the ground fairly well from the flashes that the anti-air units gave off when firing - And he realized that accompanying those flashes were those of explosions, a downpour of ground-and-air-based gunfire, and the red & blue lights of emergency vehicles all around the area. He strained his eyes further, trying to get a better bead on everything that was going on down there.
If he wasn't mistaken, he clearly thought he could see the flashes illuminating off the many outer hulls of air units. Battle copters, if he were correct. But they didn't look orange, as he'd first automatically unconciously presumed they'd been. Their hulls seemed to shine with a metal finish, as though they were made of some alloy that whoever had constructed them need not fear of much damage to whatever it was.
More flashes illuminated the ground. It was clear now that the combat forces farther inland to the shore with the anti-air units in particular were more orange in color. "Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
Bubba turned around. "What's the matter?"
"Those damned friggin' morons," the Thunderbolt squadron leader growled, trying to contain his true anger towards the situation, "think we're the enemy! That's Orange Star down there firing at us!"
"Oh!" Bubba groaned and turned back to continue gazing out his own large viewport. "Wonderful."
If Orange Star were the ones firing at them, then Glenn automatically came to the assumption that it was Black Hole with those battle copters he'd seen. His first-ever glimpse of a Black Hole unit and perhaps his last. Somehow, he didn't quite feel as though he deserved a medal at the moment.
"Glenn," he heard Bubba mumble, "what are these three flashbats doing?"
Glenn turned around to glance out Bubba's viewport, the one opposite to his own. "What are you talkin' ab-"
Three of the enemy battle helicopters had broken off from the main attack and were currently closing to within range of the transport plane. The two Orange Star pilots watched them race past the transporter parallel to it, and they began to circle around to try to get on its tail.
So this was the 'reason.' "Bubba, get ready! They're comin' around on us!"
He turned and yelled towards the front of the craft. "Hey, get ready to do some tight turns, here!"
The sight of Beauregard groaning and informing the transporter's pilot of their new situation didn't bring much hope to Glenn, nor Bubba. Well, Glenn thought, might as well get this over with. "Be careful, Bubs."
"You too, Gordo'." Bubba turned the large, imposing machinery he manned in the direction of the battle copters now pursuing them. Glenn proceeded to imitate the move, hesitating, waiting for them to get in range. His carefully trained eye and experience both told his brain when and where to fire, a trait poor Bubba probably didn't have the leisure of having. Glenn simply had more air experience, that was all. That and Gordon didn't think Bubba had the best of eyesight, either. But even, Heaven forbid, if the big man was blind in both eyes and was as smart as a box of rocks, Glenn knew he would be able to count on him for help, wherever and whenever.
It was only a matter of seconds before one of the Black Hole battle copters drew within range of the two twin-guns of Glenn Gordon and Bubba Boggs.
Glenn opened fire immediately, prodding Bubba to do the same. The heavy, powerful streaks of yellowish-orange bullets shot off from the transport plane's two gunning locations, soaring back towards the flock of battle copters pursuing them. The lead copter duked to Glenn's left and appeared to hesitate there to the Orange Star pilot while the other two returned the gesture. Some of their gunfire missed the transport plane by mere feet.
Swiveling the giant firearm mechanism, Glenn took aim towards the two copters bunched closley together, both still firing at the transport plane. Pressing the large dual triggers on the gun, more yellow streaks shot out from their large, blundering aircraft towards the copters. The enemy craft's gunfire ceased and both were sent into a tizzy from which they had to recover.
More gunfire came at them, this time from the lead enemy chopper. Glenn felt his stomach pitch as the transport plane lurched to its side after the pilot had seen the bright, powerful gunfire flying past the canopy and off into the distance. Bubba was still carrying on the lightfight between he and another copter where Glenn couldn't aim at from his side. Gordon couldn't help but wonder if Bubba was affected at all by the horrendous gravity forces or not.
Glenn allowed himself to relax slightly as the plane turned and was rewarded by having his body shoved towards his side of the curved hull with a painfully loud bang. "G'ah!"
His moment of weakness allowed the lead copter to get away with firing another batch of bullets toward them, and some of these made contact. The "PING" sound of bullets hitting the outer hull of a plane was unmistakable - Glenn would never forget it after having been shot down himself during his Green Earth campaign. "We've taken some damage back here!"
Thankfully, the bullets hadn't penetrated the hull. If that had happened, Glenn thought, we could basically say goodbye to any air pressure in here, along with our lives.
He watched as the lead copter continued to annoy them like a fly bugging a cat, eyeing it as it duked back and forth, trying to goad Glenn into firing at it and catching him off-guard. Gordon only hesitated, waiting for the copter to settle down slightly before firing again. The chopper couldn't very well hit its target while it was whiffing this way and that way, and Glenn realized this. He'd wait.
The wait didn't last long. The enemy chopper's erratic movements slowed ever so slightly, and Glenn took no longer of a break. More gunfire tore from the twin-guns towards the aircraft, this time more than one bullet making contact with its intended target.
With the enemy craft slowed as it was, there was no missing his target. Even though he didn't stop firing, he could clearly see the ominous front of the battle chopper shatter like a watermelon, destroyed casing pieces spraying out every which way as one of the twin engines shred up and blew apart. The copter began an unstoppable, jagged spin towards the dirt. It would seem Glenn wouldn't have to worry about those things being impenetrable. "Hah-hah!"
Bubba had not yet been able to take care of either of the gnats behind the transporter. Glenn looked out the other viewport and noticed his fellow pilot was trying to concentrate on both of them at the same time. "Bub', you have to concentrate on ONE of them! Choose the closest one!"
"But, damn, Glenn, they just keep switchin' positions. I'm gettin' dizzy- headed just tryin' to keep up with 'em!" Bubba didn't cease firing even as he spoke, making it nearly impossible to hear him. Glenn didn't bother trying to hear whatever excuse the man had. He'd have to take care of those two himself, if need be.
Again, the transporter lofted to one side, nearly throwing Glenn off his feet. "Damn it!"
Bubba snapped off more shots at the pursuing choppers, spreading them farther from each other, and allowed one of them to get within Glenn's sights. The Thunderbolt squadron leader fired almost as soon as the enemy copter had come within firing range, but he was still off balance slightly from the heavy turn the transport plane was in. None of the shots he'd fired made contact, nor did any even come within remote vicinity of hitting the copter, causing him to feel a half-second-long wave of embarrassment.
He pumped more shots out, this time towards the bottom of the enemy craft, trying to goad it into getting more into his line of fire. The chopper barely even nudged from its position. "Come on!"
Glenn wave towards his gunmate. "Bubba, fire at this one!"
Without any hesitation, Boggs did so without remorse, prodding the enemy chopper more within Glenn's line of fire. While the current, lurching motion the plane was in meant he didn't have a flame's chance of hitting anything as far away as Glenn's intended target, he knew what the squadron's flight leader was trying to accomplish here. Within only two seconds the chopper had juked back right into open range of Glenn's mounted twin-guns.
The Thunderbolt flight leader sent mountains of bright, powerful gunfire towards the enemy copter, causing its pilot to shove forward on the controls and send it into a plunge to evade the deadly ammunition. Glenn anticipated this, and moved the large, twin-gun mechanism ever so slightly forward, causing his aim to follow where the Black Hole chopper had dropped with intense speed. The gunfire from the twin-guns became a constant blur as long, bright-yellow arms tried to reach out and slap the enemy battle copter from above.
The enemy chopper began to try to twist out of the path of the gunfire, but its turn caused its rear end to come around. The rear rotor and upper wing shredded and shattered as though the bullets were hitting a combination of paper and ice, and this sent the copter into an even worse spin than its pilot had intended for it. Within seconds, the copter was plummeting towards the ground to join whatever was left of its comrade.
The final copter apparently decided it had had enough of playing around and began to open fire on the transporter without even taking care to preciously aim correctly. "Get him, Bubba!"
Glenn's head swiveled towards Bubba's viewport, but his eyes went towards the wing of the craft, quickly being shred as though a chainsaw were being taken to it. "Come on!"
Bubba wouldn't even have to fire. The enemy battle helicopter suddenly exploded in a bright flash of red, and its firey remains began to slowly fall out of the sky. Glenn spied a few large streaks of bright yellow shooting up past the wreckage just as it combusted, and he allowed himself to at least smirk. "I guess those guys on the ground figured out what they were doing."
"Yeah," Bubba muttered, though his voice showed he didn't believe Glenn, nor did his eyes which continued to gaze down at the ground to make sure the anti-air units didn't pull something funny out of their rears and try and shoot down the transporter again.
Glenn ignored him and began to make for the front of the craft. He tried to single out on concentrating on Beauregard, but he couldn't help but look at everyone to see how they were doing. Most of them looked scared to death, especially Tristan Royal, the poor kid. Glenn could see where their fear came from --He'd personally rather be in control of a swinging, weaving plane being fired upon, too. "We're clear back here, Commander."
Beauregard seemed to settle down slightly, his hand over his heart. "Phew. Good, good job, Gordon, Boggs. I'd prefer if you kept back there for the time being, though, since a few more of those flies could come back at any minute."
Glenn personally didn't feel that was necessary, since the pleasantly bright little show they'd put on had probably deterred any other Black Hole craft from coming up and trying to get at them, but even still, he obliged with the request from his Commander, just for the sake of making the older fellow feel better about the situation.
"How's that wing looking?" Glenn stopped by Marcus Madison, who sat next to the viewport directly next to the wing that concenred the flight leader.
"Well, it looks like it got hit with a grenade, but it's doing alright. It should last us a flight to wherever we're going and back again." Marcus seemed especially cool, despite what had just occured. Too bad the same couldn't be said for alot of the other pilots, most of whom Glenn didn't recognize as being in his squadron. He couldn't help but wonder if some of these boys and girls in the new squadrons from Washington were nothing but greenies. If they were enlisting people as young as these, then this Black Hole situation must be worse than it looked.
And from what Glenn had just seen, it had looked quite bad.
He stepped back towards the rear of the craft towards where Bubba now sat on the dusty floor, and stopped next to the large twin-guns. The battle still seemed to be going on as badly as before, but it was occuring behind them. Inky blackness coated the ground up ahead and to the sides of the transporter. "Looks like we're in the clear."
"I hope so," Bubba muttered. "I don't want to have to go through that again tonight. I ain't slept all day."
Glenn rolled his eyes. "You know, most people sleep at night rather than during the day."
"I," Bubba reasoned, "like to sleep during both. Sue me."
The flight leader just shook his head and looked back out the viewport towards the combat and all the flashes of war. He was truly glad he wasn't down there at the moment. Being up here in the sky was the place to be; that was how he liked it and that was how it would stay.
Then he smiled, looking at the grumpy man sitting on the floor near him. "It's been a while since he had a good victory like that. At least this is one victory we can have without having to toast dead comrades, and I, for one, like the change."
Bubba finally smiled. "You 'n' me both. What do you say we keep it this way?"
Glenn returned the expression fully. "Fair enough."
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Author Notes:
Nothing much to say here. I would, however, like to thank Dr. Bross for all his support. No matter what anyone says, around here on fanfiction.net, it's the reviews that keep a writer going. "Oh boy, a new review." You know the feeling. It's like getting candy. Anyway, thanks for reading, and any "R's" are appreciated.