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.
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The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
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~----~
~Mission Fifteen: The Battle of Fate's Point~
~----~
For the first few moments, when Glenn awoke, he didn't quite know where he was. Initially, the darkness around him was mysterious, confusing, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be getting up early. The second thing he realized was that someone was knocking on his room's door, and loudly. It was the start to what was sure to be the most dramatic day of Glenn Gordon's life thus far.
He went through his traditional wake-up routine, heading into the room's very cramped restroom to shower, brush his teeth, and the like, but today, something told him that this very well may be the last time he performed his usual morning practices here at Reagan, or perhaps anywhere. Still, he waited until he was done getting ready to wake up Tux, since the man absolutely loathed being forced to get up early. Besides, he had probably ended up staying up late anyway, even with their decisive mission coming today.
As Glenn readied himself for the slowly-awakening day in the restroom, he couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Thunderbolt Squadron was short two pilots and had a cripple or two in it already, with Glenn and Bubba still recovering from the wounds they had taken in the gunfight not three days earlier. Glenn's hand brushed over his stomach as he looked down at where the bullet had penetrated his body. A very black feeling ran through him as he remembered the chaos on that day, as he remembered what had happened to him. As he remembered that he had almost died.
What were they doing? This was probably going to be the biggest fight of his life. Yet their squadron was bloodied, unprepared for what lay ahead. This was wrong.
Still, he had no choice. He was a fighter pilot, and he had to do what was necessary of him as long as he remained in such a role. At least he knew he was with friends here - Friends who would shield him so long as he shielded them. The exchange was still there, and forever it would stay now.
A dank mist hung over the Reagan base's tarmac as the six Thunderbolt pilots shuffled out of the central building and headed for the orange fighter jets sitting patiently, waiting for their comrades. The first thing Glenn noticed when he stepped out the door and onto the tarmac's concrete was that a light rain was accompanying the mist and the darkness. Perhaps it was an omen, but he didn't know whether to look at it as positive or negative.
Decked out completely in their flight glear, the pilots loaded themselves up and awaited the command for taxiing as the safety crews gave their final check-overs on the planes. By now, the other squadrons were filing out of the base and were making their way towards their own fighters, although Thunderbolt Squadron would be lifting off first.
It wasn't until fifteen minutes after the squadron had wrapped themselves into their fighters that the jets began to shuffle off the tarmac and onto the runway with the acceptance from the ever-minding control tower. Glenn was last to take off since he felt a leader always stayed until the end for his subordinates, or in this case, his friends. He now had grown strong views toward what a leader was supposed to be, and he made sure he would follow those views to the best of his ability, even if they would get him killed.
The Reagan-based squadrons flew over the grassy Macro regions, a few farmers gazing up at the sound of what seemed to be a thousand angry locomotives blazing overhead in unison. But in the darkness, the ground- dwellers saw nothing. There was only the sound of the fighter jets, and it only helped to remind them of the current state their country was in.
Over time, more squadrons joined the Reagans, consisting of both fighters and bombers. Glenn was near the front of the large-scale aerial convoy, but if he looked behind him in his seat, he would have seen more aircraft than he could ever hope to count. Still, he knew they were there, and looking at them would only worry him more about their situation.
He sat there tensely in the cockpit of his fighter, wishing the day would end quickly - But when it did end, he hoped he would be there to finish it.
Past Fog Valley the squadrons flew, taking a north-easterly route. The pleasant, grassy areas began to give way to darker scenery, rocky terrain, dead foliage. If Black Hole had to have a base anywhere, it would have to have been here, Glenn realized. No other force could be so despicably evil and put a base in this atrocious region.
By the time an hour and a half had passed since they had taken off, if he looked hard enough, Glenn thought he could see the giant peak of Fate's Point beginning to make its presence known in the distance. He went through a final, mental checklist of what he would have to do when combat inevitably arose. Since the ground forces couldn't arrive at the base as soon as the air forces could, they'd have to go it alone for some time. Still, they had more than enough fighters and bombers here to lay waste to half the Macro-Orange Star region entirely. There was no way that this particular Black Hole base could match strength against theirs.
"I have visual confirmation on Fate's Point," the leading pilot's voice crackled into the helmet radio all the pilots wore. "Our estimated arrival time is three minutes."
Three minutes left. Glenn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what was going to occur when the squadrons launched their initial attack on the Fate's Point base. But the base itself still wasn't visible, with the darkness and all. But he should have been able to see lights and such, emenating from the base like big beacons pointing the attacking squadrons in the right direction. Glenn found the lack of light bizarre, but perhaps Black Hole felt darkness was their greatest ally.
Two minutes left. He should have been able to see the base by now. The sun wouldn't be coming up for another ten minutes or so, and the fighters didn't come equipped with any sort of night-vision-capable equipment.
For a moment, Glenn wondered if they were all headed in the right direction, if the Fate's Point base was actually on the other side of the mountain range itself, but if that were so, wouldn't he have been able to see the light pollution created by the base? Something here wasn't right.
One minute left. By now, Glenn was very worried, not only for himself but for the safety of his comrades. He checked his radars and instruments, but nothing came out surprising. Apparently, the man leading all the squadrons was feeling just as ill at ease as the Thunderbolt leader was.
"Maintain visual scanning." That was all that needed to be said at the moment.
Still, Glenn was utterly perplexed. Could the information they had recieved have been incorrect somehow? But that was impossible. Those soldiers had risked their lives to bring their leaders such information, and everyone knew what Fate's Point looked like. What was the deal here? And as if that weren't illogical enough, Glenn felt, the only reason the enemy would have shut down the base's lights would be if they knew the Orange Star attack was comi-
"KUH-BOOM!"
The deafening explosion rumbled through the atmosphere as though some great meteor had slammed into Wars World.
An enormous, bright flash of light had caught the corners of Glenn's vision moments before the violent explosive sound had torn through his hearing. At first, he couldn't help but wonder if someone had just nuked the bottom of Fate's Point, but then he realized that it had been an immense muzzle flash. And that was when the automobile-sized projectile had shot right past him and slammed into a large patch of Orange Star fighters.
Another explosion linked the horrible sounds, but this one had come from behind a now-terrified Glenn. In an instant, five or six Orange Star fighters had been flying along casually as though nothing were wrong, and now they were all dropping to the dirt, hardly anything remaining of them. Hardly anything. The fighters had literally disintigrated, vaporized in the explosion that had occured when the enormous shell slammed into one of them.
Before Glenn could speak, chatter consumed the radio.
"What the hell was that!?"
"What's going on!?"
"Holy crap!"
"What should we do, lead!?"
There was no answer to the last one. Glenn blinked confusedly for a second, then immediately realized what exactly was going on. Frantically, he shoved his fighter down into a spiral, just as the bright-yellow streaks of bullets shooting up from the ground toward the squadrons signified enemy anti-air units stationed all over the ground. "It's a trap! Thunderbolts, look out!"
Glenn's squadron complied without hesitation. The five fighters thundered downwards after their leader as most of the other Orange Star air forces volleyed around in a terrible mish-mash of confusion. Over the radio, Glenn could hear the squadron leaders attempting to get their comrades in- line, to get them all together successfully, but it would take some time. Time they didn't have. Glenn was glad to get his squadron away from them, otherwise they may have been stuck in the middle of all of the whole messy tangle.
But then there came a warning to which he hadn't quite been prepared for. "Missile! Missile!"
His eyes shot down towards the ground. Another projectile was clearly headed for the attacking forces he was a part of, the same attacking forces who had not yet gotten themselves out of the web they were tied up in. "Everyone, look out! Get out of there!"
But his own words would be of no use. Another Orange Star fighter exploded, sending shards of flaming shrapnel flying in a thousand multiple directions. But the explosion seemed to help untangle the giant mess of disoriented confusion the air force was caught up in, and many of them dove towards the ground in an attempt to catch up with Thunderbolt Squadron.
Some of them didn't make it. The bright anti-air rounds tore through numerous aircraft and sent them spiraling towards the dark ground as though someone had just taken jackhammers to them. Any hopes of the air force even launching their attack at all began to fade away as the casualties mounted, and they weren't even fifteen seconds into the combat phase of the operation.
With uncountable numers of sickeningly powerful, yellow-hued anti-air rounds racing up into the sky all around him, Glenn ratcheted the throttle up to full as he shot towards the ground at well over mach one, his five wingmates all by his sides. The fighters each reached a stomach-twisting eight hundred miles an hour as gravity helped pull them towards the base, and Glenn in particular was forced to keep his mind and eyes steady at such a speed. One never quite got used to such actions, especially in the middle of death.
"Missile from the base's east! Heads up!" Glenn was thankful to have so many eyes and ears watching out for he and everyone else. This time, everyone was tensed up and fully aware enough of their surroundings that this missile from a random rocket launcher on the Fate's Point base skewed past each and every one of them. It fluttered off clumsily towards nowhere in particular as the Orange Star air attackers raced towards the base.
Glenn smirked, despite what was going on around him. "Good job, guys!"
But the smirk instantly faded, even before he finished his sentence. That terrifying, bright muzzle flash had just come a second time.
"LOOK OUT!" he shouted over the radio as he shoved the stick forward as hard as it would go. The Thunderbolts, still following their leader, made the same movement as they felt the disturbingly enormous projectile fly over them, its propulsion sending a tremendous fan of air onto their canopies.
And there was that deafening boom again. Glenn was prepared for it this time, but it still hurt his ears like nothing else could. It was the most terrible sound he had ever heard in his entire life, but more explosions from behind him threatened to take over that role in a heart-beat.
Glenn wouldn't have to turn around to know they had lost even more aircraft now. Whatever that damned thing was on the ground that was firing such atrocious ammunition at them, it was doing a good job of clearing out the Orange Star numbers. By now, they had lost approximately half of their initial numbers, and the operation had just started! Glenn thought for a moment that this was suicide, but then, something within him told him to keep going. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't bother asking it any useless questions, since he partially agreed with the feeling over the matter.
Three thousand feet above the ground, Glenn pulled back on the yoke and leveled his fighter out, the Thunderbolts skillfully following the maneuver. This made it harder for anti-air units and rockets to track them and make contact with whatever it was they fired. But that wouldn't matter soon enough, for Glenn just noticed as he leveled out that the attacks from the base had ceased.
It immediately struck him as abnormal that the Fate's Point had suddenly canceled out its attack on the oncoming Orange Star air forces. Initially, he wondered what on Wars World had caused the halt to the action, but then, his mind centered on the only logical explanation. Without waiting, he pulled back on the yoke, heading right back up to a higher altitude as he called out to his allies. "Maintain radar scanning! Watch for enemy fighters!"
He wouldn't have to wait long for an answer as he shot upwards. A random pilot lost in the middle of the air force was the first one to get the news out. "I have multiple bandits on radar, they're coming to join us!"
Glenn checked his own radar. It told him that what the pilot had said wasn't false. Indeed, as he raised his head and looked out the canopy, he could clearly see in the darkness multiple jet engines shooting up from the ground. The enemy fighters were obviously taking off, but they would be engaged in combat soon enough. Glenn didn't want to wait for them to come up and join them for tea - He wanted them dead, now. "Follow me, Thunderbolts! Hit the runway!"
Thunderbolt Squadron shot towards the enemy Black Hole runway, missiles spewing out from under their wings as they drew within closing distance. Dome-shaped explosions rocked the air field as the squadron succeeded in taking out more than a few Black Hole aircraft, though not all of them were fighters. Still, the enemy numbers dwindled, and that was satisfactory in Glenn's view. "Let's hit 'em a second time! Come around again!"
"Roger Wilco, boss," Tux chuckled as he closed up to Glenn's wing. Was the guy having fun or something? Glenn didn't want to know - Although he himself did get a kick out of taking out anything that was painted black, at the moment. Fair enough, he thought. Maybe if he took Tux's approach, things wouldn't look so grim.
The six Orange Star fighters each began a wide turn as they circled back around toward the runway.
Deep inside the Black Cannon's main control room, Lash stood behind the alien chief operator, her thin arms at her sides blankly as she stared at the numerous visual monitors showcasing the battle. Her bland eyes moved away from the monitors to look at the repulsive cannon operator in the chair at the main operations terminal. "Isn't it lovely?"
The Black Hole alien hesitated, then turned around to stare at her with its big, red pupils a moment in befuddlement. "Excuse me, my lady?"
"Isn't it lovely?" she repeated a second time in the exact same tone.
The operator sat there, staring at her.
Then it turned around and looked at the numerous monitors representing toppling levels of death and destruction. Was Lash talking about all of that? The cannon operator gurgled its slimy throat in disgust with both the commander and the fact that it had to sit here risking its life for this ridiculous war. The blamed roof could cave in on them at any moment because one lone Orange Star fighter decided to be a hero and fire a missile at the dome-shaped building the turret sat on. Didn't Lash care?
Apparently not. At the moment, she was standing there, chuckling to herself at every little explosion she viewed, even the ones blatantly showcasing their own side's carnage. The operator would have rolled its eyes, if it had such a physical ability.
It hesitated again, its mind obviously fixed on something. Worriedly, the operator tilted its head slightly as it examined the numerous battles on the monitors. "My lady, didn't Kailaff Boldigh go up with his squadron?"
"I believe he did," Lash responded blankly.
The operator turned in its chair slightly. "I'm curious as to how that little strategy of his is going to come in handy in such a fight as this. There are far too many enemy fighters for him to successfully check and see which is the leader, and he couldn't possibly-"
"There is no need for concern," Lash answered, interrupting the agitated operator as explosions from outside caused the walls around them to rumble slightly. "Kailaff Boldigh is the greatest pilot in the world. He will find the enemy leader, and when he does, he will kill them. He does not need a worthless sack of mesh like you criticizing him."
Mumbling quietly to itself, the very annoyed operator turned back around to stare at the visuals disgustedly. "Yes, why should a worthless being like myself be concerned with such things? I'm only a bloody Major, that's all . . ."
Suddenly, without warning, Lash smiled meekly at the operator. "Fire the cannon again."
The creature whirled around. "What!?"
"Fire the cannon again." Same tone, same expression.
"But our own fighters are up there! We'll take losses!" Any attempt to counter what its commander told it would probably prove to be useless, but by God, the operator had to try. For all it knew, the commander wasn't grasping the situation logically at all.
"Do it. Concentrate the fire on the largest area of enemy forces."
And that was that. The operator had no choice, provided it didn't want to upset Lash and make her have it be killed right there in its seat. Flustered and agitated, the operator went through the firing procedures, pulling a bank of switches on the terminal. "Ten seconds to firing."
Back outside, the air battle was by now raging. Black Hole now matched Orange Star's numbers, if not by more, and Thunderbolt Squadron was racing towards the enormous fur ball that had ensued right over the base. Bright explosions scorned the skies, accompanied by the bright yellow of bullets being fired, and the long streaks of blue and yellow thanks to missiles being fired every waking moment.
"Engage at will!" Glenn shot right into the midst of the fight and found himself struggling immediately. As if he didn't have enough trouble trying to take down enemy fighters, the constant source of worry was not smashing right into a fellow Orange Star plane. It seemed as though every jet was tied together by a giant mess of rope that kept them together in this whole tangle.
He made no attempt to target any one fighter specifically. There were just too many of them right now. He had to take whatever was given to him. And it didn't help that the radio was being overrun with yells and warnings consisting mostly of "I got one" and "there's one on me," nevermind the fact these people didn't bother listing their names or positions. Things were getting rough.
Blowing apart a Black Hole fighter easily enough as he swept this way and that way, looped over here and over there, and barreled like a corkscrew right through a patch of indiscernable fighters, Glenn couldn't help but wonder how he'd ever gotten himself into this mess. This did indeed feel like one of the lesser-known forms of suicide, but he tried to etch that out of his mind at the moment.
"KAH-BOOM!"
Oh damn, Glenn thought. "Heads up!"
But the enormous projectile apparently moved at the speed of sound, so Glenn's warning wouldn't help at all. More fighters exploded in firey infernoes, but this time, a few Black Hole fighters went with them. Startled by such ferocious neglegence for comradery in the Black Hole ranks, Glenn shot a glare towards where the newest muzzle flash had come from.
This time, though, as he looked towards the ground, he could see the cannon itself. The sun was starting to come up by the smallest amount, and a dank blue hung over the area, giving the attackers a little more visual comprehension of the ground and their targets. If Glenn could have, and without dying, he would have kissed the sun. "Look at that thing! It's a giant cannon!"
Immediately, he knew what he had to do, even while recieving numerous perplexed responses over the communications radio. His mission plan had just changed. Pitching the flight stick forward, Glenn took off directly for that enormous cannon, the source of their troubles. "Thunderbolts, come with me to the cannon! Hit it with everything you've got!"
"Don't fly in its firing direction!" Bubba yelled as the six fighters burst out of the immense dogfight, shooting like a couple of missiles towards the giant cannon and the dome building it sat on.
As they began to race towards the tremendous structure, now that the margin for error had diminished, anti-air units began taking fire at them once again in an attempt to stop the squadron's run. Glenn shoved the yoke every which way he could to avoid the bright streaks of yellow that threatened to shoot him out of the sky like a bird. "Anti-air! Heads up!"
Like an age-old group of knights riding into doom, the Thunderbolts drew ever closer to the cannon that sat waiting for its own destruction as they spiraled around in any direction they could to avoid the anti-air units' gunfire. But then, the gunfire suddenly stopped again. This time, though, Glenn was ready. "Keep an eye on your radars! We're gonna have company!"
And there they came. The pilots of the squadron. Underneath it all, Glenn knew exactly who these enemy pilots were. The large, black hawk emblem on one of the enemy fighers' wings clearly expressed who the leader of this particular enemy squadron was, at that. Instantly, the Thunderbolt leader knew he was in for a hellish fight. "Watch out, 'bolts, these guys are tough! You should know who they are by now!"
"We'll handle them just fine, boss," the ever-arrogant Tuxedo Ral countered as his eyes immediately moved towards the plane marked 'Gallow.' The very same plane that was headed toward his own, obviously challenging him. "I believe I have somethin' to settle with this one here, so you folks just ignore us, if you would be so kind."
Glenn grinned in the midst of all of this. "Whatever you say, wing."
I have my own little score to settle, too, he then thought. There it came, blowing past his own orange fighter. The enemy Black Hole jet with the hawk emblems.
Turning the yoke hard to starboard, Glenn began an attempt to come around to get Kailaff Boldigh into firing range, but by now he knew the other pilot was an undeniably skilled one. Boldigh would not let himself be so easily taken out. Already the pilot was in a loop, trying to come around on Glenn himself.
Gordon wasn't quite able to get moving quick enough at first, though. A noisy beeping sound suddenly arose in his cockpit. Boldigh was attempting to get a missile lock on him. "Crap!"
Hauling the flight stock backwards and to the right ever so slightly, Glenn shot past Boldigh's descending fighter in a lopsided corkscrew maneuver. The beeping sound subsided, allowing the lead Thunderbolt to breathe again, or breathe as well as he could have in the middle of all of this.
Boldigh's fighter ceased the plunge it was in and began to rise back upwards, turning as it did to try and get this tenacious Orange Star fighter that had plagued it for so long into its line of sight. But Glenn was already gone from where he'd been, circling the other jet like a buzzard. The custom Black Hole fighter slowed greatly as the tightness of the turn increased, still trying to grab at Gordon's plane and throw it towards the ground.
But then, all of a sudden, streaks of yellow shot past Boldigh's plane. Obviously, it startled him, since he was so fixed on this one lone fighter jet for some reason, and the experienced pilot was forced to concentrate on the gunfire from another plane for a hair of a second, avoiding it with apparent ease.
In this one moment, though, he ignored Gordon. Having evaded the gunfire, Boldigh once again centered on taking out the Orange Star Thunderbolt leader, but before he could even think about doing so, a noisy beeping sounded out from his controls. Boldigh didn't care at first, but when the beeping became a long, constant note that never finished, he cursed out loud and shoved his own control stick hard to port as a missile blew right past his sailing fighter.
Glenn Gordon, with assistance from Achmed Yahasititapen, had just showed Kailaff Boldigh that the Black Hole pilot was not quite as immovably skilled as people seemed to think he was.
Tux, meanwhile, was busy struggling against Zodo Gallow, the obvious second- in-command of Boldigh's squadron. The two of them were locked in a tremendous death-dance, neither of them really being able to take a potshot at the other at the moment. It would seem that it would stay that way until one or the other eventually passed out for exhaustion, but that was quite frankly unacceptable, in Tux's view. He had to beat this guy somehow.
But then, an explosion. Tux didn't bother to look, since he was so concentrated on what he was doing, but one of Boldigh's squadron members had just taken a missile to its rear fuselage, courtesy of Fel Banon. The destroyed Black Hole fighter plummeted to the ground, but Tux noticed that Zodo Gallow had to take care to avoid the flaming wreckage.
Not hesitating to wait for a second chance, Tux skillfully took the oppurtunity to get the busy Gallow within his gun sights, and he initiated the missile lock-on procedure.
The familiar beeping came about as he carefully moved the control stick, trying to get a lock on Gallow. The enemy squadron pilot was by now aware of the situation he was in and was currently executing a combination of random, wild movements, but whatever he did, Tuxedo Ral hung with him as though he were a skilled member of Boldigh's squadron himself.
Finally, the beeping became constant. Gallow's fighter was locked.
But Tux didn't fire. He only waited.
Then, as he had predicted so, the enemy plane leveled out casually as though its fighting were done, and it was time to head home. Zodo Gallow had just surrendered.
Tux grinned to himself. The first time he and Gallow had been in combat against each other, the enemy pilot had broken off his attack and come up onto Tux's wing, actually giving a friendly-enough wave to the Orange Star pilot. At first, Tuxedo had been utterly startled and confused, but later, after giving it some thought, he'd realized Gallow obviously held at least some respect towards the pilots he fought against.
And now, though he hadn't killed Gallow, he'd defeated him. Kailaff Boldigh's squadron was falling apart.
Still, it wasn't over yet. Glenn Gordon was still locked in his own battle with Boldigh, and he was by now growing frustrated with the situation he was in. They said a cornered rat could fight like a powerful lion, and now Glenn certainly believed the saying. Boldigh was tougher now if anything.
But then, suddenly, Glenn noticed Boldigh was no longer chasing him. The enemy pilot was now fixed on another Thunderbolt - Rainey Banker. "Rainey, he's on you! Get out of there!"
"I can't lose him!" the female pilot called back as she sent her fighter into a series of random twists and turns to evade the tenacious Boldigh's attempt at a missile lock. Whatever she did, it just wasn't enough. Boldigh was too skilled and experienced for Rainey to simply get away from him. Wheeling her fighter around, she prepared for the missile that Boldigh would inevitably send her way.
"Rainey!" Glenn called a second time out of terror.
"KAH-BOOM!"
The sound wave pummeled the numerous fighters locked in the fight next to the cannon.
This time, the Black Cannon had been aiming towards the largest patch of Thunderbolts in the dogfight with Boldigh's squadron. The projectile flew through the air, accompanying the tremendous sound it brought about.
Rainey and most everyone else for that matter saw the immense muzzle flash. No longer caring about Boldigh or his inevitable missile, she shoved the stick backwards as hard as she could to get out of the way of the cannon projectile coming their way. It blew under her at a scarily faster speed than she was traveling at as she spiraled around, four G's threatening to knock her out. Most every other pilot took care to keep far away from the projectile's obvious path as well, most of them taking into consideration the direction the turret was pointed.
But one pilot in particular did not notice the muzzle flash.
Kailaff Boldigh was known for having a great amount of patience and concentration. It had won him many battles against even the best of enemy pilots, sometimes waiting for hours on end to make his strike. His skill harkened back to the days of early wars, where pilots had to wait for hours on end as well in their ruddy old biplanes, trying to gather up enough patience to lash out at their opponent when the perfect oppurtunity finally arose.
Today, his skill would be his downfall.
As Rainey Banker shot upwards, Boldigh hauled back on his own stick, pitching his fighter in a laterall direction.
The projectile blazed under Rainey's plane at that very moment. Into the bottom-back of Boldigh's plane it slammed, tearing right through it with the strength of a multi-million man army. The Black Hole fighter lopped forward from the impact and spun around and around at an unpredictable speed, the gravitational forces immediately knocking the fighter's experienced pilot unconcious.
Glenn, and everyone in the entire dogfight in particular, stared at Kailaff Boldigh's fighter jet. It spiraled forward with no sign of slowing anytime soon. Finally, after a dramatic few seconds, the partially-destroyed plane careened right into the side of the Black Cannon's turret and exploded, taking a good deal of the turret itself with it in its final destruction. The turret began to crumble completely, destroyed.
Glenn Gordon sat there a moment, taking what had just happened in.
Cheering and yelling erupted over the radio. The rest of Boldigh's squadron was surrendering in the same manner that Zodo Gallow had, and the cannon was now inoperable. And as if things weren't looking up enough, the larger aerial battle over the Fate's Point base had finally been decided. Whatever was left of the Black Hole air force was bugging out and returning to the mostly-demolished runway as the entire Orange Star aerial attackers pursued them.
Glenn suddenly realized that the fight was over. The Orange Star ground forces would be arriving soon to clean up what was left of the Fate's Point base, since insurmountable aircraft had plunged into every part of it, destroying who knew how many structures and taking who knew how many lives.
But it was over. He smiled slightly to himself and sighed.
But there was the nagging feeling that somehow, it WASN'T over. Something just didn't feel right.
Glenn hesitated a moment, then looked back at the Black Cannon.
Inside the cannon's dome-building, at the control room, Lash stood there, brooding, obviously baffled as the walls around them shook, as explosions sounded out around her in the building. She couldn't fathrom what she had done wrong. She was the commander of the greatest weapon ever built, she held the trigger to destruction of their enemies. Yet they were all but defeated, those same enemies threatening to run them over at any moment.
But there was still fun to be had. There was still a way to keep those enemies from overrunning the Black Hole cause for which she fought.
Lash stared at the still-annoyed and now very-terrified terminal operator as a fire broke out on a control panel on the opposite side of the room. "Fire the cannon."
The operator turned in its seat, eyeing her strangely, as though what she was saying was on the verge of being the words of a brainless doof. "Excuse me?"
"Fire the cannon." As always, same tone. Same bland expression on that disturbing face of hers.
"You've got be kidding, my lady," the operator gurgled, "the turret is inoperable. If we try and fire the cannon, it'll result in a multi-megaton explosion. Everything within miles will be wiped clear off the face of this world!"
"I know." That was her only response.
Glaring at her, the cannon operator stood up from its seat. "You, my lady, are insane, and I do not wish to be a part of your mad thirst for death. Goodbye, my lady."
And the operator left to seek shelter with the rest of its alien comrades, leaving Lash to stand there a moment. She approached the terminal and began punching in random numbers, initiating the cannon's powering-up procedure. This would take care of their enemies just fine. Just fine.
The Black Hole commander smiled slightly as she finished the initial procedures. Then, finally, she had the pleasure of pressing the large, ominous yellow button in the center of the console.
Ten seconds to firing. The terminal counted the seconds away audibly over the building's radios. She stood back away from the terminal and giggled like a happy little girl to herself.
Suddenly, she stopped giggling and looked toward the ceiling.
The high-pitched screams of multiple missiles had just overcome the counting.
Thunderbolt Squadron blazed away from the Black Cannon as the dome-shaped building the turret sat on exploded in a firey blaze, the enormous boom sounding off across the landscape. The fighter jets each performed more than a few rolls as pilots cheered and shouted victory praises over the communications radio in their helmets.
Glenn, in particular, didn't care to pitch his fighter into a roll out of happiness. He simply took joy in the fact that the battle was over, and that he hadn't lost a single wingmate today. He grinned in satisfaction as he watched his friends pull a load of stunt-like maneuvers through the air.
"Alright, 'Bolts," he said, his grin only widening, "let ground forces handle the rest of the operation. We're goin' home."
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Author Notes:
That was fun to write. Too bad I'm worn out, now - Oh well. It was worth it, and I'm glad I got this particular chapter finally done. I hope you enjoyed it. And, Lightningfencer, if you meant "part III," since the first Fighters story sort of IS part I, well, I suppose that as long as Wars games surrounding Orange Star, Blue Moon, and etcetera keep coming out, there'll be a Fighters story to accompany them, IF I can come up with a plot. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you R+R. Stick around, the finale of "the Fighters: Part II" is next.
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The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
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~----~
~Mission Fifteen: The Battle of Fate's Point~
~----~
For the first few moments, when Glenn awoke, he didn't quite know where he was. Initially, the darkness around him was mysterious, confusing, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be getting up early. The second thing he realized was that someone was knocking on his room's door, and loudly. It was the start to what was sure to be the most dramatic day of Glenn Gordon's life thus far.
He went through his traditional wake-up routine, heading into the room's very cramped restroom to shower, brush his teeth, and the like, but today, something told him that this very well may be the last time he performed his usual morning practices here at Reagan, or perhaps anywhere. Still, he waited until he was done getting ready to wake up Tux, since the man absolutely loathed being forced to get up early. Besides, he had probably ended up staying up late anyway, even with their decisive mission coming today.
As Glenn readied himself for the slowly-awakening day in the restroom, he couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Thunderbolt Squadron was short two pilots and had a cripple or two in it already, with Glenn and Bubba still recovering from the wounds they had taken in the gunfight not three days earlier. Glenn's hand brushed over his stomach as he looked down at where the bullet had penetrated his body. A very black feeling ran through him as he remembered the chaos on that day, as he remembered what had happened to him. As he remembered that he had almost died.
What were they doing? This was probably going to be the biggest fight of his life. Yet their squadron was bloodied, unprepared for what lay ahead. This was wrong.
Still, he had no choice. He was a fighter pilot, and he had to do what was necessary of him as long as he remained in such a role. At least he knew he was with friends here - Friends who would shield him so long as he shielded them. The exchange was still there, and forever it would stay now.
A dank mist hung over the Reagan base's tarmac as the six Thunderbolt pilots shuffled out of the central building and headed for the orange fighter jets sitting patiently, waiting for their comrades. The first thing Glenn noticed when he stepped out the door and onto the tarmac's concrete was that a light rain was accompanying the mist and the darkness. Perhaps it was an omen, but he didn't know whether to look at it as positive or negative.
Decked out completely in their flight glear, the pilots loaded themselves up and awaited the command for taxiing as the safety crews gave their final check-overs on the planes. By now, the other squadrons were filing out of the base and were making their way towards their own fighters, although Thunderbolt Squadron would be lifting off first.
It wasn't until fifteen minutes after the squadron had wrapped themselves into their fighters that the jets began to shuffle off the tarmac and onto the runway with the acceptance from the ever-minding control tower. Glenn was last to take off since he felt a leader always stayed until the end for his subordinates, or in this case, his friends. He now had grown strong views toward what a leader was supposed to be, and he made sure he would follow those views to the best of his ability, even if they would get him killed.
The Reagan-based squadrons flew over the grassy Macro regions, a few farmers gazing up at the sound of what seemed to be a thousand angry locomotives blazing overhead in unison. But in the darkness, the ground- dwellers saw nothing. There was only the sound of the fighter jets, and it only helped to remind them of the current state their country was in.
Over time, more squadrons joined the Reagans, consisting of both fighters and bombers. Glenn was near the front of the large-scale aerial convoy, but if he looked behind him in his seat, he would have seen more aircraft than he could ever hope to count. Still, he knew they were there, and looking at them would only worry him more about their situation.
He sat there tensely in the cockpit of his fighter, wishing the day would end quickly - But when it did end, he hoped he would be there to finish it.
Past Fog Valley the squadrons flew, taking a north-easterly route. The pleasant, grassy areas began to give way to darker scenery, rocky terrain, dead foliage. If Black Hole had to have a base anywhere, it would have to have been here, Glenn realized. No other force could be so despicably evil and put a base in this atrocious region.
By the time an hour and a half had passed since they had taken off, if he looked hard enough, Glenn thought he could see the giant peak of Fate's Point beginning to make its presence known in the distance. He went through a final, mental checklist of what he would have to do when combat inevitably arose. Since the ground forces couldn't arrive at the base as soon as the air forces could, they'd have to go it alone for some time. Still, they had more than enough fighters and bombers here to lay waste to half the Macro-Orange Star region entirely. There was no way that this particular Black Hole base could match strength against theirs.
"I have visual confirmation on Fate's Point," the leading pilot's voice crackled into the helmet radio all the pilots wore. "Our estimated arrival time is three minutes."
Three minutes left. Glenn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what was going to occur when the squadrons launched their initial attack on the Fate's Point base. But the base itself still wasn't visible, with the darkness and all. But he should have been able to see lights and such, emenating from the base like big beacons pointing the attacking squadrons in the right direction. Glenn found the lack of light bizarre, but perhaps Black Hole felt darkness was their greatest ally.
Two minutes left. He should have been able to see the base by now. The sun wouldn't be coming up for another ten minutes or so, and the fighters didn't come equipped with any sort of night-vision-capable equipment.
For a moment, Glenn wondered if they were all headed in the right direction, if the Fate's Point base was actually on the other side of the mountain range itself, but if that were so, wouldn't he have been able to see the light pollution created by the base? Something here wasn't right.
One minute left. By now, Glenn was very worried, not only for himself but for the safety of his comrades. He checked his radars and instruments, but nothing came out surprising. Apparently, the man leading all the squadrons was feeling just as ill at ease as the Thunderbolt leader was.
"Maintain visual scanning." That was all that needed to be said at the moment.
Still, Glenn was utterly perplexed. Could the information they had recieved have been incorrect somehow? But that was impossible. Those soldiers had risked their lives to bring their leaders such information, and everyone knew what Fate's Point looked like. What was the deal here? And as if that weren't illogical enough, Glenn felt, the only reason the enemy would have shut down the base's lights would be if they knew the Orange Star attack was comi-
"KUH-BOOM!"
The deafening explosion rumbled through the atmosphere as though some great meteor had slammed into Wars World.
An enormous, bright flash of light had caught the corners of Glenn's vision moments before the violent explosive sound had torn through his hearing. At first, he couldn't help but wonder if someone had just nuked the bottom of Fate's Point, but then he realized that it had been an immense muzzle flash. And that was when the automobile-sized projectile had shot right past him and slammed into a large patch of Orange Star fighters.
Another explosion linked the horrible sounds, but this one had come from behind a now-terrified Glenn. In an instant, five or six Orange Star fighters had been flying along casually as though nothing were wrong, and now they were all dropping to the dirt, hardly anything remaining of them. Hardly anything. The fighters had literally disintigrated, vaporized in the explosion that had occured when the enormous shell slammed into one of them.
Before Glenn could speak, chatter consumed the radio.
"What the hell was that!?"
"What's going on!?"
"Holy crap!"
"What should we do, lead!?"
There was no answer to the last one. Glenn blinked confusedly for a second, then immediately realized what exactly was going on. Frantically, he shoved his fighter down into a spiral, just as the bright-yellow streaks of bullets shooting up from the ground toward the squadrons signified enemy anti-air units stationed all over the ground. "It's a trap! Thunderbolts, look out!"
Glenn's squadron complied without hesitation. The five fighters thundered downwards after their leader as most of the other Orange Star air forces volleyed around in a terrible mish-mash of confusion. Over the radio, Glenn could hear the squadron leaders attempting to get their comrades in- line, to get them all together successfully, but it would take some time. Time they didn't have. Glenn was glad to get his squadron away from them, otherwise they may have been stuck in the middle of all of the whole messy tangle.
But then there came a warning to which he hadn't quite been prepared for. "Missile! Missile!"
His eyes shot down towards the ground. Another projectile was clearly headed for the attacking forces he was a part of, the same attacking forces who had not yet gotten themselves out of the web they were tied up in. "Everyone, look out! Get out of there!"
But his own words would be of no use. Another Orange Star fighter exploded, sending shards of flaming shrapnel flying in a thousand multiple directions. But the explosion seemed to help untangle the giant mess of disoriented confusion the air force was caught up in, and many of them dove towards the ground in an attempt to catch up with Thunderbolt Squadron.
Some of them didn't make it. The bright anti-air rounds tore through numerous aircraft and sent them spiraling towards the dark ground as though someone had just taken jackhammers to them. Any hopes of the air force even launching their attack at all began to fade away as the casualties mounted, and they weren't even fifteen seconds into the combat phase of the operation.
With uncountable numers of sickeningly powerful, yellow-hued anti-air rounds racing up into the sky all around him, Glenn ratcheted the throttle up to full as he shot towards the ground at well over mach one, his five wingmates all by his sides. The fighters each reached a stomach-twisting eight hundred miles an hour as gravity helped pull them towards the base, and Glenn in particular was forced to keep his mind and eyes steady at such a speed. One never quite got used to such actions, especially in the middle of death.
"Missile from the base's east! Heads up!" Glenn was thankful to have so many eyes and ears watching out for he and everyone else. This time, everyone was tensed up and fully aware enough of their surroundings that this missile from a random rocket launcher on the Fate's Point base skewed past each and every one of them. It fluttered off clumsily towards nowhere in particular as the Orange Star air attackers raced towards the base.
Glenn smirked, despite what was going on around him. "Good job, guys!"
But the smirk instantly faded, even before he finished his sentence. That terrifying, bright muzzle flash had just come a second time.
"LOOK OUT!" he shouted over the radio as he shoved the stick forward as hard as it would go. The Thunderbolts, still following their leader, made the same movement as they felt the disturbingly enormous projectile fly over them, its propulsion sending a tremendous fan of air onto their canopies.
And there was that deafening boom again. Glenn was prepared for it this time, but it still hurt his ears like nothing else could. It was the most terrible sound he had ever heard in his entire life, but more explosions from behind him threatened to take over that role in a heart-beat.
Glenn wouldn't have to turn around to know they had lost even more aircraft now. Whatever that damned thing was on the ground that was firing such atrocious ammunition at them, it was doing a good job of clearing out the Orange Star numbers. By now, they had lost approximately half of their initial numbers, and the operation had just started! Glenn thought for a moment that this was suicide, but then, something within him told him to keep going. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't bother asking it any useless questions, since he partially agreed with the feeling over the matter.
Three thousand feet above the ground, Glenn pulled back on the yoke and leveled his fighter out, the Thunderbolts skillfully following the maneuver. This made it harder for anti-air units and rockets to track them and make contact with whatever it was they fired. But that wouldn't matter soon enough, for Glenn just noticed as he leveled out that the attacks from the base had ceased.
It immediately struck him as abnormal that the Fate's Point had suddenly canceled out its attack on the oncoming Orange Star air forces. Initially, he wondered what on Wars World had caused the halt to the action, but then, his mind centered on the only logical explanation. Without waiting, he pulled back on the yoke, heading right back up to a higher altitude as he called out to his allies. "Maintain radar scanning! Watch for enemy fighters!"
He wouldn't have to wait long for an answer as he shot upwards. A random pilot lost in the middle of the air force was the first one to get the news out. "I have multiple bandits on radar, they're coming to join us!"
Glenn checked his own radar. It told him that what the pilot had said wasn't false. Indeed, as he raised his head and looked out the canopy, he could clearly see in the darkness multiple jet engines shooting up from the ground. The enemy fighters were obviously taking off, but they would be engaged in combat soon enough. Glenn didn't want to wait for them to come up and join them for tea - He wanted them dead, now. "Follow me, Thunderbolts! Hit the runway!"
Thunderbolt Squadron shot towards the enemy Black Hole runway, missiles spewing out from under their wings as they drew within closing distance. Dome-shaped explosions rocked the air field as the squadron succeeded in taking out more than a few Black Hole aircraft, though not all of them were fighters. Still, the enemy numbers dwindled, and that was satisfactory in Glenn's view. "Let's hit 'em a second time! Come around again!"
"Roger Wilco, boss," Tux chuckled as he closed up to Glenn's wing. Was the guy having fun or something? Glenn didn't want to know - Although he himself did get a kick out of taking out anything that was painted black, at the moment. Fair enough, he thought. Maybe if he took Tux's approach, things wouldn't look so grim.
The six Orange Star fighters each began a wide turn as they circled back around toward the runway.
Deep inside the Black Cannon's main control room, Lash stood behind the alien chief operator, her thin arms at her sides blankly as she stared at the numerous visual monitors showcasing the battle. Her bland eyes moved away from the monitors to look at the repulsive cannon operator in the chair at the main operations terminal. "Isn't it lovely?"
The Black Hole alien hesitated, then turned around to stare at her with its big, red pupils a moment in befuddlement. "Excuse me, my lady?"
"Isn't it lovely?" she repeated a second time in the exact same tone.
The operator sat there, staring at her.
Then it turned around and looked at the numerous monitors representing toppling levels of death and destruction. Was Lash talking about all of that? The cannon operator gurgled its slimy throat in disgust with both the commander and the fact that it had to sit here risking its life for this ridiculous war. The blamed roof could cave in on them at any moment because one lone Orange Star fighter decided to be a hero and fire a missile at the dome-shaped building the turret sat on. Didn't Lash care?
Apparently not. At the moment, she was standing there, chuckling to herself at every little explosion she viewed, even the ones blatantly showcasing their own side's carnage. The operator would have rolled its eyes, if it had such a physical ability.
It hesitated again, its mind obviously fixed on something. Worriedly, the operator tilted its head slightly as it examined the numerous battles on the monitors. "My lady, didn't Kailaff Boldigh go up with his squadron?"
"I believe he did," Lash responded blankly.
The operator turned in its chair slightly. "I'm curious as to how that little strategy of his is going to come in handy in such a fight as this. There are far too many enemy fighters for him to successfully check and see which is the leader, and he couldn't possibly-"
"There is no need for concern," Lash answered, interrupting the agitated operator as explosions from outside caused the walls around them to rumble slightly. "Kailaff Boldigh is the greatest pilot in the world. He will find the enemy leader, and when he does, he will kill them. He does not need a worthless sack of mesh like you criticizing him."
Mumbling quietly to itself, the very annoyed operator turned back around to stare at the visuals disgustedly. "Yes, why should a worthless being like myself be concerned with such things? I'm only a bloody Major, that's all . . ."
Suddenly, without warning, Lash smiled meekly at the operator. "Fire the cannon again."
The creature whirled around. "What!?"
"Fire the cannon again." Same tone, same expression.
"But our own fighters are up there! We'll take losses!" Any attempt to counter what its commander told it would probably prove to be useless, but by God, the operator had to try. For all it knew, the commander wasn't grasping the situation logically at all.
"Do it. Concentrate the fire on the largest area of enemy forces."
And that was that. The operator had no choice, provided it didn't want to upset Lash and make her have it be killed right there in its seat. Flustered and agitated, the operator went through the firing procedures, pulling a bank of switches on the terminal. "Ten seconds to firing."
Back outside, the air battle was by now raging. Black Hole now matched Orange Star's numbers, if not by more, and Thunderbolt Squadron was racing towards the enormous fur ball that had ensued right over the base. Bright explosions scorned the skies, accompanied by the bright yellow of bullets being fired, and the long streaks of blue and yellow thanks to missiles being fired every waking moment.
"Engage at will!" Glenn shot right into the midst of the fight and found himself struggling immediately. As if he didn't have enough trouble trying to take down enemy fighters, the constant source of worry was not smashing right into a fellow Orange Star plane. It seemed as though every jet was tied together by a giant mess of rope that kept them together in this whole tangle.
He made no attempt to target any one fighter specifically. There were just too many of them right now. He had to take whatever was given to him. And it didn't help that the radio was being overrun with yells and warnings consisting mostly of "I got one" and "there's one on me," nevermind the fact these people didn't bother listing their names or positions. Things were getting rough.
Blowing apart a Black Hole fighter easily enough as he swept this way and that way, looped over here and over there, and barreled like a corkscrew right through a patch of indiscernable fighters, Glenn couldn't help but wonder how he'd ever gotten himself into this mess. This did indeed feel like one of the lesser-known forms of suicide, but he tried to etch that out of his mind at the moment.
"KAH-BOOM!"
Oh damn, Glenn thought. "Heads up!"
But the enormous projectile apparently moved at the speed of sound, so Glenn's warning wouldn't help at all. More fighters exploded in firey infernoes, but this time, a few Black Hole fighters went with them. Startled by such ferocious neglegence for comradery in the Black Hole ranks, Glenn shot a glare towards where the newest muzzle flash had come from.
This time, though, as he looked towards the ground, he could see the cannon itself. The sun was starting to come up by the smallest amount, and a dank blue hung over the area, giving the attackers a little more visual comprehension of the ground and their targets. If Glenn could have, and without dying, he would have kissed the sun. "Look at that thing! It's a giant cannon!"
Immediately, he knew what he had to do, even while recieving numerous perplexed responses over the communications radio. His mission plan had just changed. Pitching the flight stick forward, Glenn took off directly for that enormous cannon, the source of their troubles. "Thunderbolts, come with me to the cannon! Hit it with everything you've got!"
"Don't fly in its firing direction!" Bubba yelled as the six fighters burst out of the immense dogfight, shooting like a couple of missiles towards the giant cannon and the dome building it sat on.
As they began to race towards the tremendous structure, now that the margin for error had diminished, anti-air units began taking fire at them once again in an attempt to stop the squadron's run. Glenn shoved the yoke every which way he could to avoid the bright streaks of yellow that threatened to shoot him out of the sky like a bird. "Anti-air! Heads up!"
Like an age-old group of knights riding into doom, the Thunderbolts drew ever closer to the cannon that sat waiting for its own destruction as they spiraled around in any direction they could to avoid the anti-air units' gunfire. But then, the gunfire suddenly stopped again. This time, though, Glenn was ready. "Keep an eye on your radars! We're gonna have company!"
And there they came. The pilots of the squadron. Underneath it all, Glenn knew exactly who these enemy pilots were. The large, black hawk emblem on one of the enemy fighers' wings clearly expressed who the leader of this particular enemy squadron was, at that. Instantly, the Thunderbolt leader knew he was in for a hellish fight. "Watch out, 'bolts, these guys are tough! You should know who they are by now!"
"We'll handle them just fine, boss," the ever-arrogant Tuxedo Ral countered as his eyes immediately moved towards the plane marked 'Gallow.' The very same plane that was headed toward his own, obviously challenging him. "I believe I have somethin' to settle with this one here, so you folks just ignore us, if you would be so kind."
Glenn grinned in the midst of all of this. "Whatever you say, wing."
I have my own little score to settle, too, he then thought. There it came, blowing past his own orange fighter. The enemy Black Hole jet with the hawk emblems.
Turning the yoke hard to starboard, Glenn began an attempt to come around to get Kailaff Boldigh into firing range, but by now he knew the other pilot was an undeniably skilled one. Boldigh would not let himself be so easily taken out. Already the pilot was in a loop, trying to come around on Glenn himself.
Gordon wasn't quite able to get moving quick enough at first, though. A noisy beeping sound suddenly arose in his cockpit. Boldigh was attempting to get a missile lock on him. "Crap!"
Hauling the flight stock backwards and to the right ever so slightly, Glenn shot past Boldigh's descending fighter in a lopsided corkscrew maneuver. The beeping sound subsided, allowing the lead Thunderbolt to breathe again, or breathe as well as he could have in the middle of all of this.
Boldigh's fighter ceased the plunge it was in and began to rise back upwards, turning as it did to try and get this tenacious Orange Star fighter that had plagued it for so long into its line of sight. But Glenn was already gone from where he'd been, circling the other jet like a buzzard. The custom Black Hole fighter slowed greatly as the tightness of the turn increased, still trying to grab at Gordon's plane and throw it towards the ground.
But then, all of a sudden, streaks of yellow shot past Boldigh's plane. Obviously, it startled him, since he was so fixed on this one lone fighter jet for some reason, and the experienced pilot was forced to concentrate on the gunfire from another plane for a hair of a second, avoiding it with apparent ease.
In this one moment, though, he ignored Gordon. Having evaded the gunfire, Boldigh once again centered on taking out the Orange Star Thunderbolt leader, but before he could even think about doing so, a noisy beeping sounded out from his controls. Boldigh didn't care at first, but when the beeping became a long, constant note that never finished, he cursed out loud and shoved his own control stick hard to port as a missile blew right past his sailing fighter.
Glenn Gordon, with assistance from Achmed Yahasititapen, had just showed Kailaff Boldigh that the Black Hole pilot was not quite as immovably skilled as people seemed to think he was.
Tux, meanwhile, was busy struggling against Zodo Gallow, the obvious second- in-command of Boldigh's squadron. The two of them were locked in a tremendous death-dance, neither of them really being able to take a potshot at the other at the moment. It would seem that it would stay that way until one or the other eventually passed out for exhaustion, but that was quite frankly unacceptable, in Tux's view. He had to beat this guy somehow.
But then, an explosion. Tux didn't bother to look, since he was so concentrated on what he was doing, but one of Boldigh's squadron members had just taken a missile to its rear fuselage, courtesy of Fel Banon. The destroyed Black Hole fighter plummeted to the ground, but Tux noticed that Zodo Gallow had to take care to avoid the flaming wreckage.
Not hesitating to wait for a second chance, Tux skillfully took the oppurtunity to get the busy Gallow within his gun sights, and he initiated the missile lock-on procedure.
The familiar beeping came about as he carefully moved the control stick, trying to get a lock on Gallow. The enemy squadron pilot was by now aware of the situation he was in and was currently executing a combination of random, wild movements, but whatever he did, Tuxedo Ral hung with him as though he were a skilled member of Boldigh's squadron himself.
Finally, the beeping became constant. Gallow's fighter was locked.
But Tux didn't fire. He only waited.
Then, as he had predicted so, the enemy plane leveled out casually as though its fighting were done, and it was time to head home. Zodo Gallow had just surrendered.
Tux grinned to himself. The first time he and Gallow had been in combat against each other, the enemy pilot had broken off his attack and come up onto Tux's wing, actually giving a friendly-enough wave to the Orange Star pilot. At first, Tuxedo had been utterly startled and confused, but later, after giving it some thought, he'd realized Gallow obviously held at least some respect towards the pilots he fought against.
And now, though he hadn't killed Gallow, he'd defeated him. Kailaff Boldigh's squadron was falling apart.
Still, it wasn't over yet. Glenn Gordon was still locked in his own battle with Boldigh, and he was by now growing frustrated with the situation he was in. They said a cornered rat could fight like a powerful lion, and now Glenn certainly believed the saying. Boldigh was tougher now if anything.
But then, suddenly, Glenn noticed Boldigh was no longer chasing him. The enemy pilot was now fixed on another Thunderbolt - Rainey Banker. "Rainey, he's on you! Get out of there!"
"I can't lose him!" the female pilot called back as she sent her fighter into a series of random twists and turns to evade the tenacious Boldigh's attempt at a missile lock. Whatever she did, it just wasn't enough. Boldigh was too skilled and experienced for Rainey to simply get away from him. Wheeling her fighter around, she prepared for the missile that Boldigh would inevitably send her way.
"Rainey!" Glenn called a second time out of terror.
"KAH-BOOM!"
The sound wave pummeled the numerous fighters locked in the fight next to the cannon.
This time, the Black Cannon had been aiming towards the largest patch of Thunderbolts in the dogfight with Boldigh's squadron. The projectile flew through the air, accompanying the tremendous sound it brought about.
Rainey and most everyone else for that matter saw the immense muzzle flash. No longer caring about Boldigh or his inevitable missile, she shoved the stick backwards as hard as she could to get out of the way of the cannon projectile coming their way. It blew under her at a scarily faster speed than she was traveling at as she spiraled around, four G's threatening to knock her out. Most every other pilot took care to keep far away from the projectile's obvious path as well, most of them taking into consideration the direction the turret was pointed.
But one pilot in particular did not notice the muzzle flash.
Kailaff Boldigh was known for having a great amount of patience and concentration. It had won him many battles against even the best of enemy pilots, sometimes waiting for hours on end to make his strike. His skill harkened back to the days of early wars, where pilots had to wait for hours on end as well in their ruddy old biplanes, trying to gather up enough patience to lash out at their opponent when the perfect oppurtunity finally arose.
Today, his skill would be his downfall.
As Rainey Banker shot upwards, Boldigh hauled back on his own stick, pitching his fighter in a laterall direction.
The projectile blazed under Rainey's plane at that very moment. Into the bottom-back of Boldigh's plane it slammed, tearing right through it with the strength of a multi-million man army. The Black Hole fighter lopped forward from the impact and spun around and around at an unpredictable speed, the gravitational forces immediately knocking the fighter's experienced pilot unconcious.
Glenn, and everyone in the entire dogfight in particular, stared at Kailaff Boldigh's fighter jet. It spiraled forward with no sign of slowing anytime soon. Finally, after a dramatic few seconds, the partially-destroyed plane careened right into the side of the Black Cannon's turret and exploded, taking a good deal of the turret itself with it in its final destruction. The turret began to crumble completely, destroyed.
Glenn Gordon sat there a moment, taking what had just happened in.
Cheering and yelling erupted over the radio. The rest of Boldigh's squadron was surrendering in the same manner that Zodo Gallow had, and the cannon was now inoperable. And as if things weren't looking up enough, the larger aerial battle over the Fate's Point base had finally been decided. Whatever was left of the Black Hole air force was bugging out and returning to the mostly-demolished runway as the entire Orange Star aerial attackers pursued them.
Glenn suddenly realized that the fight was over. The Orange Star ground forces would be arriving soon to clean up what was left of the Fate's Point base, since insurmountable aircraft had plunged into every part of it, destroying who knew how many structures and taking who knew how many lives.
But it was over. He smiled slightly to himself and sighed.
But there was the nagging feeling that somehow, it WASN'T over. Something just didn't feel right.
Glenn hesitated a moment, then looked back at the Black Cannon.
Inside the cannon's dome-building, at the control room, Lash stood there, brooding, obviously baffled as the walls around them shook, as explosions sounded out around her in the building. She couldn't fathrom what she had done wrong. She was the commander of the greatest weapon ever built, she held the trigger to destruction of their enemies. Yet they were all but defeated, those same enemies threatening to run them over at any moment.
But there was still fun to be had. There was still a way to keep those enemies from overrunning the Black Hole cause for which she fought.
Lash stared at the still-annoyed and now very-terrified terminal operator as a fire broke out on a control panel on the opposite side of the room. "Fire the cannon."
The operator turned in its seat, eyeing her strangely, as though what she was saying was on the verge of being the words of a brainless doof. "Excuse me?"
"Fire the cannon." As always, same tone. Same bland expression on that disturbing face of hers.
"You've got be kidding, my lady," the operator gurgled, "the turret is inoperable. If we try and fire the cannon, it'll result in a multi-megaton explosion. Everything within miles will be wiped clear off the face of this world!"
"I know." That was her only response.
Glaring at her, the cannon operator stood up from its seat. "You, my lady, are insane, and I do not wish to be a part of your mad thirst for death. Goodbye, my lady."
And the operator left to seek shelter with the rest of its alien comrades, leaving Lash to stand there a moment. She approached the terminal and began punching in random numbers, initiating the cannon's powering-up procedure. This would take care of their enemies just fine. Just fine.
The Black Hole commander smiled slightly as she finished the initial procedures. Then, finally, she had the pleasure of pressing the large, ominous yellow button in the center of the console.
Ten seconds to firing. The terminal counted the seconds away audibly over the building's radios. She stood back away from the terminal and giggled like a happy little girl to herself.
Suddenly, she stopped giggling and looked toward the ceiling.
The high-pitched screams of multiple missiles had just overcome the counting.
Thunderbolt Squadron blazed away from the Black Cannon as the dome-shaped building the turret sat on exploded in a firey blaze, the enormous boom sounding off across the landscape. The fighter jets each performed more than a few rolls as pilots cheered and shouted victory praises over the communications radio in their helmets.
Glenn, in particular, didn't care to pitch his fighter into a roll out of happiness. He simply took joy in the fact that the battle was over, and that he hadn't lost a single wingmate today. He grinned in satisfaction as he watched his friends pull a load of stunt-like maneuvers through the air.
"Alright, 'Bolts," he said, his grin only widening, "let ground forces handle the rest of the operation. We're goin' home."
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Author Notes:
That was fun to write. Too bad I'm worn out, now - Oh well. It was worth it, and I'm glad I got this particular chapter finally done. I hope you enjoyed it. And, Lightningfencer, if you meant "part III," since the first Fighters story sort of IS part I, well, I suppose that as long as Wars games surrounding Orange Star, Blue Moon, and etcetera keep coming out, there'll be a Fighters story to accompany them, IF I can come up with a plot. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you R+R. Stick around, the finale of "the Fighters: Part II" is next.