4
Scinfaxi

Wardog left a few days later with all the nuggets. The base seemed more empty, but Drake had little time to notice. Wildcat was on constant patrols with the war going on. He didn't really see why, while Osea and Belka weren't on the best of terms, they still were at peace. On one such patrol Drake decided to alleviate the boredom by running combat maneuvers training. He finished a flip from Little's right to his left side thereby avoiding another pilot who whizzed by.
"Yahoo! Nice maneuver captain," Little called over the radio.
"Thanks, I'm pretty good at avoidance maneuvers."
"Hey why don't you do that one technique, the one you invented?" one of his wingmen requested.
"Okay, but only if Izumi will help me demonstrate," Drake replied happily.
"Aw man, do I have to?" Little whined.
"As your captain I order you to try and keep up," Drake said with mock severity. He shot off as Little followed in his SU-37, another fine aircraft but one Drake didn't care much for. He slowly advanced the throttle and pulled away from Izumi, who in turn sped up.
"Ha ha, I've got you," Izumi said.
"No you don't," Drake retorted as he retracted the throttle and engaged the air brakes, while pulling his plane into a slight climb. Little zoomed under him as he leveled his plane and pushed the throttle to the stops. His wingmen cheered as both Drake and Izumi pulled a series of intricate loops that brought the machines extremely close together several times. Then the base controller interrupted their little air show.
"Hierlark to Wildcat, come in."
"This is Wildcat One, what's on your mind Glasgow?" Drake asked the tower radio operator Joe Glasgow.
"Return to base immediately for emergency briefing."
"Will do. Wildcat," Drake said to his squad, "Form up on me, we're going back home." The planes formed into a right echelon and turned back toward their base.

Once they were all on the ground the pilots made their way to the briefing area, a small room with executive chairs set up around a projector and screen. A map of the operation area, which was out in the Ceres Ocean near Sand Island, was displayed on the screen.
"As we speak," base commander William Zeag started once everyone was seated, "the Yukes have launched a massive assault meant to establish a beachhead on mainland Osea. Sand Island happened to be in the way of the advancing naval units. Wardog is currently engaging the forces but we're not sure how long they can hold them off. Your job will be to provide assistance to them if necessary when you reach the area. Osean international has already scrambled a refueling plane to get you there and back. That is basically it, just get to your planes and scramble." Everyone began leaving to get ready but Zeag wasn't done. "Drake and Izumi, would you see me before you take off?" The two looked at each other with dread and followed the commander to his office. They all sat down around his desk and he cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I just wanted to tell you that due to your recent exemplary conduct in battle, and continual efforts to train your fellow pilots, both of you have earned promotions." All three men stood up and Zeag pinned a set of bars on Drake's and Izumi's uniforms. "Congratulations first and second lieutenants, may you continue to be a shining example for the air force.
"Thank you sir," both men said as they saluted commander Zeag. He saluted them back.
"Now, go make me proud. Good luck on the field of battle." They then exited to change and take off.

Thirty minutes later Drake disengaged from the tanker aircraft with enough fuel to last him the mission. Midair refueling were tedious under the best of circumstances, nerve-racking at the worst. Another problem was the lack of consistency with the aircraft design, another tanker had to be sent to refuel Little's plane along with a few others'. The air force planes, which his was one of, simply had to fly up behind the tanker and an arm was extended into the hole of his gas tank, which then refueled his plane. The navy jets however, had a little nozzle on their planes that they had to insert into what was affectionately known as the "basket," a hose with a basket shaped head. This little maneuver was considered "practice for shore leave," by those perverted enough to make that connection. As he watched Izumi get his plane refueled, Drake noticed the process did look like intercourse almost. Then he dispelled that thought as Izumi finished and rejoined the formation.
"Good luck out there Wildcat," one of the tanker pilots said. He saluted then both planes turned back toward their bases. Wildcat continued on toward the coast and the battle that was probably raging right then. Drake contemplated what it all meant; peace, war, life, flying. His thoughts were interrupted by Izumi.
"A penny for your thoughts, Dragon?"
"What Little?"
"You've got your plane upside down." Drake then realized he had unconsciously inverted his plane, a position that helped him think. "Now either you're enjoying the scenery, or you're trying to think. I'm betting on the latter."
"I'm sorry, I just got in a philosophical mood," Drake responded as he righted his plane.
"No time for philosophy now, we're approaching the coast," Casper Jenkins, callsign 'Jynx' replied. A sandy beach flashed under them and then they were over the ocean.
"Wildcat squad, feet wet," Drake said over the radio to the AWACS.
"Roger Wildcat, proceed with your operation," Thunderhead replied. They continued on, but Drake got an increasing sense of discomfort. His fear was well founded, when, all of a sudden, six planes dropped from the sky and converged on his squadron.
"Wildcat, split off and engage!" he ordered as the unknown aircraft opened fire on them. Everyone dispersed and began dogfighting the attackers. Only Drake and Izumi however, stood any chance of resisting them. Drake barrel rolled as a missile flashed past his canopy. He jerked the control stick back and pulled off an Immelman. He caught his tail by surprise, and sent a missile right through the bastard's canopy. He reveled in the explosion behind him as he avoided a return shot from a friend of the one time pilot.
"I need a little help over here!" Izumi screamed as he went into a steep climb that defeated a missile. Drake flipped over to help his friend, but his determination turned to horror as he watched a missile shoot straight up Izumi's tailpipe and explode. "Drake, I'm sorry…" were his last words. Then his plane blew up and Drake watched as his one best friend went up in a blast of fire and metal.
"Izumi," Drake whispered, "NOOOOOOOOO!" His voice trailed off as tears welled up in his eyes. He then remembered he was surrounded by hostile forces, and they didn't seem to care about his friend's death. He dodged a series of missiles and almost smacked into the water. As he yanked back on the stick to gain some altitude he switched over to the designated emergency frequency. "Thunderhead, this is Wildcat One, I need assistance," his voice registering hysteria. "My whole squad has been shot down and I've got bandits all over my ass."
"Roger Dragon, we're sending someone to you now."
"Oh and, buster, buster, buster!" Drake screeched as he barrel rolled away from an enemy that tried stiff-arming him. 'Buster' meant, 'hurry, bust your ass.' Drake finally broke away and kicked in the afterburners as he retreated toward the battle taking place near Sand Island. A missile exploded off his left wing, a blast that sent a piece of shrapnel through the Plexiglas canopy. It slashed across Drakes left hand and plinked under the seat. "Damn," he said as he took his hand off the stick to examine it. The shard had cut through his thin flight glove and traced a line across the back of his hand. Blood was trickling out of the injury but it wasn't anything serious. All of a sudden a blinding light flashed above him, and it was only his razor sharp reflexes that saved him from being split in half. "What the hell was that?" he shouted to no one.
"Explosion in the water," a voice over his radio called.
"Look, the Scinfaxi has surfaced." Drake looked behind him to see a massive submarine shoot out of the waves.
"Second Lieutenant Draca, is that you?" a familiar voice asked.
"Blaze?" Drake asked incredulous.
"Ha ha, it is you! How are you doing?"
"Not too well, my squad bought the farm and I'm trashed."
"You can go to our base for repairs," Edge said. Wardog was engaging the sub and planes that launched from it.
"Hell no, I'd miss the party," Drake replied coolly. As much as his plane protested he managed to turn it around and set it on an attack dive. As soon as he had a lock on he let off two missiles and pulled out. It was a ponderous arc that just barely missed the conning tower of the sub. He let the others finish it off and got up to 6000 feet. As he twiddled the knob on his radio he came across an interesting conversation.
"We lost him in the battle," one pilot said.
"Find him, we can't let him escape," another said. His voice was low and cold, it sent chills down Drake's spine.
"I can't find him," a third person said.
"Uhg, you people make me sick. Okay Grabacr, lets go home." Something about that exchange put Drake ill at ease. But he had no time to ponder it, his comrades in the sky had finished off the Scinfaxi.
"Hey Drake, we're all done here. Why don't you come home with us?" Blaze invited.
"Sounds good, I'll need repairs on my plane." Drake gently oriented his bird alongside Wardog and limped along with them back to Sand Island.