6.
A good Deed

A week later the story was published in a local newspaper. Drake didn't get a chance to read it. The day it was published the vice president decided to launch a massive counter assault against the Yuktobanians, and Wardog would be integral in the offensive. His plane still in maintenance, Drake was forced to use the spare F-5. He was a little sore at this, but ultimately saw complaining would get him nowhere. He flew in formation as Wardog kept an overwatch of the four companies advancing on the beach.
"Get ready, we're about to land," one commander said over the radio.
"So we just have to keep the guys on the ground alive, right?" Drake asked.
"Right Dragon, knock out any enemy planes and provide close air support to the ground forces," Thunderhead responded.
"Wardog feet dry," Blaze called.
"Roger, proceed with operations."
"Everyone, split up and engage. All weapons hot," Blaze ordered.
"Wilco," Edge, Chopper, and Archer said. Drake clicked his mike twice, the way to acknowledge something when you're busy. Drake flipped the arm switch on the master armament panel for the bombs his plane carried on the racks underneath his wings. Rain splattered on the canopy and blurred Drake's vision. Tracers began flying around on the ground as the Osean forces began fighting the Yuktobanian defenders.
"We're being held up by bunkers, pilots could you take them out?" someone from company A said.
"Will do. Dragon, can you handle it?" Blaze asked Drake.
"I'm all over it," Drake replied. He set his plane on an attack dive at a bunker. When he had it in the bombing reticule he jammed the button on his joystick and dropped a bomb right through the window. The concrete building exploded into tiny fragments as Drake pulled up. On pullout he skimmed the top of a pine tree on the hill behind the bunker. "whoa, that was close."
"Dragon, please try to keep yourself alive while dive bombing, thank you," Chopper called over the radio. That guy was a clown, but he was right.
"Enemy planes inbound," Edge said. Interceptors and bombers were coming from the mainland side to halt the invasion force. Drake did an Immelman and popped two missiles at a nearby A-6. It fell to earth in a large fireball as three planes started harassing Drake.
"Aww, come on! These guys are all over me," Drake yelled. He rolled as a missile shot past his right wing. His plane shuddered as it was riddled with bullets. Then a missile blew up and trashed his left wing.
"Damn, I'm hit!" Drake screamed. Alarms were going off all over his panel: oil pressure warning, hydraulic pump failure, fuel leaking. The bird was dying.
"Drake get out of there," Edge pleaded, "You need to eject."
"Yeah, this bird's trashed. I'm blasting off, just one thing though." He wrestled with the controls to set his jet on a crash course with a bunker. He rooted around the cockpit for anything he could take along, and found a wrench. Wondering how that got there he slipped it into one of his cargo pockets and ripped the lever to release the ejection seat. He blasted through the canopy and everything was a blur of motion for a minute. Then there was a wrenching in his gut as his parachute deployed. Drake took a deep breath as he looked up and saw the canopy reassuringly above him. As he approached the forest under him he located and pressed the buttons to release his seat. It fell away with a thump and his descent slowed down a little bit. Finally he passed through the foliage, unfortunately his parachute got stuck on a branch. After a bone jarring jolt Drake hung there with the sounds of battle echoing around the misty forest.
"Oh great, this day can't get any worse," he said to himself. He grunted as he reached for the survival knife in one of his pockets. When he retrieved it he sliced one of the risers of the parachute, then the other. He fell ungracefully to the ground and landed with a thud. He quickly got up and checked himself for any broken bones. there was none. All of a sudden there was rustling in some bushes nearby. Drake pulled out the .45 pistol he had and listened closely.
"Flash," someone whispered. Drake wheeled around and quickly said, "Thunder." Some more rustling, and then seven marines emerged from the bushes. The one that approached Drake was a handsome man with tousled hair and five o'clock shadow. He had an extra M-16 rifle slung across his back while he held his rifle loosely in his left hand.
"You a flyboy?" he asked Drake. Drake exhaled hotly at the comment.
"Yes I'm a pilot."
"Well, not much of one if you're on the ground," the man pointed out, "Here you're just an ordinary soldier."
"That is true, unfortunately I'm a little unprepared."
"Here you go," the man said swinging the extra rifle off his shoulder and handing it to Drake, "That was our captain's. He got shot as soon as we dropped in. I did the best I could, but his dying wish was I give someone his rifle who needed it. By the way, I'm second lieutenant George Peters."
"First Lieutenant Drake Draca," Drake replied shaking George's hand. He caught a magazine another soldier tossed him and locked it in the rifle.
"All right. See that bunker over there?" he pointed to one about a football field away, "We're trying to secure it. Need to knock out their communications and, of course, kill any enemies inside. We have no good solutions to getting the radio without going through everyone there, and by then they'll have called for backup. Any ideas?" Drake thought for a minute then had a flash of inspiration.
"I've got it, we'll just need a few things…"

Because of the invasion guard detail was cut to two Yuktobanian soldiers standing outside the bunker. One noticed the bushes nearby rustling.
"See that?" he asked his partner.
"No," the other mumbled sounding bored.
"I'm gonna check it out." He crept up to the foliage, weapon leveled at the bushes. As he pushed through the brush a pair of hands seized him and he was struck a heavy blow on the head. He passed out and Drake gently laid him on the ground.
"Good, good, now help me with his uniform."

Later the other guard saw his partner stumble from the bushes. Something was wrong, he was hunched over with his collar covering his face. His uniform didn't look too well fitting anymore.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Nothing," his partner said. His voice sounded different.
"You all right comrade? You seem different."
"Well now that you mention it," the man said walking up, "I had a revelation."
"What was it?"
"You suck," He held up a silenced pistol and fired twice. The guard fell shocked, shot in the head and chest. Drake turned around and signaled the marines with a thumbs up. Over his survival radio Peters said, "All right. We'll sit here till you call us on their talkbox."
"Wish I could have gotten some better fitting clothes," Drake replied. "Anyways I'm off. Thanks for the silencer."
"If I don't hear from you I'll understand."
"Call in an airstrike if you don't in an hour."

Drake walked cautiously through the bunker, wary for any soldiers. His purloined uniform was fitted for a taller person and bunched up in places. He had the stolen rifle at low ready, trying to blend in to an empty corridor. He saw a Yuktobanian coming the other way, and prayed that his disguise worked.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where the radio room is?" he asked hoping his accent sounded right.
"Uh, yeah, down the hall second doorway on the right," the soldier said pointing down the way he came.
"Thank you." The man took a last look at Drake before he went on, giving Drake a funny feeling. He set it aside and kept going until he came to a group of doorways. He walked into the one the soldier had indicated and found a single man operating the radio. Drake crept up silently then bashed the man over the head with his wrench.
"Thought that would come in handy," he said to himself. He checked to make sure no one heard then moved to the console. He toggled the frequency knob to the marine unit's then said into the mic, "Radio secure. Come in hot and fast." After he finished he swung his rifle around and slapped in a magazine. A Yuktobanian rushed in and Drake leveled his gun and squeezed the trigger. The soldier dropped as the kick nearly knocked Drake off his feet. He heard the sounds of gunfire coming from down the hall. "I'm in here!" he yelled. Two more Yukes came in and were dispatched almost as quickly. Soon the gunshots ceased and Peters walked in calmly.
"Nice job Draca," he said kicking one of the bodies on the floor. "You really did us a favor." He was interrupted by his radio going off and several voices talking at once. "Looks like we won, operation: Footprint was a success." Drake laughed with Peters as the others congratulated and slapped each other on the back.
"Excellent Lieutenant. Its been a pleasure working with you."
"You too. Now lets get you back to your base, come on, your stuff's outside."

After he had put his flight suite back on Drake was walking with Peters through the impromptu central HQ. He was carrying his helmet bag, which had the Yuke uniform, his helmet, the wrench, and his pistol. He had his two rifles slung on his back. As he went along he kept asking, "Going to Sand Island? Can I get a ride to Sand Island? Heading my way?"
"Hey, you say you need to get to Sand Island?" someone shouted. Drake turned to see a marine sitting on the edge of a helicopter looking at him.
"Yeah I could use a lift," he replied.
"Hop on, we're heading that way." Drake jumped on and the marine yelled, "Hit it Steve!" The helicopter roared and lifted off.
"Welcome onboard," another marine said. In all there were about twenty in the space.
"So tell me how you ended up down here," the first guy said.
"Today wasn't my day. Everyone seemed to be on my case up there."
"So tell me why a pilot needs two rifles?" a third man said.
"Those are sorta souvenirs," Drake shrugged.
"So this Yuke uniform is a souvenir too?" someone else said rooting though Drake's helmet bag.
"Hey," Drake replied grabbing his gear. Everyone on the chopper laughed at the antics.
"Sand Island coming up. ETA five minutes," the pilot yelled back.
"Nixie you'd better get the door," one guy said to the first man.
"Sure," Nixie replied. He slid the door open and a rush of air blasted through the cabin. Drake watched the sea whizz past underneath. Soon islands started passing by and then an airstrip.
"Sand Island tower, we have one of your pilots, just thought we'd return him for you," the pilot said over the radio.
"Drake? Hey bring him in, we'd hoped someone would find him." Everyone had a laugh as the helicopter slowed down and landed.

"That's one hell of a story Draca, and I think there might just be a commendation for you," base commander Orson Perrault said as Drake finished his account of what happened after he ejected.
"Thank you sir," Drake replied saluting.
"After all that I'm sure you're tired. Get some rest now Second Lieutenant." They both saluted, then Drake walked out. He was greeted by Blaze, Edge, Chopper, and Archer outside the office.
"Hey man glad to have you back," Chopper said as he noogied Drake.
"Well I'm glad to be back," Drake replied breaking the headlock. Blaze shook Drake's hand and patted him on the back.
"That was a great thing you did back there," he said.
"Yeah really brave," Nagasei added. Drake blushed slightly.
"Aw, just doing my duty," Drake replied.
"We got a party going for you in the mess hall," Archer declared.
"Well what are we waiting for?" Drake asked. They all laughed and went to join the party.