DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 53: The Prodigal Son
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Project Absolution.
Marks had been aware of it's existance ever since Dieter's defection. He had been on the short list of pilots skilled enough to handle the new aircraft and was naturally promoted to Colonel once he was selected. Combining jet engines with a new 'turboprop' design in a push/pull configuration as well as a composite alloy body and all cannon armament, what the aircraft lacked in looks, it made up for in potential. Ever since the loss of Horos and now the loss of his entire 'B' Squadron over near Launces, Marks had become increasingly annoyed with being held back.
The fact of the matter was Mechanos was now addressing a problem. The all wooden construction of the jets was costing more lives than most air units were willing to spend. Not knowing how the Syllians had modified the design was another problem. An all metal prototype had been made but was so heavy it wouldn't take off and didn't maneuver correctly. This in turn led to the push for a new type of jet fighter.
This new interceptor, classified as the 'R-Type', was still in testing and likely wouldn't be ready for another year or so. In the meantime, there was plenty of opportunity to test what Mechanos had called a 'hybrid-propulsion design'. The result was the completed X66 'Absolution'. He was currently flying the first of three prototypes. His new XO, the newly promoted Major Kiln flew the second prototype and Kiln's wingman flew the third and last.
Marks had, technically, been on a shakedown when the radio came alive with chatter that Syllian forces were advancing for Pine Mountain in pursuit, of all things, a silver griffon. Nevertheless, not a moment later, Mechanos had personally contacted Marks on a private frequency and gave orders to kill Voss and the silver griffon if indeed there was one. Flying near the Dovograd battle in which the remnants of the Rotarian 21st Mobile Armored Infantry was (just barely) holding off the combined might of Tellanian, Espan, and Anoziran troops, he switched his radio over to the Syllian frequency and listened.
"This is Voss, I am airborne. Turning to one-seven-five. I am returning alone."
Without missing a beat, Marks keyed his own radio.
"Oh no Lieutenant Voss, you're not returning alone. You're not returning PERIOD. By order of Emperor Mechanos, you are to be executed immediately for treason, sedition, and a few other things that I'm sure we'll be able to make stick. After all, you won't be around to defend yourself."
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Sirens blared aboard the Leviathan as all remaining pilots scrambled for their planes. Marks' transmission, intended as a threat to unnerve Voss, had galvanized the Syllian fleet into action. The decks of the carrier were lined with aircraft hurrying into the air to take the place of the CAP that had been redirected to help Voss at all costs. Yet, even as Josh watched the departing aircraft, he knew they would likely not reach Voss in time. They'd need a wing and a prayer to help him.
Josh looked to Anne and then started for the radio room when the radar operator raised his hand.
"Captain! I've detected several large signatures on scope! The majority of them are to the west of us but the largest is to the south of us!" Josh paled and turned to Anne.
"The Rotarian fleet? How the hell'd they regroup so quickly?" As Anne gave Josh a confused glance, the bridge phone rang. Josh, out of habit, answered it and was nearly deafened by the radioman's yelling.
"They're here! They're here!"
"Rawlins! Calm down, now. Who's here? The Rotarians?"
"Negative sir! Short comms burst from the fleet south of us. It's the Tullinar Navy's 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Carrier Fleets. They're coming to reinforce us and heard Lieutenant Voss' transmission and are scrambling their aircraft." Josh sighed.
"Without jets there's no way they can reach him in time-"
"Yes, sir they can! You didn't let me finish. The ENTIRE Carrier force from Tullinar is made up of jets!"
Josh was sure his jaw had dropped but he paid no attention.
"Rawlins, get me in contact with the Tullinar fleet."
"Already done sir. In fact, the leader fo the wave going to assist Voss asked to be patched into you."
"Put him on the squawker."
The overhead speaker came on with some static and at first nothing. Then, just as Josh prepared to ask if anyone was listening, it came on.
"Hello boys and girls! I'm back!" Josh immediately recognized the voice and smiled from ear to ear and turned to Anne.
"Radio Voss, tell him he's got permission to do whatever he can to stay ahead of Marks. Tell him that help's on the way."
As he said this, the first of many Tullinar jets flew past the Leviathan. However, there was one difference with this one. Instead of being painted in Tullinar light blue, white, and beige; this jet was painted in Syllian blue with silver highlights, a shield with two hammers on the fuselage, and a large number '1' in stark white near the nose.
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His left shoulder still twinged from where the harness strap had dislocated it during the bailout but other than that, Reyson Havvers had never felt better. Here he was, flying to the aid of a comrade under attack, in, of all things, a brand new Brackner J-34 Jet/Interceptor repainted in Syllian colors. It had been explained to him that, in return for access to jet designs and materials available only in Syllia, James de Launces would receive a fully functioning aircraft to study once the production was stable.
The Tullinar Union had performed a miracle, getting bombed out factories working again and producing the new jets at a staggering 300 a day. The design was simple, clean, efficient, and the final product was probably the sturdiest aircraft Reyson had ever flown in.
The key to the endurance was an all-steel body. The aircraft weight was handled by special alloys in the engines which made them sturdier as well as lighter. Then there was the armament. The primary weapons were 6 30mm cannons in the wings and a single, massive, 50mm autocannon in the nose. This feature in turn gave the aircraft the nickname 'needlenose' because the protruding gun barrel looked like a giant hypodermic needle.
Reyson had seen this, and heard the nickname, joked: 'That's ONE needle that, if I saw my doctor with, I'd run the opposite direction.'
The swept back wings, large rudder, and flaps gave the bulky bruiser a ballerina's balance. The jet could climb, dive, yaw, roll, and do just about anything else at just the slightest touch of the stick. It was the first time Reyson ever thought that James had been outmatched in aircraft design.
The top speed of 596 mph wasn't too shabby either. If there was a downside to the aircraft, it was that the entire area beneath him was the armored 'spiral' magazine for the 50mm and that the entire area behind the fuselage behind the cockpit was the fuel tank. The tank was twice as large as a standard tank thanks to the amount of fuel jet engines consumed. It took a tank that size to be able to stay in action as long as a propellor plane with the smaller tanks. This in turn, made the jet tail-heavy and tended to lighten as the tank emptied.
Reyson gave his gauges and instruments one more check before engaging the afterburners, the town of Cardis all but a blur underneath him.
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The forest south of Pine Mountain were close enough that Voss could smell the evergreens as he flew over them. The red light next to the altimeter was flashing red, signifying that he was dangerously low. The engines were running hot from the superchargers, nearly red lining. The speedometer needle was pointing straight down meaning that Voss was going faster than the 410mph the gauge maxed out at. His hands were steady, keeping the plane in level flight, all the while glancing around for Marks and his squadron.
The amount of static in the message meant that he was still (hopefully) a fair distance away. He vaguely heard that help was on the way but his adrenaline was pumping. It was a squawk from the back seat that made him respond by jerking the stick hard left, narrowly avoiding the burst of cannonfire that shredded the treetops below.
Voss glanced behind and saw an aircraft that made him pause.
It was ugly looking. A double, counter-rotating propellor in the front, and oblong fuselage with a twin boom tail that ended with two large rudders and a massive center flap. Each wing root held a jet engine and behind the fuselage was another counter-rotating prop. A blister on top housed four cannons, the wings held two cannons each and a large cannon protruded from the propellor hub in front.
There was little doubt that the craft was Rotarian, given the emblems and paintjob. The ID though: MAG-1-66X, was new to him. As he evaded another burst, the radio crackled and came to like with a bark of laughter.
"Run all you like Voss! Against this new fighter you are as chaff to the wind! Make it easier on yourself and just... stay... STILL!" Voss muttered an apology to the little griffon behind him and kicked his flying up a notch. He pushed the engines, heedless of the alarms, and started rolling, jinking, and dodging left and right, up and down. The griffon in the back squealed as Voss evaded burst after burst from Mark's jet, all the while listening as Marks grew more and more irate.
"Voss! Damn you hold STILL! I need to kill you."
"Not bloody likely. Better than YOU have tried Marks!"
"Well then, things change. I highly doubt that your plane will be as maneuverable as it is if you're down an engine. Speaking of which, I'd suggest you pull power before you lose BOTH of them. I can't claim the kill if you fall out of the sky on your own volition, or, in this case, idiocy."
Voss checked his gauges and, sure enough, the right engine was in the red and the heat from the friction was already creating smoke from the engine. Voss hurriedly removed the union bar from the twin throttles and pulled the throttle for the right engine back to half power and the left to three-quarter power.
Just as Marks came in, guns blazing. The wing cannons were the only ones that scored hits, blowing holes through the right wing. Voss swore as, almost immediately, the hydraulics in the right wing dropped to zero and he could see a thick red liquid oozing from the holes in the wing. The right engine started spluttering, all gauges for the right side of the aircraft dropped the zero and the engine siezed and ground to a halt.
Red lights came on as Voss started fighting to keep the plane in the air, all the while setting the radio to open mike.
"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Lieutenant Voss, I have been hit! No damage to the cockpit but the right engine is down and I'm losing hydraulics. I need immediate assistance!" Laughter came through the radio.
"Nice try Voss, but you're still too far away from any Syllian forces. No one can come to your aid-"
Marks was interrupted by cannon rounds flying past his plane, damaging the jet engine on the right.
"What the hell?!"
"Attention, Lieutenant Voss, this is Captain Hans Kronan of the Rotarian 11th Air Group. You are free and clear to return to the carrier. Repeat: Return to base, we'll hold Marks and his group off!" Voss gaped in surprise as twelve Rotarian F12m 'Night Owl' fighters dove from the sky and opened fire on the JFI-1s that, apparently, had been in a holding formation overhead. Right behind those fighters was Dieter, Wolff, and the rest of the escort that had been with him.
He heard Marks swear explosively as he came on the radio.
"Captain Kronan! You are effectively ending your career!" There was a bitter laugh on the other end.
"Mechanos all but discharged me after the Gigantic was sunk. It opened my eyes to what my mentor was telling me that day. Rotiart is rotten, inside and out. The only way to change it, the only hope for my nation, is to unravel every plan, every plot, every single one of his machinations and burn them to the ground. The die is cast, my fate is sealed. I will die watching Rotiart's final days, or I will live and watch it rise from the ashes a nation reborn, redeemed. People like you, Marks, dogs who have sold their honor and their souls for Mechanos' praises. You are the real traitors. We few. We LOYAL Few. We are the real patriots." There was silence for a moment.
"Then you will die. Like all others who have stood in Emperor Mechanos' way. Loyalty to the state, loyalty to the Emperor. They are one and the same! The Emperor is the state and the state is the Emperor!" Voss grimaced.
"You delusional fool. You stand there smiling as Mechanos fiddles while the entire nation burns around you. You are no soldier of Rotiart, you are, as Kronan said, just one of Mechanos' dogs." Marks' reply was quick and, much to Voss surprise, high pitched, almost as if someone had kicked him in the fork of the legs.
"DAMN YOU VOSS! I- I am no traitor like you! I am a Rotarian soldier, born and bred! I don't give a damn what you say, Mechanos' orders are for you and that damn silver griffon you have with you to die TODAY! And so help me, I shall be the one who throws you through the gates of Hell myself-"
As Marks broke through the cloud of fighters, flak suddenly exploded around him, damaging the other jet engine and then another burst of static.
"This is Lieutenant-Colonel Farkis of the Rotarian 3rd Elite AAA. We are not going to allow you anywhere near that plane!"
"Colonel Jasfin here, 6th Corps, I've just knocked out the brigade commander. We are ceasing hostilities with Syllian forces. All Rotarian units, stand down."
Voss heard Marks splutter indignantly as if he was searching for something to say. The radio came on again.
"Attention Lieutenant Voss, this is Commander Reyson Havvers. We are inbound to escort you back to the carrier. Keep your course and speed and we'll guide you home." Voss spluttered.
"Havvers?! You're alive?!"
"Ha! Yeah, I guess you could say the rumors of my death have been... 'slightly' exaggerated. Had a dislocated shoulder, hypothermia, and a piece of flak in my hip but I survived. Hell, like the old saying goes: what don't kill you makes you stronger."
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Marks was stunned.
Here he was, doing his duty, and now suddenly Rotarian units all over were disobeying their standing orders, surrendering, or ceasing conflict alltogether. He gazed about on his left and right and saw his fighters and those still loyal to Mechanos tangled with the enemy and the traitors. Now he had another enemy wing closing in. He knew his orders. Yet, he reasoned, that there would be other, less dangerous opportunities to accomplish his mission.
"All fighters loyal to Emperor Mechanos... disengage and retreat."
"The hell you say sir?!"
"You heard me Kiln. Do what you do best, retreat with your tail between your legs! There'll be other chances to accomplish our mission."
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Voss watched as Marks and his loyal pilots turned tail and began to withdraw while Dieter, Wolff, Kronan, and now Reyson, formed an honor guard around his plane and, along with the near eighty aircraft from Syllia, Tullinar, and Rotiart they flew in a perfect formation back over Cardis towards the carrier.
He didn 't voice it over the radio but he felt something different. All along the ground, Rotarian soldiers were... well, they weren't surrendering but they had stopped fighting. All eyes gazing upwards at his plane.
And the little silver griffon in the back seat who, now without any threat, was gazing around at the nearby planes and cooing softly. Unbidden, he felt tears in his eyes and felt as if he, single-handedly, had just won the war.
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Alright everyone, the griffon is saved and is now on the way to the Leviathan. Is the danger over? Maybe, maybe not.
Next Chapter: An Aura of Light