Confrontation
Yellowstone Exclusion Zone
Operation Flash Hazard
March 4th, 432 After Calamity
Yellowstone burned below as it had been for the last few years. The alarms that blared for the better part of the day were still going off as the planes above swooped like sick bats.
A lone F/D-14 had pulled away from the last of the cordium extractors, its usual dazzle camo streaked with layers of ash.
"Whew," its pilot, Hitman 1, or Monarch, as he was better known by, said as they climbed up from the lava-covered ground. "That was a close one. Remind me to pack extra fire extinguishers into this thing whenever you have the chance, Prez."
"Yeah, that will be nice," Hitman 1's WSO said, glancing back at the Tomcat's ash-streaked body. "Great. I gotta clean all this up! You know how cordium ash will affect your respiratory system if you inhale this stuff for too long?"
"Yeah, I know," Monarch said, joining up with the other mercenary aircraft that were regrouping to head out of Yellowstone. "Best we put this bird in a decon chamber until we can get her repaired and flying again." He changed the radio frequency. "Galaxy, are we looking clear?"
"Roger, Hitman 1," the AWACS operator said. "The board is looking clean and-" He paused suddenly. "Hold it." And then, to all aircraft present in the area, he said, "We have a pop-up group bearing 180 from your location. There's a lot of them."
Monarch imminently turned his Tomcat around and headed in the opposite direction. If these were interceptors, he had to keep them off of the other mercenary aircraft and his own before they got to them. "Galaxy, what squadron are we dealing with here?" he asked. He heard silence as Galaxy sifted through some data.
"We've got confirmed ID on these hostiles," he finally said. "We've got them pegged as Cascadia's Federation Peacekeepers."
"Ah, frickin' knew it," Hitman 3, Comic, said. "I'm out of here.
"Yeah, nope. I'm Winchester anyway," Hitman 2, Diplomat, said frantically, said, frantically. "Let's go!"
"Monarch, what are you doing?!" Prez demanded. "We're supposed to be heading home, not tangling with Peacekeepers!"
"Someone has to cover the retreat," Monarch said simply, spooling up his missiles.
"Yes, but that is suicide!" Prez countered. "We are talking about one of the most elite squadrons in the Federation!"
"Well, let's just see how elite they can get," Monarch said, keying in the commands to release the remaining bombs he had brought along. There weren't that many left, and they crashed into a hillside. He checked his remaining weapons. Four standard missiles, three MLAAS, and plenty of gun rounds left. He then opened up the afterburners and raced towards the squadron.
If he hoped to let the allied fighters escape, he was going to hold off these fighters or die trying.
X
Crimson 1 was no stranger when it came to taking down mercenaries. He had downed at least 15 of these low-life ash dogs, trying to survive off a meager paycheck by killing everyone they came across.
He first started racking up kills on these low-life warriors during Oceania, while covering vital Federation convoys and tactical retreats. That earned him a promotion to Peacekeeper and the leader of Crimson Squadron, where he spent the next few years conducting patrols around the Federation's borders until now.
Right now, he was heading back to base after encountering a retreating attack force comprising of both rebels and mercenaries. He had claimed 2 aircraft, while the rest of his squad had their own share of kills, but the vast majority got away.
They were just a few miles out from their airbase when his comlink started buzzing.
"Crimson 1, this is AWACS Argonaut. We have a Priority One transmission from HQ."
"Patch it through to us, Argonaut," Crimson 1 said. All the way out here, the thermal interference from the nearby Apodock fracture would be madding, even with the help of the Solana Communication Array.
"Crimson Team, flow 000 towards Yellowstone. Priority orders," HQ said.
Crimson 1 checked his fuel and ammunition status. It wasn't looking fine. The fuel gauge was resting half of the way from full and was trickling closer towards empty. As for his ammunition, two standard missiles and four long-range MLAAS still remained, which was expected. The VX-23 couldn't hold many missiles anyway. As for his gun, he still had a decent amount of bullets left.
He sighed. "We're short on fuel and ammo. Give us a reason, HQ."
"HVT designated with the crown has been causing catastrophic damage to the Apodock facilities. They need assistance," HQ said.
The Crown. It had been a few weeks since Crimson 1 had heard about the mercenary that was tearing through the Federation's onslaughts like they were nothing. Whoever they were, they were certainly capable of holding back the tide.
Crimson checked his radar. The Apodock facilities weren't that far from here. His squadron could make it with their current fuel state.
"Roger… inbound," he said, and then he shut off the comms and peeled off, the rest of his squadron following.
"The Crown…" Crimson 6 said as he slid into place behind Crimson 1 in his Sk.37. "He must be here. Wherever there is trouble caused by these lousy mercs, the Crown always follows." He had a sort of bloodlust on the edge of his voice, like he was itching for a fight. Crimson 6's Sk.37 had to be patched up so many times it was comparable to an Sk.25 than the slim fighter. As for Crimson 1 himself, he had been offered an Sk.37 himself, but he preferred his VX-23 because of its sleek and stealthy design. Made it handy for sneaking up on unsuspecting Cascadian and mercenary fighters.
"Settle down, 6," Crimson 1 said. "We need to see what they are capable of, then we can put a stop to them and their businesses against world peace."
"Are you sure?" Crimson 2 asked. "At this rate, we'll burn through our fuel supply faster, and who knows if there are any tankers in the area."
"We'll make it quick. We always do," Crimson 1 said. "Try to conserve your fuel and ammo as much as you can."
The Apodock fracture soon came into view, the seemingly orange sky blanketed with a layer of smoke. There were still a number of aircraft present in the sky, but most were turning and running. He opened a comms frequency to AWACS Argonaut.
"Crimson Squadron is on station. AWACS, is this them? The mercenaries?" he asked, spooling up his weapons.
"Affirmative," Argonaut said. "Drive these mercenaries out of the airspace, Crimson 1." His HUD flashed with the target boxes, highlighting all the aircraft in the area.
"Roger, tallyho," Crimson 1 said, setting his sights on a lone F/D-14 that was turning to engage. "Let's chase these dogs off."
X
Monarch carved his way toward the Federation Peacekeepers, letting his missiles lock on to the lead plane, a VX-23, in an eight-ship formation of four VX-23s and four Sk.37s.
"Prez, how are we looking back there?" he asked.
"The lock is solid," Prez reported. "Let 'er rip!"
But before Monarch could fire, the planes suddenly passed in front of each other. Out of instinct, Monarch pulled the stick to the left, so that the cockpit was facing the other cockpit of the VX pilot, who apparently had the same idea, but pulled their plane to the right. Time suddenly seemed to slow down as Monarch got a good glimpse of the plane: A VX-23, a light gray body with the canards colored a crimson color, along with the wings, the vertical stabilizers, and the rear section. There were several crimson-colored stars with a white outline on top of the engines and between the wings. He even got a good glimpse of the tail: the Federation emblem on it, with the tail code FP-01. That must be the leader of the squadron. Before he knew it, they had passed each other, and Monarch found 6 missile alerts on him. He released flares and dodged all of the other pursuing aircraft. He got behind the leader and acquired a good lock. Suddenly, the plane released flares and pitched up, and accelerated at a 90-degree angle.
"What the hell was that?!" Prez shouted, as Monarch narrowly avoided a missile fired by one of the Sk.37s.
"AOA limiter," Monarch said, pitching up and following the lead plane again. "In the hands of a capable pilot, they can do some really crazy shit."
The F/D-14 was now behind the lead aircraft, which was soaring down now, attempting to draw him to the ground where thermal interference would be high. Looking through his helmet, Monarch saw the Peacekeeper paint scheme and used that as his marker. He waited for the lock icon to settle on the craft before firing an STDM. "Hitman 1, Fox 2!" Prez called out. The missile soared ahead, and was moments away from impacting when the aircraft popped the AOA limiter and soared up. The missile streaked ahead, but Monarch was faster on the draw. He mashed down the trigger and lead pellets soared ahead of him, nailing the plane in some places. It started smoking in the places that he hit, but the craft was already behind him. The next thing he knew, he was yanking the Tomcat away from the pair of STDMs fired by the stealth fighter. They missed, but this opened up an angle for an Sk.37 to fire on him with its guns. Bullets pinged off of the Tomcat's body as Monarch maneuvered behind another one to take a shot. When the lock icon settled, Monarch fired another STDM. This time, it yielded a result as the missile impacted the fighter square in the fuselage. The fighter now trailed a heavy cloud of smoke behind it as it broke off.
That seemed to do the trick. The other Peacekeepers seemed to notice the damaged aircraft and withdrew to the south, rapidly disappearing from sight.
"Holy shit, Monarch!" Prez suddenly said. "D-did you really just did that?"
"I did," Monarch said, this time very gruffly.
"Holy hell, you've chased them off!" AWACS Galaxy cut in. He stuttered for a moment before saying, "Monarch, RTB before they get any funny ideas!"
"What the hell, Monarch?" Comic asked, just as surprised as Galaxy was. "Since when did you fight like that?"
"Must've missed that class back in the academy," Dip mused. "Now let's go while we have the window."
"Monarch, unless you're planning on dying alone out there, RTB ASAP!" Galaxy ordered.
"You don't have to tell me twice, Galaxy," Monarch said, igniting the afterburners and soaring away from the wreckage of the Apodock facilitates.
"Don't you ever scare me like that ever again, Monarch!" Prez said, reaching over and rapping him on the helmet.
"I told you, I was covering the retreat," Monarch said, eyeing his fuel gauge. It was sufficient enough to make the trip back to Rowsdower, but Kaiser had assured them that tankers from the Independence Force would assist them on their way back.
He glanced back at Yellowstone, which was rapidly shrinking in the distance. He was right to have stayed and fought off the pursuers. If not, those mercenaries would have been shot down, with nowhere left to bail except for the hot, cordium-rich ground.
He sighed. If the Federation was sending in Peacekeepers now, he would have to watch the squadron closer now and deal with those Federation tryhards, one way or another.
X
Even after the attacks had stopped, alarms still echoed throughout the facility. Staff were running about and papers were flying everywhere. Dr. Ronald Geoffrey hadn't seen this much chaos before, let alone in a situation like this. True, protecting the facility was as important as not creating another exclusion zone, but this chaos should have been caused by a heavy strike force, not by… mercenaries.
He had to respect these warriors though. Just like the ronin many centuries ago, they still managed to live prosperous lives, even though they didn't serve any master. He walked down the hallway, running a hand through his hair before stopping at the atrium to watch the skies. The late afternoon sun was flecked with contrails from the various jets that had clashed a few minutes earlier. He was absorbed in thought, watching a few pull back from the facility when a voice interrupted his train of thought.
"Doctor!" He turned and saw his advisor run up to him, his arms full of folders.
"What's the matter, Prescott?" he asked.
"I've been looking all over for you," Prescott said, handing one of the folders to him. "Damage reports should be in there, along with an estimate on how long it will take to repair the damage."
"And you put this all while the attack was going on?" Ronald said, amazed at the pace at which the team managed to hold their cool even though they were being bombed.
"Yes," Prescott said. "Although we had to deal with the occasional flickering."
Ronald was about to open the folder and examine the papers when a shout from Prescott started him.
"Look at that!"
Ronald turned his attention to the skies. The sky was now buzzing with activity as fighters were clashing, but one thing stood out to Ronald: The attacking aircraft were colored a crimson color.
"My God," he said. "Peacekeepers."
"Peacekeepers?" Prescott asked. "The hell are they?"
"Aces," Ronald said, his attention now focused on the dogfight. "They're pilots who believe in the Federation first over their own country. This is Cascadia's assigned squadron."
X
It should have been an easy fight. That was Crimson 1's first impression of these low life scavengers. Even as he set his sights on the lone F/D-14 turning to face him, he thought it was foolish to turn and face one of the most elite squadrons in the Federation.
As they passed each other, Crimson got a glimpse of the aggressor's aircraft: A Tomcat with a dazzle camouflage on it, the mercenary roundel painted on the cockpit and the tail, like the sun. And that logo. A vector art butterfly. But at this angle, it looked more like… a crown.
The Crown.
The mercenary ace that was defying the Federation.
He was here.
He quickly turned his craft around as the rest of the squadron got on the Crown's six.
"We're low on ammo and fuel to engage, Crimson 1," Crimson 7 said. "My bird might be sluggish."
"Tighten up then," Crimson 1 said, selecting his two remaining standard missiles. "If you're unable to fight, disengage. I don't need mercenary trash getting a lucky shot off."
"Tagging presumed flight lead," Crimson 2 said, and the target box appeared around the Crown's aircraft. He let out a light chuckle. Here he was, years after Oceania, fighting mercenaries again. And this one was going down, like so many others before.
The Tomcat turned and was on him. The missile alert barely sounded when he deactivated the aircraft's fly-by-wire system and pulled up, using the AOA limiter to its fullest while releasing flares. To his surprise, the Tomcat followed. Most pilots would just bail after seeing that move. He had used it to great effect during Oceania, catching unsuspecting pilots by surprise and always, always, winning.
This one was different.
"Crimson Squadron, keep it simple," he said, turning the VX-23 down and luring the craft closer to the ground, where the thermal interference would be at its highest, and so that his comrades could have a shot. "They're not worth the effort." He glanced to his left and saw some aircraft leaving the airspace. "The nerve of these mercs…" he muttered. "Causing all of this trouble and then running away."
A missile alert sounded in his headset. He turned on the AOA limiter and pulled, dodging the missile. It wasn't enough. A second later, he felt bullets ping off the hull of his VX. The pilot had gotten lucky with a quick burst.
"Crimson 1, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Crimson 5 said.
"Affirmative, 5. The one with the crown ID?" Crimson 1 asked, obtaining a solid lock on the Tomcat and firing his two missiles.
"Yeah, he's slippery," Crimson 5 said.
"This one's different," Crimson 4 said.
"Perhaps," Crimson 1 said, as he watched the Tomcat decoy the missiles with a sharp turn to the left.
"They're turning tail," Crimson 4 said. "Cowards."
"Don't get cocky," Crimson 1 said, turning the VX-23 to match the Tomcat's maneuvers. "Cornered animals tend to lash out." He was almost in range for a gun kill when Crimson 6 suddenly shot out of nowhere.
"Don't worry, I got this," Crimson 6 said, the bloodlust evident in his voice. He came around with his Sk.37 and strafed the Tomcat with his gun. The Tomcat remained airborne, surprisingly. The owner had modified the aircraft well.
"NO!" Crimson 6 yelled, as he swung his Sk.37 around for another pass. "I almost got him!"
"No, and you won't," Crimson 1 said. "Stand down, 6. I got this." But before the VX-23 made its full turn, the inevitable happened: The Tomcat launched a single missile, right at Crimson 5's aircraft. Crimson 1 reached for the radio and tried to warn 5, but it was too late.
The missile impacted right in the center of Crimson 5's aircraft. Crimson 1 watched it all happen, time slowing down around him.
The Crowned Mercenary had just shot down a Peacekeeper. A Peacekeeper! One of the Federation's top pilots! He even disregarded AWACS Argonaut's warning as it came crackling over the radio.
"Crimson 1, be advised. If you go further, you will not have the fuel to RTB."
That did nothing to snap Crimson 1 out of it.
The smoke cloud vanished and instead of debris raining down, and an Sk.37 shot out of it. Time seemed to return to normal as Crimson 1 took a relieved sigh. It had just scratched 5, but Crimson 1 wasn't the cocky fellow. He had to withdraw now.
"Hrm?!" he said, still apparently dazed. He changed frequencies. "All pilots, disengage. I'm not risking any losses because of this bloodthirsty dog. We've done all we can. We're getting out of here."
He then banked the VX-23 away from the Apodock facilities, the rest of his squadron following.
"Seems like the rest of them ran away with their tails tucked between their legs," Crimson 6 snarled, reluctant to let go of his prey.
"Yeah," Crimson 1 said. "Except for that one."
"He put up quite a fight, didn't he?" Crimson 2 said.
"He got lucky," Crimson 1 said disapprovingly. "Return to base."
He then opened up a channel to Argonaut. "Argonaut, this is Crimson 1. Do you read?"
"We copy," Argonaut said. "That was one hell of a fight you pulled back there. What happened?"
"The Crown managed to damage my plane and Crimson 5's. We're pulling out now." He glanced down at his fuel gauge. It was almost pointed at Empty. Not good.
"Do you mind giving us a vector to the nearest tanker?" he asked Argonaut. "We are running low on fumes here."
"Copy," Argonaut said before severing the line.
As they flew in silence, Crimson 1 silently vowed to look after the squadron more closely now, especially after what happened with 5's aircraft. He glanced over at the smoking Sk.37 and silently prayed that he was alright. He also wondered if he would ever best the Crown and bring the entire Cascadian resistance down. Then…and ONLY then…
"Crimson 1, are you alright, sir?" Crimson 3 asked.
"It's nothing," Crimson 1 said, heaving a deep sigh. "Next time." Before Crimson 3 had a chance to respond, he cut the line.
If he could, and will, bring the Crown down in flames, the people of Cascadia would cower in fear before their new kingmaker, a shiny crown of blood perched on his head.