IRIS felt her stomach shove itself into her lungs as she broke formation as hard as she could. The explosion lingered in her mind, but the G-forces were all she could focus on. Breathe. Breathe. Don't red-out. As she took deep breaths, recalling the breathing exercises that were so second nature to her, Bluejay's panicked voice came over the comms.

"...Shit, shit shit shit! Polaris Two... lost from radar." Sweat beaded down the AWACS operator's face as he double-checked the console. "C'mon, be a glitch, be a glitch!"

"Negative, Bluejay," Burn said, breathing heavily. "I have visual confirmation. Polaris Two is splashed."

"Zip!" BASH's voice was uncharacteristically frightened. "Dammit Zip, bail out! Polaris Five, do you see a parachute?"

IRIS steadied her plane as the blips on her radar warning receiver faded. "Blind on a parachute, Polaris One," she said, somber. "And anyone bailing out into that storm…"

Bluejay knew the situation was dire, and he got to work. "Polaris, the stealth fighters are using the cloud layers as cover, and popping out into the clear to harass us. If any of you bastards are crazy enough to fly down through that storm, you might be able to chase them down visually. I need time, because you need reinforcements. In case any of you forgot, they called for their own not too long ago." The AWACS shook his head. "Christ, this is bad."

"Roger, Bluejay," the Major replied. "Polaris Six, you and I are diving. Three through Five stay on each others' wings. Keep your squadmates safe."

"Major Hawthorne, with all due respect, your dogfighting's a little rusty. The DACT fights the other day-"

"I don't care about the aggressor fights," The Flanker pilot replied. "I'm not losing any more pilots. If anyone else goes down today, it'll be me. Spook can handle herself."

Thanks, I… guess. Just throw me into life-threatening peril, why dont'cha? IRIS watched the clouds for any hint of stealth fighters, and as the green-and-brown-camo painted Sk.27 pulled into formation with her, the two fighters dove, punching through the storm like an osprey searching for a fresh catch. In the background, Bluejay called over the radio.

"CIF Command, this is AWACS Bluejay attached to CIF-77 Polaris." The AWACS operator's tone was somber and measured. "Unable to continue mission as fragged. We have lost an aircraft from an unexpected hostile presence. Be advised: stealth fighters are in the AO. Requesting reinforcements from any available airbases- Avalanche, Avalanche, Avalanche at the following coordinates: six five point five three degrees, four niner minutes North, one seven two point two one degrees, three niner minutes West. I say again..."

The AWACS faded into the background as a bolt of lightning broke over IRIS' shoulder, the thunderclap drowning out the rest of the world. Her helmet-mounted display flickered and crackled, the wind throwing her fighter every which way as blue flashes lit the clouds with electricity. The two CIF planes broke through the storm, the sea below a rough chop.

IRIS spotted two grey outlines on the horizon. Where's the third? She took a deep breath in, pushing the anxiety down as she swept her head around her peripheral vision. "I see them," BASH said over the radio. "C'mon, Spook. Let's draw them into the merge."

"These are VX-23's we're fighting," IRIS said. "Radar-guideds aren't gonna be much use. Dump 'em, they're just dead weight. Maybe we can force them defensive."

"Was just about to say the same thing, Spook. Polaris One, maddog fox three by three. Polaris One is skosh." Three MLAAs streaked from the Flanker, seeking their own targets. IRIS thumbed her selector switch, taking a look at her weapons stores- one heater, nine MLAAs.

She checked to see if a radar lock was even worth trying to acquire, and the lack of blips on her plane's radar display seemed to indicate against it. She agreed, and aligned the nose as best she could with the grey silhouettes, ripple-firing her nine remaining MLAAs as the planes were forced to break off by the inbound missile threat. "Polaris Six, maddog fox three by nine!"

Her plane suddenly felt… lighter, flightier. She watched as the stealth fighters turned with incredible agility, dumping chaff in their wake, the gap between them closing. "Polaris One," BASH radioed in. "Fox two by two." The Flanker's heat-seeking missiles shot off their carriage rail, seizing on the wispy trails of heat left by the stealth fighters' thrust-vectoring nozzles. One of them went wide, but the other one found its way home.

"Good shot, BASH, confirm kill on VX-23." Bluejay pumped his fist in celebration. "Two down. Two to go. I've got something up my sleeve that might help even the odds, I just need to… remember everything I've forgotten about operating the F/C-8's electronic warfare suite."

"...What do you mean, forgotten?" IRIS gripped her plane's controls, eyes widening. "You're our goddamn AWACS! You should know these things!"

"Look, Spook, I was in prison for six months before the CIF busted me out and helped me commandeer this plane. Skills decay over time. I'm only human," The AWACS clacked away at keys and flipped switches. "No, that's the Master Radiation switch- whoops, wouldn't want to hit that, it's pointed at you guys..."

"Pointed at- Bluejay, did you forget how to do your entire fucking job in six months?" IRIS watched as the distance between her plane and the stealth fighter evading the flurry of radar-guided missiles closed.

"Look, Spook, you weren't there." The AWACS snapped back. "It felt longer. Plus, this equipment isn't all standard." He flipped a switch with a "Got it!", and the Feds' radio lit up. "Siniy 1, this is Siniy 3. My radar's jammed and I have no joy on the group of CIF fighters- what do I do?"

The other Federation fighter on the line responded. "Engage the jamming plane, evade the others. I have my hands full down here."

"Hoooold on," Bluejay said. "Engage the jamming plane?"

Over IRIS' radio, she could hear the missile alerts. She couldn't pay attention, though, as the heat-seeker on her wing growled, begging for its pilot to set the killing machine free. She obliged, and her last missile shot away from her plane, clearing its rail, and turned sharply towards the stealth fighter. "Polaris Six, fox two- Polaris Six is Remington."

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-" Bluejay's panicking voice was only barely louder than the missile alarms. "Goddamnit, TURN! Dump countermeasures! Fucking do something! What the fuck do I have a pilot for if you're not gonna fucking-"

IRIS watched as the heater flew for the VX-23 before being narrowly distracted by flares. "Polaris Six, bogey trashed my missile." She pursued the defensive bandit, matching her nose towards its tail. "Closing to guns range."

"C'mon, Carter, if you're just gonna let the missile hit us let me know so I can get back in touch with God and tell 'em I'm sorry for the last ten years." Bluejay sighed. "Uhhh… fuck, I don't remember any prayers."

IRIS squeezed the trigger, the twenty-millimeter whirrrr of the gun shaking the airframe. The Federation fighter snapped out of her vision, jumping upwards. Only one thing that could be, she thought, and flicked the caution-taped switch on the throttle, her intestines punching a hole in themselves as her Super Hornet's flight computer looked away from her dangerous antics, content to leave the pilot to play in the sandbox of aerodynamics unsupervised.

She chased the fighter as it broke away from the relative safety of the realm between the storm and the sea, tearing through clouds as thunder broke all around. Her HMD flickered, hazel eyes dilating with the lightning. The wind buffeted her wings, shoving the thirty-two thousand pounds of machinery around like it was no more than paper. The other fighter in front of her was no doubt fighting through the same, and as the comforting green glow of the display flashed in and out of reality, IRIS took a deep breath. She shut out the noise around her, the AWACS yelling into the radio, the roar of the jets to her back, the crash of electrons finding their way home to the ground.

"Polaris Six," she said, a cold, sharp confidence to her voice. "Guns, guns, guns."

Soon, her own bolts of thunder joined the sky, and the other plane twirled and spun as best it could in the tempest to avoid them. The effort, however, soon proved in vain. She squeezed the trigger, and the rotary barrels of the Vulcan sent a twenty-millimeter round home to rest in the VX-23's engine cowling, a splash of orange in the sea of grey.

"Polaris Six," a cocky smirk growing across her face. "Splash one. That's for Zip, asshole."

"Yeah, yeah, that's good and all, but I am an AWACS. I should not be hearing missile alerts." Bluejay turned towards the cockpit, a mocking calm to his voice. "Carter, I take it back- keep it up honey, you're doing great. Remember, turn to avoid the missiles. Turn!" Bluejay's faux tranquility fell apart as he screamed towards the cockpit. "And countermeasures!" An explosion rocked the radio and Bluejay buried his head in his hands. "FUCKNOTLIKETHISNOTLIKETHIS-"

IRIS pulled her plane up through the cloud layer, BASH trailing behind her, the flaming wreck of the VX-23 punching through the cumulonimbus ceiling ahead of the two CIF pilots. "AWACS Bluejay, Polaris One," BASH radioed in. "Status. I say again, status."

Bluejay didn't seem to hear. "Oh, joy, Carter. Look out the window, the engine's gone. Look at what your flying got us. We're down an engine, and there's a supermaneuverable stealth fighter out there trying to kill us. My dog is a better pilot than you." Bluejay has a dog? IRIS thought to herself. He struck me as more of the… irresponsible type.

"Siniy 1, respond!" The remaining Federation pilot sounded like they were panicking. "Shit… the whole squad's dead. I'm outta here- the reinforcements can handle this."

"Bluejay," the Major said, sternly. "Status. We're forming up on you for protection."

"Oh, fuck. Sorry, BASH. Well, right now? I'm instructing my dipshit pilot to bug out. Sorry to leave y'all tumbleweed, but I can't loiter like this." He checked the radar blips on his console. "Wait- Polaris, what state?"

"We're Remington here," Jackal replied. "And I think most of the squadron is. We took down some transports while you were, ah, busy, One."

"Well, cavalry's here, so you should probably RTB for a resupply," Bluejay said. "CIF-28 and some mercenaries, Hawk team." Bluejay looked down at the console again. "I'm… oh shit. Feddie reinforcements are closing, too. I don't think our guys will be enough. I'm calling for more."

Polaris Squadron turned to exit the AO as friendly F/D-14s and F/S-15s pushed into it against the enemy reinforcements, opposing jetwash cutting across the sky and painting it with streaks of white. Bluejay's F/C-8, trailing smoke, limped along with the five remaining CIF-77 pilots as escorts. "CIF Command, AWACS Bluejay. Avalanche, Avalanche, Avalanche…"