Present
"Just tell me one thing," Laura said.
"Go ahead. Shoot," I acquiesced.
"Why didn't you just join the Ustio Air Force straight up once you graduated flight school? Given how badly the Ustians suffered early in the Belkan War, couldn't they have relied on you from the start? I mean, you know how bad they suffered both before and in the early stages of the war."
"Well, I would have joined the Air Force, but I honestly didn't like their lineup of planes. Just to give you an idea of what they had, most of their fighters were from the 1970s and they were already outdated by the time I started flying." I still shuddered at the thought of flying a second-generation J35J Draken into battle. I'm sure that when the Nordennavians designed that fighter in the 1950s that it was the best of the best. But by the 90s, the outdated avionics and weaponry would make itself useless against F-15s and Su-27s no matter how well it maneuvered. Besides, the cockpit felt way too cramped for my liking. I speak from personal experience. Ustio's other planes (mostly third-generation F-5Es, Mirage F1s, and MiG-21bis's) wouldn't have helped either against the Belkans.
"But even if most of their planes were outdated, it doesn't mean that all of them were. Surely, the Ustians' more advanced planes could have stood a chance. You said yourself that Ustio inherited top-quality fighters from Belka."
"Maybe, but the quality of training wasn't as good as that of Belka or Osea. Most of the Ustian pilots didn't last a second against the Belkans and most of those who survived the initial attacks and dogfights fled to Recta. It wasn't until Yuktobania joined the war that Ustian pilots became better and started depending less on mercs like me."
"And who trained you?" Laura asked.
"I received much of my training from another freelance mercenary before I struck out on my own. He said that I had the best skills of any potential pilot. The rest I learned on the field."
"But if you were that good, why didn't you just leave life as a mercenary and join the Air Force? It just doesn't make sense ... unless, you were only doing it for the money. Like all other mercenaries."
"C'mon Laura, Ustio was practically a backwater, both before and after independence. Most grew up without a lot of money, didn't have a lot of options in-country, and the wages are a joke. So of course I wasn't gonna stay in Ustio if I wanted to make something out of life. I wanted to get more money than I had ever seen in my life. Then I wouldn't have to worry about scraping by as I did for the first 18 years of my life. Besides, I got to see the world."
Laura looked at me as if I was some lunatic. The expression of disbelief and confusion was something that I hadn't seen since I was a teenager. Fortunately, the ad break ended and the documentary came back on. The place shown on the screen was a gray and rust-colored plateau crisscrossed with ridges and dotted with shrubbery underneath a blue, somewhat cloudy sky.
"Belkan Priority One Strategic Airspace, B7R," Pixy said in a relaxed manner, "aka, the 'Round Table.' It was the grand stage where we pilots performed. We were all on the same footing, fighting under the same conditions. No affiliations or ranks to hinder us. Aces from every nation crisscrossed through those skies in pursuit of air superiority. The only rule of engagement was to survive."
As Pixy began to recount what happened on that day, I began to reminisce on that first incursion to the Round Table.
April 19, 1995
Valais Air Base, Ustio
1818 hrs
The last four days had been rather uneventful. Whatever special assignment that Head of Operations had planned hadn't materialized. Maybe they were still planning it or maybe they forgot. You could never tell with the highest echelons of military leadership. I didn't know what was going to happen, and I didn't care. All that really mattered for me was staying alive and collecting my paycheck. As for Ustio's cause, I would never admit it in front of others (except maybe Pixy and Eagle Eye) but I did feel as if I should have been in this cause from the roots of the conflict, ever since Ustio gained its independence from Belka. Had I not been so focused on the money, I could have been commanding Ustian fighter planes as a true soldier. But that also means I would be hiding in Recta taking pointers from the Yukes at this point.
Today, I was busy working out. I was running on the treadmill when I heard over the loudspeaker that the Galm Team should report to the briefing room. After changing out of my gym clothes and into appropriate attire, Pixy and I found ourselves in the briefing room with Eagle Eye and the briefing officer. After dimming the lights, he cleared his throat and began to explain the premise of our mission.
"Head of Operations has issued an emergency order for a reconnaissance mission to be conducted near the border tomorrow." So this must be the special mission that the big shots must have planned, I thought. Not very impressive. The officer continued, zooming in on a part of the Belka/Ustio border south of the city of Sudentor.
"You will be monitoring airspace B7R, currently under Belkan control." I immediately sat upright. A reconnaissance mission in the proximity of what may be Belka's best squadrons? That could be worth my while.
"Strong opposition is expected by enemy squadrons, and the presence of a magnetic field has been detected, which may interfere with communications. In short, this will not be a walk in the park. The B7R airspace is located above an area rich in subterranean resources, where many conflicts have been fought in the past. You are authorized to engage enemy planes upon contact. The time has come for your skills to be tested."
The officer shut down his display, and as we left the room, I wondered what might happen the next day. If Head of Operations was the one who arranged this mission, then there is no backing away from or refusing this. Were we that skillful to be sent on what for many pilots would be a suicide mission? I didn't know. Whatever it may be, the paycheck and the experience better be worth it.
Operation: Choker One
Area B7R, Belka/Ustio border
April 20, 1995
1120 hrs
The Round Table had long been of high importance to the countries that vied for control of it. The round plateau (the shape from which it gets its name) sits smack in the center of a chain of mountain ranges and hills stretching from the Waldreichs in Nord Belka all the way to the Futuro Channel, a skinny inlet stretching north from Oured Bay. These highlands had formed millions of years ago when the eastern part of the Osea (then a separate continent) smashed into mainland Osea, drying up the shallow sea that used to exist (leaving only the Futuro Channel and Oured Bay) and lifting up vast amounts of precious metals and minerals, which became exposed through earthquakes and erosion. The highlands have made many countries wealthy, particularly Belka, as they controlled most of the mountains even now. But the Round Table had never been mined yet. If Ustio was able to mine even a fraction of the area, the wealth generated would raise the quality of life exponentially, turning the country from a backwater into a first-rate nation. This would have been the final straw for Belka. Their economy had been suffering for years because of their military spending and Osean meddling, and seeing mineral wealth in one of their former territories was just salt on an open wound. No wonder the new government of Belka ruled the 1987 Federal Law Review unconstitutional after Waldemarr Rald became chancellor. The Belkans were just looking for a pretext to swoop in and take all the resources for themselves to reinvigorate their flailing economy. All of these thoughts swam in the back of my head as Pixy and I cruised towards the Round Table, with Eagle Eye's jet-black E-767 several good miles behind. Our radios were set to frequency 337, the one least hindered by the area's magnetic field, which meant both the Allied Forces and the Belkans could hear each other when over this place.
"Galm Team. This is Eagle Eye. Penetrate B7R and get a feel for the surroundings," the AWACS ordered, his voice slightly crackling from the geomagnetic disturbance.
"Galm 1, roger," I answered. "Maintaining current bearing and angels for reconnaissance run."
"Galm 2, roger," Pixy followed up. "This kind of job is what we're all about."
As we headed northwest, my radar lit up with eight blips grouped in four pairs. Must be the Belkan fighters that are guarding the plateau. "Enemies on radar," Eagle Eye warned. "Fishbeds and Phantoms. Exercise caution."
"Dammit!" Pixy grumbled.
"Galm 2, you take the four bandits on the left. I'll take the ones on the right," I ordered.
"Understood," Pixy said as he split off. "Moving to engage. Arming missiles and gun."
I also armed my eight missiles and 20 mm cannon. As I sped toward the two pairs of fighters closing the distance toward me, I couldn't help but feel as if the Round Table was being lightly guarded, and that the fighters that were supposed to be here weren't.
"Is something wrong with the IFF?" I heard over the comms. "Only two aircraft are showing up on radar. Don't they know about the Round Table?" It seems as if they were expecting a bigger force to arrive, not a two-plane flight.
"Let's see what those planes are made of. Show 'em what the Belkan Air Force is capable of."
"It seems they're onto us," Pixy remarked.
"Stay sharp," I warned him. "The area seems to be lightly guarded, so they may call for reinforcements."
"Galm Team, engage!" I heard from Eagle Eye.
"Galm Team, engaging now," I responded. The four bandits were now 27 miles away and closing fast. I got a radar lock and good tone on two of the four fighters approaching (a Phantom and a Fishbed) and immediately fired off two AIM-120Cs. "Galm 1, fox three, fox three!" I exclaimed. The missiles streaked off into the distance, leaving two smoke trails that disappeared entirely before two fireballs and falling debris finally confirmed the kills. "Galm 1, reporting two kills," I announced over the radio. The two remaining bandits broke off in opposite directions. The first plane, an Ołówek (that's what I sometimes call MiG-21s) on my left side, dove to 396 ft, and I immediately followed. The fighter tried to pull me toward the Round Table and kept jinking left and right, even throwing in a few loops for good measure. My fighter, which was normally agile enough to keep up with a small fighter, felt more sluggish thanks to a centerline 600-gallon drop tank underneath the fuselage. Every time I tried to get a missile lock, he threw it off. I desperately needed the tank, but there aren't many of them at Valais and who knows how many longer-range missions we may have, so I have to make do.
Fortunately, this chase was broken when the Phantom, which as circling at 3,906 ft, fired two Sidewinders at my plane. I yanked the stick back and the left, all while dumping flares to throw off the missiles. I had to get up the Phantom's altitude. That was the only way to nullify its weight advantage if it dived. The missiles missed my plane, and the fighter dove towards me, exactly what I was hoping would NOT happen. I jinked hard right, hoping that to shake the fighter off my tail. It worked; the bulkier fighter couldn't keep up and lost its bead on me. I found the Ołówek to be just off my nose, at my one o'clock. It barrelled towards me, firing belly-mounted its 23 mm cannon. I broke right into the bandit, which passed by at breakneck speed without landing a single round. I swerved the plane around to find the Phantom also bearing down on me. Without hesitation, I fired a burst of 20 mm rounds at the fighter. Black smoke poured out of the part of the wing where the cannon shells landed. The fighter dipped below me and didn't try to reengage. With that fighter out of the way, I switched my attention back to the lone Ołówek now attempting to flee. I throttled the engines and gave chase. I quickly caught up to the fighter and let loose a burst of 20 mm shells into the fuselage. Smoke poured out of the bullet-ridden fuselage, and I sped past the fighter as it limped out of the AO. No need to waste missiles or cannon shells on a damaged fighter, unless it was relevant to the mission.
As I leveled out at 1,171 ft and rejoined Pixy, I ran a quick check of my armaments. I had two AMRAAMs and 17 cannon bursts left, and I hadn't fired any of my four Sidewinders. "Yo, Pixy," I asked him, "what's the status with your bandits?"
"Took all of them down," he answered.
"Really? I only shot down two. The rest fled after I damaged them."
"Well, in that case, I am still winning the contest. You should have taken out those bandits if you wanted a tie."
"And why destroy damaged planes? There's no point in using ammo on planes that aren't part of the objective and can't fight back."
"Oh don't tell me you still have that moral code swimming around in your head."
"Of course I still have it. I may not have any ideals, but I do whatever I can to prevent any senseless death."
"Enough chatter, Galm Team," Eagle Eye snapped over the radio. "Have the fighters been dealt with?"
"This is Galm 1, Belkan fighters are either retreating or are no factor," I answered.
"Good. Penetrate B7R airspace."
"Alright, you heard that Pixy. We'll fly into the Round Table. Stay sharp. There may be reinforcements coming."
As we flew over the edge of the plateau, I took the opportunity to marvel at just how beautiful the place was at high noon under a cloudless sky. Normally, the plateau was gray and rust-colored, but in this weather, it glowed like gold. "So, those ridges in front of make up the Round Table," Pixy remarked. "I've heard my share of stories about it."
"Yeah, dogfights have happened here since the Osean War at the start of the century," I followed up. "Although I can tell you, the place mostly out flattens if we keep going to the center."
"Warning!" Eagle Eye alerted. "Radar shows additional aircraft approaching Area B7R at high speed."
"Galm 2 to Galm 1," Pixy said. "Looks like the enemy reinforcements are here. Probably the main force."
"Galm 1 to AWACS," I asked, "how many are there and what do you expect us to do with them?"
"I'm detecting three squadrons nearing the AO. Galm Team, we cannot authorize a retreat. Intercept them."
"I figured you'd say that. This is gonna cost you extra," Pixy grumbled.
"Great," I muttered to myself. "Came in for a recon mission, got dragged into a dogfight."
"First wave, coming in from bearing 0-1-9," Eagle Eye announced. Four forest-green F/A-18C Hornets with red stripes on the tips of their wings, stabilators, and tails came in from the northeast at low altitude before rocketing up to meet us. Multiple Osean roundels decorated the space underneath the cockpits. Definitely one of Belka's top squadrons. My radar warnings suddenly went off as the fighter got a radar lock.
"Looks like you Ustio mercenaries made the wrong choice. You think you can survive in the Round Table?" a voice growled in my ear. The beeps of the radar warnings suddenly gave way to a shriek. "Galm 1, breaking," I yelled as four AIM-7 Sparrows streaked towards me from four o'clock low. I dove for the deck, hoping to shake them off. Two of the Sparrows flew over my head and headed towards Pixy, who broke into the missiles while dumping chaff. The other two, however, were still on my tail. Altitude warnings started going off in the cockpit. The Round Table loomed closer and closer, but just before I would have close-up look at the rocks, I yanked the stick back. The computer yelled "Over-G! Over-G!" as the F-15's nose suddenly pointed back up at the sky. Behind me, the two missiles slammed into the ground as I heard two thuds behind me.
"Hornets," Pixy warned as I turned to face the bandits. "Don't let 'em sting you in the ass."
"I know what they can do, Galm 2," I snapped back at him. "Just focus on taking them down. Galm 1, fox three!" The fighter jolted slightly upwards as an AIM-120C unhooked from the fuselage and shot towards two of the fighter flying in formation. The fighters broke while dumping chaff and the missile veered right into the chaff cloud, almost hitting one of the fighters. That I expected, but it got the fighters separated, which I wanted.
"All units, set ejection handles to green," the same voice said to his pilots. Probably the flight lead.
"These guys know what they are doing," Pixy stated. "Don't let up, even when you have a lock."
"Be careful," I added. "These guys seem to be constantly changing formations."
The fighters swarmed around the two of us, and I immediately began to chase one of them in a turning fight, trying to get a lock for my Sidewinders.
"Looks like they weren't joking," the flight lead remarked. "There's only two. All units, don't let these pilots outmaneuver you."
The fighter I was chasing was able to shake me off. As I scanned the AO, I noticed another Hornet chasing Pixy. I immediately lit my afterburners and dashed towards the bandits from its nine o'clock, firing a burst of 20 mm rounds aimed at the engine. The pilot dove to get out of the way and missed the shells, save a few that went through the wing. "This is an interesting opponent," the enemy flight lead mused. "Unorthodox to say the least." Another bandit launched a Sidewinder missile at me from straight ahead at point-blank range. I jinked hard left as the unguided missile went through the spot where my plane had been literally two seconds earlier.
Finally, I caught up with one of the planes that was preparing to engage Pixy. The fighter broke away from him, lit his afterburners, and started jinking left and right to shake me off, but this time I stayed on its tail. Hornets may be good air-to-air combatants, but they aren't dedicated air superiority fighters. The missile tone slowly went from a series of beeps to an uninterrupted note as the missile gained a lock. The enemy pilot leveled his plane out and popped his airbrake in an attempt to get me to overshoot. Big mistake. "Galm 1, fox two," I said as I pulled the trigger. The AIM-9M tracked right into the afterburners and the plane disintegrated into a cockpit section, two wings, two tails, an airbrake, and several twisted scraps of metal. "Galm 1, splash one," I announced to Eagle Eye.
"One of ours went down!" one of the pilots cried out. Despite being on the opposite side, I can understand their shock. They went in to face off against two pilots, only to realize they were up against something more than what they bargained for.
"Those bastards! All remaining planes, it's time to get serious," the flight lead announced. "I'm going for the throat. It's kill or be killed with these dogs. Fox two!" Another missile slid off the wing of the bandit and flew towards my ass. Again, I threw my plane into a barrel roll while dumping flares. White-hot streaks flew over my head as did the enemy missile.
"Galm 2, fox two!" Pixy yelled over the radio as one of his Sidewinders sheared off a Hornet's left wing. The unfortunate enemy pilot punched out. "Galm 2, splash one," he declared.
"They fly a lot different than the Oseans," an enemy pilot commented. The two remaining Hornets split and started chasing us. The flight lead, who was chasing me, was able to keep up with my twists and turns and fired off a round of 20 mm shells. The dry buzz of the Hornet's rotary cannon cut through my ears as shells flew over my head. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time," he said over the radio. "You're better than I thought."
Finally, I popped my airbrake and executed a high-G turn to the left that the slower Hornet couldn't keep up with. I lit my afterburners turned back to the right as the fighter was breaking away. My plane closed the distance in no time and I unleashed another Sidewinder. The missile detonated right under the fuselage, sending a burst of titanium rods into the engine. "Dammit! Both of 'em know what they're doing," the enemy pilot cursed as he ejected from the plane, just seconds before a final explosion ripped it apart. "Galm 1, reporting another kill," I announce for all to hear.
"There's one left," Pixy said. "Cipher, I'll take care of this one."
"You do that," I acquiesced. The last Hornet went down under a stream of 20 mm cannon fire. I didn't see an ejection or a chute from my angle. "Galm Team to AWACS, first enemy wave down," I informed Eagle Eye. "Where are the others?"
"Second wave coming from bearing 3-2-5," Eagle Eye announced. Four JAS 39C Gripens came charging towards us from the northwest. They were a stark white with a dark blue line running down the length of the fuselage, along with two more on the tail and a line at the wingtips. They came in at a level altitude and didn't break formation, almost as if they were jousting. "Looks like we got some Gripens to deal with," Pixy noted. Almost seeming to read my mind, he unleashed his two remaining two AMRAAMs at the fighters. They immediately broke up and activated their jamming systems, but once the missiles missed, they immediately reverted to their original formation.
"Unlike you mercenaries, I fight for a real cause," the flight leader announced. "The ones who survive are the ones who fight for their convictions."
"Alright, enough with the rambling intro," I responded. "Words mean nothing in battle." Pixy and I broke through the formation and split them in half. Two fighters started chasing after me in a modified version of their original formation. Both fired their Sidewinders, but I released my flares just before they could hit, with one of the missiles hitting a flare instead of the fuselage.
"The key to victory here is to stick to our flight pattern," the flight lead told his wingmen. I could tell from his voice that he wasn't happy about issuing orders on the same frequency used by us. I quickly decided to use this against them. "Pixy, try to lure some of the bandits toward me," I ordered. "I'll try to shoot one of them down."
"Copy that, Cipher," Pixy said. "Bringing the flight over to you."
"Stay focused," the flight lead said. "This airspace isn't what we're used to." So they're not that skilled here? Even better. As I flew north, I saw all four Gripens chasing after Pixy, hounding him by firing their 27 mm autocannons. My target: the second fighter in the line. I waited just until the pipper was just on the target and let loose a stream of rounds that fell onto the target. Some of the rounds hit the top of the fuselage and others hit the wing; the rest fell to the plateau surface. The plane jolted downward as the pilot lost control, and the pilots, ever so briefly, broke their formation. Pixy used the opportunity to break off, and I swing around and chase after the wounded plane. "Don't show any weakness," the Belkan flight lead warned. "They'll shoot you down." Well, too late for that. I bore down on the bullet-ridden fighter from its four o'clock high was now firmly in my sights, and I fired off another stream of 20 mm rounds. This time, the rounds hit the engine intake and tore off the right canard. The fighter careened out of line and towards a ridge. The pilot immediately punched out of the plane before he could get a close up look at the rocks. "Galm 1, bandit down," I reported.
"Ustio is holding their own in the Round Table," the flight lead said with amazement. Overhead, I saw two fighters swooping down to engage me, only for Pixy to blast one out of the sky with cannon fire. "Dam Ustios!" the other pilot cried out. "They're faster than I thought."
"Now things are nice and even," Pixy said. "Cipher, one for you and one for me."
"Now where did that fairness come from?" I asked.
"I have my quirks."
Pixy chased after the fighter near him, while I chased the fighter in front of me. The lighter and more nimble bandit threw in a series of twists and turns to shake me off. My fighter groaned as it tried to keep up. As he turned his plane, I got a good look at the kill marks on his nose. I only recognized two of them, the red and gold pentagon of Yuktobania. The rest weren't any roundels that I knew. Most likely, he served on the eastern front. Finally, I got a lock for an AIM-9M shot up his tailpipe. "I have a good tone. Galm 1, fox two," I yelled as the missile released from the underwing rail, only for it to veer off course and slam into a white smoke trail. "Damn it, he went for flares. I'm going for a gun kill." As he twisted and turned, I waited until I got the pipper on target before finally unleashing two 50-round bursts of 20 mm rounds. The shells tore through the fuselage, and the plane spiraled towards some shrubs; the pilot bailed out and deployed his chute, but he was too close to the surface. The pilot floated down for a few meters before hitting the Round Table at full speed. I winced as I saw the landing; he wasn't a bad pilot, and it would be a shame if he died.
"Galm 1, bandit down," I informed Eagle Eye. "Galm 1 to Galm 2, what's your status?"
"I took the bandit down," Pixy said. "Was gonna go and help you before you shot your bandit down."
"Galm Team, there is still another squadron coming in hot from bearing 2-7-5," our AWACS notified. "This should be the last one."
By this point, our dogfighting with the reinforcement squadrons had dragged us to the flat center of the Round Table. I could clearly the incoming bandits from the west: four matte black Typhoons with white leaf designs on the wingtips and the tip of the tail along with red around the cockpit, on the nose, and the tips of the canards. Typhoons were one of the few indigenous planes now produced by Belka (Typhoons were jointly made by Belka, Emmeria, and Sapin), so this is clearly one of the top squadrons. They hovered around our two o'clock high before diving down to meet us.
"Cipher," Pixy said, "they're flying Typhoons. They could launch long-range attacks."
"Not unless we beat them to the punch," I countered. I quickly got a lock on my remaining AIM-120C and fired it off. The missile didn't guide, but cleaved through the enemy formation and split them in half. "Mercenary dogs," the flight lead growled. "You have no place being here." A North Belkan. I can tell by his voice. Growing up, I always hated them. They got all the good jobs, went to the best schools, and always had more opportunities. While Ustians were stuck on farms and doing their best to scratch out a living, they were going to university and raking in most of the cash. If I had joined the Belkan Air Force (I actually briefly lived in Belka as a child when my dad got a job there and some Ustians consider themselves more Belkan), I would end up flying either an F-16, MiG-29, or a Mirage 2000 at best, or I would get an F-5, MiG-21, or Mirage F1 at worst. All the best planes were given to the North Belkans (and several South Belkans), and they were the ones who got all the glory. There was nowhere to go when Ustio was part of Belka. They were part of the reason why I became a mercenary.
"This is the Round Table," Pixy snapped. "Dead men's words hold no meaning."
We merged at high speed and promptly started turning to get a bead on each other. One of the bandits fired a missile at my plane which I immediately threw off with flares. Another Typhoon came in from three o'clock firing its 27 mm autocannon. I quickly broke into the fighter but not before five rounds hit the fuselage. Of all the squadrons I had faced over the Round Table, this one was clearly the most seasoned.
"Don't think you can leave Area B7R alive," the leader threatened us. Right. As if I would let a North Belkan bastard tell me when I would die. "That's all they are. Nothing like us," he told his wingmen. Maybe. But I don't need to fight like the pioneers of aerial warfare if I wanted to win.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pixy taking down one of the Typhoons with 20 mm cannon fire. The plane spiraled down and slammed into the earth. I never saw a chute. "One plane down!" one of the pilots exclaimed. "Looks like we underestimated them!" Of course they did. They were so cocky and full of themselves that they never analyzed our tactics to see our attacks coming. "Enough playing around," the flight lead snapped. "I'll drive them into the flames." For fuck's sake, will that guy just shut up and fight?
Another Typhoon came wheeling in from eleven o'clock. I quickly acquired a lock on the plane and shot off my last AIM-9M. "Galm 2, fox two," I announced. The pilot realized what was coming and banked hard right while dumping flares. The missile detonated in front of him. One of his two engines must have been hit as smoke was pouring out of the exhaust nozzles. The pilot fired off a burst of 27 mm shells, two of which hit my right vertical stabilizer. I retaliated by firing a burst of 20 mm shells right into the air intakes, lighting the engines on fire. The poor bastard didn't even have time to eject before his plane exploded as I flew past. "Galm 1, splash one," I announced over the comms.
"Two of our fighters have been shot down!" an enemy pilot seethed "They'll pay for this! Fox two!" My missile alert screamed at me as the pilot loosed a Sidewinder that flew right in my direction. "You've got an enemy missile heading your way, buddy!" Pixy yelled with concern in his voice.
"I see it, man! Evading!" I jinked hard right and released as many flares as I could, but this time missile didn't go for the flares and detonated under the left wing. My plane suddenly rolled over to the right and shuddered from the impact. I briefly did a damage assessment, and fortunately, it was just a glancing blow. I shifted my attention back to the airspace where I saw the flight leading bearing down on me from behind while the other chased Pixy. Throttling the engine, I was just able to evade a stream of cannon rounds as they flew through the spot where I once had been. "Mercenaries are driven by money," the flight lead declared. "They shouldn't be able to beat us. You'll be the seventh plane downed in B7R." Were they all? And why was he speaking in the past tense? I have no clue. As I bled speed from all the jinking, I saw the Typhoon looming closer and closer to my six o'clock. The plane's computer warned me that he was trying to get another missile lock. Seizing the opportunity, I popped the airbrakes to get him to overshoot. The pilot pulled his plane upward as he shot over my head. With him right in front of me, I squeezed out a spray of rounds which shredded the Typhoon's right flap and engine nozzle.
"Aren't there only two of them? How could Ustio's mercenary dogs fly so well?" The incredulity in his voice was almost priceless, but the arrogance remained. "Czy uważasz że ten najemnik jest być może napędzany przez coś innego?" Did he consider that I may be driven by something else? All I got from him was a confused "Huh?" I realized that I had said that entire sentence in my native Ustian. So I repeated my sentence, this time in perfect Belkan: "Ich sagte, haben sie der meinung dass deiser Söldner viellecht von etwas anderem getrieben wird?" After saying that, I released another burst of rounds that lit the engines on fire. "I've been hit!" he cried out. "That low-life mercenary!"
"I'd bail out if I were you," I told him. "That pride will get you killed." This was the type of attitude Pixy had warned me about, and here it was in front of me, a man bailing out of a damaged plane while the rest of his comrades crashed and burned. Speaking of which, Pixy was still chasing that remaining Typhoon. "Our captain's down!" the pilot exclaimed. "Impossible. Am I the last one? Requesting backup!" My heart sank at the prospect of facing more enemies. We had to get out of here quickly. "Those guys are history," I told Pixy. "Galm 2, let's wrap things up here."
With two final cannon sprays, the last bandit went down in flames. Again, there was no ejection. "Galm 1 to AWACS," I said to Eagle Eye. "All bandits are down. Any more coming?"
"All Belkan reinforcements shot down. No more fighters are coming; you're are clear across the board," he confirmed. "Mission complete. Return to base."
I finally let out a breath and slumped back in my seat as Pixy and I turned out planes southeast. As we were leaving the plateau, Eagle Eye's voice crackled over the radio again: "Incoming message from Allied Forces Operations Command. 'Allied naval force has begun its advance. We appreciate your work.'"
"Looks like we were just a couple of decoys," Pixy said, clearly miffed about having to play as a diversion.
"Well, whatever we did must have been that good," I said. "Why else would the Belkans focus on us instead of on them?"
"True."
A moment of silence passed for a moment before Pixy asked, "Yo, buddy. You still alive?"
"You still got your wings?" I responded. Pixy just chuckled before I joined in.
Valais Air Base, Ustio
1215 hrs
"Well, it seems that Area B7R is more heavily guarded than we thought," the briefing officer remarked. "If not for your efforts, our ploy would have failed."
"The Round Table wasn't that heavily guarded," I corrected the officer. "They just had reinforcements on speed dial. Also, what ploy are you referring to, because this so-called 'reconnaissance' mission was really a decoy mission."
The briefing officer pulled up a map and pointed towards the Great Lakes. "This operation is a prelude to Offensive Campaign 4101, the operation to take back the Great Lakes, currently under Belkan control," he said, before turning to me and Pixy. "Surely the two of you know how the Belkans controlled the Great Lakes." Of course I did. In the days before the war, a fleet from the Belkan navy sortied out of harbor, but instead of heading for the Cascade Ocean-where they usually operated-they turned south, towards the Spring Sea, which confused pretty much everyone as the Belkans supposedly had no reason to head south. Then, during the early days of the war, as Belkan forces took Wesson and Rutherford and Belkan aircraft bombed Osean and Sapinish anti-ship positions in the Futuro Channel and Futuro Canal, the Belkan fleet made a mad dash up the channel and through the canal before finally arriving in the now Belkan-controlled Great Lakes. It was a complete embarrassment for Osean and Sapin.
"Well," the officer continued, "the Oseans have finally got a carrier battle group in Oured Bay and they were supposed to start moving up the Futuro Channel. Of course, there was still the threat of it being sunk by Belkan aircraft. That's where you guys came in. You were able to tie down the Belkan Air Force, and the fleet was able to get going. Anyway, I'll be sure to inform Head Operations how the two of you took out three elite squadrons."
"Wait, what are you talking about now?" Pixy asked, expressing my thoughts.
"Oh, the three squadrons that engaged you were some of Belka's top aces. According to our records, the flight leads of the second and third squadrons have quite a reputation. The leader of the second squadron shot down nine FATO Tomcats while fighting to take Model in Gebet on March 25. Meanwhile, the leader of the third squadron has a record from before the war. He shot down three of our Su-27s on May 10 of last year before shooting down five Osean F-16s five days later."
Hearing this, I couldn't help but feel proud of myself for knocking down those squadrons. In all my years as a mercenary, I only ever shot down insurgents and rebels who only had a tenuous grasp on flying. Shooting down some of the best pilots in the world made me feel as if I had fulfilled a part of myself that had been empty for years.
"Anyway, the Belkan military is likely going into full damage-control mode," the officer remarked. "As for you two, we are going to triple your pay. I can tell you guys are worth everything we are paying you. Now go rest up. You earned it."
Alright, so that was mission three of Ace Combat Zero. I have finally found a way to integrate all the Round Table ace squadrons, and I will be doing the same when I write about missions ten and sixteen. Two things I forgot to mention about Tony (Cipher) are his handedness and blood type. He is right-handed and has blood type A+.
Another thing to note is that I am using Polish for Ustian and German for Belkan. Just FYI, I'm using translators for both languages as I don't speak them. I am also adding a glossary for any terms or aircraft models that you might not recognize.
Ołówek: Ustian (Polish) word for pencil; used to describe the MiG-21 along with its Osean codename "Fishbed"
Total kills: 21
Thanks for reading. Like, share, and follow. Leave a comment if you want to, and I will see you in the next chapter.
