AUTHOR'S NOTES: Mercury vs. Yang. This one's been building for awhile.
Yooper Air Combat Range
Michigan, United States of Canada
13 May 2001
Yang maintained a spread formation with Mercury. They would stay that way until Range Control cleared them in to begin their fight. In a level, spread formation, neither would have the advantage. As soon as Range Control called that the fight was on, Yang intended to grab altitude, and force Mercury to fight in the vertical, on her terms. The F-16 was better in close-range knife fights, but the F-15 ruled supreme in the vertical plane. Of course, Yang mused to herself, Mercury was smart enough to realize that as well. Don't underestimate him, she told herself. It was a bad habit of hers.
"Yang, Mercury, this is Beacon. Go to Channel Three." Yang did so, curious. They were usually on Guard, so their radio transmissions could be heard by the people on the ground and edited for broadcast. Channel Three was restricted. She checked in as soon as she made the radio change. "Be advised GRIMM were sighted over the Minnesota Dead Zone," the controller at Beacon radioed. "Nothing big, but enough to issue an advisory. Their last course would put heading southwest, but they could turn towards you."
"Great," Mercury replied, "and we're up here unarmed. What are we supposed to use, bad language?"
"If GRIMM should move into Yooper, you are to disengage and head south. Cardinal Flight is on alert five, and they will take care of the problem. Acknowledge." Both did, and switched back to Guard frequency.
They flew on in silence for another few minutes, and then Range Control came on. "Good morning, lady and gentleman. We are set up for a 1V1 hop. Hard deck for this hop is 1000 feet AGL. This is a visual only engagement, so only heats and guns. Mercury, you will approach from the north; Yang, from the south. Yang, assume holding pattern present location. Mercury, maintain heading and we'll tell you when to turn around at 20 miles. Good luck, folks. Range Control out."
Yang and Mercury exchanged one final look at each other, and then she made a lazy turn, setting up a circling holding pattern while he accelerated out of sight. She held the stick between her knees as she tightened up her straps and mask. Then she tried to control her breathing as adrenaline flooded her system. She flexed her fingers on the stick and throttle, and her toes inside her boots. Come on, come on! she thought. Let's do this!
"Range Control: fight's on."
Yang immediately slammed the throttle forward and pulled the stick into her lap, climbing hard into the spotless blue sky. She throttled back and leveled out at 25,000 feet, then rolled out upside down, pulling the nose down slightly. "Where are you, you son of a bitch…" she said aloud, though she kept her finger off the radio button. Her eyes weren't quite as good as Ruby's, but they were still superb. She caught movement, and then saw the F-16 streaking across the forested hills. Mercury was in a straight line, probably expecting her to do the same, though he should've detected her by radar if nothing else. Not paying attention, Merc? Then he must have spotted her, because the F-16 suddenly made a hard left break. Yang opened the throttle again and dived, quickly closing the distance. She saw that he was only a little bit above the hard deck, which meant he might be trying to sucker her into going below it, and get an easy "maneuevering kill." Not today, you little prick, Yang thought, and skidded in behind him, still well above the hard deck. She centered the gunsight on his engine, but then Mercury broke hard right, forcing her into an overshoot.
"Nice try," she said, and Yang threw Ember Celica into a high-speed yo-yo, trading speed for altitude, and still ending up behind him. She edged closer to him as he went into a left break, then suddenly reversed back into her. Yang did the same, the two passed close enough to see each other in their respective cockpits, then reversed again—going into a horizontal rolling scissors. Dammit, Yang! she yelled at herself. Quit playing his game! This is what he's good at! The F-15 was twice as heavy as the F-16, and though it could turn well, Mercury could pull it tighter. Sooner or later, he was going to get inside, and it would be all over but the bragging.
"Okay, fuck this," Yang spoke, and as they crossed each other for the fifth time in as many seconds, she disengaged and climbed, then almost immediately rolled out in an Immelmann and pointed the nose down. Mercury had been surprised by the sudden climb, realized Yang was about to be in a perfect position for a diving gun pass that would stich his F-16 from stem to stern, and made another hard right break, cheating the turn so tight that she couldn't keep the gunsight on him. She came out of the dive, rolled to kill some of her forward momentum, and went into a lag pursuit, bleeding off speed as much as she dared. It was working: she had ended up in one of the F-16's few blind spots, and Mercury couldn't see her. Her gunsight pipper centered on the other fighter's exhaust pipe, and she caressed the trigger—but before the gun could fire, Mercury had shot upwards in a hard climb.
Yang grinned, because even if it had ruined her sight picture, he was now entering her territory: the vertical plane. She climbed after him, shouting "Now you done fucked up, boy!" But then Mercury, still in the climb, rolled towards her, forcing her to do the same, and now they were in a vertical rolling scissors. Once more, the F-16's smaller size was working against Yang: Mercury would not lose speed in the vertical any more than she would, but he could still turn tighter. As Yang grunted with exertion, trying to stay level with the F-16, she knew both were slowing down, flirting with a stall. But she wasn't afraid: Yang's School of Dirty Tricks was now in session. The people watching on TV were going to get one hell of a show.
Fighting against the G-forces, Yang reached out and opened her speedbrake. The big metal slab on the F-15's spine opened, instantly slowing her down. Mercury ended up out in front, and as Yang retracted the speedbrake, he dived away. It was really his only chance, but even that was a mistake: she let Ember Celica fall backwards, rolled, and caught Mercury in the dive, heading for the hard deck. Yang was pushed back into her seat as she hit her afterburners, rapidly closed the distance, then throttled back. The pipper was on the curved back of the F-16. "Boom-shaka-laka!" Yang crowed on the radio, and pulled the trigger. "Yang, guns, guns, guns!"
She'd expected nothing but silence for three seconds; pulling the trigger just activated the gun camera that would display Mercury getting simulated killed for the world to see. She was startled by the vibration she felt through the stick, and to her horror, she saw cannon shells—her cannon shells—marching from the refueling port in the spine of the F-16 to its engine. Flames instantly erupted from the other fighter, and the tail separated as it pitched upwards. Yang instantly pulled her finger from the trigger, but the damage was done: the F-16 was finished, already stalling out. The canopy blew off and she saw Mercury eject; Yang pulled off to the left, afraid she'd run over him.
"Oh my God!" Yang screamed. "Vytal Flag, knock it off, knock it off! Mercury's down! Mercury's down!"
"Range Control, Vytal Flag, knock it off," the controller echoed. There were no other aircraft up, but it was to let Beacon know they were shutting down the exercise. "Yang, what happened?"
"I don't know!" she yelled. "Got a good chute—Range Control, scramble SAR!" She watched the remains of the F-16 disappear into the forest and explode. She flew past the fireball to get a better look at Mercury. He was dangling in the parachute, and there was no response. "Range Control, Mercury's not responding. Going down at…" she consulted the map in her right kneepad "…grid square 54-40."
"Roger that, Yang. Remain on station."
"Understood, Range. Assuming RESCAP." Yang orbited the parachute and jazzed her throttles, deliberately surging the engine to try and get Mercury's attention. His body looked intact, but injuries were depressingly common in any ejection. Oh God, she thought, what if his neck's broken? What the fuck happened? I'm not supposed to have live rounds! Why didn't Yorse tell me? She slammed a fist on the side of the cockpit. Because you didn't ask, you stupid ass. You didn't even check. They had been flying without live rounds for a week, and it had become instinctual not to look. She saw the round counter on her HUD; were the ammunition drum empty, it would've read zero. It read 310. What the hell happened?
"Yang, this is Jehovah." Yang closed her eyes for a minute. Ozpin. "RTB as soon as Cardinal is on station."
"Roger," she replied. She watched as Mercury's parachute disappeared into the forest. Frantically, she called out for him to come up on his survival radio, or on his beeper, but there was only silence.
Yang landed at Beacon and taxied to her hardstand. She saw a camera crew standing next to the hardstand, as well as several Security Forces keeping the newspeople back. They know, she thought. Of course. The camera pod was sending out that shit live. She touched the brakes and shut off the engines, then sat in the cockpit for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She didn't like Mercury Black, but she hadn't wanted him dead. On the way back to Beacon, she'd heard the rescue crews calling for Mercury, but there was still nothing. Parajumpers would begin looking for him, as the wind might have carried him further in the forest.
There was no more putting it off, so Yang opened the canopy and began to unstrap as Sergeant Yorse placed the ladder and climbed up. She looked at him. "What happened, Sarge? Why did I have live rounds?"
"Captain, you ordered me to load live rounds." Yorse had anticipated his pilot's question, and handed her the form. "You signed off on it. So did Captain Ozpin."
"I didn't sign shit!" Yang exclaimed. "What the fuck!" She just stopped herself from grabbing him. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
"Because you signed for it!" Yorse protested. "I figured you already knew! Why would I tell you what you already knew? For God's sake, Captain, didn't you check?"
"No," Yang admitted quietly.
"Captain, you got to come down. There's cops down there waiting for you." He looked past her to where another car had just pulled up. "There's Captain Ozpin."
"Shit," she breathed, then finished unstrapping. It made perfect sense. Complacency: Yorse assumed she knew, since she'd signed off on loading live rounds, and she never checked, because she assumed everything was going as usual. She followed Yorse down the ladder, then Yang took off her helmet, shook out her hair, and put the helmet in its bag. Two of the air police walked towards her, and Yang saw that one was already getting out handcuffs.
Ozpin hobbled over there first, however. He dropped his voice. "Put those away, man!" he said to the policeman. "She's not under arrest."
"Sir, I was ordered by General Ironwood to detain Captain Long—"
"To detain," Ozpin emphasized. "Not arrest. And I command here, not General Ironwood." The man nodded and put away the handcuffs, and Ozpin turned his attention to Yang.
"Sir—" Yang began.
"Not right now. Let's get away from these cameras." Ozpin sighed. "Captain Long, until a court of inquiry can be convened, you are to be confined to quarters. You will be guarded. If you leave without authorization, you will be arrested and put in the brig. Sergeant Yorse, you will be permitted to finish postflighting Captain Long's aircraft, then you will also be confined to quarters. Do both of you undertand?"
"Yes, sir." Yang came to attention and saluted. "Sir, I don't know—"
"Save it, Captain," Ozpin said tiredly. "Save it. Ironwood and I will be by later to talk to you. I'll give you a ride back to the barracks." He started walking back to the car.
"Oh God." Yang knew her career was probably over. At the least, she'd be found guilty of negilgence. And if Mercury was dead, it could end up as manslaughter. She would never be able to fly again; even if she got out of the USAF, no airline would have her, and she knew an airliner would never be able to match up to the F-15. She began to cry, but then remembered the cameras were on her, and angrily wiped away the tears. Yorse pressed the form into her hands. "Captain," he said, and she turned to him. "Keep the faith. Maybe it'll be okay."
"Yeah." But Yang knew it would never be okay again.