"They call her Spitfire, and she is deadly," Viper spoke in a voice that even made the pilots question his ability in air to air combat.
Her aircraft was seen on the board, a large SU-33 in a scheme that reminded Iceman of fire-the exact opposite of himself. A picture surfaced, a young girl who looked not even close to an adult was standing by the jet that was now front facing. She was pale skinned and brown-gold with slight red coloured hair and dull grey green eyes that showed a remorseless gaze. Her helmet was black, pure black with little flame decals on the sides; and it made him feel strange. Those eyes that seemed empty now that he thought about it, something was so...off about this young fighter pilot.
"She has fired down many of our own, killed many American pilots. She has succeeded in aerial dominance, and only sixteen years old." Viper explained. "Spitfire may be our worst aerial foe yet, no one knows who trained her and many believe the Egyptian goddess of war Bastet has possessed her."
"What does that mean? Some fictional cat goddess is making her the deadly pilot she is?" Maverick asked from beside him, he seemed rather amused, stereotypical cocky pilot who had a knack for not listening.
"Mitchell this may be something else. There are rumours she is a real psychic. And if she is that helps with her combat ability." Iceman pointed out.
"Psychic abilities aren't real Kazansky," Maverick said, rolling his eyes, lying back on the chair.
"How do we know? If we get this kid we may be able to run cover experiments on her." There was something about his voice that made some of the pilots look uneasy.
"If we all don't die," Maverick argued.
"We won't die," Goose told him. "Spitfire is miles away from here, her airspace is the Indian Ocean, remember?"
"We were there, Goose," Maverick reminded. "We saw her flying around at night, firing down our Tomcats with ease. This pilot is not human!"
"She never was," Kazansky told him. "This is a teenage pilot who gives no mercy, how is she human? No man or woman would kill someone without feeling guilt!"
It was a valid point, no normal(or not traumatized) human being would slaughter many others just for the thrill of it. Unless they were a sociopath or psychopath of course. Maybe Spitfire was so young she thought it was just a game? That aerial warfare was nothing more than something like a card game, War. It was another valid point, if he met this girl in the air it was likely he was facing a literal child. Ice felt uneasy about this, something was so terribly wrong about having to see a young fighter pilot that was grinning a little, smirking almost with a stare numb as ice yet blazing like fire. Spitfire.
They were dismissed soon after, and those images never left his head. They swirled in his head, and soon that small images of her holding a gun to his head, only they had heard a snippet of her voice taunting a few pilots before she killed them.
"I will end your life lieutenant, I will make sure the world hears of my accomplishments!" Her voice hissed like an angered feline, slightly tinted with British and the harshness of German, the generousness of a Canadian which was where she was born.
It was so eerily strange, like something out of a horror show, a sci fi horror show. Iceman went off to the quarters, taking out the computer he had. He wanted to research more about this mercenary fighter pilot. But how did she get ahold of that jet? How did a young civilian like her get ahold of that Sukhoi SU-33? A navy aircraft that was better than an American navy aircraft, the Russians made sure their craft were the best.
It was chilled, her jet looked far menacing with its dark colour scheme in which the red-orange parts gleamed under the frosty moonlight. It made a couple rounds, those MiGs didn't dare to fly in front of her in fear of being shot down by a careless pilot. Not immature careless, but merciless careless. It was a massive Sea Flanker, capable of flying for hours on end, an excellent dogfighting aircraft. A MiG-28 dashed before her, and the pilot inside the Flanker hissed like a cat.
"Watch it," She hissed, bitter cold like the water below them, forcing the pilot to come back around as she teasingly switched to her air to air missiles.
Coming out into the upper atmosphere, the canopy was dark blood red, and the lighter red orange camouflage patterns shone like the colour of a blood moon. The moonlight brought out far more colours. The avionics were improved as well as translated into English. The pilot didn't exactly bother to learn the rather difficult yet expressive Slavic tongue. English had very little expression in it, and that is what she loved for it made her cold whenever she spoke.
"Let us head home," The female pilot said, being the first to bank around.
They all understood her turning away from the now closer ocean as they went inland, following her tightly on her back angled wings. Most Russian aircraft favoured those wing sweeps, it made them much more agile therefore deadly. They flew towards a Russian naval air base, landing with the young pilot coming in last. Her landing was delicate, like this jet was something to be treated with specialty. The canopy opened up, and stepping out had been one demonic pilot. It took her awhile before she got back into the swing of things. She'd taken a long break, the pilot relished in the rest she had gotten and the pampering that was given by the communist nation.
Spitfire turn to the Russians who saluted her, then stared back up at the moonlit sky that now slowly cleared.
"Amazing how they have yet to see the adversary in their sights," She chuckled a little.
"He really is foolish isn't he?" One of the pilots asked, amused.
"Who knew that Viper would have followed me like that," Spitfire agreed, stepping down from the Sea Flanker to accompany her friend, a MiG-29A Fulcrum pilot.