Only the Bold
It was a perfect day for flying. The blue sky was bare of cloud and the dawn sun lay to the rear. Green hills gave way to a broad sea, crashing waves pounding the shore far below as they passed over the rocky bluffs. Ahead lay nothing but open skies and mild winds, one could hardly ask for better conditions, but Wing Commander Jeese was well aware appearances could be deceptive.
Hastily she passed her eyes over the array of readouts and controls that filled the cockpit of her Thunderbolt fighter. The Machine Spirit was purring, its pleasure evident in the deafening bellow of the twin ramjet engines propelling her through the sky. Instruments were clear and fuel tanks full, weapons reported green and the Auspex showed no threats. Jeese breathed calmly behind the rubber mask clamped to her face. Her flight suit squeezed tight and her gloves gripped the stick and throttle with familiar hands. All was right with her fighter, affectionately known as Hard Eight.
Reassured Jeese said into the vox, "Flight seventeen to ground control, passing the final marker."
A distant vox-operator called back, "Copy flight seventeen, be advised you are passing beyond Auspex and vox range of the surviving ground stations."
"Roger," was all Jeese could say, knowing full well what that meant.
"Good hunting," the man said grimly, sharing her dark understanding.
Jeese closed the vox frequency, knowing she would likely never speak to the man again. Instead she flipped channels and spoke to her wingman, "This is it Graea, look alive."
"Hardly any point," Graea grumbled, "We're not coming back."
"Stow that chatter," Jeese snapped as she glanced at the heavily armoured fighter flying off her four, "It's a simple patrol, no more, no less."
"Against Eldar," Graea snapped back, "You know the bloody knife-ears own these skies. Sixteen patrols went out over the Herutu sea, none came back."
Jeese swallowed, knowing it was true. The pernicious Eldar were dangerous on the ground, twice as dangerous in space, but nowhere were they more deadly than in the air. Their fighters were so far beyond Imperial Machinery as to make any contest laughable, and their pilots were born to fly. Something about the cursed Xenos gave them unparelled three-dimensional awareness and reflexes that would give a Space Marine pause. Imperial doctrine conceded eight-to-one losses in the air were expected, twelve-to-one acceptable, over the Herutu sea thirty-two Imperial flyers had gone missing, with no signs of a single loss for the enemy. And all the while their gossamer-quick bombers stole over the coast, pounding Imperial infrastructure with impunity. A challenge had to be made, and unfortunately it was Jeese's turn.
The wing commander swallowed as she said, "We are up against it, but I have a plan."
"Oh?"
She elaborated, "Overheard the cogsboys bemoaning how the damned knife-ears keep pounding our auspex stations, and one of them said the Xenos might be tracking our Machine Spirits. Gave me an idea, we aren't going to use them."
Graea didn't sound convinced as he grumbled, "Mark one eyeball, that's crazy, not to mention heretical. The Cogboys will flip their tin lids."
"Which is why I waited till we were out of vox-range to tell you. Switch off all Machine Spirits, everything you can and go low, with the Emperor's Blessing they'll never see us coming. With luck we'll roll the hard eight."
"Luck isn't on our side," Graea muttered, "We're dead men flying."
"Then trust in your skills and be brave. Remember, brave man conquered the void, strong men conquered the land…"
"But only the bold can conquer the skies," Graea recited the ancient litany of Imperial flyers.
With those words Jeese shut down her vox, in flagrant contradiction of Imperial doctrine. With a swift hand she shut down auspex, avionics, Binaric flight stabilisers, damage readouts and range finders. Anything that could betray a signal leak she turned off, leaving only a magnetic compass and a fuel gauge to tell her which way she was pointing and how long she had left before she had to return to base. Hard Eight trembled in her grip, protesting the crippling, but Jeese held firm as she lowered her altitude.
In moments she was skimming across the wavetops, flying so low her wake left a trail of disturbance across the sea. She gripped her stick tight as she drove on, casting her eyes across the sky, the sea, her fuel gauge and compass. The concentration required was intense, but she was an experienced pilot and could do all this and still muse upon her situation.
She was under no delusions that if they ran into Eldar they would last five minutes. Her plan was to make a quiet sweep out to sea, then head home alive. She wasn't so such about Graea though, the man sounded like he'd decided it was his time to die. In her experience a pilot who thought he was going to die usually found a way to make it so.
With no other recourse she could only hold her course and keep sweeping the sky above. Barely ten minutes into the flight she noticed something. High above a trail of contrails was drawing four lines across the blue. Ice crystals forming across wingtips and spilling out behind high-flying craft. She couldn't see any black dots to denote aircraft, but then fighting Eldar one wouldn't expect to. Still the cursed Xenos could not ignore physics and water-vapour gave them away.
Her stomach plunged but she knew she couldn't pretend she hadn't seen it, her duty was clear and inescapable. She swallowed nervously and waggled her wings, to make sure Graea knew to follow, then steered a course to cross their paths. Every inch of the way she stared at the contrails, waiting for them to break and dive upon her. With height and speed they surely would pick the Imperials off in a heartbeat, yet to her astonishment the enemy didn't, it seemed her ruse had worked. The Eldar were alert for auspex leak and vox-traces, but they weren't bothering to scan the sea with eye or heat-trackers, the Eldar had been caught flat-footed.
Jeese didn't know how long her luck would last but gripped the stick tight and fed power to the engines as she pulled back. The nose came up and Hard Eight began to climb. She had timed it so they would arise behind the Eldar, describing a great curve to bring them up facing back the way they came. Increasing G's pushed her back into her seat and she flipped the bird over with a twitch of her hand, ending up flying back to the shore, right behind the Eldar. Throne be praised, she silently prayed, the Eldar truly were arrogant bastards. They'd let a pair of inferior human aircraft sneak right into their six, the perfect kill box.
She fed power to the engines and closed, looking for any sign of enemy aircraft. She didn't dare activate her Auspex or avionics, knowing it would alert the Xenos. She would have to trust to the iron gunsight fixed to the canopy. She could see the contrails ahead but of the enemy there was no sign, merely a choppy hash of distortion where planes should be. Holofields, the Eldar's deceitful tech-witchery at play. She squinted hard and made out four distinct hazes, two large and two small. A pair of bombers with escorts, she guessed, a small strike force but deadly nonetheless.
Jeese angled her nose for the small haze on the left. She would only get one shot and wanted to take out the escort first, against bombers she might have a chance, against Nightwing fighters she didn't have a hope. Still the Eldar didn't react, blithely unaware of her manoeuvre. She switched on her weapons with a ginger hand, afraid the power surge would alert the Xenos and hastily selected autocannons, she wouldn't trust lascannons against the Eldar. Closer she crept, closer then with a flick of her thumb she jabbed the trigger.
Hard Eight shuddered as autocannons buried in her nose erupted, spitting hard rounds into the sky. The shells disappeared into the haze, then there was a flare of light and smoke. Jeese blinked as the haze vanished and bits of an Eldar aircraft flew past her window. She had a glimpse of curved wings and a bulging fuselage, the shape of tight and sleek. Not the spread winged grace of Nightwings, but a silhouette far more rare, and feared, a Nightshade fighter, the elite Crimson Hunters Aspect Warriors.
"Mortis!" she cried in elation, only to remember the vox was off. With a sweep of her hand she threw switches, bringing the Machine Spirit back to life. It seemed Graea was a step ahead for the vox howled, "Did you see that, a Nightshade!"
"Forget that, where's the other one?!"
"Can't see it, he's vanished!"
"Quick, take the bombers, before he comes about!"
Jeese heaved the stick over and found the blurring hazes of bombers breaking away. The auspex bleeped in confusion, telling her that nothing was there and the targeting locks wailing in dismay, refusing to admit anything was nearby. Missiles hung from her wings but would be useless, unable to see anything, let alone hit a target. The Xenos were trusting to their witchery to protect them, but Jeese had her eyes fixed on the blurs and refused to look away.
She threw Hard Eight over and chased a blur, matching its dive. Her thumb hit a rune and autocannons thundered, spitting rounds at the distortion. The shimmer wavered for a moment, revealing a Vampire bomber diving for the sea, but not where she expected and her rounds passed harmlessly under its belly. Her teeth drew back in frustration but then a second trail of rounds shot out, Graea firing in concert. His shells struck a broad wing and tore straight through, ripping the side of the bomber away. The Vampire went into a mad tumble, spinning helplessly as it fell towards the sea below, doomed to death in the heaving waves.
"Mortis!" Graea cried as they pulled up.
"Good kill," Jeese congratulated, "But keep an eye out for…"
Her words were cut off as a pair of bright lances struck her left flank. Concentrated las punched into her port engine and Hard Eight lurched badly as her power was cut in half. In desperation she threw her stick over and twisted hard, barely missing a pair of shots taking out her right engine. From nowhere the other Nightshade dove, firing through its shimmering distortion, intent on killing her with perfect grace.
Jeese heaved her stick right and tried to break away, but the Nightshade was on her, firing straight up her six. She'd never seen a flyer move so elegantly, every move perfectly judged with inhuman precision. Another pair of shots hammered her rear, another, threatening to turn her tail into slag. If she'd been flying a dainty Lightning she'd be dead already, but a Thunderbolt was heavily armoured for a plane, a brawler of the skies, designed to take punishment and give it back in kind. Still, it was barely keeping her alive, one shot up her right engine and she was done for.
"Graea, where the Frak are you?!" Jeese howled as she wrenched her plane to and fro.
"He threw me off," he voxed, "I need ten seconds to reengage!"
It was the longest then seconds of her life. Sea and sky flipped in her vision as she rolled evasively. G's tried to extract her stomach via her mouth and her flight suit clenched like a god's grip. Hard Eight wailed as the wings threatened to tear off and instruments danced as they were never designed to. She was flying to the edge of the tolerance envelope, as fast and furious as she had ever flown and none of it was shaking her foe. The damned Eldar was on her every step of the way, matching her furious evasion with crisp precision, as if they knew what she would do before she did.
Jeese's eyes started to darken but then a howling trail of autocannon shells flashed by, nearly tearing her tail off. Graea had no lock but he filled the sky behind her with shells, firing blindly in hopes of hitting something. Jeese couldn't look back but she saw Graea power by, nose lit up like a Sangiunala tree as he dove between her and the foe.
With a moment's grace she yanked the stick level, correcting her tumble as she called, "Did you get him?!"
"No," Graea snarled, "He pulled up and powered away. I've never seen a plane flip out of the vertical so fast, no plane should be able to do that. Auspex says he's bugged out."
"Don't trust it and fly evasive," Jeese warned as she weaved to and fro, "Keep your eyes open and…"
Suddenly a hazing distorting came out of the heavens above, diving hard on the pair of lumbering fighters. The Eldar had climbed out of the combat, reorientated and reengaged, all in the time it took the Imperials to recover. So fast, so agile, putting their lumbering efforts to shame. The Eldar deserved the kill, deserved to make confetti of their planes. He had them dead to rights and Jeese knew it, but fate had other plans.
As the Eldar dove she yanked her stick right, but Graea was a moment late to evade. The Eldar instantly switched targets to bracket him, and that was when Graea panicked. Her neither banked nor rolled, instead pulling up and opening the throttle. A move born of instinctive panic, a foolish rookie mistake that any flight instructor would have berated him for, but one that caught the Xenos off-guard. The Eldar had expected a roll or dive, powering away or braking, the one thing the alien hadn't expected was the pilot to pull up, right into his path.
Jeese's eyes widened as the pair of planes turned to each other and before she could shout a warning they collided in mid-air. Metal shattered, wraithbone folded and the shimmer blinked out as a ball of metal and flame erupted, spraying debris far and wide. Jeese's heart missed a beat as she saw her wingman die, but in doing so took out the Nightshade too. All that remained was tumbling wreckage, spilling twisted bits of two planes into the sea below.
Stillness fell as Jeese gawped, looking for a chute, but finding none. Then a bleeping alarm warned her that she was flying a crippled plane and running low on fuel. Of the last bomber there was no sign, presumably having bugged out during the fight. With no other recourse Jeese turned her nose for home, limping back to base alone and crippled. Behind she left her wingman to an unmarked grave among the waves. The loss ached, but she knew tomorrow she would climb into a cockpit and do this all again. In the sky, there was room for only the bold.