Chapter Eight: 444
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444th Air Base, Zapland, Usea.
June 20th, 2019.
1100hrs.
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They put her on a transport plane to fly her to an allied base south of the Usean continent, near the front lines, the renowned Mobius Squadron playing escort before they landed with the transport Naomi was on and then flew back towards Yuktobania. Just like Knocker had said, the squadron didn't have any interest in staying around. Naomi barely even caught a glimpse of their F-22s before they had vanished from the sky and she was loaded onto a transport ship.
It had been a few days since she'd been locked on the ship, and she wasn't allowed to step out on deck. They stopped once more and she heard a lot of chatter among the crew, but Naomi wasn't too sure what for. After that, they sailed towards the east on their dingy transport. Evidently, since they were classified as not being a war vessel and were considered a harmless cargo ship, the Erusean's left them alone whenever they happened to fly or sail their way, but that's not to say that they didn't have a few forms of defense tucked away in the off chance they were attacked.
Naomi desperately hoped that they were never attacked. One of Naomi's greatest fears was drowning. She wasn't so much scared of water or the ocean, if anything, she loved days on the beach as much as everyone and she trusted her ability to swim. Having done competitive swimming for a few years, she was a strong swimmer and she could tread water for a good while. That wasn't a problem. What she was scared of was being trapped in something, like the cockpit of a plane or in handcuffs in a cell, and sinking underwater.
There was no escape in either of those situations, and she'd know she was dying and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She'd be trapped and try her best to fight it, to be able to breath, but it wouldn't happen and it would only speed up the time it took for her to run out of air. The idea of her lungs filling with water and her oxygen supply being cut off, dying a slow, torturous death. It was enough to make her dislike being on ships for prolonged periods of time. That was the main reason she didn't join the Navy and why she preferred flying at higher altitudes whenever they were engaging an enemy over water.
But she had to suck it up and deal with the ridiculous nightmares she had, unable to get the thought of drowning out of her mind. It was of great relief to her when the ship finally stopped and someone came to get her. Typically, wherever she went below deck, a single guard accompanied her. The only place she went by herself was the bathroom, either to use it or to shower, but the guard waited outside at all times. When they arrived in Zapland, two guards positioned in front of her and behind her kept watch on her.
Outside, the brightness of the sun combined with the sudden change in temperature was enough to cause Naomi to squeeze her eyes shut and blink a few times to properly adjust. It was nice to be out of the dark, damp, and extremely cold cell, but the heat was almost unbearable. They'd given her a flight suit to wear with her prisoner number on it and it barely breathed any, adding to the discomfort she felt with the change in temperature. Once she was finally able to see straight, her eyes adjusting at last, she took in the surroundings of her new home.
It wasn't a desert, as there were several pine trees and grass along the rocky ground, but as the guards shoved Naomi off of the ship and they began their march to the base, she noticed that the ground wasn't shifty like sand was, it was solid with a thin layer of dirt and rocks as a top coating, bearing more resemblance to the texture of solid ground in a canyon than to a desert or beach. Off in the distance, a tan and brown hillside could be seen, and just beneath that was what appeared to be an airstrip with trucks and planes and everything.
Naomi did a double take at this, wondering why the hell they had an airstrip all the way over there when they had a perfectly decent set of hangars and a nicely paved runway right beside it. It took her a moment to realize that it was fake, an act of some sorts. It was difficult to see from where they were, walking along a heavily guarded and fenced in isle between yards, but there were large craters marring the fake airstrip and many of the planes settled on it were damaged and in need of repair. They must have been scrapped aircraft, the real fighters likely being stored safely within the hangars. She doubted they'd send even the worst criminals up in a trashed plane.
The yards around her were mostly vacant, except for two of them. On their way to the main building, they passed by them. One yard contained a few soldiers, guards most likely, blowing up a massive balloon and transporting another. As Naomi watched them, they appeared to be balloons of trucks other vehicles, presumably what they had out on the fake airstrip. She had to hand it to them, that was pretty neat. They didn't seem too interested in Naomi or the guards from the ship as they passed by, moving on to walk beside the next yard.
The second yard contained the most activity, with those she assumed were her fellow prisoners playing a rough game of tackle football, guards with machine guns watching their every move. Unlike the guards preparing the balloons for the fake air base, the prisoners did seem to take an interest in the newcomer. Naomi watched as two of the men were the first to take notice. One of them was a burly, dark skinned man with broad shoulders, the other an average built, slender man with messy blond hair and a smug look on his face, the football in his hands.
They were too far away for her to hear exactly what they were saying, but the burly man pointed her out and the others paused their game to see what he was pointing out. The smug blond guy tilted his head to the side and watched her curiously, the others mostly just trying to figure out who she was. Somewhere within the crowd she heard a few whistles, but the blond guy seemed to scoff and toss the football at another prisoner, saying something that sounded like 'snap out of it, boys, and get your head back in the game. We can greet the new meat later.'
Naomi continued to watch them and the blond guy briefly glanced her way one last time before joining back in on the game, losing interest as quickly as he'd gained it. It seemed that he was the leader of the group, or at the very least he'd scraped up enough respect for himself so they'd listen to what he said. The burly black man would have been the one to strike Naomi as the ring leader, but the blond guy seemed to cocky and smug to follow orders from anybody. It was easy enough to take one look at the crowd and easily assess who she had to watch out for. She had the feeling she'd have to prove herself to these guys, or worry about getting pummeled down to the bottom of the food chain.
Eventually, the sounds of their football game faded away and they made a few more turns down isles and across the runway before reaching the main building. They stepped inside, and nice, air conditioning greeted them. Naomi sighed with relief, but her relief was short lived as they continued walking. The lights just barely seemed to work and the walls were a dirty gray color, as if the room hadn't been cleaned in a while. The guards took her to the base commander's office, which wasn't much better than the surrounding building. It was brighter and cooler in this room, with a window opened to provide a nice supply of light and lighten up the otherwise gloomy room.
The base commander was a short, broad shouldered man with tanned skin, white hair, and a look of discomfort and annoyance etched on his features. He smirked as they entered the room and ordered the guards to shut the door and wait outside. "They told me we'd be getting a hotshot pilot turned murderer," the base commander, McKinsey, said as he approached her. "For some reason, when they said they were sending Harling's killer down here, I didn't expect a girl. At least, I didn't expect a pretty one."
Naomi straightened up, giving him a sour look. She didn't fear men or hate them, nor did she cry sexism at every single thing they did, but the compliment McKinsey gave her seemed lost and made her uncomfortable due to the fact he was at least twice her age and — until further notice — her commanding officer. This guy already deserved less respect than the sorry, run down base he commanded. "Commander McKinsey, I presume?" she asked heatedly, unable to resist insulting the guy. "They didn't tell me you'd be a loser and a pervert."
His smirk faded and he took a step back. "I'll let that one slide, but you're going to have to learn to watch your mouth around here." McKinsey now just gave off a pompous sort of air, rather than a creepy one. It helped that he was standing about two feet away from her, now. "Let me give you the rundown of things around here. First off, I wouldn't dream of touching a con like yourself. The prisoners, however? Aside from you and our mechanic, they're all men. We don't get a lot of women around here, so they're going to eat you alive if you don't watch your back. Until you prove yourself in the air, you're nothing more than an object to them."
"Okay, so I just have to fly like a maniac and blow shit up to get in their good graces?" Naomi asked, seeing that she didn't have a whole lot to fear from McKinsey. The guy seemed like he was all bark and no bite. He could threaten her as much as he wanted, but actions speak louder than words. It seemed from what he was saying, that was the order of things around here. She smiled a little when he nodded, "Easy enough."
"Now hold on," McKinsey said, holding up a hand for her silence. "Let me make myself clear. Around here, you respect me, you respect my authority, and you respect the guards. You answer to me. My word is law. First Lieutenant Naomi Foulke ceased to exist the second you got shipped out here. Your TAC name is your new identity. You're Trigger from here on out and I as good as own you. The rest of the prisoners get the same treatment. You can go and introduce yourself to them once we're done here, figure out for yourselves which ones you want to associate with. I'd choose carefully if I were you."
Naomi narrowed her eyes on him, trying to detect the underlying threat in his words. He was challenging her not to fall in with prisoners that he didn't favor, but the key here was finding which ones he 'liked' by observing his behavior towards them. She could easily figure this out. He seemed like one of those people who would outright show you who he favored over the others. Maybe she'd associate with the ones he didn't like just to get on his nerves. Earning their trust was going to take some time, though. Nonchalantly, she said, "Wilco. Shouldn't be too hard."
McKinsey scoffed and shook his head. "An attitude like that is gonna get you killed, so my advice is to not act like a dumbass. I'm going to be putting you in a cell by yourself for a few days so I can speak with the other female on the base. Her name's Avril, she's got a short temper and I don't want to throw some scrawny ass kid in there with her as a roommate without talking to her about it first." He moved over to a filing cabinet and looked through a few folders before he found what he was looking for. "The empty cell that used to house one of the other pilots that got shot down should work fine. Cell number…ahh, perfect. Cell 16. It's right beside Avril's, number 15. You can stay there for now. The guards can give you directions so you can drop off your bag and join the others."
"Wait a minute, you just let us wander around free?" Naomi asked, gathering that he gave them a surprising amount of free rein.
"Not exactly," McKinsey answered, slamming the filing cabinet shut and turning back to her. "You're allowed to roam freely through the hangars, cell block, the yard, and mess hall, and showers between the hours of 0400 and 2100. We have a barbershop open on the weekends, starting after lunch, you can get a haircut if you wish. You need a pass or explicit permission to visit the main building, which is where you are now, and also a pass to visit our 'shop' on base. If you get permission from me to visit the shop and you somehow have some cash on you, you can scrounge up some stuff for entertainment. I should warn you, most of it was either donated by citizens in Osea or pulled out of dead men's cells."
"Fantastic," Naomi commented dryly. "This place sounds like Heaven on Earth."
"Perfect. Another snarky, sarcastic asshole will fit right in." McKinsey didn't sound at all pleased by this, and Naomi didn't exactly want to fit in with the other prisoners. Oh, well. McKinsey called the guards back in. The door opened and both guards stepped inside. "Show her to her room, boys. One last thing, Trigger. You try to run while you're in the air, you make one wrong move, do anything I don't like, and I'll make sure you'll never see the light of another day. Dismissed." Naomi glared at him as he said this, before she was rudely shoved out of the office door and ushered back outside.
Something about that guy, just didn't sit right with her.
1200hrs.
The guards showed her to her cell before they removed the cuffs on her hands and feet and left her to her own devices. She entered the gray, filthy cell and dropped her duffle bag onto the rickety cot in the cell. It wasn't much to look at. There was plenty of natural light, plus some white LEDs in the walkway outside the cell. In the cell itself, a single window at the top with bars around it, complete with spider webs and dust. Just below that was a moldy sink with a single bar of soap and an equally as filthy mirror. Just beside that, in the corner of the cell, was the toilet she would be forced to use. The worst part was that, unlike the main building and McKinsey's office, there was little to no air conditioning in the cell block, making it stuffy and almost humid as opposed to the dry heat outside.
It wasn't a first class hotel, but it would work for the time being. She didn't want to bother unpacking just yet, in fact, she just wanted to rinse her face off and get something to eat. She ran the water in the grimy old sink and cupped her hands underneath it. It was murky and warm, unlike normal, semi-filtered tap water. Sighing, she sloshed it into her face and reached for the tattered towel thrown across the edge to dry her face. She locked eyes with herself in the mirror and sighed, taking a step back and flopping down onto the cot, her legs aching.
Over the loudspeakers, one of the guards announced that it was lunch time and for all prisoners to report to the mess hall. Naomi would have thought it was optional, but she went nonetheless, too hungry to pass up the opportunity. Outside, on the way to the mess hall, some guards with military working dogs had shown up. The tan and black Dinsmark Shepherds and their leaner Belkan Malinois counterparts were whining and snapping eagerly at the prisoners that walked past them and their handlers, hurriedly making their way out of the sun and heat and inside to put something on their stomachs.
Naomi was one of the last prisoners to file inside, and she hesitantly stepped into the mess hall and took a look around. It wasn't hard to spot the groups of comrades. The blond guy she'd seen in the yard was sitting with the burly man, and three people she didn't recognize. A lanky guy with scruffy, light brown facial hair, the second being a shifty, stout looking guy with a sly grin on his face as he played with a couple of cards, and an older fellow with olive skin and sleek black hair. A few other tables had guards and other base personnel forced to serve with the penal unit and the other had a few cheerful, friendly looking inmates. Come to think of it, the scruffy guy looked more suited to sit with that crowd rather than sit with the grumpy gang with his dumb grin going to waste.
In the corner was one other person, the only woman that Naomi could see. That must be the mechanic, Avril, that McKinsey mentioned earlier. She didn't once look up from her food, other than to glare with disgust and disapproval at the men around her. Naomi was surprised how quickly most of them had gotten through the line to get their food, but she figured they must have shoved through to get there. She sighed and grabbed a tray to join the line, not having to wait very long. They didn't give them a whole lot.
A dry sandwich, a cup of mushy, overripe fruit, and a bottle of water. That was it. That was lunch. Never again would she complain about the food she ate at Fort Grays. Right now, she'd kill for some of their stew or tough steak. It seemed like it was a gourmet meal compared to this. Disappointed she tried to search for a place to sit, not sure if she should join that Avril girl or try and mingle with the other prisoners. The decision was made for her when the blond guy, after whispering with his companions, shouted at her, "Hey! Hatchling! Get over here!"
Startled by their greeting, she hesitantly approached the table, sitting down at the corner where they'd made room for her, placing her next to the olive skinned guy and across from the blond haired guy. Now that she was closer to them, she got a better look at all of them. The blond guy had stereotypical bright blue eyes that seemed to glint with defiance, with well groomed facial hair that looked neater and more deliberate than the scruff that the lanky dude had. Naomi actually would have gone so far to say he was attractive, almost giving off the pretty-boy vibe if not for the rough way he acted and spoke. "Well, well. When news spread that they were bringing in a new prisoner, I figured we'd have another hotshot to compete with."
Naomi glanced at the others, who all murmured in agreement. She looked back to the blond fellow. "My last squadron had high hopes for me," she said in response, determined to sound confident and relaxed. Naomi wanted them to know she was just as capable of flying and holding her own on the ground and in the air as they were. Her dad didn't spend all those years teaching her how to fight for nothing. "I had a decent rep before everything went to shit."
He smirked, as if he was almost interested in learning more. "Well, that rep won't do you much good out here, kid. We earn our spot. And our bragging rights." He looked around at the others before he began the introductions. "My name's Count. As far as you're concerned, I'm the leader of this 'squadron'. I've got the top kill score and am by far the most skilled pilot here." Naomi saw the others hold back some kind of laughter. Count's blue eyes flicked to them. "Enough about me, then. The big guy's Champ, the gambler is High Roller, you're sitting next to Full Band, and—"
The lanky guy cut Count off and reached across the table to hold out his hand, giving her a friendly smile. "They call me Tabloid. 'Round here I'm known for some pretty good stories, but they like to call 'em conspiracies." Naomi took his hand and gave it a firm shake, returning the smile. Count glared daggers at Tabloid, likely upset by the interruption, but simply let out a deep huff and looked back to Naomi.
"Surely you've got a name, right?" Count inquired. "We like to know a bit about who's got our back in the sky." He was asking her so many questions that she hadn't even taken a single bite out of her lunch yet, though admittedly she was a little scared to eat in front of a bunch of strangers. They kept staring at her like they'd take it from her.
Sighing, and remembering what McKinsey had told her, she reluctantly offered up her TAC name, "My name's Trigger."
Full Band took a swig of his water and said, "You know, I've got to ask how a dainty little girl like you got a harsh name like that."
It was her turn to glare, keeping her voice level as she replied, "I don't hesitate in combat. I lock on and I fire, no questions asked. In flight school, I had a good marksmanship score. Over time, a friend of mine started calling me that as a joke and it spread to the rest of the squadron and by the time I graduated, the name stuck." Count, Tabloid, and Full Band gave slow nods at this, but only Tabloid seemed even mildly impressed. Looking back to Full Band, she added, "I'd also watch who you call 'dainty', sir. I know a couple of ways to put you in a world of hurt."
High Roller spoke up next, "Y'know, funny you should say somethin' like that. Y'see, there's a rumor going around about what you did to get sent here, Trigger. Full Band told me 'bout it a few days after they told us a new inmate was comin' in. So tell me, how does it feel to kill a former president?" Naomi looked around nervously, Count, Champ, and Full Band all chuckling as if they liked seeing her squirm in answer to the question. She didn't answer, she wasn't sure how. Her confidence began to fade and she stared at High Roller, this guy she'd just met in a prison, asking her how it felt to assassinate a president.
"C'mon, don't be shy, girly," Champ cooed and Naomi's blood ran cold. She didn't like how they were playing. Tabloid seemed to be the only one with any decency, seeming hesitant and unwilling to join in on their taunting. "We all heard about it, baby, we just wanna know if it's true."
"It isn't true. I didn't kill Harling in cold blood, so you can stop asking me and forget about all the bullshit they've been feeding you. You want to know what it's like to murder someone, why don't you ask some of the Erusean aces?" Naomi challenged them, giving them all a fiery glare, trying to push down how uncomfortable she was by this entire exchange. She made eye contact with Count, who still had that same stupid smirk on his face. They stared at each other for a few minutes before she shoved her bowl of spoiled fruit and moldy sandwich towards him and snatched away her water bottle. "There. Maybe you guys can feed more than your egos."
He chortled, letting out a long, low whistle, as if feigning being impressed by the display. As Naomi stood up, she noticed that Avril had looked up from her food and was eyeing her curiously, but she simply left the mess hall without another word and mostly ignoring the others, figuring she'd go back to her cell and take a nap to cool off. Off to a rocky start. And to think it was only her first day.
Did they only care about the crime a person committed? She shuddered, hating how she'd reacted to them and hating how she'd been dumb enough to even stop and socialize with them to begin with. They knew they'd gotten under her skin, and the worst part was that she'd let them. If she was lucky, she wouldn't have to see them for a while, but next time she was going to be prepared.
444th Air Base, Zapland, Usea.
July 1st, 2019.
0800hrs.
After the run in with Count and his gang and making a less than favorable first impression, Naomi began to spend more time by herself. Mostly she just observed the other interactions among the convicts, noting who had friendlier, more approachable personalities. Tabloid showed the most promise there, seeming like a chill, go with the flow guy. How the hell he wound up in a penal unit, Naomi had no idea. He seemed like the last person you'd suspect of committing a crime. Most of the time, she saw him chatting and laughing with the guards and other prisoners or sitting by himself, quietly reading a book.
He seemed like somebody Naomi could easily get along with, but he often spent time around Count or by himself, making it difficult to get close to them. Every once and a while Naomi would notice that Tabloid or Count or Champ would often get sent to a place that the guards simply referred to as 'solitary'. She later learned that solitary confinement meant several hours in a sweltering shack — a special sort of cell without any windows — but on the third day she was there, she saw Count and Champ get locked in it for two days after a scuffle in the yard. When they got back, they often weren't allowed to eat until dinner, depending on when they got out, which meant they went without dinner for nearly three days.
Other prisoners got sent away as well, she even saw Avril get sent there once, and so far Naomi had been lucky enough to avoid it. A few short conversations with some guards and one or two other prisoners and Naomi had pretty much learned as much as she needed to know to survive her time here. Solitary was the main form of punishment, and you could get sent there for the most minor reasons. The squadron was known as Spare Squadron, and Count was the self-proclaimed leader, the alpha male as it were. He had a pretty high opinion of himself, and evidently was rumored to have come from a noble family, though many said he was a pathological liar and made those rumors up himself.
Funnily enough, the Avril lady was nicknamed the Scrap Queen and was apparently sent there after building her own plane and getting shot down by some Osean fighters. They shipped her to the 444th to fix up some scrapped planes to provide Spare Squadron with their equipment. She didn't give anyone the time of day and yet somehow had all of the pilots under her thumb. There was some sort of respect towards her, even if it wasn't mutual. She took care of their planes and kept them in the air and in return, they didn't bother her. The men Naomi had talked to said that that was how you earn respect. You bring something worthwhile to the table.
Naomi was eagerly awaiting her opportunity to do so, and she got her chance earlier than she had expected. They brought all the prisoners into the main building for a briefing on the first of July, a hot, dusty Monday morning. After getting tired of the heat and having the back of her neck sweating constantly, Naomi had gone to the barbershop on base the afternoon before to get her hair cut. Previously having to pull her hair into a ponytail or bun, she now wore her hair in a pixie cut, one only slightly shorter than Avril's hair cut and when she walked into that briefing, she had some renewed energy and confidence.
Most of the seats were occupied when she entered the briefing room, but she was aware of how few pilots there actually were. Only about fourteen or fifteen from the looks of things, something she hadn't really noticed before. She sat down at the only empty eat available, stuck between Count and Tabloid. She wasn't as bothered by sitting next to Tabloid, since she was able to give him a friendly greeting, but there was some growing tension with Count. When she sat down, he sneered, "Looks like the hermit finally decided to come out of her shell and grace us with her presence. I wonder what other surprises you've got in store, kid."
"Quit trying to intimidate the girl, Count." Tabloid gave a small chuckle. Count grinned wildly in response, and Naomi found herself bewildered by the exchange. They seemed determined to confuse the shit out of her every chance they got. At least Count did. She'd tried to keep their interactions to a minimum, but maybe she could try and give him another chance and make some allies. It never hurt to have friends.
All conversation ceased as soon as the base commander stepped into the room and cut the lights, starting up the computer screen that would display the briefing. McKinsey took a moment to survey the area and make sure nobody was going to say anything before he started the briefing, his eyes locking on Naomi, "All right guys, I'll let you in on some juicy info. The new guy — or rather, girl, as you may have heard — was found guilty by the International Union Peacekeeping Force's court martial. It's official now. She is the murderer of Harling in the flesh." A few whistles and 'ooh's followed this statement, and Naomi saw Count turn and wink at her, causing her to cross her arms and frown. Of course she was guilty, even if she hadn't done it. Oh well. At least she was still alive.
McKinsey waited for the oohs and aahs to die down before he continued, the screen displaying a picture of Naomi's personal emblem, "Her TAC name's Trigger. Now, as of today, she may be attached to the Osean Air Force Base 444 Squadron, but that's just some symbolic bullshit. It doesn't really matter if she's Harling's murderer or not. Every last one of you has been incarcerated for one reason or another." He paused, clearing his throat before he went on, "A few of you in the penal unit know how to fly, and HQ needs to plug the deficit in our air force. So they proposed sending you guys on a reconnaissance mission to the Waiapolo Mountains. But that idea was flat out rejected. No, you'll be atoning for your crimes right here at this base. This base is a decoy designed to draw enemy fire. And, as members of this base, you'll be taking hits from the enemy. This will allow our forces to safely prepare a counterattack."
Naomi wasn't sure what the point of the briefing was, but she didn't like the sound of that. The briefing was cut off when a loud thud sounded off in the distance, triggering an alarm. Naomi jumped at this, but everyone else seemed completely at ease. In fact, if anything, they seemed bored by the situation, as if they knew exactly what was going on. Naomi thought she did, too. They were being bombed, right? So why weren't they just a little more concerned by this? From the door, a guard shouted out, "Incoming!"
"Switch off that alarm!" McKinsey ordered. "It's just the usual. Pfft. I thought Zapland was supposed to be an isolated area. And to think we had a few days without an incident. Damn it." The alarm went on for a few more seconds before it cut off. "Okay, I'm gonna need a few aircraft to scramble."
"Again?!" demanded a pilot in the back of the room.
"Heh. I wonder how many we'll lose today…" Count said, frowning, crossing his arms and relaxing in his seat.
"Anything's better than solitary." Full Band added, shrugging his shoulders. Naomi looked around as many of them began to talk over one another, protesting being sent into the air.
"How many can actually fly?" Champ growled, but nobody answered his question.
They all stood up to prepare to file out of the room and head to the hangars, just as another guard announced, "Enemy detected over the dummy runway."
Everyone stood still and looked to McKinsey for guidance on what to do next. Even though they seemed to hold little respect for him judging by what she'd seen, they probably didn't know what their orders were going to be. Naomi asked the one question on her mind at that time, "What exactly are we supposed to do? Do we just take off and shoot them down?"
"No," McKinsey answered her sternly. "We just need to make it look like we can put up a fight. Some of those piles of junk on the runway can at least take off. Let's get the guiltiest cons in the sky first." His eyes shot to Naomi. "We'll start with Harling's murderer. We don't expect you to down any bombers. But what we do want is to make them think that we've got an active base here. Dismissed."
With that, they all began to exit the main building and hurry out to the hangar. They didn't run, not even batting an eye as they stepped outside and got a clear view of the bombers attacking the fake runway. Everyone made sure that Naomi got the last pick when it came to the planes. They all picked through the bunch, climbing into the cockpits and beginning their taxi outside. She noticed that they all had white lines on the tail, and they all seemed to choose specific plans. Naomi looked around the hangar and a familiar fighter caught her eye. An F-16 bearing her personal emblem, an orange-haired wolf clutching a revolver in its mouth.
As she approached, she realized she had her own set of white lines. There were three lines, painted across to botch up any emblems painted on the tail. The wolf's face was struck through by the obtrusive paint and the lower part of the Osean flag was cut through, as if they actually tried to preserve some of that. She frowned and looked around for the mechanic, catching the attention of Avril. For the first time, the Scrap Queen approached her and spoke, "You Harling's murderer?"
Naomi nodded at this and Avril gestured at the F-16. "They had this shipped in from Fort Grays for you, at the request of some Captain or some shit. Dunno what strings he had to pull to get it here, but I had to do some tweaking to it to make sure it would fly without the engine blowing up on you," Avril snapped. "So try not to wreck it and I won't have any beef with you, got it? Other than that, it's all yours." She waved her away and began to walk away, picking up a wrench off of the mechanic's tray. Naomi heard her add as she left, "You're the only dumbass here with three sin-lines. Wonder what the hell you did to earn that. Pfft."
She frowned, looking back at the tail once more before getting into the appropriate gear, grabbing her helmet and climbing up the ladder and to get into the cockpit. There was a note on the ejection seat, and Naomi suspiciously reached for it, carefully unfolding the paper and quickly began reading the messy handwriting. It was Clown's, she'd recognize it anywhere. The note read:
Trigger- Blaze and Knocker helped me out with this one. I spoke with McKinsey to clear it with him. Take care of your plane, Colonel Matthews is pissed we gave it to you to begin with.
More importantly, take care of yourself. Wish we could have done more.
-Clown.
Folding the note back up and sticking it into the pocket of her flight suit, Naomi climbed into the cockpit. She strapped in and the canopy was closed, allowing her to start up the engine and line up outside with the others to prepare to taxi. She pulled up beside Count's plane as they awaited clearance for taxying and take off. Count seemed to have picked out the one plane that stuck out like a sore thumb, the only Su-33 Flanker in the squadron, bearing a three-tone gray and blue paint job. Her plane was almost pathetically tiny compared to his.
Unlike Naomi's Falcon, Count's plane's tail had a single line on the tail. His own personal emblem appeared to be a top hat with wings attached to it. A silly little cartoon-styled design, but it wasn't much more ridiculous than her orange and white wolf holding a gun in its mouth. At least his didn't display a perfect example of bad gun safety. Looking at the other planes all lined up and waiting, only Champ and one other member had more than one line. They had two. Odd. What were the lines supposed to represent, exactly?
Naomi sighed and radioed the control tower, "Control, this is Trigger. I'm kinda new here, so would you mind telling me where to go? Commander McKinsey said to get the guiltiest of us in the air first, so I'm at a bit of a loss." She eyed the sky and was able to see the bombers beginning to circle back around after their last run. She sighed, noticing that they were coming closer to the actual air base this time. The idea of getting blown to smithereens before she even took off wasn't pleasant.
"Follow orders, Trigger," control replied. "Taxi to the runway now. Check your altimeter and wait in front of the runway"
Before Naomi could react, the others had already started their own taxi, Champ pulling in front with Count protesting, possibly having the same concerns Naomi did. "Control, would you kindly send me up first?" Count was clearly annoyed, but made an attempt to keep his cool. As the self-proclaimed leader, it seemed he wanted to be the first to take off and the last to die. Naomi kept quiet as Champ pulled in front of Count and then Tabloid.
"Spare 8! Champ! This is the control tower!" control snapped at him as he prepared to take off. "You are not cleared for takeoff, obey orders!"
Naomi had enough space to finally pull forward and taxi, but Champ's defiant action slowed them all down. "Go to hell!" Champ bellowed in response, ignoring the control tower's warnings. She grimaced as she was once again forced to wait. "I ain't dyin' down here!"
"All aircraft preparing for takeoff, watch out for Spare 8! He's forcing a takeoff!" Control sounded frustrated by Champ's insistence, but knew that there wasn't anything they could do but warn the others. Naomi sighed, making sure everything was in order, checking that all controls worked, before fixing her oxygen mask so that it was in place.
Count radioed in again, his plane right in front of Naomi's. "I'll take up command," he said, leading the way for the remaining aircraft on the runway. "Any objections?"
"Yeah, I've got one," Naomi answered. "Who died and made you squadron leader?" He said nothing to this, but she knew he was probably not pleased by her comment. Already, she knew she wasn't going to do well here. They were clearly a disorganized, possibly crazy group, not to mention the terrible tempers they possessed. She could have a pretty short temper herself, but these guys seemed out of their minds and rude to everyone. These were the guys that would be watching her back?
"There's no need to worry about who's the squad leader, Trigger," Tabloid said to her. Mostly to Count, he finished with, "That'll get decided in the skies. Hehe…"
"Touché," Count replied, almost sounding as if he'd be smiling when he said that. Naomi clenched her jaw, deciding it was best to keep her mouth shut for now. They were sure this was a squadron? She'd rather take the life sentence than this. She just had to remember that she could work off her 'sins' this way. Maybe if she put up with them, then it would all be worth it in the end.
"Trigger, your call sign is Spare 15," control informed her. Naomi sighed, realizing that that meant she was the runt of the pack, all the way at the bottom of the hierarchy. "Consider it your prisoner number for the air. Commencing deception and interception." She slowed to a halt as she waited for Count to take off, glad she wasn't looking at his ass anymore. He climbed into the sky and then banked to the right to join up with Champ. "Spare 15, the runway's free! You have permission to take off, so go now!"
In her ear, Champ suddenly let out a loud whoop and rolled in the air, proceeding to pull some unusual maneuvers, but ones that were far from difficult. "Wooohoooo! My blood's boilin'! C'mon, let's get this party started!"
Naomi began her takeoff as the control tower snarled, "Toss the chump in solitary once he gets back! Spare 8, when you land your ass is grass!"
"Only if he makes it back…" Tabloid said darkly. Naomi gulped at this, glad she had her own plane with her instead of one of the rust buckets they were flying. At least she was in her element and had a chance to come out alive, which is more than she could say for the others. A part of her felt bad that they got scrap and she got the same plane she'd had at her last assignment.
"Champ's gonna survive?" High Roller asked, sounding amused. "Anyone wanna make a bet on that?"
"No one's gonna take that bet," Full Band replied.
"Ah, well, I don't mind him stirring things up a bit." Count said cooly. "Makes it more exciting that way."
"Sir Count's on his high horse again. Let's see how long it lasts this time," High Roller chuckled. "You see, Trigger, his true character shows when he's pushed into a corner, like when he's losing at poker." Naomi was only half paying attention as she instinctively began to check everything and make sure it was all in working order. She did hear Count snip at High Roller to 'kindly shut up'.
After having the control tower yell at her for blocking the runway, she had to cut her normal pre-flight checks short and began her takeoff. Naomi had finally made her climb into the sky, pulling up and into the air to join the others. The control tower radioed her to tell her the altitude restriction was lifted and she veered away from the runway. She flew towards the clouds, then pulled back around to join up with the others, Count having done the same thing. Before Naomi even attempted pursuing one of the targets that had shown up on radar, Count sighed and said, "So, no missiles again. The FCS is locked. We're acting as bait today, boys. Gonna be a long flight."
"Damn!" Full Band spat in frustration.
"You're good. Really, I'm serious, I love this job!" Tabloid chirped. Naomi didn't know how he could sound so cheerful in such a serious situation.
She pressed the fire button for the missiles, but no good came from it. Count was right. It was locked. "Shit, are you serious? We can't even defend ourselves?"
"Prisoners use nothing without supervision," a new voice replied, cold and harsh. "Not even a pencil." Naomi didn't recognize it as a member of Spare Squadron. Wait a minute. Did they assign an AWACS to a penal unit? That would make sense, unless it was someone on the ground. She felt a twang of pity for whatever poor sap got stuck with that job. It must suck. Was this guy going to be anything like Sky Keeper was?
"Ah, well, let's make this a little more interesting," Champ said slyly as he began to fly in some ridiculous twists and turns in hopes of gathering the enemy's attention. All of them were clustered together over the base. Naomi snorted to herself as she turned towards them to join the tail end. Did they want to die? Because their ridiculous 'formation' was how they could easily accomplish that. She knew she was inexperienced and had no right to judge, but what the hell was going through their heads?
"Heh, here comes Harling's murderer," High Roller taunted as Naomi made her turn and approach.
"She shot two missiles right between old Harling's eyes," Full Band put in, sounding almost wistful in a way, like he was telling some old folk story to his comrades. A few laughs followed this statement and Naomi rolled her eyes at them. This would indeed be a long flight.
Count scoffed. "Always in the know, aren't ya?" he asked his wingman.
"Haha! In this war, intel is a life or death matter." Full Band responded cheerfully, remaining close between High Roller and Tabloid. Naomi also noticed that Count and Champ stuck together. There was some sort of pattern here, as if it showed who they trusted more in the air. This theory was only proved more correct by the fact that they left Naomi to fend for herself at the tail end.
"Settle down," the voice of the AWACS sounded off once again. "Excited to have another murderer with you." Naomi distinctly heard someone in the squadron shout 'yeah!' at this, perhaps a bit to excitedly. She couldn't help but crack a small smile. At last, the voice introduced itself. "This is Bandog. Spare 15, I'm the one handling surveillance. The bombers that attacked the runway are coming back for another round."
"What does it matter, though?" Naomi asked him, locating the bombers on radar and turning to intercept them. "It's a fake runway, they don't use it, so why bother defending it?"
"I know it's just a dummy runway," Bandog snapped back with an edge of exasperation to his voice. "We're here to draw the enemy's fire from allied forces, and the place has to look legit. You guys just need to make a lot of noise. Make them think there's fighters at the base." Naomi got the bomber's escorts attention and turned back towards the ocean to draw their attention away from the base. There were fighters at the base, they just weren't allowed to do anything.
"Hey, anyone got a smoke? I'll owe ya one." Count said to anyone who would listen. Oh great, Naomi thought. Apparently Count was one of those guys. A cocky fighter pilot that smoked and/or drank to keep up his bad boy image. When she started flight training, there were three pilots like that in the same class as her. Long story short, only one made it through the first year.
Bandog went on, "If any of you die, just think of it as you atoning for your crimes." Naomi's missile warnings went off in her ear as the enemy got a lock on her. She pulled some evasive maneuvers, trying to shake the missile that the enemy escort had fired at her. "Oh, and one more thing," Bandog said. "Any aircraft leaving the operation area will be shot down. So don't even think about trying to make a run for it. You hear me?"
"Righto," Count answered for her, but it's possible the comment had been directed at all of them. Had they tried to escape before? They pulled some more evasive maneuvers, Naomi trying her best to fly near Count and study how he flew. She did the same with the others, figuring she could try and work in unison with her squadron if she kept a close eye on their styles. Easier said than done, since only Tabloid seemed willing to have her fly on his wing. Did they think she'd shoot them down? The weapons were locked, she couldn't fire on them even if she wanted to.
Someone in the control tower gave a laugh as the bombers and their escorts made a formation and headed in for another bombing run. "Look at them. Blowing up a bunch of paper airplanes." Naomi watched as their bombs hit the fake runway and blew up the fake planes and equipment.
"The enemy seems to think our air force is concentrated on this base!" Tabloid laughed.
"Wow," Naomi said, watching the Erusean bombers fall for the attack. "This is actually a…sort of clever idea."
"Everything on the ground is fake. Can't the enemy see that?" Full Band asked, almost as if he was bothered by the enemy not being smart enough to notice they weren't blowing up anything of any importance.
Tabloid chuckled. "Well, means they're that convincing. I heard the Scrap Queen played a part in that. I think the base commander ought to thank her once we drive these bombers off."
"Would it hurt him to thank us once in a while?" Count asked as he evaded an enemy missile, carefully maneuvering so that he was behind the enemy fighter, pretending to have a lock on him. Naomi had to admit, that was impressive. Count huffed as he broke off from the escorts to pursue one of the bombers. "I mean, we are the ones saving his sorry ass."
Just as he said that, some base personnel shouted, "Shit! The enemy hit the control tower!"
McKinsey's voice came on, a muffled booming in the background. "Hey! What's with all the shaking?!" he demanded, as someone in the background gave the order to send in the fire team. McKinsey growled at Bandog and Spare Squadron, "Do not let the enemy get any closer! Are you cons trying to kill me?" There was a click as he signed off and Naomi rolled her eyes as she made a dive for the fake airstrip and flew along it before pulling up, hoping to get a good look at the damage to the real air base. It seemed the Eruseans had finally figured out the act.
"Shall I order them to shoot down all?" Bandog asked the commander. There was a long pause and no response came. No response would come. Bandog waited a moment before he tried again, "Commander? Commander McKinsey?" No reply. Naomi wondered if their act was going to be kept up and how much longer it would last, or if they'd finally be given some leash and allowed to take down the enemy. She was getting tired of dodging missiles and doing nothing. Was this what they did all day? Was this all they ever did? At last, Bandog gave them their next orders. And Naomi wasn't complaining. "Ugh...Spare Squadron, listen up. Shoot down everything carrying bombs. Weapons free. You're cleared to engage. Show no mercy."
Naomi checked the weapons by firing off the gun. They were free now. Perfect. The chatter from the others commenced almost immediately. "Righto!" Count chirped and hurried after the escorts, which Naomi thought was a poor way to prioritize.
"Why didn't you tell us that from the start?" Tabloid demanded as he fell in place beside Naomi, much to her surprise. It seemed like he was just instinctively covering the nearest wingman.
"Yeah, Tabloid's right. We could have been done by now if we'd had missiles," Full Band remarked, forming up with High Roller. He sighed, "Moving to engage."
"I'm going to have to rethink the odds," High Roller said cheerfully. "Wanna bet which one of us gets the first kill, Trigger?"
"I don't have to," Naomi replied, perhaps growing a little cocky the longer she flew with these guys. It had only been a short while, but with her adrenaline going and the banter between them, she was starting to loosen up. "It'll either be me or Mr. High Horse in the Flanker."
Count ignored her comment, instead moving to boss his squadron mates around. "All right, as I said, I'm assuming command. All aircraft, support me!" With this, Naomi saw his plane twist through the clouds as he moved in on one of the MiG-29s, trying to get a lock on them.
"Who's gonna dance to your lyin' tune?" Champ asked.
"I'll show you all how it's done," Count answered simply.
While her new squadron mates began to tangle with the escorts, Naomi took the time to take the bombers head on. There were two that she could see, plus a few Su-33s similar in appearance to Count's plane that were flying escort. She could focus on them later. Right now, the bombers took priority. If they shot down the bombers, the escorts would have no choice but to withdraw and Spare would be allowed to land. Naomi hit the afterburners, speeding up as fast as she could. She got a lock on the bomber towards the rear of their 'formation' and she fired to missiles head on.
The Erusean Tu-95 exploded, unable to evade the missiles. Naomi grinned and pulled up so she was almost vertical, then pulled back, not once reducing speed as she angled the plane's belly towards the sky. She got a lock and rolled her plane back into its normal position right as she fired, watching the missiles strike their target. She pushed down and then pulled back up, ducking the fighter underneath the ball of smoke, flames, and debris. Tabloid, who had been taking care of the escorts for the bombers Naomi took out, suddenly announced, "Trigger just shot down a bomber. Two of them! She takes the first kill, gentlemen!"
"That was some fancy flying, Miss Murderer," Count said to her, actually sounding as close to being impressed as she'd heard him come all morning. "But can you keep it up?"
"We'll see." Naomi could finally feel herself getting the feel for the place at last. Being back in the air sure helped with that. As she headed out to intercept another group of bombers, she called out to Count, "Hey, Count. How about some friendly competition? Just you, me, and the Eruseans. Mostly just you and me, though." Naomi figured that this was as good a way as any to earn her spot. Obviously, she'd have to do more than this, but it was a starting point. Besides, she and Boggard and Footpad used to have competitions for kill scores, so why couldn't she do the same with Count here?
"Hmm. Alright, you're on, Trigger." Count said, accepting her challenge. Naomi couldn't help but grin at this. Things didn't seem so bad after all, and she actually found the interaction in the air to be…entertaining. These guys actually seemed like a lot of fun, if she took some time to get to know them. And she officially had her first rival. Obviously she had it out for Count, but whatever the reasoning he had for accepting the challenge was something that would take her a while to figure out. "Keep an eye on your head count, we can compare later."
"Yeah. I'm betting that report will get dressed up real pretty." Tabloid said sarcastically, almost amused by the situation. There was a pause before Tabloid then said, "God, I can't wait until we land. I'm sick and tired of them sending us convicts up to put on a show. It's just messed up."
"Can't believe I'm agreeing with you, Tabloid," Count said, having finally taken down what Naomi figured was his first kill that day. "Honestly, this shit pisses me off more than it scares me."
"Shut your mouth and pay attention!" Bandog snapped at them. "Incoming hostile group is detected. A bomber's at high altitude, so stop watching your own asses and look up!"
Naomi checked her radar and then pulled up to find the bomber, dodging a missile as she climbed after it. The escorts were becoming annoying. Tabloid seemed willing to keep them off of her for now, or at least take care of the ones that just happened to be trying to get a lock on her, but the others had a sporadic kill pattern. In fact, they were moving and fighting ridiculously. They'd fire a missile and move on, regardless of whether they'd hit it or not. The only organized pilots appeared to be Count and Tabloid, but that was questionable. How many actually did know how to fly?
She sighed, getting a lock and firing. The target was hit and burst into flames. "Count, that's number three! I'm on a roll, so you better keep up unless you want to lose the top score around here."
"No way anyone's taking the top score from me," Count said confidently, chasing down a bomber and hitting it. He finished it off with his gun rather than a missile. "It's in my blood."
Naomi shook her head. She had an idea, but she didn't know if anyone would listen to her. Regardless, it was worth a shot, "Hey, Tabloid. I know we just met and all that and this is my first time flying with you, but I was thinking maybe you and I could work together to get this done faster." Naomi shook off an enemy Su-33, circling carefully with a high-G turn and getting a lock on the escort and firing at it. The missile hit, but it didn't destroy it, leaving the loyal escort to continue limping through his work.
Tabloid must have been intrigued by her offer, as he radioed back, "Alright, I'll bite. What did you have in mind, Trigger?"
"Okay, form up on my wing," Naomi ordered, leveling out and waiting for Tabloid to do as she said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he did as she told him to. "Now, I want you to cover me. There's a group of bombers coming in dead ahead. They've got three bombers and three escorts. I can hit the first escort head on and take down the bombers. Tabloid, what I'm trusting you to do is take care of the escorts and keep them off of my tail so I can focus more on the bombers and less on the dodging of missiles. Sound good?"
There was a moment of silence as Tabloid considered her offer. "Hmm, alright, I'm with you Trigger. You seem to know what you're doing for the most part, so I'll give it a shot." As they approached the group, Naomi sped up, getting a lock on the escort at the lead of the formation and taking it out just like she said she would, moving on to the bombers. Tabloid played his part, breaking off to tangle with the remaining two escorts as they turned to defend the bombers from Naomi. He got the first one, then the second, chasing them both high into the clouds and back down. Naomi, for one was impressed by the display, but she focused on the last two bombers, hitting them both with no problem.
A straying MiG-29 from another group came down on Tabloid and Naomi reacted quickly. Tabloid pulled up to evade the missile that the MiG had on him, climbing into the clouds to lose their lock, and Naomi shot between the two, getting the Erusean pilot's attention. The MiG went after Naomi, but she had a trick up her sleeve. Typically, it was easier done with newer, faster planes, but she figured she had a chance. She'd seen it demonstrated at an air show once, when she was much younger. Naomi sped her own plane up, causing her pursuer to do the same thing, then at the last minute she pulled into a vertical position and hit the brakes. The MiG shot past her and she leveled out, now behind him. She had a lock and had fired before he'd even fully registered what had just happened.
"Wow," Tabloid breathed out. "Look at Trigger go."
"Lucky shot," Count snapped.
Naomi sighed to herself in frustration. Of course he wasn't going to ease up on her. Maybe she just needed to act like she had nothing to prove. After all, as far as she was concerned, she didn't have anything to prove other than her innocence. She turned on another bomber, firing blindly without realizing she wasn't close enough for a lock. The missiles went straight ahead, completely missing the target, just as she suspected. Instinctively she spat, "Shit, I missed!"
"That's because you're too far away, dunce!" Count snarled at her. "Get closer to the target and maybe you can actually hit it."
Naomi held back a sharp comment as she did just that, Bandog ordering them to just focus on destroying the targets and stop talking, stating they needed to stop 'flapping their gums' or something along those lines. She was paying more attention to doing as Bandog told them and shooting the bomber down, which was coming uncomfortably close to the control tower. She got a lock and didn't wait another second before taking care of the bomber and moving on to that ones remaining escort.
Champ let out a short breath. "At least she's decent at what she's famous for."
"I wouldn't go that far," Count replied as he finished off an Su-33. "Targets that slow aren't a challenge. Don't let it go to your head, murderer." Naomi winced at his comment. Was that her new nickname? She was just going to be addressed as 'murderer' by everyone? At the very least, by Count? Maybe she could find out what Count did to get sent there and start calling him by his crime.
"Spare Squadron, multiple bandits inbound," Bandog announced to them suddenly. "They got bombers and support. They're going all out today. Take care of 'em." Naomi checked her radar. There were two groups. One was closer to the base, a higher priority. The second group was close, but not close enough to be taken care of right away. They could wait until the first group was destroyed and turn around to clean out the remainder of the bombers. That ought to do it.
Count had other plans, not thinking the situation through thoroughly enough before he started giving orders and making up a plan. "All aircraft, follow me!" he called out. To Naomi, he added, "You too murderer!"
Naomi ignored him and went to take care of the first group. Since he and the others were going after the second, she had plenty of time to deal with them. Tabloid seemed to have the same idea as she did, pulling away from the others to follow her. "Jeez, now he thinks he's squadron leader," Tabloid said bitterly, almost in a mocking tone. "You and the others deal with those guys, Count. I'm helping Trigger out."
"Thanks, Tabloid. I know we just met and all, so I really owe you one." Naomi said to him. Looking at the formation she could see two bombers and one escort at high altitude. "This time I'll handle the escort and you can get the bombers. Unless you don't want to, of course, I'm not trying to take command or anything." She was glad she had someone on her side, but at the same time she knew she could screw it up if she got too bossy with him. Besides, she was still new to the squadron and didn't want Count to hate her for stepping on his toes. He might not officially be the leader but most of the squadron seemed fine with him and he was admittedly a pretty good pilot. Fun competition so far, anyways.
"Sounds fine with me, Trigger," Tabloid replied. Naomi sighed with relief, trying to think of how she could repay him. "Anything that increases the chances of getting out alive, right?"
"Yeah, Trigger!" High Roller laughed. His laugh was grating, all scratchy and breathy at the same time, yet he still did it. Naomi wondered if he thought everything around him was just the funniest thing ever. He seemed like it. "Don't get shot down, now! I got good money riding on your survival. Some guys have got big money riding on you going down, so watch your back, eh?"
"Spare 7, shut up!" Bandog growled at High Roller. "You don't need to yap to pull the trigger."
High Roller laughed again. "I shoulda put it all on Trigger!" Naomi fired a missile at the escort and then finished it off with the gun and then turning to help Tabloid with the second bomber, prompting High Roller to shout, "Bet ya killed Harling with your guns too, didn't ya Trigger?" He chuckled and Naomi once again found herself rolling her eyes. Didn't they know that she was accused of firing a missile at him? Big difference.
Tabloid, now that he was looking for more targets and straying from Naomi to go off on his own, he began to test out his plane's capabilities by diving and pulling up at the last minute and performing a few rolls. "Y'know, this is a pretty nice ride. It's been serviced pretty good," he said, his cheerful demeanor returning. "Can't believe things things used to be scrap, can you Trigger?"
"I heard about that, but I'll admit it is hard to believe," Naomi replied with a nod. "That girl — Avril's her name, right? — is…something else. I barely even talked to her and she's made a lasting impression." She thought back to their brief interaction in the hangar, not exactly blaming her for having a bad attitude.
"Yeah…" Tabloid answered, almost in a wistful way. "Just what kinda magic does she have up her sleeves, anyway?"
"I don't know what her problem is," High Roller added scornfully. "Acting like she's royalty or something."
Count gave a dry laugh at the comment. "That's because she's the 'Scrap Queen'."
"Queen?" Champ echoed with a snort. "More like a bad-tempered tomboy. What's worse is now we've got two of 'em."
"The targets are still active. Shut your mouths and keep up the attack," Bandog ordered them. Naomi groaned in annoyance, following the rest of the squadron as they began to pick off the last of the escorts and leave the last of the bombers defenseless. She shot down an Su-33 and then turned to the last of the bombers, choosing to gun one of them down. She fired one missile to finish it off and moved onto the last two.
"What the hell are you doing?!" McKinsey's voice demanded out of nowhere. "Are you try—"
Naomi was surprised when Bandog cut him off and said smoothly, "Wilco. Commander McKinsey, please maintain silence for the moment." Naomi chuckled at him cutting off the base commander, knowing that he was probably just going to yell at them just by the way he was talking. She checked her radar, seeing that there were only two targets remaining. Naomi climbed as high as she could before starting a dive to come down on top of one of the bombers. "Spare 15, what the hell are you doing? Attack already!"
"Get on their ass if you want to score, Trigger. It's quicker that way," Tabloid advised, but Naomi didn't listen. She was within range to fire, but also had enough time to turn away and take out the last one over the base before it could make its run. Naomi got a lock, fired, then pulled away, catching sight of the explosion out of the corner of her eyes and then she started towards the last bomber. Tabloid sounded genuinely pleased and impressed when he spoke again. "Well, then. Trigger got most of them. Maybe even all of them."
"That was dumb luck, Tabloid!" Count spat at his wingman. Naomi gritted her teeth, feeling awkward by the attention and praise she was receiving from Tabloid combined with the disapproval and annoyance from Count.
"Spare 15, don't take all the fun away from your comrades," Bandog ordered.
Naomi sighed, but pulled away from the bomber. She could shoot down the last escort and let someone else handle that one. "Alright, fine then. I'll try some dogfighting with the escorts," Naomi announced. "Count, Champ, why don't you two handle the last bomber?"
"Oh yeah!" Champ yelled in response. "Let's do this!"
"Spare 8, watch your mouth," Bandog ordered.
Naomi took out one escort, leaving one more to take out. At a lower altitude, Count and Champ moved in on the last bombers. Naomi noticed that two others had moved in from the clouds that they hadn't been able to see and the two of them were splitting up to take them on. Tabloid chuckled, "Well, at least we know the paper-mâché strategy at the base seems to be doing the trick. Guess every man and his dog has an idea about how to end the war."
"Pipe down and keep your mind on the mission," Bandog scolded her. "There's one bandit left. Take him down now."
Naomi shot down the last escort and then began a dive on the last bomber, Count moving in to take on the same target. "First come, first served," Count chirped, surprisingly cheerful. Naomi fired a missile at the same time Count chose to and both missiles hit, destroying the bomber in an unintentional act of teamwork. Naomi pulled out of her dive before she could collide with Count. She barely missed him, grunting as she pulled up sharply and turned to circle around the base.
"All targets confirmed eliminated." Bandog announced.
The squadron cheered victoriously, High Roller's voice sounding the loudest. "Hell yeah! Still alive, Harling's murderer?!"
"Yeah," Naomi breathed out. "Just barely though. Sorry, Count." She heard him grumble in reply.
"Well, then dinner's on me tonight!" High Roller shouted.
"Cut the chatter, Spare Squadron," Bandog ordered. He paused, likely checking the radar to make sure no more enemies were incoming. "Mission complete. RTB." Naomi sighed with relief. Bandog chuckled, "I'm amazed Trigger's still with us. Must have the devil in her corner. Hey, Spare 7, what happens if the one you've bet on dies while landing?" Something about the way he said that made her feel uncomfortable, like he'd find a way to sabotage her landing or something equally as ridiculous. God knows how he'd manage that, though.
"Well, then you win," High Roller responded calmly. "So…what? You're not done?"
There was a moment of hesitation before Bandog brushed it off. "Just checking. That's all."
0900hrs.
The morning had dragged on, and Naomi had to circle around the base for a few minutes until everyone else had landed. It was a while before she was given permission to begin her approach. "Spare 15, this is the control tower," they said to her. "Make your landing checks. We don't want a wreck blocking the runway." Naomi banked towards the runway. "Spare 15, you have permission to land. Wind conditions are calm, so you better not have any trouble."
She made slight adjustments and corrections to her course, trying to get it over and done with. "3,000 meters. Too fast, lower your airspeed," they instructed. Naomi barely did as she was told, making a sharp turn to get on the correct path. She hit the brakes as she got closer to the tarmac. "You're past the guidance limit. Make a visual landing."
The muffled screeching sound of the wheels hitting the runway and the slight lurch of the plane as it made contact told her to slow down. She hit the breaks hard and eventually slowed to a stop. The control tower snarled in her ear, "That plane is worth more than your life. Show it some respect next time. Now go and stand by for your next sortie."
Before she could do anything else, she heard Bandog snap at her, "I lost a lot of money for that, Trigger. Don't forget." That must of been his nice way of saying that he'd been hoping she'd die. Or, at the very least crash.
Sighing, she yanked herself free of the straps and belts and nearly threw her helmet off as the canopy opened, climbing out and onto the ladder that had been pushed up to the plane. It was the ground crew's problem now, but she had to admit that she had a bit of a fondness for the plane, looking at it as the crew surrounded it to check for any damage done to it, such as bullet or burn marks. Naomi looked it over from a distance, cringing at the white marks marring its tail. She'd ask someone about it later.
As she turned around to face the hangar, she saw Count, Tabloid, and Full Band carrying out a conversation. Count saw her and his eyes narrowed as he visibly tensed. He said something to the others and stormed away, straight towards Naomi. She groaned inwardly. Did everyone have it out for her now? As soon as she was within earshot, he started to yell at her, drawing closer, "Hey, watch it next time, murderer! You nearly slammed into me, you dumbass!" Naomi crossed her arms, making eye contact and straightening up as he stared her down. He was a good four inches taller than she was, and she didn't trust him enough to back down and just walk away. Not while he was that angry.
"But I didn't, did I?" Naomi countered. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. "Listen, I helped you with that last bomber, Count. Furthermore, I outdid you."
"Whatever," Count seethed, but he seemed to be calming down. "That doesn't mean shit. You have to do a lot more than stupid airshow tricks and taking down a few bombers to earn your respect around here. Being a girl doesn't earn you special treatment." He relaxed and backed down, running a hand through his hair and taking a few calming breaths. Naomi rolled her eyes at him, perking up when she noticed Tabloid and Full Band approaching behind him. Count turned around when he heard them coming.
"Sorry to interrupt your argument, ladies—" Tabloid said, clapping Count on the shoulder, "—but Commander McKinsey has an awful temper, and Bandog keeps barking at us to head to the debriefing." He and Count exchanged a look before Tabloid shrugged and turned away. "High Roller is making a bet on whether or not we're goin' into solitary, but I got a pretty strong feeling that that's what's gonna happen. It isn't really a bet worth taking, y'know?" He began to walk in the direction of the main building, Full Band close behind.
Count waited a moment, glaring at Naomi before he followed the rest of the squadron. Naomi hesitated, and Count called over his shoulder, "Come on, murderer. You're about to get your first taste of solitary." She looked back at the hangar and sighed, rubbing some sweat off of her forehead before she began a slow march after the others. There was no rest for the wicked, it would seem.