"Slate One-Actual, pilot's log, post-awakening day fourteen, dusk.
"The unidentified forces have finished their offensive strike on the cocoon. There is an excess of smoke in the canyon that I expect will linger until nightfall. I'll use that cover to leave the region at nightfall.
"Considering myself extremely lucky today. The explosions were enough to shake the surrounding bedrock, but the overhangs held strong above me. I didn't anticipate that much firepower, but regardless of the strength, I expect they will have failed to crack the armor. If I recall Keegan's words correctly, the shell actively repulses any force applied to it at equal strength. It was theorized that creating a vacuum next to the shell might force it to create a vacuum of its own, ripping itself apart in the process, but such a test was never performed, as far as he told me.
"Regardless, the anomaly is not entirely relevant to my survival at this time. I'll instead focus on my egress from this area. I honestly fear I may not get a better opportunity to escape under cover like this. End of log."
The bombardment left Seth's previous route to the site impassable, so he couldn't investigate the site again even if it felt warranted. No, now was the time to disappear.
Grateful for the protected environment of the canopy, Seth fired up the engines, swirling the smoke and dust around him. Surely, it was un-breathable outside the cockpit. Visual navigation was impractical, so he activated the short-range proximity radar. The output of the scanning read out on the tactical display.
Piloting the Sworder without a visual reference was tricky, given the dust and the sun had finally gone down. Blindfolded piloting wasn't a common training practice. Calm weather was a blessing today. The last thing Seth needed was to compensate for crosswinds while virtually blindfolded.
Using the arm thrusters to hover, he guided the Sworder to the upper-most cliffs of the canyon. Giving himself a ten-percent attitude increase for safety, he gradually increased forward thrust until he cleared the smoke, then pushed it hard to the sky, backing off the throttle only once he'd achieved sufficient altitude to begin searching for a new landing zone.
"Pilot's log supplemental.
"I've successfully egressed the canyon. Giving myself a few hundred kilometers for safety to avoid detection. In the meantime, I'm monitoring engine performance. There were some fluctuations in output when I first fired them after waking. Instead of leveling off, they've been steadily increasing. Not enough to warrant grounding the bird, but enough to raise concern. Diagnostics aren't telling me much, but if I get into another fight, I may be looking at a disadvantage.
"Still no progress on deciphering local communications. Would be nice to know a thing or two about the locals before actually meeting them. I'll continue listening, but establishing contact may be a lost cause.
"GFR is showing a forested area up ahead. If thermal scan comes up clean, I'll set down in a clearing and set up camp. Rations are getting thin, so I'll have to get creative; hope there's some edible game in the woods. Rifle should come in handy. End of log."
Wilderness training felt like a lifetime ago (or rather, several lifetimes), but one didn't easily forget how to skin an animal.
Seth spent the first two days in the woods scouting the area. His rifle didn't have a suppressor, so the report would be audible for several hundred meters. He didn't want to be found by passers-by while he'd grounded the Sworder. The nearest traveled route he found was ten kilometers off, so he felt confident in his choice of location.
Hunting was a lot easier with a rifle in his hand. The Academy's wilderness training taught cadets to use far more primitive means: spring snares, deadfalls, and tension traps. But the most common game in the woods were deer, and they were less susceptible to such measures. A 7.62 full metal jacket through the skull was far more effective.
He aimed for the young. If he was spending several years in the forest, it would be more prudent to prey on the elder, so the young may grow older and have offspring to hunt later. But a fully-grown deer would be harder to carry through the woods to camp, and it would render an unnecessarily-large food supply. One man alone couldn't consume an entire deer before it spoiled, and smoking the meat to preserve it wasn't a wise choice, as the smoke would be visible from the air. A small, efficient fire to cook the meat would have to suffice.
When not hunting, daylight hours were spent inspecting the Sworder's systems. There was no evidence of any tampering while it slumbered in the hangar all those years, but given enough time, even the strongest materials suffered. The technicians did well to prepare the Sworder for its rest, but they had anticipated only a few decades at most. Clearly, centuries had passed, and time did not relent for a solitary zoid.
That said, Seth was still amazed at how it had survived. The minor fluctuations should have been catastrophic, but the engines fired up on the first try once he awoke, and then performed brilliantly in a combat situation without even being run in.
A deeper dive into the engines found there wasn't even the predictable buildup of congealed oil that accompanies long term storage. The turbines were free of rust, the hydraulic lines were clear, and the control surfaces all moved freely. It was as if the bird was being regularly maintained all these years.
Curious, Seth scrolled through the system logs to see if anything had been recorded during the hibernation. Remarkably, the Sworder was starting itself up every ten years or so, clearing the deposits from the turbines, then shuttering the intakes as they spooled down, lowering the air pressure in the engines to preserve them. This routine kept them ready to fly, but at the same time running the engines caused wear, and it all added up to several hundred hours of run time with no routine maintenance. It was a blessing they were running this well.
But for Seth, the hammer dropped when he saw the fuel level. Access to the old base's fuel reserves let the Sworder run itself all those years, but two weeks of flying left his own reserves at twenty-seven percent. These engines were incredibly efficient by virtue of their power. One of the intended uses for the Sworder was to be combat air patrol; spending extended periods in the air, anticipating threats. For these periods, the Sworder would fly with low power, using minimal fuel. Seth had essentially been flying at low power when he would relocate to another area. But with this level, he had, at best, two days of flying left.
One day of flying, if he was drawn into a fight.
After a week, he spied a convoy traveling the nearby road, the dust from the trail rising through the trees. It was a long convoy, at least two hundred meters, possibly military. Two days after that, he saw another. A third came five days later. They were all at different times of day.
The sporadic pattern meant predicting the next convoy would prove difficult, so adjusting his hunting patterns to work around them with any certainty would be next to impossible. This increased his chance of being spotted dramatically, especially since his hunting proficiency had pushed the local game closer to the road.
It was time to leave.
Locking his rifle into the small arms cache in the leg was the last of many steps he took before leaving, after securing the Sworder's maintenance hatches and taking the gamble of hunting one last deer. His last evening was spent cooking all the meat he could before the light from his fire would be seen from above, so he might have at least something to sustain himself wherever he wound up landing afterwards.
As he thought about his fuel situation and the possibility of a combat landing, he decided the rifle was better kept with him in the cockpit.
At the end of a full day watching the skies and listening to the incomprehensible radio traffic, he took to the air as the sun set.
The night sky reminded him what a long day it had been packing up the Sworder. Long range radar showed clear skies, he was flying slow at high altitude, twenty minutes of in-cockpit rack time would be beneficial...
The alarm came sooner than expected. But that wasn't the timer...
Illumination flares burst in front of the canopy, piercing the night sky. A warning shot?
"Scan all channels for traffic," he instructed the Sworder. The communication module showed nothing. "Visual communication it is."
He rocked his wings back and forth, seeing two radar contacts approaching from nine o'clock. No missile lock warning yet...
The Sworder's reconnaissance system identified them as Redlers. They could be dispatched easily if it came to it.
The base's alarm was ill-timed. The guard was rotating shifts and maintenance had begun their weekly overhaul session. A threat now would only be facing half the base's potential strength.
"Report!" Major Herman shouted to his team in the command center.
"Unidentified Zoid entered our airspace at grid three-five-niner, bearing due east at eight thousand meters," Fiona responded. Ever since being invited into the Guardian Force's command structure, she'd done her best to prove her worth. Those around her had several years of training, where she was just a lost girl from the desert. "No response to radio hails, maintaining course after firing illumination flares."
"Anti-air is preparing munitions," reported the base defense coordinator.
"Do we have any Zoids in the air?"
"Two Redlers flying patrol, ninety seconds away," said the air controller.
"Deploy them to intercept. What's the bogey's speed?"
"Half-mach, sir," Fiona answered.
"Redlers are sending visual, Major."
"On screen," the Major commanded. The target was too far away, and night had fallen. Against the light from the flares reflecting off the clouds, it was merely a speck in the distance, almost too small to see at all on the monitors. "Prepare the Triple-S to scramble. Fiona, get the Blade Liger ready to mobilize."
"Yes, sir." Opening Van's channel, she made the call. "Van, orders are to prepare for combat."
"Already on it," Van answered.
"It's a shame Lieutenant Schubaltz isn't here. The Dibison's guns could be useful against an air target."
"Yeah, then it could be him getting woken up in the middle of the night! Imperial VIP assignment, my ass!"
His constant push-pull with Thomas amused and perplexed her. Why couldn't they just admit they were friends?
"Major Herman," she said, "the Blade Liger's preparations are underway."
"Connect me to the Redler pilots," the Major instructed.
"Go for Osprey," came the lead pilot's voice.
"Major Herman to Osprey. Do you have visual on the bogey?"
"Ehh, kind of."
"Osprey, need more information."
"Well, you gotta let me get a little closer, Major. All I see is a dot right now."
"Damn rookies," Herman muttered. "Always forgetting the rules of decorum in peacetime." Then, to the pilots, he said, "Update when information is available."
"Roger that, Major. Osprey out."
"What's the status on the Triple-S?"
"Bird is fully prepped," said the air controller. "Just waiting on the word, sir."
"Keep it and the Blade Liger on standby. For now, let's see how this plays out."
Seconds of anticipation ticked by, silence on the command center's floor.
Finally, there came the crackled message from the Redler pilot, "Osprey to Herman. Solid visual on the bogey."
"Report," Herman commanded.
"I- I've never seen anything like this. Are you getting visual?"
The image from the Redlers' cameras flashed on the monitors. It was just a silhouette, but something about it looked familiar...
"Affirmative, Osprey. We're looking into it. Do you have visual on the pilot?"
"Negative, Major. Tinted canopy. Any luck with radio contact?"
Fiona shook her head at the Major.
"Negative, Osprey. Begin visual communication attempts. We might need to take offensive measures."
"Roger that. Dropping flares."
The lead Redler then maneuvered in front of the unknown Zoid, dropping flares in an attempt to communicate. His wingman dropped back, acquiring radar lock.
"Holy shit!" the wingman shouted.
Much calmer, though still in awe, the lead pilot said, "Sir, the bogey just lit burners and took off like a shell out of a howitzer!"
"Target is maintaining course, accelerating to mach 2," Fiona clarified, "...and climbing."
"Osprey, open fire," Herman commanded. "Scramble the Triple-S!"
"Osprey has fired missiles, sir," said the air controller. "Triple-S airborne in thirty seconds."
"Anti-air has target lock," said the defense coordinator.
"Bogey is outrunning Osprey's missiles!"
Something about that zoid, Fiona thought.
Redler missiles never had a chance of catching the Sworder. Sure, they had a better thrust-to-weight ratio, but they were meant to chase a Pteras at its top speed, not a crimson streak in the night sky like the one under Seth's control.
He would have been content to follow the Redlers when the lead pilot dropped flares, but the wingman had acquired missile lock. Had they even remotely thought him to be a friendly contact, they would have stopped at dropping flares. Pushing to full afterburner was the smart move here. They would never catch him, anyway.
Ground radar showed multiple hits, quite possibly a base of some sort, ten kilometers at 1 o'clock from his position. If he continued on this course at this speed, he would pass them by and they wouldn't have time to mount a second attack. After passing by, he would bring the Sworder to within a hundred meters above ground level, where they wouldn't be able to track him by radar. After some time he could climb again to a higher altitude, since extended low-altitude flying at night was strongly ill-advised.
The distance to the base was closing in to six kilometers when the radar lock alarm sounded. A new contact appeared on the tactical screen, this one moving fast on an intercept course, surpassing mach two. This was no Redler. The radar cross-section was small, barely showing up on his scope, but the Sworder's systems showed the bogey had weapons-hot.
If Seth was being targeted, he'd best arm his own weapons.
The new threat closed within gun range and fired a warning burst in front of the Seth's Sworder. The Redlers had fired missiles, so he wasn't about to back off from a warning shot. A pre-emptive strike was appropriate now. And unlike the days before the slumber, he didn't have to wait for permission to fire today.
He snap-rolled inverted and dove to gain speed. Wisely, his opponent climbed to keep appropriate distance. However, he either forgot about the illumination flares in the sky or decided they were unimportant. But they did allow Seth's reconnaissance systems to get a look at the enemy craft. The proportions of the craft, painted in a black shade, hinted at a Storm Sworder design slated for mass production before the Crimson Sworder was perfected. Seth eyed the analysis as the two birds arced around one another.
This one didn't have the arm thrusters, and, judging by the exhaust cowlings, it didn't have vectored thrust, either. The Crimson would have the maneuverability advantage. But the other Sworder had fresh ammunition, while Seth was left with the few munitions left after the battle at the ruins and that run-in with the charged particle-wielding zoid. And he probably had a full load of fuel...
Best make this quick.
Driving the arm thrusters, he cut inside the arc they were flying, giving his targeting system time to achieve a missile lock. The range was too far for a heat seeker, and the illumination flares would throw off interference. The radar system had trouble locking on, but was helped by the enemy being the only other thing in the sky.
The missile's tracking wasn't nearly so sophisticated, soon losing its way. Ending this conflict would take a more personal approach.
"Deploy blades," he told the command system. The bay doors opened to allow the arms to attach to the blades, which then swung out to maximum reach. The rest was just a matter of getting close enough to the target, and Seth did have the maneuverability advantage.
The enemy's hardware was good, and the pilot was decent. But Seth was a warrior molded by the bitter civil war in a machine designed with a blank check. Clipping the black bird's wings was only a matter of time.
And time expired for his foe when the Crimson Sworder's blade connected to the starboard wing, sending the dark fighter to the ground, the pilot ejecting shortly after the strike.
Seth began his egress immediately after confirming the enemy pilot had opened his chute. As an enemy combatant, Seth held nothing against him, so defeating him in battle was enough. Killing wasn't necessary today.
Selecting an eastern heading, Seth pushed to full afterburner to quickly escape the base's grounds, only to be met with another barrage of fire from the ground.
The Sworder's systems identified the threat as a Liger, Blade type. These were rare when he was awake, each one carrying a different armament. This one at least had munitions enough to strike at an airborne target, which would be the bare minimum for a zoid intended for melee battle.
Fuel reserves were at nineteen percent after flying from the forest and taking down that black Sworder. A fast ground target like a Blade Liger would take time to defeat, time Seth didn't have. But he had to take it out, for should he retreat it could track him much longer than the base's radar, possibly long enough for them to alert nearby forces. Adding to the challenge, if it took too long to defeat the Liger, further enemy anti-air measures could be deployed.
The Liger must be destroyed, and quickly.
He pulled hard to avoid another burst as he heard the missile lock warning sound. He would be harder to track if he was flying straight at the Liger.
The arm thrusters allowed him to shift left and right to avoid fire while maintaining his heading, ultimately lining up a strafing run. The Liger turned tail at the incoming fire, seeking enough distance to fire missiles. Though, with missile pods that small, Seth doubted they would ever get up to speed to hit him. But if they were fired while he was maneuvering...
To avoid that possibility, Seth took a wide arc when he flew past his target. This gave the Liger time to line up another burst from its guns, which Seth easily dodged, owing to the great distance they rounds had to travel. Distance was the Crimson Sworder's friend when it came to unguided weaponry. Keegan's people had designed a system which predicted where ballistic munitions would fly, plotting their path on the canopy overlay, allowing Seth to easily fly away out of their path. And sure enough, the missiles from the Liger could barely get to altitude, let alone match the Sworder's speed.
But the distance to the Liger that kept Seth out of harm's way did the same for the Liger. The Sworder would eventually have to close the gap if he was to win.
Finding an opening, Seth dropped to just above the deck and rolled in to line up another shot. A strafe from his guns sent the Liger to the right, fast. Two missiles were sent at a wider angle towards the Liger while subsequent gun bursts kept him running in the same direction.
"Got him."
Once his prey reached a constant speed and enough distance had closed, it was a simple task of drawing the gun reticle across the Liger's projected path. The rounds broadsided their target, striking the legs and bringing the Liger to its knees. The first missile struck a shallow angle and ricocheted off the Liger's armor, exploding harmlessly in a fiery cascade.
The second missile found its mark, sealing the Liger's fate. Seth could finish it with a blade strike from here, but the light of a gun burst waved him off. Tracer rounds confirmed his cautionary approach.
The Sworder's systems showed the Liger's guns were jammed in position. A quick climb followed by an Immelmann turn would place him outside the line of fire while lining up a perfect blade strike, after which he could finally egress.
Six hundred meters to target... blades extended...
"Calling Council Guardsman," the radio crackled. "Code white! Code white!"
Four hundred meters to target... Something about that voice...
"Slate One Actual responding," Seth called back quickly. "Request confirmation of code white."
Two hundred meters...
"Confirmed code white," the voice answered. "Targets are friendly! Wave off! Wave off!"
"Shit!"
The Sworder disarmed its blades and pitched up, aiming its arm thrusters and vectored thrust to scrub off speed and gain altitude. A split second later and the Sworder would have crashed into the stricken Liger instead of searing the paint off the armor with the heat of its engines, ultimately leveling off at a slow cruising speed. An alert on the console told him they had him on radar.
"Slate One Actual, standing down. Code white acknowledged. Awaiting escort, requesting fuel and rearm upon landing."
It wasn't entirely wise to disengage just now, but this was the first radio contact resembling Council Guard structure since he'd gone into slumber. He still had the upper hand, since the Liger was incapacitated, so there was some safety in his decision.
But Seth's confidence evaporated when the missile lock warning screamed in his ear again. Threats marked at three- and seven-o'clock.
"Slate One Actual to Guard command, detecting SAM launches. Disengage, disengage!"
"Slate One, take evasive action. Missiles are from base automated defenses. Attempting to detonate mid-flight."
More missile warnings, one- and eleven-o'clock. "Command, Slate! Showing additional launches!"
"Working on it, Slate! Do your best to avoid them until then!"
Six- and nine-o'clock... ECM jammers activated.
"Command, I'm boxed in! Deploying countermeasures and dropping to one-hundred AGL, but I can't outrun them all!"
Dive, dive, dive! he urged the Sworder's controls. Chaff clouds burst behind him as the altimeter reading plummeted. At two hundred meters above the deck, he leveled off, finally reaching just below one hundred. Down here, it would be harder for radar to track him.
Reassessing the situation, he saw two of the missiles were diverted by the chaff. They had been on his tail when they launched, so when he inverted for the dive he presented the smallest radar cross section, making them more susceptible to chaff.
Two of the others were ahead of him, and another on his left wing. But the closest one was on the right, flying at a higher altitude and posing a larger threat. At this range, chaff and jammers wouldn't do the job. It would have to be out-maneuvered, and by the time that was done, the last three would be within the same range. Fuel was about to become a truly serious concern.
He banked to show the closest missile the tops of his wings and pushed the throttle forward, climbing and adjusting his heading to meet the threat. When it got close enough, he aimed the arm thrusters to execute a fast, tight barrel roll. The missile couldn't react quick enough at this range, and sailed right past him, plunging to the ground.
Now for the two ahead of him. They were crating a pincer formation, leaving him few options, so he turned tail and pushed to full afterburner. If he could maneuver one in front of the other, the tracking for the second could be thwarted by exhaust gasses from the first. It was just a theory, but this was not the time to wait for a proven solution.
Flying serpentine brought them in line directly behind him and he dropped chaff to further disrupt the second. In his mirror, he saw the burst of fire from a missile which thought it had hit its target. Seth's feeling of relief was short-lived, however, for the closer one was still on him and the final missile was closing in on his right wing.
Seth flew as low and fast as he dared, praying for some hills to fly through. But there was no elevation change greater than twenty meters. The Sworder couldn't feasibly hide in that. The last chance he had was the hope the missile would sense the close proximity to the ground and assume it reached its intended target, detonating mid-air. It was a shot just long enough to take.
He flew nap-of-the-earth, cresting over what few hills there were, hoping one would be high enough to trigger his pursuer's proximity sensors. But with a lower altitude came a greater sense of speed, which instilled anxiety in even the best pilots. Machines were susceptible to no such fear, so as Seth eased off his speed in the name of self-preservation, the missile maintained its pursuit as ever.
Worse still, this particular killer was designed well, having held a solid lock as the heat of their exhausts blazed the landscape.
"Command, this one on my six is getting close!"
"Keep going, Slate! A few more seconds and you'll exceed its range."
"Roger that." That was his cue to level out and keep the throttle firewalled.
The merciful voice on the radio proved correct, for a few seconds were all it took for the missile to cease tracing its smoke trail through the sky. Momentum carried it through the sky before it finally crashed to the ground, tearing a hole in the turf.
"Last one, Command. Any chance of shutting it down?"
"We've lost connection to it. We need you to draw it to a higher altitude."
"Copy. Ascending."
Vectored thrust pitched the Sworder's nose up quickly. The final pursuer tracked true as he climbed for the heavens. Several agonizing seconds later, Command called him again.
"Slate, the warhead is disabled, but it's still tracking."
"Roger that, Command. I'll take care of it from here."
Without an explosive warhead to worry about he could use the blades to cut it down. However, turning in to begin the counterattack was all he could do before the engines suddenly spooled down.
Seth looked down at the instruments. The critical fuel warning couldn't be heard over the missile lock alarm.