Solo forever

Chapter 1: Hero vs Legend

Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico

Screeching across the sky at speeds faster than sound, a lone fighter jet rolled over a nearby cloud bank in the sky. Leveling out of the roll, the wings of the F-15E traced the sky with its snow white vapor trails. The pilot quickly stretched his head behind him searching the gray sky for the bogie that was close behind him. Suddenly out from the cloud cover below two missiles emerged, their white trails of smoke fallowing close behind. SHIT the pilot thought to himself, at the same time reacting quickly with the jets countermeasures. The pilot turned the Eagle hard into the missiles trying to generate an over shoot. Flairs from the bottom of the air craft began to automatically deploy as the ECM jammed away at the incoming missiles. The pilot watched between the two tales of his Eagle with satisfaction as one of the missiles took the bait, exploding instantly. But the other missile held its vector towards the F-15E slowly closing in on him. Remaining in the tight turn pulling a little over 7 G's the jets ECM deployed chaff systematically in an attempt to disrupt the last missile. Finally the jets ECM jammed the missiles radar causing it to trigger a self-destruct in the warhead. The missile exploded behind him as he leveled out over the cloud cover below him.

Typical Russian tactic…

The Russians would fire a heat seeking missile first then a radar guided missile, the heat seeker would distract the pilot while the radar guided missile homed in on its target. A very elementary move but would sometimes be useful against an un-expecting enemy fighter. Something still didn't seem right about the Russians move. The missiles were fired too close together; this didn't give the radar missile the distraction it needed to home in on its target unnoticed. The young pilot thought for a millisecond trying to predict the enemy's next move. Suddenly he jinked right and dived for the earth, the slight flash of a metal object bounced off his left mirror. A hail of bullets rushed by where the Eagle once was; just half a second ago.

Out from above a Russian SU-47 fallowed the lone F-15E as it dived towards the earth. The Eagle pilot now knew that this Russian was no ordinary fighter pilot; he was a professional killer in the sky. As the Eagle dived for the earth, the pilot let off the throttle trying not to gain speed. Quickly he pulled up hard making his F-15E slow even more. The pilot in the SU-47 flew by the Eagle in an overshoot pulling up right in front of the F-15E giving him a clear view of the Russian jet. But something unique about this air craft stood out at him. The planes skin covering it was darker than any normal Russian SU-47 along with the blood red imprint of a bear-like claw covered the right section of the plane.

Who is this guy?

The two fighter jets began to climb, both pushing their engines to full afterburner. He had caught the Russian in an overshoot but something told him he wouldn't get so lucky again. Looking up at the SU-47 as it climbed upwards faster and faster the Eagle pilot tried to keep up. Flipping to his sidewinder heat seeking missiles on the flight stick, the low growl of the missile searching for a target filled his helmet. He waited for the growl to slowly gain intensity as seconds pasted by like minutes. The targeting crosshair on his HUD circled the SU-47 as it began to pick up on the huge heat signature of the SU-47's two engines. Finally the crosshair stopped on top of the SU-47s air frame, a high pitched ringing sounded off in his helmet.

This would be the end of such an unfortunate Russian pilot who was soon to have a heat seeking missile shoved up its tail pipe. The pilot was just about to send away his now hungry heat seeker when suddenly the nose of the Eagle began to fall downwards towards the ground. What the hell? What's going on- NO! On the right hand side of his HUD the F-15E's speedometer read 123 knots and was dropping fast. Suddenly the engines began to sputter as the soft metallic voice of a woman spoke to him over the headset in his helmet, "warning engine Stall, right. Warning engine Stall, left." He was staling; the Russian probably didn't care to over shoot the eagle knowing that the F-15 didn't have enough speed to pull out of a climb like that. The sickening feeling of freefall slowly entered his stomach as the nose began to fling rapidly in every direction. His head was tossed in every direction as he tried to regain control over the plane. Glancing over at his altitude meter he saw that his plane was at 20,000 feet and falling. The world outside his cockpit began to blur as the plane began to roll and twist as it fell. Grabbing both hands on the flight stick he tried desperately to level out but it was no use.

Slowly aching above the falling F-15E was the Russian SU-47 coming around for another pass. The Russian pilot let off the throttle as he peeked at the top of his arch slowing himself down for the kill. Diving down like a war bird striking its prey the SU-47 locked on to falling Eagle with a radar guided missile. The pilot stuck in the freefalling F-15E began to panic as the sound of his ECM warning going off the wall, alerting him of an enemy missile lock. His heart was pounding in his chest as his entire life flash before his eyes. Suddenly a surge of adrenalin hit him…

"too easy" said the Russian over the radio.

The young Eagle pilot quickly regained control over the plane, rather unexpectedly to the Russian pilot. He pointed the nose down allowing air to rush into the F-15E engine intakes. Hitting the fuel injector switch to both engines within seconds, he ignited both engines. An explosion of power thrusted him back into an upright position in his seat. He yanked back on the flight stick pulling a tremendous amount of G's. Despite the warning of an OVER G the pilot continued to pull back on the stick. In a single moment the Eagle had pulled out of the stall and was sent flying past the oncoming SU-47 as it did a complete flip ending right behind the Russian jet.

The Russian pilot could only look back in amazement at what had just happen. The sound of his ECM going off, alerting him that Eagle was locked on, could be heard but he didn't care. He could only look back in astonishment as a missile dropped down from under the F-15 and shot straight towards him. "No…" was all the Russian could utter as he watched the Americans missile explode just outside his cockpit….

Langley AFB, Virginia

Colonel David Shepherd gazed at the thick packet of papers lying on his desk. The clock in his office room wall was the only thing that kept his room from being dead silent. He sat there for moments, staring up at the sealing watching the fan circle above him. The slow rotation of his fan kept the room cool but it did little good for the stressed Colonel and his full service dress uniform. Shepherd took another glance down at the packet, rubbing his temples with his fingers. It was this month's situation report for the 1st fighter wing and he dare not look at it again. The 1st fighter wing was taking a beating and Major Shepherd was quickly losing his more experienced pilots. It seemed like every sortie the Wing had set out on they would return with losses no matter how great the tactical advantage was. The Russians had some good pilots on their side…. Damn good pilots at that and it showed.

Shepherd flipped through the pages one more time. Each page was just like the next, a paragraph simply written up by the squadron commander, describing the mission losses and victories. But Colonel Shepherd was only reading the pages with highlighted tabs attached to them. For each highlighted tab represented a pilot with a kill under his or her belt, whether it be one kill or five. Frowning at the number of tabs on the side of the packet he looked at each paragraph carefully. But he only saw the same thing again and again…

"…took damage to left wing, couldn't bail out in time…"

"…lost contact in route home. Deemed KIA."

"…ambushed by Russian fighters… shot down…"

"…shot down by enemy ace… KIA"

"…KIA…"

KIA…

Killed in action.

The same three letters imprinted in every paragraph. It was depressing none the less and these were just the results of over one month. He didn't want to see how many were lost over a year or even just six months. Sighing out loud Colonel Shepherd stopped on one page, it having four highlight tabs attached to the side. He began to read the first sentence, "All pilots were shot down by the ace known as 'the Russian bear'… transports could not make it to target area. The mission was aborted and all surviving air craft fell back to safety. Only three pilots made it back…" Colonel Shepherd couldn't read anymore.

'There were over fifteen pilots from the 1st fighter wing on that mission, and only three made it back…' he said to himself.

Colonel Shepherd put down the packet and began to rub his temples again. All this reading was making his eyes sore and it didn't help that everything he was reading was bad news. He had a slight head ach and need to take some head ach medicine. Reaching in his middle desk drawer he pulled out a bottle of Motrin. Popping the cap off, he pored a few tablets into his hand and grabbed a glass of water from his desk. Shepherd quickly stuffed the pills in his mouth and drank the glass of water. Suddenly his phone began to ring. Setting down the glass and wiping his mouth the Colonel picked up the phone.

"This is Colonel Shepherd."

"Colonel Shepherd you have a visitor. I just sent him up to your office." It was the Wings secretary on the phone.

"Corporal, I told you I wasn't taking any visitors at this time." He really wasn't in the mood to have any visitors right now.

"I know sir, but he said it was important." The airmen stated over the phone. Shepherd could feel the stress in his voice.

"It better be…" he mumbled to himself as he hung up the phone. Just then there was a knock on the door. Shepherd looked up to the door of his office and said with a low and intimidating voice "enter." Slowly the door opened and in stepped a man almost similar in age to himself. But as Shepherd began to study the man's uniform from the seat of his chair he noticed his ranks. Three silver stars hung on the man's shoulders. Quickly the Colonel jumped from his seat to attention and held a salute. "General! Good to see you, sir."

The General smirked at his reaction time as he walked to the front of his desk, a folder on one hand. With a quick salute back he dismissed the Colonel from attention. "Take a seat Colonel Shepherd; we have much to talk about…" The colonel did as he was told and took a seat at his desk waiting for the General to continue speaking, "my name is General Wilson J. Harrison. I'm with the JSF planning department at the pentagon." The General opened the folder in his hand and placed it on the Colonels desk in front of him. "Sir what is this…?" was all the Colonel could say.

"Look at it…"

Colonel Sheppard slid the open folder closer to him and stared at its contents. Inside the folder the Colonel could see photographs, all in black and white. Stapled on top of each photograph were what looked to be newspaper articles, but they were all in Russian. Colonel Sheppard didn't have to read Russian to realize that the newspaper articles were propaganda. In the photographs he could see what looked like a Russian SU-47 on an air base tarmac, its deep menacing look jumping out at its viewer. The SU-47 had a strange red outline of something imprinted on the fuselage of the aircraft, making it stand out more than any other SU-47 would. After looking at multiple photos and news paper articles he determined the red outlining to be in the shape of a bears claw… Strange, Colonel Sheppard thought as he looked back up to the General in wonder.

The General then handed him another photo, this one being a photo of a man. Colonel Sheppard looked at him and saw that it was a pilot, standing next to the strangely marked aircraft. "His name is Anatoly Kvotchur… AKA 'the Russian bear'…"

Colonel Sheppard's eyes widened in shock.

This was the pilot responsible for so many deaths in this wing, the only pilot that anyone has yet to shoot down, and the only pilot that couldn't be stopped in the air.

"… Russian war hero. Propaganda magnet, the Russian press loves this guy. Good looking, quite the ladies man too. Over 234 reported kills in the air and over a dozen military instillations destroyed. Almost considered a god in the air by some people…"

The Colonel put the photo down in depression not wanting to look at the murderer of over two hundred American pilots.

General Harrison finished off his last statement with a smirk… "CIA, human Intel, just reported that he was shot down twelve hours ago over the Gulf of Mexico… "

Instantly the Colonels eyes shot up to the smiling Generals face. "What?"

"You heard me right."

"W-who? Who was it?" was all he could say.

"It's unknown who got the kill but we know where the pilot is based. This is why I'm here… I've come to talk to you about a secret division we are starting. Codenamed: PATRIOT WINGS. That pilot will be the first one to fly under this secretive operation and you're his new commanding officer. We're going to rid the skies of these Russian aces…"

The Colonel still couldn't comprehend in his head what his ears just heard.

"I've also taken the liberty of selecting a few other candidates as well, some from other coalition countries… no need to thank me… your plane will arrive tomorrow. I want you to meet the pilot who shot down that ace."

With that the General turned towards the door, exiting the Colonels office. Just as the door was half open, the Generals foot halfway through the door, he turned back to say something else.

"The fate of this war may depend on this program… A lot is a stake here. Don't fail me.""

The steady click of the door closing filled the silent room as Colonel Shepherd sat there in deep thought.

Tyndal Air Force Base

The piercing wine of two F-15 eagle engines filled the wide open area of the tarmac. A lone F-15 eagle taxied off the runway, slowing to a halt in hanger block 18. As the engines began to die three technicians rushed to secure the jet to its designated holding area, placing wooden blocks under the wheels. The crew chief then attached a ladder to the side of the F-15 as the glass canopy slowly opened. The Scottish looking crew chief climbed up to the top and began to help the pilot out of his harness.

"You're a lucky man Lieutenant… I thought for sure you would be a goner this time."

The red haired man's mustache moved in sync with his lips as he spoke to the pilot. "Looks like I owe ya another drink, eh lad?"

The pilot removed his oxygen mask from his face revealing a very troublesome expression. Beads of sweat dipped off his face, glistening in the afternoon sun. He rose from his seat and stepped down the ladder, helmet still on his head. When reaching the bottom of the ladder he stumbled to the ground and landed on his knees. The Scottish crew chief was about to help the exhausted fighter pilot up but was stopped in his tracks as the splatter of vomit hit the hot concrete deck. It took a few moments of distasteful noises before the pilot slowly began to get back up on his feet.

"Five sorties a day, a man needs to know his limits." The crew chief mumbled to him.

The pilot shrugged off the comment and removed the helmet from his head. His light brown hair was sprawled in every direction with sweat pouring down his face. He could only stare down with a depressed expression that almost looked as though he felt like a failure. Steadily he walked towards the barracks with a shuffle to his step, the crew chief close behind him.

"It will take us a few days for us to do an over G diagnostic on the plane, maybe get some R and R requested to command?"

The pilot continued his gray stare at the ground like he wasn't even listening. The crew chief quickly caught up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder turning him around.

"Hey! James, you won't be able to fly for a few days after that OVER G you pulled earlier! Take tomorrow off; have a little fun, Alright?"

The exhausted pilot looked up at him and nodded in agreement. "…Your right." he said, pausing. "I'll check with the wing commander as soon as I can… Thanks again McBride." Turning and walking towards the crew van, the pilot jumped inside; waiting for the driver to take him back to the squadron building.

"It's what I'm here for James, you take care now…"

James shut the door with nothing left to say. The vehicle drove off the tarmac and too the squadron building in the distance.

R&R Please!