On the Job Training

An Ace Combat 5 story

My flight and approach to Sand Island was textbook, but I really didn't notice it. I was too focused on how Bartlett had knocked me out of the sky using simulated guns in a plane that was notorious for its badly suited performance envelope for gunfighting with such apparent ease. Never mind that I was extremely new at live combat flying, even simulated, never mind that I had kept the fight going for minutes on end, never mind that I had dragged him across Sand Island's airspace multiple times, never mind that I had gotten on his tail…reversed the tables, if only for a little bit, my ego would not let me accept the fact that I lost in such a way that would mean overwhelming victory in any sense of training. I just couldn't pull my head out of my ass long enough to accept on an emotional level that I just wasn't as good as Bartlett.

'Ace' was already becoming a common nickname for me, and I was sulking. In numerous other training flights after that one, I had not once been bested by any of the other trainees, I could win a third of my engagements against Lt. Baker, half of my engagements against Lt. Svenson, and made Bartlett really work to take me down. But I still hadn't scored one victory against him. It was maddening…and childish, I realize now. If I could only beat him once, I told myself, only once, I would be satisfied.

I never did beat him. But no one has ever denied that I surpassed him.

There were other things I was childish about. Such as the fact that whenever we did 'full-squadron training', I was plunked in my butt in the control tower with whoever else was so unlucky to be stuck on the ground that week. We were to play AEWACS for the training group. I wanted more than anything else to fly fighters, and he had me playing AEWACS radar tech! I thought it a prime waste of my skills. If I had just gotten that flight time, I was convinced, I could have beaten Bartlett. Of course, when the war broke out, it was that practice which helped my squadron be so successful. I didn't get it then, but Kei did. Bartlett was grooming me for a squadron command.

And being on the ground did allow me to ask Genette about why he was so interested in writing a story about fighter pilots in general…Bartlett in particular. His answer surprised me.

It was the week before things fell apart, and Mr. Mostang was trapped in the tower with Genette and me, Genette having decided to ground himself after a particularly wild BvB (Bartlett vs. Blaze, as they called my little grudge matches with the captain) had gone down yesterday, finally forcing Genette to lose his lunch. I had to admit, I was a little proud of that. The guy was tough, and no denying.

But I was sitting at my board, giving it a glance every ten seconds or so to keep the picture updated in my mind as I chatted with Genette. Meanwhile, Mostang was across the room, eyes glued to his scope as he did his very best to keep up with the on screen action. I had long ago gotten good enough to not need to obsessively watch the screen, could predict what each marker would do with a fair degree of accuracy.

"Why I want to do a story on fighter pilots? That's pretty insightful for a military man, Veras," joked Genette.

"Just humor me," I replied in mock exasperation.

"Well, it's kind of a weird way of looking at things, but as I see it, fighter pilots aren't really all warmongers. In fact I find that quite a few of you aren't. You guys are more like guardians…what was that Usean pilot…Mobius 1's, quote on warriors and pacifists?"

"You mean, 'A pacifist is he who refuses to take up arms even in the face of those who use arms against him, while a warrior is one who arrays his arsenal around his house and prays to never, ever use it'?" I supplied, having come across the powerful quote in the book about that ace that I had been reading when we came to the island.

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "That's the one. I guess I see you guys out here as Mobius 1's ideal warriors, protecting the peace we have. I'm not so much of a bleeding-heart liberal that I've taken to heart the idea that a military is unnecessary…we all are human, after all, but I like the thought of a group of warriors, rather than a bunch of mercenaries upholding the safety of my country. Does that make sense?"

I nodded, considering his words. "Actually, it does. But I've got to say…I think I'd like to fly real combat, at least once. I want to know what it feels like…but I'd want my opponent to eject safely."

How I would regret those words come the following week.

The Sand Island incident is a well-known piece of history now. Everyone knows that the war started when eight MiG-29A Fulcrums with Yuktobanian markings came flying into the Sand Island Fighter Training Airspace from heading 280 and bounced the Sand Island detachment of the Osean 108st Tactical Fighter Squadron. The MiGs scored 11 kills, all F-5E Tiger IIs. In a freak coincidence, not one pilot who was shot down was able to eject. Ten trainees, who I had known since we entered the Academy died up there in the clouds. 2nd Lt. Baker also met his fate when 23mm cannon fire from a Gsh-23 ripped into his cockpit. The only three planes that made it back to even attempt a landing on Sand Island's runway were Captain Bartlett's F-4G, which also carried Genette, and Nagase and 2nd Lt. Svenson's F-5Es. Svenson then crashed on landing, and burned to death in his plane's wreckage before the emergency crews could get to him.

The tally on the butcher's bill was enormous, and was in no way counter-balanced by the three confirmed kills on our side. Captain Bartlett managed to take down two of the attackers, and Svenson was credited posthumously with his 21st kill. It is also thought that one of Nagase's missiles did damage an enemy fighter, but this is unconfirmed.

And worst of all, all I and Chopper could do was to watch in horror as the battle unfolded. Watch in horror as a mistake that we didn't catch on the part of the control tower's officer doomed 12 fine men and women to death.

It unfolded something like this.

Chopper and I were chatting idly as the training flight was about to enter the training zone. In fact, I think I was chuckling at an incredibly raunchy joke that he had just popped. It's not fit for reprint, if it's the one I'm thinking of. Not really all that funny, but it was Chopper telling it. In any case, I do remember my laughs stopping abruptly as I saw the eight bogeys pop up on the screen, coming in from bearing 280. I estimated them to be doing roughly Mach .6.

Now, that's certainly in the speed range of airliners, but there was more to disturb me. First of all, airliners never, I repeat, never, fly so close together. Nor were the radar returns large enough for airliners. The RCS of a MiG-29A isn't exactly small, but a commercial airliner is MUCH larger. Of course, the thing that disturbed me the most was the fact that they were running without squawking transponder codes. Even if all the other warning signs weren't enough, that alone would have screamed 'not airliners'. Hell, it screamed 'not Osean'.

All this flashed through my head in less than a second. Chopper was just opening his mouth to ask me why when I spoke. "Sir, I think you had better come take a look at this."

That, perhaps, killed Wardog just as surely as the missiles and guns of those Fulcrums. The duty officer was bored, tired, and using the fact that Chopper and I were in the tower to shirk his board watching duties. I don't like to criticize my fellow soldiers, and in fact, the duty officer is a fine man, but this was not his finest hour. It is truth, and I am sure he would admit it just as well as I write this down now.

Indeed, he took up his duties to the best of his somewhat bleary ability. "You were right, Jack…holy hell," he said as he looked at the board. Turning away, he grabbed up his headset and keyed the transmission switch. "Command Room to Wardog Squadron, Command Room to Wardog Squadron. We have leakers, aircraft type unknown. Crossing the board at 378 to 280." He paused as he scanned the board, then frowned. "Captain Bartlett, your flight is the only group close enough to make the intercept."

Bartlett's response was one I almost heard before he said it. "Gimme a break, I'm babysitting nuggets up here!" There was something through the com static that wasn't quite a sigh. "Alright, Baker, Svenson, go high and follow me! The rest of you, stay low and out of the fight." He knew that these bogeys were bandits, without confirmation. He also knew that his force was severely outmatched. But he also knew one more thing. The Fulcrums would be low on fuel, and attacking as a raid. They only had a limited amount of time to fight. If he could just hold them off long enough, it might be enough.

Of course, if they had recently refueled from a KC-10 or similar, there was no hope but to try and hold out long enough for units from the 596th to respond, and that wasn't a happy proposition.

It didn't come to that, though. The MiGs were armed with more than just the standard air-to-all missiles that complement their standard armament of either bombs or a pair of rocket pods. They also carried a small load of SARH missiles. Combined with their intended mission of blowing a few fighters out of the air to start a war, as well as a screw-up on the part of the duty officer that I did not catch, it turned the supposedly 'safe' low-altitude zone that my fellow trainees had gone to into a shooting gallery.

All that could be done was to watch in horror as the missiles streaked out towards the trainees. Eight missiles bored in on eleven planes, and five F-5E Tiger IIs fell from the sky trailing smoke and fire. It could have been much worse, actually. None of the MiG pilots had apparently mastered the trick of managing two targets at once with their SARH weapons. Even better, my fellow trainees had the presence of mind to close the range as quickly as they could on the enemy, depriving them of their long-range advantage.

But, it didn't matter much. The eight Fulcrums tore into Wardog like wolves into sickly sheep. Two more Tiger IIs fell before Bartlett was able to bring his element down onto the furball. His angle was horrible for a missile shot, but all three of his planes launched in a desperate attempt to give the Fulcrums something else to think about. Miraculously, Lt. Sevenson's shot actually hit his target directly, and the first Fulcrum spiraled from the sky.

As if the board wasn't chaotic enough already, this made things so bad that even I had trouble seeing what was happening. I could see that Bartlett set up in an advantageous position and caught a MiG napping, but the real action was happening with Svenson. He had gotten separated from Bartlett and Baker, and was trying to shake off a MiG. Nagase saved him when she whipped into an unexpected turn that shed a MiG from her tail and gave her a wonderful angle for a missile shot at the Fulcrum that was working Svenson over. She didn't score, but she did hurry the MiG driver's shot, letting Svenson escape, albeit not undamaged.

While this happened, however, three more Tiger IIs had fallen. The only friendly aircraft in the engagement were the instructors and Nagase. Svenson and Kei were flying defensively, especially as the Lt. seemed to have hydraulics trouble. That left Bartlett and Baker up against the remaining six MiGs. Hardly good odds. But an element from the 596th was getting close, and so the Fulcrums engaged in one last head-to-head. Captain Bartlett got one of them, but cannon fire from three others punched into Lt. Baker's Tiger II. I saw video of it from Genette's camera. It's in no way pretty. The lines of fire just seem to march down the length of the plane, trashing the nose, and giving the plane the appearance that it just hit an obstruction in midair before a number of rounds shatter the canopy and one sets off an explosion in the plane's body.

And then it was over, the MiGs zipping away under afterburner while the element from the 596th, impotent, formed up to escort the survivors back. So began the horror.