On the Job Training

An Ace Combat 5 story

Authour's Note: My FFN messaging hasn't been working of late, so if you've sent me a PM and I didn't answer, that's probably why. Sorry.

As much as I was annoyed with Bartlett at the time, his next comment did amuse me. "Diplomatic peacetime conditions, got it. I'll make sure to suck the ejecting pilot into my intakes after I dump a missile into the Blackbird. We already had our briefing. Now let us get on with our job. Are we still on intercept vector?"

"Wait one." The radio feed dropped to quiet background static for just a bit before Thunderhead came back on. "Affirmative, Wardog."

"Then just sit back and relax. This is just a routine job."

I chuckled softly as an unidentifiable sound came over the radio. Bartlett sure could get under people's skin. We flew on for a few seconds before Alvin made his first real comment of the flight…surprising for Chopper. Normally he would have already said something. Maybe it was the fact that this was for real now that got him so subdued.

"Man, I'm sure glad I didn't pick the short straw today, Blaze. It's gotta suck flying there."

"Second Lieutenant Davenport! Zip it! Do you want a nickname just like Kid?" I grimaced again at that nickname, but I couldn't help but feeling glad that someone other than me was getting their share of Bartlett abuse.

For as silly as he could be some times, Alvin sure thought quickly that time. "I respectfully ask to be called Chopper, sir!" I could hear the smug tone in his voice as he went on. "I'm afraid I might not be able to respond to any other moniker."

Why didn't I think of that? Why, oh why? It would have saved me so much resentment. But then…considering that Bartlett was actually paying me a compliment, it probably wouldn't have mattered.

"Hmm, that does fit you well. I've got a better name for you, but I'll keep it to myself for now. Alright?"

"Man…cut me some slack!"

"I am. Now cut the chatter. We're maneuvering for intercept." We all banked and pulled back on our sticks, pulling into lag pursuit of the Blackbird. As we continued our turn, our vector matched with the recon plane's, and we dropped into pure pursuit, putting ourselves back into formation.

My eyes studied the sleek, sharp-edged black silhouette that grew in my HUD. A thin streamer of smoke trailed from it, but the plane seemed to be whole. Apparently, the SAM had just barely clipped them. Taking my eyes off of it, I rechecked my position in the formation, then my radar display. All good.

"Alright, where's Motormouth Chopper?" asked Bartlett. I made sure that my mike would NOT pick up my chuckles.

"WHAT? That's your name for me?"

"You've got a knack for comic dialogue. Mind sending the surrender request for me?"

"Oh no…age before beauty."

"I'm real shy around strangers, you know." As Bartlett said this, the recon plane banked and started a turn, which we matched easily. SR-71s might be fast like nothing else, but they just aren't maneuverable at low altitudes.

"Sheesh. Testing, testing. Unidentified recon plane, this is the OADF 108th Tactical Fighter Squadron. You are instructed to change course and follow our beacon."

"Good," acknowledged Bartlett, as we flew by the helpless recon plane, contrails twisting into a short-lived and very ethereal cage about it.

Chopper continued. "We will guide you to the nearest airfield. Lower you gear if you understand."

Rather unfortunately, the Blackbird's wheel wells stayed stubbornly closed. I sighed as I looked up through my canopy at the shut wheel wells. There didn't seem to be any damage to the covers, so that wasn't it. He just wasn't cooperating...or he couldn't hear us. My eyes flicked to the radar display. Clean. But something didn't feel right. I tightened my left index finger on the HOTAS, calling up the tactical map in place of the radar. Yep, there it was. A combat line of four high-speed bogeys closing in on us from a vector that placed their point of origin across the Ceres Ocean.

I was just opening my mouth to say something when Thunderhead cut in on the radio. "Wardog Squadron, this is Thunderhead. We've got bogeys approaching your position from vector 280, altitude six thousand."

My instincts shrilled at me that this formation had to be escorts. Bartlett apparently agreed. "Crossing the ocean to fly cover for their spy plane, eh? Now there's some pilots worth their wings. Alright, form up on me. Let's see what they want."

Our flight of four abandoned the SR-71 and pulled over to a head-to-head vector with the bogeys, sliding into Four Fingers Right formation. It wasn't long until the pale green broken Xs that our HMDs used to denote contacts against which we were not to fire upon were filled with black dots that soon expanded into the shapes of a planes with delta wings, cigar shaped bodies, and intakes directly in the nose. MiG-21s, likely bis versions. A very common fighter aircraft, especially in the Yuktobanian Air Force.

That just meant all kinds of nasty things. Everyone knew that we were allies with the Yukes. The way the Belkans had ended the old war argued for peace rather pointedly. So why in the hell would two designs of MiGs, both extremely common Yuktobanian fighter aircraft, approaching on a vector that was pretty much the optimum flight path from Murska Air Base be engaging in an unprovoked attack on one of our training squadrons, and also escorting a spy plane on it's return from a mission over our territory. Even more interestingly, I realized that the SR-71 had to be one of the trio that we had lent them back during the Belkan War for their intelligence gathering efforts.

But, my musings were quickly shoved from my mind as I saw four bright flashes under the wings of the incoming Fishbeds. Four glimmers of fire remained after the flashes, but they were ahead of the planes, and trailed by white plumes of smoke. The first four flashes were soon joined by stuttering flames that spat lines of light at us.

I felt myself seem to sink into my plane as I found myself pitching up and shoving my throttle forward. Thankfully, none of the missiles followed me. I continued hauling back on the stick as I executed the inside loop, pulling the throttle back at the apex and pushing the button on the HOTAS to deploy the speed brakes. This tightened up my arc and brought me in on the tail of one of the Fishbeds. From there, I snap-rolled 180 degrees to put myself in the same flying attitude as what I assumed to be a Yuke pilot. It was about this time that Chopper's exclamation: "Heads up, they're firing on us!" actually came into my mind.

My teeth gritted and I moved my forefinger on the HOTAS control that let a pilot precisely select a target, figuring that I would go after the wingman of the second pair in the enemy element. But my HMD still bracketed the enemies in the broken Xs, even as I maneuvered to keep on the tail of my intended target, not wanting to lose them as they pulled into a decently broad turn to their right.

"Shut up and fire back!" With that order from Bartlett's mouth, the broken Xs turned to full boxes, and my gunsight pipper appeared, amazingly, right over the MiG's wing.

I didn't hesitate, squeezing the trigger, the muzzle flash of my paired 20mm cannons strobing off of my helmet's visor. Tracer rounds reached out and painted the delta wing of my target in flame and holes. Then there was a bright flash, and the Fishbed shuddered violently before the wing ripped off and the fighter began its spiral towards the waves. The pilot didn't eject.

But I didn't have time to dwell on that as I whipped my plane into a reversal with only an eye-flick glance at my tac map. Two general sound were warring for my attention: the radio chatter, including the insistent command from Thunderhead to hold fire, Captain Bartlett's encouragement, Chopper's panicked interjections, and Kei's calm reports. Then there was the throbbing warning tone that warned me of an enemy seeker trying to acquire me.

What appeared in my view was a very rapidly growing MiG that flashed right over me, the warning alarm going off as he crossed my nose. I snapped my gaze over to keep my eye on him as he maneuvered and did my best to figure out what he'd do.

"Blaze, splash one bandit!"

Thunderhead's report reminded me that I had forgotten to report my kill. But I had more pressing matters to attend to. It seemed that the MiG who had chosen me as his target had rolled left 45 degrees and pitched up in a combination between a loop and a turn. I could try and match the maneuver, setting up another head-to-head, but the MiG had more power than my F-5E, and he had started the maneuver before me. With the small box of sky that we would be moving through, he might get lucky enough to catch me while I was finishing my maneuver, and put his fire into my midline without me ever getting a shot.

By the same token, I couldn't break left or keep on flying straight. That would give him an extremely easy target. Right and down would put on airspeed, but he'd have altitude on me. Put simply, I was pinned.

But I was flying as part of an element. "Blaze here. I've got a MiG on my tail. Can someone clear it for me?" The warning tone started up again.

"Roger that, Kid. Got in over your head? Break right on my say-so." Fates how I hated that nickname. "Hard right, now!"

Stimulus, response. I rolled hard, yanked back on the stick, and found Bartlett's big plane roaring through my jet wash as I sped through a flat arc. The MiG driver panicked, breaking down and right. "Bandit acquired!" I crowed, as I dove into pure pursuit, the missile lock icon on my HMD already moving onto the pale green box that surrounded the MiG, my helmet speakers now giving me the comforting broken tone of 'locking on'.

"He's all yours, Kid. Think you can take him?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I've got to go scratch Chopper's back. Edge, you done playing with your buddy?"

"Wait one, sir. Splash one. MiG destroyed."

"Alright, you come over here and cover Kid while he takes down this one."

I was aware that Nagase would be coming to cover me soon on a secondary level, but my attention was more on the MiG in front of me. Bad situational awareness…I know. It didn't kill me then, thank the Fates. It really could have, though.

In my defense, the guy in front of me was GOOD. I had achieved the smooth tone of a solid lock, but he denied me the angle I would need to put my missile into his tailpipe, while holding just out of effective guns range. Kei tells me that I kept on muttering a very cliché 'come on, come on' as I tried to get the angle I was looking for.

That…I have no memory of.

"Blaze, Edge. I'm coming in on your position. Do you want me to herd your target anywhere?"

"If you could get him to pitch down some, that'd be great, Edge." I continued my maneuvering, then…

"Splash one! Keep it together Chopper, you'll be fine."

"Man…Dogfighting sucks!"

"Hey Kid! Stop playing around with him so we can all go home!"

"Enemy recon plane down. Looks like the engine trouble went catastrophic."

"Too tired to party, eh?"

"Blaze, I'm going to try and give you your opening…" Kei dove on the MiG I was pursuing, and damned if he didn't pitch down. Trouble was, he pitched down so fast that I couldn't put my shot in.

"Shit!" I rolled onto my back and pulled up, squeezing the trigger at what I just KNEW to be the right point in my inside loop.

The missile roared off my rails and arrowed straight into the Fishbed, the detonation breaking the fighter's back. My mouth was fixed in a wolfish grin as I watched the wreckage come apart over my shoulder. "Splash one." We pulled into diamond formation.

"Damn, Kid, I gotta say. That was impressive. Alright, Thunderhead?"

"All bandits down. No threats on radar. Return to base." There was a pause. "Colonel Perraut won't be happy about this."

"Whatever. Everyone still with us? Wardog 4? You still following us? We're going to have to celebrate the fact that we all made it back alive. I'm going to let you keep your nickname. From now on, I'm gonna call you Kid, no matter what."

I nearly pulled the eject handle right then and there.