At The Edge of The World

by Petty Officer First Class Boo

1st Marine Special Operations Battalion Sergeant Joshua Flint leads his men into battle against a foe working alongside Solomon. Will he stop their plans or fail? Battlefield 3.

4. Chapter 4 Part 1: Stuck at Sea

Author's Note: Thanks to all of those people who reviewed and especially to my Beta Reader, Forohe Toxophilus. Now this is going to be a bit slow as we wrap up the events happening in the world of Battlefield and I've had to split the chapter into three parts due to its length and complexity. If you can call it slow that is. Anyways, hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it.

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At The Edge of The World

December 24th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

1525 Hours

Agent Oliver tapped her fingers on the desk as I finished tell my side of the story. Her glossed nails glinting in the sunlight. She sat at a small table to my right looking at her Macbook before getting up. The smell of strong, black coffee once again was wafted into the air by the machine pouring it out in a small area of the room. It was meant to keep the interrogator going. Agent Oliver rubbed her eyes and took a sip of the liquid. She walked back to me with what seemed like her eighth cup of coffee. Another file came out from the desk. Are they hiding these for a scavenger hunt? They seemed to be coming out from everywhere. She opened the file and pushed it to me. A sigh escaped her lips as I picked up the papers. Operation: Cyclone Thunder. The mission where I took the backseat in the action and the mission where I escaped death by being on the sidelines. A picture of a Russian with black hair, strong jaw and brown eyes reminded me of the unexpected ally. Dima Mayakovsky, the man who detonated the nuclear bomb in France and turned it into a nuclear wasteland – or so the press headlined it. I knew him as the bravest man in the world at that point, having the balls up to up against sixty or more enemy soldiers and coming so close to stopping the bomb. Another one with the bald head, Kiril Tarasov, he was the one who vectored me in for close air support. Then there was the one with a scar on his left cheek and blue eyes, Vladimir Kamarivsky, the man who was left behind. He died from the pursuit of the courier.

"Remember them?" Agent Oliver asked sitting down.

"Yeah..." I murmured with a sigh.

"What happened in that briefing room at the end of the third day, Josh? What did Lieutenant Keller and Colonel Jordan tell you?" Agent Oliver asked with the steel in her voice that I never could expect from my ex-girlfriend, I got up.

"Where are you going?" She snapped.

"What, I'm not allowed to walk around the room after three hours in the chair?" I growled, picking up the cup filled with water.

"What did they tell you?" She asked again as I walked up to the glass window.

"They just told me that I was being pulled back into the mission after Bravo Battalion fucked up in China and that I was being promoted to Master Sergeant after the actions in the battle for France." I replied sipping from the cup and looking into the skyline of New York, filled with high rising skyscrapers.

"That can't be all of it now can it, Josh?" Agent Oliver asked in a seductive tone as I felt a hand run down my service sweater.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to seduce me for information?" I replied and pushed her away.

"Do you not remember what you did to me?" I asked pulling up my shirt to reveal a fresh and red knife wound on my abdomen, covered by a bandage.

"There was a reason Hannibal escaped in Nevada!" I yelled filling up with rage.

November 13th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

U.S.S. George H.W. Bush

0635 Hours

I walked down a dim corridor filled with Navy crewmen with a cup of warm milk in hand. The flight suit was tight down in the lower areas but hell, at least it was more comfortable than unwashed BDUs (Battle Dress Uniforms) in the desert. The aircraft carrier was filled with a strange buzzing and the constant noise of waves crashing into the hull. Bal was in the infirmary, recovering from his gun wound two months ago. An AK bullet can really take a big chunk of meat out of anyone. The smell of metal hung heavy in the air and the sight of grey would drive anyone mad. Only those who were on duty would adjust to it. Luckily for us, we were going to get some fresh air at thirty thousand feet. I turned a corner and walked into a locker room filled with little black metal containers just like the ones we saw in high school except with names on them. Elf and Jorge stood in their olive grab flight suits and g-suit all zipped up. The air bladders kept us from blacking out when we pulled high Gs. Michelle sat on the bench looking at her yellow helmet with an orange tinted visor that extended unnaturally out from the top. I walked in and finished my milk, throwing it into a nearby trashcan. The three looked at me as I opened up a locker labeled: Lieutenant John "Spook" Colbert, pulling out a G-suit and helmet.

"Where are we flying today ,boss?" Elf asked with his red helmet wrapped under his left armpit.

"Paris, we're covering a small force of American Marines. The Vympel group just gave me intel on a small Russian Spetsnaz force operating in the area. They have a lead on the bomb Solomon smuggled out of Iraq. We're going to make sure it doesn't go off." I stated pulling on the vest.

"Looks like we're going to be on the sidelines again, huh?" Jorge said with disappointment, stepping out from the room.

"Patience." I replied grabbing the helmet.

I stepped over the small ship door and looked at Michelle. She sat idly for a few seconds before noticing me. She stood up and followed me out. The four of us walked up a flight of stairs towards another door filled with bright, white light. The sound of growling jet engines and roaring winds from the catapult immediately made my ears ring. A navy crewmen saluted us as we walked out. I nodded squinting to protect my eyes from the bright sun. White slowly ebbed away to reveal a vivid blue sky filled with light clouds and the sea rolling beneath us. Two F/A-18F Super Hornets sat on the aircraft elevator in front of us, the gray rounded nose, wide wings and squared air intakes shining in the sunlight. Their pilots were chatting to each other next to the aircraft as we walked across the small flight deck where the strike fighters landed and came to a complete stop in less three seconds. The Hornet I was flying was upgraded with a small IRIS-T (Internal Infrared Search and Track) pod mounted just in front of the nose wheel and underneath the gun bay along with two conformal fuel tanks were mated to the top of the LEX (Leading Edge Extension) providing extra fuel with little to no loss in mobility. A small hump in the middle of the dorsal fin was a laser and infrared missile warning system along with dozens more positioned throughout the aircraft for a sphere of protection along with two new Enhanced Performance Engines giving the Hornet up to twenty percent more thrust as part of the International Road Map Plan from Boeing. We were cleared to walk through here just because there were no flights scheduled and we were the only ones going up today. The jet engines were from below, the aircraft mechanics testing out repaired engines or spares. There was a woman with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail with her flight suit arms tied at her waist and a man just a head taller than her with a blonde frohawk chatting with each other. She spotted me and turned to greet us.

"Staff Sergeant Flint." She stated with a smile.

"Lieutenant Hawkins. Lieutenant Colbert, nice to meet you two." I replied shaking both of their hands as Michelle did the same in response.

"So you two ready to go up?" Hawkins asked placing her hands on her hips, the wind blowing at her blonde strands of hair.

"Yes ma'am." I replied seeing the flight crew pulling out the red pins from the strike-fighter's weapons.

"Don't call me ma'am, we're all friends here. I just hope you remembered what I taught you Oliver. It was a lot to absorb in one week." Hawkins stated to Michelle as I helped her up the four stepped ladder.

"Don't worry, its all in here." Michelle tapped her skull and jumped into the backseat.

"I'll see you back on the ground for a beer." I replied to Hawkins, who gave me a friendly love tap on the ass.

I slid into the pilot seat of the F/A-18, having flown it twice before. With the helmet on my head, the wind blew at us with a muffled ruffling. I only heard my heartbeat and breathing. I connected the radio, JHMCS (Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System) and oxygen hose into the aircraft. A green shirt or a navy crewmen working with aircraft maintenance climbed up next to the cockpit. He helped me pull the harness over my shoulders and clipped it together. I gave the harness one final tug and gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded and slid back down the ladder. I looked up and pointed my right index finger in the air, giving it a small turn. The green shirts quickly walked away as I signaled to them I was about the start the engine. With a flick of two switches, a low rumble accompanied by a high-pitched whine slowly got louder in volume. Both engines were spooling up. A few minutes later the engines were roaring in my ear. I pushed up a small lever and looked up, seeing the canopy lower itself down towards me. The canopy slammed into the frame with a clank before pushing itself forward and locking us in with a whirl. Now the engines were just an audible growling in my ears. With the engines came the avionics with three color displays blinking with the words: STAND-BY. I tapped the left MFCD (Multifunction Color Display) to the navigation page and the right to radar. Turning up the intercom button, I decided to have a chat while we sat idly in the cockpit.

"Everything set Miki?" I asked teasing fun at her with a nickname.

"When did you come up with a nickname Josh?" She replied, smiling as I looked at her rearview mirror.

"Is everything set?" I asked again looking to Jorge and Elf, the two already unfolding their wings.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's set. You're no fun at all you know that?" Michelle stated as I pulled down the orange visor.

"Good to know." I replied in a bored tone, turning on the rest of the aircraft's system.

"Reaper One, tower, request taxi to CATs (Catapult) One and Two over." I stated as the HUD (Heads-up display) of the F/A-18 was projected onto the orange visor.

"Roger that Reaper One, cleared to taxi to CATs One and Two." The radio crackled with a female voice.

I looked up at the yellow shirt and placed my two fists together with the thumbs pointing out to the side. I jabbed the two away from each other, telling him to remove the chocks holding the aircraft from moving. A blue shirt quickly slid under my jet and pulled away three pairs of yellow blocks. The yellow shirt lifted up his fists into the air. In his hands were two orange light sticks that waved us forward. I pushed the throttle up just slightly and felt the aircraft ease forward. The roar of the engine got louder as I shifted the throttle ever so slightly. I leaned forward and looked down over the gray nose to see the yellow shirt. Who ever sat in this seat had to be the size of Elf. Then again, the pilot probably flew the jet for more years than I did and was already an expert. It didn't hurt to be careful. The yellow shirt extended his right hand over to the catapults. I complied pushing the left rudder pedal and turned the F/A-18 left towards the bow of the aircraft carrier. Two rails spaced just far enough for two jets to position themselves wing-to-wing sat near the bow. I stopped as another yellow shirt waved me forward. I did so very carefully, pushing the throttle up little by little. A man in white held up a small digital screen reading five hundred thousand and thirty eight. That was the weight of the aircraft in pounds. It was to be factored into the catapult launch. The yellow shirt waved his hands backwards, then to the left. I adjusted. He was waving back again. A second later, he crossed his hands behind his head. I pushed on the toe brakes and stopped the aircraft. The yellow shirt ran to the next catapult where Jorge and Elf was lining up. I looked out into the blue sky. White clouds drifted aimlessly through the blue sea. The water merged with the sky, it was like two halves of a different world. The sun crested the horizon to my right and slowly rose as the day went on. At the bow, the steam-less electromagnetic catapult sat ready to launch the aircraft into the air. The oxygen hissed in my mask and tasted stale. I could feel the warm milk wafting its way back into my mouth and nose as I breathed. A yellow shirt stood to the right of my aircraft waiting patiently with his hands crossed behind his back. I could see that he was really enjoying his job, staring at my aircraft. Another flick of a switch unfolded the wings. I looked over the shoulder to see the two wings slowly unfolding from a right angle. They shuddered the aircraft as they unfolded and locked into place with a clank. I looked into the rear-view mirror and gave Michelle a thumbs-up. She looked up and returned the gesture, her orange visor reflecting like a mirror as she buckled the oxygen mask into the helmet. Men and women buzzed around the aircraft, pulling a small shuttle that locked onto the nose wheel which in turn was connected to an electromagnetic catapult underneath the ship's flight deck.

"Miki?" I asked setting the aircraft parking brake to 'on'.

"Ready." She replied grabbing onto the rails bolted on her cockpit.

"Wait." She stated as I looked at the mirror.

"Reaper One, Tower, cleared for take off on course one five four. Squawk ident code five zero zero over." The tower stated as I nodded moving the flight stick in a circular motion or wiping the control surfaces, looking back to see the stabilizers and flaps move up and down.

"Roger that Tower, Reaper One copies." I replied hearing and seeing the control surfaces move with a robotic buzz.

"Reaper One-One ready for take off." I stated looking to Jorge and Elf as the two were lined up next to me.

"Two ready to take off." They replied with Jorge giving me an okay, the jet blast deflectors raising up into position.

"How many times did you fly this plane?" Michelle asked looking at me from behind the seat.

"Twice...okay once, the first time was in a simulator." I replied quickly.

"Josh!" She yelled angrily.

I pushed the throttle up to full military power. The growling engine in the cockpit became a roar of hot air blasting into the deflector behind me. We were ready to take to the skies. I turned the parking brake off and felt the nose of the aircraft lower, the thrust forcing the aircraft forward only to be stopped by a small shuttle bolted to the nose wheel of the aircraft. I gave a thumbs-up to the waiting yellow shirt and a final salute. He nodded looking left and right before pointing his finger into the sea. A man in a black shirt ran around the aircraft checking it for a final time. He gave the yellow shirt a thumbs-up. The yellow shirt nodded to a white shirt to the left of the deck. I gripped a handrail on the left of the canopy's frame and waited for the 'shooter'. He knelt down on his right knee and pointed his whole body right at the wide, blue sea. I felt a quick jolt forward only to be thrown back into the ejector seat. It was a blur of blue, gray and black, the F/A-18F thundering down the flight deck. My heart pounded in my throat and my stomach lurched. Michelle let out an ear splitting scream from the back seat. She never experience a roller coaster such as this. The jet took to the air. My stomach started to float as the flight systems automatically pitched up ten degrees above the artificial horizon. The helmet encasing my head was thrown forward into the instrument panel, only to be stopped by thick military grade harnesses. I grabbed the throttle and the stick, quickly pushing the Hornet to the left and flying a ten degree clearing turn from the carrier. Looking back, I saw Jorge quickly follow me into formation. A groan was heard as Michelle closed the gears for me and gave me full concentration on flying the aircraft. I leveled out flying a course of one five four and tapping the transponder code into the UCP (Up-Front Control Panel). Not so long after, we crossed the seven mile mark.

"Reaper One, altitude restriction canceled, you are cleared to climb to thirty thousand feet. Turn left heading zero nine zero into France, over." The tower spoke as I pulled back on the stick, feeling the weight pile up on my body.

"Roger that tower, Reaper One out." I replied seeing a thick cloud covering the blue sky ahead of us.

"Reaper One, this is Kilo Five-Three orbiting Paris at twenty thousand feet. Radar contact established, fly preplanned flight path and maintain radio silence, over." The radio squawked once again.

"Copy that Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One out." I replied keeping the aircraft pointed at a twenty degree climb.

We entered the cloud. Inside, water droplets pitter-pattered on the canopy of my aircraft and streaked down the glass faster than one could blink. The fog of opaque white covered the aircraft in a blanket of cool air. I looked back and saw nothing but the passing flicker of my aircraft's wing. On the right was a set of green and red lights blinking in the mist of white. I looked back up at the HUD seeing the speed tape on the right side of the artificial horizon reading three hundred eighty knots and the altitude at five thousand and four hundred fifty feet, steadily rising. We broke through the cloud layer. The white fog turned into blue skies accompanied by a blinding sun. Just like Icarus, if we flew too close we would burn up. Man could I feel the heat radiating off of that giant yellow ball. I squinted and twisted a small knob on the side of my helmet. A darkened black visor flipped down from inside the helmet, protecting my delicate eyeballs from completely shivering up from the sun's rays. With a flick of the flight stick, I rolled the aircraft over and held the nose inverted. Michelle let out a quick yelp as blood rushed into my head and started to tint my vision red.

"Go on, reach out and touch the sky." I whispered looking straight up at the sea, it like a deep blue canvas that constantly reflected sun light.

"Wow..." Michelle muttered into the intercom.

"...this is beautiful." She finished her sentence as my vision started to turn even more red and my legs already feeling numb.

"Yeah, except that the blood is rushing into my head and draining from my legs." I grunted, rolling the aircraft over again and flying level.

"God damn." I cursed turning on the radar, the blood draining from my head. I felt tired all of a sudden.

"You two look like you're on a honeymoon." Jorge replied flying up to my right wing and closing up until his nose could touch my wing tip.

"How so?" Michelle replied as we cruised leisurely at four hundred knots towards France from the beaches of Normandy.

"Don't know, I have this funny feeling in my gut about you two." Jorge replied flying the aircraft with his green helmet.

"Its nothing." I replied coldly and tapped a button on the UCP, initiating the auto-pilot system.

"What do you mean it's nothing?" Michelle shot back from behind me, she was angry alright.

"Wait-" Elf began just to be cut in by Michelle's rant.

"I cared for you at the hotel and the ravine in Iraq and this is how you repay me?" Michelle yelled in the radio, I felt like I was being scolded at by my mother. Mother preferred violence to words though.

"What, the hotel?" Jorge asked perturbed.

"I spent a whole day in that ravine, nursing you back to health Josh!" Michelle screamed, my hands quickly tapping the UCP for updated flight plans.

"You spent your first night alone in the fucking ravine?" Elf stated with surprise.

"Yes alright, I fell in love with a spook!" I yelled angrily, my teammates asking questions that kept irritating me.

Awkward silence fell on the flight as the occasional ground and air chatter interrupted the humming of the engines in the cockpit. We leveled out at thirty thousand feet and steadily held the speed of three hundred fifty knots. The radar picked up six blips, fifty miles out. I switched the IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) Interrogator to the SIF (Selective Identification Feature) used for identifying civil aircraft. Quickly pinging the aircraft in the immediate area, I discovered most to be of international origin. Boeing 787s and Airbus 380s flew below us at fifteen thousand feet inbound for Bordeaux – Merignac Airport near the west coast of France. The blue ocean melted into the pale beaches of France, green rolling hills and small cities dotted the country side. I looked back seeing contrails spewing out from the twin engines of the F/A-18F. Back on the radar, four contacts moved towards us at five hundred knots and the IFF reported nothing back. I switched the SIF back to IFF Mode One for identification. By the time I got an answer from the IFF, the four shapes were already five miles out from us. The blob of contacts were in sight. Four gray and black shades merged with us, the aircraft crossed over our canopies and shook the jet. The four of us looked back seeing the aircraft formation splitting into pairs and slicing back towards us. Two aircraft flew close to my left wing. A single seat aircraft with canards near the rounded air intakes and a delta wing design. It was two Rafale Ms, the premier naval aircraft for the French Navy. Two others were a delta wing fighter armed to the teeth with missiles. They were Mirage 2000-5 fighters from the French Air Force. The pilots broadcasting on all channels speaking in French to us. I had no idea what they were trying to tell us. I looked to the Rafale pilots and cross my arms together in front of me, I don't know what the hell you're saying. Now they tried English.

"State your intent." The pilot spoke.

"FAC (Forward Air Control) flight enroute to Paris to cover a small Special Forces assault for a nuclear weapon." I replied seeing the ground below shift from sea to ground.

"Reaper One, feet dry." I reported to the AWACS.

"Copy that Reaper, Kilo Five-Three copies." The AWACS replied as I looked back to Michelle.

"Doing well back there?" I asked seeing her nod, her face passive behind the darkened orange visor.

"Talk to me Miki." I stated looking back to the HUD.

"What's there to talk about?" She snapped back at me.

"Reaper One, our commanders have ordered us to escort you to your destination." The French pilots stated, easing their aircraft in front of us.

"Roger that, take the lead." I replied settling in for the long trip.

The Rafales and Mirages shifted into a diamond formation in front of us. Just a few feet away from their exhaust and below it was our nose. I looked up seeing little specks of yellow flames licking the exhaust petals of the engine. The Mirage's delta wings held four close range, heat seeking Magic missiles and two larger Meteor MDBA radar guided missiles. Right under the fuselage of the Mirage itself was the centerline fuel tank to help the three decades old fighter stay on station for more than an hour. A French Air Force roundel was painted close to the other edges of the wings and the two tone blue-grey camouflage chipped and worn with age. The Rafales were younger in their existence with the canards adjusting slightly to the air to help the unstable aircraft stay afloat. Its darker matte camouflage still glistening with the young age. The combined French aircraft's jet blast flew over the wings and fuselage of my jet, the dirty air making the Hornet sluggish. Not to mention the uncontrollable shuddering and shaking of the flight stick and the whole frame of the Super Bug itself. The vibrations shook the flight stick, making me adjust the control surfaces every so often. I looked to the right seeing Jorge constantly looking down at his instruments and Elf tapping the buttons on the backseat. It looked almost comical. The six feet tall Marine sat straight up with his head just centimeters away from the canopy glass. Leaning over the canopy, I saw the countryside slowly disappear into small towns with multi-floored buildings and soon the towns turned into urban cities. Hundred upon thousands of high rising buildings stood tall below me. They were the size of my pinky. Within a large square of buildings stood a structure several hundreds of feet tall. Sandwiched between two parks of trees was a road running right through the middle of it. The four legs meeting up into one spire at the tip of the building. It was the Eiffel tower standing in the middle of Paris itself. It was the size of my thumb as we thundered above Paris at thirty thousand feet. I looked up to see the four French aircraft peel away from us, heading back towards their base.

"Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One, I have radar contact confirming that you are in the AO. Turn right to one three six degrees and head towards the military district of the city." The AWACS spoke in my ear, my head looking in the direction I was about to travel.

"Roger that Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One enroute." I replied banking the aircraft right and turning the master arm on even though we didn't need any weapons on this trip hopefully.

"Miki, can you power up the ATFLIR and get a fix on the Marine base?" I asked craning my head to look at the horizon.

"Miki?" I asked again not getting an answer.

"Lovers quarrel." Jorge whispered into the radio.

"Miki!" I yelled leveling out the aircraft and looking back.

"Are you angry at me?" I stated seeing her shake her head.

"Mm mm." She replied in a cute little voice.

"Isn't that cute." I said with a small smile behind my mask.

"At least the ATFLIR is on." I stated switching the right MCFD to the TGP (Targeting Pod) display.

"I have a location on the Marines." Michelle reported, the TGP automatically seeking to the base as she controlled everything else but the air to air weapons.

The black and white image being projected on the MCFD showed hundreds of glowing shapes. Vehicles emitting hot gasses and heated metal. Men on the ground were the size of dots and the helicopters themselves going to and from the makeshift based glowed bright white. On the UCP, I tapped the radio tab and found a set of frequencies that the Marine and Navy units used. Cycling through each one, I waited until I heard some ground chatter. Channel Eight preset at five point three eight four megahertz was being used by the whole Marine ground unit.

"Whiskey Three, SITREP." The radio squawked, the two of us flying just overhead.

"Whiskey Three, Joker Actual, all men accounted for and ready to take the fight to the enemy." Another voice replied as the radio signal was just barely audible from the static.

"This is Reaper One to all ground units, we are flying at thirty thousand feet, right above you. Ready to coordinate CAS assets, over." I reported banking right and circled back towards the base.

"Roger that Reaper, nice to have a Jarhead with us. We're going to being operations in thirty mikes. Until then, stay tight over." The person who seemed to be in charge replied as I banked right again.

"H-...Am-...Reap..." The radio crackled, this time it was not on the radio frequencies used by the United States military.

"WSOs (Weapon Station Officers), I need you to zero in on that frequency. Someone's trying to contact us." I ordered seeing Michelle quickly tapping buttons on the WSO station.

"Hello...Reaper!" The voice came through weak at first but slowly we pinned down the frequency.

"Hello, American Aircraft, this is Dmitri Mayakovsky from the Russian GRU's clean up team! Reaper One, come in over!" The voice yelled through the sound of traffic.

"Dmitri, this is Staff Sergeant Flint from 1st Marine Special Operations Capable Battalion. What do you need, over." I replied looking down at my digital fuel indicator.

"I need you to hold your Marines back. We are tracking courier with the weapon now. Oscar Mike to the Paris Stock Exchange." Dmitri replied as I looked down at the Marine base.

"Give me a coordinate." I ordered and leveled out the aircraft.

"Joker Actual, this is Reaper One. We have intel from a trusted source that the courier carrying one of the nuclear bombs is now being followed. Orders are to stay put in the base until a Russian SpecOps team find the bomb." I explained seeing the final few helicopters land to drop-off troops before banking back towards the sea.

"Russian SpecOps, fuck that. We are Marines and Marines take the fight to the enemy! All callsigns, this is Joker Actual, jackal. I say again, Jackal!" The Marine commander ordered, the vehicles inside the base rolling out from the ancient fort and into Paris.

"Shit, looks like we've stirred up the devil dogs." Jorge cursed looking down at the hundreds of armored vehicles thundering onto the streets filled with civilians.

"What is happening Reaper? The military just closed down a street near the tower." Dmitri asked, the air vibrating with the sound of turbine engines.

"The Marines are rushing into suspected points where the nuclear device might be held." I stated seeing a waypoint pop up on my HUD.

"Roger that Reaper, looks like your men are too hot for action huh?" Dima replied with his Slavic accent.

"Copy that, I have your coordinates. Vectoring to support you now." I said, shifted the stick right and peeling away from the base.

"Orders, Lead?" Jorge asked as he maintained his position just off my right wingtip.

"Elf switch to the Marine COMs and maintain a situational awareness for the Marine units. I'll take the Russian's COMs and feed you any information you need to know. Let's make sure Paris is safe people." I ordered flying away from the Eiffel tower.

At thirty thousand feet, the city became Lego blocks. Down below me was the Paris Stock Exchange. There was something majorly wrong. For one, buildings don't vent out green smoke. The second was the void of life around the area itself. Cars drove along the streets but none going into or out of the three storied building with an underground parking garage. One black SUV turned into the parking garage. It was the Russians. They drove to the front of the building and three men got out. From up here they looked like small dots moving into a big rectangle. I looked back at the ATFLIR and saw the green lights from the Russians, Michelle locking the targeting pod on them. They disappeared into the building. It almost felt like child's play as we waited for minutes. Something happened, something bad. The back door of the building was smashed open on the ATFLIR. Sixteen or so greenish humanoids running out onto the streets with cars cutting them off on parallel streets. Gun fire erupted on the streets as civilians ran away from the terrorist and Russians. Dima popped out from the building with two other teammates. Seeing a fleeing courier, they ran after the sixteen men with three splitting out each time to cover their escape.

"Flint, we got GIGN coming into play. ETA is thirty seconds with a Marine Detachment inbound ten mikes." Jorge reported as the gun fire drew away any potential collateral damage from the streets.

"Reaper, Reaper, this is Kiril from Dima's fireteam! We need CAS support now!" The Russian SpecOps yelled, the team of three running up a road filled with enemies and now the French GIGN.

"Miki, get me visual on the team and lock them on the ATFLIR." I ordered buzzing over the road at over seven hundred kilometer per hour.

"Roger that locking them up now." Michelle replied, the ATLFIR pod scanning up on my right MCFD.

"Two, kick out wide and provide overwatch." I ordered to Jorge seeing him bank right and peel out into the clear sky.

"Roger that Lead, going to overwatch position." Jorge replied flying two thousand feet higher and five miles away from me.

"We need that support now!" Kiril yelled into the radio with gun fire zipping around them in the background.

"Copy that, we're rolling in now." I stated pulling back the throttle to slow the aircraft down for the shallow dive.

"Here we go." I grunted, flicking a switch to arm the weapons and pulled back the stick.

Three Gs felt like sacks of potatoes covering your body. You would not want to stay in seven Gs for more than a few seconds. The F/A-18F's nose rose sharply before I quickly slammed the stick right and pulled back. A quick barrel roll and a dive towards the ground. Paper sheet like opaque dense clouds formed on the LEX of the aircraft next to my seat as I pulled the nose right at the small diamond marker on the HUD, marking the three Russians. Another roll righted the aircraft as I leaned forward to the HUD. A millimeter of difference between the diamond and the small gun piper could mean at least fifteen meters off target, that was a lot and an error I couldn't afford. I tapped the left MCFD and selected the M61 twenty millimeter Vulcan cannon. A small circle with a dot appeared on the HUD with a smaller band on the edges of the circle marking range. The altitude tape quickly dropped from thirty thousand feet to twenty five. I heard nothing and felt nothing except for the knot in my stomach and the growling of the engines as we broke the sound barrier. The aircraft started to shake and vibrate, the single three hundred and thirty gallon fuel tank wiggling in it's hard point from the speed. My hand pushed a button on the HOTAS (Hands On Throttle And Stick) throttle and felt my body being pushed forward. The brakes activated with the rudders on the vertical stabilizers folding in to trap air. We were coming in fast and descended like an arrow. They were mixed in with GIGN, terrorist and civilians one wrong trigger pull and collateral damage would be taken to a whole new level. I checked the right MCFD to see the three Russians running after the terrorist only to be halted by GIGN agents dismounting a black van. A small shift to the stick made the piper hover over the diamond by a hair's width. Thirteen thousand feet. The city building was now the size of a small candy bar, the cars now visible and looked less like insects. Eight thousand feet. The outside band of the reticule started to shrink and under it was the number: 3.2. 3.2 miles from the gun barrel to the road, the Hornet's computer doing measurements and calculations within milliseconds. Five thousand feet. Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...pause. I squeezed the Hornet's trigger. A loud buzz accompanied by a violent vibration shook the aircraft. Buzzzzzzz... The attack run was complete. I slammed the throttle forward and retracted the brakes. The sound of the roaring engines was once again rumbling in the cockpit. I pulled the stick back and the nose pitched up rapidly towards the blue sky, pulling seven Gs. A groan escaped my mouth. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my body. The climb placed me back at twenty eight thousand feet and the fuel burning faster than a dozen Lamborghini could at top speed. I pulled the throttle back to eighty percent and banked right, swinging back for another run.

"Reaper, I need a BDA (Battle Damage Assessment)." I ordered looking back and seeing the bullets splatter the ground with explosive rounds.

"Good hits, good hits! No civilians or French military kills, all separatists!" Kiril answered back as I cruised back up to thirty thousand and was now orienting myself for another attack run.

"Coming in for another attack run." I reported seeing the three split up, one propped up against the wall while the other two chased the courier up the steps to a metro station.

"Coming in from the East to line up with the stairs." I grunted swinging the aircraft left.

"What the-?" Jorge started just to be cut off by a bright flash of light.

I squinted and looked to the right with a hand blocking the flash. Even with the polarized lens of the HUD and black sun filter, it was too bright too to like. Just like the sun. The flash disappeared as a giant mushroom cloud shot up into the sky. A black ring forming around the monotone body of the mushroom. There was a wall of some sort expanding from the epicenter and it was expanding towards me. Shit. Before I could do anything, the blast buffeted the aircraft sending us flying into the air. A second more violent blast shorted out the electrical systems with an EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) pulse. The aircraft was shielded from the pulse but would require and whole restart. That would mean no oxygen until the bleed air from the engines were restored. I pulled my mask off breathing in nothing. Oxygen was running out and fast. The aircraft stalled in mid-air and started to tumble. Green text and lines on the HUD started to flicker and soon died. My hands were running all over the instrument panel before something caught my eye. A black plume of smoke slowly expanded from the epicenter like a blanket of darkness. This was going to be a nuclear fallout. The electricity was shut off, block-by-block down below us in the French metropolis. Civilians ran away from the giant mushroom cloud in fear. It was at least a good fifty miles away from me and obliterated most of the metro tracks around the area. My guess was that the bomb was being sent in by train and exploded when Dima's team found the courier. The F/A-18F was out of power and out of control. Soon, it started to enter a flat spin. The blue and black sky turned into a blur. My hands started the engine. A low growl coming from the two enhanced performance engines. I looked down at the instrument panel to negate the dizziness I was feeling from looking. I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a panicked look on Michelle's face accompanied by quick breathing, she was asphyxiating. The engines spooled up to fifty percent. Not fast enough, Michelle was on the verge of suffocation. Electrical power came on at fifty-five along with hydraulics to control the stabilizers and flaps. I looked up at the HUD and saw the symbology blink back into life. Michelle's eyes started to roll back into her head and her hands gripping her neck. I started to feel light headed. Seventy percent RPM, everything was back online. I flicked the oxygen to on. My hands scrambling to secure the mask back on to the helmet. With a click, I started to breathe. Dear god, I almost lost it. I saw Michelle slumped over at her station. I would have said something but I was too busy trying to get oxygen.

"Miki..." I whispered, panting and trying to right the tumbling aircraft.

"Miki." I said again shaking the flight stick left and right, feeling the aircraft slowly pitching it's nose down.

"Michelle!" I screamed seeing her jolt back to life, her chest heaving for air.

"Are you okay?" I asked feeling the aircraft stabilize and resume flight.

"Yeah..." She replied nodding and holding onto a small handrail on the frame of the canopy.

"Reaper One to all callsigns, report." I ordered bringing the nose of the aircraft back to the artificial horizon.

"Reaper One, report." I repeated feeling a small pit in the stomach from losing Elf and Jorge.

"Two, right with ya." Jorge swallowed as I saw his bird rise from below me to join the formation.

"Goddamn Two, I thought I lost the both of you." I replied seeing the two men laugh.

"Your not going to get rid of us that easily right - bzzzzzz..." The radio scuttled from interference before becoming normal once more.

"Joker Actual to all callsigns report!" The commander coughed as his battalion reported in, from my count, five were missing.

"Saber, Dagger, Longsword, Dragon, Wolf report over. I repeat, report your status over!" The commander screamed into the COMs, a long silence ensued afterward until a voice spoke up.

"Saber, we have received massive casualties from the bomb. Send HAZMAT teams here now, most of my men and my safe are..." The transmission paused as the platoon commander puked.

"Saber, HAZMAT is enroute, stay put." The commander assured, blips appearing on my radar from two hundred miles out.

"Warhorse Actual here, we've lost Dragon and Dagger platoons. The nuke vaporized them with a block of the city sir." Another man reported, a sigh coming from the commander.

"All forces pull back to the staging area. We're going to leave this one to the Joint Task Force commanders." The commander ordered, his voice warbled in the transmission.

"Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One, enemy hostiles inbound bearing right zero two zero from your heading, two hundred miles out and closing." The AWACS reported as I nodded banking right.

"Origin, affiliation and size?" I asked flipping up the darkened visor, not needing it after the nuke cloud blocked the sun.

"Working on it." The AWACS replied.

I looked down at the city. Damn, it looked like Chernobyl. After a few minutes after the explosion, the city was completely devoid of life. Those who didn't survive was on the streets. Those who did, were probably diagnosed with radiation sickness and cancer. For hundreds of years, this place will become the next nuclear winter ridden zone with no one ever going to settle back down. My IFF interceptor rang. Some aircraft from beyond the mushroom and the dark clouds was seeing if I was friendly or not. The IFF interceptor flagged the enemy as a SU-35S. A Russian fighter jet operated only by Russia with export versions in India and Iran. My hands went into overdrive. Selecting the AIM-120 AMRAMM (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missile) on the left MCFD and switching the right MCFD to radar. With the radar in TWS (Track While Scan) mode, I could tack at least six targets at once while maintaining my situational awareness. The symbology on the HUD changed to a large circle with a small bar on the right, next to the speed tape to indicate range. The IFF pinged again. I locked up the closest two targets. My IFF pinged him this time with the radar. Confirmed bogey. I looked up at Jorge and gave him a manual hand signal. I flashed him five fingers five times, twenty five possible bogeys. He nodded understanding the signal. I then punched my left fist out and flashed him two fingers. Punch out wide, two miles. He nodded before banking his aircraft left, the belly of the beast shown to me. Fuel was still good. Twelve thousand pounds of fuel with the central tank empty. If they fire on us, the tank goes bye-bye.

"Reaper One, be advised, enemy possible bogey. They fire, you have clearance to initiate combat with them. Six flights from the George Bush will be joining you in fifty minutes. You think you can hold out?" The AWACS asked, the five selected contacts getting closer.

"I'm not a Marine for nothing." I replied looking at the square TD (Target Designator) box move slightly behind the cloud.

"Roger that, we'll keep you updated over." Kilo Three-Five stated before going radio silent.

"Miki, ready for some high G combat?" I asked looking back at the female WSO.

"After that little stunt, I'm not sure I'm ready for anything." Miki replied as I chuckled.

A series of beeps and growls blared in my headset. Several 35s popped up on the HUD pointing to the radar sources. This is something I never want to hear. I waited a few seconds and switched the oxygen system to one hundred percent pure oxygen. Who wants to breathed radiated and tainted air? I pushed the S-J (Safe-Jettison) button on the MCFD and then the three hundred thirty gallon fuel tank. The beeps and growls turned into a loud annoying continuous beep. Missile launch popped up on a small warning light mounted on the upper left of the canopy. Shit. My left hand pushed the throttle forward and pressed a button on the HOTAS. Pops and thumps rumbled the aircraft and ejected out the rear. I looked back seeing glowing orange orbs of flares and strips of aluminum fly out the back as a decoy. The speed quickly rose and skipped up from three hundred knots. Still no missile in sight. Seconds later, five orange wisps punched through the black disappointing mushroom cloud. Then four more. The missiles were less than five minutes away from blowing me up. I dumped more chaff and flares, jamming the stick right. The aircraft went inverted and the blood rushed to my head as I pulled hard down. My thumb pressed the pickle button and the fuel tank dropped from the center line hard point and into the sky. Funnily enough, the tank dropped faster than I did. I oriented the canopy to the big smoke stack, I looked up to see the missiles tracking me. These were the R-77 Archer missiles or as the Western press liked to nickname it, Amrammski or what I would like to call it, a pain in my ass. Big, fast and not entirely maneuverable. The missiles streaked towards the flares and chaff as I disappeared below the black cloud. The sight was terrifying and eerie. Black skies blocked out all sunlight and I had to revert to my FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared) on the helmet. It was dark as night and the skies absorbed all forms of light. Snow seemed to cling onto my canopy. I soon discovered that it wasn't snow but soot from the nuclear blast. The FLIR flashed into a greenish and grainy tint on my visor, showing what my eyes could not see in the darkness. Entire cities were abandoned, people died on in their cars and getting out of them, worse was the falling nuclear snow. The temperature dropped dramatically after the blast, from a normal thirty down to ten and still dropping. Behind me, the missiles exploded after traveling through the heated smoke, its programing not accounting for a nuclear storm. The Russian fighters scanning their radar through the cloud layer would see nothing but a blank screen. Combined with the ground clutter and the smoke, it was like sifting through white static noise. Multiple explosions behind me signaled that all the missiles failed to track. I pushed the throttle up to afterburner and pulled the stick back into a steep climb. The strike-fighter accelerated through the black cloud. Only black was seen as it blanketed the entire aircraft. The oxygen was holding fine. Switching back from FLIR to polarized visor, we broke through the cloud layer. It was a sight to behold alright. Hundreds of transport aircraft mixed with fighters soared over the sky dropping Russian forces. I looked up and just narrowly missed a skydiving Russian soldier. He whizzed by the canopy like a small insect would do to a windshield in a car. Missile locks blared in my cockpit. This was not a good day.

"Missile launch high, five o'clock!" Michelle yelled as I saw the small puff of smoke.

"Remembering your vocabulary huh?" I grunted pulling straight up and turning on the ECM (Electronic Countermeasure).

"Fuck!" I cursed the airspeed dropping to sharply for my pleasure, the extra weight on the aircraft was killing it.

"Here we..." I whispered pulling over the top of the climb, my head smacking into the canopy.

"...go!" I yelled seeing the black smoke below me.

"Chaff, flare, chaff, flare." The aircraft's voice known as Bitching Betty warned.

"Come on..." I whispered heading back towards the dark clouds.

Out of one hundred and twenty I originally had in the flare and chaff pods, each were down to their last fifty. I had to use the clouds to my advantage along with the heavy weight of the Russian fighter. My left hand slammed the throttle back to conserve fuel and let gravity drag the twenty three ton aircraft towards the ground. The beeping continued to blare in my headset. I looked back seeing three barely visible smoke puffs trailing after the aircraft's exhaust. The missiles were accelerating down to Earth just above Mach 2.5, I just hit Mach 1.3. The smoke loomed to meet me. I pulled hard back on the stick and felt seven Gs load onto my body. Metal groaned and the sheets of air formed on the LEX. The missiles curved to meet me as I pulled up. Fuck, fuck, fuck! My speed dropped, the missiles exploding behind me. I expected to be fireball in the sky right now. Looking back, my saw the aircraft skimmed so low to the clouds, they seemed to just suck the top part of the blob in.

"Two, engaged defensive in a midst of fighters." Jorge groaned, he was fives miles behind me and to the right.

"Roger that, One is re-engaging." I reported and placed the aircraft into a steep climb.

"Reaper One, this is Boar One, we are three minutes away, hang in there." A female voice squawked on the radio.

I ignored the transmission and focused on Jorge. He was stuck between eight SU-35S and was pumping out chaff and flare like a garden hose. It was like a little ball of death with SU-35Ss flying around him in circles. I locked up one target with JMHCS and switched to AIM-9X Sidewinders for close range combat. The missile tone growled in my ear before becoming a high-pitched whine. A small little TD diamond hovered over the SU-35S's exhaust. My thumb was hover over the pickle button as we approached the furball which was a clusterfuck of aircraft. I joined the fight. Banking left I cut off a SU-35S chasing after Jorge, backing up who seemed to be like the commander of the group with a red star on his left side of the cockpit. My helmet kept a steady lock on the Russian fighter, the aircraft turning as tight as it can to position itself on its six. The missile was locked on at thirty degrees off bore.

"Two, break right in three...two..." I said out of the blue with my eyes locked on the black, white and gray splinter camouflaged aircraft.

"Wait, what's the plan?" Jorge said with confusion.

"...one, fox two!" I yelled into the radio seeing the missile streak out from the wingtip and soar towards the jet.

"That plan!" Jorge grunted initiating a quick right turn.

The missile turned after the SU-35S and exploded into the rear of the two engines. Black liquid turned into flames and the aircraft just dropped from the sky.

"Splash one!" I called out seeing Miki looking behind us.

"We've got incoming two Russian jets!" Miki reported as I looked back seeing the jets maneuver down from above.

"Let's go below the deck." I suggested to Jorge who nodded from the left side of the aircraft.

We inverted the Hornet and dived straight down towards the clouds. The both of us leveled out for a ten degree nose dive. Soon we were inside the black sea of darkness. Light turned to twilight and only the instruments lit up the inside of the cockpit with an eerie green. It looked darker for some reason too. Then I realized it was the polarized visor lens. I switched up the lens and activated the FLIR. A grainy green video feed popped up with the HUD in bright green. The shaking of the aircraft scared me, it was not the cloud but the ground. It had a PK or Probability of Kill: 1, instant death. We flew out of the dark cloud and into nuclear fallout Paris. I looked to Jorge and rotated my whole left arm. Regroup. We flew close to the ground and used the gray, two-tone camouflage paint to get us the edge. I felt the ambient air temperature dropped rapidly. The clouds had done a great of job in creating another ice age in France. I pulled back the throttle and drifted on wind power. A beep drew me to the radar. The IRIS-T had locked up onto something and the radar reverted to TBD (Track before Detect) mode. I looked up at the small green TD box on the JHMCS's HUD and zoomed in digitally. The FLIR image being projected onto the orange visor enlarged to display four shapes flying in the darkness with their lights on. I looked to Jorge and pressed a button on the radar, sending him the coordinates of the fighters. The MIDS-JTRS (Multifunctional Information Distribution System-Joint Tactical Radio System) sent the information to Jorge's F/A-18F past a high frequency radio channel invulnerable to the radiation's jamming effects. Jorge locked up another target, the radar displaying his selection.

"Two, push on my command." I ordered into the radio, switching to a secure channel.

"Ro- that..." The radio was on the fritz underneath the clouds, possibly from the EMP bursts the bomb gave out.

"Two..." I started selecting the AIM-120D.

"...push, push, push." I repeated three times before pickling the weapon.

A missile rocketed off the right wing of my aircraft, streaking into the darkness. Like an orange orb of light, it surged forward towards the shape at Mach three. The four shapes banked right and tried to defeat the missile in a turning fight while pumping out chaff. We darted in like sharks hunting seals. I looked up seeing the SU-35Ss turn above us towards our right. My left hand pushed the throttle forward while my right pulled the stick towards me. Our nose pitched up towards the clouds. Banking left, I mimicked the Russians. We slowly rolled into the turning aircraft. Two small streaks of white light impacted the four dark shapes. White light exploded and illuminated the green of the FLIR, temporarily blinding me. Flipping the orange visor up, I did what the Israeli's called looking out of the box. I scanned the dark skies visually for the enemy. Shapes skirted beneath me. I pulled my visor back down to see two jets crossing underneath and climbing off to my right wing. One was Jorge's F/A-18F while the other an enemy SU-35. Where was the other one? I continued to fly straight and level before banking left and breaking away from the two's dance for life. Specks of white light lit up my cockpit for just a split second.

"Missile launch, seven o'clock low!" Michelle screamed into my ear as I looked back and below me.

"How in the world?" I grunted, jerking the stick left and dropping flares.

Orbs of white light fizzled from behind my jet, leaving clouds of white behind as they drifted slowly towards the ground. One streak of light arced towards me. It was heading straight for the Hornet – and fast. I continued the turn until the missile was within visual distance. I could see the long cylindrical structure of it. A small glass dome at the front held the seeker, which was trained on my aircraft's exhaust. Two pairs of fins on the front and two pairs of fins on the back. The rocket motor had turned off and it was now relying on its own kinetic energy to deliver it to me. I gripped the stick with both hands and nestled it into the ejection seat. Seven Gs and a half ticked on the G meter. Another groan escaped my mouth as a bright light followed by the sound of an explosion lit up the cockpit. Bang. The shrapnel rained into the aircraft's thick skin like hail hitting the shingles of the roof. Titanium construction mixed with aluminum protected me from the pieces of metal the size of my fist. I leveled out to gain some lost speed from the turn. Looking back, I spotted the SU-35S rolling into pursuit. This was going to be one hell of a thriller. I felt the adrenaline rush into my body as I placed the aircraft into dogfight mode. The gun piper along with the diamond TD for the AIM-9X Sidewinders popped up on the HUD. I made the first move. Turning right, I forced the heavier aircraft to keep its nose pointed behind me. Being more power and maneuverable, the SU-35S easily kept up with me. The only thing only it back was its weight – its nose dipped towards the ground as rudder input kept it on track. I reversed the turn and kept straining the SU-35S. Whatever I did, it was easily keeping up with me. Time for a daring maneuver. I pressed the button on the HOTAS and felt my body being slightly pushed forward. Leveling out, I pulled the Hornet's nose up to a thirty degree nose climb. The only catch was – I wasn't climbing. The Hornet slowly lost speed and sailed on the air at one hundred and fifty knots, just above one hundred miles an hour. The Russian jet was too close to fire its guns or launch any of it missiles. It had to do the same maneuver to keep behind me.

"What are you doing? You're going to get us killed!" Michelle yelled in my ears as the Russian jet pitched its nose up.

"Trust me." I stated looking back and seeing the giant belly of the twin engined beast.

"You only flew this thing once!" Michelle screamed back as the Russian jet slowly got closer to us.

"Just let me fly the aircraft!" I yelled hearing the roar of the SU-35S in my helmet.

The jet was flying just right of the F/A-18F and tried to slow down. Its weight worked against itself as it past us in a roar of jet fury. I saw the pilot next to me. He looked at me. On his head a green tinted helmet in the FLIR and his visor down. The Russians also had their own JHMCS and was used in conjunction with their IRIS-T bulb mounted on the front of the jet's canopy. He glared at me through his black visor and I stared back at him with my orange one. Time slowed to a stand still as I saw his hand pulling back on his flight stick. He was going to stall. A loud, quick and annoying beep blared in my ears with the words 'STALL' blinking on the HUD. The airspeed dropped below one hundred and fifty. A small shift in the throttle fixed the problem. Without more thrust the airframe would lose lift and plummet to the ground like a rock until it gathered enough speed to glide. The SU-35S started to sink into the ground, my eyes tracking him as he did. I mimicked him. He pitched his nose down and so did I. The two of us looked like diving dolphins below the sea, my aircraft sticking to his behind like glue. My helmet targeted the diamond at the exhaust of the SU-35S, the whine of the Sidewinder loud in my headset. Five hundred feet between us. That wasn't a lot of space. My only question was, would the sidewinder arm in time? I took a chance and pressed the pickle button. Thump. The Sidewinder launched off my wingtip in a flash of white light that illuminated the cockpit and the jet in front. I watched intently as the missile tracked the exhaust of the Russian jet. The missile lodged itself into the right engine of the SU-35 failing to explode. It stuck out of the exhaust petals like a tree in the middle of a giant plain. The Sidewinder's fuse failed to arm in the seconds it took to jam itself in the engine. It's pilot banked the SU-35 left and tried to shake me from its six but then something majestic occurred. The missile exploded from the quick heating of the engine. It looked like an implosion from under the water. Explosives housed in the missile ignited from the heat and sprayed the shrapnel into the right engine. A thick plume of smoke blocked out light from the FLIR pod. The IRIS-T was blocked out and failed to identify the target. Heated smoke from the right engine made the diamond TD dance all over the HUD. Only guns would be accurate now. Flames licked the smoke and gave the green tint of the FLIR a whitish glare. The FLIR cleared up as I saw nothing but the city in front of me.

"Where did he go?" I asked Michelle, looking everywhere from the enemy.

"I don't know..." She replied as I saw her looking around in her backseat.

"Did the IRIS-T get anything?" Michelle asked, pressing something on the backseat.

"Nothing." I replied and banking the aircraft left.

"Wait, I have something on the ATFLIR." Michelle whispered as I looked at my right MCFD.

One bright, white shape, the exact replica of the damaged SU-35S flew below us and close to the ground. He had no chance at escaping the nuclear wasteland. Miles away from us were the bright lands of the countryside. I flew down and leveled with the SU-35S. The pilot looked up seeing me fly next to him. I tried to find the channel the Russian pilot was using. He gave me a short nod seeing as I was not about to shoot him down.

"Josh what are you doing?" Michelle asked seeing the SU-35S slowly drift closer and closer towards the ground.

"Trying to fly him out of the blackout zone." I stated seeing the countryside slowly growing closer.

"But he's the enemy!" Michelle replied, I saw her reasoning but no one should ever die in a nuclear wasteland.

"No one should die a horrible death in the nuclear zone." I whispered shifting the stick left and inching the jet closer to the Russian's aircraft.

"Can you hear me Russian?" I asked looking to the pilot.

"Yes...ski...breaking..." The sentences came in short broken sentences.

"Miki, boost the radio power and broadcast on plus and minus ten megahertz." I ordered seeing the CIA agent hesitate before tapping the buttons at her station.

"Americanski?" The pilot asked as we neared within fifty miles of the countryside.

"I can hear you." I replied seeing the wing of the Russian aircraft fall onto mine, the combined lift from my aircraft keeping him a float.

"It's a surprise seeing that you're not going to shoot me down." He gave me a small chuckle and flipped up his visor.

"I'm not like every Communist hating American out there." I replied, giving the stick a small pull to keep the both of us in the air.

"So why are you fighting in this government fueled war? Is it patriotism, hatred or the dream of being the best pilot?" The Russian asked as his aircraft slightly dipped from a strong headwind.

"Actually none. I'm fighting for my comrades." I stated.

"Comrade? Hard to find those being an officer. Most do it for fame and glory." He whispered back and looked back down at his instruments.

"What's your name Americanski?" He asked with a tone of resignation.

"Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion." I replied with a smile.

"Well you're a ground eater, eh? I'm Alexei Tsiolkovsky from the 58th Air Battalion." He replied, the stabilizers on his right wing flapping uncontrollably.

"Nice to meet you Alexei. You're going to get out of the blackout zone, alright?" I assured, apply force into the stick to keep his wings level.

"Do not lie to me, American. I can see that I'm not going to make it. The right wing is torn and my right engine is threatening to destroy my left one." He snapped back as we slowly cruised towards the clear lands, the SU-35S slowly dipping towards the ground.

"It's better than being in that shithole of a country. The Air Force barely paid me enough money to survive on my own, let alone support a family." Alexei whispered after a short pause, the SU-35S hitting a patch of turbulence and pitched down dangerously towards the ground.

"Fuck!" I cursed, seeing the wingtip of the SU-35S sparking against the grey camouflage of the F/A-18F.

"I told you Flint, I'm going to die anyways. There is nothing you can do." Alexei replied, Jorge swinging his aircraft down from above and forming up on the Russian fighter's left side.

"What are you trying to do Staff Sergeant?" Jorge asked from looking at me from behind the giant jet.

"Saving a fellow warrior, you in or out?" I said with a hidden smile.

"What do you think Sergeant?" Jorge replied, chuckling as he maneuvered the jet to support the SU-35S's left wing.

"Alexei, are you at military power?" I asked easing the flight stick so that the air from my aircraft's wings are lifting his aircraft.

"Negative. If I go above eighty the left engine will overheat." Alexei answered trying to balance his jet while two different air currents ran through his left and right wingtip.

"Can switch your air source to ram and push it all the way up to military power? At least that way we'll get this jet out of the blackout zone. We don't need it after that." I stated hearing the roar of his engines become louder.

"Da. It's working – in buying a little bit of time at least." He replied in a more hopeful tone.

My aircraft started to shudder uncontrollably. I looked around the cockpit checking the MCFDs and HUD, along with the warning lights. We exceeded three hundred knots. Studying aeronautics to fly the F/A-18F for two years, I finally understood the problem. Air pressure built up on the wingtips of the aircraft and threatened to roll the aircraft over on its belly. The green hills of the countryside beckoned to us while the skies above us were covered with black, rolling clouds like a sea of darkness. I slid the orange visor back up and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light. Less than twenty miles to go. My left hand pushed up the throttle to catch up with the Russian jet. I pushed even harder to keep the stick at the right. Soon we were breaking within ten miles near the border of the blackout zone, our speed exceeding four hundred and twenty. I pitched down and slid right, away from Alexei's SU-35S. I felt heat beating down on me. My eyes burned with bright white light. We were out of the nuclear zone. I looked left seeing the Russian jet slowly glide over to the green hillside. It looked like he was going to crash land in some poor, French farmer's farm. His left engine sparked, flames exploding out the exhaust. The aircraft dropped from the loss of lift. Its stabilizers on the wing flapping in the air from no electrical power. An explosion ripped the SU-35S's fuselage. Orange flames turning the splinter camouflage into pieces of scrap metal. Pieces of the wing cascaded like leaves blowing in the wind. Metal pierced the soil below and burned the area around the green grass with hydraulic fluid and oil. Black, burning liquid tainted the innocent, green grass. The engines turned into metal fragments and drizzled down like hail onto the farm. Missiles dropped from the wings, armed and exploded on the ground, leaving smoldering craters. Alexei's cockpit tumbled end over end towards the ground. It exploded on the wheat field covering hundreds of acres. I looked away hearing the muffled bang. Silence took over the aircraft with odd bursts of transmission from the AWACS to the approaching aircraft. Something called from the radio. Someone familiar.

"American, American, can you hear me?" A static filled broadcast filled my headset.

"Alexei?" I asked looking over to the farm.

"Yes. Did I scare to American?" He replied with a small laugh, his parachute floating above the wreckage of his aircraft.

"Fucking hell man. Next time you eject, tell me about it." I stated and banked left.

"I thank you for helping me out of the nuclear fallout. I will never forget this!" He yelled and waved at me from his parachute.

"Don't worry, just live." I replied, pulling the stick towards me and started to climb.

I leveled off at twenty thousand feet, slicing back towards the now dissipating mushroom cloud. Hundreds of fighter jets, transport aircraft and helicopters flew against dozens of French and American fighters. The two forces looked like the old medieval armies rushing against each other with brandished lances and swords. Except this time it was guns and missiles. The two forces were more than two hundred miles away from other and closed faster than one could blink. I tapped the left MFCD and brought up the SMS (Stores Management System) page. Selecting the my last three AIM-120D missiles, I targeted the nearest fighters. MIG-35s and SU-35S Flankers were selected on my AESA (Active Electronically Scanned Array) radar. It seemed like they weren't aware of the targeting as all of the jets were being targeted by the opposition. My left hand pushed the throttle up all to full military power. We started to close range with the fighters. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Michelle looking down at the instruments, the three green displays reflecting off of her visor. Flipping down the orange visor, the HUD blinked back to life.

"Josh, we have stealth aircraft in the mix." Michelle suddenly warned.

"What? What do you mean 'stealth aircraft'?" I asked seeing the caret on the missile range indicator.

"I don't know but the radar's getting interference an unknown source." Michelle replied as the radar screen scuttled with static.

"Okay now my radar's acting up." I grunted, tapping the EWS (Electronic Warfare System) panel.

"Wait, I see two shapes flying at the left of the formation closest to us." Michelle notified me to two dark shapes flying at the forefront of the formation.

The shapes had a bubble canopy, large wings and rectangular vertical stabilizers that were angled. It flew in front of all the fighters in the entire formation. I changed the radar screen to the target pod and slewed the seeker to the shapes. It was grey against the pitch black of the sky, the ATFLIR detected the heat and displayed it back in either black or white depending on the setting. Jammers worked great from a distance but faltered when it was at close range. Like a hurricane, outside the eye were strong winds while in the center, the eye was still with no wind at all. We closed at fifteen miles, Jorge had split from the formation and was attacking from the flank. The radar had cut through the jammers and the missiles had a lock. Those fighters, I just realized were the new Russian Air Force's PAK FA fighters. After a year of delay, they were finally released with all of their features. Unlike the F-22 Raptors, any military with enough money to buy them had it in their inventory. It was surely better than the piece of shit J-12 Chinese fighter. The piece of metal junk flew like a sluggish whale but had the electronics of a supercomputer. Whatever the Chinese built, it out-jammed most of our aircraft. The circle indicated if we were in range had widened and was blinking, one of the three lights mounted on the top right frame of the canopy blinked on with the letters 'SHOOT' in big green letters. I pushed the pickle button three times, each time Michelle locked onto another target. Each time the missiles launched with a thump. Three trails of white smoke soared high into the sky. At the bottom right of the HUD there was a a sequence of letters and numbers indicating the missile's mode. T05, Terminal Zero Five Seconds. Five seconds until the missiles activate their seekers and no longer need guidance from the F/A-18F's radar. A15, Autonomous Fifteen Seconds. The missile switched to its internal navigation and homing systems with fifteen seconds until impact of the target. 35s popped up on my HUD outlining the targeting fighters. Small little oranges bloomed in the distance, fighters exploding from the missiles. Direct hits. I grabbed onto the rail with my left hand and banked right. Weight piled up on my body, the G meter ticking up to five Gs. I felt like another body was sitting on me and weighing me down.

"Boar One to Reaper One, we are in the zone. I repeat we are in the zone!" A female voice yelled in my headset.

"Copy that Boar One, we are flying into the formation. I repeat we are flying into allied formation." I stated, taking a quick glance to my right to see Jorge flying into formation.

"Reaper One, you are in the kill box. I repeat, you are in the kill box! Get out of there Reaper One!" The female voice screamed in my ears.

Missile launch blinked on my HUD. I slammed the throttle forward and heard the giant roar of the twin engines going into afterburners. I looked out seeing the clouds rumble by, below me. Alarms blared in my ears as we soared above twenty five thousand feet. Looking up at the rearview mirror, I saw four streams of white smoke trailing out from four cylindrical shapes blurring from speed behind the vertical stabilizers of my aircraft. With a flick of the flight stick, I inverted the aircraft and pulled back hard on the flight stick. The aircraft dived and increased in speed. Blood rushed into my head from being upside down, my head being pushed into the seat from the acceleration. The missiles continued to chase after me. I pressed a button on the HOTAS to release chaffs and flare. Pops exploded from the aircraft, the fizzling of the flares weren't even heard as the aircraft traveled far too fast to make out the noise. I flipped the aircraft over and placed the aircraft back into a climb. My eyes widened. Hundreds of smoke trails whizzed towards me. The allied aircraft opened fire and so did the Russians. I pulled the aircraft into a hard yo-yo maneuver. The aircraft strained as I balanced the aircraft between a stall and an overshoot, I looked back seeing the wings flexing. I felt the adrenaline rush through me. The flash of white zipped through the top of my canopy, it was a missile of British origins. The Meteor MDBA missile developed by Britain replaced all other missiles in the European Arsenal. I resumed normal flight just to find hundreds of Rafale fighters, Mirage interceptors and F/A-18E strike fighters thundering towards us. Looking at them, they whizzed by like angry bees. I sighed. Finally a moment of peace.

"Reaper One to Kilo Three-Five, I'm Joker fuel and out of ammunition, requesting permission to return to base." I whispered into the radio stabilizing at thirty thousand feet and flying at three hundred and fifty knots to save fuel.

"Roger that Reaper One, you have permission to return to base. Good job, you deserve a rest." Kilo Three-Five's aircraft coordinator replied.

"You okay Staff Sergeant?" Jorge asked sailing on the wind off the right side of my wing.

"You know what? You guys seem to be asking that question a lot in these last few months." I said with a small chuckle and received a worried look from Michelle.

"I'm starting to get slightly worried, Josh." Michelle commented flipping up her orangish visor.

"No I'm fine...just tired that's all." I whispered and placed the aircraft on autopilot.

Silence seized the flight home. The rumbling of the engines and the muffled blowing of the wind lulled me into a trance. Light shined at me from the mid-noon sun. It was already half a day from flying, six hours in a seat without moving. This might be what pilots felt like when they were drained of energy, flying home. Drained of energy and tired out of their minds. I felt the same. I looked down at a small LCD screen just above my left knee. Four thousand pounds of fuel left inside the aircraft, just enough to get home. Unbuckling the oxygen mask, I inhaled a deep breath untainted by stale oxygen and the aftertaste of warm milk. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Stress lines were slightly visible on my forehead and heavy bags formed under my eyes. My green eyes looked dull with long years of battle. I wiped my eyes and face. We were forty miles away from the carrier. On my thighs were notebooks strapped to my flight suit. Flipping through the pages, I found the code for the ILS or Instrumental Landing System. I tapped the number on the UCP.

"Tower, Reaper One, we are thirty miles out and inbound for landing." I reported to the carrier thirty thousand feet below.

"Reaper One, Tower, you are number one to land. Take spacing and be prepared for vectors to the carrier." A male voice replied.

"Roger that." I stated looking to Jorge as he banked off to follow traffic procedures.

"Drop down to two thousand feet and maintain two hundred and thirty knots, turn right heading one three five degrees." The Aircraft Traffic Controller ordered, I complied and pushed the flight stick forward.

The aircraft shuddered from the negative Gs. Below us were grey clouds full of rainstorms. It was going to be one bitch to land this aircraft. I buckled the oxygen mask back into the mask and flipped down the orange visor. We breached into the clouds, the darkness once again taking over the cockpit. At least the temperature didn't drop dramatically. I flicked on the anti-collision and formation lights. Red and green blinked on the wings of the aircraft and slightly illuminated the inside. I pulled up at two thousand feet, not trusting my eyes. I turned right and waited for further instruction. My eyes scanning the horizon for the carrier and its battle group. Nothing except for the howling of the wind and the crackling of heavy rain against the canopy. It was pitch black outside, nothing was visible. Neon green from the left MFCD and the white from the right MFCD illuminated the inside of the cockpit, reflecting off the canopy with an eerie reassurance. I tapped the UCP and selected the ILS/NAV mode for the landing. A cross popped up on screen with one being pitch and the other heading. The tower vectored me in for a Case III recovery – heavy rain or bad weather. I banked left and lined up the ILS bars until they were a perfect cross, then continued to wait for lights. Seconds later, white lights shown through the darkness in the distance.

"Reaper One, Tower, you are three quarters of the mile – call the ball." The ATC ordered as the cluster of lights slowly separated into coherent groups.

"Roger Tower..." I started looking at the left of the ship to see a cluster of lights, the sides of it white and the middle green signaling a perfect approach.

"Reaper One rogers ball, state three point two." I replied, three thousand two hundred pounds of fuel left in my aircraft.

"Roger Reaper, you are on glideslope." The LSO (Landing Signal Officer) now took control of the communications.

He continued to call out the position of my aircraft in relation to a small camera installed on the flight deck. It showed the course of the aircraft to the third arresting wire of the carrier. If one caught or 'trapped' that wire, it would be an A+ of sorts in the naval scoreboard. A line of white lights led down the middle of the carrier's flight deck. Unknown to me, that was what I was aiming for. I flicked a switch and lowered the flaps to full along with activating the speed brakes with a button on the HOTAS. My right hand carefully shifted the stick to correct the course and my feet manipulated the rudders to battle the crosswind blowing at the aircraft. A small knot formed in my stomach as we neared the carrier, the lights becoming more spaced out and bright. I heard the LSO call for power. I pushed the throttle up. So far, so good. My head was pushed back into ejection seat from the ten degrees nose up. I trusted the ILS to point me in the right direction, along with the LSO. It felt like an eternity as I babied the aircraft. The lights became even brighter and I could make out the red orbs stuck to the stern of the carrier. Who ever aimed for that would strike the backside of the carrier and turn into a giant fireball. Any naval aviator who flew any sort of aircraft had to do night and day traps on the carrier. The minimum was eight days and four nights, I only had two. I saw a cluster of red and green lights in the darkness. It was the next wave of fighters that were going to be launched into the skies. The shape was similar to the F-35Cs that were just put into Low Rate Production. I felt a hard jolt and the bang of the landing gears absorbing the shock of the landing. My head was thrown forward, only to be held in place with the harness. I pushed the throttle all the way forward and the roar of the twin engines turned the liquid rain into hissing steam. The afterburners were to make sure that I wouldn't smack into the sea if I didn't trap the arresting wires and had to fly around again which was called a 'bolter'. With the rapid deceleration coming to a halt, I pulled the throttle back and saw a pair of orange sticks waving to me in the darkness. I raised the arresting hook and placed pressure on the throttle. The F/A-18F eased forward. The orange sticks led me into line right behind the F-35Cs instead of the parking space at the far right of the entire carrier. Looking over the canopy, I saw a small freight elevator rise up from the inside of the ship with fresh munitions. On the rolling sea, red shirts pulled a trolley under my aircraft and mounted two AIM-120Ds onto the wing hardpoints. The F/A-18F had the capability to carry up to twelve missiles on dual pylons mounted onto each of the wings. Another crewmen heaved a giant hose along with three others and hooked it up to the underside of my aircraft. The small LCD screen reported increasing fuel.

"Air Boss, what's going on?" I asked the overseer of the entire air operation.

"You're going up again Sergeant, the Russians are trying to invade Germany and France from airbases throughout the satellite states." He explained as Jorge parked next to me, getting the same treatment.

"Lieutenant Hawkins will be your flight lead until your return at 0000 Hours tonight. I wish you luck." The Air Boss replied quickly as the jet blast deflectors raised to direct hot air from the F-35C's afterburner.

"Nice to see you again Sergeant, too bad I can't treat you to a beer." Lieutenant Hawkins said with a smile from my right, her aircraft ready to take off.

"It's going to be a long day Lieutenant, it's going to make that beer all the more worth it." I said sarcastically seeing the crew finish the quick rearming and refueling.

"We're number two to take off. Tell your friend to line up on CAT three." Lieutenant Hawkins ordered as I nodded, looking to Jorge and flashing him three fingers.

"How did you enjoy your flight, Flint?" Lieutenant Colbert asked from the front seat of his aircraft.

"A bit less action than I would like, but still great nonetheless." I replied seeing the F-35Cs jump from the deck and into the air.

"Well, it's no cake walk with the PAK FAs in the air." Lieutenant Colbert stated, the three of us easing forward onto the catapults.

"Nothing we can't handle." I scoffed at the thought of the Russian stealth fighters.

"I'm sure of it." Hawkins said, buckling her oxygen mask to her helmet.

I watched from the safety of my cockpit, seeing the men running in the rain to hook up the giant aircraft to the catapults. Their uniforms were soaked with water and their helmets glistening in the dim lights. The same yellow shirt looked up at my aircraft bored, even in the rain. I checked my stabilizers once again, making sure that the shrapnel from the missiles didn't do anything to damaging to the aircraft. Sure of the jet, I grabbed the rail mounted on the canopy and gave the shooter a salute. He looked around and then gave me a salute back. I looked at the lead aircraft and waited for the shooter to kneel down. He did and pointed out directly into the black hole ahead of us. There was a calm, a moment of tranquility before the storm. The rolling sea rocking us left and right, anyone with motion sickness would have just puked right then and there. The darkness of the sky and the pattering of rain against the canopy. I looked up at the mirror and saw Michelle tired from the day's ordeal. Her eyelids closed for the time being with the same heavy bags under her eyes. There would be more to come. She placed her hand on the visor and slid it back down. I sighed and looked back down at the HUD. A jolt shook the aircraft and flung my head back into the seat. The aircraft pitched up, taking to the sky. It was going to be another long flight, in another routinely long day.