Chapter 2
Motivations
Grounded. Flight status currently under review by Squadron Command. Major Lewel is there of course, telling them how "unfit for duty" I am.
I'm lying in my quarters staring at the ceiling fan. It's a sweltering 98 degrees Fahrenheit: this puny fan won't suffice. I look out the window onto the barren Jilachi desert. The only thing in sight is a small village populated by those who civilization forgot. The closest real city was about 20 minutes from here by truck. It was probably some revolutionary minded city kid who blew himself up outside the officer's club last night.
I pinned some photographs onto a bulletin board on my wall, chronicling my entire military career. There's me in my cadet uniform: graduation day at the Osean Air Force Academy. My father and grandfather stood on either side of me in uniform as well: the proud military heritage of the Chiang family. If I ever become a father, I'll make sure this legacy stops with me. To the right is a picture of me graduating from flight school after I had my wings pinned on my chest. Mom and Dad look so proud of me. Rumors of a new conflict were already swirling around in the news around this time. I had no illusions of where I would be in the coming months but, I was actually excited about it.
Below is a picture of me and Alexandra: my sweetheart. I remember this photo; we were sitting in a restaurant and had asked the waiter to take a picture of us. I remember that dark blue dress she wore that night: she always knew I liked how she looked in it. Her black wavy hair was pressed up against my face. I couldn't wait for the day when she would go from being Ms. Carothers to Mrs. Chiang. It also looks like this is the only picture on the wall in which I'm wearing civilian clothes. In the garbage can is a letter I got from her a week ago. "I'm tired of waiting for you," she wrote. I don't think I'm going to write back.
Also on the wall are some old newspaper headlines I had saved. "Old 'Blood War' Conflict Renewed," one read. I wasn't even born when the first Blood War occurred. We were taught in school that in 1987, the Yukes went to war with the Republic of Romny on its southern border in order to put down a Coup d'Etat staged by the Heum Administration. Osean newspapers exposed acts of genocide perpetrated by the Yukes, further pushing our two nations to the brink of war. Our leaders didn't think this was worth fighting for. Now, almost thirty years later, we were here: fighting alongside our new allies, the Yuktobanian military. We were here to put down the renewed rebellion along their southern border as a show of, "Good faith and friendship in the new millennium," as the president put it. "The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons."
Another headline: "WAR," was all it said. My wing took off from Sand Island Air Base and made a mid-air refueling stop en route to the objective. We made the initial attack runs: lighting fast strikes on the Republic of Romny's military infrastructure. I crossed over their border in my F-35 Lightning II and destroyed an air field. Major Lewel then led us to our new base in the middle of the Jilachi: and old Romnian installation along their border that we captured. To this day, some of the signs are still in Romnian.
There's a knock at my door. "Enter," I say grudgingly. It's Major Lewel. I should snap to attention, but instead I slowly bring myself to my feet and bring myself to a half-assed position of attention.
"I would say at ease but that would be redundant. As you were Lieutenant." I lay back down on the bed. "I just came back from Squadron Command where we discussed your current capacity as a pilot."
"I heard. So what did you tell them? That I should be sent home? I'm a Section 8 right?"
"I simply told them that while you are suffering from a lack of confidence, it's nothing a short amount of time on the ground won't fix."
I was surprised. But I didn't think moping around the base would raise my spirits any. I was more honest with myself than the Major. I was in no condition to fly.
"I also recommended that you were entitled to receive one of these." The Major reached into his pocket and produced an unmarked envelope. I took it from his hand and opened it: a 48 hour pass into the city down the road. "You need to take some time away from the base. Have fun, get drunk, off base of course, then get prepared to saddle up again."
I have to admit I'm actually pleased. I'm not looking forward to getting back in the cockpit just yet, but I really want to get as far away from the base as possible.
"You get any word yet from back home? Any letters come through recently?"
"Just from Alex."
"What'd she say? Did she enclose any naughty photos?"
"No. A 'Dear John.'"
"Well that's too bad son. But look on the bright side."
"Where the hell's the bright side to that?"
"Now you can really have some fun in the city." The Major likes to think he's funny, but this is one of the few times he actually makes me chuckle. "One more thing Lieutenant."
"What is it, sir?"
"Your service is almost up isn't it? A little less than three months from now, correct?"
"Yes sir."
"Think about re-upping. The Air Force is holding on to a couple millions of dollars worth of retention bonuses and there's no reason some of that shouldn't be yours."
"Uh, sure sir." It was probably the furthest thing from my mind.
With that the Major left my room, off to another sortie perhaps. I put on my service dress uniform: I wanna look nice in the city but I'm not going to worry about getting my full dress uniform ruined. It's almost 1030: I'll have to hurry and try to hitch a ride with one of the supply trucks headed into town.
Before I leave, I light a cigarette and take a drag. I drop the match into my garbage can and watch the contents burn. I throw in all the crap on my wall and watch it go up in flames as I take another long, satisfying drag on my cigarette. I then stamp out the flames, getting some ashes on my nice shoes. I don't care; I just rush out the door, running away from all the photographs, all the letters and all the newspapers.
For the next 48 hours, I'm not at war. The war isn't going to come for me.
A/N: For those interested, more information on the Blood War and the Republic of Romny can be found on the Ace Combat Wiki. Also, "Section 8" is an outdated military term for someone who is discharged for being unfit for service. It has since become slang for someone with such characteristics.