Fallen Grace
The massacre of over 850 people abroad flight 413 took the world by surprise. While officially it was reported as an attack by unknown perpetrators, leaked details which implicated Emmeria in the attack had the confused public demanding truth as well as retribution. Harling - not wanting Osea to enter another war - managed to convince them that the rumors were false and that more investigations were needed before taking any aggressive actions.
Behind the scenes, however, the situation was like a volcano about to blow. Osean leaders – enraged by the revelation that one of the attackers found dead on flight 413 was an Emmerian secret agent – demanded answers. In response, the Emmerian government explained that the agent was inserted into the Estovakian terror organization United Front as a strategy to preempt a possible attack on their country; they had no idea of the spy's whereabouts as he had to go dark to achieve his goals. But without proof connecting the terrorists to Estovakia, Emmeria's explanation was hardly sufficient. The only clear evidence was the fact that the spy, instead of stopping the attack, participated in it. The Osea-Emmeria alliance would have broken down if not for the personal visit by the Emmerian prime minister who claimed the agent's death was a plot to drive a wedge between the two nations, and urged Osea to give his country time to prove Estovakia's involvement in the massacre.
Despite the truce, however, the damage to goodwill between the two nations was already done. When the Federal Republic of Estovakia – taking advantage of the situation - declared war on its wealthy neighbor and simultaneously launched surprise attacks on all fronts, Osea - citing neutrality in the conflict – denied Emmeria's requests for aid.
To make matters worse, the Emmerian government – fearing opposition and riots– kept the country's involvement in the airline massacre secret from its citizens. Even the nation's mass media were placed on gag order. As a result, August 30th came as a true surprise.
August 30, 2015
Gracemeria
East District
Downtown
Regents Road
---
This morning was supposed to be just like any other mornings: the sidewalks busy with people work, the streets packed with vehicles taking people to places they needed to go, and the 20 year old university student – Steven Fedner – dragged his steps, dreading to go to his philosophy class. Abstracts were never his thing; he liked working with numbers best. When a jet aircraft flew overhead, he – being a diehard fan of military hardware - thought his day would brighten up. But then came that first explosion in the distance.
At first they - Fedner, this friend Jim Haringoth, and the people around him- didn't know it was an attack. They watched frozen as more jets flew by, as B-52s opened their bomb bay doors, as C-130 transports dropped their cargos of soldiers, IFVs and light tanks which descended slowly with parachutes and even as the city-wide air raid siren went off. Everything then turned chaotic when the B-52s right above them was hit by a missile and went up in flames. With the bomber falling towards them, people on both sidewalks and in cars of the 4-lane road began running frantically looking for cover in any structure they may find.
"Steve, what the hell are you doing?" Haringoth said, dragging Fedner along as the latter watched mesmerized at a pair of F-16Cs passing the B-52 they just downed.
The black-haired, blue-eyed jet enthusiast finally returned to his senses when the sight of the bomber's burning fireball was interrupted by a building. Haringoth had dragged him around a corner into a side street.
"That fascination of yours will kill you" Jim said as they ran into a convenience store with a few other people.
Just moments after their entry, a vibration caused by the falling B-52 violently shook the ground and cut power to the store. Seconds later, a stray ordinance struck the top of a 6-story building across the narrow street in front of the store and sent rubble falling to the ground, crushing a sedan as well as several people seeking shelter. Gasps and cries of horror filled the store as its occupants retreated from the falling debris which smashed through windows and doors. Things seemed to be hopeless until the store attendant, having found a good reception on the radio of his MP3, turned the device's volume up as high as he can. Two others followed his lead, tuning the radios of their mobile phones.
"We interrupt this program for an emergency news report" said the familiar voice of the morning FM DJ, "Gracemeria is currently under attack by unidentified aircraft. The damage apparently extends to the entire capital"
Worried chatter filled the store in response to the information.
"An intense ground war is taking place in east district. We strongly urge all citizens to stay indoors at this time" continued the DJ.
"What are you doing?" Fedner asked, noticing Haringoth discreetly opening a bag of cookies while the store attendant was distracted by the radio DJ's announcements.
"Shh. Keep it down. I didn't have breakfast, alright?" he said, devouring the chocolate chip goodness.
Constant noises of gunfire, explosions, jet washes and vehicle movements filled the next several minutes. One explosion in the vicinity which blew away soldiers – both whole and in parts –unnerved the already twitchy store occupants, especially when those body parts flew across whatever remained of the store's front.
Almost 20 minutes had elapsed when the battles in the surrounding areas ended, and when it did, the relative silence which came was eerie. There were cries for help coming from outside the store. But no one seemed brave enough to go out and risk life and limb to assist those voices in need. The 19-year-old aerospace engineering student looked to his side at Haringoth, who has stopped his consumption and looked back at his friend.
"This is different than helping old ladies cross the street. This is war. Don't do it man…" he said, shaking his head in objection to Fedner's 'Good Samaritan' tendencies.
With his hands still shaking, Fedner inched towards the front of the store, stepping and jumping over pieces of concrete and rebars. When he was just at the store's door, he listened for the sounds of battle which have indeed died down. Even though the street was too narrow and buildings too tall to get a fuller view of the sky, it too no longer seems to be falling.
"That's what I like to here. Our Air Force is holding down the enemy. Keep it up!" said the DJ over the radio.
That gave Fedner the push he needed to step out on to the side street. He ran towards the sources of the earlier voice onto Regentss Road, finally seeing the extent of damage done to one of the busiest and cleanest, but now lifeless and chaotic, streets in the capital city. The offices on both sides of the roads bore battle wounds; the windows of those offices were shattered; dead bodies – civilian and military- lined the sidewalks; numerous cars were either crushed or on fire, their occupants still inside; charred armored vehicles – acting like steel coffins for its occupants - lay destroyed along the length of the road. Fedner - averting his eyes from such sight – found a woman still alive trapped under a pile of rocks a few meters from him. Not far from her, several collapsed tall buildings had formed a mountain of rubble which blocked the entire 4-car-lane road. The tail of the fallen B-52 was barely visible under the rubble.
"Hold on" he told her, lifting the blocks of concrete on her trapped lower body.
"My son" she breathed out, her head red in blood.
Fedner looked around but saw no other souls alive in the immediate area. Deciding that lying to her was the only way to keep her psychologically alive, he lied, saying her son has already sought shelter.
Suddenly, a series of loud explosions ensued. Their volumes and the magnitude of their shockwaves were so strong that the younger man had to curl down, dropping the head-sized boulder he was carrying to cover his ears. He looked up and saw several huge orange fireballs in the sky which consumed numerous Emmerian planes.
"Are you alright?" Fedner asked, looking back at the motionless woman. "Lady! Can you hear me?"
"Uh…" she groaned, giving the student a much needed reassurance that she's still alive.
His efforts at freeing her was interrupted again by a jet engine whoosh overhead. Looking up, he saw eight Su-33 Flanker-Ds in a red-black color scheme engaging the surviving, but still larger in number, Emmerian planes. However, by the time Fedner freed the woman from under the rocks, the Emmerian numerical superiority amounted to nothing. He watched an F-18 being gunned down followed by another turning into flames due to a missile hit.
Trying hard not to be captivated by the air battle he so wanted to see since he was a child, Fedner carried the woman back to the side-street where Haringoth and a few other people– having gathered enough courage– stood just outside the store doors. Other people have also started coming out of a restaurant along the street.
"Is there a doctor or someone who knows first aid?!" Fedner shouted.
A man, who introduced himself as a nurse, stepped up to help. The student let the wounded woman down slowly and began walking back to the main street.
"Where are you going now?" Haringoth asked.
"To look for more survivors" he replied.
Above Gracemeria
---
"Multiple cruise missiles just detonated mid-air! Half our planes have been wiped off the radar!" the Avalanche flight lead transmitted over his radio.
"You counted?" Garuda One thought cynically.
"Where the hell was that? Where are they coming from?" Shamrock asked, flying close behind his flight lead's Falcon as they weaved around cruise missile explosions.
"Enemy cruise missiles incoming" AWACS warned.
"Those aren't ordinary cruise missiles. Evade like hell if you want out of this alive" advised the Windhover lead.
"Those that didn't died already" Talisman thought. "Stop stating the obvious"
"Dammit!" cursed Garuda Two, "What about our city? What about Gracemeria?"
"Warning! Additional enemy planes have been spotted on radar. You don't want to know how many" informed Ghost-Eye.
The moment the 8 incoming Su-33s came within visual range, they opened fire. Immediately, 4 F-18s were downed. Two more were destroyed quickly after.
"This is Ghost Eye to all planes: Air defense command has ordered an evacuation. You have been ordered to give up Gracemeria. Break away from this airspace and head west"
"Are you out of your mind? We can't comply with that order" said Windhover leader.
"We are militarily at a huge disadvantage. Comply with the order and head west" AWACS repeated.
"This is Avalanche. We are not going anywhere"
"Listen! It's only temporary. The plan is to withdraw, meet up with all remaining forces from each area, then regroup for another attack. We can't afford to lose you. Follow the order"
"This is Garuda Two. One, we should really get out of here" Shamrock suggested.
"You run if you want. I'm staying" Marie Rivecheg replied.
"Uh-"
"What?" she asked.
"No, nothing!" Shamrock said. "I thought you were a guy. You hadn't spoke until now"
"If you are staying, stay alert" the Garuda flight lead said.
"We are out of missiles. We can't fight against higher performing planes like this" informed Shamrock
Without replying to her wingman, Talisman clicked on the trigger button of her control stick and fired a burst to an empty space ahead of a black-red Strigon Su-33 making a tight right. The rounds struck its target which burst into flames. Garuda One pulled the throttle fully back and pulled hard on the stick, causing an incoming missile – which passed in front of the plane - to overshoot. With her plane pointing straight up on the verge of stall, she fired another burst, the projectiles punching holes in the fuselage of another Flanker and destroying it. When another Flanker fired at her, she stepped hard on the right rudder control and pulled the control stick to the bottom right, making the near-stall Falcon spin upon its lateral and longitudinal axes. The gun rounds narrowly missed their target: the F16C's nose.
Shamrock had thought Talisman's kill of the first Su-33 was simply luck, but, as he watched the precise movements of his flight lead's Falcon, he realized he was wrong. It was as if Talisman knew exactly where the enemy planes were. Even a good radar tracking system couldn't produce such movements in a jet: it was often times hampered by the pilot's slow information processing. The only way Garuda One's craft could move as well as it did was due to the pilot's exceptional spatial awareness and reactions. Such skills are rare; no other pilots Garuda Two knew – except for the Osean Wardog lead and the Usean Mobius lead, whom he read from mission reports– had such abilities.
Lampret knew Rivecheg was assigned to Gracemeria AFB yesterday, but they never met. Prior to today, he heard only rumors about a promising 18-year-old pilot who graduated top of his class in flight academy: some said he's a she, some said he got his wings and those high scores simply because he's the kid of General James Rivecheg, a distinguished Emmerian Air Force officer. Apparently, some rumors are wrong. What surprised him more however was the fact that a freshly graduated pilot with no actual combat experience can stand toe-to-toe with, if not best, skilled adversaries in higher-performing planes.
"Stop daydreaming. Move that jet!" Garuda One said, shooting a burst across Shamrock's port side to throw off one Flanker.
"I thought there's something wrong with my plane, but she just that good" Garuda Two thought, his confidence rising.
"Negative. You have done enough. Withdraw from the airspace immediately" Ghost Eye repeated.
Her concentration fixed on one Flanker-D which has continuously evaded her, Talisman ignored the order. Although annoyed by missile lock-on warning from the Flanker's 5 wingmen which repeatedly threw her off aim, she was not giving up. The 8-plane aerial skirmish – 2 Emmerian F-16s and 6 Estovakian Su-33s – formed a mesmerizing furball of curving lines of hot air, tracer rounds and flare flashes. When Avalanche team's F-18s joined in, the furball became even more complex.
Finally after a few dozen seconds, their cat-and-mouse game ended when Talisman got into a perfect position for a gun burst: just 33 meters from her target. The pilot clicked the gun trigger but only two rounds exited the F-16's M61 gatling gun barrel: it had run out of ammunition. Despite this, the two 20mm rounds hit its mark, damaging the Strigon lead plane.
At the same time, however, shrapnel from the damaged Flanker found their way into the air intake of the Falcon's F110-GE-100 turbofan engine. The aircraft suffered an engine malfunction and began trailing smoke. Talisman pointed the aircraft down to facilitate air flow into the intakes and shut off the engines in a restart attempt but it was to no avail. The turbines had been damaged.
"One, are you alright?" Shamrock asked, trying hard to keep the Strigon planes – which were attacking like hyenas – from her.
"Yeah" Rivecheg replied amidst the warning beeps in her cockpit.
Despite Garuda Two's and Avalanche's best efforts, one Flanker managed to land 3 bullet hits laterally across the aft of Talisman's Falcon.
"Garuda One, can you keep your plane up?" Ghost Eye asked.
Talisman's answer came in the form of an ejection.
Fedner ran back to the main street, followed by his schoolmate and another man who decided to help. When he looked back up to the sky however, he saw an F-16C – her body light due to lack of ordinance and flaming- barreling down their location.
"You are kidding me" he breathed out before shouting, "Ruuunnn!!"
As the three rushed back into the side street, they were knocked off their feet by the passing F-16C which crashed further down the main road. A loud explosion rocked the ground once more, followed by a much softer thud caused by a falling ejection seat. When the surrounding area became quiet once again, Fedner got back to his feet and cautiously moved towards the corner of the side-street where he saw a smoldering ruin of a plane on the side of a building half a block down the road.
Above him, the Emmerian civilian saw the plane's pilot slowly descending in a parachute. The wind flow, however, slammed the person to the side of a nearby building. Fedner cringed as if feeling the pain as he watched the pilot suspended in the air 3 meters above ground, her parachute caught in a protruding steel bar. She drew a knife and- without regard for her height - cut herself free. Despite knowing a person's impact force from a 3 meter fall, the engineering student spread his arms to catch her. He – who had always assumed that pilots were muscularly well-built and therefore heavy individuals– had his preconceptions torn down when he felt her light 50 kg-ish weight on his arms momentarily before his appendages gave way and dropped both him and the pilot onto the ground, she on top of him.
"Dumb catch" Talisman said, getting off Fedner, "I could have done a better landing"
"Wha-" he replied, taken aback by her lack of appreciation. "Your weight would have crushed your ankles"
"So, you admit you aren't strong enough to support 50 kilos?"
"No, I'm saying you are fat" retorted Fedner, getting to his feet.
"...I can't believe I'm arguing about my weight with a mere civilian" Talisman sighed, moving away from him.
Fedner – irritated by her condescending attitude and even more by the fact that the pilots he idolized turned out to be of poor character – began grumbling silently. He stopped, however, upon noticing the 165 cm tall pilot – shattering yet another of his preconceptions that pilots were tall - limping as she walked towards the ejection seat where she withdrew a small pack containing various survival equipments such as a short-wave radio, power bars and first-aid kit.
"Five miles west outside the city. I just meet up with the retreating ground forces there" Talisman thought, recalling Ghost Eye's rescue instructions given during her parachute descent. "Hope my right leg can do it. I might have cracked a bone during that hit…stupid building"
Rivecheg then took off her stifling, sweat-soaked helmet - revealing her blue eyes and short, slightly damp black hair - and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Dude," Haringoth said, coming up behind Fedner, "she's cute. No wonder you kept looking at her"
"I wasn't" he replied quickly. "I could never like a stuck-up person like that. I was only looking at her injured leg"
AN: If Blaze-Edge stuff is a tad depressing, why not make Talisman-Fedner stuff a bit lighter? Like I always say, contrast is good… Actually, that's the first time I said it.
The conversation parts in the beginning of the third section of this chapter (excluding the italized ones) are direct quotes from, and are credited to, the AC6 game.
Yellow, I apologize for the confusion. In the previous chapter, I intended to explain that Nagase- if she wants to gain jurisdiction to pursue Blaze- has to paint him a criminal.
Drake, you gave me too much credit. My regular updates was due mostly to my holiday (had too much time on my hands). But since school's starting - and Mass Effect 2 coming - next week, I may not be able to keep up updates as I have done. But don't fret.