Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no ownership over them.
Blaze of Glory (Soldier)
Chapter 1: Same Shit, Different Day
"You can't say civilization doesn't advance - for in every war, they kill you in a new way." - Will Rogers
AFB GR-Sand Island, Osea
August 2017
Peace. An ambition cherished by many, yet realized by few. At the most it's merely the calm between storms.
I never would have thought that I would come back to Sand Island so disappointed, and that the person I was here to meet would feel the same way.
It's been almost seven years to the day when I first arrived on this quiet island between the Ceres and Pacific Oceans. In the three months that followed I watched as five young pilots brought down a vengeful conspiracy to bring the world to annihilation.
I can still remember where I was when the SOLG's magnificent explosion over Oured Bay woke the city like a second sun. A helicopter had lifted me out of the Ceres Ocean along with the survivors of the Kestrel, and I was already typing out my "war diaries" of my days with the Razgriz in the Oured Journal's Oured Bureau before I'd even dried off. Everyone in the office gathered around the window and we all stood agape at the spontaneous fizzle of the orbital gun's warheads harmlessly in the sky.
For once, it seemed like world peace was at hand.
But this early optimism faded as the decade began to draw on.
The withdrawal of Osean troops from Yuktobania went off with little complication, and Harling and Nikanor's governments pledged billions to rebuild the infrastructure and other projects destroyed in their brief but terrifying conflict. But the trust that the two countries built over the past 30 years, from the first "cultural initiatives" that built the first bridges of diplomacy during the Cold War to the Space Bridge project had been irreversibly marred.
The distrust expanded to the global economy as countries found themselves thinking twice before doing business with Osea and Yuktobania, further deepening the recession triggered by Ulysses and Erusea's invasions. The environment of disarmament ironically left fewer troops to spare for the Assembly of Nations' already fragile peacekeeping missions, barely masked by the sharp decline in veto usage by the two countries.
In 2015, full-scale war finally broke out on the northern continent of Anea, between Emmeria and Estovakia.
Estovakia's government, which barely held itself together after Ulysses, finally collapsed in 2011. The civil war that followed was fueled by massive weapons shipments shipped in from Yuktobania and fleeing Belkan talent, reaching their height during the short-lived days of the Yuktobanian military junta. The underwater carrier Hrimfaxi guarded these shipments from foreign interference before it was assigned to protect the mainland during Osea's invasion.
When the Emmerians defeated the Generals' regime in 2016 their survivors turned to insurgency, attracting sympathizers from all over the world.
They named themselves the Valahia, after a lawless province that straddled the dictatorship of Cerdaristan and other West Verusean countries. Their numbers included separatists, insurgents, ex-special forces and anyone that saw the renewed superpowers' peace as just a cover for leaving them to the mercy of proxy puppetstrings and corporate expolitation. Their debut on the world stage was marked with coordinated suicide attacks on airports in Yuktobania and Verusa. Within a matter of weeks they were staging widespread terrorist attacks on civilian infrastructure and organizing an army that were threatening to bring chaos on a global scale.
Although their leader Nicolae Dumitrescu, a disgruntled ex-Cerdari general, didn't mince words with his anti-capitalist diatribes, the sheer magnitude of these attacks left many wondering where they got the money to do so.
Worse yet, many also wondered if the superpowers would find the resources, let alone the goodwill to take on a global security risk.
Rather than go back on their promises of disarmament, the three superpowers ratified the Canerd Accord in November 2016, laying out a wide-ranging framework for private military companies to intervene against the Valahia on the scale of a national military operation. To prevent abuse, they planned for these anti-Valahia operations to be organized under the direct supervision of the ANIPF: the Assembly of Nations Independent Peacekeeping Force, led by commanders from national professional armies. If global disarmament would create a vacuum, the superpowers had decided that the AN would be there to ensure the responsible use of power.
But the use of what were effectively mercenaries to delegate that responsibility, however much they were reigned in by the AN, raised more concerns than they quelled. And of all the companies to submit their services to the AN under the Accord, one took the world by surprise.
General Resource Limited was one of the fastest growing corporate entities on the planet, and their portfolio had shares in everything from agriculture to insurance. As one of the first to invest in rebuilding Estovakia after decades of destruction and civil war, they took pride in their logistics and networking more than anything.
By granting businesses full access to their booming logistics services as well as a global crowd-sourcing and crowd-funding network for ideas and technology that transcended governmental authority, small ventures from Sotoa to Wielvakia grew internationally competitive in frighteningly short amounts of time. With a GR sticker here and there to ensure a tiny, inconspicuous share went back to GR and its backers, there would always be money to fund whatever venture came knocking on CEO Francis Mondeci's office door.
Mondeci put a lot of effort into preserving his company's reputation as austere and benevolent in a world justifiably distrustful of corporate influence, especially given its sudden rise to power. In the two years since I interviewed Annette Zweig in Belka, GR's corporate center expanded to include a new terminal at Dinsmark International, a convention center and a transport hub. With plans to expand their high-speed rail link to reach Sudentor in what was still North Osea, they clearly intended to revive the fallen nation as a place to showcase these ventures as well as a financial center for them to store their capital. It would be a hub for dialogue and development - or as the company put it, "peace and growth" - and a potential platform for reunification talks.
Just as well, Mondeci was especially very steadfast against going into any industry that could fuel a war effort, especially armaments. It was believed that his childhood in a particularly war-ravaged part of the world had something to do with it, though few could really pinpoint any details about his past other than what official GR sources put out. Nevertheless, he took pride in the fact that not one company under GR's wing had any direct ties to the weapons industry. So it took a lot of arm-twisting to get him to finally start up a special security division when the Valahia finally began to challenge their "peace and growth" projects and indigenous security forces proved inadequate.
Nobody knew why he relented rather than resign or even contract another company. Maybe he felt it was a necessity, with some suspecting that his arrival in the business world caused the 'establishment' - or whatever was left of the Gray Men - to try to thwart their ventures at every turn, with terror if need be. Perhaps he found it necessary to keep some of his own biggest financial backers on board. Or maybe he really wasn't the economic visionary people thought him to be when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere in 2006, investing in Usea's reconstruction and earning him the fortune needed to start GR in the first place.
Whatever the case, now that GR had entered the private military market, they would be there to stay. For better or for worse.
The new division was, at its founding, called the GR Security Enterprise.
Rather than a mere security force, the Security Enterprise was aggressively marketed from its inception as a full-fledged private military company. Large portions of the company's reserve capital were used to acquire ground, naval, and even air forces at its disposal.
Of course, the Security Enterprise was still at a technological disadvantage compared to their newfound ANIPF rivals at Neucom, which had formed as a conglomeration of Erusea's biggest industry and tech giants. With a solid aerospace background from the former EASA, it was easy for Neucom to churn out a variety of experimental designs and testing programs to cater to the demands of their customer base. They were also more adept at hiring the scientific and engineering talent needed to create these designs from the governments and companies laying them off, and they purchased the same Michael Riass Space Center that their government once tried to destroy as a facility for their work.
By contrast, the Security Enterprise relied on mainly hand-me-down aircraft from downsized air forces. They instead prioritized hiring the most experienced pilots and talent also being "laid off" from these air forces. The idea was that their skill with existing aircraft would more than compensate for the technology. These 'stars' were assigned into squadrons aptly named after constellations.
2nd Lieutenant Daniel Oruma of Rigel Squadron is my tour guide for the newly-renovated base. He's a wild-eyed young pilot from the Scali Islands that was practically born watching the Special Tactical Fighter Squadron 'Scarface' save his country's fledgling government from terrorists. Today he's quite excited to show off the technology General Resource purchased to outfit this base with, even though neither of us could figure out exactly what some of that technology did.
Unlike the aircraft, GR could go whole hog on technology, including the latest in prototype networking technology only seen at the conventions. I could barely recognize the area as Sand Island at all, let alone the same base I left seven years ago. And this was despite the fact I had to flee for my life under the cover of darkness from the entire Osean Army before faking my death in the middle of the ocean.
Oruma's enthusiasm wasn't dampened at all when I told him who I was here to see, pointing me to a lone pilot standing forlorn on the other side of the island's only runway. He explained that the guy was one of the oldest veterans in the bunch, but he "must've been seen a lot of bad stuff go down to spend a lot of time there brooding."
Which brings me to the reason I'm on this island today. It's actually mostly the same reason I arrived on this island seven years ago. And when I stepped out of the small chartered Cessna the company had booked for me, the weather was the same golden sun and warm blue sky that greeted me back then.
After the Belkan Conflict ended, the Osean government took a number of steps to conceal the identities of the now-legendary Sand Island Squadron. The Four Wings and anybody that was closely associated with them were separated for their own protection and only allowed to communicate through secure channels. But these only served to deepen the legends that circulated about them, and the efforts by the Gray Men to hunt them down. My articles on the war along with the OBC's influence saved me from ending up in witness protection, but I never heard from any of the Four Wings or their other friends after that. Any attempt to contact them was met with stern words from the Osean FIB.
In the meantime, Sand Island AFB was decommissioned and shut down in 2012 as one of President Harling's last acts before leaving office with the highest term-ending ratings of any leader in the last century. The surviving staff were relocated across the entire Osean Federation or discharged and sworn to secrecy, as if they had shut down Area 51. No more than five staff members from Sand Island could be found on any one base. The airfield itself remained in bureaucratic limbo after they removed all the records and Osean Air Defense Force logos.
Then, everything changed.
On Christmas Day 2016, General Resource announced they had acquired Sand Island as a facility for the Security Enterprise. Their crews began landing renovation and construction equipment barely hours after the announcement.
News of this deal was met with widespread public outrage. The company and its staff gained the term "Greasers" after the acronym and their ability to cut through all the red tape so fast. Protesters began appearing wherever Mondeci went to promote GR's latest projects, angrily demanding he shut down the PMC before it got any bigger than it was. But even as he frequently tried to disassociate himself from the "monster" he created, the Security Enterprise began getting work done. A few weeks before I arrived the Security Enterprise claimed a major victory protecting Verusean Emirate oil refineries from a major Sotoan separatist attack allegedly supported by the Valahia. This meant stable oil prices in a region wracked by popular unrest, and that meant juicier contracts from the ANIPF for the Security Enterprise.
The lead pilot of that operation was assigned to another "star" squadron: the M42 Antares. And he was the very pilot I was here to meet.
Of course, it wasn't exactly part of the deal that the OBC gave me. GR had apparently sponsored my whole trip to try to debunk the "evil mythos" surrounding the Security Enterprise's activity and my itinerary here consisted solely of the tour. But when a snail mail letter arrived on my desk the morning before I left, my cynicism turned to excitement. The letter had been written - and worded in the parts that hadn't been redacted by the FIB censors - by a very familiar hand.
Major Eduardo Trinidad, according to official Security Enterprise sources, is a native Sapinard that spent seven years as a pilot for the Royal Sapin Air Force with a pair of AN peacekeeping missions to his name before his resume earned him a transfer to the Security Enterprise. He is currently listed as Antares' squad leader.
But the whole resume with Sapin and the AN, of course, is his cover identity. Eduardo Trinidad wasn't even his real name.
I also hardly recognized him in his Security Enterprise uniform. General Resource also invested quite a bit in creating a functional jumpsuit that looked different from the ones used by the Osean Air Defense Force. But when we met at the end of Runway 27, I recognized his close-cut black hair and sullen expression the moment I laid eyes on him.
"Albert. It's been a long time," he said to me, forcing a smile. "Sorry to disappoint you..." he added.
Ricardo "Blaze" Villa, the original Demon of Razgriz, had finally returned to Sand Island. But thanks to some string-pulling by General Resource, he also found himself at the very source of that outrage.
The Security Enterprise's civilian CEO Alexander Vanderwall already ran General Resource's insurance division, GeneraLife. One of Mondeci's closest confidants since GR's founding and a man he practically considered his brother, "Alex" was the executive that finally convinced "Franck" to start up the Security Enterprise. Alex also descended from a prominent Hoffnung industrial family, of whom his own father had been arrested and convicted as part of the same conspiracy Blaze fought seven years ago.
It must have tormented Blaze to know that he now worked for these same people. Everyone knew that a few of those that instigated the 2010 conflict had likely returned to positions of power and influence with added layers of legal protection, though only he and I and probably the remaining Ghosts of Razgriz knew that he was now directly working for them.
And with the island that once provided the roots for the Razgriz' quest for peace effectively purchased by those same individuals, many were starting to wonder if they had struggled in vain.
Yet although he had reason to suffer in silence, he seemed to be quite cheerful about his predicament.
"Nah, it's fine," I replied, gesturing to shrug it off. There was a bit of an awkward silence afterward. "So...are you excited to get back in the air?"
"Flying my own fighter plane again?" he said, smiling, "Hell yeah. Beats the hell out of airliners and wasting away in WitSec."
"But you're practically flying for the Gray Men now."
Blaze quickly put a finger to his mouth. "Ssssshhhh," he whispered sarcastically, "Can't say that out loud, least not until it gets past Alex's lawyer squad."
"Sorry," I replied with a half-joking smirk.
While the hunt for the Gray Men met with much early success, many of those that did get charged could afford to stall the legal proceedings long enough to bury the evidence...along with potential prosecution witnesses. The identities of the Razgriz weren't a secret to them, keeping them firmly at the top of their hitlists.
"Ah, don't worry about it. At least it's actual terrorists this time," he replied, "The Valahia or Valhalla or whatever they're called..."
"Va-la-hi-a," I corrected him, "It's amazing how much they yearn for a return to those bad old days."
"And here I am, a puppet of capitalism and the corporate conspiracy," he replied, really laying on the sarcasm now. "Hopefully I'll actually get to spend some of what I earn this time."
Blaze's cynicism worried me. Maybe I hadn't caught it before, or maybe the years of being shuffled around Witness Protection without any way to contact his former squadron had taken its toll on his personality. Certainly, the way the hunt for the Gray Men bogged down over the past few years along with the new wars in between would have wiped the idealism off of pretty much anyone's face.
But he seemed to be enjoying his disillusionment as if he actually looked forward to earning a mercenary's paycheck. For once, I actually had the urge to get this story over with and leave Sand Island, hoping that I'd just run into him on a bad day.
Then, suddenly, Blaze had the same thought.
"Hey Albert, you wanna go flying?" he suddenly asked.
"...what?" I exclaimed, my stomach suddenly grumbling.
"We're gonna take off on this joint training mission with the Oseans and Terceiro over Bahia Valenti in a couple hours," he explained with a devilish grin on his face, "I figure if you're gonna write some corporate fluff piece, you can at least have the time of your life doing so in the back seat of the old F-4 they gave me."
"Oh God no..." I replied, definitely wishing I hadn't had lunch when I arrived at the airbase.
"Hey, I'm just kidding," he replied, patting me in the back and almost ejecting my lunch from my stomach, "They're probably gonna stick you on a helicopter or cruise ship or something. I'm telling you though, the RIO seat is the best in the house."
That didn't calm me down one bit as we began to make our way back to the command room for his briefing. I was already wracked by an advance sense of deja vu as I recalled exactly what happened the last time I came to this island to report on a fighter squadron.
And the only reason I thought I could stand it then was because I was fleeing for my life under the cover of darkness from the entire Osean Army.
To Be Continued...