Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no ownership over them.
In A Blaze of Glory (Soldier)
Chapter 4: Pucker Factor Rising
"Teamwork is essential, it gives them other people to shoot at."— Unknown
2LT Ricardo Villa
5000 feet above Basset Space Center, VC
3 October 2010
"Wow, that's the Mass Driver."
"Is it your first time seeing it up close?" Edge asked inquisitively.
"Well, I was planning to go eventually," I moaned, feigning procrastination.
To be honest, a career in aeronautics never really interested me, let alone the opportunity for a 'disadvantaged youth' like myself to come out here for junior high space camp. But sarcastically whining was probably better than telling them that Mom was too busy trying to keep food on the table and I was too busy trying to avoid the "thug lyfe" during my summer vacations.
I guess it was also a lot better than venting another of our infamous Las Violas grudges.
Here was a multibillion-zollar (and possibly trillion-ruble) catapult built from the same defense budget cuts over the last 6 years that resulted in the Air Force becoming the Air Defense Force. But this particular Las Violas grudge wasn't that the money wasn't used to provide better education or social services for our fair state. No, that was always the fault of the governors and state legislature fucking up the budget and their mistresses.
Instead, it was actually a very poorly kept secret that the project was also a way to revitalize South Belkan industry and make the people of our newest state a little less disgruntled than they normally were. Generous tax incentives to the recovering cities of North Osea baited the industrialists over their resentment for not officially being Belkan anymore. That made it apparently easier for the bureaucrats to just have their portions prefabricated by Belkans and labeled as Osean rather than have it mined, built and shipped in from San Adrian State, which was really only a third of the distance away.
It also made for much better PR knowing they were helping to rebuild a part of the world scarred by nuclear war, never mind the fact that they were abandoning cities like mine to the urban decay.
Edge sounded like she bought the PR though.
"Blaze, do you know why the Arkbird was made?" she asked me, while Chopper and Grimm were arguing technicalities.
"I'd guess it wasn't for what they were going to use it for," I replied, doing a better job of hiding my sarcasm than I normally did.
"Ironic, isn't it," she replied hauntingly, but I still couldn't believe it.
The Arkbird was one of the last projects Herbert Walker approved on his way out of office. And, like every Cold War superproject, it was designed specifically to spite 'those godless commie pinkos' by intercepting their satellites and missiles before they pierced into the hearts of "our precious bastion of democracy."
But unlike every other Cold War superproject either delayed, destroyed or left to obscurity by Ulysses, Harling found a way to use it constructively. Or destructively for the good of mankind or whatever the proper metaphor was. The meteors left tons of debris in space, either from fragments it brought in or pieces of the planet chucked back up into orbit from impact. The Arkbird was fitted with a Yuke chemical laser to destroy it. And there was that space conference that supposedly ushered in a new era that died as suddenly as it began.
Nagase was certainly sold on that peace with as much certainty as she did when fighting, so why she was so disappointed that it was finally able to show its original colors was really beyond me.
As for the colors themselves, I found myself staring up at the faint gray dot that was the Arkbird dipping into orbit through the shiny, clear canopy of my freshly-upgraded F-16 while Chopper and Edge discussed the finer technicalities of things.
It took a frantic announcement to snap me back to planet Earth. As it were.
"Halt countdown! Enemy incoming!"
"Well dang. Here we go..." I grumbled, as the radio squawked to life.
"This is the Base Air Defense Command! The enemy has a large formation of transport planes escorted by a squadron of fighters. They're conducting an air assault to capture this base!"
I checked my radar. A good number of enemy blips were bearing down on the space center like a bad Marais State hurricane.
"Okay this...is not good."
"What? They're actually planning to invade Osea?"
"It's their base too, I guess they're pissed they're not getting just half of it," I grumbled, squinting through my HMD to read the finer details lighting up just an inch from my face. "I thought these commie fucks were all about sharing."
"Blaze, you don't have to slur them like that." Edge added.
At that point though I could safely say I was no longer surprised by what the Yukes could pull out of their collective sleeves when it came to numbers. This time they were dropping BMPs from the giant Antonov transport planes entering ultra-low-earth-orbit around the space center, probably loaded with Spetsnaz operatives. The Space Center was probably already swarming with our forces in preparation for launch, but even they hadn't quite experienced the Red Horde like we did.
"Hey Kid!"
"What now?"
"If we shoot the parachutes before the tanks detach, we'll smash them into the ground! You with me?"
I grinned mischievously, wishing I had something to play music in the cockpit with. For the first time in history, well...
"Oh yeah, I love the way you think, buddy."
"I guess we don't have any other choice. I can't believe that's our strategy."
"Hey, lighten up. This actually sounds kinda fun. Tell you what, you take the nugget up for a little air-to-ground skeet shooting and Edge and I will keep their escorts off your asses."
"Really? Aww, you're too sweet," Chopper always had a knack for faking romance. "Come on, Archer, time to drop some tanks!"
Chopper and Grimm banked away to take on the first Antonov's payload, while I scanned the radar for the first bogeys to react to them taking on the first Antonov's payload.
"Weapons hot, clear to engage," I added. "Enemy flight incoming at 0-3-0 angels five, how copy?"
"Blaze, this isn't a game..." she replied, in a very pointed calm, as we banked to intercept a group of Fulcrums that intended to finish what they started that fateful night.
"They killed all those people, Edge," I groaned. "We all saw them. If anything, the end of that killing starts right here."
"...I hope you're right, then." Edge added. "If the Arkbird is our only chance to restore peace."
"If you ask me, I'm just thankful it's on our side."
And I damn well had to be. Especially considering what we were letting it loose against.
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
3 Days Earlier
Far from sitting around and doing nothing, I found myself busier than ever. Now that I was officially embedded with the Wardogs, I had to settle quickly into life in a de facto warzone. Getting a routine going wasn't so bad. I could jog around the island to warm myself up, and they even granted me access to the gym.
It was keeping my career going after sending the Four Wings article where the difficulties really began. Being a quarter of a world away from my usual research sources, I was reduced to online editable encyclopedias, websites and phone calls as well as the base's small library. And getting access to those was a hassle in itself, thanks to army-filtered internet.
Ironically, it was here that Captain Hamilton really pulled through. Because he happened to be the go-to guy for clearing potential contacts, I was at least able to keep in touch with a lot more people than I thought I would. And in that, I could put a lot more together about what little anybody knew about this nascent conflict than I thought I could.
No assault of this magnitude and precision would have been possible without the authorization of the government, and by proxy their chief executive, Prime Minster Seryozha Viktrovich Nikanor. Of course, the Politburo only really approved the assessments that led to that call. Those would have had to have come from the Ministry of Defense, led by Marshal Oleg Ivanovich Pushkin, one of Yuktobania's top commanders in the Belkan War and the very embodiment of the Yuktobanian military establishment. And the intelligence would have had to come from his allies in the infamous KGB, led by his personal friend Kiril Vasiliyevich Semyonov.
And that was where I ran into a bit of a paradox. Nikanor and Pushkin were ideological arch-rivals for the soul of Yuktobanian socialism. That they were in the same government was mainly a result of a compromise between the old party-military elite and a successful reformist movement that had pushed for more openness in government, lead by people like Nikanor.
As a result even the most keen defense analysts agreed that the government of 2010 was no longer the rubberstamp of the nomenklatura that it was even in 1995.
So what did Pushkin and Semyonov find out that would have convinced Nikanor to launch an attack? Or rather, how did they manage to convince Nikanor of such a "threat?"
Was it really a threat to Yuktobania as much as it was a threat to Nikanor?
Bridging that last hole in the puzzle required a piece that lay beyond my limited reach. Whatever that motive was, it would probably have leaked out of the Politburo by now. Something was up.
In any case, I was racking my brains too much to solve this mystery. I sighed and looked outside. The sun was starting to set over the ocean, bringing daylight to our newfound enemy to the west.
I needed a walk.
2LT Ricardo Villa
Heierlark AFB, NO
30 September 2010
0023 hrs.
Coming from the kind of background that rappers constantly like to brag about, I learned to savor every chance I could to experience something unusual. Las Violas was hot, so the corresponding chance would be to savor something cold that wasn't from air conditioning.
When we landed in Heierlark for the first time since we left basic training, we certainly didn't expect to be treated like Vinewood celebrities when we finally got out of the cold. But when we strolled into the command room for our debriefing, everyone looked at us like we'd just worked some kind of miracle.
In the rec room, everyone gathered around the fireplace to hear Chopper tell grand tales of how we managed to save the Kestrel from certain destruction and keep an innocent young reservist from being incinerated, no less than twice each. And even then I still couldn't believe we did.
Mainly because I still hadn't quite recovered from surviving unspeakable horrors yet again, along with what happened only three days before. Even though the more recent one definitely wasn't my fault, it wasn't exactly easy to forget being repeatedly treated to the sight of people jumping out of the frying pan and into the proverbial boiling grease.
I just couldn't rationalize how I was supposed to be celebrating, so sometime after Chopper began the story of how 'Archer' and I saved each other's asses I excused myself to get a "well-deserved hero's nap" and went out to one of the nearby hangars to stay warm and quiet. It wasn't as if I was going to get much sleep what with the order to take all these nuggets back to Sand Island early next morning. After that I could get a couple of days of leave for my trouble. In the meantime I could just let the chill, well, chill me off.
That and I could get a good look at the F-16Cs the four of us would be taking back to Sand Island. I almost felt like a nerd getting his pimped-up beater back from some washed-up rapper.
Almost.
"I let you go for a couple of months and you go and turn into a war hero," came a grizzled old voice behind me.
"Better than dead, Fred." I replied, before chuckling. "Heh. I rhymed."
"Well, I didn't think I'd see you coming back." Cap'n Fred was still there, in his winter cap and jacket, still flight instructin'. "After Sand Island and what happened over the Narrows earlier."
"Oh, you're not the only one surprised." I smirked, "I didn't think I'd end up in the middle of a war."
"If it's any solace, I didn't think we'd see war again either," the cap'n replied, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I was fortunate to get out of the last one rather early, and alive."
"And you got out while you could..." I replied, looking "Is there anything over there anymore?"
The cap'n smiled. "The same thing that's always been over hills. People, towns, forests..."
"I meant...I mean, I don't mean anything by it but-" It was funny. Technically, I was a racial minority but I was talking to him like he was. After all, the citizens of this particular state hadn't become infamously disgruntled for no reason.
"Eh. You get used to it. Sooner or later, people learn to bury the hatchet."
"But...if it took that much to..."
"From my perspective, we learned." the Cap'n continued with a voice that edged on reverence. "Old habits unfortunately die very hard, but now, I think our vendetta is over.
"I hope you're right," I groaned. "I think I've already seen too much already."
The cap'n then chuckled. "Believe me, you'll know when you've seen it all."
3200 feet over Galloway Narrows Bridge
Eaglin Straits, Shelton/Bronstein State Border
Eight Hours Earlier
"Spot any Lightnings yet, Kid?"
"Just Tomcats and Hornets. That thing's still tied up with DOD, isn't it?"
"The Condor's lurking just over the horizon, man. Their Lightning Levys are just gonna swoop in and save the day if anything happens out here."
"...Okay, now I'm pretty sure the Condor's still in trials."
"Why do you think they called us out?" Grimm suddenly began, "Maybe they're waiting for us to leave so they can save the day instead of us."
"You're learning, grasshopper," I replied, "Soon you'll be as smart-asstic as Heartbreak One."
I believe Chopper called it the "easiest mission in the world." Looking back, and comparing it to some of the other shit I'd go through, he was probably right. I'm not sure if he called me out for "smart-asstic" not being a word.
After the Red Hordes descended upon Saint Hewlett, the armed forces went straight to DEFCON 1 and had every boat in the ocean withdrawn to the Bannion and out of the range of everything but the biggest ICBMs.
Of all the aircraft carriers in the Navy's arsenal, we could only find four in the vicinity. There was the Buzzard and Vulture, which happened to be out training the other day. And there was the Kestrel, which my squadron personally saved...also the other day. She'd brought along our newfound friends aboard the McLane for support.
That left the Condor, which technically was already in the Bannion waiting for them. The Andrew Harris-class carrier was supposed to take the Kestrel's place as the flagship of the Third Fleet that month. It was bigger, faster and tougher than the Kestrel, and it was going to play host to the VFA-019 Leviathans. They were the Navy's finest squadron, soon to use their newest aircraft. In short, the Condor was the MDF's way of saying we hadn't gone soft.
The only reason we weren't protecting it was because it had barely started trials when the Yukes showed up in Saint Hewlett, and the Levys were halfway across the country.
And because someone up there figured the Yukes would know that we'd be evacuating the carriers into the Bannion in the first place, they wanted every last plane available patrolling the sky just in case they actually tried to finish what they started again. That, of course included us in that "big aluminum cloud" as well as every other squadron from each of the carriers, including Captain Snow's Shorebirds. If the Yukes decided to send another Red Horde, we weren't gonna be caught off guard again.
All we had to do was...wait for them.
We spent the better part of an hour flying in circles around the damn fog, with me and Chopper moaning about how we were still flying around in Tiger IIs amidst Hornets and Tomcats. Edge kept quiet. Or maybe she had her radio off. Eventually, it seemed, we figured they weren't coming.
"Permission granted to return to your assigned bases in sequence. Aircraft may refuel for the return trip if required. Hold above the carriers for the tanker aircraft."
"Oh, you're FUBAR now, Grimm," I chuckled evilly, "You never learned mid-air refueling, did you?"
"You never did either, Blaze." Grimm replied innocently.
"...Well I did a couple of times!" I added, feigned getting caught. But I really was right when I said I'd only done it only a couple of times.
The mid-air refueling, that is. We'd have plenty of time to worry as we would be the last to leave.
"Everyone's starting to leave already! Can we go yet?" Chopper then whined.
"Wardog Squadron, I told you to wait for the tanker plane above the carrier."
"I swear, man..."
"Hey, at least we won't have to sit up here envying all these Tomcats and Hornets and-" Grimm then cut himself off. "Is that a...Freestyle?"
"Oh no, you're not getting me and Blaze into another rap bat- wait, what is that? Is my radar on the fritz?"
"It's showing up on mine too. Definitely Yuke IFFs!"
Freestyle was our callsign for the Yakolev Yak-41. The Yukes had actually managed to develop a VTOL that didn't disintegrate in turbulence, but Nordland's Harrier got all the glory and the contracts. The last anyone ever actually heard of it were some trials on one of their Red Navy carriers.
Which made it all the more surprising when they suddenly appeared over the Straits at our twelve o'clock, closing fast and armed to the teeth.
"E...enemy approaching! All units, return to your CAP stations! Protect the carriers!"
"...are we the only ones here?" Grimm then asked.
"Yep," I seethed. "Just us and the few Navy fairies that haven't landed."
"We have three carriers! Don't let them sink even one!"
"Okay, okay," I groaned. "Fangs out, everyone. Engage at your own discretion but don't go alone. Chopper, guess it's your turn with Archer this time."
"Copy, Blaze," came Chopper's squawk, "Guess you're stuck watching the quiet lady."
"Hey, she's dependable, okay? Lay off," I added. "But if you lose his ass, it's your fault."
"Thanks, Blaze. Let's go." Edge then replied. "Edge, engaging."
The Freestyles looked pretty surprised to see us still airborne as well, splitting up their flight to try to take the long way around rather than play chicken with us. Edge and I banked to the left, almost mirroring their path.
"I'll run interception and distract them. Edge, tail 'em."
"Captain, you think you can risk it?"
"It's wide enough, and we don't exactly have time. Let's do this."
I gunned the throttle and dove into the widening gap between the two Freestyles as Chopper and Grimm took off in the other direction. My forehead started getting moist on the approach, and I damn near hesistated as I got close enough to make out the red and yellow roundels on their stabilizers.
If I did, I would probably have ended up crashing into the trailing Freestyle as I jinked to the other side, weaving a little sloppily between them as I tried to regain my bearings. The Freestyle in front of me didn't seem bothered in the least as it continued on its course toward the fleet, as warning alarms began to ring for letting its partner take the obvious opportunity.
"Edge, Fox Two!"
That is, not realizing that it also afforded Edge the opportunity too. The missile lock warnings fell silent in a muffled boom with my fingers just inches from deploying countermeasures. I grinned as I returned my focus to the Freestyle in front, which was definitely starting to fly like the pilot was worried.
"That's right baby, bend over." I chuckled as I attained missile lock and went straight for the trigger.
Unfortunately the Freestyle banked sharply away with a quick dumping of flares, rendering Z84,000 worth of missile as useless as a flare gun.
"Goddammit..."
"You shouldn't always be so hasty, Blaze."
"I know. Fuck." I groaned, angrily bumping the console with my fist as I nosed the plane down to follow him. "Let's finish 'em off quick before more of 'em get in fighting distance."
"Copy," Edge replied, her plane's blip aligning with mine on the radar as I followed the Freestyle. "Don't lose your cool."
Having learned my lesson not to waste the goddamn missiles right out of the bat, I switched to the M39 revolver cannon as the VTOL tried to outmaneuver me in a downward spiral. The old M39 was probably older than Pops but it was still pretty damn reliable as its shells connected with the Freestyle's thrusters on the rebound upward, and the Freestyle started to spin out of control. Not even its pilot dared to try losing me with that.
"Got one, and a chute." I announced, seething quite audibly on the radio. "That's for my Sidewinder, you commie fuck."
"Captain!" Edge suddenly snapped as I pointed my Tiger II back toward the clouds. "We can't dehumanize them even if they are our enemy!"
Another formation lit up on my HMD at the corner of my vision. "Yeah? Well I'll be sure to let them know after they fucking kill us!"
"Guys?" Grimm suddenly squawked, "We can talk about this later, okay?"
I took a long, audible sigh that I knew they could hear, though it probably didn't sound different from the long, labored breaths caused by the thorough application of G-force across my body. As I aligned my craft toward the next Freestyle formation, I uttered the last word we would have in that discussion for a while.
"...fine."
Albert Genette
The one thing I could count on during my jogs around the island even with the war vibe was a little tranquility. There was always at least one road where I could hear the waves lapping up against the coast, like the tropical paradise this place must have been in the millennia before it became the front line of a war decades in the making.
Tonight though, things were different. More specifically, the world was a little bit louder, and the air a lot thicker I didn't get too far from the crew quarters to find out why.
The base had been restored to working order in short order after the massive "Charlie Foxtrot" the other night. But the land and sea traffic had apparently tripled overnight, with heavy machinery mingling with the usual Army vehicles and dredgers moored offshore with MDF escorts.
That actually made sense. Although the base had been restored to working order in short order, it was also one big crime scene with every branch of the armed forces trying to find Yuktobania's motives and clean up their garbage. If it could be fished out of the ocean, it was considered evidence and was to be sent to lockup.
Naturally, that also meant keeping it from spying eyes like mine. The Army kept a massive cordon around the "receiving areas" for the evidence, where they filtered what was friendly or hostile, and what went to the scrap heap or the lockup.
Hangar D served as the latter, and that was where my metaphorical investigative sense started to tingle as I caught the activity from behind the quiet hangar A.
I ducked between A and B, keeping an eye on the soldiers guarding the entrance to D before checking my own perimeter to see if anybody had followed me.
Something just didn't seem quite right about this transfer. And it wasn't just the extra air pollution making it harder to breathe.
2LT Ricardo Villa
7200 feet above the Eaglin Straits and dropping
"Got one on my six!"
"Wardog Leader to Edge, I got 'em. This one's not even trying!" I shouted as I pulled up onto the tail of a Freestyle going after Edge.
That pilot was definitely more determined than the ones we'd encountered earlier, looking like he was putting quite an effort into keeping up with her as she tried to outbrake him. And that was no small feat in itself considering maneuvering was Edge's greatest strength - if not the trait that saved her from that flight of Fulcrums that day she went up with Bartlett. It did help a little that being in a VTOL he could fly slower than she could.
But it didn't help when I managed to drag my reticule onto the first one, and it certainly didn't help that he was so focused on her that he probably didn't see my Sidewinder coming.
"Splash one!" I shouted, "If anyone's below that tell 'em I'm sorry this time."
"Thanks Blaze," came Edge's reply, "Moving to engage next target."
"This is Archer, you there, Blaze?" Grimm suddenly squawked.
"What, do I need to wipe your ass again?" I replied with a smile.
"...no sir! I just need a little help and Chopper's busy!"
"Fine."
"These guys don't know when to quit! It's really starting to tick me off!"
Considering the fact that we were pretty much alone for the majority of the engagement, we were doing pretty fucking well. Mainly because the irony of having to deal with a full fleet of VTOL attackers was that our Tigers were probably more suited to take them on for being able to fly slower and tighter than most the Navy's usual stock.
This time around though, we weren't outnumbered. At least not by the time the Freestyles decided just to pick the fleet off from afar with Sunburn anti-ship missiles. Swordsman from Saint Hewlett got himself back into the fight, and he darted right out there to clean 'em up with the rest of his crew. And that didn't leave much left for us.
"All enemy attack planes destroyed. Area sanitized...wait, I'm picking up one more Freestyle angels ten."
"Wardog 1 here, I think I got one more left in me," I groaned. Chasing VTOLs, however easy they were for our planes, weren't that easy for our bodies. "Grimm, get your pretty little ass over here and I'll show you how it's done."
"...I'm feeling dizzy...sir!" Grimm moaned.
"Fine, guess I'll do this without you."
I pulled my plane up toward the lower limits of cloud cover, a tiny green blip illuminating a single Yak-41 fluttering about.
The last Freestyle appeared to dart from place to place like a fly in a greenhouse. Every angle was a route out until they hit the glass - unless it was trying to figure out which boat to hit. I climbed up to meet it, matching its unpredictable yet fortunately slow path. It barely seemed to notice me, or was expecting me but couldn't make up its mind.
Easy fucking pickin's.
"That's right motherfucker, your ass is mine." I grumbled to myself as I edged the Tiger II down to follow him, lining up the cannon reticule with ease.
It wasn't that the shells couldn't hit. Or even that they actually did hit.
It was that a few seconds after it started falling, the Freestyle exploded like a fucking supernova. And I was being pulled straight into it.
If I hadn't found religion since I drew the short straw that fateful night, then religion was sure as shit going to find me.
"JESUSFUUUUU-"
Albert Genette
Unless my eyes were deceiving me, it appeared that the Osean Defense Forces weren't the only ones taking part in the investigation.
A large flatbed truck with a logo that resembled a giant K rather than the Osean Army star was towing something large into the hangar that Grimm had stolen Captain Bartlett's spare plane from. From the shape of what was under the tarp that covered it, chances were they had definitely fished out one of the enemy aircraft from the other night. My rudimentary knowledge of fighter silhouettes led me to guess that was a Flanker or a Fulcrum, and a fairly intact one.
Even more unusual were the soldiers guarding its transfer. They weren't dressed in any Army fatigue I could recall. Instead, the bicycle-style helmets and kevlar armor resembled the kind of gear typically worn by a private military company.
They could have brought their own machinery along for extra dredging help, but even then security would have been provided by the base staff. What stake did this 'K' company want with it?
I had to get closer. Even if it was really just another Flanker, it would probably have been the closest I would get to a Yuktobanian fighter aircraft without going to an air show. I took a deep breath, and stepped out from around the corner.
I had barely gotten my foot out from the alley when I got intercepted by a dark-haired man in a tropical button-down shirt and sunglasses that suggested he spent more time on the beaches of South Veiss than on a military base. He just walked right into my path, and I reflexively skidded to a stop without him flinching.
"Going somewhere?" he began in a snidely cold voice, already sounding like he meant business before getting down to it.
"I was just wondering-"
"Don't make me get the MPs on you. Just move along and get back to your assignment." The man didn't budge against my question.
I put my hands up in submission, slowly backing away. "Okay, sorry sir. Geez."
The man didn't crack a smile or even a smirk from the one backward glance I took before heading back to my room.
Or rather, I thought I would before I noticed several soldiers bolting to the mess hall like they'd just dropped what they were doing. I couldn't help myself, still stuck in an almost film-noir snooping mood despite the tropical suit's jarring interruption. I followed after the last guy and quite literally found myself heading toward the light.
More specifically, everybody appeared to be hovering toward a disturbingly bright white spot where the TV was, as if the audience were being drawn against their will by the gravitational pull of a star. And as I got close enough to hear the audio over their stunned silence, I realized that metaphor wasn't too far off.
"...simply amazing footage of an explosion visible from the Narrows Bridge... the sheer force of it causing the person holding the camera to almost lose their balance from so far away..."
The screen was almost entirely filled with a bright white flash. Only the news titles helped remind the viewer that they were not literally staring into the sun, though none of the assembled crowd certainly cared about eye damage.
"I'm being told that the Osean Maritime Defense Force had been conducting exercises through the straits at this time, but we cannot confirm any details..."
But we were all caring at that moment. Not just for any civilian casualties, but for the fate of the Wardogs.
They needed another miracle to survive.
I backed away. I'd gone for a walk just to clear my head only to have taken in too much. This time, being at the back of the crowd, I could get out faster.
That was if I didn't bump into someone in the doorway again.
2LT Ricardo Villa
Heierlark AFB, NO
Later That Night
Growing up exposed to the kind of "sin" that a typical Las Violas youth from 'the hood' would experience in their puberty years, I was jokingly expecting to be blind by the time I turned 18. But neither that nor the blinding light above the Galloway Narrows did the trick.
As the two-faced lady of luck would have it, I survived the supernova at the expense of everyone under it. In fact, my survival hinged on the fact that the primary explosion wasn't nearly as huge as the burst warheads it dropped. And it was big enough that I figured it closer than it really was and pulled up in time.
I couldn't say that about the other Navy squadrons starting to land though.
Only the Kestrel and the McLane scurried out of those ballistic warhead drops. Both the Freestyle squadrons and the SWBMs had been launched from the Scinfaxi, a massive underwater carrier that was literally the stuff of defense industry magazine legend. The supersub was 'theoretically' capable of launching entire squadrons of VTOL aircraft as well as the ballistic warheads we'd encountered over the Straits.
And to the best that our intel could scrape up, the Red Navy had secretly completed the mega-sub after the end of the last war - which could only mean that they were bullshitting about the disarmament they seemed so happy to engage in over the last six years.
That meant that if they were gonna go for us, we needed lots of backup. That's why they sent us to Heierlark - even the FNGs were gonna get their first taste of combat practically before they learned to fly.
"Well, you have to take all these poor trainees back with you to Sand Island. As for me..." Cap'n Fred continued, taking a deep, shrugging breath before smiling, "I'm looking to retire to the private sector soon as you ship out."
My attention and eyebrows perked. "Really. Where are you headed?"
"Mansbach," he said, looking wistfully at the silhouette of the Waldreichs under the stars. "There's a combat flight school owned by this new company called Kronus that's offering a paycheck and benefits much better than an Osean pension."
"Lucky you," I smirked. "That's up north, isn't it?"
"Yes. And the best part about it is that I can finally go back home to work," he quipped, "Now that I'm over the hill for you kids."
"But I thought that whole thing...with the disarmament..."
After the war in '95, the vaunted Belkan Luftwaffe got disbanded save for a couple of point defense squadrons and a fleet of transports for dropping food supplies during AN humanitarian missions in some shithole backwater warzone somewhere. The minimum requirements for defense, according to the treaties. Their great aces were either dead, retired, missing, or mercenaries flying equally-shitty aircraft. And whatever aircraft they had that wasn't scrapped were handed out to our allies so they could get destroyed in their proxy wars.
Any industries they had that could build their military were either bought by Osea, dismantled and shipped back to Yuktobania, or just out-and-out destroyed.
Hell, even the Hukbong Himpapwid ng Islas Fuerte Grasya could probably stand a chance against them, and our Tigers were the best planes they had, last I checked.
"They bring their own," the cap'n continued, "That's the one thing that worries me. At least you Oseans make an effort to keep our aircraft in shape."
"Wait up, who the fuck are this 'they'?" I asked, before something else derailed my train of thought.
"Hey-hey! There you are, you little liar!"
I closed my eyes and held my forehead as I turned around. Chopper had caught up with me.
"Sorry pal, I couldn't wait to open my new presents."
"I think I'll leave the two of you alone, eh? It's too cold out here," the Cap'n quipped. I turned around again to find him walking back toward the rec room and warmth, before returning to Chopper.
"You had a nice chat with the Cap'n?" Chopper asked.
"Yeah. He's gonna be retiring soon, don'tcha know." I replied, bordering on muttering.
"Lucky ol' dog, he gets to sit this one out," came Chopper's reply, sharing the sentiment. "How 'bout you? You feeling okay?"
"Yeah. It's just...fuck, I don't want to be the hero." I said, huffing a cloud of visibly cooled air out my nose as I stared longingly at the F-16. "I don't know if I'm ready."
It was then that I felt an arm go around my shoulder. It was Chopper's, and we both found ourselves staring at the metal war machine together, instead of the starless cloudy sky that always seemed to hover over this border to the wasteland.
"We made through SERE together, kid," Chopper said, "And I couldn't have made it without you. You got us, so we'll do just fine in the real thing."
"I guess..." I huffed again. "I mean I wouldn't know what to do if I lost any of you."
"Just pick yourself up and keep going, least that's what dad told me," Chopper replied almost solemnly, "Not that we'd go down easy."
I could only force a smile.
Basset Space Center, VS
3 October 2010
If there was a silver lining in the supernova, it was that we were going to call Yuktobania's bullshit about rearmament with our own. That morning the DOD decided to have a brand new Made In (North) Osea laser system sent up to the Arkbird via the (North) Osean built Space Center's glorified ski ramp using the SSTO New Savannah. Manufacturers aside, it made for much, much better PR than using the laser the Yukes donated when they helped us build the damn thing.
Of course, we were also going to raise the stakes - because they'd have to deal with us again if they wanted it destroyed. What didn't kill the four of us really made us stronger...though that wouldn't count for shit if they decided to send Flankers after our Tigers.
And that's why I wasn't in the mood to complain. Heierlark got an order from high up to assign all of us those freshly-updated F-16Cs and have us further train the nuggets at McNealy, which was less prone to sudden attacks than Sand Island. Finally, we were up-to-date(-ish) to take on the Reds' finest with the stuff we had. And it wasn't too hard to adjust to the new fighters' maneuverability.
All that made it easier for Chopper and Grimm to make it rain APCs on the space center and Edge and I to make sure they didn't rain too.
But with greater power, well...came greater challenges.
"Okay, HMD's lighting up again. Holy dick, they're coming right for us."
"Large number of cruise missiles detected at the edge of our radar coverage. All fighters, engage and destroy the cruise missiles!"
"Captain? Can you detect the cruise missiles from here?" Grimm barked.
"Yeah, we're smack dab in the middle of 'em!" I shouted, keeping my head and HMD on a swivel like I was almost possessed. Advances in whatever science dealt with these things meant we could now track larger missiles as if they were aircraft. "And they're all going for that ski ramp!"
"They're coming from all sides, cap'n!" Chopper exclaimed as the radar continued to light up. "The SSTO's gonna get hit if this keeps up!"
I clenched my jaw as I jinked toward one heading right toward me. "Break formation, engage at will. If you can see it, kill it. We don't have to get 'em all but stay close and make sure the shuttle doesn't get hit. How copy?"
"Archer, good copy!" Grimm shouted, breaking formation first. I quickly followed suit, banking toward one to my eleven o'clock.
After a few seconds of tweaking and leveling, I had the first missile racing straight at me. There was something perverse about playing chicken with something that couldn't shoot back, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it for that finger being wrapped around the cannon trigger on the flight stick.
I didn't wait for it to track since our combined speeds didn't even give me half the time to concentrate. The moment I leveled out, I proceeded to force feed my vulcan cannon shells to the missile. It didn't squirm like a baby as shells flew every which way, but eventually it did choke on one of them and I jinked hard to starboard to avoid the ensuing explosion.
The maneuver was practically on reflex. After almost being sucked into a vortex of fire and damnation, I wasn't going to be sucked in again even if this vortex was horrifically small by comparison. My maneuver took me within visual range of the ramp, where I could see how everyone else was doing.
Which apparently was not very well.
"Damn! Missed one!" Chopper cursed, as a cruise missile streaked past my starboard and slammed into the ramp. "That thing's still standing though."
"The ramp was built to withstand Ulysses debris," Edge called out. "But it was never meant to hold out against too many direct hits, even from these missiles!"
I caught sight of another missile in the distance, heading in the general direction of the ramp's elevated section above the bay. With another deep breath, I gunned the throttle and headed out in its general direction...only to notice another one at its periphery.
"We need to know where they're all coming from!" Grimm shouted as I slung my F-16 around to tail the nearer missile.
"I know." I grumbled, "And I know for a fucking fact that not even the Scinfaxi bombs are this...measly."
Approaching from behind to administer a vulcan colonic to a cruise missile was much easier than playing chicken with it. That only meant it didn't stress me out as much on the leadup to dealing with the next one in what was getting to be a very long line.
"Which means they're probably being launched from an aircraft lurking out there."
"Grimm, your powers of deduction are amazing," I replied, "No sarc, man."
"So do we leave the ramp to go after the aircraft or just shoot these down till we run out of ammo?" For the first time since I tried to keep him from getting incinerated on Sand Island, Grimm actually seemed to be panicking.
"Hmm...they all seem to be coming from the same vectors." came Edge's own analysis.
Every take was great and all, but this wasn't the war room.
I was now getting used to the fact that this was real war, and every second spent getting to a course of action decide added to the time since the enemy plotted theirs. Being the unfortunate MFIC up here, that responsibility fell to me, with all my ego to boot.
With a nudge of the flight stick and a glance at the radar I eased my plane away from the nearest missile toward what appeared to be a non-existent point - the nearest of the four black holes from whence these unholy lances sprung forth.
"I'm going with Archer's hunch. I'm gonna find out where these things are coming from."
"You sure you can do it alone, man?" Chopper then volunteered. "I'd probably be a better shot against those then against these lawn darts."
"I'm a big boy, Chopper, but you can tail me if you want." I chuckled, before adding, "Just be sure to call me Captain or I'm leaving your ass behind."
"Aye-aye, captain, then!" came the very enthusiastic reply as the ocean faded over the horizon behind me.
"Don't worry, Blaze, we'll keep the missiles at bay," Grimm replied, trying to muster back his confidence as we left him behind.
Every moment that I'd spent since we decided on a course of action was now being converted into moments that the Yukes were now using to continue launching their missiles. As more missiles darted past my F-16, I started hoping that I'd made the kind of decision that would eventually deny the Yukes that pleasure. And every second that elapsed until that time felt like an hour.
In the end, that single blip of utter vindication lighting up on my HMD made it all worthwhile.
"Wardog Leader to Base Command. Backfires and Kickbacks. Repeat, Tupolev Tu-22 bombers launching cruise missiles outside your radar range."
Especially when it didn't look like they'd expected me to come out after them.
"Well hot diggity, ki- I mean Captain!" Chopper exclaimed, "Looks like we found 'em!"
"Thank Archer, he had the hunch and I just followed up on it."
I activated my last Sidewinder and achieved missile lock on the Backfire's broadside. "Chopper, take the others and destroy the other bombers. This one's mine."
The target seemed so easy to hit that I fired the Sidewinder without thinking, not realizing that big Tupolevs also came with big countermeasures. The missile disappeared in a cloud of flares as the Tupolev banked away.
"Dammit! At least I spooked the bastard..." I grumbled, engaging the air brakes and pulling hard to engage the Backfire at close range. My head began to hurt as I leveled out, stress and frustration affecting me worse than the G-forces. The Tupolev's thrusters were in my sights, and its crew new it too as it awkwardly tried to shake me off and let loose their countermeasures when they could.
Bombers obviously being much larger than missiles were, I eased up a bit so I didn't end up crashing into them as I took aim and unleashed the vulcan cannon upon them. It took a couple of tries but the shells did their job at punching quite a few holes in the bomber, smoke starting to spew where I'd hit its more vulnerable components.
With both motors gone quickly, the Tupolev was just a burning glider sliding out of the sky in a deathly corkscrew. I took a long sigh of relief as I kicked back toward Basset to help finish off the other ones.
"Confirmed one Tupolev is Tango Uniform, how copy?"
"Good copy, Wardog Leader. Got the call from Launch Control, countdown is resumed. Get rid of the rest ASAP."
"You heard that, team, we got this!"
Like a bad action movie or video game, that was also the cue for the falling Tupolev to launch one last-ditch cruise missile - and to say they were now throwing the kitchen sink was horribly apt because this particular model was really codenamed the 'Kitchen.'
"Shit, we got a big one!" I squawked. This missile was also faster than the last few...and smarter.
"The New Savannah is reporting a missile lock. Repeat, missile aimed directly at the SSTO! Countdown cannot be delayed again!"
I was already pursuing the missile from my starting point behind the burning Tupolev. The hard part was that I actually used my last Sidewinder to its host plane's countermeasures. And whether it was due to damaged sustained from the death of its host or some new AI system that I also somehow didn't know about, this particular Kitchen could fly like a greased pig on steroids.
"Freaking die already!" My firing rate became sporadic as the ocean re-emerging over the horizon.
Even though short controlled bursts applied both with regular firearms and airborne armanents, it was hard to keep to that rule with the fate of the entire country in the balance.
"This is Grimm! Edge and I just took out another one, looks like the others are trying to bug out!"
"Chopper here! I'm following one, he ain't gonna be getting far!"
From the way they sounded pretty confident about it, there was no backup Kitchen just in case I'd taken mine out. But that wouldn't be a relief either if mine did hit. The ramp was already in view, and my helmet felt three sizes too tight as the reticule slowly but surely latched itself onto the missile's lone thruster.
"Stay still you little..." I mouthed with a jaw clenched tighter than the jaws of life as I pulled the trigger.
And, like a bad action movie once again, it felt like time started to slow down. It was almost as if I could see each cannon shell spewing out of my aircraft and the ripples they left in the atmosphere as they shot out at - and more often than not, past the missile. With the SSTO starting to accelerate, I was already worrying that I would be the one that destroyed it, not the Kitchen missile.
One of them, out of what was probably my most insane luck yet, tagged the cruise missile in one of its stabilizers, causing it to suddenly point upward. Thinking it was suddenly gonna come straight at me, I jinked away...then jinked back to fly practically beside it before jamming the air brake.
I was still far enough to get a pretty good look at where it would land as my plane eventually flew past it.
The cruise missile spun out of control and fell onto the mass driver like a torch, exploding and covering the impact area in thick black smoke.
I looked up - or rather, up relative to where I sat. A single projectile rocketed through the cloud, continued down the ramp and leapt into the sky from the tip, leaving a generous contrail billowing out from behind it. My mouth hung open in my flight mask as I watched the SSTO New Savannah blast off into orbit, from directly behind it.
At that point I can precisely say that I was wondering how the fuck I would explain it to mom.
More than that though, it felt like everything else my squadron did to help keep the Yukes from destroying that ramp was irrelevant. I had done it.
In that moment, I was the hero.
It was me.
"Observation room reporting. The New Savannah is climbing smoothly! Congratulations!"
The ringing in my ears of the g-forces catching up with me drowned out the applause. But I could sense that I'd started laughing and releasing all of that frustration in glee.
"You see that, you Red bastards! That's our shuttle, baby!" I shouted, the radio thankfully off.
"Wow, we've done it!" Chopper followed, "I can't wait to see what that bad bird's gonna do."
"Yeah..." Edge muttered softly, "As long as it won't be used for escalation."
"We're not like those Yukes," I replied, "We'll know better."
Or at least - at the time - I hoped we did.
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
30 September 2010
"Jesus Christ, Pops!" I whispered, clutching my chest as I faced him. "What are you- what happened out there?"
"Don't worry. Our guys managed to make it out again." Pops replied, dismissively as he turned to walk me out. "Hamilton just got the report, but we're still trying to figure out what they escaped from."
I exhaled like I'd held my breath for a thousand-yard sniper shot. "Damn, that's a relief."
Pops smirked and looked back at the mess hall, where the TV appeared to be the only source of light. "Tell it to those guys. Better leave them until the morning."
"So what happens to us now?"
"Well...the Base Commander's having them bring some trainees and better aircraft back from Heierlark," Pops continued as we walked back into the encroaching darkness and the tranquility that accompanied it. Or rather it would have been tranquil if the "K" trucks weren't still trucking evidence into Hangar D. "They'll be at McNealy for a few days to reorganize so we're pretty much on our own."
My relief seemed premature at this point. "You think we'll be safe?"
We stopped at the edge of the tarmac, looking out across the runway at the sun's brief spark of Saint Elmo's fire dance across the silhouettes of the MDF ships on the horizon.
"To be honest? Not really. I don't even know how the new guys will work as a team," Pops sighed. "But as long as the Navy's barricading this island, the Yukes will think twice about bombing us again."
I looked back at the base, the night lights already on.
Standing at the lower edge of the cluster of 'stars' decorating Hangar D was a familiar set of bright colors - the agent in his tropical shirt, not disturbed by the cooling night air.
"What're you looking at?" Pops asked.
"I've never seen those trucks 'round here before. They're supposed to be helping clean up the water from the other night." I replied quietly, crossing my arms. I started to shiver as a chilly sea breeze washed over the island and through my vest, though it wasn't just the cold. "But they're surrounded by those guys."
"Yeah. I'd stay away from that guy if I were you." Pops said softly, squinting to take a good look at him.
My eyes suddenly widened. "You know him?"
Pops hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "...I know the type. Hotshot OCIA spook that thinks he can improvise his way out of anything."
"Doesn't sound like they live up to that kind of hype though."
"If you read about 'em in the news, that means they're not doing their job." Pops replied suspiciously, before his mood suddenly pulled a 180 faster than he did. "Anyway, I'm gonna go over to the rec room and shoot some pool for a little bit. You wanna join?"
"Uh...sure."
Amidst Pops' change in demeanor as I followed him back, I came to the realization that this was more than a coincidence.
There was something almost damning about the way Pops hesitated.
And as I would find out, that one hesitation would have even greater implications than the ones I had been trying to discover.
To Be Continued...
Author's Note: Still sucking at dogfights. Also the long Tagalog term refers to the air force of Strangereal's equivalent of the Philippines.
Author's Note 2: Oh, and if you can PM me the Homestuck reference in this chapter, you just might get a cameo. That's how low I'll sink for attention. ;_;