Disclaimer: I don't own Ace Combat or any other properties I make references to. Nor do the political views expressed herein reflect the views of the author. I just want to tell a story.

Chapter 1: The New Guy

There was a knock on the door and Izàk's mother stood from where she sat to go answer the door to their home. She wasn't pleased with who she saw. There were two men in immaculate gray and black uniforms.

"We're looking for Petr Moravec. Is he home?" they asked Izàk's mother.

Petr Moravec was a simple man. From his own father, he had inherited the tailor's craft and the accompanying family business. He arose early in the morning, worked through the day, and returned home at night to his wife and two children, Izàk, his elder son, and Sophie, his younger daughter.

Long had he wanted what was best for his family—the source of his joy in life—and for the country of his nativity. And he voted as such. But something was terribly wrong. Nobody in Wielvakia talked to their countrymen openly anymore and he was fearful to try doing so himself. There were only rumors about what may be happening outside of neighboring Ratio and Nordlands. What was most telling to Petr that something was wrong came from the mouths of his own children. "The Party said we can't trust anyone but ourselves." "The Party said we're stronger together."

So Petr acted, trying to dispel the slow and steady creeping of invasive beliefs his children soaked up from the world around him. And that led him to the present. He had no illusions what these visitors wanted with him when he heard their voice from where he was in the living room of his home. Time was short for the tailor. He turned to his son and daughter who happened to be in the room watching television with him. "Izàk. Sophie. Come here please." His children did as he asked.

With tears in his eyes, he looked to his daughter and held out his arms. Sophie came close to him, taking in the last embrace her father would give to her. "I love with all my heart," he promised into her ear with a whisper. "Don't be afraid," he advised. But then he prophesied to her, "You'll know what to do when you have to do it."

"Okay. I will," was all she could get out before he released her.

Next, Petr held out his arms for his son. Izàk hesitated, and Petr knew the truth in that instant. But he wasn't angry. His country had poisoned the mind of his son, turning him into a stranger right before the man's eyes. With all the love that a good father can have for his child, he forgave Izàk. "You too, Izàk," he invited. His son relented and came into his arms. "Izàk, you're the man of the house now. Take care of your sister and your mother. You're a good boy, your mother and I raised you well," left his father's lips in a sad, resigned way. Having said what was on his mind, Petr stole one last look out from the living room of his home. He said for both his children to hear, "Such a fine sunny day, and I have to go, but what does it matter if you remember what is right and what is wrong? Please, don't forget to do what's right no matter what."

"Yes father," echoed both his children.

Now in tears, Petr Moravec nodded slowly. "I love the both of you," he whispered, "Goodbye." He couldn't bare to hear if Izàk or Sophie said it back. For this reason along with trying to avoid any violence in his home, Petr left the living room heading for the entry way to present himself beside his wife. "I'm Petr Moravec," he said, offering himself.

Both uniformed men were armed with pistols that hung in shining black holsters against stark uniforms. The superior of the two men started speaking, "Petr Moravec, with the authority of the Department for State Security of the Greater Union of East Osea, you are under arrest."

Thoroughly unsurprised Petr replied, "I understand gentlemen. Am I allowed to know what I'm under arrest for?"

"You are suspected of treason and sedition. We need you to come with us. Don't try anything funny. We won't make a scene if you don't."

"That's all I ask," he reasoned back. To his wife he tearfully and shakily said, "Goodbye my love. I'm sorry." He dared not say more in front of the secret police. Otherwise, they would arrest her too.

Ending those words Petr Moravec crossed the threshold of his home for the last time. With one hand on each shoulder, the two officers led him to their car. One opened the door to the back seat while the other stood to guard for any escape attempt. Petr sat down into the car, the door was closed, then the two officers got in and drove away.

Izàk's mother closed the door to the home that was suddenly so empty. She rushed away to mourn silently in private. This left the two siblings alone in the living room. They met each other's eyes and then wordlessly and without emotion, Sophie left as well. Now alone, Izàk looked out the window of the living room. He felt smart and wise the day before. But now doubt clouded his mind. At the age of fourteen and without considering the consequences, he had betrayed his own father. Now, he probably would never see him again. He closed the curtains to the window so that nobody could see inside. Sadness and regret tugged at him, but after a few seconds he forced his heart to harden. His father deserved it, or so he tried to tell himself. But one thing was certain. He wasn't going to forget today anytime soon.

XXXXXXXX

There was a jolt that awoke Izàk from his sleep. "Just a dream," he consoled himself internally, forcing that rather unpleasant experience from years past into the back of his mind. He took a few moments to reorient himself with the present. His name is Izàk Moravec. The transport craft that he was a passenger in has just landed at Airbase 1521 located in the northwestern Nordlands right on the coast. He is to join his first operational squadron to take part in strengthening the border with FATO and in being the first line of defense to protect the valuable oilfields of the central Nordlands.

He took out his orders from the file he had been presented with following his graduation from strike fighter training. On May 17, 2028 he was to report to the airbase in some town called, "Noordelijk haven," in the southeastern corner of Riks inham, the last bay on the coast before reaching the border with FATO. Izàk looked at his squadron assignment, the 99th Fighter Aviation Regiment, 1st Aviation Squadron. "Sors Squadron," he read looking at the symbol of his new unit. It was a navy blue shield with a shooting star and a stylized "Sors" written in its wake.

A fighter aviation regiment—as opposed to bomber, transport, or reconnaissance aviation regiments—is a step above the squadron in size. Based on the Yuktobanian way of air force organization, a fighter aviation regiment will be analogous in duty and size to a fighter wing from the Osean Air Defense Force. In the Greater Union of East Osea Air Force, one can expect a fighter aviation regiment to have anywhere between three to five aviation squadrons of six aircraft each along with two ground-based support squadrons. One support squadron is dedicated to aircraft maintenance, handling, and ordinance, and the other comprises of the command staff along with miscellaneous support staff such as radar operators, intelligence officers, meteorologists, and so on. Organizational doctrine of the Greater Union Air Force holds that aviation regiments are deployed to a base together even though squadrons can be sortied individually. This doctrine places emphasis on the aviation regiment number instead of the squadron number. Therefore, an aviation squadron's numbering is simple. There is a 1st squadron, a 2nd squadron, a 3rd squadron, and so on. Only the aviation regiment and the next size larger organization, the aviation division, needs to be deceptively numbered to hide their strength. Then there are any number of aviation divisions in the air army. From what he read of his orders, Izàk was in the 17th Fighter Aviation Division in the Northern Air Army.

For his part, Izàk understood what an honor it was to be assigned to the first squadron in a fighter aviation regiment. Amid the strict bounds of military hierarchy, there is a clear distinction of who is more important. Typically, an officer is held as more important than an enlisted man, but that is the same in any branch of service in any military. However within the aviation regiment, there is an added way to distinguish who is more important. There is no mistaking that the best and/or most politically sound pilots are put in the 1st aviation squadron. He fit into the latter category, he felt. Dream still in mind, he knew he had his father to thank for that.

His thoughts were halted as he felt the transport plane he was on turn off the runway. Looking out his window, he say that they were taxiing towards a small terminal meant for passengers as opposed to moving towards a supply depot or a hanger to be off loaded. Eventually, they came to a stop and the pilot spoke over the intercom that they had arrived at Airbase 1521 and that it had been a pleasure to fly the passengers there. If it was a civilian airliner, there would be a rush to pick up carry-on luggage and be the first off the plane. Not the case for a regional passenger transport in the Greater Union of East Osea Air Force. At the front of the plane, the most senior officers collected their things and were allowed to leave. Descending in rank and prestige of position saw the order of the remaining passengers disembarking. Though a junior officer, being a fighter pilot had the luxury of being pretty early off among the junior officers, meaning Izàk was able to beat the cluster of enlisted men.

He reached the front of the plane and before descending the stairs to the ground, he caught a better glance of his environment, taking in the sight of trees seemingly closing in the base from the outside world. He looked up the the sky briefly, seeing the sun as it hung lazily in the sky this late morning day. Finally, he descended and followed the other travelers into the terminal, saluting the tricolored flag of the union as per regulation on his way in. Looking around he saw that the airbase had planned for the new arrivals with large signs based around the new arrivals' roles on the base. There was a large section reserved for only maintenance crews, with a slightly smaller one dedicated to other ground-based support roles. A smaller section was dedicated to command, but the smallest section was labeled, "Pilots," for all to see. Approaching the pilot section, he noticed several subdivisions. Atlas, Cobra, Devil, Raptor, and finally the place he was looking for, Sors. There were a few more subdivisions, but Izàk paid no attention to them.

There, standing beneath the sign for Sors was a man with a piece of paper in his hand. He was tan skinned with short-cropped brown hair. And on approach, he seemed to be in his early-to-mid thirties with a friendly-looking face. His eyes and Izàk's met and stayed that way as the newcomer arrived under the sign. Seeing the rank of the man, being a senior lieutenant, Izàk snapped a crisp salute which was returned. Formality done, the man consulted his piece of paper for a brief moment, then asked, "Junior Lieutenant Izàk Moravec?"

"Yes, sir."

Then somewhat strangely, the senior officer extended his right hand for a handshake. Not expecting this because a high standard of appearance is expected of officers, Izàk was taken aback. But recovering from his double take, he extended his own and grasped the superior's hand. "I'm Senior Lieutenant Antioco Amatore," introduced the man. Their hands broke contact and that made the senior lieutenant continue, "But call me 'Wily.' It looks like you're going to be my wingman going forward."

"It's an honor, sir," Izàk replied stiffly.

"Don't give me none of that 'sir' shit that they drilled into you before now. Here in Sors, we're a team. We win or we lose as a team and everyone's role is vital, yours is no different."

Merely giving a deep nod seemed good enough for Wily, who looking pleased with himself then said, "Alright. Let's go grab your bag and get that dropped off in the barracks. The squadron commander wants you in the regimental ready room to meet the rest of Sors sometime within the next half hour, so as much as I'd love to shoot the shit and have a nice smoke, lets not keep them waiting."

Izàk nodded again and that was signal for Wily that it was time to get moving. Seemingly without a care in the world, Wily sauntered off towards the entrance that the newcomer had originally entered in from. Following close behind, Izàk kept quite. He just didn't have anything to say.

Leaving the building, both Wily and Izàk saluted the flag and progressed to a pile of semi-sorted uniform color duffel bags that a trio of airmen were sorting through. All three of them saluted the approaching officers upon seeing their uniforms. The salute was returned and Wily stated, "Izàk Moravec. Junior Lieutenant."

"Yes sir," replied the lead airman.

Already one of them was going down a list on a clipboard in his hands. "Over there," he said with a pointed finger to one of his fellows.

The third airman picked up the duffel bag and confirmed the correct name on an attached tag. After doing that, he approached the officers and offered the luggage to Wily, who simply gestured to his companion to communicate who the duffel's true owner was.

"Here you are sir," offered the airman to the junior lieutenant.

"Thank you," replied Izàk. He may be an officer, but like his favorite instructor once told him, 'There's no honor in being a pompous prick.'

Departing salutes were exchanged and Wily led him away. Again, there was no speaking between the two men. Izàk was perfectly fine with it, preferring instead to take a look at the base and its activities. From what he saw, it was a thriving environment of people going about their business tending to aircraft as they were coming in for landings. A nearby Mi-8 had just landed and the crew chief disembarked to hand something to a member of ground crew.

Due to the helicopter's still spinning rotor, Wily had to shout, "We're a ways away from the barracks. Just a heads up." Not hearing Izàk respond, Wily looked over his shoulder to his companion to repeat himself or confirm that he was heard. Izàk shot him a thumbs up that he understood. Wily returned the gesture and led him away.

There would be no more talking this close to the flight line, but eventually, the duo took a path that led them away and the sounds of aircraft diminished from a deafening roar to a much more manageable volume. But it wouldn't be until they entered a building marked, "Barracks," that Wily finally spoke again. He asked to Izàk, "You don't talk much do you?"

Izàk shrugged, "I guess not."

Wily took a moment to regard the junior officer. He judged, "I guess it's not a big deal as long as you're not the one giving orders. Just don't let it be a problem in the air. I need to know you got my back."

Seeing that speech was appropriate, Izàk replied, "I got your back."

"Good. In return, I got yours. Now let's get to your bunk."

Down the corridor they trekked. Then they turned a corner and proceeded down several doors. Wily stopped in front of one and while he fished a key from his pocket, Izàk read the names on a placard by the door. It said:

Senior Lieutenant Antioco Amatore – Deputy Squadron Commander – Sors 5

Lieutenant Izàk Moravec – Sors 6

Noticing where Izàk was looking, Wily explained, "I see you just noticed the rank. You're probably thinking that you're just a junior lieutenant. But you know how things go. You can get a promotion at the end of your acceptance flight into the squadron if the squadron commander says so. He and I read your flight record so far. Needless to say, we're pretty confident you'll get it."

"Thank you," Izàk said plainly.

"Yeah, yeah," dismissed Wily. "Now dump your duffel on the empty bunk. You can organize later. We have to get to the regimental ready room."

Just as wordlessly as before entering the building, Izàk did as he was told. He managed to catch a brief glimpse around the room. It was fairly large as one would expect for officer's quarters. Both halves were a mirror image for arrangement. Dressers and small closets were nearest to the door, then there were plain looking desks, finally there were the beds in the two corners of the room. The big difference between the two sides was that one was obviously lived in, with several personal possessions and most ostensibly, a lockable filing cabinet fitting underneath the desk on Wily's side of the room. Izàk set his bag on the ground beside his bunk and returned to where Wily stood. On his way out, he finally found a mirror in the room. It was attached to the back of the door. He leaned to the side for just a moment to check his appearance for the coming meeting. He looked just like he normally did with pale skin and light brown eyes. His brown hair was short, but not overly so. He preferred to comb it forward so that it looked neat. Other than that, he looked bog standard without any prominent features on his face. He was just… him. There wasn't much to look at, but there was nothing he felt the need to bemoan. He's not vain enough for that. Only a few seconds were spared, and he was done. He resumed his exit out of his new quarters.

Once Izàk was outside the room, Wily closed and locked the door again and led Izàk down the corridor in the same direction that they had originally been going. Even though he had already pegged his new wingman as a man of few words, Wily was not, so he asked, "You got any general questions? You know, how are the local women? What sort of stuff is in the town? Any good places to get a drink?"

"How's the food around here?"

Wily's jovial persona instantly fled, replaced by seething disgust. "Fucking awful. In both the town and on base. I'm from Ratio, you know, the place with actually edible food? There's one other Ratian in the squadron and she agrees with me." He calmed down from his tirade on Nordlandish cuisine and asked, "Just making sure, you're Wielvakian right?"

"Yes."

"I'm a little more 'meh' with Wielvakian food. But it still beats the hell out of what we got up here. You ever heard the joke that goes, "The taste of their food and the appearance of their women made the Nordishmen the best sailors on Earth?"

Automatically, Izàk became unwilling to humor that joke. In the longest statement that Wily had heard yet from his new wingman he affirmed, "You shouldn't be making jokes about that. The Nordlands are an important part of the Greater Union of East Osea and we're stronger together."

Wily slowed to come beside Izàk. The senior officer patted his junior's shoulder and said, "Congrats. You passed my test. We all gotta work together to keep the superpowers of the world, especially Osea, from taking advantage of us like they did back when Ratio, Wielvakia, and Nordlands were separated. I can tell right now that you're a good kid. Loyal and from what your record says, professional and skilled. You may be the only Wielvakian in the squadron, but I guarantee you that you're among family here. We stick together and we stick our necks out for each other. If you can do that, you'll do just fine."

Izàk nodded deeply, but that wasn't good enough for Wily. He pressed, "You can do that right?"

"I can do that," the newcomer promised.

Now convinced, Wily flashed a toothy grin and then led Izàk out of the building and began leading him back towards the flight line. He explained, "The regimental ready room is on the flight line close to the squadron hanger. Every now and then, our squadron will be on scramble alert so there's enough bunks to keep us there in a state of readiness." He looked to his side to see Compass giving him a thumbs up. In an attempt to keep conversation going, Wily observed, "You're pretty young. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," was the reply.

Wily thought about this for just a moment and crunched some basic math in his head. While born from a time before the Party taking power in Ratio, Wielvakia, and the Nordlands, it looked like Izàk had spent his preadolescence and his teenage years growing up in a consolidated Greater Union. Even though there are a growing number of such people in the military, not many officers fall into the same age range of Izàk. It will be interesting to see how the kid is. On that thought, Wily had his next words in hand. He warned, "I hope you're ready to be called 'kid' a lot. It's nothing personal." Again, he looked over to see the young man shrug noncommittally. He appeared unbothered. Whelp. There goes the possibility of getting the kid an easy callsign. But then again, such had to be decided with the squadron present at least.

Now somewhat curious about how outgoing his new wingman was, Wily asked him, "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

Izàk shook his head the the negative.

The senior lieutenant laid on some pressure for a story with, "Well, why not?"

"She didn't love that I loved flying more than her."

Taken off guard by that reply, Wily bit back laughter. "Pfft," leaked through his lips for just a moment. Then with a mirthful chuckle on his voice, he lauded, "Good choice kid. I know I'd choose flying over a relationship."

The roar of the flight line and runways grew in volume again, silencing any attempts at conversation. Before long, Wily pointed using his chin and signaled towards a door not far ahead that led into a building adjacent to a hanger. They entered and Wily explained where they were. "This is the regimental command post. The ready room is here too." They passed a number of offices and storage rooms, and as they neared an open door that appeared to be their destination, Wily spoke up with, "Ready or not, here we are." After saying that, Wily led the way through the door that had Sors Squadron's emblem painted above the doorframe. There were two other emblems beside it. One was a fireball enveloping a barbed pitchfork with the word, "Devil," curved around the bottom of the fireball. The other symbol was a black circle with what appeared to be a tornado coming out of it. "Tempest" followed the side of the tornado in the symbol. Entering the room, Izàk was able to take in its layout. On both sides there were five rows of four large leather chairs each and at the front of the room was a large screen meant for briefings. The walls were decorated with a few small plaques and one wall was dominated with a large flag of the Greater Union. But rather than spend time inspecting the plaques, Wily's words from earlier rang true, the rest of the squadron was there.

Izàk counted four other people. Three men and one woman. Fortunately the gray-blue uniforms of the Greater Union Air Force had the rank insignia displayed and when he and Wily got close and then stopped, Izàk was able to see who the commanding officer was. Coupling the rank with the name on the uniform, it looked like he was now under the command of Major De Jonker. A name like that means the major is from the Nordlands. The major appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties and he had the normal pale skin color one typically finds among native Nordishmen. Gray hairs served to distinguish his head of brown hair. But to further emphasize his age, he had a few wrinkles around his also brown eyes.

In the absence of Wily saying anything, Izàk saluted and took the initiative by stating, "Junior Lieutenant Izàk Moravec reporting for duty sir."

The major returned the salute and replied, "At ease, Junior Lieutenant." Once the newcomer did as he was told and settled into a parade rest, the major continued, "We're glad to have you here. With your presence here in Sors Squadron, we're now up to a combat ready status. You've already met Wily, but lets get introductions out of the way. I'm Major Zebedee De Jonker, Sors 1. My callsign is 'Zed,' but on the ground I still expect 'sir' from your mouth, and from everyone else's." That last bit of the statement was directed squarely at Wily, and everyone could tell it was from how the major said it along with a moving his view directly to the man in question. But point made, the major then gestured to the woman standing at his immediate right and said, "This is my wingman…"

Seeing her queue, she began her introduction, "I'm Senior Lieutenant Veleria Monte, Sors 2." Her tone was business-like, lacking in any sort of warm welcome. This voice complimented with the sleekness of her features and the piercing gaze of gunmetal gray eyes and black hair. She had a tan complexion much like Wily's. She finished off by saying, "My callsign is Siren."

Once she was done, the major turned his head and looked to the two men on his left. One of them was most notable for having a mean looking scar on one of his cheeks. But other than that, he looked quite friendly, with a more rotund face and warm blue eyes and blonde hair. The second had a short regulation mustache and Izàk could guess why. He was plagued with a horrible case of the "baby face," and needed the mustache to prove to onlookers that he was indeed old enough to shave. His one saving grace was the dark brown color of his hair that made his mustache easy to see.

The man with the scar had a thin, welcoming smile as he spoke, "I'm Sors 3, Senior Lieutenant Lars Hoek. But call me 'Crash.' I look forward to seeing you in action."

Izàk already liked Crash. A little bit of friendliness goes a long way in an unfamiliar setting like in his new assigned unit. Too bad for the unfortunate callsign though. But if Izàk were to hazard a guess, it did have the benefit of putting Crash's scar into context.

Then the last squadron member spoke. Baby face introduced himself with, "I'm Lieutenant Anton Pauwels. Sors 4. Fungus is my callsign."

Now that is an unfortunate callsign. First a baby face and then a bad callsign. That's just insult to injury. Izàk was so glad that the callsign he had been given in training was relatively benign. And while Izàk had been considering how lucky he was in the callsign department, the major started to speak again. He probed, "Do you already have a callsign, Junior Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," the newcomer answered.

"Well, what is it?" spoke up Wily. "Trust me, you don't want me getting creative."

"You'd better believe him," reinforced Fungus.

Not delaying any more, Izàk identified himself, "I'm Compass."

"Why do they call you 'Compass?'" inquired the major.

"A lightning strike in flight training destroyed the electronics. I navigated back using only the analog compass."

Then Siren spoke up, "Oh you're that guy! We had read about a flight of MiG-21s getting fried in a training exercise from the air force newspaper. Did you really lead the rest of your intercept back to base?"

Compass nodded.

She whistled and sounding impressed she amazed, "Damn. Maybe you really can fill in the number six spot in the squadron."

At the mentioning of filling in the number six spot, the group sans Compass suddenly looked forlorn. Compass guessed that this meant that the previous number six was dead or otherwise incapable of flying now. Likely a result of a training accident. While tragic, accidents happen in training from time to time. People die. That's just comes with the job of being a fighter pilot. But this solemness was short lived as the major regained everyone's attention with a question directed at Compass. "You do know the importance of the sixth position in the squadron right?"

"Yes, sir. In a squadron there are six planes with two flights. Planes one through four are under the squadron leader while planes five and six can operate under the command of plane five. I'm plane five's wingman." The answer came as if from a textbook. It was one of the few ways to get Compass to speak any extended amount.

"Do you know why we do this?"

"Tactical flexibility sir. High value or secondary targets can be attacked more stealthily and without risking the whole squadron. Strategically, planes five and six of the first fighter squadron in an aviation regiment are nuclear strike capable with pilots trained to deploy them." Again, it was a textbook answer.

Rather than wait for the major to reply, Wily piped up with an enthusiastic, "Hell yeah." Pointing to himself and Compass, he then declared, "You and me, we're the final solution."

Final solution indeed. If war can be construed as a government's treason to humanity, then entrusting the power to wield nuclear annihilation in the hands of a any one man or woman—especially in the hands of an impressionable young man such as Izàk Moravec—is a colossal error befitting only the most savage and barbaric eras of human history. But nobody who stood in the 99th Fighter Aviation Regiment ready room on Airbase 1521 on the northwestern Nordlandish coast saw the threat of their government waging nuclear war as a problem and that was arguably the greatest tragedy of all.

Willfully ignorant to all this, Major De Jonker commented to Compass, "That is correct. And as everyone here is well aware the present fleet of jets in the Greater Union Air Force aren't well guarded from electromagnetic pulses. If we're going to be flying in the proximity of nuclear explosions and their EMPs, then your skill at navigating with just a compass will no doubt be very useful. But as I was reading your file, something strange came up and I wanted to ask you about it. Is there any reason you didn't go through political officer training? You have the qualifications already if you're qualified to deploy nuclear weapons."

This had to do with another part of Compass's and Wily's position. Training to deploy nuclear weapons from an aircraft is extended to only a select few in the air force. The person in question must demonstrate that they are "politically sound" to the party and the nation. The only way to do this is by informing on someone else to the secret police for disloyalty or some other treasonous act and that person proves to be guilty. Everyone knew that there was disloyalty within the Greater Union because they were constantly reminded of it everywhere they looked be that on posters, in speeches, or from the state media outlets. Most of those who had proven themselves politically sound are recruited by either the secret police or other government agencies. This left precious few who were politically sound enough to serve in the military itself. Most become political officers and/or military police. The more skilled ones are offered specialist strategic roles. In the air force, this specifically applies to nuclear weaponry in their various forms.

But there was more than the power of nuclear annihilation in the air. Everyone smelled it and those more in the know could tell exactly what was coming. Compass was one of them, having heard the rumors towards the end of his extra stage of training for deploying nuclear weapons from a fighter jet. He requested, "Permission to speak freely sir?"

Now intrigued, the major granted it saying, "Go ahead Junior Lieutenant."

"I believe war is imminent. I choose the front lines over a classroom."

Wily reached over and planted a firm pat on Compass's back. He inferred, "I think we can all respect that. If the timing of my own training was as precarious, I'd have made the same decision."

Curiosity overcame the young man and he pressed his luck with speaking freely. He asked, "Are you a political officer?"

"Yup," he admitted easily. But then he continued with a joking tone, "It's not like it's a big secret to anyone. The extra pay is nice but all the writing sucks ass. I won't lie, I'm a bit disappointed that you aren't here to help me with the workload, what with there only being two political officers in the whole aviation regiment. But at least I don't have to worry about you given how you passed my test earlier."

"I'll help however I can," offered Compass. The fact his wingman was a political officer didn't bother him. He had nothing against the Greater Union nor the Party. They had given him purpose, something to believe in, and a place to belong. They showed him that he could be something greater than a tailor like his father was. He liked the party, what they had done, and the glorious future they're going to bring. What this assignment was, was a chance for Izàk Moravec to prove his worth to his nation through service. The first step of that is proving himself to his commanding officer and his wingman who also happens to be a political officer.

Attention turned back to Major De Jonker naturally. Wily invited him to continue by saying, "What else is on the agenda Zed?"

"What else is on the agenda, sir?" corrected the superior harshly. "I'd think you of all people should know military decorum. Can you at least try to give a good example for our new comrade?"

In faux apology, Wily replied, "Sorry sir. My job is looking out for lacking loyalty not lacking discipline. Besides, look at this kid." Wily turned to look at Compass, directing a lazy point in his direction. All eyes turned to Compass when Wily quizzed, "You aren't getting any bright ideas are you?"

Compass shook his head vigorously to communicate that he won't have any bright ideas.

The major closed his eyes for just a moment and took a breath to calm himself. If he didn't trust Wily's skill as much as he did, he'd have had him transferred out a long time ago. But like he usually did, he let it go though it pained him. He had found that the secret to having an effective fighting unit is letting the more minor things go. This wasn't a parade unit after all. He opened his eyes and took a wordless moment to look at each person in the room, starting at Siren and ending with Compass. Once he was finished, he somehow succeeded in sounding more serious than before when he began to explain, "Compass is right. War is imminent. I was planning to bring this up after his acceptance flight, but we already have our orders to cross the border of FATO in a little less than two weeks. The recent build up of army, navy, and air force units on this base are more than just a circus meant to intimidate FATO. That build up is planned to continue between now and the day the war starts."

A fat silence hung over the ready room for a few seconds before Crash spoke up, "Oh my God. It's time. I can't believe that it's time."

"It's what we've trained for," rebutted Siren. "We can't be more ready than we are now." Right after she said that, she cringed. Because they weren't.

It was Fungus who picked up what everyone was thinking and gave voice to it. "Now's a pretty bad time." Looking to Compass, he offered, "No offense. I'm sure you're a great guy and a fine pilot, but now isn't the time to have a new guy."

Compass understood exactly what the concern was. Unit cohesion might suffer because there was a new pilot among them. A determined expression came to Compass's face. He swore, "I will not be the weak link."

Siren and Fungus didn't look convinced. Crash had a raised eyebrow, now curious to see if Compass was all talk. But Zed and Wily knew. Wily spoke up for his wingman. "C'mon give the kid a chance will ya? None of you have seen his service record."

Now the major interjected his opinion, "Wily's right. After Bones died I looked far and wide for someone who could fill the sixth cockpit. There were a few reserve pilots that I thought might make it. But then in a stroke of what had to be luck, files for the then soon-to-graduate pilot trainees came across my desk." With a wave towards Compass, Major De Jonker emphasized, "This man was among them. I would have never given the chance to a new pilot if I didn't think they stood a real chance of not just being good, but being great. While it is sad that Bones isn't here to be a part of this, I know we have a unit suited to be the best goddamn squadron in this coming war."

At the end of those words, there were nodding heads coming from Sors 2, 3, and 4. Compass assumed that this "Bones" character was the late Sors 6 who he's replacing.

Seeing these signs of consent, the major proceeded with his thoughts. "You all know what we're fighting for. We're fighting for the continued sovereignty and everlasting security of our three states, now combined into one Greater Union of East Osea. What we have here in the Greater Union is precious and it is ours. But as we can see from the rest of the world, what's yours can and at some point will be accosted and threatened by thieves. We are strong. It is our duty to help others in other nations discover their strength too. With this war, all the nations on the eastern end of this continent from here to Ustio will be united under one banner. Then we will be ready to resist those who would break in and steal what is ours, especially Osea and the other superpowers of the world. For us, our families, and for those in future generations, we must and we will secure what is ours."

An enthusiastic jumble of words approving Major De Jonker's speech came from the other inhabitants of the room. But with one exception. Compass. He didn't have much to say, but when the jubilee died down, eyes turned to him, noticing his silence. Seeing that now was time to say something, he asserted, "This is what I believe in. I'll fight, kill, and die for it."

Wily recovered from his concerns of disloyalty upon seeing Compass's lackluster enthusiasm. He had to remind himself that Compass isn't one for talking when it can be avoided. He smiled widely and said, "That's what we like to hear."

Compass simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"Excellent," lauded the major recapturing everyone's attention. He then announced to the squadron, "Tomorrow is Compass's acceptance flight into Sors Squadron and the 99th Fighter Aviation Regiment. Report here for the pre-flight briefing at 0800." Then to Compass, he directed, "I know it's really soon after your arrival. But doing this sooner gives the regiment's aircraft maintenance squadron enough time to make sure everything on all our planes are functional before the first sortie of the war."

"Yes, sir," chorused the squadron except Wily, who used "Zed," instead of "sir."

"Good," stated their commanding officer. "All of you except Wily are dismissed."

Siren, Crash, Fungus, and Compass saluted and began to make their way for the exit. "Oh shit. I forgot," whispered Wily. "Hey Compass," he called out more loudly. Compass turned back with a questioning look on his face. "Catch," Wily warned, tossing a key to his wingman. It was caught and then regarded questioningly. "It's for our quarters," he elaborated. A nod and a thumbs up was all Wily got from Compass as he met the other three members of the squadron to leave the ready room. Sensing that a private conversation was about to take place, Siren closed the door to the room as they left.

Once they were alone, the two men regarded one another for just a moment when Wily opened up with, "What do you think Zed?"

Zed pinched his nose in annoyance at not being called 'sir.' He whined, "Goddammit Wily. Do you do that just to piss me off?"

"If when you say 'piss me off' you mean 'help me stop being so serious,' then yes."

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are that we fought together as mercenaries during the Lighthouse War and the Aurelian War?"

Wily smirked and remarked, "Yeah, there's no one left on Earth you respect enough to be able to tolerate them jabbing you. Well, except maybe your old lady."

The older man sighed having said all that he would about Wily's lack of discipline. Not seeing a better segue into what was on his mind, he bluntly asked "Never mind what I think. What do you think of Compass?"

Wily shed himself of his reverie and grew dead serious. He reported, "He doesn't talk unless you ask him a direct question or he's clearly expected to say something. Even then if he can get away with a nod, a gesture, or just keeping quiet, he does." Wily paused and looked to the side, thinking a bit. Then he recollected, "Actually, that's not entirely true. He only talks on his own initiative when there's something loyal to the Greater Union to be said or when it was polite. He corrected my joke about Nordish women and food being bad along with when the squadron looked at him after he didn't look overly elated to hear you talk about the coming war. And then he said 'thank you' to a compliment from me and when an enlisted man handed him his duffel bag as we were picking it up. But other than his lacking communication, he seems like a nice guy. I can see why he didn't go the political officer route regardless of timing. He can't do the duties without talking."

"Do you like him?" pressed Zed.

Wily thought again for a few seconds. He gave a so-so gesture and offered, "I'm okay with him personally. But even if he was a bona fide asshole, from his service record alone I'm more than willing to give him a chance in the squadron."

Zed chuckled mirthlessly. "Yeah, he managed to last the longest out of any recruit going head-to-head in a dogfight against Colonel 'Stone' Altamura of the 1st Academy Aviation Regiment. Stone has been a mercenary fighter pilot in every single war since the Usean coup d'état in 1997. In case you don't follow, it's 2028 right now. That's more than thirty years. He has 55 confirmed kills under his belt."

"Really fucking impressive by any standard consider how much of a powerhouse Stone is and how that guy gives out compliments hardly ever," proclaimed Wily. He then amazed, "And then this random Wielvakian kid from the ass end of nowhere comes out of the blue and gets a comment from Stone on an official record that goes something like, 'A technically excellent pilot. He's outlasted all other recruits from recent years when pitted against top instructor pilots and has proven to be highly proficient in all training exercises. Experience will make him a great fighter pilot.' I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the only reason he's here with this regiment at your request and not somewhere else is because this region is projected to become a real shitshow the moment the guns start shooting."

Silence punctuated the next few seconds. During that time, Major De Jonker looked to the side at the tricolored flag of the Greater Union. He wondered what his nation would go through before all was said and done. He turned back to Wily, his old friend, and said, "An order came down to the regiment commanding officer yesterday. Colonel Tommaso and myself are to keep a close eye on Compass. There's people high up in the Air Force that think he might just become a literal fulcrum in this war. Even though the Party is working around the clock to placate Osea for now, there's still a real possibility that the Oseans will join in the war before we're ready for them. You know what that means."

Wily rubbed one of his shoulders trying to massage away the flaring pain of an old wound he had thought was long gone. He already dreaded his next words. "The Three Strikes is still out there."

"Bingo. The Oseans are still using The Three Strikes as a strategic bargaining chip. And for now, nobody on Earth has a response to that...thing. The colonel's, mine, and now your orders are to foster the kid. Bring him along and tutor him. We're going to put him in the impossible situations. He might crash and burn. But he might soar. I pray to God that he does. And if he does, we will have a counter to The Three Strikes and no longer have need to walk on eggshells in diplomatic talks with the Oseans. But for the sake of full transparency with you, I called in a few favors and chatted with some friends of mine in the air force. It doesn't sound like Compass is the Greater Union's only hope, but there's still less than ten pilots that have any prospects of becoming as good as we hope. You know as well as I do that nothing is guaranteed in war. Less than ten chances is next to nothing when the bullets start flying. Needless to say, we're in deep trouble. So, whether we like it or not, we have to do this to him."

"It's a shame he's so young," observed Wily. "The kid's only twenty-two and we gotta dump the war and the world on him."

"That's my reservation too," conceded Zed. "But you heard it from the kid's own mouth. He's ready to fight for this and that's the best we can ask for."

"I guess that's that then," concluded Wily.

"That's that," the major agreed.

"No problem. I'll look out for Compass. If he really is as good as everyone hopes he is, maybe he'll be looking out for us." With that Wily's serious demeanor faded and his previous mischievous self returned to ask, "Is that all you have for now, Zed?"

"You know, if you didn't have that mouth, you could easily be a captain and have your own command by now."

"And leave you fumbling around? Not a chance."

XXXXXXXX

Across the sea between the continents of Osea and Usea and far inland into the Federation of Central Usea, the chief headquarters of GAZE News was busy at work preparing for the evening televised news broadcast. The various stage crews were finishing the final preparations and the news anchor looked as professional and immaculate as ever. There was just one thing that the director of the production felt the need to verify as being ready.

To a technician, the director asked, "Is Albert Genette on the line? His interview is the main event and I don't want to have to give audiences the runaround for any technical difficulties."

The technician looked away from a laptop he had on a stand towards the director. He nodded and spoke into a headset he wore, "Mr. Genette, are you there?" There was a moment of silence towards the director as Genette replied to the technician. But only a few seconds had passed before the technician reported to his director, "Genette is ready and our Oured broadcast station reports green across the board. He's ready to go when we are."

"Good," the director stated. He looked to the side to see a big clock posted on a wall. There were still a few minutes before the broadcast was set to begin. To the technician, he gave his last instruction with, "Tell them they'll be on air in about twenty-five minutes."

The director didn't listen for any response, instead returning to his position and receiving the final ready reports from the various stations. All was ready. A few minutes of waiting passed, the lights dimmed in the studio except on the news anchor, who looked towards the camera as the GAZE News introduction music swelled for the few notes of music to signal the beginning of the evening news broadcast to its viewers across the world.

"Good evening, my name is Dana Brown. Welcome to tonight's edition of GAZE News. Tonight in the Kingdom of Erusea, changes to the constitution ends the centuries' long tradition of military officers having power in the civil government. Humanitarian efforts finally bearing fruit in Estovakia. The nation which instigated and then suffered defeat in a war with Emmeria in 2015 and 2016 is now becoming a haven of foreign business and a booming economy. In Sotoa record setting droughts and crop failure. The Osean president announces changes to social welfare in the country. And an exclusive interview with independent journalist Albert Genette about a rising power on the eastern end of the Osean Continent, The Greater Union of East Osea.

The broadcast would proceed completely to plan, but eventually the time came for the show to transition to a commercial. That cycle of broadcast and commercial happened one more time before the director signaled to the technician to bring Genette onto the air. A few thumbs up were given and when the director signaled the news anchor, she began to speak, "We are no strangers to uncertainty in the world and the appearance of the Greater Union of East Osea has given rise to questions and concerns around the world and especially in the Western Hemisphere. Joining us tonight is award winning freelance journalist, Albert Genette. Mr. Genette, good evening and thank you for joining us."

"Of course. Thanks for having me."

"Mr. Genette, you've already published several articles and a book about the rise of the Greater Union of East Osea, so you're better informed than most. Who are these people?"

"The Greater Union of East Osea, also known as 'The Greater Union' or 'East Osea,' is a federation comprised of three different nations; Ratio, Wilevakia, and the Nordlands. However, from how the government in East Osea was formed and has matured, those three nations are now administered much like a state or a province which is part of a bigger whole."

"You used some interesting words in that response. 'Formed and matured.' I believe that is the question most everyone is asking. How did East Osea come to be as we see it today?"

"Thirty-three years ago, there was a war in the eastern half of the Osean Continent. This was the Belkan War of 1995 that climaxed in the Belkans using nuclear weapons within their own borders to halt the allied advance. Ratio, Wielvakia, and The Nordlands didn't participate in that war militarily, but they did take part in the peace talks following. Then in 1997, there's the Usean coup d'état. With war to the west that turned nuclear, then war to the east, and the looming threat of the Ulysses Asteroid the three nations signed the 'East Osea Accord' in late 1998, setting up a military alliance and economic co-prosperity sphere between them. Despite not being struck by fragments of the asteroid, the region was effected by the Ulysses Impact Event in the form of a tsunami crossing the sea from a large impact hitting Farbanti, the capitol of Erusea. The East Osea Accord would do its job very well, helping the region recover quickly and gaining widespread public support for its continued existence following the impact event. Things would progress without much event except the formation of the Triple Union Fascist Party in each nation in 2003. This political party would likely have been but a footnote in history without one particular crisis. In 2012, there is a meltdown and explosion at the Bienert Nuclear Power Plant in southeast Wielvakia on its border with Ratio. The perceived poor response of the then dominant Socialist Party of Wielvakia prompted an extreme response in the opposite side of the political spectrum. The Triple Union Fascist Party won the emergency parliamentary elections of late 2012 in Wielvakia by a landslide. Next year, Ratio, being similarly impacted by and partially responsible for the nuclear meltdown also elected a Prime Minister and parliament majority from the Triple Union Fascist Party. And in that same year, a brief and bloodless military coup with sweeping public support overthrew the central government in the Nordlands and installed a military junta from the aforementioned party. With the party in control of all three states, they merged into a single centralized government on December 31, 2013. To the present day, less than half of the Earth's nations officially recognize the existence of the Greater Union of East Osea, so they don't appear on most of the free world's maps."

"What is the ideology of the Triple Union Fascist Party?" inquired the news anchor.

On his end, Genette began by stating the obvious, "The 'Triple Union' part of the name signifies their goal and achievement of uniting the three member states into a single government. Then by nature of being a fascist party, they are untranationalist, authoritarian, and radically conservative." Then he began to explain the more nuanced aspects of East Osean Fascism by explaining, "But what separates the Triple Union Fascist Party from other fascist regimes of the past is that they already have all the tools they need to achieve 'autarky' or 'economic self sufficiency' without needing to threaten or invade any of their neighbors. There is vast natural resources among the three member states. The Nordlands is the third largest producer of oil on Earth and second largest producer of wheat. Wielvakia's mountain ranges are rich in iron ore, bauxite, rare earth metals, and is the largest producer of Uranium ore on earth. Finally, Ratio has the highest population of each member state and has the industrial base to support it."

"But rather than be isolationist as one would expect from a autarky state, East Osea has pursued a nearly fifteen year long military build up. Why would they do this?"

"In most extremist states, be they far-right or far-left, decisions are usually made with ideological considerations and not logic. That is what is happening here. Ultranationalism makes the ruling party at best suspicious of foreign powers. Osea and Yuktobania have been the world's superpowers for decades now. In the eyes of East Osea, Yuktobania, while an enemy to them, is not only far away but has proven to be willing to do business with them; exchanging military equipment and technology for exports. Osea has not been willing to engage on such friendly terms with them, and relations between the two nations have trended towards bad ever since the Union's formation. It is my belief, through my research, that East Osea is driven by fear of the Osean Federation's influence and largely uncontested preeminence in the region. The outcome of the Lighthouse War in favor of Osea has now made the East Oseans feel even more pressure."

The anchor moved onto her next question. She asked, "It's been well documented that the nations that make up East Osea have been large producers of mercenary fighters since before the Triple Union Fascist Party came to power. This practice has continued even after the rise of the present regime. Can you comment on this?"

"Yes, I can comment. Because the three nations haven't been formally involved in any wars for the past 120 years, mercenary service has grown into something of a tradition for prospective soldiers in those nations' militaries because previous combat experience is seen as a fast pass to receiving a command or an officer's commission. This experience has also improved the quality of each nations' militaries despite the peace. When the Greater Union came to be, the government encouraged this practice thus making their military battle hardened without any of the risks and troubles of being at war. Due to the propaganda machine within the authoritarian regime, more and more people have become mercenaries. By now, a sizable minority of their military already has combat experience. Present estimates believe that somewhere between twenty-five and thirty percent of the military falls into this category."

Still with a professional and clinical expression that belied hers and her viewers' alarm, the news anchor asked, "Considering the recent amassing of military equipment on their borders, do you believe that war with East Osea is on the horizon?"

"The Greater Union of East Osea engages in Potemkin military exercises as a fundamental pillar of their foreign policy. It's possible the recent build up is another one of these faux exercises to scare their neighbors into more anti-Osean policies. Though they are a nuclear power and have a large military, they are unlikely to be able to take on the whole continent should they start a war with the Osean Federation getting involved. Nuclear weapons and rumors of other superweapons might be able to embolden the East Oseans enough to try war, but that has yet to be seen."

"What are these rumors of other superweapons?" pressed the news anchor.

"We don't know enough to hazard a speculation. It could possibly be another farce by the Triple Union Fascist Party to impress their people and frighten everyone else. There has been no evidence of weapon tests of any sort as of yet, but have no doubt, these rumors are the wildcard in all this. Only time will tell what is true and what isn't. But what we do know is that diplomatic talks have not broken down and in the Osean Federation, there is optimism that war can be averted."

"Yes, you wrote an article of the Osean president's most recent speech who proclaimed, 'Peace in our time.' Let's hope that there will be peace in our time. But that is all the time we have for tonight. Thank you again for speaking with us today Mr. Genette."

"Thanks for having me," repeated Genette. Then he added on, "It was a pleasure."

Genette's line went off air and that left the news anchor to offer the farewell for the broadcast. "From all of us here at GAZE News, thank you for being with us tonight. Take care of yourselves and each other. Have a nice night."