Calamity

'All units stand down! I repeat: stand down! This is what we've been looking for!'

Stardust's order echoes in my ears as I ease back on the throttle. Nobody's shooting at us. It's eerily quiet in the cockpit now, a far cry from the clamour of the battle minutes ago.

I can hear Prez breathing behind me as the swing-wings on out F/D-14 fold out. I can tell that she's both shocked and elated. We're both still feeling the high of the adrenaline, our limbs shaking.

Her mic clicks off. I turn mine off too.

'Is… is it over?' Prez breathes.

I swallow. My throat is very dry. All I can hear in the silence is the thrumming of the engines, feel them in the hull. Soon enough, more people start clamouring on the comms. There's mass confusion on both sides.

The ceasefire was what we wanted, but to have it actually happen, when the Federation had been fighting tooth-and-nail for every inch of Presidia, after they started a second Calamity…

Can it be true?

I hope so.

I'm a mercenary. So is Prez. We should be lamenting that our lucrative contract is over. And it has been lucrative. More so than any other.

But we've had enough.

It was a silent agreement, but we know each other that well. Everything changed at Prospero. This war stopped being a paycheck. It became something more.

'Is that it?' Comic demands. 'Is the war over? Just like that?'

We're not the only ones struggling to believe it. I can see Comic's F/C-15 flying on our left side, slightly below. Diplomat is above and to the right, his plane nursing some shrapnel wounds. As we fly, we can hear our Cascadian allies already celebrating their victory.

And it is their victory. Sicario may have made the difference, but this war wasn't ours. It was theirs. And we were ready to turn tail and run after Prospero, after our identities were revealed to the enemy. But the Cascadians refused to surrender, even with the earth itself seemingly turning on them. They offered us a way out too. They might have needed us, but still…

It begins to sink in at last. The war is over. New identities. New lives. Enough money to live like kings.

And it all feels tainted. I'm not sure we deserve this.

Prez sends her money back to her family. Me, I might give it back to the Cascadians. They'll need every bit of help they can get to rebuild.

'I don't like this,' Diplomat mutters. 'We've been blue-balled.'

Prez sighs, but doesn't say anything. I guess some of us are still mercenaries at heart.

'All units, stand by,' Kaiser's voice crackles over our comms. 'Let them know who won this war.'

Kaiser embraced the cause of defeating the Federation eagerly after Prospero. It became personal for him. Maybe it became personal for me too, more so than usual.

'I guess it really is over.' Prez murmurs. 'Thank god!'

She sounds tired. Really tired. I know that she hasn't been sleeping well, not for weeks. I haven't either, not when I learned that she was practically suffering from insomnia.

I kept finding her wandering around the makeshift hanger on the highway, usually tinkering with our plane, running checks she didn't need to make. She said it was just because she couldn't sleep. She's meant to be part of the ground crew, but she's the only wizzo who can keep up with me, and the only one brave enough to willingly fly with me.

I wouldn't have it any other way. The idea of flying solo, after having Prez as my wizzo for so long, is frankly daunting. Nobody else is as good as her, not as a WSO, not as a friend.

And I knew her too well to buy the white lie. She wasn't just reverting to her old role out of habit, or for comfort. She was worried about me, and so she made sure our Tomcat was in peak condition every night since Prospero.

I took to helping her. To make her feel better. To be a good friend. To share in something. To help keep her alive too.

And I'm tired too. I feel like I could sleep for weeks, if I didn't keep seeing a city turn into an inferno, and the sky fill with fire.

But at least it's over now. Maybe now we can both sleep.

The comm crackles again. I'm expecting it to be one our wingmen or maybe Kaiser or Stardust.

It isn't any of them.

Laughter.

That's what I hear. Insane, lunatic laughter. It sends chills down my spine, and not just because of what it is.

I know that sound. I know who it is.

But it can't be!

I saw him die! I can still see it when I close my eyes: the missile hitting his plane dead-centre. I can see it spiralling down to the earth, to join the rest of Crimson Squadron in oblivion.

He was laughing then too.

'What?! My warnings are going off!'

That lone fighter isn't the only one for long. A second later, the cockpit is full of noise. Missile lock! And it's beeping madly, like there's dozens of them coming for us!

I act on instinct, hitting the throttle and sending the Tomcat into evasive action. It's fast, and we've dodged hundreds of missiles before.

Our forces devolve into chaos, and soon everybody is jinking and weaving madly, like they've all been tagged. And they have! Diplomat damn near crashes into a Cascadian fighter as they both fly madly, evading the incoming missiles. Our radar is full of them!

I pull up higher to avoid the buildings below, moving erratically, looping back several times, ready to pop flares. Prez is hanging on in the back, her head practically revolving. 'I can't see them! I can't see them!'

'Contact… faded?'

There's nothing on the radar, and for a moment I wonder if this was some sort of hoax. Maybe one last desperate move by some angry Federation soldier.

I frown at the radar. Prez is breathing shakily behind me.

But that laughter… if he's here…

'I see it!' Kaiser yells, and his voice is full of fear. 'Break—'

The light hits us first. All is deathly silent for just a moment, and then the rumbling begins. It's inexorable, furious, like the earth itself it opening up to swallow everything above.

Oh God… no… no… not this… not again!

But it has happened.

Presidia is now little more than a charred skeleton of a city, its streets choked by smoke, full of fire, swimming in molten rock. The sea is boiling, steam rising into the sky. The clouds are as black as sackcloth, low and opaque. Orange and yellow lightning crashes into the sundered ground.

Presidia has turned into hell. He has turned it into hell.

I can't speak. I can't move. We're just flying forwards, lost in this man-made hell.

The radar is empty. No Hitman Squadron. No Assassin Squadron. No Cascadians. No Federation. Nothing.

Just us. Alone. In hell.

Prez has started to babble. 'Oh God! Oh God! Oh please not now! Not after all this, please, God!'

The shuddering of the Tomcat in the tortured air starts to bring me back to my senses, as does the panic of my wizzo. My friend.

If he's here, he's here for only thing: revenge. And this is just the first move. He's dropped Cordium warheads on Presidia, killing tens of thousands, ruining this place maybe forever, to do just one thing: clear the way for a final showdown.

I realise that I'm grinding my teeth, my icy fear and shock giving way to a boiling, fiery, primal rage.

If he wants one last battle, we'll give him one. And this time, he won't come back. No, I'll send this bastard straight to hell!

It's like Prez has felt my fury, like it's bringing her clarity too. It's different though. There's more fear, more uncertainty. 'Monarch?'

It's him. He did this.

And sure enough, there is a new blip on the radar. He's waiting for us.

Crimson One.