Coronation
I spin to avoid the thrumming slugs, and end up looking into his cockpit as I swoop past.
The moment seems to stretch as I look into the canopy, seeing my enemy in person for the first time.
He sees the same thing I do: a figure in a bulky flightsuit, face obscured by a breathing mask, tinted visor and helmet. All that's different is the colour. His is crimson rather than grey, with that red butterfly emblem on the sides, instead of the white on mine. And he is alone, whilst Prez is slumped limply in the seat behind me.
There are holes in his fuselage. The canopy is scored. And I think I see streaks of bright red inside the transparent cover.
And then we're past him, entering the clouds. I hear a second explosion, deeper, louder.
I pull up, rising into the sunlight.
He's there, his craft dropping, trailing smoke.
But just as I think about turning in search of somewhere to land, I see his engines belch light. Project Wingman shivers and rises. Damaged, but still flying, the pilot wounded but alive.
'No! No, not yet!'
What does it take to stop this man?
'Godammit!'
He's not going to give up. Not until he kills me, or I kill him.
There can only be one King, and he hasn't been coronated yet.
He swings round, launching more missiles, firing the railgun, flinging more of those burning orbs.
He's desperate.
So was I. But the tables have turned now.
I manage to avoid them all, driving in close, launching my own missile at him.
One left.
It explodes above him, and I see flames erupt from his hull. But he's still flying.
He launches his own missiles. I jink and fly into a tight spiral, and most of them lose us, but one explodes below the Tomcat. An alarm goes off and I fight to keep control, but the stubborn F/D-14 holds together. Prez helped to put together a truly impressive plane.
'Come on! I've almost got him!'
As I fly overhead, I hear him panting. He must be badly hurt, driven on by sheer hate. He doesn't care that he'll likely die before he can touch down again. He just wants to kill us.
I begin to turn back towards him. His labouring craft is still fast, and I have to abort the turn as he fires the railgun yet again.
But this time the burst is shorter. He must have depleted his ammunition.
'RAAAARRRGHH!'
He's not going to stop. I have to kill him. I have to. He, solely, is responsible for this.
The missile alert warbles again. I send the Tomcat spiralling through the clouds, losing them somewhere within, before speeding out above them again.
Presidia is obscured by the thunderclouds now. Up here, it's just us, two injured warriors locked in a final duel, their hurt steeds struggling to outmanoeuvre each other.
I never expected signing that contract to lead to this.
But with the stakes put before us both, with us so driven by different things, could it have ended any other way?
He doesn't think so. 'Come on! Come in for that kill, you dog!'
I will. But now the anger has ebbed.
No longer is this a frantic, angry duel to the death. Now it's strangely sombre. Here we are, alone, no-one else. His nation ruined, the Federation reeling and weakened, his squadron destroyed. My friends lost, my contract pointless, nowhere left to go.
It seems almost… sad to be doing this now. He can't win, he must know it, but he's carrying on anyway. Perhaps he would rather die like this, in battle, than succumb meekly, or he still hopes to land the final fatal blow.
But I have to finish this. He'll finish it if I don't, and Robin's life will be forfeit.
It ends here.
I move in close, lining up the sights. Our canons snarl at the same instant.
He doesn't manage to bring his ruined plane around in time. His rounds mostly miss, a few skim the underbelly but miss anything vital.
Mine chew into his hull, and more smoke pours out of the wounds. Project Wingman's blood bleeding into the orange ocean that is the burning sky.
I fly past, the wake makes his aircraft tremble. It's gone from a sleek, high-tech killing machine, to a limping husk barely clinging to life.
'Goddammit…' I hear coughing over the radio. He can't go on much longer, surely, yet he manages to bring his plane around and fires the railgun. Maybe it jammed before, it doesn't matter. I evade the shots and bring the Tomcat around.
The missile lock chimes for the last time today.
I hear the warning go off as he locks on too.
I loose the missile first, then pull up and away, flying overhead before he can lock on too.
A flare of light blooms behind the Tomcat. I know I've hit him, and it feels final.
'Monarch…'
I turn slowly, noticing the erratic flares of light from what looks like a fireball circling in a wide arc. Project Wingman is finished. Its Cordium core has been exposed and is reacting, going critical.
Its pilot sounds so resigned. So tired.
He's finished too.
'When you hear the thunder.
When the storm comes for you.
Remember me.'
And with those last, haunting words, Project Wingman erupts and the sky shakes.
For a few moments, a new sun is born over Presidia.
Its searing light races over the Tomcat, stabbing into my eyes. Crimson One is gone, vaporised.
It's just me now.
It's over.
The light fades away.
For a few moments, I just let the Tomcat glide towards the dying sun that was Crimson One, the embers falling to the earth below. I don't know what to think.
He was right, in a way. I have nowhere to go. The Cascadians offered us a deal, but does that even stand now? Their country is ravaged, their capital destroyed, much of their army destroyed.
It doesn't matter right now, I suppose. Those answers will have to come later.
Right now, I have to take care of Prez.
I look over my shoulder.
It's hard to say, but I think she's still breathing. I hope… I pray that she is.
These are our wings, and it's our sky. I'm not going up again without her.
Cascadia is in ruins.
The war has been won.
The deal will be honoured.
For whatever it's worth, the contract is complete.
I turn the Tomcat gently away, heading back towards our improvised hangar, hoping it's still there and that the ground crew stayed, leaving Crimson One's ashes to scatter on the winds, along with the ashes of so many others.