I have to say, I really enjoyed Project Wingman. The action, the story, the excitement. One thing which really stood out to me though was the simple fact that the protagonist's WSO actually interacts and talks! That doesn't really happen in Ace Combat (which I also really like), and I almost exclusively fly two-seater planes, various iterations of the F-14 Tomcat being my planes of choice. And so, I had this little idea for an epilogue featuring Monarch and Prez. I am being deliberately vague with Monarch, so believe what you will about them.

Aftermath

The receptionist barely blinks as I walk in, carrying a small paper bag in my hand. I've visited every day since…

They've put the plane back together. I've seen it, inspected it, even sat in the cockpit and checked the instruments. It's more or less the same good old, reliable F/D-14 I've been flying into battle for months. But I haven't taken it back up into the sky yet, even though I yearn to fly again.

There's something missing.

Every F/D-14 needs a "wizzo", or WSO.

I could fly it solo. It's possible with the Sicario F/D-14s. I know. I've done it. In the hardest, most gruelling aerial duel I've ever been in, against the most insane and skilled pilot I've ever encountered, flying the most advanced and deadly fighter I've ever fought.

I had to, because the sheer G-forces I subjected my fighter to were too much for Prez.

"I can't… I'm sorry..."

'Welcome back,' the receptionist jars me from the memory of my wizzo slumping in her seat, little more than a ragdoll strapped in place. 'You know where she is.'

'Any improvement?'

'Some. She seems to get better every time you drop by.' She smiles at me. 'I think you make a sweet pair.'

I consider saying something, then think better of it. They probably suspect, the doctors certainly know, but anonymity is a precious thing these days. Ever since the Second Calamity, the Cascadians have worked hard to give me, Prez and the other Sicario pilots new identities. To protect us. The Federation may be on the ropes, but they still have money enough for serious bounty hunters.

I nod and make my way down the familiar corridors of the hospital. I'm told that Prez will make a recovery, a good one. But there may be complications. It could be little things, things she will learn to cope with: pain in her extremities, problems with her hearing. But it could be worse: seizures, memory loss, brain haemorrhages.

I'm told those worse problems are very unlikely. Even so…

"When you hear the thunder."

Crimson One's words hit me once again. I never learned his name, never cared to know it. At first, he was a rival. Over Prospero, he became my most hated enemy.

"Hated" isn't a strong enough word.

He blamed me for what he did. He blamed me for the Federation's failures. He blamed me for the Second Calamity.

He didn't know that Prez had passed out, that she suffered because of me, but he would have blamed me for that too. I know I do.

I hurt her.

She's sitting up when I walk in, reading an aviation magazine I bought for her the other day. She smiles at me when I approach.

That smile both gladdens me, and makes me feel awful. She's happy to see me, and I'm happy to see her, see that she's getting better.

But she's here because of me. I did this to her.

There's a lot of things I could have done differently to avoid this. I could have disengaged. I could have flown more carefully.

I could have just picked a different plane.

Not that Prez would have let me.

'How's our kitten?' Prez—Robin, I can use her real name here—asks me. It's the same question every time. She's referring to that F/D-14, our plane of choice.

'Ready to go.' I say, sitting in the chair at her bedside. 'I bought you these.' I hand over the bag.

Robin opens it and scoffs. 'Grapes? Not wine?'

'I'd love to share a bottle with you, but you know that the doctors won't let us.'

'Ah well.' Robin pops a grape into her mouth. 'Next best thing.' She holds out the bag for me and grins. She knows me too well. I relent and take a grape too. She's not wrong, it's the next best thing.

We shared a nice bottle after a mission, early on in the war. We did so again, more than once.

'Done any flying?' Robin asks. 'From what I've seen,' she indicates the TV mounted on the wall, 'the Cascadians would love to have you in their air force.'

'What about you?'

Robin arches an eyebrow. 'Dodging the question, Mon.'

I sigh and shake my head.

'You want to.'

'I can wait.'

Robin's face creases. 'You could fly.'

'I need a wizzo.'

'I bet there's a dozen of them chomping at the bit to fly with you.'

'There are,' I allow. 'But they've got nothing on you.'

Robin grins at me, a little colour rising in her cheeks. 'Aww!'

"When the storm comes for you."

Robin swallows another grape, tipping her head back for a moment. She closes her eyes.

In an instant, I'm back there again. I'm back on some godforsaken stretch of highway somewhere in the middle of nowhere, our battered F/D-14 lying broken and forlorn. A botched landing on the only clear road I could find. I did not dare to eject, least the wind carry us somewhere too ravaged by the Second Calamity, a hellhole which would kill us both. I did not dare to eject in case Robin's seat failed to launch, or her parachute failed to deploy, or she hit her head on the canopy, or… there were a thousand things which could have gone wrong. We were lucky to survive the landing.

The front wheel snapped off during the impromptu landing. I barely remember the sparks, or the right swing-wing failing and falling free. I barely even remember fighting to bring the wrecked plane to a halt.

I do remember how much I was shaking, from adrenaline, from fear.

I remember screaming. Over and over and over again.

"Prez! Prez! Prez, wake up! Prez, talk to me! We're down, Prez! Please wake up!"

I remember dragging her from her seat, tumbling onto the scalding tarmac with her in my arms, damn near breaking my legs. I remember dragging her away, afraid that the fuel tanks might have been ruptured, that a fire might break out, that our dogged and trusty fighter might explode and kill us both.

I remember laying her down, fighting the urge to rip her helmet and mask off. I could have made things worse if I had. I had to do it carefully.

"Robin! Robin… please. Wake up…"

I remember holding her in my arms, practically sobbing over her.

"I'm so sorry. I did this to you. It's my fault."

'Mon? Hey, Mon?'

"Remember me."

Crimson One's last words.

Yes, I'll remember you, you mad bastard.

I tried to blame him for what happened, but he wasn't wrong.

It was all my fault.

He wasn't the one who nearly killed Prez… Robin.

I did.

I did this to her.

'Hey,' I feel her hand on mine, her fingers wrapping around it. She's leaning towards me, earnest and sincere. 'It's over. You got him, Mon. It's over.'

With her other hand, she holds out a small box. A box of tissues.

Not again!

I take one, my throat to constricted and painful to speak with, and dab at my moist eyes.

I don't remember much else. I was frantic, even when the medics turned up. They ended up giving me a tranquiliser.

When I came to, they told me that Robin would live, at the same time I was half-convinced that I was dreaming, and that she was really…

It's been hard enough going near a plane with her alive since that day. If she had died… I never would have looked up at the sky again.

'Why don't you take a plane up later?' Robin asks. 'You always felt at home in the sky.'

We did.

I sigh and scrunch up the tissue. 'Not yet.' I lob the tissue at the bin, and miss.

Robin doesn't suppress her snort of laughter. She's not wrong. I'm at home in the sky. I'm not so good down here, on the ground.

I mean to stand, walk over and pick it up, bin it properly, but Robin still has a hold of my hand. I suppose it can wait. I owe her… well… a lot would be an understatement. They say I'm a great pilot, but I wouldn't have managed any of it without Robin.

She doesn't ask if I'm still taking counselling. She doesn't need to. She knows.

In my dreams, I still see it all. I see the Cordium cruise missiles blowing the Independence Forces to hell. And I couldn't stop them. I used every missile trying, and yet more came. I emptied the gun. Yet more came.

And then Presidia happened. Out victory, the ceasefire, peace all snatched away by Crimson One's madness. An entire city decimated, all so that he could try to settle the score with us.

"When you hear the thunder.

When the storm comes for you.

Remember me."

Yeah, I'll remember you. Bastard.

And I'll remember what I did too.

And I'll remember what I nearly lost.

'It's okay,' Robin whispers, still holding my hand. 'It's okay.'

It's not. Not yet. But I nod anyway. Automatic. Just trying to make her feel better. Hoping she does get better. I'm supposed to cheer her up, not cry.

'Did Dip and Comic tell you that they're thinking of joining up with the Cascadians?'

'Seriously?' I'm genuinely surprised. Well, Diplomat joining up makes sense. But Comic? I didn't see that coming.

'Yeah!' Robin grins. 'And I think you ought to decide on something soon, Mon.'

I shrug. 'Later. When you're better.'

Robin's smile droops. 'You might be waiting for a while.'

'Then I'll wait.'

'Can you wait that long? For me?'

I turn my head, looking her in the eye. I'm usually hopeless on the ground, but now, I'm certain when I answer her.

'I won't fly with anyone else. I'll only fly with you.'

Her eyes sparkle, but she's not sad. The opposite. And I feel better as her smile returns.

'I'd better hurry up and get better then. Can't have you brooding on the airbase all day, every day, can we?'

'I need my wizzo back.' I find myself grinning now. 'And you need me to fly for you.'

'You sound like Dip and Mick.' Robin pouts, but she's not being entirely serious. And then she does turn serious. 'But I wouldn't have it any other way.'

I want to stay for longer. There're things I want to say. Important things? They seem important to me.

She's still holding my hand.

I lean in closer, wondering how to start.

Bad timing. The door opens, and one of the doctors walks in. He seems a bit taken aback to see me there. He must know who I am, but still, he's surprised.

'Ah,' he fidgets with his clipboard, looking guilty. 'I hope I'm not interrupting something. Forgive me, sir, but I need to discuss something with my patient. In private.'

Robin sighs, then winks at me. She'll tell me later anyway. 'I'll see you later.'

I'm not sure what to say. I stand, smile at her, and move to leave, stopping to pick up that lousily thrown tissue and put it in the bin. So much easier to hit a fast-moving plane with a missile at high speed, especially when Prez has locked in the target.

'Hey, Mon?' Robin holds up the magazine. 'Can you get me the next issue when you visit again? Please?'

I can't help but laugh. Nothing's going to keep her down for long. 'You owe me fifty credits.'

'Charge it to the Cascadians.'

I could. But I won't. Buying her aviation magazines and grapes is a small thing, but it goes a long way to alleviating my guilt.