Péter leaned back on his chair, looked up to the sky, and wondered if today was the day he was going to die. He had been doing that a lot lately. There wasn't much else to do, in fact. Ever since the satellites went offline the radio had gone silent, except for the few aircraft that occasionally flew patrol missions. In his opinion, that was less than useless. Shilage couldn't defend itself, from the IUN, from Conservatives or from whoever else that still had functioning planes. After all, they only had less than ten airworthy fighters. Granted, five of them were the Sol Squadron. But he still doubted they could stand up to a fully fledged attack, with dozens upon dozens of enemy birds. The only things Shilage Air Base had in plenty was food, ammunition and fuel. The precious fuel that was being wasted in those damned patrol flights. At least they could negotiate a peaceful surrender if they just gave the attackers their fuel and ammo. But no, the base commander held true to his conviction of fighting and defending his land.
What a joke. Mihaly must have thought himself a hero, the prodigal son returning to home in a time of dire need, probably against orders if the experimental fighter he arrived in gave any indication, to protect them from evil. Their own archangel. Nevermind that it was Erusea, the colonizer, who Mihaly fought for all his life. That the drones flew just like him, according to the pilots at least. In the most convenient possible time, he came back to his castle, sat upon his throne as base commander and was now ordering the soldiers to stand and fight against an undefeatable force. A fight that would likely kill Péter.
He truly hated royalty.
Still, wallowing in pity and fear would do nothing for him. As boring as the control tower was recently, it was still better than being in battle. There was some peace, some serenity, even if tainted by anxiety and dread they all felt. He focused on that serenity for a while, looking up through the windows. Even in his situation he could admire the blue sky. It was beautiful indeed.
"Shilage Air Base, this is Strider One, callsign Trigger, also known as Three Strikes. I'm with the Long Range Strategic Strike Group, but I have no intention of fighting. Over."
In a split second, Péter's brain went into overdrive. There were three planes currently on patrol, but he wasn't expecting any radio communication soon. No, nothing like that. He noticed a dot appearing on the radar that wasn't there before, but well within where the sensors should have caught it. The enemy was well within their territory. Once he could speak, he muttered a very quiet "What the fuck?" before answering.
"This is Shilage Air Base, Strider One, we're reading you loud and clear. Over."
In his stunned state, Péter had just reverted back to his years of experience, and answered Three Strikes like he were just another aircraft.
"Uhh, declare your intentions Strider One. Over."
Fucking Three Strikes
"I'm on a peaceful mission in the name of the IUN. I wish to parlay with your base commander, Mihaly A. Shilage. Over.''
"This is Erusean controlled airspace, Thr- Strider One, you do realize that. Over.''
He just threatened Three Strikes. So much for his fear of death.
"I do realize that. Though I have come without the intention to engage in combat, my aircraft is fully armed. If your fighters attempt to attack me, I will retaliate with full force. Over."
By this point every single pilot, radio operator, officer and whoever else was close to a radio was listening to this conversation. Péter looked back, and saw a myriad of faces, most pale in fear. Some were even turned in his direction, waiting for him to carry on. A few made conflicting hand signs, either to tell Three Strikes to go away, or encouraging him to land and everything in between. Péter had to be fast. This was not an attack, at least it didn't seem to be. His first priority was keeping the situation calm and getting more information.
"To every aircraft currently in the air, do not, I repeat, do not engage the enemy aircraft in combat. Strider One, are you alone? Over"
"Yes, I am flying alone in a F-22A. No other fighters from the LRSSG have accompanied me. Over."
"Strider One, I'm going to order two fighters already in the air to inspect and escort you, is that alright? I will also inform the base commander so that I can allow your landing. Over"
"Understood. Remind your fighters once again to not attack me, if you will. I will await further instructions. Over."
Péter looked at his back, where his immediate superior and supervisor of the entire control tower, Major Volkvich, was standing. The major noded, signaling his decision was the right one, and to finish the conversation.
"Roger. Grey 1, Grey 2, inspect and escort the enemy fighter. You do not, I repeat, do not have permission to engage in combat. I will be back soon. Over and out."
Péter looked stunned to his equipment. He had pictured how his death would look many times in his own head, usually by the control tower exploding altogether. He once even wondered if the feared Three Strikes would come his way and kill him himself. But now that legendary ace, that avatar of death was indeed coming his way, but to parlay? And alone? It sounded insane, even as he was setting up his radio to contact the commander.
"Base commander, this is Sergeant Péter Backs, from the control tower. We have a situation that requires your attention, sir. Over."
It took a few seconds for the gruff voice of Mihaly to answer. He always sounded older, sicker while on the ground.
"What is the situation, Sargeant? Speak quickly. Over."
"Sir, the enemy pilot known as Three Strikes has entered our airspace and requested a parlay with you. He appears to be alone, but has claimed to be in a combat ready fighter for self-defense. Two fighters from the Grey Squadron have been sent to inspect and escort him. Over."
There was a long, arduous pause. Péter could almost see the commander frowning, his expression changing to one between anger and annoyance, an expression he always seemed to wear. He could feel the Major staring at the back of his head. Only then he noticed just how fast his heart was beating.
"Wit is flying, yes? Send him to escort him as well. Allow him to land, make sure he isn't armed. and take him to me. Keep me informed. Over and out."
Having a superior order, now that was easier. Much easier than to deal with this entire situation by his own decisions, certainly.
"Sol Two, the base commander has ordered you to join the escort. Over."
"Roger."
Péter quickly changed his focus back on Three Strikes.
"Strider One, one more fighter will come to escort you. After that I will guide your landing into the airfield. Over."
"Understood, control tower. I must warn you that I am on a timer. After I land, I will have about two hours to get back into the air and to contact my own base. If I do not come back in time, the LRSSG will conduct a sizable strike on Shilage Castle. Therefore, for me and for you, time is of the essence. Over."
The inspection and escort went smoothly after that. After opening his weapons bay, the Eruseans could see he was carrying a moderate amount of air-to-ground and air-to-air missiles, not enough to conduct a proper strike but plenty to destroy hostile anti-air and aircraft during an escape. It took a while until the planes became visible from the control tower, the F-22 escorted by two Su-27s of Grey Squadron and the Su-30M2 of Sol Squadron. As was his official duty, Péter controlled Three Strikes' landing, a routine operation that he had done every day for the past few months. And yet he could not suppress a shiver when he saw the clawed hand with three scratch lines, flying in his general direction. He only took a proper breath when the aircraft flew and landed into the tunnel that housed the air base proper. Now back to controlling their airspace. Three Strikes was someone else's problem now.
—-
Fighter pilots always looked very plain. Well, that wasn't exactly true, fighter pilots looked like normal people. But in the air, they were anything but. They were loud, brash, with a wide range of overactive personalities, a tendency to do and say what they wanted when they wanted. It was almost like being a talkative maniac was a prerequisite for the job. Not to mention the visual aspect, which was always most striking. The speed, maneuverability, and sheer firepower each pilot individually had at their disposal surely got to their heads when they were flying, but also convinced bystanders that those were not regular people. They couldn't be, regular people don't fly at Mach 2.5, go up into the stratosphere and kill entire battalions by themselves. Karl Nagy had a theory that in pilots, and in those who saw them fly, a curious cognitive phenomenon happened: The aircraft and the pilot were fused into one single entity. That is to say, when a pilot was up in the air, he wasn't piloting his plane, he was the plane. The pilot and his jet became one and the same, a single being with wings and sentience. In that regard, airborne pilots were elevated above regular people, they became superhuman. And those who excelled in the air, the aces, they were in another category entirely, a superhuman among superhumans.
That's why Karl Nagy thought that Three Strikes looked very plain indeed. Once he took off his helmet after climbing down from the cockpit, Karl could take a good look at his face. He was a white male, young, probably in his mid twenties. His hair was a dark brown, slightly curly and neither long nor short. His face was somewhat easy on the eyes, but no head turner. His expression was neutral as he talked to the foot soldiers of the base. The face of the man who had sunk a carrier, taken down hundreds of enemy planes and likely killed upwards of ten thousand people was truly unremarkable.
Karl, on the other hand, thought that his aircraft looked anything but. It was an F-22 Raptor, one of the most powerful and versatile fighters in existence. He had only seen a couple over the years, and never this close, though he was very familiar with its components. Given Erusea's liberal policy on their air fleet, mechanics like him were expected to be able to service essentially all military fixed-wing aircraft currently in service anywhere in the entire continent, within their specialty. That's why it had been assigned to his team the task of servicing Three Strikes' plane after he landed.
A task he was most grateful for. The beautiful strike fighter was a true marvel of engineering, and, in his own opinion, the greatest plane to ever fly. Pilots may be loud and proud, but true beauty, true power rested within the airframe. After all, a pilot without a plane was an unarmed man, in his experience a substandard officer. In the dual entity that a fighter jet was, Karl would favor the aircraft itself, ninety-nine cases out of every hundred.
Though this time it was different. Yes, the pilot looked plain, but his combat record was… Well, if the Raptor was the greatest aircraft ever, Three Strikes was possibly the greatest pilot ever. A truly deadly combination, as the thousands of skeletons forever trapped inside the sunken fleet could attest. Karl was not a violent man, he believed, and likely could never kill someone himself. But the deeds of that ace inspired in him not revulsion or fear, but a twisted kind of admiration.
Still, he was the enemy. Karl ordered his team to fill the fuel tank to the maximum. If things were to go south after he left, at least Mihaly would have some kind of advantage in maneuverability by way of his lighter plane. And if things didn't go south, well, they still had way more fuel than they could reasonably expend themselves.
As his team worked, Karl watched as Three Strikes negotiated with Major Schwazil. Karl vaguely noticed that the ace also sounded softer without the radio background noise.
"Yes, I understand I am in his base. But this is non-negotiable. I will either parlay with Mihaly in the conference room, with witnesses, or I will leave immediately."
"This is outrageous! The base commander will not negotiate with the enemy in public for you to mock and humiliate him in front of his entire forces! Do you truly believe we Eruseans are that stupid?"
"I would not be foolish enough to taunt an enemy commander in his own base, Major. I only hope you are not foolish enough to send me away without the consent of your commanding officer. Who, I must remind you, asked to speak with me personally when he knew of my arrival."
Now that was interesting. A public negotiation. He would ask for surrender, certainly, maybe threaten the lives of the surrounding village in an eventual attack. A smart move, tugging at the heartstrings of those with family nearby. Though he wondered why they didn't do that by radio with the bombers already surrounding the base. Maybe to minimize damage? The commander could choose to attack, and while the result would likely be an Erusean defeat the LRSSG might lose a few planes, especially to Sol Squadron. Still, if the deal was a bust the attack would be compromised by losing the surprise factor. Well, he was a mechanic, not a strategist, but it still seemed quite odd.
Major Schwazil ordered the guards to keep the foreign pilot in sight while he walked away, reaching for his radio and muttering a couple of profanities. Three Strikes seemed to not mind, standing patiently in the hangar, waiting. Karl could not see his face from his position, which was in front of the Raptor, overseeing the refueling, but he could see how he stood. He was relaxed, and oddly still. Karl could not decide if his serenity was calming or off-putting. Still, far better than panic, he supposed.
It didn't take too long for his team to finish up with the Raptor, but he still took his time to admire the plane from up close. As far as he could tell it was in peak condition, but had also been slightly modded, if the markings on the weapon's bays were any indication. Unfortunately if the radio conversation was to be trusted, he simply did not have the time to study the plane's interior components. Nevertheless, the privilege of simply commanding a refueling of a Raptor, this Raptor actually if he was to be honest, had still been a minor highlight of his career so far. Nothing compared to servicing Mihaly's experimental fighter, of course.
Not much later, Major Schwazil returned, with an expression that was quite difficult to read.
"The parlay shall take place in the throne room, fifteen minutes from now. Every soldier that can abandon his post for an hour without compromising the security of this base is to attend the meeting. This includes every man present here."
Interesting, Karl thought. Mihaly was doubling down. Perhaps to intimidate Three Strikes? Or to simply show that he was not afraid, that he trusted his men. And Karl would be watching. He would normally internally protest being forced into a meeting rather than tending to the planes under his care, but this was a special case. A rare occasion where politics and strategy were much more interesting than the hangar.
He, and every other soldier around, followed Major Schwazil as he took Three Strikes through the hangar and up the stairs, crossing into the castle's original dungeons, now reworked into the information technology central processing and then continuing upwards. Once a friend of Karl's from IT had commented on how fitting it was for his job to be done where people had been tortured before his turn. He wondered if the builders of the base had had the same sense of humor. Lost in thought, he was surprised once he walked out onto the castle's main patio.
The intense sunlight hurt Karl's eyes for a second. Sometimes he forgot just how bright daylight was on a sunny day. But something more than sunshine filled the patio. Almost every soldier in the base was on it, walking towards the throne room, which lay on the north side. The mass of soldiers was slow to notice the… visitor, perhaps? Ambassador was likely the more precise term. Nonetheless, as Three Strikes and his escort walked towards the throne room, always led by Major Schwazil on the front, little by little, the crowd turned to him and stared. A way started to form and the soldiers ahead opened space for the entourage to advance. Whether it was done from subordination to the superior officer, respect for the pilot or simply an attempt to allow the order from the commander to be carried out as quickly as possible, Karl could not say.
Soon, they entered the immense throne room, with plentiful decorations and shining gold walls, in the back of which, near the beautifully crafted throne, the base commander stood. He was wearing the drab green uniform he always wore, standing just on the cusp of the stairs, turned towards the entrance, so that everyone entering the room would have to look up to look at his face. His expression was a severe one, of grim determination, highlighting his aging features. As Three Strikes approached he didn't move one inch, and his expression never faltered. Only as he approached the stairs leading to him, did Mihaly move. He raised his hand, an order to halt, to which Three Strikes and the escort obliged without a second of delay.
And then Mihaly walked down the stairs.
Karl had a very privileged view of the event, having followed the approaching party from behind, and could clearly see Mihaly's expression as he waved Major Schwazil away and approached Three Strikes until they were at arms length of each other. Against all expectations, Mihaly raised his hand to be shaken by the enemy, still without changing his expression, and spoke with a severe tone.
"It is an honor to receive you at my base, Three Strikes."
"And it's an honor to meet the man inside the jet, Mister X."
Mister X? What the hell was Three Strikes saying? And was that a smile on the base commander's face? Karl was beyond confused at this point, but the aces clearly weren't fazed at all. It deeply puzzled Karl that the happiest he had ever seen Mihaly was when speaking to an enemy pilot. Not even with his own squadron had he seen him smile. Not once.
"It has been relayed to me that you wish to negotiate, is that correct?"
"That is correct, Commander Mihaly. If I may, I would like to ask for permission to speak uninterrupted until my full point is made. It is quite a long argument, and I think this conversation would flow quickest and most efficiently if I was allowed to fully articulate my proposition before you respond. Is that acceptable?"
Again, that inexplicable smile on Mihaly's face.
"You are as bold on the ground as you are in the air, Three Strikes. Your permission is granted. Speak freely."
"Thank you, Commander Mihaly. My proposition, against what most of you are probably expecting, is not to surrender. Instead, the LRSSG wants to invite Shilage Air Base to join the IUN in the fight against Erusea's remaining forces."
Karl was curious about what Three Strikes would say, but he couldn't have guessed this. To call an entire air base to mutiny against High Command. He knew the guy was bold, but this was near insanity.
"I have three main arguments to convince you that this is the correct course of action. The first one, and unfortunately the most brutal, is that if you do not join us, the LRSSG will raid this base for fuel and ammo. We need to prepare for the final push of the war, but we are currently running out of supplies. Shilage Air Base is not only on our way towards the final battle we intend to fight, it is also notably well stocked with bullets, missiles, bombs and jet propellant. If we are to become allies, we expect you to share with us, if we are to remain enemies, then we will take it by force. The LRSSG has seen Sol Squadron fight. I was present in battles in which you fought thrice, in fact the two of us engaged each other twice already. I, more than anyone from my side of this conflict, understands the might of Sol Squadron. And so trust me when I say that all your skill will not be enough to stop our attack. Should we attack, this airbase will fall, every Erusean aircraft will be downed, every anti-air will be destroyed. We will not target the civilians in the vicinity, but otherwise we shall not hold back."
There it was. The threat. 'Join or die'. Karl was not surprised by Three Strike's speech. He had foreseen it ever since that initial radio call, less than an hour ago. He was, however, surprised by his own reaction. Fear. Overwhelming fear and dread. He heard many stories about the pilot in front of him, of his accomplishments in battle. Many seemed like exaggerations, or even outright fantasy. But it didn't matter right now. Even if half of the stories were lies, that still meant that Three Strike's was not bluffing. That meant that if they didn't join, they all would indeed die.
"That, of course, is not the main motivation I wish to inspire in you or in your men. In fact I am terribly sad that I even need to declare it as a possibility. Only because of the urgency of the matter, and because it is true, that I feel obligated to say it. Nevertheless, allow me to present my second argument. The battle in question that we are preparing for is a raid on the Space Elevator, where the factory of drones is located, and from where the remaining Arsenal Bird obtains his energy. You must understand by now, Mihaly. Erusea has lost the war, it is not really Osea against Erusea any longer. The true enemy now are the drones. Their automated factories, self improving artificial intelligence, the Space Elevator providing unlimited electrical power and the Arsenal Bird defending it all and continuing the deployment of the drones. With the destruction of the satellite network, the drones are continuing their last orders, to produce more of themselves and to keep fighting. If we, human pilots, don't stop this now, the military might of the UAVs will soon overpower every other nation on the planet. And without satellite control, they will never stop fighting. We are on the cusp of eternal war, waged by self sustaining machines, in the name of a dead government and a blinded and muted High Command. To join forces with the LRSSG is to break ties with a High Command that has effectively ceased to exist, in order to exterminate an existential threat to all mankind while there is still time."
Karl could feel the atmosphere of the room changing. The hundreds of men and women around him, listening closer, moving less and less, completely focused on the words of Three Strikes. He knew why, of course, he felt it within himself. Three Strikes was convincing them. Those present there outside of Sol Squadron had not heard of any new developments in the war since the satellite failure. And the picture being painted by him was not only terrifying by itself, it was also terrifyingly possible. The LRSSG were on the receiving end of the drone's warfare during the entire war, and still now they fought against them. The thought of a never ending war against machines fighting for no one was utterly horrifying, and on the face of it, it seemed like an obligation to put down all differences to stop that threat.
"My third, and final argument is more of a question. Why are you fighting for Erusea? Why are you all fighting for Erusea? This is Castle Shilage, from where the Grand Duchy of Shilage was ruled. A country that ceased to exist thanks to Erusea's militaristic expansion. The pilots of Sol Squadron bear the patches of the Voslagian Air Force from the Republic of Voslage, a country that was annexed by Erusea when they were still children at the oldest. Erusea has a long and continued history of expansion and colonization upon every other country in Usea, destroying cultures, erasing languages, killing and pillaging for the glory of their motherland, as if that gave them permission to destroy everyone else's! The civilians of the town around this castle yearn for independence. The soldiers from this air base would much prefer to bear the emblems of their own true nations than those of their own colonizers. And Erusea has been almost utterly destroyed. They lost the war, and when the dust settles, the IUN and Osea will be the ones to hold control over Usea. And all that they want, that we all want, is peace. To die not young in war, but old in our own beds. In our own nations. Should Shilage Air Base join the LRSSG in this final push, Shilage shall be freed from Erusean control, together with Voslage and every other nation illegally annexed by Erusea. If it is the will of the people, Mihaly A. Shilage, you might return here once again not as a military commander, but as this nation's rightful King. Fight along us, destroy the drone production and give your nation peace, prosperity and independence. This is my proposition, Commander Mihaly. To you and to every other soldier here."
The room exploded into a roar. Midway through his speech, Three Strikes began talking energetically, with emotion. It resonated with the men and women present. Most were indeed not Erusean, not truly, but had instead been forced into the Erusean nationality by conquest and into the Erusean Air Force by conscription. It was like magic. In the span of a few minutes, what seemed like an insane idea from a madman had turned into the best option available. Karl himself was truly convinced too. Erusea was not his nation, Voslage was. Erusea was the conqueror that had forced itself onto him and onto his homeland and was now on the brink of burning down the entire world for their greed. Here, more than ever before, was a promise of freedom, of self determination. The chance for independence, the temptation of vengeance upon Erusea, the duty to stop the drones, the fear of death. It all came together in one single, simple conclusion. Shilage Air Base must join the IUN coalition. The euphoria was tangible.
"Halt!"
One single cry from the explosive voice of Commander Mihaly was enough to silence everyone in the room nearly instantly. His hand was extended high into the air, into the universal stop sign. After the cacophony of cheers and yells, the silence was almost dense. Mihaly looked straight into the face of Three Strikes, took a deep breath, and responded.
—-
"Excuse the overenthusiasm of my troops, Three Strikes. They have only fought the enemy, never negotiated with them. Caution is how we all stay alive, but perhaps they have forgotten that."
Mihaly was a pilot. He belonged in the skies, inside his plane, preferably alone. Whenever he had to lead a squadron, he made his expectations clear: He was a commander only when airborne, and there he expected instant and absolute obedience. That was the way he enjoyed living and flying.
Being the commander of an entire base was another matter entirely. He had to deal with much more, many more people, and it was grating on him. Troops don't respond like an engine to a throttle, and defects can't be sorted out by mechanics in a few hours. People were not Mihaly's preferred company, and now more than ever before in his short career as base commander, was the fallibility of crowd thought and convincing speeches infuriatingly obvious.
"Your claims to convince us all require our trust to work. To blindly trust the enemy is a mistake not even a child could make. Before I can even consider your proposition, I must, for the sake of my men, examine each and every affirmation you have put forward."
"Go ahead, Commander Mihaly. I am confident that you will soon be convinced."
From an objective point of view, Mihaly knew Three Strikes wore a neutral, calm expression. He still wanted to punch that smug smile into his face. The enemy had just made a large portion of his forces to cheer! Mihaly was expecting just a surrender request, and was confident that his troops would be wise enough to ignore enemy propaganda. They were strong enough to not be shaken by fear. Instead, Three Strikes had filled them with hope and a sense of duty, strong enough to betray their superior command. What was more infuriating than all was that he had succeeded in filling Mihaly himself with those feelings.
"Firstly, you claim to be able to overwhelm us with your forces. But as you have called to attention, I have seen the LRSSG fight multiple times. Your forces consist of, at best, two squadrons with four aircraft each. You are indeed skilled, but such low numbers will not guarantee you a decisive victory against this air base. Even if you win, you'll be much worse for wear, and your numbers will lower even further. Are you really willing to risk the lives of multiple wingmen just for some fuel and ammo? It seems far more likely to me that you intend to scare us into submission and alliance, rather than fight and risk losing not only wingmen, but perhaps the battle entirely."
"I have made a mistake, Commander Mihaly. I referred to my unit as the LRSSG. I do serve under that group, but we are not alone. Through some considerable effort, we managed to join forces with several land, sea and air forces from the IUN and from Osea. Just our aerial numbers are more than five times what the LRSSG was alone. This, of course, could be a lie, but it'd be foolish to lie like that. You would notice the lie shortly after joining with our forces, tarnishing the trust between us. Furthermore, I'm telling you of an upcoming attack, thus removing the surprise factor and increasing the likelihood of death and failure for my wingmen. Therefore I'm either confident in our inevitable victory, or I am bluffing. You must ask if you want to call this bluff."
Mihaly was not fully convinced, but he also understood that even if the battle was merely against the LRSSG, the air base's likelihood of victory was minimal. If thirty regular enemy fighters attempted to invade, Sol Squadron alone could repel them, but the LRSSG was composed exclusively of aces. Only Three Strikes was a match for him, but that didn't mean he could protect the rest of his men. If he killed Three Strikes right here, right now, the castle would not fall. But then he might end up as the last pilot airborne, with no allies or enemies left, and who knows how many dead on the ground. This was not an acceptable outcome.
"And what about the claimed drone production? How can we, or even you actually, know for sure that those drones are indeed being produced after High Command was disconnected? We have not seen any activity from them, and it seems that we are closer to the Space Elevator than you are."
"That is because Shilage is Erusean territory. For now at least. The central server's last orders were to focus missions on where the fighting was thickest, such as Farbanti, and retroactively retake air superiority where it was possible. Though ground forces quickly seized control of Farbanti after our last encounter, air superiority was retaken by Erusean drones, which soon began to bomb the city. These are photos of the aftermath."
Three Strikes reached into his flight suit's internal pocket and pulled out a couple of square photographs, which he handed to Mihaly. They were taken from quite high up, and a few clouds obscured details, but it was unmistakably Farbanti. It had been bombed into oblivion. It looked almost like a couple hundred planes conducted carpet bombing on the entire city. But none of it made sense. Oseans had no real incentive to do that other than petty, brutal revenge for the preemptive strikes at the start of the war. That didn't seem like Osea, they liked to protect and pamper whatever territory they took in war, to instill a sense of belonging and gratitude. And if it was the drones, why would they annihilate Erusea's capital so thoroughly? Erusea was still their commanding nation.
"How did this happen? Why would the drones destroy the capital of the city they were tasked to protect?"
"That's because of the occupying ground forces. Erusea's ground forces had all been killed or captured, and naturally Osea's and IUN's armed forces moved in to occupy and rebuild the city. When the drones came, carried by Arsenal Bird, they attacked everywhere, because Osea and IUN were everywhere. The soldiers resisted, and even when achieving air superiority proved impossible, they still insisted in anti air efforts. The city was evacuated, but eventually the troops ran away too. These photos are the last we have of Farbanti. The city is empty and destroyed. Arsenal Bird still flies above it."
He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts, breathe some air. Though they fought on opposite sides, neither of them wished to see anything like this. They were soldiers, not monsters. Such results were utterly intolerable. Three Strikes continued.
"That, however, is a great advantage to us. The Arsenal Bird is as far as it can be from the Space Elevator, which means this will be our opportunity to attack the Space Elevator for the maximum amount of time and against the least resistance. We must move quickly before it flies to a less favorable position. Commander Mihaly, what happened in Farbanti might happen to every other city not previously controlled by Erusea, where other emblems fly. It is our duty as soldiers to protect. We must protect everyone by taking down Arsenal Bird and destroying the drone factories."
The photo might be old, from another war. Farbanti had been bombed before. It might have been modified to fit his needs, his argument. The drones might very well be flying peacefully, awaiting further orders. This all might be a lie.
But it didn't seem so, it didn't feel so. Mihaly recognized the city, he flew over it not too long ago. A destroyed bridge that he saw fall himself. The ships that had run aground during the latter stages of the battle. Even an Osean ship he had personally sunk was visible in one photograph, though it wasn't a particularly clear photo. It all pointed to the evidence being legitimate, and Three Strike's words being the truth.
"There is still your last argument, however. You promised our nations freedom and independence from Erusea. How can we know you will keep your word? We might be freed from Erusea, but how can we know Osea will not use this as an opportunity to exploit our lands and our people?"
Mihaly was bluffing. He had already been convinced by the photographs, and being exploited by either Erusea or Osea was irrelevant. It didn't matter which foreign flag flew above Shilage, they were foreign all the same. But if he could use this as a way to guarantee the freedom and independence of his nation, he would. Maybe Three Strikes could see through him, but maybe not. He had offered him the throne, after all.
"That I cannot answer, Commander Mihaly. I cannot guarantee you that oppressed Usean nations will be freed, that their self determination will in fact be respected and protected. Osea might very well take all of Erusea's territory for itself, there would be very little resistance from the international community. The Erusean government has certainly destroyed any reasonable justifications it could have for independence after starting the war, with their actions during it being the nail on the coffin. However, I can guarantee you what will happen if somehow Erusea does not fall, if they are able to come out of this war as an independent state, with sovereignty over the land we are standing on right now. They will continue their exploitation. The citizens of Shilage, Voslage, and many other nations will continue being drafted to their armed forces, to bear arms under the Erusean banner. They will keep being heavily taxed by Farbanti. The native tongues of their people will slowly vanish and die. Allegiance to Erusea is a contribution to their overarching plan to make these nations not only governed by Erusea, but to completely destroy their memory of who they once were. Until one day the names of all other peoples are forgotten, and there's no identity under their flag, but the Erusean identity."
He knew that, of course. Watched this process throughout his entire life. This kid, ace or not, had not seen a fraction of what Erusean integration and assimilation actually was. That's why it hurt so much to acknowledge that he was right.
Mihaly had abandoned his national identity before Erusea took over. When they put the crown back on his head, he ran to military service. There he found a kingdom he could truly call his own, somewhere where he belonged. It was easier, more comfortable, to tune out the slow destruction of his nation when he lived in his own personal, undisputed domain. Not to mention his resentment for the traitorous people of his land, who had stabbed him not on the back, but on the face.
How young and foolish he was. Only in old age, did he understand what had truly happened back then. A cry for liberty, for self sovereignty, against the undeserved power of the crown. He had no fault for being born with it, but neither did the people have fault for dreaming of freedom. A freedom he once stood in the way of, but now could fight for. He was no longer the resentful young man who hated his own people for refusing to be his subjects. Mihaly was old now, wiser, and willing to right his wrongs.
"Meanwhile, Osea's record is much better. The aftermath of the Belkan War and Continental War serves as evidence. While they remained the greatest power when each war ended, rather than colonize or annex the liberated territories, Osea financed their recovery and militarily protected them against possible future wars. This is what the IUN is all about, after all. I cannot guarantee Shilage's independence after Osea takes over, but if you were to ally yourself with us, history has evidence that they will respect your borders. That is a non-possibility under Erusea."
Mihaly took a deep breath after Three Strikes stopped speaking. His decision was made, the path forward was obvious. He only hoped that the kid was correct in his prediction.
He took a break from the complete focus on Three Strikes he was exerting until now and looked at the soldiers in the room. Since he was now standing on their level, he could only see the faces of those closest to him. They were silent, nervous, their eyes fixating on him, waiting for his response. Mihaly could feel the atmosphere of the room, tense like a taut violin string on the brink of rupture. He wondered for a moment if what he was planning would be too cruel, but ultimately decided it was worth it, even if decidedly selfish.
"Three Strikes, you have invaded my airspace without permission, threatened my soldiers, asked for a public negotiation to manipulate my troops and attempted to turn my entire base against High Command in an act of overt and violent high treason."
Mihaly was pleased to notice the calm and composed pilot show signs of fear. His legs shook slightly, his pupils dilated, sweat started to form on his forehead. He could nearly hear his heart beating faster. It was a little amusement he allowed himself: To certify the machine of destruction in front of him was only human, still a kid deep down.
"You are tremendously lucky that you convinced me to turn as well. Shilage Air Base is no longer affiliated to Erusea. We are now members of the IUN Coalition!"
The soldiers roared once again, even louder. The throne room echoed with cheers, curses directed at Erusea, and the names of several nations. Shortly after, an unifying chant began to take over the soldiers.
"Mihaly! Mihaly! Mihaly!"
It was not the sycophantic yells of his subordinates that brought a smile to his face, however. It was the hilarious expression of relief and nausea on the kid's face. He nearly laughed at it.
—-
"Sol One, aircraft preparations complete. You are cleared to taxi."
This was it then. If they were successful, this would be the last air battle of the Lighthouse War. If they lost, well, the war might never end. Mihaly thought it was a good idea to think about this just before the mission. He always found that he flew better when driven by a cause rather than mere orders.
As he taxied out of the hangar and onto the airstrip, he noticed the sky was quite clear, almost no clouds. Mihaly had learned how to use clouds in his favor over the years, but to be honest, he found it more pleasing to fight in a clean sky. His canopy wouldn't get frozen, his line of sight would be limited only by his own eyes. It was quite nice to fight in the pure blue.
"Sol Two, the runway is free, you have permission to take off."
The Su-30M2 a few hundreds meters ahead of him started to accelerate. It was such a beautiful airframe, and truly dangerous in dogfights. Not as fancy as a Su-57 or a F-22, but nothing to be trifled with. In truth, Mihaly thought its greatest strength was its sturdiness, allowing the pilot to pull as many Gs as they could handle. The aircraft didn't hold the pilot back, and at Sol Squadron's level this was perhaps the most crucial factor.
"Sol One, prepare for take off."
Mihaly aligned himself with the runway, adjusted his flaps and glanced at Sol 2, who had just taken off. His own aircraft was something else entirely, however. To say that he had stolen it for himself might have been an exaggeration, but now that he was going to use it against Erusea, there was really no defense. He wished he could have tested its full capabilities in a mock dogfight against Three Strikes, but there was simply no time, unfortunately. Now he was going to find out just how capable it truly was in a trial by fire.
"Sol One, the runway is free, you have permission to take off."
He pushed on the throttle, quickly gaining speed. The Strike Wyvern accelerated through the runway, the sound of its engines almost music. Mihaly pulled the stick back, and the Wyvern took off, still accelerating. It was then, climbing into the blue sky, that Sol One felt very strongly for some reason that he would not die today.