"Fucking die already, you treasonous bastard!"

And now it was the seventh missile that Archange had evaded from Calamity.

"Shut the fuck up, Lebrun!"

Tempest was such a prick about keeping the radio clear. If only he was as aggressive when it mattered.

"Hammer 2 and Hammer 3 have been shot down, I repeat-"

Calamity watched as the traitor fired off a shot from his EML, vaporizing Coyote inside his YF-23, and then shot two missiles at his remaining loyal wingman just before doing an impossibly agile Split S and evading not only two more missiles from Calamity, but also the rest of his bullets.

"Hammer Squadron has been shot down, I repeat, Hammer Squadron has been shot down, Coyote is down".

Calamity could not match Archange's turn radius, her speed was just too great. If she tried it she would simply crash into the waves below and die a completely pointless death. And Calamity had gone too far to die by anything other than enemy fire.

She decided on an Immelmann, mirroring Archange, hoping to catch him down on a dive. Before she could even complete the roll Archange was already far from her line of possible attack, and she would have to chase his tail down once again.

They had expected this raid, of course. The Conservative cowards knew the Elevator was what kept the Arsenal Bird moving. Calamity also knew they would come running for Osea with their tail between the legs, begging for amnesty and forgiveness. Narrow-minded pussies, all of them. It was their fault and their fault alone Erusea had been backed into a corner.

Calamity blamed High Command for the day's disaster though. It had been the second time in this war that Osea had sent strike fighters to emaciate the Elevator before a main attack. Surely the idiots would try and explain their failure by pointing to the stealth of the attacking aircraft. How could those generals of so many wars be so soft? Now it was left for her and other young officers to clean up their mess, as usual.

Archange had shifted his focus from the air to the sea. Calamity watched in confusion for a moment, not seeing what his plan was. Still, she dove down and tried to align herself with his jet, get close enough for a sure hit. He kept flying in a straight line, as if he had forgotten about the battle and was enjoying the scenery. She switched to her QAAMs and pressed on the throttle, trying to get close enough for a sure kill. Archange fired two missiles, and Calamity fired hers as well, hoping 400m would be close enough to guarantee a hit.

In a split second she saw his stolen X-02S pitch up and an explosion and a shockwave. Finally, a hit! But the plane kept going up, rolling, and Calamity only watched, her mind a knot, pitching up at the very last possible moment before she would hit the sinking destroyer.

"Fucking hell! What the fuck was that?"

It took her a few seconds to understand what had happened. Mihaly had been aiming at an Erusean destroyer, and the explosion she saw was not from his plane, but rather the allied ship. In a second of pure horror she realized that she didn't know whether her missiles had flown off to the sky or hit the friendly ship. She couldn't think about that now, she had to focus.

"I told you to shut up! What part of that sentence do you not und-"

Tempest radio cut to static before he could finish the phrase.

"Trucker 1 has been shot down, no ejection. I repeat-"

Calamity looked to her right and above. She could see Tempest's craft flying down in a fireball. Three more fireballs, and an exceedingly fast jet flew through the air where her friend had breathed for the last time. The IFF said, beside the box for missile lock 'F-22A STRIDER ONE'.

"Trucker Squadron has been shot down, I repeat, Trucker Squadron has been shot down."

How many had it been already? Thirty, forty? More? And how many had these two assholes killed by themselves? How many friends did Calamity even have left? Even the Helios artillery from Arsenal Bird had run out of ammo, and it didn't even slow down the enemy.

"Thunder 1, stop flying in a straight line, there's an enemy behind you."

Even the AWACS sounded desperate by now.

"Argus, how high is he?"

"Fifteen hundred meters and dropping."

That was high enough. Calamity rolled onto her side, going full knife edge and pitched. She was going to fly through the Elevator's superstructure, hoping it would give her enough breathing room to maneuver herself onto an attacking position. If she were lucky the pursuing Osean, or traitor, it was all the same, would crash into the pillars and save her the time.

"Huntress Squadron has been shot down, I repeat, Huntress Squadron has been shot down."

Her maneuver worked fine enough. Every time she did that in patrol flights or during training her superiors would chew her out for reckless piloting, but she was glad to have had the practice.

As she turned around she could see the pursuer. He did not have the practice, and a good chunk of his left wing was missing. Easy prey.

"Thunder 1, target down."

"Bet he went out thinking he was Solo Wing Pixy, heh?"

A few seconds passed before Calamity noticed Tempest would never scold her again.

He would be avenged in time, but first the traitor. Where the fuck was he anyway?

"Argus, where is the traitor?"

"Do you mean the Strike Wyvern, Thunder 1? Let me see... he's three kilometers to your six... flying in your direction! Take evasive maneuvers now!"

Calamity rolled to her left as she pitched, just barely dodging the railgun shot. The shockwave shook her plane so violently she feared she had been hit, but no alarms sounded. Not important ones anyway.

"I almost had you before, traitor. You wanna hunt me? Let's dance!"

She knew he wasn't listening, but there was no need to hold her mouth anymore. Calamity watched the radar, two missiles flying towards her from below. She committed the pitch into a loop to dodge the missiles and get a shot at Archange. Her cannon would have been useful in these situations, but missiles would have to do.

She reached the final part of the loop, flying upside down towards the ground, her nose pointing where Archange should be. And she saw him, firing directly at her.

"Thunder 1, you've been hit on the left wing and are leaking fuel, can you still fly?"

"I'm not down yet, Argus."

"Druid 1 and Druid 2 have been shot down. I repeat, Druid and Druid 2 have been shot down, no ejections."

What the hell had just happened? Did Archange predict what she would do? How? A chill went down her spine, but quickly vanished. The fear is the death of the mind, and she would not fear.

Archange had a very fast and agile plane, but perhaps this too could be used against him. A plan formed in Calamity's mind, and she rose into the air, full throttle, climbing as fast as she could, weaving from right to left. Archange kept his pursuit, but didn't fire. Good enough.

Calamity then threw her plane on a 180 turn, flying to the ground at ever increasing speeds. Then she activated her airbrakes, turned her nose to the horizon and used the remaining energy to start an Immelmann. If he hadn't crashed into the waves, he surely would be too fast to maneuver faster than her, and she could get a good shot.

Her hopes were shattered with her engine.

"WARNING! RIGHT ENGINE LOST! RIGHT ENGINE LOST"

Calamity saw Archange falling with his nose pointed to her, slowly. The falling leaf.

In that moment Calamity realized what she had failed to so far. There was no longer a hope of victory. Not against him. She would die, alone and afraid, to the man she once idolized. To a traitor.

"No. Not like this."

She had one final advantage. She still flew faster, Archange had sacrificed all his energy to perform the falling leaf, and it would take a good few seconds for him to catch up. That allowed Calamity to initiate one last move. She began rolling and pitching simultaneously at a constant angle, struggling to keep stability without her second engine through the rudders.

"Altar Squadron has been shot down, I repeat, Altar Squadron has been shot down."

Archange knew he could win the rolling scissors. He had the faster, more agile fighter, not to mention it was intact. That's how Calamity knew he would take the bait.

"Thunder 1, your plane can no longer fly, eject now."

Eject? Onto the waters Osea controlled now? She'd become a prisoner of war at best, most likely she would just be shot and killed on sight. No, she would die in the sky, not drown at sea.

"Axel 1 has been shot down, I repeat, Axel 1 has been shot down."

Archange kept pursuing, relentless. He was quickly gaining speed, and it would not be much longer until he took his last shot.

"Thunder 1, eject now, I repeat, eject now!"

Calamity turned-off her G-limiter. She always wondered why it could even be turned off. Neither the plane nor the pilot could take it, so there was no reason for that button to even exist. She was very glad it existed now, though.

"Thunder 1, eject already! Thunder 1!"

Just as her jet would cross right into Archange's line of fire, Calamity pulled back on the stick and turned towards the Strike Wyvern. The effect of the G-forces on her body were severe, not that it mattered. Her last thoughts were muttered to herself, almost a prayer.

"Your rebellion may win this battle, but you will not live to see your treason rewarded."

Thunder 1 and Sol 1 became one single fireball in the sky.

"Thunder 1 has been shot down, I repeat, Thunder 1 has been shot down."

—-

"Sol 1 is down, I repeat, Sol 1 is down."

Mihaly had just been downed? How? By who?

"Long Caster, repeat that."

"Sol 1, Mihaly A. Shilage, has been downed."

An F-22 overshot him, just as he predicted. Trigger hit the air brakes and switched to his 8 AAM.

"Which aircraft did that?"

The loyal wingmen followed their master and overshot him as well, at a downwards angle and to the left. Trigger dove and rolled, smoothing out the line of fire and shooting immediately after each target was locked. Four missiles flew towards the Super Hornets and the Raptor.

"It seems an Su-57 collided with Sol 1 mid flight. Both planes exploded, but it seems Mihaly ejected."

Each of the missiles hit their target. The Hornets were destroyed, but the hardier Raptor kept flying. No surprises here, that was a sturdier jet. Trigger kicked himself mentally, he had to save his 8 AAMs for the main target. Well, he would save some missiles by taking his next target down with the gun.

"That's good, but he's an old man. Ejecting will do a number on his body. He should get some medical attention ASAP."

His first squeeze didn't hit. The pilot was giving his all in evading, diving at a far steeper angle than Trigger expected. He was clearly afraid, though, and that made him somewhat predictable.

"The ships down there have a war to end, Strider 1. Soon as that's taken care of we'll rescue your new crush."

The second did it. Scared pilots were indeed predictable, after all. Trigger knew he was trying to gain speed to roll and pitch to one of his sides. A couple kilometers to the left there was an Osean formation, so he would go to the right. Trigger shot before he even turned, but he knew it would hit. And it did, ravaging the plane's nose and cockpit, before finally hitting the engines, igniting the remaining fuel and blowing up the entire airframe.

"For fuck's sake Long Caster, Mihaly's triple my age. This cockpit's quite crammed, don't make me puke."

"Mihaly, eh? Not Sol 1, not Archange, not even Shilage? Good job on taking out that squadron, by the way."

Trigger expanded his radar, searching for more enemies. They were quite far, he noticed he had just cleared out a large area.

"You're disgusting, Long Caster, has anyone ever told you that? Tell me where to go now. Same as always, where there are more enemies and fewer allies."

"Bearing 275 from your position, do you see that furball about 15 kilometers from your position? Most of the remaining enemy aircraft have gathered there. Go get them."

Trigger looked at his radar, yawing to the left until he read 275 on his compass. As Long Caster had said, he could see a decent concentration of both allied and enemy fighters. He pressed on the throttle and switched back to his standard missiles. He resolved to watch himself and avoid wasting those 8 AAMs.

"Long Caster, I can't see from up here, how's the naval assault going?"

"So far so good, Strider 1. Dominance over the sea around the Space Elevator has been secured, thanks for that initial stealth strike. A decent number of marines are currently fighting to take control of the Elevator itself, but the structure is quite large and has a good number of Erusean troops, so it's going to take a while."

Trigger approached the furball, identifying the easier targets. Drones with their lead dead, already damaged airframes, humans already engaged in dogfights, thus distracted. Earlier in the war he had gone for the strongest enemies first, but experience had proven that more often than not numerical advantage was the best way to protect friendlies, as it put the remaining enemies on the defensive. And it was far quicker to take out emaciated targets.

"Now, what I'm gonna tell you is classified information, so don't go parroting it around."

"We are hearing you, Long Caster."

"But you can pretend we aren't. I've always loved listening in to things I was not supposed to."

"Strider 2 and Strider 4, go help Strider 1, will you? Earn your paychecks."

Trigger settled on taking out an F-18 drone first, and a half-destroyed Su-47 second. The F-18 flew lost, in a straight line, and two well timed missiles dealt with it. The Su-47 was moving far better, and noticed Trigger approaching, facing him directly and hitting his brakes.

"As I was saying, Strider 1, there is a secondary ground assault force on the elevator right now. They parachuted into some maintenance openings up on the main shaft and invaded the elevator unnoticed. Not even I have info on their current status, but they will probably be the ones to destroy the microwave emitters that power the Arsenal Bird."

The Su-47's reverse swept wing was intended to grant the craft superior maneuverability, or so he had heard. Trigger would wager that was right. The enemy performed a Kulbit loop that could only be described as beautiful, dodging Trigger's missiles and shooting two of his own toward him. Trigger felt excited, he had faced only one truly great pilot during this battle. A little challenge always kept his blood pumping.

The missiles were evaded easily enough, but he was too high and too fast for agile dodging. The enemy trailed on his six and shot his cannon, a couple bullets hitting. Luckly too few and not well-placed enough to cause significant damage, but nevertheless indicative of a skilled enemy. His earlier determination to lower the number of enemy fighters as quickly as possible was quickly forgotten in the thrill of a good fight.

Trigger pitched to a 90-degree angle and began climbing, though slowly. He pulled back on his throttle and watched his speed fall from nearly 2000 kph to nearly 500. The enemy overshot his aim and had to correct, giving Trigger the three extra seconds he needed. His Raptor engaged its thrust vectoring and executed a 180 turn with radius zero, from vertical climb to dive, facing his opponent head-on.

"Such a show-off."

Trigger could see the white parachute from the ejection. He wondered if he could get the chance to speak to that pilot after the battle. After all, the war was going to end, what better time to make new contacts with pilots from the other side.

"You're just jealous his plane can do post-stall and yours can't, Strider 2."

"Let him talk, Long Caster, it's fine. We wouldn't want to upset a friendly pilot and make him leave before the Arsenal Bird comes down, right?"

"Speak of the devil, Strider 1. Arsenal Bird incoming! All aircraft, prepare for the main course."

Trigger expanded his radar as far as it went. He saw the massive signal of the Arsenal Bird, and many smaller signals around it.

"I see multiple blips on my scope. At least fifty drones, probably closer to one hundred. Get ready."

The furball had diminished, only a handful of enemy fighters were left. The drones were the main concern now, and it was his job to deal with them. He flew straight onto the swarm, shooting his 8 AAMs and picking targets.

About ten drones downed later, the Arsenal Bird's shield was still up. It wasn't often Trigger felt impatient in the middle of a firefight, but this was strange. And more, the number of drones in his radar seemed to grow, not shrink.

"Long Caster, when will these shields go down?"

"Soon, Strider 1. The Space Elevator seems to be almost a maze."

"Well, tell those ground troops we don't have inf-"

His Raptor shook, a few alerts sounded. A drone missile managed to catch him in his distraction, and he paid the price for it.

"Fuck! I've been hit, but I can still fly. Keep us updated, Long Caster."

The missile alert alarms seemed to never turn off now, an endless flurry of attacks from all directions. Getting the opportunity to take down a drone seemed to get rarer by the second.

"Wyrm Squadron has been shot down!"

It was not long until the G-Forces started to take their toll on him as well. Extended periods in upwards of 6 Gs began to muddle his mind and exhaust his body. How many drones were pursuing him now? He couldn't look down to count without getting hit anymore.

The massive Arsenal Bird kept flying, inside its sphere made of God-knows-what. Impenetrable, and constantly supplying Trigger with more enemies than he could take out.

One more hit, a few bullets to the right wing, thankfully missing the fuel tanks but messing up his balance. He tried to turn and get on the six of the attacker, but his high-G maneuver failed and sent him into an unexpected stall. How long had it been since he last blundered so thoroughly? The dive towards the water was pure terror, and the swarm dove after him.

Pulling as hard as he could, never mind the fly-by-wire system, he barely missed the ocean, but not all of the water. The sea, full of angry waves now, shot up water into the air, which his engine promptly took into itself. Trigger had never heard what so much water in the engine sounded like, and he feared he would never know the extent of the damage.

Trigger remembered the story that Jaeger told him in his first mission as a member of the LRSSG, the legend of the King of the Skies. He had found it inspiring then, but now only one phrase of the tale resonated with him.

'They knew the true fear that an animal feels when it is being hunted by a predator'

"Support! Somebody, support!"

Trigger didn't feel like Three Strikes any longer. He felt like a child, hunted down by an entire nest of wasps, neither quick nor strong enough to fend all of them off. He felt like he would die. He wondered, horrified, if that's what his targets felt when he hunted them down.

"Strider 1, watch out! Coming in hot!"

He heard Huxian's voice, and braced for impact. He heard explosions behind him, and two blips disappeared from his radar.

"Snap out of it, Trigger! We need to attack the Arsenal Bird now!"

Attack the Arsenal Bird? What was Count talking about? The shield…

The shield was gone. How had he missed it? How long had he been gone? Three more blips disappeared from radar. His overwhelming fear gave way to shame, but also lucidity. He had a mission to accomplish.

"Long Caster, status update!"

"The shield fell about thirty seconds ago. The saturation attack is on-going, many allied fighters have been shot down, you're needed there, Strider One!"

"Understood!"

He could wallow in shame later, for now he had to get through this. His instincts came kicking back, and he took in his surroundings on the radar. Strider Squadron had mostly cleared the drones pursuing him, but there was a very large concentration around the Arsenal Bird itself. He pushed on the throttles and engaged his 8 AAM. The engine roared back with some unpleasant sounds, but it still worked. That had to be enough.

The first salvo of 8 AAMs was quite successful, but not nearly enough. Trigger shot two standard missiles and fired a long squeeze of his cannon into the left main propeller. The ammo was almost gone. The Arsenal Bird responded with 8 missiles, scattered between the attacking fighters. He saw Cyclops 2 being hit and shot down, and barely dodged two of the missiles himself. That wasn't enough, as from behind a drone he had not noticed fired another missile at him, which hit.

"Strider 1, your plane is nearly tearing itself apart! Return to base!"

Return to base? He was in the middle of an active firefight, it would be much safer to eject. But he wouldn't do either.

"Negative Long Caster, I'll keep fighting."

He ignored the AWACS complaints and fired another salvo of 8 AAMs, and now half of the propellers were gone. Two more missiles and the rest of his bullets took out two more propellers. Six gone, two to go.

By the time he fired his third salvo, his engine was complaining quite loudly. To his surprise, a few drones dove in front of the missiles, protecting their mother ship. Two more missiles damaged the craft further, but not enough. Never enough, it seemed.

"Strider Two is down!"

Fucking hell, Count as well? His F-15 crossed his line of sight, a ball of flame. In the split second he was distracted, two more missiles flew towards him. The roll and dive to dodge them put yet more strain in his body. Trigger felt the tunnel vision creeping in.

"Long Caster, did he eject!?"

"It seems he did, Strider 1."

That would have to do. Trigger lined himself up for one more salvo, the last of his 8 AAMs. He had fewer than ten standard missiles left too, and no ammo. Either he managed to shoot down the Arsenal Bird or he would have to resort to ramming his plane into the goddamn bird. He fired.

"All propellers have been stalled! Good work, everyone. It seems the drones are losing control as well."

Trigger left out a sigh of relief. He and his plane were a wreck, he needed rest and it needed maintenance. Hopefully though, he wouldn't have to fight again for a while. By this point he, and everyone else he knew, just wanted to go home.

"Attention, all units! The main propellers are moving again!"

"How?"

Trigger no longer cared about hiding his exhaustion, which had just spiked into the nearly unbearable territory. The damn thing just refused to be killed.

"LRSSG, Osean fighters, listen to me!"

Sol 2 had remained very quiet during the mission, so there wasn't much to compare to, but he sounded just as tired as Trigger felt. Still, there was determination rather than defeat in his tone.

"The Arsenal Bird has a large battery inside its APS unit. If we manage to take that out, it will no longer be able to restore itself or even fly."

Huxian chimed in, sounding skeptical, even acid.

"And how are we going to do that, Wit?"

"There are four holding points on the underside of the Arsenal bird, two from behind and two from the front. If we destroy them, that should open the APS for direct fire."

Flying lower than the Arsenal Bird while so close, they would be exposed to direct fire from its pulse lasers. Trigger knew that more likely than not someone would be shot down, and Sol 2 knew as well. Almost a suicide mission.

"Strider 4, Strider 3, you shoot from behind, each pick a target. Sol 2, Sol 3, you will shoot from the front, same thing."

"And what will you do, Trigger?"

Jaeger had quite the habit of asking questions when he already knew the answer. Always because he hoped the answer wouldn't be what he was thinking.

"I will attack the APS unit. I'll wait until the shielding fails and hit the core as soon as it does. Any questions?"

"Trigger, that's extremely risky, your plane is a flying wreck. Let me-"

"No questions then? Great. Prepare for attack. Sol 2, you give the go when you're ready."

"Understood, Strider 1."

Maybe the shame he felt for his panicking earlier would come back crawling as soon as he landed. But right now he had to be a soldier, and finish this war.

It didn't take long until Sol 2 got in position, flying down towards the front hinges. Trigger dove lower and farther, preparing for his attack, just out of range of the lasers.

"Shoot now!"

Eight missiles flew simultaneously from the four aircraft, and all four came under fire. The missiles did their job, and the massive circle of steel fell down to the sea.

"Sol 2 has been shot down!"

The F-22 hit on the afterburners and climbed under laser fire towards the APS, releasing two missiles at the last possible moment, rolling until inverted without changing took a some laser hits on his left horizontal stabilator and missed the explosion by only a small window, enough for the heat to hurt and the shockwave to shake his plane.

The Arsenal Bird began to fall.

"All remaining aircraft, return to base immediately!"

Trigger exhaustion reached a critical point. He feared he was going to fall unconscious inside the cockpit. His core felt extremely sore, and his flight suit was no longer enough to deal with the G-Forces. Anywhere else but this cockpit, he would not hesitate to fall to the ground and sleep.

"All remaining aircraft, return to base now! There are intercepts coming to get you, two coming in fast!"

What was Long Caster talking about?

"Intercepts, Long Caster? We've just destroyed Erusea's remaining air force."

"Listen to me, Strider 3! This is the last Erusean Carrier Strike Group, the one we thought had been lost at sea. They took control of the Elevator while you were busy with the Arsenal Bird and are coming to finish you off! The Navy and the rest of the Air Force have retreated already, we need to retreat as well. Now, go!"

Trigger was too tired to think.

"Let's retreat. Sol 3, you're coming to the carrier with us."

"Understood."

The engine complained, louder this time, when he pushed the throttle forward, back to the carrier. He wondered whether he could even land. He could escape, at least.

They had given everything in this attack, everything they had. Trigger had walked into a near suicide mission to get Mihaly's support, and the old man was shot down before the Arsenal Bird even showed up. How many had fallen, on air, sea and land, for this half-victory? Sure, the Arsenal Bird was destroyed, but the Space Elevator, and its drone factory, was still in Erusea's hand. Trigger wondered if Mihaly was alive, if Count was alive. They were now in enemy territory, alone and, at best, quite hurt from the ejection.

And the shame now, that was even more intense than the exhaustion. He had thought himself a great soldier because he was so good at killing. But at the first real threat of death he acted like a child, consumed by pure terror so intense he could hear nothing but his own heart beating. And everyone on the frequency now knew what he really was. For a moment he considered diving his jet into the sea to escape the shame..

Trigger aligned himself for the landing. He never liked carrier landings, and his half-busted engines weren't going to help. But at the end he would be out of the cockpit and, not soon enough, into a proper bed.

"Descend carefully, Strider 1, your flaperons are in terrible shape."

It wasn't going to be an easy landing. The jet wobbled from side to side as he approached the carrier, and the nerve-wrecking uncommon noise from his engines weren't helping. It sounded like screams of pain.

Moments before he touched the carrier, the left horizontal stabilator finally gave in to the pressure. It fully detached from the Raptor, sending the jet into a severe roll. Trigger lost all control as his beloved plane hit its right wing on the carrier edge, and then with the nose full-force onto the deck itself.

—-

It was noisy inside the life-raft. Disorientating as well. The waves, the artillery, the roar of jets above, together with the shaking made for an unpleasant ride. Mihaly could not remember where he was. In fact, he could not even guess. He just wanted to get out of this plasticky cocoon and go to sleep. He was old, and tired, but they always asked so much of him. Sometimes he just wanted to sleep.

Mihaly could see through the transparent plastic in front of him, even with it being so wet and foggy. At the distance he could see a big tower, perhaps the Space Elevator? It was so foggy, he couldn't really tell. Other than that, he could only see the sea. Funny that he was so surrounded by water, and yet completely dry. But his head hurt so much…

Oh, it was bleeding. As for why, he had no idea. But he felt really sleepy now, and perhaps he could just go to sleep for now. He always knew help would come if he was lost, but why that was he didn't know.

Now it was night, and everything was much quieter. Just the sounds of the waves, and a dark sky above.

Mihaly didn't know how long he had been there, but he was starting to feel hungry. He knew help would come, and he hoped it came with some food. What was the name of that pork dish his mom always made for him? He couldn't remember, but he wished he could eat some soon.

Eventually he heard the waves getting louder and his raft shaking harder. Suddenly, he was being pulled out of the water by someone. Finally, help came! But he noticed just how much he hurt, everywhere, as he was pulled. His neck, his stomach, his legs, his arms. Everything hurt so much.

When he was set down onto the ship's deck, someone approached and opened the raft with a knife. He could finally see the night sky clearly. It was so starry tonight. The man who opened his raft leaned closer. He seemed tired.

"Commander, his name tag just says Shilage, Shilage Air Base. Maybe a typo."

A woman's voice, strong and loud, boomed from behind him. It reminded him of his sister.

"Shilage, sailor? Wait a minute…"

She came from behind him and was now studying his face. Mihaly was wrong, she looked nothing like his sister. His sister had long, beautiful brown hair, just like Ionela. This one had short blonde hair, and didn't have her kind smile.

"Holy fuck, sailor, that's Mihaly A. Shilage, the King of the Skies."

"The traitor, ma'am?"

Traitor? He wasn't a traitor, he tried to speak, but it just wouldn't come out. She was smiling now, but it didn't look kind.

"That's him, sailor. Petty Officer Wagner, send a message on my behalf to the Rear Admiral, tell him we've captured Mihaly A. Shilage and are waiting for further orders."

She looked at him and smiled again. He didn't understand, and she didn't seem like help.

"And put some handcuffs on him while you're at it. This man is our trophy for our victory, so let's take very good care of him. Now, everyone, back to your posts, we've got some work to do."

They pulled him out of his raft, and onto the ship's deck. They tried to make him stand, but his legs gave him no support. If they weren't holding him, he would have fallen face-first on the steel. Why was he so tired?

"Help me here, sailor, hold him from behind."

The man in front of him was strong, his arms well-defined. He could feel their strength when the man put the handcuffs on him, a firm grip. Mihaly looked up at him, but when their eyes met, the man scowled.

"Don't look at me, traitor."

As he couldn't walk, they dragged him through the deck, and into a small dark room. The strong man tied him to a bar on the wall, so he couldn't really move. Before shutting the door, the strong man scowled at him one last time.

"I wish I could see what they will do to you."

He didn't know how long he spent in the darkness. Maybe he slept, maybe not. Maybe he could wake up from this bad dream and go see Alma and Ionela again.

The door opened again, and a different woman was waiting for him now, accompanied by a few other people. She looked very important.

"Are you positive this is Mihaly A. Shilage, commander?"

"Yes ma'am, I met him some years ago in a combined arms exercise, as a consultant. He looks older and more beat up than when I met him, but I'm sure that's him."

"Good. Take him to the landing craft, we'll hold him in the Space Elevator."

"Understood, ma'am."

A sailor walked towards him holding a knife. Mihaly cringed in fear, weakly as he could, fearing the blade. But all the sailor did was cut the rope holding him to the wall.

"Come here, let's get him in the landing craft."

Once again he was dragged through the deck, now towards an inflatable raft. He was thrown in, followed by the officer and sailors. The raft's engine roared, and they began to sail towards the Elevator. Someone grabbed him by the head from behind, but Mihaly had no strength left to struggle. He felt so thirsty now.

"Ma'am, he hit his head pretty hard. Together with his behavior and lack of speech, I believe he is unfit to be interrogated."

"What would you suggest, Lieutenant?"

"I believe I can bring him back to speed, if I can grab a few vials from the med tent. It won't last very long though, to fully recover he will need a few weeks of rest and full medical attention."

The sailors around Mihaly laughed. His head was let go, and he rested it on the deck. Tonight there were so many stars.

"Very funny, Lieutenant. Alright, go get your medicine as soon as we land. Do you know where we'll keep him?"

"I do, ma'am."

"Great. Fully recover, that was a good one."

"Force of habit ma'am."

There was no more conversation until the craft landed. He was dragged onto port, and put on a jeep.

The port was red. It was nearly a painting, splashes of ink thrown onto the canvas, but just one color. So many bodies too, many with uniforms too soaked in red to tell which country they belong too. As the jeep began moving, Mihaly saw more red, more bodies, more detached limbs. Some didn't even wear uniforms. He saw a girl, head exploded, lying belly down onto the concrete, her long dark brown hair, wearing a blue dress. He finally mustered strength to speak.

"What happened here?"

He sounded so weak.

"What did you say?"

"What happened here?"

He managed to insert a bit more strength into his voice.

"You happened here, traitor. Had you never seen this? This is your life's work, traitor."

"I am not a trai-"

Red hot pain shot up into him, overwhelming, all consuming. His jaw felt broken, shattered. It was like his head was about to explode.

"Shut the fuck up, you lying piece of shit!"

"Calm down, sailor. You'll have your shot at him, but wait until we get him into a proper interrogation room."

"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry. I'll contain myself."

Mihaly didn't try to speak anymore.

Finally, the jeep stopped, and Mihaly was dragged once again, into a door, into a corridor, into another dark room, and forcefully sat down onto a foldable steel chair. He felt like he was going to sleep again soon, but woke up slightly with the metallic noise of a knife being drawn. The light had been turned on, and the brightness made his headache worse.

"Help me with his suit."

There were at least five soldiers in the room with him. It was a small, crammed room, which seemed to be built entirely out of concrete. There were no distinguishing features,only an empty shelf and a drain in the corner. Two held down his arms and legs, and one approached with the knife. Mihaly cringed again, unable to fight or even properly struggle. But they didn't cut his skin, but rather his G-suit. He watched as the black rubber, almost a second skin to him, was ripped from his chest, arms, legs. For a moment, the image of an angry Dr. Schroeder appeared in his mind. That suit was a chore to make.

They removed every last piece of clothing on him, until he was fully exposed. They bound his hands behind his back, his feet to the feet of the chair. Now he really couldn't escape. The superior officer just watched from the corner.

Another officer entered the room, holding a few vials of clear liquid and a few syringes.

"Took you long enough, Lieutenant. Let's get started already."

The Lieutenant set the vials and syringes on the shelf, except for one of each. He extracted a clear liquid from the vial, and injected it into Mihaly's arm. He didn't even feel the needle going in.

"It should work fairly quickly, less than a minute. You'll know when it's done."

Mihaly started feeling hot, and more awake. His eyesight turned clearer, he didn't even notice it was blurred. His muscles felt more responsive, the feel of the steel on his skin was sharper. The pain across his body, and particularly on his face was more intense as well, no longer the omnipresent dull soreness of the last hours.

And Mihaly began remembering.

Stealing the Strike Wyvern, becoming commander of Shilage Air Base, striking the deal with Three Strikes, the assault on the Elevator, it all came back to him. He must have been shot down during the battle. But if he was in the Space Elevator, naked, bound, being called a traitor, that meant the attack had failed. The Space Elevator was still Erusean, and what had happened to Sol Squadron, to Grey Squadron? To the LRSSG, Three Strikes, the rest of the Osean Forces?

His left foot exploded in pain. It felt like it was being crushed and torn apart all at once.

"Listen to me, traitor. You will answer our questions, or we will cut you apart piece by piece, do you understand?"

That was a Erusean Navy Captain, he could see now. So that was it, huh? He was going to die a slow death in a too bright makeshift cell because he didn't see a missile? He'd rather have never ejected.

"Go to hell."

His voice was firmer now, and full of hate.

"Wrong answer."

The same foot, now even worse pain. He couldn't hold in his voice, a shriek of pure agony. How long would this last? He wanted to get out, needed to get out.

"Where are the remaining Osean forces?"

How could he know? He struck a deal to take the Space Elevator, no one bothered to explain where everyone else was. It wasn't like he needed to know.

"I don't know."

Now it was a kick to his shin, and more shrieks. Tears too, started to form on his face. Why the fuck did he eject? He struggled to get up, but the ropes offered him no room to even shake, and the stronger he forced himself, the more everything hurt.

"How many aircraft have they left?"

Again, how could he know? The Oseans themselves probably had only a guess, they were so unorganized, so lost without their information network, it was a miracle they could even conduct

"I don't know."

A gut punch, too quick to see. Whatever was left on his stomach was purged onto himself and the floor.

"Don't you fucking puke on me, traitor!"

One more stomp to his foot. The pain was unbearable, indescribable. The drug they had administered him seemed to sharpen his every sense, particularly pain. Never had he felt such fear, such overwhelming pain.

"Did you turn on us because 'King of the Skies' wasn't enough for you? Did you want to become a proper King, was it? To rule over some worthless piece of land?"

"I never wanted to be king."

He reduced to mumbling now. His face felt hot with tears, of pain, of fear. Couldn't they see he had no valuable information?

The captain took his head by her hands and forced him to look at her. Her face was consumed by rage

"Then why did you betray us? Why did you kill so many of your countrymen?"

She let go of his head and began yelling. Mihaly looked around and saw the sailors watching him, expressions ranging from fury to smiles.

"My husband died today, did you know that? He was shot dead during the ground invasion! You killed my husband! You committed treason, and hundreds died because of it!"

A punch to the side of his face now. The chair tilted to the left and he fell with it to the side, nearly hitting his head against the hard concrete floor. A sailor pulled him back up, and now another one was facing him. A young man, an aspiring officer, his uniform red with blood. He was the one yelling now.

"My best friend died in my arms today because of you! My family died in Farbanti and you're helping the ones who killed them!"

One more, an enlisted sailor, chimed in. He was leaning back on the wall, his uniform pristine, his rifle resting on the wall just like him. His smile was disturbing, sadistic.

"The old monarchy made a mistake when they granted the Shilagean royal family their titles back. They should have put them in prison, or perhaps killed them publicly. The new monarchy will make no such mistake. Once we're done with you, the rest of your family will follow. Your people will never forget who they really are now."

Not his family, please not his family. Anything but Alma and Ionela. He was crying now, ugly crying.

"Don't touch them, please don't touch them. Kill me, but don't touch them."

They couldn't touch them, anything but them. He was ready to beg, to tell them all he knew, even if he knew nothing.

"Kill you?"

The captain drew her knife and stood in front of him, colossal, terrifying. Mihaly was powerless against her, and so, so afraid.

"You won't die so soon, King."

—-

Trigger was sitting down at the mess hall, eating alone. The meal was bland at best, but he would have been an idiot to complain. Not to mention, pasta, canned tuna and carrots were miles better than the garbage he used to eat at the 444.

Usually it was preferable to eat quickly, especially such an unappealing dish, but every movement hurt. His abdomen hurt like it was being constantly stabbed, and simple acts like walking or leaning forwards made it hurt even more. According to the doctor, the over-G was already bad news, but the collision during landing could have killed him. It was a miracle he could even walk, or so claimed the medic. In reality he would only walk as much as he had to, and not a step more.

Jaeger and Huxian had eaten earlier, and were in much better shape. Right now they were probably speaking with command, deciding on the next course of action. Trigger felt somewhat excluded, but also glad he did not have to talk to his superiors for now. In fact, he was not in the mood to speak with anyone now.

Well, except for Count. Trigger would give anything to her his weak attempts at banter now. Long Caster said he had ejected, but over Erusean waters, not to mention ejections were fatal at times. He wondered whether his friend still lived, if he would ever see Count again.

Count and so many orders. Trigger hadn't mustered up the courage to ask, but he guessed at least half the pilots had been shot down during the later stages of the battle. Someone, he couldn't remember who, had said two new drones had wiped out a staggering number of jets in a very short time. Trigger knew they would be his responsibility to kill, there was no one else.

No one else except Mihaly, who had also been shot down. Trigger wondered where he was now, how the Eruseans were treating him. Given that Mihaly had committed 'overt and violent high treason' as he himself had put it, most likely scenarios were grimm.

The one highlight of the day was that Avril was back. Somehow she ended up in the Space Elevator, with Princess Cossete and a couple others, including Tabloid, but managed to escape back to an Osean destroyer and was back to service in the carrier hangar now. Trigger had managed to talk to her when he arrived. She was accompanied by the Princess herself. A small, quiet girl, wearing a blue dress was clinging to the Princess. Both were completely silent.

Avril had a look at his Raptor after it was stored away in the hangar. She gave him her professional opinion.

"If someone spends a couple dozen million across a year or two, maybe it'll be able to fly in an airshow someday."

Trigger had lost his jet, his fRiend, and his ally. He was hurt, he was exhausted.

He still had a war to end.