Redmill AFB, Oured Province, Osea
22 December 2019, Three weeks after the end of the Lighthouse War
Redmill Air Force Base was quite the sight, especially in winter. Two long runways, kept clear both by automated de-icing systems and the occasional snowplow, cut the white blanket of snow in two with two long gray strips of concrete. Along their sides stood four complexes; a long, low building containing Strider Squadron's aircraft, a much larger line of four hangars for AWACS and tanker aircraft, the security and aircraft control centers and the row of barracks for the base's personnel.
Count walked out of the airbase's small bar, a cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. His uniform never fit his lanky frame, even in winter, and was perpetually disheveled, as was his blonde hair, but I'd be lying if I said he gave a crap. He took a long, leisurely walk down the gray length of the runway, stopping near the end. Sitting on the thick layer of concrete, he sipped from his mug and began to read in the gathering light. It wasn't twenty seconds until a jet came roaring in to land, causing the relaxed fighter pilot to spill his coffee. He looked up from the dark stain on his chest to the plane, an F-22 Raptor. Shaking his head, he got up and began the walk back to the hangars.
Trigger's landing was absolute butter, but that surprised just about nobody in the squadron, seeing as he was the ace who had ended the war. His piloting skill was only somewhat rivaled by Count, but even his egoistic wingman had to concede defeat. As he took off his helmet, shook his brown hair and climbed out of the cockpit, his sky blue eyes spotted the form walking down the runway, and smiled. Turning, he saw another form emerge from behind one of the F-15 Eagles parked next to his plane.
Avril Mead, known to most as the Scrap Queen, wasn't particularly tall or pretty, but she commanded the respect of every other person on base. Mainly because of her 'talk shit and get decked' attitude, but also since she was the primary source of high-quality, speedy repairs for almost any aircraft. Sure, there were plenty of other mechanics in the facility, but the pilots in this squadron pushed their planes so hard that sometimes a different level of maintenance was required.
Trigger remembered one such incident, when he had brought his plane back to Zapland after Roca Roja quite literally spitting sand out of the exhaust. The moment he had opened his canopy, a wrench had impacted the side of his helmet at a frankly alarming velocity. Luckily, the metal dome saved him from any injury beside a bruise, as well as him ducking below the side of his cockpit. He still had the dented memento in his quarters.
As Avril sauntered up, the only ground crew besides Long Caster willing to be up this early, Trigger grinned. He greeted her, her green eyes shining as she saw him speak.
"Why hello there, Your Highness."
"Corniest line yet, dumbass."
"Admit it. You like it." Avril blushed.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Trigger's eyes grew wide.
"Did I just embarrass Avril Mead, the Iron La-" Her response was a gut punch, which left him gasping for air.
"Osean Bigshot doesn't even begin to describe it." As Trigger straightened up, Avril went on tiptoe to reach his height, then gently kissed him. As they both sank into an embrace, the sound of steps on the concrete of the hangar floor alerted them to someone else's presence.
"Trigger? You there?" As Jaeger rounded the front of Trigger's plane, he saw him and Avril talking about the right rudder's actuator, which had been giving him grief for a week now.
"When do you think the replacement'll arrive?"
"I'd say a day, but with all the wartime surplus moving around, I'd give it three."
"Hey, Jaeger."
"No need for the charade, lovebirds. I heard you as soon as I walked in." They both blushed and looked to the ground. Jaeger chuckled, the silver hairs in his modest black beard shining as the light caught them.
"Next time, maybe do it somewhere more private than the largest open space in the entire place, ok?"
"Alright, alright, we get it."
"And don't worry, I've done that with my wife, so my lips are sealed."
"Thanks, Jaeger." The situation was still awkward, so the older man broke the silence.
"So, how's the rudder?"
"Avril ordered a replacement, but the wartime surplus recall will probably delay it a bit."
"And the engine?" Avril turned to Trigger, a questioning look on her face.
"What engine?"
He in turn looked to Jaeger with a pained expression.
"I was going to tell her about that later…" Jaeger laughed. Avril almost ran around to the other side of the F-22, returning with murderous intent. Trigger began to back away, and winced when she picked up her wrench from a nearby table. The ace found his retreat blocked by his own aircraft, and pushed against it in the vain hope that it would somehow move.
The Scrap Queen advanced on the unfortunate pilot, wrench pointed at him.
"If you ever do so much as scratch that two hundred million dollar aircraft without telling me ever again…" He closed his eyes and raised his hands in defensive expectation. He stood there in suspense, awaiting the blow that he knew would almost certainly come. Instead, he felt a pair of soft lips touch his own. Opening his eyes, he saw Avril kissing him again, and he attempted to put his arms around her waist. She slapped them away, and drew back.
"Don't push it. My statement still stands." He smiled.
"I love you too."
"You, me, tonight, my room. Be there or miss out."
She turned, walking away. Jaeger approached Trigger, punching him lightly on the arm.
"You lucky bastard. She must love what you do in bed." The younger man smiled.
"I do what I can." Count finally got to the hangar doors, necessitating a return to more mundane conversation.
"Good, nay, bad morn, gentlemen."
"Hey, Count."
"I bring a tale of woe, and its antagonist stands before us." He pointed dramatically at Trigger. Jaeger smiled, then spoke in an equally dramaticized voice.
"And what hath this foul demon done to ye, nobleman?"
"This is his foul work, caused by his chariot of doom as it rode past." He motioned to the coffee stain on his uniform. Trigger rolled his eyes, then looked back to his friend.
"And when did this tragedy occur?"
"In the cold hours of the early morn, as I was walking along the concrete stretch of th-"
"You were on the runway?" Count dropped his act.
"Beside it. I was drinking my morning coffee, and then somebody decided to land at 5:30 AM." Jaeger looked at Trigger.
"Why were you up flying that early?"
"There's a new pilot coming in today, so I couldn't practice when I normally do." Count looked up.
"A rookie?"
"Hell no. Long Caster says we're an 'elite unit' now, so no rookies. This guy fought in the South, then got shot down at Tyler Island, and ended up at the Space Elevator, where he got shot down again. Total of 260 kills." Trigger raised his eyebrows as Jaeger spoke up.
"His TAC name's Lynx, but some people call him Two Strikes."
"He's that good?"
"Basically a lesser known and more army-friendly version of him. Flies an FB-111, which I've never heard of."
"Upgraded from an old F-111 Aardvark, turned into a strategic bomber. Incredible range, heavy payload and high speed. It's somehow capable of Mach 2."
"Speaking of which, when are we lowly airmen going to get better planes? The hero's got everything he needs, but we're stuck with F-15s, and they've got to get old sometime."
"Long Caster says there's a shipment of some new variants, F-15 S/MTDs, coming tomorrow. The brass wants us to test them out, see what they're good for."
The three pilots were interrupted by the sound of a jet landing, although one unfamiliar to any of them(A very small category indeed). As the noise approached, they walked out of the hangar, their eyes adjusting to the sunlight for a second. A gray plane, larger than the average fighter but still smaller than a bomber, came in for a fairly smooth landing, which took most of the airstrip. It had long wings, which appeared to be swing capable, and a long double engine block taking up most of the rear. As it slowed, it turned onto the last taxiway, revealing a strange cockpit, the two seats located adjacent to one another.
They stood aside as it rolled into the hangar, taking the final spot at the end of the row. The ground crew, now awake, swarmed around the foreign craft, several referencing digital manuals as they worked. The pilot climbed out, removing his helmet as he looked around. His hair was brown, a gentle flare towards the back somehow escaping the influence of his helmet. His eyes were similarly colored, and went wide as he gazed around the spacious hangar. Trigger waved to him, and he walked towards them.
"Welcome to Redmill Air Base. You're Lynx, I assume?" The pilot saluted, then nodded.
"Yes sir."
"I'm Trigger, this is Count, and that's Jaeger. Sorry for the lack of a landing committee; very few people want to get up at 6 AM, even at DEFCON 4."
"I know how they feel. Flying all the way from Salaptura at midnight wasn't fun."
"3,000 kliks?"
"Yeah, the max ferry range for this thing is almost twice that. The good part was that I flew it solo."
"First time flying a two-seater alone?"
"No, but I've only done it three other times."
"Have you found the music library yet?"
"What? No… Really?"
"Oh yeah. It's easier on newer, multi function displays, but you can still find it on the older ones. Here, I'll show you."
"Trust him. He went from flying an F-2 to an F-22 in a single war."