Chapter 3: Distress

Dr Schroeder POV:

As for the chaos we find ourselves in these days, it's hard to say which side pulled the trigger first. Erusea had deployed an automatic intercept system with drones. Osea implemented long range attacks to bypass them. So, Erusea decided to sabotage Osea's communications and navigation technology. Erusea couldn't launch satellites themselves but were still able to hack the software of the Osean transmission and navigation systems. Before Osea even noticed, half their satellites were hijacked. That's when things got ugly. In an effort to knock out each other's capabilities, both sides launched fighters loaded with anti-satellite missiles. Only military satellites were targeted, however… their destruction created a debris field, which wiped out scores of other satellites… both private and government owned. The only thing keeping the world stable up to that point, was free flowing data and information.

All that remained, was chaos and confusion. Government and civilian broadcasts were cut off. The flow of information ceased. Forces on both sides of the conflict now found themselves unable to communicate with their superiors…

Communications from corporate were cut off. Apparently, the entire computer network was down. It was a wise decision to make our drones autonomous with A.I., instead of radio controlled. Even with their GPS offline, they can still use their sensors to navigate as long as they're working properly.

I'm sure the drones are still working perfectly. Following their orders to the letter.

I wish I could upload Mihaly's data to them, but without a connection, I can't upload the software to the active drones. The new ones we're making though… there should still be enough time to upgrade those before they're activated. I'll be taking the data I've acquired away from the frontlines now. Oh… and I'll be taking the girls too. I told my assistant, Massa, it was time to get Mihaly's granddaughters ready to leave here.

LRSSG Formation En Route to Cape Rainy Airbase, Erusea. September 19, 11:30pm

The journey back to base was sombre, each mile seeming to stretch endlessly. Strider and Cyclops squadrons flew in a loose formation, their once precise lines slightly ragged, as if the battle itself had worn down their spirits and their planes. The stars above shone indifferently, faint specks of light that seemed a world away from the chaos they had just left behind.

Inside his F-15C, Trigger sat in silence, the hum of the engines a steady backdrop to his turbulent thoughts. Every control, every flicker on his HUD, felt insignificant compared to the weight pressing on his chest. He hadn't even spoken since they turned away from Farbanti, hadn't trusted himself to. The image of Wiseman's jet spiralling in flames replayed over and over in his mind, each rotation searing the loss deeper into him.

Trigger's grip on the stick tightened, the weight in his chest pressing harder. Wiseman's voice echoed in his mind, his last words, "It's been an honour flying with you." He forced himself to look around the cockpit, seeing the faint glow of the controls, the familiar gauges and displays that had once felt so sure and reliable. But now, it all felt distant, like he was watching someone else's flight back.

Cape Rainy Airbase, Erusea. September 20, 2:01am

Trigger POV

"Trigger, you alright?" Count's voice came through, tentative.

"Yeah…" I forced out the word. But my voice didn't even sound like mine. Nothing felt right.

As Cape Rainy came into view, the runway lights stretching out below us. I lined up, focusing on the process of landing, telling myself I had to keep it together, just for a few more minutes. My hands shook as I lowered the landing gear, guiding the jet down with precision that felt hollow. The wheels touched down with a thud, march harder than normal, and as I taxied to a stop, I felt the dam within me start to crack.

I shut off the engines and sat there, frozen. My hands still gripped the control stick, even though it was over, I sat there for what felt like hours. Every second we'd spent in that fight replayed in my mind, every choice I'd made or hesitated on. The pain and guilt surged, twisting into knots that I couldn't keep contained any longer.

My fingers felt numb as I unstrapped myself, opening the canopy, the night air hitting me like a slap. It was only then that I felt my eyes sting. My breathing came in ragged, uneven bursts, my vision blurring with every blink. Without thinking, I climbed out, my legs shaky, and took a seat on the front landing gear. The cold metal of the jet beneath me felt stable, but the moment I sat down, it all hit me at once. The weight, the horror, the loss.

Wiseman was gone. My mentor, friend, and almost father figure was gone. He believed in me when no one else did, even when I first met him during my time in Spare squadron flying air cover. He'd given everything for us, for me, and he was gone.

I buried my face in my hands, unable to hold it back any longer. The tears came, hard and fast, and there was nothing left in me to stop them. My chest ached, each sob tearing out with a force I didn't recognize. Everything I'd tried to keep in, the fear, the helplessness, the guilt, it all poured out.

It felt like the world disappeared around me, leaving only the weight of what I'd done, of what I couldn't do. If I'd been faster… if I'd been smarter… maybe Wiseman would still be here. The guilt gnawed at me, relentless. It felt like everything was my fault, like I should have been able to stop it. Like I should have been able to save him.

Then a voice cut through. It was Avril, Scrap Queen.

She knelt in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder. This was surprising considering what she is usually like. She looked at me, not with pity, but empathy that was somehow hard to face. "Trigger, Alex," She started, voice low, a stark contrast to her usually direct and sarcastic tone. "I heard what happened from the others, you did everything you could out there, hell, you all did."

I nodded, swallowing, the words didn't feel real. The guilt was too much. I should have been able to do more. I should have been better and faster.

"Trigger." Avril's voice sounded firm now, pulling me back to the present. "All the pilots knew the risks of the mission, Wiseman especially. You can't keep taking this all on yourself."

Tabloid joined us. Coming over with a half-smile. A look that softened when he saw the state everyone was in. "Hey Trigger," he said, his usual sarcasm toned down, but his presence still bringing some sense of calm. "It's alright to feel this, what you are feeling right now is natural. I am so sorry for everything."

I didn't notice Count and the others until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, eyes red and puffy, vision still blurred. Count knelt down next to me, his face softened, concern etched into every line.

"Hey, man," he said quietly. "You don't have to carry this alone."

I shook my head, trying to find words, but everything felt knotted up, tangled. "It's… it's my fault, Count. I should have… I should have been there faster. I should have done something."

Count's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Trigger, this wasn't on you. We were all out there… doing everything we could. Wiseman knew the risks. He made his choice."

"But…" My voice broke, another wave of guilt and pain crashing over me. "If I'd just… been quicker, he'd still be here."

Jaeger came over, crouching down to look me in the eye. "Hey no, listen to me. Wiseman wouldn't want you blaming yourself. He was fighting to protect us, just like you were."

More of the squadron gathered around, their presence a quiet show of support. I wasn't alone, and they wanted me to know it. But the pain in my chest didn't ease. It didn't feel like anything could make it better.

Huxian joined, her voice gentle. "Trigger, Wiseman was proud of you. He believed in you. Don't let this tear you apart."

I nodded, but the words felt hollow. They were trying to help, and I was grateful for it, but nothing they could say would erase what had happened. I sat there, head bowed, my shoulders shaking with the weight of everything that had gone wrong.

Tabloid leaned against the landing gear next to me, letting out a quiet sigh. "Look, we've all got things we wish we could've done differently. That's what this job does to you. But you're here. You're what Wiseman was fighting for. Don't let his sacrifice go to waste." His words cut deep, but they were what I needed to hear, even if it hurt. I knew they were right. I just hadn't let myself accept it yet. I looked around at them, each of them carrying their own grief, their own weight from that mission, and it made the burden feel a little lighter. I wasn't carrying this alone.

Count gave me a small pat on the back. "Take your time, Trigger. We're not going anywhere. We're all in this together."

As I sat there, surrounded by my squadron, I realised that they weren't just here for me—they'd felt the loss too. They were grieving, just like I was. And maybe, just maybe, that meant I didn't have to bear this guilt alone.

For the first time since we landed, I felt a small, fragile sense of peace. It didn't make the pain go away, but it made it bearable. I wasn't in this alone. And somehow, knowing that made all the difference.

The Pilots had barely settled from the mission when the call came through. Colonel Morgan, approached, his voice sounding urgent.

Strider and Cyclops Squadron, I know it is late, but I need you to report to the briefing room immediately, we have new intel from Erusean sources. This is top priority.

Trigger exchanged glances with Count and the rest of the squadron, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. They filed into the briefing room, the quiet murmur of speculation filling the air as they took their seats. The screen at the front flickered to life, and Colonel Morgan stepped forward, his expression grim.

"Listen up," he began, scanning the room to ensure he had their attention. "Moments ago, we received critical intel from an Erusean source, General Labarthe. He's been cooperating with Osean intelligence in the wake of recent developments and has come forward with something significant."

The lights dimmed, and an image of Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise appeared on the screen, her face a mixture of calm and defiance. Morgan's expression hardened.

"He's disclosed that an assassination attempt on Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise is not only in the works but imminent. The radical faction within the Erusean military leadership believes she's too powerful, she had actively wanted to sue for peace, and they're prepared to take drastic measures to silence her." Morgan said urgently.

Morgan continued, his tone tense. "Our satellite network remains down, which means we're effectively cut off from reaching her directly. The radicals know this and are exploiting it, they're operating under radio silence to avoid detection and plan to act before we can establish contact with her. Labarthe has disclosed that they intend to stage this as an 'Osean strike,' painting it as an enemy attack to rally the remaining Erusean forces against us and further crush any movement toward peace."

Count shook his head in frustration. "So they're not only trying to kill her, but they're using it to fuel this damn war.

Morgan's expression hardened. "This is where you come in. We can't reach Rosa directly, so it's up to you to intercept this plot before they do. Strider and Cyclops Squadrons, you'll sortie immediately and head toward Tyler Island. We're counting on you to prevent the radicals from getting anywhere near her. Once the mission is underway, we'll try to restore some form of direct communication, most likely through radio. Your AWACS operator will be monitoring any Erusean comms they can intercept. As soon as Rosa's location is confirmed, you'll clear the area of any hostile presence. But for now, get some rest, you all deserve it. You'll be taking off again in several hours."

Trigger POV:

As I sat in the briefing room, I tried to focus on Colonel Morgan's words, but my mind kept drifting, pulled away by a force I couldn't control. Every time the colonel mentioned her, Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise, something inside me tightened, an anxious spring of tension that wouldn't let go. I'd been in many briefings before, but this was different. This wasn't just another mission to protect a high-value target. This was about her, and that thought alone had me feeling more off balance than I'd like to admit.

I couldn't get the idea of her out there, alone, out of my head. She'd fought harder than anyone I knew to bring sense to this endless war, and now her own people wanted to silence her for it. As Morgan's words sank in, that they were trying to frame this assassination as an Osean attack. Something sharper than duty tugged at me, like a double edged sword. It was as if a line had been drawn, and her safety wasn't just an order. It was… it was something I needed to see through myself, no matter what it took. I would not fail her like I did to Wiseman.

I'd watched her speeches, heard the way her voice had started to change, the way she spoke of peace as if it was something tangible, something worth risking everything for. Even when the whole world around her wanted to twist that hope into something ugly, she held firm. I'd admired her for it, maybe more than I realised, and somewhere along the line, it had started feeling… personal. Stupid, I know, but my feelings felt as real to me as the air I breathe.

My head was buzzing with thoughts, her image as clear in my mind as if she was standing right in front of me. And there it was, that fierce, protective feeling that had been growing stronger every time her name came up. I hadn't thought much about it until now. I hadn't allowed myself to really think about what it might mean. But sitting here, listening to Morgan go on about the risks and knowing she was out there, surrounded by people who wanted her gone, something in me snapped.

For the first time, I felt a genuine, unshakable worry for her that went far beyond anything I'd ever anticipated. It was something else, something that grabbed hold of chest and wouldn't let go. I didn't know if I'd call it feelings, not yet. I wasn't sure I was ready to admit that. But whatever it was, it made her safety my priority, something I couldn't let go of, no matter the cost.

And so, as Morgan kept talking, as the rest of the squadron nodded and asked questions, I was already somewhere else, already in the air, already thinking of what I'd do to make sure she came through this in one piece.

As Trigger made his way toward the hangar, he noticed Long Caster waiting by one of the aircraft bays, arms crossed and a joker grin on his face. He waved him over, gesturing toward a sleek, F-22 Raptor sitting in the centre of the hangar, its lines sharp and powerful under the lights.

"Well, well," Long Caster said, his voice carrying a hint of pride as he looked at the jet. "There she is, Trigger. Brand new F-22, customized just for you. Figured it was about time you got an upgrade. You've earned it."

Trigger's eyes swept over the aircraft, taking in every detail. The jet was pristine, a clean slate ready to carry him into the next chapter of his career. It bore the distinct markings of his squadron, with the three strikes symbol on the tail, a reminder of the reputation he'd built, the weight of the missions he'd survived. The matte finish, combined with a few subtle customizations, gave it a unique edge, unmistakably his.

"State-of-the-art systems," Long Caster continued, nodding toward the cockpit. "Enhanced stealth upgraded radar package, and faster lock-on capabilities. They even threw in some advanced electronic countermeasures to make it a bit easier dodging those nasty SAMs. This thing's basically made to keep you in the fight and get you back in one piece."

Trigger walked closer, running a hand along the cool metal of the fuselage. He could feel the promise it held, and there was a sense of anticipation that came with it. It was a reminder of the responsibility he bore with every flight, every mission.

Long Caster leaned in, voice dropping to a casual tone. "And hey, they even threw in some extra storage for those snack runs, just in case. Can't have our ace starving out there, right?"

Trigger chuckled, shaking his head. "You really pulled some strings on this one, huh?"

Long Caster grinned, patting the side of the aircraft. "Only the best for our resident legend. Figured if you're going to keep turning heads out there, you might as well do it in style. Plus, with everything going on, I'd say you deserve a bit of an edge. You'll be untouchable in this baby."

Trigger climbed up, slipping into the cockpit and feeling the familiar but upgraded layout wrap around him. The HUD flickered on, displaying a crisp readout of diagnostics, weapon systems, and radar. This wasn't just a jet—it was an extension of himself, every part designed to respond to his every move, every instinct honed over countless battles.

Trigger settled in, hands gripping the controls with a renewed sense of purpose. With this jet, he was ready to face whatever came next—and he'd do it knowing his team, his squadron, and the skies themselves were behind him. As he looked around the cockpit, he noticed a few unlisted upgrades tucked in between the standard systems, a touch of flair and functionality unmistakably from Scrap Queen herself, Avril. Small notes, hand-scrawled in marker, were left next to each modification. She'd outdone herself, adding her signature mix of ingenuity and attitude.

First, there was a reinforced heads-up display with upgraded visual clarity, its edges painted with a faint, stylized design in her handwriting: "Don't break this one, dumbass." Trigger chuckled, appreciating the subtle dig; she knew he'd already been through more aircraft than anyone else on base. Just below the HUD, she'd added a custom multi-function display that offered quick toggles for radar jamming, ECMs, and flare deployment, a lifesaver in tight spots. Next to it, another note: "Better than that stock crap."

Avril hadn't stopped there. The ejection seat handle had been reworked with a sturdier grip, wrapped in soft leather. "For a smooth exit, if it ever comes to that," her note read. It wasn't likely something Trigger would use, he rarely needed an escape plan, but it was a mark of her consideration for every eventuality.

At the cockpit's edge, she'd left a small compartment, perfectly sized for a few essentials. He found a small stash of hard candy tucked inside, wrapped in a note that simply read: "For luck."

Then, as he looked around the cockpit's interior, he saw her signature in tiny, deliberate letters etched near the throttle: Scrap Queen was here.

Through the comms, Long Caster's voice crackled with a chuckle. "So, Trigger… how do you like Scrap Queen's finishing touches?"

Trigger leaned back, giving the cockpit a final once-over, the grin still lingering. "It's perfect. Better than anything I could've asked for."

Erusean C1 Royal Transport plane, Skies over Tyler Island. September 20, 3:01am

The engines hummed as Rosa flew over Tyler Island, her thoughts racing from the phone call she'd had with Alistair hours ago now. He sounded calm, almost reassuring, yet something had left her uneasy. Now with communications recently cut off, that unease had settled into an ache of anxiety, tightening her chest with every passing second.

Outside, she could see dense green landscape spreading out like a cast ocean of wilderness. She watched the clouds down below forming pictures in her mind. The hills stretched out blended with the pale moonlight. Normally the sight might have brought her a sense of peace. But today, the isolation felt almost oppressive.

A glance at the cabin showed her aides and guards seated around her, each busy with their own things. Their usual sense of calm and professionalism couldn't disperse the tension that lingered in the air. She looked toward the cockpit, where she could just make out the pilots, focused on their controls, periodically checking instruments in silence. Rosa shifted in her seat, her fingers brushing over the small, folded photo tucked in her pocket. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around the cabin. She then pulled it out, unfolding carefully. The edges were now slightly worn, a symptom of the tight grip she had on it throughout the flight. She settled her gaze on the image. Alex Krieger. A small, unbidden smile touched her lips as she realised how handsome he was. She hadn't paid much attention to it before, she'd only focused on his record, reputation and heroism that had become the stuff of legend. There was a warmth to his features, an intensity in his gaze, more than a distant figure she'd studied.

With a sigh, she tucked the photo back into her pocket, feeling a strange sense of reassurance, as if his image alone could steady her. Tyler Island stretched out below her, but somehow the thought of him made the isolation feel a little less overwhelming.

Hold on, Alex," she whispered, more to herself than anything. "I hope… I hope we meet someday."

5:12am

Rosa's jet circled Tyler Island, staying away from the warzone down below, her frustration grew with each passing minute. Her pilots had requested clearance to land about 2 hours ago and still nothing. Rosa sat in anxious wait, the pilots even more anxious since fuel levels are now less than optimal.

"Erusean Royal C1 transport requesting permission to land, fuel is reaching a critical level, what is the delay?" Her pilot said over the radio.

A crackling voice from the control tower responded. "We apologise for the delay, with our satellite communications down, current security protocols require additional clearance for high-priority personnel. We are experiencing technical difficulties trying to put you through. Please maintain holding pattern until further notice."

Upon hearing this, Rosa felt a more underlying tone of distrust. She herself, spoke into the radio in reply. "This is Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise, I was sent here for my safety upon the attack on Farbanti, my arrival was cleared almost a day ago."

"Air traffic control to C1 Transport." The controller replied. "Your intentions are noted, but you must understand the current situation is, uhhhh… delicate. With the recent cyber attacks on our satellites we cannot afford any breach in protocol. You will be cleared to land when the situation is secure."

Rosa let out a quiet sigh, sensing the intentional stalling. This wasn't about security. It was control, plain and simple. She was a puppet they wanted to keep in check, her influence only allowed so far as it served their agenda. But she'd wait, watch, and when the time was right, she'd make sure her voice was heard, whether they liked it or not.

6:00am:

As the royal jet cut through the skies over the city on Tyler Island, now a warzone. Erusean ground forces who were still engaged in fierce combat below briefly turned their eyes upward, watching the planes silhouette fly effortlessly among the clouds, lit by the faint glow of sunrise. An almost silence fell over the field. Both sides paused as the distinctively marked jet flew past. To the Erusean soldiers, who had fought and lost, it was a welcome sight. Maybe the princess herself had come to sue for peace, how brave, putting herself at risk for the sake of their own lives. It was a welcome reminder of the leader they had sworn oath to upon her father's death, was here with them, a symbol of peace perhaps.

Before anyone could react, one of the Erusean SAM sites locked onto the jet, getting a radar lock and firing with deadly intent. In a flash, the missile hit and exploded on the right engine, smoke and fire trailing as it plummeted to the ground below. A collective gasp filled the battlefield as shock and confusion rippled through the Erusean forces. Those who had no idea of the plot stared in disbelief. There was no way she could have survived that. Their weapons lowered as they watched the wreckage fall. To see their own forces shooting down the princess… the one they'd sworn an oath to protect, it was too much.

Questions were asked almost immediately: why had her aircraft been targeted so precisely, and why had her planned route and timing been so heavily classified? Only a handful of high-ranking officials had access to such details, and the whispers grew louder with each piece of conflicting information.

It started with a few mechanics and support staff who overheard officers discussing the "necessity" of controlling Princess Rosa. The conversations were always quiet, laced with frustration and often resentment toward her vocal stance on peace. Her words were spreading, and many soldiers were tired of endless battles and drawn-out campaigns. For some in power, she had become a liability rather than a leader. But the true spark came when a wounded soldier, who had managed to escape from a recent firefight with Osean forces, was brought to a field hospital. While being treated, he recounted seeing an Erusean SAM site lock onto Rosa's jet, a detail that didn't align with the official reports. He shared what he saw with the medical staff, and from there, the whispers began to spread like wildfire. A murmur of disgust rippled through the group, the realisation sinking in. It was one thing to fight Osea, to defend Erusea, but killing the princess, their own symbol of hope? It was a line they weren't willing to cross.

Tensions on Tyler Island escalated beyond control. Skirmishes between disgruntled soldiers loyal to Princess Rosa and radicals aligned with Defence Minister Alistair and his group broke out all across the island, turning former allies into fierce opponents. Across the island firefights erupted near the supply depots, makeshift command posts, and crucial communication points. Each side fought with a deep resolve, though their motivations couldn't have been more different. The radicals fought to preserve the status quo, clinging to a vision of Erusea they believed in, refusing to accept Rosa's peace as anything but weakness. The loyalists, on the other hand, fought with a sense of duty to reclaim Erusea for its people, for the promise of peace and a future beyond endless conflict.

The battle lines shifted as gunfire, explosions, and shouts filled the island, each fight a reflection of the larger war raging within Erusea. And as each side continued its advance or retreat, it became clear that Tyler Island was no longer just an outpost—it had become the heart of Erusea's civil conflict, a place where soldiers now fought for the very soul of their nation.

Strider Squadron formation, Skies over Tyler Island, September 20, 10:21am

In the skies above, Trigger flew with his squadron, having just arrived to provide air cover for the Osean troops pinned down below. AWACS Long Caster's voice broke over the comms, cutting through his concentration.

"Strider One, this is Long Caster. Be advised, we've intercepted Erusean radio chatter… it sounds as though they are fighting amongst themselves and… hang on… the princess…

Trigger listened intensely straying away from the mission momentarily as he heard Long Caster speak.

"She's been shot down. Reports indicate that she is gone. We are too late." Long Caster said in a saddened tone.

The words hit Trigger like a bag of bricks. His grip on the control stick loosening as he entered a trance like state. He processed what Long Caster had just said. Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise, she was gone. He could barely wrap his mind around it, his hands tightening on the controls as an ache settled in his chest. His breathing could be heard over the radio. He had failed again. She was more than a leader to her people, she was hope, and to Trigger… to him, perhaps something more. Trigger clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. He was in the air and still had a mission. One that she would have wanted him to carry through. His mind flashed to her face, to the determined spirit he knew her for, a determination that left a mark on him even from afar. He'd been holding onto the thought of her, of the peace she might bring, and now that future had been torn away in an instant.

Count was the first to react, his voice strained. "You're telling me… they shot down their own princess?" He sounded disbelieving, as though he couldn't wrap his mind around the betrayal. "She was… she was their best shot at peace, and they took her out?" His tone turned bitter, an undercurrent of anger seeping through. "Dammit, they wanted this war to never end."

Jaeger chimed in, his voice lower, almost defeated. "What's the point of all this, then? She was trying to stop the fighting. Why would they take her out?" There was a hesitation in his voice, like he wanted to ask more but didn't have the words.

Long Caster's steady voice returned on the radio, careful but sombre. "All units, maintain focus. I know this isn't what any of us wanted to hear. But we have to keep Osean forces covered. Keep to the mission."

Count scoffed, his usual edge dulled. "Keep to the mission? With what? We're here because of her, she believed in peace, and they just… they just wiped her out like she was a threat." He trailed off, voice cracking just slightly.

Huxian, now Strider Four, cut in, trying to find something steady to hold onto. "She knew the risks. Rosa was willing to put herself on the line for the sake of her people, for everyone, really." She exhaled slowly, as if releasing the last shred of hope she'd been holding onto. "But this… it's just senseless."

"Trigger… you alright? Say something man." Count's voice broke through the comms.

Trigger's lip quivered. "I… I'm fine. We still have a job to do. Let's keep our guys covered. We'll do it for her."

His words felt hollow, a promise he didn't know if he could keep, but he forced himself to focus, to push down the grief clawing at him. His mission, the battle below, his squadron... they all depended on him staying steady. He had to keep moving, keep fighting, because she would have wanted him to finish this, even if she was gone.

After a moment, Count's voice came back. "Whatever happens, we'll make sure she didn't go down for nothing."

Trigger didn't respond, his throat tight as he forced himself to keep focus, to steady his hands on the controls. The pain was raw, but as his squadron rallied around him, he felt a flicker of that same purpose, that reminder of why they were there. They had to push forward, to keep fighting, even with the knowledge that the one person who could have brought peace was gone.

The battlefield below was a chaotic mess, and the sky above was no better. Strider Squadron had their hands full as they manoeuvred through a sea of enemy fighters, smoke trails from explosions and missile bursts marking the sky. Each of them was tense, the weight of Rosa's presumed death looming heavy in their minds, but there was no time to dwell on it now. They had a job to do, and the Osean troops on the ground were counting on them.

Long Caster's voice came over the radio, back to his usual casual self. "Strider One be advised. We've got a buffet of bandits inbound, ten o'clock high, closing fast. Looks like they're bringing some extra heat. We have no friendlies in the air, no need to identify, weapons free."

"Copy that Long Caster." Trigger said with a fierce edge to his voice. "Strider Squadron, tally multiple bandits at ten o'clock high. Let's get in position and clean house."

"Roger, Trigger," Count replied, his jet sliding into formation beside Trigger's. "I'm on your six. Looks like we've got more orders to fill."

The radar lit up, and Trigger's HUD blinked with target data as the Erusean fighters moved in, fast and aggressive.

"Contact! Bandits at two o'clock," Jaeger called out, the urgency clear in his voice. "Strider Three, tally two bandits. They're closing hard!"

"Strider One, tally bandit," Trigger confirmed, his targeting system locking onto the lead fighter, a Su-30. "Fox Three!" The AMRAAM shot off, trailing white smoke as it closed in on the bandit, hitting with a bright explosion.

"Splash one," Trigger confirmed, rolling out to avoid an incoming missile lock. "Count, one bandit at three o'clock low. Can you get him?"

"Already on it," Count replied, steady as ever. "Strider Two, Fox Two!" His Sidewinder tracked the enemy fighter, and within seconds, the bandit exploded, falling from the sky in a fiery descent.

"Splash two," Count confirmed, banking hard to reposition. "Looks like these guys don't know when to quit."

Long Caster's voice returned, with that subtle note of humour that somehow always made its way in. "Keep up the heat, Strider Squadron. Looks like they've got an all-you-can-eat attitude tonight, but let's make sure they know the kitchen's closed."

"Copy, Long Caster," Trigger replied, his focus unwavering. "Strider Squadron, break formation. Engage at will. Keep it tight and stay sharp."

"Strider Three, tally two bandits, twelve o'clock," Jaeger called, his voice tense as he dodged incoming rounds. "One's on my tail. Need backup!"

"I'm on him," Trigger replied, rolling into a high-G turn to get on the bandit's six. "Hold tight, Jaeger. Strider One, tally bandit, engaging."

"Strider Three, defending!" Jaeger called as he moved to shake his tail. Trigger's HUD lit up with a missile lock as he closed in on Jaeger's pursuer.

"Strider One, Fox Two!" Trigger's Sidewinder streaked toward the bandit, hitting it dead-on and sending it into a spin of smoke and fire.

"You're clear, Jaeger," Trigger confirmed. "Keep it moving."

"Thanks, Trigger. Thought I was toast for a sec," Jaeger replied, exhaling with relief. "Tally two more bandits at eleven o'clock. Let's make it quick!"

Count chimed in, his voice as steady as ever. "Roger. Strider Two. Engaging bandit." He locked onto an incoming MIG-29, watching the HUD as it registered the enemy's moves. "Fox Three!"

The missile tracked and connected, sending the MIG spearing into the ground. "Splash three. Trigger, I've got eyes on a new group, angels two-five, two o'clock."

"Copy that," Trigger replied, adjusting his angle to meet the new threat. "Strider Squadron, tally multiple bandits, moving to engage."

Long Caster cut in, "Heads up, Strider Squadron. They're bringing the spice with this one. Keep it fresh with those flares, don't let 'em get a lock on you."

Trigger rolled left to evade an incoming bandit, his radar warning receiver blaring as another lock lit up on his HUD. "Missile launch! Strider One, defending," he called out, deploying flares as he broke right, narrowly dodging the missile.

"Trigger, bandit on your six!" Count shouted. "Bandit's trying to get a lock."

"I see him!" Trigger replied, gritting his teeth as he banked hard, weaving to keep the bandit at bay. "Count, can you cover me?"

"On it!" Count replied. "Strider Two, tally bandit on Trigger. Fox Two!" His Sidewinder hit the mark, taking down the fighter that had Trigger locked up.

"Splash four," Count confirmed, pulling up to rejoin. "Let's keep the hits coming, boys."

The Erusean fighters kept coming in relentless waves, each pass more aggressive than the last. Trigger steadied himself, locking onto another target. "Strider One, tally bandit, engaging. Fox Three!"

The missile hit, ripping the entire rear of the plane from the cockpit. "Splash five," Trigger confirmed, his voice clipped but focused.

"Good kill, good kill!" Count shouted looking at the fiery mess.

Long Caster returned, satisfied but alert. "Nice work, Strider Squadron. But don't put your forks down yet, time for dessert, last wave's coming in hot. Let's finish strong."

"Copy, Long Caster," Trigger replied, his grip steady on the controls. "Strider Squadron let's wrap it up. Tally two bandits, twelve o'clock high. Engaging."

Jaeger and Count joined the final push, each calling out their own tallies as the last bandits closed in.

"Strider Three, tally bandit, Fox Two!" Jaeger's missile connected, taking down an enemy jet that had been pushing its luck with Osean ground forces. "Splash six."

"Strider Two, tally two bandits at my eleven. Engaging." Count's missile struck true, taking down yet another hostile.

Long Caster's voice came through again, calm but urgent. "All units, be advised: Erusean troops are beginning to lay down their arms. Looks like they've lost morale. Strider Squadron, continue providing cover for the Oseans on the ground, but maintain visual on any approaching Erusean radicals."

Rosa's thoughts:

Today… I lost everything. When Osea attacked our capital, my father… a man who was never really suited to being king… was killed. I was en Route to the capital, my home at the time only to be redirected away from the warzone, to safety. But the plane was shot down by rebels. Everyone was killed in the crash but me. After all those speeches I gave about working together for peace… I thought everyone felt the same as I did. I'm sure the soldiers who shot me down knew I was in it. More people have come… Now, there is no one left to protect me. I am so scared, I cannot move. What would they do if they knew I was the Erusean princess?

Crash site, somewhere on Tyler Island. September 20, 11:33am

Rosa blinked her eyes open, the sharp ache of pain bringing her back to reality. She was lying amidst the wreckage of the royal jet, the thick smell of smoke and fuel filling the air. Her senses were clouded, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. As she sat up, a group of concerned faces met her gaze civilians, refugees, about twenty of them, eyes wide and wary, their faces worn by the hardship of conflict. Some looked shocked to see her alive, others wore expressions of quiet empathy and resilience. They had seen destruction before.

But Rosa's heart raced when she noticed movement on the horizon. Figures, distant at first, moving closer. As they came into view, she realised they were Erusean radical forces, the very people responsible for her near death. She felt her throat tighten, panic bubbling up inside her. In the rubble nearby, her eyes fell on a radio, slightly damaged but intact. She scrambled to pick it up, fumbling with the controls. She didn't know exactly how it worked, but desperation lent her focus. She pressed down on the button, hoping she'd found the right frequency.

"Can you hear me?" she spoke, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her. "This is… Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise. I am with a group of refugees, we are surrounded by hostile forces. Can anyone hear me?"

There was a tense moment of silence before a voice crackled over the comms.

Long Caster's calm, steady tone filled the airwaves. "Princess Cossette, this is AWACS Long Caster. We copy loud and clear. Help is on the way. Strider Squadron, be advised, we have confirmation of Princess Cossette's survival. She is requesting immediate support. Engage all hostiles in the area." His usual humour now broken with urgency.

In the sky, Trigger heard the transmission, his heart stopping for a brief, disbelieving second. She's alive. The shock gave way to a powerful surge of determination, and he could feel Wiseman's voice echoing in his mind, that calm but firm voice guiding him through difficult moments. He knew what he had to do, this is what Wiseman had sacrificed himself for.

"Trigger, you copy?" Long Caster asked, breaking him from his reverie.

"Copy, Long Caster," Trigger replied, his voice still fierce. "Strider Squadron let's go. Form up on me."

Trigger's F-22 sliced through the sky, he gripped the controls tighter as he thought of Rosa, his protectiveness for her sharpening his focus. She was down there, surrounded, and he would not let her fall again, he wasn't about to lose someone else he held so close to heart. He pushed his throttle to full, every inch of his being set on reaching her before it was too late.

On the ground, Rosa watched the advancing Erusean tanks and armoured vehicles drawing closer. She could hear the deep rumble of their engines, the sight of them making her heart race. She held the radio close, praying her signal had been received, that someone was coming. A distant roar caught her attention, and she looked up. Against the afternoon sun, a fighter jet appeared, its silhouette unmistakable, streaking through the sky with precision and purpose. She saw the strikes, it was him, Alex, the one they called "Three Strikes". Her heart leaped as she saw his plane, and she felt a surge of hope.

She grabbed a red smoke flare from the wreckage, lit it, and ran toward the approaching tanks, throwing the flare to mark the target at significant risk to herself.

Up above, Trigger saw the bright red flare against the landscape, a beacon that cut through the chaos. His HUD lit up with enemy markers around her position, tanks and APCs moving dangerously close to her and the group of refugees.

"Strider One, tally multiple hostile ground units. Engaging," Trigger called out, his voice cold and focused. "Rifle, Rifle, Rifle."

Missiles streaked down, hitting the first tank with deadly accuracy, and the explosion erupted through the Erusean lines. Trigger's next missile followed, striking another armoured vehicle as he unleashed a barrage with unwavering precision.

"Good hits, Strider One," Long Caster acknowledged. "Keep it up, clear all threats out."

Trigger's voice was steely as he confirmed, "Strider One, guns, guns, guns." His eyes locked onto another APC, and with a deadly precision, it was obliterated in a flash of fire and smoke. Each pass, each missile hit, each gun strafe, was a resolute response to the threat they'd dared bring to her. He continued to fire until he had run out of air to ground missiles and cannon rounds.

"Splash three. No more hostiles in range," Trigger confirmed. He scanned the ground, seeing nothing left but the smouldering remains of the enemy forces. He knew he'd left no survivors.

Long Caster's voice was in his ear again, steady and controlled. "Outstanding work, Trigger. Rescue team is en route. We'll have them airlift Princess Rosa and the survivors to safety."

Satisfied, Trigger allowed himself a brief exhale of relief, and as he banked around, he made one more pass over her position. He lowered his altitude, flying low and slow enough that she'd see him clearly. In a brief, instinctive gesture, he raised his hand, giving her a wave through the cockpit window.

Down below, Rosa looked up, her eyes filled with gratitude and awe as she saw him wave. She raised a hand back, her heart pounding with the weight of everything he'd just done. In that moment, she saw who he was, this pilot she'd admired from afar had single-handedly saved her life. Rosa's eyes teared up as she looked at the refugees, seeing their expressions of pure relief and joy. She felt a surge of gratitude toward Trigger, her heart racing as she realised how close they had come to losing everything.

Trigger toggled his radio, addressing her directly for the first time, his voice filled with an emotion he didn't bother to hide. "Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise, this is Trigger. Are you okay? Rescue's on its way."

Rosa's voice came through, breathing heavily and emotional, though filled with the same quiet strength she'd always carried. "Yes, I'm okay, thanks to you. Thank you… Alex. I can't begin to express—"

"Stay safe, Rosa," he replied softly, barely aware of the use of her name, the protectiveness in his tone unmistakable. "Help's coming. Just hold on a little longer."

The refugees continued to cheer, and she clutched the radio tightly. "Can you hear them, Alex?" she spoke into the device, her voice filled with emotion. "You… you saved us. Thank you."

As he flew back to regroup, the rescue helicopters scrambled toward her position, their rotors slicing through the air as they closed in on the marked site. Trigger took a long, steadying breath, his heart pounding, but for once, he felt a sense of true relief. He'd done it, he'd saved her. She was alive, and he had been the one to ensure it. The woman he admired most was safe.

As Trigger levelled off in his F-22, AWACS Long Caster's voice cut through the comms again, his tone focused and steady, carrying an unmistakable urgency.

"Strider One, listen up. New intel just came in. Supply ships have been launched from the mass driver. They're loaded with missiles and other munitions meant to resupply the Arsenal Bird. If they make it, it'll be a serious threat to our forces. Your new mission is to intercept and destroy those supply planes before they reach their target."

Trigger tightened his grip on the controls, his mind already sharpening on this new objective. He knew what the Arsenal Bird was capable of, having its weapon systems fully replenished would only escalate the conflict. He didn't need to be told twice.

"Roger that, Long Caster," he replied, his voice hardening. "Strider Squadron, this is Trigger. Form up on me. We're intercepting those supply ships, no room for error on this one."

Count's voice came through, unwavering but with an edge of anticipation. "Copy, Trigger. Those supply ships won't know what hit 'em."

Long Caster continued with the briefing, his usual calm layered with urgency. "You'll be dealing with heavy escort. Expect bandits and missile defences as you approach. Keep it clean, don't let a single one of those ships get through."

Trigger scanned his radar, catching sight of multiple blips in formation, their path lined up with the Arsenal Bird's position. "Strider Squadron, tally on the supply ships. Let's move in fast. Count, Jaeger, Huxian, cover me while I go for the lead."

"Got it, Trigger," Jaeger replied. "Let's clear the path."

Trigger lined up his approach, his targeting HUD lighting up as he closed in on the first of the lumbering ships. He readied his missile lock, keeping an eye on his radar as escort fighters began to converge.

"Strider One, Fox Three," he called, sending a missile toward the lead. The missile connected, detonating the cargo hold and sending debris scattering through the air in a bright blue flash.

"Splash one," Trigger confirmed. "Let's keep up the pressure. We're not letting them restock that monster."

Long Caster's voice returned, urgent but laced with a hint of satisfaction. "Good hits, Trigger. Keep it up. Arsenal Bird's resupply line is critical, we can't afford to let a single plane through."

With each strike, Trigger felt the stakes rise. He knew that every supply ship they took down was another chance to weaken the Arsenal Bird's hold over the conflict. As Trigger took out the last of them, explosions rippling through the air as the Arsenal Bird's resupply line crumbled, AWACS Long Caster's voice crackled over the comms, sounding both relieved and a little amused.

"All units, this is Long Caster. Mission accomplished, those supply ships are toast. You can pat yourselves on the back; that was a job well done. Arsenal Bird's gonna be going hungry tonight."

Trigger allowed himself a small smile as he circled back with the squadron, the weight of the mission easing as they formed up to return to base.

Long Caster continued, keeping the tone light. "Alright, Strider Squadron, I think it's about time we all took a breather. Head on back to base for a well-deserved break. Consider this RTB a three-course meal, you've earned it. And man I am starrrrrrving"

Count chimed in, chuckling over the comms. "Roger that, Long Caster. Heading back with a full stomach, those supply planes didn't stand a chance."

Long Caster added with a chuckle, "And Trigger, nice work out there. I'd say you managed the pressure today as cool as a cucumber. RTB and grab some R I'm sure we'll have another course waiting soon enough."

Trigger couldn't help the grin as he and the rest of Strider Squadron set course for home, the sky behind them clear and the mission a complete success.

As the rescue chopper lifted off from the clearing, Rosa finally allowed herself a moment to breathe. The adrenaline that had been fuelling her started to fade, and a sharp, throbbing pain made itself known along her side. She glanced down, her hand coming away from her waist with a smear of blood. It took her a moment to process, she'd been so focused on survival, on getting the refugees to safety, that she hadn't even noticed the injury. She leaned back, breathing shallowly as she tried to assess it, the exhaustion settling in as the adrenaline drained away.

One of the medics onboard saw her pale face and moved quickly to her side. "Princess, you're hurt. Let me take a look."

Rosa nodded, wincing as she lifted her hand to show him. The medic quickly began examining the wound, his expression focused as he worked, cleaning and bandaging it with efficient movements. "You're going to be alright," he assured her. "It's a little deep, you'll need to be checked when we get back to base."

Rosa managed a faint smile, though the exhaustion and pain were settling in. "Thank you," she murmured, glancing out the window as they left the site behind. Her gaze drifted upward, thinking of Trigger, Alex, somewhere in the skies above, the one who had saved her, who had come through when she needed him most.

She clutched the radio the medic had handed her, her fingers trembling as she tuned it, hoping for a way to reach him. She said faintly, "Can you hear me? Alex?" Then through the static, his voice came in, soft and steady, but with a hint of relief.

"Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise… do you copy?" There was a pause, like he was catching his breath. "This is Trigger. We will see you back at base."

Rosa took a deep breath, her voice shaky but filled with gratitude as she responded. "I'm here, Alex. I… I can't believe it's really you. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

His silence spoke volumes, but she could almost feel the warmth behind it. "I heard your call. I couldn't… I couldn't let anything happen to you," he replied, his voice softening in a way she hadn't expected.

She swallowed, her hand gripping the radio tightly as she tried to hold back the emotion rising within her. "I've… heard so much about you. But seeing what you did today, for me, for all of us… thank you, Alex."

There was a beat before he spoke, her use of his name clearly resonating with him. "Rosa," he said, his voice catching slightly, "I'll always be there when you need me. No matter what."

The gravity of his words sank in, the connection between them tangible even through the crackling airwaves. Rosa closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek as she whispered, "Then I hope… I hope we'll meet again, wherever we're going."

"You can count on it," he replied, his voice resolute but soft, like he was making a promise to himself as much as to her.

Trigger POV:

As I flew back to base, the sky stretched out across the horizon, sun glistening and sparkling against the ocean, but my mind kept drifting back to her. Rosa. The Princess who'd always been a distant figure, someone I'd seen as a symbol, as an ideal. But after hearing her voice on that radio, after seeing her down there, surrounded by those tanks, waving that flare with everything she had… it was as if everything shifted.

My grip tightened as I replayed her words, the way she'd said my name, "Alex," like she'd known me for a lifetime instead of a few heart-pounding moments. How did she know my real name? I wondered. Something settled into place within me, a feeling that wasn't new, but one I'd buried so deeply that it had surprised me the moment it surfaced. I cared for her, more than I'd been willing to admit. Every instinct I had, every last second decision I made had driven me toward her today. I'd flown harder, faster, knowing she was there, needing me. And now, as I felt that raw relief that she was alive, safe… I knew there was no going back. She wasn't just the princess anymore. She was Rosa Cossette, someone who'd taken a part of me with her on that battlefield, someone I'd risk everything for again in a heartbeat. I was in deep. I cared about her, deeper than duty, deeper than anything I'd felt in a long time.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts as they crept closer. A small part of me wanted to laugh it off. A crush? I had to be losing it. Here I was, flying back from a critical mission, and instead of running mission debriefs through my mind, I was hung up on a princess with running around with a flare. The idea almost made me chuckle. Me? A crush on Rosa? It was ridiculous, something I brushed off as mission adrenaline and exhaustion, I hadn't slept in over a day. That was all this was, just the adrenaline winding down, leaving me to obsess over a single encounter that, on the surface, didn't mean anything. Just a small crush, a passing thing, the kind of thrill that comes and goes in this line of work.