DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating
to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen
to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random
lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and
nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't
even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website
without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If
that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be
quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
A summary of this fanfiction piece is as follows:
Glenn Gordon has left Green Earth and is residing in Orange Star, but after succumbing to his love of aviation, he re-enlists, only this time into the Orange Star Air Force, as he feels too shameful to return to what's left of his comrades at the Clinton Air Base. However, skirmishes have been happening ever since the end of the war, and new conflict quickly begins stirring up (getting into full throttle presumably around the beginning of Advance Wars 2 with the inevitable return of Black Hole), forcing Gordon to once again find himself thrown into even worse battles than before. But a heated rivalry quickly developes between he and the most elite Blue Moon (and, if the time comes, Black Hole) pilot in the country's history, and this rivalry threatens to destroy not only Glenn Gordon, but the skilled pilots of his fellow Orange Star pilots, as well...
~----~
~Mission One~
~----~
"Incoming aircraft at ten o'clock. Logan, identify. Keep ready, Gravediggers."
The Orange Star fighter jets, eight in total, cruised along in the air casually, though their pilots weren't necessarily in the mood for acting casual. Four aircraft could be seen in the distance, quite plainly as it was just past seven in the morning. The Gravedigger squadron's air base had recieved intel from recon units that half of a lone Blue Moon squadron was flying in an official No Fly Zone in northern Orange Star, so fighters from the closest base had quickly been launched to order the Blue Mooners out of the restricted zone area. None of them had any idea what the Blue Mooners wanted in this area, but none of them gave a particularly large damn. Their orders were to get them out and they'd do it with or without a fight, whatever it came to.
"I've still got four on radar. Logan, have you identified those fighters yet?" The lead pilot wanted to make sure it was the half-squadron of Blue Mooners before they did anything drastic.
"Negative, lead. I still don't have a direct visual on them." The Orange Star fighter was ahead of its team members by a significant distance, trying to scope out whatever was over there before they took the proper course of action. Even still, though, the No Fly Zone was in effect for all aircraft, not just Blue Mooners but for Orange Stars as well. "Whoever they are, we should try and scare them out of here."
"Lead copies, Logan, but let's get that visual first. We don't need to be getting missile locks on some commercial jet that doesn't know where it's at." The leader scanned out the other areas in the distance, making sure there were no other aircraft that they couldn't for some reason see on radar. It was more of a habit than anything.
Suddenly, the other pilot's voice came back, trying to get something out in a very urgent manner before it cut off. "Lead, I've--"
KA-BOOM!
What in blue hell had that been? The lead pilot had looked away from the other fighter for only a second, but when he looked back, he knew only too well what had already happened. "Gravediggers, spread!"
The seven remaining Orange Star fighters scrambled, some keeping in formation with one another as they cut through the air, all the while each of the pilots in fury as they watched what was left of their comrade's fighter falling towards the ground, a horrifying ball of fire at that point. Before any of them realized it, though, the enemy fighters corkscrewed right in between all of them at full throttle, an outlandishly dangerous but skillful move from each of the four Blue Moon pilots. "Good God, that was close!"
"Keep your brains steady, 'diggers!" The lead pilot kicked his fighter directly onto its port side and swung around in a wide turn as the rest of the squadron tried to sort themselves out, all of them trying to get a bead on where the four Blue Moon fighters had sped to now. "Someone get a visual on those fighters!"
The lead pilot shifted his view around and around for what seemed like an hour but was in actuality only a few seconds until he looked to his right, towards the sky. Two of the Blue Moon fighters blazed along right there, just above his aircraft, almost inverted to his side. "Oh, DAMN."
He forced the control stick hard to its forward left direction, sending his orange-painted craft into a downward-pointed roll that would hopefully bring him around to the right eventually and send him under where the Blue Mooners were. It didn't happen. The Blue Moon fighters skillfully drifted there, keeping with him as he came around under them, so close to him he felt as though if he stupidly reached out of his cockpit with his arm, he could touch their blue hulls.
His eyes flashed towards his comrades, and he spotted the other two Blue Moon fighter jets. "Gails, you've got one on your butt, Marcus, break hard to starboard and get that thing away from--"
The pursued fighter was already headed towards the ground, the entire craft consumed in smoke and fire. "Gails, if you can hear me, eject NOW."
No response over the radio. "Damn it all!"
The lead pilot growled to himself, once again eyeing the two Blue Mooners hovering up above him like buzzards waiting for the proper moment to feast, but then he noticed that one of the blue fighter jets had a long, red line painted along on its side, and a picture of an even bluer-hued hawk was painted on the top and bottom of both its wings. "Oh no."
"Lead, break hard left!"
The pilot's sudden order came without warning, and it almost caught the man flying the lead fighter off-guard, but as skilled as he was, he was able to whip the Orange Star fighter jet off to port in less than half a second. As noisy as the plane was, he could hear loud gunfire trailing from behind him, and he saw bullets shred a small amount of his right wing. "Thanks, Marcus, I got hammered but not bad."
"I have your wing, lead." One of the Gravediggers came up behind his leader's port wing as the Blue Mooners swung out from above the two of them, headed downwards towards their prey. "We've got those two coming down at us, lead, let's get out of here!"
"I copy, stay cool, Trenton. Keep comin' with me and let's see if we can split when they least expect it." A sense of urgency flowed through the lead pilot as he struggled to turn in his seat and keep on eye on where his aircraft was headed at the same time. "Marcus, get a bead on me and Trenton, and keep on eye on those fighters behind us!"
"Yes, sir. Marcus has a visual." The pilot, while keeping an eye out for the other half of the four Blue Mooners, kept a watchful gaze out his canopy on his teammates and the two aircraft pursuing them.
The two chasers started to become dangerously close to the pursued. "They're coming to be level with you, move it!"
"Split, wing!" The lead pilot suddenly whipped his Orange Star fighter to the right while his wing member swung out to port. The two Blue Moon fighters behind them also split up to each chase a single target, but to the lead pilot's dismay, he discovered that the special-looking Blue Mooner was pursuing him. "Radigan, see if you can't get this fellow off my tail."
The pilot he called out to did not respond.
"He's gone, lead," another pilot's voice told him. The lead aircraft's pilot cursed out loud hideously, and he himself started to panic somewhat. That wasn't like him. But he'd never gone up against such skilled enemy pilots before. If he could help it, though, he'd do whatever he could to take care of all four of these Blue Moon bastards and send them to where they belonged: on the dirt in a smoking scrap of plane. He shoved the control stick forward, sending his aircraft downwards, and at a dramatic rate of speed, at that, almost daring the Blue Mooner to follow him. But as he turned around in the seat, struggling, he could see that the blue aircraft dove down without hesitation right behind him. "Frickin' hell."
More gunfire. He could almost see the fiery red ammunition of the Blue Moon fighter streaking past his own plane, and he forced himself to guide his control stick to the right and send the aircraft upwards once again before he ate both bullets and dust. "Marcus, are you still with me?"
"Negative, lead, I've got some problems of my own here."
Damn! He didn't even bother radioing anyone else, he knew they were all busy with the three other Blue Mooners giving them hell. "Anyone who has a chance, radio headquarters! Give them the situation and let them know we need backup immediately!"
Nevermind the fact that everyone was too busy to bother radioing the command center, but almost as soon as he'd growled that message into the radio microphone installed inside of his black, full-faced helmet, an annoying beeping noise cut into his hearing from somewhere inside of the cockpit.
"He's getting a missile lock on me!" The lead pilot violently kicked his jet into a snap roll as it pulled upwards, the fighter shooting past pieces of a destroyed Orange Star fighter falling towards the ground. He continued to pull back on the stick, the aircraft showing the sky its belly as it looped around in a full circle. He hoped such a maneuver would take the Blue Mooner off his rump. However, the leader unfortunately knew, though, that simply looping around chasing someone was child's play to a skilled pilot like the one behind him, as sad as that realization was to him at the time.
As the loop started to end and the craft was heading downwards once again, the lead pilot pulled the control stick not only back but to the left as well. The Blue Mooner still hung on him as if the blue jet were tied to his similarly-lethal orange one by the most powerful rope in existence.
"Come on, get off!" The missile lock warning noise was still sounding louder than ever.
Then, all of a sudden, the Blue Mooner shot to to the right as the two aircraft had started to level out, the fighter breaking away from its prey hard, causing the missile lock noise to subside. A cold sweat had developed on the lead pilot under his black and orange flight suit, and he took the silence of the warning sound with pleasure, but he still wasn't out of this yet.
"Your tail is clear, lead. I had a lock on him."
"Thanks, Trenton." The lead pilot didn't allow himself to smile even a bit as he sent his fighter into a snap-kick onto its starboard wing, its controller hoping to get a visual and a lock on that special-looking Blue Moon fighter jet. But another, more important thing came to mind before he would do all of that. "Who's gone?"
"Logan, Gails, Radigan, and Holmes, sir."
The other pilot's message sent a chill down the leader's spine and put a lump in throat as well. He couldn't do this. This was unfair. Even with eight-on-four, the odds had been against them from the start, especially with that particularly-mysterious Blue Moon fighter in the midst of it all. The lead pilot's eyes narrowed as cold, unseen sweatdrops rolled down his helmeted face, and he made a difficult decision, one that he truly did not want to make. However, he wasn't about to lose any more pilots, any more friends. This battle was foolish and an outright waste of time.
"Okay, Gravediggers, hightail it away from those bogeys, we're getting out of here." He could only imagine the vicious amount of disappointment in his comrade's hearts. "That's an order. Let's go!"
He canceled out the right turn, turning the aircraft level, and he pushed the fighter full gait from the battle, the other Orange Star fighters sadly doing so whether they wanted to or not. The lead pilot kept an eye on the Blue Mooners as he and his pilots retreated, and he saw that they, too, were heading in the opposite direction the Orange Stars were moving in. This was not an orange victory.
"Don't worry, guys. They'll get theirs," the lead pilot stated solidly, but sadness flowed through his voice. "Believe me, someday, they'll get theirs."
His eyes narrowed on the Blue Moon half-squadron flying away from them as he remembered the special looking enemy fighter. "Especially him."
---
"There comes a certain excitement that nothing else can match when one sits in the cockpit of an Orange Star fighter jet. The most versatile, powerful, agile, and fastest aircraft in the world, the fighters have the ability to outperform even the best of opposition. Even in the face of ten Yellow Comet fighters, two, three, and, if the pilot is skilled enough, one Orange Star jet could take them all and not have a scratch on it by the end of the battle.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen watching at home, we take an in-depth look at the new Orange Star fighter model. It's safe to say that the greatest aircraft ever created by man has become even greater. While it may look like the old Orange Star fighters on the outside, minute changes have been made to its inner workings, including cockpit safety for pilots. New aviation uniforms for flight have been given to all Orange Star aircraft pilots, whether they fly fighters, bombers, or even attack and transport helicopters. New helmets have also been issued, and they include their own oxygen system should the aircraft's fail, and now that--"
Click. Stop patting yourselves on the back, how good a plane is still depends and always will depend on how skillfull its pilot is.
"Passengers on-board a non-stop flight to Nixon today were met with a delay before take-off, when a man discovered that one of his fellow passengers was a bi-polar mime, who first jumped into the middle of the aisle, claiming he would attempt life-saving surgery with his wife as the patient, and then threatened to blow up Yellow Comet with said wife. Police subdued and arrested the man, and the flight left fifteen minutes after scheduled take-off. Speaking of which, Windy, what do you say we take a trip around the world sometime in my private plane? It has lots of nice little things, like a control stick, hint hint."
"Mark, not only am I married but we're in the middle of a news repo--"
Click. Save it for the commercial breaks.
"-and when anti-air began firing up at the Green Earth fighters, Lieutenant Gordon found himself in the middle of it, all the while growing ready to attempt to engage enemy fighters of Blue Moon heritage. But he was taken down by anti-air and crash-landed in a Blue Moon forest. While we unable to get a word with Mr. Gordon, who is no longer with the Green Earth air force and is currently residing in Orange Star, we can give you this amazingly detailed account of his journey to get back to his home country, all thanks to this fellow we met on the street, who caught a glimpse of who he thought was Glenn Gordon for a few seconds."
"Well's, I wush kinda tipzzy at de cht-- The uh, ch-- Uhh, chhhime, but I'd say's Mizter Gohdon had a purty big adventure's on izz handz, zhere. Shay, am I's gettin' paid for--"
The TV shut off with a final, sound click. If only these newspeople and their inane stories would stay out of my mind, Glenn thought again, I'd be able to concentrate on other things rather than airplanes.
Glenn Gordon got up out of his chair angrily and sauntered over to his apartment's window, placing his hands at the small of his back as he reached it. He hoped that maybe his mind would move away from flying and go off to some other, less important thing, but this hope soon fell dead as he noticed numerous aircraft outside, ranging from helicopters to passenger planes.
His problem with seeing anything that signified aviation recalled past events in his mind which he was rather unwilling to go back to. It hadn't been very long since he'd left the Green Earth air force, and the war had ended, but he still found himself frequently thinking about sitting in that fighter jet's seat, that bare thrill he got from just sitting there, the rumbling of the fighter's engines starting up reverberating through him. Then would come take-off, and the natural thrill that came with excessive speed.
But the air was the real place to be. Glenn personally couldn't finger exactly why he liked flying so much, but pinpointing the exact reason as to why he did what he did wasn't necessary. Actions spoke louder than words in such a case.
His hand moved up to the window, touching it casually, and he leaned against it with a groan. He'd gotten a job with the Orange Star State High school as a teacher for the somewhat miniscule aviation class, but it just wasn't where he had hoped he'd be at this point in his life. He enjoyed showing the kids the mechanics of flying, and since most of his students agreed he was their favorite teacher, they always liked to hear about his old war stories, though Glenn was a terribly private person. Whenever he spoke of battles of old and his time in Blue Moon after he'd been shot down in action, he only told the class naked remnants of what happened, hardly ever giving them the full account, much like he did with Green Earth and Orange Star news agencies alike, who still seemed to call him once every two weeks or so. Glenn guessed they wanted to drive him to the brink of insanity or somewhere close to it so they could get their greedy taloned fingers on those old stories of his and market them or something remotely stupid like that. Gordon would have none of it.
He watched the aircraft outside, running a hand through his dark hair. He was only twenty-six years of age. All of his own teachers had been, what, over fifty? Ms. Argyeho, the type of battleaxe kids had nightmares about, had been up towards her eighties. That woman, if he could have put it that way, had been one reason why Gordon had always considered coming into teaching to show kids and teens that not all teachers were spawned from nuclear waste dumps, but he had never imagined himself with such a job at this young age. This wasn't where he wanted to be, and it was starting to grow on his mind like moss.
The phone rang. Glenn's phone had an especially annoying ring, but his mother had forced him to get one like that when he'd moved away from Green Earth. The guy never liked answering phones, and she knew if it rang long enough, it would shoot his nerves through the roof and he'd answer, however displeased he may end up being afterwards.
"What in thunderation now?" he said aloud, stepping over to the blamed thing and looking at the caller ID, which he still didn't understand how to completely use. KHX 9 NEWS read on the little green-hued screen, and without a second's hesitation he pulled the phone's plug out of the wall.
He couldn't take this anymore. This was getting positively ridiculous.
His eyes flashed towards the clock on the wall, perhaps out of habit since he was typically as late to school as his students were -- And it was ten minutes to eight. "Aw, crap."
It was nighttime when he finally came home. And he felt positively horrid.
Today had proved to be a terrible day. As soon as he had walked in the classroom door, a barrage of questions had been thrown his way, from what color the sky was when viewed from an airplane - "blue, Dave," - to how old Gordon was - "twenty-six, Christine." But the day had only gotten worse as it progressed. In the day's final class, a huge discussion had ended up presenting itself.
"Excuse me, Mr. Gordon."
Gordon had looked up from his overly-messy desk at the student quizzically. "Hm?"
"Can I ask you a few questions for the school paper about your days in the Air F--"
"Not a prayer," Glenn had interrupted, quickly looking back down to whatever he was chicken scratching at on the desk. Perhaps it hadn't been the most polite response, but Glenn had made it perfectly clear to all his classes that they were not to intrude on his personal life. He hadn't ever come right out and banned them from doing so, but that was the general idea among the students. This time, unfortunately, the ambiguous rules didn't stick solidly.
"Why not?" another student had piped.
"Because," was the blunt answer, obviously an answer that hoped to shut the door on any further questions. It didn't work.
"Why don't you ever tell us what happened to you?"
"What happened after you left the Air Force? Why'd you leave in the first place?"
Glenn had looked up from his desk agitatedly, getting the realization that this wasn't going to end pretty. "Because it's my business and my business only."
"What, did you get kicked out or something?"
"No," Gordon had growled, "I did NOT get kicked out."
At that moment, most of the students had seen the anger rising in their aviation teacher and knew well to put a cork in it, but a few continued the mild bickering. It was about to get worse.
"I'll bet you just quit because you got too scared," one of Gordon's less bright students had uttered.
Glenn had risen from his seat, but he successfully restrained the urge to shove a stapler down the kid's throat. Some of the students' eyes had widened considerably, most of them quite ready and willing to see their teacher kick some loudmouth's butt. Glenn had calmed himself down, speaking quietly. "No. No, that wasn't it at all."
"Then why don't you tell us?" one of the girls ended up chiming in, hoping to finally hear this story none of them had ever heard before. Gordon didn't quite look readily willing to open himself up like this. He didn't remember a time when he had been in school so many years before where the students made a remote connection with their teacher such as this.
There had been a long pause from the former pilot. He'd felt his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment, what with all the students gaping at him like they were doing. Finally, he'd turned his back to them and walked straight towards his desk. "No. Get back to your tests."
"Yeah, you're scared."
"Yeah, that's got to be it," another student had agreed, not telling the truth but just hoping for a good story, unlike the loudmouthed kid. Gordon had been able to hear the students whispering to one another as he stood there, rubbing the back of his neck while his face turned a rather red color, his feelings a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
Suddenly, he had whirled around and glared at all of them. "You listen, and you listen well. You're not in this class to learn about me, you're in it to learn about you and what you want to do with your life. I'm nothing but a tutor to push you along towards your goals, should they relate to flight, and I'm also here to show you that flying's about more than just cool airplanes. It's about alot more than that. As far as I'm concerned, if you've decided you want to take the skills you learn here to college and have a degree in Glenn Gordon instead of aviation, then your aviation lesson for today is to walk your butts outside and spread your arms out and make bumblebee noises with your lips, because you're not going to find out a single thing about me. My life's none of your damn business. I've already had my shot, now it's time for yours. Do I make myself clear?"
They had quieted and stared at him, some of them surprised at his coldness, his harshness. Glenn had just turned back around and sat back down at the desk, even more irritated now than before.
It had been fairly quiet for the rest of the session until the bell rang. Most of the students had left without even giving him a glance, but a few looked on at him, disappointment looming in their young faces.
The killer shot to Gordon was when one student came up and smirked at him. "Learned one thing about you, I did. You're afraid of facing whatever's happened to you."
Then he'd left, leaving Glenn to seeth and pout.
What was the matter with him? He hadn't handled that well at all. Oh well, he thought, best not to think about it, lest it give him a bigger headache than the one he already had.
He slumped down into the chair in his apartment's living room and switched on the television.
"Yep, I dun seen one of them unidentified flying object things, it flew right over my house and made this big thunderin' noise. It was big, and uh, big, too. Lemme think here a minute."
A picture of an Orange Star jet appeared on the television screen.
"When Mr. Dinglehopper finally remembered the image of the flying saucer and told our reporters exactly what the craft looked like, our expert artists were able to render this amazing piece of work from the man's description, now showing the world just what the saucer looked like. While the Orange Star government refuses to acknowledge these strange sightings of mysterious craft that look exactly like this flying overhead more times than we can ever hope to count, Mr. Dinglehopper believes it's all a very large conspirac--"
Glenn angrily turned the television off, knowing that if he just changed the channel more aircraft would appear before his eyes. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, there was an aircraft. There was aviation. There was the sky.
I can't take this crap anymore, he thought to himself, leaning back in the chair, wondering if such a strange thing to be worried about like aviation would drive him insane in the end. His eyes moved towards the cieling of the small apartment casually, quickly growing tired, and they closed lightly. Maybe he'd take a nap in this chair for the heck of it, considering how awful the day had been. Then again, he'd probably end up sleeping all night, and it would be daytime before he wanted it to be, and he'd have to go right back to that stupid school and those kids with their inane questions. Yeah, staying up was a better idea. He didn't even really want to face the kids anyway, what with the way he acted and all.
Re-enlist.
His eyes shot open. The message had come suddenly, without warning. And he was the only one there. It had flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning, but it was so amazingly loud, almost in front of his eyes that for a moment, his whole body shouted the word.
No way. Not in a million years, part of his brain argued.
Come on, you know you want to, the other half spouted.
Well, kind of, the more sensible half uttered, quickly trying to come out with something good.
The rambunctious half moved in for the kill. Then you DO want to. That's that, then.
No, the first half said, what about my job?
What ABOUT your job?
I can't just stop going, I've got work to do and I'd have to find a substitute or something, the first part of his brain continued.
So what? Just tell that fat old boss of yours that you quit, he'll understand. The latter half of Glenn's brain continued to push onward, going full steam and not backing down in the slightest. It quickly overwhelmed the less-argumentive side, and soon, Glenn could no longer think of a good reason as to why he shouldn't re-enlist.
"Oh man," he said aloud while holding his forehead, "I hope I know what I'm doing."
---
Mission Two - coming soon.
______________
The Fighters - Part II
By RustyD
______________
A summary of this fanfiction piece is as follows:
Glenn Gordon has left Green Earth and is residing in Orange Star, but after succumbing to his love of aviation, he re-enlists, only this time into the Orange Star Air Force, as he feels too shameful to return to what's left of his comrades at the Clinton Air Base. However, skirmishes have been happening ever since the end of the war, and new conflict quickly begins stirring up (getting into full throttle presumably around the beginning of Advance Wars 2 with the inevitable return of Black Hole), forcing Gordon to once again find himself thrown into even worse battles than before. But a heated rivalry quickly developes between he and the most elite Blue Moon (and, if the time comes, Black Hole) pilot in the country's history, and this rivalry threatens to destroy not only Glenn Gordon, but the skilled pilots of his fellow Orange Star pilots, as well...
~----~
~Mission One~
~----~
"Incoming aircraft at ten o'clock. Logan, identify. Keep ready, Gravediggers."
The Orange Star fighter jets, eight in total, cruised along in the air casually, though their pilots weren't necessarily in the mood for acting casual. Four aircraft could be seen in the distance, quite plainly as it was just past seven in the morning. The Gravedigger squadron's air base had recieved intel from recon units that half of a lone Blue Moon squadron was flying in an official No Fly Zone in northern Orange Star, so fighters from the closest base had quickly been launched to order the Blue Mooners out of the restricted zone area. None of them had any idea what the Blue Mooners wanted in this area, but none of them gave a particularly large damn. Their orders were to get them out and they'd do it with or without a fight, whatever it came to.
"I've still got four on radar. Logan, have you identified those fighters yet?" The lead pilot wanted to make sure it was the half-squadron of Blue Mooners before they did anything drastic.
"Negative, lead. I still don't have a direct visual on them." The Orange Star fighter was ahead of its team members by a significant distance, trying to scope out whatever was over there before they took the proper course of action. Even still, though, the No Fly Zone was in effect for all aircraft, not just Blue Mooners but for Orange Stars as well. "Whoever they are, we should try and scare them out of here."
"Lead copies, Logan, but let's get that visual first. We don't need to be getting missile locks on some commercial jet that doesn't know where it's at." The leader scanned out the other areas in the distance, making sure there were no other aircraft that they couldn't for some reason see on radar. It was more of a habit than anything.
Suddenly, the other pilot's voice came back, trying to get something out in a very urgent manner before it cut off. "Lead, I've--"
KA-BOOM!
What in blue hell had that been? The lead pilot had looked away from the other fighter for only a second, but when he looked back, he knew only too well what had already happened. "Gravediggers, spread!"
The seven remaining Orange Star fighters scrambled, some keeping in formation with one another as they cut through the air, all the while each of the pilots in fury as they watched what was left of their comrade's fighter falling towards the ground, a horrifying ball of fire at that point. Before any of them realized it, though, the enemy fighters corkscrewed right in between all of them at full throttle, an outlandishly dangerous but skillful move from each of the four Blue Moon pilots. "Good God, that was close!"
"Keep your brains steady, 'diggers!" The lead pilot kicked his fighter directly onto its port side and swung around in a wide turn as the rest of the squadron tried to sort themselves out, all of them trying to get a bead on where the four Blue Moon fighters had sped to now. "Someone get a visual on those fighters!"
The lead pilot shifted his view around and around for what seemed like an hour but was in actuality only a few seconds until he looked to his right, towards the sky. Two of the Blue Moon fighters blazed along right there, just above his aircraft, almost inverted to his side. "Oh, DAMN."
He forced the control stick hard to its forward left direction, sending his orange-painted craft into a downward-pointed roll that would hopefully bring him around to the right eventually and send him under where the Blue Mooners were. It didn't happen. The Blue Moon fighters skillfully drifted there, keeping with him as he came around under them, so close to him he felt as though if he stupidly reached out of his cockpit with his arm, he could touch their blue hulls.
His eyes flashed towards his comrades, and he spotted the other two Blue Moon fighter jets. "Gails, you've got one on your butt, Marcus, break hard to starboard and get that thing away from--"
The pursued fighter was already headed towards the ground, the entire craft consumed in smoke and fire. "Gails, if you can hear me, eject NOW."
No response over the radio. "Damn it all!"
The lead pilot growled to himself, once again eyeing the two Blue Mooners hovering up above him like buzzards waiting for the proper moment to feast, but then he noticed that one of the blue fighter jets had a long, red line painted along on its side, and a picture of an even bluer-hued hawk was painted on the top and bottom of both its wings. "Oh no."
"Lead, break hard left!"
The pilot's sudden order came without warning, and it almost caught the man flying the lead fighter off-guard, but as skilled as he was, he was able to whip the Orange Star fighter jet off to port in less than half a second. As noisy as the plane was, he could hear loud gunfire trailing from behind him, and he saw bullets shred a small amount of his right wing. "Thanks, Marcus, I got hammered but not bad."
"I have your wing, lead." One of the Gravediggers came up behind his leader's port wing as the Blue Mooners swung out from above the two of them, headed downwards towards their prey. "We've got those two coming down at us, lead, let's get out of here!"
"I copy, stay cool, Trenton. Keep comin' with me and let's see if we can split when they least expect it." A sense of urgency flowed through the lead pilot as he struggled to turn in his seat and keep on eye on where his aircraft was headed at the same time. "Marcus, get a bead on me and Trenton, and keep on eye on those fighters behind us!"
"Yes, sir. Marcus has a visual." The pilot, while keeping an eye out for the other half of the four Blue Mooners, kept a watchful gaze out his canopy on his teammates and the two aircraft pursuing them.
The two chasers started to become dangerously close to the pursued. "They're coming to be level with you, move it!"
"Split, wing!" The lead pilot suddenly whipped his Orange Star fighter to the right while his wing member swung out to port. The two Blue Moon fighters behind them also split up to each chase a single target, but to the lead pilot's dismay, he discovered that the special-looking Blue Mooner was pursuing him. "Radigan, see if you can't get this fellow off my tail."
The pilot he called out to did not respond.
"He's gone, lead," another pilot's voice told him. The lead aircraft's pilot cursed out loud hideously, and he himself started to panic somewhat. That wasn't like him. But he'd never gone up against such skilled enemy pilots before. If he could help it, though, he'd do whatever he could to take care of all four of these Blue Moon bastards and send them to where they belonged: on the dirt in a smoking scrap of plane. He shoved the control stick forward, sending his aircraft downwards, and at a dramatic rate of speed, at that, almost daring the Blue Mooner to follow him. But as he turned around in the seat, struggling, he could see that the blue aircraft dove down without hesitation right behind him. "Frickin' hell."
More gunfire. He could almost see the fiery red ammunition of the Blue Moon fighter streaking past his own plane, and he forced himself to guide his control stick to the right and send the aircraft upwards once again before he ate both bullets and dust. "Marcus, are you still with me?"
"Negative, lead, I've got some problems of my own here."
Damn! He didn't even bother radioing anyone else, he knew they were all busy with the three other Blue Mooners giving them hell. "Anyone who has a chance, radio headquarters! Give them the situation and let them know we need backup immediately!"
Nevermind the fact that everyone was too busy to bother radioing the command center, but almost as soon as he'd growled that message into the radio microphone installed inside of his black, full-faced helmet, an annoying beeping noise cut into his hearing from somewhere inside of the cockpit.
"He's getting a missile lock on me!" The lead pilot violently kicked his jet into a snap roll as it pulled upwards, the fighter shooting past pieces of a destroyed Orange Star fighter falling towards the ground. He continued to pull back on the stick, the aircraft showing the sky its belly as it looped around in a full circle. He hoped such a maneuver would take the Blue Mooner off his rump. However, the leader unfortunately knew, though, that simply looping around chasing someone was child's play to a skilled pilot like the one behind him, as sad as that realization was to him at the time.
As the loop started to end and the craft was heading downwards once again, the lead pilot pulled the control stick not only back but to the left as well. The Blue Mooner still hung on him as if the blue jet were tied to his similarly-lethal orange one by the most powerful rope in existence.
"Come on, get off!" The missile lock warning noise was still sounding louder than ever.
Then, all of a sudden, the Blue Mooner shot to to the right as the two aircraft had started to level out, the fighter breaking away from its prey hard, causing the missile lock noise to subside. A cold sweat had developed on the lead pilot under his black and orange flight suit, and he took the silence of the warning sound with pleasure, but he still wasn't out of this yet.
"Your tail is clear, lead. I had a lock on him."
"Thanks, Trenton." The lead pilot didn't allow himself to smile even a bit as he sent his fighter into a snap-kick onto its starboard wing, its controller hoping to get a visual and a lock on that special-looking Blue Moon fighter jet. But another, more important thing came to mind before he would do all of that. "Who's gone?"
"Logan, Gails, Radigan, and Holmes, sir."
The other pilot's message sent a chill down the leader's spine and put a lump in throat as well. He couldn't do this. This was unfair. Even with eight-on-four, the odds had been against them from the start, especially with that particularly-mysterious Blue Moon fighter in the midst of it all. The lead pilot's eyes narrowed as cold, unseen sweatdrops rolled down his helmeted face, and he made a difficult decision, one that he truly did not want to make. However, he wasn't about to lose any more pilots, any more friends. This battle was foolish and an outright waste of time.
"Okay, Gravediggers, hightail it away from those bogeys, we're getting out of here." He could only imagine the vicious amount of disappointment in his comrade's hearts. "That's an order. Let's go!"
He canceled out the right turn, turning the aircraft level, and he pushed the fighter full gait from the battle, the other Orange Star fighters sadly doing so whether they wanted to or not. The lead pilot kept an eye on the Blue Mooners as he and his pilots retreated, and he saw that they, too, were heading in the opposite direction the Orange Stars were moving in. This was not an orange victory.
"Don't worry, guys. They'll get theirs," the lead pilot stated solidly, but sadness flowed through his voice. "Believe me, someday, they'll get theirs."
His eyes narrowed on the Blue Moon half-squadron flying away from them as he remembered the special looking enemy fighter. "Especially him."
---
"There comes a certain excitement that nothing else can match when one sits in the cockpit of an Orange Star fighter jet. The most versatile, powerful, agile, and fastest aircraft in the world, the fighters have the ability to outperform even the best of opposition. Even in the face of ten Yellow Comet fighters, two, three, and, if the pilot is skilled enough, one Orange Star jet could take them all and not have a scratch on it by the end of the battle.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen watching at home, we take an in-depth look at the new Orange Star fighter model. It's safe to say that the greatest aircraft ever created by man has become even greater. While it may look like the old Orange Star fighters on the outside, minute changes have been made to its inner workings, including cockpit safety for pilots. New aviation uniforms for flight have been given to all Orange Star aircraft pilots, whether they fly fighters, bombers, or even attack and transport helicopters. New helmets have also been issued, and they include their own oxygen system should the aircraft's fail, and now that--"
Click. Stop patting yourselves on the back, how good a plane is still depends and always will depend on how skillfull its pilot is.
"Passengers on-board a non-stop flight to Nixon today were met with a delay before take-off, when a man discovered that one of his fellow passengers was a bi-polar mime, who first jumped into the middle of the aisle, claiming he would attempt life-saving surgery with his wife as the patient, and then threatened to blow up Yellow Comet with said wife. Police subdued and arrested the man, and the flight left fifteen minutes after scheduled take-off. Speaking of which, Windy, what do you say we take a trip around the world sometime in my private plane? It has lots of nice little things, like a control stick, hint hint."
"Mark, not only am I married but we're in the middle of a news repo--"
Click. Save it for the commercial breaks.
"-and when anti-air began firing up at the Green Earth fighters, Lieutenant Gordon found himself in the middle of it, all the while growing ready to attempt to engage enemy fighters of Blue Moon heritage. But he was taken down by anti-air and crash-landed in a Blue Moon forest. While we unable to get a word with Mr. Gordon, who is no longer with the Green Earth air force and is currently residing in Orange Star, we can give you this amazingly detailed account of his journey to get back to his home country, all thanks to this fellow we met on the street, who caught a glimpse of who he thought was Glenn Gordon for a few seconds."
"Well's, I wush kinda tipzzy at de cht-- The uh, ch-- Uhh, chhhime, but I'd say's Mizter Gohdon had a purty big adventure's on izz handz, zhere. Shay, am I's gettin' paid for--"
The TV shut off with a final, sound click. If only these newspeople and their inane stories would stay out of my mind, Glenn thought again, I'd be able to concentrate on other things rather than airplanes.
Glenn Gordon got up out of his chair angrily and sauntered over to his apartment's window, placing his hands at the small of his back as he reached it. He hoped that maybe his mind would move away from flying and go off to some other, less important thing, but this hope soon fell dead as he noticed numerous aircraft outside, ranging from helicopters to passenger planes.
His problem with seeing anything that signified aviation recalled past events in his mind which he was rather unwilling to go back to. It hadn't been very long since he'd left the Green Earth air force, and the war had ended, but he still found himself frequently thinking about sitting in that fighter jet's seat, that bare thrill he got from just sitting there, the rumbling of the fighter's engines starting up reverberating through him. Then would come take-off, and the natural thrill that came with excessive speed.
But the air was the real place to be. Glenn personally couldn't finger exactly why he liked flying so much, but pinpointing the exact reason as to why he did what he did wasn't necessary. Actions spoke louder than words in such a case.
His hand moved up to the window, touching it casually, and he leaned against it with a groan. He'd gotten a job with the Orange Star State High school as a teacher for the somewhat miniscule aviation class, but it just wasn't where he had hoped he'd be at this point in his life. He enjoyed showing the kids the mechanics of flying, and since most of his students agreed he was their favorite teacher, they always liked to hear about his old war stories, though Glenn was a terribly private person. Whenever he spoke of battles of old and his time in Blue Moon after he'd been shot down in action, he only told the class naked remnants of what happened, hardly ever giving them the full account, much like he did with Green Earth and Orange Star news agencies alike, who still seemed to call him once every two weeks or so. Glenn guessed they wanted to drive him to the brink of insanity or somewhere close to it so they could get their greedy taloned fingers on those old stories of his and market them or something remotely stupid like that. Gordon would have none of it.
He watched the aircraft outside, running a hand through his dark hair. He was only twenty-six years of age. All of his own teachers had been, what, over fifty? Ms. Argyeho, the type of battleaxe kids had nightmares about, had been up towards her eighties. That woman, if he could have put it that way, had been one reason why Gordon had always considered coming into teaching to show kids and teens that not all teachers were spawned from nuclear waste dumps, but he had never imagined himself with such a job at this young age. This wasn't where he wanted to be, and it was starting to grow on his mind like moss.
The phone rang. Glenn's phone had an especially annoying ring, but his mother had forced him to get one like that when he'd moved away from Green Earth. The guy never liked answering phones, and she knew if it rang long enough, it would shoot his nerves through the roof and he'd answer, however displeased he may end up being afterwards.
"What in thunderation now?" he said aloud, stepping over to the blamed thing and looking at the caller ID, which he still didn't understand how to completely use. KHX 9 NEWS read on the little green-hued screen, and without a second's hesitation he pulled the phone's plug out of the wall.
He couldn't take this anymore. This was getting positively ridiculous.
His eyes flashed towards the clock on the wall, perhaps out of habit since he was typically as late to school as his students were -- And it was ten minutes to eight. "Aw, crap."
It was nighttime when he finally came home. And he felt positively horrid.
Today had proved to be a terrible day. As soon as he had walked in the classroom door, a barrage of questions had been thrown his way, from what color the sky was when viewed from an airplane - "blue, Dave," - to how old Gordon was - "twenty-six, Christine." But the day had only gotten worse as it progressed. In the day's final class, a huge discussion had ended up presenting itself.
"Excuse me, Mr. Gordon."
Gordon had looked up from his overly-messy desk at the student quizzically. "Hm?"
"Can I ask you a few questions for the school paper about your days in the Air F--"
"Not a prayer," Glenn had interrupted, quickly looking back down to whatever he was chicken scratching at on the desk. Perhaps it hadn't been the most polite response, but Glenn had made it perfectly clear to all his classes that they were not to intrude on his personal life. He hadn't ever come right out and banned them from doing so, but that was the general idea among the students. This time, unfortunately, the ambiguous rules didn't stick solidly.
"Why not?" another student had piped.
"Because," was the blunt answer, obviously an answer that hoped to shut the door on any further questions. It didn't work.
"Why don't you ever tell us what happened to you?"
"What happened after you left the Air Force? Why'd you leave in the first place?"
Glenn had looked up from his desk agitatedly, getting the realization that this wasn't going to end pretty. "Because it's my business and my business only."
"What, did you get kicked out or something?"
"No," Gordon had growled, "I did NOT get kicked out."
At that moment, most of the students had seen the anger rising in their aviation teacher and knew well to put a cork in it, but a few continued the mild bickering. It was about to get worse.
"I'll bet you just quit because you got too scared," one of Gordon's less bright students had uttered.
Glenn had risen from his seat, but he successfully restrained the urge to shove a stapler down the kid's throat. Some of the students' eyes had widened considerably, most of them quite ready and willing to see their teacher kick some loudmouth's butt. Glenn had calmed himself down, speaking quietly. "No. No, that wasn't it at all."
"Then why don't you tell us?" one of the girls ended up chiming in, hoping to finally hear this story none of them had ever heard before. Gordon didn't quite look readily willing to open himself up like this. He didn't remember a time when he had been in school so many years before where the students made a remote connection with their teacher such as this.
There had been a long pause from the former pilot. He'd felt his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment, what with all the students gaping at him like they were doing. Finally, he'd turned his back to them and walked straight towards his desk. "No. Get back to your tests."
"Yeah, you're scared."
"Yeah, that's got to be it," another student had agreed, not telling the truth but just hoping for a good story, unlike the loudmouthed kid. Gordon had been able to hear the students whispering to one another as he stood there, rubbing the back of his neck while his face turned a rather red color, his feelings a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
Suddenly, he had whirled around and glared at all of them. "You listen, and you listen well. You're not in this class to learn about me, you're in it to learn about you and what you want to do with your life. I'm nothing but a tutor to push you along towards your goals, should they relate to flight, and I'm also here to show you that flying's about more than just cool airplanes. It's about alot more than that. As far as I'm concerned, if you've decided you want to take the skills you learn here to college and have a degree in Glenn Gordon instead of aviation, then your aviation lesson for today is to walk your butts outside and spread your arms out and make bumblebee noises with your lips, because you're not going to find out a single thing about me. My life's none of your damn business. I've already had my shot, now it's time for yours. Do I make myself clear?"
They had quieted and stared at him, some of them surprised at his coldness, his harshness. Glenn had just turned back around and sat back down at the desk, even more irritated now than before.
It had been fairly quiet for the rest of the session until the bell rang. Most of the students had left without even giving him a glance, but a few looked on at him, disappointment looming in their young faces.
The killer shot to Gordon was when one student came up and smirked at him. "Learned one thing about you, I did. You're afraid of facing whatever's happened to you."
Then he'd left, leaving Glenn to seeth and pout.
What was the matter with him? He hadn't handled that well at all. Oh well, he thought, best not to think about it, lest it give him a bigger headache than the one he already had.
He slumped down into the chair in his apartment's living room and switched on the television.
"Yep, I dun seen one of them unidentified flying object things, it flew right over my house and made this big thunderin' noise. It was big, and uh, big, too. Lemme think here a minute."
A picture of an Orange Star jet appeared on the television screen.
"When Mr. Dinglehopper finally remembered the image of the flying saucer and told our reporters exactly what the craft looked like, our expert artists were able to render this amazing piece of work from the man's description, now showing the world just what the saucer looked like. While the Orange Star government refuses to acknowledge these strange sightings of mysterious craft that look exactly like this flying overhead more times than we can ever hope to count, Mr. Dinglehopper believes it's all a very large conspirac--"
Glenn angrily turned the television off, knowing that if he just changed the channel more aircraft would appear before his eyes. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, there was an aircraft. There was aviation. There was the sky.
I can't take this crap anymore, he thought to himself, leaning back in the chair, wondering if such a strange thing to be worried about like aviation would drive him insane in the end. His eyes moved towards the cieling of the small apartment casually, quickly growing tired, and they closed lightly. Maybe he'd take a nap in this chair for the heck of it, considering how awful the day had been. Then again, he'd probably end up sleeping all night, and it would be daytime before he wanted it to be, and he'd have to go right back to that stupid school and those kids with their inane questions. Yeah, staying up was a better idea. He didn't even really want to face the kids anyway, what with the way he acted and all.
Re-enlist.
His eyes shot open. The message had come suddenly, without warning. And he was the only one there. It had flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning, but it was so amazingly loud, almost in front of his eyes that for a moment, his whole body shouted the word.
No way. Not in a million years, part of his brain argued.
Come on, you know you want to, the other half spouted.
Well, kind of, the more sensible half uttered, quickly trying to come out with something good.
The rambunctious half moved in for the kill. Then you DO want to. That's that, then.
No, the first half said, what about my job?
What ABOUT your job?
I can't just stop going, I've got work to do and I'd have to find a substitute or something, the first part of his brain continued.
So what? Just tell that fat old boss of yours that you quit, he'll understand. The latter half of Glenn's brain continued to push onward, going full steam and not backing down in the slightest. It quickly overwhelmed the less-argumentive side, and soon, Glenn could no longer think of a good reason as to why he shouldn't re-enlist.
"Oh man," he said aloud while holding his forehead, "I hope I know what I'm doing."
---
Mission Two - coming soon.