He didn't speak much. When he did it was mostly to give commands in battle, and even then they were clipped and concise. Other than that, Trigger was just quiet and reserved. Your first impression of him wouldn't be the legendary warrior he was.
I certainly thought as much, the first time we met. After my last partner had been killed and I heard I was being reassigned to Harling's killer, I didn't really know what to expect from the newly-arrived devil with three sin lines. All I know is that when the commander put him on blast in the middle of his first briefing with us, I certainly expected more than this kid. But when we sortied for the first time together later that day to drive off the planes attacking our base, I knew that his reputation was well earned.
The first clue I had was in the way he handled our plane. We'd been sent up in an old piece-of-trash Phantom that our resident tomboy mechanic had barely restored to working order less than three days ago, but the way he swooped past the enemy escorts and evaded their return fire was so graceful, it reminded me of my brief stint in the OMDF in the backseats of Super Hornets. And when our AWACs finally unlocked our FCS, I got my first glimpse at Trigger's skills in combat.
The moment his guns came online, he was immediately raking an enemy fighter unfortunate enough to be below him with shells. The poor bastard didn't even have a chance to bail out before his fuel tank exploded. I was so stunned by Trigger's lightning quick takedown that he had to call my name three times before I remembered to arm the guidance for his missiles. From there on out, the kid was like a demon, whizzing into the densest enemy formations and flying out the other side with nothing but fireballs and smoke trails behind him. By the end of our first sortie together, most of the guys were impressed with Trigger; a few like Count were even jealous. But they hadn't been watching him as closely as I was, too busy with surviving in their own dogfights. I was the closest witness to all of Trigger's kills that day. And I think I was the first person in the entire war to realize just how much destruction he was capable of.
For the rest of that month we spent with the 444th, Trigger kept finding ways to carry out the most daunting of missions. I remember almost pissing myself when he flew us through a tunnel under a mountain in Roca Roja, or screaming in terror while we dodged rock formations in the Yinshi Valley while trying to shoot down that damn Mister X, then actually pissing myself when we got struck by a bolt of lightning. The cockpit never smelled the same after that, and while I'd like to think that the only reason we swapped to a Super Tomcat was due to its superiority to our old Phantom, Trigger probably just got fed up with having to breathe any hint of that stench.
Trigger's proficiency in the art of air war elevated his status among the rest of the cons, and a lot of them started to think his sin lines and the sentence they carried were well-earned. Had I only known him for the pilot he was, I would have readily agreed. But I came to spend a lot of time with Trigger on the ground as well, and the more I did, the more I was convinced that he wasn't Harling's killer.
The first time we met, not as pilots or partners but as people, two separate persons, was a few nights after our first sortie. I was raiding the mess hall for a midnight snack. Dinner for the cons is hardly a feast, especially since ol' McKinsey had a mean appetite of his own. Plus the locks on the cells were a joke. Everyone knew that the reason nobody tried to escape was because of the dogs, and so the only containment that was really reinforced was in solitary. It was cheap, but it also meant that any exploration within the base was possible, as long as you avoided any patrolling guards.
I was on my way out when I heard a clattering off to the side. I tensed up. There shouldn't have been a guard patrolling by this area until the next ten minutes, at least. Unless the pattern had been switched. I cursed myself for not parting with a pack of cigs in exchange for Full Band's intel. Well, if I was gonna land in solitary, I might as well do it for something less pathetic than swiping some food.
I burst through the kitchen door ready to swing, only to find that it was not a guard but Trigger, on his ass in the middle of the floor and surrounded by multiple assorted canned goods, some still rolling around where he'd fallen. He nearly jumps out of his skin when I burst through the door, and when he recognizes it's me, the guilt of being discovered shows plain on his face.
"I was hungry," he whispers.
Here was Trigger, the president killer, three-lined devil, and ruthlessly efficient pilot before me. And he looked like a kid caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.
It took all my will not to just howl with laughter at the sight of this supposedly cold-blooded murderer in such a lame position. Instead, I just shook my head with a smile. I remember confusion etching itself onto his face, which only increased as I began gathering up the stuff he dropped. Wordlessly, he followed suit. Together, we snuck back to our barracks where, saying nothing, I handed him the rest of what he'd taken and we separated with our spoils.
As I lay on my bunk that night, Champ snoring loudly above me, I reviewed my mental image of Trigger while munching on some crackers. While the irony of seeing someone of his deeds and capabilities getting into the spot of trouble that he'd been in tonight had been pretty funny, it also made me pretty curious. By all accounts, Trigger should have been the toughest guy out of all the cons, both in and out of the cockpit. After all, none of us were convicted of murder, and that of an ex-president and war hero no less. And yet this supposed assassin went foraging for food after bedtime like me, and felt bad about it.
How could a kid who guilted himself over stealing from the people who starved him be that same pilot who tore the enemy to pieces without breaking a sweat?
Driven by curiosity, I started to hang out with Trigger to the point of pestering him almost daily. At first he came to dread the sound of my three-beat knock on the iron bars, knowing without looking up from whatever he was reading that I was already letting myself into his cell. He read a lot, I noticed. Whether it was aircraft manuals, week-old newspapers or even the damn nutrition labels on the contraband junk food that I smuggled in for us to share every now and then. Once when I was helping clean out an abandoned part of the base to open up more storage space, I found a battered copy of some old book from back when I was a kid. A Blue Dove for the Princess or some crap like that. I gave it to Trigger later as a joke about his age, but his eyes lit up and he took it eagerly. He looked up at me and said "Thanks." He didn't smile, but there was genuine gratitude in his voice. We got along way better after that.
Like I said, Trigger was a quiet guy, so most conversations we had were pretty one-sided, but eventually I managed to get him to open up a little bit. I learned that he secluded himself from the other cons not out of desire to appear aloof, but because he was just shy, a condition not helped by the fact that he rarely spoke. Despite that, he was somewhat fond of the others and their attempts to banter with him, and he did care enough about them to try and keep them from dying, and then some. When High Roller had been shot down by a drone, he'd skipped dinner and stayed in his bed for the rest of that night, staring at the roof and not responding when I tried talking to him. Losing Champ and a few others was what prompted him to pursue Mister X so furiously in our first encounter with him. And when Full Band died, Trigger always had a hollow look in his eyes whenever he glanced at Bandog while we were groundside.
I learned that no matter what the mission was, Trigger always strove to protect his allies. The skill he had in battle was focused with deadly precision on the sole objective of bringing as many of our boys home as he could. It didn't matter if they were soldiers or pilots or convicts. Towards the end of the war, when some of the Eruseans allied themselves with Osean forces, Trigger fought to protect them with as much fervor as he did for our own countrymen. Hell, I remember almost blacking out from all the G's we pulled while escorting that bastard McKinsey over Bulgurdarest, all while Count sat with his thumb up his ass as every SAM site in the area fired up at us.
Trigger's allies learned to feel hope at the sight of Three Strikes in the sky. His enemies interpreted the same sight as a sign to say their prayers.
But Trigger never took pride in his work. He knew that while he was protecting the people on his side, he was also killing countless others who were doing the same for their own. Sometimes the thoughts of all the wives he had widowed and children he had orphaned would keep him from sleeping at night, but it was always overtaken by the thoughts of those he had failed to save.
The night after we lost Full Band, when I asked him why the death of a rat like that was eating him up, Trigger told me about his time in the regular Air Force before he had been transferred to the 444th. He told me about a retreating pilot who had been hunted down and killed by Mister X, how she had cried desperately for Trigger's help, how she had been too far away for any to come, and instead died terrified and alone.
He told me about his mission to save Harling, how even though it had not been his intention to shoot him down, he was almost certain that ex-president's death was his fault by friendly fire, that if he had shot down the drones before they could even get close to the chopper, there wouldn't have been that risk to begin with.
He told me that he wasn't the only one accused of the deed, how his previous copilot had flown in the seat behind him the way I did now, how he had committed suicide in his cell rather than face the undoubtedly guilty verdict alongside Trigger.
He told me why he became a fighter pilot. How he idolized past aces like the Demon Lord of the Round Table and the Aces of Razgriz, how he wanted to protect the world the way they had.
He told me that he wished he could talk with them now, not so he could finally meet his heroes in the flesh, but to ask them personally on how they dealt with the killing, with the losses of those they were meant to protect.
It was the most he'd ever talked to me, maybe the most he'd ever talked at all. It was also the closest to tears that I had ever seen him come to up until then.
When I snuck back to my now empty cell later that night, I lay in bed and again reviewed my thoughts on Trigger. Many of the questions I had raised with myself about him had been answered. I should have felt satisfied. Instead it pissed me off.
Everyone else who flew a fighter for the 444th was here because they deserved to be. Even Tabloid, who was docile, didn't start trouble, and was arguably nicer to Trigger than I was had ended up here thanks to violently protesting against the state.
But Trigger was just a kid. A kid who liked to read and eat chips and soar through the dark blue of the open sky. A kid who had joined the big bad military to make a difference. A kid who had to kill to protect his allies, only to watch them die anyways. A kid who knew he could fight and win the whole damn war on his own, and tried to.
But he was just a goddamn kid, nonetheless.
And just like every other kid who ended up fighting a war like this, he was willing to give up his own future for a chance to save the world.
I remember when that kid used to be me.
Growing up in the shadow of Oured as the Belkan War raged on. Feeling horror and disgust as seven pillars of fire raged on the TV screen. Watching a documentary on OBC and being inspired by a lone pilot flying an Eagle with blue wings. Doing ROTC in college with the hopes of becoming a pilot myself, and receiving my first assignment as a combat systems officer instead. Going to war against an enemy a whole 'nother continent away from here, a war that seemed to last forever. At the end of it all, fighting for what I believed in, alongside what I once considered my sworn enemies, and then watching as four black Tomcats soared into the early morning light and saved the world. I remember the pride I felt just from having been one of the many to defend them in combat.
Only to be thrown in jail, sorry, "taken in for questioning", when it was revealed that my parents were Belkan immigrants. Never mind that I was born in Osea. Never mind that I had fought for it without question. Never mind that I had killed some of my fellow countrymen who stood in the way of justice, some who were more Osean in blood than I was.
No, I was imprisoned, my case put on hold as the government set about war reparations. Responsibility of me was passed from one officer to another like a game of hot potato, each too busy with their careers to bother with processing the case of a dirty Belkan.
As days became weeks became months became years, Osea expanded its global sphere of influence while I rotted away in prison, playing with fire as more and more countries became fed up with it. Finally, one Kingdom of Erusea had had enough, and the country I loved was once again in need of heroes.
Only now I understood that this "need" for heroes wouldn't end with this war, or the one after it, or the one after that. I understood that as long as Osea, no, as long as nations continued to exist, they would throw their heroes into the mill of death every time they wanted something they couldn't have.
Long before I met Trigger, before I flew in my first aircraft with sin lines, even before I had fought my first war, I realized that I had been locked in a cage the moment I decided that I would try and save the world.
Trigger was in that cage now, too, imprisoned beside me. The only difference between us was that he was still a kid. I was probably too far gone to find any satisfaction living in a world full of good kids being sent to kill each other. But he could still get out, go off and enjoy whatever life a kid who liked reading, eating chips, and soaring through the dark blue of the sky could enjoy. Hell, maybe he could be a hero in some other job that didn't leave him haunted by the people he killed. Maybe not politics, he was too softspoken, but he might do well as a doctor or lawyer or the like.
As I lay on my bunk in my empty cell that night, I gave up at long last on my desire to save the world. Instead, I would devote my life to making sure that Trigger got to live the rest of his. Even if it killed me, I was going to break him out of that cage.
Still, it wasn't like we could desert from the war in the middle of the night. Even though I had no doubt that he could defend himself from any pursuers, without Trigger at the front lines, the conflict would drag on and many more people would die. He wouldn't be able to live with the fact that he had fled for his own life when he could have been protecting countless others with his skills.
So as Trigger continued into sortie after sortie against tougher and tougher enemies, I watched over him carefully from behind. Just as he committed himself fully into protecting those around him, I acted with the same determination in protecting him. His missiles were always ready when he needed them, his countermeasures were always deployed on time, and he was always aware of the enemies he couldn't see.
As the war continued and we flew together more and more, our effectiveness as partners made the craft with Three Strikes a force of mythic proportions. Even joining the LRSSG and switching to a brand new Strike Eagle didn't make as much of an impact on Trigger's performance in combat as much as our growing trust in each other did.
And the more we grew to trust each other in the air, the more that trust brought us closer on the ground. I found that me being a chatterbox didn't bother him, and since I loved to hear the sound of my own voice, his quiet nature made him a great match. Trigger never talked to me as much as he did that night back in his cell, but he found other ways to open up. He'd come over to my room to hang out during downtime, or we'd grab a bite at the mess hall together. He'd punch me lightly in the shoulder whenever I teased him too much, and laugh silently into one hand on the rare occasion that one of my jokes was funny enough.
Instead of him just being the kid I was supposed to protect, I started to think of him as a friend, maybe even a little brother, although being an only child I wouldn't know what that felt like. And when I caught him smiling at me the first time, the corners of his lips just barely curved upward, I knew he felt the same.
I remember catching him crying a few times too. The first was when Wiseman had been killed over Farbanti, acting as bait so that Trigger could bring down Mister X. Having been used to grieving over those he couldn't save by now, Trigger had only shed a few tears over the man whose faith in him had brought us into the LRSSG.
The second time was after our next mission, when we overheard from the general we were escorting that drones constructed using Belkan technology were responsible for Harling's murder. When we landed back at the base, Trigger didn't even look at me. He headed straight back to his room and locked the door. I remember feeling wounded, thinking that he blamed me by extension for what he had to go through. Despite that, I followed after him and found some of the pilots standing worriedly by his door. I shooed them away and, after a moment's hesitation, gave my three-beat knock. I was prepared to be greeted by a face filled with anger or, even worse, that blank look he had when we first met, like we were strangers again.
Instead, when the door cracked open and I barged in wanting to get it over with, I was greeted instead with red eyes, flushed cheeks, and a runny nose. When he saw that it really was me, he collapsed to his knees and began crying openly. As I locked the door behind me and moved to awkwardly wrap an arm around his shoulders, still somewhat bewildered, he began to explain between sobs without me asking.
Even after we had been officially pardoned before joining the LRSSG, Trigger still carried the guilt of his conviction. When the truth was revealed, it took all he had in him to continue the mission without breaking down. Now, in the privacy of his own room, he finally purged his soul of that guilt, and welcomed the relief in knowing that he was absolved of one of his many sins.
The fact that he did so in front of me didn't matter to him. Realizing that he trusted me enough to let me see him at his most vulnerable moved me to tears, and as he cried openly into the air, I cried quietly to myself as I held him.
As the war moved into its final stages, the two of us fought with newfound resolve. Saving the refugees on Tyler Island lifted Trigger's spirits quite a bit, while the raid on Shilage piled more guilt on his conscience. Shooting down Mister X and avenging all he had killed brought no joy to Trigger, who understood now more than ever the curse of an ace pilot.
When we flew into the battle for the Lighthouse, I felt no fear. I had become an extension of Trigger's will, just like the rest of his plane. And if the war had taught me one thing, it was that Trigger knew damn well how to use his plane. As the final Arsenal Bird crashed into the waters of Gunther Bay and pilots from both nations cheered for him, I beamed proudly at his reflection in the canopy. I had known all along that he could do it. So when the two drones appeared and began tearing the coalition forces apart, and we had to retreat to the Andersen, my belief in him remained steadfast.
When we took off the next morning to finally put an end to the war, my belief in him remained steadfast.
When he shot down the drones once, and then the first one a second time, my belief in him remained steadfast.
When the final drone flew into the undersea tunnel, and Long Caster ordered us after it, my belief in him remained steadfast.
When Trigger set our ejection handles to green, my belief in him remained so steadfast that I didn't even question why, even though there would be no space to eject beneath the space elevator without slamming into the overhead.
I trusted Trigger to complete the mission and get us out alive. And I knew that he trusted me to watch his back so that he could do just that.
So when the canopy blew off and I got shot out of the aircraft while Trigger and Count accelerated past the closing gate and into the tunnel, I knew why.
Trigger realized that no matter how good he was, no matter how well I protected him, it was either the mission or his life. He knew what choice I would make if I realized it too, so he made it for me.
I wailed and cursed and sobbed. I wished an aircraft would come and riddle me with bullets. When my chute deployed automatically, I wanted to saw at it with my survival knife and smash into the ground. I wanted something, anything to end the pain I felt. It was like I had been gutted. Where there was once something within me was now empty, and the howling void it left behind felt like it was swallowing me whole.
What I felt wasn't towards any personal failing of mine, although I did heap the blame on myself. During that long descent to the Earth, none of my grief came as regret of having failed to do carry out the final promise I had dedicated my worthless life to. Instead it manifested something simpler, yet all the more painful, and certainly one I had helped inflict many times. It was the loss of someone I held dear.
When I finally reached the ground, I looked up to the rising sun and was reminded of that day nine years ago, watching the Razgriz flying over Oured amidst the shooting stars left behind by the destroyed SOLG and feeling like a hero. As the sun rose over the tip of the space elevator, I laughed bitterly as I wept. I voiced aloud to whatever god could hear me that their sense of humor was real twisted, what with reminding me of how pointless my life had been with this scene.
Whoever was listening must have thought that a joke like that was too mean-spirited, however. So he changed the punch line.
Nine years ago, I watched four shadows against the sun with hope, not knowing the despair that would soon follow.
Today, in the depths of despair, I watched as one shadow appeared against the sun, and I was filled with hope.
But with that hope came caution. I was one step away from being swallowed whole by that void, so I dared not take another without knowing for certain where it would land me. So when his plane shot out of the top of the elevator's windbreak, my disbelief remained steadfast.
When the radio on the chopper that rescued me squawked with praise for him, my disbelief remained steadfast.
When we landed in the park where he had made an emergency landing, my disbelief remained steadfast.
When I saw him step out of his plane, our plane, my disbelief remained steadfast.
As I jumped out of the chopper and ran to him, seeing his smiling face slightly grow worried when he saw that I wasn't slowing down, my disbelief remained so steadfast that I was afraid he would disappear before my very eyes.
So when I finally crashed into him, crushing him in a bear hug, I knew that this was as real as the tears of relief flooding down my face onto his shoulder.
Trigger was alive.
*
Now that the war was over, Trigger and I have spent the past month on some much needed RR. While we hadn't been awarded leave during our time as convicts under the 444th, Trigger's role in the newly christened Lighthouse War resulted in a lot of the top brass scrambling to do him favors. In fact, our shared leave was really his split between the two of us; no honors were accorded to Trigger's trusty backseat driver, not that I would have wanted any. He tried to give me all of it at first, saying I deserved the break. I thought it was sweet until I realized that he was going to go off on escort duty with the peacekeepers and cleanup forces. When I threatened him with insinuations involving my loose bladder and his seat in the Eagle unless he took some time for himself, we agreed to compromise.
My long-awaited return to the civilian world wasn't very exciting. Not that I had expected it to be. Still, it was a little hard to adjust after being away for so long, so I decided to go to Trigger to help me get reacquainted. After the first couple of days, however, I discovered that he was as much of a shut-in in his own apartment as he was in the barracks, with most of his outside excursions being with me.
Speaking of his apartment, I've had to live with him while we were out on leave, since my old place in Oured is long gone. For me, it wasn't much of a difference since he and I were basically roommates from how often we visited each other on base. But Trigger's been strangely antsy about it. He hasn't complained once, but even though we can still hang out like we used to, there's a strange feeling to it. And thanks to all that effort I spent getting into his head over the last few months, I think I can take a fair stab at what it is.
I've been teaching him to dance, lately. Count and HuXian will be dropping by in a few days. Having heard about Trigger's reserved tendencies, the former has resolved himself to "break the bastard outta his shell". The first operation in this ambitious campaign involves taking Trigger to the local club, getting him tipsy, and maybe even introducing him to the local female population with the help of his new girlfriend. So I've been enlisted into making sure that he doesn't make a fool out of himself on the floor and, more importantly, embarrass Count.
Not that I'm the best teacher. The last time I danced was during my senior prom, and it was with a date. Certainly not the moveset to take into the club. But as I take the part of the lead and slowly remember the movements I spent many teenaged evenings practicing, I start to think the latter part of Count's plan was doomed to fail from the start. Because judging from how red Trigger's face is right now, how he refuses to look me in the eyes, and that telltale curve at the corners of his mouth, I don't think he'll be chasing after other girls any time soon.
Well, as far as heroes go, he's certainly one of the cuter ones, so I'm quite flattered to say the least.
And in the end, he had been as true a hero as one could be. Uniting the heroes of two warring nations in battle against an unyielding foe, all while keeping to his humanity.
But while the rest of the world would come to know him for what he had done, I was the only one who could really know who he was. And I realized that the more he had let me into his life, the more I had let him into mine, to the point that when I thought he had been taken from me, all that was left was a howling void.
Ever since that night in Zapland, the night when I had caught Trigger in the mess hall, I had been driven by a strange feeling. Now, I understood what it meant.
In vowing to free Trigger from the cage of heroism, I had been set free myself, even though I offered to spend the rest of my life safeguarding his. For it was a decision I made not in service to a nation or an ideal, but for myself. I had set out on a course undetermined by any higher agenda or ulterior motive, guided only by my own wish into skies unknown. But had it not been for that night in the mess hall, I wouldn't even have known I was in such a cage to begin with. It was only when Trigger had appeared before me that I reached out to find that there were bars keeping me in.
For how can you be confronted with the unknown and not be curious to know more?
I look across at my unknown, still looking away, and pause to cup his chin and gently make him face me. I smile as my curiosity begins to spark once more.
Here is Trigger, the drone killer, three-lined hero, ace pilot, and handsome young man before me. And he's blushing like a boy after his first kiss.
Instead of the club, I wonder if Count and HuXian would be up for a double date instead?