Eh, since 'Don't Let it Get to Your Head' is pretty much almost done, decided to get another story started. :3 I'm not sure how long this one will last either, so hang tight with me.

Okay, before I get this started, I have a very vague idea how Air Force units such work, so please inform me if you do so I can adjust a few things. A lot of chapters also might not be proof read, so please bear with me…I tend to not proof read them and they end up looking like an epic failure…^^;

So yup. That's all I have to say. Enjoy~

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Two pairs of booted feet echoed in the near empty hangar as the sun began to set, painting the sky a wide plethora of colors. The two young men the steps came from stopped in front of two McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagles standing dormant side by side for the moment. The one on the right had a 'THE HERO' painted in bold red, white and blue letters on the nose while the other had a red maple leaf near the window of the cockpit. It clearly was added without care, for it was sloppy and crooked.

One of the young men was Alfred F. Jones, and he was turning twenty in three days, his friend, Matthew Williams having turned twenty just that day. He had messy wheat blond hair, one stubborn cowlick sticking up into the air almost proudly. His eyes were a lively blue, watching his surroundings behind a pair of glasses and he normally held a confident, toothy grin.

Matthew Williams could easily be mistaken for Alfred when out of said American's presence and when Alfred was with him, they were mistaken for twins most of the time. He had wavy wheat blond hair as well, though it was a shade lighter from his earlier years living in Canada. One strand stuck out as well, though it looped down and over and hung in front of his face. His eyes were often the topic of debate in between the two look alikes, Matthew thought they were dark blue, Alfred thought they were purple. He was shy, but spoke up when he really had to.

"So! We're just supposed to get some patrolling done right?" Alfred grinned confidently as he looked proudly at his plane, stuffing his gloved hands into the pockets to the old fashioned World War Two bomber jacket he wore. Matthew nodded his head in confirmation, the curl handing in front of his face bouncing slightly. "Coolio bro! Who else's comin'? I think it was Gilbert, Feli, Lovino and Kiku right?" Matthew nodded his head again. "Thought so!"

America and Canada had gone to war against England and France. America had apparently 'threatened' England and conclusions were drawn without any real negotiations. People didn't really like the US much though anymore, which was probably why the war came out of seemingly nowhere. Canada came to the aid of the US since fake threats had been sent by France. Tensions were high before all of this happened too, so this was just the spark that set off the powder keg. They were at the height of the war—Washington DC had just been badly bombed by France and Britain and US citizens were expecting action to be taken. Pronto.

So they were responding with a flight to Paris. They were obviously going to encounter the Armée de l'Air on their way and despite the circumstances, Alfred was pumped. He'd never seen real combat yet and neither had Matthew—the guy was raring to go shoot some F1's out of the sky and maybe some Eurofighters. Matthew wasn't so thrilled about it, but was still angry about the attack on eastern Canada from England and France that had lasted two months. Almost the entire east was uninhabitable up to this day, and Matthew was bent on getting some good ol' revenge for his country.

He was especially bent on shooting down that wavy haired blond that had gone as far as blowing a kiss at him as he flew low to the ground and rather slowly in his Dassault Mirage F1, a rose painted on the side and some scrawly white text that Matthew couldn't read at the current moment. Matthew had watched him shoot five Royal Canadian Air Force pilots out of the air with ease. Alfred had immediately called Matthew, praying that his friend was still alive.

Alfred also had a friend who had just recently moved to England and it broke his heart. Arthur Kirkland was his name and the two had fawned over aircraft ever since their elementary years. From what Alfred could remember, he had messy, sandy blond hair and large eyebrows that rested just above his vibrant green eyes. Sometimes Alfred would make fun of the Briton because of how unnaturally green they were, but when he was alone, he would mull over how they were like the brightest emeralds in the entire world.

It was very likely Alfred would meet Arthur in the air and all it would result in was a fierce dogfight in between two of the best aircraft in the world.

Alfred had received a letter from Arthur just a week ago that read:

Dear Alfred,

Sometimes I really wonder why we're in the war. I can't exactly get into America without having people look at me and I heard from someone that it was super hard to get into America in the first place. I received your earlier letter and I don't know whether I should congratulate you on getting into the US Air Force or not, because that makes you my opponent. I just happened to get into the Royal Air Force about the same time, so that's why I wrote that. The Eurofighter Typhoon is an amazing plane, I assure you and well…be careful. It's fast and deadly. Don't die on me.

I've made a new friend, though he barely knows any English. His primary language is French and obviously he's from France. I was in Paris with my squadron since our base had been moved to western France. We decided to just go to Paris and have a ball. He's another pilot too, in the Armée de l'Air and he's really strange. Personality wise. He went on a fly to escort bombers to eastern Canada a bit ago and I have yet to inform you about it. They really hit Canada hard from what I'm seeing, heard that the entire east is inhabitable. I hope Matthew's okay? Please tell me he's okay, it'd break my heart to hear that Francis has killed a friend of mine. He said he saw someone he liked and 'spared' them. God, sometimes he can be a real wanker sometimes.

I…actually no, I can't tell you.

I hope you're okay Alfred. Have you seen any action? Reply as soon as possible.

Yours truly,

Arthur Kirkland

Alfred had then replied two days later.

Artie,

First thing's first, no need to be so formal~! Oh…you're in the RAF…well…I just hope we don't have to shoot at each other! If we do encounter each other, just know I'm the F-15 with 'THE HERO' painted on the nose of my baby~!

Oh, Mattie told me he saw some guy with wavy blond hair blow him a kiss as he flew by and he vowed to shoot 'that damn hoser' out of the sky. Ha, ha, if that guy is Francis, I'll just laugh at the irony of how things work…ah, I love it~ So much. He sounds really interesting, maybe I'll have to fly over once this war is over? Well…we'll have to see how the results of the war affect our countries, but I'm dying to see you~!

He then ended his letter with a risky:

Love you.

Alfred F. Jones

It would take about three, four more days before he'd get a reply, and that was if Arthur immediately replied to his letter. Alfred couldn't admit but excitedly anticipate his reply letter, he really wanted to know Arthur's response to the 'love you' at the end of his letter.

The two look alikes perked up when they heard a loud, obnoxious laughing and loud, angry yelling accompanied by a slightly hopeless voice trying to calm the angry one. "They're here," Alfred grinned, turning around so that he was facing in the direction of the voices. Matthew simply glanced over his shoulder as Gilbert Beilschmidt, Lovino and Feliciano Vargas and Kiku Honda approached them, flying gear already on.

Gilbert had remained in America while his brother, Ludwig, moved to Germany. It was very likely he was in either the Royal Air Force or the Armée de l'Air for his love for aircraft and aerial combat rivaled Alfred's. Gilbert liked to pretend that his brother wasn't going to be his enemy by becoming a 'jackass' in many pilot's eyes. Alfred and Matthew tolerated him though. Alfred and Gilbert could even be considered best friends.

Lovino and Feliciano were twin brothers unlike Alfred and Matthew. Lovino was ill-tempered while Feliciano was the polar opposite, being calm and oblivious. He had fallen in love with Ludwig, but had yet to confess. He had cried the day Ludwig left for Europe with the tension England and France had with America and Canada, it having become public. Lovino had huffed and told him to 'man up' while Alfred tried to comfort the Italian the best he could.

Kiku Honda had come to America when the war broke out, claiming that he wanted to fight alongside Alfred for America and Canada. He had barely made the physical testing, being a bit on the scrawny side. If it weren't for Alfred and Gilbert's crazy ways of encouragement, Kiku would've never made it in. He did love flying, though, and sometimes, Alfred and Kiku would practice maneuvers together, especially the counter maneuver. Kiku had quite a bit of trouble with it and was intent on learning it. Alfred, having spent so much time in the cockpit, knew it like the back of his hand…or America's national anthem, The Star Spangled Banner. He always found joy in pulling off the counter maneuver without a hitch and couldn't wait to use it in combat.

"Yo Al!" Gilbert grinned broadly, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Ready to blow some Frenchie's up?" he continued confidently and Alfred grinned himself, shaking his head.

"Slow down Gilbort," he added the 'o' in his name ever since he'd said Gilbert's name wrong one day when they first met. It annoyed the hell out of Gilbert. "We gotta land on an aircraft carrier one third of the way there, so calm down," he couldn't say that he himself was calm though. He was so excited he was considering skipping the carrier. He loved the air, not the sea. "Plus, we gotta met them Lancers (1) halfway from when we leave the carrier."

"Ugh, so damn complex!" Gilbert sighed heavily, letting go of Alfred as he approached his F-15, 'AWESOME' painted in red, black and yellow, bold letters along both sides of his plane. "C'mon, I wanna shoot some bastards out of the sky!" Gilbert continued with a toothy grin. He didn't care whose side he was on, as long as he was 'shooting bastards out of the sky', he was fine.

"Alright guys! I'm leading today! Let's get this party started!" Alfred announced excitedly, Lovino barking at him to shut up, for he was currently venting on Feliciano. Patting the pistol attached and concealed on his hip, Alfred jumped into the F-15, checking the control panel, a daily deed. Matthew, Lovino, Feliciano, Gilbert and Kiku soon followed suit.

"Let's go Alfred!" Gilbert called excitedly, his voice clear on the radio. Alfred gave them a thumbs up before they drove their planes out of the hangar and onto the runway, currently waiting for the signal to go. They were to be met by 400 and 354 squadrons once they were pretty close to France. Then they'd meet the bombers.

A marshaller stood near the runway, giving the six pilots signals. They were all clear, and eventually, they were taking off at nice speeds. Once they were off of the ground, Alfred turned and grinned at Matthew who just happened to look over at his American friend, returning the gesture. "Tally ho! We're off losers!"

"Gilbert, please refrain from calling your comrades that…" Kiku replied, though Alfred heard the small hint of excitement in the Japanese boy's voice.

"Hang tight guys, this'll take a few hours," Alfred spoke into his radio.

"Fuck! Stop being such a damn killjoy Jones!" Gilbert barked, though one could hear the broad grin in his voice. "C'mon, we should just ditch the carrier and go straight there!"

"Gilbert, our planes don't have enough fuel for that, we're about two thousand miles short," came Matthew's almost deadpan reply. Gilbert huffed moodily and they continued on.

III

"Ah Alfred, good to see you," Toris, one of the marshallers on the aircraft carrier, greeted the American with a smile. The two had been childhood friends for a brief moment before Toris moved away to South Carolina. "So, are you happy about getting your first real mission?"

"Hell yeah," Alfred grinned, patting Toris on the shoulder. "The sunset's amazing during takeoff too," he continued, glancing up at the sky, the sun having already set. "God…I'm so excited, but just the thought…I'm bombing the City of Lights Toris…" Alfred sighed, shaking his head.

"Do you doubt yourself?" Toris asked, though it wasn't a challenge, just more curious than so. "I know it's a tough job."

"No, no, I'm not doubting it's just really like…wake up and smell the coffee or something," Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, it's Paris. Love, lights, food, accordions, giving up, stuff!" Alfred threw his arms into the air. "It's just really hard to believe. It'll be even harder once we go off to bomb London…I've been hearing things about that, but I don't think we're planning on doing it super soon. But soon."

"Yeah, that's how war works," Toris nodded his head before glancing out at the night sky and the waves. He then looked at Alfred and smiled lightly. "I think you should go take a nap, you're going to need all of your energy for the upcoming raid."

"I guess," Alfred sighed, itching at the back of his head. "God, Gilbert's probably wreaking havoc on this carrier, better check up on him and tell him to stop whatever the hell he's doing," he chuckled, shaking his head before turning to leave. "Yeah, I'll go take a nap, see you later Toris."

"Good night Alfred," Toris nodded his head. He watched the American before looking back out at the ocean. Alfred obviously wouldn't get much sleep on a boat like this, but Toris couldn't help but worry about his friend. Hopefully they wouldn't get torpedoed either.

Gilbert grinned as he watched the almost cloudless sky, listening to the waves below as well. "Ah…now if only I had a nice bottle of beer…" he mulled dreamily. That'd totally hit the spot, getting ready to bomb the hell outta France with a bottle of beer. Flying while inebriated wasn't allowed, but he always managed to get away with it—he was a hell of a pilot when he was drunk too! Why did they not want him to be drunk? "Bruder…damn, you better not be in the RAF of the ALA…" he sighed and shook his head, placing his hands on his hips.

He couldn't wait to get flying again. Just the thought of weaving in between B-1 Lancers whilst shooting at British and French pilots made an excited chill run through his body. He wondered how many he'd be able to shoot down. Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned at his plane and the word awesome written in bold letters as if it could grin back at him. "You're gonna be seeing some real combat babe," he laughed lightly, his unnaturally red eyes gleaming happily in the darkness.

With a sigh, Gilbert seated himself, crossing his legs. He stayed a good distance from the edge of the carrier, nobody really wanted to fall off of one at night. He then yawned before rubbing his eyes. "Damn I'm tired…where the fuck is everyone else?" he muttered, glancing over his shoulder just as he spotted Alfred propping up against a wall, tipping the cap he had brought with him over his eyes so he could block out the lights on the carrier. Feliciano had fallen asleep in his place and Lovino along with Kiku were currently getting ready to hit the sack. With another sigh, Gilbert heaved himself up before sauntering over to his plane, bent on catching some z's.

Alfred's short two hours of sleep couldn't exactly be called sleep, for he kept waking up over and over, the excitement eating at him. Eventually, Toris approached him, Alfred already being half awake and shook him until he was fully awake. "You've got to takeoff pretty soon," he smiled softly down at his friend. You'll be meeting 400 and 354 a bit from here too," he continued. "You're plane's been fueled up."

"Awesome," Alfred yawned, tugging the cap off of the top of his head and dragging himself over to his F-15, finding Gilbert and Feliciano still dead asleep in the cockpits to their planes. Lovino, Kiku and Matthew were inspecting their control panels, Lovino muttering angrily to himself. Alfred was used to being woken up when the sun was rising, but there still remained quite a few hours before sunrise.

His plane roared to life and Gilbert jumped awake, Feliciano's awakening being less dramatic. "Gah! Warn me next time fucker…" Gilbert growled as he swung his legs into the cockpit. "God dammit, it's so damn late…wait, what the hell? What time is it? Is it late, or early?"

"Ugh…it's midnight," Alfred sighed, shaking his head as he pulled the cockpit closed. He wondered if he'd be able to get some sleep after this, obviously the French would want to get back at them for what they were just about to do. "Alright boys, let's go, hurry up Feli, you're going to be left behind if you move any slower."

"Yup, yup, I'm hurrying Alfred," Feliciano happily replied. It was as if he had gotten a full eight hours of sleep instead of two. "Okay, I'm ready~!"

"Cool, alright, we're ready," Alfred nodded his head and a few marshalls, including Toris, led them off of the carrier. He looked over his shoulder once he was airborne, grinning back at his friend Toris who was watching with a wide smile stretching at his lips. Giving his friend a salute, Alfred turned around and pushed the plane to fly faster.

"I'm so damn tired, but I'll definitely be awake by the time we bomb the living daylights out of them Frenchie's," Gilbert announced with a yawn. Alfred shook his head before replying with a snobby comeback that made Gilbert explode on him. Lovino then interrupted, telling the two to 'shut the fucking hell up'. They did so, though reluctantly.

Quite a bit of time passed before a few planes approached them, the US Air Force roundel visible. Alfred grinned in their direction, though didn't exactly get any recognition from his fellow pilots. A few even had the Royal Canadian Air Force roundels. "M'kay boys, heard you're new to combat, so all I have to say to ya is be careful and don't let any of those Eurofighters get on your tail."

"Jack off man! We're totally ready for them. Even the Mirage's! The F1's!" was Gilbert's highly energetic voice—looks like he's now fully awake and ready to go. Alfred was still a bit tired, but was started to fully wake up. A bit more time passed and eventually, when he spotted the bombers up ahead, he was at full alert.

"Guys, are we seriously that close to France?" he asked, glancing around himself, unable to find either of his friends. There were about thirty five fighters around him, five of them all being his friends, so it wasn't likely they'd really be able to hang around each other much. He then looked on ahead. "Holy…hell…"

Up ahead were about fifty fighters, bent on protecting their country. They were level with them as well, so the two opposing sides were bound to collide sooner or later. "Hell yes, hell yes, HELL YES! Boom, let's get this party started!" Gilbert hooted excitedly. Alfred looked around himself once more now to find Gilbert at his side. "Alright guys, watch my awesomeness!"

"Hold up Gilbert God. We have to protect the bombers, it's not all about us," Alfred informed and one of the pilots from 400 squadron agreed with him before explaining that they should stick next to the bombers until the F1's and Eurofighters became a real threat.

"Well what the hell do you consider threatening?" Gilbert barked, voice full of irritation.

"When they dive."

"God…such a killjoy, ugh, I don't even think they'll have to dive with how level we are with them," Gilbert sighed exasperatedly. "Alright Alfred, let's get our awesome on, though you're not as awesome as me obviously."

"Alright guys, get in close," Alfred urged, his heart racing in anticipation once the planes became even more distinguishable.

"Alfred?" Matthew suddenly spoke up and Alfred rose his eyebrows in slight interest.

"Yup, that's me."

"…If you get shot out of the air, I'm going to find a way to kill you even if you're already dead," Matthew continued, sounding slightly concerned and Alfred grinned. He didn't feel like joking with Matthew at the moment, he really could get shot out of the sky now.

There was a moment of silence before Alfred noticed that a missile was headed his way. "Shit! Holy fuck!" he cussed as he weaved out of the way, shooting off a few flares so the missile would be misled.

He pulled off to the side before turning to find that the orderly formation that they were holding not too long ago, was now mass chaos. He shot at an F1 that was passing by, barely nicking it and catching the pilot's attention. The guy had wavy blond hair and there was a rose painted on the side of his plane along with white cursive under it. "Mattie, I think I've got you're guy!" he grinned, pulling around until he was on the guy's tail. "Ha, ha! Mattie, I might beat you to the punch!"

"No way! I'm getting revenge for Canada! Watch me!" Matthew called, voice full of excitement and fear as his F-15 exploded by, getting only one bullet in the French pilot's wing. Alfred heard Matthew cuss briefly before he was able to shoot at his opponent again. They were looping around and around and Alfred was getting dangerously dizzy. He was corkscrewing and turning in a tight circle at the same time, shooting at the French pilot in a rather amateur act.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down Jones, you're going to kill yourself, take a deep breath and stop all of that crazy stuff you're doing!" a pilot from 354 called. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

"Thanks…" he muttered as he pulled out of the turn.

"Whoa! Don't do that!" the French pilot was now on his tail and he had to try to our maneuver the Mirage F1. Alfred cussed to himself as he avoided bullets and missiles and listened to the gunfire behind him, coming from the 354 pilot who was currently trying to protect him.

Looking off to his right, Alfred spotted a bomber falling for the earth, one of its wings bending from the uneven force and falling off, all of it happening as if it were in slow-motion. Alfred quickly looked away and refused to think about the people aboard the plane. He snapped back to his own problem when he felt his plane jolt slightly and looking to his left, he spotted a few holes in his wing. "Dammit!"

"Hold on Alfred! I'm coming!" Matthew called, voice full of determination and worry. There was even more gunfire and then a missile could be heard being released. Alfred took a brief moment to crane his neck around so he was glancing over his shoulder just as the French pilot sent off three flares, the missile going off target.

Then he remembered that he could try out the counter maneuver. Licking his lips, Alfred glanced at the instrument panel before pulling on the lever, the plane going into a half flip. He grinned toothily down at the French pilot who watched him preform the counter maneuver, their eyes locking briefly before he remembered to fire. He managed to get a few rounds in the body of the French pilot's plane and he cheered as the F1 quivered briefly before getting bombarded by Matthew and the 354 pilot.

The ALA pilot got away though, turning at shooting at a 400 pilot. "Wimp!" Alfred called, euphoric from his first real dogfight. His heart was racing, and it wasn't over yet.

"Yeah! Third one down!" Gilbert whooped excitedly and Alfred's eyebrows shot up. Had Gilbert already shot down three foes? While he was getting his ass chased by who could've been, according to Arthur, Francis. But he didn't know that, so this guy that blew kisses from his plane was just an enemy. "Whoo! Party! We're totally killing these guys, damn!"

"Dive down Alfred, dive! You've got someone on your tail! Shoot a flare!" came Feliciano's frantic voice and Alfred immediately shot off three flares before diving off to the right steeply. He looked over his shoulder frantically, trying to catch a glimpse at the one trailing him, unable to catch sight of them unfortunately.

"I can't see 'em Feli, shoot 'em down for me!" he called and Feliciano made an affirmative noise. There was gunfire, an explosion, some more gunfire and eventually, Alfred watched the French plane that had been tailing him plummet past him, and to the earth, smoke and fire exploding from where the engine was. "Awesome Feli! You got the guy's engine!"

"Yaay~!" Feliciano cheered happily. There was some more mind whirling combat before Feliciano happily sung into his radio. "Ve~! They're retreating!"

"Hold tight buddy, that doesn't mean we're completely home-free, there's obviously going to be more since we're on their home turf," the 354 pilot that had assisted Alfred earlier grunted. "C'mon, let's make this quick."

Alfred grinned and glanced up at the sky. The sun still had yet to rise, and that was one epic dogfight. Flares and missiles were the only things that lit up the sky around them along with the firing of bullets from the wings of their planes. It was like a fireworks display, only a little less colorful and more heart racing. It was spectacular. When planes crashed on the west coast of France, fire and smoke billowed up into the air, becoming little fireballs on the ground—some went out, some didn't.

Eventually, they chased the ALA and some RAF pilots pretty far into France before they were met with more planes. Over Paris. And the city was beautiful. Alfred couldn't imagine dropping bombs on it. But alas, there were multiple explosions, and it came true, Paris was being set ablaze. "Oh my God, look at that…" Alfred muttered mostly to himself as a building was completely demolished by a bomb. He couldn't imagine knocking over skyscrapers and Paris consisted mostly of seven story buildings mostly because of the restriction.

Some more ALA pilots met them above Paris and another dogfight erupted, this time the bombers dropping their load on the City of Lights. It truly was the city of lights in a way—before the bombing that was. He dove down and flew in between the four curved supports that made the Eiffel Tower. It was something he didn't exactly want to do again, despite France being their opponent, he preferred to keep the Eiffel Tower standing. The French pilot followed after him, spinning through the gap and shooting at him. Alfred then remembered that he shouldn't be flying straight.

He performed the counter maneuver again, though, this time, he had a small slip up and nicked his wing on the tall monument. Panicking that he could've damaged his plane, Alfred glanced over his shoulder to see that his wing looked fine and that the French pilot was shooting a missile at him.

Matthew watched Alfred fly in between the four legs of the Eiffel Tower in a rather flashy move and figured that his friend was just showing off. His heart skipped a beat when Alfred's wing nicked one of the legs and he soon began to fear for his friend's life as a missile was being sent at him. Luckily, Alfred was able to outmaneuver it and the weapon collided with a building down below. Matthew briefly flinched before reminding himself that France had completely destroyed one third of Canada. With new found determination, he tailed another ALA pilot, their roundel clearly visible now that they were flying over the City of Lights. It wasn't called that for nothing.

He shot at the plane for one second before breaking off just as the Mirage F1 veered off to the side and nosedived. He didn't stay long enough to watch it explode upon impact with a building. He suddenly began doubting why he had even signed up. They were completely destroying this iconic capital.

"Let's turn around guys, all our load's gone," one bomber pilot announced and Matthew immediately obeyed, turning his plane in the direction of home. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Gilbert and Alfred were double teaming an ALA pilot, shooting him out of the sky before following the rest of them, some ALA pilots finding enough courage to chase after them and shoot down whoever they could for bombing France's capital.

Eventually, they gave up and turned around. They would be met again on their way out of France by some more ALA squadrons, but at the current moment, they were ditching the City of Light that was now almost completely ablaze. This mission had been so successful that Matthew wondered if it was luck. Glancing over his shoulder again, Matthew watched the fire and smoke reach up for the sky, consuming most of the city. Pressing his lips into a determined thin line, Matthew reminded himself that France had done much worse to Canada. He remembered the horror of the raid.

And for some reason, he couldn't help but look forward to the next escort mission.

XXXX

(1) Rockwell B-1 Lancer – Bomber that is currently in service in the US Air Force.

Lol, I'm using modern aircraft, mainly because I obviously can't make up my own for my life (names, mechanics and stuff like that). Ugh, this chapter already feels like an epic failure…Oh well. Hm, I was going to say something, but I forgot. So yeah, please review, love to hear what you have to say and peace out my friends ;D Oh, and this will be multi chapter. Now peace out my friends ;D

Fun Fact: The fortune cookie is actually American (specifically Californian).