Chapter 27

 

TWENTY-SEVEN

Huxian walked down the flight line of Oberman Airbase, located in the sweltering June heat of the Perbla rain forests. Today, Huxian was a woman on a mission, and had hell to pay for the few pilots and maintainers that got in her way.

Scanning the rows of Osean Air Force F-15C and Navy F-14 aircraft, she found her quarry.

“JEAGER!” She bellowed towards a pilot clambering down the ladder of his Eagle, Cyclops Squadrons newly promoted commander. Jeager took his helmet off and stowed it neatly into its carrying bag and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Closing the distance, Huxian held up a report, her eyes blazing behind the aviator sunglasses.

“What the fuck is this?” she demanded.

Jeager squinted for a moment, relenting he patted his flight suit and pulled out a set of reading glasses before he took the document.

“It would appear to be an after-action report.” Jeager stated flatly.

“Really? You don’t say. Care to read paragraph three?” Huxian demanded.

“Uhh, Sure… I can do that.” Jeager replied non-committedly. His eyes scrolled across the paper.

“Oh this? That was nothing, just routine stuff.” He said dismissively.

“Nothing? Routine Stuff? Jeager!-“ her voice raising in octaves as she continued, pausing briefly to clench her fist and lower her voice to a growl. “That was not nothing. You two dumbasses engaged two Foxbats outside of a designated kill zone without V.I.D, firing two sidewinders and downed one of the bandits. That’s a little more than nothing!”  She reprimanded.

“But I thought we were supposed to help enforce the No-Fly-Zone. Is that not why we’re here?” Jeager defended himself.

“We’re only supposed to deter Leasath! Not drag Osea into yet another war!” Huxian reprimanded.

Jeager held up his hands defensively. “Believe me, I Know… but Count just needed to blow off some steam is all, you noticed how he’s been acting these past few weeks, and given the area we were in, I didn’t see the harm in him letting him cut loose ever so slightly.” He explained.

Huxian sighed, shaking her head. “I know, We’re all a bit on edge. I know nothings absolute but-“ Her words trailed off.

“But its likely Trigger will be added to the KIA list soon… I know” Jeager concluded the thought. It pained Huxian to think that her friend, and former commander, was likely a victim with the thousands of others in Erusea. She wanted more than anything to bring those responsible to justice. The No-Fly Zone enforcement made her feel helpless, People she fought aside were struggling and she was a continent and an ocean away feeling useless.

Huxian shook the thought from her head. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you need to keep him out of trouble.” She ordered.

“May I remind you how it’s a bit unkosher for a Lieutenant to be ordering around a Captain?” He teased in a brotherly manner. “Newly Promoted, Captain. You were just as much a Lieutenant under Wiseman as I was.” Huxian replied, allowing herself to smile briefly at the memory.

 

Jeager turned his attention towards the runway. Two F-14 Tomcats from the 12^th Fighter Squadron, ‘Knights’ took off, afterburners roaring.

“Counts up with Lanza and Skald right now. Shouldn’t be too bad.” He said.

“Good. Because I can only hide these reports from General Oliver for so long before they start question what the LRSSG is actually doing out here.” She said.

Jeager turned around to face Huxian and his face furrowed into a scowl. “Heads up, Six o’clock hot.” Jeager warned.

Turning around, Huxian could see an average looking man, in a leather coat, polo shirt and tactical pants approaching her and Jeager.

“Can I help you?” Huxian asked annoyed as the man approached.

He ignored the question, and obnoxiously popped a bubble from the chewing gum he had. He unclipped something from his belt and held it eye level for both pilots to read.

OSI

“Special Agent Palmer, OSI.” He Introduced himself as, grinning widely as he continued to chew his gum, looking both Huxian and Jeager in the eyes.

“Are you Lieutenant Huxian?” He asked.

Huxian was annoyed by the interloper, a Spook or not, he was rude and got under her skin. “Yeah, I am. What do you need?”

“Is your acting group commander around?” The Agent continued.

“No, He just departed for a sortie, won’t be back a few hours. Is there something I can help you with?” Huxian replied hesitantly. She remembered OSI talking to both Trigger and Count months previous in Selatapura, but for the life of her she could not remember the agent’s names.  

“That’s unfortunate, I need to speak with him, it’s a matter of some urgency.” The Agent replied.

Her heart paused. “Is it about Trigger?” She asked, fear creeping into her voice.

The Agent raised an eyebrow.

“Lieutenant is there somewhere we can talk in private?” He asked.

***

Trigger was standing on a grassy hillside. For as far as he could see, there was rolling hills covered in a brilliant green. In the far-off distance, he could see a jagged granite mountain face, the peaks covered in white by the snow. The sky was the deepest blue Trigger had ever seen.

He looked at himself, Not only was he no longer in pain, but he was also once again dressed, now in jeans and a t-shirt. Where am I? he thought to himself scanning the surrounding area.

“Your somewhere you’re not supposed to be, friend.” A voice replied, startling Trigger. He turned around to see a man sitting on the grass. Arms folded and resting on his knees. Trigger guessed the man was in his late twenties to early thirties, he had blond hair, and was wearing a white button up shirt and khaki slacks.

“So, where’s that then?” Trigger asked the man.

The stranger laughed, picking a rock up off the ground, he studied it briefly, tossing it between both hands before he threw it down the hill.

“Think of it as a holding pattern.” The stranger said simply.

“Does that mean I’m dead?” Trigger asked.

The man shrugged “Well not yet at least. Though keep up the way you’re going, and you might be soon enough.”

“Who are you?” Trigger asked.

“Would it really make a difference if I told you?” the man asked, turning to Trigger.

“Well maybe-“Trigger started before the man cut him off.

“I’ll just tell you now, it won’t. If you really are so worried about it, just think of me as a friendly face, nothing more, nothing less. All you need to accept is that your right here right now and Im here right here right now.” The Stranger explained.

“So I am dead?” Trigger asked.

The Stranger rolled his eyes. “mon Dieu, you really are dense. No, now stop asking.”

“I see.” Trigger replied sheepishly.

The man turned his attention back to the distance, he patted the ground next to him.

“Come on, Sit down with me.” He invited.

“Why?”

“Just do it.” The Stranger reiterated. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll sit down.” Trigger relented taking a seat. “Look, I’m sitting… what was the point of this?” Trigger asked.

The stranger shook his head.

“Just wait my friend. All will make sense in time.”

“Oh, that’s nice, did you get it from a fortune cookie?” Trigger quipped.

***
Huxian leaned against the siding of the hangar, she felt anemic after her talk with the OSI Agent.

She watched the LRSSG fighters taxi and come to a halt, crew chiefs and other maintenance personnel descended onto the planes the moment the engines were cut, inspecting and preparing each jet for its next sortie.

As Count walked his way into the hangar from the flight line, she intercepted him.

“Hey!” he said in surprise, his face quickly turning to concern. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.” He said.

She nodded her head. “The OSI is here to see you. They said they needed to talk to you.” She choked out.

Counts face changed to one of confusion “The cops? Wait, look, I can explain. What I’m doing isn’t actually structuring, Its an entirely legitimate investment strategy, you see-“ Huxian cut him off shaking her head. “No its none of that, Its about Trigger.” She replied.

“Trigger… oh god did they find him?” He said, he embraced her into a hug.

“Captain, it might be better if I just do the explanations.” A voice said from behind Huxian, she stiffened at hearing it.

“Who the fuck are… Hey you’re that asshole from Selatapura!” Count yelled at the man.

“Well, while I have been called an asshole before. I prefer the term ‘Special Agent’, I had to bust a ton of heads to get that title and I damn well deserve it.” Palmer said holding out his hand to Count.

Count looked at the man in disdain until he lowered his hand.

“Look, I’m only here looking for Information and then I will be out of your hair Captain. Can we talk in your office?” Palmer inquired.

 

 

“Sorry that the place is messy, if you had told me you were coming, I would have cleaned up a bit.” Count said dismissively. His desk was littered with dozens of reports, most of the time he relied on Lanza and Huxian’s aid to keep them all straight. Count often wondered how Trigger kept on top of the LRSSG’s constant paperwork needs.

“Well, that’s quite all right. I’m just here for this conversation anyways.” Palmer replied, taking a seat on a sofa.

“Oh, so No ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine? Where is your little flying monkey anyways Palmer?” Count taunted.

“Dead. Agent Baxter was one of those killed at Cape Rainey when the Eruseans burst warhead went off.” Palmer replied flatly.

 

“Oh… Sorry for asking.” Count replied apologetically.

 

“Look Count, is it Ok if I call you Count? Whatever, Look Count, lets get down to brass tacks here. I need to know when the last time was you talked to your former group commander, Major-”

Count cut him off “Trigger. And the last time I talked to him was briefly on the phone about a month back just for a few minutes. There was a bit of a time difference, so we didn’t say a whole lot to each other.”

“Interesting. Did he say anything out of the ordinary to you?” Palmer inquired.

Count folded his arms “Out of the ordinary? No, not really.”

“Well then what did you two talk about?”

“Normal stuff, He wanted to know how the squadron was doing and to let me know he was in Farbanti with the Princess.” Count replied.

“What in particular about the squadron did he want to know?” Palmer pressed.

Count Shrugged “Just morale and stuff, with him and Wiseman gone, we’re down two pilots and up to this point, our only two commanders. He wanted to know if we were still above water morale wise.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I dunno, we were doing pretty good once Jeager joined us? Whats the point in all of this?” Count demanded.

“Did he ask about how many aircraft you guys had, your location, any thing like that?” Palmer asked ignoring Counts question.

“No, besides he already knew all of that. Where are you going with this? What does this have to do with anything?”

Palmer closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath, steepling his fingers.

 

“Frankly Captain, we have evidence to suggest your friend, Trigger, might have had some part to play with the attacks on the night of the 17^th. We want to know if he told you anything before hand that might lead us in the direction of who else he could have worked with.” Palmer explained.

Count slammed his fist against the table “What the fuck!” he yelled; Palmer remaining unphased, sat silently waiting for Count to finish.

“Trigger is a goddamn war hero! How the fuck did you come to that conclusion? What are you a fucking dumbass?” Count continued on his tirade.

“I can’t get into all the details but-“ Palmer said raising his hand, getting cut off again by Count

“Oh but you can just accuse my wingman of treason like that? Again? On what basis?”

Palmer laughed, but it was out of reflex instead of actual humor.

“Well, this is somewhat expected. Your Girlfriend surprised me however, for a chick who made her name knocking the teeth out of General Clemens, she just locked up when I told her that. I could have sworn I would need a dentist appointment after talking with her but clearly not.”

“You bastard!” Count hissed, rounding the corner of his desk. He paused when Palmer lifted his jacket to reveal a holstered Sig Sauer P320.

 

“Captain. If you would please calm down. Believe me, I more than anyone want to know that the guy Osea owes its victory to is innocent. But frankly the evidence we have currently isn’t pointing in that direction. Without even taking into account his family history. He was seen talking heavily with one of the masterminds of the attack, a young Erusean Captain. As well, we found documents suggesting he had met with others involved heavily with the planning of the attack. Theres coincidences and then there’s malice.” Palmer explained.  

 

Count said nothing, and stared daggers into the OSI agent.

Palmer clapped and stood up. “Well Captain, I do thank you for your time. This little adventure was… Informative.” He said walking to the door.

 

“Hey wait a minute.” Count spoke up. “Do you even know where Trigger is right now? We’ve all noticed he’s still listed as MIA and that list has been getting smaller every day. Do you actually think he’s alive?” Count interrogated.

 

Palmer sighed. “We have yet to find any positive evidence that your Major was killed in the attack. There were some additional possible sightings around the Gunther region of him days later, we’re checking those leads to see if they’re false positives or not. Frankly its not looking good and it might be better off that way.  At least if he’s dead, it would be for the better since we may have a chance of suppressing this, so it won’t affect his legacy. At least then he might at least get a high school named after him.”

***
The two men sat in silence for what felt to Trigger like an eternity.

“You really got to love it.” The Stranger finally spoke up.

“Love what?”

The man waived one arm across the horizon. “Just all of that sky. That is the only place a man could truly be free. Nothing stopping you but fuel and opportunity.” The Stranger reminisced. The words confused Trigger.

“Now that you definitely copied from somewhere.” Trigger jabbed.

“Did I? Or maybe you did. Whose to say any of this is actually happening. I could very well be a figment of your imagination; did you think about that?” the Stranger replied.

“God, if you’re my version of an Imaginary friend, I think I might want a lobotomy. What use is a hallucination that only speaks in riddles?” Trigger complained.

The stranger laughed. “If you think this is bad, you don’t know how lucky you have it friend.”

 

“So, assuming your not just my brain shutting off, We’re or are you a pilot?” Trigger asked.

“I prefer the term aviatore, but its close enough.” The Stranger replied.

“What did you fly.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, that’s real helpful.”

The Stranger shrugged. “C’est La Vie friend. The rules here aren’t quite as straight forward as they are elsewhere.”

 

“So how long am I here then?” Trigger asked.

The Stranger shrugged. “Like I said, rules aren’t quite as straight forward. Here a century is five minutes, and five minutes is a century.”

“That makes no sense.”

The Stranger chuckled. “That is life my friend. That is life.”

 

“Wow, you are such a broken record. You ran out of Fortune cookie phrases, so you moved on to Hallmark cards?” Trigger quipped.

 

The Stranger turned to Trigger and patted him on the back. “Well, you best be going now friend.”

“What do you mean?” Trigger asked again.

The Stranger shrugged “Like I said, Rules are different here.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Trigger asked.

“Hopefully not. Now try not to get yourself dead this time Friend.”

***
Trigger was staring at a white ceiling. His vision was blurry, light assaulted his eyes, a steady beep pounded his ear drum. Trigger felt an intense haze from painkillers that had only served to dull the intense pain his body was in. 

“hap-bo?” he rasped out, his mouth felt like cotton.

A dark silhouette ran to him and stuffed a straw into his mouth, the cold water instantly refreshing the beleaguered pilot.

“Hey you’re finally awake.” The silhouette said, the voice sounded distant. “Just rest now, we can talk later” it instructed.

Rest, that seems like a good idea. Trigger thought to himself. He could feel something cold enter his arm and his eyelids felt heavy. Trigger struggled momentarily before falling into a deep sleep.

 

Chapter 26

 

TWENTY-SIX

Dennings leaned back in his chair and threw his feet up on the table, flicking open his comic book.

Another boring day in paradise he thought to himself as he tried to remember if he was supposed to read left to right, or right to left. The air conditioner hummed as it tried in vain to keep the humid air at a reasonable temperature. The jungle around them however was winning the war on the few comforts they had.

Jeff Denning’s job for the day was to watch the compound’s external sensors for the afternoon, one of the rotational positions at their safehouse nestled deep within the Chopinburg Rainforest in Usea.
Officially, the location was not on any map, nor did Osea have any records of the small facility, one of the many secrets Basilisk was afforded for their efforts.

 

There was a small annunciator light that illuminated on the desk that caught the Corporals attention. Sitting up in his chair he could see the close in radar had picked up air traffic movement. Due to their location, it was extremely rare that anyone would blunder near the compound, and even if they did, it would look like any of the countless dozen uncharted structures within the jungle.

 

Another annunciator light flashed, Dennings flicked on the radar scope and watched the target inch closer.

“Come on… turn around.” He muttered to himself as he watched the dot pass a grease pen mark 15 Miles, and it was headed straight for the compound. Dennings grabbed his radio.

“Lieutenant, we got. Something inbound.” He reported.

“Any idea what it is?” Lieutenant Fick’s voice crackled over the radio.

Dennings jotted down times to get a rough speed calculation, and cross referenced to a notebook lying on the desk. He didn’t like the large list of helicopters he saw, many holding military designations alongside the occasional civilian model.

“Uhh, Negative Lieutenant, a bit too fast to be an Aero med or civilian. Definitely military hardware we’re dealing with.” He replied.

There was a pause.

“Understood. Any idea if they’re just passing through?” He asked hopefully.

Dennings looked back at the radar screen. The target held its course true towards their position.

“Doesn’t look like it boss. They’re heading straight towards us. ETA four or so minutes” He replied.

“Alright everyone, get your gear and prepare for visitors.” Fick ordered over the radio. There was a collection of clicks over the radio in acknowledgement from the other Basilisk marines.

“Hey ElTee, I have the Stinger ready.” Adams reported.

“Zhao, do you have any visual on the unknown?” Fick ordered,

“Yeah, Military, CH-53 by the looks of it. Almost looks like-“ Zhao paused. “-Ah hell. It’s that Belkan bitch.”

***
The Broker looked out one of the windows of the large CH-53 Stallion helicopter as it made its way low over the treetops of Chopinburg. It had been almost non-stop flying for the previous eight hours between a C-2 Greyhound flight into Axel Bay for the Helicopter ride deep into Chopinburg for the meeting. The vibration the helicopter made bothered him intensely, it was a long list of reasons he had never had any interest in them as opposed to planes.

Fifty thousand moving parts around an oil leak. He reminded himself.

The crew chief of the helicopter tapped the Broker on his knee.

“One minute!” He yelled in a heavily accented voice as he made his way towards the cargo door of the helicopter. Pressing a button on the side of the cargo bay, the rear door opened with a hiss before falling down. The Broker was able to take a good look at the compound below him. Atop a hill sat a large wood cabin surrounded by smaller Conex buildings, and a quarter mile down the hill was a flat spot dug out as a small airfield, with a long dirt runway and a small aluminum shelter at one end.

the Crew chief stuck his head out and talked the pilot onto the ground, large plumes of dust were thrown out in the rotor wash until the Helicopter lurched and stopped as the wheels touched the ground. The Crew Chief turned back and held a thumbs up.

The Broker stepped onto the strip and looked around; he could feel eyes on him immediately. He keyed his throat mic. “So, David, where are they?” He asked, not allowing his voice to betray any emotion.

 

“there’s two in the brush in front of us, probably to kill the crew, another in a watch tower and two more in cover” David replied calmly. “Got it, no quick movements.” The Broker said, holding up his hands and stepping out further into the light. He stopped his walk halfway between the helicopter and a path up the hill.

“So, do I need to ring a doorbell or what?” the Broker shouted over the helicopter as it’s rotors spun down.

A single man stepped out from cover, holding an HK-416 on him. “Boss!” David shouted.

“Not now!” The Broker hissed. He didn’t look, but was sure David’s MP7 was trained on the closest armed man.

“Who are you and what do you want?” The rifleman interrogated. The Broker studied him for a moment, he was of average build, older, bald, and while he couldn’t see the man’s eyes due to sunglasses, he had a good guess of who he was.

“Calm down Sergeant Morgan, I just need to speak with Lieutenant Fick.” The Broker said passively.

To his slight surprise, the rifleman showed no emotion and kept the rifle pointed at him. “Sorry, No one by that name here, I suggest you leave.” He replied forcefully.

 

“Oh, I highly doubt that Sergeant. Not many Osean special forces bases around these parts.” The Broker grinned.

 

“Alright, who the hell are you?” another man barked, stepping out from his cover. Slightly taller, younger and with dark hair.

“Ah, Nathan, finally you come out to meet me! Is that any way to treat a guest?” The Broker said jovially, Truthfully, he had never met Osean Marine Lieutenant Fick, but had already amassed a dossier on all the men present months prior.

The Lieutenant hesitated quickly before speaking “Ok, you clearly know something. So, are you OIA?”

“Oh, nothing so pedestrian. Is there somewhere private you and I can talk?” The Broker said changing the subject.

“Out here works fine by me.” Fick replied coldly. The Broker rolled his eyes at the defiance. “Why can’t anyone just take my word that I’m here to help? If you’re really that hard up about it, call the Old Man, he knows about this little get together we’re having.”

“How do you-” Fick’s voiced trailed off confused.

“Know that? It’s kind of my thing. And believe me, I could fill novels with the stuff you don’t even know about Basilisk Lieutenant. I suggest we get somewhere where its cooler to talk, and while we’re on the subject, I suggest you call your men off. Adams, Dennings, and Zhao I believe?” The Broker said tilting his head slightly.

 

The Lieutenant thought for a moment, “Fine, let me make a call first.”

“By all means; do you want his work phone or his personal?” The Broker offered.  

***
Dennings sat in the brush and watched a man in a white suit and dark sunglasses exit the back of the cargo helicopter.

“Who do you think he’s talking to?” Dennings asked Zhao. The two had quickly concealed themselves just off the edge of the runway, he kept his red dot trained on the female pilot as her hands darted across the instrument panels in the cockpit.

“Who knows? Who cares?” Zhao replied.

The two men watched as the suited man was intercepted, first by Morgan, and then by the Lieutenant.

“I mean, might be nice to know who the hell’s bodies we’re gonna have to dispose of later.” Dennings said pragmatically.

“Do you ever shut up?” Zhao asked.

“Spoil sport.”

“Moron.”

Dennings could see Fick pull out his phone, He could see the Lieutenant get briefly animated to the caller before he reached for his radio.

“All Servants, stand down” Fick ordered over the radio.

Dennings gave an unsure look to Zhao and shrugged, both men stood up from their concealment and walked past the Helicopter to Morgan.

“Whats the story?” Zhao asked Morgan. “No idea. The Lieutenant is talking with the Old Man now. Sounds like this guy is the one whose been feeding us intel on these last few missions.

“Nice. Any idea what the Belkan chick has to do with it?” Dennings asked.

“No clue. She didn’t drop us off here last time, so I doubt she knew about this place.” Morgan replied.

“I didn’t” A female voice said behind the men. They turned to see the Stallions pilot. She stood at a hair over five foot two, her dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail, behind her aviator glasses were intense green eyes. Her once porcelain skin had been tanned and weathered from years flying. As a result, she looked slightly older than her chronologically younger age.

“Ah, Lauren, pleasure as always.” Zhao said mockingly.

“Shove it up your ass Tom. Believe me I’d be anywhere but dealing with you right about now.” The woman griped.

“likewise.” Zhao growled under his breath. “Jesus, are you two always like that?” Dennings asked.

“Only when Tom decides to act like a prick.” Lauren replied quickly.

“Just ignore them.” Morgan said laconically. There was a rustling coming from the path as Adams stumbled his way down the dirt.

“Hey.” Adams said winded,

“Wow. We don’t see each other for a few days and ‘Hey’ is all I get? I’m hurt.” Lauren said flirtatiously.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. You’re married, I don’t hit on married women.” Adams shot back, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Plus, your husband is scary and looking right at us.” Dennings chimed in.

“Oh, you worry too much, Ben is a teddy bear. You know that.” Lauren said dismissively.

“He’s a fucking giant and has a machine gun… I’m not filled with confidence” Dennings replied, turning his attention back to the Helicopter. He could see the massive form of the helicopters co-pilot looming in the shade of the cargo bay.

Fick hung up the phone and walked towards the group of Marines.

“Whats the story Lieutenant?” Morgan asked.

Fick rubbed his temples, shaking his head. “It appears we’re currently on loan to this guy. I’m not privy to all the details but the Old Man vouches for him, and we’re to let this guy call the shots tonight.” Fick explained.

“And with that out of the way –“ The White suited man spoke up “-Lauren I will need you to come with me and Fick here, we have a few things to iron out before tonight. Oh, and one last thing, you guys have a grill right?” The man asked.

“Yeah… why?” Zhao replied.

The interloper grinned and made a sharp whistle “David! Get the coolers!” He barked towards the helicopter. “I’m not that much of a rude house guest to not bring some gifts.” He said to the Marines.

Moments later the Helicopters co-pilot, crew chief and a second passenger disembarked carrying three large plastic coolers, setting them down in front of the Marines. 

“I hope you didn’t mind but, we couldn’t get any imports.” The second passenger said apologetically opening up his cooler.

The four Marines leaned forward to get a look at the contents.

“Well free beer is good beer.” Adams quipped.

***
The interior of the Helicopter rattled incessantly around Morgan. It had been a handful of hours since the Belkans had arrived, and after the Lieutenant had disappeared with the pilot and the interloper, The Marines had cautiously joined the Helicopters crew in a small cookout using the steaks and beers they had brought along as peace offerings. During the meal with the interlopers, he had studied them all closely.

To Morgans eye, he could tell the Helicopters crew chief and co-pilot were both prior Military, though the way they held themselves told him that they were likely nothing more than a regular transport unit instead within any specialized transport commands. The third man however concerned him. ‘David’ as he introduced himself to the Marines had an aura much like their own, and even as he laughed and joked with the Oseans, his presence made Morgans hair stand on end. What bothered him more was how he was unable to pinpoint the man’s origins. That occupied the Sergeants mind more than the relative lack of information the Lieutenant had returned with before delegating orders.

After the festivities had subsided, The Marines had gathered their gear with the understanding that it would be mostly a bodyguard style of mission to extract a VIP from an Airbase. With that information, the Marines had donned their body armor, and all had grabbed the same weapons from the armory.

on the webbing of each Marine was two flashbang grenades, a Glock 21 handgun, two spare magazines of 45 ACP, the Bushmaster ACR as well as three thirty round STANAG magazines. Unlike their standard use of the HK-416 and USP for rifle and handgun respectively, due to the unspecified nature of any hostile forces they may encounter the ACR and Glock were both untraceable to any official Osean Military units, and their visibility would make the members of Basilisk look closer to bodyguards or contractors than Special Forces. As well, tucked away in a soft case next to Morgan’s boot was an AR-10 he had modified with a Zeiss optic as a simple designated marksman rifle.

The Turbine engine surged briefly before returning to a normal hum, briefly catching Morgan’s attention.

It had been a three-hour flight via the helicopter from their base of operations in Chopinburg to a small civil airport outside of Axel Bay. There, the helicopter was refueled with an overly nosey ground service crew, mostly consisting of awestruck teenagers at the large military helicopter and attractive pilot, as well as taking on three more Basilisk Marines. Sergeants Haver and Kyle, as well as Petty Officer Hernandez, a Corpsman. All formerly attached to Saber before Colonel Mancuso had reassigned them to Lieutenant Fick’s team.

On the ground after the normal greetings, Hernandez pulled Morgan aside.

The younger Hispanic man looked over his shoulder before speaking “What the hell is this shit about? One second we’re on our way back to Oured, the next Norris tells us we have to now kick it in that shit hole jungle with you guys!” he hissed.

Morgan shrugged “Don’t really know what to say other than that it’s an extraction of some kind. Don’t know who or where from” he replied.

Hernandez rolled his eyes “Great. And I thought that op into Cape Rainy was poorly planned.” 

 

The Helicopter jolted once again Briefly, the man who had spoken with the Lieutenant at the start exited the cockpit and walked over to Lieutenant Fick, yelling something into his ear and thrusted a manilla folder into the officer’s hands before disappearing back into the cockpit. Morgan watched as the Lieutenants face twisted in disdain as he read the documents. After reviewing them, he stood up and keyed his throat radio.

“Listen up” He started, getting the Marines attention. “We finally have our marching orders. The plan is to conduct a simple VIP extraction from McKnight Airbase. Local opposition is expected to be minimal but well trained. The Goal of this mission is to extract the VIP without any fighting. We will be inserting via Helo just outside of the airbase and friendly forces in the area will take us by ground transportation will get us into the Base and to the location the VIP is at.”

Adams raised his hand “Isn’t McKnight Osean?”

Fick nodded his head “That it is. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the VIP, we can’t just fly in under normal circumstances. As well, we have to assume that our countrymen will be hostile if they figure out why we’re there.”

“Whats the story on us being there then?” Dennings asked.

“We will be members of the Air Defense Force Office of Special Investigations looking into the Erusean Prototype that was found on base a few days ago.” Fick replied

“So then what is our actual reason for being there? If the Osean’s don’t like him, why the hell should we?” Sergeant Kyle interrogated.

“Old Man’s orders. For whatever reason McKnight doesn’t want Osea to know that they have the VIP and are being pretty damn quiet about anything relating to them. The Colonel took exception to that and that why we’re involved.” Fick explained.

Kyle and a few of the other marines nodded.

“What if shooting does break out?” Haver asked.

“Well in that case, the mission will have failed and at that point we do what we must. I don’t want to leave a pile of dead Oseans but I much rather have it be them than any of us. Is that understood?” Fick said.

It was a silent understanding that was said. The rest of the Helicopter flight into Erusea was silent.

***
It was the early morning hours when they had finally arrived outside of Dennis. The Helicopter landed in a small, abandoned farmers field, and awaiting them was two suburban trucks and three men.

The tallest man Morgan could tell was a Yuktobanian, and despite his large brutish stature, the way he had conducted himself around the Marines as they disembarked spoke volumes about his training. He was the kind of man Morgan had expected to have fought and killed during the Circum-Pacific War, a member of the mythical Yuktobanian Spetsnaz.

The shortest man however, who introduced himself as Cal, had the aura of previous law enforcement training instead of military. His movements were not as cautious as someone who would be in a warzone constantly, and his voice seemed to carry much further than necessary to speak.

The final man however surprised Morgan even. For starters he was wearing a disheveled Osean airman uniform. Much like his uniform, he looked haggard and beaten. There were specks of blood staining his tan t-shirt and blouse and Morgan could tell he was not present under his own free will.  His rank denoted an Air Defense Force Staff Sergeant, and his nametape read PERRAULTA. The man looked terrified when Morgan walked up.

“Whats his story?” he asked the Yuketobanian.

The Osean airman’s eyes lit up “Your Oseans?!” He asked excitedly before receiving a smack to the back of the head from the Yuke.

“Your friend here is the one going to guide us to your target. He has said more than enough for tonight.” The Yuketobanian replied in a harsh accent.

Morgan nodded. The Airman was visibly shaking after the hit, and he looked very attentively towards the ground after the Marines paid him no attention.

 

The man who had been speaking with the Lieutenant and who had requested to be called ‘The Broker’, who continued to wear his sunglasses despite the early hours, spoke briefly with Cal and then the Lieutenant. After which the Lieutenant made a sharp whistle.

“Listen up. We will be going in two Vehicles. Ivan, The Broker, our guide, Haver, Morgan, Hernandez, and Myself. Gear and everyone else riding in Vehicle two. Move out.” Fick barked.

The Marines quickly and silently climbed into their vehicles. The Guide, the terrified Osean Airman, sat crushed between Morgan and the Yuketobanian named Ivan in the middle row, while Lieutenant Fick and The Broker sat in the Drivers seat and Haver and Hernandez sat in the rear. The Lieutenant turned the ignition and a harsh rock and roll music blared over the radio. Morgan smirked at seeing the Brokers disdain as he turned the radio to a low volume and started scanning the stations for other music.

“Goddammit Ivan, how many times do I have to tell you? None of your death metal shit when I’m in the car.” The Broker chastised, the Yuketobanian grunted in response.

The Two cars moved silently through the wooded dirt roads until hitting a dormant highway leading towards the airbase. The streetlights made the interior of the vehicle flash in a hazy dull orange as they made their way towards the airbase. Morgan kept his eyes out on his side of the vehicle, as he could hear the Lieutenant softly singing along to the radio.

After a twenty-minute drive, the two-vehicle convoy arrived at a side gate to the Airbase.

Two exhausted looking gate guards exited the guard shack and approached the vehicle, M4 rifles slung across their chest. One guard motioned for the Lieutenant to roll down his window while the other scanned the vehicle for explosives.

“May I see your ID please?” The guard asked.

Before the Lieutenant could reply, the Broker pulled out a stack of papers and handed them over.

“Yeah here, no problem.” He said smiling.

The Guard slightly taken aback took the papers and read through them.

 

He nodded and keyed his radio. After a moment he handed the papers back.

” Alright, Agent Baxter, You and your men are cleared through. Have a nice day.” The guard replied. A hint of confusion in his voice, he took a step back and lifted the gate, waiving the two vehicles through.

“That was easy.” The Broker said.

“How did you get them to buy that?” Fick asked.

“Easy, the actual Baxter is supposed to be here in a few hours.” The Broker replied.  

“Ok so where is this place?” Fick asked.

 

Morgan could feel the Airman jump into him as he was jabbed in the ribs painfully by Ivan. “Talk.” The Yuketobanian ordered.

“Hangar F-3, just across the runways.” He replied weekly.

“Nice and secluded.” mused Haver.

“That’s why we picked it. An Airstrike took out the taxiway which is why the Eruseans abandoned that part of the airfield. And even SecFo doesn’t go out that way.” Replied Perraulta.

 

After another moment, the headlights illuminated the front of the hardened shelter. A weathered sign reading F3 adorned the top of the heavy steel door.

Fick put the SUV in park and hopped out of the vehicle, Perraulta being dragged by Ivan by his neck.

Morgan scanned the immediate surroundings. From inside the hangar there was a dull noise of people talking and shouting, aside from that this section of the airport was dark and dead quiet in the early morning hours.

 

“Car two is on security, Car One we’re going in.” the Broker ordered. Silently Ivan marched Perraulta to a small door in the Hangar, behind him the Marines took up positions to breach the room.

“Will they be armed?” growled Fick.

Perraulta shook his head “Nah, Or at least probably not.”

Fick Nodded to Haver who tapped a pouch on his vest.

“How many on the inside?” Fick interrogated.

“Not a fuckin- ouch!” Perraulta yelped in pain as Ivan hit him in the back of the head. Shaking off the blow he replied, “dozen maybe.”

Fick thought for a moment. “Haver, take point.” He ordered.

“Got it Eltee” the large cowboy replied. “Little piggy, little piggy, let me in.” he whispered, guiding Perraulta to the door away from Ivan.

 

The Sergeant gulped and took a deep breath before banging on the steel door three times. The noise on the other side of the door subdued.

“Whose there” a voice on the other side of the door shouted.  

“Yo its Perraulta, open up!” the Sergeant yelled.

“Perraulta? Yo man, where the fuck have you been?” the voice inquired.

Perraulta hesitated for a moment. “It’s a long story, Dude can you just open up the goddamn door?”

“Yeah fine. You better have brought something good for missing work today.” The locks unclicked.

 The door opened slightly, before forcefully being kicked open by Haver.

“Yo man! What the Fuck!” the dazed Airman behind the door hissed, stopping the moment he noticed the rifle barrel trained on him.

Haver grinned “Well you’ll have to excuse us for not being the pizza guy.” He taunted, crossing the threshold.

Hearing the commotion, the dozen Oseans in the center of the hangar turned to look in surprise at the armed Marines intruding.

Morgan stepped through the doorway and quickly took a firing position in the corner to support Haver.

Haver cleared his throat and lowered his rifle off his shoulder “Ok, Now I’m going to need you all to listed to the heavily armed gentleman in the front of the room-” he was interrupted as one Osean broke off and attempted to throw a wild haymaker towards him. Haver quickly sidestepped the airman and brought the butt of the ACR down across his back, sending him crumpling into the floor.

“-As I was saying. Hands on the far wall over there and you best be looking very attentively at yer own belly buttons. We’re just coming to collect something and we’ll be out of your hair.” Haver barked.

“Do you know who this is?” One of the Oseans shouted.

Fick interjected “No and we don’t much care to. Now move it!” he barked.

“Four, make sure they do nothing stupid, Three, help Doc with whatever he needs.” Fick ordered.

“Righto.” Haver acknowledged, waiving the Oseans to the far wall of the hangar. Morgan nodded silently as he ran over to the thing in the center of the room, quickly followed by Hernandez.

 

Morgans first thought at the sight of it was that it was a side of beef that had been left to rot for more than a few days. The stench however was not that of decaying cattle but was far more human. In the center of the room in a pool of blood and excreta was certainly a person. He had been beaten to a pulp, and from the injuries, Morgan wasn’t sure if he was still alive.

He had been chained to the floor and the Handcuffs had been tightened and caked with blood. Without prompting from Hernandez, Morgan fished a handcuff key from a pocket in his pants and offered it to the Corpsman.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan could see the Broker pacing the perimeter of the pool of waste. He looked visibly pitiful instead of disgusted at the sight.

 

Hernandez freed the broken man from his shakles and rolled him onto his back.

“Is this the man?” He asked the Broker.

Gingerly stepping to get a closer look the Broker took off his dark sunglasses.

“Hard to tell. Looks like shit, but then again, he always did look like shit. Let’s get him out of here.” He replied matter-of-factly.

“Is he even alive?” Morgan blurted out.

Hernandez nodded grimly. “Barely. We have to get him to a hospital fast. Im sure the base has the facilities to at least stabilize him.”

“Not an option.” The Broker dismissed.

Hernandez squinted his eyes in disbelief “Fine. Farbanti is close by, they have a level two trauma-“

“No, get him stabilized enough and we will take him to Selatapura. I have people who can work on him there.”

Hernandez held out his arms in disbelief “Are you fucking kidding me? This man might not even survive the ride to the end of the block, let alone two hundred miles!” He hissed.

The Broker closed the distance and put a hand on the Corpsman’s shoulder. “Just get him stable. Let me handle the rest.” He replied bluntly.

“This is insane! Sir!” Hernandez protested.

Fick shook his head sadly. “He’s calling the shots. If anything happens to the VIP it won’t be on you Doc. Now do your best so we can get out of here.”

Hernandez shook his head in disgust and got to work. With Morgans help they had prepared their newly found patient for transportation within minutes.

“Ok, We’re ready to go.” Hernandez reported.

Fick keyed his radio “Grail is filled, We’re Oscar mike.”

As Morgan and Zhao gently lifted the litter across the hangar threshold and into the back of the awaiting suburban.

The Broker was already sitting in the front seat of the car with David in the Drivers seat.

“Morgan and Hernandez stay here with the patient. Everyone else in vehicle two.” He ordered.

“Tight fit.” grunted Zhao as he finished sliding the patient onto the lowered back seat.

Within seconds of the door closing behind Morgan, the car had started screaming towards the main road of the Airbase. David had turned on flashing blue and red lights as he hit breakneck speeds down the streets of the base that had only just started to wake up and start its day. Morgan could see the first hues of orange creeping up on the Horizon.

“David, we called Security Forces out to that hangar, right?” The Broker asked distracted.

“Yes sir, Lauren has also finished dressing up the Helicopter and Greene is ready as well.” David reported.  

“Good.”

 

The Suburban bounced briefly as it shot through the main gate of the base and onto an Erusean Highway. It took what seemed like seconds for them to reach the abandoned farm they had landed at.

Morgan could see through the windshield a large cloud of dust from the running Helicopter.

David Parked the car and hit the opening on the rear hatch, with Morgans help, they loaded their patient into the back of the Helicopter and had taken off, leaving the rest of Basilisk behind.

Morgan, after seeing that Hernandez didn’t need any help with their patient, walked over to the Broker.

“What about everyone else?” Morgan demanded.

“I’ve arranged alternate accommodations for them. Don’t worry, you all are ghosts in this. We just need to get him-“ The Broker jabbed his thumb towards the man Hernandez was tending to “-to a Hospital in less time than it would have taken for the entire team to get exfil.”

Morgan nodded “He better be worth it then.”

“Believe me. He is.” The Broker replied.

***
Lauren flipped up her helmets visor and rubbed her tired eyes. It was one of the longest flights in her career flying the Super Stallion, and all she was looking forward to was getting home and more importantly, getting paid. The Morning sun blazed annoyingly out of the corner of her eye.

“Ben, wie weit sind wir von Selatapuras entfernt ADIZ?”Ben, How far out are we from Selatapuras ADIZ? She asked.

“etwa vier Meilen.” About four miles. He husband replied in a monotone. He had been intently listening to their air to air radio’s Guard frequency for the past ten miles.

“noch nichts?” Anything yet? Lauren asked. “Nein, aber ich erwarte bald.” No, but I expect soon. He replied.

Lauren looked to the DME on the panel, tuned to the Selatapura VORTAC located outside of the city, she had jotted down on the way that the Air Defense Identification Zone, or ADIZ, that had been erected around the Space Elevator would be DME 40 from the VORTAC. The ADIZ starting at Thirty miles from the Elevator and extending out in a perfect ring.

 “On Guard, This is Osean AWACS Skycatcher, Be advised you are entering the Selatapura ADIZ, take up heading of Three-six-zero.” The radio crackled to life.

Lauren jumped on the microphone first. “Skycatcher, this is Medevac 65453, Inbound to Harling Regional Medical Center.”

“Medivac 453, we don’t have you on any records. Standby” Skycatcher replied confused.

“Well duh, Dumbass.” Lauren muttered to herself. Her Husband smirking at the remark.

“Medivac 453, Maintain present altitude, take up heading one six zero, prepare to be intercepted. Two F-16’s will escort you into the city.” Skycatcher instructed.

“Medivac 453, heading one-six-zero, ready for the escort.” Lauren replied.

She gently banked the large helicopter towards the skyline of the city.  After flying their assigned course and heading, Ben silently put a finger out onto the windshield, “Ein, und Zwie” One and two, He counted as two black dots shot past the helicopter.

 

“Are we being intercepted!?” Shouted the Broker, poking his head into the cockpit.

“Looks like. Standard procedure. Just got to smile, wave, and hope they don’t figure out that this is technically a war crime.” Lauren replied.

She looked out her starboard window to see an Osean F-16 slowly creeping its way abeam the Helicopter, its nose at a high angle to maintain the slow pace with the Stallion.

“On Guard, Aircraft intercepted by a F-16 armed Air Defense Fighter. You have been intercepted. Maintain present heading, we will escort you to the Hospital. Flash your navigation lights in acknowledgement.” The Fighter pilot instructed.

Without needing to be directed, Ben leaned over and flashed the navigation lights onboard, goofily waiving to the fighter jet as he did.

“Skycatcher, Mage Three, be advised, TOI is a type appears to be a CH-53.” The Pilot said.

 There was a pause.

Schiesse Lauren thought to herself.

“Medivac 453, Confirm type aircraft.” Skycatcher interrogated.

“Medivac 453 is type Sikorsky 53” Lauren replied over the radio.

“Great, we’re going to have to make up yet another fake registration number after this… you know how expensive that’s going to be?” Lauren complained. “How far out are we?” She asked Ben again.

“Ten miles to the hospital.” He replied without missing a beat.

The Helicopter, escorted by the fighters, started its descent into the city proper. Lauren leaned over her shoulder “Everyone, Three minutes to touchdown!” She shouted into the intercom, her Crew chief and their passengers quickly getting themselves ready to offload the medical patient they were transporting.

“Skycatcher All Players, TOI 1 is good to land at the Hospital, Break; Mage 3, continue to Monitor TOI 1 track number AD221” the AWACS instructed.

“Mage 3 copied, to Monitor AD221” the F-16 pilot replied, lowering the nose, and increasing his speed to break off the escort from the helicopter.

Lauren Nodded to Ben and had them switch to the Hospitals local frequency, “Harling, this is Medivac 65453, Patient inbound, two minutes.” She called over the radio.

***

The Hospital helipad doors flew open, a blue clad flight paramedic rolled a patient in on a stretcher.

“Twenty-four-year-old male, looks to be internal hemorrhaging along with multiple fractures.” The paramedic whose white nametag read C. HERNANDEZ reported. “Whats the story then?” The surgeon asked as he guided the patient through the crowded hospital corridors.

“Car accident in the hills, our boy here took a curve to fast and-“ Hernandez clasped one hand in the other for effect.

“Medications given?” “Morphine along with TXA.” The Surgeon nodded “Well let’s see what we can do for him.”

***
Morgan leaned back on the wall and folded his arms behind his head in the private waiting room, shifting uncomfortably in the navy-blue flight suit he had been ordered to change into on the flight from McKnight to Selatapura. What Morgan hadn’t noticed was the Helicopter’s additional markings that the crew had added. Bright Red and white crosses and the crew had also changed into the blue flight suits from their regular olive green to complete the ruse.

Morgan studied the Broker as he paced the room back and forth.

“Aren’t you worried someone’s going to talk?” Morgan spoke up, breaking the silence. “To who? To them he is Mister John Doe, and his care is being funded through a shell corporation.”

“Yeah, but it’s not everyday that you see a floor of a premier hospital in one of the most important cities on the planet, get shuttered for one guy, after he’s dropped off in an ex-military CH-53. Unless he’s patient zero for something you’re not telling us about.”

“Im not worried, we’ll be long-gone before anyone can connect the dots.” The Broker said, ignoring the comment.

“So, what’s his deal anyways? I mean its not the first mission I’ve gone against Osean military but generally its for a good reason of the world-ending variety. What makes him so different?” Morgan inquired.

The Broker furrowed his brow. “You’re certainly feeling chatty today, aren’t you Morgan? Nothing like your psych profile. But I digress; That man is a hero, and we all owe him almost everything for the number of times he pulled out asses out of the fire.”

“How very idealistic, but you’ll excuse me if I think that’s just a load of horseshit.”

The Broker shrugged “You wouldn’t believe me if I don’t you.”

***
The Surgeon stepped into the room.

“First off, I want to report that the surgery was a success.” He said reassuringly.

“Any lasting damage?” The Broker asked, causing the doctor to raise an eyebrow.

“He coded on us twice. He had already lost a lot of blood by the time he got here, and that hemorrhaging was worse than we had anticipated. Add in a ruptured kidney and multiple bruised organs, I’d say your boy is lucky to be alive.” The Doctor explained.

“Any Idea when he will be ready to be moved?” The Broker asked urgently to the dismay of the Doctor. “Of course, I would advise you to leave him here overnight for observation, but given your circumstances, I can have him packaged and stable in a few more hours.”

“Thank you, Doctor Greene; That should be all.” The Broker replied dismissing the surgeon.

 

Chapter 25

 

TWENTY-FIVE

Port Edwards was no stranger to war. During the coup d’état in 98, It had been occupied by rebel forces, only to be liberated again by Allied air power, and while it had largely been spared by the marauding Erusean Army five years later in the Continental War, it had once again become a target during this war.

 

Port Edwards was the lynch pin of Erusean Naval Plan 315, where in learning their lessons from Aegir and Comberth, would instead stage smaller ‘strike groups’ more akin to the Yuktobanian naval doctrine instead of a larger fleet like they had lost. Edwards was deemed a critical ‘nexus’ to support smaller ports along the eastern coast of Usea according to the plan.

Operation Dice, however, was Osea’s few ‘victories’ in the early days of the war. Launching a massive multi-squadron Air raid against the city, concurrent with another mission to rescue former Osean President Harling, the mission planners of Dice hoped to split the Erusean’s Air component into two and cause enough confusion to successfully pull off one of the missions. Twelve F-15E ‘Strike Eagles’ from the Osean Air Defense Force’s 64^th Fighter Squadron, and thirteen F-18E Hornets from the Maritime Defense Force’s 112^th Strike Fighter Squadron ‘Paladins’ deployed against the Su-35’s of the Erusean Air Force’s ‘Fafnir’ Squadron with support from the F-4E Phantoms of ‘Glamrock’.

 

The battle was a pyrrhic victory for Osea, fifteen pilots had been killed during the mission at the cost of nine Hornets and three Eagles. The final battle damage assessment had a total defeat of the Fafnir Flankers and the routing of Glamrock out of the area, leaving Osea with an unchallenged air superiority in the region allowing the Osean Marines to land and force out the Erusean Garrison stationed in the port with minimal casualties. Celebrations at liberation were largely overshadowed by the failure of the Osean Rescue mission and the death of Vincent Harling.

 

With the loss of Edwards, Plan 315 had been forced to change. Instead of Naval superiority and forcing a capitulation of Osea and its Usean allies through a costal siege; Instead, the Admiralty of Erusea would prepare a larger fleet with its aircraft carrier Njord as the primary element. This would eventually prove to be the downfall of the Royal Erusean Navy as months following, the Long-Range Strategic Strike Group would raid the Snider’s Top Naval base the Njord Fleet was stationed at, sinking all vessels that had just gotten underway or were still moored to the platforms. Intelligence analysts in Osea would later joke that Plan 315, along with the subsequent Plans 330 and 331 would all die with Rear Admiral Cole aboard the Njord as it sunk.

 

 

The Broker thought about this as he drank his morning coffee, overseeing the harbor of Port Edwards from his high-rise apartment. He was never a big fan of the Osean’s intelligence community; however, their members had quickly proven to be his best customers over the months following the communications collapse. If the Broker had only one complaint regarding them, it was that their money was always being traced somehow, and it was generally more of a hassle than it was worth for him to get the funds transferred cleanly.

The Yuktobanians took a more direct approach in their attempts against him. Early on into his career, the Broker had become a target of one of Yuktobanian Foreign Intelligence Service’s wet-work teams.  They had hunted him from his base of operations in Expo City all the way to the outskirts of Axel Bay, where through his own meddling, they had been guided to an Erusean Conservative weapons depot that was destroyed in an Osean air strike. They had yet to send another in the months following.  He was particularly proud of that accomplishment.

 

“Hey Boss, I have the recent casualty report you asked for from the Farbanti Garrison”, the Broker startled, dropped his coffee cup.

“David, do I need to put a bell on you or something?” The Broker asked, cursing under his breath at the spilled drink below him.

“Sorry about that sir. I’ll get that cleaned up right away.” David said apologetically.

The Broker shook his head “Don’t worry about it, just make sure that report gets on my tablet.” He ordered, “med en gang sjef” David replied before silently disappearing again.

“I hate when he does that. Fucking Jeager.” The Broker cursed to himself.

 

David was his bodyguard, personal driver, and assistant. He had been one of the first people the Broker met in the intelligence trade, and he appreciated the Nordennavic’s perspective on situations. Former Oversergant David Wash was a member of the Nordennavic Royal Army’s Jeager Corps, the premier special forces unit on the Anean Continent. One of the habits that David had developed in his service, to the dismay of the Broker, was his silent movements in almost every situation. Making him an effective ghost and hunter when the situation required it.

 

The broker picked up his tablet and scrolled through the document. It had over nine hundred names of Osean military personnel who were dead or missing from the attacks a day prior.

 

The Broker felt a twinge of guilt as he read the names. It had been two months prior when the first indications of something crossed his desk. It was from a seemingly innocuous report from an anti-smuggling task force in Verusa. It had noted an increase in weapons shipments through known drug-smuggling channels into Usea, particularly on ships headed into the Chopinburg region of the continent. The Broker, more focused on the Osean and Erusean military efforts against the Radicals let the report go unnoticed. As the weeks went on however, more and more reports would pile up on the movement of arms into Usea. It wasn’t until four weeks prior, that the Broker took notice. A Estovakian Air Force weapons bunker had been destroyed in an apparent industrial accident. Of the weapons lost, was multiple burst missile warheads from the P-1112 Aigaion flying heavy command cruiser. A week following, The Broker had found one warhead onboard a ship bound for Usea.

Having sold the information to an Osean Special Tasks unit, he had hoped the matter would be resolved. With the execution of Operation Ragnarök, and the destruction of the Mount Lambert Complex, The Broker like many others, wrote the Radicals off as a threat and instead focused their attention to other global situations. The Broker had expected the next major hotbed of activity to be along the Romny/Kaluga border between the SRN Insurgents and Kaluga Military.

 

The Broker had expected a final attack from the Radicals, dogmatic groups like them rarely died with a whimper, however he had not expected what would come next and how quickly it would occur.

 

The Broker, along with Osea and Erusea had played into the Radical leaders hands. And in an expertly executed fashion, multiple sleeper units, as well as the remnants of the standing Radical forces launched their attacks. Three Osean bases and six Erusean bases, all located in Erusea, were targeted in the attacks. The Oseans had been the most effective at routing the attacks, finding and disarming two burst warheads, while being able to evacuate personnel before the third warhead detonated minimizing their casualties. The Eruseans had not been as fortunate.

 

The Farbanti Air Base had been destroyed, killing the thousands of personnel based there, as well as members of Princess Cossette’s cabinet and high ranking Erusean Military officials. It was by some miracle that the Princess had seemingly appeared, shaken up, but safe hours later in Osean custody at McKnight Air Base outside of Dennis. The Details of her escape were still shrouded in Mystery but the demoralized Erusean populous had rejoiced at their ‘Unkillable’ Princesses survival.

 

The Broker read through the names of the dead Oseans. Many of whom were Base Security forces stationed at McKnight or Cape Rainy, their battles had been won but at a tragic human cost. The Broker paused on one name. It was a Pilot, and one of the few not assigned to any squadrons that engaged the Radicals that night.

“David!” The Broker bellowed. “Are we sure of the validity of this?” He asked, holding up the tablet.

“Yes Sir, this is the list that’s currently going out to units in Osea to make the next-of-kin notifications.” David reported.

The Broker shook his head in disbelief. “This name right here doesn’t make any sense though… He can’t die, it’s just impossible.” He spoke.

David pulled out a pair of reading glasses and read the name for himself. “Boss, I know you don’t want to hear this but, this pilot was last seen at the Farbanti Air base. You know as well as I do that place is currently a crater. No one survived that.”  

The Broker paused and thought. “Do we still have the tracker on his phone?” he asked.

“Boss, please-” David pleaded.

 

The Broker had a few people he always kept tabs on, they were from different walks of life and held different positions, but they all had a common denominator. They had an intrinsic strategic value to the Broker. This dead pilot was no exception.  

 

“Can you just please run it?” the Broker asked. Not wanting to argue with his employer, David conceded, pulling out a tablet and tapping on the screen. After a moment he spoke up, surprise on his normally stoic face. “That’s… unexpected.”

“What?” The Broker asked. “The Phone is active. It’s also not in Farbanti” “Where is it?” the Broker interrogated “I can’t be too sure but… Dennis?”

“You’re kidding, right?” the Broker said, grabbing the tablet from David’s hands to see for himself.

“What intel do we have out of McKnight?” The Broker asked, excitement rising in his voice.

“Let me go check sir.” David said, once again disappearing into another room of the apartment.

A notification appeared on the screen of the tablet, the Broker tapped it once and a low-quality cellphone picture appeared on the screen. It was of what appeared to be a jet in a hangar.

“Care to explain what I’m looking at?” the Broker asked.

“Its geotagged to McKnight Airbase, taken only a few hours ago. It appears to be an X-02 Wyvern fighter.” David explained.

“Any reports on it?”

“Not a single one sir.”

“And McKnight was the base the Princess showed up at yesterday.” The Broker said slowly as it dawned on him.

 

“Are we sure he was marked as a casualty of Farbanti?” The Broker asked. “Yes Sir, I double checked. Do you think its him?”

“Do you believe in coincidences David?” asked the Broker.

“No, Not at all sir.”

“Good, I want someone to check it out.”

“Yes Sir, I think we have a few informants in that area. Should we send support?”

“Ivan and Cal are still in Selatapura, it shouldn’t take them long to get there if the Informants intel is any good.”

***
Hours passed, then one of The Brokers phones rang. The Broker answered the phone, saying nothing.

“Hachal’nik” The unmistakable thick accent of the Yuktobanian Spetsnaz turned hired help, Ivan, started. “The Phone was at a pawnshop. The Owner was polite enough to provide us the name of the Osean Sergeant who sold it to him.”

“Ok” The Broker said monotone.

“After educating the nice man on trafficking of stolen goods, we then had nice talk with Sergeant Perraulta who gave us the information we needed on the target.” Ivan reported.

The Broker said nothing, continuing to listen. “He is in closed part of McKnight base, Hangar F3” Ivan continued.

“Do we know his condition?” the Broker asked.

“Nyet, our friend did not say, other than that the target has been beaten since he came there.” Ivan replied. That report troubled the Broker.

“Thank you, Ivan. The payment will be in your account shortly.” The Broker said frowning.

“Dah, And Hachal’nik, do we kill him now?” Ivan asked causing the Broker to wince. While he had a soft spot for Oseans, this man could compromise any plans the Broker had.

“Not Yet. I will be in touch later.” The Broker replied hanging up the phone.

The Broker picked up a tablet and scrolled through a collection of documents he had on the McKnight Air Base.

“What is the problem boss?” David asked, walking in with another mug of coffee on a serving tray for the Broker.

“We’re going to need more men.” The Broker replied sardonically.

***
“Eight, Dammit Jack, I thought you were supposed to be a good shot!”

Jack Mancuso scowled briefly before composing himself. He absolutely loathed this part of his job, the cold air off the Great Lakes stung his eyes as he searched the greens for , a small white golf ball, which had landed far beyond the hole. The game of golf never appealed to the Colonel, viewing it more as a waste of a good walk instead of an actual sport. Todays game was with Osean Army General Omar Higgins.

Higgins jotted the shot in the score card shaking his head laughing. “I’m just busting your chops Jack, I don’t think I want to be on your bad side, I’ve seen the after-action reports.” Higgins replied jovially.

Jack grinned, “Not a problem general. You know its customary for a lower officer to let his superior win these kinds of things.” “Well, you’ve certainly done your part well on that.” Higgins laughed, patting Mancuso on the back.

Mancuso, despite his intense dislike of the game, however, was not one to throw a game, and had made a reputation within the General Staff Office to be one of the best players, possibly in the armed forces. If you’re going to do something, do It right. Jack’s mind however was elsewhere. His men had been busy, Saber had started counter-insurgency operations within Romny. As well, Berserker and his Special Task Unit had successfully intercepted and disarmed a burst weapon headed for Usea. Under normal circumstances this would have not even been a blip in his mind as his main assault teams rarely ever ‘failed’. However, through no fault of his men, they still ‘failed’. The Radicals they had thought dead were able to make one final suicide attack and detonated ten burst weapons across Erusea.

 

It echoed painful memories for many of events just across the lakes twenty-five years prior.

Mancuso rationally knew his team could not have been able to stop every event. However, upon receiving the updated casualty report that morning, eight hundred sixty-two Osean servicemen and women were dead or missing, along with thousands of Eruseans and most of the Erusean leaders cabinet; He felt responsible for every one of their deaths because He didn’t see the big picture in enough time.

 

“Jack” Higgins called, Snapping Mancuso back to the situation at hand.

“Sorry Sir, three.” Mancuso apologized, jotting the swing onto the card.

 

He had planned to meet General Higgins at the elite Grand Haven Country Club on the shores of the Great Lakes in North Osea to discuss further Osean Army cooperation in Basilisk Missions going forward. After the Success of Operation Werewolf, between three of the branches special force’s units, Mancuso wanted to keep up a good working relationship between services. The meeting today had taken a more somber tone, with the events weighing heavily on both Officer’s minds.

 

“well Jack, not quite a hole-in-one, but do you want to call it a day? First beer at the nineteenth is on me.” The General offered. Mancuso hadn’t even noticed that Higgin’s ball had landed in the hole. “That’ll be fine sir. Lead the way.” Mancuso said, slinging the golf bag over his shoulder. The cold weather, despite being in the middle of May, coupled with the weight of the gear reminded Mancuso of his time early in his career as a Lieutenant, operating deep in the frozen Yuktobanian Tundra in the late eighties.

So much easier, you saw the Yuke, you shot the Yuke. None of this Politicking about either.

Mancuso’s phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of the daydream of the halcyon days.

He flipped the phone open to see the name of his wife, Sarah, and her picture on the screen.

He held up his hand apologetically and whispered “Wife” to Higgins, allowing the older officer to proceed.

 

“Hey Honey! What’s going on?” Mancuso said cheerfully.

“We need to talk.” a voice on the other end of the line said. Normally, those words coming from a spouse would put ice in any man’s veins, however the fact the voice on the other end was not that of his wife, only made Mancuso furious.

“How the fuck-” Mancuso growled before getting cut off.

“Relax Jack. I would say ‘you’d be amazed what I know’ but that would be too cliché and a waste of both of our times. I can assure you that Miss Everheart and your son Brandon Everheart are entirely safe and unaware of anything. I just needed to speak to you.” The voice ordered.

Mancuso knew the man speaking as nothing more than ‘The Broker’, and he was responsible almost solely for every credible lead Basilisk had taken since he appeared on the intelligence scene. Most of the communications with the Broker were through either courier or secure emails, rarely by phone and the Broker’s voice was almost always modulated, Likely to defeat OIA artificial intelligence from tracking him. Mancuso figured it was a gamble for the Broker to contact him on his private phone only known by select family and friends.

“Fine. You have my attention.” Mancuso said coldly.

“Excellent, I am in need of one of your teams for an extraction.”

“That’s a bit of a tall order. I-” Mancuso was once again cut off “Your men in Chopinburg right now, Tasks Unit Rin, are all properly vetted and more importantly, are close by.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you know that. What else do you need?”

“Just the men, as well as select transfers. Staff Sergeant Haver, Chief Petty Officer Hernandez and Sergeant Kyles from Berserker will also have to be transferred to Rin for this operation right away.” The Broker directed.
“I can’t make any promises. You know how much of a gamble working with you is. How soon will you need this done?” Mancuso asked.

“Within the next four hours.”

“Four hours! -” Mancuso yelled in disbelief, He paused to make sure no one was looking at him before he lowered his voice and spoke again. “-You got to be fucking kidding!”
The Brokers voice remained level “Jack, one of the singularities is at stake. I need your men to get them back into play. All the relevant documentation will be delivered to your quarters at Fort Patterson.”
“Fine.” Jack said hanging up.

***
The line went dead. The Broker took a gamble with that call, it was an unsecured line, and he hadn’t taken the usual precautions he normally did to keep the OIA off his trail. The phone call was short enough however that he doubted even the super computers in Oured would have been able to trace him had they been looking at the Colonel’s secret phone line.

“David. Call Fisk and tell him to get us a flight to Axel Bay immediately.” The Broker ordered. “Of Course, sir. Lauren’s crew is in that area as well, should I inform them as well?”

The Broker grinned “That would work perfectly. Her team probably got the contract to move them back.” The Broker thought aloud. “Oh, and one last thing David.”

his assistant stopped and turned around “Yes sir?”

“Get the car ready, we’re going shopping.”  

Chapter 24

 

TWENTY-FOUR

Trigger woke up in agony. Every bone in his body ached, every muscle throbbed in pain.

Fucking tasers…

He opened his eyes. It was black. Night maybe? He was confused. His head beat like a drum. What happened? He thought back to the last things he remembered.

 

Farbanti… Asher… I got shot… Cossette!

His mind crystalized on that one thought. The last thing he remembered was seeing her in the back of the jet before he passed out. Where is Cossette?

He looked around again, He wasn’t sure if the room was dark or if he’d gone blind.

“Hey! Anyone there?!” He yelled.  The room echoed.

Trigger paused and listened. Apart of the SERE Training he had attended covered what to listen for if captured. The room sounded large, but empty. Not a prison cell… He had plenty of experience in a prison cell and in solitary confinement. Where he was currently wasn’t either.

He continued to focus on what He could hear. Aside from his own breathing, he could barely make out a high-pitched whine. Jets? So, I’m still at least near the airbase. Or at least an airbase.

As he looked in vain around the pitch-black room, he tried to stand up, shuffling, he felt something on his wrists. Handcuffs from what he could tell his captors had also stripped him of his uniform, leaving him only in his underwear, t-shirt, and socks. As he stood up his eyes slowly adjusted to the faint light coming from one side of the room. He focused on it. Looks to be a door for a Hangar.

“Hey! What the Hell is going on here?!” He yelled.

Just then, a portal opened, a blinding light flooded the room, stinging Triggers eyes. Shielding his face, he could hear stomping, then, His stomach cried in agony as a quick blow was delivered to his gut. He fell to the ground on his back, gasping for air. He could taste copper. What the fuck?

As quickly as his assailant appeared, the sound of a door slamming shut plunging the room in a further darkness.

Trigger rolled on the floor, clutching his stomach in pain. Not friendlies. They hadn’t asked him any questions, but he had no real interest in sticking around to be beaten again. Allowing his pain to settle to a manageable level, he once again stood up, and uneasily tried to walk. He could feel something dragging from a gentle tug at his wrists. A Chain? Testing the theory. He walked until he felt the tug tighten. Bingo. From his guess it wasn’t much more than a few feet they had given him. He walked a circle around the point he was anchored in and couldn’t see or feel anything. He walked to the anchor and could feel a small steel bolt that the chain had been secured to, but he couldn’t feel a way to free himself. His next guess was to try to break the chain, he felt the links in his hand, all were reasonable large by his guess and none had any imperfections he could think to exploit.

 

Trigger sat and thought for a while longer. From the light that he briefly saw, he guessed it was mid-day, So its been a few hours. They had stripped him of his belongings but had yet to ask him any questions. He was already familiar with the procedures that the Osean Military had regarding prisoners, and so far, nothing he had encountered matched up. So, either they’re not Military Police, or they’re not Osean. He took a personal inventory, nothing felt broken, just bruised, and he didn’t feel in shock, so he figured nothing had ruptured internally.

Where is Cossette.

His mind kept settling on the one question. He wasn’t able to help himself. As much as his training told him to worry about escaping, he felt obligated. God, at least I know how to handle this but she- He stopped himself. He remembered what some of the accounts from POW’s had said in the classes, that some of the methods their captors used was to allow the prisoner to torture themselves with the thoughts of ‘what if?’ And to not allow yourself to do the interrogators job for them. He instead focused on how his own body was feeling. Aside from the pain, he was thirsty, hungry, and tired. In his circle he couldn’t see any sources of water or food. Figures, not even decent enough to leave a sandwich. Bastards. He settled on fixing his exhaustion. He found a comfortable spot on the concrete and tried to sleep.

It had somewhat surprised Trigger how quickly his sense of time had been lost being trapped in the darkness. As he tried to sleep, his mind wandered to some of the stories he was forced to read in school, particularly on one about prisoners stuck in a cave and how they perceived things through shadows on the wall. His literature teacher went and espoused on how “Our education affects how we see nature” However Trigger always had trouble following that. He was more focused on why the prisoners ran back to the cave at the end of the story.

He was grateful an appreciation for symbolism was not a requirement to be a fighter pilot.

I certainly won’t be returning to this shithole if given the chance. He smirked.

He thought more as the bright light turned to a dim orange, and then disappeared as the day went on.

 

He thought to his time in Zapland.

***
The door slammed shut.

“Yeah, you ungrateful!” Trigger shouted slamming his fist against the door before relenting and sitting down in a corner.

He was angry and confused. I didn’t even land to rearm, why the fuck am I stuck in here? Goddammit Count you prick! He thought angrily. He was somewhat used to the unfair treatment at this point however, once he had been pinned for a murder, any semblance of order that he knew and took for granted went out the window. The term Prison rules took on a whole new meaning for the once upstanding citizen.  

Upon landing, each of the ‘Spares’ had been dragged out of their planes at gunpoint, escorted to solitary confinement, stripped naked and thrown into each cell. The rooms were extremely small and uncomfortable, it was barely long enough to lie down in, and only half that in its width. The height was also short enough that Trigger could easily touch the ceiling of the concrete room.

It amenities had been nothing to write home about either. The Guards every few hours would toss in a plastic water bottle, and at the far end of the cell was a hole in the floor. That part had caused Trigger the most distress. Trying to relieve himself in the thin light that came in through the glass in the door. He tried to not use the hole if he could help himself but, natured occasionally called without him getting a choice in the matter.  

 

Spare squadron, for as much as he hated it though, was somewhat growing on him. Outside of the abusive leadership that gave the most ineffectual commander he had met in the operational air force a run for his money, and the general disregard for survival that his comrades took in missions, the day-to-day life of a prisoner was not unbearable outside of confinement. He had plenty of time to sit, read, work out and think. He thought a lot. His mind dwelled on how his family was. While he hadn’t seen many of them in years, and generally only in passing during the holidays he was home from school, he was aware they had been thrust into the spotlight during his trial.

He had penned a few letters but had never sent them home. He had honestly doubted if anyone would want to hear from him. By and large, The only people who would have cared about him, were either dead, or had been let down by Trigger.

For the first time in his life. He was alone, with no support from any friends or family.

 

He wasn’t sure if that was a liberating feeling, or downright depressing.

 

No wonder why no one here gives a shit if they make it back, they’re all in the same boat he concluded.

***
Trigger stared into the darkness of what he assumed was the ceiling.

Except I do have someone to live for. And I need to get out of here and find her.

 The door opened. Trigger craned his neck to look. It was dark outside; he could make out what looked to be a hardened shelter from the doorway. A group of figures walked into the room. There was a loud click as the room was bathed in a sterile blue light. Trigger instinctively shut his eyes in pain as the rods and cones were overloaded by the blinding sensation.

 Without his vision, he relied on his hearing for the situational awareness. He could hear the door shut and the shuffling of feet approaching him. He uneasily got to his own feet. He opened his eyes to see a horde of blurry shapes surrounding him.

“Who are you people?” he asked. He was answered by a swift blow to his back, between his shoulder blades, sending him lurching forward. This time, he was able to break his fall with his hands. He stood on his hands and knees gasping for air.

He looked and saw a familiar slate blue tiger stripe pattern, the same he had worn countless of times.

Gasping he looked up “So, Osean eh?” he asked. This time, it was a kick to his side, though weaker than either punch he had received today, it still hurt like hell.

“What’s the UCMJ violation for hitting an officer I wonder?” Trigger taunted, rolling on his back in pain.
He still hadn’t heard any questions or demands. But he figured if he pissed them off enough either they would kill him or get angry enough to slip up and make a mistake.

“Much more than beating up a dead man” Trigger could hear a voice reply. What does that mean? Trigger didn’t dwell on it long before another blow was delivered directly to his shin. The pain was excruciating. He cried out in agony. “God you guys are a bunch of pricks! Talk to the General Staff office if you need my credentials!” Trigger spat.

“Fuck you! We already know you’re a goddamn traitor!”  jeered another man.  “Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Trigger asked, for his efforts receiving another kick, this time to the gut. Come on, mix it up a little, have some imagination. Trigger focused on the thought to help separate himself from the pain. He spat out a glob of blood from his mouth.  

“You know what you did you piece of shit. Now we can’t kill your girlfriend for what she caused. But we sure as shit can kill you.” The first man hissed. This doesn’t make sense. But at least I know why they want me dead.

***
The beating lasted for what felt like hours. Trigger tried to focus on anything but the pain. He counted maybe a dozen men, all who sounded and looked Osean, who took part.

 

At the end of the night, one man produced a large one-liter bottle of water, unscrewed it and forced it into Triggers mouth, Trigger gagged as the cold liquid was forced into him, his stomach recoiled in pain and he started to choke on vomit. Falling into a coughing fit, the man waited pulling Trigger by the hair and forcing the bottle into his mouth again. After the bottle had been drained, he dropped the pilot and walked towards a smaller group that had been watching. The lights flicked off and the door slammed. Leaving Trigger once again alone.

 

Through swollen lips and a shattered face, he smiled. He had learned valuable information from his captors, even if they didn’t realize it. He was still likely at McKnight in what was probably a hardened hangar, He was being held captive by Oseans, and most importantly, Cossette wasn’t being harmed.

 

He still had plenty of questions but figured they could wait til later. He relished in his small victory for the time being.

***

There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime.

That maxim echoed in Triggers head as he flew headlong into the thundercloud. 
the engines screamed in protest, and the airframe groaned under the exertion, He had long since tuned out the sound of the Eagle’s radar warning receiver. He looked into the mirrors. The Su-30 was still glued to his ass and following him.

Is this guy fucking nuts?

Suddenly the view of the jagged rock pillars of Yinshi Valley was obscured in clouds. Trigger could see the bright flashes of lightning reflecting in the clouds.

It was a classic 1 v 1 defense fight. Trigger had hoped that maybe the clouds would be enough for him to be able to break the lock with the bandit, but he frowned as the Su-30’s thirty years more advanced radar held steady onto his own antiquated Eagle.

“Fine… lets try this.” Trigger said, rolling the jet over onto its back, idling the throttle, engaging the airbrake, and pulling as hard as he could down, hoping the wing wouldn’t snap off with the stress.

As his vision narrowed, time slowed down. He focused on the Heads-Up Display; the altitude ticked down rapidly.  At only ten thousand feet, he could start to see the outline of the rocks. Well, if I’m wrong, I at least won’t have long to think about it.  He aimed the jet towards a gap.

At nine thousand feet he broke out. He quickly levelled off and made a turn around the rocks. To his relief, the bandit lost him.

He tuned back into the radio chatter. His wingman, Tabloid, was on his own keeping another two Flankers occupied as Trigger dealt with his own bandit.

Trigger weaved through the rock spires, he glanced around the cockpit. Damn, no situational awareness display. I miss the Viper. Taking another second to adjust his course, he looked around outside the airplane.

High above the spire, he saw the flash of movement. Gotcha you bastard.

He jockeyed the jet around, pulling a climbing turn to get behind the bandit. He clicked the radar to engage one of his remaining AIM-120. At his eyeball estimate, it would be barely enough time for the missile to arm before impact, close but it was the only option he had aside from wasting one of his two remaining AIM-9 Sidewinders. Hearing the plane’s lock on tone in his ear and seeing his HUD reticle change he pressed the ‘pickle’ button.

The missile fired and started to move, but then froze its position and flew harmlessly passed the Flanker, which was already rolling away and closing the distance on Trigger.

“Bandit used Chaff” the AWACS ‘Bandog’ reported. No shit. Trigger knew his plan was a longshot, but he rolled with the punch and dropped the nose to keep on the bandit. Using the switch on his throttle he switched to the 20-millimeter gun over his shoulder, a small cross hair and remaining round count appeared on his HUD. As he pulled the trigger on his stick and felt the familiar vibration of the gun, he watched the Flankers nose shoot straight up, and watched as the jet fell backwards and out of the way of the cannon rounds. Trigger’s Eagle shot passed the Flanker, and he was once again on the defensive.

He shook his head as he slammed the throttle and pulled away from the ground. “Trying that trick twice in one day? Do you have no imagination?” he said to himself.

It was a familiar airshow stunt, the Pugachev’s Cobra named for the Yuktobanian test pilot who made the maneuver famous, it was great at demonstrating how the super maneuverability of the Flanker outclassed his own Eagle. It was also a stunt that most of the Osean Air Force had written off as a ‘last ditch maneuver’ but one the Erusean Air Force had great success with.

Trigger had to go back to his basics. He was fighting a close in knife fight that the Eagle had no chance of winning compared to the Flanker. But what he did have to his advantage was Speed.

He looked over to the VMAX switch on the left side of the cockpit.

Well, If there was ever a time. He ripped off the protective cover and flicked the switch.

He watched the engine gauges surge, followed by a loud BANG, to his dismay, he saw the left engine roll back in a compressor stall.

“GOD DAMMIT!” He yelled, running his memory items on how to handle losing one of his engines.

He rolled the plane over and pulled the plane into a turn. To his satisfaction, He saw the bandit coming straight at him.

He grinned. Switching over to his Sidewinders, he locked onto the bandit. He waited. He ran the numbers in his head.

According to the HUD, he was closing at close to five hundred knots. The enemy bandit climbing slightly slower at maybe three quarters his speed.

Try dodging this!

He fired one missile, and then fired the other, he squeezed the Trigger until all he saw was tracers in front of him.

The first missile failed to connect, To Triggers pleasure though, he watched a fireball plume out as the second Missile tracked into the Flanker. He caught a glance as the wounded Erusean jet screeched past his own.

Trigger pulled his plane up and started a turn to re-engage.

“Spare Fifteen Disengage.” Bandog ordered.

“Negative” Trigger hissed.

“The bandit is retreating, He managed to survive somehow. Form up on Spare 11 and return to base.”

Trigger gritted his teeth. Almost had him.

 

He slewed his radar until it had locked onto Tabloid’s delta-wing Mirage and with one working engine, he limped his way into the formation.

“Trigger, let me do a battle-damage assessment on your plane.” Tabloid ordered. Decreasing his speed and climbing above, then below Trigger’s wounded F-15.

“Hey, Trigger, your plane isn’t doing too hot.” Tabloid advised.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Trigger replied snidely.

“Bandog, do we have any friendly airbases he can divert to?”

“Not a chance.” Bandog said quickly.

“My plane will make it back in one piece. Let’s just get back to Zapland.” Trigger replied exhausted and angry.

***

If Trigger had to guess. It was his third night in the McKnight shelter. The previous day had been much like the first. The Airmen had taken their turns inflicting violence on Trigger, before forcing a bottle of water down his throat and leaving. He couldn’t move anymore, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to broken bones or just a lack of energy left in his body.

So, this is what dying is like. He thought as he watched through a swollen eye the airmen walk into the shelter. Laughing with each other like nothing was the matter.

It pissed him off. The way the men didn’t care, the way he couldn’t even move to defend himself. It all fed into his anger. But what made him pissed off the most was overwhelming sense that he had failed.

 

It was a feeling he had known all to well before. Those first three encounters with Mister X had taught him all too well. He had let both Brownie and Wiseman down. And had failed to kill Mister X in two of those engagements.

 

He had failed.

 

And once again, as he laid on that concrete floor bleeding through multiple lacerations. He felt that feeling of failure once more.

Im Sorry Cossette. He closed his eyes as the lead man got closer.

 

Nothing.

 

He could hear a commotion and shouting, then a loud smack of someone hitting the ground next to him.

I must be hallucinating or dead he thought.

He could hear a snap and the pressure in his wrists went away as someone pulled the handcuffs off of him. He felt gloved hands roll him over onto his back.

A Muffled voice was heard, different from his assailants. “is this the man?”

“Hard to tell. Looks like shit. But then again, he always looked like shit. Lets get him out of here.” Another man said in a more distant voice.

 

It was a voice he knew but had never heard in person.

 

I definitely am dead. He thought as he lost consciousness.