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.