Chapter 45

 FORTY-FIVE

Captain Norris could see from the cockpit of the MV-22 the devastation the Basilisk Marines had unleashed on the airfield. A large black plume of smoke hung over the air from a fire that had long since burned out of control. He could feel the momentum of the plane shift as the pilots slowly brought the nacelles up in their descent onto the airfield. The plane’s crew chief slid his hatch open to talk the pilots onto the ground as the rear gunner racked the bolt on her M2 machine gun.

“Lancer 1-4, taking some ground fire.” Norris heard over the radio.

“Lancer 1-3, Lifting, India Lima personnel inserted.” Another pilot noted, Norris took note of their use of the RAMROD on a shared Comm frequency.

The Osprey entered a hover nearby a crashed CH-53, the hurricane force winds of the Osprey’s proprotors mercilessly assaulted the ground and sent a wall of dust in all directions as the wheels touched down, the Berserker marines quickly disembarked allowing the Osprey to lift off again.

As Norris and his team made their way to the crash-site, he watched another Osprey depart. Unlike the light grey of his MV-22’s this Osprey had a white belly with a dark bluish-grey fuselage of a CV-22 from the Air Force’s special operation squadron, the Pararescuemen had arrived. His team made their way past the helicopter crash site to find the PJ’s had erected a bivouac in the open rear of a CV-22 that had landed just beyond the crash site on the runway, Norris and his team identified themselves to the Airman and he quickly took stock of the situation.

“Who’s in charge here?” Norris asked one of the Pararescuemen, an Air Force Technical Sergeant. “Lieutenant Kowalczyk, but him and a few of the Marines are off on a rescue operation right now.” The NCO replied.

“Well, are any of the Marines here?” Norris asked, annoyed.

The Sergeant pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the interior of the Osprey. Norris rolled his eyes and made his way into the cramped cargo hold; he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. Inside on one row of seats rested a filled body-bag, on top of another row of seats sat a Marine secured to a stretcher with a PJ attending to their injuries.  

“Report.” Norris ordered the Marine.

The Marine looked up to see the Officer and visibly stiffened. “Corporal Jeff Dennings, Saber but currently attached to this detachment.”

“Where’s Lieutenant Fick?” Norris interrogated

Dennings shrugged “Got CASEVAC’d with the civilians. I wasn’t as critical so they’re letting me wait here with the casualty.”

 

Norris paused at the information. Initially, Berserker had been sent to retrieve the Lieutenants team, thanks to their proximity to the AO, however as they arrived at the compound, the Old Man had instead re-routed their flight of Osprey’s deeper into the Jungle to support the team on an unauthorized operation they had disembarked on. Norris wasn’t clear on the details but the rapid change in mission plan made him want to ask questions personally of the officer in charge, and then hand him over to Oured for their own questions.

“With your el-tee down, who’s in charge?”

Dennings thought for a moment “Gunnery Sergeant Morgan sir. But he’s off trying to mount a rescue with some of the PJ’s so, I guess that just leaves me.”

Norris glanced back to the body bag. “Who didn’t make it?” he asked.

Dennings sighed heavily. “Sergeant Thomas Zhao, Assassin I believe. Ran off to buy the Helo crew some time but got overrun. Took out a bunch of them too though. He deserves a medal for what he pulled off.”

 

Norris nodded and walked back out into the sunlight; there he found his teams Gunnery Sergeant awaiting him. The NCO was busy lighting a large cigar when Norris approached.

“What’s the word Gunny?” Norris asked.

The Sergeant took a long puff of the cigar before replying. “Well, situation is about as good as we can expect. Second and third element secured the compound the south side, Fourth Element is clearing the Hangars at the moment, but it doesn’t look like many of the forces here survived the close air support attacks, and the few we’ve come across haven’t been forthcoming about surrendering. Fifth is just mopping up some resistance in the woods and trying to link-up with the rest of the Marines here, sounds like they’re going towards the crash-site further down into the jungle.”

“Any captured in the compound?” Norris asked

“Yeah, about a dozen or so, they’re still checking them right now for ID and any weapons. Squad leaders want to know if they’re POW’s or not.”

Norris shook his head. “They’re not combatants, and besides FIS will want their pound of flesh from them, so we just hole up until they arrive. Our job is to secure the site until further orders.” Norris replied. Instead of a classic military raid that his men thrived in performing, they had stumbled into a quasi-police-action, better left to law enforcement or Coast Guard then the special forces.

 

The officer and Senior NCO coopted the Pararescuemen’s camp as their own staging area, receiving reports from the squads scattered across the mesa. The Marines had been on the Airfield for over an hour when the captives made their way through the trees escorted by his men. As the prisoners were cordoned off by the marines, Norris could see that the squad they were sent after had joined them.

 

The men looked visibly tired, covered in small injuries, blood and muck. Though Norris didn’t show it on his face, He was grateful to see the faces of Kyle, Haver and Hernandez amongst the survivors. The de facto leader walked up to greet Norris.

“Sir, Gunnery Sergeant Glenn Morgan reports as ordered.” The NCO rattled off at the position of attention.

Norris took a final drag from his cigarette before throwing the butt on the ground and stomping it out with his boot.

“At ease Gunnery Sergeant.” Norris ordered before continuing “Sergeant, mind telling me why you and your men are here?” Norris asked.

The NCO cocked his head “Orders to my understanding were to attack the airfield and deny the enemy of assets present.” The NCO replied tersely. “Any assets in particular you were set to destroy?” Norris asked. “Aircraft and potential arms equipment. We were able to achieve the first objective, and with out air support we damaged much of the facilities infrastructure.” The NCO reported. Norris smirked “must be nice to have Hornets on station to call in airstrikes, isn’t it?” Norris asked rhetorically

“No sir. Those aircraft didn’t arrive until after we lost ours. That’s what my marines and I were doing when your squad found us.” Morgan replied sharply.

“Elaborate.” Norris said.

Morgan took a sharp breath, “We came in with both helo and close air support. Our Helicopter and extraction were shot down, then we lost our air support shortly thereafter. We were able to secure the helicopter crash site, but took casualties-“ his voice trailing off slightly as he glanced towards the twisted wreckage of the CH-53 behind him. “-We didn’t get any distress beacons from our pilot after he was shot down, so we were going to locate the crash-site.” Morgan explained.

Norris nodded “I understand Sergeant. As of now you and your men are relieved, make sure they get checked out by the Corpsmen, and you will be airlifted out on the next hop. Please let my men know that there will be, a debriefing after this little FUBAR of a situation.” Norris said dismissing the Sergeant. Morgan didn’t move. “Sir if I may, we would like to assist in the rescue and recovery efforts of our downed pilot. He covered us for the past few months and would like to at least see this through for him.”

 

Norris glanced at the marine. While he had not personally worked with Morgan on many assignments, he was more than aware of the operator’s reputation. Questioning orders was not something he was prone to do.

“Not and option Sergeant. Those came from the Old Man himself.” Norris replied brusquely.

“But Sir I-“ Morgan began to protest before Norris held up his hand to cut him off.

“Gunnery Sergeant, this is not a democracy. I expect my senior enlisted personnel to follow my fucking orders.” Norris growled sharply.

Morgan exhaled sharply. “Aye aye sir.” He snapped before turning an about face and joining the rest of the squad.

 

Norris took a moment to compose himself before turning his attention to one of his NCO’s awaiting with a list of identification of the compound’s prisoners.

“Which one is Lisa Park?” Norris asked the sergeant.

***
Three Pararescuemen stalked their way silently through the dense foliage of the jungle. It had been by pure chance that one of their Osprey crews spotted the smoke, but their onboard cameras were still next to useless between the ambient heat of the jungle and dense canopy cover of the trees.

 

Along their hike, the airmen had found scattered debris from the downed aircraft, marking each piece of debris’ coordinates for recovery efforts later if need be. After trudging through the jungle for three hours however, they came across the first major piece of debris.

 

It had been the empennage of the aircraft, but instead of the fighter jet they had expected, it looked almost civilian in nature, with utilitarian boxy edges instead of the aerodynamic curves that even the A-10 had. The remarkable thing that took the Airmen by surprise was the three paint lines that adorned each side of the tail.

 

“It’s the same plane from the news the other day.” Remarked Master Sergeant Piercecchi.

“Any chance it’s a copycat?” Senior Airman Wilkinson asked.

Lieutenant Kowalczyk shook his head “Not our place to ask. Let’s just go get this guy but be cautious. If he’s crazy enough to pull a stunt like that in Anchorhead, he might be a bit more difficult to rescue.” The Officer paused the team to mark the position on the tactical map, they were almost to the site of the smoke that the Osprey’s had seen.

 

Another half hour of marching later, they arrived at the GPS Waypoint ontop of a rocky outcropping overlooking a stream that snaked its way between the trees.

“Sir, are you sure this is it?” Piercecchi asked.

The Lieutenant nodded “Certain, should have been something here.” He replied confused.

“Who knows how the air currents work in this place, could have drifted?” Wilkinson offered.

“Yeah just keep an eye –“ the Lieutenant said before being hushed by his senior NCO. “You hear that?” Piercecchi asked.

 

The two other Pararescuemen paused and listened.

 

It was an electric warbling sound, extremely faint and possibly submerged.

The three men hastily started running towards the barely audible sound until they found it. Sunken halfway in the stream was a crushed and deformed metal box. Cautiously the three airman approached the crash-site

“Hello! Any one in there?” Kowalczyk asked, unholstering a pistol with his right hand, and balling his left hand in a fist above his head to signal for his subordinates to stop.

The three men waited a moment for a reply. Hearing nothing, they continued their approach.

“Don’t you dare be dead.” Wilkerson muttered underneath his breath as they got closer. It had been the cockpit of the aircraft, the rear portion showed both explosive marks as well as that of metal torn under immense stress.

 

“Ok, we’re coming to get you, just hang tight.” Kowalczyk announced, motioning for Piercecchi to approach the cockpit. Tensely the airman came to the door and pulled the emergency release lever. With some effort the NCO pried the door open and sighed.

 

“Its empty.” Piercecchi reported.

“What do you mean?” Kowalczyk asked.

“Pilots not here. Doesn’t look like he ejected or was thrown out either. Look.” Piercecchi said, More at ease, the two other Airmen approached the cockpit to see what the Senior NCO was referring to. The harnesses had been cut rather than torn, someone had beaten them to the crash.
***

it was a bitterly cold fall day in Onslow in northern Osea. It had been over a week since the Chopinburg operation, retroactively referred as Double Jeopardy by the various rear-echelon staff that had taken their time to debrief Morgan and the survivors. Officially, the raid had been apart of their mission in Usea, however, unofficially Morgan was made aware of potential court martials that would follow depending on the still unfolding political ramifications of their mission.

In the brief talk Morgan had with Colonel Mancuso, it was alluded that the Machado Cartel had taken notice of the Marines operations against their operation and had leveraged their various political connections within Osea to put an end to them. It was of great disdain to many politicians that Basilisk’s mission not only continued on the marine’s own accord, but also was thrust to front page news with not only their raid in Erusea, but their drawing in of IUN support assets in their Chopinburg raid.

 

Morgan, however, couldn’t have given less of a damn about any of that now as he shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. Tom Zhao’s funeral was quiet. Outside of his daughter and her family, the only other attendees to the service were the Osean Marine honor guard, a local priest, Morgan, and the rest of the Chopinburg team as well as a representative from the other Basilisk teams. Tom’s cremated cremains sat front and center next to an aged photograph of a much younger Staff Sergeant Zhao in his dress blue uniform.

 

The Honor guard performed the rifle salute, then presented a folded Osean flag to Tom’s daughter. Morgan found himself wondering if his daughter had even known the truth about her fathers work in the military. He wanted more than anything to tell her how, instead of the official story of him being killed in a construction accident in support of a fictional engineering battalion, he had bravely given his life to save the rest of his team.

 

He pushed the thought out of his mind. As much as he hated it, He knew the secrecy was for a good reason, as much to protect their estranged families as it was to protect the states secrets themselves.

 

The funeral ended unceremoniously as the urn was placed in the ground, a temporary marker over its burial site.

 

Zhao’s family walked past the Marines not saying a word, though Morgan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as his young granddaughter glared at him.

 

When the precession had stepped out of earshot, Dennings spoke up. “This is fucking bullshit.” He complained.

Adams nodded solemnly. “As much as he does deserve some recognition, we all knew when we signed up. Awards like that were never in the cards for us.” He said pragmatically

Dennings shook his head bitterly “I don’t give a damn about a purple heart; I just want her to know that her dad is a hero.” Dennings said jabbing the air.

“Just be glad the Old Man was able to get us this much.” Morgan replied, grabbing the handles of Denning’s wheelchair. The young Marine was expected to make a full recovery, but thanks to the shrapnel wound he had received in the raid, he was relegated to a wheelchair until he fully healed. His injuries paling in comparison to the others.

 

Lieutenant Fick was still in intensive care back in Usea, while the rocket attack had not directly killed him, he had multiple lesions open on his brain, dozens of fractured or broken bones, severe internal bleeding and damaged organs as well as losing his left leg and arm. The Doctors were not optimistic about the officer waking up again, let alone being able to live a normal life thanks to his injuries.

 

The Belkans had also taken a significant beating. Ben had the least grave injuries, only suffering a broken clavicle and humerus. His wife, Lauren, had only woken up from her coma in the ICU a day prior. Despite her gunshot wound though, the Old Man assured the Marines that she would make a full recovery.

 

Morgan and the Marines however were disappointed in the news of the crew chief Erwin. The young Belkan NCO had flat-lined en route to the hospital onboard the Osprey, and despite the pararescuemen’s best efforts, was unable to be revived, being pronounced dead when they had landed.

 

The three Marines made their way back to their rental car to find a man sitting on the hood of the car, idly toying with his cellphone. He glanced up to see the Marines and approached them.

“Cal right?” Morgan asked hesitantly.

The man nodded, pulling a sealed manilla envelope from under his arm. “Compliments of the boss man.” He said handing the folder off to Adams.

“Where is the Broker anyways? We haven’t been able to get in touch after the raid.” Morgan interrogated.

Cal shrugged. “Broker moves in mysterious ways. He just wanted you all to have this before you guys do anything else. Turns out that chick you captured in Chopinburg has just been a wonderful treasure trove of intel.” The former cop explained before turning away.

 

“Wait. Is there any info on Trigger?” Adams asked hesitantly causing Cal to pause in his tracks. He shook his head solemnly. “Boss Man hasn’t said anything about it if that’s what you’re wondering. We didn’t extract him so best we know; He is still MIA.” Cal explained, leaving before the Marines could ask any follow up questions.

 

Enroute back to their quarters at an Osean army fort nearby, Morgan opened the folder and started poking through the documents with Dennings as Adams drove.

 

Inside was details of bank accounts, Names, and addresses of people or entities that had dealings with the Machados. Some names had already been crossed off their list, but others would be far harder targets to hit.

 

At the bottom of the file was a small post-it note, in blocky handwriting was an address in Hollister, west Osea with a set of instructions.

“What’s that?” Dennings asked, noticing the small yellow piece of paper.

“How much leave do you all have?” Morgan asked.

“What do you mean?” Adams asked.

“Call the others, I think its time to go hunting.” Morgan replied.
***

Chapter 44

 FORTY-FOUR

The world spun around in slow motion Trigger as fought with the stick in vain as he could feel the wing and tail tear off from the airframe plummeting towards the Jungle below. The cockpit glass had been blown out, filling Trigger’s ears with an awful roar. Trigger could only guess at his remaining few seconds as the cockpit display had flashed in solid colors before failing under the damage. He closed his eyes as the Earth came to greet him suddenly.

 

He was on a grassy hillside. For as far as he could see, there was rolling hills covered in a brilliant green, and the deepest blue sky he had ever seen. Far off in the distance was a jagged granite mountain face, the peaks in an eternal shroud of snow and ice. He looked himself over, he was still in his flight suit, covered in tears, burns and blood, though despite the wear of his clothes, he physically felt and appeared fine.

“You need to stop coming here friend.” A voice spoke behind Trigger. He turned slowly to be greeted by a man, for some reason he struck Trigger as familiar.

“Have we met?” Trigger asked.

The stranger shook his head and ran his hand through his blond hair. “Oui, or at least something like that.”

“So, what are you, my guardian angel? Am I dead or something?” Trigger asked.

“Well, you didn’t eject, did you?” the man asked rhetorically.

 

Trigger sighed. “So, I guess that’s it then. Damn.” He said shrugging his shoulders as he took a seat in the grass.

The Stranger walked up and took a seat next to him. “Non-Non, I didn’t say that. Your just as dense as last time I see.”

Trigger shot the man a glance “so we have met!” he said pointing. The Stranger rolled his eyes and shook his head disappointedly. “I’m just a friendly face, nothing more, nothing less.” The Stranger reiterated. “Well, that’s no fun at all.” Trigger said, turning his attention back over the rolling landscape before him.

 

“So, what can you tell me?” Trigger asked.

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Ah, my own Jiminy Cricket then. Sweet.”

“Merde, I’m insulted you’d compare me to a lowly cricket.” The Stranger spat.

“Jeeze, sorry.” Trigger apologized. “But if you’re not my subconscious, who are you?” Trigger asked again.

“Just a friendly-“ the Stranger started before being cut off. “-Just a friendly face, got it.” Trigger said quickly finish the sentence for the man.

 

The Stranger sighed “The rules here aren’t as straight forward as out there. If you want to think of this as anything, think of it as a holding pattern.” He explained.

“Ah, I believe the term is limbo.” Trigger interjected.

“I see you are full of surprises. I didn’t take you for an educated man.” The Stranger jabbed.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I went to college.” Trigger shot back.

“Oui, well, you could have fooled me.”

“Wow you’re such a dick.” Trigger shot back causing the stranger to chuckle.

“So, if you’re just a friendly face, where’s this?” Trigger asked gesturing towards the landscape.

The stranger thought for a moment. “Don’t know.”

“How long have you been here?”

The man thought again, for longer this time. “Don’t know.”

“Wow, not only are you the world’s worst imaginary friend, you’re also the world’s worst magic eight ball.” Trigger replied sullenly.

The Stranger clapped his hands and turned to Trigger “Bien, I think it’s my turn to ask questions now, no?”

“I didn’t know we were playing twenty questions, if so, I think I still have a few more to go.” Trigger quipped.

The man ignored the comment and continued. “For a man who is so convinced of his mortality, you seem awfully content with all of this. Nothing like last time.” He asked.

 

Trigger took notice of his words. Nothing like last time. That means I have been here before.

Trigger shrugged “would it help If I panicked and was combative?”

“No, but it would at least fit the part with a man who has died as, sans grâce, err, ungracefully as you probably have.”

Trigger gave a slight smirk at the comment, picking up a small stone he threw it down the hill “What can I say though. It was a rocket pass, then I busted my ass.” Trigger sang, humming the rest of the tune.

“Rather unbecoming for a pilot of your ability.” The Stranger remarked.

Trigger stared at him “And what ability is that? Flying? Well look where that’s gotten me.”

The Stranger shook his head, the look on his face was more akin to a pitiful parent than that of disappointment. “Troi Grèves, you clearly have lost perspective on your situation.”

“Care to enlighten me then?” Trigger shot back, he could feel himself getting flush and progressively angrier.

“Well considering you are a bit of a gros con, I have to.” The Stranger replied quickly, taking a breath to compose himself. “Someone I used to know coined the term. Spiritus. That gives you your edge over just any other pilot. But that’s not all that makes you who you are either.”

“Oh, then what is?”

“Your tenacity.” The Stranger said, jabbing a finger into Trigger’s arm for emphasis. “How many times did you get kicked down, sometimes quite literally? And yet you kept going back up in that jet to try again and again.”

Trigger shot the man a confused glance “Like when I was a Spare? It’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”

“You’re missing my point Trigger. You could have just rolled over and died dozens of times prior. Why is this the hill you choose to die on?”

Trigger for once was at a loss for an answer.

“Trigger, you have shown your capable of getting back up again no matter the odds, why not this time.” The Stranger asked bluntly.

 

Trigger stared at his boots for what felt like an eternity. “I have lost everything that was important to me. My friends think I’m a traitor, I lost the love of my life and now she’s with someone else. Why should I even try if it just ends up like this every time?”

The Stranger squinted, studying Trigger. “If that’s really how you feel.”

The world went dark.

 

Trigger was lying in bed; he could feel the cool sheets on his skin as he stretched out across the mattress. Yawning he blearily opened his eyes. He was in a bedroom, it looked no different than any regular master bedroom one could find in a suburban home, there walls were painted a deep shade of navy blue with a deep red wainscoting aligning it. He could see adorning the walls were various pictures of a couple. Candid photos from what appeared to be a vacation, a wedding photo, a small family portrait.

 

Trigger sat up uneasily in the bed, still unsure of where he was, he continued looking around for a moment until a young woman walked into the room and interrupted him. Her blond hair was in a long braid that stretched to almost the small of her back, her porcelain skin was immaculate, despite her demure attire she took Trigger’s breath away.

 

“Honey, its time to wake up.” She spoke softly.

 

Trigger was dumbfounded “Cossette?” he asked.

She smiled and laughed softly “Of course, who else would I be?”

“But I don’t understand, You, the war, that other guy.” Trigger trailed off; Cossette put her hand on his forehead with a worried look. “Honey, what are you talking about? What war?” she asked concerned.

Trigger shook his head and embraced her in a hug, Cossette was taken aback for a moment, but slowly embraced him, brushing his hair with her hand. “It doesn’t really matter; it was only just a dream.” Trigger said, muffled as he buried his face against her.

She patted him on the back rapidly “Come on, you need to get out of bed.” She said authoritatively, wriggling from Trigger’s arms. Trigger got out of the large bed and instinctively walked to a dresser and put on clothes as Cossette walked into their closet.

“Robin’s already left you know.” She said to him as he pulled a white t-shirt over his head, she walked out a second later with a polo shirt, giving Trigger a confused look at his attire.

“You’re going to work in that?” She asked pointedly.

Trigger glanced down to himself and shrugged “Should I not?”

 

Cossette looked at him with more scrutiny “Are you sure you’re OK? Maybe you should take the day off.” She offered “You know what, I’ll go make the call now.” She said rushing out of the room.

“Do I really look that bad?” Trigger asked himself as he continued getting dressed.

 

Still unsure of the homes layout, he carefully poked his head out of the door. Directly across from his and Cossette’s room was a door, painted pink with a wood sign that read ROBIN in flowery lettering. Cautiously Trigger turned the nob into the room. Locked.

“You know she hates you snooping around in there.” Cossette said with a hint of disapproval, “Girls her age like their secrets.” She added.

“Yeah, guess I should have figured that.” Trigger said, chuckling to himself.

“I already called the Office to tell them you’ll be out today, how about you come downstairs for some breakfast.” Cossette offered, though the tone of her voice Trigger could tell he wasn’t in any position to argue with her over it.

Taking a seat at the table, she poured him a cup of coffee “So, do you want to tell me about you’re dream? It seems to have you thrown off today.” She asked, still visibly concerned.

 

Trigger sighed and started to share his story, abridging some parts, particularly with his involvements during the war and trying to give as much detail as possible as he could about his relationship that he could remember.

 

Cossette listened intently as she sat a plate of food before him as he finished. The couple sat in silence for a moment.

 

“Well, that’s certainly a story dear-” Cossette finally spoke up. “-But that would make sense, it was just a dream.” She finished. 

“Yeah, but it felt so real.” Trigger replied. “All of it, flying those jets, shooting those guns. You and me. I don’t get it.”

She gently grabbed Trigger’s hand “It sometimes happens, But you’re back in the real world. I never left you, you’re not a pilot and, as far as I know, there was no war over a, what do you call it, space elevator?” she said reassuringly.

“I know your right.” Trigger replied, turning his attention back to his breakfast.

Cossette watched him for a few minutes before getting up and turning on the news in the other room.

 

The news anchor was reporting about a large military exercise that some country Trigger had never heard of was conducting.

“This will be something of a repeat of Zapad-81, but in some senses even bigger,” One man with a Yuktobanian accent explained. Other diplomats aired their concerns about the nature of the drills and the footage the news had played was piquing Trigger’s interest.

Huh, an air force made of entirely Flankers and Fulcrums. Weird. Trigger thought to himself as he watched.

 

Gradually as time moved on, and with Cossette’s help, Trigger fell back into his daily routine. As weeks and months past, memories of the dream that had haunted the pilot slowly drifted, his sudden amnesia from waking up slowly resolving and being explained away by a litany of neurologists and doctors as a freak pharmaceutical reaction and likely would never occur again.

 

Years past as Trigger and Cossette watched their daughter grow and mature, from a rebellious teenager to a respectable young woman. Occasionally, while watching the news Trigger would get a brief memory of his dream, and often found himself wondering what a life of adventure would have been like instead of his regular career as a salaryman. His only lasting side effect, much to the teasing of his wife and daughter was a sudden interest in combat jets and flying simulators despite never showing any interest prior to his amnesia.

 

As the decades of his life moved on, Trigger found himself gradually forget about his incidents, but at his core still had a feeling he couldn’t explain, as if everything could have been torn away in an instant. He and Cossette, now well within their midlife, watched with pride as their daughter graduated from university. Tearfully he walked her down the aisle at her wedding and was joyously introduced to his grandchild some years later.

 

His memories of the amnesia and dreams would not come back to the now elderly man until his final years. It started as a headache one day, as the symptoms progressed at the insistence of his wife, Trigger was given the news. Something so minute that the doctors half a century prior had missed. It had since grown and now was in an inoperable state, by their best estimations however, he had less than a handful of months left.

 

Instead of grieving or focusing on his impending doom however, He and Cossette instead chose to spend their last few months together finishing his ‘bucket list’ items until his final expected weeks when his illness had progressed to the point where he was relegated to a hospital bed waiting for the inevitable. Cossette held his wrinkled hand and Trigger watched in pain as she tried to hold back her emotions, watching her husband slip before her.

 

The sun was just starting to peek through window, rising on a new day. Cossette had once again fallen asleep next to his bedside, holding his hand. Weakly Trigger grasped it with both of his frail hand, desperate to hold onto her for as long as he could.

 

There was a rap on the door, after a moment, it gently opened. A Blond man entered the room, in his late twenties to early thirties wearing a set of hospital scrubs. Trigger eyed him cautiously, not recognizing the man from any of the staff he had seen, but also having the instinctual feeling that he knew him. He shot Trigger a knowing smirk as he entered the Hospital room.

 

“How are you feeling?” The man asked, the accent reminded Trigger remarkably of Cossette’s own.

“I could be better.” Trigger rasped; He laughed, even though it had long since faded into a near whisper. He took a few breaths winded from the effort of defiance towards the stranger. 

 

The stranger stepped to the foot of the bed and snapped his fingers, before leaning on the railing. “Well, its good to see that your attitude transcends these things. I was almost worried that it wouldn’t.”

“If you want to do this, don’t do it in front of my wife.” Trigger replied irritated, still holding onto Cossette’s sleeping hand. The Stranger looked to her, then back to Trigger pitifully. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Right now, as far as the rest of this world knows, time just stopped. No one will be interrupting us for this talk either.”

 

Trigger squinted at the man, “Its you.” He finally said dumbfounded. The Stranger smiled. “I see you do remember me. So, with that out of the way, do you remember what I asked you?”

“But why would you do this? I was happy. This was what I wanted.” Trigger protested, having to take a deep breath between each word.

The Stranger shook his head disappointed. “Mieux vaut vivre un mensonge heureux qu'une vérité brutale. Better to live a happy lie than a brutal truth. So, I ask again. Have you changed your mind yet?”

Trigger was silent at the question. While he was happy and lived what his friends and family, or at least who he had thought were his friends and family, would say was a good life, he felt incomplete. Ultimately his life as a Salaryman had amounted to a modest but comfortable life, on rare occasions him and Cossette would travel to see the world, but it was rarely the sense of adventure he longed for.

 

Trigger glared at the Stranger, without saying a word the Stranger grinned faintly and Trigger was plunged into darkness and pain.

***

Trigger awoke in agony, every nerve was firing simultaneously and caused Trigger to involuntarily scream. As soon as it happened however, the sharpness of the pain subsided enough for him to start to get a baring on himself. He was back to his old life, the life had thought was a dream.

 

He could only see a blur from his left eye, he was unsure if he still had his right eye or not and was not in any mood to check. Turning his attention to his surroundings he could see he was still strapped into the Air Tractor’s cockpit, in a merciful turn of events, the airframe had come to a stop right-side-up, though Trigger could tell from how damp everything was, the plane had likely rolled some way through the jungle floor before coming to a stop. Water had rushed into the open cockpit and had flooded up to his chest, the bitter cold was starting to slowly numb anything below his waist.

The heavy scent of jet fuel filled the air, Trigger was unable to see his wings but assumed that his rear fuel tank was the culprit and leaking the combustible liquid around him. Moving on from his surroundings he went back to taking stock of himself. One arm appeared shattered, and he was unable to use it without significant pain, he had multiple deep cuts on his remaining good arm but was still able to use it.

 

“Is this any better?” the Strangers voice asked from behind Trigger. Startled, the pilot grasped furiously for his handgun, dismayed to find the torn fabric on his vest where his holster and Kahr handgun had been secured.

 

Trigger could feel his heartbeat accelerate as he could hear sloshing come towards the front of the cockpit. Trigger could barely see him through his fading vision, instead of the more formal attire he had been wearing, it looked to Trigger as if the Stranger was now in an olive drab flight suit and a leather jacket.

 

“So, this is real life then.” Trigger asked in an attempt at defiance.

 The Stranger shrugged “Look at what you went through as a gift.”

Trigger chuckled bitterly, resting back in his seat, he wasn’t in the mood to go out fighting anyways. Probably better this way he thought to himself. “A Gift, now that’s a hoot. You wanted to just dangle something I could never have just to mock me? That’s some gift.”

“Actually no, that was all you.” The Stranger corrected. “All I did was allow you to see the world that you wanted. My only manipulation was to bring you back here so we could have this talk.”

“You know what? Fuck you.” Trigger spat. “if that’s true, why not let me live that lie? Let me die in peace.”

“Because that’s unbecoming of you and you know it!” the Stranger shot back heated. “You, don’t just roll over like a dog and wait to die. You are that impossible bastard to kill, That is what you are.” The Stranger said closing the distance. “But no, you much rather just die here as a pitiful mess instead. Why?”

 

Trigger knew he was avoiding the actual question. It was nearly five months since his life went entirely off the rails, but even before hand Trigger in his darkest corners of his mind had been secretly hoping for this to happen. It was partially what seemed to make him a better than average combat pilot, He simply did not have anything to lose once he joined Spare Squadron, and even after that, His life only revolved around the impossible missions the LRSSG had been issued.

 

“I guess im tired of those around me suffering” Trigger finally admitted.

“Explain?”

“You’re in my head aren’t you, shouldn’t you know?” Trigger shot back.

“Humor me.”

Trigger took a deep breath “Back when I was at my first squadron, we were over this very spot, someone relied on me, and I failed her. My very next mission, I failed a lot more people than that” Trigger explained. The Stranger listening intently, found a Root and sat down, just out of the range that Trigger’s eyes could reliably focus on.

“Then what happened?” the Stranger asked

“Then I got sent to the Spare Squadron, and there, I guess I just didn’t care. Turns out I was pretty good at what I was doing, but even then, everyone else who was with me would get dragged down and killed” Trigger said bitterly.

“From there, I guess I impressed enough people, and was sent to the LRSSG, and there when the seemly one guy who believed in me was counting on me, I let him down” Trigger said, he swallowed trying to maintain his composure.

“And finally, just when I think things are finally going well for me, I meet this girl, and she doesn’t care about who I was or what I did, she just loved me for me, and I let her down. That is why I am here. That is why I gave up. Everyone around me either is hurt or let down by me.” Trigger said, he had started crying. Over a year and a half of disappointments and resentments were coming out of the pilot.

He hated it all, he was ready for it to be over. The figure listened intently before walking over to the twisted cockpit.

 

The Stranger looked down at Trigger with a look of disappointment. “So that’s why you chose to make this a suicide mission?” he asked directly.

“The man who shot down not one, but two weapons of mass destruction. The Man who shot down one of the most lethal pilots in history. And the man who stole the heart of a princess, just gives up because of one more bump in his road? That doesn’t sound like a man who lets people down. Not by a long shot.” The Stranger replied leaning on the bent frame of the cockpit.

 

“I don’t know” Trigger responded dejected.

 

“Well come on now, that’s no way to think. Deep down, you know you want to get back to her. Hell you already probably have a plan. So, let’s see here… I always hated these ELTs, damn things never work when you need them” The Stranger leaned into the cabin and started fumbling through the shattered dashboard searching for a switch in particular.

“Aha! Found it!” The Stranger shouted in triumph, flipping a switch. Somewhere in the jungle, Trigger could hear his handheld survival radio roar to life with the wail of the emergency locator beacon.

 

The Stranger clapped his hands satisfied and took a step back from the cockpit.

“Now what?” Trigger asked, starting to feel himself drift off again.

“Now? Now you get your girl.” The Stranger said turning and starting to slosh through the water away from the crash site.

 

“Hey, Wait up a minute” Trigger shouted weakly.

The Stranger stopped

“Thanks for everything”

“Don’t mention it Trigger.”

“ce n'est rie” The Stranger said as Trigger slumped forward in his seat, slowly losing consciousness between the blood loss and shock.

 

Right before he finally drifted off, he could hear the frantic sounds of sloshing as someone cut him free from his harness and pulled him from the cockpit.

 

Chapter 43

 FORTY-THREE

The command center for the Osean Defense Force’s Usean Command, or USEACOM for short, was a large, yet unassuming building, tucked away on New Arrows Air Base in eastern Usea. It was here that Generals from the IUN’s Peace Keeping Force directed troop movements and collected intelligence to run the war effort on the continent. The excitement of the conflict however had quickly drawn down as the region cooled following the conclusion of the Osean-Erusean war, and what had been one of the most important headquarters assignments in the Osean Military had suddenly become one of the most mundane outside of a few small-scale border clashes between rapidly uncoordinated Erusean holdouts and Osean and Usean forces.

 

Usea itself was broken into five distinct sectors: That of Erusea, Southern, Central, Northern and Eastern.

Osean Navy Lieutenant Commander Paul Wilbur found himself this morning as the shift supervisor for the Southern Sector, a region spanning from the ISEV east all the way to the Scofield’s Plateau. It was just before the shift change over when Paul entered the cavernous main room of the command center. Osean officers, enlisted, and civilian analysts were all busy at their respective stations. Walking up to his station he greeted the previous shift commander, an Osean Army captain whose nametape read CORNWALLIS.

“Morning captain.” Paul greeted, setting his coffee mug onto the desk.

“Sir.” The Officer replied curtly.

As Paul waited, he glanced to the large monitors that dominated one side of the room, there critical information could be displayed by the regional commander if the need arose, today, they were instead displaying the USEACOM seal onto a black background.

 

“Whats the report?” Paul asked.

The captain pulled up the log and turned one of the computer’s monitors towards the commander. “Nothing extremely exciting between the hours of zero-hundred and zero-nine-forty sir. A few notices from ATC on sporadic radar contacts but we’ve been able to rule those out as most likely transmitter error and nothing to worry about.” The younger officer narrated.

“So, nothing else on the flareups the other day?” Paul interrogated, to which the captain shrugged. “Nothing new about Anchorhead if that’s what you’re asking sir.” He replied.

Paul sighed heavily. “Well damn, I was hoping for more excitement given the region but, so be it.” he griped, taking a sip of coffee from his mug. Within a few minutes, Paul was sitting behind his console as the rest of his shift was filing into the room and going through the handover briefings. Periodically as crew would log off, he would receive notifications on his screen telling him that paperwork was pending in his inbox to be completed before the next eight-hour shift arrived. He amused himself with reading through the box-standard email reminders of the half-dozen annual computer-based trainings he had for another year in a row pushed off until the last minute, a proud tradition he had carried since his time as a young ensign aboard the frigate Garnet.

As he took time to reply to emails, a conversation from one of his staff caught his ear.

“Unknown AWACS calling, give your authentication code.” The Osean Army sergeant asked.

 

Paul quickly closed out of his email, threw on his earpiece and opened up a remote desktop onto the analysts computer. Under normal circumstances, AWACS had a direct line of communication with USEACOM, it was rare anyone would have called on the open frequency, let alone a command-and-control aircraft.

“This is AWACS Bandog, Authentication code Delta dash four five six dash three four five dash alpha. I have troops in contact and need immediate assistance.”

Without hesitating, Paul quickly pulled up a program to verify the authenticity of the given codes.

Carefully, he typed in D-456-345-A into the box and waited. After a second, the screen displayed a series of warnings on the code no longer being authorized. Dismissing them he was provided with a service number of the AWACS assigned to that code, a Major based out of Zapland during the last war.

 

Paul frowned but gave the go-ahead to his subordinate.

“Understood push Jaguar two” the sergeant directed.

“This is Bandog, I have a broken arrow situation, Coordinates to follow when ready.” The man on the other end of the radio said. Paul could feel a slight pit form in his stomach at the term. Broken arrow was a hardly if ever used term for friendly forces in immediate danger of being overrun by a hostile force, it had been used only a handful of times in the most desperate of situations.

 

Bandog read off coordinates allowing another staff member to pull up the region on their map. The coordinates given were to a piece of nondescript jungle, thirty miles from the old ISAF Istas Fortress complex.

The sergeant muted his radio and turned to Paul. “Sir, he says there’s a Osean Marine squad out there, eleven-man team, taking casualties. Reports enemy anti-air and helicopter forces in the area have already shot down their helicopter and air support units.” The Sergeant reported.

Paul turned to another one of his staffers “Any teams we know working out there?” he asked. The staff member looking shrugged “Army Special Warfare has no records of a team operating in that area, Im calling Oured now to see if any of them know about it.”

Turning his attention back to the sergeant “Ask him which unit.” He directed “I swear if this is another crank call.” He muttered to himself.

“Whats the news?” a voice asked walking up to Paul’s station, it was the regional commander, Army Colonel Chris Duber. Paul shrugged “Apparently we have an Osean unit in Chopinburg that no one has account of, with an AWACS that no one knows about using codes for someone whose existence stopped about a year ago. We’re verifying the information now.” Paul reported.

Duber furrowed his brow. “I’ll leave the choice up to you on how to handle it, just keep me informed.” The senior officer directed taking a step back.

 

Paul sighed. “Ok, someone get our airbases in the region called up. If this is true, I don’t want us caught with our pants around our ankles again, I want them in the air immediately.” He ordered, quickly the remaining staff got to work, within minutes he had a report of available assets in the region and notifications which squadrons were already airborne and where displayed on his computer screen.

 

“Sir?” One of his staffers spoke up. “What is it?” Paul replied annoyed. “Its Oured sir, I have a Colonel Mancuso on the line, says he needs to speak with you.” Paul stood up straighter. “Fine, patch him through.”

***

Loud sirens blared throughout the Selatapura ramp area as pilots and aircrew dashed between jets.

“Scramble, Scramble, Scramble!” a female voice repeated over the loudspeakers. Knocker almost falling out of the crew van as he ran to his Super Hornet, already ready to go thanks to the quick work of his crew chief and a handful of maintainers nearby. Throwing on his helmet, he tossed the canvas helmet bag to his Crew chief “What do we have?” Knocker asked as he took a second to adjust his harness. The intel briefing had been extremely sparse on details beyond a heading and distance, compounded with the extreme nature of deploying both the ground alert as well as the air alert fighters made the hair on the back of Knocker’s neck stand on end. The crew chief shrugged “Your plane and Cringe’s are ready to go, we’re expecting to have the rest of the ordinance loaded on the rest of the jets within the next half hour.” The crew chief reported. Knocker nodded approvingly before climbing up the ladder “Good, they’ve been itching for something to do.” He shouted as he signaled the engine start.

 

Within minutes, His jet was taxiing out behind his wingman. Knocker took a second to tune to the tower’s frequency.

“Selatapura Ground, Golem One flight of two, Taxiing to the active runway.” He called.

“Golem One, Wind calm, cleared for departure runway two-zero. We’ve got all flights stacked up and holding” The controller replied.

“Cleared for takeoff Runway two-zero, Golem One.” Knocker replied.

The two F/A-18s entered the runway, separated by the centerline, Knocker looked over to his wingman who nodded that he was ready, He placed his head back to the headrest and nodded himself and lit the afterburners. The engines roared as the jet screamed down the runway, within seconds the Hornets had hit rotation speed and were airborne in an unrestricted climb east over the bay.

As the two fighters rolled out onto their headings, Knocker double-checked his stores page on the MFD. Since him and his wingman were the ground alert, their Hornets were left with two Sidewinders, two GBU-12 laser-guided bombs and two rocket pods for close air support. The extra two fuel tanks bought the fighters a precious extra few minutes of cruise time before they would have to return to Selatapura or hit a tanker to refuel.

Knocker switched from the Selatapura frequency over to the local AWACS. “Skycatcher, this is Golem One, checking in as fragged.”

“Golem One, Skycatcher, Proceed heading Zero-niner-Zero for three hundred eighty.” The AWACS directed.

Knocker was unphased by the distance; Despite being at the edge of the combat radius for the jet, it was still doable. However, something was still nagging at him.

“Skycatcher, Golem One, any updates on what the mission is?”

There was a pause “Looks like we have troops in contact and are about to be overrun, Local air support was shot down. At least one Anti-air battery is active but no word on enemy air power.” The AWACS Reported.

“But we’re in contact with them? Why can’t we get any more solid intel then that?” Knocker pressed.

“Unknown, intel’s being passed by an AWACS in the area with direct contact, you’ll be passed off to them on Jaguar Two, callsign ‘Bandog’.” Skycatcher replied apologetically.

Knocker frowned “Understood.”

***

Fick watched dumbfounded at the scene directly above his head. The AT-802 that Trigger had just been in, was now a flaming wreckage plummeting towards the jungle below the mesa, as the plane fell further and further towards the ground, parts were torn from the burning wreckage.

“Does anyone see a chute?” Gunnery Sergeant Morgan barked.

“Come on Trigger, bail out!” shouted Adams.

 

Their pleas fell on deaf ears, or worse. Fick closed his eyes for a moment and recentered himself as he continued his run through the woods away from the compound with Hernandez. He cleared a small log and came across two armed men, their cloths were charred, and they looked bloodied and dazed taking little notice of the armed Osean that had jumped between them. Fick raised his Block II CQB M4 and with two quick trigger pulls, the men were dispatched.

“We have to go get him!” pleaded Kyle.

Fick motioned for Hernandez to stop and took a knee pulling out his tactical pad. Thanks to Bandog, it provided him with some details on where his scattered team was, as well as potential exfiltration options if the need arose.  Him and Hernandez were close enough to the helicopter’s crash site to hear their gunfire. Morgan, Dennings, Kyle and Haver were still pinned down and their position marker wasn’t moving. Gently putting the device back in its pouch, he gave the hand signal for Hernandez to move. It was a short walk to the edge of the tree line where they could see it. The bases’ defenders were in shambles, the attempted offenses against his men had resulted in heavy casualties. The tree line a hundred meters east of them was burning, between the craters of Trigger’s rocket attack was the dead or dying men. Directly ahead of the two Oseans, about three hundred meters was the shattered remains of the CH-53 and its occupants, returning fire from the multiple open holes in the torn apart fuselage. Between the two groups was a loosely organized group of riflemen, most seemingly clad in whatever they had on, with only a few Fick could see wearing any semblance of body armor or equipment.

“What are you thinking El-tee?” Hernandez whispered.

“I think they’re amateurs.” Fick replied.

“What do you mean?”

“They left their rear flank unprotected.” Fick replied.

Hernandez chuckled “Damn shame. About the only thing going for them is their spacing.”

“That’s true, would be too easy to lob a forty mike-mike in between them. But at least the target practice is refreshing.” Fick bantered.

 

He paused to key his radio.

“Assassin, this is Magus. cease fire on my mark, friendlies will be coming from the tree line and are going to link up with you. How copy.” Fick called out.

Another rapid burst of machine gun fire stitched across the ground in front of him before the radio squawked “Assassin copies all, On your mark Magus.” Zhao replied.

Fick and Hernandez took a second to ready themselves.

“3, 2, 1, Mark!” Fick yelled over the radio as he and Hernandez started running. Three hundred meters from the crash site.

 

At two hundred and fifty meters, the attackers started to leave their cover, Fick slowed from the full sprint and rested his red dot on the backs of the closest men. While running he fired the first burst, bullets stitching up the back of one man sending him spasming to the ground. The second man started to turn before the bullets struck him sending him to the ground. As Fick adjusted his aim to the third man, he tumbled and rolled thanks to an inopportune root sticking out of the ground.

 

Winded, He took a second to see Hernandez had cleared some distance between him and was finishing off the last of the attackers. Assessing his own injuries, Fick could feel a slight pain from his ankle and knee, hoping to rely on the adrenaline as an analgesic, he continued his run. Two hundred meters to go.

Seconds later, Hernandez called over the radio “Berserker, set!”, slowed to an awkward hop, He could see Adams and Zhao take up positions to cover Fick the rest of his way.

 

A dull beat of rotor blades filled Fick’s ears.

“Hinds! Take cover!” Morgan shouted.

Fick looked to the North and saw the unmistakable silhouettes barreling towards him. He was one hundred and fifty meters from safety, but with an injured leg and in the middle of an open field, it seemed impossibly far away.

The Earth seemed to open up around Fick as he ran and the next thing, he knew he was in extreme pain as the world faded around him.
***

Morgan and his team were in the shredded fuselage of one of the Cargo planes. Trigger had broken their lines momentarily, but it wouldn’t be forever. He glanced at what his team had left and pulled out one of the hastily thrown together charts of the Airfield. Glancing over the cover he finished his hasty plan. “Haver, Dennings, drop your gear, anything you absolutely don’t need to fight.” Morgan ordered.

“Uhh, Why Gunny?” Haver asked confused but complying, quickly tearing off parts of his vest and kit.

Morgan Pointed to a hangar “That’s probably your best spot for cover right now, I’ll buy you, Kyle and Dennings time to run there, and you three hole up there and wait for me to get Lancer.”

“That’s suicide Morgan.” Kyle protested.

The senior NCO shook his head “I can move faster than you three and have been doing this a lot longer. By my count we still have enough ammo for the 46 to make some noise so I’ll use that then dump it and run like hell.”

“But that’s almost a klick of open terrain with no Cover, not even you can survive that.” Haver pointed out.

“there’s a small runoff ditch alongside the Runway, It’s a bit more of a hike but I should be able to do it.” Morgan reassured them.

“No sense in talking him out of it. Let’s get going.” Haver said, lifting the smaller Dennings over his back into a fireman’s carry. Morgan picked up the almost depleted Mk-46 and ran out of the plane first, He had 30 rounds of ammunition left, plus another two mags for his rifle and then he would be down to his pistol.

 

Getting into the prone position, he looked through the holographic sight, The Airfields defenders were still scattered, and most of the main force that had attacked them was dead or dying thanks to Trigger.

“Go now!” Morgan barked as he scanned the area.

It was a few seconds before anyone had noticed the Marines running. Morgan rested the reticle on the first man he saw raise a weapon towards the trio and fired a quick burst. A Second group heard the commotion and started moving towards the first man as he was cut down, Morgan readjusted his aim muttering die motherfucker die before letting off the trigger. The hail of gunfire hit two of the oncoming group and stunned the rest. Morgan fired again and the rest fell or retreated from their dying comrades.

 

As Morgan continued his scan for threats, he noticed a high-pitched sound followed by the unmistakable beating or rotor blades. He looked up to see the almost reptilian shape of a Gunship approaching the airfield.

“Hinds! Take cover!” Morgan shouted.

 

A plume of smoke shot from the pylons of the gunship with the high-pitched whistle of rockets, immediately following the dull thump of explosions.

“Status!” Morgan barked into his radio. He felt sick as the silence dragged on.

He could hear coughing over the radio “Fuck!” Adams yelled in astonishment. Magus is down! I repeat, Magus is down!” Zhao called out. Morgan could see tracer rounds trailing the helicopter as it passed. He turned his attention back towards Kyle and Haver. The two men were almost at the entrance of the hangar. Morgan quickly pulled the M249 apart and threw the trigger assembly and bolt as far away as he could before getting up and making his own run towards the Runway. He ran the first one thousand feet unchallenged as he fell into the ditch. Two more gunships arrived with what Morgan assumed was the reinforcements.

 

He took a breath before he began his crawl across the ditch. He flinched as he heard the rapid report of one of the Hind escorts firing its gatling gun, looking over his shoulder he could see it was harmlessly firing towards his old hiding spot in the plane. Good, they don’t know where we are yet. He thought as he crossed the threshold of the runway.

Rounding the final corner of the runway and towards the crashed CH-53, Morgan could see the deployment of the cartel’s forces. It was a group of Mi-8 ‘Hip’ transport helicopters, one hovered above the airfield, while the four remaining had landed at various points across the airfield grounds. Protecting all of them was the three Hind gunships that could easily tear the remaining marines apart.

 

One of the Hips had landed nearby the crashed CH-53, likely looking for survivors Morgan thought to himself.

 

He got within five hundred feet before he stopped in his tracks.

 

The Helicopter hadn’t finished offloading its troops yet. Half a dozen men, armed similarly to the ones that had attacked him and Trigger some days prior were fanning out towards the crashed CH-53. Two of the men stopped about three hundred feet from the crashed helicopter and were kicking something. One of the men raised his rifle before collapsing to the ground, as the sound of gunfire registered with both the armed soldiers and Morgan, he could see someone running from the wreckage of the helicopter, a hail of gunfire cut down the second man. As the rest of the soldiers took notice of their sudden attacker, he quickly readjusted his aim and cut them down with a fan of bullets.

“Shéi shì xià yīgè!” Zhao bellowed in a language Morgan didn’t understand. Morgan watched as he lowered the MG3 and pulled something from his vest and threw it into the open cabin full of bewildered looking soldiers.  “Nǐ ne?” He said rhetorically as the men frantically scrambled inside the cabin. A muted explosion tore the sides of the helicopter out as the grenade detonated killing those trapped inside. The engines wailed a sickening scream as the debris tore them apart, the pilots dead or unable to stop the catastrophe from tearing the helicopter to pieces.  

“Moving to get Magus!” Adams yelled as he and another, who Morgan assumed was Hernandez, ran from the fuselage towards the area where the first two soldiers had been cut down. Morgan surveyed the area around him and started his run towards the downed helicopter. “Rider, coming in from the North” Morgan yelled as he ran. “Behind you, more Arschlöcher” Ben reported. Morgan looked over his shoulder to see soldiers that had dismounted were moving towards their position. Morgan could see flashes of small arms fire as someone from inside the helicopter fired a handgun towards the approaching force.

 

He arrived at the torn fuselage in around a minute, bullets sparked around him sporadically as Ben ushered him in, one arm in a makeshift sling and tied to his side while the other grasped a Walther P1. Inside the helicopter was a mess, Hernandez had quickly triaged the helicopters wounded co-pilot, who appeared to be unconscious, medical packaging was strewn around as well as various other equipment bags that had been thrown loose from the crash.

“Incoming!” Hernandez yelled as him and Adams carried something into helicopter. It was a body, the cloths were charred and covered in mud and blood. The limbs were hanging in unnatural directions or were missing entirely. Morgan was taken aback when he recognized the face under the blood and grime.

Hernandez gave him a shove “Either help me out or get the fuck out of my way, he’s not dead yet.” The corpsman said grimly running towards the medical bag.

 

“Ok Zhao, get your ass back in here.” Adams said over the radio.

“No, you need someone to buy time. I’ll do it.” Zhao said.

“Enough with the macho shit.” Dennings yelled over the radio.

Adams looked to Morgan in desperation, “Come on man, you’re the ranking one now, do something.”

“Zhao, that Hind will tear you apart.” Morgan said

Morgan watched helplessly as he saw what happened next.

 

Zhao ripped out his earpiece and lifted the machine gun, starting in a sprint he closed the distance towards the runway. The enemy soldiers were taken aback momentarily at the lone man’s charge but quickly halted to take aim. Zhao threw himself forward into a prone position and fired towards the organized group, the Armor piercing rounds killing a small handful of the soldiers and scattering the rest across the damaged runway. As soon as Zhao let off the trigger, the soldiers were moving to flank the marine. He took a knee and fired towards one group as they approached, killing many of them before he was shot in the back and fell forward.

“Tom!” Morgan yelled in horror.

He could see the men cautiously approach the downed marine. Their rifles raised apprehensively they got within steps of the older man. Within the span of a heartbeat though, Tom had flipped onto his back and with his service pistol and killed the four men with what Morgan guessed was a Mozambique drill to each of them. He dropped the nearly spent magazine and inserted a fresh magazine, taking a knee he grabbed the body of one of the dead soldiers and put it between him and the still incoming force. He aimed and fired, killing many, but it was a losing battle. One soldier got within steps of Zhao and before the Marine could turn to face him, he fired a burst from an AK into the wounded Marine.

 

Morgan watched in horror as he saw his longtime friend and teammate collapse, unmoving.

“Tom! Tom! Speak to me!” Morgan ordered.

 

Gut wrenching silence was his answer.

 

“Those Motherfuckers!” Adams screamed as he raised his rifle, the back of the head of Zhao’s executioner exploded as the bullet passed through it. Adams readjusted his aim and fired and continued firing until his magazine was dry. Each shot killing another man, but Morgan could recognize the situation that was developing. Hernandez turned his attention from the wounded Fick towards Morgan.

“What’s your order’s Gunny?” the Corpsman asked solemnly.

 

Morgan glanced to make eye contact with those left who could fight. “Do any of you honestly think they’ll take us as POWs?” he asked rhetorically “Then we do our jobs, fight to the last bullet and make damn sure they pay for what they’ve done.” He growled. Ben and Adams nodded solemnly understanding, Hernandez pointed his thumb at the wounded. “What about them?”

“If it looks like we’re going to be overrun. I’ll handle it.” Morgan replied grimly.

 

Morgan looked outside and watched the enemy force close in around the crashed helicopter. One lone Hind gunship hovered just behind them to cover their advance.

 

“Adams, any chance you can pop the pilot?” Morgan asked.

The sniper thought for a moment. “Not a chance, I’d need a fifty cal at least.”

“Damn, was worth a shot.” Morgan replied dryly.

 

As he raised his rifle, he watched as in slow motion, the nose of the Hind deform and explode in a fireball, within seconds the burning wreckage impacted the ground on top of the advancing soldiers. Morgan shot his head up to see a wispy white trail in the sky. Seconds later a crack was heard as another trail impacted the over-flying Hip.

 

The two remaining Hinds scattered, one Hind firing off flares and chaff outmaneuvered the incoming missile, his wingman was unlucky as the incoming missile made contact and detonated against the fuselage.

 

“Magus, Bandog, Mark position with smoke.” The AWACS’ voice came over the radio.

“What?” Morgan asked bewildered.

“Magus, mark your position with smoke now!” Bandog replied forcefully.  Morgan nodded to Adams who threw tossed the small circular grenade to the side of the torn aircraft, it paused for a second after landing before making a loud Pop belching out a bright red smoke.

 

“Rider to Bandog, friendly force marked by red smoke, be advised, friendlies in the hangars.” Morgan reported.

This time a different voice spoke out over the radio “Golem 1 to Rider, understand buildings are non-targets and have red smoke in sight. Take cover” the voice said, far calmer than both Bandog or Morgan could be.

 

“Get your heads down! Fire incoming!” Morgan bellowed to the Marines.

From his vantage point, He watched as the approaching soldiers were eviscerated, a sickening loud slapping sound could be heard as the canon rounds sprinkled the ground, followed by the recognizable high-pitched whirring of a gatling gun and the unmistakable sound of jet engines roaring up above.

“Hell Yeah!” Adams hollered pumping his fist.

 

The few enemy soldiers that were still standing appeared dazed momentarily at the sudden onslaught from seemingly nowhere, however seconds later they too were mercilessly cutdown by a second strafe of gunfire from the approaching fighter jets.

 

“This is Golem 1-2, Egressing North-west, Standing by for BDA.” A female voice spoke over the radio.

***

Knocker pulled up on the stick and leveled off followed a second later by the report of his wingman Lieutenant Ann ‘Vix’ Fox.

“Golem 1-2, BDA, 100 over 100, Good shooting Golem.” One of the friendlies on the ground reported.

Knocker breathed a slight sigh of relief at the report. Very few of his pilots had air-to-ground practice prior to the war, and even their employment of weapons during the final days had been sparce, however Vix and him were able to easily pull off a textbook shooter-shooter pass near the friendly position.

“Mage, Bandog, be advised, we have one Hind still active.” Bandog warned.

“Understood, Mage 1 moving to engage. Hades stay on CAP and cover me.” IRIS ordered. “Two” Hades replied immediately.

 

 

As the two hornets made their pass back towards the airfield, Knocker watched IRIS’ Viper dive towards the Hind. “Mage 1, Fox two!” She shouted, a long finger trail of rocket exhaust extended from one of her wings and exploded against the rotors of the gunship. Within a second the torn and burning fuselage disappeared into the jungle below before a brilliant fireball erupted from the dense canopy.

“Mage 1, splashed the bandit.” IRIS reported climbing back to her contracted altitude to join her wingman.

 

 “Golem 1-1, Rider 1-4, Standby for Nine-line, how copy?” The JTAC from before called in.

“Rider, Golem 1-1, standing by.” Knocker replied.

“Over red smoke, Heading zero-seven-three magnetic. Distance zero point three nautical miles. Target elevation eight six five MSL. 1 Triple-A Emplacement near large compound. Unable to mark. Friendlies north point three miles. Danger close. Egress Northeast. End nine-line. Standby for secondary target” The JTAC reported.

 

“Send second target.” Knocker replied. The JTAC complied and provided a large ground force that was gathering north of the runway, safely far away from the friendlies in the Hangars.

 

“Vix, you take the north target, I’ll take the south runway target. Plan using the Paveways.” Knocker ordered.

“Got it lead.” Vix replied. “Ok I got the target marked.” She reported.

Knocker quickly typed in the information onto the MFD, the image from the LITENING Pod underneath his fuselage came up, he quickly slewed the camera over the compound he had flown over and switched from the TV mode to the white-hot image, suddenly he could make out the distinct shape of an antiquated anti-air battery just beyond the walls of the compound, nearby was one of the Mi-8 helicopters that had disembarked its troops around the compound. He flipped on the laser to mark the target and a countdown appeared on his HUD.

 

As the two jets crossed over the smoke, Knocker reported inbound.

 

“Golem 1, Golem 2, Cleared hot.” The JTAC ‘Rider’ replied.

 

“Golem 2, bombs away.” Vix reported.

 

Knocker waited for the countdown timer on his HUD to disappear, with a single press of the pickle button, he felt the weight of the Hornet shift suddenly as the five-hundred-pound bomb fell off the pylon. Knocker passed over the heart of the compound, and in the FLIR’s camera, could see incoming flak shells, passing harmlessly behind him. “Golem 1, bombs away” Knocker reported.

 

A second later the gun and the personnel taking cover nearby vanished in an explosion of dirt and debris, trees fell under the immense force. He watched as the helicopter shuddered and pirouetted into the compound wall unceremoniously as the rotors disintegrated from the debris.

 

Knocker rolled his fighter over and positioned himself to rejoin on Vix’s aircraft.

“Golem 1 awaiting BDA.” Knocker replied, a formality but judging from the explosions he could see from his altitude, their attacks were effective.

“Golem, good effect on target, looks like they’re on the run.” The JTAC replied.

 

Soon Vix spoke up on the radio. “Golem 1, got visual on large enemy formation, looks to be a bivouac near those two Mi-8’s just east of the burning sector.” she reported.

 

Knocker slewed his targeting pod over the area, their formation was sloppy but still showed that whoever they were dropping ordinance on was at least a competent foe.

“Ok I got it, need me to lase for you?” Knocker asked.

“Negative, I have the target marked.”

“Alright, cleared hot.”  Knocker ordered.

 

He watched as Vix broke off from the formation and rolled in on the target. A second later he could see the bomb drop from Vix’s Hornet as she pulled “Golem 1-2, one away” she reported egressing her aircraft south of the airfield. The laser guided bomb impacted in the middle of the formation, within the large cloud of dirt and concrete that was thrown high into the air, Knocker could see muted secondary explosions, likely of the helicopters being shredded by the maelstrom of fragmentation.

“Good hit Golem 2. Rejoin on me” Knocker reported.  “Two.” Vix replied.

 

When he saw the Hornet close in on his wing, he motioned for a wheel formation before turning his attention back towards the ground. “Rider 1-4, Golem 1-1, What’s your status?” Knocker asked.

 

“Thanks for the air support Golem, looks like we have a few scattered forces nearby but for now they’re not a threat.” The JTAC replied.

 

The Hornets and Vipers lingered over the airspace for a handful of more minutes, occasionally performing ‘show of force’ maneuvers as directed by the JTAC to keep the scattered hostile forces on the backfoot.

 

“Golem 1-1, Mage 1-1, Bandog, take up heading one-eight-zero for one hundred and four miles to refuel with Friendly tankers.” The AWACS ordered; Knocker checked his fuel gauge above his left knee. With the tanker that close, his bingo state was far lower than he had programed.

“Understood Bandog, but we still have a few minutes left on station.”

“We got friendly units inbound. Golem, Mage, your relieved.” Bandog reiterated.

 

Knocker sighed. “You heard it ladies and gents, form up and lets head to that tanker.”

***

Bandog pushed back from the console and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The marines for the time being were safe from immediate danger, and while he had sent away their air cover, he was watching the target track of the Osean Air Defense Force CV-22 Ospreys closing in only minutes away, with more fighters from Selatapura close behind them. It was an awesome show of force that the air battle manager wished he had windows to witness instead of relying on the Saab’s sensor suite.

 

He unzipped a pocket on his leather A2 jacket and pulled out a worn box of cigarettes, he pulled one out with his teeth and with his free hand, fished in his flight suit pocket for a zippo lighter. Turning on the torch, a small blue flame jutted out with a subtle roar. Before he could light his reward however, he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

“Uhh, Boss.” David said, tapping a large NO SMOKING sign plastered on the bulkhead in front of him. He hissed briefly but complied closing his lighting and shoving the cigarette back into the pouch.

“Why is it I can buy an airplane, with my own money, but I’m still not allowed to smoke on it?” Bandog asked annoyed.

David shrugged and thumbed towards the cockpit. “I don’t think you want to test their rules. They sound like my mom on car rides.” He said jokingly.

Bandog shook his head dismissively. “Whatever, Lets just hope this doesn’t turn into more of a shitshow than it already is. Any word on that tanker?” Bandog asked.

David shook his head “Yep, IUN finally got off their ass and is sending a tanker up now, should get there right before Golem or Mage do. Damn Bulgurdarestian Air Force was throwing a fit over it though. You don’t have the proper clearance this and I want to speak to your commanding officer that.” David said in a mocking tone.

“Well, I guess I can’t count on a Christmas card from them any time soon then I take it. Too bad.” Bandog replied, unable to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

 

The two men watched their respective scopes and listened to the radio traffic for a short time. Bandog continuously switched his radio between the distress frequencies, and back to the airspace. He knew it was a long shot judging from what Morgan and the other’s had relayed to him, but if Trigger was out there, Bandog hoped he would be smart enough to at least get a message through.

 

“Huh weird.” David murmured. Causing Bandog to perk up “What is it?”

David shook his head “Probably just a bad track but I got another aircraft leaving the AO.”

Bandog pulled up the screen David was referencing, Whatever the target was, was slow moving and low enough to the ground it was disappearing and reappearing from the screen.

“Well, it’s probably not one of those fighters, hold on.” He said keying his radio. “Rider, Bandog, are there any Helo’s left that just departed?” Bandog asked.

“Negative Bandog, None of the Hips or Hinds are still active.” Morgan replied.  

Bandog exhaled sharply. “Keep track on that target, I want to know where it goes and when we first and last saw it.” he ordered.

“Righto.” David replied.

 

The radio once again crackled to life. “Bandog, Lancer 3-1, flight of four V-22’s, inbound to the airfield.”

Bandog shot David a confused glance “That’s not the Pararescue, is it?” Bandog asked rhetorically.

David shook his head “Nothing I was told about. No.”

Bandog shrugged. “Guess we need to make ourselves sparce here pretty soon.” He chuckled before keying his radio. “Lancer, this is Bandog, be advised we had friendly aircraft that will be stacked Angels twelve to angels two four, along with friendly V-22’s already on station providing CASEVAC to wounded.” Bandog said over the radio.

“Understand that, our mission is different to the ongoing operation.” The Lancer pilot replied.

Bandog shot a look to David who got up from his seat, and without saying a word, proceeded to the cockpit.

“Understood Lancer, be advised we still have enemy forces active in the area but your cleared in.” Bandog replied.

 

As he felt the Saab changing course, him and David went about shutting down the sensor suite on the aircraft, from here on out it was an entirely Osean operation to control.

Chapter 42

 FORTY-TWO

Trigger glanced out the window of the Longsword, despite their advanced preparations the day prior, the Marines were still unable to depart until early in the morning, costing them not only precious nighttime, but potentially the element of surprise. The sun’s glow cresting over the horizon in front of him gave the sky a rosy-pink color, making him sure that the dark blues of his Longsword and the muted greens and blacks of the Belkan’s CH-53 would stand out even more than normal.

 

There was little fanfare when Fick had approached the rest of Basilisk about what Colonel Mancuso had said. Trigger tried not to think on if it was a sense of comradery or just dedication to the mission that pushed their potentially mutinous actions. Trigger wasn’t sure what to expected, but the reaction from the team was muted at best. Some like Zhao and Morgen nodded, others like Kyle, Haver and Dennings cracked a smile or made a joke, but there were no outbursts of emotion. They were all professionals dedicated to their craft, diligently preparing until the Belkan’s had reported themselves ready for departure. Unlike other missions, Bandog had not been there to see them off, instead departing when David had arrived with Ben and Erwin in tow.

 

“Lancer, crossing point Claudia” Ben reported in his gravelly voice, the sounds of the foreign language were strained and awkward. Trigger hadn’t seen much of the man when he arrived at their compound late in the evening, but the few glances he had seen of Ben and his crew chief, both men had a familiar look. It was the same look Trigger had seen on the faces of both pilots at Fort Grays and his own friends at the LRSSG. It was a burning hatred and need to enact great violence against those who had wronged them. Trigger frowned; it was the same look he had worn plenty of times. I wonder if I would be the same if it had been Cossette? Trigger thought to himself.

 

 Trigger turned his attention towards the MFD in the cockpit. He could see the datalink between the CH-53 and his aircraft, as well as their positions on their route towards the target. He was about twenty miles ahead of the Helicopter and another fifteen from the target.

“Archer, crossing Miyako” Trigger reported over the radio glancing through the weapons stores page one last time. Rockets and guns, and not a pound for air-to-air. Look what’s become of me. Trigger chuckled shaking his head at the thought.

 

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. It was a familiar voice to Trigger, one he had heard what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Bandog is Sunrise.”.

Trigger was taken off guard “Bandog, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Picked up an old AEW plane a few weeks back. Was gonna turn around and sell it but I think it’s put to better use right here helping you out Spare- I mean Archer- 15.” Bandog replied.

Trigger laughed ecstatically at the report. “What’s the plan then for you?”

“If nothing else I will be the C2 for this operation, Wish I could tie into some actual ISR units, but I can at least watch the skies and try to keep them clear.”

“What a good little guard dog” Trigger quipped.

“You know I could probably find another dark hole to stick you in Trigger. Places that make Zapland look like a Club Med in comparison.” Bandog shot back.  

“I hear Romny is wonderful this time of year.” Kyle interjected. “Sorosca too.” Haver added.

“Bandog, any indication they’ve seen us yet?” Fick asked, bringing everyone back to the mission at hand.

“Well, if they have, they’re being awfully quiet about it. No movement on our scopes and nothing heard over their unencrypted frequencies.” Bandog reported. “Are you sure they’re unencrypted?” Fick asked concerned.

“Positive, it was one of Park’s many complaints. But getting that equipment to work was too hard apparently for them, so they use cyphers instead. Amateurs.” Bandog replied.

“Well even amateurs can get lucky. Keep us posted.” Fick ordered.

“Regardless, Scope looks clean so I think we should leave it to Trigger to give them one hell of a wakeup call.” Bandog said.

Trigger flashed a predatory grin “gladly” he said, flipping the MASTER ARM switch to ARM. He was within five miles of the Mesa, squinting through the glare of the rising sun, he could make out the two hangars and long runway that bisected the outcrop.

“Archer 15, tally on the target.” Trigger reported.

“Archer 15, clear to engage.” Bandog replied.

 

Trigger pushed the power lever to the forward stop and nosed the Longsword over, using the toggles on his stick he selected the rocket pods, a CCIP reticle appeared onto his HUD. As he got within half a mile of the runway, he laughed as lights slowly illuminated, outlining the runway and taxiways of the airfield.

How thoughtful He thought to himself as he rested the rockets Pipper on top of the large 22 painted in white on the runway. Darting his eyes towards the end of the runway, he could see two aircraft sitting on the approach end that appeared to have not started their takeoff roll yet.

Not your lucky day. Trigger said resting his thumb on the pickle button, as the Pipper hit the captains bars, Trigger could see the afterburners ignite on one of the aircraft, followed a second later by his wingman.

 

He held the pickle button for a second, he could feel a slight jitter in the controls as half a dozen 2.75-inch rockets flew from the launchers. The total flight time of the rocket was less than a second as each impacted the ground, each individual 2-pound warhead exploding in a muted ball of fragmentation and debris from the runway. Trigger watched as the departing fighter’s pilot tried in vain to avoid the wall of destruction coming towards him, despite being spared the carnage of the initial explosion, the pilot was at the mercy of the rocks and shrapnel flying towards him.

 

Trigger banked the Longsword into a steep right turn to watch the lead fighter’s engines belch a fireball as its engine disintegrated, the wounded aircraft pitched up rapidly briefly becoming airborne, until it violently rolled onto its back and into the path of the second plane. The first planes fuel tanks had just begun to rupture as the trailing aircraft collided into the fuselage, sending a spalling ball of fire careening down the runway.  “Splash two” Trigger reported, easing off his turn and shifting his attention towards the rest of the airfield.

 

Lights were flickering on in some of the buildings of a compound south of the airfield as well as the two hangars seen on all the photos Bandog had provided. The glow of the sudden ambient light illuminating the ramp enough that he could make two larger cargo aircraft parked as well as the silhouettes of six smaller aircraft. He slewed the Longswords targeting pod to mark the vehicles and buildings he could see, each target appearing as a yellow square in his eyepiece.

“Archer, Lancer, status of LZ?” Ben called out.

Trigger slewed the pod towards the planned LZ for the CH-53, a stretch of apron space between the fuel tanks and hangars, He could make out small shapes darting back and forth as the airbases personnel we’re reacting to the sudden crash of two of their fighters.

“LZ is cherry.” Trigger reported, switching to his guns. Cutting the power, Trigger made a diving turn and lined up on the LZ.

He could hear a rapid staccato as stray rounds struck the metal fuselage of the Longsword. Continuing his dive under the onslaught of incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. Fire belched from underneath his feet as the twin 50 caliber gatling guns painted a stream of tracer fire onto the LZ, each round exploding on impact with the ground killing those unlucky enough to be nearby. Trigger pulled back on the stick, and under the strain of the sudden onset of G’s fired off a handful of self-defense flares. Easing off the controls, he unloaded the aircraft and took up an orbit over the airfield.

“LZ is Ice.” Trigger reported.

“Lancer IP inbound” Ben replied.

“Continue” Trigger said.

 

Slewing the Targeting pod around, Trigger found two jets next to the fuel tanks near the end of the runway, switching to a white-hot camera, he could see vapors from the tail pipes of both aircraft.

 

“Archer 15, Engaging the fuel farm.” Trigger reported as he broke off his orbit. Cutting his turn in, he switched back to the rockets. Again, with a brief press of the pickle button and shudder from his wings, a dozen 70mm rockets raced from the Longsword and detonated against the tanks instantaneously rupturing the tanks and sending the fuel explosion outwards, consuming the two fighters and half a dozen personnel scattered around the jets into the raging inferno. As Trigger flew over the fireball, the plane shook violently from the sudden onset of turbulent air and the temperature inside the cockpit noticeably rose.

 

“What the hell was that?” Fick barked over the radio.

“We could see it on our scopes too, Trigger care to elaborate?” Bandog inquired.

Trigger chuckled softly to himself clearing his throat, “What can I shay? I have a bit of an exploshive pershonality” he replied, mimicking the accent of an actor he used to watch as a kid.

“Ever the joker, aren’t you Trigger.” Bandog said in admonishment.  “How many did you take out that time?”

Trigger shrugged in his harness “Hard to say, I think that’s two more machines down though.”

“Understood, get back to it.” Bandog ordered.

 

Trigger could now see a concerted effort from the ground. Flashes of small arms fire danced across the grounds of the airport.

 

Suddenly, a brilliant flash from the ground caught his attention, arcing up in front of him with an insidious red glow, then, it suddenly terminated with a black, comically puffy cloud. Immediately followed a second later by another cloud, this time far closer.

“Flak!” Trigger yelled over the radio, firewalling the Air Tractors throttle, and desperately trying to climb from their engagement zone, a tall order for a gun designed to shoot down high-altitude bombers nearly a century prior.

“Lancer holding off, anti-air is too heavy” one of the Belkans reported, Trigger didn’t pay close attention, nor did he care as he desperately weaved the lumbering aircraft through the anti-air fire, immediately missing the F-15 and its excess power and higher service ceiling than the Air Tractors suddenly middling 13,000 feet.

Running low on options and out of any better plans, Trigger took a deep breath and rolled the Longsword onto its back, pulling hard. He would only have a handful of seconds and one shot to see his plan through. Ducking and jinking, Trigger dived towards the airfield, all it took was for one lucky Flak shell to impact the plane and he would be nothing more than a memory.

 

His eyes darted back and forth, until he recognized the pattern of where the fire was originating.  One between the runway and apron, in front of the hangars, and another two on either side of the compound.

 

Taking a deep breath, Trigger rested the targeting reticle over the flak gun on the ramp and opened fire, dumping a dozen rockets over the location before switching targets to the Flak gun east of the compound and repeating his barrage of rocket fire. Pulling back on the stick, Trigger wasn’t sure if the groaning of protest was from himself or the airframe around him as he desperately fought to arrest the potentially suicidal decent. His vision was narrowing by the time the nose started to race towards the horizon and was nearly a pinprick as he broke wings level. He gasped as he let off the pressure and felt the blood rush back into his head. Off in the distance, he could hear someone shouting.

“brbghs passed out.” He heard one male voice say,

“Trigger, can you hear me?” the voice asked again.  

Trigger swallowed “Yeah, I’m back.”

“Good, Lancer reported that you bagged one gun, and the other is quiet so he’s inbound to drop off Basilisk. Get your head in the game.” Bandog scolded.

Turning back towards the Airfield, Trigger could see the hulking silhouette of the CH-53 as in lowered itself onto the ground.

Within a second, it was airborne again, Trigger watched as a stream of tracers flowed from its cargo bay into the ramp below.

“Lifting, with zero six pax.” Ben reported. Trigger watched as six distinct blue diamonds appeared in his eyepiece.

“Rider, Archer, checking in, what do you have for me.” Trigger called out.

***
Morgan checked his gear for a final time as the helicopter descended towards the airfield, there was flashes in the windows as tracer rounds flew past the massive helicopter. He had two packs of C-4 plastic explosive, eight magazines for his HK-416 rifle and another four reserve for his M17, as well as a spare 200 round belt of ammo for the Mk 46 light machine gun that Dennings was carrying. As the helicopter got lower, Morgan could see Zhao and Adams at the rear of the Helicopter, trying in vain to arm the MG-3 that was gifted to them by the Belkan crew.

“What’s the problem?” Morgan yelled as he walked over, having to brace himself against the side of the fuselage as the Helicopter made evasive maneuvers.

“Belkan Engineering my ass!” yelled Zhao “Fucking piece of shit is impossible to load!”  

Morgan shook his head and assisted his comrades, pulling the charging handle back allowing the top cover to open, from there the two Marines were able to reload the weapon with ease.

“Well, when you put it that way, Now I feel like an idiot.” Adams quipped.

“Alright, Belkans say we’re one minute out, hit the door.” Barked Fick over the radio.

Complying, Adams pressed the ramp button and the outside light flooded in, reflexively Morgan raised his hands to shield his eyes from what he thought at first was blinding sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was instead a raging inferno quickly consuming the foliage and buildings along one corner of the airfield. More tracer fire filled the air as sparks flew inside the cabin of the helicopter from stray bullets.

“30 seconds!” Fick shouted.

Zhao braced himself and aimed the machine gun, with rapid bursts, he returned fire. The rapid staccato of the MG-3 reminded Morgan more of a minigun than a design that predated it by almost two decades.

 

A flurry of dirt and debris was flung wide from the rotor wash of the CH-53 as it landed with a jolt onto the burning grounds of the airfield.

“GO! GO! GO!” Fick yelled as the ground team ran out the back of the helicopter. Morgan was the tip of the spear for the charge, raising his rifle he rested the red dot on a disoriented looking man, with a three-round burst the unknown person crumpled to the ground.

Morgan found a piece of cover and surveyed the area, glancing briefly to see the Helicopter lifting off again, a stream of tracers followed by a dull roar pouring from the open cargo bay. Glancing over his cover, Morgan found one of the targets only three hundred feet from him.

“Magus 1-4, Rider 1-3, Got a target in sight, 100 Meters west” Morgan called out.

“Understood Rider, 2-6 and 3-4, give Rider covering fire!” Fick ordered both Kyle and Haver in response.

Looking to his left and right, Morgan made the mad dash towards the aircraft, despite the chaos around him, he found no one defending the jets or even within sight. He paused to look over the aircraft, letting his rifle hang by its sling and pulling out one of his C-4 packs and tossing it back and forth in his hands.  

 

Morgan had never been a major fan of aircraft, but did have a knack for identifying them, the jet in front of him left him for a loss, however. Its general size and shape were close to an F-20, but everything about it looked wrong. Instead of sleek aerodynamic edges, every part of the aircraft was harsh jagged lines, looking more like a crude carving than an actual aircraft. He walked over to one of the engine inlets and prepped the C-4 charge, with a small effort, he threw the block of explosives as far back into the compartment as he could before stepping away from the jet.

“Magus, Rider, got one charge planted.” Morgan reported.

 

A loud roar rang out above him as Trigger opened fire on a target Morgan couldn’t see. As the high-pitched whine of Trigger’s engine faded, Morgan could hear Fick’s voice over the radio.

“Say again?”

“Saber, Berserker 1-8 and I are attacking the compound, continue planting explosives on those jets and proceed to the regroup point.” Fick ordered.

“Wilco.” Morgan replied taking off down the ramp towards another jet. Halfway through his run he could see a group of armed men making their way towards another one of the aircraft seemingly taking no notice of Morgan. Morgan dropped to his knee and eyeballed the range, about 150 meters, and squeezed the 416’s trigger.

 

The first rifle burst flew low, catching the first man just above the knee. Collapsing in a pool of blood, Morgan moved the dot a bit higher in front of the second man and fired. The rounds flew dead center in the mans chest sending him to the ground stunned. By now the rest of the group recognized they were under attack and froze momentarily. Resting the red dot above where he thought the sternum was on one of the attackers, he fired and then reengaged the target behind him. The fourth man keeled over, spasmodically pulling the trigger on his rifle. With the fifth man stunned, he proved was easy work for Morgan and was dispatched quickly with a final burst sending him reeling backwards.

 

Morgan stood up and began his run again, dropping the nearly spent magazine and trading it for a fresh one. As Morgan got closer to the second jet, he could see two men lightly armed men scurrying around it, the one closest to the cockpit had a bright white helmet on and a loosely fitting harness over what appeared to be dirty coveralls, Morgan raised his rifle and shot the man, his blood splattering across the cockpit of the jet, the second man, underneath the jet turned to face Morgan, he fumbled with something in his waistband as Morgan turned the 416 towards him and fired, killing the man. Scanning the area for more threats, he turned his attention back to the jet and pulled out his last pack of explosives.

 

The jet had large red foam inlet covers, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT scrawled in large white lettering. Morgan let his rifle hang by the sling momentarily as he tore the cover out, tossing it aside.

A supersonic THWACK filled his ears as a bullet streaked over his head. Turning around behind him, he saw what was left of a man fall forward, the top of his head removed by the bullet.

“Thanks Rider 1-4” Morgan said over the radio net.

“You’re getting old 1-3.” Adams replied jokingly.

“Smartass” Morgan replied to himself shaking his head and tossing the last pack of explosives into the jet.

“Magus, Rider 1-4, last charge planted.” Morgan reported.

“Understood Magus, Regroup at my position. At the front of the compound.” Fick ordered.

 

Morgan looked, the direct route was almost a kilometer of open ground with very little cover, He would have to take a more circuitous route to evade any unwanted gunfire from the airbases remaining defenders.

***
The rockets exploded with muted balls of dirt and debris as the front gate of the compound was blown down.

What I wouldn’t give for a JDAM or laser guided bomb right about now. Trigger thought to himself as he passed over the compound. From what he could tell, the final ground for the Airbases forces was in a squat structure hidden within the foliage south of the airfield. Nestled between the dense trees and tall grass was a series of rapidly constructed concrete and metal buildings, designed as basic shelter from the elements and not a sustained attack from heavily armed aircraft.

“Archer 15 Off.” Trigger reported, climbing over the airfield again.

“Good hits Archer” Fick reported.

 

Trigger pulled up into a wheel around the airfield and quickly scrolled through his remaining stores. He had burned through two-thirds of his gunpod’s ammunition and had only a dozen rockets left between the launchers.

 

“Magus, Rider 1-3!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

“Go Rider” Fick replied.

“Regrouped with Berserker, and Saber, Enroute to your position but are pinned down, be advised, large enemy group, at least two dozen foot mobiles headed your way.” Morgan reported.

“Understood, Archer, can you assist Rider?” Fick asked.

Trigger looked around and found the blue diamonds representing Morgans position.

“Rider, are you able to mark targets?” Trigger asked.

“Standby!” Morgan yelled.

 

Trigger could see a flash and a burst of red smoke appear in the tree line ahead of the marines.

“One dozen foot mobiles at the base of the treeline, Target marked with red smoke, Friendlies 50 meters north of smoke.”

 

Within six hundred meters, any indirect fire was deemed “Danger close”, While Trigger was aware that leeway was often given to close-air-support assets, fifty meters was cutting it close, even for him.

“Rider, Archer copies, fallback 100 meters and report when ready.” Trigger ordered.

“Will report when ready.” Morgan replied.

As the marines fell back, Trigger pulled his plane into a large tear-drop entry to position himself for the attack, if he was right, he would be coming almost perpendicular to the enemies line.

 

“Archer, Rider, we have fallen back, foot mobiles are holding position between the orange smoke and 10 meters south.”

“Archer copies all, attack heading 090 to 270” Trigger replied, lowering the nose of the Longsword.

“Archer, IN with heading 270” Trigger reported as he approached the smoke.

“Archer 15, Cleared Hot” Morgan ordered.

Trigger pressed the pickle button and the last of his rockets flew from the pods, exploding along the tree line, the shock waves rippling across the treetops. “Archer 15 off” Trigger reported

“Archer, attack ineffective, we are still taking heavy fire from that position. Re-engage, I say again, re-engage!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

Trigger took another glance at the stores page on his MFD. 453 was displayed under the GUN tab, less than twelve seconds of sustained fire left for ammo.

 

As Trigger was about to report his ammo state, Bandog chimed back in.

“Archer 15, Lancer 1-2, Magus 1-4, Be advised. Large enemy air group inbound, appear to be Mi-8 Hips and Mi-24 Hinds, ETA eight minutes.”

 

“That’s hardly any time left at all, any chance you can stall them?” Fick asked.

Bandog paused “Doesn’t look like, no friendly air assets in the area, and even if there was, fat chance they’d help us out.”

“Well, it was worth a shot. But now what?” Adams quipped.

 “I’m thinking!” Bandog shot back.

“Either way, we can’t stick around here. Lancer, Come and pick up Berserker and I. Rider, break contact with the enemy and meet at point Ainz, we will evac you from there.” Fick ordered.

“We are still dead if the Hinds catch us.” Ben said flatly.

 

Trigger sighed “Bandog, bogey dope” Trigger requested.

“What? Fine, BRA zero-three-zero for eighteen at 3000, Hot.” Bandog replied confused.

Trigger pulled the Air Tractor to the given heading and firewalled the throttle, He figured at his current airspeed of 160 knots, he could close with them in a little over four minutes, just enough time to come up with a plan.

 

When Trigger was in the B-Course for F-16’s in Arixo, His instructors had made it clear that in no, undue circumstance, should he engage attack helicopters with anything less than an AIM-9 or other standoff weapon with the Look-down, shoot-down capabilities. Trying to engage Yuktobanian AH-64s or Erusean Mi-24s with guns only proved to be a death sentence.

 

Naturally, Trigger was planning on engaging the entire group of Helicopters alone with a nearly spent gun.

 

“Trigger, what do you think you’re doing?” Bandog asked incredulously.

“Well, we need to buy time, and this is how I can do it.”

“That’s suicide, and you know it.”

Trigger tilted his head momentarily. “Maybe for most pilots, but I’m not most pilots.” He said boastfully.

“Yeah, most pilots aren’t dumbasses trying to be all Guts and Glory. You’re point is?” Bandog shot back.

“Relax Guard-dog, its fine, I just have to spook them off is all; Piece of cake.” Trigger reassured him.

 

Trigger could see black specs on the horizon, just above the jungles canopy.

“Bandog, Bandits in sight, looks to be three Hinds and five Hips.”

 “Be careful, those flying tanks can still rip you to shreds” Bandog warned

“I know, I know, Archer 15 engaging.” Trigger replied, attempting to assuage the AWACS’ concerns.

Trigger could see tracers fly past the cockpit as he closed the distance, he rested the target reticle on the lead Hind and fired for two seconds, the impossibly short burst expended almost a quarter of his remaining ammo. As Trigger flew past the helicopter, he could see it buffeting under the impact, but quickly shrugging off the assault to re-engage Trigger. Trigger pulled the Air Tractor into a turning climb to evade the Hinds returning fire. As Trigger rolled back towards the attacking Helicopter, he was dismayed, and slightly insulted, to find the rest of the force had continued onwards despite his attack.

Before Trigger could say anything, Bandog called over the radio. “Archer, be advised, looks like the rest took off leaving you with just that thing, It was worth a shot but get back to the airfield where we can use you.” Bandog ordered.

Trigger hissed underneath his breath. The Hind had stopped and was seemingly squaring off against the Air Tractor.

 

“God dammit!” Trigger yelled in frustration as he broke off his attack turning back towards the Airfield.

***

The battle had once again turned, and not in the marine’s favor. Morgan, Haver, Dennings and Kyle were taking cover behind a C-123 Provider, the planes thin aluminum and steel fuselage not providing any real respite from the incoming fire that plagued them.

 

Morgan peeked out from behind the plane, He could see dozens of muzzle flashes getting closer to their position. Elsewhere, he could hear helicopters, and prayed that it was still only the Belkan’s and Trigger in their airspace.

 

Morgan looked to Haver and Kyle, “Any of you have any grenades left?” Haver shook his head quickly and Kyle opened a pouch on his vest, tossing the small grenade in his hand, he glanced around the corner a second time, and shook his head “What’s up Gunny?” Kyle asked. “My arms good, but not that good.” Morgan replied sadly tossing the unused explosive back to the Sergeant.

 

Morgan thought for a moment “Magus, Rider”

There was a pause as more bullets flew over the Marine’s heads. “Go Rider.” Ficks voice came out over the radio, gunfire being heard in the background.

“Magus, request we use the package now, My team is pinned down at Ainz, and the LZ is too hot for extraction.” Morgan requested.

 

Another pause.

 

“Rider, Take cover.” Fick ordered. Morgan complied, having his detachment get as low to the ground and behind anything they could.

“Detonating in 3, 2” Fick counted down, Morgan didn’t get a chance to hear the final number as multiple jets exploded on the ramp. The C-4’s detonation was massive, sending debris and fragmentation into the backs of their assailants and shredding the few unlucky enough to be near the jets when they had exploded. The resulting fireball from the jets fuel igniting consumed the airframes and had sent burning debris in all directions around it.

 

Momentarily, the incoming fire stopped, just in enough time for Dennings to throw a final belt of ammunition into his Mk-46, letting the bolt drop, he raked back and forth with the last of his ammo, picking off the dazed survivors.

“I’m out swit- Fuck!” Dennings yelled in pain clutching his thigh.

“You hit?” Kyle yelled, firing at the oncoming force.

“Yeah, right in the leg!” Dennings hissed through clenched teeth, Morgan rushed to the Marines side, blood was pouring from pant leg. Morgan grabbed his combat first aid kit and started assessing the wound. A jagged shard of metal protruded from just underneath the cloth.  Pulling out the tourniquet, Morgan tied it above the injury and tightened it down. Dennings yelled in pain as the blood flow to his leg ceased. “Doc, what’s your status?” Morgan called out over the radio.

 

“Enroute with Magus to the LZ, then we will pick you up.” Hernandez replied.  

“Understood, one casualty, applied tourniquet and he’s stable.” Morgan reported.

 

The CH-53 flew past the Marines position towards Fick and Hernandez. Morgan could hear supersonic cracks of bullets as Adams picked off stray hostiles, while periodically Zhao would fire bursts from his machine gun into the grouping forces.

 

Morgan could see the Helicopter get low to the ground then lurching violently.

“This is Lancer, taking fire!” Ben shouted, A large explosion blew the side of the helicopter out, sending it careening off.  Fire belched from its turbines as the Belkans desperately fought to wrestle the Helicopter into an autorotation, Morgan watched in shock as the tail rotor impacted the ground first, the massive helicopter lurched to the sides as its rotors were violently ripped off, going every direction, and the fuselage burst open in torn metal as the helicopter started to roll, sending a wall of dirt in the air, obscuring the resting sight.

 

“Shit!” yelled Haver.

“I’ve lost Lancer from Radar, Whats going on?!” Bandog shouted in astonishment.

Morgan gulped “Lancer is down, I repeat, Lancer is down.” He reported.   

“Say again?” Trigger asked dumbfounded.

Bandog exhaled sharply “Lancer is down.” He reiterated. “We need to focus; Those Hinds are still enroute.” Bandog explained pragmatically.

“Bandog’s right, Rider, Berserker and I will head to the Crash site and assess the situation, You get your men off this airfield.” Fick ordered.

“Break, Break, Break, this is Assassin.” Zhao’s weak voice was heard on the radio.

“Assassin! What’s your status?” Trigger yelled.

Zhao coughed “Been better, Pilots are wounded, or dead, I can’t tell, Adams is working on them.”

Morgan breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Understood, we’re enroute to your location now.” Fick said.

 

Morgan turned his attention to the orders at hand. The enemy was closing the distance, he had one wounded marine, and the rest of his men were dangerously low on ammo.

 

He needed another distraction.

“Archer, Rider, Marine force is held up west of the Cargo aircraft, need fire support direct east. How copy?” Morgan called out to Trigger. It wasn’t a standard Nine-line, but he figured the pilot was able to get the important details.

“Archer copies, Inbound now. ETA 1 mike.” Trigger reported.

 

***

Eight seconds. Eight seconds of ammo was all that remained until Trigger was next to useless.

As he approached the airfield, black puffy clouds erupted over it,

“Magus, Archer, any chance you can deal with that Flak?” Trigger asked.

“Unable, we have our own problems” Fick replied curtly.

 

Trigger turned the Air Tractor downwind, then started his one eighty roll to face the target.

“Rider, Archer, friendly positions?”

“Friendlies are directly behind the cargo planes, Hostiles, 100 meters beyond.” Morgan reported, talking Trigger onto the target.

“Understood.”

 

Trigger put the pipper over where he could see small arms fire and rested his finger on the sticks trigger. His plane buffeted violently as Flak exploded above him, showering the airframe in fragments.

 

“Archer your cleared-“ The Radio cut out as an explosion filled Trigger’s view. The front glass and canopy blew out, Lacerating Trigger and sending him back into his seat. The plane shook violently under the assault, it taking all of Trigger’s strength to keep the Air Tractor under control.

 

He squeezed the trigger.

 

An eight second burst of 50 caliber rounds poured into the enemy force. Trigger pulled back on the stick, He could feel an immense pressure as the controls started to fail, the nose anemically raising above the horizon and the turbine engine whining in protest.

 

Trigger coughed and could taste blood in his mouth.

“Archer 15, wounded bird.” He called.

 

Silence.

 

Another explosion sent the Air Tractor cartwheeling into the jungle below.

***

Bandog stared at his radar station dumbfounded.

“Archer 15… lost.” He said, the shock apparent enough in his voice to warrant a look from David.

 

His assistant said something, but Bandog didn’t hear it.

 

David shouted, but Bandog was stunned speechless.  David shook his head and started relaying information to the Marines.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Bandog came back to his senses.

“What did you say?” He said meekly.

 

David frowned. “Boss, the Hinds are now on top of them, I have more contacts that just showed up nearby and I can’t make heads or tails on what the hell is going on down there. I’m getting too much conflicting information.

Bandog shook his head and pulled up the tactical display, the Marines were scattered into three groups, lightly armed, outnumbered, wounded, and surrounded.

 

He sighed heavily, “Well, we can’t let them surrender so we do our jobs.”

David shot him a confused glance. “Care to elaborate boss?”

 

Bandog looked at his notes and punched in a frequency on the radio.

“You stay on them; I need to go make a call.” Bandog ordered David.

 

It was a gamble what he was going to do.

 

“This is AWACS Bandog calling Osean Usean Command on an Open Frequency.”

 

There was a pause. “Unknown AWACS calling, give your authentication code.” The voice on the other end replied.

Bandog thought for a moment. “This is AWACS Bandog, Authentication code Delta dash four five six dash three four five dash alpha. I have troops in contact and need immediate assistance.”

 

There was a pregnant pause. “Understood push Jaguar two.” The voice instructed.

Bandog quickly switched to that frequency.

“This is Bandog, I have a broken arrow situation, Coordinates to follow when ready.”