Chapter 47

FORTY-SEVEN

The evening was unusually cold as the sun started to set. The Marble obelisk in the center of the park glowed dimly, reflecting the golden strand of the elevator that streaked into the sky. Off in the distance, between the buildings, Trigger could see a rainstorm beginning to form in the bay. He was back in Selatapura, and though the city changed little in his absence, He couldn't help but feel nostalgic about his time stationed here.


He took a seat on one of the park benches around the obelisk and looked across to the students leaving the university camp street. No one took notice of the young man leaning on his cane, or the fact that that young man was still a wanted fugitive. Everything for the first time in a long time just felt normal to Trigger. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the crisp cold air prickling in his lunges but after the humidity of Chopinburg, or the dingy air of Yuktobania, he was glad for it.


"For a wanted terrorist, your pretty calm." Bandog's voice said from his earpiece. The former AWACS had spent the past few days trying to talk Trigger out of his plan to no avail, even providing the arrest warrants that he was to be served, as well as examples of how much time in jail he would be spending – assuming Osea didn't have him put to death immediately. Trigger had shrugged the consequences off and continued to Bandog's dismay, but Trigger had to give the man credit that he was dedicated to watching over him until the final moments.

"Are you going to join me? It's a wonderful day out here." Trigger replied.

"Nah, I'm still wanted by them, so I'll stay nice and cozy right here. Thank you very much." Bandog retorted.

Trigger checked his watch. 1642

He was somewhat surprised. He had expected the authorities to descend on him the moment he had arrived to the plaza but for whatever reason he was still a free man.

"So I've been wondering something, Figured I should ask you before they throw you in some deep dark pit." Bandog started.

"Shoot." Trigger replied.

"The Princess. You made me send a note to her – through unsecured front channels no less – Why?"

Trigger thought for a moment.

"Something tells me you're not going to buy me saying we were just good friends and coworkers right?" Trigger asked Rhetorically.

"Not a chance. Coworkers might send and Email once in a blue moon, or a phone call offer to meet up for beers. This is different. Hell, I expected you to call your Dad before you called her."

Trigger frowned at the comment. As far as he knew, his family still thought he was missing or dead. He couldn't imagine that his note would have been widely circulated. It was a reasonable question to ask, and not one Trigger had a good lie to get around.

Trigger sighed.

"She's special too me." Trigger said simply.

There was a pause.

"Really? Got another lie for me?" Bandog said unbelieving.

Trigger shrugged, though he wasn't sure if Bandog was watching him to see it. "Not a Lie. Cossette is someone special to me. If my gamble is correct, I am special to her to. Simple as that." He said.

There was a laugh on the other end of the radio, but it was quickly stopped.

"You're not joking… are you Trigger?" Bandog asked.

Trigger smirked "Nope. About this time last year in fact was our first date."

There was no reply.

"Hey, Bandog, Is it ok If I make the confessions now? Before I, you know, go to jail most likely?" Trigger asked.

"Confess away my child." Bandog replied in a faux priestly voice.

Trigger took a deep breath.

"We met at the end of November last year, and I guess I made an impression with her. We decided to make it formal right after that, but only Scrap Queen knew about it that I know of. For the next few months Cossette had her government down here. I was living off base by then so we'd meet at my apartment mostly and at least try to act like a normal couple, I'm not really sure how many people recognized us or even cared to be entirely honest. Life was good until around May of last year." Trigger started.

"You mean when the attacks happened?" Bandog asked.

"Ehh, A little before that" Trigger corrected. "The LRSSG received redeployment orders, and the Princess pulled some strings. I think there was some suspicion put towards us, but she made a convincing enough argument to the Brass that I ended up as her Liaison for the Osean Military. Got a free ride out to Farbanti and the whole nine yards. I thought everything was going fine and we were getting more serious about the relationship. I was planning on leaving the Air Force after my contract was up, just so we could be together." Trigger explained.

"What happened?" Bandog asked.

Trigger recoiled at the memory. "I made a bad judgement call. It was after the formal victory ball. I don't know what I didn't notice before hand, or maybe the timing was just off, but, it didn't go the way I planned." He explained.

There was another pause from Bandog "Tough Break. What did you ask, 'Want to cosign on an apartment with me?'" Bandog asked sarcastically. Trigger snarled at the insult for an instant before composing himself. "Truthfully, I asked her to marry me."

"Oh, Well, that's hitting above your weight, even for you."

"tell me about it. I guess I just got so swept up in everything, and well, you know. I thought she was special. I never did get a reason why she said no. Not that I imagine most guys get one to begin with. But dammit, I'd love to ask her just once, what happened? Was I moving too fast? Was it even something I could do? Just tell me." Trigger said, he could feel the emotion welling up in his voice.

Bandog sighed. "Trigger, for what its worth, I've been in your shoes. So believe it or not I know what you're going through."

"Really? There a missus Bandog you were keeping from us?"

"In matter of fact, yes." There was another pause. "I lost her right before April of last year. 18 years gone in an instant."

"Damn, You want to talk about it? You know im here to-" Trigger was cut off.

"Enough, Finish your story. Especially how did you and her end up in McKnight?" Bandog pressed, dodging the question.

Trigger nodded, "Right. That next day Cossette and I were taking part of an inspection of the local Erusean Air Force Base. The Radicals had planned to ambush and kill her there, but I guess they didn't factor my being there. Most of it was a blur, but despite everything I was most concerned about getting her out of harms way. I guess in that way same for everyone else who died buying us time to escape. I flew to McKnight since I figured she was in good hands with the Oseans. At least it appears that I was at least correct slightly."

"Bet you didn't know McKnight just got hit did you. That's why those base rats beat the shit out of you. They probably figured any Erusean was fair game. Lucky for the Princess the rest of the base showed up right after you we're hauled off." Bandog replied.

"Yeah, All I could think about while I was in that hole was her. I was, scared, honestly. But the thought of her in that same situation just pissed me off more. I think it hurt more not knowing if she was safe or not than the actual physical pain."

As Trigger explained himself, he smiled at all the memories that flooded back, both the good and the bad between him and Cossette. He explained about his interaction between Morgan and himself, and the various ways Trigger had tried to keep tabs on how Cossette was doing while being sequestered away in Chopinburg. A flood of painful memories came rushing back when he had accidentally found out about her engagement to another man and how his running off had almost cost Lauren her life. Trigger still hated himself for that outburst. Soon he concluded his story and checked his watch.

1723.

There was nothing said over the radio for a time.

"Well Trigger, that's one hell of story. I think I even believed some of it." Bandog replied. "But even if you're lying, I can tell theres no way to talk you out of this so, just confirms everything I thought about you to be frank."

"Oh and whats that Bandog?" Trigger asked slyly.

"You're a dumbass." Bandog replied sharply. "But as you've proven time and again, even a dumbass can be capable of amazing things."

"That's sweet Bandog, I think that's the closest you've come to complimenting someone."

"Don't press your luck Trigger." Bandog warned.

"I'll keep that in mind." Trigger replied.

Trigger could here some muttering from the other side of the radio. "Looks like our time is finally coming to an end Trigger. Bandit, six o'clock, closing." Bandog advised.

Trigger smirked. "Understood. Hey Bandog, before you go."

"What?"

"Thanks." Trigger said simply before pulling the earpiece out and throwing it onto the path in front of him. He stayed stoic as the sound of rushing footsteps approached.

"Major, I would advise you put your hands up." A voice ordered from behind him. Trigger slowly complied with the mans directions. The voice sounding familiar to him but without being able to turn and face them, Trigger was lost. Uneasily he stood up, a considerable discomfort without the aid of his cane still lying beside him on the bench. More footsteps rushed up around him as someone pulled his arms and forced them into handcuffs.

"Major, I am Special Agent Jeff Palmer of AFOSI. You are suspected of terrorism, sedition, treason, and desertion. I advise you that under the provisions of Article 31, UCMJ, you have the right to remain silent." The Agent's voice trailed off as Trigger lost focus. His time was up. Everything that happened now would be up to a court martial instead of at the barrel of a gun.

Trigger was entirely content with that outcome.

As the Agent finished his script, Trigger couldn't help but chuckle. "What's so funny Major?" the Agent asked annoyed. Trigger shrugged "Déjà vu is all."

Chapter 46

FORTY-SIX

Trigger gagged, spasming violently against the restraints on his wrist and ankle as a blinding light filled his vision and he felt a tracheotomy tube being pulled from his throat, he could hear a voice, thought the words sounded like they were underwater and were indecipherable to the pilot.

 

After what felt like an eternity, the fog around his mind started to clear. At his bedside looking over him was a man with a buzz cut and teal scrubs, he was speaking something in a guttural language that Trigger couldn’t understand, but through the hand gestures the man was making Trigger assumed it was for him to breath. There was a loud continuous beeping of a heartrate monitor behind his head and the whir of dozens of other pieces of equipment around the hospital room. As Trigger continued to gasp for air, he was slightly relieved that he was in a proper hospital this time.

 

He slowly regained his breath enough for his eyes to focus, standing the bulkhead doorway was a far older bearded man, his paunch apparent under his black naval officer’s uniform and doctors coat. The nurse attending to Trigger stiffened up when he noticed the man but continued his examination of the pilot.

 

The nurse released his restraints, easing some of his discomfort, but he couldn’t help but notice that despite the drugged feeling he had, almost everything in his body still ached incessantly. He could feel the tightness of stiches in various places along his chest, legs and back and itching of casts on his arms and other leg. When the nurse was completed with checking Trigger’s cognitive abilities, he quickly rushed to the doorway to greet the intruder. The two men spoke in hushed tones in a language Trigger was sure was Yuktobanian, before the nurse was dismissed by the older man.

 

“I see you have come to join the land of the living!” the man laughing said in a booming voice. His speech was impeccable but clouded by a thick accent.

“Yeah, I didn’t care for the whole ‘being dead’ thing… way too boring.” Trigger quipped weakly, falling into a coughing fit.

The man smiled widely at Trigger “Well, it is good to see your humor was not taken from us at all Major.” He said supportively.

 

The use of his rank made the sweat on the back of Trigger’s neck run cold.

“I’m sorry but, who are you again? I don’t believe we are acquainted.”

“Actually we have met, but we were both quite drunk at the time.-“ the man explained with a chuckle, Trigger stared at him blankly not remembering the incident he was referencing “-Counter Admiral Marko Borodin of the Yuktobanian navy, At your service.” He said, holding out his hand. Trigger cautiously shook it, keeping eye contact with the Admiral.

 

Trigger attempted to keep his best poker face, but the anxiety building up in him was betrayed by the rapid beeping of his life-support equipment. The Admiral seemed to enjoy the pilots discomfort.

 

“I wouldn’t worry about that Major. Even if our respective countries were at war, your time on this ship is off the record. Cinigrad and Oured have no idea you’re aboard this ship, and only I know who you are.” The Admiral explained.

“Wait, what do you mean ship?” Trigger asked.

“Da, we’re currently aboard the Milost. It is one of the hospital ships of my countries Navy. We’re currently on a cruise back to our homeport of Dakhovsky in west Yuktobania.” The Admiral explained.

Trigger shook his head “Man, how long was I out for this time? A month?”

The Admiral shook his head, walking to the foot of the bed and picking up his chart. “Looks like you came aboard just about two weeks ago. As for how long you were in that state before hand? I really can’t say.” He explained as his eyes dashed across the documents before him. “We had to keep you sedated to reduce the stress on your body. Honestly with how the attending has written your report here, I’m surprised we’re even having this conversation.” The Admiral replied.

Trigger shrugged, before wincing at the pain “What can I say, many have tried to kill me, no one has yet succeeded.”

“But which ever it was this time definitely came close, do you want the full list or just the abridged version?” the Admiral asked rhetorically, not waiting for a response.

“You had at first examination, multiple lacerations across your body, internal and external bleeding, seems semi-redundant, collapsed lung, renal failure, multiple broken bones, severe damage to your liver, and significant bruising across most of your body. You put our Operating room into overtime just putting you back together.”

Trigger coughed in shock at the news. “Christ! I’d say I’m doing pretty good all things considered.”

“If only” the Admiral replied “Looks like we had to remove your lung, a kidney, and well, let’s just leave the rest as your suddenly a few pounds lighter than you were some time ago. Also, I would avoid metal detectors if I were you. Your femur is currently being held together with titanium plates and screws. It was the best we could do with our limited facilities.” The Admiral explained apologetically.

 

Trigger sat for a moment and dwelled on the news. “Well, if it was just that, I guess I look pretty good then.” He quipped. “Indeed, with enough rest and proper therapy, you should make a mostly full recovery soon.” The Admiral informed him.

“About damn time.” A voice from the doorway said. Trigger looked to see Bandog leaning in the doorway, looking far paler than before. The Admiral took notice and scowled.

“Bezlikiy, You haven’t been taking the Dramamine like I prescribed, have you?” he admonished.

Bandog shook his head. “Makes me too drowsy, hard to think.” Bandog said dismissively.

“Fine then tupitsa, keep throwing up in the head for all I care.” The Admiral said frustrated before turning back to Trigger. “I’ll let you deal with him. For someone with his reputation, I would have expected him to not be as big of a child as he has been.” The Admiral said before leaving the room.

 

“Ain’t he just a ball of sunshine.” Bandog said entering the room, shutting the door behind him.

“I think it’s just you Bandog, he was fine with me.” Trigger replied, causing Bandog to roll his eyes.

“Joy. I guess I have a way with people. But enough about me, how are you doing?” Bandog said changing the subject.

 

Trigger gestured to the room “All things considered, pretty darn good. I always did want to drop that last ten pounds, figured this was a great way of doing it.”

Bandog raised an eyebrow “I’ll have to try the ‘Getting the shit kicked out of me to almost die’ diet sometimes if It works so well then.”

 

The two stood in silence until Trigger spoke. “How long have I been away this time?”

“The Chopinburg raid was two and a half weeks ago.” Bandog replied matter-of-factly.

“What happened after I, you know.” Trigger’s voice trailing off.

Bandog took a deep breath.

 

“I wont lie and tell you everything worked out. It was close and the team took casualties, but without your support it would have been far worse. Those Hind’s and Hips you attacked were able to land, and did effectively break the Marine’s positions, but the alert fighters Osea sortied were able to route the attack. All in all, it was an Osean victory and last I checked there is an Osean Army unit garrisoned on the airfield while they pack up the few jets that survived.” Bandog explained.

“Who didn’t make it?” Trigger asked, a lump forming in his throat.

Bandog frowned. “Sergeant Zhao and the Belkan’s crew chief were killed. Lieutenant Fick is still in critical condition and it’s not looking good for his recovery, but he’s a marine and has been surprising the doctors in Selatapura with how long he’s made it. There were other minor injuries but those are expected to heal fully.”  As Bandog relayed the names, Trigger felt an immense sadness. He was no stranger to Close Air Support missions where the men he was supporting had been killed. While he did feel sadness and a twinge of responsibility for them, He compartmentalized everything knowing ultimately it was a part of the mission. For those three however, he found it hard to separate their deaths from the forefront of his mind. They were not a faceless voice crying out over a crowded radio frequency, but instead the men he had worked with for the past few months.

Bandog watched the pained expression on the pilots face. “Good news is though, Lauren will make a full recovery, just some blood loss but nothing permanent.” He said hoping to change the subject. Trigger cracked a weak smile “That’s something. And I guess I’m here too. Are the Marines with you still?” Trigger asked.

 

Bandog sighed. “No, actually they don’t know your alive either to tell you the truth.”

“Really? You’ve known for a week and haven’t told them?!” Trigger said astonished.  

Bandog held up his hands defensively. “Look, if it was up to me, I’d tell them personally, but, a lot has happened since you disappeared.”

“Like?” Trigger shot back

 

Bandog pulled out a small stack of papers from his pocket and handed them to Trigger. They were print outs from various articles, written in various languages but Trigger could tell from the context clues that prominent figures from around the world had ended up missing or dead.

 

“Most of the team went radio silent about a week ago. Not even Osea can find them right now.” Bandog explained as Trigger thumbed through the document. “Now I’m personally not a betting man but… I had time to go through those files captured from that club in Anchorhead as well as getting my hands on the intel they’ve been pulling out of that airfield. A lot of powerful people who wouldn’t be looked at otherwise are now ending up dead or worse. I think we both know who and why.” Bandog continued.

 

“But why though?” Trigger asked. Bandog shrugged and leaned back against the bulkhead, folding his arms “You’re right. At first it was just business, but now two of their guys is dead, their former commander is in the hospital, and they think your missing, dead, or worse.”

“I’m betting now Osea just wished they’d have a blackjack and hooker method of blowing off steam.” Trigger said impressed.  

“Beware the fury of a patient man.” Bandog replied with a smug smirk. “They’ll show up eventually, but only when they’re done. They know Osea’s playbook better than most field grades.”

 

“Let’s, hope we stay in their good graces then.” Trigger replied.

“Indeed, just ask Rudolph Scmidt how well that worked out.” Bandog said. The name stuck out to Trigger.

 

“Why does he sound familiar?” Trigger asked.

“Herr Schmidt is the CEO of the SRW Group. A low-level arms manufacture that mostly works with smaller countries selling licensed Belkan arms. He not only is on first name basis with dozens of world leaders, but the future father-in-law to the Princess of Erusea. It appears Schmidt, his pleasure yacht, and its crew and security compliment all went missing off the coast of the Crescents Island. Calm weather, no distress calls and its unheard of for piracy.” Bandog explained.

 

Trigger though back to the Erusean ball, and the heavy-set man that Alex Schmidt had followed after their altercation. For the life of him however, he was unable to recall any major details about the senior Schmidt. Guess I was more than distracted. Trigger thought to himself. “What did Schmidt do to get on Morgan’s bad side then?” Trigger asked.

 

“Seems like Schmidt was the one organizing less than above board shipments to the Machado Cartel. Not only were his ships moving drugs for them, but he sold them weapons wholesale and getting them in touch with the more specific vendors for the more specialized ordinance and materials. I’m sure that every district attorney from Oured to St. Hewlett would have wanted their pound of flesh from every law he broke.” Bandog concluded.

 

Trigger shook his head. “The only thing I am left to wonder is why the Cartel had those jets and were at the airfield anyways. Guns I get, but those jets? Seems like more trouble than they were worth.”

Bandog shrugged “Unfortunately Park has been tight lipped since her capture, but I poured through the records and found some interesting intel on at least some of the questions. Are you by chance familiar with Sapinish-Aeronáutica?” Trigger shook his head Bandog chuckled “Didn’t expect you to. They were a Sapinish engineering firm back in the late 90’s. Sapin had seen firsthand how behind they were on the world stage for an Air Force and was looking to make their own Fifth Generation fighters to counter the Raptors, Lightnings, and the Morgans; So they formed Sapinish- Aeronáutica to design and produce the jet for the air force to give them that edge.

 

“The design was between their two most capable airframes. Their most recent purchase had been a fleet of Rafeal fighters, but their backbone of the fighter force in Sapin was their aging F-20 Tigersharks. Wanting to keep the maintenance of the jets simple, as well as the flying aspects, the engineers opted to base the design as an update to the F-20’s design to complement the Rafael instead. The Project went along until the Continental War. The Administration in Osea loosened up its restrictions on the procurement of jets to its neighbors and Sapin instead opted for more proven designs, pulling funding for the F-20 upgrade program and killing their project in its design and early prototype phase.”

 

Trigger gave Bandog a confused expression. “I still don’t see how a bunch of gangsters ended up with a jet though.”

 

“That’s where Lisa Park comes in. her work with Northrop gave her detailed knowledge of the F-20’s upgrade potential and made her one of the lead designers for the Sapinish Fifth Generation program. She vanished right as the program was getting shut down and defected to the Cartel. She helped them with her experience with software, and in return they helped her finish the jet. That Airfield we attacked was former Grunder property, and before the Belkan’s had pulled out, they had brought in all the machinery to make aircraft. It was under Park’s guidance that they reactivated the facility and finished the work she started years prior. All this resulting in the X-10 Hibrido"

 

Trigger nodded. "So they built new jets from the ground up, but that takes a mountain of resources to accomplish, no way they could pull it off alone, and even then what was the payoff?"

 

Bandog shrugged. "Ill leave that to the authorities. The biggest question is the jets capabilities. Even Osea has taken notice of that."

 

Trigger thought back to his run ins with the jets. "Their maneuverability wasn't anything to write home about, but the ECM or whatever the hell they had was a bitch."

 

Bandog smirked "remind you of anything?"

Trigger thought for a moment. "The Bats?" He asked. It was a group of Su-47 Burkit fighters that had been a minor irritation for the LRSSG in the war. They had been hired by a Osean General to kill Trigger in particular to further his own political ambitions within the Osean senior leadership, all coming to a head with two more kills to Trigger and Counts name, Huxian having to be restrained by security forces for trying to kill the General and the greatest insult to injury of the whole ordeal resulting in $1.50 of the Generals forfeit pay going to Lanza for the only casualty of the incident.

 

Bandog nodded "exactly. Their ECM was defense in nature and a product of General Resources. The Hibridos on the other hand, was an offensive use, designed to lock up our fire control and radar system. Without it, the jet is sub-par in every aspect, but with that EW suite?"

 

"You didn't have to worry about the enemy if they couldn't shoot back."

 

Bandog snapped his fingers. "Exactly. They're running tests against one of the captured units, but it seems to have confirmed my theory that they're limited in the scope of their attacks. Which means we can counter and kill them next time."

 

Trigger and Bandog continued to discuss the news for some time. While most of the technical details went over both officers heads, it was readily apparent to the Test and Evaluation squadron that the software wasn’t a normal program either, and what was thought to be a near impracticality only a year prior was staring them in the face. 

 

"AI… What's the A stand for?" Trigger joked, trying to lighten the mood. Bandog glared at him. "Artificial intelligence. You so far are the resident killer of them, so I bet Osea really wished they had you around instead of your wingmen. Of course, they are already looking at the usual suspects, but it doesn't appear to be directly related to that horror Gründer keeps trying to unleash on us." Bandog explained, Trigger almost asked but decided against prying at the details the air battle manager was Even uncomfortable with.

 

Trigger sighed "yeah I do think Osea will want to talk to me, wouldn't they." His voice trailing off, Bandog gave him a side glance "Trigger, before you say what I think you're going to say, my offer still stands. Even if you don't want to work for me, I can get you set up somewhere else where they won't find you. A fresh start, even in Osea if you wanted." Bandog said, a pleading undertone in his voice.

 

Trigger shook his head. "Well maybe with good behavior I can get out of the harshest punishment, besides a club Fed isn't the worst place to retire." Trigger replied wistfully.

 

Bandog scowled. "Then what was the point?! You gave up your life to save Oseans, twice! And they're still going to crucify you for it!"

 

Trigger smiled, he could only think of Cossette, and the slim chance that his plan might give her a sense of closure. "I had a debt to pay. The Marines saved me, I had to repay the favor and by all accounts I did. The mission is over, its simple as that." Trigger replied shrugging.

 

Bandog shook his head in frustration "You have 4 weeks of Physical therapy. Hopefully the Yukes beat some sense into you. If not, I will make arrangements for your surrender." Bandog said.

 

“Thanks.” Trigger replied as Bandog left the room.

***

It was nearing the end of November by the time the Milost had pulled into its home port. Trigger had thought that the physical therapy from Hernandez had been a frustrating experience but relearning to walk a second time on a ship that was constantly listing from side to side as it made its way across the Eusian ocean had been its own exercise of patience. Trigger however had been pleased with his own progress as the days went on, and by his third week he was able to walk around without one of the ships’ crew attending to him constantly.

 

The night prior to his arrival into Yuktobania, he was hosted by some of the ships officers, including Admiral Borodin for a going away party. Despite Bandog and the Admiral’s best efforts, the news of Trigger’s actual identity had spread through the crew like wildfire and many of the junior officer’s were keen to hear as many stories as the pilot could offer with the aid of one or two translators. By the end of the night, Trigger wasn’t sure if he was unsteady due to the almost constant flow of vodka shots he had drunk at the behest of his hosts or just the aging vessel getting battered by another wave. However, as the dawn started to peak over the horizon, Borodin made a final toast and on behalf of the crew presented Trigger with a present,

 

A simple wooden cane, painted black, with flame decals covering a third of its length. One of the ship’s doctors joking in Yuktobanian that it ‘would make you look faster’.

 

As Trigger made his way down the Gangway onto the dock, Bandog and David were awaiting him.

“Dobro pozhalovat' v Yuktobaniyu” Bandog said. Trigger gave him a sideways look not understanding causing Bandog to roll his eyes. “You were onboard for a month and didn’t pick up a word of Yuktobanain?” He admonished. Guiding Trigger towards a parked car nearby.

Trigger ignored the comment, “About what we discussed.” Trigger opened with. He could see Bandog cringe slightly “I’m guessing you haven’t changed your mind?”

“Nope.”

 

Bandog sighed heavily David smirked “Told you so boss. If he’s crazy enough to do half the things he did, I don’t think you would have been able to change his mind that easily.”

“Shut up.” Bandog hissed at his subordinate. “If that’s the case Trigger, I guess I can make it happen. Any particular requests?”

 

Trigger thought for a moment stopped and smiled. “Actually yeah. I do.”

***

Cossette sat in her office in Cascadia. It had been some weeks since Alex had departed to run his families business and she couldn’t have been more grateful. Not only did it put a delay on their engagement, but it also meant she no longer had to see him every day to keep up the appearances.

 

She opened up the drawer of the desk and pulled out a small blue box, the velvet cover had been damaged in the attacks, but she could still faintly make out the gold lettering of the jewelry store that it originated from in Farbanti. She opened the box to see the small gold wedding band, the single diamond shining brightly in the center.

 

It had been six months since she had seen him. Every morning she missed waking up next to him, to see his smile and to hear his laugh. All of that she had thought six months prior would always have been out of permanent reach. She hated herself to admit her concerns were more towards her country and the crisis of leadership, rather than her own wishes. It crushed her that last night her and Trigger spent together, and how she was unaware it was her last to be with him.

 

Her hopes had been raised months later with the events in Anchorhead, but despite her best efforts, no information was found about the mysterious airplane in the sky that night, and as quickly as her hopes had been raised, they were once again crushed. She still hoped, no prayed, that Trigger was somewhere out there, and would save her like he had done all those times before. But as the days dragged on, and the more she was forced to be around Alex, the less likely that all seemed.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes when there was a quick rapt on the door.

 

Cossette took a deep breath to compose herself, and gently closed the box and returned it to her desk.

“Just a moment!” Cossette said, trying to hide the emotions in her voice.

“Your Highness, Its Gretchen, We need to talk.” The voice said softly from the other side of the door. Cossette quickly got up and let the maid into the room.

 

“Your Highness, I know you have been pestering them for months for information and they have been ignoring you, but that’s finally over today I-“ the Maid started speaking rapidly. Cossette was taken aback at the flustered expression on the aging woman’s face. she held up her hands to stop the constant barrage of speech. “Ok, Ok Gretchen, one thing at a time.” Cossette said.

 

Gretchen took a deep breath. “There was a message for you today Your Highness, our Intelligence services are verifying it now, plus the Oseans, but they are thinking it might be legitimate. They didn’t want to worry you but my sources in the community tipped me off.” The Maid said.

Cossette looked at her confused “What message? Who are you talking about?”

The maid pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Cossette. The Handwriting was brutish, and hard to read, but it looked familiar.

 

Meet me at 2341 Meridian Plaza

6PM, Friday.

 

 

 

 

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.