Hesitation

A place for stories beyond the gates of Rhy'Din
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Akarui Sora
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Joined: Sun Jun 07, 2020 8:00 pm
Location: Cadentia - The Great Desert

Hesitation

Post by Akarui Sora »

The soft buzzing against the side of my head is what wakes me. Newly refurbished thanks to one of Shelby's teammates, I don't think I could ever miss an alarm again. Not that I would ever miss this one.

The hammock sways back and forth as I drop right down into my boots and pull up the first layer of my flight suit into place. Around the hangars, the third flight is already prepping its taxi out towards the runway for the early morning swap, and the second flight's fourth has already landed… Humpback Seven. Modified his own modern Russian jet when he was just fifteen, having lifted it from a boneyard for two sticks of gum and a half beaten down Harley that he had stolen the day before… or so he says.

"Joining us Two?" Comes the echoing voice of Third flight's lead. "Still think we need some form of supervision?" The comment came from Humpback Eights lips comically. His lithe form bulked by the pressurized layers of the suit around him now, leaving only his face uncovered.

"I have my own flight to take on this morning, Beanstalk." Already working myself into my own suit, with a few extra jumps and steps to get it all evenly distributed and the apparatus to keep blood flowing at high Gs in just the right spots. "It's…"

"I know." Beanstalk replied before I could even manage the words. "Just be mindful and watch your ass out there. We will be nearby if you need." With a simple nod, the flight lead of the third flight was latching onto a rolling staircase that was being moved towards his plane and climbed in. It wasn't long before the hum of electrical components turned into the pressure of air behind the plane that had been rolled out of the hangar for its cold start.

It has been nearly five months now, since the Southern Star: an unmanned behemoth of an aircraft was launched by the joint RASG and Cadentia Air Defense commands as an effort to combat the various mundane and magical threats that preyed upon Cadentia and the surrounding regions. Equipped for anything from mundane fighting against overzealous bandits in crop-dusters to ancient dragons and wyvern, no one could have prepared the Air Defense Wing for the months that followed.

Two straight months of near-constant sorties, intercepts, and scrambles had taken a hefty toll upon the pilots flying over the desert.

That, however, was almost three months ago; ever since the Aerial Cruiser had seemingly disappeared. 'Experts' assured the Air Defense Wing that there was no way the Southern Star could replenish its fuel supply and that two weeks ago it had likely fallen to the ground, along with whatever rogue drones it had somehow managed to make.

Yet even as I stand at the precipice of the main hangar, watching the first of third flight lift off of the runway and lift into the morning clouds, I can see it: just barely. Drifting across the horizon with the sun casting its silhouette right behind it, the mammoth of a plane banks slightly and turns for the East and the mountains beyond. A ghost of the sky. A few smaller dots, no larger than ants, darted around rapidly in its wake before also falling away from view.

"Joker." The coarse voice of the still half-awake crew chief pierced the silence of the morning. "Third's off the ground… are you sure you need to keep doing.."

"I am."

"Mnhg…" Garbled in the former pilot's voice was a protest, yet after turning his head and spitting upon the tarmac, there was a simple nod. "Very well. When you are ready…." A stopwatch as old as Akarui, if not older, dangled into the hands of the chief.

"Go."

It wasn't a perfect drill by any means. If it was, I would be starting from just my skivvies.. but with the time spent on alert, these drills were well enough muscle memory to all of us now. Yet, I keep doing them. Even though there were now the morning winds to greet me, all I can hear are the same few words repeating behind the mess that was the alarms ringing.

Alert. Alert. Scramble. I say again. Scramble...scramble...scramble.

There is no ladder or steps waiting for me. A few quick steps catch me on the edge of one of the wings, fingers tucked just barely into the space for the flaps as I swing myself up onto the fuselage and quickly scramble into my seat. Before the electric systems even began to spool, pre-flight checks were being done on the one side of the plane I hadn't checked. With the thumbs up, the APUs begins to hum to churn the engine to life.

Four minutes.

Whereas others had built their planes from the base frames of other planes and their engines, mine and Shelby's were built over one thing in particular: The scavenged fusion space shuttle engines. There was next to no sound the moment the engine came to life and the plane rolled forward down the short taxiway. Lining it up with the double yellow in the center.

Picturesque. The soft reds and oranges danced with the forming yellows of the edge of the star lightning the dawn-colored sky, casting their light barely down the runway as I flicked down the visor. Five and a half minutes. No record, nor a perfect start. Things to improve. However, perfection wasn't needed for what I was testing.

The brakes were set and the plane came to a halt on the runway. Usually, by now I am gliding fifty feet off the ground before pulling a sharp turn sky-wards, but there was a need to test something. Neither myself nor Shelby had pulled back fully on the power for take-off, fearing the damage done to the planes in sequence behind us. This particular morning? There wasn't another plane behind me.

Pulling back on the power turned the exposed thrusters from their usual glaring red and soft yellow colors to a sudden and sharp white and blue. Heat bellowed out along with a sudden rise in the thrust that even I wasn't ready for… nor were my brakes. Skidding across the ground from the force, the brakes had to be released, else I wouldn't be able to land when this training flight was over with.

Mere seconds and I was going faster than most dared to push even the fastest of modified cars. The nose was eased up a single degree to give a slow climb of just a few feet per second. Just enough that the wheels could safely be lifted and I could skim the earth of the runway, and build up speed. Four-hundred… five-hundred… six-hundred knots before I reached the flashing warning lights that warned me of the end of the runway… it was then that I sharply pulled the nose upwards and began to soar. Two seconds into the climb, a cloud formed off of my nose and rattled the air in my wake as I crossed easily past the sound barrier and kept on flying.

"Central... Humpback Two. Show me en route for training in Echo-thirteen-Lima. Expected flight duration is two hours Over."

"Central copies Humpback Two… Training flight to Echo-Thirteen-Lima… all-clear for flight. Central over and out."

"Humpback two, copy, out." The static of the radio buzzes for a moment longer as I wheel my nose level with the elevation around a mile in the sky. The air parts rapidly enough around the fuselage that clouds form across my wings even in level flight. It is only then that I reel in the power and set my course for the very edge of what is considered safe and within the edge of the protective bubble… a designated zone for the Air Defense Wing to rapidly respond to any threats within a median of ten minutes from any airbase. Ten minutes was all it would take to get there.

The wings of my plane shifted ever so slightly with the gentlest of touch to the joystick. Wiggling side to side as I eased back into the uncomfortable metal seat that housed my means of escaping death within and watched the mountains to the east. With my visor down, the brightness of the sun was bearable at best, yet I could tear away my sight even as the flat desert below began to transition into rolling dunes of rich mustard and orange sands cast by the winds themselves.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring as I orbited above.

Even months removed, the earth below was scorched from the fires caused by the explosion of the jet fuel. Blackened sands too heavy to be picked up by the winds and taken away remain, leaving a reminder for any that happen across this place. The carcasses of the two jets were long since scavenged by marauders and others that pass this far out into the desert, leaving only the faintest of scrap pieces on the ground as headstones for the two pilots that were left there. Search and Rescue couldn’t even find the bodies in the mess, and couldn’t afford to linger with the possibility of threat in the area to pull out the remains once the fires were put out. So they were left to burn.

I bank sharply, suddenly, for no reason other than to remember the events of that day. Following in the flight path I jerked the moment the first missile caught the edge of my vision, whipping my plane violently up before banking back down towards the tallest of sand dunes to dive for cover. Sharply sucking in each breath as I put my body through the rigorous task of each and every maneuver. The first evasion, before turning and watching an unseen UAV cross the front of my nose…

Exhaling slowly, the plane lifts up. No longer reliving the moments as it enters into level flight. My shoulders slip back against the seat as I place my head firmly into the headrest. The UAV crossed my nose: I hesitated.

I hesitated, and they died because of it.

“Humpback Eight… do you read?” I break my radio silence to communicate with the third flight, looking to figure how far they were, and if I could fly along for a while with them upon their usual patrol. While the skies have been mostly calm, the recent increase in Wyvern and Dragon sightings has begun a whole new workflow for our pilots. While often avoiding contact, we have had a few skirmishes with smaller wyvern packs and even a younger dragon disturbed from its next.

“....zzzzz….” Static comes as a reply when my finger lets go of the transmission button. A common enough occurrence that my response is as it has always been, to smack the panel around the radio a few times to jostle its internals. “...zzzz… Tw...zz.z….zzz… … … ... “

The noise that followed came straight out of my nightmares. High pitched screeches, low hums, and metallic gurgles produced an unearthly, robotic sound.

My hand dumped itself into the engine throttle as I threw my plane violently in a hard downwards break before I even had time to brace. My helmet bounced off of the glass of the canopy as I pulled as sharply as I could on the joystick. Anything to turn, to evade what I knew was coming.

Diving through the air my plane screamed as it sliced through the air at such low altitude, white clouds of air formed around each wingtip as the turbulent air rattled me inside of the cockpit and shook the plane. Recovering hundreds of feet from the sand, I heard the explosion of the missile slam into the sands behind me. A plume of smoke and sand scattered about the desolation of the desert.

Another wave of noises filled my headset as I flung myself in tight scissors, back and forth between the large sand dunes, trying to break whatever lock I knew it had on me. Was it… laughing? The sounds repeated themselves over and over...

“KTHZEAO...KTHZEAO...KTHZEAO”

I had never felt so much rage build within me. Not for some time, not since…

Just as the ‘laughing’ came to stop I slammed back the throttle and pulled the thrust vectoring as far opposite of the direction of travel as I could, throwing my plane vertical into a short stall as I watched the second missile slide past my cockpit and narrowly miss, flying off into the distance before detonating in the air. Still stalling, I complete the motion of tumbling over and slam the throttle back all the way forward. Jerked back into my seat by the sudden acceleration to full speed.

Yet no matter how hard I turn, how fast I fly, how violently I toss man and machine around… I can hear it. The engine purrs with a strange almost vibration that even amongst the sound of my alert systems repeating that I am too low to the ground, I can make it out, and it is getting closer.

Racking my head to the left I watch the needle nose of the UAV slowly approach as I fly well over the speed of sound just above the tallest of sand-dunes, a plume of sand behind me. The swept-back wings and the narrow head that glitters with red lights, lasers almost, that dart back and forth at a rapid pace. The while color, matching that of the Southern Star when it had first taken to flight. It was beautiful. The epitome of aerodynamics and the fact it was catching up to my plane; speed as well.

I locked my gaze there, as I watched a single red laser land itself upon my helmet. It was watching me, following me, mimicking me.

I hesitated.

The thought crossed my mind but did not linger. There was no time for that now. It matched my every move…

Suddenly I pulled my plane into a sharp turn to the left, barreling directly towards the machine if it didn’t react. Dozens of feet were closed in a matter of a few seconds as I closed my eyes and braced for the collision.

Yet, there wasn’t one. The UAV banked hard right and vertically, narrowly avoiding my wing. Now it was my turn. Slamming the throttle back towards me and pulling the joystick until it couldn’t move any further. The rear of the plane rapidly turned as the nose came to rest dead on the UAV that was clearly processing and attempting to evade a missile lock, as it rapidly began to turn side to side before ascending up towards the sky. Anything it could to shake the locking of my radar that, at this close distance, could track the nearly invisible plane.

But I had no missiles. My wings were empty, and my internal compartments hadn’t been loaded. It was, after all, meant to be a training flight. Missiless, but not defenseless. Depressing the secondary trigger opened up the second-hand canon. A short burst of a dozen high-velocity rounds was all it took to riddle the length of the UAV’s fuselage and right-wing with football-sized holes. Fuel leaked visibly onto its wings and pristine paint, coloring it a black and sickly yellow color before it burst into flames and careened downwards towards the desert.

Stabilizing my own plane before I stalled out and followed behind it, I felt the bile build in my throat as I swallowed back the rush of vomit that was quickly chasing after my sharp breaths. My ears rang, and everything was still blurry from the hard-hit I took to the canopy… but I was alive. Even through blurred vision, I could see the smoldering wreckage of the UAV below… and the single red laser that was pointed at me still.

“Humpback Two Respond!” The voice of the Central Air Controller filled my hearing between each bout of tinnitus. “Humpback Eight go to sector…”

“Central, Humpback Two…” I cough, as the remnants of my take on barbequed ribs tried their best to evacuate even as I gently ascended to a safe cruising altitude and lowered my speed. “Send, Recovery teams to… to the sector.” Another bout of coughs matched a hard and dry swallowing to keep my composure. “One times, Unmanned Fighter destroyed… show me as R-T-B back to the airstrip…”

“....” There were several, scrambled voices of Air Controllers and other patrolling squadrons all at once, talking over each other in a flurry of noise before finally Central cut through. “Central copies. Sending Recovery teams… Humpback flight three, ensure your 2-I-C gets home safe. Airbase Dunes, Central. Prepare medical teams… Humpback two isn’t sounding too good..”

I lean back, managing to chirp out a simple “Humpback two, understood… R-T-B.” before my hand loosens around the button and drops to my lap. It is a short flight home… Ten Minutes, the extent of the Bubble… Ten minutes is all I need to get home.

Ten Minutes.

My wheels touch the ground and the brakes apply harshly, stopping short of any taxiway back to the hangar as I switch the engine off. As the sound of the engine dies, the world goes silent, my ears stop ringing… my vision goes black.

“SHHHRRREEEEEEEEE---OOHWUUHHHHH SHHRHREEEE--EEE-EEEEEEE-IIIEEIIIII SHHRIIII”
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