A Time For Flight

By

Bri R. Kupfer

They had retreated. They had been given no choice. Working in tandem, the Akula squadron and the ETF pilots fought valiantly as the Asian Coalition forces slowly crept across the Eastern U.S.

Then it had become an all out flight for their lives as more and more Asian troops arrived and the American National Guard and Reserves were beaten back. Outnumbered by 50 to one, the Americans fell back.

The REB-36D lifted off from Chicago O'Hare as it came under mortar attack.

The big black recon platform roared down the runway, it's six turboprops and four turbofans producing an unearthly thunder. The massive aircraft's main wheels left the ground less than 1000 feet after starting it's roll, and it left it at an impressive 50 degree angle, thanks to the sixteen JATO rockets attached to the big bomber.

At the controls, Matt "ElTito" Bendix works in tandem with his co-pilot, John "Wizard" Terrance to keep the plane in the air, and to avoid all the piss-ants on the ground with shoulder-launched missiles. They are going up like a bat out of hell. At just over 500 feet, the JATO rockets are used up, and Matt and John nose the aircraft over into level flight, pushing the big plane for all she's worth, and achieving 550 miles an hour in level flight for their effort.

"So much for a design cap of 435..." Matt mutters to his co-pilot.

"Was that before or after the mods?" John replies.

Matt winks back. "Before.."

Eagle's Nest was the next to the last aircraft to leave O'Hare. Two C-17s had left half an hour earlier with their crews of ETF and Akula members, and the Russians' Tu-144 SST (Super sonic Transport) had left right after them to pick up ETF family members from Omaha, where they had gathered from across the country in response to communications from the Eagles. Adam "Joe" Mason, Eveline "Leggs" Montgomery, and Callie "P-Knut" Phillips had been flying the SST.

The Akula fighters had launched to protect them and provide air cover.

The last aircraft to take off from O'Hare is Eagle One, the F-15E of Wahren "Wolf" Meier and Aaron "Valder" Kupfer, who were going to provide cover for the Nest to escape.

From the pit, or backseat, of Eagle One, Aaron spoke up to his pilot.

"Wahren....bad news. I've got a slew of bogies inbound at less than fifty miles. I'm more worried about the two coming over that terminal, though...." he comments as two Su-24 Fencer fighter-bombers break into sight over one of O'Hare's terminals.

Trusting his WSO's judgment and thereby not taking the time to look, Wahren strokes the afterburners on the F-15E's twin Pratt and Whitney F100 turbofans and the sixty-three foot fighter roars down the runway on twin pillars of blue flame.

And just in time. The Fencers come in low over the runway, each dropping their 8,000 pounds of runway cratering bomblets on the area. The horizontal tailplanes on the Strike Eagle are scorched as the runway beneath and behind it explodes in a river of fire.

As one, Aaron and Wahren take a deep breath, as if just now remembering how to breathe.

While Wahren drives the fighter around the sky, lining up to intercept Eagle's Nest, Aaron is busy in the back seat calibrating his attack radar to receive guidance from the larger plane. As soon as that is done, Aaron realizes their situation.

"Tito, climb for all you're worth, buddy. Use the thinner air to gain speed. Me and my Evil Twin will keep these assholes off your back." Aaron comments.

"Oh, we're full of ourselves today..." Wahren starts

"Rog, Valder, heading heavenward." Matt replies.

Ten minutes later, Aaron is thoroughly perplexed.

"I don't get it." he calls up to Wahren, who is pulling in to a protective position above and behind Eagle's Nest, which is at 40,000 feet. The bomber looks positively huge silhouetted against the clouds below.

"Be thankful you were wrong, this time." Wahren calls back.

"I dunno, Wahren. Something strikes me as not right about this. I think we're walking into a trap."

"I think you're paranoid. I think we're lucky."

"Hmmmrph..." Aaron grunts.

"I agree with Valder." John comments from the REB. "That was just too easy. They only sent three fighters against us. And they weren't trying. Our automated turrets took out that MiG that snuck by you."

John is talking of the three MiG-31 Foxhounds that had bounced them just after takeoff. One had tried to distract the F-15E while his partner got a lock, and the third had homed in on the Nest, where the converted bomber's six remotely controlled turrets (each boasting twin 20mm cannons) had finished him off before retracting back to their starting places. The cannons are one of the few things the ETF didn't modify on the aircraft, being satisfied with the way Convair had placed them.

The other two MiGs had found out the hard way that two on one is bad odds against an F-15E, especially this one. They are decorating suburban West Chicago now.

"Exactly." Aaron replies. "They should have sent a lot more after us. The ACMF (Asian Coalition Military Forces) know what the Nest is capable of. Or, they at least have an idea. If I were them, I'd want the thing out of the picture."

"Yeah, well, we've got a head start now. Once they realize what they missed, they'll be playing catch-up." Matt comments.

"I hope you're right..." Aaron mutters.

"How is Adam doing with the pickup operation?" Wahren asks suddenly.

"Gimme a sec.." Matt calls back.

In the REB-36D, Matt turns to yell down to the people in the fuselage below.

"Wahren's wondering about his wife." he yells.

Ryan "Vyper" Wakefield looks up from his station, where he has a console monitoring the Tu-144's progress.

"Tell him to stop worrying. The SST is on final approach at Epply, and still has it's full complement of Akula fighters with it. Nobody has messed with them." he responds.

"The C-17s are just west of Kansas City." Patrick "Dono" O’Donnell reports from Communications.

"EWO?" Matt calls

"We're green", Kristine "Golden Eagle" Vermes responds.

"Radar?"

"Scope's clear." Suzanne Wagner replies.

"Offensive Systems?"

"We're online." Hera "Shorty" Steel states.

"SigInt?"

"Nothing new." Marie "Cleopatra" Cordova says after glancing at her console one more time.

"All right, Flight Engineer?"

"All systems are green. We're flying. That's a good thing." Doug "Matrix" Danko comments with a grin.

"Nav? Are we still on course?"

"GPS has us pinpointed at 15 miles east of Iowa City. Doppler mapping and passive terrain search radars concur." Stacy "Immortal" Anrak answers. "Do you want our address?" she finishes.

John smirks, and hides it with his hand.

Matt sighs. Well, all the systems are up, and everyone's in a good mood. Definite plus. he thinks.

Matt looks back at Stacy.

"Do you have an ETA for Gorilla worked up?"

"Yep." She replies with a straight face.

Matt waits a minute. Hears muffled chuckles from his co-pilot and Eagle One.

"Are you going to give it to me?" he asks in resignation.

Stacy winks at John and grins.

"We'll be setting up for final in an hour and forty minutes." she replies.

"EOne?" Matt asks for backup.

"I've got the same." Aaron calls.

"Though I must remind you, WE could be there in, oh, a little under half an hour." Wahren chimes in.

"Gee, thanks for the help, Wolf." Matt remarks wryly.

"Just thought I'd remind you how slow we're going, Tito." is the response from Meier.

Fighter jocks Matt thinks to himself.

Still flying in top cover for the REB-36D, Wahren is starting to get the feeling Aaron is right. Something is wrong. Still no ACMF aircraft have come after them.

Aaron is doing yet another status check of his systems, and passing hyper-speed encoded messages down to Ryan in the Nest when suddenly his radar chirps at him.

It has just painted a contact. Aaron looks down at his scope just in time to see the blip disappear. He takes the radar off of it's passive search setting and puts it into it's Active mode.

The blip appears again, very briefly. The Strike Eagle's computer scans the altitude, heading, speed, and IFF information on the contact. No IFF code active. Contact is at .8 Mach, level, ten miles out, in the weeds, less than 15 feet AGL.

At five miles out, the contact splits in two, and a smaller contact heads for them.

Aaron knows what that means.

"Shit. Missile inbound. Eagle's Nest, you've got an inbound at five miles bearing 095 and closing rapidly. Start evasive maneuvers and hit the deck. Get something between you and that missile! Wahren, target bearing 093 and fleeing to the east rapidly. He's on the deck."

"I'm on 'im." Wahren calls as the information on their target scrolls onto his HUD. He puts the Strike Eagle into a screaming dive after the fleeing aircraft and kicks in the afterburners. We'll be on the fucker in no time. he thinks as the '15E screams earthward.

"What missile?" Suzanne calls from her radar console, not seeing any contacts.

"Roger Valder, evasive maneuvers." Matt calls as he dives the black aircraft for the trees below, while John pumps chaff and flares to confuse the predator.

"I've got 'im." Ryan calls from his station at the ELINT section. "I've got an unusually high reading on the ultraviolet spectrum. This puppy seems to be using a passive radar guidance."

"What the fuck?" Kristine calls out.

Suddenly, all the ECM and radar equipment on the recon bird has gone blank. So do those on it's escort.

However, the F-15E crew no longer need their radar, as they have closed to within visual range of their attacker.

Wahren switches his weapons selector from missiles to guns and cranks the Strike Eagle to the left to follow their fleeing prey, who has seen them and begins to jink.

Meanwhile, confusion reigns in the REB-36D.

Matt fights to outrun and outmaneuver the ultra-smart missile that has been launched at them.

No matter what he does, the missile seems to just keep closing. Looking out the back of the cockpit from their rearward facing stations, Stacy and Doug can now see the faint yellow glare of the missile's engine against the night sky.

In the belly of the bomber, Patrick, Ryan, Kristine, Suzanne and Marie are trying to bring the defensive systems for the Nest back online. Ryan and Patrick are elbow-deep in wiring and fuseboxes while Kristine pours over electrical schematics. Marie and Suzanne are re-routing systems through backup generators via the onboard master flight computer. Hera is trying to get one of the two drones she has launched to distract the missile. It just goes around her efforts. As her friends try to re-establish their systems, Hera tries to buy them more time, by flying her drones at the missile.

Unbeknownst to them all, they have just met a new invention of the Japanese.

As the missile looms ever closer, Matt realizes the inevitable. They are going down.

"Fuck. I really never wanted to try this." Matt comments to himself, then flips on the intercom.

"Hold on back there. This is gonna get hairy."

At that, he puts the huge aircraft in a 85 degree right bank, placing the surprisingly lithe aircraft almost perpendicular to the forests below, leaving thick contrails behind them as he does so.

The missile hesitates, then caroms around to follow the maneuver.

"It's being remotely guided....." Stacy mumbles as she watches it.

She flips on her microphone.

"Eagle One, this is Eagle's Nest. The missile is being remote controlled." she calls.

"Rog." is all Aaron is able to say in response as Wahren throws their fighter into a 5G turn as they gain on their quarry.

The overhead cloud cover breaks, and the aircraft 300 feet ahead is bathed in silver moonlight.

"Son of a..." Wahren and Aaron mumble in shock as the moonlight glints off the sky-blue wings of an A-4M Skyhawk II.

* * *

Matt feels more than sees the missile impact on the number three engine, the middle turboprop on the left wing.

The engine explodes blindingly, tearing apart much of the left wing's trailing edge and sending shrapnel into the other two turboprops on that wing and into the side of the aircraft.

All of the Nest's crew are in the fuselage forward of the wing, and they don't have a relief crew on this flight. A good thing, too, since parts of the propeller tear through the crew rest quarters in the rear of the plane.

Doug, looking rearward from his flight engineer's position, sees the missile incoming and pumps chaff and flares. To no avail.

The explosion blinds Stacy and Doug, and only their restraining harnesses keep them from being bounced off the floor like dolls from the violence of the explosion.

* * *

The night sky lights up behind him, and Aaron turns around just in time to see the Eagle's Nest, trailing flames, enter the dark forest below.

With a curse that lets Aaron know he has seen it too, Wahren punches the F-15E's throttles to the firewall. The Strike Eagle fairly leaps as it punches through the sound barrier and closes the distance between it and the Skyhawk.

Aaron arms the aircraft's Sparrow and Sidewinder missiles as they race after the A-4, which is trying to hide in the forest below.

The lock tone sounds in Wahren's headset, and he notices the pipper centered on the Skyhawk's tailpipe. Wahren presses the trigger on his flight stick and sends the Sidewinder Aaron has locked up for him on it's way.

* * *

"Oh, this day is getting better and better..." Matt mumbles as red lights start to blink on all over the cockpit.

"Right outboard prop on fire." John calls, and the indicator for engine #2 lights up. John presses the extinguisher button. Nothing.

There is a loud 'THUMP' that vibrates the whole plane as the modified Peacemaker clips a clump of trees with it's right wing.

"Outboard jets are gone." Stacy remarks as she watches the engine pod fall to the ground, along with about twenty feet of the wing.

"All crew to ejection stations." Matt calls over the intercom.

"Fire in #6" John calls out as the engine nearest the fuselage on the right wing flares up.

Matt looks out the 360 degree bubble canopy to see flames shooting out of the exhaust manifolds of two of his three remaining engines on the right wing.

"Terrific." he mutters.

* * *

In the rear of the aircraft, Patrick is latching the tail ejection capsule closed. He fires the explosive bolts that separate the Peacemaker's thirty foot vertical tail from the top of the pod. Then he fires the second set, and the pod is pushed away from the dying bomber, all five others latched in to their seats. Patrick dives for his as the capsule starts to glide towards earth on it's wings, the REB's old horizontal tailplanes. There is a loud bang and the hiss of escaping air as the capsule is flung from the dying bomber, Patrick, Ryan, Kristine, Hera, Suzanne, and Marie safely inside.

* * *

"Gorilla Mountain, this is Eagle's Nest. Mayday, Mayday. Crewmen on the ground. We're going in...." Matt calls to the 137CW's HQ three miles south of them, hoping one of the C-17 crews is near the Command Room.

"Eject Eject Eject." Matt and the flight control computer call at the same time.

He fires off the Nest's canopy.

Stacy pulls her ejection handle and rockets out of the bomber, John and Doug following within instants. Matt keeps the aircraft more or less level as they egress.

Then the forest fills his vision as what remains of the bomber plows in.

Matt knows to fire his seat now would surely lead to death as the '36D spins crazily as it cracks into trees left and right. The right wing is torn off, and the plane goes into a half flat spin to that side as it begins to roll left. Then a large old pine snaps through the raccoon cheeks behind the cockpit, and Matt is left with about thirty feet of aircraft.

The Plexiglas bombardier's nose of the bomber shatters as it hits the ground, and the rest of the section crashes down and skids to a stop after plowing through the woods for fifty yards, leaving a swatch of upturned earth behind it.

After the aircraft comes to a stop, a hand emerges from under the instrument panel at the front of the aircraft and anchors itself on the canopy attachment rail. Matt hauls himself, still attached to his ejection seat, out from under the panel.

"Ow." he comments. He looks around the battered flight deck.

"The flight crew would like to ask you to place your trays and seatbacks in an upright position. Please wait until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and has finished falling apart before exiting. Thank you for flying Flybynight Air. Have a great day." Matt quips as he unstraps his harness and squirms out of his battered chair. Matt looks over the edge of the cockpit to the ground twelve feet below.

He goes to the rear of the cockpit and rummages in the rubble. He finds and throws a rope ladder stored under the flight engineer's station over the side of the aircraft. As he climbs to the ground, he hears a whoosh and feels heat from above him.

Looking up, he sees his ejection seat roaring into the sky.

Matt laughs and shakes his head.

"Don't blame ya. I'm leaving, too..." He says to the chair as it flies away.

* * *

The Sidewinder plunges into the Skyhawk at the exact time it's pilot ejects. The A-4 explodes, raining parts on the forest below.

"There's no way. I saw him die." Wahren mumbles.

"Maybe it wasn't Terry." Aaron states, trying to figure it all out, "You did leave his A-4 on OKINAKI, right?"

"Yeah. I guess it could be, but the flying style..."

"It Was classic Tron. He even pulled his 470 pullover on us. But...no, Terry was with us from the start."

"I know. I remember the Concorde."

"Turn back...." Aaron comments.

Wahren rolls the F-15E and turns back to where the pilot was drifting down on his hang-glider. Terry Carson had never used a parachute, but a hang-glider pack of his own design.

Wahren extends his gear, flaps, and airbrakes to pass by the pilot as slowly as possible.

The blue cybercycle is clearly visible on the pilot's helmet.

"Shit." Wahren mumbles.

Suddenly, the same thought strikes both F-15E crew members.

* * *

The glider/escape capsule lays empty. The six REB-36D crew members have left it, and are running towards the mountain.

From a different direction, Stacy Anrak is also running to the mountain.

John Terrance is in the back of an old Ford Astro driven by Paul "DaBoyz" Massey. He had found two of them and their keys in the garage where they had been left. They are picking up Doug Danko, and following Stacy's tracer.

Another van, driven by Aubree "Ghost" Warren, is on the way to pick up the rest of the crew.

Within twenty minutes, both Astros are re-entering the mountain.

* * *

As soon as that thought hits home, Aaron notices blips on his contact screen. It is chirping constantly. The blips are not small. Bombers. Aaron turns the gain down, and re-calibrates for closer distance. He gets a few faint feedbacks, but there are too many obstacles.

"Wahren, get us above 100 feet, would you?" he asks his partner.

As they climb, three fighters appear on his scope within three miles. As soon as he acquires them, missile launch warnings fill his and Wahren's ears.

Wahren throws the fighter into evasive maneuvers and kicks out chaff and flares as they turn towards Colorado Springs, leading the fighters away from the mountain.

In the back, Aaron is locking on to the aircraft with their missiles.

Below them, the shadowy forms of ground troops and vehicles begin to be seen as they approach the Springs. Aaron starts to lock up on the bombers as they come within range.

"What've we got?" Wahren asks.

"The good stuff. Our friends in trail are FS-Xs, and we have Bear, Blinder, Backfire, Badger, and Blackjack bombers in front."

"How many of the big boys?"

"Two Bears, three Backfires, a handful of Blinder and Badgers, and four Blackjacks."

"Hmm. Your call?"

"Hit the Blackjacks at extreme range with Sparrows, close in and nail the Backfires. Try to gun down a few Bears, but watch that tail gunner. Leave the Blinder and Badgers alone, and hope to hell we get out of this alive."

"That aughta work. Think they're headed for the mountain?"

"Dunno. Probably, if that was Terry. Let's not let them get there, eh?"

"Hang on to your ass...." Wahren calls as he kicks in the afterburners.

They close to within thirty miles of the bomber formation.

"First salvo: Sparrows?" Wahren asks.

"AIM-7s locked on and ready." is his WSO's reply.

"Fox One" Wahren calls as he sends the missiles to their targets. Seconds later, the four Blackjacks, which look like larger, boxier versions of the B-1B, have all been hit, but not before dropping their bombs.

Wahren and Aaron watch in horror as string after string of high incendiary bombs fall on downtown Colorado Springs and the United States Air Force Academy.

"Salvo Two?" Wahren calls, really pissed now.

"Go." Aaron responds, as angry as his partner.

Some of the bombers are turning to avoid. It doesn't matter. The Strike Eagle is doing Mach 2.5, and they are within the Sidewinder's six-mile design envelope.

"Fox Two" Wahren yells as he mashes the trigger.

Four more bombers explode and plunge towards the earth.

Wahren switches to guns as they enter the formation of Tupolevs.

A Blinder gets in front of the Strike Eagle, and it's 20mm Vulcan cannon chews away at the twin turbofans mounted on the tail. The whole assembly explodes as the '15E streaks by. The Blinder's wingman fires at him with his radar-guided NS-23 tail gun.

"Just a bit off the top, sir..." Aaron chuckles as the tracers from the bomber whiz by overhead.

The FS-X in trail are starting to catch up as the F-15E slows down to turn and attack the bombers. An F-16 derivative aircraft, the FS-X is Mitsubishi's attempt at originality. Or perhaps humor. Aaron isn't sure which, but knows they failed miserably. The FS-X has no chance against their aircraft in a fair fight. However, most fights against the ACMF are anything but fair.

"We've got a launch." Aaron calls forward to his partner. Wahren pumps a flare, rolls the '15E, and dives, narrowly missing the main fuselage of a Bear bomber in the process. As they right themselves, Aaron sees the Bear disappear in an explosion as the FS-X's missile finds a more attractive target.

"Nice move, bro."

"Merci" Wahren responds, snap-rolling the aircraft to avoid the enthusiastic fire from the tailgunner on a Badger.

The three FS-X aircraft are now close, and chasing them through the formation.

"Wish we still had a couple missiles..." Wahren mutters.

"Look out, low bridge..." Aaron snaps as they narrowly miss beheading themselves on a Blinder.

One of the FS-X fighters jinks left around the bomber, while another goes right. The last goes over the startled bomber crew, who have just narrowly missed being involved in a midair collision with four speeding fighters.

That's when the pilot notices his flame-out warning. The last aircraft has flown by too close to the engines, and has hit them with a big ol' dose of it's jet wash. The pilot looks at his co-pilot and shrugs. "Proclinat" he mutters as the plane plunges to earth.

The three FS-X aircraft all fire a missile at the weaving and ducking F-15E.

"Ooh...." Aaron comments as he looks behind them and sees the three contrails. Wahren snaps the fighter to the left and throws out flares. One of the missiles explodes harmlessly.

Another happily chases the crippled Blinder down to earth.

WHAM!!!!

"Shit. Number one is out." Aaron calls

"Trying restart." Wahren begins.

Aaron checks their six.

"Don't bother. It's not there..."

Wahren continues his turn, and finds two of the FS-Xs in his sights. He fires on the one on the left, and watches as the FS-X banks to the right to avoid the tracers.

Unfortunately, his wingman is on his right. The explosion is brilliant.

Wahren pushes up full throttle on his one good engine and heads back towards the mountain. So doing, he turns his back on the last FS-X.

Thinking he has an easy kill, the Mitsubishi pilot inches up on the Strike Eagle to position himself for a perfect cockpit kill with his cannon.

That's when he sees the man in the back seat motioning him closer.

Yes.... the ACMF pilot thinks I will get credit for these POWs.

He inches in towards the F-15E.

"Keep coming, you bastard..." Aaron mumbles.

"You ready back there?" Wahren asks.

"On my mark..."

The FS-X closes to within twenty feet of the Strike Eagle's tail.

"NOW!!" Aaron yells.

Wahren punches his chaff and flares.

The FS-X pilot suddenly realizes he's in trouble as the thin foil strips enter his engine inlet, followed closely by a white hot flare.

The Mitsubishi explodes.

Shrapnel whizzes by the Strike Eagle, pelting the wings and tails and bouncing off the canopy.

"Aw, shit. Aaron, we're screwed. I'm loosing power from the left APU, and engine #2 is going down."

"Can you make it to Gorilla?" Aaron asks as he checks the firing pin on his ejection seat.

"I'm sure as hell gonna try...." Wahren comments.

They turn the fighter back towards the mountain, twenty miles away. They are at 15,000 feet and starting to lose altitude. It is going to be close.

"Gorilla Mountain, this is Wolf. Eagle One is declaring an emergency. Please clear the top runway for us."

"Roger One, runway being cleared. There are a bunch of people here waiting for ya."

"Roger that." Wahren replies.

"Um...bro?" Aaron starts.

"Yep?"

"Got any duct tape or bailing wire?? We might need some of that." Aaron quips to ease the tension as he looks at their left landing flaps hanging in the wind.

"Yeah, and an extra Pratt and Whitney would be nice...." Wahren responds.

In the back seat, Aaron starts to drum on the canopy rail after setting the ILS and engaging their homing beacon.

"Hmm....that sounds familiar. Hold on..." Wahren comments as he listens to Aaron's drumming.

"....Something for the pain, gimme something for the blues, gimme something for the pain when I feel I'm dangling on a hangman's noose..." Wahren starts to sing as he recognizes the song. Aaron keeps drumming but adds his voice to his partner's.

Aaron notices a light flash on his instrument panel as they turn base for final. Their last engine has flamed out.

In the control room in Gorilla Mountain, Aubree "Ghost" Warren looks at the speaker in the wall as she hears the two pilots start to sing Bon Jovi's "Something for the Pain".

Moments later, there is a muffled "Oh, Shit!", followed instantly by the ear-rendingly unforgettable sound of metal slapping down onto rock, hard, followed by a loud SCREEEEEEEECCCHHH a hundred times worse than fingernails on chalkboard.

* * *

Aaron "Valder" Kupfer looks around him. From the front, the Asian Coalition forces are swarming towards Gorilla Mountain, intent upon destroying the last place they think the ETF has to run. From his position on the runway atop the mountain, Aaron can see the city of Colorado Springs in flames as an orange glare on the horizon.

In defense of the nation, Aaron has already lost many of his closest and oldest friends. Hunter, Samuelson, Wayne, and Barrister had all died while still fighting in Europe. Ritter and Vannell are missing, and Dieskau, Sandler, Strano, Engleslause, Van Hove, Waite, and Pana had died in the retreat across the eastern U.S.

His and Wahren's F-15E, Eagle One, lies in a smoldering heap at the far end of the runway on which he stands. Blood drips down Aaron's face from a cut on his forehead incurred during the crash. Wahren is below, where Marie and Aubree are working on getting his leg re-set so he can be safely moved. It had been shattered as the Strike Eagle made an uncontrolled pancake into the mountain. It is a miracle either of them made it out of the airplane alive. Matt, Hera, John, Stacy, Rae Ann Harris, and Suzanne are finishing loading essential supplies into the two C-17s in the main hangar. Doug, Kristine, Patrick, Paul, and Ryan are setting up the last of the 137CW fighters to protect the outgoing cargo haulers, and Adam, Eveline and Callie Phillips are just touching down with the Akula squadron Tu-144 SST with the ETF's loved ones on the runway behind the mountain, down in the valley, among them Wahren's wife Jessica, their children, and his sister Shannon; Anthony's wife Heather, and their son; Janine Vivin; Hera's husband and daughter; and Stacy's sister Rebecca. The Akula pilots have already engaged the Asian Coalition fighters ten miles from the mountain.

Aaron runs inside the mountain as he sees the first of a flight of F-15Js turn towards them.

Adam has brought the Tupolev inside, Matt has rolled stairs up to it, and the ETF members are hastily boarding. Wahren is being helped on-board by Suzanne and Aubree. Aaron catches up with them as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

Marie stops him and swipes the cut on his head clean with iodine and alcohol, then places a bandage over it.

"Wahren, remember, no barrel rolls in this baby." he says with a smirk as he stands still for Cordova' ministrations.

"Yeah, I don't think we'll have a problem with THAT. Besides, I think it was you who rolled the Concorde..." Wahren begins. He stops, then looks at his friend. He shakes his head slowly. "You're not going to re-consider, are you?" he asks.

"No. Someone has to do this. I'm the only one with no outside links." Aaron responds, looking towards the Tupolev.

Wahren opens his mouth as if to argue, sees the familiar set to Aaron's chin that tells him it would be useless. Instead, he says, "Godspeed, brother."

"Ad Coelum" Aaron responds. The two hug. "Now, go see your wife before I change my mind."

Matt comes around the corner from the C-17s and salutes his commander as he starts up the stairs towards the cockpit.

The whine of turbofans can be heard as the first escort fighter, an F-16F (XL) with Patrick O’Donnell at the controls, rolls towards the exit. Behind him is the first C-17, flown by Paul Massey and Hera Steel. Then comes Doug Danko in an F-5, followed by the next C-17 with Rae Ann Harris and Marie Cordova at the controls. Finally, Kristine Vermes and John Terrance lead the Tu-144 in their F-15Cs. Matt Bendix is flying the Tupolev, and Stacy Anrak stops before entering the Supersonic Transport. She looks at Aaron, walks up to him, and embraces him.

"Be careful...." she mutters.

Aaron kisses her on the forehead and gently pushes her away.

"Don't worry, Stacy, I'll be back to annoying you in no time. I've got a backup plan." He comments as he points over his shoulder. Stacy looks to see an old 1944 B-25N in the corner, the same aircraft Aaron and Wahren had flown the airshow circuit in the early '90s, and the plane that had been used as chase for the Eagle's Nest in flight test.

"You'll meet us at Edwards?" She asks.

"I'll be around..." He mutters, unable to meet her gaze.

"Aaron.."

He looks up, sees tears in her eyes. He wipes them away.

"Your plane's leaving." He states. Stacy begins to board the aircraft.

"I love you." He mutters.

"We'll talk about it in California?" Stacy states/asks.

Aaron shakes his head slightly as she enters the Russian aircraft. She knew then he didn't plan on living through this one.

Aaron watches the door to the Tupolev close behind her, and the big plane starts to taxi away.

Aaron runs upstairs to the Command Center, and starts running a program on the computer.

"Okay you fuckers..." he mutters to himself as he turns on the HQ's self-defense systems, "...let's dance."

The Asian Coalition troops attack the front of the mountain, bombarding it with mortar rounds and shells from their tanks.

Inside, Aaron watches on a closed-circuit monitor as one tank gets lucky and punches through the hidden front door that the Eagles had used to drive their vehicles in when coming from Colorado Springs.

The T-72 lumbers towards the now-exposed door.

"Jee-zus." Aaron hears from over his shoulder.

He looks up to see Ryan Wakefield looking over his shoulder.

"Vyper, what in the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to get on that Tupolev?" He asks.

"Never was all that great at following orders...." Ryan mutters, "Besides, I couldn't let you have all the fun. So, what's the plan?"

Aaron watches the T-72 gain entry to the front of the HQ.

"Run." he comments.

The two men take off down the stairs towards the main hangar and the B-25N therein.

As they reach the hangar, so does the T-72. The Mitchell disappears in an inferno as it is hit by a HEAT round.

Ryan grabs Aaron's shoulder as they run back the way they had come. A glint of blue catches Ryan's eye. He runs towards it.

"Where are you going?" Aaron yells.

Ryan throws the tarp, which had folded back to give Ryan that glimpse, off of the light blue 1992 Nissan Hardbody pickup parked in a garage off the hangar.

"Plan B..." Ryan yells back.

Aaron punches a button on the hangar wall and runs for the pickup. The truck's keys are snagged off their hook beside the pickup. Ryan dives through the passenger side window as Aaron guns the four-liter engine. The rear wheels smoke and squeal as Aaron puts the truck into first and peels out on the smooth floor.

"C'mon, old girl...." he mutters. The truck gains traction and it's two occupants are thrown into their seats.

"Go, Trixie, go..." Ryan comments as he pats the truck's armrest. In under eight seconds, the little pickup is roaring through the hangar at 60 miles an hour, Aaron shifting like lightning.

The T-72 turns it's turret to try and track them. A shell explodes in a section of the wall just behind them.

The HQ's internal timer flashes down it's final three seconds as it follows the self-destruct program Aaron has initiated.

The pickup screams out of the hangar door and onto the runway as the T-72 turns again.

"I'm back in high school!" Ryan yells as they carom onto the runway, taking a 90 degree corner without slowing down.

"Yeah, but they didn't have guns then....." Aaron mutters.

Still accelerating, the speedometer needle is pegged past the 100 miles an hour mark as the mountain explodes behind them.

The pickup leaps into the air as it roars over the embankment at the end of the runway. Flames shoot out of the open hangar door behind them, and it starts to rain boulders as the mountain is destroyed.

As the truck soars through the air, Ryan vocally sounds out the horn from the General Lee.

The truck lands in the six-inch deep snow with a bone-jarring crunch, but, through some miracle, manages to keep running. There is the sound of wood splintering as they land. Ryan looks behind them and notices for the first time the three crates in the bed.

"What are those doing here." he asks as he reads the crates, noting that they are Stinger anti-aircraft missiles and a launcher.

"I was using them for weight for the winter." Aaron grins.

"We're in trouble, again..." Ryan mutters as a Mitsubishi FS-X roars over them.

"Long live the V-Team Wrecking Crew." Aaron mutters with a grin as he avoids trees while speeding down the valley.

Kristine keeps her place on the Tu-144's right wing as the three-ship formation rolls down the white-painted runway and off into the night. Matt keeps the aircraft at low level while punching through the sound barrier, swiftly passing the two C-17s and their escorts. On the other side of the SST, John Terrance paces Kristine exactly.

Within minutes, they are out of range of the Asian Coalition fighters.

The two C-17s are kept on the deck by their crews, staying barely high enough to clear the trees below, and their escorts fly just above them, all of the aircraft below radar coverage of the overhead enemy. As they roar away from Gorilla Mountain, the night sky is lit up by a giant explosion as the mountain's self-destruct mechanism is tripped.

In the cockpit of his C-17, Paul Massey drops his head in silent farewell to his longtime friend. Beside him, Hera mutters silently.

"One shall fall so the others may live."

Then the familiar growl filled Paul's headset.

"Shit...missile lock...Dono, would you get rid of our visitor, please?" he calls.

"Roger, I'm in." Patrick replies as he pulls his midnight black F-16XL into a steep climb towards his target. He locks on a Sidewinder, and fires. There is a satisfying explosion as an Asian MiG-23 bites the dust.

"Splash one..."

Three MiG-29K Fulcrums, an Su-37 Copperhead, and two Su-27 Flankers come out of the night sky, their deep gray paint scheme and shark's mouths identifying them as members of the Akula squadron.

"Hello, boys and girls. Nice to see you. Where are the rest of you?" Paul asks over the radio.

"Swordsman and three other aircraft are catching up with the personnel transport, Flight Leader DaBoyz." the lead Akula pilot replies.

"Well, we're thankful for the assist. What do you say we get the hell out of Dodge?" Doug mumbles.

"Gladly." is the reply, and the Russian aircraft form up around the Globemaster IIIs.

More Asian fighters drop in on the flight, MiG-21s, F-1s, and FS-X fighters.

"Shit....Out of the fire..." Marie mutters as she banks her C-17 in evasive maneuvers.

Doug roars in on the tail of an FS-X, his cannons blazing. In satisfaction, Danko watches his tracers as they impact and tear off the aircraft's tail. Then comes the familiar thump of a bullet hit. Doug checks six to see a MiG-21 firing at him.

"Oh, no you don't..." he comments as he rolls the aircraft inverted and dives for the deck. The MiG has a partner, and the two follow him onto the deck.

Doug is at treetop level and jinking rapidly.

Damn Doug thinks as one of the MiGs gets a lucky shot at him. Doug whips the F-5 into a left turn, then goes vertical. He is jinking across the sky, but cannot lose the two Mikoyan fighters.

A light flashes red at him on his console. He has a fire in engine 1. Now in 2.

"Time to leave..." Doug mutters as he grabs the yellow and black handle between his legs. His canopy is fired off, and, instants later, the rocket underneath his seat propels Doug 200 feet into the air.

The crippled F-5 plows into the forest, sending up a spray of snow and twigs, and crashing through trees. There is no big explosion, as it hits the forest floor in a pancake.

Doug watches with amusement as his chute deploys and he floats the 300 feet to earth.

The MiGs leave him alone.

Snow flies up on the left side of the fleeing pickup, and the sound of high-velocity projectiles whizzing by is heard.

"Damn bullies...." Ryan comments as he braces himself while Aaron skids the pickup around a corner and between a group of trees.

The F-16 based FS-X above them fires again, from the front this time, as it tries to hit the still moving Nissan.

"Damn bullies with terrible aim...." Ryan amends.

"They're starting to piss me off..." Aaron mutters as he spins the steering wheel and downshifts to avoid a large pine. It splinters as it takes the brunt of the FS-X's attack.

"Ryan, is it just him?" Aaron asks his hapless passenger.

"Yeah, he's a loner." Ryan comments, scanning the night sky.

"Good. Hang on..." Aaron comments as they come to a frozen river bed.

It works perfectly as a one-lane road, albeit a slippery one. Aaron guns the engine and shifts back into fifth gear.

Snow flies up in a cloud on either side of the pickup as their high-speed passage creates a wake.

Aaron looks over at Ryan.

"You want to drive?" he asks.

Ryan arches an eyebrow, then shrugs. He grabs the wheel as Aaron rolls down his window and climbs into the bed of the truck.

Ryan slides over on the bench seat and takes control of the little pickup.

After another unsuccessful strafing run, the FS-X turns towards them again, deploys it's landing gear and airbrakes, and slows to a crawl.

Aaron has the Stinger launcher out of it's crate, and has a missile loaded into it. Both he and Ryan see the Mitsubishi's move, and know the pilot is lining up for a missile shot.

What could he possibly acquire on this....oh, shit. Aaron thinks as he realizes there are only two things giving out enough heat to guide a heat-seeking missile. Himself and the engine. Ryan seems to be thinking the same thing, for he throws the pickup into a skid and slows it down enough for Aaron to dive off, then accelerates towards a large snowbank.

The FS-X fires off one of it's new state-of-the-art AA-39 Arrow kinetic energy missile. They have no explosives in the missile, but use it's hyper-velocity, about Mach 6+, to destroy targets. Their IR seeker heads are able to be adjusted to the pilot's choosing.

The missile homes in on the truck as Ryan slams it through the snowbank. The front of the truck crunches as it enters the snowbank, and steam rises from the hood.

The Arrow loses it's lock as the engine is flash-cooled by the snowbank, and tries to find another target. There is none to be found, as Aaron has dove into the snow to cover his body heat.

The missile slams into a hill and burrows in.

Ryan sits up in the driver's seat of the pickup, feeling his forehead. He had hit it on the steering wheel as the truck plunged to a halt after stalling hitting the snowbank.

"Ohh...that's gonna leave a mark..." he mutters.

Meanwhile, Aaron has picked up the Stinger and run out into the clearing by the pickup. He stands in the truck's bed to get a clear shot, and locks on to the FS-X, which is still crawling along towards them.

With a flash of fire and a roar, the Stinger is fired at the approaching aircraft. The Asian pilot tries to maneuver, but has no speed. The missile hits the cockpit, and the jet explodes.

Aaron falls out of the bed of the truck and lands on his back in the snow, laughing. Ryan props open the door beside him.

"Gee, that was fun. Can we do it again?" he mutters as he stares down at his friend. At that, they both break into laughter.

As he floats to earth, Doug sees an aircraft performing strafing runs in the distance. He lands, rolls his chute, and buries it. He sees an explosion back in the direction of the mountain.

"Damn....he made it out." Doug thinks, knowing the Asians would only be strafing if his friend has managed to escape them.

Doug unstraps his M-16 from it's shoulder harness and starts to run in the direction of the mountain, calling over his survival radio for assistance as he does so.

Aaron and Ryan look at the pickup after they push it back to the riverbed. The hood is bashed in quite a bit, and the grille is gone, but it seems serviceable. Aaron starts it up. It sputters, then catches. He glances at the fuel gauge, which is showing an orange light.

"Must've hit a fuel line...." he says to Ryan. The two men look underneath the truck and see gas dripping from a severed hose.

"That's it. Hey, you still have that patch kit in the cab?" Ryan asks.

Aaron rummages around behind the seat for a moment, then tosses the kit to Ryan.

They wrap the hose with a temporary patch, and begin to put more fuel into the truck from the auxiliary five-gallon tank Aaron had in the bed. While rummaging in the cab for the patch kit, Aaron has found a bottle of black Testor's model paint, and one of his brushes. He paints a silhouette of the FS-X beneath the driver's side door as Ryan connects the spigot to the auxiliary tank.

After all five gallons have been transferred, Ryan and Aaron check over the pickup. Ryan notices the silhouette and laughs. "Four more and she'll be an ace!" he chuckles as he pats the pickup on the hood. They climb back in the truck and Aaron starts it up, and they roll off down the riverbed.

Patrick hears Doug's radio call and tells the C-17s that he is turning back, while calling the nearest Colorado ANG unit to send an OV-22 Osprey to pick him up. He gets no response. Paul turns his C-17 to follow Patrick.

Aaron slows the truck as he sees a figure in the woods, and turns on his headlights.

The figure blinks in the sudden glare, and both Aaron and Ryan recognize Doug Danko.

Ryan leans out of the passenger door of the truck.

"Hey, sailor, need a lift?" he calls.

Just then, Patrick's F-16XL roars over, and Doug's radio comes alive. Doug dives in the bed of the truck as he hears the message, tossing the radio to Aaron.

Following the directions on the radio, Aaron heads out of the mountains and intersects Interstate 25 running south. Aaron speeds up until 100 miles an hour, and is whizzing down the Interstate when a loud rumble is heard and a large shadow blots out the stars. Doug and Ryan look up to see a C-17 passing overhead. It has it's cargo bay door open, and touches down just thirty feet ahead of the truck. Aaron slams the gas pedal to the floor as Paul decelerates slightly, and Trixie's wheels hit the end of the Globemaster's ramp. As soon as all four wheels are on the ramp, Hera, acting as loadmaster, starts to retract the ramp, and Paul lifts off again.

Patrick takes up position on the C-17's wing as they climb into the night sky.