December 16th, 2016

Operation Fool’s Hand

That’s the only way I could describe the plan they had. Imperial forces had set up dastardly beach defenses ready to cut down anything sent their way. Anti-aircraft guns, artillery cannons. They had cannons built for warships in their defenses, embedded in stone bunkers along the coastline.

I was worried about it all. We had tried sending paratroopers to sabotage enemy defenses before the landing, but we lost all contact with them shortly after. High Command, in their infinite insanity, decided to green-light the invasion anyway.

So here I was, sitting in my cockpit, about to take part in yet another bloodbath of a battle. Highlander started giving out orders.

Highlander: “Ten seconds until the operation begins. Cover our landing forces. The overall objective of the mission is to capture a beachhead to land more forces. Take out as many enemy defenses as you can. If our landing forces take too many casualties, the operation will fail.”

And with that, we were off. Cannon fire shot straight at us. I heard the crack of it whizz between our formation.

Crucible 1: “Break! Break! Take out those cannons first!”

We threw ourselves at the enemy defenses. The landing force had already started landing on the beaches. I looked down and I saw troopers and tanks pouring out of armored landing craft and helicopters. So many of them were cut down so quickly.

Enemy aircraft were cutting some of our choppers to pieces. We swooped in and tried to engage them, drawing their attention away from our troops and to us. They were flying some pretty advanced fighters. Six SU-33Ds led by one SU-57D. These things were built to kill enemy aircraft with ease.

The SU-57, aside from being a different model of aircraft from the rest of its flight, had a unique livery painted on its tail. It was an image of a conductor, making gestures to command an unseen orchestra.

On top of that, his IFF gave off a unique nickname under it. Usually, this is given to pilots granted the title of Ace, to help both friends and foes identify them on the battlefield. His visible nickname was “Maestro.” We drew the formation’s attention, and this spiraled into a dogfight between our two squadrons.

Maestro sought out Crucible 1 specifically. They launched away from the rest of the dogfight and began engaging one-on-one. It was mesmerizing to watch. The two twirled around and around each other in a beautiful dance. Every one of their moves was skillful and calculated. Nothing those two did was without purpose. I couldn’t tell what Maestro and Crucible 1 were saying over comms, if they were saying anything at all.

I can only make guesses, but based on how events would unfold after this encounter, I would say that they both realized that day that they had met their match. I was occupied fighting Maestro’s company of friends, but I still glanced at them when I had the chance, watching them.

The dance ended abruptly when Maestro intentionally stalled his plane. He slowed down and began falling back to the Earth. His aircraft, now upside down, angled its nose towards 1’s Phantom, which was just starting to move in reaction. Before I could blink, a stream of bullets carved a line of holes into the Phantom’s underside. 1 started trailing smoke and plummeted towards the water below him faster than Maestro did.

But just before he hit the water, 1 kicked on his engines and pulled up hard, nearly slamming into the waves before arcing upwards and flying straight towards the Maestro. He hadn’t yet noticed that he hadn’t killed his enemy with that blow and wasn’t able to react in time when 1 fired a missile directly at his plane. It made contact and exploded. By some miracle, Maestro’s plane was still flying, but it was a scorched and smoking mess.

Maestro: “AH! Damnit.”

Maestro’s voice was gruff and mature. He spoke with a... certain tone that makes you both respect and fear him. Even after his near-death experience, he kept his voice relatively calm and remained composed.

Maestro: “Composer Team. I’m pulling out. My plane is too damaged to keep fighting. Do what you can or come with me, but I don’t believe we can hold this beach.”

Composer Team. Now we had a name for our skilled adversaries. We had already downed two of them. The remaining eight retreated with their squadron leader. The enemy air power was pulling out in full.

I took the moment of unstable calm to look at the beaches. Smoking craters dotted the sandy shores. Landing craft were running aground and lowering their doors. Countless soldiers and armored vehicles drove up the beaches, heading inland. The water near the beach was dyed red by the blood. Wrecked tanks and crashed helicopters still burned on the sand. I couldn’t make it out, but bodies, shot and blown lifeless, lay across the beaches, covered in dirt and sand.

I hope those poor souls have found peace in the afterlife.

We had taken the beach. A carrier had been brought on station for us to land until we either secured an enemy airfield or paved a new one out ourselves. Once the soldiers had secured the nearest town inland, we were allowed to go ashore.

Planting my boots on Astean soil felt good. The dirt was moist from the coastal humidity and a nice, rich brown. Great for farming. The thought of retiring to Astea someday flashed through my mind, but I ignored it.

The town had been abandoned by its population when the invasion started, so it was just us and the marines here. We went to the town bar and enjoyed a nice night. I only ever drink alcohol on one occasion, and that’s when I get a spoonful of wine from the priest when I go to church.

Tonight was the time that changed. I was pressured into doing shots in a challenge against Stronghold. I downed two before giving up. I couldn’t take the burn, and the taste was awful to me. Stronghold had already won, but she kept going. She downed three... four... seven... ten... eleven shots before stopping. She was hardly phased. I swear, that woman is a super-soldier of some kind, because I haven’t met a single person who could beat her at anything except for flying. That spot was taken by Crucible 1.

I got three things that day: Drunk, the title of ace, and a respect for that Maestro character. I had a feeling that this battle wouldn’t be the last we saw of him.

I woke up the next day on the floor of my room with one bastard of a hangover. I’m such a damn lightweight. I would later see Stronghold in the mess hall for breakfast, and it was like those eleven shots had never happened. Super. Soldier. She gave me a smug look when she saw me. I joked that if this war wouldn’t kill her, I would. We both gave a light laugh to that, but then I passed out again and woke up at noon, back in my room.