April 12th, 2017

Operation Closing Curtain

They called it “Operation Closing Curtain.”

With the Imperial Navy crippled to the point where its remaining vessels couldn’t make any impact on the war and the Imperial Army’s vehicle inventory nearly wiped off the surface of the Earth, the Allied Forces swept across the continent. Securing beach landing sites and harbors, hundreds of thousands of troops arrived and pushed inland. The speed at which we were progressing was almost alarming. Imagine how the Imperials felt.

We must have sortied a dozen times to provide air support for ground advances. Allied tanks moved in a tsunami of steel and fire, cutting down any defensive positions they could, while we gave them cover and mopped up whatever they missed.

Over the next five months, 970,000 Imperial soldiers and personnel surrendered to the Alliance. Another 1.2 million died because they were too dedicated to do the same, fighting until their last breath. The Allies took over forty-something cities on the way to the capital, further weakening the Imperial military and infrastructure.

Finally, we had them cornered. The Imperial capital city of Menisat was all that remained. They were dug in deep. It would take the full force of the Alliance brought down upon them to tear them out.

That was exactly what Operation Closing Curtain was. Thirty-seven battalions of Allied infantry and armor, two entire navy battlegroups, and forty-three squadrons of fighters and light bombers were pulled up to take the city. In total, it was over 70% of the Allied Forces’ total military force on the continent.

I thanked God that we hadn’t decided to use firebombs again. I think the generals learned their lesson from last time.

Surrounding the last of the Imperial Military from all sides, we began the assault.

Highlander: “AWACS Highlander to all callsigns, report in.”

Crucible 1: “Crucible 1, standing by.”

Stronghold: “Crucible 2, ‘Stronghold,’ standing by.”

Tally: “Crucible 3, ‘Tally,’ standing by.”

Moneybags: “Crucible 4, ‘Moneybags,’ standing by.”

Me: “Crucible 5, ‘Rookie,’ standing by.”

After everyone had reported in (it took a long time, with so many pilots taking part in this), we commenced the operation.

The city was surrounded by some small mountains, so the tanks took a long time to get over or around them, but that just gave us time to clear out the defenses lying in wait for them. We passed over the mountains and got a full gaze of the Imperial defenses.

Thirty-or-so tanks sat dug into the ground or behind walls of sandbags. artillery pieces sat at the far back of the defenses, waiting to fire on the invaders. Anti-aircraft guns, along with CIWS, which were guns specifically designed for shooting down missiles and bombs, were dotting the defenses. Aircraft and attack helicopters soared across the city.

In total, there were three lines of defense. The first was the battle line of tanks and infantry platoons using the city outskirts as makeshift cover. The second lines were APCs and artillery meant to support the first line. The third and final one was the thickest and formed their last line around the Imperial Royal Palace. That was the final goal. We take the palace, and the rest of the defenses will collapse.

The palace, even if the royal family wasn’t inside, was still a symbol to the Astean people. Morale was already low enough with the front line collapsing, so losing the palace would be the last straw.

All forty-three squadrons soared into the battle. We started with engaging the second line, because taking out the support for the first line would make it easy for the tanks to get through it, and we had to leave something for them.

The artillery was the biggest issue, as they could destroy our tanks if they got within range. We struck them repeatedly, each time blasting apart an artillery piece. It was good that we were destroying this early, because the tanks were now spilling into the city, engaging tanks and APCs as the infantry battalions moved into buildings to take out entrenched soldiers. I couldn’t look at it for too long as black clouds of flak made a mess of the sunset sky. I had to be careful not to get hit, because one of those could severely damage my plane if they hit.

I wanted to use my missiles, but I saved it. This plane could carry, at most, six missiles. I had taken a mixed loadout, with four air-to-ground missiles and two air-to-air missiles. Everything else was up to the guns. I hadn’t used any yet because I was waiting for something worthwhile to use it on.

Within the hour, the tanks had cleared the first and second defense lines, now hitting the third with their full force. I figured they could have this, so I turned my attention to the sky.

The sky. I loved it. The light blue yonder. I remember looking up at planes as a kid, going “I want to be up there.” The sky was beautiful almost all the time. In the night, it was a pleasant black, filling my lungs with the fresh night air and it's dotted with the lights of a thousand distant stars. In the day, it’s a refreshing blue, giving a pleasant feeling to the world. My favorite is the evening, when the sky is on fire with fascinating shades of orange, yellow and purple.

Today, the sky was filled with planes from both sides, alive with combat. The fighters danced around each other in endless spirals. It didn’t have the grace and calculation that the fight between 1 and Maestro did, but it was still an interesting dance.

Speaking of Maestro, guess who showed up?

I had to laugh at his timing, showing up late with his squadron to the most important battle of the war. Hey, at least he showed up, so he deserves some credit. Dramatic, isn’t it? He also spoke in a dramatic tone, challenging Crucible 1 yet again.

Maestro: “We meet again. Tell me, mysterious pilot, do you dare challenge me again?”

1 said nothing, as usual, but we knew he was going to do it. The two entered another dance above the city as we busied ourselves handling the new enemy squadron. Say what you want about their planes, but their pilots are not to be messed with.

The fight was a blur. I singled out one of the Composer Team pilots and chased him through the furball. He dodged my bullets and evaded my missiles for a solid few minutes of intense dogfighting, before I finally landed some hits on him.

My bullet spray sheared off one of his tail fins and destroyed one of his engines. Smoke erupted from the plane’s rear. As I pulled away, I saw him eject from his aircraft as it spiraled into the ground and exploded.

I returned to the fight and repeated the process a few more times with similar results. The regular Imperial planes were easy to shoot down. Their pilots were skilled, but they were no aces. Composer Team, on the other hand, was very skilled, and probably were aces.

Their pilots twirled around most of our attacks, but it became easier to shoot down as time went on. As the fight continued, the Allied Forces gradually gained more control of the skies. With fewer enemies to spread attention across, the Allied pilots slowly began ganging up on the Composer planes. In a one-on-one fight, they were kings, but in a ten-on-one fight, they could only last so long.

When the last of the Composer planes were shot down, all the remaining ally pilots turned their attention to the fight between Crucible 1 and Maestro. Both planes were maimed and smoking. Again, they had both found their skill levels to be equal as they continued their aerial dance.

Noticing the hostile planes swarming him, Maestro pulled away from the battle with 1 and ran from the airspace, his plane still trailing smoke. He was defeated yet again, his plane barely functioning, and his squadron all shot down. Before he fully fled the region, he said this on an open channel, his voice in clear physical and emotional pain:

Maestro: “Hear me, Allied Forces. You will pay for this. Dearly.”

Dramatic as ever. If this was a comedy show, I would just imagine him huffing angrily and swishing a cape as he turned and stormed away.

With no more enemy aircraft around, I looked across the city. The final layer of defenses had been overtaken by the ground forces, and Highlander got on the radio to speak.

Highlander: “All units, the enemy has surrendered. The royal family is signing a ceasefire. I’m directing you all to the coordinates of a captured airfield on your GPS. You’re cleared to land there. Congratulations. We’ve won.”

A large cheer from all the pilots erupted through the comms. I couldn’t help but smile. This was finally over. We had one. Crucible Squadron let out their various words of approval, rejoicing at this victory. Who wouldn’t be? The most destructive war in the history of the world is finally over.

I slept much better that night, at peace with our victory, but I still felt just the slightest bit uneasy because of Maestro’s escape, and his swearing of vengeance.

The following week, I checked in with the Allied Forces POW managers. None of them reported capturing maestro, or anyone even resembling his description. You may be wondering how I knew what he looked like, and it was because the Allied Forces had gained access to the Imperial Military’s personnel records. I found Maestro’s file there. Still, no luck. Nobody had seen him. He might just be hiding, but it’s very likely that he escaped from his plane.

But where was he running to? What was he doing?

In fact, similar reports were popping up everywhere. Soldiers and personnel nobody had accounted for. They didn’t find their bodies. They hadn’t surrendered. They hadn’t reported it to anyone at all. They were just gone. MIA.

Where had they gone?

I know the answers to these questions, but why would I spoil the ending now? Where’s the fun in that?

In other news, the Alliance and the Empire had signed a peace treaty, the Menisat Treaty. Hostilities had officially ended between the two superpowers. The day they surrendered was declared V-A Day, or Victory in Astea Day, in the coming years. Tensions eased as more peace and assistance talks began. At the end of the month, relief efforts from around the world arrived to help repair much of the damage done to Astea during the war.

And it was all going great, until I turned on the news three weeks later.

By that time, I had been transferred out of the continent. I had taken military leave since I hadn’t had one since the start of the war. When I was back at my house, I spent the whole day sleeping and relaxing. The war made me tense, especially in the back.

When I finally crawled out of bed the next day, I went downstairs, made some coffee, and turned on the news. There. It. Was.