Red lights flashed. A warning beacon screeched unending as the range-finder gave pulses to indicate how far from the ground the soft metal belly of Commander McPierson’s F-15 Eagle was. That enemy Mig did some nasty things to him on his way out of the border. Nasty.
But he was able to destroy it after a quick jinx maneuver and a spray of machine gun fire into his tailpipe. The Eagle was wavering, but thus far was holding together. Things were not lost as long as the fuel lines held. They had about exactly ten minutes to however, as the long distance flight back to Kung field left little fuel after his fated bout.
“Charlie Hotel Romeo Alpha, this is Hot-to-Trot, requesting a fire team and rescue, over.” Joe radioed.
“Roger that, Trot, how much do ya have left in the reserves?” Kung radioed back.
“About.. oh.. eight minutes left. I hope you boys are equipped well to handle wounded birds.” Said Joe and was off. The canopy continued to lazily swing below him. He wasn’t going to push his luck going any amount of speed. It was a mere hundred feet from the ground below.
“Trot, we have you spotted on radar. Your coming in awfully close to the ground. Advise that you gain more altitude, over.” Stated Kung.
“Roger that. I’ll try but it won’t be easy, she’s busted up bad.” Indeed, the wings were highly damaged and looked like a giant cat had been clawing at it.
“Joe.” Professor Jenkins called out role-call (and to give out their test scores individually). “JOE!” he shouted. He knew Joe McKlowaski was here. He was sitting in the front seat! On time just like every morning in College Algebra I. Just not mentally here. This always frustrated the professor.
“… Uh? Yes, here Mr. Jenkins.” Joe finally awoke from his stupor and got up and strode to the desk. He could feel their eyes. All of them watching him. A few snickers escaped from a few in the back. Probably from some of the jocks in the back whom were well known to be pass only because they bought the test answers from the ‘geeks’ less honest then Joe.
“Here is your test score. Please be more attentive next time you come to my class.” Jenkins gave Joe the ‘eye’ and found it wasted. The ‘eye’ never works on somebody who isn’t connected to this reality enough to see you.
Joe collapsed into his chair, straightened his hair and sighed. He’d gone through this ‘ceremony’ three times already. All in the same class but with different professors. Failing each time. He slowly glanced down to look at the big red letter written at the bottom...
“Pull up, Joe. GOD DAMN IT, PULL UP!” the radio operator from Kung yelled frantically.
Joe couldn’t answer, his teeth were clapped airtight as his arms lost circulation, grappling with the stick. But the old bird wouldn’t budge. The trees spun, slowly at first, and then came rushing at him. There was a loud crash, something that seemed disconnected from him.
Or perhaps he was disconnected from the rest of the world. The crash was followed by an explosion. The feeling of massive heat suddenly welling around him. Fragments, perhaps metal or glass striking him. He was blind, glass from the cockpit had shattered, striking him in the face.
Some how McPierson was still alive.. again. Captain McPierson always survived even when he wished he hadn’t. It was a gift. Some where distant in a world not molded by metal and other materials twisted like a Geiger painting, he felt the pulsing of something hot running down his skin.. and then he passed out.
Joe walked out of class once it was finally over and pondered a trip to the computer lab. No, he felt like it was too far. A million miles away. His will was now crushed towards doing anything. It would take a walk around campus before he would be rejuvenated enough to take at a game of Tribes so he could snipe a few unlucky souls in vengeance.
So he walked, thinking…
Davion collapsed as his leg gave up. He wasn’t sure how, but his leg had become wounded at some point during the battle. Remnants of the Empire’s troops marched along with him. The famed Davion’s Hellhounds were now broken.
Men as wounded as himself or worse continued the two hundred mile trek towards home. There was nobody else in these stark field lands to aid them. He grabbed the pesky knee that was refusing to work properly in one gauntlet-clad hand and forced it straight again. Blood was impossibly seeping through his chain mail from several scores hit upon his person.
“Come on, we have to hold together.” Stated his Lieutenant from some where. He couldn’t tell where, the thick rain and fog was hiding everything as he thrashed in the mud in his attempts to get back up again.
Two men, obviously artillery-men due to the red bands they wore around their shoulders, trudded by blindly. One wore a bandage over both his eyes while he supported himself on crutches, his left leg little more then a stump. The other man, supporting him on his right un-crutched side, wore a similar bandage but one eye had managed to survive. A miracle and a pity all in one.
Davion silently cursed the enemy and their dishonorable tactics. Never before had they come across an enemy that they could not get close enough to grapple with. Davion slowly forced himself back on the leg that was threatening to fold under him and took a hesitant step forward.
His second appeared through the fog and grabbed him by his side so that the leg was no longer needing to be used as much. It was a long road ahead to get back home, and there were fifty lost and heavy wounded men here waiting to walk their way back…
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