War

It's over.

The shock of the situation strikes me like a freight train. It's actually over. Everything - everyone - is quiet, and with the exception of the jet engine, there's silence. Seconds pass, but they feel like hours.

"Alex, RTB." The instructor says. One of my wingmen speak up.
"But sir, Alex is-"
"RTB. Now."
"Y-yes sir." I'm getting that weird feeling that feels like your soul is observing your body in the third person as the situation sinks in.

It doesn't matter really. I'm out of the program, and now it's time to confirm what we already know - I'm a failure. I start to tune out the confused radio messages as I start to think. I can't go back into acting - I don't have any connections left. I can't go back to college and study something different, because I don't have the funds. I can try to go back and get a regular ass job, but seeing how I'm getting rejected from employment even at fucking fast food restaurants, that's also a bust. I can't-

"Uh, sir? I hate to get in the way of things, but we have several bogeys on our radar, over." Eagle 3 says over the coms.
"I concur! This is Eagle 6, seeing multiple bogeys on my radar too! Over!"
"Eagle 7, same here!" As my wingmates begin to speak up one by one, I too, notice fifteen different dots appear on my radar. I ignore it.
"There aren't supposed to be any flights out here this time." I hear a crackle. "Base commander Arendal, what's going on?"

Awkward silence.

"Eagle 6, I have a radar lock! What the hell!?"
"Eagle 2, radar's locked onto me!" The radios erupt into madness as my wingmen try to contact the bogeys as our instructor calls base.
"Eagle 5, I uh, confirm that bogey in the lead formation is targeting you!" I call out as I snap out of things. Everything is a dreamlike haze. Weirdly enough, I'm almost a little excited as the piled up stress turns into the adrenaline of battle.
"This is Eagle 1, calling the fifteen craft set to rendezvous with ours! Cease radar lock, this is a military training flight of the Royal Elodian Air Force! I repeat, this is a-"
"This is Training flight seventeen! Base commander, why are we-"
"Contact, contact! Bogeys are firing- ah shit! Evade, evade!"
I rapidly shift my craft sharply to the left as every single light in my craft begins beeping red and screaming the missile alert at me.
"This is Eagle 5, taking evasive maneuvers! What the hell is going on?"
"I can't shake it, the missile is-" Static. There's a fireball where Eagle 2 used to be.
"Eagle 2 is down! Eagle 2 is down!" There is full blown panic amongst my wingmen as the wreckage of Eagle 2 falls into the water.
"Dive, dive!" Our instructor yells out. "Get as close to sea level as possible, let the waves hide our radar signatures, if only even slightly!"
"Yes sir!" Everyone turns their plane downwards, streaking down towards the water until we readjust closer to the waterline. Our jets are leaving a visible trail in the water. We're that close.

"What the hell now?" Someone asks. Everything is happening so quickly. It's all surreal. It's almost kind of...exciting. I wouldn't mind being blown out of the sky right now, honestly.
"I just had contact from base, they're scrambling fighters as we speak." Our instructor says. "As long as we stay alive, they'll be here in five minutes!" I watch above as the planes above begin to dive in.
"Sir, with all due respect..." Ballast looks around. "I'm not sure if we have five minutes!"
"Then what about thatch weaving?" I interrupt. I'm actually excited. As if in what may possibly be my last moments, I'm more alive than I've ever been in 11 years. "We can attempt a thatch weave, but in the vertical. That'll throw their missiles off." Everyone's quiet.
"Alex, are you crazy? We'll crash!" Eagle 3 says. There's another moment of silence before someone speaks back up.
"Uh, guys? I'm locked on!" Eagle 4 says, in a panic. "We don't have time, I'm about to-"
"Climb, climb! I'll try to intercept the target!" I shif my plane upwards, in an attempt to confuse the missile. "You dive as much as you can!"
"Hold on!" The instructor says as he sharply turns the nose upwards, following me in turn. "Dammit, he's right. Everyone, follow Eagle 5's advice, and try not to crash!"

Our planes maneuver up and down in alternating pairs, almost brushing the sea as we dip our plane noses downwards.
"I'm spiked, I have a missile on me! Oh my god, I'm-" Eagle 9 plunges into the water, in what was apparently an attempt to escape the missile. The missile strikes the water moments afterwards.
"We're all going to die at this rate." I say into the radio. "You guys run. I'll distract them."
"Alex!" One of my squadmates shout, but it's unimportant. What's my life worth anyways?

My plane soars upwards. The sky is so beautiful, if not for those pesky enemy fighters. Somehow, I manage to dodge a missile headed straight for me. Or perhaps it was aimed at someone else down below. The screams and cries of several of my wingmen confirm it. Or maybe they're just freaking out over me. The planes get closer. I'm almost there. I guess this is it.

One plane is getting particularly close. They know I'm unarmed. It'll be a gun kill. Just as I close my eyes in what I presume is my final moments, there is a giant fireball. The enemy fighter explodes into a million pieces.

"Taylor 3, direct kill!" A celebratory cheer sounds from the radio.
"Taylor Squadron, this is Training Squadron Eagle! Requesting cover as we RTB!"
"Taylor Squadron, we read you loud and clear! We've opened up a corridor, now head back to base! You too cadet, that was a crazy maneuver! Do you want to die?" Crazy? You know what just happened?

"What about the transport, sir?" I ask the pilots of Taylor Squadron.
"Transport?"
"There was a transport. I think it's a government one, it had this logo on it that-" I turn my head to the sky. It's already being buzzed by enemy planes. Shit. I put my radio to broadcast to all frequencies and open up.

"Elodian transport, this is Eagle 5, of the Eagle Training Squadron. Do you read?" No answer. "This is Eagle 5, if you are in distress, please respond!"

The transport is yawing and rolling at a ridiculous rate. For those of you that don't know what that means, it's rocking back and forth, while rolling left to right. I make my choice. I jerk my fighter upwards, full afterburners again. I fly my plane as far upwards as I can, back towards the transport.
"Hey, cadet! What are you doing?" The fighters try to block me, but there's not much they can do to stop another plane, even if they weren't getting actively shot at.

"Alex! Shit! Get back here!" The instructor yells out.
"Go suck a dick! Those people are still alive!"

As I get closer, my radio finally crackles to life. They're broadcasting an SOS on all frequencies, and the fighters are busy.
"We've losing power in the portside engine! Friendly craft, requesting assistance..." The pilot pauses. "No, that won't be enough..."

Yeah, no fucking shit, I'm in a little trainer.

"Civilian craft, do you read me?" The plane is starting to hurtle down below, though it's remaining engine is still keeping it somewhat in the air. "I need your speed and specific heading, right now!"

This is a maneuver I've read about in a book. Not in any of the military manuals, but in the books I read in my spare time. The leftmost engine seems to be smoking. The missile missed, but it was close enough to the point that it's heavily damaged.
"Friendly fighter, what are you doing?" The pilot of the craft asks.
"Pilot, sir!" A female voice asks, also from within the craft. "What's going on?"
"My lady, please remain seated!"
"Alex!" My short range radio roars again. "You are no longer a part of the program! You only have permission to fly back to the base, this is considered theft!" I look back for a split second. Despite the angry remarks, the battered training squadron is making a beeline for the base, and doesn't seem interested in chasing after me. I ignore the radio message, and contact the plane.
"Pilot, give me headspeed, and exact velocity! Oh, and give me the minimum specs for the craft engine!" I drive my plane in, as close as possible to the ailing transport as possible, until I am under the wing. My plane locks with the wing. If the plane can't use it's engine, then I'll use my own. It's not enough to keep the plane flying, but hopefully, this will put us into a controlled glide downwards. I put my hand on the throttle.

Oh my god, this is suicide.

No, I just need to push. I just need to push. Just...push...

As the soil below starts to come into view, I once again ask myself, what could that little girl I met that day be doing now? I suppose I'll never know. The ground closes up onto me, and yet as it does, I'm strangely calm.