Hawks Strike the Sky

In the night sky. The roar of autocannons continued unabated. Even though over half of their strength had been wiped out and the battle on the ground was already over, the Falcon Kingdom's 1st Flight Squadron had no intention of retreating. Gritting his teeth as he glared at the five remaining Mosquitos, Akante watched with hatred blazing in his eyes. Squeezing the trigger of his cannons, he let out a furious roar. "Die!!" The mission no longer mattered. There was only one thing he wanted to do right now: send the enemy pilots straight to hell! He was going to avenge his fallen comrades! The aircraft locked in his sights performed a barrel roll in midair, orange-yellow tracer fire grazing past its cockpit canopy. Watching the enemy plane pitch up and bank away, Akante clicked his tongue, hauled back hard on the control stick, and pulled his nose up in pursuit. *Sly mosquito!* Tapping the radio on his shoulder with his index finger, Akante barked in a low voice, "Leave the shark-nosed plane to me! You take out the rest!" A response came over the comm channel. "Roger that!" By pure coincidence, the pilot he was dogging really was named Mosquito. Inside the cockpit, Mosquito cursed under his breath, quickly glanced back at the Hawk hot on his tail, and shoved full left rudder while pulling into a climb, executing a 180-degree roll along the Z-axis. The immense G-forces tore at every cell in his body, making the already pitch-black night sky swim with darkness before his eyes. Yet it lasted for only a fleeting instant. He successfully pulled off a near 180-degree turn in midair, slicing past the pursuing aircraft on a tangent from its oblique rear! And his plane hadn't broken apart! "...Dammit, scared the crap out of me!" Watching the silhouette whip past outside his canopy, Mosquito let out a breath of relief, steadying his hammering heart as he seized this hard-won chance to turn the tables. *This guy's got some moves!* However— He wasn't some slacker either. "Thirty-six rounds left... Only one shot at this!" Glancing quickly at the updated mission log on his VM screen, Mosquito tapped to close the window, keyed the onboard radio, and yelled, "Attention all teammates! Our mission is complete! Command authorized us to return at our discretion, but these annoying mosqui—ptui, these flies clearly don't plan on letting us strut out of here!" A grin cracked across his face, and both hands gripped the control stick tight. "What a coincidence—yours truly ain't the kind of coward who tucks tail and runs either!" "On me—" "Wipe them out!" A chorus of rowdy shouts erupted over the comm channel. "Ohhhh!" "Charge!" "Take 'em down with us!!!" The tactical posture shifted from buying time to trading one-for-one, and the Alliance planes' assault turned aggressively reckless. Akante felt the pressure mounting, but inwardly he was also relieved. His fuel was running low, and he had fewer than fifty rounds left... This game of cat and mouse was finally drawing to a close. Right then, however, the voice of ground command suddenly crackled through the comms. "...The Heart of Steel is repositioning toward the north. Your mission is over. Before you enter the Heart of Steel's firing range, return to the forward airfield immediately!" *The Heart of Steel?!* Akante's heart skipped a beat. Having fought in the battle for the City of Abundance, he knew better than anyone what that airship's antiaircraft firepower was capable of. A single synchronized salvo could weave an impenetrable curtain of flak in the sky. Watching the small plane weaving left and right ahead of him, he gritted his teeth, answered with a "Roger," and switched back to the squadron channel. "...All units, attention: the Heart of Steel is redeploying. We have five minutes left. In five minutes, we RTB immediately!" Almost the instant the words left his mouth, a dark shadow emerged from the distant clouds. A three-engine transport plane suddenly barged into the airspace. At first, Akante thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Who in their right mind brought a transport plane into the middle of a fighter dogfight? Yet he soon realized he wasn't mistaken. The newcomer was indeed an Alliance H-1 Dragonfly, and like other Alliance planes, its fuselage was decorated with gaudy, bizarre decals. Seeing that the plane carried no visible weapons, Akante was in no hurry to shoot it down. After glancing at his airborne radar screen, he issued an order over the comms. "...Manticore-1, Manticore-2, go check out that plane and see what's going on." Since it was a noncombat unit, maybe they could capture it. At Akante's order, two Hawks immediately broke away from the dogfight and closed in on the bizarre transport. Mosquito, who had also spotted the transport, wore an expression of bewilderment. *What the hell?* *Didn't the transport formation already head back? Why is one back here?* *If it were a gunship, fine, but why come back in a standard unarmed model?* Mosquito glanced down at the VM strapped to his right leg. There were no new quests, nor any intel on this plane. Due to the sudden intrusion, both dogfighting sides fell into an involuntary hesitation. Akante waited for his wingmen's report. Just then, Manticore-1's voice came over the radio. "...Captain, that plane is a little weird." Akante blinked and asked at once, "What do you see?" After a brief pause, his wingman answered, "The cockpit... there doesn't seem to be anyone inside." "No one?!" Akante froze. *Could it be a drone?!* The Alliance did operate drones, but he had never seen one this size. The pilot continued his report: "Yeah... both the pilot and copilot seats are empty. And there's something growing on the controls... I can't see clearly from here. I need to get closer." Akante warned sharply, "Be careful." "Copy that!" The two Hawks flanked the Dragonfly transport on either side. The Hawk designated Manticore-1 edged close to the Dragonfly's nose, its wingtip almost brushing against the transport's cockpit. Switching his radio to the open guard frequency, the pilot hailed the Dragonfly: "This is the Falcon Kingdom's 1st Flight Squadron. You have been intercepted. Follow our lead." "If you refuse, you will be shot down." Only static hissed over the channel; no answer came. The pilot frowned. The darkened cockpit canopy gave him a gnawing sense of unease. Just as he prepared to pull even closer, a ray of soft moonlight pierced the cloud cover and illuminated the dark canopy. The instant he saw what was inside, he froze completely. Crimson growth filled the entire cockpit. Not just the yoke— The entire instrument panel was choked with an unknown, pulsating mass. "Dammit..." he muttered under his breath. *What the hell is that?!* Growing up in Oasis 2, he had never seen mutant slime mold, but the grotesque scarlet tissue triggered an instinctive, biological dread from deep within him. Instinctively, he kicked the rudder left, trying to bank away from the revolting sight. But at that exact moment, things went catastrophically wrong. The transport's cockpit glass shattered into countless shards, and two whiplike tendrils shot out like cannon shells, lashing violently toward his cockpit and his wingman's! "Aaargh—!" Agony ripped a scream from his throat. In horror, he stared at the crimson tendril skewering his chest, watching countless thread-like filaments burrow like earthworms into his wound and veins... He lost all control of his body. A numb, electric shock swept through every cell in his flesh. Right then, a long, whistle-like murmur echoed across the comm channel, pouring into his ears and seeping into his soul. *"Ee-ooh—"* The tendrils spanning between the cockpits were severed by the rushing slipstream. The Hawk beside the Dragonfly tilted its wings, drifting free like an infant whose umbilical cord had been cut from the mother. Yet the murmuring reverberating in the comm channel went on and on, like the whispers of a devil. Amid those continuous murmurs, the pilot slumped in his seat, his pupils losing their light as his head drooped limp, completely oblivious to his captain's frantic calls. "...*Kzzzzt*..." "...Manticore-1, what's going on over there?! I see a hole punched through your canopy! Report your status immediately!" "...*Kzzzzt*..." The eerie silence dragged on for nearly half a minute. Static hissed incessantly in his ears. Suddenly, the slumped head snapped upright. The lifeless eyes were now bloodshot, flushed a uniform, sickening scarlet. He stared straight toward the night sky to the north. The whispers in his ear grew distinct: *'Go help him—'* *'That is your father.'* *Father?* *'Yes, he is in danger.'* *Danger...* A bloodthirsty gleam surfaced in the scarlet pupils. His dry, parched lips parted, offering a curt response to the keening whisper: "Understood..." The sudden turn of events stunned everyone. Alliance pilots and Falcon pilots alike were frozen. Staring at the two Hawks that had abruptly lost control in the distance, Akante bellowed into his radio: "Manticore-1! Manticore-2! Acknowledge! If you're still alive, respond—dammit! Fuck!" Slamming off the channel, the fire of rage burned even hotter in his eyes. *Two more down—* He had no idea what underhanded trick the Alliance had pulled, only that something had struck those two fighters. Perhaps the pilot had pulled out an assault rifle or something. Whatever it was, it didn't matter anymore. The bastard had refused their generous call to surrender! There was only one thing Akante wanted now: revenge! "Shoot it down! Bring that transport down!" An equally furious chorus roared back over the channel: "Sir!" One of the Hawks abandoned a smoking Mosquito and dove straight toward the transport. "Die, you bastard!" The pilot slammed his thumb down on the fire button, and the nose-mounted cannon spat a torrent of flame. Tracers grazed the Dragonfly's left wing, sending dark smoke trailing from the wing engine as the plane slowed and began to glide downward. The Hawk bled speed, lining up to riddle the right engine with another burst. Just then, something unexpected occurred once more. The previously unresponsive Manticore-2 suddenly pitched its nose up, pulling off an impossible 180-degree roll in midair and bringing its guns to bear on its dumbfounded wingman. It was too late to accelerate out of the way— A split second of hesitation kept the pilot from pressing the trigger. His "wingman," however, had no hesitation whatsoever. The moment their noses aligned, a thick tongue of flame burst from behind the propeller. *Thump-thump-thump!* Amid the cannon's roar, the Hawk pursuing the Dragonfly had its propeller, cockpit, and fuel tanks shredded in an instant, erupting into a blazing fireball before the pilot even had a chance to bail out. Akante watched the flaming wreckage in utter disbelief, his eyes darting to Manticore-2, which had just opened fire on its own ally. He couldn't fathom it. What had just happened? Mosquito, whom Akante had been dogging, was equally flabbergasted, staring wide-eyed at the "little fly" that had suddenly turned its guns on its own squad. What shocked him wasn't the sudden betrayal, but the smooth, flawless 180-degree reversal— "Holy shit! An Immelmann turn?!" The two corrupted Hawks diverged: one sped off toward the north, while the other plunged straight back into the chaotic furball. While Mosquito was still gaping, a teammate's shout came through the comms. Gui Gui: "Boss, should we shoot it down?" Mosquito blurted out, "Hold fire! The enemy of our enemy is our friend!" Gui Gui: "But it's shooting at meeee!!!" Mosquito paused, then had a sudden flash of inspiration and yelled, "Take one for the team—charge right into their formation!" Gui Gui: "???" Though dismayed by her corps leader's lack of humanity, the young player Gui Gui instinctively kicked the rudder, executing barrel rolls to dodge incoming fire as she dove headlong into the belly of the enemy formation, plunging into the clouds the second she neared them. The Hawk firing indiscriminately at friend and foe alike threw the Falcon Kingdom's squadron into total chaos. In the pitch-black sky, tail numbers were impossible to read, making an aircraft identical in airframe and paint scheme virtually indistinguishable from friendly planes. Whenever three or more Hawks tangled together, nobody could tell which one was the traitor. Unless they opened distance and reformed their squadron... Sweat pooled in Akante's palms. His eyes darted anxiously across the sky, watching the planes swarming and blazing away all around him. Right now, everyone looked like a traitor. Remembering the Heart of Steel advancing northward, Akante clenched his teeth, casting one last glare at Mosquito, who had slipped away from his guns. "Consider yourself lucky..." Squeezing the words through gritted teeth, he pressed the radio on his shoulder. "Retreat!" Leaving behind another two smoking wrecks, the Falcon Kingdom's flight formation turned back toward their frontline airfield. As for the "rogue" Hawk, it didn't give chase, instead flying toward the transport gliding down to the ground. Mosquito tallied the enemy planes: about fourteen were still visible, while on their side, only two were left. What an emotional casualty ratio. Breathing heavily, Gui Gui asked over the channel, "Boss... should we pursue?" Mosquito clicked the trigger on his stick; nothing came except the mechanical click of an empty mechanism. The last of his ammunition had been spent in the earlier dogfight. The rematch would have to wait. "Lucky bastards..." If he'd only stashed a pistol in the cockpit, he wouldn't have let them slip away so easily. Spitting toward the retreating enemy, Mosquito wiped his mouth with his sleeve and yelled into the radio: "All units, attention! The enemy has tucked tail and run! Victory is ours!" "Let's go home!" The muzzle velocity on these new cannons was still a bit lacking. He'd tune them when he got back. "Awoo!!" To save her commander from embarrassment, Gui Gui, slumped in her seat, unfastened her flight helmet strap and chimed in with a listless cheer. Couldn't be helped. Everyone else was dead. The two of them were all that remained of the flight. If she didn't speak up, nobody would... *** The battles on the ground and in the skies below had reached their conclusions, yet the duel between the Lingyun and the Sabre was far from over. The engine afterburners flickered in the night, twining like parallel falling stars, each flashing pass tracing deadly ribbons of tracer fire across the dark. The two jet fighters traded blows, grappling for fleeting firing windows in a "primitive" dogfight at relative speeds of nearly two kilometers per second. "Dammit... damn devs targeting me again!" Watching the fiery dot clinging doggedly behind him, Luo Yu gritted his teeth, glancing anxiously at his fuel gauge dipping toward the redline. They had dogfought all the way from the north of Oasis 3 to the southernmost edge of Oasis No. 8 in the Golden Lizard Kingdom. This position wasn't just out of radio range; it was beyond his combat radius. Yet getting back safely was no longer his primary concern. As long as he could take down the only Sabre deployed by the Legion in Sunset Province, the Alliance had a real chance of securing total air superiority over the province! The odds were slim, but it wasn't impossible. Cutting into the enemy's rear hemisphere, Luo Yu watched the Sabre draw rapidly toward his gunsight reticle and calmly pressed the trigger. The cannon flashed fire. With a slight shudder of the airframe, a glittering stream of tracers leaped toward the Sabre. Just as it looked set to shred the enemy fighter into scrap metal, the Sabre banked hard, slipping away by the narrowest margin. "Fuck!" Cursing under his breath, Luo Yu's brow twitched violently as he kicked the rudder to bring his nose around, seeking another firing window. Yet the Sabre seemed to anticipate his move. Leveraging its high maneuverability, it slipped smoothly into his rear hemisphere and countered with a fluent burst of cannon fire in return. Acting almost entirely on instinct, Luo Yu pulled an evasive maneuver. Cold sweat beaded down his back as tracers whipped past. As his opponent grew accustomed to his tactics, Luo Yu was finally beginning to feel the strain. Truth be told, extreme-close-quarters dogfighting had never been his forte. In the real world, air forces had long evolved past the spear-and-shield race into beyond-visual-range combat. Dogfighting at supersonic speeds was considered practically impossible; muzzle velocities for autocannons typically sat around Mach 2.8 to 5, meaning at distance, the bullets might well be slower than the jets themselves. Such engagements would only occur in the most extreme scenarios—such as a global conflict where industrial supply chains were crippled by bombings and mobilization, precision-guided munitions could no longer be supplied reliably, and mass volume trumped guidance... In that apocalyptic scenario, never mind supersonic fighters, infantrymen might be forced back into bayonet charges. Consequently, gunnery training against aerial targets made up only a tiny sliver of pilot curriculums, preserved solely for worst-case contingencies. If not for Wasteland OL, he never would have practiced this specifically. Luo Yu could clearly tell that the pilot opposite him wasn't exceptionally skilled in tactical doctrine or flying maneuvers, but the man's gunnery control was honed to perfection. What was more: The guy was almost certainly an Awakened like himself, likely with enhancements in reflexes and visual acuity—and at a level no lower than his own! To win this fight, he had to ration every round, even every liter of fuel... Calming the racing blood in his veins, Luo Yu re-evaluated his combat plan. His opponent had already adapted to the scissors maneuver. But there was one trick the bastard probably hadn't seen yet... Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the Sabre glued to his rear left and placed his right hand on the throttle. Just as he prepared to spring his surprise, a black speck suddenly entered the airspace dead ahead. *A Hawk?* Luo Yu's expression shifted slightly. A propeller plane was sluggish as a turtle compared to a jet fighter, but the cannons behind its prop were no toys. Even if it couldn't hit him, a burst across his flight path could pinch his angles and disrupt his maneuvering. In an evenly matched duel like this, a single misstep would be fatal. And his maneuverability was already at a disadvantage... Meanwhile, Yukar also caught sight of the little fly, and a delighted grin broke across his tense face. "Hahaha! Well done!" At least the bastards had some sense, knowing to detach a plane to support him. While unnecessary from his perspective, he appreciated the loyalty. "Riddle him! Aim for the right wing! Now!" He could practically see the goddess of victory beckoning to him. However— Something neither pilot anticipated occurred. The Hawk didn't point its nose at the Lingyun. Instead, it aligned directly with the Sabre swooping in on the Lingyun's tail! *Thump-thump-thump!* Thick tongues of flame roared, and twin-mount 20mm cannons wove a lethal net of tracers through the air, hurling it straight into the face of the Sabre. Everything happened in a fraction of a heartbeat. Too fast for anyone to react. "Fuck! Are you blind?!" Shock and fury seized Yukar. He cursed violently as he barely dodged the oncoming stream of fire, entirely losing the firing window he had held in his grasp. At a closing speed of nearly Mach 7, taking a burst like that head-on would have been more than enough to end him! Even now, he clung to the assumption that the Hawk pilot had misidentified his target in the dark, vowing to slap the blind fool senseless once they returned to base. Unfortunately for him, the Hawk hadn't picked the wrong target. It had flown all this way specifically to send him to his grave. The firing didn't cease; it tracked right onto his tail in relentless pursuit. "Dammit! Cease fire! Friendly fire!" Yukar screamed into his radio, trying to shake sense into the pilot. What he did not know was that the Hawk's cockpit was choked with slime mold, and the pilot strapped into the seat was nothing more than an obedient puppet. Meanwhile, the futuristic jet nearby had already completed a 180-degree roll in a vertical climb. Yukar's pupils contracted violently. The moment their eyes locked through the cockpits, his heart seemed to stop. "...Fuck." The word had barely reached his lips when scorching shrapnel tore his cockpit canopy open. Watching the mangled wreck disintegrate in his sights, Luo Yu lifted his index finger from the trigger and slowly exhaled the breath trapped in his chest. Pulling off his oxygen mask, he slumped back against his ejection seat. In an evenly matched duel, there was no room for a single error. Let alone two. Trailing black smoke as it plunged, the Sabre ignited like a lighter in the night sky behind him, blooming into brilliant flame. "Immelmann turn... I only teach it once. Hope you caught it." Then again, even if he had, he'd never have the chance to learn it in this lifetime. Having soloed such an epic boss, a faint grin curled on Luo Yu's lips. He had no idea why that Hawk had helped him, but a win was a win. Even if the Hawk turned around and finished him off now, it wouldn't matter. He'd gladly credit the anonymous friend with the assist. The Legion had only one Sabre. The Alliance, on the other hand, could build another Lingyun next month. The flame guttered at the engine exhaust, and the plane began an unpowered glide forward. Luo Yu glanced at his fuel indicator. The needle was pinned firmly below zero. The final high-G reversal had burned through the last fumes; the fuel tanks were bone dry. He had originally thought about simply riding the plane down to the ground—the sooner he died, the sooner his respawn cooldown would reset. But remembering the glitch from the last time he tried to exploit respawn timers, he shuddered involuntarily and reached for the pull ring beside the seat. *Bang!* With an explosive detonation, the retaining brackets sheared, and the ejection seat was rocketed out through the open canopy on a propellant charge. Last time, Mosquito had sworn up and down that he'd installed an ejection seat in the Lingyun. Luo Yu had assumed he was joking. Turned out he really had pulled it off... Meanwhile, the Hawk nearby had also run dry on fuel. It gradually lost thrust, its propeller beginning to windmill in reverse. The rotting pilot sat slumped in the center of a cockpit overrun with slime mold, his hands glued to the control stick by fungal masses. His decay seemed to have deepened. His fading life force was like a guttering candle in the wind. Yet at this moment, he felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment welling from the depths of his spirit—as though his very soul had been elevated. This brief life had not been wasted. He had successfully carried out Mother's task. From the headset askew around his neck came a final murmur of *"Ee-ooh,"* a whisper that only he could understand: *'You did well.'* *'Sleep now.'* *'My child.'*