Old Breed

Old breed

	You were pulling up hard on the stick...finally dislodging it from the cockpit for replacement.

“Daniels, are you done playing pilot up there?” Another one of your old friends asks. “You know you can't fly anymore.”

“Yeah, just had to pull the bent stick out of the cockpit. Dumb kids broke it.” You reply. “You damn well know I can still fly.”

	You hop down from the cockpit of the old A-10, slapping the side of cockpit and smiling. Not your old F-14, but it's something. The sounds of the new war rage in the distance as the old forward airfield repairs damaged aircraft that pilots get shot up and down. You were one of those who fixed the aircraft, not the ones who fly.

“Yeah, that's not what the Air Force thinks.” Dave tells you.

	You sigh, taking the broken part over to the scrap pile, setting it down for later fixing or use if required. Everything had to be taken out of retirement for this war, as the Russians had decided that America needed to die. China allied with Russia and they pooled their resources to strike the American home land. They even took your beloved F-14 out of retirement, refurbishing them with new parts they were able to find the tooling for. Some called this the third world war, some called it the war on communism, you called it hell.

	You grab the new part and walk back over to the aging A-10, reattaching the part and checking the controls. Everything looked good, so you were finished with this plane.

2 weeks later

	You were looking over your newest project, an old F-14 that needed a good kick in the pants to get working. It wouldn't start, no matter what the pilots did to try and start it. However, any time you start it, the thing works just fine. You guessed it was because they just didn't know how to start it, but they showed you the starting procedure and everything was correct. Maybe him and his RIO didn't want to fly, lazy kids.

	You run your hand along the smooth lines of the aircraft, reaching up and touching those sweeping wings you always loved to watch work. You check the gear and all of the covers, removing them out of habit. You lower the ladder and climb up it, stepping inside the pilots seat and strapping yourself in. Then, you realized this wasn't your bird and you were no longer a pilot. You sigh, unstrapping yourself and climbing out of the aircraft. The ladder groans under your weight, not wanting you to leave.

“Sorry old girl, I'm not a pilot any more.” You tell the aircraft. “No way I can fly ya without getting in trouble.”

	You pull the ladder up and push it back inside the aircraft, walking around and putting the covers back. You let a single tear fall from your eye, missing the days you would intercept Iraqi aircraft in your F-14. God, those were the days. You sniffle and get back to fixing another aircraft.

2 more weeks later

	Every single pilot was gone today, only leaving a few aircraft in the hangars. The Russo-Chinese war machine was making one last push for Arizona, putting all their aircraft in the air to try and wipe out the American air force. This was your battle of the bulge. Every pilot had been told to get airborne, but even that might not be enough. Then, the air raid sirens start going off.

“Attention all flight crew members, report to the bomb shelter until the raid ends! This is not a drill!” The speakers shout out. “Bombers have been sighted 80 miles out and are headed this way!”

	You look over to the F-14, seeing it seem to glisten in the hangar light. It would be destroyed if you didn't find some way to protect it. Jacobs comes up behind you and you look in his direction. He shakes his head.

“Oh no you don't. Don't even think about it. There's over 50 bombers up there and only 1 of you.” He tells you.

“I'm not going to, I'm trying to figure out how to save her. However, putting her out of reach of the bombs is a pretty good idea.” You say with a smile.

“God dammit Daniels, why the fuck do you gotta be like this now.” He says, walking with you as you make your way to the plane.

“Get in the RIO seat, I'm gonna get the covers off!” You yell, beginning to jog over to the old girl.

“I shouldn't have even said anything!” He yells back, letting the ladder down as he climbs up as fast as his old bones would let him.

	You finish removing the covers from the  old girl and throw them off to the side, removing the wheel chocks too. After everything on the outside has been prepped, you haul ass up the seat, going through the motions as you put on a helmet that wasn't yours. You bring up the remote to the hangar door and press the big green open button, prompting the doors to unlock and begin sliding open.

	You flick a few switches and turn a few dials, letting the aircraft boot up before turning the engines over. They begin to whine as they reach starting RPM before slowing down. She doesn't want to start.

“Come on baby. I know it's scary, but we gotta get you off the ground. You and I both know I can fly you.” You tell the plane. “Now start for me.”

“Are you talking to the plane?!” Your RIO asks.

	Just as he asks that, the engines begin to spool again, reaching starting range before you click the throttle to idle. The plane starts immediately, blowing everything behind it to the back of the hangar. The other engine starts as well, so you shut down the APU and begin to taxi out of the hangar.

“Bravo-no, fuck that. Victory 1-3 to ATC, taking off of runway 3 left. Permission to taxi.” You say over the radio.

“What the hell? Gene, get the hell out of that aircraft!” They yell.

“Copy, taxiing to runway 3 left.” You say with a grin, putting your oxygen mask on.

	You do a fast taxi over to runway 3 left, making it to the end of the runway in only 2 minutes. 2 minutes of precious time you needed to intercept those bombers.

“RIO, what do we got?” You ask.

“They got this bird loaded up with 2 6 shot AIM-120 dispensers and 6 AIM-54s. We got a full load of cannon rounds, so if we use the cannon sparingly, we might be able to down 30 bombers.” He tells you. “Maybe 35 if we're lucky.”

“Got it.” You tell him, taxiing onto the runway.

“Jesus christ, Bravo 2-7 get off the runway! I need to land!” Another aircraft tells you.

“Sure thing, son.” You tell him, putting the afterburners on full. “Taking off runway 3 left.”

“Daniels?!” The pilots asks.

	You let off the brakes and let the aircraft lurch forward, expecting a bit more punch from it than you remember. Then again, you weren't using a catapult. You reach 140 miles an hour before you know it, pitching the aircraft up and seeing the flaps go down. You reach 155 and the aircraft begins to lift itself off the ground. When you hit 165, the aircraft leaves the ground and you cheer, not having flown anything in a long time. You watch the ground recede from you as it rises into the sky, climbing higher and higher.

“Gear going up.” You say, hearing a clunk under the aircraft. “Gear up and locked.”

	You look behind you and continue to climb, seeing the flaps going up. You smile, turning the aircraft around and keeping the burners on full to intercept. As you climb, your RIO starts calling out targets.

“Holy shit Daniels, we got 40 bombers heading this way! All our friendly aircraft are too busy with fighters to engage-”

“How far out?” You ask.

“About 50 miles.” He tells you.

“Lock the front 6 bombers for AIM-54s. Time to use the big sticks.” You tell him with a grin.

“Lock achieved! Ready to fire!” He yells over the radio.

“Volley fire, Fox-3!” You yell over coms.

	You hold the trigger down and watch as all 6 missiles volley fire and rise up into the air, climbing for a dive on the enemy bombers. Now that the weight has been dropped from your aircraft, you begin to accelerate to combat speed. The wings have already swept back, decreasing drag even further as you rocket off to destroy the bombers that dare threaten your country.

“Victory 1-3 to all friendly units, how's everything going up there?” You ask.

“Victory?” One asks.

“What the hell kind of call sign is that?” Another asks.

“Jesus, it's the Jolly Rogers!” Another says.

“Damn right kid. Let's get these bombers before they can do any more damage.” You say, pulling back on the throttle.

“Victory 1-3, Victory 1-2, coming up on your 5.” Another pilot tells you.

“Carson?” You ask.

“Hey there Gene, you caused quite a mess down stairs.” He tells you. “How's it feel to fly again?”

“Feels fucking great.” You tell him. “Let's show these kids how we did it back in Iraq.”

“All right, I'm your wing man.” He tells you.

“If you got 54s, chuck em at the bombers that are furthest forward. RIO, datalink him our targets.” You tell your RIO.

“Data linked.” He tells you.

“You guys got right to it, huh?” He asks, launching 6 54s of his own. “Volley fire, Fox 3.”

“Hell yeah.” You tell him. “Impact in 5.”

	4...3...2...1...Splash

	Bombers begin falling from the sky as your 54s massacre the barely maneuverable TU-95s.

“Contacts are breaking off the furball to engage! What do we do skipper?” Your RIO asks.

“Engage. Light those burners 1-2!” You say, slamming the throttle forward. “Keep the fuckers off me while I engage those bombers!”

“You got it 1-3.” Carson tells you. “Fox 3!”

	The AIM pod under his aircraft opens up and rotates a missile into place before firing a missile off, streaking off towards a target as he breaks off. You pull into a climb, gaining altitude as you reach Mach 1. The aircraft rattles and seems to shudder as it goes past Mach 1 for the first time in decades.

“Good girl. You're doing great. Just keep doing what you're doing.” You tell it, winging over and leveling out.

	You're at about angels 45, beginning to accelerate towards and passing Mach 2. You can see the bombers now, plain as day. They're in a massive formation with fighters engaging below the formation.

“Victory 1-2, Victory 1-3, tangos down. Returning to formation.” Carson tells you.

“Copy 1-2.” You reply. “Keep the fire up on those bombers. Volley fire, Fox 3!”

	Your RIO locks more targets as you dive down on the TU-95s, who haven't broke formation. The missiles lock onto 6 more targets and you fire everything from the right side dispenser. Jacobs locks another 6 and you fire the left side dispenser, discarding them both once they empty.

“Volley fire, Fox 3.” Carson says over the radio, volley firing his own AIM-120s.

	You watch as the cloud of AIM-120s impacts the swarm of TU-95s, the countermeasures doing nothing to break the solid lock the missiles have on them. The bombers drop from the sky like flies, allowing you to flick the trigger up to guns.

“Victory 1-3, Victory 1-2, moving to engage.” You tell him, diving in on a bomber at super sonic speed.

	The reticle jumps as it locks the bomber in front of you, so you maneuver the pipper back on target. When it's back on target, you get back on the radio.

“Guns, guns, guns.” You say, pulling the trigger.

	The rattle of the gun shakes the cockpit, tearing through the wing of the TU-95 and chopping it clean off. The aircraft goes into a dive, the crew ejecting from their plane as you pull back into the sky. The plane groans against the forces on the air frame as you pull back up into the sky. Second super sonic gun kill ever? You'll take it.

	When you pull back around, you see tracer fire concentrating on you as the tail gunners of the TU-95s finally have something to shoot at. Too bad they won't be hitting you any time soon. You dodge and weave, rolling out of the way of bullets as they whiz past your cockpit and wings. You felt like nothing could touch you as you pull the trigger on the plane.

BRRRrrrrRRRT

	The plane rattles again as you tear the tail off a TU-95, switching targets and putting another burst into another bomber. They both fall from the sky in dramatic fashion, heading for the desert that is the entirety of Arizona.

“Get em Rogers!” A pilot tells you over the radio.

“Look at them go!” Another says. “It's like something out of a movie!”

“Victory 1-4 to all other Victories, make some room for Mad Lad.” Dale tells you. “Volley fire, Fox 3!”

	You watch as a swarm of missiles slams into the bombers around you, dropping another 12 from the sky. This leaves one last bomber left, which immediately turns itself around, running back for Commiefornia, as it became known.

“Victory 1-1 to all other Victories, he's mine.” Calvin tells you. “Guns, guns, guns.”

	A stream of tracer fire erupts from your squadron leader, tearing the plane's wing from its fuselage in a similar manner to your kill.

“Good kill cap. He's heading for the dirt.” You tell him.

“Copy. Thought you boys could use a little help.” He tells you.

“We had it under control.” You tell him.

“Well, we're about 10 miles away from Luke, so you can say what you like.” He says with a chuckle. “Giving the kids a show?”

“Yep. We got any more contacts?” Carson asks.

“Not that I can see. We're clear to land.” Calvin replies.

3 hours later

	You step into the office of the air base commander and shut the door behind you, standing at attention.

“What you did was reckless and uncalled for!” He yells, turning back towards you. “What the hell do you think this is? A cartoon?!”

“No, sir.” You tell him.

“That wasn't your bird to fly Daniels. It sure as hell wouldn't have been your bird to lose either!” He yells. “Still, I can't argue that your old squadron did some work. I mean, destroying an entire wing of bombers with only 4 aircraft and no losses? I'd have brass all the way up my ass if I court marshaled you 8.”

“But sir, we're retired. All of us are ex-military.” You tell him. “How could we get court marshaled?”

“Well, you're being reinstated, Captain Daniels.” He tells you. “Your first assignment will be to escort B-58s to a bombing site in California. We have reports of nuclear detonations up in Montana, so we're going to retaliate with equal force. 5 B-58s are going to be fitted W-53s. They pretty much dropped 20 RDS-37s on us, so we're going to flatten their command centers in Cali and destroy their garrisons as they have done to us.”

“Sir, wouldn't we be nuking our own soil?” You ask.

“California has always been partial to the communists and has talked about seceding constantly to continue being communist. Nothing of value will be lost. Now go rest, you'll need the sleep for tomorrow.” He tells you. “Dismissed.”

	You give him a salute and turn back, opening the door and leaving the office.

The next day

Wilkins

	You turn over the last engine, hearing all 4 of the engines burning as you get on the radio.

“ATC, Tall Man 1-1 is ready for taxi to runway 3 left, how copy?” You ask as you're given a thumbs up from the flight crew.

“Tall Man 1-1 you're clear for fast taxi to runway 3 left. All aircraft are grounded or waving off.” ATC tells you. “Secure package.”

“Package secure, taxiing to runway 3 left.” You tell them. “Tall Man 1-1 out.”

	You taxi onto the runway and bring the aircraft up to military power, letting off the brakes and allowing the aircraft to start rolling.

“Tall Man 1-1 is rolling.” You say, switching to internal coms. “How's everyone?”

“Observer okay.” Your bombardier says.

“DSO okay.” Your ECM operator tells you.

“Pilot okay. Hold onto your lunches boys, afterburners on.” You tell them.

	The afterburners light and you feel like you get kicked square in the ass, the plane continuing down the ever shortening runway. You reach V-1, pushing the throttles to the firewall as the plane screams down the runway. The entire plane begins to shake as you approach takeoff speed. Takeoff speed is reached and you lift the nose up, barely taking off before reaching the end of the runway.

“Gear going up.” You say over coms, raising the gear lever.

	The nose gear light goes green first, followed by the left and right gear.

“Gear up, confirm gear up.” You tell the DSO.

“Gear confirmed up.” He says.

“Tall Man 1-1 waiting for escort and all other Tall Man elements.” You tell ATC. “Orbiting runway.”

30 minutes of takeoffs later

	You look out the window of your Hustler and see an F-14 to your left and an F-14 to your right. They have a skull and crossbones emblem on the rudder and a black ribbon with gold stars under the cockpit. You were told these pilots served in Iraq back during the Gulf War. What are old timers like them doing out of their wheel chairs? They were carrying 4 AIM-120s, 2 chaff pods, 2 drop tanks, and 2 sidewinders. Not to mention the deadly 20mm cannon they were packing in the nose. However, they weren't the only ones packing a 20mm cannon.

	You get onto the heading that would take you to the Russian air bases and garrisons, keeping your nuclear arming key handy. All 3 crew had a nuclear arming key, an extra safety precaution instated in all aircraft capable of launching nuclear weapons back in 2025. Why 2 men wasn't enough is beyond you, but you were just a pilot, not a tactician. You tighten the mask on your face and begin cruising toward your intended target. Commiefornia.

25 minutes later

	You can see Edwards AFB in the distance, closing fast as the F-14s pull ahead to create a cloud of chaff. You're going about Mach 2, the afterburners at full tilt as your bombardier gets ready to arm the nuclear weapons.

“Alright, insert keys.” He tells you.

	You insert your key.

“Key inserted.” You tell him.

“Key in place.” Your DSO adds.

“Alright turn in 3...2...1...turn.” The bombardier says.

	You turn your key and hear a buzz as the light for nuclear arming is shown. All other Tall Man elements have gone off to nuke Russian garrisons that have little to no AA.

“Uh, you guys are gonna need to hurry it up with releasing that bomb. We got fighters inbound.” Victory 1-3 tells you.

“Copy, we're almost in range.” You tell them. “Bombardier, drop on your mark.”

“Okay...mark!” He yells. “We just nuked Edwards boys, no stopping it now.”

	You roll right and pull the aircraft into a hard turn, pulling hard Gs as you firewall the throttles.

“Bug out!” You tell the F-14s. “Nuke away!”

“Holy shit they actually did it.” One of the Victory aircraft say on coms.

	You look to your left and right to see all of them have formed up on you, afterburners lit to keep up with the Hustler.

“Blinders!” The bombardier yells. “1 minute to impact!”

	You close the blinders on the aircraft and begin counting down.

“We got contacts behind us.” Victory 1-3 tells you.

“They're fucked.” Your bombardier replies. “Just keep running and they'll get got by the blast wave.”

“Copy. Dropping external tanks.” He tells you.

“Impact in 10 seconds.” Your bombardier announces. “9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...”

	You clench your ass cheeks before seeing a flash in the window, prompting you to undo the blinds.

“Jesus Christ!” Victory 1-3 says. “Was that the nuke?”

“I can see the blast wave.” Your DSO tells you. “Jesus, it's even showing on the ground radar.”

“We'll outrun it. Blast wave doesn't go faster than the speed of sound and we're going twice that.” Your bombardier adds. “Just keep going back to base.”

“I don't see any contacts on the RWR.” Victory 1-3 says. “What happened?”

“They got vaporized.” Your bombardier says bluntly. “As I said, they were fucked.”

“We just dropped a nuke on US soil. Holy hell, what have we done?” Victory 1-3 asks.

“Brought the doomsday clock a minute closer to midnight.” Your bombardier replies. “Welcome to hell.”

30 minutes later

	You sit in the cockpit of your bomber as teams in hazmat suits blast your aircraft with water to clean any radioactive sediment off it, even though you got out of there before any sort of dust could touch your aircraft. Speaking of which, you got back to base in about 7 minutes going full tilt, completely outrunning the shock wave of the bomb. No missiles were fired and only 3 fighters were scrambled. They must've been resting after getting their entire bomber formation whipped by 4 F-14s. When you get a knock on the top of your cockpit, you open it up and are pulled out by a man in a yellow hazmat suit.

	When you get down from the plane, you're stripped out of your flight suit and clothing, being sprayed down with a fire hose to clean you off. Your crew were enduring the same thing, having been exposed to radiation from the bomb.

“Can't you guys line the crew area with lead or something?” You ask. “So we don't need to get-GLURGURGUGLUG-”

“Keep your mouth closed, sir. The water might get in.” The cleaner tells you.

2 days later

John Blake

	You look up at the massive bird in front of you, her dark black paint and enormous engines absorbing the night sky like a vacuum. You check the gloves of your orange pressure suit one last time, making sure they were clicked into place. They somehow weren't, making you glad you checked. You twist your body to the right, looking through the helmet and seeing your RSO wave at you. You wave back and are about to reach the stairs when your bag carrier stops you.

“Colonel, you remember how to start her up, right?” Your bag carrier asks.

“Sure, son. It's been over 30 years, but I can still fly her.” You tell him, walking up the steps towards the cockpit.

	When you reach the cockpit, you sit back down in the refurbished cockpit, everything looking brand new, fresh out of the skunk works factory. Your RSO gets in the rear of the cockpit and your ground crew begin hooking you up, checking that your straps were tight and your oxygen lines were in place. When everything was good, they gave you a thumbs up, sealing the cockpit as the stairs were pulled away. You flick on the master power and the aircraft lights up like a Christmas tree, prompting you to lower the brightness on the dials.

“Guardian actual, Guardian 31, prepare for startup on engine one.” The radio tells you.

“Copy Guardian Actual, bang button armed.” You tell them, arming the starting fluid.

	You look down at the RPM gauge for the engine and see it rising slowly as you begin to hear the roar of an old Chrysler engine to the rear. The RPM stabilizes just above the starting RPM and you smile, cracking the throttle to idle and hoping to god the startup doesn't destroy the old engine. You press the bang button and the wing shakes a bit before the RPM starts to rise quickly, indicating it's started.

“First time in over 30 years this bird has started up. Looks like she wants to fly.” Guardian Actual says over coms.

“She's not the only one.” You say. “Ready for startup on engine 2.”

	You watch the RPM slowly tick up as you set the throttle to idle. When the RPM is at the start point, you give it some juice and the entire aircraft shudders. The RPM rises rapidly and you feel a thunk, indicating the starting engines have been disconnected. You're given clearance to taxi and begin to do so, inching the throttle forward as the plane begins to move.

	When you make it to the end of the runway, you get permission to take off, lining yourself up on the center line and holding the brakes. You push the throttles forward, hitting the detent before pulling the throttles up, pushing past the detent and lighting the afterburners. The aircraft lurches forward, as if it was an animal ready to pounce on its prey. You let the brakes go and are forced back into your seat, the aircraft reaching V1 in no time at all. The aircraft pushes towards its takeoff speed, flying past it as you pull up on the stick. The plane lifts off the ground and you hurriedly pull the gear up, pulling the throttles back off afterburner.

	The aircraft continues to accelerate, no matter how far up you dare point it. As you always used to say, it's the race car of the skies. The gear are up by now and you've reached about 7 grand already, leveling the plane out and beginning your banking maneuver. The fuel gauges already read out half empty, meaning you needed to refill already. You put the afterburners on half, climbing up to about 30 grand in a couple minutes. Now you just needed to reach the tanker in one piece.

30 minutes later

	You feel the tanker disconnect before he gives you a thumbs up, prompting you to return the gesture. You turn off, preparing to climb up to 85000 feet. You push the throttles all the way forward, hitting the wall before pulling up on the throttles, continuing to push forward. The afterburners light and you begin the climb to recon altitude.

	You finally reach 85000 feet, leveling the plane out and pushing the burners all the way forward.

“Sure is pretty up here. After all these years we get to go back up in the bird we flew for almost 5 years.” Your RSO tells you.

“Yep, it's like she hasn't even aged a bit.” You tell him, watching the mach counter go past 2.

	Just as you say that, the plane begins to slow as you experience an unstart before the afterburners light up again. You were told by some of the pilots too old to fly that an unstart usually meant slamming your head into the side of the plane that still had an engine. Luckily sympathetic unstart was a thing now, meaning both inlets would slam forward and the engines would go off afterburner. You pass mach 2 for the second time, watching as the engines heat up more and more.

“Radar spike, 200 miles downrange. Southern and northern California.” Your RSO tells you. “Engaging countermeasures.”

“They see us, but can they catch us?” You ask, smiling.

“John, we got reports of 31s and 25s in the area. We still gold?” Your RSO asks.

“They won't catch us.” You tell him. “We've had some work done to the fuselage and engines. All I can say is we're not gonna stop at mach 3.7 anymore.”

“Jesus.” Is all he says before a caution light pops up. “Taking recon photos hold her steady.”

“Copy, holding her steady.” You tell him, engaging the autopilot.

	You hear a faint whine over the roar of the cockpit, indicating the film was definitely being used. Then you get a couple more caution lights and your RSO pipes up.

“Uh, sir, we got 31s inbound.” He tells you. “They're climbing FAST!”

“Tell me when they get close.” You tell him, taking the bird off autopilot. “I want them to know just how outclassed they are.”

	The whirring continues in the background as more caution lights start flickering on, having not been used in forever. The specialized counter measures were being armed by your RSO that would shoot out a massive ball of chaff and pellets, which would damage the delicate engines of anyone unlucky enough to be following.

“They're getting close. They're gaining on us!” Your RSO yells. “Missile launched!”

“Countermeasures!” You yell, flipping up the cover to a freshly installed button. “Secondary and tertiary burners going online!”

	You push the big red button as you max out the throttles, feeling the aircraft push you back into your seat. The mach counter started ticking up faster than you've ever seen it tick up before. It ticks up past mach 3.7, going past mach 4 before reaching 4.5 and continuing to speed up.

“Colonel, the plane's getting really hot!” Your RSO yells. “I can see flames outside the window!”

MiG 31 pilot

3 minutes ago.

	You're nearing the plane all 31 pilots wanted to see. The famous, or infamous, SR-71. The plane your plane was designed to intercept. The engines roared like rockets as you neared your target, closing in on the massive black target like it wasn't even trying to get away. The only light coming from the Blackbird was the afterburners that were unique to the SR-71s engines. You get a lock on the rear of the blackbird, the firing alarm sounding as you flick the safety off.

“See you later, comrade.” You tell him, chuckling as you press the trigger.

	Your wing man follows your lead, firing a missile of his own as your chuckle turns into a wholehearted laugh. Just as he launches his own R-33, your radar scope turns completely white, the reconnaissance plane having launched chaff. Then, your missile explodes mid air before your aircraft is showered in what sounded like pellets. You look off to the right and see your wing mans engines are both on fire. His aircraft begins to tear itself apart before he is ejected from the aircraft, the capsule taking the brunt of the air resistance as it shoots behind the destroyed aircraft. What the hell did they just do?

	You look back to your front and see the flames of the afterburners turning from orange to blue, beginning to pull away from your aircraft at tremendous speed. What the hell have the Americans made? Your aircraft is showered in pellets again and your aircraft begins to shudder, the wings ripping off as you fall out of the sky, the blue light of the afterburners breaking away from you as you pull the ejection lever. The capsule forms around you, pulling your legs in and your arms to your side as you're thrust up and away from the burning plane. You watch the blue light of the Blackbirds afterburners shoot away like a rocket, receding away from you as you realize for the first time in this war. The com-block had no chance.

John Blake

	You look down at the mach gauge and see it's stopped at 4.8, the cockpit now beginning to heat up dramatically as you leave the MiGs in the dust.

“John, slow down! We're gonna break up if you keep going at this speed!” He yells.

	You press the red button again and feel yourself being pulled against your straps as the aircraft slows down again. The mach counter kept going down from 4.8 all the way to 3.4 where it would stay for the rest of the flight. You look at the fuel counter and see you burned a good 5% of the fuel you had remaining, which left you with enough to make it to international waters for refueling. The Russians and the Chinese never stood a chance.