Before dawn’s early light of the twenty-ninth day, on the eighth month of the year, Bastion 2 woke up, and got out of bed. He suits up, dawning his winter white flier, strapping the 9.2mm service pistol holster to his leg. Then he makes his way to the canteen, greeting coworkers.
Entering the canteen, he picked up a newspaper, once again something about rising tensions. He then heads to the counter, and receives coffee and some food. Today is an egg and bacon sandwich plus a selection of fruit bars. He sits down at a bench table, joining his fellow pilots,and begins to eat. He joins the chatter, talking about home, what's on TV, post service dreams… …love life, and most importantly what's on the news. The talk turns cold a, as Bastion 2 goes into thought, but the world turns on its head with the speakers’ announcement. “All interceptors scramble sortie! Scramble sortie! This is not a drill! This is not a drill! Fighters prepare for sorties!” the siren’s wail & commander’s orders snapped Bastion 2 from his seat, discarding their breakfast, he along with others pilots rushed to the outside.
In the midst of the chill of the winter morning, and the sight of the moon's fading exit, solar rays flood throughout the snow capped forest as the sun elevated into the sky, as frigid cold muddled in the air, the sound of boots on tarmac permeated little as the screeching of air raid sirens and roars and whirling of turbine engines filled the air of the base. War had erupted, the tension had been cut in ugly lines, reports had flown in of hostile forces.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Men in vests and helmets synthwave array of colors ran throughout the base like hornets.
As Bastion 2 hastily climbed into the cockpit of the SI-5C Seeker along with his WSO, the pilot put on his helmet, and slid down the visor, watching the ground crew clear final checks. As Orange carts zip from depots to hangars, bringing men, munitions, and fuel to aircraft, standby and ready to go fighters and interceptors taxi to the twin airstrips for take off.
The SI-5Bs of Bastion taxied to the second runway and Bastion 2 formed up on Bastion lead’s 3 ‘o’ clock. Waiting as Bastion Squadron formed up, the tower gave the go ahead and Bastion 2 slammed the throttle forward into afterburn, throwing him back into the seat. There was a slightest second long pause, when the eight aircraft of the 45th Bastion interception squadron screamed down the runway.
Bastion 2 gently brought the stick back, tilting the Interceptor up and rising into the air. As the rest of Bastion Squadron lifted off, they linked with the AWACS Cartographer, directed to the northern shores to defend the port & factory, The city of iron, snow, and steel, the city of Steelridge.