===[SO FAR FROM GOD]===
image [https://i.imgur.com/g0gzbrv.png]
==The United Commonwealth Army Airforce==
>>> Operation KIOTE GUARDIAN
>>> Initiator: The UCAA (On Behalf of the Ostraland and Oceanian Commonwealth's)
>>> Angel Squadron (x2 A-102 Starfighters, Cpt. Michael "Solo" Falke, 2nd Lt. Jerome Carter), 87th Fixed Wing Aviation Unit, VT-2287, Ostraland Commonwealth
>>> Operation Goal: Launch Air Superiority missions to conduct limited strikes against Riverlander and Continental-Pact targets in Kiote territory. Prevent collapse of Kiote frontlines. Escalate the war in order to justify further Commonwealth troop surge. Defend Democracy.
>>> Searching Transcript...
>>> Please standby...
>>> Initializing...
==[Begin Transmission]==
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Blue open skies for as far as the eye could see, deep and pure. They were only momentarily disturbed by the passing of puffy white clouds, defying gravity and nature as they hung hundreds of miles up into Narva’s atmosphere. Gentle giants carried by the wind, pure snowy white. Closer to the horizon, Carter had noted that the skies took on a lighter hue. Yet the skies directly above the glass of his cockpit were dark, rich, and more vibrant. It was like human blood, but blue. And instead of liquid, it was air. So much of it.
Flights like these normally brought Carter some much desired peace. Something that was sorely lacking in the intensive regimen of any airman serving within the Ostralandian Commonwealth Army Airforce. There was always training, drills, exercises. There was always more to learn. Always a way to improve. Always a way to go faster. Hit harder. Kill Imperials… better. Carter dreaded the workload of course, but he was no slouch. He knew what kind of world Planet Narva was, and though the differences between borders seemed so miniscule – if not entirely irrelevant – up here, miles up in the skies… those borders separated the free world, from one of slaves.
“Kiote skies… really does something to you doesn’t it?” A voice crackled over the headset. It was filtered and artifact through several layers of compression, that and the fact that the voice struggled to maintain a volume higher than the screech of the jet engine that carried, “I’ve never been spiritual, but I get an almost religious joy being up here. Up here, everything just seems so… small… petty.”
‘Solo’, kept his Starfighter in perfect sync with Carter’s own. The aircraft flew perfectly steady, with its twin jet engines almost appearing dormant for lack of the afterburners being engaged. Those would not be necessary, not currently anyway. This was a routine sweep of the airspace. Both Starfighters were painted a metallic grey, covered in patches, numbers, and Ossie Airforce insignias. Solo was the lead of the two pilots, and his jet was slightly different from Carter’s. The right wing, in clear view, was painted a bright crimson red…
Solo was something of a myth among Carter’s airforce buddies. He’d seen only a minor amount of TV and news interviews, mostly because of the fact that he turned nearly all of them down. Solo took no pride in his work, but seemed to live for the purpose of flight. Whenever Carter asked why, the Ace would get all semantic. Almost rambling, but with a clear purpose. He’d talk of rebellion. Of freedom. Of borders. Solo was a respected legend as far as fighter aces went. The A-102 Starfighter was an older jet aircraft, not as fast or cutting edge as the A-24 Contender. The Starfighter was roughly on par with Avonian jet aircraft, as few of them as there were. So for Solo to make a name for himself using the Starfighter was something of a big deal. Solo had reportedly saved the lives of dozens of his fellow airmen, in a standoff deep in the Kiote Peninsula during the opening stages of the war – right when the skies above the Warrior Elves were still hotly contested between the Pact and Belford. Well over 50 kills against Imperial jets, dragons, propellor aircraft, and aerial targets. And to cap it all off, being hit by an Avonian anti-air system, losing his right wing, but managing to steer the Starfighter over 500 kilometers towards a friendly airfield where he landed safe and alive… thus the red wing. Thus the name, ‘Solo’.
But if you asked Solo himself, he’d refuse to talk much about it. Carter tried but Solo only confirmed that it all had indeed happened with a singular ‘yeah, that’s true’. And it wasn’t for lack of a will in conversation either. Solo talked plenty. But again, he seemed to take little pride in it. It gave off the impression that Solo only believed he was doing a job. One that he may have even despised doing, but one that he’d done remarkably well.
“It’s beautiful,” Carter agreed, glancing over at the Starfighter just ahead, before looking down at his mess of radar displays and cockpit gauges.
“More than that. It’s pure. It’s the last frontier. I mean, the lands been taken. The ocean is too deep. We’re still struggling to get to space… but the skies, the skies are still free. Sorta.”
“You like flying but you seem to hate being a pilot,” Carter sighed, “That’s weird for an Ace of all things.”
There was a momentary pause from Solo. Though it was brief, it was enough of a interruption to let Carter know that he was striking some kind of nerve. With a contemplative voice, Solo spoke again through Carter’s headset, “You know… from up here, all the wars, all the empires, all the vendettas and politics… it all seems so… trivial. Petty. Like ants fighting over shit.”
“The skies make you think of that?” Carter asked.
“Think about it. It’s been a year since the Kiote War ended and they’re already saying we’re going back in. I mean, hell, look at us! Air wars always escalate into real wars, and they know it. I love flying, there’s no experience like it. But when you’ve been up here for as long as I have… you see things in a different light. Or at least I do,” Solo said almost wistfully, “Up here, far above the jungle, you reach something closer to truth. You’re so close to the Gods. So far from the petty squabbles of man, elf, and dragon.”
“I don’t see it as petty,” Carter said, sighing, “The Imperials need to be stopped. They’ll enslave us all, and if they can’t, I bet you everything Emperor Kirk will press that big red button on his desk. Vaporize us all in a flash. We’ve gotta stop the Avonians. That's why we fight.”
“Not to sound counter-revolutionary, but I really don’t see it that way. Commonwealth, Empire. What’s the difference? One is upfront about it’s evil, the other lies about it. Cut from the same cloth, holding the world with a nuclear gun pointed to its head. That’s what I think. You can’t see any differences between the Free world and the Imperial one from up here. Borders and national identities seem irrelevant. All you can see is the land, and sometimes, the people.”
“How can you say that? We fight a good fight. The Avonians hate humans. They hate elves too, shit, they’re bombing the Warriors as we speak. They hate anyone who doesn’t worship Emperor Kirk, and even then they still hate each other. We know this.”
“Four years ago I escorted a squadron of strike aircraft on a mission to destroy some entrenched Republican Guard… this was a while before I lost my wing. Those strike aircraft were carrying rainbow gas, chemical yellow I think.”
“The herbicide?”
“That’s the one,” Solo sighed, “It was Kiote territory. Warrior Elf hunting grounds. Beautiful land from what I heard. The strikers were intercepted by a few Riverlander jets but I was able to fend them off. Won a big old thank you from those strikers, they loved me… and then they dropped the gas. It was a thick yellow smog just spewing out of those aircraft. Covered everything green, stained it all long after the aircraft had passed by. No explosions, no fire, no nothing. Just… yellow dust.”
Carter furrowed his brow, his eyes studying his radar. Usually the temperamental radar would act up by generating false reads of targets or shutting itself off, likely from cloud interference, but today it was running perfectly fine. No distractions, no targets, no threats, for miles. The Commonwealth held complete air superiority.
“I flew back across that land to escort a different flight of cargo aircraft. And all the forest was gone. Green jungle, no more. It looked so… sick. It looked like death. You know? The skies are blue and white and black at night. They twinkle with stars and moonlight. There’s life and beauty in the skies. But when I saw that sight… I knew for certain there was nothing down there. It was like looking at the portal to the underworld. Just decay. Rot… and I saw a village underneath it all. Warrior Elf. All the homes were empty and there wasn’t a single soul moving about. Which is weird, because the Warriors are a communal kind of folk, you know? They like to hang around in the communal places and chat with each other. You can see them if you fly low enough. But there was nobody there. They were gone, or dead. And given that tactical command never informed us about the presence of the village, I’m almost certain that they’re all dead. Our own allies…”
Carter grimaced, unable to concentrate on much else.
“They say it takes a generation for that shit to get washed out of the local ecosystem. They don’t even know how long it stays in the groundwater. But it gets in the plants, and the animals eat the plants, and the people eat the animals. It all accumulates. Gets in the people. They have kids, and now the babies are born with that shit in ‘em. Causes all kinds of mutations and defects. We dropped that chemical on our own allies. Next to the deerfolk in Norfvamark, the Kiotes are some of the Commonwealth’s best friends. Is that what a peaceful society does?”
It was difficult to tell through the radio's normal interference and the sound of a literal jet engine in between the two, but deep in Solo's voice, Carter could make out a lingering type of regret that stained every word he spoke. It sounded genuine, if bordering on counter-revolutionary. Especially from an Ace with as many confirmed kills under his belt as Solo had. Carter had to admit that it was indeed a troubling story, nobody deserves to get killed like that. Rainbow Gas was a particularly unique strain of wartime horror that managed to trouble even Carter's deep seated patriotism. The fact that the Commonwealth was not only willing, but eagerly dispensed of the toxic chemicals and biological weapons in conflicts where it saw fit was horrifying. If he'd been given the order to drop Yellow over the Kiote jungle, would Carter have done it?
“The Imperials are the bigger threat,” Carter said, justifying it to himself. He would, of course, drop it. It his duty to protect the Commonwealth. Sometimes the Commonwealth made mistakes and people were in the way. Collateral damage, Carter reasoned. It wasn't something he wanted to say, but it made some sense. The weapons weren't meant to kill Warrior Elves living in their tribal homes, but sometimes accidents happened. As callous as that sounded, “That was a tactical error during war time confusion, not a deliberate bombing of friendly territory.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Tactical error huh?" Solo mused in response, "I wonder what the Kiotes think about it. Do they think I’m a hero for saving those pilots? I mean, of course I would’ve done it, they’re my fellow airmen. But… you think the Kiotes will be as forgiving towards us as we are to ourselves?”
“If it wasn’t for us, Kirk would have them all in concentration camps by now. They should be grateful we're on their side...”
"You really think so? Rookie? We're just paragons of goodness dispensing justice always?" Solo asked, "Maybe that's how the Imperialists think of themselves?"
"They're wrong..." Was all Carter could offer. But he knew, somewhere deep in his chest, that it was not enough.
For his part, Solo didn't hound on Carter for his zeal. But Carter could make out a rather ominous, depressed, sigh escape Solo's radio. It was gone in a moment as Solo changed the topic, "It’s just something to think about while you’re up here… you know? In the skies, you're closer to the truth than ever before. On the ground, you’re so far from god. But so close to men.”
Of course, right when the conversation was over, that was when the radar picked something up. There was a buzz in Carter's headset, and a light flashed within his dashboard to signal that Control was locked into their communications, “Angel Squadron, status update! We have a positive confirmation of Riverlander targets crossing the Kiote Border. Heading three-one-one. You have a greenlight to kill. Seek and destroy.”
“Angel,” Solo repeated the salute, standard acknowledgment procedure.
"Heading, North of your current location, fifteen degrees. Seven biological winged hostiles with possible fixed aviation in region Roger-Seven-Baker, sub, Able-One-One. Assume all contacts are hostile. Seek and destroy."
"Angel."
"The nearest friendly airfield is fifteen clicks southwest of your current position. Adjust maps. Try not to get shot down boys. Happy hunting. Seek and destroy."
"Angel, wilco. Sit back, watch the fireworks, and put two beers in the freezer for us. We'll be back before you know it."
The line from Control switched back to dormancy, leaving Carter and Solo alone in the skies once again.
“Come on," Solo said over the radio, "Let’s go put down some feral dragons. Dispense some more justice in this hell of a war. Eh, Rookie?”
"You're finally speaking my language," Carter chuckled.
"Just try and keep up pace. So far as I'm concerned, you don't have your wings yet. You've gotta earn them," A flash of light erupted from the engine as the Solo's Starfighter engaged the afterburners. Plasma was sent shooting out of the rear, giving the aircraft a boost in speed. It banked left, exposing its white belly and flashing the singular red wing, loaded to the brim with deadly weapons. The Starfighter made a sharp left before dipping low to change heading. Though the maneuver was basic, it required several steps and a lot of practice in order to ensure that the pilot didn't pull too hard. The wings of the aircraft could accidentally snap off if too much pressure was applied. And yet, Solo made the maneuver look flawless, a singular smooth motion. It was almost unnatural watching his Starfighter perform the turn. It was like a living creature. One of Avonia's cybernetic dragons, except this one was all steel. In the blink of an eye, Solo was headed north before Carter could even complete his turn... hesitantly Carter followed...
All the while, the idea lingered in the back of Carter's mind...
So far from god. So close to men, Carter wondered idly. Something to think about...
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==[WEAPONS OF THE COLD WAR]==
image [https://i.imgur.com/uKdpJDu.png]
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image [https://i.imgur.com/UXlxHZA.png]
Top Down view of Cpt. Michael "Solo" Falke's Starfighter
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Name: A-102A "Starfighter" (Ostralandian Air Force Naming Convention), F-102A "Specter" (Oceanian Airforce Naming Convention)
Type: Interceptor, Fighter-Bomber Aircraft, Air-Superiority Fighter
Country of Origin: The Ostraland United Commonwealth, The United Provinces of Oceanian
Information: SEEK AND DESTROY. SPEED AND AGRESSION. DOMINANCE IN THE SKIES. These three mottos effectively summarize the airforces of the two Commonwealth great powers, Oceania and The Ostralands. It's an ultra aggressive method of thinking that could only have been born in the fires of a most existential struggle for superiority above the ground. Man and Elven kind are, quite obviously, flightless creatures. The two Kin species have been grounded, only able to watch in wonder as the Avian species, Sapient Dragons, and Fae creatures, built Kingdoms and Empires the skies above Planet Narva. Dancing among the clouds in a world out of reach for the two primates.
But Planet Narva is a world of change. And like the ground below, the skies too must shift with the advance of time...
image [https://i.imgur.com/0h1B98i.png]PICTURED: Avonian Imperial Forces charge across no-mans-land, as Imperial Aircraft bombard hostile Valdacian lines during the Trench War
Warfare entered the machine age during the late 1100s and early 1200s. And with it came the advent of propelled flying machines. Once thought impossible only decades ago, man and elvenkind were soon flying in the skies above Planet Narva. And with their presence came war.
The Trench War of 1205 saw the old Avonian Empire, Bizonian Tsardom, Valdacian Magereich, Oranian Empire, and (in a limited role) the Ostralands, duke it out in the skies above long lines of trenches. High above no mans land, aircraft were crucial in delivering photographic reconnaissance, primitive close air support, and providing a major morale boost to allied infantry on the ground. Though the aircraft were basic in the amount of fire they could provide, the limited munitions technologically feasible at the time made them both awe-inspiring innovations of the future and a nightmare weapon born out of the depraved minds of nations at war. From gravity-powered flèchette ammunition, made of small steel rods dropped from the skies, falling with enough velocity to maim, pierce, and kill infantry behind cover. To air dropped canisters of primitive chlorine gas and biological weapons. These aircraft, and The Trench War as a whole, was Planet Narva's first glimpse of the future of war. A future where warfare was void of the tales of chivalric knights and glorious commanders. One barren of glory or honor. One so far removed from the legends of old sword fighting empires and battle hardened general-kings. But rather, a world where weapons were cruel, where suffering was scientifically engineer, and where machines began to dominate the flesh. Before the horrors of suffocating Rainbow Gasses, the titanic beasts of walking Behemoths and sentries, the biologically augmented monstrosities of cybernetic dragons and howlers, and the unmatched devastation of The Glitterbomb; the first great leap forward in warfare started in the skies...
image [https://i.imgur.com/HuNFSfT.png]
PICTURED: A Squadron of Bizonian Tsarist KOL-576 'Flanker' Pursuit Aircraft, in formation over the skies of the Far Northern tundra during The Sacred War
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image [https://i.imgur.com/e229DbX.png]
PICTURED: Two Oceanian F-30 'Challenger' fighters flying in tandem over the mountainous terrain of the South Oran/North Oran border, during the Oranian Crisis.
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image [https://i.imgur.com/OgPwvUE.png]
PICTURED: A Commonwealth Army-Airforce A-102 Starfighter, dropping dumb bombs on Riverlander troop positions during the latter stages of Kiote War.
Decades later, in the year 1240, in the midst of a globe-spanning Cold War, and the role of aircraft have only increased. They are faster, fly longer, are more maneuverable, and far more capable of being lethal than their Trench War and Sacred War counterparts. The human forces in The Commonwealth appear to have achieved a victory in The Cold War, as the jet-capable airforces of both Oceania and The Ostralands are the most advanced of any industrial power bloc. Yet, this belies the true nature of the conflict. Like everything else, the skies are a flashpoint for an ever evolving arms race between Avonia, The Commonwealth, and Heaven (Mostly the Kobold engineers in the United Kingdom, as Heaven has largely rejected war machines as a wicked abomination of mankind). And though the Commonwealth may maintain the lead... this is likely to change.
Enter, The Starfighter.
Ugly. Built like a brick. Armed to the teeth. Fast as lightning. The Starfighter was, and to a large extent remains, the chief Air-Superiority fighter of the Commonwealth Air Force. A twin-engine, supersonic, single seat, air-superiority fighter aircraft, The Starfighter is capable of breaking the sound barrier in the blink of an eye. It shattered multiple records upon its inauguration into service for the forces of freedom - all in spite of it lacking any magical technology, whatsoever. It is faster, climbs higher, and travels longer than any other jet aircraft currently in service (With exception of the still limited A-24 Contender which is planned to be the Starfighter's replacement). The Starfighter is perhaps the pinnacle of Mankind's daring spirit, and it embodies all three slogans of the Army Airforce for which it was purpose built. Deployed en-masse during the Kiote War, it led Belford Forces to absolute victory in the skies above the Kiote Peninsula, a victory which determined the pro-Belford ceasefire. Upon service, the Starfighter was in a class of its own. Untouchable by significantly slower, less capable Imperial Aircraft - of which there were only a small handful. Against dragons, it is the ultimate dragon-killer. It was such an effective tool that both Oceania and The Ostralands have adopted their own separate production lines and tactics, with Starfighters originating in the service of The Oceanian airforce adopting the title F-102A "Specter".
Yet for all it's glory, there is also the shadow. The Starfighter has become representative of both the pinnacle of Commonwealth air superiority, AND, the symbol of Mankind's oppressive instincts and destructive tendencies. A multi-role platform conceptually, the Starfighter has become synonymous with Commonwealth bombing campaigns across the world. Dropping chemical munitions from the skies, destructive bombs that shatter the ground, and weapons the burn, maim, and kill all who stand in its way. Hostile, or not.
image [https://i.imgur.com/E8LJm5U.png]
PICTURED: Oceanian Marines watch the aftermath of a Napalm strike deep in The Kiote Jungle against a friendly Sevillan Village believed to be occupied by Riverlander Militia, performed by an F-102 'Specter' just out of view
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