"Hello again, mercenaries," a voice called over the radio. From out of nowhere, four Typhoons and a sleek Boeing Bird of Prey, painted in grey digital camo with red markings appeared. It was Gheist. On time and aggravating as ever.
"Follow us," Hyerich said over the airwaves. Without waiting for a response, he rolled once, then turned to the proper heading, straight for the border, vapor trails streaming off of his wings.
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Swallowtail Canyon, Northern Remertia
0530 hours
January 9, 2014.
Mission 1: First Impressions
Marcus Feisler, callsign "Spade" was flying wingtip-to-wingtip with Jade Sarelson, callsign "Angel" over Remertia's famous Swallowtail Canyon, leading a flight of four AT-6s. The sun's light was making an appearance in the distance, but it had not risen yet. This was the perfect time to begin training.
Swallowtail Canyon was a natural formation which stretched for almost fifty miles. The Remertian Air Force commonly used this area for practice because of its excellent terrain-masking qualities. Flying the canyon was a true test of a pilot's skills. Flying it while being chased by an instructor simulating an enemy was insane, but that was what Feisler was about to do.
"Angel, this is Spade, do you read?"
"Spade, Angel. I read."
"I'm going to talk to the rookies and get this started. Take position."
"Roger, Spade," Sarelson said, banking her plane sharply to the left and leaving the formation, following the canyon below. Seeing her go, Feisler switched radio frequencies to communicate with the trainees.
"Listen up," he said, "today's task is simple. Each of you in turn will fly Swallowtail Canyon, below me. I'll be chasing you. Now normally, these aren't air-to-air planes, but mine has a device that simulates a fighter's homing radar. If at any point I achieve missile lock on you, you are considered 'hit.' After three hits, you're gone. Pull out and head back to base. I'll brief you there. Don't get hit. Mamba 1, you're first. you get a ten-second head start, then I come for you. Go!"
The first AT-6 peeled away, diving for the canyon. Feisler waited ten seconds, then followed, prop screaming as he dove towards the earth. The rookie was entering the canyon now, but Feisler was right on him. Then they were in, below the ground's surface, jinking left and right to avoid the canyon's many obstacles. Feisler achieved missile lock the first time with ease. Then the rookie became more careful, employing swifter maneuvers and trying to stay low. The canyon thinned out shortly, leaving less room to maneuver, and Feisler could tell by the rookie's flying that he was getting nervous. Suddenly, the AT-6 pulled up, out of the canyon, and Feisler followed.
"I'm sorry, sir," the rookie said over the radio, "I wasn't ready."
"Next," was Feisler's only response.
The pilot that followed was outstanding, barely clearing the canyon's floor, rolling, and using every trick in the book. Feisler was having a hard time keeping up. By the time they made it to the last rookie's quitting point, he still hadn't achieved missile lock. This trainee was good. As the gap between walls continued to close, he pursued the pilot, still attempting a lock. Then Sarelson was there, waiting at the ambush point, also pursuing. Neither of the two could get a lock. Then the canyon ended abruptly. The pilot had made it.
"Congrats," Feisler said, amazed, "what's your name?"
"2nd Lieutenant Christine Ayel, sir," the rookie responded.
"I'll remember that," Feisler said with pride. Just then his radio sounded. He switched to the proper frequency. It was Ridley AFB.
"Ridley, this is Spade, go ahead."
"Spade, you and your training flight are being diverted."
"Diverted? Why?" By now, Sarelson had pulled up next to his aircraft. She'd put up her visor and was now mouthing "what's going on?" at him through her canopy. Feisler acknowledged her with a shrug, and she rolled her eyes and banked away towards the trainees.
"We have detected an unidentified aircraft on a course which will put it over our borders soon. Intercept this aircraft."
"But we're unarmed!"
"It doesn't matter. It looks to be a large aircraft, and your dummy weapons should suffice for a show of force."
Feisler groaned inwardly. This was really stretching his patience. "Alright, then. What's my heading?"
"Vector 285. Good luck."
"Thanks, Spade out." Feisler radioed the rest of the flight with the information and changed course, now on an intercept path in an unarmed turboprop. This was going to be interesting...
