“Despite having a gentle demeanor, I could tell the wingman would never allow danger to near Yellow Thirteen.”
-Storyteller Boy
Near San Salvacion, USEA
November 5th, 2010
Yellow Squadron was given a simple mission. They were to escort the Grey Squadron, a flight of 6 TU-95 Bear bombers as they carpet bombed enemy positions on the ground to support the fierce battle being waged in the city.
Thirteen quickly defeated the three enemies that were in the air. As the squadron kept watch, the bombers went to drop their payloads. When this was done, the bombers turned and retreated from the airspace. Before Yellow Squadron could follow, they spotted a Pegasus coming towards them fast and turned to engage it.
“Sir, it looks like that’s the rainbow from last time,” Four reported.
“Engage as a formation. No single ship attacks,” Thirteen ordered.
It was by pure chance that Dash had been in the area. When she heard rumors that the yellow planes were flying nearby, she jumped at the chance to fight them again. She was focused, concerned only on shooting down the pilot from the last encounter.
When she spotted them and confirmed they were the squadron she was after, she felt anger come over her. Not necessarily a rage, but some sort of deep, irritating feeling. It was a mixture of pride, determination, and a want for revenge.
She quickly spotted the same 013 in yellow and went after it. Getting on its tail, she tried her best to shoot it down. But, every time she thought she had him, another fighter would appear from behind and threaten her.
Dash guessed that that plane was the leader’s wingman. Breaking off of Thirteen’s tail, she decided to engage that one instead. Turning sharply and dropping on the tail of the new target, she followed closely. Despite intense maneuvering, the jet was unable to shake off the Pegasus. Finally, Dash was able to fire a missile at the jet and sent it spiraling to the ground.
“Eject, Yellow Four,” Thirteen ordered. “Thirteen here, did anyone see Four get out?”
There was no answer. He immediately ordered the squadron to retreat. Even after he brought his plane down and stepped out of the cockpit, he couldn’t believe what happened.
Upon hearing that she had killed one of the ‘invincible’ Yellows, Dash was thrown a party. But despite Pinkie’s insistence that she celebrate, Dash didn’t want to, and left the party early. She wasn't satisfied. She was happy, but not satisfied.
It didn’t really make sense to her. Thirteen had shot down her friend, and she had now done the same. It was even, but now instead of some anger, she felt something missing. She thought about going back and finishing the job, but concluded that, even if she did shoot him down, the feeling would remain.
It took some thinking, but she came up with an idea for the cause of this. It was the lack of a real opponent. Being the best didn’t feel the same if there was no one to oppose you.
“Our Yellow Thirteen bagged three more today, bringing his new tally up to sixty-four kills,” The squadron’s adjutant announced as he counted up the kill scores.
They were sitting in a bar, with the many air force pilots going over their kill scores and celebrating their victories. All the celebrating stopped as they turned to Yellow Thirteen, who had been sitting quietly in the back, strumming on his guitar to a melancholy tune.
He stopped and sat there; staring at a handkerchief Four had left behind. The pilots looked on at him, maybe expecting some kind of speech. Instead, he got up and went over to the wall where the kills were being counted with marks. He then pinned a photo over the marks; it was a photo of the Rainbow, the one that had killed his wingman.
“Look, here’s something worthy of praise,” he said before returning to his spot in the back. “Even among the enemy, there are flyers like this.”
He continued to slowly strum away on his guitar. He didn’t openly show his sadness; in fact he seemed to revert to normal after a few minutes.
Continuing to play his instrument, he spotted a young boy with a harmonica and, smiling tentatively, asked the boy to accompany him in a new song. Playing out the song, he felt content, feeling a slight happiness return to him.