Night Squadron - Warbird

Summary: Aiden Hunt struggles with memories of war and grapples with his emotions as his Valkyrie is taken away from him.

***

"I really would like to know where you're dragging me," Aiden said, struggling not to fall over as he tripped over his boots. He continued to be dragged forward by the arms as he struggled to regain his balance. "And would one of you ladies mind removing this blindfold?"

"Not until we're there, daddy," Syra replied.

"No peeking!" Myra admonished.

Aiden sighed. He loved his family, but he wasn't all that fond of surprises. Those kinds of things were shrouded in the unknown, and the unknown usually brought a freighter full of bad things with it. His decades serving in the military had taught him that. Of course he was more than aware that his wife and two daughters wouldn't put him in any peril (at least not life-threatening anyways). Still, he couldn't alter years of conditioning. Surprises and secrets caused feelings of dread to build up within him, not anticipation. The sooner he was at their destination (whatever that was) and had the blindfold taken off, the happier he would be.

"Okay Aiden," his wife, Ella, said. "I'm going to take the blindfold off. Just... try not to do something too foolish."

Light suddenly flooded his vision and he was forced to squint as his eyes readjusted. Looking around he could see that he was in some sort of museum. All around him were tourists stopping to read an information placard or listen to an educational recording. Not far to his left he saw an old Bf-109 Valkyrie. He shuddered as memories of flying those old crates came flying back to the surface. He often wondered if he were better off floating through the vacuum of space than sitting in the cockpit of one of those things. At least then he'd present a smaller profile to hit.

Sitting in front of him was another starfighter. This one had a very long, almost conical shape with a set of flat wings emerging from the sides. On top of each wing and next to the body was a single cylindrical intake and thruster engine. At the ends were four long, heavy looking pulse cannons. Color began to come into focus now. Along the sides of the ship were scuffed, chipped, and fading silver paint. The wings had a few areas with similar markings, most notably two thin, silver strips towards the back.

A few emotions ran through his head at that point. The first was confusion, what was in front of him definitely should not be there. The second was denial. Yes, that was there, but he refused to believe that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The third was a sort of numbness. Aiden's mind locked down as he continued to stare at the nearly four-decade old craft in front of him.

***

Shiraz - 5 years after the Battle of Cyrus...

Two days after the destruction of the second Base Star...

Aiden wasn't sure what was worse, the ache in his hand or the taste of Loraca in his mouth. His medtech had insisted that the swelling in his wrist and hand would subside in a few days, which unfortunately meant he would be held out from active duty until that point. The Loraca were another issue. He was fairly certain the bitter taste and acrid smell would linger on him for weeks. If he ever got the urge to punch out of his cockpit again for any reason to go float in hard vacuum he'd be sure to think twice. If doing so meant he'd have to spend another two-day stretch in a Loraca tank it might be more worthwhile to go down with his Valkyrie.

It was hard to process the events that had ultimately caused him to leave the relatively safe confines of his starfighter in order to go for an impromptu trip into cold space. Two days earlier he had been on a routine patrol around the immediate space surrounding Shiraz. Reich Intelligence felt that the odds of such a thing were slim. He had to agree with that. The loss of the second Base Star, countless Jaheem military capitol ships destroyed, and the deaths of both Lord Shayatin and Prophet Muhammad was a crushing blow to the Jaheem. Word was already spreading that celebrations and riots were occurring all over the Galaxy, even on the Jaheem political hub of Cathorea.

Though it was doubtful anything would show up, Aiden went on patrol anyways. For the majority of the scheduled flightplan nothing out of the ordinary occurred. At least, out of the ordinary considering the situation. The space around Shiraz was littered with strewn wreckage, debris, and corpses. Hundreds of starfighters and larger starships had been destroyed, either by the second Base Star's 'stellar convertor' or by ship-to-ship engagements by smaller Luftwaffe fighters. He had to be careful as he traversed through the fields of mangled steel. One slip up and he could easily add himself to the body count.

Towards the end of his flightplan he picked up an unusual reading on his forward scanners. Breaking off to investigate, he saw a Jaheem message drone that appeared to have arrived in the system sometime after the battle had concluded. Using his Valkyrie's computer systems, he sliced into the drone and attempted to pull up the communiqué stored within it. Instead of activating the message, he wound up triggering a self-destruct mechanism. Without thinking he prepared himself to enter hard vacuum and equalized the pressure of his cockpit to the space outside. Within minutes he was floating beside the drone and attempting to prevent it from destroying itself.

Aiden knew that whatever was hidden on the Jaheem device could prove to be important. He quickly tore into the drone and, in a last-ditch effort to prevent it from destroying itself and the information contained within, shoved his hand between a set of electrite crystal leads that would trigger a set of explosives if they connected. The pain was excruciating and to compound matters further, he began to lose consciousness due to the time spent in hard vacuum. If Johann hadn't arrived with his Sunsword to cut his hand out of the drone Aiden was certain he would have died attached to that wretched Jaheem tool.

One day in a antibiotic tank and a few hours of observation later, Aiden was allowed to leave the medical facility. He wasn't quite yet cleared to fly, the medical staff needed to process the results of a battery of tests before that would be allowed. For now he was merely grateful to be up and on his feet again. Floating in a Locara tank and laying in a triage bed wasn't his idea of a fun-filled day. Sighing to himself, Aiden slipped through the doors leading to the hangar where Knight Squadron's starfighters were parked.

Instantly he noticed something was amiss. A small crew of deck hands were working on his starfighter. One of them were placing protective storage covers over the four engines' intakes and thrusters. A fuel siphoning hose had been attached to a side port on the hull, drawing out the Helium3 that powered the drive system. For a long moment, Aiden stood completely still as he tried to process what he was seeing.

They were preparing his Valkyrie to go into cold storage.

As realization dawned on him he stormed towards the deck hands, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sir?" the young starfighter mechanic was clearly started. "We got orders about two hours ago to prep this ship for long-term moorage."

"Who issued that order?" Aiden demanded. "I sure didn't!"

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Spinning around on the hells of his boots, Aiden saw General Ryker standing in front of him.

"Kriegsmarine High Command asked for your Valkyrie," the grey-haired General said.

Aiden was incredulous, "What for? We're not exactly in a position to be putting starfighters into storage right now!"

The Luftwaffe had lost a sizable portion of their single-man starship fleet in the battle to destroy the second Base Star. That was plainly evident in the hangar they stood in, where the steel floors were significantly emptier than they should have been. Only a small handful of ships were in flying condition. Others were in varying states of disrepair, from hull plating damage to lost weapons and thruster systems. How could Command remove a functioning starfighter now? How could they remove his functioning starfighter?

"General I-"

"Commander," Ryker held up a hand, interrupting him, "I know it's not your job to consider the historical significance of things, and frankly it's not mine either, but you have to be aware that your Valkyrie is buried to the forward viewports in it."

He didn't respond as Ryker continued to speak, "It-you, rather, piloted it through attacks on two Base Stars. There isn't another ship or pilot in the fleet who has that logged on their service records."

"The Ghost was at Cyrus and Shiraz," Aiden said bitterly. "I don't see anyone trying to take that away from Jac."

"The Ghost didn't make a kill run at Cyrus," the General said as he heaved a sigh. "Aiden, if it were up to me you would get to keep it. I know how attached you fighter jocks get to your birds. Even so, High Command has made a reasonable request. As far as anyone is concerned this ship is now a historic artifact."

Ryker smiled faintly and squeezed Aden's shoulder reassuringly, "We've got a batch of new fighters coming from Bölkow within the next few hours. You'll be first in line to have your pick of the litter."

Aiden watched numbly as General Ryker walked out of the hangar. He turned his attention back to his (for the time being) Valkyrie. Slowly he walked towards it, pressing a hand against the cold, metallic hull. He looked over at one of the mechanics who had been preparing it for storage.

"Are you finished?" Aiden asked.

The mechanic nodded an affirmative, "Yes, sir. All that's left is to remove the internal batteries, but we'll do that after it's been moved to storage."

"I see," Aiden said, directing his attention back to his starfighter. "Could you... have your men clear off for a while?"

Little more had to be said, for the mechanic knew what Aiden needed. Quietly, he ordered the other deckhands to vacate the premises, leaving the starfighter pilot alone with his ship.

Silently Cyrus walked along the underside, pausing for a moment as his hand brushed against a spot of darkened carbon scoring. That had come from a training exercise. He grinned slightly as that memory resurfaced. Just prior to the Battle of Cyrus he had been conducting an instructional drill with several new pilots. One of them had an itchy trigger finger and had accidentally grazed the belly of his Valkyrie with a stray pulse cannon shot. Afterwards Aiden would deliver the first verbal dress-down of his career, which thankfully was something he had not had to do many times since.

He emerged next to a service staircase and ascended, stepping off of it and onto one of the starfighter's wings. Aiden knelt down next to the top-starboard thruster, brushing his fingers against a set of rough welds that held the complex engine to the wing. Four years earlier he had flown down the gut of the first Base Star's trench next to Briggs Stratton and behind Johann Strauss. When fire from the enemy M25 fighter took out the stabilizers housed under the engine he knew he had withdraw. Flying without the ability to make micro-adjustments to his flightpath would have put himself and his wingmen in jeopardy.

Pulling away and leaving Briggs and Jo behind had been and still was the worst moment of his military career. Almost instantly he was consumed by both grief and regret. When the transponder signal belonging to Stratton's starfighter ceased transmitting Aiden added guilt to his gamut of emotions. If only he had been able to avoid those Defender's tracers a little longer. Maybe he would have been the one to get vaped that day instead of Briggs.

Once he had set down on the Luftwaffe base on Cyrus, mechanics immediately went to work replacing the damaged control surface. The spot welding had been crude, but it was effective. Still, every time Aiden stood on the starboard wing of his Valkyrie and looked down at the engine he flashed back to the kill run. This time was no different. A dull pain formed in his stomach as he reflected on the lives and friends lost that day. In minutes, the foolish delusions of invincibility provided by their youth vanished. The war against the Jaheem became all too real.

Carefully negotiating his way past the open canopy, Aiden lowered himself into the cockpit and sank into the flightseat. There wasn't a place in the Galaxy he felt more comfortable than behind the controls of his Valkyrie. He looked down at the flightstick, noticing that the black paint had rubbed away in places where his gloved hand often rested. Grasping it in his hand, he moved the stick away from him. Aiden had always liked the resistance of this particular stick. It had enough give to allow for free motion, but not so much that he would overshoot his spots.

With his left hand he grasped the throttle lever, sliding it forward and stopping when he felt a familiar hitch roughly two-thirds of the way up. A small defect from Bölkow's factory left a rough spot in that location. It didn't get in the way of its use or cause a problem, but there was definitely a catch there. It was a small but noticeable quirk, one he had grown used to over the span of four years. Glancing to his right, he saw the scuff marks on the shield control instrumentation panel that had been caused by the pressure hoses of his flightsuit.

"Commander," a voice called from below him. Aiden peered over and saw the mechanic he had spoken to earlier.

"The ship tug is here."

Aiden hesitated, finding himself unable to move for a brief moment. He was all too aware he couldn't stubbornly sit in the cockpit and refuse to move. That was conduct rather unbecoming of the commanding officer of Knight Squadron and, besides, someone would show up at some point to drag him out of there in an embarrassing scene. Slowly, he stood and descended the entry ladder hooked to the cockpit. As he hit the hangar deck and turned around he was startled slightly.

Standing next to each other were three of his squadron mates and, if he were to be perfectly honest, close friends.

"General Ryker suggested we pay you a visit," Ares Crane said, offering a smile.

"Seemed like a good idea," Jarro added. "It was either that or peeling tubers."

"We brought Jack's," Hanson said, holding up a bottle in one hand and a set of shot glasses in the other.

In his peripheral vision, Aiden could see the hauler tug lumber into the hangar and position itself near his starfighter. It was then that reality finally came crashing down around his ears. His Valkyrie was being taken away. The one possession he had, the one thing that had been able to offer him some control of his destiny during the war was about to be torn away from him. Despite himself, he felt a lump rise in his throat. He quickly brushed at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to catch a few stray tears before his friends noticed.

"To our warbirds,"Ares said, handing Aiden a glass of Jack's reserve and raising his own in a toast.

Jarro followed suit, "To our warbirds, the only place any of us spacers may ever feel at home in."

They shared a drink as the Valkyrie slowly lifted off the ground and was hauled out of the hanger. Aiden watched as long as he could, squinting to try and make out the faint outline of his starfighter as it was towed to a safe location for storage. The elegant machine of war was little more than a minor footnote in the history of the Luftwaffe now. A mere trivial oddity.

His friends stood behind him for a long while. Little needed to be said by any of them, for they all knew the emotional bonds a pilot shared with their starfighter.

After so many years Aiden had assumed that the old starfighter had been lost. Perhaps whatever shipyard it had been condemned to spend the rest of its days in had been destroyed during the Chigger war. It had always bothered him that despite the claims it was an important Reich historical artifact nothing had ever been done with it. These sleek starfighters weren't meant to sit hidden away, collecting dust in a shipyard somewhere.

Yet, despite convincing himself years ago it had been lost, he was staring at his Valkyrie, the very one he had flown from the Battle of Cyrus through the Battle of Shizar. There was no mistaking it. Written in red paint on the hull was "CMDR AIDEN HUNT." Below that were rows of Defender silhouettes and a large image of a Base Star. Looking down, he saw an information plaque on the ground below the nearly forty-year-old ship. It was emblazoned with an old photo of a much younger Aiden with text written to the side.

'This Bölkow Bf-109 Valkyrie was flown by Commander Aiden Hunt during the Luftwaffe insurgency against the Jaheem Empire.

Guided by the skilled hands of Commander Hunt, this starfighter was the only known military vessel to have survived attacks on both of Prophet Muhammad's Base Stars. During the Battle of Shizar, Hunt would destroy the power regulators connected to the Base Star II's antirmatter reactor core resulting in the destruction of the Jaheem Battleship. Hunt alongside General Matthew Fox would be officially credited with the Base Star's kill.

Following the Battle of Shiraz, Hunts' Valkyrie was declared an object of historical significance and was decommissioned and removed from active service.'

"A friend of mine in Starfighter Command found it sitting in a storage facility on Remus," Ella said. "I tried to get the military to part with it but they felt it was too valuable to give up. Convinced them to do the next best thing, though."

"Put it on display," Aiden said quietly.

Ella nodded a confirmation, "As much as I hate to give you a reason to inflate your ego any further, people should see this. They need to know what you did for the Reich."

His wife's words didn't quite register in his mind. Before anyone could stop him he broke into a run, jumping over the short safety wall that housed the starfighter. He scrambled up the starboard wings and leaned over the engine, reaching towards a keypad just under the canopy and entering in his old clearance codes. It took a moment to process, but with a loud hiss the clear canopy began to pop open. Aiden angled himself into the cockpit and settled into the old ejector seat.

It was just as he remembered it. The scuff-marks near the shield controls. The flightstick that had just the right amount of resistance and give. The throttle lever that had a small catch two-thirds of the way up. He took a moment to soak it all in. Memories began to rush back to him. Cyrus, the ambush at the Isadore Corridor, the battle at Chandra, the escape from Siria, the Battle of Shizar. This Valkyrie had been with him through all of that, giving him some control over his destiny.

Aiden felt as if he had been reunited with a long lost friend. He knew that others wouldn't understand, but that didn't bother him. Logically it was silly to feel this way about an inanimate military machine but he didn't care.

It wasn't necessary to try and rationalize the bond between a pilot and his warbird.

***

The End...