Was inspired by some threads on the main board involving criminal misuse of military technology's potential. Didn't know if it belonged there or here or in the War Room... so playing it safe, it's here. ----------------------------- The Greatest Ace. ======================================================== Just another day in the second Argentinean Peace-Action. As if the Falklands War II hadn't been enough of a humiliation for the South American country they should have really known better than to press their perceived rights to territory in Antarctica, territorial claims no one but Argentina ever took seriously before and took even less seriously now after Palladium was discovered under the Antarctic ice. The distances involved made it much easier to insulate the Argentinean populace from the results of the excesses of their military, but also left them with more leeway to continue tilting at the windmill of an Argentinean Antarctica. Was it pride that kept them coming? ...Desperation? ...Sheer bone-headedness? Ronin neither knew nor cared, in fact he only cared about two things... flying, and fighting. Captain Donald "Ronin" Caldwell and his wingman, Lieutenant Michael "Rapier" Smithson, were flying an air suppression sortie over the southern Pacific when the call came. 'Bogies inbound to target zone'. This meant that the Argentineans were sending another flight of fighter-bombers at their alleged beachhead in Antarctica. The call didn't come from ground control, or AWACS, or central command or anything like that. Ronin's fighter simply informed him after it's onboard computers evaluated all the telemetry coming in from it's own onboard sensors and the sensors of the multiple in-theatre AWACS and JSTAR platforms and the satellites in orbit and concluded that the seven objects rising from a suspected airfield in southern Argentina and heading southward were 97% likely to be hostile military aircraft making what for an Argentinean aircraft would be the long lope to Antarctica. Ronin and Rapier's aircraft, the F-42 Seraphim II, was a miracle of modern technology if ever their was one. It's flight computer carried out trillions of computations per second just keeping it's meta-alloy airframe in the air, morphing it's wings and other control surfaces to best catch and tame the air for whatever purpose was needed in that split second before morphing again and again and again as the fighter craft maneuvered. Inside it's opaque cockpit Ronin was granted an unparalleled view thanks to the teleoptical materials lining the interior providing a 'glass room' effect. His hands were encased in command-gauntlets which held his arms down and his hands to the fixed control yokes which sensed the pressure he applied to them and interpreted that as commands. As he and his wingman turned toward the suspected location of the hostile aircraft seven blinking gold and gray pips showed on the inside of his cockpit canopy, sensors inside the visor of Ronin's helmet monitored his eye movements and determined he wanted a closer look.. and provided. An electronic window opened, showing wireframe representations of seven generic aircraft silhouettes that blinked yellow and gray as they were unconfirmed. Ronin twitched a finger to stab at a blister of inflated rubber inside his left command gauntlet, sensing the movement of his muscles the computers were already moving to carry out the command by the time he actually made it. Ronin's fighter did an over-the-horizon radar-bounce off the upper atmosphere, the wireframes instantly turned from gray and gold blinking to solid gold, then to red as they started to turn. Such odd behavior after Ronin had revealed their presence. "Those aren't mud-movers..." Ronin called over the two-ship channel, the computer was already shifting the wireframes to something less generic and more fighter-like by the time those words left his mouth. Each of those seven craft re-aligned on a course taking them towards their would-be attackers, and then launch-warnings began to blare as the seven blips outside the magnification window were joined by 14 more. These would be the new Chakram-IV, India's answer to the USAF's AIM-360 long range missile. At three times the size of the AIM-360 it was much bulkier and less efficient in almost every way, but it had a much larger warhead and over twice the range. None of that mattered though since Ronin never carried AIM-360s, he disliked how having hardpoints for them ruined the sleek lines of his fighter and how storing them internally greatly reduced his overall payload and his wingman followed suite. The missiles crested the horizon and popped-up, streaking for the upper-atmosphere, their look-down/strike-down radars scanning the zone below themselves looking for the telltale discrepancies in the backscatter, the 'holes in the Earth' where radar said absolutely nothing existed and where nothing but a stealthed craft 'could' exist. Ronin and Rapier pulled up to face their attackers just as the missiles divided themselves up and formed an attack formation, diving down on the two American pilots. Rapier waited for them to come within range and then powered-up his AESA, his tracking radar upping it's output until the missiles were completely blind and weaving erratically. Seven AIM-442s slipped free of his fighter's dorsal weapons-vent and the little missiles lit their engines once they were safely clear. The AIM-442 was about the size of two coffee-cans stacked atop each-other and contained no sensors and little in the way of electronics. It had only a compact inertial guidance unit, a tracking beacon, and a telemetry kit so it's mothership could always know where the missile was in relation to itself; the launching fighter's own computers handled the task of piloting the missile with it's vectored-thrust vents and properly triggering it's self-forging warhead, using sensors all along the fighter's own skin to track and guide it. The missiles all 'hit' their marks, sending sheets of molten metal in their path shredding the Chakrems leaving them to spin wildly and flame-out impotently in the sky. They would of course have been easier to hit if Rapier had allowed the enemy missiles to properly track him and maintain a steady and more predictable course. Ronin wasn't impressed, he had his own way of dealing with situations like this. He pushed hard against the left-hand yoke and his craft lit first one, then two of it's three afterburners, accelerating towards the missiles. His computers helpfully projected potential flight-paths for each missile in Ronin's field of view amid which he dodged and weaved as the closing speed grew immensely, interception in four, in three, in two.... ...and he was past, whizzing by the missiles with a triumphant whoop to himself within his sky-chariot. He so loved doing that. Then the missile's secondary seeker-heads locked onto his thermal wake and spun the missiles around 180 degrees, struggling to re-accelerate and catch him. Damn, he always hated when they did that. "Yo, Rape?" He called to his wingman. "I'm on it.." Rapier replied as seven missiles spilled out of one of his flank weapon-vents, "..and you know how much I hate it when you call me that Ronin." "Bitch-bitch-bitch." Ronin laughed in reply, leveling-off as the incoming enemy fighters themselves crested the horizon. Ronin toggled another blister-switch, turning his radar on and up, perfectly mapping the surface of each fighter. Poor bastards, still using the venerable and primitive PAK-FA. He squinted at the updated silhouettes though, noting the straight swoop of the airframe over what should've been the canopy. "We got Drones." Ronin called it out after his computer had already shared the info with his wingman's craft and updated both their displays, "Damn, and I was hoping for a real fight." He lamented. "`Bot, Combat." Ronin called into the intercom, as both fighters accelerated to meet the enemy; this command would cause blister-buttons inside the gauntlets to sink back into the material from whence they sprang and new ones in new configurations to rise in their places, buttons and switches on the control yokes would likewise be re-mapped as everything the pilot could need in a split-second during combat operations was literally at his fingertips and all other functions were delegated either to voice-commands or to the `Bot, the combat-flight computer system. The `Bot had, of course, long since anticipated the order and carried it out even before Ronin could finish saying the words. The distance closed, the red pippets on the canopy turned into red circles around tiny black spots in the sky. More missile warnings, IR-seeking warheads this time. These were much easier to dodge as their fore-quarter LIDAR arrays switched from lasing a significant fraction of the sky to a single point no bigger than a penny, blinding each missile's sensor-head. Both flights of fighters streaked past each other and Ronin broke into an Immelman turn to bring him around onto the 'Six' of one of the drone fighters; not that he needed to get a missile-lock that way, he'd had missile-lock since before the enemy reached visual range, he just found it more of a challenge to try and maneuver into this position before making a kill. The opposing fighter broke hard left and Ronin turned to follow, turning hard, shadows dancing on the edge of his vision. He shouted in triumph as he managed to get his nose in line with the enemy's tail and stroked the firing stub. The `Bot determined that the slipstream was too choppy along the dorsal surface to use the weapons-vent there, so it rotated it's internal magazine (choosing to rotate to the right to maximize the aid the airframe's rotational torque from the turn gave) and slipped a missile out the ventral vent. The little missile did what it was designed to do, lit it's motor, did a little dance on it's own contrail, then exploded. The `Bot carefully choreographed this sequence so that it ended with a white-hot self-forged slug tearing through the target just behind where it's cockpit used to be. The enemy fighter shuddered, trying to continue the doomed turn when aerodynamic forces overcame it and everything in front of the wing-roots simply sheered-off. Ronin let out a whoop of victory as he saw the enemy aircraft spin-off into oblivion, turning to check on where his wingman was. Rapier had gotten himself ganged-up on by the rest of the enemy flight, engaging in wild maneuvers juking his craft this way and that just as he had been taught to before finally giving-up and in desperation standing his Seraphim on it's tail and pushing the throttle-yoke as hard as he could. All three afterburners lit-up and the craft shot into the sky, easily out-pacing it's obsolescent attackers just as it could have from the beginning. The drones gave chase and fired a fresh salvo of short-range missiles but Rapier's `Bot didn't even bother lasing them, in a stern-chase nothing the enemy had could catch them, even in the straight vertical. Ronin meanwhile did give chase, it was a target rich environment and he had his pick of the litter. He selected one of the trailing craft and closed the distance, he didn't need to but it was his preference, when it suddenly juked hard left and then right. Ronin yanked the right control yoke and stabbed at the rudder pedals to keep up, eventually falling into a vertical scissors maneuver with the other craft, spiraling tighter and tighter. "Damn, gonna have to use guns for this one." He mused, not hiding his glee in the least. Oh it wasn't that he was within the minimum-range of his missiles, they were too cleverly designed for that. He was just maneuvering too hard to safely launch anything. Of course, the AIM-442 was an all-aspect attack missile, and his `Bot could track and attack up to 36 targets with them. All Ronin had to do was straighten-up and fly right and he could kill all the enemy fighters at once. Ronin selected his gun. Tighter and tighter the spiral grew, Ronin's flight-suit squeezing tightly around strategic portions of his body fighting the attempts by gravity to shove all his blood into his toes. Faster and faster, turning tighter, shadows dancing in the edges of his vision. Those shadows grew... and grew.. and.... "Ronin, Ronin can you hear me? Ronin? Don, are you alright?" Ronin shook his head and blinked, he was flying straight and level, how did he end-up like that? In a panic he gripped the control-yokes and searched the sky, but it was clear save for his wingman on the 8-o'clock high position. The instant his fingers tightened around the controls a message at the bottom of one of his cockpit displays changed from.. <I Have Control.> ..to. <You Have Control.> Ronin never noticed, neither did he notice his ammo-counter indicated 20 rounds of cannon ammunition had been expended since last he was conscious. "D-damn... yeah Rape, I'm alright." He called over the radio. "Dammit I blacked-out again." "Damn man, that sucks." Rapier commiserated. "Still, you were Awesome! The way you made your fighter stand on her tail and twirl like that, like a ballerina with afterburners for toes. Tracers went everywhere, you got 'em all." "Haw!" Ronin laughed, "And those Navy pukes say the Saras don't need a gun." Rapier chuckled over the channel, "I know, right? But look at you, Ace in a Day, Again!" Ronin smiled behind his oxygen mask, "Yep, I must say I am impressed with myself even." Ronin gave the order to return to base, flicking a control inside his gauntlets air hissed out of them releasing their grip. He slipped his hands free and opened his mask and visor to rub his face.. "Mmmmph, `Bot? RTB." He commanded, he'd earned a bit of laziness after such a successful day. And he was the USAF's top Ace... some may claim his tactics were reckless, but they got results. The `Bot began pulling information from everywhere, satellites, AWACS, other fighters, ground stations. It began crunching numbers about fuel consumption vs. projected weight vs. projected weather conditions and plotted the most efficient course back to Honolulu, scheduling rendezvous with drone-tankers at the optimum points along the route to achieve the perfect balance of time lost making multiple refueling stops and efficiency gained by not having to fly with full and heavy tanks. The aircraft was already gently nosing up and accelerating towards optimum cruise with just a split second having passed since it received orders... "...and make it quick, will ya?" Ronin added. The `Bot instantly re-evaluated it's route, plotting a hypothetical one that would shave hours off the trip but also many more hours off the useful lifespans of the engines and burn even more fuel. Still, flag-level officers tended to overlook such flagrant miss-use of resources on the part of successful officers, especially Air Force Generals with regards to air-combat pilots. The `Bot searched base records as quickly as satellite-lag would allow and judging by past incidents concluded there was only a 0.02% chance of it's pilot receiving a reprimand. The `Bot increased throttle and the angle of it's ascent to meet the nearest high-altitude tanker to brim it's tanks for a sub-orbital hop. Ronin sighed happily as he leaned back in his command-couch, "Ah yeah, I am so gonna get laid tonight." ========================================================================
Can you tag what this is at the start please? (Original Military Sci-fi, I take it). I wasn't sure if I was supposed to recognize anyone in it.
I like it! The pilot and the plane seem pretty broken but...it's like any Ace Combat game ever so I don't really mind.
I honestly don't know, I've never used tags before... Is that important? This is my first time in the Creative Writing forum. The plane is Supposed to be broken, that's the point. The pilot is.... not.
There ain't no damn memo! Its a story! Put it in here And the question is does 'bot even need a pilot?
Finally, someone's on the right track. For extra fun, try and count the number of times Ronin would have died a horrible fiery death if he'd been flying anything but the Uber-plane with 'Bot watching his back.
Are you intentionally making Ronin look like an arrogant, idiotic, asshole? If so and you're just setting things up then good job. If I'm reading things correctly the "Ace" ain't Ronin
Ronin isn't the main character. 'Bot is! 'Bot needs a warm body to push buttons most of the time and to make sure command is happy (I mean look at its figuring of the 'fast route' home) Doing maneuvers that would harm Ronin or itself would risk 'Bot being grounded if not deleted and replaced with another unit. 'Bot knows that it does its job very good although Ronin is a bit odd in his desire to not carry the AIM-360. Thus 'Bot adapts and does all the hard work while Ronin get the glory. 'Bot is not jealous. 'Bot cannot feel that
Ronin is the most aggressive pilot in the USAF, and his military records show he's also it's most decorated Ace with the record not only in total kills but also most average kills per-sortie. In other news, his medical records show he has the highest number of recorded Blackouts/Redouts during combat in recorded history.
Wonder if anyone's begun checking the Data Recorders and started putting 2 and 2 together... or maybe they have but realize you can't have F-42 #214 be a national hero! So Let Ronin think he's a legend.
People don't like original fiction in here? Seems that The Burning Ages: The Fires of Time was well received. Leave the story as it is! Its not like its a bad story! Also Les any chances of a sequel/another chapter or another story from that setting you got?
I will admit to some inspiration from that. What setting, this? :wtf: I just wanted to post a mild satire of military science-fiction where authors romanticize a particular martial style or suchlike (In this case, I chose air-to-air dogfighting) without taking into account how the tech-base they've assigned their setting makes operations and combat in such a style superfluous.... ...so I went, "HURRRR-DURRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!" and beat on my keyboard for about twenty minutes and this fell out.
Beat your head against a concrete wall for an hour or so and you should have accumulated enough "DURR"'s to write another chapter But seriously now, it's going to be hard to follow this up. I guess you could have 'Bot' develop more of a personality, maybe turning into the gung-ho, military relative of GlaDos Or have 'Bot' interact with other AI's of the same kind. But really? The point of this one-shot has been made and you can only express in so many words how the machine has made its' operator totally redundant. And now, Les, I want you to go to the nearest concrete wall, beat your head against it for a while and then wail on your keyboard until another Fuzzy update falls out. Make it so!
Because else we will find you. And we will hit this nearest wall with your head. Repeatedly. For update. It's fine text, beings with serious literature withdrawal - such as myself - want more words from you. Or put warning about one-shotness of this.
Yes, in much the same way as your heart and lungs are connected to your brain. I see what you're getting at there, but no.. Ronin is just THAT Reckless.
