“Oh him?”

A man clutching an assault rife shifted in his seat, and his eyebrows perched up from surprise at my question. He was young and handsome man. He had short dirty blonde locks, and a freshly shaven face that was as smooth as marble. Even though his face displayed youth, his eyes conveyed a different story. His deep blue pupils were weary of seeing too much, and continuously bounced across the room as if he was haunted. The room was peppered with bullet holes and dried blood was splattered across the walls. Outside, the cracks of gunfire, and the low rumbles of artillery, exploded in the cascade of battle.

I had risked my life to come see this particular person. When I had discovered, after months of searching, that this man was serving in the ISAF army, I didn’t hesitate to go after him. My boss had told me that I was insane for coming out here to the frontlines. He said that I had grown obsessed with this story. He lectured that I was forgetting about my health, my job, and my family in my fixation. The tragic part about it was, he was right. My wife, Latrica, had begged me to stay in Osea, and not travel across the ocean to another war. She cried the night before I left, she tore herself away from me when her pleading failed. But I couldn’t leave this story, not while I was so close to the heart of it.

“Yeah I know him,” the man continued. “It’s going to take a while. It happened years ago. Did you know, that there are three types of aces?”

The man held out his hand to count with his fingers.

“Those who seek strength, those who live for pride, and those who can read the tide of battle. Those are the three, and him…he was a true ace.”

He was a fighter pilot they called Solo Wing Pixy. He was a colleague of the man I seek. 10 years ago, there was a war that engulfed the world. The Belkan War, and in that war was a pilot who trailed across the sky, and then disappeared from history. He was a lone mercenary who inspired both fear, and admiration. He is the man I seek. And so…with the words of Solo Wing, the curtain rises.

“It was a cold and snowy day,” Solo Wing began.

:
April 2nd
1995
Valais Air Base
Ustio



Snowfall trickled down over a rippling sea of mountains. The peaks pierced through the thin clouds that had gathered around the ice caps. Through the howling winds, high in the sky, the sounds of jet engines roared in the Alps.

Solo Wing Pixy scanned the air through the glass cockpit that was beginning to fog. Water from the snow streaked by his heads up display as he increased his speed. Enemy bombers were aiming to attack their base in the mountain range. It was his job to intercept them before they made their bombing run. It was simple; complete the mission, or no payment. The snowfall was becoming so thick now that it was as if he were slicing through ice.

“It’s starting to come down,” he remarked over the radio.

To his right, his flight lead, call sign Cipher, boosted ahead of him as they flew side by side. He was a mercenary like him. Surprisingly, he was quite talkative once he got used to you, and he was young. He had dark wavy hair that was cut barley above his eyebrows, and cold crystal eyes that seemed to stare right through you. Solo Wing had heard a few things about him. He’d been told the man flew with an honor that was rare among the mercenaries. It was a stark contrast to the way Solo Wing himself flew. He was only in it for the money, and to get a diverse taste of the women living in the countries he fought for. The only similarity that they had in the air was the same plane, the F-15 Eagle C model. Solo Wing’s right wing was painted red due to the time when that wing was shot to hell, but he still brought the plane home. He considered it his trademark. However, he didn’t understand Cipher’s paintjob. The two tail fins, elevators, and wings were colored in blue, not the worse setup he’s seen, but still mysterious.

The radio crackled to life in his helmet.

“This is base command, guess all you boys managed to get up. Galm 1, Galm 2 maintain present course.”

“Nobody wants to bail out into a mountain of ice,” Pixy mentioned over the comm. “We’re counting on you flight leader.”

“All planes standby to intercept,” one of the other pilots ordered. The flight leader was a few miles ahead of them. He was one of the few fliers that was a true Ustian pilot.

“You better have our pay ready and waiting,” Pixy noted.

“That’s only if we both make it through this alive,” the base commander replied.

“Be ready to pay up,” Pixy said with a chuckle. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Tiny brown spots appeared on the horizon, and mirrors reflecting the sunlight danced across the sky. The spots were the bombers with their glistening silver escort planes making their rounds in between the bomber formation. The other friendly jets had already begun to engage the enemy. But the success of the mission rested on Pixy’s shoulders, and everyone knew it. He had the highest reputation of them all. He didn’t know why the base commander had decided to make him Cipher’s number two. He doubted the kid would make it through a week.

“I’ve heard a bit about you Cipher,” he said glancing at the back of Cipher’s jet engines that drifted in front of him. “That pride’s going to get you killed you know.”

“Let me worry about that Pixy,” Cipher responded. His voice was gruff and low. Aggressively, his afterburners came alive shooting out flames behind him.

Pixy smiled as he followed suit and they flew toward the enemy planes. The Belkans were a challenging foe, and they ate rookies alive. And they were confident after their numerous victories, too confident, a weakness that could be exploited.

“Galm 1, Galm 2,” the flight leader announced. “Engage.”

The two planes soared as one into the Belkan flight. The gunners sitting at the back end of the bombers blasted machine gun bullets at their swarming attackers. The tracers criss-crossed the air, becoming as plentiful as they snowflakes. Pixy cranked his neck to keep his eyes on the mucky bomber as he skimmed over its skin. His warning alarms rang, and blaring red lights tinted his visor red. He dipped his wing to evade the tracking missile. It’s smoke trail zipped under the aircraft and made an eternal beeline for the horizon.

He noticed a Belkan fighter locked behind Cipher. Eager to see how the kid would fare with a bandit on his tail, he observed the fight, but still remained in close proximity so he could jump in to assist. Much to his surprise, Cipher did a move that Pixy himself, even with all his experience, couldn’t understand. His plane seemed to freeze in place as he made one slow roll, and the opponent had no idea how to counter the maneuver. Cipher dropped behind the enemy pilot and blasted him out of the sky with a missile before the bogey could recover.

“Not bad,” Pixy murmured to himself.

The longer the battle raged, the more difficult it was to keep up with Cipher. He twisted through the skies, downing bombers and fighter alike. His contrails contorted in loops as his fighter jet struggled against the high g-forces of each maneuver. Pixy had seen great pilots before, the Red Cross, the Desert Lion, but never had he seen such aerial skills.

When all the bandits had been either shot down or retreating, all eyes weren’t on Pixy anymore. They were all fixed on the blue plane that glided calmly beside Pixy’s red wing. Who was the new pilot? How did he learn to fly like that? Where did he come from?

“Base command to Galm team,” the commander said over the radio. “The enemy attack unit has been successfully intercepted. I’d like to see how those Belkan cowards report to their superiors.”

“Cipher,” Pixy said glancing at his plane from the frosted glass. “I think you and I will get along just fine…buddy.”

Solo Wing Pixy gave a half smile as he remembered his first mission with his friend so long ago. I vigorously wrote down each word he spoke as he continued his tale.

“It all started on that snowy day,” Pixy uttered. “My first impression was; he had potential.”

I leaned forward in my seat, pen tapping on the notebook, eager to hear the rest of the story that was told for the first time. The story of the Demon Lord of the Round table.