Skyseeker (War Memoir)

***Skyseeker*** was a short war memoir book written and published by Rookie in 2025, recounting his numerous experiences in the Astean War. The following text is what he wrote in the story.

## **Part I: The World at War**

August 26th, 2016

I didn’t know what to think whatsoever that day. Hell, I’m still reeling from the shock of it all.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where do I start?

Right. The assassination.

Tensions weren’t the best with the Alliance and the Empire to begin with. Neither of them really wanted war, but this escalated quickly. When an Imperial diplomat was found killed in Alliance territory, the Empire accused them of the death.

I don’t know who actually killed the diplomat, but nobody was happy.

That was six days ago. Today, we’re at war.

I found out this morning. I came downstairs to make some coffee, turned on the news, and there it was. Images of bombed airfields and military installations. The Empire had destroyed every Alliance base on the Astean continent. I just… froze. All I did was watch the TV as the events unfolded.

About half an hour later, there was the phone call. I sighed because I knew this was coming. It was my squadron leader.

Crucible 1: “Get to Estheron AFB now. I’ll explain when you get here.”

He was always quick to the point when it came to military business. I drove down Estheron Air Force Base, our local military airfield. I was surprised at the traffic on the way there. More specifically, the lack of it. Traffic in the area is usually steady, but now only a few cars dotted the roads. Everyone must have been at home, watching the world unravel.

Estheron, other the other hand, could not be more active. Personnel were running back and forth across the airfield. I went to the base’s briefing room and met up with my squadron. Their usual lighthearted demeanor was replaced with a general uneasiness and anxiousness.

This is Crucible Squadron. Officially, we’re the 2nd Fighter Defense Squadron, but only the really stiff generals call us that. We don’t really know each other by our names so much as we do our callsigns, but we are still very good friends.

Moneybags was given his nickname because his parents are rich. According to local rumors, he had a fancy mustache but shaved it when he enlisted.

Stronghold is famous in the force for defending a target by herself against an entire squadron in a training exercise. She’s always supportive of her fellow pilots, and acts like a big sister to me.

Tally was nicknamed because she loves making lists and keeping score. Score of victories and defeats. I bet after this war gets started for good, she’ll be tallying our kills.

Then there’s our squadron leader. He doesn’t have a nickname. Everyone just calls him Crucible 1. He talks very little during missions because he’s trying to focus.

Lastly, there’s me: Rookie. Newest guy in the squadron. Even if I was a grizzled veteran, they would probably still keep the nickname for irony’s sake.

We’re very good at training exercises, but we’ve never seen real combat. That’s probably about to change. Everyone sat around the room in varying states of impatience. Tally scrambled and solved a puzzle cube over and over again. Moneybags sat in his chair, tapping his foot slowly, head in his hands. Stronghold paced back and forth across the room, muttering something to herself. Crucible 1 was scrolling through his phone, reading news about the war.

Then the commander entered. He was a short man, about 5’2. He had a short white beard and hair. He was a respectable man, but certainly not intimidating. He stepped up to the podium and activated the projector. A map of the world, with all its glorious continents and borders, was shown.

Astea, Sapent, Antarctica, Rykos, Casteron, and Vinisage covered the map. Borders of over a hundred countries sprawled throughout them. We were the Alliance of Sapent Nations, an alliance consisting of most of the countries on Sapent. The Astean Empire covered the entire continent of Astea. The Alliance territory was highlighted in blue, while the Empire was highlighted in red.

Most of the countries in the world were still trying to figure out what was happening, but some nations, like Isaku, a small island nation off Sapent’s coast, had already declared themselves neutral, and they were highlighted in yellow to show it.

The commander launched into his briefing. Everyone stopped fidgeting and took their respective seats. In all, about twenty-seven pilots were in the briefing room.

The Crucible pilots all sat in the front. The other squadron members all settled down once the commander started talking.

Base Commander: “Okay, so as I’m sure you’ve all heard. We’re at war. We’ve lost contact with all of our bases in Astea. Squadron K-6D has visual confirmation that they have been destroyed. It’s estimated that all of our forces there have either been killed or captured.

We don’t know what will happen next, but it’s safe to assume that Imperial forces will be moving on Astea soon. Forces from the United Provinces and Manoran Republic are already moving to defend. We’re scrambling our fighters to run patrols and stand ready to defend when they attack them.

Swan Squadron, you’re going to be patrolling the Pavli Mountains, in case they try airdropping troops there.

Caliber Squadron, you’re being transferred to the Satamura Air Force Base. Link up with the 23rd Air Defense Brigade and await further orders.

Crucible Squadron, you’re heading to Ubisan City. It’s the only city facing Astea with a harbor big enough to fit their biggest warships and landing ships. Report to your AWACSes. They’ll brief you the rest on the way. Dismissed.”

Everyone was quiet. It was difficult to process it all. A week ago, we didn’t think this would happen. Now, our world has flipped.

We were off to Ubisan City. It’s not really the best city for anything, but it has the largest port on this side of the continent, painting a big target on its back. The hangar bay we kept our squadron’s jets in was buzzing with activity. Mechanics had already armed and fueled them. They looked better than ever.

Our squadron flew Phantom IIs. They were old models, but still reliable in most situations. Other squadrons had already taken off towards their destinations when we rolled our jets onto the runway. Taxiing and taking off is always uneventful, but everyone was nervous. I kept looking at the cloudy gray sky above us, expecting the enemy to descend on us at any moment. Not that they ever did, but that didn’t stop me from checking.

It was probably a three-hour flight of nothing but silence to Ubisan City. Raindrops from the city’s common tropical rains pelted our cockpits. We arrived at Ubisan Airport and parked our planes in the hangar reserved for the Allied Forces. Ubisan didn’t have a real military air force base, so they just set aside a small part of their airport for it.

Our AWACS’s massive E-3C Sentry plane landed about half an hour after us. If you don’t know, “AWACS” stands for “Airborne Warning and Control System.” Every AWACS unit has about four people in the plane: Pilot, co-pilot, radar operator, and radio operator. It’s a complicated system, but not our place to worry about it.

Every AWACS likes to have an interesting callsign. Our AWACS’s callsign was “AWACS Highlander.” I don’t know if pilot callsigns and AWACS callsigns work the same. Our callsigns are nicknames given to us based on our personalities or behavior. His might just be a callsign, and nothing else.

We left our planes with the mechanics and were put on standby until something happens. I took my things to the airport hotel and didn’t leave for the rest of the day. They say stress can shorten your lifespan. If that’s the case, I may have lost a week or two of my life today. I’ll just have to see what happens next.

## **Part II: Rough Waters**

August: 29th, 2016

Operation High Storm

Nothing happened for three days. I had trouble sleeping because I was worried the attack would come at any minute. Today, it did.

I was sleeping as peacefully as I could when I felt the ground shaking and heard faint thooms in the distance. I shot awake, opened my room’s windows, and stared out at the city in horror. In the darkness of the early morning sky, Ubisan City was burning.

Without another thought, I rushed out of my room to the hangar. Halfway there and I was still pulling on my flight suit. The rest of the squadron was lifting off the runway by the time I had started up my plane. I was in the air five minutes later. I could see the entire city from up there. I wish I didn’t.

Imperial destroyers formed a sort of blockade around the harbor, firing missiles at Allied installations. The anti-ship guns set up by the United Provinces around the area were smoking craters now. An aircraft carrier sat at the back of the formation, and Imperial aircraft were taking out anti-aircraft guns and armored convoys heading to stop the landing. It was bad.

Now it was our turn.

Crucible 1 was already all over the enemy air power, spraying bursts of bullets and firing missiles. He would probably be an ace before this mission was over. I couldn’t focus on him for too long because Stronghold started talking to me.

Stronghold: “Rookie, I’ve got an idea.”

Me: “What is it?”

Stronghold: “I’ve got a torpedo bomb loaded onto my plane. I’m going to try and torch their carrier with it. We might be able to force them to retreat if they lose it. I need you to cover while I make the attack.”

Me: “Got it. I’ll cover you.”

One thing I love about the Phantoms is how many bombs they can carry. They’re not bombers, but they can still carry bombs. The R-8 Hullbreaker was one of them. It was a torpedo that could sink a sizable vessel with just one of them. It lodges itself into a hull and explodes inside, doing even more damage.

Stronghold dove down and skimmed the water, flying less than thirty feet above the ocean, and straight towards the enemy carrier. The carrier’s AA guns were firing round after round at her. Most hit the water, but some hit Stronghold’s airframe. That didn’t even phase her. She kept going. Once she got in range, she dropped the torpedo and pulled up as hard as she could.

She narrowly missed the carrier’s command tower while doing it. She flew off away from the carrier, and moments later, the torpedo detonated, sending a spray of water and debris flying across the carrier’s starboard side.

Smoke began rising from the impact area as the carrier began listing to one side. It slowly turned around, attempting to limp away from the battle. Soon after, the other destroyers turned around and began escorting the wounded ship away from the city.

I had to squint to see it all, but the carrier wasn’t going to make it. The further it got from the city, the slower it got, and the more it tilted to one side. Aircraft tumbled off the side of the runway and sank into the ocean. Sailors jumped over the side and lifeboats began appearing around it to collect them.

After about ten minutes, it was clear the carrier couldn’t be saved. It had tilted forward, and now the only part of it visible above the water was the stern and its rudders. The remainder of their fleet was retreating. Crucible 1 mopped up the remaining Imperial aircraft, and we heard over the radio that the landing force had surrendered to the Allied Forces once they saw the fleet retreating. We had won. AWACS Highlander then started talking to us and coordinating units.

Highlander: “Enemy forces are in full retreat. Crucible Squadron, return to base for debriefing.”

He would continue ordering around our units for at least another hour after we had landed. The debriefing was short, but informational.

Highlander: “Okay. Crucible, you’ve successfully managed to turn back the enemy offensive. Allied Forces across the continent are reporting similar success. However, this isn’t the end of the Imperial offensive. Agents in Sapent are reporting that Imperial Navy forces have begun massing at the Imperial city of Norigrad. We’re planning on sending you with a massive attack force to stop them while they’re still staging.

This should hopefully stop any further attempts at future offensive. For now, get some rest. You’ve earned it well today. Dismissed.”

I’ve always wanted to visit Astea, but this is not how I imagined it would happen.

## **Part III: Leviathan**

September 1st, 2016

Operation Leviathan

We got to take it easy for a week, because the Empire’s forces were turned back and didn’t try us again for some time. Projections claimed that the Empire was unlikely to hit us for another two months, but they were faster than that, and I knew it.

High command knew it too, because we were supposed to attack the Imperial Navy in two days. Technically, the mission started today, but it would take two days just to reach Norigrad.

The Provincial Navy had sent two of their carriers to ferry us most of the way. They would stop outside the Empire’s sensor range, and then we would take off. Along with our squadron, they had pulled a dozen other squadrons into this operation. In total, we would be hitting the harbor with nearly a hundred various fighters and bombers. The goal was to sink as many Imperial ships as possible.

Since they were all gathered in Norigrad’s colossal harbor, busy staging their forces for a second assault on the Sapent coast, they were all clustered together. Unprepared, unorganized, trapped by the confines of the harbor, and busy refitting and resupplying, they would be sitting ducks for our attack force.

The carrier trip was long and dull. We had nothing to do most of the time except check the systems on our aircraft. It was important, of course, because the worst thing that could happen during our mission is our reliable aircraft breaking down mid-flight, but not the most entertaining of duties.

After the carriers stopped, we got in our planes and took off. There’s a majestic feeling I can’t describe when I’m flying in formation with all those aircraft. Anyone who was in a similar scenario knows the feeling I’m talking about.

Anyway, we were off. After about two hours, the city was coming into view, and we saw them.

The Imperial Navy prides itself on its fleet of large, powerful, and numerous warships. Their navy is one of the largest in the world, with over 120 vessels. We often joke that half of that is probably speedboats with machine guns strapped to them, but we know that they are a formidable force.

One that we were about to send to the bottom of the harbor!

We fanned out and began attacking their fleets. Their ships’ guns filled the sky with tracers and lead as we soared over them to attack them all. Enemy comm chatter exploded and filled our radios as we moved on their ships.

INS Demeter Captain: “This is the INS Demeter; we’ve got several dozen Allied Forces aircraft showing up on our sensors!”

Imperial Soldier: “Radar is picking up multiple squadrons inbound fast. They aren’t ours!”

Imperial Soldier: “Where did the even come from?!”

Imperial Commander: “Start rolling the AA guns! Don’t let them sink the fleet!”

Imperial Crewman: “Get us out of the harbor! We’re dead if we stay here!

Imperial Crewman: “We can’t move! Our ships are blocking each other in!”

Looking back, I still don’t regret what I did that day, but Hell, do I feel guilty about it.

We split up and descended on our terrified enemies. Weaving between round after round of enemy fire spewing up at us.

Imperial Commander: “Open up on all guns! Set fire to the sky if you have to! Don’t let them get through!”

The Imperial Navy is usually calm and levelheaded when it comes to combat, but I don’t think they’re like that when they aren’t expecting to be attacked. I bet half the officers were loudly awoken by sailors rushing to get them and are commanding their ships while still in their pajamas or whatever they wear when they sleep.

The bullets sprayed up in wide arcs but continued to miss.

Tally: “Their gunners can’t hit the broadside of a war!”

Tally taunted them, but we all knew deep down that those bullets, even if they missed, would still cause damage when they came back down. Then things got spicier.

You see, the Imperial Military has these weapons called “M-SARs,” or “Mobile Surface-to-Air Rocket launchers.” These things do exactly what it sounds like they do, and that’s fire lots of rockets at aircraft.

One of those rockets flew right past my wing and blew up. I could feel the shock wave from the explosion, and a piece of shrapnel made a small crack in my cockpit. Rockets continued firing up. I didn’t know if we’d lost any aircraft, but part of me didn’t want to know.

I fired a pair of missiles at the nearest Imperial ship and watched as it listed to the side, veering off its course and scraping against the harbor before slowly lowering into the waiting cold, wet embrace. I looked around the harbor and saw similar successes unfolding across it. I pulled up and made another pass at a second ship trying to escape the harbor and had mirrored results. This ship, a cruiser, hit the harbor head-on and ran aground, carving a tear into it and knocking aside stacks of cargo containers, before its stern side sank, and the ship slid back into the water.

A third ship tried to escape the harbor, but the wreckage already in the harbor scraped against the ship’s hull and caused it to sink itself. Any other ships in that part of the harbor were trapped, and other squadrons were already sinking them. This whole fiasco went on for another hour or two.

Norigrad’s harbor was consumed in fire and smoke. Burning and sunken ships littered the harbor and all the nearby area outside of it. Every ship. Every vessel. Their navy was in ruins.

We had won, but it still didn’t feel over yet. I found out soon after that it was right. A new female voice entered the mess of comm chatter.

AWACS Forge: “AWACS Forge to all squadrons, spread out and deal with the Allied aircraft. Force them out of the airspace or shoot them down. We’ve already lost too much today. Don’t let them do any more damage! Paladin Squadron, Ascendant Squadron, split up the enemies and take them out!”

Yep. The Imperial Air Force had arrived. Highlander wasted no time in coordinating units for pulling out.

Highlander: “Well, the IAF sure took their sweet time getting here. Okay. All units, objective complete. Evacuate the airspace immediately and return to base. Do not, I repeat, do not, engage the enemy. Pull out.”

All of our aircraft, whittled down to around three quarters of their original numbers, turned and fled back from the way we came. The fighters fled faster than the rest, going as fast as they could in hopes of escaping the faster and more advanced Imperial aircraft or getting out of range of their long-range missiles.

The bombers fled slower, but they were safer. Their high altitudes and stealth technology allowed them to remain safely out of range of the Imperial air power. We returned to the carriers and settled in for the long trip home. I didn’t sleep well that night. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I think I just couldn’t sit well having participated in the massacre of so many people only a few hours earlier.

The little sleep I got was met with unsettling dreams. Dreams of the harbor, still burning well into the night. Sirens wailing across the city and rescue workers trying to cut trapped sailors out of their capsized warship tombs. Punctured fuel tanks leaking, igniting, and spreading fire across the water and harbor.

Then I imagined it afterwards. A depressing mist hung over the harbor. Everything was a dull gray. The remains of ships poked out above the surface of the water. And corpses. Corpses, bloated and pale as the rest of the scene, hung limp in the water. More and more floated to the surface until the harbor was choked with them. And then…

What am I talking about? There was no “and then.” I woke up. That was the end of it. I woke up in a cold sweat. The ship’s alarms had woken me. I poked out of my quarters to ask one of the marines running by me what was happening. He shrugged at me and kept going, so I flagged down the next one.

Allied Marine: “We’ve reached the mainland, but the airfield we were supposed to drop one of the squadrons off at is burning.”

I pulled on my shirt and shorts and ran to the flight deck. I got to the surface and joined the gathering crowd staring at the smoking airfield. A dull gray similar to the kind in my dream hung over the carrier and the airfield. We all just stared in silence. Some lowered their heads and took off their hats. Some cried. Others left. Some didn’t come at all. I can’t blame them.

Once we got to land, the squadrons went to meet their various commanders for debriefing. I remember exactly what the commander said to us.

Commander: “So, the mission was a success. The enemy’s naval power has been rendered no factor. However, in the days since the attack, Imperial stealth bombers have conducted retaliatory strikes at Allied Forces bases. Damage reports are still coming in, but it's safe to say the damage is severe.

Despite this, their navy’s decimation has opened up an opportunity to attempt a landing operation on Astean shores. Strategists are already drawing up battle plans for a full-blown invasion. We’re placing you on standby until further notice. Dismissed.”

I didn’t have anything to say after that. I just felt so emotionally drained after all of this that I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I walked off to my quarters and went to sleep. I slept better that night, but there was still that same dream. The same harbor, The same sea of bodies.

## **Part IV: Bullet Sponges**

December 16th, 2016

Operation Fool’s Hand

That’s the only way I could describe the plan they had. Imperial forces had set up dastardly beach defenses ready to cut down anything sent their way. Anti-aircraft guns, artillery cannons. They had cannons built for warships in their defenses, embedded in stone bunkers along the coastline.

I was worried about it all. We had tried sending paratroopers to sabotage enemy defenses before the landing, but we lost all contact with them shortly after. High Command, in their infinite insanity, decided to green-light the invasion anyway.

So here I was, sitting in my cockpit, about to take part in yet another bloodbath of a battle. Highlander started giving out orders.

Highlander: “Ten seconds until the operation begins. Cover our landing forces. The overall objective of the mission is to capture a beachhead to land more forces. Take out as many enemy defenses as you can. If our landing forces take too many casualties, the operation will fail.”

And with that, we were off. Cannon fire shot straight at us. I heard the crack of it whizz between our formation.

Crucible 1: “Break! Break! Take out those cannons first!”

We threw ourselves at the enemy defenses. The landing force had already started landing on the beaches. I looked down and I saw troopers and tanks pouring out of armored landing craft and helicopters. So many of them were cut down so quickly.

Enemy aircraft were cutting some of our choppers to pieces. We swooped in and tried to engage them, drawing their attention away from our troops and to us. They were flying some pretty advanced fighters. Six SU-33Ds led by one SU-57D. These things were built to kill enemy aircraft with ease.

The SU-57, aside from being a different model of aircraft from the rest of its flight, had a unique livery painted on its tail. It was an image of a conductor, making gestures to command an unseen orchestra.

On top of that, his IFF gave off a unique nickname under it. Usually, this is given to pilots granted the title of Ace, to help both friends and foes identify them on the battlefield. His visible nickname was “Maestro.” We drew the formation’s attention, and this spiraled into a dogfight between our two squadrons.

Maestro sought out Crucible 1 specifically. They launched away from the rest of the dogfight and began engaging one-on-one. It was mesmerizing to watch. The two twirled around and around each other in a beautiful dance. Every one of their moves was skillful and calculated. Nothing those two did was without purpose. I couldn’t tell what Maestro and Crucible 1 were saying over comms, if they were saying anything at all.

I can only make guesses, but based on how events would unfold after this encounter, I would say that they both realized that day that they had met their match. I was occupied fighting Maestro’s company of friends, but I still glanced at them when I had the chance, watching them.

The dance ended abruptly when Maestro intentionally stalled his plane. He slowed down and began falling back to the Earth. His aircraft, now upside down, angled its nose towards 1’s Phantom, which was just starting to move in reaction. Before I could blink, a stream of bullets carved a line of holes into the Phantom’s underside. 1 started trailing smoke and plummeted towards the water below him faster than Maestro did.

But just before he hit the water, 1 kicked on his engines and pulled up hard, nearly slamming into the waves before arcing upwards and flying straight towards the Maestro. He hadn’t yet noticed that he hadn’t killed his enemy with that blow and wasn’t able to react in time when 1 fired a missile directly at his plane. It made contact and exploded. By some miracle, Maestro’s plane was still flying, but it was a scorched and smoking mess.

Maestro: “AH! Damnit.”

Maestro’s voice was gruff and mature. He spoke with a... certain tone that makes you both respect and fear him. Even after his near-death experience, he kept his voice relatively calm and remained composed.

Maestro: “Composer Team. I’m pulling out. My plane is too damaged to keep fighting. Do what you can or come with me, but I don’t believe we can hold this beach.”

Composer Team. Now we had a name for our skilled adversaries. We had already downed two of them. The remaining eight retreated with their squadron leader. The enemy air power was pulling out in full.

I took the moment of unstable calm to look at the beaches. Smoking craters dotted the sandy shores. Landing craft were running aground and lowering their doors. Countless soldiers and armored vehicles drove up the beaches, heading inland. The water near the beach was dyed red by the blood. Wrecked tanks and crashed helicopters still burned on the sand. I couldn’t make it out, but bodies, shot and blown lifeless, lay across the beaches, covered in dirt and sand.

I hope those poor souls have found peace in the afterlife.

We had taken the beach. A carrier had been brought on station for us to land until we either secured an enemy airfield or paved a new one out ourselves. Once the soldiers had secured the nearest town inland, we were allowed to go ashore.

Planting my boots on Astean soil felt good. The dirt was moist from the coastal humidity and a nice, rich brown. Great for farming. The thought of retiring to Astea someday flashed through my mind, but I ignored it.

The town had been abandoned by its population when the invasion started, so it was just us and the marines here. We went to the town bar and enjoyed a nice night. I only ever drink alcohol on one occasion, and that’s when I get a spoonful of wine from the priest when I go to church.

Tonight was the time that changed. I was pressured into doing shots in a challenge against Stronghold. I downed two before giving up. I couldn’t take the burn, and the taste was awful to me. Stronghold had already won, but she kept going. She downed three... four... seven... ten... eleven shots before stopping. She was hardly phased. I swear, that woman is a super-soldier of some kind, because I haven’t met a single person who could beat her at anything except for flying. That spot was taken by Crucible 1.

I got three things that day: Drunk, the title of ace, and a respect for that Maestro character. I had a feeling that this battle wouldn’t be the last we saw of him.

I woke up the next day on the floor of my room with one bastard of a hangover. I’m such a damn lightweight. I would later see Stronghold in the mess hall for breakfast, and it was like those eleven shots had never happened. Super. Soldier. She gave me a smug look when she saw me. I joked that if this war wouldn’t kill her, I would. We both gave a light laugh to that, but then I passed out again and woke up at noon, back in my room.

## **Part V: Abandon Hope**

December 17th, 2016

Operation Underworld

During yesterday’s landing operation, the landing force suffered 67% casualties. I talked to one of the generals leading this operation: General Seir, leader of the 1st Infantry Division, more commonly known by their nickname, the “Lowriders.” He told me that until more troops arrived, and the next wave wasn’t due to land for another week, that we couldn’t make any advances and were vulnerable if the Imperial Army counterattacked us.

General Seir: “Look, the generals that are commanding units here have all reached the same conclusion, and we’re all expecting the enemy to counterattack within the next three days. We’ve sent recon drones all over the region, and the ones that haven’t been shot down are reporting at least seven divisions of Imperial armor and soldiers moving towards us. They’re heading towards the Imperial city of New Grace. We think they’re going to stay in the city for a day or two, so we want to send you and a few squadrons to escort a bomber formation while they destroy the divisions.”

I didn’t like how that sounded. Bombing military divisions in a city. I prayed that the civilians had already evacuated. Seir must’ve read what I was thinking on my face.

General Seir: “I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is war. If we don’t do this, that counterattack will cost us three times as many lives.”

Like that made me feel any better. We were still bombing civilians. But I couldn’t disobey orders, and I respected the general.

So, we were going to bomb New Grace. We took off from the makeshift runway paved out by the army late at night shortly after the bombers did. We fell into formation with the bombers and flew for about an hour before we reached the city.

These bombers were TU-160s. Carpet bombers. Their purpose is to find the area an enemy is in, and then remove that area. When we got to the city, it was just like I had expected. Nearly 200 enemy tanks and transports were parked at various places throughout the city. In alleyways. In parking garages. In between buildings. On the side of the road. Everywhere.

We could have done this with drones. We could have done a hundred other less casualty-heavy options, but we were short on time and resources. Nothing was said between us. We all knew what was going to happen, and we just wanted to get it over with. Let the waves of emotion and guilt hit us once we’re back at base.

We had no idea what would happen.

What really happened was far worse.

They didn’t mention to us in the briefing what kind of bombs they had loaded into the planes.

Firebombs.

Firebombs were explosive containers with fuel inside. Once the bombs detonated, the liquid would spread outside of the blast area in a radius. When they were ignited, they would spread fire onto anything the fuel had touched.

The whole squadron watched in horror when we realized they were firebombs. An enemy tank exploded, and a puddle of fuel spread and ignited, setting fire to a nearby building. Based on the bomber pilots’ reactions, I started to think even they didn’t know what kind of bombs they were carrying. Enemy chatter exploded in panic and terror as a wave of flame slowly consumed their city.

Imperial Technician: “Roll out the flak guns! Shoot down as many as you can!”

Imperial Soldier: “We need to get the civilians out of here!”

Imperial Technician: “We should have done that a week ago!”

Imperial General: “Forget them! Our priority is to protect our vehicles!”

Imperial Soldier: “Sir?!”

Imperial General: “We lose these divisions, and we will never be able to contain this invasion!”

The bombers kept scorching the city. Bomb after bomb after bomb fell out of the underside of the planes. The enemy flak guns didn’t even get a chance to fire before the burning wall consumed them as well. Trucks tried to outrun the bombers but couldn’t escape them.

And then I could hear it. Over the radio, I heard the screams and cries of the hundreds of thousands of terrified civilians fleeing the terror and destruction. Everyone in the squadron heard the same thing.

The bombs even hit helicopters that were trying to escape. They spiraled into buildings, cracking half and fell into the streets, or shattered before they even hit the ground. This nightmare went on for another fifteen minutes before the bombers cleared the city.

New Grace was in ruins. The fires burned as though the sun itself had landed on the city. A great bloom of smoke, barely noticeable in the night but made visible by the fire’s illumination, made a cloud of unfathomable size above the city. Nearly every building in the city had been flattened.

I saw something out of the corner of my eye as we turned and started heading back to base. It was an Astean truck. The only thing to make it out of the city. I don’t know how many people were on that truck, but they may have been the only ones who survived the bombing.

I say this because I never heard anything about survivors from the bombing afterwards. I heard about the rescue efforts that continued for two months after, but they never found anyone. That night, the entire city, and everyone in it, was devoured by Hell. Everyone except whoever was on that truck.

I never found out what happened to those people. I doubt I ever will, but I hope I do. Someday.

The flight back was quiet and uneventful. Nobody said anything. We were still trying to grapple with what we had just done. The flight back felt much longer.

When we got back to the airfield, I felt so tired, but I couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard I tried. I wanted someone to blame. Someone to be angry at. General Seir. The bomber crews. The Alliance itself. I was furious. But more than that, I was just depressed and drained.

I walked around the perimeter of the airfield. It was dark, and there was nobody out, so it was nice to just walk around and turn my mind off.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to see Stronghold running up behind me. She slowed to a walking pace once she reached me.

Stronghold: “Hey.”

Me: “Hey.”

…

Stronghold: “Are you okay?”

…

Me: \*sigh\* “No. I’m not. I feel horrible.”

…

Stronghold: “It wasn’t your fault, you know?”

Me: “I can’t help but still feel responsible. You probably feel the same. Why else would you be out here?”

Stronghold: “Fair enough.”

…

Me: “I wish this mission had never happened.”

Stronghold: “That makes all of us. The whole thing is already on the news. There’s nothing left of the city anymore.”

Me: “What was the city’s population, anyway?”

…

Stronghold: “Two hundred and fourteen thousand.”

Me: “Jesus.”

Stronghold: “Yeah.”

…

Me: “How many of them do you think made it out?”

Stronghold: “Do you want an honest answer or an optimistic answer?”

Me: “Honest.”

Stronghold: “I think maybe ten thousand survived. That’s if we’re being optimistic. Worst-case is that the truck we saw escaping was all that was left of the survivors.”

…

Me: “Fuck.”

Stronghold: “Yeah.”

We walked silently for half an hour more. I didn’t want to talk. She continued the conversation.

Stronghold: “I want you to know something. If you need support, or anything like that… I’m here to help you.”

That was Stronghold. She was like a big supportive sister to me. I trusted all my squadron mates with my life, but I trusted her more than the others. We had known each other since our days at the academy and knew each other well.

Me: “I’m going to go try and sleep now.”

Stronghold: “Alright. Suppose I should’ve expected that.”

She turned and started to head off, but before she got out of earshot, I said one last thing to her.

Me: “Hey, Stronghold? Thank you.”

She looked back at me, nodded, and then walked off.

## **Part VI: Broken Crowns**

April 12th, 2017

Operation Closing Curtain

They called it “Operation Closing Curtain.”

With the Imperial Navy crippled to the point where its remaining vessels couldn’t make any impact on the war and the Imperial Army’s vehicle inventory nearly wiped off the surface of the Earth, the Allied Forces swept across the continent. Securing beach landing sites and harbors, hundreds of thousands of troops arrived and pushed inland. The speed at which we were progressing was almost alarming. Imagine how the Imperials felt.

We must have sortied a dozen times to provide air support for ground advances. Allied tanks moved in a tsunami of steel and fire, cutting down any defensive positions they could, while we gave them cover and mopped up whatever they missed.

Over the next five months, 970,000 Imperial soldiers and personnel surrendered to the Alliance. Another 1.2 million died because they were too dedicated to do the same, fighting until their last breath. The Allies took over forty-something cities on the way to the capital, further weakening the Imperial military and infrastructure.

Finally, we had them cornered. The Imperial capital city of Menisat was all that remained. They were dug in deep. It would take the full force of the Alliance brought down upon them to tear them out.

That was exactly what Operation Closing Curtain was. Thirty-seven battalions of Allied infantry and armor, two entire navy battlegroups, and forty-three squadrons of fighters and light bombers were pulled up to take the city. In total, it was over 70% of the Allied Forces’ total military force on the continent.

I thanked God that we hadn’t decided to use firebombs again. I think the generals learned their lesson from last time.

Surrounding the last of the Imperial Military from all sides, we began the assault.

Highlander: “AWACS Highlander to all callsigns, report in.”

Crucible 1: “Crucible 1, standing by.”

Stronghold: “Crucible 2, ‘Moneybags,’ standing by.”

Tally: “Crucible 3, ‘Stronghold,’ standing by.”

Moneybags: “Crucible 4, ‘Tally,’ standing by.”

Me: “Crucible 5, ‘Rookie,’ standing by.”

After everyone had reported in (it took a long time, with so many pilots taking part in this), we commenced the operation.

The city was surrounded by some small mountains, so the tanks took a long time to get over or around them, but that just gave us time to clear out the defenses lying in wait for them. We passed over the mountains and got a full gaze of the Imperial defenses.

Thirty-or-so tanks sat dug into the ground or behind walls of sandbags. artillery pieces sat at the far back of the defenses, waiting to fire on the invaders. Anti-aircraft guns, along with CIWS, which were guns specifically designed for shooting down missiles and bombs, were dotting the defenses. Aircraft and attack helicopters soared across the city.

In total, there were three lines of defense. The first was the battle line of tanks and infantry platoons using the city outskirts as makeshift cover. The second lines were APCs and artillery meant to support the first line. The third and final one was the thickest and formed their last line around the Imperial Royal Palace. That was the final goal. We take the palace, and the rest of the defenses will collapse.

The palace, even if the royal family wasn’t inside, was still a symbol to the Astean people. Morale was already low enough with the front line collapsing, so losing the palace would be the last straw.

All forty-three squadrons soared into the battle. We started with engaging the second line, because taking out the support for the first line would make it easy for the tanks to get through it, and we had to leave something for them.

The artillery was the biggest issue, as they could destroy our tanks if they got within range. We struck them repeatedly, each time blasting apart an artillery piece. It was good that we were destroying this early, because the tanks were now spilling into the city, engaging tanks and APCs as the infantry battalions moved into buildings to take out entrenched soldiers. I couldn’t look at it for too long as black clouds of flak made a mess of the sunset sky. I had to be careful not to get hit, because one of those could severely damage my plane if they hit.

I wanted to use my missiles, but I saved it. This plane could carry, at most, six missiles. I had taken a mixed loadout, with four air-to-ground missiles and two air-to-air missiles. Everything else was up to the guns. I hadn’t used any yet because I was waiting for something worthwhile to use it on.

Within the hour, the tanks had cleared the first and second defense lines, now hitting the third with their full force. I figured they could have this, so I turned my attention to the sky.

The sky. I loved it. The light blue yonder. I remember looking up at planes as a kid, going “I want to be up there.” The sky was beautiful almost all the time. In the night, it was a pleasant black, filling my lungs with the fresh night air and it's dotted with the lights of a thousand distant stars. In the day, it’s a refreshing blue, giving a pleasant feeling to the world. My favorite is the evening, when the sky is on fire with fascinating shades of orange, yellow and purple.

Today, the sky was filled with planes from both sides, alive with combat. The fighters danced around each other in endless spirals. It didn’t have the grace and calculation that the fight between 1 and Maestro did, but it was still an interesting dance.

Speaking of Maestro, guess who showed up?

I had to laugh at his timing, showing up late with his squadron to the most important battle of the war. Hey, at least he showed up, so he deserves some credit. Dramatic, isn’t it? He also spoke in a dramatic tone, challenging Crucible 1 yet again.

Maestro: “We meet again. Tell me, mysterious pilot, do you dare challenge me again?”

1 said nothing, as usual, but we knew he was going to do it. The two entered another dance above the city as we busied ourselves handling the new enemy squadron. Say what you want about their planes, but their pilots are not to be messed with.

The fight was a blur. I singled out one of the Composer Team pilots and chased him through the furball. He dodged my bullets and evaded my missiles for a solid few minutes of intense dogfighting, before I finally landed some hits on him.

My bullet spray sheared off one of his tail fins and destroyed one of his engines. Smoke erupted from the plane’s rear. As I pulled away, I saw him eject from his aircraft as it spiraled into the ground and exploded.

I returned to the fight and repeated the process a few more times with similar results. The regular Imperial planes were easy to shoot down. Their pilots were skilled, but they were no aces. Composer Team, on the other hand, was very skilled, and probably were aces.

Their pilots twirled around most of our attacks, but it became easier to shoot down as time went on. As the fight continued, the Allied Forces gradually gained more control of the skies. With fewer enemies to spread attention across, the Allied pilots slowly began ganging up on the Composer planes. In a one-on-one fight, they were kings, but in a ten-on-one fight, they could only last so long.

When the last of the Composer planes were shot down, all the remaining ally pilots turned their attention to the fight between Crucible 1 and Maestro. Both planes were maimed and smoking. Again, they had both found their skill levels to be equal as they continued their aerial dance.

Noticing the hostile planes swarming him, Maestro pulled away from the battle with 1 and ran from the airspace, his plane still trailing smoke. He was defeated yet again, his plane barely functioning, and his squadron all shot down. Before he fully fled the region, he said this on an open channel, his voice in clear physical and emotional pain:

Maestro: “Hear me, Allied Forces. You will pay for this. Dearly.”

Dramatic as ever. If this was a comedy show, I would just imagine him huffing angrily and swishing a cape as he turned and stormed away.

With no more enemy aircraft around, I looked across the city. The final layer of defenses had been overtaken by the ground forces, and Highlander got on the radio to speak.

Highlander: “All units, the enemy has surrendered. The royal family is signing a ceasefire. I’m directing you all to the coordinates of a captured airfield on your GPS. You’re cleared to land there. Congratulations. We’ve won.”

A large cheer from all the pilots erupted through the comms. I couldn’t help but smile. This was finally over. We had one. Crucible Squadron let out their various words of approval, rejoicing at this victory. Who wouldn’t be? The most destructive war in the history of the world is finally over.

I slept much better that night, at peace with our victory, but I still felt just the slightest bit uneasy because of Maestro’s escape, and his swearing of vengeance.

The following week, I checked in with the Allied Forces POW managers. None of them reported capturing maestro, or anyone even resembling his description. You may be wondering how I knew what he looked like, and it was because the Allied Forces had gained access to the Imperial Military’s personnel records. I found Maestro’s file there. Still, no luck. Nobody had seen him. He might just be hiding, but it’s very likely that he escaped from his plane.

But where was he running to? What was he doing?

In fact, similar reports were popping up everywhere. Soldiers and personnel nobody had accounted for. They didn’t find their bodies. They hadn’t surrendered. They hadn’t reported it to anyone at all. They were just gone. MIA.

Where had they gone?

I know the answers to these questions, but why would I spoil the ending now? Where’s the fun in that?

In other news, the Alliance and the Empire had signed a peace treaty, the Menisat Treaty. Hostilities had officially ended between the two superpowers. The day they surrendered was declared V-A Day, or Victory in Astea Day, in the coming years. Tensions eased as more peace and assistance talks began. At the end of the month, relief efforts from around the world arrived to help repair much of the damage done to Astea during the war.

And it was all going great, until I turned on the news three weeks later.

By that time, I had been transferred out of the continent. I had taken military leave since I hadn’t had one since the start of the war. When I was back at my house, I spent the whole day sleeping and relaxing. The war made me tense, especially in the back.

When I finally crawled out of bed the next day, I went downstairs, made some coffee, and turned on the news. There. It. Was.

## **Part VII: Weight of The World**

June 6th, 2017

Operation Free Dove

Satellite footage on the news showed a massive black… it looked like a flying wing. Those kinds of ships hadn’t been used in decades. They became outdated in the 50s and replaced by more effective aircraft designs. The thing is that this one was larger. Much larger. The image was blurry because, well, it was a satellite image, but you could still make it out.

Again, I got a phone call from the military. Drove out to Estheron for the briefing. The airfield wasn’t overactive, but the panic and tension were the same.

We entered the briefing room to get an explanation for being pulled in off our leaves. Highlander was there to give it. Everyone let out a collective sigh when he delivered the news.

Highlander: “The war isn’t over.”

There was the groaning. Highlander continued.

Highlander: "Seventeen hours ago, both Astean and Imperial satellites picked up this image.”

And he brought up the image of the flying wing on screen. It was even bigger on this screen.

Highlander: “Imperial High Command revealed to us what this was. This is the Harbinger. It’s a super-weapon the Empire was developing during the war but didn’t get the chance to launch it by the end of the war. It’s an Aerial Warship, the first of its kind. Two days ago, it was stolen.

The group that stole it was named the Imperial Radicals. According to Imperial sources, they were former Imperial Military personnel that refused to surrender and defected. One of the radicals was captured during the theft of the Harbinger. When he was interrogated, he didn’t give up their goal, but denounced the Empire for “being weak.”

Stronghold spoke up.

Stronghold: “I’m surprised at how willing the Empire is to share this with us barely a full month after Closing Curtain…”

Highlander: “I will admit it’s surprising, but I think they’re trying to cover their own asses in the event of political fallout. They don’t want to take the blame for whatever happens.

Anyway, as I was saying… the Harbinger and the Radicals are heading towards Sapent. We don’t know where they’re heading exactly, but we know where it— “

An airman burst into the room. He looked out of breath.

Airman: “We found the Harbinger! It’s attacking Canerest!”

Highlander: “Canerest? There’s hardly any military presence there.”

Airman: “It’s the capital of the United Provinces. That’s reason enough!”

Highlander: “Goddamn terrorists.”

The airman walked up to Highlander and handed him a file. Highlander looked through it and his eyes narrowed.

Highlander: “New orders! Crucible Squadron is to head to Canerest immediately! You have the only operational aircraft left that can reach Canerest. Get going!”

Highlander ran out of the room, presumably to his aircraft. I rushed out of the room right behind Moneybags and Tally. We were in the air in ten minutes, flying full-burn to Canerest. It took two hours to make it into the area. Two hours too long.

Raindrops pelted our cockpits, making a quiet crack noise every time one contacted. The water would then be whisked away from view, pulled away just as quickly as it had appeared by the sheer speed of the aircraft.

Crucible Squadron descended through the storm. Even in our pressurized and sealed cockpits, wearing their insulated G-suits, they still felt cold. There was a feeling of tension about us. We couldn’t relax. We knew what they were here to do.

Piercing below the cloud layer, the five fighters went wide-eyed as they saw it. The city of Canerest in flames. An enormous object hovered above the city, its black underside illuminated by the burning capital.

The Harbinger. Its ominous form cast a colossal shadow over the buildings it was trying to destroy.

It fired its full arsenal at the city. Skyscrapers burned and crumbled. The whole city was ablaze.

Tally: “My God.”

Tally’s words summarized how we all felt. Looking back now, I saw this chillingly similar to New Grace. Then I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of all of this. If karma was a person, I would kick them in the balls.

Looking back now, I think I may have deserved it. Just a little bit. But I was sure beyond a doubt that nobody else in the city deserved it. A single plane orbited around the black aerial warship.

A Su-57D Marauder.

Maestro.

Maestro: “The Astean Empire was a peaceful nation. When we tried to establish peace, you killed any chance of that with our diplomat. Remember that all of this, all this death and destruction, is your fault. You drove us to this. This is vengeance for our Empire!

Your greatest monsters are the ones you make yourselves.”

He singled out Crucible 1 as usual. 1 started to engage but gave us an order first.

Crucible 1: “Crucible, destroy the airship! That’s the only thing that matters! Take it down!”

We turned away from the third dance between these two pilots and engaged the airship. The airship unleashed its many defensive measures onto us. Flak guns. Anti-aircraft guns. CIWS. All mounted on an airship that is staying aloft by some Imperial engineering witchcraft. Oh! I almost forgot they also had railguns!

Railguns. These were relatively new weapons that had only made their appearance in the last decade or so. It wasn’t very widely used for two reasons: They were expensive, and they destroyed they eroded their barrels if fired too much, making them very inconvenient for combat use. Frankly, I didn’t think railguns would be used for another decade or three.

But then again, I felt the same about the idea of aerial warships. That ought to teach me.

The first shot made a loud crack as it broke the sound barrier immediately after it fired. We swerved to avoid the next two shots. The second shot sailed off into the sky and the third shot impacted with a skyscraper, causing an explosion and part of the building collapsed, with debris sliding off the side of it and falling to the street below.

It then started firing its wide array of other weapons at us. I dodged bullet sprays and flak clouds as we continued to approach the airship. Speaking from experience, battleships are tough bastards to down. But battleships don’t fly.

If we could take out this thing’s engines, it would turn from a flying fortress into a brick really fast. All we had to do was hit it.

Yeah. Easier said than done.

Stronghold: “We can’t approach that thing without taking out its weapons!”

A spray of bullets grazed my wing. I lined up with one of the Harbinger’s missile launchers and pressed the button to fire a missile.

Nothing. Shit. Should have remembered. We left in such a hurry to get here we didn’t have time to load missiles or bombs onto our planes. The only weapons we had were whatever bullets were still left in our plane’s guns. I looked down at my dashboard. I was down to thirty. That was barely a second of fire.

Another railgun shot soared by me and sheared the left wing off Tally’s Phantom.

Tally: “Damnit! I’m hit! I can’t keep this up. Ejecting!”

She ejected from her plane, parachuting safely down to the city as her plane disappeared into the flames.

Moneybags: “I’m out of flares!”

Just as he said that a missile hit his plane and he was forced to eject, too, his aircraft careening into a skyscraper.

1 was still busy fighting Maestro.

Stronghold: “Come on. We just got to hit its engines. That’s all it’ll take. It’s up to you, Rookie. I’m all out of ammo!”

Yeah. No pressure.

Another shot grazed my cockpit, cracking the windshield and setting off a dozen different alarms on the dashboard, illuminating my cockpit with an unsettling red hue.

I lined up with the Harbinger’s engines and fired. But nothing happened. I still had my thirty shots left. My gun was jammed.

Me: “Damnit! My gun’s jammed! I can’t shoot!”

There was a moment of silence as we both realized what this meant. We couldn’t down the airship. 1 and Maestro were still going at it. It was down to us, and we had failed. Then I heard Stronghold speak up over the comms.

Stronghold: “Rookie?”

There was a long moment of silence. She had a very emotional tone in her voice, as if she was saying this while crying.

Stronghold: “Tell my story...”

That was the last thing she said. Before I knew it, she had rammed her plane into the Harbinger. An explosion erupted out of the airship’s engines as the titan dreadnought plummeted to the Earth. It fell to the city below and detonated once it hit the ground. It was followed by a blinding white flash of light that filled the sky.

Every building within twelve blocks of the airship crash was either flattened or vaporized by the explosion. A blossom of fire and smoke bloomed up around it.

I could barely think through what had just happened. It had all happened so fast, and I felt so... helpless to do anything about it. In that moment. Two words came to me through the tears.

Me: “I will.”

I turned my attention back to the fight between Crucible 1 and Maestro. Maestro’s aircraft was falling, breaking into pieces with each second. Over the comms, I heard Maestro’s last words to 1. He sounded like he was in pain, wounded from the battle.

Maestro: “Crucible 1... Your skills are unlike anything… I have ever seen. Truly… legendary…”

His plane exploded shortly after he got his last words out. There was no chute. He was dead.

I wish I could say I felt a sense of peace about any of this. We had just taken out the Radicals. Their aerial warship was destroyed, and their best pilot had been killed. Their plans had been foiled.

But had they? As I looked around the burning skylines of Canerest, it didn’t feel like we had won. Not even close. The city still burned. Thousands had still died and Stronghold… my best friend… was dead.

I flew back to base that night and cried myself to sleep.

## **Part VIII: After the War**

October 2nd, 2025

It’s been years since Operation Free Dove, but I still remember everything that happened afterwards.

The international media fallout from the attack on Canerest was enormous. Conspiracies claimed that this was the Empire’s doing, covertly commanding the Radicals or whatnot. These theories were publicly ridiculed by the Empire, and they were quick to send relief aid to help.

About two years after the war, both sides published the casualty numbers of the war. I looked into it, and here’s what I found:

* 12.3 million total deaths due to the war.
* 1.3 million of them were Allied Forces personnel.
* 4.3 million were Imperial Military personnel.
* 6.7 million were civilian or non-military personnel.

Many cities like Menisat, Norigrad and Ubisan City were lightly damaged. Canerest was nearly wiped off the face of the Earth and New Grace was wiped off the face of the Earth.

Three dozen major military bases across both sides were destroyed. The Allied Forces suffered heavy casualties and the Imperial Military was almost completely destroyed.

At about the same time, the Allied Forces stopped occupying Astea and relinquished hold over its cities. There were televised parades in every city celebrating what they called “the true end to the war.”

Crucible 1 was made legendary due to his actions in the war, just as Maestro said. He got a proper nickname to fit it. “Legend.”

Crucible Squadron itself became famous with him. According to the history books and online articles, we “turned the tide of the war and were the reason the Alliance prevailed.” They said that many lives were saved because of our actions, and while that’s true, so many still died.

The nightmares didn’t stop. I went to a doctor, and he diagnosed me with PTSD. I went to see a therapist, and that helped. I also tried group therapy, going with other military veterans that had similar issues. It never fully went away, but it got better. I still wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat every now and then.

As for Stronghold, I went to her funeral to say goodbye. She had a lot of relatives, and a family of her own with two sons in their college years. Her wife didn’t know me well and didn’t recognize me. I thought about saying something to her that day but didn’t. I said my final goodbyes to Stronghold there. Told her I would make good on telling her story.

I made sure the entire world knew her. I published a book. I talked about her in war documentaries and news interviews. I made her actions known to everyone who would listen. Soon enough, the entire world knew about her and how she sacrificed herself to save so many others.

They made a statue of her in Canerest, right at the spot where the airship crashed. When Canerest was fully rebuilt, I went to visit it. It was amazing, showing her standing tall and proud, as a separate statue of her aircraft soared upwards. The statue’s podium read this:

                                                             Jessica “Stronghold” Grace.

                                                       January 6th, 1992 – June 4th, 2017

              The ace pilot who fought to defend the innocent in the face of impossible odds.

I left a nice bouquet of roses at the base of the statue before walking away. I didn’t really feel like I had anything to say that I hadn’t already said to her.

Canerest, though damaged, was rebuilding, healing its wounds. I saw people standing around the statue. Observing. Some people came to visit. When I visited a few years later, those same people were there, but they had brought their children with them. They were showing them the statue and telling them her story.

All these people I saw around me wouldn’t be alive without her. She sacrificed her life so that everyone else could live. She sacrificed her future to make one possible for them. She was a hero, and she would forever be remembered as one.

So… what’s the lesson here?

Every war memoir has a lesson, so what’s this one?

Well, I’ve thought about it a lot when writing this. So here it is:

Wars will test us.

They will test our morals.

Our ethics.

Our values.

It determines what you are willing to do. For yourself. For others. It shows what you are willing to sacrifice for one of the other. It shows your true colors. In war, the best people are willing to sacrifice themselves for something bigger than themselves. For others. For a cause they believe is right.

Stronghold didn’t have to crash into that plane. She could have left the airspace. Fled to preserve her life. But she didn’t. She crashed into that plane to save the lives of the innocent around her. She never knew them, but she knew they didn’t deserve to die. She sacrificed herself because she was willing. She was the best person I ever knew.

She was tested and did the right thing.

Not everyone will be like this. There will be those who only look out for themselves. Those who sacrifice others to save themselves. Selfish. They represent the worst of us.

It is a choice. The choice determines who you are and what you will do in critical situations. Only a few will rise above selfishness. Only a few will be better.

We can choose to be better.

If we are to survive as a species, or as a people, we must be better.