Modern/Historical AU. Adora and Catra grew up in the same orphanage. But when Adora matriculated and left Catra behind to pursue her dreams, Catra was left embittered and alone. Catra vowed to never have to rely on anyone ever again, racing a mile a minute to make a name for herself. But when they both wound up assigned to fly with each other in the Soviet Air Force, her resolve is immediately tested. Flying was her first, best destiny. But maybe it's better to have a wingmate.
Speed is Life (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)
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Prologue: You Can't Take the Sky From Me
Aelita
Solving the riddle of history
- Location
- The left-wing of the impossible
Prologue: You Can't Take the Sky From Me
The aircraft was a gleaming dagger of polished stainless steel and titanium, resting on the end of the tarmac like a coiled spring. Everything extraneous had been sheared away, from the second seat and console and her mighty rotary cannon, to the tiniest of unneeded bolts. The aircraft hummed beneath her seat as Adora went through the final checklist. The idling turbofans purred as she gripped the control column.
The pressure suit clamped tight against her like a second skin. "Final checks complete, all systems nominal," she said.
The radio crackled in her ears. "Roger. Comrade lieutenant, commencing final countdown. The eyes of the world are upon you.."
No turning back now. The ground crews scurried around below the massive MiG-31M. All this for one last shot to reclaim the time-to-altitude record for the glory of the Soviet Union. It was more like sports than cold war...maybe that's why Adora's heart bounded with exhilaration. Twenty-five tonnes of gleaming metal riding jets of roaring blue-hot fire.
The mission clock ticked up to zero. Every moment might be her last. Another rush, every nerve on fire with laser focus. She pressed the throttles forward and the engines roared. But the plane didn't move. Instead, she strained like a racehorse chomping at the bit, pressed against the gate, waiting for the crack of the starter pistol. The engines reached military power without a hitch, the mighty interceptor strained against her restraints but would not budge.
The final seconds ticked by. Adora pushed the throttles all the way to the firewalls and the torrent of hot gas burst into orange flame, burning hotter and hotter til it resembled two giant acetylene torches.
The mission clock reached zero and the restraining clamps broke away like a gun shot. Unfettered, the MiG bolted forward, smashing Adora into the seatback. For a brief moment, the world seemed to flip, like Adora was on her back racing straight up with another person's weight crushing down on her chest.
The MiG-31 was airborne in seconds, and like she'd rehearsed a hundred times before Adora fought through the tremendous acceleration, pulling up the gear and trimming the plane with the precision of a Swiss watch. Adora followed the carefully calculated mission plan, pulling back into a tight Immelmann the moment the Machmeter hit reached optimal speed. The MiG rocketed upwards, clouds condensing around her nose as the whipcrack of breaking the speed of sound rippled through the aircraft.
Burning like a red comet, the Adora leveled out at just above ten thousand meters, before the mission clock had counted past sixty seconds. Hellbent for leather, Adora continued charging forward, watching the Machmeter count up faster than ever before. The right engine spit out a temperature alarm at the two-minute mark, as the plane pushed past its normal cruise speed of Mach 2.35.
But Adora was born to fly on the razor's edge, and she wouldn't pull back now. Thrust levels were still holding, so she pressed on and on, faster and harder, until the thrill of speed overcame the fear of death. Maybe some other day she'd get to see how fast this beautiful machine could really go. But not today; today they'd be scraping the edge of space. When the plane strained past Mach 2.9, Adora pulled back on the yoke hard, gritting her teeth as the weight of a small car pressed down on her.
When she completed the turn, the plane was more like a rocket than a bird, piercing the clouds and racing up to the heavens suspended on twin columns of blue fire. The blue sky turned black and soon the little twinkling pinpricks of stars filled the windscreen.
The engines flamed out at as the plane lofted above 30,000 meters, and suddenly it was dead quiet in the cockpit. Adora floated against the restraints as the plane crested. It took a delicate touch to keep the machine pointed into the wind in the gossamer-thin air. It reminded Adora of a girl she once knew from the orphanage. Adora's thoughts drifted to those mismatched eyes and her scraggly brown hair. As she inverted the plane, watching the roiling clouds and great expanse of green taiga so far below, Adora wondered what Catra would think of this view.
The rest of the flight, from engine restart to landing, was uneventful. All downhill from breaking the world time-to-altitude record. The congratulations coming over the hissing helmet speaker just went in one ear and out the other. She flew with rapt concentration until the wheels finally came to a complete stop on the tarmac, when she could finally pop the canopy, tear of the space helmet and let the cool north winds blow through her blonde hair.
Adora barely had time to enjoy the champagne before she got news of her transfer. From test pilot's protegé back to the line of duty. At least she could still fly.
Catra stormed through the halls of the headquarters. She stopped when she reached her destination, she stopped for a moment to straighten her khaki duty uniform. Then knocked on her commanding officer's door quite vigorously. When no answer came promptly, she knocked again, until she heard a grunting "come".
Catra gave a lazy salute and stood at attention in front of his desk.
"Lieutenant Ekaterina Aliyevna Tsoi," said the pale, gaunt man behind the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We usually just go by call-signs, comrade-colonel," said Catra, trying to hide her annoyance.
"When I know you well enough, perhaps I will call you by that name."
"Anyway, it's about my assignment. I'm fully qualified to fly the MiG-31. I've completed all the qualifications, I was top of my class. Why am I stuck flying shotgun?"
Lieutenant Colonel Hektor Kurov stood, straightening his uniform. He seemed every bit the model, by-the-book officer his reputation suggested. "Lieutenant, this ambition is unseemly in an officer of the PVO. The truth is I have no idea why you've been assigned as RIO. All that I care about is that you do your job and prove that you're worthy to wear that uniform. Will that be a problem?"
"No, sir."
"Good. We all have our role to play in the defense of the rodina. You're probably thinking it's because you're not Russian enough."
Catra tired--and failed--to hide the twitch in her face.
"Struck a nerve, I see." Kurov was breathing down her neck now, but she dared not flinch again. "I do not care what other officers thought of you, your character or your abilities. My only consideration is that when the time comes, you will give your one hundred percent...and more. That you and the pilot you fly with will take your aircraft to the edge and beyond, and die if necessary for the defense of the Soviet Union. Do I make myself clear, comrade lieutenant?"
"Crystal."
"Perfect. You're dismissed, lieutenant."
In truth, it didn't go quite as bad as Catra had feared. She'd had worse first impressions with officers. She still bristled as she rushed back towards the barracks. The 54th Guards Fighter Aviation Regiment-PVO was a prestigious posting, and as her hackles started to smooth she started to wonder why it was making her so angry. She hated to admit it, but she was her own worst enemy.
While the heraldry might have remained, in truth it was basically a new unit being built from scratch and it showed . The base was a flurry of chaos. Half the facilities were unfinished, loads of equipment was still on the edge of the tarmac, and everywhere she turned there were skittish, baby-faced conscripts in her way.
Back to sipping hot black tea while reading manuals, because right now this was a fighter regiment without any fighters. She let out a little giggle, relishing in her new pilot having to sit and spin with her. Grounded together, she thought, as her thoughts turned back to the orphanage. But that was the past now. Eyes on the horizon.
They were supposed to bunk together on base, the pilot/navigator team. A new experiment to boost cooperation and esprit de corps among young, unmarried pilots. Nice idea in theory. Catra just didn't expect to see a familiar face in the middle of unpacking in her cozy little shack.
Catra would recognize that silly blonde hair-poof and ponytail anywhere. In shock she dropped her armload of papers. "Ana-Anastasia," she squeaked out.
The blonde jumped at the sudden intrusion. "Yo-moyo!" she cried out, "You startled me! Oh wow...this is awkward. I...I didn't think I'd run into you here."
"You think--you think you can run off and then just drop right back into my life again, Anastasia?" Catra said, the heat rising in her cheeks.
"You only ever call me that when you're angry with me, Ekaterina."
Catra scoffed, "And you only call me that when you're patronizing me."
"Look, I'm sorry. When you stopped writing...I thought I'd never see you again. But," Adora takes a hopeful look around, "I guess if you're bunking here too, it means we're flying together."
Ugh, that damn smile, the one that always made it impossible to stay mad at her. But some hurts cannot be fixed by a simple 'sorry.' But maybe...maybe this was for the best. Catra allowed herself that small hope.
Notes:
This is a silly idea that came to me when I was thinking about how AUs of fantasy/sci-fi actions shows are typically mundane. College, coffeeshop, etc. I joked about a "Cold War fighter pilot AU" being something you don't typically see, and then Apollo wound up his fastball and beamed me straight in the face with his gift of prophecy and made damn sure the idea wouldn't go away.
So this is a silly idea that I nonetheless intend to take somewhat seriously, because the world needs more lesbian fighter pilots. Set in an AU where the Cold War never ended, where the Soviet Union underwent a political revolution following the Storozhevoy mutiny. The whole cast will appear in good time
The aircraft was a gleaming dagger of polished stainless steel and titanium, resting on the end of the tarmac like a coiled spring. Everything extraneous had been sheared away, from the second seat and console and her mighty rotary cannon, to the tiniest of unneeded bolts. The aircraft hummed beneath her seat as Adora went through the final checklist. The idling turbofans purred as she gripped the control column.
The pressure suit clamped tight against her like a second skin. "Final checks complete, all systems nominal," she said.
The radio crackled in her ears. "Roger. Comrade lieutenant, commencing final countdown. The eyes of the world are upon you.."
No turning back now. The ground crews scurried around below the massive MiG-31M. All this for one last shot to reclaim the time-to-altitude record for the glory of the Soviet Union. It was more like sports than cold war...maybe that's why Adora's heart bounded with exhilaration. Twenty-five tonnes of gleaming metal riding jets of roaring blue-hot fire.
The mission clock ticked up to zero. Every moment might be her last. Another rush, every nerve on fire with laser focus. She pressed the throttles forward and the engines roared. But the plane didn't move. Instead, she strained like a racehorse chomping at the bit, pressed against the gate, waiting for the crack of the starter pistol. The engines reached military power without a hitch, the mighty interceptor strained against her restraints but would not budge.
The final seconds ticked by. Adora pushed the throttles all the way to the firewalls and the torrent of hot gas burst into orange flame, burning hotter and hotter til it resembled two giant acetylene torches.
The mission clock reached zero and the restraining clamps broke away like a gun shot. Unfettered, the MiG bolted forward, smashing Adora into the seatback. For a brief moment, the world seemed to flip, like Adora was on her back racing straight up with another person's weight crushing down on her chest.
The MiG-31 was airborne in seconds, and like she'd rehearsed a hundred times before Adora fought through the tremendous acceleration, pulling up the gear and trimming the plane with the precision of a Swiss watch. Adora followed the carefully calculated mission plan, pulling back into a tight Immelmann the moment the Machmeter hit reached optimal speed. The MiG rocketed upwards, clouds condensing around her nose as the whipcrack of breaking the speed of sound rippled through the aircraft.
Burning like a red comet, the Adora leveled out at just above ten thousand meters, before the mission clock had counted past sixty seconds. Hellbent for leather, Adora continued charging forward, watching the Machmeter count up faster than ever before. The right engine spit out a temperature alarm at the two-minute mark, as the plane pushed past its normal cruise speed of Mach 2.35.
But Adora was born to fly on the razor's edge, and she wouldn't pull back now. Thrust levels were still holding, so she pressed on and on, faster and harder, until the thrill of speed overcame the fear of death. Maybe some other day she'd get to see how fast this beautiful machine could really go. But not today; today they'd be scraping the edge of space. When the plane strained past Mach 2.9, Adora pulled back on the yoke hard, gritting her teeth as the weight of a small car pressed down on her.
When she completed the turn, the plane was more like a rocket than a bird, piercing the clouds and racing up to the heavens suspended on twin columns of blue fire. The blue sky turned black and soon the little twinkling pinpricks of stars filled the windscreen.
The engines flamed out at as the plane lofted above 30,000 meters, and suddenly it was dead quiet in the cockpit. Adora floated against the restraints as the plane crested. It took a delicate touch to keep the machine pointed into the wind in the gossamer-thin air. It reminded Adora of a girl she once knew from the orphanage. Adora's thoughts drifted to those mismatched eyes and her scraggly brown hair. As she inverted the plane, watching the roiling clouds and great expanse of green taiga so far below, Adora wondered what Catra would think of this view.
The rest of the flight, from engine restart to landing, was uneventful. All downhill from breaking the world time-to-altitude record. The congratulations coming over the hissing helmet speaker just went in one ear and out the other. She flew with rapt concentration until the wheels finally came to a complete stop on the tarmac, when she could finally pop the canopy, tear of the space helmet and let the cool north winds blow through her blonde hair.
Adora barely had time to enjoy the champagne before she got news of her transfer. From test pilot's protegé back to the line of duty. At least she could still fly.
Catra stormed through the halls of the headquarters. She stopped when she reached her destination, she stopped for a moment to straighten her khaki duty uniform. Then knocked on her commanding officer's door quite vigorously. When no answer came promptly, she knocked again, until she heard a grunting "come".
Catra gave a lazy salute and stood at attention in front of his desk.
"Lieutenant Ekaterina Aliyevna Tsoi," said the pale, gaunt man behind the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We usually just go by call-signs, comrade-colonel," said Catra, trying to hide her annoyance.
"When I know you well enough, perhaps I will call you by that name."
"Anyway, it's about my assignment. I'm fully qualified to fly the MiG-31. I've completed all the qualifications, I was top of my class. Why am I stuck flying shotgun?"
Lieutenant Colonel Hektor Kurov stood, straightening his uniform. He seemed every bit the model, by-the-book officer his reputation suggested. "Lieutenant, this ambition is unseemly in an officer of the PVO. The truth is I have no idea why you've been assigned as RIO. All that I care about is that you do your job and prove that you're worthy to wear that uniform. Will that be a problem?"
"No, sir."
"Good. We all have our role to play in the defense of the rodina. You're probably thinking it's because you're not Russian enough."
Catra tired--and failed--to hide the twitch in her face.
"Struck a nerve, I see." Kurov was breathing down her neck now, but she dared not flinch again. "I do not care what other officers thought of you, your character or your abilities. My only consideration is that when the time comes, you will give your one hundred percent...and more. That you and the pilot you fly with will take your aircraft to the edge and beyond, and die if necessary for the defense of the Soviet Union. Do I make myself clear, comrade lieutenant?"
"Crystal."
"Perfect. You're dismissed, lieutenant."
In truth, it didn't go quite as bad as Catra had feared. She'd had worse first impressions with officers. She still bristled as she rushed back towards the barracks. The 54th Guards Fighter Aviation Regiment-PVO was a prestigious posting, and as her hackles started to smooth she started to wonder why it was making her so angry. She hated to admit it, but she was her own worst enemy.
While the heraldry might have remained, in truth it was basically a new unit being built from scratch and it showed . The base was a flurry of chaos. Half the facilities were unfinished, loads of equipment was still on the edge of the tarmac, and everywhere she turned there were skittish, baby-faced conscripts in her way.
Back to sipping hot black tea while reading manuals, because right now this was a fighter regiment without any fighters. She let out a little giggle, relishing in her new pilot having to sit and spin with her. Grounded together, she thought, as her thoughts turned back to the orphanage. But that was the past now. Eyes on the horizon.
They were supposed to bunk together on base, the pilot/navigator team. A new experiment to boost cooperation and esprit de corps among young, unmarried pilots. Nice idea in theory. Catra just didn't expect to see a familiar face in the middle of unpacking in her cozy little shack.
Catra would recognize that silly blonde hair-poof and ponytail anywhere. In shock she dropped her armload of papers. "Ana-Anastasia," she squeaked out.
The blonde jumped at the sudden intrusion. "Yo-moyo!" she cried out, "You startled me! Oh wow...this is awkward. I...I didn't think I'd run into you here."
"You think--you think you can run off and then just drop right back into my life again, Anastasia?" Catra said, the heat rising in her cheeks.
"You only ever call me that when you're angry with me, Ekaterina."
Catra scoffed, "And you only call me that when you're patronizing me."
"Look, I'm sorry. When you stopped writing...I thought I'd never see you again. But," Adora takes a hopeful look around, "I guess if you're bunking here too, it means we're flying together."
Ugh, that damn smile, the one that always made it impossible to stay mad at her. But some hurts cannot be fixed by a simple 'sorry.' But maybe...maybe this was for the best. Catra allowed herself that small hope.
Notes:
This is a silly idea that came to me when I was thinking about how AUs of fantasy/sci-fi actions shows are typically mundane. College, coffeeshop, etc. I joked about a "Cold War fighter pilot AU" being something you don't typically see, and then Apollo wound up his fastball and beamed me straight in the face with his gift of prophecy and made damn sure the idea wouldn't go away.
So this is a silly idea that I nonetheless intend to take somewhat seriously, because the world needs more lesbian fighter pilots. Set in an AU where the Cold War never ended, where the Soviet Union underwent a political revolution following the Storozhevoy mutiny. The whole cast will appear in good time
1. Swift Wind
Aelita
Solving the riddle of history
- Location
- The left-wing of the impossible
1. Swift Wind
Adora spent the rest of the evening waiting for Catra to say something. Anything. Catra just ignored her, busying herself with whatever work she had, and eventually making new work for herself, just to ignore the blonde bombshell in the room. At first Adora found Catra's petulance amusing, stealing glances over the manual she was studying, watching Catra convince herself that the perfectly clean floor was in desperate need of mopping.
The petulance stopped being fun when Adora extended the olive branch, inviting Catra to come to the mess hall with her, or to bring her back something if she was too busy. It would have been fine to be dismissed with a "I'm not hungry," or be given an honest "I'm not ready to forgive you." Catra had chosen instead to pretend that Adora didn't exist and neither react nor respond. Adora growled and stormed off.
Adora zipped up her leather jacket and braced for the autumn downpour. Bad flying weather never helped her mood, and right now it needed all the help she could get. "That stubborn brat," Adora mumbled under her breath. The person who I trusted most in the world won't even speak to me, she thought. "How the hell are we supposed to fly together?"
She wasn't about to give up yet. After wolfing down a light meal in the pilot's mess, Adora trudged over to the base commissary for some housewarming gifts. As she left, laden down with an arm load of vodka, chocolates and cigarettes, the light of the full moon filtered through the parting clouds. The rain had washed away the reek of jet fuel and industrial solvent, and for a brief moment the air was sweet.
Adora's breath hitched as Catra caught her eye once more. She was perched on the edge of the stoop, struggling with a cigarette lighter. Sparks danced in her hands, but the pale orange flame didn't emerge until Adora was right next to her. Catra made a feline stretch, yawning as she pretended not to notice Adora. Biting her lip, Adora resolved to make Catra notice.
Adora fished her the last Belomorkanal1 from the pack in her breast pocket. "Hey, gimme a light," she demanded.
Catra's ear's pricked up, but before she could make a crack about 'the sweet little purebred Adora smoking like a delinquent,' Adora was already almost forehead-to-forehead with her, a cigarette held in her plump, pink lips.
She's cute when she blushes, thought Adora, as the tip of her cigarette brushed against the cherry-red embers of Catra's. Her free hand cupped the cigarette, shielding it from the wind--and so perilously close to caressing the other girl's cheek. After a few puffs, her cigarette lit and Adora smiled wanly. She blew a jet of smoke over Catra's head. "Thanks."
Catra groaned. "It's not because I like you."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just surprised such a perfect little Komsomolets2 would take up such vices."
"You know me better than that, Catra."
"Do I?"
That stung, harder than even Catra intended. Adora huffed, crossing her arms. "You know, I was looking forward to flying with you. Now...I don't know."
The hairs on the back of Catra's neck bristled. It was like watching Adora leave the creche all over again, and the only way Catra even knew how to respond to that feeling was more anger. "Well you're the reason I"m flying backseat," she cried like a wounded animal, "I am fully qualified to pilot the MiG-31. But you just had to go slumming it in this regiment. Why isn't Svetovoz's protegé flying the Su-27 with the other aces?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Because a long time ago, a certain someone taught me to fight with my head, not with my heart."
Catra was seldom at a loss for words. Yet here she was, a gormless idiot right now."
"Listen...if it means that much to you, I'll pull in my last favor and transfer out of here." The tears began to well up in Adora's eyes. "You won't have to see me again."
As Adora turned to walk out of Catra's life again, Catra almost froze up once again. But this time, she found the will to move. "Wait!" she said, catching Adora's trailing hand. "Don't go."
Adora turned, her lip quivering. "I...I never wanted to leave you."
"I'll fly with you." The vulnerability was too raw and so Catra once again hid behind her walls, trying desperately to avoid betraying any neediness...any weakness. "You better be used to backseat driving though."
Adora smiled. "I think I can get used to it."
The shack would have been uncomfortably intimate even by the spartan standards of the Soviet military, but it was comforting to share it with someone Catra already knew. The duty-roster had them both starting very early, so there was little point in doing anything else except settling in for the night.
The shack was divided into two main rooms, a kitchenette and a bedroom. The kitchenette had some room for sundries and a countertop gas range, but it really only existed to make breakfast and tea. That there was a small fridge/freezer was quite a luxury, though right now the freezer's only job was to chill vodka. The toilet and shower were cramped into a closet sized space attached at the rear of the kitchenette; most of the remaining room was taken up by a table and chairs.
The bedroom had enough room for two single beds, a shared nightstand, and a footlocker at the end of each bed. After completing the evening constitutional, the two undressed and settled into their beds. Adora shifted a couple times to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed. When that didn't work, she comforted herself with the thought that there at least was a pillow under her head.
When she was at the verge of drifting off, the creaky old bedsprings squeaked as a weight settled in at the foot of her bed. Groaning, Adora sat up. Catra had curled up at her feet like she'd done so many nights at the orphanage growing up. Adora could just barely make out her olive skin and messy brown hair in the dim light. Adora tutted with amusement.
"Just...just let me remember, okay," Catra whispered, "I really missed you, Adora."
"I missed you too. Just don't get a crick in your neck, silly."
"Try not to kick me too hard, blondie."
"That was one time!"
"That's not how I remember it."
Adora settled back down. It was nice, feeling Catra curled up next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body. It made her feel safe in a way she hadn't for years. And as Catra's gentle, purring snores filled her ears, she was out like a light.
Morning duty-roster had given some unexpected good news, and it made reporting for duty at 0400 worth it. When they arrived at the pilot briefing room, Colonel Kurov sternly handed out written orders to Adora and Catra (as well as three other teams) to depart for the Gorky Aircraft Plant Nr. 21 to take delivery of four MiG-31MD interceptors and ferry them back to Lodeynoye Pole, just outside of Leningrad. A very long day, for sure, but it meant that at least some of it would be spent flying.
The uncomfortable ride on an Il-76 cargo plane headed for Gorky was a small price to pay for Adora. But for Catra, the anticipation was unbearable. She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs to avoid the nervous tension in her calves, like she was bouncing on her toes before a fight.
Adora did her best to suppress her amusement at Catra's childish antics. When that failed, she decided to distract her. "So, what did you do in the PVO before joining this regiment?"
"I was in the VVS, not the PVO."3
"Oh?"
"Yeah, after you left for Suvorov military school, I decided I wasn't going to be left in your dust. I worked hard, I applied, and got accepted to Kharkov Higher Military Aviation School. I spent a few years flying a MiG-29 for Frontal Aviation in East Germany before I was given the opportunity for promotion and transfer."
"That's quite a change."
"Like you said, fight with your head, not with your heart. So what about you, what'd you do after you left."
Adora frowned. "It wasn't easy. They'd only recently made them co-ed, but I worked hard. I guess I fell in love with the planes I saw at the October parades, and decided I had to fly. Had to do my part, whatever it took."
Catra laughed. "You mean that ornery old woman groomed you with tales of glory in the defense of the rodina and how we all weren't even worthy of her sacrifice?"
"Oh that's rich," Adora said, furrowing her eyebrows. "You're strapped in right next to me, Catra."
Catra hissed and dropped the subject.
They arrived to a hot, sunny day in Gorky. After a rough landing, watching the gangly blond cargo specialist scramble to return the tumbling cargo to its place, the rest of the morning was taken up with bureaucratic busy work. After signing in triplicate for the delivery, they finally got to go to the hangar and see it.
Adora could hardly contain herself. When they were finally alone, she rushed up to the nuzzle the plane's radome, like some bogatyr finding her lost steed. "It's...it's majestic."
"You act like you've never seen one before," chided Catra.
"The last one I flew, it was stripped down to bare metal. We hacked away all the dead weight to make her light and fast as possible. This one...he's a true warrior, not a one-trick pony."
"Oh the plane's a 'he' now. With two women riding him...that's positively lewd."
"Must you?"
"Yes." But as fun as teasing Adora was, it was nice seeing her smile like this. It had been a long time since either of them had been this content. And it was a nice looking aircraft, a further refinement of the proven model, trimmed down by trading more of the heavy stainless steel for titanium. It would never dogfight like the newer fighters, but there was nothing in the air that could fly as fast.
"I'm naming him 'Swift Wind'."
"I guess that's an appropriate name for a knight's steed. I've got a Budenovka4 back at base if you want to complete the look."
"See, things are more fun when you're not so cynical, Catra. Though I didn't take you for a collector."
The worst part of the day was waiting on the sweltering tarmac for take-off clearance. After all the pre-flight preparations and pageantry, this final wait at the very end was maddening. No matter how hard she tried, Catra couldn't trick the cockpit AC to engage with the engines at idle, so this just cooked in the sun, waiting for the runway to clear after an Aeroflot jet had to make an emergency landing.
"At least with the canopy up, the breeze is nice," Adora said, fanning herself with the paper flight plan.
"Always a glass half-full girl," Catra groaned.
"Better here than flying in someone else's plane. So...you flew a UB before. What do you make of the new model?"
"Roomier. The panels are nicer. Still think you got the better deal."
"Yeah, the visibility is better, but it's still not great to the rear. You've got to help with the periscope if we ever get jumped."
"Gosh, it's almost like you want me to back-seat drive."
The radio crackled, finally clearing them for take off. "Roger, tower. Proceeding to runway three," Adora responded.
"Fucking finally," Catra cried. "Don't look at me like that, I wouldn't say that with the line open. What kind of rookie do you take me for?"
"I can barely even see you, Catra, how would I be looking at you?"
"Yeah, but you were thinking about it."
"Keep it up and you'll be walking back to Leningrad."
With the engines powered up and the canopy shut, the blissful cool of the AC finally stopped Catra from sweating. They fell into the rhythm of pilot and weapon's officer quite comfortably, and before she knew it, the plane was at the end of the runway, the open blue sky ahead of her. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see how well Swift Wind can gallop," said Catra.
"With pleasure."
The roar of the huge turbofans was actually pleasantly subdued in the new model. But the rush of power was undiminished. Lighter and with uprated engines, the new model MiG raced down the runway, pressing Catra into the seatback.
Adora was like a razor when she flew, not a single distraction. Everything maneuver was executed with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. The climb to altitude was smooth, and Catra lost herself in the routine until Adora broke her reverie saying, "20,000 meters. Have you ever seen the view from up here?"
"No, we never flew this high in training."
"Look up, Catra."
She could almost see the stars twinkling above her at midday. The vast green countryside stretched out hundreds of kilometers, like the whole of European Russia was at her fingertips. The horizon curved noticeably, and for the first time in Catra's young life the immensity of the Earth really hit her. She could see the sprawling expanse of Moscow to the west, now so tiny, like a hobbyist's model. "Wow."
"I'm glad...I could share this view with you."
"Me too."
"So...we're a bit behind our timetable. I'm sure the colonel would appreciate us doing whatever we could to make up for lost time," Adora said, mischief in her voice.
"Undoubtedly. Punch it."
"With pleasure."
The afterburners reignited with a crack. The jet shot past Mach 1 and kept accelerating, and soon they were outpacing the sun across the sky. Smooth as greased lightning, the Machmeter topped out at 2.83.
Adora whined. "He's got a lot more oomph in him, but the flight computer won't let me go any faster."
"I'll find the override someday."
"I'll hold you to it. But first...I don't think you've got a very good view in that cockpit." With a smooth jerk on the joystick, she snapped the plane into a lazy aileron roll until the plane inverted.
The patchwork of tilled kolkhozy fields was like a quilt of brown, yellow and orange so far above them. The thin lines of roads and railways wound through the valleys, more like little game trails this far away. Adora turned the plane upright again. "How you doing back there?"
"I'm not a beginner, it's going to take more than a little inversion to make me lose my lunch, Adora."
"Gosh, so touchy. Anyway, when I'm up high I like to remind myself what it is I'm fighting to protect."
It was something else, to hear the absolute conviction in Adora's voice. From anyone else, Catra would have dismissed it as Pavlovian conditioning. But Adora...she actually believed in it, enough to make Catra want to believe too. Almost. "You really are just the perfect Komsomolets. Fit, beautiful, and unbearably naive."
"Catra, I don't want this to turn into a political discussion. But you have to admit that things changed after the Storozhevoy mutiny, and they've kept changing."
"Not enough, Adora. It's something a Russian wouldn't understand."
"I'm not--"
"You pass for it, that's what matters. This isn't a personal judgment, Adora. It's just...you only got to see what it's like for a half-Korean, half-Kazakh mutt watching me. I had to live it. Fuck, not even my eyes match."
Miles away from anyone else, the heavy silence was oppressive. Gripping the yoke with white knuckles, Adora said, "I always thought that was the most beautiful part about you. Your eyes, I mean."
Catra's eyes went wide. An unfamiliar, tingly warmth radiated across her cheeks. She was glad that Adora couldn't see it, she wasn't ready to confront these feelings.
"I'm sorry, Catra. Sorry that I wasn't there for you."
"Stop. I'm not ready to talk about this."
"Okay."
"I didn't say I wouldn't forgive you. It's just, this is going to take time."
A weight lifted from Adora's chest. They were going to be stuck together for some time now. She could be patient.
Notes:
1. A harsh, filterless cigarette named after the White Sea-Baltic Canal. The part that looks like a filter is just a hollow cardboard tube to allow smokers with a penchant for self-destruction like Adora to get the maximum punishment from it.
2. A member of the Komsomol, full name All-Union Leninist Young Communist League, the youth-wing of the Communist Party which seamlessly transitions from being a Boy Scouts like org for children into being the conveyor belt to any position of importance in the military, science, the arts and politics.
3. The Soviet military was not divided the way we're familiar with. They had two separate air branches, the VVS (Military Air Forces) which was responsible for coverage of ground forces, air-transport and long-range bombing, and the V-PVO (Anti-Air Defense Troops), which were responsible for protecting the USSR proper from attack with both anti-aircraft missiles as well as interceptors.
4. A Red Army hat from the Civil War era to the 30s, fashioned to have the same profile as East Slavic knight helms to evoke old folktales.
Adora spent the rest of the evening waiting for Catra to say something. Anything. Catra just ignored her, busying herself with whatever work she had, and eventually making new work for herself, just to ignore the blonde bombshell in the room. At first Adora found Catra's petulance amusing, stealing glances over the manual she was studying, watching Catra convince herself that the perfectly clean floor was in desperate need of mopping.
The petulance stopped being fun when Adora extended the olive branch, inviting Catra to come to the mess hall with her, or to bring her back something if she was too busy. It would have been fine to be dismissed with a "I'm not hungry," or be given an honest "I'm not ready to forgive you." Catra had chosen instead to pretend that Adora didn't exist and neither react nor respond. Adora growled and stormed off.
Adora zipped up her leather jacket and braced for the autumn downpour. Bad flying weather never helped her mood, and right now it needed all the help she could get. "That stubborn brat," Adora mumbled under her breath. The person who I trusted most in the world won't even speak to me, she thought. "How the hell are we supposed to fly together?"
She wasn't about to give up yet. After wolfing down a light meal in the pilot's mess, Adora trudged over to the base commissary for some housewarming gifts. As she left, laden down with an arm load of vodka, chocolates and cigarettes, the light of the full moon filtered through the parting clouds. The rain had washed away the reek of jet fuel and industrial solvent, and for a brief moment the air was sweet.
Adora's breath hitched as Catra caught her eye once more. She was perched on the edge of the stoop, struggling with a cigarette lighter. Sparks danced in her hands, but the pale orange flame didn't emerge until Adora was right next to her. Catra made a feline stretch, yawning as she pretended not to notice Adora. Biting her lip, Adora resolved to make Catra notice.
Adora fished her the last Belomorkanal1 from the pack in her breast pocket. "Hey, gimme a light," she demanded.
Catra's ear's pricked up, but before she could make a crack about 'the sweet little purebred Adora smoking like a delinquent,' Adora was already almost forehead-to-forehead with her, a cigarette held in her plump, pink lips.
She's cute when she blushes, thought Adora, as the tip of her cigarette brushed against the cherry-red embers of Catra's. Her free hand cupped the cigarette, shielding it from the wind--and so perilously close to caressing the other girl's cheek. After a few puffs, her cigarette lit and Adora smiled wanly. She blew a jet of smoke over Catra's head. "Thanks."
Catra groaned. "It's not because I like you."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just surprised such a perfect little Komsomolets2 would take up such vices."
"You know me better than that, Catra."
"Do I?"
That stung, harder than even Catra intended. Adora huffed, crossing her arms. "You know, I was looking forward to flying with you. Now...I don't know."
The hairs on the back of Catra's neck bristled. It was like watching Adora leave the creche all over again, and the only way Catra even knew how to respond to that feeling was more anger. "Well you're the reason I"m flying backseat," she cried like a wounded animal, "I am fully qualified to pilot the MiG-31. But you just had to go slumming it in this regiment. Why isn't Svetovoz's protegé flying the Su-27 with the other aces?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Because a long time ago, a certain someone taught me to fight with my head, not with my heart."
Catra was seldom at a loss for words. Yet here she was, a gormless idiot right now."
"Listen...if it means that much to you, I'll pull in my last favor and transfer out of here." The tears began to well up in Adora's eyes. "You won't have to see me again."
As Adora turned to walk out of Catra's life again, Catra almost froze up once again. But this time, she found the will to move. "Wait!" she said, catching Adora's trailing hand. "Don't go."
Adora turned, her lip quivering. "I...I never wanted to leave you."
"I'll fly with you." The vulnerability was too raw and so Catra once again hid behind her walls, trying desperately to avoid betraying any neediness...any weakness. "You better be used to backseat driving though."
Adora smiled. "I think I can get used to it."
The shack would have been uncomfortably intimate even by the spartan standards of the Soviet military, but it was comforting to share it with someone Catra already knew. The duty-roster had them both starting very early, so there was little point in doing anything else except settling in for the night.
The shack was divided into two main rooms, a kitchenette and a bedroom. The kitchenette had some room for sundries and a countertop gas range, but it really only existed to make breakfast and tea. That there was a small fridge/freezer was quite a luxury, though right now the freezer's only job was to chill vodka. The toilet and shower were cramped into a closet sized space attached at the rear of the kitchenette; most of the remaining room was taken up by a table and chairs.
The bedroom had enough room for two single beds, a shared nightstand, and a footlocker at the end of each bed. After completing the evening constitutional, the two undressed and settled into their beds. Adora shifted a couple times to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed. When that didn't work, she comforted herself with the thought that there at least was a pillow under her head.
When she was at the verge of drifting off, the creaky old bedsprings squeaked as a weight settled in at the foot of her bed. Groaning, Adora sat up. Catra had curled up at her feet like she'd done so many nights at the orphanage growing up. Adora could just barely make out her olive skin and messy brown hair in the dim light. Adora tutted with amusement.
"Just...just let me remember, okay," Catra whispered, "I really missed you, Adora."
"I missed you too. Just don't get a crick in your neck, silly."
"Try not to kick me too hard, blondie."
"That was one time!"
"That's not how I remember it."
Adora settled back down. It was nice, feeling Catra curled up next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body. It made her feel safe in a way she hadn't for years. And as Catra's gentle, purring snores filled her ears, she was out like a light.
Morning duty-roster had given some unexpected good news, and it made reporting for duty at 0400 worth it. When they arrived at the pilot briefing room, Colonel Kurov sternly handed out written orders to Adora and Catra (as well as three other teams) to depart for the Gorky Aircraft Plant Nr. 21 to take delivery of four MiG-31MD interceptors and ferry them back to Lodeynoye Pole, just outside of Leningrad. A very long day, for sure, but it meant that at least some of it would be spent flying.
The uncomfortable ride on an Il-76 cargo plane headed for Gorky was a small price to pay for Adora. But for Catra, the anticipation was unbearable. She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs to avoid the nervous tension in her calves, like she was bouncing on her toes before a fight.
Adora did her best to suppress her amusement at Catra's childish antics. When that failed, she decided to distract her. "So, what did you do in the PVO before joining this regiment?"
"I was in the VVS, not the PVO."3
"Oh?"
"Yeah, after you left for Suvorov military school, I decided I wasn't going to be left in your dust. I worked hard, I applied, and got accepted to Kharkov Higher Military Aviation School. I spent a few years flying a MiG-29 for Frontal Aviation in East Germany before I was given the opportunity for promotion and transfer."
"That's quite a change."
"Like you said, fight with your head, not with your heart. So what about you, what'd you do after you left."
Adora frowned. "It wasn't easy. They'd only recently made them co-ed, but I worked hard. I guess I fell in love with the planes I saw at the October parades, and decided I had to fly. Had to do my part, whatever it took."
Catra laughed. "You mean that ornery old woman groomed you with tales of glory in the defense of the rodina and how we all weren't even worthy of her sacrifice?"
"Oh that's rich," Adora said, furrowing her eyebrows. "You're strapped in right next to me, Catra."
Catra hissed and dropped the subject.
They arrived to a hot, sunny day in Gorky. After a rough landing, watching the gangly blond cargo specialist scramble to return the tumbling cargo to its place, the rest of the morning was taken up with bureaucratic busy work. After signing in triplicate for the delivery, they finally got to go to the hangar and see it.
Adora could hardly contain herself. When they were finally alone, she rushed up to the nuzzle the plane's radome, like some bogatyr finding her lost steed. "It's...it's majestic."
"You act like you've never seen one before," chided Catra.
"The last one I flew, it was stripped down to bare metal. We hacked away all the dead weight to make her light and fast as possible. This one...he's a true warrior, not a one-trick pony."
"Oh the plane's a 'he' now. With two women riding him...that's positively lewd."
"Must you?"
"Yes." But as fun as teasing Adora was, it was nice seeing her smile like this. It had been a long time since either of them had been this content. And it was a nice looking aircraft, a further refinement of the proven model, trimmed down by trading more of the heavy stainless steel for titanium. It would never dogfight like the newer fighters, but there was nothing in the air that could fly as fast.
"I'm naming him 'Swift Wind'."
"I guess that's an appropriate name for a knight's steed. I've got a Budenovka4 back at base if you want to complete the look."
"See, things are more fun when you're not so cynical, Catra. Though I didn't take you for a collector."
The worst part of the day was waiting on the sweltering tarmac for take-off clearance. After all the pre-flight preparations and pageantry, this final wait at the very end was maddening. No matter how hard she tried, Catra couldn't trick the cockpit AC to engage with the engines at idle, so this just cooked in the sun, waiting for the runway to clear after an Aeroflot jet had to make an emergency landing.
"At least with the canopy up, the breeze is nice," Adora said, fanning herself with the paper flight plan.
"Always a glass half-full girl," Catra groaned.
"Better here than flying in someone else's plane. So...you flew a UB before. What do you make of the new model?"
"Roomier. The panels are nicer. Still think you got the better deal."
"Yeah, the visibility is better, but it's still not great to the rear. You've got to help with the periscope if we ever get jumped."
"Gosh, it's almost like you want me to back-seat drive."
The radio crackled, finally clearing them for take off. "Roger, tower. Proceeding to runway three," Adora responded.
"Fucking finally," Catra cried. "Don't look at me like that, I wouldn't say that with the line open. What kind of rookie do you take me for?"
"I can barely even see you, Catra, how would I be looking at you?"
"Yeah, but you were thinking about it."
"Keep it up and you'll be walking back to Leningrad."
With the engines powered up and the canopy shut, the blissful cool of the AC finally stopped Catra from sweating. They fell into the rhythm of pilot and weapon's officer quite comfortably, and before she knew it, the plane was at the end of the runway, the open blue sky ahead of her. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see how well Swift Wind can gallop," said Catra.
"With pleasure."
The roar of the huge turbofans was actually pleasantly subdued in the new model. But the rush of power was undiminished. Lighter and with uprated engines, the new model MiG raced down the runway, pressing Catra into the seatback.
Adora was like a razor when she flew, not a single distraction. Everything maneuver was executed with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. The climb to altitude was smooth, and Catra lost herself in the routine until Adora broke her reverie saying, "20,000 meters. Have you ever seen the view from up here?"
"No, we never flew this high in training."
"Look up, Catra."
She could almost see the stars twinkling above her at midday. The vast green countryside stretched out hundreds of kilometers, like the whole of European Russia was at her fingertips. The horizon curved noticeably, and for the first time in Catra's young life the immensity of the Earth really hit her. She could see the sprawling expanse of Moscow to the west, now so tiny, like a hobbyist's model. "Wow."
"I'm glad...I could share this view with you."
"Me too."
"So...we're a bit behind our timetable. I'm sure the colonel would appreciate us doing whatever we could to make up for lost time," Adora said, mischief in her voice.
"Undoubtedly. Punch it."
"With pleasure."
The afterburners reignited with a crack. The jet shot past Mach 1 and kept accelerating, and soon they were outpacing the sun across the sky. Smooth as greased lightning, the Machmeter topped out at 2.83.
Adora whined. "He's got a lot more oomph in him, but the flight computer won't let me go any faster."
"I'll find the override someday."
"I'll hold you to it. But first...I don't think you've got a very good view in that cockpit." With a smooth jerk on the joystick, she snapped the plane into a lazy aileron roll until the plane inverted.
The patchwork of tilled kolkhozy fields was like a quilt of brown, yellow and orange so far above them. The thin lines of roads and railways wound through the valleys, more like little game trails this far away. Adora turned the plane upright again. "How you doing back there?"
"I'm not a beginner, it's going to take more than a little inversion to make me lose my lunch, Adora."
"Gosh, so touchy. Anyway, when I'm up high I like to remind myself what it is I'm fighting to protect."
It was something else, to hear the absolute conviction in Adora's voice. From anyone else, Catra would have dismissed it as Pavlovian conditioning. But Adora...she actually believed in it, enough to make Catra want to believe too. Almost. "You really are just the perfect Komsomolets. Fit, beautiful, and unbearably naive."
"Catra, I don't want this to turn into a political discussion. But you have to admit that things changed after the Storozhevoy mutiny, and they've kept changing."
"Not enough, Adora. It's something a Russian wouldn't understand."
"I'm not--"
"You pass for it, that's what matters. This isn't a personal judgment, Adora. It's just...you only got to see what it's like for a half-Korean, half-Kazakh mutt watching me. I had to live it. Fuck, not even my eyes match."
Miles away from anyone else, the heavy silence was oppressive. Gripping the yoke with white knuckles, Adora said, "I always thought that was the most beautiful part about you. Your eyes, I mean."
Catra's eyes went wide. An unfamiliar, tingly warmth radiated across her cheeks. She was glad that Adora couldn't see it, she wasn't ready to confront these feelings.
"I'm sorry, Catra. Sorry that I wasn't there for you."
"Stop. I'm not ready to talk about this."
"Okay."
"I didn't say I wouldn't forgive you. It's just, this is going to take time."
A weight lifted from Adora's chest. They were going to be stuck together for some time now. She could be patient.
Notes:
1. A harsh, filterless cigarette named after the White Sea-Baltic Canal. The part that looks like a filter is just a hollow cardboard tube to allow smokers with a penchant for self-destruction like Adora to get the maximum punishment from it.
2. A member of the Komsomol, full name All-Union Leninist Young Communist League, the youth-wing of the Communist Party which seamlessly transitions from being a Boy Scouts like org for children into being the conveyor belt to any position of importance in the military, science, the arts and politics.
3. The Soviet military was not divided the way we're familiar with. They had two separate air branches, the VVS (Military Air Forces) which was responsible for coverage of ground forces, air-transport and long-range bombing, and the V-PVO (Anti-Air Defense Troops), which were responsible for protecting the USSR proper from attack with both anti-aircraft missiles as well as interceptors.
4. A Red Army hat from the Civil War era to the 30s, fashioned to have the same profile as East Slavic knight helms to evoke old folktales.
2. The Hard Part About Playing Chicken
Aelita
Solving the riddle of history
- Location
- The left-wing of the impossible
2. The Hard Part About Playing Chicken
Colonel Kurov had called the regiment's aircrews to assemble by squadron for mission briefings early this morning. This unexpected change in the duty roster was the first break of the monotonous routine of aircraft maintenance, study and classroom time, with so precious little time to fly. Adora earnestly hoped the change would be good. Catra had moped all morning at the upset in the routine. When Adora asked, she'd just hiss and tell the blonde it wasn't important.
The real surprise when Major Kobalt yielded the lectern to Colonel Kurov instead. The colonel mechanically took the podium. He grumbled as the pilots snapped to attention.
"At ease," he rasped, "I apologize for the disruption in the normal routine, but there is an emergent situation in the Baltic Sea. Unfortunately, all passes for the next week must be cancelled, effective immediately."
Catra growled, muttering "Figures" under her breath.
"At 0313 Central European time, a Belgian flagged freighter transmitted a general distress call just after transiting the Øresund. GRU 6th Directorate determined the ship, the MSV Whispering Wood, to be a NATO SIGINT vessel. These findings have been supported by major NATO military movements following the distress signal."
The room filled with muffled whispers. Kurov continued, "The MSV Whispering Wood has since drifted into the territorial waters of the German Democratic Republic. Zenit satellite reconnaissance confirmed a fire of unknown origin on the ship, but the resolution was unsatisfactory. Stavka has charged us with reconaissance overflight."
Adora shifted to the edge of her seat.
"Lieutenant Anastasia Vladimirovna Dazvsemirova, call-sign 'Adora.' Lieutenant Ekaterina Aliyevna Tsoi, call-sign 'Catra'."
Adora snapped to a crisp salute, with Catra barely a blink of an eye behind. "Present!" they said in unison.
"You will be flight lead, charged with employment of the BKR-3 pod." Kurov's gaze turned to two pilots sitting in the rear corner, neither of whom Adora recognized. "Our attachés from Cuba will be flying second. Lieutenant Hyppolite Ruiz-del Pilar, callsign 'Lonnie', Lieutenant Marcello Rogers, callsign 'Rogelio'."
If Lonnie had been any shorter, she'd couldn't have seen over an aircraft console. She snapped to attention, followed shortly by Rogelio. Rogelio towered over her, easily two meters tall and built like a hockey player. His tightly curled hair was shorn high and tight.
"Your flight plans and detailed briefs will be waiting for you in hangar twelve." Kurov relaxed, letting the weight of his shoulder boards be forgotten for just a moment. His hair was trimmed tight on the sides, but an almost mohawk style of longer hair remained on the crown of his head. He ran his fingers through the oiled hair. "This is a sensitive diplomatic moment. We are not looking to start the Third World War. You will not fire unless fired upon. Is that clear? Good. Dismissed."
They had a few moments to get acquainted with their wingmates on the march to the hangar. Lonnie greeted both Adora and Catra warmly. "So, what do you think about Hordak picking you, blondie?" said Lonnie.
"Hordak?" said Adora, accepting Lonnie's handshake.
"How on earth have you been in the military this long and not heard his callsign or his exploits?"
"Adora here is a bit slow on the uptake," said Catra, slapping her partner on the back.
"Wait, Colonel Kurov is that Hordak? The flying ace from the Second Indochina War? The hero of the 1975 revolution?"
"Look your embarrassment is cute and all," said Catra, stifling a laugh, "but I'm honestly curious how you didn't see the resemblance. Or remembered his surname for that matter."
Rogelio let out a single bark of laughter.
Adora turned bright red, like the time when she'd asked the orphanage groundskeeper where babies came from and was cursed with an honest answer. "Don't look at me like that, there's definitely more than one Kurov in the PVO. Like, he's less of a dashing war hero and more of a grumpy old man."
"Get. Out." Catra imitated.
"That's a good impression, Lieutenant Tsoi," said Lonnie, "I guess a couple of decades can change a person."
"Thanks, I've been working on it. And please, just Catra is fine. We are flying together into harm's way after all."
"Catra it is."
"So…" Adora said, her blush receded to a faint pink, "your friend doesn't say much."
Lonnie laughed. "Oh trust me, when we're alone he never shuts up. Lotta people think he can't speak Russian, but he understands it just fine. He's just self-conscious about his accent, I guess Russian was just one language too many."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, his parents were expats from Norteamerica--"
Rogelio growled something in Spanish.
Lonnie punched him in the shoulder. Given their size difference and the relaxed smile on her face, it amounted to more of a tap than a punch. "Relax you big oaf. Anyway, as I was saying, he speaks Spanish, English, French and German quite well."
Upon arrival at the hangar, the two pairs split. Their MiGs were already being fueled and flight-checked. Swift Wind was already loaded with a BK-3 pod in the centerline mount. Four off-white R-77 missiles hung from the inner pylons like tightly clutched spears. A pair of short range R-73 missiles tipped the outer pylons. Adora gritted her teeth as she hastily inspected their attachment.
Catra had practically read her mind. "If we have to use these, we're already dead. It's not a dogfighter."
Adora shrugged, letting the stiff-upper lip show. "Don't count Swift Wind out yet. I'm sure he's got some surprises."
Catra shook her head and clicked her tongue. It reminded Adora of all the times when they were young that Catra had stubbornly refused to play with the other kids because of her wounded pride. "I prefer the right tool for the job. And in this case, it's bombarding the enemy with hypersonic missiles from two hundred kilometers away."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I'm flying backseat with you, aren't I?"
"Fair point. Did they give you the flight-plan yet, by the way?"
"Yeah. Standard stuff, subsonic cruise down the Baltic coast, then we make a dash over the open sea once we reach Kaliningrad." Catra thrust the paper work at Adora.
After thumbing through it, Adora let out a heavy sigh. She glanced over at Catra, giving a crooked grin. It lasted only for a moment; Catra had an unguarded moment. Her eyes went wide and for a moment Adora lost herself in them. One deep blue, like the sea. The other a hazel so bright it was almost gold. Catra's lips parted slightly in that moment. "I just love flying with you, more than anything," said Adora.
Catra remembered herself, and brushed a stray lock of her just-beyond-regulation hair out of her eyes. "Eh, don't get sentimental on me now. We might see the opening act of World War Three with front-row seats."
The Baltic Sea looked smooth as glass from 25,000 feet. Flying Officer Giselle "Glimmer" Fauntleroy eased her Typhoon F.2 into a lazy bank. "How'd we get stuck with this, Bow?" she said.
She couldn't really see him staring daggers at her, flying formation in her right rear quarter. But she felt the judgmental stare as he radioed back. "You were complaining about wanting to see some action. Here we are."
She pulled the mask off and groaned, shielding the mic with her palm. After taking a bite of her granola bar, she clipped the mask back on. "I think I can see the smoke column from the Whispering Wood. Two o'clock low," she said, hastily changing the subject. She checked the SatNav again. Somewhere, perilously close to the stricken vessel, there was an invisible line running through the Baltic Sea. On the far side, East Germany.
It was a routine afternoon, running overwatch as the ship, with supposedly "civilian" assistance, extricated itself from East German territorial waters. Just when she thought everything was all sewn up neat as a button, a new wrinkle appeared. The airborne controller radioed in, "New contact, probable Foxbat-B1, inbound bearing 262. Speed estimated 1380 knots."
"Really hauling ass," said Glimmer. "Roger, I have it on datalink."
"Parameters have changed," the monotonous voice returned, "you are to deter the inbound bandit from overflying the package."
"So it was a spy ship," Bow thought aloud.
"Roger, flight will intercept." Glimmer flicked over to the channel she shared with Bow, "Guide on me. We're intercepting this buzzard. Tally-ho."
The Typhoon responded instantly to afterburner, surging past Mach 1 like it was nothing. But just as soon as she had the fighter on a bearing for intercept, the radar warning receiver began pinging.
"Huh, found us already," Bow pipped, "I don't think that's a Foxbat. Speaking of, how do you plan to stop a plane that cruises faster than our max speed without shooting it down?"
"It's simple, Bow. We get in front of it and stay there."
"And it just disappeared from my scope." Glimmer heard the irritation in his voice. "So much for that."
"ECM. So it definitely has us. Doesn't matter, we know where it has to go."
Catra's brow furrowed as the RWR lit up. "That was a NATO E-3 lighting us up." She'd hoped it would just be a quick dash in-and-out through the sunny skies. "I can stop them from having a fix on us with the electronic countermeasures, but eventually someone will get close enough."
Adora cut in. "We planned for this. Rogelio, time to go active. Lonnie, keep the formation tight as possible, I want them to think we're one ship for as long as possible."
Rogelio responded, "Acknowledged."
"With a voice like that, you should talk more, accent or not," Catra said, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "women will throw themselves at you."
"Alright, cut the chatter," Adora groaned.
With the datalink, the two planes could share sensor information. Two blips showed up on Catra's scope. "Two contacts, supersonic, 112 klicks and closing. Looks like they're vectoring to cut us off."
"Acknowledged," said Adora. After glancing at the radar scope displayed on the central display, she shut her eyes. She could see it all in her mind's eye, like the pieces moving on a chess board. Her eyes shot open. "New plan. No. 2, prepare to turn off your radar on my mark. Catra, you switch yours on. Three. Two. One. Mark!"
Like clockwork, the baton was passed, and no one would be the wiser. Planes dueling with radar are like soldiers fighting in a darkened room with nothing but flashlights. Turn on the flashlight and you can locate the enemy, but if you don't find him he'll know exactly where you are.
"Unless they're an older model, they'll have us on infrared any moment," Catra said.
"I know. Lonnie,come left to 235. Approach the target from the south from GDR air space. They should try to block you. We'll be turning right and approach from the northeast. Break in ten seconds."
"Alright, let'd do this," Lonnie replied.
Adora could see the Cuban pilot give the raised fist salute. She responded in kind. "Break!"
Glimmer had finally cut through the ECM fog with her own radar when two separate contacts showed up on the IRST display. They were separating, one heading south into East German air space. The other had moved north. "There's two of them," she radioed, "getting them on radar now."
"Safe bet is that the one approaching from the south is the recon plane, the other is escort and decoy," said Bow.
"Negative, that's bait. Bow, you block the southern bandit. I'll go for the northern one."
"Roger."
A dark thought crossed Glimmer's mind. She was standing on the razor's edge, and on instinct she'd already selected an AMRAAM missile and was trying to acquire a lock on the bandit. A single press of a button away from war. Then it really hit her...she was the spoiled only daughter of an ancient peerage, who ran off to join the Royal Air Force because someone told her she couldn't handle it. Now she was heading full-tilt at a Russian MiG, screaming through the sky at Mach 2 in an aircraft built by a bickering alliance of countries that would have happily been warring with each other if the Soviet Army wasn't there to distract them. All subcontracted to the lowest bidder!
She broke out in a cold sweat, but she kept her focus. The northern MiG was accelerating still. It had already been a long shot, but she now could tell it was too fast to get in front of. She pulled as hard as he could at high Mach, felt the blood rush from her brain, clenching every muscle in from her toes to her glutes just to keep fighting the G-load.
The MiG whipped past on her right, a football pitch away. She got a good look at the gray-blue plane as it shot by. It was definitely not an old Foxbat. "Missed him. But I got a good look. Probable Foxhound-B."
"What," Bow responded, taking a moment to sink in. "You mean we just played chicken with something that could shoot at us?"
"Exhilarating, isn't it?"
"Open goal," Catra said. "I would not want to be the jackass in that Typhoon right now, eating our dust." While she gloated, she got the sensor pod fired up.
Adora rolled the plane inverted, and pulled into a thirty-degree dive. Combined with the feathering the throttles, the plane braked hard in the thickening air. They leveled out at five thousand meters, still moving at a crisp Mach 2. The sensor run was over in seconds. It should have been time to go home.
"Fuck," Catra cried.
"Status?" Adora said, checking the instrument panel for any alarms.
"Camera shield didn't open. I think we were still going too fast. We got ELINT data, but the high res photos are just going to be a bunch of black."
They were home free in GDR air space. They could cut bait, and just blame the equipment. But Adora was not one to leave a mission half finished. She gripped the joystick with white knuckles. "Catra. Is the windshield jammed, or can we make another pass."
"Well, there's really only one way to find out. But we're probably going to have to go subsonic just to make sure. Wait, you're not suggesting."
"No. 2, the run was incomplete. We're making another pass. Keep the second one busy," Radioed Adora.
"Adora, we've got West German fighters moving in too, probably Tornados. The longer we stay, the itchier their trigger fingers are going to get. Are you sure about this?" said Catra, eyes flitting from the radar to the small glint of Adora's face she could see in the pilot rear-view mirrors.
"Brace yourself, Catra."
Over-G, Over-G, the voice warning system blared, heralding impending doom when the maintenance crew chief read the flight logs. The turn was hard as anything Catra had experienced flying the MiG-29, but she bore it with stoic resolve. The MiG was dropping like a stone as it slalomed down to transonic speeds. Dumb as this was, she had a job to do. "Typhoon reacquired. He's diving on us, he'll slot in behind just after we cross into international waters."
"Tch, what a cowboy."
No sooner had the confirmation of the sensor pod deployment been displayed, the steady beat of the RWR turned into a constant shrill tone. Adora jinked hard, dumping a handful of flares. "I see he still wants to play," said Adora. "Good."
The MiG snap-rolled surprisingly fast for such a beast of a plane. The crimson flares filled the air with wisps of white smoke, concealing the aspect change in the target for an extra moment. The Sidewinder missile growled as the pipper danced around the flares. The Foxhound's afterburners glowed bright blue, with none of the oily smoke she'd expected. This was a new sort of beast to hunt, and Glimmer had the privilege to be the first.
Even with the unexpected amount of power, it was still a big plane, and now this close, she was in the Typhoon's element. It was just a matter of time to reel him in.
"Glimmer, eleven o'clock high!" cried Bow.
She glanced up to see the faint dot of the second MiG-31 growing larger with alarming speed. With a second to spare, she banked and pulled to the east, and watched as the bandit she'd been chasing extended to the west.
"Hell of a time for the second to get involved," Glimmer growled.
"I'll be honest with you, this is a lot harder when you can't actually shoot at them," said Bow.
"He's got to head east eventually. I'm not done playing with him."
Catra groaned. "I don't think he's done playing with us."
"Oh?" Adora checked the fuel gauge. Still plentyleft for the return trip, but if this kept up for too long they'd have to divert or go for aerial refueling.
"They let Lonnie go without any more harassment, but they're setting up like goalies to the east. And the way the lead is banging away with the radar, he's spoiling for a rematch."
"Roger that." With a quick flick of the controls, Adora turned east-by-northeast.
"Adora...you just pointed your nose straight at him."
Adora leaned in, straining against the seat restraints, body tense as a coiled spring. "Yeah. Gonna give him exactly what he wants."
"Well you're a good sport, but do I have to remind you that the MiG-31 is not built for this fighter jock bullshit?" Catra got her answer when the afterburners erupted once again, shoving her into the seatback.
"I'm going to take him one-circle. Then I'm going to mail him the gun-camera footage."
"Adora, what the hell!" The Eurofighter Typhoon rocketed towards them, filling the infrared scope faster than the camera could adjust.
"He doesn't have off-boresight missiles. I do. I need to see what this plane can do in a real fight. I need to take it to the edge so I can find out where it is." So that when it really matters, I can go even further beyond, she added mentally.
Catra sucked air through her teeth. "There's no dissuading you, is there?"
"Nope."
"Okay. Kill him, blondie. Here comes the merge in five, four, three, two, one!"
There was no winning an extended dogfight with a Typhoon. A bus with a positive thrust to weight ratio is still a bus. But at this speed, the MiG was in its element, while the Typhoon's own maneuverability could be it's worst enemy. Swift Wind could survive whatever abuse Adora threw at him, but as the two fighters circled back nose-to-nose, fighting the weight of a car bearing down on their bodies, Adora sensed the hesitation in her adversary. Ever so slightly, he was holding back, because to him this was not a real fight, it was sport.
This was not sport to Adora. Every moment, every breath of every day was spent in anticipation of the final conflict, so she threw herself into the fight with nothing held back. For a split second, the helmet mounted sight registered a lock. It was a rough angle, and by the time the R-73 left the rail, the target might have been too close. But had this been a real dogfight, it meant Adora would have gotten the first shot off.
Glimmer sensed she'd made a mistake. She'd been too conservative with the elevator, backing off from "Nagging Nora"2 scolding her like a nanny telling her she was up past her bedtime. When she glanced up, she saw the nose of the Foxhound hot on her. They passed just close enough to see the glint of AA-11 Archers hanging on the outer rails.
It was like someone walking over her grave, the sudden weight knowing that if this had been real, she'd have been dead. It almost stunned her. But she gritted her teeth and pulled back into the fight. With so much energy bled in the first circle, it was now her fight. The moment's hesitation had only bought the MiG a few more seconds.
So they fell closer and closer to the deck with each circle, the weapon employment zone firmly jammed by the tight quarters. At this range, it was like a knife-fight in a phone booth, and with each pass Glimmer got closer to his six. He fought hard, but at this speed the MiG-31 flew like a brick with wings.
But he hadn't given up yet. One hell of a pilot, she had to give him credit. The afterburners went cold, and the ventral airbrakes deployed. "Alright, have it your way. Guns it is," she cried.
The MiG danced around her HUD. The pilot was using the tremendous yaw authority from the twin vertical stabilizers to keep his plane out of her gunsight. But sooner or later the pipper would cross the lead indicator. She'd gotten close several times, and it might have actually winged him if she could pull the trigger. But it wasn't quite enough. Glimmer wanted him dead to rights.
When Glimmer saw the waves cresting on the Baltic Sea, sense returned to her. She pulled back on the stick and throttled down to military power. "What the hell am I doing?" She demanded. There was no good answer.
The MiG pulled up alongside her, wiggling its wings in a friendly wave. Glimmer pulled back the sunvisor and tore off her mask, then wiggled her wings in return. The Soviet pilot gave Glimmer a two-fingered salute, then raised her visor.
"Well, I'll be damned…"
"You and your theatrics," Catra grumbled.
"Keep whining and I'll pull the ejection handles. Besides, that English pilot was cute."
Catra's ears started burning. She tried to push down the uneasy feeling in her stomach, like she'd been filled with soda water and shaken vigorously. So she did what she knew best: snark. "Do you always hit on the enemies of the world revolution?"
"I'm just saying she's cute, don't think too hard about it. For all I know it could have been a really girly man."
"Would that really have changed how you felt?" Catra asked. Her thoughts drifted to the many promises they'd made as children about always being together.
"No, I don't suppose it would."
Catra wasn't sure what she thought about that answer. It was so dangerous to hope that this wonderful, beautiful woman could ever feel the same way about her. She didn't know if she could survive if that hope turned into a mirage.
Let me know what you think! ~Aelita
Notes:
Colonel Kurov had called the regiment's aircrews to assemble by squadron for mission briefings early this morning. This unexpected change in the duty roster was the first break of the monotonous routine of aircraft maintenance, study and classroom time, with so precious little time to fly. Adora earnestly hoped the change would be good. Catra had moped all morning at the upset in the routine. When Adora asked, she'd just hiss and tell the blonde it wasn't important.
The real surprise when Major Kobalt yielded the lectern to Colonel Kurov instead. The colonel mechanically took the podium. He grumbled as the pilots snapped to attention.
"At ease," he rasped, "I apologize for the disruption in the normal routine, but there is an emergent situation in the Baltic Sea. Unfortunately, all passes for the next week must be cancelled, effective immediately."
Catra growled, muttering "Figures" under her breath.
"At 0313 Central European time, a Belgian flagged freighter transmitted a general distress call just after transiting the Øresund. GRU 6th Directorate determined the ship, the MSV Whispering Wood, to be a NATO SIGINT vessel. These findings have been supported by major NATO military movements following the distress signal."
The room filled with muffled whispers. Kurov continued, "The MSV Whispering Wood has since drifted into the territorial waters of the German Democratic Republic. Zenit satellite reconnaissance confirmed a fire of unknown origin on the ship, but the resolution was unsatisfactory. Stavka has charged us with reconaissance overflight."
Adora shifted to the edge of her seat.
"Lieutenant Anastasia Vladimirovna Dazvsemirova, call-sign 'Adora.' Lieutenant Ekaterina Aliyevna Tsoi, call-sign 'Catra'."
Adora snapped to a crisp salute, with Catra barely a blink of an eye behind. "Present!" they said in unison.
"You will be flight lead, charged with employment of the BKR-3 pod." Kurov's gaze turned to two pilots sitting in the rear corner, neither of whom Adora recognized. "Our attachés from Cuba will be flying second. Lieutenant Hyppolite Ruiz-del Pilar, callsign 'Lonnie', Lieutenant Marcello Rogers, callsign 'Rogelio'."
If Lonnie had been any shorter, she'd couldn't have seen over an aircraft console. She snapped to attention, followed shortly by Rogelio. Rogelio towered over her, easily two meters tall and built like a hockey player. His tightly curled hair was shorn high and tight.
"Your flight plans and detailed briefs will be waiting for you in hangar twelve." Kurov relaxed, letting the weight of his shoulder boards be forgotten for just a moment. His hair was trimmed tight on the sides, but an almost mohawk style of longer hair remained on the crown of his head. He ran his fingers through the oiled hair. "This is a sensitive diplomatic moment. We are not looking to start the Third World War. You will not fire unless fired upon. Is that clear? Good. Dismissed."
They had a few moments to get acquainted with their wingmates on the march to the hangar. Lonnie greeted both Adora and Catra warmly. "So, what do you think about Hordak picking you, blondie?" said Lonnie.
"Hordak?" said Adora, accepting Lonnie's handshake.
"How on earth have you been in the military this long and not heard his callsign or his exploits?"
"Adora here is a bit slow on the uptake," said Catra, slapping her partner on the back.
"Wait, Colonel Kurov is that Hordak? The flying ace from the Second Indochina War? The hero of the 1975 revolution?"
"Look your embarrassment is cute and all," said Catra, stifling a laugh, "but I'm honestly curious how you didn't see the resemblance. Or remembered his surname for that matter."
Rogelio let out a single bark of laughter.
Adora turned bright red, like the time when she'd asked the orphanage groundskeeper where babies came from and was cursed with an honest answer. "Don't look at me like that, there's definitely more than one Kurov in the PVO. Like, he's less of a dashing war hero and more of a grumpy old man."
"Get. Out." Catra imitated.
"That's a good impression, Lieutenant Tsoi," said Lonnie, "I guess a couple of decades can change a person."
"Thanks, I've been working on it. And please, just Catra is fine. We are flying together into harm's way after all."
"Catra it is."
"So…" Adora said, her blush receded to a faint pink, "your friend doesn't say much."
Lonnie laughed. "Oh trust me, when we're alone he never shuts up. Lotta people think he can't speak Russian, but he understands it just fine. He's just self-conscious about his accent, I guess Russian was just one language too many."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, his parents were expats from Norteamerica--"
Rogelio growled something in Spanish.
Lonnie punched him in the shoulder. Given their size difference and the relaxed smile on her face, it amounted to more of a tap than a punch. "Relax you big oaf. Anyway, as I was saying, he speaks Spanish, English, French and German quite well."
Upon arrival at the hangar, the two pairs split. Their MiGs were already being fueled and flight-checked. Swift Wind was already loaded with a BK-3 pod in the centerline mount. Four off-white R-77 missiles hung from the inner pylons like tightly clutched spears. A pair of short range R-73 missiles tipped the outer pylons. Adora gritted her teeth as she hastily inspected their attachment.
Catra had practically read her mind. "If we have to use these, we're already dead. It's not a dogfighter."
Adora shrugged, letting the stiff-upper lip show. "Don't count Swift Wind out yet. I'm sure he's got some surprises."
Catra shook her head and clicked her tongue. It reminded Adora of all the times when they were young that Catra had stubbornly refused to play with the other kids because of her wounded pride. "I prefer the right tool for the job. And in this case, it's bombarding the enemy with hypersonic missiles from two hundred kilometers away."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I'm flying backseat with you, aren't I?"
"Fair point. Did they give you the flight-plan yet, by the way?"
"Yeah. Standard stuff, subsonic cruise down the Baltic coast, then we make a dash over the open sea once we reach Kaliningrad." Catra thrust the paper work at Adora.
After thumbing through it, Adora let out a heavy sigh. She glanced over at Catra, giving a crooked grin. It lasted only for a moment; Catra had an unguarded moment. Her eyes went wide and for a moment Adora lost herself in them. One deep blue, like the sea. The other a hazel so bright it was almost gold. Catra's lips parted slightly in that moment. "I just love flying with you, more than anything," said Adora.
Catra remembered herself, and brushed a stray lock of her just-beyond-regulation hair out of her eyes. "Eh, don't get sentimental on me now. We might see the opening act of World War Three with front-row seats."
The Baltic Sea looked smooth as glass from 25,000 feet. Flying Officer Giselle "Glimmer" Fauntleroy eased her Typhoon F.2 into a lazy bank. "How'd we get stuck with this, Bow?" she said.
She couldn't really see him staring daggers at her, flying formation in her right rear quarter. But she felt the judgmental stare as he radioed back. "You were complaining about wanting to see some action. Here we are."
She pulled the mask off and groaned, shielding the mic with her palm. After taking a bite of her granola bar, she clipped the mask back on. "I think I can see the smoke column from the Whispering Wood. Two o'clock low," she said, hastily changing the subject. She checked the SatNav again. Somewhere, perilously close to the stricken vessel, there was an invisible line running through the Baltic Sea. On the far side, East Germany.
It was a routine afternoon, running overwatch as the ship, with supposedly "civilian" assistance, extricated itself from East German territorial waters. Just when she thought everything was all sewn up neat as a button, a new wrinkle appeared. The airborne controller radioed in, "New contact, probable Foxbat-B1, inbound bearing 262. Speed estimated 1380 knots."
"Really hauling ass," said Glimmer. "Roger, I have it on datalink."
"Parameters have changed," the monotonous voice returned, "you are to deter the inbound bandit from overflying the package."
"So it was a spy ship," Bow thought aloud.
"Roger, flight will intercept." Glimmer flicked over to the channel she shared with Bow, "Guide on me. We're intercepting this buzzard. Tally-ho."
The Typhoon responded instantly to afterburner, surging past Mach 1 like it was nothing. But just as soon as she had the fighter on a bearing for intercept, the radar warning receiver began pinging.
"Huh, found us already," Bow pipped, "I don't think that's a Foxbat. Speaking of, how do you plan to stop a plane that cruises faster than our max speed without shooting it down?"
"It's simple, Bow. We get in front of it and stay there."
"And it just disappeared from my scope." Glimmer heard the irritation in his voice. "So much for that."
"ECM. So it definitely has us. Doesn't matter, we know where it has to go."
Catra's brow furrowed as the RWR lit up. "That was a NATO E-3 lighting us up." She'd hoped it would just be a quick dash in-and-out through the sunny skies. "I can stop them from having a fix on us with the electronic countermeasures, but eventually someone will get close enough."
Adora cut in. "We planned for this. Rogelio, time to go active. Lonnie, keep the formation tight as possible, I want them to think we're one ship for as long as possible."
Rogelio responded, "Acknowledged."
"With a voice like that, you should talk more, accent or not," Catra said, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "women will throw themselves at you."
"Alright, cut the chatter," Adora groaned.
With the datalink, the two planes could share sensor information. Two blips showed up on Catra's scope. "Two contacts, supersonic, 112 klicks and closing. Looks like they're vectoring to cut us off."
"Acknowledged," said Adora. After glancing at the radar scope displayed on the central display, she shut her eyes. She could see it all in her mind's eye, like the pieces moving on a chess board. Her eyes shot open. "New plan. No. 2, prepare to turn off your radar on my mark. Catra, you switch yours on. Three. Two. One. Mark!"
Like clockwork, the baton was passed, and no one would be the wiser. Planes dueling with radar are like soldiers fighting in a darkened room with nothing but flashlights. Turn on the flashlight and you can locate the enemy, but if you don't find him he'll know exactly where you are.
"Unless they're an older model, they'll have us on infrared any moment," Catra said.
"I know. Lonnie,come left to 235. Approach the target from the south from GDR air space. They should try to block you. We'll be turning right and approach from the northeast. Break in ten seconds."
"Alright, let'd do this," Lonnie replied.
Adora could see the Cuban pilot give the raised fist salute. She responded in kind. "Break!"
Glimmer had finally cut through the ECM fog with her own radar when two separate contacts showed up on the IRST display. They were separating, one heading south into East German air space. The other had moved north. "There's two of them," she radioed, "getting them on radar now."
"Safe bet is that the one approaching from the south is the recon plane, the other is escort and decoy," said Bow.
"Negative, that's bait. Bow, you block the southern bandit. I'll go for the northern one."
"Roger."
A dark thought crossed Glimmer's mind. She was standing on the razor's edge, and on instinct she'd already selected an AMRAAM missile and was trying to acquire a lock on the bandit. A single press of a button away from war. Then it really hit her...she was the spoiled only daughter of an ancient peerage, who ran off to join the Royal Air Force because someone told her she couldn't handle it. Now she was heading full-tilt at a Russian MiG, screaming through the sky at Mach 2 in an aircraft built by a bickering alliance of countries that would have happily been warring with each other if the Soviet Army wasn't there to distract them. All subcontracted to the lowest bidder!
She broke out in a cold sweat, but she kept her focus. The northern MiG was accelerating still. It had already been a long shot, but she now could tell it was too fast to get in front of. She pulled as hard as he could at high Mach, felt the blood rush from her brain, clenching every muscle in from her toes to her glutes just to keep fighting the G-load.
The MiG whipped past on her right, a football pitch away. She got a good look at the gray-blue plane as it shot by. It was definitely not an old Foxbat. "Missed him. But I got a good look. Probable Foxhound-B."
"What," Bow responded, taking a moment to sink in. "You mean we just played chicken with something that could shoot at us?"
"Exhilarating, isn't it?"
"Open goal," Catra said. "I would not want to be the jackass in that Typhoon right now, eating our dust." While she gloated, she got the sensor pod fired up.
Adora rolled the plane inverted, and pulled into a thirty-degree dive. Combined with the feathering the throttles, the plane braked hard in the thickening air. They leveled out at five thousand meters, still moving at a crisp Mach 2. The sensor run was over in seconds. It should have been time to go home.
"Fuck," Catra cried.
"Status?" Adora said, checking the instrument panel for any alarms.
"Camera shield didn't open. I think we were still going too fast. We got ELINT data, but the high res photos are just going to be a bunch of black."
They were home free in GDR air space. They could cut bait, and just blame the equipment. But Adora was not one to leave a mission half finished. She gripped the joystick with white knuckles. "Catra. Is the windshield jammed, or can we make another pass."
"Well, there's really only one way to find out. But we're probably going to have to go subsonic just to make sure. Wait, you're not suggesting."
"No. 2, the run was incomplete. We're making another pass. Keep the second one busy," Radioed Adora.
"Adora, we've got West German fighters moving in too, probably Tornados. The longer we stay, the itchier their trigger fingers are going to get. Are you sure about this?" said Catra, eyes flitting from the radar to the small glint of Adora's face she could see in the pilot rear-view mirrors.
"Brace yourself, Catra."
Over-G, Over-G, the voice warning system blared, heralding impending doom when the maintenance crew chief read the flight logs. The turn was hard as anything Catra had experienced flying the MiG-29, but she bore it with stoic resolve. The MiG was dropping like a stone as it slalomed down to transonic speeds. Dumb as this was, she had a job to do. "Typhoon reacquired. He's diving on us, he'll slot in behind just after we cross into international waters."
"Tch, what a cowboy."
No sooner had the confirmation of the sensor pod deployment been displayed, the steady beat of the RWR turned into a constant shrill tone. Adora jinked hard, dumping a handful of flares. "I see he still wants to play," said Adora. "Good."
The MiG snap-rolled surprisingly fast for such a beast of a plane. The crimson flares filled the air with wisps of white smoke, concealing the aspect change in the target for an extra moment. The Sidewinder missile growled as the pipper danced around the flares. The Foxhound's afterburners glowed bright blue, with none of the oily smoke she'd expected. This was a new sort of beast to hunt, and Glimmer had the privilege to be the first.
Even with the unexpected amount of power, it was still a big plane, and now this close, she was in the Typhoon's element. It was just a matter of time to reel him in.
"Glimmer, eleven o'clock high!" cried Bow.
She glanced up to see the faint dot of the second MiG-31 growing larger with alarming speed. With a second to spare, she banked and pulled to the east, and watched as the bandit she'd been chasing extended to the west.
"Hell of a time for the second to get involved," Glimmer growled.
"I'll be honest with you, this is a lot harder when you can't actually shoot at them," said Bow.
"He's got to head east eventually. I'm not done playing with him."
Catra groaned. "I don't think he's done playing with us."
"Oh?" Adora checked the fuel gauge. Still plentyleft for the return trip, but if this kept up for too long they'd have to divert or go for aerial refueling.
"They let Lonnie go without any more harassment, but they're setting up like goalies to the east. And the way the lead is banging away with the radar, he's spoiling for a rematch."
"Roger that." With a quick flick of the controls, Adora turned east-by-northeast.
"Adora...you just pointed your nose straight at him."
Adora leaned in, straining against the seat restraints, body tense as a coiled spring. "Yeah. Gonna give him exactly what he wants."
"Well you're a good sport, but do I have to remind you that the MiG-31 is not built for this fighter jock bullshit?" Catra got her answer when the afterburners erupted once again, shoving her into the seatback.
"I'm going to take him one-circle. Then I'm going to mail him the gun-camera footage."
"Adora, what the hell!" The Eurofighter Typhoon rocketed towards them, filling the infrared scope faster than the camera could adjust.
"He doesn't have off-boresight missiles. I do. I need to see what this plane can do in a real fight. I need to take it to the edge so I can find out where it is." So that when it really matters, I can go even further beyond, she added mentally.
Catra sucked air through her teeth. "There's no dissuading you, is there?"
"Nope."
"Okay. Kill him, blondie. Here comes the merge in five, four, three, two, one!"
There was no winning an extended dogfight with a Typhoon. A bus with a positive thrust to weight ratio is still a bus. But at this speed, the MiG was in its element, while the Typhoon's own maneuverability could be it's worst enemy. Swift Wind could survive whatever abuse Adora threw at him, but as the two fighters circled back nose-to-nose, fighting the weight of a car bearing down on their bodies, Adora sensed the hesitation in her adversary. Ever so slightly, he was holding back, because to him this was not a real fight, it was sport.
This was not sport to Adora. Every moment, every breath of every day was spent in anticipation of the final conflict, so she threw herself into the fight with nothing held back. For a split second, the helmet mounted sight registered a lock. It was a rough angle, and by the time the R-73 left the rail, the target might have been too close. But had this been a real dogfight, it meant Adora would have gotten the first shot off.
Glimmer sensed she'd made a mistake. She'd been too conservative with the elevator, backing off from "Nagging Nora"2 scolding her like a nanny telling her she was up past her bedtime. When she glanced up, she saw the nose of the Foxhound hot on her. They passed just close enough to see the glint of AA-11 Archers hanging on the outer rails.
It was like someone walking over her grave, the sudden weight knowing that if this had been real, she'd have been dead. It almost stunned her. But she gritted her teeth and pulled back into the fight. With so much energy bled in the first circle, it was now her fight. The moment's hesitation had only bought the MiG a few more seconds.
So they fell closer and closer to the deck with each circle, the weapon employment zone firmly jammed by the tight quarters. At this range, it was like a knife-fight in a phone booth, and with each pass Glimmer got closer to his six. He fought hard, but at this speed the MiG-31 flew like a brick with wings.
But he hadn't given up yet. One hell of a pilot, she had to give him credit. The afterburners went cold, and the ventral airbrakes deployed. "Alright, have it your way. Guns it is," she cried.
The MiG danced around her HUD. The pilot was using the tremendous yaw authority from the twin vertical stabilizers to keep his plane out of her gunsight. But sooner or later the pipper would cross the lead indicator. She'd gotten close several times, and it might have actually winged him if she could pull the trigger. But it wasn't quite enough. Glimmer wanted him dead to rights.
When Glimmer saw the waves cresting on the Baltic Sea, sense returned to her. She pulled back on the stick and throttled down to military power. "What the hell am I doing?" She demanded. There was no good answer.
The MiG pulled up alongside her, wiggling its wings in a friendly wave. Glimmer pulled back the sunvisor and tore off her mask, then wiggled her wings in return. The Soviet pilot gave Glimmer a two-fingered salute, then raised her visor.
"Well, I'll be damned…"
"You and your theatrics," Catra grumbled.
"Keep whining and I'll pull the ejection handles. Besides, that English pilot was cute."
Catra's ears started burning. She tried to push down the uneasy feeling in her stomach, like she'd been filled with soda water and shaken vigorously. So she did what she knew best: snark. "Do you always hit on the enemies of the world revolution?"
"I'm just saying she's cute, don't think too hard about it. For all I know it could have been a really girly man."
"Would that really have changed how you felt?" Catra asked. Her thoughts drifted to the many promises they'd made as children about always being together.
"No, I don't suppose it would."
Catra wasn't sure what she thought about that answer. It was so dangerous to hope that this wonderful, beautiful woman could ever feel the same way about her. She didn't know if she could survive if that hope turned into a mirage.
Let me know what you think! ~Aelita
Notes:
- The NATO reporting name for the MiG-25R and its derivatives. A dedicated reconnaissance aircraft and bomber that entered service in 1970, it's not capable of air-to-air combat.
- One of the nicer nicknames that pilots give to the voice-warning system, which gives an audible warning when the plane is doing something potentially dangerous, like pulling too many Gs or getting too close to the ground.
3. On Silvered Wings
Aelita
Solving the riddle of history
- Location
- The left-wing of the impossible
3. On Silvered Wings
It had been a week since their sortie over the Baltic. Adora was sure her ears were still burning from the debriefing. The good colonel had given them both the worst dressing down in both of their young lives. "Reckless adventurism;" Adora had lost count of the number of times he'd used that phrase. In between the reiterations of "you don't own that plane, it belongs to the people of the Soviet Union" and "I ought to have your wings," it was easy to lose track.
But when he'd regained his composure, Hordak dismissed them both. As Adora was walking out of his office, he'd said. "One more thing, Lieutenant. That was excellent flying on your part. Don't ever do it again."
Adora had thought she was in the clear. Alas, he'd found more...creative...ways to punish her. Adora awoke in pitchblack, just as the patter of rain on the tin roof started. The bedspring's creaked under her shifting weight. The night air was cool on her skin, as the last few images of her dream faded like morning fog. A tawny castle nestled on a great stone monolith, crystal blue waters at its feet, the moons hanging low on the horizon. She's seen it before, in some half-remembered dream.
"You awake too?" Catra's voice pierced the night air.
"Yeah. What time is it?"
"Just before 2200." Catra turned over, eyes shining in the moonlight. "We've got ready-alert again at midnight."
"No sense trying to get any more sleep than. Ugh, he's trying to kill us."
Catra laughed, "I'm just happy I'm not getting in trouble alone for once."
"You always had a knack for that."
"Okay princess. Get up, you know the drill." Catra threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet.
"I swear that water heater is going to give out any day now." Groaning, Adora sat on the edge of her bed, wiggling her toes against the cold linoleum.
"Up, up!" Catra said, taking her by the hand. "You're going to be in a vacc suit for twenty-four hours. If you don't get clean, you're going to hate yourself."
"I've had four hours of sleep. I already hate myself." But there was no use resisting. Catra pulled her to her feet and supported her unsteady legs. They were close enough that Adora could smell the girl's morning breath.
They trudged to the shower, toiletries slung under their arms. It had been like falling back into an old habit, bathing together. Unfortunately, it was much less luxurious than a lazy Saturday afternoon in the banya.
They stripped without any hint of decorum as the shower came up to temperature. Adora stood under the hot spray, desperately wanting a cigarette, until Catra began coaxing some shampoo into her hair. "Uhh, thanks," she mumbled.
"Don't mention it, blondie."
Adora's hair was as long as regulation permitted it, though she'd taken to shaving the sides into an undercut for easy maintenance. It was something she could do herself, and in the past years she'd almost forgotten how comforting another person's touch could be. Catra's deft fingers massaged the suds into her scalp, and it was almost like the tension in her neck was melting away with it.
It was over too soon. "Alright, rinse," Catra ordered.
Switching places in the cramped shower, Adora took the shampoo from her and poured a generous dollop into her palm.
"Hey, don't waste that!" said Catra.
"It's not a waste, it's going on you. Besides, it's not that expensive, even for a lieutenant's salary."
"Yeah, and you smoke Belomorkanals, cheapskate. You'd better trade up if you want to kiss me--er I mean kiss a guy any time soon."
Thankfully, all it took was a bit of shampoo to shut that cat up. After a moment of sudsing up the pine-scented soap, Catra was practically purring. It gave Adora a moment to just appreciate her...best friend? It didn't feel like the word meant enough. Adora's eyes traced down the defined muscles of Catra's shoulders to her slender back. It definitely wasn't a strong enough word. She needed something to fill the silence.
"So how'd you know it was just a jetliner?"
Catra's ears pricked up. "Yesterday's exercise? Just intuition really. They left us up there with no guidance. And the contact was bumbling along at eleven thousand meters as we had him in radar lock."
"I suppose you're right. They usually just have us simulate an intercept and go home."
"Well I guess we figured out the hard way why that's a bad idea," Catra said, wincing. "Ah, soap in my eye."
Adora spun the girl around and began wiping the suds out of her face. Adora forgot herself in the act, until she realized her free hand was cradling the small of Catra's back, and their faces were just centimeters apart.
Catra laughed it off, but it was impossible to pretend this was just normal friendly intimacy. Almost cheek-to-cheek, but Catra might as well have been a thousand kilometers away. Even if by some incredible miracle Catra felt the same way...fraternization is forbidden.
The whole thing had left a bad taste in Adora's mouth as they finished bathing. She knew why the rules existed. There might come a day when Adora was faced with a terrible choice between Catra's life and the mission. Thankfully, there was no time to dwell on it, just enough time to choke down some kasha and tea before reporting to the alert crew shelter.
When the guard changed at midnight, Adora and Catra reported to the ready shelter in their drab green pressure suits, helmets cradled underarm. With a crisp salute, it was now their responsibility to be ready to launch on a moment's notice to intercept any inbound threats.
It was a grueling duty, and typically crews would be afforded a day's rest afterwards, spending no more than one day in three on alert. Since last week's stunt, they'd been on alert every other day, and not relieved of duties in between. It was, simply put, hell on earth, and there was no telling when this would let up.
Once the sun rose over the hills, things were alright. The alert shelter was attached to the hangar, and the two could busy themselves checking up on maintenance or other duties. Choking down chalky instant tea and coffee to keep the exhaustion at bay, Adora supposed she could seem like a normal functioning adult.
By now the crawling sensation on her skin from the nicotine withdrawal had abated. There had well and truly been almost no time to smoke. Can't smoke in the hangar, far too many things don't react well to open flames. Can't smoke in the cockpit. Can't smoke in the classroom. Running too fast in between duties to stop by the commissary for another pack. Just a single lonely cigarette bummed from Catra every night before bed.
Rolling the pen between her fingertips, Adora's eyes drifted off the maintenance log. Whimpering, she still wanted one so bad she could taste it.
Catra bumped up beside her, eyes catching the pen clutched between her index and middle finger. "Hell of a way to quit smoking, huh?"
Adora nodded.
"We'll get through this," Catra whispered. "We got through the first leg, hot chow's coming soon."
Within ten minutes a truck came by to dispense lunch: hot rassolnik soup poured from a large vacuum flask, and a hearty serving of bread and jam. They ate huddled around a small table with the maintenance crew, swapping stories of girls or boys back home, and future plans.
"What about you, lieutenant?" asked Klim, the hapless blond mechanic that Adora kept stumbling into since being assigned here. "Is there anyone waiting back home for you?"
Adora's glanced furtively at Catra. "No. My home is here now anyway."
Catra raised an eyebrow. "I don't know about that. There were quite a few young men who were devastated when she shipped off to Suvorov school."
"Well they can wait all they want," Adora huffed, "I'm not interested."
"See, there's no competing with the love of the rodina with her," Catra laughed, "poor boys never stood a chance."
"Well you're right about one thing," Adora said, slurping on her tea. "Boys never did stand a chance."
Adora could see the light bulb go on above Klim's head. Vasili, an older kontractniki already starting to gray at the temples, did not pick up on the cue. "The lieutenant knows what separates boys from men, good for her," he laughed.
Catra smirked, "Oh and what would that be?"
"I ask my wife that all the time, and she tells me I'm on a need to know basis and don't need to know."
Catra's cavalier attitude disappeared around sundown. As she settled in on the bench next to the radiator to ward off the cool autumn air, she found her eyes getting heavy. So very heavy.
Adora stooped down to look her in the eye. Frowning, the blonde slapped her across the face, "Stay with me."
Catra blinked, brushing her fingers over the red palm print on her cheek. She wriggled uneasily. The slap had been exciting in all the wrong ways under the present circumstances. "You know, if anyone else had done that to me, I'd have beat the shit out of them."
"If they catch you falling asleep, they'll put you in the brig."
"I know that already. Look, you can't just slap a girl out of the blue like that. It…"
"It what?"
"Nevermind. Look, if I need help staying awake, I'll tell you, okay?"
"Okay."
Catra felt better after another cup of tea and a light supper of crackers and pâte. Adora grumbled about the food, and it reminded Catra again of lazy autumn nights back home. Well, not home anymore. She prayed that Adora was thinking of her when she said that her home was here now.
The hours crawled on, and there were only so many games of chess or durak that could fill the time before they too became boring. It was nearing midnight, and Adora had sunken onto the hard wooden bench, glancing up at the clock.
"He's trying to kill me," Adora said.
Catra sat next to her. "We're almost free, another half an hour."
Adora's head fell onto Catra's shoulders. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Catra hugged the poor girl close, cheeks warming as she felt the heat of Adora's body through the flight suit.
The alarm klaxxon sounded and Catra nearly jumped out of her skin. She beat Adora to her feat though, and rushed to shut mute the infernal alarm. The phone rang as she muted the klaxxon. Adora picked up the phone. "Alert crew reporting!" Catra studied her reaction, watching as her bronze eyebrows narrowed."Yes, yes, understood."
Catra groaned, "This better not be a drill."
"It's the real thing. Unknown contact spotted moving south from Vorkuta. He said it managed to slip past an Su-27 regiment. It's headed west, they'll have more details once we're in the air."
No sense in worrying about it, there was a job to do. Nothing felt as instantly sobering as the thought that this could be the big one. Something had penetrated Soviet air space and failed to respond to any of their efforts. Catra scooped up her helmet and rushed to the door.
The ground crew already had the start-cart out by the time they reached the hangar. Pre-flight checks were a blur, so much so that Catra went through them a second time with her spare minute just to make sure.
And if she was in a hurry, Adora was practically chomping at the bit. So much so that when they were on the boarding ladder, the blonde grabbed Catra by the rump and bodily shoved her up the ladder faster.
The turbines spooled up, emitting a throaty roar upon ignition. Standing on the brakes, Adora waited for the hangar crew to clear. The chief clattered up the ladder for the final check. Once Adora gave him the thumb's up, he gave a plain white pill envelope to each of them along with a water cantin. "Take it. Colonel's orders," he yelled over the engine.
The ladder pulled clear, and the chief waved the go-ahead to taxi. The MiG-31 was an awkward, fat bird on the ground, like a waddling penguin crawling its way to the runway. The wings felt like an afterthought tacked onto a pair of engines.
Catra could see the rest of the regiment mobilizing as they taxied to the runway. "This must be serious," she thought aloud.
"They're scrambling all four alert fighters here. They lost radar track of the contact about three minutes ago. Loadout check?"
"Two R-37s--they had to pull the other two for maintenance."
"Figures. If this is a Blackbird we could have used the range. Why didn't they throw on the older R-33s instead?"
"Depot's out. Besides, if two isn't enough we've got way bigger problems. I don't know how useful they'll be , but we've got four R-27s on the wing pylons, the usual mix."
The turbines spooled up. "All systems are go then," Adora said. "This is the real thing, Catra. Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
As soon as the tower cleared them for take off, the afterburners roared to life and off they went into the inky black sky.
The interception was being coordinated between several fighter-interceptor regiments across Soviet air space. Their alert crews would fan out in wide nets to corner this invader, sharing information across datalinks. By the time they reached their in-flight refueling, a clearer picture had percolated down from control.
The unidentified object had approached from over the North Pole, and the warning radars had clocked a ground speed of nearly 3500 kph. Several S-300 missile batteries had attempted and failed to intercept the contact.
Dawn was breaking over central Russia. Adora had finished climbing to fifteen thousand meters when she pipped the intercom, "It's probably a bit late to worry about it since I've already taken them, but what's in those tablets they gave us on the tarmac."
Catra giggled, "Methamphetamine. They keep them under armed guard. How are you feeling?"
"Right now? Great. Like I could run a marathon. The crash is going to be terrible, isn't it?"
"Affirmative."
Adora set the autopilot and relaxed. Up this high, even the new mechanical counterpressure suits were a chore to wear. A necessary evil, at this altitude the cabine couldn't keep a survivable atmosphere. Adora used the reprieve to stretch and drink from the tube in her helmet. "I'm still wondering what the hell we're chasing after," she said. "The Americans never let their SR-71s cross into our airspace, and they could have never survived flying right over that many S-300 sites even if they did."
"There's rumors about a new secret plane, they call it 'Aurora' in the West. Officially doesn't exist, but who knows."
"Hell of a long range if it is."
"I've got a radar profile sent down the data link. Should help with tracking it." Catra glanced over to the satellite map. The four pips of their flight were spread in a line-abreast, 150km apart, like a net heading east. Other flights were converging from Central Asia and Siberia.
Adora shifted so Catra's face was in the rear-view mirror. "You think this is going to be it? World War 3?"
"I don't know. It's not our fault if it is. Our little playfight over the Baltic Sea was hardly the worst thing to happen for East/West relations this month. But I'm afraid it's only a matter of time."
"If you had to bet, where does it start?"
"Either on the Soča or in West Berlin. Ever since Yugoslavia joined, things have been on a knife's edge in Italy. But the situation in West Germany isn't great."
"They're always talking about the Formosa Strait in the officer's mess."
"That's a red her--hold up, new radar contact. Eighty five degrees azimuth, range two-hundred sixty kilometers."
"I see it. Coming right to eight-five degrees. Is it our quarry?"
Catra wrinkled her nose. "Still analyzing. Strange, I've got him under Mach 1 at three thousand meters."
"Whatever it is, it's not supposed to be there. They grounded all commercial traffic."
"Descending to eight thousand," Adora called out. The nose pointed down, bringing the snow-frosted expanse of pine taiga into view. "Control, we have a possible track on the target, please advise."
"Radar signature match, probability sixty percent," Catra added.
After what seemed like an eternity, the radio crackled back to life. Adora almost jumped when she heard Hordak's voice respond. "Zvezda-lead, this is Control-actual. We have your data-feed five-by-five. Do not fire before visual verification of the target."
"Roger." Adora flicked the transceiver off. "How's that radar lock coming?"
"I'm having a hell of a time with it actually. I'm fairly certain he knows I'm trying to lock him and is deploying ECM. But his flight path hasn't changed. He doesn't think we're a threat."
"The RWR isn't registering. Odd, he's still hot...nose-on."
"I know what 'hot' means, Adora."
"Oh do you?"
"Just fly the damn plane, jock."
The burning orange dawn was a terrible distraction, but Adora could still make out the tiny black speck highlighted by on her helmet HUD. Closure rate was still just over two-thousand kph. Almost forty kilometers every minute.
"I've got a track on the IRST," Catra said, "At this range...he's a big son-of-a-bitch."
It was agony waiting to close. Adora levelled the MiG out still eighty kilometers away. "I'm going to bring him down the left side then circle back on his six."
"Still no change in velocity or altitude. You'll pass five thousand meters over him."
"We'll lose some altitude to keep our speed up. There's a low cloud layer coming in between us. I'll bring us below the clouds to get visual verification."
Adora's whole body was tense. She'd never felt this alive before. It was like sweat was pouring from every pore, every hair standing on edge. She watched as the radar contact disappeared under them. "Alright, brace!"
Seven gees proved surprisingly bearable for Catra while she was in the zone. Sure, she felt muscles clench that she didn't even know she had as she hummed to keep the blood flowing. But the entire time, her thoughts remained laser-focused on getting a lock again.
The MiG dropped through the clouds like a stainless steel hawk, afterburners flowing blue, just three kilometers behind the target.
"Yo-moyo, would you look at the size of that thing!" Catra cried. The angular body of the target filled the IR camera screen. It looked like an assemblage of deltas, with no apparent lifting surface. More like a futuristic space shuttle than a plane, covered in a glowing-hot fractal pattern.
Adora froze for a moment. Flashes of memory came unbidden, the uncomfortable déjà vu of impossible familiarity. A sword of gleaming crystal, shining with golden light. Great spires littered with azure constellations, from an empire as vast as the starry sky. And just as soon as the feeling came it was gone. Adora shook her head, clearing the frisson of familiarity. "It's not ours, let's take it out."
"Roger that." Catra flicked the radio transceiver, "Control-actual, we have visual contact. Unknown classification, we are engaging the target."
Adora dipped the nose, pulling the target into the HUD. "Radar lock is good." She armed two R-27s, one infrared guided, the other radar guided. The seeker head on the IR guided missile growled to life, intensifying to a shrill tone as it locked. "I've got tone. Fox-2. And Fox-1."
The missiles shot off the rail cleanly, first the infrared so it wouldn't errantly lock onto its brother, then the radar guided missile. The white contrails arced towards the target and suddenly a twinge of horror hit Adora. It was a low-aspect, close range shot. It's not supposed to be this easy. They're not escaping. She'd just killed someone.
The IR missile hit just above what looked like an engine nozzle on the rear. The radar guided missile hit center mass on its dorsal side. "Hits confirmed," Catra said.
When the black-smoke cleared, the target appeared entirely unharmed. "Those weren't duds, what just happened?" Adora cried.
Violet fire erupted from the target's engine nozzles. The twin exhaust cones were twice as long as the MiG, burning with such intensity that the IRST shutdown, as though she just pointed the camera at the Sun.
"Confirmed hits," Adora radioed. "No apparent damage. Target is trying to escape."
Hordak's gravelly voice replied, "Continue engagement. Follow the target for as long as possible."
Adora had already pointed the nose into a shallow climb and relit the afterburners. She looked up at the darkening sky above her. "I know where it's going. I'm going to try to engage again."
"Do it quick, it's trying to jam me."
The second salvo of missiles proved to be even less effective. The target dumped burning purple motes after Adora launched. The IR missile hit one of the flares for no effect, and the radar missile chased a phantom radar ping and missed entirely.
"They're definitely jamming us," Adora growled. "We've still got quite a bit of altitude on him, but that big bastard is accelerating way too quick for my liking."
The cockpit pressure dropped as they climbed, and now each movement became a chore fighting against the pressure suit. The target continued to climb, higher and faster. And the MiG-31 chased like a desperate hound. It was a matter of who ran out of legs first.
As Adora focused in on chasing the UFO, Catra was fighting with the radar, trying to pierce through the fog so their last missiles would have a chance. She wasn't just fighting some piece of hardware throwing off radio emissions, Catra sensed someone on the other end reacting to her efforts and fighting back.
The MiG-31 shot through the sun-split clouds, riding jets of delirious burning blue. Faster than the rising sun, she flew on silvered wings, chasing the invader. Faster and higher, approaching the 'coffin corner' where the stall speed approached the jet's maximum speed. The fastest combat jet in the world, and it could only just keep pace with this giant gray wedge.
"Passing twenty-thousand meters," Adora announced. "Mach 2.83. We're at our limit."
"I need more time." Catra glanced at the button she was told to never, ever push except in war time. "Adora, it's about to get warm in here." Then she pushed the button.
The limiters on the engines disengaged and with a sudden kick the afterburners cranked up to war-emergency mode.
The target was now level with them, and had pulled a ten kilometer lead. The MiG clawed back its position as the Mach meter passed into the redline.
The alarms began sounding. "Temperature master alarm, engine one. Now engine two. Radar heat warning." Adora sounded off.
"Thirty seconds. Just stay on him."
"Mach 3.1...Twenty-five thousand meters. If this keeps up we're going to fall out of the sky." Even with the cockpit almost evacuated of all air, it was getting too hot. Sweat pooled on Adora's eyebrows, threatening to cascade into her eyes. The Mach meter hit 3.35. The target was pulling its lead further, now gaining altitude on them. The fuel temperature alarm sounded. "Catra, now or never!"
Let it never be said Catra didn't have a flair for the dramatic. "Got him. Fox-3! And Fox-3!"
Both R-37s left the belly recesses and shot in-front of the MiG. The first one went stupid and shot past the target. But the second kept lock. The proximity fuze triggered above it's starboard winglet. Glittering bits of crystal trailed off the winglet, but the ship continued on with a slight limp.
"Well shit, it's time to cut bait," Adora said. As she dipped the nose, the much struggling left engine banged, like someone had hit the fuselage with a giant hammer. And the burning blue engine cone snuffed out.
The plane started to yaw violently to the left from asymmetric thrust. Adora stomped hard on the rudder and throttled back both engines. Even strapped in tight, they were thrown back and forth as the stalling plane gyrated and rolled. Adora forgot about everything except keeping the nose pointed into the airstream as the plane fell like a stone.
Catra hit the transceiver. "Mayday, mayday! This is Zvezda-lead. Departure from controlled flight."
The corkscrew began to slow. Within a few seconds they were prograde again.
"Correction, we've regained controlled flight. I think. Adora?"
"Control surfaces are working." The plane wiggled its ailerons, elevator and rudder in succession. "Both engines out. Attempting restart once we're below Mach 1."
Now out of immediate danger, Catra slumped against the seat. "We lost him."
Adora didn't have time to worry about that. The plane wasn't so much flying as it was falling like a lawn dart. As they reached thicker air, there was enough lift to level their descent. "Okay, Catra, engine restart checklist."
"Throttle off. Set airstart switch to primary." Catra rattled off by memory.
"Check." The left engine started to spool in the airstream. "RPMs are at green."
"Set throttle to idle, then ignition."
Adora nudged the left engine control to idle. When she hit the ignition switch, the whine of the turbine began to stutter. "Come on, come on."
Catra clenched the console with a white-knuckle grip. She glanced at the ejection handles, and then to the snow-flocked green countryside.
The stuttering cleared and the engine whined louder. "Okay, reignition. Feeding power back in."
Catra breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, set the airstart to off, engage air crossbleed."
"Roger." The second engine relight was much less nerve-racking. Back in level flight, Adora had a moment to think about what had just happened. "Okay, what the hell was that?"
"I don't know."
Author's Notes: You know how I said this was me trying to do an interesting spin on the Mundane AU trope? I may have been fibbing.
It had been a week since their sortie over the Baltic. Adora was sure her ears were still burning from the debriefing. The good colonel had given them both the worst dressing down in both of their young lives. "Reckless adventurism;" Adora had lost count of the number of times he'd used that phrase. In between the reiterations of "you don't own that plane, it belongs to the people of the Soviet Union" and "I ought to have your wings," it was easy to lose track.
But when he'd regained his composure, Hordak dismissed them both. As Adora was walking out of his office, he'd said. "One more thing, Lieutenant. That was excellent flying on your part. Don't ever do it again."
Adora had thought she was in the clear. Alas, he'd found more...creative...ways to punish her. Adora awoke in pitchblack, just as the patter of rain on the tin roof started. The bedspring's creaked under her shifting weight. The night air was cool on her skin, as the last few images of her dream faded like morning fog. A tawny castle nestled on a great stone monolith, crystal blue waters at its feet, the moons hanging low on the horizon. She's seen it before, in some half-remembered dream.
"You awake too?" Catra's voice pierced the night air.
"Yeah. What time is it?"
"Just before 2200." Catra turned over, eyes shining in the moonlight. "We've got ready-alert again at midnight."
"No sense trying to get any more sleep than. Ugh, he's trying to kill us."
Catra laughed, "I'm just happy I'm not getting in trouble alone for once."
"You always had a knack for that."
"Okay princess. Get up, you know the drill." Catra threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet.
"I swear that water heater is going to give out any day now." Groaning, Adora sat on the edge of her bed, wiggling her toes against the cold linoleum.
"Up, up!" Catra said, taking her by the hand. "You're going to be in a vacc suit for twenty-four hours. If you don't get clean, you're going to hate yourself."
"I've had four hours of sleep. I already hate myself." But there was no use resisting. Catra pulled her to her feet and supported her unsteady legs. They were close enough that Adora could smell the girl's morning breath.
They trudged to the shower, toiletries slung under their arms. It had been like falling back into an old habit, bathing together. Unfortunately, it was much less luxurious than a lazy Saturday afternoon in the banya.
They stripped without any hint of decorum as the shower came up to temperature. Adora stood under the hot spray, desperately wanting a cigarette, until Catra began coaxing some shampoo into her hair. "Uhh, thanks," she mumbled.
"Don't mention it, blondie."
Adora's hair was as long as regulation permitted it, though she'd taken to shaving the sides into an undercut for easy maintenance. It was something she could do herself, and in the past years she'd almost forgotten how comforting another person's touch could be. Catra's deft fingers massaged the suds into her scalp, and it was almost like the tension in her neck was melting away with it.
It was over too soon. "Alright, rinse," Catra ordered.
Switching places in the cramped shower, Adora took the shampoo from her and poured a generous dollop into her palm.
"Hey, don't waste that!" said Catra.
"It's not a waste, it's going on you. Besides, it's not that expensive, even for a lieutenant's salary."
"Yeah, and you smoke Belomorkanals, cheapskate. You'd better trade up if you want to kiss me--er I mean kiss a guy any time soon."
Thankfully, all it took was a bit of shampoo to shut that cat up. After a moment of sudsing up the pine-scented soap, Catra was practically purring. It gave Adora a moment to just appreciate her...best friend? It didn't feel like the word meant enough. Adora's eyes traced down the defined muscles of Catra's shoulders to her slender back. It definitely wasn't a strong enough word. She needed something to fill the silence.
"So how'd you know it was just a jetliner?"
Catra's ears pricked up. "Yesterday's exercise? Just intuition really. They left us up there with no guidance. And the contact was bumbling along at eleven thousand meters as we had him in radar lock."
"I suppose you're right. They usually just have us simulate an intercept and go home."
"Well I guess we figured out the hard way why that's a bad idea," Catra said, wincing. "Ah, soap in my eye."
Adora spun the girl around and began wiping the suds out of her face. Adora forgot herself in the act, until she realized her free hand was cradling the small of Catra's back, and their faces were just centimeters apart.
Catra laughed it off, but it was impossible to pretend this was just normal friendly intimacy. Almost cheek-to-cheek, but Catra might as well have been a thousand kilometers away. Even if by some incredible miracle Catra felt the same way...fraternization is forbidden.
The whole thing had left a bad taste in Adora's mouth as they finished bathing. She knew why the rules existed. There might come a day when Adora was faced with a terrible choice between Catra's life and the mission. Thankfully, there was no time to dwell on it, just enough time to choke down some kasha and tea before reporting to the alert crew shelter.
When the guard changed at midnight, Adora and Catra reported to the ready shelter in their drab green pressure suits, helmets cradled underarm. With a crisp salute, it was now their responsibility to be ready to launch on a moment's notice to intercept any inbound threats.
It was a grueling duty, and typically crews would be afforded a day's rest afterwards, spending no more than one day in three on alert. Since last week's stunt, they'd been on alert every other day, and not relieved of duties in between. It was, simply put, hell on earth, and there was no telling when this would let up.
Once the sun rose over the hills, things were alright. The alert shelter was attached to the hangar, and the two could busy themselves checking up on maintenance or other duties. Choking down chalky instant tea and coffee to keep the exhaustion at bay, Adora supposed she could seem like a normal functioning adult.
By now the crawling sensation on her skin from the nicotine withdrawal had abated. There had well and truly been almost no time to smoke. Can't smoke in the hangar, far too many things don't react well to open flames. Can't smoke in the cockpit. Can't smoke in the classroom. Running too fast in between duties to stop by the commissary for another pack. Just a single lonely cigarette bummed from Catra every night before bed.
Rolling the pen between her fingertips, Adora's eyes drifted off the maintenance log. Whimpering, she still wanted one so bad she could taste it.
Catra bumped up beside her, eyes catching the pen clutched between her index and middle finger. "Hell of a way to quit smoking, huh?"
Adora nodded.
"We'll get through this," Catra whispered. "We got through the first leg, hot chow's coming soon."
Within ten minutes a truck came by to dispense lunch: hot rassolnik soup poured from a large vacuum flask, and a hearty serving of bread and jam. They ate huddled around a small table with the maintenance crew, swapping stories of girls or boys back home, and future plans.
"What about you, lieutenant?" asked Klim, the hapless blond mechanic that Adora kept stumbling into since being assigned here. "Is there anyone waiting back home for you?"
Adora's glanced furtively at Catra. "No. My home is here now anyway."
Catra raised an eyebrow. "I don't know about that. There were quite a few young men who were devastated when she shipped off to Suvorov school."
"Well they can wait all they want," Adora huffed, "I'm not interested."
"See, there's no competing with the love of the rodina with her," Catra laughed, "poor boys never stood a chance."
"Well you're right about one thing," Adora said, slurping on her tea. "Boys never did stand a chance."
Adora could see the light bulb go on above Klim's head. Vasili, an older kontractniki already starting to gray at the temples, did not pick up on the cue. "The lieutenant knows what separates boys from men, good for her," he laughed.
Catra smirked, "Oh and what would that be?"
"I ask my wife that all the time, and she tells me I'm on a need to know basis and don't need to know."
Catra's cavalier attitude disappeared around sundown. As she settled in on the bench next to the radiator to ward off the cool autumn air, she found her eyes getting heavy. So very heavy.
Adora stooped down to look her in the eye. Frowning, the blonde slapped her across the face, "Stay with me."
Catra blinked, brushing her fingers over the red palm print on her cheek. She wriggled uneasily. The slap had been exciting in all the wrong ways under the present circumstances. "You know, if anyone else had done that to me, I'd have beat the shit out of them."
"If they catch you falling asleep, they'll put you in the brig."
"I know that already. Look, you can't just slap a girl out of the blue like that. It…"
"It what?"
"Nevermind. Look, if I need help staying awake, I'll tell you, okay?"
"Okay."
Catra felt better after another cup of tea and a light supper of crackers and pâte. Adora grumbled about the food, and it reminded Catra again of lazy autumn nights back home. Well, not home anymore. She prayed that Adora was thinking of her when she said that her home was here now.
The hours crawled on, and there were only so many games of chess or durak that could fill the time before they too became boring. It was nearing midnight, and Adora had sunken onto the hard wooden bench, glancing up at the clock.
"He's trying to kill me," Adora said.
Catra sat next to her. "We're almost free, another half an hour."
Adora's head fell onto Catra's shoulders. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Catra hugged the poor girl close, cheeks warming as she felt the heat of Adora's body through the flight suit.
The alarm klaxxon sounded and Catra nearly jumped out of her skin. She beat Adora to her feat though, and rushed to shut mute the infernal alarm. The phone rang as she muted the klaxxon. Adora picked up the phone. "Alert crew reporting!" Catra studied her reaction, watching as her bronze eyebrows narrowed."Yes, yes, understood."
Catra groaned, "This better not be a drill."
"It's the real thing. Unknown contact spotted moving south from Vorkuta. He said it managed to slip past an Su-27 regiment. It's headed west, they'll have more details once we're in the air."
No sense in worrying about it, there was a job to do. Nothing felt as instantly sobering as the thought that this could be the big one. Something had penetrated Soviet air space and failed to respond to any of their efforts. Catra scooped up her helmet and rushed to the door.
The ground crew already had the start-cart out by the time they reached the hangar. Pre-flight checks were a blur, so much so that Catra went through them a second time with her spare minute just to make sure.
And if she was in a hurry, Adora was practically chomping at the bit. So much so that when they were on the boarding ladder, the blonde grabbed Catra by the rump and bodily shoved her up the ladder faster.
The turbines spooled up, emitting a throaty roar upon ignition. Standing on the brakes, Adora waited for the hangar crew to clear. The chief clattered up the ladder for the final check. Once Adora gave him the thumb's up, he gave a plain white pill envelope to each of them along with a water cantin. "Take it. Colonel's orders," he yelled over the engine.
The ladder pulled clear, and the chief waved the go-ahead to taxi. The MiG-31 was an awkward, fat bird on the ground, like a waddling penguin crawling its way to the runway. The wings felt like an afterthought tacked onto a pair of engines.
Catra could see the rest of the regiment mobilizing as they taxied to the runway. "This must be serious," she thought aloud.
"They're scrambling all four alert fighters here. They lost radar track of the contact about three minutes ago. Loadout check?"
"Two R-37s--they had to pull the other two for maintenance."
"Figures. If this is a Blackbird we could have used the range. Why didn't they throw on the older R-33s instead?"
"Depot's out. Besides, if two isn't enough we've got way bigger problems. I don't know how useful they'll be , but we've got four R-27s on the wing pylons, the usual mix."
The turbines spooled up. "All systems are go then," Adora said. "This is the real thing, Catra. Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
As soon as the tower cleared them for take off, the afterburners roared to life and off they went into the inky black sky.
The interception was being coordinated between several fighter-interceptor regiments across Soviet air space. Their alert crews would fan out in wide nets to corner this invader, sharing information across datalinks. By the time they reached their in-flight refueling, a clearer picture had percolated down from control.
The unidentified object had approached from over the North Pole, and the warning radars had clocked a ground speed of nearly 3500 kph. Several S-300 missile batteries had attempted and failed to intercept the contact.
Dawn was breaking over central Russia. Adora had finished climbing to fifteen thousand meters when she pipped the intercom, "It's probably a bit late to worry about it since I've already taken them, but what's in those tablets they gave us on the tarmac."
Catra giggled, "Methamphetamine. They keep them under armed guard. How are you feeling?"
"Right now? Great. Like I could run a marathon. The crash is going to be terrible, isn't it?"
"Affirmative."
Adora set the autopilot and relaxed. Up this high, even the new mechanical counterpressure suits were a chore to wear. A necessary evil, at this altitude the cabine couldn't keep a survivable atmosphere. Adora used the reprieve to stretch and drink from the tube in her helmet. "I'm still wondering what the hell we're chasing after," she said. "The Americans never let their SR-71s cross into our airspace, and they could have never survived flying right over that many S-300 sites even if they did."
"There's rumors about a new secret plane, they call it 'Aurora' in the West. Officially doesn't exist, but who knows."
"Hell of a long range if it is."
"I've got a radar profile sent down the data link. Should help with tracking it." Catra glanced over to the satellite map. The four pips of their flight were spread in a line-abreast, 150km apart, like a net heading east. Other flights were converging from Central Asia and Siberia.
Adora shifted so Catra's face was in the rear-view mirror. "You think this is going to be it? World War 3?"
"I don't know. It's not our fault if it is. Our little playfight over the Baltic Sea was hardly the worst thing to happen for East/West relations this month. But I'm afraid it's only a matter of time."
"If you had to bet, where does it start?"
"Either on the Soča or in West Berlin. Ever since Yugoslavia joined, things have been on a knife's edge in Italy. But the situation in West Germany isn't great."
"They're always talking about the Formosa Strait in the officer's mess."
"That's a red her--hold up, new radar contact. Eighty five degrees azimuth, range two-hundred sixty kilometers."
"I see it. Coming right to eight-five degrees. Is it our quarry?"
Catra wrinkled her nose. "Still analyzing. Strange, I've got him under Mach 1 at three thousand meters."
"Whatever it is, it's not supposed to be there. They grounded all commercial traffic."
"Descending to eight thousand," Adora called out. The nose pointed down, bringing the snow-frosted expanse of pine taiga into view. "Control, we have a possible track on the target, please advise."
"Radar signature match, probability sixty percent," Catra added.
After what seemed like an eternity, the radio crackled back to life. Adora almost jumped when she heard Hordak's voice respond. "Zvezda-lead, this is Control-actual. We have your data-feed five-by-five. Do not fire before visual verification of the target."
"Roger." Adora flicked the transceiver off. "How's that radar lock coming?"
"I'm having a hell of a time with it actually. I'm fairly certain he knows I'm trying to lock him and is deploying ECM. But his flight path hasn't changed. He doesn't think we're a threat."
"The RWR isn't registering. Odd, he's still hot...nose-on."
"I know what 'hot' means, Adora."
"Oh do you?"
"Just fly the damn plane, jock."
The burning orange dawn was a terrible distraction, but Adora could still make out the tiny black speck highlighted by on her helmet HUD. Closure rate was still just over two-thousand kph. Almost forty kilometers every minute.
"I've got a track on the IRST," Catra said, "At this range...he's a big son-of-a-bitch."
It was agony waiting to close. Adora levelled the MiG out still eighty kilometers away. "I'm going to bring him down the left side then circle back on his six."
"Still no change in velocity or altitude. You'll pass five thousand meters over him."
"We'll lose some altitude to keep our speed up. There's a low cloud layer coming in between us. I'll bring us below the clouds to get visual verification."
Adora's whole body was tense. She'd never felt this alive before. It was like sweat was pouring from every pore, every hair standing on edge. She watched as the radar contact disappeared under them. "Alright, brace!"
Seven gees proved surprisingly bearable for Catra while she was in the zone. Sure, she felt muscles clench that she didn't even know she had as she hummed to keep the blood flowing. But the entire time, her thoughts remained laser-focused on getting a lock again.
The MiG dropped through the clouds like a stainless steel hawk, afterburners flowing blue, just three kilometers behind the target.
"Yo-moyo, would you look at the size of that thing!" Catra cried. The angular body of the target filled the IR camera screen. It looked like an assemblage of deltas, with no apparent lifting surface. More like a futuristic space shuttle than a plane, covered in a glowing-hot fractal pattern.
Adora froze for a moment. Flashes of memory came unbidden, the uncomfortable déjà vu of impossible familiarity. A sword of gleaming crystal, shining with golden light. Great spires littered with azure constellations, from an empire as vast as the starry sky. And just as soon as the feeling came it was gone. Adora shook her head, clearing the frisson of familiarity. "It's not ours, let's take it out."
"Roger that." Catra flicked the radio transceiver, "Control-actual, we have visual contact. Unknown classification, we are engaging the target."
Adora dipped the nose, pulling the target into the HUD. "Radar lock is good." She armed two R-27s, one infrared guided, the other radar guided. The seeker head on the IR guided missile growled to life, intensifying to a shrill tone as it locked. "I've got tone. Fox-2. And Fox-1."
The missiles shot off the rail cleanly, first the infrared so it wouldn't errantly lock onto its brother, then the radar guided missile. The white contrails arced towards the target and suddenly a twinge of horror hit Adora. It was a low-aspect, close range shot. It's not supposed to be this easy. They're not escaping. She'd just killed someone.
The IR missile hit just above what looked like an engine nozzle on the rear. The radar guided missile hit center mass on its dorsal side. "Hits confirmed," Catra said.
When the black-smoke cleared, the target appeared entirely unharmed. "Those weren't duds, what just happened?" Adora cried.
Violet fire erupted from the target's engine nozzles. The twin exhaust cones were twice as long as the MiG, burning with such intensity that the IRST shutdown, as though she just pointed the camera at the Sun.
"Confirmed hits," Adora radioed. "No apparent damage. Target is trying to escape."
Hordak's gravelly voice replied, "Continue engagement. Follow the target for as long as possible."
Adora had already pointed the nose into a shallow climb and relit the afterburners. She looked up at the darkening sky above her. "I know where it's going. I'm going to try to engage again."
"Do it quick, it's trying to jam me."
The second salvo of missiles proved to be even less effective. The target dumped burning purple motes after Adora launched. The IR missile hit one of the flares for no effect, and the radar missile chased a phantom radar ping and missed entirely.
"They're definitely jamming us," Adora growled. "We've still got quite a bit of altitude on him, but that big bastard is accelerating way too quick for my liking."
The cockpit pressure dropped as they climbed, and now each movement became a chore fighting against the pressure suit. The target continued to climb, higher and faster. And the MiG-31 chased like a desperate hound. It was a matter of who ran out of legs first.
As Adora focused in on chasing the UFO, Catra was fighting with the radar, trying to pierce through the fog so their last missiles would have a chance. She wasn't just fighting some piece of hardware throwing off radio emissions, Catra sensed someone on the other end reacting to her efforts and fighting back.
The MiG-31 shot through the sun-split clouds, riding jets of delirious burning blue. Faster than the rising sun, she flew on silvered wings, chasing the invader. Faster and higher, approaching the 'coffin corner' where the stall speed approached the jet's maximum speed. The fastest combat jet in the world, and it could only just keep pace with this giant gray wedge.
"Passing twenty-thousand meters," Adora announced. "Mach 2.83. We're at our limit."
"I need more time." Catra glanced at the button she was told to never, ever push except in war time. "Adora, it's about to get warm in here." Then she pushed the button.
The limiters on the engines disengaged and with a sudden kick the afterburners cranked up to war-emergency mode.
The target was now level with them, and had pulled a ten kilometer lead. The MiG clawed back its position as the Mach meter passed into the redline.
The alarms began sounding. "Temperature master alarm, engine one. Now engine two. Radar heat warning." Adora sounded off.
"Thirty seconds. Just stay on him."
"Mach 3.1...Twenty-five thousand meters. If this keeps up we're going to fall out of the sky." Even with the cockpit almost evacuated of all air, it was getting too hot. Sweat pooled on Adora's eyebrows, threatening to cascade into her eyes. The Mach meter hit 3.35. The target was pulling its lead further, now gaining altitude on them. The fuel temperature alarm sounded. "Catra, now or never!"
Let it never be said Catra didn't have a flair for the dramatic. "Got him. Fox-3! And Fox-3!"
Both R-37s left the belly recesses and shot in-front of the MiG. The first one went stupid and shot past the target. But the second kept lock. The proximity fuze triggered above it's starboard winglet. Glittering bits of crystal trailed off the winglet, but the ship continued on with a slight limp.
"Well shit, it's time to cut bait," Adora said. As she dipped the nose, the much struggling left engine banged, like someone had hit the fuselage with a giant hammer. And the burning blue engine cone snuffed out.
The plane started to yaw violently to the left from asymmetric thrust. Adora stomped hard on the rudder and throttled back both engines. Even strapped in tight, they were thrown back and forth as the stalling plane gyrated and rolled. Adora forgot about everything except keeping the nose pointed into the airstream as the plane fell like a stone.
Catra hit the transceiver. "Mayday, mayday! This is Zvezda-lead. Departure from controlled flight."
The corkscrew began to slow. Within a few seconds they were prograde again.
"Correction, we've regained controlled flight. I think. Adora?"
"Control surfaces are working." The plane wiggled its ailerons, elevator and rudder in succession. "Both engines out. Attempting restart once we're below Mach 1."
Now out of immediate danger, Catra slumped against the seat. "We lost him."
Adora didn't have time to worry about that. The plane wasn't so much flying as it was falling like a lawn dart. As they reached thicker air, there was enough lift to level their descent. "Okay, Catra, engine restart checklist."
"Throttle off. Set airstart switch to primary." Catra rattled off by memory.
"Check." The left engine started to spool in the airstream. "RPMs are at green."
"Set throttle to idle, then ignition."
Adora nudged the left engine control to idle. When she hit the ignition switch, the whine of the turbine began to stutter. "Come on, come on."
Catra clenched the console with a white-knuckle grip. She glanced at the ejection handles, and then to the snow-flocked green countryside.
The stuttering cleared and the engine whined louder. "Okay, reignition. Feeding power back in."
Catra breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, set the airstart to off, engage air crossbleed."
"Roger." The second engine relight was much less nerve-racking. Back in level flight, Adora had a moment to think about what had just happened. "Okay, what the hell was that?"
"I don't know."
Author's Notes: You know how I said this was me trying to do an interesting spin on the Mundane AU trope? I may have been fibbing.
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