posted on Jan, 21 2005 @ 04:46 PM
This story is well based on the fictionate story of Ace Combat 4 Shattered Skies. I was so in love with the story line, I decided to join the events
together into my own work. Largely based on AC4, I give the thinking credit to them, none to me, so do not think I cheated NAMCO for their idea, I
give all credit to them.
It turns out that the truth is unpredictable in this time and age. After the asteroids fell, and after the construction of the cannon, people sought
power for themselves. Eurusia had incredibly taken over ISAF forces. I know this because my father would talk about it all the time in the morning
while watching War Watch on T.V.
The fight for control over the continent raged on, I was too young to understand the true meaning of the war, and to fully comprehend what was going
on, so I just lived my life about normally, until one day the War had reached my town. One morning before school, I had finished my breakfast and was
already out the door riding my bike as normal routine would permit, until I heard screeches like distant thunder. I looked up to find a small air
battle taking place. I got off my bike and just stared, I couldn't move myself, the majestic movements of the metal birds fighting in the skies. As
the two aircraft flew around and around, their contrails created beautiful shapes in the sky. Eventually one of them was shot down.
The fighter that went down fell towards a cape... The same cape where my family lived. The other jet came to circle around the kill and I noticed a
unique pattern of colors. The underbelly was colored Yellow and large numbers read 13. I do not know who the pilot is, so for now, I'll call him
The day wasn't the same, my life would never be the same. I didn't go to school that day, I was too struck by the loss. My parents were no longer
with me, and I was forced to live with my only guardian, my uncle who is a taxi driver in town. The war had already reached us by this time. Business
for my uncle was going slowly, he no longer had money to pay for gas and could no longer drive other people to their destinations. Supplies were
short, the Eurusians have occupied our town.
There was this new highway being constructed. I would hear the mayor boast its completion, of how great it would make our town when it was finished.
But the enemy made it into a makeshift runway, and the tunnel was transformed into bunkers. The roads were used to move supplies in. I do not know who
has moved in specifically, just that they are the enemy and that they have taken our town. After days of nothing to do, nowhere to go, my uncle just
sat around, drinking, or going down to the local bar. He would talk about how m uch he hated the war effort, even though the bar would be crawling
with Eurusian pilots and soldiers. Eventually my uncle disappeared. No one knows what has happened to him, he just vanished into the darkness. Just
like the radio broadcasters. The army eventually shut them down. They began using the radio channels for their own uses.
Having nowhere to go, I eventually fell in with the barkeep. He felt pity and since I had no where to go, he took me in and would take care of me,
while I would help around the bar as much as I could. As time went on, more and more troops began to come in, and there was a lot more commute. I also
began to hold a crush over the barkeep's daughter, but she was 15, and I was only 8.
New recruits for the air force would come in every now and then. They would talk about how one would need 5 kills to become an ace. There was talk of
one pilot who had 63. There was one man who sat in the corner very quietly with an acoustic. He began playing a song. I recognized the song. It was
what my father would play for me some nights to help me go to sleep. I took out my harmonica and played along. I knew then who he was. He was Yellow
13. I had finally found him, but I was too young to say anything, to do anything. I would have to wait. But it must have been something about me that
struck as innocent to him. I was invited to stay with them by the makeshift airbase. I took the offer to be able to get closer.
The missions began to start. Every now and then, I would get to see the aircraft go up ready to fight, and come back full of victorious gleam. The
allies had gained a small edge in the war. News quickly caught on that a lone pilot emerges ever more powerful through each winning battle. I know
this because the pilots at the bar would only talk about the "Grim Reaper" as they nicknamed him. They explained his aircraft to be colored in blue
and have Blue Ribbons insignias on the tail fins.
The allies hit the supply lines and oil supplies. Parts and raw materials were now low, and there was smaller amounts of materials to repair aircraft
with. I know this because the chief of mechanics of the Yellow Squadron always bellyached about it.
I would rarely spend time at the base. I would prefer to be at the bar, and help out as much as I could. I spent a lot of time near Yellow 13,
learning as much as I could. I also noticed the war the barkeep's daughter was looking at him. At that point I had known that she had a crush on him.
I also noticed the glance of jealousy she shot at Yellow 13's wingman, Yellow 4. A young beautiful pilot. She never left his side, she was always
there, in the sky, or on the ground. She always stood by 13 protecting him. They would set out for battle the next day.
As I watched the yellow squadron go up the next afternoon, I noticed how well they had been trained. Every Aircraft followed in a unique pattern,
drawing sharp contrails in which each plane followed so closely.
They went, and were back in two hours. They had fought "The Grim Reaper". An explosion occurred on the runway the next day. Yellow 4's plane was
damaged by shrapnel. Someone had booby-trapped the runway, they set explosives. The squad was called to action before anything could be done. 13 urged
4 to stay behind and fix her plane, but she refused and went up.
Once again, the aircraft went up in the same fashion, this time Yellow 4's plane drew jagged contrails, she did not have the same control she did
before. They returned, but something was wrong. Yellow 4 didn't come back. Her plane was shot down by the Reaper. Standing there next to 13 after the
mission, it almost seemed eerie. A person whom I had been with for weeks now, was a totally different man. Standing there, staring at the pond by the
runway; all noise stopped, as if time itself had been hammered in place, and could not move. Then 13 began to talk. He spoke of when she had just been
a cadet, and how he had trained her since her early years. I noticed his words weren't directed at me. He was speaking softly, keeping her sweet
memory alive. He had in his hand a handkerchief with the hint of her perfume. He said that no matter what, she couldn't complain. She went up with
her plane in disrepair. At the bar, a fax had been posted on the wall. It was the report made by ISAF praising the pilot who destroyed Stonehenge. 13
slammed his hand against it, and said "Look. Here's something worthy of praise. Even among the enemy their men like this. Not all of them are
despicable bastards who rob our wings through cowardly sabotage." Everyone was staring. The bar was quiet. Moments passed and everything went back to
normal. 13 was happy now, because there was finally another pilot, who he can match his skills to. He looked forward to the next time they would
News of the allies attacking a beach head reached the town. This was the first new step taken that would lead ISAF to victory. It had soon become
evident that the allies would liberate us. And that sparked a large movement among the town's citizens. They began to broadcast pro-ally radiocasts
against the military's quarantine. They even went as far as to sabotage the aircraft. I knew who was responsible for placing the explosives that
damaged 4's plane. It was the barkeep's daughter. Before we knew it, in a few weeks time, the allies were stretching their borders. The allies were
coming to our town.
Time seemed to almost have stopped. I knew the allies were coming, but it seemed as if days turned into months. As if they weren't coming fast
enough. But really they were coming full throttle. Their forces were rapidly heading here. My town was the first town before the capital. They would
liberate us before going on. I prayed for that day to come so deeply. But it just wouldn't come fast enough.
One night, it was very dark out, I found the barkeep's daughter placing mines on the runway. I motioned towards her, but before I could say anything
I found myself running with her. Running away from the military police who had caught her, or us. We continued to run, and I was running out of
breath, but I knew I couldn't stop, the MP's were close behind. Then 13 stopped us. He got out of his car. Then I heard myself saying,
"Get out of our town you fascist pig!"
As he heard me say those words, his face began to twist, almost as if he was about to cry.
"Is that what you really think of us?"
It seemed like an eternity before he screamed "GO" and let us go. The next day, the allies arrived. The allies had mounted an assault on the
town's fortifications. The sirens sounded through the night, and as the men fought deviantly for their lives. The radio stations came back up. And
soon reports of the "Grim Reaper" came in. Victory was almost guaranteed. The night went on, and so did the sounds of jet engines and explosions.
The fight lasted only about 30 minutes. But those 30 minutes were possibly the longest of my life.
The next morning, the fight had been over. And the Eurusian occupied forces scattered. Cheering can be heard through the crowded streets. The people
had been liberated. Now it was on to the capital. Where the last fight would occur. The squadron was unsuccessful in fending off the attack. So they
moved on to the Capital, where the fight had already occurred the next afternoon.
They prepared and set off, still with 5 planes, but a new pilot. This would be the chance that 13 would have to fight the hero "Grim Reaper." An
air battle occurred like no other. No matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't land a single missile on him. And one by one, they went down.
Until eventually it was just 13 who was left. He drew images in the skies with his contrails. It was his way of making a fight beautiful the way it
should be. Because now he was happy. It only took one missile to bring him down. The bird went down, and so did the master. But no body fell, only
scrap metal. All that remained of 13 was the handkerchief with the sweet hint of perfume on it. We had dug a grave for him and 4. Me and the
barkeep's daughter. And placed the handkerchief over 13's grave to keep his memory alive. At least he died happy, knowing that he died at the hands
of a better pilot, which is what he has always truly wanted.
Everything seemed to have just gone back to normal. The aircraft and bombs were removed. Streets were cleaned up. The makeshift runway was
transformed back to the highway and completed, connecting the town with others. The memory of 13 seemed to slip every now and then, but I managed to
still keep him alive. People had just forgotten about the war, and the occupants. They just wanted to live their lives as citizens, what they wanted
I have no grown out of being a little kid, and I am now married. Enclosed is a picture of my family. And I bid you a good life from now to the rest
I write to you, pilot who shot down Yellow 13.