Chapter Text
The squadron had been flying for days, but at long last, they cross the open deserts of the Mojave to soar across the skies of Las Vegas. Operation “Red Flag,” the annual war game hosted by the United States, had invited Japan to participate in this year's exercise. This year, the pilots of Gifu Air Base are among those who have come to join the campaign.
Hisone had never seen so many planes in her life. She gazes with eyes full of wonder at what seems like hundreds of aircraft circling the city below, each one waiting for their turn to land at Nellis Air Force Base. Thanks only to the specialized suit and helmet that Hisone wears is she able to see through the warm belly of the dragon she flies within. Masotan, who takes the form of an F-15J, sounds equally fascinated as he lets out rumbles and squeals of delight upon seeing so many other aircraft, and cannot help but disengage some of the metal shroud that disguises him as a fighter jet. Masotan bends his head freely as he partially transforms back into his natural state.
Listening to Masotan, Hisone shares his excitement. “Shitte iru! Sorera o subete mite, Masotan! Watashi wa sorehodo ōku no hikōki o mita koto ga nai!” she rattles off. “Karera wa mina, totemo ōku no kuniguni kara kite imasu!”
Overhearing her gleeful words, another member of her squadron speaks up. “Penguin to Hisone, your OTF is peeking its head out.” It's the stern, professional voice of Elle Hoshino. Her own dragon closes in alongside of Masotan, taking the form of a Mitsubishi F-2.
“Elle!” Hisone acknowledges her, but an iota of confusion quickly follows her tone. “Wait, why are we speaking English?”
“Might as well practice,” she says. “We're flying with Americans, after all. Remember what Commander Sosoda said. Also, you should seriously change Masotan back to Foxtrot.”
Hisone tells Masotan, “You can't be Hotel-mode right now. Sorry, Masotan.” The dragon rumbles in disappointment, but changes back fully into its F-15J disguise—otherwise known as its Foxtrot mode. Nonetheless, its eyes still peek out from a pair of shuttered openings at the sides of the aircraft's nose.
The gentle, soft-spoken voice of the motherly Mayumi Hitomi comes onto the radio next. She muses, “I've heard that Americans eat so much food~! I wonder if they have any treats Futomomo would like.” She gives the plush insides of her chubby dragon an affectionate rub. Her OTF takes the appearance of a Kawasaki C-1 transport plane, which flies just behind the two fighters, dwarfing them by comparison.
Lilikos Kinutsugai meanwhile grumbles over an open mic. The other pilots can hear her pout, “With this many planes in the sky, a mid-air collision is inevitable.” She sits curled up in a ball within the belly of her own beast. She warns, “Akemi, be ready to take evasive action.” Akemi chirps up in reply to her; the dragon uses the disguise of a Northrop Grumman E-2 Hawkeye.
Soaring up from behind, a pair of F-15J approach with afterburners, and soar past the squad of D-pilots before they deploy air brakes to slow down. Speaking boastfully over the radio, Captain 'Zetton' Zaito teases over the coms. “Elle-chan! How 'bout you and I go for a few drinks on the strip later, aah~?”
Elle blushes firmly under her helmet. She doesn't dignify him with a response.
Zaito continues, “Hey Longtail! Bet we'll find you a cute girl in Vegas, too!”
Captain 'Longtail' Onaga, who is flying opposite of Zaito, responds with a chuckle. “If we get some time on leave, sure. Hisone, what about you?”
Hisone perks up. “Eh?”
“Ever been to America before? Got any family out here?” Onaga asks.
Hisone considers his words for a moment. “Not that I'm aware of...”
“Pilots! Cut the chatter!” demands their commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel 'Serpent' Maezawa. “We've come half-way around the world for this! I will not have you D-pai embarrassing the Japan Air Self-Defense Force! You hear me?! I don't want any nonsense! No surprises! No incidents! Got that!?”
Hisone recoils at the scolding. She complains, “Y-You know it's hardly helpful that you're yelling at us all the time, because accidents happen when people are stressed and if it's accidents that we want to avoid then we shouldn't be stressing out and you're not—”
“What did I just say!?” Maezawa shouts over Hisone's rambling.
“Eeeeyyyhhh!!!” Hisone whines.
The stern, though much calmer voice of Lieutenant Colonel Kakiyasu now speaks through everyone's headsets. She tells them, “All aircraft, maintain holding pattern until instructed otherwise. Nellis Air Force Base, how copy?”
“Thank you Colonel Kakiyasu,” says a new voice, one that the Japanese pilots do not yet recognize. “This is the Nellis Air Base control tower. “Be cautious of other aircraft while you wait; we're having some problems on the ground.”
Hisone asks openly, “What kind of problems?”
“A French aircraft suffered a bird strike on landing, and lost engine power. It's stuck on the runway, but we'll have it cleared momentarily. Standby for landing clearance.”
Elle brings herself ahead of Hisone. “This way,” she instructs. They're approaching a ring of other aircraft currently going around in circles over Las Vegas. The Japanese squadron, comprising of some twenty planes, joins the formation. Other jets curiously drift in towards them to get a better look at their aircraft. Flying off Masotan's right side, a Polish MiG-29 lingers close by. The pilot rocks his plane as if to wave his wings at them.
Meanwhile, coming in from the left, a swing-wing aircraft called a Tornado rolls inverted overhead of the Japanese group. They can see the two pilots in the cockpit looking down at them. The one in the back seat gives a thumbs up. The plane's wingtips bare the mark of the German Luftwaffe. A cheery voice calls on the radio, “Halloooo! Where were you last year, Japan? We missed you!” The accent of the pilot is indistinguishable. It must be the German pilot.
Zaito radios to them, “Thumper! Is that you? You still flying with Maus?”
The pilot, apparently going by the call sign Thumper, replies to Zaito like an old friend. “Hahaa! Zetton! Longtail! Is that Forest with you? I haven't seen her in years!”
Masotan perks up at the familiar name. He begins to rumble excitedly, his head disengaging again from Foxtrot mode, allowing his neck to crane up at the Tornado flying above them.
Hisone's heart jumps into her throat. “Masotan!!” she scolds. “No no no! You can't be Hotel now!”
“Who's that?” Thumper asks, apparently having not alarmed by the F-15J that just turned half-way into a dragon. Either that, or he didn't see it.
Hisone manages to change Masotan back seconds later. Maybe nobody noticed. “O-Oh! I'm Hisone! Uh, TAC name Hisone as well!”
“Hisone?” asks Thumper. “Is that something in Japanese? Or an English word I don't know?” He rolls his plane back upright to fly alongside of them, though he keeps a safe distance to avoid any collisions. “Guess you'll be flying with us instead. Welcome! I'm Thumper! Maus, say hallo!”
Maus speaks up finally, though his voice is rather quiet. He almost sounds too young to be a pilot. “This is Maus... Nice to meet you...”
Hisone blurts out, “Is that a teenager, or a girl?”
Maus goes totally silent, while Thumper busts up laughing. He assures his co-pilot, “Ist doch okay, Maus, ich denke nicht sie wollte dich beleidigen. Du weiszt doch, dass die Radios dich yünger klingen lassen.”
“Ich klinge immer yünger,” laments Maus with a sigh.
Thumper switches back to English again, telling the Japanese pilots, “Find me on the ground if you want to hang out between missions! Schönen Tag noch!” His aircraft rolls to the side, and pulls away.
Just then, a new group of planes join the formation. The squadron consists of eight F-22 Raptors, eight F-35 Lightnings, an AWACS plane, two C-5 Galaxy cargo planes, and a KC-10 tanker bringing up the rear. The F-22s however are not painted in the standard slate-gray livery of normal American Raptors. Instead, they are patterned with different hues of grayish blue camouflage, and their tails bare the crimson star of the long defunct Soviet Air Force. The flight leader's aircraft has a toothy scowl and a pair of evil looking eyes painted upon the nose, not unlike that of a shark, or a reptilian beast from some prehistoric age.
Masotan, upon seeing the other squadron, lets out a noise that Hisone had never heard before. A deep, feral, furious snarl vibrates throughout his body. The muscles around Hisone tense with a flare of anger that the dragon had never shown before. Hisone looks up, concerned about her companion. “Masotan?” she asks. “Is everything alright?” Upon her words, one of the digital displays inside of her helmet projects a lock toward the jawed F-22. Hisone's attention is drawn in toward the target, yet she doesn't understand why Masotan is getting so upset. “Is something wrong with that plane?” she asks out loud. She transmits the data to the other D-pilots, hoping for answers. “Who is that?”
Elle recognizes the plane immediately. “That's Akula; flight leader of the 65th Aggressor Squadron.”
“Aggressor?” Hisone asks.
Hitomi shudders, “Why is his plane painted like that? It looks so mean...”
Lilikos clarifies, “An aggressor squadron is a squadron that is trained to act as an opposing force in military war games. Aggressor squadrons use enemy tactics, techniques, and procedures to give a realistic simulation of air combat—even wearing an enemy paint scheme. In other words, they are going to play the role of villains and to try to kill us.”
“Eeeeehh?!” Hitomi exclaims, horrified.
Elle clarifies, “It's only simulated combat. They aren't actually going to kill us.”
Lilikos protests, “Operation Red Flag is a highly dangerous operation. Just because it's a war game doesn't mean there won't be very real accidents.”
Hisone's heart sinks into her stomach. “W-Wait! This shouldn't be any different than the mock-dogfights back home!”
“Yes. Like the one where you nearly had a mid-air collision on your first sortie.”
“I'm better trained now!” Hisone rebukes.
“But this operation takes place with hundreds of planes from dozens of countries,” Lilikos continues. “The chance of a disaster is as high here as in actual combat.”
Hoping to calm the D-pilot's nerves, Captain Onaga chimes in for the group. “You girls worry too much,” he says. “I've been to Red Flag three times now. Accidents are rare—and only ever happen because somebody wasn't paying attention to the briefing. Red Flag is highly choreographed to minimize any chance of injury. You'll all be fine if you just pay attention.”
Hisone explains, “You hear that, Masotan? He's only a pretend bad guy!”
Yet her words do little to calm the dragon's nerves. Masotan continues to growl, but at least it becomes more subdued. He continues to glare silently at the other plane for some time before at long last losing interest.
The control tower then announces, “Delta-Squadron, this is Nellis. How copy?”
The group's commanding officer Kakiyasu responds. “This is Delta-Squad. Go ahead.”
“Your flight is cleared to land on runway Zero-Three-Left, starting with Hisone.”
Hisone perks as she hears her name. “O-Oh! Masotan! That's us!” She tries pushing at his belly's walls, commanding him to begin their final approach.
Masotan obeys, though with a slight jerk to his movement. It seems that he's still watching Akula from the corner of his eye. Regardless, Masotan breaks formation from the other planes, and follows Hisone's instructions to bring them down. Together, they descend toward Las Vegas, and line themselves up on the runway as told. It isn't long before their wheels touch down on the scorching hot tarmac.
Elle is the next to land. She instructs, “Norma, once we're on the ground, follow Masotan.”
Lilikos waits until Elle is down as well. By now, Masotan is at the end of the runway. She then commands for Akemi to do the same. “I'm going to get a sunburn from this weather...” she complains to herself.
Hitomi brings her own dragon down next. “I hope they have a pool big enough for Futomomo. It's awfully warm out, even flying around like this. Hisone, how is Masotan doing?”
Hisone says, “He's okay but he's already getting hotter.” She looks around at the other planes waiting for a place to taxi. Worried that they might leave Masotan out in the hot sun, she calls, “Hey tower! Where are we going to park?”
The tower responds, “Delta-Squadron proceed to the large hangar on the northeast side of the base. Your planes will be staying there.”
Hisone tells Masotan, “You heard him. You know which way to go?”
Masotan ruwls softly to confirm.
Hisone smiles. “Alright. Let's get you out of this hot sun.” They turn right off the end of the runway, while Norma is rolling up behind them with Elle. Hisone and Masotan lead the way for the other D-pilots, off to the hangar specified.
There aren't enough hangars for all the planes on the base today as it is, so the fact that they are even getting one feels like a stroke of luck—however, this hangar is isolated from the others, and stands alone on this part of the airfield. The front doors are slightly rusted and haven't been painted in years. Masotan is the first to approach them as they open. Flakes of metal fall off of it as the metal wheels rumble across the concrete. Inside, there's a deep cooling pool at the far wall, big enough for all four dragons to relax in. However, the structure its self seems too old to have been built just for the Red Flag exercise.
Standing by the pool, a small maintenance crew waits idly by. Each of them have American flags patched onto their shoulders. The oldest among them is a bald man, possibly in his 50's. He smiles upon seeing the new arrivals. Hisone tenses up. Do these Americans know about Masotan? Are they going to freak out when the dragons transform? Yet they seem to have all the same equipment as they do back in Hangar 8 of Gifu air base. Large cranes on rails, shelves stocked with aircraft parts... But then, the older man in the maintenance group digs into his pocket, and pulls out a flip phone.
Masotan immediately chirps up in delight. He breaks out of Foxtrot mode. His insides clench and squeeze over Hisone, making her yelp. “Masotan!?!” A moment later, she's rudely spat up into the nearby pool, where she splashes down into the icy cold water. The shock of it makes her shiver and flail. She quickly uprights herself to swim back up and break the surface. “Masotan! No! You're going to scare them!”
Yet the maintenance crew doesn't flinch as the dragon stampedes toward them. In fact, the older man reaches up a hand, and calmly pats Masotan on the nose, while his other hand offers up the flip phone.
Masotan rumbles happily, and plucks up the flip phone into his mouth with a surprising amount of care not to chomp at the man's fingers. Masotan crunches down on the phone and chews it to bits before swallowing.
The late middle-aged maintenance worker then speaks. “I see you've got a new pilot, Oscar.”
Hisone wriggles her way back onto the dry floor, where she overhears the name. “Oscar?” Wasn't that the name that Masotan's former pilot used?
“So, how have you been big guy?” The man scratches under Masotan's chin. “This your new partner?” He then looks again to Hisone. “What's your name, kid?”
Hisone puffs her cheeks. “I'm not a kid!” she starts by saying. “I know my stature is a little on the petite side but I am a fully capable adult member of the Japanese Air Self Defense Force! I am Technical Sergeant Hisone! And secondly, his name is not Oscar! It's Masotan! Oscar was what his old pilot called him before she quit! Masotan is his real name!”
The older man smiles, turning to face Hisone fully. “Nice to meet you then, Hisone.” He holds out his hand.
Hisone's short rant abruptly cuts off. She looks nervously at the gentleman's hand, but does not shake it. It's large, almost twice as big as her own, and his skin looks rough and leathery from decades of hard labor. His arms are broad and hairy, with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The name tag on his blue jumpsuit says MSgt Beagle. Hisone asks, “Your name is Beagle? Like the dog?”
The man chuckles, though withdraws his hand. “Master Sergeant Peter Beagle, at your service... but most people call me Pops.” He looks again toward the dragon standing before them. “So, Masotan you said?”
“Yes,” Hisone adds. “You've met him before?”
“Only once,” Pops replies. “A few years ago, Moriyama joined us for a previous operation of Red Flag. Unfortunately, they had to go home early. Oscar—excuse me, Masotan refused to fly at the time. I was later told that he's afraid of crowds.”
One of the other mechanics comments, “He seems a lot less stressed out than last time.”
“Yeah,” Pops agrees. “Maybe this time we'll get him to fly.”
Hisone perks up. “Oh! Yes! Masotan is a lot more confident! We've been flying in some airshows across Japan!” She smiles broadly.
“Just so you know,” Pops adds, “the other pilots here at Red Flag don't all know what an Organic Transforming Flyer is—so I suggest you try to keep their presence here a secret.”
Norma rolls into the hangar just behind Masotan a moment later. However, even after hocking up Elle, Norma remains in the form of an F-2. Elle meanwhile gets up to her feet, and examines Norma. She then looks to Masotan. “Is he supposed to be in Hotel form?”
Pops declares, “It's alright. My crew is used to it. We've seen Masotan before, but...” He looks to the F-2 behind Elle. “I don't think I've met this one.”
Elle pauses, then looks back to Norma. “It's okay, you can change.” But, Norma doesn't react.
Pops walks forward. “It's fine, he's probably a little nervous. All these new people...” He reaches up to pat the F-2 on its nose. “You said his name was Norma?”
Elle nods quietly.
“Norma, c'mon out. We won't be scared. I got snacks for you guys.”
Akemi was rolling into the hangar next, but hearing the word 'snacks', the engines on Futomomo's wings flare up violently, and rocket him forward. His wingtips are too wide, and the metal shell snaps against the doors as he crashes through them—nearly flattening Akemi in the process. Futomomo rapidly transforms into his dragon self, and practically pounces upon Pops. Norma barely has time to evade either, and is forced to change appearance as well just to get out of the way.
Hitomi exclaims over an intercom, “Aah!! I'm sorry! Futomomo, down boy!”
“Woah, now this one's a big guy!” Pops laughs, taking it all in good spirits. “I'm gonna have to find more scrap electronics for you guys to munch on.”
Akemi, now off to the side of the hangar, also changes into his own dragon form and struts on over to examine Pops more closely. He chirps and chitters with curious fascination.
“And what's your name?” Pops asks. “I like the hat,” he comments, pointing up at the radar dish upon Akemi's head.
Hitomi crawls out over the broad tongue of her OTF. Overhearing Pops's question, she tells him, “That's Akemi. His pilot is Lilikos.”
Pops asks, talking to Akemi's belly, “Gonna come out and join the party?”
“Don't mind her,” Hitomi says. “Lilikos is quite shut-in. She'll come out eventually.”
“Not a problem,” Pops says. He looks again to the hangar exit, where the other Japanese aircraft are coming over to park outside. “Any other Delta Pilots?”
Elle shakes her head. “No, Master Sergeant. We're all there is.”
Pops nods. “Then feel free to make yourselves comfortable. Neil!” he shouts.
Another of the mechanics perks up at his name being called. “Yeah sarge?” The lower ranked boy appears to be no older than Haruto, and about the same height. He wears a bulky utility jacket over his jumpsuit, as well as a helmet and sunglasses.
“Have the forklifts bring in a crate of flip phones,” Pops instructs.
Hitomi's eyes widen. “W-wha?! A whole crate?!” Her cheeks redden at the thought of watching Futomomo gorge himself until his big belly becomes swollen. “M-May I help?”
“Uh, sure?” Neil tells her. “I'll drive them over, you crowbar it open and pass them around.”
Elle worries, “If their stomachs are full, we won't be able to fly.”
Pops assures them, “There won't be any flying for the rest of today, so no need to worry about that. The first mission doesn't start 'till tomorrow. Besides, I find that some good grub is the best way to get comfortable in a new place.”
Liliko, not wanting to be buried in chewed phone parts, nor digested, finally has Akemi push her back up his esophagus. She tumbles lazily out onto the floor, and just lays there, staring up at the ceiling. “If it's all the same, I would rather take my meal to the barracks. Where are they?”
Pops points toward a rear exit. “Out the back door, in the parking lot. We've brought in a few mobile homes and hooked them up to the airfield's grid. There's even a bathroom in each one. Delta Squad is to get their own barracks, along with any backup pilots that might be in the group. Each building can hold up to ten people, but it seems like you girls will have plenty of free space.”
Just then, Nao walks into the hangar with Haruto and other members of the Japanese maintenance crew. Nao asks bluntly, “Who's this old geezer?” while gesturing to Pops. “And how come these Yankees haven't all run off in terror from seeing a dragon?” She walks right up to the group of Americans.
Pops comments, “That must be your backup pilot.”
Hisone nods. “Yup! That's Nao-san! She's a little loud sometimes, and not as good of a D-pai as I am—”
“Excuse me?!” Nao shouts at Hisone's words.
“—but if we need a backup, she's good enough!”
“Good enough!?” Nao stomps over, then grabs Hisone by her collar. She yanks the other girl back.
“Well you haven't had as much practice!” Hisone adds. “I mean, if you spent more time flying instead of trying to flirt with Hiroki-san,” a claim to which Nao's face goes red, but Hisone still continues, “I bet you'd be good enough to fly in my place!”
“Butobasuzo!!” Nao yells, bringing her fist back.
“Enough!” scolds Lt. Col. Kakiyasu.
Both Hisone and Nao look to their superior officer. Nao just drops Hisone, who yelps as she hits the ground. Nao complains, “She started it.”
Kakiyasu frowns at the two of them, her glasses giving a glare in the dim light of the hangar. “We are representing our country here in this military exercise. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Is that clear?”
“You are all dismissed for the rest of the day,” Kakiyasu adds, “But don't stay out too late. Your first sortie will be tomorrow.”
Hisone smiles again now. She looks toward the others. “Well I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving!”
Elle agrees, “I could go for some food. Anything you recommend, Pops?”
Pops suggests, “You girls ever had good Mexican food before? Or, you could go for burgers. In-N-Out is my own favorite. Neil can show you all around.”
Neil, who is driving over with a forklift now, calls over to the group. “Soon as I'm done here, we'll go out for food. Sound good?”
Hitomi smiles warmly. “Is it true that the portions are bigger in America?”
Neil chuckles heartily. “Oh yeah. Plus, we're in Vegas! There's an all-you-can-eat for everything around here, and the food's always great. My personal favorite is a sushi joint called Sakana Sushi—though I think sushi might be boring if you're all from Japan already.”
Elle perks slightly. “I could go for sushi...”
Lilikos mutters, “Sushi where there isn't an ocean for kilometers? Sounds like a recipe for food poisoning.”
Hitomi shrugs. “If there's a buffet, I don't mind where we go.”
Nao declares, “In-N-Out is supposed to be real good.” She grins. “That's my choice.”
Hisone states, “I'd kind of like to try something more local... Mexican, maybe... Haruto! You're the tie breaker!”
The girls and Neil all look expectantly toward Haruto, who startles at all the attention. “Uhh...”
Neil assures them, “You'll all be here for a few weeks so we can always do the other stuff on another night. Just pick one for tonight.”
Haruto asks, “W-What are my options?”
“Sushi, American, Mexican, or...” He looks at Liliko. “What was your vote?”
“I didn't have one,” Lilikos says. “Mexican will give me heartburn, burgers are full of grease, and I don't want to die from eating bad sushi.”
Neil stares at her for a moment, not sure how to respond.
Elle lightly kicks Liliko, who winces as she remains laying on the floor. Elle scolds, “Just pick something.”
Lilikos rubs where she had been struck. She sighs. “I would rather stay behind and play video games, so I have no preference.”
Neil raises a brow. “You know, there's gamer bars in Vegas...”
Lilikos pauses, her dull gaze sparking with the faintest interest at Neil's claim. “Oh?” She sits up finally.
“Yeah. So that's our fourth option. Gamer bar.” Neil smirks.
Lilikos looks toward Haruto now. “Fine. Take your pick.” She stands up fully.
Haruto considers his options for a few moments, though he eventually decides, “I'm with Hisone on this one. Let's do Mexican food.”
Neil smiles. “Mexican buffet it is, then. I'll meet you girls in an hour.” He drives the forklift ahead now to go retrieve the crate of discarded flip phones.
Hisone skips over to Masotan. “Be a good boy, Masotan!” The dragon rumbles and coos, lowering its head to nuzzle Hisone. Hisone giggles and hugs his face lovingly. Masotan responds by giving her a big slurp, to which Hisone returns the favor, licking all over his nose.
Pops laughs. “Interesting girl, that one.” He turns to Lt. Col. Kakiyasu. “Our tech crews will be working together, so you let us worry about airplane parts and munitions.”
Kakiyasu nods firmly. “I'll leave it to you, then.” At those last words, the D-pilots disperse for now, save for Hitomi who stays to help feed the dragons.