Chapter Text
The mission was supposed to be simple: get in and out in one sweep. The target? An illegal Russian cargo ship is set to arrive at Vancouver Island in Port Hardy. The issue? Squadrons of Russian fighter jets were guarding it in port. The commanders sent a group of 3 jets, including Pheonix and Bob, one that was brought from RCN (Royal Canadian Navy), and the other was from a base that Pheonix and Bob weren’t too familiar with.
Fortunately, it was a successful mission, and the 3 of them were set to head back to base in Vancouver. The others were ahead of Phoenix and Bob by a few seconds. It was all fine and dandy until an enemy came out of nowhere; it was technically underneath them, a blind spot, if you will. They pulled a maneuver that brought them from under to behind Phoenix and Bob.
“Uhh, Phoenix, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Next-gen, behind us”
“Where did that piece of junk come from? Actually, never mind, we don’t have time.”
Phoenix was analyzing the options that were available to them. 1) pull some crazy ass maneuver and enter into a dogfight, 2) call their teammates for backup, 3) speed up and catchup with the team while using up more fuel than needed, or 4) whatever the hell is going to happen now.
Phoenix called through the system, “Hatchback, we got a next-gen on our tail. I need you both over here while I try to break free.”
She heard a rumble over the intercom, “Copy, c’mon Venom.”
“Bob, I need you to hold on and speak to me when you can.”
“Okay, Nat, I’m with you,” He responded.
She took a deep breath to at least try and calm her nerves, even as much as she wanted it to work, it didn't. Phoenix finally pulls her controls, going left and pulling backward to line up with the enemy’s tail wing.
“Bob, can you get a hit?
“I sure as hell can try..”
And try he did. Bob tried, he hit some. A few on the back wing and a few on the front left wing. He then tries the missiles, but by then, it had turned into a dogfight. Hatchback and Venom were now tailing the enemy as well, firing rounds collectively. Multiple maneuvers were tried on both ends. Ultimately, the enemy jet was taken down, but not before the other jet got a shot at Phoenix’s and Bob’s engines.
“Shit! They got our right engine!. Venom, Hatchback, we got hit!
“Roger.”
“Nix, tell me you have an idea? All I have are red lights!” Bob shouted frantically to her.
“Shutting off right engine!”
“10-4.”
As Phoenix attempted to recover the engine, shutting it off and on while maintaining a somewhat steady level above the ground, she held her breath… Until she got it started again, and it caught fire. They contacted the base in Vancouver. It was a quick SOS signal, noting their surroundings changing as they swooped, lowering in altitude.
Natasha now had to forget about her plane entirely. It didn’t matter. They were going down. She attempted to level her head with some quick breaths before she made up her mind.
“Bob! Eject on my queue! It's the best thing we have,” she said the last bit more affirmatively, although she wasn’t sure if it was to sound level-headed for her WSO, or for herself…
“Heard, ready on your queue, Nat!”
She took one more breath before the count began, “One. Two. THREE. EJECT EJECT!”
They each pulled on their seats, bracing themselves for the cold air and launch they were sure to meet. Bob was out of the cockpit after the seat shot up. He looked frantically around for his pilot.
“Phoenix?” he waited for a response on the other side of the coms.
“Phoenix!... Natasha!” Bob yelled out one more time.
“I’M TRYING! IT’S FUCKING JAMM-” The line cut off.
Bob held his breath as he watched the plane go down; it was like slow motion. And then he realized, after a few seconds of blankness, that there was no chute after the plane went down. His eyes widened as he finally regained his pulse.
“NAT!”
Nothing.
“PHOENIX!”
Silence.
“NATASHA!” he willed one last time.
Not a single word from the other end.
Bob felt a desperate sense of longing. He saw the plane go down, but he could still make it if he started to glide over. It was about a football field away from him, but as he morally wanted to find Natasha, he logically knew the search-and-rescue choppers would be out soon, and the smoke from the downed plane would block his vision… and his parachute.
Bob felt a tear run down his face, but didn’t have the heart to swipe it away.
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“The sun is setting.”
What a fucking excuse.
All his trust in the Air Force, and yet, after all this time, they think the darkness can stop the search for a life. Pathetic.
What a fucking excuse.
Bob sat in his medical wing bed. The base was sullen, quiet, and saddened. The staff checked him over, and as per protocol, he was fine. There were a few bruises from the ejection, but overall, he was fine. He sat back and sighed, the tiredness evident in his face and in the small hum he let out as he sighed.
The staff, even Venom and Hatchback, who are known as Chris and Zach, told him to get some rest as they came by after the debrief. They tried a few words of comfort, Bob thanked them, but the expression on his face was still laced with guilt. They all could tell the air was heavy and dense with worry and grief.
Bob switched to lie on his side. It was only then that he remembered Hangman.
“Damn,” Bob muttered.
He should call Hangman. In fact, he wanted to call Hangman. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do it, he felt so emotionally heavy that he physically couldn’t move.
Bob felt guilty; he shouldn’t, but he does.
He sighed once more and closed his eyes out of desperation.