This sucks. Everyone except me was called to go out on an intercept mission and I'm left here on the tarmac looking after the old F-4 they tossed to me. I run through all the preliminary checks and make sure all of the control surfaces and avionics work for the next mission. "Could've at least given me a jamming pod and put me on electronic warfare," I muttered to myself, but I knew it wasn't necessary for something like this. I really need to stop complaining. This isn't like me.
Several weeks earlier ...
I looked up at the clock. About forty-five minutes left, I thought to myself.
It's the first week after enlisting and everyone that met the basic requirements to be in the air-force is being put through some basic aptitude test they feed to the wannabe jar-heads further down the ladder. I take a quick glance at the thirty-some people stuck in the room. Out of everyone I see, the one that grabs my attention the most is the guy sitting two rows away, around my five or six o'clock. Out of everyone in the room, he's pretty much the oldest person here, and he stuck out like a sore thumb from the crowd. Appears to be some Russian male, probably in his thirties or something. Definitely not usual, but the key thing that really made him stick out was his expression. He had this really stoic look on his face, and I couldn't help but wonder what his story was all about.
I take a look at the clock again. Thirty minutes. Dammit, I have to get going on this.
I was sitting in my roosterpit when out of nowhere I see a blaze of fire hurtling down the runway. I jump out of the roosterpit and rush outside to see if anyone needs help.
Some time later, I come into the infirmary to pay Mattra a visit.
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