Mission 1 - Into the Blue
GasMaskie
"Wait and Hope"
Blue.
The color of the skies overhead, completely enveloping your field of vision. You can't remember just how many times you've simply lost track of things, looking up towards that endless canvas. And, for as long as you've remembered, you've always had a certain feeling in your chest. That you belonged up there, dashing through the air and gliding past clouds.
Flight.
One of mankind's earliest dreams and envies. Man never stopped reaching out towards the sky. And so, planes were developed. First as a means to grasp that previously unattainable ideal - the ability to traverse the sky. And then refined, as a tool of war. Aerial supremacy. Bombing from overhead. Invaders falling from the sky in droves. Ground-based combat never became obsolete, of course. But aerial combat quickly became an integral part of any sort of conflict moving forward. Legendary aces were born from the ashes of war. And with their skills, they pushed their planes to the limit.
How much could they load onto a warplane?
How much armor plating could you bolt on before it couldn't fly?
How can a pilot's skills be better expressed?
The end result: the Aerial Cavalry. In one moment, a plane. In the other, a metallic giant. Shifting between Silhouette and Stance Mode, these new warplanes pushed the limits of aerial combat further. From glorious close-range duels to the ability to weave through urban settings at high speeds with tight-turns, ACs made the ace pilots of yesteryear nuggets compared to the new stock being bred by these shapeshifting mecha.
In the middle of your thoughts, you feel a sharp kick to the back of your seat that properly jostles you back to reality. Tearing your gaze away from the sky, you notice the thick glass canopy and the metal framework running through it. You instinctively bring a hand to your face, only to meet the visor of your helmet and the thick oxygen mask. Blinking, you take a firmer grip of the two control sticks. You're not in any sort of combat at the moment, but flight logs will be reviewed. In response, you let out a barely audible grunt of discontent.
"Hey, I know this is a routine patrol, but pay attention. You're making us look like a bunch of nuggets." A feminine voice comes through on your headset. You don't bother glancing back. The woman's sitting right behind you - Lise Hartmann. As someone who was hired at the same time as you, she's just as new and untested to the company as you are. And, due to the only AC currently available being a two-seater, she's your WSO for this operation.
It takes a moment for you to recall the briefing - but as new hires for Orthrus Security Solutions, the two of you were assigned to their Hound Squadron. Far from the front lines of the ongoing Eastern-Western War, you're currently patrolling the airspace over a base in the Leciellan countryside. As the other three pilots in the flight bank left and your AC follows suit, you're afforded a view at the tilled fields of green below.
Hound 1 "Hunter"
<< Nice and easy. We've got about an hour left of flight time before we're due back. The top brass already know what you're capable of Hound 3, so this patrol's just here to get you acclimated to flight. Been a while for both of you, hasn't it? >> A male's voice comes through clear on your headset. Stern, and yet jovial - your current superior.
Hound 2 "Watchman"
<< Prinz's performance, I can vouch for - she's a graduate from the Royal Altian Officer Academy after all. Been a while since I've been back home, but they breed more than just over-decorated COs there. 'Least, that's how it was when I earned my wings there. >> The next voice you hear is an older male's voice. You briefly recall hearing something before - "Always fear the old soldier in the young man's war".
Hound 4 WSO | "Prinz"
<< Full marks, from there, yes. And as I assured the interviewer, I'm far more than just my bloodline. That being said, I would have preferred a support role on the ground - but he needs an WSO for this flight, and none of the other new hires can keep up. >>
Hound 3 "Stingray"
<< As silent as a field mouse over there. Heard that he really tore up the AC he was in during those wargames with the Western Coalition's wings. I'm sure that the ground crew really gave you an earful after that, didn't they? >> A woman's voice chimes in. Only a few years older than you or Lise, as you can recall.
The operation in question comes to mind. With most of their forces abroad, OSS was briefly contracted by the Western Coalition to serve as the aggressor squadron for one of their air combat practices. To cut a long story short, you came back with the AC's internals twisted up and mangled by your piloting and your co-pilot out cold. It earned you a strange reputation - with more than a few seasoned pilots often asking you if you've even got blood in your veins.
You continue to fly in a tight formation with the rest of Hound Squadron as your mind briefly drifts to the near past and the life that you left behind. Once upon a time, before becoming a soldier of fortune in the skies above, you were:
- An impoverished patrician. Once part of an esteemed noble family, recent turns in fortunes and the seizures of assets as the Eastern-Western War came into full swing resulted in the loss of both estate and status. Though many in your long lineage have served in militaries, you're only the second pilot after your grandather; who taught you from a young age the basics of aviation. Said grandfather was also a notorious ace in his heyday, and the OSS saw the shadow of his wings in you.
- An academy washout. More specifically - you were from a middle class family in the United Federation of Esora. While you graduated from the Esoran Military Academy, you were ultimately passed over for a position as an officer without proper connections or significantly high marks in other areas. Naturally, you're still a little bitter about the whole affair, but mercenary piloting is the next best thing. Despite the chip on your soldier, you were still one of the more notable cadets PMCs had their eyes on.
- A veteran. Hailing from a smaller country, you actually piloted an AC at a younger age than most. While everyone had their eyes on the growing hostilities between the Western Coalition and the Alliance of the East, you were trained as a child to fire a rifle on your local despot's orders. Of course, foreign intervention eventually arrives and atrocities are swept under the rug - you were one of the lucky ones who survived into young adulthood. War's all you know, and the OSS were nonetheless impressed by your skills.
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