RP Post

 This is from a roleplay I did on a website called Nationstates. The rest can be found here: https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=447446&sid=5232026eec5eef8c9076e7777d5ad12d

25 Kilometers from the Vyzvhan-Jedorian Border
Airspace above Tamar

The skies were remarkably clear. The only clouds visible hung to the horizon off in the distance, creating a great expanse of vast open blue skies. Perfect weather for flying. Even though it was the middle of summer, at 20,000 feet it was remarkably chilly. Inside his GuL-73 Senior Captain Rimantas Chlastauskas was comfortable in his flight suit, even as his worn out restraints pressed a bit too tightly into his torso and chest. He kept one hand on the joystick as he gazed out over the open skies. It was a wonderful sight. When he was younger he used to dream of flying, of being free of the constraints of the ground and the earth. Up here it was like a whole different world, quiet and peaceful. Even though he flew a machine built for war, Chlastauskas felt remarkably at home in the skies.

He banked his GuL-73 gently to the side, the creaks and groans of the over 40 year old airframe now a familiar chorus to the pilot. Chlastauskas was younger than the aircraft he flew, having served now for 8 years having earned the rank of Senior Captain the previous year. His GuL-73 had been built in in the 70s and would be considered outdated by nearly every other airforce in the world, but the Federated Combine Air Force was short of modern fighters, despite purchasing dozens of modern craft from the Siuexerrans. When the Civil War had ended 10 years ago the newly established Federated Combine of Jedoria had inherited thousands of pieces of military hardware from the Socialist Republic. They had been outdated then and were even more so today. The AVA had been pouring in billions to modernize the Federated Combine Mustered Soldiery, and even though considerable progress had been made, there were still three quarters of the FCMS relying on hardware and equipment designed, and often built, in the Socialist era. Chlastauskas’s squadron was no exception.

Another problem was that the much hyped Border Guards agency had never materialized. Ten years after the Civil War the military was still responsible for border protection and patrolling. It’s why Chlastauskas was in the air today, as he had been last week as well. At least he got to fly. Jedoria’s air force had on paper 2,000 aircraft. Half of that couldn’t fly, and of the half that could, only 20% were considered modern. Much of the FGAF remained in their hangers and airfields, grounded by a lack of proper maintenance or their aged airframes were no longer safe to fly. Starting next year they had been told they would start deactivating all the grounded regiments to slim down the service and improve readiness, but for now it was up to squadrons like those under the command of Senior Captain Chlastauskas to safeguard Jedoria’s borders. At least his own plane was working properly. Most of the time.

Chlastauskas keyed his microphone. “Watch Tower this is Jackal Lead. Passing Nav Point Epsilon.”

“Confirm Jackal Lead, continue on course.” The voice on the other end was quiet. The junior NCO manning the radar site was new to the duty station, but thus far he had done a fine job. Chlastauskas at least had no problems with him. “Aff, Watch Tower.” He replied, before flicking off his mic. He guided his jet into line so it would intersect Nav Point Zeta, the last point on his patrol. Once again he left his hand on the controls while his eyes drifted off towards the horizon as he flew south. A small part of him wish he never had to leave the skies, that he could spend the rest of his life amid the clouds and away from the troubles of the world. For a moment, he closed his eyes and left out a deep exhale.

The blaring alarm shook him out of his trance and he immediately stirred from his daydreaming. His eyes shot around the cockpit for a moment before he zeroed in on the source of the alarm. His dials were going crazy, attitude control was spinning as though he was in free fall. He glanced out the cockpit for a moment to confirm he hadn’t just lost all sense of balance. His jet continued to fly straight and true, seemingly no issue with it’s operations. But the alarms screaming in his face suggested otherwise. He shook his head. It wasn’t the first time he had experienced issues with aircraft. He flipped on the switch for the mic.

“Watch Tower be advised, I’ve experiencing technical issues with my monitors and controls. I’m gonna reboot the system and bring it back up. Let ground ops know I might need a technical crew when I land.”

“Uh, solid aff Jackal Lead. Let us know when you’re back up.”

Chlastauskas reached down next to his right leg. His GuL-73’s radar, radio, and monitoring system all relied on a single power supply located just in front of the cockpit between him and the nose mounted radar. He opened up the protective casing that held the main power switched, and flipped it off. He waited 30 seconds, and then flipped it back to the ‘’ON” position.

Nothing happened.

---

“Sir? I think we have a problem.”

Junior Sergeant Vitalijs Romanovskis had only been a radar operator in the Tikinov District for three weeks now, and thus far in his short career he had encountered no issues. It was almost with an air of reluctance did he hail down his Lieutenant, as though he was fearful of repercussion for something that was clearly not his fault. Romanovskis had gotten to know all the pilots of Jackal Flight by now, and Senior Captain Chlastauskas was as reliable as one could be. When he had informed Romanovskis that he was doing a system reset it had struck him as unusual but not unheard of. But that had been 7 minutes ago, and now the situation was growing concerning.

The Junior Lieutenant assigned to the radar section frowned as he walked over to Romanovskis’s station, coffee mug in hand. “Something the matter, Junior Sergeant?”

“Lead, we have a problem.” Romanovskis explained. “Jackal Lead experienced system issues 7 minutes ago and said he was going to do a reset, but I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve trying contacting him but got no answer. I’ve raised his other flight members with no problems, so it’s only him.”

“Can you still track him?” The officer asked.

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Romanovskis said, raising a finger to point towards the screen of his radar operating system. “He’s approaching the Vyzvhan border. He’ll cross in two minutes unless he changes course.”

The section leader stared at the screen for a few moments. Romanovskis couldn’t tell what the officer was thinking. The pat on the back and the “Keep trying to raise him” before the officer walked off to contact his own superior officer did little to calm Romanovskis, who turned back to the screen and could only watch and attempt to raise Jackal Leader in vain as his aircraft continued to veer towards Vyzvhan territory.

---

The comfort of his aircraft was now gone. No longer was his flight suit keeping him cool; sweat had broken out on his brow as he tried in vain to bring his systems back online. With no radar or communication he had no way of being sure exactly where he was. The sun was in the middle of the sky making it hard to tell with certainty which way was north, south, east or west. He had settled on what he thought was south, keeping in like with the border, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He had thrown himself off course while trying to adjust the switches for his system and had become disoriented in the process.

Senior Captain Chlastauskas was now very worried. It would be difficult to figure out where he was and how to get back to base at this point. He cursed himself for his laziness, so reliant on ground control and the radar operators to guide him. How many weeks had he flown this patrol, and yet still struggled to recognize landmarks and terrain features? It was almost disgraceful, for an officer of his rank to be so uninformed. When he got back to base, he swore he would memorize the entire damn map.

The first missile streaked past his aircraft so fast he almost didn’t notice it. It exploded somewhere off to his right, and his entire aircraft buffeted like it had been dropped kicked. Suddenly in a panic he squeezed the joystick hard and tried to reign it in. Once he finally brought it under control it struck him; someone had shot at him. He peered down over the cockpits frame just in time to see the second missile coming straight for him. The ensuing explosion tore the aircraft apart, one of the wings sheared right off and the tail disintegrated as bits of shrapnel tore into the dated and flimsy frame of the aircraft. Everything began rattling and shaking, and Chlastauskas realized his aircraft was falling apart all around him. A moment of panic overcame him before he had the common sense to eject.