Dense Air

Chapter 3

"You got an F-18? Since when can we afford those?" Mako questioned. Haya was telling her about the new plane she was so excited about. "Apparently we can for-" She looked over to Kazashi with a big grin. "-'one of the best pilots in the JASDF'." She said, quoting what Kazashi had said. Kazashi ignored her, sighing slightly at Haya's ego. "Anyway, it's so amazing!" Haya exclaimed. "Any Russians who fly anywhere near us are gonna get blown right out of the sky!" She excitedly said. "Haya, you're in a fourth gen fighter now. The F-18 airframe entered service in 1983. It's way better than my Yak-38, its airframe entered service all the way back in 71. Mako, your F-11's airframe is from 1956. You've probably got the oldest airframe on base, if not in the whole JASDF." Kazashi said. Mako seemed insulted. "My F-11 is great! Its age doesn't matter." She said. "Really? Remember when you were doing a min radius turn earlier while practicing and one of the flaps fell off?" Kazashi said. Mako had no good comeback. "That was... just bad maintenance." She replied. "Really? You sure it wasn't because the F-11 isn't able to do higher g maneuvers anymore?" Kazashi said. "Can you both shut up?" Haya interrupted. "I got no sleep last night at all, I flew pretty late. I think I need a nap. I'll see you guys later." She said. Before anyone could say anything, she left. She did that a lot, doing things before other people could stop her. She liked being in control of what she does. She got back to barracks, climbed into bed exhaustedly, and fell asleep.

She spotted the MiG-15 from a decent distance away in the stormy weather. She was on a solo patrol, and grinned. "This one's all mine, then." She sped towards it, and armed all the F-18's advanced weapons systems. Out of nowhere, something else suddenly appeared on her radar from below. A classic tactic: confusing a plane's radar by flying beneath it, where the radar has to figure out whether something is a plane or the ground. "Shit, where'd this one come from!?" She immediately took evasive action, trying to move out of the sights of the new enemy aircraft. The new MiG fired its guns, tearing holes in the left wing, and in the canopy. As it stopped firing, flying past her, she was blasted with wind and rain from all the holes in the canopy. "Shit! That was a good hit!!" She looked around frantically to find the MiG, before noticing the blood that covered her flight suit. "I-I've been hit..." Her voice was shaky. "This is bad... this is bad..." She couldn't see either of the two planes she'd spotted before. "This is impossible... it came out of nowhere, now it's gone?!" The weather viciously whipped rain and wind into her as the badly damaged F-18 limped through the air. She tried to use the radar, but the avionics systems weren't working. They were affected by the damage, and she couldn't see the radar. She found where the blood was coming from, one of the bullets had hit her thigh about halfway between her knee and waist. "If I do any high g maneuvers... the blood rushes to the bottom of the body, the legs..." Intense g force was not an option for her any more.

She was breathing heavily as she looked around, trying desperately to find any trace of the two enemy aircraft. Suddenly, one dived in from above. She wasn't ready, and couldn't do anything. The left wing, which was already heavily damaged, got hit more, before the outside half snapped straight off, disappearing into the stormy clouds. The once powerful, advanced, and maneuverable F-18 spun out of control, going into a corkscrew dive straight down. "Fuck..." Hesitantly, she pulled the ejection handle. She waited. Nothing happened. She pulled it harder. Nothing happened. Time seemed to slow down as she realized she was stuck in her aircraft. The plane spun around violently as it plummeted towards the ocean, the wind and rain so strong as it hit her that she could barely see anymore. The burning wreck of the F-18 that had given her the freedom of the sky was now falling towards the freezing, stormy Pacific. All the different alarms going off meant nothing. The aircraft was destroyed. No longer capable of flight. She watched the massive waves getting closer. She knew she wouldn't have to worry about how cold the water was, or how stormy the waves were. She knew the impact and explosion would kill her instantly. 5000 feet... 4000... 3000... 2000... 1000... It seemed to happen in slow motion. The plane hit the water with immense, unstoppable force. With terror in her eyes, flames engulfed Haya, and the F-18 became no more than a wreck of disfigured metal, plunged into the unforgiving ocean.

Haya scrambled to her feet, breathing heavily, sweating and shaking. Her face was filled with terror and panic. As she looked around, she was relieved. It was a dream. She looked down at herself. There was no blood. None of it was real. She couldn't stop shaking. She decided to go for a walk, stepping outside to get some fresh air. She could hear the waves crashing against the shore, a sound both peaceful and vicious at the same time. Just like fighting in the air. She knew that civilization had created a false sense of safety and uniformity. Things like laws, advanced technology, careful control over many different things, it all made life feel like it's under control. But no matter how advanced things get, the laws of physics always prevail. No government issued law can simply cease the motion of an object. No advanced technology can save you once consumed in the fiery ball of a missile. If a ship is sinking, not even every government on the planet combined could do anything to stop it. When something happens, only so much can be done. The F-18 and its advanced technology could be easily destroyed with a single missile, it doesn't feel very uniform and advanced when it plummets to the ground in a plume of debris. And no strict system, no government control could stop it from violently colliding with the ground and becoming a pile of steel. "If you've lost your wings, there's nothing else to fly with." She mumbled to herself.

But that lack of uniformity was good sometimes. She smiled a bit, thinking about what got her into flying faster jets. She could go up into the sky, punch the throttle and pull a hard maneuver as the wings grabbed at the air, bending under the force as they sent the aircraft speeding into whatever direction Haya pleased. She could take advantage of the near drag-less aircraft and do all kinds of maneuvers that nobody has thought of before, because she could make it do whatever she wanted even if it wasn't what it was built and intended to do. Cars only give you access to roads, where you have to follow all kinds of rules too. Boats give you access to the oceans, but they're slow. Planes are different than anything else. An airplane is your way to the skies. The vast, blue skies that hang over everything that exists. There is no place on earth she could not fly over in an airplane. An airplane is not just a tool that is used. It's an extension of the self, a way of making yourself capable of zooming through the skies. As Mike Potter said: "You will feel not that you are sitting in an airplane, but that you have 'put it on' like your well worn leather flight jacket." Haya had always loved flying because of all this, and she wanted to continue to fly after that crash with the Harrier. There was some fear now, but she tried to push it into the back of her mind. After all, she was alive and well. There's a saying in aviation, that a good landing is one from which you can walk away. A great landing is one after which you can use the plane again. She giggled to herself a bit. It wasn't a great landing with the Harrier, but at least it was a good one.