Military Brat

Air Raid

The base was on high alert. The alarms blaring and personal running to their stations. Bombs were being dropped, gunfire raining from above, planes exploded before they could take off. In the hanger, a young boy of only four, hid in the cockpit of his father's plane. His father had been killed by one of the bombs. The boy didn't cry, in shock from all the action around him. All the pilots were dead or in the air. He knew what he had to do. He was one of the best pilots at the age of four and mastered all types of aircraft. He would fly his father's fighter and uphold the legacy of his family.
His family had always been in the military since the Revolutionary War, always in the Army/Marines and Navy until the Air Force was born. There was a title that was passed down in his family since WW2. The Magician was a title of honor only given to the members of his family, the names of the pilots who had worn the title were kept secret and each one carried records only beaten by the five year old. The nation only knew of the legendary Magician, videos of the plane flying and interviews of other pilots who had served with the mysterious pilots. He knew his legacy was important and he would fulfill his duty to his country and to his family.
He took off, expertly flying into the air raid. He shot down many planes and drones. He outmaneuvered all the enemy's planes and only landed after the battle was over. The Captain of the base was waiting for him, a stern look with a small amount of of relief in his eyes.
"Jones, congratulations on becoming the youngest Air Force pilot in the history of America. General Mills has made you a captain and you know how your family has been involved and the secret you are now responsible to keep. Good flying. You are being shipped to the states for basics before you are assigned anywhere. Good luck, you will need it." The captain left the four year old on the ruined and bloodied runway. He stared at the carnage around him, a view he would see many more times.
Boot camp sucked. He somehow survived it but he managed to also keep his presence a secret. He was sent all over the world, his plane was recognized everywhere. Enemy planes tried to down him, friendly bases wanted to see the famous Magician. He was lonely but it was his life, his destiny.
It became harder and harder to avoid the press, the pilots, and the people he would run into in the mess hall. One rescue mission would change all of that though.
It was the day of his fifteenth birthday and he was in another fight. He was in his fighter, his wing was on fire. He landed, running to the pilotless Apache helicopter. He got her in the air, managed to make four trips with the helicopter filled up with soldiers. The helicopter was filled with bullet holes, the glass of the cockpit had holes, and he was bleeding from multiple bullet wounds. He had gotten all the soldiers out. He landed the craft and powered it down before he passed out. He didn't know when he was carried out, the gasps from the unit he had saved, and the medics rushing him to surgery.