P
I was just a child when the stars fell from the skies. But I remember how they
built a cannon to destroy them and in turn how that cannon brought war upon us.
War was an abstract idea; nothing more than a show on TV. As a child, I only
saw it as something the happened in some far-away land. Until that final day of
summer...
One day, while on my way to school, I looked up in the skies. A sound like
distant thunder. In the blue skies far above me, contrails drew dizzying
circles around in a crazy waltz; a battle in the beautiful skies far away. I
could not tear my gaze away from them. A deafening roar. Sharp silhouettes
appeared, as if to graze the hills, and streaked past me. The fighters played
the cat or mouse in turn as they climbed swiftly into the sky. One fleeing
plane fell out of the sky, spiraling and spewing orange flames to crash by the
cape.
The same cape where my family lived.
Now they only live in my memories of days past. The victor circled around to
confirm the kill, and on his craft there was a large number thirteen,
emblazoned in yellow. I will never forget this.
The Allies retreated across the ocean before the onslaught of the enemy. Our
little town in the heart of the mainland fell into deep isolation.
--------------------------
[02] Ch 2: Everything Changed
The war seemed to unfold in the blink of an eye. I don't remember exactly when
the forces from the West occupied my town. I was too busy scanning the skies,
day after day, waiting for Yellow 13 to reappear.
Before I knew it, everything changed. The language the taught us at school.
Our friendly local sheriff "disappeared," and was replaced by foreign MPs.
In the beginning, some people secretly tuned into broadcasts from North Point
[Allied HQ] on their parabolic antennas. But, as time passed, the broadcasts
no longer came in. Maybe the satellites were destroyed. All non-military
computer networks were shut down. Gasoline was rationed to civilians. Though
we lived in the 21st century, we were reduced to using crystal radios and
horse-drawn carts.
I moved in with my uncle in town, who used to be a taxi driver. Out of
gasoline and out of work, my uncle did nothing but to drown himself in drink.
I earned my keep by playing the harmonica in the town bar. The one thing I was
good at. I'd play for sullen occupation soldiers in exchange for their charity
in loose change and used the money to support my uncle and myself. My uncle
trash-talked the barkeep, who catered to the enemy soldiers. But he never
refused the money I brought home.
As for myself, I had a crush on the barkeep's only daughter, who was a little
older than me.
Another day passed, yet still no sign of the fighter plane Yellow 13 in the
skies above our town.
--------------------------
[03] Ch 3: I'd Finally Found Him
One night; a spirited group made their way into the bar, chased out the sullen
army grunts, and commandeered the place. Even I knew who they were. The patch
on their sleeve was the mark of the Proud Air Force.
A loud-mouthed, middle aged man went around announcing each pilot's results
for the day, and his running kill record. For those who exceeded five kills
a thorough toasting and soaking followed. I believe it was their custom to call
a pilot an "Ace" once he shot down five planes.
After completing the day's review, the same guy, the squadron adjutant, went
on to announce, "And now for our leader's results!"
Everyone turned around to look at the quiet man who sat alone; strumming a
guitar. I found myself drawn to the music from his guitar.
"Our Yellow 13 bagged three more today, bringing his new tally up to
sixty-four kills!"
With a tenative smile, the man with the guitar turned to me and asked me to
accompany him on my harmonica. I brought it up to my lips and he started a new
song. I'd finally found him. But by some fluke, it was my father's favorite
song; the one he used to play at the end of each day...
--------------------------
[04] Ch 4: The Elite Flight Squadron
A freeway under construction in a wheat field outside of town. When they
started construction, I remember how the mayor bragged about it even though it
would completely bypass our town. The freeway became the occupation force's
makeshift runway, and the unfinished tunnels their bunkers. This was their
base. They were the elite flight squadron, chosen to protect the Cannon.
Ironically, the same cannon that was created to shoot down the asteroids became
a catalyst to the war. But when the Allied attacks no longer came, the squadron
was assigned long-range missions that took them to distant battlefields.
I thought of the words I would use to confront him and bided my time. Although
I harbored these feelings within me, I could never get close to him. His
wingman was always by his side. Dispite having a gentle demeanor, I could tell
that the wingman would never allow danger to get near Yellow 13, even on land.
The pillar of their group, 13 exuded an air of invincibility. He always chose
to fly a five-plane formation. He was a man who prided himself, not on his kill
record, but on his record of never losing a squadron member.
It's difficult for me to describe just how good Yellow 13's flying was. But I
witnessed it once from the ground. The lead plane of the five plane formation
should have turned the same arc with the same timing as the others, yet only
his plane drew sharp contrails.
His heart felt compassion toward the weaker enemies he downed. Someday, if an
equal appeared and challenged the limits of his skills in a fight, he would
bear no resentment about being shot down. He said this himself.
And so as time passed, I found the goodness of a home in their company. Leaving
them was no longer an option for me now.
--------------------------
[05] Ch 5: Members of the Resistance
At some point I realized my uncle, my would-be gaurdian, had vanished. Maybe
the Secret Police dragged him off for some drunken comment he made. Maybe he
chose to disappear. I didn't have anyone to turn to, so I found myself living
as if I were a member of the Yellow Squadron.
[He finds himself asleep in the bar, and wanders up the stairs to find someone.
He finds a man typing on a computer in a dark room...]
Everybody in town scorned the barkeep for doing business with the enemy. In
reality, he and his family were members of the Resistance, gathering up
intelligence information from enemy customers. His daughter protected me, but
that was only because of my tender age.
The barkeep and his family were the real heros, while I on the other hand,
found a haven among the enemy.
--------------------------
[06] Ch 6: It Won't Be Long Now
"It won't be long now. It won't be long until it begins!" the barkeep's
daughter confided to me. As a member of the Resistance, she eagerly awaited
the Allied counterattack on the mainland.
"What will happen to these people when the Allies come?" I asked, to which she
frowned.
"We'll run them out! This is our town!"
But I knew she didn't mean that from the bottom of her heart. 13 had captured
her heart. I knew this from the way she shot jealous glances at his wingman.
As other pilots rotated out of Yellow Squadron, Yellow 4, 13's wingman, always
stuck by his side; even on land. The only female pilot in the Squadron, she
had Yellow 13's absolute trust as his wingman.
Yellow 13 seemed oblivious to all this, and instead reviewed the "promising"
enemy pilot's performance from yesterday's skirmish.
"He's so close. If he manages to stay alive for just a while longer, that pilot
could be a worthy opponent."
But when there were no such enemies to look forward to, 13's eyes were sad.
--------------------------
[07] Ch 7: Stonehenge's Air Raid
Bombs were delivered to their base. This meant that an enemy who had to be
fought by those means was close at hand.
The Resistance blew up the squadron's runway. Yellow 4 suffered light shrapnel
wounds. Though the runway could be fixed, the complete loss of reserve supplies
was a heavy blow. Logistics support became infrequent following the Allied
operations. I knew this because Yellow Squadron's crewchief belly-ached about
this all the time to me.
"I won't complain if I buy the farm while I'm airborne, but I can't stand being
taken out while I'm grounded." Now I understand 13's feelings.
Reports of the Stonehenge [the Cannon] air raid came in. Yellow 4 went up with
the others. With no bombs her plane was light, but her plane was in bad shape.
It needed an engine replacement badly.
--------------------------
[08] Ch 8: Keeping Memories Alive
Though he lost 4, Thirteen never openly showed his sorrow. But I found out.
He was alone, quietly gazing at the handkerchief Yellow 4 left behind.
When he felt my eyes upon him he said, "No matter what, she can't complain.
She went up with her plane in disrepair. Pilots are responsible for their
planes."
He then went on and spoke of the time when they first met. He spoke of when she
was just a girl. Before he trained her. Before she became a fighter pilot. His
words weren't directed at me in particular. He was keeping a precious memory
alive by speaking those words. The hint of purfume on her keepsake
handkerchief.
Yellow Squadron's pilot turnover ran high. The skilled ones went in to shore up
other units while rookies with little air time transfered in.
Yellow 13 posted an Allied paper faxed over by headquarters. It praised the
pilot who destroyed Stonehenge. 13 said to everyone, "Look! Here is something
worthy of praise. Even among the enemy there are men like this. Not all of
them are dispicable bastards who rob our wings through cowardly sabotage."
I stared at the barkeep's daughter as she winced at those words.
The Allies were coming to our town.
--------------------------
[09] Ch 9: Getting Caught
As the Allies advanced, the retreating Erusian forces from the East filled our
town. The AA gun crew set up their positions atop the hospital and Yellow
13 smoldered with quiet anger over their tactics.
Nights were long with the town's mandatory blackouts. The barkeep's daughter
tried to plant laster transmitters for detonating explosives.
She got caught.
[She ducks into a small alcove with a group of Military Police in tow. Parked
on the curb is a small car. As she goes to run past the car, a face is seen
in the window, and the door opens to block her path...]
It was Yellow 13. He knew she was responsible for planting the bomb on their
runway as well. The face of the enemy whom he hated belonged to someone close
to him.
"Get out of our town you fascist pig!" Those were the words from my mouth. I'd
never seen his face twist so painfully.
"Do you hate us that much?" We couldn't shake or nod our heads in reply.
It seemed like an eternity passed before he said "Go!" and released us.
The next day, there was no change in his attitude. As usual, he made his
requests to the squadron crew chief, "The poor fuel quality is affecting
thrust."
As soon as the Allied forces drew near, the Resistance would end the blackouts
over the city.
--------------------------
[10] Ch 10: Singing
Singing...the town was free at last.
During the night raids, the AA gunners had strafed the town in an attempt to
shoot down low flying aircraft. The town militia now rounded up these gunners.
"They" retreated as well, and now their quarters stood empty. After what seemed
like a long absence, Allied aircraft soared overhead. I wondered if the fateful
enemy ace, the one that Yellow 13 longed to meet, was among them. What would
happen if they ever came face to face...?
I fell in with the routed Erusians and followed after the squadron.
--------------------------
[11] Ch 11: Vanishing Into the Blue Sky
Yellow Thirteen's body vanished into the blue skies, never to return to Earth.
Only a single handkerchief fluttered down from the sky where he disappeared.
.......... The faint scent of perfume.
The barkeep's daughter and I had followed the squadron this far. Each of us
had our own thoughts as we buried that handkerchief. It no longer mattered to
me whether that was 13 or 4's grave. Their memories blurred together as one
and left the realm of reality like a dream.
The terms of surrender were accepted that day and the war was over.
--------------------------
[12] Ch 12: And So, I Write to You
The once familiar scent of jet fuel has long since faded away. What was once
Yellow Squadron's runway is now just a local highway again.
I write this letter to you now: I know it must have brought him unexpected joy
to have an opponent like you at the end of that meaningless war. At least that's
what I want to believe. Only you, the pilot who shot him down, can confirm this.
And so, I write...to you.
built a cannon to destroy them and in turn how that cannon brought war upon us.
War was an abstract idea; nothing more than a show on TV. As a child, I only
saw it as something the happened in some far-away land. Until that final day of
summer...
One day, while on my way to school, I looked up in the skies. A sound like
distant thunder. In the blue skies far above me, contrails drew dizzying
circles around in a crazy waltz; a battle in the beautiful skies far away. I
could not tear my gaze away from them. A deafening roar. Sharp silhouettes
appeared, as if to graze the hills, and streaked past me. The fighters played
the cat or mouse in turn as they climbed swiftly into the sky. One fleeing
plane fell out of the sky, spiraling and spewing orange flames to crash by the
cape.
The same cape where my family lived.
Now they only live in my memories of days past. The victor circled around to
confirm the kill, and on his craft there was a large number thirteen,
emblazoned in yellow. I will never forget this.
The Allies retreated across the ocean before the onslaught of the enemy. Our
little town in the heart of the mainland fell into deep isolation.
--------------------------
[02] Ch 2: Everything Changed
The war seemed to unfold in the blink of an eye. I don't remember exactly when
the forces from the West occupied my town. I was too busy scanning the skies,
day after day, waiting for Yellow 13 to reappear.
Before I knew it, everything changed. The language the taught us at school.
Our friendly local sheriff "disappeared," and was replaced by foreign MPs.
In the beginning, some people secretly tuned into broadcasts from North Point
[Allied HQ] on their parabolic antennas. But, as time passed, the broadcasts
no longer came in. Maybe the satellites were destroyed. All non-military
computer networks were shut down. Gasoline was rationed to civilians. Though
we lived in the 21st century, we were reduced to using crystal radios and
horse-drawn carts.
I moved in with my uncle in town, who used to be a taxi driver. Out of
gasoline and out of work, my uncle did nothing but to drown himself in drink.
I earned my keep by playing the harmonica in the town bar. The one thing I was
good at. I'd play for sullen occupation soldiers in exchange for their charity
in loose change and used the money to support my uncle and myself. My uncle
trash-talked the barkeep, who catered to the enemy soldiers. But he never
refused the money I brought home.
As for myself, I had a crush on the barkeep's only daughter, who was a little
older than me.
Another day passed, yet still no sign of the fighter plane Yellow 13 in the
skies above our town.
--------------------------
[03] Ch 3: I'd Finally Found Him
One night; a spirited group made their way into the bar, chased out the sullen
army grunts, and commandeered the place. Even I knew who they were. The patch
on their sleeve was the mark of the Proud Air Force.
A loud-mouthed, middle aged man went around announcing each pilot's results
for the day, and his running kill record. For those who exceeded five kills
a thorough toasting and soaking followed. I believe it was their custom to call
a pilot an "Ace" once he shot down five planes.
After completing the day's review, the same guy, the squadron adjutant, went
on to announce, "And now for our leader's results!"
Everyone turned around to look at the quiet man who sat alone; strumming a
guitar. I found myself drawn to the music from his guitar.
"Our Yellow 13 bagged three more today, bringing his new tally up to
sixty-four kills!"
With a tenative smile, the man with the guitar turned to me and asked me to
accompany him on my harmonica. I brought it up to my lips and he started a new
song. I'd finally found him. But by some fluke, it was my father's favorite
song; the one he used to play at the end of each day...
--------------------------
[04] Ch 4: The Elite Flight Squadron
A freeway under construction in a wheat field outside of town. When they
started construction, I remember how the mayor bragged about it even though it
would completely bypass our town. The freeway became the occupation force's
makeshift runway, and the unfinished tunnels their bunkers. This was their
base. They were the elite flight squadron, chosen to protect the Cannon.
Ironically, the same cannon that was created to shoot down the asteroids became
a catalyst to the war. But when the Allied attacks no longer came, the squadron
was assigned long-range missions that took them to distant battlefields.
I thought of the words I would use to confront him and bided my time. Although
I harbored these feelings within me, I could never get close to him. His
wingman was always by his side. Dispite having a gentle demeanor, I could tell
that the wingman would never allow danger to get near Yellow 13, even on land.
The pillar of their group, 13 exuded an air of invincibility. He always chose
to fly a five-plane formation. He was a man who prided himself, not on his kill
record, but on his record of never losing a squadron member.
It's difficult for me to describe just how good Yellow 13's flying was. But I
witnessed it once from the ground. The lead plane of the five plane formation
should have turned the same arc with the same timing as the others, yet only
his plane drew sharp contrails.
His heart felt compassion toward the weaker enemies he downed. Someday, if an
equal appeared and challenged the limits of his skills in a fight, he would
bear no resentment about being shot down. He said this himself.
And so as time passed, I found the goodness of a home in their company. Leaving
them was no longer an option for me now.
--------------------------
[05] Ch 5: Members of the Resistance
At some point I realized my uncle, my would-be gaurdian, had vanished. Maybe
the Secret Police dragged him off for some drunken comment he made. Maybe he
chose to disappear. I didn't have anyone to turn to, so I found myself living
as if I were a member of the Yellow Squadron.
[He finds himself asleep in the bar, and wanders up the stairs to find someone.
He finds a man typing on a computer in a dark room...]
Everybody in town scorned the barkeep for doing business with the enemy. In
reality, he and his family were members of the Resistance, gathering up
intelligence information from enemy customers. His daughter protected me, but
that was only because of my tender age.
The barkeep and his family were the real heros, while I on the other hand,
found a haven among the enemy.
--------------------------
[06] Ch 6: It Won't Be Long Now
"It won't be long now. It won't be long until it begins!" the barkeep's
daughter confided to me. As a member of the Resistance, she eagerly awaited
the Allied counterattack on the mainland.
"What will happen to these people when the Allies come?" I asked, to which she
frowned.
"We'll run them out! This is our town!"
But I knew she didn't mean that from the bottom of her heart. 13 had captured
her heart. I knew this from the way she shot jealous glances at his wingman.
As other pilots rotated out of Yellow Squadron, Yellow 4, 13's wingman, always
stuck by his side; even on land. The only female pilot in the Squadron, she
had Yellow 13's absolute trust as his wingman.
Yellow 13 seemed oblivious to all this, and instead reviewed the "promising"
enemy pilot's performance from yesterday's skirmish.
"He's so close. If he manages to stay alive for just a while longer, that pilot
could be a worthy opponent."
But when there were no such enemies to look forward to, 13's eyes were sad.
--------------------------
[07] Ch 7: Stonehenge's Air Raid
Bombs were delivered to their base. This meant that an enemy who had to be
fought by those means was close at hand.
The Resistance blew up the squadron's runway. Yellow 4 suffered light shrapnel
wounds. Though the runway could be fixed, the complete loss of reserve supplies
was a heavy blow. Logistics support became infrequent following the Allied
operations. I knew this because Yellow Squadron's crewchief belly-ached about
this all the time to me.
"I won't complain if I buy the farm while I'm airborne, but I can't stand being
taken out while I'm grounded." Now I understand 13's feelings.
Reports of the Stonehenge [the Cannon] air raid came in. Yellow 4 went up with
the others. With no bombs her plane was light, but her plane was in bad shape.
It needed an engine replacement badly.
--------------------------
[08] Ch 8: Keeping Memories Alive
Though he lost 4, Thirteen never openly showed his sorrow. But I found out.
He was alone, quietly gazing at the handkerchief Yellow 4 left behind.
When he felt my eyes upon him he said, "No matter what, she can't complain.
She went up with her plane in disrepair. Pilots are responsible for their
planes."
He then went on and spoke of the time when they first met. He spoke of when she
was just a girl. Before he trained her. Before she became a fighter pilot. His
words weren't directed at me in particular. He was keeping a precious memory
alive by speaking those words. The hint of purfume on her keepsake
handkerchief.
Yellow Squadron's pilot turnover ran high. The skilled ones went in to shore up
other units while rookies with little air time transfered in.
Yellow 13 posted an Allied paper faxed over by headquarters. It praised the
pilot who destroyed Stonehenge. 13 said to everyone, "Look! Here is something
worthy of praise. Even among the enemy there are men like this. Not all of
them are dispicable bastards who rob our wings through cowardly sabotage."
I stared at the barkeep's daughter as she winced at those words.
The Allies were coming to our town.
--------------------------
[09] Ch 9: Getting Caught
As the Allies advanced, the retreating Erusian forces from the East filled our
town. The AA gun crew set up their positions atop the hospital and Yellow
13 smoldered with quiet anger over their tactics.
Nights were long with the town's mandatory blackouts. The barkeep's daughter
tried to plant laster transmitters for detonating explosives.
She got caught.
[She ducks into a small alcove with a group of Military Police in tow. Parked
on the curb is a small car. As she goes to run past the car, a face is seen
in the window, and the door opens to block her path...]
It was Yellow 13. He knew she was responsible for planting the bomb on their
runway as well. The face of the enemy whom he hated belonged to someone close
to him.
"Get out of our town you fascist pig!" Those were the words from my mouth. I'd
never seen his face twist so painfully.
"Do you hate us that much?" We couldn't shake or nod our heads in reply.
It seemed like an eternity passed before he said "Go!" and released us.
The next day, there was no change in his attitude. As usual, he made his
requests to the squadron crew chief, "The poor fuel quality is affecting
thrust."
As soon as the Allied forces drew near, the Resistance would end the blackouts
over the city.
--------------------------
[10] Ch 10: Singing
Singing...the town was free at last.
During the night raids, the AA gunners had strafed the town in an attempt to
shoot down low flying aircraft. The town militia now rounded up these gunners.
"They" retreated as well, and now their quarters stood empty. After what seemed
like a long absence, Allied aircraft soared overhead. I wondered if the fateful
enemy ace, the one that Yellow 13 longed to meet, was among them. What would
happen if they ever came face to face...?
I fell in with the routed Erusians and followed after the squadron.
--------------------------
[11] Ch 11: Vanishing Into the Blue Sky
Yellow Thirteen's body vanished into the blue skies, never to return to Earth.
Only a single handkerchief fluttered down from the sky where he disappeared.
.......... The faint scent of perfume.
The barkeep's daughter and I had followed the squadron this far. Each of us
had our own thoughts as we buried that handkerchief. It no longer mattered to
me whether that was 13 or 4's grave. Their memories blurred together as one
and left the realm of reality like a dream.
The terms of surrender were accepted that day and the war was over.
--------------------------
[12] Ch 12: And So, I Write to You
The once familiar scent of jet fuel has long since faded away. What was once
Yellow Squadron's runway is now just a local highway again.
I write this letter to you now: I know it must have brought him unexpected joy
to have an opponent like you at the end of that meaningless war. At least that's
what I want to believe. Only you, the pilot who shot him down, can confirm this.
And so, I write...to you.
