BY JOSEPH WALTER
Supremacy was started in a fiction writing class in college, and my professor (along with the other students) seemed to really enjoy it. With inspiration from Battle: Los Angeles, aspects of Independence Day, and the feel of the Ace Combat video game series, Supremacy is a story about fighter pilots heading to war against an unknown threat that quickly taken over large swaths of our beloved planet. I'm a huge fan of fighter jets and their skillful heroics, and I felt it was high-time they got a story focused solely on them in the sci-fi/action genre.
Let me know what you think below!
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The group entered the cavernous hangar where the extensions of their wills waited to be given life by them. The F-22s were covered with various crews locking missiles into place, loading ammunition, and filling their tanks with fuel.
Lt. Francis Waldheir approached his plane and ran his hand across the word "Angel" written on its nose. His eyes then fixed themselves on the five stars beside it. Five kills. And after today, there may very well be more. He climbed the the attached ladder and jumped into the open cockpit.
The canopy lowered as Francis began the start-up sequence. The plane was armed and ready now, and the crewman directly in front of the plane gave the Lieutenant the thumbs up.
The ten F-22s smoothly rolled out to the runways. The high-pitched hum of jet engines priming filled the area. The various consoles in the cockpit flickered into being, glowing and beeping as Francis went through the pre-flight checklist. He adjusted his radio and radar settings, scrolled through his numerous armaments, both air-to-air and air-to-ground. He worked the foot-pedals, craning his neck from side-to-side, giving the rudder and wing-flaps a visual check.
The flights, pairs in this case, of fighters taxied to the runway, and with one final acknowledgment from the tower, let their after-burners propel them into the air. Phoenix Flight was nearly next in line.
Francis massaged his hands like the main character from The Last Starfighter. Something he always did before combat. Whether it was effective or not was another story, but it gave him some small comfort and a nostalgic dreamscape to lose himself, no matter how brief.
The radio buzzed.
"Ready to rock, Phoenix 1?"
"Always, Phoenix 2."
Francis smiled behind his respirator. His wingmate was many things, and cheesy was certainly one of them.
The levity was short-lived.
"Phoenix 1, this is Tower. You are clear for taxi to Runway One."
"Roger, Tower."
The wheels of Phoenix Flight's sleek F-22s rolled across the pavement, taking the planes to Runway One. Looking to his right, Francis could see the blue fire streaming form Skyfire Flight as they took off on Runway Two.
Once in position, the twin fighters applied their air brakes and waited for the their orders.
In what felt like merely seconds, Tower chimed in: "Phoenix Flight, you are go for launch."
"Roger that, Tower. Phoenix 1 out."
Francis lowered the flaps and increased the throttle methodically.
The smooth concrete of the runway started passing by at an accelerated pace as the engines roared to 160 RPMs. Francis ignited his afterburners, and the world outside his cockpit became a blur. His body could feel the desperate grasp of the Earth's gravity attempting to keep him on the ground. Instinct drove him to pull back on the flightstick. What was once the strong pull of gravity was no nothing more than resigned abandonment of its futile attempt.
Despite the initial, always-dizzying, tingling sensation of take-off, he was in the air. At home. Ready for anything.
The five fighter flights headed towards their first waypoint briskly, far above the ruins and desolation below. There was some chatter on the radio while Francis adjusted his radar again, but it died down when one strong voice chimed in.
"This is Starkiller 1, Commander Roxanne Eylander. Maintain airspeed and formation. We will be approaching our first waypoint in half-an-hour. SODs are to be armed when we make contact on the ground for immediate CAS. Keep your eyes on alert for hostiles."
There was an eerie silence for a brief moment, and then Roxanne's voice firmly, ominously, threateningly and, perhaps, even maniacally asked her squadron a single question: "Who's ready to slay some Dragons?"