Doc had an unofficial system for categorizing the patients he had to deal with on the base. It ran from Category 1 patients to Category 3. It served no purpose other than to amuse him and give him something to think about while working, took his mind off the blood and the pain.

Category 1 patients where easy to deal with and where his most frequent “clients” – minor cuts, bruises and sprains sustained normally on base due to “recreation”, some category 1’s had holes and cuts – nothing life threatening – after a mission went a bit messy.

Category 2’s were more work and more equipment intensive. Bad wounds, the survivors of bad landings, bailouts in combat or severe “battle damage” sustained after a “hard day at the office”, requiring lots of meds and often, emergency surgery. Category 2’s often had a long recovery period, if they were lucky to actually survive to have one. You needed a store of professional detachment to deal with them, especially as you did tend to get a bit too close to the pilots on a small base.

Category 3’s were possibly the easiest to deal with. In one way at least, if not in others. These took even more professional detachment for Doc. Basically it was a job of taking bits of metal out of bits of meat. Separating the remains of a plane from the remains of a rabbit. A rabbit you may have had lunch with two days ago. Then the remains would be prepared for burial. If there were enough.

Doc shook his head and sat forward out of his slumped position behind his desk. He looked out of the window of his internal office and into the main ward. Only one bed was occupied, filled with a category 2 patient. A friend. Still in a coma but getting stronger, just not waking, as if they were waiting for something. Not even responding to the shifts of young pilots that would come and sit and talk, and in one instance, chatter merrily while fighting back tears.

Doc sat back and sighed,

“Come on Boss, let’s see some action. Wake up dammit”.

Boss opened his eyes and looked down, four feet below him a patch of grass and roots spun left to right. He looked up and saw the parachute silk snagged in the branches the tree he was hanging from.

“Oh. Cool. Hanging from a tree in my ‘chute, what a cliché”

He looked down again and twisted the harness lock on his chest. It was slick with blood and hard to get a grip on. It clicked and he smacked it with the palm of his hand, dropped out of the webbing and down to the forest floor.

Pain shot through him as the ends of broken ribs and other snaps grated against each other as he collapsed into a ball on his side.

“Fuck! Stop, box it away – stay conscious, stay awake!” he thought through red waves of agony.

The roaring in his ear eased a little as he strained to hear the noise that had woken him from his dangling dreams. An auto engine, coming close – through blurred eyes he sought to get some fix on the source. He could make out the tree line fifty feet away to the west and coming across the grass towards this was a jeep, silhouetted against the low sun.

Boss had no idea how far he may of drifted, the engagement was close to the border and he had to deploy his chute early, could be on either side. God it hurt. “Get up. Need to move” he growled at himself.

Figures had jumped out of the jeep and were coming towards him. He could hear voices shouting. He fumbled for his pistol with numb hands. Nothing seemed to be working, it took both hands to pull the gun out of its holster and it felt like it weighed more than he did.

Boss rolled onto his knees and tried to get upright, focusing on the approaching figures, he held the gun in shaking hands in front of him and tried to see what they were, Monkeys or Rabbits.

“No fucking Monkey is coming near me!”

The gun waved left and right, its weight sending fresh waves of pain stabbing into Boss from all angles.

“No, Monkey, bastard is…”

Boss fell face down onto the ground and lay still.

The two figures from the jeep stood over Boss, one of them dug a radio out of its jacket.

“Control, we got him. Send a medivac chopper now! He looks bad.”

Boss looked at the drink in his hand. The glass was a heavy crystal tumbler, an inch of amber liquid swirling in it. He looked down at the front of his flight suit. There was a lot of blood on it. Hmmm. Not good probably. For some reason that didn’t seem important right now. The drink did.

Boss raised the glass to his nose and sniffed – nothing surprisingly, so cautiously he took a sip.

“Oh my god!”

It tasted of, well – everything! Of summer and fruit and meat and hops and sea air and chocolate and sunlight and snow and earth and wind and….everything ever. And it tasted so good!

He looked up. He was in a bar. He had a slightly uneasy feeling he recognised it but he had never seen it from this angle. It was also very quiet.

The other customers seemed to be rabbits like himself, all wearing flight suits, sitting at tables but for some reason, or by some trick of coincidence they all had their backs to him as they sat and chatted soundlessly.

The walls of this bar were covered in pictures of aircraft and smiling people, small parts of planes and various squadron insignias. Directly opposite where boss sat was a door.

This did not look like your average bar door, it was big and made of dark oak. Its surface was studded with big metal nail heads and there appeared to be no handle on this side of it. Which worried Boss somewhat. Where was he?

He got up and walked through the tables and up to the door. He pushed but it felt solidly locked. What the hell is going on? He took another drink and turned round.

From this angle, from just inside the door, he recognised the bar for what it was – the place where he came in his nightmares night after night, to watch his fellow pilots burn and scream and feel helpless. They all sat now looking at him from the tables expectantly.

One of the pilots got up and walked up to Boss, smiling as he did so.

“Your not actually supposed to be here boss, not yet”

Boss frowned. “Your, Tyco right? From Gold section – we lost you last month…”

“Never mind that, time for you to go” And saying this Tyco took bosses drink from him and reached over his shoulder to push the door open

“But it’s locked…”

Boss felt wind on his back and saw his shadow cast across the bar, and felt Tyco gently pushing him back over the threshold

“No it’s not. You just don’t know how to work it yet. Don’t come back soon Boss OK? You’re not finished yet. They need you”

Boss stepped backwards and felt the step under his foot and suddenly everything went white and he was falling fast, dropping through bright white clouds in the company of falling lumps of burning metal.

The old man was on the phone and his head hurt. It could be blood pressure, it could be single malt. He was not sure. In front of him on his screen the folders containing the debrief audio files where still open, but before writing his report he had to make a phone call.

“Yes, at approximately 10.17 this morning, Red section where first on the scene….about three squadrons and a jamming AWAC right in the middle. Apparently only one squadron engaged Red section, seems like they wanted everyone to come to the party first. Gold and Black yes, about three minutes later.”

“Pretty bad yes……..losses, hang on” He clicked on the screen.

“11 out of 21 pilots killed. Well yes they did all get some kills, but that’s not really…….I’m not sure. Once Angel section could use their missiles it swung in our favour………Yes the jamming plane was taken out…yes that’s how it happened. The AWAC was flying in the centre with four Gun ships in close formation……Boss and Ruby yes……. She’s in the bar. Boss took out the AWAC but……….No, no one saw him eject before his plane went into the cloud……..yes, it broke up just before……basically it was cut to bits by the crossfire but…..
Well he could have, we don’t know. Yes. Yes I know. Search teams are out there now. Well yes, we need more pilots as soon as possible…..well wouldn’t you?..We’re weak now, I know I would. Oh yes, Skit, Ruby, Snowy erm Bosco as well I think, all in the bar now actually. Not saying much no….Hazel, Bunt and Flyboy have gone off somewhere.”

He took another sip of single malt.

“Yes, if you can…I really don’t know but we are looking now. Multiple teams yes. OK, thank you.”

He dropped the handset back down and closed his eyes.

The old man sat at his desk in ops.

On the screen in front of him were the audio files for the debriefing sessions of the pilots that came back. He had sat in on all the interviews. It had not taken long.

In another folder at the bottom right of his screen he had the audio from the dead pilots voice logs during the engagement.

He lit a cigarette and moved the mouse to the first interview.

He had never seen his pilots look so blank and empty during the debriefs. No excitement at the high kill ratio even though they were out numbered three to one, some of them looked close to death. Some of them cried.

He remembered counting the planes off as they touched down and thought,

"That should have taken a lot longer. Well, three sqaudrons against one was never going to come out nice and fluffy."

He clicked the left mouse button.

High up in the crisp clear air with the clouds thousands of feet below looking like fresh snowfall, Skit decided to stop trying to remember how many missions he had flown and have a scratch instead.

How long had he been doing this for? What had he done before...."Nope. Nuffin! dumb bunny"

He stopped scratching and clicked on his throat mic.

"Bosco, bunny boy buddy! you still there? Everyone still there? I just had a snooze sorry chaps"

"Still here skit. Could hear you snoring - most proffesional"

The familiar voice of Red 2, joining in the running joke. The rest of red section checked in with similar familiarity. Well it was Skits section after all.

Far on the horizon something caught Skits eye. A galaxy of bright flashes just above the clouds as the sun caught the canopies of a group of fighter jets. A lot of fighters. Skit strained and was sure he could make out a cloud of little black dots rippling across the surface of the clouds - tiny and black - the fast moving shadows of far off enemy planes. Must be twenty miles out, just over the border but base must be tracking them just about now.

"Control, anything you want to share?..."

"Red 1, there is a massive area of interfearence moving towards you, heavy jamming. Can you ID please?"

"Lets go say hello to our neighbors Red section" Skit upped his speed and Red section matched up and on his command strung out into a loose line, side by side, ready for anything.

A few minutes later, Skit did not like what he saw.

"Control, Red 1 here. We have a large monkey incursion group just crossing into our airspace! Get Gold and Black section up asap, please. Holy fuck"

"Red 1, Black and Gold section rolling on the runway now, Angels 1 to 3 in the air standing by. How many bandits?"

"Now is not the time to start slagging off Mexicans control" said skit counting as fast as he could.

"Red 1! How many monkey fighters are up there!"

"Erm. All of them I think"

Skit was sure he heard someone in the background say "fuck" - my thoughts exactly but your on the base behind a ton of concrete and steel.

"Skit, do we engage?" Bosco in his ear sounded calm.

"Dear Red 2, what do you think we get payed for? Lets go boys. You know what we have to do"

One by one, Red section rolled out of formation and closed on the mass of aircraft below them.

Hazel left the de-briefing room and headed up the corridor. She was the last of what remained of Gold section to be seen, being the leader. She walked along bouncing her flight helmet off of her thighs as she went with her head down in an absent minded cloud of fatigue, she looked up and saw Boss heading towards her for his turn at telling the truth. Like her he was still in his flight suit despite it being two hours since they landed.

She smiled “Hi, just going to get something to eat” (I am going to the bar for the rest of the day, come and pull me out of it please)

Boss gave a small smile “You could use some food” (Your going to the bar, maybe see you there?)

“Thanks for saving our arses today” (Thank you thank you thank you.)

“It was my idea, the Angel thing so I guess it was my turn to be a hero. You will get your go soon enough. Then you can save me.” (Don’t get killed. Just give up flying and do something else will you. Hazel - just don’t die!)

“I lost two good pilots today” (Fuck! What did they look like? Oh shit have I become that detached already?)

“Hazel, Tyco and Willum lost themselves. They were good, but you know the criteria for really good pilots? Remind me to tell you one day” (At least you won’t have to watch them burn later in the bar you keep in your sleeping head – please not tonight, I don’t want that nightmare again tonight)

“Thanks, but they were in my section. My pilots. I know you trained us all but they were under my command. Yeah, we were in a bad situation and any one of us could have got it, but still” (Are you and Ruby sleeping together? Is she good? Christ Hazel, where the fuck did THAT come from! Shit.)

“Don’t do that to yourself. There will be two new pilots in the section tomorrow and that’s it. We loose people, we find people. Look, I have to go in now” (stop thinking stupid thoughts about hugging her you idiot)

Boss reached out and put his hand on Hazels shoulder and gently squeezed.

“Don’t fall apart –you have responsibilities now, you lead a section” (How the fuck did my hand get there!)

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry” (Don’t let go! Please please don’t. I need to tell you about the things I see when I am trying to go to sleep! That place, the hill, the Moon - I don’t think this is all real, I need you to…)
Boss moved past and headed towards the de-briefing room door.

“Boss, how do you know a good pilot then?” (If I know what you know maybe I can live a bit longer)

“Huh, easy! A good pilot is one you see for breakfast three days in a row.” (Stay breathing Hazel)

A pure clear blue sky above, a vast expanse of brilliant white cloud below. Off in the distance the flashes of sunlight on the cockpit canopies of four wildly flying fighters can be seen, as they fling themselves around the cold sky in an effort to stay alive. Somewhere beyond them hide two fully equipped Howling fuck up monkey fighters dispensing the missiles the four are trying to avoid.

The clouds in the foreground erupt as a sleek fighter blasts up through them, shining bright in its white anti radiation flash paint.

“Why the old school paint jobs boss?” asked the old man.
“I want those bastards to see us coming for miles and know they’re up against a fully kitted out SU37. I want them to know what they are getting. And I want our planes to know we are coming as well”

Boss is hunched over the controls trying to throw the plane through the sky by force of will. “Fly you bastard!” he mutters as he scans his radar. The four remaining fighters of gold section are twisting madly on the extreme of his scopes range but they are heading in his direction, fighting for home. The nearest one to him shows Hazels ID.

“We need more than three planes!”
“Boss, that’s all we can spare. They will be flown by all pilots in rotation, one aircraft on standby or flying with each section on each mission to cover them into and out of combat. Without radar or air-to-air missiles they are vulnerable outside the Monkeys jamming fields. It’s only a matter of time before the monkeys try to get them on the way in or out. That’s what the Angel section is for.”

Boss was closing fast, his hand hovered over the missile selection and target acquisition controls. “Come on, come on!” he scanned the far edge of the radar screen. They were there somewhere. Two fighters hanging back and launching QRAM’s at Gold section, thinking they were safe “Just wait till I see…”

“Anyway it’s only a stopgap, till we get garden path up and running”
“Ah yes” sighed boss “the much heralded jamming beam that the tech boys say will let us fly home safe from attack from fully kitted out fighters. When will that be ready?”
The Old Man lit another cigarette.
“Soon. We do not have limitless resources”
“Unlike the Monkeys.”

There! Extreme range! “I seeeee you!” said Boss, selecting both targets and allocating two missiles to each. It was too far to guarantee a hit but “this’ll make the little buggers jump!” said boss as he fired. Two missiles dropped away from each side of the fighter and roared into life, streaking off for their targets.

Boss resumed scanning the display of the scene ahead of him, the nearest Gold section fighter, Hazels, stopped its wild gyrations and headed straight for Boss. “Must have shaken the missile, good girl. Now just don’t blink” Boss watched the four radar indicators showing the missiles from his fighter head straight for Hazel, then split and fly past on either side as they hunted for Monkies.

Boss looked up and saw the rapidly growing dot of Hazels plane speeding towards him. As they flashed past each other he thought he could see her face looking up at him through the canopy. He clicked on his throat mic –

“Morning beautiful, we must stop meeting like this!”

And the white plane blasted by and was gone.

Hazel thought she had never heard a more welcome voice in all her life.

The pressure suit squeezes her legs and forces the blood up into her torso to prevent a black out. The SU37 rips the air and clouds form behind the wings in a tight turn. Her neck aches from constantly throwing panicked looks over her shoulders with a heavy flight helmet on. Sweat is stinging her eyes. She breathes too fast and tries to control it. Where the fuck is the horizon? Which way is up? It does not matter. Missile lock alarm is still beeping frantically in her ears and she feels sick. Her arms and legs hurt.

The beeping stops.

How long was that? Seemed like forever. A quick glance over her shoulder shows the missile dropping upwards towards the ground, its fuel spent. She rolls the plane over and hits autopilot and jams the throttle full open – the plane can take her home now.

“I did it. I’m going to live”. She realizes she is shaking and lifts her head up to look out over the nose towards home.

Hazel stops breathing.

Coming straight at her are four vapour trails from AA missiles at high closing speed.

No time to turn.

One of the bastards must have flown round and got between her section and home.

“Fuck I’m going to die after all,” she thinks.

Out loud she says

“I never told him”

“Another successful day at the office” Thought Hazel as she watched the rest of Gold section – her section, form up in loose formation on her plane as they headed for home. All six planes were there, although Tyco was leaving a faint smoke trail from somewhere.

“Tyco, are you cooking something? Check your engines please.”

“Just got a little hole somewhere Hazel, bit down on power but no problems for getting home”

“OK, just watch it and let me know if anything changes”

The SU37’s had now almost all been stripped of missile systems and unnecessary radar equipment, due to the success of the jamming fields being used by the monkeys. They now all carried four 50mm cannon in the nose and extra ammo. They were guided in by the control centre back at base and fought “old style” as boss called it – in close and guns only. The only good thing is the monkies had to do the same. But they were now on an even footing now the missile technology was removed. Made it hard work, physical work, throwing a plane round the sky after another one for minutes that seemed like hours.

She shifted in her seat to try to ease the weight on her left buttock. She could feel the bruise where Doc had injected her with his “special homemade remedy”. It did the trick and seemed to clear the fuzz in her brain that the bottle of Rabbit Punch had left from the night before. Doc had promised not to tell Boss, she would have to trust him on that one. She was drinking a bit much. Why? All that stuff with Boss and his sister. And other stuff about….stop. Stop being a silly stupid girly rabbit. You have a job to do.

She looked left and right at the rest of Gold section, at the gold bands on the wing tips, the gold tail plains of the other aircraft around her, at the black rabbit head on each tail. She felt good about that – that she was good enough to lead her own section. Or rather that Boss thought she was good enough. Skit was now Red leader and Boss, well trust him “Mr bloody Dramatic” was Black leader. And he had a female wingman. Stop it. “Boss likes a girlie on his tail” Skit had said with an arched eyebrow. Wind up bastard that he was. Ruby, good pilot. But did she have to have that voice? The one that made all the other male rabbits go funny? Don’t seem to work on boss though. Stop it.

She shook her head, the “remedy” may be wearing off, not long till home and a nice hot bath and then a

“Gold leader! Gold leader! Control here, two Enemy fighters coming up on your groups six, fully loaded and getting a lock. Hazel! They have full missile systems! Break and run for home”

Bunt, her wingman cut in

“Two against six is not a good..”

“Bunt shut it! Full missiles systems mean they can kill us before we even see them! Everyone Break now! Full throttle and go for home!”

She threw her plane hard starboard and down, spiralling madly but heading for the base. The missile lock alarm started to beep in her ear – she hadn’t heard that for a while.

Tyco was on air panicking. She could hear him grunting as he fought the high G in a turn.

“Hazel I got a missile, where are the bastards! I cant even see the planes, they must be miles out, shit! Loosing power! Fuck…Oh sh..”

A pop in her headphones, static, high above her an orange ball of flame and parts, spinning slowly out from the centre and starting a long drop down.

“And then there were five” she thought. Stop it – work – fly like Boss taught you. What a time to be without long-range missiles and radar.

“Control to Gold leader, Angel one launched, He’s coming, hang on.”

“Hurry Boss, please God - hurry” She thought as she saw another orange flame ball blossoming way off to port.