.Short Story | Behind Enemy Lines
- Shikhar Sumeru
- Jul 16, 2021
- 6 min read
Updated: Aug 5, 2021
Behind Enemy Lines : A Short Story
Copyright © 2021 Shikhar Sumeru
All rights reserved. No portion of this story, its parts, or any other section from this website, may be reproduced in any form without permission from the writer. For permissions contact: TellTaleArt09@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Behind Enemy Lines
“Control, do you copy? I repeat, I see the target. Permission to engage, over,” he radioed on his mouthpiece, receiving no response for the umpteenth time.
“First they give me this stealth prototype of a bird with god-knows-what features and all. And, now when I am finally getting the hang of it, they go incommunicado! Where the hell are those jokers in ground staff!” he exclaimed as he dived to his left avoiding the river marking the international boundary and giving the semblance of a child’s badly drawn straight line, from several thousand feet above the surface.
How long had he been off the ground now, flying the latest ‘stealth prototype’? The fuel efficiency was clearly unmatched; for he hadn’t seen the needle – if there was one -- move despite being airborne for as long as he could recall.
He was beginning to explore its infinite capabilities. The lab boys at Lockheed – or wherever they had imported the prototype from – had evidently surpassed every known standard in the intricate engineering of fighter aircraft. The stealth was so complete that even raptors of the high skies appeared unalarmed seeing him, thinking of him as one of their own.
And, the stealth extended beyond the visible exterior, to the hidden inner consoles.
For they were truly hidden. There were none visible to the naked eye, to begin with. Whatever he was used to doing using buttons and joysticks in the Sukhois, the MIGs, even the latest F-35s simulations, he was doing instinctively, using his advanced flight helmet.
There was no need of consoles if you can achieve tasks using your head after all. You don’t need consoles for packing a jackhammer punch, do you? Neither do you need it for grabbing the wrist of an attacker, swiftly twisting it counterclockwise to disarm them.
If your bird becomes an extension of your body, your head is all the console you need.
Diving right? Just tilt the wing. Engaging advanced telescopic cameras? Just roll a tad down. Locking onto even the smallest of targets? Deploy binocular vision. With the flight path precise to inches, and the maneuvering as accurate, as agile, as a raptor, the whole contraption felt like an extension of his own being, part of his body, there was no need for ostentatious consoles; he could fly this thing using his head.
‘Why was control not copying?’
Beside ‘permission to engage’, he also wanted to know ‘how to engage’. For despite the modernity of the science-fiction-esque gadgetry, he was not able to find a command, an instinct in his head, for weapons.
‘What good is a high-powered telescopic rifle, if it has no bullet inside?’
Even aircraft aimed at purely reconnaissance purposes were equipped with some defense mechanism. He was yet to figure out his. Or, perhaps it was ‘stealth’ itself? The makers so confident that their bird will remain invisible to even the smartest radar systems.
‘There was one way to figure out.’
Well, there were two, technically. But for some strange reason, ‘asking control’ did not seem feasible, on account of them observing radio silence.
‘Second option it is, then,’ he said to himself and doubled back in a smooth maneuver, keeping an eye on the ground below, the river marking the enemy lines appearing in front of him again. He did not try to flinch this time. For he was not aiming to avoid the enemy lines. His stealth bird was headed straight towards the international boundary.
‘Gutsy, huh?’ he asked himself.
Reply was balanced and logical, ‘Well, of course. But you can always hide behind ‘control being out of reach’. And, if you come unscathed, undetected – which you will, thanks to the contraption you are in – then, the capability of the stealth will be complete, proven beyond doubt. If you can fool enemy radars; well, you can get your way out of any punishment, pretty much. Plus, with altitude so high and speed so fast, a few hundred meters here or there can hardly be blamed on the skills of a pilot.’
He was now flying over the terrain he had only seen in images, captured by reconnaissance drones. The mountains, the tree lines, the flora and fauna, even people, to some degree – all strikingly similar to those of his own side.
And, why not?
Just because a river running through the ground was considered a line too sacred by some did not mean that both its shores would automatically start producing diametrically opposite forms of life.
A familiar canyon shaped structure came into view. He was tempted to fly through it. A fantasy of even most skilled fighter pilots, furthered by commendable CGI work from Hollywood: flying through narrow crevices between rocks on either side, and heavy gunfire from behind.
He gave in to the temptation and took his bird in the dark chasms. Ducking when required, diving when needed.
‘So far, so good; no enemy fire till now. If only I can come out the other side without a scratch to the wings,’ he thought navigating the dark alleys of the canyon. The darkness seemed unending; the lightless tunnels extending to immeasurable proportions.
‘Finally,’ he exclaimed, seeing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
Flying straight towards a pair of twin rocks jutting out from either side of the canyon, he tilted the body to the left, for he was right-handed, and flew past the narrow passage with his wings totally vertical.
For a moment he closed his eyes.
‘Wohoooo! That’s it, baby!’ he rejoiced, opening his eyes, as the darkness came to an end.
Something was amiss; or was it that something was too familiar?
“Control, do you copy? I repeat, I see the target. Permission to engage, over,” he heard himself say, exactly as he had done minutes before on his mouthpiece.
Control remained muted even this time around. He looked down. The river marked as international boundary was approaching fast, from the front. In seconds, he would be behind enemy lines.
He dived to his left avoiding the river, that looked like a child’s badly drawn straight line from several thousand feet above the surface.
His own voice echoed in his head again, “First they give me this stealth prototype of a bird with god-knows-what features and all. And, now when I am finally getting the hang of it, they go incommunicado! Where the hell are those jokers in ground staff!”
How long had he been off the ground now, flying the latest ‘stealth prototype’?
This was a question he had no answer to. For like a VHS tape in fast forward, the events repeated in exact same sequence, as they had a few minutes before. As they had … a thousand times before.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The emergency room of the highly equipped military hospital was abuzz with activity, as the code blue team – a doctor, a nurse, a respiratory therapist, and a pharmacist – surrounded the newly arrived patient who had collapsed multiple times since his arrival that morning.
“Another one?” asked the senior doctor.
“Yes, sir. Another attack,” the nurse nodded, “He was in a simulation when the accident happened. The attacks are coming every now and then since he was brought in.”
“We are losing pulse,” the respiratory therapist alarmed.
“Well, whatever is going on in his head; the good captain needs to snap out from within,” the doctor remarked taking the defibrillators.
“He needs to take control,” affirmed the empathetic nurse.
“He needs to be his own control,” declared the doctor.
As the doctor shouted ‘clear’ and administered the high energy electric shocks to the heart, the captain could hear his voice in his head … again:
“Control, do you copy? I repeat...”
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