UFO

My name is Dijan and I am a pilot of the air force of the Republic of Gorania. I was recruited at my university, and thanks to my progress in my engineering career, I was saved from being drafted as a foot soldier. The transition to the electronic systems of the combat airplanes was easy, but soon I was interested in flight itself. Also, if I learned to control a supersonic jet, I was assured of a promotion. My results in simulated flights were already very promising, but shortly before making my solo flight for the certification, a war due to a territorial dispute with a neighboring country, the Republic of Kishavia, began. Even so, I earned my promotion to lieutenant thanks to the national emergency and I got certified in the middle of combat. While a truck drove us to the airfield from which my squadron would operate, my comrades and I studied the manuals as quickly as possible. We memorized controls and formulas and even mimicked difficult maneuvers. In peace time, these activities would seem comic. But since we are at war, now it is for real.

Upon arriving to the hangar, we were fell in as the military discipline dictates while the colonel assigned the airplanes to us. The jets were not very new, but were very powerful, and at the beginning, they had good maintenance. During the first missions, we were identified only by the name of the squadron and a number; I was Eagle 14. The non-commissioned personnel gave us uniforms, helmets, oxygen masks and other gear. Usually, there was only space for a 9-millimeter automatic pistol with 15 rounds, among maps, emergency rations and first-aid kits.

Soon the siren sounded and we ran toward our airplanes in order to start them and take off as quickly as possible. The first mission was simple: air support to a platoon that was pinned down by armored vehicles and artillery fire. The enemy was poorly prepared for an air attack and was swept with air-to-surface missiles and machine gun fire. The difficult part was to clear an escape route for the troops, since there were enemy patrols that attacked using guerrilla tactics and there was the risk of hitting our boys trying to defend them with our machine guns and bombs. Due to the hurry of our first deployment, the fuel didn't last and we had to return to the base. One of our planes received an impact, but it landed safe and sound, so we didn't lose a single pilot. Not bad for a squadron of beginners.

The colonel reviewed the recordings of the mission and pointed out serious mistakes, especially to the poor pilot that was shot. Even so, our spirits were high. This lasted almost a week, since they hardly activated us, and when they did, it was for reconnaissance flights and we did not even have to fire a shot. Unfortunately, when High Command interpreted the aerial photographs and other information, they decided that a serious danger hung over the Eagle Squadron. Kishavia had started a comprehensive rearming program and it posed a great challenge to our control over the air along the border in dispute. It goes without saying that the air superiority was a crucial piece so that our government could take control of the land in question, so the terrestrial mobilization would be more effective.

What we feared most finally happened: The first enemy squadrons were spotted, and it was necessary to draw from all our know-how and even any dirty trick that we could use in order to counterattack the opposing aviation. Now we would separate the "boys" from the "men" in equal-to-equal air combat. I excelled at maneuvering closer to the enemies than the rest of my squadron, and so I used machine guns mostly, since the air-to-air missile might seem easy, but aiming it takes too much time so that the onboard computer locks on the target, and meanwhile, we were vulnerable to a sneak attack. The really difficult thing about close combat is the risk of colliding with another airplane, so it is necessary to make sharp turns in order to avoid as quickly as possible. I preferred the missile when we achieved radar contact with the enemy before having it near, and that lapse, in supersonic flight, is of a few seconds; after that, all pandemonium breaks loose, with airplanes of any side criss-crossing between one another at full speed. Thus we lost most of the squadron, especially beginners, cowards and aviators who believed that they would be above the average fighting man.

My ability won me a position as second-in-command, not only for flying better and killing more enemies than any other pilot, even than the colonel, but for my somewhat deeper knowledge about the allied and enemy war machines. When I was not in the air, I shared a lot with the hangar personnel, and I even made modifications to my airplane. Other pilots consulted their problems with me, especially in flight, and as long as an enemy airplane was not on my tail, I instructed them about how to manipulate the onboard computer to correct some flaws, due to a hit or other mechanical failures. Then we earned new nicknames, according to the very particular style of flying of each pilot: mine was Ace, Joker, or WildCard. It was necessary to change it frequently in order to confuse the enemy eavesdropping into our frequencies, or at least, make them believe that we are more and to frighten them.

Amid an air battle, something unusual happened: a super-airplane, it had to come from outer space, moved surprisingly quickly into our air space, attacking airplanes of both sides. My colonel was shot down and I desperately parlayed with the enemy squadron's flight leader for a cease-fire to face a greater threat. He consented to the truce and concerted a plan: the airplanes that remained in flight took distance and formed a phalange, kind of a firing squad, in order to launch our missiles against the alien craft.

"3..."

"2..."

"1..."

"Fire!"

Most of the projectiles strayed and the few that hit were unable to cause significant damage. Then, the infernal machine pursued us and shot down each airplane, sometimes, more than one at a time. I tried to move closer for one of my characteristic attacks, but my controls became stiff. I typed commands so the computer could compensate, and I was hardly able to remain in flight. I fired, but if missiles didn't make a dent on such an impenetrable structure, I could not expect much from mere bullets. Any way, the alien ship hit me, or rather, it pushed me with unexpected gentleness. But the damage was already done: my onboard computer shut down and the controls became impossible. The internal forces prevented me from reaching the lever in order to eject, and also, I could send myself directly toward the ground, for the dizziness and disorientation that I felt. When I was able to glide, I was already too close to the ground and I only had time for a crash landing. I didn't dare to take out the landing gear, because any unexpected irregularity in the terrain would overturn the airplane. The impact was severe, but my safety belt and my helmet and even my oxygen mask protected me from serious injury. But the bruises that the abrupt braking produced prevented me from moving for a few minutes. Then, my fear was that the fuel would explode and burn me to death. So I took out my gun and fired away at the glass of my cockpit to break it and break out quickly. If the enemy patrols didn't listen to the din of my airplane upon crashing, they would not be interested in hearing my gunshots. The suit protected me from cuts with glass and metal fragments, but not from the pain of falling on stones upon losing balance. I wept real tears, because I already felt that I would die anyhow. I wandered under the burning sun and I found some of the aircraft who came with me during the accident. Nobody else survived. I took along as much as I could carry, food rations, maps, bandages and bullets for my gun. I even discovered that one of the airplanes came equipped with a conversion kit to deploy a projectile from land, but that would not be of any use for me. I also took an assault rifle that another pilot was able to accommodate in his compartment.

The enemy maps were quite difficult to interpret, and the only thing that they revealed to me was that I fell deep inside the enemy lines. While I advanced toward my lines, the possibility of bumping into an enemy soldier increased. I insisted on walking during the night, fearing being captured or killed, but the sleep and the hunger made it hard for me. I hid as well as I could to rest, and then, the nightmares about the whole incident didn't allow me to sleep. On the following day, I realized that I turned back during the night as much as I was able to advance during the previous day, but I continued and I even allowed myself to walk in circles. I was only interested in finding anything to eat or drink.

At dusk, my worst fear was confirmed: a small group of Kishavian soldiers walked the area around me. I realized that, on land, I am only a coward, because I was not going to face a handful of men with rifles in better conditions that the one that I carried. I scurried between rocks and bushes, not wanting to be seen, but a voice emphasized to me the futility of my effort. Somebody screamed:

"Enemy in sight!"

And the most bestial and chaotic shoot-out that I had ever witnessed broke loose, even worse than against that space ship. But I noticed that I was not reached by a single bullet, and I soon understood why: a patrol from my country engaged the enemies. I wanted to move toward my people, but the other guys were in the way, so I didn't give signs of even being there. I climbed a little to achieve better visibility and I saw that both units annihilated each other. Again, I became the only witness of another ferocious battle. I did not even plunder the bodies, fearing that one might be alive and he would try to kill me. It almost escaped me, but I observed a female soldier, very young and even pretty, with uniform and insignia of the Kishavian army, her rank was sergeant. She moved away, even quicker than I did. I got distracted and I slid down from my observation point to the floor. She was startled upon hearing the noise of my fall, but she ventured to investigate. When she saw me, she could not recognize my uniform, because I kept tearing up badges to use them as improvised bandages and my uniform was already discolored. Even so, she surmised that I outranked her and stood in attention to salute me very nervously:

"Sergeant Marjena, 127 Recon, Sir!"

I quickly thought of a Kishavian version of my own name to identify myself:

"Lieutenant D'Jeng here, WildCat Squadron! At ease, sergeant."

This was the name of the squadron with which I battled against that extraterrestrial ship. The sergeant gave a sigh of relief but she remained restless. She recommended me:

"Permission to move away from here, Sir. The Goranians could return in any moment."

"Granted."

We passed to another hill, which lay closer to my lines, but I didn't make any comment. I preferred to trust in her sense of direction. I offered her one of my cookie-shaped rations and she told me that she already had hers. We ate in silence, and in the evening, she showed me a good hiding place in which to spend the night. I told her:

"Good night, Sergeant Marjena. Thank you and congratulations, you are an excellent Recon soldier."

"Don't mention it, lieutenant. Good night."

I imagined that she took it as a joke but I meant it. But I didn't want to start a debate, because the fatigue didn't allow me to. I slept a little better, but I kept waking up in the middle of the night, and I forgot that I had a new traveling companion and her presence surprised me again and again. I controlled my reaction the best that I could, and I urinated quickly, or simply, I turned around to sleep again. I did not even have the courage to take out my gun in order to eliminate her, and also, she was so beautiful that I thought of her as harmless, she being of the other side.

The following day, she guided me according to the maps that I picked up previously, but I realized that we didn't go toward her lines. Upon inquiring about going the wrong way, she replied:

"I don't plan to go toward my lines, Sir."

"Then where?"

"I'm going toward Betalia."

"A neutral country? Why?"

"Because I am not going to fight any more. Besides, I never carried a weapon and I don't plan to do so. Those of your kind should know that better than anybody, after all, officers as yourself bestowed this rank upon me without firing a shot."

My face reflected millions of questions, but my lips couldn't even formulate the first one. Even so, she continued with her explanation:

"You know well that they would not send an attractive woman as cannon fodder. In theory, they assigned me these and other riskier missions, but in practice, I could be excused if I pleased them with certain favors."

"Sexual...?"

"Didn't you know? You don't fool me. Look, lieutenant, I leave as a deserter or any way I can. If you want to stop me, you can only do it by shooting me in the back, because I am not going to do any more favors, neither to you nor to anybody, not even to the president, so go ahead, shoot me. I prefer to die than..."

"Don't worry, I am not going to stop you. I cannot stand it anymore..."

"The war?"

"No, my own deceit. My true name is Dijan."

"Oh, God...! You are Goranian! Now you will kill me as a war trophy."

"No way! I need you in order to survive, and fleeing to some neutral country sounds much better than I thought until this moment."

"And you, what atrocities did you have to endure? They could not be worse than those that I had to feel in my own flesh, how soldiers of all ranks satisfied their animal instincts with my body, as if that were my contribution to such a glorious war!"

The young woman lost her composure and began to cry bitterly. On impulse, I wanted to hug her, but she pushed me away violently, making me realize that touching her was a serious mistake, after everything through which she had to go... I tried to calm her:

"Look, young lady, forgive me, I won't do it again. Please, don't go away. I will go wherever you say and will do whatever you ask me to do, but please, don't cry anymore. I guarantee you that I will never take advantage of you."

She stopped walking but she didn't stop crying. I signaled her to hide until she could calm down. When she quieted, she moved among the dead bodies and took some things from them, and she showed me the way to a creek, where we could refresh ourselves and hide our tracks. But we heard other military units, without distinguishing to which country they belonged. She told me:

"If they are of your country, it will be better that you kill me now. If they are mine, you know that I will have to kill you."

"I Understand. We both know that the prisoners of war are treated with cruelty."

"Anyway, I prefer that you kill me you before they discover me, especially if they are mine."

"All right, but for now, let's hide."

We submerged where the current was a little turbulent, and so, the silhouette of our bodies was not easily distinguished. We had to hold on to the rocks and to each other's bodies to keep from being dragged by the current, and the fear made us scream sometimes, but the sound of the water concealed our voices a little. The patrol went away and we continued along a less dangerous bank. She mentioned again:

"Lieutenant, I have thought it over, and if we could not escape, the best will be that we kill each other."

I felt much pain in my heart, but I recognized that she was right. She even convinced me to rehearse how we would shoot each other, and she did not even flinch at the thought of my gun being loaded during the rehearsals. I was on the verge of tears and lowered my weapon and she I scolded me:

"Lieutenant, do not lose your courage! I need you to end my suffering, in one way or another. Please..."

She looked at me with tears in her eyes but she held her gun high. She repeated:

"Help me with this..."

I could not take it anymore and I hugged her. She fought against me, but not with so much intensity, and collapsed from so much sorrow. We cried together and I pressed her tightly against my chest. She, finally, stopped resisting and she returned my hug. She even looked for my bearded cheeks to kiss me. I accepted some of her caresses and I moved my lips so that hers would land on something softer than my facial hair. We fused our mouths and her tongue ventured into making contact with mine. My penis was aroused by the contact and I began to undress. She also removed her uniform and I dove into her beautifully round breasts. She wasn't hindered by the trauma of so many others who raped her previously and she welcomed me to her body. Not wanting to irritate her with my coarse hands or my beard, I used my tongue or my lips in a pout, and with such a subtle touch, I was able to travel over her beautiful body to arrive to her clitoris and give her an orgasm that cleared any bad memory that she had left. I was going to take out a condom from my uniform but she beat me to one, saying:

"Take mine. We use them to protect the muzzles of our rifles upon crossing bodies of water."

I kissed her in the mouth once again while I helped her put it on me. The touch of her hands, although rough from the voyage, stimulated me into maintaining my erection and I penetrated her easily. I pumped slowly at the beginning, but she hurried me, in case somebody approached. When she foresaw my ejaculation, she contracted her vaginal muscles and thus she shared my climax. Immediately, we dove in the water to let the stream take away the preservative along with our secretions. We looked for another hiding place to rest. Upon wishing each other good night, I asked her:

"Forgive me, I made you relive what so many others they did to you."

"No, not at all. You have been the first, the first to make love to me, the only one who has ever loved me. Now I understand why you didn't want to do the exercise."

"Yes; I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Not even if I am your enemy?"

"We are already way beyond all that, even above the war. You and I are more than generals and presidents, we have already won this war together."

"I love you!"

"I love you too!"

For the first time, there were no nightmares. But there was an incredible racket: it was the ship crashing nearby. I took Marjena by an arm and I made her run toward the impact zone. We had to leave the relative safety of the creek and return to stony land. I identified a crack through which we could go inside it, and for the first time, I closely saw the only aircraft that could defeat me.

Much of the electronics still worked, although very erratic and unpredictably. Not everything appeared written in alien language, but it seemed that the computers have been learning our language. Speakers with radio communications of both countries in conflict could be heard, along with civilian radio stations with news of the war. In certain screens, radar images of diverse regions of both countries were alternated. The most undecipherable thing was the keyboards, those were marked with purely extraterrestrial symbols. I took several days comparing some symbols with others and seeing their effect in the screens. Apparently, their propulsion system was no longer operational, so the buttons didn't do more than change audio or video channels.

Marjena was no longer troubled by her paranoia, and she pressed buttons as if this were a huge video arcade. She was the one who discovered how a crewmember could wash in this spacecraft. I was able to control doors and windows and I even sealed the crack through where we entered. Even so, we didn't suffocate inside, since we also discovered how to turn on the air conditioner. When we ate all the rations, we ventured to leave and pick up fruits and wild vegetables. The ship even showed us trails in their maps where the army squads of each side would not reach us. Little by little, diagrams began to appear that explained what repairs the ship needed in order to work again. In the beginning, my friend and I did too simple jobs without consequence, and I began to get frustrated for how little we had achieved. But she saw it philosophically, saying: