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Description
“As the youngest member of the Furies I was eager for my first kill. As the least experienced, the best I could do was stay alive. Fortunately our Threshers were better than anything the enemy had at that early stage of the war.

Our aces tore through the Directorate's squadrons, blasting their obsolete aircraft apart and sending their pilots to fiery graves. My comrades were unmatched in the air and full of swagger on the ground. Our leaders' claims seemed justified: our enemies were subhuman beasts fit only for extermination.

Our confidence faltered with the first snows that halted our advance on land and gave the Directorate time to regroup. The Furies were hastily transferred to the northern seaboard, where we were losing vital transports to the superior enemy navy. On our first day we encountered a swarm of YN 79s returning from a harbour raid.

We hit them from above and behind, raking them with cannon fire. Three of them went down in flames; as my comrades fought the rest, I noticed one had broken off and was trying to escape. I had a thousand feet on him, and a shallow dive brought me in range. My first burst silenced his rear gunner. The second set his tanks ablaze.

I looked around. We were alone. Something made me hold my fire and draw alongside the stricken plane. The pilot struggled with the catch, threw back the canopy, and climbed out amid a pall of smoke. After that he did no more, as if trying to decide between a quick death with his plane, or a slow one in the icy sea.

As we stared at one another, I realised we were not as different as our propaganda claimed. I almost wished I could have saved him - but there was nothing I could do. I gave him a forlorn salute and cursed the leaders we both served. When I made it back to base, my comrades were already chalking up scores, but my first kill was not confirmed and never felt like victory..."

Description
“As the youngest member of the Furies I was eager for my first kill. As the least experienced, the best I could do was stay alive. Fortunately our Threshers were better than anything the enemy had at that early stage of the war.

Our aces tore through the Directorate's squadrons, blasting their obsolete aircraft apart and sending their pilots to fiery graves. My comrades were unmatched in the air and full of swagger on the ground. Our leaders' claims seemed justified: our enemies were subhuman beasts fit only for extermination.

Our confidence faltered with the first snows that halted our advance on land and gave the Directorate time to regroup. The Furies were hastily transferred to the northern seaboard, where we were losing vital transports to the superior enemy navy. On our first day we encountered a swarm of YN 79s returning from a harbour raid.

We hit them from above and behind, raking them with cannon fire. Three of them went down in flames; as my comrades fought the rest, I noticed one had broken off and was trying to escape. I had a thousand feet on him, and a shallow dive brought me in range. My first burst silenced his rear gunner. The second set his tanks ablaze.

I looked around. We were alone. Something made me hold my fire and draw alongside the stricken plane. The pilot struggled with the catch, threw back the canopy, and climbed out amid a pall of smoke. After that he did no more, as if trying to decide between a quick death with his plane, or a slow one in the icy sea.

As we stared at one another, I realised we were not as different as our propaganda claimed. I almost wished I could have saved him - but there was nothing I could do. I gave him a forlorn salute and cursed the leaders we both served. When I made it back to base, my comrades were already chalking up scores, but my first kill was not confirmed and never felt like victory..."