Oaths and Honours
For what seems like an eternity now, the ticking of the clock has been the only proof to Major Svetlena Mikhailov that time is moving forwards. Pacing around the aircraft, he must have run the preflight checks a million times, meticulously verifying the condition of every last minute detail of his ride. He wasn’t able to find any issues, no matter how hard he tried. The ground crew had been meticulous. They had to, for he was the commander of the squadron and known to be temperamental at best, and outright dangerously unstable at worst. Yet for all the checks and double checks that he performs with no issues, he cannot shake the feeling that something, anything will go wrong. A feeling that a hydraulic failure, a fuel leak, hell, an untightened screw that will bring him down over hostile territory gnaws at him.
“You’re being paranoid.” He mutters to himself, yet he still feels like his heart might pound out of his chest, and his stomach remains tied in knots. “It won’t be any different from the training, you’ve done this a hundred times. Fly in low, stay undetected, suppress the anti air, and get out alive.” For a plan, at least it had the benefit of simplicity. The spooks assured them that the strike package isn’t likely to meet any resistance, but he doubted their assessments. Even an idiot would expect an attack coming from such an obvious avenue. The fact that command chose such an inexperienced, reserve squadron for arguably the most important part of the mission irks him. The pilots under his command are motivated, yes, but unreliable. Truth be told, he does not even trust them for the most basic of things beyond not crashing their plane into the ground.
As the time approaches, his pacing becomes more and more frenetic. Each resonant crash and bang across the otherwise quiet hangar makes him jump. The time to actually get into the air cannot come fast enough. Just as the tension begins to boil over the point of being unbearable, the wing commissar, a young and dashing officer, strides into the hangar.
“I apologize it took so long. You’re the last person on my list, so let's make this quick.”
In his hands, the commissar holds a medal and a document.
“Here, swear this oath.”
Svetlena scans over the document, then in a stern, but slightly shaking voice, he reads aloud the words.
“I vow to fight for my motherland, no matter the cost. I vow to defend her courageously, honourably, and to my very life to achieve complete victory over the enemy.”
The commissar nods, then pins the medal on his flight suit.
“For your courage and steadfastness, Major Mikhailov, you are being awarded the order of basilic revolution, third class. Congratulations.”
They salute each other, and the commissar leaves the hangar just as quickly as he entered.
At the same moment, the clock strikes midnight.
He puts on his helmet, and climbs into the cockpit.