Andrei jerked back on the stick of his Su-6 after a successful hit-and-run on a bunch of tanks in an American base. Antiaircraft fire explodes around him, catching a near unnoticeable amount of shrapnel in his right wing. He let in a deep breath and began to climb up, his wingman Josef meeting him at about 5000 feet. As Andrei was trimming the flaps to adjust to the new altitude, the cockpit radio suddenly crackled to life.

"Good shooting, Andrei. I saw the fire from up here."

He let the plane level out, and grabbed his microphone, pressing the button on the side and speaking into it.

"Well, those stars make for good targets. Who's idea was that, anyway?"

A bit of laughter was heard from the speaker.

"Typical Americans. They got more balls than brains sometimes."

Andrei checked his compass and map, making sure he was oriented the right way to head back to base. The radio crackled to life once more.

"Andrei, you have something leaking from your right wing."

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the right, seeing black liquid seep from a punctured hole in his wing.

"Ah, fuck. Flak must have got me. Does my left look good?"

Josef pulled up a bit, about 20 feet above and to the right of Andrei.

"'Yeah, it's just the right."

Andrei let out a relieved sigh and made sure he was on course to the airfield.


Andrei felt the weight of the plane shift to the left ever so slightly, discerning that the fuel tank was punctured. He adjusted the trim to somewhat counteract this, letting him not have to hold the stick to the right to counteract the roll.

Suddenly, a 20mm cannon broke through the sound of propellers and rushing wind, a burst going right into Josef's left tailfin. It nicked the fuselage too, sending sparks off the metal.

"Shit, 5 o clock high!" 

Josef turned his plane and made a banking turn down and right, trying to gain speed to climb up behind the American fighters. Andrei did the same to the left, pulling on the yoke hard. A P-47 was on his ass, sending a burst of .50 cal tracers into his right wing.

The Soviet pilot swore and attempted an Immelman, the P-47 changing course soon after to follow the Su-6. Andrei heard the guns chatter again, this time striking his fuselage and tail fin. 

The plane was harder to control now, many control surfaces fucked up. The right ailerons were slow to respond now, and he could no longer yaw. He slammed the throttle to the rear, pulling up and watching the P-47 fly past. He then pushed the throttle forward and climbed, descending down onto the P-47 as it attempted to turn. 

Andrei pressed down his 37mm cannons, the heavy rounds punching through the P-47's left wing. A trail of fire had formed behind him, indicating he had ignited his fuel. The pilot then tried to pull up hard, but put too much stress on his damaged wing. It snapped in the middle, sending his plane into an uncontrollable barrel roll.

Andrei saw a white parachute open a couple thousand feet below. The burning plane hit the ground soon after, igniting part of a small wheat field underneath. 

Andrei's victory was short lived, as he had a P-38G coming at him from the front. Andrei lined up his shot, fired, and turned away. The American fighter thought the same and went an opposite direction. 

Andrei saw two .50 caliber rounds hit his windsheild, one hitting the section of bulletproof glass in front of his face. Realizing how close he was to death, the Soviet pilot shuddered and worked on getting the P38 in his sights.

The P38 was already behind him, it's single 20mm cannon blasting away at his right wing. It punctured the fuel tank, giving Andrei the same predicament as he did the P-47. As the P38 turned away, Andrei kept the plane level, as not to make the same mistake the poor American pilot had earlier. 

Suddenly, he heard a loud bang, and whipped his head around to see a P38 have one of its engines get destroyed by Josef's fighter. Josef's cannons ripped the connecting fin between the two tail booms away.

"Shit, thanks man..."

"Not a problem, just doing my job."

Andrei grasped the yoke tightly, his plane fighting him as he maintained course. 

"Andrei, does my plane look good?"

He glanced at his wingman's plane and saw there to not be too much there, apart from the tail and fuselage nicks.

"Yeah, you look fine."

"Oh, good, for a second I thought that-"

DAKDAKDAKDAKDAKDAKDAKDAK

A P-80 Shooting Star strafed Josef's plane, tearing through the top of the cockpit and the engine. A spray of blood coated the entire canopy, bites of grey matter spread amongst it. 

The jet soared past Andrei at lightning speed, but he couldn't hear it.

"JOSEF!"

The body slumped against the controls, pushing his ruined aircraft down and into the ground. The plane detonated on impact.

His best friend and most trusted comrade.

Gone.

The flight back was uneventful and quiet, only the low drone of the propeller consoling Andrei as he began to comprehend what had happened. He went through the motions of descending, decelerating, lowering the landing gear, putting on landing flaps, all of that. The plane slowly rolled to a halt, taxied to the repair hanger by a Universal Carrier. When asked about Josef, his silence was all that was needed to be said.

His footfalls were heavy as he walked to the barracks, simply laying in his bunk once he got there. Andrei eventually fell asleep, woken up by his flight leader. He simply handed him a letter, and told him a simple phrase.

"The brass wants you for their jet program. You have 30 minutes to gather your things and get to the airfield."

He left as quickly as he came, leaving Andrei to his thoughts. If he accepted this, he could be on equal footing with the P-80 that killed Josef.

He could kill him instead.

Needless to say, he was there early. 

It was time to have his revenge.


A week after getting his new orders, Lieutenant Andrei Mednikov stepped off the train bringing him to Moscow. He was wearing plainclothes, under specific direction by command. He wore his aviator jacket, albeit with no insignia on it. He wore a pair of brown work pants over a pair of black boots, crunching against the freshly fallen snow. He moved amongst the throng of people, trams and cars clattering along the roads. 

He walked to a predetermined point near the Basil Cathedral in the Red Square. Among the thousands of people among the crowd, he was to look for a cream colored GAZ Pobeda with two men in it, the one in the passengers seat wearing a brown fedora.

Andrei stood there, eyeing the street. Then, a car matching the description pulled up alongside. The window rolled down, the man in the hat looking ast him.

"Get in."

Andrei opened the rear passenger door and sat inside, some music playing over the car radio. The two men up front remained silent for a good half hour, driving out of city limits and into the countryside.

The man in the hat opened the glovebox and pulled out a tan folder marked "Confidential" in Cryllic.

"Lieutenant, you now have security clearance for classified documents up 'Secret' classification."

Andrei raised an eyebrow and took the folder.

"Under who's authority?"

The man turned around in his seat and gazed into Andrei's eyes. 

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Air Marshal Georg Siderovch, your new commanding officer."

Andrei was a bit surprised, but opened the folder. Inside were design specifications for a new kind of jet aircraft. It was shaped similarly to an Me-262, but the engines were in line with the wing. The design specifications labled them as Rolls-Royce turbojets. They also said the plane was armed with three 37m cannons in the nose, with four 20mm cannons in the wings. This thing was fucking powerful.

"You'll be flying the Tu-5 turbojet fighter. Tupolev got ahold of design documents of the Gloster Meteor, and made some... modifications to it. To combat the surge in jet powered aircraft, we've decided to use the airframe for our own devices."

Andrei kept reading about the new craft. The Gloster Meteor originally had rails for attaching rockets and bombs, but they were ditched in favor of more guns. The Tu-5 could be used in two ways: combatting American jets and strafing ground targets.

The first job was done by the powerful Hispano cannons, supposedly able to punch through Allied airframes with ease. The second job was primarily done with the two 37mm nose cannons. The cannons could move up and down, the up most position used for dogfighting, and the downward position for CAS use. The downwarddownward position would allow the pilot to keep the plane level and maintain fire on the battlefield.

This was backed up with the powerful engines and an aileron system that would try to make the plane more maneuverable in a turn. This was to exploit the P-80's weakness in turn fighting. What they ended up with was a plane that could compete with the incoming Allied tide of jet powered craft.

It's main weakness was that the top speed was lower than the P-80, which would leave the craft weak to a boom n' zoom attack, which was common in the American military. 

Andrei was so caught up in reading that he didn't notice that they had arrived at the airfield.

"Come, Lieutenant. It's time to meet your new pride and joy."

Andrei stepped out of the car, putting the file back into the glovebox. He followed the Air Marshal as the driver went to park the car someplace safe. 

Andrei heard the roar of a jet engine grow louder as he apporached the airfield, and watched as a flying wing design took off gracefully. The Air Marshal shouted over the loud roar.

"That's going to be our new tactical bomber by next springs, Andrei! It will be faster than any before it!"

Andrei felt his short hair blow in the light breeze, walking into a hanger with four Tu-5's in a line. He was shown to the last one on the right. It was an impressive piece of work, armed to the teeth.

"Here she is. Do you like her?"

Andrei ran his hand along the nose, feeling the unpainted metal on his palm.

"She's beautiful..."

The Air Marshal smiled and laughed a bit.

"I'll allow you to take it out once you suit up, just give the go ahead once you're ready."

Andrei nodded, arriving back at the plane after about 30 minutes. A Universal Carrier taxied him out to the runway.

"Tower, this is Mercy, do you read?

"Copy that, Mercy, go ahead."

"Requesting permission for takeoff, over."

"Permission granted. Have a nice flight, out."

Andrei turned on the engines to let the powerful jets spool up, slowly inching the throttle forward. The whine of the engines grew louder as he began to roll down the runway. 

He continued to push the throttle forward, eventually reaching the maximum thrust. He was rolling at an incredible pace, pulling up and putting the gear up soon. 

The plane slowly climbed, the altimeter going up at a steady pace. This thing was a dream to fly.

Andrei knew that from that point on, he could take on a P-80.

He could have his revenge.

		```` GARAND HAS TIED THIS IN WITH PARTS OF MAINE 2100, BUT I REALLY JUST DON'T GIVE A FUCK ```````

He watched as a rookie pilot banked in front of one of the American P-80's, getting shot up by the .50 cals. 

"Fuck, 1-5 is down, 1-5 is down."

Andrei makes a loop to attempt to maneuver behind the small flight of P-80's, hitting the airbrakes to slow down, then hitting the thrusters once he was in the right position. He wasa. Good distance away, but he could still catch up if he intercepted one in the middle of a turn. 

Then, he saw Carl about 300 meters out and below. Andrei went into a slight dive, trying to maintain his low speed as not to overshoot. He then let loose a short burst of the 20 mils, cursing as he didn't lead far enough to hit him.

Andrei audiubly groans as he sees one of his last two backup fighters being tricked into a flat spin. Their win/loss ratio is two to three.

Unacceptable.

Andrei broke off from the plane he was currently following and WEPed down to a lone P-80. He used his dive energy to keep up with the faster craft, leading up the target and letting loose twomquick bursts of 20mm.

With luck, they would connect. 

Andrei then pulled away after the burst, informing his lone wingman to RTB. If he connected, then maybe he could have a dogfight on his hands.