A group of fifteen, known as Postal Squadron marches through a white-lit corridor. Many faces are familiar here; over the last year, they've made their way to the musty briefing room countless times. Their mere survival over such a long period has earned them an elite status, though they don't dare let the honor get to their heads. Those who are not so familiar-about a third of the group-are only present because they fill the spaces of those lost.

Loss is common in this impossible war, but even so, the impact of losing a friend or colleague is never any less. The romanticized image of an elite fighter squadron is that of brash individuals, with perpetual smirks and casual walks, never in attention, and ever insubordinate. But things couldn't be more different here; over the last year, these pilots have aged at a rate normally seen in drug abusers. Dark circles always appear under their eyes, from stress or lack of sleep. Jokes go back and forth between close friends, but it is far from the idea of a band of inseparable squad mates, laughing and taunting all the way. Strict discipline is a rule; taking it easy gives an already unbeatable enemy a better chance of winning an engagement.

Marshall Taylor, the man in front, has the same thoughts going through his head whenever he walks down this corridor; We could die today.

Several squadrons were assembled in the briefing room that day, many more than usual. Whatever was going on, it was big.

Marshall wasn't even seated when General Ivan started speaking.

"Time is of the essence, so I'll make this as short as I can. What we're planning could be one of the most crucial operations of this war. Its outcome may very well decide if the tide is ever going to turn in our favor, so I want all of you to listen carefully."

Ivan motioned for the lights to be turned off, and an image appeared on the projector screen.

"This is our target. Unless you've been living under a rock and missed the last eight months, or are just plain stupid, you'll know what it is."

The structure in the picture was distinct enough, being of Aiuan design. Called the 'Eye of B'tale' by the army, it was a massive enemy space station, activated in the early days of the war. It had been used to hack into Earth's GPS and missile defense systems, so not only had it opened the major cities to orbital bombardment, it had also allowed the B'tale to effectively ‘steal' most of the major satellites- the enemy had thus practically been handed an entire intelligence gathering system, while Earth's military was left blind. Most of Earth' early counterattacks had ended in catastrophic failures because their foe was always prepared; nobody could understand what was going on until the Eye was finally discovered three months earlier. Since then, most operations had been covert, but given the capabilities of the B'tale war machine, nothing but a small army was sufficient to drive the alien menace out.

Solving this problem wasn't as simple as firing a barrage of missiles at the station, either. Nuke launches were always detected immediately, and the missiles were shot down with remarkable precision, well before they were even in range of a target. The blockade around the station prevented Earth's launch platforms from moving into position, so dragging space bombers into orbit was out of the question.

After seeing the picture of the Eye, the operation already seemed hopeless, but the pilots listened to the General.

"Our objective to destroy the Eye of B'tale, three days from now. We've detected massive enemy movements to the East- a force large enough to take the whole Northeastern portion of the continent in just a month. The only way we can prevent that is by catching this army unprepared, and with a large force. This must be done within the week, but with that station in place, we can't even begin to prepare the needed troops. So, we've got a last-ditch plan together to knock it out of the sky."

The image on the screen changed to show a diagram of some known air patrol routes over the State of Iowa. "In three days, the Eye and the B'tale Second Fleet will be passing over this nuclear silo in Iowa- it's orbit wont coincide with that of the Third Fleet for at least six hours afterwards, so this will be the best opportunity we'll ever have to strike a blow.

"General Ramirez has come up a plan to dispatch ground teams to the nuclear silo located here." He pointed at a red mark on a map. "It's been abandoned for some time, since the B'tale occupied the area. As far as we know, they haven't learned of its existence yet, which gives us a small advantage. The teams will coordinate and sneak in to the silo, and from then on we'll be waiting for their signal. Once the silo is active, we make our move.

"Wasp, Stingray and Angel squadrons will be the first out. They'll be equipped with the heavy stuff, and if we're lucky, will catch the air patrols unprepared. Their task is to provide a window of opportunity- if we can wipe out the B'tale aircraft in the immediate area, it may buy us enough time to move on to step two."

Marshall could only see Angel squadron's chief, Walter Gordo. The man looked almost ill upon hearing his part. Taylor imagined the others wouldn't be in any different a mood.

Edwin Ramirez then took over and went on with the plan. They were dismissed five minutes later.

---

"Marshall?"

Marshall looked around to see Daria Fall and Jacob Newman heading his way. He didn't get up from his cross-legged position on the bunk.

"What's up, Chief? You didn't show up at lunch."

He didn't look at Jacob as he spoke. "Just thinking, Jake."

Now Daria spoke. "'Bout the mission?"

He smiled weakly. "How'd you guess."

They both sat to his left. "Got a bad feeling eh?" asked Daria.

Jacob laughed before Marshall could answer. "You aren't the only one."

"Its still my responsibility… this isn't like anything else we've done, you guys. Most of us aren't gonna come back."

Daria responded. "We know that. We always have, Marshall. It's been part of every mission; every one we survive means there's another one we could die in."

"That's pretty much a mantra in my head. It's easier to accept when you're not leading someone in with you. I can accept that I might die- will die at some point in this war. But not others…you know how many people I've lost under my command?"

"You don't need to remind us," said Jacob. "You done that enough. You do need to accept another thing though."

"And what's that?"

"We've accepted fate too." He smiled.

Daria was trying to smile. "We don't regret our lives, Marshall. You've always known that. You need to stop being a father figure now- we're all adults here. We can handle ourselves."

The thought of his son, long dead from when the war began, almost brought tears to Marshall's eyes.

Daria, probably Marshall's best friend on the carrier, had known him long enough to know what was on his mind. "You lead us, but we aren't your responsibility. We make our choices, and we accept our fates."

"I don't believe in fate. If I'm more capable up there, there's always a better chance that more people will come out alive," he retorted.

She continued to speak. "Not all of us believe, or have faith. The world can be pretty cruel. But the belief in fate is what pushes a lot of us. When our time comes, it comes."

Jacob laughed. "Till then, we're invincible."

"That attitude will get you killed in a flash." Marshall had watched Jake grow from the self-absorbed, cocky pilot into the humbler man he was now, but traces of his old personality resurfaced now and then.

He shrugged. "When that happens, I guess fate will have caught up with me."

"Take it easy, Marshall. Come on, you may not be our caretaker, but you're still part of us."

Without saying a word, he rose and the three made their way to the dining hall.

---

Sweating in his gray jumpsuit, Marshall waited in the seat of his Jackal fighter. The plane was about the size of an old F-22, though the shape was hardly reminiscent. The wings swung towards the front of the aircraft, and the weapon bays were underneath. Overall, it was built more for speed, and was less maneuverable than other models, but it was well suited to their objective that day.

Besides, it was the only fighter capable of flying both in atmosphere and vacuum.

The other fourteen planes of Postal squadron were lined up behind Taylor's, on the ramps of the carrier U.S.S. Tsunami. He flicked the comm. on and began a count.

"Postal Two?"

"Newman."

"Three?"

"Fall."

"Four?"

"Johnson."

He went through all of them- everyone was ready. Now they just had to wait.

They had no idea what was going on in the target zone. They didn't even know if the ground team had gotten through, much less if the first wave of fighters was dispatched yet.

Marshall tried to focus on what Jacob and Daria had said. He couldn't imagine not feeling responsible when one of his people was lost in battle. They were under his command, after all. They'd been put under his watch- he had to make sure they stayed alive. They may have accepted fate, but he hadn't made peace with that fact.

He didn't know. Maybe it was time he did. Just once, he wanted to go into battle not feeling the pressure of guilt- guilt for those he'd already lost. He wanted to go in, knowing that his people were capable, that they would do their job to the best of their abilities. He desperately wanted to accept his role for what it was, and let them be adults.

His thoughts were interrupted when the comm. came alive. "Postals, Knights, Scorpions, Coals, you're go!"

"Alright guys, this is it!" Taylor pushed the throttle, and the jet soared off the carrier, followed by the rest of the squadron. He could see the others grouping in the distance as well, though Coal Squadron was still too far out of visible range.

"Full speed ahead!" In perfect formation, the Postals matched speed, and accelerating to full power, roared off to the rendezvous point.

---

The squadron decelerated and eventually reached cruising speed just as they arrived at the target area. It was a war zone.

The first three squadrons had each been reduced to about half their strength, and while they were holding off the B'tale fighters for the time being, they clearly weren't going to survive reinforcements. Already their heavy ammunition had been depleted, and they were relying on conventional burst fire to pick off the remaining B'tale Cobra fighters.

Jacob asked, "Should some of us try to help 'em out, One?"

"Negative- stay focused on the objective! We've only got a few minutes!"

A pause, and then, "Roger."

Command commed in again. "All squadrons, the mines are moving in on the outer defenses now. They'll only be distracted for a few moments, so stay alert for your signal!"

"One, we're got contacts coming in from above!"

From what radar was picking up, five full squadrons of Cobra fighters were descending, though Marshall could only make out two against the sunlight.

"Everyone, we've gotta clear this place before we get the signal. Form up with your wingmates and take pick off single fighters- machineguns only! Save up on your rockets!"

The first Cobras; black fighters with pod shaped cockpits and semicircular wings, came down, guns blazing. The Jackal fighters, maintaining trios, pointed upward and dodged the hail of bullets. They quickly reformed and began their own offensive.

Marshall, grouped with Jacob and Daria, rolled his Jackal to the side to avoid a steady stream of fire from two incoming Cobras. One of the two started firing into his path though, so he had to suddenly jerk downwards. He managed to fly out of the way as the two streams converged. They'd made their mistake by concentrating on him though; burst shots from Jacob's fighter tore through the cockpit of one of them, sending it hurtling to the ground. The other barely managed to dodge Daria's own attack, but the split second it needed to recover was enough time for Marshall to fire through the port wing. It tried to steady, but it was too badly damaged and s went spiraling out of control.

Taylor looked up at the sky, and saw more wings incoming. They weren't heading Postal's way.

"Everyone, intercept those squadrons, we cant let them reinforce down below! Wave one cant take another hammering!"

"Damnit, get him off my tail!"

One of the Jackals in the distance exploded, and a Cobra flew through it, reforming with its wing mates to pick on another trio.

"Eight is down!"

Marshall's stomach knotted up. He'd already failed, and they weren't even in the crucial phase yet.

Daria's voice came over the comm. "Marshall! Focus!”

The Coals were already moving to meet the incoming squadrons. Both sides erupted in walls of fire as they began attacking, but the Jackal fighters were clearly outnumbered. Coal was almost out of action when Knight squadron went to reinforce.

The Tsunami came on over the comm. again. "All squadrons, launch is commencing now! You've got to get into position now!"

"Damnit! Knights and Coals, we can't reinforce, we just got the go-command! Keep them busy, and good luck!"

Marshall couldn't help feeling that he was abandoning those people there, but it was out of his hands now. They had a mission to complete, and if they didn't succeed, all they'd lost would be for nothing.

"Launch detected, One! Down there!"

Even at that altitude, they could see the massive cloud of smoke on the ground below. The sky was clear; it was heading up.

"Everyone in position. Here we go!"

Marshall, Daria and Jacob flew their Jackals in a delta pattern, while six other fighters formed a wall ahead. Not perfect, but good enough. They began to slow.

"Careful, you guys… don't hit that thing."

The ICBM came up behind the fighters now, flying in a straight path up at escape velocity. It caught up with Taylor's lead trio. He pushed the throttle and flew alongside the massive warhead.

"Four, Five, Six, Seven, Nine, Ten, speed up, it's almost on your tails!"

The wall increased speed so that the missile was right behind them. Then, they brought their aircraft closer together and slowed, so some appeared to slide along the missile body. Finally, they spread out again, forming an umbrella in front of the warhead.

"Good work, everyone- now we just have to keep this up. Scorpion, fly out. We're ready."

"You got it, Postal. Scorpion, moving in."

The other Jackal squadron spread out in front and alongside the cover Postal had provided for the missile. They all matched speed, and in perfect formation, they soared spaceward.

Marshall was bedazzled by the precision. Even Daria's voice came over the comm.

"Guys, can you believe this?" She was as filled with awe as anyone. Some laughed, some whistled, some just stayed silent and prayed.

Marshall smiled for the first time all day. It was beautiful. He'd always known his people could do it, knew they were as perfect as could be. But, being the way he was, he couldn't ever bring himself to treat them that way.

Maybe it was time he started.

---

"Approaching target! Incoming fighters!"

"Stay in formation, Postal! Scorpion; start firing as soon as they're in range! We need to divert as much attention from us as possible!"

In less than two seconds, the lead Jackals were launching their rockets and unloading every bit of ammunition they had into the mass of Cobras. Dozens were knocked out or exploded, and the others split up to gain a more strategic position.

Marshall felt helpless at the back, where all he could do was wait while the other squadron did the fighting. But he had to focus.

The battle raged. He saw two Jackals go down at once, as a whole wing of Cobras fired at them. The others kept dodging and firing rocket barrages, taking down their own share of enemy fighters, though they were becoming fast outnumbered. They held their own though; they were prepared.

"Two klicks to checkpoint!"

"Postal, heavy weapons free! This is it!"

Marshall didn't believe in God. He had no reason to. But he prayed. For success, for the lives of Jacob, Daria, his squadron, his family back home, for everyone.

"Checkpoint reached!"

"Break off! Take down those platforms!"

Scorpion squadron was left behind, still battling the enemy Cobras, as the missile continued forward and the umbrella of Postal fighters split off in two directions. In unison, they locked on to the two defense platforms to either side and released every rocket in payload.

The platforms released their own laser attacks just as the Eye of B'tale came into view. Postal Nine's Jackal burst into flame and exploded. The fire dissipated immediately in the vacuum, without a sound.

Marshall could see the Eye against the silhouette of the moon now. The missile hurtled towards it; his own jet, Daria's and Jacob's still flying alongside.

Jacob commed. "The platforms are down, Marshall!"

He took a deep breath. "Postal Four through Fifteen, fall back to reinforce Scorpion! We'll finish this now!"

"Gotcha, One! Good luck!"

"Almost there, Marshall."

"Eye of B'tale in targeting range." Daria's voice was tense. "Now?"

"Not yet. Hold."

The Eye grew larger and larger as they sped towards it.

"Marshall…"

Two beams fired out from the Eye and hit Jacob's starboard wing. It melted off, and the force of the impact threw his Jackal into a spin.

"Jacob! Jacob!" Both Marshall and Daria cried out, fearing the worst.

To their relief, his voice came over the comm. "Damn, I can't stabilize! I'll do what I can here, Marshall, go ahead!"

Marshall closed his eyes, and reminded himself of what his two wingmates had said earlier. He let out a breath, and called out to Daria. "Target weapon subsystems!"

He locked on to the source of one of the beams and unleashed a rocket volley at it. The laser dissipated as the explosions crippled the generators. The other laser went out a second later.

"We're clear! Break off now!"

They both swung their Jackals around so they were flying backwards, and engaged their thrusters. They two jets decelerated, and momentarily came to a stop, before shooting off in the opposite direction. The inertia pressed Marshall against his seat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Finally, he looked back, just as the missile found its target and detonated.

The explosion made no sound in space, but appeared as a sphere of white light that expanded in a split second, before dissipating seconds later. When the fire cleared, the Eye was gone. Debris flew outward in all directions where it had once been.

Taylor smiled as Daria yelled and laughed over the comm. To his relief, even Jacob's voice came up.

"We did it! Marshall, we did it!"

"Indeed we did." He opened a channel to the other Postal squadron members. "How're you guys faring back there?"

"The Cobras are breaking off, One! We saw the blast!"

Marshall finally began to laugh. He changed the comm. channel.

"Tsunami, this is Postal One. The Eye of B'tale is out- repeat, its out! We got it! B'tale squadrons are scattering!"

He didn't hear the response. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Maybe now the tide would turn. Maybe not. But either way, it didn't matter for that moment. They'd just done the impossible, and they were alive. And he'd finally realized that his people didn't need a father; they needed a leader. They could hold their own, like they'd shown today.

Whatever the outcome, the future looked brighter. He may still die in the next battle, but for the first time, he'd go into it thinking maybe, just maybe, it would be all right in the end.