Hello All,

I don't normally do any kind of forward, but due to some contributions to this story and in light of some recent events in the realm of Ace Combat I felt it would help readers. Firstly, I'd like to thank a few people who've helped in making this fic and what'll be coming in it. I'd like to thank my friends Sho, Cerb, and Phantom. Though they won't actually be writing for this story, they've contributed in both characters, units/organization, and sharing their knowledge to help me create the story and get it where I want it to be. Thanks guys, and I hope you enjoy where this stories goes and how your guys' parts figure in.

Additionally, I feel it helpful to add that this fic does not incorporate Ace Combat Seven in any way. This rewrite has been in planning a very long time and I find no compelling reason to incorporate the game, especially when it's slatted to come out in 2018. Like many of my fics, this one again incorporates a lot of fanon to fill in the blanks that Kono and Project Aces often leaves behind. As a visual aid, you can find a map of the setting for this story at my Devianart. Due to site rules I can't post a link, but you can find me under the same handle that I am here. Thanks and happy reading!

Prologue: Isolated Incident

December 27, 2023

Verusean-Yuktobanian Border

Sergeant Yuri Kasolov moved a branch out of the way as he walked slowly along the trail with the rest of the eight-man squad. The man looked to the right, peering through the foliage and spotting a tall red and yellow post. He looked back to his front at Illvanich, the patrol's pointman for today. Kasolov followed the man under another branch and then up a steep ascent to one of the better vantage points along this route. Part of its beauty was that it had a good deal of cover due to being far enough back from the border to be out of the "buffer zone". He stopped as Illvanich did the same to check the trail up to the crest for loose snow. Kasolov turned around and signaled his patrol to take a knee and observe the Verusean side of the border. To his satisfaction everyone's weapons were still pointed towards native Yuktobania. After kneeling down, Kasolov looked back towards Illvanich, then the border, which was currently unguarded. He squinted his eyes and watched for some kind of movement. Illvanich cleared his breath nearby; the Sergeant looked at him.

"Comrade Sergeant, I suggest we go around and up the northern slope; this way is very slippery. Not good for a bunch of Border Guards in all their gear." He reported through the scarf over his mouth and nose.

"Understood, Illvanich. Where exactly is the major problem?" Kasolov asked, lowering his own. The man took a hand off of his AK-12 and aimed the limb at the middle of the ascent.

"Those rocks we tend to use to help us up; very slick today, Comrade Sergeant. The snow's been walked on by other patrols, us included. It's gotten packed down and is becoming icy." He explained while Kasolov observed.

"A good reason not to ascend that way, then." He agreed. The man looked back at his unit, and then checked his watch. It would only put them a few minutes off schedule at most.

"Okay Illvanich, you lead the way." He said, putting his face's cover back in its place.

Illvanich nodded and stood up; Kasalov signaled to the rest of the patrol to follow in twos. The first two men behind them, his light machine gunner and a grenadier, stood up and carefully followed at a distance. The patrol curled around, going through some trees and up the slope from behind, where the angle was far gentler. The tradeoff was they would have to go through terrain that was without a path, which in most cases meant nothing more than some bushes clawing at them and other minor inconveniences. Certainly better than a slippery slope. Due to the different approach though, they would lose sight of the border for a short amount of time. Kasalov ignored that, though; he could still hear…

…And hear something he did: dogs barking. Kasalov's head perked up and his face hardened. The others also heard the noise; their sergeant started making motions for them to form a defensive line. He took his radioman, Pimenov, and the patrol's sharpshooter, Baranov, and hurried up to the top of the hill. The other five men were distributed on the sides in a group of two and a group of three. The two-man group, one of which was armed with a PKP light machinegun, whistled softly and motioned at a space across the border. Kasalov looked over where he was waving and directed his marksman to look over the area through the scope of his SVD-M sniper rifle. The man laid out flat and crawled forward until he was at the very edge of the slope facing the buffer zone. Kasalov assisted him by scanning with his binoculars.

"Comrade Sergeant, our two o' clock!" one of his men spoke up over the radio.

Kasalov looked that way and saw a figure appear over the crest of an upward slope in a flurry of snow from his running. The man then went charging down the opposite slope towards the posts that marked the border.

"Baranov is that man armed?" The Sergeant asked.

"He has only a briefcase, I believe. It's hard to tell with all the snow he's kicking up." the sharpshooter replied.

"Abramovich, take Bok and Gribov and arrest that man! Wait until he crosses the border!" Kasalov ordered.

The three riflemen hurried through the brush into the open field to meet the unknown individual. Kasalov readied a megaphone he carried with him and tracked the man as he neared the posts.

"Halt, now!" He shouted in Verusean.

The figure stopped, shocked by the sight of men in camouflage approaching him with sleek, matte-black assault rifles. He looked back as the reason he was running so frantically came into view: Belkan Shepherds. No doubt the dogs were soon to be followed by Verusean Frontier Guardsmen (VBW in Verusean). The man, more unnerved by the canines than the armed men, continued running for the border.

"Halt!" Kasalov stressed.

Then they came. There were eight of them on horseback (the VBW still employed such a tactic), dressed in white parkas and pants that bulged out over their combat harnesses beneath. Their weapons, QBZ-03 assault rifles, were wielded like John Wayne did his rifle in Osean cowboy movies. One pulled up a whistle and blew it; the lack of a loud sound told the Yuktobanians it was a dog whistle. Two Belkan Shepards stopped near them, wet and panting from what could be assumed to be a frantic chase. The fact that they'd stopped it wasn't sitting well with the Yuktobanian sergeant. The man, logically, should've been apprehended by now. He was still on the Veruseans' side of the border and the MVD troops were powerless to cross unless provoked. So why weren't they sending the dogs on the man? One of the VBW troops was observing the area with his binoculars. Kasalov adjusted himself and tried to decide what to do as the standoff became more and more tense. Procedure dictated they simply let the man be arrested by them; again they had no power in Verusa.

Without warning one of them shot the "briefcase man" with a three-round burst from his weapon. Kasalov flinched at the spontaneity of the move and immediately looked towards the VBW troops. His men remained still, vigilantly watching the Veruseans atop their horses. The defector or criminal or whatever he'd been lay on the ground, a red stain slowly growing on his back. The briefcase he'd been carrying was near one of the posts that marked the border; it was hard to tell what side it'd fallen on. Kasalov watched the VBW patrol for a reaction and got nothing; they continued to stand there. Kasalov looked towards the woods for more shooters, pondering if they were being set up. The Veruseans loved to play elaborate tricks, and sometimes local overzealous commanders stirred up border incidents to kill a few of his kind.

"Zakarev, do you see anything in the trees?" The Sergeant asked.

"No sir…it's just those thr-wait…I see movement to our ten." The sniper replied.

Kasalov looked in that direction and saw brief flashes of white and green amongst the trees. He frowned and tried to worm his way inside the mind of whoever was in charge across of the men just across the border. His first conclusion was that they were responding to his setup and likely troops that'd been trailing behind the horse riders in case the now-dead man evaded his initial pursuers. He looked back to the right and saw one of his men, Private First Class Gribov, making slow movements towards the briefcase. Kasalov's first thought was one of alarm, especially when he saw the Verusean who'd shot the man holding the briefcase, raise his rifle again. The MVD Sergeant raised his hand.

"Gribov, sto-"

There was another loud burst; Gribov fell back, his face unrecognizable. To the dying man's left Private Bok stumbled back, instinctively raising his AK-12. The horse-mounted troops reacted swiftly, moving back to get out of the line of fire. One of the Veruseans in the bush opened up with a QJY-88 light machine gun. The rapid bursts that cut down the two other privates in the open forced Kasalov's hand.

"Open fire! Fire, fire, fire! Zakarev, kill that machine gun!" He ordered over the radio.

Kasalov also ordered Illvanich to employ his GP-40 grenade launcher alongside the patrol leader to suppress the VBW troops as soon as possible. Kasalov raised his weapon and felt it shudder as a muffled cough sent the 40mm grenade across the border. There was a brief geyser of snow and dirt before the explosion was replaced by one of the horses crying out. Kasalov watched the trailing horse, along with its rider, go down. The Sergeant didn't see him get up and chose another target. He saw another one of the horseback VBW soldiers run to aide his comrade and raised his AK-12 to fire. The man pulled back the trigger three times and watched the Verusean's neck explode in crimson after the second trigger pull. The man swung his weapon left as PKP rounds raked the foliage. Kasalov got down as a few errant bullets sliced at the tree to his right. He aimed best he could through the branches and fired at the muzzle flashes along the far treeline.

Suddenly he heard a whistle; the man was unable to suppress one laugh. The Veruseans, even in 2024, used whistles for signaling. Kasalov half expected a horde of Verusean Red Guards, dressed in old fur caps and mustard-colored parkas, to come screaming over the ridge with their bolt-action rifles. It almost forced another, grimmer, laugh out of him. Only the Veruseans… He thought. Instead, the fire across the buffer zone started to die down. Kasalov kept searching for targets until he saw no further movement. His eyes counted at least six human corpses, plus at least two animal ones. The man raised his binoculars and quickly swept the area. The Veruseans had withdrawn; now came the cleanup.

"Illvanich, Vorlini, come with me!" The Sergeant ordered. He saw Bok's arm moving.

The pointman and patrol's medic hurried after their leader following a second of confusion. Kasalov kept his AK aimed across the border and took a knee near the wounded Private. The man was clutching his stomach, desperately wheezing "doctor" over and over. Vorlini slid to his knees near the man and pulled off his pack to get medical supplies. Illvanich went to the far left, near the briefcase man, and kept an eye on the brushes. The three heard whining; a look at Bok revealed it wasn't him. Kasalov whirled his head all over until he saw one of the Belkan Shepards limping aimlessly through the snow, a red stain on his right hind leg. Kasalov looked at the wounded dog a minute, and then at the border posts. His conscious appealed to him to help the poor creature.

"Comrade Sergeant, where are you going?" Illvanich barked. Kasalov glared back at him as he ran across the snowy grasses.

"Just shut up, Private…and get that briefcase!" He snapped. Whatever it was, the man reasoned it valuable.

Kasalov, who'd proudly owned a Border Collie when he'd been young, couldn't bring himself to leave his men and the dog. The Shepard cowered a little at the sight of the man with his rifle, only to find the once enemy carefully petting its head before it reached down to carry it. It whimpered and cried in both pain and fear; Kasalov ignored it and cooed soothingly in his native tongue. The creature must've been thought dead by its masters and left behind. The other dog lay dead, killed by Zakrev's SVD when it'd charged the Yuktobanians' positions. He ignored its continued noises and wriggling and carried the wounded creature into Yuktobania while Illvanich held the briefcase in one hand and his AK in the other.

"Comrade Pimenov! Radio the post and tell them we need medical evacuation! We'll be moving to our emergency LZ near Waypoint 6-B!" He shouted breathlessly into the trees.

"Understood, Comrade Sergeant!" The Radioman shouted a little too loudly.

With their two acquisitions and fallen brethren in tow, the MVD troops made their hasty retreat to safety.