“Nothing goes just a little bit wrong with an airstrike.”
The court-martial hung in silence as Skyhammer spoke the final words of his testimony. Time slowed down. The air grew heavy to all in the court – barring Skyhammer, of course, who simply shrugged the surmounting pressure off his broad shoulders. And as the presiding judge awkwardly adjusted his thick framed glasses and a member of the jury shifted in his polished leather boots, Skyhammer closed his eyes. To remember. To replay the events of that fateful day just one more time.
13 days ago, at 2:35 PM, in the wet heat of Waterloo, atop the charred earth that crunched under his boots, Skyhammer stood, airstrike marking canister in hand. Precise direction of air strikes, of course, was his specialty. Ever since radar jamming and cloaking mechanisms became commonplace in battle, ironically the most efficient method of directing bomber pilots was to “go analogue” with smoke markers. Through the rising haze, about 100 yards to the west, a grey bunker signaled the position of an enemy garrison. It had been impervious to the attacks of the Queen’s Royal Army for the last 2 days, halting their campaign. That was Skyhammer’s target. Sweat dripping off his freshly shaved head, he pulled the pin on the marker, then cocked back his arm. His thick Scottish accent pierced the battlefield.
“Air strike incoming!”
He threw.
The rumble of jet engines immediately began filling the air. This was Skyhammer’s favorite part. He looked intently at the garrison, anticipating the almost melodic symphony of explosions and subtle rumbling of the ground below his feet that were soon to come. And they came. The missiles hit the ground, and they sent a vortex of fire and dust into the sky! The roar of the bursts was almost deafening! But Skyhammer did not feel the release he expected. Not even close. Skyhammer was filled with a cold panic. Amid the salvo of rockets, his eyes had never wavered from the garrison he had marked. And after the last missile had been launched still it stood. Completely untouched. How was this possible! Skyhammer turned around.
What met Skyhammer’s eyes turned his panic into complete and utter dread. Her Majesty’s forward supply station lay in ruin. How did the pilot screw up this badly? Smoldering amongst the rubble were countless soldier rations, munitions, weaponry, and first aid supplies. Skyhammer reacted quickly.
“RETREAT,” he called. The entire station was automated, of course, and there were no casualties, but without supplies close by to restock the troops on the front line, continuing the assault would be pointless. Skyhammer cursed as he sprinted towards the rear guard. The Royal Army fully retreated from the front lines that day, a humiliating defeat. Skyhammer wouldn’t know what exactly occurred on that fateful afternoon until 13 days later, at his court-martial.
When questioned, the pilot in charge of the bombing would later describe the event as something akin to a “flashbang going off in the cockpit”. Complete loss of vision, he said. He thought was over the target, he said. He panicked, he said.
“Enough,” interrupted the judge. “Who was the instigator of this travesty?”
The pilot pointed solemnly at Skyhammer.
“Me! Why I ought to pummel some sense into yer fat—"
“Skyhammer, please,” interjected the judge once more. He told the pilot to continue.
“I was flying in from the East. Came in towards the bunker real fast once I received visual confirmation of the target from Skyhammer’s marker. As I was flying towards the smoke marker from about a mile off I saw this… this point of light on the battlefield. As I flew in closer, the light got even stronger. About half a mile off the light was filling the cockpit… It was getting mighty hard to see. I was starting to think that this was some new fancy experimental anti aircraft weapon. I thought it couldn’t get worse, but it did. About 5 seconds later, the light got too strong. I was completely blind. I… I knew how important this bombing run was to our offense. I thought I had a handle of where I was… I guess I was wrong. I launched the missiles. The rest is history”
“So how, exactly, does this implicate Skyhammer?”
“I made a 180 degree turn after the failed bombing run to get a closer look at the experimental weapon I thought our enemies used against me. That’s when I saw the source of that blinding light! It was moving towards our rear guard! With the sun at my back I squinted real close to see what it looked like. That’s when I noticed it wasn’t a device. It was a person! And not any old person. It was Skyhammer! The sun reflecting off that damned shiny dome of his cost us the battle…!”
And that was the very day Skyhammer was honorably discharged from the Royal Army by reason of extraordinary baldness.
