“Transitioning to hover mode, you got good clearance either side, One-six.”

“Roger, Two-six, switching to manual flight,” One-six said with mechanical textbook-ness, as he flipped a switch and yanked on the joystick controlling their fightercraft, “Ten meters and descending... five... and touchdown.”

The wheels of the craft settled down roughly on the soggy soil of the alpine forest. The cloud of twigs, leaves, dust and pebbles kicked up by the powerful swiveling thrusters now fell back to the ground as the thrusters winded down.

It had taken them a good ten minutes of dogfighting to finally down the most advanced enemy fighter, the infamous VX-200, and now it was their mission to capture any survivors left in the wreckage.

“Canopy opening... wreckage should be a hundred meters plus minus ten directly ahead of us,” One-six informed the rest of his crew.

One-six was the first one out of his seat, and had already hopped down onto the ground below while the rest of his crew were still unbuckling themselves.

“Weapons at the ready, let’s go,” One-six commanded after his crew had all gotten out of their fightercraft. He drew his service pistol and held it ready with both hands.

They advanced forwards slowly, making sure not to rustle the bushes too much as they pushed their way through the undergrowth. Soon they were able to make out the blue-accented silvery-grey paint job of the enemy fightercraft they had downed a few minutes prior. The wreckage was still smoldering, and there was the occasional pop and crack as the still unspent ammunition cooked off.

“I think we've got a live one,” One-five mumbled, switching off his thermal goggles, “Two are already cold, one’s still got a thermal signature, last one is moving about.”

“Roger, capture them and bring them back,” One-six replied, stepping out of the undergrowth.

The downed fightercraft lay in the middle of a clearing which it had ploughed out on the way down. Several trees were split and fallen. One fell on top of the fightercraft, half covering the wreckage with its leaves as if praying for the fallen pilots. One of the fightercraft’s broad wings was snapped at the root, leaving behind a gapping hole in the fuselage. The large, gold-colored plexiglass of the cockpit was shattered, revealing the four crew who were still inside; they were too low for an ejection when they were hit.

One of the crew, who One-six assumed was the commander, was half out of his seat and was cradling another one of his crew in his arms. As One-six got closer, he realized that the captain and the girl he was cradling were both around his age, no more that seventeen or eighteen. The commander was whimpering, and desperately calling out for the girl to respond.

“She’s alive,” One-six called out to the commander in order to give him a sense of comfort.

The commander froze, then turned around to look at One-six. Then the pistol in his hand. Then back at One-six. When their eyes met, One-six could tell the captain’s eyes were filled with hatred, fear and sadness.

“What?” The commander asked with trembling lips, but before One-six could answer he spoke again, “Please, help us, she’s dying. I’ll do anything, I’ll go with you, please just help us.”

Tears streamed down the commander's bloodied cheeks as he said those words, his hands still holding the girl tightly.

One-six relaxed his arms and let his pistol droop down. He beckoned his team to stay back as he walked towards the crashed craft alone.

“Our orders were to bring back one prisoner,” One-six said, “We’ll send a medical team here to help the girl, but first you must come with us.”

The commander stared at him for a moment, before weakly opening his mouth. “Really?” He asked.

“Yes, really,” One-six replied, holstering his pistol and extending his hand for the captain to grab.

"What about the others?" The commander asked again.

"I'm sorry, they are already beyond saving." One-six answered.

With a trembling hand the commander grabbed One-six’s outstretched arm, and with One-six’s help, hauled himself to his feet. One-six could tell the commander’s other arm was broken, but he figured the adrenaline had yet to wear off and so the pain was largely negated.

One-six led the captain back to where the rest of his team was waiting.

“For reasons of national security we have to place a bag over your head for transport,” One-six informed the commander calmly.

“Yes, yes. That’s fine, as long as you can get help,” the commander replied eagerly.

Gently, One-six placed the bag over the commander’s head, tightened the straps around his neck, then poured a few drops of anesthetic over the fabric of the bag.

Within seconds the commander fell limp, and One-six ordered the rest of his team to carry him back to their fightercraft.

Then he turned back towards the wreckage and walked up to the exposed cockpit.

He examined the other two crew, who were both obviously already dead. One had the right side of his torso blown away by a cannon round, and the other hand a huge gash on the left side of his skull which was still leaking brain fluid. The third, who the commander seemed so determined to protect, was badly hurt, but still showing vital signs.

Some really bad whiplash, a broken wrist and a broken leg; One-six diagnosed just by looking at her.

Her gold-brown hair was also dyed red with blood, probably by some cut on her head, but the amount didn’t seem to be life threatening.

The girl would survive, should she be provided with the necessary first aid. Perhaps if she didn’t have a broken leg, or was still conscious, One-six might have brought her in for questioning. But as it stands her state would require too much healthcare resources for the benefits they can be gained from it.

One-six turned around to make sure the commander was far enough away, just in case he faked being knocked unconscious by the anesthetic. It is important to make sure prisoners maintained a good mental status, as a badly scarred or mentally unstable prisoner might not be as useful during interrogations. Things such as making promises with the prisoner or helping their wounded crewmen often worked quite well in keeping the mental state of said prisoner healthy.

However, showing mercy to an enemy is inexcusable. More so if said enemy might flee back to their homes and carry with them important intel. War is war, and whatever the situation, they must always make sure they do as much damage to their enemy as possible. A wounded enemy pilot may just be picked up by a search and rescue party, nursed back to health, and placed back in a fightercraft to come kill One-six’s fellow soldiers. Therefore, it was top priority to leave no loose ends.

With that thought process over with, One-six raised his service pistol, aimed it at point blank towards the girl’s head.

And pulled the trigger.