November 18th, 06:30 hours
2018
RAF Lossiemouth
Moray
Scotland

It had been two weeks since the attack on the United Nations general assembly building on the shores of lake Geneva in Switzerland, and the following flurry of bombings, missile attacks and other violence.
Even now, this front-line RAF base, part of UNF command now, bore scars. Wreckage belonging to Tornado and Typhoon fighters had been bulldozed aside to keep the runways clear for the scant few aircraft remaining, and for the new arrivals.
Parked in the banked and covered concrete-sided revetments around the base were a motley assortment of tactical aircraft of many nations. All in a variety of highly personalized colours and camouflage schemes, they stood hooked up and ready with APU's attached, weapons on pylons with safety flags attached, and ladders ready and extended under cockpits. Despite this, the aircraft had their canopies closed against the weather, and their intakes covered as they sat in waiting, like sleeping beasts.

The dim light of late winter - thankfully, at least a dry day - on the Scottish morning was trying to feebly beat back the persistent wintertime night, and snow had been plowed aside to keep operations going. Bitterly cold, station crew were wrapped up in thick parkas and gloves and worn stoic expressions, despite the chafing wind.
Inside the operations building, the atmosphere was quiet and tense. The old hands in charge, RAF personnel from before the UNF's formation, had watched with quietly curious interest as the new personnel had been flown in aboard the menagerie of aircraft, awaiting a briefing. Arriving over the previous 24 hours, the group had been a mix of nationalities and histories. The RAF personnel were curious about the development, but ultimately somewhat frustrated as their handful of remaining aircraft were waiting for a chance of their own to strike back instead of flying defensive patrolling sorties. The surplus of surviving pilots were now watching enviously at the new arrivals, whom they had heard through the vine, were going to be going out and hunting the bad guys down.
All of this was plainly obvious to the Ariella Yosef, leader of the new Excalibur squadron. But didn't concern her, simply because it wasn't part of her mission as it stood right now, and she had plenty of other things to think about.

Sitting in a corner of the bases' mess hall she'd taken over as a temporary office while the squadron awaited the order to fly out to land on the aircraft carrier that would be their home, she reviewed the records of the other aviators that were to be under her command.
Each folder was like a treasure chest of jewels, tempered with the occasional flawed or cracked artifact; much like her own history. None of them had ever done anything outright despicable (elsewise they'd not likely be there), but all had their flaws and character traits that stood out, alongside their exemplary moments and strengths.
Making them work together might be difficult, but they all showed in their records that they knew how to fight as part of a unit when the chips were down, and besides - training exemplified team work, and all of them would have exercises under their belt. Not that that helped with egos or personalities, of course.
Taking a break as she laid down the folder of the other Israeli pilot of the group, she leaned back and let out a sigh, allowing her reeling eyes to focus on the ceiling, before taking another sip of the strong yet rejuvenating English Breakfast tea, and hungrily eying up the large plate of cooked breakfast, and picking at another item. Convincing the mess hall chef to give her more had been a challenge, but he'd eventually relented once she'd promised to score him a packet of smokes and a bottle of whiskey when they next got out of the fence.
The Israeli pilot eyed the tapestry of the outdoors as she sipped at the mug, two-handed. The scene provided a canvas for her thoughts as she thought on the upcoming briefing.

She'd met the others in passing, briefly introduced to them, and bumping into them around base a couple of times, and she'd given them her contact details if they needed to find her. However, with only being at the Scottish base for two days, she didn't expect to see much of them. Frankly, she expected most of them to have gone to investigate the nearby town, and spending as little time as possible on the base itself.
In terms of the briefing, she had little to tell her comrades, beyond they would 'most likely' be flying out later that day to meet the Nimue, and to practice multiple landings and take-offs before heading south through the North Sea and the English Channel to meet with a multi-national taskforce scrounged up from whatever ships could be found and head further south. She had the preliminary briefings, but the carrier itself was still delayed in port, following issues with its' fitting out in Rorsyth dockyard. It was underway now, and would be heading their way even now, but would take a while to get there, and to a safe distance offshore, where they could conduct aircraft operations.

Reaching for her breakfast as she set the mug down with an eye to consuming one last hash brown to get her through the last of the folder, she paused as the hairs on the back of her hand stood up. Moments later an alarm shrilled through the PA system in the mess hall, and her phone rang at the same time.
"Yes?" she said quickly, glancing out the window. "This is Colonel Yosef, go ahead".
"Colonel," replied an unfailingly polite and clear female English voice on the other end of the phone. "Your squadron has been recalled for an immediate sortie - a UNF E-3C Sentry has detected a number of aircraft closing from the Northern Approaches, and the course, speed and flight profile indicate a missile attack. Furthermore, they have not replied to hails, and are refusing to divert course. Command has indicated that you should launch immediately, a full briefing will be given once you are airborne".
"Yes, I understand," she replied quickly, feeling her heart rise. "I will be there in a moment. Please keep me updated on the locations of my pilots, and tell them I will meet them at their aircraft. Thank you".
Sliding all the folders into a case, she gulped a half-sip of her tea, and then bolted from the room amidst the mass of running men and women. Spying her XO entering the room, she thrust the briefcase into his arms, gave him a garbled explanation, and ran for the flight ops building.

Five minutes later, she had donned her survival gear, and was in the back of a roaring landrover as it drove her at breakneck speed out to the flight line, where ground crew de-iced the planes and had the Auxiliary Power Units running. A heavy jacket was thrown over her shoulders as she leapt out of the landrover, and dashed across the snowy ground to the waiting Kfir and its' fellows, awaiting her pilots.

As she stood ready, helmet under her arm, air-raid sirens began to sound. The bombers wouldn't be in range of missile attack yet - probably - but the early warning was a signal to get everyone under cover, and get the other remaining aircraft and pilots dispersed and in the air. Ariella felt heat prickled under the thick collar of her flight suit despite the chilly air - things were about to get deadly serious, and she was leading an unknown unit into danger. She had to rely on the skill and professionalism she'd seen in the files, as well as her own to see them through. But the doubt gnawed at her as it always did: would one of them not come back this time? And if they didn't, what would it cost this time?
Clamping down on the fear, she tightened her gloved hands against the surface of her helmet, and turned to face the direction of the base buildings as the APU's rose to a screech around her, feeding power to the hungry aircraft, now waiting for their pilots to leap into action.

Everett could not put his finger on it, but there was something about RAF Lossiemouth that made it even more dismal than it felt. Perhaps it were the wrecks of several RAF planes that had been unceremoniously dumped onto the side of the runway, or the plentiful scars that marked the airbase's buildings and hangars. He had to admit, he had second thoughts about his commitment to the UNF when he first saw the damage; after all, this was no Balkan state that was just a hop away from the UNWO, this was Scotland, far into European territory. If the UNWO could threaten such a place, it meant that the UN was certainly in dire straits.

"Oi, Evy, are you in there?" A female voice, thick with a South African accent, asked suddenly, snapping Everett out of his thoughts. He looked back down from the ceiling at the woman seated opposite him. She was Zola, his weapons system officer. They had known each other from their time as mercenaries, but had only flown together in the same plane for a couple of flights. "Seriously, Evy, I can't believe you still get jet lag. You've been flying for...What? Six years now?" She said with a smirk and leaned back in her seat.

"Seven," Everett replied in a grumble and looked down at his empty plate. Now that he thought about it, the food was probably what gave him a bad feeling about the place. It was not bad by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact it was pretty good, but the portions were mediocre at best. Even after clearing his plate of everything, crumbs included, Everett still felt slightly peckish. While he understood that wartime conditions made simply getting an adequate supply of food an issue, "And it's not jet lag. I'm from the fucking tropics. The cold is playing hell with me." He said, picked up his mug with a hand and took a sip of the green tea he had brewed himself from a commercially bought teabag. It tasted stale, but at least it was something warm.

"I'm from Africa and I'm not feeling any worse for wear," Zola said. "'Sides, this can't be the first winter you've experienced."

"The last winter I experienced was in Croatia." He snapped. Just a week ago, he had been helping train fighter pilots destined for the skies above Syria and Iraq by flying the aggressor plane. He knew how the air forces of the UNWO worked, and his job, while boring to him, was vitally important to the UN air force. At least, that was what he had been told so many times that it lost its meaning and became just another phrase used by his superiors to explain why he had not been transferred to a combat unit. "That was nowhere as cold as this frozen hell."

Zola laughed and reached for Everett's mug. "I'll agree with the hell part, this base sure looks like one for the likes of us." She said and took a long sip. Everett arched a brow as he watched her, but said nothing. "Anyway, any plans for the day?" Zola asked and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. "I don't think they'll let us bring the Ghost up in this weather. I was thinking of checking out the town, you want to come along?"

Everett shrugged. "Eh, why not. Not like I've got-"

The loud, shrill alarm played over the PA system interrupted him and gave the both of them their plans for the day. "Looks like we're bringing the Ghost up, after all." Everett said and took one last sip of his tea before handing the cup over to Zola. She took a long gulp and set the mug back on the table before standing up. With only a few flights together, both of them were equally apprehensive about the challenge ahead. Their communication was passable, but it was far from being perfect, and in a combat scenario, anything less was potentially fatal.

"No time to waste, let's go!" Zola said and pretty much pulled Everett to his feet. They, along with a mass of other people, ran out of the mess hall and headed straight for the flight operations building. They hastily pulled on their G-suits and checked that everything was in working condition before rushing out of the building and onto the tarmac. They managed to hitch a ride with a vehicle transporting ordnance to their squadron. From the primarily air-to-air loads the vehicles were carrying, Zola guessed that they were being sent out to intercept an enemy flight. "Aerial combat," She said grimly.

"Aim, lock and shoot. Principles remain the same." Everett replied, though he was reassuring himself as much as her. They were both ground-attack pilots, with Everett having only marginal experience in air-to-air combat over the skies of Africa. It was going to be difficult getting accustomed to getting a lock and having to tell Zola to open fire rather than pulling the trigger himself, but he was confident that the two of them would be able to pull it off without any problems.

They hopped off the vehicle once they were at their aircraft. The Ghost of the Straits, or The Ghost for short, was a heavily modified Su-24 Fencer. "Nothing we can do here until the techies get things sorted," Zola said and nodded towards the Israeli Kfir and its pilot just two planes down from theirs. "There's our officer, I'd reckon. She does match the picture in the files they gave me."

"Same here," Everett said and started walking towards the officer. "We should talk to her. Maybe we can get some details."

"Right you are," Zola said and followed close behind. The high-pitched whines of the external APU systems feeding startup power to the engines of the assembled aircraft was deafening, and it made it hard to even think.

"Colonel Yosef?" Everett called out once they were close enough. "I am...Flight Lieutenant Everett Yang, and this is my WSO Flight Lieutenant Zola Vermaak." Their ranks were the ones they had when they left their respective air forces, and Everett did not know whether they were still legit, but it sure sounded a lot better than introducing themselves as rankless ex-mercenaries. "We're the crew of the Ghost of the Straits, that Su-24 two down from you. We were wondering if we could get any details on the mission ahead."

A few days have passed since Matt was called away from Hungary to RAF Lossiemouth, a UN base of operations in Moray, Scotland. While he was hesitant to just bail out when the action was the most tense in his homeland, he knew that the UNWO is a greater enemy. He was excited and honored that he was chosen to be a pilot in the UN's upcoming ace squadron which is supposed to be a vital factor in turning the war's tides around. Life won't be easy however and he quickly realized that upon arriving to Lossiemouth. It was in shambles, a great amount of fighter wreckage surrounded the runway and the headquarters itself was seemingly hit by missile strikes already, which demonstrated the power and reach of the UNWO. It will take quite an effort to bring these guys, he thought.

He won't need to make this effort alone of course. He had 11 other people arriving with him from a variety of nations. Together, they would make the Excalibur Squadron. None of them was particularly chatty at the time they were first together, which was completely acceptable considering the huge crisis in the world and the burden of solving it partially resting on their shoulders. Some, including Matt eventually introduced themselves to a few others and some remained completely silent. Once in the operations center, he bumped into the leader of the group, Colonel Ariella Yosef, an Israeli pilot. She told him to enjoy his stay, as they had some free time before their first briefing.

The next day, he visited the covered reventments where the squadron's aircrafts were stored, ready and waiting. His Jaguar wasn't in a perfect shape, because of him flying it in numerous engagements and dogfights, but it was in a pretty good condition. The squad size was considerably smaller than what he was used to in the HAF where they were usually flying in 16-18 man groups, but he knew that everyone here will have what it takes to succeed in every situation. He spent plenty of time there, but the cold wind of the Scottish winter eventually made him go back to the base.

Realizing he didn't yet eat today, Matt headed towards the cantine, picking up some much needed food and a cup of hot tea. He quickly finished with the meal and took some sips from the tea, which tasted good enough for him. After all, he didn't drink tea that much. His pleasant session was abruptly cut short by a loud alarm suddenly blasting through the walls of Lossiemouth. Knowing that it signs danger, he hastily drank the remaining tea and ran off to his quarters to equip himself with his pilot suit. A few minutes later, he was already heading towards the reventments again. Seeing that the Colonel and another pilot have already taken their position, he climbed into his Jaguar and fired up the engines. Realizing that he forgot to even ask what's happening in the rush, he thought of getting off and questioning the officer, but in the end he stayed firmly in the aircraft, ready for a briefing in the skies.

Inside the Mess Hall there was an enormous sortiment of people from all over the EU and even some outside of the UN's borders. Vladimir was one of the many personal equipped to this military base, he was sitting casually by his table, all to his lonesome. Being the only Russian person on the base, at least to Vladimir's knowledge he would sit alone, it didn't hurt him or touch him to any extent due to the fact that he was raised in Russia, following the Russian way of military development. He had no worries, he had ripped himself of most of the emotional connection's he'd normally had to the best of his ability and the only thing he was doing right now was going over the personal files for Excalibur flight, which he had been assigned to. He spotted a match between two Israeli pilots rather quickly, he found another match between another two pilots, Everett and Zola, one African and another one from Singapore. He saw another pair, they were apparently brothers. Vladimir was surprised by the number of pairs, however he didn't care as long as they would do their work, just like he would. A machine is what they need to be, a machine who's every single cog and gear works in perfect tune, no error's allowed, one single delay could cost unreplacable damage.

He had taken one cup of tea, the UK delicacy, as they told him back in Russia. This would be the first time he'd tasted tea from the UK. He never actually took anything else other than one sip of tea from his cup, he was so engrossed into the plentiful paper's he'd been given at his own arrival, he, as an information and control freak, simply had to know EVERYTHING which he had been given the ability to know. But of course, there had to be that one moment where his reading would be disturbed, but this time for good reason. The base alarm had been raised and he'd spotted two, no, three people of his flight moved out of the mess hall as fast as they humanly could in this crowded environment. Vladimir blitzed out from his table and out of the mess hall, just like anyone else.

As a Russian he'd been trained in incredibly rough areas and environments, with a saddening lack of military funding, he'd almost perfected the art's of putting on his necessary high speed piloting equippment and he was in and out almost like a lightning bolt, without a second thought he left the pilot's equippment area and walked out onto the tarmac which held the sleeping demons, or angels if you rather, of war. With the helmet under his arm and side by side with his hips, he walked in a very disciplined manner up to the Excalibur flight's leading figure, one of the two Israeli's he'd spotted in the documents. Once at the necessary 4.5 meter distance from his superior he stopped abruptly and instantly saluted by bringing up his right arm and placing it just infront of his forehead. ''Colonel Ariella Yosef, Major Vladimir Alexandrov at your command.'' He remained at a salut until he'd be ordered otherwise, he knew, as he walked up to his commanding officer, that the Albino MiG-25 2018 stood almost right next to the colonel's own, personal aircraft.

As he stood still the detail's which were encased within the files and document's were flying about in his mind, mentally mapping them and describing anything with a need of description, such as weapons of any kind and their ammunition's. As a member of the Russian information gathering squadron, he'd developed a thing for information, further from what he'd already had, and the result was an almost self created photographic memory.

He stared into the eyes of his superior, a typical behaviour he'd found in the Russian air force intelligence squadron and something he'd unknowingly grabbed onto, her eyes were showing sign's of eagerness and nervosity. He tried his best to filter the raid alarm's as far out of his brain as possible, however serving his time in Russia he'd seen his fair share of airbase damage and raids, however this would be another one amongst the very few times he'd participated in them, as well as the first time he'd fly the MiG-25 2018 issued to him by the motherland as a possible reserve aircraft to support the motherland in this dire crisis, as well as equipped with certain European mods and tweaks.

The Russian stone face policy would remain present with Vladimir, he is the result of the average Russian military training, a brutal soldier with a lack of humanity, but still his fair share of drawbacks, overconfidence, patriotism, photographic memory, night terrors, lack of sleep, and an entirely other set of drawbacks. With military suicide in Russia peaking the charts globally it's quite certain that military training in Russia is rough.

The thought of war was hovering in the background of his thought's, however he tried to not think of it too much and simply do his duties.

The world-famous English breakfast tea didn't impress Farid that much; he still thought that a cup of tea back in his home country was a lot better. He knew, however, that he would need to accustom himself to those stuffs for the foreseeable future since his deployment was for fighting a war front and not for a joint exercise. He still finished his breakfast, and after that he took a look at the runway. It was quite unbelievable that they were recruited from various countries to replace squadrons of Typhoons and Tornadoes. Noting that most of the pilots in the newly-formed Excalibur Squadron flew legacy aircraft, he thought that the UNF must have been running short of aircrafts. Will we manage to survive up there?, he thought.

The presence of numerous people from numerous nationalities inside the mess hall helped Farid a little bit to lessen the effects of the British winter, which was just beginning. He was walking around the hall to prevent the cold from catching up with him. With temperatures averaging 5 degrees Celcius going to be in the place all winter long, and for a man whose city's temperature hardly ever drops below 15 degrees Celcius he will need some time to adapt with the climate.

A short while later, an air-raid siren rang loud, which was definitely not a drill in a war situation like this. Farid ran to the flight operations building and put on his full pilot gear as soon as possible. He then rushed to his aircraft, an upgraded F-20 Tigershark widely marketed to the Third World as a "4.25th generation fighter", a term he didn't want to be fooled by. He inspected his plane, and put extra attention on the loadout because the missiles made it to the plane before he did. Noting that the weapons loaded were all air-to-air, with no drop tanks, he concluded that the mission was preventing the rise of the old British saying that the bomber will always get through.

Once he finished the inspection, Farid got inside the cockpit, which would be one of the few places to find warmth throughout the winter. He then started the engines of the aircraft, waiting for takeoff clearance.

Bulldog was working on his plane trying to fix his engine that had been damaged on before he left for this place. He is fiddling with the engine when Firefly arrives beside him. "You still got problems with that thing?" Firefly asks.
"Yeah i can't figure out what the hell is wrong" Bulldog shoots back.
"Don't worry You'll figure it out soon enough" Firefly states hoping that it is true. Just then they hear the siren and they look at eachother. Bulldog then says" You better get to your plane brother cause i ain't going no where." Firefly nods and runs to get his Flight Suit on. within minutes he is running to his cockpit and doing a final check on the outside. He then proceeds into the cockpit shutting it rather quickly. He grabs his helmet as he flips everything on and the plane comes to life. Sliding his helmet on he waits for the go order turning his Com on. He then thinks to himself "Alright. . . easy as cake."

The mess hall was exactly that: a mess. Miyoshi sat quietly in the middle of it all eating her food, inconspicuously eyeing the room around her. There were different people of different nationalities everywhere, all swirling around her like a grand military ballet with her as the ballerina at center stage. Except she was a fighter pilot; her dance moves came in the air at the controls of a mighty metal ballerina of the sky. She itched to get back up there and fly with her new squadron. Her new commander had briefly exchanged introductions with her in the hallway a few hours before, and seemed like a strong-willed leader. Miyoshi certainly couldn't wait to fly under the Israeli flight lead. The squadron, named "Excalibur", was comprised of many different nationalities and personalities - each undoubtedly at least as interesting as Miyoshi's own. These were all idle thoughts, though: as she finished up her last bites of her meal and moved to leave the mess hall, she only had getting in the cockpit on her mind.

As if on cue, the base's loud air raid sirens began to blast as soon as she reached the mess hall's exit, and she traded her walk for a run. Stopping on the way to grab and climb into her flight suit, she was soon running towards the line of Excalibur aircraft. Even in this hectic time, she had enough time as she ran to admire the row of sleeping aircraft waiting to be awakened.

The sleek Kfir with its striking yet subtle tigerstripe scheme, presumably belonging to the flight lead standing next to it, was a majestic sight. The faced Jaguar was certainly menacing. The gunmetal Fishbed was an aircraft Miyoshi was surprised to see despite its production numbers, but the modified example looked right at home with the rest of the aircraft, itching to attack its prey. The matte swept-wing Aardvark looked ready to destroy...well, just about anything, being an interdictor. The snow white Harrier looked right at home in the white-covered air base, the two roses providing a striking contrast with the rest of the surroundings. The poised Tigershark was an aircraft Miyoshi had not seen a lot of, and looked armed to the teeth, with its Tiger II counterpart complimenting it nicely. The unique Fencer, with its remarkable PLA camouflage scheme, was one of the most noticeable aircraft parked, and was an excellent compliment to the other swept-wing aircraft present. The Tomcat, as menacing and beautiful of an aircraft as ever, sat pretty and poised in its also striking IRIAF camouflage. The unique double delta-wing Draken with its multicolor paint scheme looked eager to take to the skies. Finally, the all white Foxbat looked outfitted for recon work and seemed to be a fitting compliment to Miyoshi's own combat-oriented Foxbat-E, which she soon arrived at.

Miyoshi had seen her flight lead and a couple other pilots next to the Kfir, but also noted several of the other pilots climbing into their aircraft and starting them up. Since that was what she had been instructed to do, she did the same. Climbing up to the canopy of her beloved "Deep Blue", she glanced back and smiled at the Japanese characters inscribed on the tailfan of her big bruiser before moving down into the cockpit seat and donning her helmet. She initiated the engine startup sequence and the huge D30-F6 turbafans roared to life as the glass cockpit controls lit up. "Alright Massao, let's make our squadron proud," she said to her aircraft in Japanese. Now all she could do was wait patiently for her flight lead and for the tower to give her takeoff clearance, and wonder where she would be placed in the formation.

Ariella was pleased and more than a little relieved to see her pilots arrive in a flurry of activity shortly after the sirens sounded. Most went straight to their aircraft, and she gave them mental pats on the back - while she'd waited for any stragglers or those needing direction, she was glad to see most were aware and experienced enough to react quickly in the situation at hand.
Yang and Vermaak presented themselves and she yelled over the sound of multiple engines starting around them, pumping the decibel level up a massive amount.
"Great to meet you both! The mission's a scramble order - hostile bandits inbound is all I know right now. No time to waste, though - we'll get an update once we're in the air. C'mon, let's move!"
Buckling on her helmet, the Israeli bade them both good luck with a wave, before scrambling up the ladder into the Kfirs' cockpit. A ground crewman helped her buckle in, even as another handful removed all the arming pins from the missiles and detached lines and closed covers and ports. The APU was disconnected as the delta-wing jets' turbofan engine turned over with a whine, joining the chorus of engine noise.
The lead crewman gave her a thumbs up, and she returned it. All checklists - abbreviated for the emergency - came up green, and she contacted the tower.
"Tower, this is Excalibur lead. Ready and in the green, requesting clearance to taxi for immediate takeoff, over".
"Roger, Excalibur. All aircraft are OK to taxi and takeoff for intercept. Expedite. E-3A, callsign 'Overwatch' will be on channel four once you takeoff, they'll guide you in. Cleared for takeoff on runway two,over"
She clicked her mike twice in confirmation, and fed power to the throttle. The jet began to roll, and she exchanged waves and nods with the others, before toggling into the squadron frequency.
"All aircraft, this is Lioness, Excalibur One. We are cleared for takeoff on Runway 2. Follow me for fast-taxi to takeoff. We will take off in tatical formation, paired on the runway. Climb to Angels 10 and match my heading until we get direction from AWACS to intercept bandits. Let's go, over"
The Kfir taxied at speed, rather than the normal low-speed roll of everyday procedures. The runway was soon within sight, and Ariella pushed the Kfir partway down and far over to the right of the wide strip, allowing the next in line to pair up with her, reducing the amount of takeoff length available, but getting as many of the squadron in the air at once as possible.
She toed the brakes lightly and gave everyone one last check, before tapping the brakes to hold, and then running the engine up to full military power. The dart-like jet strained against the stops, before she let go of the brakes, and the plane lurched forward. The cockpit was a rush of noise as the rumble of movement and power through the gear vibrated through the plane, and the speedometer climbed rapidly.
Her only call was "rotating", as she pulled back at takeoff speed, smoothly and sharply rising into the air in a steep high-speed climb, the grey-striped Kfir climbing like a bullet as its' landing gear folded away.

She didn't level out until ten thousand feet, waggling her wings to the plane on her wingtip, and reducing power to a high-speed conservative cruise. Somewhere out there, the AWACS waited, and beyond it the hostile bombers, inbound and looking for trouble.
"Maintain formation," she said over the radio, more for the want of something to say than of necessity. "I doubt it'll be long until-"
"Excalibur, this is Overwatch. Bandits in your area, and closing fast at angels-5. Reading ten heavy aircraft and multiple escort fighters; look to be former Soviet-types, probable Tango-Uniform-Nine-Fives, Bears. No read on their weapons, but treat as loaded and dangerous. Intercept as priority, they may be carrying cruise missiles. Escorts unknown, expect Sierra-Uniform-Two-Sevens or similar. Proceed with caution, but intercept at once. Vectors coming through- Shit! Bandits have launched long-range missiles! Intercept!"
Datalinks and the patient voice of the AWACS controllers confirmed the headings and speeds of the bandits. There were plenty of them, and they were moving fast. Mentally, she matched the numbers; the Excalibur were outnumbered, but they had plenty of missiles and cannon rounds: they just had to do better than the bad guys. The aircraft they had were a mix, but that was their strength: They could split and handle this. Her mind worked furiously, dispatching orders rapid-fire.
"Roger, Overwatch," she replied, before speaking to her squadron. "All Excaliburs: Break and engage. The bombers are the priority, hit them before they launch. Watch each others' tails. Stand by for our game plan. Over"
Glancing out of her canopy, she surveyed the aircraft around her, and made snap decisions based on the capabilities of each, and quickly directed the squadron by their callsigns, speaking rapidly and with a firm, confident tone.
"Five and Six, you're the interceptors. Chase down the cruise missiles, and blast them out of the sky. You've got the speed and power. Circle back once they're down. Remember, they'll go low and terrain-follow, so be careful as well as quick.
"Four and Eight, prosecute attacks on the bombers with Three, Seven, Twelve and Thirteen. They'll be slower than you, but they have multiple cannon, and they'll be dodging like hell. Don't underestimate them."
"Two, Ten, Nine, Eleven - You're with me, we'll tackle the escorts and keep them off of the others. Watch each others' backs - we need to keep the fast-movers off of our guys and gals targeting the bombers. All aircraft, Engage!"
She snap-rolled to her left and poured on throttle, streaming the Kfir toward the radar contacts, which were powering out into a spread formation to guard their charges as the squadron closed in. Already, her IFF and AESA radar were marking up the enemy. As the AWACS had expected, it was a mixed bag: SU-27's, with a few F-16's and MiG-29's thrown in for good measure. The UNWO wasn't picky about whose planes it used, apparently. And somewhere, they'd taken on fuel as well, to get this far. No tanker would've accompanied them in this far of course, and it was long gone, leaving only the bombers and their escorts as fair game.
"Tally ho on a bandit," she remarked as the first MiG came in range. "Engaging!"

"Hit the skies, got it, Colonel." Zola replied enthusiastically once their commanding officer had given them the briefest of briefings, but it was enough. They were going to be doing an air-interception mission; not Everett's or Zola's specialty, but it was something they could manage. The two of them raced for their aircraft and climbed in - Everett in the pilot's seat and Zola in the weapons' systems officer's. She slipped on her helmet and did a quick check to ensure that everything was in working order. From what she was seeing, her plane had been fully kitted out for aerial interdiction. Out of the Fencer's nine hardpoints, four had been used for the R-74 missile, four for the R-77 and the centerline had been used to carry an additional gunpod.

Beside her, Everett was busy with the pre-flight checklist. "Powering up engines, external APU disabled. Stealth systems on stand-by, control surfaces responsive." He rattled on out of habit. It served a practical purpose, however; he felt less likely to forget anything if he said the steps out loud rather than saying them in his head. These were checks that he had performed countless times in the past, but Everett was all too aware of the dangers complacency posed. One of his ex-colleagues in the PLA had almost had a nasty accident when a rushed and incomplete pre-flight check left him unable to raise the landing gears. With a full load, he had to fly at close to stalling speeds until he had burned off enough fuel for a safe landing.

"We're green and good to go." Everett said and opened the throttle slightly. The plane began to roll forward, moving behind the other members of his squadron. "How are we on weapons?"

"All armed and ready. R-74s and R-77s. When are we going to get some long-range missiles?" Zola replied.

"Probably never. The Fencer was never meant for long-range interception." Everett replied grimly. He did not like the idea of having to fight at a closer range than other fighters, but he had plenty of chaff and flares. If his evasive maneuvers could not cut it, he had those to fall back upon. "We'll just have to get close and stick it to them. If your stomach can take it, I've got plenty of moves up my sleeve."

"You just worry about getting me targets." Zola shot back indignantly. While she had only flown planes designed for low-altitude ground attacks so far, she had performed her fair share of high-G evasive maneuvers. Most of them threatened to tear her aircraft apart, true, but that was besides the point. Whatever Everett had up his sleeve, she was certain that she could take it. "I'm warning you, I get antsy if I'm not shooting at anything for too long."

Everett shrugged in response as he turned them onto the runway. He waited patiently in line as the planes ahead of him took off and once it was his turn, he opened the throttle all the way, drawing as much power as he could from his engines. The Fencer surged forward at a breakneck speed as it raced down the runway. Everett and Zola felt the familiar sensation of being forced back into their seats and the vibrations and rumbling that accompanied the takeoff roll. "Rotation," Everett reported, as was the standard practice, once the takeoff speed was reached and pulled back on the control column. Suddenly, the worst of the vibrations and rumbles stopped, signalling that they were now airborne. There was only a slight shake and soft mechanical whirr as the landing gears were retracted.

"Excalibur Four at angels ten and leveling out." Everett droned over the squadron's frequency and brought the aircraft to a steady cruise. He brought the aircraft's speed down to a more fuel-efficient speed. There was a second shudder and whirr as the Fencer's wings swept back to a forty-five degree angle to allow for a high cruising speed. He flew in formation with the other members of his squadron, but always kept an eye on the radar screen on his side of the instrument panel. However, it did not take long for them to be given a job by the colonel. Tu-95s were slow, lumbering beasts, but the UNWO had modified them extensively, just as how the Avalon Institute had breathed new life into the ageing aircraft they were flying.

"Excalibur Four copies," Everett replied and clicked off his mic to address Zola. "You know how aerial combat works, right? Wait until we're in a good angle before firing. Preferably when we're behind or above the target."

Zola rolled her eyes. "I know how this works, relax." She said. "I've got this."

"Good," Everett replied with a nod and clicked on the mic again. He had been brought into the UNF for his insights on UNWO tactics and technology, so he felt obligated to tell his squadron what he knew about the aircraft they were to destroy. "The Tu-95s are slow, but the UNWO fitted them out with fly-by-light systems, so expect them to be a bit more agile than what you'd expect from a four-engine bomber. Powerplants have been upgraded, but their not any faster. The UNWO prioritized armour over speed for the 95s, so that's not a problem for us. Look out for the cannons they added to the nose, dorsal and belly positions. They're radar guided, and while their traverse is shit, they'll still get you easy if you get yourself in a tricky position. Let's get them." He said and fed his engines maximum power. "Try to keep your breakfast, Zola."

"Oh, piss off." Zola muttered and braced herself for what she knew was coming. Everett flipped the plane around and raised the elevators, bringing them into a steep dive towards the enemy formation. It was about as standard as Immelmann's got, but that did not make it anymore enjoyable. A series of beeps within the cockpit told her that she was getting a lock on one of the bombers, clearly visible ahead of them. It's dorsal gun was already firing cannons rounds in their direction, but they had to press the attack, otherwise their efforts so far would be all for nought. It only took a few seconds of her to receive a flat, constant tone, but for Zola, it may as well have been minutes. "R-77s are locked. Firing!"

"Excalibur Four locked and firing. Fox-Three, Fox-Three." Everett reported just as the missiles separated from the aircraft. It streaked towards its target, and to the bomber pilot's credit, it tried to evade the missile, but it was simply too close for them to be of any use. The Tu-95s fielded by the UNWO were agile, but they were still at the end of the day not designed for sudden turns or quick maneuvers. The missile struck it's target in the center of the fuselage, but the Tu-95 was not out yet. "Zola, prepare the guns. We'll be making a high-speed pass." Everett said quickly. They were closing fast on the Tu-95, and he was not willing to waste a missile on what was already a crippled bomber.

"Guns armed," Zola said and switched to the in-built cannon and gunpod. From their angle, they were going to get a good shot at the Tu-95's starboard wing, and the number three engine along with it. "In range, I'm firing." She reported. The Fencer shuddered with each of the three short bursts Zola fired, each of them spitting out deadly twenty-three millimeter cannon rounds at their target. As expected, a few round missed, but they still scored several damaging hits on the Tu-95's wing and engine. One of the rounds must have hit something vital, as the engine soon erupted into flames. Soon after, the Fencer streaked past the bomber, emerging underneath the enemy formation.

"Excalibur Four has hits on target, now at flight level four-nine hundred and-" Everett began, but was cut off when he heard the sound of a distant explosion behind him. "Zola, what the fuck was that?"

"Hang on," Zola said and twisted in her seat to look at their rear. The Tu-95 they had struck had evidently suffered a catastrophic explosion which had torn a gaping hole in its starboard wing. The flying debris had ripped up the already-weakened fuselage, and that was all the aircraft could take. "Ha! Our target's in flames and going down. First kill goes to Sandstorm!"

"Correction, Exclaibur Four splashed one Tu-95. At flight level four-nine hundred and coming around for another attack from below." Everett quickly said over the squadron frequency. They should have reported their position and status a long time ago, but they had been momentarily distracted by the effects of their headlong and almost foolhardy attack. He knew that their fire should not have been enough to bring down the Tu-95, at least not in such a catastrophic manner and in such a short time. They must have caused a fuel leak which ignited within the engine. "Nice shooting, Zola." Everett said. "But we've got more to kill."

Firefly followed his flight lead out onto the tarmac triple checking everything. He checks in with flight lead " Lead this is 12 checking in. 13 is grounded for this game his engine is messed up. We'll be down one for this flight. " He clicked his radio off and prepared for take off. he turns on some music from his MP3 player attached to the side of his cockpit. "A little music to kick ass too" He said to himself as he throttled forward with his brakes on. Once the flight lead released her breaks and began flying down the runway he followed right behind her as they ascend towards the sky. He looks in front of him seeing all of the other planes of the squadron. He seems to daze out for a few until he hears his number on the radio and is told to attack the bombers. he breaks formation immediately and heads towards the bombers. he then begins to climb up towards the sky. he then flies high and out of sight for most of the planes to see him. He begins to put the throttle to the max going for full burn to get close to the bombers rather quickly.

He gets within range of the bombers and picks out his target and descends. he comes in right behind one of the bombers and begins firing his cannons. he hits one of the engines sending it down. "Early kill for me ladies!" He shouts over his radio. Just as he finishes that a escort fight comes in behind him and begins tagging him with it's cannon. "Shit i got a bogey on my tail could use a little help here!" He says as he begins trying to lose the pursuer.

On the ground Bulldog observes what can be seen from the ground. he goes back to fixing his aircraft knowing it needs to be done. He hates being on the ground during a battle He feels utterly useless.

After being ordered to stand at ease by his Ariella, Excalibur one, he'd just realized that the way of the EU was far different than that of the Soviet, Russian. Never the less he rushed to his Albino MiG-25 and, as quickly as before, blitzed up the stairs and into the cockpit, reviewing everything as he ran around his aircraft to reach the staircase. Once he landed in his seat he slowly went over the checklist, the checklist is the most important thing a pilot can do, no malfunctions were allowed now, not in the machine, not in the people riding and controlling these monsters of war. He finished just in time with his pair, leading him to fire up the engines, and slowly tax up behind her, following her until he came onto the runway, where he rolled up behind her and turned on the breaks of the landing gear, stopping straight besides Excalibur 5.

Radioing to the radiotower, as well as his own team. ''Excalibur 6 taking off.'' He spoke in his rather broken english, Russian accent. Once he felt the landing gears lifting off the ground he found himself in a stable, but slow climb towrads the assigned climbing height, he followed Excalibur 5 until the time to form up in formation came upon him. He slowly glided into formation whilst still firing up and reaching the designated altitude. Soon they reached their designated altitude and spoke up over the squadron wide coms. ''Excalibur 6 at angels 10 and leveling.'' Soon he'd been breached by designation Overwatch, it was alerting, the bombers had seemingly already launched some of their cargo and the situation seemed grim and rightly so. After having been breached, and well into their cruise Excalibur One gave everyone their designations, just like Vladimir would've thought, Himself and Excalibur 5 would be assigned Cruise Missile duty, hunting it down and finishing it off would be crucial, and this was yet another time that he would hate the fact that he didn't have the manuverability of a greater generation aircraft, or the incredible speed of his MiG-99, it was nothing he was allowed to speak of publicly, but mind reading wasn't existant, yet.

''Solid copy Excalibur One, Excalibur 6 banking left to engage pursuit of cruise missile.'' According to the information he'd been given and moved accordingly, the time it'd take for him to drop to low height from his angels 10 cruise it'd take some time, not only to drop but also turn around accordingly. He'd have to begin already now in order to come into a good pursuit position. ''Excalibur 5, this is Excalibur 6. I take the primary mssile, you deal with the secondary. Deal, over.'' Vladimir was scanning the area, most certainly the ground which was slowly approaching him, he'd slowed down and decided to take on an elliptical turn which would take him into a pursuit run.The cruise missile had been visible on the radar for a fair while and was approaching Vladimir's wished position.

Now, he'd finished the turn and was now going into a slow dive, accelerating his speed immensly, thanks to the upgrades he wouldn't have to worry about any malfunctions in the engines and even accelerated further. He was starting to approach firing range, ''Praise Russia...'' He said to himself as he started to see the the cruise missile with his own two eyes, he glanced over towards Excalibur 5, more inorder to update himself on the status of his fly-mate, than anything else.

--Earlier--
Rikke and Adriana were driving around town. They hadn't had much time to see the place after arrival on the base. "Can the heater get any hotter?" Rikke asks as she sits in the passenger seat, pulling on her sweater collar. "Would you like me to roll down the windows?" Adriana asks jokingly, Rikke glaring at her sister briefly before laughing. "The heat coming out from this thing would make it look like we're smoking". Both sisters began laughing before the cell phone given to them began to ring. Rikke answered it, and after a few seconds of talking and hanging up the phone, she turned to Adriana with a serious look "We need to get back to base, attack coming this way." Adriana nodded and spun the car around, and throttled the vehicle back to base.

Once they arrived at base, they quickly got their flight suits on, and hopped onto a truck that quickly drove them to their aircraft. "Looks like we're a tad bit late" Rikke says as the two sisters run to Wraith. Adriana was too focused on getting to the aircraft to respond. Both climbed up into the cockpit, doing start-up checks as fast as they could once they were seated.

--Now--
After take-off, they were flying in formation with the rest of the squad. What a mix of aircraft they had. After some time of flying, AWACS boomed over the squad channel, giving vectors and altitude of the bandits, shortly after, the squad lead given orders to each aircraft. The Fencer and their Aardvark were tasked with taking down the bombers. "Roger, we'll get those bombers down" Adriana then spoke to her sister "I'll get us to an altitude above where the bears are flying, should give those Phoenixes a better chance." Rikke nodded "Alright, just don't get us shot down." Adriana smirked as she pulled the aircraft about to get them the firing angle.

"Excalibur Eight, Engaging" said Adriana once they were in position, it didn't take long to lock the missile onto the target. "Fox-One, Fox-One!" Rikke reported as she fired a Phoenix at the Tu-95. The missile racing off towards its target and finding its mark on the upper-middle part of the fuselage, right between the wings. "Confirmed hit on the bandit, switching to guns" as if on cue, the weapons bay opened and the the gun popped down. But before they could go into a gun run, an eruption on the bear happened, causing a wing to break free of the craft. Both the craft and the freed wing feel out of the sky. "Excalibur Eight down bandit, nice job on your bandit as well Excalibur Four." Adriana said, remarking the kill the Fencer scored. "Two down, Eight to go, lets get busy"

"All aircraft, this is Lioness, Excalibur One. We are cleared for takeoff on Runway 2. Follow me for fast-taxi to takeoff. We will take off in tactical formation, paired on the runway. Climb to Angels 10 and match my heading until we get direction from AWACS to intercept bandits. Let's go, over"

"It's go time!" Miyoshi said to herself, and edged her Foxbat out of its parking space and into taxi formation behind Excalibur One. She quickly noticed that her albino twin, Excalibur Six, was following and pulled up next to her on the runway. She looked over and gave him a quick salute before powering up her engines for takeoff. After rotating with the rest of the squadron and climbing to 10,000 feet, she said "Excalibur Five leveled at angels ten" along with the rest. The AWACS "Overwatch" came on the comm and immediately after came the confident voice of Excalibur One, instructing her and Excalibur Six to intercept the just-launched cruise missiles. "Roger, Excalibur One," she responded simply. "Moving to intercept."

Before Miyoshi could call out to her fellow interceptor, he beat her to the buzzer. ''Excalibur 5, this is Excalibur 6. I take the primary missile, you deal with the secondary. Deal, over." "10-4, Excalibur Six. Moving to splash secondary, over," she responded, and immediately inverted and nosed hard left and up (down), letting her lighter and more maneuverable airframe work its magic. Taking care to not go too low until she had to to maintain airspeed, she leveled out a fair amount above the missiles, having gained a huge amount of airspeed in her steep dive. Looking out of her canopy, she spotted Excalibur Six leveling out in a more shallow dive and looked forwards again as she punched the afterburner, accelerating from her already very high rate of speed to well over Mach 3.

Before long the AESA radar picked out Miyoshi's target. Flicking her fire selector over to the Vympel K-77M, she initiated a shallow dive to get behind the missile, and was soon ready to fire. The missile would be easy pickings for the K-77M's Mach 4.5 cruising speed. Just then she gained missile lock, and depressed the trigger. The missile left its position on the wing and streaked towards its target as Miyoshi called out "Fox Three!", briefly looking over to Excalibur Six to check his progress.

Matt didn't have to wait too much for the rest of the pilots to arrive and start up their fighters. Meanwhile, he was going through his checklist to make sure everything's safe and functioning properly. He knew he could never forget that, no matter how excited he was or how urgent the situation was. Everything came up green as usual, he was ready to go. Soon enough, he heard the Colonel, who had the callsign of 'Lioness', ordering the takeoff in tactical formation, paired on the runway. After the third pair took off, he navigated his Jaguar to the runway and looked back to see if Excalibur Eight was following him. Once they were next to each other, they took off.

"Excalibur Seven at angels 10, over." he said briefly after he reached the designated 10,000 feet altitude and got into formation. The squad flew like this for a little, but soon the AWACS came on the comms to give a sitrep stating that numerous bandits are closing in on their location. Classified loaded and dangerous, most of the hostile fighters were supposedly Tu-95s and Su-27s. While the situation in itself was tense, it was only made worse when it turned out that they have already fired cruise missiles. Immediately after AWACS signed out, Excalibur One started giving out the roles to everyone. Two interceptors, four going for the escorts with One and five for the bombers. Matt was one of the latter. "Seven copies. Let's rock, over." he said in the squadron channel and proceeded with the hunt.

He quickly found his first Tu-95 to take down. He could see its missile loaded and ready for launch, reminding him to act quick. Holding a firm grip, he took aim and locked in the target. "Fox-Three, Fox-Three!" he reported as he fired a MBDA Meteor missile. He noticed that the bandit was turning towards one of his squadmates, the Aadvark, most probably attempting to fire. "Excalibur Eight, evasive manouvers, bandit on your tail, over." he warned the pilot while he was speeding towards the bomber. Fortunately, the missile made a hit on the bandit at the root of its right wing, exposing the fuselage. "Hit scored, making a gun run." he reported once again as he switched to the ADEN cannons. Once close enough, he let out a few quick bursts, hoping that it will be enough to set the hostile aircraft ablaze. Just as he flew past it with incredible speed, it made a satisfying explosion and went down burning. "Bomber down, danger passed Eight, over."

"Excalibur Four to Eight, thanks for the compliment. Tell your WSO that Evy-I mean Everett sends his regards. Out." Zola replied over her mic as the Fencer pulled into a steep climb to carry out another attack on the enemy bomber formation. With the element of surprise gone, the bombers were now actively taking measures to make the lives of their attackers very difficult. Most of them were trying to jink - to move so erratically that getting a lock or bead would prove challenging enough to buy their fighter escorts enough time to destroy the attacking aircraft. However, it proved to be ineffective as Excalibur Seven soon downed another bomber. Still, the turrets were putting up a hail of cannon fire and, for a moment, it even made Everett hesitant to attempt to break through the bomber formation.

However, if he had any thoughts of turning back, it was too late for him to do anything of the sort. Split-seconds later, his Fencer came up above the bombers. He continued to gain some additional altitude before banking hard to the left while descending to make another run. The Ghost of the Straits came screaming down for another high-speed pass at the bombers. "Firing missile." Zola reported and pulled the trigger, releasing another R-77 missile. This time, they hit their target in a more vital region - the area just behind the cockpit. Even if that did not kill most of the piloting crew, it certainly severed or disabled the on-board flight computers, and sure enough, the Tu-95 soon dropped out of formation and began a slow crash towards the ocean below.

"Nice shot," Everett commented, sounding genuinely impressed. Over the squadron frequency, he reported, "Excalibur Four splash one more Tu-95."

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all day. Now let's go bail Excalibur Twelve out of trouble, eh?" Zola said with a laugh, but her mood was quickly dampened when alarms began to sound in the cockpit. She immediately looked at the rear-view mirrors mounted to the sides of their cockpit; an old-fashioned instrument of questionable usefulness, but this time it allowed her to see the sunlight reflecting off the enemy fighter which had gotten a lock on them. "Shit! Enemy has a lock on us!" She shouted out over the squadron frequency.

"Excalibur Four evading!" Everett said and pulled the aircraft into a steep climb, away from the bombers. At the same time, Zola fired one of their flare-and-chaff countermeasures, throwing off the enemy's lock. The alarm stopped, but that did not mean that they were out of any danger. He glanced out the window, just in time to see Excalibur Twelve streak past with a bandit hot on his tail. Seven had just eliminated one chasing Eight, but the enemy had plenty more fighters to throw at them. There was no time for Everett to even weigh the benefits of calling from help from their fighter cover - they were possibly too busy fending off the enemy's own air superiority fighters.

Without informing his squadron, or even Zola for that matter, he pulled the aircraft into a turn. The move caught Zola off-guard and she let out a yelp of surprise. "What the fuck are you doing?" She asked once she had recovered from the surprise.

"Dogfighting." Everett replied plainly. As he had expected, the enemy fighter followed, slowing down and banking into a turn to stay on the Fencer's tail. It quickly became a deadly game of seeing who would die from a stall first. With both sides playing with their airspeeds to get an edge, neither could get into good firing position or even get a lock on one another. "Zola, prepare cannons and the R-74s." Everett said grimly.

Zola immediately caught on to Everett's plan. It was risky - there was a chance the enemy fighter could handle well at slow speeds, but if Everett played it right, he could make their pursuer choose between either giving up the chase, slowing down to the point of a terminal stall or to overshoot and place itself right in their crosshairs. "R-74s armed and cannons are ready to go." Zola reported. Everett's only response was a nod before leveling out the aircraft, pretending as if he had just made a basic error when it came to a turning fight. However, almost instantly, he raised every drag-inducing device he had on the plane, rapidly killing the Fencer's speed. Its wings rotated back to their landing configuration, inducing even more drag and slowing the Fencer down even more.

The enemy fighter had evidently not expected that as it overshot the Fencer, streaking past overhead. "Burn the fucker!" Everett yelled as he lowered the spoilers and pushed the Fencer to get more airspeed, not that it was necessary. The R-74s quickly locked onto the enemy fighter's hot exhaust, and the fighter's speed meant that it lacked the time to get out of the way before Zola released the missile. It streaked forward and quite literally went up the enemy fighter's exhaust nozzle. The enemy aircraft erupted into a ball of flame and went crashing down to the sea below as a shower of debris.

Everett let out a sigh of relief and turned his plane around to return to attacking the bombers. "Excalibur Four splash one fighter." He said, then remembered that he had not told his squadron about what had happened. For all they knew, the Ghost of the Straits simply disappeared midway through the fight. "Sorry about our absence. We had a bogey on our tail. Took care of it. Returning to engage bombers, out." Everett said curtly and increased speed to rejoin their squadron.

"Excalibur four, keep this up and you'll make ace by the end of the day," the AWACS said with no small admiration in their voice. "The bombers are starting to split formation. Keep pressing them. The cruise missiles are closing in, estimate feet-dry in five minutes."
"Roger," replied Lioness. "Good shooting, team. They're going to regret getting up early at this rate, keep it up".

A brief flash in the distance indicated the cruise missile being downed by Miyoshi's attack, and the AWACS confirmed it with an excited edge in his voice. It wasn't all plain-sailing though, as two more Bears rippled off another quartet of missiles, and began to bank away. The remainder dived for the deck, aiming for speed and ground (or sea) clutter to keep them safe. Tracers lashed the skies around the 'aluminum clouds', turning the early-morning skies into a blazing criss-cross of firepower.

Ariella kept her distance from the light-show, however - the pilots she'd assigned to the job had shown they could handle it, and they were relying on her and the others to tackle the fighters - whom, by now, had picked up the slack and the momentary disorientation, and were burning in for attacks. Rolling the Kfir into a gentle turning bank, she streamed in behind a MiG-29 heading in for the flight attacking the bombers, dropping altitude as she banked to match the incoming escort fighters.
"Engaging bandit, keep my six clear," she called over the squadron channel. The helmet-mounted sight tracked the glittering shape of the MiG-29 against the brightening sky, and the Israeli pilot selected a Python missile. The cross-hair on her eyepiece blinked red with a solid lock-on, and she pulled the trigger to release, the missile flashing away into the skies.
"Fox One!" she called with some relish, watching the missile stream in toward the target. The Fulcrum banked hard, blasting out flares, but the Python 4 refused to be deterred, even as the twin-tailed MiG hauled into a steep climb. The fuse arming at lethal range, the python exploded and flayed the undercarriage of the fighter with a shower of hot fragments. Smoke, oil and debris spewed from the ventral surface of the stricken aircraft and the pilot bailed out heartbeats before the plane erupted into a dirty fireball.
A warning sounded in her ears, and Ariella hauled the Kfir onto an escaping course, slamming the delta-winged aircraft through sharp rolls and changes in heading. A glance to her rear showed the powerful and intimidating shape of a Flanker closing in - he'd snuck in by using his IR search-and-track sensor, and was going for a gun kill.
Cheeky bastard.
"Bandit close," she advised to the others. "Someone wanna get him off my back?"

Vladimir was dragging out time in order to save his missiles for later engagements, he knew that he had time and once he had reached maximum speed he was quite concious about the look of the cruise missile straight infront of him. ''Five minutes is good enough.'' He thought to himself. ''Guns.'' He exclaimed to Excalibur 5 and unleashed the powerful bullet spewing machine into the cruise missile, it exploded in a beautiful mixture of shrapnel and explosives. He was beyond any immediet harm and with that he contacted Excalibur 5 once again. ''Cruise missile down, let's turn around and assist the rest. Preferably at maximum possible speed, over.'' He looked around him and spotted Excalibur 5 unleashing her missile upon the cruise missile. He then looked down towards the beauty of whatever was below him during his rapid aircraft.

He put the throttle to the max and then radio:ed Excalibur One. ''This is Excalibur 6, cruise missile down and regrouping with main attack force as backup, over.'' He was within mere minutes within eye sight of the battle at hand, he had already picked his target, it would go unknowing and would die suddenly. ''There.'' He spoke to himself as he spotted the bomber escort fighter which had found it's way to the tail of Excalibur One, he would soon give it the unknowing of it's demies.

''Engaging.'' He exclaimed over the squadron wide radio and unleashed hell upon the unknowing UNWO fighter. As Vladimir emerged out of the cloud which was below the entire battle he unleashed one of his missiles, on a direct course towards the fighter and luckily it hits belly, blowing the fighter into bit's, launching shrapnel about and sending the rest of the fighter down into whatever it would land on. ''Target down Excalibur One, re-engaging.''

Miyoshi watched the cruise missile disintegrate in front of her, her missile hitting its mark in short order and the AWACS confirmation coming shortly after. She immediately pulled up, executing an Immelmann to get higher and back towards the rest of the flight. She watched Excalibur Six rip off to take care of a bandit on Lioness' tail, and was about to follow into the fray when she saw the two Bears launch the next salvo of missiles. Immediately she got back on the radio with Six. "Six, I have visual contact with four cruise missile launches. I'm moving to intercept. I'd welcome the help, over." As soon as she said "over" she began a shallow left bank, timed so that hopefully when she pulled out of it she'd be right behind the missiles. The missiles were split into two pairs, as the Bears hadn't been right next to each other when they launched. Miyoshi targeted the right pair.

As she banked, Miyoshi observed the chaos occurred to her sides and 6. It appeared that the rest of the squadron was pulling their weight nicely. This is going to be a fun squadron, she thought. Soon enough she had completely looped around, opening the throttle and diving once she straightened out to catch the two missiles below and in front of her. She had noted Six's "Guns" call from earlier, deciding she would follow suit to save some missiles. Her R-37M missiles (among other things) were sitting in their bays, waiting to deliver swift Mach 6 justice. That time wasn't now though, as she approached the two missiles she had targeted. Flicking the fire selector, she called out a requisite quick three "guns guns guns!" and fired on each missile in turn in precise, short bursts from her M61A2 cannon. Looking over to see the other two missiles out to her left, she got on the radio. "Six, I can scythe over and get the other two if you're tied up or helping the others. It's no problem, over."

Inside the chaos of conflict two pairs of missiles had once again been launched, Miyoshi confirming this shortly after, as well as AWACS. ''Solid copy, turning to engage, over.'' He said as he currently wasn't held up in a fire fight of any kind. He leveled out in a slowly decending dive and pulled the throttle of his vector engines to maximum capacity and simply awaited the chance to engage the cruise missiles. As he looked on his radar he had confirmation that he was within radar range of the missiles, and soon enough Miyoshi would take out her pair of missiles.

''Negetive Excalibur 5, I'm already in pursuit.'' He said, soon within visual range. After a few good seconds wait time he exclaimed to Excalibur 5. ''Guns, guns.'' and let out the killing burst for the closest missile to him, however the other one was quite far beyond the range of his gun spewing wewapon. ''Missiles away.'' He said once again to Excalibur 5 and one missile pushed itself from the carriage of the airplane and almost instantly launching itself towards the cruise missile and soon, that one would also be blown into cinders.

''Overwatch'' would confirm the destruction of each cruise missile in accordance to its destruction. ''Excalibur 5, I might recommend that we remain in the outskirts of the battle so that we can intercept and ultimately destroy any possible cruise missile which is launched, over.''

Farid waited for a while for the hostile fighters to close in, not firing his missiles at maximum range due to their low probability of kill at such ranges. Once the hostile fighters reached half that effective range, Farid used the helmet-mounted display of his F-20 to lock on a Flanker and fired an AIM-120 AMRAAM as soon as he gained a lock. "Fox Three," he said over the radio. He then did the same thing on another Flanker as soon as the first missile was fired, and said the exact same words on the radio. Rising up his aircraft after firing the two AMRAAMs, it took a while for Farid to notice a parachute coming out from the trajectory of the first Flanker which now turned into debris, indicating that it was shot down. "Eleven, splash one Flanker," he said in a flat intonation.

The second Flanker, however, did not follow the same fate. The pilot managed to execute evasive maneuvers once his comrades were locked on one after another and then fell out of the skies. Said Flanker got behind Farid's F-20 while he was attempting to get a lock on a Fulcrum that wasn't locked on during the first barrage of the Excalibur squadron. The moment Farid knew the second Flanker wasn't down was when it launched a missile at him, which rang the alarm at his cockpit. Deploying flares while making a rapid descent, Farid managed to break the missile lock, although the missile exploded just not close enough to do any damage.

Although his aircraft stayed untouched, Farid knew full well that this was not the end of all troubles. That Flanker was still in a position with a decent chance to gain another missile lock and, as Farid looked to his left, a MiG-29, different from the one he previously attempted to gain a lock on, was flying toward him. "Dammit. Bandits engaging me two-on-one," he said over the radio as he began a sequence of maneuvers.