Jimmy and the Roger Dodger

The Roger Dodger screamed through the sky towards the makeshift airstrip, the loud roar of the twin-engines only gracing the ears of any below the craft as it was flying by. Jimmy yanked on the controls, the Roger Dodger rolling 180 degrees as Jimmy scanned the area, noticing the old pilot as he zoomed past the airfield on this first run. "Yeah, that sure looks like the son of a bitch. Time to rest up baby." He gave a quick pat on the side of the cockpit for good luck as he swung around for another run to land. He turned off the makeshift speakers, pausing his music from the "old days" as he prepared to land.

The Roger Dodger made a rather graceful landing, Jimmy turning off the engines as the F/A-18 glided up towards Roland. Jimmy was a sort of daredevil and knew his plane and what it could do better than any other pilot in the damn world. He removed his restraints and took off his helmet and respirator while the craft was still gliding in from the momentum. Jimmy made one final motion with the stick, moving the aircraft just off a collision course with Roland and his craft. With a simple motion, the pilot pressed a button and the cockpit opened up, with Jimmy walking out onto the wing just as the craft pulled to a stop.

The young pilot had a wicked smile on his face as he set the helmet on the wing and hopped down, arm outstretched towards the legend that was Roland Shaw. "Jimmy Web, The Jonestown Runner at your service."

"That must be it then..."

Rodriguez brought his aircraft about and came to a slight decent, stabilizing at fourth-five thousand and two hundred feet. Even being thirty-one miles out, he could see faintly see the landing strip in the distance. He closely monitored the flight instruments that gauged and dictated the Pandora's flight path and orientation, its altitude and speed. Were it not for the many modern mechanical upgrades to the old airframe, it may have likely choked and shuddered, struggling to maintain the improper loftiness and forcing a decent into more reasonable elevation. However now, the aircraft performed it new purpose to his expectations.

Twenty-four miles out now. Rodriguez eyed the shine of a metallic object off in the distance. The sensor suite to his right in the aircraft's cockpit earlier tracked the obvious aircraft under twenty minutes ago but predicted that its flight path would show no hint of interception. Granted, it had been wrong before and ended up putting pitting him into awkward scenarios he'd rather have been included with. On the positive note, those were rare circumstances and he learned to give his gut and intuition the final say. He noted that the unknown aircraft was that of a F/A-18; certainly a rare quality he himself rarely comes across nowadays, especially since props were more manageable and easier to maintain than a jet. Rodriguez observed the craft for sometime but eventually concluded that, like him, were heading toward the same place.

Unsurprisingly to him, the possibly friendly jet casually dropped altitude and entered into a procedural descent, affixing with the runway of the airstrip. With only ten miles to go, he figured doing the same. Rodriguez slowly decreased Pandora's velocity, easing the throttle as to took the plane down to a proper elevation. By now, he had already had his landing beacon lit, informing any individuals it concerned that he was approaching and reducing altitude. With just one mile out and the landing gear lowered, the plane flew steadily at a few hundred feet and quickly dropping as he got closer. Eventually, touchdown. The Pandora's wheels skidded and gripped the runway surface with the aircraft's spoilers and auto-braking system roaring with exhaust propelling ahead of the plane.

A minute later and the Pandora had safely landed and as directed by Rodriguez to align with the earlier fighter jet from before after confirming two persons present there; one of them seemingly matching the description of Roland Shaw. His contractor. the large plane rolled in and lastly came to a halt. Rodriguez followed procedure carefully and never cut any corners. the loud growl of his two turboprop engines lasted for two minutes before the revolutions of the four propellers, two to each engine, decreased and the loud sound died to a moan and finally a gasping hiss.

Having verified all of his checked, Rodriguez removed the flight mask and intake from his face, prompting a blunt yawn after travelling for several hours. Deciding not to dawdling any longer, he unlocked and slid away the portion of the canopy away, allowing him to exit the aircraft. After climbing down, he rallied to the two individuals before him.

"Roland Shaw, I presume?" he began, "Rodriguez Hefferman, reporting in."

Roland knew that it was likely the two aircraft approaching his runway were friendly, but hearing the scream of an unfamiliar aircraft always made him tense. His '6th pilot sense' would kick in, and he would automatically start to analyze the area around him as a 3D battlefield, running through multiple scenarios and maneuvers of how best to engage the aircraft. After swallowing a hard lump in his throat. He snapped back to reality as the two pilots landed and approached him.

Both were male and younger than him, with a few years between each other. He had only seen brief details on their home states and thier aircraft but nothing else. Once the introduced themselves, he returned the greeting with a firm handshake to both of them. If nothing else, they seemed like professionals. Which was far cry from the wacky bunch he found himself with a few years ago.

Good morning pilots, I'm Roland Shaw. I'm afriad that gas station is the closest thing we have to a base of operations right now. I don't work with organizations or guilds anymore. Its best to keep things simple.

Roland begand to walk towards the gas station, motioning the two men to walk with him, he took this moment to look over both their planes. One jet and one heavily armored biplane, they both looked like sturdy machines, well kept but worn in and seen a lot of conflict, which was perfect for what Roland had in mind.

Mr Hefferman, I heard you are a Scanner class pilot? That will be useful. The little intelligence I have is that these bandits have started employing the use of warmachines, as well as conventional aircraft. Have you seen anything strange on the way over? Battletrains? Land Rover Mechs?

Roland stomach began to turn as he though of all the twisted and powerful machines he's had to fight through his career, being caught off guard was something you never get used to and Roland despised it?

Mr Web I didn't see any military background on your dossier, what is your background in flying? I know that the Midwest has some private guilds and border guards but I haven't been there in a few years.

There was a possibility of more joining them, but at the moment it was 3 pilots, seemingly up against secret army. But Roland was comfortable with that scenario. No sortie was ever in his favor.

Jimmy Web: The Jonestown Runner

Jimmy's heart dropped for a second as he followed the legendary pilot. He wasn't exactly... anyone, so to speak. He was practically a skilled kid with a death machine. He gave a small sigh as he followed Roland. "To be frank with you, sir... I'm not much of a fighter. At least, not until now. I've helped in a couple minor conflicts just in keeping people distracted. But I'm damn good at that... and I wasn't going to say no to a mission by THE Roland Shaw."

Jimmy was nervous, his hands immediately going towards an old coin in his pocket. It was a quarter from the 20th century, fairly messed up at this point, but it was one of the few collectibles his father kept around. The quarter slid through Jimmy's hands at ease, rolling over his knuckles to an fro until finally rolling towards his thumb, where he caught the quarter and slid it back into his pocket. He was nervous and not entirely sure he was up for this. There was no doubt he was the amateur in the room, and the Runner was going to have to prove himself to be a fighter when this was all said and done.

With the formal greetings out of the way, Rodriguez followed Roland, along with Jimmy to the nearby gas station. It wasn't hard for Rodriguez not to notice Roland glancing at their planes and suspected the man was inspecting the quality and history of each aircraft. It made sense, honestly. It as obvious judging by Roland's aged appearance that he had seen plenty of combat before and seemed natural for them man to take at least some interested in his to-be squadron-mates.

A moment later, Roland then queried him if he had seen any bandit activity on the way here, "Thankfully, no, sir. I typically try to go about my business unnoticed if I had the option. Had I spotted any of those war machines, I might have arrived late," Rodriguez replied.

Roland was world weary and cynical but the Canadian in him couldn't help but crack a very slight grin at Rodriguez's dry humor. His heart was also somewhat warmed by the respect to his legacy shown by James Web. There was a time when Roland was young and idealistic, he still had the moral code to do the right thing, but it was out of duty and not desire. Jimmy's attitude was refreshing.

The gas station was filthy, it looked as if it had been ransacked twice by drifters and then lived in. Luckily, whoever had been here before didnt have the means to carry gas or vehicles to fill it with, so there was still some fuel left, but that was it. Roland pulled up 3 chairs and table near the counter, causually kicking some scrap wood and a broken shelf out of the way.

Once the 3 men were seated, Roland pulled out a Map.

So as you know I'm running on some very scarce intelligence here, this is mainly reports from people who I know who have been attacked by co-ordinated bandit attacks who seem to be larger than normal. My contact Reggie Jenkins said he was protecting a truck convoy near Atlanta when a bunch of highly modifed spitfire model warplanes took out the escort. He barely managed to escape. Reggie barely made it out.

Roland paused momentarily, his concern for his former wingmate was still very prominent for him dwell on it.

..ahem the other report was from a Cuban bomber pilot who we met in the mountains, he was hitting some Texan controlled outposts in mexico and spotted what looked like a Karksland Dreadnought Air Machine, but described the same markings as the bandits that Reggie saw on the Spitfires A image of a silver wolf. We have 2 options in front of us, either investigate Atlanta or the Tex Mex border. What do you two think?

Rodriguez's fact contorted to a concerned, almost worrisome expression upon seeing the condition the gas station was in, having now seen it up close. It was evident that the place had had been unkempt for quite some time with some of its wooden framework being degraded along with the stone and concrete heavily stained and falling apart. Surely the place was beyond repair by now and was hardly considered usable. But for now, it was better than sitting outside.

After taking one of the seats offered to him, Rodriguez eyed Roland has he gave his latest of reports. Apparently some bandits bearing a silver wolf, well-armed and equipped bandits for that matter, have caution quite a few problems for the Southeastern regions of the fractured States. While the information gave some notable details to go by, it unfortunately didn't paint a clear enough picture for I'm as far as what they were truly up against. Then again, that's why he and Jimmy, along with Roland, were here for; to fill in the gaps and find out who these goons really are. Fair enough.

Rodriguez pinched his chin as he gave their situation some thought, "Both places are decent options to start our search. However, getting into trouble with a dreadnaught should be the last thing on our to-do list with what we have now, regardless if one truly exists with these bandits of yours. I would put my money with checking out Atlanta first."

Jimmy Web: The Jonestown Runner

When the chair was offered, Jimmy took it without hesitation. He leaned back, slouching and making sure to stretch his arms. He had been cooped up in his bird for far too long, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a cramp during a serious meeting with two individuals who were, without a doubt, more experienced in the art of aerial combat. To be frank, Jimmy was wondering why he was even brought in on an assignment of this supposed magnitude, other than the fact that he was cheap.

The mess of the gas station was something Jimmy was used to. Him and his father were never exactly clean, and Jimmy still hadn't found that cup of half-eaten ramen that had to be in the cockpit somewhere. It was beginning to smell a little rancid, which was never a good sign. He only truly snapped back into the meeting he was in at the mention of a dreadnaught.

"Yeah... quite frankly, the old Roger isn't suited for taking on an aerial behemoth. Atlanta would also be a nice little day trip, and would allow us to get there and get back without any need for refueling or restocking. Also probably wouldn't hurt to try and get some information on this little Wolf Pack before drawing out a rather dastardly fight." Jimmy sat up as he spoke, looking over the maps and flicking his coin back and forth over his fingers. He then gave a small smile. "Besides, there's a gal in Texas who I promised I would call back. Best not tempt fate."

Roland nodded softly listening to the two men's reasoning. Despite thier lack of direct combat experience they seemed to have an instinct for forward planning. He held his hand to his chin as he mentally calculated the journey, roughly 2 hours with no stops.

Okay, lets move out. We will make for georgia while there is still daylight. I only know of one garage near Bankhead so I hope your planes have been serviced for the stretch.

And with that the 3 men left the gas station. Luckiky for them there was enough fuel at the station to fill all thier tanks up, although Roland left himself till last and wasnt quite filled to 100% but it would have to do for now. He pointed in the direction they would be flying and gave a nod to both Rodriguez and Jimmy before climing in his Iron Jackson. The canopy went shut, and the dull echo of the metal buzzed through his ears. This was it, time to try and do some good for the world again, or die in the attempt.

Prepare for take off.

And with that, the pilots hit the runway and were in the sky. Flying towards Atlanta.

"Right'o!" Rodriguez exclaimed in agreement.

With their brief interaction discussion concluded, each pilot made their way to their respective aircraft. Arriving back to his machine, he circled Pandora, inspecting it of any physical anomalies that could have incurred during the flight here. As expected, it was a smooth flight and the reinforced airframe was perfectly intact. Sparring no time and eager to get off the ground, Rodriguez climbed back into elevated canopy and sealed the access latch behind him.

He squeezed his way past the amassed instruments of his electronic warfare suite that made up much of the cockpit until and settled in and claimed his seat. It didn't take him line to fire up the aircraft's systems, only a few seconds after sliding the ignition into place, followed by an low awakening whine reverberating throughout the airframe. Rodriguez peered at the gauges and self-inspecting apparatuses of his control board. Everything appeared fully functional with the fuel meter having hardly dropped from the trip and still perfect to crossing several more states.

Reclaiming his flight mask and wrapping the intake loosely over his mouth, Rodriguez prompted Pandora's two turboprop engines to life. The dual-propellers of each engine slowly counter rotated in tandem with one another. Each few seconds, the props spun faster and faster, increase the pitch and loudness of the engines until the revolutions game to a consistent fast-spinning growl. His Super Savage was alive again.

Taxiing the runway took a few minutes to eventually complete. With no air traffic control to guide him through a series of holding patterns and awaiting the imminent return of landing aircraft, none to speak of in this case, taking off with only two other aircraft to note of was easier to manage. Once he was on the runway and clear of any obstacles, he applied the throttle and immediately felt the G-forces kick in as the initial growling of his turboprop engines become a duo or roars. The Pandora, pushed by the propellers cutting into the air and the exhaust acing as a mock jet-engine, streaked down the runway before Rodriguez pulled the flight stick inward, ascending the aircraft.

After several minutes climbing, Rodriguez put his machine meters away from Roland's left flank, merging into formation.

Jimmy Web: The Jonestown Runner

Jimmy got up from his chair rather slowly once the meeting had concluded. He wanted to enjoy the free air while he could, even if it smelled like absolute garbage in the gas station. He would mosey on over to fuel up his craft, making sure to fill it to the brim. He never turned down free gas, and he always went into a mission on a full tank if he could. After all, if he needed to run... he needed to be prepared to run.

Jimmy hopped up onto the wing and stood there, watching the other two pilots take off first. He felt the sun beating down onto him as he fastened the leather straps to his helmet. He gave it a couple smacks to make sure it was on nice and tight and wouldn't bounce around too much before lowering the shade covering on the front of the helmet, the safest Jimmy could get to sunglasses when flying the way he did. And as he watched the planes cruise up towards the heavens, Jimmy lowered himself into his own cockpit and fastened himself in. He tried activating his jet... and nothing changed. No roar... the systems themselves weren't even booting. Everything remained dead. Jimmy sighed and flicked a few switches that certainly had nothing to do with turning the systems on. With a quick closed-fist smack onto the console in front of him, the Roger Dodger roared to life.

The aircraft began to ease its way down the makeshift runway as Jimmy slowly eased the throttle. By the end of the path, the Roger Dodger climbed into the air at near cruising speed. The young pilot readjusted the pictures in his cockpit that were nestled firmly within some of the instruments on the console in front of him, placing a gloved finger over the picture of his father. He strapped on the mask and intake and quickly set the equipment so he'd be fine as he began climbing towards the formation and the air had become a little thin. Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment and swore at the small mistake and eased the Roger Dodger into formation, ready to fly into his first proper fight.

It had been a smooth flight, in spite of some delay due to a headwind. A small bazaar with a long airstrip in the suburbs around old Minneapolis had given him a modest deal on fuel and he had even had a lucky find, a P-90 rigged with a pulse laser attachment. Pity it lacked the necessary power pack. Still, it had a couple magazines and one was even full. That was a hundred shots if he got into a crazy tight spot. Ryan Lungfirst hoped that he would never need to use it.

The meeting place was coming up fast, but he knew that he was running behind schedule, so he maintained altitude instead of descending. He searched the sky below him until he saw it, a small group of planes that were on an exit vector from the meeting place. He was late for the meeting, yes, but not late for the job. He adjusted his course slightly to match the direction of the other planes and continued at his cruising speed until he closed the remaining distance. He was still high above the other planes and behind them as his shadow slipped forward until it drifted across first one and then another of them to settle over the canopy of the Iron Jackson. It was then that Ryan Lungfirst broke radio silence with a steady voice muffled by his altitude mask.

“Long-Dive to Iron Jackson. Holding at 6 O-Clock high.”

There wasn’t that much more for him to say. He didn’t know who the other pilots were or even the full details of the job. But, he did know his plane. Lungfirst was not inclined to be overconfident but he had long since learned not to be nervous or worried. Those states of mind made it easier to panic and panic is a killer.

Ryan Lungfirst was aware that at least one of the dog fighters below him could probably reach his altitude, even if they wouldn’t have much maneuverability once they reached it. They were customized planes. He had half expected the group to break formation before he broke radio silence. Unfortunately, they not only held their relatively low altitude formation but their leader ordered him to join it.

“…He didn’t get to see my plane…” Lungfirst mumbled to himself, silently cursing the headwind that had made him late. He didn’t dare explain his craft’s specialized features over the open airwaves. He just had to hope that his temporary comrades were observant enough to detect how vulnerable he was at low altitude. Then he had an idea of how to fix that.

He clicked his radio to transmit. “10-4. Out.” His muffled voice was flat and unenthused but a discerning ear might have noticed an edge of worry under the professionalism.

He pushed the nose of his XB-35-M4 into a measured descent, pacing it so that he would match altitude and pass the formation 200 feet in front of the Iron Jackson. Then he would drop back behind and rise to join the formation smoothly from beneath. He didn’t like fancy flying but these other pilots needed to know how different his plane was from theirs without discussing it over the radio in uncertain airspace. This way, they could all get a good view from below and then from above. Hopefully that would answer questions without them having to be asked. And, if one of them was a scanner, they’d have a perfect opportunity to get an accurate and detailed readout on the Long-Dive.

There was one other matter too. He couldn’t fit on the Iron Jackson’s six unless the other two moved. His wingspan was almost as wide as their entire formation at present. He could come in at the back, and that would be his target location, if the other two pilots didn’t loosen up the formation, since he had no intention of ramming them.

Jimmy Web: The Jonestown Runner

Jimmy watched the behemoth approaching and gave a small smile. He could outrun it if need be, and his Wing Leader wasn't firing anything up. Certainly the craft was another of the legend's friends... or he was asleep in the cockpit. Honestly, at this point, perhaps the older legend was...

When the call came through, Jimmy gave a sigh of relief. He eyed the XB-35-M4 carefully, making note of its weapons placements. He wasn't a genius, but he remembered the first rule in preparing for a fight: Know what you're fighting with and know what you're fighting against. It was an impressive aircraft, and it's ability to fly at the altitude it could maintain was... well, practically impossible. Maybe. Physics wasn't his strong suit.

When Lungfirst's bird began to get into position, Jimmy's lips curled into a small smile. He flipped a switch, and a loud buzz of static would easily come in through the radios of the other pilots. "Bzzzzttttt..." A loud pop would then blare through the radio as Jimmy bashed the console with his fist, a good solution to fixing anything in the cockpit easily. He shook his head. "Sorry, been meaning to fix that. This is Jimmy. I'd recommend keeping this formation loose and diamond right here buddy. Don't want you trying to sneak into any backdoors now." He gave a small chuckle to himself as he gave a small turn of the stick to the right. The Roger Dodger loosened up the formation to give a bit of breathing room as the jet rolled to the right slightly before readjusting.

Rodriguez maintained his position with Roland's left flank through the current duration of the trip. There wasn't much as far as conversations go since everyone appeared to be busy keeping their own birds in the air. He himself however kept the plane in auto-pilot, having synchronized the control patterns with Roland's aircraft, The Iron Jackson, while he slaved over the scanning equipment directly to his right shoulder. Much of the electronics and gadgets hadn't seen almost any use within the past couple of weeks due to limitation of contracts within his previous area of operation, resulting in suite being deactivate for the most part. Now that he was on a new job and even a new squadron, he figured it was as good as time as any to re-activate the sleeping hardware.

And not a moment too soon.

Upon stirring Pandora's long-range radar, a blip immediately sounded off. The small ping pulled Rodriguez's gaze over too one of the monitors showcasing a large map of the region and the general location of unidentified craft. He glanced forward, noting his formation position and back to the monitor, having just updated the blip's new position. Rodriguez wasn't urgently concerned yet with the approaching newcomer since the radar would have responded to any craft in the same fashion that was not carrying a transponder. He however did keep his eyes glued to the screen and observed the changing flight path of the plane coming up from their rear.

A few minutes later and Rodriguez then confirmed that the craft was in fact on intercept course. His heart rate began to climb with the lingering thought of an any bandit preparing to attack their formation settling in but he insisted on keeping his position regardless. He couldn't think of anyone trying to take on three aircraft by themselves nor could he think of any valid reason of doing so. Eventually, the blip came up on his short-range radar and from there, he could then properly track the unknown aircraft approaching them. By now, Rodriguez was already running a scan though he immediately noted that airspeed of the craft was more casual with no hint of hostile intent. Then again, the approaching airplane was flying at a much higher elevation; almost perfect for an aggressive dive for a strafing run.

Finally, the unspoken radio silence had been broken with the newcomer identifying themselves, or their aircraft, as Long Dive. While his powerful radio could intercept the transmission, it was clear they were addressing Roland. Roland, of course, replied and welcomed them into to formation. Rodriguez finally steadied himself and eased back, now certain that there was no longer any danger. Eventually, the scan had completed and notified him of the results, prompting Rodriguez to raise an eyebrow. The Long Dive was apparently that of an XB-35-M4, essentially a flying wing and one whose wingspan was far greater than any of the aircraft in formation. Having already networked the other two planes in formation, Pandora's computer would have been sending the data to the Iron Jackson and the Roger Dodger.

Seeing as though that Lungfirst was about to bring their aircraft from the rear and after Jimmy broadcasted their formation suggestion, Rodriguez positioned the rudder of Pandora just slightly to the left, prompting his airframe to move over, increasing the distance between him and the Iron Jackson by several meters. It was then his turn to delve in greetings, "Standby, Long Dive. I'll have your plane networked shortly."

Roland was impressed at the way Rodriguez had already taken up the scanning duties for the squad without any prompting at all, it reminded him he was in capable company. Now that all 4 men were flying together smoothly Roland had now noticed they were flying over a stretch of scorched land. Depressingly this wasn't too uncommon in the south. Although Florida hadn't seen the worst of it, the south east was basically a constant war-zone during the 'Dixie conflicts' that had been going on since the war with Texas. Many towns and outposts were pulverized by warfare and it left the earth a deathly grey-brown color with no plant life left to speak of. A grim reminder for Roland that oppressive groups must be fought and stopped at all costs.

As if right on cue, Roland spotted movement on the ground that his radar wasn't picking up: Trucks more than a few of them too. At least 8 were riding together in a convoy along with some Artillery vehicles that were probably the escorts. Not the strangest sight but notably large and intimidating for a routine cargo run. Roland Shaw was now becoming nervous, his finger was hovering above the weapons trigger, he decided to fly in a little lower to investigate. He radioed the rest of the pilots first.

Hold your altitudes, I'm gonna dive in for a closer peek at these vehicles, stay alert.

Slowly descending to take a close visual at the trucks, he felt his heart jump in his chest as soon as the logo became visible. It was the Lone Star Flag of Texas. These trucks were military, and judging by the escorts they were probably carrying fuel or weapons or both. Roland's vision began to blur, his breath was hot with rage and his grip became tight like a vice on the stick. His mission was to investigate this bandit empire, but he was still Ex-Canadian military and Texas were still a very active (if not diminished) foe.

Okay pilots, time to warm up, let's do some strafing. Jimmy, this is a perfect bit of practice, follow Ryan's lead!

Just as he radioed the Military Trucks began to speed up, and the Artillery began firing at the sky. Roland pulled his Iron Jackson hard into a somersault to evade, and took a deep breath as he prepared to open fire.

Lungfirst adjusted his position to match the formation even more precisely while he listened to the calls from his new colleagues. He was not in a great mood. This formation was far too low altitude for his liking. In fact, he’d have to climb before he could effectively engage much of anything without being vulnerable. Still the pilot flying in front of him was both his boss and a living legend and he had given an order. Lungfirst transmitted his acknowledgments to the other two pilots while he analyzed his combat options.

Lungfirst’s voice was mostly flat as he replied. “Long-Dive copies. Thanks for the breathing room. Looking forward to the specs too. Out.”

He was distracted by the task of assessing his current tactical options. So long as he was at such a low altitude he would be a big target for anti-aircraft weapons as well as vulnerable to attack from above. Also, his targeting cone for missile strikes against ground targets was reduced and he couldn’t use his forward missile launchers so long as he was at the back of the formation. He would have to climb as soon as any hostile force appeared in order to make full use of his weapons. Just when he finished his tactical analysis the Iron Jackson radioed his intent to descend and examine a convoy.

He pulled up and began to climb immediately.

With most planes, this action would weaken the formation and deprive them of fighting power. However, the Long-Dive had AA missile launchers pointed both fore and aft. As he climbed and accelerated above the formation the targeting cone of his rear launchers expanded to cover the other planes while the upward angle of his nose lifted his under-wing anti-ground missile launchers into a forward firing angle. And his forward launchers lifted to cover the formation’s 12-o-clock high.

His first instinct was to simply target the vehicles with AG missiles and take them out, but he wanted to wait till the group’s leader had achieved his stated objective. The other three planes were all designed to be able to effectively strafe. He continued to climb but acquired target locks on four vehicles in the convoy. He couldn’t be sure that they were carrying something volatile, but if any of them were, then the secondary explosions could take out some of the remaining vehicles. He waited until the planes that were going to strafe had completed a single run and were clear of the likely blast radius before confirming his targets were still operational and calling the Iron Jackson.

“Long-Dive, targets locked. Confirmed live. Permission to fire?” His thumb was on the launch switch and he was going to fire the moment he had confirmation from his leader.