The morning sky was easy on the jet's wings as the Devils flew over the Vlhakian southern border northbound to Vlasko Air Base. Behind them was an air bomber group, three TU-160's followed by three escorts fighters consisting of MiG-31s. That wasn't the concern on Winkoop's mind though, he flew in a V formation alongside his four other comrades. The Devil's all flew Su-27s painted all red with a low-vis Vlhakian flag on their tails of course.

Winkoop looked over to his left, his wingman Lieutenant Michael Zarkev was looking at his instruments before he caught the flight leader's gaze. He gave him a thumbs-up, Winkoop removed his stern gaze on him before looking forward to the objective in front of him, Vlasko was only ten minutes out. The Devils started to lower their altitude dangerously low, about 300 meters or so above the empty farm fields they were close to crashing into. The whole flight had been briefed on the importance of evading the Antrean radars, so much that radio chatter would only be opened up as the attack on Vlasko began.

Antrean ground below was vanishing as they drew up speed, starting to zoom by the ground as they gained up speed. Winkoop's thoughts went back to the days of cruising through the dark blue skies during the Delrosa campaign, Delrosa was such a beautiful country had it not been strife with civil war maybe more pilots would be going home to their families. Alas, that was the price of war he snapped back into reality as he looked up to the airbase he was soon approaching. They woulden't know what was about to hit them, hell it was better to the one taking the first shot than receiving it in war. It's just part of the game, his mind started to block off his vague moralist views as he switched the comms back on to announce to the flight.

Devil-1: "Attention flight, targets approaching - for the Queen, raze Vlasko to the ground!"

...

---

Breakfast had just been served in the chow hall, just some eggs and bacon the usual it was lean mean and it helped the base remain a tip-top fighting machine. No one was able to sense what was about to come, by the time the sound of engines broke the sound barrier nearby the base the attack had already began. Angel-1 'Jackson' 450's flight leader was already in the air but for a bit of training with his derelict 104C Starfighter, it was an easily maneuverable plane but lacked armored it was more of a touch and go aircraft. He would be the first off the Angels to engage with the Devil's.

Unfortunately for him he would be the first downed fighter of the war.

Heading just a few kilometres outside of the base, right in front of him was a zooming V formation of Su-27s before he could even react the lead target had already a hail of 30mm towardes the small Starfighter immediately crippling the plane as it nosed dived into the forrest below as the assault group flew over the now downed flight leader. The Su-27s broke off besides Winkoop and Zarkev who stayed together in a formation over the air field.

The Su-27s began to descend on the airfield firing onto the planes and crew that were left outside during daily duties and maintenance. Their rounds struck home and eviscerated a few staff along with blowing up a A-10, and a few F-14D Tomcats and one Starfighter. Fire struck and broke out, in the chow hall a hail of 30mm blew through the roof shooting into the kitchen, the lineup and to the tables full of airbase staff & pilots soon turned into a frenzy leaving the injured to fend for themselves as everything inside scattered.

Outside the security, crews had gotten a few AAA guns up and one SAM site, they had been seemingly unmanned during the morning shift. Rounds started to fly back striking one of the Su-27s wings but the Devil's responded with rocket fire and 30mm putting almost all of them out of commission in a few minutes. The base had been scrambled by now and the alarm was blaring over base's sound system as pilots began to run to their planes and taxis off to sortie against the Vlhakian air force.

Meanwhile in the sky already and some distance away was AWACS Gravestone, some knew him as the ace from the secession war while others knew him simply as 'Old Man'. He kept to himself mostly but today would be a different day, back in the saddle the old man operated his instruments with his small crew



AWACS Gravestone: "Angel Squadron, this is AWACS Gravestone. Bogeys to the south, Vlhakian IFF. 3x TU-160s"

AWACS Gravestone: "plus MiG-31 escorts. The objective is to stop the bombers from passing on the base, or else it's over for everyone on the ground.

...

AWACS Gravestone:Also, Angel-1 was downed by a Su-27 in all red, it's a some kind of elite squadron. Your priority is the bombers first, I don't want anyone running on me, or dog fucking everyone is pulling their weight. Or we'll all end up dead."

---

Moments before the raid begun, Captain Rose of the 450th was kicking back, sipping a cup of Antrean Earl Gray, reading the classifieds section of the military's newspaper, The Daily Republic. It was a day of simple protocol, flight checks, fuel checks, all easily done by talking to the aircraft maintenance personnel and copying what they said onto a status sheet. His day was, for the most part, smooth sailing from there. He set his cup down on the table he was reading at; however, the liquid within began to ripple as the cup began to shake. Something was up. Angel-1 was against low-flight training due to how easy it is to make a mistake and ruin the plane, or at the very least, the wing suspension.

That was beside the point, the cup was shaking because something was up, and Rose wanted to get to the bottom of it. He folded and set his paper down, stood, and went to the nearest window to peer in the direction of the tarmac. It was too late. It was a quick, strategic strike, but unidentified aircraft flying Vlhakian livery buzzed the airbase for onlookers in the base to witness. It was not just a simple buzz-by, it was a surgical attack. Plumes of flame and smoke burst into the sky from the initial aggressive, treatise-breaking assault. This was no time to panic, but it was exactly the time to kick the tires and light some fires.

Captain Rose ran from the chow hall to the armory to get his gear and go. Banging his hand against the keypad-locked locker that was his, he'd pop in his code, his sister's birthday, and grab his gear. Flight Vest. LOX pump. Comm Transmitter. Throat mic, and of course, his signature piece, his DAS-Tech helmet. Getting everything strapped on, fastened, and cleared, he'd open up a line to the 450th-Gravestone channel.

Lancer: "Angel-3, Captain Rose, checking in. Guess peace treaties mean nothing these days. Heading to my F-14 for Sortie and Defense."

A fresh beep let the folks listening in know he was done with the message as he was rushing himself to his hangar to kick their responsiveness back into high gear. The second he got to the side of his beauty, he hit a hardpoint to kick down the ladder and pop open the cockpit, climbing in, he'd start flipping switches, retracting his ladder, his cockpit sliding into place, electronics buzzing, soon the engine would kick on into prefire, everything would be in place for his take-off, except for the fact there were enemies in close proximity, the most dangerous time to take off. Balls be damned, swift payback was better than a stipend for doing nothing. Taxiing onto the adjacent runway, popping onto ATC-CASTLE comms.

Lancer: "Lancer taking to the skies. I better get a refund on my tea after this. A free smoke too. One for Jackson also."

Quick response was the best answer to show any aggressor that whatever they were doing wasn't going to be a steamroll of an operation. In fact, a quick response gives the defender a better chance to steamroll their opponent. Time to prove that.

The spring morning air was crisp and cold, and it sent a chill down Scott's back and through the thin fabric of the flight suit he wore as he stood out on the tarmac beside his A-10C with the crew chief for his plane. A half-dozen inspection panels were open on the jets' fuselage and wings, with APU hoses hooked up and cables linked to diagnostic carts stretching out across the concrete of the ready-alert hardpan.
The fair-haired pilot was fond of his crew chief, and the pair had a good working relationship based on a healthy amount of mutual appreciation, expressed primarily through backhanded compliments on his part mixed in with genuine ones and an upbeat attitude, and heaping amounts of feigned disdain and irritation coupled with a firm belief that pilots were barely a run above ameobas on the intellectual scale on hers, reaching in extreme cases to grudging small compliments.

One thing he knew could always be guaranteed to help any maintenance on the A-10C go well was a helping of coffee and a pastry from the bases' mess, and Scott handed over both as he approached Val, the sturdy red-headed woman in charge of chasing the junior mechanics and techs around to perform maintenance on 'his' plane.
"G'mornin' Val," he said with a cheery air as he handed over the coffee and pastry, which were swiped away as she glowered at him from under the brim of her cap as he sipped on his own beverage and stowed his helmet bag and logbooks in it behind the jets' front wheel, his survival vest going atop the pile.
"Who made you th' fuggin' weatherman," she grumbled back between mouthfuls of the pastry. "And what took you so long? Stylin' yer hair in those pilots' VIP quarters of yours, and getting in a session at the nail bar?"
"Yeah, even got a massage in too," he replied breezily. "How's my pretty girl looking?" he said with an appreciable smile as he followed her forward toward the ground attack jet.
Even charitably it would've been a stretch to call the A-10 pretty, in any of it's incarnations. It was a plane that was all business. It was designed entirely for one thing: blowing the ever-loving shit out of anything that walked, crawled, drove or otherwise was bound to the ground with a sizable assortment of ordnance. It was very much made for that purpose, flying low and - in fighter jet terms, at least - slow, and being made to absorb punishment that would crumple other planes like tinfoil. And the entire plane was designed and built around a cannon singularly designed to rip tanks apart, the almighty GAU-8A Avenger rotary 30mm cannon.
Scott loved his plane.
It wasn't a hot rod, it wasn't fast, and it wasn't pretty, but damn, it was cool to him. He loved flying the ground-attack jet, and wouldn't trade it for anything else.
He turned his head to listen as Val explained that the crew had virtually pulled an all-nighter to fix several bugs in the jets' software and run diagnostics on parts close to the end of their fatigue life. By sheer luck, they were close to finishing up, and she figured Scott's check flights would come later that morning, after she'd gone over a few forms with him.
He nodded as they did a walkaround of the jet, still wearing it's highly personalised lightning-and-thunder colour scheme. Given that some of the bugs had been with weapon systems and related hardware, a pair of sidewinder air-to-air missiles hung on their adaptor unde the the jet's starboard wing, and the loading panel for the 30mm cannon was open too, the loader parked nearby. To Scott's eye, the planes' numerous underwing and underbody hardpoints being empty left the jet looking light and almost incomplete.
He opened his mouth with a grin on his face to make another comment, as the bases' air raid siren began to sound.

A look of alarm passed between he and the short engineer, but lasted an eyeblink as the screech of jet engines tore through the moment, overtaken by a wave of warm air, the force strong enough to slap the breath out of the pilots' lungs and the stroboscopic flash of an explosion searing his eyes. Heartbeats later the sound caught up. A rumbling whump that that rolled through the air and across his body, resonating deep in his ribcage, and followed by the roaring thunder of other aircraft storming the base. Glimmering darts shot through the air, lashing down at parked shapes with lines of fire and sending oily plumes of smoke into the skies.
The rolling kaleidoscope of explosions, sound, and sensation overwhelmed him; the A-10 two down from his own exploded in a sheet of flame and a raining shower of parts, the concussion like a gods' angry hand as it flicked him to the ground.
As his eyes swum back to vision, Val was leaning over his face, screaming words he couldn't hear through the whining in his ears. Her lips moved in blurred lines until his senses snapped back into clear focus, as she pulled him to his feet and thrust his helmet into his hands.
"-king idiot, get in the plane and get into the damn air! The base is being bombed out from under our feet, and that plane ain't gonna do much good on the ground! Go, she's fuelled and ready for a hot start!"
Stumbling a few steps as he regained his bearings, Scott staggered toward the A-10 as Val yelled orders to her people, the aircraft maintenance crew looking more like a Formula One pit crew as they blurred into action.
He zipped his survival gear into place, and swung himself up the crew ladder and into the cockpit, buckling his harnesses and hitting the ENGINE START button as soon as Val gave him a thumbs up. As soon as the jets' electrical power came to life, he heard voices in his headset, announcing the enemy overhead, and the other pilots moving to engage.
He snapped switches, hit buttons and tapped keys as the jets' big turbofan engines came to life with a howl and then a roar. As soon as Val had slapped the steps and ladder shut in the side of the nose of the plane, he powered the canopy closed and fed power to the engines, feeling the jet start to roll.
He buckled the rubbery, stale-smelling shape of his oxygen mask into place over the stubble of his chin, speaking in sharp, short tones as the jet crawled along the ground, feeling more vulnerable with every minute.
"This is Valentine, rolling for takeoff!"

Felix was within the Hangar Bay with his F-14D jet, his locker stand probably thirty feet away revealed his flight suit and helmet whilst Carter was under his aircraft and performing his daily maintenance. He just got done replacing his Avionics equipment in his cockpit and decided to do a full on inspection check of his entire plane, though found little to no issues when looking it over. By the end of his checkup, he went to his cloth folding chair by his locker and sat down, eyeing the beauty of his career as he mostly kept to himself. He then gripped a plate he grabbed from the mess hall before coming to the hangar and just sat to eat his cold scrambled eggs and warm orange juice. But little did the pilot know he was gonna have a hell of a day...

As the Air Raid sirens rise in the base, he turns his head sharply at the open hangar doors and proceeded to get up and change in to his flight suit. He slides on his helmet, flipping a switch underneath the helmet by his chin and causes his visor to brighten. He also turns on his radio to have the voice of Angel-Gravestone blast in to his ears while rushing to his F-14, making sure his jet was at 100% and able to move out of the hangar without dragging hooked in equipment. Shortly after, he slides his ladder down and gets inside the cockpit, having the ladder soon after brought back up and locked in to place, before flipping the switch to have his cockpit hatch close and seal and proceeds to speak in to his radio soon after hearing Captain Lancer speak.

Felix Carter says,"This is Angel-5 to Angel-Gravestone, reporting. Currently on runway 1-2 and proceeding to get in to the air, over. Angel-3, I'll be in formation with you. I'll let you lead, but we should deal with the M-I-G's, over."

As Felix spoke in to his radio, he reported every action he took. The tone of Felix over the radio sounded calm and collective, he didn't seem rushed or panicked, but he knew what the situation was and knew panicking would make it worse. He started up his engines and proceeded to lead his F-14D on to the runway and adds some thrust to go down runway 1-2 and have himself lift in to the air while having his flaps angled down to assist him lifting off once off the ground.

---

"God, I fuckin' hate coffee," Jamie Teale complained, finishing off her second coffee cup of the day. One day, she wouldn't be so addicted to this stuff. It was a curse! But she got head aches without it; a bad habit left over from her academy days. Surely, military training had drilled proper sleep schedules into her subconscious, but in order to purge the sleep out of her eyes for good it always felt like she needed a cup of coffee. One day, she would kick it. No one really needed coffee, right? Fortunately she had it down to 1 or 2 cups a day, and had been for a while. Apparently, coffee was good-bad for her heart. Every couple of months a new study would come out, claiming coffee equals heart disease. The next season, someone changed their mind and now it's good for her heart. Otherwise, Jamie was a picture of good health, and coffee was the last thing she needed to crush underneath her boot heel if she was going to be certain she was 100%. Hopefully all of her other good habits would balance it out, or something. Fucking coffee. The worst.

Jamie set her obnoxious "I Hate Mondays" mug down next to her already empty tray of food. Reaching for her phone, she spent a few minutes scrolling through social media. Commenting, discussing, people made stupid or funny jokes and Jamie needed to be there to see it. What else was she gonna do during her break time?

There was an alarm, and the sound of distant explosions. Oh. So this is what she'd be doing during her break time. Who the fuck was attacking? Zipping up her jumpsuit, the young pilot exploded from her seat and dashed with her cohorts towards the lockers. Punching in her code (4321), Jamie quickly and effeciently strapped on her flight vest and buckled her helmet around her head. Her heart was beating a million miles an hour. This would be her first time in a life or death dogfight. Training was kicking in, and she was surprised at how calm she was. Adrenaline had kicked in, sure, and she was nervous, sure, but she had no doubts about stepping in that Starfighter and taking to the air to defend her homeland. From whoever the hell was stupid enough to come at them! Clicking on her comms, Jamies voice crackled to life in the air.

Teale: "Angel-2, Second Lieutenant Teale, present. I'll see y'all in the air, over."

The 104C Starfighter assigned to her was waiting in the hangar as other pilots got into theirs. It was a relic of a fighter, but Jamie wouldn't have it any other way. The 104C was an icon of Antrea, one she was proud to be flying in. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Thing could fly like an eagle in the right hands, and Jamie was certain that her hands fit that description. As she buckled her seat belt, the news the Old Man reported began to sink in. Jackson dead? Already? Fuck! Grinding her teeth together behind her air mask, Jamie steeled herself and began taxiing out of the hangar a safe distance behind Lancer and Felix. Of course it was Vlhakia. Those imperial bastards couldn't leave well enough alone. Well, if they wanted a fight, Jamie would deliver it with a vengeance.

Teale: "Roger that. Let's remind these fuckers who they're dealin' with. Over."

The anger was already audible in her voice, even through the filter of the radio. All red huh? Already she imagined herself blasting those Vlhakian swine outta the sky, but the old man was right. Protect the base first. Then she'd go after those treacherous snakes that killed Jackson and who knows how many others already. The engines of her jet roared to life and the sound filled her ears. Power began to course through her arms as she held the flight stick. This was it. This was how things were supposed to be. She was in her element.

Breaking free of the bonds of the Earth for the first time is a feeling she'll never forget. Having complete control and freedom to go anywhere, do anything? It was a high. Even in these dire circumstance, as the landing gear lifted gently from the runway, the elation was palpable. Now, though, there was something at stake. No, everything was at stake. Everything that mattered. So the elation was subdued, and diverted into steely determination.

Eager to get into fray, Jamie's formation flying was fast and loose. As the ground became distant and undetailed, the pillars of smoke rising high into the air, Jamie's gaze fell angrily onto the oncoming bombers.

Teale: "Takin' a pass at that bomber at 3 o'clock! Over!"

Orienting the cannons toward the bomber, Jamie turned her nose toward the lumbering craft that threatened to drop it's payload on her homeland. Eyes flicking from the bomber to the escort plane, Jamie's breathing quickened and she pulled the trigger, the low buzz of machinegun fire ripping into the chill morning air.

Vlhakian Bomber: "Under fire, we're being ta-"

The bombing crews weren't expecting heavy resistance, especially with the element of surprise and the heavy escort and fighter squadron that was backing them but one bomber failed to get close enough to the airfield to do any real damage. A 104C had snuck up behind the bomber and the MiG, before anyone could notice and perform immediate actions it was too late for it at all. The 20mm shells struck through the tail cutting into the rear crew but the finishing blow would be compromising shot the bomber's payload which skyrocketed the bomber's chassis before letting it fall to the fields below nearby the airfield. The MiG broke off before it was targetted and jumped on Teale's tail where it began to fire at her plane.

Killjoy 1: "Bomber 1 down, engaging bogey."


The Su-27s that were strafing the air field began to pull back and tail onto the fighters that were taking off around the airfield, Winkoop looked over to the bomber as it quickly exploded and fell onto the ground below. He cursed as he and Zarkev broke off from their strafing path to move behind the bomber group as a battle plan was quickly drawn up in the Lieutenant's head. He wasn't expecting the squadrons to respond so quickly and with precise moves, but the 104C seemed to take initiative in this matter. If there wasn't immediate action taken now then the whole operation would be finished without as much as a major blow to Vlasko, which was imperative to the war.

Devil-1: "Flight, engage the enemy squadron - Devil 2, stay on my wing!"

---

The base was finally coming to the harsh reality of the attack, while the wounded were evacuated and brought to the northern side of the base the anti-air weapons some older and not put in regular service were rolled out some of it dating back to the mid 20th century but at this point Vlasko AFB was desperate to turn the tide in the favor, the crew on the ground cheered as one of the bombers exploded a distance off. They knew that was one of their own kicking ass and taking names.

While the wrecks of a A-10's fire fought with the base firefighters the jets of the Vlhakian Air Force roared above as the two squadrons (and some) engaged with each other, most of the 450th was off the ground and taking the fight to the VAF. Gravestone looked over his console as the IFF displayed the various air craft in the sky, communications had been funny with Dearmore AFB where the Angel's sister squadron 451st Cowboy Squadron was stationed at. Attempts to reach them had been spotty, help would come eventually, right?

AWACS Gravestone: "Angel-2 splashed a bomber! Take out the rest, now's not the time to slack!"

---

To the east of Vlasko was something that remained to be unseen, three cloaked Su-47s they weren't showing up on the radar nor were they visible by the eye. There was minor disturbance, just bent light but it would take someone with a good eye to see them entering the battlefield. They circled around the outside of the fight observing both the Antrean & Vlhakian fighters engage in what seemed like a fruitless duel, everything was documented and while there was minor radio chatter the group made sure not to intefer with the sortie.

???: "Takes notes brothers, there is much to be learned from the Devil's mistakes."

---

Lancer took a look at the theater of war that was everything outside of his cockpit. It was time to kick this into gear. Already a bomber was downed, but we needed to rout them or take them all out. That was the plan. Take them all out. Angel-5 was his wingman now, from what he could understand over the radio. This was good. It would be good to show the Vlhak Lice exactly how welcome they are unnanounced in Antrea.

He had to make good use of his craft and his wingman's at the moment so that they could be as effective as they can while still in the air, and maybe even keep them in the air. He spoke on the Angel channel.

Lancer:"Keep on me Angel-5 and let's do our share."

Lancer:"Here is the plan. I'm going to lock the bomber. They're going to evade. When they go wide. You shoot their tail."

Lancer: "I'll Fox-Four the escorts, get them down. You down the bomber. If you rog, get ready."

Lancer began adjusting his targeting console in front of him, Fox-2 targeting pattern. He then changed his approach, pointing his nose right toward the trajectory of the closest bomber, flicking up the cover on the button specifically connected to his LRAAMs, the familiar beep of a lock-on began, hoping the bomber would try to get away from that lock-on.

However, his index finger was hovering over the Fox-Four, the 20mm trigger for when the escorts came to keep him from shooting down the bomber.

Scott waited on the runway, holding at the end as the bombers and their escorts passed over; he knew the tactics well enough: they'd made their first attack, now they'd come around for a second run to wipe out what was left, capitalise on the destruction of their first attack and finish the job.
Not bloody likely... he thought with a growl into his oxygen mask.
He eased the throttle up to the stops, and the twin turbofans roared somewhere above and behind his head. Toeing off the the jets' brakes, it thundered down the runway, before he eased the stick back toward his belly. The A-10's design was optimised for short take-off and landings, and it quickly came unglued from the asphalt and quickly climbed, gear folding away into the jet's body.
Quickly, he took stock of the situation, listening in as other pilots who'd made it into the air co-ordinated their efforts, and the AWACS co-ordinating their efforts.
"Gravestone, this is Valentine. In the air, and looking for trouble. Got two AIM-9's and a mess of 30mm looking for a home, and I reckon one of those bombers looks like a good target. Requesting support from one of these Angels to stop my ass from getting blown off while I do, over".
He pulled the jet into a graceful turn, vapour chasing from the lightning-patterned A-10's wingtips as he pulled into a banking climb, pressure on the pedals shifting the Thunderbolt II into a course that would lead him onto an intercept with the TU-160's remaining in the skies. His plane might be slow, and not designed for air-to-air, but he'd be dead and cold before he let himself give up without at least trying to shoot down something in the air if he had weapons to do it with, and a brace of short-range air-to-air heatseekers and a near-full tank of GAU-8 rounds were a good start.
He set the HUD for air-to-air, and cued up the sights for the Sidewinder missiles, the supercooled seeker in the nose of the missiles looking out with an eye sensitive enough to detect the friction heat of air against metal, let alone the glaring blaze of jet engines.


The missile blasted from the dual rail under the A-10's right wing on a plume of white rocket-smoke, and Scott continued the turn, before inverting the banking turn and dipping the nose to throw off any pursuer, and bring the nose in line for a follow-up attack if needed on the big white bomber. Swan, his mind flashed momentarily, remembering the nickname he'd read somewhere that some other countries' pilots gave the big planes.

The Captain looked over at Angel-3 through his cockpit, under the helmet his lips warped in to a grin as he speaks in to the Angel Channel of his helmet radio.

Felix Carter says,"Solid copy, Angel-3. Angel-5 moving in to position, over. Angel-2, Angel-4, Angel-6, Report in your status, out."

And like he said he was doing, his tilts his jet forward to go down in elevation, and level out with the bomber to their front, as he understood the plan of Lancer. His right hand gripped on to the joy stick with his right index finger hovering over the trigger mechanism of his 20mm cannon. He made sure his elevation was different from Lancer's so that his wingman wasn't caught in unnecessary friendly-fire incident. He sends a straight out 24 round burst from his 20mm M61 Vulcan cannon towards the bomber's tail.



After sending this burst, he lets off to see if it connected, and decides to check his surroundings for any other enemy air combatants as he looks over at Teale. His eyes widen as he spoke in to his radio channel as it's only been a minute of his last transmission.

Felix Carter says,"Angel-2, bogey on your six, bogey on your six! Do maneuvers, now!"

As soon as he practically shouted himself inside of the radio channel and looks up at Lancer before quickly turning his aircraft to his left and began to beeline towards Teale and her bogey while speaking once more in to his radio.

Felix Carter says,"Angel-3, this is Angel-5, breaking off to assist Angel-2! Angel-4, Angel-6, pair up and watch for anymore escorts or bombers! Protect the airfield, at all costs!"

His aircraft's engines heard booming across the sky as he practically sends his jet in to a sonic speed travel, he didn't want anymore crewman dying on him after hearing about Jackson's aircraft going down. He may of rarely interacted with his Squadron, but they're his family he needs to look after. He knows that team-work dominates the skies, and knows that his next move after assisting Angel-2 is to go back to Angel-3.

---

Teale: "Hah! Eat shit! That's one bomber down, over!"

Jamie celebrated over comms. Her gloved fist jerked upward and punched the glass above, a single slam signifying her small victory against the oncoming Vlhakian hordes. That was her first kill. For a moment the thought crossed her mind that she had just ended the lives of at least one person, and she waited for the regret or shock to set in, but it didn't come. There was only a satisfying surge. Not an ounce of guilt or sympathy for these assholes. Good. She didn't need sappy shit like that holding her back. That was for Jackson, but now she had to pay back everyone else who had been killed so far. Angel Squad had a helluva lotta work to do! Her heart, however, got caught in her chest as Felix (or Angel 5) reported over the radio that there was a bogey on her six just moments before Jamie noticed the same thing.

Quickly changing direction, Jamie pitches the nose of the 104C Starfighter up and to the left. Clearly this works as the Killjoy's fire goes hopelessly wide.


Teale: "Copy that, Angel-5. This guy's a total amateur. If you've got 'em, I'm gunning for one of those red assholes. Over."

Having seen how effective her dodging was, and with Felix covering her, Teale decided to focus on the objective instead of eliminating the MiG on her six. With that, her plane circled around having completed the evasive maneuvers for now. Felix, Lancer and even Scott seem to have done an excellent job dealing with the remaining two bombers, so Jamie decided to gun for someone else. The Old Man had mentioned some kind of elite squadron, the ones that downed Jackson. Jamie would find out how elite they really were. Behind the emotionless facemask, Jamie's eyes scanned the air and spotted the red Su-27's. It wasn't the flight leader, but it was one of the bastards. Turning fast, her Starfighter screamed towards one of the nameless Devils that had so treacherously attacked her homeland. Leaning forward Jamie furrowed her eyebrow and focused, attempting to lock onto the nearest Su-27 and blow it to pieces with a heat seeking missile.




With something of a lock on achieved, the missile disconnected from underneath her right wing and shot forward at preposterously high speeds. Like a shark in the water it homed toward the red Su-27 that had made itself the first target of Jamie's revenge. For a moment Jamie hesitated, forgetting about the MiG on her six and watching the missile travel through the air. All she wanted right now was to see a member of that elite squadron explode in a fiery blaze. Come on! She had tracked it well, no way the bastard could avoid it now!

The attack on the bomber group was concise and without fault, as if it was planned before take off the Vlhakians had no hope at countering it at the time as Lancer closed up behind the escorts. The first fighter under Lancer's fire was able to evade as he saw the Antrean fighter on his tail, however, the second one didn't have the reflexes to dodge the fire as 20mm blew through the back of the MiG and into the instruments and engine of the plane. Within seconds the escort took a nosedive and quickly made itself acquainted with Vlasko's asphalt below, a team of mechanics quickly drove a vehicle out of the path of the downing escort.

Killyjoy-3: "WARNING - PULL UP! - WARNING - PULL UP! ....... WARNING - PULL UP! - WARNING - PULL UP!"

The surviving MiG that Lancer missed initially turned back around and jumped onto Lancer's ass quickly putting him in his targeting sights as he let two missles fly out of their respective pods as they raced towards the Tomcat, after firing the MiG broke off from the chase before heading over to Felix's Tomcat putting him in a bit of a chase but this time firing off his 20mms at his tail. The burst firing of kept the MiG's aim true as he was determined to take down the duo for their role against the bombers. For the Vlhakians, the mission has failed.



Valentine's missile was accurate, despite being a slow piece of shit attacker plane he took the fight straight to one of the bombers and without an escort they were unable to evade as their chaffs misfired when they attempted to deploy. The missle hit the bomber's left-wing and they started to lose engine power on the left side. However, instead of ejecting or staying their course for the airfield they made a hard right turn and started to fly towards the village of Hammond which was only spitting distance away from Hammond.

Vlhakian Bomber: "Devil-1, this is the Bomber-2 we're heading to secondary target, won't make it past AAA on the primary. Preparing to drop."

While the remaining bomber attempted to bomb Hammond, the last bomber was taken out by the mighty Felix Carter. His rounds connected and connected with the fuselage in the back of the bomber, lighting its rear on fire as the crew manned their parachutes and jumped out over the airfield. Shy of completing their objective the bomber over-shot Vlasko and landed in the mountainside a few minutes later, the payload exploding as it rocketed the area and leaving a pummel of smoke and a large fire for the base's fire crews to deal with aswell. Killjoy-1 was unable to get any effective fire on Teale, he attempted to fire again after she shook him since no one went to take this bogey off her back he lined up a round of missiles and fired it at the woman.

Killjoy 1: "Fox-2."


For one of the Devil's their day would end as Teale lined up a shot with a heek seeking missle and fired it off, it quickly connected with the Su-27 which engines cut out due to the damage. The pilot quickly ejected and started to float down to the forests below.

Devil-3 "Bogey on my tail - he hit me, I'm ejecting!"

With a Devil down Zarkev and Winkoop, both realized the gravity of their situation the bombers were both down and they just lost a Devil. Well... Not all bombers were down, there was one rogue one heading for Hammond for some reason but all the more reason to keep it alive. If Antrean infrastructure could be wiped out, it would further the Vlhakian campaign.

Devil-1: "Devil-4, Devil-5 assist the final bomber. Devil-2, on me we'll take out this squadron."

---

With a majority of the enemy air splashed, Gravestone turned to his computer to keep an eye his little angels. He had just noticed, while he was occupied with the fight on hand that Angel-6 'Robins' had left the AO without a word. He was no longer trackable due to the range, Gravestone cursed wondering what prompted the silent rider to leave the fight the MPs would deal with him when he landed. He turned back to his instruments, he noticed something weird going on nearby the airbase - some distortions in the lights. Unclear on what would be causing such an event, he focused a scan on Vlasko AFB.



He was unable to pull anything up on his radar, for now he ignored it but wanted to make sure the team knew something was up.

AWACS Gravestone: "Good splashes Angels, keep up the fight and we'll be done soon."

AWACS Gravestone: "We have strange activity over the AO, look out for distorting light it could signal trouble."

As Felix was giving chase to the MiG on Teale's tail, he looks behind himself to find a MiG giving chase. He exclaims to himself,"Son of a bitch!" and swerves left to avoid the incoming burst, but a few tracers pass overhead his cockpit and even pierce his tail. He received the burst of 20mm shots to his disadvantage, swearing to himself under his breath since he clearly was taken surprise by the chase of the escort from the bomber he shot down. He looks back, seeing Lancer having taken out the other escort which gave him half-relief of not having to deal with two, but half of his head fearing that this will be his final moments and thus decided to take action as his tail was weakened.


Felix Carter says,"Angel-5 to Angel Callsigns, I got one bogey on me. Angel-3, I need some help here! I gotta deal with a shit-bird going for Angel-2, over!"

He didn't know if he could put his life in Lancer's hands, but he decided to take that risk and continue evading the 20mm bursts as long as he could. But he kept his nose aimed at the MiG chasing Teale, and releases another one of his famous bursts towards Killjoy-1's engines, doing most to either actually hit him or be noticed to have his attention dragged from Teale.


Felix for a moment after taking shots towards Killjoy-1, he looked over to a light glaring but couldn't make out what it was, and proceeded to fight with no concern for it.

---

Satisfyingly, a sharp crack of an explosion rippled through the crisp morning air as her missile made impact. Jamie hissed out a 'yes' of victory. The pilot on the inside parachuted out. Even if she had the time too, shredding them to pieces with machinegun fire would be cruel, inhumane, and accomplish nothing. Still, there was something particularly pompous about attacking an airbase unannounced, blowing up people who had done nothing to them, and then gently floating down to the ground because they were owed an existance on this planet. Well, whatever. That's the first prisoner of war. One down, a billion to go. Either way, the jet itself, the important part, being a flaming wreck that would crash into the ground somewhere out of view.

Teale: "Got the bastard. Let's sweep up the rest. Over."

Her instruments and her eyes caught side of Killjoy-1, still on her tail. Felix was honing in to take Killjoy off of her, but there simply was no time for Felix to fire before Killjoy-1 got another round of missiles off. Fortunately, these missiles were no less shoddily fired than the last ones. Maybe a little better. A few more tries, and he might even come close! Feeling her heart sink into her gut, Jamie shot downwards and the missiles targeting systems couldn't keep up, and they began their collision course with a nearby empty field. Sorry, gophers.



Gravestone came through the comms reporting some kind of strange light phenomenon. To be honest, he didn't sound sure about it so Teale didn't really care. If it became an issue, they would deal with it. Until then she wouldn't waste energy looking at sunspots. Angel-5 was taking fire, but Felix requested help from Lancer. Lancer could probably take out the guy on Felix's tail, and Felix could probably take out the guy on Teale's tail. So, Jamie was left with only one objective. Continue focusing the objective. Blast the bomber out of the sky. Currently, it was being escorted, but their escorts didn't exactly do a great job of protecting the other bombers. Sure, they were a bit more focused now. It was only a matter of time before all of them could finally focus on the bomber and it's escorts. Until then, Jamie would try to shoot it out of the sky now and send the rest of them packing.

Teale: "Goin' for the last bomber. Thanks for watchin' my six. Over."



It was missiles away. After temporarily avoiding Killjoy 1, Jamie redirected her plane towards the oncoming bomber. Her eyes flicked from one remaining escort to the other. It was like there were two rays of death infront of them at all times, two spotlights Jamie had to weave between to get the final bomber. Otherwise, her shot would go wide. Leaning forward, clenching her jaw, Jamie got as close as she could and let loose a barrage of missiles against the final bomber, hoping to blow it out of the sky early.

Scott's relief at having hit the TU-160 was short-lived, as the listing jet began a tortured turn toward the nearby village. Anguished at the site, Scott goosed the A-10's throttle to pour on more dinosaurs, wringing out as much power from the plane as it could. While it was not a supersonic powerhouse, four-hundred-some MPH wasn't slow either... just not as fast.
A sense of some small relief lit upon him as one of the other pilots - Teale, her name was over the radio - zeroed in on the limping bomber.
"Roger that," Scott answered in reply to her taking on the plane. "Softened 'em up for you, finish it off, over. I'll keep your ass clear!"
The blond-haired pilot dropped the A-10's portside wing and pulled the jet into a steeply banked turn, slicing around to drop behind the needle-shaped F-104C as it rocketed onward, closing on the big Blackjack.
As the Su-27's closed in, the pilot growled and shrugged into his harness, clenching his jaw. Ah fuck it, he thought to himself, why the hell not
The A-10C was slow, yes, and couldn't hack it for altitude or for air-to-air long-range armaments. But it was agile with the straight low wing, and with it's slow speed, it could out-turn anything short of a unicycle, and that's where Scott fought from.
Keeping the HUD in air-to-air mode, he slewed the blunt nose of the jet onto the sleek shape of the Su-27 urging the infra-red seeker to get a lock on the approaching fighter. As he did, the ground-attacker pilot winced and squinted, strange shifting lights shifting in the air in front of him making him lose sight of the aircraft, even with the visor of his helmet down.

The seeker for the Sidewinder held true, however, and the reassuring buzzer of a lock-on sounded in his ear.
"Angel 4, fox two," he called as he thumbed the launch button. The AIM-9 blasted from under the wing of the jet on a plume of white smoke, and he willed it to make contact, even as he heeled the jet over on a turn to intercept the Su-27, thumbing the fire selector over to the enormous rotary cannon in the nose of the plane. If the missile didn't hit, he'd do his level best to in the least put the fighter off and make them think twice, if not shoot them down.

---

Lancer hit his airbrakes in order to force enough drag to shot backward past the missiles, and twisting his ailerons so that his plane was sideways. This maneuver turned the trajectory of the missiles in order to detonate on his fuselage, unfortunately for the missiles, they hit each other in front of Lancer's cockpit, where his trusty tomcat took no damage. The only real damage would be a bright light in front of him from the explosion. With a smirk beneath his helmet, he disabled his airbrakes, pushing forward the throttle, his twin engines would whine, before hitting into afterburn, on the ground below, that familiar heated-screech would sound off.

Lancer: "Next time pace your fucking battles in the soup. Angel-2 can handle herself, you white knighter."

Straightening out his plane so he wasn't viewing the world from the side anymore. Lancer took full control of his plane from there, flipping a few switches to knock off the auto stabilizers that kept hypoxia and vertigo from creeping in and ruining his flight, he flicked his nose toward the increasing size of a plane-chain of fighters, aiming toward the bogey tailing Angel-5, particularly the pilot's cockpit, he was going to plant a 20mm round right to the dome of the pilot trying to take down another Angel.



In the meantime, he decided to keep himself busy, broadcasting his intentions on the friendly channel.

Lancer: "I have a feeling I know who's leading this attack. All Angel callsigns prep for the real fight."

Lancer: "Switching channels. Ping me if you want me to hear something."

Lancer turned the dial on his transmitter with his free non-aiming hand, to an old Joint-Ops frequency he knew once upon a time.

Lancer: "Oi, you fucking queen-crotch-licking imps, I know you know when your frequencies are used."

He gave them time to be curious as to why there was a Vlhakian frequency being used in the area of operations. He knew they were busy and he wouldn't be rude and presumptuous that they weren't already on this frequency. After enough time, he spoke up again.

Lancer: "I know you hear me. I just wanted to tell you I'll be bringing you down myself, big guy."

Lancer: "I'm taking your black box and holding your whole fucking charade of a unit hostage internationally."

Lancer: "Then I'm coming for your royalty and sticking their crowns so far up their asses this attack will look like an even bigger joke."

Some thought Killjoy-1 would live forever, his skill was starting to ear-mark that of a becoming Ace. However, it would all soon end for him as Felix finally got his wishes against the pilot. While Killjoy failed to shoot down, he would become the last casualties from the Killjoy squadron. Finally, the 20mm struck his engines killing it while sparing the pilot, for now, he would soon jump out of the jet ejecting from it as before deploying a Vlhakian parachute where'd he floated slowly and softly towards Antrean occupied woodlands.

Killyjoy-1: "Damn Angels!"

Meanwhile most of the Angel's had ganged up on the bomber and her escorts, Lancer's shots were the ones that rang true hitting one of the Devil's escorting the bomber. While the rest of the group's shots missed on the last escort and the bomber itself.

Devil-4: "ALTITUDE WARNING - WARNING - PUL-"

The shots broke through the cockpit and eviscerated the pilot leaving a bloody mess inside, incapable of saving the aircraft it soon hit the ground turning the Known World into another mobile grave site. For the bomber and the remaining devil it seemed like there was no hope for the people of Hammond, the Angels had failed as the bomber readied it's paid load for the innocents waiting below it's dark and deathly shadow...

---

Cowboy-2: "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeew!"

Three F-35s flew into the air space from the East, quickly intercepting the remaining bomber and Su-27 with a barrage of 4AAM missiles. Before the bomber could do anything it's cockpit exploded and as the Su-27 tried to evade, the 4AAM missiles struck into it's sides turning the plane into a flying pile of junk which quickly crumpled to the ground where it belonged. The group was followed by an Antrean straggler, another Super Tomcat. The F-35s ripped by the Angels as it came to circle around surveying the enemies, damage and of course their rivals.

The Angels.

Cowboy-1: "Henderson AFB sends it's regards, angels."

Cowboy-3: "Maybe we should of came earlier~? Maybe then Vlasko wouldn't be a fuming wreck, oh - our air base is doing fine thanks for asking~."

While both units were relatively new, the Angels were technically the oldest of the pair. While resentful the Cowboys made it known to showboat and one-up their older sister unit. Despite this, it appears that Vlasko AFB was not an isolated incident, if an attack on Henderson AFB was true then this could be the start of a whole entire offensive - was Vlhakia doing this alone?



Cowboy-2: "Y'all still have the tratior in yer squadron? Eugh, P-U must stink of Vlhak Lice in the locker room, jeeezzus! "

Cowboy-2:"We saw his friend go south to Vlhakia y'all gonna tell 'dem bout 'Angel-6 Lil Lancey? "

With their initial assessment done, the group continued to fly around - their escort mission of the lone pilot was finished. The first part of their mission was done at this point, with barely any Vlhakians still flying around they started to fly due-west away from the group. Returning to an arrowhead formation they began to fly away, but not without one last radio broadcast.

Cowboy-1: "We have work to do, sorry we had to clean up your mess here but we're on a mission from Colonel Henderson himself."

Cowboy-1: " We'll leave you to your petty squabble. Tell Jackson he owes us double, hope to see you and your junkers later. Cowboys, let's ride!"

---

It didn't really matter what Rose said, the black box and a expose was the least of Winkoop's problems. The whole mission had been a failure, the intel that was given to him was decent but he wasn't expecting this much resistance from a rag tag group of peace-keeping Ants. A black box would matter at the end of the war, but besides that, no one was shooting him down or taking his unit hostage it would be all chips in at this point as Winkoop was ready to cash them in for a traitors corpse. Before he picked out Lancer's aircraft he made one final message to his wing man.

Devil-1: "Zarkev, withdraw the fight is lost. I'll hold them off, return home at once..."



Zarkev turned his Su-27 around and started to fly towards the southern border, if uninterrupted he would escape to fight another day.

Winkoop turned his attention back towards the traitor and detractor, after hearing his tirade he decided to quip back in response to the younglin'

Devil-1: "Nathan Rose, you talk a big game for a child killer."

Devil-1: "I will say my intel was wrong, you weren't suppose to be here. Once I kill you, I'll be the one to expose you for the blood thirsty freak you really are."

Winkoop's Su-27 flew past Lancer before looping under him, quickly hanging onto his tail Winkoop lined up his gun sights ready to fire onto his prey. Just like in dog-fights before, swoop in close the distance and sink the teeth into his kill. He could practically taste Lancer at this point, all that was left to do was pull the trigger and wipe him out of existence. It probably wasn't known to his new band of brigands but Lancer had got some very innocent people killed in a black op against the Antreans. How he ended up flying with them is a mystery, one that will never be solved.

Devil-1: "I bid you adieu, Rose of Providence."

Winkoop squeezed the trigger letting out a barrage of 20mm fire, aimed for the dead centre of his air craft he watched as the tracers flew out. Soon, Lancer would be dead and the papers would paint him as a monster. The Antreans would never rid themself of such a dishonor.

Soon.

---

The whole time Gravestone had been monitoring his lil group of rag tags.

A nationalist.
A Vlhakian.
A criminal.
and...

A white knight.

How could a group of such fuck ups be so effective? The thought crossed his mind, quickly reminding himself that Angel-6 had fled the AO. Gravestone would never know the teaching method of Major Jackson but he did know that if he saw them fighting right now he would be damn proud of his little angels. IFF pulled up four Anterean friendly, one loner and the other three - identified as 4-5-1 Cowboy squadron. Not these idiots again he thought as they flew into the AO, quickly saving some precious bacon as Hammond was spared from a crazed bombing from the Vlhakian bomber. Both planes going down he put his headset back on, listening to the chiming of the Cowboy's leader and Ace - Nick Pacer.

They left as they came, quick as fuck - the three bolted out of the AO leaving some poor straggler behind. It seemed like the man had seen hell, but that was not important the moment. The Su-27 lead just engaged Lancer, but the most surprising thing that came back was Valentine's reading - it pretty much ruined his entire day.

AWACS Gravestone: "IFF just picked up... three bogeys - it's-"

---

The group was observing the final bomber flying over Hammond when it was quickly foiled by an unknown party, an allied squadron. The lead Su-47 cursed as the group destroyed the final bomber, small chatter discussing the events was quickly put to rest as something pinged. Their active camouflage had failed to protect them from a scan, they were picked up by Antrean radars. Triple A from the airbase's ground moved into position and began to fire onto the Su-47s as they quickly began to evade incoming enemy fire.

Kingslayer-1: "Brothers! We've been spotted, withdraw! I'll hold off anyone who dare enroach onto our holy affairs."

The group began to speed off to the east where they presumably came, while the lead went about half that speed checking if any interceptors would dare challenge its existence.

For it would be foolish indeed, but for Aces?

Foolish isn't in their vocabulary.

Felix Carter says,"Hey, it's called working like a team, not lone-wolfing over an Ace competition. Angel-5 to all Angel Call-signs, sound-off, over."

Felix Carter says,"Angel-5 to Cowboy-1, -2, and -3, glad to hear your base is all green. Thanks for the back up. Stay safe, Angel-5 out."

Felix watches as the Cowboy Squadron flew by, especially looking over at Cowboy-3's jet as he sighs a bit to himself before he looks down to their air base where Gravestone resides in. He clears his throat for a bit and began to ponder the idea that just popped in his head. He was trying to figure out exactly if the Vlhakians were alone, how'd they do this much damage to two Antrean Air Bases, even their locations? He began to ponder the idea, and began to think back with some novice Military Science knowledge if he could connect some dots.



Felix was watching the MiG he shot the engine off fail to keep up with their altitude and even watches the pilot eject from their cockpit. Under his helmet, his lips went ear to ear in a grin as he keeps up with his moral choice to leave the MiG pilot to the ground forces of the Antrean Army. He loops himself around as he feels his tail was still fit for combat and that he just needed to take it easy on his turns. But he looked out his cockpit, his HUD spotting a fleeing SU-27 and he turns his F-14D on him and once nearing the SU-27 he shouts in to the Comms at Zarkev, practically becoming a hypocrite to what he said earlier to Lancer.

Felix Carter says,"Well, well, well...looks like we got ourselves a Vlhakian leavin' with their tail between their legs. Not today, can't let you leave without my signature marking!"

Felix sends his F-14 Super Tomcat in to speeds faster than the speed of sound, a sonic blast coming from his engine as he catches up to Zarkev and tail right behind Devil-2 in his Super Tomcat. He wasn't wanting to give his opponent the upper hand in Duels, he'd feel it'd be completely unfair as he felt he had to lighten up on this Vlhakian just this first initiation to see what Devil-2's response would be. He wanted to learn and experience of his opponents, not outright drop them on his sneaky attack.

Felix Carter says,"Hey, Vlhakian! You look like you don't belong in your Ace Squadron, you just watched by as we Angels slaughtered your cannon fodder, not even bothering to save your fellow brother's-in-arms! How fucking pathetic could you be? You look like a pilot with a dead guy in that fucking jumpsuit. Come on, 'Ace', show me what Devil's number two can do!"


But Felix was itching bad to get some more combat, and he was pretty much letting loose his anger on having his air base be attacked like they were prey and being able to easily kick the shit out of their attackers. He decided to not let Zarkev get a chance to talk, and aimed his 20mm Cannon right at the top of Zarkev's jet by his fuselage and proceeded to hold on the trigger as he takes a attempted precision shot right at Zarkev to take out his mobility.

---

Rose tried to lean back in his pilot's seat as he listened over the radio as Devil-1 had the gall to talk back over the frequency that he opened up for him to vent his frustrations out on. He wouldn't expect anything less from a spider like Winkoop. What he said was very well-informed, as if Rose's dossier had crossed Winkoop's lap more than once, it was obvious if Winkoop could see Rose's face, he'd recognize it from a mile away, nobody walks away from Vlhakia without non-officially being marked for death and branded an insult to the crown. Well, Rose knows Winkoop too. Research is not a one-sided war.

Lancer: "Don't count your chickens before they hatch. Bane of Saralon."



Lancer smirks beneath his helmet, twisting his joystick so that the guidance buffers on the jet engine's end would guide his plane into a Cobra maneuver to make Devil-1 overshoot the bead he had locked on Angel-3. With a jump of his afterburner he would change his trajectory straight upwards, with a slam of his airbrakes he would push his plane back down, and another jump of the afterburner with another twist of the joystick he would plant himself as the one with the upper hand in the fight. Angel-3 was now tailing Devil-1, not the other way around.

Lancer: "While we're on the subject of child killing, how's Emilia?"

He was going to cut deep in any way he could. This man had no moral high ground, especially one who works and carries out orders from such a bloodthirsty nation. Lancer dialed his LRAAMs to be set on a timed fuse post-launch. He wasn't going to lock on Winkoop that would be too obvious of an attack. He was going to enact a rudimentary pincer maneuver as a solo pilot. The sight of missiles will scare Winkoop to evade, they will be on a dummy timer and detonate after a certain set amount of time, at a hope to catch the Devil's aircraft in an explosion, but most definitely to keep Winkoop on the defensive. In the meantime, he was going to aim at the engine hardpoints with bursts from his 20mm cannon to disable and down the craft. If the victory wasn't total, it would be personal, on the ground.

Lancer: "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

Lancer: "Hope you're feeling it too. Winkoop. Just like old times."

---

Scott felt a wash of relief as the Blackjack went down in a fiery blaze, downed by the newcoming Cowboy squadron. A slight tinge of annoyance followed as they also took out the Su-27 he'd been targeting; though really, it was tinged with the reality that he probably hadn't had much of a chance to take out the much faster, sleeker and more adept air-superiority fighter anyway. But, it bruised his pilot's ego nonetheless.
Not long after, the back and forth over the radio net proved that the Cowboys indeed lived up to their name. What a bunch of pisswads, he groused mentally, rolling his eyes at their attitudes, before they promptly up and fucked off wherever it was they'd come from. They could have at least stayed to finish off these twats, he thought with some ire, noting their fancy-dancy F-35's buggering off, while the Angels were still faced with a number of high-performance aircraft to deal with, and only museum piece F-104's, a couple of near-retired F-14's, and his own A-10, which fit in like a dog in a fishtank.
Mind you, that said, they'd done bloody well for themselves. Multiple bandits downed, the nearby village safe, and the base mostly (mostly) intact. And the last of the red bandits were running with their tails between their legs

Felix Carter says,"Hey, it's called working like a team, not lone-wolfing over an Ace competition. Angel-5 to all Angel Call-signs, sound-off, over."

"Angel-5, this is Angel-4; all systems green. No missiles, but I got a whole load of thirty mike-mike with someone's name on it. What say we lure these buttholes into a game of tag, over"

Before he could even get an answer, Angel-5 had charged off on the hunt, contrary to his own earlier chastising of Angel-3 for doing much the same thing with no support either.
"Oh goddesses," Scott pleaded to himself, grey eyes rolling upward to look out of the canopy at the heavens above. "Someone please save me from these people".

Fortunately, Gravestone's more level-headed voice intruded on his thoughts, and the ground-attack pilot listened in intently as the AWACS reported three bandits running for the border. Three lights, three bandits, his mind put together and he reversed course.
"Roger, Gravestone. I'm gonna try and get a visual confirmation on our voyeurs, over and make a radio intercept. Break. All Angel callsigns, this is Angel 4; running after our unwanted visitors. Anyone who wants to back me up, would be much appreciated over".
So far, the rest of the squadron had pretty much ignored his existence and everything he'd said, so he didn't expect much of a reply, but he wasn't planning on sitting around in his cockpit turning lazy circles with his thumb up his ass while they did all the work. They could ignore him all they liked, but he was sure as hell going to do his part.

Taking a fix from his instruments, Scott put the A-10 on course and firewalled his throttles, pushing the twin turbofans on the A-10's back to full thrust as he ran low and hard on the tail of the interlopers, fixing to make a visual identification and, in the least, see what they did in reaction. Who they were and what they did would be some key as to why they were there, and why they'd been hiding during the rest of the battle.
As he closed within range, he slid his tinted visor up and looked out at the shapes of the aircraft, trying to make out markings and insignia, as well as clearly ID the aircraft types.



Switching to the common radio frequency, he called out in a clear voice.
"Attention unknown aircraft, you are in violation of Antrean Airspace during a hostile action. Please state your origins and your intentions, or you will be considered hostile and fired upon. Repeat..."
Scott repeated his message, while thumbing the ARM switch for the GAU-8 in the A-10's nose, and jockeying to set himself up in the best possible position for an attack, should it be needed.

---

Jamie laughed to herself, relieved to see those assholes over at Cowboy squadron had shown up for reinforcements. This battle was in the bag. If Jackson could see them now, eh? Damn. Scott and Felix were doing great, and Lancer was off doing something on his own. Did he just call Felix...a white knighter? Truly, Angel squad was the best of the best. Shaking her head and smiling, she turned on her comms to defend the honor of Angel squad by insulting the cowboys.

Teale: Angel-2 to Cowboy squad, good to see you guys managed to fend off the tumbleweeds invadin' the cabbage patch you call an airbase, over."

She joked, though her heart hurt when they mentioned Jackson. Couldn't they tell he wasn't around? They'd find out soon enough, she supposed. Unlike her brothers in arms, Jamie never talked over the radio to the imperialist swine that crossed their borders. Waste of breathe, waste of words. She let her bullets do the talking. One by one she watched as Angel squad swatted the Vlhakian swines out of the sky. It all happened too fast. Did they really think this would be enough? No wonder those bootlickers empire was nothing more than stagnating pond scum to the south of the rest of the world. The retribution for this day would be swift. Already Jamie saw herself flying above the enemy's capitol. That would be a moment to remember...she was looking forward to it. It would come. If she's lucky she'll be alive to see it happen.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lancer engage in a duel with the enemy flight captain. When two highly skilled pilots engaged like that, they became a whirlwind that was dangerous to enter or attempt to disrupt. Any interference could easily be turned against whoever decided to interfere. Plus, it looked like this was personal. But at the same time...maybe she could just blast that fucker out of the air right now.

For a moment, she was distracted, however. Who are these asshole? She thought to herself. Some invisible dickheads watching everything go down? What did they want? Scott was already chasing them off, though. To be honest, she could give a rats ass about whatever those guys were doing in the bleachers. Not like Jamie minded an audience.

Devil-2 turned to leave. Felix was right on his tail and looking to engage. That left Jamie kind of in the middle of everything. For a moment she turned her nose in the air to think of what to do. Felix was far away, and Lancer was in a duel. Cowboy squad had blown the last bomber out of the sky. That left Scott. He asked for help, and even those the voyeurs as he called them hadn't done anything yet, the last thing they needed was to get Scott shot out of the air when he was by himself.

Teale: "Copy that, Gravestone. Okay, Angel-4, I'm on my way. Who are these pricks, and what are they doin' on my lawn? ...Uh, over."