It was the first time the entire squadron had been mobilised in twenty years. Twelve birds, four platoons; red, white, blue, and gold. No light, all heavy. There was no chalk element, no slicks, no stopping of any kind. Just punch off everything in two passes—assuming that there was even a target of opportunity. Just like the run over Paradise Falls, back when he didn’t have any greys, or the later runs on the Baltimore gangs. In short, a good old-fashioned, all-American, aerial massacre. 

The plan was a modification of the old SIOP; the general plan for war with the Brotherhood of Steel in the west. It had been assumed that any offensive from them would utilise the I-50 for logistics. Mutants, being mere creatures, would likely use the path of least resistance when transporting large elements over land—again assuming that they would continue any kind of advance further west. 

They passed little settlements on the way, friendly smoke trail from cooking fires and light industry, and later another long column of refugees who stopped to wave at them as they burned over head. 

“Castle, this is White Lead. We’ve just over… Clarksburg. Nothing since the last refugee column.” Hillenkoetter said, looking at his copilot who had the map. “Nothing in sight over.”

“Rodger that White Lead over.” 

Hillenkoetter looked behind him, at Wilkins on the big gun. Command had been clear on this, Last Watch only in the seats and FNGs from the New Troops on side gun for some action. It wasn’t really fair since 1st troop was already two years into deployment. For all Hillenkoetter Wilkins could be one of his; all the samples had been anonymised, nobody had the stomach for families anymore—they didn’t even have fore names, just aft-names for their tags pulled from a DC phonebook.

“You okay their bud?” He asked.

“Fucking-A Sir,” Wilkins responded; he’d not taken his eyes from the sights of the .50 for the whole ride. 
They kept on going, minor chatter between the leads and Castle as they ploughed forward to Cincinnati. 

“All, all. This is White Lead. Greens ahead. Over.”

“Castle Rodger. Green?”

“Green mutants. They’re scattering. All Leads target the one with the antenna. Over.”

There was a chorus of ‘Rodgers’ and a scattering of gun fire over the comms. The mutants had some kind of scouting party with a radio. 

“All leads, this is White Lead. Confirm tango-down?”

Comms came in; nobody could confirm, just fire down on the area as they passed but nobody was staying around to confirm.

“All Leads, we’re assuming advanced scouts for a column. Heat ‘em up and prep for contacts. Break into contact formation. Over.”

A chorus of ‘Rodger thats’ came in as the Vertibirds platoons broke. 

It didn’t take much longer. A mutant column, a veritable sea of green.

"Contacts ahead, they’re breaking south into the trees. Gold-Blue leads break off.”

Assuming the orders were followed, Hillenkoetter centred on the road. The mutants were still scattering, tugging at ghoul-drawn carts. 

“Firing.”

The command was echoed over the comm as the road exploded into so many little smoke plumes. Rockets were loosed as they passed over, through there was no telling the damage done. White and Red pummelled the main road as Gold and Blue went port to strafe the scatters.
 
“Taking Fire. Taking Fire.”

Not unexpected. It had been the plan of attack, come in low with the morning sun behind them and trust the mutants couldn’t maintain a good firing arc. Hillenkoetter felt the dings reverb through the aircraft as the bullets hit. The mutants could sport a minigun in-hand, and rockets, the entire operation was based on them being unprepared for an air-attack so hit them hard once whilst the element was present. 

They passed over. Being lead-lead, Hillenkoetter wouldn’t see the full aftermath till the AAF. 

“This is White Lead, all Leads. Sit-Rep. Over.”

The news was good. They ploughed ahead, leaving the mutant train behind before whirling back for the second pass.
“Firing. Firing.”

It had been a few minutes, the dust plumes gone and mutants reorganising as they let loose again with whatever was left.
“Rockets! Rockets!”

“Evade, evade!”

The second pass continued, rockets and micro-nukes deployed over the remainder.
“This is Blue-Two, we’re hit. Hit!”

“Clear comms. Keep Moving. Blue-Two status.”

“We took a rocket. Starboard. I’ve lost starboard wing control. Huns’ get back and check. I can’t move the right wing Castle, stuck on forward.”

“Blue-One slow and visualise. Damage report.”

“Blue-Two you’ve lost—”

“Keep him in! Keep him in! White-Lead. Menzel is hit.”

“This is Papa,” the voice suddenly came over the comm, cool and authorative. “Is anyone hit? Blue-Two talk.”

“Menzel is hit.”

“What’s his status. Status.”

“He’s dead, Menzel is dead Sir.”

“Rodger that. Blue-Two how’s it looking?”

“Blue-Two. This is Blue-One behind. You’ve lost starboard landing gear.”

“I’m pulling starboard.”

“Blue-Two. Slow down to minimum. Blue-Lead take point, Blue-One stay behind. We’re prepping emergency landing at Harpers. Over.”

“Rodger that Castle.”

“Fuck,” Hillenkoetter cursed. Menzel was a side-gunner. “Castle this is White Lead. Orders."

“All leads, belay Blue. Gun it back to Castle-town. Blue-Lead, Blue-Two take fore and aft respect, look after this guy okay.”

“Rodger that Castle.”

“Blue-One prep how are you fairing?”

“Still pulling starboard Papa. Maintaining.”

“Prep Plan-D, keep it airborne. Can you clear the Blue Mountains? Over.”

“Rodger that,” Blue-One lead said, muffled around the glass ampule. “We can go forward with a list, getting a lot of vibrations here— steady on it dude.”

“Blue-Two sit-rep.”

“You're losing fluid Blue-One."

"Close the feedthoughs! Castle this is Blue-One, we've lost all hydraulics confirmed in starboard wing."

“Rodger that Blue-One; keep it going and keep us covered.”

The wind pulled at Blue-One, pulling her starboard as she limped back towards the Blue Mountains.