Freyja 'Valkyrie' Svensdotter

As quick as the initial plan of attack worked, it soon went south, like a grenade in a hand basket, or something like how the saying goes. Three boats were still in the fight, there formation changing to her tactics, however they were still on course for the convoy and things were starting to get close, especially as now she was the only plan left to engage them. “Dam It” she cursed, not that anyone would hear her anger as it was not broadcast down the radio, she monitored where her fellow pilot went down, she chimed in on the radio to the team. “This is Cobalt 7; Cobalt 8 is down….” There was quite a lengthy silence. “Confirm, no chute deployment, over.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice, she was flight lead for flight two, and she lost a pilot under her command.

For now, though she re-focused, she could dwell on what if’s another time, the convoy was ship in danger from the enemy boats and they were getting close, too close for Valks comfort. Re-positing herself for another attack run, she knew now more fire would come her way being the only fighter left for the enemy to concentrate on, but this didn’t faze her, switching over to her IRIS-T missiles, her plan to go in hard and fast, using the gripen’s advanced tracking systems to multi target the small boats, Circling round, Valkyrie came at them from their six o’clock, low and fast, throttling up another larger rooster tail of water behind her, the warning systems warning her to pull up.

Tracking the targets on her system she would need to engage swiftly, switching targets as quickly as possible to shoot at one target after another in rapid succession. Before she knew it, tracers and other small arms fire came her way, she kept herself cool, calm and collected. Closing in on her targets, soon the sound went off that she had locked on. “Cobalt 7, Fox two.” Within seconds her first missile fired. Switching to the second target, again she fired. “Cobalt 7, fox two” the return fire was intense as heck. One problem with a tactic thought was her speed, she Zeroes in on the final boat far two quick and the locking on signal went off.

Thinking quickly, valk switched to her main gun, she let fly with her own bullets at the last remaining enemy boat, the convoy was close, they could probably see the fight without binoculars by now. The other two boats suddenly exploded from her missiles within a few seconds of one another, debris went flying as the wrecks slowed, still floating but in a ball of flames. The engage in fire though soon paid dividends as once she heard the lock on from a shoulder mounted Igla missile, several of her round mowed through the guy wielding it, as he fell back collapsing on the deck of the small craft, the missile fire, not fully needing a line of sight to fire, incidentally it fires of inside of the ship and it exploded from within, forcing Valk to suddenly pull up and adjust her throttling to compensate.

All the enemy boats had been accounted for and dealt with, still the operation did not go fully to plan, they lost a pilot, cobalt’s squad lead was damaged, this was not what she would call an ideal outcome for the mission sure the objectives seemed to be done but it was at a cost. She only hoped the recon mission had more success in getting vital intel. Throttling down to a more suitable speed, Valk leaned slight to the left as she performed a flyby of the convoy, observing the deck she could see people on the decks celebrating and waving as she went by. “This is cobalt 7 to cobalt 1-1, All enemy vessels accounted for and eliminated, continuing to escort the convoy, over.” Despite the crews looking like they are celebrating, valks contained any enthusiasm, it probably sounded like it on the radio to, for her there was not much to celebrate in terms of loses, sure she was happy they protected the convoy, it is probably cold and calculating, but Valk felt the loss was unacceptable, and more likely the team will end up with replacements to fill their ranks. She then heard the radio chatter. “You guys good up there?” Need any assistance, over?”.

@Letter Bee@Smike@Rhona W

Aurélie toggled the detachment push on her radio. "Good work, Cobalt 2. I confirm seven repeat seven helos and multiple triple alpha. I'm picking up search radar but no targeting. Could just mean they're smarter than we think and they're not switching on until they have a decent shot. With how they just performed I am not betting against it."

Her voice was terse, with much less of her usual singing accent in it. The enemy had taken out two of their squadron in the first set of contacts. This would not be easy, and it would get even harder with the loss of capability.

Aurélie's mind raced through the permutations. Cobalt was down, effectively, two strike and one air superiority fighters. Dealing with the bases was going to be a pain. They would need to make multiple sorties, peel back the defences gradually, against an enemy that was quite capable of taking a toll on them. It would hinge not only on pilot skill, but the ability of Shattered Steel's maintainers and logisticians, to keep up their sortie levels enough to get the job done.

It wasn't a bet Aurélie was entirely comfortable making, but it was the only game in the house. Sometimes you just had to accept the odds and deal with it the best you could. Or, as the Ami liked to say, "suck it up".

"All right, Cobalt 2, I'm calling part 1 done. Let's get over to Lampedusa. You fly top cover this time, and I'll do the close pass."

@Smike

Over the Mediterranean Sea; approximately 20 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014

The last L-59 pilot was brave, and skillful; they weaved the spritely little jet expertly onto the Tomcat's tail, jockeying into position to unleash a burst of gunfire and kill the stricken, much larger bird.
Mykhailo rocketing up into position with his 20mm blazing drove the light jet off, rounds punching through it's starboard wing and a trail of debris streaming in its' wake as it broke off, darting away from the hunting F-16.

"Cobalt 1-1, you doing all right?!" Mykhailo asked Captain Scott and Kat through the radio. "I'm going to lower my altitude in case the enemy has any more surprises - Someone has to protect the convoy! Any news from Recon Team and Flight 2, by the way?"

Scott's reply was strained as he wrestled the ASF-14, trying to keep the jet in the air as it slowly died, piece by piece.
"Hnn- yeah, Brightspark. Just fine over here; KK and I have got this just peachy. Twin engine fighter on one engine; it's no biggie. Half of it being on fire is just an extra bit of excitement, that's all".

As Myk declared his intention to give the convoy a close escort, the AWACS operator chimed in

Freyja 'Valkyrie' Svensdotter

“This is cobalt 7 to cobalt 1-1, All enemy vessels accounted for and eliminated, continuing to escort the convoy, over.” Despite the crews looking like they are celebrating, Valk contained any enthusiasm, it probably sounded like it on the radio too. For her there was not much to celebrate in terms of losses. Sure she was happy they protected the convoy, it is probably cold and calculating, but Valk felt the loss was unacceptable, and more likely the team will end up with replacements to fill their ranks. She then heard the radio chatter. “You guys good up there?” Need any assistance, over?”.

"Negative, Valkyrie; stay on the convoy! They need cover in case anyone else comes sniffing around. Brightspark, stay on me; I need someone to talk me in and keep an eye on me as I get this bird down - if I can, anyway"
Inside the cockpit, Kat in the rear seat fought to control and compensate for the damage; slapping fire suppression switches to try and extinguish the engine fire. Scott wrestled the jet in the front seat, jockeying the remaining throttle and coaxing as much control as he could from the ailing plane.
"KK, what have we got to work with, talk to me baby".
"Port engine is dead; it's completely out. Starboard is still alive, but it's screaming. Hydraulics are losing pressure; electrical systems are... borderline. We're pissing fuel, oil and hydraulic fluid but I'm doing the best I can"
"Right, I'm gonna try and get some altitude, and control; try and get us as close to home as possible"
He grimaced as he hauled the stick back, the plane shuddering, straining, and reluctantly taking a nose-high altitude, clawing those extra feet in height for miles in range toward the growing shape of Malta in the sea ahead, before he switched channels.
"Skywatch; this is Cobalt Lead, declaring an in-flight emergency. We are hit and heavily damaged. Going to try and make the runway at Luqa. But you might want to scramble the rescue chopper, and have emergency teams on standby, because this ain't gonna be a pretty landing, over!"
There was a heartbeat's pause, before the voice of the AWACS operator came back, strained as she tried to maintain her composure and calmly relay information.
"Roger, Cobalt lead; emergency services are being scrambled at Luqa international. Showing Cobalt 6 over the convoy, and Cobalt 5 on your position. No word from second flight yet, but they are on course. Cobalt Lead; showing you on good heading and closing from ten miles out. Keep your course and heading steady, over"
"Roger that, Skywatch. Thanks for the assist, going to do my best to bring this bird in, and only get out as a last option, over"
Scott checked the instruments; they flickered and fuzzed, glitches running through the touch-screen displays. He cursed fluently and extravagantly. His arms and legs were starting to ache from fighting the plane. It wanted to pull to the left, the asymmetric thrust from the right engine and drag from the damage to the left side of the plane direly affecting how it flew.
He flicked his mis-matched eyes between the instruments inside the cockpit and view outside. Malta loomed close, the plane eating up the miles despite hanging on by strings, and the black ribbon of the runway was painfully clear to his eyes, looking almost close enough to touch.
"We're losing hydraulics, Heartbreak!" Kat cried out from the rear cockpit. Scott grunted a reply and his hands danced across the controls.
"Going to use the last of what we have to try and get the gear and hook down and sweep the wings if we've got anything left. We'll have to rely on the crash prep to stop us".
"Roger that, do it!"
Scott hit the gear first and the plane rumbled and whined as the gear dropped into the slipstream. Immediately, the jet lurched and bucked, becoming more draggy. The gear lights refused to lock in the green position, and he grimaced, the controls growing ever-more mushy as the plane dropped lower.
"Fuck. Going to have to chance this. Hold on..."

From outside the plane, at Mykhailo's view, the ailing jet looked like a wounded bird. The wings had stuck half-forward, and the gear dropped three quarters of the way down. It lurched lower, dropping heavily and violently swaying, pulling to the side in the beginning of a slewing left turn, before wrenching part way around just enough to slam heavily onto one of the airport's runways, covered in crash foam. It bounced as it hit on the semi-extended gear, which collapsed as it hit the ground a second time. Skidding on its' belly, the tomcat slewed and span slowly to the left, before Scott shut off all thrust. Debris and sparks flew up in the wake of the jet as it skidded for a hundred meters, before coming to a stop. Immediately, Scott popped the canopy, it flying free as crash trucks doused the rest of the jet with foam, and crews bravely ran to the jet and hauled the pair free, them half-dragged, half-stumbling to safety.

Over the Convoy; Closing in, under 15 miles West of Malta
March 13th 2014.

"Cobalt 6, this is Skywatch. Cobalt Lead is down, Heartbreak and KK are safe. Reading no hostiles in your area. All bandits are down or no factor, no hostile surface targets within the perimeter. Continue your escort to within five miles of the coast and then RTB, good job out there, over"

The E-2 Hawkeye's radar operator told the truth of it; there were no signs of any other hostiles near the convoy, and the ships had escaped unharmed from the incident - even if the same couldn't be said for their escort.

Mykhailo Martinez

"Understood, Sir," Mykhailo stayed calm and let go of the fact that a foe got away; he had a commanding officer to protect. Turning his plane to escort Scott and Kat's damaged aircraft, he kept an eye out for any enemy reinforcments, before muttering, "Where did it go so wrong?"

Last-minute transfers out of the squadron, then Pilot Sokolov being taken out by the enemy being more heavily-armed and competent than was expected. Defeat had been snatched from the jaws of victory, then the reverse happened before it was too late. And of course, he had to respect the foe's skill; the one who got away must have had something to fight for.

Mykhailo grit his teeth; so did he.

The mission was ending; what would have been one grand, sweeping, operation had turned into a battle of attrition - He hated it in video games, he knew he'd hate it in real life.

He glanced at Scott and Kat as their plane crash-landed onto the Luqa runaway, then received his orders from Skywatch to see his order to completion; good. Circling back to the convoy, Mykhailo kept guarding it until it was five miles to the coast as instructed, all the while making plans to get a bath, eat, grieve Sokolov in silence, and ponder how to act as a coherent whole with Fuka, Valkyrie, and Aurélie (or was it Amélie?), all three of whom he had annoyed in some form.

Good job, Mykhailo, he thought to himself with a bite of sarcasm. You demonstrated you were good at your job in a way Fuka cannot deny, but at what cost? Sokolov dead at a time when your bridges with the others are burnt or smoldering. You're cut off from the others and its your own damn fault.

He prided himself on letting go; he should. But he had to ask, "Skywatch; who will retreive Pilot Sokolov's remains, if there are any?"

@Damo021@Kensai@Smike@Rhona W

March 13th, 2014
Over Lampedusa, the Mediterranean

Was the enemy ingenious, or was Cobalt just not worth what Malta had paid them? Fuka couldn't say; this was only her first operation after all. That said, she wasn't overly thrilled with how her new career was shaping up. There was no quality control for mercenaries, no Better Business Bureau reports detailing their rankings. You had to judge them based on reputation and price, find the midpoint between quality and affordability. Hopefully these early issues were flukes and not signs that Shattered leaned too close to the latter.

"Good copy, adjusting angle."

The Black Bunny nosed up, rising steadily as Linosa began to shrink against the sea. Lampedusa was little more than a hop away, not even 30 nautical miles judging by how rapidly it grew in her field of view. Fuka leveled out and switched back to the targeting pod, scanning for threats on the ground.

And there were plenty of those.

"Woah, it's busy down there. I'm picking up active radar sweeps, looks like they've got SAMs scattered around. Mark one Herc and two Curls stationary on the tarmac, there's activity in the harbor as well. A couple of ferries with all sorts of military shit, one proper warship and a bunch of little boats too."

She spoke as much for her own benefit as Chevy's, verbally marking off the targets as she captured them on video. The enemy had much more gear than she had expected, and she probably hadn't even seen all of it!

"Scanning again, be advised that there's a radar setup on the hill and a few stationary AAs, got two Fitters and two Mirages parked as well. I've got a clear line at the ro-ro in the harbor, gonna strangle their landing force in its crib."

She had been told not to go looking for trouble, but what was this if not a target of opportunity? That ferry was loaded down with vehicles, ammo, and who knew what else, and more importantly it was the only thing capable of carrying a sizable force. Without it OPFOR would have to rely on a few big, slow transport craft.

The Litening's laser brushed across Lampedusa's surface, stopping on the keel of the ferry. It was close range for a SLAM-ER, close enough that she couldn't miss. The ferry was blown up across her screen, dead center of the crosshairs and locked-on.

"Rifle out."

A tap of a button and the missile was away, a barely visible blur that ended in a gout of fire and smoke. She could almost hear the thud of the warhead, the echo of steel on steel that would go forgotten in the roar of sheer concussion. Waves of sound and pressure rippled across the surface, tearing apart metal and flesh with equal ease. Peacenik was only human; she couldn't process information fast enough to see the process. But she could picture it clear as day, picture it and be grateful that she wasn't on the receiving end.

"Target hit."

Peeling away Fuka could see her handiwork, a gaping hole torn across the stern just starting just above the waterline. It was taking on water fast, a problem compounded by whatever damage had been done to the internals. Fuka didn't allow herself the chance to gloat, already scanning the island for threats. The radar was still searching but had yet to lock, the Black Bunny's low cross-section and iron ball paint buying her time.

Not enough however, as there was finally activity on the ground.

"Bandits are taking off! Moving to engage, trying to catch 'em on the ascent."

@Kensai

Freyja 'Valkyrie' Svensdotter

"Acknowledged skywatch, will continue to escort the convoy over." Keeping her thoughts to herself, Valk still had a job to do, even if this was the more mundane part of it, this gave her time to give things some thought while remaining vigilant. Valk of course was happy to hear the both Heartbreak and KK were safe from their crash landing, although it did leave the Swedish pilot a bit annoyed, just how the heck did the planes become into so much disrepair? Was wolf not doing his job in maintaining there're aircraft? was the N/UN not giving him the probably supplies and equipment to for him? many craft didn't make it of the ground, one malfunction to which got them shot down by the enemy and the flight lead engine nuked itself mid combat. Questions needed to be asked.

Ultimately, the escort to the 5 mile mark was quiet, and uneventful, Brightsspark had come to join her in escorting the convoy in , the one good thing to come out of this was the ships making it. and hopefully the intel gathering mission went better for the others. Just like Skywatch said, no more hostiles came. Freyja's thoughts were interupted when Mykh spoke up about finding his remains, weather or not his body could be retrieved would be left up to command. But she saw how she failed in her squad leader role and lost a wingman. She spoke up on the radio in response to her fellow pilots question. "Listen kid, I'm sorry but Sokolov's gone, I saw him go down with my own eyes... I saw no ejection." Her voice was a somber one, She failed on her part and it will stick with her for a while, but it wont effect her from pushing forward and performing her duties, maybe rescue crews will check? but that was not her choice to make.

Soon enough, Freyja was within the 5 mile mark and was on her way back to land, again the tower was doing pretty much all the talking. The swedish pilot opting to remain silent for the time being and collect her thoughts, maybe a stiff drink was in order also. on approach, Valk was instructed to use the other runway as the strickened F-14 was still being sorted out on the other, clean crews work hard to secure the craft and clear up the runway. Her landing went without any issues, and was guided into an area she could taxi to and park up and clear the spare runway for Mykh. She needed to get out of her gear, get cleaned up and shower no doubt before the debrief of all debriefs was no doubt going to happen. She chose not to vent her frustrations on the ground crew as it would not serve any purpose.

Aurélie nodded tersely as Fuka's SLAM-ER struck home, wrecking a ro-ro ferry. Her wingman was competent, at least - something she might not feel about some other components of her squadron, pilots and ground staff alike. There might have to be... words, or more than mere words. But that was a concern for another moment. Right now, she was barreling in low, counting on the Rafale's speed, low observability, and ECM suite - and the distraction of the massive explosion - to give her a window.

"Good hit, Cobalt 2," she said. "Tally two bandits on the deck and climbing."

She adjusted her angle of approach just a tick. The enemy pilots were rushed, clumsy - their alert five birds, if they bothered with such things, but the base caught napping by Cobalt's sudden appearance. And then having a missile impact in their vicinity while they were taking off... that would have rattled better fliers than these.

"Mirage F1s," Aurélie murmured, feeling the irony of engaging an earlier generation of Dassault fighters. The fliers knew their birds, at least. One of the strengths of the F1 was its power to weight ratio and low drag in interceptor configuration. Lean on the throttle and it would take off like a rocket.

Unfortunately for them, Aurélie was a student of air combat. And the problem with leaning on the throttle was that putting out a lot of thrust meant putting out a lot of heat, and taking off like a rocket meant you were going straight. That gave her MICA-IRs a nice juicy target, and they were already well within her no-escape zone. The tone rang in her ears.

"Cobalt Two, I'm engaging the leader. Take the wingman. Fox Two!"

The heat seeker streaked off its pylon, rocket motor accelerating it at forces that would snap a human's neck. It covered the distance between the aircraft in seconds.