The lands to the north of the Expeditionary Force from Earth's base were much like the northern reaches of the home planet of humanity. Mountain ranges, hills, and hardy vegetation began to take over from the greener, prettier and more temperate plants, and the trees became more evergreen and less deciduous. More grey rock and bare dirt pervaded the landscape; though the soaring peaks, shallow, fast, white-capped rivers and thick swathes of trees had a beauty all their own, and the stillness and untouched perfection of the landscape was breathtaking.
All of this was not lost on the survey and reconnaissance team weaving it's way back from a weeks-long trip to the scattered Avalonian settlements and sites of special interest, established by satellites launched from the Expeditionary Forces. However, with their latest revelations from the information they'd uncovered, they were in decidedly more of a hurry, and less concerned with the landscape.
The small convoy of vehicles splashed through a shallow river and ground through grass-covered banks, driving south with determination.
Aboard the lead MRAP of the group, the specialist-sergeant in the passenger seat chewed his thumb nervously, and again scanned the skies, agitation plain in his fidgety movements and darting eyes.
"Sir," the driver started, flicking his eyes sideways to him. "Is there anything-"
"Keep your eyes on the road, Raymore," the Sergeant replied. "Looks like there's a snowstorm rolling in... and we're still more than twenty miles from the nearest forward operating base."
"Try the radio again," urged the voice from the backseats. "There might be better reception now".
The Sergeant glanced back over his shoulder at the Avalonian in the back seat, who had a pleading expression in her eyes.
"We have to get in touch with someone," she pleaded. "If the Yerrill-"
There was a shrieking whistle, and something split the sky above them, flashing over the convoy, leaving contrails in its' wake, and whipping the trees back and forth. A rumbling followed, from their rear and growing closer. All exchanged glances, and the driver gunned the engine. One of the passengers in the rear scrambled to climb up onto the MRAP's turret-mounted .50 cal, while the sergeant clawed for the radio microphone.
A dark shadow fell over the fleeing vehicles.
At the Forward Base, calls went out as garbled radio messages came through. Alerts were raised, co-ordinates established and assets polled... and the Expeditionary Force reached an impasse; there weren't enough aircraft or forces in the area to vector a full squadron or flight.
"What have we got in the area?" asked the officer in charge of the area through gritted teeth, dragging a cigarette down to the filter in one stressed breath, before fumbling to light another, his fingers twitching.
The junior woman in charge of the screens and consoles tracking all of the forces' assets tapped controls with fingers that moved with a pianists' precision and grace, and looked back over her shoulder.
"There are two aircraft not assigned to any flight; they're both armed and on their way back from other assignments-"
"Who and what?"
"Uh, Major Valentine in an A-10C, and Lieutenant Ericsson in an F-2"
"Vector them in, and give them the lowdown; that convoy needs to make it back to base. THey need to hold long enough for reinforcements to make it"
"Yessir!"
***
"This is FOB Corona to Major Valentine and Lieutenant Ericcsson. Urgent assistance required for close air support and aerial cover for a convoy unit under attack, co-ordinates incoming..."
Scott's eyes widened under his helmets' visor as he received the orders. He'd been on his way back from an uneventful CAP for a research outpost, and now this... He was glad he'd taken on fuel, and expended no ordnance.
"Well... this is Heartbreak. Send me the info... I take it you're not sendin' me into the meat grinder on my own, over?"
"Negative, Heartbreak. We got you a dance partner. Lieutenant Ericsson is en route too. She should be there to cover your ass, over".
"Well, all right then... best get moving quick, it looks like there's a storm comin' in".
Scott rolled the A-10C onto the new course, angling over the landscape below, shifting in his seat as the dark steel-grey of the clouds above formed a tense ceiling to the impending sortie. All of a sudden, the situation had changed from a routine flight into plunging into danger to save others. It might be a walk in the park; it might be a dice with death. Either way, it was something different, something new - and exactly what he was trained for.
Switching radio frequencies, he tried to establish radio contact with his impromptu partner as the miles rolled down on his instruments.
"This is Heartbreak One to Ericsson. Looks like we have some souls that need saving down there. What say we get this show over with before the snow starts falling, and get a couple of drinks back at base to warm us up, over?"
All of this was not lost on the survey and reconnaissance team weaving it's way back from a weeks-long trip to the scattered Avalonian settlements and sites of special interest, established by satellites launched from the Expeditionary Forces. However, with their latest revelations from the information they'd uncovered, they were in decidedly more of a hurry, and less concerned with the landscape.
The small convoy of vehicles splashed through a shallow river and ground through grass-covered banks, driving south with determination.
Aboard the lead MRAP of the group, the specialist-sergeant in the passenger seat chewed his thumb nervously, and again scanned the skies, agitation plain in his fidgety movements and darting eyes.
"Sir," the driver started, flicking his eyes sideways to him. "Is there anything-"
"Keep your eyes on the road, Raymore," the Sergeant replied. "Looks like there's a snowstorm rolling in... and we're still more than twenty miles from the nearest forward operating base."
"Try the radio again," urged the voice from the backseats. "There might be better reception now".
The Sergeant glanced back over his shoulder at the Avalonian in the back seat, who had a pleading expression in her eyes.
"We have to get in touch with someone," she pleaded. "If the Yerrill-"
There was a shrieking whistle, and something split the sky above them, flashing over the convoy, leaving contrails in its' wake, and whipping the trees back and forth. A rumbling followed, from their rear and growing closer. All exchanged glances, and the driver gunned the engine. One of the passengers in the rear scrambled to climb up onto the MRAP's turret-mounted .50 cal, while the sergeant clawed for the radio microphone.
A dark shadow fell over the fleeing vehicles.
At the Forward Base, calls went out as garbled radio messages came through. Alerts were raised, co-ordinates established and assets polled... and the Expeditionary Force reached an impasse; there weren't enough aircraft or forces in the area to vector a full squadron or flight.
"What have we got in the area?" asked the officer in charge of the area through gritted teeth, dragging a cigarette down to the filter in one stressed breath, before fumbling to light another, his fingers twitching.
The junior woman in charge of the screens and consoles tracking all of the forces' assets tapped controls with fingers that moved with a pianists' precision and grace, and looked back over her shoulder.
"There are two aircraft not assigned to any flight; they're both armed and on their way back from other assignments-"
"Who and what?"
"Uh, Major Valentine in an A-10C, and Lieutenant Ericsson in an F-2"
"Vector them in, and give them the lowdown; that convoy needs to make it back to base. THey need to hold long enough for reinforcements to make it"
"Yessir!"
***
"This is FOB Corona to Major Valentine and Lieutenant Ericcsson. Urgent assistance required for close air support and aerial cover for a convoy unit under attack, co-ordinates incoming..."
Scott's eyes widened under his helmets' visor as he received the orders. He'd been on his way back from an uneventful CAP for a research outpost, and now this... He was glad he'd taken on fuel, and expended no ordnance.
"Well... this is Heartbreak. Send me the info... I take it you're not sendin' me into the meat grinder on my own, over?"
"Negative, Heartbreak. We got you a dance partner. Lieutenant Ericsson is en route too. She should be there to cover your ass, over".
"Well, all right then... best get moving quick, it looks like there's a storm comin' in".
Scott rolled the A-10C onto the new course, angling over the landscape below, shifting in his seat as the dark steel-grey of the clouds above formed a tense ceiling to the impending sortie. All of a sudden, the situation had changed from a routine flight into plunging into danger to save others. It might be a walk in the park; it might be a dice with death. Either way, it was something different, something new - and exactly what he was trained for.
Switching radio frequencies, he tried to establish radio contact with his impromptu partner as the miles rolled down on his instruments.
"This is Heartbreak One to Ericsson. Looks like we have some souls that need saving down there. What say we get this show over with before the snow starts falling, and get a couple of drinks back at base to warm us up, over?"
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