It seemed to Marciano that the flight to carrier moved in a near slow motion state, but he stayed in formation and kept his mouth shut. He was glad for the news that the Kinetic weapon had missed its mark, but still the ease with which it had almost obliterated the base had rattled him slightly. His father had onetime joked that warfare had lost its honor, going from an engagement where you saw the spark of life dwindle and die from the eyes of your foe, to pressing a button and wiping out a population thousands of miles away. The real truth of that statement now bounced around his head. As they neared the carrier, Marciano keyed his radio "Hey we've got a few of us to put down i'm gonna anchor myself right here for a bit."
Breaking off from the formation, he put the Hound into an orbit around the massive ship while the rest of the squadron began landing. He saw a few new jets in the line up, and seeing as he was probably going to be one of the last ones down he began trying to match the jet to the call sign for fun. He thought he was making good progress at taking guesses when the crackle of the radio in his ear interrupted his thoughts "Charnel this is tower, you should be clear for landing after one more go around."
"Received tower, im coming down." Marciano replied, smiling at the thought of getting out of taking off his mask and getting out. Slowly continuing straight away from the carrier as he completed his last orbit, he insured that his hook and gear were down before turning his flaps down and banking back towards the carrier, descending ever so slowly. To be quite honest, he disliked landing on carriers, too many things could go wrong too quickly. But he held steady and touched down without issue, his hook catching, jerking the Tornado to a stop.
Taxing to an out of the way location, Marciano closed the Hound's wings and flipped off its engines. Taking off his mask he took a deep breath, before proceeding to furiously scratch his nose and cheek bones. As soon as he was satisfied he gave a short chuckle before taking off his helmet and placing it on his console. Opening his cockpit Marciano lifted himself up and out, onto the ladder one of the deck technicians was kind enough to place there and down onto the deck itself. Giving a short yawn he cracked a few of his knuckles and took a look around. Across the deck he saw a gathering of people near the Tomcat that had been designated Knight-1, smiling he took off towards the group.
When he got close enough he stopped and snapped a short salute "Call-sign Charnel reporting in." he said with a beaming smile "Though my friends call me Marciano, good to finally meet you all face to face and also while not getting shot at."
Kat listened to the radio as everyone else was doing at that given moment, and quickly pulled Twilight off her current course and out to sea to rally on the deck of the Stormbolt. There were no whales this time as she flew over the water in turmoil...
Kat slowed her aircraft down as she got in line for landing. Tapping her fuel gauge, she started worrying about falling out of the sky as plane after plane landed before her. "Oy, I'm on fumes 'ere! Tell the crews to get those planes off the strip!" She called to the Stormbolt's tower, whom calmly replied with "We understand, remain calm. you're clear to land in two more planes."
The feline pilot huffed at the answer. "Easy to say when you're sitting stationary, and no in a hunk of metal that won't float if it hits water." She muttered to herself. But soon enough, and with the gauge arrow bumping the empty peg, she swooped low and caught the wire with her hook, landing safely on deck. It was a close call, for just as she slowed to a stop, her engines sputtered, coughed, and died. Kat unlatched her cockpit and hopped out, running a hand across Twilight's fuselage. "Girl's never let me fall, even when starved for fuel."
Walking off deck to let the crews handle the exhausted Twilight, Kat met up with the rest of the pilots, she gave a lazy salute before sounding off "Callsign Kat reporting." She glanced at the others, waiting for further orders as they were. She knew trying to ask questions would be useless and only add confusion.
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Scott watched and gave an affirmative nod and a brief thought of thanks to who or whatever was listening for each of the squadrons' planes that made it to the deck. Even the most routine of carrier landings was still a hair-raising prospect to anyone - successfully landing a multi-million dollar supersonic aircraft on a moving ship many times smaller than a normal runway with limited fuel and the possibility of any one of the thousands of moving parts on either going wrong was something that made one question their sanity. It was no wonder that each landing bordered on an emergency at the best of times.
The two F-15's, a C and a Strike Eagle that came in were both damaged and raised many eyebrows. One was smoking and wavering, and the crash-crews were on standby as the sleek aircraft landed - but thankfully, there were no issues with either aircrafts' landing. Everything else went smoothly, with only Kat's A-10 suffering from low fuel as it approached the boat. With the sudden scramble and the attack on the base, it was more than likely there weren't enough of the KA-6 tankers to go around - otherwise, he imagined the Thunderbolt would've been directed to refuel before attempting the landing. Either way, she made it down successfully too, completing a full recovery of all the aircraft currently assigned to his command and the small but potent squadron.
Scott looked on with curiosity as the group of pilots assembled. He noted Misaki getting into a tussle with the deck crew and inwardly winced; any pilot worth the name knew that cussing out the maintenance group was a surefire way to end up with a whole heap of resentment, and a bad working relationship. That would be something that needed looking at. If the F-2 had been grounded, then there would have been a real and serious reason for it.
"Here they come," said St. Helen, looking on as the pilots approached. "Remember anything about any of them?"
"More than you'd expect," he replied with a smirk. "Do you?"
"No, I don't have to command them. I just make sure you don't get yourself and me into trouble when we're flying. You got the big job, remember?"
"Thanks for reminding me."
The pilots mostly clustered around him, in a momentarily quiet spot of the ever-busy deck (in fact, he was surprised they hadn't been hustled out of the way yet), and the introductions came thick-and-fast.
St Helene stood to one side, as Scott returned the salutes all at once, his own salute somewhat casual and relaxed, but still showing a good edge.
"Thanks, everyone. You're right; I am Knight One, otherwise known as Heartbreak, or Captain Valentine. This here's Razorblade, or Lieutenant Commander Carter. I'm your CO in the Black Knights; welcome t' the show. That was some mighty fine flyin' I saw up there, especially accountin' for the hasty scramble an' all too."
He looked over the faces around him; all of them were different and varied in appearance, and represented a good cross-section of the Mercenary Company as a whole. Momentarily he found his eyes drawn to Kat's feline ears, dwelling on them a moment before smiling and nodding to her as he continued to speak.
"Maintenance'll take care of yer planes fer now. We got a briefing scheduled with General Thomas - Thunderbolt One - but I ain't aware of the time and location other than 'on the ship', so I'd suggest y'all fall out to the mess hall, get some chow and relax a little. I'll come join you shortly when I get the scoop on the meetin' location, and we'll get a... 'informal meet' in too, so we can actually get to know who the heck each other are." He shrugged apologetically and scratched the back of his head. "Hate ta say it, but I'm as thrown inta this as you are. I did have notes and slides an' all that crap... but they're not much use right now under three feet of water, or burnt to a crisp. Anyhow - Razorblade'll show ya the way. If you'll excuse me, I gotta go rescue our Japanese pilot from bein' thrown overboard".
St Helen beckoned them to follow her into the conning tower, and lead them below decks and forward, away from the busy and active carrier deck, and into the bowels of the ship, toward the forward mess. The thump and crash of aircraft landing or taking off was a constant presence, as was the continuous stream of men and women going about their business, keeping the floating city alive.
After a half-dozen ladders and doors, the short redhead lead them into a bustling mess hall, and the queue for food. Breakfast had evidently been extended, given the chaos, and there was a hustle to the room, along with the buzz of conversation and the mouth-watering smell of food. Like most PMC's, Thunderbolt Black ate better than the military, but with the same efficiency in the kitchens service.
Scooping up a plate of food - bacon, eggs, hash browns, and the rest - she lead the way to a table and colonised it for the squadron.
"So," she said before tucking in. "Hell of a first day as a squadron, right...."
Up on the deck, Scott headed over to where Misaki held a bloody rag to her head, as a deck crewman stood facing her, looking awkward as she ranted about her jet. Scott was about to step in, before the maintenance Crew Chief stepped up, a look like blood-and-thunder on his craggy face.
"Hey," he ground out, his square jaw set and a furious look in his face. "You're the pain in the ass that's chewing out my crews for doing our fucking jobs, right?" He glared at her. "Well, you wanna know why your Viper was in maintenance, it's because our pre-flight maintenance inspection found a fatigue crack in one of the engine compressor blades, so we had to pull your bird in for emergency maintenance on the engine. In other words," he said, deliberately spelling it out for her with a point of his finger, "We pulled the bird off of the flight line, because if we'd let it fly, it would've blown up your plane, and possibly killed you So just to get it straight, we saved your ass. He backed up and shook his head. "Fucking flyboys," he growled, and waved his hand, dismissing the argument. "Your jet is fixed, and being finished. It should be ready for your next sortie, your highness".
He gave a passing glance to Scott with a nod, before he headed off to take care of the next plane coming in with damage from the fracas over the island. Scott looked back to Misaki, and raised an eyebrow, nodding to the gash on her head.
"How's the head? Need to have Corpsman look at that for you? I'm Heartbreak, your new squadron leader. Good job getting that F-15 back on the deck in the shape it was in... though I hope you don't bring all your birds home in that way. Come on - if you're okay without the doc, then the rest of the squadron are in the forward mess. I'll be sorting out a briefing".
He picked up her helmet and handed it back, before giving a slight amused smile.
"And... as a word of advice; feel free to ignore it, at your own peril... Maintenance crews love the planes as much as their pilots. Anything they do, they do with a damn good reason. Pissing all over their decisions? Not gonna help you out in the long run. And I need every pilot and every plane in my squadron at their best... unless you wanna find someone else to fly with".
He shrugged amicably and headed into the conning tower, directing her toward the mess, and the rest of the squadron.
In the meantime, he headed by the ops room and got the info - their briefing was in an hours' time. It should give them all enough time to change out of their survival gear and into regular flight suits, and decompress a little from the hectic combat they'd endured. He also found the room they'd be meeting in - thankfully, it wasn't due to be occupied before their briefing, and that gave him a chance to snag the area and have a little meeting of his own.
Giving a sigh of relief that at least something was sorted out, he headed for the mess hall and the others.
St Helen had been chatting to everyone. She'd explained how she and Scott were introduced to one another and had flown with Thunderbolt Black in another squadron, before Scott had been tapped to stand up as the lead for the replacement 101st, which had been temporarily disbanded as resources were shifted around. She mentioned that they'd both flown F-14's during the war, and a little about some previous contacts, before Scott reappeared.
"Hello, campers" he sai with a nod. "Good news, our briefing isn't for an hour, so that gives us a short while to get our heads together. The briefing is in the main briefing room on deck 5. Gives us a chance to sign our flight gear over and change out of it, and we can get a brief introduction to each other, and I can let you know a little about me, too. Then I guess it'll be time for the bigwigs' address to us all. Finish up your chow, and we'll get on it."
Scott gathered himself a snack-breakfast of a pastry and a cup of tea, and sat at the table with the rest of them, his helmet alongside him. He nodded to everyone as he looked around. "Hell of a day, but at least we got breakfast. Glad you're all in one piece too. Some of those landings were mighty impressive."
The two F-15's, a C and a Strike Eagle that came in were both damaged and raised many eyebrows. One was smoking and wavering, and the crash-crews were on standby as the sleek aircraft landed - but thankfully, there were no issues with either aircrafts' landing. Everything else went smoothly, with only Kat's A-10 suffering from low fuel as it approached the boat. With the sudden scramble and the attack on the base, it was more than likely there weren't enough of the KA-6 tankers to go around - otherwise, he imagined the Thunderbolt would've been directed to refuel before attempting the landing. Either way, she made it down successfully too, completing a full recovery of all the aircraft currently assigned to his command and the small but potent squadron.
Scott looked on with curiosity as the group of pilots assembled. He noted Misaki getting into a tussle with the deck crew and inwardly winced; any pilot worth the name knew that cussing out the maintenance group was a surefire way to end up with a whole heap of resentment, and a bad working relationship. That would be something that needed looking at. If the F-2 had been grounded, then there would have been a real and serious reason for it.
"Here they come," said St. Helen, looking on as the pilots approached. "Remember anything about any of them?"
"More than you'd expect," he replied with a smirk. "Do you?"
"No, I don't have to command them. I just make sure you don't get yourself and me into trouble when we're flying. You got the big job, remember?"
"Thanks for reminding me."
The pilots mostly clustered around him, in a momentarily quiet spot of the ever-busy deck (in fact, he was surprised they hadn't been hustled out of the way yet), and the introductions came thick-and-fast.
"Dmitry Aleksei Novikoff, codename Stalin, at your service and it is an honor to be part of your squadron. Dobroho ranku, good morning. Uh-" he threw a glance over his shoulder at the next aircraft to land on the carrier to see if it would land safely or if it had to loop around for another attempt. "Actually, a pretty bad fucking morning, da? Glad everyone is OK."
"Knight One I assume?" Rodriguez asked before saluting the pilots. "Rodriguez Hefferman; callsign Spirit reporting in. I'm afraid the circumstances of our meeting here were not under the best of terms."
"Call-sign Charnel reporting in." he said with a beaming smile "Though my friends call me Marciano, good to finally meet you all face to face and also while not getting shot at."
"Callsign Kat reporting." She glanced at the others, waiting for further orders as they were. She knew trying to ask questions would be useless and only add confusion.
St Helene stood to one side, as Scott returned the salutes all at once, his own salute somewhat casual and relaxed, but still showing a good edge.
"Thanks, everyone. You're right; I am Knight One, otherwise known as Heartbreak, or Captain Valentine. This here's Razorblade, or Lieutenant Commander Carter. I'm your CO in the Black Knights; welcome t' the show. That was some mighty fine flyin' I saw up there, especially accountin' for the hasty scramble an' all too."
He looked over the faces around him; all of them were different and varied in appearance, and represented a good cross-section of the Mercenary Company as a whole. Momentarily he found his eyes drawn to Kat's feline ears, dwelling on them a moment before smiling and nodding to her as he continued to speak.
"Maintenance'll take care of yer planes fer now. We got a briefing scheduled with General Thomas - Thunderbolt One - but I ain't aware of the time and location other than 'on the ship', so I'd suggest y'all fall out to the mess hall, get some chow and relax a little. I'll come join you shortly when I get the scoop on the meetin' location, and we'll get a... 'informal meet' in too, so we can actually get to know who the heck each other are." He shrugged apologetically and scratched the back of his head. "Hate ta say it, but I'm as thrown inta this as you are. I did have notes and slides an' all that crap... but they're not much use right now under three feet of water, or burnt to a crisp. Anyhow - Razorblade'll show ya the way. If you'll excuse me, I gotta go rescue our Japanese pilot from bein' thrown overboard".
St Helen beckoned them to follow her into the conning tower, and lead them below decks and forward, away from the busy and active carrier deck, and into the bowels of the ship, toward the forward mess. The thump and crash of aircraft landing or taking off was a constant presence, as was the continuous stream of men and women going about their business, keeping the floating city alive.
After a half-dozen ladders and doors, the short redhead lead them into a bustling mess hall, and the queue for food. Breakfast had evidently been extended, given the chaos, and there was a hustle to the room, along with the buzz of conversation and the mouth-watering smell of food. Like most PMC's, Thunderbolt Black ate better than the military, but with the same efficiency in the kitchens service.
Scooping up a plate of food - bacon, eggs, hash browns, and the rest - she lead the way to a table and colonised it for the squadron.
"So," she said before tucking in. "Hell of a first day as a squadron, right...."
Up on the deck, Scott headed over to where Misaki held a bloody rag to her head, as a deck crewman stood facing her, looking awkward as she ranted about her jet. Scott was about to step in, before the maintenance Crew Chief stepped up, a look like blood-and-thunder on his craggy face.
"Hey," he ground out, his square jaw set and a furious look in his face. "You're the pain in the ass that's chewing out my crews for doing our fucking jobs, right?" He glared at her. "Well, you wanna know why your Viper was in maintenance, it's because our pre-flight maintenance inspection found a fatigue crack in one of the engine compressor blades, so we had to pull your bird in for emergency maintenance on the engine. In other words," he said, deliberately spelling it out for her with a point of his finger, "We pulled the bird off of the flight line, because if we'd let it fly, it would've blown up your plane, and possibly killed you So just to get it straight, we saved your ass. He backed up and shook his head. "Fucking flyboys," he growled, and waved his hand, dismissing the argument. "Your jet is fixed, and being finished. It should be ready for your next sortie, your highness".
He gave a passing glance to Scott with a nod, before he headed off to take care of the next plane coming in with damage from the fracas over the island. Scott looked back to Misaki, and raised an eyebrow, nodding to the gash on her head.
"How's the head? Need to have Corpsman look at that for you? I'm Heartbreak, your new squadron leader. Good job getting that F-15 back on the deck in the shape it was in... though I hope you don't bring all your birds home in that way. Come on - if you're okay without the doc, then the rest of the squadron are in the forward mess. I'll be sorting out a briefing".
He picked up her helmet and handed it back, before giving a slight amused smile.
"And... as a word of advice; feel free to ignore it, at your own peril... Maintenance crews love the planes as much as their pilots. Anything they do, they do with a damn good reason. Pissing all over their decisions? Not gonna help you out in the long run. And I need every pilot and every plane in my squadron at their best... unless you wanna find someone else to fly with".
He shrugged amicably and headed into the conning tower, directing her toward the mess, and the rest of the squadron.
In the meantime, he headed by the ops room and got the info - their briefing was in an hours' time. It should give them all enough time to change out of their survival gear and into regular flight suits, and decompress a little from the hectic combat they'd endured. He also found the room they'd be meeting in - thankfully, it wasn't due to be occupied before their briefing, and that gave him a chance to snag the area and have a little meeting of his own.
Giving a sigh of relief that at least something was sorted out, he headed for the mess hall and the others.
St Helen had been chatting to everyone. She'd explained how she and Scott were introduced to one another and had flown with Thunderbolt Black in another squadron, before Scott had been tapped to stand up as the lead for the replacement 101st, which had been temporarily disbanded as resources were shifted around. She mentioned that they'd both flown F-14's during the war, and a little about some previous contacts, before Scott reappeared.
"Hello, campers" he sai with a nod. "Good news, our briefing isn't for an hour, so that gives us a short while to get our heads together. The briefing is in the main briefing room on deck 5. Gives us a chance to sign our flight gear over and change out of it, and we can get a brief introduction to each other, and I can let you know a little about me, too. Then I guess it'll be time for the bigwigs' address to us all. Finish up your chow, and we'll get on it."
Scott gathered himself a snack-breakfast of a pastry and a cup of tea, and sat at the table with the rest of them, his helmet alongside him. He nodded to everyone as he looked around. "Hell of a day, but at least we got breakfast. Glad you're all in one piece too. Some of those landings were mighty impressive."
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"Thanks, everyone. You're right; I am Knight One, otherwise known as Heartbreak, or Captain Valentine. This here's Razorblade, or Lieutenant Commander Carter. I'm your CO in the Black Knights; welcome t' the show. That was some mighty fine flyin' I saw up there, especially accountin' for the hasty scramble an' all too."
An urge had befallen on Rodriguez to comment on the fact that he had not engaged into actual dogfight aside from tailing a running bandit and the majority of his flight time was purely devoted the patrol of Thunder Island for several hours. But he had resisted this social desire in favor to maintain silent professional stance as he listened Captain Valentine’s loose briefing to organize everyone on the ground. He maintained his stance with his hands grasped together behind his back as he continued to listen to Heartbreak all while at the same time resisting another urge to look at one of the pilots in the group whom has a pair a feline-like ears sprouting out of her head; he could not tell by the brief glances if they were real or not.
"Maintenance'll take care of yer planes fer now. We got a briefing scheduled with General Thomas - Thunderbolt One - but I ain't aware of the time and location other than 'on the ship', so I'd suggest y'all fall out to the mess hall, get some chow and relax a little. I'll come join you shortly when I get the scoop on the meetin' location, and we'll get a... 'informal meet' in too, so we can actually get to know who the heck each other are. ..Hate ta say it, but I'm as thrown inta this as you are. I did have notes and slides an' all that crap... but they're not much use right now under three feet of water, or burnt to a crisp. Anyhow - Razorblade'll show ya the way. If you'll excuse me, I gotta go rescue our Japanese pilot from bein' thrown overboard".
Rodriguez eyed his new CO as the man went off to the hanger to calm an already developing case with one of his eventual squadron mates. He admitted hearing about a female pilot stirring up a storm with the maintenance staff on her plane; he also has to admit that he wasn’t the one sorting things out either, especially getting into the kind of verbal brawl that can lead to a throwing of a punch or a wrench. The latter was something he was afraid of more and the folks at maintenance had plenty of them.
After Valentine had left the scene, he and the other pilots followed St. Helen to the carrier’s mess hall. Rodriguez had lived on carriers for quite some time before during the previous war. He surmised that he had operated on at least two carriers before operation control became an airfield as Allies pushed inland after securing several beachheads. But this carrier however seemed different; it was massive and was truly the physical manifestation of a floating city. The facts rang in confirmation as the group navigated their way through the many hallways and descending ladders into the metal depths of the metal colossus until that arrived at the mess hall which apparently was as roomy as a five star restaurant. Seemed rather clean like one too, especially with the chaos still ensuing outside the ship was still in a state of combat readiness.
There was a surprising variety of food displayed neatly for everyone to get a piece of though Rodriguez unfortunately had his fill much earlier in the early hours and thus grabbed a few items; a couple a bagels with a few tiny containers of cream cheese and two cups of caffeine enriched coffee. Heavens knows that he desperately needed the joe considering how long he was in the air for and what had disturbingly went down earlier. Sad really that had his patrol gone smoothly without an orbital strike to speak of; he was guaranteed several hours of sleep before resuming operational duties.
"So, hell of a first day as a squadron, right...."
“Hell of a first day indeed, ma’am.” replied Rodriguez as he took his seat and sip of his coffee at the same time while the rest of his new squadron came in, assuming their own place at the table and replying in kind to Razorblade.
For a few minutes, St. Helen, seemingly with nothing officially productive to do had begun talking to assembled squadron about she and Heartbreak how they came to know each other during their initial time with Thunderbolt Black and how they got paired into the same aircraft. She then went into detail about her time during the war along with her partner’s individual roles. Rodriguez could compare his service in the same manner as he had operated in similar missions throughout the conflict. Going with what they worked through, he was sure he would get along with this pair just fine.
"Hello, campers. Good news, our briefing isn't for an hour, so that gives us a short while to get our heads together. The briefing is in the main briefing room on deck 5. Gives us a chance to sign our flight gear over and change out of it, and we can get a brief introduction to each other, and I can let you know a little about me, too. Then I guess it'll be time for the bigwigs' address to us all. Finish up your chow, and we'll get on it."
Rodriguez watched as his CO got his own grub and placed himself at that table as well.
"Hell of a day, but at least we got breakfast. Glad you're all in one piece too. Some of those landings were mighty impressive."
“Carriers have been like a second home to me for awhile. Glad to know I can still land on one.” Rodriguez commented before how downed another sip of coffee. “Though I must admit that this boat here is a lot bigger than I anticipated; I’m personally a little bit more used to the with the flat-tops used in the war.”
Kat had stood and listened for as long as needed, nodding when appropriate. But the moment they were dismissed, she made a beeline through the bowels of the ship, bartered her way into a female crewmember's quarters, and hopping into their shower. She didn't know if she had quarters of her own, being a pilot, but at that moment she didn't care. Standing under a hot rain of fresh water, brought memories back to the feline pilot...
"This is the last time I trust you to do your job the way I want you to do it!" James yelled at her, storming towards the door of her quarters. He stopped short at the threshhold and looked back at her "This isn't your room anymore. You have one hour to get out, or I will have you shot for trespassing." he shot at her, before stomping down the hall.
Kat stared at the empty space of the door, where her captain, her confidant....her lover, had stood. Frozen in shock for minutes...she finally snapped out of her brainlock and huffed in frustration, before she began packing. The only thing she did was break the upstart's finger! This is her reward for making an example of him for James?
She threw her clothes into a military sack, leaving out a change of clothing before heading to the attached bathroom. Might as well use the facilities before she was booted off the base. "Screw 'im. Give him a kitty to play with, and he throws it out with the trash!" She growled to herself, undressing and stepping into the shower. It was a nice sensation to feel the streams of water through her light fur on her back and shoulders...
Kat stepped from the bathroom, rubbing her head and feline ears with a towel, to see the stare of the female crewmember at her lightly furred upper body. "What? I've tried shaving and waxing. It always comes back." She explained as she got her bra and vest back on, before heading out the door, towel still in hand...
She headed for the Mess, still drying her fur as she got her food and located the table where the rest of the pilots had gathered, taking a seat to listen to the conversation. Upon hearing Scott's voice again, her left ear perked up, seeing as the other was under the towel currently "Oy, wingman, right? nice flying yourself. I'd be much happier if I had you on my slipstream for every strafing run in the future. Bloody good flying." Kat smirked at Scott, taking a bite of chow.
"This is the last time I trust you to do your job the way I want you to do it!" James yelled at her, storming towards the door of her quarters. He stopped short at the threshhold and looked back at her "This isn't your room anymore. You have one hour to get out, or I will have you shot for trespassing." he shot at her, before stomping down the hall.
Kat stared at the empty space of the door, where her captain, her confidant....her lover, had stood. Frozen in shock for minutes...she finally snapped out of her brainlock and huffed in frustration, before she began packing. The only thing she did was break the upstart's finger! This is her reward for making an example of him for James?
She threw her clothes into a military sack, leaving out a change of clothing before heading to the attached bathroom. Might as well use the facilities before she was booted off the base. "Screw 'im. Give him a kitty to play with, and he throws it out with the trash!" She growled to herself, undressing and stepping into the shower. It was a nice sensation to feel the streams of water through her light fur on her back and shoulders...
Kat stepped from the bathroom, rubbing her head and feline ears with a towel, to see the stare of the female crewmember at her lightly furred upper body. "What? I've tried shaving and waxing. It always comes back." She explained as she got her bra and vest back on, before heading out the door, towel still in hand...
She headed for the Mess, still drying her fur as she got her food and located the table where the rest of the pilots had gathered, taking a seat to listen to the conversation. Upon hearing Scott's voice again, her left ear perked up, seeing as the other was under the towel currently "Oy, wingman, right? nice flying yourself. I'd be much happier if I had you on my slipstream for every strafing run in the future. Bloody good flying." Kat smirked at Scott, taking a bite of chow.
"Now that was fun!" Austin smiled to himself as he switched off his engines and popped open his canopy, the man breathing rather deeply as his plane came to a stop rather close to the Tomcat of Knight 1-OH boy was it exhilarating to fly this Eagle, especially when you're not sure if it was going to fall apart on you mid-journey! Luckily she didn't, that would've proven bad. As he started to climb out of his cockpit, Helmet slung under his arm, he couldn't help but notice Kats ears as she ran for the underbelly like Speedy Gonzales. "Weird..."
"Hey, you're gonna fall if you don't pay attention!" One of the maintenance crewman said to him, snapping him out of thought as he realized he was still on his plane "Mind getting out?". "I don't really mind, sorry!" Austin chuckled an apology, stepping out of his F-15 and climbing down the ladder. As soon as he was down the pilot began to head to the group of pilots. Sadly when he got there everyone was leaving, giving him no time to introduce himself.
I hope the girls are safe The man thought to himself,his eyes wandering around as he followed the group into the mess hall- his stomach growling as he realized he didn't get a chance to eat before he had to come in unexpectedly. Luckily they weren't serving that crap the cooks made on the ship he served on 4 years back, That was disgusting.
"You have to start the day with a good breakfast!" Austin smiled-mostly to himself- as he left the line, sitting down next to the faces he managed to get to see before they left- his plate lined with bacon, sausage, grapefruit and an omelette "I forgot to introduce myself to you guys, My name is Austin Zimmerman, Callsign Viking. Good to know I'm going to be flying with you guys, it's a real honor.....Do you know where I can find a phone aboard, I need to contact base to see if the twins are fine!".
"Hey, you're gonna fall if you don't pay attention!" One of the maintenance crewman said to him, snapping him out of thought as he realized he was still on his plane "Mind getting out?". "I don't really mind, sorry!" Austin chuckled an apology, stepping out of his F-15 and climbing down the ladder. As soon as he was down the pilot began to head to the group of pilots. Sadly when he got there everyone was leaving, giving him no time to introduce himself.
I hope the girls are safe The man thought to himself,his eyes wandering around as he followed the group into the mess hall- his stomach growling as he realized he didn't get a chance to eat before he had to come in unexpectedly. Luckily they weren't serving that crap the cooks made on the ship he served on 4 years back, That was disgusting.
"You have to start the day with a good breakfast!" Austin smiled-mostly to himself- as he left the line, sitting down next to the faces he managed to get to see before they left- his plate lined with bacon, sausage, grapefruit and an omelette "I forgot to introduce myself to you guys, My name is Austin Zimmerman, Callsign Viking. Good to know I'm going to be flying with you guys, it's a real honor.....Do you know where I can find a phone aboard, I need to contact base to see if the twins are fine!".
As they were dismissed Marciano wandered a bit. He had never really gotten used to carriers, his missions usually involving mainland Europe, but he was determined to find his way around if it killed him. Entering into the ship he made a mental note of how the door outside looked before moving starting to follow the various signs to the different parts of the ship, keeping away from the restricted areas of course. He had been wandering for a bit when he stopped, looking around he blinked. Where exactly was he? "Merda" he whispered to himself as he tried to recall his steps. Slowly he backed up trying to find a familiar hallway, an actually helpful sign, anything.
finally after a bit of trial and error, though mostly error, he almost quite literally stumbled back into friendly territory. Clearing his throat slightly he moved on, leaving that incident behind him, he instead resolved not to try and chart the ship alone and instead tend to a cup of coffee in the mess. finding his way there with no major difficulty he retrieved a slightly chipped mug and filled it with the strong smelling substance. Sliding himself into the table as quietly as he could he was just in time to catch one of the newer pilots introducing themselves
Taking a short sip Marciano nodded with a smile, "Good to meet you Austin. I think I passed on the wall a few hallways over and a deck down, though it might be for official use, but that would be my first bet." He shrugged slightly as he quickly took another drink of the strong coffee, and resolving that at least getting slightly lost had helped someone this morning. "Now where is Stalin, I do believe he offered up to buy a drink." Marciano said with a small grin as he looked around.
finally after a bit of trial and error, though mostly error, he almost quite literally stumbled back into friendly territory. Clearing his throat slightly he moved on, leaving that incident behind him, he instead resolved not to try and chart the ship alone and instead tend to a cup of coffee in the mess. finding his way there with no major difficulty he retrieved a slightly chipped mug and filled it with the strong smelling substance. Sliding himself into the table as quietly as he could he was just in time to catch one of the newer pilots introducing themselves
"You have to start the day with a good breakfast!" Austin smiled-mostly to himself- as he left the line, sitting down next to the faces he managed to get to see before they left- his plate lined with bacon, sausage, grapefruit and an omelette "I forgot to introduce myself to you guys, My name is Austin Zimmerman, Callsign Viking. Good to know I'm going to be flying with you guys, it's a real honor.....Do you know where I can find a phone aboard, I need to contact base to see if the twins are fine!".
Taking a short sip Marciano nodded with a smile, "Good to meet you Austin. I think I passed on the wall a few hallways over and a deck down, though it might be for official use, but that would be my first bet." He shrugged slightly as he quickly took another drink of the strong coffee, and resolving that at least getting slightly lost had helped someone this morning. "Now where is Stalin, I do believe he offered up to buy a drink." Marciano said with a small grin as he looked around.
GM
Rhona W Burd-Dragon
Member
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2 days ago
Scott listened in to the chatter as he finished up his own breakfast, noting the words from the various members of the group. He was reassured that they were mostly a talkative bunch; it made for better bonds between the squadrons' members if they were happy to talk to one another. And it just made life more interesting than a bunch of glum, silent types. The F-16 pilot, Rodriguez, spoke up with a calm, natural confidence which was reassuring, and Scott listened as he sipped his tea.
"You and me both. When I was in the US Navy, I flew F-14's off of Nimitz-class boats all the time. Even did a couple of landings and launches off of the French carriers too. They're much less... unique," he replied as he picked at the remains of the chocolate muffin in front of him. "The Stormcloud is pretty much one of a kind. She was supposed to be the prototype for a next-gen carrier, but the bottom fell out of the project. From what I understand, General Thomas and the other founders of TB purchased the finished ship. Scrapping it would've been more expensive than finishing it off, I suppose. I'm told she has a lot more capabilities than just launch and recovery of aircraft too. While she's a lot different, a lot of its' good - there's a lot more space and more luxurious facilities than a regular carrier for a start."
Kat walked in and made herself a space at the table, still drying her hair and the curious feline ears atop her head as she did. He smiled in return to her comments, and nodded in friendly greeting as she sat down. Those ears were still curious to him, and he found them more adorable and... individual, like dyed hair or a piercing, than weird and unattractive.
"Hey, you were damn good out there too. I've flown with A-10's before - usually, USMC Seahogs* - so I know how that bird can get get down an' dirty and cause all sorts'a hell fer anything on the ground or floatin'. Sure you air force types are just as rarin' to go down in the weeds an' all. Pairin' up with fast air like my Super-Tom is a good partnership, too. I can keep the fast-movers offa ya back, or lob in some fireworks at whatever yer warthog misses. Be glad ta fly on yer wing again. Can see it happenin' a lot more in future an' all".
Austin and Marciano piped up next, and Scott looked over as they chatted.
Scott laughed softly and grinned. "I dunno about honour yet, man. An' good to meet you as well. We'll see how it goes from here; although if this mornings' performance is anything t' go on, we got the beginnings of something good in this little group." He took a sip of his coffee and rubbed one hand through his hair. "As fer the phone-"
"He's right," Scott added with an affirmative nod. "There's one there, and I think there's a couple a ways further toward the stern, near the Ships' PX. I'm sure they'll be busy with other people doin' the same thing, but worth going to see if you can get through. Best wishes to you with it as well - I hope they're both okay, too. Lemme know if there's anything else you need, and I'll see what I can do fer you."
He nodded further at Marciano's comment about their missing pilot as well.
"Good question. Maybe he had to take a detour, or got held up with the other returning pilots and personnel comin' aboard. Either way, I'm sure someone will point him in our direction. Anyhow, I think it's time we got moving. Don't wanna keep the boss waiting..."
Scott stood from the table and beckoned them all to follow, directing Austin to the phone on the way. He pointed out bathrooms and the flight gear shop, where their life-support equipment would be being checked over currently, and where they'd sign it out prior to their next mission.
Another set of steps down, and a few more hull frames aft, and they arrived at the briefing room. Scott directed them all in, and took a seat at the front himself. They had a few minutes wait before General Thomas arrived; time enough for Austin to join them.
A few moments after, the head of Thunderbolt Black entered the room.
Dylan Thomas was not a pretentious man, or a showy one. He was relatively tall for a fighter pilot (even a former one), at around six feet tall, and had a compact, yet strong build. For a man just the other side of sixty, he had none of the infirmity one would expect of his years and moved with confidence and assurance and had a keen awareness in his single eye.
While he wore a working uniform instead of a flight suit, it was not bedecked with ribbons, medals and insignia. Only two enamelled rank badges at his collar showed his leadership, along with the 'GEN' abbreviation in front of his surname.
Scott called them to attention, getting everyone on their feet with their heels together, before Thomas took his position at the head of the room.
"At ease," the General said in a quiet, yet authoritative tone. "First of all, let me begin by saying thank you for your work out there this morning. I know it was a difficult situation for everyone, especially jumping into action from a standing start. And with your squadron, especially, not even being fully mobilized and stood up yet. Fortunately, since most of you were quick off the mark and in the air quickly, you avoided many of the casualties and damages others too." He cast a glance from his single, piercing blue eye around at them, a slight, confiding and reassuring smile on his lips. "I hope that any of you with dependents on the Island have confirmed that they're all right and safe too. We're still working through everything - as you can imagine. If you haven't heard anything, pass a request to me personally through Colonel Valentine and I'll do my best to get an answer for you."
He picked up a tablet PC and tapped the screen. The lights in the room darkened, and he raised his voice a little, making sure it carried to the room as a whole as he began his briefing proper.
"Regarding the events of this mornings' attack on Thunder Island, we now have a clear picture of what we can assume has transpired, especially with information that has come to light".
Animated slides and footage began to display on the projector screen behind him as he continued to talk, showing images of a KKV satellite, and associated systems.
"The weapon used to attack the island was a Kinetic Kill Vehicle; a ballistic non-explosive orbital weapon, like those used in the closing stages of World War Three. You're all familiar with the basic technology I'm sure, so I won't waste time by explaining. We can confirm that the device used was not of US origin, nor belonged to any allied powers with access to the technology. KKV satellites are safeguarded like nuclear weapons - multiple pass-keys are required to authorise a launch, as they're generally considered as strategic rather than tactical weapon systems, and the potential for damage - imagine if it had been a target like a large city - is staggering".
Thankfully, no images played for that part of the explanation.
The picture changed to show a suitcase-sized electronic device. It seemed to be a large collection of non-descript, hard-cased computer components and systems, with a small keypad attached, and a basic-looking display, both of which seemed almost afterthoughts, along with a large transmission dish attached by a cable. Scott and St. Helen exchanged a glance, the pilot raising an eyebrow. The redhead shrugged briefly, sitting up and leaning forward on her elbows in curious interest.
"This is the device in part responsible for the attack. It's a ground-control station for a KKV launch system. Such devices are normally kept under full control and security of high-ranking government officials. As there are only four nations on earth with KKV satellites, and one of those is no longer a nation, that narrows things down. We believe that this is a former USSR or Chinese KKV launch control device. It was being turned over to UN juridstiction via transport through Thunder Island as part of a clandestine contract. Somehow, the information was leaked, and someone took control of the device, and was able to override its' security lockouts. We have confirmation of who now possesses and controls it".
A window opened on the screen, showing a grainy YouTube-style video. A figure sat in a shady room, light slanting through a blind out of slot and casting bars of light and shadow across the screen, and the masked speaker, who wore green UK DPM combat trousers, and a plain, if sweat-marked, white work-shirt. His exposed hands were coffee-brown, but his voice was erudite and english accented.
"The last Great War and its' excesses of violence, destruction, and carnage were the result of the so-called Great Powers of the west, the nations of the Northern Hemisphere and their self-righteous control of the worlds' economies, politics and culture. For too long, they have shaped and directed events. Now, after exhausting themselves, they turn greedy eyes to the nations below the equator, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. With one hand open they offer friendship, while the other clutches the knife to threaten us. No more - we now have access to the same weapons, the same power. We are the Army of the New World Order, the Southern Hemisphere Alliance, and we demand to be recognized-"
General Thomas cut the video, shaking his head.
"They go on to demand that control of the stock markets be turned over to them, and a laundry list of other demands. Needless to say, normally they wouldn't be listened to, but this Army of the New World Order has recently become a big problem in Africa, as well as other areas of the world. Someone has been supplying them with weapons, training, and money to finance all of it, including hiring mercenaries. They recently launched a large and well-orchestrated attack on South Africa, along with others in Kenya, Peru and Argentina. There have also been reports of Australian and New Zeland Naval vessels being attacked by small craft, or buzzed by unidentified tactical aircraft. Whoever's behind this - and I have my suspicions who - is obviously setting out to make these people a credible threat.
"Which is where your mission comes in. We know who has the device, this ANWO. We also have some positive news: The device was due to be turned over to Professor Silas Ellar, something of an... eccentric genius who works under contract for the US Military and their allies. He had developed an orbital jamming device that will be capable of blocking the specific transmissions made by the remote launch stations used by the former Soviet satellites; the intent being to avoid specifically this kind of situation, or worse ones with other potential facilities and systems. His satellite is almost ready to launch, and is currently under final assembly at his facility in French Guiana. The region is heavily destabilized, as I'm sure you're aware - the French Government have experienced difficulty in restoring order due to heavy guerrilla activities in the area, and I've no doubt that whoever's been supplying the ANWO will be providing assistance to these hostile groups as well".
He took another glance around, before continuing.
"Your mission will be to secure the Professors' compound in concert with and in support of, local friendly forces prior to, during, and immediately after the launch. We have efforts underway to gather intel on enemy forces in the area, and their bases. Your estimated primary task will be to perform interdiction and strike on enemy positions outside of the immediate battle area. Disposition of their forces is expected to include armour and heavy weapons captured from other regional forces, as well as light aircraft, helicopters and some tactica aircraft - although, if our suspicions prove to be correct, they may have more advanced aircraft and even some light naval forces on par with what was observed this morning.
"A pair of C-130's are en route as we speak to offload support equipment for your aircraft. One of them will keep supplies flowing back and forth as much as possible too. A KC-10 tanker will meet you en route for air refuelling over the Carribbean, and I'm going to ensure an E-2 Hawkeye callsign 'Watchman' will be based in the area for AEW&C as well. I may have more pilots to join you once you're underway - currently, things are a little up in the air regarding our manpower, thanks to the earlier attacks. We don't have much time to waste; I'm aware there may be a leak in our organization, so this information might already be in the enemies' hands. As such, we can't delay. Your aircraft are being prepped currently, with any repairs well underway. You'll be flying with full fuel loads and minimal weapons - self-defence only, I'm afraid - but be prepared for a possible quick-turn once you reach the base at the other end. Colonel Valentine, I'll leave the rest to you. Good luck, and godspeed".
The General departed, leaving Scott with the rest of the information. He gave a quick scan over the information on the tablet PC and nodded.
"All right, it's as the General said, boys and girls. We're headed South of the equator, to the sunny northern coast of South America. We'll fly as a group and tank en route. Our aircraft are currently being turned and fuelled. Austin, your F-15 needs the most work - fortunately, the damage appears to only be superficial, and they can change our the damaged components in a few hours. Everything else, I'm reliably informed, is looking square. Intel is spotty, but local assets will be able to give us more info. Currently, there's a few known positions for the enemy; we'll work on sorties hitting them once we reach the other end and have an idea of the security situation on the base. Everyone, sign out your personal firearms, hopefully we won't need 'em, but best to have 'em just in case. Personal effects are being flown up on one of the C-130's, so they'll be with us. Anything else you need, sign it outta the stores aboard ship."
He paused and looked across the faces around him.
"We ain't had a lotta time to get to know each other yet, an' I'm sorry about that. But y'all have impressed me mighty well so far. Here's how it goes - I give you the benefit of the doubt from hereon. You showed me you can handle yourselves, that you're fighter pilots; heart-breakers and life-takers, through and through. An' that's what I wanna see. Professional, bad-ass aerial assassins whether yer turning bogeys inta scrap, or diggin' holes in the world with bombs, screamin' outta the skies. You follow my commands when I give 'em, you walk the line, an' I give y'all the respect you deserve, I treat you easy an' nice, an' we're all friends and happy-like. I don't wanna hard life - sure you don't either."
He paused, letting his drawl hang in the air, and a smile creep across faces, before his own face hardened and his laid-back tone disappeared and replaced with a menacing, clipped and stern voice.
"But, if you dick around, if you back-chat when there's lives at stake; if you question my orders or my authority and you make any aspect of working as a functional, effective fighting force unworkable or hard, I will make your life miserable, and you will fear my wrath. Everyone in this group depends on everyone else - there aren't enough of us to do otherwise. You don't have to like each other, you especially don't have to like me. But you have to respect each other, and the chain of command. Earn that, and show it in everything you do."
His manner crept back in, and a smile began to creep onto the corner of his mouth. "You wanna be the best? Then show it in how much of a professional, bad-ass, kick-ass mother of a Black Knight you are. Not by snarkin' off and bein' the rebel without a clue. I said my bit - anythin' else you need to ask me, then go right ahead. I'll be gettin' last minute briefings and checks in the hangar from maintenance up until the moment we fly, or checkin' in with where the tanker and transports are, an' with the long-range weather in the ops room. Page me, and I'll let y'all know where I am. In the meantime, get yer shit together and get ready. I'll see y'all on the deck at eleven hundred hours actual. Dismissed"
Scott let out a sigh as he waved the others off, nodding to each of them and smiling at Kat as they all left. St Helen raised an eyebrow once the pair of them were alone and put her hands on her hips.
"Laying it on a bit thick?"
"Oh shut up and go get me the weather info. We've got a lot of work to do".
"I saw you smile at that A-10 pilot..."
Scott glared at her and shoved her toward the door as he headed the same way. "She's a good pilot! Shut up and get on with yer job!"
The next couple of hours involved Scott running back and forth to gather as much information as possible in as short a time as possible. He somehow found time to shove his head under a shower for ten minutes, and was still wiggling a towel-wrapped finger in his ear when he arrived at the life-support shop to sign out his gear and strap himself into his G-Suit and survival harness before takeoff.
The flight to French Guiana would mostly be overwater from the carriers' position, though there were numerous stages where they'd be in sight of land, and friendly territory in many cases. It was a 2,000 mile flight, overwater the whole way. While stretches would be in sight of land, and they'd be over busy shipping lanes, it was still something not to be relished. Ditching at sea was nothing to take lightly. He was glad to hear the KC-10 was due to meet them, and that all of the others would have underwing drop-tanks for added fuel reserves. Landfall and landing at the base in French Guiana should be easily accomplished by early evening after the five-hour flight. Hopefully by then, there'd also be more information on the situation at the other end.
The only other sobering piece of information was that Misaki had been reassigned - apparently, for all his pep talk, she'd requested a reassignment for reasons unknown, and had been taken off the roster. Fortunately, he was due a replacement, a chinese pilot. He shrugged; easy come, easy go. He'd had a feeling that, judging by the notes on her personality in her record, Misaki would've been more trouble than it was worth anyway. The new pilot seemed good from records, albeit new to Thunderbolt Black as a whole.
Strapping on the last of his gear, Scott picked up his helmet, meeting St. Helen outside in the corridor, and both of them bustled back up to the noise of the ever-busy flight deck. They stepped into the hangar, and watched as the last of the squadrons' aircraft were maneuvered onto one of the large elevators, stepping onto the huge square surface with the planes. With a blare of a siren, the platform rumbled into motion and lifted them up to the deck. Clearing out the way quickly, the pair crossed to their waiting Super Tomcat, doing a brief walkaround, before climbing up into the cockpit. Deck Crews in their many-coloured vests hustled about their business, pulling the aircraft into position. Before long, it was their own turn, and the Tomcat was disconnected from external hoses and supplies. Scott motored the canopy down as the jets' power came online. The engines built up with a vacuum-cleaner whine as the jet was tugged into place and connected to the catapult with a solid thump. St Helen and Scott rapidly exchanged their normal checklist commands in clipped tones, before Scott communicated with the tower. The deck crew gave their hand signals, which were repeated by both Scott and St Helen, and the big blast-deflector rose into place behind the engines.
"Let's go!" St. Helen called over the intercom.
"Time to go drill another hole in the sky," Scott replied. A final check with the tower, and the fair-haired pilot rammed the ASF-14's engines up to take-off power. The jet knelt under the awesome power of the engines at max thrust, and the roar shook the plane - and then, in a heart-stopping - as always - moment, the catapult released and slammed them back into their seats. The ride was, as always, exhilarating as the ASF-14 blasted off of the ships' prow and into air, before Scott pulled lightly back on the stick. They shot up almost like a rocket, rising smoothly and the undercarriage folding away in seconds. Clean, and flying high, he pulled the big jet into a gentle arc around the carrier, holding for the others to join him.
"This is Heartbreak, Knight One. All clear and all in the green, holding for squadron at angels 10. Let's get this show on the road, people."
“Carriers have been like a second home to me for awhile. Glad to know I can still land on one.” Rodriguez commented before how downed another sip of coffee. “Though I must admit that this boat here is a lot bigger than I anticipated; I’m personally a little bit more used to the with the flat-tops used in the war.”
"You and me both. When I was in the US Navy, I flew F-14's off of Nimitz-class boats all the time. Even did a couple of landings and launches off of the French carriers too. They're much less... unique," he replied as he picked at the remains of the chocolate muffin in front of him. "The Stormcloud is pretty much one of a kind. She was supposed to be the prototype for a next-gen carrier, but the bottom fell out of the project. From what I understand, General Thomas and the other founders of TB purchased the finished ship. Scrapping it would've been more expensive than finishing it off, I suppose. I'm told she has a lot more capabilities than just launch and recovery of aircraft too. While she's a lot different, a lot of its' good - there's a lot more space and more luxurious facilities than a regular carrier for a start."
Kat walked in and made herself a space at the table, still drying her hair and the curious feline ears atop her head as she did. He smiled in return to her comments, and nodded in friendly greeting as she sat down. Those ears were still curious to him, and he found them more adorable and... individual, like dyed hair or a piercing, than weird and unattractive.
"Oy, wingman, right? nice flying yourself. I'd be much happier if I had you on my slipstream for every strafing run in the future. Bloody good flying."
"Hey, you were damn good out there too. I've flown with A-10's before - usually, USMC Seahogs* - so I know how that bird can get get down an' dirty and cause all sorts'a hell fer anything on the ground or floatin'. Sure you air force types are just as rarin' to go down in the weeds an' all. Pairin' up with fast air like my Super-Tom is a good partnership, too. I can keep the fast-movers offa ya back, or lob in some fireworks at whatever yer warthog misses. Be glad ta fly on yer wing again. Can see it happenin' a lot more in future an' all".
Austin and Marciano piped up next, and Scott looked over as they chatted.
"I forgot to introduce myself to you guys, My name is Austin Zimmerman, Callsign Viking. Good to know I'm going to be flying with you guys, it's a real honor.....Do you know where I can find a phone aboard, I need to contact base to see if the twins are fine!".
Scott laughed softly and grinned. "I dunno about honour yet, man. An' good to meet you as well. We'll see how it goes from here; although if this mornings' performance is anything t' go on, we got the beginnings of something good in this little group." He took a sip of his coffee and rubbed one hand through his hair. "As fer the phone-"
"Good to meet you Austin. I think I passed one on the wall a few hallways over and a deck down, though it might be for official use, but that would be my first bet." He shrugged slightly as he quickly took another drink of the strong coffee, and resolving that at least getting slightly lost had helped someone this morning. "Now where is Stalin, I do believe he offered up to buy a drink." Marciano said with a small grin as he looked around.
"He's right," Scott added with an affirmative nod. "There's one there, and I think there's a couple a ways further toward the stern, near the Ships' PX. I'm sure they'll be busy with other people doin' the same thing, but worth going to see if you can get through. Best wishes to you with it as well - I hope they're both okay, too. Lemme know if there's anything else you need, and I'll see what I can do fer you."
He nodded further at Marciano's comment about their missing pilot as well.
"Good question. Maybe he had to take a detour, or got held up with the other returning pilots and personnel comin' aboard. Either way, I'm sure someone will point him in our direction. Anyhow, I think it's time we got moving. Don't wanna keep the boss waiting..."
Scott stood from the table and beckoned them all to follow, directing Austin to the phone on the way. He pointed out bathrooms and the flight gear shop, where their life-support equipment would be being checked over currently, and where they'd sign it out prior to their next mission.
Another set of steps down, and a few more hull frames aft, and they arrived at the briefing room. Scott directed them all in, and took a seat at the front himself. They had a few minutes wait before General Thomas arrived; time enough for Austin to join them.
A few moments after, the head of Thunderbolt Black entered the room.
Dylan Thomas was not a pretentious man, or a showy one. He was relatively tall for a fighter pilot (even a former one), at around six feet tall, and had a compact, yet strong build. For a man just the other side of sixty, he had none of the infirmity one would expect of his years and moved with confidence and assurance and had a keen awareness in his single eye.
While he wore a working uniform instead of a flight suit, it was not bedecked with ribbons, medals and insignia. Only two enamelled rank badges at his collar showed his leadership, along with the 'GEN' abbreviation in front of his surname.
Scott called them to attention, getting everyone on their feet with their heels together, before Thomas took his position at the head of the room.
"At ease," the General said in a quiet, yet authoritative tone. "First of all, let me begin by saying thank you for your work out there this morning. I know it was a difficult situation for everyone, especially jumping into action from a standing start. And with your squadron, especially, not even being fully mobilized and stood up yet. Fortunately, since most of you were quick off the mark and in the air quickly, you avoided many of the casualties and damages others too." He cast a glance from his single, piercing blue eye around at them, a slight, confiding and reassuring smile on his lips. "I hope that any of you with dependents on the Island have confirmed that they're all right and safe too. We're still working through everything - as you can imagine. If you haven't heard anything, pass a request to me personally through Colonel Valentine and I'll do my best to get an answer for you."
He picked up a tablet PC and tapped the screen. The lights in the room darkened, and he raised his voice a little, making sure it carried to the room as a whole as he began his briefing proper.
"Regarding the events of this mornings' attack on Thunder Island, we now have a clear picture of what we can assume has transpired, especially with information that has come to light".
Animated slides and footage began to display on the projector screen behind him as he continued to talk, showing images of a KKV satellite, and associated systems.
"The weapon used to attack the island was a Kinetic Kill Vehicle; a ballistic non-explosive orbital weapon, like those used in the closing stages of World War Three. You're all familiar with the basic technology I'm sure, so I won't waste time by explaining. We can confirm that the device used was not of US origin, nor belonged to any allied powers with access to the technology. KKV satellites are safeguarded like nuclear weapons - multiple pass-keys are required to authorise a launch, as they're generally considered as strategic rather than tactical weapon systems, and the potential for damage - imagine if it had been a target like a large city - is staggering".
Thankfully, no images played for that part of the explanation.
The picture changed to show a suitcase-sized electronic device. It seemed to be a large collection of non-descript, hard-cased computer components and systems, with a small keypad attached, and a basic-looking display, both of which seemed almost afterthoughts, along with a large transmission dish attached by a cable. Scott and St. Helen exchanged a glance, the pilot raising an eyebrow. The redhead shrugged briefly, sitting up and leaning forward on her elbows in curious interest.
"This is the device in part responsible for the attack. It's a ground-control station for a KKV launch system. Such devices are normally kept under full control and security of high-ranking government officials. As there are only four nations on earth with KKV satellites, and one of those is no longer a nation, that narrows things down. We believe that this is a former USSR or Chinese KKV launch control device. It was being turned over to UN juridstiction via transport through Thunder Island as part of a clandestine contract. Somehow, the information was leaked, and someone took control of the device, and was able to override its' security lockouts. We have confirmation of who now possesses and controls it".
A window opened on the screen, showing a grainy YouTube-style video. A figure sat in a shady room, light slanting through a blind out of slot and casting bars of light and shadow across the screen, and the masked speaker, who wore green UK DPM combat trousers, and a plain, if sweat-marked, white work-shirt. His exposed hands were coffee-brown, but his voice was erudite and english accented.
"The last Great War and its' excesses of violence, destruction, and carnage were the result of the so-called Great Powers of the west, the nations of the Northern Hemisphere and their self-righteous control of the worlds' economies, politics and culture. For too long, they have shaped and directed events. Now, after exhausting themselves, they turn greedy eyes to the nations below the equator, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. With one hand open they offer friendship, while the other clutches the knife to threaten us. No more - we now have access to the same weapons, the same power. We are the Army of the New World Order, the Southern Hemisphere Alliance, and we demand to be recognized-"
General Thomas cut the video, shaking his head.
"They go on to demand that control of the stock markets be turned over to them, and a laundry list of other demands. Needless to say, normally they wouldn't be listened to, but this Army of the New World Order has recently become a big problem in Africa, as well as other areas of the world. Someone has been supplying them with weapons, training, and money to finance all of it, including hiring mercenaries. They recently launched a large and well-orchestrated attack on South Africa, along with others in Kenya, Peru and Argentina. There have also been reports of Australian and New Zeland Naval vessels being attacked by small craft, or buzzed by unidentified tactical aircraft. Whoever's behind this - and I have my suspicions who - is obviously setting out to make these people a credible threat.
"Which is where your mission comes in. We know who has the device, this ANWO. We also have some positive news: The device was due to be turned over to Professor Silas Ellar, something of an... eccentric genius who works under contract for the US Military and their allies. He had developed an orbital jamming device that will be capable of blocking the specific transmissions made by the remote launch stations used by the former Soviet satellites; the intent being to avoid specifically this kind of situation, or worse ones with other potential facilities and systems. His satellite is almost ready to launch, and is currently under final assembly at his facility in French Guiana. The region is heavily destabilized, as I'm sure you're aware - the French Government have experienced difficulty in restoring order due to heavy guerrilla activities in the area, and I've no doubt that whoever's been supplying the ANWO will be providing assistance to these hostile groups as well".
He took another glance around, before continuing.
"Your mission will be to secure the Professors' compound in concert with and in support of, local friendly forces prior to, during, and immediately after the launch. We have efforts underway to gather intel on enemy forces in the area, and their bases. Your estimated primary task will be to perform interdiction and strike on enemy positions outside of the immediate battle area. Disposition of their forces is expected to include armour and heavy weapons captured from other regional forces, as well as light aircraft, helicopters and some tactica aircraft - although, if our suspicions prove to be correct, they may have more advanced aircraft and even some light naval forces on par with what was observed this morning.
"A pair of C-130's are en route as we speak to offload support equipment for your aircraft. One of them will keep supplies flowing back and forth as much as possible too. A KC-10 tanker will meet you en route for air refuelling over the Carribbean, and I'm going to ensure an E-2 Hawkeye callsign 'Watchman' will be based in the area for AEW&C as well. I may have more pilots to join you once you're underway - currently, things are a little up in the air regarding our manpower, thanks to the earlier attacks. We don't have much time to waste; I'm aware there may be a leak in our organization, so this information might already be in the enemies' hands. As such, we can't delay. Your aircraft are being prepped currently, with any repairs well underway. You'll be flying with full fuel loads and minimal weapons - self-defence only, I'm afraid - but be prepared for a possible quick-turn once you reach the base at the other end. Colonel Valentine, I'll leave the rest to you. Good luck, and godspeed".
The General departed, leaving Scott with the rest of the information. He gave a quick scan over the information on the tablet PC and nodded.
"All right, it's as the General said, boys and girls. We're headed South of the equator, to the sunny northern coast of South America. We'll fly as a group and tank en route. Our aircraft are currently being turned and fuelled. Austin, your F-15 needs the most work - fortunately, the damage appears to only be superficial, and they can change our the damaged components in a few hours. Everything else, I'm reliably informed, is looking square. Intel is spotty, but local assets will be able to give us more info. Currently, there's a few known positions for the enemy; we'll work on sorties hitting them once we reach the other end and have an idea of the security situation on the base. Everyone, sign out your personal firearms, hopefully we won't need 'em, but best to have 'em just in case. Personal effects are being flown up on one of the C-130's, so they'll be with us. Anything else you need, sign it outta the stores aboard ship."
He paused and looked across the faces around him.
"We ain't had a lotta time to get to know each other yet, an' I'm sorry about that. But y'all have impressed me mighty well so far. Here's how it goes - I give you the benefit of the doubt from hereon. You showed me you can handle yourselves, that you're fighter pilots; heart-breakers and life-takers, through and through. An' that's what I wanna see. Professional, bad-ass aerial assassins whether yer turning bogeys inta scrap, or diggin' holes in the world with bombs, screamin' outta the skies. You follow my commands when I give 'em, you walk the line, an' I give y'all the respect you deserve, I treat you easy an' nice, an' we're all friends and happy-like. I don't wanna hard life - sure you don't either."
He paused, letting his drawl hang in the air, and a smile creep across faces, before his own face hardened and his laid-back tone disappeared and replaced with a menacing, clipped and stern voice.
"But, if you dick around, if you back-chat when there's lives at stake; if you question my orders or my authority and you make any aspect of working as a functional, effective fighting force unworkable or hard, I will make your life miserable, and you will fear my wrath. Everyone in this group depends on everyone else - there aren't enough of us to do otherwise. You don't have to like each other, you especially don't have to like me. But you have to respect each other, and the chain of command. Earn that, and show it in everything you do."
His manner crept back in, and a smile began to creep onto the corner of his mouth. "You wanna be the best? Then show it in how much of a professional, bad-ass, kick-ass mother of a Black Knight you are. Not by snarkin' off and bein' the rebel without a clue. I said my bit - anythin' else you need to ask me, then go right ahead. I'll be gettin' last minute briefings and checks in the hangar from maintenance up until the moment we fly, or checkin' in with where the tanker and transports are, an' with the long-range weather in the ops room. Page me, and I'll let y'all know where I am. In the meantime, get yer shit together and get ready. I'll see y'all on the deck at eleven hundred hours actual. Dismissed"
Scott let out a sigh as he waved the others off, nodding to each of them and smiling at Kat as they all left. St Helen raised an eyebrow once the pair of them were alone and put her hands on her hips.
"Laying it on a bit thick?"
"Oh shut up and go get me the weather info. We've got a lot of work to do".
"I saw you smile at that A-10 pilot..."
Scott glared at her and shoved her toward the door as he headed the same way. "She's a good pilot! Shut up and get on with yer job!"
The next couple of hours involved Scott running back and forth to gather as much information as possible in as short a time as possible. He somehow found time to shove his head under a shower for ten minutes, and was still wiggling a towel-wrapped finger in his ear when he arrived at the life-support shop to sign out his gear and strap himself into his G-Suit and survival harness before takeoff.
The flight to French Guiana would mostly be overwater from the carriers' position, though there were numerous stages where they'd be in sight of land, and friendly territory in many cases. It was a 2,000 mile flight, overwater the whole way. While stretches would be in sight of land, and they'd be over busy shipping lanes, it was still something not to be relished. Ditching at sea was nothing to take lightly. He was glad to hear the KC-10 was due to meet them, and that all of the others would have underwing drop-tanks for added fuel reserves. Landfall and landing at the base in French Guiana should be easily accomplished by early evening after the five-hour flight. Hopefully by then, there'd also be more information on the situation at the other end.
The only other sobering piece of information was that Misaki had been reassigned - apparently, for all his pep talk, she'd requested a reassignment for reasons unknown, and had been taken off the roster. Fortunately, he was due a replacement, a chinese pilot. He shrugged; easy come, easy go. He'd had a feeling that, judging by the notes on her personality in her record, Misaki would've been more trouble than it was worth anyway. The new pilot seemed good from records, albeit new to Thunderbolt Black as a whole.
Strapping on the last of his gear, Scott picked up his helmet, meeting St. Helen outside in the corridor, and both of them bustled back up to the noise of the ever-busy flight deck. They stepped into the hangar, and watched as the last of the squadrons' aircraft were maneuvered onto one of the large elevators, stepping onto the huge square surface with the planes. With a blare of a siren, the platform rumbled into motion and lifted them up to the deck. Clearing out the way quickly, the pair crossed to their waiting Super Tomcat, doing a brief walkaround, before climbing up into the cockpit. Deck Crews in their many-coloured vests hustled about their business, pulling the aircraft into position. Before long, it was their own turn, and the Tomcat was disconnected from external hoses and supplies. Scott motored the canopy down as the jets' power came online. The engines built up with a vacuum-cleaner whine as the jet was tugged into place and connected to the catapult with a solid thump. St Helen and Scott rapidly exchanged their normal checklist commands in clipped tones, before Scott communicated with the tower. The deck crew gave their hand signals, which were repeated by both Scott and St Helen, and the big blast-deflector rose into place behind the engines.
"Let's go!" St. Helen called over the intercom.
"Time to go drill another hole in the sky," Scott replied. A final check with the tower, and the fair-haired pilot rammed the ASF-14's engines up to take-off power. The jet knelt under the awesome power of the engines at max thrust, and the roar shook the plane - and then, in a heart-stopping - as always - moment, the catapult released and slammed them back into their seats. The ride was, as always, exhilarating as the ASF-14 blasted off of the ships' prow and into air, before Scott pulled lightly back on the stick. They shot up almost like a rocket, rising smoothly and the undercarriage folding away in seconds. Clean, and flying high, he pulled the big jet into a gentle arc around the carrier, holding for the others to join him.
"This is Heartbreak, Knight One. All clear and all in the green, holding for squadron at angels 10. Let's get this show on the road, people."
MachineSoul Ghost in the limelight.
Member
Seen
6 mos ago
"Peezdets!" He exclaimed the frustrated and anxious man running around the cramp corridors of the damned carrier that seemed to be more of a maze.
Every door, every room, every stair and everyone looked exactly the same, giving him the eerie feeling of running in circles in an endless limbo. He became to worried to actually stop and ask anyone for a bit of direction, not to mention he would utterly detest the moment one of the jackasses would make fun of his accent. He couldn't exactly remember how he trailed off from the rest of the group since he was following it loosely from behind. He pondered that they must have taken a sharp turn, but even then, he still would have noticed them going left or right. Panic started to take over his wits, thinking of the really bad first impression he would make for being absent for lunch, he could already hear them joking about how the Rusky and his Russian drawer of a plane lag behind due to "flawless" Russian engineering; the only thing that would really piss him off about the joke would be people calling him Russian. Pride suddenly shrunk to a pea in his chest and decided he should really ask for a hint that would lead him towards the mess hall, so he took a deep breath before he asked the first crewman he met in the next corridor which he had to carefully access in order not to bump his forehead in one of the pipes hanging above.
"Yo. Where the fucking mess hall at?" The whole sentence sounded off and amusing as it was spoken in a completely alien accent, the crewman at first thought that Dmitry was just some grunt impersonating someone. After the short moment of confusion passed away, the crewman grinned to the pilot and chortled, throwing his hands in his pockets.
"Well, okay, you're hungry and you're in the wrong part of the ship, man. You're one of the pilots from the island, right? C'mon, boss might be looking for you."
Dmitry was really surprised that the man didn't try to poke at him further about his accent, but instead, showed him that way towards his destination; it did worry him even more that someone was searching for him, most likely it was Scott. On the to wherever they had to reach, the man did try to start a conversation to make time pass, but the pilot did not feel like talking, which for some reason, helped keeping the crewman amused of this interesting figure. Dmitry couldn't tell if the man took him seriously and realized that he was a newcomer on the carrier or if he genuinely believed he was another member playing lost and stupid. The way to the meeting didn't seem much different to the other halls and rooms he passed through in his desperate quest to socialize and kill his hunger after a rough day in the air. After minutes of walking, Dmitry could see that these parts of the ship were much more active and populated with all sorts of people and soon enough, they reached the promised land.
"Thanksyou." He said in a monotonous voice, which seemed to pull out another chortle from the crewman moments before his face dropped, his back straightened and turned his body into a rigid plank, his right arm angled to salute someone behind Dmitry.
Kurva blyat was all that he managed to think before he pivoted 180o and mimicked the crewman's gesture, only to meet with a high-ranking officer that was not Scott. Dmitry's eyes wandered around the man's uniform to try to determine his rank and once he found out it was a general he was saluting, the pilot made sure he was standing extra-straight, to the point that he could feel his hair brush against the ceiling of the hall. He couldn't tell if the man even noticed the two as he just barely let his eyes take a short glance at their faces, but Dmitry noticed the plainness of his face, a certain plainness that almost seemed dangerous; the only feature that made him stand out was his missing eye he had no shame to show. Out of curiosity, he peeked inside the room, where indeed, was the entire squad, quickly recognizing their faces from before. Moments before the general would start the briefing, Dmitry quickly made his way inside and crammed himself somewhere in the back of the room where he still had space. He knew the general noticed the dumb clown this pilot was, but for some reason, he decided against scolding him for his insolence. The pilot sat tight and listened carefully, trying to absorb every bit of info in so he could form a large picture of the situation. The briefing was short and concise, he had a clear objective in his mind and he was ready to go into action again as soon as they were needed... though he didn't expect to be up again in two hours. He wasn't sure what to do in order to kill off the extra time, other than lunch.
The general headed off to tend to other most likely important matters, while Colonel Valentine did a quick recap of the mission. With that occasion, he wanted to make sure he would make his intentions clear to everyone in the room by pointing out what he expected of the team. Everyone then buggered off with their own business, the pilot barely making any real contact with anyone, but to him, it wasn't really a problem; he could do well without social contact for a long while, the only thing that worried him was that his lateness would make people doubt his usefulness and capabilities as a pilot. From the mass of pilots making their way out of the room, he picked the one he was most familiar to, Marciano, whose attention he caught with a friendly pat on the right shoulder. He knew the man was callsign Charnel, recognizing his voice from the comms.
"Charnel, I believe I owe a drink, da? I can't get you drunk now with the mission in two hours, but when we're done with that too, I make sure we drink until we won't need planes to fly, oke?"
He left the man with the thought of getting slammed after the mission and as Stalin went off to find the mess hall to get some food down, he saw a very peculiar figure for some reason he missed during the initial meeting on the flight deck; if his vision served him right, he could swear he saw a woman with cat-like ears retreating somewhere. He wanted to blame his imagination or blame it on some weird opportunistic optical illusion, but his memory could only accept the fact that one of the pilots had cat ears. Could it be Kat? That would be very appropriate, thought Dmitry. He did find the mess hall (not without help, of course) where he forced down some plastic-looking sandwiches and found some papers to read through and check some of the latest news in the world... from three years ago. Realizing he was reading whack, Dmitry felt compelled to rip one of the pages off and fold it into a paper plane in a design very specific to him: slim in the wings with a very sharp profile, the plane would build speed as it would descend from its short flight, but steady flight. He didn't have the courage to launch it while he was in the mess hall, but he kept the plane with him so he could play with it a little while later.
He honestly had no clue how he managed to waste two hours and do nothing other than wander around the ship without stopping to recollect and piece together today's events, but at least he started to work out a pattern of how the ship's lower decks interconnected. He found his Su prepped for take off, the only thing it missed was himself, so he made haste; just as he reached his jet, he saw the blast deflector rise to redirect the energy output from the Tomcat's twin engines. As Knight One shot for the skies, Dmitry spat out on the flight deck and drew another imaginary cross over his forehead, belly and his two shoulders; he hopped into his seat and strapped himself tightly and tested his fit by stretching his back and legs while his jet was carried over for takeoff. He lowered the canopy over his head and sealed it shut, then flicked his wrist and fingers around the endless buttons and switches in front of him in a reflex motion; with that, the monitors and displays came to life almost in tandem with the high-pitched whirl of the twin turbojet engines behind him.
"Stormcloud Tower, Stalin, ready on flight deck."
Once he was given the go, he lowered the flaps and increased thrust, approaching the lip of the carrier at a growing speed and once he was sure he would be clear off the flight deck, he slowly pulled the stick back to tilt his nose up slightly and successfully take off after a relatively short run. He built up a bit of speed before he would veer around and fall in formation with Knight One to avoid stalling the damned jet, but he managed to reach Heartbreak from behind and match his speed. He took a quick glance over his shoulder over to the carrier, a slim smile appeared as he now had a chance to take a proper look at the beauty of the carrier.
"Knight One, Stalin reporting in, ready to make some trouble."
Every door, every room, every stair and everyone looked exactly the same, giving him the eerie feeling of running in circles in an endless limbo. He became to worried to actually stop and ask anyone for a bit of direction, not to mention he would utterly detest the moment one of the jackasses would make fun of his accent. He couldn't exactly remember how he trailed off from the rest of the group since he was following it loosely from behind. He pondered that they must have taken a sharp turn, but even then, he still would have noticed them going left or right. Panic started to take over his wits, thinking of the really bad first impression he would make for being absent for lunch, he could already hear them joking about how the Rusky and his Russian drawer of a plane lag behind due to "flawless" Russian engineering; the only thing that would really piss him off about the joke would be people calling him Russian. Pride suddenly shrunk to a pea in his chest and decided he should really ask for a hint that would lead him towards the mess hall, so he took a deep breath before he asked the first crewman he met in the next corridor which he had to carefully access in order not to bump his forehead in one of the pipes hanging above.
"Yo. Where the fucking mess hall at?" The whole sentence sounded off and amusing as it was spoken in a completely alien accent, the crewman at first thought that Dmitry was just some grunt impersonating someone. After the short moment of confusion passed away, the crewman grinned to the pilot and chortled, throwing his hands in his pockets.
"Well, okay, you're hungry and you're in the wrong part of the ship, man. You're one of the pilots from the island, right? C'mon, boss might be looking for you."
Dmitry was really surprised that the man didn't try to poke at him further about his accent, but instead, showed him that way towards his destination; it did worry him even more that someone was searching for him, most likely it was Scott. On the to wherever they had to reach, the man did try to start a conversation to make time pass, but the pilot did not feel like talking, which for some reason, helped keeping the crewman amused of this interesting figure. Dmitry couldn't tell if the man took him seriously and realized that he was a newcomer on the carrier or if he genuinely believed he was another member playing lost and stupid. The way to the meeting didn't seem much different to the other halls and rooms he passed through in his desperate quest to socialize and kill his hunger after a rough day in the air. After minutes of walking, Dmitry could see that these parts of the ship were much more active and populated with all sorts of people and soon enough, they reached the promised land.
"Thanksyou." He said in a monotonous voice, which seemed to pull out another chortle from the crewman moments before his face dropped, his back straightened and turned his body into a rigid plank, his right arm angled to salute someone behind Dmitry.
Kurva blyat was all that he managed to think before he pivoted 180o and mimicked the crewman's gesture, only to meet with a high-ranking officer that was not Scott. Dmitry's eyes wandered around the man's uniform to try to determine his rank and once he found out it was a general he was saluting, the pilot made sure he was standing extra-straight, to the point that he could feel his hair brush against the ceiling of the hall. He couldn't tell if the man even noticed the two as he just barely let his eyes take a short glance at their faces, but Dmitry noticed the plainness of his face, a certain plainness that almost seemed dangerous; the only feature that made him stand out was his missing eye he had no shame to show. Out of curiosity, he peeked inside the room, where indeed, was the entire squad, quickly recognizing their faces from before. Moments before the general would start the briefing, Dmitry quickly made his way inside and crammed himself somewhere in the back of the room where he still had space. He knew the general noticed the dumb clown this pilot was, but for some reason, he decided against scolding him for his insolence. The pilot sat tight and listened carefully, trying to absorb every bit of info in so he could form a large picture of the situation. The briefing was short and concise, he had a clear objective in his mind and he was ready to go into action again as soon as they were needed... though he didn't expect to be up again in two hours. He wasn't sure what to do in order to kill off the extra time, other than lunch.
The general headed off to tend to other most likely important matters, while Colonel Valentine did a quick recap of the mission. With that occasion, he wanted to make sure he would make his intentions clear to everyone in the room by pointing out what he expected of the team. Everyone then buggered off with their own business, the pilot barely making any real contact with anyone, but to him, it wasn't really a problem; he could do well without social contact for a long while, the only thing that worried him was that his lateness would make people doubt his usefulness and capabilities as a pilot. From the mass of pilots making their way out of the room, he picked the one he was most familiar to, Marciano, whose attention he caught with a friendly pat on the right shoulder. He knew the man was callsign Charnel, recognizing his voice from the comms.
"Charnel, I believe I owe a drink, da? I can't get you drunk now with the mission in two hours, but when we're done with that too, I make sure we drink until we won't need planes to fly, oke?"
He left the man with the thought of getting slammed after the mission and as Stalin went off to find the mess hall to get some food down, he saw a very peculiar figure for some reason he missed during the initial meeting on the flight deck; if his vision served him right, he could swear he saw a woman with cat-like ears retreating somewhere. He wanted to blame his imagination or blame it on some weird opportunistic optical illusion, but his memory could only accept the fact that one of the pilots had cat ears. Could it be Kat? That would be very appropriate, thought Dmitry. He did find the mess hall (not without help, of course) where he forced down some plastic-looking sandwiches and found some papers to read through and check some of the latest news in the world... from three years ago. Realizing he was reading whack, Dmitry felt compelled to rip one of the pages off and fold it into a paper plane in a design very specific to him: slim in the wings with a very sharp profile, the plane would build speed as it would descend from its short flight, but steady flight. He didn't have the courage to launch it while he was in the mess hall, but he kept the plane with him so he could play with it a little while later.
He honestly had no clue how he managed to waste two hours and do nothing other than wander around the ship without stopping to recollect and piece together today's events, but at least he started to work out a pattern of how the ship's lower decks interconnected. He found his Su prepped for take off, the only thing it missed was himself, so he made haste; just as he reached his jet, he saw the blast deflector rise to redirect the energy output from the Tomcat's twin engines. As Knight One shot for the skies, Dmitry spat out on the flight deck and drew another imaginary cross over his forehead, belly and his two shoulders; he hopped into his seat and strapped himself tightly and tested his fit by stretching his back and legs while his jet was carried over for takeoff. He lowered the canopy over his head and sealed it shut, then flicked his wrist and fingers around the endless buttons and switches in front of him in a reflex motion; with that, the monitors and displays came to life almost in tandem with the high-pitched whirl of the twin turbojet engines behind him.
"Stormcloud Tower, Stalin, ready on flight deck."
Once he was given the go, he lowered the flaps and increased thrust, approaching the lip of the carrier at a growing speed and once he was sure he would be clear off the flight deck, he slowly pulled the stick back to tilt his nose up slightly and successfully take off after a relatively short run. He built up a bit of speed before he would veer around and fall in formation with Knight One to avoid stalling the damned jet, but he managed to reach Heartbreak from behind and match his speed. He took a quick glance over his shoulder over to the carrier, a slim smile appeared as he now had a chance to take a proper look at the beauty of the carrier.
"Knight One, Stalin reporting in, ready to make some trouble."
ShiningSector Forever Editor
Member
Seen
4 mos ago
"You and me both. When I was in the US Navy, I flew F-14's off of Nimitz-class boats all the time. Even did a couple of landings and launches off of the French carriers too. They're much less... unique. The Stormcloud is pretty much one of a kind. She was supposed to be the prototype for a next-gen carrier, but the bottom fell out of the project. From what I understand, General Thomas and the other founders of TB purchased the finished ship. Scrapping it would've been more expensive than finishing it off, I suppose. I'm told she has a lot more capabilities than just launch and recovery of aircraft too. While she's a lot different, a lot of its' good - there's a lot more space and more luxurious facilities than a regular carrier for a start."
Luxurious huh? Though not literally in the sense of the word from what Rodriguez gathered but agreeably the Stormcloud was well designed and maintained upon further inspection while he and his mates traveled into depths of the floating city. When he had first signed on with Thunderbolt Black, he was introduced to many on-paper facts about the organization and its iconic flagship but words absolutely did the vessel little justice. Rodriguez’s respect for his CO climbed steadily when Heartbreak spilled his own experiences of carrier operations during the war which made his background something of a developing interest; had he walked past or even worked with this F-14 pilot before without realizing it?
However a great idea to explore, the moment wasn’t to be for reminiscing, especially when the pilot with the car ears came to the table. As Kat and Valentine shared their greetings and compliments to one another in regards to the previous battle, Rodriguez, finally having a better view, set his eyes on to the cat ears that sprouted from Kat’s head. Momma had always said that staring was rude to which he agreed to but this new physical concept had apparently marveled him somewhat. After a bit of time, he shifted his gaze to Austin and Marciano arriving at the table, nodding as they sat down and conversed with their CO. He had to ask Kat about those ears eventually; he swore the left one twitched.
"Anyhow, I think it's time we got moving. Don't wanna keep the boss waiting..."
Rodriguez downed the last cup of joe upon finishing off his bagels, feeling more active now and refreshed. Of course he simply hoped that this would push him forward for the rest of the day though he was sure it was going to be a long one. He along with everyone else followed Heatbreak as he gave a miniature tour of the Stormcloud on their way to the briefing room, further impressing Rodriguez of the carrier’s layout and facilities.
It wasn’t long until they had arrived to the briefing which everyone on the squadron as directed to take a seat until General Thomas eventually showed up. Upon Valentine’s order, the squad shot out of their seats and snapped to attention in regards to the presence of the General in the room. Rodriguez locked his heels and stood with a respectable straight posture with professional accuracy until they were put at ease by the head honcho of this operation.
"First of all, let me begin by saying thank you for your work out there this morning. I know it was a difficult situation for everyone, especially jumping into action from a standing start. And with your squadron, especially, not even being fully mobilized and stood up yet. Fortunately, since most of you were quick off the mark and in the air quickly, you avoided many of the casualties and damages others too…I hope that any of you with dependents on the Island have confirmed that they're all right and safe too. We're still working through everything - as you can imagine. If you haven't heard anything, pass a request to me personally through Colonel Valentine and I'll do my best to get an answer for you."
Austin did mention a concern for his kids; Rodriguez hoped that everything was alright with his squad mate’s situation. He then noticed the lights in the room dimming down just before the illuminating pictures casted by the projector in the room painted the board.
"Regarding the events of this mornings' attack on Thunder Island, we now have a clear picture of what we can assume has transpired, especially with information that has come to light".
Rodriguez, whether he could understand it or not, felt the rising feeling of distain as several slides showing photos and footage of a KKV satellite. His natural smile vanished into an ill frown as he remembered the recent strike from earlier and the attacks during the war to which many people had lost their live too and the destruction it had wrought.
"The weapon used to attack the island was a Kinetic Kill Vehicle; a ballistic non-explosive orbital weapon, like those used in the closing stages of World War Three. You're all familiar with the basic technology I'm sure, so I won't waste time by explaining. We can confirm that the device used was not of US origin, nor belonged to any allied powers with access to the technology. KKV satellites are safeguarded like nuclear weapons - multiple pass-keys are required to authorize a launch, as they're generally considered as strategic rather than tactical weapon systems, and the potential for damage - imagine if it had been a target like a large city - is staggering".
Upon the brief silence, Rodriguez mentally thanked whoever for not including any clips of the weapon in use. It was bad enough he had seen more than once already, especially since he had to survey its results even more so. The carnage would only bring back bad memories.
"This is the device in part responsible for the attack. It's a ground-control station for a KKV launch system. Such devices are normally kept under full control and security of high-ranking government officials. As there are only four nations on earth with KKV satellites, and one of those is no longer a nation, that narrows things down. We believe that this is a former USSR or Chinese KKV launch control device. It was being turned over to UN jurisdiction via transport through Thunder Island as part of a clandestine contract. Somehow, the information was leaked, and someone took control of the device, and was able to override its' security lockouts. We have confirmation of who now possesses and controls it".
Then came an internet video from one of the slides, its bad quality blurred much of the details on top of the lack of revealing light. Despite all that though, everyone could make out a brownish man in the center of the room shown in the video wearing was appeared to be military attire. Rodriguez continued to watch the video to better understand whom this person was if that actually mattered.
"The last Great War and its' excesses of violence, destruction, and carnage were the result of the so-called Great Powers of the west, the nations of the Northern Hemisphere and their self-righteous control of the worlds' economies, politics and culture. For too long, they have shaped and directed events. Now, after exhausting themselves, they turn greedy eyes to the nations below the equator, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. With one hand open they offer friendship, while the other clutches the knife to threaten us. No more - we now have access to the same weapons, the same power. We are the Army of the New World Order, the Southern Hemisphere Alliance, and we demand to be recognized-"
The General stopped the video just as the man in began to ramble on about his or this coalition’s demands or goals; he assumed it was the same stereotypical nonsense one would see in a spy movie. Rodriguez was somewhat dumbfounded about this man’s political declaration and especially by the name of this organization; the Southern Hemisphere Alliance. Admittedly he was not one to delve into politics, not since the war and its entirety of bad decisions that should never have come to pass. But if he knew his geopolitical maps correctly, many of the nations in the Southern Hemisphere were hardly involved in the war at all. Which begs the question why all this then?
"They go on to demand that control of the stock markets be turned over to them, and a laundry list of other demands. Needless to say, normally they wouldn't be listened to, but this Army of the New World Order has recently become a big problem in Africa, as well as other areas of the world. Someone has been supplying them with weapons, training, and money to finance all of it, including hiring mercenaries. They recently launched a large and well-orchestrated attack on South Africa, along with others in Kenya, Peru and Argentina. There have also been reports of Australian and New Zealand Naval vessels being attacked by small craft, or buzzed by unidentified tactical aircraft. Whoever's behind this - and I have my suspicions who - is obviously setting out to make these people a credible threat."
More like overly angry pain-in-the-ass nut-jobs thought Rodriguez.
"Which is where your mission comes in. We know who has the device, this ANWO. We also have some positive news: The device was due to be turned over to Professor Silas Ellar, something of an... eccentric genius who works under contract for the US Military and their allies. He had developed an orbital jamming device that will be capable of blocking the specific transmissions made by the remote launch stations used by the former Soviet satellites; the intent being to avoid specifically this kind of situation, or worse ones with other potential facilities and systems. His satellite is almost ready to launch, and is currently under final assembly at his facility in French Guiana. The region is heavily destabilized, as I'm sure you're aware - the French Government have experienced difficulty in restoring order due to heavy guerrilla activities in the area, and I've no doubt that whoever's been supplying the ANWO will be providing assistance to these hostile groups as well".
With the facts layout by General Thomas regarding the preparations to launch this special satellite and the destabilized region crawling with not-so negotiable insurgents, he surmised that their mission was to ensure that launch goes up without a hitch and to obliterate anything that so much as tries to get into site with a fifty cal or above.
"Your mission will be to secure the Professors' compound prior to, during, and immediately after the launch. We have efforts underway to gather intel on enemy forces in the area, and their bases. Disposition of their forces is expected to include armour and heavy weapons captured from other regional forces, as well as light aircraft, helicopters and some tactical aircraft - although, if our suspicions prove to be correct, they may have more advanced aircraft and even some light naval forces on par with what was observed this morning."
Called it.
"A pair of C-130's are en route as we speak to offload support equipment for your aircraft. One of them will keep supplies flowing back and forth as much as possible too. A KC-10 tanker will meet you en route for air refueling over the Caribbean, and I'm going to ensure an E-2 Hawkeye callsign 'Watchman' will be based in the area for AEW&C as well. I may have more pilots to join you once you're underway - currently, things are a little up in the air regarding our manpower, thanks to the earlier attacks. We don't have much time to waste; I'm aware there may be a leak in our organization, so this information might already be in the enemies' hands. As such, we can't delay. Your aircraft are being prepped currently, with any repairs well underway. You'll be flying with full fuel loads and minimal weapons - self-defence only, I'm afraid - but be prepared for a possible quick-turn once you reach the base at the other end. Colonel Valentine, I'll leave the rest to you. Good luck, and godspeed".
Rodriguez watched as the General gave his final piece before giving the floor to Valentine whom took the center stage and went over the details left by General Thomas.
"All right, it's as the General said, boys and girls. We're headed South of the equator, to the sunny northern coast of South America. We'll fly as a group and tank en route. Our aircraft are currently being turned and fuelled. Austin, your F-15 needs the most work - fortunately, the damage appears to only be superficial, and they can change our the damaged components in a few hours. Everything else, I'm reliably informed, is looking square. Intel is spotty, but local assets will be able to give us more info. Currently, there's a few known positions for the enemy; we'll work on sorties hitting them once we reach the other end and have an idea of the security situation on the base. Everyone, sign out your personal firearms, hopefully we won't need 'em, but best to have 'em just in case. Personal effects are being flown up on one of the C-130's, so they'll be with us. Anything else you need, sign it outta the stores aboard ship."
Going by Heartbreak's words, it seemed that all of their survival equipment was brought here in light of the recent chaos just for this mission. Rodriguez mused how long this sortie was in development until now.
"We ain't had a lotta time to get to know each other yet, an' I'm sorry about that. But y'all have impressed me mighty well so far. Here's how it goes - I give you the benefit of the doubt from here on. You showed me you can handle yourselves, that you're fighter pilots; heart-breakers and life-takers, through and through. An' that's what I wanna see. Professional, bad-ass aerial assassins whether yer turning bogeys inta scrap, or diggin' holes in the world with bombs, screamin' outta the skies. You follow my commands when I give 'em, you walk the line, an' I give y'all the respect you deserve, I treat you easy an' nice, an' we're all friends and happy-like. I don't wanna hard life - sure you don't either."
Then came something Rodriguez didn’t think he would see again. His observant eyes caught Valentine’s expression shifting from a once optimistic manner to a near threatening countenance. The change telegraphed to Rodriguez what was about to occur next. His time as a flight instructor allowed him to relate once his CO’s voice came into play. He then began to wonder who in the room had or had not attended boot camp before.
"But, if you dick around, if you back-chat when there's lives at stake; if you question my orders or my authority and you make any aspect of working as a functional, effective fighting force unworkable or hard, I will make your life miserable, and you will fear my wrath. Everyone in this group depends on everyone else - there aren't enough of us to do otherwise. You don't have to like each other, you especially don't have to like me. But you have to respect each other, and the chain of command. Earn that, and show it in everything you do."
It was clear that Heartbreak wanted a clear trouble-free operation and flight to which Rodriguez had no problem not arguing against. He gave a nod in compliance just his CO withdrew back to his smiling expression.
"You wanna be the best? Then show it in how much of a professional, bad-ass, kick-ass mother of a Black Knight you are. Not by snarkin' off and bein' the rebel without a clue. I said my bit - anythin' else you need to ask me, then go right ahead. I'll be gettin' last minute briefings and checks in the hangar from maintenance up until the moment we fly, or checkin' in with where the tanker and transports are, an' with the long-range weather in the ops room. Page me, and I'll let y'all know where I am. In the meantime, get yer shit together and get ready. I'll see y'all on the deck at eleven hundred hours actual. Dismissed"
Most of Rodriguez's time was spent observing the maintenance on his own craft as it was refueled and re-armed. He stood firmly, already in his flight suit and survival equipment while holding his own helmet underneath his arm. Apparently the deck crew had found a large piece of shrapnel that had pierced the underside of the F-16 rather conveniently knocked one of the electronic communication components loose. It was theorized that the jagged shape of debris was hurled into his fighter seconds after the kinetic impact had flung it into the air. It was the only logical explanation for his radio equipment malfunction and thus Rodriguez rolled with it.
It didn't take long until the small gash on the fighter was sealed up, making the aircraft combat worthy once more without any SNAFUs to speak of; heaven knows there were clearly enough that went down already. The time for the sortie to take-off was upon him when orders came in for the deck crews to start pulling the squadron craft onto the elevators that would bring them to the main deck. Rodriguez hurried over and joined up on the elevator, staying close his aircraft until it was eventually maneuvered on the main deck. Just as he reached the top half of the Stormcloud, he saw Heartbreak's and Razorblade's Super Tomcat scream into the air past him and the personnel on the deck. Once he saw Stalin's Su-35 preparing for launch, Rodriguez climbed into the cockpit of his F-16 with the canopy closing above him and locking neatly.
After going over the initial flight checks with the deck crew, the Su-35 finally took off as well, leading the F-16V into the launching position. Deck personnel performed last minute checks before taking their positions around the fighter before the carrier blast shield rose from behind. Then came the moment Rodriguez had been waiting for; a single crew member in yellow who had lead him into position then lurched forward into a kneeling stance and pointed to runway, giving the signal to take-off. Rodriguez replied in kind with the already built-up thrust fired, throttling the F-16 forward just as the catapult beneath the fighter shot the craft down the strip. G-forces built on to Rodriguez as he pulled the nose up once he felt his F-16 was no longer on any surface.
Now airborne and quickly gaining altitude, Rodriguez scanned the skies for his teammates before eventually coming across them in flight. He banked the fighter right and steadily maneuvered into formation with Knight One. "Knight Five, Spirit. Forming on Knight One's wing and awaiting instructions."
Luxurious huh? Though not literally in the sense of the word from what Rodriguez gathered but agreeably the Stormcloud was well designed and maintained upon further inspection while he and his mates traveled into depths of the floating city. When he had first signed on with Thunderbolt Black, he was introduced to many on-paper facts about the organization and its iconic flagship but words absolutely did the vessel little justice. Rodriguez’s respect for his CO climbed steadily when Heartbreak spilled his own experiences of carrier operations during the war which made his background something of a developing interest; had he walked past or even worked with this F-14 pilot before without realizing it?
However a great idea to explore, the moment wasn’t to be for reminiscing, especially when the pilot with the car ears came to the table. As Kat and Valentine shared their greetings and compliments to one another in regards to the previous battle, Rodriguez, finally having a better view, set his eyes on to the cat ears that sprouted from Kat’s head. Momma had always said that staring was rude to which he agreed to but this new physical concept had apparently marveled him somewhat. After a bit of time, he shifted his gaze to Austin and Marciano arriving at the table, nodding as they sat down and conversed with their CO. He had to ask Kat about those ears eventually; he swore the left one twitched.
"Anyhow, I think it's time we got moving. Don't wanna keep the boss waiting..."
Rodriguez downed the last cup of joe upon finishing off his bagels, feeling more active now and refreshed. Of course he simply hoped that this would push him forward for the rest of the day though he was sure it was going to be a long one. He along with everyone else followed Heatbreak as he gave a miniature tour of the Stormcloud on their way to the briefing room, further impressing Rodriguez of the carrier’s layout and facilities.
It wasn’t long until they had arrived to the briefing which everyone on the squadron as directed to take a seat until General Thomas eventually showed up. Upon Valentine’s order, the squad shot out of their seats and snapped to attention in regards to the presence of the General in the room. Rodriguez locked his heels and stood with a respectable straight posture with professional accuracy until they were put at ease by the head honcho of this operation.
"First of all, let me begin by saying thank you for your work out there this morning. I know it was a difficult situation for everyone, especially jumping into action from a standing start. And with your squadron, especially, not even being fully mobilized and stood up yet. Fortunately, since most of you were quick off the mark and in the air quickly, you avoided many of the casualties and damages others too…I hope that any of you with dependents on the Island have confirmed that they're all right and safe too. We're still working through everything - as you can imagine. If you haven't heard anything, pass a request to me personally through Colonel Valentine and I'll do my best to get an answer for you."
Austin did mention a concern for his kids; Rodriguez hoped that everything was alright with his squad mate’s situation. He then noticed the lights in the room dimming down just before the illuminating pictures casted by the projector in the room painted the board.
"Regarding the events of this mornings' attack on Thunder Island, we now have a clear picture of what we can assume has transpired, especially with information that has come to light".
Rodriguez, whether he could understand it or not, felt the rising feeling of distain as several slides showing photos and footage of a KKV satellite. His natural smile vanished into an ill frown as he remembered the recent strike from earlier and the attacks during the war to which many people had lost their live too and the destruction it had wrought.
"The weapon used to attack the island was a Kinetic Kill Vehicle; a ballistic non-explosive orbital weapon, like those used in the closing stages of World War Three. You're all familiar with the basic technology I'm sure, so I won't waste time by explaining. We can confirm that the device used was not of US origin, nor belonged to any allied powers with access to the technology. KKV satellites are safeguarded like nuclear weapons - multiple pass-keys are required to authorize a launch, as they're generally considered as strategic rather than tactical weapon systems, and the potential for damage - imagine if it had been a target like a large city - is staggering".
Upon the brief silence, Rodriguez mentally thanked whoever for not including any clips of the weapon in use. It was bad enough he had seen more than once already, especially since he had to survey its results even more so. The carnage would only bring back bad memories.
"This is the device in part responsible for the attack. It's a ground-control station for a KKV launch system. Such devices are normally kept under full control and security of high-ranking government officials. As there are only four nations on earth with KKV satellites, and one of those is no longer a nation, that narrows things down. We believe that this is a former USSR or Chinese KKV launch control device. It was being turned over to UN jurisdiction via transport through Thunder Island as part of a clandestine contract. Somehow, the information was leaked, and someone took control of the device, and was able to override its' security lockouts. We have confirmation of who now possesses and controls it".
Then came an internet video from one of the slides, its bad quality blurred much of the details on top of the lack of revealing light. Despite all that though, everyone could make out a brownish man in the center of the room shown in the video wearing was appeared to be military attire. Rodriguez continued to watch the video to better understand whom this person was if that actually mattered.
"The last Great War and its' excesses of violence, destruction, and carnage were the result of the so-called Great Powers of the west, the nations of the Northern Hemisphere and their self-righteous control of the worlds' economies, politics and culture. For too long, they have shaped and directed events. Now, after exhausting themselves, they turn greedy eyes to the nations below the equator, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. With one hand open they offer friendship, while the other clutches the knife to threaten us. No more - we now have access to the same weapons, the same power. We are the Army of the New World Order, the Southern Hemisphere Alliance, and we demand to be recognized-"
The General stopped the video just as the man in began to ramble on about his or this coalition’s demands or goals; he assumed it was the same stereotypical nonsense one would see in a spy movie. Rodriguez was somewhat dumbfounded about this man’s political declaration and especially by the name of this organization; the Southern Hemisphere Alliance. Admittedly he was not one to delve into politics, not since the war and its entirety of bad decisions that should never have come to pass. But if he knew his geopolitical maps correctly, many of the nations in the Southern Hemisphere were hardly involved in the war at all. Which begs the question why all this then?
"They go on to demand that control of the stock markets be turned over to them, and a laundry list of other demands. Needless to say, normally they wouldn't be listened to, but this Army of the New World Order has recently become a big problem in Africa, as well as other areas of the world. Someone has been supplying them with weapons, training, and money to finance all of it, including hiring mercenaries. They recently launched a large and well-orchestrated attack on South Africa, along with others in Kenya, Peru and Argentina. There have also been reports of Australian and New Zealand Naval vessels being attacked by small craft, or buzzed by unidentified tactical aircraft. Whoever's behind this - and I have my suspicions who - is obviously setting out to make these people a credible threat."
More like overly angry pain-in-the-ass nut-jobs thought Rodriguez.
"Which is where your mission comes in. We know who has the device, this ANWO. We also have some positive news: The device was due to be turned over to Professor Silas Ellar, something of an... eccentric genius who works under contract for the US Military and their allies. He had developed an orbital jamming device that will be capable of blocking the specific transmissions made by the remote launch stations used by the former Soviet satellites; the intent being to avoid specifically this kind of situation, or worse ones with other potential facilities and systems. His satellite is almost ready to launch, and is currently under final assembly at his facility in French Guiana. The region is heavily destabilized, as I'm sure you're aware - the French Government have experienced difficulty in restoring order due to heavy guerrilla activities in the area, and I've no doubt that whoever's been supplying the ANWO will be providing assistance to these hostile groups as well".
With the facts layout by General Thomas regarding the preparations to launch this special satellite and the destabilized region crawling with not-so negotiable insurgents, he surmised that their mission was to ensure that launch goes up without a hitch and to obliterate anything that so much as tries to get into site with a fifty cal or above.
"Your mission will be to secure the Professors' compound prior to, during, and immediately after the launch. We have efforts underway to gather intel on enemy forces in the area, and their bases. Disposition of their forces is expected to include armour and heavy weapons captured from other regional forces, as well as light aircraft, helicopters and some tactical aircraft - although, if our suspicions prove to be correct, they may have more advanced aircraft and even some light naval forces on par with what was observed this morning."
Called it.
"A pair of C-130's are en route as we speak to offload support equipment for your aircraft. One of them will keep supplies flowing back and forth as much as possible too. A KC-10 tanker will meet you en route for air refueling over the Caribbean, and I'm going to ensure an E-2 Hawkeye callsign 'Watchman' will be based in the area for AEW&C as well. I may have more pilots to join you once you're underway - currently, things are a little up in the air regarding our manpower, thanks to the earlier attacks. We don't have much time to waste; I'm aware there may be a leak in our organization, so this information might already be in the enemies' hands. As such, we can't delay. Your aircraft are being prepped currently, with any repairs well underway. You'll be flying with full fuel loads and minimal weapons - self-defence only, I'm afraid - but be prepared for a possible quick-turn once you reach the base at the other end. Colonel Valentine, I'll leave the rest to you. Good luck, and godspeed".
Rodriguez watched as the General gave his final piece before giving the floor to Valentine whom took the center stage and went over the details left by General Thomas.
"All right, it's as the General said, boys and girls. We're headed South of the equator, to the sunny northern coast of South America. We'll fly as a group and tank en route. Our aircraft are currently being turned and fuelled. Austin, your F-15 needs the most work - fortunately, the damage appears to only be superficial, and they can change our the damaged components in a few hours. Everything else, I'm reliably informed, is looking square. Intel is spotty, but local assets will be able to give us more info. Currently, there's a few known positions for the enemy; we'll work on sorties hitting them once we reach the other end and have an idea of the security situation on the base. Everyone, sign out your personal firearms, hopefully we won't need 'em, but best to have 'em just in case. Personal effects are being flown up on one of the C-130's, so they'll be with us. Anything else you need, sign it outta the stores aboard ship."
Going by Heartbreak's words, it seemed that all of their survival equipment was brought here in light of the recent chaos just for this mission. Rodriguez mused how long this sortie was in development until now.
"We ain't had a lotta time to get to know each other yet, an' I'm sorry about that. But y'all have impressed me mighty well so far. Here's how it goes - I give you the benefit of the doubt from here on. You showed me you can handle yourselves, that you're fighter pilots; heart-breakers and life-takers, through and through. An' that's what I wanna see. Professional, bad-ass aerial assassins whether yer turning bogeys inta scrap, or diggin' holes in the world with bombs, screamin' outta the skies. You follow my commands when I give 'em, you walk the line, an' I give y'all the respect you deserve, I treat you easy an' nice, an' we're all friends and happy-like. I don't wanna hard life - sure you don't either."
Then came something Rodriguez didn’t think he would see again. His observant eyes caught Valentine’s expression shifting from a once optimistic manner to a near threatening countenance. The change telegraphed to Rodriguez what was about to occur next. His time as a flight instructor allowed him to relate once his CO’s voice came into play. He then began to wonder who in the room had or had not attended boot camp before.
"But, if you dick around, if you back-chat when there's lives at stake; if you question my orders or my authority and you make any aspect of working as a functional, effective fighting force unworkable or hard, I will make your life miserable, and you will fear my wrath. Everyone in this group depends on everyone else - there aren't enough of us to do otherwise. You don't have to like each other, you especially don't have to like me. But you have to respect each other, and the chain of command. Earn that, and show it in everything you do."
It was clear that Heartbreak wanted a clear trouble-free operation and flight to which Rodriguez had no problem not arguing against. He gave a nod in compliance just his CO withdrew back to his smiling expression.
"You wanna be the best? Then show it in how much of a professional, bad-ass, kick-ass mother of a Black Knight you are. Not by snarkin' off and bein' the rebel without a clue. I said my bit - anythin' else you need to ask me, then go right ahead. I'll be gettin' last minute briefings and checks in the hangar from maintenance up until the moment we fly, or checkin' in with where the tanker and transports are, an' with the long-range weather in the ops room. Page me, and I'll let y'all know where I am. In the meantime, get yer shit together and get ready. I'll see y'all on the deck at eleven hundred hours actual. Dismissed"
Most of Rodriguez's time was spent observing the maintenance on his own craft as it was refueled and re-armed. He stood firmly, already in his flight suit and survival equipment while holding his own helmet underneath his arm. Apparently the deck crew had found a large piece of shrapnel that had pierced the underside of the F-16 rather conveniently knocked one of the electronic communication components loose. It was theorized that the jagged shape of debris was hurled into his fighter seconds after the kinetic impact had flung it into the air. It was the only logical explanation for his radio equipment malfunction and thus Rodriguez rolled with it.
It didn't take long until the small gash on the fighter was sealed up, making the aircraft combat worthy once more without any SNAFUs to speak of; heaven knows there were clearly enough that went down already. The time for the sortie to take-off was upon him when orders came in for the deck crews to start pulling the squadron craft onto the elevators that would bring them to the main deck. Rodriguez hurried over and joined up on the elevator, staying close his aircraft until it was eventually maneuvered on the main deck. Just as he reached the top half of the Stormcloud, he saw Heartbreak's and Razorblade's Super Tomcat scream into the air past him and the personnel on the deck. Once he saw Stalin's Su-35 preparing for launch, Rodriguez climbed into the cockpit of his F-16 with the canopy closing above him and locking neatly.
After going over the initial flight checks with the deck crew, the Su-35 finally took off as well, leading the F-16V into the launching position. Deck personnel performed last minute checks before taking their positions around the fighter before the carrier blast shield rose from behind. Then came the moment Rodriguez had been waiting for; a single crew member in yellow who had lead him into position then lurched forward into a kneeling stance and pointed to runway, giving the signal to take-off. Rodriguez replied in kind with the already built-up thrust fired, throttling the F-16 forward just as the catapult beneath the fighter shot the craft down the strip. G-forces built on to Rodriguez as he pulled the nose up once he felt his F-16 was no longer on any surface.
Now airborne and quickly gaining altitude, Rodriguez scanned the skies for his teammates before eventually coming across them in flight. He banked the fighter right and steadily maneuvered into formation with Knight One. "Knight Five, Spirit. Forming on Knight One's wing and awaiting instructions."
Pilot Officer First class Kei Feng arrived late, due to being forced to land by going bingo-fuel after missing a tanker in bad weather somewhere just short of the Panama Canal Zone.
Although she'd missed on quite a bit of sleep, and the briefing, she did manage to get some 'power-napping' in on the ferry-flight over. She ate in the mess hall while reviewing the roster where she was slated to act as a supporting wing-person and for passively suppressing air-defenses.
As such, her plane carried a rather hefty load, a pair of PL-9C air-to air missiles that she carried on her wingtips all the way over from the airbase in China, a KG-300 jamming/targeting pod and a targeting-pod on centerline, a pair of twin-mounts for MAR-1 anti-radiation missiles on the outer, and of all things, a pair of French Matra JL-100 rocket-pods with fuel-stores. It was a very strange assortment of weaponry to issue someone who was only expected to fly backseat-support on yet another ferry-mission.
The plane was already being linked to the catapult as she climbed-in and double-checked her pre-flight checks which were checked before and after landing herself, as well as by several ground-crewmen while they were towing the plane into position; the plane's engines hadn't even enough time to cool-off. the conformal 'saddle-tank' on the spine was still clearly visible and reminiscent of the MiG-21SMT and completely ruining the 'round' cross-section and giving it a 3-leaf clover cross section of an F-4 Phantom fuselage.
Finally, she dialed in the radio to hear the brevity of pilots checking-in.
"Short Fuse, ready for takeoff. Sorry I missed the rodeo earlier."
Since her arrival at Stormcloud, she'd been walking the maze of corridors in a dazed stupor when a rather large Russian bumped into her. It had been a long flight from China, and she did not need to be squished against a bulkhead and called profanities for getting in the way of a much larger person, simply because he was larger.
She lifted herself up on the railing gave him a forceful shove with both aviation-booted feet, "No, YOU watch it! If you walk these halls like a bull in a pottery-barn, expect to be treated as such."
She lifted herself up on the railing gave him a forceful shove with both aviation-booted feet, "No, YOU watch it! If you walk these halls like a bull in a pottery-barn, expect to be treated as such."
Although she'd missed on quite a bit of sleep, and the briefing, she did manage to get some 'power-napping' in on the ferry-flight over. She ate in the mess hall while reviewing the roster where she was slated to act as a supporting wing-person and for passively suppressing air-defenses.
As such, her plane carried a rather hefty load, a pair of PL-9C air-to air missiles that she carried on her wingtips all the way over from the airbase in China, a KG-300 jamming/targeting pod and a targeting-pod on centerline, a pair of twin-mounts for MAR-1 anti-radiation missiles on the outer, and of all things, a pair of French Matra JL-100 rocket-pods with fuel-stores. It was a very strange assortment of weaponry to issue someone who was only expected to fly backseat-support on yet another ferry-mission.
The plane was already being linked to the catapult as she climbed-in and double-checked her pre-flight checks which were checked before and after landing herself, as well as by several ground-crewmen while they were towing the plane into position; the plane's engines hadn't even enough time to cool-off. the conformal 'saddle-tank' on the spine was still clearly visible and reminiscent of the MiG-21SMT and completely ruining the 'round' cross-section and giving it a 3-leaf clover cross section of an F-4 Phantom fuselage.
Finally, she dialed in the radio to hear the brevity of pilots checking-in.
"Short Fuse, ready for takeoff. Sorry I missed the rodeo earlier."
Marciano grit his teeth to suppress a yawn as the briefing finished. As much as he hated to admit it, he always found that he had trouble with them, still he had gotten everything that was discussed. On paper it sounded like a pretty cut and dry op, get in, cause some havoc, find what they were looking for and get out. The problem was, as it usually was, that no plan, no matter how well laid or simple it seemed, survived first contact without some hiccups or modifications. But he was here to do a job and he was going to do it well. As he was about to leave he felt a pat on his shoulder accompanied by the voice he had grown to know on the com.
Marciano smiled as the Ukrainian departed, he had the feeling that they were going to get along famously, or infamously as the case my be. But he had a point, drinks and food would come later when they were all safe back on the ship. Making his way out of the briefing room Marciano began to make his way to the armory, with no small amount of care this time not to get lost. Finally after no fair amount of walking he reached the armory. As he entered the quiet room Marciano honestly tried to make as little noise as possible, as to not break the very rare absence of noise that was almost no where else on the ship. However he did not go unnoticed by the LS behind the counter who looked up from some paper work they were doing and affixed the pilot with a look that was halfway between a glare and impassiveness. "Can I help you?" she said after a moment.
Clearing his throat Marciano approached the officer, "Actually I was looking to check out my weapons, if its no trouble that is." He stammered out as the LS simply stared at him, her expression unchanging.
"As if im here for any other reason, ok whats the name and I hope you got an ID with you." She said as she reached under a table to change clipboards and retrieve a pen.
"Right, my name is Marciano Codemi, they might be under Mark Codemi though." Marciano continued to stammer as he fished his ID from his uniform and handed it to the LS who started to record various things on a form attached to the clipboard in a fast doctor like scribble. After a moment she handed back his ID, placed the clipboard on the counter and disappeared into the depths of the armory only to reappear with Marciano's firearms.
"Here we go, one MTAR-21." She said as she placed it on the counter. The assault rifle was well maintained and was painted with a digital woodlands camo, instead of the usual birdcage flash suppressor a full suppressor sat on the end of its barrel, and a holo-sight on it's top rail. "Here's two mags of NATO 5.56 to go along with that." She said placing a two small hard-cases on the counter she had been carrying in her other hand. "In the other box is your Force 99 with a couple of mags of .45 ACP to keep it fed as well. Now if you would just sign here and here, and here."
As he finished signing the form Marciano collected his rifle and slung it over his shoulders, taking care not to load it yet or even touch the safety. He did the same with the Force 99 save for he put it into a hip holster and actually place a magazine into it. He nodded and turned to leave when he stopped, he was forgetting something, he had just signed for all three of his weapons, turning back he saw the LS had a grin on her face as she slid the tench knife towards him on the counter "A shame" she said "and here I was looking forward to spending more time with that pretty thing." Marciano could only smile back as he took the knife and slid it home in his boot sheath.
He made his way to the Deck slowly, quickly grabbing another cup of coffee before checking the time. He almost spat it out, as it showed he was a tad bit late. He ran to the Deck in time to see one Stalin heading up and a couple others queuing up. Racing over to the Hound he took the ladder two steps at a time, reaching to top as quickly as he could. After securing his rifle to his seat, and making sure everything was all well and good, he strapped himself in tight as the canopy came down and the hound was weeled out to the now empty runway. Starting up the engines he couldn't help but smile as the turbofans spooled up. There was a dull thud as the catapult locked on, but that was competed by his com crackling to life "Charnal this is tower you are good to go."
"Copy that tower, see you in some time." He replied as he secured his mask and allowed his grin to break into a smile. He gunned the afterburners as he was launched off the ship. Getting airborne he began to climb, as he did he took a moment to reflect on whet he had saw getting into the Hound, looked like a full complement, two SARAAM's alongside a couple of sidewinders, the AMRAAMS that were placed on earlier plus a couple and a drop tank that looked equipped with a buddy store. The read out also stated that the main cannon was sill at full capacity. This was going to be a good day.
"This is Charnel, forming up and ready to put them down. Looks like if any of you run into gas problems im going to be your best friend for this one."
"Charnel, I believe I owe a drink, da? I can't get you drunk now with the mission in two hours, but when we're done with that too, I make sure we drink until we won't need planes to fly, oke?"
Marciano smiled as the Ukrainian departed, he had the feeling that they were going to get along famously, or infamously as the case my be. But he had a point, drinks and food would come later when they were all safe back on the ship. Making his way out of the briefing room Marciano began to make his way to the armory, with no small amount of care this time not to get lost. Finally after no fair amount of walking he reached the armory. As he entered the quiet room Marciano honestly tried to make as little noise as possible, as to not break the very rare absence of noise that was almost no where else on the ship. However he did not go unnoticed by the LS behind the counter who looked up from some paper work they were doing and affixed the pilot with a look that was halfway between a glare and impassiveness. "Can I help you?" she said after a moment.
Clearing his throat Marciano approached the officer, "Actually I was looking to check out my weapons, if its no trouble that is." He stammered out as the LS simply stared at him, her expression unchanging.
"As if im here for any other reason, ok whats the name and I hope you got an ID with you." She said as she reached under a table to change clipboards and retrieve a pen.
"Right, my name is Marciano Codemi, they might be under Mark Codemi though." Marciano continued to stammer as he fished his ID from his uniform and handed it to the LS who started to record various things on a form attached to the clipboard in a fast doctor like scribble. After a moment she handed back his ID, placed the clipboard on the counter and disappeared into the depths of the armory only to reappear with Marciano's firearms.
"Here we go, one MTAR-21." She said as she placed it on the counter. The assault rifle was well maintained and was painted with a digital woodlands camo, instead of the usual birdcage flash suppressor a full suppressor sat on the end of its barrel, and a holo-sight on it's top rail. "Here's two mags of NATO 5.56 to go along with that." She said placing a two small hard-cases on the counter she had been carrying in her other hand. "In the other box is your Force 99 with a couple of mags of .45 ACP to keep it fed as well. Now if you would just sign here and here, and here."
As he finished signing the form Marciano collected his rifle and slung it over his shoulders, taking care not to load it yet or even touch the safety. He did the same with the Force 99 save for he put it into a hip holster and actually place a magazine into it. He nodded and turned to leave when he stopped, he was forgetting something, he had just signed for all three of his weapons, turning back he saw the LS had a grin on her face as she slid the tench knife towards him on the counter "A shame" she said "and here I was looking forward to spending more time with that pretty thing." Marciano could only smile back as he took the knife and slid it home in his boot sheath.
He made his way to the Deck slowly, quickly grabbing another cup of coffee before checking the time. He almost spat it out, as it showed he was a tad bit late. He ran to the Deck in time to see one Stalin heading up and a couple others queuing up. Racing over to the Hound he took the ladder two steps at a time, reaching to top as quickly as he could. After securing his rifle to his seat, and making sure everything was all well and good, he strapped himself in tight as the canopy came down and the hound was weeled out to the now empty runway. Starting up the engines he couldn't help but smile as the turbofans spooled up. There was a dull thud as the catapult locked on, but that was competed by his com crackling to life "Charnal this is tower you are good to go."
"Copy that tower, see you in some time." He replied as he secured his mask and allowed his grin to break into a smile. He gunned the afterburners as he was launched off the ship. Getting airborne he began to climb, as he did he took a moment to reflect on whet he had saw getting into the Hound, looked like a full complement, two SARAAM's alongside a couple of sidewinders, the AMRAAMS that were placed on earlier plus a couple and a drop tank that looked equipped with a buddy store. The read out also stated that the main cannon was sill at full capacity. This was going to be a good day.
"This is Charnel, forming up and ready to put them down. Looks like if any of you run into gas problems im going to be your best friend for this one."
"Good to meet you Austin. I think I passed one on the wall a few hallways over and a deck down, though it might be for official use, but that would be my first bet." He shrugged slightly as he quickly took another drink of the strong coffee, and resolving that at least getting slightly lost had helped someone this morning. "Now where is Stalin, I do believe he offered up to buy a drink." Marciano said with a small grin as he looked around.
"He's right," Scott added with an affirmative nod. "There's one there, and I think there's a couple a ways further toward the stern, near the Ships' PX. I'm sure they'll be busy with other people doin' the same thing, but worth going to see if you can get through. Best wishes to you with it as well - I hope they're both okay, too. Lemme know if there's anything else you need, and I'll see what I can do fer you."
"Thanks, I really appreciate the help!" Austin smiled, quickly finishing up his breakfast as his stomach demanded it, his eyes wandering at the group at the table "This'll be real interesting...". After he finished up and deposited his dishes and utensils in the appropriate fashion, he followed the group, keeping every detail he could memorized in his head, especially where the phone was. "Thanks, I'll be there soon!" The pilot told Scott, heading over to the phone.
"What was Johnson's number again?" The pilot thought aloud as he got up to the phone, wrapping his somewhat slim fingers around the device, pulling it off it's rest and lifting it to his head, getting the all to familiar buzz in his ear "553-32...no....553-327-7828?". It had been quite a while since he actually checked his number, having him on speed dial on his phone, and it would REALLY help out if he actually kept his phone on hand- He left it back in his car. Luckily this was the right number, and a sigh of relief came upon him as he heard the all too familiar voice.
-----
Austin quickly set the phone down with a sigh, making sure it was resting correctly before sprinting down the hall, following the general direction that he saw his squad mates going in. it took him a minute or two to find them, and as he entered the room his eyes laid upon the General. That really him? He thought, taking a seat in the back- the man sporting a small smile, kinda giving off the news he received. He looked at the people in the room, trying to see a bit more of whom he'd be flying with before the General started to give the briefing.
As they were dismissed the man nearly shot up from his seat, pushing in his chair as he headed for the door. He needed to check out the rest of the ship, particularly where he'd be sleeping.
----
Luckily, by the time they were deploying his Eagle was functional, it's engines and fuel tank patched up expertly by the maintenance crews on board. "GOOD JOB!" Austin shouted as he approached, helmet in hand - cleaned and shiny- as he climbed up the ladder "I don't like flying my backup, it doesn't look as awesome as this baby!". He slipped his body into the cockpit, helmet quickly strapped on and the visor up as he did the pre-flight checks. The sweet sound of the engines spooling up as he lowered the canopy were music to his ears "SHE'S ALIVE!". Man, this was going to be good.
The F-15C started to pull onto the runway after the Tornado took off, making sure to get the go ahead to position himself on the catapult. His heartrate started to increase a bit, getting hyped up fro the launch- launching from a Carrier was as much fun as driving a race car over a bumpy road, except this involved water and a 30 million dollar craft capable of breaking the sound barrier. And boy was it fun to rocket pass the crews on board, as he did when he saw the yellow crewman pointing forward. "Tower, this is Viking. taking off and proceeding to form up with squadron. Don't get damaged, OK?"
GM
Rhona W Burd-Dragon
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Scott and St. Helen listened and looked on with pleasure as the rest of the squadron joined them in the air, neatly slotting into formation with the ASF-14. As soon as they were all together, Scott peeled them gently off of the southward leg of their circling orbit, and over the open ocean towards the northern shoulder of South America, just under five hours away at their chosen speed.
He glanced briefly to the west; from this altitude, a vague pall of smoke in the distance showed Thunder Island's location; still wounded and healing. He quietly said an angry prayer to whoever was listening, before smoothly settling the jet in for the maximum efficiency cruise to their refuelling point.
The flight was, blissfully, uneventful. The airwaves, reported St. Helen, were busier than usual following the unexpected attack. US forces and others national militaries in the Carribbean area were all on high alert. Cuba was especially stirred up - but then, that was nothing new. The large regional power had been especially unsettled as of late, and the attack on a nearby island was another fly in the ointment for them. So far, at least, the turbulent nation hadn't attacked anyone else.
Nobody or nothing challenged the Black Knights as they headed south, and their communications with the Stormcloud were regular. As they hit the refuelling anchor at the mid-point of their journey, St. Helen also reported that the E-2 Hawkeye was online. Scott fed the info out to the others, and listened in the channel as the operator spoke up, reporting in with more intel.
"Good Afternoon Black Knights, this is Watchman. I have your position marked and noted, you're looking good for a run in to Cayenne Airport. The Space Center hasn't reported any difficulties as yet; though the local Gendarmes have been investigating sightings of heavily armed groups in the rainforest, and there's been fighting further to the East and West. Contact has also been intermittent with smaller settlements further out. Also, to add to bad news, we've got heavy weather patterns moving in. Looks like a good tropical storm brewing up. On the upside, it'll hinder their movements as much as our own, and it won't hit until after you've touched down. The C-130's are also an hour or so out from landing, and have supplies for your squad on board. Home base has also put together a reinforcement unit for the security forces at the Spaceport itself, and they'll be departing shortly; though they too might get held up by the weather. I'll keep you abreast of any further info".
"Roger, Watchman. Thanks for the info, we'll keep an ear tuned to you. Out".
Scott switched his attention back to the matter at hand: the squadron's in-flight refuelling. The ASF-14 was fine, it could manage with internal fuel to hit the target. But some of the other thirstier aircraft would need refuelling, especially after launching from the carrier. The KC-10 crew checked in, and the big, grey three-engined tanker was visible trolling along ahead, it's white-grey hide gleaming in the later-afternoon sun.
"Afternoon, boys and girls," came a laid-back voice over the radio. "We were in the area, and heard y'all might need a top up. Form an orderly queue, we got plenty to go around, over".
"Okay, squad," Scott took over. "You heard the fine gentleman. Prioritise in order of your fuel need, and go through the process like in training. Nice and simple, just fly the probe into the basket".
Eventually, his own turn came around, and he easily flew the prove on the right-side of the Tomcats' nose into the canvas basket trailing behind the converted airliner. With a meaty THUNK, the nozzle connected and fuel began to pump freely. At the midway point, there was no need for a full load; after all, they weren't turning straight into combat at the other end, and were instead heading for a landing. The tanks topped off quickly, and Scott broke away with a touch of brakes and pedals as the tanker climbed away and banked opposite, flashing its' lights to the squadron as it headed away and for home.
"All right, ladies and gents," he called, coming back on the air. "Everyone's bellies should be nice and full. Let's head on in to our new digs. Keep on the lookout from now. While Watchmans' reported no activity, doesn't mean it'll stay that way. Give everything a check over, and stand by".
Once again, he took position at the head of the formation, and they continued on. Watchman reported in shortly after to deliver the news that the C-130's had landed without incident, and less fortunately that the fighting to the North-East of Kourou, the location of the Spaceport, had grown more intense, leading the local forces there to fall back. Skirmishes had also been reported by Brazilian forces on their northern border, with known units that had gone renegade or deserted, and escaped to the North; into French Guiana.
Scott grimaced under his mask - it looked like the fight was on, but at least the weather would give them breathing space, and a chance to formulate strategies. The thick, wild terrain of the territory would be on their side too - anywhere large enough for a group with vehicles and large numbers to camp out would be easy to spot - or at least, he hoped so.
All too soon after, the coastline hove into view, and along with it the blur of grey-white that marked Cayenne, where they'd be touching down.
The city - though it was far smaller than most places he knew as such - was bracketed by two wide-mouthed estauries, with the airport beyond. Kourou and its' space center were around 70km to the North-West, but there was no airport to handle and support the fighters in the vicinity. This was the best and nearest alternative, and still only a handful of minutes flying time for the fastest of their numbers.
The tower cleared them in for approach, and Scott called over to the group.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good".
Indeed, to the East and closing was a roiling mass of black cloud, the ground beneath it obscured in a messy haze.
Peeling off overhead the runway, Scott banked around into a perfect combat landing, bringing the nose down gently with wings swept full forward. A FOLLOW ME truck at the end of the runway directed him to the military area of the airfield, where the pair of C-130's were still unloaded the last of their cargo. A hangar that had been blast-proofed with the addition of layers of sandbags and bull-dozed earth around the sides had been set aside for their aircraft, and Scott taxied to a halt outside - going in nose first would only mean the aircraft would have to be turned in case of an emergency. Instead, he shut the engines down and prepared to climb out, watching the others land and taxi up as he stood on his seat.
A strong gust of wind blew in from the direction of the cloud, buffeting his sweaty hair as he removed his helmet, and chasing loose leaves and dirt across the apron.
"That does not look good at all," St. Helen said loudly from the rear cockpit, as she climbed out. "We'd better get the planes under cover, and quick!"
"Right!" he replied, climbing down. As soon as he did, crews rushed out and began to winch the ASF-14 into the hangar, turning it around as they did so.
Scott set to with assisting the others in securing their planes, as the rain began to beat down. Wind howled around them as the rain lashed the apron, and he darted undercover of the hangar as his flight suit began to soak through.
"Holy crap," he muttered, looking out of the rapidly closing doors at the weather. "What a welcome..."
He looked back to the others. "All right then. So, we're here, and in one piece. The inventory on our gear reads that we ought to have munitions for a good number of sorties. As soon as I get in touch with local assets, we'll being organizing our first sorties as soon as the shitty weather clears. Right now, there's not much more to do. As soon as we get some crash-space assigned, we get some rest and get on familiarising ourselves with the local geography; work out the landmarks and easy reference points, and set out some lines of defence for the space port and its' approaches," He paused as the driving rain drumming on the hangar roof made him almost have to scream to be heard, letting it die down a moment and shaking his head with a raised eyebrow before continuing.
"Anyway - good job everyone on the way over. For now, let's keep sharp and alert. The real job starts tomorrow. For now, let's get a look at our surroundings"
The door opened a little, and a pair of figures soaked through despite their waterproofs and carrying armfuls of more water-proof clothing laboured their way into the hangar. Pulling his hood down, a tall, slender black man approached them.
"Captain? These are for you, courtesy of the locals. I'm Chief Bowman, I'll be the head of your ground crew. Me and my folks will get your aircraft turned and ready. Give me the word as soon as you know what the sortie is, and I'll get your weapons uploaded too. I think there's vehicles outside ready to take you to where you'll be staying, too". He shook his head. "Indications are that the damn weather is gonna last all night. Looks like we'll have plenty of time to get your aircraft ready. See you bright and early, sir". He nodded to the assembled pilots as the rest of the crew swarmed in and got to work under his organization.
Scott handed out the jackets, and then it was time to brave the downpour.
The vehicles were a pair of minibuses that took them off of the airport, and down a road through scenic - aside from the torrential downpour - surroundings into the colonial architecture of Cayenne itself. Their temporary HQ and quarters was a hotel that had been deputized for the current crisis, which meant more comfortable surroundings, albeit a little more rustic and classical than the Stormcloud, if more spacious.
"Take a load off, people," Scott ordered as they entered the hotel. "There's nothing we can do just yet, and we've been on the go since the attack early this morning with no pause," he trailed off as someone else entered the hotel. A tall white-skinned gentleman with a greying beard and hair in a smart suit. He nodded to all of them with a cool, evaluating glance, before offering his hand to Scott.
"Bonjour, Captain Valentine. I am Hugo Depardieu, currently deputy to the prefect of French Guiana. As you can imagine, he is currently very busy organising emergency responses and trying to get aid from Paris. I wish we could welcome you more warmly, but as it is, we are quite overwhelmed. Much as you must be; my sympathies for what happened to your home base."
Scott shook the offered hand, interested in what the deputy to the area's political ruler and leader had to say to them, and what information he was about to receive.
"Thank you, although early estimates are that it's not as bad as it looked. And it's nothing compared to a country being attacked and invaded. I'm glad we can come and assist. I didn't realise your government was the employer for our contract"
"It is an emergency; the Armée de l'Air and the Marine Nationale are unable to get here in time - the attacks are moving too quickly. Hiring a PMC like yourselves was the most rational option in the circumstances".
"Anything you can tell us will help to fight back. Do you have anyone who can give us more information?"
"Yes, Major Constantine of the Gendarmerie,"
He introduced another man, coffee-skinned and in a smart, if rumpled, uniform and a tired look on his face. He stood by as Depardieu finished talking.
"Major Constantine has been directing things after his superior was killed in a mortar attack. He has been very capable. I'm sure between you, you can co-ordinate a most effective defence and counter-attack. In the meantime, I must go and prepare other measures for the civilian population. If there is anything else you need or that I can tell you, then I will do so as soon as I can".
He excused himself, leaving Constantine to face them. He gave a tired smile, before directing them over to a map-board on the wall.
"Please, have a seat. Lord knows I need one myself. This situation has grown far more quickly than we expected."
He gestured to the board and showed the current positions of the enemy. As far as he explained it, the actions had started with what had been assumed to be straggling bands of revolutionaries, rogue military personnel and militias in the forests. However, when attacks on settlements had begun in earnest and military-level weaponry had been used against the Gendarmes and Soldiers sent in response, thigns had been taken more seriously. Coupled with violence in the neighbouring countries and further away, things had taken a worse turn almost literally overnight. When they had been attacked from the air and driven out of positions along the border, they had known the situation had tilted too far toward the enemy.
"So far we have pinpointed a handful of locations in the jungle they seem to be using as marshalling and resupply points. They are along the rivers, and we have seen them defended by gun emplacements, as well as armed riverboats and infantry. They have - much to our sadness - also taken control of Awala on the border to the North-West, and are currently entrenched outside Sinnamary, to the North-West of Kourou and the Space Center. We belive that is currently their major objective. To the south of our current position, they have mostly been held up by the dense rainforest and the inhospitable terrain. There are no real roads through the interior, and no developed settlements of any kind. As such, there has been little activity. Most of the combat is focused on the Western regions, with encounters primarily in the built-up areas, and along some of the rivers. The aircraft under their control seem to mostly be lighter types, counter-insurgency aircraft and helicopters, along with whatever they could scavenge - although, some of my men to the north have been attacked by jet aircraft; they could not identify their origin".
"All right," acknowledged Scott with a grimace. "We can't move until the weather clears anyway. I think our first order of business will be a full reconnaissance in force of the area, and a show of force. If we know they're outside of Sinnamary, then that's our first point of attack, with an attack on their supply dumps as a second objective. We need to rally your people and push back the enemy, break their lines and exploit that break so we can give the space centre enough breathing room to launch the satellite safely. We'll work on co-ordinating with your people for close-air support. And we need to find out who those hostiles are too, if they're not locals". He shook his head with a grim smile in place.
"It's not going to be easy, and it's probably not going to be painless. But at least we're getting paid for it, and getting some of our own back while we do".
He glanced briefly to the west; from this altitude, a vague pall of smoke in the distance showed Thunder Island's location; still wounded and healing. He quietly said an angry prayer to whoever was listening, before smoothly settling the jet in for the maximum efficiency cruise to their refuelling point.
The flight was, blissfully, uneventful. The airwaves, reported St. Helen, were busier than usual following the unexpected attack. US forces and others national militaries in the Carribbean area were all on high alert. Cuba was especially stirred up - but then, that was nothing new. The large regional power had been especially unsettled as of late, and the attack on a nearby island was another fly in the ointment for them. So far, at least, the turbulent nation hadn't attacked anyone else.
Nobody or nothing challenged the Black Knights as they headed south, and their communications with the Stormcloud were regular. As they hit the refuelling anchor at the mid-point of their journey, St. Helen also reported that the E-2 Hawkeye was online. Scott fed the info out to the others, and listened in the channel as the operator spoke up, reporting in with more intel.
"Good Afternoon Black Knights, this is Watchman. I have your position marked and noted, you're looking good for a run in to Cayenne Airport. The Space Center hasn't reported any difficulties as yet; though the local Gendarmes have been investigating sightings of heavily armed groups in the rainforest, and there's been fighting further to the East and West. Contact has also been intermittent with smaller settlements further out. Also, to add to bad news, we've got heavy weather patterns moving in. Looks like a good tropical storm brewing up. On the upside, it'll hinder their movements as much as our own, and it won't hit until after you've touched down. The C-130's are also an hour or so out from landing, and have supplies for your squad on board. Home base has also put together a reinforcement unit for the security forces at the Spaceport itself, and they'll be departing shortly; though they too might get held up by the weather. I'll keep you abreast of any further info".
"Roger, Watchman. Thanks for the info, we'll keep an ear tuned to you. Out".
Scott switched his attention back to the matter at hand: the squadron's in-flight refuelling. The ASF-14 was fine, it could manage with internal fuel to hit the target. But some of the other thirstier aircraft would need refuelling, especially after launching from the carrier. The KC-10 crew checked in, and the big, grey three-engined tanker was visible trolling along ahead, it's white-grey hide gleaming in the later-afternoon sun.
"Afternoon, boys and girls," came a laid-back voice over the radio. "We were in the area, and heard y'all might need a top up. Form an orderly queue, we got plenty to go around, over".
"Okay, squad," Scott took over. "You heard the fine gentleman. Prioritise in order of your fuel need, and go through the process like in training. Nice and simple, just fly the probe into the basket".
Eventually, his own turn came around, and he easily flew the prove on the right-side of the Tomcats' nose into the canvas basket trailing behind the converted airliner. With a meaty THUNK, the nozzle connected and fuel began to pump freely. At the midway point, there was no need for a full load; after all, they weren't turning straight into combat at the other end, and were instead heading for a landing. The tanks topped off quickly, and Scott broke away with a touch of brakes and pedals as the tanker climbed away and banked opposite, flashing its' lights to the squadron as it headed away and for home.
"All right, ladies and gents," he called, coming back on the air. "Everyone's bellies should be nice and full. Let's head on in to our new digs. Keep on the lookout from now. While Watchmans' reported no activity, doesn't mean it'll stay that way. Give everything a check over, and stand by".
Once again, he took position at the head of the formation, and they continued on. Watchman reported in shortly after to deliver the news that the C-130's had landed without incident, and less fortunately that the fighting to the North-East of Kourou, the location of the Spaceport, had grown more intense, leading the local forces there to fall back. Skirmishes had also been reported by Brazilian forces on their northern border, with known units that had gone renegade or deserted, and escaped to the North; into French Guiana.
Scott grimaced under his mask - it looked like the fight was on, but at least the weather would give them breathing space, and a chance to formulate strategies. The thick, wild terrain of the territory would be on their side too - anywhere large enough for a group with vehicles and large numbers to camp out would be easy to spot - or at least, he hoped so.
All too soon after, the coastline hove into view, and along with it the blur of grey-white that marked Cayenne, where they'd be touching down.
The city - though it was far smaller than most places he knew as such - was bracketed by two wide-mouthed estauries, with the airport beyond. Kourou and its' space center were around 70km to the North-West, but there was no airport to handle and support the fighters in the vicinity. This was the best and nearest alternative, and still only a handful of minutes flying time for the fastest of their numbers.
The tower cleared them in for approach, and Scott called over to the group.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good".
Indeed, to the East and closing was a roiling mass of black cloud, the ground beneath it obscured in a messy haze.
Peeling off overhead the runway, Scott banked around into a perfect combat landing, bringing the nose down gently with wings swept full forward. A FOLLOW ME truck at the end of the runway directed him to the military area of the airfield, where the pair of C-130's were still unloaded the last of their cargo. A hangar that had been blast-proofed with the addition of layers of sandbags and bull-dozed earth around the sides had been set aside for their aircraft, and Scott taxied to a halt outside - going in nose first would only mean the aircraft would have to be turned in case of an emergency. Instead, he shut the engines down and prepared to climb out, watching the others land and taxi up as he stood on his seat.
A strong gust of wind blew in from the direction of the cloud, buffeting his sweaty hair as he removed his helmet, and chasing loose leaves and dirt across the apron.
"That does not look good at all," St. Helen said loudly from the rear cockpit, as she climbed out. "We'd better get the planes under cover, and quick!"
"Right!" he replied, climbing down. As soon as he did, crews rushed out and began to winch the ASF-14 into the hangar, turning it around as they did so.
Scott set to with assisting the others in securing their planes, as the rain began to beat down. Wind howled around them as the rain lashed the apron, and he darted undercover of the hangar as his flight suit began to soak through.
"Holy crap," he muttered, looking out of the rapidly closing doors at the weather. "What a welcome..."
He looked back to the others. "All right then. So, we're here, and in one piece. The inventory on our gear reads that we ought to have munitions for a good number of sorties. As soon as I get in touch with local assets, we'll being organizing our first sorties as soon as the shitty weather clears. Right now, there's not much more to do. As soon as we get some crash-space assigned, we get some rest and get on familiarising ourselves with the local geography; work out the landmarks and easy reference points, and set out some lines of defence for the space port and its' approaches," He paused as the driving rain drumming on the hangar roof made him almost have to scream to be heard, letting it die down a moment and shaking his head with a raised eyebrow before continuing.
"Anyway - good job everyone on the way over. For now, let's keep sharp and alert. The real job starts tomorrow. For now, let's get a look at our surroundings"
The door opened a little, and a pair of figures soaked through despite their waterproofs and carrying armfuls of more water-proof clothing laboured their way into the hangar. Pulling his hood down, a tall, slender black man approached them.
"Captain? These are for you, courtesy of the locals. I'm Chief Bowman, I'll be the head of your ground crew. Me and my folks will get your aircraft turned and ready. Give me the word as soon as you know what the sortie is, and I'll get your weapons uploaded too. I think there's vehicles outside ready to take you to where you'll be staying, too". He shook his head. "Indications are that the damn weather is gonna last all night. Looks like we'll have plenty of time to get your aircraft ready. See you bright and early, sir". He nodded to the assembled pilots as the rest of the crew swarmed in and got to work under his organization.
Scott handed out the jackets, and then it was time to brave the downpour.
The vehicles were a pair of minibuses that took them off of the airport, and down a road through scenic - aside from the torrential downpour - surroundings into the colonial architecture of Cayenne itself. Their temporary HQ and quarters was a hotel that had been deputized for the current crisis, which meant more comfortable surroundings, albeit a little more rustic and classical than the Stormcloud, if more spacious.
"Take a load off, people," Scott ordered as they entered the hotel. "There's nothing we can do just yet, and we've been on the go since the attack early this morning with no pause," he trailed off as someone else entered the hotel. A tall white-skinned gentleman with a greying beard and hair in a smart suit. He nodded to all of them with a cool, evaluating glance, before offering his hand to Scott.
"Bonjour, Captain Valentine. I am Hugo Depardieu, currently deputy to the prefect of French Guiana. As you can imagine, he is currently very busy organising emergency responses and trying to get aid from Paris. I wish we could welcome you more warmly, but as it is, we are quite overwhelmed. Much as you must be; my sympathies for what happened to your home base."
Scott shook the offered hand, interested in what the deputy to the area's political ruler and leader had to say to them, and what information he was about to receive.
"Thank you, although early estimates are that it's not as bad as it looked. And it's nothing compared to a country being attacked and invaded. I'm glad we can come and assist. I didn't realise your government was the employer for our contract"
"It is an emergency; the Armée de l'Air and the Marine Nationale are unable to get here in time - the attacks are moving too quickly. Hiring a PMC like yourselves was the most rational option in the circumstances".
"Anything you can tell us will help to fight back. Do you have anyone who can give us more information?"
"Yes, Major Constantine of the Gendarmerie,"
He introduced another man, coffee-skinned and in a smart, if rumpled, uniform and a tired look on his face. He stood by as Depardieu finished talking.
"Major Constantine has been directing things after his superior was killed in a mortar attack. He has been very capable. I'm sure between you, you can co-ordinate a most effective defence and counter-attack. In the meantime, I must go and prepare other measures for the civilian population. If there is anything else you need or that I can tell you, then I will do so as soon as I can".
He excused himself, leaving Constantine to face them. He gave a tired smile, before directing them over to a map-board on the wall.
"Please, have a seat. Lord knows I need one myself. This situation has grown far more quickly than we expected."
He gestured to the board and showed the current positions of the enemy. As far as he explained it, the actions had started with what had been assumed to be straggling bands of revolutionaries, rogue military personnel and militias in the forests. However, when attacks on settlements had begun in earnest and military-level weaponry had been used against the Gendarmes and Soldiers sent in response, thigns had been taken more seriously. Coupled with violence in the neighbouring countries and further away, things had taken a worse turn almost literally overnight. When they had been attacked from the air and driven out of positions along the border, they had known the situation had tilted too far toward the enemy.
"So far we have pinpointed a handful of locations in the jungle they seem to be using as marshalling and resupply points. They are along the rivers, and we have seen them defended by gun emplacements, as well as armed riverboats and infantry. They have - much to our sadness - also taken control of Awala on the border to the North-West, and are currently entrenched outside Sinnamary, to the North-West of Kourou and the Space Center. We belive that is currently their major objective. To the south of our current position, they have mostly been held up by the dense rainforest and the inhospitable terrain. There are no real roads through the interior, and no developed settlements of any kind. As such, there has been little activity. Most of the combat is focused on the Western regions, with encounters primarily in the built-up areas, and along some of the rivers. The aircraft under their control seem to mostly be lighter types, counter-insurgency aircraft and helicopters, along with whatever they could scavenge - although, some of my men to the north have been attacked by jet aircraft; they could not identify their origin".
"All right," acknowledged Scott with a grimace. "We can't move until the weather clears anyway. I think our first order of business will be a full reconnaissance in force of the area, and a show of force. If we know they're outside of Sinnamary, then that's our first point of attack, with an attack on their supply dumps as a second objective. We need to rally your people and push back the enemy, break their lines and exploit that break so we can give the space centre enough breathing room to launch the satellite safely. We'll work on co-ordinating with your people for close-air support. And we need to find out who those hostiles are too, if they're not locals". He shook his head with a grim smile in place.
"It's not going to be easy, and it's probably not going to be painless. But at least we're getting paid for it, and getting some of our own back while we do".
Feng's fighter was probably the first to fill up, as it was starting to run on fumes at the rendezvous; nobody wanted to chance trying to fill-up after bingo-fuel. Her plane had originally been designed as a point-defense fighter, and as such had a marginal fuel-fraction. But once refueled (and thankfully probe & drogue had been international standard), she could breathe much easier knowing she had fuel to spare if anything became messy over the airfield. Watchman's calm introduction further set her at-ease.
It was only after their leader graciously finished refueling that Watchman reported that the spaceport's situation wasn't looking too good, and the tropical-storm precluded the option of delivering some timely explosive-ordnance upon known avenues of attack. Short Round had to be content staring up the tailpipe of a Russian interceptor as she leaned back in her cockpit and pouted for most of the trip.
Her misgivings on their chances of success aside, Kei tightened her formation in hopes that any radar-return from their flight would simply look like fewer larger planes, and stayed alert for any visual observers on the coast broadcasting their whereabouts to the rebels.
Short Round waggled her rudder in acknowledgement, causing her plane to do a tiny dutch-roll. This close in and radio chatter was being kept to a minimum. Her plane being the lightest, and having fully-fueled, she opted to land last. This nearly seemed a mistake as it started to rain just as she approached the hangar-aprons. Rather than force the ground crew to turn her plane, she picked-up a bit of momentum and cut it a bit close to the hangars before cutting her engine and applying a hard brake to one side, away from the hangars and swinging the hot fuming stovepipe towards the hangar. This would have been a safety-violation had she made a powered taxi, and even with the engine shut-down it likely caused a few curled lips to see the plane turn in the opposite direction that the ground-crew expected.
From there, she just sat in her plane and watched the rain wash over her canopy as the technicians pushed her bird into the hangar; hopping out just in time to see a soaked aircrewman start handing-out raingear as she slung her submachine-gun before donning the camouflaged rain-poncho and braving the torrential rain into the awaiting minibus, letting the muzzle of her gun protrude slightly from beneath the lower-hem of her new rain-gear as it jiggled reassuringly at her side.
Their destination as it turned-out, was nothing less than a commandeered 4-star hotel. Pretty nice, aside from the chaotic planning-committees constantly rushing from one conference-room to another, and the heavy influx of muddy grunts desperate to pass-on and receive information. When Scott ordered her to relax, she did her best effort to simply lean against a wall and try to look as though standing-around a hotel-lobby in a soaking-wet sheet of plastic didn't bother her in the slightest as the briefing came with news of target-locations and the constant reminder that right now they couldn't do anything. Aside from that, she barely bothered to follow along with their wild speculations and rumors of high performance fighter-jets prowling to the north.
It was only after their leader graciously finished refueling that Watchman reported that the spaceport's situation wasn't looking too good, and the tropical-storm precluded the option of delivering some timely explosive-ordnance upon known avenues of attack. Short Round had to be content staring up the tailpipe of a Russian interceptor as she leaned back in her cockpit and pouted for most of the trip.
Her misgivings on their chances of success aside, Kei tightened her formation in hopes that any radar-return from their flight would simply look like fewer larger planes, and stayed alert for any visual observers on the coast broadcasting their whereabouts to the rebels.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good".
Short Round waggled her rudder in acknowledgement, causing her plane to do a tiny dutch-roll. This close in and radio chatter was being kept to a minimum. Her plane being the lightest, and having fully-fueled, she opted to land last. This nearly seemed a mistake as it started to rain just as she approached the hangar-aprons. Rather than force the ground crew to turn her plane, she picked-up a bit of momentum and cut it a bit close to the hangars before cutting her engine and applying a hard brake to one side, away from the hangars and swinging the hot fuming stovepipe towards the hangar. This would have been a safety-violation had she made a powered taxi, and even with the engine shut-down it likely caused a few curled lips to see the plane turn in the opposite direction that the ground-crew expected.
From there, she just sat in her plane and watched the rain wash over her canopy as the technicians pushed her bird into the hangar; hopping out just in time to see a soaked aircrewman start handing-out raingear as she slung her submachine-gun before donning the camouflaged rain-poncho and braving the torrential rain into the awaiting minibus, letting the muzzle of her gun protrude slightly from beneath the lower-hem of her new rain-gear as it jiggled reassuringly at her side.
Their destination as it turned-out, was nothing less than a commandeered 4-star hotel. Pretty nice, aside from the chaotic planning-committees constantly rushing from one conference-room to another, and the heavy influx of muddy grunts desperate to pass-on and receive information. When Scott ordered her to relax, she did her best effort to simply lean against a wall and try to look as though standing-around a hotel-lobby in a soaking-wet sheet of plastic didn't bother her in the slightest as the briefing came with news of target-locations and the constant reminder that right now they couldn't do anything. Aside from that, she barely bothered to follow along with their wild speculations and rumors of high performance fighter-jets prowling to the north.
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It wasn't long until the rest of the Black Knights had rallied back into the air once more; forming the squadron they were all dedicated to now. Once everyone had been accounted for, Knight One peeled the squadron away from the Stormcloud and the still recovering Thunder Island that unfortunately still burned in several areas as smoke continued to rise into the atmosphere. Though Rodriguez was bothered about the destruction of his new home, he was more concerned about one of the pilots in the group whom still had family on the island. He would ask Austin about his kids but with official military band reports and local radio news stations flooding in plus their task at hand; there was plenty to be concerned about.
Already an hour later, Rodriguez was beginning feel like he was back on his early patrol, doing absolutely nothing in a cramped up cockpit. Luckily though since the entire squadron was moving in a neat straight vector with little course changes, he pulled out his E-Reader from his vest pouch and turned the tablet on, accessing the recent headline articles he had downloaded before takeoff. To keep his eyes mostly focused has he flew his F-16V, Rodriguez swiped the menus on the E-Reader and opened the ever-so-helpful app that read the many articles to him and only demanded his attention to jump to the next page.
Personally he had wished that he could have used the device earlier during his patrol but since the basis of a patrol demanded he maneuver to difference navigation points and watching the skies and the local ocean for anything suspicious; there was unfortunately little time to focus on something so minuscule that did not demand his immediate attention. Plus the last thing he wanted was in getting into a dogfight while listening to Betty Crocker unveiling yet another addition to her endless list of recipes or cookware. The awkwardness would have been spectacularly bad and life threatening.
Out of the blue came the voice of Watchman, the local Airborne Early Warning and Control operator greeting the squadron through the secured channel informing them of the current situation in French Guiana. Apparently hostilities have light as of late surprisingly given what had gone down. Of course Watchman then mentioned a tropical storm hitting the region which would make everyone’s day worse, explaining the lack any real concerning activity. Then again, it did allow for some much needed breathing room for the defenders there and additional time to plan the next phases, especially when supplies were coming their way too.
Then a KC-10 came into view rising out of the cloud cover greeting the squadron. "Afternoon boys and girls, we were in the area and heard y'all might need a top up. Form an orderly queue; we got plenty to go around, over."
"Okay, squad, you heard the fine gentleman. Prioritize in order of your fuel need, and go through the process like in training. Nice and simple; just fly the probe into the basket." Knight One’s voice followed.
Rodriguez complied and formed a queue with the other planes in the squadron based on fuel needs. He positioned himself behind both the new modified Chengdu J-7 in the squadron and behind Kat’s A-10 Thunderbolt II seeing as though those craft would have more need for fuel than his F-16 due to their lesser range capacities. After a bit of time, it was his turn next.
For an F-16 pilot, the refueling procedure was both simple and yet complex. The easy part was that the flying boom operator technically did most of the work with positioning the fuel rod into fighter’s slipway so the refueling process can begin. The hard part however was positioning the bird as the slipway for the F-16 was located on the aircraft’s spine where the pilot could not accurately during the setup see and thus had to make the adjustments going by conscious logic and a guiding voice. The other part could be argued was the fact of maintain position while the fighter got refueled was also a trick process since a slight deviation could risk breaking equipment worth more than a pilot’s salary and screwing over the entire procedure with the other aircraft in line.
Luckily enough, Rodriguez was able to position his F-16 nicely in place for the operator to do his thing. After exchanging some friendly dialogue, the operator disconnected the boom after procedure was complete and wished him luck. In compliance, Rodriguez saluted the man back and banked away back into formation to allow the next pilot their turn.
"All right, ladies and gents, everyone's bellies should be nice and full. Let's head on in to our new digs. Keep on the lookout from now. While Watchmans' reported no activity, doesn't mean it'll stay that way. Give everything a check over, and stand by." said Heartbreak to the rest of the newly refueled squadron.
Rodriguez made his own checks to his aircraft to ensure it was still operating normally and combat ready. After a couple more hours of flight time passing by uneventfully, the capital city of Cayenne surfaced from the natural face called distance and its coastline came smoothly into view. But over the horizon was the earlier mentioned tropical nearing its massive and menacing approach and was probably less than an hour out before it hit the city. Understandably, Rodriguez had no intention of flying though that dark mess of raging wind and infinitely heavy rain during a combat sortie; clearly no one did either.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good."
No kidding. Once the opportunity presented itself, Rodriguez dipped his aircraft into a lower altitude and lowered the fighter’s landing gear as he made a pass around the landing strip, allowing him to plan his landing vector ahead of time while breaking into a couple of ninety degree banking turns. When everything aligned perfectly, his dipped the craft into a steep decent before coming up to the runway and pulled up as subtly as he could and touched down on the long trail of asphalt.
As he followed one of the vehicles leading into nearby hangers, Rodriguez quickly took note of the extra preparations and recent additions to the facilities, identifying the layers of installed sandbags in and around the hangers in hopes of protecting the structure from any man-made blasts caused either by rockets or bombs. As soon has the rain hit, his fighter was positioned just outside the designated hanger and shut down to be handled by yet another busier than normal base personnel; at least they were not under threat from being shot at though working outside during a storm was hardly less ideal than the former.
Rodriguez popped his canopy open once the F-16 was secured inside the lukewarm and still somewhat dry facility to which the dripping wet fighter was not helping with has he made his way out of the aircraft and formed up with Valentine and the rest of his squad mates. "All right then. So, we're here, and in one piece. The inventory on our gear reads that we ought to have munitions for a good number of sorties. As soon as I get in touch with local assets, we'll being organizing our first sorties as soon as the shitty weather clears. Right now, there's not much more to do. As soon as we get some crash-space assigned, we get some rest and get on familiarizing ourselves with the local geography; work out the landmarks and easy reference points, and set out some lines of defense for the space port and its' approaches…"
Rodriguez understood why his CO paused as a surge of rain battered against the roof of hanger so loudly it literally drowned out every other sound before dying down a moment later, "…Anyway - good job everyone on the way over. For now, let's keep sharp and alert. The real job starts tomorrow. For now, let's get a look at our surroundings."
Soon a man whom identified himself as Chief Bowman approached and greeted them with a handful of rain jackets and other pieces of water-proof clothing and further explained the current situation to them along with details about maintain their planes during their stay here. Rodriguez took his share of the clothing and got his arms and body into one of the jackets before folding the hood down over his head and partially his face to protect against the unrelenting rain. He nodded back to Bowman before the chief and his staff attended to their duties once more.
After riding on one of the minibuses provided to them, the sight of a rather impressive hotel set Rodriguez into a more positive feeling, hoping to actually kick back after such a long and chaotic day. Unfortunately part of that desirable thought blew away into the wind as he found the hotel had been converted into a military HQ with personnel and soldiers running their laps and tasks around the perimeter. Hopefully the second floor and the jacuzzi hasn't been deputized yet thought Rodriguez but given the recent events that had transpired, he wasn't going to hold his breath.
"Take a load off people, there's nothing we can do just yet, and we've been on the go since the attack early this morning with no pause…" another interruption for Heartbreak came in the form of a Deputy Hugo Depardieu who introduced himself to Rodriguez’s CO and possibly to the entire squadron.
Due to the arrival of what Rodriguez could assume as a government official to, he wasn’t sure if this demanded him to stand up professionally or to let his feet rest and allow Valentine to do the talking. However, it seemed that neither Depardieu nor Valentine were all that concerned and were more focused with the addition details about the unfolded chaos. It seemed that recent events have left the region scrambling to organize the defense lines against the local insurgents from breaking in and causing serious damage, especially to the launch site and the surrounding population centers.
The inclusion of Major Constantine into the mix whom shared Rodriguez’s and probably some of the squadron’s natural sentiments took a seat and explained in great detail where the recent attacks in region have taken place as well as the few reports about the enemy aircraft encountered by some of the soldiers too. Heartbreak’s response in the matter identified the need to get familiar with the local surroundings and pinpoint tactical positions and areas for later operations; a good call considering the obvious change of scenery from ocean and mountains to ocean, mountains, the thick natural foliage of the regions and the eventual launch site. Rodriguez quickly contemplated with the mindset that they were in for more busy days to come. I really hope that jacuzzi is still open.
Already an hour later, Rodriguez was beginning feel like he was back on his early patrol, doing absolutely nothing in a cramped up cockpit. Luckily though since the entire squadron was moving in a neat straight vector with little course changes, he pulled out his E-Reader from his vest pouch and turned the tablet on, accessing the recent headline articles he had downloaded before takeoff. To keep his eyes mostly focused has he flew his F-16V, Rodriguez swiped the menus on the E-Reader and opened the ever-so-helpful app that read the many articles to him and only demanded his attention to jump to the next page.
Personally he had wished that he could have used the device earlier during his patrol but since the basis of a patrol demanded he maneuver to difference navigation points and watching the skies and the local ocean for anything suspicious; there was unfortunately little time to focus on something so minuscule that did not demand his immediate attention. Plus the last thing he wanted was in getting into a dogfight while listening to Betty Crocker unveiling yet another addition to her endless list of recipes or cookware. The awkwardness would have been spectacularly bad and life threatening.
Out of the blue came the voice of Watchman, the local Airborne Early Warning and Control operator greeting the squadron through the secured channel informing them of the current situation in French Guiana. Apparently hostilities have light as of late surprisingly given what had gone down. Of course Watchman then mentioned a tropical storm hitting the region which would make everyone’s day worse, explaining the lack any real concerning activity. Then again, it did allow for some much needed breathing room for the defenders there and additional time to plan the next phases, especially when supplies were coming their way too.
Then a KC-10 came into view rising out of the cloud cover greeting the squadron. "Afternoon boys and girls, we were in the area and heard y'all might need a top up. Form an orderly queue; we got plenty to go around, over."
"Okay, squad, you heard the fine gentleman. Prioritize in order of your fuel need, and go through the process like in training. Nice and simple; just fly the probe into the basket." Knight One’s voice followed.
Rodriguez complied and formed a queue with the other planes in the squadron based on fuel needs. He positioned himself behind both the new modified Chengdu J-7 in the squadron and behind Kat’s A-10 Thunderbolt II seeing as though those craft would have more need for fuel than his F-16 due to their lesser range capacities. After a bit of time, it was his turn next.
For an F-16 pilot, the refueling procedure was both simple and yet complex. The easy part was that the flying boom operator technically did most of the work with positioning the fuel rod into fighter’s slipway so the refueling process can begin. The hard part however was positioning the bird as the slipway for the F-16 was located on the aircraft’s spine where the pilot could not accurately during the setup see and thus had to make the adjustments going by conscious logic and a guiding voice. The other part could be argued was the fact of maintain position while the fighter got refueled was also a trick process since a slight deviation could risk breaking equipment worth more than a pilot’s salary and screwing over the entire procedure with the other aircraft in line.
Luckily enough, Rodriguez was able to position his F-16 nicely in place for the operator to do his thing. After exchanging some friendly dialogue, the operator disconnected the boom after procedure was complete and wished him luck. In compliance, Rodriguez saluted the man back and banked away back into formation to allow the next pilot their turn.
"All right, ladies and gents, everyone's bellies should be nice and full. Let's head on in to our new digs. Keep on the lookout from now. While Watchmans' reported no activity, doesn't mean it'll stay that way. Give everything a check over, and stand by." said Heartbreak to the rest of the newly refueled squadron.
Rodriguez made his own checks to his aircraft to ensure it was still operating normally and combat ready. After a couple more hours of flight time passing by uneventfully, the capital city of Cayenne surfaced from the natural face called distance and its coastline came smoothly into view. But over the horizon was the earlier mentioned tropical nearing its massive and menacing approach and was probably less than an hour out before it hit the city. Understandably, Rodriguez had no intention of flying though that dark mess of raging wind and infinitely heavy rain during a combat sortie; clearly no one did either.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good."
No kidding. Once the opportunity presented itself, Rodriguez dipped his aircraft into a lower altitude and lowered the fighter’s landing gear as he made a pass around the landing strip, allowing him to plan his landing vector ahead of time while breaking into a couple of ninety degree banking turns. When everything aligned perfectly, his dipped the craft into a steep decent before coming up to the runway and pulled up as subtly as he could and touched down on the long trail of asphalt.
As he followed one of the vehicles leading into nearby hangers, Rodriguez quickly took note of the extra preparations and recent additions to the facilities, identifying the layers of installed sandbags in and around the hangers in hopes of protecting the structure from any man-made blasts caused either by rockets or bombs. As soon has the rain hit, his fighter was positioned just outside the designated hanger and shut down to be handled by yet another busier than normal base personnel; at least they were not under threat from being shot at though working outside during a storm was hardly less ideal than the former.
Rodriguez popped his canopy open once the F-16 was secured inside the lukewarm and still somewhat dry facility to which the dripping wet fighter was not helping with has he made his way out of the aircraft and formed up with Valentine and the rest of his squad mates. "All right then. So, we're here, and in one piece. The inventory on our gear reads that we ought to have munitions for a good number of sorties. As soon as I get in touch with local assets, we'll being organizing our first sorties as soon as the shitty weather clears. Right now, there's not much more to do. As soon as we get some crash-space assigned, we get some rest and get on familiarizing ourselves with the local geography; work out the landmarks and easy reference points, and set out some lines of defense for the space port and its' approaches…"
Rodriguez understood why his CO paused as a surge of rain battered against the roof of hanger so loudly it literally drowned out every other sound before dying down a moment later, "…Anyway - good job everyone on the way over. For now, let's keep sharp and alert. The real job starts tomorrow. For now, let's get a look at our surroundings."
Soon a man whom identified himself as Chief Bowman approached and greeted them with a handful of rain jackets and other pieces of water-proof clothing and further explained the current situation to them along with details about maintain their planes during their stay here. Rodriguez took his share of the clothing and got his arms and body into one of the jackets before folding the hood down over his head and partially his face to protect against the unrelenting rain. He nodded back to Bowman before the chief and his staff attended to their duties once more.
After riding on one of the minibuses provided to them, the sight of a rather impressive hotel set Rodriguez into a more positive feeling, hoping to actually kick back after such a long and chaotic day. Unfortunately part of that desirable thought blew away into the wind as he found the hotel had been converted into a military HQ with personnel and soldiers running their laps and tasks around the perimeter. Hopefully the second floor and the jacuzzi hasn't been deputized yet thought Rodriguez but given the recent events that had transpired, he wasn't going to hold his breath.
"Take a load off people, there's nothing we can do just yet, and we've been on the go since the attack early this morning with no pause…" another interruption for Heartbreak came in the form of a Deputy Hugo Depardieu who introduced himself to Rodriguez’s CO and possibly to the entire squadron.
Due to the arrival of what Rodriguez could assume as a government official to, he wasn’t sure if this demanded him to stand up professionally or to let his feet rest and allow Valentine to do the talking. However, it seemed that neither Depardieu nor Valentine were all that concerned and were more focused with the addition details about the unfolded chaos. It seemed that recent events have left the region scrambling to organize the defense lines against the local insurgents from breaking in and causing serious damage, especially to the launch site and the surrounding population centers.
The inclusion of Major Constantine into the mix whom shared Rodriguez’s and probably some of the squadron’s natural sentiments took a seat and explained in great detail where the recent attacks in region have taken place as well as the few reports about the enemy aircraft encountered by some of the soldiers too. Heartbreak’s response in the matter identified the need to get familiar with the local surroundings and pinpoint tactical positions and areas for later operations; a good call considering the obvious change of scenery from ocean and mountains to ocean, mountains, the thick natural foliage of the regions and the eventual launch site. Rodriguez quickly contemplated with the mindset that they were in for more busy days to come. I really hope that jacuzzi is still open.
It wasn't really a great flight in Austin's point of view as he hung in the back of the formation, his eyes staring blankly out at the vast blue expanse and at the control panel sitting in front of him-mainly at his fuel. It wasn't the flying that was boring, in fact that's what he loved about this job besides its pay, It was the fact no one seemed to want to crack a joke- just pure silence. Before he could complain about it another voice came across the comms, letting him sigh in relief- atleast someone was talking.
"Would it be a bad time to sing Rock you like a Hurricane?" Viking chuckled to himself as he finished, looking over at the Nut Assortment that was his squadron as the Hawkeye finished- yawning a bit As the KC10 joined in the chat.What is this, a social meet and greet? He asked himself, his eyes quickly running over the fuel counter- half full. Good to see a somewhat fed belly instead of the Master Caution he got when landing on the Stormcloud. As they neared the Purple Eagle positioned itself to where it was behind the Viper, Warthog and...A Fishbed? Looked like someone else saw something in antiquity.
As the three finished up the pilot adjusted his seating, looking over to the left of the plane as he lined up. The good thing about the F15 was that the Slipway was located on the left, just off to the side of the engine intake-meaning that it was rather easy to line up the Boom unlike someone's Viper. "I believe it's wrong to think that this is something else other than feeding!" Austin shook his head at his own thoughts, sighing in relief as he heard the THUNK of the boom connecting. As the Extender gave his Eagle the beans, the happy-hearted father couldn't help but crack a few jokes that seemed necessary to brighten up the mood.
"You guys stay careful, It would suck if ya'll became victim of that old adage!" The pilot gave the operator a salute as he finished refueling, letting himself drift off a bit to let the Slipway close before banking to let the others get some beans. He performed some checks on the instruments, making sure they were functioning just right- it wouldn't be fun if they weren't. Luckily, to his relief, the maintenance crews on the Trimaran Craft gave his precious F15C the full spa treatment.
Time seemed to fly by(bad pun) As they approached the city, Austin having formed up on the wing of the Viper- his eyes scanning the horizon and his Radar. The storm didn't worry him in a personal way, his fear of thunder having been gone by age 7, but storms with winds, rain and the like could affect the controls. Luckily it seemed they'd get there before it'd start. "I wonder if they have Pizza here....." He spoke softly as he lowered his landing gear, making a sharp turn to keep up with the Viper in front "If so, It's on me!". After a few attempts to land-He'd never done an Overhead Recovery- The sound of wheels turning made him smile- a nice landing. Now all he had to do was taxi it, and hopefully not cause millions of dollars worth of destruction. As soon as his personalized bird came to a halt in the facility Austin popped the canopy open, his helmet already off and taking a big breath of fresh air. "Another landing not fucked up!" He announced, raising his hands into the air "Woo!". It was time to relax, and a good nights rest before another flight was much needed- even more needed was food, which his stomach hungered for as he got down from the old bird and closely followed Scott.
"Good Afternoon Black Knights, this is Watchman. I have your position marked and noted, you're looking good for a run in to Cayenne Airport. The Space Center hasn't reported any difficulties as yet; though the local Gendarmes have been investigating sightings of heavily armed groups in the rainforest, and there's been fighting further to the East and West. Contact has also been intermittent with smaller settlements further out. Also, to add to bad news, we've got heavy weather patterns moving in. Looks like a good tropical storm brewing up. On the upside, it'll hinder their movements as much as our own, and it won't hit until after you've touched down. The C-130's are also an hour or so out from landing, and have supplies for your squad on board. Home base has also put together a reinforcement unit for the security forces at the Spaceport itself, and they'll be departing shortly; though they too might get held up by the weather. I'll keep you abreast of any further info".
"Would it be a bad time to sing Rock you like a Hurricane?" Viking chuckled to himself as he finished, looking over at the Nut Assortment that was his squadron as the Hawkeye finished- yawning a bit As the KC10 joined in the chat.What is this, a social meet and greet? He asked himself, his eyes quickly running over the fuel counter- half full. Good to see a somewhat fed belly instead of the Master Caution he got when landing on the Stormcloud. As they neared the Purple Eagle positioned itself to where it was behind the Viper, Warthog and...A Fishbed? Looked like someone else saw something in antiquity.
As the three finished up the pilot adjusted his seating, looking over to the left of the plane as he lined up. The good thing about the F15 was that the Slipway was located on the left, just off to the side of the engine intake-meaning that it was rather easy to line up the Boom unlike someone's Viper. "I believe it's wrong to think that this is something else other than feeding!" Austin shook his head at his own thoughts, sighing in relief as he heard the THUNK of the boom connecting. As the Extender gave his Eagle the beans, the happy-hearted father couldn't help but crack a few jokes that seemed necessary to brighten up the mood.
"You guys stay careful, It would suck if ya'll became victim of that old adage!" The pilot gave the operator a salute as he finished refueling, letting himself drift off a bit to let the Slipway close before banking to let the others get some beans. He performed some checks on the instruments, making sure they were functioning just right- it wouldn't be fun if they weren't. Luckily, to his relief, the maintenance crews on the Trimaran Craft gave his precious F15C the full spa treatment.
Time seemed to fly by(bad pun) As they approached the city, Austin having formed up on the wing of the Viper- his eyes scanning the horizon and his Radar. The storm didn't worry him in a personal way, his fear of thunder having been gone by age 7, but storms with winds, rain and the like could affect the controls. Luckily it seemed they'd get there before it'd start. "I wonder if they have Pizza here....." He spoke softly as he lowered his landing gear, making a sharp turn to keep up with the Viper in front "If so, It's on me!". After a few attempts to land-He'd never done an Overhead Recovery- The sound of wheels turning made him smile- a nice landing. Now all he had to do was taxi it, and hopefully not cause millions of dollars worth of destruction. As soon as his personalized bird came to a halt in the facility Austin popped the canopy open, his helmet already off and taking a big breath of fresh air. "Another landing not fucked up!" He announced, raising his hands into the air "Woo!". It was time to relax, and a good nights rest before another flight was much needed- even more needed was food, which his stomach hungered for as he got down from the old bird and closely followed Scott.
GM
Rhona W Burd-Dragon
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Scott dismissed the others to crew rest as he burned the midnight oil in getting the squadrons' intelligence and information up to speed. By 11pm he had assembled charts, data and information with the help of the local militia forces on the location of the enemy, and of their allies. Safe frequencies and IFF's had been confirmed to prevent as much friendly fire as possible, and by then the Tomcat pilot was shattered. During the same time, he'd been informed that Kat was currently medically unable to fly, due to an ongoing issue that had flared up. Grimacing, he crossed the A-10 off of the roster of available aircraft, doing so reluctantly - the straight-winged ground attacker was one of the more potent aircraft for the mission profiles they'd be flying. The feline-featured pilot being unable to fly changed the way they'd have to engage.
All the same, by 11 he'd concocted a mission for the following morning. Dragging himself up the stairs, he wearily collapsed into the plush hotel bed, and dreamed of mission plans.
* * *
The next day dawned, and luck was evidently on the Black Knights' side. The skies had cleared completely, leaving only pastel-blue and bright, warming sun in their wake. Large puddles were everywhere, and the cities' people were hard at work clearing up the mess from the sudden storm, but for all intents, it looked like it was game time.
Scott had breakfast served in the restaurant that was currently serving as their briefing room, standing at the front of the room with a cup of tea in hand and an eager, stern expression on his face.
"All right, Black Knights. I hope you all slept well, and you're ready for our first sortie. The weather is on our side, and we have full details of the enemies' positions. I've had word from the airfield; nothing was damaged, and we're able to fly ASAP. Our planes are being prepped as we speak, and uploaded with ordnance right away.
"The downside currently, is that Kat is off the roster for now due to illness. So, we're flying one plane short. On the upside, we're taking the big stick to the bad guys."
He picked up a pool cue, using it as an impromptu pointer, tapping a map of the area taped to a wall - the makeshift office had no projectors or fancy screens. Everything was strictly 'analogue' technology, aside from a handful of laptops and tablet computers. Circling a town to the north-west, up the coast and past the space center, he continued.
"As per our previous intel, the hostiles are currently holding at Sinnamary, a large riverside town north-west of Kourou and the closest town north of the Spaceport. As such, that's why we have to hit them there, and drive them back. Current intel indicates that the hostiles have artillery north-west of the town along the road, and are shelling the friendlies holed up in the town, who are awaiting reinforcements. There's also word that a riverborne force of hostiles are en-route from inland, trying to outflank the defenders in the town".
Scott took a sip of his tea, and nodded to St. Helen, who began to pass out sheafs of paper info to the other pilots, before taking her seat again.
"There you've got the modes and codes for our communications, so we'll be able to talk to the ground forces. Now, our intel is that they hostiles only have minimal airpower at this time. As suggested yesterday, they have some helicopters, mostly lightly armed utility types, and a handful of turbo-prop counter-insurgency aircraft. Some of them can be armed with Sidewinders and machine-guns, so they could be a potential threat if we're not aware, but nothing that we shouldn't be able to avoid. And local forces say they've mostly been used for harassing convoys and positions. There are indiciations of a hostile mercenary group, but nothing we've been able to pin down; indications are that these aircraft are operating from dirt strips in the rainforest, resupplied by truck through logging roads. So, we have a few issues to deal with. That in mind, the mission profile is as follows." Scott raised his voice a little, and spoke more firmly, making sure everyone had a clear idea of what was coming up.
"The squadron will be split into two flights. Charnel, Stalin and Viking, you'll be Eagle Flight. You're going hunting for the enemy aircraft; since your planes are both primarily air-to-air fighters your job will be to pounce on any hostile bogeys that crop up during the ground attack by the other flight, and to intercept and identify any non-registered flights. If possible, track them back to their point of origin. Stalin - I want your Su-35 loaded with some air-to-ground ordnance, so you can attack if you have a target of opportunity. Otherwise, mark the location for follow-on attacks. You'll be watching the rest of our backs during the operation, and keeping us safe. Which brings me to Hawk flight - that'll be composed of myself, Short Round, and Spirit. We'll be tackling the air-to-mud mission. Our primary targets will be the artillery batteries located along the road to Sinnamary, and then our secondary objective will be the riverine forces. Following that, we move on to any other identified positions, ordnance and fuel permitting. Our main goal with this operation is to allow friendly forces to push up the road from Sinnamary and create a firm line of defence for the spaceport, and a buffer zone while reinforcements arrive. If we achieve this objective, we can go on the offensive and hit back at the enemies' supply dumps and rear areas, allowing us to push them back out of range of the spaceport when the launch is due, tomorrow evening".
Scott glanced down at his notes for further information, taking another sip of tea, and clearing his throat before continuing. One hand rubbed his bristly chin, and he gave a slight half-smile before speaking on.
"In terms of triple-A, we're looking at a small number of shoulder-fired missiles, a lot of small-arms fire, and a few out-dated optically guided rapid-fire guns on trucks. Nothing sophisticated, but keep your awareness high, and watch each others' backs."
He set the paperwork down, and looked around at the others, his face still confident and firm.
"All right. That's the mission. Now, we take off in forty-five minutes, and leave here in ten. Get your shit squared away, and let's move".
Almost exactly on time, Scott guided the ASF-14 smoothly along the taxiway, the canopy powering down as the jet rolled over the drying tarmac. Sliding his anti-glare visor down into position, he held the oxygen mask up to his face as he spoke.
"All right, ladies and gents. Visibility is good, weather is fine, and all systems look good. Let's show these punks that Thunderbolt Black is in town, and make the announcement a loud one. I'm eager to see what we can all do, and I'm sure our employers will be looking on with interest too. Let's go earn our beer tokens".
Turning onto the runway, Scott ran the power up to takeoff as St. Helen gave him a thumbs up from the back seat. The tower cleared them for takeoff, and the pilot buckled his mask into position, toeing off the brakes as the roaring thrust kicked him back into his seat, and the tomcat rocketed down the runway, smoothly climbing into the bright blue skies, gleaming in the sun as he turned into a holding pattern.
After the other aircraft joined into formation, he held the formation at low altitude, following terrain as they skirted along the coastline, the early-morning sun gleaming off of the sea. To their left-hand side, the capital slipped past, and Kourou and the space center only a few tens of miles after that, the launch pad a yawning empty space for the meantime. In the near distance, smoke curled up from the settlement crouched on one bank of a wide-mouthed, meandering river.
"All right, folks," Scott said, coming back on the air and cutting through the peaceful flight. "Split up, and let's get busy. Charnel, Viking, Stalin: goood hunting, and keep our asses covered. The rest of you, follow me in. We'll take it in three waves."
St. Helen scanned frequencies from her back-seat position, and spoke up as the Major from the previous evening came on the comm-channel.
"Attention, Black Knights, this is Major Constantine. We are marking out positions with green smoke. Repeat, our positions are marked with green smoke, and our forces have pulled back to within the city limits. Anything on the roads outside of Sinnamary can be considered hostile forces, over!"
"Copy that," said St. Helen, relaying the information to the rest of the flight. "All targets with green smoke are friendlies, anything outside the city to the North-west is a hostile and we can engage at will!".
Scott hauled the flight around in a banking circle over the town, a flick of his wings giving the indication to spread out into a staggered formation with better spacing. On the road, a few miles north of the town, were various dug-in positions, set up in garrisoned and seized homes or other facilities, or dug into natural features. Between and around were small groups of people and equipment, or mixed vehicles with people carrying guns and other equipment clinging to them.
"All right, let's start making money. Break up and choose targets. I'm going to hit those convoys before they reach the town and the major. The rest of you, get busy!"
As the three Black Knights tasked to ground attack got busy, the skies were not quiet either. A distant gleam of metal or glass on the horizon heralded movement, low to the trees and closing in from inland. In formation were four Cessna Dragonflies, the wide, straight wings of the small jet aircraft bristling with rocket and minigun pods, ready to strafe and blast the Gendarmerie and militia lines. And as they closed in, there was the brief warble of a searching radar, which immediately went silent again...
All the same, by 11 he'd concocted a mission for the following morning. Dragging himself up the stairs, he wearily collapsed into the plush hotel bed, and dreamed of mission plans.
* * *
The next day dawned, and luck was evidently on the Black Knights' side. The skies had cleared completely, leaving only pastel-blue and bright, warming sun in their wake. Large puddles were everywhere, and the cities' people were hard at work clearing up the mess from the sudden storm, but for all intents, it looked like it was game time.
Scott had breakfast served in the restaurant that was currently serving as their briefing room, standing at the front of the room with a cup of tea in hand and an eager, stern expression on his face.
"All right, Black Knights. I hope you all slept well, and you're ready for our first sortie. The weather is on our side, and we have full details of the enemies' positions. I've had word from the airfield; nothing was damaged, and we're able to fly ASAP. Our planes are being prepped as we speak, and uploaded with ordnance right away.
"The downside currently, is that Kat is off the roster for now due to illness. So, we're flying one plane short. On the upside, we're taking the big stick to the bad guys."
He picked up a pool cue, using it as an impromptu pointer, tapping a map of the area taped to a wall - the makeshift office had no projectors or fancy screens. Everything was strictly 'analogue' technology, aside from a handful of laptops and tablet computers. Circling a town to the north-west, up the coast and past the space center, he continued.
"As per our previous intel, the hostiles are currently holding at Sinnamary, a large riverside town north-west of Kourou and the closest town north of the Spaceport. As such, that's why we have to hit them there, and drive them back. Current intel indicates that the hostiles have artillery north-west of the town along the road, and are shelling the friendlies holed up in the town, who are awaiting reinforcements. There's also word that a riverborne force of hostiles are en-route from inland, trying to outflank the defenders in the town".
Scott took a sip of his tea, and nodded to St. Helen, who began to pass out sheafs of paper info to the other pilots, before taking her seat again.
"There you've got the modes and codes for our communications, so we'll be able to talk to the ground forces. Now, our intel is that they hostiles only have minimal airpower at this time. As suggested yesterday, they have some helicopters, mostly lightly armed utility types, and a handful of turbo-prop counter-insurgency aircraft. Some of them can be armed with Sidewinders and machine-guns, so they could be a potential threat if we're not aware, but nothing that we shouldn't be able to avoid. And local forces say they've mostly been used for harassing convoys and positions. There are indiciations of a hostile mercenary group, but nothing we've been able to pin down; indications are that these aircraft are operating from dirt strips in the rainforest, resupplied by truck through logging roads. So, we have a few issues to deal with. That in mind, the mission profile is as follows." Scott raised his voice a little, and spoke more firmly, making sure everyone had a clear idea of what was coming up.
"The squadron will be split into two flights. Charnel, Stalin and Viking, you'll be Eagle Flight. You're going hunting for the enemy aircraft; since your planes are both primarily air-to-air fighters your job will be to pounce on any hostile bogeys that crop up during the ground attack by the other flight, and to intercept and identify any non-registered flights. If possible, track them back to their point of origin. Stalin - I want your Su-35 loaded with some air-to-ground ordnance, so you can attack if you have a target of opportunity. Otherwise, mark the location for follow-on attacks. You'll be watching the rest of our backs during the operation, and keeping us safe. Which brings me to Hawk flight - that'll be composed of myself, Short Round, and Spirit. We'll be tackling the air-to-mud mission. Our primary targets will be the artillery batteries located along the road to Sinnamary, and then our secondary objective will be the riverine forces. Following that, we move on to any other identified positions, ordnance and fuel permitting. Our main goal with this operation is to allow friendly forces to push up the road from Sinnamary and create a firm line of defence for the spaceport, and a buffer zone while reinforcements arrive. If we achieve this objective, we can go on the offensive and hit back at the enemies' supply dumps and rear areas, allowing us to push them back out of range of the spaceport when the launch is due, tomorrow evening".
Scott glanced down at his notes for further information, taking another sip of tea, and clearing his throat before continuing. One hand rubbed his bristly chin, and he gave a slight half-smile before speaking on.
"In terms of triple-A, we're looking at a small number of shoulder-fired missiles, a lot of small-arms fire, and a few out-dated optically guided rapid-fire guns on trucks. Nothing sophisticated, but keep your awareness high, and watch each others' backs."
He set the paperwork down, and looked around at the others, his face still confident and firm.
"All right. That's the mission. Now, we take off in forty-five minutes, and leave here in ten. Get your shit squared away, and let's move".
Almost exactly on time, Scott guided the ASF-14 smoothly along the taxiway, the canopy powering down as the jet rolled over the drying tarmac. Sliding his anti-glare visor down into position, he held the oxygen mask up to his face as he spoke.
"All right, ladies and gents. Visibility is good, weather is fine, and all systems look good. Let's show these punks that Thunderbolt Black is in town, and make the announcement a loud one. I'm eager to see what we can all do, and I'm sure our employers will be looking on with interest too. Let's go earn our beer tokens".
Turning onto the runway, Scott ran the power up to takeoff as St. Helen gave him a thumbs up from the back seat. The tower cleared them for takeoff, and the pilot buckled his mask into position, toeing off the brakes as the roaring thrust kicked him back into his seat, and the tomcat rocketed down the runway, smoothly climbing into the bright blue skies, gleaming in the sun as he turned into a holding pattern.
After the other aircraft joined into formation, he held the formation at low altitude, following terrain as they skirted along the coastline, the early-morning sun gleaming off of the sea. To their left-hand side, the capital slipped past, and Kourou and the space center only a few tens of miles after that, the launch pad a yawning empty space for the meantime. In the near distance, smoke curled up from the settlement crouched on one bank of a wide-mouthed, meandering river.
"All right, folks," Scott said, coming back on the air and cutting through the peaceful flight. "Split up, and let's get busy. Charnel, Viking, Stalin: goood hunting, and keep our asses covered. The rest of you, follow me in. We'll take it in three waves."
St. Helen scanned frequencies from her back-seat position, and spoke up as the Major from the previous evening came on the comm-channel.
"Attention, Black Knights, this is Major Constantine. We are marking out positions with green smoke. Repeat, our positions are marked with green smoke, and our forces have pulled back to within the city limits. Anything on the roads outside of Sinnamary can be considered hostile forces, over!"
"Copy that," said St. Helen, relaying the information to the rest of the flight. "All targets with green smoke are friendlies, anything outside the city to the North-west is a hostile and we can engage at will!".
Scott hauled the flight around in a banking circle over the town, a flick of his wings giving the indication to spread out into a staggered formation with better spacing. On the road, a few miles north of the town, were various dug-in positions, set up in garrisoned and seized homes or other facilities, or dug into natural features. Between and around were small groups of people and equipment, or mixed vehicles with people carrying guns and other equipment clinging to them.
"All right, let's start making money. Break up and choose targets. I'm going to hit those convoys before they reach the town and the major. The rest of you, get busy!"
As the three Black Knights tasked to ground attack got busy, the skies were not quiet either. A distant gleam of metal or glass on the horizon heralded movement, low to the trees and closing in from inland. In formation were four Cessna Dragonflies, the wide, straight wings of the small jet aircraft bristling with rocket and minigun pods, ready to strafe and blast the Gendarmerie and militia lines. And as they closed in, there was the brief warble of a searching radar, which immediately went silent again...
As they all began to move in for refueling, Marciano pulled the Hound to the back of the pack, the Tornado was sitting well within a good fuel supply plus the mounted drop tank made the pilot feel pretty good about waiting. As he waited Marciano took the time to look around the sky, not for any real threat, more for simple enjoyment and to kill time as each plane topped off their tanks. As the line whittled down to the Hound, Marciano went about the motions of the mid-air refuel, the entire process taking very little time as soon as he got up there, more of a glorified trickle of fuel than a true refill. Marciano yawned slightly as he pulled the Hound away and back into the loose formation he had been keeping up until this point.
That was until the news came over the com.
Marciano frowned silently as the news that the situation on the ground was intensifying, nothing could ever be simple right? "Well that would just make it too easy, and the easy stuff is for the regulars and not paid professionals" he reminded himself as he pulled the Hound into a tighter formation. Though this thought also made him slightly chuckle as the news continued to state that a nice sized tropical storm was rolling in "And I would never wish it any other way."
------
"Roger dodger" was Marciano's quick response as he slowed down and brought the Hound into the landing que. The landing came with no significant complications, in fact he set himself down fairly gently considering that the wind was beginning to pick up fairly fast. He quickly began to taxi to the hanger to get out of everyone's way. Shutting down he let himself relax for a bit before opening the canopy and collecting his munitions. Climbing down the ladder hee smiled to the ground crew which were runging here and there "Take care of er." He said before turning to the van. Grumbling avbout the rain he sprinted to make it to the transport without getting to wet. Getting inside he relaxed, sinking into the seat. "Well I could go for a nice, cold, something."
That was until the news came over the com.
Marciano frowned silently as the news that the situation on the ground was intensifying, nothing could ever be simple right? "Well that would just make it too easy, and the easy stuff is for the regulars and not paid professionals" he reminded himself as he pulled the Hound into a tighter formation. Though this thought also made him slightly chuckle as the news continued to state that a nice sized tropical storm was rolling in "And I would never wish it any other way."
------
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good."
"Roger dodger" was Marciano's quick response as he slowed down and brought the Hound into the landing que. The landing came with no significant complications, in fact he set himself down fairly gently considering that the wind was beginning to pick up fairly fast. He quickly began to taxi to the hanger to get out of everyone's way. Shutting down he let himself relax for a bit before opening the canopy and collecting his munitions. Climbing down the ladder hee smiled to the ground crew which were runging here and there "Take care of er." He said before turning to the van. Grumbling avbout the rain he sprinted to make it to the transport without getting to wet. Getting inside he relaxed, sinking into the seat. "Well I could go for a nice, cold, something."
MachineSoul Ghost in the limelight.
Member
Seen
6 mos ago
The Ukranian pilot kept his jet in formation and remained silent during the initial phase of the flight, the only moment he had to open his mouth was for the refuelling maneuver, which he nearly refused; the Su-35 could endure the entirety of the flight no problem, but a thought whispering in his ears convinced him to go for it anyway. He patiently waited for everybody else to have their fill first, preferring to be the last one to get his own portion of fuel. With the grace of a bull, he lined his wardrobe with the nozzle dnagling behind the refuelling aircraft and allowed the fuel to pour in. After that, the flight was simply eventless, Dmitry scanned the horizon, the radar, but nothing popped up. News came in that the bigger planes landed safely to base, which pretty much meant that no one was hunting them; if someone really wished to do damage, all they had to do was to target the convoy and flee before the jets could intercept. Thus, the pilot kicked back and tried to enjoy the rest of the flight. In that moment of relaxation, he let his brain wander through his memories and replay the highlights of today's event. He tried really hard to be happy about scoring another kill, but everything happened so fast that, somehow, he felt that the assault was yesterday's news; even the, otherwise impressive, orbital strike seemed like a distant affair.
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good." Said his superior, Scott Valentine, through the comms. That alone was enough to have Dmitry snap from his idleness and scan the ground below and locate the airbase.
"Copy." He only barely parted his lips to comply with the plan.
Again, he allowed everyone else to go for the landing, since he had the most fuel in his aircraft. He tried his best to circle the airstrip, stay clear from other planes' flight trajectory and keep the Sukhoi from stalling, bleeding some of the speed during the wait. Once his turn was up, he rolled his monster almost upside-down, pitched upwards to kill more speed and get in line with the tarmac. After one more roll, the Sukhoi was facing the right side towards the ground and from there, the landing procedure was as standard as it could get. Dmitry taxied until he found a hangar that still had enough space for his jet and crammed it inside. Although he was a little late, Scott was still kind enough to help him shelter the plane from the downpour that just started to flood the place. The pilot had to really focus and squint his eyes to understand Scott's words as the raindrops slamming against the hangar made a very loud racket. Out of inertia, Stalin followed the score of pilots to the hotel, being glad that he was offered a rain coat; the USSR would only offer a beret, that would soak anyway, and call it generosity. The day wore him off enough to just remain passive through the short brief, clasping his hips as he lazily followed the Major with his eyes and absorb as much intel as he could still comprehend. Once given the leave, Dmitry found his way in an empty room, showered off the grime his body accumulated throughout the day and simply crashed in the provided bed, loosing consciousness in a matter of minutes.
Come morning, the pilot woke up in the morning, expecting to be woken up by his cellphone; only then he realized he left that back on the island too, which meant that he had to buy a new one, along with another gaming laptop. He joined the rest of the gang for Knight One's briefing, only to find out that they were expected to go out on a mission again.
"All right, Black Knights. I hope you all slept well, and you're ready for our first sortie. The weather is on our side, and we have full details of the enemies' positions. I've had word from the airfield; nothing was damaged, and we're able to fly ASAP. Our planes are being prepped as we speak, and uploaded with ordnance right away. The downside currently, is that Kat is off the roster for now due to illness. So, we're flying one plane short. On the upside, we're taking the big stick to the bad guys."
Dmitry couldn't help but to chortle when he saw Scott pull out a pool cue, imagining that they had to perform a tactical airstrike with pool cue warheads. He tried to keep a straight face for the rest of the briefing, taking mental notes of the plan that had been laid in front of them. It seemed a little strange that the cat-ear-lady was given sick leave, but he tried to pay no mind to that and instead, focus harder on Scott's words.
"Stalin -" that alone nearly made him jump, thinking that he was about to get scolded for his less-than disciplined demeanor, his head shot straight at his superior and his back straightened so hard that some vertebrae snapped from the tension.
"I want your Su-35 loaded with some air-to-ground ordnance, so you can attack if you have a target of opportunity. Otherwise, mark the location for follow-on attacks. You'll be watching the rest of our backs during the operation, and keeping us safe."
"Oke, no problem." The Ukrainian pilot nodded abruptly.
Basically, he had to keep the skies clear and substitute Kat as well; he didn't mind going multirole, he only hoped that he would remember how to perform precise bombing runs. If his jet had to be loaded with Kh-25s, and if he was lucky enough, get at least one Kh-59 missile that could ruin someone's day from a safe distance, they were especially useful against AA guns. Given that the OPFOR anti-air capabilities were rather limited, he judged that maybe the Kh-59 would be a rather excessive asset. The 25 variant would be sufficient against rapid-fire weapons if he would be cautious around them, and, of course, if he had the liberty to do so; since he was the task to support the entire team, he thought he would have to keep himself in the background most of the time and judge when to strike, intercept, counter-intercept and provide cover.
They were given forty-five minutes to prep for the flight, Dmitry decided he wanted to down some light breakfast and have a strong coffee. Before he would part to meet his needs, he brought his index and thumb to his tongue and blew out a short, but ear-busting whistle.
"Charnel, Viking. You heard d'boss, we're flyswatters today. I'll hang back on this mission t'be ready t'bomb shitheads and help you guys out with any tails that you can't shake off, oke? You need help, call me and I'll chase the motherfuckers back home. Catch you on the flip side."
With that, Dmitry nodded at the two and headed off to get some food in and down it with a cup of coffee. When the time came to gear up and hop in the jet, the pilot got to his Su, where he got a quick summary of the loadout: 5 FAB-250, 2 Vympel R-77, 2 Kh-25, 300 30mm rounds for the internal cannon and, to his delight, 1 Kh-59. The technician was also kind enough to provide the pilot with a few spare Bizon-2-02 SMG 64-rounds magazines, to which the pilot nodded slowly and smiled in appreciation.
"You are a good kid. Stay safe, da?" He said before he took a few steps for the jet, where he spat out a green, gelatinous bit and drew a cross on his upper body. In a matter of minutes, he was up and in formation and once again, flew at the very back. Once they were in the danger zone, Dmitry took a deep breath in and pulled his aircraft to the side to survey the area. Very little time passed until Dmitry spotted the first signs of possible enemy presence, a number of bogeys popping up on his radar. He tried to look for them through the canopy of the fighter plane, indeed spotting a distant formation of planes heading inland, of which he was 100% sure that it wasn't not on their side.
"Squad Stalin here, be advised: I've four bogeys heading inland at grid 552091, bearing 087, flying at low altitude. Break. Viking, Charnel, they look like air-to-ground from here and I don't think they want to drop good presents for our guys... it would be embarrassing if any of you get hit by those slugs, so be good and fuck them up, da? Break. Hawk flight, watch your 2 in case those kretyny target you guys instead."
"Let's practice an overhead recovery; with things going as they are, I don't want us overflying the jungle too often if we don't have to. And who knows - we might need combat recoveries before this is over. Taxi straight to the shelters as soon as your wheels touch ground too. I think we should get the aircraft under cover quick, those clouds don't look good." Said his superior, Scott Valentine, through the comms. That alone was enough to have Dmitry snap from his idleness and scan the ground below and locate the airbase.
"Copy." He only barely parted his lips to comply with the plan.
Again, he allowed everyone else to go for the landing, since he had the most fuel in his aircraft. He tried his best to circle the airstrip, stay clear from other planes' flight trajectory and keep the Sukhoi from stalling, bleeding some of the speed during the wait. Once his turn was up, he rolled his monster almost upside-down, pitched upwards to kill more speed and get in line with the tarmac. After one more roll, the Sukhoi was facing the right side towards the ground and from there, the landing procedure was as standard as it could get. Dmitry taxied until he found a hangar that still had enough space for his jet and crammed it inside. Although he was a little late, Scott was still kind enough to help him shelter the plane from the downpour that just started to flood the place. The pilot had to really focus and squint his eyes to understand Scott's words as the raindrops slamming against the hangar made a very loud racket. Out of inertia, Stalin followed the score of pilots to the hotel, being glad that he was offered a rain coat; the USSR would only offer a beret, that would soak anyway, and call it generosity. The day wore him off enough to just remain passive through the short brief, clasping his hips as he lazily followed the Major with his eyes and absorb as much intel as he could still comprehend. Once given the leave, Dmitry found his way in an empty room, showered off the grime his body accumulated throughout the day and simply crashed in the provided bed, loosing consciousness in a matter of minutes.
Come morning, the pilot woke up in the morning, expecting to be woken up by his cellphone; only then he realized he left that back on the island too, which meant that he had to buy a new one, along with another gaming laptop. He joined the rest of the gang for Knight One's briefing, only to find out that they were expected to go out on a mission again.
"All right, Black Knights. I hope you all slept well, and you're ready for our first sortie. The weather is on our side, and we have full details of the enemies' positions. I've had word from the airfield; nothing was damaged, and we're able to fly ASAP. Our planes are being prepped as we speak, and uploaded with ordnance right away. The downside currently, is that Kat is off the roster for now due to illness. So, we're flying one plane short. On the upside, we're taking the big stick to the bad guys."
Dmitry couldn't help but to chortle when he saw Scott pull out a pool cue, imagining that they had to perform a tactical airstrike with pool cue warheads. He tried to keep a straight face for the rest of the briefing, taking mental notes of the plan that had been laid in front of them. It seemed a little strange that the cat-ear-lady was given sick leave, but he tried to pay no mind to that and instead, focus harder on Scott's words.
"Stalin -" that alone nearly made him jump, thinking that he was about to get scolded for his less-than disciplined demeanor, his head shot straight at his superior and his back straightened so hard that some vertebrae snapped from the tension.
"I want your Su-35 loaded with some air-to-ground ordnance, so you can attack if you have a target of opportunity. Otherwise, mark the location for follow-on attacks. You'll be watching the rest of our backs during the operation, and keeping us safe."
"Oke, no problem." The Ukrainian pilot nodded abruptly.
Basically, he had to keep the skies clear and substitute Kat as well; he didn't mind going multirole, he only hoped that he would remember how to perform precise bombing runs. If his jet had to be loaded with Kh-25s, and if he was lucky enough, get at least one Kh-59 missile that could ruin someone's day from a safe distance, they were especially useful against AA guns. Given that the OPFOR anti-air capabilities were rather limited, he judged that maybe the Kh-59 would be a rather excessive asset. The 25 variant would be sufficient against rapid-fire weapons if he would be cautious around them, and, of course, if he had the liberty to do so; since he was the task to support the entire team, he thought he would have to keep himself in the background most of the time and judge when to strike, intercept, counter-intercept and provide cover.
They were given forty-five minutes to prep for the flight, Dmitry decided he wanted to down some light breakfast and have a strong coffee. Before he would part to meet his needs, he brought his index and thumb to his tongue and blew out a short, but ear-busting whistle.
"Charnel, Viking. You heard d'boss, we're flyswatters today. I'll hang back on this mission t'be ready t'bomb shitheads and help you guys out with any tails that you can't shake off, oke? You need help, call me and I'll chase the motherfuckers back home. Catch you on the flip side."
With that, Dmitry nodded at the two and headed off to get some food in and down it with a cup of coffee. When the time came to gear up and hop in the jet, the pilot got to his Su, where he got a quick summary of the loadout: 5 FAB-250, 2 Vympel R-77, 2 Kh-25, 300 30mm rounds for the internal cannon and, to his delight, 1 Kh-59. The technician was also kind enough to provide the pilot with a few spare Bizon-2-02 SMG 64-rounds magazines, to which the pilot nodded slowly and smiled in appreciation.
"You are a good kid. Stay safe, da?" He said before he took a few steps for the jet, where he spat out a green, gelatinous bit and drew a cross on his upper body. In a matter of minutes, he was up and in formation and once again, flew at the very back. Once they were in the danger zone, Dmitry took a deep breath in and pulled his aircraft to the side to survey the area. Very little time passed until Dmitry spotted the first signs of possible enemy presence, a number of bogeys popping up on his radar. He tried to look for them through the canopy of the fighter plane, indeed spotting a distant formation of planes heading inland, of which he was 100% sure that it wasn't not on their side.
"Squad Stalin here, be advised: I've four bogeys heading inland at grid 552091, bearing 087, flying at low altitude. Break. Viking, Charnel, they look like air-to-ground from here and I don't think they want to drop good presents for our guys... it would be embarrassing if any of you get hit by those slugs, so be good and fuck them up, da? Break. Hawk flight, watch your 2 in case those kretyny target you guys instead."
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