Yo. WingZero here. Without FoxyHottie here for once too.

Posting the first C&C fic for awhile I believe.

Just a quick note, not only do I not own anything used here, not even the story. This is originally from the 'WarStories' section of This story is owned by Ted Visser. Not me. I have merely chosen to share this great story with everyone. Thanks Ted, wherever/whoever you are.

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CAPE COD NAVAL AIR STATION, MA, 3:42AM

*BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ*
Captain John Bryant slowly drifted out of his dream, rolled over, and slapped his alarm clock, which had just gone off. It kept buzzing. He half-opened one eye to check the time.
"Morning already?" He mumbled as he looked at the clock.

"Has someone been playing with the clock again?" he said out loud, strongly suspecting Myles, the base engineer, who had a knack for practical jokes. When he checked the alarm, though, it was still set for 6:30. Then something hit him. He jumped up out of bed and ran for the direct phone line to base command. "What the Hell is going on?" He shouted into the receiver

"What happened?"
"Sir, we have received orders to send the entire squadron south to the USS Wasp, which is currently anchored in New York harbour."
"What happened? Why?"
"Sir, my orders are to relay this command to you and to orchestrate the takeoff from Cape Cod. You will take off, rendezvous with the tanker over Connecticut, and receive your briefing there. This is all I know, Sir."
A cold chill ran down Bryant's back.

"I definitely hope this doesn't mean what I think it does." He said under his breath. He then walked back to his bed and threw on his flight suit and boots. Had to look good for the rest of his troops. 3:50. 'No time to waste'. He ran out of his quarters, down the hall, and into the next building where the rest of the squadron was still sleeping.
"EVERYONE UP! NOW! WE GOTTA BE IN THE AIR IN 10 MINUTES! THIS IS THE REAL THING! EXPEDITE!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Good one boss, can we go back to sleep now?" Asked one of the more tired pilots.
"You think this is a joke? I just got orders and you just lost 2 minutes talking to me! NOW MOVE!"

This got them moving. As soon as they finished, (you would be surprised how fast people can dress when motivated correctly) John discussed the mission as they walked toward the flight line.

"Ok listen up people. We will take off at 0400 and proceed in a south-westerly direction toward New York, rendezvous with a tanker from Stewart at 0430. We will receive further orders from the tanker crew. Until then maintain total radio silence. Understand?"
"YES SIR"
"Alright then, let's do it!"
The crowd of pilots began to run and split up, each heading for a different aircraft. There were in total 16 AV-8B Harrier II's at the airbase.

As John reached his, the sergeant in charge of the aircraft greeted him with a quick
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning chief, how's she loaded?" he asked as he made an extremely quick walk around of the aircraft.
"Two gopher zappers, two harpoons, two sidewinders, a drop tank and 2500 rounds. I warmed her up for you; you just have to start the engine and go."
"Anti-Shipping? What for?"
"No idea sir, I just follow the orders."
"Thanks, chief", he said as he climbed the ladder. "See you later." he added, hoping that he actually would.
"You too sir."

He sat down his ACES II ejection seat, Strapped himself down, closed the canopy, and enjoyed the last few seconds of silence he would hear for a while.. Then he started the engine. The huge 238000-lb Rolls-Royce Pegasus 11-61 thrust vectored turbofan spun up gradually, starting with a high pitched whine and slowly building itself up to a low pitched roar. He then angled his thrust nozzles down, locked them in place, and pressed the transmit button on the control stick.
"Com check, com check this is group leader call sign Scorch to squadron-report in, over"
"Scorch this is Flash reporting, over."
"Scorch this is Taco reporting, over."
"Scorch this is Xena reporting, over." Said the squadron's only female pilot.
And the list continued, until the 15th pilot reported in.
"Cape Cod tower this is Scorch, requesting permission to lift off tarmac 19, over."
"Scorch this is Cape Cod tower, permission granted, lift off and proceed to tanker rendezvous immediately. Use total radio silence. Good hunting, Captain."
"Roger wilco. Thank you. Scorch out."
What had previously been a loud noise now became a insanely loud uproar as 16 Harriers turned their engines up to full power and lifted off the tarmac, hovered for a second, and then one by one, as if by slow motion, angled their thrusters to the aft and drifted forward, gradually picking up speed until they reached normal thrust and turned south, flying in formation over the water.