I present to you a unique take on the events from Ace Combat 5, NOT from the POV of one of the Wardog pilots, but from someone you never actually see. I'll let you guess who.
Disclaimer - I don't own anything related to Ace Combat. I have expanded on one of the characters a bit, and have introduced a few supporting cast, but I own nothing!
Shorebirds
The morning sun flooded my room, waking me up from a restless night's sleep. The nightmares had recently returned, the 6th of June 1995 playing back in vivid clarity. I can still feel the shaking of the airframe, even though fifteen years had passed. I, along with my crew, had nearly died that day. We lost two of our four engines, lost all navigation and communications gear, we flew back by following a single F-15C with blue markings on its wings that had passed near us. The aircraft was a write-off, and our crew was returned home for the rest of the war. They feared that if we were deployed again shortly afterwards, we wouldn't be able to function properly resulting in an unmanaged battle space and an increase of allied casualties. Safe to say, it was a good call.
I slipped on a dull grey tee shirt and zipped my flight suit half way up, tying the arms around my waist. It hid my rank insignia, but everyone in the squadron knew me anyway, so it wouldn't matter. After cleaning myself up, having breakfast and getting the days orders, I called my flight crew to the briefing room. We had a patrol today, and I needed to make sure everyone knew their part. I waited out the front of the room while everyone slowly filtered in. They quickly took their places and waited for me to start.
"Listen up. I'll only say this once so you'd better be paying attention. Questions will be answered afterwards." I stood in front of a team of around twelve people, all of which were under my command. Most of them were equipment operators and analysts, a handful were the aircrew. "We will be flying a standard patrol circuit around Cape Landers today from ten hundred hours to fifteen hundred hours local time. While on station, we will provide support to any and all civilian and military aircraft that need our assistance. Weather will be fine, so the ride will be comfortable."
I took this moment to contemplate what I may need to answer. Surely, they would not send us up for any particular reason other than to maintain our edge. I waited another minute, but no one raised their hand. "Ok, if we are all set, suit up and load up. Dismissed." I exited last and made my way down to my room to get the rest of my flying gear. It wasn't glamorous; there wasn't any anti-G suit or fancy flight helmet with a mounted cueing system. Just a kneeboard, paperback book and survival vest. Not that the vest would really be needed in combat. Our unit usually operated towards the rear, over friendly territory. If we were to get shot down, it would only be a matter of hours or so before we got rescued.
I reached the flight line, and took the moment to admire our craft. The E-767, a flying command centre built from an airliner, was the Cadillac of aircraft. She was a beauty, elegant and smooth, absolutely graceful. Sure, fighters might be fast and exciting when they flew, but she looked the best when she flew slow and easy. The large radome mounted up the rear of the aircraft was her weapon. When at the right height and power, we could see over three hundred and twenty kilometres away, and able to identify multiple contacts at once with little to no time wasted. As our fighter and strike counterparts said, we were their eyes and ears. We proved that they were right every time we flew with them.
"Major Walters, time to board sir." I heard my name being called by one of the senior aircrew, the pilot, from the boarding stairs. Another voice, a female's this time, came from behind me.
"Kelly? Let's go already. We're going to run late if we don't move." Captain Hall, one of my fellow crew, walked up beside me and nudged my arm. "Lemme guess, sixth of June?" She had been on board the flight as well, when we were both junior officers in the communications section of the crew.
"Yeah. It was this kind of time we stepped off for that flight. This kind of weather too."
"Don't worry, nobody has those kinds of weapons any more since then. And if those Belkans were to act up again, the Allies would swamp down on them again." She started to walk off, but stopped and turned back. "Oh, congratulations on the promotion, sir." I moved to catch up, hoping that my delay didn't delay our flight and patrol time.
At nine o'clock, we took off from our home field. At nine-thirty, we activated our close range radar and commenced checks. At ten, we began our patrol. I stood from my command console and paced down the aisle. The systems on board were split into different sections, mainly to spread workload in a combat environment. There were three main crews: One that managed aerial contacts, and one that managed surface and ground contacts, and one that handled basic communications. Each team of operators and analysts had access to each other's data, to allow them to deconflict each other and maintain complete situational awareness. In warfare, everyone was busy trying to maintain control of the airspace, something one aircraft and crew cannot do. That's why it was common to see two or three sets of crews in the area, covering sections of the airspace.
Captain Bianca Hall led the Airspace control team. I trusted her with her cool head and quick thinking under pressure; traits needed to lead the busiest team on board. Captain Derek Winters looked after Surface command. He had transferred from the Maritime Defence Force, having been an operator on their E-2C Hawkeye AWACS aircraft. Unlike the E-767, which crewed up to ten or eleven equipment operators and analysts, the E-2s only had three. And he had light combat experience during the Belkan War, his squadron attached to the OFS Kestrel. Lastly, Captain Simon Johns, a transfer from one of the reserve squadrons. He handled communications, relatively an easier job on board, but a hard one nonetheless. He didn't have any true combat experience, the closest thing he was in were the annual BLUE FLAG training campaigns.
For the first half an hour, the airspace was calm. Only light civilian traffic, and maybe one airliner here and there. The crew shared stories about each other, pranks during basic training, rumours about legendary aces from the Belkan and Usean conflicts, and current affairs. Then a contact appeared that got our attention.
"Command, Airspace. I've got a contact on scope, bullseye one-eight-seven, angels ten, heading one-eight-zero. Unknown aircraft type, requesting instructions." Hall relayed a call from one of her operators on the air-to-air radar monitors about something he saw on his screen. I pulled up a copy of his screen on my console. There was a single contact heading south towards the ocean, and it was headed for a section of the coastline covered by our air defence zone.
"Airspace, Command. Aircraft is headed towards the southern ADZ. If he's a civilian craft, he's going get blown to pieces. Keep track on him, assign him as Track One. Radio, command. Try to establish communications with Track One, warn him what will happen of he maintains course." The respective areas of the crew instantly went to work. Hall was on top of the job as usual. The ID tag on the contact changed from UNK to TCK 1, a sign that we were now tracking the contact.
"Command, radio. We just established contact with the aircraft now. He will not respond, but the frequency we got him on isn't ours."
"Who's is it?"
"Yuktobonian, one of their military channels." I froze. What the hell was a Yuke aircraft doing this far away and in our airspace. "I caught some chatter, like the pilot had left their mike on. I think they are making their return now."
"Command, Surface. Be advised, Maritime Defence Force NIM-104 batteries have detected the aircraft and are readying to fire. Wait, I've got a launch. Two Patriot missiles are in the air." Winters' voice became increasingly alarmed as he reported in. He was almost shouting when he finished.
"Surface, Airspace. I'm tracking the missiles now, twenty seconds to impact." I reached to grab the headset reserved for battle space emergencies. The channel was preset to Air Defence Command, and there was always an operator on the other end.
"Battlemage, this is Thunderhead, AWACS on station at Cape Landers. We have a possible enemy contact in the air, has been engaged within the ADZ. Missiles are in the air at time of transmit. Requesting instructions, over." Hopefully the operator got all the details I provided in that short transmission. Frantically, I awaited a reply.
"Command, Airspace. Missile one has impacted, missile two has missed. Track One is still in the air, altitude dropping, speed decreasing and has changed vector to zero-niner-zero."
"Command, Surface. Ground sites are still tracking, search and track radar still active, guidance radar is inactive though. I think they're standing down." I opened my mouth to reply when the ADC operator replied.
"Thunderhead, this is Battlemage. Continue tracking the contact. Ground sites have been instructed to stand down but keep tracking. We're dispatching a fighter squadron from Sand Island to intercept, ETA twenty minutes. Thunderhead, when the fighters arrive on station, you will vector them to the bogey, over."
"Battlemage, Thunderhead. Copy, will continue tracking bogey. Awaiting the fighters to arrive, over."
"Battlemage out."
"Command to all stations. Continue tracking the bogey but do not become fixated. Chances are that if that is a Yuke aircraft, he's called for help and they've scrambled fighters to cover him. We've got fifteen minutes until our guys arrive to guide him home."
The next fifteen minutes were tense. The mood was palpable; everyone knew their task and role to play in the coming hour. I walked past each and every console, making sure everyone was ready. Most of the crew had been involved in wartime missions fifteen years ago, including me. I took my post at the command console, noting the time. 11:01am, the fighters should be here now.
"This is Heartbreak One of Wardog Squadron, we are approaching the target." The voice over the radio set off the action in the cabin. Voices came though my cabin channel giving additional info about their target and the squadron.
"This is AWACS, callsign Thunderhead. Roger. Bring the target to the ground. Do not fire at the target. Repeat, do not fire at the target." I relayed the instructions given to me by Battlemage to the fighters in the air. I awaited the pilots reply.
"You got that, nuggets?" Apparently the lead just skipped ahead to make sure his flight were clear with instructions. I looked at the squadron information file, given to me by one of the analysts. Wardog, officially the 108th Tactical Fighter Squadron, had come under attack just yesterday from a flight of unknown fighter aircraft. Only select people were told about this incident, especially those operating within the same airspace that the incident occurred. They had lost the majority of their pilots, most of them rookies since the 108th detachment at Sand Island were an auxiliary training squadron instead of an actual combat squadron. Sand Island was perfect for training new pilots in combat manoeuvring, the wide spaces and open seas provided less risk of collisions and collateral damage if an aircraft were to go down.
No wonder the lead wanted to make sure his flight knew what they were doing; the odds are that they were the freshest pilots, straight out of Heirlark AFB. I listened in as one of the pilots, callsign Chopper, gave the instructions to the bogey over the UHF Guard channel.
"Command, Airspace. I've got four contacts on radar, bullseye zero-nine-zero, heading two-eight-zero, angels nine. They're closing on Track One and Wardog fast; they could be the escort fighters." I acknowledged Hall's call with a hand wave as I relayed the information to the fighters.
"Warning! We have four high-speed bogeys inbound. Approaching unknown aircraft bearing two-eight-zero, altitude six thousand! Hold your fire until further orders!" I listened as the pilot, now identified as Captain Jack Bartlett, hypothesised and admired the tactics of the bogeys. The two formations of aircraft closed fast, almost as if they were aiming for each other. Then my heart sank.
"Heads up! They're firing on us!" I knew what was about to happen, and whilst I knew rules were to fire back, I still had to remind them not to engage.
"Wardog Squadron, weapons safe! Hold your fire until further orders."
"Oh, come on! Those aren't blanks they're firing out there!" The junior pilot shouted his panicked complaint into the radio. Then I saw launch signatures from the lead aircraft from Wardog.
"Shut your mouth and fire back!" More signatures, this time from craft two and four, ID'ed as Edge and Blaze. Maybe they didn't hear me before.
"Captain Bartlett, this is Thunderhead. You are violating direct orders!"
"Shove it! I'm not gonna watch any more of my pilots die!" Then it hit me. He must have been the flight lead during yesterday's surprise attack. No wonder he was quick to engage, he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. More radio calls came over the net, signifying missile launches and kills. Each call corresponded with a change on the radar screen. Slowly, the contacts ID'ed as bandits disappeared. I know that they were fired upon, but they violated orders. I didn't want to be put on record as not trying to do something.
"Wardog, I ordered weapons safe for all aircraft. Follow orders and hold your fire."
"Command, Airspace. I've got a second group, same heading and angels as before." One of the analysts called this across the cabin.
"Do not fire at the target. Repeat, do not fire at the target." I needed to get Wardog back under my control. If I didn't, I could get in serious strife.
"Command, Radio. I'm picking up enemy chatter. Looks like Track One has gone down and the escorts are noting location." Sure enough, I looked on my screen and saw that Track One had disappeared.
"Wardog, enemy recon aircraft down." I heard the flight lead make a remark about this, and watched the screen as the new wave of bandits disappeared from radar quickly. I scanned again, and saw that the only aircraft on screen were Wardog.
"Airspace, Command. Confirm that the airspace is clear of all unknown contacts."
"Airspace confirms, Command." Hall's voice was fatigued, a sign of her adrenaline rush starting to subside. I looked at my crew, and noted how everyone looked. Sweat was starting to form on everyone's foreheads, not from the interior heat, but from the stress caused by our first live combat engagement in years.
"All unknown bogey aircraft destroyed." I relaxed in my seat, watching the clear screen as Wardog proceeded to return to base. "Radio, Command. Dispatch CSAR assets to the area, maybe we can recover the downed pilots of that recon aircraft and the fighters."
"Roger that Command, making the call now."
I typed up a message to be sent via secure data link to Air Defence Command, the standard method for all non-urgent transmissions by C3 assets like us. These transmissions kept the voice channels clear, which can get clogged up fast and have the risk of having information shared leaked.
Engagement over Cape Landers. Recon aircraft intercepted by OADF flight [TAC ID WARDOG]. OADF engaged by unknown aircraft, suspected Yukobonian origin. Recon aircraft crashed during engagement. All unknown bandits shot down by OADF, no OADF losses. CSAR assets scrambled to attempt recovery of pilots downed in the fight. [SENDER = TAC ID THUNDERHEAD].
"Sir?" Hall's voice caught my attention. She was standing beside my console, using it to support her stance.
"Yes Bianca?" I removed my headset, allowing my ears to cool down and to hear Hall clearer.
"Did that really just happen? I mean, that wasn't an exercise, was it?" Her voice showed fear and concern, something I hadn't heard from her in fifteen years.
"I don't know what to say. I just know that we did what we were trained to do, and did as best a job as we could."
We touched down back at base around four o'clock in the afternoon, and debriefed shortly after. I spent the night writing up an after-action report that I needed to file the following day. Being a crew leader of an Airborne Warning And Control System team was hard work. I also did some more reading up on the 108th, the squadron we operated with today. I don't know why, but I felt that our paths will cross again sometime in the future. As I slept that night, thoughts of what really happened and what could have happened filled my mind, taking the place of the nightmares I had been having of late.
What Bianca had said to me afterwards left questions in my head. And the questions scared me.
What will happen now? Where did those jets come from? Is this the start of something bigger?
I honestly did not want to answer the last one.
There we go. A new concept, new POV, and a few ideas to ponder about the actual character from the game. If you liked this, favourite, follow and review.
Thanks!
