Sorry about the wait ma boiz. Some personal shit came up and I'm an incredibly slow writer.
I'm adding In an additional disclaimer alongside the 'I don't owe shit' one, I don't believe any of the views my characters have, I'm a great believer in not having writer's beliefs their writing. I just tend to make my characters into arseholes. Also, I'm pretty shit at writing in general.
XXX
AAN World News
US LED NATO TASKFORCE DISAPPEARED; ALONG WITH ENTIRE ALTIAN ARCHIPELAGO
By Mark Cole, AAN Updated 9:03 AM ET, Mon August 11, 2035 | Video sources: CNN, DOD, BBC, CBC/CBMT, FOX
Yesterday the US-led NATO taskforce dispatched to Altis has disappeared 2 days after the ground force invasion and a day after the USN Aircraft carrier, the USS Freedom arrived in the area.
[Image: USS Freedom and her escorts leaving the Norfolk Naval Base]
The Pentagon confirmed that the battlefleet had disappeared after losing communications on the early Sunday morning and a P-8 recon mission confirmed the disappearance of the archipelago.
[Video: The Secretary of Defence conducts a press conference on the disappearance of the Freedom and her battle group]
CSAT hasn't claimed responsibility; however, several terrorist groups have, the claims being dismissed by the Secretary of Defence as preposterous. He also expressed his condolences to the families of the missing Servicemembers.
[Image: USS Freedom, now with European Warships attached, transits the Gibraltar straits]
The DOD, MOD and other Military organisations involved in the task force have published a list of the missing forces:
Naval Forces:
USS Freedom
USS Blue Ridge
HMS Ocean
USS Tripoli
USS Port Royal
USS Leyte Gulf
USS Higgins
USS Ramage
USS Winston Churchill
USS Benfold
USS Ross
HMS Daring
Forbin
SPS Santa María
HMS Portsmouth
Bremen
HMS Victorious
USS Alexandria
USS Seawolf
USS Jimmy Carter
Plus 20 Auxiliary and Supply Ships
(1 Aircraft Carrier, 1 Command Ship, 2 LHAs, 3 Cruisers, 5 Destroyers, 3 Frigates, 4 Submarines)
Air Forces:
43rd Fighter Squadron
44th Fighter Squadron
47th Fighter Squadron
8th Fighter Squadron
2nd Aviation Battalion
VFMA-314
VAQ-129
VFA-2
VFA-14
VQ-3
VAW-113
HM-12
HSM-46
825th Naval Squadron
(Entire Force Adds up to 256 Aircraft and 3372 Personnel)
Ground Forces:
111th Infantry Division
7th Armoured Brigade
22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit
Plus, another 15-armed forces elements from NATO countries
(Entire ground force adds up to 20200 men.)
The disappearance of the task force is another blow to NATO power in the Mediterranean, the first being the annihilation of Task Force Aegis, which you can read about in this report: The Mystery of Task Force Aegis. The Incident has military and scientific experts baffled. The all Experts contacted by AAN could not explain the phenomenon, one geological expert said, "Islands do not disappear overnight, especially when a fleet is anchored 40 miles off it." And a Military Expert said, "There is not a weapon in the entirety of human history that could do such a thing."
[Image: Zumwalt and Stout leave Malta Harbour, escorted by Maltase Tugs and Patrol Boats]
The US have dispatched the two destroyers stationed at Malta (USS Zumwalt and Stout) to investigate the tragedy.
(AAN's Mark Cole, wrote and reported from Malta. The Associated Press, BBC, ARD, CBC, FOX and UPI also contributed to this report.)
XXX
My eyes flutter open and I'm confronted by the redhead from the dogfight.
And she's glaring daggers at me and a gentle jingle above my head informs me that I am handcuffed to the bed I'm on, also a
I look Wilcke, and then the handcuffs "Kiiiiiiinnnnky." I drawl, putting on a Southern accent.
Wilcke opens her mouth.
"I mean, you could of at least of bought me dinner first."
There's a long torturous second as Wilcke's mouth continues to do a good impression of a goldfish. And then the woman next to her starts laughing like a maniac.
Wilcke's face ripened into a crimson red and furrowed her brow as she stormed off.
This only encouraged the woman next to her, finishing after a while with a short of breath.
"I've got to admit pilot." The woman said between breaths "You've got balls but, alas down to business, why did you fire at us?"
I stiffen at this "Standard Rules of Engagement." I reply, "Only engage unknown combatants if fired upon. You fired upon me, I followed the rules."
As she takes this in I observe her, she's wearing an IJN uniform, which is weird considering the IJN was dissolved in '45 and if she was IJN she'd be trying to cut me into sushi with her katana. Then again, the same could be said for Wilcke with her Luftwaffe Uniform.
"Anyway," The woman sighed "from the look on your face you've got some questions, but they'll have to wait. And Pilot… Thanks for saving my friend, even if you're the one who put her in that situation."
And with that, she turned on her heel and headed out of the Infirmary.
Yeah, I'm not dealing with this shit, not today. I'm going to sleep.
I'm still exhausted despite being fully healed, still don't know how probably should have asked that but…
Not dealing with this shit.
It's surprisingly easy to get to sleep, despite the odd position my hand is in with the cuffs. The residing combat fatigue is overwhelming.
XXX
A sharp jab to my ribs wakes me, interrupting my sleep.
Oh, it's the Red Queen herself, Wilcke, this time joined by a ginger and a brunette, the latter with a very serious face and the other with one of complete bemusement.
Wilcke leans over me to unlock the cuffs.
"Put your Shit on pilot," The Brunette dumps my gear on the bed as I swung my legs out of the bed. "we've been told by our command to escort you to an Island called Altis."
I grunt as I inspect my now clean flight jacket. "How long was I out?"
"A day."
I grunt again as I pretty much rip off the hospital gown I was dressed in, Wilcke looks away, flushing, not like she could see much with my Ranger panties on.
"Like what you see Wilcke?" I say dryly with a smirk.
"Shut up you Idiot and get dressed."
I grin, I could get used to fucking with her and I put my shit on, too used to quickly putting on flight gear ready to scramble.
I pick up my helmet, inspecting it for damage, finding nothing but the flaked White and Red paint of where shrapnel had hit my helmet, I had one of my ex-girlfriends paint my helmet in the style of the skeleton pilot from the song Do the Evolution. After a moment of messing around with the strap on my harness, I strap it to my waist.
I would also ask a shit ton of questions like; "How the fuck am I alive?" and "Why the Fuck are you wearing a Luftwaffe uniform?" But the rare showing sensible side of my brain says no, this shit is way above my pay grade.
"Right let's go."
As I step out of the building, followed by the trio of girls. the cool and fresh air of the Mediterranean at dusk, much preferable to the stuffiness and smell of antiseptics in the Infirmary.
The Airfield wasn't exactly visible in the dark, the setting sun casting the entire base in dark.
"To the Jeep," Wilcke ordered
I followed Wilcke to the Jeep, a Willys MB, its engine running with a nervous looking Infantryman in the driver's seat. Wilcke sat in shotgun and turned to the ginger.
"Shirley, take the rest of the wing back to base, me, Trude, Sakamoto and Erica will escort the pilot."
"Roger that!"
And with that, the Ginger walked off to one of the nearby hangers and Wilcke directs the poor grunt to one of the hangers on the other side of the aerodrome.
The hanger was about as heavily guarded as Fort Knox or Area 51 for that matter, MPs with Thompsons and M1s were posted around the entrances and a Sherman was sat around the hanger's side.
We jump out of the jeep and following Wilcke's lead follow her into the hanger.
Dim Yellow Lights illuminated the hanger, empty with the sole exception of my Wasp.
I overtake Wilcke to inspect my aircraft, cringing slightly at the wooden ladder leant against the airframe for access to the cockpit, gently lifting the ladder off and putting it on the floor, I unlock the hand and foot holds as well as the boarding ladder and pull myself up and am amazed to see the lack of blood.
"We cleaned it up, Charlotte kept gagging."
I nod in acknowledgement and boot up the F-181's systems, unhooking my helmet and putting it on and plugging it in.
The HuD lights up like a Christmas tree and starts displaying engine warnings, no shit.
Despite the damage to Engine No.2, No.1 is fully operational and luckily the nerds at Boeing knew that because the USMC or USN usually operates out of Carriers, newly built or short runways and made it so the F-181 can fly out on one engine to get repaired.
I should be able to get off the ground, even with the remainder of the combat load I was slinging.
I run a system diagnostic and check while I pull the Helmet off and continue with a visual Inspection
Engine No.2 was a wreck but luckily the shrapnel only lanced through the main part of the airframe, leaving most of the control surfaces and fuel tanks untouched.
Wilcke follows me as I complete my walk around.
"How do those work? Lt Yeager wanted to know." She asked pointing to one of the AMRAAMs hung on one of the hardpoints.
"The missiles?" She frowns "The rockets?" she hums an affirmative.
"Well, the big ones, the AMRAAMs use active radar to lock onto a target and the Small ones" I point to one of the Sidewinders mounted on the wingtip "they use Heat seeking to find their target."
I climb back into the cockpit and slip my helmet back on.
The System Diagnostic confirms what I already knew, No.2 is fucked without a complete overhaul,
"Can you make it to Altis?" Wilcke calls up to the cockpit, her accent slipping, having trouble pronouncing the Greek word.
"Yeah, should have enough fuel and I should be able to get off the runway." I grab a map from one of the little net pockets in the cockpit and hand it to Wilcke, "Altis is around 60 odd miles from here."
Wilcke nods in acknowledgement and turns the map over to see the world map.
"Wow, I didn't want to believe what HQ told at first but its true." She looks up at me "You're from another world."
I grunt I'd thought as much.
"You seem pretty non-pulsed about this."
"I've seen weirder things." I chuckle "In Somalia, sleep deprivation was a real problem due to 'flyin CAP and anti-piracy patrols all the time, side effects included hallucinations, sleeping on your feet and the literal inability to understand written words." I think back "Hell when the Commander of USPACOM came over for an inspection of our Carrier most of us were convinced he was God."
She chuckled a little. "What happened in Somalia?"
"Eh, it's a long story, started in the 1990s with the Somali civil war, around 2000, when foreign ships exploited the absence of an effective national coast guard by invading the fishing grounds. Fishing communities responded by forming armed groups to deter the invaders by hijacking freight vessels. But this grew into a lucrative trade."
Time passes quickly after confirming our route and Wilcke files the flight plan and I start up the F-181 properly and do the pre-takeoff checklist, which is mainly just checking flight controls and control surfaces. A little later I get orders to taxi to the runway.
I met by my escort mid taxi, in their weird striker things.
As tower clears us for the runway, I take pole position and radio the girls "If you don't want to get hit by the jet blast I'd take off in a Vee formation."
I get a series of affirmatives in the form of mic keys.
"Hang on for a minute, going to go through the Checklist."
I pull out the proper Takeoff checklist and start going through it:
Altimeter/Avionics—Set & On
Belts—Secure & EPs Reviewed
Ballast—As required
Controls—Checked & Trim Set
Canopy—Closed & Locked
Cable—Connected
Dive Brakes/Airbrake—Closed & locked
Direction of Wind—Establish
Radio—On & Checked
"Right, already."
I slowly increase engine power, I don't want to tax the engine any more than I already had, although No.1 hadn't been damaged, odds are that it was stressed from me punching the afterburner constantly.
Despite the lack of a second engine, the F-181 easily outpaces the prop engine strikers.
"Passed V2."
V2 is one of the most important parts of takeoff, it's the point of no return, it's the speed that if an Engine (or the engine) was to fail, I'd still be able to continue with the takeoff.
And finally: "V1, positive weight, rotating."
At around 200mph the Wasp takes off the ground, It's black exterior blending into the night.
"Gear Up."
I switch on my Nav lights, I doubt my escort would be able to see me without them.
The Flight is decently short but boring, so I start thinking on the ways I'm going to be shouted at.
For one I may have delivered US tech right into the hands of our possible enemies. Secondly, I told them how our weapon systems work and lastly, I put an 80-million-dollar aircraft in a crippled state to save one of our possible enemies. A knot starts to tie in my stomach, oh shit I'm going to have this shit pinned on me.
Wilcke Interrupts my thoughts "Pilot, shouldn't you be radioing your forces?"
I grunt an "Affirmative." Switching to Freeway's Radio Frequency.
"This is Hornet-1 calling Freeway, you there Big Brother?"
"This is Freeway, welcome back Little Brother, we've been expecting you, we've been told you're with the little girls?"
"Say again, Freeway?"
"The Witches, girls with strikers."
"Affirm."
"Roger that, I'm assigning you callsign Grizzly 1 to 4, continue to point Zulu and then to Echo, Altis AFB, callsign Vulcan will talk you down. Recommend getting the girls on the channel for landing directions."
"Grizzly-1 to Freeway that is Zulu to Echo then sext with Vulcan."
"Freeway to Grizzly-1, readback correct."
"Attention Flight," I say, talking to the girls. "Radio channel switch to 256.5."
Within a few minutes the Altis mainland came into few, its highest peak, Thronos and its castle sticking out among its sister mountains and the orange glow of the Mediterranean sunset, It was also near Oreokastro, a site of a recent supposed war crime by CSAT, I don't know the whole story, something about a CSAT air strikes and AAF killing a bunch of civis.
"Vulcan to Grizzly-1, We've got you, continue to Echo and then turn to 023 and then you're clear to land on Runway 44L."
"Grizzly-1 to Vulcan, Affirm, see you on the ground."
As Vulcan started giving a holding Patten to the girls, I gently bank my aircraft to the right going for a typical standard Patten approach.
The landing is a bit dodgy, I bounce once, cringing slightly, I pray to god that anyone from the squadron didn't see that, I'd never hear the ending of it
"Bit Dodgy there Grizzly-1, taxi to hanger 5, one of the prefabs at the north."
"Roger."
After completing my taxi, I park in the hanger, deploy the ladder and climb down.
Shit.
Dylan is standing there, staring.
He looks pissed.
"I'm fucked, aren't I?"
"What. Have you done to my plane?"
He grabs me by ear.
"You little shit, why do you always do shit so unbelievably retarded?"
He points to the plane, "what happened?"
"Well, as you know, I got into a scrape with that flying submarine and its parasite fighters."
He lets go. "how many kills?" His voice respectful, pissed, but respectful."
"3 and one shared, how did you know about the Witches?"
"You know that CTRG group, group… 45 I think. Anyway, they were attacking CSAT weapon smugglers in Libya, turns out when we 'switched' or teleported, whatever, worlds they ended up thwarting a CSAT attack on some high-ranking generals gathered there." He chuckles, "You should have seen Grady's face when he got on the comm with General fucking Patton, I was there in the CiC."
I grin, "So. What now?"
"For you? Shit cleaning duty for a month. For us in general? Grady and Crossroads are in a meeting with Rommel, Monty, Ike and Patton now, didn't you see the C-47s and Ju 52s coming in?
XXX
I'm quite sorry about this Chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm not a very good writer. To be honest, aerial combat is my bread and butter.
The reason this took so long was, well I had no idea how to write this part, much like how I have no idea how I'm going to write the next part.
Now excuse me for yet another 6 months of alcohol abuse and writers' block.