Angel One: Covert Ops
Chapter Five
1936 Hrs, Iran
Air Force Army Main Base
John Coleman Herbst Barracks
Sick Bay 6B
"Major…" Amelia whispered again, as George stared at her, with a somewhat surprised expression. She looked back in incredulity, opening her mouth to speak but finding no words coming out.
The Major ran a hand through his hair, then quickly said, "Did anyone else survive?" Amelia blinked then shook her head, looking down at the floor. "Have you been re-assigned?" he asked again, frowning slightly. There was a tray of food on a small table next to the bed, which was as yet untouched. Amelia looked at it and gestured questioningly, while replying. "No, I don't think I'll be going anywhere anytime soon."
George nodded, looking at the tray. "When did this get here?" he muttered, reaching for it. He started on the food, but found he had no appetite after the fourth mouthful, almost throwing up on the bed. Amelia smiled, watching as the once well built man fell into the bed, apparently exhausted. "Take it easy, Major. I'll catch up with you when you're feeling better."
Amelia walked out of the door. She harbored no feelings for the man, except as a friend and commander, but the knowledge that he had lived was enough to add a slight skip to her step as she went back to the canteen to look for one particular Pathfinder.
1545 Hrs, a week later, Iran
Air Force Army Main Base
John Coleman Herbst Barracks
Gym 2B
George put down the weights, panting. He had put on weight in leaps and bounds since getting out of bed, four days ago. At first, he had been confined to his quarters mostly, simply resting and eating. But once he could get up and run without collapsing, he had frequented the gym so much that the guards on duty near it recognized him, despite the fact that a few hundred Rangers and Missile Defenders used it per day, not to mention vehicle crews and building staff.
He wiped the sweat from his face, and neck with a towel, not bothering with the rest of his upper body. The towel was of interesting design, colored completely light blue with the newest US Army logo on it-an eagle with its wings spread, and behind it a red-and-blue shield, with a sword thrust down the center.
George stepped out of the gym, headed toward the medical check-up rooms. He was scheduled for a check-up within the next five minutes, and he didn't want to be late for this particular one, as there was quite a high chance of him being allowed back into service with this one.
He reached the room, and checking the door number, stepped in. "Hello, Major. Please, take a seat." George sat; waiting patiently as the doctor looked him over. Finally, the doctor took a step away, jotted something down in a notebook, and then looked at George. "You're cleared. Perfect physical condition." George grinned, standing up. "Thank you, doctor. What are the chances I can get a flying duty?" The doctor looked at him and shrugged, then turned away.
George chuckled, headed back to the gym. "Hey Major," a voice called out from behind him. He spun on his heel, recognizing the voice immediately. "Hello Amelia."
"How did it go?" she asked, referring to the check-up.
"Perfect. I got cleared all the way up."
"Awesome. Have you been assigned yet?"
"No. How about you?"
"Well, I opted for a Pathfinder course, but apparently they don't let ladies do those jobs, so I'm joining the Rangers instead."
"Well. That's quite a big change from the Aurora."
"True. But I was only given infantry options this time. Besides, I don't really mind."
"It wouldn't be because of that Colonel, would it?"
Amelia blushed, then replied, "Well, maybe a little, but who's to say?"
"Have fun, Amelia. Oh, why didn't you go for a MisDef course?"
"I don't meet the minimum physical requirements…"
"And I thought that Rangers were strict."
Amelia laughed. "True. Well, this should be the last time we meet. I'm headed to some obscure base south of here."
"Goodbye then."
"What happened to 'good luck?'"
"I don't believe in luck. See you around, anyway. Was fun knowing you."
"Same here," she said, walking off. George looked at her for a moment, then, shaking his head, walked into the gym.
0950 Hrs, 2 days later, Iran
Air Force Army Main Base
John Coleman Herbst Barracks
Officer's quarters, room 18D
George tore open the envelope that had been left on his bunk, reading quickly through it. He was being reassigned to an Air Force Base, most likely a King Raptor one. He was to be what was commonly known as a "replacement pilot." When a plane was shot down, more often than not Air Force Commanders didn't go through all the trouble to train another pilot. Instead, they just took the shot-down pilot and put him on stand-by, built another plane, and put the replacement in the plane.
He began packing the few personal belongings he had, stuffing them all into an Air Force regulation issue bag. He sat on his bed, thinking of how he would finally get to fly.
1232 Hrs, 4 days later, Iran
Air Force Army Main Base,
Air Force Base Zero-Five
Briefing room
"Okay, team, we'll be going on rotational patrol to secure this particular area." The Colonel standing at the front of the room circled a spot on the map.
"Go out in flights of two, knock down any targets you see, on the ground or in the air, and return to base. When the first team arrives at the site, the second team takes off.
"Once you land, get out, take a break, stretch you legs, whatever. Next two pilots-get into the plane, wait for the crew to clear you, then take off as fast as you can. The first team will probably be on their way back already, and so on. Intel says there are multiple Scuds inbound too, so take some ABMs with you. Any questions?"
George raised his hand. "Sir, what happens if the PADS overheat?" he asked, frowning as he thought back to the events that had happened some time ago. The Colonel looked at him, saying, "That hasn't happened as of yet, and I have no idea-ask the techs. Any mission-relevant questions?" he asked again.
When nobody raised their hands, he said, "All right, first take off at 1245 hrs. You know the rest."
George walked out of the room, his head spinning. He was going to fly in the King Raptor, the truly number one fighter in the world. He was grinning like a fool even as he grabbed his helmet and climbed into his plane, waiting for the first team to radio in. His wingman came alongside his plane and gave him a thumbs-up before climbing into his own plane.
His callsign was once again Angel One, and his wingman, fresh out of flight school, had been given the callsign "Angel Two" until they found a suitable callsign for him. "Angel one, this is Sierra. Reaching point. Over."
"Sierra, Angel One, read you loud and clear, over."
"Roger that, Angel One, make for point and visual clearance."
"Copy that. Over and out, Sierra."
George pushed his throttles forward, all the way into maximum military power. When he reached the start of the runway, he pushed it even further, into the AFB-3 zone. His engines lit up, and he roared off the runway. His wingman followed quickly, taking off just after him.
They circled the airfield once, then headed toward their destination of the day. Apparently, with the Air Force Army, tower clearance was only required when three or four aircraft were taking off simultaneously. George leveled his wings and pulled his throttle back to maximum military power, engaged autopilot to keep the plane level, then keyed his radio.
"Angle Two, Angel One. Any problems?"
"None so far. What's your status Angel Two?"
"Green. Ten minutes to contact."
"Copy. 2 high 3 low."
"Mix. 3 high 2 low."
"Roger. Formation break?
"Negative. Go for the Grinder. High then low."
"Copy."
They were nearing the target area by now, which was, in the grand scheme of strategy, a choke point which the GLA were attempting to use as an entrance into US territory. There were numerous Scud-B launchers some distance back, attempting to pound the US Patriot-C Missile Systems into submission, allowing the GLA tanks easier access to the US base. So far, the Air Force Army had taken minimal losses, with only four Humvees and two Patriot systems destroyed when the Scorpions and Marauders first charged in.
By the time there were any aircraft available to support the area, the GLA had pulled in dozens of Quad Cannons and even set up a few Stinger Sites. The Scuds had only recently arrived, thus making the air-to-air arming for the Raptors necessary.
The Patriots were busy attacking the seemingly endless stream of tanks, so the anti-ballistic work was left to the Raptors. Ordinarily, a King Raptor would simply fly close to the missile, letting its PADS systems destroy the missile. Unfortunately for the US, the GLA were using an unbelievable number of Scud launchers, and even the rapid-firing PADS that the King Raptors were equipped with could not compensate for the number of Scuds in the air.
The new Patriot-C systems were Surface-to-air or Surface-to-surface missile systems. Due to the fact that their missiles had to be so versatile, the maintenance and production costs of these systems were extremely high, thus forcing Generals to use them sparingly.
Just as George and his wingman reached the choke point, the other two Raptors turned to leave, flying at AFB-3. George looked at his threat radar. "Missile launch, 12 o'clock!" his wingman reported in, still maintaining course. George keyed his radio, speaking quickly. "Cleared to engage. Fire at will."
"Missiles away, going low," his wingman reported again, turning his Raptor in a tight turn. George squeezed off his last anti-ballistic-missile, then headed down too. He squeezed off both missiles, then turned for home, seeing another two Raptors coming from a different direction. "Angel Two, Angel One. Dump and form on me."
"Roger, Angel One, forming on left wing."
"Copy. Go to max AFB and head home."
"Roger. Take a look at 3 o'clock."
George turned his head to the right, looking at the ground. "Negative contact. What're you looking at?"
"Up high, dude."
A formation of four Auroras was flying towards the choke point, at maximum afterburner, approximately mach three. George stared, tears coming to his eyes as he remembered his wife, and her death. He watched as each Aurora dived to make its bomb run. With the added hydrogen inject and gravity, each plane accelerated to over mach six. They each released one deadly bunker-buster air-to-ground bomb, destroying one Quad Cannon each. It wasn't a lot, but it would make a dent eventually.
The Auroras turned back for base, climbing slowly at barely mach one. Once high enough to fly safely, they flew back toward their airfield at maximum fuel efficiency rate, which was, in effect, very slow for a hypersonic bomber.
George looked at his HUD, smiling a little. For once, something went right in his life. He smiled a little more as he nosed down for his landing approach. It was going to be a really good day.
To be continued…