Chp. 7: Hit and Run
March 31, 1995
Altaria Bay, Osea
"Behind me you can see the Kirwin Islands as she finally sinks beneath the surface. It's a truly sad sight as one of the most powerful ships in the Osean Navy has been overpowered. I think I can understand the emotions the rescuers of the ocean liner Serenity felt when they watched the mighty ship sinking at the end of the ordeal. Helicopters have been pulling survivors out of the water all morning long but we don't have an accurate count of how many have survived. We can be certain it will be a long effort, however…"
Mae hugged her knees tighter as she watched the scene from the comfort of her home. The attacks on the Osean Navy had been the big focus lately, as had been the continued push by the Belkan Army into Northern Osea. Mae had only ever lived there a few years when her dad was in the service; she had no particular connections outside of distant friends.
"…Statements released from Oured are giving us a vague picture. It appears that the main concern for the military right now is its own understanding so it can help the civilian populace. However many civilians have called into our local stations up there complaining about the lack of information."
Though Ryan and she hadn't seen eye-to-eye on everything, she had agreed often with Ryan's short tirades on the media. Despite restrictions on details of what they could say regarding the military, reporters still obsessed over the stories and sometimes construed them intentionally or otherwise. Mae only watched the news now to get an idea of what was going on to. It seemed like they were dancing around blaming them for not being transparent enough. Was the civilian population's safety important? Yes, it was one of the principles Ryan had sworn to when he'd become an officer. But she felt they were taking the military's attempt to contain and double-check as a sign of not helping them.
Unable to take much more, she changed the channel to something else, and ended up on a rerun of Bana Vice. The brunette stood up and walked to the fridge, but she didn't open it up in the end. She had little idea what to do with herself; she felt too anxious with no contact from Ryan. And she still had to go to work later today…soon disgusted with everything at the moment, she turned off the TV and stormed into the bedroom, hiding from being reminded where Ryan was under the covers. As far as she was concerned, he'd be home this evening when she got back at five; until then she'd dream about him…
Mae kept her arms out as she balanced on the surfboard, aiming for the end of the closing wave. Her face betrayed little more than a tinge of anxiety; there was always the chance the water would close around her before she exited, and her natural instinct would be to feel uneasy with so much of it closing its grip on her. She crouched over just a little more and squinted to keep more of the spray out of her eyes. Almost there…almost there…Mae exited the curl and pressed onwards to safety. Feeling a little confident of herself, she held up a hand and waved to her other friends on shore. Mae eased herself down and carefully paddled back to shore. As she stood up on the sand and dragged her board up off the ground, a young man with a Marine Corps' haircut approached her.
"Most excellent there, Mermaid." Lance Corporal Eli Bates said.
"Hey my dad doesn't want his girl to be a slacker, Bait." She replied, completing the exchange of nicknames.
They gave each other low fives before walking towards the gaggle of people settled around a small grill. Mae set her board with its kin and joined the rest, accepting her lunch with a smile after she peeled off her wetsuit. Eli sat next to her and took a few bites from his plate before he looked away and then jerked his head off in the same direction.
"Hey, you're pretty good at making friends, right? I want you to meet someone." Eli said.
He led the brunette towards the fringe of the group, where an unfamiliar face was sitting, tending to a hamburger.
"Oy Ryan; look alive, Blue Jacket." Eli whistled.
The young man stopped as he was lifting the sandwich to his mouth and settled his eyes on Mae. She smiled and gave a polite wave.
"Heyo, Bait said you and I should meet?" She asked. He stood up, clearing his throat.
"I guess…uhm I'm Ryan. Ryan Bradford. Eli's my cousin." He explained.
Once he was standing, she was able to get a better look at him. The dirty-blonde hair, skinny frame, green eyes. It wasn't hard to assume he wasn't trying to stare at her body. Mae kept back a giggle.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Mae Bridger." She said, extending a hand. He reached out and shook it.
"He spends summers out here with me nowadays. You two might get along, at the very least both your dads fly." Eli added.
"Your dad flies?" Ryan asked. Mae was slightly irked that the aircraft mechanic had brought up her dad so quickly, the deterrent to many potential boys, but she played along anyways.
"Yeah, he does; VMFA-52." She shrugged.
Ryan invited her to sit down with him. He steered away from the subject of her dad's job.
"So is it fun being a Leatherneck's daughter?" He asked, smirking a little. Cheeky…
"I don't know, is it easy being a Blue Jacket's son?" She winked. He chuckled.
"Touché. Don't worry I'm not one of those snotty Navy types that thinks Marines are all uncivilized and rude."
"I would've punched you by now if you were." Mae announced.
Ryan smiled, looking like he was becoming a bit more comfortable, and looked out at the ocean.
"You did pretty well out there." He said.
"Thanks, you surf often?"
"Not at all, actually. I was born at Tanner Air Force Base while my dad was on exchange with the Air Force, and after he passed we lived with family in a place called Nora Flats, in the desert."
"Oh…I'm sorry to hear your dad passed." Mae said, resting her hands on her knees.
"It happened a long time ago; I've learned to get past it. Hope that didn't make things too awkward." Ryan apologized, his tone getting a bit more nervous at the end. He started to get quiet when Mae decided to bring up something happy.
"Wanna hear something kinda goofy?" She asked. He tilted his head at her.
"My name isn't Mae. It's actually Marine; Mae is just a shortening. How clichéd, eh? The daughter of a Marine is named Marine." She laughed, a bit wryly.
"I think it's a really pretty name." He admitted, almost too quietly for her to hear.
He was cute, really cute…in that shy, boy-next-door kind of way. Mae didn't usually take note of boys like this so quickly, but she liked giving her attention to this Ryan Bradford, at least for now…
Flottillenadmiral Hinkel felt this suicidal. His armada was already painfully outnumbered, and now the force was being split. The reasoning, he'd been told by Flotilla Command, was to reinforce the defenses at the Futuro Canal while operations were underway to extract oil from the facilities there. The Prince Bierwirth would remain with half of its escort, ten ships, and stave off the Oseans as long as they could. The promise was that the Willhelm and Dinsmark were leading the rest of the Belkan Navy to reinforce and would be in range to strike in a few days. A few days wasn't enough; the only reason the Oseans weren't in the bay already was because they were distracted by their wounds and the near-constant stream of Belkan bombers lobbing ASMs at them from maximum range!
Hinkel, sitting alone in his cabin, leaned forward and pressed his palms against his face. The Sapin Royal Navy had been easy to defeat. They had no carriers, only old Osean frigates they'd locally retrofitted to their needs. The Oseans were, despite delays, going to win. He expected them to attack by air, primarily, using their vaunted carrier air power to destroy this fleet. The Kirov's fearsome reputation could not withstand overwhelming numbers. Therefore the plan was simple. They WOULD hold out until the two other Kirovs arrived, and they would even retreat to reinforce the ships around Futuro and make a last stand there. From that position, fighter cover would be in a better position to help.
In fact that was his best chance of survival; he would withdraw north, delay death (maybe even escape it) and concentrate into a strong defense around Futuro. His recommendations would go out immediately. Then when Willhelm and Dinsmark arrived, they would trap the Oseans and try for a victory. It was his only option, but it provided some good fortune. Until then he would have to maintain his current orders. Hinkel just had to survive that hurdle. He sighed and looked at the copy of the battle chart on the far wall of the well-lit space. If only the Njord had become a reality…
The scene was reminiscent of the night of March 30th: jets, at least a dozen, being armed with the AGM-84F Harpoon…but now it was April 3rd. For close to ten days the Osean fleet had failed to retake Oured Bay. It was so bad at points said mission was side-lined so the three wings could help in Sapin. VF-115 had been tasked with providing CAP for a strike on a bridge last night to gum up the Belkan advance. To try and help the Navy, the Air Force had given some more focus on the bomber bases in Southern Belka (coincidentally an F-15 from one of those strikes had led Ranger to his latest kill when he rescued it from a Mirage). But now the Navy was going to take the bay, and knock out the Belkan Fleet. They'd had their run, distracting the task force with bombers and submarines, but they were out of steam.
Ryan watched as the "Harpoon shooters" that were to be launched were being arranged to follow their escorting Tomcats. He and his RIO would be part of the CAP for a six-ship of A-6s from VA-67, the Heartbreakers, as they struck against the southern part of the Prince Bierwith's escorts. They'd been briefed to expect five ships, two Hamburg-class destroyers and three Bremen-class frigates. The Bierwith itself would also be a factor with its own SA-N-6 "Grumble" SAMs, their 96-mile range and their Mach 4 speed. The nature of the mission meant they were without hard-kill SEAD, but two EA-6Bs would be on call to jam and confuse the array of air defense radars. They could expect to bear the brunt of the defense.
The entire time, Ryan was doing everything from praying for survival to playing out the different ways this could go down. His best hopes, beyond returning safe, were to bail out far enough away or bail out and hope he could survive in the confusion of the attack. If the fleet was pushed north, or any direction away from him for that matter, he would have a good chance of a rescue helicopter plucking him out of the water. It was the first time he'd ever really considered the threat of being shot down. The subsided though when more present matters came to be. The cat shot that day was the same as it had been for his other combat launches; Ryan had to admit despite no physical differences the lurch and sudden acceleration seemed to get his mind in the right state for the fight. They weren't expecting much in the way of enemy air cover, though. The attack had been planned to hit as the Belkans rotated CAPs…or, at least that was what they were hoping.
The strike pressed southwest, nearing Oured's realm. Ryan could see a few outer patrols of the Capital District Air Defense Wing. They were probably just the tip of a number of layers of defense. He could imagine that for once staff tours at The Castle were at least somewhat noteworthy. He would never imagine, either, that the capital of his own country would be at the center of the war like this. It'd always felt like Oured was far enough away from its enemies to remain in relative safety. Those paranoid types always said that you'd be fighting in the streets of Bana City or Arwood if Osea was invaded, not Oured. The strike force pushed near-parallel to, then west, of the city. They planned to hit the ships broadside.
The thoughts of capture started to creep in soon after, when the quiet task of pressing towards the target settled into motion. He'd seen pilots suffer the indignity before, especially in the modern age of 24/7, worldwide media. Once proud, brave fliers had been reduced to scared, beaten shells of themselves when captured and interrogated. The media time was solely to have them unwillingly denounce the war effort by their nation. Futuro in 1985 had yielded such sights, as had Romny in 1987. Ryan shivered; what would the Belkans do if they got him? Would he be simply locked up? Beaten? Starved? Dragged in front of a camera where Mae would have to watch him get prodded to declare Osea the aggressor? Ryan shivered and sought distraction from the thoughts. He referred to his trusty RIO.
"Razor, any updates on the little lady that's soon to be?" Ryan asked as they settled onto heading 270.
"Imari's been going to the doctor regularly; Amika's developing as a healthy baby should." Takeru assured.
"Good to hear, good to hear." Ryan said. There was a brief pause.
"Say Rocky, I know Tom was just being cute about a week ago, but have you and Mae considered a kid?"
Ryan thought about that was they banked right towards the Belkan fleet some 340 miles north, maintain their altitude of 22,000 feet.
"I personally would like to have a kid, but I never seriously asked her." He said.
"Then ask her, genius." Razor winked. Ryan rolled his eyes.
"Want a son or a daughter?" He added.
"Either would be fine…we'll save the rest for later." Ryan replied.
They were closing in on Grumble range; the SA-N-4 Geckos on the escorts only had a range of about ten miles but they were out further from the Kirov. The Prowlers were sending out all the jamming they could against the ships. The A-6s moved to very low altitudes. The attack aircraft were slow, but besides making their runs at the highest speed their two engines could put out, they planned to launch their AGM-84s (four each) at near maximum range, 170 miles. Ryan watched his Horizontal situation display and kept in tune with Razor to get an idea of where the Belkan fighters were. They soon learned the strike from the Kestrel and the F/A-18 package from the Stinger had drawn them eastwards. VF-115's only enemy today was the fleet itself.
The pilot of Firebird 105 kept up his speed so he could have energy. The RWR was already chirping as the F-14s were entering their CAP stations. His wingman, Firebird 107's Charles DePalm and Bruce Cole, split on his order and took the cold leg first. They were roughly 94 miles away from the Bierwith, but the frigates below were the first threat. They didn't wait to meet the Tomcats, either.
"SAM coming from one of the Bremens." Razor confirmed in tune with the noises in Ryan's ears.
"Beef, break from the station. I'm going right." Ryan ordered as the two F-14s passed.
"Going left." The fellow Lieutenant replied.
The blonde deployed chaff and searched for the missile. All the meanwhile he quietly cursed the whole situation. SAMs were the worst kind of enemy, the big, fast brutes. Damn the Belkans, damn them playing all sides. Damn them for begging the Oseans to help ease their financial woes by offering to sell Belkan weapons to Osean proxies. Damn them for cozying up to the Yukes to get some of their anti-aircraft missiles, arguably the best in the world, so they could turn around and shoot them at Oseans. He searched still until he saw the growing trails of smoke from below. Picking the one aimed at him he deployed more chaff and angled himself to get into a place the Gecko couldn't chase him.
"Got a second missile coming at us." Razor updated. What were the Prowlers doing?
"Where is it?" Ryan asked, keeping his mind on the first.
"Seven low, break left and dive."
"Okay hang on, gonna get past this first one."
Ryan braced as the first SAM sailed by, exploding somewhere behind. The second was racing up and closing. Ryan deployed more chaff and followed his RIO's advice.
"Third SAM, third SAM; six low."
At least this one had come as the second was losing track (the EA-6s were helping after all, he decided to hope). Ryan kept his cool and turned right. He then decided it was time to move further south. Ryan was also being pressed for altitude, speed and momentum with all these maneuvers. He decided he would go low, for the waves, and see if that would help. The pilot increased his speed and began to pull back on the stick so he'd level up when he was low. The missile arced after him despite the moves to resist its pursuit. He decided to maneuver, jinking wildly from left to right at first to overwhelm the weapon with his maneuvers.
Deciding the tried and true moves were the best, he broke hard right and let off a little more chaff, waiting to see what would happen. As he neared the water, so close he could see the foam from the waves, the weapon exploded. It was close, close enough to damage their jet. Shrapnel fragments slashed lightly against the skin of the fighter, but Ryan kept going. Takeru whipped around to check the jet for any apparent problems, and then looked at the gauges on the jet itself.
"Okay we're good so far." He relayed.
"Gauges on my end look okay." Ryan announced, flicking down his eyes as he screamed forward at roughly 2000 feet.
"Beef, you up?" the pilot added.
"Firebird 107 is airborne and defensive. What about you, Rocky?"
"Pulling back a little to get some breathing room."
Ryan pulled back towards the sky, keeping his speed going. The RWR was still beeping; it hadn't stopped. Ryan looked at his fuel and started calculating his options…
"Firebird, Firebird, this is Heart. We've rifled our loads and are turning tail."
The words he'd been waiting for.
A/N: So as a play on the game's setup, I took the fact that we never see the Njord, mentioned only in the assault records once, and spun it into being a failed Belkan project that was spun into a Paper Tiger of sorts.
