We have achieved peace in our time.
-Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain
-22 October, 2010
"Man this is stupid. Why do we need to patrol farmland?"
Blaze smiles behind his oxygen mask. His irreverent wingman has a point. The area of Ankerson hill has no major industry, no cities, no military base. The only things here are some electric generating windmills. "Yeah it is pretty stupid, but we're being paid to fly, so don't complain too much."
Three hundred miles away, 1st Lieutenant Davenport laughs.
The squadron had been given this assignment three days ago. They were tasked to patrol the coastline outside of the SAM network for the next three days. While the pilots all thought it was a boring waste of time and resources, Perrault was adamant about the mission being vital to the safety of Osea.
'Not like that whale has any idea what a combat air patrol is like. All he's probably flown are ceremonial flights with unarmed aircraft. Maybe he was a 'trash hauler' in another life and is paying for it now.'
Blaze and Edge turn to make their way through the safe corridors in the SAM net. Prior to the war, the SAMs were set to manual operation. This allowed aircraft through the net, but kept the coastline under surveillance. Now, the SAMs are set to automatic fire. Unfortunately, this means that any aircraft without proper IFF coding will be shot at. Even with the proper IFF, there is no guarantee that a pilot won't have a Patriot rocketing up at him.
Though the radar for the network is overlapping, there are two routes of safe passage. One is on the eastern end of the net, which Chopper and Archer are heading to for their patrol. The other is near the center. Neither are very large, nor are they straight. They are supposed to be used for injured aircraft returning through the line, to reduce the chances of being hit. The High Command's fear is that the Yukes will figure it out and send aircraft through the corridors.
That is why they are here.
"Edge, make sure you got your RWR turned on. I don't trust these missiles."
"Roger, Blaze. Let's climb to angels fifteen, that way if a missile is fired accidentally, we'll have more time to evade."
"That's why they wanted you to lead the squadron; always thinking about what's best."
Edge blushed a little beneath her mask. Though what her captain told her was nice, she knew that she could never have led the squadron. Not after her mistake getting Bartlett shot down.
"… but the damage is light." Edge brings herself back to the task at hand.
"Transmitting aircraft: state your call sign and current status."
Ahead of them, wallowing about the sky, is an OADF C-5A Galaxy transport. "A response. This is the Osean Air Force transport 'Mother Goose One.'" The pilot of the lumbering giant of a plane goes on to explain to the pilots what the situation is. The flight is heading to North Point to take part in a top secret mission of great importance. Due to the secrecy of the mission, the IFF transponder on the transport is not up to code with the missile system. Because of this, one of the SAMs were fired at the transport, slightly damaging the starboard outer engine and messing with the radar. With their "eyes" out of focus, the transport cannot see the safe passage way.
"I'll lead you through the route." Blaze brings his fighter in front of the Galaxy.
"Do you know the way Blaze?"
The young flight lead looks over at his wing. "I know a short cut." Blaze angled his fighter toward the missile net, the transport in tow. Deftly, the young ace loops around radar cones and SAM envelopes, allowing enough space for the large airplane to maneuver easily. After about five minuets of banking and turning, the three planes exit the system.
"I've got multiple hits on my radar. Three flights of two, inbound from the north, vector 002."
Blaze looks over at the transport as it wheels its way to safety. "What type Gremlin?"
"Looking with the TCS right now. I can see the first pair very well. MiG-29s, probably 'As', each armed with the standard Archer and Alamo compliment."
"Anything on the other two pair?"
"Negative, I can't see them yet."
Blaze looks to his instruments to assess what he has to work with. He still has over half of his fuel load, along with all his weapons. 'If there only six of them,' he figures, 'we can take them easily.' "Chopper, Archer, when you get here, go and protect the transport more directly. Anything that gets past us is all yours."
"Roger. We'll keep that transport safe." Still south of them, the two pilots angle their fighters to head toward the transport's location.
"Edge, you ready?"
"As ever."
Blaze smiles. "Tally-ho." The slams the throttle control forward, causing the F-110 engines to scream. In seconds, two specks appear on his windscreen: the Fulcrums. Blaze arms his weapons, selecting the Slammers for an 'in your face' shot. While head on pass kills are not often seen as acceptable tactics, there are exceptions to every rule of engagement. As the fighters pass into the missile's envelope, Blaze fires.
Both AMRAAMs fly true to their respective targets. One hits the starboard intake, ripping out the nacelle in a large explosion. Blaze sees a parachute from that fighter.
The second attempts to turn away, and takes the missile right in the belly. Everything from the canopy on back is engulfed in flame.
"Two more fighters inbound. They appear to be Flanker series, possibly 33s or 35s." Before Blaze can respond to his RIOs information, Edge darts past.
"Edge, engaging." Almost before the words leave her mouth, two huge missiles rocket out from her fighter's belly. Both Phoenix missiles find their targets, Su-33 Flanker-Ks, and obliterate them.
While all this is happening, three miles away Chopper and Archer are engaging two MiG-31 Foxhound interceptors. Both of the large, speedy fighters had slipped past the lead pair while they were busy with the other fighters.
The pair of MiGs split up, as do the two Osean pilots. Archer gets close enough to fire a Sidewinder, which blows out one of the large Soloviev D-30 engines. Chopper, on the other hand, is having difficulty with his Foxhound. The large fighter, or rather interceptor, is not meant to dogfight. Apparently, no one ever told this pilot that. Using his fighter's superior speed and thrust to weight ratio, the Yuke pilot is able to keep the irreverent ace from gaining a clean shot. Already Chopper has wasted one of his Sidewinders.
"Chopper, pull back and use a longer ranged weapon." Chopper does so, getting a good lock for one of his AMRAAMs. The missile streaks in, detonating at the base of the port wing.
"Bull's-eye!"
"Captain, six more aircraft inbound, possibly more MiG-29s." The four fighters turn to meet this threat. Four of the Yuke fighters turn back before reaching the engagement zone. The other two are negated in a volley of Phoenix fire. With the skies sanitized, the pilots turn back to escorting the Galaxy.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Over the radio, the pilots hear some struggling and a gunshot.
The large plane begins to rock from side to side. "Hey, its Dutch-rolling."
As soon as the plane settles down, a new voice is heard on the radio. "Um, this is the transport plane Mother Goose One. Our pilot is dead, and the copilot has been shot."
Chris' mind stops cold. 'It can't be.' While lost in thought, Edge and Chopper help the mystery man direct his secretary in landing. The only problem is that the fields are dotted with huge electricity generating windmills.
"Can you take those out for us?"
Blaze snaps back to the mission. Without acknowledgment, he dives for the nearest windmill, intent on sawing it in half with his cannon.
"Hey kid, don't give yourself a headache aiming at every single one."
Blaze smiles crookedly, "Why don't you come down here and help me then, Motormouth." The young captain turns his fighter toward the next windmill. As he does, he sees Chopper and Edge line up with the next two in the line. All three fall almost simultaneously.
"Archer, take care of that last one." The nineteen year old dive down at it, nearly colliding with the massive tower before banking hard left.
"Mother Goose One, your runway is clear. Happy landings." Blaze waggles his wings at the transport as he slips in to the right wingman spot. As he does, Edge move to the left side of the transport. Peering inside, she can make out the outline of the two men now in control of the plane. Though she can't see either, there is something familiar about them.
"Mother Goose One, your drifting left, apply opposite rudder." The transport slides right, barely avoiding the blade of one of the windmills. "Good. Now, keep straight and ease her down." The Galaxy slowly rotates back to earth, its wheels toughing down against the grass covered field. "Pull back on the throttle and engage the brakes. You've got to stop that thing while you've got room."
Large rooster tails of dust follow the transport as it skids to a stop mere feet from hitting on of the giant towers. Everyone on board the plane, and in the sky, breathe a sigh of relief.
"Are you alright, Mr. Cargo?" Blaze smiles at Nagase's question. Of course she has to know who it really is. 'Doesn't she?'
"Yeah, that was pretty smooth, actually."
"Then you may like to fly with us on a good day, sir."
"Chopper," Blaze chastises, trying to keep from laughing, "watch your mouth." Blaze gets a 'sorry kid' in response.
The man in the transport tells Nagase that he is heading to North Point, an Usean nation, to have peace talks with the Prime Minister of Yuktobania. At least he was. She goes on to ask him why the Arkbird had to be used as a weapon.
It amazes Blaze that she would be so concerned about that. After all, she is a fighter pilot.
"Uh-oh, I'm out of fuel." Chopper taps the fuel gage on his instrument panel, as if that will magically change his fuel status. None of the pilots want to leave the stricken transport before help arrives. But none of them want to have to perform their own emergency landing as well.
"How far can you stretch it, Chopper?"
"I can reach the Naval Air Station at Cape Landers, but I'll be dry by then."
"Can I be of any help," asks 'Mr. Cargo'
"Not unless you have a way of getting at least two hundred pounds of fuel to us from where you are. We'll be alright. I'll just whistle up a tanker from the Air Station, or from McNealy. I just don't want to leave you here."
"I'll be just fine Chris."
"Sir," interrupts Gremlin, "four fighters inbound. IFF calls them Osean."
Over the guard channel comes a smooth, almost emotionless voice. "This is the 8492nd Squadron. We saw the emergency landing on our radar. We'll take care of them."
As the four weary F-14 turn to find fuel for the flight home, Blaze can't help but think that there was something more about that last thing the pilot said. 'We'll take care of them.'
-23 October, 2010
It had started just after 0700 hours, and hasn't let up. If it went on much longer, Perrault would have a cow. He may even revoke the week passes for the whole squadron.
Chris marched down the hall, intent on finding the source of the booming. The closer he got to the pilot's rooms, the louder it got. 'If he doesn't kill you, Chopper, I will.'
Amsel knocks on the door, then slams on it. Grimm, not his irreverent friend, opens.
"Hey Captain," the young pilot smiles at his superior.
"Grimm, do you have any idea what'll happen if Perrault shows up?"
"Aw, let that overweight excuses for a commander do his worst. Nothing is keeping me from my rock and roll." Sitting on the floor is Davenport, a newspaper article in his hand. "Hey Grimm, what say we let Kid pick the next album?"
"Fine by me. Anyone else mind?" Four voices respond. Chris looks around to see not only Hans and Alvin, but also their RIOs, along with Jefferson, and Genette. A voice from behind him catches him off guard.
"Are we late?"
Chris turns to see Nagase, her Rio, and Pops walk up. Pops has a twelve pack of cola in his hands.
Chopper walks over. "Get in here, guys. You too Kid." He grabs Chris by the collar and pulls him into the room.
"What's going on?" Chopper hands Chris a drink and goes pack to his spot in front of the desk. Nagase and Grimm sit on the couch next to one of the RIOs. Pops and Genette stand next to the window, while the rest of the RIOs crowd next to the bed. Unsure of what to do, Chris stays by the door.
"Read this." Chopper hands him the article he cut out of a news paper. The headline reads 1st Infantry Battalion Ships Out.
"So?"
Davenport rolls his eyes angrily at his captain. "So, this means that we'll be invading Yuktobania soon."
"That means more missions," adds Nagase.
"And hopefully, some leave before we're needed for the big push," finishes the youngest pilot.
Chris smiles. "So, we're celebrating early?"
This time, Jefferson responds. "We're celebrating because we aren't sure when our next leave will be."
Grinning, Chris pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. "How does seven days, starting tomorrow sound?"
No one hardly slept that night. Each and every one of us were too excited about going home. We were getting to see our families for the first time in months. While letters and postcards and videos are nice and all, they are no replacement for holding your loved one in your arms; feeling their warmth, hearing their voice, seeing the happiness in their eyes.
