Angel One: Covert Ops
Chapter Ten
0240 Hrs, Iran
37 kilometers the GLA secret base,
"Double or nothing, Angel One."
"What's the bet, Warcat One?"
"That the enemy base hits at least one of our aircraft."
"That's pretty grim. I'll take it."
"Roger Angel. I'll get hit myself to win that double."
"Copy. Switching frequencies."
George leant back in his seat and shut off the radios. Normally, it would be illegal to do this, but with the level of secrecy that this mission had been placed on, George had no doubt nobody would hear of his infraction of the rules.
0352 Hrs, Iran
Over the GLA secret base,
George threw his Nighthawk into a tight roll, desperately avoiding the rapid-fire 30mm anti-aircraft guns being fired from below. He leveled out, nearing his bomb run. He hit a button on his MFD, starting the countdown that would give him the time till he released his payload.
George hauled back on his stick, jerking the Nighthawk up in a tight climb. He swore, watching his MFD as the timer reset itself, even as another spray of tracer bullets shot past his nose. He angled for another bomb run, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.
Two wingspans away, he could see the HUD lights from his wingman, who had already released his payload onto the enemy defenses and was working with him to fend off any defending forces as George desperately tried to release his vital payload.
He did a quick roll, then throwing subterfuge and stealth to the winds, he powered up his afterburner. The F-117, not normally equipped with an afterburner, began to creak a little under the strain of the extra power output. The moment the afterburners kicked in, his infrared signature more than tripled too, and his threat warning-computer made so much noise that he shut it off. His countdown timer ran out to five seconds, then he pulled a handle on the side of his cockpit, muttering to himself.
"Going to manual… Firing solution engaged. Firing."
George pulled the throttle down into maximum military power again, the jinked hard to the left, releasing his payload as he did so. Two AGM-69 SRAM nuclear missiles shot from the Nighthawk, heading straight for a group of nuclear power plants that looked suspiciously of Chinese design.
George breathed in hard from his oxygen mask, trying to calm down, when a bat-wing symbol appeared on his radar display. "Shit." He swore, reading the words next to the symbol. Class 4ZQ5Y AAA-tracking radar. Of Soviet origin. "Tell me you aren't a Quad." George growled, turning to evade the radar even as it began to chase after him. He sped quickly away from the area, circling around the radar this time.
He brought slowly brought his throttle up, and just as the first sparks of the afterburner came from his engine, the nuclear missiles he had launched detonated. The blast area wasn't as significant as he had thought it would be. But then again, it had only a five-kiloton warhead, equivalent to about five thousand tons of TNT or dynamite.
"Ready for covert operation," George said to himself, mockingly. He brought the Nighthawk low. At about 2000 feet, he leveled out and began to make minor alterations to the plane's course. Several seconds later, he took his hands off the controls and ran them through his hair. He powered up two displays on either side of his ejector seat, and waited.
His MFD blinked on, then displayed "HOTAS disengaged." HOTAS stood for Hands-On-Throttle-And-Stick, a marvelous invention, which allowed the pilot of a plane to control all systems necessary for combat without taking his hands off the throttle-and-stick.
George closed his eyes, still waiting.
0400 Hrs, Iran
North of the GLA secret base
OPERATION: THUNDER BRINGER commences
George inhaled sharply as the Nighthawk went into a steep climb. So steep, that it stalled. And then, with a hiss of hydraulics and compressed air, his cockpit broke free of the bomber. The Nighthawk, with its airfoil rendered useless, toppled towards the ground, then exploded in a brilliant flash of exploding fuel and aircraft parts.
The cockpit, with George inside, deployed two parachutes, painted black so as to blend in with the night sky. George held on tightly to both sides of his ejection seat, silently telling himself that this ejection wasn't because of a failure.
The cockpit hit the ground several painfully slow minutes later, and George breathed a sigh of relief that he had not yet (or as far as he was aware of) detected. The cockpit slowly turned into an off-road vehicle, complete with a single 20mm cannon, capable of transferring between armor-piercing and incendiary rounds in less than a second, and a TOW missile tube. The TOW missile could be loaded with either HE (High Explosive) or AP (Armor-Piercing) warheads. Transit between warheads took about four seconds, which was critical in combat, so he had been advised to select his favored warhead upon landing. Reloading took about seven seconds; the launch process took twelve seconds, which gave him a good, but not excellent re-fire speed.
George picked the Armor-Piercing warheads for the TOW, and incendiary for the cannon. Finally, completing all his preliminary preparations, he pushed on the pushed forward on the joystick. The control method had taken quite a while for him to get used to, but once he had the basics laid down, the simulations were a breeze.
Quite soon, George drove past a GLA structure. Not a normal GLA structure, but an odd conglomeration of rocket launchers and machine-guns. The defensive structure (so George assumed) was obviously powered down, with its guns and rocket launchers all pointing toward the ground. It was most likely an automated structure, which had been on the power grid that he and his wingmates had wrecked so much havoc on.
George continued driving, mentally going through the various procedures that he would have to perform once he reached his destination. Infiltrate, Attack, Exfiltrate. Survival is your priority. If completing the mission means certain death, you are to terminate the mission at once and head for the exfil point.
"Well, that can't be too difficult," muttered George.
0436 Hrs, Iran
Inside the GLA secret base
George fired another round of incendiary bullets at a squad of RPG troopers. The GLA base was no longer cloaked in darkness. It was, instead, bathed in the bright lights of several fires, burning from various damaged GLA structures. George had rendezvoused with his wingmates inside the GLA base itself, all of them shooting at anything green and moving.
George's buggy had already blown a tire, due to a stray RPG round, courtesy of the GLA. As a result of the blown tire, George had quite some trouble keeping at the speeds necessary to maneuver through the base safely. The base had been built like a city block, making it all that much more difficult to negotiate, as almost all the major junctions were well defended.
Then, as George was deciding which way to turn, his MFD beeped, text scrolling across the screen. Direct satellite uplink from USA Detention Center Intelligence Division 0699D. Please wait. George waited. Three seconds of hard maneuvering later, the MFD displayed a map of the base. "Awesome." He muttered, turning so that his vehicle was aligned with the map.
Two blocks away from the palace. I'll have to take a round route to avoid that palace. Four blocks down, right two blocks, left six blocks, left two blocks. Then I'll have to improvise. George gasped as his headset started blaring. He ejected two flares, which shot outwards and then hovered for several seconds before falling to the ground.
The RPG round, which had been meant for him, detonated against one of these flares. George, cursed, then drove down the street and made the right turn. He was safe. Until the enemy caught up. Opening the canopy, George stepped into the suit of armor directly behind his ejector seat. Looking at it, he was reminded of a video game he had played some time ago. He racked his brains, trying to remember the name even as the armor closed in over him.
HALO! George grinned at the memory. He had played for hours with his cousin, in maps with situations just like this. One man against a thousand. Should be easy. Or so George thought.
George erected a series of instant-set-up barbed wire and tank traps, effectively giving him another few minutes when the enemy ran into it. He dumped the rest of his fuel over the wires and tank traps, and placed a small remote detonator in the fire. He linked up his helmet's viewscreen to the buggy's camera, and set the buggy's self-destruct on remote. Another speed bump. George began to run, making good time.
About four blocks down the base, George checked his viewscreen. Perfect timing. The GLA troops and motorized had just arrived and were attempting to breach the wires. He hit the detonate button for both the buggy and the detonator. The viewscreen showed static; then changed to display his armor's ammo and power statuses.
Yep, just like a video game.
To Be Continued...
