Chp. 14: Embrace the Suck

May 21, 1995

WY Corporation Altaria Branch

To: Mae (Marine-Bridger-WY-corp)

From: Ryan (Ryan-Bradford115-ON-mil)

Date: May 21, 1995 (10:07 AM)

Subject: Going Out of My Mind

Mae,

Probably not the most reassuring subject line but I just need to get it off my chest. Sorry I haven't been emailing you as often as I should but it seems these days I'm either asleep, eating, flying or doing department stuff. I don't know if you've heard but the war's basically stopped; I've seen it all over the news and I know it more than anyone. I have to confess that it's driving me nuts. Being away from you is bad and so is all the danger, but suddenly screeching to a halt makes it downright unbearable. One minute my mind is laser-focused on being at war. Everything revolves around it until it's done. I tune myself to stay strong and now we take a pause. It's hit my like a good solid punch to the gut from your old man. I know all that might make you feel some unpleasant emotions; it might even suggest I like war. Maybe I do, but neither of us is a pastor or s shrink. You especially don't need to hear that stuff.

The one thing I desperately need is you, though. I say it all the time but I miss you like crazy and that feeling's only getting stronger. I think about you and keep your pictures on me all the time. I really wanna come back to you and get to enjoy all the wonderful things about you. I miss the stuff I get annoyed about sometimes, too. Honestly if I could get one day with you while everything's stopped, I'd be happy for a long, long time. I hope you're doing okay and I'm not freaking you out. I'm glad to hear Mira's doing okay; Skipper's a good guy and he doesn't need his daughter suffering when he can't help her. Give my regards to everyone…and remember I'll always love you. I can't wait to wake up next to you again.

Your Goofball Husband,

Ryan

Mae frowned at the message on her screen and minimized the window. The tone of Ryan's emails had always been relatively cheerful, even as the war went on. She knew it was because he didn't like having negative emotions during this time. He wanted and needed to be confident, he would insist. That warrior bravado her dad still exuded; she understood it and hated it. They'd all always been cocky in their own way. Ryan, Takeru, Tom, and even Keith walked like they had control. Mae easily kept her anger away, though; she would never, NEVER be like her mom. She looked around the organized rows of cubicles to make sure her supervisor wasn't nearby and started thinking. She was supposed to be organizing reports for mass distribution, but this was her man they were talking about. She started composing a reply, typing it out in bursts before returning to what she was actually supposed to be doing.

Mae tried to put herself in Ryan's shoes for a minute and see it from his perspective. The news had reported a sudden slow in fighting, and people were claiming to have seen some kind of blue light. Mae guessed it was some kind of weapon or something of that effect. She understood why no one in the military was talking much; classified information and whatnot. She looked at Ryan's message again and grimaced. He'd been on cruises before and lived with the air of constant vigilance. They'd also become used to being apart from one another. Most of the time they were uneventful ventures, but this time it'd been different. It was easy to see how he would feel after he'd left, ready to wage war, only to be yanked out so suddenly. She could see how he felt, but she felt frustrated she couldn't generate the same feeling.

Mae went back to her work to try and think. She looked over at a notepad near a calendar and ripped a sheet away. The brunette made a note to look into a quick vacation for them when they got home. She could think of half a dozen locations they could go depending on the season. Mae set the note face down and got back to organizing reports. A new thought on how to help Ryan formed in her mind; she decided to chew on it awhile before she added it to the email…

Razor lowered the binoculars and referred to the map sitting on his lap. This was one of the best places in the Cascade to hide a carrier: north of Bock's Island, which was subsequently southeast of Wellow. The Njord was behind the Kestrel and Stinger battlegroups and between them was an island. Not that one carrier would last long against two, in theory, but they had a good chance of getting a sucker punch in from behind. Down there he saw nothing but water; not even a fishing boat. On the horizon was the green and brown shore of the island, at which point a carrier operating would be impossible. Not unless they planned to scuttle her by plowing her into a sand bar. He should've known when they had a completely unopposed run in.

"Privateer 1-3 this is Firebird 2-1, got anything?" He radioed.

"Negative Firebird; I've got nothing." The S-3 to their southwest radioed.

In the front cockpit, Ryan's brow furrowed as they turned to the right to come back around on the east side of the island. The RWR picked up the radar for air traffic control on the island, but there wasn't a single military radar out there other than the Oseans' radars. The initial search area was from Aulick Bay to here…where else could the Belkans have gone? Ryan raised the E-2.

"Storm Watch, Firebird 2-1, anything on your end?" He asked.

"Negative Firebird, scopes are clear of bogeys." The controller replied in an apologetic voice.

Ryan gave an annoyed nod and acknowledged. As he came around the island, he eventually saw one of the island's three towns in the distance. According to the map it looked similar to Altaria Bay. Ryan's frown grew; the lack of action was making him think of home too much. He looked forward, thought a minute, and then hit the radio again.

"Firebird 2-2 this is Firebird 2-1, how you holding up?" He called.

"Hanging in there...think I see an airliner near the island." Tom assured laconically.

Ryan swept his gaze around again for the jet and saw a flash of white go between two thin clouds. It was becoming unbearable at this point; he almost felt like screaming. He had half a mind to drum up a spontaneous 1v1 with Tom before they went back to the ship, just to get the blood pumping. This was a combat hop though; the boredom could quickly be interrupted. The war over Belka was still going, too. Cruise missiles of all flavors crossed the border on their one-way missions to destroy Belka's war machine. Excalibur could try and get them all, but the weapons came like rain. Special Forces teams still crawled through the country, causing havoc and near the borders, artillery duels between armies happened on and off, as did long-range duels between fighters. Finally, it was common knowledge that the Air Force's F-117 Nighthawk was still fighting the air war…quietly, of course.

The Belkans showed no signs of trying to come back over the border though; they were digging in to keep the Oseans and their allies out. Ryan no longer had fears of Belkan bombers and the like threatening his home and the ones he loved; Belka wouldn't move. They tasted imperial conquest and it'd tasted of bitter defeat. Even Excalibur was losing its potency as the Osean military knocked its supporting satellites from orbit. Still, it all did little for Ryan Bradford. He was too removed from the action still going on to not feel stir-crazy.

"Firebird 2, Firebird 2 this is Privateer 1-3…we've got a MAD contact."

Ryan's head went still; it was the call he'd been waiting for. The Viking's MAD or Magnetic Anomaly Detector had picked up something below the waves. That usually meant it was a sub, which wasn't Ryan's area of battle but it was action. And if there was a sub out there it possibly meant there were more and maybe even other ships. Maybe even a battlegroup.

"Roger that 1-3…Two, back on me; go line abreast." Ryan said.

The two F-14s closed it up and moved ahead of the lone S-3 while it lowered its altitude to drop sonar buoys. The fighters became like a pair of flashlights peering into the midday sky, looking for any sign of trouble. The contact was to the east of the island, nearer the two carrier battlegroups. Ryan felt his blood flow go up; if this was a sub, it was getting in a good position to sneak up on the ships from behind and hit em. He kept his ears tuned for transmissions from the S-3 or AWACS. In the meantime the two F-14s continued their push to the east. Ryan checked his gauges and saw he still had some fuel left in the external drop tanks.

"Privateer 1-3 this is Alpha Bravo, do you have a solid fix on the MAD contact?" A new voice spoke up.

"Roger that Alpha Bravo…uhhh wait one. Contacts may be whales…" the Viking radioed.

In reality it wasn't uncommon for ASW fighters to accidentally get false contacts. Especially in waters near land; in fact sub hunters could sometimes spend their whole careers chasing ghosts. The two pilots in Firebird 105 didn't know that, though. For them false contacts were only possible if their radar was on the fritz. Ryan cocked a brow and looked down at the water. After a few minutes and spotting a few fishing boats, he saw something break the surface.

"…Yeah, they're Orcas." Razor frowned while he peered through his binoculars…

Ranger heard the rapid thwack of someone wailing on a punching bag from the corner of the hangar that usually played host to one of the ship's "gyms". He walked over, still dressed for his morning run, to see Ryan delivering rapid punches to the black and red bag. The look on his face was almost animalistic in its rage. Cody frowned but kept his cool; similar things had been happening across the squadron's roster. At least he was finding a healthy outlet, but still…

"Hey hey hey slow down on the poor thing, Lieutenant." He spoke up as he approached. The man stopped wailing on the bag and went to attention.

"At ease, Rocky, at ease." Cody sighed, waving a hand.

Ryan relaxed himself and waited for his CO to say something. He looked a little like a kid caught with his hand in the jar. Cody looked at the bag, then the Lieutenant.

"Got a little time, Rocky? Squadron's having an impromptu meetin." He asked.

Ryan bobbed his head up and down a few times and took off his boxing gloves. Cody beckoned him to follow and the two walked across the deck towards the ready rooms. At first the Commander didn't say anything; he looked at a few Hornets and Tomcats as he maneuvered around them. Ryan was caught off guard ducking under the nose of a Hornet when he finally spoke.

"Y'all been talkin to Mae plenty?" He drawled.

"Uh yes sir." Ryan nodded.

"She's a good gal, Ryan. Smart, tough, and kind; she has my thanks for stepping up to help Mira. Y'all have my thanks, too."

"Glad to help, sir. Sorry you have to deal with this kind of shit at a time like now."

Though he couldn't see it, Ryan had the feeling a dark cloud had passed over Ranger's face. He was about to apologize when his CO spoke.

"The little worm that didn't cover it better be glad he disappeared cause if Ah ever see him again, Ah'm gonna show him how a good ol' lynchin is done." The man growled. No argument there; Ryan figured he'd feel the same way.

"I'll help you, Skipper." Ryan grinned. Ranger cocked a brow and smirked back at his subordinate.

"Ah like yer style, Rocky." He said approvingly.

Ryan felt his mood going up as the two went through the door to VF-115's space and he took a seat next to Razor. Cody stopped Wolfy from call the room to attention and motioned him to a seat. The gaggle of pilots, dressed in various garb, watched their commander with curious looks as he leaned against the white board.

"Alrighty everyone, Ah've convened this meeting because Ah have growing concerns over the cohesiveness of VF-115." He began, assuming a fatherly tone. Several people shifted in their seats.

"Now since the general lack of ops about ten days ago Ah've found several of y'all stressing out over stuff, getting surly, or otherwise acting what Ah would classify as unprofessional. Ah've had to stop two fights from breaking out…"

Tom and Beef, two of the guilty in regards to that, shrunk in his seat.

"…One of the department JO's reports had been submitted three hours late cause they wanted it to be perfect…"

Ryan noted that Razor averted his eyes from the front.

"…And Ah've both gotten concerns from several of the Chaplains and found several people exhibiting concerning behaviors. Now gentlemen Ah know it's hard but this kind of shit's nothing we aren't used to. Most of our careers have been peacetime cruises where the most we get is a mock battle with the nearest ally's air force." Cody said in a scolding tone. He stood up straight and drew in a long breath.

"Lemme tell y'all a story about a young pilot who suffered from what we call "War Junkie Syndrome" and lost his mentor. He was a young Junior Grade diving into his first real fight and he was tense at first. The first strike, a daylight raid, he waxed two bandits without a single scratch. He landed, he got a round of congrats and he had a thought. He though "Y'all know what, screw the ten missions rule! Ah can survive after just one!". So he found himself getting fired up, confident, itching to feel what he had in the air one more time. The next day he was sent out on CAP with a Lieutenant Commander known as Madman Mandy. Madman had become a good friend of the young pilot and was something of a mentor in the ways of cruises brought." Cody began.

Everyone began to figure things out pretty quickly as their commander told his story. It had to be him, they knew it. Everyone was morbidly curious to see what exactly was going to happen to Madman Mandy, or Ranger Walker for that matter.

"The young pilot was deep in the CAP but the bad guys weren't coming up to play. The Air Force had drawn a great deal of em away with a strike to the northwest. That didn't mean that the air was clear, though. The young pilot and his compatriots found themselves ambushed by a pair of bandits who'd come in low and without radars from the rear. They waxed Madman Mandy like that." He went on. The man shifted and hardened his face.

"The young pilot, now more interested in surviving now, evaded the two bandits until a nearby CAP came to the rescue. He'd again survived, but he realized that now he had to get home and land aboard the pitching, rolling carrier. After two wave offs he conceded defeat and settled for a one-wire pass. When he got down to the ready room and endured debrief by both the LSO and his superiors, he finally realized his confidence had been gone. After a long moment it occurred that he'd not once thought he could beat the odds. A day later he was finally broken from his brief surge of War Junkie Syndrome when he was informed that Madman Mandy and his RIO had been killed that day."

His story finished, the pilot stood up and looked over his squadron. He placed his hands on his hips and observed their ashamed and uncomfortable looks.

"Now y'all have college degrees; who'm Ah talkin about?" Cody asked. An uncertain chorus of "You sir" came to him after a second of hesitation. He nodded.

"Now Ah feel pretty embarrassed for having to say the obvious, but any of y'all have any problems go to me or go to the Chaplains or someone y'all can trust."

Cody then relaxed his tone and demeanor. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Know this, though. We kicked those Belkan shit stains outta our country and outta all the other ones. I don't care what some little snot-nosed punk says ten years from now; we beat em and we made sure they ain't coming back." He added. Cody stood up.

"Is that clear, everyone?" He asked. He got answer with some backbone this time.

"Yes sir!" The squadron sounded. Cody nodded in satisfaction.

"Good, then yer all dismissed."…

Belkan Air Force Chief General Alfred Von Macht stared down from the aft seat of the Alouette III helicopter as it passed over the scene. There were fires still burning, slowly spreading across the plains around the central pillar as it pointed northeast like a giant finger. Fire crews from the two airfields had been rushed to the scene to fight the blaze, which included both the power stations and Excalibur itself. The helicopter slowed and began to lower itself to the ground below, towards a collection of M113s and canvased trucks on a flat-topped hill southwest of the site. Macht looked over at the nearest power plant as it bellowed oil smoke on the wake of its burning. Half of the remains were coated in a thick film of white fire-fighting foam. The helicopter landed near another of its kind and Machy hurried out, staying hunched over as he ran towards a man in Olive Green Fatigues.

"Herr General, welcome back to Excalibur…or what remains of it!" Brigade General Hermann Kleimer exclaimed over the buzz of activity. They exchanged salutes before continuing on towards a few tents. The entire situation was far too chaotic for the general's liking. It certainly wasn't up to the standards that the army liked to keep with field HQs. Nonetheless he walked into the tent where a number of younger Belkan soldiers and airmen were rushing about.

"Do we have the fire contained?" Macht asked his colleague.

"It's at about 65 percent contained. The most trouble part is, as could be guessed, the main section and where it fell. We're concerned that if we cannot contain it, it will start to encroach on farmlands in that direction. We've got C-160s equipped to fight fires arriving within the hour." Kliemer machine-gunned out. Macht nodded and frowned.

"The Chancellor wishes to know if the device is still operational. He is quite upset that such a vital piece of our air defense has been successfully attacked and destroyed not once, but twice." He said.

There was no doubting the answer was "no" on its operational status, but Rald had been livid. Macht saw this as the only way to placate him. The reason why had been coordinated strikes. The first time, when the Oseans had hit the facility, they'd attacked low, at night, and after the area had been hit by several prior strikes to destroy and spread out the defenses. It was standard Osean military doctrine in regards to air warfare; Macht had seen it before at the OAF's "Red Flag" exercises they held several times a year. When the weapon had been repaired and pressed into action, the Oseans once again struck with their lauded F-117 "Stealth Fighter", using it to make Excalibur vulnerable. A small Ustian-lead strike then destroyed the system by sneaking in and attacking with bombs designed to penetrate hardened structures.

Repairs to the weapon were out of the question; it would take years to do so. It was because of this that Macht had convinced his masters to ready their conventional means of air defense. They'd spent the last handful of days positioning and training to ensure they could at least stand a chance against what was to come. Osea and its lot would surely be returning soon…

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone. To all who give feedback, read, favorite and follow my stuff I thank you. You all are a major part of what keeps my motivation up to keep writing these stories.