The man known as Raptor sat back in his chair, watching as the various military personnel buzzed about him like a swarm of worker bees, chattering incessantly as they passed an endless stream of reports around to each other. He may have been the man commanding them, but right now all he could do was sit, wait and hope everything went to plan. If there was one thing Raptor hated it was the feeling of absolute powerlessness that tortured his mind right now, even more than the terrible situation that was at hand. His men should have been partaking in a highly difficult but relatively straightforward mission in assisting the Loyalists. Instead, the whole thing had been nothing more than an Ultranationalist ruse, and, like so many Task Force 141 operations that had gone before it, was a twisted, nightmarish worst-case scenario. The best-case scenario now was if the brave men he sent in just about made it out with their lives.
Raptor's patience and attention had always been short at best, and right now he didn't want to spend too much time feeling like a useless, static part of the furniture. He needed something to keep him occupied, even if it was being told the information he already knew half an hour.
"You there!" He said, pointing as he picked out a random figure from the mass of the crowd, which just so happened to be a US Marine so youthful looking he was probably nothing more than a runner boy for the more elite officers on board the Stennis. Squinting, Raptor could just about make out the nametag on the top pocket of his fatigues. "Private Bernstein, give me a sit-rep."
Bernstein paused for a moment, taking a step back and in shock at being picked out. The entire time he had been on board the mighty aircraft carrier, Bernstein had been pondering a thousand thoughts about this enigma of a man, a man without a rank or a uniform and yet such a commanding presence over Generals, Admirals and Field Marshals. Bernstein had given the thought to the possibility that he may well have been the only person there who somehow didn't know who this dapper little man in the grey suit was, but discussions with his fellow Marines proved otherwise. Now, Raptor was asking him a question, and a simple, elementary one that he knew at that. Usually, he would simply and confidently rattle off the answer without a pause for thought. But looking into this man's glacier-cold eyes revealed an unnerving atmosphere around him, some kind of aura of an over-worldly higher power that stopped him right in his tracks.
"Uh, all waves of transports are away, sir." Bernstein finally uttered, a cold shiver running down his spine at the sight of a room full of superior officers shooting him expectant glares. "The air support has now arrived, engaging ground targets but has also engaged heavy aerial resistance."
Raptor tensed up slightly, furrowing his brow as he leaned forward in his chair. "What kind of aerial resistance?"
"You name it, they're throwing it at us, sir." A straight-laced, classically handsome US Air Force officer answered Bernstein's question for him, much to the Marine's relief. The man Raptor probably should have asked in the first place seeing that it was the Air Force, after all, who would be covering the 141's retreat. "Most interesting is that they have finally given us a good look at the PAK FA."
"Ah, the T-50?" Raptor leaned even closer. "You mean the Russian answer to the F-22?"
"Yes, sir, yes it is." The poster-boy airman confirmed for him. "Ascetically speaking, it looks as if Ivan simply traced over the picture of your namesake stealth fighter, but it really is quite a machine in it's own right, above and beyond almost everything we have."
"Not too much trouble for your boys, I hope."
"Are you kidding me?" The officer might not be up there flying with his comrades, but his wide grin showed he was obviously feeling the same adrenaline, the thrill of the battle. "We've been waiting our whole careers for a true old-fashioned dogfight. I can tell you now, sir, they're relishing it."
"Outstanding, I just hope they don't get relish it too much, or they'll forget the objective in their excitement. " Raptor struggled not to snicker at the sight of the prissy officer in front of him, reduced to an overexcited kid on Christmas morning at the thought of jets fighting each other.
"No, sir, of course not." The airman straightened up immediately, impressively removing any trace of emotion from his face in an instant. "It's a veritable aerial armada we have at our disposal, with five confirmed kills already. One little fight of helicopters can disappear under the radar in the heat of the battle. They'll make it back."
"I'd damn hope so." Raptor crossed his arms. "They've got a lot of Russia to get through yet."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Commander."
Commander Valentina Redinova of the Federal Security Service Special Operations Division recognized the voice before she even had a chance to turn around to see the face of the owner. Tall, flame-haired with smart sky blue eyes and porcelain pale skin, the thirty-seven year old Commander had been born a natural leader, rising to the prestigious rank at an alarmingly fast rate. Since the beginning of her service she had been constantly impressing superiors with her masterful tactician skills, cool levelheadedness and her true unmoving devotion to her country and her cause. It didn't to any harm to her career that even after a decade and a half of loyal service, she still had a one hundred per cent mission success rate.
Today would be the day that success rate was brought to an abrupt and unceremonious end. Right now she felt sick to the depths of her very stomach, mouth dryer than a desert and her heart running fast, the blood flowing through her veins like ice, and she struggled to hold back the primal urge to give it all up, collapse to her knees and scream at the very top of her lungs, or break down into a cascade of tears. But Valentina knew that simply was not an option for an officer of her standing. She had to fight it, and she had to turn around and face her fate head-on, whatever it may be.
A look around confirmed that the voice belong to that of General Oleg Greyenko, standing imposingly like a Greek statue only inches behind her and flanked by the shorter but equally stone-like figure of Major Georgi Krukov. Both men wore the olive dress uniforms of Russian Army officers, high-peaked caps and blazers festooned with such a array of medals that their collective weight must have been three times as much as the garments themselves. The two looked like they had just been transported directly from the 'glory days' of the pages of Soviet iron curtain history books, even compared to Redinova's own Germanic jet-black F.S.B getup. But being hard-line, head-breaking Ultranationalists and two of the main brains behind Directive Collateral, Greyenko and Krukov spent every waking second living up to that image as much as possible.
"General!" Redinova stood straight like a pillar and gave a lightning quick salute, showing not a single sign of the intense emotion that ripped through ever fiber of her being. For once, she felt lucky to have been stuck with such a pasty ghost-like complexion, as anyone else would have gone tellingly white as a sheet in terror. "General, I can explain..."
"Stop, Commander." The displeasure in Greyenko's tone was more than obvious, and perfectly understandable. "I don't think I need your excuses to tell me what has happened here, what I've seen with my own eyes tells me more than enough."
"You failed." Krukov added insult to injury, his arms folded, and his voice a robotic, single unvaried tone. "That's all there is to say. But your reputation precedes you, Redinova. We thought you were the right person for this job."
"I was, Major." Valentina's attempts to not sound desperate were falling at the first hurdle. "I…I am. They won't have got far; we can still cut off their escape route if-"
"Forget it, Commander." Greyenko butted in, taking a step forward and resting his hand on Redinova's shoulder. If it had been an attempt to calm and comfort her, it didn't work. She was still bordering on hyperventilating. "I'll take it from here, Valentina. I'm relieving you of your command. Go home, get some rest."
"This was supposed to be a simple counter-terrorism mission." Redinova's armor was gone, and now as she looked at the general, everything about her expression was blank, vacant and defeated. "If I was aware they had the goddamn cavalry on standby, I would have done things differently."
"You mean, you wouldn't have had a nice long discussion with Davidenko and his accomplices, giving them the time to regroup, strategize and prepare. An elementary error, you were foolish."
"But, sir." Redinova pleaded. "I couldn't have just killed a man such as Davidenko in his sleep. There is a code of honor with a fellow officer, a fair fight."
"A man such as Davidenko?" Greyenko raised an eyebrow, bemused. "There is a word we use to describe the kind of man Davidenko is. That word is traitor. The man who lives by treason and betrayal does not have a code, they do not believe in honor and fairness like you do and they should be treated as such. What you should have shown him is that if you live by the way of the cloak and dagger, you better make damn sure the dagger doesn't come right around to stab you in he back."
"We can still eliminate them all right now." Redinova wasn't going down without a verbal battle. "We can pool resources and blow them out of the sky before they get anywhere close to border, and-"
Greyenko shook his head, ordering silence. "That's enough, Commander. We cannot waste any more elite troops, flagship aircraft and frontline equipment, not in the grip a civil war, we've given you more than enough already."
"What?" Redinova was taken aback. "But this could end the civil war! You're going to just let them win?"
"Win?" Greyenko looked directly into her eyes and a confidently smiled. "Take a look at what is actually happening. They are running away. We've unmasked the bastards, shown them for who they really are, cowards and liars. If they've got any sense, they'll never set foot in their homeland again. As for the 'mighty' Task Force, they've blown any hope of winning a war by hiding in the shadows."
"No, sir." Valentina took a sharp intake of breath, composing herself once more. "But they'll be straight back here"
"Of course they will. And we'll be waiting for them when they arrive. Look Valentina, today may be a very large blot on what has been a miraculous career, but don't worry, you're not going to be stripped of rank or exiled to the salt mines of Siberia. Tell you what if you want a shot at redemption, you head to Moscow right now and await further instructions."
"What? Why?"
"You'll see, Commander." Greyenko gave the wry look of a man who wasn't going to give anything away just yet, earning a stare of confusion even from Major Krukov.
"Trust me, if you succeed, you'll forget today ever even happened."
Author's Note: Thanks for all the reads and reviews so far, all feedback is truly appreciated. In case you were wondering, Ordnance is my new username, purely as I kept misspelling the old one.