0130 – Kamatchka combat space

The Americans were everywhere at once it seemed. On the Russian commanders tactical hologram American lightly armored units danced back and forth dodging playfully out of range of his T-100 Ogre Main Battle Tanks but still able to launch volleys of missiles which were no more than a discomfort to them but were still rather bothersome. Their gunships patrolled the battle line picking off his riflemen whenever they were unfortunate enough to be spotted and the enemy infantry swarmed across the naval base, some making for the satellite Uplink centers, others for the submarine docks on the outside. Those were well armored and their bunker busting bombs couldn't penetrate through them but a few of the subs had made the mistake of trying to cast off and were subsequently hit with laser guided weapons. His troops needed some sort of support, his Zhukov self propelled howitzers were being delayed by traffic on the road. Damn that American air power.

"Do we have air superiority?" He asked the air force lieutenant who was acting as the branches' liaison.

"Not yet. Our fighters are just beginning to enter the space but the Americans have many stealth fighters and our comrades are reporting it is difficult to vector our craft against them."

"We have stealth fighters too don't we?"

Pierrera dove his fighter low, hazardously between the wide alleys that were made for half built ships to easily be moved through but the only things that remained in this channel were burnt hulks. The Air force had done its first job it looked like. He flicked his eyes upward just for a second to spot a pair of orange burns in the hazy night. They weren't showing up on his HUD as targets, they were just motes of cinders that had been rising with the smoke- a pair of missiles flashed from the burns. That certainly wasn't a cinder!

Pierrera hauled hard on the stick and the nimble F-19 looped upward to bring himself on the tail of the two Russian fighters that had just entered the fray. He had two Joint strike munitions left and he locked them both onto the one on the right. The fighter immediately pulled up and hit the brakes, forcing Pierrera to duck the Bobcat below the mass that was suddenly bearing towards him. This pilot was good. Pierrera looped left eyes chasing for his wingmate which had suddenly disappeared-

"Striker Lead, break right no-"

Pierrera threw the stick right and heaved again as a line of tracers streaked past the left side of his bobcat.

"Who's that?" Pierrera gritted his teeth through the 8 G turn.

"Rogue lead here. I got him-"

His HUD splashed a friendly diamond around the F-22 Raptor which swooped in from above, its 20 milimeter Vulcan cannon blazing. There was a bright flash and Rogue Leader hooted over the channel.

"Hunting is good today Striker lead. Watch it though, I can't spot the other one."

"There! Coming up on your four o'clock low!" Pierrera turned again to put himself on a high angle deflection shot on the black painted Russian fighter. He lined up the sight but for the half a second he had the shot, he hesitated-the fighter looked too much like the F-22 how could he be certain-Pierrera's hesitation forced the fighter into a direction change throwing him off Rogue Leader's back. It was like Top Gun training all over again. This was where the Navy had learned how to dogfight in a world where dogfighting seemed to be obsolete with missiles that could lock and shoot over the horizon. Here it was down and dirty, using guns like in WWI. It was a knife fight in aerial terms and therefore very deadly.

Pierrera glanced at his fuel status and registered just how much fuel the rapid maneuvers were eating up. He'd be bingo in a few seconds at this rate. The Russian, only visible by his afterburner dove low hugging the ground and trying to blend in with the fires below. Pierrera lost him.

"Can't see him." Pierrera said. "and I'm bingo fuel."

"Shit, I'm Winchester." Rogue leader reported that he was completely out of ammunition.

"We'll walk each other out then." Pierrera tugged the stick to the left to turn him south and he punched the throttle as he dove to pick up speed which would help his fuel efficiency. Behind him Rogue leader was doing the same. The Raptor idled up alongside him and matched speed.

"What was that?" Pierrera asked.

"Russian stealth fighter. They have another name for it but we call it the Mig-50 Thunderclap" Rogue Leader said. "Never thought I'd actually get to kill one of those-"

"You're a triple ace!" Pierrera looked and counted all the flags painted on the side of Rogue Leader's fighter.

"That's right and I didn't become one because I stayed around with low fuel and no ammo." Rogue Leader's voice came back hard. "I just hope our boys can handle themselves down there. A lot of birds are pulling back now."

"Colonel our air units are bingo and they'll have to withdraw to retank." A lieutenant reported from his chair. Beasely scowled at that. He needed to keep the pressure up on those Russian units, or his own troops would be massacred! He had no mobile SAMs or anti-aircraft weapons that could reach out and swat their fighters. Against an air threat they were completely reliant on Joint Strike Force fighters.

"When's the next wave of air superiority fighters coming?"

"ten minutes sir." The lieutenant said.

"Sir, Warhawk, Bison and Pigskin have just touched down." The lieutenant monitoring the landing process said. 3 squadrons of Schwarzkopf tanks had been completely deployed. The Goshawks kicked off their rotors and zipped back out of the zone to refuel. There was a problem with an attack such as this, it was essentially a suicide attack. The only real units that could retreat was probably his infantry. The tanks could never be loaded up so quickly, even though the Goshawk had been designed for just that.

"Set them to group three." Beasely said and tapped all three of their holographic images and tapped their destination point – to the beleaguered Ninja platoon which was still moving two slowly. Hopefully those three tanks would be able to speed up their progress.

"Wolfman here, we're securing the uplink now." Beasely looked above at the screen to see the lieutenant's helmet camera bobbing as his Ghosts forced their way into the dome shaped satellite uplink center and cuffed the surrendering Russians inside. It took a quick moment for their computer personel to begin cutting into the system to withdraw the Russian combat information, enemy positions, GPS, anything useful. After that was completed they would knock out the satellite permanently with a few quick key commands.

"Good job Captain." Beasely nodded more to himself than the him. He checked the progress of his center line. They were forming a perimeter with good cover on the high ground while the Ghosts moved toward their target building, a big concrete structure that served as the back up fuel storage facilities. They were well protected from air strikes, as the scores of black and spent bomb casings had shown. "Banshee, Creeper, how are we doing?"

"Limping but alive Colonel! Two and a half squads and the rest have been medevaced." Banshee responded first, there was an edge on his voice and he was panting. His troops were getting tired from all of this running. Understandably so but this isn't what Beasely needed right now. "Shouldn't be long now till our objective is destroyed!"

"Colonel, I have three squads upright, I'm forming a second perimeter while Banshee lays the charges." The captain in charge of Creeper reported over the crackle of gunfire. On the tactical plot the enemy had activated their passive defenses, machine guns connected to thermal and motion sensors. They weren't terribly accurate but were enough to slow his troops down significantly. The two platoons of riflemen split like an opening hand, widening the line so that the turrets on each of the four corners would have too many targets to engage and they were picked off one by one. Banshee's remaining troops forced an entry after blasting the door open.

"Python, Cobra and Adder are engaging now!" a rating shouted and Beasely shifted the hologram to show his 3 gunship squadrons raking the oncoming tank columns with Hellfire missiles. The Ogres defended themselves by throwing up chaff, but the Hellfire was a laser guided weapon and so the foil didn't matter. The leading 8 tanks went up in balls of flame as the followers attempted to spread themselves out, the tanks moved aside to let their light armored vehicles through, the ones with flak turrets on top-

Python had overextended itself and reacted too slowly, two of the Blackfoot helicopters were riddled with cannon fire before they could react and both spun out and crashed.

"We're directing medevac now-" someone called and the little lights representing the tiny Kiowa helicopters darted towards the two crashed helicopters. Beasely's gunship squadrons backtracked rapidly, firing another volley of hellfire missiles as they did so and scoring hits on six vehicles. It would block the road for at least a couple minutes. Beasely hoped it was enough. Another officer called but this time Beasely already could see the four squadrons of Ka-65 Howler heavy gunships swooping in from the north, Mi-55 Locust transports in hot pursuit.

"Get Caboose up there now." Beasely stabbed the enemy helicopter squadrons with his finger. His IFVs were equipped with rail guns and fast rotating turrets. Perfect for shooting down enemy helicopters at close range. The squadron detatched itself from its perimeter and streaked down the road while Beasely's 3 gunship squadrons engaged their opponents in a wild melee of cannon fire and air to air missiles. A flash of movement on the screen caught Beasely's eye- a Howler was spinning out, fire belched from its twin rotors tracer fire streamed from the camera's point of view as it rapidly closed the distance and burst into static. One of his gunships had just rammed an enemy helicopter. Had it already been shot or was the pilot behaving irrationally? Beasely didn't have the time to find out. He and his men needed breathing space and there wasn't enough of that to go around.

0120 – North of Kongwon Bo mountain range

Witt blinked; at least he tried to, the pebbles got in his way and folded up into his eyelids causing his forehead to split in pain. He closed his eyes and brushed the offenders away. He could hear the chatter of gunfire now; muffled as though he were listening to it through several inches of glass. He could feel the heat of flickering fire, feel the vibrations of an explosion. Witt tried to sit up but found that he could barely move. Had he broken his spine upon falling? He didn't think so, his legs and arms hurt like fuck. His vision blurred as he finally opened his eyes and he saw a blurry outline jogging towards him. The voice chattered something harsh.

Witt still couldn't focus on him, but then heard a slapping noise and felt something wet splatter across his cheek. Something fell on top of him. Another voice boomed through the noise, this time it was so loud that Witt grimaced and doubled over. He felt a hand grab him and lift him up and suddenly Witt was limping and leaning heavily on someone. The noise became clearer and the feelings sharper. His vision became more focused, he could see the helmeted form of a Ghost to his right, this was the person he was leaning on. Who was he? Sullivan that was it. But there were other figures running behind him around him as though Sullivan and Witt were – what was the term? – swimming upstream.

He could hear Korean voices and Sullivan shouting things that were so unbearably loud that Witt cried out again.

"Fuck. You'll be okay sir. Just hang on!" Sullivan said. "Hey get me a medic!"

His vision became more focused, he was on the edge of the town now, leading into the forest which was alive with running men and women. Rifles chattered and the rebels shouted. Witt realized that they were defending their home. For the first time acting completely without direction from the Ghosts. Juche had returned to them. Sullivan lay Witt down on the dirt while he patted his cheek and chest.

"Fuck where are you hurt Sir?" Sullivan shouted. Witt mumbled something. "What? MEDIC! GET ME A FUCKING MEDIC!"

"P-Park-"

"He's dead sir. Nothing I can do!" Sullivan patted his chest again. "Where's that GODDAMN MEDIC?"

Someone rushed over and slapped something on Witts chest making him gasp aloud.

"Fuck off! Don't do that! Do you speak English? Find out what's wrong with him!"

"L-long-"

"I don't know sir!" Sullivan said as another set of hands pulled off his vest. "I don't know where he is, he isn't showing up on my HUD, none of you are! He's as good as dead now sir!"

"No." Witt whispered as the darkness closed in on him. He didn't know what made him say that, only that he was sure that he was telling the truth.