Chp. 27: From the Jaws of the Beast

March 8, 2024

SDS Toshikaze (LST-840)

The addition to the tank's markings was a credit to her whole crew, but James silently felt it meant the most to him. Instead of kill rings on the tank's barrel, the crew of Gaijin Kaiju had opted for a single black stripe wide enough to paint the Ancient Cordicov numeral for "31" on that. A total of 31 kills against tanks, IFVs, and other enemy vehicles. He pulled away the stencil when Martinas was done spraying the numeral on the barrel behind the fume extractor and stepped back. Kourtney, her hands on her hips, nodded in approval at the newest piece of ink.

"Alright, that about does it for the fun stuff, you guys. Let's get to making sure she's clean and ready to go. We've got less than 48 hours until we're off this ship." She said.

It was the news they'd been waiting to hear confirmed. They all knew it would happen, they'd just been anxious to know when. When they would need to return to that mentality of living and fighting in the same space. There was still plenty of space for a few quips, though.

"I already zeroed the gun, El-Tee, and she's clean...what could be more unfun than that?" James asked. The Lieutenant let out the most sarcastic laugh possible.

"What about Duty when you've got the shits?" Martinas suggested.

"Libo in Port Patterson when you're broke?" Izzy suggested.

"Cheap beer on a hot day?"

"Working Parties out at the Mounds?"

"How about one girl kicking all three of your asses if you don't get up into the track and start fucking testing the equipment?"

"...Yes ma'am."

Kourtney ignored the fact that they'd probably considered taking the challenge and clambered up the machine. She went to the bustle racks to inspect them again before they were stuffed with gear. James climbed up the side of the machine, helping Izzy up while Martinas crawled under the back end of the turret to his hatch. He went in first, snaking down to his station with ease. It all came back to him very quickly as he settled into his seat and activated the auxiliary power unit. The lights and displays before him came to life and he started going through every setting, every switch and button. He pressed his face against the main sights and switched between thermal and standard. He looked towards Izzy as the man settled down.

"Load Sabot." He said. Izzy mimicked the motions for loading, then did it again when the first attempt was slower than he wanted. He looked back at James, who nodded in understanding.

"Okay...Load Sabot!" He said again, with more feeling this time.

"Sabot up!" Izzy replied within seven seconds.

"On the way!"

They did it again twice with different imaginary rounds, and James switched to the coax and back to the main gun. There was little more than that to do, and later in the day they'd do it again. He checked the extra fire extinguisher nearby. It still gave him plenty of time to think about everything. He was taking Otome back to Osea with him, he'd likely be getting assigned somewhere else after this and he wanted to act like his crew would all move as a unit.

"Everything working down there, Brad?" Kourtney asked. He blinked back into the present and then nodded. One step at a time, Bradford...

"Feels like I'm back at the Mounds, El-Tee." He said with a thumbs up…


We're getting him back, Kat.

Those words were Zack Hathaway's motto for this mission. With Colonel Carver's blessing, he'd picked who would be flying in "Sandy 2" personally. He'd chosen his usual lot; they all knew Mark and they knew to give it their all and then some to rescue him. He looked over at First Lieutenant Rein Carter's Lightning as she accepted the final sip from the KC-10, then towards Mao on his wing. Another look back towards his second element revealed "Comet" was pulling away from the tanker and returning to her spot on First Lieutenant Alyosha Denisov's wing.

"Yeti, Yeti this is Sandy 2...refueling completed. Sandy 2 is committing to Heading 255, how copy?" He radioed.

"Yeti copies all...Genie 1 reports they are still five minutes from feet dry, how copy?" The mission's HC-130 replied.

"Roger, remind 'em the clock's ticking."

"Will do, good hunting."

Zack reached down and selected the two AIM-120s in his internal bays, though he kept the radar off. The four F-35s spread out and went down a few hundred feet, aiming so they'd be going in under the cover of Marine Growlers and Super Hornets attacking SAM sites along the coast. He looked up as two F-15EMs swept by in full afterburner and went all the way down to the waves. The coast appeared and the four jets joined in racing for it while the Combat King Hercules made a call to their downed pilot.

"Shogun 205, Shogun 205 this is Yeti, come in Shogun 205." A controller radioed.

From his position at the edge of the clearing, Mark pushed the radio down so it would be muffled and checked to make sure he was still alone. The whole theft of a rifle for his benefit hadn't panned out in the long run. He decided he was going to lie his ass off about that part of his time behind the lines. The Veruseans still didn't know exactly where he was, but he could feel the heat breathing down his neck. He slid the radio out as the Hercules tried again to reach him.

"Shogun 205 is receiving, Yeti." He replied.

"Roger Shogun, say status." The other voice said, a bit impatient.

"Alone at this time...near what looks, looks like some kind of boating lake." He reported.

"Understood...okay Shogun, hang tight. Sandy is inbound; five minutes tops."

"Will do."

Those five minutes were gonna be an eternity, though; Mark could feel it in his bones. He looked at the open space before him and debated on heading for the building. He could definitely hide in there, and there was no one to be seen. It looked like some kind of museum or visitor's center. The paddle boats that sat at a dock nearby lent credence to that idea. The only vehicles he could see, service trucks of some kind, hadn't been touched for the several hours he'd been around here. At least, he reckoned, he should move closer; he could retreat inside if needed. He picked his way along the edge of the woods, rifle (a QBZ-03 he'd recently deduced) at the ready. The thin veil of fog made the whole scene feel like the calm before the climax of a war movie. His breathing felt louder than usual, more deliberate. Then he heard the familiar beating sound: helicopter blades.

"Osean pilot! You cannot escape! You are hereby ordered to surrender and answer for your crimes against the Verusean people! You have two hours, or you will be shot on sight!"

That damned heli was back and the guy on the loudspeaker was still going strong. Mark hit the dirt and glanced up as the aircraft swept into view near the building. It circled and Mark waited until it seemed to be going away. He kept moving closer and closer until he decided he could risk making a run for it. His goal was a small shack. He reached it in no time and stopped to catch his breath. The helicopter's rotors were now little more than a whisper as he made the second, longer run for the door nearest the service trucks. As he reached the end of the parking lot, a new noise reached his ears. He looked back to see two SUVs in similar markings to the trucks and jeeps he'd seen approaching a road that led to the building. The first pulled a hard left and hit its lights.

"Shit." He grunted.

Mark ran as fast as he could to the building as the lead SUV swerved and went over the grass berm onto the building parking lot while the second slowed and made a proper entrance. Mark cursed his size and how it hampered his ability to run, but kept trudging across the wet ground towards the closest piece of cover. The Veruseans shouted things in their native language he couldn't fully understand or really care to try and listen to as they ran across the lot towards him. He stopped near one of the service vehicles and took cover behind the front of it. Mark gulped, then rose to a stable crouch and aimed the QBZ at the closest militiaman. The man, armed only with a handgun, stumbled to a stop and began to slip backwards on some ice as Mark fired a short burst into him. His partner stopped and raised his weapon to fire, getting off a shot after Mark blasted him as well. He drew back and then ran as the other two from the first SUV ran forth. One of them was armed with the same weapon as him and took several shots at the service vehicles while Mark ran.

"Stop! Halt halt!" One of the militiamen screamed in stilted Lenish.

Mark stopped behind the last truck, peaked out and saw the one with the handgun was running down the side he was on. He emerged and shot the man several times before he ran towards a set of glass doors. He also slipped and went tumbling down. The pilot tumbled, keeping his rifle close, and then flinched as rounds whizzed over his head. He flopped towards the shooter, the next militiaman, and fired almost all of his remaining rounds into the paramilitary. The man flinched and fell, dropping his handgun as he fell. Mark hurried to his feet, nearly eating asphalt again, and used what rounds he had left to shatter the glass to the building. He hurried inside and ran until he was in some kind of atrium. He stopped and looked around for anyone else. Seeing he was alone for now, he hurried towards a flight of stairs and hid behind a large plant behind the side of the steps. He pulled out his radio and hit the transmit button as he jerked the empty magazine out to replace it.

"Yeti this is Shogun 205, Ah've been compromised repeat Ah have been compromised where is Sandy?" He hissed.

"About 30 seconds, Shogun...standby." Yeti replied.

Zack got the word from the HC-130 a few seconds later that they needed to haul ass and get in there. The Combat King relayed a basic overview of the situation through Mark, revealing he was in contact with local militia. The pilot selected his JAGMs and set one of his screens to the view of his EOTS's (Electro-Optical Targeting System) camera.

"Sandy 1-1, Sandy 2-1 here, do you have eyes on Shogun 205's location?" He asked.

"Roger...got eyes on the building, two jeeps outside. Still got that hit on radar, possibly a helo." The WSO in the back of the lead F-15 replied.

Zack clenched his teeth at the situation, which was still too sketchy for his liking, and set his flight into two seperate racetrack patterns. He and Mao set up to make runs east to west while Aly and Rein would cover the northeast to southwest approach. He checked his radar for that helicopter. He got multiple hits at low level, going about the same speed a helicopter would.

"Sandy 1-1, Sandy 2-1 has multiple radar contacts at 298, Angels 0.5, twenty miles out. Looks like more helos." He reported.

"Roger that Sandy 2-1...Sandy 1-2, they're yours. Sandy 2, maintain station."

"Roger Sandy 1."

Zack was tempted to accuse (in jest) the F-15s of hogging all the targets, but held his tongue. The four F-35s were needed to engage targets that were a direct threat to Mark and he felt a more urgent need to stay serious. His eyes were on his radar and camera feed every few seconds, waiting until Sandy 1-1 made the call he'd been waiting for.

"Sandy 2-1 this is Sandy 1-1, we've got targets! Looks like a convoy heading for Shogun 205's position...at least two APCs and twice as many canvas trucks. Looks like troop transports." The Strike Eagle reported.

"Roger 1-1, send coordinates." Zack replied.

He fed the numbers into his plane's computer, which in turn moved the EOTS's camera to the front of the aforementioned convoy. The vehicles were coming down a road cut into the side of a hill, that would reach the bottom near the same road Mark had seen the SUVs coming down. The narrow road offered no place for the vehicles to go when the Lightnings came in. They seemed to be opting to gun it and get to relative safety first. The two F-35s circled a few more times while he outlined a plan for stopping the convoy.

"Okay Hime, I'm gonna use a JAGM on the lead APC. Once you've spotted my impact, make a gun run on the trucks, got it?" He outlined.

"Roger that, want me to laze that APC, Ferret?" Mao asked.

"Yeah, go ahead and laze."

The two F-35s split up and Mao used the designator in her EOTS to target the lead APC, a WZ-551, for Zack's missiles. Zack set his countermeasure dispensers to automatic and banked left into a sharp dive towards the convoy. The missile picked up one of the reflected laser beams almost immediately. Zack depressed the button under his thumb and pulled hard left as soon as the weapon was clear.

"Sandy 2-1, Rifle." He called.

The missile slipped free of its mount on the right wing and cruised away from the F-35. Mao kept a steady course while Zack came around to clear her tail. It arced down for a few long seconds before it blotted the APC from view, replacing it with a ball of fire. The truck behind it swerved hard to avoid it and collided with the guard rail. Zack and Mao switched places as the woman armed her plane's GAU-22 cannon. She came around from behind and fired a three-second burst into the trucks and pulled away, allowing Zack to do the same and ensure they had the convoy suppressed.

"Sandy 1-1, Sandy 2-1 and 2-2 have suppressed first convoy...requesting further targets." Zack radioed as he returned to circling over the area.

"Roger that 2-1...Sandy 1-2 has VID on multiple Hips approaching Shogun 205's position...possible second convoy approaching from the west. Request Sandy 2-3 and 2-4 to help stop those Hips. Standby for further details on that second convoy." Sandy 1-1 replied as they juggled a number of things.

"Rog-"

"Disregard my last, repeat disregard my last. Hostile infantry and two APCs are deploying near Shogun 205's position. Look northwest of the structure he's holed up in, how copy?"

"Sandy 2-1 copies all."

"Confirm when you've established visual, and make your runs north to south to avoid Genie 1. Repeat, Genie 1 is on final approach at this time."

Mark, holed up near some second-floor windows, peeked over the bottom of the glass at the two APCs leading militia towards the parking lot. He lowered himself again, feeling so close but still as nervous as a man could get. He turned up his radio a little to reassure himself, listening as the two Sandy flights were busy working over the Verusean forces in the area.

"Shogun 205 this is Genie 1-1, we're just about there. Once Sandy has suppressed nearby threats, we need you to be prepared to exit the building, how copy?" A new, laced with an accent like his voice spoke up.

"Gotcha Genie 1-1...Shogun 205's moving now." He replied.

Mark stayed low and ran back towards the stairs on the other side of the atrium's second level. A few rounds shattered the glass behind him as the surviving militia from his first encounter made it clear his chances to surrender were over. When he was on the ground floor, he dropped and shot out the glass doors at the entrance. He hurried to one side and stood up, peeking around the corner. The next best piece of cover outside was a newspaper stand of some kind and a collection of benches and potted plants. He drew back as one of the officers fired again. Mark dropped down and blindly fired his QBZ around the corner for a good second. A sudden explosion forced him back.

"Shogun 205...Tex, this is Ferret! Stay down, Ospreys are almost there!" Zack called over the radio, hoping it would give his friend some encouragement.

Mark recognized the voice, but said nothing as he looked out towards the parking lot again. He hurried forward, firing from the hip at the first militiamen he saw. He then ducked to the left and dove down as another tried to fire at him. As he looked up, he saw an F-35 dropping a pair of bombs on unseen Veruseans. Mark watched with a smile he couldn't suppress as the Lightning came off target at high speed.

"Shit Hot, Zack! Good one!" He barked as the jet flashed overhead at high speed.

Genie 1-1 appeared from the treetops mere seconds later, followed by Genie 1-2. The second tiltrotor took the lead and flew over the SUVs in the parking lot, allowing the gunner on the rear ramp to rake the vehicles and remaining militia around them with his M3 machine gun. Genie 1-1 banked to the right, then lowered to the ground to disembark four Osean Air Force Pararescue operators. The airmen, M8 carbines at the ready, rushed out and formed a perimeter. They moved like robots, almost, unsmiling and focused solely on getting the downed pilot. Mark wanted to run to them, but instead he slowly set down his captured weapon and emerged. He'd been told that running towards them would only get him manhandled; He didn't want to find out how they'd deal with a guy his size. They saw him immediately.

"Hands where we can see em!" One cautioned. Mark raised them and let his rescuers get a good look at him.

"Alright, come on! Move it, sir!" The same man ordered.

Mark didn't have to be told twice. He sprinted forward, hands still up, until he was close. He was met by two more operators, one of them a medic, and hurried back to the rear bay of the Osprey. Despite a lack of injuries, they laid him down on a stretcher while the rest came in. He was relieved of his revolver for the time being.

"Okay we're all aboard, get us outta here!" One of the men shouted.

As the tiltrotor lifted off, the door gunners laid down one last storm of fire to make sure no one tried anything while they got away. As that sound faded, and the medic finished his inspection, he helped Mark sit up and the other man, apparently the one in charge of the operators, held out a hand. The stoic, focused mask he'd been wearing earlier faded and the cabin grew a bit more relaxed. Mark accepted the handshake and smiled. Suddenly, it all felt so underwhelming. Like...he'd never been in any real danger.

"Welcome aboard, sir." The team leader said.

"Ah never thought Ah'd be so happy to see the Air Force...Y'all have humbled this prideful Naval Aviator. Yah have my thanks for that."

The man laughed and simply nodded.

"Well sir, we thank you for helping us maintain our record. Since this war started we haven't failed a single rescue."

Mark wasn't sure if he really found that funny, but he laughed anyways. The dark humor didn't click when he was coming down from a multi-day adrenaline high…


Mark's return to the JW was awaited by just about every other pilot in his outfit. He arrived 12 hours after he was rescued, catching a ride aboard an MH-60 that'd been dispatched to Kotoko to get him. Or rather, one that had been sent to get him back from Zack and the rest of the 32nd Fighter Squadron, who'd given him a place to crash for those four hours and a means to talk to Ekaterina. He could still hear her crying, sobbing out his name as he consoled her. When he'd closed his eyes he could imagine holding her close, whispering gentle nothings into her ear in Yuktobanian. Shooing away her tears with the flick of a finger and not letting her go for a second. He'd been able to do something like that, but he longed for her warmth and stunning Rubenesque figure. It would, sadly, have to wait. He was healthy enough to get back into the fight, and that was what he would do. He knew DeeJay would say the same thing. The man would thump his chest, give his best 'come at me, bro" kinda look and demand to know when his replacement jet had come in.

"We're on final, Lieutenant...welcome back to the Boat." The pilot said over his headset.

"Thank yah, sir...y'all guys ever do victory rolls in these things?" Mark asked. The reply rode the line between humour and sarcasm.

"Not unless you wanna take a nice, cold swim after, sir."

"Ah like the cold. Not many sharks in the Sea a Shimoji, right?"

He got no reply. Instead the helicopter crew went through the final formalities before they could land on the deck. He glanced out the window towards the destroyer on plane guard duty, then saw the back end of the carrier slide into view. It almost felt like he'd been gone for an eternity; in truth he'd been down for less than a week. He could see a gathering of people in green flight suits on the deck. He reckoned it was his squadron come to welcome him home. He guessed right as the group started to move towards the helicopter's landing spot.

His reception had been heavily planned by Eric and was based around his and Mark's interest in Osean military history and tradition. Among Eric's specific interests was the saga of VF-152, The Huntsmen, during the Second Songolian War. The unit, equipped with F-8E Crusaders, had one of the most colorful casts during its part in that conflict. Chief among this unique brand of esprit de corps had been the welcoming of rescued pilots. Namely a picture he'd seen in several books on the F-8. While it was something of a party foul to copy other squadrons' antics, It'd been reframed as a tribute to fighter pilots of generations past. Eric even joked that Mark, with his extensive family ties, had someone in the squadron who was related to him in some way.

Thus, as Mark Walker emerged from the door of the Seahawk, he was met by the sight of his fellow aviators forming a row on either side of the door. They all had their (unloaded) sidearms, raised as if he was getting a volley of saluting shots. Instead the made cartoonishly exaggerated firing sounds for the pilot as he went down the center towards Vixen and Eric at the end, both of whom held cheap replicas of air-to-air missiles made by the machine shop. As their own addition to things, everyone was wearing a cowboy hat. Mark, immediately getting onboard with the bizarrely funny welcoming, crouched over so he could hold his hands up in something resembling triumph. He passed through what Eric and Vixen claimed to be the "Great Gate of Missledom" before he was greeted by Commander McGavin, who had with him a plaque from Martin-Baker (the makers of ejection seats in most combat aircraft) and a gripe sheet that'd been made to look like a bill of sale.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant Walker! You want the good news or the bad news first?" He asked as the two exchanged salutes.

"...Fuck it sir, bad news first!" Mark replied enthusiastically.

"Attaboy, that's the spirit. Well, the bad news is that Maintenance is pissed and so are the bean counters in Oured. Therefore, it has been ordered that you be given the bill for the loss of your F-21A Thunderhawk. Adjusted for inflation and considering the loss of fuel and one SHARPS reconnaissance pod, your total owed comes to 82.3 million dollars, after taxes of course."

Mark recoiled a bit, but kept smiling as he accepted the faux bill and stuffed it into his flightsuit.

"That mean Ah get to keep flying for the rest of my days to pay it off?"

The rest of the squadron roared with laughter at the response before Mark was given the good news. Martin-Baker had a very exclusive "club" of individuals whose service to the Lenish company was proving that their product saves lives. In recognition of Mark's contribution to that, he was given an official plaque from the company thanking him for showing that the seat was doing its job. The rest of the squadron fell in on the pilot and herded him inside, demanding to know the harrowing tale of his rescue. It was a proud, proud day for the Red Ronin.