The lone Russian pilot frantically looked around at the two F-15C's flanking him on either wing, and then back to the unidentified Tu-160 he was following.
"GCI, I need instructions, NOW!"
"Unknown fighter, break off and turn to heading 350 immediately!"
The pilot keyed his mic on the guard frequency, replying with a shaky voice. "This aircraft has violated Russian airspace! I have been ordered to intercept it!"
The unknown flight lead's cool voice broke through the radio again. "The nation you speak of does not exist! Unknown Flanker, break off! This is your final warning! Break off now, or you WILL be fired upon!"
The left F-15 dropped down and slotted in behind the pilot's six, the young Russian could feel the unknown pilot's gunsight hovering over his craft. His finger was probably sitting on the trigger now, ready to unleash a burst of fire from his Eagle's M61 Vulcan.
The pilot could feel the panic rising up within him.
'Oh God! What am I supposed to do?!' he thought. His next action was decided on within a second. He went weapons cold and began to break off.
He sighed into his mask. A distraught "May god have mercy on my soul..." escaped from his lips.
Earlier
Belyi Airbase
Kamchatka Peninsula, Russia
A harsh electronic beeping invaded one of the small dorm rooms in one of the pilot barracks. A disgruntled sigh answered the beeping, followed by quiet grumbling as a groggy, young Lieutenant blindly smacked his hand along the nightstand next to him until the offending alarm was silenced.
Twenty year old, Alexander Sokov groggily rubbed some sleep out of his eyes and pulled the covers of his bed up. He didn't want to get out of his little cocoon of warmth, and into the icebox that was outside of his bed, not yet.
Sokov thought he knew what cold was, after all, he was Russian. His country was known for it's harsh winters, but out here in Kamchatka. Alexander wouldn't be surprised if he woke up one winter day and found that his balls had literally frozen off. Belyi was probably the closest humanity could get to experiencing a frozen-over hell...but beggars couldn't be choosers when one found themselves flying the most beautiful aircraft to ever grace God's skies...skies that happened to be as white as the damn ground outside right now.
Alexander laid in bed for a minute or two before accepting his frozen fate, and shoving his feet out into the cold, dorm room air. Sokov let himself slump out of bed and felt a chill when his feet made contact with the cold carpet below. He then dragged the covers off and got the rest of the way out of bed.
Even with the sheets, and his pajamas, the room was very cold during the nights and into the mornings due to his room's heater going out. It was almost funny that he would get such bad luck on his first assignment as a full-fledged combat pilot in the VVS.
Sokov took some time to get washed up before getting his uniform and boots on. After he had all his things squared away, he wasted no time in getting out of his room, and into the the rest of the dorm that wasn't a freezer.
The Lieutenant turned right upon exiting his room and headed for the kitchen are of his dorm to get something to eat and see who else was up. Some of the guys were off today, and it was around 7:00 AM, so Sokov made sure he wasn't stomping down the hall as he walked.
Alexander arrived in the kitchen are and found his flight lead, Major Sergey Kravchenko, sitting down at the square dining table with a cup of coffee.
The man looked up. "Welcome back to life kid."
Sokov chuckled. "Good morning Major."
Kravchenko was funny. He didn't seem like some experienced and strict VVS major, as Sokov assumed. He actually seemed more like a big brother of sorts due to his relaxed demeanor when on the ground, and when not within range of other higher ranks. Regardless, all the pilot's in Sokov's squadron were all business when it came to flying.
Alexander walked past his superior and over to one of the cupboards. He pulled out a box of cereal and poured it into a bowl he snagged from another cabinet, then grabbed a spoon and joined Kravchenko at the table.
The Major was looking over a weather report, he had probably snagged it from the squadron building earlier before Sokov got up. "I made some coffee, if you want some." he motioned over to a coffee machine on a counter in the kitchen area.
"I'll pass." Sokov replied, "I'm not much of a coffee person, and I don't really think it would go well with cereal." He then started digging in to his breakfast. "Sides'", he mumbled as he ate, "I'll wake up when I walk inta' at' freezer out er'."
Kravchenko quietly chuckled. "Well shit kid, ya already live in a freezer. We'll get that heater fixed up for you soon, by the way." He then took a drink from his cup "Honestly, I don't even think I could pull that room off, even now."
Alexander shrugged, "Is what it is Sir."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Sokov continued to get himself woken up in preparation for the day. He and Kravchenko were assigned to be alert pilots later on in the morning. So far, Alexander hadn't come in contact with any NATO aircraft on the interception missions he had been on, which was all of two in his four months into his first posting. The young Lieutenant was craving a chance to get close to one of those American B-1's, or B-52's he had heard people talk about intercepting.
Alexander looked out a nearby window, and out into the blizzard that was blowing outside. His eyebrows raised and he whistled. "What a beautiful day to go flying..." His voice was coated in complete sarcasm.
The Major chuckled across the table. "The good news is that this crap should be out of here by the time we're wheels up, or so the weather guys say."
"Ah, well, hopefully they're right." Sokov shrugged.
"You and me both Lieutenant." Sergey agreed.
Later
Alexander looked out of his window in the SUV that was taking him and Kravchenko to the hangars that stored their fighter's. The young private behind the wheel had thrown on some music from a popular rock band many of the young guys on the base liked, so it was a nice way to start the morning.
The three turned down a snow-covered road and pulled up to Hangar 7, the hangar Sokov's fighter was in.
The Private turned around in his spot. "Alright Lieutenant, this is your stop."
Sokov nodded and opened his door on the passenger side of the vehicle, thanking the man as he stepped out with his white flight helmet shielding his head from the cold. The blizzard had ended for the most part, now just a light snow shower. The Lieutenant was happy he had been issued with a cold weather flight jacket, otherwise he'd probably be pretty cold in only his flight suit.
The pilot quickly made his way to the small access door at the front of the hanger and stepped inside. The place had a climate control system installed so the alert pilot's wouldn't have a frozen aircraft waiting for them when it was time to move out.
Inside the hangar was Black 502, a Sukhoi Su-35S, Sokov's jet. The fighter was painted in a standard, tri-tone splinter scheme
Alexander always felt a little shiver go down his spine whenever he saw his fighter. In his opinion, there wasn't a more beautiful aircraft in the world. But of course, looks don't count for shit when you're in a dogfight, so being among the deadliest combat aircraft in the modern arena also helped.
Sokov walked into the hangar and nodded to a few of his maintenance crew who were doing some last-minute checks of the aircraft. The Lieutenant had a lot of respect for the maintainers, as they would work in crap conditions for hours on end to get an aircraft fixed up and back in a flight-ready condition. Pilots like him had jets to fly because of these people, and Kravchenko made that a point to the young Lieutenant upon his arrival to the squadron.
Sokov's crew chief, Sergeant Stagleishov, stepped out from under the right engine nacelle and walked over. "Good morning Lieutenant."
"Morning Sergeant." Alexander replied, "How's the jet?"
"She's prepped and ready for flight Lieutenant." The man then walked over to a nearby cart and grabbed the pinbag. He walked back to Sokov and showed that all the pins had been pulled from the aircraft, further signifying that it was ready to go.
Alexander nodded. "Alright, thank you Sergeant. I'm going to do a walkaround of the aircraft while you guys finish up." Stagleishov nodded and went back to his crew as Sokov began his pre-flight inspection of the Sukhoi.
The Lieutenant started at the nose of the jet. He walked up to the nose and gave it a pat. "Good morning you big, beautiful beast." Obviously the thing wasn't sentient, but Alexander always had images of medieval dragons pop up in his head whenever he thought about fighter jets. The inner child in him always thought of his Flanker as a big mechanical dragon he rode into battle. Honestly, it made him feel pretty cool, and making sure you looked cool was the fighter pilot's golden rule.
Sokov made his way down the front of the aircraft and made sure various panels were secure before walking over to the left wing and checking the control surfaces, and weapons. He then made his way to the tail and checked the engines, then went over and checked the right wing, and finally headed to cockpit access ladder to mount his dragon and get things going.
Alexander peered back one more time as he climbed up to the cockpit. All interceptors were armed with live ordinance when on call. Sokov's Flanker was armed with two wingtip-mounted R-74 short-range, air-to-air missiles, and, six R-77 medium-range, air-to-air missiles. His last weapon was a GSh-30-1 thirty millimeter autocannon that was mounted in the starboard wing root. The cannon was loaded with 150 rounds of Armor-Piercing Incendiary Tracer, and had a fire rate of 1,800 rounds per minute.
It sounded like the cannon had a lot of firepower, but really, it would go faster than one would think. Really though, the cannon is the aerial equivalent to a knife. If a pilot had to resort to the cannon, something probably went VERY wrong. Even if there wasn't too many rounds loaded, the fact that Sokov had a cannon was comforting in way. If everything went wrong, he at least had a chance of shooting his way out.
The Lieutenant reached the cockpit and moved the harnesses of his fighter's ejection seat aside before putting his feet into the rudder wells and using the top of the canopy bow to lower himself inside. Alexander began strapping himself in, aided by his crew chief who was quickly up the ladder and by his side. The two quietly worked and soon had Sokov strapped in.
Stagleishov double-checked the restraints before leaning out of the cockpit and patting Alexander's left shoulder. "Good luck with the patrol Lieutenant."
Sokov nodded "Thank you Sir."
With that, Stagleishov made his way down the ladder and got it unhooked. "Alright people, open the doors, get your ear protection on." The maintainers quickly put on their ear protection and began getting the hanger doors open for Sokov.
Alexander waited for the doors to finish opening before he started his fighter's APU up.
"Starting up!" he called as the APU whined up and came online. The maintainers below started moving out of the way and quickly secured any loose objects so nothing would get kicked up when Sokov brought on power and taxied out.
Alexander waited for his APU to warm up a little before he brought on internal power and flipped his navigation lights on. He then used his left hand to bring the throttles up to a zero throttle setting. After that he put his oxygen mask on and started the fuel boost pumps for the left engine to begin the engine start sequence.
Once the boost pumps got fuel flowing and primed the engine, he flicked on the starter and waited for the engine to come to life. Quickly, the RPM readout for his left engine began to wind up, complimented by the whine of the turbine and a subtle thrumming through the airframe.
He then reached for the canopy control switches and lowered the canopy as he simultaneously watched the gauges pertaining to his left engine. Sokov quickly killed the starter once it was assured that the left engine was alive, and then repeated the same startup process for the right engine.
Soon, both engines were alive and whining at idle power as Alexander got his fighter's electronic systems configured and allowed his fighter to warm up.
Sokov dialed in his flight frequency and keyed his mic. "502, alive and warming up."
Kravchenko's calm voice filtered through the radio, "501, roger, same here."
The two pilots sat in silence and listened to their radios for the automated reports. They wrote down pertinent info on their kneeboards and continued to wait for their fighter's to finish waking up.
It wasn't long before the pilot's were ready to move.
"502, ready." Sokov reported.
"501, affirm."
Alexander listened in to the ATC frequency as his flight lead called their status.
"Tower, 501 and 502 are alive, requesting clearance to taxi and takeoff."
"Interceptors, Tower, cleared to taxi and takeoff. Taxi via Alpha and turn on Foxtrot."
"501 and 502 acknowledge, taxi via Alpha and turn on Foxtrot. Cleared for takeoff once at runway."
Sokov shot a thumbs-up to his crew chief, who was standing outside of the hangar and on the left of his Flanker's nose.
The Sergeant nodded nodded and signaled the pilot to bring on power. Sokov advanced the throttles and felt his Flanker lurch forward as the engines whined higher. He drove the jet forward out of the hanger and then turned right, onto the taxiway once the signal was given. The two men saluted each other as Alexander pulled away.
The Major's Flanker was about forty feet in front as Sokov followed. The two jets occasionally bounced on their nose gear as they taxied along the towards the runway. Snow continued to fall on Alexander's canopy as he double-checked that all his anti-icing systems were running. Everything looked good, and all his systems were configured, so he had some time to relax.
The Lieutenant placed his right hand on top of the instrument panel in front of him and relaxed a little more in his spot as he followed his flight lead down the taxi way.
Soon enough the two were turning off of the taxiway and hit the hold-short line.
"501 an 502, taking the active."
"Tower acknowledges. Contact GCI on freq. 125.870 when up."
"Interceptors acknowledge, contact GCI on 125.870 when wheels up."
Sokov wrote the new frequency down on his kneeboard for use later on and keyed his mic on his flight's frequency. "Two's got the freq."
"One." was calmly replied as the two turned onto the runway, with Sokov taking up position behind, and on Kravchenko's right wing.
The two fighters came to a stop on the runway. Alexander did a quick control's wipeout and a final check of his instruments. 'Alright, here's goes.' he quietly thought as he set his flaps to the takeoff position.
"One, ready."
"Two, ready."
"One's gone."
A muffled roar reverberated through the cockpit as Kravchenko's fighter was brought up to full military power. The nozzles on his Flanker constricted fully, and the jet squatted down on its nose gear for a few seconds before bouncing up and beginning to roll forward.
Alexander counted to five before he ran his Flanker's engines up and smirked as it obligingly roared and squatted down on its nose gear. He held at full power for one second before dropping the breaks and beginning his takeoff roll.
"Two's rolling."
The Lieutenant continued to smirk as the force from the acceleration pushed him back into his fighter's seat. He only wished he could have thrown in the afterburners right now. Sokov watched his HUD as the speed readout increased. Once it shot past 120 knots, he pulled back on the control stick. The Sukhoi lifted off of it's nose gear and smoothly pulled itself off of the ground.
Alexander briefly took his left hand off of the throttles and retracted his fighter's gear before getting switched over to the new frequency. The two fighter's rose up into the sky and flew in silence for a while until they passed through 3,000 feet.
"GCI, Interceptors 501, and 502 are up. Requesting picture."
"Interceptors, GCI-" Sokov recognized the female voice. The pilot's referred to her as "Nadia", as she sounded similar to the voice used for their fighter's verbal warning system. Sokov had actually run into her accidentally at the base chow hall, and found out that her name was actually Victoria.
"-Picture is clean right now. Interceptors 497 and 495 are currently pushing towards Waypoint Alpha. It's been pretty quiet for a few days, gents. I hope neither of you were expecting any action."
Kravchenko chuckled, "Oh please, fighter pilot's wanting action? Never." He then quickly got back to business. "501 and 502 will push for Alpha and will report when 497 and 495 are relieved."
"GCI, affirm. I'll let you know if anything pops up on my end."
The two pilot's got settled in as they turned for the Waypoint. It would be a while before they were on station off the coast.
25 minutes later
Sokov watched the radar display on his right MFD screen as two friendly contacts drifted his way. All Interceptor pilots patrolled on two hours shifts during standard flight operations. Given the lack of activity, the patrol's could easily become a tedious activity, as the Interceptors would essentially just fly around aimlessly the whole time before it was their time to be relieved.
The two had switched over to the guard frequency on their secondary radio so they could talk to the two patrolling pilots to see how things were.
"501 on guard. 495 and 497, you got me?"
A slightly scratchy voice responded over the radio. "495 reads you. Has the storm let up yet back at base?"
"It has, but the turbulence is a little sketchy at places when you're dropping through the clouds. There was still some snow falling when we took off, but I think it should be clear by the time you get back."
"495, affirm. Thank you. You could drop a pen up here because of how quiet things have been. Other than that it's smooth as silk."
"Good to hear, Sir. We're about four minutes out, so you guys don't need to wait too much longer to start getting back."
"495."
Alexander got settled back in as the two groups drifted closer. He took some time to poke his head out of the cockpit and just marvel at his surroundings. The two were above the clouds now. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and Sokov greatly enjoyed the warmth he felt from the sun overhead. He could actually see the Bearing Sea occasionally as the clouds broke up. Such sights always amazed the young Lieutenant. Truly, it was something that would never get old.
"501, is that you and 502 to our twelve high?"
Alexander took his eyes off of his radar screen and looked out the front of his fighter's canopy. He say two dots off in the distance that were steadily growing in size.
"That's affirmative. We've also got visual on you two. We'll take over now."
"Roger that, 495 and 497 are RTB. 501 and 502 have the watch."
Kravchenko then switched over to the main GCI frequency. "GCI, 501 and 502 are now on station. 495 and 497 are relieved, and RTB."
"GCI acknowledges, 501 and 502 now have the watch. Picture is still clean, nothing to report."
"Roger that GCI, picture still clean, 501."
495 and 497 soon passed down below and to the left at around 600 feet in separation, both pilots flew Su-35S's just like Kravchenko and Sokov. 495 rocked his Flanker's wings as he neared. Alexander quickly responded in kind as the four Sukhoi's passed each other and maintained their respective courses.
"502, go to freq. 1."
Sokov switched his secondary radio back to his flight's preset frequency. "502 is back on freq. 1."
"501."
'Time to get to it' Sokov thought to himself as he rolled his neck and settled back in his fighter's seat. He really wanted to get an interception opportunity so he could get a good look at one of those U.S bombers, but there was obviously no guaranteeing that.
The two then flew on in relative silence for around ten minutes as the patrol got underway.
Kravchenko rocked his fighter's wings. "Hey kid, you still awake back there?" there was an obvious joking tone to the Major's voice.
"Two's still here Major. How are thing's up there?"
"Shit man, I'm missing my daily session of watching paint dry because of this."
Alexander chuckled over the radio. "With all due respect Major. We might as well be watching paint dry right now."
"Can't argue with that Two. Honestly though, this beats being deployed in the west."
Sokov's brow raised in curiosity, "You talking about Syria?"
"Yeah. I'm sure you've heard that I was deployed there, well I was. I got sent over in 2016, there were four of us."
Sokov's eyes widened in amazement. "Damn! What did they have you do?"
"At first we flew air cover for other guys. After a while we started doing ground attack missions. A lot of the details are still pretty hush-hush though, so that's about all I can say."
"Hm, so what was it like over there?"
"Oh man." the Major groaned over the radio. "Hot, sandy, and more hot. Thank God for modern air conditioning is all I can say."
The Lieutenant choked a quick laugh before replying. "Doesn't sound like it was too fun if you ask me."
"Oh no, it was LOADS of fun! You oughta try it sometime!" Kravchenko replied sarcastically.
"Think I'll pass on that one Major. I think I prefer this freezer to the desert."
"You and me both Lieutenant."
The two went back to silence after that and continued the patrol.
Later
"GCI, 501 and 502 are now passing Waypoint Shturmovik."
"Affirmative 501. Picture is still clean, continue patrol."
Alexander sighed into his oxygen mask. The two were now passing the halfway point of their patrol. This segment would be the closest the two would get to NATO airspace, and the highest chance for an interception attempt.
Sokov peered across his port wing an down to the Bearing Sea below. He could have sworn he had seen a fishing boat earlier, but it might have just been a wave formation.
Boredom had thoroughly infected him by this point. He either wanted some action, or wanted to get home. The Lieutenant stretched his arms out and got back into the groove as the two flew on for another ten minutes.
The Major's voice suddenly drifted through the radio. "Two, how's your BFM?"
Sokov's brow knit in confusion to the random question. "It's good Major, still improving. Why?"
"You down for a quick dance since we don't have much to do right now?"
"Right here? When we're closest to NATO airspace?" he questioned.
"We've got about 100 nautical miles to spare two. We're good."
The Major WAS right. The two had some distance to spare, and there wasn't really anything to do right now...so why not?
Sokov keyed his mic. "Alright, Two's down to have a go."
"Ha, good man Lieutenant! Alright, turn to heading 187. We'll space out to ten miles, then turn in. Fight's on at the merge, we'll go three rounds."
"Two." Sokov replied as he pulled back, the rolled his Flanker right and brought it around to the called heading. He grinned with excitement under his mask as he watched the distance between him and Kravchenko increase. And soon enough, the two were ten nautical miles apart.
"502, turning in."
"501, turning in. Hope you're ready to get your ass kicked!"
"Ha! Bring it on old man!" Alexander challenged as he cranked his Sukhoi around and threw in full afterburner. The Flanker shot forward with long, orange blowtorches of flame shooting out of it's roaring engines. Sokov leaned forward in his restraints and watched his HUD as the distance between the two fighter's began to rapidly decrease as the two raced towards each other.
Alexander's speed increased, rapidly increasing until he shot past his opponent at 900 knots.
"Fight's on!"
Sokov slammed his fighter onto its right wing and pulled back as Kravchenko rolled left and cranked his fighter.
The G's instantly slammed Alexander, but he was ready and instantly strained various muscles in his body, in conjunction with controlled breathing to counter the G's. Helping him was his G-suit, which constricted around his body to help prevent blood from pooling in his lower extremities.
The two flankers pulled around and were head-to-head again as they closed in for another merge.
"Come on and gun me Sokov!"
"I will!" the two merged again and continued the two-circle fight as the two attempted to metaphorically gun each other own with their autocannons.
Alexander once again flicked his jet on a wing and pulled, straining to keep his head up and track his opponent in a 9G turn. The two again raced at each other, however neither pilot could get a good firing solution on the other. In light of this, Sokov decided he'd try a different strategy.
Upon their next merge, Sokov pulled up, instead of rolling for a turn like he did on the previous merge. Kravchenko's Flanker rolled left and turned as Alexnader shot upward in a high-G loop. Sokov was going to use God's G to loop onto his opponent's six and gun him. The Lieutenant strained as he pulled and soon found himself coming over the top of the loop. Looking down below, Sokov say his flight lead in a hard turn, just like he wanted.
'Got ya!'
The Lieutenant continued to pull through the loop as he began to dive on his opponent. His focus now shifted to his cannon's radar-assisted gunsight. All he had to do was line up the sight with his target, and fire. Simple to do under high-g, and with a target that will obviously make himself as a hard a target as possible.
The Major caught wind of what his wingman was trying to do, and rolled his jet into Sokov and began pulling into the vertical to throw off his attacker's shot. The move almost caught the Lieutenant off, however he countered the move and managed to put his gunsight of Kravchenko's right wing root.
"Guns!"
The two blew by each other, but Sokov knew his snapshot would have sliced the Major's wing right off if he had actually fired his cannon.
"Knock it off."
"Two, knock it off." Alexander affirmed as he stopped his turn and levelled out.
"Good kill Sokov. I see you've been trained well."
Alexander smiled under his mask. "Thank you Major. It was challenging, but I definitely think the flight academy trained me well."
"That, they did." Kravchenko agreed. "Alright, form up on me. We'll push deeper into our airspace and go again."
"Affirm." Sokov used his radar to find his flight lead and turned to form back up with 501. He throttled up to 70% power and began to steadily close in with his flight lead. The two were back in formation within two minutes, and cruising towards their next waypoint as they flew deeper into Russian airspace.
"Alright, we'll go a few minutes like this, then start the next fight."
"502."
The two pilots flew in peace for a few minutes until something broke the silence.
"Uh oh."
Alexander looked left to his flight lead about 200 feet away, and immediately noticed smoke coming from the other Flanker's aft.
"Major, I see smoke coming off of your jet, maybe oil."
"Yeah. I've got a Master Caution alarm. I think something is up with the left engine."
"What do you want to do?"
The Major was quiet for a few seconds before answering. "Well, the last patrol is probably already landed by now, so we can't call them back. I'm going to head back before anything gets crazy. You finish up our slot."
Sokov nodded. "Affirm Major. I've got the watch"
"You've got the watch. See you back at base, kid." With that, Kravchenko banked left and turned away. Alexander keyed his mic on the GCI frequency. "GCI, 502, 501's got a problem with his aircraft. He is going to RTB while I remain on station until relieved."
"Affirmative 502, you have the watch. Picture is still clean."
Alexander took in a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "Alright, I've got this.." his voice was a little tense. Truthfully, the young Lieutenant was very nervous. He had never flown the watch by himself at all. Flying solo also meant that there would be nobody to cover him if things went hot.
The pilot began to scan his radar a little more closely now, and kept an eye on Kravchenko as he continued heading back. His mission of defending his countries airspace began to have a higher significance since he was now the sole guard of this region.
25 minutes later
The lone pilot continued to watch his radar with increased vigilance as he approached the next waypoint. Everything had been smooth so far. It was looking like Alexander was about to pull off his first solo patrol sortie, Kravchenko would probably have something to say about it when he got back, possibly even a drink too.
Alexander looked down at his left MFD and saw that he was passing the next waypoint. He keyed his mic to report his position. "GCI, 502, now passing Waypoint Fulcrum. Turning for Waypoint Lada now, no contacts on my scope.
"Affirmative 502, picture is still clean. You're still the only one one the-wait...standby 502."
'Oh shit.'
"GCI, is something wrong with 501?"
"Negative. 502, pop up contact BRA 251 for 30 at angels 18."
A chime sounded in Alexander's flight helmet. The chime meant that his RWR had picked up a new contact. The Lieutenant's eyes shot down to his radar screen and picked up a contact WITHIN Russian airspace, who's IFF signal came back as an unknown.
Sokov looked at the contact in confusion. "GCI, 502 has the contact on my scope. IFF reads as unknown, and it has appeared within Russian airspace. Are you able to identify?"
"Negative, unable to identify. Intercept the target at once, weapons hold until authorized."
Alexander's eyes weren't deceiving him, and unknown air contact had breached Russian airspace. This was the real deal, no simulation.
Sokov threw his Flanker into its left wing, and pulled.
"502 is turning to intercept the contact! Weapons hold until further authorization is given!" The Lieutenant ran his engines up to full afterburner once he had completed his turn and roared for the unknown contact on his radar screen.
None of this made sense, how can an aircraft just pop on radar like this. How could an aircraft suddenly pop up on radar WITHIN Russian airspace. Alexander could only guess it was a western fifth generation fighter, or a stealth bomber, but as far as he knew, none of those were operating nearby. The pilot keyed his mic "GCI, are there any NATO stealth aircraft that usually operate around this area?"
"Negative 502. The American's have F-22's stationed in Alaska, but none operate around here. Your guess is as good as mine."
"502."
Whoever this was, this action would surely cause an international incident. An aircraft violating Russian airspace like this WOULD be brought down, and the crew questioned. Alexander prayed to God someone hadn't just started a war.
The Russian was tense now as he saw a dot on the horizon through the green circle that highlighted the contact in his HUD. The dot quickly grew in size, and Alexander reduced power so he wouldn't overshoot the target.
Soon enough, he began to pick out details. The aircraft had to be a bomber due to its size. It had broad wings, and two rectangular sections near the wing roots that were probably engine pods. Alexander recognized the shape as generally that of American B-1 Lancer's, but those didn't have any stealth capabilities. A Lancer would have been picked up on radar long before it neared Russian airspace.
As he got closer, he noticed that the aircraft was white. Lancer's weren't painted white...but Russian Tu-160's were...
The Lieutenant uttered a quiet "What the fuck...?" as he neared the bomber.
"GCI, unknown contact appears to be a Tu-160. I still can't get an IFF reading."
"GCI acknowledges. We don't have any 160's in the area. Intercept the contact and bring it down. You are cleared to arm hot, but you are still weapons hold."
"502 acknowledges. I will intercept the target and escort it back to base."
Alexander armed hot and selected his R-74's. He rapidly closed in on the bomber and pulled up alongside the cockpit on the aircraft's left side, immediately noticing some strange orange rose emblem on the tail.
Sokov looked over to the two pilots in the other aircraft, and switched his radio to a common guard frequency used by international aviation. "Attention unknown Tupolev Tu-160. You have violated Russian airspace and are being intercepted. If you can hear me, respond verbally, or rock your wings." The announcement sounded a little awkward since Alexander still wasn't entirety proficient at speaking English, but it nonetheless made the point clear.
A voice that sounded strangely French answered. "Who the hell are you? What are you on about?"
"I am the fighter off of your right wing. You have violated Russian airspace. You will be escorted to my base, and will be questioned."
"We're not doing shit, this is international airspace! And what the hell is "Russia?!"
Alexander sighed and throttled back. He dropped back and took up position near the bomber's rear, locking the target up and getting ready to go hot. He briefly transmitted on the GCI frequency. "GCI, 502, unknown bomber is refusing my orders. what are your instructions?"
The response was completely filled with static, and not intelligible at all. "502...unkn...do not...by..."
"GCI, repeat. Transmission was unintelligible."
All he got was static in response.
He hissed a clenched "Fuck!" and turned his attention back to the mission.
"Unknown bomber, this is not international airspace. You are approximately twenty-eight nautical miles within Russian airspace. I will be forced to take action if you do not comply with my commands."
"Unknown fighter, you are in violation of international aviation laws. Disengage immediately!" A new voice that sounded American poured through the radio as Sokov's RWR suddenly picked up on two new contacts that had appeared behind him. He was quickly locked up by a weapons radar.
An aircraft suddenly roared by his right wing. Sokov immediately identified it as an F-15 Eagle. He noticed a blue and white flag adorned on the fighter's tail. It was a flag he had never seen before.
Sokov panicked and mashed the transmit button. "GCI! I have two F-15's intercepting me in our fucking airspace! I need instructions now!"
He got nothing back.
"GCI! GCI come in! 502 is being intercepted!"
A second F-15 pulled up alongside Sokov's left wing. "OADF" was painted on the bottom of the Eagle's tail. "Unknown Flanker, you have been intercepted by the Osean Air Defense Force. You are in violation of the Lighthouse Peace Accords. Disengage now and turn away from the bomber."
The second F-15 had pulled back around and slotted in above Sokov's right wing, and behind the Tupolev, making sure be stay high enough to be out of the jetwash.
The lone Russian pilot frantically looked around at the two F-15C's flanking him on either wing, and then back to the unidentified Tu-160 he was following.
"GCI, I need instructions, NOW!"
"Unknown fighter, break off and turn to heading 350 immediately!"
The pilot keyed his mic on the guard frequency, replying with a shaky voice. "This aircraft has violated Russian airspace! I have been ordered to intercept it!"
The unknown flight lead's cool voice broke through the radio again. "The nation you speak of does not exist! Unknown Flanker, break off! This is your final warning! Break off now, or you WILL be fired upon!"
The left F-15 dropped down and slotted in behind the pilot's six, the young Russian could feel the unknown pilot's gunsight hovering over his craft. His finger was probably sitting on the trigger now, ready to unleash a burst of fire from his Eagle's M61 Vulcan.
The pilot could feel the panic rising up within him.
'Oh God! What am I supposed to do?!' he thought. His next action was decided on within a second. He went weapons cold and began to break off.
He sighed into his mask. A distraught "May god have mercy on my soul..." escaped from his lips. A Russian pilot had just allowed possibly hostile aircraft trample into Russian airspace. He would probably be court marshalled once he made it back to base.
Alexander shakily hit the transmit button. "I am going weapons safe and breaking off. Russian command will most likely be informed of this incident."
"Unknown Flanker, Osean command will also be informed of this incident, along with IUN PKF air command. You will be escorted to one of our bases and most likely be questioned as we cannot ascertain your nation of origin."
"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" Sokov questioned. "I am RUSSIAN! I have told you this! Do I need to pull out a damn geography map for God's sake?!"
One of the bomber pilots spoke up. "Look buddy, there isn't a country in Strangereal named "Russia."
Alexander couldn't even find words to explain his confusion. Nothing about this situation made sense. What the hell was "Strangereal?" Or this "Osean Air Defense force?" Or these "accords" he was in violation of?
Sokov began to feel a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He struggled to keep his Flanker steady as his hands started shaking. Unknown forces were probably about to take him prisoner. This was sure as hell going to cause some kind of incident. Russia wouldn't tolerate one of its pilots being taken prisoner like this, especially by those who had so brazenly violated it's airspace.
Something would be done...Something HAD to be done.
Two hours later
The lone Russian was sitting in a small room, where all the walls were painted a shade of blue that might as well have been grey, and had two metal chairs around a metal table in the center of the room. Alexander was still in his flight gear, as he was immediately escorted to the room by some infantrymen. His white flight helmet laid upon the table in front of him. He had just spent more time than he wanted explaining who he was to some Captain from this "Osea" place. The man wasn't a rude jerkoff like he thought he would be, he was just trying to figure out where Alexander came from.
Sokov explained all he could, however he was duty bound to not disclose certain information to anyone outside of Russian command.
The door on the right side of the room opened. A man in a flight suit with Captain's bars on his rank tape walked in. Sokov saw his nametape, but he couldn't read English. He was flanked by the man that was talking to him,Lieutenant Robinson.
"Alright Lieutenant Sokov.." Robinson said as he walked over and sat down at the table across the table, "We've checked with everyone, you're literally not showing up in any military's database."
Alexander sighed, his patience was wearing thin. "Sir, I've told you multiple times. I am in the RUSSIAN military."
"I know you've said that, but there is NO nation named "Russia" on this planet. We've looked." Robinson answered. "We don't know where you came from, to be honest. You just suddenly popped up on our radars. The Captain here can attest to that." He motioned to the pilot leaning against the wall to the right of the door. The man nodded.
Sokov pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned an elbow on the table. "Alright, so let's just say, hypothetically, I got sucked through some dimensional wormhole and got spat out here. What are you going to do with me?"
Robinson rubbed his face, leaning back in his spot. "Well...honestly, that doesn't sound as ridiculous as you think. We've got reports that someone literally saw you just appear in the air. Multiple radar's also reported similar. You're...an anomaly Lieutenant." The man crossed his arms. "There's obviously nothing that deals with people from alternate dimensions. Obviously you're human, so it's not like you're an alien, not that my nation has a first contact protocol of any sorts." He uncrossed his arms and leaned on the table, his posture becoming more serious.
"IUN would probably classify you as a combatant and have you detained until further information can be found, but obviously that's not going to happen, and we can't get you back to where ever you're from. So ultimately, this decision is up to you Lieutenant Sokov. If you want, we could try to get you Osean citizenship, give you a chance at a new life-"
"No." Alexander shook his head. "I don't think that would do much for me, I'm obviously not from here." Sokov looked out of a nearby window, and at a fighter that was was parked on the base apron. "I am a combat pilot of the Russian Federation. I'm a warrior, not a civilian." He then turned to the man across the table. "Sir, if your country is anything like the "United States" of my home, and your "IUN" is like the "United Nations" of my home, if it is possible, I will fly for you."
Both Robinson and the pilot accompanying him flinched. "Lieutenant Sokov." Robinson said, clasping his hands together, and looking Alexander in the eye, "I...WE can't ask you to do that. You don't need to risk your life for a people you don't know."
Sokov shook his head. "I'm not asking for your permission, Sir. I am telling you, if you truly fight to protect all that is right and just in this world, I will fly for you. I have no problems with it, as it is why I became a pilot in my nation's military."
Robinson seemed to be lost for words for a few seconds, and his eyes had gone wide. He finally shook his head and got himself back under control. "O-okay...I'll...I'll see what I can do Lieutenant." He turned to the other pilot. "Captain, can you get him squared away?"
The Captain stepped forward "Yeah, follow me Lieutenant."
Alexander picked up his helmet and put it back on, letting the oxygen mask hang free to the left side of his face as he followed the other pilot out of the room, and into the hall. The two turned right upon exiting the room and began to head down a long hallway that had some military personnel walking around.
Sokov picked up many curious looks as he walked, however he tried to ignore them for the most part. Everyone generally looked North American, and they sounded similar to people from the United States, but there was just something minutely off that the Russian couldn't identify.
The two continued walking, beginning to make some conversation as they went. The Captain's name was "Silva." He was one of the pilot's that had intercepted him earlier, and was apparently born in the capital of his nation's country, "Oured." Silva explained that a major war had just been fought a few years ago between his country, and a country named "Erusea." The bomber that Sokov had intercepted was Erusean, so Alexander guessed that this "Erusea" was this world's version of France, based off of the accents the bomber pilots had.
The Russian chuckled once Silva was done giving him a rundown of the "Lighthouse War." "These idiots seriously thought drones could replace manned aircraft? No wonder they lost."
Silva nodded "Yeah, apparently it was the idea of a buncha' new Erusean military leaders who took the reins of power."
Alexander snorted. "Leave it to a bunch of new guys who don't know shit about military strategy to decide how a nation's military should fight. That would be like making me a leader of a platoon of infantry and thinking I would know how to effectively attack an enemy that's in a dug-in position."
The Osean turned and shrugged. "Just call in an airstrike. A two-thousand pound bomb oughta' fix that problem."
Both men instantly cracked up. Alexander was beginning to feel less stressed about his situation now. It looked like he wouldn't be stuffed in a cell and interrogated indefinitely like he initially thought he'd be.
One hour later
Alexander walked alone down a hallway towards he door that would lead him out to the flightline. Silva had taken him to a base chow hall to get something to eat, and then took him over to a nearby admin building to get him a room in the pilots barracks, now that he would be a permanent guest. Sokov hadn't had a chance to post-flight his Flanker, so he asked Silva if it was fine to do that. Silva agreed, and told him how to get to the flightline, and where the fighter had been taken to.
Sokov also wanted to get some breathing room for another reason, though. He needed some time to process this new reality he had been thrust in to. Unless there was some way to get him back home, everyone he had once known, including his family, would no-longer exist. Alexander was now a stranger in an unknown world, and he didn't really know how he was going to go about getting used to it.
The Lieutenant got to the door, opened it, and walked through, and out into afternoon sunlight.
The smell of jet exhaust immediately greeted him as aircraft around the base moved around or sat with their engines running as pilot's either shut their aircraft down, or got prepped for a coming mission.
It was a smell Alexander had grown to like quickly. He always got a little excited whenever he'd smell the familiar aroma, as it usually meant he was going to go flying sometime.
The Russian turned right as he walked and moved for a fighter hangar, numbered "21", the hangar Silva had said his fighter had been taken to, and was to the right of another fighter hangar, numbered "20." The two hangars were As Alexander walked along towards the hanger, he observed the base and the aircraft it had.
The base itself wasn't actually all that large, in fact, it was actually built on a tropical island. One side of the island had a small harbor that was big enough to snugly fit an aircraft carrier in one of its docks. The runway then took up most of the length of the island, with a lake flanking the Ocean-side tip of the runway's end. Various hangars, houses, and other buildings flanked its western perimeter, and the majority of the base's building's were on the eastern side of the runway.
Alexander eventually found himself approaching his destination. the doors of Hangar 21 were open, and a small group of obviously intrigued personnel were surrounding the entrance, looking at whatever was within the concrete hangar walls. Sokov figured that he knew what was drawing all the attention, and wasn't surprised when he saw the tip of his Sukhoi's grey nose slightly poking out of the building's interior.
He cautiously approached the group, and inwardly wished the group would just go away so he could inspect his Flanker in peace as he came closer, but he knew that probably wouldn't happen. To his luck, the group actually did break up and everyone except one person walked away from the hangar.
The last one remaining had an olive drab flight suit on like many of the group. He had dirty blonde hair that seemed to be out of regulation, and the standard flag patches on his shoulders that everyone else had on. Alexander didn't pay the man much more attention as he focused on his Flanker. He started at the nose and began his post-flight inspection of the fighter like he normally did. The Lieutenant made his way around the fighter, checking for any damage incurred during the flight, and making sure that everything was the way it before the flight.
"So uh, I heard you're the new guy."
Sokov flinched and almost smacked his head against the bay door from his spot looking at the nose gear when he heard a voice behind him. The Russian turned around and saw the same man curiously looking at him a few feet away with his arms crossed.
Alexander nervously rubbed his wrist and nodded, answering "Yeah...I guess I'm him."
The man nodded and casually shifted his weight on his feet. "Kinda crazy that I'm talking to someone that's apparently from a different dimension, but a lot of crazy shit has happened recently, so I'm not as skeptical as I'd usually be."
"Crazy how?" Sokov curiously asked with a raised brow.
The man rubbed his mustached face. "Well. My fried stopped an A.I that was about to basically take over the world. That's probably the craziest."
"What?!"
The man nodded "Yep. I actually just said that. See what I mean about crazy things happening?"
Alexander wracked his head and had to take in a deep breath. What the hell kind of place did he really just get thrown in?
"So, you got a name?"
Sokov looked up, still getting his head screwed back on straight. "Huh?"
"Your name, what is it?" The man still had a carefree air about him.
"Lieutenant Sokov." Alexander answered, " 118th Fighter Aviation Regiment, Russian Air Force."
"Nah man!" the stranger laughed. "I mean YOUR name."
The young Russian gave a confused look for a split second before he understood what was being asked. "Oh! My name is Alexander."
"Ya got a callsign?"
Sokov shook his head. "No. We don't do personal callsign's in my country. Our "callsign's" are our aircraft's bort numbers. Mine is "502."
The man cocked his head. "Ah, well we'll have to get that changed. Personal callsigns are a thing we do around here. Mine's "Count", but you can call me Chad if you want."
"Count?" Alexander curiously asked, "How'd you get that as your callsign?"
Count sighed and looked away. "Long story." He then looked back. "Anyway. I'm the C.O of those guys who intercepted you. I was curious about the interception. Apparently you just suddenly appeared in the sky."
Sokov shrugged "I guess I did. An unknown contact had suddenly appeared within my countries airspace, so I was sent to intercept it. And then-" he extended his arms, gesturing to the space around him, "I ended up here."
"So what's going to be done with you?"
Alexander sighed. "Truthfully, I have no idea. I'm stuck here, probably permanently now. I have no idea if I will ever return to my home..." He closed his eyes and looked down for a few moments in thought before looking back up at Count. "Regardless, I'm a fighter pilot. I've sworn to protect people and fight for what I believe to be just, so if I really am stuck here in this new world, that's what I intend to do."
"So you're going to try to fly for us?" Count asked quizzically.
"If you and your fellow pilots fly for the same reasons; protecting the innocent, wiping out any evil that threatens the world, I'll fly with you."
Count looked at the Russian, listening to the words that this man just said, and really understanding what drove him. He sounded like Trigger, and that was kind of funny for some reason.
Count softly chuckled and looked Sokov in the eye. "You remind me of my friend. He's said similar things when I asked him why he joined the Air Defense Force. Look, I know we just met and all, but something tells me you're a good man Sokov. If the brass allows it, I think you'd fit right in with us."
The young Lieutenant almost beamed from the praise. "Thank you Sir."
Count nodded with his usual cocky smirk beginning to appear on his face. "No problem."
The sound of an engine piqued the curiosity of the two pilots. Alexander walked away from his Flanker's nose and peered out of the hangar. A green military vehicle was moving towards the hangar, probably a Humvee by the looks of it. Alexander pointed towards the vehicle. "What's up with that?"
Count looked at the approaching vehicle for a few seconds before responding. "That's...the base commander...I think. You might be getting that answer in regard wanting to fly for us."
"Hm. What's their rank?"
"He's a Colonel. Cool guy, a whole lot better than one of my previous base commander's."
Sokov hummed and faintly nodded in acknowledgement, but his attention was now squarely on the approaching vehicle. He really hoped this was the base commander, and he was internally praying that the Colonel would allow him to fly.
The vehicle came around and stopped about seven feet away from the two. The passenger door opened, and a tall man wearing a standard Multicam field uniform stepped out. He was an older guy, but something told Sokov this guy used to fly. Alexander's next immediate interest were the Colonel's Eagles on his uniform collar.
All of this happened within the time it took the Colonel to exit the Humvee, and Alexander immediately snapped to attention and rendered a salute. "Colonel, Sir!"
About half a second later he heard Count's voice. "Good afternoon Colonel."
The man returned their salute before relaxing. "At ease men."
Sokov went to the "At ease" position, and noticed that Count merely relaxed his posture and crossed his arms.
The Colonel turned to Alexander. "I'm going to guess by your gear that you're the "Lieutenant Sokov" I've been informed of?"
The Russian nodded "Yes Colonel."
The Colonel hummed with a slight raise of his head. He then curiously looked at Sokov squadron patch, and the patches identifying him as Russian. "Where are you from Lieutenant?"
"My home is the Russian Federation."
"Are you aware that no country by that name exists here?"
Sokov nodded "Yes. And I understand how ridiculous it sounds. So with all due respect Colonel, if you have only come here to detain me, than I'd prefer to just get it over with."
The man chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not going to do that son. Look, I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't a little hard to believe you. We've looked around, and we can't find any records on you from anywhere. I think it's pretty obvious that you're not a PMC based off of your identifying patches and the markings on your aircraft. In my eyes, you're a pilot without a post...and it's come to my attention that you were looking for a post."
Alexander sighed and internally cheered. "Yes Colonel, your nation appears to be like one where I am from. If it is possible, I am willing to fly for your nation."
The Colonel nodded and then looked away in thought, rubbing his chin. "Truthfully, I don't know if I could actually pull this off Lieutenant. We'd essentially have to make you an actual person here in order for me to have you serving in our military, or just living in the world in general for that matter..." Sokov's spirits dropped as the words resonated in his head. It was looking like he was screwed, doomed to exist in a limbo where he was alive, but not actually "existing" in this new world, at least in anyone's records.
The Colonel looked back at Sokov "We're experiencing a major shortage of pilots due to the war my country just fought, so you're partially in luck Lieutenant Sokov. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and trust your intentions. I'll do what I can to get you in the books so you have official records, of course, I'll need your help for this, but in the mean time." He turned to Count. "Captain Kroeger, you've just gained yourself a new pilot. I trust you'll find a place for him."
Count saluted. "Yes Sir, Colonel. I'll figure out what to do with this guy."
The Colonel nodded and walked back to the Humvee, and left.
Count looked at Sokov a little sideways and nodded with an approving grunt. "Well then, welcome to Cyclops squadron my mysterious friend. We're one of the best squadrons in the whole damn air force, so uh, try to keep up, eh?" He gave the Russian a cocky look.
Alexander chuckled. "Well Captain, I'm sure it shouldn't be too hard to keep up with those bricks you fly. They lack the elegance and grace my Flanker has."
Kroeger snorted "Oh please, your fancy airshow tricks don't count for shit in an actual dogfight. I've fought Flanker's before, they're no big deal."
"True as that may be." Sokov agreed, "I doubt any of those Flanker pilots were Russian. If they were Russian's, they would have ran circles around you without even trying."
Count smirked and crossed his arms. "I think we're going to get along just fine Sokov. Anyway, I should get you introduced to the squadron." He turned motioned for Alexander to join him in walking towards a nearby building.
The two walked for thirty paces before something popped off. The sudden wailing tone of various electronic sirens pierced through the air around the base.
"Shit!" Count exclaimed, quickly turning to Sokov. "Get to your freaking jet and get started! Those sirens mean we're being attacked and need to scramble! You'll get filled in on frequency 130.07 before we take off! Go!"
"Yes Sir!" Sokov hollered over the noise as he spun around and bolted for his Flanker. Adrenaline began rushing though his body as a new excitement overtook him. He was going to see some REAL action now. Actual air combat, not simulations or training. It was time to put his training to the test, and show these people what kind of punishment the VVS could dish out on hostile forces.
Alexander found a group of personnel that had to be aircraft maintainers, based off of their gear and uniforms, quickly rushing a boarding ladder over to the cockpit of his Flanker and attaching it onto the mounts. One of the men turned to the approaching pilot once the ladder was in place. "We've got your jet fueled up for you Sir!
"Spasibo Sir!" Sokov thanked as he rushed to the ladder and began flying up to the cockpit. The same man was at his side once Alexander was in the cockpit and assisted the pilot with getting strapped in. Once it was done, the man patted the Russian's left shoulder. "Go kick some ass!"
Sokov chuckled and nodded "I'll try!" He then began the startup sequence as the maintainers disconnected the ladder and got out of the pilot's way. The pilot went through a quicker startup than normal and had the canopy down and engines spooling up before long. Alexander quickly tuned his radio to frequency 130.07 and listened in to what was going on.
"All scrambling aircraft, sound off!"
"Cyclops 2 here! Cyclops 1 will be here soon!"
"Cyclops 3 up!"
"Cyclops 4!"
"Mage 1, ready for sitrep!"
"Mage 2!"
"Mage 3 on comms!"
"Mage 4 sounding off!"
Sokov then chimed in. "This is Flanker 502! I'll be joining the action!"
Count's voice then poured through the radio. "Cyclops 1 is here! 502 is with me! Y'all better not have started the party yet!"
"Negative Cyclops 1. You're just in time. All aircraft, listen up! We have hostile contacts pushing for us as I speak. We have confirmed tracks on six times Tu-22M bombers being escorted by four times Fulcrum A and four times Gripen. These aircraft are most likely Free Erusean. They have violated international airspace, and have shot down friendly aircraft that have attempted interceptions. Scramble and down these hostiles, weapons free! ETA for hostiles is about fifteen minutes!"
"Mage 1 acknowledges!"
"Cyclops 1, wilco! 502, join up with the Eagle's once you're up, that's us. Any F-16's you see are Mage."
"502, got it! Join up with the F-15's once up!" Alexander dropped the breaks and advanced the throttles. His Sukhoi willingly obliged and began rolling out of the hangar and was guided onto the yellow taxi line that led to one of the main taxiways. Sokov got over to the main taxiway on his side of the base and turned right as he headed for the ocean side of the runway where he saw the other fighter's heading on both sides of the base.
The Russian began to think up a game plan in regard to the enemy forces as he taxied. Fulcrums were good fighters, but his Flanker had the range on them. He planned on hitting them with BVR shots instead of trying to fight them up close. The Gripen's were an unknown though. Alexander knew about the Swedish made JAS-39 Gripen. It was a smaller fighter that was like the Fulcrum in that operations near the front and on makeshift runways were one of its specialties. Sokov however, didn't know what its strengths and weaknesses in the air were. He guessed that it would be a deadly opponent up close, possibly able to out turn his Sukhoi, but that was a guess. He planned handling the Gripen's the same way he'd handle the MiG-29's, and fight them from a distance.
The Tu-22's were another matter. Those big lumbering bombers would be easy pickings as long as Alexander didn't get within range of the radar-guided GsH-23 tailgun that was controlled by the aircraft's WSO in the cockpit. If he DID punch off all of his missiles, Sokov would come in with slashing cannon attacks from various headings that would have him diving of climbing on the bombers from a frontal aspect so he'd spend as little time as necessary within the engagement zone of the tailgun's. He'd aim for either the engines, tail, or the wing root's of the bombers in order to make his shot's count.
Alexander observed the base around him as he taxied. People were running around as they ran for cover, got various air defenses prepped, and moved various vehicles around. He took a glance towards the port and noticed two Independence-class littoral combat ships hauling ass out of the port. It was a good idea to get those away from the island, as losing ships like them would undoubtedly strike a major blow to the islands naval defense.
Sokov didn't know how these ships would stack up in capabilities and effectiveness in comparison to the Russian navy's various corvette's, but he was glad to have them nonetheless.
Alexander was soon nearing the end of the taxiway. An F-16 was taking the runway and quickly began rolling as its pilot went to full afterburner. Once the area was clear the next aircraft turned in from the opposite side, this one being an F-15. This process continued until all the other aircraft had taken off, and Alexander finally reached the runway.
Adrenaline was still hyping the Russian up, in conjunction with all the noise and the excitement of the situation. At the same time though, Sokov was nervous about getting into real combat with other pilots. While no, he wasn't an infantryman, he could still be killed by enemy fire.
He pushed his doubts aside. He was trained for this, and he wouldn't let himself die during his first real fight. He was going to down those aircraft and defend the island.
Sokov took a deep breath as he turned onto the runway. Everyone else had taken off, it was now just him.
"Alright...here goes."
He hit the mic transmit button. "502 is taking the active, and scrambling."
Overloards voice answered. "Affirm 502, good luck stranger."
Counts voice then filtered through. "Come on new guy! You're gonna miss all the action if you don't catch up!"
Alexander chuckled. "Alright Cyclops 1. I'll be up there to help you out soon, 502 rolling." With that, he advanced the throttles forward to full afterburner. A muffled roar began emitting behind him as his Flanker's engines opened up and shot blowtorches of orange flame.
The Russian Flanker began shooting down the runway. Alexander had always wanted to see action.
And now, even in this new world, he was going to get some.
The useful info spot- (as things appear in the story, not by alphabetical order)
GCI- Ground Control Intercept
APU- Auxiliary Power Unit
HUD- Heads-Up Display
"Request Picture"- Request for a report of any contacts on a radar. In this case, if there are any non-Russian contacts on the radar screen of GCI, who has a more powerful radar than what the fighter's have.
MFD- Multi-Functional Display
RTB- Returning To Base
BFM- Basic Fighter Maneuvers
BRA- Bearing Range Altitude
Angels- Thousands of feet Ex: Angels 22= 22,000 feet
C.O- Commanding Officer
Sitrep- Situation Report
Comms- slang for communications
WSO- Weapons Systems Officer