The sun had just peeked out over the horizon, covered by the clouds, seemingly painted varying shades of gold and purple, as a strike package of 12 A-4 Skyhawks are towed off the elevators, on to the deck of CV-41, with two aircraft from the strike package already on catapults 1 and 2.
Instead of going up with one of the Phantom squadrons who had taken off minutes before, like she'd often preferred, Midway's been assigned to shore up one of her Skyhawk squads. She's not the first in line on the catapult but she didn't mind. It meant more time for her to get her shit together, steeling herself for the coming raid at the Red River delta.
The worst of the hangover had already worn off by the time Midway's showered and slipped into her flight suit. Faint memories of last night's wild romp play in her mind's eye. Midway brushes the thoughts aside. There'd be time for reminiscing later. She's strapped in and the Skyhawk's canopy seals shut, making the cockpit feel more cramped than it already was. Midway thinks for a brief moment, that she should have gone up with the Phantoms.
Switching gears into her 'combat mode' and putting her feelings for a certain blue-haired shipgirl and whatever reservations she's having about the strike mission behind her was surprisingly easier than expected for some reason today. Perhaps meeting New Jersey gave her some sense of hope to hold on to. Or maybe today would legitimately be different.
Anxiety turns to anticipation as the Skyhawk's turbine starts up, all thoughts of flying through a hail of bullets slowly fading as a tractor tows her aircraft towards the catapult. Due to weight limits and ordnance shortages, Midway would take off with one drop tank under the Skyhawk's belly and a Mk. 83 bomb under each wing but no missiles, leaving the Skyhawk's twin cannons as her only form of defence.
Midway closes her eyes, drawing in a deep breath as a muffled clunk tells her that a bridle is hooked up to her nosegear. As she's listening to the controllers rattle off figures for steam pressure, followed by the countdown to launch, Midway takes one last look at her surroundings. Out of the corner of her eye, she can make out the forms of her sisters' ships and the hull numbers of the sides of their islands. Coral Sea's '43' and Roosevelt's '42' were unmistakable, even to the casual observer.
Looking upwards, Midway hears the tell-tale sounds of aircraft in the distance before she sees them. Unlike the howling roar of Phantoms and Skyhawks, these aircraft announced their presence with a deep thundering rumble. Midway squints. It's hard to mistake the tell-tale silhouettes of B-52s against the overcast sky, their black bellies, intended to defeat searchlights on night runs, making them ironically stand out even more in broad daylight. There were at least 16 in this formation, not unlike the photos she's seen of Eagle Union and Royal Air Force bombers in the skies over the Ironblood's 'Fatherland' nearly a couple decades ago. Judging from the heading, Midway deduces that the BUFFs were too headed north. Probably near the DMZ or somewhere further up the Ho Chi Minh trail.
Five seconds to go, as the controllers announce.
Five seconds that went by faster than Midway thought as one of the deckhands flashes her a thumbs up, and right on cue, Midway pushes the throttle full forward at the very moment the catapult hurls the Skyhawk off the deck, which then immediately arcs up towards the clouds.
Coral Sea's already airborne too with a Phantom flight. VF-111, judging from the red sunbursts on their tails. She's flying lead, as Midway deduces from observing the Phantom at the very tip of the formation rock its wings as soon as her Skyhawk comes into view.
Another formation of Phantoms appears from below, breaking through the cloud bank before pulling up next to the Skyhawks. These packed skull and crossbones on their tails, with gold chevrons splayed on a black stripe that bisected the grey of the aircrafts' spines. Roosevelt's planes, as confirmed by the carrier's name on both sides of the spines. She'd arrived on station just hours before the mission and the presence of her own aircraft was pretty much a last minute addition to the strike package. Roosevelt's close enough for Midway to make out the markings on her helmet from the front of the Phantom. Black, with 'VF-84' crudely painted in gold across the front, just above the visor.
"It's starting to come down..." Midway mutters to herself. The skies had started pouring, almost immediately after take off, fading into patches of blue peeking out through the grey overcast.
"Prez. Magic, Sundowner. Looks like you ladies managed to get up." Roosevelt's voice crackles over the radio. "Where's everyone headed?"
"Thai Nguyen." Coral Sea's reply is quick and terse. The mention of Thai Nguyen alone draws a nervous chuckle from both Midway and Roosevelt. The Air Force had been trying for weeks to hit the steel mill there, which was just as heavily defended as Midway's current target.
The fact that Coral Sea would be going there meant that the Air Force (most likely the F-105 hotshots from either Takhli or Ubon) had failed to destroy the target. And it also meant Coral Sea would be leading CV-43's air wing on an Alpha Strike to pick up the Air Force's slack. Then again, Coral Sea, like her oldest sister, isn't a stranger to flying straight into Hell and back. And like Midway, Coral Sea too always comes back.
"Red River Delta. Gonna be hitting the Dragon's Jaw." It takes a lot for Midway to resist the urge to crack up. That bridge at Thanh Hoa was already becoming a running gag, much like the steel mill at Thai Nguyen, with already more than two dozen strike attempts made. And the anti-air artillery surrounding that bridge made it really live up to its nickname, christened unto it by Vietnamese troops from both sides.
"River Rat duty too eh? Don't worry about a thing. Ya got Skull Lead and the bones flying MIGCAP for ya today." Visible from the front of her Phantom, Roosevelt throws a two-fingered salute which Midway returns. Midway's trepidation had completely faded at this point. Perhaps today things would finally look up, even if it's just for one day.
Two new carriers had pulled up at Yankee station the night before, just after Roosevelt herself had arrived. Two out of the 24 Essex sisters. No time for introductions though, as with Operation Rolling Thunder being in full swing, meant that most ships and shipgirls on station were too tied up by near-constant flight ops to even greet Roosevelt and the newcomers. It was only after take off, that Midway spots the deck number of one of the pair. '11' painted in bright white on the bow end of the flight deck. One of the newcomer's Skyhawks had taken off, already airborne as Midway, in the front seat of her own Skyhawk passes overhead, too fast for Midway to make out the carrier's name on the jet's spine.
It was then over the coast just south of the DMZ, which served as the staging point for strike packages headed to the Red River area, that Midway gets CV-11's name, and it wasn't by looking at the Skyhawk's markings.
"Where you headed?" The newcomer asks.
"Thanh Hoa. You?" Midway answers without a second thought, her focus solely fixed on lining up her Skyhawk's refuelling probe with the drogue from the tanker aircraft in front of her.
"Same here. Say, you're the one who scored first blood with VF-21, right?"
"Yeah. Name's Midway. Lead ship of the Midway-class. Hull number CV-41. Flew with VF-21's MiG-killers, also fought a MiG in a Spad and won. I prefer to be referred to by my callsign 'Magic'. It's less of a mouthful."
"I'm Intrepid. Third ship of the Essex-class and the Fighting I of the Navy! Hull number's CV-11, callsign's Stargazer if that's what you wanna refer to me by."
" 're the only flyer I've seen in weeks that's this cheery. You know, I've heard stories about you."
"Yeah? Like how I earned so many unflattering nicknames in that war? Those days are long behind me, I swear!"
Intrepid can't resist breaking into a grin behind that oxygen mask with each word. It's pretty obvious that Midway's taken a liking to her from Midway's own reply to that:
"You know Stargazer, I have a feeling you and me are gonna get along just fine."
"And your next line will be: Stick with me and fly my wing.".
"Stick with me and fly my w- Hey!"
Intrepid's only response to that after, was a brief giggle.
"Good morning ladies and gents, this is your flight leader speaking. Temp today's 84 degrees. Today's weather is shitty and is predicted to get even shittier with a high chance of flak." Midway's casual, almost deadpan tone earns a few snickers from the rest of the strike package's pilots. Their A-4s, whose formation flew with the callsign 'Dagger' would be flying straight to Thanh Hoa while Roosevelt's flight, callsign 'Skull' would be their escorts, fly out to screen the Skyhawks from any prowling MiGs.
Coral Sea and her own Phantoms had split off, disappearing into the grey beyond the horizon right as the Air Force strike package from Thai Nguyen passed by, to the far left of Midway and Intrepid's Skyhawks, headed to safety over the border with Laos. These Thuds, as Midway noticed, flew lower than the Skyhawks, almost at full send in a rather disorganized gaggle as they limped home, some shot full of holes, leaking various kinds of fluids behind them. Definitely the hotshots from Takhli, as the Ubon and Korat wings often flew higher going in and out and with properly organized elements too. No point dwelling on them now as that was Coral Sea's mission, not hers.
Right as the formation crossed over the DMZ, the pouring rain had intensfied into a virtual torrent, brilliant purple flashes of lightning illuminating the clouds every few seconds. Despite the storm, Midway's thought it'd be all the better for the mission, as there was a high-chance that the MiGs stationed at Phuc Yen, the closest air base to the target, would be grounded for most of the day. Which left the SAMS and anti-air artillery as the only real threats.
Midway turns back to her own instruments and her own mission, working her aircraft into a shallow dive down to 7000 feet, with Intrepid's following suit just off her wing.
They were 30 kilometres from the target and closing fast. Already, that old sense of trepidation is slowly returning. The only words spoken over comms besides Midway's call for all Dagger aircraft to report in are the other Skyhawk pilots themselves assigning and confirming their positions and elements within the strike package, with Midway flying Dagger Lead and Intrepid as her Number Two. It was supposed to be straightforward - follow the length of the Nam Ma River, straight towards the bridge at Thanh Hoa without getting shot down in the process. But Midway's been up north enough times to know that it would be anything but.
20 kilometres from target. Midway draws in a breath, feeling that sense of trepidation from earlier slowly returning. She's gripping hard on the throttle and the stick, her knuckles turning white from the force alone under her pilot's gloves. (How she's not bent or broken either of said controls is anyone's guess)
She could hear it. Muffled explosions from below, sounding a lot like 4th of July fireworks going off under the Skyhawk for what seemed like an eternity. Warning alarms are already bleeping away in her cockpit, indicating that enemy radar had her tracked. Most likely the Fan Song radars, which served as tracking and fire-control for the much dreaded SA-2 'Guideline' SAM, which had shot down many an airman over the Red River Delta.
And Midway saw it all the moment the flight broke through the cloud bank. Grey and black puffs dotted the air, punctuated with tracers from the hills below lighting up the skies right as the formation split into its elements.
"Damn it. Magic, there's an ocean of bullets coming at us!" Intrepid flinched, noting with increasing anxiety that the flak bursts were getting closer and closer to her own aircraft.
"Keep your speed up!" Midway dove down, just above the deck as a stream of tracer rounds flashed overhead. Her fingers deftly work the control stick, weaving her Skyhawk in between bursts of flak. "Stick with me and I'll show you some of that pilot shit."
This low and fast, Midway and Intrepid's Skyhawks made for difficult targets to track visually with the guns, especially in such downpours like this. As Intrepid's trying her best to keep up, she's noted how Midway seems to fly like the plane was an extension of herself (which it technically was), warning tones suddenly blare in Intrepid's headset, indicating they were being tracked. And then the warning alarm increases in pitch and tempo as the azimuth indicator on Intrepid's instrument panel lights up, with an indicator marked "launch" on the threat panel flashing back in blips of red.
"Uhh Lead? We've been made. SAM coming our way!"
Midway's quick to notice the smoke trail, and then the faint outline of the telephone pole-sized missile component of the SA-2 system streaking right up at the pair.
"Roger, I see it. Heh. It's not fun until they send up three at once."
And as if on cue, more lights on Intrepid's azimuth indicator flare up, with the threat warning alarm bleeping near-constantly.
"We've got seven now! You happy?!" Intrepid wonders how Midway can seem so unfazed at the fact that more than half a dozen missiles were flying right at them from the jungle below.
"Alright, alright. Don't flip out on me. Turn into 'em and go full throttle. Break on my mark."
"Wait you want me to WHA-?!"
"Trust me and follow my lead will ya? This is where the fun begins." Midway replies before turning her Skyhawk right into the flight path of the missiles. "Oh and if you get shot down, crash where I can't see."
The first SAM comes into view, pale green with drab blotches all over its body and fins. Midway and Intrepid both bank straight into its path, breaking hard in both directions and loosing off chaff, right as Midway barks out the command. From the corner of her eye, Intrepid sees the missile detonate – right where her and Midway's aircraft had been just moments ago. And for a moment, Intrepid's pondered what would have happened if she was just a millisecond too late.
"See? Nothing to it. You break at the last second, the missile won't have time to compensate." The threat indicator's still flashing. Midway can still make out the other six smoke trails streaking up at her and Intrepid, with the missiles taking form as they close in fast.
"Alright don't go celebrating just yet. We still got more coming at us. Don't stop to think or you're deader than dead." Midway says, keeping her focus on the smoke trails to either side of her aircraft. She's flying on pure instinct at this point, relying on her reflexes to flick the Skyhawk's nose in either direction – which she does just seconds later as missiles streak by overhead, nosing the Skyhawk over in a steep dive, barking out an order for every aircraft in the formation to hit the deck.
Intrepid feels her heart skipping a beat, watching the SAMs detonate above. Six bright-orange flashes, one after the other. Intrepid brushes off her intrusive thoughts, not wanting to imagine being caught in the middle of the salvo.
She dives, levelling out just above the water as she keeps her focus on Midway's aircraft, attempting to mirror each manuver Midway makes.
Flying this close to ground level meant that the SA-2's search radars would have a harder time tracking them. But then there was still the ever-present threat of the anti-air guns and flak, which seemed to intensify even more as the formation approached the river that would lead them straight up to the bridge. And all they would have to do was to follow the river while weaving through all the fire and somehow not get shot down as the bombing run began.
10 kilometers from target.
The formation presses on, sailing through the hail of tracers and flak bursts, the river below serving as their route towards that damned bridge. Midway's lost count of the number of bombing attempts on that bridge, both successful and unsuccessful, with each run marked as a tally strike on a map of the Delta in her ship's ready room. Today's mission would be yet another tally on the map, regardless of whether it failed or succeeded.
"They're zeroing in on us!" Intrepid can't help flinching as the flak seems to be closing on her Skyhawk with each burst, tracers now zipping by just feet from her canopy. The incoming fire only seemed to intensify even more with each closing distance and already, a number of the other Skyhawks were forced to turn back, either from prematurely dropping their ordnance or from damage taken from the barrage.
"Ah damn it. Dagger Lead to all aircraft. Be advised, anti-air fire around the target is extremely intense. Suggest using toss-bombing against the bridge." Midway's already turned a dial on her targeting computer, switching it to LABS mode, which would require her to manually release both the bombs on her Skyhawk's wings once an indicator light on her display flashed.
"Toss-bombing? Isn't that for nukes?" Intrepid's asked, right as a SAM shoots straight past her, clearly meant for some other poor sod in the strike package. And somehow through sheer luck, the missile keeps flying skyward, somehow having lost track of whoever it was targeting.
"You want to try bombing normally in this shit?" Midway shoots back, trying to make out the bridge's silhouette in the maelstrom of fire above and below. "Follow my lead and trust me, will ya?"
"Alright, alright-" Intrepid concedes. She knows Midway's right. There's no way one can perform a normal run without getting absolutely shredded and she knows there's nothing else she can do but do exactly as Midway says.
The strike package had begun their final approach. Midway and Intrepid pull up to a higher altittude to begin their attack runs. From above, Roosevelt can only watch the strike team disappear into the clouds below, into the hail of anti air fire, as herself and the rest of VF-84's flight split off to their assigned MIGCAP stations around the target area. For a moment, she feels a slight tinge of worry, despite knowing her sister's flown through fire that intense before and returned.
No time to further ponder on what's happening down below as Roosevelt's attention had to turn towards keeping an eye on both the skies and the radar in the rare chance that Phuc Yen Air Base decided to scramble MiGs despite the weather. With one final glance at where Midway's flight had dived below the clouds, Roosevelt turns away, climbing back above the clouds.
Five kilometers from target and the bridge is in sight - heavily obscured by clouds of grey and black. A surprisingly small target, given that the strike package was approaching the bridge from its transverse. Midway's focused on the reticle in the Skyhawk's bomb sight. All she would have to do was, without letting the anti-aircraft shells whizzing past her canopy make her flinch, keep the bridge centered in the sight's vertical axis and release both Mk. 83s and pray that her and Intrepid's bombs would connect instead of going long or short over the bridge into the murky brown waters of the Ma River below.
Midway's holding her breath. Her finger is above the release button as her Skyhawk dives to gain airspeed and momentum – then pulls up, Midway gritting her teeth as the G-forces press her down and back against her ejection seat. Sure as a Kansen, she'd be extremely resistant, if not downright impervious to the effects of g-LOC compared to humans, but that fact didn't make feeling the immediate physical effects any less unpleasant.
"Dagger Lead. Pickle! Pickle!" Gritting her teeth, Midway's pressed. the release button once the LABS light on her displays flashes, indicating the optimum point in the Skyhawk's climb to loose off the bombs – which almost literally flew off the racks with a muffled clunk, sailing towards the target in a shallow arc.
Midway peels off after, the Skyhawk suddenly 2000 pounds lighter as it enters a loop, just as a burst of tracers sail past her cockpit, inches from her wings.
She can't look back now, or risk taking a SAM or shell to the face. Her only hope of confirming her hits lay with Intrepid, who was now about to begin the follow-up attack.
"Dagger Two to Lead. Both your bombs connected but… effect on target is minimal." Intrepid's watched as the two Mk. 83s from Midway's Skyhawk hit home on the bridge – though only managing to snap a few girders, seemingly unimportant, as the bridge still stood, and blowing out a section of the bridge's causeway, that made it look as if a giant had taken a bite out of the concrete, though the damage wasn't enough to sever the railway running the length of the bridge.
"I say again, both bombs hit with minimal effect on target!"
"You've gotta be shitting me…" Midway mumbles a dozen curses under her breath, realizing she'd pretty much wasted her ordnance despite the bombs being right on target. A pause, and then a sigh from her on the other end of the line. "It's up to you now, Dagger Two! I'm Winchester on bombs!"
"I- uhh- Acknowledged. Dagger Two beginning attack run!" Intrepid draws in a breath, steeling herself as like Midway's, her own Skyhawk is hurtling forward at full throttle into the hail of flak and bullets.
I won't go down that easily! Intrepid's thinking to herself though she's noticed the fire coming from below has slackened a little. Just a little. In her immediate field of vision, she sees Midway circling above, drawing fire from Intrepid to herself.
Like Midway, her hand's gripping tightly on the controls, pressing down on the 'release' button as she's mentally counting down the remaning distance before the point where she'd yank back on the stick to pull the jet into a climb – which she does just a minute later. One eye on the reticle, attempting to keep the target centered and the other on the indicator light under the bomb sight, which flashed as if on cue.
"Eat this!" Intrepid's released the aptly named button mid-climb, and pulled away, the sudden weight decrease allowing her Skyhawk to fly and turn faster. Unlike Midway after the first run however, Intrepid, thanks to her maneuvering, was able to get a good look at her own bombs, now gliding in an arc towards the bridge.
Intrepid holds her breath, the half loop she's doing as part of her evasive manuvers keeping the bridge in sight as the bombs continue downwards, somehow seeming to slow even more with each passing moment. And for a moment, it looks as if the spread of both bombs would have them miss the bridge entirely, one going higher and the other lower than she'd intended – until perhaps by sheer luck, divine intervention, both bombs somehow hit home detonating on impact in clouds of grey dust with a section of the causeway being cut from the bomb hitting right in its centre, along with a span being cut down.
"Dagger Lead to Dagger Two, good hits. Good effects on target!" Midway's observing from above as chunks of steel and concrete drop into the murky waters under the bridge. At the same time, the barrages of flak and bullets had slackened, as if the very act of the bridge itself being cut had stunned a number of the gunners below. And all Intrepid can hear as she's pulled away and turned towards the egress route besides the threat alarms is Midway's voice, barking out orders to the rest of the strike team.
"Woohoo! Righteous!" At this point Intrepid's levelled out, with her Skyhawk's throttle pushed to full. Midway's pulled up, rocking her Skyhawk's wings, wordlessly enquiring if Intrepid's okay. A gesture that Intrepid returns in affirmation.
"Magic to Stargazer. Welcome to the first circle of Hell." Midway says a second later, with both herself and Intrepid breaking into soft laughter as both their aircraft turn back towards the coast, away from the Dragon's Jaw. "How's your first trip up north feel?"
"Heh it's been one hell of a ride." Intrepid chuckles before biting back a yawn that threatened to force itself past her lips, her arms suddenly feeling slightly heavier than usual. The last time she'd felt this kind of post-battle fatigue was after so many missions back in the Pacific, decades ago.
"Dunno 'bout you, Magic, but I think I've had enough fun for one day."
"You and me both." Midway's slumped back against her seat. Just like back in that hotel room in Saigon the night before, she's soaked to the bone despite the Skyhawk's cockpit A/C being on full blast. She could feel it all pooling in her boots. Midway chooses to ignore it. She could deal with that when she's back on deck. At least the Skyhawk would at most need a new paint job. A quick glance outside the cockpit tells Midway that whatever damage her aircraft's suffered is mostly superficial.
Midway's sense of relief and elation that the strike had gone well so far quickly disappears as warning alarms blare again for the umpteenth time. They're being tracked again, and the 'air to air' light over the azimuth indicator flashes repeatedly.
Intrepid's apparently picked it up too as she's quick to call it in.
"Stargazer to Magic. Hate to break it to ya but looks like we celebrated a little too early!"
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. It's probably a flight control radar or something."
"Come on, look at the threat direction! It's coming up at four o'clock low!"
"Maybe it's on conical scan mode." Midway shrugs, praying it wasn't the alternative. If the MiGs from Phuc Yen Air Base had scrambled despite the weather, herself and Intrepid would already be in deep trouble, despite her willingness to fight her way out if push came to shove.
"Ah hell. Disregard my last, that's no missile scan. We got us some MiGs, baby!" It seemed Midway's worst fears was realised, as a glance over her shoulder shows a pair of bogeys in the form of barely perceptible blips against the grey of the overcast sky.
"Dagger Lead to Skull Lead. We got us some bandits crawling up our asses! Where the hell are you? Skull Lead, come in!"
Midway bites back a curse. It doesn't take her long to put two and two together. If these MiGs did indeed come from Phuc Yen, it meant that a huge enough force was sent up to keep their MIGCAP escorts busy. And these two had definitely slipped past Roosevelt's flight, which meant Midway and Intrepid would be on their own.
"Looks our hosts are keeping Skull Flight busy. I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this." Midway sighs, flipping a switch on a side console to select the two 20mm cannons buried in the Skyhawk's underside. The MiGs were closing fast. Too fast to be MiG-17s. Which meant they would be up against MiG-21s. And there was no outrunning a MiG-21 in a Skyhawk.
"Well then, why don't you punch out?" Intrepid says drily as she too has switched to her aircraft's guns out of instinct.
"Eh fuck it. I came along for the ride." Midway's grinning behind her oxygen mask. If Intrepid took a closer look, she could have seen a green glint from Midway's helmet visor. Either way, Intrepid immediately knows what Midway's thinking.
"You're gonna suggest we go dogfighting without missiles… Heh. Haven't seen that tactic in a while."
"It's do or die. We still have guns on these things after all."
Midway banks left as the MiGs close in turning to meet them in a merge. Normally she would have attempted to keep some distance between herself and her opponents, but given the only weapons she had left were the guns, getting up close and personal to use them was the only other option left. And as the bogeys got closer, Midway and Intrepid could confirm what they were up against.
"Stargazer to Magic. Tally two bandits. Confirmed Fishbeds!"
Gleaming silver-painted MiG-21s, with the rather unflattering 'Fishbed' codename, indentifiable by their characteristic delta wings. And there were two of them.
"Magic. Acknowledged. Right, let's turn and burn!"
"Bandit's on my six! Can't shake him!"
It all happened so quickly. Both pairs turning into each other in a classic merge, with Midway opening up with her Skyhawk's guns, forcing the MiGs to break formation and within the blink of an eye, Intrepid's found one of the MiGs latched on to her tail and no amount of jinking seemed to throw the silver fighter off. Intrepid notices the MiG's keeping his distance – realizing in milliseconds that he's trying to keep her within lock-on range of the heat-seeker missiles strapped to the undersides of his wings. Instinctively, Intrepid kicks her own aircraft into a shallow dive, hoping to throw off or at least delay the lock for as long as she can.
"Hang on. I'm coming!" Midway glances between the tail of the MiG in front of her and its wingman latched on to Intrepid's six o'clock down below. Instinct kicking in, Midway chooses to deny herself this kill and dive after Intrepid's pursuer, as both it and Intrepid dive lower towards the deck.
Midway's nosed over, almost literally dropping into position behind the bandit on Intrepid's tail. Intrepid's flying erratically, perhaps a bit too erratically as Midway fires off several short bursts, all of which seemed to miss.
"Damn it Stargazer, I can't get a clear shot! Level out and lure him across my nose so I can splash him."
Midway notes that the MiG pilot's seemed to not notice the fact that she was chasing his tail. This pilot seemed to have had pure overconfidence in his aircraft's superiority against the two strike planes, having fallen into the all too common trap of target fixation, expecting an easy kill against the pair of Skyhawks.
"You do realise that makes me a sitting duck, right? Right?!"
"Hey I got you this far. Have a little faith in me why don'tcha?"
"Ugh fine. Roger your last."
With a sigh, Intrepid complies. She's slowed down a little, banking hard across the nose of Midway's Skyhawk which then opens up with the pair of 20mms as soon as the reticle in its gunsight is centered over the MiG's form once it banks right in Intrepid's trail. A quick one-second burst is all that's needed as the shells hit home, clipping the MiG's left wing off in a shower of metal and sparks.
"Stargazer to Magic. I owe you one!"
Midway doesn't bother watching her first kill of the day spiral down to the jungle below as movement within her field of vision indicates that she's now the prey as the second MiG had reappeared, announcing its presence with flashes of fire from its own guns, tracers streaking past her canopy. Intrepid's attempted to return the favour, having started her own pursuit of the bandit on Midway's six.
We're both flying the same type of plane yet… I'm struggling to keep up! Intrepid thinks to herself, watching just how Midway's Skyhawk seemed to turn tighter and manuver faster than her own. And even the bandit chasing Midway's also having difficulty staying glued to her rear for more than one second.
They were flying low now, just a dozen feet above the hills. There were only three directions Midway could go now; Upwards or left and right if she wanted to evade. But there was always a fourth option.
Midway flicks the stick, raising the Skyhawk's nose, climbing just enough for the MiG to shoot past before quickly bringing it back down, squeezing off another short burst of cannon fire. And as if in slow motion, bits of metal fly off the rear half of the MiG's fuselage before the sleek, silver aircraft itself disintegrates under the volume of a dozen 20mm high explosive rounds tearing into it.
"Splash two!" Midway calls out, slumping back against her seat. The only sound she hears besides her own breathing is that of her heart pounding hard. Yet despite the strain, she feels as if she could go for another round of dogfighting, though she'd banished that thought after looking at the number of rounds left in both guns.
"Goddamn, Magic. You're fast. Hell, you're faster than me!"
"See? I told you I'd show you some of that pilot shit."
"Stick with Magic and you'll make it… Heh."
"Looks like we're not out of the woods yet…" Midway mutters, glancing down at her radar screen.
"Four more, coming in low from bearing Three-One-Five. 400 knots."
"Ah great. I have just about had enough surprises today!" Intrepid grumbles, to no one in particular, forgetting Midway can hear her. But Midway doesn't seem to react as her focus turns towards towards four more bogeys, coming in from a different bearing, further west.
And before Midway can say a thing, comms crackle to life with someone's very familiar Brooklyn-esque accent.
"Prez to Magic. You guys alright down there?"
A very audible sigh of relief was heard from Midway's side of the line. Roosevelt's flight had come to the rescue right on the nick of time.
"Magic to Prez. Took you guys long enough."
"Sorry to keep you girls waitin'. Our hosts insisted we stay for seconds. You two best get going. We'll handle your new friends."
"Magic. Acknowledged."
Midway turns her Skyhawk around, back towards the egress route that ran along the coast and then out to sea. Intrepid's flying off her wing, just close enough for Midway to see her waving from the cockpit.
"Say, Stargazer. You still alive? Let's get out of here."
"Yeah, I've really had enough fun for one day."
"You know, I think you and me are gonna get along just fine… Buddy."
