CHAPTER 2, TIDES OF CHANGE.
22 September 2010/ Texaco Flight, 21:15.
Texaco Tanker, flanked by War Ace zero-one and zero-two, made their way through the evening sky.
Almost totally invisible to the naked eye as they moved through the darkening evening sky over Nilenia the flashing green and red navigation lights at the tips of their wings and the lighted cockpits of the three aircraft were the only visible proof of their presence in the dark sky.
As darkness swept away the last remnants of light of that day the three aircraft waited for their rendezvous.
The first evening stars were showing up at the clear evening sky, making the planes stand out much better against the now dark blue sky which was a big plus for the refuel operation.
In a combat mission this would have perhaps been a disadvantage but Corporal De Vries, who was waiting for the last flight positioned at the back of the KC 10, was actually quite grateful for the little light that the stars were giving him. Watching through the small glass turret at the back of KC10 Tanker he was the man responsible for the mid-air refuelling controls and even though he had the comfort of night vision goggles Corporal De Vries never had enjoyed night refuelling missions before.
Refuelling was a delicate and dangerous operation demanding the utmost concentration of both him, the KC10's pilot and the pilot of the aircraft that was being refuelled. And being in total dark it was even more difficult then during daytime, even with the goggles. The night vision goggles, now lying next to his small seat, were also a pain to his sleepy eyes but that was purely psychological. Even so he didn't complained to much about the goggles, even though he didn't showed it he was grateful having them, it made the job a whole lot safer but if he had to chose between day and night mission, day would be have been definitely it.
Watching the two escorting Viggens making a lazy roll, disappearing under the KC 10's left wing before showing back up at the right wing it came to him that flying a fighter was one of the greatest things around.
Not that he would ever get the change, still without him and his comrades in the Tanker those fighters couldn't remain airborne. He might be a small cog in the great NRAF machine but his job was just as important as those jet boys De Vries though smiling. Life maybe wasn't so bad after all.
After a few minutes of just gazing at the stars he stretched and yawned, it was almost time for the last operation, and he was feeling glad to go back to base.
Refuelling several reconnaissance and patrol aircraft and, at the end of this shift, even a pair of Marine NH90 helicopters he thought he deserved a good night's sleep back at home.
Checking his digital watch it was around 21:15, only one more flight left to go De Vries noticed with some relieve as he turned his eyes from the watch to the flight notepad which he had positioned on his left leg.
Only one flight more tonight and then it was good night for him.
Looking at the two JA37 Viggens as they made another turn, now moving above the KC-10, the corporal was awakened out of his thoughts about a nice soft bed and turned his to the intercom-system as it crackled to live:
"Pilot to refuelling controller, Watchdog flight approaching at 8 o'clock, change frequencies to one-three-seven."
"Copy that sir!" Corporal De Vries replied as he watched from his cramped position at his lower left, and sure enough the navigation lights of three fighters were clearly visible against the dark clouds as they quickly closed in to their slightly higher position.
With a flip of the switch he changed the radio frequency so that he could listen, and communicate, to the incoming fighterpilots and his own crew for this final refuel operation this night.
His Commander, Captain Kursten was just informing Watchdog leader of their current location, speed and altitude as he pushed a button that would lower the refuelling rod with the drogue attached to it.
After a few minutes of messages and acknowledgements being sent back and forth to the incoming flight and the Tanker he identified the three fighters as being a Mirage 2000 and two F16's.
With a few calculations he figured that the Mirage would require 7800 pounds of fuel while the F16's probably would need around 7500 pounds.
The lead F16 pilot looked up at his higher position positioning the F16 in a parallel course with Texaco Zero One's extended fuel rod.
"Watchdog Flight Leader to Texaco Zero-One we could use a drink, if you still have some cool beer left."
"Roger that Watchdog Leader, this round is on me." Corporal De Vries replied with a dry smile while checking the remaining fuel reserves, more then enough. The lead F16 began its careful approach and coupled with the drogue with a smooth click.
"Link established, beginning transfer."
Corporal De Vries confirmed as he flipped a switch starting the pumping machines and starting the fuel transfer.
22 September 2010/ Watchdog Zero-Three, 21:25.
Lieutenant Frost looked with growing interest as Major Pavel Blackovitz, with one smooth move, linked up his F16E with tanker Texaco Zero One.
It was clear the major was a real pro coupling his F16 with such smooth moves, without any help or guidance of the refuel controller onboard the KC-10 required a lot of training and a steady hand.
Looking a bit lower Michael saw that also Janet was looking at the major, she would be the second one to refuel when the major was finished.
Michael, being the last to be refuelled, took a look at the clear evening sky.
The only traffic was the KC 10, its Viggen escort and their own flight.
The only other company this night was provided by the evening stars that shone brightly as his Mirage 2000 moved with a slow 290 knots through the sky.
The two escorting Viggens were making slow circles around their flight as they refuelled, providing cover in case someone was planning intercept them, something that was very unlikely.
The JA37 Viggen had many things in common with his own Mirage Michael thought as he looked at the closest Viggen shape and configuration. Its pilot also was looking at him, briefly waving at him as he noticed Michael staring at his fighter.
He smiled and gave a salute back looking as the same delta shaped aircraft, as his Mirage, disappeared behind the bulky shape of the KC-10 Tanker. The radio starting bleeping, it was his turn to refuel.
22 September 2010/ Texaco Flight, Cockpit KC-10 Texaco Zero-One, 21:30.
"This is Texaco, we're heading back to base Watchdog Lead, it was a pleasure doing business with you."
Captain Kursten grunted softly, turning a page of his paperback western he had been reading for the last half hour. His co pilot, 1st lieutenant Hugh, was doing the flying, and talking for that matter, at the moment.
They had taking turns every hour, and after this operation it was his turn to fly the plane back to base.
The refuelling had went smoother then he initially had thought possible turning another page of the paperback.
Most of his crew and possible also Watchdog's pilots, should have been quite tired by now, flying for several hours always took his toll and meant that refuelling could take more time as concentration was lower.
But looking at the time and smoothness of the operation it was just like they had just started the day, fresh and eager.
He silently felt proud of his crew, he had trained them well these past months.
Captain Kursten put down his western and looked in the rear mirror that was hanging outside on his left.
Looking in the rear mirror, the last of Watchdog flight, a Mirage, callsign Watchdog Zero-Three, uncoupled itself from the refuel drogue.
He again grunted, it was just almost like the old days back when he was still in the ISAF.
Well trained, and motivated pilots and also a just cause.
It was a shame the ISAF had disbanded, it could have done so many good things these past years Captain Kursten thought as the Mirage 2000 made a left roll joining the rest of his flight at twelve o'clock.
Veering of to the North, to Minella AFB.
Kursten listened at his co pilot talking to Watchdog leader.
"Copy that Texaco, thanks for the fuel. I won't be surprised to see you again."
"Watchdog Flight signing off." Watchdog Leader answered while shaking his wings briefly, waving them goodbye, before making a sharp turn leading the rest of his flight 20 degrees to the left, accelerating away to the North.
Smiling briefly at this greeting, he took the controls over from his co-pilot.
It differed not even that much from the ISAF after all, there were still good pilots and a just cause around.
Turning the controls slightly to the right, the massive bulk of the KC-10, flanked with its two small nimble fighter escorts, made a slow turn towards the West and started heading back to home.
23 September 2010/ Minella AFB, Iolla.
Positioned on the most Northern Islands of the Nilenian Island group the NRAF base Minella was always one of the first military installations that had to slow down any enemy invaders.
Lying at the footstep of the two bickering superpowers Osea and Yuktobania on a island in the Ceres Ocean the base was the first line of defence for the Small Island group.
Lying on the small island called Iolla the construction of the NRAF Airforce base had began almost five decades ago right after the foundation of the Nilenian Kingdom.
Before the construction of one of the first NRAF base a small fishing community had mostly inhabited the island of Iolla, living of what the Ceres Ocean provided.
The small community expanded as the families of the pilots and base personnel came living at the base, the population and economy grew, attracting even more people to the small island, so the small village grew and grew to what it was today, a city with over 75000 souls.
The airbase itself also grew through the following years, getting additional concrete runways replacing the grass strips and more bunkers to house the new fightercraft that were stationed on the small island.
Also the Nilenian Royal Navy made it a regular stop and refuelling point for its passing patrol vessel.
Today the sub tropical island of Iolla was a thriving and rather important place for the Nilenian Kingdom's defence and vastly growing economy.
Making it even more a likely target for any possible future attack.
Michael walked through the streets of what he once called his hometown, he hadn't been back for almost decade. Since his mother past away, almost 10 years ago in a car crash, he had been living with his aunt and uncle on the main island of Utria.
Straightening his blue airforce cap he looked at high rise of the city.
The city had certainly grown since the last time he had been walking through these streets he silently concluded. Watching several playing and cheering children running past him on their way to school he felt somewhat glad he was back, it was a shame that war was glowing on the horizon.
He remembered the briefing yesterday it was clear that the country was preparing for its defence. It was only the question who would fire the first shot. Times were changing very rapidly.
At least the fresh sea air on the other hand hadn't changed, it was still the same like it was almost 10 years ago.
He remembered that his father had once told him, when they had been walking on the beach on a day off, that the sea was one of the most beautiful things there were. After saying that his father had looked down at him with a big smile. It is just as beautiful up there he had added pointing his left-hand skywards.
They had all looked up at the small clouds that slowly drifted by against the clear blue summer sky.
His father had run his other hand through Michael's short brown hair and asked him if he also found it beautiful.
His mother had also looked down at him and said with a smile that he was still to young to understand the concept of beauty yet.
Looking from his mother back to his father not knowing what to say, Michael had nodded wildly to both of them wanting to please both his dad and mom.
They had smiled warmly at him, a knowing twinkle in their eyes, as they both took one of his hands and slowly walked over the gold sand.
Michael let go of a small sigh as he watched the waves smashing and breaking against the shoreline, he hadn't thought about his father and mother for a long time that way. It was one of the few happy memories he had left of them being together.
A F16 roared over, it's landing gear extracted, probably making its final approach Michael mused as he followed the dark blue fighter until it disappeared behind some buildings.
Shivering slightly a cold breeze caught him by surprise, almost blowing his cap from his head.
Just able to catch it as it tried to drift away Michael put it, along with his hands, in the warm pockets of his uniform and headed back to his old new home, Minella AFB.
23 September 2010, 84-22nd Leader - Osean Airspace.
The Osean Air Defence would by now have spotted their flight the 84th 22nd Squadron Leader thought as he turned the necessary switches that would arm the weaponry of his F14.
His BN, only moments ago, reported a strong enemy radar source probably a ground based radar station he had concluded.
Also the intercepted communications of the Sand Island Air Defences made it clear that they would get some company soon.
Moving his head slowly from side to side the 12 fighters and bombers, of whom his flight consisted, were flying in a perfect and well disciplined formation. After 15 years it was finally pay back time
"Contacts sir! Heading two-two-one, range 6 miles, altitude 4000 miles and climbing." His BN spoke through the intercom.
Tapping his microphone twice to confirm that he had received the message he looked at the screen in front of him, new red grey contacts were appearing on his targeting radar screen. The target computer identified them as unknown targets, they were currently to far away to make a positive ID.
"Seems that a enemy unit was already airborne." The BN added with a slightly panicking voice.
He would have to talk to the man when they were back at base he thought looking at the targeting radar.
On the far edge at least a dozen contacts were moving in their direction. It could only be the enemy, no other friendly units were currently in his designated sector. He shook his head.
No matter it was but a minor change in plans.
He grinned, the adrenaline started pumping through his body, he fastened his oxygen mask and looked at the Head Ups Display -or HUD- in front of him selecting a sidewinder missile.
Only a few minutes more.
23 September 2010, AWACS, Patrolling the Ceres Sea, early morning.
As the sun began rising over the distant horizon a large grey plane made its slow way through the early morning skies.
The large grey aircraft, a NRAF Boeing 767 was weird sign to see.
Carrying a large slowly turning saucerlike radar antenna, which was connected to the delicate scanning and analysis equipment located in its belly, the plane looked almost surreal as it slowly moved through the skies.
The rising sun's early morning rays glinted on its slowly rotating saucer radar.
Inside the men and woman of the Nilenian Air and Ground Operations, or better known as the Eyes in the Sky, used this Boeing 767 to keep a close eye on all the airtraffic in and around Nilenian controlled space.
It could be also used, during time of war or conflict, as a flying command and operations post.
Not that they had used the plane for actual operations a young airforce corporal thought as she sipped from her coffee.
The day was just as normal as the day before the young female corporal though
Looking kind of bored while sipping her hot coffee she watched at the large green radarscreen in front of her.
The radar was showing the commercial traffic and some patrolling fighter as the made there way to their destinations.
The oh so normal routine that was her life she thought while looking with little interest at contact CTO 321, a Osean Federation Commercial Tanker.
This day she was not even in direct contact with any of the patrol fighters so she could only watch as the few blips went back and forth as the radar cursor made another slow turn on her radar screen.
Looking at her left a private called Saratov, at least that stood on his ID card, was in conversation with a patrol flight while at her right another NAGO corporal, Sarah a old friend, was talking to Texaco Flight, a refuelling tanker from RustMill AFB.
Lucky bastards she thought while rubbing her eyes trying to not fall in sleep before turning her concentration back to her own screen. A sudden blip, a very faint contact just fainted on the green coloured screen as the cursor began a new slow turn.
"What was that?" She softly whispered, putting her coffee away.
A malfunction in the electronic systems or a unknown contact?
Biting her lip softly she watched the cursor, urging it silently to go faster, as it made another turn towards the most upper part of her radarscreen. She almost yelled in excitement as the cursor passed the spot where the earlier possible contact, or computer glitch, had been. Several dozens of contacts were clearly visible now, the target analysis computer identified them as unknown bogeys.
Putting her left hand up she started waving at her commander mentioning him to join her.
She closely followed the bogies as they moved along the border.
"What is it corporal?" The sergeant major, her superior, asked while looking over her shoulder at the radar-screen.
"Unknown bogies just along the border sir!" She briskly said while pointing at the various contacts, with the unknown bogey signs attached to them, heading straight towards the Osean mainland.
"I thought you should know sir." She added as the sergeant who was totally focused at the contacts on her screen. Chewing on a pencil the major tried to make some sense of what was happening on the screen.
The unidentified contacts were flying right over the demilitarised zone, a no flying zone for almost 8 years!
"They can't be civilian and they can't be Osean looking at their projected courses..." she heard him mumble under his breath as the contacts continued their way towards Osea Controlled airspace.
"Then they must be coming from Mersjka Air base..." He stopped mumbling in himself as the full extend of his conclusion hit him, the major quickly began speaking into his microphone.
Watching the sergeant whispering through his headset, a worried expression on his face, she turned her eyes back at the contacts on her screen. She felt frightened and exited simultaneously, one thing was certain this wouldn't be such a boring day after all.
23 September 2010, Barracks-104th Squadron, early in the morning.
Smashing her clenched hand repeatedly on the buzzing alarm clock Janet clouded mind urged her to go back to that beautiful dream. Why wouldn't that ssssstupid alarm clock STOP! She muttered sleepily while retracting her arm back into the warm confines of the cocoon she had carefully made of her bed sheets.
Triiiiiii! Triiiiiii! Triiiiii... That annoying ALARM clock from HELL simply wouldn't stop ringing! Putting the pillow of her head she closed her weary eyes, trying to get that ringing noise out of her head.What had she done to deserve this cruel fate!
She had been a good and nice girl when they had landed yesterday late in the evening at Minella AFB.
Shaking hands with the welcoming committee and smiling graciously at the base commander before finally getting to bed at 23:30. What had she been tired...
It was simply not fair!Turning around, away from the clock she made up her mind. She would get that sleep one way or the other.
Her hopes of going back to that beautiful dream faded quickly away as the warmth, of her snug cosy cocoon, were shattered by a sudden familiar voice that yelled very close to her and the sheets were pulled away.
"Rise and shine LIEUTENANT SLEEPYHEAD!" Major Pavel Blackovitz yelled with an evil grin on his face while pulling away the sheets of the young Lieutenants bed.
The Lieutenant, now completely awake was wearing only a tanktop plus a pair of marine shorts.
Looking startled for a moment, still holding her cushion above her head, she blinked her eyes twice before beginning to scream.
"Pervert!" Janet yelled at the now slightly startled looking Major tossing her pillow at his face. She silently grinned at the startled expression of the Major as the pillow hit him.
So he wasn't such an emotionless bastard after all. She almost felt sorry for the Major as he stood there.
But it was his fault for waking her up at this time so she didn't feel that sorry.
She almost had to laugh as she watched him stuttering trying to reply but then the wailing sound of the air alarm sirens outside caught her attention.
Wasn't that the sound she had heard earlier?
Planning to ask the major about it the intercom crackled to live:
"SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE! ALL PILOTS TO THEIR FIGHTERS! SCRAMBLE...So that explained why the air alarm was wailing, it also explained why Pavel, Major Blackovitz, had woken her. Janet was a notorious deep sleeper and she knew it, putting her flight suit on and grabbing her helmet hiding her now bright red face. She felt so ashamed.
Following the major she made a mental note to apologise as soon as possible.
23 September 2010, 84-22nd Leader - Osean Airspace.
"Targets identified... three F5's and a F4 phantom II... other contacts remain below the clouds... probably also F5's." Strike 2 voice boomed through the radio.
Only F5's and one Phantom! This would simply be to easy the Strike leader thought somewhat disappointed.
He swiftly ordered his F14 escorts to point position, protecting the slower bombers, no use giving them a chance to hit the bombers.
"Enemy at four o'clock lead." Strike three spoke up.
Looking at his left the BN of strike 3's F14 mentioned towards several glittering reflections that were just below them.
They must be a training squadron or something similar as the trainees stayed low while three F5's and the F4 Phantom were probably their instructors.
A easy kill, a nice training for the things to come.
Changing his frequency so that his whole strike wing could hear him he casually stated.
"This is 84-92nd leader to all 84-92nd units proceed as planned."
23 September 2010, Phoenix Flight - Nilenian Airspace.
"Intense fighting on the shoreline Phoenix Leader." Michael overheard a controller of NAGO 01, or Eye in the Sky, saying to the Major.
Their wing, two F16's and two Mirages were only one of the many currently patrolling the sky.
And looking at the clear blue sky it seemed that they wouldn't be in the front line just yet.
The Yuktobanian fighters and bombers seemed content enough to just slug it out against the Osean fighters.
Their own hastily scrambled squadrons were simply watching the fight from very far away, and deep inside of their own side border, no need to provoke them the major had said as they had run towards their waiting fighters.
Listening to the radio traffic it was clear that Eye in the Sky was also in direct communication with ground and navy units. Probably battle-group Yiroko, a few of his old training squadron members were stationed on it. He had received a letter from Johny a few days ago telling that the carrier Yiroko would be in town so they could all meet up and have a drink and remember the old days.
But looking at the activities on the other side of the border the Yiroko Carrier Group, and their own Airbase also for that matter, wouldn't be receiving any leave soon. They were in the brink of conflict and that probably meant to be on action stations all the time 24/7.
Rolling his fighter to the left following the lead fighter he felt glad that they couldn't see any of the fighting, that privilege was only reserved for a couple of A6's with specialist equipment that were flying several kilometres in front of them.
Even so they could overhear the radio-chatter of the two opposing forces and that was more then enough to know that the war had started between the two superpowers.
How long would it take before they would join in the conflict?
23 September 2010, Wardog Leader - 106th TF Squadron.- Cape Landers, 11:09 hours.
"Give me a break, I'm babysitting nuggets up here." Captain Bartlett mumbled through the intercom of his F4 Phantom as the radio started beeping. Watching the captain through his camera Albert Genette was again surprised by the sharp remarks the captain used.
That was the overall way the captain was running his squadron, the 106th, and it was very different then any other airforce unit he knew off.
But then again wasn't he only here for this extraordinary squadron leader and his squadron?
Pointing his camera towards a F5 that was slowly sliding over his position at the back of the Phantom he maintained quite and listened carefully what would happen next.
Captain Jack Bartlett flipped the radio switch and a voice, Albert recognised as the air-traffic-controller of Sand Island Base, came through.
"Command to Wardog squadron... we've got inbound targets, aircraft type unknown."
Targets? Turning the viewer back to the captain who was sitting in front of the double seat F4 fighter Albert felt his heartbeat slightly rising.
"You're the closest fighters we've got to intercept the bogeys."
"They must be joking." The captain softly mumbled under his breath before ordering most of Wardog flight wing to head below the clouds leaving himself and three instructing F5's to head in first.
"Hold tight on your stomach back there." The captain muttered through the intercom to Albert Genette.
Oh boy... Albert quickly put away his camera... he knew what this meant.
The F4 Phantom made a 360 degrees roll and dove down towards the three waiting F5's.
No target drones or blanks this time, it was sink or swim Captain Bartlett thought as he headed his flight towards the unknown bandits.
23 September 2010, Minella AFB, Minella Island, 13:00 hours.
What a... slaughter... Major Blackovitz thought as he disembarked from his F16.
They had patrolled the skies for 2 hours and had closely monitored the communications of the dogfights over Sand Island. Listening to those intense communications, either being screams of victories or despair and death, it was clear a lot of good pilots had died in those few hours.
He wondered if any of his old friends, from back 15 years ago, would have been fighting there.
"Major!"
Jumping down from the extended ladder he looked towards the other F16 at his left, 2nd lieutenant Deveraux was running towards him.
Her dark hair was moving graciously in the wind.
He quickly straightened his face, what was he thinking, remembering the stint she had pulled on him earlier this morning.
Behind her Frost and captain Grafton, one of his new appointed (senior) pilots, were also moving towards his position after they had briefly talked to a waiting crew-chief.
"Major...?"
Looking down at the slightly heaving lieutenant, who was now standing in front of him, her arms were holding her flight helmet tightly against her chest.
She was looking up at him with two big teary eyes, which she quickly rubbed dry.
What was it with that teary stare?"I'm sorry Major..." She said softly with a bright smile.
"About this morning sir." She added quickly seeing the Majors not understanding expression.
She let go of the helmet and extended her left hand.
"Oh that... let's just forget about that lieutenant." Pavel Blackovitz answered shaking the extended hand of the lieutenant who still was smiling broadly.
"Thanks sir!"
"The Mirage 2000 is a good plane but I personally like my own MIG 23 Flogger... Pavel overheard the captain saying to the lieutenant as they came near his F16.
"Ah yes sir but..."
Listening as Lieutenant Frost made his own defence of his plane of choice he looked at his new second in command.
Captain Kenneth Grafton was a normal looking middle-aged man with brown hair and, perhaps to overcome his small stature, a large moustache.
Pavel almost smiled about that thought but then remembered the fight they had monitored only moments ago, and looked at the captain with a more measuring stare.
Being the only senior officer the captain would be his best choice for second in command.
Also a big bonus was that the captain, or so he had read in the personal file, was a ace pilot for the ground forces, a true specialist in the air to ground attack roles.
Something his rookie pilots might use in the very near future looking at that aerial engagement over Sand Island.
Still he had only spoken with the captain for a few minutes but looking at how he had handled his position as second in command during this flight he shouldn't feel bothered.
Pondering about this he watched the two younger pilots as they eagerly talked about what the engagement at Sand Island meant. Seeing his fair share of friends, and enemies, fried in their own cockpits screaming for help, their aircraft braking up he really hoped that those things would not happen to these kids.
Pavel followed his pilots towards the waiting jeep.
Tides were changing... and he really didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad...
