A small technical note about the previous chapter that I forgot to add.

The KC10 Tanker used by the NRAF (Nilenian Royal AirForce) uses a multi usable tank system.

In the case of chapter 2 the KC10, Texaco 01, uses a boom system to refuel the two F16's and Mirage 2000 while for the NH90 marine helicopters it uses a probe system with a chute.

This is because of the NH90 helicopter rotorsspan making refuelling with the boom system impossible. For that matter any helicopter which wants to refuel in mid air needs the addition of a refuelling rod.

For this two-side approach refuel system the tanker has two extendible probes, one in each wing while the refuelling boom is located in the tail section of the plane.

Many 'land' based fighters use the boom as a means to refuel while navy fighters use the chute/probe system,

'The only certainty in life is death.'

CHAPTER 3, TIMES OF WAR.

25th September 13:30 hours.

Forty truck were making their way through the barren and desolate plains of the Nilenian mainland. The road they were using lead to the small harbour-town of Nebrask, a small town with little to no importance if it not was the only city with a small ferry service to Minella, the final destination of this supply convoy.

Five of the trucks were carrying soldiers, fuel, food and a kitchen to keep the convoy moving.

Two others carried anti aircraft guns and the remaining vehicles carried much needed parts, ammunition and supplies for the Airforce base that was currently 120 kilometres away.

The hardened road, if it could be called that, were actually not more then two lanes of car tracks that were following the golfing coastline of the island. The hard wind this clear, hot sunny day had deposited sand of the beaches on the already lousy road slowing the convoy speed to a staggering pace of 40 kph.

Some of the men sitting in the rear vehicles cursed the lack of a good railroad connection or concrete road. Sand, loosened by the tracks of the heavy vehicles, made thick dust clouds clouding the road ahead and making it difficult to breath. If only their had been a railroad to use then they could all have comfortably been transported to the staging area but someone at the Ministry of Transportation never had found it necessary to make the funds available.

The first indications that something was going terribly wrong was when a yell from the driver in the front truck made the gunner of the 25mm Rarden four barrelled antiaircraft gun look skywards. Two quickly approaching black spots on the horizon were clearly heading their way with a high speed. Picking up his binoculars he noticed a vapour trail in front of the planes. His mind registered it as a incoming missile, he tried to shout to the driver to leave the road but it was already to late. Half a second after him registering the incoming missile the Mach 4 capable Maverick air to ground missile slammed into the truck killing him and the other occupants in a shattering explosion that lifted the twisted remnants of the truck in the air before smashing it aside.

The following truck and its crew were also instantly killed by the shock wave that came from the explosion that destroyed the lead vehicle. The truck was completely shredded to thousands of metal pieces. Pieces that propelled themselves to the other trucks.

The driver of the rear vehicle, carrying the sole surviving Anti Aircraft gun, saved his vehicle and the four men guncrew by acting very swiftly. Hearing the yell from the forward driver through his radio he steered his truck to a hard left, away from the convoy and drove into a dried up creekbed.

The missile that was headed for his vehicle slammed into the truck in front of him, momentarily blinding him and the gun crew as they tried to figure out what was happening.

Major Steiner looked at the small image display in front of him as the Maverick missile slammed onto the front vehicle. He almost could have sworn that he saw the startled face of the gunner on the screen, the realisation of his imminent death clearly on his face. But as the missile impacted the camera view went black so he couldn't be sure. He felt remorse at the death he was bringing on these men but being a professional officer he knew what it meant to follow orders even if he didn't like it. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and selected his cannon and ordered his wingmen to stay close as he started his attack run.

The two SU 27 Flankers made a slow turn so that they could make a fly over the convoy as it desperately tried to get away from the road. Pressing the button on his control stick the vibration of the rotating 30mm cannon could be felt through the plane as it unleashed a stream of 30 millimetre grenades into the convoy.

The first grenades sliced through the third truck and ricocheted on the hard ground before slinging onto the forth truck exploding with dull thuds.

Flying with 350 knots over the convoy the 30mm grenades of the SU27 cannon were wrecking havoc on the trucks. It was really reckless to send a convoy so poorly protected through such a desolated piece of land the major thought with a bitter grimness as another truck exploded in a large fireball as several grenades exploded in it, destroying its cargo, probably ammunition, looking at the plume.

He had really been surprised that his ECM (Electronic Counter Measures) hadn't started bleeping on his way to Nilenian Airspace, warning him for any enemy radar and SAM installations, it was clear that they weren't prepared for war... yet.

Just as he was planning to order his wingmen to start his run the other SU 27 began swaggering, a stream of grenades, originating from the convoy, was slicing through its left wing.

The last remaining anti aircraft gun had begun its fire resolution, shooting bursts of 25mm bullets in rapid speed at the two assault aircraft.

He cursed silently as he slammed his stick to the right and pushing the throttle to full speed. His SU 27 made a sharp turn and got clear of the menacing cannon. He saw Captain Vinokorov's SU 27 slamming into the ground with a sickening smack only moments later. His second in command was dead and there was nothing he could do about it, slamming his gloved fist on the control panel in frustration, he moved his fighter back to home. The first casualty of this pointless conflict he thought silently cursing the politicians and officials who had started this.

The commander, a old veteran, looked at the remnants of his supply convoy as it again started slowly heading towards the town of Nebrask. Eight trucks had been either destroyed or were damaged beyond repair. The aerial assault had killed twelve of his men while four others had been wounded.

There had actually been five wounded soldiers but he had shot one through the head. The boy, probably just 18 years old, was covered in heavy burn wounds, and was screaming and crying urging him to stop the pain. Looking at the medic who was shaking his head, indicating he couldn't do anything more, he had loosened his old Colt M1911 from his belt and had shot a bullet right through the mutilated head of the screaming and begging young man. The body shivered only one time more, before it finally stopped moving.

Putting away the gun the medic put a blanket over the now dead soldier.

Radioing HQ first of their situation he had held a small ceremony before burying the dead. Looking at the 12 helmets and dog tags, marking the graves, he looked with a grim realisation at the Northern horizon... war had finally arrived at Nilenia and nothing could change that now... nothing.

25th September 15:30 hours Minella AFB.

The guards at the main gate looked even more grimmer then usual, a fact that almost seemed impossible, Michael was thinking with a laugh as he lowered his side window to give the waiting guard his ID pass.

Looking at the sentry, as he went through Michael's papers, it was clear that if you didn't have any business here you should get lost. At least if you didn't have a wish to die prematurely that was Michael thought with a sad smile.

He had been called back to base only a thirty minutes ago. When entering a bar it became clear that war had erupted. The news was only talking about attacks on military convoys and installation. So he quickly ordered a beer and looked with amazement at the images of burning vehicles and dead soldiers while interviews were held with retired officers and analists at the background. The newscaster, a young female with short black hair suddenly broke in reporting that the news station would be going live to the Ministry of Defence where the minister of defence would release a statement to the press.

The view of the Minister of Defence was one of a tired man as he explained to the gathered press what was happening. In short it meant that the Yuktobanian Embassy had sent a letter declaring war on the nation for its open and continuing military activity against the Yuktobanian minority on the islands.

He had left his beer untouched and had quickly left the bar, it was clear he had to get back to the base.

And here he was as Michael again looked at the guards at the main gate.

Wearing a thick kevlar bullet-proof-combatvest over their normal issue blue uniforms and a kevlar Mark II combat helmet compared to the normal light blue beret they looked really imposing.

Casually slung around their shoulder was a FN-Herstal P90 light assault riffle which added a nice extra touch of flavour to the already grim atmosphere over the city.

Whistling softly the tune of a song that was playing on his radio Michael looked over the clear blue Ceres Ocean while waiting for the guard to return his papers.

The huge soldier that was checking the papers was now giving him a final stern look, like he didn't trust the papers. It was also very likely that he simply didn't like pilots.

"Everything seems to be in order." He grumbled, sounding somewhat disappointed, before giving them back.

Waving briefly to his colleague in the guardhouse the gate opened.

"Have a nice day sir." The guard said while waving him to move along.

Changing gears Michael nodded briefly to the soldier and quickly drove past the guardhouse and into the base.

26th September 06:00 hours Ceres Ocean.

The RNV 17 Vigo, a Swordfish class attack submarine, had been shadowing a large Yuktobanian Taskforce force for the past few days now and again this one seemed to be heading straight for the Osean Federation. They had ventured quite deep into the demilitarised zone but then again weren't they at war? The captain mused as he looked through the periscope at the shapes of the various warships on the horizon. They hadn't been noticed yet and that was almost a miracle the captain thought as he watched a P3 Orion flying towards, what he believed to be Osean controlled territory. That was probably the only thing that had saved them this day.

The Yuktobanians had only eyes for their sworn archenemies, the Oseans, and had forgotten to look at the small insignificant Nilenian Navy they had declared war against only 36 hours ago. Something he was very grateful for looking at the various submarine hunters, P3 orions and helicopters as they headed towards the north, checking for any enemy submarine. If they were heading this way he along with his crew would be surely noticed.that they hadn't noticed his little submarine spying on their every move.

His second in command was waiting patiently as he let go of the view of the warships and turned his attention back to the control centre of his submarine.

"Sir?" His XO was whispering, all noise should be kept to a limit, "Command has send a direct laser coded message to us." He continued with a soft voice giving the captain the piece of paper.

"Has it been decoded?" He asked softly to his XO as he opened the paper.

"No sir... it is for your eyes only sir." The lieutenant answered hesitantly.

The captain nodded putting the piece of paper in his breast pocket, he needed to decode this as soon as possible.

Looking at his XO the captain put on his cap. "You have the bridge lieutenant, I'll be in my quarters."

"Aye sir." The lieutenants answered watching the captain as he disappeared through the hatch leading to the quarters. Taking his own cap off and looking through the periscope at the distant silhouettes of the enemy warships he was feeling a bit intimidated. The close proximity of those Yuktobanian warships really showed how dangerous their spying and monitoring job was. One loud noise, one destroyer captain sending a helicopter with sonar their way could easily mean their watery death in this steel coffin they called their home. He remembered a row he had with his wife as he had told her that he would be entering the submarine service... he hadn't spoken to her since... what was it... 5 days now?

He made a promise to himself to send her a letter as soon as he got back to base. Watching another frigate passing by at the far horizon he muttered a small prayer. God please let me get through this one alive...

His XO might still be a little green behind the ears but Captain Pietrov thought he would do just fine as he sat down behind his small desk in his cabin. The desk almost filled half of his chamber. But it was still quite big compared to a normal bunk of a normal crewmember. He had an extendable bed that now was lifted in the wall, a desk, two chairs and a small closet! A real luxury apartment he thought as he picked up the paper from his pocket and began deciphering it.

After a few minutes of deciphering the complex code he read the now decoded message.

After reading captain Pietrov reread it to make sure that he wasn't making this up. Shaking his head in disbelieve he picked up his cap and put away the letter. Closing the door to his cramped quarters he thought about the new mission orders as he started walking to the tactical room. Looking one more time at the letter in his hand he made sure he had understood the words.

"To RNV 17 Vigo, Captain Pietrov commanding. New heading 320, 4N by 51E. Report to Osean naval Commander at this position. Start negotiations for corporation immediately. Good luck. Admiral Fitzpatrik, 3rd fleet signing off."

Playing a diplomat...if he could get his ship through captain Pietrov thought with a grin as he walked to his XO.

This was going to be one of the toughest missions he had ever participated in.

26th September 11:00 hours Minella AFB.

"SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE!"

The base was in a full allert, maintainance crews, pilots and other base personell were scrambling towards their battlestations. Weapons and fuel trucks raced back and forth loading up various waiting fighters while other fighters were already rolling towards their starting positions. Their howling engines almost obscured the yells from crewchiefs and pilots alike.

A large body of enemy fighters and bombers were heading in their direction.

"Go get them kid!" The crewchief yelled as he lowered the canopy and clearing the boarding ladder from the Mirage fighter. Another crewmember kicked away the blocks in front of the fighters wheels and with a thumb ups sign indicated that he could head out. Opening the throthle the fighter began rolling and followed a F16J as it taxied towards the tackoff strips.

"This is the tower to all fighters" A loud voice came through the standard operating frequency.

"Enemy forces advancing from the North, altitude 20000 speed 500, you're orders are to engage and stop the intruders at all costs!"

The loud voice was replaced by several others as wingcommanders and squadron leaders began issuing their seperate rendezvouz coordinates. It was total chaos as the Mirage slowly lifted off from the concrete on to the busy sky.

At least they had a clear defined target and goal this day. Operations had been intensified since yesterday, the day that the War began but it was not clear what they would have to do, would the Yuktobanions cary out their threats? It was clear now that they did!

With a last glanze at the base far below Michael concentrated on his instruments... it would be his first fight soon... very soon.

Summery next chapter: Chapter 4, Time to Fight.

A large airial engagement over Minella AFB will put the pilots of the 12th squadron in a live or death situation. Outnumbered and outgunned the pilots of the 12th Fighter Squadron need every bit of skill and luck to survive the onslaught. If they fail they will not have a home to return to.

Death is always close.

(Reviews needed to see if everything is in order)