Hello everybody! Okay, I've basically decided that it's high time I get my butt out of the Lazyboy (and away from my XBox 360) and get to work on the Metal Storm sequal. Well, you've seen the prologue, now here's the first chapter. Plus, sorry if anyone gets annoyed by me skipping from one project to the next but sometimes taking a different look at something helps me refresh the idea factory.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 1: Enemy Above

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Bertram landed at the Sanijo Joint Command Airfield just behind Reyson who had already sprinted to the nearby hanger. The air raid sirens were going off and the civilians in town were in an uproar. Bertram followed Reyson into the hangar and saw him on the radio keying it to the Launces frequency.

"Attention! Attention Launces Home Guard Air Corps! This is Air Commander Reyson Havvers! Hostile fleet sighted and is closing, Battleship Prince Obël sustained heavy damage. Requesting immediate reinforcement from any planes and Dracocorps members. Does anyone copy?"

The radio remained quiet for a time. The only sound in the airfield was the sirens and the whine of planes powering up to take off and intercept the enemy. A few times Bertram turned and saw a plane or two touch down on the field as patrol or race pilots returned to the base to ready their battle planes. Reyson repeated the message again and again. On the third try he got a response.

"This is Launces Air Command. Commander Havvers are you sure the enemy is hostile? We've been friends with the Federation for a while now so it's natural you'd be surprised by their fleet and think it hostile." Reyson allowed the infamous Havvers temper to flare and grabbed the mike in a white-knuckled choke grip.

"Listen to me dammit! Why would the Prince Obël come into port with more holes in her than a block of Praetorian cheese and declare an incoming fleet hostile? I don't think the Captain or her officers are given to making such ill humor." There was a sigh on the other line.

"Okay Commander, please confirm that the fleet is indeed hostile."

At that moment, a bomb exploded on a parked plane outside the hangar Reyson just happened to have the mike triggered when it happened. The reply was instant.

"Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! What the hell was that?! Commander? Commander!"

Reyson unplugged his ears and grimaced, keying the mike, his voice taking on a calm yet sarcastic tone.

"I believe a hundred pound bomb just cratered a parked P-25 out on the runway, would you like to explain to me that we're not under attack?" The line was silent and finally.

"Scrambling all fighters from Primary Launces Airfield and Secondary Airfields two-two-three and two-two-seven. Expect as many as one-hundred fifty planes inbound in half an hour."

Reyson acknoledged and shut down the radio. He turned to Bertram.

"Bert. I need you to stay down here. You're still a cadet and your mother and father would hand my ass to me on a silver platter if you got killed." He turned to several pilots nearby.

"Blue Squadron with me! We'll be providing cover for the ships still at anchor!"

The squadron members saluted and ran to their planes, all P-29s. Bertram rankled a bit at being left behind and decided to make himself busy assisting the AA defences. He ran to the base commander and saluted, in return he was thrown a pair of bolt cutters.

"Damn watch officer got drunk and lost his keys somewhere! If he survives this, I'll kill him myself. Anyway, Launces, get the armory open so that we can load the guns all we have out currently is low caliber guns for show. Get movin'!"

Bertram made a mad dash across the emergency runway to the armory building and broke the chain on the first try. Immediately, he was swamped by soldiers grabbing whatever weapon was closest and as much ammo as he could carry. On memorable one that would have been funny if the situation wasn't so dire was a young private, probably not even eighteen, grabbing a .65 caliber heavy machinegun by the handle, the tripod slung under one arm, and several nine yard ammo belts wrapped aroind his neck, shoulders, and waist and the running for the nearest vacant emplacement, the bullets clinging and clanging like bells.

Another case was a grizzled old sergeant who grabbed a shotgun with the name Matilda carved into the stock and grabbed boxes of shotgun slugs then ran to the same gun emplacement as the kid. Bertram himself grabbed an MR5C and bolted to another emplacement. The MR5 was the only weapon other than his sidearm that Bertram was trained with. The 'C' varient of the weapon was a carbine type weapon used by pilots who were shot down and also carried a large clip of twenty to thirty rounds. Best of all, you could fire it semi-auto or full auto. Bertram took a position on the air tower and joined the defense as bullets arced up from the various guns stationed around the field. Most common were small arms however there were of course machineguns, AA flak cannons, even a few artillery cannons that had been modified to act as additional support.

He was pleased somewhat to see the other members of his squadron arrive next to him with their weapons as well. Together they were firing into the mass of enemy planes that were over the airfield. As Jake changed the clip of his carbine, he turned to Bertram.

"Just who the hell is crazy enough to attack us? Aren't we at peace with the only nations capable of this?" Bertram shrugged and chambered a round as he reaimed his weapon. Suddenly, a burst of flak caught one of the hostile planes in the cowling and the plane caught fire, spun, crashed into another hostile plane, and then slammed into the runway. Another plane, shot down by a P-25, crashed into a crane near the airfield.

Ayatane looked at the downed plane and squinted to see the markings on the fuselage. What he saw made him blanch, a grey and black quartered diamond within a reverse black and grey quartered square.

"Guys! These planes are from the Rotiart Principality!" This got the attention of some nearby gunners.

"Rotiart?! What the hell did we do to piss them off?" Bertram shrugged and fired a burst at another low flying plane.

"I don't know what we've done, if anything, but the shit has officially hit the fan."

Ayatane looked out over the harbor from his spot on the tower and cursed.

"The ship's are firing wildly! They're hitting as many of our planes as they are enemy planes. Several of them are still in dock!" Bertram looked over the rail down to the harbor.

"Damn! Did they not take the warning seriously?"

At that moment, an allied P-25 crashed into a parked fuel truck causing a massive explosion nearby. Bertram shook his head and looked at the others.

"Guys, we aren't doing shit down here on the ground. We should make a bee-line for the hangar and see if there are any flyable planes left." Ayatane, Jake, and another pilot near them, Briggs, nodded.

Under cover fire from the machine gunners, the four pilots made a mad dash for the nearest hangar. Inside, they found the hangar officer yelling at the mechanic. Bertram approached them.

"Sir! We need planes to go fight the enemy." The officer turned and looked at Bertram.

"No can do Launces, orders from the top, no nuggets in the air." Jake came forward.

"Sir, we are not even making a dent in the enemy force over the city and the air field. What good are we as pilots if we cannot take off in the middle of an attack? Sarge, do we have any planes ready?"

The mechanic sergeant shook his head and pointed to the planes behind him.

"No, she's down, she's broke, she's shit, she's scrap. I've got five planes left, one's good to go, one needs ammo, three need fuel and the fuel truck that just blew up like my ex-wife had the last of our on site reserves in it. In short, no fuel, no flying."

Bertram looked at the planes here. The one that was good to go was an obsolete P-17 Scout, the other that needed ammo was a twin engine P-21 Night Fighter. Bertram had an idea.

"How much fuel is in the low ones?" The mechanic scratched his head, looked at the officer who simply sighed and shook his head.

"You four are disobeying orders to stay grounded, however, these are unique circumstances. If you lot feel like you can do something, go for it." The mechanic looked back to them.

"The two P-29's have one-third tank, the big momma B-15 over there has a fourth. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Jake'll need a tail gunner for the P-21. We can siphon fuel out of the P-17 and as well as the ammo since they all use the same caliber gun right?"

The mechanic nodded and went to work. Within a few minutes, with help from Bertram and the others, the P-21, and the P-29's were fueled and loaded. As Bertram climbed in, the officer tapped his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to inform Reyson that we've got nuggets in the air, you'd better make a difference in the air and not on the casualty list." Bertram nodded and closed the canopy to his plane and started the engine. As he started forward, another enemy plane crashed into the control tower where they'd been moments earlier. The tower leaned, and fell, blocking the primary runway. Unfazed, he kicked the rudder left and started down the emergency runway, much to the shock of the gunners along the sides of it. At that moment, the radio kicked in.

"Attention! All friendlies be advised,we have nuggets in the air!" Bertram heard Reyson's rather fiery response to this and keyed the mike.

"This is Bertram de Launces, callsign Gold-One, we're going up." Following protocol, the other's keyed in as well.

"Michijo Ayatane, Gold-Two, airborne."

"Jake Havvers, Gold-Three, up and away."

At that moment, another voice came over the radio.

"This is Lieutenant Albert Collins coming in from Launces Air Base, if you nuggets want to fight then fall in on my wing."

Bertram's squadron did as told and soon lined up with planes from Launces. At first Bertram didn't recognize the colors, then he remembered.

"Lieutenant Albert Collins, callsign 'Longbow', Commander of Archer Squadron, and one of the original aerocorps volunteers." A laugh came through the radio as Collins keyed his mike.

"The same, and you must be Bertram de Launces, the 'problem child' of the academy, every bit as stubborn as your father, I see. Well kid, training time's over, in battle refer to others by their callsigns. As you know, mine's Longbow. My wingmen are Javelin, Tomahawk, and Sledge. Now that that's out of the way, Javelin, break off with Gold-Two, Tomahawk, Gold-Three. Sledge, you are free to engage. Gold-One, with me. You want combat? We're heading over the fleet. Hopefully we can splash some enemy planes without the Navy blowing our asses off."

Bertram turned his plane with Collins' and proceeded towards the southern harbor where several ships were still at anchor.

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Reyson couldn't help but curse when he heard that the recruits were going up, still, he was enough of a pilot to realize that they needed every plane they could get. Perhaps they could hold out until the reinforcements from Launces could arrive. Regardless, each recruit had a veteran pilot with them to keep them out of any heavy fighting. Looking out over the harbor, he spotted the Prince Obël under fierce attack, then keyed his mike.

"Blue-One to squadron, provide top cover for Prince Obël, she is down on the fore and doesn't look like she'll take much more." The confirmation was instant and the entire squadron flew over the slow moving battleship.

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On board the Prince Obël, Josh had his hands full trying to keep the battleship afloat and also silently thanking whoever built this ship to sustain such heavy damage. The Prince Obël had twenty-four compartments in her hull and had a status board on the bridge. Each compartment had five lights: green meant eveything was normal, yellow meant some damage had been sustained, red meant the compartment had been disabled, blue meant the compartment was flooding and a flashing orange light meant that there was a fire in that compartment.

Out of all the battleship's compartments, only four still held green lights. fourteen had yellow lights, the remaining ones were red. Six of the damaged compartments were busy with fires, and three of the red compartments were flooding. To make matters worse, all but one of the ship's four engines had been knocked out and the ship was barely making a wake at three knots on one screw and she was going down by the bow unless the pumps could get the water out. At least the AA defenses were still holding strong, and for that Josh was thankful.

During the ambush, the Captain had thrown Josh clear of the blast, saving his life at the cost of his own. Whether he liked it or not, Josh was now the senior officer on board and thus acting Captain. As planes began to fly overhead and engage the enemy, Josh was horrified to see some of his own gunners, rookies most like, targeting and firing on allied planes. He immediately ran to the PA system and grabbed the mike.

"Attention all AA gunners, check your targets! You're firing on our own planes!"

Almost immediately the AA gunners stopped and then opened up again, this time firing at the correct enemy. Josh turned to the radio operator.

"Send a message to Royal Navy Command at Royalis: 'Sanijo under attack from hostile force. Enemy believed to be Rotiart Principality. Enemy ships holding back but are using aircraft to soften us up. Request reinforcement from any nearby fleets.' You got that?"

The operator nodded and began transmitting the message. Josh meanwhile went to the starboard wing of the bridge and began scanning the skies with binoculars. No sooner had he looked through them did he see several planes coming at the battleship. They flew low to the water and carried something under the fuselage. Josh didn't need to wonder twice what they were. He turned and grabbed the PA mike again.

"AA gunners, focus fire starboard-bow, five torpedo planes coming in low and fast!" He then grabbed the wheel and, though he was sure it was futile, began turning the wheel hard left.

No sooner had the wheel locked meaning the rudder was hard over, the AA gunners opened fire on the incoming torpedo planes. Josh was pleased to see three of them go down and one pull away, but the last one kept coming. Then, a burst of fire struck the aircraft. As the engine began to burn, the torpedo dropped and began speeding towards the battleship. The plane then rolled inverted and crashed into the bay. Josh grabbed the PA again.

"Torpedo incoming! All hands brace for impact!"

At that moment, a destroyer, the Ginia, sailed blindly alongside the battleship and right into the torpedo's path. The captain of the destroyer threw the engines into reverse; too late. The torpedo struck the destroyer midship and the explosion lifted the small destroyer escort out of the water and ripped it in half. Shrapnel peppered the starboard side of the battleship including sending a piece of the radio mast through the lower section of the bridge.

Josh recovered and glance down at the base of the tower bridge and saw the base of the radio mast sticking out and saw the remains of the Ginia sinking. Around the sinking hull were men and women swimming frantically for the larger ship. He quickly turned to the helmsman.

"All stop! Sound rescue, we've got sailors in the water!"

Immediately, the telegraph was brought to the STOP position and the crew on the deck tossed lifelines and even launched some lifeboats to the swimming crew.

Josh watched the rescue get underway when he heard a loud screaming from above. Looking up he saw an enemy plane coming in fast and begin strafing the water and walked the bullets across the surface and struck the main group of swimmers and also riddled two of the wooden lifeboats.

"Dammit! Somebody get those people out of the water! Gunners! Any enemy tries that again, you put enough lead in him to make him clank when he walks through the gates of Hell! And somebody tell me why the hell our heavy AA's have stopped firing!"

"Heavy gunnery stations fifteen through twenty-six damaged by shrapnel from the Ginia! All others are out of ammo!"

"Sir! Up there! Radar's painting several inbound targets making a beeline for shore!"

Josh took out some binoculars and looked in the area of the radar sweep and cursed.

"Send a wire to the interceptors: high level bombers heading inland towards the city! They're going after the civilians! Also send word to our ships nearby to prepare to assist in the event we have to abandon ship. If any more of those red lights go on we may just have to."

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Dieter Muntz looked upon the bomber tactics with disgust. The rules of engagement regarding air force targets were simple: military targets first and foremost, secondary targets were financial and manufacturing infrastructure. According to the Laws of Air Combat established one year after the death of Gregory Dalon and the destruction of the sea fortress Poseidon, civilian targets such as homes, schools, and hospitals were off limits. This 'big wing' carpet bombing stratagy was going to level everything.

Yet, despite his family's prominent standing and his military rank, he had no say in the tactics of the bomber wings. His sole responsibility was to his squadron, to even consider going against tactics the high command personally approved was considered treason. He caught movement and saw one of his wingmen signal for him.

"Squadron 215 switch radios to frequency 115." As he made the switch, the voice of one of his wingmen came over.

"Lieutenant! Sir, are we really okay with this? I mean, I'll follow our orders but, why is command picking a fight with Syllia when we have our hands full elsewhere?"

"Belay that talk Jyne, this frequency may be dedicated to us but it is in no way secure. Regardless of our feelings towards the mission, the objective is the same: protect the bombers and eliminate the fighters who climb to engage."

"Speaking of which sir, I've got eyes on several bluebirds coming up. Looks like someone saw us coming in. I count twenty, twenty-five, thirty or more fighters coming up."

"Confirmed, all right Jaeger Squadron, let's go hunting."

Dieter kicked the controls to his Toryu F-10 into a rolling dive and angled the plane to intercept the enemy.

(Now we see if the designs we have are as superior to the Syllians as the propaganda ministry says.)

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Reyson heard the radio broadcast and immediately pitched up toward the carrier-based bombers, and also saw several fighters break away and seeing them begin to dive, he keyed the radio and issued the engagement order.

"Tally-ho on the bandits. Multiple CVB's and CVF's inbound. Looks like some of them want to dance. Blue-Two, you and your group have the ones of the left, Blue-Three, you and yours take the right. Baker, Svenson, Barden, you lot are with me flying right down the middle."

"Sir, 115 squadron and 116 squadron have joined us; 76 squadron and 91 squadron are continuing towards the bombers."

Reyson gave a quick confirmation and then angled his plane at the enemy in front of him and pressed the trigger. The P-25's four machineguns opened up and tracers arced their way up towards the enemy plane. Apparently the enemy pilot didn't expect the range of the machineguns to be that great as the guns peppered the plane's engine, wings and also painted the canopy red. The plane sputtered smoke, turned and went down toward the ground, slamming into the now vacant docks on the south harbor.

One of their own going down was a wake up call for the others as they turned and began evasive maneuvers. Reyson got on the tail of another and lined up the sights, pressed the trigger and sent another enemy plunging into the harbor. As he lined up on another, he heard his radio key in.

"Blue-Seven you've got two on your tail! Move! Move!"

"I-I can't shake them! I don't know what planes those are but they're matching me move for move."

"Hang in there Burwell, help's on the way."

Reyson saw his wingman, Blue-Two, get behind Blue-Seven's pursuers and opened fire, bullets riddling one of the two with holes. In response, the other opened up on Blue-Seven and Reyson felt his heart drop as he saw smoke start pouring from the engine.

"Blue-Seven you've got smoke! Bail out! Bail out!"

"I can't! The canopy's stuck, I- Oh God! I've got an oil leak, I've- Gah! Fire! Fire in the cockpit!"

"Blue-Two, Blue-Four, get that bastard off Blue-Seven, he's not letting him bail!"

At that moment, another Rotarian plane came in and fire a short burst which struck the locking bolt on Blue-Seven's cockpit and sent the canopy flying away from the plane. Then the radio keyed and a strange voice came through.

"Attention Syllian aircraft Blue-Seven, this is Lieutenant Dieter Muntz of the Rotarian Grand Air Aggressor Force. I have instructed the plane engaging you to break off so that you may bail out. If you are curious as to why I would care, I cannot in good consience allow an honorable pilot to burn to death."

Wasting no time, Reyson keyed the mike.

"Lieutenant Muntz, this is Commander Reyson Havvers of the Syllian Royal Air Force. I thank you for the mercy but must ask as to why attack us?"

"I cannot claim to know the minds of my commanders and generals. All I was told is that to remove Syllia from the equation was of utmost importance if my nation was to survive. I have said what needed to be said."

The radio clicked off meaning the enemy oficer had changed frequencies. Reyson saw the enemy pilot dogging Blue-Seven had indeed backed off and that the burst the other plane fired had enabled Burwell to bail out. The white parachute signalling he had made it and he splashed down safely into the harbor. A PT boat was there a moment later to fish him out of the water. Reyson's squadron meanwhile had returned to the fight and were able to maneuver behind the enemy planes better than they had expected. Further along, the fighters intercepting the bombers were knocking them out of the sky left and right. So far only three bombers had made it over the city. Reyson shot fown another plane and then heard a report coming over his radio.

"This is Admiral Charles Breaker, Commander of the Sanijo Naval Defence Fleet. We are now organized and are preparing to engage the enemy ships currently out at sea. Any aircraft not currently in the air or otherwise engaged are hereby ordered to fly combat air patrol around the fleet so as to avoid any surprises."

"Uh, Admiral? Sir, I don't mean to steal your thunder sir but we're just recieved one hell of a surprise. According to radio traffic, the Rotarian Fleet is issueing a retreat notice. Their outlying escorts have come under fire from unknown vessels."

"Hmm...we don't have any vessels out there do we? No subs or PTs or anything like that?"

"No sir, according to the chatter, the attacks are coming from cruiser and capital class sized ships."

"Radar point Scout 11 reporting in! Multiple blips on radar, scout planes reporting seeing aircraft with blue and grey markings. No record of that insignia is in our books."

At that moment, a plane with those same markings flew across Reyson's flight path and began engaging a Rotiart squadron attempting to strafe a PT boat shadowing an AA destroyer.

"This is Blue-One, I have eyes on unknowns. My God, it's a Typhoon H-1! That's a Federation Carrier-launched fighter plane! I see ten, no wait, twenty H-1's and they're engaging the Rotarian aircraft! Can someone try opening communications to the Federation?"

At that moment, a new voice echoed over the radio, a Tellanos accent was undeniable.

"No need for that Commander Havvers. This is Admiral Joseph Ball, on board the TFNV Rogue. We are launching aircraft to assist in the expulsion of the enemy. I think you should know, this same group is responsible for the sinking of the fleet that was supposedto meet with yours as well as a similar bombing against the port city of Gallinst. While I shall explain more fully after this engagement is over, I ask that no Syllian planes mistake our fighters for enemies."

"Understood Admiral, all Federation planes are hereby declared friendly."

"This is TFNV Wicker. Enemy planes coming in on attack run, Rogue and Valiant CAP is gone,all we have left is the Gallahad requesting air support."

"This is Longbow, the nuggets and my squadron are closest. We'll assist. Also requesting back-up from 227 Squadron."

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Bertram whistled as he saw the Federation fleet from above. In the distance he saw fifteen Hale-class destroyers, ten Vectrin-class light cruisers, three Hode-class battlecruisers, and two D'Arc-class battleships engaging the enemy fleet. Broken away from the fleet and launching wave after wave of aircraft were three Galahad IV-class carriers protected by five Obelisk-class AA destroyers.

The array was impressive but flawed, all the ships with the exception of the carriers and the AA destroyers were technically obsolete and now that two of the three carriers had launched the majority of their fighters, these fast but lightly armored destroyers were the only significant defence the fleet had against incoming aircraft; and though it appeared the Admiral of the fleet had endeavored to keep his carriers and AA destroyers out of ship-to-ship combat, they were still in range of the enemy carrier's strike planes.

After the war against Dalon, his father had retired from being Syllia's sole mechanist and had begun training those who had a gift with machinery, thought outside of the box, and also had a mind to make people's lives better. Two of his first and most promising students, brothers Xavier and Albert Reed, had taken what they knew to the Federation and used it to bring the newest of Syllia's allies into a 'golden age'. Xavier focused on civilian machines, Albert was a more military minded individual and spent the intervening years modernizing the Federation military.

Seeing motion to his right, he looked and spotted a glimpse of the Rotiart attack aircraft.

"This is Gold-One, I've got eyes on the enemy. Fifteen torpedo bombers heading for the Federation fleet. Looks like they're targeting the battleship and cruisers shielding the carriers."

"Gold-Three here, more up high, looks like dive-bombers. I lost count after fifty."

"This is Admiral Ball, I'm ordering evasive maneuvers and all hands to AA stations."

"Gold-One, your squadron and mine will engage the torpedo-bombers, 227 Squadron, engage the dive-bombers."

"Gold-One, I'm in range. Engaging."

Bertram lined up the sights on the closest torpedo-bomber and pressed the triger, feeling the vibrations as his guns opened up and riddled the enemy plane with holes. What shocked Bertram however was how easily the bullets ripped through the enemy plane. In the three seconds he held the trigger the bullets ripped through the plane and a second later the right wing and entire tail section ripped away sending the plane plummeting.

"Gold-One here, did anyone else see that? My bullets went through the plane like it was paper!"

"Longbow here. I was curious about that myself, now I know why. How do you make a plane designed for a ground runway take off of a carrier? The answer: strip everything that is nonessential. That means armor, most of the weapons, and anything else that increases weight. It seems they only have one forward facing gun for defence and their torpedoes.

"Copy that, moving to next target."

"Gold-One look out! You've got a tail! A tail!"

Bertram looked behind him and saw and enemy fighter, a carrier-launched , closing fast and firing its guns wildly. He rolled to evade but the enemy stayed right on his tail and fired again. The sight of the bullets striking his left wing made Bertram kick the rudder hard right and force the plane into yet another roll. The enemy repeated again and fired again, this time the bullets struck his right wing. Bertram keyed the radio as he went into a triple roll.

"I can't shake him! Requesting assistance!"

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Okay everyone, here is Chapter 1 of World Fury. So, the enemy is identified, an ally is incoming and Bertram seems to be in a bit of a pickle. Who will come to his aid? Find out next time. As always, please review and/or PM me. Anyway, once again, sorry about my tendency to be long-winded. I'll try to have the next chapter out soon.