The sky lit up as the C/T-17s dumped chaff and flares, turning about as hard as cargo planes could.
"Y'know," Jackal's voice crackled over the radio. "They're sittin' ducks. You almost feel sorry for 'em."
"Almost," Dagger's smirk was audible. "Not quite."
"Y'all feel sorry for 'em?" Burn sighed. "C'mon guys, these troops were destroying our home not a second ago, and now they're runnin' off to catch their breath. Whaddya think they're gonna do when they do, Jackal? Say 'good game' and walk away?" He huffed. "I wish."
"Hate to admit it, but Burn's got a point," the Major chimed in. "Might feel wrong, taking out defenseless transports, but they've got it coming."
"Alright, Polaris, cut the chatter." Bluejay seemed to be taking his job seriously, for once. "Just a few transports in between you and more 'o Bluejay's storytime."
IRIS rolled her eyes. "Oh, well, when you put it that way, I guess I should turn the Master Arm off."
"Hell no!" Bluejay laughed. "C'mon, do ya really wanna be known as the squadron that took five hours to shoot down twenty-five transports?"
"Make that twenty-five and an annoying AWACS," Dagger grumbled.
"Oh don't you get testy with me, Lieutenant Ashido. Y'know I've got an air to air kill in this thing, right?" The AWACS watched as the missiles rippled from Polaris' planes. "Positive separation, Polaris. Fox three by six."
The missiles carved their way across the sky as six transports went up in flames, unwillingly sent diving into the storm below.
"C'mon, we all know your little maneuver-kill story's bullshit," Zip said over the sound of a missile streaking off his Sk.27's wing. "No way you could have killed a Flanker in a goddamn Wedgetail, jetwash or no."
"You wanna find out, Zip? Because I've got plenty of jetwash here and you've got a Flanker." The AWACS munched down on a granola bar. "Fuck, I really gotta clean up my workplace. These crumbs just got all over my radar display."
"Oh, c'mon, Bluejay," BASH chided. "Have some professionalism. For once."
"I will have you know, I am nothing but a consummate professional." More open-mouth granola chewing poured in over their helmets' headsets.
"Yo, Bluejay?" Jackal's voice was filled with urgency and shock. "My radar warning receiver says I'm locked onto."
"Oh, c'mon," Bluejay said. "You're screwing with me, right?" The AWACS looked at his radar display. "There's no fighters within— a… shit, that's not granola."
"Oh, shit." The AWACS sobered up quick. "Polaris, break! I have no count, but there are stealth fighters in the AO!"
"Shit! Missile on me, breaking defensive!" Jackal peeled off, and the formation scattered to the wind.
IRIS panicked for a second before letting her training kick in. Black Squadron had flown DACT fights against VX-23s before, and she did her best to recall her training. "Bluejay, I'm opening up the Fed comms channel now. Patching you through."
"Their chatter's coming through loud and clear, Spook. Thanks for the snoopin'." Bluejay stared at the radar console, lost in thought. "Dammit, open your bays. Do something that'll give me a radar return!"
The Federation comms were hot. Transports, panicking as they came under fire, were beginning to calm down. "Siniy, this is Phalanx 3. Boy, are we glad to see you. There's six bogeys on us, we've lost a few planes."
As a Magadanian-accented voice broke through the static, four Federation fighters broke through the cloud layer in the distance, outside of view. "Roger, Phalanx. Do not worry about the Cascadians. We will handle them. They won't even see us coming."
IRIS looked down at her radar, just for a second, to look for whatever momentary blips would appear. Nothing. She scanned the horizon, her helmet's HMD alerting her to targets for her IR missiles, but all she could see were locks on the engines of the cargo planes.
"Radar spike!" Bluejay's voice came through over the radio. "They're practically right on top of you— but where the hell are they?"
"Polaris," BASH's voice came over the radio, calm and reserved as ever. "Break into flights of three and watch your wingman's back. I've got Dagger and Jackal. Zip, you take Five and Six. We've got more missiles than they do. When they pop up to launch on one of you, suppress your targets."
The planes reshuffled their formation, pulling into three-ship weaves as they were forced to wait for their aggressors to make a move. Thunder crackled below the planes, the only sound besides the roar of their own engines. The silence, in a way, was nauseating, the creeping feeling of being watched eating away at her resolve.
She stared at the radar warning receiver. C'mon, she thought. Do something!
The clouds below them split as two sleek, canard-winged fighters bared their fangs at the pilots. IRIS heard the missile warnings blare inside her helmet, and did exactly what BASH told her to. There was no time for a radar lock, and as the stealth fighters let their missiles loose on the formation the Cascadian pilots did the same. "Fox two! Breaking defensive!" She peeled off, dumping chaff and flares, and watched her squadron mates do the same. The enemy fighters dived down for the cloud cover, but the three missiles that Polaris had let loose on them were bloodhounds on their tails.
"Looks like somebody got one," Zip watched the VX-23 trail smoke and explode as IRIS heard the squadron's chatter. "Dammit, Siniy Four is down. Tell Command we need reinforcements!"
"Whose kill was that?" Burn smirked. "I think it was mine."
"Cut the chatter, Burn. I'm crediting all of you with an assist." Bluejay whacked his radar display. "Work, dammit!... Ah well, radar's not going to be much help. Hit 'em with the Mark 1's."
"Eyeballs it is," IRIS replied.
"Never was very good at I Spy," Zip chuckled. "Here goes."
IRIS looked over at Zip's Flanker and chuckled to herself as the other VX-23 popped its head out of the clouds behind them. Tracer fire streaked overhead, and suddenly her vision was awash with orange and red.