"Captain Riker!" Eldon called to Seth as he disembarked from his Storm Sworder. "Welcome to Fort Warrick."
For secrecy, the absolute minimum number of technicians were on hand to help stow the Sworders under hangars once they'd landed. The project was still classified to the public, and there was no reason to reveal the latest weapons platform just yet.
"The installation seems to have expanded at a faster rate than I would have expected," Seth answered, having to elevate his voice over the scream of the Sworders' engines.
"An unfortunate, but necessary response to activity on the border. Smooth flight in?"
"Nothing like tripling your flight time to avoid civilian eyes," Seth said, climbing down the ladder to the tarmac. "Any changes to the ground situation?"
"Couple of convoys got hit by homemade bombs buried in the roads. Cargo's too heavy to ship by air efficiently, so we've tasked minesweepers to escort, but the hostiles just upgraded to guerilla ambush tactics, only better armed and organized. We send backup, but the bastards go to ground before air support can get there, and it isn't practical to task an entire battalion to escort."
"So you asked for faster birds," Seth finished.
"General Wyght insisted when he heard about your program from Velasco."
"The Colonel's been anxious to give these birds some combat time. Is my liaison here?"
"Arrived an hour ago. She's set up shop in CentCom."
"Good to hear." To his pilots, themselves climbing down from their cockpits, he called out, "Banshees! We're QRF until further notice! Get some chow and rack time in rotation!"
It had taken quite a lot longer than the one month estimated to bring the Sworder to combat-ready status (eighteen months, to be exact), but the results were worth it.
Seth had ended the first test flight halfway through, since the Sworder was useless at maneuvering. Several times, Seth wondered if the decision to use aerodynamic lift was wise. Four months saw enlarged control surfaces, vectored thrust and a stability management program added to the platform, and the bird could finally turn.
The next hurdle came when they tried combat maneuvers, and found that it stalled too easily. Then there were the specially constructed blades: one on each wing and one on the head. The idea was to use them in close quarters, but Seth and the other pilots found it nearly impossible to line up a strike on anything that wasn't big and slow, and that wasn't advised since large targets tended to be heavily armored, and using the blades on them would mean damage to the Sworder.
The flash of genius came when Lieutenant Sunden said aloud, "What if we articulated the blades?" That lead to retrofitting the forward arms from a Guysack to the Sworder's fuselage, minus the pincers. The arms required a motivator unit that needed installing, which wouldn't be a problem on the land-based Guysack, but on the Sworder it necessitated the removal of the lower engine, leaving the Sworder's speed compromised.
With a lot of persuading and a sizable cash transaction, Slater agreed to a deal with his competitor, Novak Industries, to license the engine they'd used on their proposed design, the Raynos. Two of those engines in lieu of the three Storm Sworder engines made up the power, and the needed lengthening of the fuselage wound up reducing the drag coefficient, improving the Sworder's top speed. The blades were then housed in the fuselage next to the arms' motivator, and would deploy to the arms via a quick-release system. Flight stability came from a new kind of propulsion from Slater's parts bin.
"Ionic verniers," Keegan called them. They were a scrapped idea intended for deceleration from something titled the Saix project. They were ideal for the arms, since they used no fuel and didn't overheat. A simple energy recovery turbine in each main engine provided sufficient power to allow the Sworder to hover when using these verniers in conjunction with the main engines' vectored thrust. Updated flight management programming to automatically aim and fire the verniers gave them the stability they were looking for in the first place. All these changes took an additional eight months. Sufficient pilot training for the complex system took another six. The last eight pilots who had yet to complete the training were back at the Yates Installation, preparing to relieve a potentially fallen member of the team that had just landed at Warrick.
"These are the most frequently-attacked routes," Eldon said, showing Seth the routes on a map in the briefing room. "They're the easiest to defend, so the brass keeps using them. Speaking statistically, the backup routes have the same chance of getting hit – about forty percent. And with convoys setting out every eight hours, well, you do the math."
"With the average convoy run being around seven hours, three per day, no consistent location or time... How soon after the supply runs started did the attacks begin?"
"Week and a half."
"Were the runs at the same frequency?"
"Never slowed."
"So an intel leak from within is unlikely. It's possible the enemy forces are great enough they can arm sufficient ambushes to maintain that forty percent rate. If my Banshees can get there in time, we may be able to sufficiently diminish insurgent forces to the point their arms and personnel are exhausted. Assuming their suppliers can't keep up, of course. If we can reduce their forces enough, they'll need to be conservative with where they station their assets, and QRF can be suspended."
"That's the plan. Best-case-scenario, we wipe them all out."
"That's an issue for your people, Major. We're just here to stem the bloodletting."
The alarm to scramble the Sworders came the following morning. Six of the eight pilots were awake and ready, per the downtime rotation. The remaining two pilots were irritated their sleep shift was interrupted, but within minutes they were in the cockpits, ready to take off like the others.
"Storm Flight, cleared for takeoff. Full afterburner authorized, deadly force approved when you reach the combat zone," the liaison said over the radio.
"Claymore to all Banshees," Seth called to his pilots, "take to the skies. Full burn."
Captain Lyon couldn't help but curse his superiors. It was well known that escorting a convoy to Fort Warrick had a decent enough chance of failure. The life expectancy of a convoy's commanding officer was not generous. And today was just such an occasion.
"Any callsign, this is Anvil Actual. We are under heavy fire by possible insurgent forces! Request immediate reinforcements!" Lyon called on the radio for the third time.
"Anvil Actual, this is Oasis Central," Came a voice in reply. "We have forwarded your distress signal to your destination, they are dispatching air support as we speak. Local Hammerhead is moving into position to relay communications."
"We may not be here long enough, Oasis," he replied. "Enemy strength is greater than estimated!"
The radar display on his Command Wolf was awash with red markers, indicating confirmed enemy contacts. The small collection of blue markers was dwindling as enemy artillery hit their targets.
"Captain!" Corporal Righland called. "They've cut off our right flank!"
"Regroup our forces to the support line," he replied. "Let's push on that right flank before they get comfortable. Air support's on the way, boys!"
He didn't like lying to his men, but it was the only fragment of good news he had for them.
"Rien is down!" he heard one of his pilots cry. It was nothing Lyon didn't expect. He was just amazed the ammunition trailer hadn't been hit yet. That would have decimated them.
Not that it mattered, anyway. Their demise was only a matter of how many shells they could fire in the meantime.
"Anvil Actual," came a woman's voice on the radio, "this is Scabbard. How copy, over?"
"Scabbard, Anvil; solid copy. Who the hell are you?"
"This is the interceptor liaison," she said. Now, there was a voice you wouldn't say no to taking home at the end of the night. "Anvil, you have Banshees hot at your location in six mikes."
Air support in six minutes? That's impossible! Nothing could fly that fast. And what the hell was a Banshee?
"Roger that, six mikes," he answered all the same.
"Banshee contact in two on this frequency," Scabbard replied.
"Solid copy. You think they can get here any faster?" He knew the answer, but if it was the last voice you were going to hear, it might as well be a sexy one.
"Negative, Anvil. Ninety seconds to contact."
"Roger that," he answered, defeated.
Ninety agonizing seconds later came the crackling message, "Storm Actual to Anvil, Banshees incoming. How copy, over?"
"Solid copy, Storm. Are you my air support?"
"Affirmative, Anvil. Be advised, tactical system is not clear enough to identify targets. Will need to visually designate friendly forces."
Finally, a plan! It was all Lyon could hope for.
"Roger that, Storm. Marking friendlies with green smoke. Repeat: friendlies, green smoke!"
"Solid copy, Anvil; green smoke designates friendly," Seth confirmed. "Standby for airstrike in four mikes." To his pilots, he relayed, "All Banshees, this is Claymore. Be advised, IFF is down. Friendly targets marked with green smoke. I repeat, green smoke is friendly, all other units are hostile. Sort targets... mark!"
The seven other pilots reported their understanding in turn. By then, they were upon firing range of the targets.
"Banshees, open fire in three, two... Storm one, gravel!"
Seth's Storm Sworder flight loosed their air-to-ground missiles. Soon they became spots of light leaving a trails of smoke before smashing into the enemy zoids, where they became fireballs expelling clouds of shrapnel.
The newly-arrived air support screamed over the battlefield, the smoke swirling in the vortices from their wings. Part of the enemy force turned their fire to the sky as the silver streaks circled back around. Lyon took this opportunity to fire on those who'd turned their flanks to him, exposing their vulnerable side. With that, his forces could start to gain ground.
"Dagger, Razor," Seth called to his wingmen, "drop ordinance on the long guns. Cutlass, Khopesh, Foil, start gun runs on the light units. Scimitar, Katana and I will open an escape route on the south-east side."
The pilots broke formation and did as ordered.
Sparks flew off the enemy Rev Raptors as the Sworders' guns tore apart the cockpits while missiles zeroed in on the heads of the Iron Kongs at the back of the pack. Seth deployed his Sworder's blades and flew low to cut through the Guysack hoard, opening a passage for the convoy.
A few more passes had a route cleared and the attacking force had been thinned out enough for the ground forces to begin their retreat.
"Storm, this is Anvil Actual," Lyon called to his new guardian angels. "The route is clear, the convoy is moving. I say again, convoy is moving."
"Roger that, Anvil. Banshees will cover your escape." Then, to the liaison he said, "Scabbard, this is Storm Actual. Enemy forces have been sufficiently subdued, and I can confirm the convoy is on the move. Banshees will provide cover."
"Storm, Scabbard," she answered. "You are to eliminate the enemy forces."
"Scabbard, we don't have the necessary ammunition. We need to prioritize protecting the convoy."
"Negative, Storm. Orders from above. The birds are still classified; can't have any eyes reporting back."
It was frustrating, but orders were orders. "Roger that, Scabbard. Anvil, we're gonna need some assistance. Orders are to completely eliminate the enemy."
"It'll be a pleasure, Storm," Lyon answered. "All units, wipe the bastards out!"
Shells rained down on the center of the enemy forces while the Sworders took out the ones on the fringes.
"Storm actual, this is Scabbard," came the liaison's voice. "Hammerhead surveillance is showing a wheeled vehicle fleeing the battlefield. Orders are to fire warning shots and report back for further orders."
"Roger that, Scabbard. I'll handle it myself," he answered. "This is Claymore, moving in on the escaping vehicle."
He rounded on the jeep, lining up his guns just in front of its direction of travel. A short burst of gunfire and a low pass gave them plenty of warning to halt.
"Scabbard, this is Storm Actual," he called when the truck skidded to a stop. "Target vehicle has halted its retreat. Awaiting further orders."
"Standby, Storm."
Seth took on a holding pattern, keeping the car in sight.
"Storm One, relay surveillance footage through tactical."
"Roger that, Scabbard. Uploading footage."
A moment passed, then, "Scabbard to Storm Actual, you are ordered to assist Anvil in apprehending the subjects."
"Roger that." It seemed like an odd request after the order to eliminate the entire opposition, but Seth complied. "Anvil, this is Storm. You get that latest order?"
"Affirmative, Storm. Tasking two Wolves and a Gustav to apprehend."
"Copy that."
Seth kept his surveillance equipment trained on the stopped truck while firing the occasional missile at outriding Helcats. In time, the Command Wolves and Gustav had arrived on the scene, and soldiers took the car's occupants into custody. It was likely these were heavy hitters in the resistance, but that intel would be above Seth's pay grade.
"SAM launch!" Scabbard cried as Seth's radar lock warning system sounded. Seth immediately switched on his electronic countermeasures and banked hard, sweeping the skies for the missile.
He saw it off his left wing, so he deployed chaff and dropped altitude, flying as low as he dared. Miraculously, the missile flew towards the chaff he'd dropped and exploded mid-flight.
"Scabbard, Storm One," he called. "You got a fix on that SAM controller?"
"Standby, Storm."
"Banshees, get low!" he told his pilots. "We don't know how many there are!"
Flying this low, it was harder to keep up the fire. With the ground so close, it felt like they were flying twice as fast, and small mistakes were deadly.
"Another SAM launch!" Razor called out. "It's on your six, Katana!"
"I see it!"
"How are they seeing us?!"
"Storm, I have the controllers location," the liaison finally said. "Relaying to your screen now."
"I have it, Scabbard." It was the Gordos at the back. They must have used the spines for radar receivers, improving reception. This was perfect; the Gordos was meant for artillery, as opposed to close combat. One swift blade strike to the neck and...
"This is Storm One: SAM controller is down! What's your status, Katana?"
"SAM went wide when you cut the controller," Katana answered. "But it was close."
"Scabbard, I owe you a drink for that one!"
"Looking forward to it, Claymore."
"Anvil, scope is starting to clear up. Use tactical to designate targets outside your range, we'll mop them up."
"Affirmative, Storm. Marking your priority targets."
"Targets confirmed. Banshees, engage."
The remaining forces took mere minutes to finish off. With a final volley from the ground forces the last of the zoids fell, and the battlefield grew quiet, save for the scream of the Sworders' engines above.
"Scabbard, Storm Actual. Confirming enemy forces dispatched. Request permission to return to base."
"Permission granted, Storm. Make one more pass over the combat zone to gather intel, then return to base."
"Roger that, Scabbard. Banshees, form up on my wing. Activate recon systems and we'll take some souvenir pictures."
Storm flight complied, making one final flight over the crater-marked battlefield.
"Anvil, this is Storm. Pleasure working with you."
"Likewise, Storm. We'll police the area."
The Sworders landed one at a time and took cover in the hangars. Fuel trucks and ordinance loaders moved in to refuel and rearm the birds while the pilots disembarked.
"Four hours to the next convoy," Seth told his pilots. "Local Redler squadron is QRF until then. Get some rack time; I want us all in peak condition for the next flight."
"Thank your for coming, Captain," Stephan said as he took his seat at the head of the Council hearing. His files were nearly bursting from his folio. Ever since Dalton had poached his assistant, Imad, from him, organization had become second to punctuality, and even that had suffered lately. His wife, Rosslyn, did what she could to help, but the two of them agreed their daughter would not be raised by nannies, so caring for her took its share of time. The result, of course, meant he looked flustered whenever he arrived at a meeting. "The witness has already been sworn in, I gather?"
"Yes, he has, Mister Lynette," the secretary said.
"Well, then let us proceed. Captain, are your ready."
"I am, Councilman," Velasco said from his seat across from the councilman. He had been told by his superiors to answer the Councilman's questions without divulging classified information, since the hearing would be on the public record. A tall order, he thought, as the only reason he would be called to a hearing would be the interceptor program. Best to keep things cordial. "Allow me to start by correcting you, sir. My rank is of Colonel, not Captain."
Stephan looked over his papers again. He wasn't off to a good start. He needed too stall a bit while he got his world in order. "Yes, of course. My apologies, Colonel. I misread the abbreviation. Uh... for the record, could you brief us on your current assignments?"
"I'm afraid it will have to be an abbreviated list, Councilman," Velasco answered. "I've been tasked to head several projects, a number of which are deemed classified; the details of which I am prohibited from divulging in a public hearing. Perhaps we should start with what you're looking for specifically."
"That'll be fine. Just... answer to the best of your ability," Stephan said, finding the notes he was looking for.
"I'll do my best," Velasco said.
"Let's begin with some budgetary discrepancies," Stephan started. "Now, as I'm sure you're aware, the public has been calling for a budgetary review. Being nearly a third of the annual Imperial budget, the military has been a popular target."
"I'm well aware of that, sir," Velasco said. "Many of us in the military do take issue with the proposed cuts."
"That is understandable, Colonel. However, the purpose of this hearing is not to discuss cuts, but rather to ensure the slated cuts are viable without compromising the military's effectiveness."
Stephan hated saying that. He would rather cut anything that looked suspicious and ignore the complaints, but his advisors assured him it was key not to appear anti-military. "Better befriend the ones with the guns," the adage went, but it always seemed counter-intuitive to him. He believed peace was better attained at the negotiating table, but men like Velasco always won the argument, saying now that the resistance had weapons, we needed stronger ones to defend ourselves.
"I'd like to start, if you don't mind, with the budget item titled the 'Second Interceptor Wing.'"
Velasco saw this coming. He had best defend this as much as possible.
"Colonel, do you know why there is no budgetary breakdown for this item?"
"Well, Councilman, I'm not an expert on budgetary reports, but I would say it's because the Second Interceptor Wing is a classified unit."
"But even a classified unit has to organize its money, right? I have here, for instance, the budget for the Eighth Armored Division, and everything is listed, right down to the wheel nuts for the ammunition trucks. But for the Second Interceptor, there's nothing except for the total, which is approaching the billions."
"Sir, when the unit was approved two years ago, it was with the provision that it would be above budgetary review."
"Well, that was two years ago. Take it from me, Colonel, two years is a long time." Indeed, two years ago he was an Assistant Councilman under Artem Jace and had yet to be a father. "I just want to hear why this unit is so expensive."
"I cannot give specifics, Councilman."
"Well, Colonel, after all the stonewalling I've seen in these hearings, I'd be happy to get some generalities, at the very least. What does this unit do?"
"Councilman, even the answer to this question is classified."
"Where are they located?"
"That information is classified."
"Are they effective?"
"I cannot say, sir."
"Have they ever been utilized in combat?"
"I cannot say, sir."
"What can you tell me?"
"The Second Interceptor Wing is a classified military unit deemed immune to budgetary review."
"So, nothing, then?"
"That is all I have been authorized to divulge, Councilman."
"And that order came from your superiors?"
"Yes, sir."
"And only they can tell you otherwise?"
"That is correct, sir."
Stephan sighed. He should have expected yet more stonewalling. "Well, I recommend you tell your superiors to start declassifying the unit if they want it funded. Let's move on to the Hiltz Systems contract you oversee."
Velasco wondered if the Councilman was being clever. How could he know the Second Interceptor and Hiltz contract were linked?
He continued, "Colonel, you're listed as a point of contact on a number of invoices sent to us from Hiltz Systems. I've had copies made for you – uh, Richard, could you pass those to the Colonel?"
The secretary passed handed Velasco a collection of papers bearing the Hiltz Systems logo. They were indeed invoices, the contents of which looked to refer to the Second Interceptor Wing. The Councilman was being clever. The information here was already part of public record, and therefore not hidden behind a cloak of secrecy. If only Slater's people had been smart and invoiced the Second Interceptor Wing directly for their work.
"Does anything look familiar, Colonel?"
"Yes, Councilman. These are referring to the New Age Interceptor Program. I'm sure you will recall they were awarded the contract."
"I have to be honest, Colonel, that had slipped my mind at first. But I looked back at some news reports, and they had been awarded the contract over eighteen months ago with the promise the Air Corps would take delivery within six months. But here we are, a year past the deadline, and no one in the Council has heard anything about new planes. Now, I don't want to point fingers prematurely, but this is just the kind of scenario that makes us worried we're paying someone a lot of money for nothing."
"Councilman, I can assure you that is not the case."
"Well, this Council is going to need a little more than 'assurance.' Is there any light you can shed on why we're being billed for something we've supposedly already payed for?"
"I can't speak to Hiltz Systems's billing practices, Councilman."
"Have we taken delivery of this mythical new plane?"
"We have."
Finally, Stephan had gotten an answer. "Well... where is it?"
"I cannot say, sir."
This was frustrating. "If we've got it, why aren't we using it?"
"We are using it, sir."
"As what? A paperweight?"
The Colonel looked at Stephan carefully. Then his assistant whispered in his ear.
"Councilman, could we have a brief recess? I'd like to confirm with my superiors what information may be disclosed."
"If it means we get some answers, then by all means."
The Colonel's assistant handed him a phone. He spoke in hushed tones into the handset. All eyes were on the Colonel, so Stephan took this opportunity to get his notes together for the next topic.
Finally, the Colonel gave the phone back to his assistant.
"Are you ready, Colonel?"
"Yes, Councilman."
"Well, what can you tell us about these mysterious planes?"
"Two years ago, I was assigned to take delivery of the New Age Interceptor. Six months were spent overlooking combat records to find the ideal pilots, the result of which had us a very capable team headed by a pilot with skills I've never seen before. We had planned to put this group and the new interceptor into active duty within two months, but my lead pilot convinced me otherwise. We decided to extend the test and training phase. However, after the early test flights, we found the bird to be unstable. With the cooperation of Hiltz Systems, we have since modified the plane enough to satisfy my pilots. The result of these efforts is still largely classified, but I have been authorized to disclose that they are now on active duty and have been shown to be effective."
"Just how effective?"
"Details are classified, but they were instrumental in apprehending key insurgent leaders in an engagement that occurred just this morning."
The Councilman was silent for a moment while a murmur filled the room. "This would be the capture of Illarion Stilo this morning?"
"Yes, sir."
Stephan wasn't expecting this. Usually, when someone hid behind the wall of secrecy, it meant someone was siphoning money for themselves. "...Can you tell me which unit these pilots have been assigned?"
"Yes, Councilman. I've just been authorized to confirm they are assigned to Second Interceptor Wing."
Stephan felt defeated. He would need to reevaluate his strategy with these revelations. "Thank you, Colonel. That will be all for today."