Chapter LXVI: The Battle of Socotra
0700hrs, 26 December 2013, Socotra, Yemen.
"I'm a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar." Wash, Serenity.
"Uh, Shark 4-6, this is Shark 4-2, we're coming off of your port side, break. Continuing to patrol area around the AO, over."
"Roger that Shark 4-2. Out." Shark 4-6, along with the flight of three other F/A-18s had just taken off from the USS Carl Vinson; Several dozen F/A-18s were up in the air now, having been launched from their carriers some eighty nautical miles from Socotra. Since the F/A-18 was a multirole aircraft, most of them had been configured for a ground attack mission but some were equipped with an air superiority role in mind, with Sidewinders, jamming pods, and other equipment that would aid in defeating airborne foes. Not that they expected any air assaults from the island, but after the nasty attack last week, no one could be sure of anything nowadays.
"Man, that's a lot of planes," Shark 4-2's WSO said to the aviator of his aircraft. Swarms of F/A-18s and Harriers loaded for CAS flew past at 15000 feet above the ocean surface, heading toward the island of Socotra. "Hope that they kick ass today."
Shark 4-3's WSO, a nice kid from Kansas, chimed in with his two cents as well. "And, there's going to be A-10s, AC-130s, F-15Es from the Air Force, plus the naval bombardment…man, nothing is going to be left on that island once we've had our way with it," he said with glee.
His aviator however, a feisty redhead from Illinois was not as optimistic as her WSO. "I can't believe we're stuck flying air interdiction. There's nothing to interdict!"
"Stow the chatter," Shark 4-6 ordered. "We'll get our chance, trust me." The flight continued to accelerate to their cruising speed, then leveled off at 15000 feet and contacted the resident E-3 Sentry AWACS plane that had been rushed to the area to support the operation. A JSTARS plane would also be in the region within a couple of hours, having just refueled at the "Undisclosed Air Base" and booking it as fast as it could to support the ground operations.
"AWACS, this is Shark 4-6," he said to the AWACS that had been loitering in the area for the last three hours or so. "Any sign of enemy activity, over?"
"Negative Shark 4-6, continue attack pattern toward Socotra and enter into a holding pattern for friendly forces."
Across from the operator, another airman was directing USAF planes toward the island. One of the squadrons involved in the fight was the 27th Fighter Squadron, 1st Operations Group, 1st Fighter Wing; they flew the vaunted F-22As that were all but invincible in the skies. They were coming from Djibouti after…well, like much of the assists in the area, had been quickly rushed in from the states to fight the upcoming battle.
"Warwolf flight, head on vector 130 and link up with Shark 4-6 for air superiority mission over Socotra."
"Roger that, AWACS," "Mobius," the flight lead of the flight said to the AWACS controller. "Wardog, Garuda, Cipher, follow my lead."
"Gotcha boss," Garuda said to him. The planes banked toward their assigned route and took it steady to where they were going to fly a patrol. It took about an hour to get there.
"Hey, Garuda, see anything yet?" Mobius asked his wingman.
Garuda looked at his instruments. "That's a negative, just the Navy pukes, over."
"I heard that!" One of the F/A-18 planes flew up beside the F-22s and waggled its wings.
"Hi there, Navy," was the cool response from Wardog. "Glad of you to join us."
"Same to you, Air Force," Shark 4-6 said to them.
"Glad to see we have the Navy to back us up," Garuda said them.
"Excuse me?" was the response from Shark 4-6. "I think we're glad to have the Air Force back us up."
"No, you're backing US up," Wardog snapped.
"Wardog, there ain't gonna be no Flankers around here," Shark 4-6 joked. "And you're not flying no 'hogs today, so you're gonna spend the next five hours loitering out while Navy gets all the glory."
Wardog shot back a response, irritated at the Navy aviators. "Hey, you're doing the same thing we are, so I don't see what you're so happy about,"
"If I can't get some action, then you're not either," was the smug response from Shark 4-6.
"Can it you guys," Mobius calmly said. "Action or no action, we patrol this sector until we are ordered to RTB. Understood? And at least this part of the mission IS mostly Air Force and YOU have been placed under our command. Let's just stay focused on the mission, okay?"
"Yes sir," Shark 4-6 grumbled. The two flights continued their patrol, staring blankly into the sky and at their instrument panels.
On the AWACS plane however, things were a bit different.
One of the AWACS radar operator had to blink twice to make sure what he was seeing was correct.
"Sir…sir, we've got several thousand contacts on the scope." He motioned to the CO in charge of the crew.
"Show me."
There were so many contacts on the radar that they all blended together, forming a huge blob.
"That can't be right," the CO said. "Check the system and make sure to boost the ECCM power."
"Yes, sir." The operator did so, and the amount of contacts dropped off significantly, just to one blip on the screen.
"Huh, looks like it's just one aircraft," he said. "Ours? Theirs? Drones perhaps? What does the IFF say?"
The operator looked at a reference guide to the possible aircraft in the area at this time of day. "IFF is coming back…iffy sir. Says they're a civilian aircraft out of Yemen."
"I guess that can't be too bad. But there was nothing in the intelligence that said that anything about any other aircraft in this area. Vector some of the air superiority fighters in to deal with the threat. Hopefully it's just a lost airliner and nothing else."
"Got it." The controller switched frequencies and got into contact with the two flights of planes. "Mobius, Shark 4-6, new mission orders."
"Finally," Shark 4-6 muttered. "Go ahead AWACS."
"Warwolf, Shark flights, unknown civilian contact approaching the main body of the ground-attack craft at vector 180, speed, two three zero knots, altitude angels ten. Turn to vector 050 and make visual inspection."
"And if we're fired upon?" Warwolf was not going to be caught in a position where he was shot down because a mistake AWACS made.
"Unlikely, Warwolf, but you are cleared to use whatever mean necessary to defend yourself and the CAS mission. Over."
"Copy. Out."
"Gentlemen," Shark 4-6 started to say before he was interrupted by Wardog.
"And ladies."
"Gentlemen, ladies. Let's go see what's up." Warwolf and Shark flights hit their afterburners and moved to the location that they had pointed in. Five minutes later, they were closing in on the contact. It came up on their radar screens way before they made visual contact, and the IFF signal was the same; a civilian aircraft, a small prop engine plane out of one of the small airports in the region. But what was a plane like that doing all the way out here?
"These planes don't have radar," Shark 4-6 answered. "So they have to depend on ground control to guide them from place to place."
"Still, it doesn't explain what the hell it's doing all the way out here. I'm going in for a closer look."
Mobius rolled his plane into a short dive and took it down to where the contact was showing up. The dot on the horizon got closer…closer…what was that?
"AWACS, it looks like it's a Reaper drone," Mobius reported, somewhat confused. "IFF is saying that it's a civilian aircraft."
"What?" The CO turned to the radar operator. "Do we have any drones out there today?"
"Yeah, but not that far away from Socotra," was the response.
"I'll get the comm officer to figure out what the hell is going on here," the CO groaned. Jesus, this was turning out to be some day. The CO figured that he'd call it in to the brass, just to keep all his bases covered on this on.
"This is the AWACS Skyeye to USAFCENT, we have possible airborne contact at 30 miles inside the AO, approaching the main CAS force some fifty or so miles from the island. It appears to be an airborne drone. Are there any CIA or other operators of drones that are operating today? No? Thanks."
He put down the secure line, still confused. Then it hit him.
"Shoot that drone down NOW!" he ordered loudly at the communications operator. She didn't even think to argue, just carried out the order and relayed a quick message to Warwolf and Shark flights.
"Warwolf and Shark flights, you are ordered to shoot down the down."
"Roger!" Mobius toggled his guns and fired a short burst that shattered the drone, sending the bits and pieces of it spiraling down toward the sea. "Splash one drone…thingy."
"Does that count as a kill?" Cipher asked. "I mean, it's a drone and all, but it's still a flying plane."
"Maybe three-fifths of a kill?" Garuda added.
"We'll debate it when we get back to base tonight," Mobius firmly resolved. It would be nice if it counted as a kill, but it was a hollow one. No super maneuverable, high g turns, no missile locks, no nothing. Just a press of a button, and another robotic plane was killed. Nothing to it.
"Well, they're probably wondering why a drone is out there," the PMC commander said to Beryl and Jadeite.
"Send in the advance waves of drones to make up their minds," Beryl ordered.
"Of course." He gave a series of orders to the several drone operators in the room, who then maneuvered their own "squadrons" of drones to attack position.
"Missile lock!" Shark 4-3 screamed out before her plane was obliterated by a Sidewinder missile.
"Fuck!" Shark 4-2 cursed, but there was no time to mourn right now. The two flights of planes broke and executed a series of high g turns, loops and brakes that would try to throw off whoever the hell was shooting at them.
"This is Shark 4-2, we are under attack by unknown forces! Shark 4-3 is hit and is down!" He looked around in his cockpit to see where the missile had come from. "Bobby, do you have ANY contacts?"
"Negative! No contacts!" The WSO narrowed his eyes and looked at the radar screen again. "Wait…something faint…"
"What is it?!" Shark 4-6 banked into an Immelmann turn to try to throw the radar lock off.
"Sir, one hundred…no, two hundred…no…three…shit! There's too many contacts!"
"What do you mean?!" Shark 4-6 looked at his screen and saw that the entirety of it was now cluttered with hundreds upon hundreds of unknown contacts. "The fuck…?" He then whipped his head up and saw what they were fighting against.
At about fifteen thousand feet, there were what looked to be small, flying wings. They almost looked like miniature B-2s, except a bit more fat on the top. But the distinctive shape of the plane, coupled with its size meant only one thing; this wasn't just a UAV. This was an autonomous, UCAV drone capable of taking out targets in air to air combat.
"AWACS, we have contact with enemy UCAVs!" Shark 4-6 screamed into his radio. "All flights, prepared to engage the fuckers!"
Mobius and his flight were not about to disagree with him. "Bandits at angels fifteen, break right and engage at will, engage at will." The F-22s screamed upward toward the UCAVs.
"Sir, I'm getting over three hundred contacts on the scope!" Cipher said, trying not to get panicked at the revelation.
"Don't worry about that, we've got these guys!" Mobius armed his AMRAAM missile and got a good tone immediately. "Fox three! Fox three!" He fired off one at the nearest UCAV and banked away, looking for the next target and absentmindedly remembering that the brevity code was "Maddog," not "Fox Three", for that kind of missile launch. The UCAV immediately went into a series of preprogrammed loops and dives, but could not get away from the missile. The AMRAAM detonated a couple of meters before the UCAV, and it blew up in a spectacular fashion.
"What about the fleet?!" Shark 4-4 yelled out, trying to shake off another UCAV on his left.
"Huh?" was the distracted response from Shark 4-2.
"Somebody contact the Vinson and tell them that they have UCAVs!"
"Shit." Shark 4-2's WSO got on the horn and tried to radio the Vinson, but nothing was getting through. "Sir, I'm not getting any response whatsoever from the Vinson, or any of the other ships in the fleet."
"AWACS, are you relaying the information to the fleet?"
There was a slight delay in the transmission, and when the AWACS replied, they were extremely hard to hear. "Affirmative, but we are running into major communications problems with ECM and jamming from the island."
"Dammit!" Shark 4-2 cursed and went looking for another UCAV, which was promptly shot down in a three second burst from his gun. Around them, the seven planes fought to survive, shooting down many drones in the process.
"Garuda, three more on your six!" Cipher yelled out over his radio.
"I can't see them!" Garuda shouted back. He looked frantically over his shoulder to try to get a visual on them, but flying a complex, multi-million plane was taking up much of his concentration.
"Gotcha covered!" Wardog hit the airbrake and did a Pugachev Cobra to get the chasing UCAVs off her tail, and went after Garuda.
"Can't shake em!" he said, somewhat more nervous. One of the UCAVs lined up for a missile strike, leveling off and keeping the F-22 in its sights.
"Not today, you don't." Wardog fired three one second bursts and downed three UCAVs in a row, one right after the other. They exploded dramatically, their debris tumbling down toward the sea below.
"Sir, more contacts!" The operator was having trouble keeping everything together, there were so many blips on the screen. This wasn't a false read like last time; there were just that many targets in the air. They also faded in and out, presumably due to their semi-stealth like nature.
"Jesus Christ, where are they headed?" That question from the CO was a redundant one; he knew that they were heading toward the southern fleet.
The operator made a quick calculation. "Toward the southern fleet!"
"Where is the air support?" the CO asked him.
"Most of the air interdiction fighters are barely hanging in there, on the southwest and the southeast of the island. The majority of these contacts are coming due south and are completely bypassing the rest of the air cover."
"What about the CAS flights?" the CO asked.
"They're not equipped for air to air combat sir, and if we ask them to engage…"
"…they'll have to drop most of their close in ordinance and it'll go to waste. Shit." He briefly pondered that solution before deciding against that course of action. They needed to attack that island, come hell or high water.
The CO quickly dialed a secure connection to COMUSNAVCENT to tell them the bad news, but for some reason, everything was going to shit in terms of communication. The connection from their plane to USNAVCENT was not getting through; there was so much jamming and ECMs that a call was impossible to get through. The CO then tried to get into contact with USAFCOM, the USAF regional command; that seemed to do the trick. From USAFCOM, it was relayed to USNAVCENT and then to the entire fleet at sea. But the message barely reached the fleet when things went from bad to worse.
There was still some air cover in the region, and intel had said nothing about air to air capabilities of the Nakanishi Group on Socotra. SAMs? More than likely. But planes? Nope.
"Contacts bearing at 010, speed, 200 knots, altitude 15000 feet, range 50 nautical miles," a radar operator in the CIC of the USS Carl Vinson announced.
"Oh no you don't," one of the officers in the Carl Vinson's CIC muttered. Everyone had read Red Storm Rising, and they weren't going to fall for that one. They would have the CAP close in and visually inspect whatever these contacts were. Drones, more or less, was everyone's guess. Nice try, but they weren't going to fall for that one.
"Admiral, the main group of CAS aircraft are ten minutes away from the island," a radar operator said to COMUSNAVCENT.
"Thank you. Direct the CAP to intercept unknown contacts and see what they are."
Several officers gave orders over their radios to different flights, and soon, after some repeats and calls for signal strength, their blips on the radar screen headed in toward the unknown contacts. One of the radio operators suddenly received a transmission, broken up by static and fading in and out.
"Say again Shark 4-2, you are breaking up." Whatever they were saying, she couldn't make it out.
"…contact…engage…"
"Say again Shark 4-2, you are not transmitting well," was the request.
"….down…hostile…"
The operator finally got the hint, and relayed the information to COMUSNAVCENT behind her. "Admiral, one of our planes says he ran into something, but I can't make it out."
Another radio transmissions from one of the CAP planes blurted out from their radio, this time, making it very clear what going on. "This is Raven 3-4, we have contact!"
"Say again, Raven 3-4, what contacts?"
"Enemy UCAVs! They got Raven 3-2 and 3-1 and are making…!" The radio transmission cut out.
"Sir, Raven flight completely disappeared from the scope," the technician said.
COMUSNAVCENT quickly issued orders, hoping that the threat that had destroyed Raven flight wasn't going to get the rest of them. "All ships in the fleet, prepare for contact with hostile aircraft."
Ships all across the fleet fired up their radars and weapons systems, ready to engage the incoming threats.
Back with Warwolf flight, things were going from bad to worse. A flight of UCAV lined up behind Cipher and ripple fired a couple of Sparrow missiles, homing on his plane.
Mobius saw the missiles and screamed out a warning over the radio. "Cipher, missile at your six!" Cipher jinked to the right, trying to throw off the semi-active missiles.
Too late. A missile detonated at his right wing and took it completely off. The others zipped by and exploded harmlessly in the air.
Cipher took a look out to his three o'clock and immediately saw the damage; you didn't need instruments to tell you that you were in a world of hurt as of this moment. "Shit! I've lost my right wing! I'm getting out of here!" He started toward the Yemeni coast.
Mobius tried to wave him off of that course of action. "Negative, bail out!"
"I can make it back to base, just get those stupid UCAVs!" Cipher flew off toward the west, looking for the nearest friendly airbase, smoke trailing from his engines and sparking electronics from what used to be his right wing.
"Damn," Mobius hissed. "AWACS, Cipher's down, where the hell are the reinforcements?"
"Negative on the reinforcements, there are thousands of these drones all over the place and…" He was interrupted by one of the radar operators.
"Colonel! Contact at our two o'clock!"
"Where?!"
"Five miles out!" That was WAY too close for comfort, especially for a large plane such as the E-3 Sentry.
"Get us out of here!" the Colonel yelled at the crew, but the aircraft crew flying the E-3 Sentry needed no encouragement in trying to get away.
"All callsigns, we are going dark, are under attack. You are on your own," was the CO's broadcast to the rest of the aircraft in the area.
"At Vector 085, twenty bandits at angels twelve, speed, 190 knots, range, five miles." That was the last directions the AWACS gave out before switching off their radar and going into an evasive pattern.
The E-3 Sentry dove toward the sea, spitting out flares and chaff as the flight of F-16Cs protecting it moved to engage the approaching drones.
"Jester, Jester, engaging, engaging!" The flight protecting the E-3 was named Jester Flight, since their leader was known to play practical jokes on occasion. Not today, however.
Jester 5-1 yelled out as he toggled for a missile lock. He got it, and fired off a Sidewinder.
"Fox Two! Fox Two!"
"Missile hit! Good Kill!" Jester 5-2 and 5-3 moved in close and engaged with guns, killing two more UCAVs. "Nice kill!" was the reply from Jester 5-4, who was just coming up from his assigned station.
It was the drones' turn now, and they volleyed off several unknown types of missiles. Jester 5-3 was destroyed, but ejected in time to get out. Surviving down there, in the hostile sea however, was going to be another issue.
"Goddammit!" Jester 5-1 screamed out. "Get these guys!" Moving quickly, the three remaining F-16s of Jester flight fired fifteen more Sidewinders as fast as they could acquire and engage their targets. It was all that they had. Ten more drones spiraled into the sea. Six to go.
"Jester 5-4, Guns guns guns!" The UCAVs seemed to like to fly in groups of three or four, close together at about five or so meters apart (this was possible because…well, they were computerized drones after all), which made for easier navigation and attack runs, but also made them extremely vulnerable. Jester 5-4 got all of them in one pass and sent all of them up in smoke.
Three down, three to go. Jester 5-1 and 5-2 both finished off the last group with a hail of 20mm shells blotting the UCAVs out of the sky.
"Jesus…AWACS. AWACS, come in," Jester 5-1 said. "Where is your position, over?"
"This is AWACS, we're fifteen miles away from your position, bearing at 175."
"All drones have been eliminated. Jester 5-3 has been hit, but I saw a chute. Need a CSAR bird out here."
"That's a negative, all available CSAR elements are currently engaged in other operations right now. If he has his beacon, then Jester 5-3 will be found. Is that Understood?"
"Understood AWACS." Jester flight regrouped on the AWACS and kept a lookout for any more attacking planes, hoping that their buddy would be found by CSAR.
"For fucks sake, how the HELL did those drones sneak up on us like that!" The CO was beyond pissed right now, and a fourth of his air cover was now gone, destroyed by that surprise drone attack.
The radar operators shrugged, not understanding how that could have happened either. "Sir, I don't know how they did that, but those drones are small enough to evade our radar search pattern. Perhaps they also have stealth capabilities."
"And maybe the FUCKING fairy godmother transported them here. Watch those radar scopes closely and I don't want ANYTHING else like that happening. Understand?"
"Yes sir!"
That order was quickly shot down by several desperate calls from the fleet. "AWACS, where were you?! We're under attack!" a naval captain yelled out over the radio.
"Ah shit."
The ships in the massive fleet had started off well enough. Aegis cruisers started to attack the drones, downing them by the dozen. The remaining air cover that had survived the initial attack by the UCAVs reformed and plowed into them, downing more of them and protecting most of the CAS mission.
"Looks like Churchill and the Ross just swiped a couple of dozen drones off the radar," the captain of the USS Vinson said to the overall commander of the fleet, COMUSNAVCENT who had flown out from Bahrain.
"They're coming in pretty fast," COMUSNAVCENT narrowed his beady eyes at the multiple radar screens. "Do you think we can take them all?"
"Yes, even with the air cover engaged, we should still be able to go ahead with the landing…" a staff officer started to say, before being interrupted by a radar operator.
"New contacts, bearing 045!"
"What?!" COMUSNAVCENT looked at the radar screens again and saw over a thousand different contacts, missiles, planes, UCAVs, UAVs, all of them were cluttering up the radar screen. Most of the operators in the room were hard-pressed to keep up with the deluge of information.
"How the hell did they get past our defenses?!" COMUSNAVCENT asked, sweat rolling down his forehead. He wiped it away with a handkerchief, the cold air in the CIC chilling the sweat almost instantly.
"While our air cover was engaged and our missile cruisers were taking the higher flying drones, a group of them snuck in under our radar coverage and fired off some missiles, sir!"
The hundred or so Reaper UAVs were armed with Hellfire missiles, and while not designed to take down a ship, they still could do some serious damage and were not to be taken lightly.
"Vampire, Vampire, Vampire!"
A barrage of RIM-66 missiles flew off the rails of multiple destroyers and headed toward the new group of UAVs, but they weren't going to make it time.
"More contacts! From the island, at bearing 030…incoming missiles! Vampire!"
It sounded more like something out of that Twilight series than a major naval engagement, but the entire fleet was being overwhelmed with UCAVs, UAVs and shore launched missiles. Thousands of missiles zipped through the air. COMUSNAVCENT was helpless to do anything but watch the blips on the radar screen come in closer and closer; Aegis cruisers started picking off most of the missiles, but there were only so many missiles that they could carry, and only a few missiles had to make it in to some major damage. It was a deadly waiting game; the massive amount of blips disappeared off the screen one by one as the Aegis cruisers engaged their targets. By the time they had reached the fleet, eighty two percent of the missiles had been destroyed. Five percent went off course due to faulty wiring, guidance, chaff, flares, etc. Three percent were blown out of the air by CIWS. That left only ten percent of the missiles; but that was all it took.
Several ships were hit. It was inevitable at this point, but being hit did not mean sunk; it just meant that the problems you faced become ever more increasing in difficulty until you had to abandon the ship. Many different factors were involved; how well your crew was trained in damage control, firefighting techniques, first aid, not to mention their fatigue, general wellness, morale, experience…all of these factors combined would make or quite literally, break a ship and her crew.
The USS Bunker Hill took a missile to the bow and took on some water before damage control took care of that problem. In response, it kept firing its vertical launch system, RIM-66s and Tomahawks screaming out of the launchers toward the missiles and the island itself. Its sister ship, the USS Lake Champlain, was not so lucky. It took five or so missile hits, rendering it dead in the water. Smoke billowed from holes in the starboard side, and the bridge was completely gone, along with her captain and most of her officers. The USS Rentz, an older Oliver Hazard Perry Class of missile frigates, suffered an even more unfortunate fate; three Harpoon missiles hit her bridge, stern and bow, effectively sinking the ship with most of the crew lost. A lucky Exocet missile found its way through the protective web of air defenses and hit the Harry Truman, but the large aircraft carrier could take punishment like that, and damage control easily repaired the hole that the small missile had created. Other ships took near misses hits; the USS Higgins, Gridley and Stockdale all were rocked by several explosions, enough to riddle their abovedecks with deadly shrapnel and disrupt their radar and communications.
Other ships from allied nations were hit as well; the Russian Slava class cruiser, the Varyag, was hit by several missiles, but kept going. The recent overhaul of her systems kept the old ship together, and it powered through the missiles, firing off ones of her own. The Varyag was armed to the teeth with 9K33 Osa missiles, S-300 SAMs, and six AK-630 CIWS, the latter filling the air with their 30mm rounds, blotting out missiles and UAVs alike in a desperate attempt to stop all the firepower being thrown at it.
The ships retaliated in force, firing off cruise missiles in return at the missile emplacements that had shown up on their radars. What little good it did them though.
"Sir!" an officer yelled to COMUSNAVCENT. "Our Tomahawks are being shot down before they even reach the island!"
"Goddamn," he said to himself. The radar screens showed almost all the first wave of Tomahawks were shot down several nautical miles out, exploding harmlessly over the ocean. The massive amount of fire coming from the island was just too much for the cruise missiles, and there were going to have to find another way to deal with that particular threat.
An explosion nearby made the Vinson shutter, and that really pissed COMUSNAVCENT off.
"Somebody target the FUCKING launchers!" COMUSNAVCENT screamed out to the officers in the CIC. "We are getting pounded by the missiles and we need to get those guys offline NOW!"
"All callsigns, all callsigns, begin attack mission immediately," one of the officers in the CIC announced on his radio. AWACS got the hint, and vectored in the planes in the air, toward their targets.
"This is Blackbeard 4-5, we're going in!"
"Typhoon 2-1, on attack run!"
"Dodger 3-4, starting our run, going in."
Eighty planes streamed in toward the island from all angles, ranging from the Navy F/A-18s, Marine Harriers, Air Force A-10s, RAF Tornados, and even some Canadian CF-18s were in on the action, stationed on maneuvers with the US Military in Djibouti.
"Jesus!" Blackbeard 4-5 cursed under his breath. There were quite literally, thousands of missiles in the air, some anti-ship, some anti-air, and it was all one big clusterfuck all around. Blackbeard and his flight, a pair of F-15Es, dropped their JDAMs on whatever targets they could find before bugging out due to the volume of incoming fire from the island.
"Good tone, good tone," Typhoon said to the rest of her flight. They were F/A-18s, from the USS Harry Truman on a Wild Weasel mission. "Magnum, Magnum."
Typhoon flight launched all their missiles.
"Shit! Lost tone!" Typhoon watched helplessly as their missiles went wild and fell haplessly into the sea. "Fuck!"
Typhoon cursed her bad luck before engaging with guns at the streams of UCAVs that came after them.
"This is Dodger Lead." They were Air Force A-10s, a big, fuck ugly plane, but could take it as well as dish it out. Armored enough to carry it to hell and back (and then some), built around a massive 30mm GAU-8/A Gatling gun that could easily rip apart tanks, buildings, and bunkers, let alone mere flesh and bone. "Engaging at will." The four A-10s together had a combined ordnance load of thirty-two tons, ranging from unguided rockets, JDAMs, cluster bombs, incendiary devices, and laser guided Paveway bombs.
"Dodger Lead, this is Tinman," Dodger lead's wingman said over their radio. "I have no targets, cannot engage."
"What are you talking about?!" Dodger Lead asked back, irritated. "There are tons of targets down there!"
"Radar is still not picking up anything," Tinman said back to him, looking at his HUD. "Negative tone on anything."
"Look, there!" A launcher popped up and fired a couple of SAMs at a French Mirage 2000. The pilot fired off a couple of flares and took off running toward the east.
"Dodger 3-4 to all callsigns, the launchers are hardened and are concealed. We're going in with guns."
The A-10s swung around from their aborted first run and started another one.
"Heavy triple A!" Automated 20mm modele F2s, Bofors 57mm, and 100mm French made naval guns opened up, the black puffs reminding the A-10s that they could easily be ripped apart by a lucky shot from one of those guns.
"Stay on it!" Tinman yelled to his flight lead.
"Engaging!" The 30mm gun roared to life and blanketed an (American) football sized area full of the rounds, destroying several AAA guns and missile launchers. Bullets and shrapnel pinged all around his aircraft, but it could take the punishment.
"Targets destroyed!" Dodger Lead announced. He turned around for another attack run.
"Enemy UCAV!" his wingman yelled out over the radio. Dodger Lead saw the group of UCAVs coming from his nine o'clock, trying to take out the flight of A-10s. There was almost nothing he could do about that…unless…
"Oh, fuck it!" Dodger Lead swung his plane around, and depressed the trigger for the 30mm gun. The A-10 was never designed to fight in air to air combat, and certainly not with that monstrosity in the belly of that plane. But since the UCAVs were so close together, hitting one of them was actually pretty easy. The string of 30mm shells zipped through the cold air, and as luck would have it, the UCAVs were heading around for another pass. Dodger Lead fired at exactly the right time, and accurately lead the target of a group of nine UCAVs, all flying in groups of three. The shells ripped through the drones, exploding them in a fabulous fireball that would have made Michael Bay proud.
Nine drones down in a matter of seconds was some sort of record, and not one that went unnoticed.
"Nice shooting Dodger 3-4!" one of the Navy pilots, Playboy 5-6, called out to him.
"Thanks!" Dodger Lead went in for another gun run, firing his gun until he was out of ammunition. "This is Dodger Lead, Winchester, Winchester."
The AWACS responded after a couple of seconds; they certainly had their hands full today. "Roger that, Dodger Lead RTB for refuel and rearm. Out."
Dodger flight zipped out of the AO as fast as they could, hoping that they could get rearmed and back in the fight as soon as possible.
"What was that?!" COMUSNAVCENT saw the entire thing go down on several TV monitors, from live video feeds coming in from MQ-9 Reapers that had just positioned themselves over the island and a KH-13 satellite that was in geosynchronous orbit over the island, specifically to cover this battle. It had burned up almost a third of its remaining fuel trying to get into position over the island, and now the President, the JCS, the NSC, and anyone else with a high enough security clearance could watch the battle taking place.
"Jesus, that A-10 just took out nine UCAVs," an officer commented in the CIC.
COMUSNAVCENT went back to looking at the radar screens, keeping track of the battle at hand. "Has anyone got any information on enemy forces?"
COMUSNAVCENT's J-2 was on the spot with some collected information. "Sir, the enemy as we can tell at this point consists of Reaper drones, and the UCAVs appear to be X-45s, a project by the Boeing Corporation. But sir, these drones seem to be far in advance to what they were able to come up with. I don't know how they did it."
"Doesn't matter at this point. All we know is that they've been taking out most of our air cover…"
COMUSNAVCENT was interrupted by a seaman running up to him. "Sir, casualty report."
"Go ahead son." Communications were still iffy, and so some things had to be delivered the good old fashioned way.
"Preliminary casualty count coming in sir. 500 dead, 1500 wounded, 100 missing. Thirty aircraft shot down so far, twenty more damaged." He paused to take a better look at the piece of paper he was holding. "Several ships damaged, we'll have more information on that later, sir."
"Very good son. Dismissed." The young seaman saluted and ran off.
"Any word on the northern fleet?" COMUSNAVCENT asked his J-2.
"They're under attack as well, but less so than our fleet. It looks like they're focusing their attention on us for now," the J-2 replied. COMUSNAVCENT was relieved to hear that piece of news; at least someone was going to make it out alive today.
"Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop smoking." COMUSNAVCENT took out a pack of Marlboros and lit one up. As so as he did so, everyone in the CIC did as well. The stress was just that great, health concerns be dammed. The Vinson shook again as two more missiles fired from UAVs detonated meters away from the ship, the Phalanx CIWS blowing them out of the sky.
"Beryl, those aircraft are targeting our anti-ship and anti-air defenses," Kunzite told her, in their own version of the CIC.
It took her a minute to respond. Beryl was lost in thought, trying to get into the mindset of the commanders opposing her. She knew that she could defeat these guys, but it was going to take a lot of fighting on her end to show them that they meant business. "How much damage have we suffered so far?"
Kunzite consulted his iPad for that data. "At this point, it looks like ten percent of our weapons are out of commission at this point."
"But we do have the replacements for them, correct?" she said to him.
"Yes, we'll be able to have most of our damaged assets online within an hour, provided that the automated repair systems work."
"And the ammunition stores?" Ammunition was always important. Can't shoot if you don't have ammo.
"Down by twenty percent. It takes a lot of ammo to fend off these guys."
That brought a frown to Beryl's face. "That was more than I predicted, but they're in a bad position, with the Suez canal out of commission. They can't resupply as efficiently…"
"…but we can't resupply, period," Kunzite said. "Not until that fleet outside is defeated."
Beryl tapped her foot on the floor, pondering her options.
"Instruct the gunnery system to slow down the firing rate to seventy-five percent of the current speed. We seem to be doing well enough, so trying to cut down on some ammunition usage would probably be the best bet."
"Affirmative. What about the nuclear missiles?"
"We'll get to that in due time. I'd say that they're going to start landing marines and such pretty soon. I'm going to let them continue to take more casualties for now, and then save the best for last."
Beryl paced about the room. The lights flickered ominously on and off as explosions rattled around the exterior of their fortress. Kunzite looked down at the tablet computer that displayed real-time information about the battle, and noticed that the SAILOR team was making more progress. He figured that he should bring that point up to her.
"What about our guests?" he said.
Beryl took a second to reply. "The SAILOR team?"
"Yes, them," Kunzite stated. "I would be more concerned about them, Beryl."
She just blew Kunzite's concerns off. "Give me an update on their condition." Again, Kunzite consulted his tablet computer.
"They're still making their way from the south side of the island toward our position through the tram tunnels. It looks like that…Amy person has tried to access the internal mainframe and was able to get several more schematics on the general layout of the building. I don't know what else she was able to get access to, but most of the extremely secure data is safe, since those computers are not connected to the network at all."
Beryl nodded and stared at the bank of TV screens that displayed the ongoing battle.
"What's the status on the youma units?" she said after a second.
"Beryl, it's taking longer than expected to get them all fired up. Arming and fuelling all of those drones are going to…"
She waved him off, annoyed at the delay. "I get it, I get it. What about the Quick Reaction Force?"
"They're getting set up in the tram station, but there's only forty of them there…"
Goddammit, Beryl thought. This might go bad really quick.
"Make sure that the Quick Reaction Force is ready for the SAILOR team, then. And get those youma units there in case they fail." Beryl's face was stoic, thinking about those five girls trudging their way up the tunnel to lash out them.
"You mean, when they fail." Forty against five didn't sound like a fair fight. It wasn't…for the forty QRF troopers down there.
"Unfortunately, yes. They will more than likely defeat our security personnel. Let's see how they do against the youma then."
The J-2 was looking at the reports coming in from different ships and the satellite feed. It didn't provide a good picture. "Admiral, most of the air attacks are having limited success against those SAM and ASM sites. Recommend that we initiate second wave of Tomahawk strikes."
COMUSNAVCENT groaned at that fact, but they needed to something…anything to get that island back. "Done. Launch every missile that we can at last known positions of missile and gun batteries, and maybe some will get through."
"Affirmative."
"Also, prepare for landing of the Marines once those guns have been silenced. We've put off the landing too much now, and if we don't get boots on the ground now, then we'll never get what's inside there." The Bonhomme Richard had been ever so gingerly edging closer and closer to the island, and so far, had escaped most of the missiles being launched at the ships. The presence of several Aegis ships certainly helped in keeping the Exocets off of their back as well, despite the volume of fire that was coming from the island.
"Right."
"For crying out loud, when are we going to get off of this fucking boat and onto dry ground!" Lance Corporal Carl Maxwell of the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, 24th MEU.
"Corporal, when we get the order, we'll go," Gunnery Sergeant Johan Hartman replied to him, calmly. Normally, Gunnery Sergeants were in charge of other things, like weapons, logistics, training, etc. Hartman had pulled a lot of favors to go in on the first wave of assault troops, and his CO had reluctantly agreed. They would need all the leadership and discipline that they could get, and with some twenty odd years of experience, GySgt Hartman was probably as tough as they came. Wounded several times in Bosnia, Afghanistan and Iraq, having killed more men than probably the entire battalion combined (including crew served weapons), captured many more, and the recipient of the Navy Cross, the Silver Star, and two Bronze Stars with combat "Vs". He was the rock of the battalion, but not a hardass like some Sergeants were. He didn't like yelling, and certainly didn't like disciplining people unless absolutely necessary.
"Gunny…Jesus!" Another explosion rocked the Bonhomme Richard as a missile detonated nearby. Unlike the aircraft carriers, they were on the north side of the island, preparing to assault one of the abandoned towns and secure it for the rest of the landing force. There were just as many ships on the north side of the island as there were on the south side, but the ones on the north were mostly NATO and foreign navies, while the south group was mostly American. The focus of most of the fire had been at the carrier groups on the south side, but that didn't mean that the north group hadn't been pounded as well.
Though they were in their Assault Amphibious Vehicles, or "Amtracks" for short, one explosion from those Hellfire or Exocet missiles could send them all straight to hell with no chance to shoot back. That thought was not a very comforting one, especially to men who trained constantly to kill the enemy. At least the craft they were on, a Landing Craft Air Cushion, or LCAC, would perhaps give them the grace time to get off of this damned ship.
"Just got the word!" the driver yelled out to them. "We're Oscar Mike!"
"Finally."
"All callsigns, all callsigns, this is Gambit Actual to all Gambit units." Their CO, a newly promoted Colonel who had never seen combat, but was well trained in combat tactics and warfare. Nothing could make up for experience, but at least this was someone that who knew that he didn't know the ins and out of combat, and was willing to let his subordinates who actually been in combat do the heavy lifting.
Hartman hit the push-to-talk function on his radio. "Gambit 4-2 to Gambit Actual, we're all ready here."
"Very good. We're moving out. Remember the plan and we'll be fine."
"Remember the plan. Famous last words," Hartman muttered to himself.
The doors on the Bonhomme Richard opened up to the sea, revealing the carnage that the marines had been missing.
"Oh my God…" one of the marines in AAV said out loud. An F/A-18 went down in flames, exploding in the distance.
"Hold on!" The LCACs powered forward, heading at full tilt toward the island some twenty nautical miles away. It would take some thirty minutes. Thirty minutes under fire and more than likely, they would be hit by something.
Who thought of this great plan anyway? Hartman thought to himself.
"Beryl, they've launched their marines." There were plenty of video cameras on the island to show the battle outside, and on the north side, they could see the LCACs coming in at full speed, ready for a landing. Several Tomahawk missiles detonated near the camera, knocking it out, but the feed was immediately replaced by a spare feed, a couple hundred of meters to the left. The camera itself would be replaced within ten minutes by the automated repair systems.
"Good. Let them come to the shore. Cease fire of all the guns and missile batteries. Let them think that they've got the upper hand."
"What about the UAVs?" the PMC commander asked her. He didn't want to do what she was thinking of doing, but if that was what it came down to…
"Self destruct them. There's only a hundred or so of them left out there?"
"Yes," was the response from the radar operator.
"We have plenty more where those came from. Do it."
"Admiral, reports are coming in that the remaining UCAVs and UAVs have just dropped into the sea." The radar blips that described the hostile UAVs suddenly dropped off the screen, to the relief of everyone in the CIC. The missiles that had been fired from the island also dropped off. To everyone in the CIC, that meant one thing; they were starting to have an effect on the Nakanishi Group, and despite their best efforts, they could not hold against the might of the US Military and her allies.
"AWACS, can you confirm this?" COMUSNAVCENT asked the AWACS flying overhead.
"Affirmative, no enemy activity on our end. Looks like our efforts paid off on this one. Jamming on their end has ceased."
Another officer chimed in with his report. "I'm getting visual reports from most of the flights around the area that the SAM batteries and the automated guns are falling silent. Looks like they're all offline."
"This is great news. Move the fleet in closer so that we can get a better handle on this situation."
That order brought some suspicion from some of the other high-ranking officers on the bridge. "Sir, are you sure that's wise? I mean, they could be faking…" the J-2 started, but was cut off by COMUSNAVCENT.
"We need to get this thing resolved and resolved now. And if they do decide to open up on us again, we have more than enough firepower from our guns and CAS planes to effectively terminate all resistance, like what we've just seen here."
The captain of the USS Carl Vinson sighed, but complied with the order. "If you say so. Helm, take us in at half speed. Stop when we've reached forty nautical miles from the coastline."
"Aye-aye, captain." The aircraft carriers, with their huge nuclear reactors, were generating an output of 260000 horsepower and capable of moving the monstrosity at a good 30 knots. They would get to their specified location just as the Marines were to hit the shore, just in time to provide more troops to support the landing. The destroyers would have to move in further, as their guns could not extend out all that far, and almost all of their missiles had been expended at this point. The battle had turned out to be one big fucked up mess, and with a little bit of luck, they could finally put an end to this thing by day's end.
"It looks like the battle is finally turning to our favor," SecDef Freidman said to the President. They were in the situation room below the White House, finally patched up after recent events. A live satellite feed gave real time images to the President and SecDef, along with the Joint Chiefs, who were still in their secure facility.
"Haven't heard you talk for a little bit," the COS said to him, bringing in some coffee.
"There hasn't been much of a need. And besides, I've been trying to organize the entire multinational fleet with Secretary of State, calling up the National Guard and Reserves, and to unfuck this entire country from the grasp of a MNC."
"It could be worse," the COS said, sitting down next to him and getting out his tablet computer. "You could have to fight off an alien invasion."
"Oh ha, ha. Never heard that one before," SecDef retorted, taking a sip of coffee.
"That's enough you two," POTUS interrupted. "Let's get back to the mission at hand."
"It looks like the Marines are about to hit the beaches," SecDef noted, pointing at the north end of the island.
"All callsigns, prepare for landing, out." The LT was certainly very nervous about the landing, and as a consequence, kept announcing how far they were out from the island despite having orders from the Colonel not to do that; it made everyone extremely nervous and plus, the LCAC craftmaster would do that anyway.
"Stop jamming up the fucking radio," GySgt Hartman's legendary patience was starting to become more and more tested with every offhand comment, every minor foulup, and every misplaced piece of gear. It was quickly becoming apparent that this invasion was hastily put together, with the tanks landing supposedly without infantry support, with no provisions set aside for maintaining the operation at hand, poor communication between the group landing at the village and the airport, and just several other things that Hartman had noticed in the scant hour and a half they had been riding on this Amtrack.
"Hey, they stopped firing," LCpl Maxwell noted, seeing more and more aircraft stream overhead. Three Harriers flew by, firing some rockets at the landing site the marines were about to disembark at.
"Hot damn, look at that!" UAVs fell left and right, exploding near the Amtracks as they approached the shoreline.
"Take that you sons of bitches!"
"Oorah!" was the cry that resounded in the early morning air.
"Can the chatter marines!" As much as he appreciated the enthusiasm of his marines, Hartman had to keep them focused, otherwise they would lose track of the mission at hand. The commander of the battalion had addressed the officers and NCOs of the company before they shipped out that morning, after their traditional pre-invasion breakfast of steak and eggs.
"There are no civilians, I repeat, there are no civilians on the island; they've been moved off the island ever since the Nakanishi Group took over operations in 2007. So anything that moves that's not one of ours, you shoot them."
"Is that to be taken as our rules of engagement?" one of the platoon LTs asked the Colonel.
"That is affirmative. ROE is to kill anything that moves out there. Complete and total annihilation of the Nakanishi Group is the order of the day here people."
That brought a sigh of relief from some of the marines; it was very rare in this day and age to have such ROEs like that; the urban based, close quarters battle that was the hallmark of most modern day combat did not allow for a fight that every marine or soldier wished for; a balls to the wall assault on the enemy. No pesky civilians to get in the way, no worries about collateral damage, just you and the enemy. Oo-fucking-rah.
"I wonder how they felt about that," LCpl Maxwell said to the Gunny. Hartman kept his silence, knowing full well that what had transpired in the evacuation of the civilians probably wasn't a good one.
"These three islands here, Abd al Kuri, Samhah, and Darsah, are going to be secured by the Italians and the Indians, but we have no reason to believe that the Nakanishi Group has anything stationed on those islands. All of their defenses are concentrated on Socotra proper."
The Colonel moved on to the specifics of their operation, bringing up a digital map of the island and their area of operations.
"I" company will be landing about two clicks away from us to secure the former airfield here. Your company, "K", will secure this small town here called Qashlu. You are to hold your position until more marines and others from supporting nations arrive in force so that we can secure the underground base that the Nakanishi Group has here."
"What if we discover an entrance to the base?" another one of officers asked the Colonel.
"Do not, I repeat, do not attempt entry into the base. We do not know what's in there, and that part of the operation has been reserved for Force Recon and other SOCOM units."
That brought some stifled groans from the assembly, but the Colonel moved to reassure them.
"Be that as it may, we are expecting heavy resistance. From what, we don't know, but rest assured gentlemen, they will put up resistance when we land. Any questions?"
There were none, per the usual.
"Then good luck gentlemen. Godspeed. Oorah!"
"Oorah!"
"Marines, stay focused!" the Gunny's orders managed to keep the calm. The LCACs were getting very close now…five hundred meters…four hundred…
They closed the distance extremely fast, their 12000 brake horsepower power plant generating a quick forty knots. LCACs were designed specifically for over the horizon (as it was called in military jargon) operations, as in, the Bonhomme Richard would attempt to keep as far away from the shore as possible, while the LCACs rolled in on their cushions of air, powering over the waves and rough surf that was typical of this region for this time of year. There was a slight bump as they hit the shore, and put down their air cushion, lowering themselves down and allowing the Amtracks to disembark with their marines.
"Okay, we're moving the Amtracks out!" Six Amtracks on three LCACs rushed out to the village. It was in bad shape already, having been in a state of disrepair since being abandoned six years prior, but after the bombardment, there wasn't much left. One hundred meters away from the village, they dropped their ramps and the marines poured out.
"Move, move, move!" GySgt Hartman yelled to the two squads of marines in the Amtrack, but they needed no encouragement on their accord. Marines ran toward the village, and got to what little cover there was in the exposed terrain. Other than the Amtracks, there was the infantry…and that was about it. Apparently, the M1A2s wouldn't be moving in until the next wave of LCACs hit the shore; then they could start kicking ass. If they found any enemies at all, that weren't automated guns or SAM emplacements.
"First Platoon!" An LT yelled out to a couple of squads that had flopped down in cover near the village. "Keep advancing toward the village!"
GySgt Hartman's job was more an observer position, since a person of his rank would more behind a desk or training other marines, but that didn't mean he hadn't lost it.
"LT," he said to the officer in charge. "I'll go up with 1st squad and try to clear out those houses on the right there."
"Right, I'm sure they could use the help." Hartman wasn't quite sure if that comment was supposed to be sarcastic or he was just stating that they actually needed his help. Nonetheless, he jogged a bit quicker to find LCpl Maxwell clearing out a dilapidated house.
"Clear!" A fire team piled out of the house and moved on, with the Lance Corporal hefting his newly issued M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, a replacement for the M249 that were getting old and worn down after years of use in Iraq and Afghanistan. It didn't provide as much firepower that the M249 did, but it was considerably more accurate and was built in mind for the close in combat role of modern warfare.
"How are you doing, Lance Corporal?" he asked him as they came back from securing another house.
The young Marine nodded his reply. "Doing good Gunny. Glad to be off that fucking boat and doing our jobs, oorah."
"I think we can all say the ride on that tub was not a fun one," Hartman replied. "Keep up the good work, Marine."
The village of Qashlu was quickly captured in a matter of minutes; it wasn't a large town at all, with a couple of dozen houses in sum that made up the place. Marines found remmants of their previous owners; a couple of stray goats, some dolls, clothing, untended gardens…it was a chilling reminder of the people who had been forcibly evicted from this place.
A couple of SH-60s escorted by AH-1Zs buzzed overhead, headed toward the airport to drop off their chalks of anxious marines. The marines there of course, would find nothing. Yet.
"The marines are on the shore, with more on the way," one of the PMC operators said to Beryl. "Looks like about two companies worth."
"Let's give them something to think about," Beryl replied. "Have some of the light machine guns open up on them. Draw them out from the shoreline and make sure that they're in the kill zone."
"Watch your sectors!" The sergeant in command of 1st squad was pushing slightly to the southeast of the village, setting up a perimeter for the incoming reinforcements. "Jackson, keep your SAW on the left over there, by those funky looking trees over there. Maxwell, take your fire team and spread out near the road over there." Hartman ran up to the Sergeant, and covered his six while he continued to issue orders.
"Sergeant, what's the situation?" he asked.
The Sergeant replied immediately. "Gunny, I've got my squad spread out near the road here, covering the approach to that road over there. It might be that we could have enemy forces from that direction, but from how things are going right now, I don't think that'll be a problem."
"Understood, keep it up."
Hartman got a call over his radio; it was the colonel in charge of the operation on the Bonhomme Richard.
"Gambit Actual to Gambit 4-2, come in, over."
That was GySgt Hartman's callsign. He reached for his receiver and answered the call. "This is 4-2, send traffic."
"Gambit 4-2, tank support has been delayed. We've run into some problems with loading them back onto the LCACs and it'll take some time to get them up to your position."
"Roger that. Have the other commands been notified?"
"Affirmative, we have notified all commands of this situation, and we are working to get it resolved, break."
There was a slight pause as the Colonel received another report from a staff officer.
"Air support however, is online. A flight of Harriers and Vipers are on standby, callsigns are Romeo 3-1 and Juliet 4-1."
"How fitting," the Gunny muttered under his breath. "Roger Gambit Actual. 4-2, out."
"Gunny." The LT was behind him, talking to Gambit Actual before turning his attention to Hartman. "I've got first platoon guarding this part of the village, and second and third platoons are finishing up their operations in the village. Once they help to establish a perimeter, we're going to advance about five-hundred meters south with the AAVs, just to make sure that those guns are knocked out."
"Sounds good LT." That brought a slight smile from the LT; a compliment from a grizzled marine like the Gunny was a feat unto itself. Hartman did think it was prudent to make sure that all those weapons emplacements in the distance, but he did wish that the armor would hurry up and help support them. Oh well, at least they had the destroyers with their 5inch guns, ready to support any calls for suppressive fire. They were just itching to shoot something that they could (kinda) see, after being hammered by missiles all morning long. He was back with the young Lance Corporal, who was scanning the horizon with his M27.
"Gunny, did we just land on Pandora or something like that?"
"What?"
"Take a look at these trees and plant…thingies."
The Lance Corporal was right. Again, in their haste, the USMC had forgotten to brief the landing troops that Socotra was one of the most alien looking places on the face of the Earth.
"Maybe we'll find aliens here. They're coming out of walls man! Game over!" Maxwell joked, but stopped when the Gunny gave him a stare. Not because it was in bad taste, but because he was about to say that exact same quote, and the Lance Corporal had just stolen it.
"Sorry Gunny," he said sheepishly, embarrassed that he had insulted him.
"Ugh." But Hartman couldn't stay mad for long at the young man; he was just a kid, and they were just trying to make the best out of a pretty crappy situation. His brief frown turned into a slight smile, and he shook his head at Maxwell, who returned the smile.
Suddenly, a burst of machine gun fire resounded about fifty meters from their position, from the funky-looking trees that one of the machine gunners had been stationed by.
"Gambit 4-4, why are you firing?!" The LT screamed over his radio, obviously very upset.
"LT, I thought I saw something near the Amtracks!" was Gambit 4-4's hasty response.
"Knock it off!" The LT tried to sound more important than he really was. "Sergeant, I want you to write that man up for disciplinary action after…"
The sound of more gunfire echoed by the AAVs as they suddenly encountered heavy resistance from…something.
"This is Foxtrot 2-2," an AAV, the "Boomstick", as it was affectionately nicknamed, announced over the radio. "We are taking fire from several hidden bunkers some several hundred meters out." The chatter of automatic fire from several 7.62mm machine guns coming from three bunkers that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere resounded throughout the semi-humid air. The Amtracks returned fire, and walked their 25mm Bushmaster cannons right up to the bunkers.
"This is Foxtrot 2-3," the AAV "Juicy-juice," reported over the radio. "Our cannon fire is not having any effect on the bunkers. Advise, over."
"Damn," the LT cursed. "Okay, Foxtrot 2-2 and 2-3, hold position and continue to engage those bunkers. The rest of you, standby." He switched over to the command frequency. "Gambit Actual, this is Gambit 4-1, we are taking fire from several bunkers and are pinned down near the outskirts of the village. 25 Mike Mike fire is not effective against the bunkers. Advise, over."
The response from Gambit Actual was not very helpful. "Gambit 4-1, keep your unit in position and wait for reinforcements."
"Gambit Actual, I don't think you understand, we're under fire here and the AAVs are not enough. We need something else."
The chatter of gunfire had now increased threefold, and the sound of whistling bullets resounded overhead. The marines kept their heads down, trying to be a small as possible as the AAVs continued their hapless engagement with the machine gun bunkers.
There was a slight pause before Gambit Actual replied. "Okay, Gambit 4-1, do whatever it takes to get rid of those bunkers, but do not engage more than one klick outside the village, over."
"Understood. Out."
It was quickly becoming apparent that resistance was forming, and that there were hidden bunkers everywhere. A single company of marines, no matter how well trained and equipped, was not going to be able to take on all of those bunkers; but then again, it wasn't their job to. They just needed to hold on and wait for reinforcements. Finally, someone got their head on straight, and it was probably the right person for the mission anyway.
"This is Gambit 5-6, I can call in a fire mission and eliminate those bunkers, over." Gambit 5-6 was the FO for the ships stationed some ten kilometers away, and it looked like they were going to need their firepower.
The LT jumped on that chance. "Roger that Gambit 5-6, go ahead and call the fire mission. I'll back the AAVs out, over. Foxtrot 2-2 and 2-3, fall back from your current position and proceed to the village. All units, retreat toward the road and await further instructions. Out."
"The machine spirit sings to me," the driver in the AAV "Juicy juice," quietly commented.
"Man, you've been playing too much of that board game shit," the gunner shot back, before resuming firing at whatever was shooting at him. There was a moment of silence before the driver shouted out something.
"For the god emperor!"
That got a laugh from everyone.
"USS John McCain, over," Gambit 5-6 said over his radio to a ship that was clearly visible in the distance, waiting for any sort of action.
"This is the McCain, waiting for coordinates, over."
"Fire Mission…" the observer said, but was cut off by the Fire Direction Center at CIC on the McCain.
"Standby, we're getting vectoring in several other allied craft."
The INS Mysore, INS Mumbai, two New Delhi class guided missile destroyers, the Lanzhou and Haibou, from the People's Liberation Army Navy ("Army Navy?" was a confusing contradiction that had many newcomers to the international military scene scratching their heads), and a destroyer from the Netherlands, HNLMS De Ruyter. They all possessed massive firepower, with 5inch, 100mm, and 127mm guns ready to rock and roll against any possible threat that the marines on the shore might come up against. Since they were foreign navies, they did not have direct contact with the marines on the ground that needed their help. Rather, they would get instructions from the John McCain, and would then fire at the coordinates provided. It wasn't a great setup, but there hadn't been enough time to get things organized properly so this would have to do for now.
The observer tried again. "McCain, we are under heavy fire from enemy machine gun bunkers, we need a fire mission, over."
"Roger, we're ready on this end."
"Fire Mission, three enemy bunkers, grid reference Zulu Papa, 120949, range…" The observer looked through a laser rangefinder to calculate the distance. "Range, 1500 meters. Fire for effect. Over."
"Gambit 5-6, fire mission, at grid reference Zulu Papa, 120949, range 1500 meters, five rounds on enemy bunkers."
"Affirmative, McCain."
"Shot, over."
"Shot, out."
"Rounds away, standby." The McCain, along with the other ships providing fire support, started to engage their guns.
The thunderous chorus of their rounds soaring through the air was a sweet sound to the men under fire; if the Navy did its' job, then they would have less fighting to do. Of course, that was all part of the fun, seeing the enemy cut to ribbons.
"Rounds are five seconds out."
True to their word, five seconds later, the rounds started impacted around the area that the FO had requested. And of course, they were off target. The FO got back on the radio to adjust fire.
"Adjust fire, 1500 meters, 50 up, 50 right."
"Adjusting fire."
Again, the guns fired, and this time, they were on target.
"McCain, you're right on the money, fire for effect, fire for effect."
"Roger, firing for effect." The shells landed on the bunkers, blowing them up in a spectacular fashion, rocks and debris flying everywhere.
"Hot damn!" LCpl. Maxwell said to the Gunny, who was watching the action go down by one of the AAVs. They had retreated per the LT's orders, and were now waiting by road that was running through the village.
"McCain, this is Gambit 5-6, end of mission, BDA is as follows; three enemy bunkers destroyed with unknown enemy causalities, over."
"Roger Gambit 5-6. We're here if you need us. Out."
The CO for the company, a captain with several OIF tours under his belt, was reorganizing the company so that they could repel any counterattack. "Gambit 4-4, Gambit 4-2, continue to hold position outside the village and await orders. Gambit Actual, out."
"Give me a headcount Gambit 4-1," the Colonel onboard the Bonhomme Richard said to the units on the ground. That just added to the confusion on the ground, as too many officers wanted to micromanage the entire operation. Everyone wanted a piece of the glory, but the resulting mess meant that things were messed up, and it took
"Gambit 4-2, we're fine here. No causalities from the resulting engagement, although I think the Amtracks are going to need a new coat of paint."
That brought a chuckle from the Colonel before he issued new orders.
"All Gambit callsigns, dig in and await further instructions. Gambit Actual, out."
"Alright, dig in guys," the LT commanded his platoon. Out came the collapsible shovels, and some of the marines dragged some abandoned vehicles and other debris to make a makeshift strongpoint along the road that passed through the town.
The other company that had secured the airfield, Pitcher 4-1, 4-2, and 4-3, was doing fine as well. They had not come into contact with anyone, unlike Gambit.
The situation in the CIC for the Nakanishi Group was getting better and better. "Beryl, the marines are digging in and are awaiting further reinforcements," the PMC commander told her. He had been out taking a quick smoking break before coming back to the action.
She nodded at his report. "Well, let's not keep them waiting. What's the status on the nuclear weapons?"
The PMC commander looked at his tablet computer that he carried at his side at all times. "They're being loaded onto the Tomahawks and being fuelled. They'll be ready within an hour."
"With most of the anti-missile ordnance out of the way, they won't stand a chance." She turned back to the monitors. "Launch the second wave of UCAVs, and start up the guns again."
"Gunny, do you see that?" LCpl Maxwell saw several of the disabled guns suddenly start to activate again. They swung toward their direction.
"Oh…oh shit." Hartman got back on his radio and called it in to his LT. "Gambit 4-1, we have a situation here. The guns are reactivating."
"What do you mean, 'reactivating?'" the LT asked, stupidly. Even from his position, one could see that the supposedly out of commission naval guns were starting to power up.
Gunny cursed the fact that he had been stuck with this guy for a commanding officer. A nice guy, out of ROTC, but leading a platoon, he was not.
"LT, we are going to get our asses handed to us if we don't call in a fire mission on those guns on the mountain in front of us."
"Hold on Gambit 4-2, I'm receiving more traffic…" It was the Colonel again, demanding another SITREP. It would be the last one he would get from them.
Three 57mm Bofors guns on the 1500 meter high hill in front of the Marines, and overlooking the town they were occupying in, opened up. They could shoot off 220 rounds a minute, and they did so. They covered the entire approach to the town, the highway, the beachhead…all of it was rocked by deadly shells as they fired from their entrenched and hidden emplacements. The automated firing systems calculated the range, firing solution, and how to program the round to detonate. In this case, since it was mostly light infantry out in the open, with little cover, they were going to airburst most of the rounds, saving some for the AAVs. One of the guns moved from a left to right solution, firing a round every couple of meters or so, raking the killzone that it had been assigned. Another gun moved from a right to left solution, doing the same thing. And the third gun limited its firing radius to a twenty-five degree arc, blanketing everything within that area with its rounds. The other two guns would switch over to that solution, after they had raked the entire beachhead with rounds.
Gunny Hartman had never been in that sort of situation before. Sure, he'd been under fire, of course, but this was…unbelievable. The air was sucked right out his lungs as he dived for cover beneath some of the roadblocks that the marines had set up earlier, to defend against ground attacks. But this was too much. He looked up, and saw the young marine, LCpl. Maxwell, get obliterated into a thousand different pieces as a round landed nearby, shredding the poor man. He never stood a chance, and never felt any pain. At least that was the better way to go.
The same story befell the rest of the company in Qashlu. They were exposed, out in the open, and despite their preparations, they were destroyed by the mountain of lead that was pouring down on their positions. In thirty seconds, the entire company was dead or dying. The LT had his head severed completely off, while his body provided the only shield for his radioman, who had taken over a dozen or so fragments in his body. He bled out in a scant few minutes.
"This is Gambit 5-2, we need all the FUCKING fire we can get on those guns!" The FO was in one of the AAVs, and they had provided some protection from the deadly rain of shrapnel that had killed the rest of the company.
The USS John McCain didn't need coordinates at this point; they saw those guns opening up, and immediately initiated counterbattery fire as determined by radar sensing the distance and speed as which they fired their rounds from.
"Gambit 5-2, we are firing, danger close," the CIC on the USS John McCain said to the FO. Within 1500 meters was considered "danger close" for 5 inch guns.
"Just knock out those goddamned guns!" was the FO's last message. A 57mm shell, programmed to defeat armor this time, detonated near the AAV he was in, and blew it up.
There were five more ships coming in to fire upon the gun emplacements, and they engaged at will.
Shell splashes appeared all around them as the guns now trained on the ships trying to take them out. The USS John McCain fired back, but they only had one 5inch gun, and all of their missiles were gone after launching them to support the landing.
"Captain, they're launching more UCAVs!" an operator in the CIC of the USS John McCain reported. The ships could watch helplessly as more UAVs and UCAVs poured out of hangers from the mountain range, ready to engage more ships and planes in the air. A couple of the ships fired off the last of their anti-air missiles, and a couple more UCAVs went down when the CIWS on various ships opened fire. But there were too many of them, and they started to engage the air cover at will.
Several dozen of them sped northwards, looking for targets of opportunity.
"Vega lead, you are cleared for refueling."
"About fucking time." The flight of Canadian CF-18s that had been on the attack over the island was refueling by a KC-135 loitering some hundred or so miles to the north of the battle. All that attacking and evading drained tanks extremely fast, and even the KC-135 was starting to run low on the 200,000 pounds (31,275 gallons/118,388 liters) worth of fuel that it carried. They were part of the 409th Tactical Squadron of the Royal Canadian Air Force, having been lucky enough to be stuck out in the Middle East training with the Americans when the terrorists struck their own base in Alberta, causing massive damage to their headquarters and destroying three or four CF-18s before being driven off.
"Hey," one of the pilots mocked to his flight lead. "You sprayed all of your dammed cannon fire all over the place! Now that's a bad miss!"
"Shut up, Gumshoe," the flight lead replied, giving him the finger. "Those fucking UCAVs jumped us."
"Yeah, sure, excuses," Gumshoe replied.
The KC-135 fuel operator interrupted their conversation. "Vega-lead, fuelling complete."
Vega lead looked at his instruments and saw that whoever was giving out the fuel here was being really stingy.
"Golf-Foxtrot Five, can't you give me any more fuel to get back to base?" he asked.
"That's a negative Vega lead, we're running low as it is, over."
"Fuck," Vega-lead swore. He forgot to stop transmitting to the tanker though.
"Didn't catch that Vega lead, over," was the calm response from the KC-135.
"Uh, it's nothing. Vega lead, disengaging." The CF-18 released itself from the fueling hose, and backed away from the KC-135, allowing the next plane to come up to refuel.
"Your turn, Twintails." The second plane in the flight came up behind Vega Lead and started the refueling process.
"Roger."
As they waited for her to refuel, they chatted idly about the video games they were playing as of late. "So, did you ever finish that Zombi U game?" Gumshoe asked Vega lead.
He shook her head. "Nah, I had to leave. Supposedly, I was hogging up the game room all of the time."
"Well, when we get back to base, and I mean, our real base, we can finish that off."
"What about me?" Twintails asked, looking at a small gash in her left wing that had been caused by a missile missing her by millimeters.
"You can play to. Even though you are a girl," Gumshoe joked.
"Oh haha, very funny Gumshoe. Tell me the reason you and Butterfingers over there got your callsigns, again…hmm?"
That shut him up. "Yeah…about that."
"Hey, I'm fueling here!" the fourth plane in the flight, callsign "Butterfingers", said.
The four plane flight finally got their fuel and headed back toward their base in Yemen.
"Sounds like they finally got that stupid island under control," Twintails said over her radio.
"It's about frickin time they got the place sanitized," Butterfingers sighed. "I'm just glad we could get out of there and back home, eh?"
"Yeah, but we'll be right back out there," Vega flight lead said to the rest of them. "Alright, let's RTB and make sure we're ready to get out of…" A bleeping on his instrument panel alerted everyone to the launch of missiles.
"Shit, missile spike!" Twintails jerked her CF-18 to the left and did a series of loops and turns to lose the missile lock. "Did anyone see them?!"
"There! At our six." Vega lead turned his head around and saw a mass of UCAVs flying toward his position. He also spotted the lumbering KC-135 slowly getting out of its holding pattern and away from the engagement. Vega lead quickly thought of something that would help the KC-135 get away from those UCAVs.
"Golf-Foxtrot Five, we'll cover for your escape on vector 025, over."
"Roger that Vega lead. Thanks, out." Golf-Foxtrot Five dove for the deck and powered out of there; due to its diminished fuel load, it would successfully make it out of there and back to base.
"Fuck it, all planes, turn to engage."
The other members of the flight thought that was a very bad idea. "Captain, I'm down to a couple hundred cannon and no missiles," Twintails said over the radio.
"Same," was the response from Butterfingers.
"We can't fight against these many bandits," Gumshoe said to the flight lead. "But we'll follow your orders."
Vega lead took in a deep breath, knowing that this was a very bad idea. "Cover the KC-135. That's my order."
"Roger," was the response of Twintails. The CF-18s hit their afterburners and powered toward the advancing UCAVs.
"Vega, Fox two." Vega lead fired his last remaining Sidewinder and turned away to engage three more UCAVs with his cannon. The Sidewinder hit home and obliterated three UCAVs, and he got the other three with his cannon. But that was it; the computer read that he was completely out of ordnance.
"Vega lead, Winchester, Winchester," he reported over his radio. Soon, the other three members of the flight echoed his communication.
"Twintails, Winchester."
"Gumshoe, Winchester."
"Butterfingers, Winchester."
That was not a good thing to hear, especially in a dogfight. Vega lead figured that he had bought the KC-135 enough time and ordered the rest of the flight to bugger out of there. But it was too late for them. As the flight tried to fly away, the remaining UCAVs, sensing weakness, swarmed in and overwhelmed the flight of four planes.
"I've got nine UCAVs on my tail!" Butterfingers screamed into his radio. It was the last thing he said before he was blotted out of the sky in a flurry of missiles.
"Goddamn! Where did those come from?!" Gumshoe shouted out before he too, was hit by missiles.
"I'm hit, I'm hit!" Gumshoe's plane spun wildly out of control, heading down toward the sea. He ejected, but only barely. The plane exploded behind him, leaving the pilot to float down toward the ocean.
"Ah, fuck!" Twintails' CF-18 was targeted now by twenty or so UCAVs, and one after the other, they fired missiles at her plane. She jinked back and forth, but it was a futile gesture. The plane blew up in the air, obliterating her.
"No!" Vega lead was the last remaining member of the flight. "AWACS, This is Vega lead, my flight's been wiped out, I need help here ASAP!" He hit the afterburner and tried to get out of there, but there were too many UCAVs.
"Say again Vega lead," the AWACS controller was trying to keep up with a thousand different calls for help, and Vega's one just got lost in the shuffle.
"I need help out here!" was the last recorded transmission from Vega flight. The entire Canadian flight was wiped from the screen, like so many other squadrons that day. The battle continued on, regardless.
"Anybody, respond!" Gunny Hartman was all by himself. The platoon that had been covering the road had been completely wiped out by the sudden artillery barrage. There was no one left; bits and pieces of what used to be Marines were now scattered everywhere. The AAVs were smoldering ruins. It was the same story from around the airfield; even more exposed than the units at Qashlu, they were slaughtered to the man as shells riddled their positions. An unlucky AH-1Z was hit by the fire and was sent spiraling down to the ground, exploding and killing both the pilot and the WSO.
"Anyone!" The radio was silent. Whatever was going on with the communications situation, it was not good. He heard some more shells whizz overhead, and heard their detonations off in the distance. Whatever they were doing, they certainly thought they had wiped out all the Marines here, and they were right. There was no more "I" company; it was just himself and his M16A4.
"Fuck." Hartman crawled out from underneath the pile of debris that he had hidden under, and looked around him. The destruction of the Marine company was complete; not a soul moved after the hail of shells had rained down on them.
As Hartman looked around the carnage around him, he thought that he could hear a slight whirring sound. It was hard to hear over the booming of the naval guns and the roar of aircraft, but it was there, although fading in and out nonetheless.
"What is that?" he muttered to himself.
The slight whirring sound came back; it sounded like a small vehicle was approaching. Hartman peered from behind the destroyed AAVs, and saw several boxy looking things approaching him.
"Oh fuck…what the fuck are these things…?" he muttered to himself. "They don't look…"
One of them fired off a grenade from its side, and detonated near where Gunny Hartman was standing. He felt a flash of pain in his side, and stifled a yelp in anger at the fact that he had been hit.
"Vampire!" That familiar call went out again in the Vinson's CIC. Exhausted commanders tried to vector in what remaining anti-air missiles they could against the targets, but it was to no avail. The CIWS guns could only do so much, and the island seemed to have an unlimited supply of missiles.
It didn't look good. On the radar screens, everyone could see that a large portion of the missiles were headed toward them. "Sir, there are fifty missiles incoming toward the Vinson!" a staff officer pointed out.
In the distant outliers of the southern fleet, the captain of the JMSDF Destroyer Murasame, the one who hours earlier had let the SAILOR team off of his ship, saw the predicament that the Vinson was in. He knew that everyone distrusted them, he knew that they were being marginalized and put out to pasture, but this was war, and well, the Nakanishi Group had ceased to be a Japanese institution the moment they had started down this dark and dastardly path. The Captain of the Murasame knew what he must do. Duty demanded it.
He reached for his radio. "This is the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force Destroyer Murasame," he said. "USS Vinson, we'll cover you."
That took the captain of the Vinson off guard for a second. "Murasame, what do you mean, over?" But the Captain of the Murasame did not respond.
COMUSNAVCENT looked at the TV screens that showed the outside world to them.
"What are they doing…?" COMUSNAVCENT's J-2 asked.
The Murasame moved from her position on the outside of the fleet toward the front of them. She powered on all of her electronic warfare equipment, ramped up her radar output and in general, made herself a massive target. From the output on the radar, it looked like she was an aircraft carrier unto herself; the missiles changed targets accordingly.
The Captain reached for the public address intercom, and gave his final order out to the crew. "This is the Captain of the Murasame. All hands, abandon ship. I say again, all hands, abandon ship."
"What?" one of the sailors in the boiler room said out loud. "We've barely suffered any damage."
The captain repeated the order one last time. "This is a final order. Abandon ship."
"Well, alright then…" The crew, and most of the officers dove overboard or took boats. Most of them made it off, but some were still aboard when the missiles struck home.
The XO and the Captain stayed behind, knowing what fate had in store for them. He gave out one last radio message before succumbing to his destiny. "We sacrifice ourselves to show that we are not the enemy. Good luck and May you all prosper for 10,000 years."
Fifty missiles swarmed in on the lucrative target, not knowing it was simply a small(er) vessel offering herself up in sacrifice. The automated CIWS guns managed to get ten of them, a near record for that many incoming missiles, but that wasn't the point of the mission now; now it was time for the Murasame to sacrifice herself. The first two missiles hit the bridge and killed the Captain and XO in a blink of an eye. The rest of the missiles riddled the ship from bow to stern, and completely destroyed it. The massive explosion could be seen from the Vinson's CIC, where it was broadcast on cameras.
"My god…" COMUSNAVCENT slumped down in his seat, humbled by the sacrifice. He knew why the Japanese ship had been placed on the outliers of the fleet. No one trusted them anymore, but they in turn had showed them how wrong they had been. For a moment, COMUSNAVCENT's mind went blank, overcome by the might of the responsibilities that he was undertaking.
Thankfully, he had people to snap him out of it. Literally.
"Hey…hey!" His J-2 snapped his fingers in front of his face to get him back to reality. "Admiral, please, we must continue."
"Yes…of course." COMUSNAVCENT got himself out of the chair and got back to commanding.
Gunny Hartman looked at the piece of shrapnel in his left thigh. It was bleeding, but not too much. He reached for a first aid kit that had been recently issued to him. Inside the package, was a small, one ounce tube of gel, marked "Healing Solution, Mark I." He put it on the wound, and it healed up immediately. It was still a bit sore, but he could keep moving now.
He wondered how much it cost, but then again, this wasn't the time to be thinking about such things. Hartman peeked around the corner of the AAV he had been hiding behind, and saw that the three robot thingies were still confused about where he was. Perhaps they weren't the cutting edge of technology after all. Well, time to hit back.
"How do you like me NOW!" he screamed out, and fired his M203 launcher at one of the UGVs. It exploded, sending shrapnel and pieces of its frame everywhere. Another UGV lumbered toward him, the guns on its sides blazing away. Hartman ducked back down and reloaded the M203, letting the empty grenade casing fall out and replacing a new one in the chamber. He swung around again and fired off another grenade, hitting the remaining UGVs and destroying them. It took him a moment to realize that someone was trying to reach him over the radio.
"Is anybody there?!" Gambit Actual's voice came over his radio.
"Hello! This is Gambit 4-2, I am under fire, and I need immediate assistance, over!"
"Gambit 4-2, what is your unit status?" The Colonel on the Bonhomme Richard had been desperately trying to get in contact with anyone on the island, and this was the first person who had responded to his calls.
"Sir, the entire company is wiped out, we need those naval guns taken out, or else they'll keep pounding landing forces from the high ground." His eyes flickered around, looking for more advancing enemies.
"Say again 4-2, you're breaking up." The electronic jamming was back in force, and much to the detriment toward their communications.
"Goddammit Gambit Actual, the entire company got fucked up by those naval guns! I need a fire mission on those positions!"
"Standby 4-2, we're trying to…" Hartman cursed that command was dicking about, where he was about to get taken out by some stupid robots. He could see ten more of them advancing toward his position, lumbering over the rough terrain as they continued their attack pattern. Hartman dropped the radio receiver, ducked out of his position again and fired off another grenade. It detonated about 200 meters away, destroying another UGV.
A voice over the radio snapped him out of his combat trance.
"This is the USS John McCain, we have your signal, send for fire mission, over."
Gunny Hartman picked up the receiver he had thrown on the ground.
He also got out a basic map that had been provided to all of the senior NCOs and officers before the mission had begun, along with a GPS locator. He found his position and the position he wanted the fire mission. It was less than 1500 meters away, which for the 5 inch guns on the McCain and the other ships, would qualify for a "danger close" fire mission.
The Gunny took a breath in, a dull pain in his side reminding him that he had been hit, once again.
"Gambit 4-2, fire mission, at Zulu Papa 113949, danger close, over."
The CIC confirmed the transmission from Gambit 4-2, and inputted the coordinates into their firing solution.
"Roger that, I need everything that you can put on that position. I have enemy…uh…unmanned ground vehicles and naval guns that are firing at both my position and yours, over."
"Roger, Gambit 4-2, we're going to engage. Keep your head down, out."
Again, the McCain coordinated with the other ships in the area to completely blanket the coordinates with naval gunfire.
"Shot, over."
"Shot, out."
Like the fire mission earlier, they landed with great effect on the enemy UGVs. Unlike the last one though, there were more than just a few bunkers to be taken out. More and more UGVs started to pop out, and lumbered toward Gambit 4-2's position.
"Walk the fire in another fifty meters!" Hartman screamed into his radio. The McCain responded, their gun pumping out high explosive rounds one every five seconds, as fast as the gunnery system could load and fire. They fell closer and closer to the Gunnery Sergeant's position, each explosion rattling the ground around him. The UGVs kept coming…where they were coming out of, he did not know.
"Walk it in another fifty meters!" he yelled again. The fire was getting so close now. The explosions from the bursting shells kept sucking the air out of his lungs, which burned for more oxygen to keep his battered body working for a couple more minutes.
The UGVs still advanced. Hartman was sure that he had destroyed at least fifty of them, but they kept popping out of nowhere, lumbering their way toward his position by the destroyed AAV. The situation was getting very desperate, and there was but one last thing that the Gunny Sergeant could do in this situation.
"Put the fire right on my position!"
The fire control officer in the CIC hesitated for a second. "Confirm, you want the fire on your…"
"Just do it!" Hartman screamed for the last time in the radio. He dropped the receiver and started firing with his M16A4 at the nearest UGV. It sputtered to a halt before it was blown apart by a 100mm naval shell.
"Come on, you bastards!" He loaded another grenade into his M203 and fired it off. Yet another UGV flew apart, disintegrated by the grenade.
From the French ship F710 La Fayette, another 100mm shell was loaded into the gun and fired. It flew out of the gun at 855 meters per second, arching upward and taking about 15 seconds to cover the thirteen kilometers from it to Gunny Hartman's position.
He knew the risks. He knew that calling in an artillery strike, even in a "danger close" situation could lead to a stray round landing on a friendly position, resulting in casualties.
Gunnery Sergeant Johan Hartman died a Marine's death, facing down the enemy, firing his weapon accurately and efficiently, taking down as many as he could. The fire mission lasted for a few more seconds before the McCain asked the other ships to cease fire.
Suddenly, all activity on the island stopped again. And this time, it was for real; the silence over the island was unbelievable for a second before people started chatting over the radio again. Smoke of destroyed planes, UGVs, naval guns, and other materiel wafted toward the sky, almost blanketing the area in a dark haze.
"What the hell is going on?" COMUSNAVCENT asked around the CIC of the Vinson. "Somebody please give me a SITREP!"
"Sir, there's nothing going on," was the answer from almost all of the officers there.
"I don't think it's a trap either," the J-2 said to COMUSNAVCENT. "They wouldn't try that again, and we're receiving reports that some of the Nakanishi personnel are fleeing the complex."
"Well, that's certainly…certainly good news, I guess." COMUSNAVCENT continued to observe the "battle" on the radar screens and TV monitors, but from the way things were going, there really wasn't any activity from the Nakanishi emplacements.
"Warwolf flight, status." AWACS was finally getting around to see what was the fate of the air interdiction forces. From the blips on their screens, it wasn't looking good.
"Warwolf here. We've got one plane limping back to a civilian airport in Yemen, and we're all almost out of munitions, over."
"Confirmed Warwolf Flight, uh, standby." One of the AWACS controllers looked at his radar screen to see the fate of Cipher, the plane that had been hit during the fight.
"Warwolf, Cipher made it Sana'a International Airport, and is being looked after by the local military forces there, over."
That brought a sigh of relief to the remaining planes of Warwolf flight.
"Thank god," Wardog said over her radio. "I'd thought he'd never make it back with that one wing."
"Me too," Garuda said. "He'll be up in the sky in no time."
"We're running a bit low on fuel, and we'll have go for a refueling and rearming fairly soon," Mobius continued. "That's all, AWACS. Out."
"Understood Warwolf, out." There was a pause while they communicated with some other flights, before turning their attention to Shark flight.
"Shark flight, status."
It wasn't so good for Shark flight.
"AWACS, we've lost Shark 4-3. Plane took a direct hit and exploded. We're down to no missiles, a couple hundred 20 mike mike, and almost bingo fuel."
Shark 4-6 didn't have much to say after that.
"Understood Shark flight. We'll get someone on station to take over for your patrol. Out."
"Sorry, Shark 4-6," Mobius said over the radio.
"Don't be. That's what we're here to do." Even though Shark 4-6's response was terse, it simply reflected the reality of the situation. Two of his charges were dead, but that was the nature of war. It was bound to happen. It had been so long since anyone had been shot down in air to air combat, and to be shot down by a piece of junk drone, that didn't have a pilot and could be easily replaced…it just wasn't fair. Fucking drones.
Warwolf and Shark flights flew for a couple of minutes before the silence was interrupted by Mobius.
"Has anyone seen my wingman? I'm sure he's in a helluva fix…" Mobius slowly sang, remembering a song from the fighter band "Dos Gringos," immensely popular with fliers in all the branches.
"…I have scanned all through the skies, but I needn't use my eyes," Shark 4-6 continued, something in his eye. He was sure that it was some dust or debris. Totally not tears. Nope. He was a lot more stoic than that…was he?
"…cause that fucker only flies at my dead six…" Wardog chimed in. They got to the main part of the song; it wasn't a very long one, but it was certainly memorable to the fliers.
"So him, him, fuck him, what a way to go," the two flights sang together.
"But at least he's not jamming up the fucking radio," Shark 4-2 and Shark 4-4, plus their WSOs bellowed out.
"Is he blind or did he split?" Garuda quietly added, drowned out by the other flyers.
"I don't give a fucking shit," Shark 4-6 added.
"It's all the more glory for me," Mobius ended. "Goddamn. Goddamn," he said, shaking his head.
They sure had a different way of honoring their fallen comrades. But such was the fighter culture.
"Dragon 1-1 to AWACS, come in, over." The AC-130U pilot had been loitering for what seemed for hours, and all that tension in the air wasn't helping to pass the time either.
"This is AWACS."
"We're on approach vector 134, is the airspace clear over the AO, over?"
"That's affirmative, we'll be bringing you in and have an air escort, over." The AWACS directed a couple of Saudi Arabian F-15Ds to their position, and after being kept out of the battle after some dallying about from high command, the King himself had personally ordered their engagement in the battle. That would certainly help with the way things were going now.
"Thanks, out." The AC-130U had been on standby for a couple of hours now, since the UCAVs had put a massive dent in everyone's plans for that day. A gunship was no use to anyone in a million pieces at the bottom of the Gulf of Aden.
"Fucking A man," the FCO said to the pilot. "It's about time they let us in there."
"Sounds like they were taking a beating," the pilot said back to her. "I don't know what to make of it, but one thing's for sure, I'm glad I'm not flying CAP."
The AC-130U continued its flight toward Socotra, ready to devastate anything in its path.