Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no ownership over them.
In A Blaze of Glory (Soldier)
Chapter 5: The Welcoming Party
"Any military commander who is honest will admit he makes mistakes in the application of military power."— Robert McNamara
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
3 October 2010
0949 hrs.
My investigative senses had been tingling since I returned to my room in the crew quarters after the round of billiards with Pops last week, but they'd already gone numb when I woke up to another sunny day in paradise.
One of the few sites that managed to squeak through the OADF's strict filter was that of a reverse image search. There I could upload an image and the site could figure out where it came from - or at least what it resembled. The site at least accepted a crude touchpad sketch from memory of the K-logo I found on the trucks the other day, and what I got seemed to make perfect sense.
Kronus International Security Corporation, often simply referred to as Kronus, was a private military contractor established in 2006 out of the merger of several other PMCs and defense contractors. Kronus' portfolio included a range of logistics, consultation and security projects for the military interests of Osea and its allies, and unlike others in its field its staff hadn't been involved in some disreputable incident with the local population quite yet.
The company was officially headquartered in Bellmond, Cascadia but it also had a major branch in Hartberg in North Osea, literally a couple of hours down the highway from the home of its major affiliate, Sudentor-based weapons manufacturer Grunder Industries. It also owned a training ground in Savannah State, as well as an airfield for pilot training in Mansbach in the Principality of Belka.
Kronus' affiliation along with its portfolio certainly put it on course to be the single largest private military contractor in the world by the beginning of next year.
I sighed as I looked back at my screen, where I'd drawn up a little virtual flowchart for the war, much like a police investigation's index card board. Kronus and its bases lay to one side, and the Yuktobanian 'chain of command' on the other,
At that point, I leaned forward a little in my seat and stared into the entry for the "Man In The Tropical Shirt," so ominously named. I hadn't been able to get a picture of him for fear of sudden extraordinary rendition, but I remembered his cold face and sunglasses very well. The man and most of the Kronus contractors left the island the previous evening, leaving only a pair of glorified security guards to watch over the mysterious Hangar D.
Unfortunately for me, the Man In The Tropical Shirt and the connection to the former South Belkan weapons magnate was the end of that lead. The closest Kronus presence to Yuktobania was several thousand miles away in Clavistan, where they had been working since a disgraced company they acquired left in 2007. Nord Belka itself had been a client state of the UYR for a few years after the war, but only really gained independence after the Yuktobanian troops assigned there as part of ANMIBEL were forced to return home to deal with the aftermath of Ulysses.
After that, the void was as distinct as the gap between state socialism and a military that operated on the whim of the free market.
I continued to stare into that void. For some reason, the sound of air raid sirens began to play in my head, akin to that of the week before the Kronus operatives' arrivals. And I kept focusing on that gap until my concentration was shattered by the dull thuds of knocking on the door. I jumped in my seat, thinking that the Man in the Tropical Suit had watched me through my laptop's webcam.
"Mr. Genette?" came a slightly panicked call from the other side of the room.
I turned in my seat, freezing almost twisted as I spotted an MP in the opened doorway. From the way he was keeping his assault rifle pointed down, he definitely wasn't here to arrest me for snooping.
"Y...yeah?"
"We need you to evacuate the building. The island is under attack again."
I quickly slapped the laptop shut. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, the landing craft should be here in about 20 minutes if our heroes aren't able to catch up." The MP then gestured for me to come with him. "Come on, we need to get you to safer shelter, fast."
"Uh, okay." I quickly removed the laptop's power cords and tucked it under my arm as I got out of my seat and followed the MP out.
"Come on, the shelter's this way." The MP didn't look back at me as he started jogging down the hallways.
I followed after him, shielding my eyes as I emerged into yet another bright and sunny day punctuated with the almost non-stop din of the base's jets scrambling to take off, and thin pillars of smoke just visible above and beyond the hangars from missile hits.
"...Are they sending up the nuggets too?"
"Yeah. Base Commander's orders. The Yukes are already shelling our coastal defenses. C'mon, let's go."
The rather blunt reference to Colonel Perrault was tainted with what sounded like significant doubt. Or rather, significant and justified doubt. Even though the charge against the fleet would be led by the Wardogs, whatever had destroyed the Osean Third Fleet the week before must have been ready for them out there.
I could only hope that they were ready in return.
2LT Ricardo Villa
3000 feet above and 23 miles W of Sand Island, Osea
0955 hrs
"Uh...er...captain?"
"Yeah?"
"If we make it back alive, I want to ask you something...if that's all right."
"Sure Shadow. We'll have plenty of time."
"Thanks. It's just something I need to know."
"This is Sand Island Base Defense! Enemy amphibious force intercepted at the coastline!"
"Oh great... here we go."
"Enemy landing craft and attack helos dead ahead," radioed Edge. "Captain, what's our strategy?"
"Right. 1-1 to wing, it's time for a little air-to-ground training. Focus on the hovercraft and LPDs, we'll take out the escort frigates. Uh...wing leaders, keep those rookies safe. Priority to anybody that tries to shoot them down."
This was it. The final battle to end all battles. Or at least that's how they hyped it.
The morning after we got back from the space center, Colonel Perrault had every one of us - nuggets and all - rudely awakened from our well-deserved slumber. Judging from the way he seemed extra grumpy at the sight of us when we got into the briefing room, one would think that we'd brought the Yukes straight to his front door.
To be fair though, that was pretty much what we did.
Thanks to us, the Yukes knew better than to take Sand Island by air. So now they figured they'd take us on by air, sea, and land.
Specifically, the Red Navy had a sizable flotilla of landing craft heading straight toward us, backed up by the usual small horde of escorts. The smaller first batch had already landed and were attempting to secure the beachhead for their horde of backup.
Because they knew what they were going up against, they also reinforced that horde with the combined naval power of nothing less than their three flagships of their Pacific Fleet. The Admirals Aristov, Brigansky and Nevzorov had brought all their guns and carrier-based Fulcrums, packing extra firepower to make their boats feel less like the lambs to our slaughter.
"Wardog 2, roger."
"3 copies." For what were effectively our subordinates, they sure didn't seem envious about being bossed around. Maybe Hamilton or Perrault had chewed them out before then.
"4-1 to 1-1. What about the Admirals?"
"...Thunderhead to 4-1. Enemy aircraft from Aristov ETA 7 minutes."
"That's plenty of time, guys. Leave 'em to us. Edge, stay with me and we'll take the ones to starboard. Chopper, guess Grimm's all yours for port side."
"Rooooger that, Cap'n," Chopper replied with disturbing enthusiasm. "Enjoy prying him offa 4-1 there!"
"Oh I will, baby," I replied in an intentionally low tone of voice as I squinted through my HMD to spot the gray dots growing larger over the horizon.
"This is Colonel Perrault at Base command. Do everything in your power to stop them! If you can't protect this island, what'll we tell our great heroes in the sky?"
"Great heroes? What's with him? It's like a completely different man."
"That's why he's the FFIC, Grimm. Gotta let out all that hot air somehow. But don't tell him that."
Not that we were feeling much different. Today, the four of us were officially Wardogs 1-1 to 1-4 because the FFIC had decided to throw the nuggets at them too. And a week was plenty of time for the Scinfaxi to float halfway across the Ceres and drop its multiple warhead missiles right on top of us as soon as it knew its fleet wasn't under it.
We could only take solace in the fact that the base had repeatedly promised backup from the mainland, though given how close we were to the Reds than anybody else we had no guarantee that they would get there before we died. For all we knew they could have the Lightning Leviathans ready to sink the megasub once it took care of us. And the MDF cordon around the island had actually left the night before, meaning right now they were busy turning right the fuck around.
Of course, it wasn't that we weren't prepared to take them on ourselves. Our F-16s had been fitted with PAVEWAY bombs that were stronger than the ones on the F-5s we used to fly, along with the Aurelian-designed and Not-North-Osean-Built-For-Once LITENING targeting pods to make sure they actually hit whatever we fired them at.
It would make our day immeasurably better if we could get them to work after recalling our 5-minute PAVEWAY refresher on the way out.
"We got a formation of light frigates at our two o'clock, Edge," I began, before pressing a few buttons on the console. "LITENING system active."
"Roger. Let's time our attacks."
"We've only got six of these, make 'em count."
"Makes you wish you were in a video game, don't it?" Chopper joked.
"Then I'd feel less guilty about all the people inside these boats," I muttered.
"Blaze, seriously, that's getting annoying." Edge then snapped back, with a lot more bite than before.
"Hey, they're still trying to kill us, okay? God damn..."
And hell, if I was going to go down, I wasn't going to go alone.
Second Lieutenant Damien Madison was flying Number 4-4 to one of the few ex-nuggets that survived the raid the week before. He didn't look like much...hell, I couldn't tell if he was a boy or a girl given that he looked more feminine than Edge. But he had earned the moniker of Shadow for his ability to follow his instructor's paths almost to a T - and it fit him well.
He had followed me around Heierlark after I got back to the fireplace like a little lost puppy, wanting to hear more of my admittedly tiny library of escapades. And if Chopper was going to take Grimm for himself then maybe I had the right to adopt an innocent little nugget to have my way with.
As it were. The poor kid actually had to learn to fire once he acquired his target. And I had to wait for one of my teammates to get killed so I could take him from Wardog 2-1.
That was a thought I would come to regret.
The screen on the left of my console switched to a targeting camera as I activated the LITENING guidance system, putting a little smile on my face.
I came out of a world where FLIR was a nifty-looking type of stereophonic quadrovision goggles used when fragging baddies from a Spooky's gunsights in a video game. Now I had the real thing presented on a screen not even a tenth as big as the ones in the houses of the rappers that promoted these games.
It was then I realized how much I could rub in my knowledge of how these things really worked to the gamers who thought they could take on the SEAL Teams after a few rounds of noob-tubing and teabagging.
But that would be a topic for another fireside chat. I adjusted the screen to align its aim on the first escort ship in the formation. I practically kept the F-16 in cruise control, with the ironic knowledge that the frigates and corvettes would be kept very busy trying to swat our nuggets away from their flock.
"Target acquired, let's see what these PAVEWAYs can do, how copy?"
"Edge, roger. PAVEWAYs hot."
"Stand by for PAVEWAY drop." I could almost feel my F-16 heave from not having to deal with the few hundred pounds of guided explosive that it let out.
The LITENING's guidance system worked like a charm, and two explosions and accompanying plumes of smoke erupted from the first frigate right before we buzzed it.
"Thunderhead to Wardog, confirmed hits on frigate. Guns silenced."
"One down, foxtrot alpha to go." It was a good thing the next boat in line happened to be right in front of me, as I already calibrated the LITENING to strike at the next one. "Stand by for PAVEWAY drop."
Whoever commanded the second boat was starting to figure out what was going on, and had diverted a pair of its 30mm guns toward us in the hope of swatting us away.
"This one's for the McLane," I muttered as I squinted at the LITENING screen to fix my aim before dropping the next bomb.
I rapidly jinked the plane to the side and hit the throttle as soon as I was sure the second PAVEWAY had dropped from my wing. This way I could get a better view of the resulting explosion than the tiny little screen could provide.
One, two, three strikes and the corvette was down for the count. It would have been entertaining had I not realized that I only dropped one bomb.
"Three explosions? I told you to watch your ammo, guys."
"That wasn't me, Blaze," Edge replied with an audible hint of surprise, "Someone's helping us out here."
"Then who-"
"Wardog 1-1, this is 4-1. 4-4 strayed away from the small fry and joined you guys."
A quick glance at my other monitor showed my plane in the center, and what appeared to be two friendly dots marking my tail as we continued onto the third ship in the formation. The glance was only fleeting, as the third one apparently realized that we'd sank the two in front of it and was now aiming one of its missiles at me. As I broke right, one of them continued to follow while I tried to set up another approach.
"1-1 to 4-4. You know you're supposed to shadow with your own flight lead, right?"
"They weren't leaving any for me over there, so I'm stuck with you."
"You serious? Looks like Cap'n Fred taught you guys righ-"
"Missile fired from enemy sub," came that order from Edge I had been dreading, which was then followed by the reply that would've been expected from getting that order.
"...fuck, how did you see that?"
"Submarine missile launch confirmed," added Thunderhead. "Believed to be a burst missile consisting of multiple warheads that separate in mid-air."
"Double fuck," I muttered. "Confirm airburst...range."
The last time a multiple warhead deployment system was actually used during a war was fifteen years ago - and not by the Belkans. Shortly after the signing of the peace treaty that ended the war, a bunch of severely disgruntled pilots from both sides apparently decided to go 'fuck everything' and defected to form some kind of weaponized anarchist commune. The idea would've been laughable even to our own Jefferson City anarchists had they also not acquired the V-2.
The V-2 being, in layman's terms, a giant grenade that used V-1s as shrapnel.
Of course, that black bloc was stopped and the V-2 was destroyed. Didn't stop the Yukes from getting a little inspiration for building their own workers' paradise through a goddamn inferno.
And it certainly didn't leave us with much of a vocabulary to define something that had only seen action for the better part of a week.
"Initial projections of launch route have blast radius at one-two-hundred to fifty-three-hundred."
"So there's a gap underneath this time?" Grimm asked.
"They're not stupid enough to blow up their own fleet," I retorted. "Either we fly up to safety or take our chances between the boats and a fiery place."
"That's an easy choice then!" Chopper replied frantically. "C'mon, you nuggets! Climb!"
"1-1 to Wardog Flight. Ascend to angels five immediately. 2-1, 3-1 and 4-1, cover the escape."
Considering the only ones firing at us were helicopters, this actually looked like it would be a piece of cake. If one of them happened to achieve missile lock, I could tell them exactly which button on the F-5's console would deploy the countermeasures. Other than that it was just a matter of pointing the nose at the sun and hitting the afterburners.
"Wait, we're getting a command override from somewhere. Data Link to A-SAT Targeting System. What the hell is this?"
"Fuck me, I'm not gonna get caught this time!" I growled to myself, pulling back on the flight stick and pointing the F-16 straight up. It didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure one shade of blue from another.
"Now it's counting down by itself. 9...8...7..."
"You'd all better be following or I swear to God-"
"4...3...2...1..."
At the rate I was climbing, I would pass angels six faster than I could count to it on my fingers. If this was how we could avoid the Scinfaxi's wrath, I figured, there was no way they could surprise me.
Of course that was until a bright white line suddenly streaked through the air almost parallel to my plane, leaving my jaw hanging open. I could almost hear a small thud to represent my jaw thumping on the cockpit floor...and as it turned out, it wasn't something I'd heard myself.
"The sky just lit up!"
"Missile vaporized in mid-air!"
"What was that! Did you see that, Kid?"
Only two words came out of my mouth to describe the situation.
"Motherfucking miracles." I said, a clown-like grin spreading across my face under the flight mask.
"Was that the Arkbird?" Edge exclaimed, finally surprised by something.
"Missile destroyed by a laser beam fired from orbit altitude...the Arkbird! We have the Arkbird!"
Like the proverbial pot of gold, the so-called 'bird of peace' fluttered at the other end of this cleansing beam of light. But I was in no mood to call out hypocrisy this time.
All of a sudden, it was as if all of the grudges, all of the money diverted away from rebuilding my hometown and all of the seemingly ornamental pipe dreams they inspired didn't matter one bit. Every suspicion that the Arkbird was simply one big money hole dissipated in the laser's searing heat along with what was left of the ballistic missile.
The one grand motherfucking miracle.
I activated the airbrakes, ignoring every warning and letting my plane stall. I pulled back right before it did, in order to let my F-16 fall gracefully back into the fray like a sport diver about to earn perfect 10s from the judges.
"This is the anti-submarine patrol plane Blue Hound. Submarine detected by sonobuoy. Sound pattern analysis produces a match with the Scinfaxi."
Backup be damned, we had practically found the Scinfaxi. The only thing I figured could have really gone wrong at that point was us running out of ammo before we were assigned to chase it.
Albert Genette
Before I knew it, we had left the crew quarters building firmly behind us toward the motor pool. Being one of the last in the building, neither of us had a ride waiting until we got to safety. That feeling of panic actually made my laptop feel as light as a paperback book as we darted amidst the hangars.
"How much further?" I panted, trying to catch my breath.
"Not long, they'll be here any mo-"
The MP's words dissolved into a scream as his arm rippled, falling to the ground as footsteps approached from the source of the bang heard in the opposite direction.
"You! Put hands in the air!"
I turned to find myself face-to-face with a fully-geared-up Yuktobanian Naval Infantryman and staring straight into the barrel the AK-74 rifle they used as standard issue.
I was now face-to-face with the enemy in battle for the first time in my entire life, and the one thing I hoped for was that my bladder or bowels wouldn't give out before he decided to shoot me then and there.
Without another word I put my hands in the air, one of them still holding the laptop.
The marine gestured again with his gun and shouted at me to "get on the ground," but like the MP before him his threats were suddenly cut off as soon as the figure that suddenly appeared him applied what looked like a tazer to the back of his neck. The marine collapsed to the ground between me and the wounded MP. At that moment anyone else would have figured they were safe.
But I didn't. The man that had knocked the Yuktobanian marine out happened to be the very Man in the Tropical Shirt I had been pondering only moments earlier.
"Come on, the rest of this bastard's brigade won't be far behind." he replied as he then went to help the MP up without even looking at me.
"Hold on...who are you?" I was more surprised at how angry my words sounded than I was when the Naval Infantryman shot my escort.
"There's a time for introductions and now's not that time," he came back, sounding even angrier as he got the MP back on his feet. The MP's side looked fairly mangled but he could still limp faster than most people could walk. "Grab his gun and let's go!"
Despite figuring he would notice if I didn't, I hastily grabbed the fallen AK and clapped it against the laptop, following him with both items held under my arm like books and hoping I didn't misfire before we got to relative safety amidst the trees and foliage by the roads.
"What the hell are you still doing here!" I finally burst out.
"Sweeping up the rest of the mess," he continued, peering around the bushes with a sidearm he'd drawn before tending to the MP's wound. "I've been over at the port area since last night."
The sense the mystery man made about his absence did nothing to quell my fear or anxiety.
Neither did the horizon appearing to light up with a bright flash, followed some moments after by a low rumbling and a sudden breeze.
"Dammit, they couldn't stop it..." The mystery man's cold voice seemed to betray some kind of emotion as he looked through the trees toward the source of the light.
It was probably at least 80 degrees out, but the breeze was almost as cold as the death brought by what had to be a similar kind of explosion to the one over the Narrows last week.
"Stop what?" I didn't want to know the answer to that question, as much as I feared I would soon find that out.
"Come on, our evac's gonna be leaving soon." the mystery man continued, grimacing as he did. "We have to hurry."
I fumbled the stolen AK-74 into something more closely resembling the firing position, feeling myself gulp as the three of us began to make our way toward one of the island's side roads. The rocks and fallen foliage blanketing the roads began to weave their way into the sandals I'd packed for casual base strolling, making me regret not wearing the army-issue boots this morning instead.
But the most disturbing feelings were in my arms, where the AK-74 made contact with my skin and clothes. It was still hard enough for me to comprehend the fact that I now actually held a combat firearm with an intent to kill, even in self-defense.
As I briefly glanced at the mystery man who had ironically become my only chance at survival let alone escape, I wondered exactly what he'd been through - and for how long - to keep as calm as he did right now.
"Looks like the coast is clear for now," the mystery man muttered seemingly to himself as the three of us took cover beside some foliage on the other side of the road. With the heat off, he had taken the time to apply some pressure to the MP's wounds.
I was already busy scanning the perimeter lest the Naval Infantryman's buddies returned, before realizing that I had absolutely no idea what part of the island we were in.
"Okay then...which way do we go?" I then blurted out, before I heard a distant ringing.
"Away from that beam." the mystery man replied with a smirk, before pointing up at the sky.
It was already close to the middle of the day, but the sun was no longer the only shining star.
2LT Ricardo Villa
3 Minutes Earlier
"PAVEWAY out. Boom, baby!"
I never felt more empowered as a person than the few minutes I knew that the Arkbird was protecting us, and that was counting all the ethnic empowerment events that I had in high school.
We had the enemy fleet running scared, and what few troops they could land getting desperate with only the Admirals to back them up. Even better, they had been so confused by our application of extreme firepower that they weren't really able to draw a bead on our nuggets.
"1-1 to flight, gimme a sitrep."
"This is 2-1. 2-4 got dinged a bit but we're doing fine."
"3-1 here. Looks like the ones that are still floating are turning back."
"Oh, no! They're launching more missiles! Number 3, number 4, number 5...!"
"Well dick." I muttered to myself. "That broke my combo."
Clearly all good things had to come to an end. Come to think about it, it was pretty easy for them to figure out that the Arkbird had to recharge its laser every time it fired. But fortunately for me I remembered what I had intended to do only a few minutes earlier when threatened with the exact same thing.
I figured that they would have to throw a pretty big wrench into it to really mess it up.
"Flight of 5 incoming from Aristov, bearing 2-6-5 angels 5 and closing fast."
Which, unfortunately for me, is exactly what they did.
"Shitshitshit guys," I replied, turning to face the bogeys incoming on my radar. "1-1 to wing leaders, get ready to catch these fuckers."
"Incoming missile, evade-" was the last thing out of 4-1's mike before a sudden burst of static. The next announcement from Thunderhead told me exactly why.
"More like angels right-a-fucking-bove us!" Chopper exclaimed. The Fulcrums had probably been on afterburners all this time.
"1-1 to wing, take 'em out, protect those nuggets and get 'em to safety!"
"This is Edge, I'm on it!"
But apart from the wing leaders, they preferred to keep chasing the newbies we'd picked up rather than just shoot them down outright. One little look at my altimeter explained precisely why.
Now I was starting to regret not being suspicious of all the money poured into the Arkbird. If only because I was now angry and hoping in vain that they'd somehow kept the Yukes' laser up there so they could at least destroy more than one missile at once before recharging.
"Missile vaporized in midair."
"They're not gonna destroy all of those missiles at once!" I shouted, trying to distract one of the Fulcrums by running interference. "Bug out of your dogfights and ascend to angels 6!
"This is 4-4, I've got two of 'em on my six! Someone help me!" Shadow sounded almost like a little kid running from jocks trying to take his candy. He was always good at following, which naturally meant his skills amounted to jack shit in leading.
"Blaze- er, captain, we can't risk it!" Grimm shouted.
I would have probably flipped the fuck out through the cacophony of panicked orders now that the Fulcrums had arrived to stir things up. I had already ascended to Angels 7, my body pressed against my seat.
"Fuck me, I'll go save him. Get to safety," I said, before chuckling darkly.
I looped back out of the climb and pulled back into the furball, nudging my F-16 through split-second impulses to find the one nugget pursued by two Fulcrums before I completed a perfect dive into the goddamn ocean. The two bright green blurs streaking to my port side on the HMD were my best guess, my organs pressed against my spine going upward as I pulled up to tail them.
"10 seconds to impact! Eight...Seven..."
Despite the speed, I managed to point my F-16's nose at one of their tailboosters. An almost reflexive burst of cannon fire only dinged them, but it did scare them off his tail.
"Thanks Blaz- I mean 1-1...I mean-" Shadow's plane thankfully hadn't been hit, but it was quivering almost like he was.
"Six...five..."
"Just shut the fuck up and hug the goddamn ocean!"
The next thing I knew my heart almost literally leapt into my mouth as I finished the dive, landing.
"Y-yes, sir!"
"...4...3...2...impact!"
If I had to give credit to the Red Air Force for something, it was that they actually had the capacity to learn. Keeping the nuggets busy until the last second when they could safely get out of harms way was devious as it was fucking clever. I only hoped I had been more clever with Shadow literally behind me - relatively speaking, the one place I shouldn't have been.
The entire explosion and the accompanying supernova occurred above me, my F-16's canopy almost cracking as light and who knew what else what rained down from above.
"2, 3, 4? Shadow, pick up!"
After the explosion, only relative silence.
"This is 4-4...I'm still here!" came a fuzzy reply.
"Holy fuck, you're alive."
"Yeah...the shockwave really rattled the old thing...I don't think I can keep up..."
"Anyone else still responding?"
"3-2 here, Edge helped me to safety. 3-4's here too."
"This is 2-3... I barely made it out and my control panel's going FUBAR. Requesting permission to bug out."
Silence being the perfect opportunity for contemplation between metaphorically shitting my pants at my inevitable demise, I realized there was one thing left to do.
Bartlett was still missing, and if Yuktobania's interrogation techniques were as harsh as believed, he was as good as dead or turned. I wasn't going to bail out here between a furball and a fireball and expect the same treatment.
"Wardog 1-1 to all surviving planes, set course to zero-niner-zero angels ten and bug the fuck out. We'll cover your escape."
"4-4 to 1-1...you sure?"
"I'm not gonna lose you guys."
"...okay, I'll try."
"Second flight of bandits incoming from Aristov, bearing 2-5-0 angels ten," came more wonderful news from the AWACS.
"This is Sand Island Base Defense! Shelling has intensified! We can't hold out much longer!"
"Motherfuck...we had a good run, right guys?" I groaned, chuckling darkly.
"Captain...don't give up!" Grimm begged.
I smirked under my mask. "They'll be fine. Ain't nothing but the Admirals out there."
"Wardog, you have reinforcements incoming. Leviathan is rolling in hot from your three o'clock at angels three, ETA 30 seconds."
"So we'll just try to hold 'em off until then, right?"
"We have no choice. Just weave through the missiles and continue attacking the ships."
"Oh yeah, just weave through the missiles! What are you, nuts!"
"Chill the fuck out, man. We got this. What's another 30 seconds?" I said, as my missile lock warning started to go off. My guess was the Fulcrum I dinged didn't like being reminded he wasn't untouchable, and decided to have his revenge when he found out the Scinfaxi didn't kill me.
I banked a hard left and gunned it to the side of the smoking wrecks of the disabled fleet, hoping I could somehow use them as a giant evasion slalom. The Fulcrum kept up pretty easily though, if only because I happened to be more shaken about than it was - especially after the missile lock warning turned into an incoming missile alarm.
My fingers began scrounging across the control panel for the countermeasure switch practically out of goddamn reflex as I turned around, only to hear the alarm suddenly go dead for a reason I was about to find out.
There was only a fireball where the MiG was last pursuing me - and a radio transmission that essentially told me that whether I had found religion in the last week or the other way around, it certainly wasn't done trying to pay me its dividends.
"Levi 2-5 to Wardog. Looks like we got here just in time."
Being the oft deliverer of sarcasm, I knew it when I heard it, as calm and professional as it sounded. And saw it on my radar. With a new flock of Fulcrums incoming, I also knew when sarcasm wasn't exactly welcome. This was one of those times.
But hell if I wasn't silently thankful for backup.
"Wardog 1-1 to Leviathan..." I replied, not trying too hard to hold it in, "...we got a real Charlie Foxtrot here. Sorry to disappoint you." I muttered as I leveled out, before talking to Chopper. "Here comes the cavalry."
"Yeah, 10 seconds too late." Chopper added. "Told you the Levys were real though."
"Levi 2-5 to flight, you are cleared to go weapons hot. Mop up the rest of the fleet and get the nuggets home safe."
I eyed my radar. Sure enough, there were more friendly markers entering the furball, scattering the Fulcrums while our surviving nuggets fled safely away.
"Wait," Grimm suddenly interjected. "If they're going after the fleet AND protecting the nuggets then what are we going after?"
Before any of us could reply, Grimm got an answer to his question before he'd finished asking in the form of another pillar of God's wrath diving into the ocean close to the horizon as I backed away from the furball.
"...Confirmed hit on Scinfaxi, picking up sounds of main ballast blow."
"Ho-lee shit boys." And here I was thinking that the damn thing had hid behind the Admirals.
"The Scinfaxi is surfacing!"
And yay verily did the hulking metal figure of the Red Navy's most powerful weapon (to my knowledge) break the surface of the infinite blue ahead of me. Even at a distance, I could tell it was much larger than the McLane. How it was able to break the surface so quickly was probably something for the DoD skunkworks to figure out.
I tilted the F-16 to approach it from the side. I was suddenly as curious to get a closer look at what the hell the Yukes had really developed as I was to destroy it. The damn thing was drawing me in like a moth.
Until the green flashes on my HMD warned me I was getting too close to the zapper coils.
"Aircraft launching from enemy submarine!"
In this case, the zapper coils were another swarm of Yak-41 Freestyle VTOLs that began to ascend from the Scinfaxi's inner carrier deck like bees from a hive. I turned up the throttle and fumbled the console to switch to the pair of Sidewinders mounted on my wingtips.
Each of our F-16s carried Sidewinders on our wingtips 'just in case.' Just in case the helicopters got a bead on the nuggets and our cannons couldn't do the job. Just in case we had time to take on the fighters before the burst missile's flash and Levy's arrival.
Third 'just in case' was the charm, with enough distance between my plane and the Freestyles to achieve a missile lock they couldn't simply dodge.
"Roger. Blue Hound, stand by. Wardog, engage the enemy aircraft if you see the opportunity."
"Levy to Wardog. We're still handling the Fulcrums. Take care of the Freestyles and we'll try to help you over there."
"Fuck. Gimme an ammo count guys, if you're out, it's Freestyle duty again."
"This is Grimm, I'm all out."
"I got one," Chopper replied. "I'll help you out with the fighters though."
"Cool," I added, pulling away from the sub to get a good PAVEWAY aim. "Edge, you ready to end this?"
"I've still got two PAVEWAYs. I can help you, Captain," Edge replied.
I continued to boost away from the Freestyle formation, before arming my lone pair of Sidewinders and circling back to face the Scinfaxi at a distance. The Freestyles were already catching up quickly, and once again this looked like I would have some easy kills.
"Enemy sub launching burst missile, brace for impact."
"Shit, just when we finally get a break," Chopper added.
It was then, however, that something else snapped into place in my mind. "Can you confirm detonation range?"
"Roger. Estimated detonation range of angels three to six."
I clenched my jaw and smirked. "1-1 to wing, time to turn the tables."
"You can't be thinking what I'm thinking," Chopper sounded like he wanted to be my conscience instead of Grimm.
The missile warning indicator began to go off as a Freestyle latched onto my shaken craft, and in response I pulled up - and then leveled out - right in the middle of the detonation zone.
"We got about 20 ticks to pull these flies into the goddamn zapper, who's with me?"
"What the hell, let's do this." Fortunately for me, Chopper was clearly half-hearted about becoming my conscience. "I got two trying to take me out anyway."
"Uh...I think I'll just take out the ones that escape."
"Captain, you're being reckless!" Edge shouted.
With the Freestyles slowing up to avoid the missile, I immediately made a break for the middle of their formation. I then started to circle them like a motorcycle in one of those giant carnival sphere cages. Knowing exactly how it felt to pull off one of those redneck rollercoasters took most of my attention away from the oncoming countdown - and the fact that Chopper had to be helping me as well.
"10 seconds to impact! 8...7...6..."
The one thing I knew I was doing was keeping my finger off the trigger button.
"...5...4..."
"1-1 to wing, hit the floor!"
"Roger! Diving now!" Chopper shouted. I was now too lost in my G-force-induced intoxication that the only way I knew I was escaping was the fact that I was literally trying to fly into the sun. Hell, I was too lost to wonder if Chopper was gonna make it out safe.
"3...2...1..."
My peripheral vision went white, my radar clearing up as we had turned the tables on the Freestyle flight with their own tactics.
"Fuck...nice going team..." The explosion wasn't loud enough to cause ringing in my ears again, but apart from my own chatter everything seemed to go silent, leaving me feeling more intoxicated than half the Pac-Coast rap cartels off my own maneuvers.
"Golf-Delta Kid, I nearly went to Bright Hill in the cockpit!" Chopper shouted. "Don't you ever have us pull shit like that again!"
"It worked, din't it?" I chuckled as I looped my plane over to physically observe the results of our Red-assisted handiwork.
"Heh, yeah, I guess it did," Chopper replied, implying that his outburst was at least half-joking.
We'd gotten our revenge and served it white-hot. At that moment I was pretty sure nothing could have ruined my mood.
"Base Command to Wardog 1-1, 4-4 just painted the runway."
And just like that, Murphy's Law came back for seconds from Port Saint Hewlett and raped me sober without the condom.
My hands seemed to crack the flight stick in their grip as I pulled back into another stall and switched the LITENING system back on. The dissipating explosion and my temporary shockwave-induced deafness gave way to the rapidly-approaching shape of the Scinfaxi in the ocean.
"Bastards!"
The instant the LITENING system could make out its shape, I sent the last pair of PAVEWAYS streaking downward at the giant metal wwhale. My jaw was practically wired shut as I watched the twin contrails streaking down faster than my plane could catch up, fueled not just by high-grade propellant but the raging desire to finally avenge everyone they had killed.
It was the kind of hatred that could only lead to sweet justice, and we were delivering it.
"This one's for Shadow, you red fucks."
10 October 2010
Nordland Public Broadcasting - Radio One (N-R1)
We begin tonight with an update from Cinigrad.
Yuktobania's Prime Minister Seryozha Nikanor has ordered the immediate dismissal of his cabinet following a series of failed offensives against the Osean Federation earlier this month. The series of attacks by the Yuktobanian military on Osean military and civilian installations left at least 3,200 people dead on both sides and caused more than 500 million zollars worth of damage.
Serious questions remain as to the intentions behind these assaults, as well as their initial cause. Sources close to the Politburo point to judgments made by the Defense Ministry following OADF attacks on VVS air patrols, as well as projections of imminent Osean military buildup.
The ODF maintains that there was no such buildup, and that they had acted in self-defense when the air patrols entered their territory.
Amidst plans for high-level talks between the two countries, a bill authorizing military reprisal is currently being debated in Osea's Council. The bill has strong bipartisan support in both houses and is expected to pass before the end of the month. President Harling is also expected use his veto should it pass. The President denounced any plans for reprisal, in a statement made in response to calls for retaliation published in several newspapers earlier this week.
"We share in the grief and misery inflicted upon this country by the attacks. But we stand by our belief that spreading this misery will not help us find the answers we are looking for."
Both houses of Council remain extremely critical of the President's handling of the situation. Councilman Paul McDade:
"Our troops suffered the consequences of turning our backs to the Yuktobanian threat after 40 years of staring them down. We as a nation cannot afford to let this happen again!"
Their sentiment is reflected in public opinion polls showing an overwhelming support for retaliatory action against Yuktobania, with 61% of Oseans polled supporting military intervention over 32% supporting AN sanctions.
A resolution condemning the recent attacks is currently being debated by the AN Security Council. Although no sanctions are being discussed both Osea and Yuktobania have criticized it as being biased toward the other, and are expected to use their veto.
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
1752 hrs.
And just like that, it seemed, the war had ended.
There was something creepy about the sea as Chopper, Blaze and I lounged on what had become our 'usual' chairs at the end of Runway 09. Or rather, the 'usual' view of the sea had become a lot more haunting as we sat there and watched the sun set over the horizon the same way we did since I got here.
Nothing had physically changed. The MDF's cleanup fleet and cordon now protected the island again. We arrived at the port area last week only to find the Scinfaxi had been sunk and the local ODF contingent were able to surround the Naval Infantrymen.
The last time I saw the Man in the Tropical Shirt, he disappeared into the dying chaos at the port area to take the MP to the infirmary, and I hadn't seen him since. I was much more thankful to have that AK-74 confiscated.
In any event, the Wardogs and I were already starting to put that behind us...though the thought of exactly how many bodies had been taken into Davy Jones' Locker within 20 miles of the island through their actions alone lingered quite literally in front of us.
"Hey, tabloid guy...Genette," Villa began, craning his head over to face me. "When're we gonna launch into Cinigrad?"
"The Journal's not a tabloid, Blaze." I sighed exasperatedly, not allowing even Villa to sully the name of the publication I called home.
"Whatever. The way the media's hyping everything it might as well be," he groaned, turning his gaze away. Clearly the war hadn't just sharpened his fighting acumen, but also his already sword-like tongue. "Besides, it's all down to Council's new War Bill."
Since the end of that second raid, the last place I wanted to be was the cafeteria. Not because the food had become unedible, but because Weazel News was still the only thing allowed on that television set. Commentator after commentator took their turns bashing Harling and practically praying for retaliation. I ended up seeking refuge in one of the few internet radio channels that hadn't been blocked: Nordland's public news channel.
"The CIC's probably gonna veto it, so we'll be fine." I replied calmly, looking up at the clouds set afire by the sun. After hanging out with them, I'd started to learn their lingo a little bit. "They'd barely get enough votes to override him if they could."
"Damn, Kid, you seem really anxious to wanna sink your teeth into them over there." Chopper then interjected. Sitting between the two pilots, I was literally caught in the middle of their war on words.
"It's just..." Villa then shook his head, suddenly at a lack of words.
"Are you still thinking of Shadow?" I asked. "You know he'll be out of hospital in a couple weeks."
It turned out that one of their nuggets had managed to punch out before his plane crashed, landing on the beach not a few meters from where we sat now. Unfortunately, in his panic he had prematurely disengaged the parachute, leaving him with a nasty concussion.
"Yeah," he grunted, clenching his jaw. "And the McLane too. Feels like I'm just letting them...get away with it."
"Dude, you're just obsessing," Chopper replied dismissively. He then sat up a little to face Blaze, before counting reasons on his fingers. "We sank their monster sub, destroyed their bombers and sent the rest of 'em crying to their mommies. Soon as everything else settles down, even the hippies'll be throwing us parades."
"I know, but...that's it?" Villa replied, gesturing with his hands outward at the ocean and all the horrors it submerged underneath. "We just go back to what things used to be? I know we can't bring 'em back from the dead but...fuck."
"Nothing left but political wrangling at this point." I shrugged. "I don't think anybody wants another war to happen."
"Pfft. Definitely not Nagase." Villa grunted. "Jesus, how is someone like her in our military? We're war machines, she got no right to speak about peace."
"Seriously, man, I'm starting to worry about you," Chopper's voice was getting even more frustrated as he sat up and leaned forward. "There's nothing in our job description says we can't hope for the world to get better."
"But she's just expecting POTOF to wave some kinda magic wand and expect it to be over?" Villa then burst out. "The fatcats on Bright Hill don't know how these fucking Reds really affected us. We need this justice...we need to not come home as fucking murderers and babykillers for once."
There was something despairing about Villa's voice as he spoke, as if he was saying it out of more than just his recent war experience.
"That's what Chopper's saying," I finally butted in, giving Blaze a stern glance as I spoke. "Even if whatever happened up there last month was our fault, it wouldn't justify the Yukes lashing out like they did. Harling knows this, and we have the Arkbird."
"What 'tabloid guy' said," Chopper added, repeating Blaze's slur sarcastically. "This might turn out to be just one big misunderstanding, but we're gonna come out of this heroes for defending ourselves."
"Heroes...I don't know..." Villa then continued. "...our heroism ain't gonna bring Bartlett home, will it?"
"Yeah," Chopper's tone became solemn. "They ain't gonna be rolling out the red carpet for him..."
"Even the FFIC thinks we're expendable." Villa muttered. "They don't give a shit about what we do, even if it's "good." What the hell caused Edge to think any different?"
Neither of us could think of a reply, nor did Villa find a way to rub it in for our inability to.
The answer to Villa's question, as it happened, was an answer for a more appropriate time.
1LT Ricardo Villa
22 October 2010
6750 feet above Waldron County, SV
"Hey, get back in your seat! Don't approach the...hey, what are you doing!"
The longer we went without combat, the more Chopper, Edge and Grimm had eased themselves out of the 'war mood.' It was easy for them, since their first hard taste lasted only a few weeks. But where they were returning to normalcy, I figured I was probably waxing more into PTSD or the first symptoms of it. I knew the feeling of inadequacy had to factor into it at least.
Shadow left the hospital and was shipped further inland for recovery. Word got through about how he owed me for saving his life, but that only made those feelings even worse.
"This is transport plane...uh...Mother Goose One. The Captain's been shot."
Making First Lieutenant for saving Osea three times in two weeks was supposed to feel underwhelming because it was only one rank up. Instead, to be quite honest I couldn't have felt either way about it, and that didn't help me feel any less inadequate anyway.
"There was a spy in the crew. Uh oh, two of the engines have shut down."
"Hey, what kinda cargo you got in there? Is it something dangerous?"
The news - or lack thereof - didn't help either. The political hot air and the trauma the invasion caused still made the headlines, but as days went by they didn't get nearly as much airtime as whatever the hell was going on stateside or in Vinewood. Even Weazel News' commentators talked more about how those 'damn dirty liberals' weren't even going to make any significant changes to the national budget instead of why they hadn't bombed Cinigrad yet.
On the other hand, things weren't going so well at Cinigrad either - and most of what I heard from there was skewed through the FFIC's mouth.
"The captain's dead and the co-pilot was wounded by a stray bullet. Tommy's holding the stick now, but he's just a secretary. He's never piloted a plane before."
Eventually, I guess I got used to this feeling of inadequacy. Instead of counting the days to when the war would flare up again, I looked forward to my next 48-hour leave and savoring Mom's home cooking.
Some time later the four of us were assigned to combat air patrol above the farmlands of bumfuck nowhere in Savannah State, just inside the mainland. It was our fourth one since we sank the Red Navy's finest, and one that I particularly wasn't looking forward to. Not so much for the fact that I was going in the first place, but because I figured it would have ended up like the last three: without "incident."
"So who're you?"
"I guess you would call me the...cargo of this plane."
So I certainly was not looking forward to helping a damaged C-130 transport plane on some kind of secret mission weave through a safe passage corridor through our national anti-air defense network only to be greeted by MiG-31 Foxhound interceptors on the other side.
And the hell if I expected that transport to be carrying a V-V-VIP.
"Could you tell me how to control this thing? I'll relay everything to him."
"Anyone not busy?" I asked, clearly too distracted with the tail end of a Foxhound interceptor to figure out how to operate a goddamn transport plane.
"Lower your altitude," Nagase replied. "Prepare for emergency landing."
"An emergency landing? The ground's full of electric generator windmills!"
The Akerson Wind Farm had been built in the early 2000s as part of the post-Ulysses eco-rush to conserve whatever resources we had left before another meteor eventually wiped us out. Even though the windmills' power only made it halfway to the tip of Cape Landers, most were surprised by the fact that the project had gone through at all with Savannah's state government in the pocket of the local nuclear power builders.
"Could you shoot those down for us?" the Cargo suddenly asked.
"What!"
"Blaze, it's your call."
After finally being able to clip one of the Foxhound's wings off with a Sidewinder, I found myself just enough time to make said call.
"Between national security and a few windmills, I'm not siding with the windmills," I barked before looking at my radar. "Looks like the OPFOR is fleeing so we got them all to ourselves."
I'd imagined that we'd end up doing the state government a big favor with this anyway, so I wasn't feeling too guilty about what we were about to do.
"Let's do it."
"Okay, let's do this. Are you still there, ma'am? With the lovely voice...miss..."
"First Lieutenant Kei Nagase, sir."
"And I'm Chopper!"
"That's a good name too."
"First Lieutenant Ricardo Villa. Sorry if my friends are a little anxious," I replied as I leveled off and looked ahead of the transport plane's path. "We've never had to cut down windmills before."
"You're not the only one, Lieutenant Villa," the Cargo replied with the reassuring voice of a politician as the first windmills came into aiming range. "Tommy's going to try to landing now. He's doing his best, but he's never done this before either. I don't know if we'll make it, so I want to thank you guys before we go."
"Looks like we have three of them directly ahead of the transport," I replied. "We're gonna have to saw them down manually. Line yourselves up behind the transport so you know which ones to hit."
Because the windmills weren't lighting up on my radar or HMD as targets - and we weren't equipped with any anti-ground missiles to knock them out of line either, we would be reduced to sawing their bases off with the vulcan cannon.
As I pulled in behind the transport plane and lined up the windmills ahead in my reticule, I was at least lucky that unlike the Red Navy, these weren't exactly moving targets. We just had to take them down before Mother Goose One did it with their fuselage.
Approaching from a distance gave me plenty of time to knock down the first one. The fact that I'd mainly kept to Sidewinders also left me plenty of vulcan cannon shells to chew it up with. A short squeeze of the trigger soon as the base lined up with the reticule left the first windmill's base mangled enough for the rest of the structure to buckle forward.
"One down, two to go," I replied, pitching to the side to avoid getting timber'd by my own tree. "Aim as close to the base as you can!"
A little more pitching and yawing helped me line up the second one in my reticule, just as the blades started to turn. A couple of the shots flared up as they connected with the base, but the damn windmill continued to stand as I pulled away rather than play windmill limbo. I cursed inwardly as I pulled up and banked around for another run.
"Hey Kid, don't give yourself an headache aiming at every single one," Chopper barked as I leveled out.
I then shook my head and squinted to find out which of them I missed, only to find that Edge had taken that one out.
"Altitude 100 feet. Landing gear down...just keep going."
I yawed to the right to aim at another one near it only to find that Chopper was also working on it.
"Got one! That's what friends are for, man!" Chopper celebrated as I pulled back to circle around again.
There was just one more windmill in front of them - and third time was the charm, as one more vulcan cannon burst tore the base out from under it. Mother Goose One would've seen it falling back and away from them as I climbed back up to altitude.
"And that's timber," I commented, raising my left fist to my face in as much triumph as I could squeeze out of this one moment in time.
"That's a pretty good runway there. A fine place for a landing."
After the windmills, there was only a vast expanse of grazing pasture and a bunch of side roads before some woods a couple of miles away.
I pulled around one more time to see the gigantic transport rumbling along the aforementioned wheat fields. The giant transport wavered a little like a celebrity performing a DUI test, but 'Tommy' was able to keep it falling over. It would probably have been much more of a spectacle to whoever might have found themselves a lot closer to the transport's path.
"Mother Goose One, landing confirmed."
"This is Archer. Surrounding airspace is clear of enemy aircraft. Everything looks A-OK, how copy?"
"Good copy, Archer. Wardog 1 to team, return to formation and keep CAP over the perimeter until Mother Goose One is secure."
I scanned my radar one more time, finding that we were alone in the vicinity with the Cargo. Our OPFOR had to be at least a quarter of the way back to whatever part of Yuktobania they flew out from.
It was then I realized that I was smiling. Yeah, there was an 'incident' this time, and I still hadn't been able to satisfy my craving for action. But for once the drama had been dialled back and we probably only caused a few hundred thousand zollars' worth of damage and scarred some farmland rather than leave the seas running red with blood and molten metal.
The four of us quietly banked away in formation, and it would be another 30 seconds before the full realization of what we'd really done hit me in the face like a slippery fish.
Things went better than they could have gone, and there was only one unanswered question in my mind - one I asked while Nagase was having her little chat with the Cargo.
"Wardog 1 to Team...did we just save POTOF?"
"Looks like we did..." Grimm replied.
"And he was headed to freaking North Point to talk with the Yukes?"
"Kid, your loose lips are gonna sink the McLane if you keep this up," Chopper replied, half-stern. "But yeah, we're probably not gonna be allowed to talk about it when we get back. Again."
"Well then, I think we just saved him from the freaking Reds again, unless we were officially hallucinating."
"Kid, I don't like where you're going with this," Chopper added forbodingly.
"I'm just saying, guys. How'd they know exactly where Mother Goose One would be headed and get a spy in there? That's total inter-branch Kilo Golf Bravo shit right there."
"...that's a good point there, Captain." Grimm replied. "We only knew they were on a mission when they told us."
"And then they appeared out of nowhere to kill him in person." I could hear myself getting angry for the first time this mission. You think he's gonna wanna make peace with them for that?"
"Okay, I'm gonna channel Edge here but the man got re-elected for actually keeping his promises. In the meantime-" Chopper paused suddenly. "Welp. I'm at bingo fuel."
I then checked my own gauges and was forced to concur. "Same here. Looks like it's a straight shot back to base unless backup shows up."
And speaking of the backup...
"This is the Osean Air Defense Force 8492nd Squadron. We observed the landing on our radar, can you see us?"
I checked my radar, finding four friendlies approaching from our eleven o'clock. As I turned to see my HMD light up four F-15 Strike Eagles marked with blue friendly IFFs, I started to wonder why we always had to wait for the damn cavalry. Then again, would they really be the cavalry if we didn't have to wait?
"The damn cavalry again," I muttered before replying. "Good copy 8492nd. Have the civil authorities been notified?"
There were tiny flickers of light in the distance where even the typical backwater sheriff would have been notified by the sounds of explosions and the constant rain of debris and falling windmills.
"Affirmative, they were already notified beforehand. You can leave the rest to us."
"Roger 8492nd. Take care of them for us." Nagase confirmed.
"Sure thing."
And just like that, our mission was over. I don't believe I wanted to know what happened to 'Mr. Cargo' on the way out. I just wanted to get some sleep.
I'd need it considering what 'Mr. Cargo' would have in store for his beloved armed forces in the next few weeks.
Albert Genette
25 October 2010
Sand Island AFB, Osea
By the afternoon of the 25th I was probably feeling more tense than I'd been since the last Yuktobanian assault on this island.
Halloween was near, but even if costumes were forbidden, the base hadn't even started putting up the decorations. In fact, they had been on constant alert status for much of the past 48 hours, as if they were preparing for yet another invasion attempt.
Although I shared that feeling with the rest of the base in general, I was tense for a decision I made that would seal my involvement with this conflict- and my fate.
Feeling confident from the responses I continued to receive in my e-mail inbox for my Four Wings of Sand Island article, I decided to move up the ranks when it came to my interview subjects. But my attempt to get close to Base Commander Orson Perrault was foiled by Hamilton, who explained he was in an even worse mood than he normally was.
When even Hamilton couldn't give me an answer, I ended up having to ask Edge. And the news wasn't all good.
The Arkbird's power generator had been severely damaged by planted explosives sent up from another SSTO launch. Although its backup power supply was keeping them from drifting out into the endless black expanse, it wasn't nearly enough power to fire the chemical laser that helped turn the tide of the last invasion. And nobody could find out if the Scinfaxi had a sister sub lurking in the distance.
The only thing that kept Yuktobania from trying to attack again was the fact that most of their available landing craft were underwater or on a Kronus Corporation truck or boat on the way to the scrapyard.
Yet it wasn't the threat of another imminent attack that had gotten me tense as the phone call I received the moment I got back to my room.
"Mr. Genette, you have an outside call from the Bureau..."
"Sure, I'll take it."
"Holy shit, Albert, nice to see you're all right," came the startled voice of my supervisor, the Oured Bureau Chief.
"All right? I'm fine, but it's been busy as all hell here."
"You haven't heard, have you?" he asked, clearly insinuating I missed something big.
"Just...something bad happened with Harling and we're all on alert just in case."
Edge had also let me in on their strange sortie the other day. Apparently they had stopped Yuktobanian interceptors from shooting down a secret transport plane that was carrying President Harling. They saved the plane, and Harling was apparently recovered by local authorities - but that was all they were told during the debriefing.
"Oh, it's bad." the chief continued. "Someone tried to assassinate Harling on his way to some high-level summit. And I'm guessing you already know about the Arkbird."
"Yeah, word got around?" I replied suspiciously. "What about the War Bill?"
"It was already on his desk in the Oval Office, but the Constitution says he's too incapacitated to veto it."
Fear jolted through my spine. I opened my mouth to try to tell him, but realized I would have been in breach of the non-disclosure agreement.
"Incapacitated? You mean they got him after all?"
"The Pacifica bureau says they flew him out of the Mount Sion General ICU soon as he was stable, and he invoked the Succession clause soon as he could write."
I put my hand to my mouth in shock, recalling my social studies class. Succession referred to the constitutional clause where the Vice President became the Acting President when the President was unable to fulfill their executive duties due to death, resignation or being incapacitated.
"So that leaves it to the Vice President-"
The next three words out of the receiver were as unexpected as they were surprising.
"Jason signed it."
"Oh God." The very words were barely audible coming from my mouth.
Vice President Jason Appelrouth had been more subdued than his Council counterparts in calling for retaliation. When asked, he'd even demurred that responsibility to the President out of respect for the 'balance of powers.' But perhaps coming from the same party as Herbert Walker meant he had to eventually prove his loyalty.
"Yep. First thing he did when he got into the office. And he declared war in a speech before Council this morning. Don't you even get Weazel News over there?"
My free hand had already moved up to my forehead on the one day I decided to try skipping lunch. "So that means we're at war again. What about the Yukes?"
"They've gone dark. Our friends in Soyuz got nothing but official statements from the Prime Minister's Office condemning the hostilities and promising to defend the Motherland."
"...so what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Quite frankly that's up to you. You're our most experienced man in the field right now before Jonas Stromberg films himself stepping out of a landing craft. If you want to go ahead, I'll pull some strings to make sure you get our full support."
I couldn't feel any more conflicted about what I hoped would happen. On the one hand, after my close brush with death the last place I wanted to be was at the front line. I honestly could not say I was ready to spend more time as a war reporter, not when it was pure luck that saved me from a horrible death.
But unlike the Gebeto farming collective or the Wielvakian city planners, I'd really found 'interview subjects' I could relate to. And as I looked at my laptop - which currently had my little investigation 'clipboard' on its screen with new additions for their last sortie - I had that nagging feeling that I couldn't just leave this mystery unsolved.
"Okay. I'll stay," I muttered like I didn't have a choice.
"You sure?"
"Yeah." By that point not even I knew what I was saying.
"If you want to back out, just talk to Hamilton. I'm not going to force you to stay."
He didn't have to force me. The weight of my unsolved investigation did that on its own.
I now hoped I would be able to finally find the answers I sought - and I hoped I wouldn't do it alone.
1LT Ricardo Villa
1 November 2010
3000 feet above Volna Beach, Skladka Oblast
1612 hrs.
The beachhead crept out of the fog in front of us like a swamp monster. Underneath us, our own minions braved the rough seas toward a hostile land and whatever horrors waited in store for them.
"Move! Move! Hit that beach and start running! There's no time to kiss the ground!"
It was a cold and stormy afternoon, and a cliched sense of dread filled my body as I got my first ever look at an actual foreign country. The new frontier that was Yuktobania looked to be everything Perrault spewed about them as an Evil Empire, and we weren't simply flying into it.
"Landing confirmed. Continue to provide top support for the armored vehicles!"
Today our F-16s packed LITENING-enabled JDAMs to help support the Delta Company landing. That we were all Delta Company had for air support would have been mocking them considering Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Company had dedicated strike teams flying F-15s and A-10s brought in from across the ocean while the MDF figured out whether it was safe to send their other carriers yet.
On the other hand, they had us. The heroes from Sand Island, the ones that sunk the Scinfaxi.
And hell, I was feeling pretty psyched.
"Delta Company to Wardog, heavy fire from bunkers at quadrant 4-Juliet-1-3 preventing rendezvous with Charlie Company. Requesting close air support."
"Good copy Delta, Wardog 1 inbound at angels 5, standby for JDAM and ready to move after bomb drop."
Even with the LITENING system lighting up the enemy bunkers, the weather affected disability enough that we still had to mark them by sight so we wouldn't just make a multi-million-zollar crater on the other side of the hill they were on.
"This operation is pointless. These guys are just gonna storm in, head-on, following orders. That's how war is fought. That's why I hate it!"
"The hell do you think we're doing now? You wanna blame someone, blame the politicos that authorize this shit." I retorted half-heartedly.
After some tight maneuvering to avoid some surprise ZSU fire, I was able to draw a bead on that bunker and successfully administer the JDAM treatment.
"Delta Company to Wardog. Moving to rendezvous point, good job."
"Copy Delta Company, moving on."
"How did the President authorize an escalation like this? This is insane!"
I was surprised that Chopper didn't see it coming after that assassination attempt. The spy that had gotten onto his plane had apparently poisoned him before a bodyguard managed to take him down.
"Hey, that Mr. Cargo guy was the President, right? Man...I thought i could believe in him back then. I had no idea he was such a wuss!"
"No. He's not." Nagase finally chimed in.
"Come to think about it, Edge, you're right."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Orders like this could have only come straight down from POTOF," I explained, lining up a pair of T-72s in my LITENING screen. "Took 'em an assassination attempt before this government finally decided on something."
The declaration was actually signed by VPOTOF, but Harling had given him explicit authorization to rule in his stead - and Council was quite happy to oblige.
And hell, I was thankful he'd done the right thing. I was tired of being left to stew in their bureaucratic limbo.
"Blaze..." Edge muttered in concern. "I can only hope you decide to do the right thing too."
"S'what I'm doing now, Edge- Heads up. We got Floggers." I replied, craning my head to face a formation of attacker aircraft flying low over the hills through the HMD. I grinned genuinely as I pitched around to face them.
I'd rarely felt better than I did at that time, for more than just a few moments. I was finally going to get justice for Shadow, for Saint Hewlett, for everyone I couldn't save. I would make my mom proud and come back home to Las Violas respected for something that wasn't related to narcotics or songs about violence and prostitutes.
And I'd come home happier knowing I wasn't the only one to do so.
"Did you know? My older brother Josef's down there." Grimm suddenly remarked.
"What? You should've told me that earlier, you moron! Where is he?"
"Charlie Company, I think. I don't know, they all look the same."
"Let's make him proud by keeping his ass alive," I added. "Then that'll make three of us at least. Grimm, let's take out those attackers."
Given the last few times I'd felt so good, I probably should have expected them to come to an end so quickly already.
To Be Continued...
Author's Note: And there you go. The invasion begins, and so does Albert's journalistic quest to get to the bottom of this mysterious PMC thing. Sorry it took so long and I'm sorry I continue to suck at and/or rip off Battlefield's military terminology.
A/N 2: I'm still running that find the Homestuck-reference-get-a-cameo thing.