Chp. 1: Send the Word Over There
January 22, 2005
Approaching Riass Island
Flying Officer Arthur Morrison looked over at the Tornado GR.4A as it put every ounce of its being into staying aloft. His thumb settled on top of his radio's transmit button again, but he caught himself. They were close enough to home that arguing would be pointless. His job and the job of his Typhoon F.2 remained the same: escort the recce aircraft to safety.
"Papelton ATC this is Pandora 21, we're entering your airspace at this time. Confirm you have us on radar?" Flight Lieutenant Eugene Browning spoke up.
"Confirmed, Pandora 21, we have you and Leopard 11 on screen. Leopard 11 are you receiving?" An unseen speaker replied in a slow monotone.
"Leopard 11 is receiving, Papelton. One engine damaged, wings stuck in mid sweep. Request you clear a runway and scramble emergency crews." The Tornado's pilot replied, still keeping his cool somehow.
"Understood...Do you have enough fuel to circle and come in on Runway 26-W?"
"Negative...we gotta come straight in, mate."
"Copy, Leopard...come to Heading 000 and maintain Flight Level 4500 for now. Standby to receive new heading. Pandora, break off and establish a holding pattern at provided coordinates."
Arthur looked at the screen directly below his HUD (Heads Up Display), then to Eugene's Typhoon. His section lead accelerated and went left, with Arthur following close behind. The two jets nosed up and leveled out just below the clouds. The island of Riass came into view as they entered their holding pattern. Right in the middle of what they could see was their home at RAF Papelton, with its grass covered concrete bunkers and camouflage netting over everything. Arthur checked his altitude and fuel, then lifted the visor for his helmet. He didn't need it under the dreary skies, anyhow.
"Did you manage to get that second Fulcrum, Pandora 22?" Eugene spoke up.
"I believe so, but he ducked under the clouds after I fired. Leopard was coming off target at the time, so priorities shifted." Arthur sighed.
"Understood...those black marks on your right wing?"
"Just superficial wounds. Ferris will probably be a tinge upset, but c'est la vie."
"Ha! Should've put that on ya bird instead, Knight."
"Maybe when I break 20 kills I'll get the honor, Genie."
Arthur looked over the edge of his canopy in search of the Tornado once more. He spotted it as it crossed the eastern coast of the area and began its final descent to the runways below. The pilot's sense of calm seemed even more off putting by the moment. In fact, the plane didn't even behave like it'd been damaged. A pair of fire engines and a small assortment of other crash vehicles rolled forward from an empty piece of tarmac and made a slow turn to flank the recce aircraft as it went through the last few seconds of flight. It hit the ground and bounced, then came down again and stayed put this time. That bounce, however, had exacerbated a few of its issues. Much of the left stabilizer broke off, and the rear end sagged a bit as the landing gear strained under the pressure. Nonetheless, the Tornado rolled to a complete stop and the rescue crews went all in on it. Before he turned away, Arthur saw a stream of foam cascade onto the tail section.
"Pandora 21 and 22, we're going to have you come in after Heron 74. Move to new position on Heading 090, maintain current flight level." The control tower instructed.
Arthur and Eugene's descent following the C-130 was the uneventful end to a long mission that Arthur had been hoping for. He circled a few more times until his leader was off the runway, then eased into the landing pattern for what felt like one of the smoothest touchdowns of his life. He hung a left onto the tarmac and rolled towards a Hardened Aircraft Shelter (HAS) sitting with others near a pair of hills. He stopped in front of one across from Eugene's shelter and spotted a Land Rover with familiar faces around it. Arthur went just past the blast doors and brought his Typhoon to a stop so it could be eased back into its hovel. Men and women in safety vests and DPMs (Disruptive Pattern Material) hurried up to the jet with a ladder. Arthur removed his oxygen mask and started unstrapping from the ejection seat as the fighter's twin turbofans wound down.
"Welcome back, sir." One of the ground crew said with a smile as Arthur pulled off his helmet.
"Thanks Donovan. Feels good to get home, stretch my legs." He replied.
He glanced at his watch; it'd been approximately eight hours since he'd sat down in the cockpit of his fighter. He followed the younger man down the ladder and raised his hands over his head.
"Oy, Flight Officer, what's with these black stains on my jet?" A familiar voice demanded. It was the last voice he wanted to hear.
"Erusean Fulcrums ambushed us and our escortee, but the missile went off too far away to cause damage, Collings. They're superficial in nature." He explained as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Still extra work we gotta do. I thought you blokes would be more careful!" The balding man replied.
Arthur felt his patience wearing thin with the man and straightened up.
"It happens, Collings." He replied with a tone of finality.
Anything the man said after that was tuned out. Arthur explained how the jet had performed to the older man and relayed that he hadn't faced any problems. Upon reporting he'd downed two jets this run, one of the female ground crew perked up.
"Would you like to change the number on the coat of arms, sir?" She asked. He looked up at the plane and shook his head.
"You can do it if ya like, Bright; right now I need a good wash and a cuppa after that flight." He explained.
"Don't think I'm gonna forget the damage to my bird, Flyin-"
"That will be all, Chief Technician Collings."
Arthur turned and ducked under the front of the plane, glancing back at the aforementioned coat of arms and the numeral for 14 in the center. His noseart wasn't of his choosing; the reference to the mythical king whose name he shared was a jab at him. Alongside his callsign, it was a reminder of why he'd joined Lenshire's Royal Air Force. He looked away as the Land Rover came speeding over with a familiar shock of auburn hair at the wheel.
"Welcome back, Knight." Flight Lieutenant Abel Riekkinen said with a grin.
Arthur couldn't help but mimic the expression and tossed his flight bag to Eugene, who accepted it. He climbed in and took a seat across his fellow blonde while "Privateer" jetted off towards the tarmac.
"Saw that Tornado come in, was concerned you two had run into a good mess of trouble. They've got a breakdown truck pulling her outta the way, now." He commented.
"I bagged one and Knight got two." Eugene commented, to which Arthur just nodded.
"You talk too much, Knight." Abel remarked.
"Long flight today, Privateer. Just want a shower and some tea." Arthur managed.
"Yeah, no argument there."
Arthur looked in the direction of the Tornado as another Hercules touched down. The recce plane had barely gotten clear of the runways when a third transport appeared in the distance.
"Privateer, you know what's going on with all those Hercs? I thought our weekly supply flight had already dropped by." He spoke up.
"No clue, but that reminds me. Skipper says we're to all gather in the Officer's Lounge at 1730 before we get supper." Abel replied.
Arthur checked his watch; that gave him about an hour. Abel took a sharp right and cut behind the buildings up against the tarmac to reach a gate. An MP opened it and let them drive on to a collection of buildings a short ways from the center of the base. He pulled in beside a few other Rovers parked next to some cottages. Arthur jumped over the side and followed Eugene to a single-story building nearby. Painted on the wall just past that was the coat of arms of No. 41 Squadron, the Pandoras. Flying Officer Paul Simmons sat behind the front desk across it, face down as he updated the logbook. He had "please end me" written all over his face as he looked up at the others.
"Afternoon, Simmer. How soon does the Intel Officer want to see us?" Eugene asked. The man stared at him a second, then his eyes widened.
"Oh right, he told me that he would be unavailable until 1900 and to check back then. Said he'd be over at Group HQ." Paul announced, somehow still able to sound like his usually confident self.
"Well, that's all I need to hear." Arthur replied quickly.
He was in the locker rooms down the hall before he knew it. Immediately greeting him was the 2005 calendar for "A Tasteful Tease" and January's girl, Elizabeth Madingley. He glanced in the trash nearby to see if last year's calendar might've been in there, but alas it seemed to have been scavenged by the others. He got a pleasant surprise when he opened his locker, however. Someone had taken the girl from last December, Inga Bernhoff, and slid the picture into his locker. Probably Paul; he knew Arthur's thing for redheads. He'd make sure to thank him later. He eased the lingerie model up against the back of the top cubby to admire her commanding expression and intricate ensemble.
Arthur did little more than wash off the dried sweat and its stench before he was on his way out the door again, now sporting a fresh flight suit and his leather jacket. He rapped a hand against the front desk and gave Paul a grateful nod.
"Thanks for saving the December photo, mate." He explained. Paul smirked.
"Can't let such art go to waste, can we? Hopefully it means you got a bit more drive." He answered with a wink.
Arthur gave him the bird and walked outside, pretending to ignore what Paul had been getting at. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked the short ways to a building reminiscent of an inn. Instead, the rustic warmth of 41 Squadron's Officers Lounge was what waited past the wooden doors. Squadron Leader Martin Longdon, who was behind the counter in the center, saw him and waved him over.
"Looking for a cuppa, Knight?" He bellowed in a voice that approached the likes of Brian Blessed.
"Gladly, sir." Arthur agreed.
Every day, especially during long missions in these winter months, the tea was the best thing he'd ever tasted. He even detected a spike of bourbon in the stuff. Martin winked knowingly.
"Flight Surgeon recommends it after a long sortie. Besides, need some liquid courage in you for what's coming up." He declared.
"At 1730? What would that be?" Arthur asked as he took another sip. The other man glanced side-to-side like he was a B-movie spy, then leaned a bit closer.
"The invasion."...
"Open fire!"
Over a dozen rifles and machine guns sounded off and peppered the targets floating off the side of ASFS Harry Smith (L14). Lieutenant Leonard "Leon" Baelz released the trigger on his F88 Steyr, then squeezed it again and fired another burst half a second later. He tracked the impacts of each burst through his scope and adjusted accordingly. To his satisfaction, the group was staying in the center circle painted on the object. He tilted the weapon after the magazine went dry and pulled a fresh one from his webbing gear. With a tug of the charging handle, he started firing again, this time in single shots. One of his machine gunners switched from small belts to a 100-round drum for his F89 Minimi and let loose a long burst. Leon noted the man flashed a small smile over the rate of fire. Who wouldn't like how that thing spits lead? the Lieutenant thought.
After burning through three magazines in kneeling and prone positions, Leon opened the chamber to check that it was empty, safed the rifle and set it atop his rucksack. One after the other, the rest of the 20-odd men ran through the last of their ammo and did the same. The Sergeant in charge of the makeshift range barked "cease fire", then "range secured" when he saw everyone had their weapon on the deck. Two Lance Corporals reeled in the targets so they could be examined up close by the other soldiers. Leon's Platoon Sergeant, Glenn Collins, walked up from behind and snapped a quick salute while the Lieutenant stood up.
"Want me to get a brass party together, sir?" He asked.
"Everyone will police his own brass, us included." Leon replied as he knelt down to start gathering the spent shells from his rifle.
He took off his bush cap and started piling shells inside it until he was given a small bucket to use. Collins went about getting all 1st Platoon's weapons secured and placed in "stack arms", save for the Minimis and MAGs. They gathered around like a bunch of kindergarteners for story time to observe the impacts on the two cigar-shaped objects. Each man was allowed to inspect his own shots, with the Sergeant in charge of the range providing bits of feedback or answers to questions.
"Lieutenant Baelz!"
Leon recognized the voice of Company B's commander, Major Peterson. Out of habit, he made sure his crew cut of jet-black hair was patted down and turned towards the sound of his footsteps.
"Platoon, attention!" He barked.
The men all stood ramrod straight and rendered the superior officer a salute. He returned the gesture to Leon. The other platoon leaders were waiting a few steps away, too.
"Lieutenant, have your platoon sergeant take over command and follow me. Colonel Parata is assembling all platoon and company commanders for a briefing in the galley." Peterson explained.
"Yes sir. Sergeant Collins!" Leon said, turning to face the man.
"Yes sir, the platoon is now under my command." Collins replied.
The two exchanged salutes and Leon followed the rest of the officers to the opposite side of the helicopter pads. He stuck himself almost directly in the middle of the gaggle of Lieutenants.
"Anyone have any info on what the Colonel's got in store?" He asked as they descended into the ship.
"Maybe it's someone's birthday." Lieutenant David Blackburn of 3rd Platoon suggested.
"We're probably going back ashore." Fellow Lieutenant Bryce Finley snorted.
"We'll find out soon enough, gents. Enough chattering like old ladies at the market." Peterson snapped.
Any kind of news from the Colonel had to be important, Leon figured. They'd been on this La Jacinto-class amphibious dock for three weeks now, making lazy circles with the rest of ASFS Cape Stanley (LH 4) off the Comona Islands. Before that it'd almost been like a vacation on the isles, save for when the Eruseans decided to try and bomb the space center. This war had been all in the airy-fairies' court since they'd left the continent. Somehow, someway it was getting the job done. Maybe this sudden meeting was a sign that things were changing.
The group went down a few decks and headed towards the stern, where 5th Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment had its berthing and dining spaces. As soon as they were amongst the other officers, a tower bear of a man with olive skin and jet-black hair stood up. Lieutenant Colonel Matthew Parata brought those gathered to attention without so much as drawing a breath. He looked to his second in command, Major Bromley.
"Major, are all officers accounted for?" He asked in a voice much softer than one would expect.
"Yes sir, all present." The man replied.
"Good, then everyone take a seat."
The officers hurried to the lunch tables. Parata tapped his foot a few times before he spoke up again.
"Gentlemen, I have just received word that we will not be returning to the Comona Islands. Approximately ninety minutes ago, I was informed that 5/14th Infantry is to begin preparations for Operation Bunker Shot. Alongside 2/6th Infantry and Task Force Fox from the 1st Cavalry Regiment, we will begin final preparations to conduct amphibious operations along the east coast of New Waterford. Operations are to commence on January 24th at 0600, and we'll be landing at 0630." He announced, cutting off any cheers by lifting a finger at a map on a nearby wall.
"We'll be coming ashore in two waves. A and B Companies, alongside the Recon Platoon and Direct Fire Support Platoon, will make up the first wave. C and D Companies will follow up with our mortars and Pioneers. Our first objective is to punch a hole in the enemy's right flank...here." He explained, ending as he reached the map.
Leon started searching himself for a writing utensil and his notepad just as everyone else in the room was. Parata nodded at the Lieutenants, Captains and Majors.
"You will all be issued the proper maps by the end of the day. This briefing is to get everyone in the right mindset for the operation. Until we get to the specifics, I want the focus to be on preparing the men for departure. I want everyone well rested, fed, given medication for motion sickness if needed, and that their paperwork is in order. Make sure their healthcare and life insurance are up-to-date as well as yours. All weapons need to be accounted for and all personnel should be fully kitted three hours before our step off time. Finally, we are to reaffirm the chain of command and the chain of succession in order to make sure any transition is smooth. I want everyone from me on down to be fully aware that they may have to take over at a level above them." He clarified. About a dozen hands rose, but he waved them down.
"We'll brief by wave tomorrow morning to cover movements at platoon level, our assigned fire support, and enemy obstacles expected to be in our area. At that time, I can take questions. I myself have only been given the basics, and can only tell you when and where we're to be. For now I want the battalion to get into the mindset of deployment. It's been a good few months since we've seen any major action and I want us to be sharp." He said.
Leon tensed a bit, but caught himself and relaxed. It was the standard approach from Parata; stay focused, stick to facts. He wasn't being selfish or a dictator; he was doing his job. Maybe this time the air fairies would be able to give them the help they needed. The Colonel reiterated his points about ensuring morale and cohesion were secure and let A and B Companies' leadership know when they'd be gathering to cover their objectives. Leon toyed with his watch so it'd go off an hour before that. He could tell that anticipation was building; they were going home, and for some of the guys they'd be landing on the beaches they'd visited or lived near as a kid. Places they'd remember, their home. They were liberating their homes, and there were no doubts about accomplishing their mission.
"There is nothing further to discuss, so I shall see you all at supper. Dismissed." Parata concluded before Bromley went to the position of attention again.
Leon and his counterparts gave him one final salute. They didn't want to waste so much as a second…
"So Rangsan, who's maybe 77 kilos at most, walks over and grabs this fucking python and launches it down the hill like it's nothing! And he walks back mumbling about how the snakes keep coming down into the village and me and my mates are just standing there slack-jawed before he goes back to his pleasant self. First words outta his mouth after that are "Okay gents, you like waterfalls?" and he just walks along like nothing happened!"
Laughter sounded between the officers at the absurdity of the Aucklin Captain's story as he relayed tales of SASR (Special Air Service Regiment) training in southern Songolia. At least, the symbols on their uniforms indicated they were officers. The longer haircuts and facial hair were a bit of a put-off. That was, unless you realized they were officers of the special operations community. Captain Jamie Bradley drew in a long breath from laughing so hard and looked down at his cards once more.
"Bloody hell Keaton, I dunno why that was so funny but it just was." He said as fast as he could. He took in another breath and shook his head like several others in the poker game did.
"Alright, now where were we…I believe Dimos was about to fold?" He added.
"Ha, you only wish I was ya limey." Lieutenant Commander Dimos Latsis snorted.
So resumed the standoff. Jamie knew he didn't have a great hand but he had to keep bluffing until he ran out of avenues. The night's game had been a universal stalemate and he was hoping to get ahead before work-related matters had a chance to call him away. In the Lenish 1st Special Air Service (SAS) that could be at any given moment.
"So are you hoping that Dimos folds before you because you have a bad hand, Jamie? Or are you making another attempt to play us like you did a few rounds ago?" Captain Sean Baker asked with a toothy grin.
"Are you just asking that because you don't want attention on whether your hand is terrible?" Dimos added.
"You fellas atta just enjoy the game. We're playing for…what? Maybe 25 dollars?" Keaton remarked.
"It can be 25 or 25,000; I take my card-playing reputation as seriously as I take my professional reputation." Jamie said.
"Well then you gotta take what comes with it, like a straight flush." Dimos announced, setting his hand on the small table.
The others collectively groaned and set their hands down while Dimos took the bank notes. Keaton gathered the cards and looked around at the rest of the group.
"Anyone wanna play another round? I've got a bottle of spiced rum we can play over." He asked.
"Nah, the hell with that. Dimos tanked my desire to play." Jamie announced as he took a swig of lukewarm coffee. The Likadan frogman just winked.
"Alright boys, see you around." He smirked as he put his patrol cap on over his mud-brown hair.
Jamie stood up and collected his things for the walk back to his tent. Outside, the evening cold was creeping in and bringing another small pocket of sleet with it. He left the tent being used as an officers lounge behind to walk to the temporary homes of B Squadron, 6 Troop (Air). Like most of the "Rocky Island Barracks", they were more tents and tin shacks covered with camouflage netting and reinforced with sandbags. Jamie went to one with a signpost outside showing the distance to Farbanti, the Lenish capital of Saint Ark, and the SAS's home at Chessington. As he opened the flap, another man emerged from his tent and hurried over..
"Captain, the Major's looking for ya. Told him you were at the officer's lounge." Staff Sergeant Brian Connors said in a thick Highlands accent.
"Must've just missed me then. He say what for?" Jamie replied.
"Said we've got new orders…should I get th'lads together?" His second in command replied with a shake of his head. Jamie needed no more than a few seconds to reach a decision.
"Tell all patrol leaders to stand by and I'll relay what the Major has to say."
Jamie had a gut feeling they were about to be heading back to the mainland to cause some more trouble for the Rusies. He always welcomed that opportunity.