Chp. 4: The Great Wave off Usea

January 23, 2005

Makeshift Airfield, Rocky Island

"The best change to the plan will be a pair of Hinds will join the Hips coming to get you. We can't guarantee the local resistance will still keep up their end of the bargain, so we're going to close up the timetable. Your rides home will be on station fifteen minutes after you attack instead of twenty. I don't want any of you on the ground longer than is necessary." Major Browden explained.

Jamie and his fellow troop leaders nodded quietly and exchanged looks. No one was surprised, and in fact they were happy to know something had changed now. Gets the paranoia out of your mind Jamie commented to himself.

"Any solid intel on the Eruseans moving things around, sir?" Monroe asked.

"No, but I'll pass along any updates ten minutes before you all jump. After that, I trust you lads can improvise." Browden replied.

"If things go tits up real bad, Major, then tell MI6 we're gonna haunt their arses for all eternity." Yorke snarked.

"Only if you run across any of the neanderthals who made this job harder. Someone smack 'em for me and the rest of the regiment."

"Gladly, sir." Jamie laughed.

The Captains saluted their superior, then lumbered out the door nearby as they readjusted to the weight of their gear. Jamie waddled with Monroe to a Hercules C.3 sitting on the tarmac, where two "sticks" of commandos awaited them. Sergeant Connors stood up when he saw the men approaching.

"Anything we should be worried about, sir?" He asked as Jamie stopped next to him.

"Minor adjustments in case the resistance flakes on us. Everyone on yah feet, we've got a job to do!" He replied, turning to bark the last bit to his command.

The commandos rose and marched up the cargo ramp with Connors and Jamie took up the rear. They settled into their canvas seats with a collective sigh. The ramp closed behind them and the engines began to go even faster. Jamie looked at his watch, then sat back and tried to get some rest. He was asleep before the plane even got off the ground…

Arthur was the first to arrive at the briefing room for once. He sat with Abel and Paul as they waited for the rest of the squadron to trickle in. On the radio nearby, the Lenish Broadcasting Corporation (LBC) was playing a broadcast of The Who's recordings with them. Arthur was enjoying a soda from the fridge in the room, banking on it to help him stay awake. Abel was talking about his Alfa Romeo again; when asked, Arthur brought up that he drove a Subaru Forester.

"A fighter pilot who doesn't drive a sports car or rally car? The hell, man?" He asked.

"I like my car; it's great when I want to go hiking or skiing in the Bentons." Arthur replied with a look.

"Meet a few snow bunnies, talk skiing, and drink a few drinks at the lodge's bar…" He went on with a fox-like smile. Abel's snort earned a middle-fingered salute.

"Hey, just because I cry over Vanessa's picture does not mean I am inexperienced."

"Never said you were, mate."

The two sat in silence for a minute as they tried to come up with a retort for one-another, but nothing came to mind. Arthur didn't want to admit he'd actually sent another letter, either. The rest of the squadron began to enter as the briefing's start closed., taking their usual spots and getting their cups of coffee. It all seemed very informal; the room felt more like a lounge than anything official at first. That was until Wing Commander Douglas "Fencer" Spencer entered the space. The first man who spotted him ordered the room to the position of attention while the man marched down towards a small stage.

"Be seated gentlemen, be seated." He ordered as he went up the steps with the squadron's intelligence officers and Deputy Officer, Squadron Leader Brandon Farlow.

"Gentlemen, we've received our orders from Group HQ. Number 41 Squadron is being attached to the initial wave of attacks against Erusean facilities in southeast Aucklin. Following the commencement of amphibious operations, codenamed "Bunker Shot", we will switch to providing combat air patrols over the beaches." He announced in a booming voice.

One of the intel guys, Roland, handed Arthur and his compatriots an envelope. The pilot pulled out the contents and whipped out his pen as their leader walked to an image projected behind him.

"Tonight's sortie will see us deploy eight of our aircraft to escort an attack on Colinbirk International Airport. This facility houses the headquarters of the Erusean 28th Air Brigade, as well as its AEW assets. Of central importance, however, are the ground-attack aircraft that can directly threaten the landings. Intelligence estimates that the Eruseans have stationed two squadrons of J-22s and a single squadron of Su-25s here. Two waves of aircraft will attack the facility to ensure it's rendered ineffective. First, a flight of Aucklin-Skully F-111s and two of Cordicovian F-16s will attack the airport's control tower, fuel dump, and the aircraft revetments. Then, a flight of RAF Tornadoes will employ JP233 against the runways and taxiways."

Roland handed Commander Spencer an envelope too while the man traced the lines of attack with a laser pointer. Arthur noted that a total of 16 aircraft would attack the place. Another eight, Tornado F.3s and GR.1As configured as jammers, would hit the defenses.

"We'll be going in ahead of the first wave, right alongside the strike's SEAD element. Besides our eight aircraft, we'll have four Aucklin F-14s positioned high above to engage enemy aircraft from long range. The rear of the package will fall to the protection of four Typhoons from 31 Squadron. Our primary concern will be in the form of the former Aucklin-Skully air base 30 kilometers northeast of the city, where the Eruseans have stationed two squadrons of Su-33s. Their current strength stands at 15 aircraft due to attrition. We expect them to have at least four aircraft on patrol, most likely along the coast. Additional reinforcements may come from a small airfield here, believed to house JA 37s. Leftenant Davison will follow up with details on enemy air defenses on the ground as well as additional details…"

Roland combined that with commenting on how the Eruseans might attack their patrol stations. Arthur, flying on Abel's wing, would be placed just north of the first wave's initial point. Paul and Andrew would be the closest help, followed by two of the F-14s. If the SEAD flights did their job correctly, there wouldn't be any effective ground defenses opposing them. The biggest threat would be the SA-17s covering the coast and the SA-6s at Colinbirk. The SA-5s weren't very good against small, nimble fighters.

"...Given these factors, when Erusean aircraft enter our area of responsibility, we'll deploy two pairs to meet the initial threat. This will depend on the location and size of the enemy force. From there, the nearest four aircraft will converge on those who made initial contact. They'll then bracket the enemy so we can keep them from engaging the strike aircraft. The F-14s will stay high above to maximize their Phoenixes' chances." Spencer added, taking over when the intel man was done.

Standard procedure, Arthur thought. Always the CAP's job to pin down enemy fighters and keep the way clear. Arthur and Abel exchanged looks and nods.

"As mentioned before, once we've returned and debriefed in regards to this mission, our role will switch to providing air cover for the landings. Those pilots assigned to fly tonight will be scheduled for later rotations. This concludes all the information I have to provide. Any questions?" Their CO concluded.

There were none, so Spencer dismissed them to get suited up. Arthur had expected a speech, given just how important this was, but he reminded himself this was Douglas Spencer. Man of action, not of words he reminded himself. He followed his fellow pilots out a door to the equipment room.

"Say Knight, been wondering something since the barracks." Romeo spoke up as he shrugged on his survival vest.

"What's on your mind, Romeo?" His blonde compatriot asked.

"If you hadn't joined the RAF, what would you have done?"

"...Ski instructor, maybe. Or could've gone into the acting business like you'd considered doing."

"Oh piss off, I could act circles around you."

"You could try, but Arthur Morrisson prides himself on being the dark horse of the crowd. I'll tell you that much right now. Tell ya what mate, when the war is over I'll teach you how to ski and you can use it to diversify your talents."

Simmer patted his friend on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Keep your day job, Knight. Standup isn't you." He remarked.

"I wasn't trying standup." Arthur insisted as he grabbed his helmet and followed the man.

"Ya sure about that? Sounded an awful lot like it to me."

Arthur was firm that he hadn't been trying to act funny. Or rather, act funny instead of poking fun at Romeo and himself, but present matters drowned that out. Arthur received his oxygen mask and associated components in the next room, and before he left also received his sidearm. Arthur checked the SiG to make sure it was in good condition, then slid it into its holster on his leg. He grew steadily sober as he walked into a long hallway leading to the exit. Above the door was one of several placards celebrating the squadron's history. This one was simple, with two words flanking the squadron's coat of arms: Unleash Chaos. Arthur raised a fist like his compatriots and sounded off in reply.

"Unleash chaos!"

He climbed into the back of one of the awaiting Land Rovers just before it started off. The airman at the wheel seemed to have taken lessons from Abel on how to drive, but Arthur forgot any misgivings as the man stopped amongst the shelters. Arthur jumped from the vehicle and hurried to "his" shelter. He slowed when he was inside and jogged up to Collings. The man seemed to be at the same level of jerkoff he always was. Arthur was too distracted this time to wonder the source of all that anger.

"Now before you interrupted me, Flying Officer, I wish to reiterate that if you bring back my airc-"

"Some other time Chief Technician, if you haven't already filed the proper report. What is the status of the aircraft?" Arthur replied.

"My air...She's good to go, sir."

"Good, that will be all."

"Hold on a minute, I still have some legitimate grievances."

"Then take them up through the proper channels. Your poor discipline may be another good place to start."

Arthur ignored the man's grublings about "bloody officers" and set his helmet bag by the boarding ladder. Collings may have been insistent about "LM-09" being his, but Arthur felt his own sense of attachment to her. The Useafighter Typhoon was a good aircraft, and his mount had gotten him home many times. Space-age was the best way to describe her, with her canards and gaping intakes. Even if she carried reminders of his stupid sense of chivalry and romance, she had the look of a fighter jet. He gave the plane a single lookover to make sure he could trust it to do the same today. He had the normal warload of two AIM-132A ASRAAMs (Advanced Short-Range Air-to-Air Missile) and eight AIM-120C AMRAAMs (Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile). He was climbing up the ladder with minutes to spare. Collings reluctantly came up after him and helped make sure he was strapped in. He looked over as the rest of the ground crew gave a thumbs up and nodded.

"Good luck, sir!" Donovan and Bright called almost simultaneously.

Arthur mirrored the gesture and started the Typhoon's engines as they got the ventilation system going. The rest of the fighter was brought to life as the turbofans hurried to get to the proper RPMs. Displays flickered on, gauges adjusted and got their bearings, and a tingle washed over the pilot. While he waited for the crew and engines, he lowered his helmet visor and made sure the infrared tracker was working. The crew opened the shelter doors just as he was ready to go.

"Papelton Tower this is Pandora 16, radio check." He stated as he arranged the items in his cockpit.

"Read you loud and clear, Pandora 16." A young voice from the tower replied.

The eight pilots went back and forth with one-another, checking to make sure communications between flights and pairs were nice and clear before they began taxiing. The last thing Arthur had to do was wedge a picture of 2003's Miss February, model Sammantha Ellen, into its proper place where he could look at it for luck. He winked at the slender redhead and chuckled "A kiss for luck, too?" before he got back to reality. An airman with a pair of light sticks beckoned Arthur's Typhoon from its shelter.

"Pandora Flight, this is Papelton Tower, you are cleared to taxi to Runway 95-N. Check back in for takeoff conditions in pairs when you're on the runway." The tower added.

Arthur fell in behind Abel for the slow walk to the runway. They rode past 118 Squadron's shelters, who were in the midst of arming their jets. In the pale glow of the floodlights, Arthur could see several figures holding up victory signs and thumbs up. He returned the former gesture to the men and women and quietly wished them good hunting. He turned right, then went left onto one of the taxiways. The night was already being broken by the sound of a Nimrod patrol aircraft taking off on one of the westward runways. The only thing of note between him and the sky was stopping so his plane's weapons could be inspected and armed.

"Papelton Tower this is Pandora 15 and 16, requesting conditions and clearance for immediate departure on runway 95-N." Abel spoke up as Paul and Andrew got airborne.

"Copy that Pandora 15, you're cleared to proceed to the runway. Wind is currently 3 knots, moving west-southwest. Be advised that you've got rough weather moving in from the northeast, about 80 Kilometers away. Turn to Heading 315 and ascend to Flight Level 6700 once airborne to stay above it. Good luck, lads." The tower replied.

"Much obliged Tower, have a good night."

Arthur adjusted the flaps and swung out to Abel's second they were lined up on the runway and with each other, Arthur pushed the throttles all the way forward. The two sets of UJ200s reached a crescendo and propelled the fighters down the runway. A few seconds later, Arthur eased the stick back and left solid ground. The two Typhoons nosed up and screamed into the distance. They joined an ever-swelling armada of aircraft, all gathering to descend upon the skies of Auckland. He hoped when the Eruseans figured out what was coming, they felt the same way ISAF had when they'd watched them descend on the Comonoa Islands. It was time for some proper payback…

"Right now their poor marksmanship doesn't matter, General. They got within a few kilometers of the beach, and evidence suggests they hid there for a day or two. Which means they avoided our patrols for some time." Ikov stressed into the phone's receiver.

"General Ikov, as a veteran of the Erusean Intelligence Service I can assure you that this kind of situation is a fluke. Your convoy was attacked by a group of teenagers who were spurred on by ISAF propaganda. The threat was eliminated, and they have no known connections to any of the larger groups." General Andric replied, audibly exasperated.

"General, those beaches are some of the most heavily-guarded in the district. If we don't determine what let them sneak by, it could encourage sabotage efforts."

"Their getting through suggests otherwise."

Ikov's free hand clenched into a fist. The fat bastard was lucky he was on the phone. His scowl then forced itself to become a smile as his discipline slipped for a second.

"Then you would approve of my organizing an operation to close this potential hole?" He asked through his teeth.

"The SSD has this under control. I will not force the local resistance groups to change their tactics. Not after the progress we've made, not before we can catch them in a good spot where we can dismantle them…and not because of a sloppy ambush that has you paranoid."

Ikov pulled the phone away from himself and fought back the urge to tear into the senior man over his insults. He'd fought (and won) more battles than the gluttonous pig. And unlike you, he added in thought, I'm a real soldier!

"...Very well, General Andric. I will have to include this in my next report to the III Corps headquarters. They'll want to know the complete story." He warned.

"Yes yes do what you must. Is there anything else?" Andric replied with disinterest.

"No, General; that will be all."

The other end went quiet and Ikov made a very visible attempt not to slam the phone down. Instead, he hung up the receiver and picked it up again.

"Operator, connect me to Colonel Heikka's command post please." He said, pretending to be calm until he felt it.

"One moment, General." A young man's voice replied. It wasn't even a fraction of that before a more familiar voice introduced itself.

"Good evening, General. What can I do for you?" Said the commander of the 231st Motorized Regiment.

"Heikka, I'd like you to write down your recommendations regarding the ambush yesterday. Send them up to me within 48 hours. And…raise your alert status for the next 24 hours. I want to keep any copycats from getting brave enough to try again."

"Yes sir…I would like to offer my personal apology, as well. That was my sector, and thus my responsibility."

"No need to apologize, Colonel. We've served together long enough and I trust your capabilities. Not unless you told those idiot locals to get drunk before they tried to kill me. Either way let's make sure nothing else like it happens near the beaches, yeah?"

The two allowed themselves a laugh.

"Yes sir. Is there anything else you require?"

"No, Colonel; get some rest my friend."

Heikka hung up, leaving Ikov to mull over his thoughts again. He stood up and walked to a map. His finger circled the section where the ambush occurred. He tried to determine what about the terrain might've helped them. Maybe it would be best to cut the woods back further? Perhaps Andric was right; maybe he had gotten spooked. Even so, He decided it would be best to sleep in the air raid shelter tonight.