Chp. 1: Kings of Swing

October 4, 2049

Naval Station Oured Bay, Osea

The sailors on the pier slipped the final mooring from its place, releasing the behemoth of a ship next to them from its terrestrial chains. Crew aboard the vessel pulled the ropes that held the ship to land back inside. With nothing to hold them back, the tugboats pushed the long, flat-topped ship away from her mooring and towards the open waters. A crowd of friends and family watched as the aircraft carrier OFS Icarus (CVN-62) was eased out until she was able to get underway with her own power. The towering flat top sailed by other examples of the Prometheus-class carrier as if bidding them farewell. Even a few of the old Hubert-class were present to watch the carrier deploy. Icarus was typical of her class, measuring just under 1100 Feet at her longest and reaching 250 Feet at her highest. Her island, angular and reminiscent of older stealth aircraft. Like the F-117's geometry in many places; a lot of Osean military tech was angular in terms of its architecture. At the moment, her flight deck was deserted as she got underway, with her assigned airwing enroute or soon to get on their way to her.

From his roost in the island, Rear Admiral Barry Leighton stared at the waters off the carrier's bow while she made haste for a position 90 Miles east of the peninsula that made this body of water a bay. Waiting there were the bulk of her escorts, while two Zumwalt-class Destroyers waited at the mouth of the bay. He turned his chair and looked at the nearest threat board while sailors dressed in khaki uniforms updated the position of the ship and the two surface combatants second-for-second. Even in the middle of the 21st century, the human element remained a prominent piece of naval operations. The Osean Navy's reasoning was simple in that it was a service that held tightly to its traditions. The carrier's wheel was still made of polished wood and brass, and announcements over the 1MC were still precluded by a whistle. Leighton had never known it to be any different during his 25 years in the service.

It was a standard l October morning at sea, chilly but with few clouds to be seen. The greyness that would pervade the Spring Sea was a long ways off, and several months of cold lay ahead. The last paradise before that was Adamas Island, and they were scheduled to reach the Persian Sea some weeks later. He looked back again as radio contact was established with the destroyers Cane (DDG-207) and Issac Hughes (DDG-220). One of the sailors looked his way and reaffirmed the move to the admiral. In turn, he picked up the handset in front of him and connected to the Captain's setup.

"Captain speaking." One David Crest spoke.

"Captain this is the Admiral, what's the word on the arrival of our air wing?" Leighton replied.

"Last word from CATCC and the Air Boss was that they're scheduled to start arriving in 45 minutes. FOD walkdown will occur about 30 minutes from now, and I'm still waiting on assurances from Weather that we won't have any issues getting them on here."

"Good, save for Weather dragging their feet. I'm going to position the destroyer Cane to be your plane guard. We'll rendezvous with them about the same time you begin the FOD walkdown."

"Roger that."

Icarus was slated to take aboard Carrier Air Wing Eight (CVW-8), made up of nine subordinate squadrons. Two of them were stationed at the East Coast's main hub, NAS Oured Bay. The pilots of CVW-8's two fighter units were emerging from where they'd suited up onto the tarmac. Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Jed Walker, Bronco to his fellow pilots, emerged among the lot with an eagerness to get airborne and aboard the boat. He half-waddled at first, then managed to get a more normal pace as his skinny frame adjusted to the weight of his gear. The setup of the modern Osean naval aviator had a look closer to Macross Zero than anything else. Though, much to Jed's delight, some of the artistic choices had been struck down by reality. He did like how it made his shoulders look a bit broader, though. It also meant that he was close to escaping land and being back where he wanted. There was never much for him here on land between cruises, and this would signal his third time leaving behind what little he kept here for a place where it was much easier on his mind. He almost started jogging but held him back when he could feel his flight lead's eyes on him.

"Come on Curry, have some confidence in me." He insisted in a country drawl, looking at Lieutenant Yuki Kurosawa.

"I have confidence in you, don't worry. Just don't let that confidence in yourself get away from you." She replied in that firm, big sister kind of way she always did.

Jed was a typical breed of Lieutenant Junior Grade: Young, still a bit overly cocky and transitioning from verbally accepting the multiple components of his career to physically accepting them. He liked to think he was doing good, but of course that didn't mean Yuki would cut him any breaks.

"Hey if y'all are gonna give that speech, give it to Glue or Brick." He protested to honor her rib pokings. Yuki replied in kind.

"You all get it. You listening, Brick?"

"Yes ma'am." Lieutenant Junior Grade Rick Willan replied from behind.

"Hey I'm a Lieutenant, Curry, so I already know to be a responsible boy." Lieutenant Nolan Gulesch half-laughed. Yuki nodded with a little sarcasm on her face and looked over at the only member of the lot who hadn't been talking. The woman had instead been busy making sure her hair bun wouldn't come apart while flying.

"Tsun-Tsun I also gotta say it since you're on exchange and this is your first time on a boat. But I also trust you to help me keep these two Jay-Gees in line." She added.

Lieutenant Anjali (Annie) Chopra of the Lenish Fleet Air Arm looked towards the woman and nodded. She then looked at Jed as if she had something to say to him, but didn't let it out. Her mind was focused on the matter at hand, and that was being a proper representative of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. Her wingman was certainly going to be a handful, she could feel it in her bones, but he would have his use. He was talented and professional, if not afflicted by that gung-ho attitude most Osean pilots two split off from the rest of the group, heading for their respective aircraft. Jed stopped short of his and held out a fist.

"Alright Tsun-Tsun…" He said, voice taking a much more serious tone. A minute passed, and he saw she hadn't even noticed him. He whistled to get her attention; the woman stopped and looked back at the Osean.

"Can I help you, Leftenant?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Uhm...well, Ah wanted to say good luck and Ah'll see yah on the boat."

"Oh...and the fist?"

"Fist bump?"

She smiled all polite and businesslike, wishing him luck but declining the gesture. He still didn't know what to think of her. She was cold towards her callsign, rarely took part in squadron functions, she almost seemed like she might be an android. A competent android, though, and he was certain he'd seen her smile at least once. All that ice couldn't bring Jed to really feel that interested in anything more than a very sterile relationship, though. No no, that made it sound like they didn't work together, Jed thought. They did, fairly well it was just...Jed brushed it off and turned to his jet.

"Sooner Ah'm on the boat or in Expo City the better." He mumbled.

HIS jet...the thought still made him bristle with a bit of pride. It was his and no one else's, not even his Plane Captain's he'd argue. That plane was the Northrop Grumman F-24C Hellcat II. She was a big plane, big and built like the old F-14 Tomcat. She had two tails, two engines and the variable geometry wings that seemed to be a staple of the company's breadwinners for over 65 years. Like his gear, she had a bit of that Macross aesthetic going on, kinda like a more realistic VF-0. It even had the skull and crossbones on the tail, though in this case that was something they'd taken from the Osean Navy. VF-34, the Daredevils, who had carried the symbol into battle since 1942. Jed had made it a point to study the long, storied history of his first squadron. Before he could get too wrapped up in sentimental thoughts, the young man trotted over to the enlisted man in charge of caring for "Skull 210" when it wasn't flying. Well, his substitute anyways.

"Good Morning, Petty Officer." He said, extending a hand to a man in camo pants and brown shirt.

"Morning sir, I'm Petty Officer Third Class Burton. My crew and I'll be getting you squared away for your hop out to the boat today." The young man replied with a smile.

"Everything in order? Sorry if Wolfy did all the work before y'all were assigned to help; he's very particular like that."

"Means less work for us if I'm being honest, sir. But we still gave her a lookover and she's all ready to go."

"Good to know, just need to take a look-see myself."

Jed removed his HGU-57, painted cherry red with racing stripes and a checkerboard pattern on each side from its bag and set it atop his head of short brown hair. Once it was firmly on, he set off along the starboard side of the F-24. He gently traced the fighter's lines back from her nose. Her lines were clean for this one; all the weapons carried by a fighter had already been loaded aboard the Icarus. He circled around before he climbed atop the fighter and checked her spine and tails. An electric feeling danced into his body from his fingertips as he checked every inch of the aircraft to make sure it was truly ready to fly. It was a feeling he loved so much. That thrill, that anticipation; like when he started the engine to his Camaro. He got back to the ground and checked the remaining length of the fighter before coming around and ascending the boarding ladder into the cockpit. He settled into the ejection seat and started strapping in. The Plane Captain ascended the ladder a minute later and helped him get secured. Jed took his oxygen mask and hooked it to one end of his helmet, then pulled it across his face and hooked up the other end. The Plane Captain gave him a thumbs up and hurried back to the ground. He stored the ladder and cleared the aircraft while the other groundcrew removed the wheel chocks. The only person remaining was a Plane Director, who gave Jed the signal to start up his aircraft. The two PW-F119 Turbofans spooled up into a rising screech as the array of displays and instruments came to life. He lowered the canopy over him and locked it into place as the engines reached the RPMs needed to taxi. He selected the proper radio frequency as he pulled down his HMD visor and synced it with his Enhanced Heads Up Display (EHUD)

"Skull 210 radio check." He spoke up.

"Skull 210, reading you loud and clear." Oured Bay's control tower replied.

Jed looked to Annie and nodded, a gesture which she returned this time. Radio calls went back and forth as pilots from VF-34 checked in and the tower acknowledged their hails. Then, one by one the fighters were directed from the place, starting with Commander Taylor Miles. Cyborg rolled off, her subordinates following in their aircraft like a gaggle of ducklings behind their mom. Jed fell in behind Rick and rolled from the ramp to one of the main runways. The aircraft took to the runway in pairs to speed things up, each radioing to the tower for the proverbial blessing to take off. Jed noted the weather conditions as he inched ever closer to the last piece of Osea he'd be on for the next six months. Putting his plane down on the boat would be a standard affair today, which was fine by him. It gave him room to focus on and fine-tune the act.

"Oured Bay Tower this is Hellcat 210, requesting clearance for departure on runway 2-B." He called as he eased the fighter into place and extended its wings to their maximum forward sweep.

"Hellcat 206 requesting departure instructions alongside 210." Annie chimed in.

"Hellcat 210, 206 this is Oured Bay Tower. Clear for departure runway 2-B, winds South-Southwest at five knots. Have a nice day." The enlisted man in the tower replied.

Just the words he'd been looking for. Jed clenched his jaw and pushed the throttles all the way forward. The F-24's engines rose in pitch even further and propelled the fighter forwards with cones of sheer white fire. He tightened every muscle and held it that way until the F-24 was going fast enough to get airborne. He pulled back on the control stick between his legs and took the Hellcat upwards. The fighter rose with grace, changing configuration on Jed's input. He banked to the right and swung around towards the coast. Annie joined on his wing and the two fighters headed for the Icarus with the rest of the gathering air wing…

Flight Lieutenant Santosh Linchen looked over his right shoulder as the other F-72A Sabertooth passed by at high speed. He let his Weapon Systems Officer (WSO), Squadron Commander Abhay Joshi, take over that responsibility while he banked hard right and brought the fighter around to engage the threat. His opponent had already gone into the vertical and was accelerating above the plains of northern Chakari. Santosh banked to the right and started up after the other F-72, centering the opposing fighter in his HMD's field of view. He selected the ACMI (Air Combat Maneuvering Instrumentation) pod he had in the left side bay and started tracking the other F-72 left the vertical as soon as he entered it, leaving him to roll and try to pursue. He throttled back and swung the nose down as quickly as he could, hoping to pin the other Sabertooth against the ground and sweep in for a good kill. It was a gamble, he knew; the pilot in the other aircraft excelled in using terrain to his advantage.

The move intrigued Sarathi Sarkar. The kid, one of the younger guys in the squadron, obviously knew that he and his backseater, Samya Suara, were strike types before fighter types. It was the kid knowing this that made "Sharky" suspect something. This particular part of the country was devoid of much to use; it was like flying over the ocean. He didn't stay low for long, though, and nosed up as soon as the other F-72 had its nose on them. He looked back as he came up and slowed, trying to slip out of Santosh's reach and make him overshoot. The F-72 was a better turner than its dad, the F-14, but not by much. The F-72's wings reached out as he dumped a good chunk of his speed and let the other jet zoom by.

"Still with me back there, Shamu?" He asked over the intercom.

"Yeah, and so are Sandy and A-Jo." The other man said.

"Yeah I know...not for long."

The Gs squeezed his middle-aged frame long enough to grey the edges of his vision. He pushed back against the forces and craned his neck just long enough to see the other F-72 as it went past and broke away from the fight. Sharky reversed and hit the gas while Santosh ascended to gain room. The fighter's two F135s pushed it up and up at blinding speed, until they hit the sound barrier.

"They're following us up...seven, going for our six." Joshi said.

"Roger, hang on."

Santoshi cut to the left and kept accelerating to build up more and more energy. He pulled a move much like Sharky's, aiming for the space inside the other aircraft's turn. Sharky moved aggressively to keep on him, looking for a quick end to the fight now that the kid hadn't done much with pushing him down into the weeds. Santoshi almost immediately jerked to the right and dumped his speed. He tensed every muscle in his body and held on as he made a very quick, very tight 360. He thought he was going to black out, but held on long enough that he kept conscious. He was left with little energy to move, but Sharky was well out ahead of him. Sharky looked back and pounced on that while the other F-72 was nosing down. He slowed, banked towards the F-72, and made a much easier turn. He felt almost like a vulture, or more accurately like his namesake. Santoshi kept his eyes on the man as he pushed the throttles up and closed the distance between the two of them again. He kept going down and down, using gravity to help to rebuild much-needed momentum.

"Come on Sandy, don't let him win again…" His backseater growled softly.

"I'm not gonna, A-Jo...not today." Santosh replied, trying his best to sound reassuring.

As Sharky fully committed his aircraft to charging the other fighter. Santoshi hooked to the right and crossed in front of the F-72. He then yanked it back and accelerated even more. Sharky's F-72 rushed by at their eleven high, close enough that the two crews could see each other through their cockpits.

"Kid's a little feisty today, Sharkman." Shamu commented, not sounding sure if he should be impressed or annoyed.

"He is...okay let's respect his tenacity." Sharky replied, grinning a bit.

"Attaboy."

Sharky nosed up and went for a classic maneuver in the form of a high yo-yo. Shamu tracked the F-72 as its dark grey form darted across the sky and advised his pilot to cut out part way through the maneuver. They ended up off Santosh's four o clock, from which Sharky could ease towards their six. Santosh saw them and nosed up hard, slowing and causing Sharky to keep coming towards him. The two crossed paths again like they first had, with neither in a good position to engage. Santosh went into a Split-S, swooping into the blue beneath the other crew and darting for their blindspots at that angle.

"Where'd he go, Shams?" Sharky asked impatiently.

"He's below us, gotta be below us. Saw him disappear at our four low." Shamu said as he went from side to side.

"Okay hang on, I'm going inverted."

Sharky instinctively moved his body with the roll and went into a dive. He managed to foil Santosh's attempt at him and rolled back upright to go left. He eased the Sabertooth's throttles forward to extend and defend. Santosh came back from their right and Sharky snapped to meet the attack. He looked over to start tracking his opponent with his own ACMI pod. Santosh forced a flat rolling scissors, which Sharky responded by going to guns. He balanced throttles and weaving to make sure he'd bleed energy slowly, hopefully long enough before Santosh could catch on. End the fight in a few crosses. Santosh gambled his energy more aggressively than Sharky had bet on, though, and went for a good angle right out the gate. Sharky responded in kind to his irritation. Whose pride was starting to egg on whose was becoming hard to tell, and the kid had definitely been listening in all those classes.

Santosh accepted the defensive after a couple of passes, only because he was happy to use it to put the two advisors in a place where he could nab the offensive position back and end the fight. He extended as far as he could before Sharky was back on him and forced him to maneuver and react. He pulled back on the stick and slowed as he came around, bringing Sharky closer and closer but carefully forcing him out of position. Sharky was buying the bait, if only to in turn put the kid into a false sense of security. He let his ACMI track the aircraft, waiting for the satisfying sound of a missile lock-on. Santosh then went left, and Sharky followed. He ended up to the left of the other F-72 as Santosh went into a barrel roll of sorts. He slowed and slowed all he could until Sharky was forced out in front. Santosh dipped down and came back to get a shot at Sharky. He nosed up to stave off stalling until he could get a shot, but Sharky replied by extending. Santosh went into afterburner to get as quick a speed boost as he could. He decided that he wasn't going to go for a classic tail shot. He was going to put technology to work for him.

Sharky broke to snap out of the lock, but once Santosh committed to a lag pursuit it became progressively harder and harder to make effective moves without bleeding speed. Sharky found he was being placed in a position that meant he wasn't in a good position either way. Santosh kept on him, but never got too close, and used every second to build up energy in case Sharky did something crazy. Sharky considered throttling back hard. Dumping all his energy and foiling it. He thought just too long, though. Just long enough that the fight was essentially over now. It was a very familiar feeling as you counted down those final few seconds to being morted. Unlike real fighting, when you were locked onto during ACM, that was it. The radio came on as Santosh dove down on the other F-72, forcing him towards the ground.

"Wolf 2-2, Fox 2...kill on Wolf 2-1. Kill on Wolf 2-1." Santosh announced. Dammit.

Sharky nosed up and looked back at Santosh and Joshi's aircraft as they fell in off the man's wing. He lifted up his visor and rubbed his eyes. A check of the GPS revealed they were at the northern edge of the range. About 80 Miles-he stopped and reminded himself to use kilometers. Chakari's Air Force used kilometers, which meant it was...130 kilometers? Roughly? He realized that was the second time he'd paused to think on something. He shook his head and keyed his radio before Shamu could ask what was going on.

"Wolf 2-2, stick with me. We're gonna make a quick sweep up near the border on our way back to Rana, got me?" He instructed, looking at his fuel gauge. They had enough to make a single arc up towards the division between Chakari and Sotoan, then head back down towards their homebase at Rana.

"Yes Lead. Wolf 2-2 will maintain position until ordered otherwise." Santosh replied, doing the same.

The two aircraft turned north with Sharky radioing his intentions to the local controlling agency. The two aircraft may have been equipped with ACMI pods and mock Sidewinders in their cheek bays, but the center bays along the belly of each aircraft carried very real AIM-120E AMRAAMs (Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile). The political climate dictated it, and Sharky couldn't agree more with his employers. Chakari was, quite frankly, facing bad odds against Sotoa. Even the land of his origins couldn't screw up invading this place; they would have to TRY to mess it up. He tried not to laugh at that, or any part of the self-deprecating joke.

"So what was with all the head shakin', Sharkman?" Shamu asked.

Dammit...again.

"Thoughts, Shams, just thoughts." He replied. The man looked at his wingman, then glanced at Shamu as he settled back into his seat.

"Care to share 'em with your long-time Wizzo? One who has helped and been through many a trial with you? Always loyally ready to help?"

"You can help by booting up the radar."

"I already did, so spill it."

Sharky frowned a bit, then got an idea.

"Okay, so Gale is like knee-deep in menopa-"

"OKAY NOPE NOPE NEVERMIND SHAMU IS TOO BUSY LOOKING AT THE RADAR RIGHT NOW WATCHING THE PRETTY PICTURES THE APG-77 PAINTS NOPE HE GETS THE MESSAGE WE CAN TALK LATER."

Sharky laughed for a little bit as his friend suddenly had his face down in the screen for the aforementioned system. After he had his fun, he decided that his friend would get the short, simple version.

"Shams, we're getting old."

"No shit, you think those empty boxes of Just For Men are showin' up in the room's trash can for fun?"

"Then share a few sometime, will ya?"

"We can work out a trade, now less banter more patrolling."

"Heh, roger that."