Chapter-VIII

Aces Above.

Groom AFB, Arizona, Concordia.

1995.

Colonel John "Duke" Elis didn't even feel his aircraft lift off the ground as he and the rest of his squadron formed up in the air. The F-19 "Ghost rider" was the latest toy that Lockheed Skunkworks had made for the Concordian Air Force. In the mid-1960s a Vostokvakian mathematician published a paper that determined that radar cross sections of aircraft weren't so much a result of size as their configuration of its edges. He suggested that one could design an aircraft to properly reflect and reduce radar; you could make an aircraft 'stealthy'. However, such a design was inherently unstable. While the Vostokvakian military in the boom of its rearmament took note of the information it was deemed unusable at the time. The paper did make it the Confederation, where aircraft designers took note of the idea. Similar research was conducted during the Second Great War by the Allies, mostly with the idea of flying wings. Despite the best efforts of Concordian and Ulraznavian designers, the flying wing was unstable. The idea of stealth aircraft would sit on the backburner for most of the 1960s.

Typical air to air armament Elis had currently were AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles. a new attack profile was developed by F-19 pilots as a result. During war games out in the Nevada desert, one F-19 crew was able to close within missile range of an E-3 Sentry AWACS. The pilots suggested that using the right approach and tactics a Black Eagle could eliminate an enemy AWACS with little warning. The F-19 had the ability to launch and fire Sparrow air to air missiles but the pilots eventually decided it was more of a hindrance than an advantage. The radar homing missile required radiating, which broadcasted their location. Over a period of a few years the F-19s worked out the best attack profile for their aircraft. Many pilots came from the low level penetrating F-111. The F-19 would adopt a similar approach, eventually rising to deliver its bomb load.

One task the F-19 crews trained for but didn't relish was that of nuclear strike. Ever since the first use of nuclear weapons during the Second Great War, the various powers had developed nuclear arsenals. Concordia, The Socialist Coalition of Vostokvakia (SKVSR) , the Ulraznavians, and Empire of Satsuma all had stockpiles of nuclear bombs by 1975, in the low hundreds. Concordian testing had allowed for the development of smaller nuclear devices that could go atop missiles, the Minutemen. Despite this advantage the C.C. maintained a force of nuclear capable bombers. The F-19 was seen as the ultimate last shot guarantee. With its ability to penetrate enemy IADS, the F-19 could theoretically reach any target in the world with in range. Two B-61 Nuclear Bombs could be carried by the F-19.

Currently, Ellis was saying his goodbyes to a pilot on the ground. "Good luck in Euronia, Duke, at least you aren't stuck on nuke duty." The voice of Jessica "Burnhouse" Palmers reported from the radio

Keying his mic, Ellis addressed his wingmate Burnhouse. " Roger that, we drew the short straw this rotation. But someone's gotta be ready if things go south."

It was a sobering thought, hauling live nukes amid the worldwide chaos unfolding by the hour. But deterrence was the name of the game against...whoever the hell was behind this mess.

"Stay frosty Burnhouse," Ellis reminded her. "We train for this, but pray we never use it."

"Copy that Duke," she replied. "Though I'd feel better with a full squadron at our back."

Ellis grimaced. Necessary dispersal unfortunately, in case their bases got hit. Each Ghost Rider was now a lone sentinel above the storms gathering below.

"We may be few, but the Riders have never let Concordia down," Ellis said. "And we won't start today. Now let's patrol our zone and get home safe. The President himself is counting on us."

Burnhouse acknowledged crisply before falling silent. Ellis gazed out his canopy at the empty blue sky ahead. Their stealth gave them an edge, but against an enemy this unpredictable, nothing was guaranteed.

Except one thing - his oath before God to defend his country, to his last breath if need be. Come what may, the Ghost Riders would be ready.

SKY ABOVE NOVA ARCADIA

SILVIA CONTINENT.

FLIGHT COMMANDER MAGNA AYCE.

Flight Commander Magna Ayce grunted as the reentry phase ended. Strapped into her Lightning fighter she let her bionic eye scan the sky. She groaned. Ever since coming to this backwater, things were getting screwed for Battlefleet Scolaris. 30 percent of the planet taken, and resistance movements were still not broken. It was preposterous. And now she was seriously considering throttling the Imperial Guard Vox team for giving her faulty intel.

"Are you sure you saw an aerocraft here…I see absolutely nothing!" she barked. It was night time and even her bionic eye was having trouble getting anything.

"We...we are certain flight commander, we saw black shapes ourselves." The Guard officer answered.

She grunted again before she felt a shadow cross over her. Looking above, she saw a sleek black aircraft. She checked her Auspex, nothing. She rubbed her remaining eye, it was still there.

"What in the throne are you?" she asked herself. As if answering her, the craft swooped down behind her in perfect weapons fire position.

F-19 GHOSTRIDER

Lt Amy Rallison smirked. The UFO Pilot had no idea she had been above her. Why wasn't the pilot noticing she had a missile lock on it. She had the alien craft squarely in her sights, yet oddly it seemed oblivious to the F-19's presence. She carefully maneuvered into the firing position behind it, struggling to make sense of the strange bat-winged design.

No IFF squawk, no radio callsign...this was not one of theirs. days into this damned war and they were still encountering new enemy aircraft. Rallison's finger tensed over the trigger - orders were to shoot down anything unidentified without hesitation.

At this range, her Sidewinders couldn't miss. She'd vaporize the bogey before it even knew what hit it. Quick and clean.

Something made Rallison pause. The alien pilot had seemed confused, scanning the skies trying to spot her rather than taking evasive action. Could it be...she hadn't been detected at all?

A thrill went through Rallison. The F-19's stealth was still an ace up their sleeve if the enemy couldn't see them coming. She eased off the alien's tail - no need to reveal their capabilities yet. Command would want to analyze the gun camera footage first.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch," Rallison muttered to the alien flyer. By rights, it should be debris raining down by now. But Rallison relished the hunt too much to ruin the game this early.

She snapped some parting photos before the Ghost Rider melted back into the night. They'd meet again, she was certain of that. And next time, she might not be so merciful...

LIGHTNING FIGHTER.

Magna watched the aircraft swoop away, confused. What were those things strapped on the wings?

Flight Commander Magna eyed the strange aircraft as it banked away, fading into the night sky. She had sensed it close behind her, yet no auspex or visual contact. How was that possible?

Squinting, she focused on the indistinct shape, trying to glean some clues before it disappeared. The wings... appeared to have some sort of missiles or ordnance attached. Rather small and primitive looking compared to her lascannons, but still potentially dangerous.

Magna shuddered as she realized the implications - that pilot could have blasted her out of the sky easily if they had wanted. She had been at their mercy completely, oblivious to the threat until it was practically on top of her.

"Throne damn these backward savages," she muttered. Some new secret weapon they clearly possessed, able to evade even her advanced auspex. She would have to be extremely wary on future sorties.

As her wingman joined up, Magna put the strange encounter out of mind. She had a mission to complete, nevermind phantom attackers in the dark. Though the next time they met, she would be ready and waiting.

This world's odd tricks would not avail them forever. The Imperium's might would crush them in the end, no matter what resistance they tried to mount in the shadows. All their petty stealth could ultimately do was prolong the inevitable.

SEAS OVER NOVA ARCADIA

Flight Commander Dagor-Jarni stared at the anachronistic aircraft from the cockpit of his crimson-painted Thunderbolt fighter. It was massive. Four archaic propeller engines, ungainly design...clearly not one of the local forces he had battled so far. The bold red star insignia was unknown to him as well.

His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to lose a salvo of lascannon fire and reduce this flying relic to scrap. But his orders were clear - conserve ammunition and avoid needless confrontations.

"Let us see if this beast has any teeth first," Dagor-Jarni muttered. Slowly he eased closer to the aircraft, ready to dodge aside if it made any hostile moves. He had speed and maneuverability on his side, while the enemy's sluggish aerial boat would prove no match.

Yet to his surprise, the aircraft held its course steady, ignoring his Thunderbolt's presence. Either the pilot was oblivious, or unwilling to take the bait. Dagor-Jarni respected their discipline, if nothing else about the crude machine.

Satisfied there was no threat, Dagor-Jarni broke off, allowing the strange flyer to pass unmolested. They posed no danger to his mission today.

"Another relic for the surface's aviation museums," he chuckled to himself, before turning his course back to the staging grounds. This day's minor curiosity was already forgotten.

Tu-95RT "Eyes of Trotsky"

1132 Hours GMT, 1232 Hours Local

Damn my luck, the Invader bird is coming! Captain Lieutenant Kirill Voronin's thoughts were infuriated over what happened. This was yet another electronic intelligence gathering mission… But he came too close to the range of the Invader aircraft before his crew could surprise it. It'd be a matter of minutes before their fighters would "help" him, his crew and their aircraft back to defend itself. And the only solace to be found was from the deafening noise of the Tu-95RT's four Kuznetsov NK-12 turboprop engines.

Seeing few alternatives, he decided to contact a little surprise for the Invader fighter, "Red Bishop Flight, what is your position?"

"This is Red Bishop Leader," A voice on the radio transmitted, "We are twenty five miles away. Approaching from the east, at 180 feet, approaching at 400 knots, over."

With that, Kirill responded in a slightly desperate tone of voice, "Well don't be slow. I don't want the alien bird killing me, over."

He proceeded to steer to the right, applying the rudders alongside his copilot, Senior Lieutenant Sergei Kobets. To which the latter shared the sentiments of his tovarish, "We almost acquired what we needed – What would our superiors think of us now?" Resulting in Voronin shaking his head in dissatisfaction.

Red Bishop Flight (941st Fighter Aviation Regiment PVO)

1136 Hours GMT, 1236 Hours Local

"They'll regret invading earth," Captain Taras Sokolov said aloud to himself as he continued on his flight's course. Ever since the rise of President Narmonov, the 941st Fighter Aviation Regiment, while assigned to defending the Motherland, had been participating in the escorting of electronic intelligence and reconnaissance aircraft.

Ever since the invasion, Invader interceptors were all but frequent in the North Atlantic against their recon flights, the Politburo decided to surprise them with the nearest fighter squadrons. Red Bishop Flight was no exception. But to achieve surprise, they had to fly low with near-radio silence and no radar emissions. And their R-73 IR-guided missile-equipped Su-27S fighters were best suited for this kind of task. They were multirole fighters capable of operating at long ranges, especially in attacking ground forces and using supermaneuverability in dogfights – Especially against the Concordian's' F-15 Eagle and the Edenite Tornado Air Defense Variant.

And now, word came of a possible Invader aircraft trying to force the Eyes of Trotsky away from its intelligence gathering mission. But that wouldn't last for long, as Sokolov went gave a new order to his three wingmen, "Flight, prepare to ascend on my mark."

Captain Voronin gritted his teeth as the alien interceptor closed in on his Tu-95RT. His efforts to steer clear had failed - now they had no choice but to try and defend themselves against the technologically superior foe.

"This is Red Bishop Leader - standby, we are almost in position," crackled the radio. Voronin said a silent prayer of thanks. Their Su-27 fighter escort might arrive just in time.

"On your signal comrades, drive this bastard from our skies!" he responded. The bomber crew braced themselves, ready to make evasive maneuvers. Voronin only hoped they could buy enough time.

Moments later, four fireballs roared up from below as the Su-27s ascended to the fight. The Invader reacted instantly, swooping into attack position on the new contacts. But the Flankers were ready.

"Fox 2!" Sokolov barked as an R-73 leapt from his wingtip. The alien tried to evade, but the proximity fuse detonated right beneath its hull. Fire and shrapnel tore through the fuselage.

The stricken Invader spiraled away, spewing smoke. The remaining Su-27s moved to pursue, but Sokolov called them off.

"Return to escort formation - the threat is neutralized." The fighters took up station around the battered Tu-95. Voronin's relieved voice came over the radio.

"Red Bishop, you are our guardian angels this day. We owe you all a round back at base."

Sokolov chuckled. "We'll hold you to that, Eyes of Trotsky. Now let's see you safely home."

DAGOR JARNI

Dagor-Jarni barely saw the sleek, light blue painted aerocrafts as they appeared past the anachronistic big one. "What the..." they had twin tails and made his thunderbolt look like an inglorious bull compared to their sleekness.

Acting on instinct, he kicked his fighter into full afterburner to gain distance from the escalating confrontation. His auspex flickered wildly as some kind of radio emissions spiked from the newly arrived craft.

Moments later, glowing projectiles streaked from the slim aerocraft, toward him. Dagor-Jarni watched in grudging admiration even as he withdrew farther from the battle zone.

"A clever ambush, and well executed," he mused to himself. Clearly these were elite defense fighters of some kind, used to cooperative attacks. Fast, deadly, and flown with precision and coordination.

Dagor-Jarni resolved to be more cautious on future sorties. The planet's native defenders continued to surprise him with their capabilities, despite their reliance on fossil fuel engines and ballistic weaponry. This world would not bend its knee easily to the Imperium.

But neither would he. Dagor-Jarni lived for challenging prey, and while respectful of these new hunters, he did not fear them. In time, he would learn all their tricks, and how best to counter them.

For now, though, he was content to simply watch and learn. There was much this planet could teach - even to one such as him.

1km above the Sea Of Satsuma.

Mike was back in the cockpit and seated (having apologized for how long he took to the effect of blaming something that disagreed with him, though Lenny's suggestions were kind of hard not to think about), John decided to make the call.

"Calling Tokyo Air Traffic Control," he spoke, nervously, "calling Tokyo Air Traffic Control, this is UNA-7734. Over."

"This is Tokyo," replied the radio, in Edenite except with a heavy Satsumese accent, "reading you loud and clear. Go ahead, UNA-7734. Over."

"What's the situation on the ground," asked Lovell, "can you give me a sitrep of what the heck's going on? Over."

"Negative," replied the controller over at Tokyo, ". UNA-7734 be advised: the Satsumese Imperial Armed Forces, and the ISSDF have just issued a nationwide alert. All non-military aircraft are being instructed to land. There is an emergency in effect." Lovell turned to look at Wilson, who looked right back at him; they both had concerned expressions on their faces. Ground control continued: "Alert is addressed to all aircraft in Satsumese airspace; similar alert may be in effect in Concordia, especially Anchorage. You had better check in with your destination. Over."

"Roger that. Over and out." John placed the radio back before looking at the stunned faces of his crew. Mike, the oldest after the captain was the first to break the silence.

"Jack…you think the Red Stovies've started WW3?"

Lovell frowned as Tokyo Control described an unprecedented nationwide alert in Satsuma. His crew exchanged worried looks - was this finally the war they'd dreaded for so long?

"Let's not jump to conclusions," he cautioned, though privately Lovell shared their concern. Whatever was happening, it seemed to extend beyond Satsuma's shores.

"I don't think it's the Vostokvakians," he said. "Their leadership knows a war would be suicidal." Though lately, nothing seemed certain anymore.

Lovell reached for the radio again. "Tokyo Control, can you advise reason for alert status? Also request routing to nearest suitable divert airfield. Over."

The controller responded promptly. "Alert issued in response to unidentified aircraft violating sovereign airspace. Several were shot down. We cannot confirm origin at this time. As for diversion, standby."

Lovell waited tensely as Tokyo conferred with higher authorities. Mike voiced the question on all their minds: "Think it could be those UFOs people keep seeing?"

Before anyone could reply, the radio crackled back to life. "UNA-7734, you are cleared direct to Misawa Air Base. Further instructions pending. Exercise extreme caution, unknown aircraft remain at large. Over."

Lovell acknowledged tersely. "Roger Tokyo, proceeding direct Misawa." He entered the new course but kept one hand near the transponder. Whatever they were flying into, he wanted answers fast. And options, if it came to that.

Things just got a lot more complicated upstairs. Now they needed somewhere to set down and figure this out, before it was too late.

Karla watched impassively as her lascannons annihilated two more rebel aircraft with contemptuous ease. Primitive, sluggish things - they barely qualified as targets.

She shook her head as she tailed a third lumbering flyer, this one oddly adorned with some form of blue star symbol. A pity to destroy such unique native craft, but the Imperium's duty came first.

As she closed in for the kill, Karla considered her situation. With fleet communications still cut off, they were on their own down here until the tech-priests could solve the issues.

Fortunately, resistance seemed light - the main rebel forces had apparently already been crushed in orbit and on the ground. These scattered remnants posed little threat.

She lined up the rebel aircraft in her sights, her auspex lining up a targeting solution, charging the lascannon capacitors. "Die in ignorance, heretic," she intoned coldly.

With a squeeze of the trigger, brilliant beams of light speared forth, bathing the night sky. The rebel craft came apart in an expanding cloud of flame and debris.

"Splash another xeno," reported Soren. Karla checked her auspex - the local skies were now clear.

"Let's find a secure location to set down and reestablish comms," she told Soren. They would continue the Emperor's work here soon enough. For now, a chance to regroup and gather intelligence was in order.

There was much yet to learn about this world called Nova Arcadia. And Miri intended to lay bare all its secrets, by force if necessary. The Imperium's dominion here had only just begun.

Robert "Robbie" Stoll relaxed into his seat. The flight had been uneventful so far, not that he minded. Currently he had his headphones settled into his years. The 12-year-old was travelling alone for the first time. His dad worked for one of Concordia's biggest Megacorporation's. His mom worked in its Vostokvakian branch.

"More orange juice?" offered the stewardess.

Robbie replied: "I'm fine. But thank you!" The stewardess nodded.

There was a ding! as the "fasten seatbelt" signs came on throughout the cabin. "This is your Captain speaking..." began the intercom, Robbie didn't wait to hear the rest of it as she put his headphones back on. Whatever he was saying, though, must have been important, because the stewardess immediately stopped what she was doing, and began to walk briskly towards the front of the plane.

BBOOOOOMMMM!

It was the loudest noise he had ever heard - so loud and sudden that he heard it even over the music playing in his headphones. It was followed by a ROAR, like thunder. The entire cabin shook.

Robbie froze as a deafening boom shook the aircraft, the cabin decompressing violently around him. Howling wind and frigid air blasted through as oxygen masks dropped from overhead.

Heart hammering, he fumbled to don his mask with trembling hands. Debris flew wildly around him - magazines, cups, even dislodged luggage battering passengers. Cries and screams rose over the din.

Despite his shock, Robbie forced himself to stay calm like his dad taught him. Find the problem, focus on solutions. The plane was wounded but still flying - there was hope.

Blocking out the chaos around him, he peered out the window searching for damage. A jagged gash had been torn down the fuselage, explaining the decompression. But no fire or smoke that he could see.

The pilots would be fighting to control the aircraft. Somehow, they had to get down safely before things got worse. Robbie sent a desperate prayer upwards as the plane continued its precarious descent.

Stay brave, he told himself. Dad always said these birds could glide a long way without power. There was still a chance, as long as he kept faith.

Over the panicked passengers, he suddenly heard the captain's strained voice over the PA, telling them to brace. They were going to try an emergency landing.

Robbie clenched his seat arms tightly, mask sealed against the howling wind. This was it - time to hold on and pray. Focus on seeing his family again. With luck, the worst was over now.

Please let us make it, he thought as the ground rushed up. Just hold together a little longer...

Karla cursed as her lascannon shot went wide, the rebel transport juking away damaged but intact. Soren's warning had distracted her at the worst moment.

"New contacts, ten o'clock high, closing fast!" Soren reported urgently. Karla checked her auspex - three new blips, holding tight formation. Finally, some organized resistance.

"Breaking off attack run," she told Soren through gritted teeth. The lascannon needed a moment to recharge, and she wanted a firing solution on the new threats first. Being caught from behind would be fatal.

Karla banked into a hard turn, converting momentum into a rapid vector change. The three-rebel craft were coming in at supersonic speeds unlike the lumbering transports she had engaged so far. Skilled pilots for certain.

"Match speed and acquire targets," she ordered Soren, charging the capacitors again. The Valkyrie's remaining systems were up to the challenge, even if its agility was now limited.

As the rebel formation approached, Karla's eyes narrowed, becoming one with the targeting machine spirit. "Come then...let us end this," she whispered.

Her fingers tightened on the triggers. The enemy was fast, but her aim was faster. "For the Emperor..."

At the perfect moment, she fired, lascannons spearing the night with incandescent fury. The rebel craft scattered but too late - she would not miss again.

Gadyvka Flight had finally caught up with its target, a small gunship/transport thing. The 3 MiG-29s had been tracking their target for hours.

"Gotcha" Zhalkova let a grin come underneath her masked face as the alien gunship finally appeared in her sights. After hours of pursuit, Vronska, Bobrova, and herself had caught up to the invader craft at last. Time to teach these alien bastards not to mess with Rodina.

"Target acquired, weapons hot!" she radioed her wingmates as they formed up in attack formation behind her. The strange boxy alien ship was fast and maneuverable in the atmosphere, but no match for their MiG-29s.

"Fox 2!" Zhalkova fired a Vympel R-73 missile, the others following suit instantly. Their heat-seekers streaked toward the enemy ship trailing plumes of rocket exhaust. At this range, evasion was impossible.

But to her shock, brilliant beams of searing red light suddenly stabbed out from the alien craft, swinging onto attack vectors with terrifying speed. Vronska's MiG erupted as one beam speared straight through the cockpit.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Zhalkova yelled, throwing her MiG into a series of violent high-G turns. Their ambush had failed - now it was a duel to the death.

The alien pilot was lethally skilled, using their directed energy weapons to maximum effect. But Zhalkova had a few tricks left. As the deadly beams sliced past in pursuit, she deployed flares, breaking the enemy's target lock.

The hunt had only just begun. They would need every bit of skill and guts to take this monster down. But failure was not an option - it never had been for the Red Eagles. Rodina was depending on them.

Karla gritted her teeth as multiple missile launches showed on her auspex. The rebel craft were fast and their pilots skilled, coordinating their attack for maximum effect. But she still had a few tricks left.

"Evasive maneuvers!" She barked to Soren, before gunning the throttle straight towards the incoming missiles. She could tell from their flight pattern these projectiles had limited agility - she could use that.

The first warhead closed in rapidly, filling her vision. At what seemed like the last possible instant, Karla wrenched the Valkyrie into a hard right bank, firing the wingtip jets for additional snap rotation. The missile streaked past unable to match her rapid vector change.

But the second projectile was already correcting to intercept her new course, giving Karla barely a second to react. She fired left side jets, slewing the Valkyrie laterally while retaining forward momentum from the first dodge - a "slip" maneuver.

The second missile overshot, unable to track her erratic evasion. One left, and Karla could tell from the smoke trail it would miss...she had just enough time to snap off a lascannon shot at a rebel before needing to jink again.

It was a desperation move, but she had to try. Lining up the targeting reticle in a split-second, she fired even as the last missile closed in. Her red beam speared forth, an incandescent lance of vengeance.

Now to survive her own gamble...Karla braced for terminal maneuvers as the Valkyrie's lascannon capacitors recharged. "For the Emperor!" she yelled defiantly.

The deadly dance in the skies was not over yet.

Karla smirked in satisfaction as her lascannon obliterated the last missile straight-on. Her jinking evasion had paid off, leaving her Valkyrie marked but still battle-worthy.

"How'd you like that, heretics?" she gloated over the open vox, riding the adrenaline rush. Before Skiff could warn her to stay focused, the rebel craft were already swooping around for another attack run.

"You just had to ask, didn't you Lieutenant?" Soren said pointedly as multiple missile launches appeared on auspex again.

"Nothing we can't handle, Soren," Karla snapped back, though she silently kicked herself for letting ego distract her. She quickly plotted an evasion trajectory using the Valkyrie's superior thrust vectoring.

"Let's give them a little surprise this time," she told Soren with a fierce grin. "Standby countermeasures on my mark..."

The rebel missiles closed in, seeking vengeance for their destroyed counterpart. But Karla was ready, her eyes flickering between the threats and her ship's status readouts. Right as the warheads entered terminal tracking, she executed her move.

"Now! "She commanded Soren. The Valkyrie's chaff and flare launchers burst to life, spewing clouds of metallic debris and brilliant flares. At the same time, Karla fired all maneuvering jets, sending her ship into a spiraling lateral tumble.

The missiles lost lock, swirling erratically before detonating well wide of her wildly maneuvering craft. Karla had bought them a precious few second of breathing room. Hopefully enough to turn the tables on these rebel scum...

Notes-The F-19 comes from the Tom Clancy Novel Red Storm Rising.