"Overlord, this is Crystal Actual. relay from Signals battalion. Radio intercepts indicate that enemy regional command is issuing a blanket withdrawal from the AO. J-STARS assets are observing collelated movement of major formations out of the area."
"Overlord acknowledges all. At this time, continue with pre–briefed plans, move to and hold phase line Charlie. Additional taskings to follow, over."
"Crystal Actual acknowledges all, out."
"A hundred and thirty POWs." Scott mused while he rested his M249 on the windowsill of a barracks building. "A hundred and fucking thirty."
Terry scoffed. "Probably a good thing, all things considered. Saves us the bullets."
"And the grenades." Scott retorted. He sighed. "Man, I hope they don't drop arty on our heads."
"Don't jinx it, Scott." Terry said. "Don't fucking jinx it."
"Oh, I'm sure the Yukes won't bomb the single largest occupied stretch of infrastructure this close to the fuckin' front lines." Scott started ranting. "Out of the kindness of their hearts, you know?"
"There's tempting fate and then there's whatever the fuck you're doing." Terry rolled his eyes. "Now they're not just going to drop rounds on our heads, now they're going to drop rockets and those giant ballistic missiles on our he-"
"Hey hey hey." Terry and Scott's squad leader, Sergeant Cox, piped up. "Can you two shut the fuck up for ten seconds?"
"Aye, sergeant." The two replied in unison. Terry sighed and adjusted his glasses. He wanted to take his helmet off so he could get rid of the humidity building underneath the kevlar shell, but in the very likely case that they started taking artillery fire, a single piece of shrapnel could end him in an instant. Terry took out his earplugs. When he removed them, he heard what sounded like faint explosions in the distance.
Boom… boom…. Boom.
"Do you hear that?" Terry asked.
"Hear what?" Scott asked in kind. Curious, he removed his earplugs. "Oh yeah, what the fuck is that?"
"Tracks 1245 through 1257 splashed with birds."
"CIC, bridge, does Eagle 2 have eyes on the launchers?" Corsair inquired.
"Bridge, CIC, affirm." The TAO replied. "Yuke rocket artillery battery and associated support, designated track 1258."
"Prepare gunnery solution to engage Track 1258 with Scalpels." The battlecruiser CO ordered. "Give them six rounds."
"Engaging track 1258 with guns."
"Target elevation… 438 feet. Range, sixty three klicks."
"Charge 5 selected. Loaded. Batteries released."
BOOM! BOOM!
The Hammer's two triple gun turrets discharged three rounds a piece, sending a ton of steel and high explosive sixty kilometres down range.
"Gunnery, rounds complete. Good GPS/INS track, Scalpels looking for Eagle 2's laser." The gunnery control centre reported their actions as the Scalpels left the ship and went for the Yuktobanian multiple launch rocket system - MLRS - trucks. The Hammer was slowly trailing along the coast at a paltry five knots, partly to keep her transmissible noise through the water to a minimum, but mostly to keep her guns pointed towards the front line with minimal navigational adjustment.
Corsair waited patiently in silence, observing his immediate surroundings on the bridge and occasionally looking at the tactical map and the display that showed everything the Hammer's sensors detected. The vast majority of assets in the area were Osean. The Yuktobanians had been completely pushed off the beachhead and all the way up to the phase line. For the most part, surviving Yuke aerial forces were withdrawing away from the area, giving the Oseans air superiority in the region.
"Bridge, starboard bridge wing, I see a ship's mast bearing 345, range eight thousand yards." Somebody on the right side bridge wing called out. Corsair frowned. He got out of the chair, walked outside onto the bridge wing and took over the binoculars the sailor had used to report the sighting in the first place. The sailor was right, the mast of a ship was poking over the top of a cove in the peninsula.
Corsair keyed his radio. "CIC, captain, do we have any surface tracks between 330 to 000?"
"CIC, negative, picture clean in that arc." The TAO replied. Corsair pondered. He turned around and walked into the interior of the bridge.
"Helm, all ahead two thirds." Corsair ordered.
"All ahead two thirds, aye sir." The helmsmen repeated the order, moving a lever at his station forward. The Hammer started to pick up speed, going from an anaemic five knots to a paltry twenty knots in the span of about a minute.
"New surface contact, bearing 351, range eight thousand metres. Designated track 1259." There was a brief pause. "Vampire, vampire, vampire! Incoming projectiles bearing 351!"
"Helm, all ahead flank." Corsair ordered calmly. The helmsman rattled back the order and the battlecruiser picked up speed. "Gunnery, return fire on enemy warship."
"Track 1259 identified as a Buyan-class corvette."
"Point track acquired. Range eight thousand fifty one metres, stationary target. Charge 1 loaded, chamber hot."
"Batteries released. Fire!"
BOOM-BOOM!
The sheer violence of the pressure coming out of the gun barrels briefly blasted the water vapour out of the air. As the last of twelve rounds left B turret's barrels, the first of ten rounds fired by the corvette approached the battlecruiser.
"Vampire, vampire, vampire, killing with CIWS."
The Hammer had four Phalanx close-in weapon systems, one on each corner of the superstructure in similar fashion to the older modernised Iowas. The two radar-guided gatling guns on the starboard side of the ship acquired tracks on the incoming shells and started firing up into the sky.
BRRRRRRT! WHIRRR-BRRRRRRRRRT! WHIRR-BRRRRRRT!
The two Phalanx systems were brutal and efficient - as efficient as throwing a wall of lead into the path of an incoming projectile could be, anyway. Explosions filled the skies increasingly closer and closer to the Hammer as one by one each shell met the wall of twenty millimetre rounds put up by CIWS. None of the ten rounds made it through the Hammer's defensive network. Corsair could have sworn he heard fragments of metal raining down on his ship as the last round was splashed.
"Explosions observed on enemy warship! Eight thousand metres, bearing 349!" The observer on the starboard bridge wing called out. Corsair could see fire and smoke wafting into the air from his seat on the bridge. He picked up a microphone and keyed the transmit button.
"CIC, captain, keep firing until the bastard disappears from radar." Corsair ordered the gun crews. As ordered, the main battery kept firing. The Buyan, already on fire and dead in the water, was smashed into oblivion over the course of the next sixty seconds. One twelve inch round was enough to cripple the ship. Thirty six of them was more than enough to turn the corvette into little more than a vast collection of tiny metal fragments.
"Track 1259 faded from radar."
"CIC, captain, weapons tight." Corsair looked back to the helmsman. "Helmsman, draw back to all ahead slow."
"All ahead slow, aye sir."
Corsair adjusted his flash hood and wiped the small beads of sweat on his forehead away. In the grand scheme of things, a corvette with a small calibre gun couldn't do much to his ship, but the loss of the Hood still weighed heavily in his mind.
Over the next couple of hours, the situation on the ground and at the front line properly stabilised as the initial landing force and follow up forces dug in at and behind the front line. The Marines had put four thousand troops - four battalions - on the peninsula within thirty minutes of the landings. Over the next two hours they were reinforced by an additional six thousand men and associated equipment, placing the majority of the Third Marine Expeditionary Force on mainland Yuktobania. The Army's 82nd Airborne Division had contributed three thousand men and two hundred vehicles in addition to the Marine complement. Other Army assets, including artillery, air defence and logistical assets were expected to be on the peninsula by sunset.
"All forces, this is Overlord. Excellent work for the first day in the campaign. Cease offensive operations for the day. Dig in and button down. The Yuktobanians aren't going to let us take this corridor that easily, they'll be coming back. I say again, dig in. Overlord, out."
As Operation Footprint drew to a close on the Yuktobanian mainland, Wardog Squadron was just now arriving back at the old Osean frontline. All of the structures were the same as when they had left earlier that morning, but even from a distance it was easy to tell that most of the aircraft stationed at the base were missing, committed to varying missions in and around Yuktobania.
Nearly running on fumes, Blaze brought her Mudhen into a smooth and controlled landing on Sand Island's main runway. The wheels kissed the tarmac and Blaze dropped the nose. She and Samurai came to a snail's pace halfway up the runway, navigating around the taxiways and over to Wardog's hangar section. Chopper, Nagase and Grimm trailed their flight lead to the hangars. The ground crew threw chocks in under the F-15E's landing gear and Blaze started shutting down the aircraft. As the engines spooled down, Blaze took her helmet off and leant back.
"Jesus christ." Ash muttered, rubbing her eyes. Kitagawa opened the canopy.
"Drained?" Kitagawa asked, undoing her straps in the backseat.
"Thoroughly." Ash mumbled. She yawned and echoed Kitagawa's movements, undoing her straps, stepping out of the cockpit and planting her feet onto the tarmac. Grimm, Chopper and Wolf were already waiting for them. Nagase and Pops were a couple of seconds behind the pilot and WSO that made up Wardog 1.
"Piss, eat, sleep, you know the drill." Ash informally told the members of her squadron. As they walked away from their jets, Ash brushed her fingers through her dark brown hair.
"Grimm with the five Felon kills." Wolf spoke up. "Little man's got enough kills to earn a stealth ace."
Grimm chuckled. "All in a day's work."
"Archer, our singular ace card." Kitagawa spoke up after Wolf. "Freestyle, Flanker, Felon. Throw him at it and he'll kill it."
"Ah, now that's just tooting my horn." Grimm dismissed the Sotoan WSO's comment. "Like I said, all in a day's work."
"Somebody get this man a Distinguished Flying Cross." Pops suggested it. "Somebody in your position deserves one."
"I'll float the idea to Hamilton." Ash suggested, yawning halfway through. "Good fucking fight to take out two at a time, with guns no less."
Grimm smiled and said nothing as they moved forward, through the administrative building and upstairs into the squadron room where they could take their gear off, make coffee, maybe something to eat and take a breather after what should have been the single most difficult fight in the war. Historically, attempting to seize a beachhead almost always ended poorly for the attackers. The various Leasathian efforts in the 1950s to take Adamas Island came to mind. But with this operation, Ash was fairly certain they had inflicted massive losses on the Yuktobanians while taking fairly minimal casualties in return.
"How long do you think it'll take until Genette ends up on the news over the ocean?" Chopper asked as he flopped onto a lounge with a bowl of cereal in his hands, turning the TV on and moving to the news channel.
"I give it two days." Kitagawa said with a mouthful of oatmeal mixed with milk.
Wolf snorted. "If he goes at all. I guarantee you he's over pestering Perrault for something right now."
Ironically, Wolf was only half wrong. On the other side of the base, Genette was wandering around corridors, a camera around his neck. In any other situation Genette would have looked suspicious at best, but fortunately most of the people on the base understood his role as a war correspondent. Intending to go to the officer's mess to get something to eat, Genette crossed the corner of a t-intersection in the hallways and in the corner of his eyes spotted three officers. He turned on his heels.
There was no mistaking the base commander, Colonel Perrault, he was practically big enough to have moons orbiting him. Or in this case, two Air Force officers that were speaking in a hushed tone to the colonel. Genette decided against eavesdropping, whatever they were talking about was most likely confidential and compartmentalised information. What Genette decided to do was turn on his camera, line up the frame with Perrault and the two officers and take a photo.
Click.
An audible sound was made by the camera saving the picture to memory, alerting all three officers to his presence. Perrault himself looked at Genette with a face that expressed a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. Perrault opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by his second in command speaking up first.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Hamilton called out from behind Genette, grabbing him by the shoulder and gently encouraging him to walk forward. They walked towards the officer's mess. Genette waited until they were out of earshot of Perrault before speaking up.
"What's he in such a bad mood for?" Genette asked Hamilton as they walked.
"I don't know." Hamilton replied, adjusting his officer's cap. "Those were Lieutenant Colonels he was speaking to, I'm guessing it's something serious."
"Hmmpth." Genette scoffed.