Chp. 1-5: For the Want of a Nail

May 6th, 2019 (Local Time: 0700)

RAF Fort Grays

Another warm summer day and the gentle breeze meant another morning of PT outside. It was the perfect time to get the latest gouge, as Sean's lot would call it. What Marcy was hearing wasn't particularly thrilling.

"So any way we slice it, we're glorified target drones to an even bigger drone." She commented dryly.

Brownie hurried to catch the basketball as it bounced off the backboard. Marcy's glare hardened at the hoop, and she got a bit more aggressive when Brownie bounced her shot. She caught the basketball and lunged forward before jumping up to dunk it. She let the ball bounce a few times, but Brownie grabbed it and made a jump shot. Marcy watched the shorter woman grab the ball again and take another shot. She noticed the young Eagle Driver's face contort into a grimace.

"What's on your mind, sista?" She asked as she caught the ball this time.

She had an idea since the younger pilot worked in Ops, but saying it out loud was always good for the soul.

"I hate it the more I think about it."

She paused to shoot again, and this time let Marcy grab the ball when it glanced off the rim.

"We are fuck-mothering fighter pilots. Not only that, our squadron specifically flies an older aircraft. And that aircraft is considered to be one of the greatest of its time. It's still apparently good enough to stay in service, right? We show how good it is, right?" Brownie replied.

She went for the ball again and made another shot out of frustration.

"My point is that we're well-trained and despite the age of the F-15 we still make it work and work well. So why are we being used to show off the capabilities of this giant flying thong?" She clarified.

Marcy tried very hard to swallow a laugh, but it still managed to escape as a loud snort. If it'd been anyone else, Brownie might've been offended.

"It does kind of look like one." Marcy agreed.

"Yeah, and I didn't sign up to be killed by it. Well, pretend to get killed by it." Brownie commented.

"Well we're not gonna fly at this thing fast and dumb, are we?"

"Knocker's doing his best to come up with a plan. He says it's a game of numbers; both Arsenal birds have 80 of those MQ-101s, which in turn have low radar cross-sections."

"And we're coming at them with multiple wings, right?"

"Yeah…make this shot and maybe I'll tell you who."

There was maybe a sliver of seriousness in her voice. Marcy snorted as she caught Brownie's throw. She stood still for a second, then hurried up and lifted the ball to the rim. Brownie stood there with a grin on her face.

"I said shot, Elf." She noted.

In response to that, Marcy picked up the ball, turned around and made a jump shot. She threw her arms in the air as the ball made a satisfying swish.

"Top shot guard at Paige High, two years in a row! Anyways…"

She bounced the ball particularly hard against the court floor in victory and practically did the same to a water bottle on the sidelines.

"Any guesses?" Brownie asked.

"I mean there's only a certain number of candidates. But there was no harm, no foul in a little wager like that." She commented.

"You're no fun sometimes." Brownie chuckled.

"I figured my brother and his fellow sailors would be dragged into this. Everyone they can grab."

Marcy was back on the court less than a minute after. She took another shot and dribbled about in circles when she caught the ball. Brownie was close behind as her friend showed off a little.

"So if you didn't join to play target drone, why did you join the Air Force?" Marcy asked as she passed to her.

"You know why I did." Brownie replied as she tossed it back.

"I do, but my coach in highschool would have us go through the same motions. "Why do you want to play basketball?" She'd ask."

"...I joined to make my dad proud and do my part. I didn't join to prop up my replacement. Why did you join?"

"I wanna be an astronaut, and I'm not crazy enough to join my brother in throwing himself off a boat."

She made another jumpshot before she said anything else.

"It won't replace us, in my opinion."

"What makes you so sure?"

"What about all that stuff about being good and having a good plane despite its age?"

As if to add to the conversation, the sound of engines filled the morning air. The two stopped to watch a pair of F-16s from the 508th take off from beyond the fence. They could feel the Pratt and Whitneys rumbling in their chests.

"You're right, Elf; they won't replace us."

Whether she really believed that or was just pumped by the sight didn't matter. Marcy believed her, and still believed what she'd said...

When Sean found himself overwhelmed, like many he could find an escape in music. When he needed to concentrate, he found that in music. This morning's savior of his sanity was the one and only Brian Setzer. He had to hum it to himself, but it felt like he was getting into the proper headspace and staying there. Switchblade 327 seemed to do that for him. The young aviator sucked in some fresh oxygen as he and Pirate adjusted course again. Above and away were six F/A-18Fs from VFA-107, playing the part of MQ-101s. It was a stretch, but they were doing the best with what they had. They hadn't exactly been given much time.

That resulted in a shitshow from top to bottom. Not enough Hornets to make for a realistic opposing force. Not without ignoring fleet defense or commitments to Ugellas.

"Ram and Cactus this is Rooster, Liberty is transmitting to its northern and southern groups. Maintain course, repeat, maintain course." Their supporting Hawkeye radioed.

Liberty was another Hawkeye, playing the Arsenal Bird of the same name. Commander Crockett clicked his mic twice.

"Hobo, execute now." Rooster added.

From the northwest and southeast, two pairs of EA-18G Growlers released a dozen ADM-141 TALDs (Tactical Air-Launched Decoys) each. They spread out and started transmitting like they were more Super Hornets.

"Rams 2 and 3, execute!" Crockett piped up.

Sean banked towards Pirate and the two nosed up sharply. Pirate activated his radar and Sean fell into a loose position behind him. The Banshee Super Hornets had their radars on at full power, searching for the attacking force. Pirate and Sean tried to stay nose-to-nose with their targets as often as possible. One of them nosed down and the other began to weave towards Pirate. Sean matched the wingman's moves closely to keep his radar cross-section low. Pirate nosed up and accelerated. Zap and her flight lead, Lieutenant John "FDG" Seyeung, did the same to a second pair of F/A-18Fs trying to box the four jets in. Crockett decided that would be where they made a hole in the Arsenal Bird's defenses.

"Ram 1 is moving to assist, Ram 2. Check fire to your north." He assured.

"Copy Lead." Pirate replied calmly.

Sean selected his AIM-120D AMRAAMs (Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile) and used the Hawkeye's radar picture to get a shot. In turn, the Banshee crew started going for the Hawkeye as well as him. He was ahead of them by a few precious seconds, as was Pirate.

"Ram 2-1, Fox 3 Fox 3." His lead declared.

"Ram 2-2, Fox 3 Fox 3." Sean echoed.

The satisfaction at the coordination was evident in Pirate's voice as the two split.

"Banshee 1-3 is dead."

"Banshee 1-4 is dead."

"Rooster is dead."

Sean clenched his teeth as the two regrouped to help their other half envelop the remaining aircraft. He glanced at his watch; to again make it closer to the real deal, the enemy F-18s could "revive" after a minute, which was about how long it would take to go back to the Hawkeye. They could do it three times, like a video game. Like one of the Arsenal Birds launching fresh aircraft. Once they'd forced the next to Hornets onto the defensive, Pirate split off to cover against their inevitable return. Sean activated his radar and nosed up.

"Rams 2-3 and 2-4, Ram 2-2 is above ya if they try anything." He radioed.

"Copy that Swamp, stay up there for now." FDG replied.

Their opponents went for him as well, so he broke towards them, then broke away to mess with their lock. He hadn't been above his friends for more than a few seconds when he dove to avoid the two-seaters. He worked the stick and banked towards them to try and get a lock before they did.

"Ram 2-3, Fox 3." FDG radioed.

"Ram 2-4, Fox 3-Ram 2-4 is dead." Maria added, frustration entering her voice.

"Ram 2, close ranks and keep that gap open. Ram 1 is moving to exploit. Ram 3, stick with Cactus." Crockett instructed.

One of the Banshee aircraft was still up, and the two from earlier were bound to reengage any second. Pirate kept his position so they'd stay contained and Sean came around to help. FDG charged towards the remaining enemy aircraft with his remaining AMRAAMs at the ready. Sean, meanwhile, passed behind Pirate and selected the same Hornet from earlier. The two-seater was in afterburner to negate the advantage of long range. Sean weaved to the left and came back to the right at increasing speed. The other Super Hornet turned into him, but the two passed one-another out of position for a good shot. Now he had to enter the WSO (Weapon Systems Officer) into the equation. He'd need to keep up the pressure, as if it were a wrestling match.

Sean tensed, throttled back and came around as fast as he could. He selected the AIM-9X Sidewinders on his wingtip and turned his gaze towards the enemy jet. A circle started chasing a targeting box on his HMD (Helmet-Mounted Display), but the other Hornet was doing the same. Sean broke again and increased the throttles before turning back into the attacker. In modern air combat, everything forward of a plane was vulnerable; one of the many things he'd been taught learning to fly Hornets. Once again, the two passed without firing a shot. Sean scanned the sky as he came around again.

"Pirate, what's your status?" He radioed between breaths.

"Engaged neutral with a single bandit." His lead replied, equally breathless.

"Ram 2, we're here. I'm detaching Rams 1-3 and 1-4 to assist." Crockett replied.

Sean glanced up as the other F-18 came back into view. He focused his gaze back on his opponent as they got close again. He also checked his air speed and decided to make a move. He throttled back as the two were set to cross paths again. The other Hornet nosed up and Sean was practically trying to stand his F-18 on its back end so he could get a lock. He pushed the throttles forward to keep from stalling as he went vertical. His opponent was trying to avoid that, but in doing so gave Sean the chance he needed to get a lock.

"Ram 2-2, Fox 2." He declared.

"Banshee 2-1 is dead." His opponent confirmed.

Sean rolled back and brought his nose towards the sea as yet more bandits returned to the fight. He came back up near Rams 1-3 and 1-4. He pushed past the two and spotted two more Hornets locked in combat. Where the one with the ghostly face painted on its tail told him his flight lead was on the defensive

"Pirate, I'm engaging that bandit after you. Break right, help me get a good shot." He radioed.

Sean's head went side-to-side as he reversed and descended into the fight. It had the same smoothness that Pirate liked, and Sean could understand a bit more why he did. As soon as he was in, though, two of the enemy team's Hornets were back in the fight. Sean started to debate what to do, but instinct stopped him. He broke into the attack and lit the afterburners. It had him racing past the threats fast. Pirate, meanwhile, used the traffic to pull right and duck out of harm's way. Sean reversed and cane around, only to fund that Pirate's pursuer had directed it's attention to him.

"Hang on Swamp, I'm coming." Pirate assured.

Sean turned towards the pair of Hornets again as they split to give their comrade room. Pirate focused on the lone Hornet as 1-3 and 1-4 closed in.

"Ram 2-3 is dead." FDG announced.

Sean noted the loss but kept going. He turned towards the lead jet in the pair and decided he'd take at least one of them with him. The Sidewinder had a lock just as soon as its seeker was uncaged.

"Ram 2-2, Fox 2." He announced with a cheeky smile.

Sean rolled and dove. For a second, it seemed like he might slip a second, it seemed like he might just slip out, but one of the Hornets was piloted by VFA-107's Skipper. A graduate of the Navy's Strike-Warfare Advancement Center. As Sean leveled out to try for a second kill, a tone signalled in his ear telling him he'd been locked onto.

"Ram 2-2 is dead." He confirmed.

On his own, Pirate wasn't too far behind. The four Hornets met up some miles to the south, near one of the Falcon's escorting destroyers. By then the scenario had wrapped up, and another destroyer playing referee gave the final score.

"Liberty is considered heavily damaged, but airborne."

Sean decided it was still something…

Bruno raised a hand in greeting to the gate guards as his CV90 lumbered towards the main road. The Oseans returned the gesture and a few shouted "good luck" as the convoy passed by. More guards waved them onto the road ahead of civilian traffic. He looked back to make sure there was enough distance between his vehicle and the one behind him. Besides his platoon, a pair of Osean Army Humvees equipped with loudspeakers were tagging along. The 202nd Psychological Operations Company always sent them along for urban patrols. Today was a preemptive measure, a show of who was in charge. There was an upcoming political rally by The Ugellean Reformation Brigade's political wing, People's Action. Intelligence was certain it was going to be both massive and controversial. Schkodra's police lacked the manpower, and even Bruno had only gotten scraps of information on what exactly the rally would entail. He did get an idea as he crested a hill and came within sight of the city.

The Belkan contingent handled most of the checkpoints in and out of the city. They'd beefed up security, no doubt because of the rally. Bruno was greeted by the sight of two Leopard 2A7s facing in opposite directions. His driver, Private Thorsen, slowed the IFV to a halt shy of a few Enok patrol vehicles. An MP, a second lieutenant like him, walked up and offered a smile.

"Anything to report? We're going to make a sweep ahead of that rally."

"Ja. Bad news, Herr Leutnant. About the toll." He announced, shaking his head.

"How bad could it be, Herr Leutnant?" Bruno asked.

The Belkan officer gave him a sad smile and shook his head again.

"Price went up, sadly. Now it's 8 pilsners Herr Leutnant. Can't have my boys sharing every day. They might mutiny, and they certainly don't want to have to share with the Leopard crews." He announced.

Bruno couldn't help a smile, but he nodded as if it were a serious matter.

"Then put it on my tab, yeah?" He asked.

The man held up a thumb, then waved the convoy onwards. They followed the highway down another hill and around a bend into the outskirts of Schkodra. Like a lot of cities in the country, it was equal parts modern and old. Like their base, the remnants of Yuktobanian-style communism had survived and stayed in the public eye. Mostly in the architecture, Bruno noted as he passed what had once been the local party office. As they reached a major fork in the road and turned left, the Oseans began to warm up their speakers. They started off with something nice and happy like they always did; this time it was War's "Why Can't we be Friends?". Bruno let himself have one last smile as he glanced back. One of the Humvee gunners was moving her head along to the music.

They descended a final hill, navigating the streets that had to contend with the older parts of the city. At the bottom of a series of twists and sharp turns was one more Belkan checkpoint. The MPs there were less jovial, but nonetheless professional. Most were watching the scant traffic from the safety of bunkers or their vehicles. That was Bruno's signal to lower himself into the turret. Two of his men in the back kept their hatches open but stayed low. After that, they turned onto the westernmost tip of Ulica Zeljeznog Pojasa; Iron Belt Street. Six lanes and a decrepit light rail track separated two neighborhoods. To the north was The Erusean Quarter and to the south was the old borough of Rugovoda. The buildings on either side of the thoroughfare were all but abandoned, save for some stubborn holdouts.

Bruno switched view through Jansen's sights to infrared and eased the FLIR on his remotely-operated M2 up. He could see just about everything around him, but again there wasn't much to see. Those enterprising few individuals, and those who simply had no other choice, would wait for the vehicles to pass so they could move from block to block. As they passed a the next intersection, Bruno watched as a gaggle of school kids went running alongside the convoy with their teacher. The thought that someone from the opposing quarter of the area would shoot at them left a knot in his stomach. The picture he had of his wife Emma and their daughters Inge and Sophie on a bare part of the turret wall made itself known to him. He glanced through his vision blocks on that side as cleared his throat.

"Bleeker, Goll! Make sure those kids and their teacher don't get too close!" He barked into the troop compartment.

"Ja Lieutenant!" The former replied.

As the road made a bend to the right, some of the scars from the fighting became more apparent. Bruno fixed his crosshairs on a couple of old industrial buildings that'd grown popular as sniper nests while the teacher hurried her class into the walled courtyard of a school. He thought their next customer might be an elderly man hobbling along on crutches, but he maintained his pace. He didn't even glance at the vehicles as they passed by, except maybe when the psyops vehicles passed by playing something called "The Most Mysterious Song on the Internet". He'd heard it before; the accent of the singer was somewhere from either Belka or even his own homeland but it was hard to tell. They started up a hill leading to one of the main traffic squares in the city, where a few Osean Stryker APCs watched over the roads. A statue of Ugellan dictator Alexandru Elezovic towered above the space, albeit without his head and the fist he raised in triumph. Bruno gave it a second of attention as he reported the convoy's position. As they went down the hill on the other side, Bruno noted an Ustian Fennec circling overhead.

"Bravo 3-1 this is Konig, come in Bravo 3-1." A voice spoke up.

It was the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) for the city proper. Bruno guessed his question was about to be answered.

"Go for Bravo 3-1." He replied.

"One of our helicopters spotted a situation developing along your route. A large crowd is gathering around some kind of motor accident. Skala 2-1 is inbound but it appears to be growing larger and larger. Move fast and help them secure the area."

"Understood, we're enroute."

Bruno hailed Kryscew as a precaution as he ordered the convoy to increase speed. The actual disturbance was on a road that split off from the main one. A box truck had collided with some kind of delivery van; what the Oseans would call a "fender bender". There was also a sedan sitting in the middle of the road nearby, and the crowd was gathered around the truck. Bruno could hear the shouting as he drew closer.

"Charlie 3 Actual, get them away from the vehicles." He radioed.

"Copy Bravo, standby." the lead psyops vehicle replied.

The fringes of the crowd noticed the approaching vehicles before the loudspeakers started barking instructions. The crowd didn't seem to be angry enough to keep standing in the way and parted without incident. Some slapped their hands against the side of the vehicles before scurrying away, and many more were content to shout at them. The Ustian infantry dismounted and started forming a perimeter, moving people away. Bruno and his translator ran to two men being held apart by a third. He looked at the soldiers and shouted something. Kryscew got to work quickly.

"They had a collision…uhh, the man on the left is the driver of that truck. The man on the right the van, and the guy trying to keep them apart was the driver of the car."

Bruno recognized the van driver was throwing slurs at the other two men.

"Tell them to move apart. All three of them." He ordered as he turned to call over a few men.

They got five seconds of warnings before Bruno grabbed the van driver and pulled him away. He pushed him towards his vehicle and shouted "move" at the man. Anger turned to bewilderment, then back to anger.

"I said move! Back!" Bruno shouted.

It certainly didn't please the crowd, but the armored vehicles and dismounts kept moving them away. One of his soldiers hurried over and kept the man at bay while Bruno returned to the other two. The man trying to keep them apart began to babble at the officer. Bruno held up a hand to calm him.

"Ask him to take a breath, Kryscew. We just want to figure out what's going on." He asked, doing the same to clear his head.

It took a few minutes, but the situation was starting to stabilize. The crowd was content to remain gathered inside the Erusean Quarter, which told Bruno what he was dealing with. The Oseans replied with the same instructions over and over: do not interfere and stay back. Sergeant Backer's CV90 moved down the street to block them with a Humvee in tow. The truck driver, a tall and aging man with a droopy moustache, placed his hands on his hips and started speaking. The youthful sedan driver did the same.

"The man was driving but made a wrong turn because his usual route was blocked by construction. The man in the sedan was distracted and the two served to avoid each other. As you can see, the truck only clipped the van, but the van driver got out and started shouting for the man in the truck to get out. When he realized he was an Ugellan, he got violent." Kryscew explained.

The van driver shouted a few things and tried to charge towards the two Ugellans.

"I'm guessing he's an Erusean." Bruno sighed.

"Yes, given the slurs he's shouting at these two. He's…insisting that the truck driver was trying to find a way into the Erusean Quarter." The Corporal sighed.

Jumping to conclusions had to be an Olympic sport in this country, Bruno thought with annoyance. How had the different groups here gotten along until now? He asked for the two Ugellan men to stay with one of his soldiers while he talked to the van driver. He took a few steps, then looked at the sedan driver.

"Are there any other witnesses?" He asked.

"He says there were a couple that saw what happened, but they seem to have been lost in the crowd. His passengers over there will also corroborate his story."

It was back to the van driver for another line of questioning.

"Does he have anything else to say?" Bruno asked.

The local's answer was immediate.

"He insists that the truck has weapons inside it and is demanding it be opened. Most of the crowd is shouting similar stuff, I should note."

He turned towards his van and went inside it. Bruno made sure two of his men stayed nearby, then had the two passengers from the sedan separated. They gave the same story as their friend. The Belkan MPs had arrived by now and set up along Iron Belt Street. A man wearing the insignia of a Feldwebel (Staff Sergeant) walked up and administered a salute. Bruno explained things as briefly but clearly as he could.

"Where else should we deploy, Herr Leutnant?" He asked.

"Your men are helping where they are, Sergeant. We may require your expertise in legal matters. I have at least one man who may need to be arrested. We intend to search that box truck."

"And the crowd?"

"Do you have riot control gear?"

"Some, yes. We can lend you a dog to sniff around the truck."

"Ready it."

Bruno wheeled about and went to the driver to ask what he had in his truck.

"Bread. He also wants you to know that he refuses to open it. He will not be forced to bow to a mob."

"Tell him he has our protection. If he's carrying anything illegal, he'll be taken into our custody."

The driver paused to consider the terms. The young man urged him to agree.

"I can assure you, sir, that the crowd will not be allowed near your truck. We will maintain our perimeter until you're safely on your way. Whether by tow truck or under your vehicle's own power." Bruno added.

The truck driver nodded and spoke.

"He wishes to know if you can simply look through the back. He doesn't want his delivery to get damaged." Kryscew explained.

"That's plenty fine." Bruno agreed.

The man led the Lieutenant and his translator to the back. The crowd's shout grew into one rough chorus. Bruno ignored them and lifted himself inside the back of the vehicle. He was greeted by…rows of bread. Neatly wrapped and stamped with the same logo as was on the side of the vehicle. Unless the supposed weapons were baked into the loaves, there was nothing suspicious to be found.

"It's clear. How bad is the damage?" Bruno asked as he climbed down.

The driver was walking to the front of his truck when a commotion started to brew. Kryscew advised his commander that the crowd wasn't pleased. Bruno was tempted to pull out one of the loaves and show the crowd, whatever good that would do. As he walked over to talk to the driver, several gunshots rang out. The driver and the younger man both tumbled to the ground. He recognized the sounds of an SG556 afterwards, and looked over to see the van driver laying on his back. One of Bruno's soldiers was removing an old handgun from his grip. It was enough to get some if the crowd to disperse, but that was the least of Bruno's worries.

"Medic! I need a medic over here!" He shouted.

Bruno ran to the van driver, then looked at the rifleman whom he assumed shot him. It turned out to be Bleeker.

"He just pulled the damn thing, Lieutenant. Burst out of his vehicle, didn't even know what he had until he raised it!" The man breathed, sounding more like he was protesting than explaining.

"Just keep him covered. Second Squad, keep an eye on the rooftops! Medic!" Bruno replied.

Sergeant Van Dijk ran to the van driver and checked his pulse. He leaned down and checked to see if his chest was rising.

"Can't do nothing for him, Lieutenant. He's had it."

Bruno nodded to Bleeker, who lowered his rifle, and hurried over to the other two. An Osean medic was busy getting the youngest victim onto a stretcher. The truck driver was already being carried off.

"He's alive, sir." The man declared.

"And the truck driver?" Bruno asked.

"Weak, but just gotta move fast."

Bruno nodded and walked towards his IFV to make a proper report. His radioman was waiting near their vehicle. Bruno turned and watched as the crowd grew thinner and thinner. Shouts of anger echoed down the street. All this for a minor traffic accident, he thought with a frown.